Holding Back - 7. Chapter 7

Wade pulls his gun and casually points it at the man’s head. He in turn is aiming his pistol at Spider-Man. His hands are shaking, and he’s sweating profusely. Clearly he hadn’t expected to end up in this situation. Hadn’t expected Spider-Man to turn up during his home invasion. However little he expected Spider-Man, though, he expected Deadpool less.

‘Drop. Your. Gun,’ says Wade in a deadly growl, and the man stiffens, turning his head slightly.

‘I . . . I’ll shoot him!’ he says frantically through his balaclava. ‘I-I’ll kill Sp-pider-Man if y-you don’t point that somewhere else!’

Spider-Man moves to kick the gun out of his hand, but in his agitated state the man is alert and his reflexes quick. He turns his eyes back on Spider-Man and grips his gun with both shaking hands.

‘D-don’t move! I’ll shoot! T-tell your friend to put his gun down and let me go, and n-no one gets hurt!’ The look in his eyes is wild.

‘Seriously?’ says Wade. ‘You’re making demands? You’re shitting yourself!’

‘Deadpool,’ says Spider-Man slowly, warningly. His tone softens as he speaks to the man before him. ‘You. Think about this, okay? You shoot me, there is no way you’re getting out of here. I can get my friend to back off, but only if you lower your weapon. So come on. Drop your gun.’

The man seems to hesitate, but then he grips his pistol tighter. ’N-no! I’m not going to jail! You let me go! Let me go or—’

Wade sees the man’s finger tighten on the trigger. Sees the way he steels his shoulders as he prepares to fire. This is a man who’s clearly never killed anyone before, but who’s done a lot of target practice, and he is clearly willing to discharge his weapon now, rather than risk jail. In an instant, Wade realises that this man would rather die than go to prison, and he’s willing to take Spider-Man with him.

Wade only has a split-second to react, and he’ll be damned if this motherfucker gets to shoot his Spidey. He pulls the trigger, beating the other guy to the punch.

Spidey’s gonna be so pissed.

The apartment’s resident, a tiny, elderly hispanic lady who’s been cowering on the far side of the room, screams as the robber’s blood, brains and bits of skull fragment splatter her floral patterned couch and light wood coffee table. An intricate doily is stained red.

‘Goddammit, Wade!’ Spider-Man yells angrily. Wade muses that that’s probably the worst curse word he’s heard the kid use. ‘We don’t kill people!’

Uh-oh . . .

Told ya.

‘He was about to pull the trigger!’ Wade shoots back. ‘I saved your life! Again!’

‘You could have incapacitated him some other way!’

‘Well, I chose this way!’

Spider-Man shakes his head. ’Christ, he wasn’t even . . . He was just some small-time crook down on his luck, not a hardened criminal or murderer! I could have talked him down!’

‘No, you couldn’t have. He was about to pull the trigger. I swear, I wouldn’t have shot him if he wasn’t. Anyway, can we talk about this later? We need to get out of here.’

Spider-Man crosses his arms. ‘We’re not going anywhere! We’re staying right here until the police show up so we can explain this mess.’

But we’re too pretty for jail!

‘S-señores?’ They both look up to find that the lady of the house has shuffled closer. She stares fearfully at the body on the floor, bleeding onto her carpet. ‘You go. I talk to police, you leave.’ Her accent is strong. She tears her gaze away from the corpse and looks between Spider-Man and Deadpool. ‘No trouble.’ Then she starts babbling in Spanish. Spider-Man looks bewildered, but Wade knows enough to understand.

‘She says we should leave before the cops show up,’ he translates. ‘She doesn’t want us to get in trouble.’

The woman nods. Then she clasps Spider-Man’s hand in both of hers and says, ‘Gracias, señor Spider-Man!’ She does the same with Wade. ‘Gracias, señor Deadpool!’

Spider-Man is so taken aback that he doesn’t argue when Wade grabs his hand and pulls him out of the window and onto the fire escape. He even lets Wade hop on his back, and then swings them a few blocks south, away from the sound of approaching police sirens, before landing on a quiet rooftop. Once Wade has climbed off, though, Spider-Man rounds on him, fists clenched.

He’s angry.

Duh!

‘This conversation isn’t over, Wade!’

Wade shrugs. ‘Didn’t think it was. But I stand by what I said before. He was gonna shoot you. I shot him first.’

‘In the head! You could have shot him in some other part of his body! You could have just wounded him!’

Spidey always gets so judgey and ungrateful when we save his life.

Wade scowls. ’Look, I know his type, okay? He would rather die than go to jail, and he was more than prepared to take you with him! Well, not on my fucking watch!’

Spider-Man shakes his head, scratching his forehead. ’You really don’t understand why what you did was wrong? After everything I’ve tried to teach you about being a hero, none of it actually sunk in?’

‘Lots of heroes occasionally unalive people! You think Wolverine’s stabby-claws are for tickling? You think Hawkeye’s arrows are tranquilliser darts? You think no one gets dead when the Avengers blow shit up?’ Wade clenches his fists and then relaxes them again. ‘Look, I saw a guy about to shoot the only friend I have, okay? So I shot him first. Because I’m not fucking losing you!’

They stand completely still, staring at each other for a few moments. Wade is panting, hands balled into fists. Spider-Man’s stance is guarded, defensive, but then his shoulders seem to relax somewhat.

‘Wade,’ he says softly, and the tone of his voice is almost pleading. Wade hates hearing that, doesn’t want Spidey to back down, ever, for any reason, wants him to always be strong, that’s why he—

That’s why we love him.

Exactly.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Wade says abruptly, his tone harsher than he meant it to be. ‘I’ll never be a real hero. I know that.’ Then he turns around, walks to the edge of the roof and jumps. The landing breaks his legs in five places. He’ll walk it off.

* * *

It takes Peter a moment to gather his thoughts enough to run over to the edge of the roof and see Deadpool limping away. He wants to say something, or go after him, but he has no idea what he would say. When he thinks about the dead man they left behind in that apartment his anger rises to the surface once more. Wade has to understand that he can’t just go around killing people!

Of course, he hasn’t killed anyone in a long time. Not that Peter’s seen or heard of, anyway, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been taking any mercenary jobs. Thinking about it, Wade hasn’t killed anyone since the traffickers at the warehouse, and then he only did it because . . .

Peter shakes his head. It’s no excuse, and he doesn’t want to be partially responsible for the lives that Deadpool takes. Taking a life to save another doesn’t cancel out the deed. It just doesn’t.

And yet, Wade’s words echo in Peter’s head: ‘I’m not fucking losing you!’

Deadpool’s admiration for Spider-Man isn’t exactly a secret. There’s a reason why Wade came to him in the first place, asking Peter to teach him how to be a hero. He’s always flirted with him, and Peter’s put it down to a fanboy dude crush and not much else. To find that Wade actually earnestly wants to be his friend has been surprising enough on its own, but to learn that he actually cares, or at least thinks he does . . .

Peter’s spent a lot of time dismissing Deadpool—dismissing his wish to be a hero, his friendship, his advances. The first few times they met, Peter treated him with open contempt, and still he kept coming back, never dissuaded. Remembering the defeat in Wade’s rough voice as he said he knows he’ll never be a real hero puts a heavy, leaden lump of guilt in the pit of Peter’s stomach.

‘Crud!’ he mutters.

He sets course for the Bronx and Wade’s apartment. Going by web is faster than by foot, and when he gets there the place is dark and empty, so he sits on the fire escape and waits. He’s getting cold by the time the door finally opens, light spilling in from the landing, and Wade enters. His shoulders are slouched, and he doesn’t turn on the light. Instead he begins pacing back and forth in an agitated manner.

Peter feels suddenly awkward, like he shouldn’t really be here, and is debating how to make contact when Wade starts to remove his mask. Peter knows how uncomfortable he is showing his face to people, and it doesn’t feel right to let him do it, unaware that someone’s watching, so, steeling himself, Peter raps on the window pane with his knuckle.

* * *

‘I know I fucked up! Stop telling me!’

We didn’t fuck up, we did what anyone would have done!

No, we definitely fucked up, and Spidey hates us again. Or he pities us, which is even worse.

A sharp knock brings Wade out of his head as he freezes, mask halfway up his face, listening for the source. The window. He turns his head slowly, right hand flying to the hilt of one of his katanas.

Out on the fire escape sits Spider-Man. When Wade turns towards him he gives a little wave, and it’s like time stops.

What’s he doing here?

He wouldn’t come all this way just to yell at us some more, would he?

Open the window!

Open the window!

Wade lets go of his weapon and takes a hesitant step forward. He swallows twice, and then closes the distance, sliding the window open.

Spider-Man appears to be shivering slightly as he crawls inside, and now they’re standing there, facing each other on the cold floor of Wade’s shitty apartment, neither one seemingly able to come up with anything to say.

It’s Spidey who breaks the silence first. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ Wade replies slowly.

Spider-Man shuffles his feet for a moment, looking uncomfortable. Then he says, ‘Listen—’

‘I’m not apologising,’ Wade interrupts him. ‘I’m not sorry I killed that guy. He was gonna kill you, and I’ll never let that happen, ever. But . . . But I’m sorry I upset you. I can never be like you. As much as I might want to, you’re right, everyone’s right, I’m not a hero. I could save the world and people would still hate me. Come to think of it, I have and they do. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I just . . . If it comes down to killing someone or watching you die, I’ll choose killing, every time. Not cause I like it or cause I wanna kill, but because I could never let you die. That’s just . . . It’s a no-brainer, really. If that means we can’t . . . I mean, if you don’t want me around, then—’

‘Wade,’ says Spider-Man gently. ‘Shut up for a second, okay?’

Wade shuts his mouth and nods.

‘I’m sorry. I know that’s an impossible choice, and while it’s easy for me to gamble with my life, I can’t just expect you to take that gamble. So, I’m sorry I blew up.’

Wade blinks, and stares. ‘I . . . What? Now I know I’m hallucinating.’

Yup.

Yes, definitely hallucinating.

‘You’re not. I . . .’ Spider-Man pauses and appears to consider his words. ‘It’s unreasonable of me to expect a miracle. I’ve been holding you to a standard I wouldn’t hold anyone else to. You’re right. Sometimes heroes kill. We can try to be better than that, but the truth is . . . If I was faced with the choice between the life of an innocent and the life of a bad guy, if there was no other choice . . . Well, I guess you never know until you’re in that situation, really, and I . . .’ He heaves a frustrated sigh and falls silent.

‘So, you’re saying . . . You forgive me?’ Wade asks tentatively, hardly daring to hope for the answer.

‘It’s not even about forgiving you. I was wrong.’ Spidey reaches out and gives Wade’s upper arm a squeeze. ‘I was wrong, Wade. I’ve been so focused on black and white I forget there are shades of grey. I mean, you’re pretty much made up entirely of shades of grey, and you’re still my friend. Even if it is sometimes against my better judgment.’

Wade knows he’s missing the best set-up ever for a 50 Shades joke, but he just can’t right now. Instead he swallows again. His mouth feels dry and he clears his throat. ‘I’m . . . I’m your friend?’ It comes out as barely more than a whisper. Even the boxes are silent. ‘We’re friends?’

Spider-Man cocks his head to one side. ‘Of course we are. You’ve got my back, I’ve got yours, right?’

Wade nods, not trusting himself to speak. Something hot is spreading through his body, making every sound, every movement hyper-real, and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. He and Spider-Man are friends. Spider-Man forgave him. He doesn’t hate him.

‘Okay, then,’ says Spider-Man and lets go of his arm. ‘I should get home. I’m expecting a tip-off on the hide-out of a drug cartel tomorrow, if everything goes according to plan. Think you’re up for kicking some butt?’

Wade nods again, finding his voice at last. ‘You bet. Always.’

‘Cool.’ Spider-Man crawls back out of the window and onto the fire escape, readying his web shooter. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’ Then he jumps and is gone.