Chapter Text
The clouds have turned pink, like pink lemonade. The birds are fluttering home to their warm nests. The skyscrapers and other city buildings are casting their shadows down like metal giants, down on the busy streets. People scurry like so many ants. So many noises.
“I wish I could die. Screw everything.” a costumed man murmurs, “Now that would be bliss.” The man sits on the roof balcony of his apartment building. He watches below, while voices in his head buzz like the cars beneath him.
“Can you guys ever shut up?” he hisses, with a slight smile.
“I don’t know, can you?” a deep voice echoes in his brain in reply, “I’d shut up if you did.”
“I can shut y’all up!” the costumed man screeches. He pulls out his pistol and presses it against his temple. He almost pulls the trigger until a voice in his head echoes once again.
“He’ll find your body. He’ll be disappointed in you, hurting yourself like this.”
“Shut up,” he says, giggling.
“He’ll be so upset.”
The costumed man lowers the gun and puts it back in his holster. The voices continue, tauntingly.
“You know he cares about you. You should be grateful he even talks to a freak like you, even after seeing your glorious visage. After seeing you impale that thug. Even after you confessed to him. You probably should find some way to kill yourse-”
“Please,” the man whispers, “shut up.” He blinks rapidly and to his surprise he feels moisture on his mask.
“I’m...crying?” he whimpers, touching his mask. “No way.”
“Yes way. You’re on your way to becoming a real life k-drama character.”
“Now if I only I had Lee Min-Ho’s hair,” the man murmurs. The man stands up on the balcony. Far below he hears yelling and horns going off. He squats and peers downwards. A few bicyclists have been run over.
“I wonder if they died? Wish I could die. But not that boringly. I want to die explosively. In a dynamite chair. Or die of an extreme orgasm.”
“Quit kidding yourself.”
“I’m an adult,” he says, springing onto his feet.
“No. Stop distracting yourself.”
“I’m not!” he whines, “I’m doing the right thing! I’m trying to forget about him! You know, get over the angst?”
“We could listen to Taylor Swift and eat ice cream!”
“We already did that…”
“We need a distraction, something to get him out of my mind-” the man says out loud, “any distraction.” As if by a miracle, he hears a woman screaming. “Jackpot!” The man squeals happily. He jumps off the left side of the building and begins to run down the side of the building, breaking some windows and flowerpots. He spots a scrawny looking man and the screaming woman. The homeless man (or hipster, I don’t know which) is beating the woman senseless. Her nose looks broken.
The costumed man- “Hey, hold on author! I didn’t introduce myself! The costumed man is none other than I, Deadpool, aka Merc with a mouth, aka national hot dog eating champion and avid fan of the Golden Girls! Check out my origin story! I was a humble little boy when one day I fell into a radioactive volcano, gifting me with immortality and irresistible looks. About now the author is losing meaning in her life so-” Ok, let’s get on with the story.
The costumed man, Deadpool, lands ever so gracefully into a pile of trash. The skinny hipster (who looks about 60), stops hitting the woman to gawk at Deadpool. The old man starts trembling as Deadpool clumsily gets to his feet.
“Hey baldy,” he says to the old man-thug, “I wouldn’t look up to Chris Brown if I was you.” The old man points a bony, shaking index finger at the mercenary.
“S-S-Spiderman!” the man sputters. Deadpool stiffens. The name sucker punches D-p in the gut, more accurately his heart. Deadpool shakes his head violently, trying to shake off the voices.
“Shut up!” he yells, drawing his katana.
“W-what?” the old man sputters. He glances down at the beaten woman and back at Deadpool, confusion and fear lining his wrinkles.
“You!” Deadpool barks, pointing a katana at the man, “shut the front door so help me Bob! Shut up!”
“Who is Bob?” the old man shouts back.
The voices were all saying different things, in different vocal ranges. The woman starts sobbing loudly, the old man won’t stop talking either. One of the voices repeats, chants: kill. Kill. Destroy. Kill. Do what you have to. Do it. Kill him. Kill the villain. Deadpool covers his ears but they only get louder. Kill. Do what you were made to do. He screams and can only see red, crimson blood. The voices stop and he blinks quickly, trying to blink out the red.
Now the voices start to laugh, cold hollow laughs. Or is it the merc laughing? The old man’s body is on the ground, blood spilling from his neck. It’s everywhere. The woman lets out a shrill scream; it breaks through the noises in the merc’s head. His insane smile turns into a frown.
“Such a nice and clean cut,” he says, kicking the old man’s head, “it’s a shame she doesn’t think so.” He pouts at the terrified woman. Her screaming gradually fades into loud sobs.
“Y-you...killed him,” the woman says, her voice hoarse and strangled, “h-how?...in cold blood?”
With a flick of the wrist, Deadpool cleans his katana. “Yeah. I saved you!” he says, smiling.
“He...he was my landlord,” the woman croaks, “you monster.” The woman begins to stand up, using the wall for support. Soon she was standing up straight, her fright slowly turning into anger.
“Jameson was right,” she says, “you are a sick menace. You’re not a hero, Spiderman, you’re just a masked vigilante. No one wants your help! This city doesn’t need you!” the woman says with a loud sob.
“B-but I...I..he was hurting you!” the merc protests, taking a step towards her.
“No!” she screams, “stay away!”
“I was trying to help!” he roars, striding up to her. The woman backs up quickly, tripping on a box. She yelps in surprise and falls onto her bottom, looking up at Deadpool with big, frightened eyes.
“Wade!” a stern, high-pitched voice says, “Wade, stop!” Deadpool’s insides turn to ice as he recognizes who the voice belongs to. He turns around slowly, with his hands in the air. Standing in front of him was the actual Spiderman. He is built like a gymnast, lean but muscular. His voice is sober, almost cold.
“Hey, baby boy! Long time no see!” Wade says cheerfully, his hands still in the air. The woman lets out a gasp and faints. “You made Spidey look bad,” says a voice. “You did it again. You killed somebody.” “He was a bad person.” “Good point.”
“I second that!” the merc shouts, throwing his katana in the air. Spiderman quickly grabs them with his webs. He holds both katana in one hand and silently glares at the merc. Wade can feel Spidey’s glare burning through his mask.
“Wade..that was wrong and you know it,” Spiderman says, gazing furiously at the old man’s body. He looks back at Deadpool, angry as ever. “You said you wouldn’t do this again. After all that training..” he trails off and stares sullenly at the ground.
Wade lets his hands drop at his sides. “Aw c’mon baby boy,” he chirps, “don’t be like that. You know how I is,” he chuckles mid sentence, “I’m a ma-hay jor fuck up.” He gestures sharply to his katana. “Can I get my toys back?”
Spiderman shoots a venomous look at D-p, but then his expression seems to soften through his mask. He moves the katana from hand to hand, sighing thoughtfully.
“You can have your swords back when you can go four weeks without killing someone,” the man-spider says, his voice still stern but much softer. He webs the katana together and straps them to his back. He looks around cautiously, then removes his mask. Spiderman has big brown eyes, like a baby deer’s. His dark brown hair is a mess, probably from it being in a mask for so long. His lean face is covered in sweat. His eyebrows become softer as he steadily stares at Deadpool. Deadpool lets out a low whistle, staring back at him.
“Still as gorgeous as ever,” he says, smirking.
“Wade,” Spiderman says, walking up to him, “I’m disappointed in you.” He stops until there’s a few feet between them.
It was always that one word. It was that look he hated the most. A mixture of pity, concern and sadness, written all over Spiderman’s face. Like Deadpool was some kind of disabled puppy. “Which isn’t entirely wrong,” a voice pops up, “disabled, yes...animalistic, yeah.”
Wade coughs, then clears his throat comically. He whips out his gun and begins twirling it with two fingers, watching it. “You and the whole world, Spidey,” he says.
The man-spider crosses his arms. “Are you going to give up then? Because I’m not giving up on you,” the web-clad hero says.
Deadpool stops twirling the gun. “You think you can fix me? Save me? Got a Messiah complex alright,” he laughs, “comes in every Avenger’s cereal box.” Spiderman opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He looks hurt.
“I want to help you,” he says, swallowing.
It takes every fiber in Deadpool’s being to stop himself from hugging the younger man. Instead he stretches his aching arms and yawns. He’s so insistent about this. And so vulnerable looking.
“Listen, Spidey, I’ll continue with you helping me or whatever-” he makes weird hand motions, “but what if I go berserk and you become pork chop suey?”
“We talked about this. If you do go berserk I have my trusty web-shooters,” the younger man says, pointing at his wrist.
“Ooooh. Right,” Deadpool purrs, “I’d like to be tied up by your webs. Be warned, I make a lot of noise.”
Spiderman’s ears go red. “I would stuff your face with web then!” he says, his voice getting a little more shrill.
“Oh!” Deadpool lets out a girlish moan, “stuff me, Spidey!”
Spidey’s face goes red. “Someone might hear. Be quiet,” he mumbles, ruffling his own hair bashfully.
“Stuff me till I burst,” the merc squeaks, giggling. The voices want to say things of a more graphic nature but let’s keep it PG-13.
The younger man puts his mask back on but with some difficulty. The katana on his back keep knocking on his elbows. He raises a finger as if to say something but Spiderman’s phone goes off.
“Wait a second,” the younger man says. He pulls up his mask so only his lips are showing. Ah yes.
“Take me now Jesus! His lips look so succulent. I want a lil taste!” Deadpool thinks, busying himself with hiding the old man’s body. He puts it in the trashcan, covering the body with loose cardboard.
“He wouldn’t want to taste you, hermano,” a voice says.
“Hello?” Spiderman says, “Oh hi. No, actually I am busy at the moment,” here he gives Deadpool a look, “so I’ll be a little late, sorry. I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you, sorry. Ah ok,” he says into the phone, “I’ll see you later. Love you. Bye.” The webbed hero hangs up and sighs heavily.
“Who was that, baby boy?” Wade asks, phasing quickly next to Spiderman’s shoulder, making the man jump up a few inches.
“N-no one!” yelps Spidey, facing Deadpool. Wade (who is Deadpool, but you probably already know) strokes his masked chin, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Your aunt?” Wade asks, rocking on the heels of his feet. After a few encounters at the Avenger HQ Deadpool had found out two things about Spiderman: 1. He had an aunt and 2. He was dirt poor. He found out after eavesdropping on Tony and Steve. Spiderman knew that Deadpool knew about those two things. Deadpool told him. “Too bad you didn’t catch Spidey’s real name,” a mournful voice says. “He threw you off a building.”
“Good times, good times,” Deadpool whispers.
Spiderman’s eyebrows shoot upward. “What was that?” he asks.
“Oops said that out loud,” Wade says, out loud. “Shush.”
“It’s not my aunt,” the younger man says quietly.
“Your...girly-friend?” Wade cocks his head to the side like a curious dog. Spiderman smiles a little. Bingo. Spidey puts his phone on his back and webs it on there. He leans back on a nearby wall.
“What does she look like?” Wade asks. He hopes his mask is covering the brokenness in his voice. “It’s not, bro,” a voice echoes. The voices start shouting a myriad of thoughts. The merc shuts his eyes to stop an oncoming headache.
The web-clad man looks away from Wade, gazing at a chink in the building opposite. “She um, she’s a brunette. She just moved from Spain with her parents,” he says, “her name is Arita.”
Wade feels a wave of nausea come over him. Spidey never mention this before. Last night..or the night before. Arita..what kind of name is Arita? Wade cackles. Sounds like dish detergent.
Spiderman looks back at him in surprise. “What’s so fu-”
“Does she have big jugs?” Wade asks, still at Spidey’s shoulder. Deadpool giggles. “Do she?”
The hero snorts. “You know there’s more to a girl than her body,” Spiderman says, “size doesn’t matter either. A person should only be judged by what’s in the inside. The inside is what cou-”
“You must tell yourself this every night,” Wade interrupts, patting Spiderman’s shoulder, “poor tiny Spidey Jr.” Wade pats Spiderman’s thigh, tsking.
“Hey!” the hero says, blushing and glaring at Wade; he scoots away, out of the other man’s reach. “No need to be rude,” he grumbles, red faced.
The merc giggles and spins on his heel. He does a little sprint and jumps on a pile of boxes and trash. He squats and stares down at Spiderman. Spiderman crosses his arms and stares up at him.
“Wade...meet me here tomorrow,” the hero says, clearing his throat casually, “so we can start again with your training.”
“Oh..about that.” Wade raises his arms and does a Sailor Moon pose while talking, “I have something going on tomorrow!”
Spiderman puts his hand on his hip and sighs. “How about Friday?” he asks.
“Nope. Movie night with Domino.”
“Saturday?”
“Nope.”
“Sunday?” the younger man asks, placing both hands on his hips.
“No can do, baby boy,” Wade replies.
“Well, when are you free?” the hero asks in frustration.
“I’ll be free when the planets eclipse the sun, causing the Earth to be thrown in a state of complete and utter darkness, only then will my curse be lifted and I will be free, but the freedom will come for a price-”
“Wade!” Spiderman snaps, “be serious!”
Deadpool giggles, “Why so serious?” he goes into a little giggling fit, making him topple from his perch, onto his butt. A banana peel lands on his head. He peels it off and looks up at Spidey.
“I’m free on Friday. Domino will have to miss the awesome that is me,” Wade says, getting onto his feet.
“Good. I’ll meet you here at six in the evening,” the hero says, looking around, “I can clean up the mess-” here he looks at the unconscious woman “-and then I’d like you to lay low for a while. No jobs, no answering phone calls from your bosses. If you feel caged in just call me and we can patrol the city.”
“A team up?!” Wade squeals excitedly.
“It’s not a team up, it’s training,” Spiderman explains, “while we’re patrolling...IF we will...we can use it to help you become a hero, maybe.” The man-spider smiles. His mask is still half way showing his face. “Maybe you’ll learn how to use your powers responsibly,” he continues, smiling slightly, “and maybe, even, you could become an Avenger.”
“Whoa! Bro! Hold on!” Wade says, raising his arms in alarm, “Baby steps!”
“Well, judging from your progress, baby steps are the steps we have to take,” Spiderman murmurs. He smiles, showing pearly-white teeth. “Our-your first goal: securing criminals without killing them. The proposed deadline for dealing with this should be...uhm...two weeks,” the younger man says, grinning.
“Two weeks with Spidey! Heaven in a webbed suit!” squeals Deadpool.
The hero pulls his mask down, covering all of his face. The voices complain loudly. Wade’s eyebrow twitches. The sun’s lingering rays had vanished. The moon is large and pearly looking. Spiderman taps his wrist, causing a watch to appear.
“Oh! I thought you broke that,” Wade says.
“You did, doofus.” Spidey says, checking his watch, “it’s getting late. I’ll have to swing home. Arita’s probably fuming by now.”
Wade’s heart sunk to his stomach. Either that or his breakfast was having a fight with his lunch. Ew.
“Now don’t forget what I told you. No killing. And oh! No scaring people either!” Spiderman scolds.
“Awww c’mon! You have to admit, seeing Thor destroy most of the Avengers HQ because of a toaster is funny! Coulson thought it was funny!” Deadpool protests, giggling a little.
“Yeah, well, you’re both nut jobs,” the man-spider says. He begins to climb up a wall. His phone starts ringing. Spiderman swears, trying to reach behind him.
“Need a hand, baby boy?” Wade coos, striding up to him. Without waiting for a reply, Wade jumps up and snatches the phone. He crushes it in his hand as he lands on his feet. He’ll never notice the jealousy.
“Hey!” Spiderman yells. He jumps off the wall, incredibly annoyed.
“Oops, butter fingers,” the merc says, raising a hand to where his mouth is innocently.
“How am I supposed to get a new one?” the man spider whines, staring forlornly at the bits of his cell phone on the ground.
“I can get you a new one!” Wade chirps happily.
“No...please don’t,” Spidey grumbles, shooting a web from his wrist, which goes around a flagpole.
“I have a shit ton of phones at my place,” the merc says, stretching his legs, “and a shit ton of other shit. I could shower you in Benjamins you know.”
“No, thank you,” the younger man says, preparing to swing away. He hesitates and looks over at the merc. “Wade...I..I’m sorry.”
The older man laughs halfheartedly. He knows he shouldn’t ask. He does it anyway, already knowing the answer. “Why?”
“About last night. I’m sorry about the way I reacted. It was insensitive,” the man-spider says, “I hope it won’t make things awkward. I care about you and I value your friendship.” He holds onto his web loosely, facing Deadpool.
For moments like these, the voices were unnaturally quiet. Or naturally. Wade felt like an invisible hand is squeezing his throat. Like the hand was trying to squeeze the tears out of his eyes. Forcing him to feel. He begins to realize the silence. The merc with a mouth didn’t know what to say. Spiderman is standing there, waiting for a response.
Somewhere deep, deep, deep down in Wade’s heart he really does care about Spidey. The younger man had accepted Wade, scars and all. He promised to help him. If only his ass wasn’t so damn hot...if only he wasn’t, a thought or voice hisses. If only he could learn to be content with a few nibbles of friendship. But it’s madness. Something clicks in Deadpool’s brain. Douche-bag mode.
“Maybe we can stroll over to Mamby Pambyville and help you grow a set,” Wade growls, slinking into the back of the alley, “you don’t have to be cheesy.” He laughs, without humor in his voice. “I’m like a pile of nachos. Must be why you’re so hot. I don’t know shit about apologies or whatever but I forgive you. I don’t know why you’re apologizing,” he cackles, sitting on a box.
I don’t deserve that...apologies. What I need is some death, he thinks. The voices respond, making some suggestions on nacho casseroles.
Spiderman holds onto the web tightly. “So...are we good then?” he asks. “Friends?”
“Sure, kiddo,” the merc says. He takes out his pistols and starts juggling them.
“Wade..I-I,” the younger man stutters, turning back to the flagpole and playing with his web, “I wish I-”
“Don’t want your girlfriend waiting for so long,” says Wade, putting his pistols back, “she’ll curse you with an ancient Spanish curse. I had a Spanish girlfriend a while back. I still have explosive diarrhea and impulses to salsa.”
To his utter surprise, Spiderman laughs. It’s light and like church bells. Much like a shojo manga, the merc’s heartbeat begins to beat faster. We just hit another jackpot, a voice squeaks, we have to make him laugh. As much as possible. I love his laugh. It’s so adorable.
“The salsa dancing might be useful, though,” Wade says, “it’s romantic in a way. It’s complete shit when you’re fighting. But then again I don’t think Tasky can dance.” Wade leans against the wall, smiling widely.
“That will be handy,” says the younger man with a little laugh, “I’ll get going now.” Spiderman runs, holding onto his web; he shoots out another web from his wrist, and makes a steady trip down the busy road.
The merc sits on his box, thoughts and voices steadily gaining in volume. He shakes his head again. Puts his hands over his ears. Stands up.
Face it, you’re stuck with us.
Like glue. Oh so cliche.
So! He has a girlfriend! She has everything you don’t. She has parents, a vagina, and she has Spiderman. Good for her! I should congratulate her.
Something starts to tick...like a bomb. But with words. Kill her. Kill Spiderman. Kill them. They’re in the way. Kill. Kill!
“Shut up!” Deadpool roars, kicking a bag full of glass. It makes a satisfactory crashing sound but it isn’t loud enough.
Of course he wouldn’t love you, a voice purrs, you’re just an experiment to him. Two weeks, right? He’ll be glad to get rid of you. You’ll never be good enough for him. So get rid of him first. He’s an obstacle, a distraction from your real purpose. To kill.
“No,” Wade whispers.
Oh yes, it purrs, yes. You know what you have to do. Don’t let your sexual appetite get in the way. He shares his laugh, his kisses with that woman. He doesn’t love you. And he never will.
Wade lets out an inhuman howl. He snatches up his pistol. He presses it in the center of his forehead. He fires. The voices cease. He feels the cold bullet in his skull. He feels it pass through and bounce off a wall. The blood spurts everywhere but his body is too cold to feel it.
His body hits the floor like a rag-doll. He lets out a groan. The blood is getting in his eyes. The broken glass pierces his skin. It stings. The mercenary’s sight begins to blur, and the blood pours out of his forehead in time to his fading heartbeats. Fading into unconsciousness, he hears ringing laughter and sees beautiful brown doe-eyes. Spidey’s.
Beautiful. So fucking beautiful.