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"'Pool?" The voice — Spidey's, he'd know that voice anywhere — called. "Deadpool? Deadpool!" It's music to his ears. "Deadpool! Wade!"
"Five more minutes," Wade thinks he said. (If he did, it was incoherent.)
"You have to stop taking naps on top of unsuspecting food trucks," Spidey either hisses or it just sounds like it.
"Shh I'm having a great dream that I'm a butler, and you're in this Victorian dress-"
"Get up!"
He felt the web on his chest seconds before the thwip registered, yet all that somehow also comes after Spidey has already pulled Wade into an upright position. Things get jumbled when moving so fast.
Wade's just glad he decided to open his eyes though because he's met with Spidey squatting right in front of him, and much closer than Wade would have guessed.
"Hey buddy," he greeted with a little less strength in his voice than usual.
"You know those are fighting words."
"That's my kink."
Why did being called "buddy" make Spider-Man so mad? The world may never know. (My bet's on childhood.)
"Time to go."
"Anywhere you go I go my sweet babboo-"
"Don't call me that," Spidey cut off.
"Actually, your line is 'I'm not your sweet babboo' so try again."
Spidey let go of the web keeping Wade sitting up, so he went back down on the truck unceremoniously. He stayed relatively unfazed though.
"What are we doing today Ferb?" Wade asked, picking himself up.
"Drugs. Probably."
"Hell yeah!"
Long story short, Wade ended up losing his arm. The left one. Not his most important limb, but definitely not not important. He thinks Spidey took some form of pity on him because the two of them end up going back to one of Wade's safehouses together.
"I believe in public press Wade," Spidey was saying. "J.J.J. can say whatever he wants about me, at the end of the day it's not going to stop me from doing what I'm doing."
They were both coming in through the window.
"Daddy issues are no joke P."
Someone once said "J.J.J. talks about Spider-Man like my dad talks about me in this essay I will-" and Wade has never let Spidey live it down.
"All I'm saying," Wade continued, "is if a tree falls in a forest and I'm not around to hear it, did I really kill the tree?"
"People Wade. They're people."
He's the thing: Spidey hates people. Sure, he would kill himself to save even one civilian, but that's different. It's more like his job. No Wade's pretty sure that underneath the mask, he doesn't actually care about people outside of that abstract sense. He feels like someone who goes home and minds himself, but maybe that's just New Yorkers. He'll donate to local hospitals and help little old lady's cross the street, but he also picks a person on the train to just funnel all his negativity into and holds grudges against the general public for reasons ranging from none to petty. He'll volunteer at homeless shelters but spend the whole time thinking about how much he hates the world. He doesn't smile at anyone he makes eye contact with, but he always raises his hand at the driver when crossing the street. He says thank you when you hold the door open for him but holds the "close door" button with his finger on an elevator. But the worst part? Wade has a feeling Spidey doesn't see those nice things he does, just the bad and convinces himself that he is bad.
Wade is different, Wade knows who he is.
"You say that like I don't care about trees more," Wade replied.
It's that damn hyphen I tell you. If I was Dead-Pool, I'd have morals.
It's just, with all the information Wade has on Spidey, the vigilante shouldn't care as much. (The fact that he is a vigilante means he has to care that's contradictory.) No I mean like, it's just a numbers game in the end, isn't it? And that number has to be as close to zero as possible, not because he cares about the person but because he cares about the number. (I think he does care about the people though, for the reason that they are a person. I think he just also hates their existence. It's a deeper level of care. Loving despite.) We wouldn't know. (No, maybe we wouldn't.)
"You once told me that you'd drop me if I was accused of killing a dog regardless of if I'm guilty or not," Spidey said back.
He's settled into the corner of the couch, knees to his chest and squeezed in far enough that he's probably displacing the cushions. It was either that, or he'd make himself a web hammock or, even easier, connect himself to the wall if he knew he wasn't going to stay long.
Which means Spidey's staying for a bit.
"I have to draw the line somewhere baby," Wade replied on his way to the fridge.
"I should have seen this coming with how you reacted to finding out I was a cat person."
"Well-endowed women in leather don't count-"
"Wade!"
"I didn't say anything!"
Spidey leveled him a look, but nothing else. That is what we in the industry like to call getting away with it.
Wade grabbed a soda for his favorite masked vigilante.
"I know you don't drink," Wade continued, "but seriously like never? Like at all? Like actually?"
He joined Spidey on the couch, sitting close enough that they could easily be touching, but far enough that they aren't actually touching.
Wade won't lie, he has been a perpetuator of the couch manspread in order to touch knees with varying success.
In his dreams, Wade does the fake yawn to drape his arm over Spidey's shoulders. In his dream it works, the two draw closer. He asks if they can kiss, Spidey calls him an idiot but closes the gap. Their lips lock and Wade throws himself into the kiss because it is also his dream in his dream. All of it only exists in his dreams and slash fanfiction. (Hello reader, hello Wade. Me.)
"Like," Spidey mocked, "yeah. Just not a fan of it. Plus, it messes with my powers and you never know."
"Everything messes with your powers."
"I know."
"You should get that fixed. Do you know how dead I would be if my powers stopped working in a little bit of cold?"
Spidey is on thin ice with the way he just barely can handle New York winters. (He has no shot in Canada though, so R.I.P us taking him to our hometown like in a Hallmark movie.)
That being said, don't ask how, but Wade has figured out that if you put Spidey in a dark, slightly-below room temperature room to sleep in, then he will not wake up on his own. (You may also experience extreme levels of panic thinking you killed the last good thing about this part of town.) Again, don't ask.
"Not dead. You'd be like a frog."
Wade upped his confusion for the sole purpose of getting Spidey to talk smart to him. It worked.
"Some can freeze completely and effectively die," Spidey elaborated, "but when they defrost, they revive themselves."
"Like Captain America."
"Yeah. Except the frogs don't tend to last very long because it catches up to them very quick."
"So I'm dead again."
"Not you, no. Your regeneration would kick back in again so it'd be like normal."
"Damn. I am just too cool." Spidey hummed and Wade took it as approval, leaning on the back of the couch and thus leaning closer. (You are shameless.) Thank you. "I'd save so much money if I hibernated in the winter."
"You already save so much money from not spending on medical supplies."
"Gasp! You think this skin routine is cheap?"
Wade's handy-dandy guide to figuring out how good or bad of a person he's being and/or his emotional state is simple: what does his skin look like? The closer he looks to his precancer-and-mutation self the better everything is and vice versa. Healing time may also vary. It's pretty fucking weird sometimes.
"I bet you're one of those 52 in 1 people," he continued, "who swears by just water and soap when you feel like it and still looks hot and perfect. I bet that's how you save money."
"More like if you were to come to my place and open my first aid kit you'll see it's filled with post it notes that say things like 'out of disinfectant' or 'no cotton swabs.'"
"So that's why we never go to your place."
"You could say that."
Okay, Wade knows about the whole secret identity elephant in the room, but he is actively choosing to ignore that. Like he gets not wanting to share that side of things and he respects it. End of story.
"I bet you keep holiday decorations up for longer than you should," Wade said. "If your place isn't Halloween themed all year around with spiderwebs in every corner, then I don't even want to visit."
"I'm not an actual spider."
"Could have fooled me."
Another thing: Wade is pretty sure Spidey doesn't realize some of his spider-y behavior. Even the most mundane acts are flavored by eccentricity. (This is a person who will sit on Wade's chest with his head slightly tilted to the side as he listens to vibrations.)
He knows that one because one time Wade didn't die, and all he got for his part is a fade to black—or really, cut to black. And when he came to again it wasn't a weighted blanket on his chest, but Spidey. In that mask with those wide, blank yet expressive white eyes — eyes Wade has seen staring back at himself in the mirror, just beadier — that was stuff of nightmares if you weren't completely whipped over it. (And Wade is completely whipped over it.)
He's seen them once, Spidey's actual eyes—or rather eye. It was after a fight and his lens had shattered, exposing that part of him to the world. To Wade.
You know those people who fall in love with the painting The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel? They'll crop it to just the face, the eye, because it just moved them so much? Wade never understood it until that moment.
He has fragments of Spidey's face, collecting piece by piece slowly over time. He could probably put together an image like Frankenstein. But it'd be wrong. (Like Evil Deadpool.) And anyways, he would still be happy dying forever knowing how close he gets to Spidey's mask, face behind it notwithstanding.
And anyways anyways, Wade could spend the entire rest of this conversation staring at his lips. Or at least until the mask gets rolled back down once the soda is finished.
"I'm thinking gay thoughts," Wade confessed.
"Are you really hanging out with the homies if it isn't a little gay?"
Spidey doesn't take him seriously. (Why should he?) None of it means anything to him really. And none of it really means anything to Wade either, but in the complete opposite sense.
"I'm going to say something."
It was not a question because Wade would start talking either way.
"What?"
"In the comics, when they say I'm pansexual (omnisexual to some) they mean pansexual. And heteroromantic. I have never actually canonically had a male love interest—or even sexual partner really. Not saying I have to have one to be so but come on. Since 1983 (technically 2013 for coming out, but since it was confirmed by Gerry Duggan I'm going to say 2008 since that's when he first started writing Deadpool comics) no male on male action has occurred? (Also not counting the hinting between me and Iceman in Deadpool: The End—look it up.) And let's be honest, I'm a whole lot of bark and no bite. Sure, I say homosexual things, but it's mainly treated like a joke? I've been with a unicorn before I've been with a man in either a romantic or sexual way. I'm not trying to say me or anyone else is any less valid in their attraction just because they haven't actively engaged in it or that being with only women erases my sexuality (and I see you peeking out with the nonbinary partner that is Valentine Vuong my beloved and I love them, and kudos due for the androgyny representing instead of again sticking to a generally feminine presenting person so that it's "easier" for viewers instead of actually just showing the real life factor that nonbinary =/ visibly androgynous (but I do acquiesce and say they get kind of close to the latter) but, not to say anything, it is definitely "safer" than having me with an overtly masculine presenting partner, let alone identifying), but I'm a comic book character, I've got a different standard you know? Like, it just feels like I'm a very sanitized version of what I could be. (This isn't a competition but I am totally losing to DC bi-con Constantine and maybe that's the real problem here: Marvel aka Disney and queer censorship despite claiming otherwise). And I get points for representation that I don't feel like I deserve because I feel no better than megacorps changing their logos to a rainbow during pride month. But maybe that's why sometimes people grapple onto the idea of me and you together or me and Cable even if it'll never really happen. And I mean we have the whole soulmate part, well heartmate, and that's an entirely different thing I can't get into because you haven't been listening for the past 5 minutes anyways."
"I'm sorry I tried, I just didn't get most of that."
(Talk about wall of text.)
"It's okay." Spidey's good, Wade can admit that, but not that good. "For future reference," he continued, "where did I lose you?"
"The second parenthesis."
"How did you know there's parentheses in there?"
RE: Spidey being able to "hear" text.
"Because you physically turned away and put a hand to your mouth. I think you did a parenthetical within parenthetical at one point and that was weird."
"Fair enough."
Spidey did not allow a pause.
"What comics?" he asked.
"The ones about- hm. This is a third date type of conversation."
"I'm offended you don't think we've had three dates yet."
Gay gay homosexual gay.
"I mean this was a conversation we should have had on the third date or bust. You know that threshold of when withholding information just becomes straight lying?"
"Yeah," Spidey responded with a shrug. "Are you lying to me about anything?"
"So much."
"Same."
Wade didn't allow the pause this time.
"Wanna share? You can tell me all about baby spider."
He was prodding because if you try enough times eventually circumstances change. That's the nature of trust.
"You mean my childhood?" Spidey moved the soda away from his mouth and leaned his head back. (Mask untouched.) "I don't know what you want to hear, there's not much to say."
"Let's start simple: are you an only child?"
There's no answer. Not in a "I'm thinking about it" way, but in a "silence was my answer" way.
But there's emotion, and that's probably why Spidey always keeps the mask on, too. Wade could see the slight downturn of the lips in some form of displeasure. It was in the air whether directed at the question or at Wade himself.
"Come on that's a yes or no," Wade tried. "Unless you, like, consumed your twin in the womb. We'll go even simpler: do you have parents or were you made in a test tube? Though technically you'd still have parents because the DNA has to come from somewhere. Do you have parent singular? Like a clone."
"Pick something else."
The words alone are enough to make Wade pause, everything else about it notwithstanding. (At least it wasn't the end of the conversation, just a request for something different.)
"Ok," he said, biting his lip. "Did you celebrate Christmas?"
"Kind of?"
"Oo. Hanukkah?"
"It's complicated."
"Kwanza?"
"Will you stop?"
There's maybe a second of pause.
"Festivus?"
"Wade."
"Born and raised New York, right?" he asked instead to quickly change the subject.
"Yeah."
"Suburbs or urban?"
"Both technically."
Spidey is so guarded, that's the problem. His answers find a way to be the vaguest possible. Knowing if he's right or left-handed is already knowing too much in his eyes. And maybe that's just his honest to God personality but having a secret identity he so staunchly wants to protect can't be helping. And it really puts a damper on every conversation Wade tries to have with the vigilante.
"What's something personal yet fun you would be comfortable sharing with me?"
Wade expected the answer to be nothing. He is pleasantly surprised.
"I," Spidey hesitated slightly, "fell out a tree once and broke my arm as a kid."
He has to take the signs where he can with these types of things, and Wade wants to believe that there's a part of Spidey that wants them to connect. And maybe it's nothing more than in a close friend way, but it's a strong enough feeling that he will fight his nature in order to achieve some level of intimacy between them. There's no denying it.
"What else?" Wade goaded while he was still winning.
Spidey didn't hesitate as much this time.
"When I was younger, I had these old binoculars that I would use to see when someone was coming home."
"Fun. Learned to stakeout at a young age."
"Not really the same thing."
"Aren't you gonna ask me?"
"You don't remember."
(He remembers that we don't remember.)
"I don't remember, really."
Wade has a handful of child "memories" and nothing else. That's it. End of story. He was born at some point, and then he had cancer. Of course, there's the before cancer — being a soldier, Vanessa, mercenary work — and after — Weapon X, becoming Deadpool — but it's just that: before and after cancer. (Like Before Christ and After Death, but instead it's Before Cancer and After Deadpool.)
"I know I'm Canadian," Wade said. "I was bullied, probably. I was sick, likely. In the head. Troubled kid. My parents may or may not have loved me. I think I hate my dad. I think he hates me. Or maybe it was my mom. I know I joined the military instead of college. There's a lot of different versions of my past."
"I'm sorry."
Spidey keeps biting his lip and for a moment Wade grateful for his own mask, if only so that he can stare all he likes.
"Nah, it can be kind of fun."
"If you say so."
"You got things you wish you could forget?"
"I'm sure everyone does."
"Yeah, " Wade muttered, "not remembering your childhood doesn't change that. Just shrinks the playing field a bit."
That isn't really what Wade wanted to say, where he wanted to go with this conversation. But that's not always up to him. Thanks for this.
"Sucks," Spidey said in his usual awkward way of dealing with emotions.
"Swallow."
"Wade."
Quickly — though admittedly less quickly than Spidey would — Wade stood up and held his hand out for the soda can. (He knows better than trying to take something from Spidey.)
"If you're done," he said.
A swig later, he is taking both their drinks to the trash. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't for selfish reasons. Wade would have left those drinks there for the whole day, but this was an excuse that eased the tension. (And made what came next easier.)
"You show me yours I'll show you mine," Wade announced. (Flippantly enough that rejection wouldn't hurt as much.) "That's definitely an appropriate conversation for our date number."
"Maybe."
Honestly, Wade can't believe he's gotten this far without being shut down. The other shoe has to be somewhere. He stayed lingering in the kitchen while Spidey stayed on the couch. Really, they just flipped the degree of separation to proximity.
"I'm not gonna, like, force you, you know."
"That'd make one of you," Spidey seemed to mutter.
"What?"
In a frankly shocking display of candidacy that was reserved for children mainly, he admitted:
"I was taken advantage of as a kid."
It was quiet, almost a whisper, but just loud enough for Wade to hear. And he felt like he couldn't go back to the couch now.
8 small words, but Wade knew what it meant, and he hated it.
Everyone knew there were lines even he won't cross and won't stand other people crossing, and physically harming kids in any way was one of them. Past, present, and future.
And he wonders how much context this brings to how Spidey acts today.
"Yours is so much worse," Wade finds himself saying.
"This isn't a contest 'Pool."
There's an edge to that voice. Uneasiness.
Wade wouldn't put it past Spidey to be the type to constantly invalidate himself. Sure, maybe he forgot to eat lunch today, but Wade hasn't had anything to eat all day so what does it matter if he's hungry when someone else is hungrier. Or maybe he broke his leg, but someone out there has cancer right now so he shouldn't be complaining.
And Wade says that because that's what he would do. Relatively speaking, he might have lost an arm, but not everyone can grow it back so take as many as you want away. And maybe he broke his spine in a fall, but Spidey's bleeding and that's much worse when Spidey can die.
So maybe Wade isn't taking care of himself, and Spidey isn't taking care of himself, but they're taking care of each other. That's how they get things done.
"Do you," Wade hesitated, "wanna talk about it?"
Words don't usually die on Wade's tongue but they did this time. Spidey was not someone you comfort because he wasn't someone who was vulnerable, not fully. At least when it was a wound to be stitched there was something he could do.
"I just did."
He could tell Spidey closed off a bit. He doesn't blame the vigilante. He also didn't expect this at all. It's kind of uncomfortable having a conversation like this with Spidey. Pushing things more doesn't seem like a good idea. The only thing he could do now was match the energy.
"Well for one I was already Deadpool-ing, so there's that. I just... Had sex with someone only for them to reveal they were someone else."
"That's still awful. I'm sorry that happened to you."
"I'm over it," Wade replied. "I mean, I can talk about it."
He deals in black in white, dead and alive. And even though it doesn't feel appropriate here, it doesn't stop him:
"Are they dead?"
"Probably not. Did you..." Spidey didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to.
"No. She's still kicking. I was trying to be good for a bit then. I was in love with a girl who was rubbing off on me you know. I wanted to be a good guy, for her. It didn't work out, and so Typhoid Mary decided to step in."
"Typhoid Mary?"
"Yeah, you know her." (That's what happens when you all run in the same circles. New York can be so small town at times.) "I'm guessing I don't know your person?"
"No."
"Probably for the better. Though just say the word and-"
"Thanks."
Wade wanted to be able to do something about it even though he knew he couldn't, just like Spidey couldn't do the reverse. (Does Spidey want to do something like Wade?)
"I didn't mean to-" Wade tried.
"You did," Spidey interrupted. Then, carefully: "And that's fine."
Wade used up a burst of courage in order to walk back into the living room, just in time to be met with Spidey's back. The vigilante turned his head slightly but didn't face Wade. Mask back in place.
"I should go," Spidey said.
Oh, okay.
"I get it," Wade responded.
"I'll... see you around." Pause. "Stay off of food carts."
That is exactly where Wade will be next.