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Summary
“So.” Logan clears his throat. “Collars don’t work on you?”
“Nope,” Wade says, popping the p. “Except in bed.”
Logan takes a deep breath. “And that’s because…?”
“Like I said, snookums, some people are born great, and other people have greatness thrust upon them. I was born great, but then God said, shit! Here’s more greatness with a steel chair! And metaphorically hit me upside my head with it.”
Logan still has a headache from the collar. The dried blood on his face pulls at his skin when he makes a face, which he does now. “Short version?”
“I’m weird. I’m a weirdo mutant.”
“Okay,” Logan says, slowly. “So how did—”
“I think sharing time is over for the day, don’t you?” And then Wade contorts himself to put his muddy, bloody boots up on the dashboard, which starts an argument that conveniently lasts the entire drive.
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Wade only tells Logan what he absolutely has to about his past and his body. Logan tries his best to listen.