"All That I Want"

The day Warren stopped sawing off his wings in defeat, Warren Senior vowed to find a cure, to make sure that his son didn't need to be ashamed anymore. Neither mentioned the words on Warren's chest – Are those wings? – written in a hand so beautiful that Warren Worthington the Second was certain that his son's soulmate was someone with style and class. Someone who'd be horrified by anyone with the x-gene, especially a physical power which was so hard to conceal.

Warren the Third hated the thought of his soulmate being unable to accept him. Since the day his wings started to grow, he'd done everything he could to get rid of them, and opted to attend dress-up parties as an angel or a bird, with poorly-made wings, in case someone was simply incredulous, not disgusted. Well, maybe disgusted with his poor efforts, but if it turned out that his soulmate wasn't an asshole, he'd do anything.

But he wouldn't do that… would he?

Hand on the glass door, Warren pushed his way into the lab. The large window looked out over New York City, but he was distracted by the people bustling around the room.

"Hello, Warren," one of the doctors said. A darker woman with an accent, who he'd seen at a distant, but never gotten to know. He didn't leave home much, after all, barely set foot outside unless it was winter and he could wear a bulky coat.

"How are you, son?" his father said, clasping his shoulder. "You sleep well?"

"Yeah," Warren mumbled, looking around the room at the scientists.

"You know, I'm proud of you for doing this. Everything's gonna be fine. I promise."

"Yeah," he repeated. He couldn't shake the feeling of coldness, never able to hide the pain when his wings were bound.

"You ready?" Warren nodded. He jumped when the woman snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, and tried not to think about how much he hated medical procedures. Especially needles. God, he hated those.

There was a twinge in his back as a tech removed his coat, revealing the leather straps holding Warren's wings in place. He'd never have to worry about them after today. He could go out in summer, maybe go swimming like he used to. Maybe he could go to social events where the only wings he'd be wearing were fancy dress ones. Or he could become a pilot with wing insignia, or build model planes, or become a rocket engineer…

Or maybe he could avoid anything to do with wings and avoid meeting his soulmate for as long as possible.

He thought about all of this as he was led to the padded board, like something out of Silence of the Lambs, and was swiftly strapped to it. He saw a syringe being loaded up, and was damn sure he was starting to sweat, like when he used to drip with perspiration while filing away the bones—

No. No thinking about that. He was here to… to…

"The transformation can be a little jarring," the doctor said, and she swabbed the inside of his left arm. Warren swallowed.

"Dad, can we talk about this for a sec?" he asked, craning his neck away as his eyes flitted between the bindings, the needle, and his father.

"We've talked about it, son," he said firmly. "It'll all be over soon. Everything's gonna be fine."

Stop saying that! Warren thought. "Wait." The needle paused close to his arm. "I can't do this."

"Warren, calm down—"

"No! I… I can't do this."

"Yes, you can." Warren spluttered, the words on his bare chest in his peripheral vision, screaming that he couldn't go ahead with this, or he'd lose his soulmate. "Relax, son."

"No—"

"Take it easy…"

He was shaking his head, his whole body trembling, fighting the straps holding him down.

"I can't do this!" he shouted.

"I promise you—"

"Dad!"

"It'll be fine! Warren, relax—"

With a powerful surge Warren broke out of his constraints and spread his wings, knocking the technicians over. There. That felt better. It felt natural. There was a warm feeling in his chest, almost like his soulmark approved of this. Stupid soulmark.

"Warren," his father said, "it's a better life. It's what we all want."

Warren didn't want his soulmate, some snob who'd look down on him and try to change him for 'a better life'. But he wasn't going to deny his nature, either.

"No," he said. "It's what you want."

The wings took up too much room to go back through the building, and his father would probably have him restrained again, and forced to take the antidote. So he headed for the only possible way out.

"Warren, no!"

Uncaring of any cuts from the glass, Warren leapt out the window. He hadn't practiced flying. Maybe he'd go splat on the ground as someone below said 'Are those wings?', and he wouldn't have to see their face?

But flying came naturally to him, somehow. He swept out over the crowd, over the river, through the Golden Gate bridge, and sought a place of refuge. He'd heard murmurings about a school in Westchester County. A place for mutants… like him. Maybe he'd be safe there? Maybe his soulmate would even be there?

First, though, he should probably get some clothes so he could cover his soulmark. And a suitcase, if he was going to be gone for awhile.

Or forever.

Despite it all, Warren didn't want his father to die. He loved his dad, he did. After the X-Men stopped Magneto, maybe they'd even be more accepted by society? His soulmate might take one look at him and be impressed, instead of disgusted? He wouldn't stay with anyone who'd keep him as a pet, but at least his soulmate wouldn't hate him. That was something. Really, he had to stop being so cynical.

Starting after… after he stopped his father from becoming a pancake.

"Warren?" he said, tightening his grip around Warren's shoulders.

"Hi, Dad," he said. He swooped out of the line of fire. "Home?"

"Yes. Take us home."

"My… my home is—"

"With me. If you'll… if you'll stay, that is. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, I promise. Everything will be fine."

"You keep saying that."

"It will. You… your mutation saved my life, even after I wanted you to… You're all I have left of your mother. I don't want to lose you."

Warren sighed through his nose. "I missed you, Dad," he confessed.

"I missed you too, son."

Some years later

Warren Worthington Senior and Warren Worthington Junior were co-directors of the family business, although the younger was taking on more responsibilities from his father in preparation for the day he would take over completely. Until then, he was happy to share the job with his father and learn from him.

Unfortunately, a man in his position and with his wealth had to schmooze with people sometimes. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters didn't teach much in the way of social graces, considering that most of the students were outcasts who didn't interact with non-mutants. He'd introduced some of his friends into society, but they preferred to stick together, not get caught in conversation with dull, highbrow people.

It would be one thing if Tony Stark was there. At least he wasn't dull. Then again, he wasn't likely to show up due to some rivalry with Warren's father. Annoying, but there it was. In fact, he was almost hoping for something bad to happen, as long as it was interesting. Anything to distract himself from all the men – and especially young women – who apparently wanted to sleep with him. Pick-up lines which referred to angels were never funny, less so the more times he heard them. It made him want to scream, and he knew his father could tell, because Warren Senior started to pick his way through the crowd towards his son.

But then there were actual screams outside, and Warren nearly spilt his drink. He set it down on a tray and glanced at his father, before heading for the window to see what was happening. Before he got there, something smashed through the glass, and several people screamed as they ran out of the way. The party-crasher (literally) rolled to his-or-her feet, a gun in each hand, and aimed at random people in the crowd. Warren wished he was closer to his father – or at least not in the gunman's line of sight – so that he could… do something. If the gunman couldn't see him, at least Warren would have the element of surprise. If he was closer to his father, he could have shielded him.

"This is a hostage situation!" the stranger shouted. Definitely a man's voice. "There are more people outside! Get into a corner and sit down. Now!"

The party-goers did the sensible thing of following his instructions. Warren chose not to.

"Can we talk about this?" he asked. The gunman's head turned his way; but before he could reply, a man appeared behind him, right out of thin air.

"I think you killed me two days ago, right?" he said. The gunman swung around, and took a step back when he saw… whoever it was. "Yeah, I thought so. By the way, you should've been faster. Like me." He cocked his head. "Your buddies are all down. Just you left to go. Aw, sugar, I'm sure if you weren't wearing that mask you'd look like you've seen a ghost. Thing is, I don't stay dead. Do you? Wanna find out?"

"D-Deadpool—"

"You do remember me!" Shit. Warren had heard of Deadpool. This was him? "Let's see if we can do whole role reversal thing. Last time we met you stabbed me right through the chest. Only question is, which katana to use?"

"No!" Warren said firmly, shucking his jacket as he moved forward. "No one's killing anyone else here."

"You gonna fight me, pretty boy?" the gunman said, although he sounded much less confident than before, now that he no longer had the upper hand.

"Dad, call the police!" Warren said. Deadpool leaned back slightly.

"Are those wings?" he said, craning his head to see.

"You're a mutant?" the gunman said. Warren ran at him. Before the man could take a shot, Warren swept him up and flew to the highest part of the ceiling, close to the chandelier.

"Put the safeties on," he said. Shaking, the gunman complied. "Put them in your pockets, or wherever they were." He obeyed. "Good. I think we should just hang around up here until the cops arrive, don't you? Keep you away from Deadpool?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Did you know whose party you were gate-crashing?"

"N-no."

"Do you know who I am now?"

"…Yes, sir."

"Good. Be thankful it was me you inconvenienced, and not the Avengers. I hear the Black Widow can get pretty mean. Hell, Pepper Potts can get mean, as well. We need more scary ladies around here, I'm thinking."

The cops had already been on their way, so it was less than a minute before they stormed into the room, startling the rest of the guests. Warren flew back down and handed the gunman over to the police, who stripped him of his weapons and then led him out the door. Warren looked at his father, who nodded to let him know that he was okay, and then he hurried over to Deadpool, who was heading for the window.

"Hey, um… Deadpool?"

He turned on his heel and Warren nearly ran into him.

"Hi!" Deadpool chirped.

"Uh… where are you going?"

"Away. That's my thing. I come, I kill, then I split."

"But… but you said my words." Deadpool tilted his head. "My soul-words. I was just wondering… did I say yours?"

"You surely did, angel."

"Oh." Warren doubted that this man's writing was so fancy, but he wasn't passing up the chance. Just in case. "Can I see your soulmark?"

Deadpool clapped a hand to his chest. "In front of all these people? Stop, you're making me blush."

"We can disappear for a couple of minutes," Warren said. "Someone has to clean up all the glass. In fact I'm pretty sure the party is over now. Follow me?"

"Okay," Deadpool said, shrugging. "Only don't blame me when you scream after you see my body."

Warren led Deadpool out of the room. He glanced at his father again, saw the moment Warren Senior realised what was happening, and turned his eyes away again, worried about what he'd see there. He took Deadpool to a deserted hallway, then pulled him closer. He couldn't see behind the mask, and he raised a hand to pull it away. Deadpool jerked back.

"You're perfect," he said. "Gorgeous. Those eyes, for a start. I think aliens in space could see how blue they are." Warren ducked his head, embarrassed by the compliment. "Your cheekbones could cut glass. That black vest you're wearing does way too much to show your abs, really, and those arms of yours. I'm sure you have many other nice qualities, but I needed to point out how hot you are, because you're too pretty for me."

"You don't like pretty people?" Warren said, backing off a step. Goddamnit, his soulmate turned out to be interesting, and definitely not an upper class snob… well, his possible-soulmate, anyway, and he didn't like Warren because he was apparently too attractive. What the hell?

"I love pretty people," Deadpool said. "They're shiny. And no one calls you 'angel' because of your wings, trust me."

"…Then why—"

"This." Deadpool pulled off his mask. His skin was littered with scars. "I'm like this all over. I was a science experiment… anyway—"

"Show me your soulmark," Warren said. Deadpool wasn't… attractive, exactly, by most people's standards, but at least he looked interesting. Warren had never seen anyone like him before, and he wanted… he wanted to know. "Please?"

Deadpool paused, then replaced his mask. Warren's shoulders slumped against his will, and he fought not to look too disappointed when Deadpool turned around. But then his possible-soulmate drew down a zip at the back of his costume, and Warren saw the words of a soulmark in the middle of Deadpool's back. He parted the material, both eager and sure, and was overwhelmed with relief when he saw his own writing.

"It's you," he said breathlessly. "You're my soulmate. This is… this is my handwriting. It's you." He threw his arms around Deadpool's middle and held him close, their marks separated only by the fabric of Warren's vest. He'd had it made so that no one could see his soulmark by accident. Now he didn't have to worry anymore, because he'd found his soulmate!

"I'm sorry," Deadpool said.

"What's your name?" Warren asked.

"Wade Wilson. In fact, my initials are three Ws."

"My initials are the same as yours," he said. "Warren Worthington. It's nice to finally meet you, Wade."

"But…"

"But what? If you… aren't interested…" He dropped his arms and moved back. "I'll understand. I'm just glad you're nothing like I imagined."

"You imagined worse than me?" Wade said. Okay, now he sounded incredulous.

"See this?" Warren said, raising his vest. Wade turned around. "Is it your writing?" Wade nodded, his marred cheeks turning pink. "When I found out I had the x-gene, that my mutation was wings, I was worried about what my mark would mean. That kind of writing, we were sure my soulmate was someone upper-class who'd be disgusted by… by these." He jerked his thumb to indicate his wings. "But I couldn't take the cure. Even if my soulmate was a grade-A asshole, Fate made us for each other."

"I'm the most annoying person you'll ever meet," Wade said.

"I don't care."

"My whole body looks like a squashed avocado… except less green."

"I don't care."

"Sometimes I break the fourth wall because the things they did to me made me insane—"

"I don't care, Wade! Do you think my wings are hideous?"

Wade shook his head, stroking one of Warren's feathers absently, sending a shiver up his spine. "I think they're the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

"Then you're already better than I hoped," Warren said, a lump in his throat. "`Cause I thought no one would ever accept them."

"But they're part of you," Wade said, frowning.

"Everyone has flaws they wanna get rid of."

"These definitely aren't flaws." Wade couldn't stop petting them. "They're gifts."

Now less worried, Warren stepped forward while Wade was distracted by the 'shiny'.

"Please?" he whispered. Wade met his eyes, which widened when he saw how close Warren was. But he didn't back off. "Don't turn me away. Please, Wade?"

There was a pause, which seemed to stretch on forever. Warren was on the point of turning away when Wade pounced on him. He seemed to realise quickly that there was something hampering the way, and tore off his mask again. Then Warren was kissing him back, relieved once again, and held onto his soulmate tightly.

Thought that was as good a place as any to stop. I've gotta stop making the Wade chapters so angsty, though. Actually, they're mostly fine. I've paired Wade with more people than I think I have, and there's usually at least some light-heartedness.

So! This was partly inspired by how gorgeous Deadpool's handwriting is supposed to be, and the fact that they have the same initials. All those Ws…

Please review!