El Diablo del Oeste
An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own X-Men.
Chapter 7: Revelations! Deadpool's Trap
Prologue
The Wyoming-Utah Border, hours ago…
The assassin known only as Deadpool hummed a merry tune to himself in spite of the searing hot and dry weather, and the relentless heat of the noonday sun beat down mercilessly on the scruffy, bearded cutthroats that had recently come into his employ. The grunt work, after all, was usually reserved for those lower on the totem pole, and Deadpool's ego was too big to stomach that sort of indignity in any case. Thus it was that the assorted rabble grumbled and muttered venomously as their leader worked them like horses, their shirts and chaps stained with sweat under the mercenary's unsettling gaze.
Deadpool idly picked up several of the dozens of dynamite sticks that were now nestled in the mountainside, and he grinned foolishly as he began to juggle them like a clown in a circus. The image would have been comical had it not been so downright disturbing, and the way Deadpool treated the whole situation as more of a sport than anything else only served to heighten his men's wariness of him. That was good, he knew; fear was, after all, an excellent motivator.
"Why're we doin' this agin?" a dim-sounding thug asked, pulling at his beard.
A swift backhand sent the speaker stumbling, and Deadpool's tone was contemptuous as he rounded on him. "Ya ain't bin listenin', Krad," he snarled. "Yer jest like th'rest o' the knuckle'eads I got fer a posse! Now dig th'mud outta yer ears, all o' ya, an' pay attention!"
Silence was instantaneous, and Deadpool's tone turned smug with satisfaction as he elaborated. "Me an' ol' Wagner got some unfinished business, see? An' this job is th'perfect chance to even th'score wi' him. Plus, I can't abide that feller," he admitted. "He got no sense o' humor at all, he don't. Wouldn't know a joke if it fell out of a tree an' hit 'im on th'noggin!"
Remembering the fate of their late companion, Deadpool's gang burst out in forced laughter, and their leader smiled winningly as he continued, "My intel says that Wager an' Miss Pryde'll 'ave t'pass through this here canyon in order t'git t'the other side o' th'mountains. An' when 'e does…" He looked at the explosive meaningfully.
"We blow 'em both t'kingdom come!" the dimwitted man realized, a slow grin growing on his ugly features. But then he grew puzzled. "How d'ya know they'll be passin' by this way? We ain't seen hide nor hair o' Wagner since settin' out."
"Because I use my head, idiot," Deadpool spat. "If I know Wagner, an' I do, then he'll 'ave stopped in Thunder Bluff t'git information afore continuin' 'is journey. That'll put 'im on a collision course wi' us, 'cause there ain't no doubt anymore that 'e knows I'm after 'im."
"An' yer sure that that's th'case?"
"Wagner has informants in Thunder Bluff," the mercenary replied, grinning a predator's smile. "As do I." Then his tone turned harsh. "Now git movin', y'all, unless'n ya wanna be caught in the blast! I sure as hell ain't gonna be blowin myself up t'day! Fall back to the rendezvous point, now!"
As his gang hurried to comply, Deadpool mounted his horse and once again felt the lust for vengeance surge in his veins. Though he spoke only to himself, the merciless tone in the gunslinger's voice was colder than a howling Arctic wind. "You an' I are gonna 'ave a reckoning that's bin long overdue, Wagner…"
Dodge City, three years ago…
The man who would one day become the infamous Deadpool whistled softly to himself as he strode down the dusty city street of the infamous cowboy town. The clouds of dry, choking earth that rose with his footsteps made Wade Wilson's mouth parched and dry, and the spurs on his heels clinked softly in rhythm with his confident footfalls.
Wade's stance was confident, his pace cocky and his shoulders squared as he stepped into the bar for a quick drink of whiskey to wet his whistle. The features that would become so hard and set were, for now, youthful and even almost innocent, and the skin of Wade's face lacked the hard, cracked, leathery appearance of one who'd spent long, lonely hours on the Western trails. No, this man was a relative newcomer to the Western territories, but that did nothing to diminish Wilson's dangerous nature.
Though he was still young, he was gung-ho and sharp with a pistol, and Wade thought that there wasn't a man in all the world who could best him.
He was wrong, and before the sun set that day, Wilson would pay the price for his overconfidence.
"Bartender, pour me a drink," Wilson said, his tone light. "It's a scorcher out there!"
"An' ya think that's worth mouthin' about?" the bartender muttered under his breath. "'It's always hot here, ya idjit."
The scornful words did not escape Wilson's keen hearing. "Now there was no call for that," he said, genuinely injured while his gaze became deadly. "I'm just trying to make conversation."
"I'd rather ya paid fer yer drink," the other man grunted. "This ain't a charity."
"I agree," Wilson said, plonking several coins on the bar. "Mercy is so overrated, don't you think?"
The hapless bartender never saw his customer's hands inching toward his gun belt, and so fast was Wilson's draw that his latest victim saw only the powder flash before his life was extinguished in a gout of spraying blood.
The body slumped beneath the counter, and dead silence reigned until another man stood up with a clear challenge in his eyes.
"That man was one o' the few friends I got left in this world," Kurt Wagner snarled, his revolvers out before he'd even finished speaking. "An' I ain't gonna let ya kill 'im without sufferin' th'consequences."
Wilson's aim never wavered. "Oh, really? Well then, why don' t you come and- OOF!"
His witticism was cut off rather jarringly as Wagner bolted out of his chair and slammed into Wilson like a battering ram, knocking him to the floor and sending the murderer's weapons flying from his hands. The glittering, scalpel-sharp edge of Wagner's Bowie knife glinted softly as he drew it from its sheath, and a swift backhand loosened several of Wilson's teeth before he pressed the cold metal against the flesh of Wilson's face.
Slowly, deliberately, Kurt Wagner drew his weapon in a diagonal line down the side of Wilson's head, laying open a long, deep cut that immediately blossomed with blood. Wilson writhed in agony as Wagner went about his gruesome vengeance, and only when he'd carved a gruesome injury from Wilson's left ear to the right side of his face did Wagner cease, smiling grimly beneath his mask.
"Now you'll bear a reminder o' what you did fer th'rest o' yer miserable life, an' you'll remember th'life ya took ev'ry time ya glance in a mirror. I ain't gonna kill ya, that'd be too easy; you'll live out yer days wi' that there scar, an' all an' sundry will turn from ya as ya pass 'em by. That's th'only reason I let ya live this day.
Kurt's tone was menacing as he stood once more. "If'n ya think yer man enough t'fight some'un who can hit ya back, an' when ya've grown yerself a spine an' a pair o' balls, come an' find me so's I kin kill ya proper-like. M'name's Kurt Wagner, if'n ya care t'remember it."
Something cold splashed on Wilson's bloodied face as Kurt emptied the contents of his pint upon him, to the hilarity of all present, and his wound burned as the alcohol seeped into it. Kurt stepped over him as casually as if he were a pile of manure, and his tone was mocking as he left with a parting shot.
"Don' show yer face 'round 'ere agin, y'hear? I imagine we'll all know ya when we see ya."
Now...
Deadpool's face burned with pent-up rage as his damaged mind brought him back to the present, and the detonator's plunger was clutched in the mercenary's hand so hard that his knuckles turned white whilstis very pores seemed to ooze menace.
Then one of his scouts leaned over the ledge and shouted, "Here they come, boss! Git ready!"
A twisted, vengeful smile crossed Deadpool's scarred features as he sighed with unholy joy. Then, at the top of his lungs, he called out, "I bin waitin' fer three years fer this, Wagner! Go to hell, ya yella-bellied sonofabitch, an' take the girl with ya!"
The mercenary threw his weight forward, and the plunger descended.
Fifty sticks of dynamite detonated instantly.
The killer was so gleeful at the sight that rewarded him that he almost broke out into a merry jig. The sheer volume of noise from the distant explosion was almost deafening, and the roiling, incandescent fireball that pulverized the adjoining canyon to rubble was so searingly hot that it turned sand into glass. The jagged, heavy boulders rumbled down the slopes in the dozens and scores, each and every one of them heavy enough to squash horse and rider into jelly. The entire canyon wall was instantly turned to rubble through Deadpool's machinations, and the villains squealed with delight as he pictured the debris pulverizing his hated enemy. A cloud of choking dust made eyesight labored and the air harsh to breathe, but visibility was far from Deadpool's mind. Wagner may have been the best, but he was only human. No one could survive something like this.
He smiled grimly to himself as he turned his horse around. "Now we're even, Wagner. An' good riddance, ya bastard."
Moments later, both Deadpool and his companions had vanished like smoke on the wind, and the massive, towering pile of rubble seemed to be all that remained of the once-famous bounty-hunter…
A/N: Brutal cliffhanger, huh? LITERALLY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! And yes, I know this chapter is shorter than usual, but it needed to be written as a prelude to what happens next. And just what will happen next, you ask? Have Kurt and Catherine survived Deadpool's trap? Will Catherine ever reunite with her parents? You'll find out soon enough, because in coming chapters, secrets are revealed while the veil is lifted!
And I'm not just speaking figuratively…
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque
