Chapter 7
15 Years Ago
Logan trudged through the dense forest, bare feet silent as he made his way across the underbrush. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air, but his mind was elsewhere. It had been six years since he’d woken up alone, lost, with no memory of who he was or how he’d ended up there. A pain he’d been unable to describe throbbing through his body. The only thing that had grounded him in the chaos of his mind was the small set of dog tags around his neck. They were the only clue he had, the only tangible piece of himself.
The name Loganhad been etched into the metal, and the moniker Wolverineon his second tag, but beyond that, everything was a mystery. With a fierce determination to uncover the truth, Logan had spent countless days in several public libraries, scouring through military records, old government documents, anything that could shed light on the significance of the numbers and letters on his dog tags. The search had led him down many dead ends. He’d learned a lot about military identification methods, such as how tags were used to record vital information like a soldier’s name, blood type, and serial number. But when it came to his own tags, things didn’t add up. The closest match he’d found were American dog tags, but even those didn’t quite line up with what was stamped on his. The serial number, 45825243, seemed like it could be his own, but the rest of the markings remained a puzzle.
T78 was a mystery he couldn’t solve. The closest theory he could come up with was that it might have been a remnant of old military practices. There was a time when dog tags used to be stamped with a record of vaccinations, particularly the tetanus vaccine. The T would signify that the soldier had received the shot, and the number that followed would indicate the year. It made sense, at least in theory. But the practice had stopped in the fifties, and Logan knew that the year 78 didn’t fit. Then there was the A, which Logan assumed represented his blood type, which was the standard in military identification. Beyond that? Nothing. No answers, no explanations. Just a handful of numbers and letters that meant something, at least to someone, but were utterly meaningless to him.
So, that was it. That was all he knew about himself: his name, his moniker, his serial number, and his blood type. He might as well have been a ghost, wandering through life without a past, a future, or any clear understanding of who he was.
Nothing else.
He didn’t know how old he was, if Logan was his first or last name, or if he had a family or friends. If he’d had a family, they obviously weren’t looking for him; there had been no missing person report, no one even remotely close to his description that turned up in the records. It was a cold truth he’d come to accept: whatever his past had been, it was gone. And if he had family, they had long since forgotten about him. He suspected that part of the reason for this was his mutation. The claws, the enhanced senses, the unyielding healing factor, everything about him made him a freak in the eyes of the world. He was unwanted and unwelcome by society. Even the people who should have cared, if there had been anyone, probably didn’t. Mutants were feared and reviled, and Logan had no illusions about where he fit in.
So, Logan had slunk off away from humanity. At first, he had lived on the outskirts of small towns, keeping to the edges, hiding in plain sight but never getting too close. Moving on from town to town when people began to look to closely at him. Maybe it was because he growled and chuffed more than he spoke in the first few months after waking up, maybe it was the constant scowl on his face as some days were more pain-filled than others, or maybe it was simply because he screamed predator to human instincts; the reason didn’t really matter, the truth was that everyone was leery of him. It was a life of isolation, one that allowed him to survive but never really live. Over time, as his presence in these places began to make people more wary, more suspicious, so Logan had spent less time in every small town he’d wandered into. Each new place was less and less welcoming, and soon, he’d gone from the outskirts to further and further into the wilderness until one day Logan realized he hadn’t seen another human in over six months.
Maybe that was for the best.
Here, in the wild expanse of the Canadian Rockies, Logan was free; free to be who he truly was, unburdened by the expectations of society. In the mountains, he didn’t have to pretend. He didn’t have to hide. He could hunt when he was hungry, tearing into a fresh kill with the primal instincts that surged through his veins. He could snarl, chuff, and howl to his heart’s content without the judgmental stares of strangers or the quiet whispers behind his back.
Out here, he was just another creature of the wilderness. No one would call the cops on him for being dirty, shoeless, and wandering aimlessly through the streets. No one would question him as he moved through the landscape, a shadow blending into the forest, his presence barely a ripple in the untouched natural world around him. He didn’t need to be anything else. He didn’t need to be anyone else.
Logan had found a cave at the base of a cliff in the Rockies, a place where the wind didn’t disturb his rest and the earth was still. It wasn’t much, but it was his. He’d made it his home, creating a nest with blankets and pillows he had scavenged or stolen over time. The simple comforts of warmth and rest were enough.
It wasn’t a life that anyone would envy, but Logan liked it. He had no obligations, no duties, no expectations. There was no one around to judge him for who he was, or what he was. Out here he could simply exist, a man stripped down to his most basic form, living off the land, free from a past he could never remember.
In a way, he was content. Maybe even happy. It was a strange word to think about, a word he hadn’t let himself entertain in a long time. But in the quiet of the Rockies Logan felt a peace he hadn’t known before. He might not have known who he truly was, but out here, in the wild, it didn’t matter.
As Logan made his way through the towering trees on his way back to his den, the thick forest floor crunching softly beneath his bare feet, a deep sense of comfort that had settled over him. He was mostly pain free today, only a slight ache. His steps were unhurried, Logan’s sense of familiarity with his surroundings made happiness rise in his chest. The peace of the wilderness had lulled him into a false sense of security, and in his tranquility, he made one simple mistake.
He had let his guard down.
Since he’d moved into the area, most large predators had stayed well away from him, skirted the territory lines Logan had claimed. But that didn’t mean the wilderness was free of danger, nor did it mean that every creature would heed his boundaries. Logan, too comfortable in his familiar routine, allowed his senses to wander. His mind wandered in the stillness of the forest. He wasn’t as focused on the sounds around him. It was a mistake he would only make once and never do so again.
Logan heard the bear before he saw her, the sound of her massive body crashing through the underbrush. She had been downwind of him, catching his scent before he’d even had a chance to notice her. By the time Logan turned, it was already too late. She was upon him, barreling into his side with the force of a freight train, slamming him into the rough bark of a tree. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and he barely had time to register what was happening before he was on the ground, the bear's powerful claws sinking into his shoulder as she dragged him with terrifying ease.
Her grip was unrelenting. Logan struggled, his back hitting the dirt as she quickly pinned him, her massive form looming over him. Before he could fully react, the bear’s teeth sank deep into his right collarbone, her powerful jaw shaking his body violently as she tore into him with primal fury. Pain exploded through his chest; a searing burn that made bile rise up his throat.
Logan’s instincts surged. His claws shot out from his knuckles, and he slashed blindly at her. The claws sank into the thick muscle of her forearms, drawing blood, but not enough to stop her. The bear roared in pain, rearing back slightly, but she wasn’t done. She was only getting started. In a blur of motion, the bear lunged again, this time grabbing hold of Logan’s left leg. Her jaws clamped down on his upper thigh, her teeth slicing through fabric and flesh with a sickening tear. His jeans shredded, and Logan felt the brutal pull as she yanked him upward, ripping a chunk of flesh from his leg in the process.
The pain was indescribable, a burning, agonizing flare that made every part of him scream in protest. Logan kicked at her, his heel connecting with her nose in a desperate instinctive strike. But it didn’t faze her. Her jaw tightened, and she didn’t let go. Warmth flooded below him and Logan wondered if it was his blood or if he’d soiled himself. He couldn’t afford to care. Adrenaline flooded his system, sharp and bright, but the pain was there too, raw and undeniable. There was no time to focus on it, though. Logan’s breath came in ragged gasps, and his thoughts were scattered.
Nothing mattered but getting away. The instinct for survival surged up within Logan, drowning out the pain that radiated from his body. With a snarl he swiped at the bear, his claws extended, but she was just barely in his reach. His claws raked across her face instead of plunging deep into her throat as he’d intended. Blood spurted from the shallow gouges and she dropped him to shake her head, trying to clear the blood from her eyes.
Logan seized the opportunity. His heart hammered in his chest as he scrambled to push himself to his feet, but his left leg refused to cooperate. The wound was too severe, a massive chunk torn from the muscle, exposing the gleaming metal of his femur beneath. His leg was useless. He collapsed back to the forest floor, head hitting a rock, his body heavy and uncoordinated as he tried to move. There was a sudden cold sensation creeping through his limbs, quickly replacing his adrenaline-fueled panic. The world seemed to slow down as his vision blurred and he stared up at the canopy above, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Before he could even attempt to think of a plan, the bear was back. Her massive form loomed over him, her nose sniffing the air, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied him. She sniffed at his chest, his face, her hot stinking breath a sickening contrast to the cold creeping through his body. Logan tried once more to swipe at her, but his arms felt too heavy and uncoordinated to land any blows. His claws barely extended before his arms drooped uselessly to the ground.
The bear ignored his weak attempt, her focus fixed on him as she sank her teeth into his stomach. Pain exploded across his abdomen as her powerful jaws tore through his shirt, ripping it open, and the sharp bite dug deep into his flesh. He screamed, but the sound was hoarse and weak. With a brutal swift movement, the bear flipped him over, her jaws releasing him only to shift her position, pinning him to the ground. Her enormous paws pressed down on his back, the weight of her claws sinking deep into his soft flesh. His body bucked instinctively, but it was no use. Every movement felt sluggish, each attempt to escape weaker than the last.
The bear paused, sniffing at Logan for a moment. Then, just as suddenly as she had come, she stepped back. Logan groaned in relief, the crushing weight of her lifting. The coldness from the blood loss was still there, but it was beginning to fade, his healing factor working overtime to repair the damage. It was slow, but it was enough.
Logan turned his head, his vision blurry with pain and adrenaline, and his gaze locked onto the bear. She was still there, watching him. Logan growled low in his throat; his teeth gritted as he tried to push himself up. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it. He couldn’t afford to lie there anymore. With a fierce snarl, he lunged upward from his splayed-out position, using whatever strength was left in his limbs. The bear jumped forward with a roar, and Logan screamed back at her, a primal sound that echoed through the trees. His claws flashing as he raised his arms in defense.
Before he could get fully to his feet, the bear’s massive jaws clamped down on his upper right arm, the pain flaring as her teeth sank into him. But Logan wasn’t done. He wasn’t finished. His left arm shot out, bracing himself against the bear’s barrel chest, his claws stabbing deep into her. He repeated the motion, each strike fueled by sheer willpower, the only thing keeping him going now. Her fight left her quickly and she stumbled back from him; her body could no longer keep up with the damage. She swayed, her massive frame teetering as she fought to remain standing. Then, with a final tremor, she collapsed onto the forest floor, her body hitting the earth with a heavy thud.
For a moment, she breathed slow, shallow breaths, and then, just as quickly as the fight had begun, she went silent.
Logan lay back on the forest floor, his breath ragged and uneven. His heart pounded in his chest as the adrenaline slowly faded away, leaving a numb emptiness in its wake. The world around him felt distant, as if it were happening to someone else somewhere far off. His body trembled, and a strange shifting sensation twisted in his gut, pulling his attention downward. He winced, his eyes widening as he looked at the gaping wound across his abdomen. The bear had torn him open, disemboweling him in a single, brutal strike. He watched with detached fascination as his body began to heal itself.
With the adrenaline gone, pain, raw and unfiltered, surged in its place. It hit him like a flood and Logan groaned, his muscles tensing as the full weight of his injuries finally registered. His vision blurred, but he pushed through, fighting against the burning sensation that crawled under his skin.
Logan gritted his teeth and began to drag himself away from the bear’s still body, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. Every movement felt like it cost him something: his strength, his focus, his very will to keep going. But he knew he had to. He had to get to the creek, to the cool water that would help soothe the pain to numbness.
The soft moss and leaves beneath him felt like glass, sharp and unforgiving as he dragged his battered body across the forest floor. Each scrape against the earth was a reminder of how badly he had been hurt, the echoes of his injuries reverberating through his nervous system with every tortured inch he crawled.
Finally, after what felt like hours of slow, agonizing progress, Logan reached the creek. His body felt like lead, every inch of movement a test of sheer willpower. With one final, desperate crawl, he tumbled down the small incline and landed at the edge of the water. The cold, mountain-fed creek rushed past him, its icy waters gleaming in the sunlight. Logan didn’t hesitate. His parched throat burned with the need for water, and he drank greedily, gulping it down until it swirled in his stomach and threatened to make him sick. The coldness burned as it went down, a sharp relief that felt almost too much. His vision blurred, body overloading on the sensations.
After a few moments, he collapsed forward, unable to hold himself up anymore. His head hung low over the creek, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. Black spots at the edges of his vision grew larger, moving in like dark tendrils. His senses were slowly fading, and in that moment, Logan realized the truth: he was going to pass out and if he didn’t move, he’d drown in the creek. He tried to push himself back, to lift his body away from the water, but it was no use. The overwhelming pull of exhaustion, the toll of the battle and the injuries, was too much for him. His body simply refused to cooperate.
The darkness came too fast.
His body slumped forward, tumbling into the cold, rushing water. The icy shock of it sent a shudder through him, but it was a faint sensation. His lungs filled with the freezing water, and his body convulsed in reflex, but it was too late. His consciousness slipped away.
The last thing he felt was the icy coldness in his chest as the darkness overtook him. And then, there was nothing.
Logan came to with a sharp gasp, his lungs seizing as cold water rushed in, flooding him once more. Panic shot through him as the icy water filled his chest, choking him. With a violent heave, he pushed himself back, his hands scrambling for purchase as he fought to get out of the creek. His body trembled from the shock, every muscle screaming at him as he coughed violently, expelling the cold water from his lungs in a harsh fit. His stomach lurched, and with another gut-wrenching cough, he vomited the remaining water up, the icy fluid splattering onto the forest floor.
For a moment, he stayed there, on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. His chest burned from the strain, his body still reeling from the relentless cold. The world spun around him, and all he could do was sit there, panting, staring at the creek with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Logan sat back, staring at his hands as the realization slowly dawned on him. He had drowned. It was an undeniable fact, an event that had happened in the space between one breath and the next. He had felt the icy water invade his lungs, the way it burned as it filled him, drowning him in cold darkness. He had passed out in the water, helpless as the world slipped away. Then, somehow, he had woken up, his lungs still full, but the tightness of the suffocating darkness had given way. And the pain.
Logan blinked, still sitting at the edge of the creek, looking down in disbelief at his body. The pain was there, a dull throb from the battle. But it wasn’t the searing, all-encompassing agony he had expected. He’d been through enough pain to know what it felt like when his body had been pushed past its limits. There had been times when the pain had nearly brought him to the edge of unconsciousness, times when he had lain in cold water or snow, letting the chill numb the pain, but nothing had ever worked like this.
Had. . . had drowning somehow dulled the pain? Logan sat there for a long moment, the question echoing in his mind, but he couldn’t find a satisfying answer. The cold water had taken him, but now it seemed to have done something strange to his body. The echoes of pain were still there, remnants of the brutal attack, but it was nothing like he expected. It was muted, almost distant.
Shivering in his soaked clothes, he looked up toward the sky. The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the forest. Time had passed without him even realizing it. He had been dead. Something in his body told him that was the truth. His heart had stopped, and now, here he was; alive, breathing. It was unsettling, but for now, there was little time to think about it. Logan sighed, his breath hanging in the cool air, and leaned back against the soft earth. His muscles ached, his mind swam with confusion, but he forced himself to shake it off. No use dwelling on things he couldn’t explain.
Life in the wilderness didn’t pause for anyone. You either survived or you didn’t, there was no point in sitting around. Slowly, with a grunt of effort, he pushed himself to his feet. His legs wobbled for a moment, still weak from the water and the drain on his energy, but he steadied himself. He didn’t have time to waste. The bear’s body was still out there, and scavengers wouldn’t waste any time in claiming it. He’d be damned if he let that happen. He’d won that fight and he would claim at least some of the meat as a prize, he’d earned that right.
As Logan walked through the forest, his mind couldn’t shake the memory of the fight, the bear’s attack, the violence of it all. But there was one moment in particular that kept coming back to him, replaying over and over in his mind. When the bear had sunk her teeth into his thigh, tearing away a massive chunk of flesh, Logan had seen something that didn’t make sense.
His femur.
It wasn’t bone. Not like it should’ve been. It was metal. He’d barely registered it at first, too focused on the immediate threat to process the sight, but now, as he moved through the woods, it gnawed at him. He had always assumed his claws were the only part of him that were metal, maybe an enhancement he’d had done. But that assumption had been wrong. His femur was metal. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
Logan’s mind raced. His claws, yes, he had always known they were metal. But his bones? That was something entirely different. It wasn’t something he had ever considered or thought about, not until now. He’d been injured enough in the past to have his body battered and bruised, but he’d never been hurt badly enough to see his bones exposed, to realize that they weren’t like anyone else’s. His femur was metal so it was probably safe to assume the rest of his skeleton was as well. It would explain why he weighed so much more than what his frame suggested. Was this part of his mutation?
We are about to begin bonding Adamantium to Weapon X's skeleton.
The voice echoed through Logan’s mind with such clarity that it startled him, nearly causing him to trip in surprise. The words seemed to come from nowhere, yet they were so sharp and distinct that it was as if they were spoken directly into his ear. Weapon X? Adamantium? The words spiraled in his mind, his breath catching as he tried to process what he’d just remembered. He stopped in his tracks, looking down at his hands as if they might offer some kind of answer, some clue to what this voice meant. Had he been experimented on? Had he been part of something called Weapon X?
Logan’s mind raced, thoughts flashing through him faster than he could catch them. The name Weapon X sounded hauntingly familiar, like something buried deep within his subconscious, a whisper he couldn’t quite place. A surge of anger cut through his confusion.
“Fuck it.” He growled the words under his breath as he took a few heavy steps forward, pushing through the muddled thoughts. So what if he had been experimented on? His fists clenched as he stomped onward, his pace quickening. What did it change now? What did it matter anymore? He had survived, hadn’t he? He was here. He was still breathing.
Yet, despite the defiance in his mind, despite the resolve to shut it all out, something inside him cracked. The sting of tears pricked at the back of his eyes, a sharp ache in his chest that he couldn’t deny. Logan blinked hard, pushing the emotion away, furious at himself for feeling it. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. He swallowed hard, wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, and forced his focus forward once again. No more dwelling. No more looking back. Whatever had been done to him, however his past had been shaped, it was done. And it was time to move on.
Finally, Logan arrived at the spot where he had left the bear’s body, but as he stepped into view, he stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. What he saw shocked him to his core. Two tiny cubs, no larger than house cats, were pressed up against their mother’s lifeless body, shivering in the cooling dusk air. Their little bodies were trembling from the cold, but it wasn’t just the chill that made Logan’s stomach twist. It was the sheer vulnerability in their eyes, the helplessness that came from being so small, so young, and now, so alone.
The cubs noticed him almost immediately. One of them, with a burst of frantic energy, scrambled up a nearby tree, its claws digging into the bark as it climbed higher. The other cub, however, stayed put, its wide eyes narrowing as it growled at Logan, trying to be brave in the face of a much larger threat. It didn’t back down, but neither did it approach. It stayed by its mother’s side, its small form trembling as it faced the man who had killed her.
Logan’s heart tightened. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The bear had attacked him with such ferocity, driven by pure instinct to protect her young. No wonder she had been so relentless in her assault; she had seen Logan as a threat to her cubs. He stood frozen for a moment, watching the cubs, his mind racing. This early in the spring, and based on their size, they couldn’t have been more than three months old. Barely old enough to begin exploring the world, to learn how to fend for themselves. And now they were orphans, with no mother to care for them. The weight of it settled over Logan like a heavy cloak.
They were helpless. They weren’t even close to being weaned yet, still too young to survive on their own. Logan sighed heavily, the air slipping from his lungs in a slow, frustrated exhale. His claws clicked out of their sheaths on his right hand, the sound sharp and unnerving in the quiet of the forest. The cub on the ground winced at the movement, its growl deepening, but it didn’t back away. It stayed close to its mother cowering close like she could still protect them. The other cub high up in the tree watched him warily, its little chest rising and falling as it tried to stay hidden.
Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on. He knew what needed to be done. The cubs were too young, too helpless, to survive on their own. They were so small, and in the wild, they had no chance. If he let them live, they would be picked off by predators or starve to death. A slow, painful death. It was the kindest thing he could do for them, a quick and painless end, and Logan knew it was the right choice.
The cub on the ground snarled, its tiny teeth bared trying to make itself appear fierce, but Logan wasn’t fooled. He watched it, his gaze softening as he saw the fear in its eyes. Those soft baby blue eyes, so wide, so innocent, and so full of sorrow. They were the eyes of someone that had just learned the cruelty of the world. Logan’s breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t do it.
With a heavy sigh, Logan retracted his claws, the metallic hiss of them sliding back into his hands barely registering. He stepped closer to the cub, his movements slow and careful. The little creature hunched up in a defensive posture, its tiny claws swiping at the air in a futile attempt to protect itself. But Logan was too fast for it, and he easily scooped the cub into his arms, holding it gently despite its squirming and the sharp little swipes that barely grazed his skin. The cub wriggled in his grip, still trying to escape, but Logan was relentless. He lifted it up, his hands steady as he turned it over to check.
A boy.
He paused, holding the cub for a long moment, listening to its soft, frightened breathing. The thought of leaving it to die alone, of killing it, seemed impossible now. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Logan held the cub close, feeling its tiny body tremble against his chest. The poor thing shivered, but despite its fear, it instinctively leaned into the warmth he provided. His eyes flicked upward to the second cub, still up in the tree, watching him warily. Logan sighed and settled himself on the forest floor, not wanting to make any sudden movements that might scare the cub off. He knew he had to wait, give it time. The cub in the tree was too small to have much of a fight left in it, and eventually, it would come down.
While he waited, Logan’s mind shifted into problem-solving mode. He needed to figure out what to do next. He needed to get milk, at least one bottle to start, and probably some new clothes for himself, some blankets to keep them warm. Logan ran through a mental checklist, his mind calculating, prioritizing. There was a farm not too far down the mountains, maybe half a day’s jog if he moved quickly. He could steal some supplies there. The cubs would need to be carried; they were far too small to keep up with him, and Logan knew they wouldn’t follow him this early on, not trusting him.
When he glanced back at the cub in the tree, still perched high on the branch, Logan knew it would be a while before the little one came down. So, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. He moved over to the mother bear’s body, careful not to disturb the cub he was holding too much. The bear’s form was large and heavy, but Logan was strong enough to shove it slightly to the side. He placed the cub down gently next to the bear.
The cub squirmed, still cold and unsettled, trying to press up against the heat of Logan’s hands, but Logan kept a firm hold on its back. He pried open the cub’s mouth carefully, not wanting to cause it any harm. Then, with gentle hands, he guided the cub’s mouth toward one of the bear’s teats. The body was still warm to the touch, so Logan guessed he’d only been gone an hour or so. The milk would still be good for a little while longer. The cub hesitated at first, confused and hungry, but after a moment of resistance, it latched onto the teat, and Logan let out a quiet sigh of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
As he sat there, watching the cub drink, he let his mind drift back to the second cub in the tree. He could see it now, slowly starting to climb down. Logan’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t going to be easy; he had a lot to do, and the journey ahead would be tough. But for the first time in his memory, he had something to protect and care for. He wasn’t alone anymore.
Logan sat still, watching the cub nurse, the soft sounds of the him drinking calming the air around them. The weight of everything that had happened today, the violence and the decisions, was still hanging heavy on his shoulders, but in this moment, with the cub in his care, there was a flicker of peace. He looked down at the little creature, trying to focus on something positive, and found his thoughts drifting to something simple.
“I can't call you cub one and cub two, can I?” His voice, rough from the day’s exertions, startled the cub under his hand. Logan’s lips quirked into a faint smile, despite the overwhelming circumstances.
“I suppose I’ll have to name you,” Logan mused aloud as he looked to the nursing cub.
“Misha. It’s a strong name. I think it’ll suit you.” Logan gave the cub a gentle rub, his thumb smoothing over the soft fur, a quiet promise forming in his chest. Logan’s attention shifted as he heard a small rustle. The second cub was lower in the tree now, shivering in the cool evening air as the sun sank behind the mountains. Logan stood up slowly.
With a brief glance back at Misha, Logan quickly moved to the base of the tree, his movements swift and determined. The cub saw him coming and let out a small, desperate cry before scrambling to climb higher again, trying to get away. But Logan was faster. His hand shot out, catching the cub before it could make it any further up. The cub cried out again, its tiny claws scraping the bark as it was lifted into Logan’s arms. Logan didn’t flinch as he held the squirming cub close. The little creature’s body was warm, but its fear was palpable. It was frightened, confused, and still so young.
“Another boy,” Logan murmured, feeling the little one wriggle in his grip.
“Sasha,” Logan murmured softly, giving the second cub its name. The little one, newly dubbed, looked up at him with a defiant glint in his eyes and tried to bite Logan’s hand in protest. Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at the cub's feisty response, his grip tightening just enough to keep the tiny creature from causing any damage. With a gentle push, he placed Sasha next to Misha, making sure the two cubs were close together for warmth.
Logan pried Sasha’s mouth open just enough to get him to nurse. Sasha squirmed, pulling away and snapping at Logan’s hands with tiny, sharp milk teeth. The cub’s growls were soft but insistent, his fear and frustration apparent in the way he fought back. But it didn’t take long for Sasha to give up, hunger eventually overcoming his resistance. The cub’s little body shuddered with each suckle, and Logan felt a sense of quiet relief. Both cubs were feeding now.
Logan kept his hands gently on their backs, making sure they stayed close together, both for comfort and to help them stay warm. He watched them for a moment, feeling the weight of responsibility settle in. They were so small, so vulnerable, and here they were, depending on him for survival.
Logan knew that they couldn’t stay here much longer. The scent of the carcass would attract predators, and it wasn’t safe to stay in one place for too long. The danger was already present, but as the night sky darkened and the air grew colder, it was only going to get worse. The last thing he needed was to draw the attention of something bigger, something that would see the cubs as easy prey. Logan looked up at the canopy above, noting the way the last rays of the sun had disappeared, leaving the forest steeped in shadow. He could hear the sounds of the night creeping in, the rustling of leaves, the calls of distant animals, and he knew time was running out. They needed to move.
As the cubs continued to nurse, Logan quickly assessed his options. The farm he had thought of was a half-day’s jog away, but it was better than staying here. At least there, he could steal the needed supplies for the cubs. Misha and Sasha finished nursing, their tiny bodies growing heavy from the warmth and nourishment. Logan sat back and watched them for a moment, their small forms nestled against their mother’s body. Logan reached out and placed a gentle hand on the mother’s still side.
“I’m sorry. I’ll take good care of them, I promise.”
His shirt, already torn from the fight with the bear, was barely holding together, the fabric ragged and soaked in sweat and blood. But Logan quickly made use of what he had, tearing the shirt into strips with swift, practiced movements. With his strength and focus, he fashioned a makeshift sling, a simple but effective means to keep the cubs close to his chest. He carefully placed Misha and Sasha into the sling, making sure they were nestled against him, secure and warm. The cubs squirmed at first, but soon settled into the warmth, their small bodies calming against his.
Logan adjusted the sling carefully, ensuring the cubs were comfortable and stable before he stood up. He could feel their tiny weight against him, but it wasn’t an unwelcome burden. As he moved, he instinctively kept them close, adjusting his pace to accommodate their fragile size. Logan paused briefly, looking around to make sure no predators were lurking in the shadows. He felt exposed, vulnerable with the cubs in tow. His eyes scanned the trees, his senses on high alert before he set off. Step by step, he moved through the forest, the cool air biting at his skin. The cubs shifted occasionally in the sling, but they seemed content for now.
Logan’s eyes flicked from one shadow to another, every noise making his muscles tense, his heart rate picking up. The forest was alive with sound and it made him feel like he was being watched. He’d never been so nervous in the forest before, but now he had something small and helpless to protect. He pushed forward, the supplies he desperately needed were out there. He couldn’t stop now.
For Misha. For Sasha.
Present Day
Logan heard as Misha came out of the forest behind Sasha. Misha was bigger than Sasha, more imposing, but still the same gentle giant he’d always been. The massive bear sniffed at Logan, his warm breath brushing against Logan’s face before Misha licked him with a wide, slobbering tongue.
“Hey, boys. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Nearly a year.” Logan chuckled, scratching both grizzlies behind their ears. Misha settled in with a contented grunt, while Sasha, ever the more playful of the two, kept nudging his head against Logan’s arm, silently demanding more attention. Even now, at fifteen years old, the two bears still had their cub-like tendencies. Sasha's exuberance hadn’t faded with age. It was mostly Logan’s fault. At the age a mother bear would have chased them off, Logan hadn’t. Instead, he’d kept them close, treated them like cubs far longer than nature intended. And now, all these years later, here they were, his not-so-little cubs, still sticking around.
Eventually Logan had gone into small towns, earned some money cage fighting to buy small treats for his cubs, and in doing so had reentered human society. Logan wasn’t sure what urged him to eventually buy an old junker truck and a topper. He never wanted to leave the Rockies, the place where the air was clean and the mountains stood tall, timeless. But as his need to find jobs took him further and further away, Logan reluctantly adjusted. Misha and Sasha had become more used to him being gone for long stretches of time. They’d stayed in the cave Logan had set up for them. But one day, Logan came back from a trip, expecting to find the usual chaos of his two bears, only to find the cave empty.
For nearly a year and a half Logan had feared the worst, that Sasha and Misha had been killed by hunters or some other terrible fate had befallen them. It ate at him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. But then, just when he thought he had lost them for good, the brothers came back, strong, healthy, and as wild as ever. They’d moved on to better hunting territory further north, but come spring, they’d returned. It wasn’t common for bears to stay together past the typical age for separation, but Logan hadn’t minded. In a way, his decision to keep them close, to raise them differently than nature intended, had made them stay together. And Logan didn’t care if it was unnatural. They were his family.
Logan smiled as Sasha bit at his sleeve again, tugging at the fabric with that same playful determination. He shoved at Sasha’s side, laughing as the bear gave a low, contented growl, still trying to get more attention. Logan couldn’t help himself; the bond he had with these two was deeper than he could describe. Even with everything that had changed in his life, his connection with Misha and Sasha remained constant, unbreakable.
“Alright, alright,” Logan muttered, shaking his head with a grin. “You two never change.”
With that, he turned and began walking into the forest, the sound of their paws following him as they fell into step behind him. The day was peaceful, and for a few moments, Logan allowed himself to enjoy the serenity. Life had gotten more complicated in the past few years after joining the X-Men. The missions, the responsibilities, the constant shifting of his life, it all weighed heavily on him. But moments like this, when he could escape into the wilds with his cubs, reminded him that no matter where he went or how far he strayed, he had a home out here.