So mild clarification, Deadpool will not be written with yellow and white boxes specifically dialogued, but rather inner thoughts italicized. Feel free to decide which color influenced said thoughts, be creative. enjoy! r&r.
Peter had a plan of action—albeit wildly strung together from nervous, chaotic energy—but a plan, nonetheless.
Spiderman still had his organic webs and one working web-shooter. He would use them to immobilize Deadpool before the merc could get abstract with his weaponry. Next, Peter planned to navigate his way to an exit, windows count as exits, yeah? And then promptly, as MJ would say: blow this popsicle stand.
Despite Dr. Banner's kind and approachable demeanor the night before, Spiderman was still not a fan of his uninvolved involvement with his SHIELD detainment. Stark's rapid, choleric appearance and disappearance spoke volumes to Peter. Black Widow and Hawkeye had stood in the shadows, waiting for Spiderman to provide resistance, this didn't exactly comfort his situation.
No, the vigilante was not a very big fan of the Avengers at the moment or frankly of SHIELD. Spiderman had his priorities, dodge Deadpool, avoid the Avengers, and make it to his own birthday party. Simple enough. Plus, MJ said she had a surprise for him, which debatably is synchronously good and bad.
The mercenary was roughly a meter from Spiderman's glued frame pressed against the wall. Still recoiling from the uncomfortable staredown, Peter snapped in and annoyance at the situation. Enough of being pushed around by scare tactics and rude commentary. I can handle this type of crazy.
Maintaining the intensity of the Deadpool's glare, Spiderman put his plan in motion. He started by distracting the leering dark orbs. "I might know you, that doesn't mean I have to like you," Peter spat in disgust. He squared his shoulders to solidify his confidence.
Deadpool clutched his chest in fake dramatics. "Ouch, that hurts! You got me right in the cardiovascular Spidey."
Clasping his gloved red hands in excitement, the merc rolled on. "Now, now, I'd hate to tear up that tight little costume," sparing the figure quick one over, "I mean it doesn't leave much to the imagination. So why don't you be a good Spider and come without causing a scene? Hell only knows how insane Stark's security was to get to you, but what can I say? Money is an enticing motivator." The mercenary grinned happily.
Ignoring the lewd commentary, Spiderman pushed on with distracting the towering figure.
"Who's paying you to kill me?" A tentative voice played mouse as his fingers flittered over his web-shooter. Spiderman's recent activities in the so-called hero world was bound to attract attention sooner or later.
"Unaliving? Oh no, darling. They want the flesh and blood Spiderman," pausing as if in pensive thought, the Merc continued. Peter felt goosebumps raise in alarm at the idea that he is worth more alive than dead. It terrified him.
"I know, I know what you're thinking," raising his hands in mock defeat, "it's weird for me too. Personally, not my style, but I can make sacrifices, especially for you baby boy." The merc vowed with a plastered smile under his mask.
"E-excuse me?" Peter was stuttered in confusion. Deadpool never left a mark alive. Ever. Well, at least he's not planning on killing me.
The red and black mask plowed over the question. "Although it seems you've already got yourself a little tied up with you Avenger friends. Don't get me wrong Spidey, I've thought of plenty of creative ideas to keep you on the straight and narrow web until the delivery. Mmm, some more entertaining than others I might add," the dark eyes smirked with delight.
"Right." Enough of this nonsense. Show no fear towards him. He vibes off of fear. Okay, okay. Deep breath, I can do this.
Deadpool tilted his head while analyzing Spiderman's curt manner of speaking before starting to talk to himself again. "I don't know guys…maybe a spider got his tongue? I could check, but I'm really not fond of his relatives. Like, at all. They're all small, hairy, multiple eyed freaks. You don't have more eyes do yah Spides? You know White, that's a good idea. I could just take his mask off and see who the real Spidey is, then there would be no case of mistaken identities. Maybe he does have boxes of his own? Didn't peg him as the type. Strange, I was sure he'd sing like a canary when I came to rescue him from this hell hole…You know Webs, I heard rumors you'd be more talkative in pers—"
Before Deadpool finished his sentence, Spiderman nimbly flicked his right web-shooter in calculated movements, first towards the Merc's torso. Peter adeptly stuck the Merc's arms and legs together while also layering his artillery belt with webbing. Simultaneously, he used his left wrist spinnerets and aimed at the Merc's face, releasing a flurry of uncoordinated web. Sometimes silly string is better than nothing.
The vigilante was immensely glad for the food Dr. Banner provided the night before, without the nourishment he would struggle to produce durable and silk-like webbing while recovering from his injuries. He succeeded in cocooning the red and black figure to the ground with a sticky web coat. Deadpool wormed back and forth attempting to loosen the silk web to little avail.
Finally, Peter listened to his now vibrating senses. Smoke burned his nasal cavity and coated his tongue as he swallowed trying to clear the bitter, lingering taste. His hearing had returned in full, and sight had adjusted to the dim red lighting. No double vision or cotton balls in his ears.
He was finally starting to feel back to normal after the hits from yesterday. Peter's neck pulsated in warning; his sense-heightened adrenaline continued to warn him of Deadpool's presence.
Sidestepping the now very sticky, tied up Merc, Spiderman hastily climbed on top of the surrounding mound of debris, rather ungracefully considering its instability. His calf injury throbbed with the unexpected exertion. The vigilante ignored the muffled mumblings escaping the mercenary's webbed mouth.
Although some scraps of drywall and splintered wood flittered to the ground under Peter's weight, he lithely jumped to grab the edge of the caved-in ceiling. With a huff of effort, Spiderman pulled himself through the damaged hole in the ceiling.
Not for the first time, Spiderman was immensely grateful for his healing factor. His bruised torso still twinged with effort, but no longer radiated with pain from Black Widow's hits. The repulsor burn was warm but no longer raw and pulsating.
Pausing orient his direction before fully making his escape, Spiderman stuck his head over the hole. He glowered in abhorrence at the figure below.
He was given more questions than answers. Attacked with more insinuating content than Peter thought possible for one conversation. And threatened as a mark by the infamous Deadpool himself.
In a fury of confidence, Spiderman cleared his throat and steeled his voice. Peter caught Deadpool's vehement gaze from behind the flurry of web plastered over his mask and limbs.
"I'm not a job, asshole."