Pancakes, Patience, and Pirst Word.

Two weeks after his worst field trip ever: staring some old metalhead, Wade's words, things were just beginning to settle at the mansion. Or at least as settled as things get when your family consists of mutants, like almost half the X-Men are mad at you, and you're currently serving time for, you know… stealing the professor's wheelchair for a joyride around the mansion and installing rocket launcher with real rocket fuel to the said wheelchair.

(Scrubbing the toilet actually not really that bad, we could prank the toilet after that)

And risk people knowing it was us instantly? Yeah, no, maybe after someone else got that punishment.

This morning, the kitchen was filled with the sweet aroma of syrup, butter, and what he could only be described as "Pancake Paradise." Wade, determined to somehow redeem himself after the whole "I can handle Magneto alone, b'cause I am Marvel Jesus!" fiasco, was at the stove. The boy had gone overboard. Seriously overboard.

(It was like pancake Armageddon!)

How do you purpose we eat all of this pancakes?

"Okay, maybe I overdid it," he muttered, flipping another pancake with a flourish. "But let's be real here—can you ever have too many pancakes? That's like saying there's such a thing as too many explosions in a Michael Bay movie. Impossible. Blasphemous. Besides, this is totally not a cry for attention after that whole getting-kidnapped-by-an-evil-grandpa thing. Nope. Definitely not."

(Uhuh, definitely not!)

Yeah, DEFINITELY NOT.

The kitchen smelled like heaven—if heaven was made of butter, sugar, and slightly burned edges. He could hear the chaos starting as mutants filed in, drawn like moths to a carb-loaded flame. And right at the front of the chaos crew? Ken, already strapped into his booster seat at the table, legs swinging as if he were testing out new moves for a jungle gym audition.

"Ken, buddy, we talked about this," Wade called over his shoulder as he flipped a pancake. "No climbing walls until after breakfast."

Ken grinned, his small face full of mischief as he banged his plastic fork on the table. "I am hungry! Can I eat the pancakes now?"

Wade barely looked up from his work. "Hold your horses, buddy. Great art takes time. You can't rush the Rembrandt of breakfast foods."

Ken furrowed his brows. "What's a Rembrandt?"

"Pancakes are," Wade deadpanned, flipping another perfectly golden disk onto the towering stack. "I'm pretty sure he painted breakfast... or something."

(I don't think he is? Is he?)

I don't think so, no.

Beside Ken, sat Laura, tiny, fierce, and still very much a mystery. She still hadn't said her first word yet even at three-years-old, but the way she eyed the stack of pancakes. Well, she didn't need to, her eyes already said it all. Wade swore he could see a subtle nod of approval when he sprinkled chocolate chips into one of the batches. That or she was plotting to throw a pancake frisbee at him when he wasn't looking. Honestly, either scenario felt equally possible.

"Relax, sis, you'll get yours," Wade said, sliding a plate over with a grin. "Pancakes hot off the grill, fresh from your favorite brother-slash-master-chef."

Laura, still watching him in stoic silence, grabbed a pancake off the stack closest to her. She tore off a piece, popping it into her mouth and chewing slowly. Wade held his breath, waiting for the judgment from his younger sister. She blinked once, paused, then nodded very, very slightly.

Victory.

"Alright, pancake critics," Wade said, brushing off his hands theatrically. "I think my masterpiece is complete. Ken, Laura, dig in. I've only got... 800 more to serve to the rest of the mansion."

Ken, without hesitation, grabbed two pancakes, stacking them high with syrup and butter. "Best pancakes ever!" he declared, sending a wave of syrup splashing across the table.

Wade snorted. "Easy for you to say, squirt. You're not the one who's gonna have to explain to Mom why the kitchen looks like the set of Pancake Armageddon."

Just as the last pancake slid from the griddle, the kitchen door swung open, revealing Logan, his brow furrowed in confusion. He took in the chaotic scene: flour dusted everywhere, pancake towers teetering on plates, and Wade standing proudly at the helm like a breakfast pirate who'd just discovered the treasure of the Ancient Pancake Island.

"What the hell happened in here?" Logan muttered, shaking his head.

Wade gestured grandly to the pancake carnage. "Breakfast. Do you want a pancake? Come on let's have a taste~~~"

Logan sighed, he then started rummaging through the cupboards. Probably looking for a drink, Wade noted. He can't blame him, he would too if his kid just made a fucking mess like thousands pancakes breakfast.

"Looking for something?"

"I need a drink."

"Uh, yeah, there's some bourbon in there, upper cabinet." Wade pointed at some cabinet.

Logan spotted the cupboard and ambled over, opening it to find a hidden stash of alcohol.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, pulling out a bottle. "How did you know?"

Before Wade could answer, Ken peeked over his seat, bouncing on his heels. "Is that for the pancakes, Dad? Can I have some?"

"Yeah, no kid, this one is for adult only,"

"Well, we couldn't get drunk any-"

"Wade…"

"Okay, I'll shut up, oh hey Mom! Pancakes?"

Just then, Rogue walked in, her eyes widening at the pancake mountain and the chaos surrounding it. "Jesus, what the heck is going on here?" she exclaimed, her mouth hanging open.

"Pancakes!" Ken shouted, waving his hands enthusiastically. "Wade made like a thousand of them!"

Rogue's expression shifted from disbelief to pure maternal pride. "A thousand? You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious!" Wade said, offering a pancake like a proud chef presenting a masterpiece. "Want one? They're totally not burned—mostly!"

Rogue approached the counter, glancing at the syrup and toppings artfully arranged alongside. "Well, it looks like you've got everything ready. I might just indulge in a pancake or two."

Logan kissed her and handed her the bottle he found earlier, raising an eyebrow. "You might need this."

"Thanks," she took the alcohol Logan handed her while taking a seat next to Ken, who was eagerly eyeing the pancakes and the bourbon in his mother hands.

(We might have a little alcoholic in the making at our hand now,)

I mean, his father is Logan… Also isn't Rogue like liquor too? Yeah, that's fate is sealed.

as everyone settled into the pancake feast, a small voice piped up from the corner of the table with an equally small hand pushing her plate away. "Pancake."

All heads snapped toward Laura, eyes wide.

"Did I hear that right?" Wade exclaimed, nearly dropping his pancake. "That's her first word, right? YEAAH LET'S FUCKING GO, LAURA!"

Logan smacked Wade on the head with a scowl. "Language!"

"But that's your catchphrase!" Wade shot back, rubbing his head.

Rogue's eyes sparkled with tears of joy, unable to contain her emotion. "That's my girl first word!"

Laura, still fixated on her plate, pushed it again, insisting, "Pancake."

Wade grinned like he'd just won a super lottery. "That's close enough! Here you go!" He drizzled chocolate syrup over her pancake with a flourish, creating a masterpiece worthy of any culinary magazine.

Ken leaned over, his eyes bright. "Can I have some too?" he asked, bouncing in his seat. "I want a pancake with, like, a mountain of syrup!"

"Sure thing, little bro! Pancakes for everyone!" Wade proclaimed, moving to create a syrupy paradise.

Rogue watched, heart swelling as Wade showered Laura with attention. "That's right, Laura! You're doing so great!" she encouraged, smiling through the happy tears.

Laura took a tentative bite of her syrup-drenched pancake, her expression a mix of concentration and bliss. Then, with chocolate smudged on her cheek, she smiled and said, "Pancake!" again, as if it were the greatest word in the world.

-

Wade had never sat still in a class for this long. Ever. It was almost too out of character, if you asked him. He usually already bolted out of the window the minute his teacher took their first word.

His foot tapped against the leg of the desk, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the wooden surface, doing everything in their power to resist the overwhelming urge to bolt through the window. Or at least cause some minor chaos. But no. He had made a promise—a pinky swear kind of promise—to his parents and even Scott, of all people, that he'd take school "at least semi-seriously".

(I knew we shouldn't give out our pinkies promise easily, they are so expensive to keep!)

We got forced by our mother remember, that sweet smile she gave out at that night, terrifying.

And so here he was. Still. Breathing. Doing his best impression of a model student. Well, what he thinks model student would act at least.

His problem now? His best pals, Jubilee and Peter—aka Colossus—weren't in the same grade. They got to be up in the cool high school classes while Wade was stuck in…whatever grade this was. He was sure this is at least middle school level, right? Technically, Wade wasn't even sure. His attention spans usually lasted about as long as a commercial break before his brain wandered off into thoughts about pancakes, battles with icebears, or the 23 flavors in Dr. Pepper. Creamy Coconut the best by the way.

It is a middle school, we are in grade 7, if you did pay attention in class. Thankfully, I did.

(I didn't, oh hey look! Squirrels! Oh, I like Strawberry ones better!)

But today was different. Today, Wade was determined to try. To be…at least a C-Student, heck even a D-Student. As boring as that sounded.

'Atleast they appreciate my masterpiece of a pancakes this morning, even if there is so many that left over. Who knows that even with this many people in the school, they still couldn't finish thousands of pancakes. I also need to thank Laura and Ken's bottomless stomach because it gonna be more pancakes left over today!'

(There's like hundreds left over, so I said mission accomplish! Did you see the look on Scott! Hah! Thank god we got everything in pictures!)

Most the X-Men are seemingly started to warming up for us now. Maybe be pancakes paradise is the key!

'Everybody loves pancakes!'

Storm was teaching something about Earth and Environmental Science, explaining something about ecosystems. Wade caught himself staring out the window, daydreaming about what would happen if he finally joined the Avengers team.

"Wade!" Storm's voice cut through his daydream like lightning through a cloud. "Are you paying attention?"

(Oh oh, you are in trouble!!!)

I told you we should have pay better attention!

Wade sat up straighter, flashing his signature "I'm innocent, I swear" grin. "Of course, Storm! I was just…uh…thinking about how the delicate balance of nature mirrors…uh…our own internal struggles?"

Storm's eyebrow raised, skeptical. "Is that so? Then perhaps you can answer this: What's the main consequence of deforestation on a local water cycle?"

Wade blinked. Uh oh. He was about to give his best nonsense answer when—wait a minute—he actually knew this. He could picture a diagram in his head, something about trees and water and… "Uh…less trees mean less transpiration, which screws up the humidity and precipitation levels, and that leads to more droughts and floods in the area?"

HUH!?!?!?

(HUH?!?!?)

Storm blinked. The entire class turned to stare at him. Heck, Wade was staring at him.

"…Correct," Storm said, her tone laced with suspicion. "You've been paying attention."

Wade blinked back. "I have? I mean, yeah, I have!" He tried not to sound too shocked. Apparently, his brain had absorbed something when he tried to read those books his mom gave him to study.

And that wasn't the only class where he accidentally…succeeded.

(Bold, be honest with me, did actually you help him?)

No! I didn't! It's truly a miracle!

First after Storm classes is History, taught by none other than his dad, Logan.

"Alright, listen up, you little snots," Logan growled, pacing at the front of the class like he was prepping for battle. "We're talkin' the French Revolution today. Bunch of angry people, guillotines, yadda yadda. Anybody know when it kicked off?"

Wade's hand shot up before he could even think about it. "1789! Stormin' of the Bastille. Whole thing was a powder keg waiting to blow, ya know?"

Logan paused mid-step, his gaze slowly swiveling to Wade like he'd just grown a second head. "Uh…yeah. That's right."

Wade blinked. Wait, what? He knew something? His classmates stared at him, and even Logan looked half-impressed, half-suspicious. "Good. Keep that up and you might survive the next quiz," Logan muttered, moving on, but Wade could swear he caught a tiny smirk on his dad's face.

Next was Math, and here's where Wade had expected to cause the most trouble. Scott Summers was at the board, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Alright, class, let's solve for X," Scott droned, writing up some elaborate equation that looked more like alien hieroglyphics than math. Wade stared at the board for a good 30 seconds before…something clicked.

"Is it…42?" Wade blurted out, more as a joke than anything else.

Scott spun around, irritated as usual. "No, Wade, it's not…wait." He squinted at the board. "It actually is 42."

The room went silent. Scott's expression twisted in between disbelief, confusion and shock. "How did you—"

Wade blinked, still half in disbelief himself. "Wait, I'm right? Like, actually? But I didn't even—"

Scott cut him off, eyes narrowing. "You're telling me you didn't guess that?"

Wade's eyes scanned the equation, and before he even realized it, he was working it out in his head.

"You isolate X by dividing both sides by 6, then square root the answer…" he mumbled to himself, trailing off as he scrawled invisible numbers in the air. He suddenly shot up his hand. "42. The answer's 42, right?"

Scott's face went from shocked to mildly existential. "Well," he muttered, "this is unexpected."

Wade leaned back in his chair, grinning like he'd just discovered a superpower. "Huh. So that's how people do math. Weird."

And then came Biology with Jean Grey. Wade had always felt a little awkward around her, not because she was intimidating, but because…well, telepath. He had a little defence against telepath but still, creeps him out.

They were covering genetic mutations—Wade's favorite topic, for obvious reasons.

"Alright, class," Jean said, her voice gentle but firm, "can anyone explain the process by which mutations pass from one generation to the next?"

Wade was zoning out by this point, imagining what it'd be like if he inherited Rogue's flying ability, when—bam—something clicked again. He raised his hand.

"It's through gametes, right? Mutations are passed to offspring through sex cells. If the mutation's in somatic cells, it doesn't get passed down."

Jean blinked, her surprise palpable. "That's…correct."

Wade blinked back. I'm correct? Again?

Jean gave him an almost proud smile. "Well done, Wade."

Well. This was getting weird.

(Really weird, freaky weird…)

I mean, we did absorb a scientist before but he didn't remember any seven grade subjects so its truly a miracle we could do well in school!

Wade sat at the cafeteria table, still in shock from the morning's events. His brain was trying to process the possibility that he wasn't, in fact, terrible at school—just catastrophically bored. Turns out, when he actually paid attention, stuff like French revolutions and Math weren't as mind-numbingly dull as he'd thought.

But the worst part? Without Jubilee and Peter around to share in his misery, school felt more like solitary confinement. Every time he glanced across the cafeteria, he could see Peter chilling with the high school kids and Jubilee with her upper middle school friends, laughing at jokes he wasn't there to deliver.

Wade sighed, his fingers toying with a now-empty juice carton. 'Maybe skipping class isn't the only option. Maybe I could...skip a grade or two? Get in high school with Peter, maybe? Heck, I'd even settle for a couple of middle school grades, just to sit next to Jubilee.'

Only if Xavier approve it tho, not to mention your parents as well, good luck convincing Rogue…

(I want to sit with them both! In the middle!!!)

He'd rather suffer with Peter by his side or he even taking it only going up few grades in middle school to seat next to Jubilee. That way, when he inevitably got bored again, at least he'd be suffering with his friends. It was genius.

(Are we not your friends?)

We are his tought, we are the one that torture him.

The next thing he knew, he was standing outside Professor X's study, knocking with one hand while texting Jubilee with the other. Oh yeah, did he forget to tell you? This universe is at least ten years more advanced, so everyone here got a phone already, well Nokia and Sony burner kinda phone but a phone nonetheless.

(And we got the real flip phones!!! And blackberry!!!)

We also didn't have to hear that annoying sound every time we tried to connect to the internet.

Inside, Professor X gave Wade a look like he knew exactly what was coming. "I hear you've had quite the day, Wade."

Wade plopped into the chair. "Yeah, and it's weirding me out. I'm somehow too good at this school stuff. So, I was thinking—maybe I can skip grades and join Peter or Jubilee? You know, just to…not die of boredom?"

Professor X raised an eyebrow. "Skipping grades is a possibility, but we'd need to test you first. And there may be other factors at play."

After a few hours of intense testing where Wade's mind wandered about every 10 minutes to things like chimichangas, taco trucks and jetpacks, Professor X gave him the news.

(I still sad we didn't get to visit that shawarma's place…)

Maybe when we finish school and finally try doing our mercenary works, we could visit it.

"Well, Wade, you're certainly bright, but your attention is…scattered. It appears you have ADHD. Nothing we can't work with, but you'll need supplementary sessions with me if you're serious about skipping grades."

"ADHD?" Wade said, processing. "So that's why my brain keeps bouncing around like a pinball machine? That actually explains a lot."

We suspected it from day one.

(We finally get formal diagnosed!!!)

Professor X smiled gently. "It's nothing to worry about. We'll work on it together, and before you know it, you'll be up in high school—if that's still your plan."

Wade grinned. "Oh, it's definitely still the plan. I'd rather suffer with Peter or Jubilee than face another week in school purgatory alone."

-

"ADHD, huh? It does explain a lot," Logan grunted, effortlessly blocking one of Wade's punches. He spun, sidestepping another wild kick as if he'd done it a million times. Because, well, he probably had.

Wade huffed, bouncing back to his feet. "Yeah, I guess. Still doesn't explain the voices in my head, but it does explain why my brain's constantly taking these little solo road trips. Like, 'Hey, let's think about the meaning of life and chimichangas while dodging punches and skipping grades! Also, Pancakes!'"

Logan smirked, raising an eyebrow. "And why you never shut up." Logan smirked, ducking under Wade's next swing. "Skipping grades now, huh? Thought you hated school."

Wade paused mid-punch, blinking. "Hey, that's my thing though. Like I said, I was thinking, if I skip a few grades, I'll finish school way faster. Which, technically, is still skipping school. So…win-win, right?"

Now if you put it like that…

(Whaat! That's genius! I never thought about it that way!)

Logan just rolled his eyes, ducking under Wade's next strike. "Always looking for shortcuts, kid. But you've been doing good in school for a few days now, haven't you?"

"Yeah, actually. Turns out I've been accidentally acing classes because…" He paused, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, turns out when your terrifying mom forces you to read all the textbooks and study it before bed with that sweet-yet-'mess-up-and-I'll-end-you' smile, stuff starts to stick. Who knew terror was such a great motivator?"

She scared me...

(Me too!)

Logan snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, kid, I get it. I've been on the receiving end of that look more times than I'd like to admit." He swung, and Wade ducked, his eyes wide.

Wade grinned, throwing a half-hearted jab. "Oh, I bet you do, Pops. You do looks one of those guy who only attracted to dangerous women, heck maybe even I am too!"

(We are!)

We are…

Logan shrugged, a small grin forming on his face as he jabbed at Wade, forcing him to jump back. "Terrifying women with sugar-coated threats? Yeah, I learned early on to take 'em seriously."

Wade nodded in agreement, remembering the exact moment Rogue had given him "the look" before school. "That explains why I actually did well in class today. I even answered questions in Storm's class without flunking out, and Cyke's math problem? Nailed it. I think I scared them more than I scared myself."

(Cyke's definitely traumatized lol! Did you see the looks on his face!)

Poor guy…

Logan dodged Wade's half-hearted punch, landing a light tap on Wade's shoulder that sent him stumbling. "That right? Guess you're not as hopeless as I thought. Still... don't let it go to your head. You're not skippin' grades unless you can handle it."

Wade caught his breath, smirking. "Yeah, yeah, but if I gotta suffer through school, might as well do it with Peter or Jubilee, right? At least then I can be bored with friends instead of alone." He then kicked his dad hard, making him stumbling a lot before giving another punch to his dad face.

Logan nodded and caught Wade punch, "Makes sense, now enough chit-chat, I am not as easily distracted as you! Come at me, kid!"

Wade groaned. "Ah, man! It was worth a shot."

With a grin, Logan lunged forward, and Wade, the poor boy, barely had time to react to it.