Once in the suite, Wade went to work making sure the rooms were secured. While Cluster was sure that the people of Stark Institute could be trusted, Wade had no such assurances. He was confident that Cap and Natasha were reliable, but everyone else was a big question mark.
The windows did not have very strong locks, and even with the latch closed, they could be easily jimmied from the outside. The doors could be locked from the inside, but that didn't equate to security. Not to mention that the locks were all ancient, and not the type that would deter a half-ass lock pick.
So Wade worked a little blood magic. He painted symbols on the door and doorframe with a sliced fingertip, the symbols vanishing as he whispered the incantations. The spell was designed that even without the door or window being closed, only those who knew the password could enter. The magic wasn't permanent, and it wasn't foolproof. Anyone who knew how to counteract the spell could get through without trouble. A witch wouldn't even break stride.
Evan was seated at one of the windows, staring up at the sky. It was a clear day, with only a few fluffy clouds breaking up the flawless blue. He still wasn't talking.
"What do you think about these jokers, eh?" Wade said as he rubbed the dried blood off his already healed finger. Evan didn't react to his voice at all, but Wade kept talking anyway, if for no other reason than it might help the kid feel less alone. "Kinda weird running into people I know, but then again your Uncle and I have worked with a lot of the same people over the years. Strange seeing Cap, though. You know they make a comic book about him? I used to buy them. Might have some friends of mine send them here for you."
Evan only blinked.
Wade pulled out the desk chair, and sat down heavily. "That Parker guy seems nice though. Your tutor? Probably some kind of super-genius. Should keep you caught up on school. Good grades are very important, my little friend."
Still silence.
Wade sighed. "I'm gonna be honest, I don't know how long we're gonna be here. I don't know how long Cluster will take to show up either, but-"
"All these people are going to die," Evan said in a soft, monotone voice. "And it's my fault. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be anywhere. I shouldn't have been born."
Wade was at the window seat by the time Evan finished, sitting beside him, saying, "No, no. That's not… No, Evan. What happened, it's not your fault. It's not. Don't you dare think that, because it's not true."
Evan looked up at him with red eyes that turned darker as he said, "But they're all dead, and it's all my fault! If I wasn't there…" He pulled the aleithiometer out of his pocket, and said in an anguished sob, "If I didn't have this, my family would be alive!"
Then he threw the aleitheometer to the floor, sending it clanking across the room, where it came to rest against the wall.
And Evan cried. He hadn't shed a tear since that moment in the woods walking towards the plane. But now, he let all the pain come pouring out of him. He shook with the power of his grief.
Wade knelt down, and put his hand on Evan's bruised and scratched forearm, reminding him that he's not alone. A moment later, Evan calmed, though the tears still fell, and he slumped against Wade's shoulder, clinging to the mercenary like a lifeline. Wade didn't waste his breath on empty promises that things were going to be okay; he knew that nothing for the kid was going to be okay for a long time.
He really wasn't surprised that Evan fell asleep. Wade stood and carried Evan to the bed, removed the boy's shoes, and tucked him under the covers. Celestia crawled up beside him, switching to her rabbit form and snuggling against Evan's side.
Bob pecked at Wade's shoe, and he scooped up the bird and carried him into the bathroom where Wade started to undress. He was filthy from head to toe. His cassock was stained darker with blood and ripped and frayed. There were gashes from Daken's claws and a few holes and burns from being shot at close range by Mystique. At least the red hid the blood that caked the fabric.
Wade started removing the layers of his uniform, starting with the capelet which was ripped at the back, more than likely by Creed. He unbuttoned the coat, finding the material stiff, and in places, attached to wounds that had healed with fibers under his skin. The white undershirt was shredded and turned rust red from dried blood. His belt and sash was ruined completely.
Taking down Daken and Mystique had not been easy. And if he had it to do over again, he would have gone after Mystique first. But Daken was in his bloodlust, and had to be stopped. He killed so many so fast, Wade couldn't believe the carnage he generated. If not for Bob making his flight to give the few minutes of warning, Wade doubted that any of Clan Akkaba would have survived.
Once, not too many years ago, Wade would not have cared at all about the death toll. He wouldn't have felt like a failure for not saving everyone. He wouldn't feel guilty everytime he looked at some kid who was so brokenhearted he couldn't speak, and when he did, Evan blamed himself. Now, it all felt like a lead weight around his neck, adding to so many others that he carried around.
The only comfort Wade could give himself was that he had officially severed his ties with the Brotherhood. Though, the consequences of that remained to be seen. And judging by the black clad man with Wade's face sitting at the desk with a content smile, Wade was sure that death wasn't too far away. Then again, his Death was always nearby.
"Don't be too smug, asshole," Wade said to the reaper. "You haven't taken me yet."
His Death just chuckled.
He showered quickly and dressed in some spare clothes he kept tucked in the bottom of his weapons bag, a pair of well-worn blue jeans, white t-shirt, and dark red hoodie. Once clean and presentable, he checked on Evan, finding the kid still passed out. Wade placed Bob on the desk, and said, "Watch him for me, okay? If he wakes, let me know."
Bob gave a nod, and Wade walked out the door and almost ran right into Peter. The surprise of it caused Wade to grab him around the neck and shove him into the wall. Peter raised his hands, and said, "Friend!"
Wade relaxed his grip on Peter's throat, but didn't let him go. He demanded, "What do you want?"
"Just to ask if you guys need anything from town!" Peter answered, his eyes dilated and breath coming a little fast. He shivered, and gasped, "Could you let me go now?"
"Sorry," Wade said as he released him. "Guess I'm a little jumpy."
"It's okay," Peter said, straightening his jacket as Gwen scurried up onto his shoulder. He reached up and plucked the daemon off his shoulder, and took a deep breath before clearing his throat, and asking, "So, uh, do you need anything?"
Wade nodded, and gestured towards the room. "The kid needs everything. All he's got are the clothes on his back, and they're pretty much shredded."
Peter nodded. "Yeah. Uh…" He still looked like he was having trouble breathing.
Wade said, "I'm really sorry about that."
"Oh no, it's okay." Peter jingled his keys in a shaking right hand, and asked, "Do you want to come with me? Or would you rather wait until Evan's ready to venture out?"
Wade closed his eyes, catching a glimpse of what Bob could see. Evan was stone still, his breath coming slow and deep. He looked at Peter, and said, "I think he'll be okay for an hour or so. Besides, I'd like to check the security on the places you were talking about taking him before he goes there."
"Yeah, of course." Peter swallowed hard, and gestured towards the door leading into the main hall. "If you're ready, we can go now."
"Just let me lock up," Wade said. Then he closed the suite door, and whispered, "Lasu nur la amikan kaj pacan pasu tra tiu pordo, kaj ĉiuj aliaj glaciiĝas ĝis justeco aŭ morto trovi ilin*." Then he walked to the next door and did the same with Peter watching with a curious look on his face, a look that quickly turned to embarrassed surprise when Wade looked his direction, and Peter looked quickly away.
Wade pulled up his hood and walked towards the hall. And when Peter said, "What about your daemon?" Wade didn't answer.
The town of Massena was about 20 miles away from the Stark Institute. The town was tiny compared to what Peter was used to, lacking skyscrapers or an ever present haze of smog. Then again, all cities seemed small compared to New Amsterdam. The sidewalks weren't overrun with people and there was no such thing as traffic, really. Or at least, not what Peter would call traffic. It wasn't until Peter came to the Stark Institute he even learned to drive. It wasn't necessary to know in the city, and basically every other mode of transportation was faster for his needs.
Now, with weekly trips to Steve Rogers' small rental he shared with his lifelong friend Bucky, Peter had learned to drive and how to road rage. He never drove with other people in the car, let alone a stranger that made his heart literally race every time they touched. Thus, Peter kept both hands on the steering wheel and did not look in the direction of the extremely dangerous man who slouched in his passenger's seat.
Gwen didn't help. Peter knew a smug look on her face when he saw it, and she was radiating it now from her spot in the cushioned cupholder. She could feel the way his body thrilled at the merc's touch, and Peter wished she couldn't. Where Peter was very reserved, his daemon was far more adventurous. She liked the unexpected.
After driving in silence almost 10 minutes, Peter said, "Can I ask you something?"
"You just did," the merc answered. Peter tensed, but then Wade laughed, and said, "I'm just joking, kid. Ask."
Kid? Peter glanced in the mirror. He never thought of himself as a "kid". He wasn't a kid, dammit. Gwen snickered, and Peter gave her a dirty look before saying, "This might be kind of personal, but why isn't your daemon with us?"
"We have a very long range," Wade answered.
Peter knew that some people had very long ranges, but those were typically witches. So he asked, "Is that some kind of mutant thing? You are a mutant, right?"
"Not exactly," he answered. They were approaching a small bridge, and the merc said, "Stop here."
"We're almost to town," Peter said, though he was slowing.
"I told you, I need to check security where you're taking Evan," Wade answered as they stopped.
"Oh," Peter said as he put the car in park and got out. He followed the merc to the small path that led down by the riverside, skidding on the loose rocks a little and jumping down to the flat of the path. His landing was solid, earning an impressed look from the mercenary-something that Peter didn't want to read too much into.
"You're pretty solid on your feet," the merc said.
Peter shrugged. "Yeah, you could say that. I used to do a lot of free running when I lived in New Amsterdam. It was a lot of fun. Got good at landing solid and climbing walls with just my momentum."
The merc smirked. "What they call you? Peter Parkour?"
"Spider Man, actually," Peter answered with a laugh. He watched the merc study the struts for a while, before asking, "So why do they call you Deadpool?"
"It's an old joke with the Brotherhood," Wade answered nonchalantly. He continued, "When you're chosen, you're taken to this place called The World, where you're put through every kind of hell imaginable. All the test subjects had this bet going on who was going to die next. The Deadpool. Since I was the last man standing, I won the pot and kept the name."
Peter felt like he was going to be sick, and it must have showed on his face because the merc huffed a laugh and said, "Not as cute of a story as Spider Man, is it."
"I'm sorry," Peter said before he could stop himself.
"Don't be," Wade answered as he pulled a knife out of his boot. Peter had to wonder just how many weapons were hidden under his bulky hoodie and thread-bare jeans. The merc didn't even flinch when he swiped the blade across his left palm and started painting an eye onto the supports.
Peter wanted to ask what he was doing, but didn't think he'd like the answer. He was still hung up on the meaning of Deadpool. Then he whispered, "Atenta**" and the symbol disappeared into the metal.
"Blood magic," Gwen said softly. Peter said nothing. He didn't utter a word until they were in town and sitting in front of Steve Roger's home. It wasn't a big place. Two bedrooms, one bath, cozy livingroom. Lots of windows.
Wade got out of the car, looking the building over. After a few seconds, he said, "This place is not going to be easy to defend."
"I don't think Captain Rogers has to worry about security," Peter said. He walked to the back of the car and started removing his equipment. He paused, and said, "Speaking of which, I don't think he knows you're coming with me. So let me warn him."
"Go for it. I'll check the perimeter," Wade said, then started walking towards the fence line and Peter went to the door.
Nurse Sharon Carter answered the door with a smile, her racoon daemon at her feet. She smiled and said, "They're ready for you." Then she looked towards the fence where Wade was doing a pullup, and asked, "Who's your assistant?"
"That's Wade," Peter answered. "Just...That's Wade."
Inside, Bucky was seated by the window, his long hair combed back from his face, body leaning heavily to against the stump on his left side. The chair was plush and designed to move him around throughout the day, even encourage him to stand. According to Nurse Carter, he sometimes walked aimlessly around the livingroom, but it wasn't a common occurrence. Usually he just found a corner and huddled down in the shadows.
Steve came out of the kitchen as Peter got his tripod in place. He had a near-frown on his face, and asked, "Why is Deadpool in my yard?"
"He wanted to check the security of the place before bringing Evan here," Peter answered as Gwen climbed down to greet Peggy. Then added, "Before you can object, Tony has instructed me to take the kid everywhere, and he and Deadpool are a package deal."
Peggy rubbed her head against Steve's thigh, and Steve took a deep breath through his nose, his jaw tensing before releasing his breath, and saying, "Fine. It's fine. I just don't want Bucky becoming a sideshow."
"I'd never allow that," Peter said sincerely. He was almost finished setting up the photogram, and said, "I'll make this quick and we'll be on our way. Just take a seat so I can establish the baseline, and we'll get this over."
Steve sat in the chair on the other side of the window, Peggy at his side farthest from Bucky.
This was part of the experiment. Every week, Peter came to the apartment to record a photogram in Dust Light to check the levels of Dust surrounding Bucky. Steve and Peggy were a typical pair, and were the control for the experiment. Steve's Dust concentration stayed the same, well within the normal range established by Lord Asriel over 100 years ago.
Bucky, on the other hand, barely registered on the scale. It had long been established that daemons were vital for a human to maintain healthy levels of Dust-at least in academic circles. The Magisterium denied any connection between Dust, daemons, and humans, and since so many people relied completely on the powers that be for their information, it was a widespread opinion that the connection didn't exist.
For Peter, it was undeniable and proven. Just with Bucky, it was obvious that the lack of a daemon had rendered a man once famous for his quick wit and fighting spirit, into a vegetable. In the last four weeks since the beginning of the experiment, Bucky's Dust levels had remained the same.
Tony was optimistic. He was developing what he hoped would be a sort of prosthetic daemon, which was codenamed "project ultron" in the system. It was ambitious, but more importantly, it could actually work. Dust seemed naturally attracted to Tony's robotic inventions, and the more advanced, the more Dust gathered. The Ultron prototypes gathered as much Dust as a cat or dog, which was a far cry from a human or daemon, but the potential was there.
Taking the photogram was a simple process. A crystalline medium was housed in a black box designed to prevent ambient Dust from reaching the substrate. The lens was made of pure amber, and once the shutter was opened, Peter started a visible light camera to record all activities in the room that might account for any variants in the photogram.
Usually, he and Steve talked back and forth about photography. Steve was an artist, something that few knew. He was very talented, and if you were very lucky, he might show you his sketchbook. It wasn't a surprise that most of his sketches were of Bucky, mostly back when they were younger. Many depicted the two of them with their daemons, and it was obvious that those were the ones that Steve lingered on the most. Lately, Peter noticed that Tony had become a regular in Steve's drawings, too.
Once finished with the photogram, Peter said goodbye to Nurse Carter and Steve, and headed out to the car. Wade never came into the house, and was sitting in the vehicle. For a moment, Peter thought Wade was talking on a cellphone, but as he got closer he could see that neither of the merc's hands were occupied by any type of communication device. As soon as Peter opened the back hatch of the sedan, Wade fell silent.
They went to the department store to pick up supplies for Evan. Wade walked through the clothing, throwing in shirts and pants in various sizes and styles, as well as shoes, socks, underwear, pajamas, and toiletries. It was a quick trip, and Peter figured that they would come back again once they'd established Evan's correct size.
Peter half expected there to be a comment from someone in the store about Wade's lack of daemon, but no one said a word. Then again, with all the people with insect daemons and other small creatures, it probably wasn't as obvious to someone who didn't know that Wade had left his daemon at home.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they got back to Stark Institute, and Peter assisted bringing the many bags of items up to Wade and Evan's suite, where Wade touched the door and said, "Amiko***," before going inside.
Evan was still asleep, and didn't stir when Wade and Peter came into the room. Bob fluttered clumsily up to Wade's shoulder and nuzzled the merc's cheek. Peter smiled and Gwen made a soft, "Aww" sound that Peter hoped like hell Wade didn't hear.
"Thanks for doing this," Wade said.
Peter shrugged. "It's nothing. If you need a ride to town, just-"
"I meant what you're doing for Evan," Wade clarified. "I really feel like you're one of the really good guys."
"Oh," Peter said, feeling his face heat up. "Well, thanks. I like to think I am." Then he added, "You're not as scary as I thought you'd be."
Wade chuckled, and said, "Yeah, well, at least I made a good impression."
Then, before he could think about it, Peter held out his hand and Wade immediately shook it. Instantly, Peter was flooded with warmth that started at the meeting of their palms and went through him like the sun breaking across a dark plain at the first light of day. Peter felt himself being drawn closer to the merc, like a victim of gravity, unable to deny the pull.
"You okay, kid?" Wade said, his brow scrunched.
Peter shook his head and let go. "Just, uh… Tired. I think I'm a little tired. From driving."
"I kinda need my beauty rest too," Wade said with a smirk.
Peter's eyes involuntarily flicked down to Wade's scarred lips, and Peter turned around, and said, "Yeah, you do that. See ya later."
And if Peter left a little fast, that was his business. He moved quickly through the halls, going down to the laboratory, completely bypassing Tony and Banner, and ignoring Thor as he sprinted towards the dark room.
Peter closed the door to the dark room, and took few deep breaths while counting to try to decompress before moving again. His skin was tingling where Wade had touched him, and the feeling of bliss was almost overwhelming. Sweat poured from his temples, his hands shook as he ran them back through his hair. His body gave a shudder, and he slid down the door.
Gwen stood on top of his hand and said, "That was unexpected."
His head fell back against the door with a thump. "Understatement."
"It felt kinda good," Gwen said shyly.
Peter looked at her. "Not another word."
"It's true, though," Gwen added.
Peter hung his head. "It's not logical. It's not normal."
"Oh, come on Pete," Gwen said with exasperation. "You have a type. The big, rough, mysterious type. Like Eddie."
Peter tensed at the name, and said, "Wade isn't Eddie. I...I don't know what Wade is. And I don't want to talk about it anymore. I want to develop the photogram and go take a shower."
"Cold shower," Gwen added with a giggle.
Without further discussion, Peter went to work preparing the chemicals and dialing in the crystals. It was tedious work, but it was work Peter enjoyed. He found the methodology to be relaxing. Calming. His mind was gloriously blank but for the process. It was practically meditation.
It was predictable.
Or at least, it should be predictable.
Except, this time, the Dust Light photogram had a strange blob of Dust that moved through the rendering. A blob of Dust so intense and bright that it went off the Asriel scale.
A blob, that when compared to the visible light recording, coincided with Wade walking past the window.
(Translations)
* Let only the friendly and peaceful pass through this door, and all others be frozen until justice or death find them
** Be Watchful
***Friend
