X-Men Origins: Wolverine: Remy and Wade, R
Title: The Curse Of Immortality
Fandom: X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Rating: R
Pairing: Wade and Remy, pre-slash, depending on what floats your boat
Warnings: foul language, drinking, dark-ish theme, AU
Summary: Wade was drunk, but this was the most Wade had said about himself since they'd met a week ago.
Notes: I just wrote this and I'm half-way into a bottle of vodka myself. Really, no, I'm not sober. lol But yeah, I miss the Wade from the beginning of Origins, so I figured that maybe Stryker hadn't made him into Deadpool, but only cloned him. And frozen Wade and he'd wake up in a few years and walk into Remy.
So here goes...
The Curse Of Immortality
“You know, you probably shouldn’t drink any more,” Remy commented, watching Wade take another swig from a half-empty bottle of vodka. It wasn’t the first of the night, but judging by the way Wade seemed to have extreme trouble focusing, the Cajun thought it might be the last.
“Fuck off, Cajun,” Wade shot back, his words far too slurred to be menacing He didn’t care about how much he drank, he didn’t care about the Cajun… he didn’t care about anything, really. Why the fuck was he alive again?
Oh yeah, Stryker. That fucking cunt.
Remy sighed silently as he watched the mercenary slip deeper into his alcoholic stupor. This had gone on ever since they met… again. The Cajun made a grab for the bottle before it could touch Wade’s lips again, but the mercenary put up a fight. He held tight to the bottle, his grip vice-like despite his intoxication.
“What th’ fuck you think you’re doing?” Wade practically ripped the bottle from Remy’s hand, then taking a defiant long draft. “Don’t need your help.” Wade's expression bordered on sulky as he cradled the bottle to his chest.
Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes and opted for an observation of the room they were in. It was one of a cheap hotel on the outskirts of New Orleans. It had been a week since he’d met Wade; a week of watching the mercenary drown himself in alcohol and confusion. Not that he could blame the guy, considering his story. It was just… hard to watch. Sure, this was still the same Wade Wilson who had guarded his cell on the island, yet this man, now, was so different. There was a hopelessness that just didn’t seem to belong.
“I think you do, mon ami,” Remy replied, sadly almost, as Wade slid down the wall into a lying position on the bed they’d both been sitting on. The bottle was still limply dangling from the mercenary’s hand. Finally, Remy could pry it from his grip.
“You’ve had enough,” he stated as he leant to place the bottle on the nightstand.
Wade chuckled humourlessly. “Afraid it will give me cerro… cerose…” He just couldn’t think of the damn word. “Aw, fuck it. Kill me, yanno?”
Remy frowned slightly at the inebriated man lying bonelessly on the bed, eyes heavily lidded. Irrationally, he suddenly missed the sharp and stinging wit from years ago.
“I was gonna die, you know,” Wade mumbled, staring out of the window on the far side of the room. The night seemed so surreal to his drunken mind. “’cept I think Stryker made that impossible. I’ve done a few things tha’ should’ve killed me since I came back. They didn’t.”
Remy’s eyes widened comically. This was possible the most Wade had said about himself since they’d met a week ago. He didn’t want to push the other man into talking, but admittedly, he was curious.
“Die, how?” he asked slowly.
Wade rolled onto his back to gaze up at the swaying image of the Cajun’s face. “Cancer,” he said as flatly as a drunken person could. “And inna way I was fine with it. I joined Stryker’s team so I could maybe choose how I die. And I didn’t care. Knife or bullet through the gut just sounded lika better way to go.” Wade made an attempt to grab the bottle from the nightstand, but Remy stopped him with a firm hand on the man’s wrist.
That goddamned pout was back. Remy wished he had the heart to wipe it of Wade’s face. Unfortunately the more Wade talked, the more Remy was warming up to him.
Wade didn’t struggle, his expression slackened once again and he slumped back into the mattress entirely, his energy zapped. “Thought Stryker’s experiments would kill me,” he said morosely. “’stead the bastard clones me and freezes me.”
Remy could feel the shiver that ran through Wade’s body through the hand that was still loosely latched onto the mercenary’s wrist. It was time… time that both of them got some sleep so maybe the morning could look brighter.
Sitting up, Remy got rid of his jacket and his shoes before he once again moved the bottle out of Wade’s reach. Grasping the mercenary’s wrist once more, Remy gently held him down. “You’ve had enough,” he once again insisted. “Sleep.”
Remy switched off the bedside lamp that had been the only source of light in the room and lay down next to Wade, not close enough to be intimate, but close enough to convey that he’d be there if Wade needed him.
A few minutes passed in silence. Remy thought that the other man must have fallen asleep, but suddenly Wade spoke.
“I was ready to die,” he said, sounding exhausted. “’ the fuck ‘m I immortal now?”
Remy lay, staring into the darkness of the room. He didn’t have an answer to that. He wished he did. But there had to be a reason, right? In his experience, everyone had a reason why they were alive.
“I don’t know, mon ami,” Remy replied at length. “But there’s a reason. Believe me, there is.”
Wade no longer heard any of this. He’d finally passed out from exhaustion and the crazy amont of alcohol in his system. But for the first time that week he slept through the night, not waking up from nightmares of things he could not really remember.
A/N: Please review?
Fandom: X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Rating: R
Pairing: Wade and Remy, pre-slash, depending on what floats your boat
Warnings: foul language, drinking, dark-ish theme, AU
Summary: Wade was drunk, but this was the most Wade had said about himself since they'd met a week ago.
Notes: I just wrote this and I'm half-way into a bottle of vodka myself. Really, no, I'm not sober. lol But yeah, I miss the Wade from the beginning of Origins, so I figured that maybe Stryker hadn't made him into Deadpool, but only cloned him. And frozen Wade and he'd wake up in a few years and walk into Remy.
So here goes...
The Curse Of Immortality
“You know, you probably shouldn’t drink any more,” Remy commented, watching Wade take another swig from a half-empty bottle of vodka. It wasn’t the first of the night, but judging by the way Wade seemed to have extreme trouble focusing, the Cajun thought it might be the last.
“Fuck off, Cajun,” Wade shot back, his words far too slurred to be menacing He didn’t care about how much he drank, he didn’t care about the Cajun… he didn’t care about anything, really. Why the fuck was he alive again?
Oh yeah, Stryker. That fucking cunt.
Remy sighed silently as he watched the mercenary slip deeper into his alcoholic stupor. This had gone on ever since they met… again. The Cajun made a grab for the bottle before it could touch Wade’s lips again, but the mercenary put up a fight. He held tight to the bottle, his grip vice-like despite his intoxication.
“What th’ fuck you think you’re doing?” Wade practically ripped the bottle from Remy’s hand, then taking a defiant long draft. “Don’t need your help.” Wade's expression bordered on sulky as he cradled the bottle to his chest.
Remy resisted the urge to roll his eyes and opted for an observation of the room they were in. It was one of a cheap hotel on the outskirts of New Orleans. It had been a week since he’d met Wade; a week of watching the mercenary drown himself in alcohol and confusion. Not that he could blame the guy, considering his story. It was just… hard to watch. Sure, this was still the same Wade Wilson who had guarded his cell on the island, yet this man, now, was so different. There was a hopelessness that just didn’t seem to belong.
“I think you do, mon ami,” Remy replied, sadly almost, as Wade slid down the wall into a lying position on the bed they’d both been sitting on. The bottle was still limply dangling from the mercenary’s hand. Finally, Remy could pry it from his grip.
“You’ve had enough,” he stated as he leant to place the bottle on the nightstand.
Wade chuckled humourlessly. “Afraid it will give me cerro… cerose…” He just couldn’t think of the damn word. “Aw, fuck it. Kill me, yanno?”
Remy frowned slightly at the inebriated man lying bonelessly on the bed, eyes heavily lidded. Irrationally, he suddenly missed the sharp and stinging wit from years ago.
“I was gonna die, you know,” Wade mumbled, staring out of the window on the far side of the room. The night seemed so surreal to his drunken mind. “’cept I think Stryker made that impossible. I’ve done a few things tha’ should’ve killed me since I came back. They didn’t.”
Remy’s eyes widened comically. This was possible the most Wade had said about himself since they’d met a week ago. He didn’t want to push the other man into talking, but admittedly, he was curious.
“Die, how?” he asked slowly.
Wade rolled onto his back to gaze up at the swaying image of the Cajun’s face. “Cancer,” he said as flatly as a drunken person could. “And inna way I was fine with it. I joined Stryker’s team so I could maybe choose how I die. And I didn’t care. Knife or bullet through the gut just sounded lika better way to go.” Wade made an attempt to grab the bottle from the nightstand, but Remy stopped him with a firm hand on the man’s wrist.
That goddamned pout was back. Remy wished he had the heart to wipe it of Wade’s face. Unfortunately the more Wade talked, the more Remy was warming up to him.
Wade didn’t struggle, his expression slackened once again and he slumped back into the mattress entirely, his energy zapped. “Thought Stryker’s experiments would kill me,” he said morosely. “’stead the bastard clones me and freezes me.”
Remy could feel the shiver that ran through Wade’s body through the hand that was still loosely latched onto the mercenary’s wrist. It was time… time that both of them got some sleep so maybe the morning could look brighter.
Sitting up, Remy got rid of his jacket and his shoes before he once again moved the bottle out of Wade’s reach. Grasping the mercenary’s wrist once more, Remy gently held him down. “You’ve had enough,” he once again insisted. “Sleep.”
Remy switched off the bedside lamp that had been the only source of light in the room and lay down next to Wade, not close enough to be intimate, but close enough to convey that he’d be there if Wade needed him.
A few minutes passed in silence. Remy thought that the other man must have fallen asleep, but suddenly Wade spoke.
“I was ready to die,” he said, sounding exhausted. “’ the fuck ‘m I immortal now?”
Remy lay, staring into the darkness of the room. He didn’t have an answer to that. He wished he did. But there had to be a reason, right? In his experience, everyone had a reason why they were alive.
“I don’t know, mon ami,” Remy replied at length. “But there’s a reason. Believe me, there is.”
Wade no longer heard any of this. He’d finally passed out from exhaustion and the crazy amont of alcohol in his system. But for the first time that week he slept through the night, not waking up from nightmares of things he could not really remember.
A/N: Please review?