Say Anything…Except That
By Cortexikid
Chapter 2: Who Framed Wade Wilson?
Wow, an update already? Someone's eager.
Last time I checked, that wasn't a bad thing, Deadpool.
Hey, if you say so. You still think the whole name-everything-after-movies-with-a-Deadpoolian-twist thing is a good idea, though?
You love Who Framed Roger Rabbit.
Uh, YEAH. Two words – Jessica Rabbit's Boobs.
That's three words.
And yet, the sentiment still stands…
Also, 'Deadpoolian?'
Just rolls off the tongue, don't it? I shoulda been a scholar!
"Oh…fuck."
If there were ever a phrase to sum up Wade Winston Wilson's existence, that'd be it.
"What now?"
If there were ever a phrase to sum up Peter Benjamin Parker's existence, it'd be that.
As the two men lay on the floor (well, Peter lay on the floor as Wade lay on him) each shouted their words over the deafening pop, pop, pop of bullets and shards of glass that sprayed down on them.
"Deadpool!" Peter growled angrily, forcing himself not to use his super strength to shove off the mercenary, "what is—"
A large gloved hand clapped over his mouth.
"Shut your beautiful face, Harry Potter!" Wade hissed before jerkily tilting his head to the right, the eyes of his mask widening almost comically.
[Ha ha! 'Comically.' I see what she did there]
{It's not our Point of View Yet!}
[Right. My bad]
Eyebrows furrowed, (and ignoring the overwhelming scent of nacho cheese emitting from the glove over his face) Peter looked to where Deadpool indicated, gaping in alarm at what greeted him. Under the sink, barely two feet from them, was a small, rectangular box with the black and red Deadpool logo, complete with pipes and wires sticking out of it, a digital clock ominously counting down in red glowing numbers.
5:45
5:44
5:43
"That's a bomb," Wade supplied him unnecessarily, "you know, the type that goes boom?"
Peter fixed him with a glare before wrenching the hand off his face.
"Ooh, we're already at the hand-holding stage? But we only just met!"
"Why the hell did you plant a bomb?!" Peter hissed.
"See, that's just the thing cutie, I didn't," Wade replied with a shrug before reaching up and pushing Peter's glasses up his nose.
[Gasp! Someone's framing us]
{Did you seriously just make a glasses pun when someone's trying to pin a ton of murders on us?}
[Gotta get my kicks somehow]
Secret-identity be damned, Peter shoved the merc off him easily (as he seemed to be off in his own world) before turning towards the bomb, frantic gaze watching as it continued to count down.
5:40
5:39
"You know, unless you wanna go all Harvey-Dent-Two-Face, I'd really advise against going near that."
{Wrong franchise idiot!}
[We're Marvel, remember?]
"What?" the brunet asked distractedly, not bothering to ask what the hell a Two Dent or whatever was, as he scrambled to figure out how to disarm the explosive.
"All I mean is," Wilson sighed, "that you wouldn't wanna ruin that jailbait mug of yours, so maybe you can, you know, skedaddle?"
At the younger man's non-response, the merc rolled his eyes.
[You do gotta wonder what old batty would do in situations like this though, right?]
{WWBD?}
"What would Batman do?" Wade whispered, before clicking his fingers in triumph, yelling in a gravelly tone "I'M DEADPOOL" and leaping on Peter's back.
"Wha—!" the brunet exclaimed as the larger man half-strangled him, wrapping his arms around his chest and neck, and dragging him backwards.
"C'mon cutie, today's not the day for your schoolboy heroics, you gotta get that tight little ass outta here," he yelled as a bullet shot through the window and lodged in his shoulder.
"Let…me…g—"
"You know, you're surprisingly strong," Deadpool cut across Peter again, ignoring his choked protests and throwing open the apartment door.
"BOMB! BOMB IN THE BUILDING, EVERYBODY OUT!" he roared before reaching out with one hand to pull the fire-alarm on the wall, and using the other to give the shorter man one final shove before deftly turning on his heel, and slamming the door behind him.
Peter silently gawked at the entrance to 25L, his brain struggling to make sense of everything that had just transpired as his few remaining neighbours scrambled desperately down the corridor. It was a faint but frenetic scream that unglued his feet from the floor and powered him down ten flights of stairs, picking up a crying toddler in his arms, bursting out onto the street and into a large crowd of gawping bystanders, he the last person to exit the building it seemed.
He skidded to a halt, his eyes landing on the woman that had screamed for her child before holding the little boy out for her to take. He could only nod as the woman wept with thanks, clutching the boy to her chest.
Adrenaline surged in his veins as he turned to watch and wait in horror for his new home to come crumbling down before his eyes as the first slew of police and fire brigade arrived at the scene and began to cordon off the area and moving people to a safe distance, their red and blue lights flashing and basking each of his neighbours in a dazzling glow. Stood there on the street, Peter felt each second pass as if it were an eternity, this being the first time in a long while, since he started on his Spider Man crusade feeling as powerless as he did after his Uncle Ben's death.
These things weren't meant to happen. He couldn't afford Spider Man business to be dumped on his literal doorstep so unceremoniously on a good day, but now, with Deadpool in the mix, and he potentially knowing one or both of his identities, as well as someone clearly having it out for him to the point of hiring a guy to survey and possibly assassinate him, it became even more immobilising. He couldn't don his suit, couldn't have anyone link sightings of him in it near the apartment block, and yet, every ounce of his chemical make-up was screaming at him to do something, anything, to help Deadpool.
He couldn't explain it, and even though past experiences with the unstable man should have deterred him, Peter still believed the mercenary when he said that despite what it looked like, against everything that logic may have dictated, he really wasn't the one to plant the bomb.
And now, that same man, immortal or not, was stuck in the building with an unfamiliar explosive that was about to detonate and Peter had no idea if he had the skill (or frankly the mental stability) to disarm—
A thunderous boom jarringly shook him from his thoughts, the ground underneath his feet vibrating rapidly as smoke began to rise steadily from behind the building. Without a second's thought, Peter took off in a sprint towards the smoke, evading the police officers and letting the darkness engulf him.
Hopping the perimeter fence that led to an alley, he skid slightly as his sneakers met the slippery pavement. With a frown, he righted himself and took a step, wincing as he heard a sickening squelching sound under his foot.
Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he shone its light down and hissed at the dark crimson substance that covered his shoe, quickly stepping onto a dry point in the pavement with a shiver. His stomach lurched as he slowly forced himself to look further into the alley, eyes raking over the concrete walls that were now marred with the same substance, except a lot thicker.
"Oh my god…" he grimaced as he pointed his phone to the right and caught sight of a shadowed figure lying near what appeared to be a recently exploded dumpster, a trail of trash and carnage leading up to it.
Scrambling forward, Peter tried not to look at the blood, guts and yep…brain matter that scattered the ground and kneeled as close as he could to what remained of Deadpool's body.
"Jesus, Wade," the brunet gasped, his horrified gaze drinking in the charred and bloodied torso and head, trying to not linger on the fact that Wilson was missing three out of four limbs. His remaining left arm lay outstretched, barely still attached to his body, resting against the now destroyed dumpster.
As he surveyed the scene, Peter began to piece together what probably happened. The merc must have either been unable to disarm the bomb, or didn't have the tools or time, and instead opted to take it to an uninhabited area and have it detonate securely. Whether he even took his own safety (healing ability or not) into account when forming this hare-brained plan made Peter's heart sink a little in his chest.
And it was this feeling that he would hold fully accountable for his next decision…
"All these chimichangas for little ol' me? Aww Death, you shouldn't have! Best threesome ever!" Wade murmured dreamily, turning over on his side and snuggling deeper into the warmth.
[Wakey wakey eggs and bakey]
"No, not eggs, chimichangas! And sex!" the merc with the mouth argued as he began to regain consciousness.
{Thought you said the best threesome ever would be us, Spidey and Tacos?}
[He'll take what he can get. Beggars can't be choosers]
{And he would beg}
Wade let out a groan as he cracked open one eye and appraised his surroundings, his adrenaline spiking when he took in the white, blank walls.
[Oh fuck]
{That seems to be the theme of the evening}
With a jolt, Deadpool shot up out of bed, hands immediately flying to his face, relieved to feel his mask still intact, but completely ignoring the fact that he was otherwise completely naked, his left leg only partially restored, and began hopping across the room.
[Huh. Guess the Roger Rabbit parallel could work as a name for this chapter, after all]
{And you doubted her}
"Shaddup," he growled, up turning the only furniture in the room (a bedside table) and kicking it until it splintered and he was left with a make-shift weapon, seeing as his prized katanas were missing from his arsenal.
[Speaking of ARSEnal, how do you plan to get outta here in your birthday suit, big boy?]
{Americans don't say arse}
[We're Canadian]
{It's more of a British thing}
[Still a funny word]
"Whoever's out there should revel at the opportunity to see my rockin' bod," Wade interrupted, flexing his guns, pleased to find them just as massive as he remembered.
[They're not the only thing that's massive]
"I know right?" he leered, looking down at himself, "they should write poetry about my dic—"
{We were talking about your ego}
Before Deadpool could let out the burst of indignation that was welling in his chest, the sound of a click caught his attention before the handle of the door began to turn.
Leaping back behind the bed, the merc adopted a combatant stance, holding up the sharp piece of wood, ready to strike.
A mop of brown hair appeared around the door, before a familiar and handsome face came into view.
Deadpool had half a second to witness the utter shock, quickly followed by the rush of blood to pale cheeks register on the cute brunet, forming an adorable blush, before he clapped a hand over his eyes and let out a yell.
"OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!"
Wade lowered the piece of wood and shrugged, "hey, I'm the one that woke up here, shouldn't I be asking you that? Perv."
That got his attention.
Slowly, hands lowered from the man's face, but his eyes remained firmly closed behind his black-rimmed glasses.
"I just—I thought…when you…regenerate, that maybe your clothes did too," he murmured lamely.
"Regenerate? Who am I, the Doctor?" Wade scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, not caring if the other man couldn't see his obvious offense at the term.
[That's right, we know sci-fi]
{We're down with the kids}
"Golden Girls is still the best though," the merc conceded.
"What?" the brunet asked, confused at his completely random statement apropos of nothing.
"Okay, okay, you gotta tell me your name or somethin' kid, 'cause this whole the 'other man' and 'brunet' thing is kinda gettin' on my nerves," Deadpool groused, watching him carefully.
The frown on his face deepened, a line forming between his eyebrows as his lids remained firmly shut.
"Uh…call me…Harry," he murmured.
"No way, your name's actually Harry? And you look like that? Man, you must have gotten so much shit growin' up," Wade scoffed.
{You're one to talk. You got your name 'cause some writers thought it'd be funny to say you're related to Deathstroke}
[And it rhymes with Slade]
{That too}
"Can you uh…like cover up…or something so I can open my eyes?" 'Harry' interrupted the conversation his boxes had started, still standing with his arms tight at his sides, fists clenched.
"You sure?" Wade asked with a teasing hilt to his tone, "because there's nothing better than a naked house guest to brighten anyone's day…"
"It's midnight, and no, I'm good thanks," 'Harry' retorted.
"If you insist," Wade sighed, dragged his two now fully-formed feet over to the bed and plonking down, pulling the sheet up to cover his waist.
[Why are there quotation marks around 'Harry?']
{Because we don't actually think that's his name}
[Right. That's way too much of a coincidence. This kid is so not the best liar]
After a moment, 'Harry's' eyes opened, he blinking owlishly into the dimly lit room and breathed a visible sigh of relief at seeing his house guest at least somewhat descent.
"I uh…I can get you some clothes…I mean, they'll be a tight fit but it's better than—"
"My gorgeous figure distracting you?" Deadpool smirked, throwing him his patented exaggerated wink.
Another adorable flush tinted 'Harry's' cheeks before he shook his head and cleared his throat, a flash of irritation crossing his features.
"Just…wait there until I get back. Don't…go anywhere. We need to talk," he grumbled, before turning on his heel and walking back out into the hallway.
Deadpool shrugged, laying back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling.
It was only then that he began to really reflect on the events of the evening, more and more questions about this strange guy popping up with every passing second.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded from just outside the door, 'Harry's' voice travelling quietly into the room: "okay so I only had—"
"So someone hired me to take out a guy that was tryin' to kill you," Wade interrupted him, sitting up in the bed again, facing him.
When all he was met with was silence, he continued: "so I did. I mean, it's what I do, what I'm really fuckin' good at, and the pay was great, so why not?" he threw up his hands and tilted his head, fixing the other man with a completive stare.
"So yeah, I unalive the guy, only to find that you, even in all the panic, decided to go Nancy Drew-ing around the place and stumble across yet another guy trying to assassinate your ass from across the street? A vantage point that couldn't have been too far from mine. So, I do what any good hot-blooded-male would do, I save the damsel in distress by throwing them to the ground, because hey, any chance to have my fine body cover your fine body, only to find that a fucking bomb with my logo on it has been planted to level the whole goddamn building? To kill one puny guy? I mean really, even that's just over kill, even by my standards…" Wade trailed off, clutching the sheet to his waist and standing up, taking a step towards 'Harry.'
"And as if that wasn't enough, you then seem completely unfazed by a bomb, even believe me—a goddamn mercenary, when I say it wasn't mine, and try to fucking disarm it without batting an eyelid while any other sane person would have run for the hills screaming—"
{Like you can comment on anything an actual sane person would do}
[Stop he's on a roll!]
"Only to THEN find me blasted to chunks finer than taco meat, bring me back here and are not even the slightest bit freaked out that I'm like…you know…walking, talking, and gracing your eyelids with my epic naked man-bits?"
Wade paused, bringing his face down inches from the other man's, chocolate eyes reaching hazel.
"So, to review," he smirked, "you run to danger when anyone else would flee, to try to disarm a bomb that could or could not have been planted by me, you just taking me at my word, then you find me in pieces and bring me back here, knowing about my healing factor and are not one bit freaked out by it…"
Wade's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on how the other man had appeared to stop breathing, his dark orbs flickering behind his glasses.
"Which leaves me with just one question for you 'Harry,'" the mercenary murmured, taking that last step so that he had the shorter man caught between his body and the wall:
"Who the hell are you really?"
I'm so fucking awesome. Look at me being all Sherlock Holmes-y.
Yeah, for the purposes of this story, you're astute.
What do you mean 'for the purposes of this story?' I'll have you know, I'm always a goddamn genius!
Didn't you just try to use one of your katanas as a Q-Tip?
…
Fuck you.