Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room went dark; the light flickered before the generator kicked on. Peter felt a low buzz in the back of his neck. It wasn’t danger, no quite the opposite. Something big had happened. His senses felt sharper, and he could feel strength coursing through his veins. His eyes widened as he let out a manic chuckle. He pulled his wrists apart, and the cuffs binding him snapped like a Kit-Kat bar. (Jesus, a Kit-Kat bar sounded delicious.) The backup generator powering the lights wasn’t connected to the rest of the building. The source powering the anti-mutant tech had shut down, and Peter was going to make the most of it.

He walked over to the thick, heavy metal door of his cell, testing a theory. A theory that turned out to be correct. When he prodded at it with his finger, it dented, malleable as clay in his hands. They had so much confidence in their tech that they hadn’t bothered taking any other precautions. They were about to pay penance for their arrogance. Peter easily tore the door off its hinges and was instantly greeted with an earsplitting alarm that his super senses did nothing to soothe. He doubled over for a second, gathering up his fortitude before standing up with a wince and entering the halls.

The adrenaline in his body felt like ecstasy as he began to process what this meant. The biggest hurdle was escaping his bonds. As a result of the building’s technical fortification, it was not heavily guarded, so Peter made great progress traveling before happening upon anyone. He had been here long enough to have a good general idea of where everything led, and had long before plotted a solid escape plan that would get him out with the least amount of complication. However, he also had a stop to make that might get him into a bit of trouble.

Nevertheless, saying he was worried would be a tremendous overstatement. If anything, he was anticipatory, itching for release. That’s why, when he came along his first guard of the day, all he could do was smirk as the man’s face dropped in horror.

“Hey. Remember me?” Peter said with a predatory cock of his head.

The man fired an entire round at Peter, who dodged the bullets with practiced grace. He then walked forward calmly as the guard quickly readied himself for a fight that he knew he was about to lose.

“Now that wasn’t very smart, was it? What, am I more intimidating when you’re not dragging me around powerless?” The fight was over as soon as it started. The man struck first, throwing a punch that Peter caught with ease. He stared into his eyes, allowing the moment to sink into the agent’s mind before knocking him out cold with a jab to the face.

Peter was practically giddy with relief as he walked through the building. He moved quickly, not because he was scared, but because he didn’t want to go a second longer, not remembering what fresh air felt like. He took out a few more guards along the way before being met with a surprising sight.

There stood Deadpool, dancing as he sliced up guards, shish kebabbing them on his katanas. Peter winced slightly at the particularly gruesome scene, but he didn’t have it in him to feel bad. The merc realized he was there only after killing the last guard and sheathing his katanas. His head snapped to Peter, and he menacingly pulled out one of his Desert Eagles, clearly not expecting to be snuck up on. Following his customary “shoot first, think later” ideology, Deadpool shot at the intruder three times. All of which were avoided absentmindedly.

“Dude, chill, not an enemy,” Peter assured.

“Right, and I’m Wheezy’s baby mama.” Deadpool quipped, no suspicion leaving him.

Peter threw his head back and laughed. (To Deadpool’s great surprise.) “Jesus, you have no fucking clue how much I’ve missed pop culture references.” He casually walked past the mercenary before turning around. “You coming or what? Pretty sure we’re headed to the same place.”

Deadpool’s eyes narrowed through his mask, following, but keeping his gun trained on the head of the man quietly singing “Mrs. Officer” to himself. They walked until they hit you know those slidey metal doors that shut off hallways during a lockdown? Yeah, so they hit one of those. Peter could’ve easily crumpled the door like aluminum foil, but he wanted to see what Deadpool would do, so he leaned back on the wall, waiting for him to get them through. The mercenary made quick work of the security panel and moved to the wiring, trying to do something that seemed awfully complicated and specific. Eventually, the quiet chorus of “wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee, wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee, wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee” distracted him too much, and he just tore a handful of wires out, which, while not very graceful, got the job done.

The second the door slid open, a group of guards was forming the most pathetic little barricade they’d ever seen. Deadpool grinned, ready for the fight, excited at the scared look on their faces, before he realized their frightened eyes were trained behind him.

“Jesus fuckin-” Peter cursed, more peeved than anything. “More of you? See, I thought the poetic justice would be a bit more satisfying, but it’s hard to enjoy when all of you already know you can’t win this.” The fight began as Peter continued speaking leisurely. “You know when I used to fight it was fun, I’d throw in a quip here,” his punch broke a nose, “a witty barb there,” he landed a solid kick to the gut, “but I can’t even smile about a nice KO,” he took out two guards with a single roundhouse kick, “when it’s so boring.” He crushed a gun in his hand and sent the guard sprawling, leaving a crack in the wall from the impact. He sighed, looking at the mess before continuing, “talkin’ ’bout, wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee, wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee, wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee.” He crossed the hall to the door for which he had been looking and sank his fingers into the metal, pulling it off the frame.

He turned around to find Deadpool in the same position he was in when the fight started, staring dumbstruck before he shook his head and shouted, “You could’ve done that the whole time?? Why did you let me finger those wires like I was in a clanker porno?!”

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Who am I to tell you not to violate electrical sockets? I’m not in the business of yucking yums.” Peter waited for Deadpool to join him before turning his attention to the scientists in the room. “You wanna take this? I’m not in the murder industry, so I think these guys fall under your jurisdiction.” Peter wouldn’t kill these men. But he certainly wouldn’t stop Wade from doing his job.

“Gladly.” The mercenary replied. “Awwww don’t be so scaredey waredey my little sugarplums! If you come to Papa, this will only hurt a little.”

Peter rolled his eyes before ransacking the room to find the items for which he was looking. (This author is not in the business of hanging prepositions. Is it clunky and unnecessary? Yes. But I will die on this hill. Watch me have a plethora of hanging prepositions in this fic.) The fight was over quickly, and Deadpool sat at a computer to collect the intel he needed, but kept an eye trained on the man tearing apart drawers, STILL singing Mrs. Fucking Officer. He was the Merc-with-a-Mouth,™ he was not known for his silence. But he was not prepared for someone to out-crazy him in such an unorthodox way. (It’s crazy how many non-secular phrases we’ve adopted into everyday speech. “Unorthodox” to describe something unusual or out of the ordinary? It also translates literally to “having the right opinion,” which is wild.) He was so nonchalant. And all the crazy people Deadpool knew, himself included, were pure, unadulterated, chalance.

“Yes!” Peter pulled out a plastic bag, emptying the contents. He rifled through it frantically before pulling out a gold chain holding two wedding bands that Peter kissed before fastening it around his neck.

Deadpool’s thoughts were racing, trying to put this man together. Is he an orphan? Did his parents die, and now he wears their wedding bands? Why is he here? He’s clearly a mutant, but why is he here? He definitely didn’t act like a human experiment. Deadpool remembered when he got out, and he was nowhere near this calm.

He then pulled on the hoodie he’d dumped out and shoved the rest of his belongings into his pockets. Once Peter was satisfied, he sat down to cleanse their database. He made quick work of deleting every file that mentioned his name or experiment number. Deadpool hadn’t finished his search once Peter was sure his existence was wiped, so he went through all the files he could, searching for anything too dangerous to remain. He deleted a fair amount of data before he saw a file named Experiment: GOBLIN, H.O. Peter nearly gasped audibly when he found it was exactly what it looked like. He scrambled for a flash drive and began uploading every bit of information he could to it.

Deadpool stood up and walked over to the mysterious man he’d just met, who was showing a concerning amount of emotion for someone so unperturbed. “You ready?”

“Give me a fucking minute.” Peter snapped.

“As much as I love a risky job gone messy, we don’t have time for this.” The mercenary sing-songed.

Peter turned his head sharply to give him a cold stare. “If I say we have time, we have time.”

Deadpool opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “Damn, these mood swings are a real turn on. I don’t know if I should be popping a boner or trying to kick your ass.”

“Trust me, only one of those situations will end well,” Peter said, unimpressed.

“Oh, well-” The mercenary did a double-take. “Did you just say one of those will end well?”

“I’m sure you and your right hand will have a wonderful night. Word of advice: buy her dinner first. I hear classy ladies love a gentleman.” Peter said with a slight smirk.

Deadpool let out a loud, genuine laugh. “Bold of you to assume my right hand’s a classy lady. She’s done things dirtier than a rat in a whorehouse during the bubonic plague.” He didn’t know if this guy was an enemy or not, but the merc prayed it was the latter, because this was the first person since Vanessa who could match his banter.

Peter tapped his foot anxiously. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” He whispered before the file finished transferring. “Nice.” He pulled the flash drive out quickly and purged the file. “Alright, let’s go, Mrs. Officer. Wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee, wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee, wee-ooh-wee-ooh-wee.” He jumped up and walked backwards to look at the merc as he sang.

Oh my god, is this how people felt when Wade was irritating them? “Still that fucking song? You a Wheezy stan or something?”

“Your fault for mentioning him. I legit only know this and ‘A Milli.’ You just got it stuck in my head. Have you seen Chris Redd do Wheezy on SNL?” Peter asked as he strolled down the hall.

“I- did you just reference Saturday Night Live?” Deadpool replied as he caught up once again.

“Yes. Dude, you’re Deadpool. I thought you were supposed to be like loud and fun and crazy and annoying. Anytime someone mentions you, that’s always their review. One star on Yelp, I’d like a refund for false advertisement.” Peter huffed.

“Hold up, hold up, hold up. I am all of those things and a powder keg in a nuclear war zone; it’s just you that’s throwing me off. I move that the court strike your comment for slander!” Deadpool said enthusiastically.

“I’m throwing you off?” Peter asked skeptically.

“Yes! I came in here with the intention to get in, get intel, and leave. Not pick up some young, hot, mysterious, debonair, mutant twink who may be as crazy as I am! Not to mention you could probably bench press two of me.” The merc was finally regaining his trademark energy. Which was perfect timing since they happened upon the reinforcements that had been called when the alarm was set off.

All of a sudden, they were in the trenches. If the trenches were the couch you sit on while playing Mortal Kombat. With Deadpool taking out guards like pins in Wii Bowling, and Peter taking out three times that amount, they didn’t even break a sweat as they continued talking.

“Okay, first, mutate, not mutant, call me Lady Nada, ’cause I was not born this way.” Peter flicked his wrist, sending a guard catapulting into the wall. “Second, I am not a twink; you’ve just caught me at a bad time. When I’ve had proper meals and nutrition-” He paused, ducking a punch. “I am an extremely respectable twunk. Third, I could bench way more than two of you — trust me, I’ve tried.” The gross sound of ripping flesh made Peter shudder before continuing. “And fourth, whoever gave you this mission either doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about, or they didn’t give you the whole story. This entire facility was built for me.” He knocked out two guards while gesturing to the walls around them. “I felt like the prom queen, until they drugged me and started some very non-consensual touching; then I really felt like the prom queen.” The guard Peter was fighting ended up with a few more broken bones than the rest. “Shit, that’s probably a not good, very cancellable joke to make. Don’t tell Twitter, I swear I’m usually very pc.” He said, while elbowing someone’s face.

“If Back To The Future taught me anything,” Deadpool paused so his gunshot didn’t drown him out, especially with the alarm still screaming. “it was ask for names first when time traveling or else you’ll try to fuck your mom.” He said sagely to the person impaled on his katana. “Oh, and that people will do anything to fuck the prom queen.” Distracted by the sight of the mystery twunk (he totally saw the “unk” now), boredly fighting three giant men at once, the merc almost didn’t notice someone sneaking up behind, but at the last second, he drew his gun and brains were blown.

With the last of the guards taken care of, the two continued on their way without missing a beat. Peter raised an eyebrow. “Marty’s mom wasn’t the prom queen.” He said as they reached the end of the hall.

“Semantics. Also, Twitter is now X,” Deadpool responded, pressing a button and getting in the elevator.

"See! This is the stuff you miss when you’re locked up and being experimented on for…How long has it been since the crime rate in New York spiked?” Peter asked, trying to find a way not to immediately out his identity.

The two exited the elevator and continued down a long hall. “Um, about two years.” Deadpool was very confused about how New York’s crime rate was relevant, but oh well. Wait, hold up, did he just say experimented on? So he’s just a sociopath or something?

“For two years! Really, two years? I don’t know if it feels like it’s been longer or shorter. But-” He was cut off abruptly when he realized they had reached the exit door.

Peter was still.

Completely still.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t breathe.

It finally hit him. He was going to leave. He was going home. But, he didn’t really know where “home” was. Home was New York. Home was Queens. But beyond that, he had no idea what the life before him had in store. Despite the charm he’d laid on Wade, Peter wasn’t the same person anymore. All of that was adrenaline. A ghost of the joy his old self held that drove him, for he had felt all the anger there was to feel long ago. He was happy he got a chance to pretend he was still Peter Parker for one last time, even if it was with someone who didn’t know the real Peter to begin with. Even if it was a far cry from the person he once was.

The second he stepped out the door, everything would be unknown. He’d finally be free. But at what cost? His home? His joy? His hope? His endearing sheepishness? His excitement to learn? His burden of responsibility? His trust in justice? His belief in mercy? Every trait and thing that made him Peter Parker? Everything that made him Spider-Man?

The mercenary was confused at first when he froze before recognizing the look in those big Bambi eyes. He knew that look all too well. “Hey, I never got your name.”

Peter was pulled from his trance. “Peter. Peter Parker.”

"I’m Wade Wilson, aka daddy pool, aka merc with a mouth, aka chimichanga destroyer. It’s been a delight meeting you, Peter Parker.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but you haven’t met Peter Parker.”

Wade responded simply. “No. I met who Peter Parker is now.”

Chapter Text

“No. I met who Peter Parker is now.”

The air was heavy and tangible, resisting his attempts to reach out for the handle. After taking several moments to brace himself, Peter exhaled and pushed open the exit door. They were in the middle of nowhere, tucked into a valley. It really was beautiful if you didn’t know the happenings underground. It could’ve passed for a serene grassy meadow under the right circumstances. Especially under the early evening sun. As he stepped out, the smell of fresh air and the feeling of a light breeze against his skin intoxicated him. He could smell the grass and the dirt. He could hear the bees as they pollinated the local flora. Peter started laughing. It was an involuntary reaction, startling both him and the mercenary.

“Holy fuck. I’m outside. That’s real sunlight. We are standing on literal grass. Wade, can you fucking believe this? Since when was the outdoors this cool?” His voice was giddy.

“It really makes a girl feel like a Disney princess!” Wade started singing “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes” very loudly and very out of tune.

Too excited to pay attention to Wade’s antics, Peter shook his head in disbelief. It felt like he was seeing the world for the first time through new eyes. Well, technically, he was; the genetic testing completely altered his vision. Everything was sharper and more vibrant; the saturation was dialed up to a thousand, and he swore he could hear the color pink. He reluctantly pulled himself from his mind. He needed to get home.

Shit. He was going home.

“So, where are you heading?” Peter asked, inwardly praying he wouldn’t have to find his way back to New York alone.

“The Big Apple, baby! The Big juicy-ass Apple,” Wade exclaimed. It seemed that “exclamation” may have been his default factory settings.

Peter wrinkled his nose distastefully. “Don’t call it that.”

“Oooooh, you a New York boy?” Deadpool batted his eyelashes (through his mask?). If he were lying down, he’d be giggling, kicking his feet, writing “Dear Diary…” with a hot pink pom-pom pen.

“I will have you know that lying in bed, writing in my diary with my beautiful magenta pen is a completely normal, respectable thing for a grown man to do!”

Right.

“Sorry, what the fuck are you talking about?” Peter was more curious than confused. He was well used to dealing with crazy.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little butt about it.” The merc responded with a wink.

“Right…” Peter said, processing (well, truthfully failing to process) before continuing. “So, you mind if I tag along? I’m going in the same direction.”

“As you wish! You know, last time I said that, it was to Fred Savage after I kidnapped him!”

Yeah, Peter was not getting into that.

“So, you’re Deadpool.” Peter stated.

“Indeed I am! Why, need me to take someone out for you?” Wade replied.

Peter laughed dryly. “You already did. Well, one of them wasn’t there, but I’m not huge on killing anyways.”

Deadpool narrowed his eyes. “So, what was so special about you that HYDRA built an entire facility for you?”

“My stellar personality of course.” Peter deadpanned. “I’m a mutate, remember?”

“So you had your powers before you got here?” Wade said, raising an eyebrow through his mask.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well sweet cheeks, look around! We have time for a long story.”

”Well, I guess it was my sophomore year of high school. We went on a field trip to Oscorp, and I got exposed to some special experimental radiation. Apparently, it was some project my parents-” Bingo, dead parents! Wade was right. -“had been working on but they died before they could finish it. Anyways, the HYDRA assholes got their hands on it and wanted to pick up where they left off, and I was the perfect testing subject.” Peter paused. “I guess it wasn’t that long of a story.”

“Well, cool ass powers are a pretty sweet field trip souvenir.” The merc replied.

Peter chuckled with a small but bright smile. Jesus, Wade wanted to make this man smile all the time. He was so fucked.

“So, those rings, were they your parents’?” Fuck his annoying curiosity. Why would he ask that? He silently berated himself.

Peter’s smile fell and his hand reached to touch the place where his chain was tucked under his hoodie. “No.”

Call him Wade Sherlock Wilson because his detective skills were the bomb-dot-com.

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.” Wade whispered, just low enough for Peter not to hear. (“Oh, but he has enhanced hearing, whispering wouldn’t do anything.” Okay, well, Wade has magical fourth-wall powers that prevent Peter from hearing. Everyone’s a critic these days.)

There was a brief silence as Wade realized Peter was not going to expand, the secretive motherfucker. “My parents are also dead! Oh em gee! We have so much in common. Petey Sweetie, I think we’re meant to be!.”

Peter’s smile returned, just a bit, which Wade took as an invitation to continue speaking about dead parents and other related subjects like chimichangas or how to correctly name your weapons. (You gotta listen to them purr. Yeah, that part grossed Peter out too.)

The two continued through the valley with Wade prattling on as Peter listened half–heartedly, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. Unfortunately, Peter’s thoughts were (somehow) louder than Wade’s musings.

He was completely unsure what he should be feeling so, he opted for feeling nothing at all. While anywhere was better than the hell he’d experienced over the past two years, home wasn’t exactly the happiest place on earth, especially with the intel in the flash drive that was burning a hole through his pocket. Yeah, no, he was not gonna start thinking about that right now. Everything seemed so bittersweet. He’d been dreaming about going out again as Spider-Man every day, but now, how did the New York he was returning to look? He knew the other vigilantes could only do so much with him off the street. Would the people he dedicated himself to protecting be disillusioned? Would they still believe in him? Plus, despite his every whim saying otherwise, he knew he couldn’t go back on the street right away. He would have to stay in for five months at the very least. He was in no condition, physically or mentally, to be putting himself in danger. But, he was sure the people at home would see to that in case he got any brilliant ideas.

His thoughts quickly began to spiral. His heart increased in pace. His ears were still ringing from that mother-fucking alarm. He felt seconds from collapse.

—

Well shit. Why don’t you bend Wade over and fuck him with a soggy chicken nugget if he didn’t just meet the most perfect, sexy, crazy, caked-up man in the universe? This man was crossing boxes Wade didn’t even know existed. He had taken that job obligatorily as a favor for Weasel (remind him never to owe that son of cum dumpster’s ass anything ever again; that coniving fucking rodent), so imagine his surprise when it turned out to be perhaps the single most important job he’d ever taken. Of course, that was still to be determined. (Spoiler alert: it is)

He saw Peter drift into his mind, and thought-

“‘It would be the perfect time to have a heart-to-heart!’ I exclaimed, eagerly.”

Please, don’t narrate your own dialogue.

“‘Make me.’ I said, level-headedly.” Said Deadpool, petulantly. “Okay, you know what, fuck you. You’re not invited to my My Little Pony tea party.”

Oh no. How will I ever survive?

“‘Meanie.’ I expertly retorted.”

What are you, eight?

“Could an eight-year-old do this? *makes very sophisticated face*”

Could you please not? I have a plot to write.

“Do you even know the plot?”

Doesn’t matter if I know it; all that matters is you don’t. Sucks to suck.

“So that's a no.”

Okay, you know what? I may not have the plot completely mapped out, but writing fanfic while bombing college is hard.

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Please just tell me what the fuck you want from me so this can stop.

“I have some questions regarding whatever this is.”

Just ask, dude.

“Eeeeeeek! Okay, so what kind of fic is this? Is this a slash fic? Ooooooh, please tell me it’s a slash fic, and I’m one of the slashes! *squeal* ”

Yes, it is, and yes, you are.

“OH EM GEEEEEE. What ship is it?”

I can’t tell you that! You know I can’t tell you that.

“You’re no fun. *pouts adorably like Michelle from Full House* Wouldn’t it be more fun to get rid of the fourth wall entirely? *bats eyelashes cutely like a baby angel.*”

No, you cannot know everything! That’s literally the same as telling you your future, which you know as well as I do, is a big timeline no-no.

“Ughhhhhh. Okay, Mom. *rolls eyes in a cool, early 2000s Lindsay Lohan way.*”

Oh, very creative with the “mom” bit.

“‘Your fault. Anywayssssss, I have to know what I’m getting myself into. I need to figure out which of my plot arc suits I have to wear.’ Whispers to you. Yes you. The reader. Get over here, my little sugar cookie. ‘Angst comes with tissues and Lexapro, and smutty comes with lube and condoms.’ *very sexy and suggestive wink.*”

I don’t know, man. I know where this is going, but not by a lot. I guess angst, humor, fluff, and a hint of Tapatio? Probably nothing explicit. I’m a lesbian, so I’m not exactly a leading expert on gay sex.

“Are you saying I’m going to be having gay sex? *smirks widely at blatant fuck up.”

Shit. God dammnit. Go fuck yourself.

“I would, but it seems I’ll have someone to do that for me. But, ok, I guess that’s something. I’ll move on. Interesting path with your canon. Meaning, there is no canon, and you pretty much made your own. It’s definitely a choice, and we’ll see where that leads—I guess. However, I’m not sure where you’re going with this whole kidnapped Peter Parker plot line. In the professional opinion of Dr. Pool, it feels like he’s almost completely unaffected by the literal single most traumatic experience of his life…sooooooo. Also, I know you’re keeping something very important about Peter from me, and for the record, I am not impressed.”

Listen, I'm trying my best with the canon. It’s just that I have pet peeves and would rather create my own universe, but with the same characters. Just consider this a parallel universe like the Marvel canon Earths. So, just wait. It’ll make sense as it continues (or not, who knows). And the whole Peter thing will make sense later; trust me, it WILL become apparent, especially as we meet his pre-hydra people. Oh, and Wade, baby girl, I am keeping SO MANY very important things about Peter from you.

Okay, chat done. No more questions. Oh no, look! Peter’s having a panic attack! Woahhhhhhh! Guess you'd better go help him and stop talking to me now.

“‘This is so not over.’ Also, hey you, the reader. My honey bunch. XOXO, don’t leave kudos until they tell me everything. Bye, my sweeties! Muah!”

Okay, don’t listen to him. I promise, his not knowing will be worth it. This got way too out of hand. Anyway, let's get back to the good part.

—

Peter was, in fact, having a panic attack.

Wow, his first panic attack back in the outdoors. What a milestone.

Wade, of course, noticed this. However, Peter also looked like he’d dropkick anyone who came within three feet of him. So the merc was having one hell of a dilemma. He wanted to do something, but he figured getting his face broken wouldn’t help either of them.

While Wade stood there, Peter returned to a half-consciousness that allowed him to string together fragments of thought. Fuck breathing exercises, he needed something more. His Spidey-senses were going haywire; he doubted he could determine an actual threat, which gave him a thought.

“Hit me.” He said hoarsely under his breath.

Wade stared. “Huh?”

“Just fucking punch me in the face.” Peter ground out. Though it seemed extreme, that was the only method he knew that worked every time. Whenever he got overstimulated in a fight as Spider-Man, he was unable to sense the danger, which often led to him getting hit. Hard. The physical stimulus gave his spidey-senses a direct source of danger to focus on, and when his spidey-senses rebooted, the others soon followed.

All doubt left Wade’s mind. This dude was definitely crazy. But who was he to deny a fellow disciple of insanity? So he punched him in the face. Almost immediately, Peter’s head snapped up and his eyes lost their faraway stare.

“Woo. I needed that. There’s nothing a good punch in the face can’t fix!” He said, rolling his shoulders and continuing to walk with a bounce in his step. He looked around them and realised they were walking on a road. If he squinted, he could see a small rest-stop town ahead. “Jesus Christ, when did we get this far?”

“Somewhere between dead parents and me punching you in the face.”

Peter glared at him, but it lacked any venom. “So helpful.”

“Always happy to be of service!” Said Wade cheerfully.

As they neared the town, Deadpool realized something. “We look very conspicuous right now.”

“No fucking shit,” Peter said, zeroing in on the Deadpool mask.

“No, not me, you! No offence, you’re sexy and all, but you look like you’ve been locked up for two years and experimented on.”

Peter stared at him blankly. “Oh, really? I wonder why.”

“Okay, how ‘bout this: you wait just outside the town while I boost a car, and we get to the city in five hours.” Deadpool proposed, very proud of his plan.

“Oh fuck no. Places like this always have a diner, and I haven’t had real food in like three years.”

“I thought you were kidnapped two years ago?” The merc questioned.

“That’s right,” Peter replied, walking ahead.

“Okay, so the plan is we walk into town looking like a heavily armed red-leather-clad sex god, and a malnourished Victorian child who’s been raised in a basement?”

“I mean, what are they gonna do, call the cops?”

“Fair enough.”

—

Yeah, they definitely got stares walking into town. Whether it was the weapons, blood, or generally dangerous aura, they were not leaving there unnoticed. However, every worry Peter had fled his mind when he saw it: the diner. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He could’ve sworn a chorus of Broadway legends were harmonizing in the background.

“Oh my god, Wade. There really is a diner. This is the best moment of my life.” Peter was joking, but he had to blink back tears as they crossed the threshold of the shoddy, creaking doors

“So, table for two?” A bored waitress asked before looking up and freezing.

“Yup!” Wade exclaimed, grabbing the menus from her hand as he followed Peter to a booth.

Peter was internally overcome with emotion. Something as arbitrary as sitting at a booth in a shitty diner felt like a commodity. The uncomfortable, cracking red leather, sticky wood table, and stained laminated menus with the smell of syrup and stale hashbrowns filling the area felt like the height of luxury. He never thought he’d be this grateful for the prospect of burnt coffee and soggy bacon. His reverence was cut short as he was asked the question of all questions.

“Pancakes or waffles?”

Chapter Text

“Pancakes or waffles?”

“Huh?” Peter quickly caught up. “Oh, waffles.”

Wade gasped. “Blasphemy! How could you!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? They’re crunchy pancakes!” Peter exclaimed.

“Crunchy- clearly, you have suffered BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA to the head, because pancakes are god’s gift to earth, you HEATHEN!” Wade screamed, scandalized.

“Okay, you know what, I am too hungry and tired to argue the merit of pancakes versus waffles right now,” Peter replied.

“I’m just saying, you’ll be a total pancake slut when you get a mouthful of mine, you fucking blasphemer.” Said Wade, suggestively.

Peter sighed. “Jesus Christ, it is too early for double entendres.”

“It’s five pm, sunshine.”

“Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know that?” Peter said with a glare. “You know, with the being locked in a windowless facility for two years and all.”

Wade was about to say something surely very intelligent when a reluctant waiter finally inched his way towards them. “Um, how- how can I- what can I get you?”

Peter tried so hard not to laugh at Jeffery’s — according to his name tag — wide, scared eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t used to two grown men walking into his restaurant covered in blood and packing heat.

“Well, hello there, Jeffery! I hope you’re not of the Dahmer variety, because you work in the food industry, and I lost my taste for people-pot-pie after I saw Titus Andronicus live. You ever seen Titus Andronicus? See, I’m no Shakespeare nut, but I gotta hand it to that little queer, Titus was tight as fuck. Haha, get it? Titus, tight as? But like, fuck Romeo and Juliet, like Romeo, my main man, that is a CHILD. Mercutio, though, is my dude. ‘Art by art as well as by nature; for this drivelling love is like a great natural that runs, lolling, up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.’ How great is that? Bauble in a hole? Get it? Like dick? In a pussy? Or ass. I’ve had both, and I really don’t give a fuck as long as my bauble is in a hole. Or if someone else’s bauble is in mine, you feel me? Let me tell you, man, don’t let society tell you otherwise. Take it from someone who takes it both ways: taking it from the back is magical, my dude. Even if you only swing one way, there ain’t no shame in the pegging game. But, never mind that, I’ll take a strawberry milkshake- no two- no three- no, Peter, you want one? Let’s do four just to be safe. And hmmmm, how many clam strips come in an order?” Wade said, very succinctly.

“Six.” The waiter said, looking vaguely terrified.

“How big are they?”

“Well, have you ever seen a chicken strip?”

“I’ve never seen a chicken wear clothes.”

And that was it. Peter burst out laughing. “Please tell me that all actually just happened.” He said, wheezing. Peter had dreamed countless times about how his escape would go, but never once did it go like this. And, if he had to be honest, he wouldn’t have it any other way. All of his fantasies had far too many emotions and shit. And Wade, well, Wade was exactly what he needed.

“You bet your sweet little asscheeks it did! Now, for the entrees I was thinking…”

Peter listened as the mercenary read off what seemed to be the entire menu. When the poor, disgruntled waiter turned to look at Peter, the list had made him hungry as fuck, so he just doubled the order. The man stared at him for a second, thinking he was joking, but when Peter didn’t relent, he sulked off to the kitchen, likely rethinking his life choices.

“So Peter, Petey, Petey-pie, how old are you? Because I’d call you jailbait, but your vibes are a little too jaded to be younger than twenty.”

Peter laughed. “Younger than twenty? Seriously? I thought my time at HYDRA would’ve aged me at least a bit. I’m twenty-seven.”

Wade’s eyes widened. (Just so you know, this is all the Deadpool expressive mask thing. I just don’t want to keep having to specify, so please carry on with this information.) “WHAT THE FUCKBALLS? TWENTY-SEVEN? NO FAIR. At least I don’t have to feel guilty for all the compromising positions I’ve pictured you in.”

“The baby-faced starving mutate look is what does it for you, huh?” Peter said, raising an eyebrow.

“You think that’s bad, you should see my search history. This ugly mug doesn’t get much action, so I was really bound to be a freak. You know, your lucky ass still looks all nice and sexy. Back before my human experiment days, I was quite the looker. A real Ryan Reynolds type. But then some bitch came up and was like, ‘Hey, you got cancer! We wanna cure it! This totally isn’t some sketchy back alley human experimentation ruse done to trick desperate, sick, dying people!’ And now my face is all fucked up. Not to mention my dick, and what a dick it is. I am seriously PACKING. It’s a shame I got the whole Freddy Kruger thing going for me because, cutie, my dick still gets the job done. I can send you my references of people I’ve dicked down if it means I got a shot at that ass. You know, Daredevil’s got an assful of this dick.”

Peter choked on one of the milkshakes that had arrived mid-rant.

“You a fan? Talk about something to choke on. Listen, mine is huge, but the Devil-dick is no joke either.” Wade continued, dreamily.

“I’m quite familiar,” Peter said, too surprised and flustered to realize the information he’d just let slip.

“Right?! Well- Wait, did you just say you’ve seen the Devil-dick?” Wade said, coming full stop.

“Shit, I did, didn’t I. Fuck. Yeah, we’ve uh, been acquainted.” His head was spinning trying to think of non-suspicious circumstances that could’ve led to him fucking the vigilante.

Just then, Jeffery, bless his soul, came out carrying a terrifyingly teetering tower of tasty treats. (Yes, I know, I’m a middle school English teacher’s wet dream with my amazingly accurate analytical alliteration.) He hastily set the plates down without a word and left like a thief in the night. (Boooo fuck uncreative cliché metaphors.) He left like a father with no milk.

“Oh my god. Food. Real food!” Peter’s eyes scoured the table, his excitement drawing both of their focuses away from a certain schlong. He absolutely devoured everything, wiping the plates clean. Peter was glad Wade could speak enough for the both of them, not caring about the merc talking with his mouthful if it meant he could keep stuffing his face without contributing to the conversation.

Eventually, they finished up the food, clearing every single fucking plate to Jeffery’s great surprise. However, what surprised him the most was that Peter had ended up eating some of Wade’s food (which Peter did not apologize for, and Wade did not complain about). To his delight (and Wade’s dismay), Peter had insisted they leave a generous tip to make up for their presence. The whole situation befuddled him so deeply that he almost forgot to call the cops. Almost. (Little bitch. Can you blame him, though?)

Of course, Wade and Peter were not idiots, so they planned as soon as they left.

“So, we probably have two minutes until he alerts the po-po,” said Wade, glancing back.

“You kidding? I heard him dial the second we walked out the doors,” Peter replied.

”Seriously? You got enhanced hearing, too? That alarm must’ve been a bitch.”

“No shit.” Peter rolled his eyes while Wade walked up to an unsuspecting car and pulled out a crowbar.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Are we not stealing a car?” Wade replied as the door popped open. Peter opted to enter the passenger seat rather than appeal to logic. After a quick hot-wiring and insertion of Wade’s Awesome Brain Blasting Mix into the CD player, they were on their way.

—

In hindsight, maybe scarfing down as much as his stomach could hold after being starved for two years wasn’t the best idea.

“You alright?” Wade called, sitting in the pulled-over car.

Peter held up a raised thumb from where he was throwing up on the shoulder of the road.

Finally, after emptying his guts, he returned to the car. “I regret nothing.”

Wade restarted the ignition. “Your lil tum tum sure does.”

Peter crossed his arms and listened to the music for a bit before speaking. “Okay, there is no fucking way you listen to Gangnam Style, Crank That Soulja Boy, and Pump Up the Jam while you’re killing people. Not to mention Chumbawamba. You listen to Chumbawamba voluntarily?”

“Hey! I will not have you diss my super awesome mix! Did you not hear I have Elton John and Bowie on here? Deadpools are like ogres, they have layers.”

“Don’t quote Shrek at me! Dude, you have Robin Thicke and Macklemore on here. I think those cancel out any respectable music you have.”

“Yeah, and I bet your music taste is so much better. You haven’t even heard any new music in the last two years!” Wade exclaimed.

“All of your music is from no later than ten fucking years ago! I mean, dude, you’re listening to Eminem!”

“SHUSH. This is my jam. And the FCC won't let me be, or let me be me, so let me see, they’re tryna shut me down on MTV, but it feels so empty without me! Now this looks like a job for me, so everybody, just follow me, cus we need a little, controversy, but it feels so empty without me!”

Wade’s singing and Peter’s complaints lasted all six hours of their trip. (In case you’re wondering, the playlist I linked is indeed six hours long. Your girl is all about accuracy. What can I say? It being six hours was actually just a fun little coincidence; I added way more than I intended. I am a playlist fiend.)

“I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE, THESE OTHER BOTHERS CAN'T DENY.”

“Oh my god, please no.”

“No, I don’t want no scrubs, a scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me, hanging out the passenger’s side of his best friend’s ride, tryna holler at me!”

“Dude, I’m trying to sleep.”

“SCOTTY DOESN’T KNOW THAT FIONA AND ME DO IT IN MY VAN EVERY SUNDAY! HE THINKS SHE'S AT CHURCH BUT SHE DOESN’T GO, STILL SHE'S ON HER KNEES BUT SCOTTY DOESN’T KNOW.”

“You do realize this whole song is about condoning cheating, right?”

“Listen to the song, not the lyrics!”

“The lyrics are what make up the fucking song.”

“MY COCK IS MUCH BIGGER THAN YOURS! MY COCK CAN WALK RIGHT THROUGH THE DOOR-”

“NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“YOU’LL TAKE MY LIFE BUT I’LL TAKE YOURS TOO, YOU’LL FIRE YOUR MUSKET BUT I’LL RUN YOU THROUGH! What, no complaints for this one?”

“I like Iron Maiden! Sue me.”

“AND I WAKE IN THE MORNING AND I STEP OUTSIDE AND I TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND I GET REAL HIGH AND I SCREAM AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS WHAT'S GOING ON!”

“AND I SAID, HEYYY YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH HEY YEAH YEAH. I SAID HEY. WHAT'S GOING ON!”

Okay, maybe Peter got a little into it by the end. Who could say no to 4 Non Blondes?

“Okay, hold on, I do not understand your taste in music. Because my mix is AWESOME, but you only liked like an eighth of the songs! But you insist that your taste is SOOOOOO much better than mine.”

“Well, I might be fucking with you.” Wade gasped at the admission. “Just a bit. I didn’t hate your mix, it’s fine—well, actually, not all of it, but overall. Is it what I’d listen to? No, but I’m a nerd, so I’m not exactly the authority on music.”

“A nerd that likes Iron Maiden?” Wade asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Dude! Iron Maiden is like the nerdiest band ever! Gimme your phone.” Peter held his hand out expectantly, but Wade narrowed his eyes. “Jesus, what the hell am I gonna do on your phone? I’d use mine, but my phone wasn’t exactly on me when I was kidnapped.”

Wade reluctantly unlocked his phone and handed it over. “Just because, there is no way you can prove Iron Maiden is a nerd band!”

Peter quickly found “To Tame a Land” and pressed play.

“What’s so nerdy about a long ass intro?”

“Shut up and listen.” It eventually picked up, and Peter started headbanging.

He is the King of all the land
In the Kingdom of the sands
Of a time tomorrow

He rules the sand worms and the Fremen
In the land amongst the stars
Of an age tomorrow

“Hold up, did he just say Fremen?”

He is destined to be a King
He rules over everything
On the land called planet Dune

“No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” said Peter with a shit eating grin, proceeding to sing along for the rest of the song fervently.

“Iron Maiden wrote a song about the movie Dune?” Wade said in disbelief.

“The book,” Peter corrected. “It came out a year before the original movie was released in 1984.”

“What the actual fuck. You were right. Petey, you MUST play this for ‘Lil Timmy Tim!”

“Unfortunately, Timothée Chalamet and I don’t regularly text each other despite my best efforts. I have to say, I like the movies, but they left out some key information. Like, I think the fact that Paul is a fucking mentat pretty much explained everything about his personality after the ornithopter crash. You watch it, and are like, ‘man, this dude is an asshole.’ And like, he is an asshole, but like him being a mentat explains how he became an asshole. Like, okay, imagine realizing you're the Kwizitch Haderach AND a mentat at the same time while you’re buried in sand after your father was assassinated?” Peter digressed.

“Holy shit, you really are a nerd.”

“Okay, fuck off.”

Deadpool shrugged. “I just didn’t know you’d be so into a Star Wars ripoff.”

“Star Wars- Did you just say a Star Wars ripoff? Star Wars is a Dune ripoff! Tatooine was literally based off of Arrakis! Dune came out twelve years before A New Hope was even released! But that doesn’t even make sense because the plotlines are completely different, so neither one could be a ripoff of the other. If anything, you could say the planet Tatooine is a ripoff of Arrakis, but that’s about it.”

“I can’t believe it actually exists,” Wade said in awe.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Said Peter, exasperated.

“A hot nerd in the flesh. I thought it was an urban legend. What’s next, you gonna tell me you skateboard and have some artsy hobby like writing poetry or photography?” Asked Wade, jokingly.

Peter looked away and pursed his lips.

“NO FUCKING WAY. Am I on Punk’d? How have we never met before? Fuck the universe for keeping you away from me for so long. Will you have my children? Our kids would be so cool. They’d have sick ass powers and be super smart and hilarious. Too bad this isn’t an mpreg au because ooh ooh ooh our kids would be phenomenal!” Wade ranted.

“A what now? Mpreg is biologically impossible in any way, shape, or form.” Said Peter.

“Miracles happen every day!” Wade exclaimed.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I think we’d need a bit more than a miracle.”

“Hey, it couldn’t hurt to try. I’m a real hard worker if you know what I mean.” Wade said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Nope. I’m not doing this right now. I am going to sleep, and you’re not waking me up until we are in New York city. If you wake me up in fucking Albany, I will commit abhorrent crimes against humanity.” Peter closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly.

Wade grumbled under his breath indistinctly. When he looked over to see the sleeping man beside him, the visual did nothing but fuel his countless questions about who this mysterious mutate was. If the rings weren’t his parents’, whose the fuck were they? When did this random dude see the devil-dick? Did he know his identity? If so, what about this man made Matt trust him, because he couldn’t be fooled by those distracting big Bambi eyes? While his story made sense, it was still a bit far-fetched that they created an entire facility for him. Then there was the whole no food in three years situation, because the timeline was not adding up. Wade’s mind was flooded with directionless thoughts, which he was not a fan of, so he instead turned the CD player back on and began singing along to Cotton Eyed Joe.

Peter slept the entire ride—he trusted his Spidey-sense to keep him safe, and he really needed some rest after the last two years. Pre-HYDRA Peter would be put off by the mercenary driving him, but he honestly couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck. Sure, Deadpool was a terrifying contract killer, but he was undoubtedly sure that his newly enhanced Spidey-sense would tear Wade’s arm off before he could even think about harming Peter.

The sun had already set when Wade reached over to pat Peter on the shoulder.

“Wakey, wakey, we made-”