Work Text:
December, 2003:
It snowed all day yesterday, full, fat flakes that made Logan giggle delightedly every time he peeked out a window, and it's still bright and white past the curtains when Logan wakes and sits up where he's sandwiched between Jean and Scott. They're still fast asleep. Logan has his own room, his nursery, but he hardly ever uses it, almost always prefers to sleep with them, swaddled in their warmth — especially on Christmas!
"Mama!" he squeals, tugging excitedly at Jean's arm. She groans and starts to wake up, so he turns to tug on Scott's arm next. "Dada!"
"Lo," Scott mumbles without opening his eyes, and wraps his arm around Logan, uses it to lay Logan back down. Logan whimpers in protest as Scott kisses sleepily at his face. "Shh, shh, shh... Sleepy time, baby boy, we gotta..." Scott trails off with a low snore. On Logan's other side, Jean has fallen quiet and settled back down into sleep.
Frustrated — it's Christmas! Santa Claus came last night! — Logan starts to cry, sniffling and kicking his legs under the blankets. But only for a moment. Then he remembers that there's no reason to cry on Christmas and that he has a much more fun way of waking up Jean and Scott. He wriggles out from under Scott's arm, giggles as he slowly stands on wobbly legs, and starts to jump up and down on the mattress. He laughs so hard he can hardly breathe, especially at Scott's confused groan, Logan's jumps bouncing him and Jean up and down like when they all play Crack the Egg on the trampoline in the backyard. Logan loves jumping on the bed, maybe even more than the trampoline!
"Mama, up!" he calls through his laughter. "Dada —!"
And then Scott's shooting up onto his knees and grabbing Logan, pinning Logan back down on the bed and blowing a raspberry on Logan's cheek so he laughs even louder. "Okay, okay, I'm up!" Scott gives Logan another raspberry, this time on his neck. Logan squeals happily. "What're you doing, baby boy? Do you have the sillies?" Scott croons, pressing his lips under Logan's jaw where he's ticklish. Logan's shouting with laughter. "The Christmas sillies?"
"No!" Logan screams, beaming, because No is his third favorite word after Mama and Dada.
"No?" Then Jean is awake and sitting over Logan, too, smiling dreamily down at him. She shoos Scott out of the way and bends to kiss Logan's cheek, soft and gentle and without tickling. Logan melts. "I think you do," she coos. "I think you're a very, very silly little boy this morning."
"Mama." Logan grins widely up at her, her bright eyes and bright hair and bright heart. He has the most beautiful mommy in the whole world. "Santa Claus came?"
"Of course he did!" Jean says. Scott nods in agreement as he scoots over to the edge of the mattress and grabs Logan's changing supplies from under the bed. Meanwhile, Jean strokes Logan's hair, petting and tidying it with her perfect fingers. "You've been such a good boy this year, Logan, just like always. Santa Claus could never forget about you."
Logan giggles, so happy it's overflowing. Jean's right; Logan's a good boy every year, and every year Santa Claus comes with everything Logan wanted. This morning marks Logan's seventeenth Christmas with Jean and Scott, since they adopted him when he was eighteen and ready to leave his mother and go home with his forever caregivers. His mother wasn't very nice, and neither were his Christmases with her, but he never thinks about her anymore. He doesn't have to. He's been home and safe and happy with Jean and Scott almost long enough to forget all about her.
"That's right! In fact, Santa Claus told me you were the best boy in the whole world this year." With practiced ease Scott peels down the blankets and unzips Logan's soft footie pajamas. There are teddy bears and candy canes on them. Jean and Scott are wearing sleep shirts and pants with a matching pattern.
"Yay!" Logan cheers, and opens wide when Jean fishes his binky out from under the blankets and presses it into his mouth. He suckles contentedly. It's his special Christmas binky, with a decorated tree on the back.
"Oh, Santa told me that, too!" Jean grins. "I'm sure he brought lots and lots of presents for our good boy. We'll have a look at them after breakfast, right, Logan?"
Logan hums in eager agreement. The three of them have a special Christmas routine that can't ever change, and it puts breakfast before presents. First they'll have pancakes; Scott will try to pour the batter in a way that makes them look like Christmas trees and stars and Santa Claus faces, and Logan and Jean will laugh when they end up just looking like regular delicious pancake blobs. "Dada makes pancakes," Logan says behind his binky.
"Mhmm, Dada's gonna make his special Christmas pancakes." Scott's smiling as he cleans between Logan's legs, quick and gentle and thorough as always. Dada is the best at giving Logan changes, just like how Mama is the best at giving Logan baths.
Put together, Logan has the best caregivers in the whole world; they always make time for him despite both being important professors, always make sure one of them stays home to take care of him — or else he gets to go to work with them, and be fawned over and doted on and spoiled by their students and the other professors all day — and love him so much that he never doubts his place as the most important part of their lives. Logan loves them, too, with his whole heart.
"What do you think, darlings,” Scott asks as he deftly straps Logan into a new diaper, “do we want chocolate chip pancakes this morning? Or blueberry?"
"Choc' chip," Logan decides easily. They just had normal non-Christmas blueberry pancakes last week, but Logan was big that day. He always picks chocolate chips when he's regressed.
He used that day to buy and wrap Jean and Scott's big-Logan gifts. Their little-Logan gifts are a collection of Christmas crayon drawings that Logan is especially proud of.
"What the baby said." Jean draws Logan into her lap once Scott has finished zipping Logan's pajamas back up. She kisses Logan's cheek and whispers in his ear like a secret, "I'll put a little cinnamon in your bottle, too, okay, dearest?"
"'Kay!" Logan claps happily, then reaches over Jean's shoulder to point at the bright white window. "Snow!"
"What? And you want snow in your bottle?" Scott asks, with a kind of exaggerated silliness that makes Logan shriek with laughter. That's not what he meant at all!
"No, Dada," Jean says pointedly, making Logan laugh even harder. "Lo wants to go out and play in the snow after we open our presents." That's exactly what Logan meant. Mama is the best at reading his mind, even when he's miserable and fussy and can only communicate in whimpers. But he could never be miserable on Christmas. "Which I for one think is a wonderful idea," Jean praises, with her lips at Logan's cheek. Logan giggles and hugs her tight.
"Me, too!" Scott quickly joins the hug, wrapping his strong arms around Logan and Jean, bundling them up against his chest. "This is our first white Christmas in forever, we should make the most of it," Scott says, and kisses the top of Logan's head. "We can all build a snowman, and then, Lo, you can watch me kick Mama's butt in a snowball fight!"
"Nuh-uh!" Logan shakes his head, laughing so hard he almost loses his binky. "Mama kicks you!" It snowed last month on Logan's thirty-fifth birthday, and Jean destroyed Scott when they incorporated a snowball fight into Logan's party.
Jean and Scott laugh with him, their joy huge and contagious and just as beautiful as Logan's favorite Christmas songs.
"Only eighteen months old in his headspace and our baby is wiser than you," Jean tells Scott, her eyes soft and kind, her arms wrapped tightly around Logan.
"You're probably right," Scott concedes. He kisses Jean's cheek, grinning. "Okay, so, we're gonna have pancakes, then presents, then Mama's gonna annihilate me with snowballs, then..."
"Lunch!" Logan cheers. He likes going over routines and always knowing what's going to happen next, and he likes that they know that.
"Mhmm, I'll make lunch. Maybe mac and cheese," Jean says lightly. "Then we have our dinner reservation at Auberge du Pommier."
"Aub," Logan manages, giggling. They go there for Christmas dinner every year, and Logan can never pronounce the name, but it makes up for having a difficult name by also having fun fancy foods and friendly waiters who remember Logan's name and give him free treats just for being cute. He can't wait!
"Aub-er doo pom-er," Scott tries, then shrugs. "Oh, well. It's a mouthful, but it is a restaurant, so..."
Jean frowns at him, cradles Logan protectively to her chest. "Was that your attempt at a joke?"
"Yeah." Scott grins. "As a matter of fact, it was."
"It was terrible," Jean says sternly.
"Bad Dada!" Logan agrees, and squeals when Scott swoops in to kiss all over his face.
"Sorry, I'm sorry!" Scott kisses Jean's face next, laughing as her frown immediately disappears. "That was my bad joke of the hour, you don't have to worry about the next one for, like, fifty-nine minutes."
Jean rolls her eyes. "Anyway." She nuzzles Logan's hair. "Then, precious, we'll come home, drink Mama's world-famous spiced hot chocolate, play with your new toys, and you can pick three movies to watch before bedtime."
Logan beams. He's usually only allowed to pick two movies on Christmas, and one movie on regular days.
"Ooh!" Scott kisses Logan's shoulder, flashes pleading eyes up at Logan. "You should pick Frosty the Snowman, darling, that's my favorite."
"No!" Logan squeals, though he probably will. He just has fun saying No sometimes.
They laugh together as Scott scoops Logan up and carries him out of the bedroom, Jean holding Logan's hand as she follows close behind. Logan just knows that Santa got him everything he told Jean and Scott he wanted, and they're all going to have the best Christmas ever. The seventeenth best Christmas ever.
December, 2025:
Logan doesn't sleep very well and wakes early, then spends a miserable while just slowly suckling his binky and blankly staring at the ceiling. He casts a quick, reluctant glance over at the window. It didn't even snow.
This is his twenty-second Christmas without them, and his first Christmas here with Wade. He wishes he could go back to sleep. He wishes he could be big for this, what's sure to be a terrible, rotten day, but nothing's fair and he doesn't get to choose. He likes Wade's apartment better than the little shelter, but he still hates it, because it's not home. Nowhere will ever be home again, without them. Logan was quiet and stormy for his fifty-seventh birthday party last month, which he didn't want but Wade insisted on throwing him anyway, and he'll be quiet and stormy for this Christmas. He's been quiet and stormy for twenty-two Christmases. Wade can do and say and try whatever he wants; Logan doesn't care.
Wade is always trying things, from the beginning, when he showed up at the little shelter in the summer and decided he wanted Logan, the old little with the gray hair and dark past who fought tooth and nail against his regression, who screamed and cursed and threw things during adoption interviews, who for weeks wouldn't even look at Wade. But Wade came to the shelter every single day from then on, for four months, sitting with Logan and talking to Logan and smiling at Logan even when Logan scowled at him. He told Logan all about himself, how he was a veteran who spent his whole life serving the military and not himself, ignoring his caregiver classification, and how much he always wished he could have a little of his own someday. Until there was an explosion. That was how Wade got his scars, and how he decided that it was time he retired from fighting and settled down, finally time for him to adopt a little. And he wanted that little to be Logan. It was ridiculous, the way he begged as if it were some important job interview: I work from home, so I'll always be with you, you'll never have to worry about babysitters or daycare or anything. I wanna spend my whole life taking care of you, Logan — and I'll take the best care of you, I promise, I swear on everything I have.
Wade said he felt like they were the same, like they belonged together. Logan disagreed.
But one day Logan started smiling at Wade, helpless to the soft, careful way Wade looked at and spoke to him. It had been so long since someone had done that for Logan, treated him like he was still cute, like he was precious. One day Logan accidentally slipped and regressed during Wade's daily visit, and Wade took care of him, and it was decided that he should go home with Wade, that Wade should be Logan's new caregiver. Logan didn't have much say in the matter, but he didn't fight it half as hard as he should have. Wade was desperate to have him, for some unknowable reason. The shelter workers were desperate to be rid of him, for obvious reasons. So Logan went.
That was three months ago. Logan hasn't been very good at all since coming here, and though Wade has never hit or shouted or even glared at him, he thinks Wade will probably send him back to the shelter soon.
Logan won't hit or shout or glare when the time comes. He'll understand.
He gets bored of the ceiling and looks idly around his nursery. It's small, but overcrowded with toys Logan never plays with, toys Wade keeps buying him no matter how many times he pushes and throws them away. But he likes his baby green walls and his crib, begrudgingly, with its extra large mattress and soft pillows and green bars with hearts carved into the wood. His crib at the shelter always reminded him of a giant cage, with its tall metal bars looming over him all night. This crib has a mobile hanging over it, with moons and stars that glow in the dark and spin around and play lullabies when Logan smacks them. This is the only toy Logan ever lets himself play with, but only when he's overtired and forgets that he's not allowed to be happy.
It feels like he's not allowed to be happy without them, like maybe he'd be betraying them if he laughed or played or called Wade anything more than Wade.
Because Wade is not them, will never be them, can't ever replace them.
"Oh, Logan..." Wade's eager footsteps and excited voice move quickly down the hallway. Logan sighs deeply as Wade pushes open the nursery door. "You awake, peanut?" When Logan's quiet, Wade tiptoes over to the crib and peers down at Logan, grinning widely even as Logan frowns up at him. "Hey, sweetheart, good morning! Merry Christmas!"
Wade's wearing a Santa hat. Logan just looks away and sucks on his binky while Wade lowers the bars of the crib. This is going to be torture.
"Did my little angel have nice dreams, hmm? I hope so. You wanna hear something kinda silly?" Wade asks, as he climbs onto the mattress with Logan and bends down to kiss Logan's cheek. Logan doesn't whine and squirm away from Wade's kisses anymore, like he did in the beginning; nowadays he mostly just ignores them. "I missed you last night." Wade whispers this like a secret close to Logan's ear. "I always miss you when we sleep. That's silly, right? 'Cause I know you're right across the hall in your crib, safe and sound, and I've got the baby monitor right by my bed in case you need me, but... I dunno. I guess it's just 'cause I can't see that cute little face when we're in different rooms." Wade leans back, smiles down at Logan with bright eyes. Logan tilts his head, wary.
Wade's always saying things like this. Logan never quite knows what to make of them.
"Anyhow!" Wade giggles. "Let's get you taken care of so we can kick this Christmas off right!"
Logan squirms as Wade feels his diaper through the dumb snowflake-patterned footie pajamas Wade dressed him in last night. Logan didn't fight it only because he was too droopy after the nighttime bottle and massage Wade gave him before bed.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, honey pie," Wade soothes, fumbling a little as he unzips Logan's pajamas. He's still not very good at diaper changes, and sometimes Logan gets frustrated over it. Logan sucks harder on his binky, takes a slow breath; at least Wade's changing him, not leaving him to sit in it like some of the shelter workers used to when he gave them a hard time. "I'm gonna get you all clean and cozy in no time, don't you worry." Wade reaches for the changing supplies on the nightstand, rubbing Logan's stomach soothingly. "Sorry I'm still kinda bad at this, sweetheart. I'll get the hang of it soon, you'll see. Then I'll be the fastest, most rootinest, tootinest diaper changer in the West."
Logan smiles, a little, but stares at the far wall while Wade slowly, clumsily changes him.
"There'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting and caroling out in the snow," Wade sings under his breath while he works. It takes him two tries to properly fasten Logan's new diaper around his waist, an improvement from last night's three tries. "Hmm, now there's an idea. Do you wanna try toasting marshmallows today, peanut?" Wade asks, zipping Logan's pajamas back up. "Remember we got those marshmallows at the store last week? I bet we could do it on the stove. Heck, we could make 'em into s'mores while we're at it, we have graham crackers and chocolate, too! I think that could be pretty yummy."
But Logan isn't hungry; there's a tight knot in his stomach. He just huffs and thrusts out his hands for Wade, wanting his compression gloves off now. He has to wear them all night every night for his arthritis. They help with the pain, and they're green with an interesting paw-print pattern, but they also leave his hands feeling overheated and a little numb in the morning. He hates having to wear them.
He hates how much has changed.
"Oop! Sorry, pumpkin, what was I thinking? Talking about marshmallows when my little boy's still wearing his special sleep gloves." Wade quickly — only a little awkwardly — unstraps the gloves and slides them off, places them on the nightstand and takes Logan's hands in his. Logan could pull away now, but he just lies still, lets Wade rub the numbness from his palms. "How're your little hands feeling this morning?" Wade asks, and kisses Logan's knuckles. "They look okay, soft and pink and perfect — but do they hurt at all? Are they stiff, do they feel swollen?” Wade frets. “Do you want your heat therapy mittens or your cold therapy mittens?"
Logan shakes his head and finally pulls his hands away. He doesn't understand why Wade fusses over him so much, when Wade's only been his caregiver for a few months and probably won't even keep him.
"Good. If they start hurting, you just tell me — or cry, that works, too! — and I'll do everything I can to make it better," Wade says, low and solemn like a promise. Then he grins again and claps his hands excitedly. "Okay! Are you ready to get up now, sweetheart? I've gotta get you your bottle, and breakfast, and we've gotta say Merry Christmas to Al and... Ooh! How could I forget the most important part? We have to —"
Mary Puppins comes sprinting into the room and hops up onto the mattress, yipping and climbing on Logan's chest. Logan can't stop himself from smiling, or his hands from coming up to hold her. He's never had a dog before, and he likes her a lot, how small and warm and funny looking she is. Sometimes he thinks she might be more alien than dog.
"There's your puppy, there she is!" Wade giggles when Mary Puppins starts licking Logan's face. Logan squeaks. "Aww, she's giving you kisses to say Merry Christmas! Can you say Merry Christmas, honey?” Wade coos. “Can you say Merry Christmas to little Mary Puppins?"
Logan's frustrated suddenly, because she's in his face and she's going to knock his binky out and she's making him smile when he doesn't want to smile. And he doesn't want to say Merry Christmas. "No!" he shouts, and turns over onto his side so Mary Puppins can't lick him anymore, covers his face with his hands and tries not to flinch when she yelps unhappily.
"Shi — uh, shoot. I'm sorry, sweetheart, maybe it's too early for puppy kisses." Wade rubs Logan's back consolingly. "Mary, go find Al, she'll give you your kibble. Go, go on, I'm so sorry, go," Wade shoos her. Logan doesn't uncover his face until he hears her little feet jump off the mattress and scurry out of the room. "Logan, baby, are you okay? She didn't hurt you, did she?" Wade sounds slightly terrified, leaning over Logan, peering worriedly down at Logan's face. "Maybe you couldn't breathe when she was on your chest, is that it?" Wade's expression crumples with guilt. "I'm so sorry, honey, I shouldn't have let her climb on you like that, I just — you were smiling, so — so I thought..."
Wade looks like he might burst into tears, so Logan sits up and reaches for him, lets him pull Logan into his lap. Logan doesn't want to be held, really he doesn't, but holding him seems to make Wade feel better. He doesn't want Wade to cry.
Despite Logan's protests and tantrums, Logan's kicking, screaming attempts to resist, Wade spends every single day that Logan's little stubbornly taking care of him. Wade’s grown-up job involves selling cars over the phone, but he seems to treat tending to Logan like his real full-time job. It's confusing, and infuriating, and a little frightening.
"I've got you, peanut, I'm here." Wade folds Logan in his arms, kissing the top of Logan's head. Logan melts without meaning to, presses against Wade's chest, drops his head onto Wade's shoulder. Wade is all softness and warmth — neither of which Logan should be allowing himself. "Shh, shh, shh, you're okay. I'm right here, sweetheart..."
From his years at the shelter Logan learned to mostly just take comfort from binkies and blankets, to go without soft voices in his ear and warm arms around him. He doesn't want to unlearn that, to be crushed when Wade finally gets rid of him, but he can't bring himself to push Wade away now. He used to be able to, his first few weeks here, when he wouldn't even let Wade brush his hair. But now he just sucks on his binky and closes his eyes and rests in Wade's lap while Wade holds him so gently, rocks him so slowly back and forth, presses kisses so sweetly all over his head.
Wade is not Scott, doesn't sound or move or smell anything like Scott, and maybe that's what makes this okay.
"This is so nice," Wade whispers into Logan's hair. "Thank you, angel. I know hugs are hard for you, 'cause..." Wade sighs and kisses Logan's temple. "I love you so much, Logan," Wade says, soft but firm; this startles Logan a little, though Wade tells him this lie — because it must be a lie — every day. "You're my little, and I'm your caregiver, and you mean the whole world to me. You are my whole world. Please don't ever forget that."
Logan curls his hands into the front of Wade's shirt, clinging loosely. He doesn't believe Wade, but... "'Kay," he mumbles.
"Good." Wade nuzzles his face into Logan's hair, taking a deep breath like he likes the way Logan smells. Like Mary Puppins. Logan smiles, a little. Wade's silly sometimes. "Now!" Wade says as he exhales, leaning back to grin down at Logan. "Is my little boy excited to see what Santa Claus brought him?"
All at once, this stops being okay. Logan does the same thing he did all the countless times this month that Wade tried to ask what toys he wanted Santa to bring him: he starts crying, huge, hiccuping sobs that plow their way up from his constricting chest.
"Oh no, baby!" Right away Wade's standing with Logan in his arms, bouncing and rocking and shushing and trying frantically to soothe Logan, but Logan can't stop wailing. He doesn't want toys, or any other kind of present except them, but they're never coming back and it's not fair. "Everything's gonna be alright, honey, I've got you, I'm sorry you feel like this, I didn't mean to — I'm so sorry." Wade's voice trembles again, as he rubs almost desperately at Logan's back. "I'm gonna take care of you, sweetheart, I'm gonna make it better. Here, um — maybe you need your bottle, is that it? You're hungry? Yeah? Okay, let's go get your bottle, baby, c'mon..."
Wade carries Logan into the living room, Logan screaming and sobbing the whole way, his chest and stomach aching from the force of his cries. He hates this. Hates, hates, hates —
"Oh, not again. Poor little boy," Al tuts when they pass her armchair, frowning up at them. "What happened, another nightmare?"
"I — I don't think so. I don't know," Wade whimpers. Logan keeps screaming, seeing the bright blinking lights of the Christmas tree through a thick veil of tears. He doesn't want Christmas. "I don't know what to do, Al, I — I think maybe he wants his bottle, but — but I don't..."
"Okay, shh, here. Give him here." Al reaches for Logan, and Wade lays him carefully in her lap. Logan wails and squirms and sobs, though he likes Al, despite her being a neutral. "I'll hold him while you make his bottle," she tells Wade gently, when he stays hovering nervously over Logan.
"Okay. Um. I — I'm sorry, Logan," Wade whines out, before turning and all but sprinting into the kitchen.
"No!" Logan screams, sobbing harder. He doesn't want a bottle, and he wants Wade to know what he wants, to read his mind like Jean could, and he wants Wade to come back —
"Shh, shh, shh, enough of that. Let's breathe, sweetheart, breathe with me," Al coaxes in her soft, rasping voice. She rocks her chair slowly back and forth, cradling Logan's head to her shoulder in one frail but steady hand. "You can do it, it's just in then out. In then out. In...then out."
In then out, Logan breathes, and he doesn't feel better, not really, but the spasming in his chest stops. He suckles his binky at a less panicked pace, starts to relax in Al's arms. She doesn't seem to mind when he wipes the tears from his face on her sweater.
"There you go, that's it." She strokes his cheek, smiles down at him with her kind, foggy eyes. She's blind, and this used to unsettle Logan, but he's used to it by now, knows it doesn't make her any more or less scary than anyone else. Al's not scary at all, really. "That's very good, honey," she croons. "I'm so proud of you."
Logan just keeps breathing, tries not to look over at the Christmas tree and whatever's underneath it. He focuses instead on Al's shiny gold heart necklace, closing it in his hand and tugging gently.
"Now, can you try to tell me what's wrong? It's okay if you can't," she says, still rocking her chair back and forth, back and forth. In then out, back and forth, in then out... Logan's eyelids begin to droop with the soothing rhythm, though he only just woke up. "This is your first Christmas here with us. It's overwhelming for you, isn't it?" Al sighs. "I know, baby, I'm sorry. I don't know what Christmas was like at that shelter, but something tells me it wasn't great. You're not used to all this, and that's okay, there are bound to be growing pains."
"Al," Logan mumbles behind his binky, pressing a little closer to her chest. Al doesn't look anything like Wade, but Logan's learned that she's more like Wade's mother than his roommate. And she's supposed to be Logan's grandmother; sometimes she coos things like I'm Granny, can you say Granny, little boy? and Granny loves you very much over him.
But he won't call her Granny, just like he won't call Wade anything more than Wade. Because Logan already had his family. They're gone now, and he can never have another one.
Al's expression softens. She bends down to kiss his forehead, whispering, "It's okay that you're not happy here yet. It takes a lot longer than a few months to get used to a new home and a new family." She sounds so sure of this, Logan wants to believe her. "But," she adds firmly, rubbing her thumb over his tear-damp cheek, "this is your home, and we are your family. We're permanent. We're not going anywhere and neither are you. So you can take as long as you need to get used to us, because we have all the time in the world. Okay, honey?"
Logan considers this, but he just doesn't understand. She doesn't sound like she's lying; he wishes she did, that would make everything so much easier. At least the world doesn't feel like it's ending anymore. He nuzzles his cheek to Al's chest and keeps breathing.
"Oh, and Merry Christmas." Al chuckles, strokes her fingers through Logan's hair. "Maybe that doesn't mean much to you right now. I understand, I was never big on Christmas, either. But it's about love, when you boil it down." She tilts his chin up with one finger. "And we love you, Logan. Very much."
"No," Logan says, though the word leaves him listless and halfhearted, and his chest is warming.
"Yes," Al counters. Her mouth pulls up at the corners at a crash from the kitchen and a muffled curse from Wade; Logan almost smiles, too. "Hey," Al tells him lightly. "Take it easy on Wade today, if you can. He's made up his mind that he's gonna give you the best Christmas ever, if it's the last thing he does. He might not get everything perfect, but he's trying his best for you."
Logan sighs, and then Wade's hurrying back into the living room with Logan's bottle in his hand and Mary Puppins chasing his heels.
"I'm back, sweetheart, I'm here! I've got your bottle." Wade carefully scoops Logan back up into his arms — Al gives Logan a quick parting kiss on his forehead — then sits on the couch with Logan in his lap, where he always feeds Logan his morning bottle. "I made it extra special for Christmas, with extra, extra, extra love." Wade leans down and whispers in Logan's ear, smiling, "Plus some maple syrup."
Logan only whines a little as Wade tugs his binky out, and latches without a fuss when it's replaced in his mouth with the bottle nipple. It's okay, sweet from the maple syrup and pleasantly warm, but still not without the slightly bitter taste that's haunted most of Logan's bottles lately. He can't swallow pills when he's small, so Wade mixes the assortment of medications he needs to take every day into his bottles; per his doctor's orders. Logan used to scream and thrash and rail against this, as well as the compression gloves, but he's accepted them by now. These unwelcome, unwilling changes. He stops noticing the bitterness after a minute of suckling, trying to just focus on the sweetness, though it's difficult.
He knows it doesn't work this way, but sometimes he thinks his body's getting worse in Jean and Scott's absence because of their absence, because they're not here to take care of him anymore. He never had any aches or pains with them, never had to wear compression gloves or drink medicated bottles. His bones never ached when they held him.
"Good boy, there's my perfect little angel," Wade coos, beaming brightly down at Logan, scattering some of the darkness from Logan's head. One thing Wade's gotten good at is holding Logan's bottle at just the right angle, tilting it up and supporting his head so he can swallow easily. "Do you like the maple syrup, baby? Maybe I'll start using that all the time, instead of honey."
Logan just stares at the front of Wade's shirt. Wade always watches Logan intently the whole time he drinks his bottles, trying to lock eyes with Logan, Wade's eyes soft and sometimes a little damp, almost worshipful, like Logan's precious. Logan doesn't like it.
When the medicine-milk is all gone, Wade sits Logan up, kisses Logan's cheek and tucks Logan's binky back in his mouth, then slides down onto the floor with Logan in his lap. Wade reaches for the pile of presents under the tree. Logan risks a glance at them, can't help the way his heart leaps when he sees how many there are, how big some of the boxes are, that they're all carefully, colorfully wrapped and topped with shiny ribbons.
He knows Santa Claus was never here, he stopped believing in Santa a long time ago. This was all Wade.
"Okay, sweetheart," Wade says very gently, pulling one present into his lap with Logan. "I know you're feeling a little overwhelmed about all this, but I have to show you your presents. I think you're really gonna like 'em — or, I mean, Santa thinks you're really gonna like 'em." Wade giggles.
"I think so, too," Al says warmly from her chair. "Why don't you try ripping it open, Logan? Have some fun."
But Logan doesn't want to. He just brushes his fingers over the candy cane-striped wrapping paper and looks up at Wade for help.
"Aw, honey pie." Wade grins and kisses Logan's forehead. "Ripping's a little too much, huh? That's okay. Here, I've got it, I'll unwrap it for you..." Wade opens the wrapping paper without tearing it, carefully untying the ribbon. Mary Puppins comes over to watch, and sniffs almost apologetically at the booties of Logan's pajamas.
"Puppy," Logan mumbles behind his binky, patting her fuzzy head. He's not angry at her.
Wade gasps excitedly. "Woah, peanut, are you psychic? You've gotta be — 'cause, look!" He opens the box under the wrapping paper and presents Logan with the little toy puppy inside. "It's a collie! What do you think, do you like it?"
Logan considers the puppy for a long time, its friendly glass eyes and soft-looking black and white fur, while Wade holds it patiently. Logan wants to touch it, to hug it close and squeeze it tight, to know if it really is as soft as it looks, but...
That would be playing, and he doesn't think he's allowed to play. He whimpers and squirms in Wade's lap.
"It's okay, sweetheart, nothing bad is going to happen. You're allowed to play. You're allowed to relax," Wade whispers, and kisses Logan's cheek. "You can do it, I know you can. I love you so much. I'm so proud of you."
“You like it, darling?” Jean asked, her bright eyes watching Logan while Logan watched his new train set chug around and around and around the Christmas tree, while Logan giggled and clapped and cheered. Scott's head was on Jean's shoulder, his bright eyes fixed on Logan, too, his mouth curled up into a proud smile.
“Yeah!” Logan squealed, so excited he couldn't think straight. He lost the train, later, but he'll never forget how happy it made him. How happy they made him, that year and every year they were together.
“God,” Scott breathed, chuckling, “this was so worth the two hours it took to put that thing together.”
And Logan remembers that Mama and Dada never once got mad at him for playing, or relaxing, or feeling safe. They wanted all of those things for him. So he grabs the puppy from Wade and hugs it tightly, smiles big and bright at how soft it really is.
"Oh my gosh, yes!" Wade squeals, hugging Logan tightly in turn. "Good job, baby, you did it! Whoo!"
"Hooray!" Al cheers.
"Puppy." Logan nuzzles his face into its fluff, melts back against Wade's chest. Logan had forgotten how good it felt to hold a stuffed toy.
There are so many kinds of toys he can't play with anymore. He can't use trampolines or anything else that requires more mobility than he has — not that Wade's small apartment has anywhere to even put a trampoline — or anything with small hard pieces that strain his hands. But stuffed toys are one of the kinds he can still play with, soft and uncomplicated. Maybe Wade knows that.
"And there's more where that came from! I told Santa to get you lots of stuffies, that felt like the safest bet." Wade reaches for the next present and starts unwrapping it, grinning excitedly, glancing constantly at Logan's face. "Here, I think you're really, really gonna like this one..."
Logan ends up with his arms full of soft new friends, and cuddles them quietly while Wade and Al open their own presents from each other. Wade got Al a large heated blanket; Al knitted Wade a slightly wonky sweater with a crooked W on the chest. Wade got Mary Puppins a squeaky Santa Claus toy that she doesn't seem very interested in. Logan is surprised when Wade produces another present from under the tree with Logan's name on it, and it turns out that Al knitted him a matching sweater, one with a crooked L on the chest. It looks like it must've taken a long time, especially without being able to see, and a lot of yarn. Logan doesn't know what to say as Wade holds it up so Logan can feel the soft, if a little scratchy, fabric.
"Pretty," he decides. It's green; Wade must have told her that's his favorite color, and she must have remembered, and she must have cared enough to use green yarn. "Thank you."
"Aw, sweetheart, you're very welcome," Al coos. "I'm glad you like it."
Logan grins and hugs the sweater tight with his toys — only to be surprised again when Wade pulls another present for him out from under the tree. He whines, overwhelmed now.
"Last one, I promise." Wade kisses all over Logan's face as he unwraps this one, providing a distraction. It's with great difficulty that Logan manages not to giggle. "This is your present from me, peanut! Like I said, I didn't have anything to do with your stuffies, that was all Santa!"
Logan snorts at this — and loses his binky when his jaw drops at what's underneath the wrapping paper. His eyes sting. His heart jolts and tightens. With shaky hands he takes it from Wade, lets all his new toys fall to the side as he hugs it flush to his chest, cradling it close even as the hard edges dig in uncomfortably. Finally, almost, he has what he's wanted most for twenty-two Christmases.
"I couldn't believe you didn't have anything with you, anything of them, so I kept pressing the shelter. I must've called a thousand times, and sent twice as many emails. But finally they found this in storage," Wade explains very softly, rubbing Logan's back.
"Mama. Dada." Logan looks down at the small framed photograph, though it's difficult with his eyes flooded. He remembers this one. Jean's grinning and holding Logan in her lap in their living room, on their couch, and Scott's beaming, sitting on the armrest and snapping the picture with his camera, the angle slightly skewed and silly and perfect. Logan's smiling wide and weightless in the picture, no gray in his hair or shadows under his eyes. Back then, he didn't have to wear compression gloves or take medicine or be without them. He was so happy.
The shelter didn't want him to have photographs of them. The people there wanted him to forget all about them and be ready to move on. Logan spent almost two years after the accident stuck in his little headspace, too devastated to come out of it, so he couldn't fight to keep the house or the furniture or the photographs. No one was there to fight for him.
"I don't want you to forget about them," Wade whispers, thumbing the tears from Logan's cheeks. "They loved you and you loved them and that's not something that goes away, no matter how long it's been. They're a part of you. It's okay to miss them. It's okay to talk about them. It's okay to talk to them. It's all okay."
"O-oh," Logan sobs out, and presses readily against Wade's chest when Wade cradles him.
Al leans forward in her chair, reaches down to stroke Logan's hair. "It's all okay," she repeats, firmly.
Logan cries for a long time, but it's not a tantrum, he's not kicking or screaming or throwing anything. This is more like a release of pressure, like the mountain of pain and fear inside is finally crumbling away. Wade holds and rocks and kisses him through it, and Al stays right there, and Mary Puppins, and it occurs to Logan finally that they're not going to leave him. They're not lying. And they're not strangers.
Somehow, like magic, they're family.
When Logan's sobs finally quiet down, he sniffles up at Wade and, still hugging Jean and Scott's picture, asks, "What doin’ today?"
"Oh, honey, hold on..." Wade tuts, quickly wipes the tears and snot from Logan's face with his sleeve, then slips Logan's binky back into his mouth. Logan feels much better, but he still wants to know what's going to happen today. He needs to know. "There's my beautiful boy." Wade smiles and taps the tip of Logan's nose. "Now, as for what we're gonna do today... That's kind of entirely up to you, sweetheart," Wade says, and when Logan frowns, "But I can tell you my vague plan, if you want?"
Logan nods. Wade doesn't have as many routines and rules as Jean and Scott — or any rules, really — and Logan misses the structure. But he also knows he wouldn't respond well to Wade bossing him around.
"Okay, umm... Well, I was thinking maybe we could order breakfast from that diner down the street, I think they're open," Wade says. "Unless you and Al would rather go there?"
"Absolutely not," Al says.
"Stay home," Logan agrees. It didn't snow, but it's still cold outside, and the cold makes his joints ache. It didn't use to, and…
This didn't use to be home. Logan tenses as he realizes what he said, the word slipped helplessly from his mouth, but settles back down at a kiss from Wade, Wade's lips pressed warm and grounding to Logan's forehead. It's all okay, he remembers.
"You got it." Wade smiles and kisses Logan's temple next. "Okay, so we'll order breakfast. What are you in the mood for, baby, pancakes?"
Logan shakes his head, rubs his thumb over Scott's grinning face. No one else will ever make pancakes like Dada did. "Want waffles."
"Then waffles you shall have." Wade kisses Logan again, on his cheek this time. "Then I was thinking we'd pretty much just watch Christmas movies most of the day? You can pick all of ‘em, whatever you want. If you're feeling generous, maybe you can even let Al watch a few of her game show holiday specials."
Al chuckles. "Thanks."
"But...yeah." Smiling softly, gazing down at Logan with warm adoration, Wade shrugs. "I thought we'd just spend the day together, y'know? The three of us. Or, four." Wade nods to Mary Puppins where she's sitting by Logan's booties, staring up at him and ignoring her new squeaky toy.
"'Kay." Logan smiles, too. He's spent most of the past three months either sleeping or screaming while little and running away to rot at bars while big; he's never really just spent a day with Wade and Al before.
It sounds nice.
"Oh, and, umm..." Wade hesitates, watching Logan almost shyly. "I was thinking I'd make roast beef for dinner, and maybe Vanessa and Dermot could come over? They don't have to, it's totally fine if you're not ready for that yet, I —"
"'Kay," Logan says, soft and without hesitating. Jean and Scott were orphans like him, and the three of them were each other's only real family. Wade is an orphan, too, but he has Al, and his friend Vanessa and her little Dermot. Logan's been introduced to them, seen them a few times before, and he regrets always kicking and screaming and giving Wade a hard time about it. He won't, today. If Wade can accept Jean and Scott for Logan, then Logan can accept Vanessa and Dermot for him. Even though Dermot is always trying to talk and touch and play with Logan. Maybe Logan will try to be nice to him today. "They can come."
"Yeah?" Wade giggles and hugs Logan tight. "Thank you, angel baby! I know this is tough for you, and I really appreciate you trying. Seriously, I am so inexpressibly proud of you." Wade pauses, nuzzles Logan's hair. "But, do you like my Christmas plan? Do you want to add anything? This is all about you, honey, I'm all about you. I want whatever you want."
"Um." Logan hesitates, dropping his eyes to the photograph in his arms. He hasn't visited Jean and Scott since the last time he was big, last month; he splits his big time evenly between bars and the cemetery, though he never shows up there drunk, he knows they'd be furious. "Go — go see Mama and Dada, please?" he asks in a low whisper, barely audible behind his binky. The nipping cold and the achy joints would be worth it to visit them, but he expects to be told no, like the shelter workers always told him no.
"Of course, baby!" Wade says, immediate and loud and shocking Logan with his eagerness. "We'll leave right after breakfast, okay? It's Saint John's, right?"
Wade straps Logan into his car seat and takes him to the cemetery after breakfast, as promised, leaving Al to watch Mary Puppins. It's the first time ever that Logan's been able to visit them while little, and he cries a lot, but Wade stands by his side all the while and takes him home when he's ready, not before. They hang Jean and Scott's picture in Logan's nursery, over his crib so he'll always be able to say good morning and good night to them; Wade puts Al's sweater on Logan, soft and full of love and not very scratchy at all; and they all spend the day together. Logan mostly just lies in Wade's lap on the couch, suckling his binky and cuddling the stuffies Santa (who might be real and good after all) brought and giggling at the Christmas movies he hasn't let himself watch in years. He even manages to watch Frosty the Snowman, and to whisper in Wade's ear that it was Dada's favorite. And Wade isn't angry; he smiles and kisses Logan's forehead and asks if Logan wants to watch it again.
"I love you, sweetheart. My brave little angel," Wade whispers over Logan as he drifts toward his afternoon nap, the milk from his afternoon bottle sitting warm and soothing in his stomach. There wasn't any medicine in this one, just the sweetness of maple syrup and Wade’s fingers stroking Logan's cheek. "Thank you for trusting me."
Logan isn't afraid or uncomfortable when Vanessa and Dermot arrive. He gets a little shy — especially when Vanessa presents him with her and Dermot's gift: a superhero action figure from some TV show he's never seen — and spends a while hiding in Wade's arms, but only until Dermot tugs gently on Logan's sleeve and asks if he wants to play superheroes. Logan is wary, because Dermot is older in his headspace than Logan (and younger, physically) and Logan can't jump or spin or run or even crawl anymore, too hard on his knees, but Dermot is gentle and silly and makes Logan smile. They mostly just knock their action figures together on the floor by the Christmas tree while Al watches (listens?) over them and Wade and Vanessa step into the kitchen to work on dinner.
A warm, welcome feeling settles over Logan; he feels like a real member of the family.
"Lo?" Dermot asks, when Logan takes a break from playing to just stare up at the Christmas tree. Wade decorated it all by himself last week; Logan kicked and screamed and refused to watch or help or have any part of it. The lights shine like stars, and the big star at the top is very pretty, bright and beaming down at him. He used to always insist on being the one to put the star on, with Jean and Scott. Scott would lift him up high so he could reach.
"Uh-huh?" Logan sucks slow and calm on his binky. He's not upset by this memory. He's smiling.
"What's your most favoritest part of Christmas?" Dermot asks excitedly. "Mine's Mommy's sugar cookies!" Vanessa brought a container of them over, and Wade let Logan have one before dinner; they're delicious, shaped like stars and decorated with red and green sprinkles.
"Umm..." Logan tries to settle on a favorite part of today, which has been so unexpectedly not-terrible. "Wade," he decides, easily.
"Yay!" Dermot cheers, but he makes a face after a second, scoots closer to Logan. "Hey," Dermot whispers, "don't you think it's kinda weird you call your daddy by his grown-up name?"
Logan frowns defensively. "No."
Dermot wilts and lowers his eyes. "Sorry," he says, warily, probably expecting Logan to start screaming over this. "I didn't mean anythin’ by it, Lo. Just thought it was maybe kinda a little bit weird..."
Maybe it is, just a little bit. Logan softens and nudges Dermot with his action figure, smiles when Dermot perks up. "Play more?"
That night, after Wade's stuffed Logan full of roast beef and gently encouraged him to hug Vanessa and Dermot goodbye, after Wade's brushed Logan's teeth and changed Logan's diaper, after Wade's zipped Logan back into his Christmas pajamas and carried him to his nursery, after Wade's given Logan his nighttime bottle and massage — Logan hesitates. He reaches for Wade when Wade starts to step away and raise the bars of the crib, grabs Wade’s hand though the compression gloves make gripping difficult.
"Wade stay?" Logan whines. He doesn't want to be without Wade right now, even just to sleep.
"Oh, baby..." Wade's expression melts, and he's quickly lying behind Logan on the mattress, hugging Logan close to his chest. "Of course I'll stay with you, sweetheart! Do you want me to stay all night, or just until you fall asleep?"
"All night." Logan settles against Wade, into the warm, safe feeling of Wade's arms around him, his back pressed to Wade’s chest, Wade pulling Logan's blanket up over both of them. Logan's sucking on his binky and squeezing his new toy collie friend to his own chest; he's thinking about naming her Callie, which feels right. The rest of his Christmas stuffies sleep together in a cuddle-pile at the foot of the mattress. It's been a long time since Logan was this comfortable, compression gloves aside.
Maybe tomorrow he'll play with all his other toys, the ones that have sat around the nursery ignored for so long. It'll be fun. Maybe he'll have fun every day now.
"You got it, peanut. Gosh, this is so nice, getting to hold you like this. I am in caregiver heaven right now." Wade sighs blissfully, kisses Logan's cheek. "Should I turn the light out, angel, or leave it on tonight?"
"On." Or else Logan wouldn't be able to see Jean and Scott. They grin down at him and Wade from where their picture hangs over the crib. Like they approve of Wade.
"You got it, baby. My baby," Wade says, and giggles with his mouth pressed to the back of Logan's head. Wade's breath tickles behind Logan's ear; a smile tugs insistently at the corners of his mouth. "You know what, pumpkin?" Wade kisses Logan's nape. "This was the best Christmas I've ever had — no, the best three months I've ever had, and it's all 'cause of you. My whole life I've been so alone, so empty, always needing someone I felt like I couldn't have. When I first got classified, I thought the doctor had made a mistake, have I ever told you that?" Wade chuckles sadly; Logan presses back against him, closer to his chest. "I was just a kid, but I was convinced I'd make a terrible caregiver. I guess 'cause of my own old man... But then I went and wasted so many years, running from what I really wanted. Who I really wanted."
"A little," Logan guesses, and suckles his binky a bit harder. He doesn't like that Wade was alone. He knows how horrible it is to be alone.
"That's right, sweetheart, I wanted a little. I needed a little. But not just anyone." Wade kisses Logan's nape again, then again, his hands moving soft and reverent over Logan's chest. "I needed you, Logan. I knew it the second I laid eyes on you in that awful shelter. I knew I'd been looking for you my whole life, and I'd finally found you.” Logan feels Wade's smile against the back of his neck. “Thank you for choosing me, for taking a chance on me, I know it was scary. I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it. Gonna take care of you forever, my perfect little angel..."
Logan frowns. He's always confused when Wade says things like this, even now that he knows Wade's telling the truth. It just seems so impossible. "How know?" he asks.
"How'd I know?" Wade hums, nuzzles Logan's hair. "That's easy, honey pie. My heart told me."
"Tha's silly!" Logan can't help but laugh at this. "Hearts don't talk!"
"Sweetheart." Wade kisses Logan's cheek. His voice is so steady and threaded through with love, so true, Logan's laughter fades. "The first time I saw you, my heart sang."
"Oh." Logan considers this, thinks back to six months ago when Wade walked into the shelter and locked his eyes onto Logan. He wouldn't leave Logan alone, not even when Logan scowled and kicked at him. Logan was so frustrated. So frightened.
He's glad Wade found him, now.
"Logan, baby?" Wade says after a while of just nuzzling Logan's hair, pressing kisses to every inch of Logan's skin his lips can reach. He can't seem to stop nuzzling and kissing Logan. "Did you have a nice Christmas? Do you really like your presents? Maybe next year you'll feel comfortable telling me what you want and I won't have to guess. I did my best — but was there anything else you wanted? 'Cause all you have to do is say the word and I'll get Santa back here by, like, noon tomorrow."
"Nuh-uh. S'okay, Wade." Logan yawns hugely, struggling to keep his eyes open now, though he wants to say something that will prevent Wade from falling asleep sad. Wade doesn't deserve to be sad ever again. "You...you're good."
"I am?" Wade laughs, the sound pure relief and delight. "Aw, thank you, sweetheart, I needed to hear that. Sorry, I'm just really — oop!" He turns, probably to check the smiley-face clock on Logan's nightstand. "I'm just really keeping you up past your bedtime, apparently. Happy day after Christmas, my baby."
Logan giggles and hugs his collie. He's so happy. "S'night."
"Night-night," Wade coos. "I love you, Logan, I'll see you in the morning. I'll be right here with you all night long."
"Night-night, Mama. Night-night, Dada," Logan calls sleepily to Jean and Scott's picture, then tells Wade through another huge yawn, "Night-night, Papa." It just feels right.
Wade gasps against Logan's neck as if struck, tightens his arms around Logan, but Logan's already asleep, suspended in softness and warmth and peace. He feels as if some vital lost piece of him has finally clicked back into place, and the world will be a brighter place tomorrow.
Because Jean and Scott still won't be here, they can't be — but Wade will. And that will be enough.
December, 2028:
"Hi, Mama! Hi, Dada!" Logan waves happily as he and Wade approach the graves, with their smooth white stones and neatly trimmed grass and the roses that still haven't wilted since last week when they were here. They brought new ones anyway. "Me an' Papa're here 'gain!"
"Hey, guys!" Wade greets them. He's grinning, holding Logan's hand in one hand and the bouquet of new flowers in the other. They're poinsettias. "Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas!" Logan echoes brightly. He appreciates that Wade always talks to Jean and Scott like they're still people.
"Our little boy has a present for you." Wade kneels to scoop up the old flowers and replace them with the poinsettias. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
"Uh-huh!" Logan releases Wade's hand and reaches into the warm puffy coat Wade zipped him into before they left the apartment, pulls out the envelope. "I drawed you a picture!" Wade helped him fold it up and seal it into the envelope. Wade's always helping Logan, with everything.
"Yup! And just between us," Wade whispers to the graves, in a silly, conspiring way that makes Logan grin, "it's literally the best drawing in the whole world, so."
"No!" Logan giggles, though it might be. It's definitely his favorite drawing in the whole world at the moment.
"Yes," Wade counters, laughing, and stands to kiss Logan's forehead. "Alright, angel baby, I'll be right over there," he says gently. He always steps away for a while when they visit Jean and Scott, so Logan can talk to them in private. "Take your time. And remember, it's okay if you're too little to say some things. Just use your heart, and they'll feel it."
"'Kay!" Logan nuzzles his face into the front of Wade's jacket, over Wade's heart. "Love Papa."
"Papa loves you." Wade always grins so widely when he says this. "You wanna sit down for your special talk, honey pie?"
"Uh-huh!" Logan nods, and smiles as Wade very gently helps him to sit down on the soft grass in front of the graves. Then Wade gives him one last kiss to the top of the head before going to wait by a nearby tree. "Here!" Logan leans forward and tucks the envelope under a rock, so it won't be blown away.
He takes a steadying breath.
"Santa Claus came," he tells them, and uses his heart to show them all the new soft toys he got, because the words are a little too big for him. "I drawed Papa a picture, too, an' Granny. I like drawing." He used to think he'd never be able to draw again, because of his arthritis, but then Wade gave him a set of extra thick crayons that fill his hand and let him grip without straining, and he realized that was silly. "We're gonna get waffles an' bring some home for Granny. An' then we're gonna watch movies an’ wait for Auntie Ness an' Mo to come. Mo's my best friend, 'member?" Logan and Wade follow this routine every Christmas, and every Christmas Logan tells Jean and Scott all about it. "We're gonna play with our toys an' Mary an' — an' have lots of fun!"
Because he's not betraying them when he has fun, when he keeps living. He understands that now. Wherever they are, they want him to be happy; that much hasn't changed. So he's going to keep living, and changing, and those changes might not always be fun, like needing compression gloves and medications and more help with moving around, but that's okay. He won't have to deal with any of it alone. He'll have Wade, who always does his best to make Logan's days safe and simple and as painless as possible.
"I'm happy." He smiles big and bright and true for them. "I still miss you lots, but you don't gotta worry, 'cause Papa's the best Papa ever, just like how you're the best Mama an’ Dada ever."
Because he's not replacing them by loving Wade, by letting Wade love him. He didn't get a new family; his family just got bigger. He understands that, too.
"I hope you're happy, too, an' don't miss me too much." His eyes sting just a little; they always do when he starts to wonder if they're sad somewhere. If they cried when they missed his sixtieth birthday party last month, or this morning when they weren't there to help him open presents. "'Cause you're still here," he says, patting his chest. "My heart knows."
He can always feel them there, in flashes of brightness and warmth, in memories that shine like stars.
His stomach growls.
"Papa!" he whines, and right away Wade's scooping him up, kissing and cuddling him on Wade's hip where he fits best.
"I've got you, peanut, Papa's here," Wade coos. "You ready to go get the waffles now?"
"Waffles," Logan agrees, smiling.
"Roger that." Wade kisses Logan's cheek twice. "C'mon, let's say bye-bye to Mama and Dada."
"Bye-bye, Mama! Bye-bye, Dada!" Logan and Wade shout this in unison like they always do, seeing who can scream the loudest, making each other giggle. Logan thinks he's the loudest today!
He's still smiling as Wade carries him back to the car, his chest swollen with all the brightness and warmth that lets him know he doesn't have to cry anymore. He never has to be alone or empty again. It's all okay.