Chapter Text
Wade’s birthday always arrives on a cozy, nipping chill, a kind of all-day drizzle that soaks the whole month in Vancouver. Stripped, skeletal trees overhead, leaves crunching under his boots, pale gray windows with overcast skies, the glass speckled with rain droplets, muted autumnal golds; these are the things Wade associates with getting older. This year is no different, and Wade wakes to his thirty-seventh November twentieth, though in some ways it feels like his first, as if he was reborn at some point last year. In that it's his first ever November twentieth that begins in bed with Logan.
Thirty-seven, god. Wade sits up with a groan, a snoring Logan's arms locked around his waist. It seems so old in his head, officially placing him in his late thirties, barrelling toward forty, which is practically middle-aged. Soon he'll fumble with newfangled technology, curse the day's youths, eat dinner at five. And die. That's ridiculous, though, leftover fears from before superhero camp and the emergence of his healing factor, functional immortality. Because he could live to be thirty-seven thousand if the Marvel overlords were merciful. Or unmerciful, maybe, wanting to milk his adventures until they're a shriveled, blackened tit of a franchise that people only see for the sake of making video essays entitled “Why Deadpool 69 SUCKS ASS.”
Unless of course the franchise has devolved into high-quality porn by then, future audiences having evolved into shameless perverts, in which case Deadpool 69 would absolutely suck ass and that would very much be a point in its favor. But only if said ass belonged to Wolverine.
Wade ponders all of this while sitting with his back to the wall behind their bed, his legs stretched out over their Simpsons bedspread — only slightly tattered, a claw-gash between Homer’s eyes — and Logan's head in his lap. Logan clutches clumsily at Wade’s hips, nuzzles Wade’s stomach between growly snores, face slack and peaceful as he drools a wet spot into Wade’s shirt. Actually, Wade hopes Deadpool 69 is just a ten-hour compilation of Logan cat-napping. His cute factor reaches unfathomable heights when he turns all syrupy with sleep, radiating warmth and whimpering intermittently, the sweetest sounds Wade’s ever heard. Logan's little kitty ears are never more prominent than when he has bed head.
He's a vision in the sunlight filtered in through their blinds, a halo-like glow cast around his face, gold caught in his hair. No one's perfect, that's the rule, but Logan's the exception; Wade wouldn't change a single thing.
“Who’s my pretty widdle kitty witty? Who's my precious baby puppy wuppy? You are,” Wade coos, and gently pinches Logan's cheeks, because he can get away with a lot of shit while Logan’s asleep. Logan grunts irritably, wrinkles his nose, but only until Wade pets his hair and replaces that frown with a sleepy smile, easy as scratching behind his ears. Wade giggles quietly; he loves turning Logan to putty in his hands, taking care of Logan, being trusted so much. Wade wants to stay like this forever. And he could, literally.
He knows all about the whole immortality debate in superhero circles, questions of whether or not you'd really want to live forever if it meant everyone growing old and dying without you. Watching the world as you know it fall to the cruel bulldozers of time, yada yada. Wade didn't have much of a choice in the matter, the consent he gave Francis fell short of informed, but yeah, he'd make that deal. Because in thirty-seven thousand years, Marvel overlords willing, Logan will still be here, and Wade isn't going anywhere without him. The rest of the F-word moving on to fuck Elvis in purgatory isn't something Wade likes to think about, but he and Logan will cross that bridge when they get to it, together. Wade couldn't stand to be apart ever again; he'd just cry himself out of existence. Logan's his anchor being.
Logan's a good century and a half older than Wade, and he probably had the “oh shit, the people around me are dropping like flies” revelation a long time ago, only he would've been alone for it. He would've felt confused and abandoned. He wouldn't have had anyone permanent there to hold him and promise to stay forever. Wade wishes he could've been there for Logan then, and all along, wishes he could travel back to prehistoric Canada and tell little Logan that it's okay to have claws and be a boy. But Wade’s here now.
He strokes Logan's hair back from his forehead and bends to kiss the space between Logan's gently closed eyes, then down the bridge of his nose. He can bite and scratch as much as he wants, but Wade will never stop clinging to him. He's stuck with Wade forever.
And Laura, Wade thinks when an apartment-shaking crash notifies him that Wolverine Junior is awake and rooting through the kitchen cabinets, probably sniffing out Wade's stash of leftover Halloween candy. She turned down Logan's offer to take her trick-or-treating last month, deemed herself too old, and followed Logan's lead in refusing to wear a costume. Wade dressed up as a fairy princess, as always, and he wanted the rest of the F-word to be his unicorn royal subjects, but the theme had no takers. Except for Mary Puppins, of course, Multiverse’s Best Girl, who wore her unicorn horn without complaint. Maybe next year. Laura did, however, happily assist Wade and Logan in giving out candy to the building's grubby little kid population.
She wore a smiling but slightly envious look on her face that made Wade suspect she regretted not taking Logan up on it, though nineteen is probably a little old for that particular father-daughter activity. Not that anyone would dare to turn her away, with Logan behind her. Another maybe next year.
Laura's slept on the pull-out couch since she moved in four months ago, and the living room now functions as her improvised bedroom. Logan gave her the right to kick everyone out of the room at a moment's notice if she needs privacy, and he also banned everyone from sitting on her couch-bed without her permission. That was her second day here. Wade voted in favor of those rules, scribbled them down and stuck them to the refrigerator, taped to the bottom of the existing list of “MARVEL JESUS COMMANDMENTS (home rules)”: “clean up clean up everybody do your share,” “FEED THE PUPPINS OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES AHHH,” “no BUTTS no cuts no cocoNUTS whatever that means,” and “don't forget you are loved WE LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH HUGS AND KISSES FOREVER.”
Wade added that last one for Logan originally, but Laura gasped and hugged him hard when he recited it during her Welcome Home orientation, so it's her rule now, too. They gave her the go-ahead to make whatever changes she wanted, and took her out shopping for bedding and everything else she needed that day. She was shy about picking stuff out at first, all stiff and reluctant the way Logan used to be, but she got pretty into it after some light cajoling. She held Logan's hand to drag him around the shopping center, Wade trailing happily after them.
The curtains on the living-room window are purple camouflage now, outlined with a tasteful string of pink fairy lights. There's a small white dresser wedged between the couch and the wall in which to store all the clothes they've bought her so far, mostly sweatpants and hoodies. She's like Logan in that way, cattish; she likes being cozy. The couch-bed is fitted with a Wolverine bedspread, an enlarged comic panel of Logan sporting his classic tiger stripes, and topped with a collection of stuffed animals, mostly horses, which seem to be her favorite. It's all very teenage-girl, but it's nice.
Logan protested the choice of bedspread at the store, but by then Laura had shaken the shyness and wouldn't budge; apparently she's read and loved all of the old X-Men comics, and Wolverine’s been her favorite superhero for as long as she can remember. Logan spluttered when she told him so, crushed between flattered and horrified. Wade had to grab him to stop him from passing out in the aisle.
Despite the shakiness of their relationship at the beginning, Logan and Laura have been inseparable since she moved in. Like two Wolverines in a pod, joined at the claw. Logan hovers over Laura, and Wade knows how much Laura loves being hovered over. He sees it in her big, unguarded smiles when Logan tucks her hair behind her ear, or reaches over the table to dab her face with a napkin, or fixes her jacket collar for her. Sometimes he'll even butt in while she's putting it on and zip it up for her, as if she's a little kid, and she grumbles but never stops him. It's adorable.
Wade grins, stroking Logan's cheek; he's such a good dad. He sleeps on the pull-out with Laura at least two nights a week, more if she has a nightmare and comes to get him in the middle of the night, rapping their bedroom door with her claws. Those nights, Logan sleeps curled securely around her, his face in her hair as he cradles her under the Wolverine covers, both of them smiling softly. Wade always stops to admire them when he gets up to use the bathroom or grab a midnight snack, restless without Logan.
So they're not having as much sex anymore, not even close, but Wade doesn't mind. He's content to take a step back and just be the cool stepdad, though he feels kind of left out sometimes, because Laura only ever wants to cuddle with Logan. She goes directly to him with everything, when she's excited, when she's afraid, when she's hungry, and doesn't turn to Wade unless Logan’s somehow occupied.
It makes Wade wish he and Logan could have a baby, a younger sibling for Laura, one with Logan's good looks and Wade’s sense of humor. They'd be such a little angel, with natural bone claws and sharp canines. And kitty-ear cowlicks, of course. And pretty brown eyes. Really, Wade just wants a baby Logan to spoil, to cradle and keep safe forever. To promise that it's okay, whatever they are, whatever they want to be, so long as they're happy. They'd be perfect, Wade thinks, following the curve of Logan's ear with his thumb, if they were anything at all like Logan.
Logan groans, flutters his eyes open to blink groggily up at Wade. “Ugh.”
“Good morning, starshine,” Wade sings, petting Logan’s hair. “Did you have sweet dreams? They seemed sweet, your face was all soft. I’ve only been staring at you for like an hour, I like watching you sleep while I reminisce about our domestic bliss, it's not that creepy. Would you be open to posting on LinkedIn for a superhuman capable of knocking me up with your baby?”
“Ugh!” Logan groans again and stretches hugely, nearly punching Wade in the stomach when he throws his arms over his head. “What the fuck, it's too early for this shit,” he grumbles. He closes his eyes for a second, limp, then sits up with a jolt. “Oh, shit.” He smiles at Wade, and presses a quick kiss to one corner of Wade’s mouth. “Happy birthday, bub. You excited?”
Wade giggles and leans after Logan, grabs his shoulders to pull him into a longer kiss. “Yeah, but I'm more excited for your birthday,” he says when he pulls back, lips singing. “Can’t we just trade birthdays? And then trade back next week, that way you get two birthdays! I like that idea.”
As birthdays became a point of discussion a few weeks back, a heart-squashing issue was brought to Wade's attention: Logan doesn't remember his exact birthday. After the initial horror and desperate need to cover Logan's poor face with kisses faded, Wade came up with a remedial plan, and Logan approved his suggestion that they make Logan's birthday the day he moved in. That places it four days from today. Wade has big plans, including a recipe he found for a maple-glazed bacon cake, which Laura's promised to help him with. It'll probably be a massive mess, but massively fun, too; Wade can't wait to try it out.
Logan scoffs. “Uh-uh. Today's your day, bub, deal with it.” He kisses Wade once more when Wade opens his mouth to argue, then draws back too soon and climbs out of bed. Wade’s left breathless and aching, wishing they could fool around a little before breakfast. “C'mon,” Logan says on his way out of the bedroom, Wade's eyes on his ass. He's wearing Wade's Futurama T-shirt — he's such a poser, wearing merch for shows he's never even seen, just because they smell like Wade — and a pair of loose-fitting basketball shorts that would be very easy to slip a hand inside of, down the waistband or up the inseam. But alas.
Wade jumps up to follow Logan into the bathroom across the hallway. It's been an adjustment, bringing in a fourth person to share their apartment’s one bathroom, especially with the new addition being a teenage girl, but Laura's worth the hours spent doing the potty dance. It's unoccupied now, thank Disney, and they take their places wordlessly, Wade brushing his teeth at the sink while Logan sits down and pisses. He groans tiredly, head in his hands as Wade hums his customary toothbrushing song — “My shiny teeth that twinkle just like the stars in space…” — and then they switch. Logan squeezes way too much Colgate onto his toothbrush while Wade aims for the toilet bowl.
“Bullseye!” Wade grins over at Logan, who's watching with a foamy grimace. “Just call me Yellow Arrow.”
“Ew,” Logan says, muffled around his brush, but Wade sees the fascination in his eyes, like always. Logan's gotten drunk before and asked to aim for Wade; he did it standing behind Wade with his chin hooked over Wade’s shoulder, awed like it was the neatest thing he'd ever seen. Wade was smug, thinking there's no need for penis envy when Logan owns Wade’s anyway.
That hasn't happened for a while, the backseat pissing or the drinking, but it was adorable, and Wade loves this. He loves that they've entered into this state of bathroom unabashedness, gained the ability to be gross humans with each other. It's the highest level a relationship can reach, the ultimate measure, as binding as wedding bells. Wade’s never really reached this level before, not even with Vanessa, but maybe it helps that he and Logan are both guys.
The only bathroom relationship milestone they haven't completed is showering together. Wade asked once and was told in no uncertain terms to fuck off, Logan snapping at him for the first time in months. Wade respects the boundary, respects all of Logan's boundaries, though he daydreams regularly about getting to wash Logan's hair. He'd make Logan's kitty ears all pointy with the shampoo, then gently tip Logan's head back to rinse, shielding his eyes from the suds.
Wade wouldn't touch anywhere Logan didn't want, wouldn't even look, would cut out his eyes beforehand if that made Logan feel safe — but he understands. He won't push.
Logan makes a thoughtless little humming noise and scratches his crotch through his shorts. He's all casual and relaxed, staring at nothing as he scrubs his molars, and Wade’s addicted to him, can't stop glancing over.
Despite that one still-standing wall, they're basically married. The term “ghetto marriage” comes to mind as applicable, husbands in practice if not in writing. That won't stop Wade from asking Logan to make it official as part of his birthday surprise, though; Wade’s just still on the hunt for a suitable ring. He's thinking silver, or maybe adamantium if he can find it at one of the local seedy pawn shops. Something forever and beautiful and perfect.
Something as beautiful as him, Wade thinks, pensive as he pulls up his sweats and watches Logan rinse off his brush, foaming toothpaste at the mouth like a rabid honey badger. He looks over at Wade, smiling all faux-innocent with his cheeks puffed out. This has become a thing.
“Don't you do it,” Wade says, stomach roiling preemptively. “You're supposed to spit it out. Seriously —”
Logan swallows, and grins.
“Eugh.” Wade turns away, gagging. He hopes this isn't some awful leftover survival instinct, that Logan was never so hungry he'd eat toothpaste to stave off starvation, but at the same time, ew. “Baby, I love you, you're beauty and grace and all, but you are so wrong for that. Jesus, my skin crawls every time. And people think I'm the weird one in this relationship?”
“Tastes like candy.” Logan licks his smiling lips, shit-eating. Or, toothpaste-eating, which is almost worse. Still not as bad as drywall-eating, of which Mary Puppins partakes, so at least he has that going for him.
Wade tries to grab him and give him a noogie, because what a little weirdo, but he's forced to flee the bathroom when Logan retaliates by digging his fingers into Wade’s sides, where he's ticklish. “No, help!” Wade screams, laughing and making a break for the kitchen. He can hear Logan snickering behind him, right on his tail. “Someone, anyone! Fatal Attractions! My Wolverine’s trying to kill me! Fuck, fuck —!”
He barrels into the kitchen, and skids to a stop when he finds Laura sitting at the table, watching him with wide, amused eyes. She's holding a half-eaten Hershey's bar, chocolate smeared over her smiling mouth. “Buenos días, Wade,” she says. “Happy birthday.”
“Aww, thank you, child.” He grins. “Did I say fudge? I meant fuck. Wait, no —”
Logan slams into him, picks him up around the waist and spins him in a circle, fingers dug hard into his sides. Wade squeals and squirms until Logan drops him, though he really loves being hugged to Logan's chest, squeezed and swung around. He fucking loves it when Logan manhandles him.
“Now go sit down and relax,” Logan says, chuckling when he shoves Wade toward the table. “You’re not allowed to do anything today.”
Wade swoons, pleasantly dizzy. “What if I don't wanna sit down and relax?” he asks, but he goes, still giggling as he slides into his chair.
“Too bad.” Logan turns to Laura, beaming broadly. “Good morning, baby. You're up early today, huh?” He hurries to her and bends down to kiss her cheek, brushes her hair back from her forehead. She blooms under his touch, beaming back with bright eyes, and only wilts a little when he plucks the Hershey's bar out of her hand. “You'll ruin your appetite,” he says. He kisses her again before stepping away. “I’m gonna make eggs for everybody, okay?”
“Dad…” She makes a show of whining, but Wade watches her smile delightedly as soon as Logan's back is turned, headed for the cabinet where they keep the pans. The daddy issues are off the charts with this one. It's a good thing Logan’s in the running for Father of the Millennium.
“Psst. You should give him a hand,” Wade whispers to her. He loves watching their cutesy domestic shit; it's his new cocaine.
Laura grins and springs up from her chair, a skip in her step as she goes to Logan. “I wanna help! Can I help?” she asks, grabbing on to his arm and hanging off him, looking and sounding about thirteen years old.
She regresses with Logan sometimes, gets all bubbly and unburdened. She's quiet about it some days, just stays tucked against his side with helpless eyes and hands that can't be detached from his shirt. Other days she bounces and babbles, like now. Wade thinks it's sweet, and extremely healthy. She hasn't shared the finer details of her childhood with him, but he knows enough. He knows she grew up way too fast and without much love, so it's only natural that she'd want to make up for it now that she has a home again. Now that she has her father back.
“Sure you can. I couldn't do it without you.” Logan ruffles her hair, smiling when she laughs. “You want to get the eggs for me? I'll let you crack ‘em.”
Laura gasps and runs to the fridge, looking as if she's just received a truly exhilarating mission. Logan lets out an adoring little sigh as he watches her. Wade knows Logan loves this as much as she does, and that's only natural, too. He didn't meet his daughter until she was all grown up; of course he'd leap at the chance to baby her.
“Hey, what about me, Dad? Can I help?” Wade asks, playfully jealous. Mostly playful. He wants to hang off Logan’s arm, too.
Logan turns from the counter to regard Wade with a forbidding frown that sort of tickles Wade’s dick. “Don't even think about it, bub,” Logan says. “It’s your day whether you like it or not, and I'm taking care of everything.”
Wade smiles, touched. Kicked, more like, right in the soul. “If you insist,” he says, cooing. He calls dibs on making breakfast most mornings, though he burns it more often than not and ends up just microwaving frozen burritos for everyone. Caregiver is his preferred role, servile, but it'll be cute watching his baby boy take charge for a day. So he sits back to watch the Logan and Laura Father-Daughter Cooking Show, smiling adoringly. Anything they make together is sure to rot teeth, they're so gosh darn sweet.
Laura is very carefully cracking eggs into a mixing bowl, breaking her tongue-out concentration to laugh every time Logan pats her back and tells her good job, when Al comes shuffling into the kitchen. She's grumbling and rubbing her eyes, and Mary Puppins bounds in after her, chasing the Cookie Monster slippers Wade got Al for Christmas last year.
“Something smells good,” she says. “I take it Wade’s not cooking?”
“Good morning, Al! Good morning, Mary Puppins!” Wade reaches down so Mary Puppins can give his fingers good morning kisses. “We're making eggs!”
“No, we're making eggs. Wade’s relaxing today,” Laura says matter-of-factly, then looks to Logan for approval, as she often does. “Solo tu y yo. Right, Dad?”
“Mhmm. That's right, just me and my girl.” Logan taps her nose, and she leans her head back, giggling. “Keep crackin’, baby. Only, uh. Tres mas.”
Laura beams and returns to her mission, practically vibrating in place with happiness. Logan's been tutoring her a lot lately, helping her study for her GED — no high schools in the void, who'd have thunk it — and she's been teaching him Spanish.
“Good morning, birthday boy,” Al says, groaning as she eases herself down into her chair beside Wade’s. “How's it feel to be another year closer to death?” Her smile is wry, because of course she knows he's not really.
“Uh, well…” Wade feels a little tearful suddenly, watching her shift uncomfortably in her chair and reach for the plastic container of pills she keeps on the table, with seven compartments and the days of the week marked in braille. Her hands tremble, curled and knotted with age.
She's getting older, dangerously older. Wade worries about her sometimes. A terrified part of him wants to grab her and tell her he'll miss her forever, but that wouldn't be fair to either of them, and it's too early to start churning himself through the Kübler-Ross model. He's determined not to let this birthday become some kind of immortal midlife crisis, thus ruining it. Think of the happiest things, suggests the song that's been stuck in his head since yesterday's pre-bedtime movie, it's the same as having wings.
“To die would be an awfully big adventure!” he declares, laughing when Laura gasps and grins at him over her shoulder. She's been working her way through all the old Disney cartoons lately, Wade, Logan and Al along for the ride. Poor, deprived little honey badger. “Except I have died and it's super lame,” Wade says. “Like, you just kind of hang out in your old apartment forever, just ask Ness. And it's all bright and foggy indoors for no reason. And there's young Elvis, which would be enticing were I not Logan-sexual.”
“Yippee,” Al says flatly. Logan snorts.
“¡Terminado!” Laura’s smiling proudly when she steps back from the counter, her hands held out, fingers shiny with egg-snot.
“Good job, baby, thank you. That was a big help.” Logan kisses her head, then slides the bowl over to him and pours a splash of milk into it. “I'll take it from here, okay? Wash your hands before you sit down.”
“Isn’t he such a great dad?” Wade whispers to Al. She smiles and nods.
“Okay!” Laura goes to stand by the sink, but hesitates with her hands near the faucet, pouting helplessly at Logan, who watches her with a soft, knowing smile. “I don't wanna get any egg on the handle,” she says.
Bullshit, Wade wants to croon. Instead, he whips out his phone to discreetly film the precious interaction that's sure to follow. He needs it for his collection of Dadverine clips.
Logan doesn't falter. “Good thinking. I know just what to do,” he says, eyes all bright and adoring. He goes to stand behind her, squirts some soap onto her palms, turns on the water and gently guides her hands underneath it, sandwiched between his. He presses kisses to the top of her head when she leans back against him, and they're both grinning, obviously holding back elated giggles. This is almost as sweet as last week's game night; they played Monopoly, and Logan kept giving Laura all of his money, much to her delight. He called the cheating “interest-free loans” when Wade protested.
She won, of course. Logan lets her win at every game, and they're always automatically on the same team, even if there's not supposed to be teams. It's kind of a nightmare, but Wade can't be mad at it. Not when they're both so cute.
He pans his phone camera around the kitchen, beholding his beautiful, broken, made-whole family. Logan, who's rubbing Laura's hands with a dishtowel, drying each finger individually, gentle and attentive. Laura, who seems to be in a trance, watching his ministrations with half-lidded eyes and an open mouth. Al, who's throwing back a handful of pills dry, like a badass. Mary Puppins, who's dancing around Al's chair trying to beg, her little goblin brain oblivious to the fact that what Al has isn't food.
Wade returns his phone to his pocket and knuckles his eyes when they prick with happy tears. He just loves them all so much.
The day passes in a comfortable not-much haze. Wade is forbidden from participating in any household chores and confined mostly to the couch, which Laura graciously allows him to share with her and Logan. And Mary Puppins, of course, who observes no laws and can't be banned from anywhere. They settle down and start in on Wade's Birthday Star Wars Marathon, a long-standing tradition, but he's never done this with Logan and Laura, so it kind of feels like the first time. Especially because Laura's never seen any of the Star Wars movies and Logan's only seen the original trilogy. Laura whimpers when Lando turns traitor and curls into Logan's side while he holds her, looking very content to comfort her. Wade cracks up at the scandalized gasp she lets out over the twincest reveal.
They splurge and order Chicken World for lunch. Logan and Laura both get a little weepy during Vader's not-actually-the-worst-dad-ever reveal, Wade petting Logan's hair while Logan pets Laura's, all of them huddled together on the couch. Wade thinks of that glimpse he got at the TVA, OG Wolverine's tearful sacrifice and poor little Laura's stricken face, how that could've been his Logan under slightly different circumstances. And then Wade's sniffling, too. Al laughs at them, but warmly.
The rest of the F-word arrive at the apartment around dinnertime. Colossus shows up first as the clock strikes five, up-tight and punctual as always, his adopted daughter and daughter-in-law in tow. Then Vanessa and her dumb boyfriend, who Wade generously invited despite his lame-loser vibes. Last but not least — that would be Gary — Peter, Shatterstar and Dopinder arrive as a bundle, Peter and Shatterstar having taken Dopinder up on his standing found-family discount. Apparently even retconned biologically superior anime aliens can appreciate cheap city transportation.
Everyone brings a present, all of them wrapped because Wade hates unwrapped presents, and they get stacked on the kitchen table beside the cake Vanessa brought. It's glorious, chocolate fudge and made to look like a pepperoni pizza as per Wade’s request, the decorating job a little janky but perfect anyway. Vanessa baking his birthday cakes is another long-standing tradition. She'd bend him over and give him a birthday spanking, too, but that particular ceremony was abolished when they transitioned from romantic to platonic soulmates. As it stands, she just gives him a crushing hug.
He notices Logan, Al and Laura adding their presents to the pile, all with the same Santa Claus wrapping paper Al bought for Christmas last year. Wade is stupidly excited for Logan's, just wants to open it now now now, but there's a proper order for these things. Present-opening doesn't come until after cake-slicing doesn't come until after dinner-eating. He manages to exercise patience.
Everyone brings a contribution to Wade’s Birthday Dinner Potluck, too, mostly fast food they picked up on the way, the kind of artery-clogging shit Wade loves. They drag in chairs from the kitchen and sit around the living room to share the greasy bounty and watch Phantom Menace before they light the candles. No one's paying any attention to the movie, though, least of all Wade, who'd much rather sit on Logan's lap, feeling like a queen on his throne, and observe the perfect chaos that always ensues when they gather together like this. Mary Puppins is thrilled by it, too, joyously circulating the room, weaving between everyone's chair legs in pursuit of treats.
“I guess I'll count this as a cheat day,” Vanessa says, slightly muffled with her mouth full of McDonald's hamburger. She got clearance from Laura, who's eating fried chicken with Yukio and Ellie in the kitchen, the three of them too cool to entertain the senior citizens, to share the couch with Wade and Logan. Meanwhile, Gary stands by Al’s chair, listening to tales from her espionage days, the credibility of which Wade is still on the fence about, and looking hilariously uncomfortable.
“This is just how we eat here,” Logan tells her, and demolishes another slice of sausage-topped pizza in two bites. Colossus brought three pizzas, and Logan's already put away a whole half of one on his own. Wade wipes at Logan's mouth with a napkin, proud of his black-hole appetite.
“Yup. Perks of being unkillable. Heart disease can't get us either.” Wade takes a bite of his own pizza slice, chewing thoughtfully. Colossus brought one with pineapple and anchovies just for him. “Although I do kind of feel like I'm gaining weight.” He lifts his shirt and frowns down at the slight bulge of his stomach. It might just be the immortal midlife crisis attempting to set in, but he feels like he's gotten rounder in recent months. “What do you think, Ness, am I squishier than you remember?”
“You're perfect,” Logan says before Vanessa can answer, in a hard-edged tone that leaves no room for argument. He shoves Wade’s shirt back down.
“Hell yeah you are.” Vanessa thumps Wade’s shoulder with her fist, before he can burst into tears about Logan calling him perfect. “Look at you, dude, you're all settled down and stuff. And you're so happy, it's awesome.”
Wade grins. “So fucking happy, it's obscene. But also…” He looks pointedly at Logan, puts on a pout. If he had to come up with one complaint — “We’re so fucking sober!” He whines dramatically and drops his head to a seemingly unsympathetic Logan's chest. Al scoffs.
“Painfully sober,” she agrees, grumbling. “Please, for the love of god, someone make that man see reason.”
“Never gonna happen.” Logan's smug and non-repentant as he stuffs his face with another pizza slice. “You’ll get over it,” he says, garbled.
“I take it back. Sucks to be you,” Vanessa whispers into Wade's ear, nudging his side. She grins when he groans and squirms in Logan's lap as if she shanked him.
They should be drinking, too, and possibly even getting down with some disco dust, but Logan hasn't allowed a drop of alcohol or speck of cocaine into the apartment since Laura moved in. He purged the place like it was one of their Deadpool-Wolverine drug busts, prowling from room to room gathering pills, powders, herbs and everything in between while Wade followed with his hands clasped, unsuccessfully begging for mercy. Everything without a valid prescription, gone. Wade’s hastily-drawn doctor's note stating in pink crayon that he should be allowed a small bag of cocaine at all times — signed Rainbow Sparkles, M.D. — was rejected, and with Logan's nose there was no hiding anything. He even sniffed out and disposed of an ancient half-smoked joint under the refrigerator, possibly from previous tenants.
Al was in a sour mood for weeks, refusing to speak to Logan at one point. Wade was bummed out at first, too, but Logan's parenting is too cute to contest. He's an amazing dad, and as such he's obsessed with Laura's well-being. So they're sober now, tragically, but maybe it's for the best, partly because Al might live longer.
Wade grimaces, halts that train of thought there; he needs to not think like that.
“A good decision,” Colossus says, and reaches over from his chair to pat Logan's knee. Logan smiles with his full chipmunk cheeks and doesn't flinch. “I am proud of you, moy drug.”
“No idea what that means,” Wade says, still pouting, only halfway serious. He really does support Logan; he just wishes he could have a birthday beer, at least. Or bowl. “But the pronunciation is very ironic.”
“Aw, c'mon,” Peter says from the chair he pulled up beside the couch, a plate of chicken nuggets in his lap. “Who needs illicit drugs when you have friends like ours? Plus, Wade, y'know, sometimes when you talk you make me feel like I'm on shrooms.”
Logan laughs, choking on his pizza a little. Wade pats his back until he stops coughing.
“Thanks, sugarbear,” Wade says to Peter, winking with his arm slung around Logan's shoulders. “Although I'm not convinced you've ever consumed anything more adventurous than a portobello.”
“Oh, you'd be surprised!” Peter winks back. Wade doubts it.
“Well, I for one am much happier,” Dopinder says, his chair next to Peter's. “Gone are the days when I'm forced to drive the speed limit to avoid attracting the attention of the police, because there's several pounds of illegal substances under the back seat with DP written on them. ‘I’m holding it for my mercenary’ is not a valid excuse, you know.” Not even his car was spared from Logan's drug purge.
“‘Cause reckless driving is a lesser evil than being a drug mule.” Logan nods, smiling until it becomes a snarl. He shoots Dopinder a pretty terrifying glare, voice sinking down into a rough growl. “Unless my daughter's in the car.” Nevermind that Laura is impervious to car crashes, but Wade agrees; just because she heals doesn't mean she should ever be hurt, ever, under any circumstances.
“No, sir, of course not. Absolutely not, Mister Wolverine, sir, I would never endanger your daughter,” Dopinder splutters, bug-eyed, nearly dropping his chicken sandwich when he puts his hands together. “Please don't disembowel me.”
“Easy, peanut.” Wade pets Logan's hair, and the growl cuts off immediately, chased away by Wade’s touch. Logan's expression relaxes. “My cab driver’s never wrecked his car. Except for that one time he kidnapped his romantic rival and murdered him or whatever, we don't talk about that, it's in the past.”
“In the past?” Logan raises his eyebrows at Wade. “Whoever he was, I smell him every time I get in the cab.”
“Oh no, really?” Dopinder looks fretful. “But I sprayed the trunk with Daffodil Daydream!”
Peter smiles. “Ooh, Daffodil Daydream, nice! I like Mahogany Magic, myself.”
“You need bleach for bodies, not air freshener. And a few more brain cells,” Al says. Wade’s sure she's rolling her eyes behind her shades.
Vanessa giggles. Colossus just sighs, long-suffering. Wade appreciates him turning a blind eye to the F-word's darker subplots, or else they'd all be in the Ice Box by now.
“You alright over there, Gar?” Vanessa asks Gary, who's staring at them.
He quickly looks away, clears his throat, color in his cheeks. “Yeah, I'm. Just, uh — yeah.”
“I think your boy toy’s broken,” Wade whispers to Vanessa.
She puts her smiling lips to his ear. “Behave, you. He's just nervous about meeting…” She pulls back and flicks her eyes to Logan. “Y'know.”
Wade smirks. He hasn't missed the way Gary sort of flinches every time Logan speaks, how he turns to gawk when Logan growls. It is an alarming sound the first few times, to be fair, like someone just summoned a Harley and turned the ignition. But Wade has heard through the Vanessa grapevine that Gary is a classic X-Men fan of embarrassing proportions; apparently he even owns a replica Wolverine mask. He put his hand out for Logan to shake when he got here, but Logan ignored him, distracted with helping Vanessa out of her coat. Wade laughed, and he's an asshole for that, but at least he's a self-aware asshole.
He situates himself more fully in Logan's lap, quickly polishing off his pizza slice so he can wrap both arms around Logan's shoulders. He nuzzles Logan's neck to show off how much Logan trusts him, proud and possessive. Wade knows Vanessa would never talk shit about him to her boyfriend, but he's sure Gary low-key hates him for the same low-key chauvinistic reasons he low-key hates Gary, who watches the cuddling with wide-eyed dumbfoundment. Those comics are for pussies, barring Laura, who's a total badass. They could never be so bravely gay.
My Wolverine, Wade thinks, and presses a smug kiss to Logan's cheek. Logan just tears into his next pizza slice as if Wade’s kisses are safe and natural and good, a crooked smile lifting one corner of his full mouth. He wraps his arm snug around Wade’s waist, settles his hand on Wade's hip and squeezes gently. Wade lays his head on Logan's shoulder with a content sigh; if he could die, he'd want to do it right here, just like this.
“Excuse me, were you discussing Earth hallucinogens?” Shatterstar asks, interjecting the way he does, popping up behind the couch. Vanessa gasps, one hand flying to her chest. “On Planet Mojo World, we consume the reproductive material of what you earthlings might call space cows to achieve similar, though of course far superior, psychedelic effects.”
“Excuse me!” Vanessa squawks.
“Reproductive material?” Colossus frowns deeply, the metal of his cheeks creaking.
“Space cows?” Logan tilts his head and scrunches his nose, all confused-puppy.
“Shit, you got any on you?” Al asks, voice pitching up with hope. “I'll take anything at this point, I don't care, even cow spunk.”
“You see, this is what I'm talking about,” Peter says to Dopinder, who nods gravely. “Shrooms.”
Wade cackles, his face still pressed to Logan's shirt. Peter's right; he feels plastered when the family's all together, kite-high, no drugs required. Plastered in a pure way, a way he'll remember in the morning, and forever, wrapped up close to his heart.
Laura comes in from the kitchen as Qui-Gon’s making his dying wish: “He is the chosen one. He will bring balance. Train him.” She shies when everyone turns to her, wary of the attention, and scurries over to Logan, only relaxing when the others have looked away and resumed their conversations. Wade wants to hug her and promise that all the people here are good, personally vetted by none other than him to be members of their family — not including Gary the Snail, but he's harmless, a light breeze could kick his ass — but he knows she just needs time. To adjust and realize no one's here to hurt her. Logan was the same way.
Logan's quickly fussing over her, tense like he'd jump to his feet if not for Wade’s weight in his lap. “Hey, baby, you okay? You got enough food in there?” Logan asks, and immediately presses the last slice of sausage pizza into her hands. She accepts it with a small, surprised smile, entranced the way she gets when he enters dad-mode. Reaching around Wade, Logan starts picking things off the fast-food buffet spread on the coffee table to give her. “Here, take this, there you go. Take some chicken, too, and a hotdog. And a milkshake, here —”
“Dad!” Laura laughs and sways, struggling to balance all the food in her arms. “Estoy bien. I just wanted to ask if I can sleep at the mansion tonight.”
Wade cups a hand over his mouth to contain his “aww!” Though Laura's a legal adult and doesn't need her father's permission for anything, really, they both obviously need to do this. To fulfill all the formative father-daughter experiences they missed out on.
“Oh. Of course you can,” Logan says. He reaches for her, leaning around Wade, and she bends down to meet him, her hotdog falling unnoticed. He kisses her cheek twice, both of them smiling. “But only if you promise to call me in the morning, you know the drill.”
“I promise!” She straightens, giggling and grinning, almost impossibly happy to have been parented, and goes to rejoin Yukio and Ellie. They're watching from the kitchen doorway, and they don't laugh at her for this; Wade knows they never would. He's glad Laura has friends like them. Together, they're the best kids in the world, no contest. If Wade had buddies like Yukio and Ellie when he was that age, he'd probably be less of a wreck in adulthood.
He's impossibly happy, too, smiling dopily, because Laura sleeping over at the mansion means he and Logan get to have sex that isn't limited to ultra-silent handjobs for the first time in weeks, since the last X-Men Manor slumber party.
Wade gives Logan a meaningful look, biting his lip, and wiggles down purposefully on Logan's lap. There's a darkness in Logan's eyes when he meets Wade’s, their faces very close, and Wade knows they're thinking the same happy thing. He wonders if there's a sexy birthday surprise in store for him later, in addition to Logan's regular present. Maybe Wade will get to wear lingerie or something. He shivers, shoves that smoldering image out of mind and focuses instead on polishing off his pizza. His cock will have to save it for when he and Logan are alone.
It's time to light the candles when the food's all gone and the credits of Phantom Menace roll. The F-word migrates into the kitchen, interrupting the girls, who sit huddled together at the table, giggling at something on Ellie's phone. Wade shoos them away and claims his seat at the head of the table, to watch excitedly as the birthday rites are prepared around him. Vanessa sticks in the candles, counting out only thirty-four, because that's the biggest box they had at the store.
“Fudge,” Wade says, wounded by this, though having his awesome pizza cake in front of him lessens the sting. “I really am old, aren't I? They don't even sell boxes with enough candles for how old I am.”
Vanessa laughs and flicks his ear. “Chill, you’re not even the oldest person here.”
“Not by a long shot, bub.” Logan reaches into his pocket, frowns, then huffs out a laugh at himself when he finds it empty. He quit cigars, too, which Wade mourns almost as much as the cocaine; he misses the smoke smell that once clung to Logan's clothes and lingered at the back of his mouth, it was hot. “Anyone got a light?” Logan asks.
“Oh, me!” Gary surges forward eagerly, stumbling over his own feet. He's holding out a plastic disposable lighter as if he's been called upon to save the world with it. “Me, sir, here, right here, sir.”
Wade smiles, but refrains from laughing for Vanessa's sake. She groans and puts a hand over her face.
“Uh. Okay, thanks.” Logan gives Gary a suitably baffled look as he takes the lighter. He lights the candles carefully, gnawing his lip in concentration, too gorgeous for this world. The Ghost of Fuckmas Future visits Wade while he watches, bearing a hopefully prophetic vision of him smearing frosting over Logan's cock just to lick it off.
“Somebody hit the lights,” Al says. Wade shakes off the fantasy; just a few more hours of this heartwarming PG-13 shit, and then he and Logan can warm each other elsewhere.
“Got it.” Ellie throws darkness over the kitchen with her teenage-witch powers, and the power of the light switch.
Wade appreciates the dramatic effect, a pleasant chill washing up his spine. Because this feels sacred, warm candle-light dancing over everyone's faces where they stand over the table, gathered around him as if they've come to bear witness to a ritual he's receiving. Something transformative, changing him for the better as they recite the ancient Happy Birthday chant.
Even Logan sings, and Wade focuses as much as he can on Logan's voice, trying to isolate it, wanting to snatch it out of the chorus and bottle it. Logan, who never sings — not in this universe, anyway — is singing for Wade. It's not the most pitch-perfect sound in the world, raspy and mostly flat, but it's by far the best, because it's Logan, and he's smiling while he does it, beautiful and relaxed, looking completely at home here with his arm around Laura. She leans against him, rests her head on his chest as she sings very quietly, or maybe just mouths the words.
She told Logan her birthday was January tenth, and with her permission Logan told Wade, and Wade marked the date with hearts on their calendar, relieved that at least one Wolverine knew their birthday. He can't wait to do this for her, to pull out all the stops, cheesy birthday hats and enough balloons to blot out the ceiling, special paper plates and a banner with “Happy Birthday, Laura!” written in colorful bubble letters. Everything she should've had when she was little. Wade’s discussed all of this with Logan, so he knows Logan's on the same page: January tenth just has to be the best day ever.
Wade’s borderline religious sense of reverence fades as everyone claps and cheers after the last “happy birthday to you,” and he laughs explosively when Vanessa immediately launches into, “Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you smell like a monkey —!”
Logan reaches over Wade to ruffle her hair, grinning when she squeals and twists away.
“Dude! My braid!” she whines.
“That's what you get,” Logan says sternly. He lays a warm, protective hand on Wade’s shoulder. “You be nice to him.”
“Ha! Yeah, Ness, be nice to me.” After sticking his tongue out at Vanessa — only because she sticks hers out first; his new superpower is maturity — Wade grabs Logan's wrist and squeezes in appreciation. Wade tips his head back to gaze up at Logan, swooning. “My hero.”
Logan smiles, face all aglow from the candles. He moves to stand behind Wade’s chair and bends down over him, wraps his arms around Wade’s chest, puts his mouth to Wade’s ear. Wade feels pleasantly engulfed and loomed over, butterflies swarming in his stomach as Logan's breath brushes across his cheek. “Make an educated wish,” Logan whispers there, and Wade knows the words are meant just for him, too quiet to be overheard.
Wade giggles, his chest overflowing with a bright, boiling joy that makes it hard to sit still, though Logan’s embrace helps. Wade’s eyes are on the cake and dancing candles, but he can feel the phones on them, a silence indicating that this moment will be immortalized on everyone's Facebook walls later tonight. He's glad, wants it recorded, because this might actually be the happiest moment of his entire life. Which makes wishing a bit of a problem, seeing as right now he has literally everything he's ever wanted and everything he could ever want.
He brings his hands up to hold Logan's arms around him, warm everywhere, and not just from the heat wafting off the candles, burning up over his beautiful pizza cake and his perfect family. Tearful and smiling, he leans forward, takes a breath and blows out all thirty-four candles to a round of applause from the F-word and a kiss on the cheek from Logan. Wade turns his head to press their mouths together, just chastely, children present.
In the end, he doesn't wish for anything; he just thanks whatever birthday powers that be for granting last year's wish. He didn't know it then, but he wished for Logan that night. The lights come back on, shocking Wade’s eyes, but not as much as his heart, because everyone's still here. He was worried the birthday gods might realize he's undeserving of all this treasure and confiscate it.
Logan cuts the cake, and it's delicious, unsurprisingly, given that Vanessa puts extra love in all of her baking. And extra sugar. It's heavy on the fondant, too, which Wade appreciates, as a former playdough-eating champion circa kindergarten. The only one who doesn't get a piece is Mary Puppins, but Logan gives her a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream to make up for it, and she seems appeased.
When the cake's all gone, Wade stays in his chair and decrees that it's time for everyone to come forth and bestow their birthday presents upon him, loyal disciples paying tribute to Marvel Jesus. Logan stands guard beside Wade’s chair, the knight to Wade’s queen. Wade’s handsome knight in shining adamantium armor.
“Thanks, Robocop,” Wade says as he accepts Colossus' present. It's an envelope encased neatly in on-brand yellow wrapping paper. “Is it money? Is it thirty-seven dollars? That'd be a very grandma thing to give me, but I get it, you X-Men can only stretch the budget so far.”
“What is in that envelope is far more valuable than paper money,” Colossus says sagely.
“Ooh!” Wade smiles, throwing the wrapping paper aside to be cleaned up later. “Is it empty? Is it just the power of friendship inside, which of course is invisible? Like in Kung Fu Panda? Gee, it's a good thing you went first, we can only go up from here.”
Colossus sighs. “O Bozhe moi…”
Wade opens up the envelope, surprised when it's not actually empty. What's inside isn't just some generic grocery-store greeting card, either; it's a seemingly genuine silver badge in a rich leather case, the words “Honorary X-Man” engraved on the plate. Wade holds it up to show Ellie, beaming. “Hey, Justin Bieber, check it out!” he says. “Looks like I'm not a trainee anymore! Never Say Never, right?”
She flips him off, and Colossus steps away from the birthday throne, shaking his head. Wade hands the badge to Logan, who sets it aside on the counter for him.
Yukio's next, and inside the pink-wrapped box she presents him with is a Kirby plushie, which is all very her. “Aww, Yukio! I love him, I'll sleep with him forever!” Wade cuddles it to his chest, privately feeling a bit guilty about the fact that Kirby’s about to be very traumatized by epic Poolverine sex. Or maybe it'll be into it, who's to say.
“A strawberry gumball guy,” Logan says, turning Kirby over in his hands when Wade passes it to him.
Yukio giggles. “It's Kirby!”
“Only the most iconic video game character who isn't an Italian caricature.” Wade smiles at her. “Thanks for choosing a plushie that appeals to old men like me. I bet you've never even seen a Game Boy.”
“Um… I've heard of them!” Yukio offers, charitably. She moves back to make way for Ellie, who approaches begrudgingly and unceremoniously tosses her present into Wade's lap. It's a black-wrapped box small enough to sit in the palm of his hand.
“Oh, boy!” Wade says, giving it a gentle shake. It rattles. “Is it a voodoo doll? Is it a creepy witch necklace? I hope so, I've been wanting to commune with demons lately.”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “Just open it.”
Wade just opens it. Inside the box is a silver skull keychain with a little pirate hat. “Oh, hello!” He lifts it to his face and smooches it. “Let me guess, you got this at Hot Topic?”
“No, actually, I got it from your mom.” Ellie narrows her eyes, but the intensity of her glare lessens when Yukio giggles and swats her arm.
“Bazinga!” Peter says.
“Ugh, we're firing off ‘your mom’ jokes now? Writing at an all-time low. I guess we can't all be comedic geniuses. Anyway, I love your extremely predictable present, I'll keep it with me forever.” Wade rummages his keys from his pocket and clips the skull to his keychain. He gives it a little jingle before tucking it away, admiring his collection: a severed Barbie head with Sharpie face tats, a fat stack of rewards cards for probably every store in Vancouver, a popping-bubble fidget toy Logan likes to play with sometimes, and now a neat pirate skull guy. “Who's next?”
Peter's present is a coupon for a free massage Wade will definitely never use, though he appreciates the gesture. Shatterstar's present is a pink luminescent alien rock that makes Wade’s palms tingle when he holds it. Its purpose is unknown, Shatterstar keeps it vague, but it would probably give Wade cancer were he not already a human tumor. Dopinder's present is a mixtape burned onto a CD, which Wade might actually listen to if he still had the option of getting high first. Oh well. They're all passed to Logan and added to the pile on the counter.
Al's present is a baggie of white powder labeled “NOT COCAINE.” The wonky handwriting is Laura's, who smirks from her place at Logan's side, in on the prank, and it earns a few laughs from the peanut gallery.
“What do you think, honey badger? Does it pass the nose test?” Wade asks, grinning. He holds the bag up, offers it to Logan for inspection.
Logan leans down to give it a suspicious sniff. “Clean,” he deems it, huffing. “It’s just sugar.”
“Mm. You could make a career outta that, y'know,” Al grumbles.
“He kind of does,” Wade says, though that particular superpower is hardly necessary for their patrols as Deadpool and Wolverine. There's an infinity percent chance that any mysterious powders they encounter in the seedy warehouses and back alleys they frequent are drugs. “Thanks for the sugar, Al, I'll be sure to eat it all at once later, ‘cause sugar highs are the only ones I'm allowed to have anymore.”
Colossus sighs, again. Vanessa snorts.
Logan plucks the bag out of Wade’s hand, laughing. “Yeah, no. Laura, baby, you're next.”
Laura picks her present up off the table and hands it to Wade with a nervous smile. It's about the size and heft of a picture frame, and he'd bet the thirty-seven bucks he doesn't have that it is one, but he refrains from guessing. “Feliz cumpleaños,” she says shyly.
“Oh my god, this is too precious!” Vanessa holds up her phone.
“Muchas manzanas,” Wade says warmly. He's not sure why Laura bursts out laughing, what's so funny about “thank you very much,” but he's not complaining; Laura's laugh is almost as magical as Logan's.
He peels off the Santa Claus wrapping paper to reveal, sure enough, a picture frame, but the drawing within hits Wade like a freight train to the chest. Laura's turned out to be something of a little Michelangelo, hugely talented not just with her claws — on the patrols she's only allowed to come along on anymore if she finishes her homework first — but with her hands, too. She spends a lot of time drawing with the fancy pencils and sketchbooks Logan bought her during that first shopping trip, using the kitchen table as her desk. She likes drawing her own comic books, making up all kinds of cool characters. She's pretty damn spectacular at it, in Wade’s layman's opinion, though she's shy about showing off her work. He usually has to sneak up behind her and steal glances over her shoulder, and they're all great, but this one's the best he's ever seen. Wow.
Wade gets kind of choked up, then hugely choked up, sniffling as he takes in all the details. It's just graphite on off-white paper, but it's so real-looking, the whole F-word lined up together on a gentle gray-to-white gradient background. Laura included herself, too; one of Graphite Logan's arms is around her, the other around Graphite Wade, who holds Graphite Mary Puppins.
“Oh, Laura,” Logan says, studying the masterpiece over Wade's shoulder. He also sounds choked.
“You like it?” Laura asks, tentative, as if she doesn't know it's perfect.
“Do I —? It's beautiful! Woah!” Wade sobs a little, tries to pass it off as a stunned laugh. The rest of the F-word crowds around his chair to see for themselves, oohing and ahhing. “Holy crap, this is mother-fudging amazeballs! I've never seen anything so perfect in my entire life!”
Vanessa whistles, still recording. “Dude, goddamn!”
“This is great, Laura!” Yukio says, and pats Laura's shoulder in her gentle, non-intrusive way. Laura doesn't flinch. “Wow, look at me! You drew me in my favorite Pokemon sweater!”
“Literally mind-blowing.” Ellie's voice is more expressive than Wade’s ever heard it, a smile-like curve to her mouth.
“Krasivyy,” Colossus says.
“Huh.” Shatterstar frowns. “I suppose there is one thing you earthlings are superior at. Or at least you, Laura.”
Al touches Laura's back in a very grandmotherly fashion, Laura leaning toward her. “I don't need to see it to know it's amazing, sweetie.”
“Imagine the most amazing thing you've never seen,” Wade says. “And then times that amazingness by a bajillion.”
“You should go to art school!” Dopinder suggests. “Be a comic book artist!”
“Yeah!” Peter agrees, clapping. “You’d be so good, just like Rob Liefeld!”
Rob Liefeld? Wade laughs incredulously. “That’s who comes to mind, sugarbear, really? C'mon, Laura clearly can draw feet with the best of them.”
“To hell with ‘good,’ and screw that guy.” Logan scoffs. “My daughter's great. She's fantastic. She's the best there's ever been.”
Laura just stands there beaming, soaking up all the attention, and she deserves it. Wade stands and opens his arms, and he's relieved when she steps into them, squeezes his waist and nuzzles her face against his neck. He can only hug her with one arm, the frame in his other hand, but it's wonderful, a warm blanket tucked around his heart. Her hair is soft where it brushes his face, thanks in no small part to Logan, who brushes it for her almost every night, and she smells like paprika from the fried chicken. Wade doesn't get Laura hugs very often, so he knows it's important to cherish them as they come.
“Your dad's right, you're the best.” He rubs her back, speaking softly into her hair. “This is going straight to the picture wall, and I feel like a butthole for saying that, because this seriously belongs in a museum, you deserve so much better than —”
“I don't mind the picture wall.” She steps back, smiling and blushing. He lets her go. “I just wanted to make something you'd like, and to kind of commemorate how… I mean. You guys gave me —” She breaks off, sighing, exactly the way Logan does when words aren't enough for what he wants to say. “Just, thanks,” she says, and grins. “Muchas manzanas, Wade.”
“You're so welcome, it's unreal. Also, I'm getting the impression that muchas manzanas doesn't actually mean thank you, but don't tell me if it doesn't, I've been saying it forever, I'd feel so dumb,” he says. Maybe he should start sitting in on Logan's Spanish lessons. “Anyway, to the picture wall!”
He leads the congregation to the special wall between the kitchen and the living room where all the most precious pictures in the apartment hang, as is customary. The Sanderson-Wilson-Howlett Gallery has grown at an unprecedented rate in the past year, and it's overcrowded now, packed corner-to-corner with memories, their frames bumping. Wade finds a place for Laura's drawing between an ancient photo strip of himself and Vanessa from their trip to Playland and a more recent picture of Logan sprawled out drunk over the couch with Mary Puppins on his chest. From before Prohibition, of course.
There's a thunderous round of applause for Laura, who squeaks and retreats shyly to Logan's side. Logan draws her close, kisses her head and lets her hide under his arm.
Wade returns to his birthday throne with the party in tow, and the weepy, parental mood is stomped on when with a sheepish smile Vanessa tosses her present into his lap. The wrapping paper is pizza-patterned, appropriately, and he's almost unsurprised to find a novelty vibrator inside the box. It's made to look like a realistic hotdog, all floppy pink rubber with little buttons on the side. She really committed to the food theme this year. Wade smirks, holding it up.
“Oh, my,” Dopinder says.
Logan clears his throat and tightens his arm around Laura's waist. He shoots Wade and Vanessa a narrow look that says they'll catch hell if they breathe the words “sex toy” in front of the teenagers. Colossus seems similarly distressed, shifting uncomfortably.
“Dude.” Wade’s stifling giggles, flopping the hotdog back and forth in his hand. He lets it flop onto his chest, close to his heart. “A toy hotdog. For pretend barbecues, I imagine. Definitely a joke about spit-roasting to be made here somewhere.”
Vanessa laughs, then sobers. “Dude,” she says, a little tearful when she meets his eyes.
His heart squeezes. This is why she's his BFPSF; she can give him a fucking hotdog vibrator and it's somehow super meaningful.
“Ew,” Ellie says. Yukio giggles, her face pressed to Ellie's shoulder.
“Pretend barbecues? ¿Por qué?” Laura asks Logan. He shushes her, and impossibly, Wade manages not to crack up.
Peter squints at the hotdog as Wade passes it to Logan, who adds it to the pile despite looking like he wants to stuff it down the garbage disposal. “I'm so confuzzled,” Peter says.
“Don't worry about it, sugarbear, I'll explain when you're older. Now, who's next…?” Wade turns to Gary, purposefully abrupt, and cackles at the stricken, called-out look on his face. As much as Wade enjoys being civil, he enjoys tormenting Vanessa's boyfriend even more. “Garbear! Am I to infer that the hotdog is from you as well? Or did you seriously show up at my birthday party and eat my birthday food without bringing me a birthday present? Which is it, Gareth? Mister Snail?”
“Oh, snap,” Dopinder says in a dramatic whisper. “Birthday brawl?”
“I should think so. Birthday freeloading is a crime punishable by banishment on Planet Mojo World,” Shatterstar tells him.
“Uh, I, well. First of all,” Gary splutters, red-faced. “It’s just Gary, for the hundredth goddamn time. Gar-ree. Not Garbear, not Gareth, not Gary the Snail. I don't know what your problem —” His eyes snap anxiously to Logan, who's glowering at him from Wade’s side, arms crossed. Gary must think better of whatever smartass thing he was fixing to say, because he just clears his throat and falls quiet, obviously cowed, looking at Vanessa as if to signal for a rescue.
That's right, Wade thinks with a smug smile, be an asshole to be at your own peril. Logan never returned Gary's lighter, just thoughtlessly slipped it into his pocket and forgot about it after the last candle was lit, and Gary probably won't ask for it back, if he hasn't yet. Wade hopes he feels like a pussy about that forever.
“Gary didn't bring anything. He didn't expect to be invited.” Vanessa glares at Gary in the venomous way that means she's only defending him because they're together. It does not feel good to be on the receiving end of that glare; Wade remembers it well. “And he's sorry. Right, Gar?”
“So sorry,” Gary says with a jerky nod, looking wide-eyed at Logan again. And really, this is the best birthday present Gary could've given Wade.
“Aww, that's okay, buddy. No hard feelings. Seriously, none whatsoever.” Wade snickers. “Just make sure to bring something awesome for my boy's birthday next week, or else we'll have a problem.” He coughs, and mumbles under his breath, “Fucking Gareth.”
Logan snorts, shakes his head. “Alright, well. I guess that just leaves me.” He grabs the last present off the table, paper-thin and about the same size as Colossus'. Wade thinks it might be another envelope, possibly containing the abstract power of love. “Here you go, bub. Happy birthday.” Logan hands it to Wade and drops his eyes, steps back, very timid suddenly.
“Thank you, honey. Sweetheart,” Wade coos, delighted by the pink this puts in Logan's cheeks. “I don't even gotta open it to know I love it, baby boy, and anyway, you've already given me the best birthday present there is, just by being here, being mine.”
“D’aww,” Peter says.
Dopinder sighs despairingly. “In the face of such love, I fear I am destined to die alone.”
“Don't feel too bad,” Wade tells him, and locks his eyes on Logan's as he kisses the Santa Claus wrapping paper. “No one loves anyone like I love my peanut. It was love at first sight, we were written in the stars. I always —”
“Get on with it,” Logan grumbles, because he likes to act annoyed when Wade pledges his undying love in mixed company. Wade thinks this is almost as cute as the timidness.
“Ooh, I'm so excited!” Wade’s grinning as he peels away the wrapping paper, but tears flood his eyes when they register what he's holding, the treasure underneath. His throat tightens, and his chest aches; the surprise hits him square in the ribs.
It's a bumper sticker in a plastic package, but not just any bumper sticker — it's the bumper sticker. Their bumper sticker. “Coexist,” spelled out in white letters on a blue background, tacky and too-much with all the symbols. It's a symbol in and of itself, one more powerful than the forces of friendship and love. This Honda Odyssey artifact, this precious, sacred thing, this testament to how much they've grown since then, together. It's not the original, brand new with a five-dollar price tag in the corner, though it's priceless, but that doesn’t matter. It still means everything.
“Oh my god,” Wade says, voice coming apart. He cradles the sticker across both palms. “This is — you — where did you get this?”
“I, uh.” Logan clears his throat to steady his own voice. “The girls showed me how to look around on the, um, Amazon?”
“Yep! That's right!” Yukio chirps helpfully, and claps for him. “You're doing great!”
“Amazon,” Logan says, nodding. He's so outrageously adorable, Wade just wants to squish his cheeks and kiss him forever, Wade’s internet-illiterate little puppy. “I found one just like it, turns out that design’s pretty popular. I wanted to, I don't know. I guess… Do you like it? It's not too…? Sucks that we don't have a car to stick it on, I know —”
“I love it!” Wade leaps up from his chair and throws his arms around Logan, clinging to the back of Logan's shirt with one hand, still cradling the sticker in the other. Logan clutches Wade just as fiercely, squeezes Wade hard against him, and Wade’s crying, but they're good tears. His heart only cracks apart because it's so overfull with happiness, warmth that bleeds outward from his chest. “I love it, I love it! I love you! Oh, baby, baby boy…”
“Am I missing something?” Vanessa asks quietly, probably whispering to Peter or Al. Wade can't tell, his face buried in Logan's hair. “‘Coexist?’ Is that significant somehow?”
Wade hiccups, his lungs shocked by the whirlwind that's going on inside of him. “More than you can possibly imagine,” he croaks. The Odyssey is the one thing he never told Vanessa, never told anyone, never will, because that night belongs only to him and Logan.
“I had no idea, when I — when we were —” Logan breaks off with a low whine, mouth pressed to the side of Wade’s neck. “Wade.”
“Shh, it's okay. I'm here, baby, I know,” Wade says, and he does, he feels it like stones in his stomach. Logan was so stiff and scarred that night, and Wade was being an irreverent, horny asshole, and neither of them had any idea they'd wind up here in the end.
Though Wade tends to romanticize their first time, the legendary Honda Odyssey Consummation, Logan probably wasn't ready. Wade obsesses sometimes about Logan's assumption that Wade knew he was trans; by that logic, Logan must've thought Wade had referred to him as “she” to Professoress X’s goons and called him a bitch in the Odyssey maliciously. It's no wonder he was chomping at the bit to kick Wade’s ass, and that's exactly what Wade deserved. He definitely didn't deserve to be indulged.
So why did Logan indulge him? Was it resignation or just pure self-destruction when Logan sat back and said, “Why not?”
Nuzzling at Logan's cheek, sniffling with remorse, Wade wonders what he'd do differently if he was flung back in time now. Back to that bar in Worse Universe, if he could do the whole thing over again. He would've been more careful carrying Logan, first of all, wouldn't have thrown him down or let him hit his head, Wade's poor baby. Wade kisses Logan's head now, resolving to keep it safe forever now that he knows how precious it is. Wade wouldn't have let Logan pass out at all, would've just hugged him off that barstool and held him, told him it wasn't his fault — because it wasn't, and fuck all those assholes who convinced him it was. Wade wouldn't have let their relationship be so much about sex in the beginning.
Logan wouldn't remember Wade in this hypothetical reset. He'd be confused and furious, and he'd probably want to kill Wade again, except this time Wade would just lie down and let him try. Wade hates that he ever hurt Logan, wishes he could take all those blows back. He hates that he didn't shoot that Paradox prick in the mouth for talking shit about his boy.
But maybe it had to happen that way, to be bad before it got better, to break before the pieces came together perfectly the way they have. Wade really doesn't know. He's just so relieved it all happened and somehow worked out, to be here now, wrapped in each other's arms, safe and together, warm and full. They made it to the epilogue, their happy ending, and all that pain is in the past. Not quite irrelevant, but tiny, shrunken in the distance.
“Daddy?” Laura asks after a while of Wade and Logan clinging to each other. It feels like a long time, but also not enough, not nearly. “¿Estás bien?”
Her voice tenses Logan up like a bolt of lightning, and he quickly pulls back from the hug to reassure her, dad-mode activated. Wade lets him go, reminded of their audience and the existence of the rest of the world generally. As desperately as Wade wants to scoop Logan up and carry him to bed, crawl between his legs and thank him profusely for today, for putting up with Wade’s shit, for staying, that part will have to wait. For now, Logan has Laura to take care of and Wade has Vanessa's questions to dodge, and they all have a Star Wars marathon to finish.
The sticker goes on the refrigerator, next to the list of home rules. Wade wants to display it inside his chest instead, on his heart, and he probably could, but it would be rude to bleed out everywhere with guests over.
They watch Attack of the Clones, Wade in Logan's lap again, feeling glued to him, and at the halfway point the F-word starts trickling out. Colossus goes first, naturally, because X-Men with steel beams up their asses impose a ten o'clock curfew on themselves and their charges. Logan jumps up to walk Colossus and the girls to the door, and Wade follows, obeying the Wolverine-magnet in him that demands Logan never be more than a few feet away.
“You’re sure you’re not forgetting anything?” Logan asks Laura, warily eying the tote bag of sleepover supplies she's holding. He hovers around her, straightens her jacket, which he helped her into. “Did you pack a change of clothes? Your toothbrush? Hairbrush? Your phone? Is it charged, did you check? What about —?”
“Dad! Cálmate.” Laura laughs, though she offers no more resistance to his fussing than she ever does. “I have everything.”
“It's only one night, honey,” Wade soothes. He pets Logan's arm when he fails to look reassured, a worried pinch in his brow. “She has everything she could possibly need.”
“Seriously.” Ellie rolls her eyes, but her voice is empty of the usual venom, Logan being one of only three people she never uses her powers of teenage contempt against. The other two are Yukio and Laura, of course.
“Okay.” Logan takes a breath, then hesitates. “But you do have your phone?” he asks Laura, who just laughs again.
“Moy drug, all will be well,” Colossus says warmly. Logan jolts, and his arm stiffens in Wade's hands when Colossus pulls open the door. “Your Laura is not a forgetful girl.”
“Yeah! But it's fine if she forgets something, she can always just borrow our stuff. We're all the same size, it's actually so convenient,” Yukio says. She takes her pink bubble coat off the overcrowded rack and pulls it on, then with a flourish pops up the hood to reveal the cat ears sewn onto it. “Look at me, Uncle Logan, now I'm like you!”
Uncle Logan. Wade grins, squeezes Logan's hand. Yukio's been calling him that lately.
“Hey, check you out.” Logan's affected, too. He sort of melts, and smiles at Yukio almost as adoringly as the way he smiles at Laura. “Alright, girls, can we get a goodbye hug?” he asks, dislodging Wade when he opens his arms wide.
“Yes! Group hug!” Wade throws himself at Logan's chest, overjoyed to reclaim his rightful place in Logan's arms.
The girls fall in, first Laura, who never hesitates to hug Logan, goodbye or otherwise; then Yukio, who joins the cuddle huddle with a running jump and a delighted squeal; and finally Ellie, who grumbles and drags her feet until Yukio grabs her wrist to reel her into the love. Ellie likes to put up a token fight to these things, but she's always the last to pull away from hugs once she's caught. Logan squeezes them all together and presses a kiss to each of their heads, Wade giggling when it's his turn, Ellie sighing less than irritably when it's hers. It's perfect, sweet and warm. Wade would've thought it impossible just a few months ago, Logan initiating group hugs, but here they are; this is how far they've come.
Colossus watches from the doorway, chuckling. “Come now, girls. The jet is waiting, da?”
“I can't believe you park that thing on our roof. It's like the ultimate loophole, the cops would have to wear jetpacks to ticket you,” Wade says. He's a little disappointed when the girls break away, the cuddle huddle dissolved, but it also leaves him feeling very warmed, as if his heart’s fresh out of a microwave. He grins. “Hey, by the way, can I fly the jet now that I'm an honorary X-Man? Do I get an honorary license?”
“No,” Colossus says flatly, which is super unfair, but Wade didn't really want to fly his stupid jet anyway, so. Colossus moves aside, motions for Yukio and Ellie to step out into the hallway ahead of him, Ellie taking Yukio's hand. He waits for Laura, who lingers in Logan's arms, letting Logan kiss her forehead.
“I’ll see you in the morning, baby,” he tells her very softly, and kisses her again. “Call me when you wake up, and then me and Wade will come get you, okay?”
“Then we’ll stop somewhere for breakfast,” Wade adds. “Yukio and Ellie can come, too! It'll be a blast.”
“So think about where you want to go,” Logan says. “Anywhere you want.”
“Sounds good.” Laura squeezes Logan one more time, smiles at Wade, then steps away from Logan and heads out the door after Yukio and Ellie, past Colossus. He nods to Wade and Logan before following suit, shuts the door behind him.
“Please wear your seatbelts!” Logan calls after them, frowning at the closed door. Wade kisses his cheek, takes his hand and leads him back to the living room.
The rest of the F-word has cleared out by midnight, with promises to return and do it all again next week, Logan's name in the next iteration of the Happy Birthday song. This leaves just Wade, Logan, Al and Mary Puppins watching Clone Wars, Mary Puppins in Al’s lap on her chair and Logan in Wade's lap on the couch. Logan’s all soft and snuggly, very much in puppy-mode now that all prying eyes have gone home. He's curled up in Wade’s lap, head tucked under Wade’s chin, pressed against Wade’s chest. Wade pays more attention to Logan than the movie, focuses on holding Logan's hand and gently massaging the little flesh tunnels that house his claws, trying to soothe him.
He's obviously anxious, tense everywhere and fidgeting his feet, nipping constantly at Wade's jaw the way he does when he's stressed, because Wade’s his chew toy. He gets like this when Laura goes out, and Wade wishes he'd agree to take some of the benzos Mary Puppins' vet prescribes for her separation anxiety, but he's all straight and narrow now. Drug-wise, anyway. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Wade feels a gut-punch of worry, wondering suddenly if Logan's upset about Wade’s teasing. If he went too far with the sugar high joke.
“I'm so proud of you, peanut,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss to Logan's temple. “You gave me the best birthday ever, and you're a great dad, Laura adores you, she's gonna be fine. Better than fine, she's amazing, ‘cause she's yours. Everything you do is great. You know I know that, right? I'm just fucking around when I give you shit about the sober thing.”
“I’m not,” Al says through a yawn. “Shit’s fucked up.”
“Zip it, druggie, or I'll dump you at old lady rehab,” Wade tells her, not unkindly, then goes back to showering Logan with praise, squeezing his hand. “Seriously, honey, you're so good for that. I support you, you have all my love and respect. I've got your back, I'm in your corner. Picture me in a sexy cheerleading outfit, spitting bars about how perfect you are. Okay? I need you to know that. Do you know that?”
“Yeah.” Logan chuckles, nuzzles Wade’s cheek. “Of course I do, you've told me enough times.”
Mission accomplished. Wade smiles, bringing Logan's hand to his mouth so he can kiss Logan’s fingers. Logan's other hand tightens its grip on the front of Wade’s shirt. “Then why are you all squirmy-wormy?” Wade asks. “Are you worried about Laura?”
“No. Well, yeah, a little, but that's not what I'm thinking about.” Logan blinks coyly up at Wade, eyes dark, head on Wade’s shoulder.
“Oh?” Wade grins widely, getting it now. He abandons Logan's hand to squeeze his thigh instead, Logan laughing when Wade walks his fingers up Logan’s shorts. Wade rubs the balled-up sock in the front of Logan's boxers, gropes it as if it were a cock and in the process grinds it back against Logan's actual cock. Wade knows now that it's there to give the impression of a dick, not serve as a backup for when Logan's foot claws shred his socks. It's cute. Logan's laugh deepens into a moan, filling the hollow of Wade’s throat with warm breath. “What’s on your mind, baby?” Wade asks.
“I'm just…” Logan puts his mouth to Wade’s ear, his voice a rough whisper, and squirms his ass down onto Wade’s extremely interested cock. “Thinking about your other birthday present. The one you'll get after we go to bed.”
Wade giggles into Logan's hair, the sound pure joy, bubbling up from way down in his chest. He's the luckiest man alive, no doubt about that. He doesn't know how it happened, maybe he absorbed that shit when Domino used her luck to escape this sinking ship of a franchise, but here he is. Here he sits, ridiculously blessed, mere moments away from whisking his gorgeous boyfriend — soon-to-be fiance, then husband, possibly even baby daddy if Wade’s luck continues — to bed. He's home, he's loved; he's got it all.
He doesn't deserve any of it, really. It's pure luck that he has it, a bajillion jackpots’ worth, and it absolutely counts as a superpower. After all, it's saved his life better than the healing factor ever could.