Guys guys hollywood x wolfman is the healthiest relationship of them all they are canon I swear to god.
hollywood and wolfman were never ambitious in the way iceman was.
they loved flying, sure. loved the sky, the precision, the thrill. but neither of them wanted rank for rank’s sake. neither of them wanted their whole lives to be a ladder.
and when don’t ask, don’t tell becomes impossible to ignore, they finally sit down and talk about it. really talk.
late at night. beers on the table. wolfman quieter than usual. hollywood watching him carefully.
they both know the truth: it’s only a matter of time before the wrong person notices. a look held too long. a habit that’s too familiar. a rumor.
dishonorable discharge isn’t worth it. losing everything they’ve built isn’t worth it.
not bitter. not angry. just… done.
hollywood goes commercial. it makes sense. still flying, still skilled, but no longer owned by the job.
they move back to texas. buy land. not flashy. a ranch that feels like it’s always been there. a couple of animals that multiply faster than expected.
wolfman falls in love with the place immediately.
he’s softer out there. calmer. the kind of man who wakes up early to feed animals and talks to them like they understand. hollywood watches him from the porch sometimes, coffee in hand, thinking: this was the right choice.
wolfman has always had a big heart. it’s one of the things hollywood loves most about him.
he stays close with maverick. closer than hollywood realizes at first. long phone calls. check-ins. visits that linger.
then maverick tells him about foster care. about bouncing from place to place. about never really feeling chosen.
wolfman listens. doesn’t interrupt. just lets it sit.
later that night, he brings it up carefully.
“what would you think,” he asks, like he’s afraid of the answer, “about fostering?”
hollywood doesn’t hesitate.
he knows wolfman. knows this isn’t a phase or a whim. knows wolfman is incredible with slider’s kids, patient and gentle and steady. knows maverick practically turns into a kid around him, something softer and safer.
“okay,” hollywood says. simple. certain. “we can do that.”
wolfman looks at him like he’s just been handed the world.
they’re good at it. better than they expect.
their house is calm. predictable. warm. no yelling. no ultimatums. rules that make sense and adults who keep them.
wolfman is the steady one. routines. reassurance. sitting quietly with kids who don’t want to talk.
hollywood is the fun one. jokes. rides into town. the guy who knows when to push and when to back off.
they work as a unit without ever saying so.
jake seresin shows up already smiling.
charming. cocky. too smart for his own good. pretending he doesn’t care while caring deeply.
wolfman clocks it immediately. that look in the eyes. that way of testing people before trusting them.
hollywood notices it too.
“he reminds me of someone,” hollywood says one night.
wolfman snorts. “yeah. that’s the problem.”
jake worms his way into their hearts without even trying. helps around the ranch. flirts his way out of trouble at school. laughs too loud. flies paper planes off the porch.
wolfman is gone first. proud in a quiet, aching way. a dad way
hollywood follows, pretending he wasn’t already halfway there.
and jake, who’s spent his life bouncing from place to place , stays.
their home fills up in ways they didn’t plan for.
kids come and go. some stay longer than others. some leave and still call.
hollywood and wolfman never make promises they can’t keep. they just offer safety. consistency. love without conditions.
together, they are the healthiest relationship anyone around them has ever seen.
no drama. no power games. no fear.
just two men who chose each other, stepped away when it mattered, and built something real.
and if anyone ever doubts it?
all they have to do is look at the kids who come back years later.
or at jake, grown and confident and still calling them home.
