Chapter Text
Unfair is the word Logan would have used to describe what Wade had done to him. It was unjust, cruel, and selfish. To have the audacity to tear him from his own reality - his own home - and force him to save a universe he didn't even know existed. To force him to relive memories he'd spent a lot of time (and money) repressing, and to force him to use the abilities he had sworn to neglect when they had done nothing but cause him pain.
Unfair was a very good word for it, But it wasn't the only one.
Life-changing; that was Logan's new word of choice. Wade had given him a purpose, a family, a place to call home. His own people had turned their backs on him, kicked him to the ground and kept on kicking. Before all of this, he wasn't living, simply existing. Bottle to bottle, bar to bar, rejection and animosity and whispers that grew louder and louder, nobody caring if he heard them. Every word they said, every insult, echoed around his head, searing and biting and venomous, silenced only by the buzz he woke up craving every day.
Somehow, this jabbering, irritating, self-serving wannabe superhero had saved his life and resurrected him. Wade was always muttering about how four or five moments are the key to being a hero, and this was one of them. Sure, saving his entire world was a big one, but giving Logan Howlett a reason to wake up in the morning was something Wade valued just as highly, and Logan couldn't think of a single way he could even begin to thank him for it. He was never very good with his words.
Here, sat in a room full of interesting characters, both mutant and human, Logan felt peace and security. Like static on a radio, life and happiness and contentment buzzed around him like a warm hug, a crackling fire, and as he nursed his Dr Pepper, he couldn't help but feel as though his almost 200 years of existence had been slowly building up this moment, his zenith. It was strange to think about how so many of the people in this room had known another version of himself, a version of himself who they held in such high regard, and despite Logan thinking of himself as the direct opposite to the martyr he was held in contention to, they treated him as though the legacy of his counterpart was his own. With kindness, with respect, and with admiration. As an equal. It had been too long since anybody had done that.
A warm, wet feeling snapped Logan out of his trance, Mary Puppins making herself well acquainted with his face, earning a low grumble and a reluctant pat to the head. He would never admit it but he had grown rather fond of her. She was a lot like Wade, invasive of personal space and unaware that some people might have boundaries, but given his choice of roommates, maybe that wasn't the worst thing. He even found himself, at times, thinking that in the right lighting, from the right angle, the little mutt was cute. With a little nudge, Mary Puppins was lightly ushered to the floor, rushing over to Yukio, not so subtly eyeing up the bag of pretzels she was absent-mindedly snacking from as she showed Colossus a video on her phone, smiling jovially.
Rising to his feet, Logan approached the fridge, smiling slightly at the burned Polaroid of all of Wade's friends; his family. Their family. The harsh fridge light made him wince, as he instinctively reached for a Budweiser bottle in there before sighing, dropping his hand, and grabbing a soda instead. Quitting drinking was the hardest thing he'd ever done, and he just saved the universe from being eviscerated.
Living with Wade was like being in the eye of a tornado, he was incapable of sitting still for more than 5 seconds, wittering about every single thing that popped into his head and leaving a mess in his wake. Logan thought he was going to hate it and be out within a week, but it was surprisingly exactly what he needed.
With silence came the thoughts, the incessant droning of self-loathing and guilt. Logan couldn't help but feel like he was entirely undeserving of the cards he had been dealt, he had let down his entire universe and unfairly been given a chance to start afresh whilst everybody back there had to deal with the ramifications of his shortcomings. Wade's all-encompassing room-filling presence quietened those intrusive images, giving Logan something else to focus on and granting him a sense of relief he had only ever felt before when he reached the bottom of the liquor bottle. You'd think Wade would grow tired of his one-man show in a two-man apartment (and one lovely blind lady), but he had learned to read between the lines on Logan's face. He knew which frowns meant to change the subject, which eyebrow raises indicated Logan's disbelief of his ridiculousness, and he had even managed to decode the tiny little muscle twitches when Logan would attempt to suppress a smile. God forbid Wade knew he occasionally made him happy, the universe might collapse upon itself.
If only Wade came in the form of a white noise machine, because when night came and it was just Logan alone with his own thoughts on the pull-out couch, that darkness crept back into his mind. After restless nights of tossing, turning, shouting and thrashing at the poor furniture, Wade had told him that he needed to go and get some sleep medication and some therapy, but what sort of therapist would understand the deep levels of psychological trauma Logan had? Not to mention Logan would've had to be willing to talk about his feelings with a random stranger, which he most certainly was not. If he was incapable of facing his problems, how was he supposed to divulge them to some sap pretending to be sympathetic for $150 an hour?
This is where that sinful syrup of sanity came in; his kryptonite. Passing out with a head full of cotton wool and a mind empty of thoughts - usually on the sticky hardwood floor of a bar - was the only way Logan felt able to get a modicum of peace. Of course, as the night wore on the effects wore off and with that came the harrowing depictions of all of his failures, but that's what flasks were for.
So, here Logan was, just over two weeks sober (he had almost slipped up more times than he could count, but Wade was doing it with him out of solidarity), and more hours in sleep debt than he could even begin to count. He couldn't help but feel bad, he'd shredded the couch so badly that no amount of duct tape could hold the poor thing together, the coffee table had a big gouge out of it, suspiciously similar to the shape of his claws, and the table lamp had made fast friends with the floor and didn't survive the encounter. Wade reassured him constantly, said things would get better, said he could sleep through it all and that Blind Al could just wear earplugs and learn what it was like to live as Helen Keller, but Logan found himself unable to sleep for two reasons now. He hated inconveniencing the people who had saved his life.
Night after night, Logan found himself sitting on the rooftop of the apartment building, people-watching. He'd find himself making up people's life stories, a habit Wade had taught him, as he would see an ordinary woman reading Life of Pi on the subway and decide she was an international spy and that book contained the cipher to a code she had been trying to decrypt for months, the fate of Yugoslavia lying in the balance if she didn't fulfil her duties and locate the secret government base with the nuclear plans she sought to destroy. Of course, Logan's imagination wasn't nearly as flexible as Wade's, but he would certainly try, and it helped, quietening his chaotic mind a little. Maybe that's what Wade had been doing this whole time, distracting himself from things he'd rather not think about, or maybe he really was just terminally optimistic and a lot more at peace with the peaks and valleys of life.
Logan found himself honing all of his senses, listening to the nightlife, the traffic and the bustle of New York, feeling the crisp wind biting at his skin and watching the world turn below his feet. It was hard to determine between all of the smells he could pick up - given his affinity with that particular sense - but the smell of rubber on the tarmac was a very clear one, as well as the soft smell of laundry powder from the clothing and sheets, hung on the rooftop behind him, as well as the taste of whatever cheap soda he was passively swigging from, completing his full sensory overload.
"Come back to bed, honey!"
The mocking tone of the merc was unmistakable, Logan whipping his head around quickly to be met with the sight of his roommate, clad in Muppets pyjama bottoms, flip flops and a tank top standing in the doorway to the roof. Logan couldn't help but wonder whether Wade had known of his private retreat for a while, or if he had just now discovered his hiding place.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Wade sat himself down on the edge of the roof next to Logan, sincerity flickering in his eyes as he appeared to scan Logan's face for answers, to no avail.
"Couldn't sleep, needed some air, came up here."
Logan was about as forthcoming with information as Wade had expected, gaining a little scowl in response.
"You talk like a text message, old man. Ironic, considering I bet you wouldn't know how to send one if you tried. What's really going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
Wade reached over to ruffle his disgruntled friend's hair, having his hand swiftly slapped away with a glare. He feigned offence briefly but quickly went back to studying the expression on Logan's face.
"You try sleeping on a couch off of Craigslist, then tell me if you can get a good night's rest."
Logan's words had more bite than he had intended, especially since despite his gruff demeanour, he was appreciative of his newfound company, but Wade was unphased, knowing his friend too well to care about the tone. He knew that if Logan was genuinely upset with you, he'd make it known in much more aggressive manners.
"You're free to take the bed anytime you want, Wolfie, as long as you promise not to hulk out on my precious belongings, I prefer my things in one piece."
"Appreciate the offer, but it won't help."
Logan suddenly seemed very interested with staring down at the ground far below them, hiding the shame creeping into his expression. Nothing could get past Wade though.
"Is this about your midnight slasher sessions? Because although I don't necessarily appreciate the feng shui of your attempts at interior decorating, I can handle a few gashes in the furniture, and Al is too blind to know the difference."
Having somebody truly care about his well-being was jarring to Logan, he'd spent so long shutting people out and putting up a wall he wasn't really sure if a shred of vulnerability remained in the rubble of his soul, and yet, somehow, he could feel the warm compassion in the cold, biting air.
"It's been hard, not drinking, maybe it's withdrawal or maybe this is just how fucked up I've been for a long time. I don't want to keep wrecking the place, you didn't even have to offer me your home, and I'm fucking it up because I can't control myself."
Wade really really wished Logan didn't have such an aversion to physical contact, because he really wanted to give the jaded man aside him a hug without ending up impaled. He longed to coo in his ear and tell him it would all be okay and he was here, but instead, he stared at the stars in the sky, counting every last one, trying to muster up a response good enough to justify Logan's vulnerability. This could be the only time he ever lets him in, and he didn't want to ruin it.
"Okay, turn up your hearing aids, gramps, it's monologue time,"
Wade let out a loud sigh, wringing his hands nervously as he tried to rationalise all of his fleeting thoughts and cherry-pick the ones that might actually be helpful in this unchartered territory.
"I wish I could say I know what you're going through, I've been chewed up and spat out by the world a few times, but I have my coping mechanisms and my people and it hurts me to know you were alone for so long, but you're not anymore Logan. It's not going to be easy, and I wish I could promise everything will be okay in the end, but I can't do that either. God, this whole being serious thing is nauseating, how does Colossus do it? Anyway - I can't promise anything, but I can make an educated wish. You've gone through a lot, and you're still here, and I don't mean in an 'unable to die' way, I mean mentally and spiritually and all of that cosmic crap. You're still the same man you've always been, underneath all of those walls you put up. You can come and sleep in my room, I'll take the floor, you can take the bed, unless you're feeling nasty, and I can be there for when things get hard, innuendo intended. I can wake you, I can talk to you, I can even be your punching bag if you really need to get out that anger. Then at least you don't have to worry about ruining the cheap-ass furniture that nobody even cares about. You don't have to do this alone, Logan. I can be there until you don't need me anymore, and if you still want me after that, I'll be there."
Once, twice, three times, Logan blinked at Wade, struggling to process not only the sheer magnitude, but also the sincerity of what his friend had said to him.
You don't have to do this alone, Logan.
Even when he had been a part of the X-Men, a part of a team, he'd preferred solitude, avoiding meals with his companions and preferring the lone wolf strategy on missions. Sure, he was somewhat close with Rogue, and he wasn't cold or distant with anybody (he even had his nice moments with Scott), but he'd spent long enough fending for himself and it was almost out of pride that he would choose to weather his storms alone.
He was left dumbfounded, words never came easy for Logan, especially not when Wade was staring at him with those puppy dog eyes. He was such a good person, under all the murder and the recklessness and the pushing of people's buttons, Wade was pure, unfiltered goodness. The merc truly lit up any room, and Logan always felt like he sucked all the life out of one, so it was strange to have somebody who treated him like his presence made everything brighter.
"You really don't gotta do all that, bub, I know where you're coming from and I'm thankful, but you don't need to put yourself out for me. I'll be alright. I can get on my feet and find a place, and if it's too much in the meantime, I'll find somewhere to crash."
Quickly, he sensed he had given the wrong answer. The merc's non-existent eyebrows were furled together as he massaged his temples, seeming genuinely exasperated. Logan felt a tinge of guilt, it lingered in his chest as he awaited a response, unknowingly holding his breath.
"Logan,"
Wade motioned to grab his companion's hands, before freezing, clearly thinking through his actions, and awkwardly dropping his hands back at his sides. Logan couldn't figure out if this action was to offer him comfort, or for Wade to comfort himself.
"I didn't offer to let you live with me as an act of charity, or to even just watch you walk around in a towel after you have a shower. You're my friend, my best buddy! Don't tell Dopinder. Unless you really want your own space, and I'm driving you so crazy you can't bear another minute of me being around, I'd like you to stay. And I really would like to help. I mean, watching you sleep, waiting for a nip slip? Talk about suspense!"
"You wanna watch me sleep?"
"I wonder if you do that thing dogs do in their sleep when they're dreaming, pretending they're running through the fields and catching a frisbee, I bet you do."
"I'm not a dog."
"So you just growl at people and run on all fours as a sort of kinky thing? Are you a Therian, Logan?"
"What the fuck is a Ther-"
"Just say yes. Just let me help you."
The way Wade was staring at him felt like a little kid begging for ice cream at a funfair. His powers of persuasion could be counted as their own mutant ability, because Jesus Christ did he have a way of batting those eyelashes and eroding your self-control. Unfortunately for Wade, Logan's sheer stubbornness was the perfect counterpart to his manipulation, and totalling that up with his pride being on the line, the mercenary never stood a chance.
"Thanks but no thanks, I'll figure it out, I always do."
Dwelling on his defeat, Wade nodded curtly, struggling to hide his disappointment, and got up from where he was sitting next to Logan. He truly believed if anything was going to kill the Wolverine one day, it would be his own obstinance. He could be hanging off the edge of a cliff, above a sea of acid capable of melting even Adamantium, and he would sooner take the plunge than accept a hand up. Wade would be more critical of him for it if he wasn't exactly the same.
"You coming in? It's cold out here, I can see your nipples through that deliciously tight tank top."
Logan rolled his eyes, but was thankful the tension seemed to have evaporated into the cold winter's night.
"I won't be long, bub, just gonna smoke this."
He held up his cigar behind him, waving away Wade, listening as his footsteps got further and further away. He finally let go of the breath he had been holding the whole time, watching it cloud up in front of his face.
"Those things'll kill ya y'know!"
Logan chuckled lowly to himself, he always had to get the last word in.