A/N: Remember way back when I said I was making a play by play for the 'Break Up'? Here it is. Also, remember back in ch 12 when I said the thing about the shout out that I kept forgetting to do?

OiToTheWorld

Joy Fahey (close enough)

Ele

A Lake Elohcin

Anna Marcia Gregorio

I think that's everyone

Moving on!

Logan went about the garage packing up the necessary tools into a bag and loading it into the bed of the truck. When he was done, he leaned on his truck in the garage, tugging on the black, leather glove on his left hand as he waited for Wade. The side door slammed open against the wall, and Logan glanced up at Wade's entrance.

Deadpool was decked out fully in his red and black suit, three knives strapped to each leg, katana on his back, the pouches on his belt bulged out, two handguns were on his hips, and his arms were full of weapons.

"A little help here," he said as he tried to kick the door shut.

Something small and round fell out of his arms and rolled on the ground towards Logan. He crouched down to examine it and arched a bushy brow when he recognized that it was a hand grenade.

"Why do…Go put that back," Logan told him, straightening up.

"What? Why?"

"Seriously? Look, either put it back or don't come at all."

"Aawww…" Deadpool scuffed his boot against the ground and turned to the door, "Even when I get to have fun, I don't get to have fun."

A dark colored truck parked far up the street went unnoticed in the line of cars on the curb of the suburban homes. The two men in the truck were situated for a long wait as they stared at a house up the street. The lights in the front window had gone off but two, one on the left, the other on the right, upstairs still shone. They knew already knew that the one on the left was where their target was.

While they waited for the light on the right to go out, Deadpool beat out a rhythm on the dash board in front of him and sang.

'One way or another, we're gonna find ya. We're gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha! One way or another, we-"

"I swear I will drag your butt outta this truck and I will start beating you if you don't shut up. I don't know when I'll stop," Wolverine said this very calmly, the kind of calm that just makes a man's skin crawl off.

"But I'm bored! We could get him now. Go past his parents and if they try and get in the way, knock them out. I know how to do that without killing them, you know."

"I'm so proud," Wolverine rolled his eyes. "We're not movin' 'til that light goes off."

"Can't bring my best toys, had to put the chainsaw back, can't take out the parents, and I can't provide mood music. You take the fun out of everything."

"I still don't get why you need a chainsaw. You have swords."

"Well, yeah, but it was for effect. I had a hockey mask and everything."

The back door that led to the kitchen was silently pushed open. Deadpool straightened up and put his little pick-lock case away.

"I could have just used a credit card for that. They don't even have a deadbolt. But…I don't have a credit card."

Wolverine stalked past him sniffing the air. He silently led the way through the kitchen and up the stairs to their target's room. Outside the door, he paused to signal for Deadpool to wait and listened for any footsteps from the opposite end of the house. Hearing nothing, he opened the door.

The target had his back to them, a joystick in hand and eyes glued on the characters on the TV. Apparently, he was the bald guy in the black suit. The guy sneaked up behind some man sitting at his desk through a window. Desk Man was then strangled with a wire.

"I'll go to bed in a minute, Mom," Tracy told the person behind him, not bothering to turn around.

"Nope. Sorry, Junior. Lights out."

Tracy jerked around to see a gun barrel inches from his skull. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out.

"Bang."

With pathetic ease, they tied up Tracy, and Deadpool gagged him with a long strip of duct tape. They found the keys to his car, but there was a slight hitch getting him outside.

"For the last time, ya cannot drop him out the window. Stop whimpering, brat."

Wolverine swatted the load over Deadpool's shoulder where his head would be. It stopped.

"I'm telling ya, he won't die. Since when are you this squeamish?"

"I ain't, boy. But if you drop him, you'll break bones, he'll go into shock, and we miss out. Think for once."

"I guess you have a point. Six, actually. Fine, we'll use the old, boring stairs. Hey, can I drop him down the stairs?"

After a short debate over the pros and cons of that, they made it outside, and Deadpool dumped Tracy in the trunk of his Mustang. He grinned behind his mask at the terrified, wide eyes.

"All right. This will go a lot easier if you don't try and do what they show you on TV with the tail lights. Have you seen those shows?"

Deadpool stared at him and the grin slowly slid from his face at Puke's unresponsiveness.

"You know," he un-holstered his gun and pulled a silencer out of one of his many pockets. "it's rude not to respond when someone asks you a question," he expertly spun the silencer onto the barrel. and Tracy watched in horror. "A nod or shake of the head would do. So let's try again. Have you seen the shows?"

When the gun barrel was aimed at his head, Tracy responded much better with vigorous nodding and grunts.

"Good. So you know that when you knock out the tail lights, you can fit your hand through there and wave down a cop, theoretically, yea or nay?"

More grunts and nods.

"Educational TV is great, right? But here's the thing," he raised his knee and rested it on the bumper and placed the arm holding the gun against the trunk lid with the gun still angled at Tracy. "You're not gonna do that 'cause if you do, we'll have to kill the cop or cops or whoever decides to play Good Samaritan, and throw the body or bodies or body parts in the trunk with you. Savvy?"

Heavy breaths came in quick short gasps. Green eyes stared wide at him before rolling to the back of their skull.

"Puke? You okay? Is he asthmatic?"

"Probably a panic attack. Are you done yet?" Wolverine asked, amusement clear in his gruff voice. He'd been leaning on the side of the car where he'd watched the whole show. "I'd like to get this done some time tonight."

"Sure, sure. You gotta milk these moments though, you know? 'Cause you never get 'em back. They're precious memories that will only happen once and we have to cherish them."

He stared at him blankly for a moment before he walked off down the street to his truck. Deadpool shrugged and slammed the trunk before going around to the driver's side, climbing in and driving away.

Since he was in control of the radio this time, he intended to use it. With one hand on the wheel, Deadpool scanned through the stations, searching for an appropriate song.

'I'm gonna drive it like I stole, drive it like I stole it!'

"Okay, that was even easier than breaking into the house," Deadpool declared as they walked through the doors of the gym, headed for the locker rooms.

"All that tax money we pay and you'd think they'd be able to afford better locks. I am outraged! Outraged, I say! The senator, legislator…councilman/woman, whatever person will be hearing from me!"

"You don't pay taxes."

Wolverine followed him, dragging their unconscious captive behind him by his foot.

"Oh, yeah, I don't. But see, this is why. I'll probably give them a call anyway. You know, have a chat, make some threats, do a little blackmail."

"Do not call them from my phone."

"No problem. I found his phone in the car."

Tracy came to on the cold floor of the girls' locker room. For a moment, one terrorless moment, he thought it was over. He thought he was safe.

"We're gonna lynch ya," Wade said in a sing-song voice.

He thought so very wrong. A rough hand came to his face and ripped the duct tape off. Naturally, he screamed like a little girl. The echoes rang throughout the room, and the boy kept a constant scream coming. Deadpool ignored him, examining the fine hairs of what were probably the beginnings of a mustache.

"Gimme the rope," Wolverine ordered, staring down at the boy in a fetal position.

"MOMMY!"

"No, I wanna do it," Deadpool argued.

"You don't know how to tie it."

"Yes-huh! I wanna do it, please!"

"You are a whining, pathetic, brat of a man."

"So that's a yes?"

"Fine."

"Yay!"

"Please don't kill me!" Tracy cried.

"Shaddup, punk!" they both yelled.

He shriveled into a silently sniveling mess.*

"So it's under the hole, through the loop, follow the bunny up the tree, and voila! We got hog-tied punk!"

Deadpool stood back to admire his handiwork. Tracy was re-gagged on his belly. His arms were pulled back and bound at the wrists. A rope from that was tied around both ankles, knees bent so that his feet could touch his hands.

"Not bad," Wolverine noted. "One thing though."

He stooped down to the squirming worm and secured a sign around his neck. It read:

'Don't feed the dog.'

Deadpool shot him a considering look.

"Dude…nice touch. I mean, really classy."

Wolverine smirked, brushing off his hands with a job well done. He stood up and headed for the door.

"Let's get out of here."

"Wait, we're not done, are we? 'Cause I kinda thought surrounding him with raw meat and making a stop at the animal shelter for a couple dozen mutts, maybe a pit bull or two, would be an even better touch. It'd go really well with the sign."

Wolverine's look was someone between forced fondness and debilitating exasperation.

"We'll do that next time."

"Oh, good call. I shouldn't use up all my plans on one punk. I'll save it for later," he said, face cracking into mad grin.

Impulsively, Deadpool threw his arm around the shorter man's shoulder in the spirit of camaraderie. After a pause of two seconds, Wolverine growled,

"Stop touching me."

He immediately removed his arm.

"Sorry. I was in the whole 'bonding' moment... Hey, I'm hungry. Terror-raising always does that for me. Let's get waffles!"

"Why not?"

"Oh, yeah! Terrorizing a pubescent boy and gorging on waffles all in one night! I'm livin' the good life."

"If you say so."

"You know you're happy. You know you love this. Admit it. Go on, say it."

He didn't say anything.

"It's okay. You can say it later, just to yourself. Then you can tell me. Don't worry, I'll remind you."

A/N: * I like that phrase, 'shriveled into a silently sniveling mess.'

There's this show called 'the Cape'. On the show, there's this guy called Gregor. Gregor killed four guys by cutting their throats…with playing cards. They didn't explode, but I thought Gambit.