Logan thinks of them often, all the people he’s killed.
He thinks about them when the sun rudely wakes him up in the morning, annoying his sensitive eyes as it invades through Wade’s broken blinds. They really need to replace those.
He thinks about them when he drags himself out of bed and to the bathroom, gripping the sides of the sink and fighting the urge to have a drink. He should at least wait for Wade to get up first so somebody’s there to stop him from binging. Common decency. A compromise.
He thinks about them when Wade finally does get up and makes them a fuck-ton of coffee before Logan can rip open the liquor cabinet. Logan is more patient with Wade now, though he’s not sure how or why, and he tries to listen when Wade talks himself awake. They sip the scalding hot coffee because they both like the burn on their tongues. Different from alcohol but still good.
Logan tries not to think about them when Wade’s friends come over, but he always does. He takes his spot in the recliner chair in the corner to observe the casual conversation, the laughs and giggles, the quality time, and he feels like an outsider. His weak attempt to justify it is the thirst for vengeance from the people he’s killed. They wouldn’t want him to be included or have a family. They wanted to live, and Logan took that away. The least he can do is suffer.
The rational part of him knows that isn’t true, though. Maybe for some of them. The innocent bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time; the young soldiers determined to protect their country, maybe make a name for themselves; the others, the ones whose faces have blurred over the years, forgotten.
Maybe they’d want him to suffer, but Logan knows, he knows, the X-Men wouldn’t.
Scott wouldn’t let him sit and wallow when there were people around him who cared. He’d made that very clear in the past.
Jean would pull him aside, sit him down, and ask what’s wrong, trying to peel back those walls he worked so hard to fortify. She’d be so direct and yet so kind with her words just like she was with the kids—with everyone.
Ororo would try to empathize with him in a way that was too unfamiliar for him, the eternal soldier, the indestructible weapon, the Wolverine. But Storm, Mistress of the Elements, had so much control over her own presence, and she’d find a way to reach out to him, even if Logan couldn’t understand it.
Hank would give him a speech, maybe a packet or two of research he’d collected to try and help. Kurt would take him out drinking, maybe out fighting to blow off some steam and have fun. Rogue and the kids would try to rope him into some stupid game. And Chuck—
“All good over there, peanut?” Wade’s voice shoots through Logan’s brain fog, dragging him back into the land of the living. There are eyes on him, too many, and he feels disgusting. He feels like shredding his skin off with his claws and really giving them something to stare at. He wants to run, but Wade’s voice comes through again, light and warm and silly. “Earth to Wolvie! Off topic but I must say your eyes are gorgeous when you zone out, babe. They get all glossy and cute, those enchanting orbs of yours.”
“Leave him alone, you shithead,” Ellie scoffs, lifting her head from Yukio’s shoulder to flick the back of Wade’s bald head. He sits on the floor in front of the couch with an absurdly large bowl of jelly beans in his lap. Yukio happily steals a handful while Wade whines.
“I’m so happy you two gruffy fucks have formed an alliance,” Wade grumbles, “but super seriously back off. He’s my Wolverine. I put a lot of time and energy into taming him, and that’s not counting the $200 million it cost to make the movie. I plan on keeping him until he inevitably finds a way to kill me for realsies, so Wolvie’s leash is in my hands until further notice and nobody speaks for him besides me.”
Ellie grimaces. “You’re such a weirdo. If you tell me any more about the fucked up freaky shit you do in your freetime, I’m going to kill myself.”
“She’s joking,” Yukio chimes in, sorting her jelly beans by color in her lap and handing Colossus all the purple ones.
“I’m not joking,” Ellie says. “Someone will die.”
“Fine, fine!” Wade huffs. “Sorry, Logie, I got sidetracked by this evil goth lesbian trying to make me join her Mana Sama cult. How’re you doing, big guy?”
“Fuckin’ fine,” Logan grumbles. “I have a headache and you’re makin’ it worse.”
Vanessa, who’s on the floor beside Wade, high off the brownies she shared with him half an hour, tilts her head and squints at Logan. “A headache?” she echoes. “From what?”
“From Wade’s dumbass,” Logan says. “He’s annoying.”
Vanessa grins. “You’re a bad liar.”
Wade elbows her and shushes her in a fake whisper-voice. “We know he’s a bad liar, Ness, but we’re not supposed to let him know we know. It disrupts the sexual tension.”
“There’s no sexual tension,” Logan snaps. “Shut up or I really will find a way to kill you.”
“Oh, buddy,” Wade says, clutching his heart dramatically, “you’ve got me quaking in my Crocs. If I had a nickel for every time you’ve threatened to shut me up, I’d have… oh, at least five bucks. Enough to buy more jelly beans.” He grins, tossing a red one into the air and catching it in his mouth. “Ha, you thought I was gonna reference that Pheneas and Ferb scene, didn’t you? Sorry, I’m an 80s baby. Disney XD is past my time.”
“You’re not helping,” Vanessa teases, elbowing Wade’s side as she rests her chin on her knees. She turns back to Logan, her gaze softer now. “Seriously, though, you okay? You’ve been zoning out a lot today.”
Logan shifts in his seat, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “I’m fine,” he growls, though it lacks his usual bite. He doesn’t have the heart to lash out at Wade’s ex-fiance/best friend, especially not when she’s still coming down from a high and actively trying to make sure he’s not going to lose it. “You all talk too much, that’s all.”
“Classic avoidance,” Vanessa mutters, earning a laugh from Yukio and a nod of agreement from Ellie. Logan glares at them, but Wade’s grin triples, an imaginary light bulb shining over his stupid bald head.
“Hey, if you’re gonna brood, at least let me do it with you. Misery loves company, and I’ve got like a million cool stories that all involve someone tragically dying.”
Logan scowls, but it’s half-hearted at best. He feels Wade’s eyes on him—earnest for once, no jokes or snide remarks. It’s almost worse than the teasing.
Before Logan can retort, Colossus jumps in, the sound almost comically deep. “How about we tell story of Cable and Russell? That was considerably miserable.”
“Oh my god,” Ellie mutters, slapping her hands over her face. “Here we go again.”
Wade looks scandalized, clutching his bowl of jelly beans closer. “Excuse you, ‘Sonic! My second movie was a wonderful continuation of my personal franchise! Comedy, action, drama, romance, and $824 million in the box office! How many movies have you got, huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Ignoring him, Colossus turns to Logan. “Do you know about Cable?” he asks curiously.
Logan raises an eyebrow, suspicious. “What cable?”
“Apparently he’s a time traveller,” Vanessa mocks. “I never met him. I was dead.”
“You were what?!”
“She was dead,” Wade repeats much too casually, patting Logan’s knee. “Do keep up, sweetheart.”
“I told you not to fuckin’ call me that.”
“Sorry not sorry, Reese’s.”
“Whatever,” Logan huffs. “What’s so special about this Cable guy? Should I know him?”
“No,” Ellie says, “but you’re gonna know him anyway because Colossus always re-tells the story every time the group gets together.”
“It is not every time,” Colossus pouts. Yukio giggles and steals some more jelly beans from Wade. The bowl is halfway empty now.
“I’ve heard it enough that I feel like I was there,” Vanessa says.
“Just tell me the damn story,” Logan grumbles.
Colossus grins. “It begins with Wade failing to commit suicide, though not for lack of trying.”
“That is literally the worst place to start,” Wade cuts in. “You’re making me sound like some depressed teenager in the early 2000s. Didn’t I already tell you guys I’m an 80s baby? We didn’t have My Chemical Romance back then. Just New Kids On The Block and whatever the hell Prince was up to. Positive connotation, of course.”
“Fine, fine,” Colossus sighs. “Then we start with Russell.”
“Who’s Russell?” Logan asks.
“A young orphaned mutant,” Colossus replies. “Wade, Ellie, and I were called to respond to a standoff between Russell and local authorities at an orphanage owned by the Essex Corporation.”
“Bad, bad people,” Wade stage-whispers. “Reallyyyy bad people.”
“Wade murdered one of the staff members and required restraining,” Colossus went on. “He and Russell were arrested and taken to Ice Box.”
“Ice Box?” Logan echoes, brows furrowed.
“An isolated prison for mutant criminals,” Ellie explains. “They’ve got these special collars that suppress mutations and mutate powers.”
“And if you did not know,” Colossus adds, “Wade has cancer. Without healing ability, he is just puddle of cancer.”
Wade scoffs. “Wow, you really know how to make a girl blush, Stefan.”
“Apologies, my friend,” Colossus says. “I must be honest. You are just sickness without your power.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong, but that doesn’t mean you’re not also a dick.”
“Just keep going,” Logan cuts in.
“That’s what she said.”
Logan snarls at him. “Wade, I will castrate you. Shut the fuck up.”
Wade just giggles.
“Anyway,” Colossus says, “Wade escapes prison because time travelling man Cable hunts down Russell, planning to kill him before he kills someone else and becomes serial killer. Skipping boring part about useless rip off X-Men, Wade accepts Cable's offer to help track down Russell on the condition that Cable gives him a chance to change Russell's mind. Very heroic, very honorable.”
“You’re lucky Domino isn’t here right now,” Ellie laughs. “She’d kick your ass for that.”
Colossus rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores her. “I join them at orphanage, take on Juggernaut with bare hands. I do not approve of Wade’s murder, but I prioritize. Meanwhile, Wade fails to calm Russell and Cable must shoot. However! Wade jumps in front of Russell and takes bullet for himself, still wearing collar from Ice Box! His sacrifice changes Russell’s mind, as well Cable’s, and Cable uses time-travel powers to grant us happily ever after. Wade is saved, Vanessa and Not-X-Men are revived, and Russell is spared. He now attends Xavier’s School with other angry, parentless mutant children.”
The discussion bubbles into something about the student body at the X-Mansion, how not all of them are angry and/or parentless. And Logan wishes he could pay attention, but after hearing about the mutant-repressing collar, there’s nothing else he can think about. Not Wade, not Wade’s friends, not even the people he’s killed that usually haunt the corners of his vision.
If he had a collar like that, he could get drunk for real, for cheap.
He could kill himself, if he really wanted to.
Sometimes, though less than before Wade entered his life, Logan really wants to.
He doesn’t say much as the conversation rolls onward. The others don’t seem to notice or care about his quietness, but Logan catches Vanessa watching him out of the corner of her eye, her brows furrowing slightly.
Eventually, the gathering begins to break apart. Ellie and Yukio leave first, Yukio waving cheerfully while Eliie just nods, pulling her girlfriend along. Colossus follows not long after, leaving with a reminder to Wade about avoiding drugs and murder—which Wade responds with “Gotta pick one, man.”
Vanessa lingers, moves to the couch with her feet tucked under her thighs. Logan can feel her gaze as Wade bustles around, collecting empty snack bowls and humming some off-key pop song. She came down from her high not too long ago, but the redness around her eyes is still present. As for her blatant staring and deciphering, Logan can’t tell if that’s a drug thing or a personality thing.
Logan stands, stretches, and mutters something about getting fresh air. Wade waves him off distractedly, already digging through the cabinet for another bag of jelly beans. Vanessa doesn’t say anything as Logan grabs his jacket and heads for the door, but he knows she’s still watching.
Her gaze feels a lot like Kayla’s did.
He leaves as quickly as he can without being suspicious.
The Ice Box isn’t hard to find if you know who to ask, and in roughly 200 years of living, Logan’s learned a thing or two. Wade’s universe isn’t all that different from his own, after all. Just fresher scars.
The approach is quiet. Snow piles against the jagged concrete, and the wind howls through gaping holes in the structure like a wounded animal. The air here is sharp and cold, the kind that bites, and the long transport tunnels leading to the entrance are empty, save for the debris left behind: twisted metal, shattered glass, and faint scorch marks where explosions had gutted parts of the facility. Logan picks his way through the perimeter easily. No alarms blare. No guards shout. Apparently Wade and that time-travelling prick really screwed this place up. It’s completely shut down.
Inside, the devastation is even clearer. The sleek walkways that once lined the upper levels of the prison sag dangerously, several of them collapsed under the weight of their destruction. Cells that had been neatly stacked in precise tiers now hang open like broken jaws, their contents long since looted or destroyed. The massive communal space is scattered with overturned tables and chairs. More scorch marks and a decent amount of crusted blood.
Logan moves carefully, claws out and every sense on high alert. Every creak of the metal grates underfoot feels like a warning, but he presses forward. Cool, jagged slabs of melted metal gleam dully in the faint natural light, sharp edges sticking up like cruel teeth. Cracked concrete lies in uneven chunks, and shreds of fabric—once uniforms, now filthy and torn—are scattered among the wreckage. Deeper in, the fabric clings to corpses who couldn’t make it out in time.
He finds what he’s looking for on the corpses: collars.
The rusty acrid scent hurts to breathe in, and Logan wonders what the hell it is. Burnt wiring, maybe, or chemicals spilled during the chaos. He ducks under it as he crouches down, examining the rotting remains of a mutant prisoner. The black-ish blue of their decayed skin brings up pinprick memories of fuzzy doctors and teleporting best friends, and Logan has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a deep breath to avoid a meltdown. When he opens them again, he’s focused on finding the collar.
The collar is rusted and broken, its once-sleek metallic surface now tarnished and pitted with decay. The glowing red light at its front has long since gone dark, leaving behind a faint scorch mark where the circuitry overloaded. Segments of the device are twisted and jagged, revealing frayed wires and shattered components that dangle limply. It’s useless to him now, just another relic of what went wrong here.
He doesn’t care as much as he should. He moves on.
It takes almost an hour of trudging through the prison’s ruins to find a collar with the red light still on. By this point Logan has lost his patience. He’s craving whiskey and an empty head, so he decapitates the body and yanks the collar off without a second thought.
His next stop is a control room—or what’s left of one. Logan stalks through the crumbling hallways, the collar dangling loosely in his grip. The place is a husk of itself, stripped of its former menace, but he has good hearing. He traces the faint hum of electricity and finds a dimly lit control room, most of the screens shattered and the consoles coated in dust and grime. It’s been, what, 7 years since Wade tore up this place? Logan’s impressed—and grateful—anything here works at all.
Logan tosses the collar onto a console, its red light blinking rhythmically, mocking him. He knows he needs a key to lock and unlock the device, and he knows he’s gonna find it in here. He begins searching, his frustration mounting as he rifles through broken drawers, pries open rusted panels, and sifts through piles of debris. Old data disks, shredded papers, and shattered glass crunch beneath his boots as he digs.
The room yields little, and Logan’s temper flares. He slams a console with his fist, the impact sending a puff of dust into the air. For a moment, he just stands there, his breathing heavy, his hands braced against the edge of the desk.
He’d kill for a drink. He’s killed for much less.
He can still feel their blood on his hands. He can still hear their screams.
His eyes catch something—a small, dented lockbox shoved into the corner of a cabinet. He yanks it out, claws extended, and slices through the metal hinges in one swift motion. The lid falls open, revealing a jumble of small objects. Among them is a key, its sleek design unmistakable.
Logan grabs it, holding it up to the faint light. It feels solid, heavy in his hand, heavier than it should be. He turns back to the collar, his jaw tightening as he picks it up and fits the key into the mechanism.
With a soft click, the collar opens. Logan locks it around his neck. The red light flares brighter for a moment, and then—silence.
The hum in his head, the constant thrum of his healing factor, is gone. The sharp edges of his senses dull, and for the first time in centuries, Logan feels... human.
He lets out a shaky breath, his hand drifting to the collar’s surface. The room seems quieter, smaller, like the world has receded just a little. It’s disorienting, but it’s also... a relief.
The key works perfectly when he takes it off and stuffs it in the drawstring bag he shoved in his jacket pocket on his way out of Wade’s. He makes it to the nearest liquor store in record time.
Wade paces the length of the living room for what feels like the hundredth time, his hands twitching at his sides. Vanessa had planned on leaving with Dopinder to get a ride back to her and her boyfriend’s apartment, but when Logan didn’t return from his stupid “fresh air” break, Wade’s anxiety willed her to stay like a good best friend. Now she sits cross-legged on the couch, watching him walk dents into the floor with a mix of amusement and concern.
Blind Al is perched in Logan’s armchair that she’s slowly but surely stealing, sipping tea with a precision that somehow feels pointed. She asked “what’s going on?” twelve and a half minutes ago and has spent said minutes listening to Wade ramble like the psycho he is. Why she expected otherwise is a mystery.
Lastly, Mary Puppins sits on Wade’s shoulder like a cutesy parrot in a frilly pink sweater that Yukio made her. (Yukio said she made it, but Wade knows it was Ellie. Yukio isn’t patient enough for crochet, and NTW has stabbed Wade with a metal hook more than once. She knows how to wield that thing.)
“I’m just saying,” Wade blabs, his voice climbing to an octave usually reserved for bad news or awkward announcements, “he’s been gone way too long. Like, five hours too long. This is unprecedented behavior, guys. Normally he just grumbles for a bit, mauls a deer in the woods, and then comes back to growl and brood and make fun of all the contestants on Jeopardy—which, okay, yes, it’s kinda ableist because they’re all so obviously on the spectrum, but it’s okay because Logie Bear is from the 1800s and they killed all the autistic people back then so he doesn’t know any better—and I know, I know I should be teaching him to abandon his bigot ways, but if the 70s didn’t flush it all out then what the hell am I gonna do? Plus, he’s not terrible. He appreciates the art of femboys and the craft of studs, and he knows at least half of The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess so it’s not like he’s—”
“Goddamn it, Wade! Breathe!” Al snaps. ”If you don’t shut the fuck up I swear to god I’ll call Logan and tell him to not come back.”
“I am breathing! Call me Ariana Grande the way I’m breathin’!” Wade basically sobs.
“Hyperventilating is not breathing, Wade,” Vanessa says, but her smile is soft and understanding, and she pats the open couch cushion beside her. “Come sit. I think Mary is getting motion sick.”
Wade sighs and sinks into the couch without protest. He breathes a little deeper, feeling the tension melt out of his shoulders, and lets Mary scurry off his shoulder into his lap. As cute as she is, Wade can’t get rid of his perpetual frown. “What if he’s just avoiding me?” he whispers. “What if it’s not sexual tension and he actually does hate me?”
“Very funny,” Vanessa retorts, scooching over to rest her head on Wade’s shoulder. “But no. Logan is one of those painfully predictable and ironically unoriginal guys with the whole ‘leave me alone, I’m cursed’ shtick. Everyone knows the ‘hate’ is fake. Logan loves you.”
“He tolerates me,” Wade corrects.
“Which in Wolverine language is basically undying devotion,” Vanessa remarks. “I win so hush and admit people care about you. People including but not limited to Logan No-Last-Name.”
“It’s Howlett,” Wade says, but his frown only deepens. “James Howlett.”
“Where does ‘Logan’ come from, then?”
Wade shrugs. “It’s been awhile since I watched the movie and despite my endless bouts of 4th wall knowledge, I’ve never actually picked up an X-Men comic. Regardless,” he sighs, “this situation sucks either way. If I’m right and Logan hates me then I have to find a way to off myself pronto. But if you’re right and Logan likes me but he didn’t come home then something’s wrong.”
Blind Al sniffs, setting her cup down with a sharp clink. “He probably just needed to cool down from all the yammering. You and your loudmouth jackass family are a lot, and Logan has sensitive ears.”
“Logan has sensitive everything, and while that’s not an innuendo, I hope it applies to more than just his eyes, ears, and nose,” Wade says. “By the way, Al, you’re included in that description of ‘loudmouth jackass family’.”
Al ignores his comment. “Point is, Logan gets overwhelmed pretty damn easy. He’s probably off drinking himself into an early grave to cool the nerves.”
“His grave is way past due,” Wade laughs. “But yes, my best Wolverine’s fatal flaw is replacing communication with alcoholism. Doesn’t make me any less ill, though.”
“Well if you’re still so damn worried, why not track him down?” Al suggests. “It’s better than wasting everyone’s time with your theatrics.”
“I’m giving him space,” Wade huffs, crossing his arms. “I can’t helicopter boyfriend him when he’s not even my boyfriend.”
“Yet,” Vanessa grins. “He’s not your boyfriend yet.”
Wade smacks her arm, but her smile is contagious and now Wade looks like the fucking Grinch. “Okay, Blind Al’s plan wins: I track him down, make sure he’s not dead, and then hug him until he admits I’m his favorite. Because he’s my favorite. Operation: Second Kidnapping of Best Wolverine, aka SKOBW (pronounced skcob-wuh) is in motion.”
“Hell yeah,” Vanessa laughs, patting his back. “Go get him, tiger.”
The bar smells like regret and stale beer. Wade steps inside, his boots sticking slightly to the cracked linoleum floor, and squints through the dim lighting.
Logan sits slumped at the far end of the bar, a glass of whiskey in front of him. His jacket hangs off the back of his stool, and the mutant-suppressing collar gleams faintly around his neck, its red light blinking in time with Wade’s growing anxiety. Logan doesn’t even glance up as Wade approaches, his focus fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
Wade feels like vomiting. He makes a joke instead.
“Hey there, princess,” Wade says, sliding onto the stool beside him. “What’s a place like this doing in a girl like you?”
Logan doesn’t respond. He tips the glass back, draining it in one gulp, and motions to the bartender for another. The guy behind the counter hesitates, glancing at the collar, but Logan’s glare is enough to get him moving. Wade considers stabbing the man when he fills the glass.
Wade turns his attention to the collar instead. For some reason it makes him hyper aware of his cancer, forcing him to focus on the fatigue that lives under the blown minefield that is his burning, aching skin. “So what’s with the accessory, huh?” he says, flicking the metal hugging Logan’s neck. “Our movie was rated R for language, honey, not suicide. I’m gonna have to start calling you Hannah Baker.”
Logan growls, his voice rougher than usual. The lack of healing factor must be taking its toll—he looks tired, more tired than he should be. As if Logan is the one with cancer.
Could be adamantium poisoning, Wade’s brain rudely supplies.
The two of them are quiet for a length of time unfamiliar to their dynamic duo. Wade is too anxious to fill the silence, and Logan is obviously hammered. Depressed and hammered. And hot, but that’s both consistent and unhelpful. Wade decides to gesture to the bartender he considered murdering 150 words ago. “Hey, pal, can I get a Shirley Temple? Extra cherries. And put his tab on my card—he’s not paying, not while he’s rocking a questionable necklace that’s definitely gonna land us both on a watchlist.”
Logan finally turns to glare at him, his eyes bloodshot but still sharp. “Why’re you here?”
“Because you need a babysitter, obviously,” Wade says, his voice softening despite himself. “And because you scared the hell out of me when you disappeared for hours without a text or even a ‘hey, Wade, don’t wait up.’ Rude, by the way.”
Logan scoffs at him. “Wastin’ yer time,” he mumbles. “Piss off.”
“Sorry, was I not being direct enough? I. Care. About. You. That means I’m not gonna let you run off and kill yourself because you got overwhelmed at a party. Fuck, Logan, if we’re being too much just say something. I love the emotional constipation, it’s really hot, but not– not when it’s dangerous.”
Logan grunts. “Wasn’t gonna kill myself,” he murmurs. “Not t’night, just wan’ed to get drunk. Mutation doesn’t let us, so I hadta…” He frowns, brows furrowed. “… ‘s been a long time since I’ve gotten sick… Wade, Wade I think ‘m sick.”
Panic floods Wade’s veins like he’s hooked up to an IV. He’s extremely aware of Logan’s mortality right now, and his fear of it is what drives him to smash Logan’s whiskey glass over the counter. It practically explodes, and Wade nearly has a meltdown when the small cuts on Logan’s palm aren’t healing. He’s not healing he’s not healing he’s not healing—
Logan blinks, staring at the miniscule droplets of blood barely seeping out. They’re smaller than children’s tears. Logan has made so many people cry. He swallows the lump in his throat and turns to look at the man beside him. “Wade—”
“Please tell me you have the fucking key for that thing,” Wade snaps.
The lack of humor genuinely scares him, scares both of them. Logan fumbles through his pocket and places the key across the bar counter. His hands are still bleeding.
Wade takes it without a word. He unlocks the collar, snaps it in half, and throws the two halves on the ground. Two stomps and the collar is scrap metal.
“C’mon,” Wade says. Logan lets himself be ushered to the door and back home. He’s unstable on his feet, but Wade lets him use him as a crutch. They make it back in one piece.
Vanessa is gone when they get home. She left a note on the kitchen table telling Wade her boyfriend called her an Uber and to text her when he brings Logan home. Mary Puppins is asleep up in the armchair with Al who snores to the beat of a Jeopardy rerun. He considers helping her back to her room where it’s cozier and comfier, but it’s almost four in the morning and Wade feels like shit so he’ll have to pass on being extra good tonight.
His little bits of goodness are for Logan. The Wolverine passes out on their pullout couch as soon as Wade gets it situated. He removes Logan’s boots and jeans very unsexily and tucks him into his blanket that he loves so much. Logan’s weird about pressure and temperature so his blanket is basically a sheet; Wade’s on the other hand is weighted and heated. He curls under it and sighs.
He thinks about Logan. What Logan could be thinking about, dreaming about.
Wade hopes that it’s him but realistically it’s probably the ghosts of his past. Hence the drinking and ominous hint toward a future suicide attempt.
“You’re so Scrooge coded,” Wade whisper-laughs to keep himself sane. Logan barely stirs. Wade chooses peace and mercy and falls asleep faster than you can say “Holy Shit I Just Realized I’m In Love With This Pathetic Traumatized Badass Please Send Help Before He Breaks Me In The Least Sexy Way Possible.”
Logan has a dream about Stryker.
He’s in the adamantium bonding chamber, wearing nothing but his dog tags and a metal oxygen mask. In his dream, Stryker looms over him, somehow out of the sealed off control room where the scientists and government officials set up to watch. The drill-like syringes haven’t dug into him just yet, but Stryker’s eyes are just as piercing.
The man says something, but Logan doesn’t hear it. He’s underwater in every sense of the word, submerged and subhuman, and Stryker knows. He knows, and he smiles.
The syringes plunge in without warning, boiling hot with liquified adamantium. The metal feels like it’s breathing when it pumps through him, burning with a pulse of its own as it claims his skeleton. He spits out the oxygen mask to scream, but water fills his lungs instead, and for some reason he feels like he’s falling. Any second now he’ll hit the ground, bones shattering and crushing his organs on impact. He’ll gasp for breath again, only to be met with more water and more water and more water and Stryker is talking again, talking to him, to the scientists and the senators, but Logan can’t hear anything besides those three god awful words on repeat:
Erase his memory.
Fuck, he can’t breathe, there’s too much fucking water, and they’re going to turn his mind to mush and make him into some kind of human weapon, but subhuman, animal, and he can’t breathe, he really can’t, and the metal keeps going, it won’t stop, it never fucking STOPS—
He wakes up to a knife in his shoulder. The claws come out instinctively, skewering whatever idiot decided it’d be a good idea to stab the Wolverine mid-nightmare.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, peanut,” Wade groans around the three claws buried in his stomach. “All done hyperventilating or should Baby Knife kiss your teres minor one more time?”
Logan growls at him, sheathing his claws and reaching up to rip the knife out of his shoulder. The blood soaks the white tank top he fell asleep in, sticking to his skin even after the wound knits itself closed.
“Fine, be like that,” Wade huffs. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Logan scowls. “You just fuckin’ stabbed me.”
“Don’t act all high and mighty, babe, ‘cause you stabbed me, too,” Wade tuts. “And mine was less of a ‘stab’ and more of a ‘please wake up you’re scaring me.’ I basically just saved your life. Again.”
“Neither of us can die.”
“And yet we’ve both had our fair share of attempts. Speaking of, you wanna talk about last night?”
It takes Logan a few moments to piece together what Wade’s referring to. As soon as his brain catches up, he grimaces.
“I’ll take that as a resounding, enthusiastic yes,” Wade cheers. “Okay so let’s start with an easy one. How the fuck did you get your grimey little Wolver-paws on a device like that?”
Logan scoffs, swinging his legs over the side of the pullout, his back facing Wade. “I don’t have to explain shit to you,” he snarls. “It’s none of your fuckin’ business.”
“Will you drop the whole lone wolf bullshit already?” Wade blurts. “It’s not sexy anymore, it’s just annoying. If you expect me to sit back and watch while you throw your life down the drain, by way of alcoholism or actual suicide, you’ve got another thing coming. Like an angrier reiteration of my previous question: where’d you get the collar?”
Logan stands up, padding toward the two hampers in the corner of the living room. He peels off his stained tank top, drops it in the dirty basket, and then digs through the clean one to find something else to wear. He’s forced to settle for a random hoodie that’s way too big for both him and Wade.
“Wolvieeee,” Wade sings as he follows Logan into the kitchen. “You can’t hide behind the well-paced movement breaks in our dialogue forever, darling. Where. Did. You. Get. The. Collar?”
Logan ignores him some more, tearing open the fridge. He doesn’t have a goal for his actions right now, but he knows he can’t sit still without facing the onslaught of grief, guilt, and panic he’s been neglecting since he woke up. Or, well, technically since he nearly drank himself half to death last night.
“The collar, peanut. Where did you get it? I hope it wasn’t Amazon. Not only is that concerning accessibility-wise, but we’re also boycotting them so unless you wanna get cancelled again, I suggest you tell me where you got it. Otherwise I’ll be forced to act on this assumption, and it’ll make a bigger ass out of you than me—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Logan finally snaps. “Jesus fuckin’ christ, you’re insufferable. I got the damn thing the same place you got yours: the Ice Box.”
Wade smiles. “Thank you for your cooperation. That was me channeling my inner Black Widow.” He takes a second to process the information, and Logan takes the pause as a means to escape. “Wait, the Ice Box? Dude, Cable wrecked that place 7 years ago like a Taco Bell victim in a public restroom. Fun fact, I’ve never actually had Taco Bell. I’m absolutely terrified of diarrhea, haha… It’s funny because I have the cancer bingo board filled out five times over but my biggest fear is uncontrolled shitting. So. I laughed. What were we talking about again? Sorry, I get weird when I’m panicky. If I wasn’t a millennial I’d probably get off my ass and go get a diagnosis—”
“Wade!” Logan practically screams, exasperated. “I’m serious! Stop it! Just fuckin’ stop!”
“I’ll stop if you tell me why you’re so depressed,” Wade presses.
“I’m going to cut your fucking tongue out.”
“Baby, if my tongue is coming out, the only place it’s going is up your—”
Logan storms past him, giving up and heading for the door to get his boots on.
Wade, predictably, steps in front of him—not so predictably putting a hand on Logan’s chest.
“Wait,” Wade whispers. “Please. You’re scaring me, Logan.”
“I haven’t done anything to you,” Logan argues, breathless, confusion laced in with his irritation. “I’m just goin’ out.”
“This might be a crazy concept for you,” Wade laughs dryly, “considering the fact that this is like the millionth time you’re making me say it, but Logan, I care. I really, really care, and you tracking down a way to cancel out your healing factor to get drunk… Fuck, it scares me, okay? A lot. You drinking? Fine, whatever, we can deal with that, heal from that. But this? This is a whole new thing, and I need you to talk to me. Preferably before things get worse.”
Logan’s head is spinning. Wade’s hand hasn’t left his chest, and selfishly, he hopes it never does. “I’m not going to kill myself,” he says. “I don’t have the collar, and there aren’t any more.”
“There are more ways to kill yourself than actually dying,” Wade says. Logan wants to smack him.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he huffs, “but you don’t have to worry about me. I wasn’t tryna scare you, I just…” He shrugs, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Needed a little break, I guess.”
“Can I ask from what?” Wade’s voice is shaky now, and Logan can smell the panic, the anxiety rolling off him in waves. His hand slides back into his own personal space, back at his side, and the insecurity is obvious. Logan has never felt more determined to shut something down in his entire life.
“Nothin’ you did,” Logan assures him. “It’s not your fault. Not your family’s, either. This is a… a Wolverine thing.”
Wade visibly relaxes, a small smile playing on his face, but he keeps his hands to himself, and Logan doesn’t know how to scream “touch me” without sounding like a creep.
“Wish I could explain it,” Logan continues a little too quickly, “but I can’t. At least not in a way anyone would be able to get it.”
Wade is adorably determined. “Try me, babe.”
And oh, does Logan want to try him alright. Fuck!
He clears his throat. This is an emotional, somber moment, in theory. The last thing Logan should be doing is fantasizing about his cunt of a roommate’s skills in bed. (Though later he’ll hold a mini debate in his mind over what Wade’s most sexy quality is: his acrobatic flexibility? Or his insane strength and ability to lift Logan up without breaking a sweat?)
“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Logan blurts.
Wade chuckles. “Me too. Are we measuring dicks or counting how many skeletons are in our closets? Once I came out, lots of bodies went in. Interpret that however you’d like, baby.”
Yeah, Logan is so fucked. (Hopefully. A man can dream.)
“I mean innocent people,” Logan pushes. “People who did nothing wrong.”
Wade nods slowly, unblinking. “I’m sorry, is this supposed to be new information? I thought that’s why you and I get along so well. The whole background in apathetically killing people thing.”
“You’re not understanding,” Logan growls. “People I cared about. People I loved. They’re dead because of me, and it– it fuckin’ haunts me, all the time, every day. I can’t go five minutes sober without feelin’ like their blood is still caked into my palms. Every second that I’m not drinking is a second I spend thinking about scrubbing my skin raw. I can still hear them, Wade, screaming and crying and begging me to stop, or to do something, and I never do either. I wasn’t really planning on killing myself with the collar, but just having the option to do it made everything a little quieter. The drinks too. They make things…” He realizes then how much he’s been rambling, and his jaw snaps shut. That’s enough for tonight.
Wade lets the words sit before he speaks. The quiet is deafening.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Wade says to break the silence. “I didn’t mean to take your choice away. That was selfish of me.”
Logan’s face contorts immediately. “What the fuck? That’s what you got outta that?”
“Yes?!” Wade snaps. “Because the collar was your way of having some control over your shitty life and fucked up brain and I took it away! I’m an asshole!”
Logan laughs, then, because goddamn it, Wade is incapable of not catching him off guard. “It’s fine,” Logan says. “And yeah, my brain is pretty fucked up, but my life ain’t that shitty anymore.” He shrugs, a blush creeping up his neck before he even gets the words out. “I’ve got people who care about me, right? And a place to call home.”
“Yeah,” Wade chokes out, teary eyed. “You do.”
A person to call home, too, but Logan won’t go that far just yet. He and Wade need to cry and talk before they enjoy some love and cock.
God, he needs to get out more. Wade is corrupting him.
“C’mon,” Logan says, leading Wade back to the pullout. “Put on that stupid show you like. We’re watching TV.”
Wade absolutely beams. “Sir yes sir! But we will be talking more about this later.”
“Sure, bub.”