Chapter Text
“- No matter how many times you ask me; no, I don’t know who it was who hired me,” Deadpool said with boredom from where he was still reclined in his chair, “It doesn’t matter how you word the question, or how many times you ask, the answer is still, and always will be, ‘I don’t know’.”
Deadpool’s ‘interrogation’ wasn’t going very well.
For all that he had given them an opening to ask any question they wanted, Captain America had circled back to one of the ones that had already been asked.
Not that Peter blamed him; Steve had no trust in Deadpool whatsoever and plainly didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth, let alone his statement of not knowing who his true employer was.
Which was fair, Peter wasn’t sure if he trusted Deadpool either.
The mercenary was... confusing to be near. For all that his memories of the man were filled with horror and fear of death, the picture before him was an erratic and insane mess of a person, flickering between serious statements and nonsensical one-liners.
It was hard to peg the man down, and that made Peter just feel nervous and uncertain of any future interaction he was to have with the man.
Like his questions.
So Peter watched as Steve paced in front of the glass, arms crossed and firing off his questions for Deadpool to answer.
Peter was more comfortable with this arrangement.
“Surely you must have some idea of who it was that would want to hire you,” Steve said once more.
“Nope,” Deadpool curtly replied. “Shockingly, I still don’t have an answer to that question. No matter how many times you ask it.” He uncrossed his legs, gesturing in exasperation. “Do I need to remind you that it wasn’t a priority to know at the time? That I had sufficient evidence that the target was a viable one? That if I wanna get paid, I have to value my customer’s privacy?”
Captain America stopped his pacing, instead he faced the mercenary with his arms folded behind his back. “You cannot make me believe for one second that you just blindly take on hits for people without even a ghost of an idea of who ordered them.”
“Hello? Is patriotism clogging your ears? Did you hear me?” Deadpool cupped his hands over his mouth in a mock-shout, “I said; I had sufficient evidence that the target was viable. I didn’t need to know who ordered the hit.”
“How could you possibly be a viable mercenary if you don’t try to find out who hired you?” Steve snapped back, standing close to the glass.
Peter could feel the ire radiate off of Steve in waves. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and his spider-sense to send out weak warnings.
He swallowed, carefully watching the interaction.
The others watched too, silently and not interrupting.
Steve’s last statement caused Deadpool to bark a laugh, doubling over in his chair as he smacked his knee. “Oh my god, that’s priceless; you’re trying to place legal and ethical business practices on killing people.” He wiped away a mock tear.
“This isn’t funny, Wilson.”
Deadpool looked up, the humour was gone from his expression as quickly as a light turning off. “Isn’t it though?” he said darkly as he stood.
The tension in the room grew thicker.
Deadpool approached the glass, stopping only when there were only mere inches between himself and Captain America. And from Peter’s point of view, that glass no longer looked thick enough.
“It isn’t,” Steve coolly replied.
“Oh, I think it is,” Deadpool replied in equal measure, “You seem to forget what world I come from. So why don’t you stop asking me pointless questions and actually ask me something useful? Because as far as I’m aware, we’re just repeating the same bullshit over and over.”
Steve took a breath, but Deadpool continued, narrowing his eyes, “And I don’t do repeats.”
The air went absolute frigid, and it was Tony Stark that cut through the ice before anything else could be said. “Okay - that’s enough.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Natasha agreed, also stepping forward to stop the conversation from degenerating any further.
Oh, thank god.
Peter slumped back in his chair slightly, unaware that he had been sitting bolt upright as the tension had hardened into solid ice.
“That’s what I was saying,” Deadpool gestured wildly, dropping the cool bravado for dramatics. “This line of questioning is useless! Do you really think I’d hide knowing who the person was if I knew? I want to flay them just as much as you guys do! Of course I’d tell you guys!”
Peter watched as Steve shook his head in disbelief, just stepping away from the glass in disgust.
“I seriously would!” Deadpool called to Captain America’s back. “Honestly, if I wasn’t trapped in this glorified glass cell, I’d have found the fucker, strung him up, and mailed them straight onto your front doorstep for you to have fun with. All neat and tidy with a bow.”
“Would you?” Natasha’s asked.
“Ab-so-fucking-lutely! In fact, I could get out right now and -”
“You are not going to ‘get out’,” Steve snapped, whirling.
Deadpool plainly rolled his eyes under his mask. “Duh. Not unless one of you guys intentionally made it easy enough for me to do so.” He knocked on the glass to remind them of its existence, his attention flickering to Tony for a second or so before staring straight back at Steve. “See? So, why don’t you just ask me something useful - dumbass - and we can move this train a bit faster.”
Captain America’s closed his eyes. Peter could easily hear the muttered mantra of counting and the leather of Steve’s gloves squeaking as his fists clenched tightly.
This was going oh so well.
So very well.
Peter wanted to be anywhere but there.
What had he been thinking?
“Hey. No.” Tony chastised Deadpool as if he were a dog, “Stop it. Bad. No.” He also addressed Steve, “You too. Calm down.”
Steve sighed in frustration, but nodded slightly.
“You hear that, Cap?” Deadpool called childishly, “Calm down.”
Tony rounded on him again, “Stop antagonizing him. Seriously.”
Deadpool shrugged, plopping down in his chair again his arms behind his head.
“I mean it,” Tony continued, “you may think this is your ballgame, but it isn’t. You’re playing in my court, and if you don’t behave, you are not going to like the consequences,” Tony warned.
“... Uh huh. Sure.”
“I mean it,” Tony said. “Remember our nice little deal? I might just renege on some of our agreement if you don’t behave.”
Peter wondered if that meant that Tony would take him out of the room. Though he wasn’t sure how that was much of a punishment, seeing as Deadpool now knew he was alive.
Though, Peter was only assuming the reason why he was there in the first place - he honestly had no clue why Deadpool wanted him there.
Deadpool straightened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. So don’t try me. Also,” Tony pointed to Dr. Banner over his shoulder with his thumb. “Good ol’Bruce here has offered to keep you company as well. If you continue to misbehave.”
Bruce waved grimly.
Peter winced. He was once locked in the room with the Hulk - it was not something he particularly wished on anyone or wanted to witness.
“I dunno if that’s much of a punishment,” Deadpool stated casually. “You know, I’d let Hulk smash me anytime.”
Then he winked.
Bruce grimaced.
Peter gaped.
“By the way,” Deadpool stage-whispered from behind his hand to Bruce, “My safe-word? It’s the entirety of ‘O Canada’ -”
Steve growled loudly, scrubbed a gloved hand over his face, his other hand on his hip, and turned away from Deadpool.
“- sung in the key of C,” Deadpool continued, winking again.
“That’s it,” Steve snapped again, whirling on the spot, his eyes ablaze. “If he says one more thing -”
He was quelled by Clint’s hand on his shoulder. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Hey,” Tony warned the merc, “I mean it. Stop it.”
“Make me,” Deadpool petulantly replied, crossing his arms and legs.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Steve growled under his breath to Clint. “I knew this was a bad idea...”
“... Don’t let him get to you - he’s doing this on purpose...”
“... I know but...”
As Clint spoke to Steve quietly, trying to calm him down, Tony faced Deadpool on the other side of the glass, tapping it slightly.
“I meant what it when I said I’d pull back on some of our agreement,” Tony threatened.
“You sure you’re gonna wanna make that choice there Stark?” Deadpool asked.
There was a certain note of concern in Deadpool’s voice - worry - as if he was fairly certain that Tony was going to do exactly what he feared. Whatever that was.
“Yes,” Tony grimly replied. Deadpool frowned, and Tony addressed Steve, “Ready to try again? Give this a chance?”
Steve glowered at Tony, displeasure painting his every feature, “You know I don’t trust him, Tony. You can’t expect me to believe anything he says.”
Tony put up his hands. “I get it. I understand. I promise I’ll keep him in line. If you would just -”
“Tony I can’t just-”
“Enough!” Natasha shouted, drawing everyone’s attention and bringing silence crashing down over the room, everyone stunned into stillness.
Even Peter had frozen, even though he was not a part of any of this.
Natasha looked at Steve, then at Tony and then at Deadpool, before she cleared her throat. “Are you done?”
Tony made a non-committal sound, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Steve merely frowned, but did not look as if he was going to say anything else.
“Good,” she said. “That’s better.”
Even Deadpool looked quelled. He was sitting upright in his chair, hands folded in his lap something akin to a scolded child.
Natasha didn’t focus her attention on him, however, instead, she turned directly toward Peter, “Peter.”
Peter jumped. “Um? Yes?” he replied nervously.
She didn’t reply right away. Instead, Natasha simply knelt down next to Peter so that they were at eye-level, her arm resting on the back of his chair.
“Don’t you have questions?” she asked simply.
Well, yes. Of course he did. He just wasn’t as confident in them as he had been before. Being in the same room as the man had changed his opinion on their necessity somewhat, that and how terribly the ‘conversation’ between him and Captain America had gone.
“Er -” Peter couldn’t help but notice Deadpool’s interested expression from over Natasha’s shoulder and Peter forced himself to look at Natasha instead. “I don’t think anything I have to ask will help.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“Because I’m the most in the dark here? You all have a better idea of what is happening, not me.”
What could he ask that would help anyway? They had the most information. He was wholly in the dark, and the more he thought of the things he wanted to ask Deadpool, the less and less likely it could even remotely be a help to anyone.
Besides, they were stupid questions really, things that bothered or confused him, nothing important.
Natasha shook her head, putting a comforting hand on his arm. “More reason to ask questions, isn’t it? You want to understand something - then ask.”
Peter was still doubtful.
“You can ask me any question you want, kiddo,” Deadpool loudly added from over Natasha’s shoulder. “Anything! Doesn’t matter what it is!”
Peter frowned, Natasha leaned closer so that only Peter could hear. “You will be safe.”
“I know that,” he quietly replied.
“I mean it. Nothing will happen to you,” she assured. “Not again. I promise.” She nodded then in the vague direction of the mercenary, continuing, “I also believe he will not do anything to intentionally hurt you.”
Peter glanced at the mercenary that was cheerfully waving at him. He couldn’t help but flatly reply with an eyebrow raised, “You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
Peter nodded closing his eyes and taking a breath. There was really no avoiding it, was there? He did have questions, he wanted to speak with the man, and also him using that as a reason for him to come would have been pointless if he didn’t ask even one thing.
“Okay,” Peter finally said, opening his eyes and blowing out a stream of air. “I’m ready.”
Natasha squeezed his shoulder she stood up.
She turned on her heel, hands resting firmly on her hips as she addressed Deadpool. “You will answer his questions.”
He saluted in return. “Any and all ma’am.”
“You will not antagonize him,” she continued.
“I’d never.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Good.”
Then, before Peter could even protest, she grabbed a hold of the chair - and the IV stand - and pushed Peter toward the glass wall, shortening the distance between him and Deadpool considerably.
“I could’ve stood up,” Peter muttered to himself nervously.
Deadpool grabbed the edge of his own chair, and scooted it closer to the class, to bridge the gap as much as he could between himself and Peter.
It was odd seeing the man so - yet not so - close to him now.
The distance between them made it feel like they were alone in a room and not like Peter had the Avengers hovering several feet back listening carefully.
“Heya, kid,” Deadpool greeted. His tone altogether soft and cautious.
How this man flickered between one mood to another was a sight to behold. He looked nothing like that dark figure that had been glaring down Captain America like he was a nobody just moments before.
He looked uncertain, sheepish almost, playing with his gloved fingers uncertainly.
“Um. Hey,” Peter replied.
Steve frowned from over Peter’s shoulder, but Natasha put a placating hand on his arm and guided him further back into the room to give Peter and Deadpool space.
“So you got questions for me?” Deadpool brought Peter’s attention back to him.
“Oh. Um...”
“How about basics first. Hi, my name is Wade Wilson, I’m Canadian, I like long walks on the beach and eating pancakes in the morning,” the mercenary prattled off like he was in some addiction meeting. “I also love Mexican food, and my favourite colour is red but that’s not why I wear it.”
Peter didn’t want to know why he wore red - he had a pretty good idea why he wore it and Peter personally preferred a lack of confirmation for his own sake.
Peter took a breath as Deadpool patiently waited for him to speak.
It had been easier watching from afar than sitting so close to the man. For all that he was a complete one-eighty from who he was when he was literally chasing him down to kill him, it was still entirely unsettling.
This man was a cold-blooded killer, and had killed hundreds if not thousands of people, and he was sitting in front of Peter cheerfully talking almost as if that chase never happened.
Peter gripped the IV stand.
“Hey kid,” Deadpool’s suddenly soft voice surprised Peter out of his thoughts. “I ain’t gonna hurt cha.”
Peter swallowed.
“It’s fine! You don’t have to believe me. I wouldn’t believe me.” Deadpool paused. “No wait - ouch on my part - that’s not a good way to word it. What I mean to say is - I just want you to hear me say that, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”
Peter nodded slightly.
“Cool. Besides, there’s like a foot of glass between us, and I’m not about to even try anything remotely as stupid as breaking into there right this instant, so like, yeah.” Deadpool leaned in really close, and harshly whispered, “Good Ol’ American Flag Pj’s over there will defend you so fast that I’ll be a red mist before I could even take a single step in the room.”
To his surprise, Peter snorted.
Deadpool clapped. “There we go! Better. Now go on. Shoot.”
“Okay,” he took a breath. Peter, instead of letting himself hesitate any further, just asked, “How did you find me, on that night?”
“Oh? Easy. I’ve been watching you for a couple of days.”
This lazily given information startled Peter. “A few days?”
“Yep,” Deadpool casually replied. “I was getting an idea of how you work, what you do, etcetera.”
“I had no idea you were even near me,” Peter remarked.
“I sure hope not! Would sort of be shit at my job if you noticed me. Also, binoculars are an awesome invention, by the way - also, YouTube. They’re many ways to get a picture of a person without being close to them.”
“How did you find me that night?”
“Oh? Well. It’s not that hard to follow a red-and-blue spandex-wearing Spider-hero, you know that, right? You’re wearing like, cherry red and bright-ass blue, not exactly spooky-mysterious,” Deadpool started. “I thought you were on to me at first, though.”
“On to you?”
“Yeah. Your routes are never consistent! You never do the same shit twice and you went so out of your way that night that I was sure you were on to me,” Deadpool explained.
“What really?” Peter never considered how erratic his patrols were.
It was true that he hated to do the same route twice, it gave criminals less of a chance to figure out where he was so they could try to do something from under his nose.
Never did he think it’d frustrate the hell out of his would-be killer
“Yeah! Nearly fucked up all my plans! You have any idea how hard it is to set up shit like that?”
“Set up?”
“Yeah. I had to ditch one of my plans and move it all over elsewhere in the city because you couldn’t keep your skinny behind where it I thought it was gonna go.” Deadpool explained. “Annoying as hell, by the way. It was a scramble for me to get it all ready without you noticing.”
“Noticing? Set up? What are you-”
It clicked.
Right before Deadpool had pressed that gun to the back of the head, the two men he had been apprehending had been oddly compliant.
One had even turned to him and complimented him.
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
“- Oh.” Peter nearly stood up in surprise.
“Yeah,” Deadpool stated with simple pride.
Peter’s heart thudded hard in his ears. How in the hell had he not noticed it was staged?
It was so obvious looking back on it now. The drivers never left the alley - never once ducking into traffic where they could have gotten away much easier.
The trunk had been so obviously broken - leaving such a perfect trail of cash on the street.
It had been horrifically cartoonish, and terribly easy, the entire apprehension.
Never once had he noticed how odd it had all been. How it had been too easy -
Damn.
That blatant compliment had been said to make him stand still.
And come to think of it?
Peter had no idea where those two men had gone after the fact. They were just gone.
Peter looked at Deadpool, unable to keep the horror out of his voice. “You staged the whole thing to get to me.”
“Um... Yep.” Deadpool repeated far, far less of the pride that he had just moments ago. “I did. Look-”
“- Was that part of the request?” Peter asked quickly.
“What?”
“Staging the crime? Was that part of what was asked of you? Did they plan that?” Peter had to know. He had to know if he had to look out for something like that in the future.
“What? Oh! No. No that was all me. I sort of tailor every job to the person, you know,” Deadpool explained, “Sometimes I just going into a place and bang, but other times it’s a little more orchestrated,” he wiggled his fingers. “But sometimes people request stuff.”
Peter felt relief in knowing that.
Only some relief - there was still the matter that someone had been hired to kill him.
“Request what?” he asked.
“Um - well, like sometimes they want a person to be killed a certain way - I don’t give guarantees - or sometimes they want the killing to be staged to implicate someone else,” Deadpool started, Peter cringing at the idea of any of those things happening to others or himself. “With you, in this case, they just wanted Spider-Man dead, and for the body to be dropped off.”
Peter stared. “What?”
His body...?
Steve stepped forward. “You never said that before.”
“What?” Deadpool said. “I never said that they wanted the body to be dropped off?”
“No. You didn’t,” Steve confirmed.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Huh,” Deadpool clicked his tongue. “Well you didn’t ask.”
Peter held up his hand before the two of them could degenerate again into a dangerous standoff. His voice pitched, “Can we get back to the whole; my body being dropped off thing? Where? Where did they want it to be dropped off?”
“Yes, I’d also like to know,” Steve agreed, eyes narrowed.
“Nowhere glamorous,” Deadpool shrugged. “They wanted me to hide the body securely and then call them to pick it up. They didn’t have a specific place.”
“Why?” Peter asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did they want my body?”
“Well, there’s many reasons for that. Mostly it’s so nobody can find the body - sometimes they just want a person to disappear.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it?” Steve asked. “For them to want that.”
“I guess it’s a bit odd,” Deadpool considered, leaning back, the front legs of his chair lifted off the ground. “You’d think they’d want to show off they got him, right? That they were the people behind getting rid of Spider-Man, right?”
Steve hummed in consideration.
Peter only felt ice and fear in his stomach, and he was only vaguely aware that Steve had put his hand on his shoulder.
“So why-?” Peter asked, mouth dry.
“Hell if I know - it’s not like they were trying to -” Deadpool slowly trailed off, his eyes widening. “- Holy shit.”
“What?” Steve asked. “What is it?”
Deadpool held up a hand standing sharply. “Holy shit.”
“What is it? Explain,” Steve demanded.
“Wait wait. Hold on. Brain thinking. Holy shit.” Deadpool said, his voice full of revelation. “They wanted him dead -”
“Well, that much is obvious they tried to have you kill him.”
“Hold on. Thought not finished. They wanted him dead, they wanted his body... They didn’t want him just dead. They could’ve strung him up by the rafters and put a big sign up to warn others that they took out a hero -”
Peter blanched at the mental picture.
“- But no. They didn’t want to do that. They wanted his body. Why else would they want me to -” Deadpool clapped his hands together whirling on his heels to face Steve. “Cap. Tell me. What would you have done if Spider-Man really was who you guys thought he was?”
Steve’s hand squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “We weren’t going to kill him if that’s -”
“Just humour me. What were you going to do?” Deadpool said. “Play with me here. Hypothetically speaking, what if Spider-Man was who it said he was, what if he was exactly what the files lead you to believe, what would you have done?”
“He would have been incarcerated,” Steve started, going along with whatever Deadpool wanted. “He was listed as a dangerous mutant, so it is extremely likely he would’ve been locked away. Though he was listed as being a non-American citizen, so there was a high chance that he would have been given to the authorities of his country of origin for the crimes that he had done listed there once we got into... contact...”
“He gets it!” Deadpool raised his arms in excitement.
Peter heard Natasha whisper to Clint, “Deportation... He would have been off our radar.”
“This is troubling,” Steve stated.
“Well, yeah, but finally we’re getting somewhere!” the mercenary cheerfully announced.
“Do you have any idea of why someone would want to make Spider-Man ‘disappear,’ as it were? Body and all?”
“That - That...” Deadpool trailed, then shrugged. “I have no idea honestly.”
There was a collective sigh.
“Well that was incredibly disappointing,” Tony stated from across the room. “What a grand use of our time.”
“Rude. I think it was a great use of our time.”
“Unfortunately, I have to agree with Deadpool,” and just stating that sounded as if it hurt the Captain.
“Aw! You agree with little ol’ me? Am I sensing a friendship coming on?” Deadpool blinked.
A swift glare shut the mercenary up.
“I agree with him,” Steve repeated to Tony, “This is just too convenient. Think of the documents, the underground rumours of Spider-Man, everything that paints him as a problem but not too big of a problem, if you understand me. Just enough to make someone deal with him before anything worse happens,” Steve frowned in thought. “Just enough to sweep in and try to intercede and take him out of the picture.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find out.”
Peter hoped so.
Steve turned, firm determination set into his stance and his jaw. “Tony - I want you to scour every bit of information we have, every bit of information we have obtained from Deadpool, and everything else in between. I want to know every crime that ‘Spider-Man’ has supposedly committed, and I want to know every country he is supposedly tied to. I want you to chase those routes as far as they will lead.”
Tony nodded.
“Clint. Natasha.”
“Yes?”
“I want you to come back here once we are through and talk to Deadpool about every aspect of his meeting with this proxy, about every bit of information, about every step of his movements from the time he was hired to now. For now, I want you to join Tony and tell him everything you found during your re-tracing of Deadpool's steps.”
“Can do.”
“Wilson?”
“Yes, my knight in American armour?” Deadpool fluttered.
“When they return, tell them exactly how you were to hide ‘the body’ and how you were to get in contact with them so they knew where to pick it up. I also want any theories on safeguards they would have taken on the off chance that you got curious afterwards and followed them.”
“Wow, he knows me so well,” Deadpool said as an aside to Peter, “I’m really nosy.”
“Are those all the orders?” Tony teased.
“Yes. For now.”
“Then this meeting is over?” Deadpool asked.
“For now - unless anyone has further questions. I think we need to look through what information we’ve gotten from you,” Steve gestured to the bag that Natasha had brought earlier, “And this new revelation.”
“Aw, too bad. We were just starting to have a breakthrough moment,” Deadpool whined.
Steve completely ignored Deadpool’s last comment
As Steve turned away to speak to the others more in-depth - some sort of plan formulating between them as they got a better picture of how to approach the problem - Deadpool moved very close to the glass.
“Hey. Ppst. Peter.”
Peter, having been training his hearing to listen to the other’s conversation jumped a mile when he heard Deadpool knocking on the glass.
“Baby-boy. Ppst.”
“U-uh. Yeah?”
“Any other questions before this party ends?” Deadpool asked, leaning backward and pressing his hand into his back as if to scratch it. “Make it quick.”
Peter furrowed his brows. “I’m sure they’ll let me ask more questions.”
Deadpool shook his head “Just make it quick. Any other questions? We won’t have a chance like this for a while.”
Again, Peter was confused, but instead of voicing his confusion, he just did as Deadpool requested. The man was a scattered mercenary after all - there was no knowing what was going on in his head, or how long he’d be compliant with questions even.
“There is one thing that I want to know.”
“Yeah?”
“When you found out how old I was - when I took off my mask,” Peter started, and Deadpool’s expression fell slightly, “You went from wanting to gut me to being absolutely terrified. Why?”
“Shit, kid - I pretty much killed you! Of course I was terrified.”
“Why? Why though?”
“I said it before, I don’t kill kids.”
Peter frowned. “Why didn’t you notice before? When I spoke?”
Deadpool flinched, he muttered ‘shut up’ to himself before answering, tapping his temple as if silencing something, “Because I didn’t want to believe you were actually a kid. I was ignoring my fucking instincts based on pure anger.”
“Why were you angry?”
“Because I hated you. Plain and simple.”
Peter flinched.
“Not anymore. But I hated the Spider-Man I had been presented with. I hated him because he was someone who manipulated others into thinking he was better than anyone else when he was really worse. He rubbed me the wrong way.”
“What did ‘Spider-Man’ do? And why are the newspapers not full of that information? Why is it so guarded? I don’t get it. Sure, the police don’t like me much, but why?”
Deadpool scrubbed a hand over his face. “I dunno, kid. It’s probably a part of whatever and whenever the ‘whoever’ is orchestrating this planned. I don’t know. There are a lot of things that happen behind-the-scenes that the public doesn’t know about, kid. This world has a dark, dark underbelly.”
“One that Spider-Man was supposedly a part of.”
“Supposedly. I’m going to do more research into that. What and how and who has been giving ol’ Spidey a bad name. Believe-you-me, I want to find the answers more than you’ll ever know.”
“Why?”
“Because they fucked with me. They fucked with my head and they fucked with a kid. They twisted what morals I had left and nearly forced me to go against them for their own personal gain. I admit I fucked up - I am genuinely sorry for what I did - but I also want to flay the bastards that put me in that position.”
Peter considered all of this silently.
“Look,” Deadpool said low under his voice. “Kid. They’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Peter knew that, but it was still scary. It was still scary knowing that this was happening - and still happening - to him, and scary to know there was some lie of what Spider-Man was out there where he couldn’t stop it.
“I never did anything they said I did, you know.”
“I know. Shit, kid, I know. Be glad that for some reason it not being public knowledge is a part of whatever grand scheme. It’ll be swept under the rug. It’s fine. You’ll go back to being the Gosh-Darned Polite City Spider-Boy.”
Peter replied flatly, “Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man.”
“Right. That. That thing.”
Peter found himself snorting again. “You know - you’re not nearly as bad as I thought you’d -”
“Scootch back would you?”
Peter tilted his head. “Pardon?”
“Your chair. Scootch back.”
Peter, puzzled, did as was requested, moving the chair a foot or so back.
“A little to the left,” Deadpool waved his hand.
“What? Why?”
“Please? Humor me. I’m crazy.”
“Okay…” Peter did as he was asked, moving the chair until Deadpool gave him the thumbs-up.
“Perfect!”
“What was that -”
“Shh!” Deadpool put one of his gloved fingers up.
“W-”
“Shhh!” he hissed again.
Peter closed his mouth, and mouthed, “What?”
Deadpool’s gloved finger was still positioned over where his lips were and he was looking straight at Peter. “Just shh.”
At first, he wasn’t sure what Deadpool was doing - one of his hands was still at his back wheeling around like he was scratching wildly by his hip - so Peter just turned to look behind himself to see where the others were.
It looked like it was just Steve left in the room.
The others must have gone off to their respective ordered duties - even Bruce was gone.
“Ah ah! Don’t look at him,” Deadpool whispered, his voice hitched slightly. “Shit - ow. Just look straight at me.”
“What are you -”
Then he noticed it. Red droplets of blood hitting the flooring right under were Deadpool was crouched.
“... What...?”
The back of Deadpool’s leather jacket was hitched up, blood seeping and pouring from a fresh wound, spilling onto the floor.
However, that only caused Peter’s line of sight to go straight to Deadpool’s bloodied open hand.
In it was a bloody oblong object.
Peter was too shocked and horrified to make comment.
“Watch this,” Deadpool cheerfully whispered, and out flicked a long blade.
Deadpool thrust the knife downward into the seam where the glass met the flooring. Not into the glass itself, but wedged somewhere between it and the floor at an odd angle. Immediately, a long thin cracked line traced up one of the panes glass before spider-webbing.
Then another layer cracked.
And another.
And another.
Each pane lost it's integrity and alarms blared. Lights dimmed. Chaos broke loose.
Sparks flew from the handle of the knife.
Seconds. Mere seconds after Deadpool had jammed the knife, and he was already up on his feet, chair over his shoulders swinging it deftly at the glass just above the point where he had jammed the blade into the flooring.
Steve was already halfway across the room by this point, but the barrier separating Deadpool from the rest of the room shattered into a waterfall of tempered glass before he could reach Peter.
He wasn’t quick enough.
Peter didn’t even have time to scream in surprise, because the flat of the blade - yanked from where it had been lodged, was pressed against Peter’s throat.
It felt hot.
Peter swallowed, held tightly in the mercenary’s grip, one arm over his chest, the other holding the blade.
Steve skidded to a halt.
“Here’s how this is going to go,” Deadpool breathed. “You’re going to let me go because you distrust me so much that you’ll think I’ll kill Peter for leverage.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, so you do trust me then?” Deadpool tilted the blade, and Peter whined.
“That’s -” Steve hesitated. “That’s not going to happen. You’re going to let him go.”
“Sorry - no can do. Need a shield.” Deadpool ducked as a shield came straight - and accurately - for his head, taking Peter down with him.
Peter’s eyes were slammed shut, wincing as he heard the sound of the shield embedding into a wall.
“Not that kind of shield,” Deadpool chastised.
“Let. Him. Go.”
“No thank you!”
Peter yelped as Deadpool dropped the knife, and hooked one arm under one of Peter’s legs, effectively pulling him up into the mercenary’s arms.
If he wasn’t in the middle if healing - he could’ve pushed himself away.
But he couldn’t.
Steve ran at them, arm pulled back, eyes ablaze.
Deadpool ducked swiftly, kicking the blade on the ground with the back of his boot as he lunged forward. The hilt sharply smacked into Captain America’s jaw, giving Deadpool just enough time to dash out of the room.
Peter’s IV had unfortunately been yanked out with the movement.
“Sorry sorry sorry sorry!” Deadpool quickly yelled as he ran down the hallway with Peter in his arms. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you! I just needed leverage to get out!”
Heavy footsteps were following. “Wilson!”
“Shit shit shit shit! I don’t have any other knives hidden in me. You have any idea how hard it is to hide a knife in your person? It was right in my hip too! A literal pain in the -” Deadpool ducked as the shield went over his head. “Aw fuck!”
Deadpool took them around a sharp corner, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Peter couldn’t help but to half-cling to the man to keep himself from being dropped violently.
“Where are you taking me!?”
“You? I’m not taking you anywhere! Look, I’m seriously sorry. I needed to use you to get out. There’s no way in hell that Cap would ever hurt you I needed to get away -”
What was he-?
Peter tried to focus on where Deadpool was running to, sure that Steve was hot on their heels.
Then he saw it.
A window.
It was wide open despite the alarms; the emergency shuttering seemingly failing to come down.
“Oh no...”
“Oh yes,” Deadpool triumphantly announced. “Okay Pete! It’s been swell! See you later - I’m seriously sorry - I promise I’ll make it up to you. But now I gotta -”
Peter was let go, dropping to the ground as Deadpool leaped for the window, kicking off of the table settled right in front of it.
“- go!”
Peter cried out, covering his head with his hands as more glass showered over him.
Like that, the mercenary was gone.
Like some sick joke, it was only then that the emergency shutters decided to slam shut.
Peter breathed on the floor, aware of how badly he was shaking, only just barely able to take in what just happened.
He marvelled in the sheer fact that he wasn’t somehow more injured.
In fact - save for the slight bruise from when he was dropped - he wasn’t injured at all.
“Peter!”
Peter looked up to see Steve - who was sporting a very angry looking welt on his chin - run up toward him, going to his knees and to Peter’s side.
“Are you -”
“I’m okay, I’m okay -” Peter assured. “I’m okay.”
“Stay down, son, I’ll call -”
“No no. I’m fine. Really. He didn’t hurt me,” Peter assured, and to prove it he slowly stood up, flecks of glass raining off of him.
“What happened? What did he do?”
“I - I dunno. He just grabbed me and ran,” Peter said, rubbing the spot on his arm where the IV had been yanked out. “He said he was using me as a human shield, basically. Kept apologizing.”
Steve frowned angrily, glaring at the window. “... That was too easy,” He muttered.
“Why didn’t the window shut?” Peter asked, adrenaline still flooding his body and he rubbed his arms to quell the shaking, “When the alarm had gone off that time I tried to escape, it didn’t take nearly so long.”
“Steve! Peter!”
Tony was rounding the corner in a half-run. “What happened?”
Steve’s frown increased. “Tony.”
"Shit - that cut looks nasty, Cap. Kid, you okay?” Tony breathed once he caught up.
Peter nodded.
Steve watched Tony for a moment, before his eyes narrowed.
“What? What is it? He escaped, didn’t he?” Tony asked, walking straight past them to look at the glass pieces littering the floor. “Shit.”
“I don’t know, Tony.” Steve turned, “You tell me.”
Tony’s face contorted quizzically. “What? What are you - I was upstairs.”
Peter looked between the two men, still rubbing his hands up and down his arms to steady himself and his beating heart.
“Tony,” Steve’s voice was sharp, serious. Angry. “We need to talk.”