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“Wooow, someone got their ass handed to them.” Deadpool sang, running his hand over the mess of tubes, wires, and crunched metal that was once a very large, very expensive machine. He wasn’t a scientist or an engineer, so he didn’t know what it used to be; but even if he had all those geeky smarts holed up in his brain, he still couldn’t tell you what the machine did when it was alive and intact. That’s how demolished it was. “So, what is it you want me to do again?”
The scrawny man behind him shuffled in his steel-toed boots, clutching a tablet in his gloved hands like he was using it as a wall between himself and Wade. Wade already forgot his name. It was probably something forgettable. Like Brady. Or Tom.
“W-we want you to track down whoever did this.” Brady stammered, peering over the top of the tablet. It was hard to see his face behind the breathing apparatus, but his eyes were wide and bug-like. His fingers twitched nervously when Wade twisted around and cocked his head.
“And then,” Wade made a shooting gesture with his finger, “BAM! BAM! Take them out?”
“Possibly.” Brady said meekly. “O-or bring them back here. We’d like to know who did this and why, and possibly bring in legal action. One of our officers was found dead, and a lot of the equipment was used without proper authorization. We have an idea of what they created, but we’re not sure what they were trying to accomplish.”
Wade hummed, standing and turning to take in the rest of the damage. The room was massive, yet suffocating. Giant, looming machines with tubes, windows, panels, and dials stretched up to the ceiling and lined the walls. Metal walkways created different levels and floors for the workers to clamber around so they could run the systems and fiddle with electric energy and radiation. The bright fluorescent lighting the room gleamed off the metal paneling and structures, and the whole thing just looked so… cold and stale.
There were too many expensive doodads and gizmos for someone of Deadpool’s caliber to stomp around with. Expensive things broke so easily . And someone did a lot of breaking. Machines, walls, tables, walkways - thousands upon thousands of dollars in damage alone.
Wade strolled along the walkway they were occupying now, the empty thunks of his own chemically resistant, steel-toed boots echoing throughout the room as he squat and picked up an injection gun laying abandoned on the metal grating. The broken glass vial on the end gleamed with drops of green liquid where they were still stuck in the corners. The shade you would expect poison to be in a child's cartoon. Brady kept a distance from it. Despite wearing the hazmat suit, he insisted they both wear for “their own safety,” or whatever. For extra protection, he raised his clipboard, holding it like a shield.
Wade poked at the broken glass. “What’s with the limeade?”
“No one has gotten close enough to fully test it yet, but our Geiger Counters were picking up massive amounts of radiation coming from it. Dangerous amounts. As soon as we realized that a battle went down in here, we evacuated, so no one tampered with the scene. We didn't want to interfere with your…investigation.”
Wade snorted a laugh, rising again to his full, towering height. “I think the droid you’re looking for is Jessica Jones if you want an investigation, Brady. I’m more of a pew pew bam bam guy. You feel me?”
“My name is Jim.”
Right. Forgettable .
“I’ll stick with Brady.”
Brady glanced around, at a loss, but that was a general reaction from people who interacted with him. That, and disgust. And rage. And frustration. But there was no one around to save him from the boogeyman they summoned to do their dirty work.
“We, um…we were interested in you because of your inability to…uh..”
“Kick the bucket? Sleep with the fishes? Take the eternal dirt nap?”
“Yes, all of those.”
Wade stroked his chin dramatically. “Intriguing.” He followed the path of destruction off the walkway, hopping the 10 feet down to the main floor and only cracking his ankles a little. It was so much faster than taking the stairs, like poor scrambling Brady, who was struggling to follow in the bulk of his hazmat suit. The loud crackle of plastic and rubber rubbing together put a pinging dot on Brady that Wade used to keep track of him as he strode towards a wider, less cluttered area of the room.
Sectioned off with bright red tape that read CAUTION, Wade snapped it in half and strode in. Whoops. Why no, officer, I never saw any tape. It was like that when I got here.
A rancid smell greeted his trespassing, one that he couldn’t detect thanks to the respirator locked around his face, but he knew it was there because he could smell it ever since walking into this concrete box.
“Yikes,” he wrinkled his nose. “Someone got their ass beat and liquefied?”
Just like the injection gun, Brady kept his distance. Wade heard him come to a stop roughly 8 feet away, and this time, Wade didn’t blame him. Festering on the floor was a gooey mess of hair, clothes, and some kind of fleshy, chunky goop that vaguely reminded Wade of vomit, only much nastier. A faint, green smoke wafted off of it, carrying the scent of cooked flesh, burnt hair, and a sour, pungent odor that Wade hadn’t placed.
“Yes.” Brady squeaked.
“Who was it?”
“W-we’re not sure, but we have an idea. Will you follow me to the security room?”
“Yeah, sure, lead the way.”
The security room is one of those big, industrial sized rooms you’d see on a TV show. There were rows of monitors displaying viewpoints of every room, hallway, and floor, both inside and outside the compound. A handful of security guards are already inside watching the screens, but they ignore that in favor of watching Wade curse, fight and squeeze his way out of his hazmat suit. When the last of his limbs were finally free, Wade kicked the offensive suit away and spun, planting both hands on his hips. “So, what’s on the telly tonight, hon?”
The security guard who met them at the door - Isaiah, his name badge read - pulls up a recording from the night before.
“Watch out, we’re gonna have to get a little cozy,” Wade said, scooting into the chair with Isaiah. “No - no, don’t get up. It’s okay. I don’t mind sitting on your lap.”
Isaiah jumped out of the chair like his ass caught on fire and Wade rolled his eyes. “I’ll try not to take it personally, but my feelings are definitely hurt. Where’s the play button on this thing?” He found it before they showed him and the tape rolled.
The camera is outside. It’s facing the thick, densely packed forest surrounding the compound. It’s dark, the only light coming from the massive floodlights lighting the compound, and the faintest rays of crescent moonlight peaking from behind a cloud. The chair whined as Wade leaned forward, squinting at the shadow moving in the forest as a large, broad-shouldered man walked past the tree-line and into view. He paused only long enough to brush a few twigs out of his long, beautiful black hair. Hot damn, Wade was bald, and he still wanted that haircare routine.
The stranger stared at the compound, the pale skin of his face looking almost ghostly among the night ambiance. He’s handsome in a Count Dracula sort of way.
A gawky man follows a short distance behind, wearing a pair of slumping shoulders and dragging feet. He shuffles to a stop behind his predecessor, sulking like a teenager pulled out of bed too early in the morning.
Together, they approach the 15 foot high wall. Dracula-Wannabe didn’t hesitate as he reared back, lifted a leg, and kicked the wall. Concrete caved in and rebars bend like putty as he shouldered past them. His lackey picks through the wall with more care. The two of them walk out of sight.
Isaiah paused the recording and started a new one. This camera is at a different angle inside the compound, giving him a view of the stranger as he busted through the wall and sauntered inside.
“Don’t do it,” Wade warned, but the security guard on tape didn’t listen as he ran towards Dracula-Wannabe, tugging his gun from its holster.
“Hey! Stop!”
Wade sighed as Dracula-Wannabe grabbed the guard by the throat at a speed that definitely wasn’t human, digging his fingernails deep into the man's flesh, and ripping them back out. Most of the guard's throat came out with it.
Dracula-Wannabe stepped over the body, and then stopped, staring at the facility in front of him. The facility Wade was in right now. His lips moved. The camera barely picked the words up.
“He’s inside. Wait for me here. It’s time to end this.”
The lackey mumbled, “Yes, Morlun.” but stared at the fallen guard with an expression of pity. Or jealousy?
Lackey didn’t follow Dracula-Wannabe into the building. Not until several minutes later, when he grabbed the guard's gun and tip-toed inside.
The recording fast-forwarded 15 minutes and then Lackey was running out again, the gun gone, and a wild, almost manic look on his face. He jumped over the guard's body, bounded through the hole in the wall, and disappeared into the tree line.
The tape stopped, and no one made a move to pull up the next one.
“Hey, where’s the rest of it?” Wade demanded, tapping at the keyboard. “It was getting good.”
Isaiah curled his lips in disgust. “This isn’t a movie! Larry is dead because of that maniac!”
“You’re right, this isn’t a movie. We’re not in the right medium for that. RIP to Larry at all, but maybe don’t approach the man who popped open your big fancy wall like a soda can.”
“That’s all there is.” Brady piped up, before Isaiah burst a blood vessel. “All of the cameras inside the facility went black a few hours before he,” he pointed to the screen, “showed up. They went back online two hours later. We didn’t see anyone else go in.”
“Hmmm,” Wade stroked his chin, leaning back in the chair. It squealed like a pig. “Let me get this straight. Dracula here breaks into your box like it's a child's toy, meets up with whoever is already inside, and is liquefied fifteen minutes later. His lackey goes in too and runs out like he’s got Ghost Rider driving up his ass around that same time. And you never saw who else went in?”
Brady nodded. “Yes. That’s right.”
“And you guys want me to find whoever done it, and either snipe em’ or bag em’, because unlike Edward over there, I can’t be permanently liquefied?”
Brady hesitated and nodded.
Wade considered this. Then considered it some more, and jumped to his feet. “Alright, I’ll take the job. But I’m doubling the price as a potential liquefaction fee.”
Brady didn’t hesitate this time. “Done.”
“Really? Wait, triple! I meant I’m going to triple my price! No, quadruple! Brady, where are you going? Brady ? Jim ?”
An hour later, Wade was walking out of the compound with a complicated doohickey in his hands, and a retainer fee sitting tight and pretty in his bank account.
“One last thing before you leave, ” Brady said when they were back in his lab. He picked up a black and yellow box, holding it up for Wade to see. “The radiation from the injection gun has a unique signature. You should be able to track it using this.” He passed the doohickey to Wade. “ It’s a Geiger counter. You know what that is, right?”
“Yes. Totally.” Wade lied.
“It’ll pick up the radiation signature for you.” Brady explained anyway. “We already have it set up, so it’ll ONLY pick up that unique signature. Whoever, or whatever, was here will be chock full of it. We’d track them down ourselves, but…”
“Yeah, yeah, no one else wants to be liquefied. It’s TOTALLY fine if the unkillable merc does it, though. It’s not like it's going to HURT or anything.”
Brady showed Wade how to use it. And then showed him again. And then wrote instructions because those were a lot of words, and this thing had a LOT of dials, and Wade’s biologically programmed to push buttons he’s not supposed to.
Once the lesson was over, he walked Wade out. “Do you have any idea of who that guy was meeting?”
Wade didn’t say. He gave Brady a two-finger salute, promised not to break his nerdy box, and walked out. “I do think I have an idea, though,” he mused when he was out of earshot of the cameras. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of red fabric he’d found tangled in the pipes and machinery. It was small and hidden, and thanks to Brady evacuating the scene, no one else noticed it.
Red spandex. Close to New York City. No one saw the third member of the party go in or out.
It wasn’t hard to piece together that one of NYC’s variety pack of super-powered schmucks was getting a little cozy with this Morlun fella.
“Let’s go hunting!”
Wade Wilson was very good at his job.
Few people believed that. Or they didn’t like to believe it. It made them nervous. Twitchy.
It would be annoying if it wasn’t so hilarious . There was a certain dark comedy about the look of surprise on his target’s faces when he had his katana impaled in their gut. Or the shocked horror on his colleagues’ faces as they wiped excess blood out of their eye and yelled at him.
Like he said, HILARIOUS.
Despite what they think, he’s fucking great at his job and there’s a reason he’s one of the most sought after merc’s in the business. He got shit done.
This job would be no different. Wade booked himself a seedy hotel in a seedy part of the city and began his seedy business. He bought an unhealthy amount of take-out and booze, booted up his laptop, kicked up his feet, and got to work.
Turns out, this Morlun guy was incredibly easy to find. Not because he showed up in any of Wade’s web searches, but because he was all over the New York news. And he was fighting one of the city's most well-known superheroes: Spider-Man. Which explained the red spandex.
“Well, that’s a wrap on that mystery.” Wade grumbled through a mouthful of fried rice. “Sort of.”
It didn’t explain the human puddle, or the injection gun, or why the flying fuck the two of them were fighting. But there had to be a connection.
“Hello there,” he said, pulling up a shaky video of Spider-Man stumbling out of an exploding building. A pedestrian who should’ve been ducking for cover filmed it, but that was New York for you. The webslingers' costume was in tatters as he pulled himself out of the wreckage, spandex barely clinging to him by the thinnest of threads. It would’ve been a magnificent picture for a sexy superhero calendar, if not for all the blood, burns, and the way he was limping off the scene like a wounded dog.
Morlun followed him who, unlike Spider-Man, was completely nude and didn’t have a scrape on him. Not so much as a burn as he strolled through the flames, as casually as if he was taking a walk through Central Park. He looked down at himself and sighed, as if losing his clothes was just so inconvenient, said something to Spider-Man (which went unheard through the crackling fire and wailing sirens in the distance), and left. Like a spooked animal, Spider-Man fled; so quickly that all the camera picked up was a red and blue blur.
Wade leaned forward, chopsticks lowering as he replayed the video. Spider-Man’s shoulders dropped as Morlun stepped through the flames, an exhaustion settling over his entire body like a tangible weight. The way he backtracks to put distance between them before Morlun even comes into view.
The way Morlun’s lips curled upward in amusement. The look of hunger in his eyes.
A predator sizing up its prey.
And after battling Spider-Man for almost 2 days straight, surviving a point-blank explosion, and busting through a 5-foot thick concrete wall as easily as if it were built of legos, that predator was a puddle of goo with nothing but charred hair and a pungent odor to his name.
“Me thinks it’s time we have a chat with Spidey.” Wade snapped his laptop closed and hopped off the couch. He shoved his feet into his boots, dropped the chopsticks into the empty carton, and grabbed the Geiger counter off the counter. “ After a burrito run.”
His burrito run took him to a quaint food truck called “The Tortilla Truck.” The owner is a dark-skinned young woman with wild curly hair barely held back by her hairnet, and a personal mission to run every other food truck on the block out of business. Wade was more than happy to help with that mission.
He rattled off his usual order, gave her a fat, gracious tip that earns him an extra loving heap of spice, and leaned against the colorfully printed sides of the truck as he fiddled with the Geiger counter. Brady’s smudged instructions felt the same as reading hieroglyphics, and Wade didn’t want to drive all the way back to the power plant to get a new nerd box when he inevitably broke this one. He’s twisting the dial of the needle with increasing frustration when a tired, hoarse voice said, “You should probably reset the needle and flip the audio switch up.”
Wade looked up, automatically adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie to make sure they weren’t riding up. He did the same to his leather gloves, just to be safe. The man waiting in line wasn’t looking at him, too preoccupied with squinting at the menu taped to the side of the truck and looking for nonexistent bills in his wallet.
Wade peered at the name badge dangling around his neck. ‘Parker, Peter Benjamin. Teacher. Midtown High.’
No wonder he’s broke. Poor, hungry sap. He looked the part of a man slowly making his way to homelessness. He tugged unconsciously at his wrinkled, half untucked shirt, like he’s aware of it too, and rubbed the heavy purple bags hanging from his drooping, exhausted brown eyes. A purple bruise paints the side of his head, the concealer he used to hide it rubbing off from wiping his face all day. He’s favoring his right leg too. Someone had a terrible day.
“Thanks,” Wade said, and slapped a few bills on the counter. “Oye, Daniella, his orders on me.” It’s the least Wade can do. Really . The guy looks like he hasn't seen a decent meal in weeks. Greasy, messy hair. Ashen skin. A stubbled jaw in need of a razor. A pair of glasses held together by tape and sadness.
“Than-” Parker started, but his eyes widen as he turned, and he took a startled step backward.
Wade tugged on his hoodie again to make sure it was secure. Should’ve worn the mask after all. “Staring is rude. Your mama would be so disappointed right now.”
Parker tore his eyes away. “I - uh…s-sorry,” he mumbled. He stared at the ground, then the truck, then behind him at the busy streets of Midtown where the sound of hundreds of feet scraping against concrete filled the space between buildings.
Daniella peered out the window, lips pursed as she glanced between Parker and Wade. “Señor Wilson, ¿de está molestando este hombre?”
“No, todo está bien. Nadamas estábamos discutiendo la importancia de modales.” Wade said, shooting her a smile.
Daniella squinted at Peter anyway. “Puedo agregar demasiado pimentón a su comida.” She offered. “Quemar su pequeño güerito lengua.”
Wade snickered. “No, deja su pequeño güerito lengua en paz. Esto sucede todo el tiempo.”
“L-lo siento,” Parker said. “No estaba...Yo no...” he shrunk in on himself. “Lo siento.”
Daniellea didn’t look surprised, or worried, that her customer understood her threat. If anything, she looked pleased. She handed Wade his food with a radiant smile, and rounded on Parker with a notebook and pen, wielding both like she wouldn’t think twice about beating him with it “¿Tú orden?”
Parker mumbled off a order, still attempting to hide in his shirt like a turtle. He was in that awkward phase where he refused to look near Wade or his vicinity to avoid eye contact. That’s okay. It was that or stare until Wade left because he was sick of being gawked at like an animal in a zoo. Or until Wade got in his face and made him really uncomfortable.
Luckily for Mr. Teacher Parker, Wade had more important things to do. He claimed one of the nearby tables, stuffed a burrito in his mouth, and fiddled with the Geiger counter. He followed Mr. Teacher Parker’s instructions, and annoyingly enough, it held up. Making a noise of victory, Wade held the tube up, watching the needle in the window spike. A high-pitched, annoying clicking radiated from the box.
A lot of clicking.
Too much clicking.
Wade squinted at the dial, swaying the tube back and forth (hoping he didn’t break the damn thing) and the clicking got faster. “Oh?” Going slower, he held the tube like a wand and slowly pointed it at the crowds, following the rapidly building clicks until they settled on Parker, and then faded as he passed Parker, and then got louder again when he backtracked.
Parker glanced over his shoulder, saw the Geiger counter pointed at him, and paled.
“Hey-” was all Wade got out before Parker bolted. “ Fuck !” Wade surged to his feet, knocking the table over and spilling his food onto the people next to him (whoops), and pursued.
For someone with a bad leg, Parker was fucking nimble. He dodged and weaved through the crowds, as zippy and quick as a deer. Wade, who was on the bulkier side of things, knocked into more people than he dodged and had to shove more than one out of his way. “Move it! Outta the way! Merc trying to give chase over here! Mind your toes!”
He followed Parker into an alleyway.
“Don’t you dare!” Wade warned, but Parker didn’t care about what Wade wanted as he grabbed the rung to a fire escape and pulled himself up. Wade groaned, stomped his feet a few times, and hauled himself up after him.
He was no acrobat - an amateur parkourist at best - but he was good at scaling buildings. Besides, Parker was slowing on account of his bad leg. Goodie. Wade ate too much Chinese to play rooftop tag, and the chance of him losing this guy was infinitely better if Parker got to the roof before him - if he was who Wade thought he was. Which was going to be a pain in the ass, nerdy-box or not.
“Can we take a break?” Wade asked.
Parker’s response was to go faster. Bitch .
“Fine. Have it your way.”
Pulling a knife out of its scabbard, Wade held it between his teeth, and pulled himself up from the rungs. Parker made it to the roof first, but Wade was only seconds behind. He tucked and rolled across the rooftop, and when he came back up, he spit the knife into his hand, flipped it so he held it by the pointed tip, pulled his arm back, and threw.
The knife somersaulted through the air and hit his target. Parker stumbled as his leg gave out from under him and he crashed into the rooftop with a yell, holding his thigh.
“See, this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t run.” Wade said, sauntering up to him. “You should really think these things through. Better luck next time, Spidey.”
Parker froze. He’d angled his face away from Wade, but his hair wasn’t long enough to cover the side. Not that it mattered, anyway.
“What did you say?” He said, breath stuttering.
“Don’t get your undies in a twist.” Wade picked up the fallen knife and slipped it back into its scabbard. “I’m not gonna squeal on you. But I am kind of disappointed. I thought it was going to be so much harder to catch you. You’re really not living up to the hype.”
Parker still wasn’t looking at him and kept shifting his position to shield his face, which was ridiculous. They already made lovely eye contact. There’s no point in trying to hide.
“I already saw your face.” Wade said as much.
Parker grit his teeth and sat up, leaning against the leg of the water tower. He sucked in breaths as beads of sweat peppered his forehead, still clutching his thigh, but otherwise didn’t appear hurt. He shook his hair out of his face and fixed a glare on Wade.
“What the fuck ?”
“Nice to see you too, Boo.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Deadpool?”
Wade sat in front of him, criss-cross applesauce, with his head in his hands. “On a job. Working hard to support the wife and kids. Getting the bread. What the fuck were you doing?”
“Getting a goddamn burrito!” Every muscle in Parker’s body wound up as tight as a coil. He was still breathing hard, but there was a touch a panic behind it now. A wild frenzy in his eyes as they darted around, looking for an escape.
Wade flapped his hand. “Don’t freak out, okay? I’m not the most equipped to handle a panic attack, and I haven’t had to give someone CPR in years. Unless you need CPR, in which case, I’ll do my best.” Wade made a gross, kissy noise and Parker’s glower deepened; at the very least, pulling him out of his panic attack a little.
“Is this the part where you try to kill me?”
Wade stopped making kissy noises. “Um…did I say I was going to kill you? I don’t remember saying that.”
“Isn’t that what you do?” He growled. “Track people down while they’re getting fucking dinner and chase them around and then kill them?”
Wade looked upward, thinking. “Weelll, I mean… yeah . Yeah, I do do that. Maybe not in that specific order all the time. But no, you’re a special boy and I’m not here to pop one in your skull. Unless there’s a reason for me too. Is there a reason for me too?”
“Then why are you here?” Parker asked, slowly letting go of his leg. Good, Wade only hit a nerve. The numbness would fade soon.
“I’ve been hired by someone who wants me to pop one in your skull or drag you back by your booties to face legal justice. Or ask you how you made that little green juice of yours. Brady looked like he was nipping at the bit to pick your brain.”
“Green juice?” Parker parroted, tilting his head to the side. His eyes widened. “From the power plant?”
Wade winked and shot him a finger gun. “Bingo. Get the man a prize. But enough of that, I’ve been dying to know what you did to the poor guy who followed you. Now THAT sounds like a story. Morlun really thought he-”
In the blink of an eye, Parker raised his wrist and shot a white glob of webbing at Wade’s shoulder and yanked him forward. He grabbed Wade by the throat and twisted, shoving him against the rooftop and straddling his hips.
“Hello there.” Wade wheezed.
“Go back and tell them you never found me,” Parker growled. “The Geiger counter was defective, and it didn’t lead anywhere. And I swear if you tell anyone who I am, Deadpool, I’m going to-“
“Going to what?” Wade interrupted. “Turn me into a puddle of goo, too? How did you do that, by the way? Did you bite him?” He gasped. “Do you have venom?”
Parker’s grip slackened, “I - I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t.”
“I never said the k-word. But also, ummm…yeah, that puddle didn’t exactly look alive to me, and I’m pretty good at guessing when someone’s dead. Comes with the job.”
Parker’s grip tightened again. “I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Well - you might.. ACK - kill me if you don’t let go soon,” Wade choked, eyes bugging. “Bee-tee-dubs.”
As if just realizing how tightly he’d been squeezing Wade’s neck, Parker let go, and Wade flipped them over, so their positions were reversed. Except he kept Parker face down, holding the back of his neck and pushing the barrel of his gun to the small of his back.
Parker froze. “I thought you weren’t going to kill me.”
“Well, I don’t want to. You’re the one being all aggressive.”
“You threw a knife at me!”
“It only hit a nerve. It didn’t even puncture skin.”
“You chased me from work!”
“You were the one who started running! Also, I chased you from a food truck. I didn’t know you were off the clock. Also, also you work at Midtown High? No wonder you’re so fucking cranky. Are you a teacher?”
Parker clamped his mouth shut.
“Alright, keep your secrets. And for your information, I didn’t even know who you were until the nerd box started going off. Also, you ran first, so this is all your fault. Now stop being so goddamn crabby or I’m going to - whoa, why are you bleeding?”
Wade sat up as red stains bloomed on Parker’s back. He rolled off, allowing Parker to sit up. Similar stains were sprouting on his torso and thighs, too.
“I didn’t do it.”
“I know,” Parker grunted, holding his side. He cursed under his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, riding out the pain. “They reopened.” He tugged on the sleeve of his shirt and hissed. “Why did I wear white today? These are going to take forever to get out.”
“So…uh, Dracula-Wannabe did this?”
Spider-Man cast him a confused glance. “Dracula-Wann- you mean Morlun?”
“Yeah, that bitch.”
Spider-Man sighed, hauling himself to his feet. Wade helped, and even brushed a few pieces of gravel off his shirt, because he’s a gentleman.
“Soooo, what happened?”
“Morlun was a dick.’
“Yeah, I gathered that much. Come on, Spidey, spill the beans.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Would it help if I bought you burritos?”
“….”
“My treat.”
“…With extra sauce?”
“So much extra sauce.”
Parker considered that. His stomach grumbled audibly. Flushing, ever so cautiously, he relented. Wade bounced to his feet. “Cool, I know a place. You sit tight, sugar butt. I’ll be back in fifteen.” He swung his legs over the ledge. “Oh,” he glanced back at Spidey. “And don’t try to leave. If I come back and you're gone, I’m breaking into that school to get your name and address, and then we’ll gossip on your bed and braid each other’s hair. This isn’t me telling you not to go. Please do if you want to. I’m hella good at braiding hair. Okay, see you soon, byyyyye.”
22 and a 1/5 minutes later, Wade is back on the rooftop and, surprisingly, Spider-Man is still there. He’s leaning against the water tower again with his shirt in tatters around him, in the process of making handmade bandages.
“Well, this is awkward,” Wade said, dropping his Walgreens bag. “Trade secret. The best way to get stains out of a white shirt is throwing the shirt out and buying an identical one. Works every time.”
Parker tugged on the strip he was attempting to tie around his shoulder. “How was I supposed to know you were picking stuff up? Is that why you’re late?”
“Yeah. But also,” he dropped a bag of food next to the Walgreens one. “Dig in. Extra sauce, extra grease, and extra calories. Compliments of the Tortilla Truck.”
Parker dug in like a man on his last meal. He had a burrito unwrapped and in his mouth, by the time Wade’s hand was reaching into the bag.
“Someone is hungry. Forget breakfast today, Webs?”
“Woke up late,” Parker shrugged. “Didn’t have time to grab anything.”
“Obviously. Now, I was promised a story. Chop chop.”
Spider-Man glowered, which was a funny picture with a burrito lodged in his mouth. He bit down, and said through a full mouth, “Why do you even care?”
“Someone was liquefied, Spidey-Boo. What I know about him and what I know about you , and what I know you don’t do, isn’t lining up and I’m a curious cat. So, hop to it. You already bit into the burrito. We have made the exchange.”
Sighing, Parker took a long sip from his soda. Too long, in Wade’s opinion. “He showed up a few days ago.” He started, reluctantly. “I don’t…know a lot about him. He kind of just appeared out of nowhere. This other guy I met up with called him an Inheritor, some kind of creature that feeds off totem life forces.”
“Totem life forces?” Wade repeated, chewing slowly. “Are we talking Star Wars life forces, or…”
Parker shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s like…animal life force? Kind of? Like how I’m Spider -Man, and I have powers like a spider.”
“So you need animal powers?”
“Sort of? But not really? Like…Black Cat or Rhino would’ve done too.”
Wade waved his hands. “Wait, wait, so what you’re saying is that if I called myself Puppy-Man, that makes me a totem life force thingy-ma-jiggy? I don’t even need to be bitten by a radioactive puppy to be put on the menu? In that case, couldn’t you just have called yourself Acrobat-Man and called it a day?”
“I don’t know,” Parker burst, throwing out his arms. “He explained it in, like, layers or something. People who model their life after animals count, but its not as ‘pure’ as someone who, like…has a direct link to them, or something. I don’t know, it’s confusing.”
“Fine, I’ll accept this bullshit logic. Go on.”
Parker took an indignant bite of his burrito. “Morlun was hungry. He hadn’t feasted for a while, apparently, and I guess out of all the local cuisine New York has to offer, he decided I was the tastiest.”
“Mmmm,” Wade hummed, and leaned over to get a look at Parker’s rear. “I mean, with an ass like that, who can blame him, right? All plump and juicy.”
That earned Wade an eyeful of webbing.
"Anyway,” Parker continued, “he ruined my day, everyone else’s day, and wouldn’t go away. I…I couldn't beat him on my own. Once he touched me, he could track me anywhere in the world. I - I didn't have much of a choice in fighting him.” Parker trailed over for a few seconds. “I figured if he was going to suck my life force empty-" he webbed Wade’s mouth shut before he could say anything. "I figured I could at least give him a nasty surprise. I broke into the power plant to cook up a...boost, of sorts, I guess. I'm already more radioactive than your average Joe, so I figured I could probably handle a little more."
" Probably ?" Wade repeated, cutting the last of the webbing away with his handy-dandy knife.
Parker shrugged, "I mean...there was already a chance I wasn't making it out of there alive, with or without the boost. It was a chance I had to take."
Wade frowned, oddly put off by that. "Then what happened?"
"Morlun showed up. Tried to eat me, got a mouthful of radiation instead. We fought, and I actually had him on the ropes for a bit, but..." this time when it trails off, Parker doesn’t pick it back up. He stared off to the side, either very deep in thought, or avoiding eye contact.
" But ..." Wade encouraged.
"I...” Parker blew out a rough breath, rubbing his forehead. “He started...pleading. Begging for his life. Saying it wasn't personal, and that he was just hungry. He sounded so scared, and I just..." Spider-Man dropped his head in his hands. "I froze. I didn't...I didn't know what to do. This thing that has eaten countless other people, stalked them and preyed on them like he did to me, and I FROZE . I..I actually felt sorry for him..." his shoulders slumped. "Is...is that pathetic?"
Wade shuffled awkwardly. "I mean... I would've shot him in the head. Pew, pew. Right between the eyes.”
Parker’s expression crumpled.
"But," Wade hurried on. "I mean...at least you get those empathy points? Right?”
"Thanks," Parker grumbled. "I feel so much better."
“So who liquified him?”
“Dex, his…servant, I guess. Shot him. I don’t know why, but that started a chain reaction, and Morlun just started melting.”
Parker tugged the makeshift bandages on his arm, and Wade shook his head, grabbing the medical sack and scooting forward. Parker jerked away as Wade grabbed his arm.
“Ease up, buttercup, just doing a maintenance check.” Wade undid the bandage and inspected the wound. It wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. A gash that used to be deep, but it was healing up okay.
“You should invest in a better healing factor?” Wade said anyway, pulling out a few alcohol towelettes.
Parker snorted humorlessly. “On my salary? I’m lucky to afford the one I got. Already slept the worst of it off. I’ll be fine.”
“So, what’s a hero like you doing working in a school like that? I saw all that graffiti on the front porch.” He cleaned the area of blood and got to work wrapping it up.
Parker smiled softly. Wade decided it was a pleasant smile. He preferred it over the glare. “They were looking for a new science teacher and I was in the neighborhood.”
“And now you’re stuck watching a bunch of pubescent gremlins. Sucks to be you.”
“They’re not all bad,” Parker shrugged. “And it’s not like it’s their fault. Just the life they were born into, in a system that doesn’t really care about them. The least I can do is make it a little easier.”
“Aren’t you a sweetie?” Wade moved on to the next injury. “Well, they’re lucky little rugrats to have someone like Spider-Man watching out for them. Not all of us were that lucky.” He finished that bandage and moved on to the next.
“That’s…thank you,” Parker said, a hint of pink on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and examined Wade’s handiwork. “I didn’t know you knew your way around a first aid kit.”
Wade shrugged, “Eh, healing factor or not, it’s nice to know the basics.” He stood up, brushing off his pants. “Well, this was fun. But it’s time to go.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Off to tell the wizards that their little assailant turned into goo from overexposure to the radiation.”
Parker made a face, partially screwing up the glasses on his face. Cute. “What?”
Wade grabbed his leftover burrito, squished it out onto the rooftop, and spread it around until all the meat and cheese were more or less smooshed together. He went behind Parker, pulled out his knife, and before Parker could protest, cut out a few swafts of his hair and systemically placed them around the goo pile.
“And for the finishing touch,” Wade scribbled grease around the area. “Tada!” He took a picture with his phone. “Goo pile found.”
“Wow…” Parker said, staring. “Just…wow.”
“I know. I’m amazing. I’m the Amazing Deadpool. You’d be surprised what people will believe so long as they have a picture.”
Parker shook his head. “Well…thanks. I guess? For not outing me and getting all my loved ones killed?”
“That’s what the superhero bro code is all about, Webby.”
“Peter.”
“Eh?”
“You can call me Peter. But that’s all you're getting, so don’t go looking for my last name.”
“D’aww sure thing, Petey. But, uh-“ Wade pinched Peter’s name badge, holding it up for him to see. “-maybe tuck this away next time. I’ve been calling you Parker in my head out of respect.”
“Dammit!” Peter yanked the badge away and stuffed it in his shirt. “Don’t tell anyone!”
“Your secrets safe with me?” Wade winked. He bound back to his feet and sauntered over to the edge. “See ya tomorrow, Petey-Pie.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m taking you out to lunch. You’ve probably eaten your own shoes on that teacher’s salary. I’ll be doing the city a favor feeding you.”
“I never agreed to this.”
“You don’t need to. Same time tomorrow. Tortilla Truck. Don’t keep me waiting, I get bored easily.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Love you too, baby boy.” With a last kiss, Wade rolled off the side of the building. He had a nerd-box to return and a bunch of scientists to disappointment.
He also had a date. So, definitely not the worst job he’s ever taken.