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Wade felt awful. Whether it was the changing seasons, or overworking his body, or something that Logan gave to him, he wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that he never wanted to move from the nest he had made on the living room's loveseat. He still had his suit on, half unzipped, and his mask draped over the couch arm like a kid’s Halloween costume. According to the TV, which was spouting news Wade wishes he had the energy to turn off, it was 10:22 am, about three hours after he typically woke up.
He stared hazily at the TV, claiming another tissue from the box and blowing his nose, before lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling fan that spun lazily in the sunlight that peeked through the windows. He would have fallen asleep if his phone hadn’t buzzed with a text message notification. Flipping it over, he saw it was from Logan: “Mind if I stop by? I have something for you.”
Wade hearted the message, smiling a little, and replied, “sure, i kinda feel like ass rn tho”
“That’s why I’m coming to see you :)”
Wade sent a photoshopped sticker of himself holding a bouquet of roses and lay back down.
He must have fallen dead asleep because Wade awoke to knocking on his door. Realizing it was Logan, he groped for his mask as he stood up, knocking over Mount Tissue in his hurry. Mask and slippers on, Deadpool walked to the door and greeted Logan with a “Hi” that was a little overexcited for his state.
Logan presented two stacked Tupperware containers to Deadpool, “Made you soup.”
“Chicken?”
“Obviously.”
Deadpool took the containers out of Logan’s hands and set them on the counter, moving to get bowls out of the cupboard. Logan stood in the hallway, taking off his shoes, before entering the kitchen.
“Here, let me do it; you sit down.” Logan pushed Deadpool out of the way, directing him to sit at the island across from the sink.
Deadpool obliged and sat quietly (for once) as Logan poured the soup into two bowls and placed one in the microwave. He then opened the nearly bare fridge and poured a small glass of water, shaking out a few pills from the bottles on the counter and setting the ensemble in front of Wade.
Wade, who rarely took pills because some sort of superiority complex told him he was stronger if he didn’t, was out-grumbled by Logan when he attempted to protest the little capsules being placed on the counter. The soup finished up right after that, and Wade was quick to grab a spoon from the drawer, the bowl, the pills, thank Logan, and dart away to his room to eat.
Pulling off his mask and placing it beside him, Wade spooned the first few sips of hot broth into his mouth and decided to look at his phone while he ate. He was about four bites and six scrolls in when he heard Logan jiggle his bedroom door handle.
“One second!” Wade called through the door, placing his bowl on his nightstand and zipping his mask back over his head. He opened the door for Logan and invited him to sit on the bed. Logan obliged and began eating as Wade sat cross-legged on the other side. Logan noticed Wade wasn’t eating and glanced at the bowl sitting on the little table.
“Not hungry, or am I not a good cook?”
“Just saving it for later.” Wade was quick with his response.
“Mmmhm…”
And then back to silence, besides Wade’s congested sniffling and Logan slurping broth from his bowl. It wasn’t their typical silence, no, this was more tense. Wade could feel Logan thinking as they sat there, and the idea that he didn’t know what Logan was thinking terrified him. He rushed through scenarios of what Logan might be thinking about, what he would say, generously skipping over the one topic he didn’t want to think about, the one he knew was on the tip of Logan’s tongue.
Logan poked at the chicken floating around in the remaining broth, suddenly looking up at Wade. “Why don’t you take off your mask?”
There it is.
Wade froze, the words he feared to imagine coming freely out of Logan’s mouth. Wade tried to think of a good response that would put them off the topic, but Wade knew Logan would dig no matter what he said.
“‘Cuz I don’t want to.” Deadpool shrugged.
“You don’t want to eat my soup?” Wolverine toyed.
“...no, it’s not-” Wade felt all of his lying abilities slip away into panic. No, not panic. Fear.
Logan decided to back off and let Wade take this conversation at his own pace. Clearly, this was a bigger deal than he thought. He watched the time tick by, and after over three minutes, Wade collected himself with a shaky sigh. Logan felt himself reaching out to provide comfort, but withdrew his hand as soon as he became aware of it.
“‘Jus’ don’ wanna make you ‘n’comfort’ble,” Wade mumbled.
Logan was taken aback by this statement, utterly confused. What about Wade’s face could make him uncomfortable?
“What do you mean?” Logan asked tentatively, expecting this reply to take longer, but it didn’t. That one admission seemed to spur Wade into a conversation he had clearly been aching to share with someone.
“I’ve got… scars and stuff…” Wade gestured vaguely to his face.
“Wade, we’ve all got scars; we get into fights on almost a daily basis.” Logan reasoned, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to prove a point. Hundreds of little white lines crisscrossed beneath the dark hair on his arms, appearing silver in the lighting. Some of them were darker, thicker, and even webbed, showing in stark contrast against Wolverine’s skin.
Deadpool shook his head. “Not like that. They’re…” he hesitated, trying to think of a better word, before whispering in a defeated tone, “worse.”
“I’ve seen ‘worse.’” Logan tried to reassure him, scooting closer to him on the bed, now half a foot away. Logan saw Deadpool’s white eyes squint, and he saw the man subtly lean back, hand reaching for something on his person.
“If you try to take it off, I’ll fuckin’ stab you.”
“A good offer, for another time.” Wolverine showed the palms of both of his hands as if to surrender.
“I’m serious.” Wade let the fear creep into his voice.
“The only person who can take off your mask is you, Wade. Relax.”
Wade released the handle of the knife his fingers had wrapped around in his pocket, but backed a few inches away, distrusting.
“Look, Wade,” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, “it’s not that I want to see your face or anything like that; it’s that I want you to be comfortable in your own home, especially when you’re sick. I came here to make you feel better and to help you relax. And I’m not sure about you, but wearing my mask around the house isn’t something I do when I'm relaxed.”
This seemed to get through to Wade, his hands slowly rising to the base of his neck to grasp at the fastenings there. However, his hands faltered as he reached to undo the mask, and he let out a nervous laugh before dropping his head.
“I just can’t.”
“You can.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse.”
“I can handle ‘worse.’”
And with that, Wade felt his hands being taken up by another’s, being grasped at the wrists, the palms warm and dry. Wade let out a slight, startled noise but said nothing as he felt his hands being raised back up to the rear of his head. He felt his heart beating out of his chest as his shaking hands fumbled at the bottom of his mask.
Logan held his hands gently but firmly around the wrists, and he worked the rear of his mask open, exposing skin Logan could not see from the front. They intuitively took a deep breath in unison as Wade pulled his mask up over his chin, letting just his mouth peek out.
Logan withdrew his hands, eyes lingering on Wade’s chapped and scarred lips, before returning the bowl of soup to Wade’s hands.
Wade wasn’t sure what to make of the other man’s initial silence, taking it as rejection, although Logan hadn’t given any indication of it. He took a lukewarm sip from the spoon, trying to subdue his anxiety with eating. He subconsciously hunched over the bowl, obscuring the exposed sliver of his face.
Logan let Wade eat, taking pride in the small steps. There wasn’t a hint of discomfort in his body. In fact, Logan felt himself overcome with a wave of fondness for Wade, especially since Wade trusted him enough to do this.
With no bowl to cover his face in anymore, Wade tried his best to cover his mouth with a gloved hand, which was much more obvious than the previous method.
“Why are you hiding?”
“‘m not,” Wade mumbled through his hand
“Then take your hand away and give it to me.”
There was only a moment before Wade reluctantly peeled his fingers away and met Logan’s outstretched palm. Logan ran the backside of his thumb over the fabric and began reaching into the seam to pull it off.
“Wait,” Wade jumped at Logan’s inquiries, “my hands are-“
Logan waited for him to finish, but the sentence trailed off into a defeated sigh.
“Talk to me, Wade.” Concern crept into his voice.
“I already told you.” Wade seemed more frustrated with himself than with his partner.
“Tell me better.”
Wade huffed, but with the way the words began flowing out of his mouth, it was like he had rehearsed it a thousand times in his head, but it was just now being put into spoken words.
“It’s- it’s not just my face.” Wade cringed at his voice, wobbling as he spoke. “I have a lot of scars, okay? More than you, and more than probably anyone you’ve seen or met. I probably am a scar at this point. I cover them up because I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, and because I don’t want them to ruin how people perceive me. I’ve gotten used to it over the years, living with my skin every second of my life, something I can’t change. But it’s different with you. I don’t mind having it off around strangers or criminals because they don’t know me. But you. You know me, and I’m scared to change that.”
Wolverine’s face seemed to soften, if it was capable of that expression, and he blinked away the glint in his eye.
“Wade, look at me when I say this to you,” and he did. Head snapping up, “There is absolutely nothing about the way you look that could change how I feel about you. The scars are just a part of your body, skin, you are not your skin.”
Wade shook his head, disbelieving that anyone was even capable of thinking that. Discomfort growing, Wade reached to put his mask back on again, only to have Logan use one hand and press his wrists together in his grip. The other hand ventured up towards Wade’s face, making him flinch back instinctively. Logan hushed him like a scared cat and resumed his reaching.
Wade’s fight or flight turned into ‘freeze’ immediately; he resigned himself to his fate: Logan was going to touch his disgusting face. He didn’t try to squirm away because there was no use, and the surmounting panic drowned out the concept of words.
Wade felt a pang in his chest when Logan ran the slightest brush of his fingertips against the scarred skin, not so much fear, as that had come to pass within the seconds their skin met, but rather a pang of guilt.
As Logan moved his hand up to cup Wade’s jaw, stroking the mottled skin with the pad of his thumb, he felt warm tears trickle around it and noticed that Wade was silently crying. Instead of commenting on it, Logan simply wiped the tears that had slipped past the mask away and let Wade push his face harder into his wet palm.
They sat there like that for a few minutes, Wade trying to collect himself, lean in, pull away, do anything, as Logan continued to move his thumb back and forth against Wade’s face.
Ever so slowly, as not to startle Wade, Logan began to dip the tip of his finger beneath the very edge of Wade’s mask, inconsequential movements as he methodically worked his way up to the cheekbone.
About halfway there, Logan was stopped by a timid stroke against the back of his hand, ceasing his movements for a moment.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just give me a second…”
And so they waited like that, Logan quietly humming a calm song he had heard on the radio on his drive to Wade’s. It seemed to relax the other, so he continued until the ‘second’ was up.
“Okay… HOOO WOW!” Wade shook his hands out. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”
Together, their hands grabbed the edges of the mask and began to pull it off. Inch by inch, Wade’s face began to show, an amalgamation of angry, webbed burn scars revealing themselves.
Once his mask was off, Wade held it close in his lap as he pulled his eyes up to look at the man sitting inches away from him, still touching his face.
The two locked eyes, and Wade felt utterly naked, his eyes unobscured by lenses. There was a beat, and then two, then three, although Wade was sure it was just his heart picking up pace now as Logan just stared and said nothing.
“I can put it back on if yo-” Wade felt himself shrink at Logan’s lack of reaction.
“No, no…” Logan said softly, leaning in so close that Wade could smell the tobacco that clung to his beard. He had an inquisitive shine in his eye. He slowly began to trace Wade’s features, each ridge and bone, down past his eyes and over his cheeks, and finally to his mouth. He let his thumb rest there for a moment, Wade parting his lips slightly at the pressure. Logan continued this cycle before he spoke.
“Wade, you shouldn’t have to hide yourself from anyone, especially me. You aren’t ugly or disgusting for having scars, no one is.”
Wade swiped at his eyes and nodded. “Well, you didn’t run away screaming, so that's a plus.”
A micro expression of concern swept across Wolverine’s face, but he quickly pushed it down. Wade didn’t want his pity. “Change into something more comfortable, and we can eat.”
Logan stood up, picking both of the bowls up and heading for the kitchen, leaving Wade to himself. The latter took a moment to breathe before heading for the bathroom. He made eye contact with himself in the mirror as he pushed the door open, trying to gauge how he would react to his own face if he were seeing it for the first time.
His eyes were sunken and his lips were chapped, making him look worse than usual. Wade never could get first impressions quite right. He began to strip off his suit, watching his reflection, taking inventory of each blemish as it revealed itself.
Discarding his suit, he looked at himself for a long moment, struggling to come to terms with the fact that this was his body. It always sank in, the longer he stared, that the scars were permanent. The body that he was in for the rest of his life was permanent, and so were the burns that marred it.
He shook himself out of his trance and switched the bathroom light off, heading for his closet. Sweatpants and a black t-shirt were already folded as his pajamas for the night, so he went with that. After dressing himself, he stopped for one last look in the mirror that stood in the corner of the room, looking himself over. Maybe a hoodie to cover my arms? He decided on a blanket instead.
Trudging out to the kitchen, he saw that Logan had set the head of the table for him and took a seat. Logan came from the kitchen with a bottle in his hand and sat next to Wade, sipping as the other ate in silence. He didn’t pry about the blanket; he was just happy Wade was comfortable and eating something. He tried to take in the details of Wade’s face without staring, committing them to memory. With each glance, he found another feature that he was fond of. The white streak that ran across his lower lip, the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled with his expressions- the list continued to grow.
“That was really good,” Wade said, burping and leaning back in his chair. He had eaten the soup so fast that it seemed to have simply evaporated. He finished his glass of water too before throwing his dishes in the sink and heading to the couch, flopping down on the left side.
“D’you wanna watch a movie?” Deadpool asked.
“Sure.”
Wade dug the remote out of the couch and turned the TV on, switching to the channel that always seemed to be playing Star Wars movies. “This ok?”
Logan nodded, taking his place on the right side of the couch. Wade stretched his legs over him, resting his head on the arm of the couch. He let himself drift off slowly, eventually losing the blanket to the floor and not caring. He didn’t feel any of his echoing worries about his scars anymore. He was comfortable and he was safe, able to relax as if he were alone. He eventually fell asleep towards the end of the movie, sprawled out across the entire couch, and was snoring. Logan smirked and lay his head back too, deciding that a nap wasn’t such a bad idea.