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“No fucking way,” a background character says, half-laughing into the phone he has cradled against his ear. Wade turns, aghast, as the little bootyhead jogs down the subway entrance. Wade seriously contemplates murder.
“****ing ****!” Wade yells, almost as loudly as the sudden and inconvenient cacophony of taxi horns. He yells a few more obscenities, all of which are tuned out by gust of wind that blows a filthy newspaper over his face and muffles him entirely.
He’s mad enough to start swinging, but he doesn’t remember what the guy actually looked like, just that he’d looked awfully punchable. A weaselly build, forgettable brown hair, and a shapeless hoodie. There were probably fifty just like him in the station right now. And honestly, if Wade started swinging, he wasn’t sure he’d stop.
He’s been planning on savoring his allotted swear, alternating between a comedic throwaway or a little zest if he wanted to be low-effort intimidating. And now...
Wade looks around in case the rating has changed. There's a lot of possible giveaways: explicit references in store names on the street, passerby’s raunchy conversation, maybe some graphic kidnapping happening stage left.
A butterfly flutters to land on Wade’s shoulder.
Wade looks incredulously down at its gentle gossamer wings shimmering iridescently in the patch of sunlight that has decided to obnoxiously highlight Wade in the middle of fifth avenue.
Wade knocks the butterfly off of his shoulder with a roar and charges down the subway steps. The little brat—and anyone who bears passing resemblance to him—has it coming.
“So you can’t curse,” Spider-Man says, eyes squinting disbelievingly at Wade.
“You can’t either,” Wade retorts mulishly.
“I don’t curse.”
“Yeah, right,” Wade says. “You forget I know you’re a New Yorker, sweetums.”
“Well, not in the suit,” Spidey amends. “I’m a role model.”
He says it so primly, like Wade didn’t see him very undaintily huck a train car at Sandman last week. The thing is, though, the guy’s not wrong. Despite the fact that he is absolutely younger than Wade, Spidey has been acting like a mentor. And Wade...well, he’s into it. He’s not used to people looking out for him. Damn him, but he actually believes Spider-Man cares. And now Wade’s invested, in a way that’s a lot more personal that the thousands of dollars of merch in his Spidey shrine.
“So what would you do?” Wade asks. He’s sincerely interested.
“You could let one drop,” Spidey says. “I’m not going to like, report you or anything. It’s just us up here.”
“I can’t,” Wade groans. “Look. F—”
A flock of pigeons dive-bomb the roof, screeching like they’ve spotted an open bag of chips. Wade ducks and covers. He be immortal, but pigeons. Spidey flips over the edge of the building, probably hanging all sticky over the ledge, and Wade miserably waves his arms around until the birds catch a freaking clue.
“Wow,” Spidey huffs, a cute little half laugh that Wade can’t even properly moon over because he’s so upset about the whole censoring issue. “They’re not crepuscular.”
“That’s the part that was strange?” Wade screeches. He watches the flock disappear into the city skyline. “Not the part where I can’t curse?”
Spidey snorts. “Of course you think those two things are related.”
“Of course they’re related!” Wade yells. “Look, Spidey, light of my world. Try to swear.”
“Sure,” Spidey says. “As soon as I’m out of my suit.”
“Not fair,” Wade says. “You won’t let me see you out of suit.”
“I’ll report back to you.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” Wade says. “Spidey, I’m telling you about a very real problem that I’m experiencing, and you’re not listening.”
“I am listening,” Spidey says. “I just don’t believe you.”
Wade gives it a few more attempts, but it’s painfully obvious that Spidey doesn’t care about the situation Wade's suffering through. It’s a strange betrayal because sure, while Wade’s ability to curse isn’t going to affect the welfare of the tristate area, it matters a heck of a lot to Wade.
If Spidey doesn’t have recommendations for handling the situation, that means it’s all up to Wade.
Wade has to act quickly on account of how subway cameras recordings go into the vault every twenty-four hours, and Wade’s memory is a frigging sieve in the best of scenarios.
It’s a common misconception that Wade is incapable of planning. It’s also one that Wade has had no interest in correcting. It’s absolutely to his advantage when people underestimate him, and Wade hoards advantages in a fight unless it’s more fun to lean into something disadvantageous.
Anyways, the point is, Wade’s spontaneity is a thorough cover for his kick-ass planning. Any merc worth his salt can lay down Plan B’s and C’s and D’s, then disregard all of the above to take a shot lined up by lady luck. The spontaneous hits always are more attention-grabbing, but they’re only feasible because Wade does his fracking homework.
Wade retraces his steps so he can get back to that same cursed subway entrance and trots down to scan an old day pass from last time Spidey fussed at him for hopping the turnstyle (right after helping a literal little old lady hop it). Wade’s undercover right now because Deadpool doesn’t have the cleanest record, which means that he’s all dolled up with an image inducer that makes him look like a knockoff Steve Rogers. He relieves an employee of his badge when the guy is heading out at the end of his shift, then waits until a aggressively lost tourist is loudly asking about a ticket to Broadway to slide in the back. It’s some touch-point jabs, then some good old-timey hacking by finding Mr. Martin Howell’s post-it with his new password in his cubby in the backroom.
Within a half hour, Wade’s trotting back out of the subway with a video copy of the ten minute window when he lost his ability to curse saved to his phone.
He rewatches the video back in his apartment, and it’s all too easy to narrow down the brown-haired slouchy guys to his target. His guy comes in at a jog and never once breaks momentum as he bustles down the stairs and hops onto the train. His movements are practiced and absent of any self-awareness. Wade would bet his entire juicy butt that his profanity thief makes the trip regularly.
Wade tried taking his problem to Spidey. Spidey can’t be mad when Wade handles the problem himself. Using adult themes and violence.
One way or another, Wade is getting his swear back on.
Peter Parker is a slippery little bastard, and Wade would respect that he weren’t so infuriating with it. Wade has never before had someone oblivious to the fact that he is actively trying to kill (or at least maim) them, and it’s frankly insulting.
Wade “bumps” into him on a crosswalk, fully intending to send the little jerk into the traffic on the far side of the road. Parker swings Wade around, pulls him towards the sidewalk, and has the indecent audacity to make it look easy.
“Huh,” Wade says.
“Hey, watch it!” Parker replies, unbothered by his own assassination attempt. He shoulders on while Wade fumes and decides to pull out the literal big guns.
Wade gears up for a bang-bang in the uni library restroom— once a librarian took him to task for getting blood all over the carpet and he halfway expects her to sternly reappear with a scathing reprimand— only when he goes into the bathroom, Parker is nowhere to be found.
“Hey, Pool,” Spidey says, dropping over next to Wade when Wade’s seething about it on their meet-up roof a few hours later. “What’s got you looking like a kicked puppy?”
“A man alone can’t right the wrongs of the universe,” Wade replies. “But heck, we gotta try.”
Spidey snorts. “Still on your profanity fast?”
Wade sits up a little straighter. Spidey remembers. “Not willingly.”
“Uh-huh.” Spidey sounds supremely unconvinced, and Wade feels a little je ne sais quoi told-you-so vindication about planning hits on a normie. Wade wouldn’t have to resort to his default factory settings if Spidey was a more present father figure. “It’s really bumming you out.”
“Yeah,” Wade says. “But what can you do?”
Spidey’s lenses narrowed. “Yeah. What exactly are you doing about it?”
Wade would be kicking his feet and giddy about the tone and the fact that Spidey picked up that he was definitely doing something, but the whole part where he was for-sure disappointing Spidey is surely a joykill.
“Oh, you know,” Wade says. “Working on the rating.”
“Which means..?” Spidey says.
“Knock that PG-13 up,” Wade says. “Push us into R territory.”
Spidey cocks his pretty little spandexed head. “Like, a lot of sexual references?”
Wade blinks. He’s been so intent on his vengeance arc that he’d really left out an entire avenue for upping the rating.
“...yeah,” Wade agrees.
“You didn’t kill anyone,” Spidey warns, all firm-like.
“No,” Wade says. “Of course not.”
“Good,” Spidey says. “Well. Get well soon, I guess.”
Operation Seduce-that-Dirtbag-Peter-Parker starts the next day. Wade already has his schedule memorized, knows when Parker is running ragged and behind schedule (frankly, all dang day, but sometimes less intensely), knows when Parker’s catching his breath.
So when Parker is queueing up for his dollar dog, Wade’s already a spot ahead in line, the six people he paid to buy dogs in front of him.
“Long line,” Wade says to Bethany the aspiring actress.
“It is, never, this long,” Bethany replies with aspiring-but-nowhere-near-close naturalness.
“It moves fast,” Parker assures them. He casts a look up at Wade, and Wade can see the mother-lover clocking him.
“Oh, hey,” Wade says. He lets his tone roll a little flirtatious. “Come here often?”
Parker snorts. “Oh yeah.”
It sounds sarcastic, but Wade knows that this particular hot dog stand is at least an every other day sort of situation.
“You like dogs?” Wade asks, and he gives Parker a lascivious wink.
“Oh yeah,” Parker says. He mimes guzzling one in a way that is much more lewd than Wade anticipated, and Wade chokes on his own saliva.
By then, the hot dog guy has somehow blown through the line’s orders, and Wade has to turn his back on a smirking Peter Parker to order his dog.
A smirking Peter Parker, to Wade’s absolute chagrin, is friggin’ hot.
Parker hasn’t been putting out cool kid vibes, but Wade has clearly underestimated his rizz potential. Nerdy guys aren’t that confident. They have a healthy fear of lockers and jock builds. But Parker apparently has a separate persona ready to take whatever the world gives it and loogie it right back.
Wade hasn’t been ready. But now he knows better and he won’t get caught off-guard again.
“Hey, are you following me?” Parker asks in the zero-point-two seconds Wade takes his eyes off of him.
“No?” Wade answers.
Parker crosses his arms. “Why are you following me?”
“I said I wasn’t!”
“Alright.” Parker’s bushy brows are at full skeptical. “Then why am I seeing you everywhere?”
“No you’re not,” Wade says mulishly.
“Stop following me,” Parker says sternly, and it sends a little sizzle up Wade’s spine that he’s so quick and so firm with how he lays down orders. Wade’s not about to respect them, but it’s something he appreciates nonetheless.
“Maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying something.”
“It’s got a whole lot to say,” Parker says, and there’s a weariness underlying his words that is exasperatingly mysterious.
I can fix him.
Fix him? You’re supposed to kill him!
“Look,” Wade says, “I can steer clear. I get that you don’t want to see my ugly mug—”
“Your body isn’t the issue,” Parker says, and his eyes effin’ flick down and up Wade’s body. “It’s you acting like a creep that’s not working. Trying-- very poorly, might I add-- to act like you’ve not been stalking me all week.” He shifts, and it’s like he slips into another character. “I want to know why that is.”
Wade’s brain is still too shut down over Parker blatantly checking him out to put together a savvy response, but he does manage a “We could talk it over dinner, if you like? Public location?”
Parker looks at him, and Wade can feel him knowing that Wade knows that Parker is poor poor. The guy’s apartment is stocked exclusively with ramen. The guy buys TP by the square.
“You’re paying,” Parker says. “And then we’re done.”
Wade’s not sure he can seal the deal by then, but he’s not exactly in a position to bargain. Besides, he can probably bribe Petey into an extension if he plays his cards right.
“So you’re Deadpool,” Petey says after some dynamite banter and Wade ordering half the menu.
“Guilty as charged,” Wade says. “What gave me away?”
“Your voice,” Petey says. He pauses, his face twisting like he gave something away that he didn’t mean to.
“Oh?” Wade says. “Where have you heard my voice? Until recently, I haven’t exactly been fit to print.”
“You do TikTok,” Petey says. It’s true, but Petey’s being dodgy enough about it that Wade can tell there’s blood in the water.
“You like my TikToks, Petey?” Wade drawls. He’s a fan of having Petey on his heels. A hardass Parker feels good, but a flustered Petey feels right.
“Totally,” Petey says, completely deadpan.
“Have we met?”
Petey does full-on shifty eyes, and Wade crows. “Did I save your life, baby boy?”
“Don’t call me that,” Petey says. “And yeah. You did.”
“Wow whee,” Wade says. “Who’d’a thunk?”
“Doesn’t excuse you stalking me,” Petey says.
“When did I save you?”
“A few times,” Petey mumbles. He takes a long slurp of his water. “Don’t ask me more about it. It’s traumatic and stuff.”
“Yeah, well, I’m no hero,” Wade says. “And you’ve got me curious.”
“No,” Petey says. “You are. You are.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Wade says, which is a very generous way of putting it.
“But you’re doing the work.” Petey’s intensity is dialed all the way up to eleven.
“Hold up,” Wade says, squinting suspiciously at his would-be victim. “Are you a friggin’ fan?”
Petey ducks his chin a little. His face is bright pink. “Yeah. I guess you could say I am. I believe in you, and I really like the work you’re putting it. If you can do all that, there’s hope for the rest of us too, you know?”
“I’m not the hero you want, Petey.”
“I don’t want a hero,” Petey says.
“Well, you certainly don’t want me,” Wade says. “You’re smarter than that.”
“You know what?” Petey says. “If you stop trying to reverse psychology me into boning, I’ll come home with you.”
Wade gapes at him. He’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but where the hell did that even come from?
“And also,” Petey says, firm again, “no more stalking.”
“You don’t know me,” Wade squeaks. “Stranger danger.”
“I know you,” Petey says.
“You know what you want me to be,” Wade says. “Jesus, do you offer to bed all of your stalkers?”
“No,” Petey says. He’s holding a very deliberate eyeline with Wade when he hits him with what he very clearly considers to be a whammy. “But anything for views, right?”
“What?” Wade gasps, clutching at his hoodie strings.
“Yeah,” Petey says. “You wanted more clicks?”
“On what?” Wade hasn’t been the less crazy one in a dialogue scene for ages, and he has no clue how to react to it now.
“I don’t know,” Petey shrugs. “Story ranking, or what now? What was the thing that’s been bumming you out?”
“Fic rating?” Wade says.
“That was it!” Petey says. “So you need what, some heavy petting, a little grind action—”
“Hold up. Hold the actual frick up,” Wade says. He holds out a hand, as though that alone is capable of stalling Petey’s blabber. “Why are you...why do you…?”
“Come on, Deadpool,” Petey says, and he plops a hand over his eyes. It makes his jaw and cheeks instantly recognizable.
“What the hell?!” Wade hisses, leaning forward in his seat as the server brings them a platters of food. They have to stack plates to make everything fit on the table. He tugs Spidey’s hand down in case anyone else happens to look their way. “You’re Peter Parker?”
“Some stalker you are,” Petey says, plucking a bunch of Wade’s fries while Wade splutters incoherently. “I thought you were observant.”
“You...and you…”
“Me what?” Petey asks, and he’s got that same smug grin from when he one-upped Wade at the hot dog stand.
“What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch,” Petey says. “We fool around, you’re feeling better, and you stop creeping on civilians. You’re lucky it’s me this time. I’d be a lot less lenient if you were stalking someone who couldn’t catch you.”
“You said bone.”
“Sure,” Petey shrugs. “I’m game.” He flicks another glance, more pointed and less seductive, down and up Wade’s body.
“Because I’m sad?”
“Well, there’s that,” Petey says. “But also, come on, look at you.”
“But you were mad at me.”
“Yeah,” Petey says. “So you’re not gonna do it again.”
“Okay,” Wade says. “We’re doing this?”
“Yeah,” Petey says. “After dinner, though.”
Dinner is tortuous because Spidey is right there but Wade can’t talk about it on account of somebody has to take measures to protect Spidey’s secret identity and apparently it’s not going to be Peter. Petey is treating the entire thing like a date instead of a emotionally platonic splat and expat, and Wade can’t properly focus on volleying words because that’s Spider-Man, that’s Spider-Man, that’s--
“Can we get the rest of this to-go?” Petey asks a passing waiter, and Wade nods in fervent agreement. Petey gives Wade a sly smile and frigging footsies his way up Wade’s ankles. Look, Wade’s trying to get as good as he’s being got, but this scene is dragging on for longer than Wade can manage.
A hop, skip, and timejump later, they’re in the elevator going up to Wade’s apartment while Petey mocks Wade for having a doorman. Wade manages a couple of lackluster replies around staring at Spidey’s lips on Petey’s face. Petey sighs, fondly exasperated, and slides a foot between Wade’s feet.
“You can back out,” Petey says. “You look a little clocked out. I came on strong, and I threw a lot at you.”
“That would be very unsatisfying narratively,” Wade says.
“Do it for the Vine?” Petey asks wryly.
“F in the chat,” Wade nods.
“But seriously,” Petey continues, uncharacteristically undeterred from his original seriousTM thought. “This isn’t some sort of limited time offer. If you want time to process, we can just, like, hang tonight—”
“Don’t you dare take this from me,” Wade says. He grabs Petey’s arms, which are right there, and Petey’s looking up at him, and Wade’s almost certainly having tiny consecutive heart attacks.
The elevator door dings open. Wade backs Petey out of the elevator, absolutely relishing the friction of their legs sliding against each other.
“Alright, big guy,” Petey says. “Lead the way.”