Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, nor am I affiliated with them in any way. All characters (aside from Nev) are not of my creation, and I have no rights to them.
Sinister Kid is a song by The Black Keys - I am not affiliated with the band in any way and hold no rights to the song.


This is very awkward. I don't have a lot of experience with women outside of the annoying ones I sometimes work with or the one nighters that are out the door as soon as I'm up and pushing them that way. They can't be that different from guys right? The plumbing's just different. I don't get along with too many guys, either. You know, just people. Argh.

"You aren't as mouthy as your alias suggests," Guinevere tells me. She's not looking at me. She's looked at me maybe twice. She looks past me, or at my stomach, or out windows.

"I only get mouthy when I get cocky which might be more often than is fully necessary. No, that isn't possible. I always deserve it. Anyway, you're right, and there is a reason." I wait for her to say something. She doesn't. Not right away.

"What happened to your throat?" she asks finally.

Huh? Oh, the suit's still ripped up from Logan trying to give the class a human throat anatomy lesson. At least be polite about it.

"Wolverine's a prick," I answer.

That wasn't polite at all.

"But it was honest." I can't stop even in front of a near-stranger. Dandy.

"Dad said-"

"Wait, dad? He said he found you somewhere. Also I'm not sure with his skin tone that he could... You know, let's not worry about that. Continue," I stumble. Great save, me! She smiles.

"I was 5. He said I could call him dad if it made me feel better. So I did. He told me," her voice lowers here, "that you hear voices, that you often talk back. He said it's harmless." I try to study her expression. She's looking at me now but thank Jeebus for the mask. I don't know what to say and it's possible I look very terrified.

And for someone so handsome, terrified expressions would start clawing away at your great looks.

"I'm not terribly handsome anymore," is all that comes out. She looks down at her empty plate.

"Well, I won't be one to yank off your mask just for the sake of finding out," Guinevere tells me. "I imagine you'll take it off when you're comfortable."

"What else has Fury told you about me?"

"Not a lot. He said everyone kind of thinks you're a joke and that you frustrate him because Peter keeps insisting you are capable of so much more than bad puns." She looks at me again. "For wearing a mask, your expression just fits everything."

Our puns aren't bad.

"My puns are hilarious, thank you," I argue. I know all of that shit and I don't want to deal with it. Not in public. Not now. And certainly not with someone I just met. "Is there anything I can call you that's shorter than Guinevere? It's three syllables. That's long."

"Nev. It's weird and unusual and turns heads. Fits with the whole super hero theme going on doesn't it?" She's aware that it's hit a nerve when she does look at me. I felt myself tense up.

"I knew a girl I called Ness once. Nice girl," I say woodenly.

Are you going to tell her the whole story? Little heavy for a first date.

"It's not a date if I pretend she's my cousin." I look at Nev. "It's a long story and I don't really wanna talk about it anyway." Good thing I ate my fill. Certainly not hungry now.

Can you call her Nev without it killing you? Maybe you can get some other nickname like Guin or Vere or Debby.

"Debby makes me think of Zebra Cakes." I look at her. "You like Zebra Cakes? I was initially disappointed there's no actual zebra in them but they're great anyway." She stands and I follow suit.

"We keep an entire pantry shelf lined with boxes of them. I tried those chocolate cakes with the little chocolate chips on them, and really, they weren't bad," she says, fumbling for her wallet. Fury knows I don't have any money. This still feels awful. "But they just aren't the same. Also, they really cheat you out of the chocolate chips."

"I'm not sure why you'd go trying to find a replacement for a perfectly good 'I don't want to know what its made of' cake anyway," I tell her. We step outside together, and she pulls her coat in tighter to her. It is quite cold out, being winter and all.

"Why are we walking? Don't you have a car?" she asks, trying to mask the irritation in her voice.

"I had a car. I may or may not have thrown it in the middle of a fight to make a distraction. The good news is, while he was distracted, I cut his head off. Was it really a loss? I say no," I explain, feeling proud. One of the few times I wasn't yelled at for doing something that was probably very reckless.

"And who is he?" Nev asks.

"Not some low level target, if that's what you're thinking. He was very dangerous. He had a gun that was fully half loaded!"

Are you trying to convince yourself that the guy was really all that important or trying to make her laugh? Isn't she still your cousin?

"I can say funny things to family members and have it not be creepy," I pout. She pokes my arm. "Fury said I can't try to hit on you. So you're my cousin. Cause that's gross. I mean, I guess Edgar Allen Poe did it but look where it got him," I say quickly.

"Famous almost 165 years after his death and hailed as one of the greatest poets to pick up a pen?" she asks with an eyebrow raised.

"No. Because I'm pretty sure he used a quill." This makes her chuckle. When we arrive at my tiny excuse for a house, we just stand there, staring at the door. For some reason I'm waiting for it to just open. Nev gives a quiet cough.

"It's your house. I'm sure you have a key," she urges. I blink at her, then dig around in... every pocket I have. And I have a lot of pockets. Rubber bouncy ball. Thermos. Slinky. Lightbulb. Spray bottle of something pink. Pencil sharpener. Key. My house key. "Do you need all of that stuff?" she asks, sounding skeptical.

"The next time you're sad and need a good laugh, I'll just remind you that you're the one who questioned the need of the lightbulb and pencil sharpener," I warn.

Like the time you handed Daredevil a pen and told him to plug it into the electric sharpener.

"I should feel worse about pranking blind people," I muse aloud.

"But don't because really, it's funny. At least the very first time is. I don't care who you are, it's funny," Nev argues for me.

Oh look, she can talk to us!

"I like that you don't just tell me to shut up. I'm not sure how relevant you can make some of my outbursts though. Sometimes brain says some really colourful shit," I tell her.

Purple orange green!

"You're just a person, like any other. If there's one thing dad taught me, it's to not be terrible to people. To at least be humane." Nev states this with such a serious tone that I suddenly don't want any further part of the discussion. She stifles a yawn as she stands in the doorway. She seems too nervous to step in. Too bad, the house is relatively clean now.

Look how late it is. Tell her to go to bed.

"The heater's broke so all I have is this space heater. We can put it in my room, you can have the bed and I'll just sleep out here," I offer. She shakes her head.

"I like couch sleeping. Dad used to wonder about me, I have a great room with a ballin' bed, but I will occasionally sleep on the couch just for the sake of it," she insists. I flick the heater on. It's not very strong but it keeps the chill off.

That's it? Gonna hog all the blankets?

"It'd be even."

No, don't be rude. Plus if she gets sick Fury will do worse to you than assigning you a day of cleaning up after Hulk's rampage.

"Ok. I'll get the stupid blanket. We only have one, just a reminder," I grumble.

"Keep it, if you only have one. The heater's enough. Promise," Nev says quickly. Her empathy for me-

Is that what you're gonna go with? Empathy? For you?

-is softening me. I mean outside of having to be nice because, hey, Pirate Fury's kid is like a regular pirate's treasure. Off limits and to be guarded completely. I don't know what to say again. Awkward roomie-cousin hug? Nah.

"'Night." I turn and disappear into my room, hearing her respond likewise. Door locked? Costume off. If she doesn't know she's not going to. Not yet.


Please don't wake up. Please don't wake up. Please don't wake up.

The deadbolt clunks quietly as I unlock the door. I shimmy the key back out and manage to get the door open, closed, locked again with my left hand. I choke back a throatful of blood.

Don't put weight on your right foot.

My eyes tear up at the shooting pain when I do so anyway. It'll all be healed up within the next few minutes, it's already slightly better than it was, but it still hurts like hell. I drop down onto the first seat of the couch.

Why is the heater on in here? You usu- Oh fuck. You were JUST trying not to-

"Deadpool?"

"Sorry. I forgot you were staying here." I try to stand but, wrong leg, and collapse back down. It's dark, the glow from the heater does little to actually light the room. But I feel Nev shift and now she's sitting to my left. My undamaged side, at least.

"You ok?" She sounds genuinely concerned.

"Late night 'Hey a bad guy, let's make Deadpool do it so we can stay in bed' run," I answer bitterly. Nev is quiet. I half expect some sort of backlash. I get her hand on my arm instead. I lean back and close my eyes. "I won. Well, I'm sure SHIELD will want some answers. That'll be kinda hard because he's dead. But he's off the streets. I don't actually know what he did. "Stop the guy in the puke green shirt with the baby poop green hat" was all I got. Killed him for his shit fashion taste if nothing else." Talking to her- to someone other than my brain- feels nice.

"Wanna go to bed?" she asks.

"Uh huh."

"Need help getting there?"

"Uh huh." She stands. The loss of her presence so close to my side makes me open my eyes. She's at my other side now, ready to help me hoist myself up. I'm probably mostly ok to walk on my own. I just don't want to. I inhale sharply as my right shoulder rotates.

Few more minutes, you baby.

"Feels like the more I need it, the longer it takes."

"Your healy thing?" Nev guesses.

"Yeah. Should only be like another five minutes, but..." She helps me ease myself down so I'm sitting on the edge of my bed. "Just because I can't die doesn't mean this shit doesn't hurt. You wanna know what Logan did, why the suit was ripped? He was trying to see what colour my trachea is. Yeah, it healed, but it hurt like all fuck and I'm not real fond of coughing up blood, which I've now done twice in 24 hours, which is twice more than I enjoy."

I can see her now, my eyes having adjusted to the dark. She's looking right back at me, sincere and listening and not yelling at me or insulting me.

"I'm sorry. If it means anything, dad and Peter are actually trying. Maybe not as hard as they should. Maybe I can do something about it." She hugs me, briefly, safely. No face smashed in her boobs or anything. "Goodnight, Deadpool."

"I don't mind if you call me Wade. Only Parker ever does and it's not very often. Wade is good," I say, stopping her as she steps from my room. She looks past me, out my window. Processing this. She looks at my right arm which I think has gone back to normal, then to my still masked face.

"Goodnight, Wade."