In probably the weirdest turn of events in his lifetime, Deadpool ends up seated across from a tense and angry looking Peter Parker in ESU's shitty dining hall, a single greasy slice of pizza cooling between them.
{We tried to fight a pigeon last week, this is not even close to the weirdest shit we've done.}
[It followed us home, we had to defend our turf!]
It hadn't been the easiest thing in the world to get Peter to take his lunch with Deadpool. In fact, it had taken a gun pointed at that pretty boy, Patrick, for Petey Pie to relent and follow him at all. But it had all worked out in the end, hadn't it?
[Uh, yeah, except he hasn't spoken a single word to us]
{How, exactly, are we supposed to get info from this kid if he doesn't say anything?}
"Oh, he'll talk," Deadpool says mysteriously. "They always talk." It's meant to be intimidating, but Parker just scoffs and looks away, glaring out at the dining hall over Deadpool's shoulder. His knee is bouncing a mile a minute under the table, though, so Deadpool takes it as a win.
{We're gonna be in this god forsaken cafeteria all day, aren't we?}
[Can't we just pull out a knife? I bet he'll start talking with a knife in his face]
"We are not torturing a co-ed," Deadpool admonishes. "Besides, he's a friend of Daredevil's. It'll definitely get back to Websy if we torture him." Bambi's attention catches at that, and he frowns and glances at Deadpool. "If we don't want Petey Pie here playing a game of telephone with Daredevil and Spidey we gotta go about this all proper-like."
That really gets Petey's attention, and he even stops bouncing his knee to turn more fully toward Deadpool. He's frowning like he's confused now, the anger fading from his face.
[Omg, look how cute he is when he's not glaring at us]
{He was cute when he was glaring, too.}
"What, Bambi? You see something you like?" Deadpool croons, leaning across the table toward Peter. For a moment, he's the wide-eyed kid Deadpool tried to help in the alleyway, all chocolatey brown irises and stuttered breath. But then his expression shutters and falls into an unimpressed glare and he turns intentionally to the side again.
[Oh, he definitely likes what he sees]
"Still got it," Deadpool whispers to himself and Petey snorts derisively. Deadpool sits back with a sigh, kicking his feet up onto Peter's side of the shitty dining hall half-booth and tipping his chair back. Peter scoots away.
"So, what's it gonna take to get you to talk, Petey Pie? A hundred grand? A handjob? A blowjob?" Deadpool scoffs and crosses his arms. "Well, I won't say blowies are off the table, exactly, but you'll have to provide something more than information for that kind of privilege." This earns Deadpool a scathing look, and damn if it ain't something to see that severe of an expression on such a cute face. "Ugh Bambi, I could just eat you right up," Deadpool complains. He smacks his hand down on the table, rattling his uneaten slice of pizza and making Peter jump. "Fine! Blowies are fully on the table, but I expect some aftercare for my work!"
Petey makes some sort of choking noise and forcibly looks away again, lips pressed together.
[Is he… laughing? At that joke?]
{Oh, what a shame. He's stupid.}
Petey Pie is kind of laughing, or more choking down a snicker before refocusing his gaze over Deadpool's shoulder and choking for real.
"Tiger?" A voice behind Deadpool says. "That you?"
The voice is sultry and feminine, and the sound of it immediately sends a wildfire blush up Bambi's neck. And as much as Deadpool doesn't want to look away from that, he has to whip around to see what the all commotion's about.
[Uh, remember that awooga I used for Daredevil? I take it back, because AWOOGA]
A co-ed about Petey's age with a killer smile and shiny swath of red hair is standing behind Deadpool, smiling down at Petey Pie. She has her arms crossed around a stack of textbooks, but somehow it comes off as more 'college admissions picture' than 'nerd parade'.
[Yeah, because she's hot]
{Meh, not our type.}
[Is anyone not our type?]
The mystery girl takes a moment to take in Deadpool's get-up before turning a predator's smile on Bambi, and yeah, that's more Deadpool's type.
"This one of your friends from your extracurricular activities, Peter?" She teases, her voice dipping with the lilt of innuendo.
[Oh man do we like the sound of that]
{Now what extracurricular activities could possibly involve jacked masked men dressed head-to-toe in leather? Anyone?}
Bambi's face erupts even further in his rash-like blush, and Deadpool watches him gesture at the redhead from the corner of his eye as Deadpool stares at her in jaw-dropped astonishment. One of her eyebrows arches up at both of their expressions, and her face twitches before she tosses a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.
"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! I always forget I'm not supposed to talk about the strip club outside of it." Deadpool chokes on nothing and the girl laughs lightly into her hand. "Sorry Tiger, guess the cat's out of the bag on that one."
[Holy MOTHER-]
{That was definitely a hallucination, right? Like, we hallucinated that.}
The redhead spares another glance at Deadpool, who's too busy processing the words strip and club to give any sort of reaction, and clears her throat quietly. "Ah, by the way, Peter. Are we still going out tonight or do you need help? Um, with the project?"
Deadpool forces his focus back at that, pushing the boxes' malfunctioning noises and his own sudden vivid fantasies to the back of his mind. It's not exactly subtle, but Deadpool appreciates Red's attempt to offer Bambi her help nonetheless. She's giving it the old college try, and all that rot. Deadpool never went to college, though. He turns to Petey and rests his chin on his curled hands.
"No, no, let's dig deeper on the strip club front. Now when, exactly, did you start working there? And, please, be detailed." Peter glares weakly at Deadpool through his rash-blush [fucking precious little stripper] and rattles off some signs at the redhead, too erratic and sharp for Deadpool to follow easily. Deadpool's eyebrows inch up in interest.
{...Is that sign language?}
[Oh fuck, we haven't been talking at a deaf man, have we?]
"Well, if you're sure," the redhead responds, pursing her lips and eyeing Deadpool. He puffs up his chest. "I'll see you around then, Tiger." She nods at Deadpool, "Tiger's friend," and walks off. Peter immediately groans and covers his face with his hands, red flushed skin peeking through his fingers.
[…So much just happened]
{We need more information ASAP.}
Deadpool silently agrees and scoots his chair further up to the table, barely able to contain his glee.
"Oh, Petey Pie, you have got to stop being so intriguing," he gushes, table groaning under his weight as he leans forward. "How's a mercenary meant to resist!? I mean, where do I even start? The strip club? The bombshell who dropped the bombshell? Ugh, there's just so much to choose from!" Peter gives him the middle finger from where he's buried his head in his arms. "Ok, fine, wait, we gotta get the ASL cleared up first. You hard of hearing, Bambi? Need me to pull up my mask so you can read my lips?" Peter still doesn't look up, just shakes his head into his arms.
[Fucking. Precious.]
"Alright, not hard of hearing. Mute, then? Or non verbal? Wait, I know." Deadpool snaps his fingers and points at the man across from him. "Selectively mute around sexy mercenaries who inspire sexuality-based confusion!" Petey lifts his head to glare at him. "I'm right, aren't I?" The boy rolls his eyes and Deadpool leans back in his seat. "Y'know, feel free to answer anytime, Bambi. I picked up sign language for a job a few years back, so I can keep up."
That gets Bambi to refocus on what Deadpool's actually saying, lifting his head fully to frown at Deadpool. A little furrow appears between his eyebrows as he sits up more fully and props his elbows on the table.
You know ASL? He signs. Deadpool can practically hear the disbelief dripping from the question and he huffs and crosses his arms.
"Seriously? Does no one read wikipedia these days? Honestly, I think everyone would have a much easier go of it if they just googled my name and clicked the first result." Peter's looking at him like he's got two heads, and he pokes a finger in the kid's face. "I'll have you know that I'm multilingual in Japanese, Spanish, German, and ASL. なぜ誰も私をググってくれないの？Ich bin ein weltbekannter Söldner, ich dachte, die Leute würden Informationen über mich sammeln wollen!"
Peter flaps his hand at Deadpool to get his attention [read: make us stfu] and shakes his head at him. So you learned ASL in, what, a few months? For a job? That doesn't sound very believable to me.
"C'mon, Petey, you know assuming only makes an ass out of you and ming," Deadpool tuts. "I never said I learned it in a few months. It took me, like, five years but I've finally got that shit on lock. I can fingerspell a mile a minute and everything."
Peter arches a brow in a fairly accurate imitation of the little exposition machine that stopped by their table a moment ago and sits back, gesturing for Deadpool to go on.
[Oh, you've done it now]
{Gonna take off your gloves and sign with your vomit-inducing, roadkill-esque hands?}
Ah, right. How could Deadpool forget about his vomit-inducing, roadkill-esque hands with such good company around to remind him? He heaves a melodramatic sigh and flexes his hands in front of him, watching the leather creak and crease as he does so.
"Y'know, I'd love to prove you wrong right about now, Petey, because I think we both know that I've got mad skillz." He flutters his hands in front of him for emphasis, highlighting his limited range of motion in the gloves. "But I'm kinda tryna get into Spidey's pants, and finding out I've traumatized one of Daredevil's little friends with my rotten avocado skin would be such a boner killer." Peter frowns and crosses his arms at that, and Deadpool barrels on. "Instead, how's about you show me your sick signing skills by telling me all about your best bud Daredevil, hm? Maybe about deep dark secrets you're keeping for him? Or, y'know, surface-level secrets work, too. Anything that's supposed to be underwraps is good, really."
Peter rolls his eyes at the quick subject change but responds nonetheless. And why would I spill Daredevil's secrets to you?
"Aha!" Deadpool shoots to his feet, chair clattering to the ground behind him, and points at Peter. "So you are keeping secrets for him!"
[I bet it's about all the stuff DD gets up to in bed]
{Doesn't Pete work for a strip club? He's not an escort.}
"Oh ho ho, you two getting freaky or something, Bambi?" Deadpool asks excitedly. He plants his hands flat on the table and leans toward Petey. "Are you the angelic stripper he confesses all his devilish sins to?"
Peter immediately makes a face, scrunched up and grossed out, and Deadpool hums in consideration. "Nah, you're right, a sourpuss like him wouldn't be able to keep up with someone like you. You need someone a little more flexible, huh, Bambi? A little more lion tamer and a little less accountant."
Peter snorts at him. Surely you're not referring to yourself as a lion tamer. He signs, dragging an appraising {judgmental} eye over Deadpool's outfit before giving him a look. Deadpool pops a hip sexily. Seeing as you're dressed as a circus clown?
[Ooh, Bambi's got teeth!]
"Oh, I can be anything you want, Petey Pie," Deadpool purrs, leaning far across the table so his masked face is a few inches from Bambi's. "Just say the word."
{I thought this was supposed to be an interrogation, not weird flirting}
[It can be both, shut up]
Peter's head is canted up to look Deadpool in the face, his warm brown eyes zeroing in on Deadpool's through the mask. Deadpool can feel the puff of his breath on his face, and he revels in the warmth of it for a moment. When was the last time he was this close to a real, living person that he wasn't trying to extort or kill?
{Aren't you technically extorting Peter?}
"Not relevant," Deadpool mutters, and Peter blinks lightly and leans back. Deadpool misses the warmth immediately.
Damn boxes.
And what if I just want you to be seated? Peter signs at him, ghost of a shit-eating grin on his face. And, well, it's not the worst reaction someone's had to watching Deadpool talk to himself, so he concedes. He reels himself back across the table with a huff and reclaims his chair.
"Ugh, fine, if you wanna be boring about it." He slumps into it moodily and crosses his arms. "But if you're only gonna ask for boring stuff then we should get back to my desires, Bambi. 'Cuz relationships are a two-way street, y'know. You can't just be a taker, you gotta give a little."
Right. Peter signs slowly, leaning back in his seat as if he's at lunch with a friend and not a gun-toting mercenary. Civilians. And I suppose you'd like me to give you info on my 'best bud' Daredevil?
"That would be ideal, yes. Otherwise I might have to actually pull a knife on you, and Spidey would just hate that."
Oh, Spider-Man would hate it? Peter asks archly. Not you? Threatening someone who's done nothing wrong doesn't rub you the wrong way? He's got that Captain American™️ look on his face, full of moral compunctions and desire for justice. Deadpool wants to smoosh it right off his face.
"If it's you, it'd probably rub me the right way," he leers, reveling in the way it makes Petey's cheek twitch. "Although I'd much prefer it to be in a consensual setting, cause then we could actually have fun. Otherwise, it's just a job, and all work with no play makes Deadpool a dull merc."
Peter's cheek settles into a grimace and he narrows his eyes. This is a job? He's suddenly leaning forward, eyes intent on Deadpool's face. Who's paying you? What's the assignment?
[Um, aren't we supposed to be asking the questions here?]
"Pretty sure I'm supposed to be asking the questions here, Petey," Deadpool repeats. "Like, technically I brought you here at gunpoint for that express purpose. Should I get the gun back out?"
Peter glares. Answer my question and I'll consider answering yours. What's the job and who's backing it? He's got this intense look on his face like he actually expects Deadpool to meet his demand.
[Yeah, definitely get the gun back out]
{Or you can stick a knife in his face like we suggested 20 minutes ago.}
"Y'know," Deadpool drawls, preventing a lull in the conversation. "I usually prefer a lot more groveling and begging for your life at this point in my interrogations. Are you sure you can't just tell me what I need to know so I can be on my merry way?" Peter only stares at him stonily, mouth silent and hands still, so Deadpool shrugs and stands up, metal chair screeching as he goes. Peter's lips twitch toward a frown. "Alright Petey, this one's on you, then."
Deadpool reaches for the Desert Eagle at his hip, but in the next instant there's a hand there, gripping his wrist hard enough to bruise.
Deadpool turns his head to see Bambi half standing, half lunged across their table, his hand on Deadpool's arm to prevent him from drawing his weapon.
What are you doing? The boy signs one-handedly, bent halfway over the table.
[Do I even have to say it?]
{Please don't.}
Deadpool shrugs. "I might be forced to spare you and your pain receptors so I can stay on Spidey's good side, but there's no limitations on your little redheaded friend." Bambi's face spasms and his grip tightens on Deadpool's wrist as he turns a scorching glare on Deadpool. And, in a show of balls the size of which Deadpool has rarely seen, he meets Deadpool's eyes head-on as he lifts a hand and points at Deadpool's seat.
Sit.
[Oh no he di-in't!]
Deadpool slowly turns his body back towards the table and takes a step toward it, knocking Petey's balance off slightly so he has to pull back. He crowds over the boy's half-sprawled form, leaning down into his face. The kid barely balks, only stiffening slightly as Deadpool towers over him.
"Play time's over, Bambi," Deadpool says, his voice low and calm. "I've had my fun, but there's information I need and if I can't get it from you, then I'll just have to look elsewhere." He goes to pull back again, but Petey's grip around his arm is surprisingly ironclad, and he yanks Deadpool back close.
Deadpool catches himself just in time to avoid smashing faces with the kid, jerking to a stop a bare inch from Peter's face.
{Is it just me, or is this kid weirdly strong?}
[Uh, try sexy strong]
Peter's mouth is screwed up in a stubborn knot and he very deliberately raises his free hand in Deadpool's view again.
Sit. Down.
The balls on this kid. Deadpool pushes back a smile.
"You gonna answer my questions this time, Bambi?" He asks, quiet and steady. Peter is staring at him with a simmering anger behind his eyes, but after a long moment he lets out a sharp breath. And nods.
Deadpool grins widely under the mask. "Let's sit down, then."