A/N: You've probably guessed by now what this story is. Everybody's favourite Merc With a Mouth runs into... everything.
As soon as Wade Wilson entered the Micromedia store, he eyed the shopkeeper with suspicion as some tried leaving in a subtle way, pretending to take an interest in the new substandard products at the front display and sneaking out. The red and black mask he wore hid his frown, which at the moment was placed upon a horrifically scarred face he'd kept since his work in Weapon X. The one part of his world he remembered the same everytime. Everything else… just varied.
For just a moment, his mind left his body and walked back through the warped tangle of nerve and marshmallow humankind knew as a brain, seeing memories appear before him. He sighed, head hitting his hands.
"Note to self. Never try doing the facepalm again unless around Squirrel Girl or the Sentry's grave. Or if Joe Quesada is meddling with writing for you. Note two, tell writers of comics that my mind cannot appear like a 1980's sidescroller game."
The images walked towards him, the first a woman who'd brought him into this world (aside from Rob Liefield, who didn't really count in hindsight) until her eventual and painful death. His mother in this memory was in overall worse condition, hair greying and skin wrinkling long before her time. The mercenary felt a single tear shed from his eye which he hoped had not been seen by anyone watching, reader or eyewitness.
The second stood tall- a man, silent and coloured in black and white, a direct cutout from the only photo and information that the mercenary knew about his father. Everything from his pose to his hairstyle came from the only photograph he'd had, when his father had been young and strong, and before his mother had gained weight from her pregnancy. The man tried opening his mouth, but nothing came out except a loud and indescribable moan. In that moment he growled, angered.
"Give me a break! Spider-Man ALWAYS gets Uncle Ben giving him advice from beyond the grave! Why the hell am I unable to even hear my damn father in my imagination! I call ridiculous underdog status! Abuse! Abuse!"
No, Wade. Nineteen years ago that claim would get you a better response. Now I just hear your few sceptics put down the issue they've been reading for free, go back to their mother's basement and complain on their dial up.
"Should I log on my forum accounts and see if what I just said causes any outrage?"
Go for it. It'll be one way to kill an afternoon.
His mother still stood near him, ignoring his ranting with a patience unseen for several years. He tried opening his mouth to make some remotely witty quip, but all that came out was a moan.
"Wade, I'm sorry I had to interrupt, but the doctors came back with the results."
She moved forward, hugging just in front of him- where he had been when his mother had told him that he would have little time left with her. Another tear nearly managed to make its way out of his eye, before he steeled himself and felt his anger rising.
"STOP SCREWING WITH MY MIND, YOU TWENTY SEVEN YEAR OLD VIRGIN!"
With this, the images went further back, except for his father, unmoved by his son's rage and mouth still wide open, though the moan began to die.
The next moment, his body began to seize up as grey skin was covered with a relatively pale tone and colourless hair. The once strong man had kept his physique, but this time he was more haggard and less of an icon, more something you would rather dump in a bin of bad memories. Then in an instant Wade felt himself struck by something made of glass, and as the uncorked bottle passed he remembered the taste of the booze with a very angry mind.
"Are you dense, boy? You must be, because there's no way a retard like you could be a son of mine! Who'd my wife step out of line with?"
"Did my abusive father even act like this?" Deadpool asked, both confused and angered.
I don't have a clue. It looks like the man at his computer can't stay constant.
"The man at the wh-"
The beating continued and cut off his psychosis swiftly, profanities echoing through his mind. Before Deadpool got the courage to strike out at this mental projection, the man reformed again. Pale skin remained the same, but the frame reduced to something notably less toned, and two blonde ponytails sprung out while the man changed his attire to green and gold.
"I am your fat-"
"That's it! The changing backstory of my parents I can take, but that Star Wars reference has gone too far!"
At this, the Merc with the Mouth shot himself, causing anyone who had not left to run outside the store to do so now, some still clutching expensive electronics and setting off the alarm.
A few hours later, Deadpool woke up outside the Verizon store and raised his head with a grunt of pain, feeling the unpleasant touch of the bullet falling part of the way head before stopping.
"Oh, jeez…"
Several powerful hits to the back of his head and a self inflicted stab wound to the forehead later, and the clatter of a bullet hitting the pavement rang out in the relatively empty streets. Deadpool winced as the stab wound healed over.
Feeling around for his pistol, the mercenary found himself grabbing a piece of paper stuck conveniently to his midsection, and pulled it off.
"US Mail, now delivered directly with a free brain-dead mercenary! Caution; brain dead mercenary may leave state and kill you in a psychotic rage."
After chuckling at his own quip, he walked right next to the door of a closing shop, in need of the light that simply wasn't provided by the dim and weak glow of the streetlights. Coughing as if reading a speech, he began reading.
"Mr Wilson,
While you have been a valued customer and your purchasing of the new StarkMedia product is much appreciated, your recent behaviour and attitude in our premises have since driven away record customers and forced us to replace countless display cases, causing profit to fall dismally and several staff members to be let go. Please do not return to our shop for the foreseeable future.
Michael Green, Store Manager.
PS: Your gun has since been handed over to police. Guns kill, or in your case also destroy priceless electronics. I hope you are happy, you insane -"
Darkness swiftly crept over the post-it note as the panicked staff member inside the store shut everything up in a hurry and ran past, not even bothering to lock up. He realised how he must have sounded through the glass, and cupped a hand to his mouth to shout.
"I was just reading a note! No need to wet yourself, there's no Skrull coming around the corner!"
At this point he angled his head so he could see himself in the mirror.
"Or is there, true believers?"
Silence.
"Okay, there isn't. Jeez…"
A split second afterwards, an ear-splitting crack ripped through the air, and at that the glass next to Deadpool shattered, collapsing into the frame and almost scratching his mask.
"Action time, finally!"
You seriously want to get involved with some action now? After you had to slice a bullet out of your head?
"Yeah, I guess so… and I'm a top selling solo star! I need more time in this fanfiction!"
You're the only one who's even appeared in this fanfi-
"KILLING TIME!"
And with that, the merc with a mouth ran off into the night.
A/N: So yeah. First chapter, the next will have more action. If you're an old subscriber thanks for sticking round and check some of the older stuff while you can. The old crap disappears next week!
If you're a new reader, we hope you stick along for the ride. You could even influence how the story goes if you do!
Deadpool will be doing shoutouts in the author's notes from now on, so until The Hunt For Xavier becomes the tome for idiots everywhere, Make Mine Marvel!