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As far as his mornings went, it was one of the more pleasant ones. Sure, he was either hungover or poisoned, every muscle in his body hurt and the taste in his mouth was almost literally shitty – but hey, at least all of his body parts were still attached and no one was holding a knife to his throat.
Thinking those merry thoughts, Wade Wilson rolled off his new and shiny inflatable mattress, grabbed some cheetos from the bowl and shambled to the fridge, where a blissfully cold beer was awaiting him in all its glory. It was then he realized somebody had been pounding on his door. For quite a long time, it seemed.
Of course, he could ignore them, instead settling into the blankets with his beer - but something told him this would only lead to his door being kicked out of the frame. The unwelcome guest seemed very insistent.
So Wade closed the fridge, grabbed his new doorknob and went to the door.
"What the hell, du- oh. Hi," he finished lamely. Steve Rogers stared down at him from his dirty hall. Cap’s shiny blue outfit was always pretty flattering in the hips department, but right now it was also partly shredded, which also added to the effect and…
"Why the fuck is Captain America at my door?" Wade squinted down the barrel at Steve’s disapproving face. "Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to say that out loud."
Rogers gave a resigned sigh.
"We need your help, Wilson."
"Wow. Will I get paid?"
"We… I am sure you will find yourself sufficiently rewarded, yes."
"Nah, honey bunny." Wade held the strap of the gun in his teeth and popped the beer open, muffling his words somewhat. "Meen zere, bun zat. No suspiciously specific phrasing will pass by my watchful ear. I used to think you can’t lie worth shit, but then I read Secret Avengers. Will I get paid or not?"
Cap sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Yes. Standard wages."
‘Cool! When do I start and whom do I off?’ Wade wasn’t short for money this month, so any other job offer would have prompted a few more questions. But come on. Captain America, people. You don’t pass an ass... sorry… a chance like that.
"No… offing… required. And you start right now. Come with me." Steve turned on his heels, a sharp and precise movement that would have made his old sergeant weep tears of joy, and marched down the hall.
"At least gimme a sec to grab my things!"
‘No weapons required, either.’
To which Wade said “bullshit” and went to fetch his katanas, grenades, reserve magazines, and all other little things that made him feel good and cozy. After that, he followed his new client out of the building and to the roof. Yeah, roof, okay, whatever. His money, his rules - up until those rules started fucking Wade up.
As they got to the top of the building, Wilson saw a man leaning against the chimney – a man who was, in fact, no one else but Thor monkeyfighting Odinson his very self.
"Heya, buddy," he greeted the Asgardian. "Heard you were dead."
Thor scowled at him.
"The noble forces of…"
"Yeah, you can stop there. The usual story, I get it already."
The scowl deepened.
"Must I?" Thor asked, turning to face Rogers. The reply was drowned out by the buzz of an engine, and Iron Man descended to the roof. He was obviously having troubles with his suit – Wade realized this because he was a technical genius, and because huge puffs of dark smoke came out of Tony’s armpits and, well, ass. The man himself didn’t seem troubled.
"Yep, you really must," he announced, picking Cap up by the shoulders. "We are in a hurry and must do our due, and all that shit. So move it."
"Wow, glad to see the old team back together!" Wade said, watching the duo streak into the sky "Is that a movieverse thing? Or are we in some kinda vintage verse right now?" There was no response. In the meantime, Thor… threw an arm around his shoulders, doing a one-armed bear hug, and with the other threw his fucking hammer into the fucking sun.
"Holy shiiiiiit!" Wade screamed as they sped upwards. Their ascent was so fast he could nearly feel flesh stripping off his bones and his fine new mask being torn to shreds "SLOW DOOOWN!!"
Thor was deaf to his pleas, or however they said it in Asgard. The upside was that they got to their destination – a rundown warehouse all prettied up on the inside with shiny Avengers tech – pretty damn quick. Wade’s healing factor still wasn’t quite what it was, so as Thor led him grimly through the door his muscles were still twisting and boiling as his body repaired the damage.
Steve caught up with them – wow, Tony’s suit deserved some serious props, ass smoke and all – and opened the enormous metallic doors that blocked the way to the very center of the warehouse.
Behind the doors, in a pretty comfy looking velvet chair, sat Nathan Dayspring Askani’son Priscilla Fuck This Motherfucker Twice with A Wooden Chair Summers.
Wade froze. Then took one cautious step forward.
Cable looked different from before. Much more organic, that’s for sure. But… more tired. Older. Worn out. His hair had grown out and hung limply off his head, new wrinkles had popped up on his face, and his muscles had seemingly deflated in size. Also he was out cold, propped in his chair with head hanging and both eyes rolled back.
"I did tell him that Messiah thing won’t work out, you know," Wade told Steve, stretching out his arms. "So, who got to our mister Sun-shines-outta-my-ass?"
"Warlocks," a woman’s voice said. It was rough, tired, and angry. "No relation to Beehive, by the way. Twenty sixth century’s sons of bitches."
Wade turned around just in time to see her walk out of the darkest corner of the room. She was young – no older than twenty - red-headed, and damn fiiine.
"We can’t get to Charles, or Scott and his team," she said, both annoyed and tired. "Only Ororo is here, and her guys will do us no good."
"And we were doing a joint mission with Summers," Tony chipped in. "Well, sort of. In a ‘we have to work together or this world will blow up’ kinda way."
"…Okay, really important question here – is it still gonna blow up?"
"That depends," the woman said sharply, "on how fast we can get some crucial info from Dad. Who is, right now, in no shape to provide it."
"Dad?!" Wilson’s jaw dropped. "Holy flying elephants fucking bees! Hope, is that you?"
"I am Hope Summers, yes." She gave him the tiniest of smiles.
"Wow. Um-ha. You really grew up fast, kid!"
"Yes. Dad told me." She smiled a bit wider. "Anyway, they got him in the mindlock. The usual stuff – resistance, inner universe created to torment him, only those who know him can get him out. I broke down the walls enough to get someone in - but we’ve tried people from Irene to Gary and it just doesn’t seem to work. The ‘verse throws them out, knocks them out… in fact, Irene screamed for an hour after her try. Apparently, the thing in there has teeth."
"Can’t you get in yourself? You can do nasty like few girls can, and you sure knew him pretty well."
Hope gritted her teeth.
'We couldn't find another telepath on short notice, and I can’t both push in his walls and GET him out."
Well, that was just fan-fucking-tastic. Hope was a very special super unicorn – everyone knew it, mostly because Daddy Cable run around parading her as such. If she had had that much trouble with whatever block was on Nate’s head…. Ugh.
Wade hated freaking mindy-windy telepathic stuff.
For a few moments, everyone was awkwardly silent.
"Anyway," Hope said. "You are the only one we have left."
He wanted to say something about being reasonably reluctant to jump into Nate’s head. But instead, all the old bitterness – and pain, yes, it hurt - came back at once.
"And why do you guys think I am going to help you with this shit? Last time Nate and I met… well, actually we DIDN’T try to kill each other that last time, but all the previous times…"
Out of blue Hope grinned at him, wide and mischievous and so not Nate-like.
"You are getting paid," she reminded him.
"Ah, right. I’m in," Wade said cheerfully, and rubbed his hands together.
* * *
The music hit Wade before he opened his eyes.
Although calling that “music” was a bit of a stretch. It was a cacophony of sound, a thousand melodies played at once as loud as inhumanly possible, with the pain of his near-bursting eardrums thrown into the mix.
Wade forced his eyelids open.
He was surrounded by… color. No ground and no sky to meet him, but whirlpools and swirls and tornadoes of all the rainbows in the word, painfully bright and almost alive in its constant movement.
Wade took an experimental jump and landed no lower than he started, although fuck if he knew on what. Then he grinned.
Yeah, he could work with that.
"Must be really getting on your nerves, though, Cable buddy," Wilson murmured as he walked in the middle of nowhere to the cheerful prospect of nothing. "You like your law and order, don’t ya?"
Soon, through the mists and rainbows of every color imaginable he noticed shapes - human shapes, calling out to him in pitch-highed voice. Some of them Wilson recognized, from the encounters he and Nate shared, and some he knew from stories, but most were alien to him. It was that old trick every supervillain had to do at least once – shades of the dark and troubled past, and all that crap. But here, instead of the usual ghostly grey spectres, the ghosts were bright and livid to match the rest of the place, and instead of pained wails they shrieked and screamed and almost sang.
Holy fuck. The warlocks of the future gave Nate his own personal hell, disco style
That was rough.
Wade continued waddling through colorful nothing. Shades crept closer to him, reached for him, almost touching. One, a short, square-shouldered dude with distorted features, looked especially fly – Wilson asked him to take a pic together, but the shade drifted back into the cloud of fluorescent mist. Jerkass.
"Wait!" Wade stopped in a middle of descent through the whirlpool of reds. "Wait, I am being an idiot." He fished a stopwatch out of his backpack (all of his babies were still with him, that was good) and checked to see if it was still working. "I am billing hours for this shit!"
Some time later, when he checked the watch, it showed that two ages, five years and a seventh of second had gone by. Wade’s eyes widened.
"I am getting a fucking mansion after this job. See that I do!" he called out loud to whoever was running his universe this time. But his demand remained unanswered.
It was getting boring in here. Wade tried to kick back and enjoy the job. He whistled to the mind-numbing cacophony of sounds and soon realized that he could take the melodies apart easily enough.
There was “A Run of Messiah”, that song Irene always mocked Nate with, and the impressively horrible fiddle tune a blind girl on Providence dedicated to her ‘savior’, and many others Wade didn’t remember or recognize as they drummed into his ears, and then…
"Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me" Wilson announced, stopping dead in his tracks. The familiar tune slithered back into the great mix, away from him, but he frowned and tracked it.
‘I know you think you’ve got a good man…’
The memories hit him hard and fast. It happened in Providence days, back when shit was working out; when Nate wasn’t yet jesus-crazy and Wade thought those days when he would sometimes wake up in cold sweat and try desperately to remember his own name – that those days were left behind.
They were sober. They were absolutely freaking sober, that was what surprised Wade the most, and yet they acted like two wasted fifteen year olds.
They were discussing… whatever. Some hit or defense measures or stuff. Nate had been lounging on his couch and Wade was pacing around the room. Out in the street someone danced to country music and laughed loudly. Then, suddenly, music changed for something faster and… yeah, mostly faster.
"Wait a second, I know this song!" Wade exclaimed happily as Carrie Underwood went on about some good girl she probably had hots for.Then he shook his hips to the beat.
No judging, okay? He had been subject to Nate’s grumbling and COUNTRY MUSIC for two fucking hours.
After the refrain ended and so did Wilson’s epic bellydancing move, he turned around and found Nate staring at him with raised eyebrows. His smirk was entirely too smug and that little, barely-noticeable glitter in his eyes betrayed amusement - but then there was something, something odd and unexpected and something Wade couldn’t be totally sure about. So he decided to check.
(Fucking sober, in case you’d forgotten)
He couldn’t dance, but his professional occupation did lend certain flexibility and fluidity to his movements, and he knew how to go to town on a good song. He moved and twisted and tapped his feet against the floor and gave a little whirl in the end, along with singing several last verses of the song (probably badly).
When he was done and turned to face Nate, the smirk was still there. It was changed, though, and that… something was now clearly more definable, if no less surprising.
When Nate leaned forward in very deliberate play at striptease watcher pose, Wade decided that being slackjawed could wait.
"But the true question is," Summers rumbled, ‘are you supposed to be the titular good girl?’
"I will be whoever you will want me to be!" Wade singsang in his best (worst) cheesy romance flick voice.
Nate laughed at that – a wow-worthy actual laugh, if short and quiet.
"Am I the bad man, then?" he asked, and in that moment something shifted between them, bridges blown up and rivers drained and whatever the fucking shit.
"Why not?" Wade took a few tentative steps closer “Thought he’s gonna give you the world, but gonna leave you… feeling really bitchy and wishing for a good gun… with a head in a dirt”. Ring a bell?"
Nate smiled again, but it was a quiet, resigned smile. He was probably thinking about some shit, like how he might have made a bad boyfriend (where did THAT come from, wait?) and how Wade probably had too much baggage anyway and they needed something simpler than each other and... oh shit, he was about to say something that would ruin everything.
So Wade took one last step forward, shoved him on the couch hard, and put an end to that
Wade shook his head. Fucking flashback didn’t simply overwhelm him – it was playing out in a very believable 3D right in front of his eyes, although the image faded as soon as Wilson blinked at it. For a few seconds more, the blasted song dominated the cacophony.
"You better get to getting’ on your goodbye shoes," he murmured bitterly and plunged on, deeper into the twisted colorful imagery of Nate’s past and present and future for all he knew (freaking time travelers, man).
Except at some point it wasn’t Nate’s past anymore. The colors grew darker and the shades become hostile, one of them actually snapping at him as he flinched to the side. Wade saw familiar features in some of the faces but moved away before he recognized the face itself.
Goddammit, this wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be Nate’s nightmare, not his. That’s why he hated mindy shit – at least with assassination you knew where you stood, and there was a fairly low possibility that the guy you had to off would suddenly turn into a carnivorous cloud of azure smoke.
The songs changed, too. Now they were mostly shouts. And screams, and shrieks, and all that inquisitional shit.
"Cheap shot, buddy," Wade said aloud, talking to the unnamed warlock. "The tunes worked better, you know? Unique touch. This is just that same horror movie bull all over again. I mean, you hope to get to me with that?"
No answer. Walking became harder, though; his feet were sinking into god-knew-what, every step requiring more effort than the last.
"Did we set up any precaution measures? I am pretty sure we did. Pretty little Hope, she told me to do something and she will get me out. Was it to scratch my balls? Pretty sure it wasn’t. Which is cool, since it means I am free to do it anyway."
So he did. A single melody broke through all the gasps and moans, and out of curiosity Wade tried to fish it out. It was a little bit hard, what with all the screaming. But come on. Used to hearing seven voices at once, here. Used to two of them fucking at night, even.
“Now I am here in a sticky situation… NO, DON’T! PLEASE DON’T! ..ut I am sour”
"This," Wade pointed out, scratching his balls again for good measure, "is getting ridiculous."
‘Felt the joints in my bones when you were touching me, uh oh, didn't wanna take it slow...’ The damn pop song blasted in full force, although Wilson wasn’t sure he heard the words or if they came intohis head.
(It was true, though. He could never take it slow, with anyone. Because there wasn’t damn time, never any time for him.)
"This better be setting mood for some really cheesy reunion, because I am really tired of waddling through this shit."
‘Felt the joints in my bones…’
"Would you stop repeating the same fucking line?" he yelled suddenly, scaring a shade away and attracting a couple of others. "There were other songs, you know?"
Like the Billy Joel he sang on Nate’s grave, and the one during that entire Rumekistan-and-Lady-Gaga ordeal. And then the shittiest of them all – by that crazy chick; what was her name again?
It was before the Good Girl thing, even. They were walking down the street and someone – who was it? Was it one of them? Probably not Nate – was telling a story of a couple who kept bitching out at each other and then getting back together. “Well, you know what they say," Nate commented unexpectedly. ‘The kiss with a fist is better than none.”
Wade had stared at him.
"Don’t tell me you’ve heard that song..."
"What of it?"
"Just… I mean, THAT song?"
"You recognized it, you know. So that makes two of us."
"Yes, but I am me and you are YOU! You only listen to grim Bach shit while getting in the mood for another of your savior speeches!"
"You know, it’s pretty famous in the future. Considered one of the greatest musical creations of the twenty first century."
"You are shitting me!"
"No. I am, in fact, absolutely honest. It’s hailed as a masterpiece."
"Wow. Future is weird."
The damn song came back when it had already come to the guns between them, with half the town in ruins and the damn tune coming out of a bar with a somehow surviving radio. It was a nice reminder that somewhere, the world still existed and a DJ with zero taste was mixing his tunes.
‘The kiss with a fist was better than none’ indeed, and as Wade flew from cover to cover he thought of Nade’s fucking face, and how he would like to pound that fucking face in, or maybe kiss it, or maybe both at the same time. Yes, definitely both.
‘You hit me once, I hit you back, you gave a kick I gave a slap...’ Once again, he wasn’t sure whether the song was thrown into the mix of sound surrounding him or if it was his mind calling back the words, although all of this happened in Nate’s mind, so how the fuck did it even matter?
‘You smashed a plate over my head, then I set fire to our bed...’
They’d never had a bed. They’d had a pretty fly makeout session on the couch, and then Nate had to go save some puppies or possibly reevaluate his life choices, and then that fucktard Barat happened, and everything went to fucking hell. They never slept in each other's arms (now, that would be just stupid), they never screamed each other’s names... Fuck, Wade didn’t even get to see those techno-organic naughty bits out and proud! (And by the feel of the things, they were something to look at alright.)
The colors darkened to greys and blues, surrounding him, choking him. Heavy weights settled on Wade’s shoulders, almost making him kneel.
But what the fucking hell. He could fucking crawl. Deadpool ain’t quitting on the job.
"Do you hear me, Nate?" he called, although if it was a whisper or a shout he couldn’t say. ‘I am getting you out of here you little dick, because that’s what I agreed to do. And because seeing your face when I drag you out will be freaking precious…’
Something was throttling him.
Maybe it was the past.
Or maybe it was a vengeful warlock son of a bitch who realized Priscilla might be gettin’ a nice prince Charming to rescue him from his tower.
"Nate…" Wade croaked, and the world went white.
Bright. Brilliant. Bleached. All the other pretty b-words - but not a c-word, because a c-word is bad... (cunt, or cesadilla?) Colored nothing was replaced with shiny white nothing, and Wade blinked the pain away.
Nathan was floating in a ball of fluffy whiteness. Wade came up to it, shrugged, and poked. The ball flew apart, but the floating continued, complete with utter unresponsiveness to shaking, shouting, punching, tickling, and a few well-articulated threats.
"Oh come on, Nate!" Wade said, finally. "I plowed all the way here just to find you napping? Are you serious, man?"
For the Nth time that day, he was utterly ignored.
"Fuck’s sake, dude. What do you want me to do? Dance to the Jingle bells? Come on, get up and let’s gtfo out of here..."
No reaction.
"Okay, I can call Hope up. Hopefully – ha, see what I did there? – I can remember what happened, unlike all the other idiots they sent for, and the next guy will get you out."
"No. That will not do."
"Oh, and NOW you decide to chirp in!" Wade replied to his inner voice angrily. "Where was your wonderful tactical insight ten minutes ago?"
"I was on my quest to find the yellow and green boxes, my trusted companions who were stolen away by the ill will of…"
"Okay, shut up. This is getting weird. Hey Nate, any advice here? Because I really can’t remember the Hope-call!"
Summers remained predictably useless.
"I am not kissing your sleeping-beauty ass," Wilson warned
This is where he saw that the whiteness was getting… less white. In fact, the misty snakes of colors were already slithering in, always staying in the corner of his vision but advancing all the same.
The silence broke in a faraway mash-up of drums, marches and weird rap songs.
"No, no, wait!" Wade shook his head.
The cacophony was getting closer, and the triumphant (horrible) sound slowly changed for mournful and longing (if no less horrible).
"Wait, I said! Not. Happening. Or could you at least give us a happy song?"
But was there ever a happy song, for them? Happy… anything?
Oh yes. Yes.
There had been.
"It’s been one week… Do you remember, Nate? “It’s been one week since you looked at me…?”
It was a dark and stormy night. But the bar in Intercourse, Pensylvania was warm and cozy, the jokes Wade told were dirty in a wink-wink kinda way (or sometimes in an ‘and then he jizzed into the soup’ way too) and Nate smiled.
The song played on the dance floor, and couples ground against each other shamelessly.
Nothing happened there and nothing would. But the mood was warm and happy, and - yesterday you'd forgiven me (but it’s still two days till we say that we are sorry).
"Hot like wasabi when I bust rhymes, big like LeAnn Rimes because I am all about valuuue!" Wade screamed loudly, and the music changed to match his voice.
"How can I fucking help it if I think you are funny when you are mad," Wade called to the unmoving form, and yes, that much was true. "I am the kind of guy who laughs at the funeral – but hey, I kept silent at yours, all dramatic and everything, and wow, should have seen Logan’s suit…
"I’ve still got rug burns on the both knees – wait, nope. You never gave them to me, and let me tell you I could think up a few creative ways to get those.
"Three days since the living room, we realized we're both to blame, but what could we do? Yesterday you just smiled at me, can it still be two days till we say that we are sorry, or, you know, fuck it, maybe I am, Nate, I am so…"
The words froze in his mouth and he stared at the floating body.
At that fucking face.
That … son of a weirdly fat whore bitch!
"I can see you smiling, you know," Wade said, in what he hoped was a stone-cold voice. "You freaking jerk! You were awake the entire time."
‘Well, you must admit the point of torture is rather moot if the victim is unconscious.’ Nate opened his eye and sat up, still floating on nothing.
"So you just faked it the whole time to watch me singing? That’s just…. dick move, man."
Right now, when they were face-to-face, all the things he wanted to say, to shout, to breathe out in rhythm with his punches and to whisper in Nate’s skin – they were gone. All Wade could do is rub his chin and say: "Always knew my singing was fucking great."
"Please don’t let me delude you into thinking that."
Wade punched him in the shoulder as hard as he could, which was pretty damn hard.
"So what, did I save you?"
"Yes. I think you… broke them. Your mind is pretty intense." Nate grinned. "Amateurs."
‘‘Amateurs” kicked your ass though."
"Hm. Anyway, I think I can get us back to, you know, real life."
"Get to that then, Priscilla. I am gonna give Hope a special ‘held you in my arms and changed your pampers’ discount, I think, but still. Past time I got paid!"
"Can we take a few minutes to talk?"
"Why?"
Nate closed his eyes. "Because out there are a lot of things I will have to handle."
"And there will be no time for me?" Wade guessed. "Oh, wow. That sounded really cheesy."
"Yes, it did. Can we?"
"Sure. Hit me."
Nate opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Took a deep breath. Finished that fascinating display with moving closer – way too close for talking, way too close for punching, way too close for everything but one thing.
"Can we?" Nate asked once again. Wade nodded – because, hell, this son of a bitch had had him at hello, all those years ago, and had him still.
The kiss was warm; warm because it sent blood racing in Wade’s veins, warm because their bodies were pressed against each other. But mostly? Warm because Wade felt good.
"Great talking you’re doing here," he said drily, as they moved apart. Nate allowed himself another smile.
"Apparently, it’s all I can manage at the moment."
"Hey, Nate?’ He whispered the name very quietly, very softly. "Are you real? Or is this another dream?"
For once, there were no enigmatic side-eyes, no mysterious replies. “Yes, of course I am, you idiot," Summers rumbled, and Wade wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
"Then I’m good."
"We need some music, I think." Nate absently snapped his fingers, and a familiar tune came back in full force.
"Oh God," said Wade weakly. "It loops."
Nate leaned forward and kissed him again. This time it was powerful and hungry and almost forceful, except he liked it, and he could bite back when Nate got too full of himself.
'I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve, I have a history of losing my shirt.'
And then he could frame Nate’s face in his hands and gasp into his lips and…
"Um, guys," a deep and very recognizable female voice boomed off… whatever it was you can be booming off within a white limbo.
Nate’s face was fucking priceless.
Seriously. It was almost worth it to break the kiss.
"Hope?" he called back.
"Hi, Dad, glad to see you back in the game. Just chirping in to let you know I can now see you. And also that the world will implode if you don’t get here in five secs."
"Oh." Nate shook his head and seemed to realize something. "Oh, crap. Codename list, right?"
"Right."
He turned and looked at Wade, who just kinda stood there while Hope gave her daddy some well-masked crap (he would have cheered the kid if not for the fact she interrupted his fucking make out). "Look, I… "
There were words in that pause, words like “I have learned’ and “I have lost” and some yes’es and some no’s and other profound shit. So Wade raised his hands in front of him in hushing gesture, in case Nate had forgotten they don’t say stuff like that out loud
Nate frowned.
"Look, after you get your money, just buy some beer and a few steaks and maybe call a guy to clear out whatever rodent corpses are rotting in your apartment this time? I’ll get to your place when I can. Then we can talk.”
"It's so cute when you give orders without actually bothering to think about what others might want. Oh wait. No it isn’t." Wade juggled a dagger and a gun. "There’ll be a freaking lot of beer though. Because I am charging a lot for this job."
"Don’t get your hopes up," Nate said over his shoulder. "Tony can’t openly get involved in this, and the rest of us, well… we’re all pretty broke."
Wade stared into the nothingness. Actually into the nothingness this time and not at Nate’s ass.
Finally, he said:
"Oh, fuck me twice."