ultraviolence

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?!”

Logan growls, shoving me so hard I go stumbling back, tripping over the coffee table. The thing cracks under my weight like nothing.

Sknit.

And there it is—the sound. The sweet, sweet noise of Wolverine’s claws sliding out. It’s like a climax building up, but way less fun. It sends a chill up my spine, and I still have a spine, so... maybe I can still fix this.

For a split second, silence. The only sound is me trying to catch my breath through the agony in my back, caused by, y'know, gravity, and maybe Logan’s brute force. But that pain? It fades quicker than a high school relationship. Regen, babes. Here he comes, stomping closer like he's ready to unleash every emotional issue he’s been bottling up for the last few decades. Worse than in the Honda Odyssey, people.

My eyes widen through the mask and…

~Alright, hold up—before we get all dramatic, pause on this...

I know what you're thinking: this story hasn't even started and they're already having rough, passionate, bloody, enraged, questionable, violent—I could keep going— sex? Ha. You wish. I wish, too.

Excusez-moi, it’s my first time breaking the forth wall in a poorly written fanfiction and i’m kinda nervous, don’t judge.

Yeah, this is one of those “time freezes, and I get to do my monologue and tell you how exactly I ended up in this situation” moments.

It’s a Deadpool thing.

You’ve seen it before.

You get it.

So, picture this, okay?

There I am, on the floor, flat on my ass like a pro. Coffee table flipped over behind my back. Pizza boxes—almost empty—littering the battlefield. Beer bottles rolling around like they’ve got a mind of their own. And the best part? A slice of pepperoni pizza, just gracefully splattered across my mask from the impact. Naturally, the side with the sauce hits me. Of course. Of course it’s the side with the sauce.

And then there’s Logan. The brooding, misunderstood Wolverine. The worst Wolverine.

Mybest Wolverine.

Or, as I like to call him, “The Best Wolverine™️” (because let’s be real, who else could pull off grumpy but still somehow lovable?). His veins are popping out of his arms like they’ve been waiting for this moment, his muscles hardened like my very own crotch as I recall this image in my head, and his claws? They’re out, baby. I swear to God, I’m soaking wet right now.

But wait—here’s the kicker.

His eyes. Logan’s eyes. You’d think he just saw a kitten in danger. Or maybe an entire stack of his beer bottles just… disappear. I don't know, but they’re wet. Not crying, not exactly—Logan's not that guy—but definitely a little… moist. And now I’m feeling all bad about what I’ve done to his cold, angsty soul.

So yeah. Me. The Merc with a Mouth. The only guy who can piss off Wolverine to a point where his eyes go red. And I’ve somehow managed to make him… sad. Sad! Not angry. Not raging. Not about to slice my face off like it’s his Tuesday evening hobby —Spoiler: it is—

(Well, actually, it’s all of the above. But let’s just pretend for a second his beautiful kitty cat eyes are all that matters right now.)

No. The Wolverine is all mopey and staring down at me like I just crushed his little heart. I have officially made him all teary-eyed and emotional. Great. Perfect. Wonderful.

And let me just reiterate: Me. The guy who’s usually too busy cracking wise to notice the emotional wreckage I’m leaving behind, who can never tell when it’s time to shut up. I—Deadpool—have somehow found a way to make Wolverine's cold, grumpy little heart go all blue. Can we just... pause here for a second and realize what a masterpiece I am?

I think I just broke Deadpool’s Law. And this wasn’t on my 2025 Bingo Card. Am I right, Gen Z-ers? No? Okay…

Anyway, yes. Let me tell you exactly how I’ve gotten in this situation, and to do that, we’re gonna need to write this like the fucking Shakespeare of fanfiction would. Third person, unnecessary details and everything.

Since I’m not fluent in fanfinglish, I’ll hand it all to the high teenager who’s writing this. But hey, don’t get all judgey if I drop some comments along the way. It’s just what I do, alright? Sue me.

(Actually please don’t, I can’t afford a lawyer right now. Ask Logan.)

Let’s begin from the start.~

Wade was starting to get used to Logan’s presence in his apartment. Who am I fooling? He started getting used to it the moment Logan first stepped inside and met Blind Al.

Hell, he was even ready to see Mary Puppins lick Althea’s old face like it wasn’t the most horrifying thing he’d ever seen—second only to his own reflection in the mirror. ~Ouch. (Mask off, of course.) ~Double ouch.

If all of it meant his house was finally going to feel like a home, then so be it.

And for an undefined period, it actually did feel like that.

He knew Logan would eventually have to leave and find a place of his own. But as long as that conversation hadn’t come up yet, he was going to be just fine.

Since the first night, Logan decided he was going to sleep on the couch. Wade had offered his spot on the bed, but “Wolvie” wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of sleeping next to an old, blind, cocaine-addicted woman every night. He much preferred being closer to the fridge, where he could grab a beer in the middle of the night when sleep eluded him—which, let’s face it, was always.

There were times when both Wade and Logan couldn’t keep their eyes closed—especially after all the shit they’d been through—and they’d inevitably run into each other in the kitchen. But while Logan would open the fridge for his beer, Wade would be there for the candies Blind Al didn’t know were hidden or occasionally for a slice of cake or leftover pizza.

Logan could always hear when Wade was in the kitchen: the crinkling of food packages and Wade mumbling incomprehensible things to himself. Sometimes Wade would even wander over to the couch, call Logan’s name in the hope he’d wake up and listen to his late-night ramblings. But every time, Logan pretended to be asleep. ~Asshole.

Not this time though.

Logan jolted awake, like he'd been stabbed in the chest. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps.

“Jean… Scott…” The names escaped his lips, barely a whisper.

He sat up on the couch, his body still trembling, the weight of the dream pressing on him like a vice. His fingers instinctively gripped his shirt over his chest, the phantom pain from the nightmare still lingering, a relentless reminder of his guilt.

His heart pounded, every beat echoing through his veins, drowning out the silence of the night. The moonlight poured in through the window, casting a cold glow that seemed to cut through the shadows. Sweat dripped down his forehead as his hand flew to the back of his neck, rubbing away the tension that had built up there. ~I told you, unnecessary details!

He couldn't stay still. The suffocating pressure of his own thoughts made it impossible to relax. For a moment, when his eyes had snapped open, he could’ve sworn he saw Jean’s face, the faintest glimmer of her in the darkness.

With a grunt, he pushed himself off the couch and stumbled toward the kitchen.

His mind roared with the same guilt that gnawed at him every day, louder than Wade’s endless banter.

“Hey, peanut.”

Speak of the devil.

Logan’s eyes flicked to Wade’s silhouette in the dim light, his figure slouched, probably scarfing down some greasy leftover fast food that could’ve been sitting there for days.

Without a word, Logan yanked open the fridge and grabbed his beer.

“Another nightmare?” Wade’s voice was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity there.

Logan didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, he grunted like a dog.

He cracked the bottle open with his teeth ~really hot if you ask me, he turned, stalking back to the couch in silence, as if hoping the moment would just pass.

“Oh, come on! When are you gonna talk to me?” Wade groaned, clearly annoyed.

“Will you shut up? It’s late, and I wanna sleep.” Logan’s voice was rough, a sharp edge to it as he slumped back onto the couch, the beer in his hand.

He took a long sip before adding, “And Blind Al ain’t Deaf. You keep yelling like that, you’ll wake her up.”

Wade didn’t back off. He quickly followed Logan, then hesitated at the edge of the couch, uncertain whether to sit beside him. After a moment, he just went for it.

“I just wanna know what keeps you up at night.” Wade said, his voice lighter than the question.

Logan groaned in frustration, clearly irritated. “Why the hell would you wanna know that?”

Wade shrugged dramatically, his expression equal parts mischievous and earnest. “Just—because!” He pauses. “And… I wanna know if it’s the same stuff that keeps me up too.”

Logan didn’t even flinch. “Couldn’t be.” he muttered, his voice cold as he took another long pull from the beer.

“Then what is it?” Wade pressed.

Logan rolled his eyes, taking another sip before answering, his tone even more dismissive. “Same ol’ stuff, bub. Nothing ever changes.”

A strange sound escaped his throat, one Wade didn’t quite expect—like a chuckle, but hollow, desperate. Logan’s lips barely twitched, but the humor was all gone.

“I mean—” Logan started, his voice softer now, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “Wouldn’t you have nightmares if you were responsible for the death of everyone you’ve ever loved?”

'Okay, it's happening, he's letting it all out now,' Wade thought.

"Okay... how about we take that beer out of your hand now?" Wade reached over, but Logan swiftly moved his arm away.

"Like I could actually get drunk. I'd need a ton of these."

Silence filled the room as Wade fidgeted with his fingers and his Hello Kitty pajama pants. ~I was gonna die if he didn’t mention this.

"You know, what happened, in your universe—it's not your fault. You couldn't have known—"

"Okay, bub." Logan snapped, cutting him off. His eyes widened, his expression a clear warning—one more word and he might explode.

Wade glanced around nervously, searching for the right words. He couldn't explain why, but he felt compelled to comfort Logan—something in the man's body language screamed ‘I am in desperate need for comfort but I'm too proud and grumpy to admit it.’ And Wade actually didn’t want to mess things up by saying something stupid. At least for now.

"You know..." Wade then started his endless banter. At first, Logan rubbed his forehead in despair—another blabbering voice in his head was the last thing he needed. But then Wade's voice almost soothed Logan's brain; all those things Wade had to say, half of which Logan couldn't even comprehend, were making him forget exactly what he wanted to.

Wade started talking about his own adventures, particularly with X-Force.

Logan snorted at the name, almost a chuckle.

"X-Force? Seriously?" Logan’s entertainment only encouraged Wade to continue.

He launched into the story of how Cable saved his life, how Wade wanted to save the kid, Russel– from his dark fate.

And about that restraining collar that was meant to end his fucked up life when he wore it as a sacrifice.

It was meant to free him from his un-earthly burdens through death.

~Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking - "Hey… my old men yaoi fanfiction just took a dark twist!" Well, newsflash: your friendly neighborhood Deadpool wasn't always so... friendly. Or neighborly—Besides, you’ve read the tags before opening this. Look, wanting to die was kind of my thing back then. Would the world have missed me? Probably- I mean, who else would keep the chimichanga industry afloat? But without Vanessa... life just hit different. And not in the good way. I just didn’t think it was worth liv—Oh my god—You already know this shit! You saw it!

But Logan did not.

“Seven? Just seven?” Logan muttered, his eyebrow twitching as he took a long gulp of his beer. He was half-amused, half-confused. “That was the password? You really expect me to believe that?”

It was just seven, the code to unlock that damned collar. ~Let me tell ya it wasn’t just Domino’s luck but actually lazy writing.

“I swear!” Wade said, practically vibrating with excitement. He shuffled closer. “The collar was supposed to take away my powers… kinda like ‘resetting’ my mutation, y'know? It didn’t fix my ugly mug, but it made me mortal again. And—bonus round—it brought back the cancer. Talk about a twisted gift, huh?”

Logan turned his head slowly, his expression blank as he set the beer down on the table with a quiet clink.

“Cancer? You had cancer?” Logan asked with a low voice and narrowed eyes.

“I have cancer. It's in my cells, constantly regenerating. It's a nice little forever gift that keeps on giving—except it can’t really develop, because, well, I’m me. But throw on that collar those freaks built, and all of a sudden, the cancer’s free to do its thing again. Isn’t that just sweet?” Wade said, his tone oddly matter-of-fact, yet laced with bitterness.

Logan stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the words sinking in. He wasn’t sure why, but Wade's tone was different—serious, even. It was... unsettling.

“Cancer... and you just threw that thing on without even blinking?”

Wade's face softened, but only for a second. “At the time? Yeah. I had a life to save, and a little thing called a sacrifice to make.” Wade’s eyes flickered away, somewhere far off.

Logan’s brow furrowed, still processing. Sacrifice? He thought.

“I know, right?” He said, almost as he could hear Logan’s thoughts. “But seriously, I thought I was done. I wanted to die, didn’t really care how it happened. Felt like God was giving me the perfect tool to pull it off after all my failed attempts. Of course, it didn’t work out that way.” He shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was supposed to die, but when I actually kicked it for a second? Nessa said it wasn’t my time, and well... I guess fate had other plans."

Logan’s eyes hardened. “Hold on.” He paused, trying to make sense of it all. “You tried to… kill yourself before?”

Wade let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes as if the answer were obvious. “Look at me, Logan. Who wouldn't? I tried everything, made myself explode, jumped off a skyscraper, hell, I even got eaten by a bear, nothing worked. But seriously... it’s a bit more complicated than that. I felt guilty as hell. Thought I was the one who got Nessa killed. I dragged her into all my crap. When she died… I lost it. God, I even hugged the bastard who killed her before I got us run over by a damn bus. He didn’t survive. Guess who did? Me. So, yeah... I was the last one left to punish."

Logan stared at him, taking it all in, a strange understanding creeping into his chest. Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

Silence filled the room for a few minutes.

"Then they got Cable's damn gadget working, and I used it to come back. To save her. To save all of 'em."

Wade’s head turned to face Logan’s.

"And that's why I needed you. Couldn't risk losing them again."

Logan remained silent, his gaze fixed ahead, processing Wade's words. He took the beer back in his hand, taking another swig, the bottle cool against his palm.

Hell, he knew Deadpool was reckless—he'd seen it firsthand. But this? This was different. Wade was carrying a weight, a burden that Logan hadn't fully grasped until now.

Now… now that he thought about it, Wade had been ready to sacrifice everything for people he cared about. For a world he wanted to save. Logan couldn't help but wonder—did that world include him? Was he part of the equation? Why was he even asking himself that question?

Wade had thrown himself into that chamber to fix his universe—a universe that could've been Logan's to save, had he chosen to. The bastard had struck him in the head and shoved him out without a second thought. Even after all he'd done to save his world, Wade was ready to leave it behind—as long as he knew it was safe—just so Logan could finally have the life he deserved. It’s not like Logan wasn’t aware of it, he saw it with his own eyes.

But maybe he didn’t think of it as much as he should have.

"Honestly, Peanut, I have no idea why I’m telling you this—" Wade said, pushing himself up from the couch.

His movement stopped when he felt Logan’s hand on his arm, a firm pressure pulling him back down.

"Ooh, look at that, Wolvie wants me to stay. Getting all clingy on me?" Wade grinned, but the only response was the heavy silence in the room.

Wade, despite his usual need to fill every quiet moment with nonsense, actually tried to respect that silence. It... wasn’t the worst.

Maybe this—whatever this is—was exactly what they both needed.

Then, as the minutes stretch on, Wade finally notices that Logan's silence wasn’t some deep, introspective moment. It was just him falling asleep, hand still gripping his arm, pulling him back against his side.

Wade wasn’t exactly sure how to react. It’s not like Logan was the type to want anyone this close. Especially Deadpool.

But when Wade noticed Logan’s hand still loosely wrapped around his arm, he didn’t pull away. He stayed there, uncomfortably still, listening to his grumpy friend snore faintly.

Wade tried to ignore the way his chest felt a little too tight, the way the silence pressed down on him, or the way his heartbeat quickened. Eventually, he let his eyes slip closed too, the quiet sounds lulling him into sleep.