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Wade really did think it was going to be a normal day. Then again, his definition of normal wildly veered off the beaten course for what most other people considered normal.
He was going to hang out on the rooftops, stop a robbery or two, make out with Peter, then go home and eat Taco Bell while watching ethically sourced porn he purchased directly from the creators on Tumblr.
He did not expect to find himself sitting across Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, and most notably, fiancée of Pepper Potts, trailblazer in the business world, and inspiration to little girls everywhere. Oh, he is also, as evidenced by the fifty-ish armours, currently aiming everything, from repulsors to what he’s pretty sure are anti-tank missiles at him, Iron Man.
“Oh my god, it’s Robert Downy Junior,” he squeaks breathlessly as Earth’s mightiest hero steps out of the central armour, wearing a sharp, well-tailored suit.
“I’ve been told by reputable and not-so-reputable sources, that if I had a problem, and I wanted it to stop being a problem, I could turn to you,” Tony Stark says. He’s keeping his voice mild, and Wade is bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. This is it – the moment that makes an assassin’s career – he’s being hired to kill Captain America, and probably take on the Winter Soldier.
He nods along distractedly while Stark circles him like a shark. It was very difficult for brown eyes to be cold, but Stark was managing just fine. Wade didn’t drop his guard. Civilian though he was outside the suit, unlike most people, Wade didn’t forget that before Iron Man, Tony Stark had been one of the most powerful men in the country. And he was definitely glad he’d never taken any of the hits on him. Those people tended to disappear.
“Sure,” he says easily. “Tell me what you need done.”
Stark’s smile is shark like. “And I can count on you to be discreet?”
Well. insofar as no one finding out Stark money paid for the hit, sure. But Wade couldn’t be expected not to sign the crime scene. He had to advertise his services and make ends meet. His Netflix account wasn’t paying itself, and now Peter was mooching off it too.
“Sure,” he said again. Something in the billionaire’s expression, and the fact that the Iron Legion was still armed, and hovering with him in their aim was definitely not sitting right with him.
“Good, good. I have a very particular problem, you see,” Stark says. He rubs his left hand, kneading his knuckles as he stares absent-mindedly at a spot to the left of Wade’s head.
“I’ve got a kid,” Stark says, which isn’t what Wade expects to hear at all. “I’m a public figure, so obviously, it’s a bit of a secret that I do.” There’s a fondness in his voice, and a faraway look in his eyes, and Deadpool really hopes that one of the greatest modern super heroes is going to contract him for infatricide.
“See, the thing is, I’ve got reason to believe my kid is in danger,” Stark says, and Wade relaxes. Sure, he can do that. He loves kids. He’d definitely protect one. He’d do it for free, even. He’ll still take Stark’s money though. Redistribution of wealth and all that.
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Stark nods emphatically. “I’m very concerned. See… it’s not that my kid’s young. He’s fifteen – nearly sixteen now, and he’s amazingly smart and all – “ his chest puffs with pride, and the reactor almost seems to glow brighter. “It’s just… he’s still very innocent about some things – you know how it can be sometimes, when you’re a younger teen, and you meet someone who’s older and more experienced, and you trust that person… someone dangerous.”
Stark’s eyes darken, and Wade can kind of start piecing the puzzle together. There’d been speculation, at one time, about what fifteen year old Tony Stark used to get up to at MIT, back before words like campus consent started being throne around. Those rags masquerading as newspapers never saw the light of day, but Stark’s iron-clad tone makes Wade wonder if there was ever any truth to the rumors.
“How much older are we talking?” he asks instead.
Stark shrugs, and there’s a metallic glint in his eye. “Old enough to know better,” he says, which is answer enough. He sighs, an rubs his left arm again.
“You know, I never really wanted kids,” he says conversationally. “Never thought I’d be the… fathering type. But sometimes, you just gotta step up – gotta be a role model, and a mentor, and you try to look out for your kid. You really, really do – I mean. I really do – and then there’s just some things I can’t really protect him from, but it doesn’t mean I won’t try. You get it right?”
Wade nods. He isn’t sure it would be wise to interrupt the guy who these days, after the so-called Civil War, is probably one bad day away from taking a deep refreshing swim in the dark and alluring waters of supervillainy. He’s certainly got the whole monologuing thing down.
“So what would you do, if you were me, Wade Willson?” Stark asks quietly. “If there was a fifteen year old kid who relies on you for guidance, and protection, and then you find out that said kid is doing the rough n’tumble with some shady two-bit assassin, giving him a blowjob behind a dumpster in a Queens back alley, at 3:45 am the night before he has a Chemistry test?”
Wade doesn’t manage much more than an “Oh.”
That definitely explains the Iron Legion. And the monologue. Holy shit, he thinks, I turned Iron Man into a super villain.
He settles for a “I didn’t know he was fifteen,” and winces, because not only does he sound like every single felon ever, but also it sounds weak to his own ears.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Wade,” Stark says, “Peter doesn’t know I had this little conversation with you. So, you’ll go back to being his … boyfriend,” nope, Wade isn’t imagining the shudder that just went through Stark, “And you will be nothing short of a perfect gentleman. Because if you aren’t…” he takes a deep breath. “Well. I suppose I can’t kill you. But I think you and I both know there are worse things than death.”
He steps back into his armour, salutes Wade, and hops off the roof. The Iron Legion hovers there a little while longer, following Wade with their hollow eyes.