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Wade glanced over his shoulder, heard the pitch of sirens in the distance, and watched the rising black smoke with a pained grimace. The building was run down anyway and didn't have innocent people inside. Hopefully.
He whistled low appreciative anyway, "That was a close one. Alright, Spidey, best we made a speedy escape. Calling Spider-Uber, Wade needs a li-" he turned and froze, swiveling left and right.
"Spidey?"
The wall he sat his partner against was empty. The only evidence that he was there being the indent of his rump in one of the trash bags where he was supposed to be. Wade inspected the alleyway a few seconds longer, checking behind the dumpster to make sure he wasn’t hiding behind it, and jogged toward the mouth of the alley to peer into the street.
"Spidey?"
Sure enough, a pigeon-toed red and blue figure was bungling down the street, swaying from side to side like a man who couldn’t handle his alcohol. Spider-Man tittered to the side as if tugged by an imaginary string, paused, and ran straight into a street lamp. Wade turned his jog into a hasty run and made it to his side as the Spider-Man shot to his feet, arms out to steady himself, and pointed an angry finger at the post.
"Watch it, pal," he growled, jabbing his finger into the metal, denting it as if it were putty. "M'walking here!"
"And it’s very sorry," Wade said, steering Spider-Man away from the lamppost by his shoulders. Spider-Man followed like a puppy tripping over its own legs and Wade gently turned him around so they were face to face. "Hey, look at me, Webs. I know they nicked you with that fancy new drug, but you've gotta-"
"And what are you looking at?" Spider-Man demanded, staring to the side of Deadpool at a woman who was walking by, scowling at them like they were a couple of punks. Spider-Man leaned forward, as if to walk up to her, but instead of moving he kept falling forward and would've face-planted the sidewalk if not for Wade catching him in time. He planted Spider-Man back on his feet, one arm still looped around his middle to keep him upright and offered the woman a wave.
"Nothing weird here," Wade assured her, pulling Spider-Man's weight into his arms when the man didn't stand on his own. "Just normal dudes doing normal dude things. Keep on walking, yeah - just like that. Alrighty, nightie night. Don't call the cops. Thank you."
As the woman hastened down the street, stealing anxious glances over her shoulder, Wade gathered the piling mess of superhero in his arms and side-stepped into the nearest alleyway. "Hey," he said, propping Spider-Man against the wall and snapping his fingers in his face to catch his attention, "Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?" Wade held up 5 fingers.
Spider-Man stopped and stared at his fingers, the fabric between his eyes creasing in thought. A long minute passed and the lenses of his mask squinted into slits and he leaned forward and planted his face in Deadpool's palm, humming delightfully.
"For fuck's sake, I gave you an easy one," Wade grumbled and propped him up again. "Hey," he said this softer, "I need you to listen, okay? Can you do that for me?"
"'Yeeeep," Spider-Man chirped, leaning forward and looping his arms were around Wade’s neck. "M' listening." He leaned in close to Wade's face, dropping his voice, and whispered, "What is it?"
"Look," Wade said, pushing Spider-Man’s face away when it got within centimeters of his own. "Normally, I'd enjoy this, but you're high as fuck right now, so it kinda makes it unfair. Maybe when your heads not roaming Saturn, we can do this for realsies, but right now I need you to listen to my words."
Spider-Man put a finger to Wade's lips. "Sshhhhh," he whispered, "Your words are..." he paused in thought, "Loud. Your words are being all loud and - and loud."
"Okay," Wade whispered back, doing his best to ignore the fingers still pressed against his lips, "They're quiet now. Now, do you remember the bad guys, Spidey?"
Spider-Man nodded eagerly, pulling Wade closer as if to tell him a secret, which was a feat because there was barely an inch between them to spare. "They poked me," he said, "Riiiiiiiiiiight," he lifted a finger that swayed in the air like a drunk fly and jabbed himself in the neck, "here." He poked it again for emphasis. "Right here."
"Yeah. Those bad guys are still following us. We need to -"
"LET'S GO BEAT THEIR ASSES!" Spider-Man exclaimed, shoving himself off the wall and using the dumpster as a railing to walk toward the alley mouth.
Wade grabbed his wrist gently, bringing Spider-Man's attention back to him. "No," he said, grabbing Spider-Man's other hand when it made grabby hands for the dumpster. "We need to regroup. I'm sorry, Webs, but you're in no condition to fight anyone, and that's coming from me."
"I can fight," Spider-Man mumbled, offended. "Watch," he made a jerky, lazy swing to the open-air that landed flat and almost threw him off balance. "See," he said once he got his footing again.
"Yep, suuuper impressive, but, uh - how about this," he thought desperately, "Let's get food first? Huh? Are you hungry?"
Aggression melted off Spider-Mans frame like droplets of water and his lenses widened, almost childishly. "Yes," he whisper-gasped. "I am."
"Cool, I know a place. You'll love it. Let's go right now."
"Right now?"
"Right now!"
"Okay!"
He let Wade lead him back onto the street without complaint.
It was late in the night, and given that they were in a shadier part of the city, few people were roaming the streets and those that were instantly turn-tailed and went in the opposite direction when they saw the brightly colored duo approaching.
It was peaceful, but Wade kept vigilante. They'd been tailing a drug cartel for weeks now and things came to a head tonight. The cartel was sly, clever, and tied up all loose ends, which made them a pain in the neck to track down. And now that he and Spidey got an eye-full of their operation, they were targets, which wouldn't have been a problem in most cases. But those cases involved a fully functioning Spider-Man that didn't giggle every time he saw their shadows on the ground and whispered to Wade that "the underground people were following them."
As they slunk from street to street, Spider-Man's antics got less childish and more twitchy. His fingers periodically flexed, squeezing Deadpool's hand, and his head fluttered from side to side. His breathing was getting heavier, and he pulled and toyed with the spandex clinging to his chest with his free hand.
When Wade asked what was wrong, he whimpered, "Hot," and fanned his face. "It's getting hot. Is it hot to you? I think it's hot, Wade. I just-" he shook his head as if dizzy and stopped to hunch over his knees, groaning in a way that suggested he might puke.
"Whoa, okay, easy there." Wade placed a hand on Spider-Man's back, rubbing it soothingly. “Deep breaths.”
Spider-Man shook his head. Then shook it again, and again, and again, mumbling, "It's so hot. Ve - very hot. Too hot. M'sweating. I think- " he took a deep breath, curled his fingers under the hem of his shirt, seemed to think better of it, and hunched over again. He lasted a minute like that before he made a noise of frustration and tore the spandex shirt right off and threw it on the ground.
"Whoa, okay-" Wade coughed into his fist, "Okay, ignoring how hot that was. We’re staying focused," he helped Spider-Man to his feet, who was already doing much better now that the cool air was soaking into his skin, "Let's keep going. I got a safe house not far from here."
"That's better," Spidey sighed, tilting his head back, drinking in the night air. He was sweating profusely, and through his gloves where Wade was still holding his hand, and his fingers inched upward so he could feel Spider-Man's pulse, which was beating frantically. That probably wasn't a good sign.
He swallowed down the concern building in his throat and put on a wide smile. "Yep, much better. Let's keep going."
Spider-Man nodded and then almost immediately tensed. A sharp intake of breath severed the space between them, and Wade moved on instinct, having seen this chain of reaction enough times to know what that meant. He pulled the firearm strapped to his thigh out quicker than a wink and shot the lackey leering at them from the shadows. He fell, clutching his leg with a pained scream. The weapon that clattered next to him was too expensive to belong to your common street thug, which meant the cartel was closing in.
"Fuck," he swore and tucked Spider-Man close to his side. "They're onto us. Spidey-sense still working?"
Spider-Man started to nod, but it turned into a disgruntled shrug halfway through and he clutched the strap running across Deadpool's chest for stability, eye-lenses clenching from nausea.
"Alright, it's working, but you can't do shit about it. Good to know. Ah," he looked around desperately. His safe house was still a few blocks away, and the cartel was closing in fast. Spidey, as amazing as his comics suggested, was completely out of it, and Wade couldn't defend him and keep those guys off his back. Not without some serious mass murder, which he was trying to cut back on. Besides, the chances of killing them all and Spidey leaving without a scratch were laughable.
But it was obvious they would not make it to the safe-house in time. Besides, he'd only be leading them to it, which wouldn't put them in a much better situation.
However...there was one place nearby. He just wasn't sure if it was better than the drug cartel.
Then again, he didn’t have a choice.
"Alright, Webs, new destination. You still with me?"
"Uh-huh," Spider-Man murmured, but he was shivering now. Sweat clung to him, but tremors racked his frame. Definitely not good.
Wade put an arm under Spider-Man's shoulders and hefted a majority of his weight. They passed a hobo hunkering in an alleyway and Wade forced the large, ratty over-coat he wore away from his angry form and draped it over Spider-Mans' naked, shivering shoulders.
"What the hell, you motherfucker-" the hobo started, but Wade shoved a few hundred-dollar bills in his mouth and hastened on. That was his takeout stash, dammit. Having a conscience sucked.
"Almost there, just hang in there," Wade whispered into Spider-Man’s ear. They slipped into a new alley. Wade glanced over his shoulder, searched the shadows, and approached the side-door of an old, ratty-looking building. His eyes roamed over the dirtied alley one more time, before turning the knob and walking into the warm room beyond.
As soon as he stepped inside, the rumbling conversation stopped. He closed the door, adjusted Spider-Man's weight, turned, and waved awkwardly. "Hey, guys."
The cold, hard eyes of dozens of villains glared back at him.
The Bar With No Name. A bar only members of the criminal underground knew about and a resting place for villains looking for new jobs, hatching a plot, or licking their wounds after having been foiled. Bringing Spider-Man here was like bringing a dog into a den of territorial angry wolves.
Buuuuut, if the villains made a scene, even here, it'd blow their cover and the bar would have to relocate again. Which no one probably, hopefully, wanted. Besides, the rule of the bar was that there was no fighting allowed once you stepped inside, no matter who entered. And if that didn't keep them off his back, he'd start shooting in a heartbeat—rules be damned.
From a table sprawled with poker cards and chips, Black Ant lurched to his feet. "What the hell are you doing?" He demanded, pointing a finger at Spider-Man. "You know the rules, Deadpool! No heroes allowed!"
"Stop being a two-year-old," Wade shot back, sticking his tongue out.
"This is our space!" White Rabbit snapped, standing so quickly her drink toppled across the table.
From the spot opposite to Black Ant, Taskmaster said, "Just because we can't stop you from coming here, doesn't mean you can bring filth like him in!"
Wade snorted. Spider-Man? Filth compared to literal villains? Yeah, right.
More clamoring from the crowds as more people got up, voicing their complaints.
"Do we kick em' out?"
"Kick em'? Imma blow their brains out!"
"Hey, what's wrong with Spider-Man, anyway?"
"Who cares? I call first dibs. Guy tossed me in jail and I think a few broken bones are in order."
"Kay, but why's his shirt off?"
Wade backed up a few steps, glared, and grabbing one of his guns. A shout of panic as the hoard ducked for cover or went for their own weapons, but Wade only fired a few shots into the ceiling, silencing them all instantly. He pointed the gun toward the crowd, holding Spider-Man close.
"Okay," he said loudly, "Obviously, ya'll are a bunch of pricks and can't share a bar like a bunch of good evil-villains with a revenge fetish, but if any of you touch him, I'm touching you...with my fists and bullets, if it that wasn’t obvious. Point is, I have swords and they are the only point you need to worry about. Kapeesh?"
Irritated grumbling. Hands lingering near weapons.
"AND," Wade emphasized, "He's also high as Iron Man shooting a missile into deep space, so it's not like he can do anything about your little bar, anyway."
That broke the tension.
Shocker, who had retaken his seat, sat straighter, waving his arms around, "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, "You telling me you got Spider-Man high?" He looked over at Spider-Man again, and leaned back in his seat, nodding appreciatively, "Respect."
"What?" Wade said, "No! I didn't do this!"
"Huh-uh."
"Seriously, tell em' Spidey!"
Spider-Man finally looked up, gaze roaming over the mass of familiar faces that promised some degree of pain. He looked at Wade, then at them, then back at Wade. "I wasn't listening," he slurred.
"Okay, he’s a little out of it, but he’d totally back me up if he wasn’t."
More roused now, Spider-Man straightened up, still sagging into Wade's side mostly, but no longer doubled over. He squinted at the villains, lenses pinching, and whispered loud enough for the crowd to hear, "I think I know these guys."
A long beat of silence as the villains let that sink in.
"Holy shit, he really is high." Shocker erupted in laughter, head thrown back, one hand slapping the table. When he finished, he heartily put all his chips in the middle of the table like a man who'd come across a winning hand. "I'm all in."
The rest of the bar inhabitants were in the throes of laughter as well, jovially going on about how they never expected Spider-Man, of all people, to be a pot-head. It must've been too loud and grating because Spider-Man growled under his breath and rubbed his temples sorely.
"Argh! Just shut the fuck up," he yelled, massaging his head as he swayed. "And you wonder why we beat the shit out of you guys. You sound like Wolverine’s claws on chalkboards. Especially you, quilt-man," he shot this at Shocker, who suddenly looked far less amused as he muttered, "Quilt-man?"
Deadpool reached out to balance him, but Spider-Man brushed him off and stumbled forward, almost collapsing on the nearest table where Bullzeye, Crossbones, and Beetle were mulling over a hit-job. Spider-Man brushed the papers to the side uncaringly and poked a finger in Crossbones' face.
"And you know what else?" He demanded. "You want to know what else? Huh? Do you, Crossbones?"
"Uh - no. Not rea-"
Spider-Man climbed half-way up the table, shoving his finger more insistently in the mercenary's face, "DO YOU?"
"Yeah, okay, fine," Crossbones shouted back, swatting Spider-Man's finger aside. "What else?"
Spider-Man's hand cocked inquisitively to the side. "But do you really wanna know?"
"Sure."
"Really?"
"I just said-"
"REALLY?"
"YES! JUST TELLING WHAT ELSE, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!”
Deadpool pulled Spider-Man back and pushed Crossbones back in his seat when he went for his knives. "Whoa-okay, calm down. Why are you so riled up? Chill. Breath in and out. The sun is getting real low."
"Silly," Spider-Man said, bopping Wade's noise, "The sun is already down. I know," he pointed to a window that wasn't there. "I checked."
"Yes, you did." Wade patted his head. "Very good." He backed them up, let go Spider-Man slowly, and turned to the bartender. "Water. He needs water. Stat." But when he turned back around, Spider-Man was gone, up and wandering around the tables, swaying on his feet and bumping into people who shot glances that were as loathing as they were amused.
He plopped down at a table near the back and swung an arm around Trapster, spilling the criminals drink down his front, "Paste Pot Pete!" He exclaimed gleefully. "I remember you. You're a funny dude."
"It's Trapster! TRAP-STER! And get the hell off me, you little bastard," Trapster growled and shoved him away. Or at least tried to. Spider-Man's arms stuck tight to his shoulder, and after several attempts, it still didn't budge.
"See," Spider-Man said, gesturing between them. "This why we get along." To Electro and Mysterio, who were sitting opposite of them, he whispered, "Cause we're both so sticky."
"GET OFF!"
"But you," Spider-Man continued, ignoring Trapster and pointing at Mysterio, "Are a little bitch! Can’t you just stay in jail? Why do you make it so hard? With you stupid robots and illluuuusioons." He waggled his fingers like he was casting a spell.
Mysterio gasped and planted an affronted hand over his chest.
Deadpool rapped his knuckles against the table, in front of Spider-Man, drawing his attention. "Stop trying to pick fights," he said, sliding a glass into Spider-Man's hands. "C'mon, you can bare your heart and soul later, after the drug wears off and you're once more accountable for your actions."
"But I wasn't done," Spider-Man whined as Deadpool pulled him to his feet, "And you," he pointed at Electro, "Chill. Out. You are always so uptight. Do you need some help getting that stick out of your ass, because-" Deadpool clamped a hand over his mouth and led him away.
He sat Spider-Man in a chair. "Now sit. Don't move."
Spider-Man watched Wade slowly back up towards the bar, and Wade turned, scrambling out a frantic order of food. With his back turned, Spider-Man leaned towards the table nearby.
"Psssst," he whispered, "Hey, pssst!"
Boomerang sighed, "What?"
"So, what is this place?"
"The Bar With No Name, it's a bar for," he paused, "You know what, don't worry about it. You probably don't know what it is anyway-"
Spider-Man snapped his fingers, lenses going wide, "Oh! You mean the old bar that villains go to that they think no one knows about it?"
Boomerang sputtered over his drink, "W-what?!"
Spider-Man got up again, ignoring the frantic sputtering that followed him. "I'm hungry," he announced to no one in particular. "Wade said there'd be food, but" he glowered at his empty hands, "I think he lied to me."
He spotted a mechanical tentacle in the corner and gasped, "Doc Ock? Is that you?" he leaned in closer for a look and recoiled in surprise. "Oh, a lady Doc Ock. Hello?"
"Do you have something wrong with me being a woman?" She snapped.
"What? No, no, no, no!" Spider-Man flapped his hands, suddenly frantic, "I - I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. That was probably really rude, S - see, I would never - I'm a feminist, I would never," he looked shame-faced to the side, a hand over his mouth, "I'm just as bad as the bad guys now, aren't I?" he whispered, "I'm sorry. Wade promised food and there's no food."
White Rabbit looked almost piteous. She glanced at her buffalo wings and beer and gingerly nudged them toward him, lips curled. "Uh, here. You hungry?"
When Spider-Man looked at her, she swore he was almost sobbing. "How did you know?"
It was while chowing down on a hastily made sandwich did Spider-Man lurch up from the table he was occupying with Shocker, Boomerang, and Electra, cup his hands around his mouth and yell to Wade, who was watching him from the corner, "Hey! Hey, Wade! I'm gonna be a bad guy now! To fit in!"
"Can't wait for you to tell me all about it." Wade called back.
Having received the go-ahead, Spider-Man plopped back down, steepling his fingers sinisterly, "Okay, tell me how to be a bad guy."
Shocker shrugged, "Wouldn't call us bad guys," he grumbled into his cup, "But, uh - I don't know, go rob a bank, I guess."
"Okay, okay, okay. I got this, I got this." Spider-Man rolled his shoulders as if preparing to pick a fight. "Rob a bank. Easy peasy. I'm totally on top of this," then he added, off-handedly, "You know, kinda like how I want Wade on top of me right now."
Boomerang had to do the Heimlich on Shocker as he choked on his chips.
"HOLY SHIT IS THAT SUPERHERO TRIVIA?!"
"Yep, every Saturday night."
"Wade! Wade, they got superhero trivia! Wade, hurry, you can be on my team!"
"WHOO! DANCE PARTY!"
Deadpool lurched from the wall. "No, no, no, WEBS PUT YOUR PANTS BACK ON!"
"WHO WANTS TO WATCH ME DRINK THIS ENTIRE BOTTLE OF VODKA? GIMME A HELL YEAH FOR HIGH METABOLISMS!"
“For godsake, Spider-Man put the fucking bottle down!" Deadpool yelled over the eager, "HELL YEAH" from the villains.
"Yo, Deadpool, I think he's starting to burn himself out."
"Also, his pulse is going super fast."
"...like super fast."
"...Uh...I don't know. Is that healthy?"
"Are you sure we can't just take one peek under the mask?"
"You do and I'm gonna carve him a new mask with your face," Wade threatened with a smile.
When Peter woke up, he felt like, well...hell.
He groaned loud and obnoxiously into what looked and smelled like a coat that belonged to a hobo. He hoisted himself up on his arms, slowly squinting around the room. The lights were dulled but still felt downright harsh to his sensitive eyes.
"Where am I?" He whispered, and it hurts how dry his throat is.
Glass crunches under a pair of boots that stop next to him and crouch down. A glass of water dangled in his face, which he took eagerly.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Wade's red and black panda-mask greeted him. "On a scale of one-to-kill me now, how bad is your hang-over and drug recession?"
Peter blinked several times. "Hangover? D - drugs?!" He lurched up and almost fell back down, holding his head. "What the hell happened?"
Wade beamed at him, head in his hands, "Weeeell, that little drug cartel we were trying to stop? Yeah, they totally nicked you with that fun new superhuman drug. Got us out of there but you went totally bananas bonkers, like me, but a lot clingier."
"Debatable," Peter mumbled.
"Anyway, they were following us, so I hid us out in a bar."
"A bar?"
"Well...a bar for villains."
Peter's eyes bugged "The Bar With No Name? That villain-bar? The bar that the villains think no one knows about?"
Wade winked. "That's the one."
"What the hell made you think that was a good idea?! Do you have any idea what they could've done?"
"Noooo," Wade said, slowly, "But I'm pretty sure they're all aware of what you can do."
For the first time upon waking up, Peter gave the room a good glance over and nearly spit up his water. Villains were sprawled around the room in large slumbering heaps. Some were half-clothed and others draped over the tables or strewn across the floor. One guy was hugging an empty vodka bottle to his chest with the signature "Spider-Man" scribbled on the side. Trivia cards littered the floor where tabled and chairs were overturned and when Peter looked down, he noticed the cheap plastic medal that said "Trivia Night Winner!" dangling around his neck.
"Yeah," Wade said, "It got wild. Don't worry, I stopped you as best I could, but I couldn't stop them. Who knew you were such a party animal, Spidey? I don't think I've ever seen them so lively."
Peter couldn't stop gaping around the room, mind still trying to wrap around it. Numbly, he asked, "B - but what about the drug cartel?"
"Well, after everyone passed out, I tucked you in, and I hunted them down. Cartel is busted. Called the police. No casualties."
"Wow, really?" Peter blinked at him, "Wow, that...that's great. Sorry, I'd be more excited, but..." he rubbed his temples, "My head is killing me."
"Yeah, let's get you home, okay?" He carefully helped him to his feet.
"Wears my shirt?" Peter asked, crossing his arms over his naked chest.
"Ripped," Wade shrugged, "But here," he picked up the ratty old coat, "I got you this."
"Gee. Thanks."
They left through the side door, stepping past unconscious villains as they went. They passed Taskmaster and Black Ant snuggling it out under a table, and Mysterio's helmet lying upturned on the counter halfway filled with beer. The villain it belonged to was sleeping near it, face smushed into the puddle of drool dripping under him.
Also, Peter was pretty sure his pants were on backward. "What the hell?" he repeated, rubbing his eyes.
Wade grinned and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry, I'll show you all the pictures."
"THERE ARE PICTURES?"