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Wade was used to the nightmares.
Since Logan had moved in with him and Blind Al — and since Wade’s dreams had come true and they had started sharing a bed, because the Wolverine may be an animal, but he fucking hated sleeping on the floor like one — he had learned very quickly that Logan’s dreams weren’t at all like his, surprisingly not involving a lot of X-rated content between the two of them, a good deal of which included the God of Thunder.
That aside, though, it was a good thing that Logan had eventually caved to Wade’s pleading and started sleeping in his bed with him while Al took the lumpy, cocaine-stuffed couch — because then, there was no one getting hurt (at least, not permanently) when he jolted awake in a panic, soaked in sweat, claws sinking into Deadpool’s midsection with his face twisted into a vicious snarl that was quick to melt into heavy despair as he felt the blood on his hands.
So, yes; the nightmares weren’t new.
But there were certainly . . . other things that were, things that Wade learned the hard way. And not ‘hard’ as in, ‘him when he had first woken up with the Wolverine’s claws sunk deep into his throat’, but rather, ‘hard’, as in, emotionally competent.
It wasn’t Deadpool’s strong suit, but, eh, he thought he hadn’t done half-bad the first time Logan had woken up crying out . . . for his father.
Wade stirred with a mumble from sweet thoughts of Thor and Avenging, blinking awake to the sound of whimpering. At first, he assumed it was the dog, and waved a hand, mumbling, “Just piss on the floor”, before he remembered that Mary Puppins had been banned from their room after a very close call with Logan’s claws that had made him stay far away from the poor old girl for a full week, until she had jumped into his lap out of nowhere and licked his face until he was laughing.
He was a big softy at heart, even if he’d never admit it.
And, Wade realized as the whimper turned to an all-too-familiar growl — he was in pain right now, even if he’d probably never admit that, either, if he was at all aware of it.
Wade sat up fully in bed, nearly nude save for his Hello Kitty boxers, and crossed his legs (criss-cross-applesauce), nudging Logan’s broad, bare shoulder with the back of his hand and trying to not get too caught up in admiring his thick arm veins.
“Peanut,” he said, soft but still with a raised-enough voice that it would stir the Wolverine. “Wake up. C’mon, wolvie . . .” He made his voice cooing and coaxing, shaking Logan a little.
Logan just spasmed in response, face twisted in despair as if he were seeing something awful. His clenched fists were digging into their already-torn sheets that they had stopped bothered changing, adamantium claws just barely poking out, and his mouth was moving silently, head jerking from side to side as if he were saying no, no, no —
Oh — wait. He was, actually, saying that.
“No,” Logan was mumbling, voice raspy and sleep-heavy, eyes roaming underneath their lids. A growl rumbled violently in the back of his throat, and his limbs jerked, as if he were trying to run, not unlike a sleeping dog. He twisted in on himself, shuddering and convulsing, and Wade’s eyes widened as he began to choke out words.
“No, no — c’mon, Chuck — Pops, Dad, m’ sorry, I didn’t — please, please, nnn —,”
(That was definitely new.)
Wade was just about to shake him awake fully when Logan’s eyes flew open as a strangled, guttural howl choked its way from his throat. Wade ducked on instinct, but Logan didn’t lash out; there wasn’t even the telltale shhkk of his claws slicing from his knuckles. Instead, he pressed back, scrambling against the trembling headboard and wheezing for breath as he pawed at his chest, laying his broad palms flat across his beating heart, gasping desperately. His dark, hooded eyes locked onto Wade’s, and some unreadable emotion passed over his face.
“You — you hurt?” He barked out, gaze scanning Wade’s body, searching for blood. Wade just shook his head, scooting closer to him once more and crossing his legs again.
“Nope, I’m all good,” he responded. “Peachy keen, me. See?” He held up his arms, then wriggled his toes, and Logan seemed to study him closely for a few moments, nostrils flaring, before slumping back once more, closing his eyes.
“Good,” he rumbled, the sound almost tangible with grief and pain. “Fuck. Good.”
“Nightmare?” Wade asked quietly. He didn’t think he was ever as soft — and as mature, in all honesty, ‘cause it really was bordering on the OOC tag at this point that he hadn’t made a sex joke yet; this author seemed very out of his depth with this one if you were asking for Wade’s opinion — as he was in moments like this. Moments where Logan needed him.
Logan seemed to hesitate before giving a jerky nod. Each breath he heaved came out as a shaky puff, and his claws were sliding in and out until blood had begun to stain his knuckles, his eyes haunted and hollowed-out, as if he were still seeing something that he wanted so desperately to not be.
Wade leaned forward and slowly took his hands in his, urging the claws back in, and then eased himself down beside Logan, who had told him (while, admittedly, as drunk as he could get with regenerative tolerance, but still) that in moments like this, he just needed someone to be there. He had said that he didn’t know how he knew that, but that he thought it had helped, once. Wade was happy to oblige.
Logan remained fully silent as Wade wrapped his scarred arms around him, feeling the Wolverine’s racing heartbeat pressing against their interlocked hands. Wade knew full well that if Logan wanted him off of him, he could get him off easily; right now, he was letting himself be comforted, even as he remained tense and stiff, tremors running underneath his skin as his metal bones seemed to chill him from the inside out.
“Better?” Wade whispered to him, voice hopeful. Logan let out a heavy breath, hand squeezing around Wade’s.
“S’pose so.”
“Good.” They lapsed into silence after that, and Wade mulled over Logan’s whimpering cries that had been the utter opposite of any fun, sexytime whines. He had been calling out for someone — for his father, that much was clear, and Wade was absolutely dying with curiosity as to what that meant, because he had never heard shit about the Wolverine’s parents. Who had they been, to produce such a specimen?
Well. Deadpool had never been one to hold his tongue when he was curious.
“Logan,” he said, continuing when Logan hummed in acknowledgement, the sound rumbling up his chest and momentarily slowing his heart that was still racing, “just, y’know, random question — you don’t have to answer and you can stab me if you want, but — what were your parents like?”
Logan tensed at the question. “Don’t remember ‘em,” he rasped out. “Dunno what you know ‘bout your Wolverine, bub, but my memory’s never been solid.”
Wade thought about that for a moment, then bravely (or stupidly, depending on who you asked) prompted him again. “But you were saying —,”
“Charles,” Logan interrupted him, in a snarl that bordered on a wobbling sob. “Charles, he —,” His hand squeezed down so hard on Wade’s, the latter swore a few bones cracked, which, in all honesty, he kind of deserved at the moment for pushing him like this, but he couldn’t keep it inside forever and have it explode out of him every single fucking night. He had to get it out. So really, Wade was good for asking. Curiosity saved the dog, or however the saying went.
“He was my father,” the Wolverine growled out at last. “More than anything, he was my father, and I — I let him down the most, because I was a fucking coward.” His knuckles flexed, and Wade tightened his grip; no claws were coming out on his watch. “I walked away, away from them all, and when I came back —,” His breath caught, and his entire body shuddered.
“He was the first one I saw,” Logan rasped out, his voice jagged and haunted. “He’d been trying to protect them, but they got to him first. And if I’d been there — if I hadn’t been so fucking, hrngg —,” He was fully tense and shaking, each breath more shuddering than the last. “I fuckin’ let him down,” he snarled, fury reverberating in his voice and aimed at no one but himself. “He was my father, and I all but killed him.”
Wade was quiet for a long moment, his other hand coming up to pet through Logan’s hair. “I don’t think he’d see it that way,” he responded at last. “And I think he’d be real proud of you now, Wolverine.”
“You’re an idiot,” Logan growled, the sound shaky. “A fuckin’ — you’re — you’re so fucking stupid —,”
He pulled away from Wade to keel over, burying his face in his hands and letting out a guttural sound of despair that bordered on a wail. He shook and shook, digging his nails into the back of his neck and leaving bloody streaks, and that was what made Wade move forward once again, bringing him back into his arms, pulling him to his chest and letting him go limp against him.
“I miss him,” Logan choked out, nearly a snarl but more of a sob as his nails dug into Wade’s arm. “I miss all of them.”
“I know,” Wade said quietly, petting a hand through Logan’s hair. “You gotta feel that,” he added, because if there was anything he knew from his past relationship with Vanessa, it was grief. “You can’t keep it bottled up forever. Besides, you like drinking, so that’s dumb as fuck anyway.”
That got him a small, scoffing sound that was somewhat amused. “You are fucking stupid,” Logan muttered, and Wade grinned.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he countered, fingers moving to scratch behind Logan’s ear; for someone named after wolverines, he really was more like a dog. Or a cat; he purred sometimes. “But also, stop redirecting your feelings into humor, that’s my schtick. My point is, you’re allowed to feel shit. And I’m here for you, peanut. I’ve got you.”
“Sounds more like a threat than a comfort,” Logan grunted out, seeming to be coming back to himself. But he had relaxed fully into Wade’s arms, and his eyes had closed, his heartbeat easing out.
“Listen, bub,” he started after a minute, “I don’t do all that shit. Feeling it. Especially not with all of that, ‘cause if I started, I wouldn’t ever stop.” He sighed, heavy and tired, then flicked an annoyed eye up at Wade. “But I can fuckin’ try, if it’ll keep this from happening again.”
“Ooh, you wound me, wolvie,” Wade crooned, stroking through Logan’s hair, but he nodded anyway. “Fair enough, though. You should sleep now, though. You get grumpy when you don’t get your beauty rest, don’t you, princess?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Logan mumbled, and Wade smiled, closing his own eyes even if he already knew he would stay up and keep vigil over the Wolverine; someone needed to guard him from the depths of his own mind, and Wade had never known Professor Charles Xavier, but he did know that the man wouldn’t want the one he considered his son to suffer from his memory.
He would protect him. After all, as Marvel Jesus, was he not everyone’s savior?
“Love you too, peanut.”