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If Wade still had eyebrows, he’d be arching them high at the sight of the genuine, honest to god superhero in front of him. “Hey, don’t you already have a team?”
Johnny Fuckin’ Storm, of all people, shuffles his feet awkwardly on the concrete floor and runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, uh...see, since we kinda lost the Baxter Building, and those giant bugs got loose from the Negative Zone and swarmed Boston, the Four haven’t been getting as much business as we used to.”
“Oh, yeah.” Recognition dawns on Weasel’s face, and he jabs a finger at Johnny. “You set the Statue of Liberty on fire, too.”
“Technically that was Spider-Man’s fault.”
“No, I think it was yours, bargain bin Captain America,” Wade chimes in. “Actual Captain America is not pleased with you for damaging his lady love.” An angry, glowing ember flickers in Johnny’s eyes, and Wade has to admit it’s pretty spiffy looking. “I guess Fox finally upped the special effects budget now that Disney’s running the puppet show.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. So, Mr. Storm, what special skills can you bring to our team?”
Even Weasel gives him a ‘what the fuck, idiot’ glare for that comment.
“Really?” Johnny just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, which both emphasizes his dorito-esque shape and highlights the distinctive “4” logo on his uniform. “Do you want it in chronological or alphabetical order?” he spits out. “I’ve also got a YouTube page.”
Before Wade can respond, the door rattles in its frame, then swings open hard enough to lose one of the hinges. The ever-lovin’, blue-eyed Thing pokes his head through and gives Johnny a glare. “We gotta go, Matchstick,” Ben grumbles out. “Sue just texted - she thinks Reed’s ripped a hole in the fabric of reality again.”
Johnny turns back to them, shooting them a movie star smile and tossing off a casual salute with horribly improper form. “Duty calls, boys. I gotta go save the universe. If you need a back up though, let me know.”
“Wait!” Wade cries out as Johnny walks away.
“What?” he says, turning back.
“Just once, pretty please,” Wade begs, clutching his hands in front of him, “say the catch phrase? Say ‘Flame on’?”
Johnny rolls his eyes again and spins towards the door. He gestures behind his head, leaving the image of a giant, flaming, middle finger behind to wave merrily at Wade and Weasel.
Wade sighs with misty-eyed romance in his voice. “I’ll treasure that middle finger forever.”