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“Fucking shit!”
A loud crash from the living room made Logan turn around to look, his brow furrowing when he saw Wade scramble to his knees, looking at something on the ground and moaning.
“No! Bad Deadpool. Fuck.”
“You good?” Logan asked, and Wade turned big, watery eyes on him, holding up two halves of a controller for one of his video game machines.
“It's broken. And I don't have another.”
“Tough shit,” Logan said, and Wade groaned, dropping his head onto the couch like an unruly dog. “Just buy another one.”
“But I want to play now,” Wade whined in a tearful, childish pitch. Logan rolled his eyes.
“Shouldn't have thrown it on the floor then.”
“Oh, please. Like you can say shit about impulse control.” Wade picked up the pieces of the controller, stacking them on top of the couch table instead of throwing them away. Logan had no doubt that he was going to be the one to do that later. “I know that random, violent outbursts are usually your thing, but I just lost about a million souls because some bitch-ass skeleton pushed me off a cliff, so I'm justified.”
“In your video game?”
“No, a skeleton shanked me in real life,” Wade mocked. “Fuck, you're old.”
Logan was. Not that it mattered. “Which game's that?”
“God, who even are you, my dad? This is some boomer shit right here.” Wade gestured at the screen, where a guy in armor was standing in some sickly green and brown environment. “It's only the best game series ever made. It'll cut your throat, chew you up, spit you back out and then piss on your grave. And you'll be cursing your entire existence the whole time you play it.”
“Huh.” Logan frowned. “Why do you keep playing it then?”
“Because!” Wade tossed himself back onto the couch, letting out a forlorn sigh. “It's addicting. Beating Ornstein and Smough for the first time was probably the best orgasm of my life. And I've had a lot of them.”
Logan liked to think that Wade was above actually coming in his pants because of a video game, but at this point, he wouldn't put anything past him. “That's disgusting.”
“What's disgusting is the fact that I am now stuck staring at this screen instead of clobbering Nito like the good lord intended me to.” Wade sighed. “Are you almost done with dinner? I need to eat my feelings.”
“You can set the table,” Logan said, and Wade looked at him like he'd lost his mind.
“Who are we, the fucking Brady Bunch? We'll eat on the couch like civilized people.”
Logan rolled his eyes but obligingly brought their plates over to the couch while Wade flipped through channels, barely letting each program play for longer than a second before he kept going.
“There's nothing good on,” he said as Logan sat down next to him, handing him his noodles with pesto, crowned with a moderate mountain of parmesan. Logan hadn't really felt like cooking today, but if he'd left it up to Wade, they'd be having take-out for the fifth time this week, and his wallet would definitely thank him for preventing that. “Guess we'll have to turn to streaming. May the Netflix gods shine their light upon us tonight.”
As far as Logan understood it, there were thousands of movies on Netflix. How Wade could never seem to find a single one to watch in all that noise was beyond him.
“Just put on whatever,” Logan said, and Wade gasped, holding a hand up to his chest.
“Peanut! Your continued pop culture education is a very important, meticulously curated experience, and I will not let you squander my efforts by having you watch some low budget slop shat out by the hellscape that is the Netflix writers' room. Just sit back and relax, I got this.”
Logan couldn't possibly care less about whatever the fuck Wade was going to pull up on the screen, but as he did so often these days, he just indulged Wade's whims. He'd mellowed a lot in a very short time, he could admit that. Logan kind of liked it.
If he ignored the fact that the main reason for that was his growing affection for Wade, he could even call it an improvement. But honestly, falling for his probably-still-hung-up-on-his-ex roommate wasn't all sunshine and roses. The only upside was that Wade was probably the most oblivious idiot he'd ever met.
“Okay, there we go,” Wade said after over five minutes of scrolling through what looked like hundreds of movie titles, clicking on a picture of three people in blindfolds. “Some people will tell you that this movie was a commercial failure, which might be true, but it's still a great fucking movie. Not a great fucking movie though, Sandra Bullock doesn't have a career in porn, sadly, but despite that glaring flaw, it's pretty good.”
“Sure.” Logan was already done with his own pasta now that Wade was finally digging in. He set his plate down on the table before he dug through the drawer on the underside and pulled out a cigar, cutting off the cap and lighting it up.
“You know, they don't let you smoke indoors in most places anymore,” Wade said, and Logan cocked an eyebrow at him.
“I can take it to the window if it bothers you.”
“Puh-lease. You've been puffing on these all day every day for months, I would've said something by now if I gave a shit. Besides, I already have cancer.”
Logan shrugged, taking a drag and closing his eyes in satisfaction when the tobacco filled his lungs.
“Aw, does that taste good? Yeah, you like that, don't you, little Wolvie? Yes, you do, what a good boy.”
Logan glared at Wade. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I will if you watch the movie,” Wade said, and Logan sighed, looking back at the screen where two women were driving in a car. It didn't look overly exciting. Even the colors were drab. “Look, look, look, watch this. Shit's about to go down.”
“Thought you were gonna shut up,” Logan drawled, but Wade ignored him, pointing at the screen right as the driving woman deliberately crashed the car.
“There it is! Fuck, I love that moment.”
Logan let Wade jabber on all the way through the movie. He finished his cigar, grabbed a beer, then lit another one. By the time the credits were rolling, Logan was on his third cigar and pleasantly buzzed, at least as much as was possible for someone with a healing factor.
“So, that was Bird Box. Did you like it?” Wade asked, sitting on his hands like a toddler, and Logan hummed.
“Pretty good, yeah.”
“Wow, stellar review coming from you, oh verbose one.” Wade turned off the TV, then leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I want to play Dark Souls.”
Probably his game from earlier, if Logan had to guess. “Shouldn't have smashed your controller then.”
“Don't remind me of the consequences of my own actions.” Wade flopped onto his side, sprawling out over the armrest like a sack of potatoes. “I'll have the jitters all night if I can't kill a crystal golem before bedtime. They're not fun to fight at all, but I like the sparkles.”
Logan nodded. “Maybe you are addicted.”
“Excuse you?” Wade rolled his head up to glare at him. “You want to talk to me about addiction while you're doing your little chimney routine over there?”
“I'm not an addict.”
“Yeah, right,” Wade snorted. “Bet you couldn't go a full week without your cancer sticks.”
Logan glared at him as he took another hit. “Bet you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut for a week,” he countered, blowing smoke in Wade's direction. In hindsight, Logan should've known better than to say anything of the sort to Wade double-dog-dare-me Wilson.
In the moment though, Logan watched Wade narrow his eyes and say, “Is that a challenge?” without thinking anything of it. He snorted dismissively, flicking ash onto his discarded plate.
“Fifty bucks says you can't.”
“Ooh, okay, Mr. Moneybags. You're on.” Wade got off the couch by rolling forward into a handstand and flipping back upright like an acrobat. He even pointed his toes. Show-off. “A week starting tomorrow. Shake on it.”
Logan rolled his eyes but obligingly shook Wade's hand. “Sure. Fucking weirdo.”
“This weirdo's about to be fifty bucks richer.” He pointed at Logan's cigar. “Two weeks of doing the dishes says you can't go without these babies in the meantime.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. Wade hated doing the dishes. “You serious?”
“As a heart attack, shnookums.” Wade turned on his heel and walked off to the kitchen, probably to raid the fridge. “And normal cigs count too! No cheating!”
Logan shook his head, taking another deep drag of his cigar. A week, huh? He could do a week, no problem. Why the hell was Wade making losing bets tonight?
Probably for the same reason he did anything at all. Purely for shits and giggles.
“You want some Froot Loops?” Wade shouted from the kitchen, and Logan sighed.
“Why the fuck would I want cereal at –“ He glanced at the clock, “One in the morning?”
“It's girl dinner. Get with the times, old man.”
Logan shook his head. “We already had dinner.”
“Ah, but this is dessert. So it goes in the dessert stomach. Besides, calories don't count after midnight.”
Logan would have laughed at that, except he knew that Wade would take it as encouragement to continue the bit until it turned stale and vaguely gross. He'd fallen into that trap before. “Get me a beer instead, will you?”
“What's the magic word?”
Logan unsheathed his claws.
“Fair point!” Wade came skipping – literally skipping and somehow not spilling his bowl of milk or Logan's beer as he did – back over to the couch and handed Logan his beer with a flourish. “Here you go, kind Sir. Enjoy your vices while you can.”
Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn't say shit about drinking.”
“So you're saying you can't quit drinking for a week?” Wade asked in a deceptively mild tone, looking at Logan from under his non-existent lashes. “Weak sauce, Mr. I'm-not-an-addict.”
Logan gritted his teeth, rising to the bait even though he could smell the trap from a mile away. “Fine. No cigars, no drinks. And if you lose, you'll do the dishes for three weeks.”
“Deal.” Wade had that smug little smirk on his lips that always made Logan's hands itch with the urge to punch it off his face. Or kiss it off his face – an impulse which Logan vehemently ignored. Apparently Wade had figured that Logan's chances at going without a smoke for seven days were too high, and now he was trying to even the odds.
What Wade probably – definitely – hadn't taken into account was the fact that despite the situation he'd found Logan in prior to their stunt in the void, Logan wasn't actually addicted to any of his vices. His healing factor nixed any sort of withdrawal symptoms he might have usually had, same as with hangovers and alcohol poisoning. The addict part of his brain was entirely psychosomatic, an escape mechanism after his life had turned to shit, and – well.
He'd been doing much better recently. Enough so to dramatically reduce his drinking habit, from severe alcoholism to a moderate drinking problem. And besides, his cigars had always been more of an indulgence than a crutch, unlike the alcohol, so yeah. Wade was about to fucking lose. Logan just hoped that he'd do the dishes without whining about it the entire time.
“When I get that money, I'll spend all of it on Froot Loops,” Wade said, and Logan huffed, stubbing out his cigar with his fingertips and watching the burn heal as quickly as it had come.
“We'll see about that, bub.”
The next morning saw Logan jerking awake at the sound of some pop song he didn't know, blaring at an ungodly volume right next to his ear.
“Fuck!” he snarled, coming up swinging with all six of his claws out – but he only hit air. Logan rapidly blinked the sleep from his eyes to see Wade standing a few feet away from the couch, holding up his phone and a ring binder notebook that said, 'breakfast plz?!?' with a colored drawing of a tiny cartoon Deadpool with sparkling eyes. Logan stared at the picture, trying to figure out what the fuck Wade was up to right now. Then he remembered.
“Make it yourself, asshole,” he growled, lying back down and pulling his blanket up over his head. It did little to muffle the sound of the gratingly cheery song still playing, but at least he didn't have to deal with Wade's pouty lips anymore. That was until the blanket was yanked off of him, cruelly exposing his still sleep-warm body to the open air. “Hey!”
Wade shoved the paper in his face, imitating cartoon Deadpool's pleading eyes startlingly well. Logan wished he had the energy to be more annoyed, but as it was, he heaved a sigh and rolled to his feet, wiping a hand across his face while Wade did a silent little happy dance next to him. It was kind of cute.
Logan shook his head at himself. He desperately needed coffee if his brain was woozy enough to have those kinds of thoughts first thing in the morning.
“Eggs and bacon?” he asked as he stretched, and Wade flipped the paper over, presenting the word 'Pancakes' written in bright pink, glittery letters. Logan wrinkled his nose. “We had pancakes yesterday.”
Without missing a beat, Wade flipped to the next page. 'Doesn't matter, we can have them again today'.
Logan frowned. “How'd you know I was going to say that?”
Wade smirked as he flipped the page again. 'Because I know you'. There was a tiny Deadpool on this one too, kissing a tiny Wolverine on the cheek. Logan's eye twitched.
“I've decided to become a burlesque dancer who shoots water out of his ass,” he said with a completely straight face, and Wade made a wheezing noise that was halfway between a honk and a laugh. Logan raised an eyebrow, nodding at Wade's little notebook. “Well?”
Wade held up both hands before he flipped through the pages, passing several before he stopped and turned it around so Logan could see. 'You got me'.
Rather than being annoyed that Wade was apparently prepared for all eventualities, he chose to be smug that Wade had actually accounted for Logan getting one over on him. “Sure did, bub.”
Wade ripped out the first notebook page, holding it up right next to his face. The bright pink of the 'Pancakes' lettering was almost the same shade as Wade's mouth when he pouted hard, doing his best impression of Mary Puppins. It was shockingly effective.
“Alright, alright,” Logan grumbled, scratching his hip as he walked towards the kitchen, followed by a victoriously dancing Wade. “Turn that shit off.”
Wade shook his head, raising his hands in the air and spinning in circles as the song reached its chorus once more, proclaiming that Wade was going to shut up and dance. He'd probably picked it on purpose, the fucker.
Logan wasn't even aware that he was watching until Wade grinned and held out a hand, raising the phone with the other and mouthing the words, 'Shut up and dance with me' along with the music. Something in Logan's stomach swooped even as he scowled and knocked Wade's hand away.
“You want me to dance or you want me to cook, bub? Cause I'm not doing both.”
Wade seemed to seriously consider it for a moment before he mimed a dramatic sigh, waving Logan towards the kitchen with an exaggerated bow.
“Good.” Logan went to the fridge first, grabbing the milk and eggs before he started foraging for flour and sugar in the cabinets. Wade hopped up onto the counter to watch as Logan mixed the batter, heated up the pan and started flipping one pancake after the other. The muscle memory was still engrained from his days of making breakfast for twenty people at the mansion.
“You want raisins?” Logan asked to quickly take his mind off of that train of thought, and Wade recoiled, giving him an affronted look. “That's a no?”
Wade gestured wildly, pointing at the pancakes, at Logan, clutching his head, then acting as if he was throwing up. Logan frowned, internally smirking.
“If you don't like my pancakes, I'll eat them myself.”
Wade waved his hands quickly – no, no, no – before he repeated the gestures, a little slower this time. Then he hopped off the counter to reach into the cabinet above, pulling out the half-full plastic tub of chocolate chips and holding it out to Logan.
“I still want raisins,” Logan said, and Wade shook his head, blocking Logan's hand when he tried to reach into the cabinet to get them. “For me. You can have chocolate.”
Wade held up a finger, then pulled out his notebook and started scribbling. When he held it out to Logan, it read, 'Don't be a sad beige bitch'.
“I have no idea what that means,” Logan said, and Wade silently despaired at him, fainting dramatically onto the counter. Logan snorted. “Go sit at the table if it bothers you.”
Wade gave him a dirty look but obediently slunk off into the living room. Logan finished making the pancakes – chocolate chips for Wade, raisins for him – and brought the two stacks over to the couch, where Wade was already looking for something to watch.
Honestly, it wasn't as weird as Logan would've thought to be sitting here without Wade's constant jabbering in his ear. He'd almost say it was kind of nice. Not that Logan got overly annoyed at Wade's motor mouth anymore, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd shared a quiet moment with him, so – yeah. Nice.
“Who's that?” Logan asked, pointing at the character on screen who was currently aiming a gun at the other people in the room. When Wade made a pained sound, he looked over to find Wade with both hands pressed over his mouth, giving Logan a betrayed look. Which was when Logan realized that apparently it had become reflex for him to rely on Wade to explain pop culture to him whenever they watched TV.
And apparently Wade had almost lost the bet just now.
Logan smirked. “What'd I tell you? There's no way you'll last a full week.”
Wade's surprised look turned sour in a split second as he pulled his hands away from his face and crossed his arms over his chest. Logan looked back at the screen and hummed when the bad guy kissed one of the women in the group.
“I bet he's going to end up with the other one. She seems nice.”
Again, Wade made a small choking sound. Logan ignored it, taking another huge bite of his pancakes.
“Or maybe he dies. This is the same actor who plays that one king in the throne show, right? Sean Penn?”
He knew full well that it wasn't, and to his delight, Wade hid his face in his hands and huffed a few desperate breaths. Logan put on his best guileless face as he continued.
“Oh, wait, no, that's Sean Connery, right? Wasn't he Sherlock Holmes in this universe? No, wait.” Logan snapped his fingers. “He was Batman.”
Wade stood up abruptly, white-knuckling his plate of pancakes. Logan watched as Wade practically ran into Althea's bedroom, slamming the door behind himself.
When he heard a pillow thumping repeatedly against the door, Logan laughed, imagining Wade throwing a silent tantrum like a toddler. If this was all it took to make Wade suffer, this week might just turn out to be the most fun he'd had in this universe yet.
Logan was going to win this bet. Easily.
In the weeks and months since he'd accepted that he was probably staying here for the long term, Logan hadn't really put much effort into finding work. The hush money from the TVA had been incredibly generous, and apparently the old Logan from this universe had set aside some money that nobody had touched after his death. Logan still felt a little guilty for accepting it, but giving two thirds of it to Laura had assuaged some of that feeling of robbing a dead man.
Either way, Logan wasn't hurting for funds at the moment. And taking some time to get his head on straight before he returned to regular life after spending more than two decades drinking it down the drain was probably reasonable.
He still accompanied Wade on some of his jobs though. And given the circumstances of this week, Logan wasn't going to miss this one for the world.
“Hello ladies,” Weasel said as they walked up to the bar, a beer and a fruity cocktail already waiting for them. “I could smell you from a mile away.”
Logan eyed Weasel with distaste – he didn't think he'd ever warm up to the guy – before he pushed the beer back across the bar. “I'm not drinking today.”
Weasel blinked. “For real? Did the apocalypse happen while I wasn't looking? Invasion of the body snatchers?”
Wade huffed, clearly biting back some sort of joke or sarcastic quip. Logan let the silence hang, reaching across the bar to where he knew the golden mission cards were stacked.
“Wait, did it actually?” Weasel asked, a hint of fear in his voice now, the fucking coward. “It didn't, right? Please say it didn't, I've got shit to do today.”
“Which one of them's ours?” Logan asked, fanning the cards out on the counter. Weasel tapped the one on top, looking between him and Wade.
“Hey, dude, you good?” he asked Wade. “You look like you're about to pop a blood vessel and projectile nosebleed all over the bar.”
Logan turned towards Wade – and yeah, that was actually a pretty apt description. He smirked. “Yeah, bub. You alright?”
Wade turned a glare on him that might have incinerated him if Wade had those kinds of powers. He grabbed the cocktail off the bar, emptied it in one continuous chug and slammed it back down. Logan chuckled while Weasel looked even more alarmed.
“What's going on? Did someone cut out his tongue?”
“Something like that.” Logan grabbed the card and put it in his pocket. “Thanks, bub.”
“Yeah, sure,” Weasel said dubiously as Logan walked away, Wade hot on his heels. “I'll put that drink on your tab!”
Wade gave him the finger right before they stepped out of the bar. Logan watched as Wade sighed heavily, rubbing both of his temples with stiff fingers. He almost felt a little bad for him.
But mostly he was enjoying the show.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, and Wade glared at him, dragging a single finger across his neck. Logan laughed. “I'd like to see you try, mouth.”
Wade mimed shooting him, then turned on his heel and walked off towards the car. Logan followed him, automatically reaching into his pocket to grab a cigar – until he remembered that he'd left them under the apartment floorboards, right next to Wade's cocaine. He licked the backs of his teeth, annoyed at that niggling itch for tobacco in his lungs, but it was easy enough to ignore. As he'd predicted, his body didn't show any physical signs of addiction. It was all in his head.
And thus far, Wade hadn't noticed a single one of Logan's weak moments, so he was probably safe.
Wade was already standing at the passenger side door by the time Logan reached the car, giving Logan a demanding look with one hand on the door handle. Logan took his sweet time digging out the keys before he unlocked the car and sat down in the driver's seat.
“Could you – thanks,” Logan said when Wade put his phone onto the little stand, his navigation app already open. Logan started the car, pulling out of the parking space and steering them towards their destination. It was going to take them a while to get there, and Logan would be very impressed if Wade managed to keep his mouth shut through the entire ride without singing along to the radio. They'd probably stop for gas on the way back, so maybe Logan could reward Wade for his good behavior with one of those energy drinks he loved so much.
The hiss of a lighter made Logan pause. He looked over at Wade and – oh, that fucking bastard.
“Really?” Logan asked as Wade took a deep drag of his cigar – one of Logan's, probably – and blew the smoke right in Logan's face. Logan practically slammed his finger down on the button to open the windows, a snarl on his lips as he snapped, “Not in the fucking car, asshole. Blow it outside.”
Wade raised his brow bones in silent mockery. Somehow, Logan knew exactly what Wade was getting at.
“Shut up. You know what the fuck I mean.”
Instead of answering, Wade took another luxurious hit, tipping his head back and everything, the foot of the cigar glowing bright red between his fingertips. He closed his eyes, holding the smoke for a second before he blew it out – mostly towards the window, to his credit, but –
Logan could still smell it. That itching need in his lungs was getting more and more difficult to ignore, niggling at the back of his mind like an unpleasant stench. But he would be goddamned if he let Wade figure out that his strategy was working. Calm and unaffected, that was what Logan had to project.
It was too bad that he wasn't much of an actor, because Wade seemed to see right through him, if the insufferable smirk on his face was anything to go by.
“I'll get you back for this,” Logan growled, and Wade shrugged, deliberately unbothered as he kept puffing on his cigar like he had all the time in the world. Realistically, smoking the whole thing should have taken him thirty minutes at most.
Wade kept the fucking cigar between his lips the full hour that it took them to get to their destination.
When they finally arrived, Logan slammed the door a little harder than he'd meant to, making it creak concerningly on impact. If Logan had broken something inside the car door just now, he was going to make Wade pay for that too.
“Come on,” Logan said gruffly as Wade dragged his katanas out of the trunk, slinging them over his shoulders and double checking the rest of his weapons. “Let's get this over with.”
Wade gave him a jaunty salute, and Logan led the way into the warehouse, where their marks were supposedly already in some sort of trade standoff, if the golden card wasn't lying. It was going to be a clean hit, take out both sides and make it look like a mob deal gone sour. Easy.
And with Wade being forced to keep quiet, maybe they could even do it stealthily for once.
They headed around the back of the main storage room, scaled one of the walls up to the towering ceiling and silently crawled across the metal beams to where Logan could hear two men's voices talking about their shady business. The group was hidden partway behind a bunch of huge storage containers, so by the time Logan and Wade had a clear shot, the men already seemed to be shaking hands on whatever agreement they'd just come to, trading two almost identical briefcases between the frontmen.
Wade tapped him on the shoulder, and Logan turned to see Wade waving his gun, then pointing at the men below. Logan shook his head, and Wade rolled his eyes, nudging his chin to get Logan looking in a different direction – and sure enough, there were two snipers posed on opposite sides of the warehouse walls, clearly belonging to the two opposing factions, if their suits were anything to go by.
Logan gave Wade a thumbs up that Wade grinned proudly at before he made his way towards the sniper on the left. A bit more of a thought-out plan might have been Logan's preferred way of doing this shit, but he had a pretty good idea of what Wade was probably thinking, so he headed over to the other sniper and got into position.
His night vision gave him the perfect view of Wade once they were both perched above their respective targets. Wade held up a hand, counting down from five, and then they both dropped on top of the men, grabbing their rifles and firing.
Logan's shot was a little off, but Wade hit the other frontman right in the forehead, dropping him instantly. Within seconds, all of the mobsters had drawn their weapons and were looking around for the shooters – which gave Logan ample opportunity to reload the rifle, take aim and fire again. This time, he didn't miss.
“What the fuck?” someone shouted, and then the two gangs were firing on each other, spraying blood all over the floor. Logan watched from his vantage point, only mildly distracted when the sniper he was still kneeling on top of tried to get up, apparently not yet unconscious – a mistake which Logan rectified with a swift punch to the back of the head.
One of the men tried to run, and Logan was in the middle of swinging his barrel around when the guy went down in a spray of blood. Seconds later, two more met the same unfortunate fate. Logan was honestly impressed with Wade's reload speed.
Some of the mobsters were firing at Wade's position, and Logan smirked when Wade propped up his sniper's unconscious body to catch the bullets. That would take care of how this guy had supposedly been killed. To make things easy for himself, Logan was about to simply grab his own guy and toss him down to the ground floor, where he'd hopefully break enough bones to die – but a sudden impact and subsequent splash of blood across his suit made him pause.
He looked up and saw Wade waving happily at him, still holding up the rifle. Well. That was another way to do it. Logan still tossed his guy onto the ground floor, just to cover his bases in case anyone noticed the blunt force trauma to the back of the head.
The entire shoot-out lasted maybe forty seconds. Once everyone was dead, Logan jumped down from his perch, landing heavily on his feet. The adamantium meant that his ankles survived, but it sure as shit hurt. Wade landed next to him with a triple backflip, because of cause he did. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to show off.
“Let's go,” Logan said, careful not to step in any of the blood as he picked his way across the floor. He was staring at it so intently that he didn't notice Wade heading the opposite way until Wade was already standing over one of the briefcases, poking at it with his katana. “Wade,” Logan said sharply. “Leave it.”
Wade gave him a look that screamed, 'You don't tell me what to do', before he popped the briefcase open with the tip of his katana. How the fuck he even managed that was a mystery to Logan. Wade looked inside, and whatever he saw in there made his whole body tense.
“What?” Logan asked, walking over because the damage was already done, and curiosity was getting the best of him. “What's in it?”
Wade's head jerked up, his eyes wide behind the mask – but then he looked down again, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Logan looked over his shoulder, and –
Ah. Yeah, that would do it.
“Thought those bastards were gone in your universe,” he said, but Wade didn't respond. He just kept staring at the file with the big, red 'Top Secret: Weapon X' stamped across the top page. Logan had dealt with them plenty in his home world – they never seemed to stay gone – but from what Wade had told him about his own run-in with the bastards, Logan had assumed that things had gone differently here.
Apparently not.
“We can't take the file. It'll ruin our cover,” Logan said, and Wade twitched as if Logan had just ripped him from his thoughts, his body still wrought with tension. "You alright?" Logan asked, and Wade gave him a quick thumbs up as he stashed away his katana. He was clearly lying, but Logan didn't think that calling him out on it would go over so well.
Not that he could have, because a second later, Wade turned on his heel and started marching off, leaving the warehouse without looking back once. Logan sighed, double checking his gloves for any tears – there weren't any – before he kneeled down to thumb through the file and take pictures of each page with his phone. Once he was done, he closed the briefcase again and followed Wade outside, careful not to leave any trace. When the police arrived, they would hopefully come to the conclusion that no outsiders had been present.
Wade was pacing next to the car, still looking a bit shaken even through the mask. Logan didn't comment on it, because even if Wade wanted to, there was no way for them to talk about this right now without calling off their bet. Logan could be patient and wait for them to get home first.
They rode back to the apartment in silence, walking up the stairs side by side, and as soon as they passed the threshold, Logan found the notebook that Wade had used before and handed it to him.
“You want to talk about it?” he asked, and Wade gave him a dirty look that honestly looked more exhausted than menacing. He tossed the notebook down onto the couch, pointedly walking away to the bathroom, his head held high and shoulders tense. Wade shut the door quietly behind him, and Logan wiped a hand down his face, wishing that he'd never agreed to Wade's stupid bet. There was no way that he was going to get Wade to talk now.
He was well aware that Wade's trauma was none of his business. The fact that he even felt the urge to help spoke volumes about how much his life had changed over these past few months. It had been a very long time since Logan had genuinely cared about anyone.
But Wade was a stubborn son of a bitch, enough so to give Logan a run for his money. And Logan wasn't going to poke and prod where it wasn't wanted. So when Wade emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, Logan was already in the kitchen making dinner, just some frozen pizza with extra toppings to up the caloric intake. Him and Wade both needed the extra protein after a mission.
Wade didn't look up when Logan handed him his pie and settled down to eat his own pizza on the couch, while some TV reporter droned on in the background. They finished their dinner in silence, and once Logan had put the dishes away and brushed his teeth, Wade was already bundled up under the covers, his back turned to Logan. If Logan didn't know any better, he'd assume that Wade was mad at him for some reason.
But even if he was, it could wait until tomorrow. Logan pulled off his shirt and pants so he was only in his boxers – his regular sleeping attire – before he lay down next to Wade, careful to keep their usual distance between them. He could hear a group of teenagers messing around outside, but other than that, it was a perfectly peaceful night. It didn't take long for Logan to drift off to sleep.
He didn't dream of anything.
At first, Logan wasn't sure what had woken him up. He kept his eyes shut, ears pricked for any noise that might have – and yes, there it was, a quiet sound, like someone was choking on a sip of water.
His blood froze when he realized that it was coming from directly behind him.
Logan turned around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark – and there was Wade, lying on his back, taking shallow breaths and staring unseeingly at the ceiling. His mouth was clamped firmly shut, and Logan's heart twinged at the thought of Wade not allowing himself to cry because he didn't want to wake Logan up.
“Hey,” he rasped, his voice rough from sleep. “Nightmare?”
Wade startled, looking over at him – and then he nodded, some of the tension in his body already dissipating. Logan still grabbed his wrist as an anchor, and Wade squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away right as the tears began to fall. Wade usually wasn't a silent crier, but he was disconcertingly quiet now, even as his shoulders hitched and he kept sucking in breaths through his nose.
Was he actually – no, surely fucking not. “It's fine. Forget the bet, you can make noise,” Logan said, and Wade shook his head firmly, his wrist tensing in Logan's grip. “I'm serious. Let's call a truce, and you can pick it up again tomo–“
Wade ripped his arm out of Logan's grip, rolling away from him to curl up around a pillow that he pressed to his face, hugging it with both arms. It was a pitiful sight. Logan wished there was something he could do to help.
Well. There was something.
“I'll be right back,” Logan said, taking a second to squeeze Wade's shoulder and prompting a shuddery sigh, before he headed off to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove and pull out their respective choices for post-nightmare tea.
He kept an ear out for any sign that Wade was getting worse, but he seemed to have calmed down somewhat, his breathing a little less frantic than before. Logan finished making their tea, put six spoonfuls of honey in Wade's mug and carried their drinks over to the couch.
“Here,” he said, setting Wade's tea down on the nightstand next to him. With that done, he started to feel a little bit useless, just watching as Wade slowly sat up against the armrest to grab his mug and fold his hands around it, staring off into nothing. Usually, this was the part where Wade told him all about the dream he'd had. It was how he coped. He needed to say it out loud, replay it step by step to get the reassurance that it wasn't real.
But now Wade wasn't talking.
“Was it Francis?” Logan asked, because that guy seemed to star in many of Wade's nightmares, but Wade shook his head quickly, looking down at his lap. “Weapon X? Angel? The chamber?”
Wade's face was still wet with tears. He'd obviously tried to wipe them away, but Logan's vision was good enough to pick up on the slight glistening of moisture under his eyes. Wade didn't respond to any of Logan's guesses, just brought his mug up to his lips and took a tiny sip.
Logan wasn't made to comfort. He didn't know how to fill silences in any meaningful way, had no idea how to make Wade feel better without knowing why he was upset in the first place. How was he going to get Wade to talk?
“Come on,” he coaxed. “Fuck your stupid bet, I'll – shit, I'll give you the fifty bucks if you just tell me what happened.” Logan scooted closer until he and Wade were sitting shoulder to shoulder, their elbows bumping when Wade raised his mug again to take another drink. “I'm serious. If you want to talk, you can.”
Wade's jaw clenched. He still didn't speak.
“Okay.” Logan sighed, dropping his head back heavily against the armrest. “I guess we'll just wait it out then.”
Wade nudged him in the side. Logan looked over at him, and Wade mimed laying his head down on one hand, then pointed at Logan.
“No, I'm not going to sleep,” Logan said, honestly a little offended. They always stuck out the aftermath of nightmares together. Wade was the one who had enforced that rule, he should know better than this. “Not without you.”
He only realized how that sounded when Wade's eyes widened a little. Before Logan could explain himself, Wade looked away, an unreadable look on his face. Logan internally cursed. It was one thing to care about Wade, but talking about it? Acknowledging it? Was a whole different thing. Who even fucking knew how Wade would react if he ever found out about Logan's feelings for him. He'd probably think it was a joke and play it off before Logan ever got the chance to say his piece.
...Well. He wouldn't be able to do that right now, would he?
Logan internally winced. What the fuck was he even thinking?
“If it means that much to you, we can say that you won the bet,” Logan tried one more time, mostly to distract himself from his own insane thoughts. “I'll even do the dishes. Just talk to me.”
Wade bit his lip, averting his eyes. Logan sighed and quietly said goodbye to his sanity.
“Alright. Guess I'll talk then.” Wade gave him a skeptical look that Logan rolled his eyes at. “Fuck off. I can talk.”
Wade huffed quietly, turning away to look down at his mug of tea again. Logan studied Wade's profile, his eyes trailing down the curve of his nose, his lips, his jaw, his throat. He'd stared at Wade's face so many times these past few months that he thought he could probably trace it in the dark, pick out the silhouette from a million other people. The topography of Wade's scars constantly changed as his mutation healed and re-healed the damage caused by his cancer, and Logan would never get enough of mapping out the patterns with his eyes.
His fingers twitched with the urge to touch.
“You're beautiful.”
Wade startled, head whipping towards Logan with wide eyes. Honestly, Logan couldn't believe he'd just said that either. But the cat was out of the bag now, so Logan didn't let the shock deter him, just swallowed his pride and kept going.
“I like looking at you.” Actually, that was probably coming on a bit too strong out of nowhere. Logan gritted his teeth and tried again. “What I'm saying is that I'm glad that I'm here with you. And that I don't mind staying awake, as long as you're here.”
Wade looked at him as though Logan was barely speaking English. It wasn't exactly the reaction that Logan had hoped for, but it was miles better than Wade stabbing him in the throat with a baby knife or spitting in his face, so Logan would take it.
“I miss your voice.” Logan didn't even know that he was going to say that before the words were already out of his mouth, but the sentiment rang true. “I like listening to you before I fall asleep. I've slept better next to you than I have in decades.”
Wade moved abruptly, jerking one hand up in a nonsensical gesture. Logan reached out to grab that hand, and Wade sucked in a breath at the first contact of skin on skin. It was the easiest thing in the world to intertwine their fingers, resting their joined hands on Wade's knee. Logan was pretty sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest when Wade looked at him again, something vulnerable and hopeful in his eyes that gave Logan the strength to continue.
“I'm so glad that you found me when you did. I'll never deserve it, but god damn it, I'll take it, because I'm selfish, and I can't imagine not having this anymore.” And if Logan wasn't reading this entirely wrong, he was probably safe to say – “Even if you never want me the way I want you, I'm happy. Because I have you in my life now, and that's more than I could ever –“
“God,” Wade croaked, the sound of his voice zinging through Logan's veins like a bolt of lightning. “Shut up.”
And then Wade kissed him, wrapping both arms around Logan's neck and hauling him in close. Logan grabbed hold of Wade's waist to drag him into his lap, and Wade practically flung himself at him, straddling Logan's thighs as he licked his way into Logan's mouth like he was trying to map out every single inch of it.
Logan's heart was hammering, his ears ringing as his mind tried to make sense of what was happening and failed time and time again, his thoughts wiped away by the taste of Wade's lips, his scent, the weight of him in Logan's lap, the warmth of his skin under Logan's hands. He couldn't stop touching Wade, grabbing at his back, his sides, his ass, his thighs, rubbing and squeezing and unable to stop himself from groaning when Wade returned the favor, carding his hands through Logan's hair to pull him back just enough so they could breathe the same air.
“You,” Wade panted, his eyes boring into Logan's like daggers of pure heat. “You fucking dick. You made me lose the bet.”
“I told you, you won,” Logan said, only half-listening as he stared at Wade's lips, leaning in to kiss him again – but Wade pulled him back, the sharp pain in Logan's scalp sending tingles down his spine.
“It doesn't count. I want a do-over.”
“I'm not doing this shit for another week,” Logan growled, and Wade smiled, bright and joyful and fuck, Logan had it bad.
“You really miss my voice that much?”
Logan already knew that he would regret admitting it, but – “Yeah.”
“And you –“ Wade's brow furrowed. “You thought I wouldn't want you back? Are you insane?”
“It's not like you ever said anything,” Logan protested, and Wade's eyes widened as he gestured frantically up and down Logan's body.
“Hello? Prime time sublime hunk here? The answer to all of my hopes and dreams? I swear, anyone who turns you down is fucking deranged.”
Logan wrinkled his nose. “Plenty of people do.”
“Yeah, well, not me. Because I have taste.” Wade leaned in to kiss him again, and Logan met him halfway, his pulse jumping when Wade's lips met his. God, that would never get old. “Y'know,” Wade mumbled against his mouth. “This is a way better cure for nightmares than word vomiting about our trauma. We should do this all the time.”
“Don't say 'vomit' when you're kissing me,” Logan whispered back, even though he couldn't give less of a shit about word choice when Wade pressed their lips together so gently that it made Logan's blood sing, warmth and affection blooming in his chest. He pulled Wade closer with a careful grip on the back of his neck, and Wade practically melted into his touch with a sigh that Logan felt under his skin.
“You really want this?” Wade asked quietly, and Logan smiled, tracing the scars on Wade's head with one finger.
“Never wanted anything more.”