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Wade woke up in an empty apartment. Lying on the floor, in his full Deadpool gear. He sat up, looking around. Completely empty. No furniture, no posters or paintings on the wall, like he and Al had just up and moved out. He didn’t remember doing that.
He stood, feeling drowsy. Was he drugged? The fuck is he doing here? He doesn’t even live here anymore. He hasn’t in a while.
Where’s Logan?
There was a knock at the door, and he pulled out a gun from its holster. He’s not letting whoever’s the cause of this get the drop on him again. He’s ready.
He opened the door, and didn’t have time to react to the fact that Logan was standing there and immediately grabbed him by the wrist, the one that was holding a gun in his face (precautionarily), ((That isn’t a word, Wade.)), (((It is now, I just said it.))). He dragged him out of the room, and in a blink they were now at the Weapon X facility.
Wade’s eyes widened, looking around. “N-no, wait, we shouldn’t be here. YOU shouldn’t be here. Logie, let’s go home, whaddya say?” He tried pulling his hand away, but Logan’s grip was tight, and they were still walking.
And he knew where he was being led.
“You’re not… You wouldn’t.” No answer. “Logan, you can’t be on their side. You can’t…” He’s panicking now, officially.
“Shut up.” He did. For a moment.
They turned the corner and Logan shoved Wade into a room. Empty, other than a sensory deprivation tank in the center. He stumbled, staring at down as he heard the door click shut. And lock.
He spun around to face Logan, who was slowly walking closer. “Get in.”
“No.”
Sssssnikt. “I ain’t asking twice.”
He backed into the tank, stumbling onto it. The top opened, and he pushed himself away from it. He’d rather be ripped to shreds than go in there.
And he mostly was. Logan took no time to jab his claws right into Wade’s sides, pushing him closer to the machine again. Wade tried pushing his arms away, but he was IN there.
And in another blink, Wade was in the pod. He could just barely make out Logan’s silhouette behind the foggy glass. He could move enough to rip his mask off, gasping for breath as the oxygen was already being sucked from inside this thing. He started banging on the glass. It wouldn’t break. He knew it wouldn’t. He could tell from the feeling of it, and from the fact that this was a dream.
He called for Logan, but he probably couldn’t even hear him. He— Wait, what was that? This is a dream?
Of COURSE it is! MotherFUCKER!
He can’t breathe. Logan’s right there.
Please, help. Open it. Help me. I need you. I love you, even after this, I won’t stop loving you, PLEASE, help—