#thank you for the idea shortkinglogan

[maybe-im-dark]

Broken pieces fit together

Based on this post:

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The apartment was dark when Logan stepped inside, the only light coming from the flickering TV casting eerie shadows across the room. He kicked off his boots, letting out a tired sigh as he made his way down the hallway, ready to collapse onto the couch and drown out the day’s events with a cold beer. But as he entered the living room, he stopped short, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him.

Wade was curled up on the couch, his body hunched over as if trying to make himself as small as possible. He was hugging himself tightly, his shoulders trembling, and Logan could hear the faint, pained whimpers slipping through his clenched teeth. It was a sound Logan had heard before, a sound that meant Wade was fighting a battle no one else could see.

“Wade?” Logan’s voice was low, careful, as he approached.

Wade didn’t answer, just squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his fingers digging into his own skin. Logan’s heart clenched at the sight. He knew the healing factor kept Wade alive, but it didn’t erase the pain. The tumors were still there, festering under the surface, twisting and burning and aching even as they were kept at bay.

Logan moved closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down beside Wade on the couch. “What’s goin’ on?”

For a moment, Wade didn’t respond, just stayed curled up, breathing through the pain. Logan could see the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles were taut, like he was trying to hold himself together through sheer willpower. And Logan understood that. God, did he understand that.

He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he gently placed it on Wade’s back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. Wade flinched at the touch, but he didn’t pull away.

Logan continued, his touch firm but gentle, grounding. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Wade let out a shuddering breath, his body slowly relaxing, just a bit, into Logan’s touch. He still didn’t speak, but that was okay. Logan wasn’t expecting him to. Sometimes, there weren’t any words for this kind of pain.

Logan didn’t say anything more. He just wrapped his arm around Wade, pulling him close, letting Wade’s head rest against his chest. Wade’s breaths were shaky, uneven, and Logan could feel the tremors running through his body, the way his fingers gripped at Logan’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

They sat there, in the darkened room, with the TV flickering quietly in the background. Logan held Wade, his hand moving slowly up and down his back, trying to ease the pain away. He knew it wouldn’t go away completely—he knew that Wade’s body was a battlefield, just like his own.

Because Logan understood. He knew what it was like to live with pain that never really went away, pain that gnawed at you from the inside, even when the outside looked fine. The adamantium in his bones was unbreakable, but it was also a poison, seeping into his blood, wearing him down day by day. Every breath was a fight against the metal in his veins, against the exhaustion that never fully disappeared.

Heavy metal poisoning, they called it. Like it was something that could be treated with a pill or a shot. But Logan knew better. He’d learned to live with the waves of nausea, the confusion that clouded his mind on a bad day, the way his hands would sometimes shake, his muscles cramping up when he pushed himself too hard. He remembered the days when he felt sick and couldn't keep anything down for more than a few minutes, before his body violently forced it out of him, and he found himself on the toilet bowl, clutching a bucket, vomiting and diarrheaing until he felt like passing out. He knew of the way his body was always hot, his metabolism kicked into overdrive, to compensate for the cold metal inside. Of the painful itch in his throat, that no amount of coughing could ease, before it was gone again. The times when he passed out after exhausting himself in a fight, only to wake up again afterwards, feeling the familiar tingling of his healing factor kicking in, mending his wounds, cursing him to live yet another day full of pain. Stryker might be long gone, but he had made sure he kept being tortured without the needs of needles or a water tank. He was used to it by now, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Wade’s pain was different, but it was the same. They were both fighting battles that no one else could see, and sometimes, just knowing that someone else understood was enough.

Wade’s breathing began to even out, the worst of the pain ebbing away, and Logan kept holding him, kept stroking his back, even when the tremors subsided.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice rough.

Wade let out a small, shaky laugh, the sound barely audible. “Yeah. Just… you know. The usual.”

Logan nodded, his chin resting on top of Wade’s head. “Yeah. I know.”

For a moment, they just sat there, holding onto each other, the silence stretching out between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… understanding.

Wade finally shifted, pulling back just enough to look up at Logan. His eyes were red-rimmed, but there was a glint of humor there, too, a spark of the Wade Logan knew.

“What about you, huh? You’re always playin’ the tough guy, but I know you feel like shit sometimes. More than sometimes.”

Logan huffed, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not fair. I’m the one with the cancer, you’re supposed to be the unbreakable one.” Wade’s voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something deeper.

Logan sighed, his fingers gently brushing over Wade's back. “Ain’t nobody unbreakable, Wade. Not really.”

Wade’s eyes softened, and he reached up, cupping Logan’s face in his hands. “Guess we’re both just a couple of broken pieces, huh?”

Logan nodded, his hand still resting on Wade’s back. “Yeah. But we fit together, don’t we?”

Wade grinned, a real, genuine smile this time, and Logan felt a warmth spread through his chest. “Yeah, we do.”

They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, finding comfort in the shared pain, in the quiet understanding that they didn’t have to explain.

Logan’s hand slid down to Wade’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said softly. “You need rest.”

“Only if you come with me,” Wade said, his voice playful but still tired.

Logan nodded, helping Wade to his feet. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

They made their way to the bedroom, and Logan climbed into bed beside Wade, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close. Wade snuggled against him, his head resting on Logan’s chest, and for the first time that night, Logan felt the tension in his own body start to fade.

They didn’t need words. They just needed each other.

And as they lay there, in the dark, Logan thought about how much strength it took just to keep going, to keep fighting, even when it felt like the world was trying to tear them apart from the inside. He thought about how much strength Wade had, to smile through the pain, to joke even when everything hurt.

And he thought about how much he loved him for it.

Wade’s breathing was slow, steady, the pain finally dulling to a low ache. Logan pressed a kiss to the top of his head, closing his eyes, letting himself drift off.

They’d both wake up tomorrow, and the pain would still be there, but so would they. Together.

And that was enough.