Chapter Text
Everything happened so fast.
The X-Men had found themselves caught in a showdown with one of the most powerful mutants to date. Scarlet Witch. All they wanted was to prevent her from hurting more people, more mutants – herself. She’d lost control. Her mind was crumbling under the pressure causing her to turn against her own kind. “You favor mutants.” The words laced with bitter anger and sadness aimed at the man she couldn’t bring herself to call her father.
“No more mutants.” Although it was barely above a whisper, everyone on that frontline had heard it. The Professor had managed to share her thoughts with everyone, but unfortunately that only lasted a few seconds. Charles fell to the floor, hands clutching his head as he let out a scream of agony. “She’s…she’s going to erase the mutant gene.”
Logan recognized that pain on the Professor before and had only seen it a handful of times. He rushed towards Charles but Magneto had reached him before he could. The older man placed his metal helmet on Charles before turning to face his daughter.
“Stop this now! “ But his words fell on deaf ears.
"Erik, it's useless. She's fallen prey to her own mind...I can no longer reach her."
No more mutant gene? Logan knew that could only bring trouble and chaos for the rest of them…but could it be so bad for him? Could he finally enjoy the taste of mortality? Before his thoughts sent him spiraling, he pushed them aside and ran up to the two older mutants. “Send me.”
“Logan, she’s too powerful.”
“That’s what you said about Jean.”
The Professor let out a shaky breath before exchanging glances with Erik.
“C’mon, I can get closest to her.” Logan looked directly at Erik now.
Erik lifted a hand and Logan could begin to feel the pressure on his body that he’d felt countless of times, courtesy of metal within him being manipulated. He held his arms in front of him, claws leading the way as his body ascended and soared through the air. As he got closer to her, he could feel the atmospheric pressure change – heavy and draining. In between Magneto’s manipulation of his body and Scarlet Witch’s power, his body began to feel as though it was being pulled apart. Through clenched teeth, he growled, pushing himself past the pain. A few feet from her now, he met her eyes that glowed red and showed no hint of clarity nor mercy.
He lifted his arm to try to strike but with a wave of hers, his body came crashing down with a force that would have killed anyone without his gifts immediately. His ears rang, as though he’d just been in presence of a detonating bomb. Scrapes and cuts on his face and body began to heal, but the ache of impact lingered. A pained groan slipped past his lips as he sat up and opened his eyes. He blinked the dust out of his eyes, only to see everything had darkened.
His ragged breaths filled the silence as he slowly stood up. “Fuck.”
Logan’s vision finally cleared and that’s when he realized he was no longer at the compound. It was no longer daytime. And he found himself in the middle of a dark and dingy alley, senses on high alert. Where were the rest of the X-Men? Where was Scarlet Witch? And most importantly, where was he?
Letting out another heavy breath, he willed his legs to move. As he stepped out of the alley, his eyes took in the surroundings and there he saw an answer to one of his many questions. The famous New York City skyline with its countless lights polluting the night sky. He made his way further down the street that was dimly lit up by a few flickering street lights and lit up billboards.
New A-Train Sneakers. Be the second fastest runner.
Logan raised an eyebrow as he turned to see a few posters plastered on the nearby bus stop. Homelander, America’s superhero. As he continued to take in more and more of this new environment, the more he was left with questions. Those questions only fueled the feeling that something was extremely wrong. It was like he didn’t belong there - in that moment in time. That notion reminded him of a time where he’d traveled to the 70s and found himself naked next to a mafia boss’ daughter.
“I need a smoke.” He grumbled to himself as he continued to walk towards the main part of the city, where the lights grew brighter and the jostle of the people grew louder.
About twenty minutes later he found himself walking on a busier street, and the posters, banners and billboards only multiplied. Homelander, A-Train, The Deep. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was going on. Maybe it was a show, or a movie? That didn’t fucking matter he thought to himself. He should be trying to figure out how he ended up in New York City, when he had just been upstate minutes before. Was this part of Wanda’s magic?
Logan spotted a rundown liquor store and entered it, going straight to the drink fridge. An amused huff of air escape him, as he noticed the shithole store carried Japanese beer. With two tall cans of Sapporo in his hand, he made his way to the front and stood behind another man who'd just entered the store moments before.
The disheveled man revealed a pistol, pointed it at the clerk, and soon enough at Logan. “Give me all your fucking money – you too asshole.” He yelled, looking wired as his eyes darted in between the clerk and Logan.
“What the fuck are you waiting for? You fuckin’ deaf or something?”
Logan let out a deep sigh, an unimpressed look consuming every single feature of his. “Listen bub, go take your shit elsewhere, I’m fucking tired.” He of course knew the idiot would not be taking it elsewhere and so with his free hand clenched into a fist, he readied himself for the next few minutes.
“Are you fucking stupid?” The robber aimed his gun back at Logan and pressed the trigger. The bullet popped a beer in his hand and entered into his abdomen. The short distance of the shot caused him to step back a few steps, his blood dripping on the floor for a few seconds before his healing kicked in, promptly ejecting the bullet. The clang was soft as it hit the floor.
“I fuckin’ told you.” The man spat at the mutant before realizing that Logan still stood, looking at him with annoyance rather than with fear.
Before the assailant could even gather the nards to shoot him again, Logan brought his free hand up, his claws emerging right through the man’s wrist. The gun clattered on the floor.
“You got my favorite jacket dirty.” The mutant said through gritted teeth as he retracted his claws. The man’s cries and yells filled the store as he crumbled down to the floor, holding the mauled hand with his other. Logan stepped over the bleeding mess that was the robber and placed his unharmed beer on the counter, “Give me some cigars too.” The cashier looked at him, unsure of whether to be scared or happy of the events that had just transpired.
“Are you a new Supe? Were you just assigned this neighborhood?”
Logan raised an eyebrow, “A what?”
“A supe. It’s about time. This is the third time in two months this has happened.” The mutant snorted lightly before tossing a ten on the counter. “Bub, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” The cashier looked almost offended, and before he could think of another question, Logan took his things and headed towards the doorway. As he walked out, another man walked in quickly, causing them to bump shoulders.
“Oi, watch it you cunt.”
Logan turned his head slightly, catching the sight of a man about his height, dressed in dark clothing. But he decided to drop it as the night had already been pretty eventful.
“Butcher, I’m starving. How much longer do we have to stay on lookout for? There hasn't been any movement since we got here-" Hughie looked down at his watch, "five hours ago. I think it's a bust."
“Quit your moanin’ and whinin’. Do you want me to fucking regurgitate some food for you? Would that make you feel better little wittle baby bird?”
Hughie shifted in his seat, and turned to look out the window to hide his glare that he knew would only earn him further insult. “Taking the canary thing to a whole new level.” He muttered.
“Alright, fine. There’s a store just a couple of blocks up. Whatever keeps your bitchin’ level to a minimum.” Butcher opened the van door and exited the vehicle, restraining himself from slamming the door as that could draw attention to them. “You keep your eyes fuckin' open.” He said as he walked off towards the liquor store. Now Billy Butcher was known to be a huge asshole (or cunt as he so lovingly put it), but with everything that had gone down just a week prior, he found himself on edge more often than not.
As he got closer, he heard what sounded like a gunshot and immediately his hand found the glock hidden in the waistline of his jeans. His usual saunter turned into a fast pace as he approached the locale. As he entered the store, a man exited, causing them to collide shoulders. “Oi watch it you cunt.”
He caught the man, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, looking at him from his peripheral but he continued his way out, unbothered by the comment.
Butcher looked as the man continued his way down the street, a trail of smoke left his wake. As he stepped into the store, he saw another man curled on the floor holding his skewered hand, blood pooling around him, crying in pain and the cashier on the phone.
“Well what the fuck happened in ‘ere?”
The cashier hung up his phone call and looked at Billy, “I almost got robbed again. But that guy that just left did that. I think he was a supe. That guy shot him, and it all happened so quick but he had like metal claws.” The cashier was obviously excited as he retold the story. “But the weird thing is, he didn’t say he was a supe. He kinda just looked confused.”
“Metal fucking claws eh?” Butcher looked at the cashier and back at the man writhing in pain. He contemplated something for a moment and then grabbed a couple of bags of chips, before starting to walk back out again.
“Hey! You didn’t pay for those.”
“These crisps won’t put a dent in your pocket. Don’t worry about it, love. Insurance will cover it, I, more than promise.” And with that, Butcher left the store.
He made his way back to the van and opened the door, chucking the chips at the younger man in the passenger seat. “There you go baby boy, now you won’t fucking starve right?” He turned on the van and headed down the street, towards the direction of the store.
“Where are we going, I thought we were waiting for-”
“Don’t matter now Hughie, I think we got a different bite on the line.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a supe in the liquor store and he fuckin’ shiskababed a robber. I don’t know why but there was something off ‘lright? Enough of a fuckin’ explanation for you boss?”
Hughie rolled his eyes and opened his chips, stuffing a few into his mouth. He offered the bag to Butcher who had an intense look on his face. But of course when didn’t he? “Mate, get that rubbish out of my face.”
“Alright, alright. Geez.” He munched on the crunchy snacks and in between mouthfuls he asked, “So what’s so off ‘bout this supe? He’s probably a C level or something. Especially in this neighborhood.”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?”
Hughie swallowed before asking. “So?”
“Jesus Hughie, you ask so many damn questions, I’m trying to look for the guy. But the clerk told me the guy didn’t say he was a supe, and looked confused at being called one. Supes get their fuckin’ jollies from telling the world who they are. And this guy goes in there, cuts this guys’ hand off - and just walks out.”
The cigar hung in between his lips as he opened his flip phone, but the no service icon of death flashed at him. “Shit.” He took the cigar in his fingers and let the smoke seep from his lips as he continued to walk, looking for any sign of familiarity. With every step he took, there was a sort of dread in the pit of his stomach that something catastrophic had occurred, or was going to occur. ‘She’s going to erase the mutant gene.’ The professor’s words rang in his ears.
He stopped in his tracks for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to recall the exact moment he ended up in the alley. Flying through the air. Immense pressure. The glowing figure of Scarlet Witch. A stream of colors. Crashing down. A voice in the distance.
“Holy shit.” Logan eyes snapped open, feeling nauseous for a moment, as though he’d just traveled on a jet (him and flying didn't mix). He took a deep breath and before he brought himself to take another step, a familiar scent crossed his nose. He turned his head slightly and sniffed the air but the scent soon dissipated.
Soon he found himself at the counter of another rundown place, this time a motel. He handed the older man two twenties and in turn was given a janky key chain. “Room 43.”
He trudged up the stairs of the motel that smelled of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol, and probably other odors he preferred not to identify. As he entered the musty room, he made his way to the bed where he sat and opened his beer. Logan checked his phone again and the no service sign still flashed. He grabbed the the phone off the lamp table and held it to his ear as he dialed a number.
We're sorry you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.
Hanging up, he dialed a different number this time and a slight feeling of hope began to build as he could hear it ringing. It sounded like someone had picked up the phone, "Storm? Is that you? What the fuck happened?"
"Who? You have a wrong number." He was back to hearing the sound of the dial tone.
“Is that him?”
“Yes, that's the bastard.” Butcher parked the van in the shadows.
“He looks pretty normal to me?”
“Well he ain’t.” He narrowed his eyes as he watched the stranger stop in his tracks and stay there for a moment. “There’s definitely something off about this cunt.”
“Shit, do you think he made us?” Hughie ducked a bit as he saw the man turn his head slightly in their direction.
“No - I don’t think so. Look.” The man continued to make his way down. And soon enough they saw him enter a motel.
“Well it looks like he’s calling it a night - maybe we should too.”
“It’s almost like I stuck babysittin’ a fucking cocker spaniel.” Butcher exhales and turns on the van, making a good mental note of where he’d find himself again in just a few more hours.
“Any luck on the Neuman tip?” M.M sat at the table, eyes focused on his phone which he was meticulously cleaning with a disinfectant wipe and a q-tip. Both Frenchie and Kimiko sat on the couch, engrossed in The Sound of Music, hardly paying attention to the return of their friends.
Butcher slipped his trench coat off and hung it on the back of a chair, “No fuckin’ bite on that one. But I did come ‘cross another curiosity.”
“He’s obsessing over some C-Lister or something.” Hughie said, knowing well the comment would annoy the Brit. And it wasn't like he liked annoying him all the time, but it served as an outlet for unsaid things and withheld actions. There's was so much to unpack between them and that only made Hughie feel like Butcher was simply looking for something to keep them distracted.
“Don’t you got your wet nappy to change?” Butcher turned back to M.M. “Bloke stops a liquor store robbery, skewers the robber's hand, and then walks out.”
“So?” M.M sets his phone carefully on the table and taps the screen three times before sanitizing his hands.
“So – clerk tells me he didn’t know what a supe was. And get this, he had metal claws but they wasn’t part of his suit. He was dressed normally. I know it’s not a lot to go on, but I’m trusting my gut on this one.”
“We thinking another brainwashed Vought supervillain? And metal claws? Did you see them?”
“I haven’t got a clue mate. And no, but I’m hoping tomorrow I do.” A devilish smirk appeared on Butcher's face, one that the rest of the team knew all too well.