Chapter Text
"Since you insist on behaving like ignorant savages, like animals and children," Magneto announces, his voice booming over every television and radio on the newly conquered planet, "you shall be treated as such."
For as long as Wade can remember, he's been in hiding. He was only a kid when the mutants declared war on mankind, and after that it was only a few months before the new world order had been thoroughly, brutally established. Hundreds of thousands of humans were killed immediately following the mutants' victory, anyone who had fought against the mutants in the war. Most of the survivors, the civilians, were captured soon afterward, rounded up and caged like animals. The rest live underground, scuttling about their hollow half-lives, fighting for scraps, cowering in sewers and patches of wilderness, getting picked off one by one. Wade's group is even more tragic, for being delusional. Their self-appointed leader, Graydon Creed, likes to make speeches about how they're going to rise up and take the world back soon, any day now, just as soon as they can get their hands on some guns.
Wade always struggles to stifle his laughter. Pointing a gun at a mutant is the same kind of brainless as bringing a pebble to a knife fight.
At least he has Vanessa. Without her, he would've given up years ago.
"I don't know," she says tonight, snuggled up against Wade in the abandoned sewer system their group currently calls home; they're like rats, scurrying around under New Genosha, which used to be Vancouver. It's unwise to be anywhere near the city, it's the capital of their awful new world and President Magneto lives here, but there's only so much food to be found on the outskirts of civilization.
Later tonight, Wade, along with three other survivors (the team was determined last night, when they all drew sticks) will venture up from the sewer and raid dumpsters for supplies. Looting a store would be a better bet, but they don't have the tools or the balls for that.
Wade doesn't have the balls, either. He's fucking terrified. But Vanessa's here, keeping him distracted.
"You don't know?" He grins, wraps his arm around her shoulders. They're sitting together against the crud-crusted bricks, away from the others, who huddle around a small fire at the opposite end of the tunnel, growling about filthy mutants and vengeance and clapping each other on the back, psyching themselves up. Graydon's deep, stupidly self-assured voice rises above the rest. "Dude, I can tell you with absolute certainty that Graydon Creed sucks his thumb in his sleep. I've fucking seen him do it."
Vanessa snorts. "I'm more concerned about why you're watching him sleep. Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Yeah, you got me." He kisses her forehead. "Our lovely leader and I have been fucking all along. Sorry you had to find out like this, I can only imagine your heartbreak."
"Oh, I'm crushed." Vanessa smiles up at him, her face made ethereal by the faint firelight. She's not his girlfriend, not because they don't fuck like rabbits whose every romp might be their last and hold hands at every opportunity and babble nightly about how much they need each other, but because girlfriend is too small a word to encompass all that Vanessa is to him. He was just twenty-four when she found him, cowering behind a dumpster, freshly escaped from a mutant who had caught him and kept him chained in a basement for months. He was a tortured, broken, trembling thing, with scars hideous enough to spook Freddy Krueger, but she didn't care. She saved him.
That day was the day he stopped wanting to die, because he wanted to stay with her forever. That day he started counting his blessings, the best of which being her.
"Hey." He touches his forehead to hers. "I'm gonna come back. Shit, not only am I coming back, but I'm coming back with groceries." He leans back, grinning. "Bread, milk, eggs, fucking Sour Patch Kids, the works! Tomorrow morning you're dining like a queen, baby."
Vanessa's smile doesn't wilt, and her hum is pleased, but there's a sad, damp sheen to her eyes, a tightness to her jaw, that betrays her. Wade's chest aches. He doesn't have to tell her; she's all too aware that, in all likelihood, he won't be coming back at all tomorrow morning. He'll never have another breakfast. He'll be dead or worse.
They've never sent out a group and had everyone return.
But he goes. It's his turn to stick his neck out; he can't just get out of it by claiming to have an upset stomach or a soulmate who would miss him if he disappeared.
Two hours later, Wade's climbing up out of the sewer with his three equally doomed teammates, all of them cringing at the cool, fresh air when it hits their faces. It should be pleasant, a break from the stench of the sewer, from the fetid darkness Wade's spent much of his adult life in, but it's not. Fresh air means exposure. It means risking capture, even at night, no matter how quiet he tries to be. There are mutants who can see through the dark better than any nocturnal animal. There are mutants who can hear a heartbeat and recognize it as belonging to a human heart from miles away. There are mutants who can snap their fingers or stomp their feet or whistle a note and, just like that, easy as pie, turn a man inside-out.
Humanity was doomed from the start, Wade and every human with two brain cells to knock together knows this; the odds were stacked monumentally against them. Even when the Sentinels were in operation and mankind was almost managing to stand their ground against the mutants, they never really stood a chance.
The group splits up. Wade has his reservations about this plan, remembering the concept of safety in numbers, but there's no time to argue. They all scurry off in different directions, in search of garbage to pillage. There's safety in this, too; if someone gets caught, there's a three-in-four chance it won't be Wade. The streets are dark and mostly empty; Wade sticks close to the shadows, slinking down alleys, steering clear of the few figures and voices on the sidewalks. They're laughing. Mutants. Wade clenches his fists, grits his teeth; he can't help but hate them, each and every one of them, just as viciously as he does Francis.
Wade used to feel sorry for the mutants, when he was a kid and the X-Men were heroes and Professor X was on the news every other week, begging earnestly for the world to open their eyes and see that mutants were just like them. What a joke. Then Magneto came back, and he must've made a pretty compelling case, because instead of fighting him like all the times before, this time Professor X welcomed him and his war, and the X-Men followed suit. They all worked together to grind humanity into the mud.
It's not fair, but that's life. Wade's done being angry, or thinking the world might someday go back to the way it was. He just wants to make it back to Vanessa, to tomorrow.
He comes across a trash can and, with only a brief reluctance from whatever scrap remains of his pride, starts digging.
"Oh, fuck, score," he whispers, smiling as he pulls half a loaf of bread from the can, still in its wrapper and everything. He tucks it under his arm and goes back for more. There's an only slightly overripe banana, too, and a sock, that's fairly amazing, there are so many holes in his current pair of socks it's like he's wearing foot fishnets —
"Huh. I thought I smelled human," comes a low, growling, distinctly inhuman voice from behind Wade. Wade freezes, his blood turned to ice in his veins, hands trembling so violently he drops his prizes. "But then I sniffed again, and I thought, Nah, whatever that is, it smells more like shit than human. Must be a rat come up from the sewers." A whistle. "Boy, am I glad I decided to check."
"Please," Wade croaks, barely audible, his voice choked. He doesn't turn around, is too stiff with fear to move. "Please, d-don't."
"Don't what? Help you? 'Cause that's all I wanna do," the growl says. "You should be fuckin' thankin' me."
"Just — just let me go." Wade's already crying, tears stinging his eyes. He knows he's done. Even if this mutant's power is just growling, they all have enhanced strength and reflexes, and Wade's half starved, in no shape to fight for his life.
"Let you go?" The growl scoffs. "Why, so you can go back to diggin' through garbage? Hidin' in sewers? Livin' like a fuckin' rat when you don't have to? Look at you, wearin' rags, covered in scars..." Heavy footsteps, like boots, approach Wade. "Oh well. You'll thank me later."
"No!" Wade finally manages to whirl around, and he has the round metal lid of the trash can clutched in his hand, held up in front of him like a shield or a weapon. He grabbed it automatically, unthinkingly, stupidly. "S-stay the fuck back," he says, weakly.
The mutant is tall and muscular and covered in hair, looking entirely too at ease in his jeans and leather jacket, hands in his pockets. He lifts one bushy eyebrow at Wade, tilts his head in a way that's almost puppyish, paired with his pointy little cowlicks. He's wearing a Pearl Jam T-shirt. He could almost be just some guy, mid bar crawl, but he's not; he's a god. Maybe he'll blink two seconds from now and blast Wade out of existence.
The longer Wade stares at him, the less human he seems. His teeth are larger and sharper than a human’s, like a wolf, and he has an air about him to match, prowling and predatory.
"Don't be an idiot." Despite the growl, the mutant doesn't seem angry; he seems somewhere between bored and exasperated. This isn't the first time he's dealt with idiot humans and their pitiful defenses. "I don't wanna hurt you, bub. Come easy, and I won't have to."
Wade's fingers tremble around the handle of the lid. His bottom lip quivers. A sob shoves up his throat and out his mouth, before he can stop it. Tears spill down his cheeks.
The mutant sighs. If his expression softens, Wade's too blinded by tears to notice. "C'mon," the mutant says, almost kindly, stepping closer despite Wade's violent full-body flinch. "Drop it. You know how this ends as well as I do."
He's right, Wade knows how this ends. He knows he'll never see Vanessa again, or be his own man again, or escape again. He got lucky the first time, and Francis got sloppy, but lightning doesn't strike twice. Wade knows he's fucked.
He knows he's not a hero.
With another sob, he drops the lid. It clatters to the asphalt along with all his hope and pride, and he raises his hands in surrender, crying outright now. "P-please," he whimpers. "Just please don't hurt me."
The mutant's close enough now that Wade can feel his warmth, can smell the whiskey on his breath. Wade flinches again and screws his eyes shut.
"You got it, darlin'." A quick, innocuous prick to the side of Wade's neck. His head spins. He's falling.
The last thing he's aware of are strong arms catching him.
"My goodness, I wonder how he came to be so covered in scars. They seem to be mostly burns, and old ones at that... I would look into his memories, but the intrusion might startle him awake."
"It's no mystery, Professor. You know how humans live when they're left alone. Fuckin' destroy themselves, every damn time."
"Amen, sugar. Oh, the poor thing, he needs a nice warm bath, and some clean clothes, and a good meal..."
"C'mon, Rogue, don't — don't touch him like that."
"Like what, honey? I was just strokin' his little cheek."
"Like we're fuckin' keepin' him. We're not. You can clean him and feed him if you want, but I'm droppin' him off at the nearest human shelter first thing in the mornin'."
"Aww..."
"In any case, Logan, it's fortunate you were able to save this one from his own nature. I'm proud of you. I sense that he's been in pain and terror for a long time, perhaps all his life. But never again. From now on he will be kept in his proper place, cared for and content for as long as he lives, as all humans should be."
"What do you think, boys, should he be a pet or a baby? I can't decide — but gosh, he's cute, so soft and sweet, sleepin' snug as a little bug in a rug... Ooh, I know! He should be a puppy, with that button nose."
"No fuckin' way, he's a baby. You didn't hear how he cried when I caught him, and he curled right up in my arms once he was out. Like — like he was meant to be there. Or somethin'."
"Huh."
"The fuck does that mean?"
"Nothin', nothin'... Just, you kinda said that like maybe you want him to be your baby."
Wade wakes slowly, softly, with a contented sigh. He feels warm and clean and cushioned, and the thought crosses his mind, painless as a thrown cotton ball, that he might be dead. But if this is death, it's not so bad; he can't remember the last time he was this comfortable.
Then his memory comes into sharper focus. His eyes snap open, and he gasps around the — something that's stuck in his mouth.
He blinks around blearily, lying on his back on a mattress inside what looks to be a wooden cage, bars all around and above him. He reaches out to touch the bars, and realizes that his hands are wrapped in thick baby blue mittens, warm and comfortable but tied tightly enough around his wrists that he can't tug them off. With them on, his hands are clumsy and uncoordinated. He paws at the thing in his mouth, and after a while of feeling it with his tongue decides it must be some kind of pacifier, one that doubles as a gag, strapped securely around his head. He can't cry out for help, not that crying for help would do him any good. He's at the mutants' mercy now.
He takes horrified stock of the situation. They must've undressed him — he feels a jolt of disgust at the thought — because his rags are gone. Instead, he's wearing a pair of fuzzy footie pajamas with textured booties and a smiley-face pattern. Underneath, where his threadbare boxers used to be, there's something thick and crinkling that makes him flush to the tips of his ears. You've gotta be fucking kidding me. He looks around again, and on second thought, the wooden cage he's in looks more like a giant crib. He looks like a giant baby.
Latching onto a distraction from this humiliation, he peers out through the wooden bars. The room he's in seems to be an office, with a large desk in one corner and walls lined with full bookshelves. There are crisp leather couches and chairs across from the desk, nicer than any furniture Wade's ever seen in person. In fact, this might be the nicest place he's ever been; too bad he had to be captured and stripped of his freedom to get here. In another corner of the room is what looks to be some kind of toddler play area, with a small pile of stuffed animals and other toys. As if this is the office of some rich executive who brings his baby to work occasionally. Wade hopes, desperately, that he's not supposed to be that baby.
But he's not exactly shocked by the baby get-up. Mutants treat captive humans as either babies or pets, it's a sick game they've been playing since they won the war and became humanity's masters. With Francis, Wade was a pet; he wore a muzzle, and if he screamed like a man instead of yelped like a dog during torture sessions, he was punished. It was hell, and he's sure this will be no better. This torture will just have a slightly different theme.
He knows that the reason mutants force their captives into those roles is to demean and humiliate them, to break them down until they're not even human anymore, until they're just mindless toys with strings for their masters to pull. He's glimpsed some of these toys over the years, mutants pushing humans in adult-sized strollers, humans collared and led along on their hands and knees by the mutants that hold their leashes. Francis never went that far; he mostly just kept Wade chained up in his basement.
Wade used to think he'd die before he became one of those hazy-eyed, brain-washed puppets, but here he is, lying trapped in a crib with a pacifier stuffed in his mouth.
With a shock of heightened horror he starts to move, though his head is cottony and clogged still, his limbs weak. He manages to sit up on his hands and knees and push at the top of the cage with all his frail strength. It won't budge. Locked. Fuck.
That's the end of that.
Tears boil up behind his eyes. His stomach sinks. His chest feels tight, constricting and hollow. He's not getting out of this. He'll never hold Vanessa again. All he can do is sit here and wait to be tortured.
He sobs, the sound broken and muffled behind the gag — then screams when the door swings open and a woman — a mutant — bursts in.
"Well, hello there! I thought I heard you shufflin' around!" She hurries over to the cage, grinning down at Wade, who shrinks back against the bars with a whimper. She could almost be kind looking, with her round, pretty face and bright eyes, the white streaks in her hair and the cheer in her drawl, but she's a monster. All mutants are. "You must've been exhausted, poor baby, you slept all night and all mornin'! And you must be just about hungry enough to eat a horse!"
Then she's undoing the latch and opening the lid of the cage, reaching for Wade with her white-gloved hands, scooping him up and lifting him easily into her arms even when he shouts and thrashes in protest. She's strong, unnaturally, terrifyingly so. "Gosh, I've got a fussy baby on my hands today!" is all she says in response to him shoving at her face with his mittens and trying to kick out of her arms.
Please don't! he tries to cry, though the words are butchered beyond recognition by the pacifier gag, reduced to shapeless babbling, not unlike what would come out of a real baby's mouth. He sobs, horrified and humiliated and helpless, as she carries him out of the office, holding him on her hip like he weighs approximately nothing.
"Don't you worry, honey pie, I'm gonna get that little tummy of yours nice and full in no time at all," she's saying, crooning this as she pats between his shoulders with her free hand. She only needs one arm to keep him trapped securely on her hip. "You'll feel all better then." She gives him a gentle squeeze, sighing, "I wish I could kiss your cute little face, but all I can give are hugs."
And broken bones, probably, soon. Wade stops shouting when his exhaustion catches up with him, leaves him limp and panting against her chest. Instead he tries to pay attention to his surroundings. He needs to start cataloguing everything, he knows, scanning for any slim chance at escape.
The mutant is carrying him down a long hallway lined with paintings that look ancient and priceless to Wade's eyes, straight out of a museum. There are marble statues on stands, too, and framed photos of smiling people — smiling mutants, which is never a good thing. There are chandeliers and smooth mahogany floorboards under intricately patterned rugs. There's crisp beige wallpaper and golden doorknobs. They pass a few windows, and beyond the polished glass and velvet drapes Wade glimpses a vast green yard with evergreen trees beyond it. And a fountain.
It's like they're in a fucking mansion or something.
Stunned, Wade just whimpers as the mutant carries him into a massive, extravagant kitchen, the stuff of starving men's fantasies. The refrigerator is huge and gleaming, sure to be packed full of food, real food. Wade remembers his hunger, though it's been squashed by his fear.
"Yup, you're gonna be stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey when I'm done!" the mutant's saying, still rubbing and patting Wade's back as if to soothe him. He's too busy gawking around at the kitchen to struggle. "First I'll make you a nice warm bottle with your special formula, then some meatloaf and mashed potatoes, we've got 'em left over from dinner last night."
Wade's unease about special formula is lessened, somewhat, by the prospect of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He'd give anything for it to be true — but she's lying, of course she is. This is just some cruel trick, to get his hopes up and kick off the torture.
"Is dat a baby boy Ah see? It is! Hey, mon petit ami!" comes a crooning, thickly accented voice from behind them. Wade yelps, staring wide-eyed at the man — the mutant — strolling into the kitchen. He's grinning, and his eyes are black, the pupils blood-red. Wade's so frightened, he can't stop himself from clutching at the woman's jacket with his mittens. "How's da little guy doin', chère?"
"Hungry, and a little scared, the poor thing," the woman says, cuddling Wade to her chest. "All humans are, when they're new."
"Oui, dat's true." The man nods and steps closer to peer at Wade, still grinning, more terrifying with every blink of those demonic eyes. Wade's trembling, helpless to the whimpers that spill out from behind his gag. He's trapped in the woman's arms, he can't run away; maybe she'll hold Wade still while the man uses whatever nightmare powers he has to rip Wade apart. "Oh, mon chou!" the man coos. "It's okay, Remy's never gonna hurt you! We're gonna be best friends, you'll see, pretty soon you'll be beggin' me to supercharge your toys, just like little Moira."
The man reaches out as if to brush his knuckles over Wade's cheek — to hurt him — and Wade starts shouting and thrashing again. He knows it's hopeless, he doubts a rhinoceros could escape this woman's iron grip, but he won't die without at least a token struggle. He's sobbing, too, a little.
"Sorry," the man says, strangely, his demon eyes crinkled with something like remorse as he cringes back. "Remy didn't mean to..."
"Hush, sugar, you're fine," the woman tells him, as she bounces Wade on her hip and rubs Wade's back like it's supposed to soothe him. It just panics him more, how easily she can manipulate him. He's like a doll to her. "The baby just needs some time to get settled in and see how happy he's gonna be here, with his Daddy and us."
His Daddy? Don't even fucking start with that shit! Wade tries to scream. All that escapes around the gag is more useless muffled baby-babble.
"You got dat right." The man — demon — Remy sighs. "Ah just wish we could skip dis part, y'know, when they gotta be gagged and mittened and all dat. Hurts my heart."
"Oh, I know. Believe me, honey, I —" The woman's frown curves up into a soft smile when Wade tries his best to smack her across the face with his mitten. Her head doesn't move an inch. Her strength is fucking eerie. "Although, I'd be lyin' to say I mind the mittens," she says, turning her soft, strange smile on Wade. "This way the sweet baby can touch me."
"Aw, chère." Remy smiles, backs up a step. "You enjoy da baby, yeah? Ah'm gonna leave y'all to it, seein' as l'ange ain't ready for Uncle Remy." He pauses, cocks his head at Wade. Wade narrows his eyes warily. "Do we know le petit's name yet, by da way?" Remy asks.
"Uh-uh." The woman strokes Wade's head with her gloved hand, though he tries to twist away. This whole thing is fucking demented. What are they even talking about? "I'll ask him when I take his passy out so he can eat. I could do it now, but... I'm in no rush to hear him cursin' me like a hog in a hurricane, y'know?"
"Ah get it. But — passy?" Remy huffs. "Actually, chère, it's called a noonie."
"The heck it is! Now go, shoo, scram! Get outta here, Cajun!" The woman waves her hand at him. "The baby's gotta eat!"
Remy leaves laughing, and the woman grins, and Wade wonders how it's possible that he's been awake for so long without being hurt. They're really drawing this out.
"My name's Marie. Auntie Marie, if you like," she says lightly, carrying Wade toward the fridge. "And I'm never gonna hurt you, either. It's okay if you don't believe me about that right now, I understand."
Fuck you, Wade tries to tell her. She smiles at the garbled nonsense the gag turns it into.
He watches, incredulous, drooling, as she fixes a generous plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, as promised. But she sets the plate aside, cooing, "You gotta have your ba-ba first, silly boy! Milk’s the most important thing for babies," when Wade whimpers. She pulls a large baby bottle from one of the cabinets and fills it with — milk? It looks like milk, but it comes out of a plastic container with bold colorful letters and a picture of a grown woman smiling on her hands and knees, wearing a diaper. Wade balks at this, then again as he reads the label: Happy Human: Complete nutrition for your human baby!
Gentle on sensitive tummies!
Encourages immunity, digestion and overall health!
Discourages mobility, fine motor skills and independence!
What the fuck does that mean? Wade doesn't know, and has no intention of finding out. He screams and begins struggling again, bucking against Marie's chest. No way in hell is he drinking one drop of that shit.
"Shh, shh, shh, poor baby, I know, I know you're hungry," Marie soothes, bouncing him on her hip as she sticks the bottle in the microwave. "Just twenty more seconds, sweetie, that's all you gotta wait. Then you're gonna be full as a tick, I promise!"
Wade's still screaming twenty seconds later, when Marie retrieves the bottle from the microwave and, shaking it as she continues to rock and shush Wade, walks to a chair at the large kitchen table. She sits down in it, cradles Wade across her lap despite his frenzied attempts to thrash out of her arm — she only needs one to hold him — and reaches for the pacifier gag. He freezes.
"Don't be too mean to me, please," she mutters, undoing the strap, her brow creased as if with dread. "I only want what's best for you, baby."
Wade stretches out his jaw once she removes the gag, then takes a deep breath.
"Let me go! Please, please just let me go!" he begs, shoving uselessly at her impossibly strong chest with his mittens. She stares down at him, almost sadly. "You can't do this to me — you don't want to do this to me, really, you don't! I'd make a terrible baby, I'm not even cute, so please —!"
"Nonsense," Marie tuts, gently, and holds the plastic nipple of the bottle over Wade’s mouth. He quickly clamps his mouth shut, turns his head away. "You're cute as a goshdang button, little boy!"
"Fuck you," he spits.
Her smile wilts. She almost manages to look hurt. "Oh, honey. I understand, you're still so new, you're not used to all this," she says. "But, do you wanna tell Auntie Marie your name?"
"Yeah, sure!" He scowls, sheds his fear for a second. "First name: Fuck. Last name: Off."
Marie sighs and starts nudging the bottle nipple against his lips. It wouldn't be difficult for her to just force it in, with her strength. She might even snap his jaw in the process.
"Wait, wait, wait!" he cries, panicked. "It's Wade, my name's Wade!"
"Wade?" She grins brightly down at him. "Why, that's perfect! A handsome name for a handsome boy. Thank you, sugar. Your Daddy's gonna be over the moon when I tell him."
And she starts nudging the nipple past his lips again.
"No!" He thrashes his head, gasping. "Please, I don't — I don't wanna drink it!"
"Aw, that's silly." Marie keeps smiling, keeps slowly but surely, gently but inescapably, wedging the nipple into his mouth. "Babies need their ba-bas, especially when they're new. Your special milk's gonna help you settle in and feel safe here."
Then the nipple is pushing past his lips and filling his mouth. He shouts around it, but she's holding the bottle steady and cupping his head in the crook of her arm, so he can't spit it out or thrash his head anymore. All he can do is try not to swallow.
"Drink up, honey bunch!" Marie coaxes, smiling down at him, cradling him close to her chest as if she really is feeding a giant baby. "You'll feel so much better when you get somethin’ in your little tummy, and then you can have your meatloaf and mashed potatoes."
He wails and kicks and shoves at her face, and she just sighs indulgently as she kisses his mittens. Drops of milk start trickling down his throat, one by horrifying one, smooth and slightly sweet, unfairly tempting. His empty stomach growls needfully. His tongue betrays him and twitches against the nipple, wanting to suck.
Finally, his stomach overriding his brain, he gives one small, helpless suck, swallowing the mouthful of thick milk it produces, moaning as it soothes down his raw throat and pools warm and heavy in his stomach, and then it's over. He can't stop. He suckles greedily at the nipple, clutching at the bottle with clumsy mittens; even if Marie stopped holding it for him, he'd try to hold it up himself, to keep drinking. He's sure he'll regret it later, but right now he's finally, finally putting something substantial in his stomach and it feels too good to fight. It's fucking perfect, glowing like sunshine in his gut.
The last time he ate was yesterday morning, and it was a piece of stale bread.
"There you go, good boy," Marie croons, chuckling. "Slow down a little, honey, your ba-ba's not goin' anywhere, we got all the time in the world."
Wade drinks and drinks and drinks, dizzy with the relief and pleasure of a filling stomach, and whimpers when the bottle finally runs empty and his next suck yields only a disappointing mouthful of air.
"More, please," he begs, when Marie tugs the nipple out of his mouth. "I — I'm still starving, please —"
"Shh, sweetie, I know, I got you," she soothes, standing with Wade in her arms. "That was just the appetizer, now you're gonna get the main course!"
Wade's too dazed with stupid hope to do anything but stare and wait while Marie microwaves the plate. Then she carries it and Wade back to the table, sits back down with Wade in her lap, loads up a pink plastic kids’ fork, and —
"Open up, pumpkin!" she says brightly, holding it to his slack mouth. It smells goddamn divine, steaming-hot meat and potatoes and gravy. "Here comes the airplane!"
Wade opens his mouth, and sobs a little at the absolute rapture of the first bite, just holds it in his mouth for a while to savor the taste. And then, like a miracle, there's a second bite, and a third, and a fourth... He ignores Marie's constant cooing, and the way she wipes his face for him every few bites, in favor of getting lost in the satisfaction of a real meal. It's been so long.
Finally, when Marie offers him the last chunk of meat, he finds himself in the delightful position to turn his face away from the fork, too full for another bite. He thinks he might actually explode if he accepts it.
Marie giggles and eats it herself, then sets down the fork and starts rubbing Wade's stuffed stomach. Wade would struggle against this, but it feels too good, and he's too appeased and floaty from the fullness — or maybe it's the "special formula." He should probably be concerned about this, but either way, he finds himself suddenly, strangely content.
"Ain't you just the sweetest little thing?" Marie croons over him, smiling and soothing the slight, worthwhile discomfort in his stomach with gentle gloved fingers. She really is beautiful, Wade concedes, blinking up at her, and she can't be that bad, as far as mutants go, if she feeds him before she tortures him. "You're gonna be so happy here. You'll be stuffed full like this every day, don't you worry, we're gonna put some meat on those bones. You're gonna be so warm and safe, and you'll be hugged and kissed 'til you forget all the bad things that came before. And then we'll hug and kiss you some more, 'cause you're just that dang cute." She taps the tip of his nose with one finger.
Wade frowns, dimly baffled. Why would a monster promise to take care of him? If this is a trick or a game, it's a long one.
"Your Daddy's gonna be so happy when he sees how much progress you're makin' already," she continues. "He's sorry he couldn't be here when you woke up, by the way, but he had to go pick up some baby supplies and get his cabin all ready for you. His cabin's right here on the grounds, just a five minute walk toward the woods, so me and the others can come visit y'all all the time." Marie snorts, and whispers confidingly to Wade, "He built it 'cause he said he was sick of the chaos of livin' here in the house. He's silly like that sometimes."
Wade doesn't understand. Who's his Daddy supposed to be? The growling mutant who caught him? Fuck no.
"He was bein' silly last night, too." She chuckles. "But his 'I don't want no dang baby' act didn't last long, only until he'd sat watchin' over you for a few hours. The big ol' softie. It's about time he got a human, if you ask me, he needs someone to take care of. He'll never admit it, but he's lonely."
"I — I don't want..." Wade takes a second to consider his words. It's probably useless to beg to be let go again, but maybe he can negotiate better conditions for himself. Marie's terrifying in her own right, but she fed him, and at the very least she didn't drug him in a dark alley. She's the lesser of two monsters. "Maybe I can just stay with you," he says.
Marie's expression sort of crumples. "Oh," she says, with a hitch in her voice like she might weep. "I'm so sorry, angel, I wish you could, I love you already, but... Remy and I — he's my husband, lucky him." She winks at Wade. "But we ain't ready for a human yet. We want one, desperately, especially 'cause we can't conceive a baby of our own, but with my powers…” She sighs, strokes Wade's cheek with her soft gloved palm. “It's just complicated."
"But —" Wade cuts off and flinches at the sound of a heavy door being thrown open in another room.
Marie perks up, beaming. "Sounds like your Daddy's home!" she says, as if Wade’s supposed to be excited about this. He's terrified. "Oh, Logan!" Marie calls. "C'mon into the kitchen, sugar! The little angel's awake!"
"No, no, no, please," Wade tries, but then the growling monster — Logan — is standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at Wade with hard eyes.
Wade shrinks back against Marie's chest.
"I just fed him his first bottle, and a nice hot dinner. Or, lunch, I guess." Marie giggles, apparently no more threatened by Logan's sharp fangs and predatory presence than she was by Remy's demonic eyes. "He's bein' such a good boy for me!" She squeezes Wade against her in a tight hug — though it must feel painstakingly gentle for her, when she could break his spine with minimal effort. Logan steps closer to them, watching Wade strangely, almost nervously, but that can't be right. Why would Logan be nervous? "Oh, and he told me his name!" Marie grins. "It's Wade! Isn't that just perfect?"
"Wade," Logan repeats, and nods. He's standing in front of the chair now, looking down at Wade. Wade stares wide-eyed and gaping up at him. Logan straightens his shoulders, clears his throat, seems to shake his nerves. "I'm Logan, but you're gonna call me Daddy," he says in a rough, stern growl. It's almost funny — except for the fact that he also could probably snap Wade's spine without much effort. "I'm gonna take care of you from now on. You're my baby."
"U-um." Wade tries to cling to the front of Marie's shirt, but his mittens don't allow him that much dexterity. "Can we talk about this?" he asks. "'Cause — 'cause I know you mutants have your, uh, rules, but I'm actually a grown man and I have a life to get back to, not a great life but a life nonetheless, so..."
Marie tuts. Logan's face darkens. Wade gulps and cowers.
"Give me that." Logan takes the pacifier gag from Marie, then plucks Wade right up off her lap. Wade tries to scream in protest, but then Logan's shoving the gag back into his mouth and strapping it tightly around his head. He tries to struggle against Logan's monstrous strength, but doesn't get any farther than he did against Marie. "That's not how babies talk," Logan scolds, frowning down at Wade. "Matter of fact, babies don't talk at all."
Wade looks pleadingly at Marie, who's standing from the chair, hands on her hips. She frowns at Logan in turn. "He's just a baby, and he hasn't even been here a day," she says. "You catch more flies with honey, sugar."
"With humans, what you need is a firm hand," Logan counters, then directs his forbidding frown at Wade again. Wade whimpers, and Logan's expression softens, but it tightens again so quickly that Wade feels sure he only imagined the softness. "Listen up. I'm in charge here,” Logan growls. “I decide what we do and when we do it. Like today, I'm gonna show you to the team, 'cause they wanna meet you, and then we're goin' home. Understand?"
Wade shakes his head frantically, shouting curses behind the gag, struggling against Logan's arms though he knows it's pointless. Because fuck this asshole.
Logan's frown deepens into a grimace. He turns with Wade in his arms and starts walking. "Fight all you want, bub," he mutters darkly. "Won't make any difference. You're mine now."
Suck my dick! Wade tries and fails to spit back at him.
"Hold on, boys, wait for me!" Marie shouts, hurriedly following them out of the kitchen. Wade tries to reach for her over Logan's shoulder, and screams in frustration when, instead of saving him from this monster, she just smiles and kisses at his flailing mittens. "Auntie Marie's comin', baby!"
Wade's still squirming and shoving uselessly at Logan's iron-solid chest when he turns into a large, full living room, with a roaring wave of voices that immediately overwhelm Wade, all shouting some variation of "Look, there's the baby!" He stops fighting, cowed, and hides his face against Logan's chest.
"Everyone!" Marie announces, her grin audible. "Meet Wade! Wade, meet your new family, sweetie!"
"Hey, Wade! Dios mío, you're adorable!" A girl, with a growling edge to her voice not unlike Logan's.
"We are most pleased to make your acquaintance, my young friend!" A deep, prim voice.
"Hey again, mon chou!" Remy's thick drawl.
"Hello, Wade, it's wonderful to see you awake!" An old man in posh English.
"Hi!" A...toddler? Or a voice pitched high to mimic one.
"Greetings, little one!" A woman, regal-sounding.
"Alright, guys, let's make this quick," Logan grumbles, carrying Wade farther into the room. Wade trembles. These people are all mutants, all monsters, and who knows what they want with him? Definitely nothing good. "I gotta get him settled in at the cabin."
"Yeah, yeah, Dad," the girl says. Dad? "Just bring him here, I wanna pinch his little cheeks!"
Wade lifts his head at this, startled, only to be faced with the single most horrifying thing he's seen all day — no, in his entire life.
At first glance, it's not so bad. Crowding around him there's Remy, and a girl with Logan's eyes, and a woman with a shock-white mohawk, and an old man in a wheelchair. There's a middle-aged woman sitting in the old man's lap, grinning up at Wade with her red hair done up in little-girlish pigtails and a Barbie in one hand, and that's strange, but not as strange as the middle-aged man crouching on the floor at Logan's feet like a dog, naked but for a collar and a sweater with a paw-print pattern, sniffing up at Wade, staring with hazy, thoughtless eyes. Wade can't help but notice, boggling down at him, that he doesn't have any fucking balls.
And that's horrifying, but not as horrifying as the giant blue monster grinning at Wade with all its long, hooked fangs. It's holding a young woman on its hip, with braided blond hair and a pacifier without straps that she's sucking voluntarily; she must be pretty far gone, and she must be blind, both because her eyes are milky gray and because she's not screaming in terror like she should be, with that monster's claws so close to her frilly purple dress.
With Beast holding her.
For a second, all Wade can do is stare, frozen stiff against Logan's chest. This can't be happening.
"I'm Auntie Ororo, darling!" the woman with the mohawk croons. "Oh, you're simply precious!" Storm, Wade thinks with a shudder, remembering news footage of her hovering high up in a nest of dark clouds and lightning, her eyes pure, merciless white, her hands summoning lashes of wind and rain to decimate human forces.
"Isn't he just?" Marie giggles. She reaches for one of Wade's mittens and gives it a squeeze.
Rogue, Wade thinks, staring at her with new terror. He didn't think anything of the white streaks in her hair, before, but now he remembers news footage of her slinging tanks and fighter jets across battle fields like toys, crushing dozens of men at a time.
"I must say, you do have the loveliest brown eyes," the old man says with a deceptively kind smile; just like on the news. "My name is Charles, but you may call me Grandpa if you'd prefer. Or Granddaddy, that's little Carly's name for me.” The man chuckles. “Allow me to say hello for my husband Erik as well. He's on a business trip at the moment, he sends his regrets." Professor X, Wade thinks. Aside from Magneto, he's the most to blame for the end of the world. He and Magneto led the mutants to victory together. And then they got married to celebrate, apparently. "And this sweet girl here is our Moira," Processor X says, stroking the woman's pigtails. "It's my office you woke up in, and Moira's old crib. I hope you found it comfortable.”
"Hi!" Moira chirps again, in her unsettling little-girl voice. "We're gonna be bestest friends!"
Logan chuckles at this, and startles Wade all over again. He wouldn't have thought Logan capable of laughter, let alone warm laughter like that.
"You got dat right, chérie." Remy comes to stand beside Rogue. "We all are."
Gambit, Wade realizes, the monster who can turn anything into a weapon, who blew apart so many soldiers just by flinging charged paper cards at them.
"I'm Laura!" the girl with Logan's eyes says, beaming brightly down at Wade. She has his sharp fangs, too. "I'm your big sister." She winks at him. "Don't worry, I'll teach you all of Dad's weak spots."
Logan scoffs. Wade flinches. That just leaves Wolverine unaccounted for, hiding claws that must be stained red from all the thousands of humans he's gutted.
Maybe Wade’s next.
"Don't be afraid, little one. You'll be very well cared for here. Actually, it would be more accurate to say you'll be spoiled rotten," Beast says. Surprisingly, his eyes are more thoughtful and attentive than any of the others', watching Wade closely. "My name is Uncle Hank. We met last night, when I gave you your check-up, but you were asleep then.” As Wade reels with horror over this, the thought of being unconscious under Beast’s claws, Beast continues, “And this beauty is Carly." He kisses the woman in his arms, his fangs brushing over her forehead. She whines and presses her pacifier to his pointed ear, whispers something there. "Ah, yes, forgive me, my love. Princess Carly," Beast amends, with a wide smile.
All those fangs...
Wade's frozen shock melts into boiling, blazing terror, and then he's screaming, thrashing so violently that he almost manages to make Wolverine drop him.
The X-Men. He's been captured by the fucking X-Men.
"Oh, dear!" Beast cries, as if he's not the most terrifying monster in a whole room of terrifying monsters. "It's alright, Wade, you're safe here!"
There's more ridiculous, probably mocking reassurances, but Wade can barely hear them over his own wailing, chest-bruising sobs. He tries to kick and shove and flail his way out of Wolverine's arms, but he's holding Wade too tightly, and he'll probably butcher Wade for this, but Wade's too panicked to care —
"Show's over, guys, we're goin' home. I'll call you later," Wolverine says, and then he's carrying Wade quickly out of the room, then out of the house. Wade's scream dies in his throat, choked off by shock, when he sees its exterior over Wolverine's shoulder. It really is a mansion, sprawling and well-tended with a broad, neat lawn, bigger and more beautiful than all the places Wade has ever lived combined.
And Wade is going to die here.
No, no, no! he tries to scream, scrabbling desperately at Wolverine's shoulders with his mittens. The fucking Wolverine is his captor. Maybe he'll slice Wade up into little pieces, or cut him open just to watch him bleed out, or —
"Shh, c'mon, you're okay. It's over," Wolverine growls, pinning Wade to his chest so Wade can't struggle anymore. He's carrying Wade toward a modest log cabin near the trees that surround the mansion, with a porch and a chimney and Wade's tombstone, probably. There's a mud-splashed red Jeep parked out front. "No one's gonna gawk at you here, that's kinda the whole point. I don't much like bein' gawked at, either."
Wade wails as Wolverine stomps up the porch steps and pulls open the door, whisking Wade inside. There are plaid couches and a leather armchair, a fireplace with a neat stack of chopped logs, a kitchenette with an oversized highchair and a small mezzanine atop which Wade glimpses a large bed and, beside it, another wooden crib-cage.
Wolverine kicks the door shut behind them. The bang rings in Wade's ears like a gunshot.
Let me go, motherfucker! But the pacifier gag thoroughly stifles Wade’s screams. Hot tears stream down his cheeks, blurring his vision, though he doesn't want to cry anymore; he suspects Wolverine will just get off on it.
"What's wrong, are you just now realizin' who we are? Who I am?" There's a bitter edge to Wolverine's voice, as he stomps up the stairs with Wade trapped in the cruel cradle of his arms. "That's right, darlin', you belong to the big bad Wolverine now. I saved your sorry life, spent all mornin' buyin' your crap, puttin' your crib and highchair together, and this is the thanks I get. 'Cause I'm nothin' but a monster to you, huh?” Wolverine scoffs, snarling. "Well, fine. I'll just let you cry yourself out for a few hours, see if that changes your tune."
Wolverine comes to stand in front of the cage, throws open the lid, and Wade's screams splinter apart into sobs as he shakes and shrinks against Wolverine's chest. Wade can't breathe, the air punched too soon from his lungs with every broken cry. He's going to be stuffed in that cage and left there to rot like an animal, until Wolverine's ready to take him out and slaughter him. The cage is cramped and horrifying, even more so than the one he woke up in, empty but for a small bare mattress and, disturbingly, a teddy bear. Wade shrieks.
"I..." Wolverine seems to hesitate, strangely. Stranger still, he pats Wade's back as if to comfort him. "C'mon, it's not that bad. See, I put a little friend in there for you. I forgot to get you a bedsheet, fuck, but I'll bring you a blanket and — and a couple pillows. Okay?"
Wade just goes on sobbing, all snot and tears and fear, his heart lurching up to pound on his eardrums.
"Okay. Shit, okay." Wolverine backs away from the cage. His growl is less vicious now, but no less grating and terrifying to Wade’s ears. "I won't put you in there. Babies are supposed to sleep in a crib, but we'll figure somethin' out, I guess. I'll figure somethin' out. You can stop cryin' now."
But Wade can't stop, not even when Wolverine sits on the edge of the bed with Wade in his lap and removes the pacifier gag so Wade can gasp more easily. Not even when Wolverine rubs between Wade’s shoulders with a strange, fumbling gentleness. Not even when Wolverine whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm fuckin' sorry, just please breathe. Please —" Not even when his growling voice cracks.
Wade wails until his throat is raw and his eyes are swollen, his face soaked with tears that Wolverine clumsily tries to wipe away. Wade’s never going to see Vanessa again, never hear her voice. He's humiliated, broken down, dressed like a fucking baby. He's surrounded by monsters, one of them hunched over him; it's only a matter of time before they rip him apart.
And he can't fight, can't make them stop. He can't even make himself stop crying.