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Dear Vic,
I know you meant well. But I can’t keep living like this. I have to do things on my own this time. Please don’t come looking for me.
Your brother,
James
~
He was frozen. His feet glued to the floor as he stood, hand tightly gripping the handle of the open door, no doubt warping the metal. He was just getting dinner ready, an honest to god, home cooked meal that he made since Wade was out working a late night hit. He’d just put the lasagna in the oven, wearing an apron that said ‘On the Fucking Verge’ when the doorbell rang. Logan wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there after pulling the door open, his body going stock still. He could feel the shaky breath leave his lips, his eyes wide and staring ahead at the new visitor standing at his doorstep.
Victor Creed, the Sabertooth, nodded to the Wolverine, “Hey Jimmy,” he offered a smile, albeit a little stiff. He was holding onto a black duffel bag and had a backpack slung over his shoulder.
Logan didn’t know when his body betrayed him, his arms and legs trembling. The lump was thick in his throat, and he struggled to swallow, “V-Vic?”
Creed nodded again, “Yup.” He shuffled from foot to foot, “Look, if this– if this is a bad time. I can–” A hand grasped tightly onto one of the lapels of Victor’s coat, and yanked him forcefully into the apartment, the door slamming shut. Victor would deny the little yelp he let out till his dying day.
Logan pulled Victor into a crushing hug, hands white knuckled as they gripped his brother’s black coat. His legs were still shaking, threatening to collapse, but he just couldn’t give a flying fuck right now. Seventy years. He hasn’t seen his brother in over seventy years. He ran away all those years ago, didn’t bother looking back, but after the first few decades, the longing for the only family he had left began to sink in. After the Weapon X Program, Logan thought he’d never see Victor again. Stryker said—
Logan shook his head, throwing the memory aside, and he buried his face into Victor’s shoulder. The scratchy fabric of the old, worn, black coat irritating his skin, but it’s a welcome familiarity.
Victor is at a loss, “Whoa! Hey– ” He drops his duffel bag, and tosses his backpack to the floor. “Jimmy?” He carefully lays his hands over Logan’s shoulders.
Logan inhaled. He‘s trying, he really, really is, but the tears were winning out. He let out a quiet sob.
“Hey? Hey, hey, hey Jimmy,” Victor let go of his caution and pulled Logan close, repaying the crushing hug in kind. “Easy, Jimmy, easy,” he soothed, gravely voice dropping an octave, “I’m right here.”
Logan’s voice was cracking, attempting to assemble words but failing, the tears free falling now. He sniffled, nuzzling against his brother’s shoulder, inhaling his scent for the first time in over several decades. His nails dug into the lapels, and he made a note to fix the fabric later.
Victor shushes him, “Easy.” He nuzzles in response, an attempt to soothe his younger brother. “Here— let me get a good look at ya, yeah?” Victor pulls away carefully, his clawed hands grasping lightly onto Logan’s shoulders. He furrows his brow, quizzical, “When the fuck did you get old?”
Logan’s eyes are glassy and red-rimmed when he looks up to his brother. He sees the grey that has bled into Victor’s usual dark brunette hair, a few more lines etching onto his face, and crinkles at his eyes. He laughs, sniffling, “Look who’s talkin’, bub.”
Victor snickered, “Well, at least you’re in good company, eh?” He ruffles Logan’s hair with one hand, and his brother bats him away, grinning. “You look good, Jimmy,” Creed has a hand to Logan’s face now, clawed fingers tracing over the mutton chops. “Hair got longer, you look fed— nice apron, by the way, and—“ Victor pauses, sniffing, “Hey, uh, is something burning?”
”Ah shit!” Logan broke away from Victor to bolt into the kitchen. He slid across the tile floor, vaguely hearing his brother follow his path as he wrenched the oven open and grabbed at the lasagna. Cursing loudly because like a dumbass he forgot to grab the oven mitts, and now his hands were burning as he hauled the dish onto the stove top. Logan grit his teeth, wringing his hands when feeling the burnt, melted skin stitch back together, and took a tentative look at tonight’s dinner. The lasagna suffered its inevitable death, the top layer completely scorched and crispy, the lovely aroma of burnt cheese was now wafting around the kitchen. He sighed, deflating, eyes darting to the kitchen counter when hearing chuckling.
He found Victor leaning against the counter, head tilted and snickering. Logan motioned towards the lasagna, “Uh…dinner?”
Victor snorted, “Think I’ll pass.”
“Good, cause I’m ordering take out,” Logan smirked, leaning on the other side of the countertop. There’s a moment of pause, silence reigning between the two brothers, both basking in each other’s presence. Logan lets the smirk turn soft, “It’s…It’s really good to see you, Vic.”
Victor’s face grows gentle, “It’s good to see you too, kid.” He takes a quick glance around the apartment, sniffing, “So,” he begins, before turning back to Logan. He quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching upwards, “Smells like you got a new sweetheart?”
Logan feels the heat rise in his face, and he sighs, “Fuck that nose of yours.”
Victor shrugs, “Found you didn’t it?”
“Yeah, yeah,“ Logan snorts, rolling his eyes. And then it all comes to a screeching halt. He goes silent, and his mouth snaps shut. Hazel eyes shift to look up at his brother, “Vic?”
”Hm?” The Sabertooth tilts his head.
Logan matches him, though his brow furrows, “How’d you get here?”
Victor raises his head, and Logan can see the tension rise in his shoulders. He sighs, “Look, Jimmy,” he raises a hand, defensive, “It’s a long story—“
There’s a jingle of keys, and the front door to the apartment is wrenched open. “I love you baby! And if it’s quite alright, I need you baby! To warm the lonely night—“ Swaying his way dramatically over the threshold, Wade dances while singing ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ by Frankie Valli. Any other day, when Wade would come home from a successful hit, he would sing most times, and grab Logan by the hips the second he’d step foot through the door, leading him to dance in the kitchen. Logan would smile, warm and loved, and pull off Wade’s mask to welcome him home with a passionate kiss. Where, after quick conversations and inquiries about each other’s day, steamy love making would commence and then often end with Logan bent over the kitchen table, or on the couch, or against the counter, or in the shower, or any and every surface in between. As expected, this was like any other day. Except there’s the added bonus that Wade is holding a severed head in a plastic bag.
Logan sighs inwardly. Fuck.
“I love you baby!” Wade twirls, the severed head flowing along with him, “Buenas noches mi querido mani!” The merc tosses his keys onto the coat rack before closing the door, “I’ve got a present for you! It’s big and thick! Spoilers: it’s in my pants—“ Wade stops dead in his tracks, looking at the two brothers standing in the kitchen. He drops the severed head, the bag thudding heavily against the floorboards. “Peanut?” Wade calls, cautious, “You looking to start a threesome? Cause I don’t like sharing.”
Creed is quick, moving to stand in front of Logan, “Jimmy, get behind me!”
“Vic, wait!” Logan reaches out, but Victor already has his claws out. Fuck!
“Whoa! That’s a nice set of murder mittens you got there,” Wade holds up a hand, hoping to deescalate the situation. “Look, I don’t know when Origins joined the chat, but believe me when I say that Liev Schreiber emo coat is the best look on you—“ Blood sprays against the wall, and Wade hollers, “Motherfucker!” The three long claw marks lining his forearm have already started healing, the skin molding back together. But it still hurts like a bitch. The merc narrows his eyes, “Oh that’s a bad kitty.”
Victor snickers, though it’s short lived when something flies swiftly by his face. A long gash spills blood down his cheek, and Creed looks behind him, spotting the baby knife that’s just been embedded into the wall. A sneer crawls over his face as the gash disappears from his skin, “Little shit fuck,” he flashes a fang, “That’s how you wanna play, yeah?”
Wade has gloved hands pulling at his katanas, “Here kitty, kitty.”
“Wade, don’t—“ Logan makes another attempt to intervene, but is once again thwarted. Victor pushes him back and advances onto Wade, a snarl ripping from his throat. The merc, of course, already has his swords in hand, and makes a beeline for the Sabertooth. They’re just seconds away from clashing before Logan leaps in.
SNIKT!!
Adamantium claws hold Victor’s gaze, Creed having stopped in his tracks. Wade is in a similar position, swords lowering just a tad, eye level with the metal appendages. Logan stands at the center, arms extended out towards both the Sabertooth and the merc. Both sets of claws stare down the two opposing forces, and Logan has his displeased snarl breaking his features. “Weapons, away.” Logan says carefully.
“Jimmy—“ Victor hisses.
“I said weapons away!” Logan snaps back, looking between the two, but particularly eyeing his brother, “Both of you.”
Creed and Wade stare down each other, waiting to see who is going to crack first. It takes Logan just tipping his claws up closer to the two before any movement was made. Reluctantly, the merc and Sabertooth drop their guard. Victor sheathes his claws while Wade sheathes his swords. When feeling satisfied that neither of them is going to proceed, Logan lowers his own arms. He glances at Victor, noting the look of shock that’s quickly taken over his brother's face. He’s staring at the adamantium claws.
Logan already feels the prickle of shame, and he retracts them. He nods to the merc, “Wade,” he says, then motions to Creed, “This is my older brother, Victor.”
Wade takes off his mask, unusually quiet. Logan can see the caution looming in the merc’s brown eyes. So, the younger brother turns back to Creed, “Vic.” He reaches out to Wade, clasping a gloved hand and interlacing his fingers, “This is my partner, Wade Wilson.”
Logan gives an expectant look to the merc, and Wade just smiles. It was strained, but he waves a hand for effect, “Hi.”
Victor is staring, the shock heightening in his features. “This—“ he points with a weak finger, “This is your new sweetheart?”
“I prefer to call him, ‘peanut,’ actually,” Wade pipes up, though Logan can see the smile the merc sports is just a tad smug.
Creed goes quiet.
A beat passes.
Then another.
“The fuck Jimmy?!”