Archive of Our Own ^beta

Though Wade can remember a time when he mostly thought of the place as a good hub for business, coming back to New York is a breath of--if not exactly fresh, at least familiar--air. After a week spent dealing with human traffickers, sad mutant kids in need of rescuing, and international phone operators so he could call Logan collect to yell at his hairy ass for springing that on him, it's good to be back on his adopted home turf. Pretty much all he wants right now is some greasy takeout and to just get lost in the crowd for a bit, and one of the best things about New York is that he doesn't even have to go back to his apartment to change first. With so many heroes, vigilantes, and villains on the ground, unless he actually pulls a weapon, most people assume he's off the clock.

Or that he's Spider-Man, but please. His ass may be damn fine if he does say so himself, but Spidey's is god tier. The only way anyone could get the two of them confused is if they have not yet beheld true magnificence.

He stops by a little food truck where the abuela at the register flirts with him shamelessly every time. A rotating roster of her grandkids man the grill on whatever days they're free from class; he's pretty sure Spidey knows the oldest girl, though of course no one can either confirm or deny. Wade makes sure to tip extra well during finals week and pretends not to notice how Spidey gets all misty-lensed in secondhand gratitude.

"Where's your friend?" Pilar asks as she takes his money, her knowing smile stretching into a grin. "Have I got you all to myself today?"

She's a tiny little bird-boned thing whose short, steel-grey hair frames her weathered face in a cloud, the kind of delicate that makes Wade extra careful about curbing his more exuberant gestures. Give her an umbrella, and she'd be in serious danger of pulling a Mary Poppins in a stiff breeze, but she gives no fucks for propriety or the swords across his back, pays him outrageous compliments whenever Spidey's around and teases him gently about his crush whenever Spidey's not.

"Eh, you know," he says with a shrug, making way to lean against the side of the truck so he doesn't block anyone else from coming up to the register. "Been out of town for a week, but I'm sure I'll see him tonight. But a week without your cooking was way too long, so I figured I'd stop in first to see my favorite girl."

Pilar laughs, waving a hand as if to shoo away his flattery. "Terrible man," she huffs, though her twinkling eyes are pleased. "And it's Camila's food you must have missed; you know they don't let me cook for a reason."

It's true; by her own admission, backed up by half a dozen chagrined descendants, Pilar could not only burn water but set it on fire. The recipes the family uses belonged to her late husband, but every meal tastes better when it's served up by a kindly grandmother.

Camila looks up briefly from filling his order to toss him a sunny grin. She's the one he thinks Spidey knows, cheerful and whip-smart, deep in the slog of a master's program in chemical engineering. Wade could do a lot with that kind of information--there can't be that many students so far along in a program that specific--but instead he's let it be. Spidey will tell him when he wants to tell him. If he wants to tell him.

"Aw, Camila knows she's my favorite right after you," he promises, which gets a laugh out of both women. Camila doesn't tease him like her grandmother does, but she's way too smart to pay his flirting any mind.

He's about to ask how her classes are going, whether that one professor has lightened up and if she still wants to strangle her lab partner, when there's a commotion on the street a little further down. Startled yelps rise up as the crowd in the crosswalk dance out of the way of something at their feet. "What the hell?" someone asks, more confused than scared.

"Holy shit...is this some kind of trick? Are we on camera?"

Wade straightens from his casual lean with a frown. Whatever's going on, it's probably nothing. Then again, New Yorkers aren't the best litmus test for determining whether something is actually dangerous or just weird.

He tracks the thing's progress by the reactions of the pedestrians around it: heads tipped down to stare in bemused fascination as whatever it is finishes crossing the street and climbs up on the sidewalk, heading his way with a meandering gait. The weird thing is, as hard as he stares between the forest of legs and sidestepping feet, he can't see a damned thing. Either it's really small, or--

He starts, blinks hard twice, and stares again. That...what the hell is that?

What's traveling along the sidewalk looks like a darker patch of shadow, inky black, or maybe like a symbiote that's figured out how to merge with concrete to beat the effects of Earth's atmosphere. The people giving it none-too-wide a berth are jabbering excitedly about mirrors and lights and holographic tech, but something scratches at the back of Wade's mind, memory dimmed by bootleg Knowhere alcohol strong enough to fuzz even his brain. Just a random stop when he was still kicking around with the Deadpool Corps, some fucked-up world they didn't stay on very long because the zombies were situational, not infectious, and a day spent drinking with a version of himself who preferred one giant sword with too many points and edges to a more reasonable pair of katanas.

"Fucking mouse cult," that more bitter version of himself had slurred at one point. "You think it's all fairy tales and princesses until that other shit shows up. Take it from me," Darkpool had grumbled, pointing a gloved finger in Wade's general direction. "If creepy little Shadow bastards start melting up around you, drop whatever you're doing and run. Little fucks can't off us," he'd muttered like it was a personal affront, "but they sure are hell on everybody else."

Wade hadn't paid much attention to the warning at the time. He had a hard time taking anyone in assless battle shorts seriously, even when it was him. Especially when it was him. But now that he's staring right at what can only be one of the Shadows in question, the rest of Darkpool's warning rings crystal clear.

"And that's how they spread."

Drawing a gun and thumbing off the safety, he puts his back to the two in the truck. "How much gas you got in this thing?" he asks over his shoulder, nodding his head back without looking.

There's a brief moment when Pilar and Camila must be trading glances before Pilar replies. "Half a tank. Why?"

Digging into one of his pouches, he pulls out a fistful of bills and slaps them down on the counter behind him. "Fill it up, call your family, and get the hell out of town."

"What? But--"

"Just trust me and treat this like a zombie apocalypse drill," Wade cuts in. "Got the tip from a guy who was already living one, so you know it's good."

The thing is getting closer, but it still doesn't look like much. He doesn't even know what it's supposed to do. If someone touches it, does it melt right into them? Suck people in like a traveling wormhole? It's not even all that big, maybe the size of a medium dog if the dog were two-dimensional. He honestly wishes Webs were here right now; maybe that souped-up spidey-sense could tell him if he's worrying for--

Camila spins to turn off the grill just as the Shadow pops up out of the sidewalk like some demented jack-in-the-box, drawing a cacophony of yelps and startled shouts from the crowd keeping pace with it. Pilar spits a curse, and with half an ear Wade hears Camila ordering her grandmother to stay in the truck, she'll handle closing up, just stay inside. Wade takes another two steps towards the thing, automatically scanning the street for more, but so far there's just the one: carbon black, with a rounded head like the cartoon man on a caution sign, crooked antennae jutting off in odd directions and stubby little fingers tipped with long claws. It stares around with eyes like searchlights, yellow orbs with no pupil or sclera, and when it moves, it walks like straight lines are a foreign concept.

One by one, the smartest folks present start to peel away from the crowd, backing or hurrying away from the alien in their midst. Wade almost doesn't blame the ones that stick around; if he hadn't already known the thing was bad news, he'd have thought it was kind of cute.

That impression doesn't last. One moment the creature's looking around curiously, antennae idly twitching, and in the next it pounces, faster than Wade can get a shot off in such a close-packed crowd. Even then it doesn't look scary: the attack is sloppy, too-loose limbs leaving its body wide open. It's like being menaced by a kid's stuffed animal, but when those claws hit, they slice right through clothing and flesh as if they were butter.

The shriek of the man hit is lost amidst the panicked screams of everyone around him, finally sparking the stampede Wade's been waiting for. He bulls his way though the crowd, shoving aside anyone who doesn't move away fast enough. That one guy is still screaming, easier to pick out of the generalized din as he's left behind on his lonesome.

"Fuck," Wade mutters as he breaks through the crowd at last. The guy's a normie, just some random hipster with a stupid goatee and ironically tacky pants. He's tougher than he looks, though, or else he just doesn't realize he's dead already: his chest is a ragged mess of gaping furrows, torn guts bulging through meat, and before Wade can cross the last six steps to pull the Shadow off him, it plunges its clawed hand right into the guy's chest and yanks.

Wade doesn't slow his steps, even though his brain can't quite parse what he's seeing. The fistful of muscle he expected to see in the Shadow's hand is suspiciously missing, replaced by a flickering ball of light--a light that winks out abruptly just before Wade reaches the thing.

He's not actually sure he'll even be able to get a grip on it, but when he slams a hand down on the top of its head and pulls, he feels the twitch of antennae against his palm, the relative solidity of its skull just beneath. There's a weird sort of give to it, like a balloon stretched tight, but when he sets the barrel of his gun to its head and pulls the trigger, at least it doesn't pop. It shreds, dissipating like smoke to dissolve in thin air.

Flexing his now-empty hand uncertainly, he glances at his upturned palm and then back at the man on the ground. The instant that weird light was pulled out of him, he'd gone limp like a switch got flipped, voice cutting off in mid-shout. His chest doesn't look any worse-off than it did before, though, and that gives Wade a bad, bad feeling. What are these things, some kind of ominously cute soul-eaters?

It's only because he's looking right at the dead man that he sees a fresh Shadow ooze up from his chest--uncertainly, like it's not quite sure what it's doing. Wade falls back a step in surprise. Where the hell did that thing come from? Up through the sidewalk, or--?

That's how they spread.

The sudden movement draws the thing's attention, round head snapping around sharply. When it sees him, it jolts, but he can't say for certain whether it's from fear: there's no emotion at all on its face, because there's no features on its face. It's nothing but eyes and claws and congealed darkness.

Rather than attack, it dives back into the corpse, which is...honestly a really good hiding place, fuck his life. Except it doesn't stay there--it bolts, sinking into the pavement again and scurrying away far faster than the first one had moved, like this one knows damn well it's in trouble. Striding after it, Wade empties a few rounds into the sidewalk, but he might as well be shooting into a ballistics tank. The Shadow's spread-out surface ripples away from his bullets and immediately reforms, no worse for wear.

"Oh no you fucking don't," Wade growls, digging out a grenade, but before he can pull the pin, the Shadow slithers off the edge of the sidewalk right into a storm drain and vanishes. Wade's tempted to drop the grenade in after it anyway, but the chances of actually hitting the thing are minimal, and there's only so much property damage Spidey's willing to humor him on.

"Fuck," he mutters, taking a fast look up and down the street in the dim hope of seeing the Shadow pop back out again from another sewer entrance. At either side of the street, brakes squeal to the blare of angry horns as motorists see him and his gun and promptly decide to make a detour, but otherwise there's just....

Not many blocks away, one car slams into another, nearly drowning out the screaming that's already started up again.

He turns just as Camila gets the awning racheted down to the side of the truck. She's paler than usual, hands unsteady as she reaches for the handle of the passenger-side door, but she shoots him a brave smile and a jaunty thumbs up. "Thanks, Mr. Pool!" she calls as Pilar stars the engine. "Be safe!"

"Always!" he lies, lifting his free hand as the truck goes tearing out into the street, doing a sharp one-eighty before roaring away. He really hopes they make it out of the city in time, but he's not actually sure how safe they'll be even if they do manage to flee. Open county means less people means fewer Shadows, but he never thought to ask how to get rid of the things for good. And if every person they de-soul just makes another Shadow, New York City's an army all by itself. If it spreads elsewhere, or if it's already spreading....

Fuck. He needs to find Spidey, ASAP. Not that he thinks Spidey's going to have any better a handle on the situation than he does--less, probably, considering he at least had a drunken hint to go off of--but he can't imagine Spidey just sitting by if someone gets their soul sucked out of them, so someone needs to watch his back.

As he's jogging towards the newest commotion, it belatedly occurs to him that he does know someone who might have more intel, at least if he's in range. Pulling out his phone, he mentally crosses his fingers as he dials Cable.

"Come on, pick up," he mutters under his breath as the first stampede of fleeing civilians approaches in a near-solid wall of bodies. "Pick up the phone, you grumpy ass--"

Of course the call connects on the very last word. Cable hangs up a second later.

"Gah!" Wade shouts in frustration, thumbing Cable's name a second time. "Not like that!" Wade shouts into the phone as it's grudgingly picked up again. Like he can actually feel Cable's teeth grinding in his own back molars, that's now begrudgingly his call is received. "Okay, kind of like that, but you know you're an ass. Look, are you seeing this shit where you are?"

"If you mean the Heartless invasion," Cable replies dryly, "yes. And I'm a little busy, so--"

"Wait, Heartless? You mean the evil cartoon people, right?" Wade cuts in, even as he's turning his shoulder to the mob streaming past him. Even in their panic, enough of them push to steer clear of him that he's not outright trampled, but he has to clamp the phone hard to his ear to hear Cable's next words.

"Yes, the evil cartoon people," Cable says with dogged patience. "Those are the first wave, but there's always more. Just...be on the lookout for someone with a weird sword, and do not let the Heartless get their hands on it. We need that thing if we're going to seal off this world and keep the Heartless from coming back."

"Shouldn't you already know where it is?" Wade can't resist asking, because seriously...what's the use of being able to travel time without memorizing some winning lottery numbers and the location of a few cosmic artifacts before you jump?

"I would," Cable grumbles, "but something must've gone wrong out there, because these things are early. Decades early." There's a hum and a crackling whoomph over the phone as Cable fires off a shot, and it takes a moment to realize why the silence that follows makes the back of his neck creep. No screams. Sure the things don't have mouths, but that's still eerie all the same. "Just keep your eyes peeled. Call me back if you find the Keyblade."

Cable hangs up immediately after, Wade frowning as he pockets his phone. Keyblade, huh? Sounds fake, but okay. At least someone has some idea what they're doing, even if magical mystery swords appear to be the answer.

It's the same situation three streets over as the one he just left, except there are four bodies on the ground--make that five--and the Shadows just keep multiplying. One of them--he'll assume it's the original--doesn't seem to know what to make of him, but most of the others do their best to keep out of his way, scattering when he approaches. If he's right about what Darkpool was implying, these new Shadows came from these people, may retain just enough of themselves to know he's a threat.

One of them just stops and stares at him, like it's waiting for orders, and that--

"Hey, fuck you," Wade grumbles, shooting the thing in the head. "I may not be a hero, but I'm doing my best here, asshole."

Little shits trying to make him look bad. Not cool. At least Spidey hadn't seen that.

Following the chaos leads him deeper into Manhattan, the attacks coming more frequently as he gets closer to the city center. He sort of wants to make a beeline for Stark Tower, maybe the Baxter Building, but it doesn't look like either of the usual culprits are specifically to blame. Last he heard, Stark was prancing around being rich in Malibu, and blaring from the radio in an abandoned car, he hears Reed Richards babbling about fascinating subatomic cell structures and capturing one for science.

"Any idea what these things are?" Hawkeye asks in passing, appearing out of nowhere to fire into a growing pack of Shadows at the foot of the Bank of America Tower.

Wade shrugs. "Cable called them Heartless, but he didn't have time to say much else."

"Huh. Think that's what they're taking out of these people? Not literally," Hawkeye adds as he launches some kind of spinny arrow into the crowd that drills through three Shadows before embedding into the pavement. "Obviously. But if they're Heartless, maybe they eat...hearts?"

He had been thinking they might be soul eaters, after all. "Sounds legit. And Darkpool did say--"

"Who?" Hawkeye asks, tapping at his earpiece with a scowl as if too many questions had just gotten yelled at him over the comms.

"Alternate dimension version of me," Wade explains, picking off stragglers from the edges of the pack. Barton's got exploding arrows, he knows that for a fact. He can use some of his own damn ammo to clean up this mess.

"Why did I ask," Barton grumbles to himself. "So what'd he say?"

"The more they kill, the more they spread. So the more hearts they take...."

"The more Heartless they make. Got it. Any clue where they're coming from?"

Wade shakes his head. "Looked like there were more coming from this direction, but that's all I know. Hey, have you seen Spidey?"

Hawkeye snorts, but the smile that tugs at one corner of his mouth is amused. "Sorry. Isn't Queens his usual stomping grounds?"

"Figured I'd meet him at ground zero," Wade admits, circling around as he notices a guy in the uniform of an EMT waving people into the dubious safety of a subway entrance. He's got a crowbar in hand, probably looted from one of the popped trunks of the cars piled up in the street, but he's going to get his well-meaning ass shredded if he holds that position for long.

"Far as we can tell, there is no ground zero," Barton says grimly. "These things are every--"

Wade fires off three shots, but the fourth Shadow rises up out of the ground at the EMT's feet and swarms up his legs, claws ripping as they go. Not that long ago, Wade would have fired anyway, figuring a quick death and one less Shadow was worth it, but the reluctance to explain himself later to Spidey makes him hesitate a fraction too long.

The guy pitches forward face-first, the little Shadow jumping off his back and shredding halfway to the ground as Barton's arrow slices through its head, but what rises from the dead man's spine is something new. Man-sized, more recognizably man-shaped, it has longer antennae, longer claws, and streaks of electric blue crawling along its dead-black skin, the same round, yellow eyes as the small fry.

"What the fuck," Barton says as he fires off another arrow. The creature dodges it with ease, faster and more agile than the others. "Did one of those things just level up?"

"Or the heart it came from had," Wade says as he empties a clip in the thing's direction. Fuck, it's fast, and it has the same knack for diving into solid objects as its kin. "Okay, so who's really not interested in seeing what kind of Heartless Captain Tightpants would make?"

"Me," says Clint, only to add, "three," as his comm erupts with loud squawking audible even from where Wade is standing. "Me unanimous."

"Great. So I guess I'm headed for Queens," Wade says, giving in at last and pitching a grenade into the pack. A good dozen Shadows go up in smokey shreds, but the bigger, meaner-looking one is long gone. "Oh--Cable said to be on the lookout for some kind of sparkly sword. I think he called it a Keyblade?"

"Huh. Never heard of it, but maybe someone else will have," Barton says, already looking off after the vanished new Shadow. "Thanks for the tip."

"That's what they all say," Wade drawls, snickering unapologetically as Shooty Bird shoots him the bird. Classic.

It's slow going, but Wade's not too worried yet. The thing is, Spidey may do most of his patrolling in Queens, but it's still the middle of the day, and Wade's got a pretty good hunch that Spidey works on this side of the river. Probably has his classes in Greenwich Village, and he knows for a fact that Camila's doing her stint at ESU, like most of the big brains in the area. If Spidey weren't already taking the day off, there's still a chance Wade could run into him before he has to brave the tunnel or the bridge, both of which are likely to be gridlocked by now.

He sees way too many Shadows, here and there a few stronger creatures in increasing numbers as the invasion spreads. He's a little too late when a pretty girl in a floral sundress goes down under a tide of Shadows, aluminum bat still in hand, only to shake them off her corpse as a genuine gargoyle takes to the air on stony grey wings. It has the same yellow eyes as the others, so Wade's not going to question it. He's just going to accept that a badass is a badass with or without a heart, though obviously 'with' is the preferable option.

In the end he opts for the bridge. He doubts there's anything he can do with the deathtrap the tunnel has likely become other than clear it out, but if folks get the bright idea to risk it again later, they'll just be filling it up with Heartless a second time. He picks up a tiny convoy as he travels, working methodically from vehicle to vehicle, but the terrified ducklings following behind him have the sense to stay well back. Once or twice they warn him when Shadows start creeping in at their heels, but it's never more than one or two, random stragglers who probably turned onto the bridge out of curiosity and not a dedicated hunting party.

The minute they reach the other side, the little party of survivors scatters in all directions. Probably not the smartest move, but Wade's not looking to start a ragtag band of resistance fighters here. He just wants to find Spidey before he does something stupidly selfless, or selflessly stupid, or...look, the guy's a bona fide hero, okay? Stupid is pretty much in the job description.

He runs into blockades now and then as he combs the streets, little pockets of safety defended as best they can. He can already tell it's not going to last. Bullets may stop the littlest Heartless, but most people aren't carrying a small arsenal with them like he is, and there are far more Shadows than there are defenders. Bullets also don't do shit against anything bigger, ricocheting off the wide bellies of what he's taken to calling Fat Bastards, or dodged way too often by the Shadow Mark Twos. He gives his katanas a try after a while, and that works a bit better, but not much better. Maybe Doc Strange will take one look at the things and pull a solution out of his his magical Sherlockian brain, but Wade's not going to hold his breath. He's saving that for yelling at civilians who run into danger the minute they see him, like suddenly they think they're safe. Seriously, does he look like he's made of bullets?

Actually, yeah. He probably does. That still doesn't mean he's going to cover every asshole who thinks now's the perfect time to run for cover, except he kind of is, because this is Queens, and Spidey could be anywhere, and: "Fuck!"

Yeah, he's not whipped. He's not even sure Spidey's kinked in that direction, though a man can dream.

Right. Focus. He can do that.

As the sun starts sinking lower, he doubles down on his search. Sure, Spiders like to come out at night, but this hasn't exactly been a normal day. "Hey," he calls as he passes another makeshift barricade set up outside a corner bodega Spidey's mentioned before. Through the big storefront windows, he can see a knot of children being kept distracted by a handful of sweet little old ladies. One of them looks right at him and starts to her feet, but she doesn't look scared; she looks like what she wants is news, which makes two of them. "Has anybody heard anything about Spidey?" he asks the people manning the barriers outside.

Time was nobody would have told him jack shit about everybody's favorite wall-crawler, but folks in Queens have gotten used to seeing them together. The headshakes he gets are apologetic, their faces pinched with worry. He can definitely relate.

"Yeah, he's probably stuck helping the Avengers," he says, trying to sound like he believes it. The news stations have kept pretty on top of their hero watch, even after a Gargoyle took down the Channel 11 traffic copter. If there'd been Spidey sightings, someone would have mentioned it by now. "Look, I'll try and swing by again, take care of things while he's away. Keep me posted?"

He leaves them in better spirits, at least, along with an agreement from them to keep an ear to the news and a request for him to send anyone he finds at loose ends their way. He doesn't doubt that a lot of folks are still hiding in their homes, but what good's that going to do when a Shadow slides right under the door? The folks back there at Delmar's had the right idea: stick together, stay close to supplies, and maintain visibility at all times.

As the sun goes down and the streetlights come up, it's a little creepy to see so many dark windows. Here and there he sees layers of cloth and paper hung up over or stuck to the glass, and he feels a bit better about those. He sort of wants to call Cable back and grill him for more information, or call the school and see if Cable called them first, but he doubts anyone has time for that right now.

He takes to the rooftops to see if he can spot a familiar shape sweeping across the skyline, but there's just nothing. Or maybe not nothing--he doesn't spot who he's looking for, but he does see a fairly massive pack of Heartless on the move, mostly Shadows along with a few heavy hitters. He's seen just enough of their usual habits for that to strike him as strange. Most of the time when he's seen them in big swarms like this, it's right after they take out a large group of humans. After that they mostly break away from the pack unless something tasty happens along to draw their attention.

Curious, he makes his way across the rooftops, resorting to his grappling hook when the distance is too far to leap. He's careful to stay out of their sightline, because he really seems to confuse the fuck out of them, and he doesn't want them to scatter before they lead him wherever they're going. He's no longer certain they remember who he is just because their original selves knew: looking back, they hadn't run from Barton, and they don't tend to run from ordinary people with guns either. For some reason, it's just him.

Maybe they're telepathic. It would help explain why they don't need mouths, and telepaths fucking hate him. Captain Jean-Luc Professor has literally paid him to go away; it's hilarious--

A panicked human voice interrupts his musings, urging him to put a little extra oomph into his jumps. There's a narrow alley up ahead between a pawn shop and an all-night laundromat, and as he peers down into it, he finds a lanky twenty-something in jeans and a tee, short blond hair dark with fear-sweat, shoulders pulled in tight as he backs himself against the grimy building the alley dead-ends into. The alley's already thick with Heartless, which would be enough to freak anyone out, but even though he's got some kind of weapon in hand, the guy isn't even trying to fight.

"This isn't real, this isn't real," the guy's chanting to himself, words tripping over each other as he takes a shaky swipe at the creatures closing in on him. Whatever that is in his hands, it looks like a theater prop: it's basically a sword, but covered in useless gears and loops of wire, like someone was going for a steampunk look and completely forgot to add any hint of style. The blocky lump stuck on the end is the crowning insult; he doubts that thing even has an edge, but it damn sure doesn't have a point with that hunk of metal welded there.

He's about to drop a line and haul the moron out of danger when one of the guy's noodle-armed swings catches a Shadow awkwardly...and rips it to shreds.

"What the fuck?" Wade mutters. No way should that uncoordinated flailing have done any kind of damage, even with a decent weapon--

Holy shit. That's the Keyblade? That ugly piece of junk? He can't deny it seems to be working, but--

Do not let the Heartless get their hands on it.

Ugh. Fine. Whatever.

"Fucking fetch quests," he grumbles and drops off the roof of the building he's on to land in the alley below.

The guy with the Keyblade shrieks and takes a swing at him too, but Wade just elbows him in the face and wrenches that bullshit sword out of his grip as he drops. "Whoa," he yelps, shifting his free hand up to grip as well as the sword bucks in his hand like it's trying to get away. Fuck that, though--according to Cable, they need this thing, can't push back the Heartless without it. If derailing the Heartless Express helps him find Spidey, they'll have to pry this lousy excuse for a sword out of his cold, dead hands, multiple times. He's stubborn like that.

The Keyblade lurches again, but this time it writhes like it's trying to transform into something. It's one hell of a fairytale moment, only he's nobody's Fair Janet, and this for damn sure isn't his baby daddy. He holds on anyway as it twists and shudders, shifting his grip as the thing splits in two with a blinding flash.

When he blinks the spots from his eyes, he finds himself holding a new pair of katanas, sleek and streamlined except for the needle-sharp flanges at the tips of both blades, reminiscent of the business end of an old-fashioned skeleton key. "Really dedicated to the theme, aren't you?" he accuses aloud. He gets no reply, but he'd swear he feels a faint tingle in his palms, right though his gloves.

The Heartless that had been milling uncertainly when he planted himself between them and their prey no longer seem quite so baffled by his presence. He can feel the tension sharpening in the air, confusion replaced by intent. They even seem to be ignoring the unconscious guy behind him, and maybe now he gets why Cable insisted the Keyblade not fall into their hands. They actively want this thing.

"Ah-ah! Finders keepers!" Wade chides with an edged grin. Then again, if they want it that badly, he's more than happy to share.

Lunging forward, he turns into the strike, scything down ten Shadows at a time. More rush in to fill the gap, but the narrow alley works in his favor, funneling them right into his blades. It's a bit different than his usual style--he's not used to fighting munchkins--but the Keyblade sings hungrily in his hands, biting deep with every swing like it was made to kill these things. Even the extraneous bits at the tips don't impede his fast slices as he whips the blades around, throwing himself into the middle of the pack and working his way outward.

One of the bigger Shadows comes flying at him out of nowhere, and he brings both blades up, intending to impale it and toss it aside. The thing disintegrates instead, and he laughs as he sweeps the blades back down, buying back the miniscule space the Shadows had carved while he was distracted. He feels like Captain fucking America, like he can literally do this all day. He's only feeling half the effort of his attacks anyway, because as solid as the Heartless are while they're still on their feet, the minute they take enough damage, they just poof. There's no hauling metal out of flesh, no deadweight to shove off him if a body lands wrong. If it weren't for the sheer numbers, it'd be the easiest fight he's ever gotten into.

He's just about cleared out the mini-horde when a Fat Bastard appears at the mouth of the alley. Nearly twice his height, it completely fills the narrow gap between buildings, blocking out most of the light from the street. "Oh, shit," Wade breathes as it slaps its round belly once in arrogant threat, like a gorilla thumping its chest. That's a tell he knows by now, a sure sign that it's going to--

"Charge!" Wade yells back at it, taking his own advice and throwing all his momentum forward. The damn things are practically invulnerable from the front, but there are a few startled Shadows left between him and the giant picking up speed as it lumbers his way. He leaps up to plant his foot on one Shadow's head, pushes off hard and curls into a flip. He touches down for two seconds on the Fat Bastard's shoulder, and then he spins, drops, and drags the twin halves of the Keyblade down the thing's back until his boots hit concrete.

Through the inky smoke of the monster's dissolving, he sees bulging green eyes staring at him in terrified disbelief before they roll back in their sockets, the guy he took the Keyblade off of passing out again.

"You are seriously not cut out for this, kid," Wade informs the guy, casually flicking a blade back to skewer a Shadow trying to sneak up on him.

Still. He can't exactly leave the guy here, can he?

The crowd back at Delmar's is only a little the worse for wear when he makes it back to their position, lugging a skinny stranger over one shoulder. There'd been a tense moment when he tried to transfer both halves of the Keyblade to his free hand, only to have it simply disappear, but a frustrated yell saw it materializing back into his empty palms like magic. After a little bit of testing--"Wax on...wax off...holy shit"--he's mostly cool with the idea of invisible weapons that come when called. At least he's never going to be disarmed with that thing around.

"Oh shit, is he okay?" one of the defenders manning the barricades asks, another man hauling the front door open before Wade even gets there.

"Yeah, no worries," Wade assures them as he passes through the curious crowd. "He's fine, just had a bit of a scare." He's also got a bit of a shiner, but Wade's going to count that in the positive column, seeing as he lived.

"Over here," calls the grey-haired granny who'd looked ready to accost him for information before. There's a little field hospital set up to one side with one older guy nursing a splinted arm in a sling and a teenager getting a nasty cut stitched up by the granny. She doesn't stop what she's doing, but Wade would swear she holds her breath until he takes a knee and drops the deadweight off his shoulder. She tries to hide her disappointment when she gets a good look at the kid's face, but he's used to deciphering Spidey's moods through a mask. She must have someone still missing out there; Wade wishes he could have brought her better news. "What happened?"

"Eh. He got cornered by some Heartless and started panicking, so I put him down for a nap," he answers honestly. He doesn't like lying to old ladies to begin with, but something about this one tells him she's exactly as tough as she looks.

"Probably for the best," she says wryly, tying off her last stitch. She looks like she still has questions, and he'd bet he knows exactly what she's going to ask. It's as much to stall having to disappoint her that he reaches out and pats the cheek of the guy he rescued, just heavy-handed enough to bring him around.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Up and at 'em. I got questions," he says as the guy groans himself awake.

All at once the kid's eyes shoot open, and he stares around wildly, hands flying out to scrabble along the checkered tile floor as if looking for handholds. When he finds himself staring into Wade's mask, he jolts again. "You--I--wait, where am I?"

"Safe for now," Wade says, resting an arm on his bent knee. "You're welcome, by the way, but you can thank me by telling me where you got that sword."

Frowning in confusion, the guy echoes, "That...? Oh fuck," he breathes, all the color washing from his face. "That wasn't real, was it? That was...I dreamed that, I know I did--and then those things showed up anyway, and...and that weird sword just appeared in my hand...."

Wade frowns, cocking his head to the side. "So does that make you like the Chosen One or something?" Cable only said they needed the Keyblade. He hadn't said anything about anyone who might be carrying it.

"No!" the kid shouts, panic rising again in his eyes. "I don't want it! You can have it! I don't want it back!"

"Hey, chill," Wade soothes, lifting both hands and patting air. "I'm not gonna force you to King Arthur this b-unch," he changes his words fast with a sidelong look at the granny. She quirks an eyebrow at him, lips twitching, but doesn't say a thing. "Let's be honest, you wouldn't last two seconds out there. But do you know what it is? Where it came from?"

The guy shakes his head so determinedly, it probably rattles what little brains he has. "No. I don't know anything. It's just a dream."

"Whatever helps you sleep, I guess," Wade sighs heavily, climbing back to his feet. The granny stands with him. "Sorry," he says to her directly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I don't think he's going to be much use to you guys, but I didn't know where else to take him."

"That's fine. We're not turning anyone away. But Deadpool...."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, straightening automatically. She just has that air about her, like a teacher or a nurse.

She smiles, amused but friendly. "It's May. I just wanted to ask...did you happen to run into Spider-Man while you were out there?"

He shakes his head on autopilot, but he can't stop the puzzle pieces clicking together in his brain. Her worry, her hope, the easy slope of her shoulders despite the mercenary looming over her and the concern in her eyes. He knows Spidey has almost no family left, but he's pretty sure he just stumbled across the last member of it. "Sorry, Miss May," he says, fingers playing nervously with the straps of his sword harness. "I'll keep looking, though. He's probably just stuck in Manhattan; you know the Avengers are useless without him."

May looks like she can't decide between being cheered or even more worried, but she pats his arm with a brave smile. "We all appreciate you looking after him."

Oh, she's good. He's better, but he still puffs out his chest, gratified by her trust. "I'll do my best," he promises, earning himself another smile. Damn. If this really is Spidey's--Aunt? Granny? Great-Aunt?--then it's practically like having the blessed hand of Bea Arthur descend from the heavens to give him a pat on the head.

He's on the phone with Cable almost before he's out the door.

"Found the Keyblade," he says the instant the call is picked up.

"Why am I not surprised it's in New York," Cable grumbles. Wade can sympathize; it's always New York. "Look, just take whoever has it wherever they need to go. They'll be looking for a doorway--"

"Uh...no can do," Wade interrupts with a frown, glancing up and down the street and deciding to head in the opposite direction as last time. "The Chosen One was a dud. I still need him picked up, though, along with everyone with him, especially the seniors. In fact, forget the Chosen One, I really just need--"

"Wait. Stop. What do you mean the Chosen One was a dud?"

"Guy couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag," Wade says, rolling his eyes. Fuck, it's quiet out here: no cars on the road, no pedestrians, no noise from the restaurants and bars. "Passed right the fuck out when a Fat Bastard got too close. I dropped him off with some folks holding a place called Delmar's--good sandwiches, I hear; I'll have to stop in sometime--"

"Does he still have the Keyblade?"

"Nah, it's cool. I've got that."

Cable is silent so long, Wade's tempted to make sure the call is still connected. "You've got it."

"Yep. We're very happy together," Wade says brightly, grinning into the phone. "Or at least I'd bet it's happier with me; it actually looks like a real weapon right now and not a fashion disaster, and that sure would make me a whole lot happier."

Cable's sigh is so defeated, Wade almost feels sorry for him. Almost. "And you left the Keyblade Master at someplace called Delmar's?"

"Yeah, and you're friendly with the X-People, right? I mean, I'd call Logan myself, but I kind of tore him a new one this morning, so they'd probably take an escort quest better coming from you. Oh, and let them know if they leave even one of those grannies behind, I will personally erase them from every dimension I have access to, which is kind of a lot, like it's going to take me weeks--"

"I'll see to it myself."

"You?" Wade demands, surprised. "'Cause, uh...I know the Terminator got retconned into a good guy in the later films, but you're still on your first one, big guy, and seeing you walk in is going to scare the piss out of a whole lot of--"

"Relax. I've got Domino here," Cable cuts in with a snort.

"Whaaaat? Why's she with you and not with me?" Wade's not pouting. Just because one of his friends decided to take her fake luck powers to Cable, like they'd never bonded as a team...damn it. X-Force.

"Fucked if I know," Cable says without even a hint of gloating. "She just showed up this morning and said she'd figure out why when it mattered."

"Fair enough," Wade replies with a shrug. "Oh, hey," he adds, spotting some sort of commotion up the street. "Gotta go. Remember--"

"Wait--you need to look for a--"

"--no granny left behind!" He hangs up before Cable can finish his thought, but whatever. He got it the first time. Look for a doorway, probably glowy like the sword, and since he's currently toting around a Keyblade, he's probably supposed to close it. Give him some credit; it's not like questing is hard.

Anyway, he'll get right on that, just as soon as he finds Spidey.

The commotion turns out to be a pair of mutants who are more than up to looking out for themselves, which is good, but then he starts wondering whether mutant Heartless would be worse than regular Heartless, and that's bad. He directs them to Delmar's anyway, because there's at least one person there who isn't likely to listen to any lip over mutants or mutates while she has anything to say about it.

He's halfway to the Hall of Science when a familiar sound makes his heart skip a beat, tunes his ears to the soft rhythm of webs fired and released, a light body catching minimal drag as it swings. "Spidey!" he yells, heart light and not caring who hears him. Thank fuck--he was beginning to think he was stuck in some kind of angst fic.

"Wade?" he hears as the hushed thwip-and-swoosh comes closer, echoing off the empty streets. "No, wait--Wade, no!"

"Wade, yes!" he calls back with a huge grin, opening his arms wide as Spidey comes careening around the side of a building at top speed. Wouldn't be the first time he's caught Spidey before he can crash and burn spectacularly, and being Spidey's landing pad is more than worth a few broken bones.

He only has a second to wonder about Spidey's new stealth suit--and whoever picked the lenses did not know how to read a room, because that shiny golden shit's going to get Spidey shot at for sure--maybe a split second more to realize Spidey's echo came with a whole separate person attached: a nerdy-looking guy in civvies and holy shit, a spare pair of Spidey's web shooters.

He's tackled to the ground in the next instant, skidding a few feet, but even after they slide to a stop, Spidey's not backing off. Crouched over him, both hands planted on Wade's chest, he leans in like he's about to angle for a kiss or nuzzle into Wade's throat, only...those...those aren't...lenses.

Wade's breath stills in his chest, hands twitching around firm biceps, but he doesn't throw the creature off. This...is Spidey's Heartless. It's Spidey's Heartless. He was too fucking late, and now....

He's dimly aware of the other guy landing a few feet away, the slap of scuffed Converse loud against the pavement as he jogs to a halt, but he's too busy grieving the carbon cast of a too-familiar face to look. "Don't move," the new guy says urgently. "I've been able to talk him down; he's just...."

Wait. He knows that voice.

The guy edging closer is fairly ordinary at first glance: brown eyes, brown hair, not especially tall or short. His jeans are well-worn but not in any stylish way, and his dorky science t-shirt is stretched across surprisingly broad shoulders. He's got a gymnast's frame, the oversized hands of a musician, and Wade's ninety-five percent positive that if the guy turned around, he'd know that ass anywhere.

"Spidey...?" he asks uncertainly, half-dreading the answer.

"Maybe?" Spidey says, sounding lost himself, even as he reaches for Heartless Spidey's shoulder to pull him off.

Heartless Spidey is having none of it. He swipes back without looking, claws flexed, but then he sits half-up on his own, shoulders hunching in.

"Come on," Maybe Spidey coaxes, pulling his hand back but inching a step closer. "That's Wade. You remember Wade. We like Wade."

Do they? Wade stares, owl-eyed. He'd hoped it wasn't just him, but Spidey's a cagey bastard, and Wade knows he's a lot to deal with.

He thinks at first that Heartless Spidey doesn't agree from the way he shakes his head, but then he does it again, harder, as if to rid himself of some buzzing only he can hear. Clawed hands come up to rake at his own head, startling Wade into sitting bolt upright. When he slides his hands down to grab at fine-boned wrists, Heartless Spidey uncoils from his tense crouch and buries teeth like a steel trap in the meat of Wade's forearm.

"Oh wow, this one has a mouth," Wade blurts without thinking. He kind of expects those carbon-black teeth to get driven in harder, but Heartless Spidey makes a weird, unhappy noise, almost a whine, that doesn't sound like anything human at all. "What's wrong with him? I mean...other than the obvious."

Maybe Spidey winces, lips pulling back from his teeth in a helpless grimace. "I, ah...I'm pretty sure he's...hungry."

Sitting perfectly still, Wade glances between both versions of his favorite person, trying not to focus too intently on the mouth wrapped around the side of his arm, the tongue he must be painting with his blood, or the fact that the creature in his lap could probably rip his entire arm clean off and have himself a feast. Only he's pretty sure that's not the sort of meal Heartless Spidey's hungry for.

"He could," Wade says simply, addressing the more human version of the two, because he knows exactly which of them he'd have to convince. "I have it on good authority that Heartless can't--"

"No," Maybe Spidey says sharply, jaw clenched. "I can't--he hasn't...I don't know if he'd still listen to me," he says at last, "if he got a taste for it. We can't risk it."

Heartless Spidey grumbles but pulls away at last, a scarily-long tongue, black as the rest of him, wrapping briefly around the wounds he'd made after removing his teeth from Wade's arm. Slinking off Wade's lap, he crouches by his more ordinary twin's feet, brooding in silence.

"But what happened?" Wade asks, gingerly picking himself up and brushing himself off. "I mean it looks like you got...got, but I've never seen anyone get back up again after. Are you even alive? Shit, you're not a zombie, are you? And how come he has your suit? Wait, no--if he's in a suit now, how come you're out of your suit?"

"I wasn't in my suit when he...got made," Maybe Spidey explains, looking vaguely sick. "I was at class, and the next thing we knew, the campus was under lockdown. I couldn't get away at first, but then these things started showing up...the people on the news were calling them Heartless...?"

Wade nods. "That's what Cable called them, but according to him, they're way ahead of schedule."

"Right. Well, whatever they are, it didn't take them long to find their way into the buildings. Once the professors realized we couldn't keep them out, they stopped trying to keep us there, and everybody just ran. I tried to help out where I could, but people were getting trampled, getting trapped...we didn't even see them coming when the first person fell," he says tightly, "and then it just...spread. I'm the only one that got up after. Me and him."

Wade's not sure he should ask, because it's not going to matter to him either way. He just can't shake the feeling that it's important. "But if that's your Heartless...does you walking around mean you still have your heart?"

Maybe Spidey opens his mouth and closes it again, pressing the heel of his hand hard against his chest. "I don't know. I...it felt like something got pulled out of me, but...I guess I blacked out after that. When I woke up, everyone was...it was just the two of us left. Like he was waiting for me, or...there were people outside. I don't think he wanted to leave."

Seeing Heartless Spidey's miserable hunch, the tense coil he's made of himself again, Wade can't say he's surprised. He's well-acquainted with how easy it is to make a monster out of a man, but most of the time, the raw materials aren't anywhere near as fine, in every sense of the word.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Wade says and pretends not to notice the relief that washes over Maybe Spidey's face. Damn, it's weird to see that so clearly instead of relying on guesswork and optimism. "Look, Cable seems to know a lot about this shit; I guess it already happened in his timeline, so maybe he'd know more about your, uh...situation. We could meet up with him, or you could come with me--I'm supposed to be looking for some kind of portal to close off to stop the Heartless from coming in, but...."

"I wish I could," Maybe Spidey says, so earnest Wade can't mistake it for a polite lie this time, "but I need to get home and grab my suit, make sure my--well, I need to check on someone," he trails off uncomfortably.

Damn. There's no way Spidey's going to believe Wade wasn't stalking him, but he can't let the guy go off on a wild goose chase, either. "Uh...your someone wouldn't happen to be a sweet little old lady named May, would it?"

Maybe Spidey stares, torn between panic and reluctant anger. "What the fuck, Wade?"

He absolutely lets the intrinsic weirdness of Spidey swearing pass in his scramble to explain himself. "I haven't been following you! Or looking into you, or any of that! I just--I brought some guy in, and she was there, and she was asking these questions like I was just some normal guy off the street, and people don't do that, okay, not unless they know me, or know me through somebody, and the only person she was asking about was you!"

Spidey breathes in deep and lets it out slow, shoulders slumping. "Sometimes I actually forget how good you are at this stuff," he says, but he doesn't sound mad. "Listen. I want to help, but my aunt's the only family I've got left. If anything happened to her--"

"Hey, no, I get it," Wade jumps in. "That's why I sent Cable her way--well, Cable and Domino, and with Lady Luck herself on the job, your aunt's gonna be just fine."

For the first time Wade's seen, a spark of hope lights Spidey's eyes. "You what?"

"I mean, I didn't ask how far off they were, but I know they're on the way. We could meet them there if you want--your aunt's holed up at Delmar's with a whole bunch of other folks. Last I saw, they were doing fine."

Spidey swallows hard, scrubbing a hand over his face that lingers maybe a second too long over his eyes. "Thanks, Wade," he says, voice thick. Wade figures that means they're going back to the bodega, until Maybe Spidey looks down and Heartless Spidey looks up, dark eyes and shining orbs meeting. Okay, yeah, that is going to be a problem, because if people see this version of Spidey, they're going to freak the fuck out, but-- "You're sure she's safe?"

"Sure as I can be," Wade says, wishing he could promise absolutes.

Spidey nods, squaring his shoulders. "Then we should swing by my place so I can pick up my suit. Then maybe go see Doctor Strange. If there's a weird portal letting those things in, he'd be the one to ask."

"Works for me," Wade says without trying to talk him around. If Spidey's made up his mind, he's not going to make things difficult by trying to argue the man into being selfish for once. "But, uh...I really need something better to call you two than 'Maybe Spidey' and 'Heartless Spidey,' you know?"

Spidey's laugh is short and surprised, the arch of his brows thoughtful. "That's...huh. I mean, we're both kind of...me, but...I guess you can call him Webs," he decides, looking to his darker twin to see if he objects. Webs stares back, expression indifferent, or at least that's what that look usually means on Spidey's mask.

Wade figures the rest is just implied, at least until Spidey sticks out a hand.

"And you can call me Peter," he introduces himself, a hint of nervousness in his smile, but he meets Wade's eyes without flinching.

Holy shit. Spidey's name and his face? In the same night? Wade's probably dead and having a really good dream, but he can't not take the offered hand, gripping it firm but careful.

"Hey, Peter," he says with a growing smile that just won't quit. "You guys want to ruin an invasion?"

Only Peter laughs, but Webs' grin is a slash of half-seen razors as he reaches up to lay a clawed hand over theirs.

"You heard him," Peter says with a shrug, face still pinched with worry but eyes bright. "Go, team."