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a-leg-without-fear · 2 months ago

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Because of You (pt.2)🩸🌧️

here's part 2, babes!!!! this one is BEEFY so i hope it's not too boring :)

Ship: Worst!Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader🩸

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 7.7k

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine, cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of death, grief, alcohol abuse, Wade Wilson is in this, so is Remy LeBeau, suggestive language, mentions of main character death, mentions of child experimentation, ANGST, multiverse shenanigans, self-doubt, kissing

Series: Because of You

The room Logan had woken up in was strange, to say the least. He was clearly underground. Thin windows were dug high into stone walls with an enormous engraving of a woman decorating the ceiling. Shaded lamps lit up the areas not caught in the sunlight from the windows. Random junk, weapons, and blessed alcohol lay strewn about the room.

After he’d spotted the bottles of whiskey, nothing else mattered.

He had never needed a drink more in his life. Stumbling around with Wade, the idiot in red, was shortening his neverending lifespan. Logan was constantly under attack, constantly stressed out of his mind, and constantly annoyed by Wade’s endless chatter. It was like God had finally decided to plop him in hell where he belonged.

Logan stood under one of the windows. A small alcove carved into the rock, with a kitchenette sitting on the stone floor and decorated with various foods and cooking implements. One of his gloved hands leaned on the wall of the alcove while the other lifted the liquor bottle to his lips. Bitter, biting whiskey flowed into his mouth. Sweet relief.

It was nice and quiet. Wade was unconscious on the only bed in the room. Either knocked out or put to sleep, Logan didn’t care. He was just enjoying the silence that had been vacant from his life for the past two fucking days. It had been an unending stream of quips and jokes ever since that red fucker had barged into his life.

The bronze alcohol swirled in the Jim Beam bottle. Specks of dust and whatever else floated around in this cave sloshed around the bottom. Like always, Logan’s thoughts drifted to you. How you’d playfully scold him for drinking directly from the bottle. How you’d grab him a glass, grumbling the whole time about sanitation, then fill the cup with ice and pour his drink for him.

Lead pooled in his stomach at the memory. Heavy, nearly crushing in its weight. Logan screwed his eyes shut at the sensation.

He would give anything to have you there with him.

That was why he’d committed to helping Wade in the first place. The red idiot had promised that the TVA would be able to bring you back. That they’d fix Logan’s timeline and make things right. That he’d have you in his arms again, your scent filling his sinuses and your warmth burrowing into his chest.

But, of course, Wade was fucking lying. He had no clue if the TVA could fix Logan’s mistakes. The “Merc with the Mouth” had made an empty promise just so Logan would help him.

Logan grit his teeth then knocked back another swig. Fucking “educated wish.” If Wade could actually die, Logan would’ve killed him for saying that.

“Thor!” Wade gasped from behind him. Logan rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, begging a god he didn’t believe in for patience to deal with this red idiot. He glanced over his shoulder at Wade.

Deadpool was, thankfully, still fully clothed. His red suit entirely covered his disgusting skin and even worse smile. The merc’s eyes, white from the mask he wore, darted around the room. Logan scoffed and shifted his gaze back to the stone wall in front of him.

“Where are we?” Wade asked. Logan shrugged.

“No clue. But I like it here,” he replied, raising the bottle to his lips to take another gulp.

A scuffle from the main entrance way of the room made both men snap their heads in the same direction. Wade scrambled out of the bed, drawing a katana, while Logan used the brief moment to down another swig. If he was gonna fight, he’d need all the alcohol in him he could get.

Katana and sais collided with a sharp clang, sparks flying, as Wade’s sword met two outstretched, three-pronged weapons. The red-suit wearing menace was thrown to the ground by the owner of the sais. A woman, wearing dark reds, with long brown hair and green eyes. She leveled a weapon at Wade’s face.

She stepped away as she stowed her sais in the holsters on her hips. Wade jumped to his feet, briefly dusting off his ass, as he watched the woman step away. Logan continued to chug whiskey like this was the last time he could. For all he knew, it was.

Another person stepped through the entryway. Darker skin, sunglasses, black combat armor, scowl framed by a white-patched beard. This man seemed dangerous. Like a caged animal, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. Logan straightened out to pay better attention to the growing amount of people in the room.

The last person to come through the door was another man. Lighter skin than the previous, with brown hair caged in a black neck piece that covered the sides of his head. The guy wore a brown coat and shining purple combat armor. Cards passed between his dexterous fingers.

Logan watched as the three newcomers settled into the space. The man in black fiddled with some blades hanging on the wall, the woman flipped a sai in her hand, and the man with the brown coat messed with his deck of cards. Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at the trio. Did they think they were something special? The way they walked in, one-by-one and each with their own gimmick, made a sardonic smile quirk at the edges of Logan’s lips.

“Okay,” Wade began, stowing his katana with a flourish, “Look at you… All. You must be the others. Perfect! So, just to refresh…” he said as he looked to the woman, “You are Wonder-” “Elektra,” the woman replied with a grimace.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget. And you!” Wade continued while shifting his gaze to the man in black, “I was not expecting to see you here! I thought you’d be penetrated by six inches of cold-hard-steel by now.”

The man quirked an eyebrow at the merc from under his sunglasses, “The fuck are you talking about?”

A beat passed.

“Ya know, a ‘Blade,’ like your name? Forget it,” Wade answered. Logan chuckled under his breath, taking another swig.

“I don’t like you,” the man in black, Blade, said.

“Never did!” Wade returned. He pivoted to the man with the brown coat, “And who’s this… Succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you! You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye!”

The man with the coat smiled, flipping the cards, then said in a heavy accent, “My name is Remy LeBeau. Le Diable Blanc. But you can call me ‘The Gambit.’”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade. Hit me again,” Wade responded, gesturing for Remy to continue. Remy smirked at him.

“They call me ‘The Gambit.’”

“Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to but it never quite worked out?” Wade asked. Remy ignored the question, shifting his attention to Logan taking another swig of whiskey. Logan cocked an eyebrow at him.

“C’est boude y ya. You know, we never had a Wolverine up in he’e. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all o’ my liquor,” Remy said with an intense look about his brown eyes.

Logan scoffed, raising the bottle to his lips again, and sneered, “Then it’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck.”

A moment hung between them, filled with tension so thick it’d take Logan’s claws to cut it. Remy laughed quietly while shaking his head.

“Couyon zouave,” he murmured. In a flash, bright violet illuminated his eyes and the card clutched in his hand. He flicked the card at Logan. The Wolverine barely had time to react before the card collided with the whiskey bottle, making it explode in a spray of liquor and glass, leaving just the neck clutched in Logan’s hand.

“Fuck!” Logan cursed, blinking away droplets of whiskey that had splashed in his eyes. He glanced down at the broken bottle. His glare trailed from the broken glass, then to a rack of unopened whiskey bottles hanging on the alcove’s wall. He smirked as he tossed away the broken bottle, keeping his eyes connected with Remy’s, the glass shattering somewhere to his left.

“So embarrassing!” Wade hissed at Logan. The Wolverine ignored him, opting to grab a fresh bottle from the rack.

“Boo boo boo,” Logan sang mockingly. He twisted off the cap and took another long swig.

Logan tuned out the tense conversation between the new trio and Wade. Why should he care? Wade had lied about the TVA fixing Logan’s shit, so none of this mattered. He had already resigned himself to sitting in this cave, bottle of whiskey in his hands, living out the rest of his lonely days in the Void. It was what he deserved.

The liquor lightly burned his throat as he gulped down more whiskey. A dull fog was settling over the edges of his mind. With any luck, he’d be blacked out in an hour or two. The flashes of you that constantly plagued his mind would be subdued, his nightmares would be blissfully absent, and he’d finally be able to rest.

“Who-Who brought us here?” Wade asked loudly to the trio. Logan perked up, also curious about the answer. Last thing he remembered before waking up in the cave was passing out in the van.

“That would be me,” a voice said from a doorway across the cave from Logan. He shifted his gaze to the shadow approaching the room. Feminine, wearing a jean vest and fingerless gloves, with long dark hair and a green backpack slung over her shoulders. She looked between Logan and Wade, “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Shit… Logan, that’s her. That’s X23. She’s the one I told you about,” Wade said to Logan. The Wolverine traced the new girl’s features. Heavy brow bone, hazel eyes, pointed nose, permanent scowl across her lips. Huh.

One last set of footsteps came from the same doorway as X23. Quick, sharp clips of heavy boots along the concrete floors. The person that stepped up next to X23 stole the air from Logan’s lungs.

You.

There you were. Dressed in combat leathers and with a scar across your lip. Hair pulled back away from your face, knife with a blood-filled pommel tucked against your waist, intense eyes immediately meeting his. A small frown pulled at the edges of your lips.

Logan whispered your name under his lips. It was like the floor had been yanked out from under him. He was reeling. And not from the liquor, as he hadn’t had nearly enough to warrant the swirls of emotion clouding his brain.

How?

How were you here? You were dead. Logan saw you die. He was there with you, holding you, comforting you, until your breath rattled for the last time. His head was spinning.

“Oh. My. God! It’s her! Your girlfriend! Holy shit, I thought she would’ve died after the events of Logan 2017!” Wade squealed. The idiot skipped around the pool of water in the center of the room to grab one of your hands in both of his, “Can I just say what an honor it is to finally meet you. I tried earlier in the movie, but you and Lo-Lo were… Preoccupied, to say the least.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Let go of me,” you growled, snatching your hand from Wade’s. He held up his hands in surrender while he backed away slowly.

“Got it. Understood. Not a touchy person,” he said. He sheepishly returned to where he stood before you’d entered the room, “So… How’d you all get stuck in the void?”

Blade sighed, “There was a knock at the door, then the TVA shipped me here.”

“Me too,” Elektra added.

“Maybe I was born here, it’s hard to know fo’ sure,” Remy said, cards passing from one hand to the other.

“The TVA decided our universe was dying. And I never even got a chance to fight for it,” Blade continued gruffly.

Logan’s hyper-focused gaze shifted from you to X23, who was taking calculated steps around the pool toward him. Her hazel eyes trailed up and down his slouched form. He took another hefty drink. What the fuck is happening?

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out,” you explained, making Logan’s gaze snap back to you. You sounded exactly the same. Your inflection, your accent, the tone of your voice. Even the way you folded your arms over your chest as you spoke was the same.

Wade kissed his first finger then pointed at the group, “The answer is yes. I’m in.”

“In what?” Blade asked tersely.

“A team! Me, you, you and me! All of us together! Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” Wade said. Logan scoffed.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a fucking liar,” he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at the merc.

“It was an educated wish!” Wade yelled back.

“Ha!” Logan laughed loudly without humor, diving back into the whiskey.

“Look,” Wade began, taking a calming breath, “We’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of the Void is through her. She can get us home! She told us.”

Everyone in the room’s attention was fixed on Wade. Blade rose to his feet, Remy’s cards stilled in his hands, Elektra set her jaw as she analyzed Wade’s form, you and X23 took a few steps closer to the merc.

“You’ve been inside? And you made it out alive?” Blade asked incredulously.

“Bullshit! Nobody’s ever done that,” Elektra replied. Her hands fell on the handles of her sais.

“We did,” Wade said proudly.

“Everytime one o’ us has gone up against her… They die,” Remy said, walking further into the room, “The Punisher, the Quicksilver, the Daredevil.”

“Daredevil?” Wade asked, cutting Remy off, and placed a hand over his heart, “Which one? The one with the nice ass, or the one that kills people?”

“They don’t all kill people?” Elektra questioned. Wade looked back and forth between her and a spot on the wall.

“I mean… C’mon guys. Daredevil is the Number One Catholic in all of Marvel. His whole season three arc was a constant back and forth of if he’d actually go through with his first kill. Which, by the way, is rookie numbers if you ask me-”

“It was the Daredevil I know,” Elektra answered, ending Wade’s rambling about things no one in the room quite understood.

“Well, I’m sorry for your loss, then,” Wade said as he clasped his hands together in front of him.

“It’s fine,” Elektra replied with a shrug.

“Ok…” Wade murmured, looking down at his feet. A few moments of silence hung in the cave like mist on a cool morning.

“Even that sweet angel, Johnny Storm. He up an’ gone missing, what, two days ago?” Remy lamented quietly. Blade and Elektra met his mournful look with their own.

“Oh, that’s so sad. Whoever this ‘Johnny’ fella is, I’m sure he’s thriving,” Wade said in a soothing manner. Logan couldn’t help but chuckle in response. Oh yeah, thriving alright. Wade cleared his throat, “Look, there’s strength in numbers! Alright? Us, you guys, we can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of the Void!” he continued. Blade scoffed at the merc, sitting back down on a crate. Wade was floundering at the disinterest shown by the group, “I know what it means to feel self doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all,” Elektra said.

“I’m good,” Blade added.

“Gnawing at your gut like a coked-up tapeworm?” Wade pressed, gesturing to his stomach in a wide circle.

“It’s like you’re holding up a mirror to my soul,” Remy said solemnly. Logan bit back another laugh.

Wade approached the trio, “You guys may not be able to save your universes… But you can avenge them! It’s what Johnny woulda wanted!”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“Wait. You knew Johnny?” Elektra asked. Tension spread throughout the room. Every eye fell to the idiot in red. Logan couldn’t help but laugh at the mess the merc had made for himself.

“Oh, yeah. Dickhead here talked him into a team-up and Johnny came down with a little case of the ‘deads,’” Logan explained, sneering at Wade. The merc snapped his head back at Logan.

“No, no. We don’t know that! It was just a flesh wound. He may have survived!” Wade said in an attempt at calming the situation. Logan laughed again, lifting the bottle to his lips.

“If he survived that, he is praying for death,” Logan returned. He took another big gulp of the quickly depleting whiskey.

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine!” Wade groused at him.

“Spill it!” Blade demanded.

“What’d you do to Johnny, huh? Talk, or I’mma start dealin’,” Remy said, raising a card while his eyes glowed. Wade waved his hands in the air, desperation leaking into his voice.

“Okay, okay. Hey, hey, hey! Look, he ran his fatass mouth about Cassandra! Then she zip-zapped his skin, leaving his organs to splash crudely onto the ground while the soil greedily drank his blood! It was horrible! He was like a brother to me!” he said quickly, providing a very filtered version of what had actually happened, “Look, he died before he could make a difference. But… But, maybe you couldn’t save your worlds… But Jesus Christ, you can save mine!”

“I don’t give a shit about your world. But, if these two made it out of there alive, maybe, together, we can get back in and take her down,” Elektra said, turning to the rest of the group. Remy shook his head.

“Where I come from… We call that ‘suicide’, cher,” he retorted. Elektra sighed as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Maybe if we can block her psychic powers, we could get a leg up. I know it! Now, I know Magneto’s dead… But I’d venture a guess that his helmet is lying around here somewhere,” Wade said, a smile practically leaking through his mask.

“Cassandra melted that helmet,” you replied grimly.

“Fuck!” Wade cursed.

“After she killed him,” Blade added.

“FUCK!” Wade yelled, cradling his head in his hands.

“She don’t play,” Blade said while shaking his head.

“She knows that helmet was the only way to protect anyone from her powers. The only other helmet that strong is Juggernaut’s, but he works for Cassandra,” Elektra explained with an air of indifference.

“Juggernaut’s helmet! That’s it!” Wade said, enthusiasm leaking back into his voice.

“Yeah, we don’t be knowin’ that lid ain’t comin’ off without that dome gonna come off wit’ it,” Remy drawled in response. Wade shifted his attention to him.

“I’m sorry, beautiful, I want this to be gentle,” Wade started, pressing his hands together in a placating manner, “Who is your dialect coach? The Minions? I feel like we’re missing critical exposition here!”

Wade’s question hung in the air, silence following the quip. Logan smirked at the group. It was nice to see other people experience the torment he’s been through for the past two days. Entertaining, even.

Elektra paced back and forth between Remy and Blade, lower lip caught in her teeth, “I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of hiding. Let’s face it, our worlds forgot about us.”

“Or… Never learned about us,” Remy mumbled to himself.

“The heroes we were,” Elektra continued, disregarding what the Gambit said.

“The lives we saved,” Blade said as he rose from the crate.

“Or wanted… To save,” Remy said, again to himself.

Elektra met Blade’s eyes, hidden behind his glasses, as she said, “Maybe these two are our chance. To be remembered. The way we deserve.”

Logan could feel hope bubbling in the air. It made his stomach turn. There was no way in hell this would work. These guys were just a bunch of washed-up has-beens without a home. Just like him.

His eyes drifted back to you. You were staring intently at Wade, gloved hand resting on X23’s shoulder. You seemed to believe in what the idiot was saying. That there was hope. Logan grit his teeth.

“Yes…” Wade said with an audible grin as he looked between every person in the room.

“An ending,” Elektra whispered.

Blade smiled, “Legacy.”

“Yes! YES!” Wade exclaimed, clapping his hands, “Let this man cook! This is what I’m talkin’ about! Big slow-motion fights, sad music, everybody workin’ together. Who knows if you live or die? That sorta thing! Who’s ready?”

“I was born ready,” Blade replied, flipping a long knife in his hands to the sky.

“Yes! Gambit?” Wade asked as he pointed at Remy.

“I ain’t know my daddy, but I’m sure I shot outta his dick ready,” he answered. There was a pause.

“Jesus Christ, that is graphic,” Wade said.

“Yeah, he was layin’ them buttery nuts all up in my mama an’ I shot out there an’ I said ‘What’s up, doc?’” Remy continued. Logan grimaced at how graphic this guy was. Was there no class anymore?

Wade laughed, “I’m sure Johnny must’ve loved you! X23, what’s it gonna be?”

X23 glanced at Logan, then to you, then back to Wade, “The name’s Laura. And hell yeah, I’m ready.”

“What about you, mama?” Wade asked you.

“If she’s in, I’m in,” you responded, patting Laura on the shoulder. She looked up at you with a small smile.

“Let’s fucking go,” she said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Let’s fucking go!” Wade repeated. The energy in the room was electric. Wide smiles, hopeful glances, muscles tensing under warm skin. Static built in the room like the air before a lightning strike.

“Show ‘em that the chicken ain’t cold,” Blade said with a grin.

“Yeah!” Wade replied.

“We’re doing this,” Elektra said decidedly. Logan shook his head.

“You’re all fucking dead,” he groused. Wade turned on his heel to look at the Wolverine.

“My God, read the room.”

~~~~

“I’m not going out there, Laura!” you hissed at your daughter.

You and her were in the room you shared. The stone walls, ceiling, and floor kept your conversation private. A queen bed sat in the corner. Rumpled, black sheets lay atop the mattress. You and Laura shared the bed. Neither of you minded, it was something the two of you had grown accustomed to when on that fateful road trip nine years ago.

“I’ve loosened him up for you! He talked about the X-Men and what happened with them. Mama, please. You need to talk to him,” Laura argued.

She sat cross-legged on the bed while you paced back and forth in front of her. A smug smile tugged at the edges of her lips, gloss reflecting in the lamplight. You chewed on your bottom lip.

“I doubt he even knows me. I probably don’t even exist in his universe. What if he thinks I’m creepy for talking to him? Or what if I’m a mass-murderer? Shit, what if I hurt someone he cared about-” Laura yelled your name, stopping both your pacing and your rambling in their tracks. You paused in front of her. She sighed, pushing herself off the bed and running her palms down your arms.

“Even if you’re no one in his universe, he still needs someone to talk to. Someone like him. Well, more like him. You know what I mean,” she said with a small smile. You shook your head at her.

“I don’t know how much more like him you could be, kid,” you breathed, resting a hand on her jaw. Every day you were blown away at how similar Laura was to Logan. From their smile, to their terrible jokes, to their temper, to the way their eyebrows crinkled in the corners. She was his daughter, through and through.

“I’m not a bazillion years old,” Laura snarked back. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re lucky I won’t make you do push-ups for saying that,” you replied with a fond grin.

“Go talk to him, mama. If not for your sake, or his, then for mine. Please?” Laura begged, giving you the wide eyes that she knew you could never turn down.

You sighed, “Fine. Five minutes. If I don’t come back, assume he’s killed me or something.”

“Or something?” Laura questioned, wiggling her eyebrows. You shoved her away with a groan. She laughed as she landed on the bed.

“Get some sleep, kid. Love ya,” you said as you made for the doorway. You scooped up your boots that sat next to Laura’s.

“Love you too, mama. Gane la verga!” she called after you as you stepped out of the room.

You sighed at your daughter’s antics. Thank God she was past the moody teenager phase. That was a nightmare. The constant anxiety, the mood swings, the self-doubt. Only exacerbated by her mutation. Luckily, you were surrounded by dozens of other mutants at the time. What wasn’t so lucky was that the majority of them were also going through that phase at the same time.

A shudder rolled through your spine at the memory. You’d give anything to see the rest of the kids again, they were your reason for being, but you thanked whatever god would listen that most of them were through puberty. Your mind wandered to your little sheep farm as you sat on a crate to pull on your boots.

Images of the flowing grasses swept through your mind. Light breezes sending waves through the fields, buzzing cicadas droning in the surrounding woods, the occasional bleat from a sheep, smells of whatever the kids were cooking wafting through the white-wood house.

Logan would’ve loved living there.

It was peaceful. Serene. Secret. Not once in the eight years you’d lived there had the humans discovered your school. It had helped that there wasn't an influx of new students everyday, drawing the public eye to your property. Most of the kids were the ones that had been created by Transigen. Others were some you’d picked up along the way to the farmhouse. A family made of broken pieces.

But there was always that one, Logan-shaped, missing piece. You would feel it when you’d wake up to the spot next to you cold and empty, or when you’d talk with a kid about your past and would instinctively look to Logan for his input. Only, he was never there.

His death had left a void in your heart. You’d tried your best to fill it by surrounding yourself with love and compassion. Listening to the laughter of your kids, smelling the flowers Bobby grew in the garden, eating the food Amanda and Leah would prepare with care. The love for your kids could only go so far.

Seeing Logan, or this variant of him, had hit you like a punch to the gut. He had his eyes, his hair, his smile lines. He even had his beard trimmed in the same way. But he was young. Remarkably younger than when your Logan had passed. Only a few grays dotted along the variant’s dark beard, fewer wrinkles cracked in the corners of his eyes, and he still had that undeniable energy about him that initially drove you wild. Like a predator trapped in a room full of prey.

“Lost in thought, cher?” Remy asked as he stepped up next to you, snapping you out of your swirling mind. You smiled up at him.

“Just a little, bon ami,” you replied. You’d made it a point to learn French when you’d been thrown into the Void. If only to be able to understand the Gambit better when he went on one of his rambles.

Remy pulled a crate up in front of you and sat on the top. A single card, the ace of diamonds, flipped in his left hand, “Whatchu thinkin’ about?”

“Laura’s convinced me to talk with the big, bad, Wolverine outside,” you joked in an attempt to mask your anxiety. You tugged on the laces of your boots.

“Ah, le couyon zouave. That man’s gonna drink me outta house an’ home,” Remy mused. You chuckled at him calling Logan “silly goose.” Remy adjusted in his seat, throwing the back of his coat over the crate, “You gonna talk to him? ‘Bout what?”

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders, “No fucking clue. Maybe to make sure I’m not a serial killer in his universe.”

“Ha! I’d like to see that, cher. You’d be a killer serial-killer,” he replied with a wide grin. It was hard not to smile back. Remy just had a way of lighting up a room. If not by his charm, then by his explosive cards.

“I wonder what my serial-killer name would be,” you joked as you finished tying your shoes. Remy chuckled in response.

“Hmm, if I gotta be Le Diable Blanc, maybe you could be La Démon Rouge,” he wondered aloud. You shook your head at the word choice.

“Matt already had the whole ‘red devil’ thing going on. Wouldn’t wanna step on any crime-fighting toes,” you responded, pushing yourself to your feet. Remy stood from his seat as well. His eyes passed between both of yours.

“It ain’t just wonderin’ ‘bout your other self, is it, cher?” he asked. This guy could read you like an open book. You ground your back teeth.

“No… I guess not,” you muttered as you folded your arms across your chest. What did you expect from the looming conversation? Comfort in your grief? A drinking buddy? Or would Logan completely blow you off?

“How ‘bout you take two bottles and loosen him up, yeah?” Remy offered with a grin. You eyed him suspiciously. Prying liquor from the Gambit was like pulling teeth from an angry leopard. He laughed at your incredulous expression, “To learn about your serial-killerness.”

You smiled at the man you considered to be a friend after half a year of knowing each other. Remy was the easiest to grow close with. Charm flowed from him like sunlight through an open window. Out of the people you’d chosen to ally yourself with, Remy was the one you could stomach spending time with.

“I appreciate it, bon ami. I really do,” you thanked with a wide smile. He clapped a hand on your upper back.

“Of course, you pauvre bȇte. Lord knows you ain’t had much action in a while, huh?” he quipped, making you cough as you choked on some spit. He patted your back as he said, “I swear, if that fils de putain don’t gobble you up, I may jus’ do it myself.”

“Thank you,” you wheezed between coughs. What else were you supposed to say to something like that? Remy’s lack of a filter always had you doubled over. Whether in shock or from laughing, it was a toss-up.

“Now, go talk up that rougarou, huh? Give yourself an unforgettable night before your untimely demise,” Remy said with finality, giving your shoulder a little push past him. You stumbled a bit before you managed to catch yourself.

Ignoring the growing heat across your face and neck, you thanked Remy again and grabbed two bottles of whiskey from the rack. The amber liquid sloshed inside the unopened bottles. You approached the stone doorway that opened into the great outdoors. Smoke particles drifted in on the gentle breeze. After another smell, you figured that there must be a campfire not far from the entrance.

Steeling your nerves, you stepped out of the cave. Grass and moss clung to the outside of the cave like tight clothing. Your boots squished in the rain-soaked mud. Deep footprints from Laura and Logan dug into the dirt. The trail led away from the cave, to the left, and to a crackling light about a quarter mile away.

You could just barely make out a figure sitting on a log by the campfire. Elbows leaning on his knees, yellow suit hugging his body, brown hair glowing like a sunset in the firelight. Logan.

The trilling of bugs filled your ears as you approached. Loud drones, often followed by quieter ones, echoed from the tree branches and around your anxiety-ridden form. You usually found solace in the sounds of nature. Enjoying the smells that followed rain, appreciating the sounds of different birds and bugs, gazing lovingly at flowers and different types of trees.

All the constant droning did was increase your cortisol levels.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you reached the log ring. Four large logs sat in a square around a burning campfire. Smoke curled from the fire and into the night air. Long shadows chased each other the further they danced away from the light.

“I said I ain’t lookin’ for company,” Logan growled under his breath. You froze in place. This is a mistake. This is a mistake. This is a mistake.

“Need a refill?” you squeaked despite the raging thoughts inside your head.

Logan spun on the log he was perched on. His hazel eyes, practically emerald in the firelight, were wide as they connected with yours. Confusion etched its way across his furrowed brow.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked. The empty bottle clutched in his hands reflected the light like fireflies trapped in the glass. You swallowed a knot the size of a baseball.

“Thought you could use a drinking buddy. Seeings as we’re gonna die tomorrow,” you explained, raising the bottles so he could see them better. He stared at you for a few moments. It was nearly impossible to read his expression. And, unfortunately, you were out of practice.

Logan huffed, a mask of indifference settling over his face once more, as he turned back to the fire, “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” you replied quickly. His eyes traced over your face warily. You squared your shoulders as you met his glare, “I could use a drink with someone my age.”

Logan laughed at that, the sound fast and harsh. His head hung low as he shook it back and forth. A hopeful grin pulled at the edges of your lips.

“Grab some log,” he sighed after a few moments. You did your best to hide the wave of enthusiasm that threatened to break your cool demeanor. The bark of the log dug into your palm, leaving indents in the flesh, as you sat to Logan’s left.

Warmth washed over your front from the crackling fire. Comforting, like a heated blanket during a blizzard. You held out a bottle to him, the liquid sending bent light across his scowling face.

Nothing happened for a few moments. Logan continued to glare at the offered bottle as it filled the space between the two of you. Apprehension started gnawing at your gut.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood. Logan smirked, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

His gloved hand wrapped around the base of the bottle, taking the whiskey from your outstretched hand. Thick fingers worked the lid open and chucked it into the crackling fire. A log split down near the embers.

“So, what’s your story?” Logan asked after a beat, raising the bottle to his lips. The question caught you by surprise. You worked on your response as you opened your bottle.

“Laura and I ended up here about a year ago. Or, you know, the equivalent,” you began. Bitter liquor filled your mouth as you took a sip. The whiskey flowed down your throat in a sharp-edged stream. You grimaced at the taste, “Jesus, that’s strong.”

“Not a fan of hard liquor?” Logan asked, almost teasingly. You cleared your throat to ease the sting.

“It’s not that. Just haven’t had a drink in… Shit, nine years?” you explained as the whiskey settled in your stomach. Logan hummed in response.

“How come?” he pressed. You cocked an eyebrow at him. He didn’t care to elaborate on why he was asking so many questions, opting to take another long swig instead. You blew a puff of air out through pursed lips.

“In my world, you… Uh, well, you died. Didn’t want to drink without you,” you said, your gaze fixed on the bottle’s opening, “We were on the run from this company called Transigen. They had samples of a shit ton of the X-Men’s DNA, and used the samples to make their own mutants. Grew the kids in a lab. Not even bothering to give them names,” you bit out gruffly. Recounting Laura’s past always left a bad taste in your mouth. You downed another swig, wincing slightly, then said, “A nurse got Laura out of there, along with a bunch of other kids. They all got separated, though. Laura and the nurse ended up contacting Logan for help. Logan, or uh, I guess you, was a limo-driver at the time. The nurse wanted us to take Laura to this location in North Dakota.”

“And I said yes?” Logan asked suspiciously, “Doesn’t sound like me.”

You laughed lightly, “I was the one to convince you. I mean, she was your daughter. Couldn’t just turn her down, right?”

“I dunno,” he muttered under his breath. You didn’t get a chance to press further before he was taking another sip. You chewed on your bottom lip.

“Charles was the main advocate for helping Laura. Him and I managed to wear Logan down enough for that grump to help. So, the four of us piled in the limo in El Paso and made for North Dakota. The trip was… It wasn’t smooth. We lost Charles along the way,” you said, grief beginning to bubble up your throat. You blinked away the tears pricking behind your eyelids, “Transigen had made an exact clone of Logan that they used to hunt us down. That clone killed Charles.”

The loss of your mentor, your longest friend, still washed over you like churning waves in a storm. Charles Xavier was the first person to show you an ounce of kindness. He was the one to house you, to help you figure out your mutation, to introduce you to the X-Men. To the Wolverine.

“I’m sorry,” Logan mumbled. His eyes were still fixed on his bottle, “Losing Chuck was hard. Real hard. I know how it feels.”

“Thanks,” you breathed in response.

Logan gave you a curt nod as he drank from his bottle. You spun the neck of your bottle between your fingers.

“After Logan’s clone attacked and Charles died, Logan was pretty messed up. See, his adamantium skeleton had been slowly poisoning his blood ever since it was put in him. Leeching metal into his veins and robbing him of his healing mutation. Even I couldn’t patch him up, and that’s my specialty,” you explained with a brief, humorless laugh, “We still managed to make it to North Dakota. Laura took over driving for a bit while I worked on stitching Logan up. Seeing her, only eleven, driving better than he did made me glad he was unconscious.”

That last remark made Logan throw you an irritated glare. You chuckled in response, his reaction so fucking similar to how your Logan would react. Eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched, scowl pulling on his lips.

“I’m kidding,” you said in an attempt to ease the annoyed Wolverine.

“Uh-huh,” he huffed. You could just barely see an upward tick on the edge of his scowl.

“God, where was I… We made it to North Dakota. Logan was on the mend after I’d managed to stitch up several stab wounds. Laura brought us to this ranger station looking out over the border between Canada and North Dakota. A shit ton of the kids from Transigen were there. Holed up, hiding from those assholes who wanted them back. The kids told us they were planning to cross the border to escape Transigen. I wanted to help them, to make sure the crossing went well, but Logan was still too injured.”

Bile started to burn at the back of your throat. Watching the color drain from his face, your partner for thirty years, was one of the worst experiences of your long life. Feeling utterly helpless as the energy faded from the once immortal Wolverine.

“The next morning, the kids tried to cross into Canada. But Transigen had found them. They were chasing those poor kids through the woods, hunting them down and either killing or restraining them. Logan and I just barely made it there to prevent any other kids from getting hurt. He would slice up the Transigen cronies while I’d escort the kids away. Quite the asshole-fighting team,” you recounted with a frown. Now comes the hard part, “The clone was released into the woods after us. It managed to grab a hold of Logan before I could do anything. It… It killed him. Stabbed a fucking tree through his chest. And I didn’t even get a chance to stop it.”

Hot trails of tears started leaking down your heated cheeks. Shaky breaths rattled inside your lungs. You wiped away the moisture gathering under your eyes. God, it was hard to talk about what’d happened.

A large hand rested on your shoulder. The palm warm, strong, gloved. You looked up through wet eyelashes.

Logan looked at you with an understanding you couldn’t quite place. Like the same kind of grief that had you in a chokehold had its claws in him, too. Like he knew exactly what you were going through. You sniffed back a sob.

“I can guess the rest, doll,” he said softly. His fingers squeezed gently at your shoulder. Your breath caught behind your lips.

Doll.

That’s what your Logan had called you.

“Did-Did I exist in your universe, Logan?” you asked, desperate to shift the conversation away from your grief. Logan inhaled sharply, eyes darting away from yours.

“Uh… Yeah. You did. You, uh, died too,” he responded quietly. The hand not on your shoulder, still gripping the whiskey, lifted the bottle to his lips, “I held you as you died.”

A heavy silence settled over the two of you. Lead-lined heartache tugged at your chest and made it hard to breathe. Logan downed another swig.

You lifted a slightly trembling hand up to the one on your shoulder. Your fingers traced gently over the blue material, the fabric rough under your calluses, then you laced your digits with his. Logan froze where he sat.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly, afraid to break the calm quiet around the two of you. A charged moment passed.

“Yeah,” Logan replied huskily. His fingers adjusted to hold your hand tighter against his palm. Your heart started to kick up behind your ribs.

The two of you sat like that for a few minutes. Quiet, the night air only disturbed by the droning bugs or the crackling fire, Logan’s fingers laced with yours. It felt… Good. Right. Like some of the weight that had piled on these past nine years was growing a little lighter.

“Laura was out here earlier,” Logan said, interrupting the silence. You looked at him from the corner of your eye. He sighed as he took another drink, “Tried to convince me to help out tomorrow. That I’m actually worth a damn.”

The harsh words caught you off guard. Where is this coming from?

“You are worth a damn, Logan. In every universe,” you replied. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He shook his head, frown deepening across his lips.

“No. No, you don’t understand. After you died, I…” he muttered then sighed, hanging his head low. You gave him a few quiet moments to collect his thoughts. It seemed the weight of the universe was piled on his broad shoulders, “After I lost you, I started drinking. Every second I was awake, I was drinking. I didn’t want to think, or remember, or feel. I just wanted to be numb.”

He exhaled a shaky breath. His hazel eyes screwed shut as memories seemed to flash in his mind. You rubbed soothing circles into the back of his gloved hand.

“Everyone in that fucking mansion died because of me. Because I was too fucking drunk to help when the humans came. I…” Logan trailed off. He avoided your gaze as he took another long gulp of liquor. He swallowed noisily, then said, “I ain’t worth shit, doll.”

You took a few moments to absorb his words. The self-pity, the agony, the remorse. You bit your lip as you tried to construct what you’d say. Talking with an upset Logan was difficult, to say the least. One word out of place and he’d shut down.

“Have you ever helped someone, Logan?” you asked, shifting your gaze from the dancing flames to his hunched form. He cocked an eyebrow at you. You bit your lip, then continued, “I mean, really helped someone. Like, you risked your own safety to help out someone you didn’t even know. Whether it be helping an old lady crossing the street, getting a little kid’s cat out of a tree, or even saving someone’s life. Have you helped anyone out like that?”

Logan was quiet for a few moments. He swirled the amber liquor, the bottle now half-full. He cleared his throat, “I have.”

“And how did you feel afterwards?” you pressed.

“I dunno. Good, I guess,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. You shifted on the log so you were facing him.

“Then you are worth something. Even if it was something as small as holding open the door for someone, you improved that person’s life. You made a positive impact. You could have shaped the course of that person’s whole existence with that one, simple action. And, if I know you like I think I do, you’ve done way more than just holding open the door for someone. You’re worth far more than you know, Lo.”

It seemed your spiel had left Logan speechless. He stared at you, wide-eyed, as your words settled into the night air around you. The silence between you stretched on for so long, you were beginning to think you might have said the wrong thing.

“What did you just call me?” he breathed. The hand holding yours tightened its grip. Anxiety started to leak into your mind.

“Uh… Lo?” you answered apprehensively. Did he not like the nickname?

Without warning, the hand holding yours shifted to cradling your jaw. He tugged you towards him, liquor bottle forgotten on the forest floor, as Logan crashed his lips into yours.

SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!! I REPEAT, SMUT NEXT CHAPTER!!!!

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#wolverine #hugh jackman #marvel #logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine fanfic #logan howlett fanfic #deadpool and wolverine fanfic #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #this is SO MUCH FUN to write #i love the back and forth between the reader and this logan #worst!wolverine #worst!wolverine fanfic #worst!wolverine x reader

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