Revenge is Best Photographed {Deadpool X Spiderman, SpideyPool}

Long Live the Queen

“I’m not always myself,” said the merc, absently kicking his legs off the roof’s ledge while coloring something on paper.

Spiderman eyed him from his vertical leisure spot on the wall somewhere close to Pool’s feet. “Oh, I know this one,” he quipped. “You inhaled some suspicious green gas and now you sometimes hover around in a flashy green suit and mask with animated eyes while laughing about first-year high school psychology B.S. so that you can justify blowing up buildings.”

“First off, Spidey-Cakes, you wouldn’t catch me dead in a flying green animated getup,” he points a red crayon down accusingly and Spiderman throws up his hands in mock defeat. “Secondly, psych homework is plenty enough reason to blow up buildings. So, null and void with that little gripe.”

“Pfft,” Spiderman puffed air, his head pressed back on his palms and to the wall he was plastered up on, legs crossed. “Can’t even argue,” and then a pause. He knew what was coming.

“You saw it.”

Spiderman gnawed his teeth under the mask. It wasn’t a question. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Silence.

“I could tell something had happened,” the younger hero offered.

“And you…?”

“Well, I wasn’t—like—scared. I was worried. About you.”

“Hm,” the merc hummed and resumed scribbling.

“You called me ‘Spiderman’…”

“Ha!” Deadpool threw his head back sardonically. “Tell me that’s what actually clued you in.”

“You mean besides the mangled body?” Pool’s shoulders shifted a little and Spiderman cleared the guilt in his throat. “Yeah… kind of. You tried to approach me and that’s when I webbed you up.”

“You’re not mad.”

The webslinger sucked in a breath at the barrage of accurate not-questions. “I saw what he did,” his voice was a husk.

A longer silence.

“So, an ‘alter?’ Is it like that?” He craned to look up at the merc.

“Ah! Spider did his homework!”

“Yeah, freshmen year in psych.”

They shared a chuckle.

“I’m sorry you were roped into the clean-up crew for… her.”

A strained look surfaced on Spiderman’s mask.

“I’m kinda glad you left the guy there, though. It’s a good grounding visual. And I get to know what all shaked-out while I was tangled up in the ol’ chestnut,”

“I would have taken the body to the city dump, but you… ‘he’ told me to leave it.”

“Sounds right. That’s White-Out Winston for ya, loves to show his work,” he scribbles some more. He couldn’t mask the shaky breath from spider-hearing, try as he did. “Did the kid… did she make it?”

“Yeah, she did,” he told Deadpool in a small voice, “but she’s comatose fro—”

Sooner than he realized, Spiderman was reaching out to catch the paper that fluttered out of Deadpool's limp hands.

The feeling of Peter’s hand scrunching fabric pulls the weird dream veil off his brain, leaving only vague feelings. He rolls on his back with a soft groan and stares at a ceiling with unfamiliar fixtures.