#cg!wolverine

It came on unbelievably fast. And ironically, just after you’d been telling a friend how strong of an immune system you had—likely from living at Xavier’s Institute surrounded by so many kids. Here it was though—a slowly building temperature, a tickle in the back of your throat and a dull aching in your muscles. You were getting sick. By tomorrow, you knew you’d be bed-ridden and keeping the tissue box real close.

You ended your day at the institute, went home to your dormitory and immediately collapsed on the couch. Shortly after that though, your caregiver came striding through the door as well.

Taking a look at you and then making a few subtle sniffs of the air, Logan declared, “You’re under the weather, darlin’.”

You wanted to argue, on the basis that sometimes it annoyed you that his mutation allowed him to sense the little shifts in your heart rate, temperature, and more. In the end though, you simply peeked your head out from under the blanket you were under and nodded. As per usual, Daddy knew best and you couldn’t deny it.

“What happened, honey? When’d you start feeling bad?” He asked.

“A few hours ago.” You answered meekly, starting to feel chills even under your fleece throw now.

Logan knelt down beside the couch and pressed a hand to your forehead. “You’re already burning up, sweetheart. C’mere.”

With that, you were scooped up in his arms, blankie and all and letting yourself be carried to bed. Between the scent of your daddy’s clothes, his arms wrapped around you and how weak you were starting to feel, you began slipping deep into little space. Like all the other things Logan could sense when it came to you, he noticed.

Setting you down on the bed he knelt down to your level again and asked, “Alright little one, which pajamas do you want?” Brushing a hand through some of your hair.

You thought a little before the chills and aches started to get the better of you. “Want Daddy to pick.”

“You want me to-? Wow you really aren’t feelin’ like yourself, are you darlin’? Alright, pup. Give me a minute. I think your favorites are clean.”

A few moments later, Logan returned with your absolute favorite pjs in hand. They were your favorite color and also your softest.

“Alright, little one. Arms up.” Your daddy helped you get changed and then immediately scooped you up once again to get you settled in bed.

“Here we go, darlin’. Extra pillows, extra blankies, and all your stuffies…I think. I can’t keep track of ‘em all.” Logan sighed, making sure you were tucked in tight. As he did so, a whole new symptom crept up on you. Your little lungs started coughing, trying to expel whatever had its grip on you.

“Ohhh, sweetheart. You really are sick, aren’t you?” Logan leaned over and kissed your forehead, the temperature of which was still rising. “Daddy’ll take care of you, darlin’. All I need you to do is lay down and stay snuggled up. I’m gonna get you a couple things, and I’ll be right back, alright?”

Once again, he disappeared, leaving you with your stuffies, clinging to the blankets you were bundled up in. A few minutes later however, your daddy came back with an entire care kit for you.

Logan carried in a box of tissues, a thermometer, a box of your favorite snacks, and even his laptop…but there was a catch. In the bundle of get-well-soon goodies was also—to your dismay—a bottle of medicine.

The way your initial smile melted off your face didn’t go unnoticed by Logan. He sat down on the bed next to you.

“Yeah I know sweetness, you hate medicine. But here’s the way this is gonna go. You’re gonna open up and take your medicine and after you do…” he leaned closer to your face. “I’ll give you all this other stuff for bein’ so good for me.” Telling you his terms, he removed the lid from the medicine bottle and poured out a serving.

“But Daddy…don’t like it…” you pouted, hiding your face from the nose down beneath your blanket.

“I know kiddo, it tastes yucky. But this’ll make you feel better. And~” Logan reached down for one more piece of incentive for you. “As soon as you take it, I’ve got a sippy cup full of juice for you to get rid of the taste.”

You coughed a few more times, really starting to feel pretty bad. “You promise it’ll make me feel better, Daddy?”

“I promise, love.” Logan smiled.

“…what kind of juice?” You asked skeptically.

“Your favorite.” He answered raising his eyebrows at you.

“…ok.” You finally gave in. You opened your mouth and your daddy fed you just about the worst tasting medicine you’d ever encountered. But just as he promised, you did get a sippy full of juice right after and the sweet taste replaced the icky one.

“Good job, darlin’, that’s my little pup.” your daddy wrapped his arms around you and gave you a kiss on your nose. From there, you got everything you saw your daddy come back into the room with. He set up the laptop with your favorite cartoons, opened the pack of your favorite snacks for you to munch on, and all the while was snuggled up right next to you.

Logan took your temperature and confirmed you were running a fever. Eventually he came to the diagnosis of the common cold, courtesy of his mutant senses and 200 years of experience.

After a few episodes of your shows, you started yawning. It felt like your body was fighting just to stay awake.

“You gettin’ sleepy, darlin’? Close your eyes. Your body needs rest.” Logan stroked your hair with a warm hand. He spoke to you with a voice so gentle and low it almost acted like a lullaby. “I’m right here, love. Daddy’s gotcha. Go to sleep, honey. Shhh~” Without much convincing you fell asleep in his arms.

…

A few hours passed and eventually you woke up. Your throat hurt now, and you were struggling to breathe through your nose. Worse than all your achiness and sniffles was the fact that your daddy wasn’t next to you anymore.

“Daddy?” You called meekly. Your throat felt scratchy but you tried again, looking around your dormitory. “Daddy?!” Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt your body even weaker than before your nap.

As if on cue, the door opened a moment later, and Logan came in with something in his hands. Seeing you trying to get up and out of bed, he put it down and rushed over to you.

“Hey, hey, hey little one, what’s wrong? Lay back down, darlin’.” He tucked the blankets back up around you but you were fussy and squirmy now. You popped your arms out of the blanket as Logan furrowed his brows at you.

“What baby, are you hot now?” He asked.

“No~!” You whined.

“Then what are you-?”

You reached up and made the most pathetic grabby hands you may have ever made at him.

“Ohhhh~ honey I’m so sorry. C’mere little one.” Logan reached down and scooped you into his arms and you started to cry.

“You woke up all alone, hmm?” He asked.

“Mhm.” You whimpered into his shoulder.

“Awww, I’m so sorry, darlin’. Daddy was just in the kitchen makin’ something for you. Can I get it?” He asked, wiping a tear off your cheek.

“…mhmm.” You finally nodded.

“Alright, sweetheart.” Your daddy laid you back onto your pillowy pile and crossed the room again. He came back with a bowl of soup that was still steaming with heat. Even with a cloudy sense of smell, your mouth watered at the scent of it.

“This should get you better a little quicker, pup.” He said, picking up a spoonful. “Open up.”

You let him feed you, and the soup was so warm and yummy that you actually managed a little smile at the first taste of it.

“There’s my little one.” Logan grinned. It gave him some relief to see you happy for a moment.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, love?”

“Thank you.”

“Any time, darlin’.”

For the next few days, Logan waited on you hand and foot as if you might break at any moment. He fed you homemade food, helped you take your medicine, and always made sure you had something yummy to drink afterward. He kept your favorite movies and cartoons playing on your laptop, kept you warm and cozy with hot baths, soft pjs and heavy blankies, and made sure you got all the snuggles and cuddles you wanted.

He groaned and squinted his eyes open, tensing at the blurry figure next to him. He shifted away from it quickly. Who would even dare to- oh.

"Don't move, daddy, you'll mess up my artwork!" you whined.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Logan wasn't under attack. It was simply his sweet little bub kneeling beside the couch, holding his hand and painting red onto the nail of his pinky finger.

"Hey, bub." he muttered.

You turned to look at him with bright, sparkling eyes. You were so happy to see him. "Have a good nap, daddy?"

"You know it." he rumbled.

Your eyes shifted back to your task at hand. You brushed a bit more red onto his pinky finger, trying very hard not to get polish on his skin. Daddy wouldn't care but you knew you would care. It's got to be perfect for daddy!

"Whatcha doing?" he asked.

"Making daddy a pretty kitty." You picked up his limp hand and showed him your work so far. Logan didn't mind the nickname. He liked anything you gifted him.

However, he did quirk his brow at a certain implication. "Wait a minute, I thought you said I was already pretty?" A sliver of a smile poked through his serious facade. He can't actually be serious with you, you're way too cute for him to be all grumpy, wumpy. You've got him tied around your finger and he's a-okay with that.

"Wait but you are, daddy! You are! I'm just uhhhhh...." You looked around the room, aimlessly searching for an answer. "OH, I'm making you even prettier! The mostest prettier ever!"

The sliver of a smile turned into a full grin. He sat up and observed his now painted hand. "What colors did you use?" He wouldn't be your daddy if he didn't test your knowledge just a little bit.

"I used some red and pink and blue, oh and orange, and only a little yellow cause it's basically empty, see?" You turned the bottle upside down and shook it before tossing it to the side. "Do you like your nails, daddy?"

Logan lifted his hand, moving it this way and that. Up, down, left, right, sideways, up ways, down ways, more ways. You patiently waited for his approval with wide eyes. "Of course, I do, pumpkin. It's perfect."

You pulled him closer by his shirt, jutted your lip, lowered your brows, and squinted your eyes. With your other hand you pointed at him very sternly. It took everything in Logan to not coo at your cutely angry expression. Your face was scrunched, just like your daddy does sometimes. "Never take it off, daddy."

"Don't worry," he giggled. "I won't."

"What's happening here?" came a voice.

Mr. Butern... the professor of mutation genetics. When did he get here? "Turning into a pretty little princess, huh, Logan?" he scoffed and began to walk away.

Logan moved quickly and shoved the professor against the wall. His claws came out to play, pricking at the meanie's neck.

"Say another word and I will slice your fucking head off-"

"Daddy, that's a bad word!" you scolded.

Your daddy turned to face you. "Apologies, pumpkin." He turned back round. "Now, you tell my little one how good of a job they did."

The other guy stuttered, shaking so bad he must be a milkshake inside. "You d-did a good j-job."

Daddy dragged him to the tattered couch and shoved him down. "Sit your ass down."

Daddy's face immediately went from angry to mushy mush as he looked at you. "Bub, I think you should give him a makeover, too."

"Right on it, Dada!"

You woke up during the night, first recognizing the pain in your stomach before any other sense. The room was dark and you could hear Logan snoring softly beside you. You curled into a ball trying to ease the pain. You tried to be quiet, hoping the white noise machine would hide your little sounds of pain.

You really didn’t want to wake Logan but you weren’t feeling any better and you needed some help. You tapped his shoulder lightly.

“Papa?” He was lying on his back so you could see his eyes flutter open, searching for you.

“Yeah pumpkin? What’s up?”

“Hurts.” You teared up a bit. You were tired. The day before had been a long day of pain spent on the couch. You just needed some relief. “Just wan’ it to go way!”

“I know sweetheart, how about I massage your stomach?”

“Yes please.” You turned onto your back, grimacing at the spike of pain at the movement.

Logan sat up, grabbing the small bottle of oil on his beside table and putting a few drops in his hand. After putting the bottle back, he used his other hand to lift your shirt.

Logan had watched some youtube videos about massages to soothe stomach pain. They seemed to work, even if only temporarily. You closed your eyes as his hands worked the oil into your skin, his soothing motions lessened the tension in your stomach.

He pulled your sleep shirt back down and rubbed the remainder of the oil into his dry knuckles.

“You feeling’ better bub?”