Chapter Text
For some stupid f*cking reason, the TVA, who was apparently super grateful for them having saved the world and who had promised to leave them the f*ck alone, was knocking on their front door at 5am.
Logan had answered the door since he was the resident couch dweller because Althea and Wade slept together in the single bedroom of the apartment. It had been maybe a month and a half after the whole saving the world stunt Logan was somehow roped into, and he was still adjusting to being in a whole new dimension. Not that he wasn't trying to get back on his feet, but it was hard. The cab company he used to work for in his timeline... before... well, they let him pick up a few shifts. But with everything being so different from his timeline, Logan didn't have the mind to move out just yet. The thought only really crossed his mind when he slipped on one of Althea's cocaine stuffed bras.
Long story short, that's how he found himself back in his suit, walking through one of those weird orange time door things with his roommate.
"Ah, it's nice to be back in this beaut' of a suit," Wade sighed, "It's like old times Peanut!"
Logan grunted in response. "How do you even know how to work that..." he trailed off, gesturing to the metallic device in Wade's hand.
"Tempad? Yeah, rough name for primetime sci-fi tech in my opinion. Oh, you've got a heavy flow? Make it easy with the multiversally absorbent Tempads! Hopefully this particular sanitary pad doesn't contain lead or anything. But to answer your question Honey Badger, I got pretty skilled with these time device business when I traversed the multiverse to find you. It's a pretty convenient plot device. Especially for quick escapes, some of your not-so-nice but still-totally-sexy counterparts were pretty feisty," Wade made a claw with his hand and growled seductively. Logan just tried to ignore half of his partner's rambles, as asking for clarification usually just ended in more confusion for the older man.
"Remind me why we agreed to do this?"
"Because we're the unkillable co*ckroaches of the multiverse, Sugar-tit*. Apparently we're the only versions of us nice enough to go in and destroy this time-hopping Kingpin for our bureaucratic besties at the TVA. Weird choice for a multiversal villain, I know, but apparently this one was breaking the laws of the multiverse to look for a universe without a Spider-Man or Daredevil or any other member of Team Red and one where his wife and kid don't despise him and/or die. Pretty strict requirements. Plus he always has a lot of goons that are easy to write fights with."
The warehouse they were in was stacked with boxes and dusty as hell. The windows lining the ceiling were broken in most places, letting in the typical New York humidity in. The night breeze didn't reach the pair of men, but it could be heard whistling outside.
"B-15– whatever kind of name that is– said we couldn't kill him, right?"
Wade groaned. "We can still try, Peanut. Don't sound so sad about it, Kingpins are typically almost as indestructible as the two of us, for some weird reason, so you can let loose. Probably. I mean, who would really miss a Kingpin? They're like a dime a dozen. But yes, she specifically said to take him back to the TVA alive so they can probably do some creepy mind wipe sh*t and throw him back to his own timeline. Boo."
Logan was suddenly reminded that the same thing could've very well happened to him. He briefly wondered why the TVA even let him live in Wade's universe. Maybe he was just that insignificant in his timeline. Or maybe they were waiting for him to f*ck up.
"Or maybe the timeline bullsh*t doesn't really matter," he heard Wade grumble, "The folks at home really only care about the characters. Or the actors, specifically. And their sweet, succulent, fake bods."
Logan ignored him.
"Who are you?" A voice called from behind them.
Logan’s claws unsheathed on instinct at the same time that Wade reached for his holster. As usual, Wade did the talking.
“Hello, fair warehouse dweller. Working for the Kingpin tonight?”
The man scowled, his shifty eyes looking between the mountains of boxes, obviously looking for an out.
“Who’s asking?” he barked, a thick New York accent shining through with his nervousness. Logan’s claws shone in the moonlight.
“Listen, my buddy and I just want to talk to the big guy. Wanna take us to him or do you feel like dancing? I’m flexible. In more ways than one,” Wade sing-songed.
The man whistled. Logan rolled his eyes upon seeing the other henchmen he had already smelled reveal themselves from the shadows.
“Cue the music then!” Deadpool cried cheerfully. Logan assumed it was some kind of ritual saying Wade liked to do before every fight because as per usual, no music played. Though he could hear Wade humming something that sounded suspiciously like Brittany Spears’ “Gimme More”.
What Logan had noticed a long time ago was that Deadpool was more or less an extension of Wade Wilson himself. He was mouthy with or without the costume. He was weirdly light on his feet, at least in comparison to Logan. In costume, he was even more exaggerated in his gestures than he was out of it, which really should’ve been impossible. He could wield a kitchen knife as well as he could wield a katana.
Which is to say, as Deadpool sliced a man’s arm off in two parts with only one swift move, Logan saw Wade in his “Kiss The co*ck!” apron dicing three chicken breasts in under 10 seconds. Never before in his 200 years of life has he been able to equate fighting with domesticity, but when Deadpool was the man he spent practically every waking moment with, Wade was always in the back of his mind.
Were the voices in his roommate’s head spreading to his own?
At that horrific thought, Logan punched his claws through the skull of one of the men who rushed at him, while still watching Wade out of the corner of his eye. His partner shot a bullet that went through the heads of four men at once, laughing maniacally and bullying their fresh corpses for standing so close together while fighting.
He slashed the thigh of another one of Kingpin’s gangsters as Wade flipped over another man and stabbed his katanas through two men’s guts at the same time. Their bodies fell at the same time, with Wade withdrawing his sword and wiping the blood off the twin blades with the crook of his elbow. Logan, without sparing a glance at his assailant, kicked the gangster into a pile of boxes, which caused a large enough crash that he was pretty sure the man wasn’t going to get up.
With his eyes still on Wade, he started an all out brawl with the next guy that came for him. It was hard to pay attention to the punches he was throwing, as watching Wade dance around was ten times more entertaining than the face he was smashing into oblivion with his adamantium fists.
For as loud as Wade was, when it came to moving around he was as silent as a fox. Logan would know, since Wade has taken claws to the eyes a couple times having accidentally snuck up on him.
Logan felt the man under him pass out as he watched his partner land some sort of twisting somersault onto a man’s shoulders and choke him out with his thighs before stuffing “baby knife” into his eye, then leaping off and landing on his feet like some sort of bloodthirsty gymnast.
Logan had super-hearing, so hearing heartbeats was nothing new, but his own heartbeat startled him as it suddenly roared in his ears. He backed up off of the man he had punched half to death and stood still. Images of Deadpool’s thighs by his neck as Logan drove his claws into his sides in a tight-spaced car floated through his mind and straight to his–
Bang!
Logan turned his head so fast his neck might as well have snapped. Smoke lazily leaked from his chest up towards his nose where he inhaled deeply before charging at the man who managed to land a hit on him. He slashed at the man’s wrist, to which his hand fell to the ground along with his gun.
That’s for putting a hole in my suit, Logan thought as the man screeched in horror. Wade might be annoyed, as he had repaired the entire suit himself. Not without suggesting to Logan that he should simply do all his superhero-ing sh*t shirtless, but the gesture was touching nonetheless. Not that Logan would admit that.
Touching in all the right places, I hope, said a voice in Logan’s head that sounded suspiciously like Wade.
He sliced the screaming gunman’s throat with a swift motion.
“Oh, Honey Badger!” Wade singsonged, “Smell any more or can we move on from the expositional action?”
Logan sniffed the air as he moved to meet Wade in the middle of their carnage. He only smelled blood. And heard nothing but their two loud heartbeats and a couple faint ones from the ground.
“Clear,” Logan reported, “Um… the suit kind of…” he gestured to the hole by his heart.
Wade made a hand wavy motion. “It’s fine, I’ve got leftover fabric. I’ll fix it at home, hopefully Blind Al doesn’t take it to make kevlar old-lady panties.”
Home .
“Of course, I gotta say I told you so, having those perky tit* of yours out would solve this whole–”
Logan growled at him. Wade shut up, but he could see him grinning under the mask.
“C’mon Peanut,” Deadpool said, “Let’s get back to our timeline before the Golden Girls reruns start.”
It didn’t really make sense, as technically the TVA could place the pair anywhere in time, but Logan said nothing.
B-15 paid them and sent Wade and Logan back to their– well, Wade’s– timeline. Not without criticizing their methods (killing anyone in their way), but it was well worth the money.
Wade had scoffed and accused her of planning to have the time criminals pruned anyway, before begging to know why Thor was crying.
Logan was just glad to be back home as they walked through the bright orange… door? Portal?
It didn’t matter, as there was a more pressing question on Logan’s mind.
“Were you a gymnast?” He asked gruffly, as Wade kicked off his boots. The man always took off his mask last, and sometimes even kept it on around the apartment. Which annoyed Logan to no end, as it was harder to know what the hell was going on in Wade’s head when his face was covered. Not that he wanted to know, because it was almost never appropriate, but still. For someone who talked as much as he did, Wade’s expressions always gave Logan a better idea of what was actually happening behind the over-the-top and nonsensical word vomit that escaped his lips.
“Why? Trying to see how flexible I am, Peanut?”
Nevermind. Logan never wanted to know what was going on in Wade Wilson’s head.
“You fight like a f*cking Eye Popper ‘s all,” he grumbled.
“Aw! That’s like… almost a compliment!” Wade cooed, slipping on Althea’s crocs, “If you must know, I had a friend who had a trampoline in high school. Boooooring backstory, I know. Granted, I lost the rest of my virginity on that thing, but nothing impresses the Special Forces and I guess a Wolverine like a couple flips and tricks.”
Logan removed his cowl and set it on the side table as usual, the empty space next to it waiting for its red counterpart.
“Enough about my extraordinary double back tucking abilities that would make even Simone Biles a jealous little jelly-bean,” Wade said, making a suggestive grabby motion at Logan’s chest area, “Let those titt*es out–”
Logan growled.
“–So I can sew up that second asshole you grew, you perv.”
Later, when Logan would be sitting on the couch, shirtless, with Wade sewing up his suit on the floor, with his mask still on and sporting a Hello Kitty pajama set, when Mary Puppins would be panting from her restless doggy-dreams and drooling on Logan’s boxers and the Golden Girls would be playing, perhaps Logan would feel, deep in the back of his mind, the need to test out Wade’s flexibility as was previously offered.
And he would think:
Oh, f*ck.
Oh f*ck .
