New Salem Community College is a small campus with a good reputation. According to all the brochures and online searches, it is ranked close to the top for two-year colleges in the state and has a high graduation rate. The classes are small. The campus is modern and clean.
Just pulling on to the lot is terrifying for Wade Wilson. It was terrifying a month ago when he showed up for a meeting with his advisor to get his class schedule, and as he puts the car in park, his palms are already sweating.
Really, he shouldn't be nervous. Wade has faced down enemy fire, been dropped into hostile territory, survived an IED blast for christ's sake, but this is somehow more terrifying.
There's just so many people. Not just people, but young people. Kids. Kids that are the same age he was when he enlisted into the Marines, but all somehow seeming younger. They walk through the lot without a care in the world with friends and phones with their well-coordinated outfits, and Wade just feels old.
Still, it beats sitting around his apartment watching Spanish soap operas and feeling sorry for himself. It's not like he's the first guy to get a divorce and be forced to move in with his best friend. And really, living with Weasel isn't that bad. Wade keeps the place clean and Weasel doesn't gripe too much when Wade leaves his guns in the living room. It's just that he thought things were going great with him and Shiklah. He never imagined he'd find her in bed with some hairy backed asshole that would pass easier as a werewolf than a human.
It's 8:30, and Wade's first class doesn't start until 9, but he wanted to get there early so he would at least be on time if he couldn't find it right away. He never thought that the hardest part of finding his class would be getting out of the car. He barely slept the night before because of the nerves, and he was starting to regret eating breakfast. He really regrets drinking a second cup of coffee because the caffeine is starting to make him jittery. Okay, more jittery.
"Quit being such a pussy, Wade," he says outloud and to himself. He taps the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm, then takes a deep, steeling breath and opens the door.
Outside, the morning air is thick with humidity from the late-summer storm that passed through the night before. Here and there, small puddles linger in the parkinglot, and Wade can't help but smirk when he sees a couple kids-er-young adults stomp through them. Despite the heat, he's wearing a long sleeved shirt with the symbol of his strike team-the Deadpool Corps-in the middle of the chest. He wears it like a security blanket, a reminder that he has been through worse before.
Feeling a little more confident, Wade grabs his book-laden backpack out of the back seat and slips it onto both shoulders, and starts towards the sidewalk that leads to the Stark Learning Center.
As he walks, Wade starts to feel more confident. He doesn't really like to be around people, but this isn't about being around others. This is about bettering himself and getting a fresh start to his life. At least that's what Nate said when the big bastard suggested he go back to school. He is Wade's therapist, of a sort, and is always pushing him to do something. Which isn't a bad thing, and if this whole college-thing works out, Wade will probably have to send Nate a thank you note. Or maybe not. Nate doesn't need another reason to think he's the Messiah.
"Do you know where you're going?"
Wade pauses in his trek and looks at the smiling face of an elderly woman wearing a NSCC ID badge. May, the name says. He nods towards the Stark Learning Center and says, "I think I'm on the right path. Stark 144."
Her smile is like sunshine, and she says, "You are certainly on the right path. Just go through those double doors, go to the end of the hall and take a left. Your room will be on the left side of the hall."
"Thanks, Miss May," he says with a grin, and he continues on with a little pep in his step.
Inside the Stark Learning Center looks just like high school, minus the lockers. Kids on their cell phones and in clusters clog the halls. Everyone looks like they are dressed to impress, and Wade feels only slightly self-conscious in his ratty blue jeans and reminds himself that he is way past the teen-angst phase of life. Hell, most of these kids are literally half his age. Some, more than half.
He finds room 144, and sees that the class before is still in session. A glance at the clock shows that it is only 8:45, so he meanders across the hall to the small alcove that leads to the Maria Stark Theater for the Performing Arts. The walls are adorned with paintings of Maria and Howard Stark, who were the principal backers for the Learning Center back in the 80's-something Wade learned from reading the college's brochure. There are plaques commemorating different awards the theater has received over the years, and he can't help but smirk at the picture of a young Tony Stark standing with his mother at the groundbreaking ceremony.
Wade met Tony a couple times over the years because when you work in special forces, you tend to get to try out new weaponry before everyone else. His impression had been that Tony was a smart guy who might be fun to party with, but he would more than likely end up punching if he was forced to spend too much time with him.
By the time he's finished pursuing the alcove, kids are entering the room and Wade gets his game face on.
The first class of the day is Psychology. The class was one that Wade was a little hesitant about taking, but it is a requirement for any degree. There are a few already seated in the room, and at first he thinks about finding a seat at the back, but instead opts for somewhere in the middle. He was a back-row student when he was in high school, and Wade doesn't want to slip into bad habits.
The desks are designed for two people, and Wade knows he'll have to share with someone. Still, there are empty desks and he takes one of those and starts getting set up for class. He bought notebooks for each class and had enough pens to last a few semesters. Weasel convinced him to buy some slightly more expensive pens, too. The original reason he gave was the ease of writing, followed up with, "They're ergonomic for your old man hands." Bastard.
A couple minutes before 9, a dark haired girl wearing a purple headband plops down in the seat beside him. She gives him a tight lipped smile and removes her textbook from her bag.
The professor, Dr. Jean Grey, walks through the door right at 9. She has a warm smile and greets them all with, "Good morning, Psyche 101!" She strolls swiftly to her desk and says, "I am Dr. Grey, and that is how I prefer to be addressed. There are precious few women in this field of study, and it is my goal to make women with doctorates more visible. Thus, I am Dr. Grey. In return, I will call you as you wish to be called regardless of what might be in my roster."
Wade likes her immediately.
Then she proceeds to take attendance, calling out each name in alphabetical order. Wade makes a mental note that his desk mate was near the top of the roster, Kate Bishop. Here and there a few kids correct the pronunciation or give a nickname. It's obvious that Wade is the oldest one in the classroom, too. When Wade's name is called, out of habit he answers loud and sharp, "Here."
Dr. Grey smiles at him, then hands out the syllabus. After going over all the pertinent class information, she instructs them to talk to their desk partner to introduce themselves and share their educational goals. The class turns into a soft rumble of voices and conversations.
"I'm Wade," he says to his deskmate.
"Kate," Kate answers unenthusiastically.
Wade can tell she's not a talker. He says, "I really don't know what I'm doing here. I'm undeclared."
"Me too," Kate says. She takes out her phone and flips through messages. "I might do something in criminal justice. Maybe."
"It's a good field," Wade says. He thought about that as a major, but felt it would be pointless. He could walk into any law enforcement agency and get a job if he wanted, but he wants to do something different. What that is, he has no idea. "I figure I'll figure it out by the end of the year. Maybe."
"Everyone says that," Kate said. "This is my second year, and I'm supposed to transfer, and I still don't know."
Wade understands. He didn't know what he wanted to do when he was just a kid either. That's why the military had so much appeal. The thing is, he liked the military. Liked the discipline, and it takes all of his will not to suggest she go to a recruiting office. Maybe not everything was perfect and easy, but he wouldn't trade his years in the service for anything.
The remainder of the class is lecture, and Wade takes notes as best he can. He isn't used to writing so much, and by the end of the hour his hand is starting to cramp.
Wade's second class is just across the hall. World Civilizations, and it is taught by a man with a thick German accent. He's wearing a cobalt blue suit and has ears that are angled almost like an elf. The only form of introduction he gives is writing his name on the board, Professor Wagner, before launching into a powerpoint lecture on hunter-gather societies.
By the end of the class, Wade is feeling more relaxed. He has an hour break and decides to walk down to the Student Union to get something for lunch and to browse around the bookstore. He purchased all his books online, but he kind of wants to get a NSCC hoodie and t-shirt, just because. Turns out the Student Union has a pretty decent coffee shop, and after purchasing his hoodie and t-shirt, Wade finds a cushiony chair and gets out his phone and finds he has three new messages.
The first is from Nate. Short and to the point. Don't kill anyone today, Wade.
Asshole, is Wade's response.
The next is from Weasel, which is a little more cordial. How's your first day of school going? Making friends?
Wade shakes his head and replies, Oh tons. You know me. Little social butterfly. We need eggs, btdubs.
The final one is from Shiklah, and Wade discards it without reading it. The only thing that she ever wants to talk about is his faults and how she's adjusting the divorce settlement, and Wade is having too good of a day to want to deal with her bullshit.
After finishing his coffee and going back and forth with Weasel about who is really responsible for groceries this week (Wade knows it is his turn, but he likes annoying Weas), Wade goes to his third class, Intermediate Algebra.
When Wade signed up for classes, he had to take a placement test to see where he would be for the math portion. Though he was certain he missed every single question, somehow he didn't land in Basic Math. Of all the classes this semester, the algebra class feels the most daunting.
There are a couple familiar faces in the classroom from his previous classes, and Wade wishes he'd paid more attention to the attendance. A couple of them sound like supervillains with their alliterative names. Quentin Quire, Miles Morales, and Cletus Kasady. The last one makes him almost chuckle. Considering his name is Wade Winston Wilson, he doesn't really have room to talk.
The professor is also an alliteration, Professor Reed Richards. He's small and nerdy, and his ill-fitted suit makes his arms look like they've been stretched beyond his cuffs. He makes a few awkward jokes, and then launches into a lesson on factoring. Wade takes notes, he works the problems. By the end of class, he's feeling a little overwhelmed and he's pretty sure he's going to need to talk to Weasel a few times while doing his homework. Still, he managed to get a few of the sample questions right, and he's sure he can build on that.
The final class of the day is Introduction to Chemistry, and Wade is starting to feel tired. Luckily, Chem 101 is only a once a week class, and he's happy for that. After getting a drink from one of the fountains, he makes his way to the Baxter Science and Technology Building. It's a short walk, and he arrives at the chemistry lab to find it empty but for a young man in a lab coat writing on the whiteboard.
Wade walks in hesitantly; every other class there were other people waiting and he feels weird being the first one there. He clears his throat and asks, "Is this Intro to Chemistry?"
"Indeed it is," the young man answers. He looks so young, Wade can't imagine he's the professor. Then he said, "Provided you have Chem 101 with Professor Parker. If not, then you must be in some kind of alternate universe because this is the only Chem 101 class on Mondays."
"I don't think this is an AU," Wade says as he sits on one of the stools around the large black lab tables.
The young man puts down his marker and says, "Excellent. I'm Professor Parker, by the way."
Wade smirks and thinks to himself, Great. Not only am I older than all the students, I'm older than some of the professors. "Wade Wilson."
"You can put your bag in one of the cubbies, Wade," Professor Parker says with a wave of his hand. "Did you bring a composition book?"
Wade pulled out the composition book and said, "Yeah, I got the message yesterday."
Turns out, Wade was the only one who checked his student email before class, and for the first time in his life, he feels like the nerd in the class. But it isn't a bad thing. Professor Parker seems impressed with him, and for some reason that makes him feel good inside, even if their first project seems kind of silly. They make large name tags with shaving cream and food dye. It feels like Kindergarten. And just like Kindergarten, Wade is pretty sure he's developing a crush on his teacher. Or at least, he notes with a small amount of glee, that Professor Parker has a pretty nice ass when he takes off his lab coat.
At the end of the day, Wade has dyed his thumb purple, but he's happy. His name tag looks awesome, and according to Professor Parker, it is to be used for their at-home projects as proof that they were the ones who did them.
Wade takes his time packing up, letting the crowd by the cubbies clear out a little. So Wade keeps himself busy by putting the chairs back in place around the lab tables. Professor Parker starts doing the same thing, and when they're finished, Parker says, "Thanks for the help."
"No problem," Wade says with a shrug. "I like to keep things orderly."
"You were in the military, right?" Professor Parker asks.
Wade nods as he slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Is it that obvious?"
"My uncle was the same way. Liked keeping things orderly." He smiles and says, "Have a good week, Wade. See you Monday."
"See ya," Wade says as he backs out the door. And for some reason, he can't stop smiling. He's still smiling when he walks through the door of his apartment.
Weasel looks up from his laptop and says, "You are unnervingly happy, dude."
"I kinda dig school, man." Wade drops his backpack by the door and kicks off his boots. "Some of this shit is kind of hard, but I think I'm going to really like it."
"That's good, man." Weasel nods towards the table. "You got something big in the mail from New York City."
The smile falls from Wade's face, and he knows what it is. It is probably the reason that Shiklah texted him earlier in the day. Sure enough, it is from her lawyer. Official documents for him to sign so that he will officially be minus a wife. He should be happy, really. He and Shiklah hadn't been in love for a long time. Hell, they didn't even like each other the last couple years they were together. Really, they had no business being married in the first place. She was the daughter of a Sheik and Wade was just a way to piss off her father.
"Guess I need to call Matt." Wade grabs a beer and flops down on one end of the couch and tosses the manila envelope onto the cluttered coffee table. "Actually, I need to do homework."
Weasel snorts and says, "That's right, young man. Put down that beer and hit the books."
"The Golden Girls are on," Wade says as he reaches for the remote.
"No!" Weasel snaps, and snags the remote. "No TV until you are done with your studies, young man. Now get cracking."
Wade does his best to look put out, but then he's smiling again and grabs his bag. "Are you gonna help me with my math, mommy?"
Weasel frowns. "Only if you never call me 'mommy' again."
"Actually, I think I can handle it for now. Most of my homework is pretty basic." Wade rambles through the list-notes over the first chapter of the Psychology book, read chapter one in history, log into MyMathLab and do the first section-and then he says, "And then I have to fill out my logbook for Chemistry and look up lab safety procedures. That class is going to be fun."
That makes Weasel look up again. His brow draws together and he says, "You sound pretty enthused for Chemistry, considering it was your last choice for a science class."
Wade shrugs. "I guess I changed my mind. I'm all about Chemistry."
"Uh huh," is all Weasel says. Then he looks back at his laptop and types a few words and adds as Wade walks down the hall, "Just remember to check ID's before bringing a co-ed back to the apartment."