Then Spider-Man was shot out of mid-swing by some weirdo in a high-tech suit that featured metal claws, stubby little wings, wielding a fancy gun that ejected arrow-like bolts. He had the crazed look of a guy who had gone over the edge a long time ago.
Deadpool was an expert in all things over that edge. He had looked into the abyss and was friends on a first name basis with it.
They had been chasing the perp, who had robbed a few stores and one bank within the past weeks, escalating to murder at the bank job, and now had him cornered.
Arrow Guy got lucky in shooting Spidey, using laser-guidance and the fact that Spider-Man was busy getting people to safety. He was already featuring a few claw marks that had cut up his nice costume.
Deadpool would have shot him just because of that. Now he had one more reason.
He didn't even look as he aimed and shot the man in both kneecaps, and into his dominant elbow just for good measure, to cripple him for life, while jumping after his falling partner. The metal armor was truly shabby and the joints easily penetrated by his bullets.
They crashed through a skylight, into an abandoned warehouse, Deadpool turning to cushion the impact as best as possible by using his own body.
It hurt.
It didn't matter.
He broke too many bones to count and he dislocated a few limbs, but it didn't matter either.
What mattered was the limp form in his arms.
"Spidey?" he whispered hoarsely.
Deadpool moved, broken bones and dislocated limbs grinding against each other as they healed, as cuts closed and blood stopped leaking.
"Hey, baby boy, what's kickin'?"
His ribs clicked back into place and his spine started realigning, which meant he was able to crawl closer.
Part of him surged in forward and a snarl escaped his lips as he saw the arrow sticking out of the unmoving body. The shaft had broken off and it was deep inside the lithe form, blood soaking into the red and blue costume.
The twisted mess of the hellhound in him continued snarling, wanting a kill, preferably after making the man who had dared inflict such damage on his Spidey suffer. A lot. For a long time.
The possessive feeling was almost choking, suffocating him, and Deadpool whacked it on its nose. He pushed the monstrous creature back into the darkness, focusing on his injured partner.
He would take care of Arrow Guy later.
Right now he had to deal with the sensation of unaccustomed worry, intermingling with flares of what might be panic, and the fact that he had to inflict even more pain of his favorite web-slinger to keep him from bleeding out on a warehouse floor.
Something shuddered through him, violent, vicious and wicked, and he felt it surge through his very being.
Deadpool let out an almost animalistic hiss as he checked the wound, then set to work on removing the arrow.
SDSDSD
Spider-Man never woke, though there were breathy moans and one whine when Deadpool manipulated the torn flesh.
It had him stop, frozen, the jittery thing inside him whining in sympathy, too.
It had never bothered him to hurt anyone, even while helping patch up a wound. Now… right now… it would probably haunt him until the next time someone blew his brains out and he knitted himself back together.
He didn't want to cause Spider-Man pain. Ever. His protective nature, twisted and mangled as it was, rose sharply and he whispered apologies as he checked the wound for any foreign material left behind, then cleaned it thoroughly.
SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD
Peter woke to hot pain flaring in his side, taking his breath away, feeling like someone had run a spear through him. It spread from his left side to encompass his whole body and a whimper involuntarily aft his lips. One hand twitched toward the source of his pain and was caught in a strong grip.
His mind exploded in fear, followed by an almost blind panic at being restrained, and he acted on instinct.
He lashed out with his other hand while twisting away and kicking hard into the general direction of his attacker.
Fight. Then flight.
It was automatic, instinctual, and adrenaline surged through his abused body, overriding any and all other signals.
There was a brief moment of triumph as his blurry sight located a window in the room he was in, then he was suddenly flat on his back and held by an iron grip, and a heavy, muscular weight was keeping him down.
"Wow, Spideyboy! That's a no go right now. You're undoing all my hard work in one seriously freaky move."
Recognition. On a level Peter would have analyzed if he hadn't been so out of it. It came from deep down inside, an instinctual reaction to the tone, the presence, the very energy.
Deadpool. It was Deadpool. He knew that voice without even seeing the other man and part of Peter had him go limp in the other man's grip.
"… you…" he managed, throat dry, voice hoarse.
A shiver raked through him.
Hands brushed over his chest, petting, caressing, giving him something to anchor himself on. He concentrated on the touch, the sensation of it all, and his racing heart calmed down. The pain was still there, but the panic had disappeared, leaving him more aware.
"Me." Deadpool hummed, sounding pleased. "The one and only. Accept no cheap copies."
He blinked and the red and black mask with the white eye covers swam into blurry focus.
Deadpool sat above him, straddling him, though he kept his full weight off Peter. His hands were still running over him. It was an amazing sensation somehow.
"No fighting the sexy nurse. I'm here to help."
One hand came to rest over his heart.
Peter felt a shiver run down his spine. The point of contact was focusing him more than anything else.
"Where…?"
"Somewhere safe," came the reassuring rumble, the voice dropping into such a calm, serious mode, Peter felt himself relax even more.
Something trickled along his spider senses, but it wasn't an alarm. It was something he had started to notice a lot lately, something that resembled a thin, wavering connection to the other man. A two-way road. Peter had no idea what sat on the other end of that road, but it was sleek, dangerous, radiating darkness, and still it was familiar and he felt no fear of it.
The stabbing pain in his stomach was momentarily back and he curled in on himself for a second, riding it out.
Fuck, he thought.
"Oh, yeah, that. You got shot."
"I figured," he hissed through clenched teeth.
"And your healing factor sucks."
"Hn."
Deadpool leaned closer, one hand cupping his masked cheek. "You allergic to anything, Spidey?" he asked, voice all serious again.
"No."
"Good. 'Cause all I've got is the illegal stuff of questionable origin."
"No. I need to go," Peter whispered, pushing himself up.
Deadpool tsked softly and easily had him on his back again, Peter breathing harshly through a new wave of pain.
"Nope. Not an option, baby boy. That hole in your side isn't the prettiest of battle wounds and I'm not letting you flaunt yourself like that to the general public. Adoring public, I'm sure, but still a fat old no."
"I can't… stay…" Peter fought, dizzy and trying to breathe through the pain.
"Too bad. Bed and board all paid for."
Deadpool was still touching him, calm caresses that were as far from sexual as he had ever come.
"This was bad," he murmured, voice dropping again to that serious rumble, an inflection of something else underneath. "So bad. So much blood. Couldn't stop it at first. Maybe the arrow was laced with something. You need to rest. Recover. Please."
Peter stared at the white eyes, momentarily breathless, something deep inside him reacting to that rumble. His vision wavered and that probably explained the overlaying, twisting vortex he saw. Dark and foreboding, an abyss of ravenous hunger and untamed killer instinct.
Deadpool rubbed a gentle thumb over his cheek, the expressive mask showing nothing but concern, a kind of worry Peter would never associate with the mercenary.
Deadpool didn't do worry. He looked only out for himself. His survival, his best.
That's what everyone had told him, mainly Hawkeye, but it was a lie.
Peter's pain-laden brain tried to make sense of it, but he was failing.
And there was also something else.
The shadowy mass.
Sharp. Intense. Knife-like teeth and dagger-like claws. Focused on Peter and Peter alone. Pushing forward and reaching for him in a physical way that was beyond the caress he felt.
He closed his eyes, feeling like he was losing his grip on consciousness now that part of him started to relax.
"You'll be safe," he heard.
He trusted that voice. That man. Deadpool.
There was a familiar sensation, one that was trying to pierce through the pain, and he instinctively leaned into the touch to his temple.
The pain lessened.
It lifted like a veil and he blinked, focusing on the darkness, the cool, even blanket that enveloped him. Milky eyes, inhuman, surreal and yet not, regarded him.
Gentle.
Soft.
Warm.
He leaned into the sensation that wasn't simply physical. It was everywhere, inside him, around him; it was part of him.
He would be safe.
SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD
Deadpool watched the younger man as he slept, his abdomen tightly bandaged, strong painkillers and even stronger antibiotics running through his system. He was healing, though not as fast as the mercenary would have himself.
Running a feather-light caress over the gloves of Spider-Man's costume, he allowed himself a smile.
The mask was still firmly in place. There was no doubt in his mind that he would leave it on. Spidey trusted him, had given him a chance to show the world he wasn't just a mindless, blood-lusting killer, that he could be a good guy.
He honored that.
Despite all the rumors and absolute truths about Deadpool concerning his work and lack of conscience, he had honor.
His preternatural side purred and rumbled in pleasure. He still remembered what he was, underneath all the crazy and the mutation, all the experimental DNA shot into him.
He was… had been… still was?... a guardian, a protector. He kept what he treasured safe.
And killed everything else.
Nothing had been precious to him since the death of Vanessa Carlysle, and even that emotion had been artificially created to make him suffer.
Had he ever really felt a connection to her on an emotional level? Had it been all just a figment of his jumbled brain? Had all feelings been out there to make her the one and only choice for the hellhound?
Deadpool didn't know. Wade Wilson had thought so, had died for that belief, and Deadpool was just a wreck now. Chaos and disarray.
They had destroyed everything of him, remade him into their little slave, but the primal nature had survived. It had changed beyond recognition and he wasn't truly safe to be around, but Spider-Man wouldn't be harmed. The monster inside him turned into a puppy dog when it came to the other man, prowling closer in a very non-puppy manner, showing teeth that would scare the hardiest of hunters, and flexing claws ready to rip anything and everything apart.
Not Spidey.
His baby boy was precious and safe.
The merc checked Spider-Man's temperature and nodded to himself.
"Crappy healing, but still healing," he mumbled to himself. "But you really need to eat more, babe. Gotta keep those spider muscles working, all that strength up. Poor thing."
He stroked over the bandage, smoothing the edges.
Everything was fine. No fever. The bleeding had stopped.
"You're safe," he murmured, giving in to his more tactile sense and trailing his fingers over the red and blue costume.
Spidey would always be safe with him.
Something warm and strangely soft curled through him.
Far from the crude sexuality he usually displayed. Far from just copping a feel and using the image of that nice little ass to bring himself off in the shower. Or outside. Or wherever.
Spider-Man was at his mercy. He could do whatever he wanted and… This wasn't… that. This was real. He didn't do soft. He had never been soft.
This was an emotion he hadn't felt in too long and that scared him shitless.
It was also something he craved and didn't want to miss any more.
The primal thing inside him rumbled in agreement, curled up in his soulless body, waiting patiently.
SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD
When he woke a second time it was to the feeling of someone being with him, very close, hovering. Peter was confused as to what had happened, his mind fuzzy, and his body didn't seem to respond to his brain's commands.
Spikes of pain radiated from his abdomen and he didn't even want to think about the other parts of his body that felt terribly bruised and battered. His back seemed to be the center of the mess, closely followed by all limbs.
It was a distant pain, dulled by medication, but it was there.
Peter tried to remember why he hurt, but he drew a blank.
The presence drew closer, calming him as panic flashed because he couldn't remember, soothing his fear.
Someone touched him, drawing gentle fingers along his arm, clasping his hand and squeezing it for a moment.
He squeezed back.
Memories leaked back and he blinked his eyes open.
Deadpool was the first he saw again.
It was a reassuring sight.
"Hey there, baby boy," the merc said playfully.
Peter tried to move and the pain intensified once more. The hand on his shoulder was heavy and like a grounding connection to reality.
His brain, rattled and completely out of whack as it was, kept pushing memories at him.
And emotions.
And something else.
"…how long…" he whispered roughly.
"You were out another hour. Your little mutant healing thingy is crap, but it's better than a human's, I give you that."
"… gee, a compliment," he rasped. "Thanks."
"Always, baby boy. You know me. Love to compliment your fine form. Now a bit riddled with holes, but still very attractive. A bit on the scrawny side, but I love the muscle. Had to peek." Deadpool gave him an apologetic look. "You know, underneath that flattering costume of yours. Sorry about the mess, though. In my defense, Bad Guy was the first to put a hole in places there shouldn't be holes in a human body. So it's a goner now. Hope you got a spare or two."
Spider-Man reached up, touching his masked face. Still in place, just rolled up over his nose to help him breathe.
"I didn't peek there."
Deadpool sounded extremely serious.
"Thank you."
"Your secret's absolutely safe with me, Spidey. I wouldn't look. I enjoy salivating over what I can see, so I'm easily pleasured with little things. Not that you'd be little. I doubt it. I think yours would be adorably perfect."
Peter closed his eyes, exhausted, mind still not working on all cylinders. "Need to leave."
It got him an exasperated sigh. "You are relentless. I love that in a man, but right now the sexy is severely dampened by the bloody. You do remember that you were shot, right? Just three hours ago."
The heavy warmth of one hand now rested on the bandages, over the abdominal wound. It wasn't painful, just a reminder of what had happened.
"You got a hot date I don't know about?" Deadpool asked playfully. "Lemme tell you from experience, bloody holes in your body are a turn off. Not as bad as severed limbs. Those turn off even the hardiest of sex fiends. And you really can't get it up without having it in the first place."
Peter grabbed Deadpool's arm and pulled himself up, hissing a curse at the pain. He screwed his eyes shut and breathed through it all, each breath coming as a short, harsh pant.
"Yeah, you metabolize painkillers as quickly as I thought. And this was the good stuff. No wonder. Gotta give it to you, Spideybabe. You are just as crazy as I am."
"Thanks, I think."
"You already had me with that ass in spandex, but now? I'm completely yours!" Deadpool gushed.
Peter dug his fingers into the hard muscles as his own spasmed around the wound. He breathed through the pain, felt a hand on his neck, fingers squeezing gently, reassuringly, helping him ride through it.
"Help me up," he demanded, sounding way too shaky for his own liking.
But he had to get out of here. He had to get to his own place, curl up and take care of his injuries.
"I know you can't always tell the crazy from the insane, but I was serious about that wound," the merc told him, voice suddenly low and intense.
His mouth was right next to Peter's head, their heads almost touching.
"I can take care of myself."
"Huh. Right. You weigh like half a Chihuahua on steroids, baby boy."
"What?"
"Are you eating? And if that's a yes, what are you eating? You need to keep that spider strength up, right?"
"I eat," Peter muttered defensively.
Sure, not as much as his rather outrageous metabolism really needed, but after rent and necessities there was always room for a little splurge here or there. If he did the overtime.
"And I can take care of myself just fine."
Deadpool shrugged. "I'll just go then and…"
Spider-Man held on to the other man with a strength still surpassing a human's, though he was weaker than normally.
"Your crushing grip is my command."
Deadpool hoisted him up and it was almost too much. Peter whimpered and fell against the hard-muscled form, felt the steadying arm around his back, away from the shot wound, and he just breathed.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck his life!
Deadpool was silent; giving him space in a way, while keeping him physically close.
"You are safe here," he said into the silence after a while. "You can recover here."
"No," he replied automatically. "No, please, I…"
Deadpool sighed softly, pulling him closer to help steady him. "Well, baby boy, have it your way. Which reminds me, which way is your little Spider Cave?"
SDSDSD
Peter had absolutely no clue how they made it back to his apartment building.
Well, close to his real address.
He couldn't risk Deadpool knowing where he lived. Maybe the merc already knew, maybe he had given him privacy, but no matter the truth, Peter wanted to at least believe he had some secrets.
Deadpool was clearly humoring him as he left Peter in a side alley, leaning against the wall, legs shaky, knees weak, and his vision swimming. He had put a wide sweater jacket on Spider-Man, the hood hiding his masked face, together with the I Love New York basecap. The pink basecap.
SDSDSD
When Peter was inside his own four walls he just collapsed with a pained, weak whimper.
He hurt.
So very, very much.
The stairs had almost killed him and he had nearly blacked out in front of his door.
SDSDSD
It took him an eternity to gather the strength to make it into the bathroom and check Deadpool's handiwork.
Clean wound, closed with neat little stitches, underneath the tight bandage.
Peter stared at it, shaking from stress, from too much pain. He looked at the painkillers Deadpool had stuffed into the pockets of the sweater jacket.
The good stuff, he had told Peter. Not laced with anything, scout's honor and all.
He met his own eyes in the mirror, saw the bruises and cuts, the dark smudges under his eyes that spoke of his exhaustion and the pain.
At the end of his rope, emotional and otherwise, he just swallowed them before he crawled into bed.
tbc...