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If there ever was a vote for the best superhero, Deadpool has zero doubts that the winner would be Spider-Man. Not only are Spider-Man’s powers cool as hell, but he’s genuinely the best at what he does. Spidey does more good alone than the rest of the superheroes of New York combined. No evil is too big or too small for him. Spider-Man is out and about almost every night, saving people and helping grandmas across the street or whatever the hell he does.
“Do you help grandmas across the street?” Deadpool asks Spidey, just to make sure.
“Traffic lights exist,” Spider-Man says wryly. “Usually, the grandmas do alright on their own.”
That’s not a no. Spidey is truly adorable.
Good things don’t exist in the world that Deadpool inhabits. Everyone is selfish, rotten, and ugly to the core. Sure, some pretend to be decent, but at the first hardship, they drop all pretenses and the ugly surfaces. Everyone is after their own benefit and nothing more. Wade knows this.
Spider-Man is different. He’s simply good, the very best. Sure, he’s cool and fun, but above all else, he’s the most decent person Wade has met in his entire life. He does good things because it’s the right thing to do and asks for nothing in return. It is incredibly refreshing.
The point is that Deadpool likes him, admires him even, so he has decided that they’re destined to be friends. Or more. Preferably more, because Spidey is also hot as hell. Deadpool really wouldn’t mind a piece of that, but so far that seems a little too ambitious, so he’d settle for friendship.
He brings it up regularly, “We should be friends. We get along. We have a good time. We’re meant to be.”
“I can’t be friends with someone whose favorite pastime is shooting at people,” Spider-Man says stubbornly. It’s an old argument.
“Actually, I like stabbing people more. Not that shooting isn’t fun, but it’s just a personal preference,” Deadpool shrugs.
“Not any better, really,” Spider-Man sighs, shaking his head.
And that’s the problem with Spider-Man. No matter how cool he is, sometimes he gets a little preachy. It’s a byproduct of his goodness. He can go on and on about how killing people is bad, until Deadpool’s brains are ready to leak out of his ears out of sheer boredom.
“I do what I think is right,” Deadpool argues. “Some people just deserve a good, thorough unaliving.”
“It’s too final. Once a guy is dead, he won’t be anything else ever again,” Spider-Man says. “Everybody deserves to have a second chance, even the worst kind of people.
“Boooo,” Deadpool boos loudly, giving the universal thumbs-down sign.
“Oh, shut it,” Spider-Man says. “Even you know that I make a good point.”
What a nag.
Still, Deadpool likes Spider-Man too much to be openly antagonistic, so he promises obediently, “I’ll think about it.”
Spider-Man nods, satisfied. “You do that.”
…
Wade doesn’t think about it. Frankly, he forgets the entire conversation, until it turns up again to bite him in the ass when he least expects it. It happens when Deadpool is on a job and having the time of his life shooting and stabbing. It’s a great thrill and a lot of fun until suddenly it isn’t anymore.
Deadpool takes aim, ready to shoot, and then the voice turns up.
“Don’t do it”, whispers Spider-Man in his head. Wade startles so badly that his shot misses the target by a mile.
He aims to fire again.
“Stop”, says Spider-Man.
Wade stops. He stands there, confused, gun raised, and listens intently. It is quiet aside from his target’s stumbling somewhere further away. Wade must have imagined the voice. A momentary lapse in his sanity. He moves to go after the target, but the voice returns:
“Let him go”, Spider-Man says, insistent.
Wade hesitates. Then he lets his target go.
...
So, some elements of Wade’s sanity are... less stable than others. The homicidal tendencies and the complete lack of remorse, for one. His violent mood swings. He has also been seeing the text boxes for as long as he can remember. They’re often there, just at the edge of his vision, at the corner of each panel. He’s used to them, they’re his normal, but he also knows that other people don’t see them. Overall, Wade’s sanity is marked by little cracks like these that together pile up to a huge heaping pile of issues.
The voice in his head is something else.
Is he finally losing it for good? Hearing voices is generally considered bad, and Wade absolutely doesn’t need more crazy in his life. Besides, the voice’s nagging is already ruining his work and that’s just not cool. He can hardly get anything done with an imaginary Spidey watching over his shoulder all the time.
Which begs the question: why does the voice sound like Spider-Man?
...
Maybe it is Spider-Man.
...
Deadpool corners Spider-Man for a good, traditional interrogation one night. That is, he gets a bag of tortilla chips and bribes Spider-Man with food. He’s learned that Spider-Man is always hungry and plying him with snacks usually makes him sit still long enough for a chat.
“So, Spidey, can you read minds?” Deadpool asks while Spider-Man is suitably distracted by the chips.
“What?”
“Are you a telepath? The second coming of Prof X?” Wade asks and then realizes the implications, “That begs another question; are you bald? Not that there’s anything wrong with being bald, but I’ve always imagined you with hair. But maybe you’re more McAvoyesque than Stewartish.”
“I, just, what? Are those even words? No, of course I’m not a telepath. Also, not bald,” Spider-Man says, sounding very confused.
“Are you sure? To the telepath thing, that is. I’m pretty sure you would’ve noticed if you were bald. Is it possible to be a telepath without meaning to?” Wade wonders because maybe Spider-Man is sending subliminal telepathic messages without realizing that he’s doing it. It doesn’t sound that far-fetched, all things considered.
“I’m not a telepath,” Spider-Man says. “I just spider.”
Wade nods. “Hmm, interesting.”
Spider-Man frowns. “What’s this about?”
“Nothing, nothing. Everything is perfectly normal and fine,” Deadpool hurries to assure. “Nothing weird going on here, not at all.”
“That is way less comforting than you think.”
...
It keeps happening.
“Hold your fire”, the imaginary Spidey says when Deadpool is about to shoot someone, “He deserves a second chance.”
“Stay your blade”, his voice says when Deadpool is about to stab someone, “The punishment should fit the crime.”
“Let him go,” Spidey insists, “He might have a family.”
It’s annoying and inconvenient beyond belief. It feels like Spider-Man is always watching and judging and the worst part is that Deadpool finds himself listening to the voice. He can’t very well kill someone if Spider-Man is watching, however imaginary. That’s just wrong, because Spider-Man is good and kind, and he would hate Deadpool forever if he saw him unaliving people. Having a Spidey who hates him in his head would be even worse than having a Spidey who nags at him.
So, Deadpool holds his fire, stays his blade, and lets people go to the point where he isn’t even killing anyone anymore.
He has an existential crisis about it one night: Who even is he, if he doesn’t do what he does best? What’s the point of anything?
Wade knows absolutely nothing beyond bloodshed. He’s been a mercenary for so long that he barely remembers what came before. His hand knows the weight of a gun better than he knows himself. He knows exactly how to slice with his blade to take a guy’s head off in one clean stroke. He knows a hundred different ways to incapacitate someone without killing them and a hundred other ways how to kill them.
If he doesn’t do any of that anymore, then what should he do?
…
Deadpool brings it up with Spider-Man.
“Tell me something,” he says, “What exactly does a guy do if he doesn’t kill people?”
Spider-Man shoots him a curious look.
“Why are you asking?”
“Academic curiosity,” Deadpool shrugs. “Humor me.”
“I save people. Help them. Do what good I can,” Spider-Man says. “A regular guy might go to his job. Spend time with his family or friends. Maybe engage in his hobbies. There’s a lot of stuff you can do that doesn’t result in casualties.”
Wade doesn’t have a job, family, friends, or even hobbies beyond shooting people. It’s a bit of a depressing realization. But at least he has Spider-Man.
“Are you sure we aren’t friends?” he asks Spidey, just to make sure.
To his surprise, Spider-Man hesitates like he’s thinking about it.
“I don’t know. We do hang out regularly,” he relents.
Deadpool cheers. “I knew it!”
“Yeah, yeah, shut up or I’ll take it back.”
“Best friends.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
…
So, Deadpool hangs out with Spider-Man even more often now that he’s been promoted to a friend. It’s been weeks since he has unalived anyone even a little bit and even Spider-Man has noticed by now. The voice in Wade’s head is mostly quiet and it’s only the real Spider-Man in Wade’s life now.
It turns out that Spider-Man doesn’t just help grandmas across the street, he also fights all sorts of freaky dudes. Deadpool starts helping him out. It’s twice as fun as killing people. Spidey’s motley collection of villains puts up a better fight than any regular people could.
“Holy shit, Pikachu there almost handed our butts to us, didn’t he?” he says to Spider-Man after one grueling fight.
“His name is Electro,” Spidey replies. “Hopefully we don’t have to see him ever again. Getting electrocuted isn’t my favorite pastime.”
We, Spider-Man says it like he means it. It makes something warm in Deadpool’s chest. Being a ‘we’ with Spider-Man feels significant, meaningful.
Spider-Man turns to look at Deadpool thoughtfully.
“I’m really proud of you for not trying to kill him,” he says.
“I did shoot at him,” Deadpool points out.
“Only a few times. That was nice of you.”
“Eh, didn’t want you to nag at me.”
“I don’t nag.”
Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but Spidey’s voice in Wade’s head 100% would have.
…
In time the voice moves on from nagging and starts to give suggestions:
“Help the grandma across the street,” says Spidey in Wade’s head one day. Deadpool looks around, confused, and spots an old woman standing at the side of a road, waiting to pass.
“Oh, hell nah,” Deadpool tells the voice. “That’s where I draw the line.”
“But she’s so old. And wrinkly,” Spider-Man whines.
“I don’t care how old and wrinkly she is!”
The grandma shoots him a suspicious look under her thick gray brows.
“Offer to help her with her groceries,” Spidey says.
“You’re so stubborn,” Deadpool complains, but then he steps over to the grandma. “Hey, you! Yes, you old hag. Give me your bag.”
“Excuse me?” the grandma asks, voice shrill and offended.
“You heard me, you wrinkly witch. I’ll help you out like nobody’s ever helped you before,” Deadpool tells her.
The old woman grips her grocery bag tighter and raises her cane threateningly.
“I don’t think so, punk. I’ve got nothing left to lose and you don’t scare me,” she says.
Deadpool snorts a laugh. “Don’t be difficult. I’m just trying to—”
“Rob me? You picked the wrong damn woman, you hooligan,” the old woman says and then she canes Deadpool hard in the knee.
“Ow, ow, son of a bitch, what the fuck?” he yelps and hops out of the way of another determined swing of the woman’s cane.
“Leave the grandma alone,” says the imaginary Spider-Man.
“What is it you want from me? Make up your mind,” Deadpool tells the voice.
“I want you to leave me alone, that’s what I want!” says the old woman who definitely doesn’t need Deadpool’s help to cross the street.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, hag. Don’t come complaining to me when you get hit by a car,” Deadpool tells her and turns to walk away.
“Well, that didn’t go to plan,” says Spidey.
“You don’t say.”
…
“So, I tried to help a grandma across the street,” Deadpool confesses to the real Spider-Man.
“You what?” Spider-Man asks and there’s clear astonishment in his voice.
“She was very resistant to any help. I don’t understand how you do it,” Deadpool says.
“I don’t actually help grandmas across the street,” Spider-Man reveals.
“Why did you ask me to?”
“What? I have never asked you to help grandmas across the street.”
“Er, right. Must have been my imagination,” Deadpool says. Sometimes he forgets that the voice and the real Spidey are two different things. They sound like each other, so it’s an easy mistake to make. Although, it’s probably bad to be mixing up reality and the things that happen in his head. Definitely a sign of insanity.
Spider-Man is giving him a peculiar look, long and scrutinizing.
“What’s up with you lately?” he asks. “You’ve changed.”
“I have not,” Deadpool hurries to deny. He doesn’t particularly want Spider-Man to find out about the voice because he’d for sure think that Wade is insane and maybe he wouldn’t want to be friends anymore. That’s just not an option. Deadpool has gotten used to Spidey’s company, and fighting by his side is loads of fun.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Spidey says with a shrug. “I like it.”
It sounds like he’s smiling underneath his Spider-Man mask. Deadpool wishes he could see that smile.
…
Things fall into a beautiful balance.
Helping Spider-Man means that while Deadpool has stopped killing, he’s never bored. Spider-Man seems to appreciate his help and even more so once he realizes that Deadpool never goes for the kill. Sure, Deadpool often thinks about it, because old habits die hard. At times his aim slips a little on the fatal side and his fingers curl on the katana handle just so, but the voice always appears.
“Please, reconsider,” Spidey says in his head, and Wade reconsiders.
“Thank you for not killing him,” says the real Spidey.
And Wade responds, “No problem.”
Over time Spider-Man visibly relaxes. He stops hovering worriedly whenever Deadpool draws a blade or a gun and, instead, he trusts Deadpool not to kill anyone. He trusts Deadpool to watch his six. He trusts Deadpool to keep his secrets. He just trusts and Wade has never had that before.
“Hey, Spidey?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever hear my voice in your head?”
“No, can’t say that I do,” Spider-Man replies.
“Oh.”
“I do… think about you sometimes.”
“Oh?”
Spider-Man doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches over and takes Wade’s gloved hand. He weaves their fingers together and squeezes gently.
Wade has no idea what it means, but he thinks it must be something good. Everything about Spider-Man is good, after all.
…
Then one day Spider-Man gets shot.
Sure, Spider-Man gets shot at a lot, but usually, it doesn’t stick. Deadpool has learned that he has some kind of a sixth sense that warns him about danger and allows him to dodge bullets.
“My spider-sense,” Spider-Man explains and Deadpool laughs.
“You’re taking this spider thing way too seriously,” he points out.
Spider-Man shrugs unapologetically.
Anyway, as helpful as that sixth sense is and as fast as Spider-Man happens to be, it doesn’t help when he gets shot by multiple people at once. Spider-Man dodges one bullet but another hits him in the side, burying deep.
Spider-Man goes down with a yelp of pain and Deadpool sees red.
He takes a few moments and about seven bullets before the armed guys are down but alive and then he’s standing above the one that shot Spidey. Deadpool has a sword drawn and he’s ready to take the man’s head off when the voice returns with vengeance.
“No, that’s not the right thing to do,” Spidey says. “Don’t kill him.”
“He shot you. He deserves it,” Deadpool argues.
“Nobody deserves to die,” Spidey says. The imaginary Spider-Man is exactly as stubborn as the real deal.
“Damn it,” Wade mumbles, and then he punches the gunman twice in the face until he, too, falls unconscious.
Wade hurries over to Spider-Man. Spidey is stubbornly trying to stand up, but he’s bleeding a lot from the bullet wound and looks wobbly on his feet.
“What are you doing standing up? Stop it, stupid,” Wade orders and he makes it to Spidey’s side just in time before Spidey begins to collapse. Deadpool catches the superhero easily. Spider-Man is surprisingly light for someone who seems larger than life.
“Do you need a hospital?” Wade asks, a little urgently.
“No,” Spider-Man groans. “No hospital.”
“What am I supposed to do with you then?”
Spider-Man promptly passes out and doesn’t respond.
“Help him,” Spider-Man’s voice says in Deadpool’s head.
“That’s very self-serving advice from you, but of course, I’ll help him. You. Whatever,” Deadpool tells the voice, even as he moves to obey and picks Spider-Man up.
Wade is out of options, so he takes Spider-Man home with him. Spider-Man wakes a couple of times on the way and mumbles something incoherent that Wade ignores completely.
“This is all very unheroic of you,” Deadpool complains to Spidey’s unconscious body. “If the Daily Bugle knew, they’d never let you live this down.”
He sets Spider-Man on his couch and then uses a combat knife very questionably to dig the bullet out of Spider-Man’s side. There’s a lot of blood. Alarming amounts. Briefly Wade considers ignoring Spidey’s request and just dumping him at a hospital, but Spider-Man had sounded very determined about not wanting a hospital involved.
“Die on me and I’ll be very angry,” Wade tells Spidey who of course doesn’t respond.
…
Spidey doesn’t die.
In fact, by morning he is significantly healed to the point that Wade figures that he must have some kind of a healing factor, too.
The first thing Spidey does when he wakes up is gawk at Wade, which is a bit rude of him but ultimately fair.
Wade has stripped off the Deadpool suit and he’s in comfortable civilian clothes, unmasked and unarmed. He has to suppress a self-conscious twitch under Spidey’s stare, because he knows how he looks, scars marking his body and face all over. It’s not a sight anybody feels comfortable looking at for too long. However, Spidey seems to be the exception to the rule. He just looks, unwavering.
“Who’re you?” Spider-Man asks, baffled.
“Wade Wilson.”
“Well, that’s actually very unhelpful, I don’t know why I asked that first. Where am I?” Spider-Man asks and looks around.
“My apartment,” Wade tells him.
Spider-Man looks at him again and tilts his head curiously.
“Why am I in your apartment?”
“Since you didn’t want a hospital.”
“…Deadpool?”
“The one and only.”
Spider-Man stares for a long time. Then hesitantly he raises his hand and removes the Spider-Man mask that Wade had respectfully left on him.
And holy shit.
If Wade thought that Spider-Man was adorable before, well, he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. His real face is something else. He’s young and cute and definitely not bald at all. There’s something hesitant in his expression, but it takes nothing away from how stupidly attractive he is.
“Peter Parker,” Spidey introduces himself and offers a small tentative smile.
“Peter,” Wade repeats and it’s not his fault if it comes out as a dreamy little sigh.
“Oh, do shut up,” Peter tells him and blushes prettily.
…
Knowing Peter Parker is even better than knowing Spider-Man because it’s real. Peter is Spider-Man, just as good, kind, and just, but at the same time, he’s more human than a faceless superhero could ever be. He’s a person, not just an idea. Wade soon finds out that he likes Peter Parker even better than Spider-Man.
“Why did you become Spider-Man?” Wade asks eventually because he’s just confused by why someone as ordinary as Peter would choose to be a superhero.
"If I don’t do it, nobody will,” Peter answers.
And he’s right. Nobody else would do what Peter does. Nobody would go out every night and fight the evils of New York. Nobody else cares enough to even try.
Peter seems to disagree, since he adds, “Or, well, I suppose you do it now, too.”
“What?”
“You help me out.”
“Only sometimes,” Wade lies. Recently it has been almost every night.
“Still counts,” Peter insists.
“I don’t do it because it’s the right thing to do, though,” Wade argues because it’s true. He’s not a good person, after all.
“Then why do you do it?”
“I do it for you, of course,” Wade says, and he means both the real deal and the voice in his head.
Peter smiles at him softly and Wade realizes that he’d do a lot of things to keep Peter smiling like that.
…
Eventually, Deadpool confesses to Spider-Man why he has stopped killing people. He describes what happens when he raises a gun or a blade with the intent to kill. Then he tells Spidey all the things the voice has said. Spider-Man listens to him talk and not once does he call Wade crazy, which is really nice of him.
After Wade is done, Spidey seems to think it over, before he sums it up, “You hear my voice in your head when you’re about to do something morally questionable?”
“Yes! Exactly!”
“That’s... That’s not me. That’s literally your conscience trying to tell you something,” Spider-Man says, sounding exasperated.
Wade blinks at him.
“My what?”
Spider-Man looks unimpressed.
“Conscience. I know it might be a foreign concept, but even you must have one,” Spider-Man points out. “And apparently it sounds like me, which, yeah, flattering.”
“It’s ruining my work!” Deadpool complains.
Spider-Man is entirely unsympathetic.
“Good,” he says, but then he seems to hesitate and asks, “So, you actually listen to the voice?”
“…Yes. I haven’t killed anyone since it appeared.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s you. I can’t very well stab someone if I’d be letting you down,” Deadpool points out, exasperated, because isn’t it obvious?
Spider-Man is quiet for a moment, before he carefully asks, “Does that mean…? I mean, would you stop killing people for good if I asked you to?”
“What?”
Spider-Man turns to him and steps closer.
“Would you stop killing people, if I asked you to?” he repeats, this time more firmly.
Deadpool hesitates. Spider-Man steps closer again.
“No, I, erm, maybe I’d…” Wade says less than eloquently. “What are you doing?”
“I’m seducing you into good,” Spider-Man replies and takes another step until he’s well into Wade’s personal space. Spidey’s hand finds his again and he curls their fingers together. One of these days Wade will figure out what that means.
“Wade, stop killing people. Please,” Spider-Man pleads quietly.
Wade never should have told Spidey his name. There’s just something devastating about hearing it roll from Spidey’s mouth easily like it belongs there.
Does Deadpool really have to kill people? Not really. Could he stop for good? He has never really even considered the option. Killing just comes naturally to him, as easy as breathing. But maybe it isn’t as essential as breathing.
“This is very unfair of you,” Wade points out, “Very unsuperheroic.”
“Then I won’t be a superhero,” Spider-Man says and removes his mask and then he’s just Peter. He’s still just as pretty as he was the first time around when Wade saw him. How is Wade supposed to say no to that face?
“Stop killing people, Wade,” Peter says, “For me?”
Yep, this is a thousand times worse than just having Spider-Man’s voice in his head. Having those big, dark eyes directed at him is like being held at gunpoint, thrilling like nothing else. His resolve crumbles.
He still asks, “What do I get in return?”
Peter offers him a smile.
“Me.”
And Wade finally gets it.
“I was angling for a kiss, but that works too.”