Chapter Text
“A space station,” Wade stage whispered. “We’re on a space station.
Beside him, Logan was green. “Please shut the fuck up and stop reminding me.”
The extent to which the X-Men were invested in this mission could not be overstated. Beside them, Scott was scowling. Logan straightened up, like he actually cared about Scott’s opinion. To be honest, he kind of did. The inevitable transference of feelings for his Scott to this new one was almost as disconcerting as the baffled look Wade kept shooting his way.
“Keep it down,” Scott growled. “We need this to work. We already know things don’t go so well for mutants in the next few years, thanks to X-23.”
“Laura,” Wade supplied, when Logan didn’t. He eyed him pointedly. Logan just stared ahead. Wade shook his head.
“We’ll be at an advantage if we can convince the Interdites to come to Earth,” Scott continued.
“You couldn’t find a single mutant with precognition?” Wade asked, for at least the fourth time. “I mean, seriously. Doesn’t that seem a little convenient for the plot?” As usual, Logan ignored the non-sequitur.
“Do not. Do not fuck this up,” Scott growled, waving a douchey finger in Wade’s face. Wade batted it away.
“I didn’t invite myself here, laser cat,”Wade reminded him.
Scott turned away, jerking his head in Logan’s direction and sniffing derisively. “Yeah, well we need him, and he doesn’t fly well,” and honestly, it was true. If Logan could have been medicated, he would have been. As it was, Jean had kept him in a kind of twilight sleep for the majority of the flight to space. Wade was there as backup— the Wolverine wrangler, and another invincible body in case of emergency. “If anything happens to the station or the jet—“
“—space jet—“ Wade hissed.
“If anything happens to the jet, I’d rather have someone outside who can survive anything.”
Wade nodded helpfully. “Smart,” he agreed. “Historically, space flights haven’t worked out so well for you guys.”
Scott leveled a glare in his direction. “Keep your idiot the fuck in line, Howlett,” he snapped.
“Understood,” Logan said, softly. Scott moved to rejoin the others, with Wade’s eyes following him.
“You’re just gonna let him talk to you like that?” Wade muttered, low enough that only Logan could hear.
Logan shrugged. “He’s in charge.”
“You’re being weird about him, Angel Baby.”
Again, Logan wondered at the transference. To him, Scott was a leader. And yeah, he absolutely drove Logan nuts. Maybe some of this was hindsight— maybe he simply would have given anything to treat his Scott with the respect he deserved, hard feelings aside.
Maybe he just understood the fear of confronting a ghost, and couldn’t blame Scott for refusing to even look at him, let alone speak to him without using Wade as a buffer.
“I’m not.”
“You are. Is this because of Jean?”
Logan blinked. “Jesus. What does Jean have to do with anything?”
Wade stopped in his tracks, boots squeaking on the aluminum flooring. “Jean Grey. The love of your life. Your unrequited soulmate, who you would move heaven and earth for.”
Logan barked out a laugh, mind flooded by painful and wonderful memories of movie night in Jean’s room, baking in the school’s kitchen, and her never speaking to him again over Scott. “Jean?” He asked, incredulous. “Your Logan was into Jean?”
“Not my Logan, apparently,” Wade grumbled. “Well which X-Man did you fuck in your universe?”
Logan blushed. He tugged his cowl up and over his head.
“Ho-lee fuck,” Wade marveled. “It was Scott, wasn’t it?”
Logan scowled. “It was twenty years ago. He helped me through a rough time. He wanted it to be a regular thing. I didn’t. Obviously none of that happened in this timeline.”
“A rough time?” Wade repeated. “What, you got sad and he tried to fuck you better?”
“Not exactly,” Logan growled, wishing he hadn’t said anything. “Leave it the fuck alone, Wade.”
Wade seemed to be doing his best to remain silent, humming quietly to himself as he followed the X-Men down the hallway. Logan paused as the humming stopped following him. The stars glimmered outside the station’s windows, and Wade was staring, mesmerized by the vastness beyond. “Peanut,” he whispered. “Look at this.”
Logan grunted. His reflection grimaced against the inky background. “Thought I told you not to remind me we’re in space, bub.”
“Come on,” Wade huffed. “You don’t think that’s beautiful?”
“Yeah,” Logan said, flatly. Briefly —accidentally, really— his gaze drifted over Wade’s form. “Real pretty. Let’s go.”
Wade sighed. He turned to follow Logan. He was trying to take this seriously. Honestly, Logan knew he was. The X-Men barely trusted him (and only if Logan was there to keep a metaphorical leash on him him), and he wanted to keep that trust.
(More than that, he wanted to keep the perks that came with being on the X-Men payroll, like the unlimited cell service, or the expensable ammunition)
Maybe, just maybe, Logan wanted to impress Wade too. It’s not like he cared what he thought. He definitely didn’t. But he also kind of really fucking did. Logan had lived with Wade for nine months. Their combined weight had created an irreversible bend in the pull out couch, and Logan honestly didn’t know if he could sleep without rolling to the middle if Wade wasn’t there to balance him out. He’d grown used to waking up under the weight of Wade’s snuggling form, and even more used to shoving him into the floor.
The closer Logan got to the X-Men of Earth-10005, the closer he got to having to leave. He was free loading, and he knew it. Wade was already a grown man sleeping on a pull out couch. He didn’t need another three hundred pound man taking up half his space.
Logan wouldn’t miss him. He wouldn’t.
…but Wade could maybe spend the night sometimes if he was on missions, if he liked being on missions and liked staying partnered with Logan. That meant making good with “Chucky and the Boys,” as Wade had christened them earlier.
They followed the others into a large atrium, where Wade once again appeared to be mesmerized at the sight of the universe around him. Logan just longed for the days of metal spacecraft, where the only views of space came from tiny portholes. Across from them waited two very blue men and a very blue woman, all with fins for ears. Xavier was with them, having flown up on a separate transport.
The blue skinned woman blinked over at Wade. Her eyes fixed on him, like prey. “What are you thinking about?” Logan whispered, harshly.
“Nothing!” Wade whispered back. “The inevitable heat death of the universe, I don’t fucking know—“ The woman began to approach, gliding across the silver floor. Her eyes didn’t leave the whites of Wade’s mask. “Fuck!”
“Fucking space telepaths,” Logan muttered. “Don’t get us fucking killed.”
“I’m not doing any— Heyy, hi. I’m Deadpool. This is Wolverine—“
Something crawled uncomfortably up Logan’s spine as the alien drew closer to Wade. He could feel his claws just beneath his skin, pushing against the flesh from inside.
The woman stopped mere inches in front of Wade. “I am the Mother,” she said, simply. “You are joined.” Her eyes flitted to Logan’s and back. “You are one.”
“What? No, we—“
“Yes,” Logan interrupted. He growled under his breath and eyed Wade’s hand. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed it. “Yes, we are.” Behind the Mother, Scott flashed an approving thumbs up. Charles signed deeply.
Wade stared at Logan, wide eyed behind the mask. “Oh. My. God.”
“This is written,” the Mother said, nodding calmly. She closed her eyes. “It is permanent?” She asked.
“‘Til death do us part,” Logan answered. Wade’s fingers twitched. For once, he kept his fucking mouth shut.
The Mother nodded, satisfied. She drifted back to her group.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Wade breathed, jerking his hand in Logan’s.
“They said don’t fuck it up!” Logan hissed back.
“So you decided to say we’re married?”
“She asked if it was permanent!” Logan snapped, like that explained anything.
“I want a divorce!” Wade hissed.
^~*~^
Logan sank deeper into the soft mattress of his bed for the night, flipping through the mission briefing one more time.
Wade gasped from the bathroom. “Peanut they’ve got lube up here. They’re ready for space sex.” His scampered back into the room, a purple bottle held aloft.
“Stop talking about space,” Logan grumbled.
Wade smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you rather talk about Scott??” The smirk didn’t quite meet his voice, either.
-snikt-
“One more joke about it,” Logan warned, claws glinting. “Just one more.” It was his own fault, and he knew it. He could have ignored Wade’s jab the first time, and he could have ignored it now. Wade wasn’t entitled to know anything about Logan’s universe. He didn’t need to know, and Logan was barely at a point where he could even think about it, let alone talk about it. He wasn’t exactly up for a conversation about who he fucked, once, twenty years ago.
Wade stilled, unbothered. “Have you ever cut a woman’s hair? Would you cut mine?”
Logan blinked “What?”
“Nothing. Edward Scissorhands. Really would’ve expected you to have seen that one.”
From the main room for the suite, a gentle chime played. “What the hell was that?” Logan asked, eyes narrowing.
“I think it was the doorbell,” Wade answered.
“I’ll get it,” Logan grunted. He dropped the folder to the comforter and pushed himself up.
“I can get it—“
“I’ll get it,” Logan insisted. Wade followed him into the living room anyway.
It was a nice suite, even if it did have a massive window taking up an entire wall, forcing the occupants to stare into the gaping, empty void of space. Logan would have liked to sink into the velvet softness of the room’s circular sectional. However, he also liked his sanity, and that meant no voluntary existential crises about how many fucking miles separated him from terra firma.
He wrapped his fingers around the door handle and clicked it open. In the hallway, the Mother stood, regal in her flowing, purple robes.
“Ma’am,” Logan greeted, dumbly. Wade straightened up beside him.
“Greetings,” she said, bowing deeply. Logan did the same. He reached up to yank Wade down by the suit collar.
The Mother stood. She glided into the room, allowing the door to close behind her. “You are one,” she said again.
“Sure,” said Logan.
“The matter and antimatter inside of you have brought you together,” she added.
“Ohhhh,” said Wade.
“It is good you have already joined romantically as well. You are able to bear young?” she asked Logan.
Logan blushed furiously. Fucking telepaths. He eyed Wade cautiously. “Oh, um, I—“
“Yes,” Wade interrupted, clearly feeling vengeful. “Yes, my sweet pookie bear and I are desperate to have at least three. Two girls and a little Wade Junior.”
“A gift,” the Mother said, and her gaze darkened. She pulled a small box from the folds of her cloak and lifted it to chest level. Cautiously, Logan reached out. He grasped the tiny gold handle and lifted the lid. The box was filled with magenta sand. It shimmered lightly, and smelled like the huckleberries Logan used to pick as a child.
Without warning, the Mother blew the sand directly into Logan’s face.
Logan gagged, eyes watering as the fine sand coated the inside of his mouth and nose. He tried not to cough, wary of offending the Mother, but he couldn’t help it.
“To encourage fertility,” she said calmly, smiling benevolently.
“Yeah,” Logan coughed. “Sure, thanks.”
The Mother bowed. Logan bowed back, still wracked with coughs. Wade slid up to him, bowing for both of them as she continued to bow and retreat through the door.
“Yes, thank you,” Wade continued, following to close the door behind her. “Very generous, ok, goodbye now.” He stood up straight, stretching his back with a groan. “What in the pon f’arr was that?” he asked.
“I don’t fucking know,” Logan grumbled. He sneezed. “Fuck, can you get a towel or something?” Wade, to his credit, went straight for the bathroom.
Logan took a shaky breath. He tried to resist the urge to rub his hands into his eyes. He blinked them harshly. “Oh, fuck,” he barked, doubling over at the sudden stabbing sensation in his abdomen. He choked off a pained groan.
“What’s wrong?” Wade asked, jogging back in with a wet washcloth.
“Stomach cramps,” Logan growled. Stomach cramps like hadn’t felt for twenty years. He frowned. He snatched the washcloth from Wade’s outstretched hand and swiped it across his eyes.
He stood up and stretched, trying to ease the ache. There was no way they were those cramps. Just similar.
That was all.
It had to be all.
^~*~^
Wade climbed up the ramp of the X-Jet, hood over his head. He dropped down next to Logan and reached for his seatbelt.
Beside him, Logan was practically panting in his seat. It wasn’t a secret he hated flying, but yeah… Logan wasn’t exactly sure he’d be able to convince anyone he was just nervous. Wade froze, watching a bead of sweat run down his face. “Are you ok?” he asked.
‘’M fine,” Logan grunted.
“Sure you’re not going through a life change, babygirl?”
“He just hates flying,” Ororo said, teasing gently as she passed them. She trailed her fingertips affectionately across Logan’s shoulder. He shuddered. Wade frowned.
“I don’t—“
“I’m fine,” Logan insisted. He glanced up at Wade, hazel eyes pained. “Leave it, Wade.”
Wade, being Wade, did not leave it.
Logan shifted in his seat. His back was stuck to it, shirt plastered to his torso with sweat. He felt panicked— little spikes of anxiety, like every muscle in his body tensed at once, for just a few moments at a time. “Hey I Dream of Jeannie?” Wade called. “We need a little help back here.”
It wasn’t really heat. He knew that. It was cramping, and it was hot flashes, but it wasn’t heat. He had heard of this before, in his universe: drugs that could be used to simulate heat symptoms, and boost the libido of aging omegas. They all had one thing in common: it wasn’t a real heat. An “instigator” might increase blood pressure and flow, but only a true heat would make his glands swell, and his slick flow. None of that was happening, and none of it was going to. Logan just wanted to keep to himself until it went away.
“Don’t—“ Logan begged, but Jean was already at his side, kneeling down beneath him. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just don’t like flying.”
“This is extreme, even for you, Logan,” she said, frowning. Logan wanted to protest, wanted to growl back that she did not know him, and maybe he hated flying even more than their Logan did. He wasn’t him. That Logan was fucking about in Japan right then, and wouldn’t be back until Charles started sliding into dementia in another four years or so— and maybe not even then, as this Charles was now taking pills for his yet-to-be symptomatic epilepsy, and clearly there were mutants under twenty-four. Wade had been quietly hypothesizing that they were no longer part of the Earth-10005 timeline. Logan didn’t understand any of it, and only really cared that Hank was also working on a chelation system for clearing the adamantium out of his blood stream.
But Logan didn’t say any of that, because Jean’s hand was hovering over his knee, and he was drifting away to the sound of the engines starting and the feeling of his muscles cramping harshly.
“I’m fine,” Logan insisted, as darkness closed in.