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Wade hadn't been back to New York since Vanessa died.
He didn't like to think about it, obviously. Losing the one person who loved him, who he loved, because of his stupid fucking ego. Of course someone would find him to take revenge after a job, he didn't exactly hide anything about himself. They knew his name, his address, probably his fucking social insurance number, and if he didn't kill every one of them it was his own fault.
Overall, it was better for Wade to stay away. He didn't set foot in the tri-state area for a year after her death, and then took one job in Newark before going cold turkey again. That was two years ago now, not even half a decade of trying to numb his guilt and mourning.
Unfortunately, Weasel had just given him an offer he couldn't refuse.
"Kids, Wade," Weasel had said down the shitty connection of Wade's burner phone. He sounded exhausted although it was only eleven am--he had probably been working on this all night. "I tipped off a few organizations on them, the kids are gonna be safe. But you gotta move on this guy today. He goes to jail, he uses his network to start up again. Two hundred thousand for his head."
And Wade promised he'd be in Manhattan by midnight, hung up, and snapped the cheap flip phone in half.
Really he wasn't that far away. Toronto was close enough that if he had one of those Real IDs he would be able to cross the border even without a passport--not that Wade was that interested in doing things legally, but still. It was the principle of the thing.
Wade stole a car in Hamilton and crossed at Peace Bridge where Weasel had a couple contacts that wouldn't ask questions. Cost him a pretty penny but it was much easier than trying to navigate the hell that was airports and flying as a merc with no less than ten weapons on his person at all times.
Eight hours and three cars later, Wade was perched on a roof in FiDi, waiting for his target to return to his condo after negotiating the last deal he would ever make.
There was a sort of calmness in the dark of any city, even one as bustling as New York, when he was this high up. He was vaguely aware of cars and people milling about in the city that never slept but all he could hear from his perch was the humming of wind and the beating of his own heart.
Wade wasn't a sniper by trade, much preferring to get up-close and personal with his targets to really make sure they got the hint--or died, depending on the nature of the job--but this time he had to move fast. No chance of setting off alarms, or alerting the wrong person that he was there, because there was a very real possibility that the target could escape.
Wade slung his rifle case over his shoulder and placed it on the roof in front of himself, preparing to assemble the gun, take the shot, and get the fuck out of the city never ever to return.
"Whatcha doin'?"
Years of experience was the only thing that prevented Wade from jumping fifty feet in the air at the voice behind him. He hadn't been snuck up on in decades. "Who's there?" he growled, looking over his shoulder and reaching for one of his katanas.
A red mask with big white eyes stared back at him from a few feet away. The sky was dark but New York emitted enough ambient light that Wade had no problem seeing the other masked man.
"I'm Spider-Man, resident do-gooder and bleeding heart," he said, lifting one hand from the ground where it was supporting his crouched posture to reach out toward Wade like he wanted a handshake. "What's your name, cutie?"
Wade's fingertips hesitated a scant inch from the katana's handle. Was this kid... flirting with him?
"I don't have time for this," Wade muttered. He turned back around and started to click and screw the barrel of his rifle together as quickly as he could.
"Looks shiny." The voice was much closer now and Wade flinched away, his hands still moving even as he glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye. "Is this a solo-only toy or would you be willing to show me the ropes? I was never really into marital aids but I'm sure you could convince me."
Definitely flirting. Wade didn't exactly feel uncomfortable, but the entire interaction was very weird. He wasn't the type to sleep with people for information--didn't have the looks, or the personality, or frankly the charisma. He preferred to work alone, shooting first and asking questions later.
"You're awful quiet, Red."
"Don't," Wade hissed before he could stop himself, standing and facing the man completely, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Don't fucking call me that."
Spider-Man remained crouched on the balls of his feet, looking up at Wade with both hands raised in surrender. "Got it, sir. Can I get a name, though, so I don't stumble onto one of your other squicks?"
Wade gritted his teeth. His skin was beginning to itch under the leather and Kevlar of his suit. Soon it would turn to burning, unending nerve pain that could only be cured by a bullet to the head.
"Deadpool," he ground out.
"Deadpool," Spider-Man repeated, nodding.
He stood, his movements so graceful and effortless that Wade was half-convinced he was talking to a ghost or some other supernatural being. They stood almost of a height--Spider-Man's feet were clad in a kind of soft shoe that didn't add anything to his stature, and Wade was wearing combat boots, so if they were both barefoot they'd probably stand only a few centimeters different.
Wait, him and this skinny little freak? Barefoot? Hallucinations, the ravings of a madman. Wade's date with his Glock couldn't come sooner.
"Well, 'Poolio," Spider-Man said, putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head almost playfully, "It's very nice to make your gorgeous acquaintance. I love fans, especially the cosplayers. Want me to sign your mask?"
Spider-Man wasn't making any sense. Maybe he was more insane than Wade, a feat he had never thought possible. "I'm not a fucking cosplayer, moron. Fuck off and let me do my job."
"And what job is that?" Spider-Man's teasing tone went hard and Wade blinked behind his mask, surprised. The lithe, dancer-like lines of his body looked more like the tensed muscles of a predator, waiting for its prey to run so it could give chase. And this predator would win.
"I didn't know there was a vigilante out here protecting kid diddlers, Spider-Man. This is why I avoid New York at all costs." Wade turned away from him and knelt on the ground again to finish assembling his rifle and affix the scope. He had a bipod ready to steady his aim just in case, but he didn't need it. Good enough to just lean the barrel of the rifle against the low edge of the rooftop and lower himself onto his stomach, peering through the scope.
The mark wasn't home yet. All of the windows were dark, except for a low light coming from the kitchen--a stove light that remained on at all hours. There were no shadows of movement on the walls.
"I don't 'protect molesters', Deadpuddin'," Spider-Man said. He walked around Wade, the presence of his body always in Wade's awareness despite the silence of his footsteps. "And no wonder I haven't seen you before, if you're not in my city! I would have noticed an ass like that from a mile away."
Wade burned out the embarrassment centers in his brain a long, long time ago. That's why he definitely wasn't blushing like a schoolgirl underneath his mask. "You're protecting one right now, with your incessant yapping," Wade muttered.
Spider-Man gasped overdramatically. "The Merc with the Mouth himself, calling me a yapper? I need to get ahold of the mayor, I want an award for this."
"So you do know who I am," Wade said.
"I recognized the name, yeah."
"And you know how dangerous I am?"
Spider-Man made a sound like pshaw! "Danger, smanger, babe. I'm pretty sure I could take you. Or you could take me, really, whatever you're into--"
"You seem stupid. I don't want to hurt you, but I will."
Spider-Man chuckled. He walked in front of Wade, now, and stepped onto the barrel of his gun, balanced in a crouch near the muzzle like an angel on the head of a fucking pin. Wade could only tilt his head back and stare up at him, still holding onto the gun from pure leverage.
"You couldn't hurt me, princess," Spider-Man said, his voice dark and low. "No killing in my city, capisce?"
Oh, fuck. Whoever this Spider-Man was, he definitely was on some tech that Wade hadn't seen before. He tried to steel his resolve anyway. "He's got kids. Multiple kids. Trafficking them. I need to--"
Spider-Man sighed, reaching out to cup Wade's jaw with both hands and immediately shutting him up. His hands were cool, cooler even than the late night air this high up. They were long-fingered, and delicate, like he hadn't worked a day in his life.
"You really are gorgeous, aren't you?" he asked, stroking his thumbs over Wade's masked cheeks.
Before Wade could respond, Spider-Man lowered both of his hands to the rooftop on either side of Wade's shoulders and then curved his body completely over him, somehow lifting Wade's gun out of his hands in the process.
Wade didn't have superhuman strength or anything, but he was pretty fucking strong and used to overpowering anyone who was slighter than him. Spider-Man pulled the rifle away from Wade while only touching it on the smallest possible surface, as if it were a piece of toilet paper stuck on the bottom of his shoe.
Wade followed Spider-Man with his eyes, leaning slightly onto his side to watch him balance on one hand, transfer the rifle from the ball of his foot to his other hand, and then spring onto his feet a yard behind Wade, landing with his legs poised like a gymnast.
"Ta-da!" he said, holding his arms up while still gripping Wade's gun. "Please, do not hold your applause, I really need to hear it or I won't be able to touch myself to the memory of this interaction tonight."
This confirmed it--there was someone more psychotic than Wade out there, and he had so many more tricks up his sleeves, too. Wade rolled out of his prone position to instead sit up, legs crossed, and clap a few times for Spider-Man as requested.
"Oh, you're such a perfect little peach," Spider-Man said. He walked closer to Wade and sat down in front of him, one leg curled beneath him and the other bent at the knee. The rifle was balanced between the thigh of his bent leg and the smooth plane of his stomach.
"Look, Spidey,"--"Ooh, my own nickname, I love it!" Spider-Man squealed--"I can appreciate the non-violent approach to things, even though I think it's ass-backwards. But...." Wade huffed, propping one elbow on his knee and letting his chin drop into his hand. "This guy is a fucking hydra. Not Hydra, like the Nazis--well, I don't know that for sure."
"Run into a few of them too," Spider-Man said, shaking his head.
"If I don't take out the heart the fuckin' heads are gonna grow back. More innocent fucking kids--I can't let it happen."
Spider-Man just stared at him for a few moments, expression unreadable behind his mask. "Okay, baby doll," he said gently, "I think I get it. Let's compromise."
Wade wasn't exactly up for compromising, especially with a man that was getting between him and his target, but he wasn't sure he could win a fight with this guy either.
"What kind of compromise?" Wade hedged.
"I don't want any gunfire in the city. Any part of the city, if I can help it. Panics people, you know?" Spider-Man put his index finger and his thumb against his chin in a parody of the thinking emoji. "I'll give you two options. I go in there, I capture him, I bring him to you. Leave the northeast completely and you do what you want with him. I don't want his body to show up anywhere north of Philly."
Wade just blinked. It would take a lot more time to do than a headshot through the window. "Option two?" he asked.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," Spider-Man said under his breath. "But I'd do anything to keep a dreamboat like you on my side." He exhaled slowly. "I take you in there, you kill him--no guns, and as little wounds as possible--I take you out. And I actually take you out, after, there's a great pupusas truck up the street that's open really late--"
"The second one," Wade said before he could really think about it and convince himself that it was a bad idea.
Spider-Man froze. "Really?" he said breathlessly.
"I drove all the way out here today, driving even more tonight would really fucking suck," Wade tried to rationalize. "And I haven't eaten since this morning, so."
"I see," Spider-Man said. Wade could easily hear the wicked grin in his voice. "If I told you that you had a nice body, would you hold it against me? Because we're going to have to get kind of up-close-and-personal for me to web-swing us over to that building so I can get you inside."
Wade was sure he was getting himself into something he wouldn't be able to get out of tonight. New York City was now the least of his worries. Spider-Man and whatever web he was weaving around Wade would be difficult to break away from in the future, but maybe Wade was ready to be caught.