Work Text:
Wade hadn’t been in bed yet. Logan had gone to sleep hours ago, but Wade was still up, lounging on the couch and half-watching Daredevil while the voices in his head debated over the show.
‘I bet Matt Murdock’s suit is way more comfortable than ours.’
‘Bet it’s a bitch to get stains out of—has he ever tried getting fucked in that thing?’
‘Who cares about the suit? Focus. Wolvie’s tossing again. Listen.’
Wade lowered the volume on the TV, tuning into the sounds coming from the bedroom. There it was: that low, guttural groan Logan made sometimes when he was deep in sleep but clearly not peaceful. Another grunt followed, and Wade leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the half-open door to their room.
‘Told you. Go check on him.’
‘Nah, he’ll tell us to fuck off. Besides, we’ve seen him like this before. He’ll probably stop in a minute.’
But Logan didn’t stop, clearly disturbed by something Wade couldn’t quite figure out. Wade could hear him shifting, turning in bed, the creak of the mattress audible even over the faint sounds from the TV. Logan had been doing this for nearly a week now—groaning, flipping around, grunting in his sleep. Wade was used to Logan’s restlessness on occasion, but this was new, and Wade couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Still, Wade hesitated. "He’s gonna be pissed if I wake him up for nothing," Wade thought out loud. "But what if it’s a big deal? I could sneak in, peek a little…"
‘Or we could just keep watching Daredevil,’ one voice suggested lazily.
‘No, dumbass. We need to check on him. Make sure he’s not, you know, dying or something…’
Wade rolled his eyes at the thought, trying to dismiss it. “Dying? It’s Logan we’re talking about. Guy’s got an adamantium skeleton, healing factor, the whole package. He’s practically immortal.”
But the reassurance felt hollow, and Wade knew it. He didn’t know the Logan from his universe, the one who had died, but he’d heard the stories. That Logan had been too—strong, unbreakable—until he wasn’t. The idea that this Logan, his Logan, the one lying restless in bed just a few feet away, could meet a similar fate gnawed at Wade in a way he couldn’t fully explain. It was like a cold, creeping fear that he couldn’t shake, a fear that made his chest tighten and his mind race.
“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, his voice harsher now, almost desperate. “This isn’t the same. Different Logan, different rules.” But no matter how many times he repeated it, the worry still clung to him, refusing to let go.
Wade sighed and got up from the couch, stretching as he made his way to the bedroom. “He’s not going anywhere. Fucker would probably outlive us all and then spend eternity complaining about the quality of the beer.”
As he stood in the doorway, he cursed watching Logan’s sleeping form. Logan looked hella fine, even with his brow furrowed in discomfort. His hair, wild and tousled, was sticking up in a way that made Wade snicker. “Was it always like this when he slept?”—partially controlled chaos, yet the cowlicks, those stubborn little bastards, were sticking up like cat ears despite all the tossing and turning. They refused to be tamed, making Logan look like a grumpy, sleep-deprived kitten who just can’t catch a break.
"Goddamn, he even looks fine when he’s asleep." Wade smirked but quickly grew serious as his eyes scanned Logan’s restless form. Logan’s brow was furrowed, his face tensing, then relaxing, then tensing again. It looked like he was in pain, and Wade hated it. He waited for more grunts, but something different caught his eye.
Logan’s hand, resting beside his head, twitched slightly, and Wade’s eyes narrowed as he saw his fingers curling inward, starting to scratch at his own cheek, creating multiple red lines where the nails dragged across his skin.
Before Wade could even react, Logan’s claws slid out just enough to hurt him further , his healing factor kicking in before the blood had a chance to ooze. Logan woke briefly, grumbling under his breath, before he passed out again.
The cycle would start again later as Logan, still oblivious, would scratch at his face, re-opening the same area or creating new ones. Wade blinked, watching the whole thing unfold like some slow-motion disaster. "You stupid, sexy idiot," Wade muttered, his frustration mixing with concern. "You haven’t clipped your damn nails in weeks. No wonder you’re stirring like a hot mess at night."
Wade rubbed a hand over his face and turned to head back to the bathroom, muttering to himself. "And he has the audacity to call me a dumbfuck.” He rummaged through the bathroom cabinet, finding a nail clipper. Wade walked back to the bedroom, still muttering to himself, “If he wakes up and yells at me, I swear I’ll make him wear baby mittens to bed. Baby mittens, Wolvie, and I’ll call ‘em your little paw protectors.” He snickered at his own joke but quickly sobered as he sat carefully on the edge of the bed beside Logan.
Wade reached out to Logan’s left hand, which was on the pillow beside his head. His other hand was under his cheek, tucked beneath his face. He gently pulled Logan’s left hand onto his own thigh. Wade knew how sensitive those hands could be—one wrong move, and Logan’s claws might pop out. "They’re basically paws at this point. You’re a walking murder machine, but you have snuggly cute death paws." He snorted, starting to clip Logan’s nails carefully. Logan’s hand twitched, but he didn’t wake. Wade smiled, taking that as a sign to keep going. "Yeah, keep sleeping, peanut. I’m saving you from yourself here."
As Wade clipped the last nail on Logan’s left hand, he briefly thought about how funny it would be to paint Logan’s nails bright yellow and blue—Wolverine colors. He held back a laugh as he moved on to Logan’s right hand, gently lifting it from under his cheek. That’s when Logan’s eyes flickered open. “What… what’re you doin’, bub?” Logan mumbled, his voice gravelly and thick with sleep.
Wade looked up from his task, his tone light. "Go back to sleep, honey badger. I’m almost done here." Logan groaned, closing his eyes again but not pulling his hand back. "Why… cut my nails in the middle of the night?" Logan wondered, his hand still resting comfortably in Wade’s grasp. Despite the weirdness of the situation, there was something oddly soothing about Wade’s gentle touch and the careful way he was trimming his nails. The calm and attentiveness in Wade’s actions felt almost like a rare, comforting warmth that Logan wasn’t used to. He’d never admit it, but it was strangely nice.
Wade smirked, finishing the last nail. "Because I’d prefer not to wake up to the sight of you clawing at your pretty face in the middle of the night."
‘Did this idiot just call me pretty?’ Logan let out a sigh, his eyes still closed.
Wade’s words made sense for once; his own restless movements were making Wade’s sleep just as fragmented as his own. "If you wanted a scratching post, kitty," Wade continued, his tone light and teasing, "I’d be thrilled to let you use me. I might even get excited about it~ Just a little." Logan muttered a curse under his breath. "Don’t call me that!" Wade chuckled, rolling his eyes as he put the clippers away. "Well, if you weren’t so stubborn, you wouldn’t have to deal with a midnight manicure, now would you? Consider this a service to both our sanity."
Logan didn’t respond, but a flicker of guilt crossed his face, a look Wade knew all too well. He wasn’t stupid; Logan hated being a burden, even when he wasn’t awake enough to realize it. But Wade caught the look before Logan could hide it. "Whatever tragic, self-pitying script you’re working on in that head of yours," Wade said softly, "and I bet it’s some tear-jerking, angsty and depressing bullshit—you’re wrong. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it." He leaned closer and ruffled Logan’s hair, a little too hard just to mess with him, maybe even distract him from his unwanted thoughts.
"Fuck off, Wade," Logan grumbled, his face now a faint shade of red—embarrassment? Anger? Probably both. Wade stood up. "Hey, give your nails a test run on your cheek!!" Logan hesitated for a moment, then ran his hand gently across his face, feeling the smoothness. "Not sharp anymore," he mumbled, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Thanks." Wade’s smile widened, pleased by the soft appreciation in Logan’s tone. "No more razor-sharp death claws! Aren’t I just the best? Now, get some rest."
Logan shot him a tired but pointed look. "You coming to bed or not?" Wade exaggeratedly clutched his chest, pretending to be in shock. "Whoa, Wolvieee~ Didn’t expect you to be this forward. What’s got you all hot and bothered?” Logan rolled his eyes but reached out, pulling Wade down onto their bed. "Just… get in bed, Wade.” Before Wade could say anything, Logan had already draped half of his weight over him, his head resting on Wade’s chest.
Wade’s mouth opened in surprise, but Logan cut him off. "Shut up. No askin’ any questions. Just… don’t disappear, alright?” Wade’s grin softened into something more sincere as he held Logan close. “I’m right here, furball. Not going anywhere unless you throw me out. And even then, I’ll probably just come crawling back.” Logan sighed deeply, a low, contented sound escaping his lips as he pressed closer to Wade, his body relaxing and melting into the touch.
Logan nuzzled and sniffed at Wade’s neck, the warm breath against his skin sent a shiver through Wade. Logan’s movements were gentle yet insistent, like a cat claiming its territory. Wade could feel the rough texture of Logan’s stubble brushing against his neck, a stark contrast to the soft, tousled hair that Wade ran his fingers through.
“Listen here, bub,” Logan’s voice was a gravelly whisper, laced with a dangerous edge. “If you ever think about mentioning this little moment to anyone, I’ll make sure you regret the day you were born. Got it?” Wade chuckled softly, his fingers tangling deeper in Logan’s hair as he savored the intimacy of the moment, even with the underlying threat hanging in the air. “Oh relaaax, peanut~ I wouldn’t dare let anyone in on my favorite growling teddy bear now, would I?”
Logan considered Wade’s promise, but his mind was foggy, and his body felt too heavy to muster a response. He let out a soft, tired sigh, his grip on Wade loosening as his eyelids grew heavier. The gentle rhythm of Wade’s fingers stroking his hair was soothing, a quiet comfort that pushed him closer to sleep. After a few minutes of silence, Wade piped up, "By the way, the nail clipper I used? It belongs to Dogpool." Logan tensed for a moment, then tightened his jaw. "Fuck you, Wade." Wade grinned, shaking with laughter under Logan’s weight as the night slowly returned to peaceful silence.