Chapter 10: T'Challa

T'Challa spent far too long in an argument he should have known he would lose. Ever since he informed his little sister that he was to head to New York for a conference and possible signatory of a new accords, she pestered him nonstop about joining him. T'Challa repeatedly rejected her request, but her constant pressure wore away his stance and he finally caved into her demands.

Now, they sat in the royal air jet, descending into New York. Shuri wouldn't stop fidgeting in her seat, her nerves bundled to the point he feared she would unwind and go crazy if that excitement wasn't released soon.

"Have you been to New York, brother?" Shuri asked, peering out the window in hopes to get a glimpse of land. All anyone could see was clouds.

"Once. When I was younger," he answered. "It's not as… inspiring as our home."

"Of course not," Shuri said, "but I always wanted to see it. The Big Apple!"

T'Challa never understood Shuri's fascination with American culture. The clothes, music, films and even slang, Shuri harbored a strong affection for American culture. His parents were humored, but never curbed her obsession.

The plane began its descent. They were almost there. "Sister-remember," he began. "This is a diplomatic trip. Not a vacation. Do not do anything to embarrass Wakanda."

"You mean you," Shuri bantered. "Relax brother! When have I ever been the embarrassment?"

The plane settled on the runway, riding it up until it came to a permanent stop. T'Challa got up from his seat and ushered his sister to follow. After the brutal deaths of their parents, they only had each other. So, they walked down the ramp together, a united front for the Wakanda royal family.

T'Challa noticed his sister scanning the landscape around them with a puzzled expression. "Where are all the skyscrapers?" she questioned in their native language.

"In the city," T'Challa answered in turn. "This is not actually Manhattan."

And he watched Shuri physically deflate. Even the light in her eyes dimmed upon the horrible realization that they were not in the "Big Apple".

"I thought you said we were going to New York!" she cried.

"We are in New York," T'Challa replied as they walked over to where the Avengers' entourage awaited them. "Remember—behave."

"I always behave," Shuri grunted, pouting over the trickery. Although, T'Challa would not call it a trick. He did command her to not to come on the trip, but she refused to listen.

They approached the small welcome group and T'Challa immediately spotted Captain America. He was out in front, a little cleaner than he last remembered and less melancholy too. The good captain approached first and shook T'Challa's hand like old friends.

"Welcome to America," Steve Rogers, Captain America, said with a smile. "I hope the journey wasn't too much of a hassle for you."

"It was not," T'Challa assured him. "Although, my little sister is disappointed."

Steve turned to Shuri. "You are not impressed, Princess?"

Shuri frowned. "I was told we were coming to New York."

"You are in New York."

"She means the city," T'Challa clarified for the captain.

Steve understood. "The headquarters used to be situated in New York City, but we moved since then. Somewhere bigger for us," he gestured to the suite of buildings around them. "But, the city is not that far away. I'm sure there will be time for you to visit."

Steve led them into the compound. The Dora Milaje followed their king, erect and alert to protect their beloved royal family. The doors parted and they entered a lobby that resembled a sleek, modernized room with glass walls and chic, and white leathered seats. Another door opened and Tony Stark sauntered in, looking every bit the eccentric billionaire he portrayed in the media. Dressed for attention, he wore his signature glasses, hair well-groomed and sporting a dark coat that covered up a T-shirt of some band. He looked exactly like the man everyone described.

"Mr. Stark," T'Challa greeted as they shook hands. "I am told you became a father two nights ago."

"Rumors are true," Tony confirmed with exhausted eyes and a small, proud smile. "I'm a father despite many newspapers' disbelief. It's why I am a bit late. Needed to change a diaper."

T'Challa laughed as he found it hard for a man like Tony Stark to change a diaper. "You have our congratulations."

He and Shuri stepped aside to allow two women to stride up to the king, carrying a rather large object that resembled a rocking horse. "Accept our humble gift," T'Challa presented the box to Stark. "I was informed that Americans celebrate newborns with gifts. Apparently, every American girl dreams of a pony?"

Tony nodded. "Stereotypically, yes, but—"

"I designed it," Shuri boasted with a proud grin. "To incorporate our two countries together, I based the animal on the symbol of Wakanda. It's a panther. I installed a replication of multiple panther sounds depending on the strength of the grip on the handlebars. It moves too rather than frivolously remain put."

"Thank you. That's, um, quite impressive, but… you know she's only two days old, right?" Tony poised the concern to them. "Not two years old."

"Girls mature faster than boys," Shuri smugly replied. "And the gift isn't for her now, dimwit. It's for later."

Tony's eyebrows arched high above his forehead as he glanced from the high-end present to Shuri. "You must be Shuri," he said. "I heard a lot about you."

Shuri narrowed. "You have?"

"Peter told me a bit," Tony responded, but he wasn't looking at Shuri at all. His head turned in every direction, scanning the area. "Speaking of which, where is the kid?"

"Was he supposed to be here?" asked Steve.

"No, but figured he would come nonetheless," Tony remarked, sliding his gaze over at T'Challa's entourage. "Whatever… Your Highness, let's show you and your—"

The same doors Tony walked through opened, followed by a pitter-patter as a teenager ducked into the room, looking a bit ruffled. His eyes flashed up to them. A giant grin splitting his face in recognition of the people in the room.

Peter Parker looked nearly the same as the last time T'Challa saw him. Young, boyish in appearance, but he had some meat on his arms that he didn't have before. His skin a tad darker than last as well, but overall, he was still a skinny, white male. There was a sense of maturity in Peter, one that was missing when he first arrived in Wakanda nearly a year ago.

What T'Challa also noticed was the ring on his finger. Peter hadn't removed it.

Lacking decorum, Shuri ran passed T'Challa to Peter. Before Peter even had the chance to properly greet his former guardian and instructors, Shuri snatched his hand and dragged him behind her as she ran onward. Peter let out a tiny yelp of surprise before he smartly went along with wherever Shuri directed.

T'Challa shook his head. "You'll have to excuse her," he said, sighing as he watched his sister and Peter disappear behind the doors. "That poor boy. Still being dragged around by her."

"I'm guessing they got along well back in Wakanda?" Steve queried.

A little too well, T'Challa remembered, but he only smiled in return. "They are good friends," he answered before turning to Tony Stark. "Now, let me see your palace."

T'Challa lounged in an American, up-scale bar inside the compound. Tony was behind the bar, fixing his drink while Steve and he sat in plush cushions around a small table. He informed Steve of his friend's prognosis. Shuri successfully freed Sergeant Barnes' mind, but the good soldier decided to live on the farm outside the city, wishing for some peace before coming to terms of all the things his other persona had committed.

Steve was relieved to hear of his friend's return, thanking T'Challa for saving his best friend. But, once the relief wore off, the sadness crept into the captain. To have a friend return again only to have him walk away. The captain must live a lonely existence to have so many loved ones be taken from him.

But, the great, Captain America put up a strong front and thanked T'Challa again. "It's about time I start returning those favors to you," he commented. "Whenever you need one, let me know. I'll come."

T'Challa mentally took note of it and Tony Stark joined them. "So, tell me what I may expect in these new accords?"

"Nothing from the previous Accords remains. That has all been scraped," Stark informed him. "The new document gives the individual more freedom. The government doesn't have full control. There is an equal balance between responsibility and fault."

"Such as?"

"No more tracking devices or genetic tests," Tony listed off from memory. "No longer need to reveal legal name. Government can deny your assistance unless it is in regards to world safety and doesn't break any of the human right laws."

T'Challa lifted his drink to his lips. "Interesting," he murmured. "What about you, Captain? What are your thoughts?"

Steve didn't have a drink in his hand. He reclined in his seat, face drawn in a solemn matter. "I have yet to read the whole document," he confessed. "What I have read so far, it doesn't seem to be unreasonable."

T'Challa flipped an eyebrow as he swallowed. "Unreasonable," he repeated. "Yes, I imagine if anything else, you would not be sitting here today."

The corner of the captain's mouth slugged upward. "No, I wouldn't."

A quick siren sound erupted in the middle of the room. T'Challa got onto his feet, searching for any intruders. A voice came from above him, a woman's voice that had no body to be seen. Another one of Stark's AIs.

"Sir?" the embodiment voice said after the alert sounded off. "Everett Ross is coming."

Not even a few seconds passed before T'Challa saw his old friend storm through the double doors. His face was blotched red, eyes like slits and the muscles along his jawline firm. He marched into the room, his glare targeted Tony Stark.

"You asshole," Everett shouted, ignoring the fact there were others in the room. "You went behind my back—again!"

Tony didn't get up from his seat. He merely took stock of Everett's anger with a lazy acceptance. "You're mistaken," he claimed. "I've been in front of you all this time."

T'Challa caught Steve dropping his head in disappointed exasperation.

Everett evenly stared at Tony with breathless indignation. "Don't get cute with me," he snapped. "I told you I would look into Deadpool's activities, but nope. Not good enough for the great Tony Stark. What the hell do you think I do when I leave the compound?"

"I don't doubt your dedication," Tony replied, relaxed. "But you cannot expect me to wait. Not when my own system is as capable as yours to find someone. Maybe even faster."

Everett's stance didn't change. "So, that's how it's going to be? Not working together anymore. You do your thing and we do ours? Is that how's it going to go?"

"Don't sound so upset, Big E," Tony said, finally getting up in his seat to speak face to face with Everett. "We are on the same team. Just… doing different ways in going about it. You are taking the slow way—

"The legal way," Everett corrected him.

"—and I am doing the fast way," Tony finished. "One that will get Deadpool off the streets before he makes another fatal accident."

T'Challa was at a lost. He didn't know if they were discussing about the new Accords or something entirely different. He looked to Steve for guidance, but the captain had his hands over his face, tired of the bickering. It must occur often and based off Everett's anger, too often for his liking.

"Or put more at risk!" Everett threw back at him. "Jesus Christ! How can either of us get anything done if you are willing to keep information from me?"

"I didn't keep information from you," Tony claimed. "I told you about Dr. Stromm."

"Yeah, after you lied to everyone about not going to him."

"If I hadn't we wouldn't have gotten the clue about Deadpool."

"Did you ever think that maybe he was just pulling your strings?" Everett questioned. "That he only said 'Deadpool' to ensure you would go straight into a trap? Get yourself killed? Hm?"

Tony paused for a brief moment. "That… thought did cross my mind, but no. I don't find it to be the case."

Everett huffed, ruffling the back of his head as he finally took the moment to survey his surroundings. That was when he noticed T'Challa. "Your Highness!" he exclaimed, moving over to where T'Challa rose from his seat. "It's good to see you again. I'm glad to find you well."

"Likewise," T'Challa shook his old friend's hand. "Although, you don't seem entirely well-rested."

"Blame him," Everett nudged his head in the direction of Stark. "He's been keeping me up at odd hours of the night."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I did you a favor. I saved us time."

"You did something careless and are simply lucky that you are not dead," Everett retorted. "Deadpool—"

"What is a deadpool?" T'Challa interrupted, tired of being ignorant in such a heated debate.

"A who," Tony corrected. "He's a hired assassin. Killed Peter's parents about a decade ago and may now be hired to kill him too."

Someone sent out an assassin to kill Peter? T'Challa struggled to believe someone wanted Peter dead. Peter was a good, kind boy, who selflessly went out of his way to ensure other people's happiness and good fortune. It seemed impossible that he made anyone angry enough to want dead. Unless it was Thaddeus Ross, who wanted revenge against Peter for ruining his career and reputation.

"Is Secretary Ross behind this assassin?" T'Challa questioned.

Everett shook his head. "Not that we're aware of. We think the assassin was hired by Norman Osborn and his former partner, Dr. Mendel Stromm."

T'Challa's brows crinkled in confusion. "Osborn and Stromm," he repeated the names. He heard of Osborn in brief passing, but nothing of important except that he took over Stark's abandonment of military weaponry manufacture. "What do they have to do with Peter?"

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Everything."

Everett picked up after Tony and gave out more details. "It may appear that Osborn is responsible for Peter's abilities," he informed T'Challa. "And we fear that Osborn may have been involved in the deaths of Peter's parents years ago. Apparently, the Parkers were informants to SHIELD before their deaths. The evidence we have… it looks like foul play."

T'Challa breathed, quickly analyzing the information he received. "So, this… Osborn… he wants Peter dead for what purpose?"

"To shut him up? To study him?" Everett listed off. "We don't know. Not yet anyway."

"Does Peter know about this?"

All three shook their heads. "Peter doesn't know," Steve revealed.

"It's better that he doesn't know," Everett added. "He's been through enough as it is."

After that year of hardship, T'Challa could imagine that the boy deserved some state of peace. "What are your plans to stop this Osborn?"

"So far? Find Deadpool. Get him to confess and point in Osborn's direction," Tony responded first. "Once that's done, we go and arrest him."

Everett scoffed. "No—that's not how that works," he countered. "It'll take more evidence than the word of a nutcase. The Judge won't go for it. We need hard evidence. A recording. A transaction of some sort."

"You mean the exchange of cash only?" Tony said. "Yeah… good luck with that. You see, this is why we do our own separate things. You do your way and I do mine. In the end, I get us results."

Everett streamed out a mutter of curses. "The point, Stark, is that we cannot simply take the guy's word alone," he argued. "It won't be enough and he'll go scot free and so will Osborn. Worse, Osborn will know we are after him and it might make him do something drastic. Which we don't want."

"Yet if we don't do anything then that gives Osborn more chances to continue his plans!" Tony shouted. "He murdered Stromm for god's sake!"

"We don't know that he did it," Everett argued. "Could have been someone else."

"It was him," Tony insisted. "I know it."

"And now you see why we have to have the Accords," Everett bitterly spat in Tony's direction. "You think you are above the law, but you're not! You're being reckless and endangering everyone with that attitude. Particularly Peter."

Everett shook his head, incredulous at the mere discussion. "You know? Forget it. Our partnership is done," he declared, heading back to the door. "I no longer have an obligation to keep you informed."

Tony exaggeratedly spread his arms. "Like you know something I don't."

T'Challa saw a spark in the agent's eyes. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder. "Really? So you also know that Deadpool is back in New York?"

And that got everyone to shoot their heads up. Every pair of eyes went straight to Everett, shock registering on every single face. Including Tony.

It appeared the great Tony Stark didn't know everything.

Tony tried to speak through his stunned state. "W-What?" he said. "He's here?"

Everett innocuously shrugged. "Classified, Mr. Stark," he said. "You will have to read the news in the morning."

Everett grabbed the doorknob, opening the door to leave. Tony sprinted forward, yelling at someone called Friday to stop the agent from leaving. "Wait! Wait… hold up," Tony shouted as he leapt over the last chair to confront Everett.

"Okay… okay," Tony said, blocking Everett. "Maybe we can work something out. Look—I realize I'm not the greatest…um…"

"Team player," Captain America completed.

Tony pointed to Captain America. "That," he said, cringing at accepting the answer. "I'm not exactly a… ask questions first type of guy. I don't wait. I don't… um…"

"Have a lot of patience," Steve filled in again.

Tony snapped his fingers to the captain again. "It's really weird that he knows this much about me, but yes," he said, looking at Everett. "I march into a room and blow it up. It's my way of dealing with things."

T'Challa watched Everett furrow his eyebrows. "That's not a good tactic."

"Yeah, Cap and I already had a debate about that," Tony brushed the comment aside. "Look—point is that you'll need our help. If what Barton said was true about this Deadpool guy, then he's no match for simple agents."

Everett frowned.

Tony exasperated. "You know what I mean," he said. "You need all the help you can get."

Everett's tense shoulders stayed rigid for another minute before they deflated. He shook his head, muttering his disgruntle to himself. "Fine! But you follow my orders. Got it?"

"Whatever you say, Big E."

Everett's face tightened, but chose to not comment. "Be ready at twenty-two hundred hours, okay?" he said, moving around Tony to exit. "Is it going to be you or…" He looked to Captain America to receive his confirmation or declination.

Steve gave a nod of consent. "I'll come along as well."

"And so will I," T'Challa volunteered, shocking everyone in the room again. Tony smiled in appreciation and Everett released a long stream of air, but conceded to the volunteerism. Only Steve was hesitant.

"Your Highness, you don't have to go," Steve gently said. "You have already done so much for us—"

"I'm not doing it for you," T'Challa stated, sweeping onto his feet with an easy grace. "I am doing it for Peter. I owe him a life debt. And if this assassin is threatening him, then I shall stop him."

Black Panther blended in the background of the night. Perched on an old fire escape, he waited for the signal as he kept an eye out for sudden movements. He stayed still, unnoticed, as he watched people amble down the sidewalk, drunk and obnoxious.

East Village of New York City was not impressive. The only splash of color around him came from the grime of lurid graffiti. Cracked, uneven sidewalks pathed around old buildings and embittered trees that grew tall, but without any strength. The street lamps did nothing against the night. Half were broken and all revealed a chipped, grayscale undercoat. It looked nothing of the beauty Wakanda offered and T'Challa remained stumped as ever as to why Shuri was enthralled with it.

Everett reported that Deadpool's digital footprint kept popping up in this vicinity. T'Challa asked of Deadpool's appearance, but Tony only told him to look for a "looney tune". Whatever that meant.

"T'Challa?"

It was Everett. He was stationed in his car, safe and away in case Deadpool went crazy before they could subdue him. Not that it would stop Everett. T'Challa knew Everett planned to jump into the fray the minute he heard commotion. He had to admire that brave man. For being mortal with no defense but an uncivilized weapon, Everett was a brave and foolish man all in one.

"T'Challa? Do you have eyes on him?"

"Negative," T'Challa whispered into his microphone back to Everett. "No movements here."

"Stark?"

"A bit busy at the moment," came Tony's reply.

"Wait… why? Did you find him?"

"No," Tony answered. "I'm simply busy ignoring you."

T'Challa exhaled, dropping his head in a slow shake. Tony Stark, for all the genius he was, lacked tact. The four of them were together on this, lurking outside an underground club with a repulsive stench. According to Everett's report, Deadpool had been seen lingering in the area around this particular club. Don't know why, but T'Challa had a feeling it wasn't for night to go clubbing.

And then, T'Challa heard Steve's voice through their intercom. "Tony? Did you hear that?"

"Yeah," came Tony's response.

Everett's voice crackled. "What is it?"

"Jesus, Big E. Calm down. We'll check it out. Your Highness? Stay in position."

T'Challa affirmed and stayed hidden in the darkness of urban jungle around him. He listened closely, recognizing music, chatter and glass breaking. Then silence. Nothing. Not a sound. T'Challa crept carefully along the fire escape, focused on his sense of hearing and sight.

Then, an utter cry shattered the silence into pieces.

Everett's voice blared in his ear. "What the hell was that?"

T'Challa didn't know, but he leapt from one fire escape to the next, heading to the back alleyway where he believed was the source of the sound. He crawled over the rooftop and peered down. Standing below were two men. One dressed in dark trousers, a dark shirt that showed off his intricate tattoos and a heavy leather jacket. The other was completely dressed from head to toe in red, with black and white eyes so round they nearly cover the entire face.

The Man in Red stared at the other guy, who slumped against the wall, stiff and frozen in agony and shock. The Man in Red whistled. "Ooh… a surprise twist that no one saw coming," he intoned in a mocked gasp. "Except me, of course. I mean, it's obvious that I would live. This is my story. The protagonist always lives."

"And what if it isn't your story?"

T'Challa turned to the mouth of the alleyway and spotted Tony Stark blocking the exit. He had his arms crossed, the heart of his arc reactor glowing bright blue behind his triceps.

The Man in the Red Suit inhaled sharply. "Oh my God! You made it to my show!" he shouted with glee. "Although, I have to tell you, you missed the entire beginning, middle and basically the end except the very end. I'm simply doing an encore right now."

"So hold the applause until the end," The Man in Red said. He spun the gun between his fingers before aiming it right back to the man on the ground. "Now… where was I?"

"Actually, I'm not here for the show," Tony stopped the Man in Red from firing off his gun. "I'm here for another thing."

The Man in Red whipped his head around. His white eyes narrowed. "Oooh! You mean this dude? You're a bit late for that," he quipped. "He's dead. Like dead-dead. Can't' be reversed with magic stones. There is no Avengers sequel for him."

T'Challa bafflingly stared, while Tony outright stated everyone's inner thoughts about the man's rant. "What?"

The Man in Red gestured to the limp guy slugged on the ground. "Him. He's dead."

Tony flickered a glance to the dead guy. "Eh—yeah. I figured. The blood makes it a dead-giveaway," he answered, "but that's not why I am here."

Tony raised his hand and a beam of blue light ignited in his palm. Red and gold swallowed his body, starting from his chest and ending at his feet and fingers. Once his famous Iron Man mask closed on his face, the beam of light shot out and straight to the Man in Red.

The Man in Red dodged the repulsor blast, cartwheeling to the left. "Oooh….foreplay!" The Man in Red said and tossed his gun aside. He unsheathed his two katanas. "Let's go get our fuck on!"

The two clashed, repulsor blasts firing in every direction the Man in Red danced to. His katanas spun easily in his hand, cutting around the blasts in attempts to break Iron Man's suit. But Stark's suit endured the katanas' brute strength against the steel.

"Oooh… you're hard," the Man in Red cooed. He patted his balls. "Me too!"

T'Challa overheard Tony's disgusted noise. "Hey—I know I said I'm not a team player," he said through their bluetooths, "but some help over here will be nice."

Call to duty. T'Challa jumped on top of the railing, preparing to launch his own attack when Agent Ross sprinted around the corner, gun raised.

"Freeze, Deadpool! CIA!" Everett shouted, but the Man in Red didn't comply with his demand.

So, Everett fired.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

T'Challa watched the mercenary slice the bullets away from him, deflecting each bullet in a technique T'Challa never witnessed. Not a single bullet Everett fired touched him. Littered by the Man in Red's feet were fragments of bullets, cut into bitty pieces.

Everett stopped firing and stared at the impressive deflection. Tony Stark was right. This man was no ordinary human. Was he enhanced as well? Must be.

The Man in Red sheathed his two katanas. "If this is a party," he drawled, "then I'm bringing out the big guns."

He whipped out two guns, one for each hand, and fired. T'Challa forewent his position and dropped down. He lunged at Everett, shoving his friend and himself behind a dumpster as bullets ricocheted. Everett held his gun firm and fired from behind the dumpster, but his bullets seemed to miss Deadpool.

"Wow! And you call yourself a CIA agent," the villain quipped. "My blind roommate can shoot better than you!"

Everett scowled at the insult, but said nothing as Deadpool fired off another round. "You should know something about me," Deadpool said during a brief moment of silence. "I hate surprises!"

Bullets fired overhead. Chunks of brick bursted from the walls, showering down on him and Everett. "Stay here," T'Challa ordered and he leapt over their hideaway, scaling the side of the building. Bullets trailed after him, but never hit the mark. T'Challa moved quickly and he leapt from the wall to the fire escape.

Deadpool whistled low, impressed. "You're like a fucking panther!"

How observant, T'Challa remarked to himself as he jumped from the fire escape and gave a brutal kick to the mercenary. Deadpool rolled with the kick and swung his gun around, firing straight at T'Challa's chest. The bullet collided into his habit, but it didn't go through. The vibration was absorbed and he used the energy to power-punch Deadpool. The mercenary flew off his feet, tumbling into a small somersault before he jumped back into action. He tossed his guns aside, and pulled out his katana again.

"Guess we have to do it old school style," Deadpool muttered. "Back to the 2000s. To think I believed the change in the timelines changed all that."

His comments left T'Challa baffled, which might be a tactic of the mercenary as Deadpool charged at that moment. The katana spun at him in a mesmerizing impression. T'Challa brought out his claws and swiped at the sword, hearing the metal screech as he deflected the swords away from his neck. Deadpool chuckled. "And the claws are finally out," he squealed in delight. "I love pussycats!"

Deadpool spun up in the air, legs separated as if to wrap them around T'Challa's neck. T'Challa rolled off, dodging Deadpool's attempt to incapacitate him.

Deadpool twirled his katana again and attacked. T'Challa saw something in the corner of his eye fly straight at Deadpool's leg. It struck the mercenary and shot up a lightning bolt that made his costume glow purple. Then a shield came flying from nowhere, striking Deadpool dead in the chest. Deadpool fell backwards and Iron Man flared down beside him. He blasted the katana out of Deadpool's hand before he trapped him with a pair of magnetic handcuffs, keeping him in a bind.

"Now, stay down," Tony ordered as his helmet fell back to reveal a biting scowl.

Captain America reappeared, a shield in his hand. He took a moment to study their captured opponent, determining how dangerous the individual was even subdued. Everett Ross also joined the group, gun aimed at Deadpool as a precaution.

Tony looked across to Everett. "You hurt?"

"Well, I do have a kink in my neck," piped Deadpool. "And my chest is a bit sore."

"Not you," Tony growled as he flickered a glance to Deadpool before he looked back to Agent Ross for an answer.

Everett nodded, confirming that he was uninjured in the attack. "I'm fine. Not a scratch."

"Well, if I wanted you dead—"

"If I were you," Steve intercepted the man's sentence, "I would be quiet."

Deadpool paused. "Okay—are you mad that I'm a cooler superhero than you?" he asked, swinging his head to Stark and Rogers. "I admit, I don't really see myself as a superhero. More like... a kick-ass, lovable dofus who plays with knives and guns. But, if you want to label me as a hero—"

"You're not a hero," Tony rebuked.

"No? But I kick ass. I kill bad guys. Hell—isn't that the criteria for a hero?"

No one responded. Was he deranged?

Deadpool kept rambling. "Is this some sort of hazing?" he questioned. "Did I make the team? What about an Avenger name? Because I kind of like the one I have now. Oh—wait—what do you think of my action pose?"

Deadpool twisted his body into a ludicrous pose that T'Challa cringed upon sight. He couldn't see Deadpool's face, but he heard the twisted, crazed smile when Deadpool spoke. "You like?"

"Shut up," Stark snapped. "You have a lot to answer for."

"Oh... this will be good. We've come to the big reveal scene," Deadpool rumbled. "Very well, entertain me!" He popped a squat in the middle the alleyway, head in his cuffed hands as he waited for the list of evidence against him.

It only aggravated Tony and Everett even more. Eventually, Everett read the deranged man his rights. "You are under arrest for terrorism and for the murder of eighty-one individuals. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will—"

"HOLD IT!" Deadpool popped his head up, hands out in front. "Wait. Rewind a bit. There. Right there! Now... what's this about terrorism and murdering eighty-one people?"

"Oh, don't play cute with us. We aren't buying it," Tony rebutted. "We know what you are. Barton told us all about you."

"Agent Barton, eh?" Deadpool dangerously purred. "That little Legolas still fucking about? How's he doing? The last time I saw him, he swore to cut off my balls. But, that's in the past. I send him fruit baskets every Christmas, Valentine's Day and President Day. Although, I'm a bit disappointed I never got one in return. You think after that adventure we had together—"

"You know," Steve said, switching his shield to the next hand, "you talk a lot."

"Really? Because my therapist says I need to talk more. Specifically about my feelings."

"We don't give a damn about your therapy!" Tony Stark bit, his nostrils flaring. He jabbed a gloved finger at Deadpool's face. "You are nothing more than a killer."

"I prefer mercenary."

"Don't get wise with me," Tony sneered. "Dr. Stromm blamed you for the deaths of everyone."

Deadpool said nothing for a long minute. "Wait... was that it? Sorry, I'm waiting for more background information here," he said. "I thought there was going to be more." He turned to T'Challa. "Did you think he had more to say? I'm not crazy right? You see! You thought so too!"

T'Challa flipped an eyebrow up as he shared a glimpse with Steve.

Everett huffed, finger still on the trigger. "You can't remember bringing down a plane full of innocent people?"

"Uh... that would be an obvious negative," Deadpool commented. "But, mostly because I didn't do it."

"That's a lie!" yelled Tony.

Deadpool hummed, pulling out his wrists a bit. "As much as I love to receive recognition and praise for my artistic skills," he said, dropping his head to one shoulder. "You aren't doing that at all. Try again."

"Excuse me?" Tony glared.

"What? I appreciate compliments, but only if it's my work," Deadpool said, tugging on his handcuffs. "I'm not about taking another's credit. There's such a thing called 'honor'. I live by it."

Tony rolled his eyes. Everett's brow flipped up in a doubtful arch. Steve slowly sighed exasperatedly. And T'Challa stared at Deadpool, trying to crack the cipher behind the man's words. "Are you saying... you did not blow up a plane?"

"Finally! Someone who speaks my language!" Deadpool cried out. "Yes! I might be a professional asshole, but I'm not a dick. I don't go around killing anyone for kicks and giggles."

"For money only, right?" Steve countered, still disgusted.

Deadpool nodded. "Yeah, well, of course money! What's the point in killing if you don't get paid? Then again, I don't always take the hits. I do have a code of honor," he claimed. "One—I don't kill people who aren't guilty. Second—the whole plane crashing... that's too cliché man. Way too... I don't know. It's sloppy."

"Murdering a hundred people and you think that's... wow," Everett muttered, disbelief. "You're not exactly sane, are you?"

"Would you be?" Deadpool threw back, tugging on the handcuffs again. "Hell—in my world, I'm very sane."

Another round of quizzical glances passed between them. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay—I'm done with this meaningless chit-chat," he announced, stepping up to Deadpool. "I wanna know who this wise-cracking asshole is."

Deadpool pulled away from Tony's outstretched hand. "Whoa… before you carry out the big unmasking moment," he warned, "I want you to know that it's not pretty. It looks like Wolverine when he's playing Hugh Jackman, but crossed with a combined after-shots of the Proactive acne commercials."

Again, no one said anything. All remained in stumped silence. Deadpool, however, nodded along. "I know. It wouldn't be bad if it was… say… Ryan Reynolds' face, but nope. Wasn't blessed with God's perfect idiot's face. Guess I won't win this year's Sexist Man Alive."

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Big E? Please just throw this guy in the deepest pit on Earth."

Everett, for once, did not mind to follow Tony's commands. "Gladly," he uttered, going over to hoist the crazed man up.

But Deadpool surprised them all. He leapt onto his own two feet. "I object! No body, no crime!"

"There's a body over there," T'Challa pointed to the dead man still slumped against the building.

Deadpool looked back to him. "Him? Oh. Didn't know we were counting him in the charges," he admitted. "In my defense, that guy was a dick."

"That's not a defense," Steve called out.

"Yeah it is. The world doesn't need any more dicks."

"Doesn't matter," Tony interrupted the madman's rant. "You are still going to rot for the rest of your life."

"For a crime I didn't commit?" Deadpool raised in doubt. "Look—I know you guys are the Avengers and everything. The big, blockbuster heroes, where everyone's name has to be either Chris, Tom or Peter, but I'm going to let you in on a dirty secret of mine… I didn't fucking crash a plane!"

"Sorry if I don't believe in a deranged lunatic," Tony said. "Especially when all the evidence points to you."

"What evidence?" Deadpool complained. "You basically said one man named me. And, honestly, he was probably just fucking with you."

"A dying man, who was poisoned, would fuck with me on something like that?" Tony challenged.

Deadpool's head furiously nodded. "Of course! That's perfect! Like the greatest mic drop ever! That's a good line. I think I may borrow it," he commented. "All I know is that I didn't destroy a plane. Not my style. That's like… lazy writing. What? Could they not come up with another way to kill someone off? A plane crash? I guess it has a bit more flair than a simple car crash."

"Is everything a joke to you?" T'Challa asked, repulsed by the man's lack of decorum on the subject of terrorism and death.

"Well, I prefer it over to screaming," Deadpool said. "Which is what I always hear in my mind."

"The screams of the people you killed?" Tony raised a brow. "How odd."

"I didn't kill those people!" Deadpool slammed. "I was set up! Someone is tarnishing my good name and reputation!"

"And you had a good reputation to begin with?" questioned Everett. "I find that far more unbelievable than you claiming you didn't crash the plane."

"Well, as cute and adorable you're little hedgehog face is," Deadpool chimed to the agent, "I will beat sense into it. I did not kill those people. Again—why a plane crash? Such a waste. Could have made it more intriguing."

Everett's face glowed a deep maroon color. "More intriguing? Are you… are you fucking serious?" he said, stunned. "These people died! A boy lost his parents because of that crash and you—"

T'Challa pulled Everett back from the mercenary. His old friend was letting the anger getting the better of him. "Easy, Agent Ross," he advised. "Breathe."

Everett took a deep breath, but the pinched ferocity of his gaze didn't soften.

Deadpool tilted his head, assessing what Everett told him. "A boy... a boy eh?" he muttered. "This doesn't involve that Spidey boy, right? Oh my god! It does! You're talking about little, bitty Petey Parker!"

And right there everyone's muscles tightened, ready for action. Tony's suit whirled. Steve raised his shield. Everett's grip on his gun tightened. T'Challa's claws stabbed out of his habit.

But all their subtle actions only got the mercenary into a frenzy. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! It is. So… the itsy, bitsy spider lost his parents through his plane crash, eh? And this crazed doctor blames me," he listed off on his fingers. Then, he clapped excitedly with the little room he had available. "I'll take it!"

Again, they all shared confounded glances with one another. "What is the insane man muttering on about?" Everett said. "We didn't offer you anything."

"Sure you did!" Deadpool claimed. "You want me to find the true culprit of the person who killed little, baby Spidey's parents. I accept! For payment, I take cash. No checks. No direct deposits. Cash only."

"We're not hiring you!" Tony shouted. "We're arresting you!"

T'Challa cautiously watched the mercenary pace a bit in front of him. Deadpool bluntly ignored him. "Now you said a Dr. Stromm told you I killed them. That's a start," he said. "Anything else? No? Well, I have had less to work off. But, give me a week, and I'll have something for you guys."

A vein in Tony's forehead bulge. "Do you not hear us?" he yelled over the man's ramblings. "We're arresting you for those murder!"

"Can't," Deadpool sung. "The game's a foot, Sherlock!"

Steve sighed in weariness of the mercenary's antics. "Ignore him," he advised everyone. "He's a bit mad. Let's just take him to the compound. We'll question him once he… calms down?"

They agreed and Everett moved around T'Challa to drag Deadpool back to their van. But, Deadpool danced out of Everett's hand, skipping from one part of the alley to the next. "Sorry, little man," he quipped. "Can't club with you all night. Got a mystery to solve!"

"You're handcuffed," T'Challa pointed to the man as Everett lunged again at Deadpool. "You're not going anywhere."

Deadpool looked at his locked hands. "Oh? That's an easy fix!"

Deadpool stopped moving. He sucked in a deep breath and tugged his wrists against the handcuffs. T'Challa rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to slip his hands out of the cuffs. It was impossible to break. Designed to keep even an enhanced human from breaking out. No way a simple mercenary (albeit, crazy!) could break from them.

But, Deadpool kept trying. His skin stretched more and more. T'Challa thought he heard something tearing. Stich by stich, something ripped apart and his guts cringed as the sound grew louder. Feet shuffled, shadows mingling together as Tony and Steve joined T'Challa and Everett.

Steve's voice spoke to T'Challa's left. "Is he… he isn't…"

And then Deadpool gave one last strong tug. Hands flew up in the air in victory. Blood squirted in arching rivers from the open wounds of Deadpool's stumped arms. The handcuffs dropped to the ground, drenched in blood. T'Challa stared, dumbfounded at the ripped hands and then back to Deadpool.

The mercenary was free and didn't even seem to care that he just ripped his hands off his arms. "See? Easy!" he boldly stated. "Now… I gotta go! I have the scent and can't let it escape now!"

Deadpool howled and before anyone could overcome what they witnessed, he leapt over them, jumping up from the fire escape to the next until he disappeared up on the rooftops. But, his voice carried back down to them.

"Thanks for letting me join the team!" Deadpool's voice cried in the night. "Remember—cash only!"

No one did anything. They remained motionless. Either staring where they last saw Deadpool or his decapitated hands. The stunned silence stretched onward, blood flowing between the cracks of sidewalk, feeding the soil underneath them.

T'Challa had seen a lot of things, but never had he witnessed a man yank a limb off himself. He inhaled and exhaled in stuttered breaths. "Did he just… rip his hands off?" he asked, double-checking that he himself didn't catch Deadpool's insanity.

Tony stared at the dismembered hands in quiet shock, but nodded to T'Challa inquiry. "Yep."

"Should we go after him?" Steve asked, eyes up to the roofs.

Tony shrugged. "To be honest, I rather not go near him at the moment," he confessed and turned to Agent Ross. "I'll let you handle this, Big E."

Agent Ross narrowed his glare at Tony. "Gee… thanks," he grumbled, scratching the back of his head. "What the fuck is going on around here?"

"I don't know," T'Challa answered. "Do you think he's telling the truth? About not killing Peter's parents?"

A question that hung over them in troubling doubt. If they took Deadpool's word that he didn't kill Peter's parents, then who was this doctor referring to when he confessed on his deathbed?

Tony didn't care at the moment. He flipped his mask back over his face. "I'm going to head back to the compound," he announced. "Need to up the security. I have a bad feeling that Deadpool may go after Peter."

"I'll report back to headquarters," Everett said, pulling out his phone. "Keep Deadpool as a top priority."

"Good," Tony said. "Cap? Go back with Everett. Make sure he gets back safely. Your Highness? You're coming with me."

T'Challa didn't argue. If Deadpool went for Peter, then he went for Shuri too as she was with him. He hitched a ride with Tony and flew over the city, back to the compound. Back to checking in on Peter and Shuri while trying to analyze and comprehend everything that occurred tonight.

T'Challa must agree with Everett's assessment. What is going around and why was it connected with young, Peter Parker?