Author's note: Quick update because I tortured you all with horrible Jameson images! Unfortunately there's only a few more chapters left of this story. I'm really sad that it's getting towards the end, but I'm also... really happy that I've been able to get this far. I've never finished a multi-chapter story before. Not even once, in all the years I've been writing.

Chapter summary: In which Deadpool fucks up royally and Spidey has to go beat some killer-clown butt.

Chapter Twenty: Freaking Clowns

Peter was still extra thankful for the fact that when he'd stopped by Aunt May's last, she had given him a pair of cotton thermal underwear she'd found of his while cleaning out the hallway closet. It had dropped under fifty degrees and wearing only his suit to spend the night walking around would not have been too fun. Even still, he'd brought a jacket to wear over his top, a Letterman that he'd found at a thrift store, from a school he'd never once attended. He figured that, on top of the warmth, it would be a good way to throw people even further off his cover. Yes, he was a tad-bit paranoid, but he had every right to be.

"Another fucking Cubone, oh my Goood," Wade whined from beside him. Both of them were decked out in full costume, katanas and all, though Peter had somehow managed to beg Wade into only taking his blades with him. It may not have seemed like a huge step, but it made Peter feel a thousand times more comfortable about the thought of getting into some trouble tonight.

"At least your phone's loading anything for you," Peter shot back, and he closed his app for the umpteenth time and opened it back up. This was eating up his battery, but Wade had brought multiple portable chargers with him. He was apparently prepared for the freaking apocalypse, it seemed, with how much random-but-useful shit he carried around in his pockets.

"I just want a ghost, that's all I'm asking for is a few ghosts," Wade went on, but he suddenly perked up. "Oh, hey, I just saw that lady giving out full-sized Snickers. Later," he said, before he zipped off with his plastic ghost trick-or-treat bucket out, while he readjusted the princess tiara over his masked head. The hero felt warm as he watched his boyfriend mesh into a group of children who were swarming this old woman's doorstep. After receiving his treat, Deadpool came rushing back to his side, and he was dancing from one foot to the other. "Dude, holy shit, it's legit, she's really out giving out the good stuff!" he squeaked excitedly, and then he grabbed Peter's arm, trying to tug him along. "Come on, the loot's running low, and there's some teens about to get the rest of it. We gotta beat 'em."

Spider-Man shoulder-bumped against Wade. "Don't you feel a little bad about conning an old lady out of candy that's supposed to be for kids?" he asked.

Wade nudged him forward at a faster pace. "Well kids aren't gonna get any of it anyway after those guys do. And you're doing this for me. Give the candy to me after you get it from her."

Spider-Man couldn't stop the chuckle that huffed past his lips, muffled by his mask. "You have like fifteen bags of candy back at your place," he tried to reason.

"But candy from other people tastes better!"

"Could that be because they're laced with imaginary drugs? Don't you remember having to get our stash looked over by adults before we could eat few rationed to us at bedtime?"

"Yeah, that's great, but we're the adults now, and I've been checking this shit out already and you're going to get the Mars Bar when you reach into the bowl."

Their banter (and planning) was interrupted when one of the teens they were supposed to be fighting off against shouted, "Dude, sweet Spidey costume!" It was the one at the head of the group that was dressed as a football player (Peter could only assume it was his actual football uniform from school).

"Thanks! Nice sportsball costume!" he shouted back, raising his hand.

"Hey, my buddy's the real deal!" Wade called as he swung his arm up and around Spider-Man's shoulders, jerking him like a ragdoll as he did so. Peter actually felt a little bit of fear jump up from his gut to his throat, but then he realized that he was covered from head to toe and no one could see his face.

The group of teens, who seemed to be a little bit tipsy or otherwise, laughed heartily at that. "Hell yeah!" they crowed and one stumbled slightly to one side. "Real Spidey, real Spidey!" they chanted.

Deadpool joined in with it, and he held one of Peter's wrists while he pumped his own. "Real Spidey!"

Peter realized then that he was in for a long night.

Though, right as the thought hit him, the police radar he had clipped to the collar of his jacket announced that there was a robbery happening at the Bank of America on Queens Boulevard. He shoved his phone back into its sleeve, and then he batted Wade off of him as he aimed his arm up and shot a web to the roof of the old woman's place, to at least get them some distance from the ground. "Get on my back," he said as he tilted his head towards Deadpool. The Merc straightened up and saluted him, looking completely ridiculous as he did so.

"Don't have to tell me twice!" he agreed, and with a relatively smooth transition, he got himself piggybacked on Spider-Man, his limbs wrapped tight and his hands fisted on the jacket for dear life. Then he waved the group of teens and the kids who had stopped to stare as they took off into the night, with several surprised and delighted screams responding to the action.

Once they were out of sight, Deadpool's shoulders drooped some. "I really wanted that Mars Bar." Before Peter could respond, he snapped, "I do not! Yo, driver, does this tiara make me look fat?"

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. Very heavily. "No, it fits your beautifully-sized skull perfectly and accents your strong jawline." He shot another web and they turned down a new street at the end of a block. The sounds of people reacting below, the police scanner, and Deadpool talking were all coming together in something that was just a little too much, and Peter felt itchy over it. "We have to take patrolling seriously, and it comes before trick-or-treating."

Wade grumbled against his ear. "Yeah, I know." His voice grew serious.

The air rushing past them felt like it was below freezing, and even with his extra layers, he was still left cold. Suddenly, he heard Wade say, "Oh shit," and felt the other man shift on his back, and it caused their path to suddenly veer and they lost some speed.

"What?" Spider-Man demanded, worried that he had missed seeing something important.

"I dropped my phone," Wade said, sounding both sad and far-off. Peter looked back, but it was too late - he saw the shattered remains of the iPhone in the street. Even if it had been salvageable, a passing car ran right over the mess that was left of it. The overkill factor was off the charts.

"Uh," he replied, not really sure what he was supposed to say to that. Wade shouldn't have been fucking around on it while they were swinging? Why had it even still been out?

They lost momentum entirely, and then they were suddenly going backwards, and Peter had to stop his brain's line of thought in order to keep moving. He angled them and landed on the side of a brick building, and he took a second to re-calibrate. The overly-loud voice from the communicator informed him that the robbers were armed, and he hissed his displeasure. He didn't even get to reach the top of the roof before he heard Wade say, "Nope!" and suddenly used his back as a springboard.

"Wade!" he shouted on reflex, as he turned to look as his other half. The Merc was scrambling (with what looked to be a broken leg) over to where his phone had dropped. But he didn't have time to wait for Deadpool to come back, didn't have time to go get him, because the terrified request for backup over the sound of gunfire came over the scanner. Spider-Man cussed under his breath and the second he got to the roof, he took a running leap off of it. He was able to get back up to speed quickly enough, and it was much easier for him to move when it was just himself.

He arrived at the scene with police cars parked in a semicircle around the bank front, with officers on their knees, guns pointed at the doors. He landed quietly behind one group, and stayed curled over on his hands. "They're not clowns, are they?"

The cops jumped and whipped around, two aiming right at Spider-Man's face. He immediately threw his hands up and fell back on his haunches. "Whoa! Not the bad guy!" he said, startled, and his spider sense was shrieking at him. It quieted down as they lowered their guns, though one of them sure didn't look happy to see him.

"Five guys in clown masks," the woman on the right said. "They claim to have a bomb." Her eyes trailed down to Spider-Man's jacket and puffy pants, like she wasn't entirely sure he was the real thing. He didn't blame her.

"Good thing this isn't Gotham City," he murmured and then lowered his arms. "Any hostages?" he asked. He eyed the building. The lights were turned off in the front, but he could see that some in the back behind the teller desks were on. It was a Sunday, so no one should have even been in there, but by the looks on the officers' faces, they'd still managed to snag a victim or two

"We don't know how many," the officer in the middle said, and he sounded weary. "We can't get a visual confirmation, either."

Damn.

"Well, that only makes things slightly more complicated." His sarcasm was evident. He was trying so hard to stay in the present, and not let his over-stimulation affect him, or his worry over Wade. He tried not to feel disappointed on top of all of this. He'd wanted to spend the night out with his boyfriend, being silly and lighthearted together, even though he knew if anything was going to go wrong, it would be tonight. He knew he was wearing his costume to patrol and not to get candy and have fun.

He realized he was tapping his fingers against his thigh then. The cops were staring. He'd spaced out. Shit.

"Okay, yeah," he said awkwardly and then he slunk away, trying to keep in the shadows. Hopefully if the gunmen saw any part of him, it would be the jacket and they would assume he was just a civilian looking on from the sidelines, even though there was a barricade up. He got to the side of the slanted-roofed building and then climbed up until he was on the second story, front-facing windows. He webbed the entire glass panel together to keep the noise and mess down to a minimum, and he attempted to pry the window out of its panes. It only cracked a little bit, but he managed to get the entire thing off in one piece. He took it with him as he let himself into the opening and only set it down once he was completely on the floor. He'd done this a million and one times before. He'd even defended this very bank before. Multiple times before.

He was so done with tonight, and it was only six-forty.