"You know who else is dead?" He yelled, "Not me!" Deadpool ran down the hallway shooting, laughing and shouting witty catchphrases. As he neared the door to the office that was currently occupied by a Neal McLaughlin (some dude he was sent to kill), he saw the big guy that blocked it. "Shh..." He giggled as he snuck up behind him and swung his hammers, killing him instantly, "Who dies from hammers? Seriously...?" Just as he reached for the door another guy his size barrelled down the hall after him. Once he was in range he jumped over him and smashed his head. He chuckled and said in his dramatic voice, "In a world where dip-shits get killed by hammers..." He put the hammers back on his back and sauntered- "Hey, chick, I don't saunter. I strut." He stated. This is my fic, man. "Alright, continue." Thank you, he put the hammers back on his back and strutted to the door. Once he got to the handle, he briefly wondered how much protection this guy would have in here. With his regeneration he wouldn't die, but it still hurt like a bitch to get back together. He threw open the door with guns ready and was entirely confused with the scene before him. "...the fuck?" He mumbled. There were at least 17 grown men laying dead in pools of their own blood around the room. Including his target who was flopped over his desk unceremoniously and the culprit of this chaos was the most confusing part. He dropped his arms at the sight of a teen girl standing in the middle of the room wearing black skinny jeans and a black button up with a vest and tie. She was soaked in blood from head to toe and looked like she was either going to cry or vomit, he couldn't tell. "Uh, sup?" He took a step closer. "Who are you?" She asked in a thick cajun accent, not moving or looking at him. "Deadpool's the name." He took a couple steps closer wondering what to do with her. 'Should we kill her?' {no! She's too young! She looks like 16...} 'should...should we bang her?' {NO! SHE'S LIKE 12!} 'right, didn't really wanna.' {maybe we should take her with us?} 'sounds good.' He realised she was looking at him now. She was visibly shaking and she dropped a crumpled playing card. "You...alrigh- oof-" She ran over to him and had her arms tightly wrapped around his midsection. "Please, just get me out of here..." She begged, trembling against him. "No...uh, no hugs." He pealed her off and turned to the door awkwardly. He didn't hear her footsteps behind him, "Well come on!" She suddenly chased after him. He jogged out of the room, down the hall and rounded a corner. When turning the corner he made sure she was still keeping up. Once they got to the elevator he pushed her in. "You're not some rapist or something, right?" She asked calmly. "Dontcha think I would've done that already if I was going to?" He retorted. "Good point." She nodded. "Uhm, I'm not particularly sure how to tell you... but, uh, your arm's about to fall off." He glanced down at his disconnected arm that was bleeding profusely. "Oh, gimme a sec." He shoved the arm back up and into place and hissed at it healing. "So you're a mutant too?" She asked. "No, well, kinda." He chuckled, "Weapon XI." "You're Wade Wilson?" She looked slightly in awe. "You bet it, sweet cheeks." He it his hands on his hips. "Oh. You knew my dad." She returned to normal. "And who's your dad?" He asked. "Remy LaBeau." She stated. {explains the accent.} "Really?" I questioned, "show me something mutanty." "You got a card?" She asked. "Fresh out." He shrugged. "You got anything paper?" She dripped sarcasm. "Uh, note card?" He flipped it out and handed it to her. "That'll do it, cher." She winked. The card flickered a little and she flicked her wrist at him. He felt it hit him in the chest. He looked down. "Where is it?" Wilson looked at her. She grinned, "Look again." He looked back down and saw a bloody spot on his suit right threw his heart. He also saw that she hadn't even turned her head. {Impressive.} 'I guess, for a teen.' {But really, where did it go to?} He groped at his back and felt the note card. He pulled out half then glanced over at her. "Nice, kid." He smirked sticking his fingers in the wound to fish out the last bit of note card. "Thanks," she followed him out of the elevator and outside, "if you don't mind my askin', where are we headed?" "You got a cute little accent y'know," he giggled, {Stop being a pedophile.} 'what? It is cute.' "Oh, and my apartment." "Your apartment?" She asked sort of nervous sounding. "Yeah," he started climbing a ladder on the side of a building, "look, I'm not as creepy-pedo as I seem." "O-okay." She hesitantly followed him up the ladder. After a few building jumps and an alleyway or two they got to his apartment building. "Least it's classy." She remarked sarcastically. "Hey, it works. It's cheap and they don't kick me out for blood smells." He laughed. "Makes since." She followed him into the trashy building and up to the fifth floor via an elevator. "Mi casa es su casa," He kicked open the door and slung it shut, "I figure you want a shower?" "Yes , please," I nodded, "I'm sticky, cold and it smells like copper. Don't really mind that last part but its getting overwhelming." "Kinda surprised no one tried to stop a guy in sexy red spandex and a girl covered in blood." He chucked leading he into his bedroom. "Sexy?" She laughed, "Someone's a little confident." "Well it is sexy isn't it?" He swung his hips with his hands behind his head. "Mega-hot." She grinned sarcastically. "Hey, it's alright, I know you want me." Deadpool nodded confidently, "Okay. Well here it is." He turned it on and awkwardly left. "You got any clothes I could borrow?" She stopped him. "Oh, forgot about that." He turned and wen into his bedroom for a minute or two. "Here." He handed her an AC/DC t-shirt, black sweats (that tied up so she could fit them), a pair of boxers, and a towel. "Thanks, cher." She winked, taking off her glasses. He stood there not sure what he should do. "That's your signal to go, hun." She laughed. "Oh, yeah, sorry." He turned and closed the door behind himself. She analysed the bathroom a bit while the water was getting hot; small, dirty, and bloody. She began peeling off blood-stained clothing and was almost ready to step in when she noticed there was no soap, shampoo or anything by that matter in the stall. "Okay..." She thought. She opened the medicine cabinet and looked; pills, pills, pills, more pills, lube (ew), toothpaste, pain cream, numbing cream, and a bottle of gel soap. "That's a relief. " she mumbled, stepping in. After showering, she dried off and looked through the pile of clothes he brought. She picked up the boxers and slid them on. They almost fell off but whatever. She threw on the t-shirt and attempted to tie the sweats as much as possible. She slid on her glasses and towelled her curly hair. "Ah, fuck." She knew her shoulder-length hair was going to be crazy curly when it dried with the lack of a brush but she'd deal. When she got out, she was greeted with an odd site. Deadpool was sitting on his couch in nothing but black boxer briefs and his mask reading what she would assume was a porn magazine. "Well, hello beautiful." He jumped a little at the sudden noise but returned to reading. "Hey... Uh, what's your name, baby girl?" He asked sitting up now and putting down the magazine. "Bernadette LaBeau," she sat down next to him curling into a comfy ball on his chest, "friends call me Burn though." He awkwardly patted her shoulder, "Okay, Burn, this is a little close." "I'm cold and sleepy..." She nuzzled into his neck and wrapped an arm around his waist. "I'm... hungry and a little horny so no cuddles, baby girl." He pushed her onto the other side of the couch and stood up to walk into the kitchen. "Aw," she got up and reluctantly followed him, "whatcha making?" "Pancakes." He clapped, "s'all I do." "Sounds good," She sat at the little table and messed with a deck of cards sitting there, "what's with the mask?" "Not in the mood to clean up vomit." He responded nonchalantly. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means, this-" he motioned to his masked face, "usually makes girls puke." "Why?" "See these?" He gestured to his severely scarred body. "Yeah." "My face is worse." "So?" She laughed, "I think they're hot. All... edgy." "Very funny, kid." He returned to the pancakes. "No really they look cool. And I'm not a kid you know. I'm 17." "Well," chuckled, "that's a first." He grabbed the back of the neck of his mask and yanked it off to through it. His face wasn't much worse than the rest of him. The worst part was that it looked like he was once really attractive. His eye sockets were dark which made a large contrast from his pale blue eyes. All the cuts and craters on his skin made him look ...strange but not awful. "I don't know what your deal is." She got up, "you look fine." "Fine?" He plate the pancakes, "Sweetie, if this is your idea of fine you have been hanging with some ugly dudes." "You're not a stud-model but I think you look nice." She remarked honestly, "Your complexion isn't fabulous but you have good bone structure, fascinating eyes, and kissable lips." "Really?" He looked at her in an almost depressingly hopeful way. "Yeah," she answered grabbing a plate, "why would I lie to a guy I barely know?" He snapped out of the sweet face, "I knew I was hot." "Totally." She smirked. "So," she chowed on the pancakes, "What were you doing at the GM building?" "I could ask you the same," he practically inhaled the first pancake, "I was working." "Ah, mercenary." She said, "I forget." "What about you?" "I was there by accident. I'd been talking to Neal McLaughlin for about a week about putting me in his act at the casino. He asked me to show him my routine and he found out I was a mutant. He sent all those guys on me and I just acted out of instinct." "Hmm," he finished up his third pancake and stood up, "that was the guy I was sent to kill." "Ironic." She handed him her plate, "why is it so messy in here?" "Do I look like a house keeper?" "Not particularly," she laughed, " do you like clean stuff?" "Love it," he strode into the living room again and turned in the tv, "just don't love it enough to do it." He plopped in a chair in front of the tv. "You got a blanket?" She asked shivering a little. "Behind the couch." He didn't look away, "Use the red one though." "Tempted to ask why..?" "You don't wanna know." She grabbed the red blanket and wrapped it around herself as she laid down on the couch again. She wanted to ask him a bunch more questions. He was the famous merc with a mouth, Deadpool. He was very relaxedly flopped on his chair watching an old episode of Honey Boo-Boo. "I hate this show." He laughed, standing up. "You don't sit still very long do you?" She wondered out loud. "I'm heading to bed." He sauntered into his bedroom and plopped onto his bed. She sat thinking what her dad might do when she doesn't come home tomorrow like she said she would. She concluded that he wouldn't get that butt-hurt about it knowing that she could easily defend herself. She heard him snoring softly already an she slid off the oversized sweatpants. Even though she was cold she was now more comfortable in the boxers so she stared outside. It was a fairly grimy city. It could be worse but it wasn't the cleanest part of town. She missed New Orleans a little already and pondered getting up to sneak in bed with the very warm body that is Deadpool. After a few minutes of involuntary shivering and no success of trying to sleep she got up and quietly padded into his room. He snored quietly and slept on his back. She wiggled under the cover and laid her head on his chest. She slowly slid a leg over his and squished into his warm torso. Still snoring, he turned on his side and pulled her into his chest with scarred arms wrapped around her. She smiled contently warm and fell off to sleep. A/N: Alright, just incase you were wondering, there isn't gonna be any gross crap in it yet. Maybe some gore, maybe a little tiny bit of smut later but for now pretty clean plot.