Holding Back - 4. Chapter 4

Spider-Man is reading from his phone. ‘Eye witnesses report a heavily scarred man in a Captain America sweatshirt threatening three teenagers with a gun on the subway near Central Park North around noon today. “They were bullying a fourth kid,” one witness told reporters, “so I didn’t really feel too bad for them. It’s not like anyone actually got shot.” Allegedly, the unidentified man scared the three teens away before vanishing himself. “He was pretty gruesome looking,” one blogger reports. “He wouldn’t have needed to use the gun, as just his face seemed enough to scare the pants off the boys.” NYPD spokespersons declined to comment on whether New York’s finest are following up on the incident.’ He looks up at Wade. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?’

They’re standing on a rooftop, because where else can an arachnid superhuman and a heavily armed mercenary meet without attracting attention? It’s a little past midnight, and Wade fidgets uncomfortably under Spider-Man’s gaze.

Gruesome looking, huh? Well, at least they’re honest.

Someone’s on our side. Didn’t feel bad for the bullies. We did a good thing!

Sure about that? Spidey doesn’t look too happy, does he?

‘Shut up!’ Wade growls under his breath.

‘Excuse me?’ says Spider-Man in a casual tone.

Wade scratches his cheek through his mask absentmindedly. ’Nothing. Um . . . Helluva thing to do, threatening kids with a gun, huh?’

Spider-Man crosses his arms, hip jutting out at an angle. He looks strict, and more than a little bit hot. ‘Deadpool,’ he says slowly, in the kind of voice a parent might use with a misbehaving child. That tone conveys it all.

Don’t say anything! Don’t give yourself away! Spider-Man will be pissed.

‘They were beating on a little guy, pressing him for money!’ Wade whines.

Idiot.

I wash my hands of him.

Spider-Man sighs heavily. ‘That’s no reason to pull a gun on them.’

‘I wasn’t gonna shoot!’ Wade argues. ‘I just wanted to put the fear of Bob into those little fucks. They were bad guys. Today it’s shaking down a kid for his lunch money, tomorrow it’s robbing banks! But I don’t kill kids. Scout’s honour! I would never have pulled that trigger, you gotta believe me, baby boy!’

Spider-Man uncrosses his arms and relaxes his stance a little bit. ‘You know, SHIELD and all those guys will be able to put two and two together just as well as I did, and they’re not gonna believe you were never gonna shoot. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a ruthless killer.’

They kind of have a point. We are a ruthless killer.

‘Which is why,’ Spider-Man continues, ‘you can’t do crap like that. People like us, we have to be above reproach, especially those of us who haven’t got multi-billion-dollar corporations or government organisations at our backs.’

Wade’s shoulders slump slightly. ’Are . . . Are you mad?’ he asks in a voice so small it surprises even himself.

For fuck’s sake. If you had a tail it would be between your legs. Man up!

Spider-Man heaves another sigh. ‘I should be, shouldn’t I?’ he mutters, more to himself than to Wade, it seems. ‘But honestly, I get why you did it. I wouldn’t have done it like that, but I couldn’t have just stood by and watched a kid being bullied either, so . . . No, I’m not mad.’

‘Really?’ Wade asks hopefully.

And now that non-existent tail is wagging. You’re like an overgrown puppy. Get a hold of yourself, Wilson!

How come we sometimes talk about ourselves in first person plural and sometimes in second person singular? When we’re not talking out loud in first person singular, of course.

Wade shakes his head slightly, trying to pull his focus away from the boxes and place it on Spider-Man.

‘Really,’ he’s saying. ‘But if we’re gonna keep this thing up, you gotta promise me not to do something like that again, okay?’

Wade nods wildly, grinning. ‘Okay! Sure, absolutely! No scaring non-criminals with guns in broad daylight. I can do that.’

Spider-Man gives a curt nod, then stills. ‘Something’s going on. About three blocks that way.’ He points, walking to the edge of the roof. He shoots a sling of web at the next building over, preparing to jump.

‘Give me a ride?’ Wade asks hopefully, but Spider-Man shakes his head.

‘I’m gonna find out what’s going on. Head straight East. I’ll wait for you.’ Then he leaps.

Wade wastes no time running the three blocks, checking his weapons as he goes.

Spider-Man isn’t mad at us! How is that not the most amazing thing you’ve ever heard?

‘It is pretty awesome,’ Wade admits. ‘Maybe he likes me after all?’

He rounds a corner and Spider-Man drops down in front of him.

‘Armed robbery,’ he says.

‘Hello to you too, sweetie-pie,’ says Wade.

Spider-Man just continues like Wade hadn’t said anything. ‘Three guys with guns holding up a twenty-four hour store. There are six civilians inside, including the clerk. One bad guy has the customers up against the back wall with his gun on them. The other two are by the register. There’s a ventilation shaft out into an alley. I’ll sneak in through there and incapacitate the one threatening the customers. You go in the front door and distract the other two. The safety of the clerk is your priority, got it? And no killing!’

‘You are so hot right now,’ Wade leers. ‘Okay, go in, distract the bad guys, look out for the clerk and don’t kill anyone. That about cover it?’

Spider-Man nods.

‘I love being the Robin to your Batman, Spidey!’

‘My what?’

Dude, wrong universe!

‘Nothing.’

Spider-Man gives a slight shake of the head, like he’s trying to clear it. ‘After I go in, give me ten seconds and then enter the store, okay?’

‘Gotcha.’

Spider-Man crawls up a wall and vanishes. Wade dutifully counts to ten, and then strolls towards the entrance to the store at a leisurely pace. He opens the door with the jingle of a bell. It’s easy to spot the bad guys. They’re all carrying guns and all wearing ski-masks. Two of them are over by the register, where a young man in his early twenties is filling up a bag with cash at gunpoint. Wade can just about see the third guy at the back, standing in front of a line of civilians who are stood with their backs against the shelves, four men and one woman.

‘Hey!’ says a sharp voice from over by the register. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Just a customer,’ says Wade innocently, without looking up. He pretends to browse the magazine rack, picking up one that has an oiled up, tanned and muscled man in very little clothing on the front. ‘Man, when I was a kid magazines only objectified women,’ he tuts. ‘What is the world coming to, huh? One minute you think it’s safe to be a creepy, sexist swine, and all of a sudden folks with vaginas demand equality. What’s that all about?’

He hears the click of a hammer being pulled back and looks up. One of the bad guys has his gun trained on him. It’s a semi-automatic pistol. The magazine will hold ten 9mm rounds. The gun pointed at the clerk is the same. Twenty potential bullet wounds.

‘Hey, now!’ Wade says cheerfully, putting the magazine back on the rack and raising his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Is that any way to treat a potential customer? Seems I may have to speak to the manager.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Wade spots something red and blue dropping from the ceiling, and he takes a stride towards the register.

A loud bang echoes through the store as the guy with his gun on Wade fires. The bullet hits Wade straight in his black and red clad chest, and he feels it rip through his lung, fracturing a rib on the way.

Bastard!

We’re gonna have to have the suit fixed. Again.

‘Ow!’ Wade croaks and coughs. ‘What the fuck, dude, was that really necessary?’ He touches a gloved hand to his chest and it comes away wet with blood.

‘What the hell?’ The man fires two more rounds at him. They both hit home, one in his shoulder and the other in his abdomen. It hurts a bitch, but that doesn’t matter right now. From the corner of his eye, Wade registers that Spider-Man’s taken out the third guy. Good. That means he can have his fun now.

Wade pulls his own gun and aims it at the second man, who’s still covering the clerk. Stupidly, the man takes his gun off his hostage and points it at Wade instead, just like Wade had hoped. The clerk ducks down behind the counter. Smart kid. Probably not his first armed robbery. Grinning, Wade aims for the bad guy’s leg and fires. He howls with pain and actually drops his weapon.

‘Seriously? One bullet and you’re down? Pussy.’ Wade shakes his head.

The last man standing swears loudly, and empties his clip into Wade, who has to take a few steps back with the sheer force of the bullets. The last one hits his right forearm, and Wade loses the grip on his gun as the muscle spasms. It’s okay, though. Spider-Man’s here to save him.

Sneaking up behind him, Spidey taps the guy’s shoulder and clears his throat. The man spins around, pointing his empty gun at the superhero, as though it will do him any good at all.

‘You know, you really shouldn’t have shot my friend,’ says Spider-Man conversationally. Then he somersaults backwards, aiming a swift kick at the bad guy’s stomach that sends him sprawling.

While Spider-Man webs the two criminals up with their fallen comrade in the back of the store, Wade’s mind is an endless chorus of, He called us his friend! He called us his friend! He called us his friend!

He picks his gun up off the floor and holsters it. The movement causes him to wince. His gunshot wounds are already healing, but they’re still sore as hell. He watches Spider-Man check on the civilians before he comes over to where Wade stands by the door.

‘Everyone else is okay,’ Spider-Man informs him. ‘No injuries or anything. The only one who got shot is you.’

Wade grins. ‘Glad to hear it!’ He coughs, the metallic taste of blood blooming on his tongue.

‘You okay?’ If Wade didn’t know better he’d almost mistake the tone of Spider-Man’s voice for concern.

Wade waves a hand dismissively. ‘Fine, fine! I’ll be all healed up in no time.’

Spider-Man nods. ‘We should get out of here. The police should be here soon.’

They leave the store, cheers and applause following them, and Spider-Man pauses on the sidewalk, looking around as if to assess his surroundings.

‘A quick escape would be best,’ he says after a moment, and without warning he scoops Wade up in a fireman’s lift and, shooting a string of web onto a lamp post, starts swinging them out of there.

What are we, Lois Lane?

‘Why, Mister Spidey,’ says Wade in a sing-song falsetto and fake southern accent, ‘I do believe you mean to sweep me off my feet!’ To his immense surprise and gratification, Spider-Man chuckles softly at this.

They land on a rooftop not far from where they began, and Spider-Man sets Wade gently down on his feet.

‘Spider-Man, my hero!’ Wade says happily, mock swooning.

‘You sure you’re okay?’ Spider-Man asks, and there’s no mistaking it now, that’s definitely concern in his voice.

‘Hey, I injure myself worse than this for fun,’ says Wade with a grin. ‘This is nothing. See?’ He pulls up his sleeve, showing Spider-Man where the last bullet hit. There’s no sign there was ever a bullet wound there. ‘All healed!’

‘Well, that’s good,’ says Spider-Man. ‘You did really well today, Wade. You helped resolve the situation without killing anyone, and without putting innocents at unnecessary risk. You did good.’

Wade grins from ear to ear. That warm feeling is back, spreading through his body, from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. Without giving it much thought, he pulls his mask up to his nose and kisses Spider-Man’s masked cheek. ‘Thank you,’ he whispers, and then he steps back and laughs happily, because Spider-Man called him his friend tonight, and he said he did well, and right now everything’s pretty perfect. In fact, only one thing could make this moment better.

‘Tacos!’ Wade exclaims. ‘Come on, Spidey-widey, the night is still young!’

Spider-Man shakes his head and gives another soft chuckle, like earlier. ‘Sure, Wade,’ he says. ‘Let’s have tacos.’