Note: For the sake of those who don't know my real name, I'll use Celia in this.

"Hijacked"

It was an ordinary day in

"Hi, I'm stealing you!"

Wait, you're what?

Trust me, waking up with a sack over your head isn't as fun as you think it's going to be. It's dark and musty and there's a definite fear of 'WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?' while you stretch all your muscles and move your bones to ascertain injuries.

"Hey, what's with the change in tense?" came a grating, chirpy voice. "Oh, that's much better. And stick to third person, too. Otherwise it's just weird for your readers, and for you."

"The whole friggin' situation is weird!" Celia insisted, trying to pull the sack off her head, with little success. In her defence, her hands were tied. Literally.

"Lemme help you with that!"

Celia knew the voice was familiar, but since this was a dream even the weirdest things would be familiar. That's how dreams worked. And the familiar was unfamiliar, so it made sense for her to be interacting with someone with an America accent… in person. Ah, the delights of dream teleporting. Like that time she dreamed that she was married to Chris Evans, and he was playing football up in the choir stalls at church, and… yeah, that was a weird dream.

"You're not dreaming, and no obscure references to Captain America," her captor said, unbuckling her hands. No skin contact, so gloves? Well, one good way to find out was to… oh, he was removing the sack for her.

"I know I probably look better with a bag over my head, and thanks for not making it plastic, but… oh, what? I'm dreaming about Deadpool now? Thanks, readers. Thanks so very much."

"Seems you didn't hear me before," Deadpool said cheerfully, jumping up. He held out a hand. "You're not dreaming, Celia. Since your warning insists that you use your pseudonym instead of your real name…"

"Ah," Celia said, nodding slowly as she got to her feet. Or tried to. They were tied as well, and maybe she should've held onto that book on sailors' knots. Not that it would've been helpful in real life unless she actually had it with her, but this was all a dream. Yep. Couldn't be anything else. (Damn fictophile tendencies.) "If dreams aren't meta enough, Wade Wilson will continue to break the fourth wall. But referring to author notes? Really?"

"Correction," he said, and he held up a single finger. "Your pre-chapter warning, not your author note. You'll probably claim you were tired when you came up with this idea—"

"I'll stop you right there," she said. "Especially if you untie my legs."

Deadpool was obliging enough to squat down and draw a katana. Celia flinched at the sight of the sharp weapon, especially when it came down between her feet; but she remained intact, and the ropes fell to the floor.

"I swear, I'll stop writing mysteries after this," she muttered. "No more mysteries. Or if I continue to write them, I won't write any more kidnappings. Probably. At least they won't contain all the abduction clichés packed into one scene."

"Can I make a crack about bondage?" Deadpool said.

"I write children's mysteries!"

"Oh yeah." He shrugged, and leapt to his feet again. He extended both hands this time. "C'mon. Let's talk."

"Us or you?" Celia asked, accepting one hand, but choosing to put most of her weight on the wall beside her. "How the hell did I even get here? Dream. That's right."

Deadpool huffed, and he steered Celia through the flat. Apartment? They got to a room with a ratty couch and a fancy coffee table. No books, though. Not much of anything around at all, which made her wonder whether this was even his place.

"Where are we?" she said. "It doesn't feel familiar."

"Well, it wouldn't," he said. He sat beside her, and the patch of mask over his mouth moved into the shape of a grin. "I kidnapped you—"

"Got that."

"And brought you here because I wanted to thank you," he continued, unperturbed by the dry interruption.

"Thank me?" she said. "For what?"

"Writing me in so many awesome chapters! And your readers love me. I don't know how many of them had heard of me before, but they love me! And so many people forget what my handwriting really looks like." He sighed dreamily. "It's so nice to be reminded. And people accepting me even with all the horrible scarring?"

"Yeah, well," she said quietly. "Maybe wish fulfilment on my part."

"What?"

"Nothing. So why am I dreaming about you? I can't remember… well, I know at least one person has asked for more Deadpool chapters, but was that really enough—"

"I told you, it's not a dream!" He waved his arms, and she ducked. It wasn't necessary, but better safe than sorry, even in dreams.

"You could say that in a dream," she pointed out. She squirmed as he studied her, suddenly terrified of a SILENT DEADPOOL. It was unnatural. Although she'd had that idea for a Sam/Wade chapter—

"How can I convince you this is real?" Deadpool asked.

"I don't think you can. That's the point of a dream. You wake up eventually, and then you laugh about the strange places the mind goes to."

"Hmm." He cocked his head, and Celia continued to shuffle in place. She was starting to itch – had a mozzie somehow gotten into her room and bitten her in her sleep? – but it probably wouldn't be polite to scratch. Deadpool started to rub his mask, and Celia wondered whether the flat/apartment was a health and safety hazard, with midges or something infesting the couch.

NO. I'M DREAMING.

It was getting harder to remember that as the itch began to burn.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asked. Deadpool pointed, and she hurried to a partially open door. She entered a small room with a toilet, a sink, and a shower smaller than the one back home. But, most importantly, there was a large mirror hanging over the sink. She glanced at the door, making sure it was closed, and then lifted her Hulk pyjama shirt. Over the skin of her heart was a tattoo…

"Great, now I'm dreaming about tattoos," she murmured, moving closer to the mirror to see it better. Despite a slightly muddled mind, she mentally reversed the words inscribed in a beautiful calligraphy: "Hi, I'm stealing you!" Well, it was confirmed that she had good taste in fonts. And both grammar and punctuation were correct, unlike in that episode of Glee, when poor Kurt… off-topic. "Who says they're stealing someone…? Oh. Oh, hell no. I'm not dreaming about soulmate AUs!"

"Told you before, you're not dreaming!" Deadpool called from the other side of the door. Celia shoved her shirt back down, realising she was only in pyjamas.

"Uh… done," she said, and she opened the door. Deadpool leaned against the pane, head tilted.

"Wow, your memory really is crappy," he said.

"I'm not exactly exaggerating whenever I tell people I can't remember what I did last week," she replied.

"Uh, uh, uh!" he sang. "You're a writer. You never exaggerate. You use hyperbole."

"…Which is something I'm sure I've never written, confirming that this is all just a dream."

"I break the fourth wall, remember?" Deadpool said. "Everything I'm in turns meta at some point. That's why you love writing me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to check something out in here. You're free to stay and watch, you know." He waggled his eyebrows.

"That really is tight-fitting fabric," Celia said. "I'm surprised your skin can breathe."

"Doesn't need to." Deadpool removed his mask, and Celia managed to hold in a gasp when she saw the scars in person. (In dream. Because if this wasn't a dream she'd officially cracked, and the school year was about to start. They needed her. She couldn't afford to be sectioned for another eleven months.) "Can't get any worse."

"Does… does it hurt?" she asked, tempted to reach out and feel it for herself. But she was brought up better than that.

"All the time," he said softly. "But you already knew that bit of trivia."

"I read it on Tumblr. But… no offence intended, but it does seem to be getting worse." She pointed out the markings around his lips. "Black blotches instead of red, though. Did I bring back the plague or something?"

Deadpool ducked over to the mirror, and as soon as he checked his reflection the 'black blotches' formed into words. Celia moved to his side, concerned. But when Deadpool turned his head to look at her, his eyes anguished, she backed up.

"Officially cracked it is," she said hoarsely. Because that was her handwriting on his mouth, saying 'Wait, you're what?'. When the writing – the words on her chest – had shown up on her screen, she figured it was a hacker and responded with those words now on Deadpool's face. Really, if it'd been a hacker she should've shut the laptop down immediately. Seems there wasn't a hacker after all.

"This what I think it is?" Deadpool said, pointing at the soulmark. Because there really was no other word for it. Besides, 'soulmark' was in her Microsoft Word dictionary, which meant no squiggly red line.

"Um… I have your words, if it's any consolation?" Celia said.

"Why didn't it turn up when you were born? I've…" He turned back to the mirror, and began rubbing the letters. "I've never had a soulmark before. All this time it was someone who thinks I'm a fictional character."

"I think it's safer for the world that you stay fictional," she said, fighting the numbness of shock trying to take over.

"You're from another dimension!"

"Well…" She resorted to logic. Sort of. "That would explain why neither of us had a soulmark. Plus, there's the fact that I come from a place where we don't have soulmate-identifying marks. Curiouser and curiouser."

"Huh… could I get away with keeping you here?" He straightened up, and his gaze slid over to Celia. She scowled.

"I'm needed back in my world! I mean, dimension!"

"But I'm not needed here…" He trailed off, and grinned. "And I'd be safer in your world! No bounty on my head there."

"Uh…" This was all kinds of awkward. Usually Celia's dreams tended to the bizarre, sometimes the dramatic or supernatural, but sci-fi? Really?

"Unless… you don't want me?" Deadpool said, deflating. "You always have characters accepting me, but maybe the reality is too much for you?"

"Hey! I'm the last person to judge someone based on their appearance. It'd be the height of hypocrisy."

"Or the craziness—"

"My own doctor doesn't want me to be psychologically evaluated because she thinks they might commit me for being a bit too eccentric."

"Then what's the problem?" Deadpool said. He still hadn't put his mask back on, Celia noted with approval and relief. He was much less intimidating with his face visible. And it was easier to read him without the disguise.

"For starters, could you even survive in another dimension long enough?" she said.

"I kind of can't die, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I'd noticed. But…" It was so tempting to accept. To drag Wade Wilson back to her world. Sure, there'd be problems – explaining his sudden appearance to her mother, for one thing, and this really wasn't a dream, was it? – but nothing that couldn't be explained away… with enough imagination. And she had that.

"But?" he prompted.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. He shrugged.

"To thank you for pairing me with people," he said.

And that was when she realised the awful truth.

"I can't," she said. "I'm sorry, Wade."

"Why not?" he asked. For a man – character, damn it! – always suffering, it was something new to see him actually look like he was in pain. "For some reason, I was able to bring you here. Fate gave us to each other."

"Because people love you!" Celia exclaimed. "They love to read about you, they love to write you. Like me. I love… writing you. If you came back to my world… dimension, they wouldn't get you anymore. Who knows? Maybe it could destroy this world as we know it."

"Marvel will just write another," he said, waving a hand dismissively. Celia leaned against the doorframe, trying not to cry.

"I can't stay here, because I'd be missed back home," she said. "And… please tell me this is a… no, it isn't. Hurts too much not to be real life." She wrapped her arms over her chest, heart beating extra hard against the tattoo… the soulmark. Why couldn't soulmarks be real in her world? "And you can't come back with me because you belong here."

"Maybe… maybe you can stay?" Deadpool whispered. "You're Celia. You're an online persona."

"An awful lot of real me in it."

"But we could still exist together here… maybe?"

Celia sniffled, blinking rapidly, and glanced up at her soulmate.

Soulmate. Impossible.

"K-kiss me," she said before she could stop herself. She felt her cheeks flame up, and looked at the floor. Cracked bathroom tiles. That would have to change. It was a health and safety hazard—

Deadpool tilted her chin up.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

"You never know unless you try," she said. "Maybe as long as this chapter is around… this'll be real. Even just here, that's better than nothing, right?"

"I really hope so," he said, and he lowered his lips to hers. Before they could meet, he hesitated. "Where's your soulmark?"

"I'll show you later. If you can keep your hands to yourself."

"I promise to try," he said, and he stopped her protest with a kiss.

Wasn't a dream. I have seriously never dreamed this before. Nor did it actually happen in real life—

Ooh, good line!

Go away, Wade! This isn't Shakespeare. I don't like my family reading my fan fiction. Or at least I don't want to know when they've read the smutty stuff.

Uh-huh.

Give Galileo back! Thank you. Right. Readers… I think I was probably tired when I came up with this? That's the only reasonable explanation. Also, I thought it'd give everyone a laugh. Didn't mean to wind up with some angst thrown in there.

(I wouldn't mind being with Deadpool. For once, I'd be the sane person.)

Please review! I know the only familiar character was Deadpool, but I couldn't help making a cameo just the once. And what better character for meta stuff, am I right?

(By the way, a fictophile is basically someone who falls for fictional characters.)