Chapter Text
Logan had to resist the urge to growl when the owner's son, Pietro, came in with a deep purple bruise over one eye. He was sullen, with his hands in his pockets and everything about him screaming 'leave me alone', but Logan was good at getting to the bottom of things, even without his penchant for getting into trouble.
"Someone at school give you that?" Logan asked.
As the door closed behind Pietro, Logan couldn't help but notice a light shiver on his skin, like the cold air from outside had followed him in, but the heater was on in the bodega and it had been a remarkably warm autumn night, hardly going below twenty degrees Celsius. Logan raised an eyebrow at him, and Pietro stalked behind the counter.
"It's nothing."
"Looks like a black eye to me."
Pietro didn't say anything.
In the bodega on the outskirts of Hell's Kitchen, Logan had found a job which was willing to accept his lack of history and lack of social skills in exchange for him being willing to work from dusk until dawn, keeping the place open for the nightcrawlers and Batmen hungry for laundry detergent or sandwiches in the middle of the night. While Logan was mostly kept out the back, preparing deli ingredients for the sandwich counter out the front, Pietro had a habit of disappearing and leaving Logan in charge. So far, blood had only been spilled in the bodega twice; once it was Spider-Man's, and the second time Hawkeye-The-Elder's. Given Logan's claws, it was a miracle it had only been twice.
With Logan at the counter and Pietro in the back room, it was shaping up to be a quiet night. Wade had gotten the message not to disturb Logan at work, mostly, and took it to heart on the days where Pietro bothered to turn up. They had both learned very quickly that while Logan and Pietro didn't really care who they sold sandwiches to, Pietro's dad, who was the owner of the bodega, definitely did. After the last incident with Hawkeye and Hawkeye ended with blood, an unspoken law went into effect among their more unusual client base: do not bring trouble.
Being in trouble? Fine. Getting into trouble after being in the bodega? Also fine. But bringing trouble to the bodega was bad news for everyone, including whoever was the one causing trouble, considering Logan's newly revealed 'enhancements'. Fortunately for Logan, those in the know about his claws and healing were small, very small, but unfortunately for him it included Pietro.
"It's the X-gene, right?" Pietro asked, his voice muffled in the back room. "Your thing?"
"Mostly."
Logan didn't say anything else or elaborate. Pietro started going from foot to foot, his sneakers squeaking on the tile in the back room. Outside, Logan could see twisters of dead leaves being picked up and scattered about in the wind, the streetlights casting strange shadows on the empty businesses opposite, and the windows reflected the bodega with almost one-to-one accuracy. When it rained, rivulets of water obscured the image outside, giving everything a fuzzy, dream-like quality, but at that moment everything was as clear as it could be. Logan saw in the reflection as Pietro came through the door and leaned against the frame, looking at Logan.
"Mostly?" Pietro asked, curious.
Logan shrugged. "Things have changed. My powers are different from what they used to be."
And this place he found himself in, he felt like adding. In the old world there were never any Sokovia Accords to stop the illegal experimentation on mutants, and in the present world, it had only been a few years since the bill had been introduced. Some people still contested the law, saying that mutants shouldn't exist at all, and that the only acceptable kind of superhero was the kind who relied on technology or was controlled by the government completely. Still, it was better, and he didn't need to disclose his abilities at all unless he was a member of a deliberate team, like the X-Men or Avengers. It meant, however, that Pietro and Pietro's father had been in for a shock when they learned from the police that Logan could take a bullet or nine without a sweat.
"Cool." Pietro nodded. He was looking out into the dark street, too, focusing on the tumble of leaves.
Not that they treated him all that differently. Logan's bullet-resisting abilities were not all that useful when he worked behind the counter of a bodega.
"Why do you ask?" Logan asked. "You've never cared before."
"No reason," Pietro said quickly. "Just, you know. Never knowingly worked alongside one of you guys before. Of course, there were kids in school back when my family were in Sokovia who were probably, like, enhanced or whatever, but... Yeah."
"Yeah." Logan nodded slowly in agreement.
"And it makes me feel a bit better, you know, being in here at night. There being two of us was already great, but now? Even better."
Logan scoffed. "Sure. I'll be the meat shield between you and the bad guys."
"Right." Pietro tucked his hands into his pockets, and they were silent for a few minutes before he spoke up again. "How did you know?"
"Hm?"
"How did you know that you could, uhm."
"Be shot and not die?"
"Or that you had the X-gene."
Logan had wanted to kill a guy so badly it hurt and then bone-knives stuck out of his fists. "I was walking in a rough part of town and got mugged. It went badly, got stabbed, and that's when I knew."
Pietro nodded. "And, uh. Say Spider-Man or someone dropped in. What would be your advice?"
"It's too late for him." Logan turned and looked at Pietro. "But if you're asking for a friend, my advice is keep it on the down-low and don't get involved."
Pietro raised the eyebrow above his black eye. "Is that what you did?"
Logan shrugged. "It's what I'm doing now."
*
Wade was awake and waiting for him when he got home, still in his pyjamas and watching reruns of 'Worst Cook in America' on the TV. Mary Puppins was in his lap, snorting like a pig.
At that time of the morning, it was so dark outside that it reminded Logan of being in fog at night. The mansion's grounds got really foggy during the autumn, and with the woods surrounding it being so dark, it was like being at the bottom of the ocean. During his time at the mansion, Logan had been sent out countless times to go and collect students who were trying to sneak out and drink in the woods. Using his nose more than any other sense, he had to try and find his way around, and New York wasn't so dark but filled with the same kind of anticipation, the same kind of danger, and the same kind of worry. There were fewer twigs to stand on, but more people lurking around corners.
"Hey, peanut," Wade said, voice laden with exhaustion. "How was work?"
"Fine. How was your night?"
"I got in thirty minutes ago, so not great. The bastard wouldn't give up."
Logan grunted and went over to the fridge, pulling out the milk and pouring himself a glass. It was too early for coffee, and too late for alcohol, and juice was too sugary. Milk was a comfortable middle ground that made the soft amber lighting of their apartment more surreal than before, because, come on. Who the hell drinks milk?
Wade went on to talk about the person he had been hired to take out. They were a part of a larger problem, a group specialising in performance enhancing drugs laced with something addictive to keep people hooked, and sending them to a heart-pounding, muscle-spasming grave. Usually, Wade wasn't too sympathetic towards the rich young adults who chose to spend their parent's money on different ways to cheat at tests, but the problem was, first and foremost, the fact that they were stepping on another clan's toes.
"Surely everyone in New York knows by now that the Laotian mob is the group for this sort of thing, not the Estonians. What do the Estonians have against their previous trade of, urm. Whatever Estonia is famous for."
"Nice landscapes and fish don't draw an international crowd, bub."
"How come you know what Estonia has going on?" Wade asked, turning to look at him.
Logan shrugged. "Went there in the second world war. Anyway, what makes the Estonian's product better than the Laotian's?"
"Price, mostly, but somehow they're able to make it without tipping off the police. It's like they're making it out of thin air. Not a single one of their workshops has been done for being dirty since they turned up a few months ago. Usually a mob has at least one or two that they cut off as soon as the cops get involved, but these ones? No idea."
"And so your guy you were sent after...?"
"They'd tried to get him before. You know, take him out themselves, but he shook off bullets no problem. They didn't even seem to go into him, you know? My katanas, however, did something. Only a little something, but-" Wade shrugged. "That's all you can ask for. And what about you? What were you up to?"
"Not a lot. Pietro was trying to get me to talk about it, but nothing much else."
Wade laughed a little, turning back to the TV. "That's one determined guy, picking you for answers. Did you give him the whole 'it's none of your fucking business' speech you gave the men in black? Or, oh, or the 'I'm just a guy trying to keep a job' that you gave to a certain spider? Or-"
"I kept it quiet, but he didn't pry."
"You didn't kill him?"
"He's the boss's son and he's nineteen. And not exactly a threatening nineteen-year-old either."
"Aw." Wade went limp. "Damn. I thought you would have totally gone and glared at him in the way that scared the weak willed and excites the danger-hungry. Yeah, exactly like that."
Logan shook his head and turned away. "I'm going to bed now."
"Can I join-?"
"No."
And Logan closed the door.
*
Outside was wet and damp and cold and Logan had to twist his shirt beneath the hand drier in the bathroom to try and get himself looking at least a little bit presentable for customers. His hair had stopped dripping cold water down his neck a little while ago, and it was still fifteen minutes before he was supposed to start when he heard the back door creek open and slam shut again. The faint, almost invisible smell of shoe polish and blood swept in and Logan growled.
"Not the time, bub!" he shouted. "And wrong door. If you want friendly treatment, you come through the front like a normal person."
"Sorry, I'm not exactly a normal customer."
Daredevil prowled past the open bathroom door, taking in the sights and sounds of the back room. He was lucky it was so quiet, with all the normal people already at home and tucked up in their beds; not like the two psychopaths in the bodega at nine o'clock at night. If it had been busier in the shop, Logan might have been tempted to take him out, if only to save face.
"Why are you here?" Logan growled, giving up on his damp shirt. "Now isn't the time and you're not welcome here, injured or not."
"You helped me out last time."
"I'm not letting a guy die in our dumpsters. It raises questions with the police."
"Right." Daredevil slowly turned to face him. He was standing on one of the only slip-mats in the back room, which was considerate of him, but it only made Logan want to growl. "I have bad news."
"Worse news than you standing here?"
"Yes. Look, you're enhanced."
"No shit."
Daredevil made a face which reminded Logan of someone raising their eyebrow, but it didn't quite come across with Daredevil's mask.
"And the guy you work with is, too. The X-gene, right?"
Now it was Logan's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Pietro?"
"Yeah."
"It's none of your business, or mine, whether he's enhanced or not."
"It is if you know what the Estonian mob is up to."
It had been less than twelve hours since Logan had spoken to Wade the day before, and while it took him a second to place where he had heard of the mob, he snorted as soon as he realised.
He said, "Rich kids buying performance enhancing drugs aren't really my concern, and I doubt Pietro is going to care much either."
Daredevil stared him down. Logan might have been frightened if he didn't have the ability to tear Daredevil apart in seconds.
"I'm surprised you know what the Estonians have on offer."
"I'm surprised you came all the way here to tell little ol' me about something which doesn't matter. At all. Sure, those drug-addict athletes are probably suffering, but I'm just a guy trying to get by."
"The Punisher is looking into this too, and asked me to give you a heads up. The Estonian mob," Daredevil said slowly, taking a couple of steps closer, "are bleeding people with the X-gene in order to make their drugs. People with the same abilities they want. Speed, stamina, strength, regeneration. Things which, if a mutant were to enter a competition against baseline humans, would give them an unfair advantage. I don't know what you have going on — not exactly, anyway — but you two should watch out."
Logan squinted at him. "Okay. So why haven't the police got involved?"
"You know Wilson Fisk?"
"Vaguely."
"Most of the bad cops are out of the system, but you're always going to get bad cops."
"Ain't that the truth," Logan said. "Now get out."
*
Pietro didn't come in that night — it was a Thursday, so he was skateboarding with his friends until midnight — but someone else of note did.
"Hey, peanut," Wade said, dragging mud and blood across the tile floor. "It's been a long night. How about a nightcap? You, me, in the back room—”
"Do you know anything about what the Estonian mob is using to make their product?"
Wade paused, his masked face turning towards Logan with a long, precise movement. They stared at one another. "Why?" Wade asked.
"Daredevil dropped by."
"That homewrecker—!”
"He said that if Pietro and I are enhanced, we might be in danger. Or, well, as much danger as I can be in."
"Which is a lot. Have you seen your movies?"
"Wade."
Logan bit the word out and it became quiet between them. Wade knew damn well that Logan didn't like him bringing up the multiverse stuff, about how he was supposedly the 'worst' of all the Wolverines out there. Surely there was a Wolverine who decided to side with Magneto, or who killed the president, or something?
The tension between them was electrifying, rising in waves and making Logan's hair stand on its end, as Wade kept the mask on and looked at their situation. Eventually, he nodded at Logan.
"You'll be fine. I think. What's Pietro's deal?"
"No idea. Daredevil seemed to think he has the X-gene, but whether or not it's manifested, I don't know. It'd be nice if he told me how he knew about me though, seeing as I’m not trying to be obvious here."
"Probably your raw sex appeal."
"Wade."
"Or your charming personality. Hey, have you noticed how you say my name a lot? It's really romantic. I'm soaking wet right now. Not from the rain."
Logan sighed and stared over Wade's shoulder. Unlike before, the rain gave everything outside a distorted feeling, like running your finger though pencil to smudge the words on the page. With Wade continuing to blabber and Logan standing stationary at the bodega's counter, he got an uninterrupted view of the street when something flashed past the glass, like lightning. Logan blinked and it was gone.
The back door squeaked open and closed. "Logan?" Pietro called.
"Wade's here," Logan called back.
"Hey Pietro!"
Wade leaned over the counter so that he could twiddle his fingers in the direction of the back door and Pietro appeared, soaking wet, in the doorway.
"I thought you weren't in today," Logan said.
"I wasn't. Dad asked me to come by."
"Oh daddy can ask me to come by any day."
Pietro had learned quickly not to engage with Wade when he was being his usual self. "He said there was a Daredevil fight not far from here, and he wanted us to close early so that no-one broke the windows. Is your phone dead?"
Logan blinked and fished his phone out of his pocket. He turned it on and, sure enough, next to the forty-seven missed calls from Wade were two missed calls from the Boss. "Shit. Sorry, bub."
Pietro shrugged. "'S alright."
"Say. Pietro." Wade had that tone of voice that raised Logan's shackles quicker than anything else could. "You guys don't happen to sell a waffle maker, do you?"
Logan blinked and frowned. Pietro was staring at him.
"No."
"Dammit!" He slammed his fist on the counter. "Why does no one sell a waffle maker?"
"Mr- uhm. Deadpool, this is a bodega."
"You sell batteries don't you? And SIM cards? And a whole variety of other useless and strange objects like tampons, bouncy balls and ground cumin? Why wouldn't you sell a waffle maker?"
Logan rolled his eyes. Somewhere nearby, a siren started up. "Let's start packing up. I'll meet you at home, Wade," said Logan.
"Okay, peanut. I'll see if the other bodegas have one in the meantime."
*
It was a crisp, rich autumn day when Spider-Man landed on the street lamp near where Logan was sitting.
The little park was perched between two brownstones in Brooklyn. It wasn't often that he was on that side of the river, enjoying the sights and sounds of traffic and angry pedestrians. The park must have been put there as a sort of band aid, covering up a house which had caught fire or a space which had been a street at one point, but at that time of day it was a suntrap. Spider-Man, however, was an unexpected blemish in the park.
"Hey!" Spider-Man called.
Logan took a sip of his coffee which tasted of cardboard and looked down at Mary Puppins as she snorted at the edge of the bench. It was a nice day. She seemed to appreciate the different scenery and had pushed her nose into piles of leaves instead of piles of trash on the way over.
"Hey, Mr. Logan!"
What time was it? Only two o'clock, so he had time to get another coffee before Wade got back with the details. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get a biscuit or something to go with it. The fact that he liked Scottish shortbread was the kind of secret he'd need to take to the grave, if he ever got that far.
Spider-Man slid down a web beside him, hanging upside down and at perfect punching height. "Hi, Mr. Logan. Uhm. Sorry to bother you, but have you seen Hawkeye recently?"
Logan looked around him, then turned back to Spider-Man. Mary Puppins was standing on her back paws, trying to reach him. "Nope. I can't see her. Him. Them."
"Like, at all?"
Logan did another cursory look. "Nope. Still can't see anyone."
"Okay, but." Spider-Man dropped down so that he wasn't looking at Logan all upside down, and he was both delighted and a little disgusted when Mary Puppins began to jump up at him. "But have you seen Hawkeye recently? In the past few weeks."
"Last I saw missus-Hawkeye was three weeks ago, and last I saw mister-Hawkeye was on the news last week. He hasn't been back to the bodega since the accident."
"The accident?"
"Three people in a car mysteriously got shredded. It's a real tragedy."
Spider-Man made some vaguely uncomfortable and sympathetic noises before he asked, "If you see her, can you let her know that I need to talk to her?"
"So this is girl-Hawkeye we're talking about?"
"Yep. Okay, gotta go, see you, bye!"
And like that, Spider-Man bounced back into the air, catching the same streetlight he had been sitting on before and then swinging North. From the other end of the park, Wade and a teenager with black hair came walking around the corner. Beneath Wade's arm was a busted looking box, advertising a waffle maker.
"Oh, hey. It's you," the girl said.
"Hey peanut, hey pookie." Wade sat down on the hard concrete and began to scratch Mary Puppins all over. "Aww, somebody missed me!"
"It's me?" Logan asked the girl, raising an eyebrow.
The girl nodded. "You. Claw-man from the bodega."
Logan looked around as Wade continued to sit on the dirt and coo over the dog, making sure no-one was too close, before he asked. "Are you Hawkeye? The red-head, Natasha, said you’re called Kate. Do I call you Kate?"
Instead of being worried about being outed in public, she seemed to puff up. "Who said I was Kate? I’m not Kate.” Logan could smell that lie, it was so obvious. “Hawkeye at your service. What can I do for you, claw-guy?"
"Spider-Man asked me if I had seen you." Logan finished his coffee and dumped it in the overflowing bin beside him. "Said that if I saw you, to ask you to contact him."
Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at him. "Is this Peter One, Peter Two, Peter Three, or Black Spider-Man?"
"Black Spider-Man?"
"Is that a question or an answer?"
Wade looked up at him. "Wait, Spidey was here?"
Logan nodded slowly.
Wade shot to his feet like a jack-in-the-box. "And I missed him?"
"Sure did," he said.
Wade leaned down and unclipped Mary Puppins from the park bench, grappling with the waffle maker in his other hand. "Come on, Mary! We've got a spider to talk to!"
And, seconds later, Wade had marched out of the park in the opposite direction Spider-Man had been heading in. Logan sighed and stood up, feeling his joints creak as he did so. It must have been loud enough for other people to hear, as Hawkeye was wincing when he looked at her.
"It was the red Spider-Man, if that helps at all."
Hawkeye, somehow, winced harder. "It doesn't. Well, it does. Because it means that it's probably not Black Spider-Man."
"It'd be really awkward for you if Black Spider-Man turned out to be a white guy. Or if Peter one through three was black."
"That's the disadvantage of not showing your face, claw-guy. I guess I'll go message the Spider-Men individually, then."
"What's the difference between the three of them?" Logan asked.
Hawkeye shrugged. "No idea. I've never seen them without the masks."
*
When Logan got home, Wade wasn't in. Mary Puppins snorted and snuffled on the couch, ignoring the nice bed Logan had bought for her with his fourth pay check, and Logan went over to the fridge to see what they had on offer.
Pickles, half an orange, two pieces of bacon, a turkey sandwich with a bite taken out of it, some olives in a jar, a collection of mouldy strawberries, two chocolate bars which had melted and then been reformed in the fridge, a jar of unknown black stuff, a second jar of pickles, and a raw, vacuum packed steak.
Logan pulled the steak out of the fridge and stuck it on a plate. He was just preparing to slice the packaging with his claws when an almighty thud came from the window, seven floors up off the ground. Logan glared at the window, expecting to see the dusty, finger-print-like smudge where a bird had impacted with the glass, but instead Spider-Man's mask looked back at him.
As soon as he opened the window, Spider-Man said, "Oh my god, you're the Wolverine."
"I'm retired. I assume you're one of Peter one-through-three?"
"I'm Peter Three."
"Right. And the one I spoke to earlier?"
"Uhm. Either Peter One or Peter Two."
Logan sighed. "Right. And what's wrong?"
"Wade asked me to tell you to tell Pietro if you see him that Wade is working with Peter two to try and tell Hawkeye and Hawkeye and maybe Daredevil if they see him, that Wade is working with the Laotians on the case about the Estonians."
Logan blinked, running that deranged sentence over his head one more time to try and make sense of it. "Wade is working with the Laotians."
"Yes."
"And what about Pietro?"
"Oh, yeah, I left that out of the sentence. Basically, the Estonians are after people with the X-gene. They're going after people who are showing off their powers, and since Daredevil thinks that Pietro is showing off his powers, that he's in danger and he should stop doing that for now until Wade gets it handled and then Pietro can do what he wants, but Wade thinks that you're more likely to get him to listen since Wade is basically a stranger and is often considered crazy and he doesn't want to scare Pietro."
"You need to learn to take breaths in your sentence."
"Sorry, just." Peter Three took in a deep breath, and then his voice went really high. "It's just that you're the Wolverine! And you're so cool and in my world you, like, hated Deadpool and now you're here and I'm talking to you, and did you know the other X-men because I always thought that Cyclops was really cool and that Phoenix was such an awesome person with such cool powers, and Storm? Storm. She was never as cool as you, though. They were all really flashy but you just had the intrigue, you know?"
Logan and Peter three stared at one another for a moment. "I'm closing the window now."
"Wait."
Logan cursed himself as he waited.
"Hawkeye got in contact with Spider-Man, so thank you for telling her to do that."
"No problem."
Logan closed the window.
*
At eight o'clock that night, Logan walked to the bodega and stopped to grab a cup of coffee from a street vendor when the bank on the opposite side of the road exploded.
Dust filled the air as the building collapsed in on itself, falling inwards instead of to one side and causing a huge shower of rubble on the street below, and Logan stepped instinctively in front of the other customers at the coffee stand. Illuminated by streetlights, he got a front-row seat to the way the lights in the building flickered off all at once, the windows exposing the collapsing walls and broken floors as the building went down, and then the street was dark. People screamed.
For a solid minute, all Logan could do was try and make sure the three people at the coffee vendor were okay, before he moved out in tactical ways. He avoided the opposite side of the street, instead prowling the sidewalk and stepping over the few larger pieces of rubble. Everyone he came across was in a state of quiet panic. Few of them talked, but in the darkness and dust it was difficult to think of anything to say. A few people were on the phone to the emergency services, rattling off street names and buildings as Logan turned back and did a second sweep.
The dust began to settle when a fine, freezing rain came from above. It was the kind of rain which soaked you to the bone, sapping you of energy and will, but it drowned out the dust and made things clearer. At that point, Logan could see the building itself.
Later, after the boss had bemoaned the loss of overnight income from the bodega and told Logan to go home, the news reported one tragedy. A young, bright man known for his high-jump skills in a private school, and the recent victim of the new pill on the block: Exoria.