There's a boy slumped in the corner of the alley. He's been there for a long time if the puddle of that morning's rain pooled under his legs is any indication, the water soaking the rubber of his clunky combat boots and making them shine. He has his knees pulled to his chest and his skinny arms wrapped limply around them. He's so pale that his skin is practically glowing in the gloom of the alleyway, but Deadpool can't distinguish his face from the nest of dirty blond curls he has slumped over his knees.
It's not unusual to come across homeless people sleeping in alleyways, especially not on the streets of NYC. More often than not, Deadpool will toss them an obscene amount of money and go on his merry way, but there's something about this kid that makes him stop. It's not that he's too young to be on the streets, exactly. He looks like a twenty-something, and Deadpool knows a significant percent of college students are one missed rent payment away from getting personally acquainted with street life. Hell, that's just about where he was before he got into the mercenary game. Not in college, mind you, but one bad day away from being kicked out on the streets.
So, no, Deadpool doesn't think this kid looks too young to be homeless. He's just… a bit too polished, Deadpool supposes. His hair looks washed, his skin clean, and from what Deadpool can see in the gloom of the alley, he's got some fancy metal watch on his wrist. Deadpool kinda wants to steal it.
{You're not actually gonna steal from the homeless, right?}
[That's a new low, even for us]
"You guys don't know me at all," Deadpool complains, petulantly kicking through a puddle of probably-not-rain as he approaches the boy. "How is it you live in my head and you still don't know me?"
[To be fair, stealing from the homeless sounds like something people would accuse us of]
{Yeah, we're a 'heartless mutate with no moral compunctions or care for those he hurts' according to S.H.I.E.L.D., remember?}
Deadpool snorts as he crouches down in front of the homeless kid.
"Those boobs can't even use 'mutate' and 'mutant' correctly. I don't think I'll be taking their judgements to heart." He snaps his fingers in front of the kid's curl covered face. "Yoo-hoo, sleeping beauty. Beauty rest is over, up and at 'em!"
The kid twitches and lifts his head blearily, blinking sleepy brown eyes at Deadpool once, twice, before his eyes widen suddenly and he scrambles even further back into the corner.
{Predictable.}
"Woah, woah, calm down there, Bambi. I'm not gonna hurt you." The kid pats his head and face in some kind of startled reaction, and Deadpool raises his hands reassuringly. The kid pauses and blinks at him a few more times. His face is lined from sleeping on his jacket, Deadpool notices. "What are you doing out here, kid?"
The boy's face twitches into confusion and he runs a hand through his hair anxiously.
"An alley in Hell's Kitchen is no place for someone like you to be catching a few Z's," Deadpool clarifies. "Don't you know there's a shelter, like, a block away?"
Deadpool watches the way the boy's big brown eyes flick in the direction of the F.E.A.S.T. shelter up the road once before focusing back on him and taking in the tight red leather and array of weapons. He carefully looks back up into Deadpool's face and shakes his head no.
{Smart kid.}
[Probably knows it's not the smartest move to let the gun-toting masked man know where you may be sleeping for the foreseeable future]
"Right, well, sleeping out here is a good way to get yourself jumped. You know that, right?" The kid doesn't react except to continue to warily eye Deadpool, eyes roving over his holstered guns and sheathed katanas. Deadpool sighs and rolls to his feet from the crouch, thighs bunching to lift his weight. The boy tracks that too. "You can't sleep out here all night, kid. I'll help you find someplace warm, 'kay?"
He holds his hand out to the boy even though he's still crouched and tense below him, willing to wait however long it takes him to realize that Deadpool is his best option.
['Things no one has ever said in the history of ever' for 2000, Alex!]
{That's not how Jeopardy works.}
Only three seconds of Deadpool and Homeless Kid's stalemate pass before a shadowed figure splashes down in a puddle of definitely-not-rain behind Deadpool. The boxes perk up in interest.
{Spidey?}
[Ooh, ooh! Maybe he'll pin us to the wall again!]
"Step away from him, Deadpool," a gruff voice says from behind him, and Deadpool frowns. Those are decidedly not the dulcet tones of his baby boy. Deadpool lets out an exaggerated groan and turns around to face Daredevil.
"Why can it never be Spidey who drops down behind me? With a sexy superhero landing, no less!" Daredevil glares [read: stares menacingly] at Deadpool from his couch, head canted up in that special Superhero™️ way. "Why must it always be my least favorite member of Team Red?" Deadpool pouts through his expressive mask and resists the urge to stomp his foot to further his point.
Daredevil rises to his feet, unfolding to his full 6 feet of height and all but bares his teeth at the merc.
"I said, walk away." Deadpool frowns and puts a finger to his lips.
"Say, did you get taller? I distinctly remember you being about 3 inches shorter and much more Charlie Cox-ish." He sighs and shakes his head. "I swear, no one gives short kings any love these days."
Daredevil approaches from the mouth of the alley, smoke billowing behind him and billy club suddenly in hand.
"I will not ask again."
[Okay, how did he make that smoke appear and how can we co-opt it]
Deadpool heaves another dramatic sigh and turns back to the homeless kid who's still crouched on the ground, albeit looking more confused than defensive now.
"Cover your ears, darling. Mommy and Daddy are fighting." The next second, Daredevil's gloved fingers tighten around the collar of Deadpool's suit and he's hauled away backwards.
"Don't forget about me, Bambi," Deadpool calls as Daredevil drags him backwards out of the alley. "And don't let me find you sleeping in any more alleys. It's bad for your back!" Deadpool only catches one more glimpse of the kid's big confused brown eyes and before he's being shoved around the corner by a red gloved hand.
{Is this what it feels like to be knocked around by us?}
[I'm surprised more people don't pop a stiffy, 'cause AWOOGA]
"What, exactly, do you think you were doing back there?" Daredevil growls, and Yellow is right, it is pretty erotic.
"Oh, yanno, just convincing a homeless kid to give me a blowie," Deadpool lies breezily, because that's probably what Daredevil thinks he was up to. "My usual Friday night pla- ack!" Deadpool's words are cut off as Daredevil slams him into the wall with a hand around his throat.
"Listen up, Wilson," Daredevil growls, and Deadpool can't help the thrill that goes down his spine.
[What? We've always been into breath play.}
"Kinky," he manages to wheeze out, even though he's pretty sure Daredevil fractured his windpipe. The vigilante's hand crushes it a little further.
"I don't know what you think you're playing at, but this is your one and only chance to forget what you saw tonight. Do you understand me?"
[Um… no?]
{We're actually more confused now.}
Daredevil shakes him against the wall, his voice a gravelly, deadly hiss.
"I asked if you understand me." Deadpool nods emphatically because, sure, he understands what Daredevil wants from him. Forget what he saw, mention it to no one, yadda yadda yadda. He just isn't clear on what, exactly, he was supposed to have seen.
[Or not seen, apparently]
{Guess we'll just have to figure that one out on our own.}
Daredevil's hand loosens and drops from around Deadpool's throat, and he takes a step back on the sidewalk.
"Good," he says evenly, suddenly calm and collected. The switch from violent vigilante to unflappable lawyer always trips Deadpool up. "Now as long as you stay far, far away from him, we won't have a problem." He points the end of his billy club at Deadpool's head. "Right?"
"Of course," Deadpool says, and it isn't a lie. Because honestly, the chances of running into that kid again in a city as large as New York City are slim to none. No way he'll see him again.
Daredevil doesn't respond, apparently satisfied that Deadpool's telling the truth, and turns away to stalk broodily back toward the alley.
Right. Deadpool rubs at his neck, considering. He won't get near the kid, sure. But that doesn't mean he's not going to find out everything he possibly can about him. Because if Daredevil wants him to stay away from someone, they're almost certainly someone Deadpool wants to get to know.
Deadpool turns on his heel and skips away from the alley, whistling 9 to 5 by Miss Dolly herself under his breath. It's time to get to work.
. . .
Matt stalks back into the backstreet right as Peter finishes pulling on his Spider-Man mask. He hadn't meant to fall asleep in the alleyway, but that's what he gets for trying to patrol after pulling two all-nighters to finish his thesis project. He's just lucky he hadn't managed to undress into the Spidey suit before all his late nights caught up to him.
"How much did he see?" Matt demands immediately, hooking his club back on his belt as he approaches. "I could tell you didn't have the mask on, but I don't know how much of your suit was covered or uncovered."
Right, heightened senses can't tell whether his suit had been peeking out from under his civilian clothes.
"Nothing, I don't think. I had just come from school when I passed out, so I was fully dressed. It'd be the same as if he'd crossed paths with me on the street."
Daredevil frowns, his mask leaving the lower half of his face fully uncovered. Something to do with keeping his nose and mouth uncovered.
"What about the web shooters?" He asks and Peter stiffens, instinctually touching his fingertips to his bracelets to make sure that they're still in place. Stark had made them for him when Peter was still considering becoming an Avenger, and although they can typically be passed off as jewelry, Deadpool has seen them on Spider-Man enough times that it could be a problem. Matt's frown deepens at whatever he senses from Peter.
"They were exposed," he guesses. Peter nods.
"At the very least he would have been able to see them when he approached me while I was asleep." Matt seems to take in this information for a long moment, then lets a controlled breath out of his nose.
"This isn't good, Spider-Man," he says gravely, and Peter has to resist the slightly giddy urge to laugh. "It's possible he approached you because he saw the shooters and made the connection. Your identity could be compromised."
Well fuck.
"Holy identity reveal, Batman," Peter mutters under his breath, any urge to laugh thoroughly squashed. He feels a pit begin to form in his stomach at the thought of Peter Parker's life becoming any more complicated because of his life as Spider-Man. At the thought of any of Peter's friends' lives becoming more complicated. Mary Jane has already been through enough with Gwen's death and Harry's descent into madness. She doesn't need Peter causing her any more problems.
Like putting a mercenary of questionable sanity hot on her trail because she's the only person who tolerates Peter's existence anymore.
"Spider-Man," Matt says softly, putting a hand on his arm. He can probably hear the way Peter's heart is jackrabbiting behind his ribs, trying to outrun the terrifying reality that his identity might be exposed. He doesn't know how Matt lives with it, knowing that Deadpool knows his civilian identity. "It'll be alright. We'll figure it out."
"Sure, sure. Just, uh. I mean, it's not that bad if he knows, right? Like, he knows about your whole thing, and he's… never…" Peter trails off at Matt's grimace and drops his head into his hands, wishing he could pull at his hair. "Oh god, I am so, so screwed, aren't I?"
"No," Matt says firmly, and it's a testament to their friendship that Peter actually sort of believes him. "Deadpool is many things, but he's not stupid. He knows how much your identity means to you, and he knows how much it's worth-"
"Oh good, great," Peter interrupts, pulling away to pace the length of the alley. "The only thing keeping the unkillable mercenary from blabbing my secret everywhere is that he wants to extort me for money I don't have! That, or to sell it to the highest bidder. Who's probably gonnabe Fisk, or Octavius, or, hell, why not fucking Tombstone!"
"Spider-Man," Matt repeats quietly, halting Peter's pacing. It's not exactly disapproving, but, well. It's disapproving. Peter comes to a stop in front of him and scrubs his hands over his masked face.
"No, I know, you're right. We'll figure it out and it'll be fine, but it's just- God, this is the worst fucking time for an identity crisis. No pun intended." Daredevil gives a tiny huffed laugh and claps Peter on the shoulder.
"Tell you what. I'll work on keeping Deadpool quiet, and you just work on finishing grad school." Peter lowers his hands from his face and peers at his friend.
"You mean that?" He asks, relief already pulling at his shoulders.
"Sure," Matt says, smiling and unclipping his grappling hook from his belt. He tosses it over a ledge of one of the roofs above them and gives Peter a devilish grin. "You can pay me back once you graduate."
Peter frowns and opens his mouth to reply, but Matt has already zipped up the side of the building and away.
Asshole.
. . .
It does not take very long to find Homeless Kid's name and address. And would you look at that, Homeless Kid's not even homeless! Or a kid.
[So much for your 'enhanced observational skills']
{Actually, we called both of those things.}
"Peter Parker is a doctoral candidate at ESU specializing in biomedical engineering and mutation-specific scientific research," Deadpool reads off the prehistoric library computer, poking at the clunky keys as he navigates the page. The librarian at the circulation desk glares and shushes him.
{Why are we in a library again? Do we actually have a computer at home or did I hallucinate that?}
"'Cause ESU's campus is the one closest to where we stumbled across little Bambi, and he definitely seemed the collegiate type."
[Doesnt explain why we have to search him up on an ESU library computer]
"God, I can't have any fun with you two." Deadpool aggressively logs out of the computer and pulls his mask the rest of the way down. "If I look him up on the ESU computer, I can go say hello to the kid when I confirm I'm right."
[Okay one, he's not a kid]
{And two, you promised Daredevil you'd stay away.}
Deadpool shrugs and skips down the stairs of the library.
"I changed my mind."
{Y'know, this is why no one likes us.}
[If Daredevil tattles to Spidey and he never talks to us again, I'm gonna make our life a living hell]
Deadpool snorts as he slams out of the library doors, startling the students walking by, but none of the pigeons. Somehow never the pigeons.
"Can't threaten me with something you already do. And besides, it's not like I want Spidey to hate us either." He cuts across the lawn, not minding the way students and admin stare after him like they've never seen a 6' 2" 200+ pound heavily weaponized masked man dressed in head-to-toe red and black leather before. Pfft, civilians.
[Riiiight, 'cause they're the freaks]
"Listen, Daredevil can't tattle to Spidey if he doesn't know. I get to Petey first, convince him to spill whatever Daredevil doesn't want me to know, then find a way to shut him up! Bada bing, bada boom!" He makes an excessively loud [and surprisingly realistic] explosion noise with his mouth and students scatter even farther away from him like mice. Civilians, amirite?
{Daredevil's gonna bash our skull in.}
[And then sue us for all we're worth]
"God, would you two stop being such Debbie Downers?" He says, jabbing a red gloved finger at his head. "This is gonna all work out perfectly, you'll see." He hauls open the door to the biomedical research lab and steps up to the first desk he sees, gun already aimed.
"Hiya! Appointment with Dr. Parker, please."
. . .
Peter has been working on his doctorate for three years now, and he's the brokest he's ever been. The happiest too, sure, but definitely the brokest. And stressed-est. Stressiest? Oh god, forget it, he's not an English major. And besides, he hasn't slept in about 36 hours (5 hour nap in an alleyway notwithstanding) so forgive him if he's not at the height of his intellectual capability at the moment.
It's not exactly like he needs to be intellectually capable at the moment, anyway. Since he is undoubtedly at the poorest he's ever been (which is really saying something, by the way), he's been picking up some extra hours grading papers for the research classes he TA's for. The pay is shit, but it supplements the arguably worse wage he gets from the Daily Bugle. Yes, he still works at the Daily Bugle, as much as it pains him to say. He's been tempted to quit more times than he can count, but it's such easy money with the modded camera Stark made for him that he just can't walk away. Besides, beggars can't be choosers.
So, that's what Peter's life consists of now. 60% school, 30% Spider-Man, and 10% work. Barrel of fun, right? Right. So it shouldn't be surprising that this thing with Deadpool is about 10 minutes away from giving him an ulcer the size of Wilson Fisk's head. (So, not that big, really.) A lot of fucked up shit has happened involving Peter and his identity, some of it stuff he can't even remember, but never in his life has his secret identity been in the hands of a crazed mass murdered. …Well, at least not this crazed mass murderer.
God, his life fucking sucks.
Anyway, that's what Peter's up to right now. Grading essays in a stressed daze in the back corner of the research lab as he tries to think up a solution to his big, masked problem. And because God hates him, of course he's speaking of the devil.
"Hiya! Appointment with Dr. Parker, please."
Peter's head snaps up from where it's curled over some kid's truly depressing research paper (like, he knows they're STEM kids, but can they at least use the right "their"?) and zeroes in on where Deadpool is standing in front of Patrick's desk. That gravelly voice is not one he'll soon forget. Hearing it when he least expects it again, while dressed as Peter Parker, again, is enough to have him gathering his things in a frantic attempt to escape the mercenary's notice. …Yeah, that was never gonna work.
"Ah, Petey Pie, there you are!" Peter looks up from where he's cramming his papers into his messenger bag in alarm to see Deadpool, the unkillable mercenary who clearly knows his secret fucking identity, skipping towards him. "Ugh, I have been looking all over for you! Who would've thought you'd be so easy to find, though, huh? It only took, like, six hours of searching. You should really be more careful about your online footprint, Bambi. Some really scary people can find you if you're not careful." And on and on and on.
Everyone in the lab is staring at them: Peter, the skinny grad student half bent over his papers, staring up at Deadpool, the hulking mass of muscles and weaponry who's blabbering on like a third-grader who's found the escaped class pet.
God, just strike me down where I stand. Please.
Deadpool is just shooting off at the mouth, bouncing from topic to topic like some crazed auctioneer, and Peter decides to just make a run for it.
He's never been known for his common sense.
Deadpool catches him around the collar of his flannel and Peter makes a choking sound as he stumbles back against the merc's massive body.
"Not so fast, Bambi," Deadpool purrs into Peter's ear. "I have a few questions to ask you."
Fuck. His. Life.