Chapter Text
Deadpool, for once, is dead silent.
Not pausing for breath to recharge for his next quip or for dramatic effect. He's just silent as a tomb, whites of his mask blown wide as saucers.
"How bad is it?"
Spiderman's voice is calm and he's aware of four things:
1: The smugglers they were tailing apparently knew they were being followed.
2: They had planted charges throughout the building and had set it off, giving Peter milliseconds to react when his Spidey sense warned him too little, too late.
3: The building had collapsed on both of them. Hard.
4: Wade Wilson is never ever quiet and it's setting off all of Peter's internal alarms.
"Wade, you're freaking me out. More than usual. What's the damage?"
Peter had lost consciousness for at least a minute before Deadpool's voice, rough and muffled by the smoke and dust, had brought him back.
"WEBS! THIS ISN'T THE TIME TO PLAY HIDE AND SEEK!! I'M TERRIBLE AT THIS GAME!!!"
Constant overexposure to Deadpool had few benefits. One of which was building up a tolerance for jokes that only Deadpool (or whatever invisible audience he was addressing) found funny.
Peter managed to push at least a literal ton of rubble off his top half but found his legs wouldn't follow suit and cooperate.
Broken, then. Perfect.
He was aware of a tingling sensation below his hips and had called Deadpool over for an assist.
"Aha! Never fear, your friendly neighborhood Deadpool is here! Boy, that was overkill, huh, Webs? I mean, what kinda bozos drop a building on a guy? A piano I understand, or a safe even, that's classy! But a five story building is just bad form if you ask m-"
Wade abruptly cut off as if someone had hit the pause button on him.
When he finally spoke it was slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to make sense of an equation he didn't quite understand.
"Webs, you got that healing factor thing, right?"
"Yeah."
"If you lost your d*ck would it grow you another one?"
"No."
"Ah."
There's a pause. Then, quietly;
"How about legs?"
Before Peter can say anything, Deadpool overturns the giant cinder block obscuring his vision to anything from the waist down.
Spiderman notices two things:
1: His legs (or what's left of them) are definitely broken.
2: They are no longer attached to his body.
"Oh," Peter hears himself say.
Before Deadpool can answer, the scream of sirens pierce the air. The dust is finally settling and they can just make out the sounds of spectator voices drawing cautiously near.
"Upsie-daisies," Deadpool says flatly before hoisting Peter over his shoulder with one arm, and grabbing his bloody crushed legs in the other before breaking into a sprint.
And just like that, the day easily becomes the third worst Monday of Peter Parker's life thus far.
.....
"Wade."
"It's gotta be around here, somewhere. Where oh where are you, my little box of wonders?"
"Wade," Spiderman's voice took on a hard edge which Wade determinedly ignored, hoping it would go away if he did.
"Ah-hah! Here it is!!" Finding the small carboard box in question, Deadpool triumphantly ripped it open and fished out one of his prized possessions and held it aloft for Spiderman to admire.
"Behold! My coupon for a free slushie! I was saving it for a rainy day but when your very best buddy loses both leggos in the same day, he's really much more deserving of-"
Spider-Man interrupted.
"Hospital. Now."
Deadpool swivelled his gaze away, actually physically feeling the hostility bleeding through Spiderman's white lenses.
Running faster than he would have though possible, he had rushed them both to his apartment (mercifully only 5 blocks away!) and tightly wrapped both of Spiderman's leg stumps in clean plastic and clean bed sheets someone had thoughtfully left to dry on a balcony.
The apartment still looked like a murder scene with all of Spidey's blood everywhere but Wade had done a great job making sure his good buddy wouldn't lose any more and was thankful he remembered how to tie a tourniquet from before when he was just a merc with a mouth sans the healing factor.
He had also, like the genius he so obviously was, stuffed both of Spidey's legs into his freezer after clearing out space taken up by tv dinners and dumping them on the floor. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Wade-Forensics-Expert-Wilson had watched enough medical crime dramas to know severed body parts should go into the freezer either to be consumed by a peckish cannibal or to be reunited with their rightful owner at a later date.
"No can do, compadre. I got a better idea that's gonna (maybe) work and get your doodads back up and running. Pun intended."
Spiderman was silent for a solid five seconds before Wade noticed him start to tremble. Whether from rage or shock from severe blood loss was unclear.
"I will literally die without a blood transfusion right now you crazy f-"
A loud racket outside the door arrests their attention and Deadpool all but flounces to the front door, his not inconsiderable weight making the floorboards groan in protest.
"Hold that thought! Whooooo is it??"
"You know who it is, Jackass. Now you gonna let me in or am I getting a cancellation fee for my trouble?"
Deadpool rips the door open to reveal:
"Gasp! My favorite ambiguously mixed race pre-med student! So good of you to arrive on such short notice! Hang on, is it politically incorrect to call you that?"
"You seriously need an answer to that, wonderbread?"
"Nnnnope! You just gotta fix up my pal here. Or what's left of him."
The new arrival peeks around the large mass of Deadpool's body which all but fills the doorway. His eyes go wide as he takes in the sight.
"What the shi-"
"Language! There are impressionable youngsters who shouldn't even be on this website reading as we speak," Wade cautions while moving aside for the med student to hurry in, door slamming shut behind him.
"How long has he been like this," The kid asks, not even looking at them, but already busying himself taking out all manner of things from his duffel bag.
"When did I text you?"
"20 minutes ago."
"There you go."
"How is he even still conscious?"
Deadpool shrugs. "Super human perks."
Spider-Man, who's been uncharacteristically quiet all the while seems to find his bearings and says,
"Look, kid, I'm sure you're really good and all but I need actual surgery and blood ASAP."
The twenty-something looks unimpressed, the initial shock of seeing half a superhero on Deadpool's floor having already lost it's effect. He's gonna make a good doctor someday.
"Obviously. But I'm not about to argue with a guy who can cut me nine ways to Sunday. Plus, I need to pay off student loans. So. I'm gonna hook you up to this human garbage and here's what's gonna happen:
You're gonna get a ton of mutant blood to replace the regular mutant blood you lost. He's type O so there shouldn't be any problem. We'll see. Next, I'm gonna stitch your legs back on. If things go the way we want them to, your body will take to Wade's regenerative qualities and make it so you can stand again. Or kill you. It's a 50/50."
Before Spiderman can fully process or argue with the insane plan that's been outlined, a syringe sinks into his arm and his vision swims.
Aside from the massive regret of ever crossing Wade bloody Wilson's path, he remembers hearing Deadpool say,
"You're gonna be ok, Webs."
Then, softly,
"You gotta be."
Peter loses consciousness just as Deadpool begins shouting, "Okay! Hook me up, baby. Let's save my best friend."