A/N: A Reboot, if you will, of my Xmen story. Wanted it to fall more in line with the Movie Canon, ever since Days of Future Past and it's sequels came out. Still taking some creative freedom with some characters that haven't quite been revealed but have been implied in the Cinematic Universe.

Spoiler Alert

This story is my take of what the untitled "The Wolverine" movie sequel may be about, based on the Post Credit scene from X-Men: Apocalypse. If you haven't watched the movie, be prepared for some info in this story that may act as a spoiler down the line.

The first thing to alert him was sunlight.

He blinked hard without opening his eyes. Something didn't feel quite right. It wasn't the sunlight that was bothering him, or the comfortable softness under him, or even the sheets draped over him. He was supposed to be somewhere...

He opened his eyes and what met his sight was some sort of futuristic alarm clock. Apparently, he must have slept right through it, because he never remembered waking up that late.

Then it hit him.

He was supposed to be drowning.

Shooting up from his prone position almost immediately, he looked around wildly, attempting to understand where he was. Unfortunately, his vision was still a bit jumbled and free flowing, as if his mind was trying to recreate the body of water that by all rights he should be floating in right about now. The room's motif, the little he could see, was mostly of wood, oak probably, from the smooth design. Was this the Xavier mansion? Standing up from the bed, he instantly regretted his decision. The floor seemed to suddenly want to meet his face and he stumbled around, gripping the corner of a dresser across from him. He looked behind him to see the bed with a window to the right of it, it's blinds still closed. The opposite side of the bed was bordered by a small dresser with that futuristic clock he'd spotted moments ago. He blinked, as if seeing the room for the first time.

Perhaps he was. He turned his head back to the front, seeing the much larger dresser again with the closed door to the right. And the dresser had a mirror.

Was that him?

"Huh..." he muttered, taking in his reflection. For the most part, he looked about the same as the last time he'd looked into a mirror, except his hair just above his sideburns on either side were streaked with gray, as if to show he'd aged a bit. His hair was also cut just the slightest bit shorter than he remembered. Other than that though, his face looked largely unchanged. He glided a finger over the horizontal stripe of gray hair, not having seen gray in his hair since the...Well before everything that happened. The gray streaks in his hair must mean he was...

A noise outside the room caused him to start.

...

Right. He was in the Mansion. Of course there'd be large crowds of people here.

Swallowing, Logan gave himself a cursory glance to make sure he was decent. A dark hued green shirt and jeans. He nodded to himself and turned the handle.

Even with all of his mental preparation, everything seemed to awe him somehow. To his left, down the hall, he saw two teenagers just short of the next corner. It was Rogue. And was that Bobby? With a beard? At the moment, Logan didn't care if he looked like a deer caught in headlights. He stared at the oblivious couple as if trying to commit their faces to memory one last time. But that wouldn't be necessary, right?

Rogue turned her head just so in his direction, smiling at him in greeting. Bobby noticed her shift in attention, and silently greeted Logan as well, a grin on his face before they began to turn the corner that they were standing next to.

Deciding not to look any more awkward from where he stood, he stepped out of his room into the rather busy hallway, weaving through throngs of students, realizing that he'd never met a lot of these children and teenagers before. Or at least he thought he didn't.

He wandered off in the direction that Rogue and Bobby disappeared, vaguely taking note of the classrooms. He saw Kitty teaching a class in one room, standing next to a rather tall man, whom he remembered to be named Peter.

"Morning Logan. Late start?" came a disembodied question from behind him. He turned his head and saw Beast, complete with suit and glasses walking past him, a laugh coming from him as he took in Logan's disheveled appearance.

Wolverine's jaw couldn't drop any further, as if seeing ghosts everywhere he turned.

He continued down the hall, pondering, until he came to a small flight of stairs, remembering that Charles Xavier's office was on that floor.

Even on the lower floor, students were everywhere, and a flash of white hair immediately grabbed his attention. She was leading some students to their next class. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen everyone so happy.

"Storm..." he said to himself. Saying it aloud almost felt like a confirmation that all of this was real. He didn't remove his gaze until she moved out of his line of sight.

Still taking in everything as if seeing it for the first time, he began to make his way towards the office when he saw the woman leaning on the doorframe leading into it.

It couldn't be her...could it?

He stopped in his tracks, just staring at her. It was the same woman that haunted his dreams during his journey in Japan. The one that kept him company beyond the grave until he finally learned to let go.

And here she was, in the flesh.

It was her. He resumed his walk, slowing down considerably as he neared her, as if afraid any sudden movements would break this illusion.

"Jean," he found himself saying unconsciously.

Logan wasn't sure if it was his footsteps or his voice, but she sensed his presence and had turned to face him.

"Hey, Logan," she greeted, a smile playing on her face.

At the risk of sounding like some hopeless romantic, he had to admit that she looked even more beautiful than he remembered. Oddly, the woman's hair seemed a darker tint of red than it should have been. But it was only a fleeting thought. Perhaps, because it had been so long since he'd seen her, his memory of her wasn't completely accurate.

"Jean," he began, he was arm's length from her. Already, he could smell her faint scent, some kind of soft mix of cinnamon and nutmeg, and the rest of his sentence died in his throat. He wasn't sure anything he could say would convey how much he'd missed her.

Concern crossed her features at Logan's awkward pause. "Are you okay?" she waited for Logan to say anything but he continued to stare at her as if he'd seen a ghost.

"You're here," he breathed, that far away look still in his eyes.

"Where else would I be," she retorted, amused at the man's seemingly out of character demeanor.

The smile that played on her lips left him speechless again. Almost unthinkingly, he slowly reached for the strands of hair cascading down the side of her face.

"Woah!"

A hand gripped his wrist before he could touch her fiery hair, turning his head to the source of the voice.

"Easy, pal," Scott said with an amicable expression, a hidden warning behind it.

Logan couldn't help but let loose a small chuckle that sounded more like an exhale. "Well, some things never change," he said, as if in on some inside joke and lowered his arm.

With the same arm, he clapped Scott on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Scott."

Scott glanced down at his shoulder, then back at Logan, a bit put off by his strange behavior. He shared a questioning glance with Jean, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"Uh-huh. See you later, Jean," Scott said, nodding to the both of them and making his way up the stairs Logan had just come from. Logan watched him go momentarily before turning back around, spotting the man he'd come to talk to.

"Professor," he said, almost in a daze. He looked almost exactly as he'd remembered, except he didn't look as weathered or weary before he had been sent back in time. That must mean this was the present, he figured.

"Logan."

He turned to face Jean again, almost forgetting that she was still standing next to him. This time, he made a conscious effort not to reach for her, at least to just touch her hair, although it was difficult.

"Is everything alright?"

Anyone else would probably be content to say yes and leave it at that, but for him, it was such a loaded question. But seeing her alive and well...

"Yeah," he said somewhat lamely after a pregnant pause. "Yeah, I think it is," he added, looking back towards the professor, partially to distract himself from looking at Jean. If he stared at her any longer, he'd probably do something stupid.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she smiled softly, making her way towards the stairs. He didn't take his eyes off her until he couldn't see her anymore. Looking back towards the office, he thought on how to approach the professor with his questions. Apparently, this had to be present day, but he could easily tell that he'd missed out on a lot, to say the least. He nodded to himself. He'd have to just go in there and ask him. He wasn't really one to beat around the bush.

He stepped inside, stopping short once inside.

"You did it," he announced.

The professor, who was reading a book behind his desk, saved his page with a bookmark, before dropping it unceremoniously on the desk.

"Did what?" he asked, sounding almost...annoyed? "Logan, don't you have a class to teach?"

As he was about to answer, he realized that Charles was floating sideways until he realized why.

"A-a class," Logan nearly stuttered, staring at Chuck's wheel-no, hover chair? "to...teach?" he finished, not even remembering what he'd just said.

"Ah, History," Charles said with a nod, as he hovered nearer. Logan was having trouble keeping his eyes off of the floating chair. It was definitely a sight he'd have to get used to. Then he realized what the professor said.

"History?" Logan repeated, nodding slowly to himself. He looked down, thinking of how to word what he wanted to say. "Actually, I could use some help with that."

"Help with what?"

"Eh, pretty much everything after 1973," he answered, waiting for the professor's response.

If he was honest with himself, he never would have thought he'd see Charles struck speechless like that before. He'd even had to collect himself with a breath.

Charles didn't say anything else, so he took that as cue to continue.

"I think the history I know is a little different."

"Welcome back," Charles greeted, realization dawning on his face.

Then Logan could tell, this was the same Charles that he'd left in 1973. The one who aspired to create this school for mutants, and here Logan was, standing right in the middle of it.

"It's good to see you Charles. It's good to see everyone," he said, those words holding a special meaning to him that no one else would ever realize.

Charles smiled. "Well, I had a promise to keep." They both knew that Charles didn't need to read his mind to know what he was referring to. Logan couldn't help but return the smile, as if he was visiting an old friend. And in a sense, it was the truth.

"You and I have a lot of catching up to do."

"Yeah," was the only thing Logan could think of in response.

"Please, have a seat Logan," Charles insisted, hovering, with the help of his chair, back to his desk. Logan followed and took a seat opposite the professor. Charles rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Logan blinked once, thinking about how he felt this morning. That sinking feeling, the water, all the foreign metal that dragged him down into that abyss.

"Drowning."