|Our Little Secret (aka Secrets), Deadpool/Wolverine, movieverse AU, part IV
||[Jun. 4th, 2009|02:19 pm]
Cable x Deadpool
Title: Our Little Secret (yes! thankyou spidey_curved)
Pairing: Wolverine/Deadpool (yes, as opposed to Wade/Logan :p)
Rating: R for language
Other: Also I lied about this being the last bit. This is like the last bit part one and then there will be a last bit part two and that will be the real last bit.
His mouth may have been fixed, but what was worse than death wasn’t even anything Stryker had anticipated, much less planned. The looks – meh. Though he and his hair dye had been in denial, he’d lost his looks after the second round of chemo. At least now he looked like a mutant, instead of just Skeletor’s anorexic granddad. What it was was the fact that nobody else seemed to know who Skeletor was.
Wade Wilson was losing his mind.
Schizophrenics apparently heard their own thoughts sometimes, as voices in their head, but Wade didn’t think any of them actually read their own thoughts, or believed them to be yellow in colour.
The treatment, he believed, was the same as the treatment had been for feeling isolated all his life – human contact – but thanks to the makeover, that was coming not so much in the form of hookups, and more in the form of going to bars and talking the ear off of anyone who’d listen.
He really needed friends. The thought had crossed his head before, but he was pretty sure he’d forgotten how you made friends. All he could think of was if he found someone he liked, he could lock them in his apartment and not let them leave, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t how friends worked, and he wasn’t crazy enough to do that. Yet.
It was only when he noticed the horrified look on the young man’s face that he realised he’d been saying all this out loud.
“Um. I’m pretty sure I had a friend once.”
The young guy’s protruding Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “What happened?”
“He decapitated me. I got better! But hey, tell me about yourself. What’s your name?”
“Er, Jack. But people, erm, call me Weasel.”
Dot dot dot.
Guy walks into a bar.
It was nearly a year after Logan lost his memory, and drinking wasn’t helping much. Neither was Japan. That was why he’d ended up back in the US, drifting from mutant-friendly bar to bar.
Maybe half the time he got bored of the drinking – or maybe he just ran out of money – and went walking.
That… sometimes he thought that helped.
Every now and then in places from Japan to Vietnam to LA, he’d get this now-familiar sense of déjà vu. And it was, if he was honest, the most frustrating thing in his life, but every time he got one he couldn’t go away. He had to stay, had to look round, see if he could get anything back.
Never did, of course. So when he walks into this place and gets that familiar headfuck-feeling on spotting a pair of shoulders hunched over the bar with two fuckoff katanas strapped to them, he’s half a mind to just turn around and walk out again.
Doesn’t though. Katanas have always brought this on, he figures that might be why he went to Japan in the first place, and if there’s any chance, any chance at all…
“What I’m saying,” the guy is saying, though it’s not clear to whom, “is that in Back to the Future Part II, Nixon is still President, right? It’s ’85, and he’s still President. And in Watchmen… you see where I’m going here? So the presence of time travel is in some way linked to Doctor Manhattan, who…”
It shouldn’t be possible for a guy to so obviously stare at you like you just grew a third head while he’s wearing a mask. And the obvious question is, just what kind of people did Logan hang around with back then?
The guy’s face is unreadable. Obviously. He was deep in conversation at the bartender when Logan arrived, so the guy quickly scurries off to the other side of the bar, leaving Logan and swords-guy pretty much alone, seeing as how everyone else has given both strangers a wide berth.
“I hope you’re happy,” The guy said, “S’not everyone can make me speechless. It’s been a while, Logan, how’s it going? Still rocking the gay lumberjack look?”
“You know me.”
“Well yeah, Logan, I… oh yeah the mask. It’s me. Wade. As opposed to anyone else who might have two katanas strapped to his back.”
“Wade. I lost my memory.”
“Well that was pretty inconsiderate of you.” The man’s voice is off on his words, as if he’s reacting in real-time but his mouth isn’t quite connected to his brain. “I ask you to do one thing for me, and that’s how you go about it..”
“I’m not quite following you.”
“No, I’m told it’s hard enough even with context. Your neck muscles look great when you’re trying not to look pissed off, by the way. How long ago?”
“About a year. Look, is there something… wrong with you?”
“You would not believe, Jimmy.”
“You don’t mind if I ask you some questions.”
“Anything for you, sweetcakes.”
Logan took a bar stool and cleared his throat. This was pretty amazing, anyway. He found someone who could actually tell him who he was… course, the guy seems to be a head case, but head case was better than nothing. Of course the first question that comes to mind has nothing to do with his past. Erm, it probably has nothing to do with his past.
“Are you gay?” He asks.
The masked guy does this thing where Logan knows he just raised his eyebrows at him, even though he can’t see for the mask.
“Did I used to give you static for it? I don’t know what kind of a guy I was.”
“I’m not gay.” He says.
Smelling emotions, Logan has learned, it considered creepy, so he doesn’t comment on the wave of hopeless sadness he just sensed on Wade.
“Were we… friends?”
There’s a pause.
“It’s not that hard of a question.”
“It really kind of is. Considering that the last time I saw you, you killed me. Because I was trying to kill you. But I was mind-controlled. I didn’t mean it. And then there was that one time in LA…”
“Take your mask off.”
Logan hears him breathe in deeply.
“If I can see you – “ the guy is getting up off his stool, “Wade! It might help me remember.”
He reaches out a hand, just to touch Wade’s shoulder, and is easily intercepted, his hand caught in a gloved fist. So, Wade’s a mutant. Figures.
“I want to remember,” Logan growls, “And friend or not, I’m not gonna let you stop me trying.” Warning delivered, he goes for the mask with his other hand. He’s not surprised he doesn’t connect; he is surprised when Wade literally vanishes and he’s pawing at thin air.
“May wanna take it outside then,” comes a resigned voice from behind him. “I like this bar.”
Wade vanishes again and Logan runs outside, catches him by the bins and by the wrist as he goes to draw a katana. Wade’s bones don’t feel like human bones – there’s less warmth, less give, less of a sense that Logan could break him with a single clumsy touch. He thinks he remembers liking that about him. He lashes out with the left hand and Logan catches that as well.
Through the mask, Wade grins. “Wanna see something cool?” He says. “Fwikt.” Fwikt.
Wade’s – they can’t be wrist blades – go straight through him and out the other side. Dully, he realises where they come out. Just like his. Hmm.
He takes the initiative and lunges forward on the swords, pushing them deeper through some internal organ or other, so he can get a good shot at the face. Snikt.
“Hey, not good,” Wade manages to burble even as the claws swing towards his face.
The mask is shredded with the minimum – that Logan can tell – of actual injury, but to his surprise Wade makes a choked noise, drops to the floor and rolls away, taking cover behind a bin. He’s fairly sure that as he went, Logan caught sight of a chalk-white, hairless head with a claw-mark healing instantly mid-roll.
Eerie, eerie silence.
He sounds like a sulky kid. “What.”
He hears the sigh. “Seeing me isn’t gonna help, genius. I don’t have the same beautician I did back then. Do you think adamantium always makes a ‘K-T’ sound?”
“Well, it’s not that common a combination in the English language if you think about it, ‘kt’ but where adamantium sound effects are concerned, it just seems to –“
The best thing to do with the impossible to follow was probably to ignore it. “Wade. C’mon. It’s been however long it’s been, everyone’s gonna look different. You’re still the same person you used to be, or I wouldn’t have thought I recognised you.”
“Tell that to my ex-girlfriend.” Wade is muttering, but he emerges from behind the trashcan.
Logan forces himself not to react. He doesn’t feel disgust which is what he thought Wade was expecting, just pity, which is probably worse, and anger at whoever did that to him.
And it must have been, done to him that is, because while deformities are common in mutants, Wade’s face looks disfigured; like it’s been torn apart for fun. The flesh around his eyes is angry, red and raw where it isn’t singed black, the affected area spread asymmetrically up his forehead and down his cheeks. His face is almost white, frozen in the pallor of an end-stage terminal case, which jars with his motormouth vigour. But the worst thing is his mouth… fuck, his mouth. The eyes are like nothing Logan has ever (in his memory) seen before, but he knows what his mouth looks like. It’s a surgical scar with lips, complete with the neat rows of scars from the stitches. What kind of psycho would do that to someone?
The anger’s so strong it’s probably residual. “Do I fuckin hate the guy who did that to you?”
“Prob’ly. Considering what he did to you.”
“I – “ Logan’s starting to give himself a headache with all this probing – “I was over what he did to me. Hate him ‘cause of you. Had no… had no fuckin right ta…”
He trails off. There’s the ghost of what he’s thinking about in his mind. He knows it was Wade, in his mind this broken, vulnerable thing. Something about that, and somebody taking advantage of his weakness to do this. A sympathetic sense of violation.
There always had been the chance that he wouldn’t like what he was able to remember. Shoulda given that more thought, really.
That’s the point where an arm katana comes whistling towards his head. His claws shoot up, violently, Wade seems to falter, and they halt, somehow joined. The claws cut into the katana, hitting it at an opportune angle, and came to a halt buried halfway through the width of the blade.
“Why?” He asks Wade.
“Was bored. I thought we were supposed to be having a fight; don’t leave me hanging like this.” With that, Wade jerks his wrist violently, snapping through the rest of the katana. He grins. “So, adamantium can cut adamantium. Awesome.”
They face off. It’s the most fun Logan has had in forever, this messy brawl with the ghost from his past.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I’m losing my mind,” Wade says, and there’s this distinctive edge to his voice that kind of comes and goes. This feeling that, whatever it came out of, you’d know that voice. Right now, it’s in full force, which makes Logan think he’s pissing about, but maybe not. “I kind of have a guy-from-Memento crossed with plain ol’ schizo thing going on. I mean, I see shit, you know. I know it isn’t real, but, still… and sometimes I think like this isn’t real.”
Block, parry, block. They end up nose to nose, blade on blade, in stalemate.
Wade’s voice comes back, almost completely serious. “When I died, I mean, when people die they see shit right? White tunnels. Blackness. Puppies. I saw blackness. Blackness, and then…” He shakes his head helplessly, “and then words started scrolling down it. They said, I don’t quite remember, but they said…” He has the odd tone in his voice now, now he’s reliving the moment, quoting. “Logan slash Wolverine, dot dot dot Hugh Jackman. Victor slash Sabertooth, dot dot dot Liev Schreiber. And, Wade Wilson dot dot dot Ryan Reynolds. And later they said, ‘Costume, camera, Best Boy’, whatever. And ever since then, I felt like I was being watched. I think I’m crazy.”
Logan nods. “Probably.” He takes opportunity of the armlock to kick Wade in the shins and pile on top of him. “We could go halves on a shrink if you find one that does mutants.”
“You’re on.” Wade makes no effort to throw him off or even to move – he just lies there, defined muscles perfectly relaxed, staring up at him with this absolute trust he doesn’t remember anyone ever extending to him. “You know, your eyes look green in the street lamps.”
Logan kisses him half a second before he ruins the moment by breaking into song.
They part a good minute or so later, both making out that the shallow breathing was due to the fighting.
“Well, there you go,” Mutters Wade, before teleporting away hurriedly. He pauses about six feet away to watch Logan hit the floor now the person he was lying on has disappeared, and then is gone altogether.