Holding Back - 2. Chapter 2

Wade stares out the window of his NYC apartment. It made sense to get a place, now that he’s working with Spidey so much, learning to be a hero. He considered living it up in swanky hotels, as it’s not like he couldn’t afford it with all the cash he’s got stashed away in offshore accounts, but in the end he’s never felt at home in places like that, not really. So he found himself a slummy apartment in the Bronx. Bare brick walls, damp and dry rot are more his style.

Down on the street below, an old drunk has just pissed himself. Not in the fun, sexy way, but in the stinky, passed-out-and-drooling way. A scabby stray cat is sniffing around him in mild interest. It’s that nice and quiet part of the evening, after curfew for most kids, but before hard-core crime starts happening.

‘So, what are we doing today then, Brain?’ Wade asks the quiet.

Same thing we do every day.

Mayhem!

No, we’re helping Spider-Man with—

Mayhem!!

Yeah, okay, mayhem.

‘Mayhem it is.’

Wade turns his back on the scene. Time to get suited up and head out there. Admittedly, after the other night, mayhem might not be the best way to win Spider-Man’s approval, but what’s life without a little risk? Plus, a good fight might be fun.

* * *

‘You idiot!’ Peter’s fists are clenched at his side. He’s fighting the urge to punch Deadpool in the nose. It’s not going very well. ‘Do you have any idea how close you came to blowing the whole thing?’

‘Hey! How about giving me some credit for once?’ Deadpool yells, talking over him. ‘I didn’t kill anyone! Well, except for that one guy, but he was about to shoot you in the back. Those cops shot at me, and I didn’t fire a single bullet at them!’

Peter shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You’re asking for credit for not shooting any cops? Are you insane?’

‘Since you’re asking, yes, clearly!’ Deadpool shoots back. ‘Duh!’

There’s a pause, during which Deadpool begins pacing back and forth, and Peter is conflicted between anger and pity mixed with guilt. After all, he knows Deadpool isn’t all there, and in spite of that he still somehow trusts him to have his back.

Deadpool’s muttering to himself under his breath now. ‘I fucking know! But how am I supposed to—Shut up!—Does it actually matter anyway? Not like this plot is going anywhere . . .’

Peter sighs heavily. ‘Look. Wade.’ The sound of his given name causes Deadpool to stop pacing, and he turns his head to look at Peter. ‘I just need you to understand that you messed up, okay?’

‘Okay! Fine! I’m sorry I alerted the cops to my presence, blah blah blah. I’m not sorry I killed that trafficker, though, cause he was gonna kill you, and I won’t let anyone kill you.’

If Peter wasn’t so annoyed, he’d be slightly moved by this. As it is he feels mostly uncomfortable. It’s not the first time Deadpool exhibits protectiveness over him. ‘Whatever,’ he sighs. ‘Just . . . Try not to do it again?’

‘I’m always trying.’ Deadpool takes a step forward. ‘So, does this mean we’re amazing friends again?’

Peter doesn’t know how to respond to this. He wouldn’t exactly call Deadpool his friend. But the merc’s voice has a hopeful note to it that puts Peter in mind of an over-sized puppy, and so he says, ‘. . . Sure. Yeah.’

He wasn’t expecting Deadpool to hug him, but that’s what happens, so against his better judgment he pats him awkwardly on the back. Deadpool hugs him tighter.

‘Kiss and make up?’ he murmurs in Peter’s ear, and to his own great surprise Peter feels something flutter in the pit of his stomach.

‘No,’ says Peter softly.

‘Aww, come on!’ Deadpool’s embrace tightens further.

‘I said, no!’ Peter’s anger flares up without warning, and before he has time to register what he’s doing, the movement his fist was preparing for earlier just kind of happens, and he punches Deadpool square in the jaw, sending him sprawling.

‘Ooh, good one!’ Deadpool pants, sitting up. ‘Do that again?’

Realising he just gave Deadpool exactly what he wanted, Peter feels his face heat up, and he’s grateful for his mask, not for the first time. He tries for aloofness. ‘Just get up. We’ve got work to do.’

‘I love it when you take charge, baby boy,’ Deadpool purrs and gets to his feet. ‘So, what’s the plan? Any Spidey-senses tingling?’

Peter rolls his eyes. ‘That’s not really how it works. But, this is New York City. We head off in a random direction, and sooner or later someone will shout for help.’

Deadpool puts a hand on his shoulder, and Peter thinks better of shrugging it off. ‘Well, what are we waiting for, then? We’ve got crime to fight!’ says Deadpool cheerfully.

* * *

But, this isn’t mayhem!

‘What do you mean? This is an awesome fight!’ Wade cries happily, beating a mugger over the head with the flat of his blade. The man drops like a tonne of bricks. His partner is running in the opposite direction. He’s dropped his knife. Fucking amateur.

The traffickers were more fun, his brain informs him matter-of-factly, while Spider-Man leaps after the other mugger.

‘Yeah, but get a load of Spidey’s ass!’

‘I’ll thank you,’ says Spider-Man, shooting a web at the escaping mugger, tripping him up, ‘not to comment on my anatomy to . . . whomever it is you talk to.’

Note to selves: do not talk about Spidey’s ass out loud when he can hear.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Wade grins. ‘Hey, you okay webbing these guys up on your own, Spider-Man? Gotta take a leak.’

Spider-Man makes a non-committal noise as he shoots another web to cover the mugger’s babbling mouth; something about ‘please don’t kill me I’ve never done this before’.

As if we’d waste a bullet on the likes of them.

Gotta be honest, though. Kinda jealous that Spidey isn’t shooting great loads of white stuff at us.

Wade chuckles as he pisses up against a nearby dumpster. He’s been holding it in again, and it comes in a hard, yellow stream, but the holding wasn’t as much fun as last time. Mostly he was just starting to feel annoyed. Of course, if Spider-Man were less busy tying up criminals he’d probably be upset with him for, like, littering or something.

Public urination?

Indecent exposure.

‘Whatever. Not like anyone would notice. Like pissing in the sea.’ He tucks himself back inside his pants and turns around to find the criminals all webbed up and hanging from a lamp post. ‘Where next, Spidey baby?’

Spider-Man scratches the back of his neck and looks up at the barely visible night sky. ‘I think maybe we should call it a night. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

‘Doing what?’ Wade takes a couple of steps closer, head cocked to one side.

‘Nothing important.’ Spidey shakes his head. ‘Hate to say it, Wade, but you did pretty good tonight.’

Wade blinks. A warm feeling seems to spread from somewhere in the region of his solar plexus, via his chest and stomach and out into every limb. A warmth that has nothing to do with, say, grave injuries or cancer.

He praised us! Did he praise us? He did, didn’t he? He praised us! We did good!

‘I . . . It was no big deal.’

Yeah, it was, it was a huge deal. Take a compliment like a man, Wilson!

’Shut up!’ Wade mutters. Then he clears his throat. ‘I mean, yeah, thanks. Hey, we should get tacos! Or, or something else, but, like food!’

Spider-Man shifts slightly, and once again Wade wishes he could see his face so he could guess at what he’s thinking.

In the comics, the mask has facial expressions.

This isn’t the comics, though.

Man, I don’t know what this is.

‘I dunno, Deadpool. Maybe some other time. I’m kind of beat.’

Wade tries not to let his disappointment register in his voice. ‘Okay, yeah. Some other time.’ He checks his weapons absentmindedly, making sure they’re all secured and where they’re supposed to be. With slightly exaggerated cheer he says, ’Guess I’ll see you soon, my amazing friend!’ Then he sets off out of the alley at a trot.

Spider-Man’s voice follows after a slight delay. ’See ya.’

* * *

Heading home in the wee hours of the morning (once he’s sure Deadpool has done the same and isn’t following, because he still doesn’t trust him with his secret identity), Peter wonders vaguely if there will come a day when he and Wade Wilson won’t be at odds with one another. He’s agreed to help him, agreed to let him join him on his nightly patrols, and for the life of him he’s been unable to figure out why he agreed in the first place. He talks to himself, his incessant flirting makes Peter deeply uncomfortable, and he needs to be told not to kill people. That’s not exactly hero material.

Deadpool is dangerous. Peter knows that. He’s unpredictable and a complete liability. There are several (really good and compelling) reasons why no one in the superhero community will work with him. For all that, though, he seems earnest, like he really wants to be a hero, even if it’s for the wrong reasons (and at this point Peter isn’t sure they actually are the wrong reasons—after all, does it really matter why you do good as long as you do it?), and Peter is unable to turn his back on that.

Not to mention his efforts in helping Peter fight the Chameleon last year. How messed up is it that Deadpool was the only one Peter could really trust then? The only one who could help . . .

He shakes the thought, swinging from one building to the next. This arrangement is working. That’s the only thing that matters. Wade didn’t even mortally wound anyone tonight. As much as he shouldn’t deserve credit for that, he kind of still does. He’s doing a good job. He’s learning. In the end, isn’t that all Peter can ask?