Chapter Text
“Sometimes, I think he was made for me, you know?”
As he balanced his chair on its two back legs, Wade Wilson was the picture of repose: his legs were kicked up on the metal table before him, crossed at the ankles. When he jiggled his feet, his knives, carefully arranged on the tabletop, jangled in deadly symphony. In one hand, he held an ashy cigarette. He casually pulled it up to where his cracked lips were exposed, Deadpool’s mask scrunched up to the bridge of his nose. The cinder glowed, flared, died, as he took a long, languorous drag. His other hand casually spun a katana in a slow, hypnotic arch, and it cut through the heavy smoke as he exhaled.
“Obviously, we have the whole I can’t die/he can’t die premise – I mean, two unkillable assholes with untold amounts of PTSD, side-by-side, taking the multiverse by the balls by day and doing the dishes together by night? That right there is pretty fucking perfect, you know what I mean?”
Wade tapped the ash off the cigarette, watched it float to the cement floor.
“But there’s all the other stuff, too: the way he puts up with my shit, takes care of my dog, and makes an impeccable pancake. The way he fights like he’s got something to live for, and fucks like he’s dying – sorry, TMI? But, woowee those claws – they would probably be enough, tee-bee-aitch. And do not get me started on his abs.”
There was a scrape and reverberating twaaang as the katana was suddenly impaled into the floor. Wade took one last drag of the cigarette. He flicked it to the side, where it ricocheted off of something solid, and he sighed as he pulled down his mask.
“Anyway. I could go on forever. Literally, ha!”
Deadpool cocked his head, contemplating the arsenal spread out before him.
“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I guess there’s just something about you that makes me want to spill my guts.” Having made his selection, Deadpool reached out, slid one long, narrow knife off of the table, then a shorter, stouter dagger. “Granted, I want to spill yours much, much more.”
As Deadpool stood up in one fluid motion, the noise of the chair slamming against the floor was almost deafening in the otherwise silent room. He sauntered toward the man gagged and bound to the other chair, one, two, two and a half strides away from him.
“You get it, right? It was bad enough that the yin to my yang was pickling his liver in a whole ‘nother universe that I didn’t even know about, much less have plot access to, until the Fox acquisition – I mean, what kind of dick move was that?” Deadpool slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of the other man. “But then this had to go and happen.”
The gag was damp with saliva and blood, and sweat beaded across the man’s forehead, dripped down to catch on his eyelashes where it mingled with the tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. Deadpool tilted his head sympathetically as he loosened the gag.
“Now, now, pull yourself together. I need you to focus because, as you know, I’m really running up against the clock here. And now –” in one smooth movement, Deadpool plunged the dagger into the man’s leg, pushed the knife against his throat “ – so are you.” A flick of either wrist would sever the femoral artery or jugular vein; as a rule, Deadpool could go both ways. “So, I’m only going to ask you this one more time.”
The man’s scream slowly faded into a pathetic whimper.
“Where. Is. Logan?”
FIVE (AND A QUARTER) DAYS EARLIER...
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me, peanut?” Wade asked as he adjusted his utility belt. “Should be an easy one, in and out, you might not even need to get the claws out.” He spun on his heel to face where Logan sat on the couch, cocked his hip and lowered his voice in exaggerated seduction. “Unless, of course, you want to.”
Logan rolled his eyes at Wade, but was unable to completely suppress the twitch of his lips as he fought a smile. That was enough to spur Wade across the floor, where he promptly deposited himself in Logan’s lap with an –
“OOMPH! What the fuck, Wade!”
“So you’re coming then?”
“For the tenth time, no.” Logan attempted to push Wade off of him, but Wade only looped his arms around his neck and clung on like an overgrown starfish. Logan sighed. “It’s my only day off this week, I wanted to get some stuff done. Fix the sink. Do some laundry. Grab some groceries – “
“On your way back from No Bones About It, right.”
Logan stared at him blankly as the eyes of the Deadpool mask scrunched apologetically.
“Mary Puppins has a nail trim ‘n’ blowout appointment at the doggie spa today. I just remembered. Sorry, snookums.”
“What the fuck does she even have to blow out?”
Wade gasped, clutched his hand dramatically to his chest. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that, but Feige help you if our daughter did. You think the spa for our high-maintenance queen is expensive, imagine what a doggie therapist would cost.”
Logan closed his eyes, shook his head in defeated exasperation. “Weren’t you leaving?”
Wade sighed – now that he was snuggled into Logan’s lap, the thought of abandoning it for a day-long reconnaissance run was suddenly far less appealing. Sensing his hesitation, Logan jostled him lightly.
“Get going so you can get back.”
Wade grinned widely beneath his mask. “Aww, are you gonna miss me today, honey badger?”
“Nope,” came the harsh reply, belied by the playful tilt of Logan’s eyes. “You need to get back at a decent time, your ass is helping me with dinner tonight.”
“My ass is talented at a lot of things, as you know, but it has very shitty chopping skills,” Wade said, playing his own rimshot on the air drums. “I’ll do my best, though.”
Pulling Logan’s face toward his, Wade kissed him goodbye. Logan grunted unhappily, and when Wade pulled back, Logan had a comical grimace plastered on his face.
“Fuck, when was the last time you washed that thing? It tastes like rancid meat,” Logan smacked his lips and flinched, “and truffle oil?”
“How do you know what truffle oil – you know what, now is not the time to bring up your privileged upbringing, Logie bear.” Wade thumbed at his cheek in attempt to smooth away his irritated expression. “Sorry, no time to take the headgear off. Duty calls.”
With a limp salute, Wade heaved himself off of Logan and made his way to the door, pausing at the table to sheath his katanas and holster his gun.
“Hey.”
Wade turned back around to look at Logan, dressed in his thirst-trap-standard white tank/gray sweatpants lounging attire, his dark hair still delightfully sleep-tousled. The mid-morning light streaming through the window made him look soft and sun-kissed. The play of light and shadow accentuated the curve of his bicep as he lay his arm across the back of the sofa. He was just as muscular as Wade had ever seen him, but had a little extra padding now, the result of being well-fed and well-loved. Wade’s gaze zeroed in on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, where there was no visible bruise despite his hard work the night before. Logan’s mouth quirked in a knowing half-smile, as if he could hear how Wade was winding himself up with his own thoughts.
“Later, Red,” Logan promised. Then, with gravity, “Be careful.”
Wade nodded and cleared his throat, said, “See you tonight, peanut,” and headed out the door.
In the end, the recon mission went as expected: straightforward and uneventful, no bloodshed required. A success, natch, but boooring. Dumb. To add insult to injury, it had taken longer than expected, too, which meant it was well past dark by the time Wade emerged from the subway. The crisp fall air against his exposed skin was on the wrong side of nippy as he removed his mask for the walk home. Wade had actually been looking forward to making dinner with Logan that night, had even planned on stopping by his favorite bakery to bring something home for everyone for dessert.
But at least I have a USB drive with capital-R Receipts and I made a guy pee himself today! Not the best consolation price, TBH.
By the time Wade reached the threshold of his apartment building, he had worked himself up into a properly foul mood. So much so, that he completely missed the small, shivering lump tucked up against the glass door, beneath the shadow of the intercom box, until he heard a familiar snuffle and yip!
“What the fu – Mary?”
Wade gathered her up in a rush, rubbing warmth into her skin with one gloved hand while he bounced her like a colicky baby.
“What the fuck are you doing out here, my little cuntscicle?”
She whined in answer, her tongue flopping, smearing drool across his cheek. When Wade briefly held her away to check her over, his stomach dropped. There were dark red stains caked around her little mouth, her legs, her single bootless, manicured paw. Her pink unicorn harness had similar flecks of crimson speckled across it. The matching leash, still attached to the harness, was soaked in it.
Wade felt a hot, growing panic thrum through his body, making his chest tight. “Baby, what the fuck?”
There weren’t any signs of obvious injury to Mary, with the exception of her chilled skin, and she was becoming feistier as she warmed in Wade’s grasp, anxious to be put back on the ground.
Spiking adrenaline made Wade fumble with his keys, trip on the loose floorboard on the ninth step up the stairs in his rush to get to the apartment. In hindsight, he should’ve been more cautious, but in the moment, he only wanted to get into the apartment so he could tear whoever might be in there limb from limb.
He opted for shoving his weight into the door instead of bothering with his keys again, and the frame splintered as it gave way under the force. As he broke through, he heard a woman scream.
“WADE WILSON, WHAT IN SATAN’S TAINT ARE YOU FUCKING DOING?!”
“Oh Al, thank fuck!” Al was sitting at the kitchen table eating ice cream out of the carton, wielding her spoon like a switchblade. Everything in the apartment appeared to be in order, not a single thing out of place. Relief flooded through Wade’s body, making his limbs feel light and untethered. He carefully placed a squirming Mary on the floor before he braced his hands on table, lowered his head.
“Fuckin’ Walt on a disco stick, Al, you scared the shit out of me!”
She scoffed, “I’m sorry, I scared you?! Motherfucker, I was minding my own business before you busted through my door. You might wear red but you ain’t the fuckin’ Kool-Aid Man, that’s for damn sure!”
Wade smiled manically as he took in the door hanging precariously on its hinges. At his feet, Mary whined and pawed desperately at his leg, her nails digging in through his suit almost painfully.
“Logan is going to fucking kill you.”
“I know, right? It’s gonna be so hot,” he giggled, coming down from the adrenaline high. “Don’t worry, Al, we’ll keep it down when the time comes… and so do we.”
He looked around the apartment again, taking in more detail now that he wasn’t seeing everything through a panicked haze. It was unsettlingly still. All the lights were off, save for the one over the kitchen sink – the sink, where there were no dishes, no pots or pans. No lingering savory smells, no obvious sign of dinner being made. Mary’s bowl was still on the counter where Wade had left it that morning.
Wade looked down at Mary, who had stopped whining and started barking for his attention in urgent, clipped yaps. An anxious chill began creeping up his spine once again.
“Al,” he breathed, not breaking eye contact with the small dog pawing and nipping at his calf, “where’s Logan?”
Al hummed around a spoonful of ice cream. “Last time I saw him, he said he was taking that shriveled-up hobgoblin of yours to the vet or the fucking hairdresser or something.”
“Oh, okay, good,” Wade heard himself say as if from a distance, mindlessly tugging his mask back onto his head.
“I don’t know when they got back,” Al raised her voice over Mary’s intensifying barks, “but she sounds pissed as hell.”
Wade replied faintly, “Yeah, I think she has to shit, I’m gonna take her for a walk. Don’t, uh – don’t open this door for anyone, Al. I’ll be back in a minute,” and bent down to pick up Mary’s blood-soaked leash.
Wade let himself be dragged as Mary immediately surged for the door, the stairs, and Al’s voice faded behind them, “Motherfucker, how am I supposed to open or close it now?!”
The air felt even colder as they rushed back into the night. Mary paused briefly, sniffed at the air, and took off down the sidewalk, pulling Wade behind her. All the while, Wade could only murmur encouragement, yes, show me, good girl, find Logan girl, you’re such a good dog, terrified and preemptively enraged at what he might encounter. He held Mary’s leash in a death-grip; his other hand rested on his holstered gun.
They ran for only five blocks before Mary slowed to a trot, then veered sharply into a dimly lit alley. Wade could see dried, bloody pawprints decorating the pavement, alongside dozens of footprints (at least nine people, ten including Logan, Wade observed distantly), all originating from a disturbingly large, tacky pool of red.
Oh no. No.
“Logan,” Wade hissed into the night, even though he knew there would be no answer. The alley felt completely devoid of life, save for him and his tiny companion.
There were claw marks in the brick building on the one side of the alley; on the other, fencing and bushes had obviously been hacked at, shredded. Nestled in one of the bushes, barely hidden, was an arm, sectioned cleanly at the shoulder. Nearby, a burnished tranquilizer rifle meant for large game, sliced neatly into four pieces.
Logan had put up one hell of a fight.
There were also small, torn pieces of assorted fabric strewn across the pavement, glued there with gore. In some places, there appeared to be bite-sized chunks of torn flesh. Wade spotted a finger, which he dropped into an empty compartment on his utility belt.
Explains the blood around her mouth, then, and an involuntary surge of fondness made Wade’s throat tight at the thought. Mary tried to help him.
A few steps away from the carnage lay Logan’s ruined phone, screen and casing cracked like someone had dug their heel in and twisted with all of their body weight. Wade picked it up, cradled it to his chest.
He spun around at Mary’s cry; the streetlamp flickered above her, but he could see that she was resting her little head against something bulky next to the garbage cans.
Wade’s heart dropped as he approached her. It was Logan’s bomber jacket. It had been one of the first items of clothing Logan bought when he came to live in this universe, a thrifted thing that had made his eyes shine when Wade spotted it, hidden among the second-hand business jackets and suit pants. The cream-colored sherpa lining was almost completely stained a morbid scarlet, having acted like a sponge for whatever catastrophic thing had caused Logan to bleed so significantly.
He suddenly found himself thinking back to that morning, to their last kiss – no, when Wade had kissed him goodbye – no, when Wade was leaving for his mission, and how the Deadpool mask had been an unnecessary, stupid, barrier between them.
“MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH!”
Wade howled at the top of his lungs until his body ached with it, the cold night air and unbearable fury and heartache combining to incinerate him from the inside out. He lashed out with fists and swords at the garbage cans, the bushes, the brick wall, the air, until the fight suddenly left him and he dropped to his knees.
Mary sidled up next to him, tried to crawl into his lap as best she could. Wade breathed deeply, intentionally, and stroked a steady hand down her back. A determined, deadly calm filled the space left behind by the frenzied emotion that had erupted from him, and he felt as if he could think clearly for the first time since that morning.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Deadpool crooned. “Papa’s going to find him, and the fuckwads that did this to him. And when I do, they’re gonna wish they would’ve walked away while they were only down one fucking arm and a stinky little pinky.”
Mary growled and barked once, the sharp sound ricocheting down the empty alley. Deadpool’s eyes narrowed with intent. Beneath the mask, a wicked sneer spread across his face.
“Exactly.”