Chapter Text
“I fell for you.”
“Yeah, I know. I think you broke your nose.”
The stranger laughed and brushed off his pants, before reaching for Peter’s outstretched hand and allowing him to pull him up. He stumbled forwards and almost ran directly into Peter for the second time in the past five minutes, though he stopped himself before they both collapsed onto the ground.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, helping Peter pick up his books and papers.
“Don’t worry about it.” He was late for class anyway, and it wasn’t like the professor was teaching anything he didn’t already know.
The stranger handed him his chemistry textbook and laughed again. His eyes met Peter’s for a second. They were brown, though Peter detected a hint of green in there as well.
“Wow.” The guy’s voice was almost a whisper. “Uh, I’m Wade.”
“Peter.”
He was pretty sure he’d never seen him on campus before — he had the kind of face you’d remember. Every inch of his skin was covered in scars and burns, like he'd been the victim of some nuclear accident. It was fascinating and if Aunt May hadn't taught Peter not to ask rude question, he would've started interrogating the guy.
He didn’t exactly look like college student either, at least not unless he’d retaken a couple of years of classes, and wasn’t carrying any books or bags. Still, something about the way he talked was oddly familiar.
Peter only realized he’d been staring when the stranger, Wade, cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, “I just—“
"It's cool, I'm used to it."
“No, I wasn’t— it’s not your—“
“I fell asleep in an oven when I was a kid,” Wade explained. That seemed like a plausible explanation — the scars on his face and hands looked like product of some serious 3rd degree burns. Peter didn’t mind them though — in fact, they might’ve worked kind of well for a photography project.
“Anyway,” Wade smiled. He looked almost uncomfortable, like the prolonged look between him and Peter pumped him full of unease. “I should probably go.”
“Wait,” Peter wasn’t sure what he was doing (or why exactly he felt so compelled to do it) but the connection between his mind and his mouth had faltered the moment he noticed Wade’s complexion. “This might sound kind of weird but would you—“ he wasn’t sure how to phrase it in a way that didn’t sound extremely weird. “I have this photography project coming up and you’re, like, the perfect candidate.” Yeah, okay, that wasn’t too bad. “Only if you’d be up for it, obviously.”
The guy’s eyes widened for a second — it probably wasn’t the type of question you’d expect from a stranger you’d just bumped into on the street — though the corners of his mouth quickly curled into a smile. “Really?” He asked, voice several octaves higher than before.
“Yeah.”
He hesitated before answering, like he was contemplating the idea.
“I’ll buy you dinner afterwards.” Did that sound too much like a date? Peter made a mental note to go through stuff in his head before he said it. “To make up for the fact that I just made you drop your taco.” He gestured toward the broken shell on the ground.
Wade’s expression changed, and he started to nod eagerly. “Okay, alright,” he agreed. He snatched Peter’s phone out of his hand and added himself as a contact. “Give me a call,” he said.
“Sure.” Peter smiled as Wade handed him his phone back. “See you around, then.”
“Uh-huh,” he turned around and started walking back in the direction he’d come from. “Oh and I charge extra for nudes.”
Peter smiled to himself and headed to Chemistry.
As weird as the encounter had been, Peter couldn’t help but run through it in his head all the way to class. He tried to, as accurately as possible, recall the features of Wade’s face — all the burns and scars and his brown-green eyes and—
Stop it, Peter, he thought to himself, focus.
Not that the little voice in the back of his brain listened. He spent the rest of the lecture considering how he’d photograph a face like that and, more so, how he’d get through the dinner without saying something amazingly awkward.
***
“You’ll never win, Spider-Man!”
Peter fired a web in the general direction of the guy’s feet, landing it accurately enough to take out his legs and cause his body to smash into the pavement. “Uh-huh,” he webbed his mouth shut. “I hear you.”
The man looked at him with fear in his eyes, desperately reaching for a gun he’d dropped a few inches from his outstretched fingers. He tried to speak through the webbing, though it came out as nothing more than incoherent mumbling. Peter didn’t need words to know what he was trying to convey, though - at this point he could recognize an empty threat anywhere. He walked past the man and picked up his gun, webbing it to the wall for the police to confiscate.
Spider-Man was just about to leave the rest to the cops when a scream rang out from somewhere further down the dark alley. “So close,” he sighed, swinging towards the noise.
Peter dropped down at the end of the alley, looking around for the source of the scream. It was empty, as far as he could tell. But it’d definitely come from down here.
“Hello?” He felt like one of the idiots in the beginning of horror movies.
The scream rang in his ears again, this time coming from behind a dumpster. He rolled the thing aside, eyes scanning the space until he spotted a recorder on the ground. It was set to autoplay, volume turned all the way up.
“Shit,” Peter hissed, suddenly on the lookout for anything that could hit him from behind. His spidey-sense wasn’t going off, but something was definitely wrong. The recorder went off again, and Peter kicked it into the wall hard enough to cause it to break into little pieces.
Out of nowhere, he felt a sting on his upper back. He reached up out of reflex and his fingers brushed against a dart buried disturbingly deep in his neck. “Shit,” he repeated. It didn’t take long for his sight to go blurry, and for the sound of cars and crowds to start fading. Okay, this was bad. He’d been drugged before, but usually he was able to either resist it or get away before he passed out. But, the way it looked right now, none of those were an option. Whoever had shot that dart had known exactly which drug to pick.
That was the last thought Peter had before everything went black.
***
“Spidey! You’re awake!”
Peter recognized the voice, but his mind was too fuzzy to match it to a face. Every single one of his muscles hurt, like he’d been electrocuted or used as a human punching bag. He wanted to stand or open his eyes or just do something but, as much his brain begged it, his body refused to move. He was still wearing his mask, though, meaning whoever had kidnapped him wasn’t interested in his identity. That was nice, at least.
“I’m…” It hurt to speak, but he had to get out of there. And the first step to getting out, he figured, was finding out where the hell he was. “Who are…”
“What, you don’t recognize me?” The voice sounded offended. “Ouch.”
“Where am I?” Peter continued, still unable to open his eyes. It smelled like gunpowder and gasoline, and if he’d been able to move he would’ve covered his nose.
The voice was quiet for a second, as though it was wondering the same thing. “Some warehouse. How come it’s always a warehouse? Maybe it’s a super-villain thing. Anyhoo, we’re not gonna be here for long, just until this thing charges back up.”
Finally, Peter managed to open his eyes. He wished he could say he was surprised when they focused in on a muscular figure, dressed in a slightly-too-tight red and black suit with two katanas strapped onto the back. “Deadpool.”
“You do remember me! Ha!” He looked behind him as if to find someone to say ‘I told you so’ to, but it seemed him and Peter were the only ones there.
He hadn’t been lying though; the big crates of dusty cargo and thin metal walls suggested they were in an abandoned warehouse. Peter even recognized which one — he’d shut down drug and weapon deals here countless times.
“Why am I— Did you kidnap me?”
“Kidnap? You have so little faith in me,” he clicked his tongue. “I was too busy saving your spandex-covered ass to kidnap you.”
Peter looked around, taking note of the three very dead men on the floor. They were surrounded by fancy, alien-looking weapons, and dressed in military-level suits. Maybe the mercenary was, for once in his life, not lying.
“Then why am I tied up?”
“I thought we were past the kink-shaming part of our relationship.”
“Dude.”
He giggled and started untying the rope around Peter’s hands. “Didn’t think you’d mind my waiting to untie you until after I murdered the agents sent to kill you.”
“Sent to— What?”
“No idea. I was just assuming based on the fact that they had big scary guns and, y’know, carried you through the city in a bodybag. And I thought, hey, that dead guy kinda looks like my best frenemy and future lover so—“
His story was interrupted by a loud gunshot.
Deadpool let out a wince and turned around to face his attacker. “Fucker!” He yelled, pulling a bullet out of his arm and letting it drop onto the floor.
Peter stood up, ignoring the uncomfortable wave of pain that rushed through his body, and looked in the direction of the sound. It was another group of men, dressed the same way as the dead guys on the floor, all carrying heavy firearms.
“Move and we shoot!” One of them yelled, cocking his gun and pointing it at Peter. “I mean it!”
In a shift motion, Deadpool unsheathed his katanas and, within a couple of seconds, the man’s head was separated from his body. His friends were more hesitant to shoot, giving Deadpool just enough time to kick one of them in the stomach and punch another in a place Peter could only imagine would never stop hurting again.
He was seconds away from sending a katana through one of the soldier’s heart when a web pulled the sword from his hand.
“No more murder,” Peter told him, before firing a web at the celling and swinging himself at the three men. He hit one of them in the chest, knocking him against a crate.
He dropped onto the floor and threw a few punches, dodging bullets for long enough to kick the guns out the soldier’s hands, and web each man to the wall. It didn’t take him much more than five minutes to tie them all up, and he turned around with a satisfied smirk under his mask.
“I am so turned on right now,” Deadpool said.
“Yeah well, don’t get any—“ A wave of nausea washed over Peter, and he stumbled backwards onto the floor. “I don’t— I’m not feeling too great,” he admitted.
The merc shrugged and fished something out of a duffel bag beside him. “Side effect of the sedative. Usually tea fixes it.”
“Tea, huh?” Peter groaned.
“Yup. I know a place.”
Peter wanted to comment, but he was pretty sure that opening his mouth was just make him throw up.
“Oh, hey,” Wade reached into the bag and pulled out an old flip-phone. “Before I forget, mind doing me a favour?” He held the phone in front of Peter’s face as though he was about to take a picture of him.
“I most definitely mind.” Peter took a deep breath. His legs had gone completely numb and his arms felt like they were about to fall off.
Deadpool ignored it and kept aiming the camera at him. “I just need you to say ‘happy birthday Amy,’” he explained. “It’s for a… Thing. Look, you’re a good guy, isn’t this what good guys do? Wish little kids happy birthday and give them candy or whatever?”
Peter took a second to process. He had a million questions about this, but he knew he wouldn’t get any proper answers so he kept them to himself. Who was Amy? What did Deadpool have to do with her? Did she even exist, or was this all some stupid plan to get Spider-Man to like him? “Sure,” he finally said. Chances were it was a set-up, but it wasn’t like it’d hurt anyone.
Even with the mask on, Peter could tell the merc was grinning. “Aaaaaand,” he pressed a button and a loud ‘ding’ indicated that he was filming, “go!”
“Happy birthday, Amy,” he tried his best to sound cool despite the pain and nausea. “You’re growing up to be a real superhero.”
Deadpool, now all giddy and satisfied, closed the phone and threw back into his bag. “Thank you, my eight-legged friend.”
“I don’t— Nevermind. You’re welcome.”
“You’re not gonna ask any questions about that?” He almost sounded surprised.
“Nope,” Peter felt a sharp pain in his right leg. Maybe that meant the drug was wearing off. “You wouldn’t answer them anyways.”
Deadpool shrugged and muttered a “fair enough” before, once again, pulling something out of his bag, inspecting it for a second before returning his attention to Peter. “You ever teleported before?”
Peter nodded, somewhat reluctantly. He’d tried it a couple of times with the Avengers, but it hadn’t exactly been a treat. The first time, he’d vomited for a solid three hours and the second, he’d passed out. The subsequent tries were less extreme but still not what he’d call comfortable.
“Wanna get out of here?” Deadpool fiddled with the device, turning a couple of knobs as if he knew what he was doing.
He wanted to say no — to get better immediately and go home. But it’d be at least another two hours before he could start swinging again, and he didn’t exactly want to spend them in a secluded warehouse. “Sure.”
Even through the mask, he looked surprised. “You— Really?”
“Yeah. I can’t exactly go anywhere by myself.” It was a good excuse. The last thing Peter wanted was for Deadpool to think he wanted to spend time with him. If he came to that belief, he’d never leave him alone.
“Right.” He wrapped an arm around Peter’s torso and helped him stand up. “And three, two, o—“
A lightness surged through Peter’s stomach, and everything went silent and dark for a prolonged moment. The sound returned at a booming volume and Peter was overcome by nausea and his muscles were practically dead.
After overcoming the initial disorientation, he looked around. They were in a cafe, completely empty with the exception of a tired old woman by the counter. She didn’t even look up as they materialized from thin air. She’d probably seen weirder — this was New York City after all, Avengers fought aliens in the middle of Times Square once a week.
“So,” Deadpool scoured the place for a table as though they weren’t all available. “Want anything?”
Peter shook his head. He was in the mood for a couple of shots of expresso, but he planned to sleep for at least a couple of days as soon as his body was back to normal. Deadpool helped him sit down at one of the tables, the one closest to the window facing the busy street.
“You sure? This place has the best bubble tea — you ever had bubble tea?” He glanced at the menu for a second. Even if it wasn’t the best bubble tea, it was probably the most abundant. They had all sorts of flavors, ranging from normal stuff like strawberry to slightly more odd ones like honey lavender. “It’s like ice-tea but they have little flavored testi—“
“I know what it is,” Peter informed him. “But sure, looks kinda good.” Instinctively, he reached into his pocket for his wallet, only to be reminded he was still in full Spider-Man costume. He never carried his wallet with him when he was out like this. Ruined the lines of the suit. “Shit, nevermind.”
“Wha— No, no, no, my web-spinning amigo, I’m paying,” Deadpool turned around on his heel and went up to order without knowing what Peter wanted.
It didn’t take long for the old woman to whip up two lavender flavored bubble teas and hand them to the mercenary. She didn’t seem to mind his bloody suit or the katanas on his back, nor did she react when admitted he didn’t have any money. “Open a tab for me? Actually, no don’t do that. I’ll be back later.”
He sat down across from Peter, pushing the purple tea towards him. He figured he could push the mask up a little bit, just enough to get the straw into his mouth without showing his face. Not that Deadpool would recognize him — not a lot of people knew the quiet, nerdy Peter Parker who spent half of his time at the library and the other half in a little apartment in Queens.
“Shit,” he whispered after the first sip. He’d had bubble tea before, him and Johnny had gone multiple times, but never before had he tasted something like this.
“Good, huh?” Despite the tea in front of him, Deadpool made no effort to drink it. “I’m not big on I-told-you-so’s but…”
Peter practically drank the whole thing within thirty seconds. He was tempted to order another more, but remembered that they technically hadn’t payed for the first one yet. “Thanks,” he pulled the mask back over his face.
“For what?”
“Y’know… This. You could’ve left me there.”
“I considered it. Fact, if you’d been anyone else I probably would’ve,” he still hadn’t started drinking the tea and Peter hated to admit the mercenary had more self-control than him. “But hey, I thought it might be nice to have Spidey owe me one.”
“Please don’t abuse that power.”
“Me? Never.”
It was getting kind of late, and Peter had to study for a biology test. He hadn’t revised at all yet, and he hadn’t gotten much out of the lectures because his professor, Monotone Martin, had gone off on a rant about anti-mutant protests and something about the Avengers.
Whatever had been in that tea, it worked like magic. After about fifteen minutes of Deadpool ranting about something Peter couldn’t possibly bring himself to pay attention to, his body was almost back to normal. He really needed to go, so as soon as the mercenary stopped to breathe, he interrupted the constant stream of words.
“Hey, I gotta—“
“Thank me properly?” Deadpool interrupted back. “Figured you would. I know this super fancy restaurant. Do you know how much fun the press would have writing about Spider-Man and Deadpool’s first date? Or, I think I have a penthouse somewhere in the city if we’re thinking something more private.”
Peter wanted to reply, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “Uh, raincheck?” He finally managed. “I got some stuff I need to take care of.”
“Right, sure.” Deadpool got up. “I’ll take you up on it later though.”
Peter just nodded and waved the old barista goodbye, before he was out the door.
Weird. That whole thing had been really, really weird. Peter hadn’t had a lot of run-ins with Deadpool, and he wasn’t particularly fond of the hero either, but this had been different. Almost like he.. Cared? It seemed to strange to even think about, and Peter was almost certain the guy had some sort of ulterior motive. According to the Avengers, Deadpool wasn’t exactly the type of guy who did anything for anyone for the sake of simply helping them out.
Still, he’d saved Peter’s life and, as much as he hated it, he kind of owed him one.
He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, though he couldn’t keep them from lingering there the whole way home.