Okay, huge update today!

And I promise, next chapter will be the beginning of Deadpool making that big step you've all been waiting for. And the next one after that will probably the one a lot have been whining to read.

Anyway, here's some stuff to read and tide you over till next time. My guesstimate is I've reached halftime for the fic.

Have I ever mentioned how crap I am at writing quick little ficlets? Or anything closer to just 5k? *hides*

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It took Spider-Man getting kicked in the head so hard he fell unconscious right away, bleeding copiously from a head wound, for Deadpool to really lose it and for something else to click into place. For the chimera to break out, mowing down a bunch of drones until only spare parts were left. He had no measure of time and space any more. There was just the lifeless form of his partner, the blood, and then the darkness descending on him like a shroud.

"Daddy needs to express some rage," he whispered harshly.

The chimera reveled in the kill, even if the robots didn't bleed. Some fluids were spilled, but it was no blood. It strained against the chains, wings spread and glinting like blades.

Behind the mask's white eyes, Deadpool's eyes were glowing an intense silver, reflecting the powerful thing inside as he shot, sliced and stabbed at whatever got into way. He never moved from Spider-Man's motionless form, reveling in the high-pitched screeches from the dying machines.

Protecting.

Avenging.

Hey, he was an Avenger, shot through his head for a tenth of a second, then that cheerful voice was drowned by the chimera's roars.

And suddenly it was over.

Harsh breaths sounded in his ears, his mind roiling with the carnage he still wanted to spread, and he bared his teeth. A growl left his lips.

He was bleeding from shot and stab wounds. There was a piece of metal sticking out of his side and he pulled it out with an almost careless move. Blood leaked copiously from the unplugged entry wound, but Deadpool ignored it. It would stop in a moment, and it did.

His eyes fell on Peter.

Motionless.

Bleeding.

Not again! the chaos screamed.

"Shit, Spidey," he whispered, falling to his knees and raking worried eyes over the torn costume.

There was a lot of blood. Headwounds tended to bleed copiously. And for his resilient little spider to go down like a felled tree and stay unconscious, it must have been a pretty big blow. One that would have killed an ordinary human.

The whine of engines alerted him to the arrival of Iron Man, Cap hanging on to him like a Christmas decoration. A very nice, edible, muscular and dreamy Christmas decoration, Deadpool mused, just before pulling his guns and aiming them at the two Avengers in an almost casual manner.

Safeties off.

Fully reloaded.

"Fuck off," he said evenly, voice low and grating.

"Deadpool, we can help," Cap offered, holding up his hands in a placating manner.

"Thanks but no thanks, Spangled Ass. Me and my pal Spidey will just leave the party on our own."

The usual lightness was missing and even Captain America got the warning in the flatly delivered words, but he wouldn't be the All-American Hero if he didn't press on.

"He is injured, he needs medical help."

"No biggie."

"Spider-Man doesn't have your healing factor, Deadpool," Iron Man snapped. "He needs professional help. He's unconscious!"

"He's got the most professional and sexy nurse right here. Now get out of my way before you need more than a nurse, sexy or not." He raised an eyebrow, the expressive mask mimicking the move. "One…"

Iron Man growled something under his breath that was meant as a curse, but to Deadpool's very good hearing it was actually a compliment. The repulsors started charging.

"Two…" Deadpool continued, voice amicably light, nut the mask reflected deadly seriousness.

"Deadpool, please."

"Three. You know I can count all the way to ten. I was first in my class. Gold sticker star and so on. Four." He tilted his head. "And the next one is five."

Cap expelled a breath. "Okay. We'll go. Should you need help…"

"Six."

Another sigh. "Tony, let's go."

"We can't leave Spider-Man like that! With him!" the Tin Can protested. "He's a maniac and we have no idea what he'll do!"

"Se-ven!" Deadpool sang. "And seven ate nine!"

"Call if you need help," Captain America offered seriously, giving Tony a little push that had the armored man actually sway. "You know how to reach us. Tony, let's go."

"You trust him with Spider-Man?!"

"Spider-Man trusts Deadpool. I believe we shouldn't judge that."

Stark opened his mouth, then his eyes fell on Deadpool once more. "Fine!" he growled.

And they were gone before Deadpool could add a song about ten.

Muscles relaxed slightly, but his senses were still on high alert. The chimera was predominant, spoiling for a fight that was already over.

Spidey was starting to move, making soft noises of pain. Deadpool secured the guns and holstered them, sure in his ability to undo all of that and kill whoever dared threaten them in a heartbeat.

"Hey, baby boy," the merc murmured, touching the bruised body. "You got a bad kick to the head. I'm gonna get you home."

"I can websling," came the groggy reply.

Completely on automatic.

Deadpool had to smile. His baby boy was adorable. "Sure can't do, kid. Now, let ol' Deadpool handle this." He smirked under the mask. "Handle. Yep. I'd love to handle this."

Spidey leaned against him, a weak chuckle leaving his lips. "Ask me again in the morning."

"You wish. One time offer, Spidey. Now or never."

"Rain check. I think I'm gonna be sick."

"That's what they all say when they get a load of this. Upsidaisy," he proclaimed. "Up we go, webhead."

Spidey groaned and locked his knees. He cursed softly under his breath.

SD

He didn't throw up, thankfully.

SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD

Peter slept off the bruises, though the head wound took a little longer to close and stop bothering him.

Deadpool was a protective, worried presence, refusing to budge and even going as far as trying to call Peter's workplace.

"No!" he hissed, grabbing the phone and ending the call. "I need this job!"

It got Peter a shrug and an hour later his table was groaning under a ton of food from seemingly every take-out place in a five block radius.

"You look way too skinny," was the mercenary's comment as he plopped down with tacos in his hands.

"I'm not skinny!" Peter chose Thai, sitting down next to his partner. "And you know the rules." He gestured at the outfit.

"It's not Casual Friday."

"I don't care."

"Oh, Petey the rulebreaker." He stuffed a taco into his mouth. "You're a real bad boy."

"Watch me."

Deadpool pulled off his gloves as a compromise and they ate in silence. He relaxed into the cushions of the sofa and Peter felt the same calmness.

Something curled around his very soul. Huge, dangerous, absolutely lethal and easily the most nightmarish thing to ever be born, but it was warm and protective when it leaned into Peter.

Like Deadpool leaned into him, careful of his injuries.

Peter let him. Him and the chimera. Everything he was. Because he wanted this and wouldn't revoke the offer.

SD

He fell asleep right after eating.

SD

Deadpool kept waking him at intervals, checking his reactions, his memories, even though Peter bitched and growled and downright cursed at him for it.

"You'll thank me for keeping that handsome head in peak condition, baby boy. Wouldn't want you to wander off into the area of memory loss and whatnot."

SDSDSD

When he woke on his own, without the insistent shaking, it was the next morning. Peter had slept for more than ten hours, with interruptions, the food was in the fridge and Deadpool sat on his couch, dressed in his civvies, laptop on his lap.

Working.

Or watching porn.

Whatever.

The hood was again pulled down to hide his whole face, but the hands were bare.

"Look who's gracing us with his radiant presence?" the older man crooned. "How y'doin', baby boy?"

"Head's okay."

"Good to hear."

Peter plopped down on the couch next to him. "I missed work," he breathed.

There was a surge of panic, then just resignation.

Deadpool hummed in agreement.

"I'm probably fired," he sighed and dropped fully against his partner and friend.

Deadpool froze momentarily, but since Peter had turned his upper body to keep himself from accidentally catching sight of Wade's face, he relaxed again.

"You should ask your buddy Stark directly. I mean, he's the head honcho. You work for one of his myriad companies. I'm sure he could get you in somewhere. Isn't there some kind of Avenger Buddies card?"

"We're not buddies," he grumbled, wriggling slightly to get more comfortable, suppressing a wince as his head protested.

"Or you could save on rent and stuff."

Peter rolled his eyes. "The only way I could save anything is to move into a cardboard box under the bridge," he stated flatly. "This is as affordable as it gets in New York."

Deadpool was humming softly. "I know a few places. Better than this cubby hole in the wall. I mean, your heating is shit."

"Who did you have to shoot?"

It got Peter an amused laugh, but the merc didn't expand on his statement about affordable living space.

Silence sat between them. Companionable, warm silence.

The rest of the day passed just the same way, sharing space and physical contact. Peter sent pictures of Spider-Man off to the Bugle as an offer and got an almost immediately reply, selling a few of them.

It would tide him over until the rapidly approaching end of the month.

If he reduced food to shared meals with Deadpool.

Yeah, sounded about manageable.

Who needed regular meals anyway?

SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD

Deadpool kept close when they went out, costumed, keeping the streets safe.

Hovering. Touching.

Peter let him.

He so badly needed it. It was like an addiction that the other man was aware of but never spoke about. Deadpool had to viciously fight down the desire to snuggle into him, nuzzle against the warm skin, maybe just nip at it.

Just once.

It was reassuring to feel Spider-Man alive, warm, in motion. It was...

Grounding.

Anchoring.

Making his life less unstable.

He had nearly lost that.

Yes, Spideybabe was more resilient than the run of the mill human, but he wasn't immortal. He wasn't like Deadpool.

He could die.

The mere thought of that loss had Deadpool want to drive his katanas into a handy criminal and gut him for daring to touch his… his…

He swallowed.

It was harder to ignore everything now.

The offer. The need. Peter's acceptance of what he had already seen of what Wade Wilson really was.

He was losing the fight; the whole battle and with it the freaking war.

Wade kept recalling the kiss, the touch of lips against the mask, and he wanted that again. Preferably without the mask.

Peter was still giving him space, letting him handle his freak-outs on his own. And they were freak-outs. Sometimes quite massive ones, going on and on inside his head.

The chimera was trying to bond. Its own twisted and probably terrifying way of bonding. Deadpool was frightened of what it might turn Peter into.

His perversion, his artificial existence… his darkness.

In another lifetime he would have known how to do this, but that life had ended and that ability had been ended. What was left was a monster that shouldn't exist.

How could Spider-Man… how could he even think about wanting it? How could he bear the thought to connect to a lethal monster that no one knew anything about?

It was getting harder to keep the chimera in check, though.

The desire was overwhelming. And Peter didn't really push him away.

'Life begins where your comfort zone ends,' a postcard told him.

He burned it.

This was worse than fortune cookies.

SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD

"Voila, as the French like to say," Deadpool proclaimed and spread his arms wide with a flourish.

Spider-Man blinked at the huge, open space. This was easily large enough to make four family-sized apartments out of it. He hadn't seen much from the outside, but it was five storeys tall and located in a rather quiet area, surrounded by a lot of warehouses and storage facilities.

"Whoa," he murmured.

It was perfectly habitable, though absolutely bare, down to the walls. The high windows were a nice touch, as was the view. Stairs were leading to an upper level that consisted of another empty room with high windows and a terrace spanning half of the roof. The view wasn't anything to pay for, but it was nice and still rather private.

"Plumbing still sucks," Deadpool told him amiably. "Well, there is none to speak of, but that can be changed. Money can get you a lot of things. And walls might help with the whole echo canyon feels. Though listening to the echoing cries of ecstasy throughout the throes of pleasure…"

Peter ignored him as he rambled on about all the places where sex was an option in this place, and just took in the nice open space.

"So what do you think?"

He blinked. "About?"

Another flourishing spread of arms. "This. With the plumbing and good heating it should be okay, right?"

Peter had really lost track of things. "For?"

"You, my confused little Spideycake!"

"What?! Deadpool, I can't afford this place!"

"I'm sure you can. The landlord's a pretty cool dude. You could probably pay him in sexual favors or some ass groping. He isn't picky."

Peter knew he was staring like an idiot, though it was hard to see behind the mask.

"This is your place?!"

Deadpool cocked his head. "I knew you were a sharp cookie."

"Wade…!"

He closed the distance between them and Peter was suddenly looking into the white eyes, taking in the serious expression, the way Deadpool's body was all tension. He felt the chimera, the power it was, the untamable nightmare inside an indestructible body. It was regarding him with cold eyes, but the warmth and longing were plain to feel.

"You offered me something more than this is worth, Peter," he said, voice low, touching something deep inside the younger man.

"What…? Wade, no! What I'm offering isn't connected to anything like this!" he protested. "No strings attached. Ever! You don't have to give me…" He flailed his arms. "This!"

Deadpool clenched his hands into fists, the leather creaking softly. "What I feel around you… is too real sometimes. It's intense and shouldn't be possible. It happened... It happened and I can feel it, but seems unreal! Losing you is not an option. Ever! Protecting you is everything, Peter."

He shivered at the words. Calmly delivered words, absolutely level and with such an intent… almost like a dark promise, a vow.

"I can take care of myself!" he heard himself protest.

The white eyes were burning from behind the mask. "Spider-Man can. Peter Parker can, too. But Peter needs money for that. A job. You have neither. I have both. I need to do this, keep you safe…"

The whole presence of his partner was mesmerizing. The intensity would have been enough to make even the weakest empath fall over in a dead faint.

"Instinct," Peter murmured, voice incredibly soft, like realization was finally hitting him.

Deadpool was so close now, crowding him against a window, warm and heavy in his body and mind. His fingers ghosted over Peter's sides, his arms, never inappropriate and still more intimate than anything else.

So tactile. So very much still who he had been before everything had become such a mix of DNA and mutation.

"I shouldn't have it any more, that desire, the whisper of the bond. But I do. And it's clamoring against the crazy and insane inside me," Deadpool told him hoarsely, one hand coming to rest on Peter's rib cage, the other on his hip. "I want this… you… so much. And it hurts. Because the hellhound died. The ability is gone. The chimera isn't capable of it. I feel the phantom echoes and it's killing me."

Peter looked into the white eyes. "You're not dependent on me, Wade," he said softly. "You're so strong on your own. You survived so much and you didn't give up. You went on and you made a new life. A crazy, erratic life, but it's life, Wade."

Deadpool was silent. It was an unusual state outside their calm, centered moments.

"And I don't want to be dependent either. I've always made it on my own, with my own money. I can't take this. I can't owe you for… this. I appreciate what you want to do, but this is overkill. You can't push me into a life I can't live. Like I won't ever ask more of you than you can do either."

Deadpool dropped his head against Peter's shoulder with a soft groan. "I'd never call on whatever favors you think you owe me, Spidey. Never. I'm good. I'm not a monster. I'm really good."

Peter brushed a hand over the mask. "I know. It's just… I… can't accept it, Wade. I just can't."

There was a moment of absolute stillness, the air thick and heavy between them. Then the merc stepped back abruptly, his mask suddenly unreadable. He was out the door and gone within a second.

His habit of running was starting to grate on Peter's nerves. He wanted to yell, to just sit on Deadpool until he understood, but he knew it was the wrong way. They were getting closer. He could feel the chimera more now, watching him with sharp eyes, its attention always on Peter.

Wade's instincts were running haywire, but he was reacting not like a sane human being would.

Spider-Man looked around the huge space, exhaling slowly.

Damn his life.

He understood Deadpool's offer, but Peter's pride was getting in the way. He had always managed to live his own life, working two jobs, juggling it with being Spider-Man. He supported his aunt as much as he could, made sure she was safe from his secret life. He had never taken money from anyone. He had never accepted rent-free room.

Deadpool… Wade… wasn't just anyone.

His protective nature was rising, overwhelmingly oppressive sometimes, and it was getting them nowhere.

"You don't make it easy," he murmured.

He needed to think.

Thoroughly.

SDSDSD

In the end, Peter borrowed money from Aunt May out of desperation, promising to pay her back right away.

Wade said nothing. He was actually suspiciously absent for the next days.

He just fed Peter. There was take-out in the fridge whenever Peter opened it, which meant Deadpool had broken into his place and filled up the fridge.

He didn't have it in him to yell.

SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD

"Why am I the Agony Aunt again?" Weasel peered at his best friend, a frown on his scruffy features. "Jesus Christ in a bathtub! You really are dense, y'know!"

Deadpool buried a knife in the worn table top, making Weasel jump a little. He pulled it out again, then repeated the exercise. Wood splintered, the knife leaving ugly little scars.

"I know I'm just plain human and don't have a preternatural instinct in my bones, but looking at you? Hellhounds don't court and you aren't a super, but some of them do that. Like a ritual. Offering pressies to the mate of their choice. Dude, you want this so badly."

"I can't," he bit out.

"If you feel it, why do you think you can't? It's instinct! It's there for a reason, right? Not that you and Spiderguy start popping out kids. Not that you can, right? You might be a fucked up collection of DNA grafts, but they didn't change the whole set-up. So why are you so dense, Wade?""

"Because the ability to balance myself was taken from me with Vanessa! Torn out and left a wasteland!" Deadpool hissed.

This time the force of the blow drove the knife deep, anchoring it in place. Weasel winced.

"You owe me a new table," he grumbled. "Listen, I know they killed the hellhound, but there is more in there, right? The chimera is more. And something in there can connect, maybe even bond."

Deadpool stared at him like Weasel was insane. "That 'something' is a monster, Weasel. It's worse than anything naturally born out there. A rabid werewolf is a puppy compared to it! You want Spidey to be forever chained to this?" He gestured at his face. "Because this is what the inside also looks like! Not fluffy and warm and cuddly! It's nasty and ready to tear your throat out! Way more teeth and claws, too."

Weasel shrugged. "I got used to it. Somehow. Well, mostly. In bright light and not in a dark hallway, where you scare the shit out of me. Literally, man. What I'm saying is, there's much worse than that. You got all your limbs, nose, eyes and ears. The hair's optional. Bruce Willis makes it work. So give it a shot. If it bites you in the ass, hey, you tried, right?"

"The outside is not the problem!"

"But you hide it. And you think you're hiding the rest. Spiderboy isn't stupid, dude. He has this alarm, right? He'd be running for the hills if he felt threatened by the chimera. Why don't you start easing yourself into this? Show him your face."

Deadpool didn't answer.

"You come in here all the time without the mask on. You don't even crawl into a hoodie. You sit there and let the freak out. It never bothered you."

"It bothers me," he ground out.

"Fact is, you don't show him your ugly mug, just us," Weasel pointed out. "No one's called the Ghostbusters on you in the past. Just show him, Wade! I never met he guy, but he sounds like a cool dude who wouldn't throw up his lunch in your lap. Stop pushing gifts at him like you're fucking courting the girl in the ivory tower with the hair like gold! Man up and start with introducing yourself. Properly."

Deadpool pulled out the knife with such force, a chunk of table came loose.

"Man!" Weasel moaned and watched his friend go.

SDSDSD

Deadpool spent the next hours hunting down a werewolf who had gone off the deep end and killed a few innocent kids not too long ago. He took pleasure in going up against the claws and teeth, feeling their bite and delivering his own blows in return.

In the end he left the bleeding rug of worthless scum for the cops.

His own bleeding rug he took home, mourning his costume. Werewolf claws were a bitch on leather and spandex. It would take a while to repair it.

He felt better at least.

The crazy in his mind more on the down low.

SDSDSD

Sitting in his living room, cleaning off his katanas, Wade finally made up his mind.

Weasel had been right.

Weasel was almost always right.

He had to take a first step; the right first step. That meant to stop hiding.

The fear racing through him was almost overwhelming.

For once, the chimera didn't curl up and whimper in shared terror. This time it sat in the void, strong and proud, completely aware and awake. It was waiting, with a patience it had never shown before, and it was watching Wade with infinite eyes.

So his most primal side had already made up its mind.

Deadpool closed his eyes and wished he could just shoot himself in the head.

He was about to leave his comfort zone. He was about to really… live.

He was scared shitless.

"Fuck. Me," he murmured.

tbc...