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It’s an accident.
Really, it is, though he did take the job, stalk the mark, point the gun, fire the shot. Spider-Man stares at the dead body sliding down the wall with the eyes of his mask wide (how does he do that) and his hands on either side of his face.
Deadpool - because he is Deapool now, boots laced and mask on - empties the clip in the mark’s chest and head. Brain matter splatters onto his suit.
Spider-Man gets covered in the shit, from his face to his boots. He turns to Deadpool, drops his hands and shakes his head slowly.
“That was overkill,” he says tells Deadpool, waggling a finger, “You agreed no more overkill.”
Deadpool flips the gun in his hand and holsters it at his hip.
“I saw him twitch,” He says.
Spider-Man rolls his eyes - again, how is that even possible - and points at the mess on his body.
“This is not okay.”
Deadpool brushes some of it off, smearing blood and sinew across the spider emblem on his chest. Oops, maybe not such a good idea.
He looks down at the shorter hero (seriously, what is he, five six, five seven?) and sees the telltale cocked hip and drumming fingers.
Spider-Man is annoyed with him.
“C’mon, Webs, don’t be like that. Promise he was a super-duper bad guy.”
“You already made a promise, and you broke it. Now you’ve gotta deal with this while I go home and shower.”
“Nooo, take me with you!” Deadpool makes grabby hands at Spidey’s retreating presence.
He shoots out a vertical web, tugs down, and lets himself be slingshotted up into the air, away from the body, away from Deadpool.
Spidey doesn’t know it, but that night, Deadpool makes it his mission to find out where he crawls off to each night. Where he’s spun his web, so to speak. Is he a high-rise kinda guy, or does he prefer the under-the-flowerpot ground level apartments? Does he live alone? What colour is his underwear?
Say what you will about his mouth, Deadpool is good at his job.
-
On the tenth of October, Spider-Man tells him it's his birthday. That's his first clue.
He knows Spides is younger than him, younger still, but can't work out the exact year. He asks how old he's turning and Spidey just smiles, mask rolled up barely enough to open his mouth and fit the burrito inside. Deadpool bought them for their usual after-patrol rooftop-relax session, which turns into an information-gathering session. Twenty-one? Twenty-two? No five-o'clock shadow, that's clue number two. That precious chin isn't sprouting hairs, but maybe he has a good close-shave barber. Or he knows his way around a disposable razor and shaving foam. He might do it nightly, lathering himself up after a shower. Now he's thinking about Spidey in the shower. Stay focused.
"Doing anything special for the occasion?" Deadpool asks.
Spidey just shrugs.
Ah, so it's not a milestone. And he's old enough to be used to birthdays. Old enough to not be hanging out for gifts, or caught up with visiting family. But then he says, "Might spend time with my Aunt."
So the boy does have family. An Aunt, sure, but family nonetheless. He asks her name, to which Spidey takes a giant bite of his burrito and makes a show of chewing. Not answering, is what that says. So instead he says casually,
"You must be close,"
Spidey nods, still chewing.
Very close, then. Deadpool spends that night researching adoption histories of the city from 2001-2005. He finds plenty results - too many - and closes his laptop frustrated and still thinking about Spidey shaving his face in the sink of his bathroom, maybe a girlfriend helping him do it, with careful fingers and quick shakes of the razor in warm water. He could do that for him, if he needed. They were bros.
-
His third clue comes from their patrols themselves. Always in the same neighbourhood, never too far from home. They meet on the same rooftop each night and Deadpool wonders if his place is far away, if they choose this particular roof for the lounge set or its proximity to home. If it's perfect to swing to and from on late nights when he's too tired to swing further; if he lands on some fire escape and hikes up the window to crash in bed at two in the morning. Wade decides to pay close attention to the direction he swings once they've finished their taco-truck meal, and finds it's East every time.
The third and fourth happen organically. Intel so easy to gain he's certain he must've been told it all before, he just wasn’t listening hard enough. Or maybe he did listen, try to store it away, and forgot (his memory isn't the greatest at the best of times, and it's worse when he's being killed on the reg). He should've tried this whole what's-beneath-the-mask escapade months ago. Might be chatting to Peter mask-off now, legs swinging over a rooftop ledge with glee as he finds out Spidey not only goes to university, it's to become a science teacher. How delightful.
He wonders what year he's up to, asks it, and gets an answer:
"Two years."
Spidey says it as he looks out at the city skyline, his legs crossed on the ledge, leaning back, relaxed.
Damn. He should come straight out and ask him his name at this rate. Isn't that easier than snooping? Would definitely give Wade a lot more free nights to watch Golden Girls and jerk off rather than hunched over his computer, typing key pieces of information into the search bar and hitting 'go'.
"Did you go to college?" Spider-Man asks him, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Deadpool almost drops his food laughing.
"Me? No way, Jose. I went straight into the army minute I turned eighteen." He says, because he did, and it's no secret.
Anyone in the world could search 'Deadpool' and find a big ol' picture of his face smiling back at them, though it's back from when he did standard contract work, when his face didn't look like Swiss cheese and his heart was a little more whole. Still, his birth certificate is there, his history, his origins. News snippets of his kills that don't mention him by name, but have his signature all over them. Photos of death and destruction and pain, all caused by him. He wonders if Spidey has ever seen these things online, and hopes he hasn't.
"I didn't even finish high school," Wade adds as an afterthought.
Spidey looks at him carefully, then, mask rolled up to his nose this time, and Wade peeky-peeks as best he can under the gaps in the fabric. Spidey chews on his granola bar. Where he pulled it from, Wade doesn't know, but he had a spare. High protein with some fucked-up-looking berry inside.
"There's still time," Spidey says, "I might be a qualified teacher by then. You could be in my class."
Deadpool imagines Spider-Man in his suit at the front of a class, horn-rimmed glasses over his mask, instructing a group of snotty kids to read page one-eleven. Imagines himself at the back, stuck in a desk too small for his large frame (he's worked hard on it, thank you very much) and waving his hand furiously in the air, trying to get Spides' attention. His mind wanders, and he imagines Spidey getting very frustrated with his spit-ball, loud-mouthed antics, red-faced and angry and maybe his hair is blonde, eyes blue as he stares at Wade and tell him he's off to the principal's office. Hot. Surely he's allowed to date his teacher if he's a mature-aged student. Surely.
-
He doesn't see Spidey for a week, and gets a little worried. Has someone gotten to him and given him the old bang-bang-you're-dead treatment? Was he sick with man-flu? Did he just not want to hang out any more? Spidey shows up on their usual rooftop on the seventh night, and Wade is relieved. He buys them enchiladas with hot sauce and a jumbo Pepsi to go with it. They sit on the outdoor lounge and eat, with Spider-Man being a lot more quiet than usual.
"You ever play with dolls as a kid?" Deadpool asks to get him talking, "I used to have an Action Man, a Scuba Steve and a couple barbies. Man, I got beat for those, but who else was gonna play the hot-headed CEO of my ruthless corporation?"
"Not tonight, DP." Spider-Man says.
"You aren't playing with dolls tonight?" Deadpool asks.
"I mean not tonight, I'm tired. Might head home."
"As you wish, princess." Deadpool says, feeling only a little bit rejected.
Spidey offers him the last of his enchilada, not explaining why he's been gone, and pulls his mask down.
When he jumps off the rooftop, he swings East.
-
Wade considers giving up on his mission when Spidey leaves for a second time, this time absent for a whopping eleven days. Wade nearly bursts out of his skin when he sees him again, webbing from building to building above the food truck Wade is currently ordering extra ranch from. He waves frantically at the sky, but Spidey doesn't see him.
Turns out he'd been off with the Avengers, fighting something bigger and uglier than Wade himself. Wade knew he fought with them sometimes, but it's becoming more frequent lately. Like he's worked his way up the ranks to become a proper member of the team. Wade sours, thinking of his rejected application to become a Big Time Hero, but it's short-lived.
He follows Spidey at ground-level to the nearest building but loses him near an apartment block on Ingram. Wade gives up and goes home, ranch acquired, and thinks of ways to hack into the Big Boss's very complicated computer systems long enough to get an address. Decides it's no fun that way, and instead spends the night researching the rental history of every apartment building in and around Ingram Street. Researches the three universities nearby, hacks into their servers to scan student applications and classroom rosters.
The closest university is Midtown Tech, a sister school to their specialised school of Science and Technology. It takes scholarships, has payment-plans for low income families, and has a salad bar. Spidey seems like the kind of guy to eat salad. Wade takes a picture of the student list for the Bachelor of Teaching and stashes his phone in his pocket. He's going for a walk.
-
The students flooding out of L Block are many, but Wade knows what he's looking for. He searches through the crowd of people dressed in various shades of nerd, for a five six boy with a dimple in his chin and the cutest nose Wade has ever seen. He waits there for five, ten minutes, until all the students have exited, off to have lunch or drag on a joint between classes. If it were Wade attending, he'd do both. At some point he gets bored and gives up, not having seen that dimple in the crowd. Maybe he needs glasses.
Maybe he needs a new hobby.
-
He finds it out on accident.
Promises it's an accident this time.
He doesn't mean to be lingering outside the apartment block, just happened to be travelling that way when the building called him inside, looking awful familiar. Big and brown and ugly. Cheap. Reminds him of the places he has lived in in the past. Of his apartment after his mutation, of the basement after the break-up.
He's pacing at the entrance when a woman approaches, fiddling with her keys while holding a Boba. When she sees him, she smiles.
"Wade!" The woman says. She's older but pulls off the running gear well, long hair and bright teeth and (might he say?) fantastic legs.
Wade falters. Forgets his own name for a second, watching this woman beckon him over to the door with her free hand. How does she know him, and what is her skincare routine?
"Oh, it's so great to meet you, he's told me all about you." She says, "I'm May. Really, it's so good to meet you."
Wade finds himself sitting on a very comfortable sofa in some guy named Peter's apartment, drinking espresso from a tiny mug. Honestly, he's been in worse situations. And this lady - May - is so hospitable, asking if he's cold, if she needs to turn up the thermostat, if he wants another coffee and darn it she forgot to ask if he liked sugar (he doesn't) (he's sweet enough).
"Peter's told me all about you, I hope that doesn't embarrass you," May says, sitting opposite him on the sofa. She has one leg crossed over the other, leaning toward him with interest. "I'd say he'll be home soon, but who knows with that boy sometimes."
"Boy?" Wade squeaks.
May laughs, "I know, you can't call a twenty-year-old a boy forever, but he is my little boy. I've had him since he was five - that's fifteen years. Went through puberty together, the whole lot."
Interesting, Wade thinks. Someone with a baby face and a hot aunt, who lives in an apartment building within walking distance of Midtown University, two blocks from a certain rooftop...
Who could that possibly be describing?
Wade puts down his coffee cup and turns to face May, propping his chin up on his elbow.
"So, tell me, May," He says, "What's your favourite thing about our Peter?"
-
To his credit, Deadpool doesn't tell straight away. No, he waits at full twenty-eight hours to spill the beans about his favourite web-slinging hero, to his favourite web-slinging hero. He's excited, buzzing deep down in his bones like he's taken half a bottle of uppers (again).
They sit on their rooftop, Spidey quiet as he eats his bodega cheese-on-rye, Deadpool eyeing him the entire time. It's a cold night. He can see Spidey shivering in the wind, but he has no jacket to offer him. That'd be a move.
"What?" He asks eventually.
Deadpool turns his head, looking away so as not to be suspicious when he asks:
"How's class?"
Spidey shrugs, "It's alright."
Deadpool hums. "That's good." Then, testing, "Is Mr. O'Neill still upset about that late assignment?"
Spidey nods, mouthful of bread.
"You told him it's cause your Aunt was sick, right?"
"I did. I-" Spidey stops. Swallows. "I didn't tell you that."
Deadpool pulls his mask up to his nose so he can take a big, drawn-out sip of his. The straw rattles amongst the ice.
"Didn't you?" He says, feigning confusion, "I could have sworn last week was the final due date but May had a pneumonia scare, or was that the week before..."
"Deadpool."
"Hmmm?"
"Have you been...investigating me?"
He looks at Spidey, then, whose face - what he can see of it, anyway - is twisted into a mixed expression of fear and surprise and maybe anger? Deadpool can't tell. To him, he just looks cute, cute, cute. Spidey's mouth is set in a line, sandwich crumbs on his lips, nose scrunched a little. Wade wants to wipe the crumbs off his mouth. With his tongue.
He takes another sip of his drink while Spidey watches him, eyes deadly through his mask.
"Wellllll," Wade says, and Spidey hits him, knocking the lemonade out of his hand.
"Deadpool!" He shouts, "That's fucked up!"
Wade throws up his hands.
"I'm sorry! I couldn't resist! I mean, look at that nose!"
Spidey hits him again, and this time it has something to it. He smacks Wade's shoulder, shoves him, then huffs. Places his sandwich down on the side table and puts his head in his hands.
"Am I fucked? Tell me, Wade, am I fucked?" He asks, words said to the concrete.
Language, Deadpool thinks. Honestly, such bad words from such a pretty mouth. If wasn't so focused on the hunch of Spidey's shoulders, the way his fingers grip his skull like he wants to pull his own head off, he'd think it was kind of sexy, hearing him swear.
"I mean, if we're on first names now..." Deadpool begins, then decides against whipping out the big guns for just now. He pats Spidey's shoulder. "No, you're not fucked. My lips are sealed. Promise."
"I think we've established by now your promises don't mean shit."
Ouch.
Deadpool, finding his fingers haven't been shrugged off just yet, rubs a soothing circle into Spider-Man's back.
"There, there. Let it out."
Spidey turns on him, "I'm not crying! I'm pissed off!"
"At me? Whatever for?!" Wade holds his check in faux-shock. Part of him knows he's in the wrong and should apologise, but then Spidey is reaching up to his mask where it's tugged halfway up his face and pulls it all the way off.
An explosion of mid-length, static-y brown hair spills over Spidey's face. He sits up straight, looks at Wade with big brown (brown, brown, they're brown!) eyes and pink cheeks and oh, Wade might just be in love. His eyebrows are pulled tight together and his bottom lip is bitten between his teeth. He's pretty. He's angry. Wade is definitely in love.
"You could have just asked me," Spidey - Peter, without the mask - tell him.
Wade frowns. Could he have? Would it really have been that easy? If he had come straight out and asked it (What's your name? What does your face look like? Can I kiss you? Pretty please?) would he have answered. The mask in Peter's hands seems to be the answer.
"I had coffee with your Aunt," Wade blurts out.
Peter's eyes widen. "You what?"
Wade winces at the tone.
"I didn't mean it, I swear! I was just wandering around outside what I kind suspected to be your apartment building and she invited me inside." He explains.
Peter's head drops into his hands again. He groans, long and low and frustrated.
"How much do you know?" He asks.
Deadpool rattles off the things he's learned about Peter - his name, his address, his school, his teacher's names, his favourite kombucha, the way his voice gets hoarse after eating spicy food - while Peter listens with wide eyes and an open mouth. When Deadpool finishes, he resembles an over-ripe tomato.
"I'm so dumb." He says quietly.
Deadpool shakes his head, "No, no. I'm just very good at what I do, sweet thing."
"I would've told you, if you'd asked." Peter says again.
Wade takes a moment.
"I'm asking." He says.
For the first time since Deadpool mentioned his teacher, Peter smiles. A soft, slow thing. Wade wants to pinch his cheeks. He tries, and is batted away.
"My name is Peter Parker," Peter says.
Wade grins. Sticks out his gloved hand for Peter to shake. Peter shakes it.
"Wade Wilson. Nice to meet you, Peter Parker."