Wade was bleeding out, and he knew it.
His breaths were ragged, his heart practically in his throat as he braced his good hand against the wall to keep himself up. He hasn't had a single cohesive thought since he had locked himself in this random room, his mind only focused on the sound of his heavy breathing. He couldn't see a single thing, and maybe that was for the better.
But that wouldn't be very good for the viewers, would it? The $58 million budget wasn't set for them to dish out a 2-hour black screen.
He turned, hand slapping blindly for a light switch before he let out a strangled yell, his injured body resisting the reckless action. He doubled over, clutching his slashed arm against his chest.
The pain was unbearable, his throat constricting as he struggled for air. Damn, this was worse than the time he got kicked in the balls in 4th grade.
Once his gasps had died down to only slightly strained puffs, save for an occasional wheeze, he managed to gather himself enough to look around and consider his situation. The blood streaming down his arm was still a sickly reminder of the ruthless hit he was served with when he got too cocky in the fight. That beast, creature, or whatever it was must've been less of an idiot than he thought, seeing as they took the opening and basically rendered his arm into something you'd see in a surgery class.
The throbbing in is arm still hurt like a bitch, but he's survived worse. Wade decided it was best to take a moment to sort out his thoughts, because right now things weren't looking pretty. He closed his eyes (not that he was able to see anything in this room but that's not the point here), and took a deep breath. "Okay," he murmured, his voice still rather breathy. "Let's see if I can find something in this damned place."
Still holding his wounded arm to his chest, he felt around with his other hand. The fingers touched smooth, metal surfaces that seemed to be stacked in layers. An organisation shelf of some sort, then. He reached through the layers, in search of finding something, anything, he could use as a weapon. His skills in combat could only go so far, after all. Especially against this beast, the one that had disabled his arm seven minutes into the fight (Don't ask why it's so specific, i suppose wade tracks his fights).
Rummaging through various containers, he came up short with nothing but a few metal nails. He couldprobably place the nails between his knuckles, Wolverine style, but he didn't want to steal Logan's precious brand. He didn't stoop that low.
His shoulders slumped in resignation as he realized he wasn't gonna get anything out of this room. He was already about to turn around when he heard a noise, a subtle rustle. His eyes shot wide, his eyes darting around in a desperate attempt to catch sight of any shaped form in the pitch darkness.
He cursed silently, his teeth grinding together. Dammit, he didn't accidentally intrude on a rat army's den, or something, right?
He shook his head, brushing off the absurd thought. If that were true, they would've attacked him by now. But still, his guard was up. He began slowly backing from the spot, hopefully in direction of the door he had walked in through. The silence was palpable now, his soft steps on the carpeted floor being the only thing that pierced the quietness.
Taking a steadying breath, he continued shuffling backwards, towards the exit. But something stopped him. It took him a long moment to realize that his back had hit something, something sturdy, something solid. His breath caught in his throat, words suddenly failing him. They never did, that meant something was definitely wrong.
He felt the figure shift behind him, but instead of pulling back, they leaned closer; the muscular chest now more prominent than ever as they were pressed flush against wade's back. A warm breath brushing against his ear made the hairs at the back of wade's neck shoot up.
Then the voice spoke, the oh so familiar voice that still managed to affect him no matter what.
"Wade," Logan greeted, the name whispered in a low breath.
Wade felt calloused fingers land on his hips, and he couldn't suppress the shudder that went down his spine.
Suddenly, the pain in his arm didn't matter anymore.