Sokovia and Spiders

Deadpool

The bruising has faded to a murky yellow when he wakes up the next morning. The burns are still raw but white spots don't dance across his vision when he moves his arm anymore. Small mercies. Fortunately, he's not due in work for a couple of days, his co-workers are surely bored of hearing about him tumbling downstairs and running into open cupboard doors.

A full week passes before he patrols next, partially because he was waiting for his injuries to heal and partially because calls for Spiderman's arrest hadn't quietened yet. It's a strange feeling being public enemy number one again, it had been a couple of years. Swinging through New York's streets even though his spidey sense stays quiet, he's still half expecting Ms Marvel or Ironman to be hiding around each corner he turns.

But the night stays calm. Or at least it does until a bullet wizzes past, flying so close that Peter's not sure if it was meant to kill him or get his undivided attention. It worked if it was meant to do the latter. Spinning around, he sees a figure clad in red and black leather jump down to the street. A resounding crunch makes Peter wince as the other man lands like a bag of potatoes. He nearly loses his lunch when the figure stands up, one blood sodden bone poking out. It's made worse when the man pauses it shove it back in place, before finally speaking, ''My name is Wade Wilson aka Deadpool aka The Merc with a mouth aka This Guy's worst nightmare.''

''Can I help you with something Mr Wilson'' Peter knows the name Deadpool well despite, never previously having met him. He was a gun for hire, a certifiable lunatic, and a long time thorn in the side of the X-men. If the rumours about him prove to be true, Spiderman is in serious trouble.

''Weird... How does he know my name? Word must be getting around about me.''

''You're talking out loud.''

''I am?''

''Errr yes.''

''Sorry I was meant to be breaking the fourth wall. I'll have to get that looked at.'' He looks genuinely puzzled, at least as far as Peter can tell behind the red leather mask. ''Anyhow, now the Superhuman Registration Act has been passed all heroes, vigilantes and generally any guy who can glow or shoot lasers out of their nipples needs to sign up with the ol' United States Government or people like me are going to bring them to justice. That's right readers I'm now working for the man. Or at least I will be as soon as I bring in this renegade.''

Without further ado he strikes. One hand rises to grab a blade before he slashes down, right as Peter makes his own move. Dropping to one knee he rolls forward, his shoulder digging painfully into the gravel before he leaps to his feet again. The metal continues streamlining through the air in a perfect arch, cutting through the air where Peter's head had been thirty seconds earlier. ''They told me you had good reflexes, which is just great. I like a challenge.''

His Spidey sense is blaring like a car alarm, loud and obnoxious as he stares at the man in front of him, half aware of the warmth sluggishly running down the side of his face. Numbly he reaches up, feeling where his mask has been ripped by his ear, his fingers come away crimson.

''Alright, you're a white male, around five foot seven. Is that a bit of brunette hair I see.'' He's lowered his blade as he rattles on and Peter suddenly feel like he's a mouse being played with by a cat. It's a distressing thought that blocks out the realisation that a stone cold killer knows more about Spiderman's identity in two minutes than all of New York has learnt in three years. ''I'll have to put all of that into the system when I bring you in.'' Whilst no one is trying to lob his head off Peter takes a moment to look over the weapon, still poised between them but having been lowered till it skims the floor. Shining dimly in the night it looks like something out of a movie, his stomach sinks when he notices his blood coating the tip. ''Can I ask how old are you?''