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strandedtoodeep · 22 days ago

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OMG OMG!!!!! **scream in the void*

Repentance, ch.1

Taglist Masterlist Summary: Logan and Wade take a break from sex. That's a healthy, mature thing for two adults to do, right? But how long will they last?

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: fluff, banter, teasing, pet names, emotional hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Logan is putting his absolute Wolverussy into breakfast.

Like, making it concerningly fancy. Crepes with powdered sugar dusted over them with raspberry confit filling. Bacon on the side cooked to the exact crispiness that Wade likes it (aka the exact texture of himself, not quite burnt black).

By the time Wade rolls himself out of bed, Logan’s already got plates set at their little kitchen table, looking fine in one of the big woolly sweaters Wade bought him for Christmas. It’s rolled up to the elbows, dotted here and there with powdered sugar. There’s soft music coming from Logan’s phone – something old and country he can’t place – lying faceup on the kitchen counter. Wade doesn’t know how many times he’s told Logan that he can just connect the thing to their Bluetooth speaker, but he never seems to get that far.

“Oh – oh shit,” Wade says, taking in the scene. Mary comes trotting up to him from where she’d been staring through Logan to beg for bacon. “Is the corn as high as an elephant’s eye? Is there a bright, golden haze on the meadow?”

Logan flips the heat off of the burner he’d been using and moves the frying pan with the bacon aside. “Come again, bug?”

“Well, I mean –” Wade gesticulates to the table, to the kitchen, to all of it. “This is fancy with a capital f.”

Logan shrugs, but he’s smiling a little as he walks around the kitchen island with the skillet full of crepes. He shimmies one onto each plate, letting Wade put his arms around him and squeeze as he does. God, he smells good – like breakfast and healthy masculinity.

“Maybe I just felt like bein’ fancy.”

Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you feel guilty, Wade doesn't say, but he's getting there. For now, though, he just shakes his head.

“Alright, Paul Hollywood. Anything left I can do?”

Now Logan's distributing the bacon, stepping carefully around a desperate Puppins. Even Bonnet's come out from his hiding place in the kitchen to watch, head up to sniff at the air.

“Dishes, after we eat.”

Wade offers him an overenthusiastic salute. Dishes are the fucking worst chore, if you ask him – every chore is shit, actually, uninteresting tasks done in an endless cycle. But it's only fair, and Logan does them if Wade cooks.

They sit down and eat, some ancient country crooner singing on from the kitchen beside them.

Last night, they hadn't really had a chance to do much more than get home, inhale some dinner, and collapse in bed. After driving a bit over ten hours combined, neither Wade or Logan felt like doing anything else. Sure, he’d snoozed through a good portion of it on the way back. But the number that the past few days had done on him overall had worn Wade out enough to not want to move for about a solid week.

They'd gotten dropped off by Laura, stopped to pick up their sweet little wrinkly dog, endured Al's beratement about Logan running off, then been saddled with entirely too much of Peter's homemade cod au gratin.

With fish on their breath, and each feeling a bit as if they didn't quite know how to address the other, they crawled into bed early with the dog cuddled close between them.

But even if Wade didn't actually know what to say – or more accurately, didn't know where to start on what he wanted to say – it still felt nice to be holding Logan again. And he was definitely the one doing the holding. With Puppins stubbornly shoved between their bodies, Logan had his face buried in the material of Wade’s T-shirt. One leg hitched up over his hip. Almost as if nothing had happened at all – almost.

“So…do we talk about it now?” Wade asks, rubbing a hand down Logan's back. “Before the author tries to sandwich in any more exposition?”

He doesn't have Logan's super senses, but even Wade can tell that the other man stiffens up at that – and not in the fun way.

“Would first thing tomorrow sound like a cop-out answer?” says Logan, pulling back to get a glimpse at Wade’s reaction.

Fucker looks cute, all ruffled and sleepy like that. Of course Wade’s not going to tell him no.

“As long as you don’t run away again,” Wade singsongs. “Next time, I’m skipping sad and shifting straight into murder mode, peanut.” He bends to kiss Logan on the top of the head.

They both know he’s only half joking.

“Not goin’ anywhere,” Logan insists, frowning. Puppins seems to sense either his grumpiness or the sincerity behind it, because she squirms up to lick him on the mouth. “Ate too much fish to move.”

Wade clutches a hand to his chest. “Too soon.”

—--

In stark contrast to the leftover cod au gratin, the homemade crepes are light, fluffy, and perfectly sweet. Here lately, Wade’s considered himself the dessert-adjacent aficionado, but it’s clear that Logan’s just as capable when he’s putting time into a recipe. (And yes, Wade did make Logan watch Great British Bake-Off a few months into their relationship. He didn’t even try to pretend to dislike it.)

“God this is good,” Wade practically moans at the first taste.

He doesn't miss the way Logan's ears turn red – either at the praise, or at the noise he'd made when he realized breakfast tasted as good as it looked.

“Wasn't that hard to get together,” Logan mumbles, spearing his own bite.

Wade reaches across the table with his fork and playfully taps Logan on the nose.

“And you're shit at taking praise.”

His tone is light but matter-of-fact. Logan just stares at him, the stickiness from Wade’s fork still left on his nose, as if he’s trying to figure out how he should respond to that sort of bluntness. For all the physical back and forth the two of them have done – both sexual and purely physical, blowing off steam, fighting, play-fighting – they’re pretty shit at actually talking things out.

He’d say that counts as what Yukio once elegantly described as “mega yikes”.

Well! That simply won’t do. Even if it feels just slightly worse than that time he had an Italian assassin pushing a hot bread knife through the cartilage of his ribcage, Wade doesn’t intend to back down from this. Logan’s stuck with him and his (scary-as-fuck-to-actually-say) candid observations and questions.

To his credit, Logan concedes with an easy shrug, moving on to his bacon.

“Guess I am. But that kettle’s lookin’ awfully black right about now, you know.” He tosses a piece of bacon to Mary, who catches it with a lot of dramatic air-chomping. “Get what I’m sayin’?”

Wade raises his eyebrow area in a mockery of shock.

“How dare you,” he gasps. “I am the best, most well-adjusted boy and you know it.”

Now that actually gets Logan to bark out a laugh.

“Oh, okay. If you’re well-adjusted, then I’m the next president of the goddamn United States.”

“Well, thank fucking god, they need you now more than ever.”

They look at one another, grinning, full on their breakfast and relieved to have the worst of the tension broken. Wade leans forward, licking his thumb, and wipes the syrup off of Logan’s face. Logan wrinkles his nose a bit at the spit-cleaning treatment, but says nothing.

Wade takes a deep breath.

“So several thousand words ago when I said that thing,” he begins. “When you – had the nightmare.”

He can see a primal sort of fear take over Logan’s face. His big hands flex on their dining room table, one of them still holding his fork, and Wade watches as the fork bends in on itself.

“Was it too soon?” Wade finishes, his voice going way smaller than he wants it to. He doesn’t want to say do you not love me, but that’s how it feels. And that shit hurts. More than anything that’s ever been thrown at him.

“No,” Logan says, and his hazel eyes are serious as he looks up. He puts the bent fork down and reaches out for Wade’s hand. They both squeeze. “No, I don’t want you to think that’s what it was. I just – well. You know. I freaked out.”

“I’m aware.”

Logan ducks his head. “Wade, I’m –”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry again,” Wade interrupts, shifting to the side to let Puppins into his lap. She senses the vibes and wants to lend her emotional support – that, or she’s just trying to lick his plate clean. “I just want to know what was going through your head.”

He does that devastatingly cute thing he always does when he’s thinking hard about what he wants to say; tapping his knuckles against his lips and looking up. It does not help Wade concentrate on trying to be serious. Part of him wants to crawl over the table and take Logan’s wrist in his hand, kissing every knuckle before bringing his attention to Logan’s mouth. He’d taste like syrup and raspberry and Wade just knows he’d moan.

“It felt like…” Logan hesitates, pulling Wade from his brief daydream. “Guess it felt like with you sayin’ it, everything got real, and fast. I don’t know if that makes sense. It’s not like I don’t feel that way. I do. But hearin’ that out of nowhere was fucking scary.”

He pulls his hand away from Wade to rub at both of his temples, taking a shuddering breath, and Mary whines like she’s going to jump across the table to try and comfort him. “It doesn’t make any sense,” Logan continues, “I know nothing can happen to you. But it doesn’t mean you can’t leave. And I – you know. You’re not the first person who I’ve – and they – it was my fault –”

His voice is getting concerningly pitchy now as he blinks fast, staring at their dollar-store tablecloth like it’s interesting, and Wade lowers Puppins to the ground so he can get up to walk around the table.

“Hey, whoa,” Wade puts a hand on his shoulder. “Big feelings, peanut, it’s okay. I get it – you got spooked, that makes sense.”

Logan’s sunk down into both of his hands now, face obscured. Wade moves his hand up to run fingers gently through his hair.

“What can I do to help?”

He hears Logan swallow. “Uh. I know this – this sounds pretty fucked up. And I get it if it’s something you don’t wanna do.” A pause. “But could we pump the brakes on saying that? For now?”

If it were anyone else, Wade might’ve said no. But he knows what Logan’s seen, all the things he’s endured. And a few hours later, when Logan tells him that he’d lost the last people who’d told him they loved him right before he’d been the cause of that loss, it hits even harder.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Wade says softly. “Is there, like, anything else that you’d wanna change?”

Logan shakes his head quickly, scrubbing at his face before looking up at Wade.

“No. Wade, I wouldn’t change anything about this – or you. I swear.”

Oh.

He takes Wade’s hand again and flips it over, kissing his wrist.

“I just want to fix my shit,” Logan says firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Wade’s chest goes tight. His first instinct is to tell Logan that he’s wrong, but Logan’s looking up at him with big wet eyes and he looks so earnest about it, like if Wade tries to say something to the contrary he’ll yell at him, and he knows his mouth is hanging open a little but there’s nothing he can really do. Logan’s not exactly right – there’s plenty of things wrong with him – but for now, he’ll let him have this.

“Okay,” he croaks out. “Sure, champ. But next time, can we maybe say that instead of fucking off?”

That makes Logan laugh. “Yeah. Twenty-four hour notice before any fucking off.”

“And a GPS collar.”

“Sure. And a GPS collar.”

----------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@flower-majesty-anon, @gods-perfect-idiots, @strandedtoodeep, @epcotwhore, @chaoticpotatodemon, @6up-5oh-copout-procon, @ruletheroost3, @loudupstairsneighbors

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool #wolverine #wade wilson #logan howlett #deadpool x wolverine #poolverine fic #poolverine fanfic #poolverine fanfiction #ao3 #poolverine smut

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strandedtoodeep · 1 month ago

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**scream in my pillow**

i'm,,,, so happy to see this update (and sad bc it's the last one for now (but i'm hopeful to see the next fic hihi)) 🥹❤️ go send some love, kudos and comments to Bee they deserve it so so much!!! and i hope future will be much more sweet and nice to you ofc 💞

don't i give you what you need, ch. 6 (final)

ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4, ch.5 Taglist Masterlist

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Mature

Tags: fluff, banter, let's go lesbians, car crash, emotional hurt/comfort, mild injury

Word Count: 4.8K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

Becca’s plenty willing to take a look at his ailing truck, on one condition; Logan helps her finish the farm chores. Sounds like a fair deal to him.

She pops her head inside the house not long after he and Lottie clear up the dishes, blocking one of the cats from getting out with her boot. Buttoned up from head to toe to combat the brutal cold, Becca looks about thirty percent bigger than she actually is, wearing overalls, a thick coat, gloves – the works.

“Hey, baby,” she says cheerfully to Lottie, tugging her scarf down to free the lower half of her wind-chapped face.

She stands on her tiptoes to kiss her, and Lottie dips down to meet her halfway, her forearms covered in soap suds. Logan’s drying dishes as she goes, putting them away when Lottie points out which cupboard they’re supposed to go in. The back of his neck feels hot when Becca and Lottie linger in the kiss, like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. He stares at the plate in his hands, his reflection in the ceramic.

When they break away, Becca nods to Logan, who nods in return. “Looks like you two’re gettin’ on.”

“We've got a lot in common,” says Lottie, shooting Logan a small smile.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of Becca's mouth pulls up in a smirk as she pours herself another cup of coffee. “More than me an’ him, you think?”

You can just tell they love each other; their banter is so familiar and damn cute on top of it all. He can see it, smell it, practically taste it. Logan forgets that he's supposed to be putting dishes away and just watches them talk to one another, his heartstrings aching.

Lottie leans forward on the counter, putting her chin in her hand. Pretending to think.

“Mmm…probably not. Both stronger than you look, and that's really saying something for you,” she adds to Logan, “both a little dumb when it comes to love, and neither one of you willing to ask for help when you need it. Ringing any bells?”

“My twin!” Becca cries dramatically, clutching her chest. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Been stirrin’ up trouble and keepin’ the wrong folks out of it, mostly,” Logan answers.

Becca waves her hand, dismissive, taking a sip of her coffee. “That's what they all say.”

“Speaking of trouble,” Lottie chimes in. “Our friend here needs some help getting back to where he needs to be. Specifically, mechanical help.”

The other woman nods at that, with one last swig of her drink. “Might be something I can do,” she allows. “If you’d be so kind as to help me finish mucking a few stalls.”

“‘Course – lead the way.”

—-

Logan’s no stranger to the turning of stalls. Hell, he’s old enough to know a time when you were going nowhere fast if you didn’t have a horse to carry you. He’s beginning to think that the smell of them on Becca was the reason he’d trusted her last night; it’s a comfortable, familiar scent.

They each take a separate end of the barn and a wheelbarrow and pitchfork each. Becca takes turns talking to both him and the horses as they work, telling Logan about how this one got here and what sort of mess they were rescued from. All the while, their curious faces peek out from the stalls Logan isn’t in, getting a good sniff at him. Ears pricked in curiosity. Some are blind, or disfigured, or recovering from some injury. Others are simply old, living out the rest of their days.

The one thing they all have in common is that they’re all loved terribly. Spoiled, even, judging from the way the mare nearest the food bins keeps throwing her head in the direction of the treats. (She senses his weakness.) Logan doesn’t have to listen for the fondness in Becca’s voice to know. They’re calm here, even with an unexpected stranger thrown in the mix.

It makes Logan long for something he doesn’t yet understand. He knows it has something to do with going home – he has to go home, he knows that. But home isn’t in the city. It’s Wade. And will Wade be convinced to leave that behind? He doesn’t know.

“Lookin’ awful serious for someone shoveling shit,” Becca remarks, her breath making little condensation clouds with every word.

He smirks a bit. “It’s a serious task.”

“Guess you’re not wrong. We gotta take good care of ‘em, and that’s not something to mess around with.” Becca shrugs as she lowers her wheelbarrow to the ground. They’re nearly finished now. “But my point still stands. You look awfully grim.”

Logan doesn’t really know what to say to that. Wade says he has the gift of resting bitch face, which only seems to get worse when he’s thinking deeply about something.

“Just thinking about what to do. Or say. When I head back.” Logan sets his pitchfork against the edge of the stall he’s outside of and holds his hand out for the stallion closest to inspect, feeling his hot breath with every sniff. “The way I left wasn’t exactly – kind.”

Becca nods her understanding. She too turns her attention to the horse currently in the crossties; both of them finding it easier to talk through something heavy if there’s an animal nearby. She runs a hand lovingly over the horse’s nose. “If you and Lottie were talking, then I reckon she’s already told you what she and I went through, a couple years back.”

“We talked about it, yeah,” he answers, his tone careful. It’s hard to say how touchy the subject still is, from her side of it.

She makes a small noise of assent. “I figured.”

A moment of quiet. Logan steals a glance at her, trying to gauge the look on her face under the thick scarf and winter gear. Becca’s eyes look contemplative as she loves on the beat-up mare in the crossties, the barest hints of crow’s feet beginning to betray that she’s getting older.

“The one thing I learned is – love someone, or lose ‘em.” Becca turns to look back at him. “Say how you feel as soon as you feel it. Because mutant or no, either life finds a way or you find a way to fuck it up.”

“Wow. Pretty fuckin’ wise for someone a hundred and sixty years younger than me,” Logan deadpans, but Becca snorts out a laugh. He feels like Wade would like her a lot.

She quirks her head, faux offended. “Hey, asshole, you want that truck fixed or not? And that’s one hundred and sixty-five to you.”

He laughs a little, relenting. “Yeah, I want it fixed.”

“Then take my sage wisdom at face value!” She starts unhooking the mare from her crossties, and leads her back to her stall. “C’mon, Ginger, don’t let him talk to me like that.”

Ginger has no comment.

—----

After completing the farm chores and freshening up a bit, Becca and Logan drive out to his poor abandoned mode of transportation. She looks under the hood with her hands on her hips and says nothing for a long, long time. Logan, whose knack for being able to tamper with almost anything mechanical built before the turn of the millenia, is beginning to find his beloved Donna a tad frustrating. (Read: infuriating.)

“Well?” Logan prompts after patiently watching Becca peer in at the engine, helping her crawl underneath, and trying to rev it for her to no avail.

“My advice?” Becca crawls out from under Donna’s rust-speckled undercarriage. “Put the poor thing down. I have no idea how you even got here from where you started.”

Neither does he. Out of all the trucks, bikes, and shitty little beaters he’s had his hands on over the swell of decades he's been driving (none of which he’s ever had any sort of license for), this fucking truck is the absolute worst. The only real reason he hangs onto it is the tease of hope. Every time he thinks about scrapping it, the engine inevitably stutters back to life, pumping out one more drive. Like the truck has some sort of Christine like sentience and doesn’t want to die.

Well, that and he’d gone and named her fucking Donna. Stupid of him, but now it’s stuck, and with the name came inevitable sentiment.

“Well, she’s gonna have to get me back,” Logan growls. “Even if she falls into pieces right at the edge of the city limits.”

Becca grins a bit at that. “Okay, now that’s more realistic. Let’s see what we can do.”

By some fucking miracle, they get her up and running again within a few hours. Lottie wasn’t wrong; Becca might as well be a practicing mechanic, for everything that she happened to have on hand. Between her and Logan, the truck’s now ready to drive as smoothly as it probably ever will again. He can only hope that it’ll be enough to get him back.

He drives back to Becca and Lottie’s place to pick up his sparse belongings, and to say his goodbyes. Wouldn’t be a good look for him to just disappear on them after the hospitality he’s been granted – already did that once this week, the rude voice in his head reminds him. Now’s not the time to dwell.

They linger a moment while Lottie insists on stitching the shoulder of his jacket back together. She works with sunshine yellow thread, fingers moving with expert speed.

Becca pats him on the arm after it’s handed back. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? If you ever find yourself back up here, you’re welcome to drop in.”

“And bring Wade with you!” Lottie adds.

Maybe I will.

With one final wave as he walks back to the truck, he steels himself for the long drive home. Logan turns the key in Donna’s ignition, always tense as he wonders if she’ll start up like she’s supposed to. One click, and the engine turns over.

“Shit, c’mon,” he says under his breath.

At least in the city, if she doesn’t decide to start up, he can usually walk where he needs to go or catch a ride via public transport. Out here, that’s just not an option. Logan turns the key again, hearing the engine struggle hard. Finally, it catches, and Donna roars into life.

“Alright, now let’s just keep that up.” He pats the dash, like the truck's an animal that needs encouragement.

Shifting into reverse and then back into drive, he makes the first turn out of the long gravel driveway. If Donna makes it the whole way, the only thing he has to worry about is what a long, boring drive it’s about to be. Plenty of time to think about what he’ll say to Wade about up and disappearing on him. And Laura. And everyone else who actually cares ab0ut him even when his brain tells him they don’t.

Great.

—--------

Wade’s doing a little better now. With the novelty of all the weird shit they’ve found at gas stations enough to hold his interest and Laura fooling with the radio to get some actual bangers playing, this isn’t half bad. At least they’re moving towards something instead of being stuck in one place. And Vanessa was right. He did need to chill out in the backseat for a while. Eat some Twizzlers. Let the roadside blur in front of his eyes.

He's not convinced that he fell asleep asleep, but he doesn't feel as shitty as he did before he faded out to the sound of Laura's Spotify playlist. And hey, the kid’s tunes aren’t half bad; Wade has a feeling that Logan’s music taste is starting to rub off on her along with what she and the girls listen to. Ah, an eclectic playlist – an overlooked but very real sign of mental illness.

Despite the circumstances that they’re taking this roadtrip for, Wade tries to let himself enjoy it where he can. When was the last time he drove this far? Had to have been Vanessa times, before Francis put him in the old Beef Jerky machine. City life tends to keep a guy spoiled – yeah, the city’s big, but you don’t drive for hours to get somewhere.

It reminds him of being a kid. Driving from base to base with all his stuff packed up – and maybe it’d make it to their next house in one piece. Sitting in the backseat, definitely not wearing his seatbeat, trying not to let his dad see that he’d snuck his Walkman into the car so he wouldn’t have to endure one more fucking minute of Christian radio. (Well. Maybe aside from that. Thank NOT GOD that Laura and Ness couldn’t care less what he listens to.)

Annoyed at the way that train of thought wants to go, Wade shoves his hand into the open back of pickle chips on the seat next to him before offering it up to the front.

“Chips?” he says.

“Fuck no,” Laura says immediately. “It’s bad enough that they’re stinking up the car.”

The disgust is clear on her face, even though he can only see her side profile from the driver’s seat. Vanessa chuckles beside her, more than used to Wade’s controversial tastes – she takes a few chips out of the offered bag and wipes some salt off of her mouth when it falls.

“Oh, interesting,” Wade muses. “You know Logan fucking loves salt and vinegar, right? Kinda surprised you don’t.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She’s a ridiculously safe driver. Does it come from promising that they’d get the car back with nary an oil light popping on, or does she drive like this all the time? Wade hasn’t actually been a passenger with her behind the wheel since she kidnapped him and Logan in the Void, post Honda Odyssey brawl. Wait – he’s not even sure if she has her license. That might’ve been good to check first.

License or no license, Laura is not edging Yukio’s car much more than a mile above the speed limit. Quite the change of pace from the way that Vanessa drives. A true city girl; for her, the speed limit is a mere suggestion unless there’s a cop in her line of sight.

Wade tends to favor the Vanessa style of driving, always has, and even more so now that flying through a windshield is less of a hospital trip and more of a minor inconvenience. He’d never try anything that crazy with someone breakable in the car, though. Only when he’s alone. And let’s be honest; even without having to worry about a medical bill, the car insurance rate would still be a bitch. Easier to just rely on public transport so he doesn’t get a little too jacked up on an adrenaline rush.

If Wade’s keeping track of time right (and he might not be, his brain’s all over the fucking place), they’ve been driving for a little over five hours. He took the first shift and couldn’t deal after a little less than an hour. Vanessa took over for him, then tapped out after two. Then she switched off with Laura, and she’s closing in on two hours.

“Okay, so your taste buds aren’t capable of tolerating anything that isn’t coated in sugar – noted.” He leans forward again, determined to be the ray of sunshine in this car if it (metaphorically) kills him. Vanessa’s lovely, she really is, but she’s not giving Enthusiastic Dad today. She’s quieter, more contemplative, shifting her gaze between her book and the passing scenery. “You about ready to trade off, though? Rest your weary driving foot?”

A noncommittal sound from the driver’s seat. Wade’s also not fluent in vague noises made by the two people he knows with adamantium claws, but he’s pretty sure that’s a yes. Laura shrugs, then eases the car off the road proper. Popping their respective doors and moving fast, they each get out and switch places. In a matter of seconds, Laura’s tucked back into the backseat, phone already unlocked again, and Wade’s shifting them into drive.

There was no real need for them to be so quick about it. For the whole time Laura’s been behind the wheel, they’ve been coasting down a two-lane road. Of course, there’s still no sign of Logan…or of anything, really.

But hey. They’ve still got twelve hours to go…right?

Yaaay.

“Alright, this is Captain Wilson speaking,” Wade says with a sigh, feeling the ache of sitting for so long starting to sink in. His body was not meant to be still. He was meant to move, and if he absolutely needs to be still, then it’s best spent lounging like an old dog in a big patch of sun. “First mate, are ye ready to set sail?”

“Aye-aye,” Vanessa says solemnly, giving him a firm salute.

“Perfect.” He adjusts the rearview mirror, cranks his seat back. “Second mate? You with us?”

From the backseat, Laura slowly raises a thumbs up, then flips him off before lowering her hand again.

“Woooow. That’s a good way to get demoted to deckhand, my friend.”

“Do it. Pretty sure the GPS on your phone is doing more navigating than I ever will.”

“Okay, okay, big talker!” Wade huffs, slapping his sunglasses on. He presses down on the gas, smooth and steady, mentally settling in for another long stretch before they take any breaks. “We’ll see how keen you are to neglect your duties when lollygagging means you don’t get nanaimo cheesecake when we get ho–”

And there he fucking is. Just a tiny dot in the distance now, but something tells Wade that it can’t be anyone else. Sure enough, they edge closer to one another and Wade can start to make out the details. He’d know that piece of shit truck anywhere.

His adrenaline jacks up to a hundred, and he catches Laura’s eyes in the rearview mirror – she must smell it on him before he even shows it. She goes from scrolling on her phone to paying rapt attention to the road in front of them, body tense. Without a word passing between them, Wade knows that she knows exactly what’s going on.

And he has to stop the car.

Trying not to fully slam on the brakes, Wade still has to throw his arm out to keep Vanessa from lurching forward. Before she can even get a what the fuck are you doing out, he leans over and pops her door open.

“You gotta get out.”

“Wh –”

“No! No arguing! You, out of the car, right now, both of you.”

Vanessa rips off her seatbelt but doesn’t argue, looking pissed. Wade wouldn’t talk to her like that if he wasn’t trying to keep her safe – she knows that, but she isn’t happy about it. Laura, on the other hand, isn’t moving.

“Out,” he repeats. Logan’s truck might not be very fast, but it’s still getting closer, and Wade’s pride won’t let him sit here, won’t even let him contemplate the possibility of being passed on the side of the road. He wants the drama and he’s going to get it.

“No.”

Wade takes a deep breath. Summons his inner parent. And switches to Spanish.

“Swear to God if you don’t get out of this car –”

Laura’s ready.

“Why does it matter if I’m in the car?! I’m indestructible, dumbass!”

Vanessa, now outside the car bundled in her coat, looks completely lost. It’s not until Laura clues her in moments later that she’ll know why Wade’s even pulled over in the first place.

“Let me have this, okay? You’ll get your turn later, just – out!”

With a frustrated growl, Laura slams the door on her way out, and Wade wastes no time in peeling off.

Does Wade have a plan? Of course he doesn’t. But that’s the beauty of having a body that doesn’t let you give up on yourself (he says cutely, with no hint of wanting to die at all) – sometimes you don’t have to think.

You just have to slam on the gas.

He pushes Yukio’s little car as far as it can go, and it’s only a matter of seconds before Logan’s very aware of who’s behind the wheel. There’s satisfaction at watching his face go through the motions, first as he notices the mint green car, then realizes who’s driving it, then panic as he sees Wade shifting the wheel with the intent to crash into his ass. Hard.

For years now, Wade’s had the impression that there might be something wrong in his brain. Whether it’s daddy issues or getting hit too hard in the ol’ decision maker or something he was just gifted with at birth, he can’t really say. The average reader would likely tell you it’s a delicious combination of all three.

A lack of planning and the anger gnawing hot in his chest always seems to guide him better anyway.

It all happens in seconds. Wade jerks the wheel, and Logan’s eyes widen. He can see the other man mouth fuck as he swerves out of the way, or tries to, but Wade’s not shaken that easily. Not when he’s pissed off and made a fool of. When Logan swerves, Wade’s right on his ass, following him off-road. The car dips, suspension struggling.

Logan’s truck is worse off. It tips and then tilts entirely, taking Logan with it. Without thinking, Wade slams on the brakes.

His face jars against the wheel, shattering the sunglasses and breaking his nose. But the burst of pain and the hot gush of blood is only an afterthought compared to the realization that he just hurt someone he really fucking loves. That massive what if is roaring inside his head again, even with his ears ringing as he shakes off the concussion.

Wade flings himself out of the car. Everything is sideways, and it takes him a second to realize that he’d braked on a steep hill – he wobbles a bit running to the truck, which is upside down. There are massive gouges in the field where the thing had landed, dirt upturned.

The driver’s side door pops open before Wade can get there. Logan hauls himself out with a groan, blood trailing out of his hairline and down his face. All Wade can do is stand there, like he’s in one of his nightmares where he can see and hear everything, but he’s helpless.

“Was that fuckin’ necessary?” Logan says as he pulls himself to his feet. He puts a hand to his ribs, tender.

And suddenly, Wade doesn’t know. He thought he wanted this. He thought he wanted to be pissed off and bitter and violent – to drag Logan out of the truck and fucking whale on him like they had on each other in the very beginning. But seeing him now, he just feels relief. Because as furious as Wade had started out when he’d seen him coming down the road, the fact stands – Logan had been coming home.

He thought he’d lost him.

And the first thing he’d done was try to hurt him.

His first instinct is to say something self-deprecating, or to try and dredge up an attempt at humor. That’s what he’s supposed to do when the tension’s this high – that’s what would make things feel less stressful. But Wade is so. Fucking. Tired. He hasn’t slept since he realized Logan was gone, and now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, it’s an effort just to stay standing upright.

Logan’s looking at him like he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. There’s frustration there (understandable, after a thrilling little game of chicken), a touch of what could be fear. His jaw clenched tight. Even when they’re bickering, it’s been a long time since Logan looked at him like that.

Wade feels his stupid face crumple. He’s done more crying in the past few days than he has in years, and he hates it.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pressing his palms into his eyes. There’s something extra wrong with him if he can’t stop –

Logan’s arms wrap around him tight before Wade can look up. He’s so warm, and he smells like him but something else, and the simple comfort of being touched by someone he was so afraid he’d lost makes him forget how to breathe.

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me for the SPCA commercials anymore,” he says, and Wade’s laughing, but he’s crying, and Logan’s never seen him cry before, he’s never let him see it, but he’s not making fun of him or letting go. Logan hugs him tight, and he leans into it.

“Okay,” Wade manages eventually. A few seconds later: “Why do you smell like a – like a petting zoo?”

He hears Logan laugh against the shell of his ear.

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’m a good listener.”

Wade pulls back to look at him, scrubbing at his face, wiping away tears and blood. Tentatively, he reaches out and wipes a streak of blood off of Logan’s face, too. It doesn’t do much to help.

When Logan smiles a little at the effort, the fear and worry in Wade just…eases off. They’re together again – that’s the important part.

He looks over Logan’s shoulder to the smoking wreck that remains of the pickup.

“You riding with me?”

His expression turns sheepish.

“Yeah. Looks like I am.”

—-------

If Logan thought that the drive down alone was long and uncomfortable, it has nothing on how riding home crammed in the car feels. And the look on Laura’s face as she’d seen him in the passenger seat next to Wade? That hurt more than he can put into words. There was something in her eyes worse than fury; it was a look of betrayal.

Without a word to him, she slaps his phone into his hand as they go about shuffling seats.

Ouch.

They don’t say much as they drive home. Logan checks the car out before they drive off, and reckons it’ll get them back — though he’s sure Ellie won’t be happy. Wade passes out against his shoulder in the backseat almost as soon as Vanessa gets the car going. Laura refuses to say a word to anyone. He slings an arm around Wade, taking in the familiar smell of him. It’s nice to see Wade get some solid sleep; his heartbeat is steady and even, like he needed it.

He and Ness pass the time by chatting a little about where he’d been while he was gone, but she doesn’t dig too deep if he doesn’t elaborate.

When there’s quiet again, Logan’s attention goes down to his phone. It’s fully charged – it hadn’t been when he left – and full of missed calls and texts. At least four texts from Wade, who had thought he’d just gone out for a run. A lot more texts and calls from Laura, who had no idea what was going on.

A stab of guilt. In Logan’s head, he sees Scott scowling at him with his arms crossed, after he’s dragged himself home from another night at the bar. Sick with shame, but knowing it would happen again.

How many times, Logan? How many times does this have to happen before you realize that people care about you?

Too many.

Stuffed in the car with the people who’d cared enough to come and drag his sorry ass home – smelling Vanessa’s blatant relief and Laura’s sour hurt – Logan tells himself that this is the last time. It has to be. He owes it to them, to Wade, who’d pulled him out of his own miserable world and given him people to love again.

Right now, he doesn’t know if he has the tools to fix it. But he knows he can try, and keep trying. That has to be better than nothing.

So he unlocks his phone, and clumsily thumbs out a text to Laura.

I’m sorry I scared you like that. If I was going anywhere, I should’ve clued you in.

He hears her phone vibrate in her hand from the front seat. There’s no response, but Logan can also hear her quiet huff of frustration, cheek pressed against the cold glass of the window.

Another try.

Dinner tomorrow night? Whatever you want.

Again, nothing. Well, that’s fine. He’ll give her some time. This isn’t the first time they’ve argued about something, and it’s better to let her process for a while than to push her.

The car as a whole falls silent, and Logan prefers it that way. Putting any more than two people in what’s functionally an acoustic chamber on wheels gets aggravating in no time, and he’s grateful that he hasn’t been crammed in this thing for longer than fifteen minutes at a time before now. Best to just look out the window and focus on getting home.

After about an hour passes, Logan gets a text in return.

Wade’s making nanaimo cheesecake

If you feel like you can top that.

He smiles a bit to himself.

Oh, I think I can.

They’re all going to be alright.

----------------------------------------------------------

And here we are at the end, finally.

This took way WAY longer to write than I previously imagined it would, and it's been a labor of love. Emphasis on the labor, towards the end there 😂 But I honestly felt that it was really necessary to write. To me, Logan and Wade are two characters who have gone through deeply traumatic things, and of course that would affect their ability to form healthy attachment.

I wanted to write a big buildup to that (the previous installments), the event itself that caused them to finally address those issues (this), and then both of them realizing that they care about each other too much to keep carrying on the way that they do. They're definitely not perfect, but from here on out, they try a lot harder and they're going to do a lot better.

I also needed to write this for me. Since September I've been going through...a lot. And I still am, so it's been really cathartic to write Logan and Wade processing things like this.

If you've gotten this far, thank you ❤️ I promise smuttier things are coming soon 😂 --------------------------------

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@flower-majesty-anon, @gods-perfect-idiots, @strandedtoodeep, @epcotwhore, @chaoticpotatodemon, @6up-5oh-copout-procon, @ruletheroost3, @loudupstairsneighbors, @misscrissfemmefatale

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool #wolverine #wade wilson #logan howlett #deadpool x wolverine #deadpool fic #wolverine fic #poolverine fic #poolverine fanfic #poolverine fanfiction #peanutbub #ao3 #these two #i love them so much it hurts

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