Chapter Text
Wade set his tankard down. His porcelain mask lay on the table beside him, his warped face the most sober and serious Logan had ever seen it.
“Your life is, like, really sad.”
Logan considered putting his fist between Wade’s eyes and letting his claws out. Wordlessly, he cast a glance around the tavern, filled to bursting with townsfolk looking to relax after a hard day of toil.
“No one’s forcing you to live it, Bub,” Logan said, raising his own drink to his lips. It wasn’t worth getting run out of another town.
He’d thought, foolishly, that he and Wade would part ways once they’d escaped the city walls. Counted on it, even. But the jester had, instead, taken their mutual execution as a sign to follow Logan around like a newborn duck.
Not that Logan hadn’t tried to shake him. Just a few days before he’d pinned Wade to a tree by his own swords and walked away. He’d even cut off his hands for good measure. It had been enough to let himself think that he had finally been freed from the other witchbreed’s incessant jabbering.
But then Logan had woken the next morning to find Wade Wilson curled up beside him, head resting on his chest and, well, that had been the end of his peace.
Wade leaned his chair back onto two legs and threw his feet up on the table. “You’re literally a knight,” he said, his hands tucked neatly behind his head. “You should be slaying dragons, saving damsels. Knight shit!”
“You’re a jester,” Logan replied flatly. “You should be funny.”
Wade raised a finger, “one, hurtful. Two, jestering is my side hustle, thank you very much. Gotta get that grind, ya know?”
Sometimes Wade said impossible things as though he expected Logan to already know what he was talking about. A few times, Logan had even caught the mad man talking to thin air. It set his teeth on edge.
A low growl rumbled in his throat and Logan downed his tankard, then snatched Wade’s drink and finished it too for good measure. This town watered their beer down so much that he might as well not bother. His healing factor burned it off before he could get so much as a light buzz. Regardless, Logan waved to the barmaid to fill his cup again. He’d earned the right to piss away a few coppers just by putting up with Wade’s shit.
He drank half his fresh tankard in two gulps, aware the entire time that Wade was watching him.
“You got a problem, Bub?” He snapped.
“You don’t even have a horse. What kind of knight doesn’t have a horse?!”
Logan kicked out Wade’s chair. The fool yelped as he fell, one hand stretched back to catch himself. Logan heard the bone in Wade’s wrist snap. A faint, but stomach-churning crack!
He hated Wade. Truly. But Logan had to admit there was something freeing about traveling with him. He never had to worry about restraining himself around Wade like he had when among the other knights of Xavier. If he accidentally—or not so accidentally—popped his claws, Wade would simply knit back together. Better yet, he’d swing back with the same ferocity.
It was something Logan hadn’t experienced in a long time. Not since he was a wild boy traveling with Victor.
A few of the other drinkers turned to look, drawn by Wade’s groan of pain. In a second, Wade was back on his feet. “Nothing to see here, folks,” he said, but Logan noticed that Wade made a point of turning to hide his injured wrist. With a crunch and a flick of Wade’s hand, it popped back into place.
“Don’t fancy another trip to the barbie,” Wade whispered when he noticed Logan watching. He let his voice drop into an unfamiliar twang at the word ‘barbie’, talking utter nonsense again.
A part of Logan—an extremely small part—did understand where Wade was coming from. He knew his particular lifestyle wasn’t the right fit for most people, but it was for him. If he was honest with himself, it was his natural state, the thing he always found himself returning to. Wandering from town to town, selling whatever game he could bag, taking what odd jobs, and drinking at the bar until the keeper got tired and kicked him out.
He’d known it annoyed the other knights when he got like this, when he sought solitude far off in the wilderness of his home kingdom to the north or managed to ferry himself across the eastern ocean.
What had Hank called it?
Wanderlust, that was it.
Logan had shook his head. He was just a lone wolf. It was in his nature.
Morph had laughed at that. Said that Logan was far too small for a wolf, more like a wolverine. Just as vicious too.
Wade slammed his palm against the table. “We need a quest!”
Logan cocked his brow. “We?” He echoed.
“We!” Wade said with a nod. “Red-blooded, round table shit. Find the fisher king and fix his baby maker, that sort of thing.”
Logan scrubbed his hand down his face and groaned.
“Come on!” Wade cried, getting exasperated now. “We’re knights! It’s what we do.”
Logan set his tankard down with a heavy thud. “You are not a knight,” he growled. Then, quieter, “and neither am I.”
“Why’d you dress like one then?”
Wade’s words made Logan’s armour weigh heavy against his back. They’d learned from Kelly and his men and covered Logan in a travel cloak and hood as soon as they scrounged enough money to do so. It was cheap and rough against his neck, but it did its job well enough.
Logan shifted in his seat, leaning back. He didn’t dignify the question with a response. It wasn’t any of Wade’s business.
“Ooookay.” Wade drummed his hands against the table. “So, for the quest, I was thinking—“
The scrape of Logan’s chair against the floor cut him off.
“Logan?”
He didn’t respond, just pulled himself to his feet and set off towards the door. Logan heard the flurry of movement as Wade jumped up to follow, the mad scramble of him pulling on his mask.
“He’s paying,” Logan said to the barkeep as he passed, gesturing to Wade over his shoulder.
“Logan! Don’t be a prick!”
The Wolverine slammed the tavern door behind him. He already knew he wouldn’t be able to shake Wade, but he could at least get a head start. Maybe, he’d even get some peace and quiet.
—-
Logan managed to get a decent ways from the town before he finally stopped down for the night. He piqued his ears. The frogs were quiet, which meant he wouldn’t have to worry about rain, so he didn’t bother with any kind of shelter. Instead, he simply curled up in a Y made by the diverting roots of an oak tree.
The night and dampness made the ground frigid in a way that leeched up through his cloak and armour and right into his bones. It would have been enough to freeze the average human—and the average Witchbreed—to death, but not Logan. Not The Wolverine.
Besides, making a fire would just make it all the easier for Wade to find him.
Logan let out a long sigh and watched his breath plume out before him in a great cloud. The forests between towns and cities were by no means silent. He heard every whistle of wind, every rustle of leaves and snap of some poor prey animal that took the wrong turn into a waiting snare.
He let his breathing slow. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out, just as Mariko had taught him. It was supposed to clear his mind and make him more relaxed, though it hadn’t worked properly in decades now.
Gods, Mariko.
There had been times when Logan’s head was so muddled that he could barely remember who he was, now he had the opposite problem. Too many people and places, too many voices all pleading for his attention.
The sounds of the forest dulled to a low hum of noise and Logan closed his eyes, bracing for a nightmare.
—
When he woke up, his claws were out and he was alone.
He would hate to admit it, but over the past few weeks he’d grown used to waking up with Wade snuggled up beside him. They never fell asleep like that, but somehow the fool would always migrate over to Logan during the night. Wade would end up with a couple stab wounds for his troubles, collateral from Logan’s night terrors, but that had never dissuaded him. Not one bit.
When he realised he was alone, Logan felt his stomach give a strange little lurch. Like the ground have fallen out from beneath him.
It was foolish. He’d traveled on his own for years, he wasn’t about to let some mouthy idiot make him soft.
Logan retracted his claws and sat up. He sniffed the air, the scent of smoke reached his nostrils, undercut by something sharp and bitter that should have rotten away years ago.
“Morning, Peanut,” Wade cooed. He waved to Logan from where he sat on a log a few feet away. He’d got a fire going and held the carcass of a rabbit over the flames, speared on the end of one of his katana. It hurt Logan a bit, seeing the weapon used in such a way.
“We’re out of money,” Wade announced. He pulled the rabbit from the flames and ripped off a leg, holding it out to Logan. It was hot and dripping with grease. Logan’s mouth watered.
“You’re out of money,” he corrected, taking a great bite.
This was the life that suited Logan: living day to day off the land. He’d never been right for a knighthood, no matter what the others had claimed. “If there’s one rabbit, there’s more,” he pointed out. “Set up some snares, sell the meat. We could fetch a few coins for the pelt off that one too if you kept it,” he nodded to their breakfast.
Wade lifted his mask and started cutting off strips of meat with a knife from his belt. “When you left me to settle your tab—thanks for that, by the way—the barkeep mentioned there’s a town a couple miles east. Big ole market square, not much of a church presence. I mean, folks there don’t like Witchbreeds but they don’t fry them on sight.” He raised a strip of rabbit to his mouth on the edge of his knife, swallowing it in one and licking the grease from the blade.“I’m going to give them a show.”
Logan groaned. The last three of Wade’s “shows” had gotten them run out of town, usually with less money than when they’d started.
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s weird, I don’t remember asking you for an opinion.” Wade took another messy bite, his chin streaked and shining with the juices. In the low morning light, with the sun casting uneven shadows across his skin, he looked feral. It felt appropriate to Logan, since he was too.
“You’ve got a pension for getting in trouble, don’t you Bub?”
Wade’s grin widened. That was one of the truly strange things about his appearance. Despite everything else, he still had a perfectly white, straight smile. It might have seemed friendly, had it belonged to anyone else.
“It’s one of my many kinks,” he said brightly. He wiped his hands on his trousers before holding out the rest of the rabbit. Logan took it wordlessly, because he honestly couldn’t be sure when his next meal would be.
If he wanted to—and part of him really wanted to—he could try and pin Wade to a tree again, or at least cut off his legs to slow him down. Give the idiot enough time to realise that raising another mob wasn’t a good idea.
The only thing that stopped Logan was that he wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take Wade to heal. He chomped down on the rabbit, making a mental list of things he’d seen the other Witchbreed survive.
Fire and being burned alive was top of the list, naturally. It had been what had gotten the two of them into this mess in the first place.
Knife wounds weren’t a problem either, arrows too. He’d learned that when a particularly skilled archer had gotten Wade dead through the heart a few weeks before. Wade had been endlessly entertained by how the shaft of the arrow had pulsed and shook in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Wade had mentioned being decapitated and Logan knew from his own experience that his descriptions were at least somewhat accurate. But without having seen him recover with his own two eyes, it was impossible to know if Wade was telling the truth or some twisted idea of a joke. Logan was sure that, if Wade stuck around, he’d find out sooner or later. It was only a matter of time before Wade pushed things too far and drove some town—or Logan himself—to attempted murder.
Wade gave Logan’s shoulder a shove. “My eyes are up here, you pervert. We’re aiming for a M-rating here.”
—
Logan had tried to avoid this moment. He really, really had.
Usually, he’d allow himself to give in to his animalistic side when he hunted. Let his instincts take control. That day, however, he took his time setting snares and stalking game. The aim was to drag his feet for long enough that the market would be bordering on closing.
The gods, it seemed, had other plans.
The animals of this particular stretch of woods bordered on suicidal, with how readily they hopped into traps and wandered into his path.
The sun was barely halfway across the sky when Logan and Wade trudged through the town gates. Logan had a buck slung over his shoulders and two rabbits tied to his belt. As they passed the town guards, Logan made a point to pretend to struggle under the game’s weight.
The guards weren’t Sentinels, Logan could tell by their uniforms, but that didn’t mean they would approve of two Witchbreeds visiting their quaint little town.
The marketplace was a storm of activity. Sights and smells made even more unbearable by Logan’s enhanced senses.
A crier stood at the edge of the market square, reading off listings from a notice board: upcoming events, announcements, and job openings. Logan did his best to block him out, but his voice bore against his skull.
And the smells, gods the smells! A dizzying mix of tanned leather, metal, food, and rotting waste. It made Logan ache for the solitude of the forest.
At no point had he and Wade made any kind of plan for what they would do once they reached the market. Logan hadn’t even tried to lose the jester this time. One moment Wade was bobbing along at his side, yapping up a storm, and the next he’d disappeared into the crowd.
He’d spent so long hoping Wade would leave him alone, but now that Logan had finally gotten his wish, he was filled with a bone-deep sense of dread.
Nothing good would come of this.
Logan kept his ears piqued for that high, grating voice that had become all too familiar in the past few weeks.
He heard nothing, just the benign day-to-day chatter of townsfolk. Somehow, it terrified him.
The butcher got a good deal for the deer and rabbits. Practically robbed Logan blind, but he had been too distracted looking out for Wade to barter.
He wasn’t scared for Wade, he just dreaded the moment he reared his ugly head again. Because that was the truly terrifying thing about Wade Wilson, he was completely unpredictable.
“Come one! Come all!”
Ice flooded through Logan’s veins. His gaze snapped to the centre of the marketplace. A stage, wooden and rickety and not unlike the one he and Wade had been burned alive on, had been set up. Not for public executions this time, but for performers.
And there, stood at the stage’s centre, was Wade.
He had his jesters mask on, hiding his face, but Logan could hear the smile on his lips.
“Gird your loins, ladies—alright, gents too. I’m not fussy!” Wade cocked his head in a pantomime of a wink. “They call me The Fool, or ‘that damn dead fool’ if you’re my dear old papa. May his soul rest in peace.” He pressed two fingers to the painted lips of his mask and blew a kiss vaguely towards the ground. A chuckle rumbled through the market as shoppers moved away from the stalls to see just what the hell was going on.
Logan hung back, hugging his cloak tightly around himself.
Wade skipped up and down the front of the stage. “Now, my plan for today was to entertain you all with a couple of ballads, but a good friend of mine—“
Logan could feel Wade’s eyes boring into him.
“—well he informed me that would get me in the stocks. Now I don’t know about that, ladies and gents, but I tell ya’ it’s much more profitable to get people to pay you to stop singing. Easier too.”
To the commonfolk Wade was just another jester, but Logan had gotten enough of a feel for him and his antics to know when Wade was holding himself back. Logan furrowed his brow. Just what was he playing at?
“So,” Wade continued. “I figured if I can’t sing, well I’ll just have to go back to good old reliable.” He dug into a satchel on his belt and pulled out a pair of red and black striped balls. He threw one into the air, then the other, passing them from hand to hand in a wide arc over his head.
Logan heard a few of the older townsfolk groan. All that gusto for nothing.
One of the balls sailed past Wade’s open palm. It hit the stage with a sad thud and Wade let his shoulders sag. His arms flopped limp at his side as he hunched over with a snore. “Boring!” Wade shot up straight again. “Sorry, man I got myself drifting off. Can’t put you lot through that, can I?” He threw down the other ball and crossed his arms, tapping the finger of one hand thoughtfully against his porcelain cheek. “Let’s make this more interesting, shall we?”
And with that, Wade drew his katana.
A murmur of curiosity made its way through the audience as Wade held both blades in one hand.
“Now, Kiddos, I see you watching. What I’m doing here should never be done at home—not with these big boys.” He raised the katana. “Make sure to pick something more your size.” He drew his dagger from his belt and held it to the audience. “Baby knife!” He threw the dagger up in the air, followed by one of the katana. The blades spun in the air before landing comfortably in Wade’s palm once more. Soon he was juggling all three weapons, snatching them out of the air with ease. He held a katana in either hand, spinning them both with expert grace and sending them both twirling. He caught the dagger and slipped it back into the sheath, barely giving himself enough time to catch the falling katanas. This time, however, he didn’t catch them by their hilts.
As Wade grabbed the swords by the blades a shriek shot through the crowd, looks of awe and amusement quickly replaced by fear. Even Logan flinched.
Wade, to his credit, didn’t make so much as a whimper. “Remember, gents,” he called out. “I am a professional.” He continued to juggle the swords, each time catching them blade-first.
The unease evaporated as the audience realised this was all part of the show.
It dawned on Logan then, the twisted genius of Wade’s outfit. Red gloves to hide the bloodstains, the mask that not only hid Wade’s ghoulish appearance but also the pain that must have been twisting his features. How Wade wasn’t losing fingers was beyond him.
Wade let the blades flip again, catching them by the hilts and sheathing them in a single fluid motion.
The applause that followed was deafening.
Wade bowed heavily, one hand pressed over his heart. “Thank you, thank you!” He straightened up. His mask had no expression but something about his body language made Logan’s hair stand on end.
“For my next trick,” Wade called out, “I need a volunteer.”
A dozen hands shot up, but Logan already knew who Wade had his eyes on.
“Sorry ladies, not you I’m afraid.” Wade waved his hand above his head. “You there, at the back, Mr Grumpy!”
Logan froze as a hundred eyes turned to him. His claws ached against the skin of his knuckles, but he kept them at bay. At least for now.
“Come on.” Wade gestured for Logan to come forward. “Don’t keep these beautiful people waiting.”
He had Logan trapped again, though this time it wasn’t with a cage of metal but the expectant, slack-jawed looks of the common people. Logan would take the pyre over this any day.
With a huff, Logan trudged forward towards the stage. The crowd parted neatly for him, slicing a clear path.
“Up you get, big fella.” Wade didn’t bother helping Logan on to the stage.
This close to the other Witchbreed, he could pick up the distinct metallic tinge of blood. It clung to Wade’s hands.
“You’re going to get us both killed,” Logan hissed under his breath.
Wade tilted his head to one side. “Ye of little faith,” he cooed and slapped Logan’s back. “Now!” He raised his voice again to address the audience. “I told a bit of a porky.” He slapped Logan’s back again for emphasis. “See, Jimmy here, he and I are best buds—“
Logan bit back a growl.
Wade continued, “aren’t we, Jimjam? Now, Jim isn’t much of a performer, not like me. No, he’s got a face for radio.” A few members of the audience exchanged confused looks, but Wade barely noticed. “Anywhoo, Jimbo is a knight—“
“Wade,” Logan warned.
“—but he’s all down in the dumps, ladies and gentlemen. So I was hoping you’d all lend me a hand cheering him up.” Wade took a few steps away from Logan, out of reach of his claws. “I stopped by the notice board this morning, my dear audience, and I picked up a request that I think is just perfect for o’l J-bird. But I don’t think he’s going to take it!”
Boos rumbled through the crowd and Logan’s hands curled into tight fists. He tried to focus on the pain of his nails against his palm, anything to distract from the pure anger boiling in his chest.
“Aye!” Wade scolded. “Don’t be so fucking rude!” That earned a few more laughs as he spun to face Logan. “I propose a bet!” He didn’t give Logan a chance to reply. Instead, Wade cupped Logan’s ear. When he withdrew his hand he held a gold coin between his thumb and forefinger.
Logan was sure that if he didn’t stop clenching his jaw, he was going to crack a tooth.
“The terms are simple.” Wade grabbed Logan’s wrist. It took some convincing and effort, but he managed to pry open one of Logan’s hands. “I’m going to stand over there,” he said, pressing the coin into Logan’s palm. “And you’re going to throw this at me. If you hit, no quest—“
A chorus of boos.
“—If you don’t, we go off on this job. Capeesh?”
Logan was going to kill him. Healing factor be damned.
He looked out over the crowd. Wade truly was a fool if he thought this stunt was going to end in anything other than his head on a spike.
He was fighting to stay grounded, to keep the rage that burned just below his skin from breaking free. It tugged at his mind, spoke to him with the confidence of an old friend.
It would be so easy, it told him, to just give in. To let go and do what he did best.
Logan scanned the crowd before him. That was the frustrating genius of Wade’s idiocy. If Logan lashed out, he’d expose them both. A hundred people were squeezed into the marketplace, maybe more. It made him think back to the pyre, of the city full of people who had waited to watch him burn.
Only, those people had looked at him with fear and hatred. Those before him now? They were smiling—hells below, some were laughing.
It made something twist in Logan’s gut. An emotion he couldn’t quite name.
And then there was his rage; hunched, sharptoothed and straining to break free.
They only laughed because they didn’t recognise him. Not yet at least, because it was only a matter of time before someone recognised the armour that flashed beneath his cloak.
Wade turned his back to Logan. Stupid mistake, sloppy. He was wide open to Logan’s claws, all he had to do was reach out.
It would be so easy to give in.
And yet…
Laughter drew his attention. Not the loud, barking laughter of an adult or Wade’s own ear-splitting giggle. It was small and bubbling and belonged to a bundle held close to a woman’s chest.
The bundle moved and squirmed in its parents arms and Logan caught a glimpse of a chubby-cheeked face.
There were children here.
Of course there were.
If he gave in to his rage, would he be able to guarantee their safety? The safety of their parents?
Logan looked down at the coin that lay in his palm. All he needed to do was hit Wade, he could do that. And then he could leave, skip town, force a brick down that idiot’s throat and throw him in the nearest river.
Logan closed his hand and turned to face Wade.
The jester stood with his hands on his hips, foot tapping rhythmically against there stage.
“Come on, Jimbo! The people are waiting,” he called out in a singsong voice.
Logan drew in a long breath through his nose, held it and breathed out.
“Alright.” He rolled his head to one side, letting the tense joints in his neck pop.
Wade stood there, arms hanging loose at his sides.
Logan gave him no warning. He put every annoyance, every moment of frustration and anger from the past weeks into his throw. The coin shot through the air, far faster than anything thrown by a normal human.
Wade wouldn’t have time to dodge, Logan knew. He’d aimed for the other man’s chest, hoping to give him one hell of a bruise.
Wade’s hands flew to the hilt of the katana strapped to his back. A sharp, silvery, swish echoed through the air. Logan took a step back, his breath catching as the sound was followed by two distinct pitter patters against the stage floor.
Wade, still holding his katana in one hand, bent over. He swiped up something by his feet, holding it aloft for the audience to see.
One half of a gold coin, cut cleanly through the centre.
How? HOW?! Logan blinked and looked down, searching the ground. It had to be some kind of trick, some sleight of hand. A glint of light caught his eye and he took a slow, stiff step forward.
The second half of the coin winked up at him from the edge of the stage. The audience watched as Logan picked it up and put it between his teeth, testing the metal.
Sure enough, it was real. Even Logan couldn’t deny that.
Wade slid his sword back neatly into its sheath.
Just who was this man? This joker who could slice through metal with the ease of a hot knife through butter?
Wade’s shoulders relaxed and he moved back into a casual stance, one hand on his hip. The other disappeared into the pack on his belt. He raised a slip of parchment, the same kind that Logan had seen displayed by the crier earlier.
“Well, Jimbop,” Wade cooed. “Looks like we’re fighting a dragon.”