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Wade did not want to be doing this.
This was the exact opposite of what he wanted to be doing.
Wade wanted to be home, in his apartment. He wanted to be cleaning. Cleaning it so it was ready for Eleanor. It was his week to have her goddammit!
But, no, he was toting a half dead vigilante away from a fellow mercenary.
“PUT ME DOWN! I CAN STILL FIGHT!”
Okay, the kid only had a broken leg and was favoring their right arm but they were bleeding heavily from a slash across their chest. The bleeding may have stopped for now, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come back. That counts for somewhat dead, right?
Instead of complying with the kid's demand, Wade readjusted his bridle style grip. He had a good lead on the mercenary but it wasn’t enough to stop and hide the kid. If he could even get them to comply, that is.
You know, if the kid had looked and sounded older than 16 he probably could have let it go. Let another wannabe hero face the consequences of their choices. This kind of life wasn’t for everybody and most people who try it out don’t usually get to make a name for themselves. But the kid just had to get a katana to the chest and let out a yelp that cleared any doubt about them being under aged. Now, Wade may be a mercenary, but he was a mercenary with standards. One of his standards being that nobody fucked with kids. Nobody.
What has his life become?
A shot rang out behind him, reminding him of his situation and clipping his shoulder.
“Shit!” Wade cried as his balance was thrown and both him and the kid went sprawling.
Boots hit rooftop gravel. Blades slide against their sheaths.
Wade stood, drawing his own katanas.
In front of him, in all his black and orange, one eyed glory, was Deathstroke.
“Step away from Red Robin, Deadpool,”
Oh great, the kid had a name. A name that was known by a very skilled mercenary. (It was also the name of a restaurant that they either owned or was sued daily because of).
Fuck it. He’s gotten this far, he might as well go all the way.
“Nah,” Wade shifted his stance, shielding the unmoving form of Red Robin (YUM!) even more, and gave a half hearted shrug. Please don’t let the kid be dead , he thought.
“He messes with my hit. You of all people should know the need for his termination.” Deathstroke took a step forward.
“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Wade took his own step forward, “I got a thing about getting kids mixed up in this life.”
Deathstroke laughed, “You would not be thinking him much of a child if you knew what he could do.”
He shrugged, “Maybe, but I’ve got a house to clean and parents to talk to. Besides, this has gotten boring.”
And with that, Wade rammed himself into Deathstroke, sending the other mercenary tumbling off the edge of the building. Sometimes being physically bigger and stronger than most of your opponents pays off. Other times you can’t fit in narrow doorways.
“Is he dead?”
Wade glanced back at Red Robin (YUM!), and saw them shakily push themselves into a sitting position.
Wade knew how much it took to take down a mercenary of Deathstroke’s caliber. The fall would probably just knock him out for a while. Sadly.
“Sadly, no.” Wade sighed, “You got a place to go kid?”
“I’m not a kid,” They said defensively while avoiding the actual question.
“Tell me that when you finish high school, kid. Now, you got a place to be stitched up or will I have to drag your ass all the way to Hell's Kitchen to be done up by the Devil’s mom.”
Red Robin (YUM!) just stared at him in confusion at that statement. At least he thinks they were staring, it’s hard to tell when the eyes of the mask don’t blink. Then they adjusted their stare and the entire mood shifted. Becoming analytical.
Wade could feel everything about himself be picked apart. It wasn’t a great feeling.
Apparently the kid found whatever they were looking for because their mouth drew into a thin line and their shoulders sagged in defeat.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” they muttered.
Me too , Wade wanted to add, but he stayed quiet.
“I’ve got a safe house,” they rattled off an address, “it shouldn’t be too far. You can just drop me off and we can go our separate ways.”
He sheathed his katanas and stooped to pick up Red Robin (YU- all right, that getting annoying).
“So… Red Robin. How often does the restaurant try to sue you?”
Red Robin went completely stiff, caught off guard by the question. “Ah… I actually think they don’t know I exist. Besides there’s no Red Robin restaurant where I grew up, so I didn’t know the name was already taken.”
“Really? You didn’t even do a quick Google search?”
The part of their face not covered by their cowl reddened. “no...”
Wade laughed. How could he not?
“Well, if you ever need a lawyer, I know a defense attorney.”
“Wrong kind of lawyer,” Red Robin huffed, “I would need a copyright lawyer, not a defense attorney.”
“Well, lawyers know other lawyers, so he might be able to hook you up with someone. Just-,” Wade grunted as he cleared a particularly wide alley, “-just in case.
Red Robin snorted once before falling silent. They continued their journey in semi-comfortable silence.
It wasn’t until he was setting them down on the fire escape outside that he spoke again.
“You sure you’ll be okay?”
Red Robin gave a dry smile, “My brother may hate me, but I like to think we got past the part in our relationship where he would leave me to bleed out. I’ll be fine.”
Wade was saved from replying to that loaded sentence by the window beside them opening.
“What the shit, Pretender? What kinda message was that? Also, get your ass in here so I don’t have to tell Big Bird you died on my fire escape and suffer through him mourning.”
Wade was only slightly surprised that Red Robin’s aforementioned brother was the Red Hood. Though he was sans Hood’s uniform, instead in what were clearly lounging around clothes with only a red domino mask to cover his face, his voice was pretty distinctive.
Wade felt like he had to say something.
“Hiya, Hood,”
Hood’s attention flickered to him for barely enough time to give a distracted, “Hey,” before he was back to barating his brother about clear communication or something. He had honestly stopped paying attention.
He decided that then was probably the time to go, and go he did. But not before hearing the whine of “But, Hooooood…” that was the mark of a truly suffering younger brother.