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Coming to your senses in an unfamiliar place is always disorienting. Doesn't matter if it's the first or thousandth time it’s happened, it sucks dick. And not the good kind. Even more so with a killer headache, which Wade assumes is a major head wound, judging by what feels like a shit ton of gray matter spilling out of the sides of his head.
His eyes open and he breathes a deep sigh, Deadpool finally lifts his head. “Hunnrgh… good morning Vietnam!” he grumbles with faux enthusiasm.
Slowly pushing himself up, he dusts off dirt and cracks his sore joints, stretching after laying on hard concrete for an undetermined amount of time. Deadpool looks around at a familiar, yet unnerving alleyway, like he can’t place where he’s seen it.
He starts walking down the dim, cobblestone path, softly illuminated by the hundreds of streetlights that line it, seemingly going on for miles.
It's quiet
Almost too calm.
But entirely too still to be normal. He waits a beat.
Ah.
The freeloading, soul-sucking little shits of my subconscious are out of commission.
“Must be dead.” Wade shrugs and keeps walking
He’s almost happy about it– finally a break from those two shit-talking incels– but he can't shake this feeling he was in the middle of something, or he’s forgotten where he put something very very important.
Quickly, Deadpool gives himself a once over, patting down all his gear. Only one katana, -thank god it’s Bea-, still both his .44 Magnum D-Eagles in their holsters, baby knives one and two in his boots. The mask is on, and there’s no missing limbs, or other very important extremities.
It shouldn’t bother him this much. Wade loses stuff all the time! He’s misplaced his own goddamn foot once, and this mysterious anomaly is bothering him?
Wade bends down to study the road, hoping it’ll trigger a memory, but to no avail. He picks up a nice rock and keeps walking. He goes back to thinking what he could’ve been doing, at least trying to waste time if this regeneration is gonna take its sweet damn time. He fiddles with the stone.
Was I eating lunch? No, probably not. CTE is pretty fuckin hard to contract while stuffing birria tacos down your throat. Kicking bad guy ass? Maybe, but then I wouldn't be kickin' ass if I’m dead so scratch that. Haven’t gotten laid in forever so most likely wasn’t giving absolutely stellar head, if not a sad but very real possibility.
Stumped, he shakes it off. I forget shit all the time, it’ll come to me when I clock back in.
He walks for a time, passing by suspicious shadows and oddly lit street lamps. He checks his trusty adventure time watch for an update, but quickly remembers it hasn’t worked in months. He keeps it on for the novelty, sue him. However, it’s been long enough that he starts to worry, given it’s been plenty of time for a bullet in the head to pop itself back out. Unless it was serrated steel to the eardrum, then that’s gonna be a bitch to grow back, plus getting to actually retain his hearing later on.
Lost in his train of thought, Wade focuses back to where he might be going, when a tall, -and extremely curvy- ominous figure catches his eye.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you on my side of town, Mr. Wilson.” Her booming voice echoes across the distance between them. “Feels good to see a familiar face after so long.” Her stiletto heels click-clack on the pavement as she approaches, offering her hand. “You know how lonely it gets out here.” She leers.
“I’d love to agree with you, but you know why I don't stay in these parts for long, My Lady.” Deadpool bows his head as he takes her hand, placing a gentle kiss on her hand, despite the mask. “Looks new around here, you renovate lately?”
“Hmm, don’t be sly,” She eyes him, looping their arms together and walking forward. “Your flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Wilson.”
A silence only ex-lovers know settles over them. Intimate yet uncomfortable.
She clears her throat, “ What brings you to this side of town anyway, big red? Last I heard, you were gallivanting around the rooftops of Manhattan looking for trouble.” She steals a glance over, and is met with unseeing white eyes, but no answer. She continues, “Which I can only assume you’ve found if you’re here, paying me a visit.”
“You could say that.” Wade is uncharacteristically quiet. He pauses, hesitant.
“I actually–” he waits, unsure if he should tell the truth.
“Yes?” She pushes.
“Well, I actually have to fuckin’ clue why I’m here.” He sounds confused with himself. He turns the stone over in his hand.
“Clearly you’ve got yourself in some trouble, Mr. Wilson. Unless you were looking for me again, but we settled that issue a very long time ago, if you recall.” She’s trying to be coy, it’s clearly not working.
“Oh trust me, I recall.” Not even gonna think about that right now. He lets out a dry chuckle. “And yeah, no shit. Thanks for that- and no more of that ‘Mr. Wilson’ bullshit- you know what you can call me.”
“Of course, my apologies Wade. But why don’t you know? You’re usually itching to go back without so much as a hello. What's different this time?”
Deadpool takes his available hand and scratches at the back of his head. He looks around the vast darkness again, like he’ll find the answer in the shadows. He doesn’t.
“It’s really kicking my ass here, baby doll.” Death offers him a sympathetic smile.
“Just thinkin’ I must be real fucked up if I’m seeing all of you right now.” She looks down at him as they walk. Wade sighs, and throws the rock out of frustration.
“If it’s of any consolation, I’ve just swooped up some men from the Fisk department. I’ve seen some that look pretty bad but these ones were a little worse for wear.” She glances at Wade again, wanting him to catch on on his own time. “You and your friends must have put them through the ringer. Assuming it’s your work?”
Wade is still quiet, contemplative. He’s slowed their stroll to a stop, releasing Her hand.
“Fucking Fisk. That slimy little shit, of course we’re dealing with his fucking mess this time.” Wade throws his arms up erratically, overwhelmed. “And I’m dead! Great fucking job, Wade.”
Death rubs a hand across his shoulders, trying to soothe him to no avail. She pushes him to keep walking. Deadpool doesn’t let Her.
He rubs a hand against his head again. The mask is still damp at the sides of his head, slowly remembering what got him here. Flashes of curly brown hair and freckles crawl behind his eyes. The memories of swinging piggyback through the city send a chill down his spine. Gapped-teeth, baby browns and slender hands and late night rooftops flood his psyche. Fuck.
“Fuck- Fuck- Ffffuuuucck!” He stomps his foot akin to an angry toddler. His chest rises and falls quicker.
“Come on darling, there’s no use sulkin-” Wade removes Her arm from his shoulder.
“Wait- wait.” He turns to her. She stands, unsure of how to proceed.
“Is this it?” The blank, white lenses stare daggers into her dark eyes.
“Is what it, Wade?” She almost sneers at him, like she’s playing with her food. Messing with him just for the fun of it.
“Don’t fuck with me, Lady. You know what I mean. It’s never this slow getting back. And normally I’m not a hard ass with schedules, but I’ve got some pretty important fuckin’ people to get back to. So what’s the hold up, huh?”
Death is silent. She hesitates. He hates when she does that.
“Ah, I see.” She grabs his arm again, picking up their stagnant pace. “You’re restless. You don’t know what to do without that little hero boy of yours, huh?”
His head snaps to her face.
“You better be pulling my fucking leg clean off if you think you have any business talking about something like that.” He thrusts his gloved finger in her face, as if to make a point. His voice wavers, betraying him.
“I just don’t know what you’re in such a rush for, Wade. You know very well how this all works.” Wade takes a step back at this, a look of disdain on his face through the mask. He pulls Bea out of her sheath.
“I don’t know what your game is here doll, but I need to be back pronto. So, if you could wave around those magic fingers of yours (magic indeed catch my drift?), that’d be great, yeah?” The sword waves around in Death’s face as Deadpool makes his request. She gently moves it out of the way with a tip of her finger.
“Please Wade, your big bad dog act isn’t going to get me like it does everyone else. I know you, whether you want to admit it or not.” Deadpool lowers his Katana. “You’re always going a million miles a minute, always scared that if you stick around too long all your bad karma will follow right behind you.” She leans down to get right in Wade’s face. “Sometimes you deserve it, Wade. All the things you’ve done, people you’ve hurt. But you’re not a bad man.”
Deadpool re-sheaths Bea, widening his stance and crossing his arms. He doesn’t look at Death.
“I know who you are, Wade. But I also know who he is. He’s almost made it to me a couple times. I’ve seen him nearly fail and still get up. He sticks around, and means it.” Wade looks at her more expectantly.
“Is this going anywhere or are you just keeping me here to lecture me on all my shortcomings?” “I’m not finished, Wade.” He sarcastically gestures to her, well?
“The second you find an out, you take it. Those visits of yours are always my least favorite.” Wade’s head rolls to the side. “What I mean by all of this is you need to consider how badly you want this. How badly you want him. He’s no fragile man, but someone as erratic and flaky as you, Wade, that’s not fair to him.”
The tension settles around them, Deadpool starts pacing.
“Oh ho ho- you don’t get to lecture me about what’s fair, Lady. I know your games better than anyone.” He points another accusatory finger. “You’re talking to me like I don't know all that depressing shit either. I know exactly what I am. I know I’m not good for him and I know damn well I don't deserve him.” He lowers his hand in almost-defeat. “But I’m smart enough to know not to drag him through all of my bullshit. And no, he’s not fragile, but there’s no reason he needs to find out that maybe I am.” He stops pacing, instead resorting to tapping his foot impatiently. Still not looking at Her, scared it will make it too real.
Lady Death sighs. She straightens up and strides to where Wade stands a few feet away. She cups his face.
“Wade. You are not fragile. Erratic and unpredictable, maybe, but I have a feeling he may need a bit of that. You surprise me with how you can bring out the best in people in the most bizarre ways.” The white lenses of the mask roll, unbelieving. “You are so caught up in your inability to let yourself be loved you never open your eyes or mind enough to see that others do that for you too.” Deadpool hums noncommittally. "Mm, mhm, sure yeah, whatever you want to believe."
“I’ve never seen you so keen to get back like this in a very long time, Wade. It’s endearing.”
She lays a gentle kiss on the forehead of the mask, and steps away. She extends an arm again as she ushers them to keep walking. The streetlights have brightened along their path. Wade remains silent, taking in her spiel of his love life- or lack thereof- and personal flaws.
“I’m not keeping you here as a punishment, Wade. Yes, you were in a bit of bad shape, but I figured now was a better time than any to finally get you to use that brain of yours for something other than sneaking around and killing.” She looks at him through her long lashes and squeezes his arm.
“I guess I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Lady. Seems kind of an odd time and place to lecture me about how the love of my life might maybe, on a good day, tolerate me.” He lets out a low chuckle, getting visibly antsy and checking his dead watch again.
“Even the most observant people need a clue sometimes, Red.” She stops them both in their tracks at a door. It’s not a particularly flashy door, it's seemingly rusted with dents with an old door knob sticking out at an odd angle. Light peeks through the thin gaps. They release each other’s arms. Wade turns to face Her.
“Ever consider maybe I just missed talking to you, Wade?”
“Uh huh, sure. Maybe you just missed being nosy about all the shit I’m up to.”
She puts a hand on her hip, eyeing him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Wade, I've met more interesting people.” Deadpool scoffs, puffing out his chest. He lifts his mask to his nose, showing off his scarred skin and puckers his lips.
“Yeah, right. You just can’t resist my devilishly good looks.”
She smiles at him, and gestures towards the door. “Alright, Wade, I’ve kept you here long enough. Let’s hope the next time I see you, I don’t.”
“Ugh, you wound me, Lady.” He faux faints against the door.
“Hm, ever the drama queen, Wade. Just get out of here, already.” He waves a hand, “Yeah, yeah I’m goin’. Needed elsewhere and all that, you know how it is, the hero work never stops.” Wade stretches his arms above his head, and nods.
“Tell him hi for me, Red.” Death stands with her arms crossed and her smile wide. She blows him a kiss. Wade sighs playfully, and walks over to where she stands, getting on his tiptoes, and presses a quick kiss against her cheek.
“It’s always somethin’ with you, doll face.” He mumbles and shakes his head, giving her a hopeful smile.
He cracks the door open and light fills around them. He feels lighter than he has in ages.
A little taste of Death never hurt anyone. At least not Wade.
Wade opens his eyes to a pair of big, brown doe eyes and shiny cheeks. The sky is a dull blue-orange and the sounds of sirens fill the air. The smell of fire and burnt concrete surrounds him. Wade reaches up to feel his head, still slightly damp, but no other injuries. He turns his head slightly and sees a piece of rebar, most likely covered in what used to be his brains, next to Spidey’s lap.
That solves that mystery.
Forgetting the rebar, he finally takes in Webs’ appearance. His eyes are bloodshot and freckled cheeks are red and wet from salty tears. He can tell they’ve been landing on his own face just from the amount alone.
He can tell his mask is off from the breeze, and the liquid on his cheeks, obviously, but also from the soft, slender hands that cradle him.
Peter gasps as he finally makes eye contact with Wade and beams the brightest he’s ever seen. He takes his time mapping those smile lines into his memory.
“Wade! You scared the shit out of me!” His voice is thick and wet with relief as he wraps his big, toned arms around Wade’s neck, nearly suffocating him. Like he’d ever complain.
Wade’s voice is rough and thick from the smoke. “Watch the potty mouth, Spider-Man.” They share smiles, taking in each other's features before Wade realizes where the hell they are and what the hell happened.
“Oh shit, where’s Fisk? Did you guys get him or do I need to knock some heads loose?” Wade starts to sit up but Peter stops him with a hand to his chest.
“It’s okay, Matt and I had him pretty pinned by the time I realized you were still in the building.” He sounds upset at himself.
“I feel so stupid, of course I wouldn't know Fisk, of all people, would line the whole foundation with C4. What a cheap move. And it nearly cost you, Wade.”
“Easy mistake to make.” Wade quips, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“Once Matt had Fisk down, I looked for you everywhere, thinking you’d pop up in no time, but when you didn’t…” Peter looks off to the side, almost embarrassed.
“I panicked, Wade. And I know I shouldn’t but it took me so long to find you and when I did–”
“Not one of my best looks, I’m sure.” Spidey laughs the slightest, too caught up in his own head. Wade prods at him, reassuring him about something unspoken.
“Hey, you know I’d always come back to you, Pete.” Wade reaches a hand up to wipe the still falling tears from Peter’s face, taking his sweet time doing so. Peter sniffs.
“I know, but it just took so long. Avengers came and went with a clean-up crew, Matt gave his statement to the police, as best he could, and Fisk went away for what I hope is longer than last time–” He sniffles again, looking back down at Wade’s baby blues. Peter’s thumb runs up and down Wade’s chin, soothing him.
Wade’s at a loss for words. He’s never seen the Spider-Man this worked up over him, Deadpool, of all people. Lucky bastard. He thinks back to what Death had told him, always hesitant to take advice that isn’t his.
“I just– I can’t– I can’t lose you, Wade.” Tears continue to slowly fall over the freckled skin. In Wade’s eyes, he’s never looked more beautiful.
“Come on, baby boy, you’d have to try a lot harder than that to really get rid of me.”
“I’d never dream of it, Wade.” They bask in each other, an indescribable tension building, but the kind you want to stick around. For plot reasons.
“God, I missed you, Webs.”
“I missed you too, Wade.” Peter runs his thumb along Wade’s scarred lips. Wade purses his lips, pressing the barest of kisses to him, testing the waters.
Peter smiles, showing off the gap in his teeth and the scar across his lip. Wade raises an eyebrow in silent question.
Spidey takes the leap and leans over Wade, pressing his chapped lips against even rougher ones. Wade inhales, taking in the scent of him, of sweat and fire and smoke and dollar store 3-in-1. Peter hums sweetly, moving his head to the side for a better angle. Wade’s eyebrows – or lack thereof– wrinkle at the movement, flaring his nostrils, and breathes him in.
Wade takes the opportunity to move his hand behind Peter’s head, running his fingers through soot-covered curls. He opens his eyes a smidge, just to get a glimpse at the blissed out face inches from his own.
To Wade’s dismay, they part for air. He licks his lips, relishing any last taste. Peter presses another quick kiss to Wade’s lips, then cheeks, then nose, then forehead.
“We should probably get out of here, get you home. Your back is probably killing you.” Peter offers. Wade grunts as he sits up, indeed sore, but too proud to admit it. “Not even close compared to how sore you're gonna make it later.” He wags his eyebrows and winks at Peter who proceeds to shove at him playfully.
“Don’t be gross, Wade.” His face contorts in agreeable disgust.
They both stand up, and stare face to face, a little unsure of how to proceed.
“Listen, I’ve got a place not too far–”
Suddenly, Peter collapses against Wade’s chest, wrapping his arms around the bulky merc. It takes Wade a second to register the heaven he’s experiencing, but once he does, he envelopes Peter like he’ll float away if he doesn’t hang on.
They part after minutes or hours, Wade isn’t sure, and share one last quick (kind of) kiss, and walk shoulder to shoulder towards Wade’s apartment.
“Oh yeah, Death wanted me to tell you she says hi.”
Peter whips his head to look at Wade.
“Who?” He asks with no small amount of shock on his face.
Wade shrugs. “An old friend of mine I ran into, no one important.” He presses a forceful kiss to Peter’s hair, who looks up at him incredulously.
Deciding it’s not worth the battle, he leans into Wade’s shoulder and follows him home.