We started our way down the mountain, cold and tired.
The blizzard had finally stopped, leaving behind a quiet stillness in the air. The snow was thigh-deep in places, a thick, freezing powder that made every step feel both wet and heavy. I took the lead, my boots carving a trench, wide enough for the others to follow. I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I could hear Bruce's heavy, labored breathing and the crunch of his boots following right in my tracks. He had Maya and Lily tucked into his massive coat, carrying them like they weighed nothing, he was joking around with the girls. Good, he seems to be coming out his shell more. Sarah walked between us, her hands gripping the back of my ruined leather jacket to keep herself upright when she stumbled.
My healing factor was still working on healing my body. The deep gashes across my chest and back were already sealing, the muscle fibers reweaving themselves over my adamantium ribs. But healing takes energy. Healing takes calories. And right now, my tank was practically empty. The adrenaline from the slaughter in the cave had evaporated, leaving behind a crushing exhaustion.
We didn't speak. There was nothing to say. The woods were quiet now. The unnatural, malicious presence that had suffocated the mountain was gone, replaced by the simple, indifferent cold of the Canadian wilderness.
It took us nearly an hour to reach the valley floor. The faint, flickering neon sign of The Rusted Anvil shined through to us like a lighthouse. The dirt road leading up to the bar was empty, the heavy snow burying the tracks of the men who had fled earlier.
I pushed the shattered oak doors open with my shoulder.
The bar was exactly as we left it. The chairs were overturned, glass crunched under my boots, and the cold wind howled through the broken frame. Mac was still standing behind the mahogany counter. He hadn't moved an inch. The sawed-off shotgun was still gripped tightly in his hands, the barrel aimed dead center at the doorway.
On the floor near the jukebox, Tom was curled into a tight ball, his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth. He was still praying, his voice a hoarse, broken whisper.
Mac's finger tightened on the trigger as I stepped into the light. I didn't blame him. I looked like a demon. My jacket was shredded into bloody strips, my bare chest was a canvas of fresh white scars and drying gore, and my hands were stained pitch black up to the elbows.
"Lower it, Mac," I grunted, my voice cracking from the cold.
Mac's eyes darted from me, to the doorway, and then widened perfectly as Bruce stepped inside.
Sarah let go of my jacket. She took two trembling steps past me.
"Tom?" she whispered.
The prayer stopped. Tom froze. For a second, he didn't move, as if he was terrified that the Wendigo was playing another cruel trick, mimicking her voice to drag him out into the snow. But then he lifted his head.
He saw Sarah standing there, battered, freezing, but alive. He saw Bruce lowering his coat, revealing Maya and Lily, their small faces pale but breathing.
Tom let out a sound that I will never forget.
" WRAAAAAAAH!!!!"
It wasn't a word. It was a raw, tearing sound pulled straight from the bottom of his soul—a mixture of absolute disbelief, agony, and overwhelming joy. He scrambled across the floor, ignoring the broken glass cutting into his knees, and collided with his family.
He wrapped his arms around Sarah and the girls, burying his face in his wife's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. "You're alive... Oh my god, my babies. You're alive, my babies, my babies, my babies are back. I'm sorry, i'm so sorry!!"
Sarah fell to her knees, holding him just as tightly, burying her face in his neck. The girls started crying too, the shock finally wearing off, allowing the fear to spill out.
I stood by the door, watching them. I felt a strange, tight pulling sensation in my chest. I thought of Rogue, of Storm, of Kitty, of Kurt and Jean. How they were, were they okay...were they still looking for me? I turned my head away. I didn't want to intrude on the moment.
I walked past them, stepping up to the bar. Mac slowly lowered the shotgun, his hands shaking so violently the barrel rattled against the wood. He stared at me, his eyes wide with a terrified kind of awe.
"You..." Mac swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You went up the ridge. You fought them."
"Give me a bottle, Mac," I rasped, leaning heavily against the counter. "Whatever you got. And a glass of water for my friend."
Mac didn't ask questions. He reached under the counter, grabbed an unopened bottle of Jim Beam, and slid it across the wood. He didn't bother with a glass. In the past, I probably wouldn't have asked for alcohol off the bat, hell I probably wouldn't be smoking as much. But, they just felt natural now, like something i've been indulging in for years.
I popped the cork with my thumb and took a long, burning pull. The cheap whiskey hit my empty stomach like a match hitting gasoline. The calories were instantly hijacked by my metabolism, sending a tiny jolt of energy to my trembling legs.
Bruce walked up beside me. He looked exhausted, pale and shivering in his flannel shirt. He took the glass of water Mac offered and drank it in silence.
"Logan," Bruce said quietly, leaning his forearms on the bar. "We can't stay here. The military... Ross. He has thermal sweeps. He has drones. The blizzard grounded them, but the storm is breaking. Once the sun comes up, those Blackhawks are going to be back in the air. If they pick up our heat signatures in this town, they'll level it just to get to us."
I took another swig of the bourbon. "I know, Doc. We grab a truck. We hotwire something out back and we put another hundred miles between us and this place before noon. We head east. Toward the border."
"You're not going anywhere."
I turned around and narrowed my eyes. Was he threatening us ? Tom stood behind us. Sarah was sitting on a booth bench, wrapping the girls tightly in a blanket Mac had tossed over the counter. Tom's face was streaked with dirt, tears, and blood, but his eyes were clear. He walked toward us, his posture completely different from the broken man on the floor twenty minutes ago.
"You're not taking a truck and you're not running," Tom said, his voice firm. "Look at the two of you. You look like you've been run over by a freight train. You're dead on your feet."
"Tom, you don't understand who's looking for us," Bruce started, holding up a hand. "It's not local law enforcement. It's the United States military. If they find us near your family—"
"I don't care if it's the damn President," Tom interrupted, stepping right up to Bruce. He looked from Bruce to me. "I know what goes up that mountain. I know what the Wendigo is. Mac told me the stories. Nobody comes back from the ridge. Nobody. But you still went, you saved my family, my wife and baby girls." Tears filled his eyes and he clenched his fists, he reminded me a little of Kittys dad. " I'd never forgive myself if I just let you go without trying to repay you."
Tom looked at my hands, still stained pitch black with the necrotic blood. He didn't flinch.
"My cabin is three miles down the service road," Tom said, pointing toward the back of the bar. "It's off the grid. No power lines, no cell service, completely covered by the old-growth pines. Helicopters can't see it from the air. It's got a wood stove, hot water, and a cellar full of food. You're coming with us."
I set the bottle of Jim Beam down on the bar. "Look, bub. I appreciate the gesture. But my friend here is right. Trouble follows us like a shadow. We bring it to your doorstep, and those kids of yours are right back in the crosshairs. And you don't even know us, for all you know we could be wanted across the state for murder."
Tom shook his head stubbornly. "You saved them. You bought their lives with your own blood. That makes you a good person in my book.The least I can do is give you a place to wash off and a warm bed to sleep in. One day. One night. You rest, you eat, you get your strength back. Tomorrow morning, you can take my hunting truck. It's fully fueled. You can drive it straight across the border, and I'll report it stolen a week from now. But tonight, you are my guests."
I looked at Bruce. The doc looked like he was about to collapse. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises. He hadn't slept a full night since the ghost town. If I pushed him to keep running now, he wouldn't make it. His body would fail, the Hulk would come out just to keep him alive, and that's a whole can of worms i'm not prepared to deal with.
I let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand through my now wet hair.
"Three miles, you said?" I grunted.
Tom nodded eagerly. "Yeah. My truck is parked out back."
"Alright," I said, grabbing the Jim Beam. "Lead the way."
The cabin was exactly what Tom promised.
It sat deep in a valley, surrounded by towering pine trees whose branches interlocked to form a dense canopy. From the air, it would just look like more forest. The cabin itself was built of thick, treated logs, sturdy and weathered. Smoke was already puffing from the stone chimney as Tom fired up the woodstove. The place reminds me alot of Logans home with Kayla, the one in my memories.
The moment we stepped inside, the heat hit me, and my knees nearly buckled. The contrast between the freezing hell of the mountain and the sudden, aggressive warmth of the cabin was too much for my exhausted nervous system.
"Bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left," Tom said, pointing. "Towels are in the cabinet. Take as long as you need. I'll get Sarah and the girls settled."
I didn't argue. I walked down the narrow wooden hallway, stripped off my ruined boots, and peeled the shredded remains of my leather jacket and jeans off my body. I threw the bloody rags into a pile in the corner. I stepped into the small shower stall and turned the hot water dial all the way up.
The water hit my skin like liquid fire. I braced my hands against the cheap fiberglass walls and just stood there, letting the heat seep into my bones.
I looked down at the drain. The water turning pink with my blood, and then black with the Wendigos' gore. I watched it swirl down the drain, taking the physical evidence of the slaughter with it.
As the dirt and blood washed away, I looked at my chest. The skin was completely smooth and covered in hair. Not a single scar remained from the massive cuts the beasts had inflicted.. But my mind didn't feel as healed.
I closed my eyes, resting my forehead against the wet wall.
I had wanted to killed before. I had spent three days fighting the Hulk, hitting him with enough force to level buildings. But that was a brawl. That was because I was angry and lost control. What I did in that cave... letting loose the way I did. I cut their limbs off. I gutted them and left them in pieces on the floor, knowing they would heal, knowing they would suffer for days as their bodies dragged themselves back together.
And the worst part...I enjoyed it.
And it terrified me. When the berserker rage took over, when I realized I didn't have to hold back against an immortal enemy, I had reveled in the violence. I felt the feral grin on my face. I felt the primal satisfaction of being the apex predator in the room.
Was that the Wolverine? Or was that just the part of me I kept hiding in the back of my mind since day one.
No, I thought, I had to remember. I'm not Logan, inside i'm still me, I'm still Liam. And I need to make sure I keep that part of me on a very tight leash when I'm around normal people.
I turned off the water, grabbed a rough towel, and dried off. Tom had left a stack of clean clothes on the toilet tank—a pair of faded blue jeans, a thick grey thermal shirt, and some heavy wool socks. They were a little tight around the nuts, but they felt like heaven compared to the stiff, frozen leather I'd been wearing for days.
When I walked out into the main room, the atmosphere had completely changed.
The heavy tension was gone. The woodstove was on, casting a warm, orange glow across the wooden floorboards. Sarah was in the small kitchen, humming quietly as she chopped vegetables on a wooden block. The smell of beef broth, onions, and garlic filled the air, making my stomach rumble violently. Seems like she's managed to recover just fine.
Bruce was sitting on the couch near the fire. He had showered too, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He was wearing an oversized flannel shirt, staring blankly into the flames. The two girls, Maya and Lily, were sitting on a rug a few feet away from him, playing quietly with a set of wooden blocks.
I walked over and dropped onto the heavy leather armchair opposite the couch.
Bruce didn't look at me right away. He just watched the fire.
"They don't know what we are," Bruce said quietly, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of the wood. "Tom asked me what unit we served in. He thinks we're special forces. He thinks you're just some guy with a lot of combat training."
"Let him," I replied, leaning back and resting my head against the leather. "The less they know about mutants and Hulk, the safer they are. Once we leave tomorrow, they forget we ever existed."
Bruce finally turned to look at me. His green eyes searched my face. "Logan... up there. In the cave. What happened ?"
I stayed silent.
"Why did you tell me to leave?," Bruce continued, his voice tight. "Why?...I could have helped you, I could have turned into the Hulk and we could have beaten them togethor."
"The girls were already traumatized enough," I said flatly.
Bruce flinched slightly. "Those two little girls, and their mother were being held up by monsters like dinner. What do you think would have happened if they saw the big guy come out and smash those things into toothpaste. I needed you to protect them and to get them away so I could deal with those things without hurting anyone else."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I looked at the two little girls playing on the rug. They were safe. Because I chose the lesser of two evils.
"It's not that I don't trust you, Doc," I said softly. "It's that I trusted you enough that I knew if anyone could protect that family while I was gone, it would be you." Bruce looked down at his hands, guilt all over his face. I'm sure he was thinking ' how, how can he trust the hulk to protect people'. "You spend your life trying to pretend the cage doesn't exist Bruce. You ignored the big guy for years and he comes out angry, but when you need him, and I mean really need him. He always comes through... He's furious because you reject him."
I looked down at my knuckles, remembering the feeling of the adamantium sliding out.
"I don't ignore what I am," I told him. "I know exactly what I am. No matter how much I want to deny it.I'm a killer. I have metal laced to my skeleton and razor blades in my hands. But at some point, you, me. We need to accept what we are, and sometimes let the monsters out. To let our demons out, so we can protect the ones we want to protect."
Bruce stared at me, processing the words. "And you're never afraid he's going to turn on the people you're trying to protect?"
"Every damn day of my life," I admitted, looking him dead in the eye. "But fear keeps you sharp. You want to control the Hulk, Bruce? Stop treating him like a disease. Treat him like a partner. You're never going to cure him. He is you. The sooner you figure that out, the sooner we can get some real work done."
"Dinner's ready!" Tom called out from the kitchen, breaking the heavy silence.
The conversation ended there. Bruce let out a long breath, rubbing his face with his hands, and stood up. I followed him into the small dining area.
The meal was simple, but after three days of starving in the snow, and a quick bite at the bar. it felt like a feast fit for kings. Sarah had made a massive pot of venison stew with thick chunks of potato, carrots, and a rich, dark gravy. There was a loaf of warm, crusty bread in the center of the table and a pitcher of cold water.
We sat around the heavy wooden table. Nobody talked about the mountain. Nobody asked us who we were, where he came from. It was normal, and I liked it.
Tom talked about the logging mill in town. Sarah talked about how much snow they got last winter. The girls giggled and kicked their feet under the table, feeding scraps of bread to a fat yellow cat that had wandered out from the bedrooms.
It was utterly, blissfully normal. You could never tell that they were just seperated and nearly killed.
I ate three massive bowls of the stew, practically inhaling the food. My belly felt full for the first time in ages. Bruce ate slower, but he smiled for the first time since I met him. He asked Sarah for the recipe, nodding along as she explained the spices.
I watched them. I watched Tom put his hand over Sarah's on the table. I watched the way he looked at his daughters.
This was what I had read about in the comics. This was the world outside the spandex and the cosmic threats. This was the fragile, quiet humanity that the heroes were supposed to protect. It felt good to sit at this table. It felt good to know that the meat in the cave hadn't won. Spider-man had it right from the get go.
By the time we finished eating, it was past eight o'clock. The adrenaline crash finally hit Bruce hard. He practically fell asleep at the table, his head nodding forward.
"Guest room is down the hall," Tom said quietly, noticing Bruce's state. "It's got a heavy quilt. You two take the beds. Sarah and I will sleep on the pull-out couch in the living room."
"No," I said instantly, standing up and grabbing our empty bowls to take to the sink. "Doc takes the bed. You and your family take your room. I'm sleeping right here." I pointed to the heavy woven rug directly in front of the thick wooden front door.
Tom frowned. "Logan, you can't sleep on the floor. It's freezing near the door, and you just went through hell."
"I've slept on worse," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm a light sleeper. I like to be near the exit. Don't argue with me, Tom. Just point me to an extra blanket."
Tom saw the hard set of my jaw and nodded. He grabbed a thick wool blanket from a closet and handed it to me. "Thank you, Logan. For everything."
"Don't thank me yet," I muttered. "Just get some sleep."
Within twenty minutes, the cabin was completely silent. Bruce was passed out in the guest room, the family was secure in the master bedroom, and all the lights were off. Only the dull, dying embers in the woodstove provided a faint, orange glow to the room.
I lay down on the rug in front of the door, wrapping the wool blanket around my shoulders. The floorboards were hard, but my back didn't ache. I closed my eyes, focusing my hearing on the steady, rhythmic breathing of the five people in the house. Bruce's heart rate was slow and steady. The girls were asleep.
I let my guard down, just a fraction. I let the darkness pull me under.
Snap.
My eyes shot open.
I didn't gasp. I didn't move a muscle. I just lay perfectly still in the pitch-black cabin, staring up at the wooden ceiling.
The fire in the stove had died completely. The cabin was freezing, the temperature having plummeted drastically in the last hour. My internal clock told me it was somewhere around three in the morning.
I reached out with my senses.
The breathing in the bedrooms was still steady. Everyone was asleep.
But outside... outside the cabin, the woods were entirely too quiet. The wind had stopped. The ambient noise of the nocturnal wildlife—the owls, the rustling of the brush—was gone. It was the heavy, suffocating silence of a forest holding its breath.
Then, the smell hit me.
It crept under the crack of the heavy wooden front door. It wasn't the smell of pine needles or snow.
It was the smell of sulfur. Old blood. And freezing, rotting marrow.
My nostrils flared. It wasn't just one scent. It was a chaotic, overlapping mess of necrotizing flesh. 12 distinct trails.
The ones from the cave. I had dismembered them, ripped them apart, but I had underestimated the speed of their ancient magic. The curse of the deep north was stronger than my claws. They had dragged themselves back together, bone fusing to bone, torn muscle stitching itself tight. And they were starving. So were the six others outside judging from the amount of steps I can hear against the snow with each passing second.
How! How the hell did they find us, how did they find all of us !! I was clean, I made sure of that before we left the mountain, Bruce wasn't in the fight, the girls had no marks on them so they should be clean! And then it hit me. Tom!! They marked him!!!!!!
Creak.
A heavy footstep compressed the snow on the wooden porch, directly on the other side of the door I was lying against.
Then, a voice whispered from the other side of the wood. It was incredibly soft, perfectly mimicking the voice of Bruce Banner.
"Logan... let me in..."
I slowly sat up on the rug, letting the wool blanket fall from my shoulders. The feral grin crept back onto my face, cold and completely devoid of humanity.
SNIKT.
The adamantium claws slid silently from my knuckles, glowing silver in the dark.
" Grrr!"