The Newest Hot Fanfic (Poolverine)

Chapter 5: ''The Silence of the Logans''

THE FACILTY'S IN RUINS, a smoldering wreckage of twisted metal and shattered dreams. Smoke billows from the remnants of what used to be high-tech security equipment, the acrid stench of burning plastic and scorched flesh lingering in the air. The battle's over, and Logan and I stand among the debris, the only signs of our success visible in the fallen Hydra operatives and the smattered blood that decorates the concrete like some macabre art installation.

Logan's already striding away, shoulders stiff and his steps brisk, likely trying to forget the headache of having to babysit me through yet another mission. I, on the other hand, am left alone with my thoughts and the aftermath of our little skirmish.

I glance around, taking stock of the carnage. It's oddly calming in its own twisted way. Chaos, after all, has a certain poetry to it—a wild, unpredictable dance that I, apparently, thrive in.

Still, something's gnawing at me. It's that moment back at the loading dock when Logan got all up in my grill. It's not often I get left speechless, and it's even rarer when I actually don't want to make a joke about it.

I flop onto a nearby crate, propping my feet up and pulling out a tiny, not-so-silent disco ball from my bag—a little trick of mine to keep the mood light. I twirl it around in my hand, a weak attempt at distracting myself from the uncomfortable truth simmering just beneath the surface.

I'm trying to piece together why Logan's proximity made me feel... well, uncomfortable in a way that's not typically Deadpool-esque. It's like someone hit pause on my usual routine, and now I'm left here trying to figure out why I can't just laugh it off.

"So here's the thing," I start aloud, addressing the empty facility like it's an old friend. "When a Wolverine gets all up in your face, growling and flashing his claws like he's auditioning for a role in 'The World's Scariest Cat Videos,' it's supposed to be intimidating. But here's the kicker—I wasn't just intimidated. I was, like, weirdly... flustered."

I shake my head, trying to dismiss the strange flutter in my chest. "It's probably just a side effect of spending too much time with Mr. Broody McGrumpface. I mean, let's face it—his whole 'I'm-too-serious-for-this' act might actually be contagious."

I rise from the crate, dusting off my suit with exaggerated movements, and make a grand show of inspecting my katanas, wiping them clean with a flourish. The blood and grime come off easily, the weapons reflecting the dim light of the facility's wreckage like mirrors.

"Or maybe it's because I'm finally starting to understand the appeal of, you know, personal space," I muse, twirling one of my katanas. "I mean, who knew Wolverine had such a knack for making me question my life choices? Next thing you know, I'll be asking him for relationship advice."

I try to channel my confusion into humor, twisting my face into a dramatic expression of mock horror. "Oh no, the mighty Deadpool is rendered speechless by a single, gruff growl! Whatever will I do?"

But the truth is, I'm struggling to shake off the weird feeling that's gnawing at me. It's not just that Logan's anger caught me off guard. It's something deeper—an unsettling blend of respect and something more complicated that I don't fully understand.

I start pacing, trying to get my head back in the game. "Alright, Wade. Time to recalibrate. Logan's got the whole 'tough-love' thing down to an art form. Just because he got all alpha on me doesn't mean I need to start questioning my own sanity."

I spin around and start mimicking Logan's growl, dropping into a crouch with a ferocious expression. "Rawr! I'm Wolverine, and I'm really angry about everything! Watch out or I'll... look menacing!"

I chuckle at my own antics, but the sound is hollow, like I'm trying to fill a void that no amount of sarcasm can actually address. I slap my own cheeks, hoping to shake off the unease. "Focus, Wade. It's just Logan being Logan. He's all bark and no bite. And besides, I've got a joke for every occasion. Just need to find one that fits."

I pick up a piece of debris and pretend to examine it like it's a rare artifact. "Hmm, let's see. What's a Wolverine's favorite exercise? Claw-some cardio! Get it? Because he's always... clawing... never mind."

I force a laugh, but it's weak, and I can't help but feel like I'm trying too hard. The whole 'making light of the situation' schtick is my go-to, my shield against everything I don't want to face. But right now, it feels like I'm trying to patch a leaky dam with duct tape.

Logan's footsteps echo through the wreckage as he heads toward the exit, his silhouette outlined against the flickering lights. "Come on, Wade," he calls back, his voice devoid of the usual anger but laced with a weariness that speaks volumes. "Let's get out of here."

I give one last glance at the ruined facility, shaking my head as if to clear away the last remnants of my unsettling thoughts. "Right behind you, Logan," I call out, forcing a grin that I hope doesn't look as forced as it feels.

As I follow him out, the uneasy feeling lingers, but I shove it down. It's probably nothing. Just another day in the life of Deadpool, where getting a rise out of Wolverine is a job hazard.

"Next mission," I think to myself, "I'll bring extra jokes. And maybe some aspirin for the headaches. Mine and Logan's."

And with that, I step into the night, ready for whatever comes next. After all, there's always another mission, another chance to crack a joke, and another opportunity to put my foot in my mouth.