i can't imagine that being raised by Apocalypse would do much for a guy's emotional maturity. XD

warnings: slash. blood-n-guts. reference to torture and human experimentation. Earth-339 (think of it as 'the Waking Man universe'). spoilers, i guess...for Messiah War. language: pg (would've been g, but Wade says 'damn').

pairing: Nate/Wade, Stryfe/Wade.

timeline: 3921, six months before Nate and Hope arrive. the morning after Outlook Not Good.

disclaimer: marvel owns Cable & Deadpool, disney owns marvel.

notes: 1) title comes from the VAST song "Touched," which is about crazy people in love. XD 2) i didn't proofread this very carefully, so there might be errors floating around; lemme know if you find any.

Touched

Stryfe considers himself accomplished.

His foster-father, who was also his would-be subverter, is no more—of this he is fairly certain, although if Wade had been there, he probably would have been a bit more thorough than Stryfe (he is so endearingly imaginative that way).

His 'brother,' the creature whom he hates most, fled back to the past centuries ago, was killed long before. He is currently the sole owner of his face.

The few remaining 'free rebels' on the continent are being slowly but surely starved out, and those on other continents lack the resources to mount a campaign against him (En Sabah Nur's efforts were quite useful in that respect).

Thanks to a combination of mutant abilities and technology, he now lives ageless, outside of time, frozen in the prime of his life with a strong body and a fully matured mutant gift.

Perhaps most importantly of all, he has a dangerous and entertaining companion.

What a magnificent creature his brother found so long ago!

If Wade had been a Rider of the Storm in the early days of the reign of Apocalypse, at least two of the major skirmishes of the millennium could have been averted altogether. For some complicated psychological reasons that Stryfe doesn't bother to puzzle out, Wade both enjoys and excels at the art of slaughter, and would therefore make a wonderful addition to any conquering force. After seeing some of the things of which he is capable, Stryfe is surprised the free nations didn't fight over Wade, in the days when he was still roaming.

And to think that he could be bought with food and a smile…

Like a wild animal, pure in its actions and simple in its wants.

Herald of Dayspring. Deathless. Deadpool.

Whatever man molded Wade, he was both a genius and an artist.

Of late, Stryfe has been toying with Wade's inner workings, like a child taking apart a clock to see how the gears and springs fit together. The genetic engineering and re-engineering that went into Wade has a pattern too fluid to be instructed or mechanical. It isn't perfect, but it's remarkably expert for twentieth century work. After all, the riddle of 'normal' human DNA was only completely unraveled in the twenty-fourth century, and the X-gene is still mostly a mystery. The fact that Wade even survived the process is a testament to the fine craft of his maker.

He wants to understand how Wade is constructed. He wants to know how Wade's mind can be so slippery and shielded from his view without Wade being an amnesiac madman (and while Wade is a killer, a little bit of a masochist, and very much a sadist, he is quite sane). He wants to find a way to restore Wade's physical appearance—because Wade may joke about his looks, but Stryfe is certainly perceptive enough to find the grain of sincerity in such self-deprecation. Stryfe honestly couldn't care less what Wade looks like, but he wants Wade to be happy.

And therein lies the epiphany which has caused him both joy and revulsion.

Stryfe has never cared whether someone else was happy. He was taught that worrying about others only makes it easier to be hurt.

Love things, my son, but do not invest in them; you must at all times be ready to cast them aside should they hinder you.

Advice he'd taken to heart—advice that had let him cut his 'father' down to save himself.

It's perplexing, and he frowns absently while he works.

"What's wrong, doc?" Wade asks. "You find a bad kidney? Should I lay off the soda?"

Stryfe rolls his eyes. "Actually, your organs are in surprisingly good order, considering your diet."

"Well, what's the good of living in a constant state of regeneration if my organs can't handle a little abuse?"

Stryfe slices off a piece of Wade's liver and drops it into a preservation canister. He'll check tomorrow to see whether the sample has grown into a new organ.

"Ow," Wade says, though Stryfe's sure he doesn't mean it.

By the time he turns back from sealing the canister, Wade's liver is whole again—as expected, since the human liver is meant to regenerate itself even in non-mutants. Where does the energy come from? How are the cells able to reproduce themselves so quickly and with no apparent needs other than oxygen? One might expect Wade to need to eat constantly to fuel such an extreme rate of cellular regeneration, but he starved for four centuries with no lasting ill effects.

Stryfe never admits to being stumped, never admits to requiring assistance…but he is truly baffled.

He takes a sample of Wade's appendix—he'll show it to the Quartermaster. None of the computer's personalities is technically a geneticist (Stryfe hunted them for their ability to make weapons and tools, after all), but McCoy's knowledge base was surprisingly broad. Perhaps the Quartermaster will make some key observation that Stryfe is overlooking, and everything will fall together.

"Why not just get a bit of everything?" Wade asks. "Y'know, just in case. To save time. Three weeks down the road, you'll be all 'damn, now I need some small intestine,' and then you'll have to cut me back open."

Stryfe withholds a sigh. "Then three weeks from now, you shall have something to do with your day besides aimless wandering and playing with that little glass ball you found."

"Don't make that face."

He blinks. "What face?"

Wade pouts at him. "That worn-out, frustrated, 'Wade, will you please shut up?' face he always made."

The only thing Stryfe hates more than ever having shared a face with Nathan Dayspring is the fact that the accursed wretch had Wade first. It isn't as though such an idealistic rebel-savior-turned-pacifist could possibly have fully appreciated Wade… Surely Dayspring spent their time together trying to 'fix' the bloodlust that was bone-deep in Wade, and how dare he try to fix something so perfect?

"He wanted to change you," Stryfe asserts. "I only want you to be yourself."

"Then why are you making that face?"

Stryfe smiles and decides to answer with a half-truth, the way Wade usually does. "Because you are amazing, and I'm having difficulty in pinning down exactly how you manage it, my dear."

Wade shrugs a little. "A steady diet of sex, violence, and junkfood."

"Then I shall let you get back to it," Stryfe says, standing to organize the samples he's taken. Over on the shelf, there's a fingertip, some brain matter, and marrow from different locations. He slides the piece of liver onto the shelf (sure enough, it's already beginning to grow) and sets off for the armory with the appendix sample.

A call of, "Hey, babe?" from behind him makes him stop.

"Yes, Wade?"

Wade looks a little suspicious. "You wouldn't happen to be…oh, I dunno…hunting for a way to kill me, wouldya?"

He chuckles. No, if he wanted Wade dead, he'd simply fling him into the bottom of the Marianas Trench and hold him there for a day or so (just to be sure). "Where would you get an idea like that, my pet? My life would be exceedingly boring without you."

"Oh," Wade says, a trifle awkwardly. Then he draws himself up smugly. "Well, duh. 'Cause I'm amazing."

Stryfe just grins and continues on his way to the armory.

Soon enough, he'll have tested and charted thoroughly enough to start rearranging Wade's genetic structure, and then Wade will be happy, and he'll forget all about Dayspring. No more vacant daydreaming, no more wistful stares, no more accidental utterances of the wrong name (which never occurs in bed, oddly enough). Wade will be in the here-and-now, living the perfect existence Stryfe has laid out for him, never sparing another thought to the wasted earlier centuries of his life.

Stryfe stops in mid-stride.

Is this what love is?

He cocks his head. "Curious…"

Then he shakes the fleeting thought away and keeps walking.

.End.