Title: Be My Yoko Ono (pt.1)
Fandom & Pairing: presently friendship/pre-slash - Peter Parker/Wade Wilson (Spider-Man/Deadpool)
Rating: R to be on the safe side.
Warnings/notes: Very generically canon for Amazing Spider-Man (i.e. Peter's a relatively single man) and pre 'Dead' storyline in DP, except for the fact that he's in New York.. Language, a bit of gore, general self-hatingness, crack... oh c'mon, there's Deadpool. What do you expect? Also, there are still a lot of Spidey and Deadpool books I have not read yet. I apologise in advance if I contradict canon accidentally etc.
The title is from the song by the Barenaked Ladies.
Massive special thanks to idontlikegravy for beta duty and general awesomeness. You are amazing.
Disclaimer: Make Mine Marvel's.
Summary: It must've been the lack of sleep driving him nuts, because there was no way in hell Spider-Man was having a slumber party with someone whose idea of fun was helping little old ladies into oncoming traffic.
”Oh, boo hoo. 'I'm a lonely and misunderstood freak of nature! No one loves me!'”
“Wow. That's cruel.”
“No, it's me...Or at least, it used to be me. I've been where you are – I could have been you.”
- Deadpool: Monkey Business
Some days... okay so most days of late, Peter Parker really didn't enjoy having an over-active conscience. Especially when said conscience lead him to pause mid-swoop over a particularly gruesome alleyway as he finished patrolling just so that he could help out a guy who he knew would make him regret each and every moment of it. Especially when that guy was Deadpool. Or at least, half of him.
Peter landed on an uneven floor with a soft thwomp and surveyed the scene. It was probably the new number one in his Top 10 of Mutilated Bodies to See Before You Die list.
Blood was sluicing into dirty rainwater from the horrifying wound that quite literally separated the man's upper torso from his legs, and god-knows what was spilling into the streets, but Peter was pretty certain that one part should not have been green. Suddenly the prospect of that Sloppy Joe he was saving for after work seemed much less appealing.
And worst of all, Deadpool was not only still alive, but still conscious. No wait, even worse, he was still talking.
If it had been any other day Peter would have shrugged and walked away. Deadpool would heal. Eventually. He could live with that.
Very fortunately for a certain not quite hero, not quite anti hero, this was not any other day.
[Well that and this'd be a real crappy short story otherwise. Rock on authorial intent, I say.]
Peter swore softly and took a step toward a muttering Wade Wilson, who appeared to be engaged in a debate with himself on the merits (or lack thereof) of cheap plot devices. '..but seriously, why do I always have to get the shitty end of the stick?'
He finally acknowledged Peter's presence. 'Hey! Spidey!' He offered an awkward wave. 'No hug? But we're going to banter right? You seriously have no idea how much I miss the banter.'
Peter's eyes narrowed.
'Oh for... Deadpool, how are you even talking to me right now?'
'Mutant exposition factor.' Deadpool shrugged, or at least attempted to and ended up rolling over on to his side. 'Ah, 'tis but a flesh wound. I think I've got sometime between three panels and half an hour before everything grows back, so give a guy a hand wouldya? Or y'know, a couple of legs? Yeah, lame joke, right I know.'
'You are possibly the most messed-up person I have ever met.'
Although he did get points for the Monty Python reference.
'You know usually people add a couple'a choice adjectives in the middle of that, so I'm gonna guess we're bonding.'
Peter shook his head. Forget “possibly”.
He swallowed back bile and found himself dragging a pair of legs to the top half of Deadpool only to hear the two connect with a sickening wet noise. There was then what anyone who knew Deadpool to be a very long silence. At least a full minute, Peter estimated. No movement, nothing. Could he actually be - ?
A gloved hand grabbed Peter's before he got the chance to check under a blood-soaked mask for breath.
'Not until the third date Spidey. What kinda guy do you think I am?' Wade ground out as he waggled a foot experimentally. Well whaddya know? Even put 'em back facing the right way round too. Might be nice to appreciate your own shapely butt, but... [Butt but! Heh.] He really didn't think that'd work out so great for too long. 'Too many problems walking backwards forwards...'
Peter tugged his hand away and felt stupidly relieved that Deadpool couldn't see his look of horror.
'I thought you might actually be - '
Wade slowly started to sit up and leaned against the nearest a wall. Was that a huge wedge of gum pressing into his back? [Eww. Nothing worse than people who just spit out their gum everywhere. Gets caught in your clothes, on your shoes...]
'What? Dead dead? Bitten the big one? Joined the choir invisible? [Yeah, like they'd have me up there? Can't even hold a tune in a bucket. Do they even have buckets in Heaven?] 'Nah. Anyways, you're missing out on the real criminals around here Spidey.' He jabbed a finger in Peter's direction. 'Wriggleys.'
Wade shifted and clenched his jaw as one great big salsa dancing party of pain shot through his body as his healing factor kicked into overdrive. He would hunt down every single one of those minty fresh bastards and stuff 'em to bursting with gum right up the -
'Gum?! You've just been hacked in two and you're - ' Pausing, Peter remembered just who exactly he was talking to and sighed, forcing some perspective. 'What happened, Deadpool? You have a lover's tiff with Bullseye?'
Damnit, was Peter going to have to take him somewhere to have time to heal again? But who would take him in this time? The X-Men were too far, and Peter couldn't think of a single Avenger Deadpool hasn't ticked off, fought with, flirted inappropriately with or kicked in the balls, literally or figuratively. The Richards' had already made their anti-Deadpool position quite clear and Matt... Matt was not an option right now.
'Aw, please. Don't sully our strictly professional relationship like that. That's just so cheap. Besides, I'm the innocent victim here. And by victim I mean Frankie got a lucky shot in with a chainsaw. Just one. Well maybe three but definitely no more than eight.' Wade cocked his head. 'Bet it looked pretty cool though, right?'
Peter crossed his arms. 'No you just look “pretty” awful. What did you do and why exactly shouldn't I be leaving you gift-wrapped for the cops?'
'Hey, this was a totally legit good guy gig! I took out a one hundred percent gen-u-ine evil dick of a dictator. One shot, nice and clean, everybody's happy.'
'Peter stared at him for a moment, pieces fitting together. 'Perez?' The usually secretive South American dictator was famous for his ethnic cleansing policies, not to mention his fetish for pre-pubescent girls. He was also famous for being very dead that afternoon and not a pretty corpse.
'You took him out, so why did the Punisher do this?' If Deadpool had to kill anyone, Peter reluctantly conceded, he could think of worse targets. Was Frank Castle simply keen to take the mouthy merc out once and for all?
Deadpool flicked an errant piece of gum from his knee. 'Yeah well, Pez guy's bitten the big one, but Frankie got all sneaky and caught me at it. Talk about timing! The one freaking moment in his life ol' Pez Pop helps a kitten out a tree?,' [Or does something else Spidey widey doesn't need to have an image of crawlin' in his noggin] He mimed a gunshot, 'And Frankie sees me whack him and starts to get all in my face about it.' He grimaced, and Peter caught the movement under otherwise smooth lines of the mask. That had to hurt didn't it? Serious Grade A pain factor. Peter's fingers itched.
'He probably didn't know what Perez looked like. I didn't until they reported him dead. Which, by the way is still not the way to get yourself into the Big Book of Heroes, Deadpool. Have you ever listened to a word I've said?'
'Uh, something about monkeys never forgetting?'
Peter sighed again. He was beginning to feel borderline asthmatic. 'This was all just about your ego, wasn't it?'
That was it, time to go Pete, move it along, try to ignore something resembling disappointment in the pit of your stomach. He flicked out a strand of webbing toward the top of the nearest building.
'Nonono, wait!' Wade protested. 'Damnit this was one of those stupid U2 gigs!'
'Y'know. Pro Bono?'
A small tug and he had released the webbing.'It's pronounced bone-oh not bon-oh, genius.'
'So yeah, that was a freebie to some oppressed Latino babe with some serious... assets who I was totally not,' he quickly added at Peter's withering glare, 'planning on suggesting she repay me with some kind of favour involving three family size tubs of banana yoghurt and a bouncy castle.'
Peter shook his head and watched as Deadpool absently rubbed a grimy glove against his thigh.
'I'm not a complete monster, you know,' Wade added, his voice relatively soft. 'You shoulda heard was he was doing with her kid sister, Spidey...No. Wait, Not heard. Hearing would be bad for you.' He shook his head. 'You might not like it, but we both know the Earth just got a little less loathsome a place to be.'
Peter considered his options. Deadpool didn't seem to be getting up any time soon. The sun was impatiently making its way toward the horizon, and Peter really wasn't keen on leaving NY garbage collectors with a babbling bloodbath on their hands. There was only one thing for it, wasn't there?
Wade glanced at the hand offered to him. 'Hey Spidey, you legit?'
'Yeah, you know. Legal? Drinking, soldiering, screwing, all the fun stuff? I can never remember which universe this is supposed to be in, and technically you oughta be like sixty by now anyway, but if I don't make sure, the fangirls will freak.'
Peter opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. Just ignore all the other stuff. Focus on getting him out of here. 'Yeah. I'm legal.'
Wade grasped the hand and rose somewhat shakily to his feet, but Peter could not miss the shit-eating grin that spread over masked features. 'Awesome! Best news I've heard all day. I am so getting laid. Now tell me honestly Doc. Will I ever tap dance again? 'Cause I couldn't before and that would really -'
Acting on automatic, Peter grabbed and steadied the suddenly barely conscious form of Deadpool, not for the last time thanking his superhuman reflexes. At such abruptly close proximity, Peter expected him to well... smell bad, somehow. Cheap junk food or something. He wrinkled his nose. No, just blood of course and maybe something... spicy? And he was very warm too. Well that was weird. No, scratch that. Sniffing people you randomly picked up in an alleyway was weird. What on Earth was he doing?
He easily manoeuvred Wade into a fireman's lift. 'Just can't resist a damsel in distress, I guess.'
'Hey look we share the same red,' Wade murmured sleepily from his new Spidey-assisted vantage-point. 'It's density.'
'It's destiny, and you are not getting laid, Deadpool,' Peter muttered as he began to haul his new house guest toward his apartment like some kind of heavily armed sack of potatoes, 'but you are probably gonna bleed all over my new couch. Which you can pay for.'
Wade mumbled something about poor room service and a freshly buttered Eva Mendes before appearing to finally pass out. Peter thanked the heavens for small mercies.
The truth was, Peter admitted to himself, he was lonely, and miserable, and he needed some kind of distraction. Even a giant trouble-shaped one. At least he knew what to expect from Deadpool: Chaos.
That was not some seriously screwed-up reasoning at all, oh no.
He kept walking.
Oh yes. Any other day and this would so not be happening.
Peter later blamed the dozen or so recent late night slash early mornings slash heartbreak for his lack of basic observational skills.
Dumping Deadpool on his soon-to-be-ruined couch his background suspicions were confirmed when a very loud, very unconvincing snore issued from behind Wade's mask as he promptly sprawled out over the furniture, clearly making himself more than reasonably comfortable for someone who apparently needed time to heal mortal wounds. Peter figured that it probably was only a few minutes before he was back to normal. Whatever normal was for Deadpool.
He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand and yawned. It really must've been the lack of sleep driving him nuts, because there was no way in hell Spider-Man was having a slumber party with someone whose idea of fun was helping little old ladies into oncoming traffic.
It was late, Peter reminded himself, and with any luck, Deadpool would be gone in the morning. He'd removed all the weapons he could find hidden around Wade's person, because he was sad, not stupid.
Just go to bed now, get your hour and a half's worth of sleep, and do not give in to the temptation to drop a certain jerkface from the top of the building and see what shape he makes when he hits the ground.
Peter turned on his heel and headed for bed. This was definitely a victory for sanity.
Peter woke to a crash and...feathers?
Jumping from his bed he skidded into the kitchen to stare at what looked like the site of a small ritual sacrifice. Grey feathers covered the floor and a small pigeon was absently pecking at a blackened slice of toast. His gaze then travelled up to the blood dripping into the sink from a still dampish Deadpool mask which was hastily snatched and tugged on almost before his eyes had time to focus on a face. The room smelled of gas, and smoke was floating rather ominously from a spluttering frying pan.
'What the hell?!
'I made breakfast.' Wade offered, poking at what appeared to be the remains of a rasher of very overdone bacon.
'Your little kitchen sucks, Spidey. I mean, seriously! You don't even have a proper freezer, there's no Canadian bacon, and the lack of – oh hey, it's the bird right?' Wade appeared to notice it for the first time. 'It kinda crashed in here a moment ago, cute lil' parasite infested guy. Oh yes you are,' he grinned, offering it a juicy rind of fat.
Peter had dealt with innumerable crises, villains, deaths natural disasters, not to mention terrible haircuts during his time as Spider-Man. He was okay with that. Well, not okay, but he understood that. That was all part of the job. This... This was something else.
'Step away from the cooker and put the bacon down,' Peter commanded, disaster mode belatedly kicking in.
'Hey, I was just trying to say thanks for the pickup last night, and I thought - '
'No, you didn't think! That'd be your problem Deadpool.' Peter said, awkwardly attempting to usher the slightly distressed looking bird towards the nearest open window, offering the charred piece of bread as an incentive. The bird obligingly hopped out, seemingly recovered, and Peter slammed the window shut with a little too much force. The Green Goblin, The Lizard, terrorists, pissed-off Nordic gods... All deal-able, he reminded himself. He could deal with this. Wait, did Deadpool count as a natural disaster?
'Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the web this morning,' remarked Wade who casually tossed an offending bit of gristle into the sink with a splat.
'Original. How about you go share your zinger with one of your millions of friends? Sorry, that'd be imaginary friends, wouldn't it?' Okay, so that was low, and Deadpool probably didn't deserve that, but Peter was having a foul day so far, and it was only 6am.
[Oh, snap! What crawled up his ass and died, then left him with little pissy spider babies and no child support? Yeah, so that's a weird metaphor even for me.]
Wade shrugged nonchalantly and headed for the door. 'Okie dokie, Spidey, guess it must be that time of the month for you guys to chew off your girlfriend's head or somethin' - '
'That's a preying mantis.'
'- because you are seriously acting like a dick right now.' [Oh yeah! How'd you like them ironic apples with a side of 'I'm too awesome for this argument', buddy? Ha! Because that friends comment totally doesn't bother me. At all. Nope. Oh hey, he's got a Captain America fridge magnet set? That was so cool.]
Peter appeared in front of the door and slammed it shut a millimetre in front of Wade's face. 'Oh no. You're not getting away from this mess that easy.'
'Clean.' Peer tossed a pair of bright yellow washing-up gloves towards a suddenly confused merc. 'You're gonna help me clean this up, and then as a special gift Deadpool, I'm going to let you walk out of here like a regular civilised person.' I guess he tried with the whole breakfast thing. Wasn't that worth something coming from someone like him? Wow, okay so maybe that did sound kind of douchey.
Wade regarded the gloves with a special look of disdain most people reserved for people who talked at the theatre.'Do I look like a girl to you? I mean, sure there was that one [maybe two or three?] time with the dress [totally pulled it off though] but other than that I am totally your manly Bar Bee Q flamin' heterosexual man. Of manliness and definitely of not cleaning.'
Peter couldn't suppress an amused smile. 'Flaming heterosexual? I'm going to start up a Twitter feed and inform the world just how lame you've become, ridiculous quote by quote. Might be bad for your business, but hey, I'm sure everyone will get a good laugh out of it.' He'd be damned if he was going to let Deadpool get the upper hand on this occasion. Especially as he just made him smile for the first time in far too long.
'Shut up and tell me where the stupid mop is.'
Victory! This was way, way too satisfying. Peter reminded himself that getting some healthier hobbies should be pretty high up on his 'to do' list.
'But, uh, one thing, Spidey - ?'
'It's Peter, out of costume. I thought even you managed to figure that out by now.' That really didn't sound as snarky as he wanted it to be. Damn.
'One thing, Petey' Wade grinned that wicked grin which suddenly made Peter feel like a rug was being swept from under him. 'You might want to put some pants on.'
Wade continued, unabashed. 'I mean I'm all for strangely attractive young men and their polka-dotty underwear [Polka's a good word, isn't it? Polka dots, polka dancing, all very jaunty.], but I'm thinking you're gonna - '
A blur of skin [I spy with my little eye something beginning with blushing like a schoolgirl. Dingdingding!] made its way back to the bedroom, but when Peter returned, the kitchen was still a mess: only a mess without a Deadpool at the centre of it A round sticky note with Deadpool's logo on the back was attached to the fridge. Peter scowled at the hastily scrawled text covering it.
'Jerk,' Peter muttered as he crumpled up the paper in his hand and aimed for the bin. He paused, and uncrumpled the note, staring. Huh. He wrote 'Wade.'
He stared again.
Wait a minute, how the hell did the guy get his own stationary? And why was one of his fridge magnets missing?