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The sun was slipping below the horizon as I reached my apartment, but I was in no mood to enjoy the purple twilight. I slammed the door closed, ripped off my mask and reached for the Kleenex on the little table next to the door. Fuck! The box was gone. Oh, no. That probably meant I gave my Spidey-love my goddamn cold and he used up the Kleenex.
I stumbled to the bathroom and blew my nose on toilet paper. Yuck. Whatever. It was nice to be able to breathe with my left nostril, at least, even if the right one was still packed full of concrete. I took a couple of guaifenesin to clear out my nose the rest of the way and headed toward the bedroom.
“Spidey? Spidey-doll.” I opened the bedroom door and peered into the gloom. The bed was empty. No, that couldn’t be right. Spidey’s kind of a shitty housekeeper, but he’s a good boy scout. He is prepared. He wouldn’t have used up the Kleenex and not replaced it unless he was too sick to remember. I looked up. There was that lean, lithe body I loved, dressed in a ratty t-shirt and gym shorts. The symbol on his t-shirt seemed weirdly unfamiliar, but what do I know? I don’t have my boyfriend’s wardrobe memorized.
“Oh, hey there, Spides. Having some ceiling time?”
“Uh…yeah?” Spidey said. His voice was wrong. Not stopped-up-nose wrong. Not laryngitis wrong. Wronger than that. My neck tickled as all of my hairs stood up on end.
<Stupid, pathetic piloerection,> Yellow snickered. <Trying to make you look big and scary by fluffing up your fur, but your follicles don’t know that you’re a hairless ape.>
White snorted. <You said erection.>
I flicked on the light. Spidey hissed in a breath and threw his hand over his eyes.
“Hey, babe,” I said. “You doin’ OK?”
Squinting, he took the hand away.
Aw…fuck…no. Dammitall. Fuck.
“You’re not my Spidey-babe,” I said.
<Still hot,> said Yellow.
<Too young,> said White.
<He’s probably legal,> said Yellow.
<Shut the fuck up,> said White. <Legal schmegal. We ain’t about that ephebophilia shit.>
<What?> said Yellow.
<We don’t fuck adolescents,> said White.
<He might be twenty,> said Yellow. <Maybe he’s a young-looking twenty.>
<Biologically,> said White, <Animals are adolescents from puberty until they stop growing.>
<Looks full-grown to me,> said Yellow.
<Yeah, but his brain won’t be done growing until his mid-to-late twenties. Specifically, the pre-frontal cortex, which is responsible for making good decisions. It would be deeply unethical to fuck Baby Spidey.>
I sighed. This is what I got for falling asleep to Youtube videos of college professors giving lectures. I mean, I agreed with White. I wasn’t gonna fuck baby-Spidey. Not least because if my Spidey found out, he would’ve turned me into paste. I just didn’t appreciate all the fifty-cent words being thrown around me.
“Why are you a baby?” I asked Spidey.
“I’m not!” he bristled, and then curled into himself with another hissing intake of breath. He gave a pathetic little whine that reached somewhere deep into my brain, way past the doing-algebra parts, and shook me by the brain-nads.
<BABY IN PAIN!> shrieked White.
<SAVE! THE! BABY!> screamed Yellow.
“Okay,” I said in a calm, gentle voice to the Baby-Spidey on my ceiling. I sighed again. There’d been some uncomfortable truths staring me in the face for a few hours, and it looked like I was gonna have to face up to them. “My name is Deadpool.”
“I know,” Spides groaned between gritted teeth.
“But I think I’m a different Deadpool than the one you know. There was this swirling purple-ish…thing…and…I think I’m a Deadpool from a different universe.”
“Oh,” said Spides with a dead-eyed look. “Does that mean you’re going to kill me?”
“What?!” I said.
“Well, the Deadpool in this universe has gotten a little more chill and less stabby since he started dating Wolverine.”
“Wolverine?!”
“So maybe you’re…the even stabbier, shootier version. To balance things out?”
“Wolverine!” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I would’ve said that he’s not my type, but…I guess the heart wants what it wants.”
“I guess,” Spidey said. “Look, man, are you gonna try to kill me or not?”
“Sweetheart,” I said, “In my universe, I’m dating you.”
“Oh,” he said. He looked away. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“Not very flattering, but fair,” I said.
“No,” he said, crawling quickly toward the bathroom. “Unrelated.”
I winced as horrible retching sounds came from the bathroom. I thought about his hair. Floppier than my Spidey’s, but not so floppy that he probably needed me to hold it back. So, instead I went into the kitchen and got a glass of cold water and a damp washcloth and met him back at the bathroom door.
“Oh,” he said, looking up from his pitiful, hunched shuffle. “Thanks. Lemme just…uh…sit down first.”
I sniffled (goddamn cold!) and followed him into the living room.
“You need a doctor,” I said, setting my offerings on the table next to the couch.
“Nope,” he said, collapsing onto the couch, “No, I’m…I’m super. I don’t need a doctor anymore.”
“Yeah, you’re super, in that you’re part spider, not part immortal.”
“Huh,” he said. He took a sip of water and put the glass back on the side table. “What do spiders do when they get sick?”
“They die,” I said.
“Or they get better,” he said.
“Or they die,” I said.
“I’m not gonna die,” he said, flapping a hand at me. He winced and rolled up into a ball on the couch.
“Hey,” I said. “You know what makes my Spidey feel better when he’s sick?”
“What?”
“A beer and a nap,” I said.
“I don’t have beer, but I’ll try it if you get one.”
“Sure thing, kid,” I said, heading out the door. “Why not commit a little light corruption of a minor today?”
It was over an hour before I got back with a six-pack and a bag of groceries, but Spidey was still curled up in the same sad little ball on his couch.
<SAVE THE BABY!> screamed White and Yellow.
“I’m on it, I’m on it,” I grumbled.
“I’m gonna make you a shandy,” I told the kid.
“Whaaat?” he groaned.
“Shandy. It’s half beer, half lemonade. Beer for babies.”
“’M not a baby.”
“Sure, sure, kid.” I set some water on the stove to boil to make a simple syrup. “How are you feeling?”
Spidey-boy groaned.
“That good, huh?”
“Mhm,” he said.
I slipped into the bathroom to blow my nose and wash my hands. Then I stirred sugar into the boiling water. When the simple syrup was done, I added it to the lemon juice, poured the resulting mixture over ice, and gently stirred in the beer.
“Here,” I said, pulling the side table in front of the couch. “One magic shandy elixir. It’ll cure what ails ya.”
“Mmm,” he groaned, but he dragged himself up to sitting and made himself take a sip.
“Get a couple more sips in you before you lie back down,” I said.
He nodded, then leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
I went into the kitchen to pack up some things.
“Spidey?” I said after a minute. “Spidey-pie?” I pulled him an inch from the wall by his hair and let go. He clunked back onto it with no change in facial expression.
“Lightweight,” I said. “It takes way more than that to roofie my Spidey-pie. I found us a doctor, sweetie.” I poured the rest of the shandy-Finn into a water bottle in case I needed it and clipped it to my belt. Then I knelt and picked Spidey up in a fireman’s carry. A little whimper wheezed out of him as I stood.
<BABY IN PAIN!> screamed White.
<SAVE THE BABY!> added Yellow.
“I’m workin’ on it, guys,” I mumbled, locking the apartment door behind me. “I wonder if all Spideys are terrible about going to the doctor.”
<Baby Spidey,> crooned White.
<Save the baby,> purred Yellow.
I considered taking the subway…with the…roofied teenager on my shoulders, but I decided to walk instead. More shadows to hide in. The doctor and I had already negotiated a generous, cash-up-front price. She would wait.
<Dat ass,> said Yellow.
“What happened to ‘Save the baby’?” I scolded.
<But dat ass!> moaned Yellow.
<Baby in pain!> admonished White. <We have dat ass at home.>
“I would say that the dat ass at home is even finer,” I said loyally. “Matured. Come into its own. Also not attached to a kid. Attached to an adult…that we love. It’s free-range, ethically sourced ass.”
It took most of an hour to walk to the doc with Baby Spidey on my shoulders. I felt pretty pleased with myself. A big part of my job is finding people, and, apparently, I can find a shady but competent surgeon at a moment’s notice in any universe. Go me. I’m gonna call the agency and have them put that on my list of skills.
So, well, the rest was mostly waiting and other boring stuff. Doc met me with her shady-but-competent nurse anesthetist. (Word to the wise, y’all. Never trust a shady surgeon who says they can do their own anesthesia.) Turns out, Baby Spidey had appendicitis! Yeah, his little ol’ appendix was swollen up like a balloon with nasty, bad bacteria. Fortunately, they got to it before it burst and started causing real trouble.
The doctor asked if I wanted to take the appendix home in a jar as a souvenir, and of course I said “Yes!” Man, shady-but-competent surgeons can be real weirdos. My kinda folks.
The nurse anesthetist even drove us home, so I only had to carry Baby Spides up the stairs to the apartment. What service!
So I got Li’l Spidey set up on the couch and put the post-op care sheet and all the things I could think of him needing on the table next to him. Then I stretched myself out on the rug by the couch and prepared to do the Devoted Victorian Mother with Sick Child routine.
But then the edges of my vision started fritzing purple again, and I knew it was time to go. I felt bad about leaving the kid alone—I really did! —but I wasn’t about to miss my ride. Home is where the version of dat ass that we are allowed to touch is.
I leaped through the swirling purple vortex and looked around. Ok, the world looked fine. No...like…pterodactyls on the horizon or morally upstanding US presidents or anything else obviously hinky. But then, the other universe had been pretty familiar up until Spidey spoke. Ugh.
I called an Uber (I know, I know. The gig economy sucks when you’re not being paid a minimum of fifty grand per gig. Sorry. I was in a hurry. It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem, it’s me.)
And then I was taking my stairs three at a time and unlocking my door, and My Spidey was snoring on the couch with his mouth wide open, dressed in ripped sweats and a stained t-shirt, surrounded by used tissues. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
“Hey, kid, what can I getcha?” asked Tony. His palatial penthouse was filled with scientists, engineers, and Avengers for his birthday party.
“Oh, um, a Coke, please, Mr. Stark,” said Peter. “Um, Coca Cola.”
“Yeah, kiddo,” said Stark. “I knew you didn’t want the white stuff. Just Coke? No mix-ins?”
“Um, no, no thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“Not even a little? Happy can drive you home.”
“No, thanks.”
Tony looked up and gave a little start. Peter checked over his shoulder and saw that Natasha Romanov was glaring at Tony. She smiled at Peter and resumed talking to Clint Barton.
“Huh,” said Tony, pouring the Coke. “You religious or something, kid?”
“Oh,” said Peter. “No, I…uh…it’s just that last time I drank alcohol, I woke up with my appendix in a jar.”
Tony froze. He put down the bottle of Coke. He tapped his fingers on the kitchen island that was serving as a bar.
“Run that by me again?”
“Uhhh…a week ago, I had a beer and woke up with my appendix in a jar next to me.”
“Who gave you the beer?”
“I don’t know. I mean…I think I remember Deadpool being there, but it all feels weird and hazy, like a dream, so I don’t know if that was real.”
Tony’s fingers tightened around the edge of the countertop and his mouth went thin.
“And, anyway, dream-Deadpool said he was from another universe, so even if that was real, we wouldn’t be able to find him.”
“Bruce!” Tony shouted.
“Uh…yeah?” Dr. Bruce Banner loped up with a worried smile.
“Hey, kid, tell Bruce what you just told me.”
“Um, a week ago, I had a beer, and then I woke up on my couch with stitches in my stomach and my appendix in a jar.”
“Maybe we…” said Tony.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah-yeah,” said Bruce. “Peter, do you mind if we ultrasound you real quick?”
“Oh,” said Peter. “Um…I guess so. Can I bring my Coke?”
“Sure, kid,” said Tony, steering Peter to the elevator. “And then maybe we take a quick run by your apartment to pick up that jar.”
The good news is that I was back where I was supposed to be—sitting on the couch, watching a show about glassblowing, with my honeybuns sitting in my lap and my arms around his waist. Also good, we’d both gotten over our colds and I had finally had the time and energy to tell Peter about my adventures through the purple vortex. Not so good was that I was getting scolded, at length.
“You roofied a child, Wade?!” Peter exclaimed.
“He was in pain, baby doll!”
“You roofied a child.”
“I am responsible for the well-being of Spidey-people, love of my life!”
“And you sought medical care without his consent.”
“Well, if he’s a child, then it’s really his guardian who—”
“You’re not his guardian!”
“Spiritually?”
“No!”
“Grape?”
“Hmph.”
Petey opened his mouth and let me feed him a chilled grape. This gave me a ten-second reprieve from the scolding. As soon as he swallowed, though, it started again.
“You know, forcing medical care on someone is assault,” he said.
“I mean, it’s not the kind of assault people usually do when they—”
“That is NOT the bar, Wade!”
“Grape?”
“Mhm.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” I said, nuzzling his neck. “This is why I need you around to keep me on the straight and narrow. Even when I try to do good, I fuck it up. I did my best, love.”
Petey sighed and slumped back against my shoulder. He opened his mouth for another grape.
“Plus,” I said. “You know, Baby Spidey was my first indication that I was in the wrong place. Maybe that purple vortex swallowed me for a reason. Maybe I was there to save the kid’s life from him being a dumbass and getting his appendix exploded. Ooh, maybe it was some kinda Groundhog Day scenario, but I got it in one. Maybe I had to force him into medical care to go home. And I really, really wanted to go home to my Spidey, who is kind and brilliant and awesome and has the best ass in the multiverse.”
“Not Wolverine?” Peter grumped.
“Doesn’t even compare.”
I kissed Petey’s neck and started to let my hands roam, just a little. Petey moaned. I grinned. Seemed like the scolding was over.