Chapter Text
“Huh, back already?”
“Ah well what can I do you for? You looking to get into the smut business? Fluff? Maybe just some good old angst?” He asked. Jovial and upbeat, he watched the light flash off his phone and bounce off his ceiling. It was more interesting than the conversation he had with himself. “Well you came to the right place, you get a life time supply with the regenerating degenerate; Deadpool.”
No none of that. He stilled his hands, stopped fiddling, then spiked the phone across the room onto the armchair.
“Yea right; well whatever it is you want I am at your beckon and call.” Wade flourished his hands in a mock bow, never moving from his lazy spot sprawled out on the couch.
I don't want anything from you.
“In my business if they don't want something from you then they want you dead.” Blank eyes focused ahead on the tv again. “So I call bullcrap on that.”
The light emitting from the screen was one of the only lights in the dark of his apartment. It strained his eyes at best, but wade stared ahead without so much as blinking. When the episode ended, those eyes found their way back to the ceiling boards. Narrowing in suspicion.
Not a single thing happened. The seconds ticked by into minutes and the single episode into three. Nothing continued to happen. Because sometimes thats all there is to life.
“Okay Author, what the hell.”
What are we watching?
“American dad, what's it to you?”
I love that show.
He slumped back again, irritated; then let out a puff of air. “No kidding, It's out of character for me to slap this on.” The merc grumbled with a lazy wave of his hand. "Knew something was up."
He opened his mouth, the complaint was cut off by the buzz of the front door. Fucking finally. Deadpool cut across the room, ready to fill the poor aid with led. He ripped it open; pistol pointed at the intruder’s head. Who froze with one hand at the ready to knock.
The pizza boy must of pissed his pants right then and there. But between one 'don't shoot!’ And the next, He disappeared down the hall. The pies hit the ground with a heart breaking splat; some of the contents smeared on the dirty rug.
Not that it was really a problem; Deadpool was the merc with the mouth after all, and he’d put just about anything in it.
“I detest that.” Scooping up the boxes and fallen slices alike, he kicked the door shut behind him and plopped himself back onto the couch. Deadpool lounged across it with the boxes balanced on his chest. “And I didn't agree to whatever this is turning into,” he grumbled, then stuffed his face full of pizza. “Talk about a blind date.”
It can't be so bad, it means free food.
Instead of acknowledging the insufferable author, Deadpool kept chewing. He scarfed it down at an alarming rate. Cheesy greasy goodness dripped down his jaw, he caught it on the back of a glove.
“Call me crazy, but this probably isn't all you came here for.” Wade tossed an emptied box into the abyss that was his apartment. “Y’know, the whole ‘show’ part of dinner and a show.”
Probably.
Deadpool stiffened, but played it off. “So is that a threat? You finally going to do something?”
“Don't just ignore me! I know a threat when I see one.”
“Fine then! I know a sure fire way to end this!” He shouted, hands flying up in exasperation before they moved to the holsters on his thighs. Almost sloppily he jabbed his pistol to his temple and switched the safety off. “This what you want? Want to see the big guy crack? Well step right up and see the show. You get first class seats.”
Wade put the gun down, I don't want that.
“Make me.”
A beat, then Deadpool’s hand faltered. The shaking worsened when the repulsion hit him. he'd done it a million times, and do it a million more, but There was always that minute before he pulled the trigger. That one where he argued with himself, a back and forth game that no one ever really won.
Because he knew it wouldn't change anything, that he’d just wake up all over again.
“Yea with a killer migraine to boot.” His hand floated back to the couch aimlessly. “I didn't exactly think that one out, did I.” Deadpool waited for the response, it never came.
Outside the inky navy of the night was turning into the baby blues of a cloudy morning. Something after five and the sun was already making an appearance. It was too gooddanmed early in the morning for anyone sane to be out, even the sun.
What happened to him?
“Maybe I stopped playing along with all your sick fantasies.” He grumbled. “And from one sicko to another you guys are into some really messed up stuff.” He stared down at the floor boards as if refusing to acknowledge his situation was the same as stopping it.
“The hell you expect me to do to stop this? I think we've both clearly seen I don't control it.” He had pushed himself from the couch and paced around in his apartment. The mess made that a little difficult. “You're repetitive too. It's an annoying personality trait to have.” he said mid pace.
“You're, you're not leaving any time soon, are you?” He waited, tilted his head and listened, and when he didn't get an answer; nodded like he had. He replaced his guns in their holsters, and straightened his back. The crack filled the room.
“Better give the audience what they want right?!” He slammed his apartment door behind him. “Lights, camera! Action!"