"You worry me, Spidey," said Wade into the phone, "You don't call, you don't pick up… I'm not in New York that often, you know!"

"I understand," said Spider-Man, crouched beside his backpack with the phone to his ear, "You just caught me at a bad time is all."

"Why's that?"

"I was rounding up some of the Dogs of Hell," said Spider-Man, looking over his shoulder to the dozen bikers hanging upside down in a giant spider web, "I don't exactly keep my phone on me when I'm doing stuff like this. I'll try to call more often though."

"Thank you," said Wade, "Now, as I was saying, I'm in New York for the weekend, you know one of those assassination assignmments, so I figured maybe we could meet up tonight? Maybe after your patrol?"

"Probably," said Spider-Man, "I guess it depends on how rough the night is for me."

"Fair enough," said Wade, "Text me and let me know."

"Sure thi-" began Spider-Man, "Shoot. It's the Punisher. I've got to take care of this."

"The Punisher!?" cried out Wade, unfamiliar with how well Spider-Man knew the Punisher, "Spidey, is everything okay?"

No answer. He had hung up. Or worse.

"That monster!" roared Wade in a rage, chucking his phone at the wall so hard it broke, "I have to help Spidey!"

There were only so many places in the city where the Dogs of Hell operated. Wade resolved to check all of them to find and save Spider-Man. He powered up his teleportation harness and disappeared in a flash of red light.

Meanwhile, Spider-Man had just successfully convinced the Punisher not to murder the captive Dogs of Hell.

"They still deserve it," grumbled Frank.

"Maybe," sighed Spider-Man, "but now's not the time."

"Fine," sighed Frank, "You have my word. I won't kill them unless I get wind they're free again."

"That's… progress," said Spider-Man, "Hey, I've got to call my friend back real quick. Can you watch these guys while I do?"

"Sure."

"No murdering, alright?"

"Sure."

"Promise?"

Frank sighed.

"Promise."

Spider-Man ducked around the corner of the biker bar to make his call back to Deadpool. He had hung up rather suddenly and wanted to assure him that he was alright. Not long after Spider-Man had walked off, Frank shielded his eyes from a sudden flash of red light.

"You!" declared Deadpool, drawing a sidearm and pointing it at Frank, "What have you done with Spider-Man!?"

"Who are you supposed to be?" asked Frank confusedly, looking the man in red spandex up and down.

"You worst nightmare," said the man ominously, "Now, ignore the cliché nature of what I just said and tell me where Spider-Man is!"

"He just left to talk to somebody on the phone."

"Liar!" barked the man, stepping closer, "He wasn't picking up his phone!"

"Then I don't know."

"A likely story."

"Are you quite done?" asked Frank, out of patience.

"No more games!"

The man opened fire into Frank's chest. Thankfully Frank's signature skull-adorned tactical vest was bulletproof. The repeated bullets to the chest didn't kill him, but they did knock him over. Frank responded to the lethal force in kind, drawing his own gun and firing it into the man's chest until he fell to the ground.

"Frank?" said Micro in Frank's earpiece, "What the hell was that?"

"Don't know," said Frank, "Some weirdo in a red spandex suit. He's taken care of now."

Frank turned around to ask Spider-Man about his connection to this man. He barely got three steps before the lifeless body sprang to life and leapt onto Frank's back from behind, clutching tightly.

"How did you-?"

"Let's find a quieter place to talk!" exclaimed the still-living man, after which both of them disappeared in a bright red flash.

"Frank!" called Spider-Man, running back around the corner, "I heard gunfire! What… Frank?"

"Frank!?" called Micro into the radio, "Frank, come on, talk to me! What is it?"

There was a lengthy static crackle. Concerned, Micro immediately began tracking Frank using the radio. So long as they maintained a connection, he could find out exactly where they were. He began tracing the signal when the radio crackled again and a voice began coming out of it.

"Worry not, citizen," assured the voice from the other end of the call, "I, Deadpool, have apprehended the Punisher and will be interrogating him for everything he knows shortly. I'm sure you're not helping him willingly. When he tells me where he's keeping you, I'll come and get you. You won't have to do this madman's bidding ever again. And don't worry, I'll destroy this earpiece so it can't be traced."

"No, wait-!" called out Micro, but the feed had already been cut short. The trace failed.

Micro began furiously typing away to see if he could find anything that could help. Deadpool was a freelance mercenary as far as he could tell. What in the world was he talking about? How was he supposed to find Frank?

"Micro," asked Karen, wandering into the room, "Is everything okay?"

"No," said Micro, starting to panic, "No, no it isn't."

"What's happening?"

"A mercenary kidnapped Frank!" exclaimed Micro, grabbing the gun he kept under the desk.

"Slow down," said Karen calmly, "What else do we know?"

"His name is Deadpool," explained Micro, frantically gathering supplies out of a locker, "He's survived getting shot by Frank and he started babbling absolute nonsense when I-"

"Wait," said Karen, "Deadpool?"

"Yeah?"

Karen rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone.

"What, you know him?"

"No, but Peter does. Long story."

"Well, well, well…" mused Wade, pacing back and forth in front of Frank, "The big, bad Punisher…"

"RRMPH!" growled Frank.

Frank was sitting in a kitchen chair, his wrists bound behind it and either of his elbows tied tightly to the back of the chair. His ankles were likewise tied down at the base of the legs. Wade had also shoved a black bandana into Frank's mouth and kept it there with multiple rolls of duct tape around his head. To put it lightly, Frank was furious.

Wade had teleported them to what looked to be a garage. Frank must have broken a dozen of Wade's bones and stabbed him as many times, but Wade always healed. He eventually wore Frank down and knocked him out with a choke hold. Frank awoke to this.

"Now tell me," began Wade ominously, "What have you done with Spider-Man!?"

Frank stared blankly back at Deadpool.

"Oh," realized Wade, "Right."

Deadpool proceeded to tear off the duct tape, peeling it off layer after layer until he finally tore it away, giving Frank the chance to spit out the black bandana.

"He's back where you found me," said Frank, trying to keep an even temper.

"A likely story…"

"It's true! Call him!"

"Joke's on you, I broke my phone!"

"Use mine. I can tell you his number."

"Like I'd believe it coming from YOU!"

"What!?"

"Listen here, buddy!" spat Wade angrily, "I'm not playing around! Spider-Man and I are real close!"

"Right."

"He's an idol to me," continued Wade, "We've fought side by side. He gave me a blowjob. We did anal. We thought about 69ing but then we realized-"

"What in God's name is wrong with you?" asked Frank earnestly.

"Alright," said Wade angrily, picking the bandana off the ground, "No more Mr. Nice Guy!"

Wade shoved the bandana back into Frank's mouth. Wade paused and considered for a moment. Then he pulled several more bandanas out of a utility pouch and shoved them all into Frank's mouth one by one, forcing them in as Frank tried to force them out. Then Wade pulled a rope out of the pouch and tied it tightly through Frank's mouth, holding the bandana in. Wade made sure to wrap the rope around Frank's head multiple times, tightening it until there was no chance the bandanas were coming out.

For extra measure, Wade walked behind Frank and took the remaining rope around Frank's head and yanked it down toward Frank's wrists, forcing Frank's head back. Wade tied the rope to his wrists, connecting his wrists to the rope in his mouth and pulling it even tighter. It hurt. Frank was no stranger to pain, but the unfamiliar strain in his jaw and the humiliation of having his mouth stuffed by this goddamned clown, combined with the rope biting into and pulling his lips back… he would much rather have been beaten. A small, irrational part of him thought that at least if he wasn't rescued, no one else would have to see him like this.

"Nrrgh!" growled Frank in protest.

Ignoring Frank, Wade walked over to a nearby table and grabbed some sort of sound system. He pulled a smart device out of his belt and took a few seconds to set it up, while Frank worked on adjusting his strained breathing. Then Wade hooked up the device to the sound system, tested the volume, and finally hit play. "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel began to play.

Oh no… realized Frank.

Frank wasn't a big fan of Tarantino, but he had seen Reservoir Dogs, and he didn't like where this was going. Wade began to sing along and dance while approaching Frank with a knife. Frank had no idea how far this man would go with this reference. Frank could very well lose an ear. He squirmed instinctively against the ropes holding him.

Wade got right up to Frank, now mostly humming the song, and knelt before him. Frank gave him a scowl that would have inspired fear in any sane man, even with him tied up. Wade brandished the knife. Frank's eyes widened. Wade cut Frank's right ankle free. Frank kicked him in the face, feeling a small satisfaction at the sound of crunching cartilage.

"Ah, fuck!" cried Deadpool in a nasally voice, clutching his nose, "Not cool, dude!"

Frank kicked at him again. Wade made another grab for the leg and pinned it down, slowly pulling off Frank's combat boot. Then the black sock underneath it. He then meticulously opened one of his pouches and procured a single white feather from it.

No. Nonononononono, Frank thought, crying out without meaning to. Anything but that.

"Nmph!" This was too much, this was ridiculous! Why couldn't this maniac just slice him up like a normal torturer? He prayed no one else would ever know about this. At least if he died here, he could take it to his grave.

"Stuck in the middle with you-hoo-hoo…" sang Deadpool, firmly holding Frank's leg as Frank fought with renewed fury.

Frank made a jerk to pull it away, but he couldn't get it free. He was too tired from the fight. Still he made two more attempts before the tip of the feather reached the arch of his course foot. Frank's every muscle tensed.

"RPH!" he cried, his eyes bulging, "MPH!"

Frank couldn't remember the last time someone had dared to tickle him. Maria and some of his close friends had known, but-

"MMMGH!" Frank convulsed like he was being electrified.

"I knew it!" declared Wade, "I knew you were ticklish!"

He continued brushing the feather up and down the bottom of Frank's foot. Frank's cries began to come through in spurts of laughter, all muffled by the bandanas tied into his mouth. His leg tensed up more and more, but Wade kept his hold and kept on tickling. Eventually Frank's spurts of laughter became screams into the bandana. His wide open eyes began to slowly tear up as his face turned red. The sensation was too much. He could feel the strain in his every nerve. He couldn't remember ever being more humiliated. Then the song ended.

"Rmmmph…" muttered Frank, finally breathing out a sigh of relief among strained, rapid breaths, his cheeks stained with tears. Why couldn't he have just cut off Frank's ear like a decent human being?

"Drat," cursed Wade, "Song's over. Don't worry though, I have many more torture methods to explore!"

Frank glared at Deadpool with more intensity than he had ever stared at anyone before. He was starting to sweat. His face was still flushed. He was breathing heavily. He hated the idea that this joke of a person had this much power over him.

"Alright!" chirped Wade, "Now just let me go get my blowtorch!"

Someone in the back of Frank's mind, he was faintly aware of that small irrational voice saying "Thank God."

"This is absurd," said Jessica.

"We know," said Karen.

"But also Frank might really be in trouble," said Peter.

"We know!" shouted Micro.

Peter, Jessica, Karen, and Micro had gathered in the living area of Frank and Micro's bunker. Karen sat on one chair while Peter and Jessica sat on the couch beside it. Micro was nervously pacing all around the room.

"Can't you call him and explain or something?" asked Karen.

"I've tried to call," said Peter, "but I keep getting a message saying it's unavailable."

"Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"No."

"Is there anything you know that will help us?" Micro snapped.

"Hey!" yelled Jessica.

"Sorry," said Micro, turning away uncomfortably.

"I know he teleports with a harness," explained Peter, "Like, it's not a power of his. It's tech."

"Wait!" said Micro, freezing, "is it a two-directional teleportation grid or can he be more precise?"

"He can be pretty precise."

"That's good," nodded Micro, "That tech hit the black market not long ago. Very expensive stuff. Anything that powerful must give off a specific energy signature. Let me see what the Roxxon satellite can tell us."

"I didn't know Roxxon made their satellite photos public," said Jessica.

"They don't," said Micro smugly, rushing over to his computer.

"What's his deal?" asked Jessica once Micro was out of earshot.

"He always gets like this when Frank's in danger," said Karen.

"So… are they actually dating now?" asked Peter.

"No," sighed Karen.

"Seriously?" said Peter.

"Let's back this up from the soap opera and back to the issue at hand," suggested Jessica, "Frank is still in danger, remember."

"Guys!" called Micro from the other side of the room, "Check this out!"

They walked over and took a look at Micro's computer monitor. It showed a topographical map of the city with varying colors to represent heat signature. Micro pointed his finger to three different points with abnormal colors.

"I'm seeing the weird heat signature I mentioned here, here, and here," he explained.

Micro pulled up three more windows on his monitor.

"Empire State University, Fuego, and a private residence in Brooklyn," he explained.

"Fuego?"

"Pretty good Mexican place," said Peter.

"Any idea who the private residence belongs to?" asked Jessica.

Micro pulled up another window.

"Someone named… Blind Ali?" read Micro aloud, uncertain.

Peter sighed. They all looked over at him.

"Wade uses that as a pseudonym sometimes," he said, "I keep telling him it's weird and he should pick a different one."

"So that's where he is," concluded Karen.

"Alright," said Micro, "Let's go."

"Well, well, well, well, well…" mused Wade, walking across the room, blowtorch in hand. After careful consideration, he had decided the situation was dire enough to move from three 'well's to five.

"We'll have to see just how much pain the big, bad Punisher can endure!"

Frank glared, disheveled and still tightly bound and gagged. This, at least, was a situation he was familiar with, trained for.

Wade opened a small freezer on the ground, procured a wrapped popsicle from it, and returned his attention to Frank. Frank squinted, confused.

"Did you know," said Wade ominously, the blowtorch in one hand and the popsicle in the other, "that when you get burned by a blowtorch it actually feels col- Wait, fuck!"

Wade turned away from Frank. Frank heard the crinkling of the popsicle being opened. Wade then hid the popsicle behind his back and held up the blowtorch.

"-that when you get burned by a blowtorch it feels cold. Like you're being touched with a popsicle."

Frank sighed. He was doing this wrong. Frank wasn't supposed to know about the popsicle. But at least no one was tickling him.

Wade walked confidently around behind Frank, fired the blowtorch into the air, and pressed the cold popsicle against Frank's neck. Frank growled in irritation from the cold sensation.

"You're supposed to think you're being burned," said Wade, annoyed.

Frank sat in silence, the blue popsicle slowing melting down his neck.

"Fine, be that way," scoffed Wade, dropping the popsicle down the back of Frank's shirt.

"Mrmph!" yelped Frank, trying his best to hold it in and arching his back involuntarily.

The popsicle landed at the bottom of Frank's shirt and started to slowly melt into his pants. He grimaced in frustration. Wade stood proudly in front of him now, hands on his hips. Frank wanted to kill him. Frank wanted to kill him so many times.

"Here's a good one!" exclaimed Wade, skipping over to a trunk.

Wade opened the trunk. He pulled out a long, heavy knotted rope.

"Tell me," he whispered, "have you ever seen Casino Royale?"

Frank shook his head.

"Oh," sighed Wade dejectedly, tossing the rope aside, "Then this isn't going to make any sense to you. Nevermind."

"Here we are," said Micro as they approached the house.

"Alright," said Jessica, "From what we know about Wade- Micro!?"

Micro had already run up to the house to go inside. Jessica cursed to herself. They all followed him inside, but had lost him by the time he had barged in through the unlocked door.

"Fuck," sighed Jessica, "Okay, I guess it's divide and conquer."

So they split up. Karen looked through the bedrooms. Peter checked the closets. Jessica checked the basement. Micro had gone straight to the garage. He was the one that found Frank.

"Frank!" he cried out, seeing him tied to the chair from behind, "Frank!"

Frank sat up straight at the sound of Micro's voice. He didn't know what to feel: relieved that Micro had come to save him or shame at the state Micro had found him in. Frank's right boot and sock were missing and bandanas were tied into his mouth with a rope around his head. He had started to drool. Micro set about untying him.

"I should really get this place checked for raccoons," sighed Wade, walking into the garage with a large suitcase in his hands. He dropped it when he saw Micro.

"Who are you!?" demanded Wade, drawing a pistol and pointing it at him.

"Nnhh!" Frank flinched at the sight of David at gunpoint.

Micro instinctively grabbed Frank's shoulders protectively, almost in a hug.

"Come on, Wade!" called Micro, "Cut this out!"

"Hey," realized Wade, "I know that voice. You're the guy that the Punisher forces to be his guy in the chair! Of course based on my comments in Spider-Man & Deadpool: Number One Fan, I should already know that."

"He doesn't force me!" protested Micro.

"It's worse than I thought!" gasped Wade, "Stockholm Syndrome!"

"No, it's not-"

"I'll get you away from him so you can heal!" declared Wade, tackling Micro.

"Oh no," realized Micro as they both disappeared in a flash of red light.

"ERMF!" cried out Frank, turned away and barely able to see what had happened.

Frank began to use his free leg to repeatedly kick the leg of the chair, eventually snapping the wood and causing the whole chair to collapse. Frank freed himself from the chair and used one of the larger splinters to cut his wrists free. Finally, he untied the rope around his head and spat out the bandana, coughing and gasping as drool dripped from his lips.

There was another flash of red light. Wade had returned, but Micro was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he!?" demanded Frank.

"Don't worry," said Wade quietly, "he'll be just fine..."

Frank let out a low growl as he approached Wade. Wade reflexively leapt back just from the eye contact with him.

"No, wait!" pleaded Deadpool, "I meant that literally! Ah!"

Frank tackled him to the ground. Wade pushed back but Frank powered through with a rush of adrenaline and pinned his opponent completely. Frank then began to punch at Wade's face over and over again. He eventually wore himself out, nearly collapsing on top of him.

Deadpool shoved the weakened Frank off of him and pinned him face down next to him.

"Mmmmuaaaah," moaned Deadpool, "Do you have any idea how painful it is to heal skull damage? I've had it with you! Where's Spider-Man!?"

"Wade!" cried Peter as he rushed in, "What are you doing!?"

Jessica and Karen ran in behind him.

"Spidey!" gasped Deadpool, standing up, "You're alive!"

Wade leapt off of Frank and embraced Peter in a bear hug, causing the skinny hero to cough as Wade lifted him into the air briefly before setting him down again.

"Holy shit," grunted Frank, "You two really do know each other…"

"Yup!" smiled Wade, putting his arm around Peter's shoulder and giving a thumbs up, "We really had sex too! Didn't we, Spidey?"

"...we did," answered Peter, wishing to sink deep into the ground, "yes."

"Speaking of which," winked Wade, "You busy tonight, or…?"

"Wade!" yelled Peter angrily.

"Alright, alright, yeesh!" dismissed Wade, "I'm just glad to know you're safe."

"...thanks, Wade."

"See you around!" said Wade, disappearing in a flash of red light.

"I don't know which is more embarrassing," said Jessica, "The fact that Peter slept with Wade or whatever it is Wade did to Frank."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Karen suppressed a giggle.

"You really slept with that weirdo?" Frank asked Peter in concern.

"...yes?"

"Aw, kid..."

"What?"

"Nothing," sighed Frank, "It's just… You can do so much better. There are much nicer men out there than-"

"...guys," said Karen, "Where's Micro?"

On the roof of a building several blocks away Micro walked in angry circles, unable to find a way down but with nothing to do up there. His pacing ceased when he received a text confirming Frank's safety. He let out a long sigh of relief before collapsing onto his butt. Then he realized he still didn't have a way down.

"So things are back to normal?" asked Jessica.

"As long as no one brings the whole thing up," said Karen, "Mostly, yeah."

"So that means…" said Peter.

"Yeah," sighed Karen, "They still haven't told each other."

The three of them looked over to Frank and Micro sitting at the bunker's kitchen table together, smiling and laughing. At one point Frank leaned over and squeezed Micro's shoulder. They smiled at each other.

"Wow," whispered Jessica, "It really is painfully obvious."

"I know, right?" whispered Peter, "Even I notice it!"

"What do you think it'll take to get them to admit it?" asked Jessica.

"Who knows?" said Karen quietly.