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The muzzle of his desert eagle pressed against the roof of his mouth, Wade sliding it back further in his throat, giving it a very sad blowjob. His sanity was slipping and his brain was such a hellish place to be, he’d never really known himself and he knew he never really would, because of shady government organisations and angsty childhood abuse and whatnot. The nightmares were hounding and gorey, overwhelmingly liminal and terrifying. He always felt like he was watching whatever disgusting memory (real or false) his brain had cooked up for him through a frosted window, helpless to change it yet inexplicably forced to watch. But when there were screams, his own or others, and when there was pain, and when there was blood, boy, it was graphic, it was nauseating, it was horrific, it was gross. Wade was a disgusting and dilapidated corpse of a person, one which would revel in its own filth, and he knew this all too well, but apparently even he could be disturbed, especially when it was by his own moral wrongdoings, every shitty thing he’s done. Those dreams hit him harder than blurry recounts of his own traumas.
He pulled the trigger in the way he has so many times before, and good lord, that blissful feeling was the only thing in this world that hit him like a high after so long. He’d exhausted every drug's effects on him, his healing factor got used to coke in his nose and on his gums, pills under his tongue, smoke in his lungs, liquor and smack in his veins, but death? It never got old. It was the only good thing left for him here, and he’d never be able to actualise it before his body and brain began to tug themselves together desperately, and he’d never really felt like he was either his body or his brain, so it made sense they’d go against him, much like every other thing in Wade’s life. His senses always came back slowly, being dropped back into his body one by one. The scent of iron-tinged blood stuck to the palate of his mouth alongside Nate’s vague cherubic scent, which was close to fresh laundry and almond lattes if you were wondering. Warm and heavy hands holding his marred face like it was porcelain and dried blood streaking his healing and repulsive body, the taste of morsels of his own neurons. Shooting out your own brain was never neat.
“Wade… oh, Wade…” ugh, Nate’s voice always sounded like this fantastic mix between an angelic choir and club bass, Wade felt it inside of him in a strangely erotic way as he was still coming to the world around him. Wade was where he left himself, he could see now, which was the bathroom, because cleaning blood out of carpet fucking sucked honestly.
“I'm angsting Nate… stop interrupting me” Wade grumbled, Nate moved his arms around Wade and God, i love my half metal boyfriend, i'm so ontologically evil and bad, what did i ever do to deserve him? And what evil fucked up shit did Nate do to deserve me?
“What happened?” Nate’s non-glowy eye was blue like crystal clear water staring down into white sand, reflecting every ray of sunlight from the sky above. Angelic choir and club bass just asked him a question, yes, we should answer soon.
“Bad dreams… but y’know, pshaw, had my fit about it, i'll help you clean up now!” Wade pushed his sick and sad feelings down into a little ball then shoved them deep into his stomach where they were hard for even him to find. It was getting kind of crowded in his emotional hidey-hole now. Wade began to stand up, Nate’s metal hand pressing down his hip and thigh, not letting him. Nate gave him an incomprehensible yet certainly sad look. But it wasn’t pity. Nate would have less teeth right now if the look was pity. Except, no he wouldn’t, because Wade would never hurt Nate like that, he’s already hurt too many people.
“I love you, Wade” His heart still jumps in his chest whenever Nate says that before it settles into all-encompassing comfort and quiet. That was nice too. That bliss. He supposed that that feeling, Nate’s love, was comparable to the goodness of death. Wade felt tears begin to collect in his waterline, and he tried desperately to stop them. A warm, damp hand towel which Wade hadn’t seen be telekinetically prepared pressed against his collarbones, Nate taking it from his power’s grasp with his flesh hand, metal one still sitting by Wade’s thigh. The white, fluffy fabric stained red as it was so lovingly dragged across Wade’s cancerous skin, soft fibres adoring every imperfection with Nate’s perfect hand guiding them. He looked focused as he worked, and he looked beautiful, Wade beginning to cry as his breath hitched. Nate was too gorgeous and nice to him. Fuck. he looked at Wade and he felt like an icky little bug under a microscope, then Nate sighed, moving the hand towel across Wade’s chest to his upper back, leaning in and pressing a kiss to those mangled (yet now fully healed) lips. It was closer to chaste than obscene, yet it was still wonderfully passionate and made Wade’s head spin.
“Instead of hurting yourself, next time, I want you to talk to me, alright? Please, Wade, tell me you can do that for me.” Nate spoke after disconnecting the kiss, foreheads pressed against each other. Wade was still crying, the sniffling was a bit gross really. Eugh Wade stop it he’s already accepted all your baggage and tumours we don’t know how much more he’s willing to turn a blind eye to. All Wade can really muster is a sad and pathetic sound of agreement. Pathetic!! Awesome robot boyfriend will think you’re pathetic Wade. he’s already having to wipe up all the blood and trace amounts of brain matter stuck to your skin, we’re pushing maximum levels of loser right now.
“Stop worrying, please, i want to make you feel better right now” dirty telepath . Wade huffed, sniffled again, then felt both of Nate’s arms embrace him, Wade breathing heavily and trying to stave his tears off, before accepting it and succumbing to the warbled feeling in his chest, while being held in Nate’s arms.