October 6th, 2008
I'm a nice guy. But sometimes I just get really ticked off.
The City's not a safe place, that's like a scientific fact or something. That's why there are people like me to stop people like them--the bad guys.
But then there are people who aren't like me, but who aren't like them.
You know who I'm talking about.
Deadpool.
There had been an attempt at a jewlery heist--'attempt' because I stopped it--when he has the nerve to show up. I hate this guy.
"Spidey, nice blog." (He's been commenting me and making me feel like an idiot.)
I dropped the last bad guy, the diamonds scattered all over the floor. The glass to the shop was broken, the alarm was ringing like crazy. "What are you doing here?" I snapped.
He just stood there. "You're an idiot." (See, I told you.)
I stood there, feeling my face heat up under my mask. "Get out of here, Deadpool. I don't want people thinking I'm actually friends with you."
"It's the other way around, Webs," he said. He shrugged his shoulders. I still wasn't sure why he was even there in the first place.
Then there came the police sirens. My spider-sense was going nuts on me. He ran towards the broken window, hopping through the glass when the boys and girls in blue showed up. They had their weapons drawn. Lucky me.
"Spider-Man, put your hands up now!" I complied--I mean, really? Don't people know I try to stop things like this already?
Then Deadpool came out; people don't like him. The cops, doing their job, assumed we were working together, because that is oh so likely. "You both are under arrest."
"For what?" Deadpool snapped. I turned around and looked at him, shooting him a glare--he couldn't see it, though, because of my mask. You work with the authorities--you don't frickin' question them and make them think you're guilty.
"Put your hands up!"
Mine were down again, and I realized that Deadpool almost always brought trouble; I should have left when he came along. Deadpool snickered, and then he started running. "What the--?" Someone fired at him and I jumped. He was calling for me to follow him, that I was stupid and I'd get my tights-wearing ass thrown in jail if I didn't trust him. "Trust you?" I asked, chasing after him, sticking to a wall. "Are you insane? Why would I trust you?"
Deadpool didn't answer. We were too busy running from the NYPD to be answering each other. We kept to the rooftops, altough the helicopter that was faint in the distance wouldn't have trouble finding two costumed lunatics.
"This way, moron," he said, jumping down in a gap between two buildings. We crouched behind a dumpster, and I suddenly realized I was with him--working with him. What the hell was I doing?
"Dammit, Deadpool!" I shouted, and he shushed me, since we were still in hiding. I guess he was a pro at hiding from the law. "No, don't shush me! Everything was fine until you showed up!"
"Shut the hell up, Websy," he said. "Do you want to get arrested? Christ, just shut that flabbing mouth of yours and calm the hell down."
I shut up, and he rolled his eyes--I think. "What, did I hurt your feelings now?" He asked after I was quiet with mock caring.
"No," I said. "You told me to shut the hell up, so I shut the hell up. Stupid."
"Moron," he countered.
"Idiot."
"I know you are, but what am I?" He thought he was frigging hysterical. I had no idea someone could be so immature.
I waited until he gave the go--I really wasn't in the mood to fight with Deadpool or get arrested. When he stood up, so did I. He looked at me. "Just stop tryin', kid. You're gonna get yourself in jail one day."
"You're one to talk. And don't call me 'kid'."
"You're too young and stupid for this work, kid."
I was fuming. "Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't have you arrested."
He laughed, and I felt dumb. I hate feeling dumb. He patted my head like I was three. "Easy there, little Spidey-Man."
I was about to yell at him, but my spider-sense started flaring at me again. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something. "Watch out!" I shouted, but then the trigger of the gun was fired, and a police officer sent a bullet our way. It hit Deadpool square in the shoulder. He shouted out--I haven't heard a scream like that in a long time--and he fell down to the floor.
I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I aimed a webline at the woman, knocking the gun from her grip. I webbed her feet to the floor and picked up Deadpool without looking at his bulletwound. There wasn't time for that.
"Dammit, you're heavy," I complained, trying to help him walk but mostly dragging him. He groaned. "Shut...up, you son of a--" He stopped then. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to curse out the person who was trying to save your life.
"Yeah, yeah," I said, not sure where I could bring him. But I had to get him out of there--if the cops came again I could get away just fine, but a wounded Deadpool? Not so much. I've been shot before. You can't do anything for yourself when you're shot. Have you ever been shot? Yeah, so don't judge.
Deadpool was groaning and making a lot of noise. I shushed him--haha, how does he like it?--and tried to limp him over to an alley or something, someplace where we could just sit for a minute and I could see how bad he was hurt.
He was hurt pretty bad.
There was a lot of blood. I remember when I used to get queasy at the sight of it. I blinked, unsure of what to do. I knew the bullet had to come out, and that I had to stop the bleeding. I took his shreded costume and ripped it--he actually complained about that--and compressed the wound.
"Leave it to you to get shot," I commented.
"Shut up."
I heard the sirens still. I had an itch to just leave and save myself, but I didn't. Thing is? I know Deadpool would have left me. But I didn't go, because I'm a good guy. Remember?
Oh, and all you readers who agreed with Deadpool and think I'm whiney? This is why I whine. Because I do things like this.
Deadpool shouted out in pain when I tried to remove the bullet, and I quickly covered his mouth with my hand. I shushed him again, holding my hand there until I was sure he wouldn't scream again. The cops were coming. Him screaming was not a good thing when there was the potenital arrest thing going on up in the air.
"And you call me a baby," I said, although I don't remember the last time he specifically called me a baby.
He didn't say anything. I sort of liked Deadpool when he wasn't annoying and immature and always shouting profaine insults.
"You are a baby," he snapped. He shifted his weight; he seemed to be in a lot of pain. Well, duh. He just got shot. Pain and getting shot sort of go hand in hand.
"What kind of superhero are you?" he asked me.
I blinked. "Excuse me?" I was trying to save his life here.
"You heard me."
"Yeah, I did. And that's why I said 'excuse me?'."
He snorted and pushed me away. "I don't need your help."
"You did a few minutes ago."
"Well now I don't."
I rolled my eyes behind my mask. "You know what?" he asked. "Fine. Fine, fine, fine. You go and bleed with a bullet in your frickin' shoulder. I am so fed up with you." I spun a webline, determined to leave. I was through with him. Through! "Do me a favor, next time you see me? Don't stop to say hi." I tugged on the webline and I shot up in the air.
Instantly I felt bad about leaving him. He'd just been shot. I tried to help him, yeah, but just because he's the biggest jerk with the biggest ego doesn't mean that I should have left him. Damn that Jimminey Cricket on my shoulder.
(subj: none)
Have you heard from Deadpool since, or seen him? How do you know if he's okay?
--Rogue
--
(subj:RE:none)
Hey, I tried to help him. I dunno where he went. Get off my case.
--Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man
--
(subj:Deadpool)
You're gonna beat yourself up over this one, too, aren't you?
--John-nay Storm
--
(subj:RE:Deadpool)
Most likely, yes.
--Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man