"Look," Wade splayed his fingers out onto the gritty counter of the bar. "I've had a really shitty day, possibly one of my worst and certainly more horrible than anything you could have ever experienced. I'm not asking for much. Just a little something to take the edge off. So please, for the love of all things holy and sacred, will you please just give me my goddamn alcohol?!" If those few words came out a bit whiny, that was hardly his fault. He blamed his new set of vocal chords and the stupid estrogen that was probably living it up in his body, having gleefully kicked out his precious testosterone.
He was swimming in stolen clothes too big for him, but he hadn't had much choice since his Deadpool duds had been effectively ruined. Even he drew the line at living in completely blood-soaked garments. Plus, the entirety of the portion of the suit that was meant to cover his ...assets had been mysteriously burned off. So there was that.
The only things he found in the warehouse that were actually wearable had been on the corpse of one of the guards that he had found littering the floor. It was a stereotypical guard outfit, cargo pants and a black tank top, but for some reason, whatever organization had hired these guys seemed to have a fetish for tall guys. There was not one person in that warehouse under seven feet tall. So Wade was stuck in the clothes of a giant, squirming under the bartender's penetrating gaze. He hadn't even been able to salvage his mask, what with the whole being throat being slit thing and all, so now everyone knew what a fucking freak he looked like.
"Sorry Miss, No ID, no booze." The bartender leveled his gaze at Wade, his glare burning its way out from underneath his fractious eyebrows.
"And I told you sir, that I have my identification right here. It's not my fault if it's a little inaccurate." Wade jammed his driver's license underneath the bartender's nose. The tapster just pushed it away and shrugged in the universal what-can you do way. Wade frowned eyed the flashy little name badge pinned to the bartender's flannel which read Mark in thin loopy letters. Where the hell did this guy think he worked? The Ritz? Starbucks? Certainly not this dingy little dive bar, and certainly not anywhere nice enough to warrant that fairy script. Oh well, at least the author wouldn't have to keep writing 'the bartender' for the rest of the chapter.
"Come on, man. Look, I promise I'm over 21. Can you please just give me a little something? Off the record, I promise. It's not like any of these mooks are going to tell on ya." Wade gestured vaguely to the barely populated room behind him. Mark just harrumphed and turned away to welcome in a customer who had just entered. Wade barely registered the presence of the brunette sliding onto the stool next to him before continuing with his futile quest.
"Mark. MARK. Honey, sweetie, baby. I don't think you understand how important this is to me." He made a weak attempt to flutter his eyelashes, an action that earned him a resigned grimace and not the shy blush and booze he was hoping for. Okay, that's not working. Wade made a mental note to never try that again. Clearly his seduction skills sucked no matter what gender he was. I mean for chrissakes, I'm a freakin' gir-"
"Is something the matter?" Deadpool turned to the person sitting beside him. He blinked. The person occupying the space next to him could only be described as grade-A jailbait. Between the button down shirt and the goober haircut, there was just something about this guy that screamed dork. The man started to fidget under his gaze, and with a start, Wade realized that he'd been staring slightly longer than what was normally deemed 'socially acceptable'.
"Hmm? What? I mean, yeah. Cloudy with a chance of meatballs over her won't serve me, even though I've shown him my ID. My perfectly valid ID." To this, Mark rolled his eyes and turned to the brunette.
"So? What'll it be? I'm assuming you have some form of actual identification?" Now it was Wade's turn to roll his eyes.
"Uh, yeah I'll have the cheapest beer you have." The man said, fishing in his pockets for his wallet. "Uh, hold on a sec. I know it's here somewhere." He changed pockets, grinning when he withdrew a battered leather wallet. "Here you go," he said, forking over a piece of plastic. The bartender inspected the ID carefully and, apparently satisfied, handed it back and turned around to get the beer.
"Actually," the stranger said, eyeing Wade's dejected face. "Make that two." Mark's eyes darted over to Wade and then back. Slowly, his left eyebrow started inching up towards his hairline.
"Look, sh-she's my…friend. We've known each other forever…She's definitely legal, and, and old enough to drink." Jeez, could the guy possibly be a worse liar? The Mark's eyebrows twitched even further up his forehead. He gave his two patrons a long stare. Eventually he sighed and shook his head.
"Right, she's legal, and I didn't see nothin', ya hear?" He glared as he thunked two open beers down onto the counter and turned away.
"R-right. Thanks!" The brunette called after him, clearly relieved that his bull had gone over without a hitch.
"So," Wade turned to his generous companion. "Am I going to be lucky enough to know my mysterious benefactor's name? Or is this going to be one of those stranger in the night type deals?" His companion frowned and shook his head.
"No, nothing like that. My name's Peter. You just seem like you're in a bad place right now, and I thought I'd be nice enough to help."
"Of course I'm in a bad place." Wade gestured behind him to their decrepit surroundings. You think I'd be here if I had another choice?" Peter grinned at his lame attempt at a joke. Huh. Well that was odd. People weren't usually this nice to him. Wade hoped it didn't have anything to do with the fact that he had breasts now. God knows all he needed now were guys fawning over him for his body. Although, actually, that didn't sound that bad. It might be a nice change for once. Certainly better than being the root cause for another's technicolor yawn.
"You have a name?" Oh shit. Now pretty mcgeekypants was looking at him with a bemused grin. Too late, Wade realized that he'd been staring. Again. Geez, the guy wasn't even that hot. He had more of an 'adorkable' vibe going for him. Not the macho hero thing Wade usually went for.
"Umm, yeah, of course I have a name! It's Wa-" he started to reply and stopped. Okay, no. Bad Wade. He couldn't let word of his…..transformation spread. He would be a laughingstock. Probably never find any decent merc work again. Okay then, he needed a new name. Something that started with a W, because he was clearly wierding Peter out enough without him thinking that Wade had forgot his own name. Except he was drawing a blank. The only female W name he could think of was Wanda, and she would definitely kill wade if she ever found out that he had used it. That is, if she didn't die of laughter first.
Okay, W… W…W W W W…W. It was times like this that Wade thanked his mouth's ability to function separately from his brain, because even though his entire thought process had taken up nearly two paragraphs of text, his mouth was still forming the Cheshire cat grin he made when pronouncing his A's. In desperation, he glanced out the window over Peter's shoulder. And lo and behold, his saving grace was lit up bright enough to cast shadows over the parking lot. Wade didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see a pair of red pigtails in his life. Well, maybe once, but that was a completely different situation.
"-endy."
Peter looked confused. "Your name is Waendy?"
"Uh, no. My name is Wendy. I just had a tickle in my throat. You know how it is." Wade mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done. Oh yeah, he was totally handling this whole woman thing.
"Uh, sure? I guess." Peter grew silent, his eyes sliding past Wade to stare at the television mounted behind the counter.
"Yep." Well this was turning into a fascinating conversation. He followed Peter's gaze to the tv. "Ugh, really? Well that's just great," he muttered under his breath.
"You have a problem with Spider-Man?" Oops, maybe he hadn't been that quiet. Peter tore his focus from the news to fix Wade with a stare of…was that annoyance? Wade was at a momentary loss for words. He hadn't expected this man to respond with vexation. "Never, mind. Of course you are. Who isn't, right?" Peter grabbed his beer and took an angry swig, frowning at the taste. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a violent cough. Wade awkwardly thumped him on the back, trying to dislodge whatever beer residue had stolen Peter's ability to vocalize.
"I take it you don't drink much."
"Jeez, whatever gave you that impression?" Peter asked dryly between wheezes. "Barkeep? Pray tell, may I have some water?" Mark gave him a strange look, but poured him a glass and slid it across the counter. There was a brief silence as Peter regained his composure.
"What's your beef with Spider-Man?"
"It's more like what's his problem with me." One look at Peter's face told him that that was hardly enough explanation. Wade took a long pull from his drink. "Okay then, it's like this. I was in a situation- a bad one- and I got hurt, violated even. And yeah, maybe it wasn't that big of a deal, but still, he left me. Spider-Man left me there. To die." He glanced over at Peter, who had gone pale and stiff. "So yeah, it's the kind of thing that makes you lose faith in your heroes. Which kinda sucks, because he used to be my idol."
"I'm sure he didn't mean it. He's a busy guy. There might've been another emergency, or something. H can't be everywhere at once, right? I mean, not to belittle your plight or anything, but he might not even have known you were there." He seemed to want to say something else, but for whatever reason, he remained reticent.
"He was there. He abandoned me. End of story." Wade raised his bottle towards the tv in mock salute. "Here's to the real heroes." He rolled his eyes and guzzled down his liquor, its bitter taste somehow perfectly reflecting his mood. Oh well, shitty beer for a shitty day.
Peter stared at him. "So that's why you're drinking?"
Wade chuckled. "Buddy, I'd be drinking either way. This here just gives me a reason." Peter, at a momentary loss for words, took a silent sip of his beer.
"So, I told you mine. You tell me yours. You obviously aren't much of a drinker, so what's the occasion?" This earned wade a dubious frown. Gosh, didn't his guy have any other expressions than doubtful and offended? Maybe he was secretly Derek Zoolander or something. Wade suddenly had a strange desire to see what Blue Steel would look like on peter's face. Probably sexy as hell.
Okay, where did that come from? He frowned at his drink. What was this stuff even made of?
"Come on. Seriously. I've put laid out my cards on the table, now show me your hand baby boy."
Okay, that got a response. Peter's head whipped up. "What did you just-? Never mind." He paused, and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "My job can be stressful sometimes. Today was an especially bad day."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a photographer."
"Oh. Well, I can definitely see why that would be stressful. I mean, you have to make sure the kids' hair looks nice, and you have to get them to actually look toward the camera. Don't even get me started on all the buttons. I mean the calluses alone would be enough to set even an altar boy like yourself off on a raging bender." Okay, that may have been a little too facetious, even for him.
"No, I'm a newspaper photographer. I cover the big events. You know, the major superhero battles, candid shots of unscrupulous politicians, that sort of thing." Wade glanced down at Peter's hands, which were currently nervously shredding the label on his bottle. Jeez, maybe the kid was a little more upset than he realized.
"Look, it's not a big deal. You don't have to-"
"I saw a man get killed today." Peter's voice was quiet, so low that Wade almost missed it. He seemed to be on the edge of an emotional breakdown, his shattered nerves about to snap. Wade chose his next words carefully.
"I suppose," he replied timidly, "it goes with the territory."
"I know, I know, but that's not what I'm upset about." Okay, now Wade was confused. Fortunately, Peter wasn't done with his story. "I saw a man get killed, and I didn't do anything. I didn't help. I didn't even-" Peter's voice broke off, and he took a second to compose himself. He continued, his voice still slightly wobbly.
"I left. I ran away. I should've stayed. I could've… I should have…" He trailed off, seemingly unsure about what exactly he should have done.
Wade sighed. "Look, man, I don't know what to tell you. I'm not exactly a therapist you know?" He put a hand on Peter's shoulder, if only to stop him from shaking. "The way I see it, it was a bad situation from the get-go. You should be lucky that you're alive, sitting here, at all. A man died, yes, but it wasn't your fault. You're a photographer, not a superhero." Somehow, his comforting seemed to be having an adverse effect on Peter, causing the young man to hunch further in on himself and begin slashing at his label with renewed vigor. So much for maternal instinct.
Wade backtracked, "Look, you said it yourself, the man was dead. There was nothing you could do. Dead is dead." The fingers stopped their carnage, and Peter took a ragged breath. The look in his eyes was unsettling. Wade had seen lightning storms calmer than Peter's flashing eyes.
"Everyone dies." Okay, this was bad. Peter wasn't even looking at him anymore. He was just staring listlessly at the ceiling. 'Everyone. My mom, my dad, Uncle Ben, Captain Stacy, Gwen…" His voice started to waver. "Everyone I love dies." Wow, and Wade thought he'd had a rough life. Somehow being alone because everyone you loved died seemed even more pitiful than being alone because you were a monster.
"You loved this man? The one who died?"
Wade's question seemed to shake Peter out of his trance. "What? No. I didn't really even know him. I'm just so sick of everyone dying."
"It's part of life. You can't escape it. You just have to accept it and move on." Big words from a mercenary. Wade couldn't help but cringe at how condescending his words sounded.
Peter nodded. "And tell me Wendy, have you ever lost someone?"
"Too many. Not all of them died, to be sure, but yeah, I've lost people too. People leave. I deal. In the end, it's always just me and my lonesome." He picked up his beer and inspected it. It was about half gone. He hoped there would be enough left. He wasn't even a little buzzed.
"How do you cope?"
"I find new friends. Takes a while, I'm not exactly what you call 'prime friendship material', but I have a way of wearing people down. Friends help a lot actually. In the meantime, though, Alcohol helps." Wade gave a sad smile.
"To friends and alcohol then," Peter offered his drink up. Wade clink his bottle against Peter's.
"To friends and alcohol." Wade knocked back his beer and Peter did the same beside him.
The two men finished their drinks in silence, and soon left the bar to go their own quiet ways, each lost in thought.
