"You're the one that I want, doot doot doot, you're the one that I need, ooh ooh ooh." Wade sings, loudly and offkey, in the shared shower of the shoebox he lives in with two other people and a dog.
Maybe not the best idea at four in the morning but he's just gotten out of a disgusting fight and needs to clean the tears blood and whatever the fuck else out of all his cancer holes before he crawls into bed with Logan. The man has an aggravated sense of smell and trying to get into bed with him smelling like that never works out in Wade's favor. Granted, sometimes Wade likes the fighting and the sexual tension and all the homoeroticism of stabbing each other. But he'd taken a bullet through the eye and two through the crotch and he's feeling too sore to handle any more fighting. Fuck, growing your dick back is not a good time. He towels off quickly, tossing on some panties and a t-shirt that was almost certainly Logan's. All their laundry got meshed together in the wash, anyway. Wade frequently wears almost everything of Logan's. But not his underwear, that was apparently where the line was drawn. Wade sticks with panties, they're soft on his skin and make his ass look great. And he sometimes catches Logan glancing at them when he thinks Wade isn't looking. Newsflash Wolvie, baby, Wade is always looking.
He flicks off the bathroom light and hurries to the bedroom, trying to keep his steps semi-quiet. Logan will already know he's home but is usually less pissed off if Wade at least pretends he's trying to be quiet. Wade slips through the cracked bedroom door and pads across the room, easing into bed with a warm sigh. He loves coming home to--
Nothing.
The bed is empty. Empty and cold. He'd gone immediately into the bathroom without looking to see Logan sleeping. He'd have gotten too distracted -wanting to just dive into bed and curl up against the sleeping hero who was always so warm and always snuggled back, holding so tight Wade could do nothing but surrender and sleep- and with cancer AND ADHD, Wade was already distracted enough. But, as it turned out, he needn't have. The bed is cold and empty and it sends Wade immediately spiraling into something akin to both panic and mind numbing rage. Sure, Logan wasn't necessarily his but it didn't mean anyone else could have him, either. Wade has gone through a lot of pain, tears, cum and very nearly fucking died for real to get that Logan and he sure as fuck isn't happy at the idea of sharing him. That's his Logan. The one an entire universe had chewed up and spit out and who had wormed his way so entirely into Wade's life that taking him out was beyond any idea of painful Wade is willing to cope with. The idea of Logan sleeping with someone else is so much easier to stomach than the idea of he leaving. Logan sleeping with someone else is like a knife to the gut, hot and sharp and enough to make him whine pathetically--. He tries to stop the onslaught of ideas but they're too real now, too visual.
Logan getting fucked into a mattress, his hair twisted into a strong, smooth, beautiful hand. A soft, silky body riding his cock every single light turned all the way on so Logan could see every inch of his partner because why wouldn't he want to when they looked like that? All beautiful unmarred skin and a high tinkling voice. Faces and genders shifted. Logan had never been terribly picky when it came to sexuality or gender.
Wade scrambles across the bed, as if he could scramble away from the fucked up thoughts in his head. His hand catches on a piece of paper, slitting the webbing between two of his fingers and making him curse.
"Mother fucker." He groans, shaking out the sharp little pain that has already healed. Barely a flash of blood between his fingers.
He clicks on the side lamp, squinting in the low light to try and read Logan's scrawled handwriting. Learning to write in the fucking civil war era really hadn't done him any favors, had it? The dyslexia didn't help, either.
Laura needed me. Be back in the morning. At X Mansion. -Logan
Right, of fucking course he's at the mansion. Where else would he be?
Wade tries to remind himself that it was different. That this Logan didn't feel for any of these X-Men the way the other Logan had. That this Logan had seen them all die really truly die in terrible ways and getting to see them alive and whole and happy and healthy and loved was probably exactly what he'd needs to heal that trauma in the first place. But, a smug little voice in the back of his head says, this universe lost its Logan. This Rogue and This Jean Gray and this Storm and this Scott all loved that Logan and here is his replacement. Wouldn't it be so easy to slip back into those familiar roles? To be someone you almost were because someone did the same for you?n To be what they needed to get what you needed? It wasn't like Logan wasn't use to making sacrifices and this would be such an easy one to make. Wade fucking hates his brain. He hates the fact that it wasn't a terrible argument, not at all. Of course Logan would want to fix the things he'd broken and rebuild in a world where it was available. Wouldn't anyone? The people he'd loved were, for all intent, back from the dead. He could slip into the role he was -in literally a multiverse of ways- destined to play. He'd be a hero with a line of gorgeous, morally high-grounded, far healthier lovers banging down his door on the nightly. And Wade would be, well, Wade. An ass faced, chronically pained, foul mouthed piece of shit just like he'd always been. Selflessly saving of the literal multiverse be damned. He's still a fuck up, all the way down to his cancer fucked bones. And Logan, any Logan sure but especially his Logan, deserves better than that.
Self loathing doesn't soothe the hot bolt of jealousy in Wade's chest, either. At least he cann't smell other people on Logan, the way Logan would have on him. That would have been the final nail in a horrifically painful coffin. Thinking about Logan fucking other people is bad enough.
He tosses and turns through the night, unable to sleep. Marry Puppins wet nose and soothing tongue on his face do little to help. He keeps imagining Logan with nearly every X-Man in existence (the legal ones still alive in this timeline, anyway) and it makes him toss and turn. His chronic pain flares as if eager to get in on the shit show that was his night.
By the time dawn spills into the grubby window of Wade's shit show of a crack house apartment, he's pissed. He hadn't slept a wink, every time he came close he was overcome with some teeth grindingly filthy fantasy of Logan and any number of the fucking X-Men. Fuck he was with almost everyone at one point or another in the cannon. The list was a mile long and way too fucking easy to get carried away with. Fuck. No wonder Wade had an easy time picturing it, it had actually happened! Double fuck.
The front door creaks open, soft footsteps in the living room. Sneaking back in at dawn like he was coming home from a booty call. Fuck, he probably is. Wade sees red. He throws open the bedroom door, not caring when it bangs noisily into the frame. Al is at a Vegas retreat for two weeks and the rest of the neighbors can piss right the fuck off. He stomps his way into the kitchen, going through the process of noisily making himself a bowl of cereal. He can't even look at Logan he's so fucking angry.
What is there to be angry about? That same nasty little voice in the back of his head says. He doesn't want you. He doesn't belong to you. He can do whatever he wants and this whole pity party is only going to push him away.
Rationally, Wade realizes the voice is right. But fuck rationality and fuck that stupid voice, too. Wade saved the entirety of creation, he's allowed a fucking temper tantrum every now and again.
"What's got your panties in a twist, bub?" Logan's voice is soft and tired and warms Wade down to his fucking toes and that just pisses him off worse.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Wade's tone is harsh and cold. He was trying for playfully annoyed but that dropped faster than a diaper full of baby shit wrapped around a brick off the balcony. Don't ask, he'd gone through a phase of trying to kill people in stupid ways and that was certainly one of the most memorable.
"Oh you're pissy with me then. What the fuck for? I left you a note, I didn't have a job-- fuck I wasn't even drinking." Logan smacks the counter, already angry. "I did everything right and you're still pissed."
"You left me!" Wade shoots back, before he could think better of it. His voice is too loud and too fucking vulnerable and if he wasn't Wade fucking Wilson and constantly soaked in shame, he'd be ashamed of what he says.
His fingers shake against the cereal bowl, causing tiny little rippling miasmas. He watches the cereal bounce against itself, against the edge of the bowl and the words pull from him like a knife, without his consent. They spill out him breathlessly and he can't stop them, can't even look at Logan while he says them. Wade is so ashamed and tired and fucking vulnerable he might shoot himself in the head just for a few minutes away from it all.
"You left me. You left me and the only thing I could think about was you touching someone else. All of them. And they don't even deserve you! They treat you like a piece of meat to pass around, like the shadow of someone they knew-- like something to fuck or get fucked by. Like if they just stare at you long enough you'll be him and fit into his role. Like a dog on a leash. That's how they looked at him. That's how they treated him and I'll be fucked sideways with a cheese grater if I let anyone look at you like that." He's still wearing Logan's shirt and just a set of panties and holy shit there actually is a new level of fucking shame because he's feeling it now. "And I couldn't fucking sleep because the bed was cold and my body fucking hurts and I-"
"This pity party going somewhere Bub?" Logan drops into a chair at the table, running a hand over his face. "Kid needed me so I went, that's it. I don't get what you're so pissed about. I can take care of myself. The kid asked for me and I was there, that's it. What's the big fucking deal?"
"You left! You left and I didn't know if you were coming back!" Wade is red faced with anger, teeth clenched. A muscle in his jaw ticks, ticks, ticks.
"I left you a fucking note, Mouth! It fucking said when I'd be back! Can't you fucking read?" Logan is up again, the chair clattering noisily to the floor. He throws his arms wide, chest heaving as his skin flushes red with anger. "God, sometimes you're so fucking selfish and inconsiderate it drives me crazy! The world doesn't revolve around you, it isn't always about you, you whiny, arrogant son-of-a-"
Wade is almost surprised how easily his knuckles meet Logan's face. The ark of blood from his obviously broken nose is almost beautiful in the way it arcs through the air, splattering the table, Wade's forearm, and Logan's shirt. His hand throbs dully, punching adamantium skulls isn't for the faint of heart, and he meets Logan's gaze with an express mix of fury and regret.
"Oh, it's fucking on."