Peter only ever had a few driving lessons with his aunt. Most of them didn't end well. His aunt promised he would get better in time and in practice.

So, Peter logged in this time as practice.

The Jeep was less steady than his aunt's Volvo. Any turn Peter made, he thought it would roll and he clung to the steering wheel for safety. Not that it would do any good if it did flip.

His next concern were woodland creatures. He heard stories of deer jumping right in front of cars and total cars of all shapes and sizes. Peter's eyes kept zigzagging, looking right, left, right, and left, all in anticipation of a deer leaping out of a bush.

He only relaxed when he hit the asphalt road. Dr. Banner said to head east. Peter made a sharp right turn and he swore, two of the tires were off the ground. He kept his arms straight and steady, but it was futile as the wheels kept sliding around his lane like a drunk driver. Luckily, the road laid empty for him. No other cars were in sight.

Peter wondered if that was a good or bad thing. He hoped the lack of traffic was due to being far too early in the morning for any sane person to be awake. Realistically, he dreaded the idea it was because Mr. Stark set up roadblocks and patrols out. He's seen The Fugitive. He knew the basic protocols for escaped convicts.

Ahead, the sun rested resolutely right at the horizon. It made the street as dark as an old-school, black and white image. Only the clock told Peter it was morning. Quarter past four and the adrenaline that kept Peter awake was fading. His eyes drooped a bit, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness. The road blurred a bit and it freaked him out. His fingers curled on the wheel tight to anchor him to reality.

He needed to stop. Rest a bit or at least get some caffeine to reboot him. Dr. Banner mentioned a station on the side of the road. Perhaps it served coffee—in a Big Gulp size. He kept an eye out, searched each side of the road to find any fuel stations.

It was nerve-wracking trying to drive and search for a station. How do people not crash more often? So, he was relieved when a storefront popped up with fuel pumps stationed right outside. In greater relief was that only a single car was parked in front. Probably belonged to the employee working inside the station.

Peter unsteadily pulled into the station, not remembering which side the tank was. He took a guess and parked it. Peter let out a long sigh as he turned the keys and the engine died.

With the cash in his hand, he got out of the Jeep to figure out how to add fuel into the vehicle. The sign was clear: pay first, pump after.

Go figure! Can't trust people at all these days.

Peter dragged his feet to the doors and entered, praying they had coffee. The fuel station looked exactly like any bodega store in Queens. Only more spacious. It had rows of convenient food and magazines, with a few vehicle merchandise here and there.

His true calling though, made him forget all those things. Straight ahead was a coffee machine. Peter ran to it almost colliding right into it as he scrambled for the biggest cup to fill it with warm, liquid drugs.

Peter turned it on and he watched the coffee pour like a waterfall into his Styrofoam up. Filled, Peter carefully juggled it to the register counter. No one worked at the register. Peter looked around and didn't see anyone. Where was everybody?

"Um… hello?" he called out, leaning over the counter. "Anyone around?"

No one. Peter checked the room again, but still saw no one. That was strange.

Then, the back door opened and a guy dressed in trucker hat and hoodie, stomped up to the back of the counter. His shaggy, blonde hair was everywhere as he huffed his way to the counter.

"You got money?"

Rude, Peter thought. Then again, Dr. Banner mentioned the pit stop lacked personable skills. Better the guy didn't take interest in him.

Peter revealed the cash. "Yeah," he said, putting the cash on the counter. "One large coffee and um… a full tank?" How does one order fuel for a Jeep?

"Yeah… you don't have enough money for that, kiddo."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows from the Jeep outside to the wad of cash. "How can you—"

Something sparked in the back of his head. Spidey-sense! It was acting up. Something was happening. Peter whipped his head to the windows, looking at his Jeep. It was parked, remained untouched, unbothered.

What was coming?

Peter turned to ask the attendant to take all of it so he could high-tail it out of there, but all that came was a sharp intake of breath as his heart burst into complete panic.

There was a gun. Pointed at his head. Right between his eyes.

The man behind the gun smiled and purred, "Hey there, sweetums!"

Peter should have taken a closer look at the (fake) attendant. His trucker hat and shaggy hair was all a ruse. Parted through the blonde strings, Peter caught sight of the man's true face. He'll have nightmares for days. No—years!

Something terrible happened to him. The man's face looked like it had been thrown into a fryer and left there for hours. The skin was peeling and melting and boiling all at the same time. It was hideous and the longer Peter gaped the more he wanted to vomit.

The man chuckled before he pulled off the wig, revealing his bald head that also looked fried. What happened to the guy? "Aw… fuck, look at you!" cooed the (fake) attendant. "You looked like you just saw a ghost? Boo!"

Peter flinched and the man laughed.

"Oh—baby boy! Been a long time! Last time I saw you, you were fast asleep," he said, holding the gun loosely. "You looked so innocent, and all cute and cuddly. Now—Jesus? What? You've been crawling about in the woods?"

Peter stared. Who the hell was this guy?

The man stayed silent, almost like he expected Peter to answer him. But, Peter was too afraid to even breathe let alone speak.

"What? You aren't going to say anything to your cool pal, Deadpool?" the man questioned. "You were quite the chatterbox last time."

Peter blinked and furrowed his eyebrows in deep confusion. Deadpool what?

His bafflement must have shown on his face because Deadpool acted incredulous over the lack of recognition. "Me—Deadpool. We met in Queens," he said. "You were all like 'Who are you?' and I was like, 'I'm Deadpool! Your new best friend.' Ring any bells?"

No. Peter wouldn't forget a face nor name like that.

Deadpool drooped onto the counter, devastated by the prolonged silence Peter only offered in return. "How could you ever forget a face like this, buddy?" he asked, sniffling. "I thought we were besties! Besties with testes!"

Peter stuttered. "I-I… um…I don't…"

The man groaned loudly and angry. He grabbed the basket of fruit bars and flung it across the room. It frightened Peter enough to jump and squeeze his eyes shut in anticipation of a coming bullet.

It didn't come, but Peter's spidey-sense told him not to throw it off the table.

He cracked his eyes open again. Deadpool kept the gun trained on him as he threw his tantrum. Peter flinched every time the gun jerked in his direction. Was the crazed man planning to kill him or not?

After the man tossed almost everything off the counter and inhaled several deep, meditated breaths, he calmed down to refocus on the whole hold-up. "Argh! Knew I shouldn't have trusted Stark to keep his word. You give the guy something and he takes it all," he muttered. "Makes me reconsider this whole relationship we have going on."

"Mr. Stark?" Peter squeaked out, the fire of determination returning. "You work for him?"

Deadpool was offended. "Hey! I don't work for anybody. I work for me. Me, myself and I," he exclaimed, jabbing a finger right to his chest. "He hired me! Capishe?"

Peter only managed to give him a stiff nod.

Something shift within Deadpool. The seriousness dropped, replaced with googly eyes and affectionate purrs. "Unless, you know… you wanna work together? I'm… very open," he offered with sweet hums. "We could make an amazing team! Team-up! Crossover! Sony and Disney will eat our shit! They'll think it's fucking gold!"

Peter ignored the nonsense to stare down the barrel of Deadpool's gun. "Our partnership isn't starting off too great."

That didn't dissuade the unhinged man. "The best ones never start great! No one is interested if they start off as lovers—"

"Wait? Did you say lovers?" Peter interjected, but Deadpool ignored him.

"They like to see character development. Enemies become friends become lovers of the night—"

Peter felt extremely uncomfortable, turning into the aisle to keep his distance from the officially psychotic individual.

Deadpool rattled on and on, distracted with his own voice that it gave Peter a chance to reevaluate his predicament. Find another way to escape this lunatic without getting pelleted with bullets. The front doors were close. A few quick strides and he could make it to them, push out and lead to the Jeep. But, perhaps Deadpool was fast too. On the trigger.

He scanned the shelves for anything that may assist him. Not much. Candy bars and gummy bears on one shelf and, jugs of oil and road maps on the other. Not many helpful options. None that would stop a bullet. Perhaps, though, enough to distract the psycho.

Peter looked back to Deadpool, still rambling nonsense. He wasn't even paying attention.

Time ticked down. Now or never. Every second counted.

Peter breathed deep. "Um… Mr. Deadpool, sir?"

Deadpool's voice hushed. "Did you just interrupted me?" he questioned, dangerously. Like a man on a verge of hysteria. "Did you hijack my flow? Fuckin' Generation Tide Pods. Show some goddamn respect to your millennials, okay? You never interrupt a monologue. That's Shakespeare 101!"

"Err… sorry."

And suddenly, all that tension and anxiety evaporated. Deadpool relaxed and rested his chin in his palm as he dreamily stared at him. "You're forgiven, baby boy," he said. "Now—what's up? What's your game plan?"

Peter's muscles tightened in fear that Deadpool already knew exactly what he was going to do. "Um, I-I was about to ask you the same thing," he said. "Are you planning to shoot me?"

"Shoot you?"

Peter nudged his head to the still loaded and pointed weapon.

Deadpool glanced at the gun in his hand. "Jesus! I keep forgetting that I'm holding this," he said with a chuckle. "Usually I never have my guns with me. Keep leaving them in the fuckin' taxi." He sighed, staring at his gun with an odd affection. "Back to your fears—nah. I ain't going to shoot you. Murder isn't on the course today. Well, maybe. Just not you. I don't fucking kill kids. Morals and everything."

"But holding them at gunpoint and kidnapping them is okay?"

Deadpool tilted his head in thought. "Well—if it's for a good cause, sure!" he replied. "But still won't fucking kill a kid. Or torture them. I'm a rated R character. Not meant for children. So, I'm going to keep it that way."

That was… oddly relieving and entirely disturbing. Nonetheless, Deadpool's insurance about murder gave Peter the courage to persist in his next step.

"Okay," he said with a nod of gratitude. "Thanks."

Peter swiped one of the jugs of oil and squeezed on the plastic with all his might. The dull yellow liquid squirted out in a high arch and splashing right into Deadpool's eyes.

"Motherfucking, cocksucker spider!" Deadpool cursed as he pulled away, freeing Peter from the gun range.

Peter chucked the jug right at Deadpool's head and bolted for the front doors. The minute his feet moved, he found himself losing his balance. His feet slipped on the greasy tiles, sliding in different directions. Peter lurched at the doors, gripping the handle hard for stability. He heard the ruckus behind, items crashing and Peter's spidey-sense seared his nerves to move faster!

He reached for the handle when something slammed right into his back. His fingertips grazed the cool metal of the handle before he crashed to the floor of the store. Jaw snapped shut and chin scraped, Peter groaned in recovery, but a heavy object kept him pinned to the floor.

A breath tickled his ear. "Where you going pal? The party is just getting started!" Deadpool said, twisting Peter's arms into a painful grip. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

Peter squirmed to throw Deadpool off him, but the crazed man pressed his gun hard right in the middle of Peter's back. "Stop squirming like that," he said. "It makes me wanna unsheathe my katana—"

Peter didn't want to hear. "Get off of me!"

"Yelling doesn't help," Deadpool sung with sweet charm. "It's actually one of my turn-ons."

"What is wrong with you?" Peter blurted. How much trauma did the man endure to become this?

"Me? I'm the sanest person you'll ever meet!" Deadpool stated. "You're damn lucky that it was me who found you. If Blade found ya or those lame-ass Thunderbolts, you would be limbless—especially after squeezing oil right in the eyes. Fucking hurts! And now I smell like oil and crap. Orders say that you were to be captured at all costs—well, alive. No mentions of you being in one piece though.

"Plus, the Thunderbolts aren't very fond of you," Deadpool rattled on, not at all bothered by Peter's attempts to shove him off his back. "Not since you strung up the Ox over the Brooklyn Bridge. Do you remember that? He certainly does. He hates it when I bring it up. Hahahaha! Anyway—he's super-duper eager to get his hands on your neck."

Peter recalled cocooning a bulky man over the Brooklyn Bridge near the beginning of the year. He and another man were intimidating a poor, young family out of their money. They had guns pointed and the bigger man kept knocking his knuckles into his palm in a menacing, but caricature manner. Naturally, Peter intervened and strung him and his friend up over the Brooklyn Bridge for the police to find. The incident was reported in the newspaper and Peter read that the criminals were arrested. How did they get out?

He didn't get the chance to ask as Deadpool twisted his wrist again. He winced right as cold metal clasped around his wrist. Another jerk and Peter felt his other wrist be clamped down by another metal clasp that locked them together. Handcuffs—chained all over again.

"Okay," Deadpool whistled, rolling off Peter's back. "Let's get you up."

He yanked Peter up to his feet by the chain of the handcuffs behind him. Peter stumbled upon landing, but Deadpool held him steady before slinging his arm around Peter's shoulders. The gun rested right above Peter's right breast.

"See? Not bad, right? Just a pair of super-duper handcuffs. No cutting you at your knees or breaking an arm. I'm sweet like that," the crazed man explained to Peter, patting his cheeks. "Now—why don't I drop you off back at the super-hero day-care camp?"

Peter violently shook his head. He pulled back, away from Deadpool. "No—I'm not going back there!"

Deadpool jerked Peter back to him. "No can do, buddy pal. Gotta take you back."

"Why?" Peter demanded, eyes and cheeks red in both anger and frustration. "Because of money? Is that it? Did Mr. Stark offer money?"

"Money is a big incentive."

Peter was disgusted. "What about all that talk on morals?"

"Look—Spidey," Deadpool growled, his flirtatious behavior gone. "It's not personal. I like you. A lot. But, I gotta do what I gotta do.

"Also, I need to meet quota every month. Collect so many enhanced pricks and drop them off. Get money. Live the high life," Deadpool listed off from the top of his head, the gun moving in odd angles. "Plus, there's the bonus that I don't have to participate in that shitty day-care camp. So… win-win for me."

"And a lose-lose for me," Peter grumbled in protest. "So that's it. That's why you are doing this. Sacrifice other people's freedoms for your own?"

"Again, nothing personal," Deadpool said, but his tone was not its normal high-pitch. It sounded sad. "You'll be fine. I heard through the grapevine that everyone there is taking real good care of you."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yeah—if you think being trained to become a child soldier is a good thing."

"Better you learn how to protect yourself than not," Deadpool returned, not letting Peter's attempt to reach his humanity touch him. "You don't want to keep looking like some lost, pathetic, kicked puppy for the rest of your life now, do you?"

"I don't look like a—"

"Agree to disagree," he dismissed Peter's protest. "You always act like an over-excited puppy when you go up against your enemies. Yapping and jumping and flipping around... it looks cute, but no one will ever take you seriously. You want to be taken seriously? You want to be seen like a bad-ass motherfucker that I know is wanting to blossom out of that old onesie of yours? Then do what I told you last time—always bring every weapon to a knife fight. Keeps things interesting."

That didn't make sense at all to Peter. "What are you talking about and… and how do you even know all that stuff about me?" he questioned. "You said we met before, but I have no memory of you."

Deadpool paused. He stared, unflinchingly, at Peter's face. The man's ugly face morphed into bewilderment. "Shit—wait—hold up! Stop the music!" he snapped his fingers at an empty space. "Dim the lightening. I think Tom Holland here forgot his lines again."

Tom Holland what? Peter glanced around, but no one was around except for him and Deadpool. "Err... Mr. Deadpool?"

Deadpool put a finger over Peter's lips. "Hush!" he said, pulling up his phone and typing something into Google. "Hold on. Gotta read where we are at… be only a minute."

Peter returned Deadpool's bewilderment, brows arching dubiously high as he tried to get a peek at the man's phone.

Deadpool spent a few minutes reading something over his phone before groaned, entirely upset and filled with disappointment.

"Aw, man! She really did an Edward Scissorhands cut in the early chapters, didn't she?" he quipped, pocketing the phone. "Okay, let's review. Sparknotes version, obviously. You—Spider-man. Me—Deadpool. Met in New York. Astoria. Asked you to come with me on an adventure. Broke my heart. Crushed it really. Knocked you out. Well, you knocked yourself out when you ran head first into that fire escape ladder. Brought you to Stark with promises that I could write to you."

"Write to me?" Peter muffled his surprise by that. "Why would you want to—"

"Any of that ring the any bells in your head?" Deadpool interrupted, tapping his gun against Peter's head.

Peter shivered when the gun bumped his skull. "N-No. I don't remember any of that," he said. "All I remember is waking up in a room… alone."

Deadpool huffed his indignation. "That rich ass-hat," he muttered. "He said my letters would get to you. Explains why I never got any responses from you. Maybe I'll have Stark put it in writing. Update my contract. Maybe even allow visitation rights. You think he would go for that?"

Peter gawked at the man. "You're insane, aren't you?"

"Depends on your definition," Deadpool challenged. "I think I'm a genius. Others may think delusional, but in all honesty, they say it because they are jealous of my superb mind."

"No, it's because they think you are literally crazy."

"Potato, potato."

"It's potato, potahto."

Deadpool shrugged. "Don't care!" he said, grabbing Peter's chain link to drag him off. "Let's get this over with. I got errands to run. Money to burn. And an episode of The Great British Bake-Off to finish. If Martha doesn't win, I will scissor that goatee off Paul Hollywood's face…"

Peter's mind whirled with other strategies to save himself. "Please! You got it wrong! They don't care about me. At all! They'll lock me away forever! Torture me and… and…" He remembered Leo's words about another option to those who caused more problems than necessary. "They'll put me in the hole!"

Deadpool's scarred, melting face visibly reacted. It almost looked like it concaved by how deep his furrowed brows went and his scowl twisting in taut angles. "That won't happen."

"Yes it will!" Of all the attempts he made to escape, they would take him to the hole or whatever it was that got everyone afraid. Including Deadpool, it seemed. "They'll take me there and I will—"

The lunatic gave Peter a hard shake. "Stop it!" he snapped. "No one is putting you in the hole. Got it?"

"I don't—"

The looney shook him harder. "Forget about the hole! Okay? Just—sweet, motherfucking Wolverine!—you're going to be fine. Basically a slap on the wrist. And a swearing-in that you'll stay good from here on out. Okay? That's it! No one is going to put you in the damn, fucking hole."

Deadpool inhaled deep, letting all the heated anger out in one, steady stream of air. "Now, let's get going. We'll take your ride."

He yanked at Peter's chain to drag him out of the store. Tripping over items fallen over in the scuffle, Peter felt a breeze brush against his scalp the moment Deadpool dragged him outside.

"Sweet ride!" Deadpool whistled his approval at Peter's borrowed Jeep. "Way better than my station wagon. Then again, I didn't have many options from the parking lot. You? Did you steal this from a neighbor?"

Peter twisted his neck around to look over his shoulder toward the Jeep. He couldn't let Deadpool drive the Jeep into the Compound. If Mr. Stark recognized it, he would get Dr. Banner in serious trouble.

"Jeep is busted," Peter blurted in hopes to prevent Deadpool from using it.

Deadpool blinked. "Huh?"

"Broken, I mean. The… engine died. It's why I, um…"

Deadpool tipped his head back and let out a rip-roaring laugh. "Oh… baby boy," he huffed out. "You are a terrible liar. Might want to work on that when you get back."

He frisked Peter's pockets and found the keys. "Now—let's get some gas into that pretty Jeep of yours," he said. "And we can carry out our fantasy road trip. Oooh! Do you want to do carpool karaoke? I saw it on an episode of James Corden. Loved it! I'll let you go first since I'm a nice guy and all."

Peter was at the end of his rope. "Wait!"

"What now?" Deadpool asked, bored. "Gotta another lie for me?"

"Um… no, but," Peter paused before he leaned to Deadpool. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Deadpool's face scrunched in confusion.

Peter slammed his head hard into Deadpool's forehead that he thought he heard the man's nose crunch. The strong blow forced the lunatic to let Peter go. Free from the man's hold, Peter jumped and slid his handcuffed arms underneath like a jump rope, bringing his arms from his back to his front. He was so thankful one of his abilities was extreme flexibility.

Deadpool recovered, his hands tenting his face as blood dribbled down over his lips to his chin. "Sweet baby Jesus! Fucking strong baby!" he exclaimed, but not in anger. More out of surprise.

He dropped his hands down to his waist and Peter nearly gagged at seeing his destruction. The nose had practically flattened with blood squirting and dribbling out of the nostrils. It looked incredibly painful and yet, Deadpool showed no sign of distress over it. Hell, Peter's best description would be the lunatic was radiating with joy.

"There you go!" Deadpool clapped his hands in approval. "There's the Spider-man! Knew you had it in you." He tossed aside the gun and pulled out two sais out of nowhere it seemed, spinning them like little fans. "Let's play!"

By play, Deadpool meant leaping up like a ballerina and spinning his sais right at him. Peter easily dodged the blades, the silver blades missing him by a few inches. Without his web-shooters and hands chained together, his fighting skills were limited. Good thing he remembered a few things from his tortured days at the Compound.

Peter may not remember his last encounter with Deadpool, but he wouldn't forget this one. The crazed man was surprisingly as flexible and agile as him! And his lack of pain made Peter believe the man himself was enhanced.

He kept dodging the sais, the blades stabbing air, concrete and at one point, a salt bag that Peter threw at the man to knock him off. Salt scattered all over the lot, Peter struggled to get a good grip on his feet and Deadpool used that to his advantage. He kept hammering him, never letting Peter the opportunity to take a moment.

Peter snatched the man's wrist and, recalling his training with Agent Davis, twisted it and threw Deadpool over his shoulder and right into the parking lot. Deadpool let out a groaned gasp.

"Oooh…" Deadpool moaned, laying on the ground. "You got me head over heels! Swept me off my feet, lover-boy!"

Peter wrinkled his nose. "You know I'm fifteen."

"I can wait."

Peter rolled his eyes. He was done with this. "Good-bye, Mr. Deadpool."

"No—wait!"

Peter didn't wait nor listen to Deadpool's please. He turned away for the Jeep, wishing to get far away from him.

Suddenly, a hand latched onto his ankle and jerked him right back to the ground. Pebbles of salt dug and embedded into his arms and chin upon landing as another tug dragged him right next to Deadpool.

Deadpool turned to his side, his eyes gazing right into Peter. "You are so cute when you're scared," he said. "Did you know that?'

Peter jerked his knee right into the Deadpool's precious jewels.

Deadpool reacted accordingly. "Wow—second base!" he wooed in faint. "Usually, I require dinner first."

Peter rolled away, but Deadpool grabbed his hand. He clutched it tight. Peter tugged his hand away from the man's grip, but Deadpool only squeezed harder.

"Let go of me!" Peter gritted.

"I can't!" Deadpool said, innocently. "It helps me focus."

"Focus on what?" Not that Peter cared. He didn't care for the bizarre man's reasoning because nothing he said would make sense.

Deadpool caressed the side of Peter's face. "You."

Peter practically ripped his hand out of Deadpool's deadly grip. He swung his legs up and landed back on his feet. Deadpool did as well. The man no longer acting hurt—physically.

The man's hand was over his heart. "Petey! You're breaking my heart!" he mockingly cried. "You're going down a path I can't follow!"

"Are you quoting Star Wars to me?"

"Impressed, right?" Deadpool said. "See? I know you pretty well. It's why we are best friends."

"No, we're not," Peter rejected, snatching one of the fuel hose and aiming it at Deadpool. "Ned is my best friend."

Deadpool wildly snapped his head in every direction, even bending over to look between his legs. "I don't see a Ned here," he commented. "Guess he's not as good of a friend as you think he is. But I'm here. I'll be your best friend."

He stepped forward as if to give Peter a hug and Peter took that moment to squeeze the grip of the hose. Gasoline splashed Deadpool's body, but the man had no reaction to it. He pursued onward, getting closer and closer to Peter to the point he abandoned the fuel and rushed for the Jeep.

Except Deadpool blocked his path to freedom. And it didn't help that the man was dangling the Jeep keys in his hands. "Forgetting these, Spidey?"

Peter groaned and whipped around behind the pole to hide for a moment. He needed more time to find another way out of the situation. Steal Deadpool's car? With what keys? And Deadpool wouldn't give him the time to hot-wire it either.

He was running out of options.

"You're running out of options, Spidey!" Deadpool sang. "Come on—make this easier on both of us. Besides, you won't get out of here by car. Not with the road blocks and the nearby towns all under state of emergencies."

What?

"Yeah!" Deadpool said as if Peter said it aloud rather than in his head. "The Big Cheeseball is going all out to recapture you. No expense is too much in bringing the Spiderling back."

Peter saw Deadpool's shadow grow larger, coming closer to where Peter hid behind the pole. He had no options. Nothing left except to fight and run back into the woods. Or, if he could knock Deadpool out for a few minutes, he could use the phone in the station to make a call—

Deadpool's shadow was gone!

Peter's muscles seized in fright as he peeked out from his spot to search for the man. Where did he go?

A face fell from above, close enough to Peter. Lips puckered and neared Peter's own mouth.

"Give me a kiss," Deadpool made kissing sounds.

To which Peter responded with a punch to the face.

"Owie! That's gonna leave a mark!" Deadpool let himself drop from the fuel tank he climbed, landing back on the ground. "Come on, Spidey. It was all in good fun. Think of all the fan-girls and fan-boys who would re-read this chapter all over again. Maybe even leave comments. Love letters…"

Peter shoved Deadpool mid-rambled and sprinted back to the store. He heard Deadpool cry out in despair at another rejection. His spidey-sense warned him to run faster or duck. And, as if his body took command on its own, he dropped in time for a long sword flying right over him and stabbed right into the doors of the station.

What the—

Peter twisted around and found Deadpool waving right at him. He looked from the sword back to the lunatic. "Where did you get that?"

"I had it with me the whole time," Deadpool said. "Didn't you know?"

Peter would remember if Deadpool was carrying a long sword. What was that? A katana?

They faced each other. A pivotal moment was upon them. Peter realized everything rode on him winning. To lose… he could not let that happen. He got so far and to have it be taken away, to be thrown into a hole for the rest of his life, it was a nightmare he didn't want to live out.

Peter prepped into position. It was going to be the fight of his life.

Deadpool zeroed in on him. "So… you wanna tango?"

He didn't want to, but he had no choice.

There was a tug in the back of his mind. Spidey-sense overworking, but that was to be expected with danger ever present at the moment. He brought his fisted hands up. Just like he practiced at the Compound—no! He needed to forget everything about that place.

After his last stand, of course.

Deadpool made his approach, dancing up to the plate for the smack-down. And naturally, he was doing some kind of monologue. "And the crowd roots and cheers for the Deadpool as he makes his way to the floor," he said. "The man of the hours is looking fine as always. The women and men cannot keep their eyes away from him. Here he comes, winding up for the pitch and—and—you got to be fucking kidding me!"

Peter waggled his brows in bewilderment by Deadpool's upset. His spidey-sense was still in high alert, warning him of approaching danger, but Deadpool hadn't moved. Deadpool looked passed him, over his shoulder and up. Almost something was floating above Peter's head.

Peter turned to look, despite knowing he shouldn't take his eyes off the deranged man. Everything happened too fast! Something flew at Peter's face and a sharp, devastating shock coursed through his very blood. He opened his mouth to scream, but the pain contorted him into silence.

All of his senses started to fail, shutting his body down.

"Hey!" Peter heard Deadpool whined. "I had it all under control!"

Something large landed, metal scraping and groaning as it moved. Peter's vision went hazy and he couldn't see well. He didn't even know if he was standing up or laying like a puddle on the floor.

Metal touched Peter's jaw, turning his head in a different direction. Peter tried to focus and resist, but all of his senses died and he became nothing.

Tony Stark landed on his private platform. The landing pad lit up as FRIDAY addressed him of the awaiting situation in the lower levels of the Compound.

"Would you like me to send Dr. Cho to you?" his AI asked after her report.

Tony looked down at the boy bundled in his arms. "That's all right," he said. "Vision nearby?"

FRIDAY gave him an affirmative. "He's outside your suite."

"Send him in."

Vision walked right through the walls, spying Peter immediately. "Is he all right?"

"Him?" Tony lifted the boy up a bit. The kid's head rolled off Tony's arm, forcing Iron Man to readjust him. "He's fine. Knocked out. Kid went toe-toe with Deadpool. Again."

Vision sadly shook his head. "Poor child," said the android. "I never liked that man. He is too… excessive."

"You are way too polite to that maniac," Tony said as his Iron Man suit degenerated back into the small compact in the middle of his chest. "Nonetheless, he found him before anyone else did."

"Where?"

"At some obscured gas station," Tony answered. "When I got there, it looked like Deadpool tried to take the kid's head off."

"Good thing he failed."

"Good thing I came when I did," Tony corrected Vision. If he decided to not go in that direction, the boy may be far too traumatized to ever recover. "Come over here, Vision."

Vision stepped right next to Tony, uncertain what Tony needed from him. Tony promptly dumped Peter into Vision's hands. "Take him to the medical wing," he ordered. "Dr. Cho will know what to do with him."

Vision looked down at the bruised and dirtied boy in his arms. "Sir? What will she do to him?"

Tony smiled at Vision. For being an android with more focus on knowledge rather than emotions, he acted far more concern than he's ever showed to any human outside of Wanda. "Nothing bad, Vision," he said to him. "I promise. She's going to give him a health check. Make sure he didn't break any more bones or have any ticks. Clean him up a bit. Normal stuff. All good things."

"And then?"

Knowledge over emotion. Of course, Vision knew there was more.

"And then, she'll put a microchip in his body," Tony answered. "That way, he can't break it off him like he did with the bracelet."

"Will it hurt him?"

"Nah," Tony replied, looking back down at the boy in Vision's arms. "Short-stuff is made of iron. He went up against Deadpool on his own. The kid won't feel a thing."

"That is good to know," Vision seemed to relax a little as he smiled down at the unconscious boy. "He looks thin. Does he eat?"

"He will soon enough," Tony replied and he checked the time. "Fantastic! I officially missed fifteen minutes of that meeting with Ross."

Vision looked puzzled. "You are thrilled to be late?"

"With Thaddeus? Always," Tony answered as he never cared for Thaddeus grand plans for the Accords. "It's nothing big. He overheard about the escape and I need to calm his head back down from nuclear. Otherwise, he'll take it out on the kid.

"Drop the kiddo with Cho," Tony said as he headed to his bedroom to change outfits. "Tell her to handle him with discretion. Well, she knows already, but remind her. Oh—and Vision?"

Vision stopped at the door. "Yes?"

"Keep an eye out on the kid," Tony asked of him. "I can't trust Reynolds after this."

Vision looked honored and troubled at the same time. "What about Ms. Romanoff?" he questioned. "Is she not already looking after boy?"

Tony ran his hand down his jawline. "She is."

"Then why do you ask me to watch him too?"

Tony sniffed as he crossed his arms. "Because," he started as his eyes wandered right back to the boy, "I don't trust her anymore."

Not wanting to give an explanation for his sudden distrust in one of his most trusted advisors and friends, Tony waved Vision off with urgency that Peter needed medical care right away. Vision obliged and flew away, carrying the troubled boy with him.

Meanwhile, Tony went to his suite and picked his outfit to wear when he strolled into the meeting with his best smug appearance. He already had his lines of wit ready to use against Thaddeus Ross.

Once he finished his meeting with Ross, he needed to have a long talk with Natasha Romanoff. Just to reaffirm loyalties.

Hers and another.