Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel/Disney/MCU/Sony/Fox Studios content used in this fanfiction.

This story is a mixture of comicbook and movie Deadpool, I will be using themes and dynamics of his character from both forms of media, but I will be using them differently than they feature in canon. Hence the tag for canon deviation. Spider-Man is primarily from the new MCU movies, and there will be canon deviation for him as well.

The uncensored NC17 chapters of this story will be posted on AO3.

NB: Not beta read, all errors are mine.

...not to say you're born to lose.

The first time Peter became aware of the man he would later learn was called Deadpool, he'd been 14 years old. He'd only been Spider-Man for about two months and he was still adjusting, still finding his gravity and physics defying footing on the walls and rooftops of New York's buildings and skyscrapers. He'd still been adding little changes to his haphazardly thrown together –but hopefully not totally amateur – Spider-Man costume, still perfecting his webbing formula and still sneaking out of the house, hiding from May and feeling so guilty, but also so exhilarated about it all...

That first moment of awareness came early on a Tuesday evening. Peter was sitting on one end of the sofa in the lounge of the apartment he shared with May, who was sitting a comfortable distance away near the other end, neither of them were speaking as they focused on eating their respective plates of Bolognaise; one of May's more successful attempts at home cooking. They were absently watching a rerun of a sitcom while they ate, although Peter's mind was distracted; roughly 85% of his distraction was on his plans for patrol that evening while the other 15% was split up over his own growing popularity on Youtube, his incomplete homework assignments and how pretty Liz had looked that day at school.

Honestly, as spaced out as he was, he likely wouldn't have noticed that May had changed the channel, or that the news was playing on the TV if she hadn't turned up the volume to listen to it herself. There was something major happening on the screen though, and he found himself tuning in when he heard the newscaster talking about a multicar collision that had turned shots-fired, and then finally escalated to full on homicide on the Crosstown Expressway just that morning. Peter had frowned in frustration and chewed his mouthful a little harder than necessary, immediately thinking that he should have been there. But he'd been in school. Dammit. He'd shaken the frustration off though, because skipping school wasn't an option, he knew that. There was no way it'd go unnoticed and it was a bad idea anyway.

He continued to watch, absently lipping and slurping spaghetti into his mouth as he stared at the busy news screen. The newscaster was talking about the high number of casualties, both the intentionally –and violently- murdered, as well as the 'collateral damage' victims of the attack, the carnage of which stretched out for a little more than two miles on the Expressway.

Peter sorely swallowed the mouthful he'd been slowly chewing, nausea churning in his stomach when he watched the helicopter footage onscreen pan out over the aftermath of the scene that morning as it flew along the long stretch of highway. And he swallowed again, eyes a little wide in shock when he spotted a large amount of blood on one of the overhead directional signs. He could only think of it as a splat from the way it looked, and considering the fact that the fire department and forensics people could be seen trying to elevate some people up there, and that there was a tarp covering a body on the car below the splat, it was quite obvious that a person had hit that highway sign…hard.

'Jesus, how even…?' he wondered with a few stunned blinks and a grimace at the continued aftermath display of violent murder and mayhem on the screen. In the next moment, a very poorly captured video took over the screen as the newscaster went on explaining the video. The footage was made unclear by too much blur from motion, because someone was running with their phone out no doubt, but the backs of several men with guns was visible enough, and they were all aiming at a car flipped on its side in the distance. Peter watched, curious and confused, when a mask covered head popped up on the other side of the car for a second before the gunmen all started shooting. The video ended there with panicked abruptness, scared screams of civilians cutting off. Obviously the person recording had wisely decided to flee properly. They'd probably run away fast after that, which was what they should have done from the beginning.

By the end of the recap of that morning's main news story, and after showing the crazy back up of traffic as explanation for why the police and other emergency responders hadn't gotten there sooner, the footage ended and the newscasters finally moved on to describing what they'd likely been told by witnesses was the description of the assailant. And while it really wasn't much, Peter didn't find it comforting that the guy had been so plainly described as a man wearing a full body red suit, because his own outfit had a lot of red in it and was full body, and he didn't want people speculating about all red suited supers out there and mistaking him for being the 'armed and dangerous' man who had killed all those people and caused all that chaos on the Expressway! Crap!

They didn't even have a name for the guy, so Peter couldn't even go looking for him, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to. The guy was obviously very dangerous and everything he'd caused on the Expressway was kind of terrifying to think of. Hell, Peter found it really disturbing that a witness driving at the time of the attack had claimed to see the suited assailant fall from the sky straight down into one of the cars of the gunmen, which was apparently how the entire debacle had started. Did that mean he could fly, too? Damn.

The horrible news story didn't leave his mind for hours afterward, and later that evening while on patrol, during a lull in activity, Peter had sat on a rooftop corner of a five story building, relatively far from home, and he'd decided to Google the incident. It was then that he'd discovered a few more interesting details about the incident. Like that an X-Men Blackbird had apparently showed up, but the X-Men hadn't stayed long enough for the police to find out if they knew who the assailant was. The internet also revealed that among the marksmanship headshot kills made by the red suited assailant, some of his worst acts of violence had been a decapitation, a guy who'd been turned into a bloody Rorschach splat on the overhead sign, a katana skewered man, several mangled bodies caused by the car collisions and also a severed, unidentified black gloved hand. The information may have been fake or exaggerated, but honestly, some of the bravest and often most reliable 'news reporters' were those who hosted their own online news sites dedicated to revealing all the gory details.

And gory they were.

More officially though, the police had recovered two katanas and exactly –only- twelve Desert Eagle Mark XIX bullet shells, all of which were believed to belong to the assailant. So…only twelve bullets. One man, two swords and twelve bullets. Peter wasn't sure whether to be impressed or worried about a guy who fell out of the sky, caused so much damage and destruction and took out three SUV's and three motorcycles carrying machine gun wielding, likely professional, bad guys, all on his own, with so little ammunition and two swords. And yes, bad guy seemed like it was a profession these days.

The entire story seemed so crazy and so out there that it'd stayed on his mind for a long time…

That was, until Tony Stark showed up at his and May's apartment talking about taking him –i.e Spider-Man- to friggen' Berlin! At that point, the unknown red suited super, who was probably some kind of up and coming villain, ceased to be on Peter's mind, because not only was Iron Man and the Avengers soooo way more important, there also hadn't been any other news about the red suited katana wielding man for months, and in a place like NY where all kinds of things were going on constantly, it was really hard to stay relevant.

The novelty of the Avengers did start to wear thin though, especially when after the trip to Berlin, he was left with no actual contact with Mr. Stark. His fifteenth birthday passed by, totally unmemorable; shared with May at home with the only extra additions being a chocolate birthday cake and Ned having come over to visit.

More time passed after that and Happy kept brushing him off, over and over, leaving him feeling insignificant and underestimated. And it wasn't that he really wanted something bad to happen in New York, because that would make him a shitty person, but he just wanted to do more to help people...and maybe he was also a little bored.

Right up until he wasn't anymore, because Flying Vulture Guy, AKA Liz's dad, showed up, and then Peter got a taste of his first actual villain...

…as well as his own blood pooling on his tongue from having Flying Metal Vulture Guy kick the ever-loving shit out of him.

The aftermath of the whole ordeal seemed deceitfully calm in the wake of the blazing fire trail left by the Stark plane when it'd crashed down on Coney Island beach.

But at least the cool air felt good on his face where he sat high up on the Cyclone, taking in shallow breaths due to the fact that he probably had a few cracked -or broken- ribs from being slammed into the ground under a friggen' metal talon a handful of times. There was nothing soft about sand when hitting into it with that amount of force and pressure, yeesh! He was trying not to think of how beat up he looked though, or of how he was going to explain it all to May, because even though he healed faster than was normally humanly possible, it would still take at least a day or so for him to be painlessly functional again, and the bruising would linger a little longer than that. He couldn't hide from May forever, logically he knew that, but for the time being he'd just keep winging it when making up excuses.

He sat for a while longer trying to process everything, but it was when he shifted, finally ready to start making his way home, that he groaned, first from the ache around his torso, and then drawing out into a whinier groan, because he remembered that he was almost out of web fluid in his single remaining shooter. He'd reloaded his last cartridge after the fight and then used most of it up securing Stark's crates and Vulture Guy all together. And shit, his shoulder hurt too, from being yanked around trying to turn an airplane and then trying to keep Vulture Guy from dead dropping him and flying away.

Talk about a shitshow.

There was nothing for it though, this was what he'd signed up for in becoming Spider-Man, and he was smart enough to know that there would probably be worse someday, although, he did hope it wasn't any time too soon. He wanted to at least heal up first. So, maybe a month at least…?

Crime didn't wait for anybody though.

Taking a slightly deeper breath and mentally fortifying himself, he got a good grip on the nearest metal bar and began to cling and crawl his way down the frame of the rollercoaster, grimacing through the aches and pains in his body as he mentally calculated how long it would take him to get home on foot. Queens wasn't crazy far from Coney Island, but without public transport or his web shooters and the soreness of his body, it would take a while and it'd feel much longer.

Hell, he couldn't even take the subway because he had no money or his pass on him.

He sighed heavily -which hurt his ribs, ow- right when he reached the ground, having just gingerly dropped off the rollercoaster frame onto the concrete. And he was thinking tiredly to himself about all of the destruction that was stretched across the shore, thinking of the many times the city had been faced with cleaning up supers' messes, and for the first time in months, thinking of the mess that the red suited guy had made on that highway, when the worst possible coincidence that could have happened, happened; he turned around and came face to face with the very same red suited guy.

Or rather, face to mask. Okay, well actually the guy was standing several meters away from him, but still.

'Fuck.' Peter, immediately flushing hot with panic, inwardly cursed, using a word he only did when he made a major mistake, like right then, when he'd been too caught up in his mind, with the pain and all the shit he'd just been through, to remember that he was bare-faced. And now he was standing unmasked before someone he was entirely sure was a villain.

He didn't even have the luxury of second guessing himself on whether it was the man from the news, because on the man's body was a plainly visible array of weapons, including two katanas and two large guns strapped and holstered to his person. His very tall and very built person.

Even standing a short distance from one another as they were, Peter could easily see the difference between them in both size and height. And while, being Spider-Man, that didn't really intimidate him so much anymore, because super strength, all he knew about this man was that he was a super who had killed many people with very little ammo, very skillfully. And Peter had no way of knowing whether this super was stronger than his own super! The man could be super skilled and have super strength! So, the fact that Peter's nerves were rankled and his heart was racing in panic didn't seem so unreasonable to him. He swallowed nervously, hoping it wasn't audible, as they stood staring at one another in the relative dark, Peter doing his best to ignore the stinging of cuts and aches of bruises and fractures all over his body, the taste of blood still lingering on his tongue.

He knew the situation wasn't looking good for him, still, he was mentally preparing himself for another fight...but then a weird thing. Actually, a few weird things happened. First off, the masked man squinted, and someway, somehow, his mask's eyes expressed it, the whites narrowing into a squint in the same way real eyes would. And that was so bizarre, because Peter could clearly see – very clearly with his enhanced vision- that there were no lenses, like on his own, on the man's mask.

He didn't have a chance to wonder about it though, because the next weird thing happened. The man – who was standing very still, with his hands stationery at his sides- tilted his head slowly to the side, and again his mask somehow expressed that he was giving Peter a very obvious once over, from his feet all the way up over the length of his body, before finally the white eyes of his mask locked with Peter's own wide, dark eyes.

There was a pause that followed, and it was tense and intense, but even as the fine hairs all over his body were standing on end from the sensation of knowing someone was scrutinizing him, his super senses were not sending any zinging warnings of danger to his brain. Was that a good sign? Peter just hoped his senses weren't messed up somehow after that fight because-

"Fuck!" the man stage whispered rather loudly and out of nowhere as he whipped his head to the side, making Peter jump slightly, startled by the suddenness of it. And his hands tightened into fists when the armed man added in a strained, slightly quieter whisper, "That's fucking Spider-Man!? What the fuck!" which Peter easily heard because his hearing, like his eyesight, was enhanced. He was confused though, because the man seemed upset? Unsettled? Bothered by something?

Yep, he was bothered by something, it was confirmed when the guy looked at Peter again with a distressed expression on his...mask. Then his mask's expression turned to one of forced pleasantness, white eyes impossibly crinkling with a smile not visible through the red material, before he spoke somewhat loudly and very cheerily for someone who appeared so dangerous and daunting,

"Hi, there, it's Spider-Man, right?!" he greeted, taking a sudden, naturally wide stride forward, that time startling Peter's confused senses enough that he stepped back less than gracefully, fists raising up just in case.

The man seemed utterly unperturbed by Peter's reaction though, simply ceasing to approach and raising his hands up in a way to suggest he meant no harm as he said,

"Whoa there red n' blue, this is not a hostile situation." Peter didn't even have a chance to figure out whether he believed the man before the guy kept talking, "You're kind of jumpy, huh?" he chuckled smoothly, placing his hands on his hips, "You wouldn't happen to be of the jumping spider variety would you?" he asked -jokingingly?- but again, gave Peter little more than enough time to twitch before he was talking again, "You don't actually look like a spider, like, at all! Not even a leeeetle bit, I see only two eyes and no extra legs, unless, are they retractable? Because that would be pretty fucking freaky to see..."

Peter frowned as the guy kept right on talking about how he didn't look like a real spider. He could hear strain in the man's tone even as he was clearly trying to make jokes and sound lighthearted, and Peter just couldn't understand why the man sounded like he was freaking out about something, not until his latest bought of strained chuckles turned into a wheeze and he said,

"What you do look like, though, is a fucking teenager." the last word sounding like it was a revelation to the guy, a deeply distressing one at that.

And while just a few days earlier Peter had been really annoyed by being treated and looked at like he was a little kid by Mr. Stark, in that moment, as he stood tired, beaten up, vulnerably unmasked and desperately wanting to just go home and not get into another potentially life threatening fight with a super who was older, very well built, and very likely had more hands on combat and killing experience than Liz's father could have racked up in a year, Peter allowed the sliver of fear and wave of exhaustion moving through him to sink in and settle into his weary bones, and he gave into the truth.

In a slightly pitchy, entirely Peter Parker -the teenage nerd- tone of voice, he squeaked out,

"Yeah, I am." and he hated how small and watery he sounded, but his body was aching, and he was so tired and really hungry. He was starting to feel just a little cold too, and the blood dried on his face was starting to itch and he had a long way to get home, and, and, and…

He really didn't know what to expect from the villain standing before him at that admission, and he felt so stupid because he was pretty sure it was going to backfire on him...but then, instead of the man laughing at him for being a kid, or whipping out one of his many, many weapons to start a fight, the guy started swearing quite violently under his breath.

There were several words said that Peter was familiar with, after all, he'd grown up in Queens, but they were the kinds of words he didn't use himself, and had never heard anyone use so very...fluently. Peter was sure there were even a few curses said in other languages, and then there was something thrown in there about the word man being false advertising.

He sort of caught on then that the man was probably annoyed at finding out he was just a kid, although why he was so annoyed wasn't clear to Peter, because if anything, he was sure that should make him seem less like a threat to the guy.

The cursing rant lasted about thirty seconds, Peter just standing by, before the man seemed to shake off whatever the heck was making him swear so furiously and he snapped his head up to lock his masked eyes with Peter's again. Then he took in a deep breath and let it out.

Then he was talking again,

"So," he clapped his hands once and rubbed them together vigorously, "you look like someone knocked you around some, Spidey. And by some, I mean a lot." he commented in a cheery voice as he again gave Peter a once over, only this time it was quick and cursory. Peter suddenly felt very self-conscious about the blood and bruises on his face and his sandy, sweat matted hair. He wanted to think of something clever and witty to say in response, but then the man was talking again, "Also, is it super-hero laundry day? Because I'm pretty sure the last time I checked out your a-aaah, I mean," he laughed and choked a little and Peter frowned and glanced down at himself, very confused, "I mean, the last time Isaw you swinging around, you were in some very fancy, shmancy spandex threads, you know, sans the goggles, hoodie, soccer socks and...are, are those aqua shoes?" he finished, sounding highly amused now.

Peter resisted the urge to shuffle his feet and look over himself again, even though he felt pretty lame in his homemade suit when compared to the Stark suit. He managed to say something this time though, and channeling some of the confidence he usually only felt in small bursts under the masks of his suits, he shrugged and gestured with his head and hands to the smoking, fire lit shoreline visible in the near distance,

"What can I say, I thought I'd wear the appropriate foot ware for the job." and his voice didn't even sound too worn out or nervous, which he was proud of!

And when the taller man did an oddly fitting cartoon triple take between Peter and the smoking beach before bursting out laughing, Peter couldn't help smiling a little at his own stupid joke, his head tipping forehead as he ducked his smile, making his messy hair fall over his forehead as he sniffed and tried to keep a straight face.

The man wheezed again then, and Peter looked up to find the man staring at him with wide white mask eyes, so he said,

"What?" feeling self-conscious again, and then nervous for having dropped his guard.

"What! What what? Nothing, n-nothing!" the man sputtered, mask's expressive eyes showing a renewed distressed frown, "You just smiled, and it's, it's, you're just..." he physically shook himself again, following up with a hard slap to his face, "...a teenager, he's a fucking teenager!" he snapped at himself and then in a very quiet whisper to the side he said, "Bad, bad Deadpool. So gross."

Peter heard him though, heard every word, and with a slow blink and a dry throated swallow, pieces of the man's muttered curses from earlier clicked into place with what the man – Deadpool?- had just said, making understanding of the situation, of the man's distressing wheezes, begin to dawn on Peter. And what was that the man had almost said about checking out his a-

There was a screeching of tires on asphalt in the near distance, which made Peter blink away what he'd been thinking, even as his cheeks -neck and ears too- reddened with a new awareness of the other man's issue with him being a teenager. Peter chanced a glance at the guy as his face burned, only to find the man now looking across the distance of the amusement park to where the tire screeching sound had come from. Peter looked as well and saw there was a cab parked there, just outside the entrance.

Then,

"Hey, DP!" a man with an Indian accent yelled cheerily as he hung out of the driver's side window of an NY cab, waving an arm.

The man -DP, so probably Deadpool- raised his arm, hand open, to the man and yelled back,

"Dopinder!" his voice still sounding strained as he closed his hand into a fist and then lowered his arm.

"Sorry I'm a little late, DP," Dopinder continued to shout into the quiet night of the park, "there was an incident, I almost shot myself with the gun you gav-…

"Okay! You crazy kid!" Deadpool laughed too loudly as he yelled over whatever worrying thing the cab driver had been about to say, and Peter could only frown as he watched the exchange, "Share time later, kay! I'll be right there, sit tight!" DP added.

Peter blinked away the strangeness of the moment at those last words because it occurred to him that Deadpool would be leaving soon, in a cab. And while he knew he should feel relieved to be getting away -hopefully unscathed- from someone who was -probably?- some kind of a villain, he couldn't help but feel sad about the fact that he'd have to sorely swing, walk and run home after Deadpool left in a cab.

"Okay!" Deadpool said loudly and Peter bodily flinched again at the suddenness of it, thinking back to Deadpool's comment about jumping spiders and hating how that lame joke felt so fitting right then. He was just beginning to step backwards to take his leave and start the long trek home, when Deadpool said,

"Put your mask on, Spidey." Peter stopped all movement in confusion of the instruction and he didn't even register the need to react as Deadpool approached him, walking right up to stand just a foot away,

"Dopinder is a sweet little drop of brown sugar and is about as dangerous as a cricket," the man kept talking as he leaned in close enough to snatch Peters mask from where it was sticking out of his pants pocket, "but I think you've had enough exposure for one evening," he adjusted the mask's opening in his hold and began to pull it down over Peter's head quite gingerly, "and it's definitely past the bed time of thirteen year old's." Deadpool added, and Peter finally snapped out of his confused, sluggishly reacting daze, because thirteen! Hell no, he did not look thirteen!

He abruptly pushed Deadpool's hands away from his head where the man had been doing a poor job of correctly setting the goggles over his eyes, and he did it himself hastily, wincing softly to himself as the material snagged at the dried blood and cuts on his face. Breathing accelerated and feeling alarmed and frustrated at how out of it he was to let a dangerous villain get so close into his personal space without reacting, Peter squared his shoulders, stuck his chin out, looked up at the man and said the first thing that came to mind as he pointed a fingerless-gloved digit into the taller man's chest,

"I'm fifteen." he stated, and then promptly felt like an idiot for saying so, because really, how was that much better?

He was so done with this whole night.

Deadpool groaned loudly as if he was in pain, his head falling back as he muttered up toward the sky; 'onlyfifteenfuckmylifewhy' under his breath, confirming that what Peter had thought was the problem, was indeed the problem. It made him blush again under his mask, an especially deeper blush now that they were standing so much closer and Peter could properly see how much broader, bigger built and taller than him Deadpool actually was.

The man was a whole head taller and some extra, dammit. Not even Mr. Stark towered over him like this. Peter didn't even know how to feel about this man being, well, attracted to him, or rather, to Spider-Man, who Deadpool had now just found out was actually not a man at all. He was probably really let down, Peter supposed. And he'd said gross earlier, so that made Peter feel even worse, inadequate somehow. Deadpool had also said 'false advertising' in his rant, and it made Peter realize now that a lot of people would probably be severely underwhelmed to find out who was actually beneath the mask, for whatever reason.

He was so lost in thought, exhaustion and some new self esteem issues really baring down on him, that he failed to react again when Deadpool was suddenly standing behind him at arms distance, his hands settled firmly on Peter's shoulders as he began to push Peter ahead in the direction of the park's entrance, to where the cab waited.

"Wha?" Peter tried to ask, attempting to glance over his shoulder at the man directing him to walk.

"Weren't you listening, Baby Boy?"

Baby what now?

"I said Dopinder will take you home," he clarified, and Peter frowned under his pinching, itching mask, wondering how he hadn't noticed the man having said that to him. Then again, the guy did talk a lot, "you're all banged up, and considering where I usually see you swinging around, I'm guessing you're a fair ways from wherever you call home in the Big Apple. Also the police will be here soon to see about that burning plane you hitched a ride on to get here and it'd be best for everyone if no red suit wearing super people were in the general vicinity of any of the deaths that occurred on Coney Island this fine evening."

Wow, case in point much with the talking a lot thing.

They'd reached the cab by this point and Peter was a mess of tired confusion and numb resignation. And Deadpool's tone was so sure, and his hands so steadying and Peter's senses were all calm and not warning him against anything negative at all, so when Deadpool released his shoulders and opened the cab door for him, Peter followed through and got in.

He felt a flare of panic then, purely his own and not born of his senses, once he was inside because the space was so enclosed and he didn't know Dopinder and Deadpool and how could he be taken home when where he lived was not supposed to be known by anyone!?

He tensed up, sitting rigid in the backseat and fully prepared to get out of the cab via the other door that Deadpool wasn't standing by, but then the man shut the door without getting in and moved away to lean by Dopinder's open window, where he spoke to Peter again,

"Dopinder will take you home, or to wherever you ask him to so that you can get home," and then he looked at Dopinder, "and this particular person was never in your cab, right buddy?" Peter couldn't help noticing how Deadpool's tone went from fun and friendly to just a hint of cold and foreboding.

"Absolutely DP, you're the only person in a fancy red suit that I've ever had the pleasure of transporting." Dopinder said cheerily, all smiles.

Peter was stunned by the earnest reply from the cab driver that came with zero hesitation, even in the face of what was technically kind of a threat, and Peter also noted the fond, slightly reverent tone of Dopinder's voice as he spoke to Deadpool, like the man was a super hero to him…

But Deadpool was a villain…wasn't he?

"That's why you're my favourite." Deadpool said in a cutesy whisper and honest to god booped the cab driver on his nose with his gloved index finger.

Then Deadpool pushed his head through the window, totally crowding the cab driver back into the seat and probably squishing the man's face with part of his shoulder, in order to wave at Peter, wiggling the fingers of his hand not supporting his weight on the door as he said,

"Night, Baby Boy, don't let the bed bugs bite!" and then he pulled back somewhat, but paused almost out the window to add, "Unless they're spiders and it's like, a part of your whole schtick...wait, do spiders bite other spiders?" he looked at Dopinder up real close and Dopinder shrugged, looking confused, "Hm," Deapool looked at Peter again, "Well, whatever, no judgement."

Peter couldn't help mumbling,

"Spiders aren't bugs." but Deadpool had already pulled all the way out of the window and Dopinder was relaxing in his seat again, looking no worse for wear, like he was used to it, even as he casually wiped something thick and red off his cheek with his fingers.

Peter blinked.

"What about you, DP?" Dopinder asked.

"Don't worry about me, honey bunches," he pinched Dopinder's cheek, "Where there's a will, there's a Wade." he said, sounding like he was very amused and thought he was very wise.

"I don't understand what that means, but in you I trust, DP." he smiled up at Deadpool and the man responded like he was sending Dopinder out of a quest, with hand gestures to accompany his words,

"Go now, Dopinder, with all the strength and grace you surely don't have, but with your super power..." a physical cue was given and Dopinder whispered,

"Courage." with some conviction.

"Exactly." Deadpool humoured him, and then the roof of the cab was tapped twice to signal that they could go and Peter blinked again as the cab engine turned over and they lurched forward violently on acceleration.

It was a few long seconds that passed before he couldn't help it anymore, and he turned in the seat to look out through the back window, but he was surprised to find no one there, and so his eyes trailed to the still burning flames on the beach, and the flashing lights of police and ambulances down the stretch of the shoreline. He turned to sit properly and slid down low in the seat, feeling a weight settle in his stomach at the sight of the plane wreckage, along with all of his stress about Mr. Stark, the Vulture and Liz, washing over him all at once and weighing down on him so much that he just let his guard down, just for a moment, and closed his eyes.

Aside from asking where Peter wanted to be dropped off after they entered the city proper, Dopinder surprisingly didn't attempt to make any small talk with him, even when it was clear Peter was having a hard time staying awake. Peter had to wonder if the lack of talking was because the cab driver was taking what Deadpool had said about not acknowledging who he was transporting seriously.

Either way, Peter had to break the silence near the end of the journey, when he was close to being dropped off a few blocks from where he lived and he remembered he had no money to pay for the cab ride, and he hadn't seen Deadpool give Dopinder any money. And why was it only occurring to him right then? Why hadn't he been more concerned about Deadpool paying for a cab for him in the first place? Even though now, it didn't seem the cab was paid for. Mr. Stark would kill him if the man knew how careless and ditsy Peter had been all night, post fighting the Vulture...and maybe while fighting the Vulture too, just a little. Ugh.

Dead, Mr. Stark would kill him dead.

"I- I don't have any money on me," he started, voice uncertain and nervous, sounding too loud in the quiet cab as a small amount of panic set in over not being able to pay for what was surely an expensive trip, "I'll have to, uh-…"

"Do not worry yourself, Friend of DP," and yes, it was capitalized in Peter's mind because Dopinder said it like it was an honorary title of some sort, "the trip is free of charge." he added, only just glancing back at Peter via the rearview mirror.

All Peter could do was slump back into the seat again, mumbling out a 'thank you' as he stared at his dirty gloves and fingertips in his lap. It was just as well really, it's not like he had any ideas of how he would have paid Dopinder for the trip…

But then, in reality, he was pretty sure it was Deadpool he owed, not Dopinder.

Hours later, after Peter had snuck inside through his bedroom window without waking May, had texted Ned to say he was alive and well, had showered and cleaned up his already slowly healing cuts and bruises, and was lying in his bottom bunk, very ready to fall asleep, to let his exhaustion take a hold of him, he just couldn't get his mind to rest.

So many things had happened that night, and while one would think his fight with the Vulture and his victory at saving as much of the Stark tech as possible was what he was thinking about, it wasn't.

No, Peter was thinking about his encounter with Deadpool.

He now knew the man's super name, and possibly his first name too, because 'Where there's a will, there's a Wade' could only be interpreted so many ways, and Wade was so obviously a name.

So Deadpool's real name was probably Wade. And many things had happened that night with Deadpool that had Peter confused and worried, to the point where, now that he was comfortable and safe and slightly more clear headed, he was cataloging everything he'd seen but had not properly noticed at the time when it was happening.

Like, when Deadpool had approached him and stood close enough that Peter had noticed their size difference, at the time and after, he'd seen but had not acknowledged several other things, such as the fact that Deadpool had smelled like raw iron to his enhanced senses, and that Deadpool had mentioned there being 'deaths' on Coney Island that night, as well as the fact that Dopinder had wiped blood off his cheek from where Wade's -incidentally blood red suit- had touched his face.

All in all, those signs all pointed very clearly to the fact that Deadpool had been on Coney Island for some kind of killing spree, probably not unlike the one he'd caused on the Expressway a year prior.

So, in conclusion, Deadpool was definitely a killer. A killer who now knew Peter's face.

And there was also the fact that Peter hadn't even considered trying to subdue him, even though Peter knew he was a killer. Hell, Peter hadn't even wanted to fight him, and not just because he'd been tired and sore, but also because he hadn't sensed any danger from Deadpool, not even a tiny hint. Everything about Deadpool had disarmed him, made him want to drop his guard. Sure, the man had been alarmed to find out his age, and had apparently felt awful about whatever non-platonic interest he felt for Spider-Man before finding out he wasn't a man yet. But his demeanor had been harmless and friendly the entire time, and Deadpool had proceeded to help him, to send him home safely, to foot the bill, and all the while, without even any danger or expectations directed at Peter.

The whole thing left Peter feeling conflicted and confused and uncertain. He had no idea if he should be worried about Deadpool finding out his name and address, or interfering in his life, trying to hurt May, or his friends, or Mr. Stark, because for some reason he just didn't feel like he needed to be worried. And that was bogus, right?! Deadpool should have sent his spider-sense into a tizzy, the man was dangerous! And yet...

Yep, Mr. Stark would be so angry about all this.

Peter blinked sleepily as he thought about Mr. Stark, who was Iron Man and didn't need Peter to be worrying about his safety. With that thought he decided right then that Mr. Stark was well connected and well protected and all that, and Peter figured it was probably a good idea to ask him about Deadpool. He'd probably know something.

Taking in a deep breath, Peter rolled off his back onto his side, finally ready to go to sleep now that he'd decided to talk to Mr Stark about it. He would not, however, be telling Mr. Stark about his interaction with Deadpool, and especially not about the fact that Deadpool had seen his face.

Nope, no. That was not going to come up.

No one else needed to know about that, ever, and he just hoped that despite Deadpool knowing, no one else would.

He had intended to bring Deadpool up with Mr. Stark the next day, or the day after that, or after that, but like, he wanted to wait for when the man was no longer annoyed about all of his screw ups and they could talk about Peter maybe getting his suit back. The thing was though, that he didn't expect that to happen too soon, after all, Mr. Stark was a busy guy and it figured to Peter that it'd take the man a while to get around to talking to him, especially after everything that had happened with the Vulture and the interrupted move upstate.

So to say that Peter was surprised when Happy showed up at his school to take him to the new Avengers compound to see Mr. Stark, would be an understatement. No, he was more like super stunned, and super excited and super nervous and feeling super worried about possibly facing another lecture, despite Happy seeming so upbeat on the drive there.

In the end, after he'd seen Mr. Stark and there had been talk of a press conference, of Spider-man being announced as an Avenger, seeing that incredible new suit and then making the oh-so-hard decision to heed the uncertainty churning in his gut and listening to all of Tony's previous advice about just staying on the ground to help the 'little people', then declining the offer and choosing to stay the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, after all that, any and all thoughts about Deadpool were buried beneath everything else.

And since, in the days that had passed since the Coney Island incident, Peter hadn't been given any reason to think Deadpool was looking for him, or was after him or anything like that, he'd kind of let himself relax about the whole thing. Instead of worrying about something that his inbuilt warning system wasn't concerned about, he just let himself take in the general din of life every day, which included dealing with the aftermath of the Vulture's identity being revealed and any chance of a relationship with Liz being crushed by her moving away. And then at night he focused on the importance of patrol and stopping crime. But he no longer had to worry about sneaking around though, because on top of everything, May had found out he was Spider-Man, and wow, that was just a whole 'nother can of worms.

So, the incident of meeting Deadpool - a maybe villain who'd actually helped him out- just failed to make the list of important things for Peter to focus on. He subconsciously, on and off, thought about it coming back to bite him in the ass, so he spent some patrols -back in his proper Stark issued suit- a little on edge on nights when he felt particularly high strung, waiting for something extra to happen, but it just didn't. And as time passed quite fast, more and more, the way it tended to when there was a lot going on, with no incidents or even any mentioning of Deadpool in the streets or on the news, Peter eventually forgot all about it, completely.

He figured it didn't matter after the first few seamless weeks that went by, and then was proved right when months and months went by without even a peep about the tall, dangerous and strange Deadpool. So Peter just forgot about it. Forgot about him.

His life was filled with Spider-Man duties and teenage issues, the latter being so much more difficult to navigate, what with turning sixteen and feeling just a bit less like a kid. He also had to manage May's paranoia about his patrols and her weird fussing over him being Spider-Man, not because she was against him being Spider-man, nope, it was instead because she was constantly encouraging him to be the best super hero he could be! Not at all what he'd expected from her, talk about a plot twist.

He was also making sure that he was excelling at school now that he had the 'Stark Internship' back, trying to remember to play the non-confrontational Peter Parker whenever Flash looked in his general direction to say something insulting. And then of course there were his teen hormones and a rapidly developing crush on MJ which was majorly distracting.

Life almost felt normal for a while there.

Of course that couldn't last, because aliens coming to NY had become an almost regular thing at some point.

Honestly, Peter had been excited and totally psyched to finally get to help the Avengers with a mission, a real mission, and he got to go into outer space, wearing the Iron Spider suit no less! It had seemed like a dream come true. But in the end, turning to dust without explanation and then returning to the world of the living, not to mention to a full on war a whole five years later, when he hadn't aged even a day, was no joyride at all.

And then, watching Tony Stark die…