Title: Be My Yoko Ono (pt.2)
Fandom & Pairing: presently friendship/pre-slash - Peter Parker/Wade Wilson (Spider-Man/Deadpool)
Rating: R (language, erring on the side of caution)
Warnings/notes: Very generically canon for Amazing Spider-Man and Deadpool. 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. ♥
Disclaimer: Make Mine Marvel's.
[read part 1 here]
By the next day things had seemed to return to normal for Peter. No sign of annoyingly chatty assassins, no major catastrophes, just regular crimes committed by not-so-regular people. It was almost boring. Wait. What was he thinking? He could deal with boring for a little while. Boring could be a treasure for someone in his line of work. Yes, quiet and safe and why was there a new family size pack of bacon in his fridge? Correction, Canadian bacon. Canadian bacon with another one of those little sticky notes attached to it.
Peter scrutinised the packaging for any obvious tampering, checked the refrigerator shelves for hidden cannisters of toxic gas or C-4, and then made himself a BLT.
He slid a nail over the logo paper, half expecting it to reveal a concealed coat of asbestos. No, still nothing.
That was it. He was really going to have to ask Wade where he could get that done.
Then things started to get ridiculous.
Over the last week Peter had been 'gifted' with yet more pork product, a rubber duck which had apparently been enthusiastically coloured-in to resemble his Spider-Man costume, and the kind of pink frilly apron he didn't expect anyone would use for cooking or cleaning, unless they featured in one of those films involving scantily clad housewives and plumbers with bushy moustaches and a disproportionately large pipe. All secreted around his apartment whilst he was working. All from the same source.
When the couch arrived that Saturday evening, he was ready to snap.
He had walked to his door, felt that something again was amiss and opened it to see the couch. It was a nice couch, understand. Not too large, not too small, perfectly tasteful. Nice and plain and black. The bright red cushions with Deadpool's logo repeatedly covering them were not exactly subtle, however.
Peter felt a warning tingle and glanced outside to the roof of the next block of apartments. A flash of read and the reflective glare of metal gave his observer's game away.
'Son of a-'
He changed clothes in moments and leapt out of the open window to catch up with his 'benefactor'.
[Oops. Busted. Guess Spidey's probably running and shaking his fist at me now because he's so grateful, right? Right?!]
Peter landing inches from Wade's foot meant that he automatically jumped backward a few paces, balance impeded. [He must be super duper happy about the couch. To the point of grabbing a fistful o' costume and slamming me against the floor repeatedly. Aw, c'mon! It's been like a dozen pages of story already! Aren't I due for a hug or something?] Before he had the chance to open that infamous mouth, Peter had straddled him, and had Wade's skull pressed against solid concrete
'Why are you stalking me?'
Peter's grip tightened. 'The stupid things you keep leaving in my apartment! Were they your idea of a threat?'
Wade was confused. This admittedly, was not an unknown occurrence, because as he was happy to confess, he was not perhaps the brightest crayon in the box [more like the funny coloured one – Puce, that's it! - they always put in that nobody uses. The one the weird kid at the back of class would pick his nose with], but in this case, he had been pretty sure he had a handle on the situation. Right up until that very moment.
'Well?!' Peter could almost hear cogs and gears whirring into action.
Wade scratched his head. 'Threat? No way! They were just gifts! What colour is puce anyway?'
Peter loosened his grip and stared at Deadpool like he was one of those alarm-clock bomb deelies you got in the old Loony Tunes cartoons which had been stopped a second before exploding. Then of course they blew up in the coyote's face every single time. Wade always loved that part.
'Gifts?' Peter repeated.
Wade nodded and slowly moved back to to his feet. 'Well, I kinda owed you for the couch and breakfast and shit, then I saw the rubber duckie and thought it looked pretty cool. Hey, do you actually take baths, Spidey? What with them being your ultimate weak spot 'n all.'
'And the apron?'
'Thought it'd bring out your eyes.'
Peter resisted the urge to howl, but relaxed his stance a little.
'So this is your idea of, what? Friendly advances?'
Wade beamed. 'Exactly!'
'Friends do not break into each other's houses and leave stuff there that might give away their secret identity!' Peter paused and his voice became notably lower. 'Nor do they point weapons at each other. Makes things kinda socially awkward.'
'I'm not pointing a -' Wade glanced at the gun he had trained on Peter's head and chuckled. 'Well blow me six ways to Sunday. Force of habit?'
Peter really didn't want to have to do this on the one night they were repeating the very first episode of Battlestar Galactica (classic series, of course). He also didn't want to fight over what essentially appeared to be a case of epic fail in in Basic Communication 101.
'Put it down, Deadpool and we can talk, or else you'll wish you never started this borderline sugar daddy thing we've got going on here.' Peter shuddered. 'That's possibly the skeeviest thing I've ever said.'
Wade frowned. 'You worried about your rep or something?' He tossed the weapon from one hand to another with an unnecessary flourish. 'Think Big Iron Brother's gonna be watching you from his secret ninja squirrel surveillance cameras he's got all over the place?' [Well what else would you use if you're planning on watching an entire city? Cats? Waaaay too obvious.]
'Dude, seriously? Tony doesn't have - '
'Okay, okay, I'll do you a favour, no biggie,' said Wade as he fired.
He got two shots out before the gun was yanked from his grasp and he was reacquainted with the floor, face first. [Hey, concrete! Short time no see. You done something different with your surfacing?]
'You shot at me, you jackass! You really are insane.' Peter wasn't sure if he was more annoyed at Deadpool getting a shot at him, or that he'd momentarily trusted him to do otherwise.
Peter flipped him over. 'What?'
'I said you're welcome.'
'C'mon Spidey, I knew you'd get out of the way in time! You're all kinds of fast and you're like those gymnast girls in the Olympics, and besides, my aim was off at least like twenty degrees.' Wade frowned, and his mask crinkled just a little. 'I'm not gonna shoot a pal, now am I? I mean, not in a fatal area.' [Or when they don't have cool TK powers to bounce stuff off in a totally Matrix-y fashion.]
Was this what it was like being inside Deadpool's head?, Peter numbly wondered as he slowly, very slowly let go of Wade once more, tossing the gun out of reach. Because this right here was really screwed-up. By shooting at him, Deadpool was, in his own way, trying to, what... protect him? Something must have snapped inside Peter's head because it almost made some kind of sense. He could feel a headache coming on.
'Are you actually serious about this?'
'Absolutely. I've shot Bob at least three times, and he hasn't died once!'
'Peter's jaw stiffened. You're not helping yourself here, Wilson. You just wanting a buddy to share those spandex-riding-up-in-awkward-places stories isn't cutting it with me.'
Wade scowled and muttered something so quietly Peter almost thought he imagined it. 'You what?'
The volume suddenly returned to normal as Wade dragged out each word like a particularly difficult kicking and screaming child. 'I said I thought about what you said. I mean, I hadn't really thought much about it until just now, but I did, so it still counts,' he hastily continued, 'but you said you could've been like me once, something like that. So I figured...Maybe I could be like you. A bit. I mean, with a better costume and sex life of course.'
Peter needed a beer. Scratch that, he needed a small brewery.
'I am going back into my apartment, Wade, ' said Peter very slowly, steel in his voice, 'and you are going to follow me. And we are going to have a little chat. You got that?'
Wade saluted smartly. 'Sir, yes, sir! Are you going to tell me what my major malfunction is?'
Peter's eyes narrowed. 'Don't tempt me.'
'Ground rules,' stated Peter as soon as the door slammed shut behind them. 'One,' he tugged off his mask, craving fresh air, 'You do not shoot at me, or in fact anybody at all. That also includes stabbing, slashing or exploding people.' He looked at Deadpool who was flexing gloved fingers, searching for an invisible speck of dirt. 'Well?'
'I got it, alright? No killing.' Wade sighed. 'Which I actually was totally trying to do already, except for that one tiny assassination. And I really don't think that should count as I wasn't getting paid or-'
Peter crossed his arms over his chest. 'That's the golden rule, Deadpool. You want to try the pals thing, then you've got to show you're worth being a pal with. You seriously hurt anyone and I will come after you. Are we absolutely crystal clear on that?'
'As clear as that window over Power Girl's boobs.' Wade wavered. 'I mean... I'll do my best.' [Because I can't go promising something like that for real when I don't trust me not to do it. I'm very tricky like that. Wouldn't trust me as far as I could throw me. Although...I could throw me pretty far, actually so maybe I should trust me more?]
Peter flopped onto the couch beside him, mentally filing away the uncertain tone that crept into Wade's voice, yet pressing onward. 'Second rule is; don't try and buy my friendship. That's just so...tacky.' In fact, Wade noticed, Peter was sitting so closely they were practically touching. Touching. In a non violent, 'hey it's cool we're just a couple of dudes hanging out together' kind of way. It was doing funny things to Wade's insides, Fluttery feelings he definitely didn't feel around Weas or Bob. He heard delighted singsonging. [Someone's got a cru-ush, someone's got a - Oh crap, that'd be me.]
'Um, okay then.' Wade shifted a little, pretending to stretch. 'Anything else? The chance to win fabulous prizes and an exclusive chequebook and pen? Oooh, no wait, is it my turn now?'
'One more thing,' Peter added, his usual light tone momentarily vanishing. 'Don't think I suddenly trust you now, Wilson. That has to be earned, and so far you are not giving me much reason to do so. You say you want to be like me -'
'Less 'Jungle Book', more 'Karate Kid' here, okay?'
'-so remember that means I expect more of you than anyone else might do. You can't handle that? Fine. Leave now and don't come back.'
There was a pause.
'Good,' said Peter.
'Good,' agreed Wade.
'Stop repeating what I just said.'
'No, you stop – Oh, right. So is that it? I'd get a gang tattoo or something,' Wade shrugged and poked at his forearm, 'but they just won't stick.'
Peter relaxed back into his seat again and arched an eyebrow. 'That's it for now I guess.' His gaze shifted to glance at his not nearly totally touching each other on a couch mate's. 'You have rules for me?' He seemed far too amused by the prospect.
'I can do rules! Uh, one: No swimming when the red flag is up. Two, no talking through Golden Girls. Three...umm...something about truth, justice and the American way? No wait, that's DC.'
'Beer.' Wade nodded approvingly. 'Now there's an American institution I can really get behind.'
Peter paused, considering something. 'You can't even get drunk off this can you?'
'Not really. I'm just a slave to peer pressure.'
Peter got up and headed for the fridge, tossing his gloves onto the counter. He nodded to a still fully costumed Wade. 'You can take the mask off now y'know.' He smirked a little. 'I have already seen your face, and I promise not to give your 'top secret known only to everyone with a phonebook' identity away.'
Wade moved a hand to the bottom of his mask and rolled it up just enough so he could take a pull of his drink. 'Nah, we're good. Don't want you thinking we're gonna start holding hands or something'.' [or make you upchuck a week's worth of breakfast.]
Peter took a long swig of his drink and frowned. What had changed in the last few weeks to make Deadpool of all people shy?
Days passed [Way to go with the lazy writing, author chick], and it reached a point where they would meet at Peter's apartment almost every evening to talk about the usual kinds of things your average spandex-clad superhero type (or borderline antihero in certain people's cases) would talk about; sports, tv, bloodstains on non-drier friendly fabrics, borderline apocalypse [Or was that Apocalypse?], and of course women. It was becoming disturbingly familiar. Yes, fun times all round with Spider-Man and his new bestest psychotic bud. This had to be wrong on at least sixteen levels.
The thing was, little was actually changing. Peter was still working his ass off day and night, and Wade, although Peter had to admit was not causing quite as much mass havoc as usual (so maybe he might have even been helpful that previous night. It was kinda nice to have backup.), was still – no – Peter refused to use the 'S' word. Deadpool was not shy. The Merc with a Mouth did not back off from anything, even if it was in his best interest to do so. Wade had absolutely no qualms about throwing himself into any given situation, as Peter had witnessed, looking up from hand planted firmly in his own face, so no, he couldn't think of it in that way. What he did think was that it was silly and unnecessary and he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Then again, Wade appeared to have that sort of effect on most.
Peter was running out of patience over the whole mask thing. It was time for some tough love. [Oooh. Kinky! Hey wait, am I able to read his inner monologue now? I think my head hurts from smashing that fourth wall one too many times.]
Peter started at Wade from their usual positions on the sofa and decided to plunge in, head first. Parker speciality, naturally.
'This is bullshit.'
Wade turned to meet his gaze, and Peter didn't need to see his face for the amusement to show through.
'Gasp!' Wade exclaimed, Demi Moore tones cranked up to full falsetto. 'Language, young man! I should put you over my knee!' [Oh yeah. Spanking Spider-Man? Totally knocking 'Wielding Thor's “hammer”' (ifyouknowwhatImean) off the top spot on my Avenger-related kink list. Not that there was a list. Not that there was anything wrong with having a list.]
'I'm sick of pussyfooting about with you about this, Wilson. It's time for a change.'
'Heh. You said puss-'
'Can it, I'm being serious!'
Wade placed a gloved finger to where his lips should be seen. 'Use your inside voice, Petey. You're gonna get your neighbours all grouchy and then I'll never be able enjoy this piece of high class light entertainment until at least a week on Friday when they repeat it.' [If Spidey starts with any variety of That Talk again then I get to kick his ass and steal all his Lone Ranger DVDs, right?]
'You're in my apartment, Wade.' Peter's voice softened. 'You know exactly who I am, what I do and what I look like because for some insane reason-'
'Or plot device'
'-I decided to trust you with that information.' Peter continued. 'So do the same for me, wouldya? Take off the damn mask.'
'But it gives me an irresistible air of mystery.' Wade immediately shot back, words starting to tumble from his lips more furiously than ever. He offered an exaggerated pout as back-up.
Peter stood his ground. 'You didn't have a problem with it before, so why now? Unless of course' Peter let the words dangle like proverbial forbidden fruit, 'you've got a thing for me?' It was supposed to be a goading joke, but as soon as those words left Peter's lips he wanted to reach out and tug then all back, every one.
Wade visibly tensed, then swiftly made sure Peter got the full brunt of his longest 'You're kidding right, but secretly oh god you're spot on' laugh. 'Are you kidding me? You're like, twelve and a pipsqueak and you eat things like rocket salad, and I am absolutely not gay. Or bi or tri or whatever the hell it is.' He paused. 'Not that there's anything wrong with that.'
'So take it off and prove to me how much you don't care about what I think.' Peter was in Wade's face now, only a thin sheet of material dividing them. 'You were pro-registration, weren't you? So stop being such a damn hypocrite.' Peter reached out toward Wade's neck and and noticed the change in his eyes an instant too late. Obviously he'd gone too far.
'Fuck you Spidey,' said Wade as he neatly snapped Peter's wrist.
Peter gasped sharply at the sudden barrage of pain and the world went blurry for a second. His wrist, his hand, his heart... He wasn't sure what hurt most.
'And now you've gone and hurt my feelings,' Wade's voice was deathly cold as he stood and silently walked to the door. Everything seemed to be floating away, impossible to grasp.
'It's just Deadpool to you, Peter,' spat Wade as he opened the door to leave, then slamming it so hard afterwards the frame trembled.
[Well, fuck me. Forget to take those DVDs.]
Peter grimaced as the bones in his hand very slowly started to mend. He really had to remember not to piss off loose cannons with superhuman abilities. Oh, wait. He was Spider-Man.
'That went well.' Peter muttered to no-one in particular.
Of course, things only got worse when the old blind lady showed up the next day.