Chapter Text
Winter sucked. The cold sucked. Having a cold sucked.
Spider-Man was absolutely miserable, perched atop a four-story apartment complex, peering down into the dark alleyway below.
His hands rubbed over his shoulders as his teeth chattered.
His suit was doing little to keep him warm; though the heater wasn’t broken – Peter was pretty sure he’d be dead if that were the case – it just wasn’t heating him up enough in this freezing air.
Frost clung to the outside of his suit and Peter brushed it off in frustration as he kept watch.
It didn’t help his mood any that the supposed bad guys weren’t showing up when they were supposed to. The moment they did – Peter could get the heck out of there.
“Karen, please turn up the heat,” Peter requested.
Karen replied in her smooth AI voice, “That would be inadvisable, Peter. The temperature that I am outputting is already at the average human body temperature.”
Peter groaned. “Yeah well I’m not an average person – pump it up by a degree or two.”
“- Protocol states-”
“Please Karen,” Peter asked, “I’m asking nicely. Pretty please?”
Karen didn’t reply, but Peter did feel a sudden bubble of heat emanating from the center of his chest. He sighed in relief as that heat traveled all the way down to his fingers and toes.
A plume of steam wafted off of him as he crooned, “Thanks. That’s so much better, Karen.”
“I can only do this for the next few minutes, then I will be forced to go back to the normal highest limits.”
“Okay - okay, that’s fine,” Peter replied. “I can live with that. I suppose I should start moving around a bit more to get my temperature up, hmn?”
“Or you could go home, Peter. You are not at peak performance – your body temperature being ‘too low’ is not the issue, rather it’s the opp-”
“Nah -” Peter waved his hand. “I’m good. Look, Cap asked me to do this, so I gotta do this. Once these guys show, I observe, I intervene if I have to, and then I go home. S’all good.”
“As you say, Peter.”
“Yes. Yes, I do say. Thank you.”
Hopefully, they would be showing up soon, a headache was forming at the edges of his temples, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to stand sitting there doing nothing.
“Wow! Is it true? Am I not the craziest one here anymore?” a voice said from a good few feet behind Peter.
With a shout, Peter stood and whirled on the spot, arms at the ready – fully positioned to fire his webbing. His heart beating in his chest, and despite feeling woozy from standing up too fast, he wondered in a panic who could possibly have stuck on him like that -
- oh.
Peter groaned, and lowered his stance.
Of course.
Deadpool.
Deadpool held his arms up in the air as if he was being held up. “Wow – don’t shoot, Webs.”
“I’m not going to shoot, Mr. Deadpool.”
“Stop calling me that – but seriously,” the mercenary lowered his own hands, “Are you going crazy? You’re talking to yourself, kiddo. That’s sort of my shtick. Unless you got boxes too. Do you have boxes? What colour are they? Mine are -”
Peter cut him off before Deadpool could continue his ramble, “I’m not talking to myself, Mr. Deadpool.” Peter turned around and he squatted back down on the edge of the building and went back to peering down the alley.
“Mr. Deadpool was my father,” was the scandalized reply.
“No he wasn’t,” Peter replied, feeling a chill run back up his spine. Had it been ten minutes already?
“True,” Deadpool considered.
The red-clad mercenary sat down beside Peter, instead of perching himself neatly, his legs dangled over the edge of the building.
“So-” he started, “- Who were you talkin’ to?”
“Karen.”
“Ooh! A girl. Do tell me, Webs! Is she pretty?”
Peter turned his head and gave him a flat look – the apertures of his Spidey-Mask mirroring his expression perfectly. “You know who Karen is.”
“Right. Right. Suit lady. Well – I for one think she’s very pretty. For an AI. Even if she has no body of her own. Is the suit her body? It’s your body so it’s not her body, so she’s really disembodied more than anything but - I digress. I bet if she did have a body - she’d be really pretty.”
“Tell him thank you, Peter.”
Peter snorted. Of course she’d be flattered. “She says thank you.”
“Gasp!” Deadpool said while slapping his hands to his face in shock. “I bet I made her blush! Can she blush?”
Peter shook his head, chuckling, “I dunno, Mr. Deadpool.”
“So what chu’ doing out here?” the mercenary asked, kicking his feet against the brick of the building, his hands folded in his lap.
“A stakeout.”
“Ooh sounds boring – a stakeout for what?”
“Top secret – probably not allowed to tell you about it,” Peter said, continuing to watch the boring dead alleyway.
“I bet Cap asked a favour of you and you couldn’t help but freeze your eight legs out here on this mother-fucking freezing night.”
“I don’t have eight legs,” Peter argued without looking at him. This wasn’t a new subject - it was a favourite of the merc’s.
“I dunno Spiderling, who knows what you’re hiding under the suit? You could have four spider-arms on top,” Deadpool started to explain, working his fingers in the air, “And you sort of… mush them together and pretend they are two normal arms, and like - same with your legs. You know, à la Squidward.”
“I’m not like Squidward,” Peter deadpanned. “Also, you’ve seen me in civilian clothing before? So? You know I have perfectly normal, very human limbs?”
“Damn! That’s right!” Deadpool snapped his fingers. “Peter Parker,” he sang.
Peter groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Please don’t.”
“You’re so adorable in real life, you know that?”
“I am not.”
“You are too! You’re like – a baby. So young. So small. So innocent. So impressionable. I want to adopt you and take you home and raise you up to be a good superhero.”
“Please don’t, Mr. Deadpool – Mr. Stark might kill you.”
“He can try,” Deadpool said wistfully. “You think Cap would break my legs?”
“Most definitely.”
“Aw. I like my legs – new plan. I’ll just be your big bro then. Big Bro Deadpool - worst influence to his little brother since 1991. You were born in 1991, right?”
“Not even close.”
“Where did I get that number from then,” Deadpool trailed off in confusion, speaking to the air. He shrugged. “Oh well.”
“You’re so weird,” Peter commented with a snort, rubbing his arms up and down his shoulders again.
“You cold there PJ’s?”
“Well. Duh,” Peter replied. “It’s freezing out – you said so.”
Deadpool waggled a finger, “Nuh-uh, I said it’s mother-fucking freezing out.”
“Yeah, well – what you said. I’m freezing cold. It doesn’t help that I am pretty sure I’m starting to come down with the dumb flu that’s going around the school. You think smart kids would wash their hands.”
Peter shuddered at the memory of Flash sneezing loudly the other day, not even bothering to cover his mouth. Not to mention, the gross wiping of his nose with the back of his hand and the not-so-sneaky attempt to wipe it on Peter.
Gross.
So gross.
Thank goodness his spider-senses had warned him of that potential disaster.
Peter wanted to gag just thinking about it.
Deadpool’s, “E’scuse me?” brought Peter out of his gross reminiscence.
Peter turned to him. “What?”
“You’re getting sick?”
“I might be-?” Peter replied, confused.
“And you’re out here. In the cold,” Deadpool started slowly.
“Well. Yeah. I have a mission. Also, my suit has a heater, so - it’s seriously fine. Besides, my time surveying is almost up. I’m not supposed to interact unless necessary,” Peter explained gesturing to the door deep down in the dark alley below. “Also not supposed to hang around all night, so-”
Deadpool still was looking at him.
“What? Stop staring at me, it’s creeping me out.”
“Must. Not… Parent…” Deadpool suddenly said, turning away and pressing his knuckles to where is mouth was behind the mask as if biting them.
“What?”
“Must. Not-” Deadpool strained under his voice, “C’mon Wade… resist… being… an… adult.”
“Mr. Deadpool. It’s seriously fine-” Peter coughed.
Deadpool’s neck snapped to face him to him.
Oh no.
Peter held up his hands. “Now look – I haven’t coughed all night and that was the first one-”
Deadpool stood up.
“- And I mean -” Peter continued quicker, “- I probably am wrong about the cold thing? I mean… It’s not like I have a fever or anything.”
“I would disagree with that statement, Peter. You have a fever of 102.3 degrees.”
Peter blinked.
“What really?”
“That’s why you cannot stay warm despite the heat, it is colder in comparison to your current body temperature.”
“… Huh. Really? That high?”
The whites of Deadpool’s mask-eyes were narrowed, his arms were crossed. “Hey, ‘That high,’ what? What did suit-lady say?”
Damn. Right. Deadpool.
“U-uh… nothing?” Peter lamely tried.
“Hey! Suit lady!” Deadpool cupped his hand to his mouth, “I got an ear-bud com-line, you can tell me yourself what you just said to Peter-”
Peter started to protest. “Now hold on.”
Deadpool ignored him. “Is she Bluetooth? I bet she’s Bluetooth. Or some space-age wireless magic Iron Ass dreamed up. Karen!” Deadpool called out to her, “- You can hook in remotely, sugar! The password is RAWKINBOD, all uppercase, all one word.”
“Mr. Deadpool!”
“Connected.”
“Karen!”
Deadpool held up his hand and pressed his finger in his ear. “Uh huh. Uh huh… Got it. Thanks, boo. You sound as pretty as I thought you would.”
Peter groaned, putting his face in his hands.
A large gloved hand grabbed his upper arm. “Come on, kiddo. This is going to hurt me just as much as it is going to hurt you.” The merc paused. “No wait- This isn’t going to hurt you at all. The opposite, actually. The whole point is not hurting. Me, however? Different story.”
“How is it going to hurt you?”
“Cause I gotta act all responsible and junk,” Deadpool whined. “Now get up. You got a fever that’s climbing and you’re gonna probably feel really crap really soon.”
“But the mission,” Peter argued, gesturing to the dark alleyway.
“Fuck the mission. Karen? Sweetheart? AI love of my life? Please tell Cap that Peter is ill and cannot continue the mission at this time? Kay. Thanks.”
“Contacting Captain America.”
“Karen!” Peter hissed. “You can’t take orders from Mr. Deadpool!”
“It was not an order, Peter -” She smoothly replied, “It was a good idea.”
“I love you too, babe,” Deadpool said – Peter was unclear if she had broadcast what she said to Deadpool or Deadpool just assumed what she had said. The mercenary was so crazy that one option was just as likely as the other.
Deadpool pulled Peter up. “Up we go!”
Peter let it happen, and was surprised when he wobbled slightly on his feet. “Huh…”
“Okay – let’s get you home. Or inside. Okay definitely inside – to where it’s warm. Let’s go to the tower. It’s closest to here. I’m pretty sure ‘cause I’m doing this awesome good deed of making sure that you aren’t going to like, die of a cold out here they won’t do anything to me, right?”
Peter let the hand on his shoulder steady him – he was feeling shockingly weak all the sudden.
“I dunno,” Peter said, rubbing his arms again, “Have you killed anybody recently?”
“Nope,” Deadpool cheerfully replied. He then choked on a fake sob, holding his fist to his mouth again. “Oh my god - I’ve been so bored, Peter. So bored.”
Peter snorted before stifling a cough.
“There’s cough number two. Come on,” the hand on his shoulder, for all that Deadpool was a bit unhinged, a bit crazy, and making this seem like a problem, it was a soft gesture as he pulled Peter to his side. “You good? You think you can make it down the stairs so I can take you to the tower?”
“Yeah,” Peter said, “I think so.”
“Awesome. To be continued in chapter two or whatever,” Deadpool said as he guided Peter to the on-roof door, “– whenever that happens.”
“… what?”
“Nothing.”