Chapter Text
“Come to the lab today,” Hank says over the phone a few days after the engagement party turned-impromptu sleepover. He’s on speaker phone as Wade and Logan are busy giving Puppins a bath, and Logan grunts in answer, both at Puppins’ squirming and the way Hank says it like a statement, not a question.
“Busy today,” Logan growls, gently holding Mary still while Wade scrubs her little tuft of hair with sensitive dog shampoo. She’d rolled around in an absolutely filthy mess on her walk this morning.
“Yes,” Beast drawls, “I can hear that, what is that noise?”
“Never heard the sound of a gonorrhea gremlin’s war cry, before, Beastie?” Wade asks, moving down Puppins’ back to clean off her skin with the softest washcloth they have. Puppins is anything but happy about this, groaning her guttural attempt at a growl, but her jaws are too soft for it to pack much punch. It’s more an ominous, existential moan you’d hear at the bottom of a chasm than anything resembling a bark to match a bite. She howls, though, when Wade grabs her little back foot to clean her toes and Logan has to clench his jaw to keep from answering with one of his own. He chuffs quietly at her instead, hoping to soothe and calm.
“Can’t say that I have, my friend.” Despite the situation, Wade grins – he likes that he’s Hank’s friend, and Logan is always referred to as “my boy”; something that Wade found out is apparently a multiversal constant. “But, genuinely, could you two please attempt to make an appearance today? I’ve done some thinking and may have come up with a solution to Logan’s healing factor issues.”
“I already told you it’s from the drinking, Hank,” Logan says. It’s his go-to deflection of an answer; punishment for his years of abusing his body.
“Wade and I have discussed that that’s probably not true; you had almost no trouble with this issue before you started working with the X-Men again. That time period in this universe when it was just you and Wade proves that it’s potentially a recent development.”
Logan shoots Wade a Look that says he’ll be bitching to him about that later, but Wade just blows him a kiss in reply. “Fucking fine,” Logan mumbles.
“What was that, Logan? I’m afraid I couldn’t quite hear you.” Hank’s tone says that he absolutely fucking did hear him and he’s being a dick just for the sake of teasing him.
“I said fine, we’ll come over, ya big blue hairy asshole.”
“Marvelous, my boy. I’ll expect you around 4,” and before Logan can confirm or deny the time, Hank hangs up with a flourish. His phone pings with a text notification that reads as Hank telling him to not take anything before he shows up. With a long groan, Logan hangs his head into the tub, letting Mary lick consolingly at his chin.
“You agreed to that with surprisingly little fight, peanut,” Wade says hesitantly, cleaning one of his hands off to run his fingers through Logan’s hair. It’s gotten decently long, still sticking up in his signature cowlicks, but Wade says it looks like something out of X2 — whatever the hell that means. Long pieces curl over his forehead and he spends most of his time sweeping the sides of it behind his ears.
Logan growls, leaning into the touch and mouthing at Wade’s wrist when he moves his hand to cup his cheek. He nips the delicate skin lightly, ridged scars and the lines of Wade’s veins pressing against his lips.
“Done this shit before, I know how it goes,” he says. “Probably just gonna make me try new meds again.”
Wade hums, noncommittal, gathering Puppins out of the tub to dry her off, thinking about the first round of testing Logan had gone through about a year ago. That had been an interesting afternoon at the lab, coaxing a regressed Logan into taking pills before Hank gave up and tried to invent something new.
—
Logan had taken small dose, quick acting pill after pill that day — designed to just give Hank an idea of their effect before Logan’s healing factor burned through them. He managed to come up with a few that would be high enough to put Logan to sleep, a few for his general anxiety (that he denied existed but Wade insisted upon giving those ones a chance), and specific ones for when he was experiencing a panic attack. The whole time hooked to an IV to help flush the drugs out between testing while Hank did the math for longer lasting doses based on Logan’s weight and the half-life of the drug in his system’s healing factor.
It had been going fine until Wade, upside down in one of Hank’s spinning lab chairs, righted himself in a flurry and blurted, “what about when you’re a puppy?” To Logan’s great embarrassment.
“What about when I’m like that?”
Wade had been oblivious to Logan’s red face and heated glare, desperate to not have this conversation in front of Hank, but god wasn’t listening to Logan that day (or any other day) because Hank had pounced on Wade’s statement immediately.
“No, Wade’s correct — you’re most likely not going to be easily convinced to swallow a pill while regressed,” Beast had mused, tapping a clawed finger against his chin.
“What if we put it in peanut butter?” Wade asked, completely serious but a grin tugging the corners of his lips.
“Are you fucking kidding me ,” Logan snarled, looking to Hank for a rescue but he was actually considering Wade’s outrageous idea, stupid thorough scientist that he fucking was — considering all hypothesis. “No! Come on! I’m done here, you tested what you wanted, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Would you be willing to regress now and test a few options out for me?” Hank had asked so politely, so sincerely. It crumbled Logan’s anger a little bit, knowing that Hank really did just have his best interest at heart. And Wade, too. Always.
He’d agreed, but regretted it as soon as Hank told him they were going to medically stress him out to get him there, putting him under in a safe, controlled way, but he still felt the physical effects of it before slipping down. Not wanting to make the whole day for nothing, Logan had gritted his teeth and got through it and besides, being down again had felt good and freeing. The drugs helped to calm him down after getting worked up, too.
Puppy Logan had not been pleased to be inside the lab, though, instantly up off the exam table and pacing around to sniff out everything. It took Wade sitting down on the floor with his arms wide for Logan to finally wander over and settle into his lap.
Just as Wade and Hank guessed, regressed Logan was extra suspicious of the pills and refused to take them. Wade managed to slip one past his lips in a trick, asking Logan for a kiss and then popping it on his tongue when he leaned in to lick over his cheek.
Logan had gawked, highly offended, and promptly spit it out onto the floor. He crawled out of Wade’s lap with a pissy huff after that, throwing him a pout that had Wade reigning in all of his self control not to giggle and coo at.
Hank found his solution after Logan sat by his desk, pawing at the drawer he kept his snacks in until Hank opened it for him to explore. Puppy Logan had instantly grabbed a bag of beef jerky in his mouth and ran off with it, tearing into the package as he hid under the exam table, growling low like either of the two others in the room were dumb enough to try and take it from him.
“That’s it!” Hank had exclaimed, rushing to his desk he scribbled furiously on a piece of scrap paper.
“What’s it? You writing out a grocery list, Big Blue? Better add more jerky to it for sure, peanut here might clean out your whole stash if he’s under much longer.” Wade cautiously crept closer and closer to where Logan was hiding, finally able to coax Logan out from under the table. He handed over the jerky readily when Wade held his hand out, dropping the bag from his mouth into his lap and sitting on his haunches by Wade’s knee. Wade fed him the rest of it by hand, making polite “uh huh” and “oh yeah” comments when Hank muttered stuff about modified food and the scientific properties of lacing things with Benzos.
After a few bites of jerky, Wade had faked Logan out again with a pill, but this time he swallowed it, blinking slowly as it worked its way into his system. “Hey, Beast, I got him to take one.”
“Yes, yes, that’s great, Mr. Wilson,” Hank replied absentmindedly, still scribbling notes and equations with symbols that looked vaguely demonic if you asked Wade’s opinion. But no one asked, so Wade had simply scooped up a drowsy Logan and told Hank they were going to head home, that he’d clearly gotten all the data he needed and their presence wasn’t going to aid him any more. Hank waved them off and that was that.
A couple months later, a feral Logan appreciated the sedative laced jerky Hank came up with after Wade had been injured on a mission and he’d carried him to Hank’s lab in distress. Sleeping on the lab floor, however, was less so.
—
Anyway, Wade kind of hopes today doesn’t end up like last time — the fallout of Logan coming off both an unprompted regression and a myriad of pills being something he doesn’t want repeated — but he doesn’t say any of this to Logan, simply kissing him on the forehead before letting Puppins out of her towel prison to run freely around the apartment. He laughs when Logan bolts after her, warning her not to get in his nest while she’s still slightly damp or he’d be cross with her.
Wade finds him in the living room picking up the blankets, muttering about the smell of Fritos that Mary’s little paws tend to have. He gives up folding them and kind of just balls them up hastily before tossing them in the basket by the TV.
He’s quiet the rest of the day, until they have to leave for the Mansion and he growls and grumbles as he drives, holding Wade’s hand over the console.
—
Hank greets them at the door, all but shoving them toward his lab, if he were less polite he may have actually grabbed the two of them by their shoulders and dragged them. Wade slows his pace pedantically, whistling as he pretends to shove his hands in pockets that he doesn’t have. He’s in a black T-shirt and his Deadpool suit pants, utility belt and boots and all. He fiddles with the clasp of a pouch as he shuffles down the hall.
Beast looks even more blue in the face than usual, fretting as they walk to the lab. Logan keeps pace with him, though he glances back at Wade every two steps, anxious that he’s not right next to him.
The sound of wheels on hardwood makes Wade stop dead in his tracks and spin, suddenly facing an equally frantic Charles Xavier rounding a corner at the end of the hallway.
“Logan! Wade!” He calls with a wave. “There’s someone I’d love for you to meet.”
Wade pumps his fist, “dear sweet God in Heaven, let it be Magneto!” He grins at Logan. “Honey badger! It’s finally happening!”
“Stars and garters, Wade , I was trying to avoid this,” Hank groans, gripping Logan’s arm. He’s a little slower on the uptake, darting his eyes between Wade, Charles, and Hank with that little crease between his brows and the curious tilt of his head.
Heels clicking and the swish of a cape announce Magneto’s presence next — along with the sickening, bone deep ache of his powers on the adamantium coating Logan’s skeleton. The same sour knowledge that Erik could hurt him with a mere raise of his eyebrow that took years to finally settle in his psyche. It’s just a brush, a habit. Erik constantly in tune with all the metal around him at all times. Nothing personal to the gesture at all. Logan spent years in close proximity with his Erik before the feeling stopped putting him on edge.
Logan stiffens under Hank’s grip regardless, growling low under his breath as Erik falls into step next to Charles’ chair, neat cape tucked around his shoulders but no helmet in sight. He’s considerably older than the Erik Logan knew, but no less familiar — the same shocking blue eyes and grey (now fully snow white) hair. Even the boyish quirk to his lips, like he’s just a few seconds away from saying something catty remains unchanging.
“Charles, darling, aren’t you going to introduce me to your guests? The ones that Hank appears to be attempting to smuggle into his laboratory,” Erik says, eyes steely and clear despite his age, letting anyone who gets close enough to see them know that time has done nothing but sharpen him.
“Erik, this is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett — currently non-acting members of my X-Men,” Charles gestures to them in turn with an encompassing sweep of his arm. Pride coats his words and turns Logan’s stomach even more; the tone that of a collector showing off a limited edition item.
Erik, to his credit, remains equally impassive and noncritical as he takes in Wade’s bare face and arms, extending a hand to shake and smirking when Wade squeals and bites the nails of his free hand.
“Holy shit, peanut.”
“Logan,” Erik squares his shoulders, stepping closer to him. “It is fascinating that you have the same metal as him, even across universes.”
Logan bares his fangs, lip curling as he grips Erik’s hand a little harder than necessary, “that’s one word for it, bub.”
“Oh-ho, Charles, I like this one. He’s different .”
Charles beams under the compliment, “yes, we’ve been very fortunate to work with Logan, and I hope we’ll be able to continue to do so in future.” He pauses a moment, “Wade, too, has been invaluable. Something I unfortunately came to realize a little too late, I’m afraid.”
Hank cuts in, pinching the bridge of his nose with a clawed hand, sigh longsuffering and heavy with implication as he tells the old men, “gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us, I do have some serious medical issues to discuss and we are not to be disturbed until we emerge. Perhaps for dinner, Charles, Erik.” He nods to them, turning Logan by his shoulder and leading him into the lab, Wade finally catching up and quickly on their heels.
“Big fan of yours, by the way,” he waves at Erik over his shoulder. “Definitely miss the helmet, though, very kinky.”
—
“Does he wear the cape all the time, Hank? Like even on casual Fridays?” Are the first words out of Wade’s mouth once the lab doors seal shut behind them.
Hank doesn’t respond, drawing his lab coat off the hook and over his arms, shaking his hands out once he’s dressed and Wade catches a glimpse of dotted wounds in his palms where his claws dug in from clenching his fists. Wade follows him deeper into the sterile room, toward the table in the back that they always use for Logan. Familiarity and routine doing a lot of heavy lifting.
But Logan pauses at the door, a blank little look on his face as he stares at nothing.
“Lo? You ready, sweetheart?”
Logan snaps out of it, grunting and following after.
“That’s his ‘yes’ grunt, by the way,” Wade says, still trying to get a reaction out of Hank to no avail.
“Ya know, if he’s anything like the Erik I knew,” Logan finally unsticks the words in his throat, “the cape is threaded with metal so he can make it flap even without wind.” He says it purely for Wade’s benefit, warmth glowing in his chest at the gleeful look on his mates face.
“Can we please begin?” Hank cuts in, knowing Wade could take a topic like that and run for miles with it.
Logan hops onto the exam table with a huff, “I don’t see what the big deal is, Hank? We’ve done this before.”
“Can you just—”
“And I already told you it’s from when I was drinking—”
“Will you stop it , James!” The outburst stuns all three of them, even Hank looks appalled at himself for a moment of tense silence before he deflates. “Logan, Logan , forgive me. I’m sorry.” He squeezes his eyes shut tight for a second, like the pressure can erase his mistake.
James .
“Talk,” Logan demands, face soft but voice rough. Hank’s never slipped up like that before. Never indicated he was ever looking at Logan and seeing someone else. But the name — a name this Logan never uses, had told Wade he was the only exception for because he uses it to make Logan feel wanted . It speaks volumes.
“I couldn’t— he wouldn’t let me—,” Hank slams a fist against his medical tray, tools clattering. Wade tenses, ready to intervene, but Logan looks calm, knows the turmoil is completely internal and that Hank would never hurt him. “He was sick and I couldn’t save him. Forgive me, Logan for potentially blowing this out of proportion, but I will not fail to save another Wolverine.”
“Hank…”
“He wanted to die and I couldn’t change his mind. No matter how much I begged or what I offered him—,” and oh , that’s new information. Wade’s wide eyes meet Logan’s behind Hank’s turned back practically screaming ‘ unpack that later ’. “So, please? Logan?”
Logan kicks his leg out, nudging Hank with the toe of his boot. “Do your worst, Doc. I’m all yours.”
There’s more to say, always is. But they’ve got time, for once in his life, Logan feels like he has time.
—
They set Logan up to the usual sensors, but Hank fine tunes them, searching for something specific.
“Logan, how do you feel right now?”
The question confuses him, he feels like he always tends to. He’s been in Hank’s lab enough now that it generally doesn’t set him off too much, Wade and Hank being comforting presences. He tells Hank as much with a frown, “like I always do.”
Hank swears under his breath, muttering to himself and typing more on the keyboard. “That’s the problem, Logan, your readings are suggesting that you’re exhibiting a stress response akin to severe fight or flight and you’re here telling me this is your typical state.”
Wade paces, his silence bothering Logan but he knows he’s just processing. Hank’s words hitting him low in his sternum like a physical blow.
“How often do you experience flashbacks? Nightmares? Any other intrusive form of memory?”
Logan blanches.
“Almost daily.”
It’s not a secret, but it still isn’t his favorite topic to discuss. He knows Wade knows all about them, but he doesn’t like looking weak.
“That’s okay, Lo. M’proud of you for being honest, honey.” The praise washes over him like it always does, like a blanket of comfort from his lifeline, his love. He sniffs, scenting Wade’s pride amid the medical smells of the lab; he always believes him when he says it, but it’s nice to check, too.
“Yes, that’s alright, Logan. I think I’ve got a solution for those that’ll help you.”
He takes a deep breath, clearly about to explain his findings but a knock sounds, interrupting him and the buzzer for the lab intercom rings out with Scott Summer’s voice. “Hank? What’s wrong with Logan? I heard he’s sick? Is he okay?”
Wade whirls toward the door, spinning on the heels of his boots, hands flitting to baby knife on his belt.
“It’s locked, Wade. No one’s getting in without my fingerprint or the code — and he doesn’t have clearances for that,” Hank reassures him easily, but there’s a frown on his furry face, watching as Logan’s heart rate spikes on the monitor.
“This isn’t fucking happening. I’ll be back,” the merc says, not waiting for a response from either of them before he stalks out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
—
Wade grabs Scott by the collar of his polo, shoving him against the wall opposite the lab with baby knife tucked firmly under his chin. It knocks the wind out of him, eyes widening in genuine fear behind his visor, he clutches weakly at Wade’s wrist, trying to pry him off to no avail. Wade’s hopped up on his new and improved healing and a year and a half of pent up rage at Scott’s mere existence.
“What’s wrong with him?” Scott asks meekly, a quiver in his tone.
“Let’s talk about what’s fucking wrong with you ,” Wade counters, digging the edge of baby knife in harder, he pricks Scott’s stubble, blade catching on coarse hairs. “Giving Colossus a fucking love letter to deliver to my fiancé during our fucking engagement party ? Are you fucking serious?”
Scott goes stiff against the wall, dread cooling him off as quickly as if he’d been doused in ice water. “It wasn’t a love letter. Did he read it?”
Sneering, Wade picks him off the wall a few inches before slamming him back again, shoulders and back first so he doesn’t crack his head against the exposed stone, but just barely. “Don’t fucking tell me it wasn’t that. I read it. I didn’t even give Logan the chance to — he doesn’t need that on top of all this. I had Puppins piss on it right before I threw it in the trash on her walk after the party.”
“NO!”
Wade slaps a hand over his mouth, edging closer to his face so they’re nose to nose. “You fucked up, Cyke. Colossus handed the letter to me , it didn’t have a name on it, an honest mistake. But I threw it in our key bowl and didn’t think about it again until I decided I needed some reading material on Mary’s jaunt.” He laughs, low and cruel, “you should’ve seen my fucking face reading that shit. I think I scared a few teenagers drinking by the swing sets with just how fucking flabbergasted I was.”
“What did you think would happen? Logan would read that and come running? Abandon me, our fucking family?”
He feels the way tremors wrack Scott’s body, a sick sense of pride thrumming through his own to match it. Outwardly, he knows he looks deadly calm, even breath and a solid stare. Wade’s missed this a little bit. It’s like an old pair of jeans that’s molded to your body shape, comfortable and right and his.
Pocketing baby knife with a spin of the hilt, Wade moves to pin Scott across his collarbone with the full length of his forearm, leaning back to really look at him. “Fucking answer. Now.”
Scott licks his lips, nervous habit, “that’s not what I wanted. Not what I thought would happen. I just had to tell him — before it was too late, he needed to know .”
“It was too late when you fucking met him.”
Scott draws a sharp inhale at the blistering, stinging truth of the statement. It had been too late, entirely too late by the time Scott finally met this Logan. He was already entangled with Wade damn near completely.
“I want him to be happy,” Scott spits. “He should know everything. I did what you asked, I’ve stayed away but this is my house, Deadpool. My fucking home. I have a right to be here and ask about him when he’s around.”
“And I have the right to intervene whenever I feel it’s necessary.”
Disgust crawls slowly over Scott’s face, it mingles with a touch of horror at the implications of Wade’s words. Hating the reminder of how much Logan trusts Wade with, how much he submits to him.
But Wade’s nothing if not damn devoted. He proves that he’s earned the right to be Logan’s everything time and time again.
“I still don’t get it ,” Scott whispers, desperate edge bleeding through.
“And you never will.”