Chapter Text
Logan had been wandering the streets for about as long as he’d found himself in this new universe. It wasn't so bad- good shawarma, most importantly- good people, and not having a roof over his head didn't bother him so much as he spent most of his time with Wade, anyway. Wherever Wade went, he followed, mostly to be sure he wouldn't find the man in pieces next they spoke. He wouldn't say he was worried about him, more worried about the world while they had to deal with him. Though Logan was the Wolverine, Wade was an untamable and hungry animal. Which is to say, a totally high-on-life mother-fucking psychopath. Down with a chat, with going on some adventures, but you turn your back a bit too much and you can find yourself stuck between the hilt of a katana and a brick wall. But with Wade, though untamable, you can expect insanity and bloodshed and some really graphic descriptions of how he spends his off-hours, and Logan was getting used to it– not so used to it as to say he enjoyed it, and he’d never say to Wade’s face that he, Lord, liked him. No, he was insane, and insufferable, and an all-around madman.
Yeah, they hooked up a few times, so what?
It was Wade’s insanity, he supposed, that drew him in and got him… craving to know what it would be like. What made Wade the Deadpool he knows? They had only hooked up a few times (and, God, thank the Lord that Wade promised to keep it between them) but that was in the moment. They were both upset, angry people who kept losing and losing until there was nothing left. Wade got Logan all hot and bothered, all riled up, and that was that. They were friends at best. If you're stretching it.
…Which Logan was. He was absolutely stretching it, because, even though he knew, deep down, that Wade couldn't give two shits about him, he really hoped that they could eventually call each other friends.
And he wouldn’t admit it, at all, ever.
He would never admit how much he really wanted Wade, as a friend, even when he entered the exact bar at the exact time Wade had told him to meet him at. He would never admit it, even though he found himself smiling when he saw him through the glass door. He would never admit that this was the first time he wasn't alone in far too long.
As always, Wade sat front and center of the bar, gently waving off a lady who had seated herself next to him. She rolled her eyes and stalked off, probably to hunt down some other, less gay prick. He already had drinks surrounding him, which wasn't all that surprising.
“Here.” Wade handed Logan a shot of whiskey with a smirk before Logan had even gotten to sit down. “To start you off right.”
“Thanks,” was barely more than a grumble as Logan took it and knocked it back, sighing a little at the familiar feeling. “So… whatcha need?”
At first, Wade didn't say much, waiting for his friend to get comfortable in his seat, but eventually he knocked back a shot himself and grinned. “I just wanted to see you! Seems like you're almost avoiding me or something, but I know you'd never do that to your best bud.”
“I was avoiding you,” Logan joked, and it took Wade a second to realize he was kidding. They chuckled a bit, keeping their voices low in the fairly empty atmosphere– a bar on a Thursday barely-afternoon wasn’t exactly full to bursting. Mostly hopeless day drinkers, bored and desperate and probably depressed, but that was the perfect atmosphere for the two most hopeless, bored, depressed day-drinkers in the universe. “But really, I’ve just been around. Haven't done much drinking, to be honest.”
Wade gave him a golf clap. “Congrats. Better than me,” he laughed, ordering another round of shots.
“Yeah, well, then I can blame you for dragging me back in.” Logan wasn’t about to refuse free shots from the only person he knew around here.
“Hey, while the bar’s still selling. It’s not prohibition anymore, old man!”
“I’ll drink to that.” And he absolutely did, knocking down his first shot of the night.
Logan was used to shrugging and nodding his way through conversation if he wasn’t the one taking charge, but Wade had a sort of evasive energy- you needed to dodge and weave and catch whatever real things he happened to say in order to make a conversation with Wade Winston Wilson actually go as you wanted it to. So he chatted. And chatted. And got bored of chatting and stayed silent and let Wade entertain himself. Then he laughed at Wade. Then Wade laughed at himself.
Then Wade said something that Logan didn't catch. He sort of began to filter out the entire sentence, up until he heard, “...wondering if you’d like to come by again sometime. Spend a night knocking boots with this old cowboy, if it’s your fancy.” He grinned, wide and stupid, and Logan rolled his eyes. At least he was being quiet about it.
Logan hesitated for a bit longer than he had meant to, grabbing his empty shot glass and twirled it between his fingers, to fill the air before he spoke. “I don't know about… knocking boots, being my fancy-” he felt like an idiot using Wade’s stupid metaphors- “but if you like my company.”
“Of course I like your company! Great company. Better than Wal-Mart. Especially when you’re playing around with my-”
“Nope, nope, you ruined it already.”
“Ruined what? I just wanted to know if you were interested in a little… salsa dancing.”
“Wade, I…” His face grew gradually more flushed as the conversation continued. “You’re a real humble gentleman, you know that?”
“I pride myself on it.” Wade smiled, knowing full well that he was a total fucking liar.
“Well, thanks for the, uh, offer, but I’m not sure about the whole salsa part. Look, Wade, I’m more so interested in a nice place to sleep.”
Wade paused, for a long moment, looking at Logan with an unreadable, but shocked expression, almost strong enough to trigger some kind of fight or flight in him. “Where have you been sleeping this entire fucking time?” He almost sounded offended.
Logan had to think about it for a minute. “I’ve just been following you around. I slept in a library once or twice, but mostly I just… don’t.”
Wade blinked at him, almost horrified. “Why the hell didn't you tell me you had nowhere to stay?”
“I’m not from around here, if you haven’t fucking noticed! You think everyone- what- spawns in with a mortgage on a house and an office job?”
“No, but- why didn't you just tell me you needed somewhere to sleep?”
“Because I don't need-”
“Nope. No, don't start with that.”
Logan sighed, running a hand through his greasy, cowlicked hair. “Look, Wade, I was under the impression that you and a blind three-hundred year old woman lived in a one-bedroom crackhouse.”
“You’ve been to the crackhouse, it’s got room!”
“Okay, now you're gonna call it a crackhouse? That was a joke!”
“It's a true joke. But- we have room! The couch is always open, and we have blankets, if you’d rather sleep on the floor, plus my bed is pretty big if you wanted to share some quality time-”
“We’re not having sex, Wade,” Logan muttered into a bottle of beer, careful to stay quiet, even when his friend got louder and louder.
“Alright, just an offer!” Wade cracked his knuckles, patting Logan’s shoulder and ushering another round of drinks to their seats.
Logan took a moment to swig down his whiskey before beginning to stare off out the window. It wasn't raining, exactly, but it was a muggy afternoon and it smelled like a storm. When Logan had no Wade Wilson to follow around, he sat at the park, but if it was gonna rain…
“Wade, I don't want to take up too much room. I ain’t small.”
“Don't say that. You’re no waste of space, no matter how much of a crawlspace my house is.”
“I…” Logan took a small sip of his beer, trying to come up with something to say, but his bucket was coming up dry. “It doesn't feel right to come in and crash. Especially when you already live with Al! I’m fine trying to find a place to sleep if you don't have room for me.”
Wade scoffed. “Of course you can come over and crash, we have plenty of room! What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you keep wandering around like some sorta fucking… lost soul?”
Logan stared at him, waiting for Wade to notice.
Wade raised his nonexistent eyebrows.
“Boyfriend?”
Wade hesitated for a moment, shooting Logan an incredulous look before sitting up straighter- rather gayer. “What? How many times do we need to take a trip to poundtown before I can call you-”
Logan tensed. Wade had said that real loud, and he was beginning to get really restless about it, looking around the bar in a frantic manner and generally trying to make sure nobody heard that. “Hey, hey! You- you said you wouldn’t say a word-”
“I’m not telling anyone, padre! Scout’s honor. Nobody here is sober enough to be listening, anyway, so you and your non-existent reputation will be fine. Plus, they’ve all seen worse shit go down than two men talking about getting together. I’ve watched a guy get dicked down, right here on this bar, and it wasn't subtle, either. Fully pinned down to the bar, hair pulled back, yelling something sinful and sweating like a-”
Logan quickly went a deep red color and stuttered out, “Alright! Alright, I get it! Jesus Christ, I’d just rather not announce it, okay? What we did, it was- it was just a situational-”
“Situation-based sex, got it. Next time I find myself an empty Honda Odyssey with a hard-on and nothing to do, I’ll call.” Wade winked at him.
“That’s about the farthest from what I meant.”
“Then you’ve gotta be more specific, bub.” Wade smirked in triumph at the usage of Logan’s own tease against him. “What situation would make it right for you-”
“There’s no- alright, alright, situation was the wrong term. I just mean that what happened happened because it happened in the moment.”
“I live in the moment, baby.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Anything for you, love.”
“I will seriously fucking kill-”
“Woah, woah, we’re in public, buckaroo, not the bedroom just yet. That platonic enough for ya?”
Logan glared at him. Glared daggers, a dark, sharp look that… Had no effect on Wade. Actually, Logan was afraid it was having a, say, different effect on the man, so he dropped his gaze and focused on getting drunk.
Wade grinned, leaning his head on his fist, elbow on the bartop. “Buck… a… roo.”
“Look, Wade,” he began, slow and cautious, “I… I don't want you to get the impression that I don't want to be around you, but I’m not as… confident as you are, alright? I don't do what you do, I don't live every day like it’s my last, and I’ve never even asked myself the kinds of questions you're makin’ me ask. Where I’m from-”
“I’m from Canada too, what are you talking about?”
“No,” he snarled, beginning to raise his voice a bit despite his anxiety about the situation. “The fucking eighteen-hundreds.”
Wade paused and blinked for a moment, before muttering, “So it’s when, not where-”
“Give a guy a fucking second!” Logan snapped, slamming his bottle down on the bar. Thankfully nobody seemed to care about how loud he was being. Maybe Wade was right, everyone was much too drunk.
“Okay, okay, it’s an emotional time, I just can’t get past this- uh- hurdle-”
Logan looked ready to rip his head off his shoulders.
Wade nodded and raised his hands in defeat. “I give. Continue.”
“As I was saying,” Logan continued, after taking a nice deep breath, attempting to calm himself (and failing), “When I’m from, you were either a father or you were some fucked-up hermit with no family. Those were the options, no… none of this stuff going on. And I agree, it's a great thing that people can do what and who they please, that's not the problem I’m having. I’m real happy for your friends and their relationships, and I’m real glad you can do what you'd like with your life. My… my issue is that there was none of this going on back then. Everyone lived the same damn life, or you were some kinda anomaly. And it's great that things are different, here and now, but… Wade, you live a very different life than I do. And I… I just don't know how I’m supposed to keep up with your… stuff, when you’re getting all giddy out of riling me up, and- and yelling it out to the world!”
“You don’t have to keep up with my stuff, Lolo. Just sit there looking pretty, and I can take over from there-”
“What did you just call me?”
“Lolo.” Wade said it simply, not even smug. It seemed to be second nature to Wade to give anyone he knows stupid-ass nicknames.
“Lolo?! That makes me sound like one of those tiny fucking purse dogs- that’s worse than Mary Puppins!”
“Don’t you dare insult my precious Dogpool.”
“She’s not your dog, Wade- Whatever. Jesus, I need more alcohol.”
“She’s my dog now.” Wade mumbled and smiled to himself, ignoring Logan’s blatant eye roll.
He rapped on the bar for another round, drinking large swigs of beer as soon as it came to his lips, eyes stoic and ahead. Anywhere but Wade’s face. All he would see if he looked over was a huge, triumphant, shit-eating grin.
Or, so he thought.
He spared Wade a glance and found himself surprised.
Wade… his face began to fall into a more serious expression. Guilty, heavy. Logan wasn’t used to emotional, heartfelt things, and he had never seen him like this before. Usually, after doing something ridiculous, batshit, or out-of-pocket, he’d just grin, laugh, and move on to the next insane thing, but this was something new. Wade with a dark, guilt-ridden look in his eyes was almost upsetting to see.
He'd never admit how much he wanted to be Wade’s friend, and for a striking moment, he was afraid he’d hurt his feelings.
The Wolverine found himself a bit taken aback. Once Wade realized Logan was looking at him, he sighed and looked down at the shot glasses in front of him.
“I’m sorry.” Wade knocked back his next shot of tequila and ran a hand over his scalp with a soft sigh, picking out a staple from his head and flicking it to the ground. A bit gruesome, but Logan didn't care. He’d seen Wade do way weirder things. “I know you're being serious about this- actually serious. That’s… that’s never been my strong suit, if you, uh, couldn't tell by now. Y’know, coping jokes and all. Did you know that smiling is supposed to increase serotonin? It never really worked, in my case, but, you know, you have to try. And you know what they say- if at first you don't succeed, try and try again.”
Shellshocked, Logan sat in total, genuine disbelief as Wade had to force a laugh at his own comment. A forced laugh from Wade Wilson versus a true, bell-bright, gleeful sound that came with a grin and a snarky, sexual, or rude comment, were scarily different. Opposites on a spectrum that Logan never wanted to touch.
“Yeah, so, I’ll back off. You can talk. I… understand… that we’re opposites in some ways. And this is one of the ways, I guess. But if you need a place to stay, come home with me. Tonight. Right after this, if you want. Honestly? I- I know I proposed something, a bit more tonight, but I’m never gonna push you into anything like that, Lolo, and if I ever do, you rip my fucking dick off. I’m serious. Not even in a kinky way, you rip it straight off.”
Logan decided to ignore the Lolo comment, so he took a shot of whiskey and sat back in his chair, unable to make eye contact with someone he had never seen this serious, to the point of almost being unnerved. Yet, at the same time, it made him feel strangely cared for. “I don't want to take up all your space. I, uh, I know you and Althea live in a one-bedroom-”
“Oh, uh… I lied. It's a two-bedroom. She has her own room so I don’t have to hear her hooking up with some new asshole every other night.”
Logan blinked. Very, very slowly.
Wade blinked.
“She… what…?”
“Hooks up with assholes?”
“I've been there, but, isn't she a bit… a bit old, to be-”
“Look, I know, I keep telling her, eventually someone’s gonna see her as an easy target and try to kill her, but she doesn’t listen! Her old-ass brain thinks that cocaine gives her superpowers.” He scoffed. “Maybe it did sixty years ago, but something must’ve changed in the formula since then, ‘cause she’s still blind and still living with me.”
Logan, reeling from this odd change in pace, tilted his head with an incredulous look. “Okay. Alright, that feels like the kind of person you’d have as a roommate.”
Wade grinned. “I know. She’s my role model.”
“Right.” Logan massaged the bridge of his nose with his index and middle fingers. “So… you’re wanting- no, you’re offering-”
“For you to come live with us.”
Logan put down his bottle and stared at Wade, taken aback. “Live? I was- I wasn't even sure you'd have the space for me for maybe a week. You’re- you’re offering for me to live with you?! Fuck, Wade, I don’t even have a fucking job. I can’t cover rent, or anything, and I’m kind of a big guy, I take up quite a bit of fucking space.”
“Yeah, and I’m living off of Al’s coke money. I’m not paying rent either, padre, her disco dust is doing all the work.”
Logan sighed into his hand and waved for another round of shots.
“We have a few bottles at home if you’d wanna stop paying for this stuff,” Wade offered.
“Jack Daniel’s?”
“We have crystal meth, for fuck’s sake- yes, we have Jack Daniel’s. If you want, there's no limit to what poisons you can indulge yourself in back at the house.”
Logan grumbled to the person behind the bar for the tab and wrote Wade’s name in place of his own, before standing, looking to Wade expectantly. “Lead the way, disco dust.”