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Working for the TVA was indisputably a good idea- the pay was good, and the hours were literally whatever they wanted them to be, but Logan was still so sick of it sometimes. The job today hadn’t even been bad, it was just the tipping point. One too many drops in an overflowing cup.
The villain of the week had been some timeline hopping maniac trying to find a world where the girl in his office wanted to date him. He’d gone to nineteen realities before Wade and Logan had stepped in. They’d barely had to do anything- his teleporter had done their job for them, exploding on attempt twenty.
It hadn’t been hard, it had barely been work, but Logan still felt exhausted. His body worn out and yet full of adrenaline.
Everything felt too much and not enough all at once.
He didn’t talk the whole walk home, but Wade was good at filling the silence. And he realized the way Logan jerked away when he went to bump his shoulder, and gave him his space.
Getting back to the apartment, Logan collapsed on the couch, cushions bending under the weight.
It was too much not enough. Off kilter and uneven in a way that made him want to tear his brain out. He tried to focus, what was it Laura had told him the other day? 5-4-3-2-1: sight, touch, sound, smell, taste. His senses felt entirely shot, after traveling through the multiverse, everything always felt off, the uncanny valley effect. But traveling back and having everything right again, he was like a rubber band, ready to snap. Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste.
Sight, touch- he couldn’t fucking focus. One thing at a time. Sight. He could do this. The worn wood floor under his feet, stubborn bits of glitter stuck between the cracks. Holographic mix of pink, green, blue, and silver. The cardboard box they used as a coffee table, with cheery cartoon fruit printed across the sides, and Deadpool original art of ‘peelverine’ crudely added in crayon. Off white, yellowing blinds halfway shut over their cracked window, haphazardly blocking the city below. Peeking through the blinds, the dingy street. Lights flashing, traffic insane as always, shouting and slamming car doors, neighbor above them screaming about milk again. Sight. Why was this so fucking hard? One of their neighbors had just lit about a thousand candles, sickly sweet florals mixed with vanilla and cinnamon, it was awful. C’mon, one more - his hands. Bunched fists against the bright fabric of his suit. Floor, box, blinds, street, lights, hands - he was here, in Wade’s universe, in their universe. He was real.
Good, now touch. Stuffing of the couch cushions poking through to itch his leg. The couch smelled like old beer and sweat, no- not there yet, focus on touch. Every one of his senses was on fire. He wanted to run, but he felt like if he moved he would crumble to dust. Nerves both tingling and numb. Was he breathing too fast or too slow? He knew it was off, it was making him light headed. Where was he again? Sight… touch. That’s right. The material of his suit under his fingertips, rough and textured. The weave of the fabric liked to pull at his skin, offering a slight resistance as he drummed his fingers. What else… air on his face from their ancient ceiling fan. The floor under his feet, could he use ‘floor’ for sight and touch? Fuckin hell this was getting ridiculous. It was his mental breakdown, he could count whatever he wanted for all of it. Okay, couch, pants, breeze, floor. He felt like they were all pressing in on him. The world collapsing. He just couldn’t tell yet if it was closing in like the walls of a building or a butterfly’s cocoon - if it was terrifying or comforting. At least he could name the feelings, that was good.
Sight, touch, sound. He’d already noticed the shouting upstairs, and the slamming car doors. As he pressed his feet down, the floorboards creaked - was he really counting the floor again? Whatever, it worked. He just wanted to be done. He wanted this feeling eating away at his bones out.
Sight, touch, sound… smell. Fucking candles still terrorizing his nose. Wet dog smell buried in the wingback chair, completely cemented there no matter how much Logan cleaned it. Mary and Clawrisse probably needed baths again. Had he even seen the furballs since he got back to the apartment? They were probably sleeping somewhere, curled together. How long had he been sitting here? Time seemed to pass like honey, slow and thick, holding him hostage.
One more, taste. His mouth just tasted stale, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. He went to open it, to take a deep breath, to unclench his jaw - but he couldn’t. He was stuck.
It wasn’t working. He’d gone through the list, he’d taken note of his surroundings, he’d been mindful and grounding or whatever shit Laura’s second hand therapy session had been about, and he still felt bad. What was he supposed to do now? Go through the list again? Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste. Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste. Fuck. Was this making things better or worse?
Sight. The floor - not the fucking floor again. The wall. Cracked paint. Bullet holes. This wasn’t helping. A spider crawling across the ugly ass ‘live laugh love’ sign Wade hung with a dagger. He still felt wrong. Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste. Tiny tv on a stand Wade pulled in from the street corner. It was impressive it hadn’t fallen to pieces, one of the legs was held together with duct tape. As he scanned the living room for something else to ‘mindfully ground himself with’ the ceiling shook. The neighbors were now stomping around as their argument over fucking groceries continued. The noise outside hadn’t quieted down either, sirens were now blaring, car doors slammed and horns honked. Another shouting match was picking up steam. Was their ceiling fan making a noise? It definitely was, an off kilter whirring, and the refrigerator was practically screaming. Was it always this loud? Constant whirring, like it was drilling into his brain.
Sight.
He couldn’t piece one sense apart from the others. Maybe he just needed to move. He tried to stand up, but his muscles were frozen. Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste. they were all overwhelming him. Lights and pressure and humming and candles and why was his mouth so fucking dry?
He dropped his head, cupping his hands over his ears. It didn’t do much to quiet things. He pressed harder, squeezing his skull as he screwed his eyes shut. The fucking candles were still mixing obnoxiously with the disgusting couch and whatever febreze Al had used to try and cover it up. He started breathing as little as possible, slow shallow breaths,barely enough for his lungs to notice.
Nothing was fucking helping. His body was at once both a bundle of live wires and completely still. Everything was too much not enough, wrong.
He pulled all his muscles tighter, hands pressing, eyes shut, feet flat, lungs still.
Was he crying?
Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste.
He didn’t want to be fucking mindful when everything hurt.
He pressed in harder, his eyes were shut so hard he was starting to see stars dance across his vision - or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. But he couldn’t get his lungs working again. He was stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck.
-
Frozen for fuck knows how long, he was pulled out of his spiral by a ball of fur being dropped into his lap. He startled, hands leaving his ears and eyes flashing open. The room was dimmer than he’d expected, the lights were off and the blinds had finally been properly closed. On his lap, Queen Clawrisse blinked up at him. She got straight to work on his right arm, paws kneading as her claws dug in and out. It was gentle, never coming to close to piercing skin, but the simple repetition was comforting.
Clawrisse purred as she got comfortable, shifting deeper into Logan’s lap, and he could feel the noise in his chest. She was like a tiny black hole sitting in his lap, creating her own gravity field and pulling Logan’s soul back into his body. He stopped counting, stopped spiraling, and just tried to breathe.
The fridge was still buzzing, and the neighbors were still shouting, but Clawrisse was purring like she was trying to be heard from the moon. He was able to focus on that, to drown everything else out.
Her dark eyes glinted as she blinked up at him, completely oblivious to the cliff she was pulling him away from. Warm weight in his lap shifting every time she pressed her claws to his forearms. Her purr bordered on trills- Mary Puppins pattered out of the bedroom and Clawrisse chirped a greeting. They both definitely needed a bath soon, though it wouldn’t do much to help the wet dog smell practically baked into every piece of fabric. He took a breath, finally able to unlock his jaw. His mouth still tasted horribly stale, but the air helped.
-
Vaguely, he became aware of Wade perched on the arm of the couch, limbs pulled up in a ball, and eyes practically burning holes through Logan’s skull. He should probably thank Wade, or at least say something to him. He wanted to hold onto the quiet for a moment longer though. Clawrisse stretched, clearly reaching the tail end of her lap time.
Her back arched up against Logan’s palm, twisting to bump her hand against his knuckles. Running her cheek against his arm before hopping off the couch and prancing over to curl up next to Mary.
Wade still hadn’t moved. He might be going for a new pb at the quiet game. Logan cleared his throat, head still a little muddied and gummy. “Thanks, by the way.” He jerked a thumb towards the cat, “glad you convinced me to keep her.”
“I told you Mary wanted a friend.” Wade pulled out his phone to snap a photo of the two of them squished on the doggy bed. He must have thousands of pictures of them now. He opened some app on his phone and started scrolling, intently focused on avoiding Logan’s eyes. “And- I’m glad you like her too. I’m glad she helped. I was really shooting a shot in the dark with that one.”
Logan hummed, keeping his eyes on their furry gremlins. “I didn’t know that would help either. But it- it helped to have something to focus on.” Eyes still glued forwards, he let his shoulders tip, flopping over till his head fell against Wade’s thigh. The warmth of another person, the reminder he wasn’t the only soul alive, he needed that right now. The reminder this was all real.
Wade froze for a second, but quickly melted into the contact, tracing feather light fingers against Logan’s scalp. “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever made you go all-“ he cut himself off to wave his hands vaguely towards Logan, “like this?”
Logan hummed noncommittally. “Maybe later. Right now just want to sit here. Till I feel real again.” He almost didn’t want to ask the favor dancing across his tongue, but he just wanted everything to be normal again- and Wade’s hands reminded him of his place in the universe. “Could- would you keep playing with my hair?” He couldn’t help the wince that followed the request.
“Oh Wolvie, you don’t have to ask me twice.” Wade tone was much to gleeful for Logan’s taste, but he immediately threaded his fingers back through Logan’s hair, and he couldn’t be upset about that.
Wade traced his hands over Logan’s hairline and across the bridge of his nose, creating all sorts of paths and trails across his face. “Do you want me to stay quiet, or do you want me to ramble?”
Logan weighed the question a moment. He was feeling much closer to himself now, Wade staying so still and quiet felt a little off. “I like listening to you.”
Wade grinned.
“Don’t get too big of a head,” Logan huffed, grin betraying his words.
Wade just smiled wider, leaning down to knock his forehead against Logan’s. “Too late, I’m practically megamind right now.” He pulled back slightly, leaning into the back of the couch. “One of my favorite Dreamworks movies you know, right up there with Monsters vs Aliens or How to Train Your Dragon. Though Flushed Away has to have an honorary mention- just for that sexy rat voice,” he ruffled Logan’s hair, and whatever joke he was trying to make made absolutely no sense- but he really didn’t mind.
He was a part of this universe. And Wade wanted him here- as a part of his home and his family. Logan was real, and he’d never been more content to just exist.