"You should be careful," Hawkeye warned him. "He's dangerous. More than that, kid. He's highly unpredictable, totally erratic, a trained killer with a lust for blood, and his kill-count is higher than anyone's I've ever met. And that's saying something, if you get my drift. Deadpool doesn't care about collateral damage."
"Noted," Spider-Man answered levelly.
There was no way to ignore the weapons on Deadpool, the katanas strapped to the merc's back, the guns, the knives, the explosive devices, and whatever else he hid on his body. There was no way to ignore Deadpool in general.
Period.
And of course Peter understood what being a mercenary was all about; he wasn't stupid or innocent in the ways of the world. But he also understood what Black Widow and Hawkeye had been before joining the Avengers. The Avengers weren't innocent players either. Death happened around them and they had killed, too.
Including collateral damage.
The only difference was that Deadpool had been hired to kill a mark.
But the man hadn't killed anyone while they had been working together. It was Spider-Man's one and only rule: no deaths.
And the other man followed it.
Knives that would have ended up in a head or throat now lodged in a shoulder or a thigh. His blades cut into limbs, missing the main blood vessels. Tendons were severed, but the victims didn't bleed out. And the one time a katana got stuck inside a would-be rapist, it missed all major organs and was simply an agonizing wound. And decapitations had gone down to zero.
Trying to make Deadpool leave his weapons behind was like asking Spider-Man to leave the web shooters, maybe even his whole outfit. They were a part of Deadpool. They were also parts he didn't use unless necessary.
Spider-Man had watched him fight with blunt force, pulling a gun when things got a little too dicey, and he had simply shot out a kneecap. The man was a skilled fighter, extremely dangerous, absolutely deadly even without a gun or a knife.
Deadpool was holding back.
He was still learning, exuding less and less force, and the twitches toward his guns became more infrequent.
"You can't expect him to show mercy. Not in his nature. I've never seen him show remorse." Hawkeye tilted his head a little, looking intrigued. "I know he hasn't killed anyone on your watch, Spider-Man, but taking a life is easy for him. Like grocery shopping. He won't think much of blowing someone's brains out. You can't trust him."
But Peter did.
Had after a while and he had no explanation as to the why and when. It had happened. Spider-Man trusted Deadpool, despite everything he knew or had seen. It was like an instinct, like a spider sense he hadn't felt like this before.
"So how is he any different compared to you or Black Widow?" Spider-Man asked coldly. "You and she are just as morally flexible as Deadpool."
Hawkeye didn't look too shocked, just slightly surprised, then he smiled coolly. "In many ways he's not. We are all trained assassins. Deadpool's just all that, with the added bonus of his preternatural side, and absolutely uncontrollable. Unpredictable. And insane," the Avenger added forcefully.
Aren't we all? Peter thought, eyes on the streets again, watching. He was a former college student swinging through the streets on a webline he had developed himself, who just about managed to feed himself on his part-time job and selling pictures of his alter ego to a paper that tore him a new one every issue they printed. He had been a teenager when he had started, learning by doing, teaching himself about his powers and abilities. Everything he was… was self-made.
"You might find yourself on his hit list one day," Hawkeye drove his point home, "if someone decides you should be out of the picture and has enough money to pay him. He wouldn't think twice. He will take the money and you'll have a bullet between the eyes."
He turned his head, looking coldly at the other man. "And again, how is that different from you and Black Widow? Before SHIELD. Maybe even now?"
Hawkeye's lips became a thin line. "We still have a working conscience."
"Who defines what your conscience has to be like to be considered working?"
"Spider-Man, listen…"
He held up a hand. "No, I heard you. I understand it all. But this is my decision and mine alone," he repeated again. "Stay out of my life, Hawkeye. I'm not an Avenger. You're not my guardian or my fucking mother! I've made my decision and I trust my instincts."
Then he shot out a line and swung off the building.
SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD
An Avenger giving him advice was nothing new. Peter had entertained thoughts of becoming one for a while, but then had decided that no thanks, he was better off on his own for now.
For one, he didn't want to give up his secret identity. Then there was the fact that those he had met already kept treating him like he was just out of high school and innocent in the ways of the world.
It rubbed him the wrong way.
Yes, he had actively petitioned them to join up, and he had been shot down repeatedly for all the aforementioned reasons. He had been persistent, had wanted to be a hero that was recognized as such in the eyes of the public, to finally silence Jameson and his propaganda.
It all blew over and his dreams of being more than the 'menace' disappeared. Jameson had published an article about the downfall of the Avengers, their moral disintegration, after Spider-Man had helped put down a new threat to the city.
It had felt good, until the moment he had read the papers. Even working alongside the famous and loved team, Spider-Man had been torn apart by the Bugle and the Avengers had been called 'tainted by this vigilante'.
So no, being an Avenger wasn't a goal any more. He would never be able to change the Bugle's headlines about him, even if there was a large crowd of Spider-Man fans. People who loved him, who adored him, who bought merchandise and who were grateful for his presence.
Talking to Hawkeye was okay. As far as Peter knew, the man was a preternatural with heightened senses, just like Black Widow. They never really talked about it. Banner was a mutant who had gotten his abilities through an accident. Iron Man was human. Captain America was the result of human experimentation.
No, Peter didn't think of himself as Avengers material anymore.
He liked what he did and he evaded SHIELD and the recruitment speeches.
Sure, they kept watching him, but he ignored them.
It was working for him so far.
Hawkeye giving him advice on who he worked with fell into the category of being mostly ignored, though he had heard every word.
Spider-Man wasn't a kid anymore.
It was his decision, his instincts to trust.
Something very deep inside him told him that he could trust Deadpool. Yes, the man had a taste for blood. Yes, he truly was morally flexible, had said so to Peter already.
But Peter was safe with him. Whatever the man was or had been, he was different around Peter.
That alone should worry him, but Peter wasn't worried. Not really. It was more like a strange kind of understanding, a closeness, that had him want to spend time with Deadpool.
Yeah, weird.
But he liked it.
SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD
Deadpool had no idea when he had started to gravitate toward Spider-Man on a regular basis. The fascination and intrigue concerning the most likely younger man had made way for something else.
Yes, he had to be younger. Lots younger. Considering that what was left of his memories of his life before Weapon X was severely scrambled and he hardly recalled anything that made a lot of sense, Deadpool had stopped counting years. He had no idea how old he truly was. It was a little bit like what Wolverine was going through, though he had a shitload of more problems. Logan was so much like him in so many ways, he had felt like a long lost brother for a while.
A growly, continuously pissed-off and snarling brother who would rather skewer him with his shiny claws than share Christmas presents and punch with him.
So… Spider-Man, his mind went back on track. Younger. Not jailbait, Deadpool mused. Good.
Hitting on Spidey was a game to him. He never stopped ogling that amazing ass. And he copped a feel if he could.
He liked watching. A lot. Not just the ass, but everything.
Spider-Man was extremely agile and fast, not to mention strong. Deadpool was fascinated by the twists, turns, jumps and backflips. He was agile himself, but Spider-Man was a class of his own. The proportional strength was just another topping on the yummy plate of goodies that was Spiderbabe.
But then…
Then there were the calmer moments.
After fighting the bad guys, shooting out kneecaps or breaking bones, after admiring the agility of his partner, the way he twisted and turned with the grace of a dancer and pro gymnast, there were those other moments.
Sharing food.
Sharing just a moment to unwind, to come down from an adrenaline high.
Like now.
Added bonus of ouchies and pain.
But it had been worth it. No one would hurt children on his watch. That scum had taken hostages while trying to rob a jewelry store. Two of them had been children.
Well, he now had a lot of time to think about what he had done wrong. After he got out of intensive care.
"Ow," he murmured and looked at his thigh where a sizeable hole had been a while ago. Right now it was just raw flesh, muscles and nerves knitting back together again.
Spidey shot him a quizzical look.
"Stings."
It had been one of those new bullets, capable of ripping chunks out of whatever got in their way. Walls, cars, Deadpool.
"This will be a bitch to repair," he complained, picking at the ruined leather. "I should sue the idiot."
"Good luck with that," Spider-Man replied, head cocked as he studied the bloody wound.
"Watch me. It was also my best suit. Really! And I just paid off the last of it, too! Should have leased the crap."
His favorite spider smiled as he chewed on one of the pizza slices. Being able to see that smile, be allowed to see the unmasked lower half of Spider-Man, did things to Deadpool that he really didn't want to think about too deeply. That he felt comfortable enough to show enough of his face to eat was testimony to the pull the younger man had on him.
Spidey hadn't even stared when the merc had pushed up the mask to eat. He had simply held out the hot sauce to the spring rolls and continued.
After that glorious moment, Deadpool had only fallen all the harder for Spider-Man.
Now he searched through his various pockets and pulled out a Hello Kitty patch, slapping it on the ragged tear and bloody skin.
Spider-Man snorted a half-laugh. "Not making it any better."
"Hey! It's two hundred percent better, baby boy! This is the epitome of better!"
"Clashing colors."
"Hello Kitty goes with any and all colors," was the aloof answer.
"And the blood distracts from the cute cat."
"Meh." He flapped his hand at him. "Always the critics."
It got him a shake of the head and Spider-Man grabbed another slice, almost inhaling it.
The silence descended again, interrupted by chewing and soft noises of pizza appreciation.
And Deadpool was suddenly just Wade. Something dark and vicious inside of him unknotted, wanted to be closer to Spider-Man, his Spidey, and the preternatural creature that had once been a hellhound snarled at the impossibility of it all.
He was broken. Twisted and broken, beyond repair. He was a shadow, a grotesque rendering of what had once been a normal preternatural. And he wasn't what he had been born as anymore. He was a vicious force, an infernal thing that defied definition thanks to too many ingredients in the cocktail at happy hour.
His fingers trailed along the edge of the Hello Kitty patch, blood marring the comic perfection with its pink and white adorableness.
He was calmer when they were together. His mind seemed to be…
Focused.
It was his own.
There was no background noise, no pressure, nothing. The primal thing was quiet, almost peaceful in a way he hadn't ever felt before.
Spider-Man… grounded him.
He made it real.
He made it bearable.
He made him Wade again.
The blackened remains of his ruined soul seemed to shiver, twist and rattle in the darkness that was nothing but numbed pain. The part where he had once been able to feel, reach out and connect to another soul, was feeling almost restless.
SDSDSD
The calmness became quiet moments between them. Shared tacos. Tacos and talk. Sometimes neither as they drifted together and shared… just themselves. There was companionable silence and the silence scared Deadpool more than anything ever before in his life.
Because he liked it.
He liked the tentative connection that part of him roared couldn't ever be real.
He liked to pretend at night, holed up in his private little cave, his fortress of solitude, rival franchise be damned.
Wade got the best orgasms out of his fantasies.
And he was falling in love with the other man, knowing nothing but what Spidey told him.
The primal beast snorted at the thought.
Love.
He couldn't love.
Love was soft and warm; he was anything but that.
And what did he really know about Spider-Man? For all intents and purposes he would be a trap laid out to capture the merc, though there were better ways, in his humble opinion. They wouldn't need a delicious morsel like Spidey to get him to walk into a cage and happily hum daytime television tunes while staring at the spandex covered behind.
No, it wasn't a trap.
It was like an instinct, a need, to be this close and let himself drift in the normality of it all.
Sitting together, so close and feeling the younger man's body heat. Bumping shoulders, fingers brushing when sharing food, and even though there was never any skin to skin contact, it was more than Deadpool had had in the past years.
Hellhounds were tactile creatures when they let their guard down, but he knew there was nothing of his original preternatural state left. Still, the need to touch was there. Something of is had survived.
Part of his tortured soul screamed out its pain, the inability to be even closer to Spidey, to the man he had started to trust after everything that had torn him to pieces so many years ago. Part of him wanted to kill those responsible over and over, again and again.
And some tiny, fragile thing whispered in the back of his mind, pushed him nearer to Spidey, wanted him to touch and caress, wanted to open up and ground himself.
SDSDSD
It was the beginning of a downhill slide.
SDSDSD
One night he just dropped his head on the other man's shoulder, rambling on about the beauty of the city at night, and waxing poetic about sexy butts and illuminations of aforementioned anatomical perfection. His mind went on about soft lights, sweet colors and lean bodies twisting through the air in graceful moves.
Spidey didn't push him off. He just stilled for a moment, then continued to sip his hot coffee, watching his city.
Deadpool – Wade – let the rambling taper out, felt the calmness settle, and he remained leaning intimately against his personal cushion.
Soaking it all up.
Breathing calm and slow.
Perfection.
SDSDSD
He did ground himself.
As insane and impossible as it sounded, he did.
On Spider-Man.
The nightmare inside him was quiet and content.
SDSDSD
It just didn't register how completely, how intensely, and how irrevocably he had come to center his messed-up preter side on Spidey.
They were an incredible team. They fought perfectly well together, anticipating each other's moves, having each other's backs, and Deadpool started to rely on Spider-Man in a way that was both insanely dangerous and beautifully new.
He had a partner.
He loved his partner.
He craved his attention, wanted to be good, do good. He didn't kill, as Spider-Man had asked – never ordered, no. He only incapacitated.
And Deadpool felt more like a hero.
No one else trusted him, but meh! He didn't need anyone else. Spider-Man trusted him to have his back, to keep him from harm, and he did his best.
Even took bullets for his hero.
Died twice.
The second time stung a little, but hey. He had had worse.
Just another day in his life.
tbc...