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The art for this chapter was created by the incredible zee-arts on Tumblr! Please sally forth and check out their blog immediately for more excellent stuff.
Porchay is halfway between two buildings when his Spidey-senses go off, sending a burst of adrenaline through his nervous system. The sensation ripples through him in waves, growing more powerful with each pass, and he quickly drops onto the flat cement roof of a nearby apartment complex. Chay realizes what caught his brain’s attention as he tries to shake himself free from a stubborn strand of webbing – a strange sort of tingling is working its way through one of his limbs after another.
Numbing would be the wrong word to describe the continuous electric prickling, but his skin feels tight. Stretched and uncomfortable in a way he can’t describe. Can’t categorize. Almost as if it’s sitting wrong over his skeleton.
Chay harrumphs in frustration, wiggling in place to ease his growing distress. His Spiderman suit might as well be giving him a full-body wedgie at this point, the way it’s clinging in all the wrong places.
Suddenly a tight, narrow string of invisible energy tightens around Porchay’s midsection. Whatever is on the other end tugs him forward harshly once, then twice. He stumbles a little, digging his heels into the concrete for better resistance. Is this what line-caught fish experience? Chay wonders. If so, he’s swearing off sushi for at least the next month. Maybe even two months. He can’t promise forever, because he’s simply not that strong of a person (superpowers or no), but he can decrease the demand for a little while, right?
His attention snaps back to the situation at hand when the buzzing sensation intensifies. The center of Chay’s sternum starts to ache fiercely as an unseen force tries to make his solar plexus high-five his spine. The pressure is strong enough to toe the border of painful as it slowly squeezes the air from his lungs, one short gasp at a time.
And then, because that’s just how his life seems to be, things get worse.
Porchay watches through the flexible white eye-visors of his mask, shocked, as his hands begin to grow transparent. “What the–?”
The urge to go Full Freak-Out Mode finally arrives when Chay tries to press the communicator button built into the left sleeve of his suit. His finger goes straight through his arm, incorporeal as air, and a mildly hysterical giggle escapes his throat.
The frightened young hero desperately wants to get Kinn’s attention at the command center, or see if his Hia is nearby on his own patrol, but he can’t even press the damn button anymore.
His body grows increasingly see-through, until the roof is visible through his legs. Instead of Your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, he’s becoming Porchay the Friendly Ghost. Wait, is he…?
“Am I dead?” For a split-second Chay seriously wonders if he somehow died, and this is the cartoon ascension of his soul into the clouds. After considering all the possible options and remembering that weirder things have happened on patrol, he shakes his head and snorts. “Okay so I’m definitely not dead, but something super weird is about to go down.”
(And what do you know? He was right!)
In the span of a single blink, Porchay finds himself standing at the center of a wide, circular, and completely unfamiliar stone room. Heavy wooden beams criss-cross the ceiling and the floor is carved from the same grey stone as the walls. Chay’s feet are planted over a suspiciously swirly chalk circle close to one side of the chamber, with at least a dozen candles arranged in a very specific pattern around him. Their tiny but numerous flames cover the room with an eerie, flickering glow.
“Where in Satan’s underwear drawer am I right now?” he whispers to no one in particular.
From somewhere off to the left, a high feminine voice squawks a sort-of answer: “Is that Spiderman?!”
Chay would normally be offended by the disappointment in her tone, but this whole situation is already weird as hell and he still doesn’t know where he’s ended up. He’s about to ask what exactly is going on here and why he had to experience a Looney Tunes death sequence to arrive at this abandoned Renaissance Faire, but a second unfamiliar girl speaks up before he can open his mouth: “What the fuck is Spiderman doing here? I thought we summoned his soulmate, not his sidekick!”
“Sidekick!?” Okay, NOW Chay is offended. He puts one hand on his hip and uses the other to point an indignant finger towards the unseen speakers. “I am NOT a sidekick, okay?! I am a superhero. I have superpowers and a nickname and a suit. I have a nemesis! I fight criminals and monsters all by damn myself, thank you very much!”
“And you do a stellar job of it, sunshine! Nothing but respect for my honey.”
Oh no, please tell me I’m hearing things. Please tell me this has nothing to do with–
“Silence, Deadpool!” the first girl orders. Chay sighs internally. Well, shit.
“You’ve nearly served your purpose, so just shut your mouth until we can get rid of you,” yet another voice adds. More candles burst to life, forcing Chay to squint. His suit rushes to compensate for the change in lighting but it’s still disorienting.
Mean Girl #1, the tallest of the quartet and clearly the leader, agrees wholeheartedly. “Once we correct the spell and summon the right vessel, we can kill him.”
“That’s not– Err–” Chay breaks off into giggles. He hides his mask-covered mouth behind his hand out of habit, trying not to snort out loud or accidentally discharge a blast of webbing up his nose (again). These girls may be snarky and good with witchcraft, but do they have any idea how Deadpool’s powers work?
Speaking of the Merc with a Mouth…
Chay turns to look for his sometimes-friend slash all-the-time crush and feels his heart jump into his throat. Against the opposite wall of the room is a narrow stone altar, the presence of which raises all kinds of red flags. Altars, he has learned, are never a good sign. Deadpool bound, bleeding, and hung upside down over an altar? That’s an entire hardware store full of red flags. That’s enough red flags to start a Red Flags-R-Us franchise and hand them out to everyone for free on opening day.
“Shit.”
Deadpool continues to breeze past the entire situation, as he usually does when he’s in ‘trouble’. In fact, ‘Pool starts flirting even earlier into their banter than usual. “Did you hear the part where we’re soulmates, Spidey?”
“I actively ignored that bit, actually,” Chay outright lies. Like a lying liar whose spandex is on fire. One hand is still on his hip, and he uses the other to gesture between the two of them. “What if we’re platonic soulmates?”
“That’s not how the spell works,” Sabrina the Pain in Chay’s Ass speaks up. “We were hoping to summon Death, but–”
“Err, excuse me,” he interrupts. “But did you just say you were hoping to summon Death when you cast this spell?”
“Well yeah, duh.” Girl #4 huffs. “Who else would be this idiot’s soulmate?”
Deadpool rolls his eyes, and Chay refuses to interrogate the reason he can tell that ‘Pool is eye-rolling when the white panels of the Merc’s mask stay essentially motionless. “I may have had a brief fling with Death a few years ago, but it was way before I met you, sunshine.”
“How is that last piece of information relevant?” Chay asks. Before Deadpool can answer, however, he addresses the teenage coven. “Extrapolate on the purpose of your spell, please.”
“We wanted to bring Death here so that we could use her body as a vessel for our patron.”
“Patron?”
“Our coven was founded many generations of students ago, with the singular goal of summoning an ancient and powerful witch back from the dead. We’re the first class to make any actual progress.”
And, ugh, Chay could have really done without that extra layer of smugness slathered on top. Gross.
“Okay, one second. Let me get this straight for my future memoirs. You guys wanted a powerful vessel for your elder-witch, so your idea was to somehow capture Deadpool and cast a spell that yoinks his soulmate out of thin air, all the while thinking you would end up with Death?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“But instead you got… Me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Not to mention we have to deal with the immortal blabbermouth in the meantime. I mean seriously, how do you work with this guy? He never shuts up, it's the fucking worst.”
“Hey!” Infuriated (and also super duper tired of having this conversation), Porchay brings both hands up and shoots twin strings of web at the startled teenagers. The coven leader hits the wall first, followed in quick succession by all three of her co-conspirators. “How many times am I going to have to tell you people and the newspapers that I’m not anybody’s sidekick?! I’m not lamer than Death, okay, and I’m definitely not letting you be a dick to my soulmate.”
“Ha! So you finally admit that we’re soulmates!”
“Shut up, Deadpool!” Chay and the witches shout in unison.
The eyes of Deadpool’s mask widen and his shoulders scrunch like he’s trying to reach out past the ropes and hug Porchay. “Awww. Don’t be like that, my little Spider-Angel. You and I both know we’re meant to be together.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Chay grumbles.
Secretly, the younger hero is surprised that his mask doesn’t melt right off his face from the heat of his blush.
They hand the girls over to the local police and Chay hitches a ride home with Big, Deadpool’s personal taxi driver (and actual sidekick). Porchay is even kind enough to pretend he doesn’t notice the winks Big and ‘Pool trade when he gets out of the taxi with a friendly wai.
The rest of the week passes without incident. Chay goes to class, tries to get some benign candids of Kinn/Iron Man that he can sell to the tabloids for spending money, and does his homework. Things are so normal for a few days that Deadpool manages to take a backseat in Chay’s thoughts for all of five minutes.
Until that sassy asshole (sasshole?) hops right back into the driver’s seat one sunny day, just after Chay has finished with his last round of classes. He’s walking across campus at a leisurely pace, enjoying the weather on his way to become Spiderman, when he hears a familiar voice shout: “Hey!”
Porchay spins on his heel to face… Well, it had sounded like, "Deadpool?"
But whoever this is simply cannot be the Merc with a Mouth. The ethereally pretty man in dark jeans and a band t-shirt looks magazine-cover ready. Long strands of silky black hair fall to asymmetrically frame a sharp jawline and intense, dark brown eyes. His shoulders are just broad enough to emphasize his trim waist and his legs are… Damn.
This guy is honestly gorgeous enough to make Chay debate bursting into tears.
But then the stranger speaks again, and Chay can’t deny the facts any longer: this is one-hundred percent Deadpool’s alter ego. “I’m flattered that you’d think so, cutie-pie, but I’m too lazy to commit that much murder on a weekend.”
Bullshit. Chay barely suppresses a snort. But why is he here, talking to me? Has ‘Pool seriously gone against every code of ethics and every moral standard in the crime-fighting world to track down Spiderman’s secret identity?!
“Uhm, sorry, how can I help you?” Chay somehow manages to squeak past his mounting nerves. “Do you need directions around campus or something?”
Hot-Pool smiles and offers a polite nod, fluttering his eyelashes. “Do you happen to know which bubble tea place around here has a cat in its logo? It’s a curled up calico cat with its head laying on its tail.”
Well yeah, of course he can give ‘Pool directions to that particular tea shop; it’s Porchay’s favorite spot to load up on snacks and sugar between classes ending and Spiderman’s crime-fighting hours beginning. “Oh, you’re probably looking for SugarPaws Bakery and Tea. It’s right around the corner from here, to the left.”
“Awesome, thank you so much! Fuck, wait!” Deadpool’s alter ego turns to leave and then swings right back around, comically exaggerating every movement. His effort to be funny is successful, and Chay hides his giggle, ducking behind his hands for a moment of privacy. Why does ‘Pool have to be so stupidly attractive under the mask?! The Merc interrupts his baby freak-out by politely inquiring, “Do you mind if I ask you another quick question?”
“Err, sure. Go ahead.”
“What do you usually order when you get bubble tea, if you drink bubble tea? I don’t have much of a sweet tooth – I prefer spicy food – but the person I like is really into this stuff, and I figured a surprise treat would be a nice way to break the tension. Right?”
Deadpool seems legitimately nervous about impressing this person, and it’s not helping Chay’s crush situation whatsoever. If anything, this brief interaction has made his romantic feelings for ‘Pool exponentially worse. The ‘busting out some ice cream and speed-running the sappiest parts of Boys Over Flowers’ kind of worse.
“So you don’t know what they usually order?”
“See, that’s just the problem! He’s always getting different things!” Deadpool groans. He cards his fingers through his perfect hair and tugs, “The second I think he prefers fruity flavors, he starts drinking exclusively milk tea. The week after that he’s trying coffee boba and singing the praises of caffeine to the universe! I don’t know what to do, but I can’t screw up and get him the wrong combination. This is my first real attempt at being serious with him and it’s a big deal.”
The order of those drink preferences almost sounds like…
Nah.
But wouldn’t it be funny to drop him a hint about who you really are, since this is clearly your crime fighting buddy and apparent soulmate?
Chay recalls the last thing he drank when they met up to patrol and shrugs noncommittally. “Lately I’ve been getting peach tea with strawberry jelly. I like mixing up the texture from tapioca.”
‘Pool blinks. His gaze flickers ever so briefly from Chay’s eyes to his mouth and then, because that’s just who he is, Chay’s butt. “Cool, thanks. That’s a good suggestion. Thanks for your help, man.”
They offer each other a quick wai and then Deadpool disappears around the corner, headed for SugarPaws at a borderline skip. Porchay chuckles and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. He needs to get changed so he can meet Deadpool later and find out how his flirting went.
“Holy Iron Man, Batman!” Deadpool exclaims. He pants heavily as he finishes hauling himself over the fire escape and onto the roof. “How do I get bitten by a radioactive bug with flying powers? Stairs fucking suck, angel.”
Chay is sitting a few yards away, swinging his legs over the edge of the building. Ignoring everything else Deadpool said, he chirps, “Who’s Batman?”
“He’s from a diff– You know what? Nevermind.”
“Okay.” Chay shrugs. He still hasn’t turned around to look at ‘Pool yet. Instead he’s waiting patiently for the Merc to stumble over and take a seat in his usual spot. Casual as a nun in a strip club, he sighs. “My day has been pretty boring so far. Did you do anything fun this afternoon?”
“I planned a romantic picnic so I could ask this really cute guy on a real date.”
“Are you seriou–” Porchay twists at the waist to make costumed eye contact, but any remaining words quickly die in his throat. Deadpool has a hot pink blanket spread out across the sun-warm concrete. The topmost corners are weighted down by a picnic basket and a biodegradable drink carrier holding four different types of bubble tea. There’s a lit candelabra, too, and Chay can’t help but offer a tearful giggle. “Th-That’s a really adorable fire hazard, ‘Pool.”
The Merc stands and slowly steps closer, shoulders hunched anxiously to make himself appear smaller (even though Porchay is one small growth spurt from being the same height). ‘Pool reaches up with one hand and slowly begins to peel off his mask from back to front. Chay sticks to the script, holding up both hands to block his eyes. “Wait! Hold on! Are you sure you want to share this with me? You can’t take this information back once I know.”
‘Pool doesn’t even pause. As Chay watches from between his fingers, Deadpool tears his red hood off to reveal the man from campus. Of course.
The almost-stranger reaches out to pull Chay’s hands away from his face. His eyes are so damn pretty.
“My real name is Kim, and I–” he runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat – “I really like you, Spiderman. I know we’ve never really exchanged too much personal information, but you’ve told me a lot about your past. I know about your brother and his partner and all of their shenanigans. I know that your favorite color is lavender and that you think the term ‘vegan leather’ is an oxymoron. I’d like to get to know you better, but… But only if you want me to, and only on your own terms. Obviously.”
“Okay, do you promise not to be mad?”
This is clearly not the reaction Deadpool was expecting. “Huh?”
“If I take off my mask right now, which I would very much like to do so that I can kiss you on the mouth, do you promise not to be mad at me?”
“Uhm–” Kim blinks rapidly and then nods once, robotic and sharp. His eyes are huge; they remind Porchay of the cat videos he watches online, when they’re getting ready to pounce after stalking down their prey. Truth be told, he’s kind of giddy about being on the receiving end of that look. “Yeah, okay. Sorry, I’m really excited about that kiss right now.”
“It’s mutual.”
Porchay takes a deep, steadying breath and taps the release button at the base of his skull. The seam keeping his mask tucked into his suit releases, and he tugs the material free. Once his hair has been swept aside, Kim gasps. “No fucking way.”
“Hi again,” Chay waves. “It’s, uhm… My name is Porchay, but you’re welcome to call me Chay. Most of my friends and family do.”
“You’re the guy from… You’re…”
Yet another giggle slips out from between Chay’s lips. “Mhm. I didn’t think you were asking about me during our chat today, though. I figured it was just a funny coincidence. Lots of people change up their bubble tea orders on the regular.”
“You’re so fucking cute, Chay. Holy shit.”
“Thanks, you’re pretty hot yours-”
But Kim is already pressing that snarky, soft, insistent mouth over his – and he isn’t particularly upset about this turn of events. Two gloved hands with long, capable fingers close over Chay’s hip and cup the back of his head to hold him steady as things heat up. His hands find purchase over Kim’s shoulders, clinging for all he’s worth as he melts into a happy puddle.
Eventually, and unfortunately, they're forced to pull apart for air.
“I thought my crush was totally doomed,” Porchay admits, and Kim almost chokes on his own tongue. Which, hey, is Chay’s job now. “I’ve liked you for years.”
“And you didn’t say anything?!”
“I mean, you’re clearly older than me and you’ve got shit going on all the time. Not to mention you flirt with everyone in every other sentence. How was I supposed to know the feelings were real, much less mutual?”
“That’s, uh... Yeah, that's pretty damn fair.”
“Maybe we should send those witches a thank-you note in jail for speeding things along.”
“Are you being for real?”
“I mean…” Chay trails off, smiling playfully. The Merc groans and drops his forehead to rest against Chay’s shoulder.
“What am I going to do with you, angel?”
“Personally, more kissing would be completely acceptable.”
“I’m so lucky to have you as my soulmate,” Kim sighs, and those are the last words spoken for a long, long while.