Chapter Seven

Wade Wilson is not a bad person. This statement, while true, does not make him a good person either. Good and bad are not merely opposites, as they are often perceived to be, but they exist in the absence of each other. Just like how darkness is simply an absence of light and nothing is the absence of something, badness is an absence of goodness. So that being said, Wade Wilson is simply mostly badness with a bit of goodness scattered throughout so that some of his actions could be justified, maybe sometimes. It helps if one squints and tilts their head a bit when analyzing the evidence.

Spiderman, a hero of New York, is a mostly good person whose little bit of badness shows sometimes in the form of selfishness and angst, but not much else.

By this logic, Wade Wilson is by no means Spiderman. He is almost the opposite of Spiderman, not just the absence of the masked hero.

"Holy ***, it's Spiderman," Weasel said from his place on the wet floor.

"Thought you forgot," Wade said to the wall, tugging at the fabric of his sweatshirt.

The children were mostly confused, but said nothing. The three of them were starting to wonder if, perhaps, they were the strange ones and these were normal things that happened to normal people. To cease your wondering, dear reader, they weren't, they don't, and large amounts of evidence continues to prove that normal people do not exist.

Wade signalled for the children to stay where they were. Violet shifted her sister to the arm whose hand had been diligently holding onto the fabric of Wade's hooded sweatshirt. Klaus turned a bit and started reading some of the labels on the bottles behind them. Sunny managed to maintain her view of the spectacle on the other side of the bar, despite being shifted from one arm to the other. Wade hopped over the counter instead of going through the little flap only a foot away from where he had been standing. He did this often.

"Yeah, it's me, Spiderman. I'm breaking into your bar. Me, the superhero, Spiderman. I brought kids because of the sign outside. Because that's something I would do as the masked hero, Spiderman."

Wade reached down to help the man up off of the floor. "Wade? Seriously?" Weasel questioned. "Where did you even get a hoodie like that?" Wade let go of Weasel's hand once the man was on his feet. Wade wiped his own hand on the hoodie in question. "I don't know, must've just grabbed it. Probably would have been easier to wear this thing instead of a scarf last night though, you know? It's like some sort of plot device someone just threw in there because it sounded like a funny ide-"

"Holy ***, you were serious about the kids," Weasel interrupted. He then clapped his hands over his mouth in such an animated fashion that he almost slipped again. He stepped out of the puddle and amended, "Crap, I meant, holy crap, you were serious about the kids." The Baudelaires glanced at each other, all most likely having the same thought about how they had heard much, much worse things in their time as orphans than light, accidental swearing. The censorship was appreciated, though.

Weasel turned to Wade and whispered, "Wade, you can't bring kids into a bar. It's like, super illegal. Also, why do you have kids? You shouldn't have those, like, ever." Wade slapped his friend on the shoulder in what might have been an act of camaraderie if the receiving party did not find it so painful and the giving party did not have a high enough pain tolerance to not know that it was indeed too hard of a slap.

"They are actually my kids, Weasel," Wade whispered back. Weasel's eyes widened with shock. "Dude, hell no. I mean, heck no. Where did you get them?" It seemed that the censorship would carry on, even in their whispered conversation. Just in case. Wade thought about it for a moment, then decided to start from the beginning, which is where most good stories start.

This is not to confuse you, dear reader. The story he told was not good and its events will lead to more unfortunate ones hereafter.

"You remember that job? At the bank? Some guy embezzling some stuff from a widow's account and another guy wanted to off him? Pretty shifty dude, really deserved the hit. Yeah, well he was at the bank and their file was at the bank and I was at the bank and I may have signed the file after killing him and now I have three orphans who are freaking loaded living under my care. Me. An assassin. Who is going to kill another guy on...tomorrow. They made me eggs this morning, man. I can't take them to see me some shish-kabob a guy for some cash. That's messed up."

Throughout this monologue, Weasel had been double-tasking, a pastime that can often be very dangerous, case in point being that it had lead to him slipping in his own mop water before. In this instance, he had been listening to Wade while intently watching the three children. The infant was watching them with wide, knowing eyes while the older two looked at each other and had a complete conversation without even opening their mouths. The contents of the conversation between Klaus and Violet mostly had to do with how much they shouldn't be there and a little bit to do with how effective the contents in the bottles behind them would work as molotov cocktails. Neither wanted to test them.

Wade was looking at him expectantly. "I need help, Weasel. I think those kids have seen some shi-STUFF. Stuff. I'm pretty sure they've been through alot and I don't need to emotionally scar them more." Weasel nodded. "Yeah, they look super sad. Do they always look like that?" Wade sighed. "They're orphans and right now, we're the only ones standing between them and them becoming super villains or something because of their tragic backstory. Yes, they always look sad."

Weasel gawked, turning back to Wade with his mouth hanging open. "Dude, that would be so swe-" he paused in his line of thought because of a sudden feeling that Wade was making an unhappy face behind the mask.

"Okay, yeah, noted. Not sweet. That would be bad. But yeah dude, I guess I can watch them, if you can't find someone else. They can hang in the office or something while I keep out here. They're pretty quiet."

Wade slapped his friend's arm again out of joy. It hurt just as much as the last time.

The Baudelaires still had no idea of what was happening or what was to come.