red :: spideypool au

2

"Why are you wearing that?" Peter questioned, helping Wade achieve a comfortable position. The severely injured man sat on the old, stained sofa, television remote in hand. Using his left arm, Wade changed channels dramatically. His finger recoiled twice as far as necessary only to jab at the remote, and he angled his arm with every press of a button.

"That's the question you want to ask? I am missing most of my blood, my masturbating arm, part of a ribcage, some organ-looking pieces of shit, and my dignity. Out of everything that literally just happened, you ask that question." Wade pressed a button hard, settling on a familiar show. Humming, Wade concluded, "That's a dumbass question, Pete."

"Yes," Peter frowned, "and it's not Pete. My name is Peter."

"Okay, baby boy. I will try not to forget the 'errrrr' again." Wade rolled his tongue with the letters, continuing to do so even after the point was made. He then chucked the remote at Peter, rough and fast.

Peter caught the plastic device easily. Call it the senses, but the boy did not flinch. Peter would flinch at nothing. Instead of changing the channel, he turned off the television entirely. However, the decision was not unanimous.

"Woah, woah, woah," Wade snapped. "Here I even agreed to call you Peter." The older man faked a sense of betrayal.

"I need answers," said Peter, sliding the remote into his back pocket. The grey sweatpants took the weight, sagging down a sliver. The gently cut outline of his hipbone appeared, covered only by the thick band of his designer boxer briefs. Deadpool liked that. One could never tell where his pupils wandered beneath those cold, animated white eyes.

"Or what? You g'na shoot me?" Wade cackled, throwing his head back as he tossed out a fake laugh. There was blood on the couch now, as it oozed easily from veins and arteries.

"It seems like too many people have tried that, and you're still here." Peter connected, humbly acknowledging his own intelligence, despite the dots being so easily connected. "In exchange for answers, I will keep everything I just saw private. I will know nothing about the Wade Wilson, especially if the police appear in this building."

"You're bad at this, but I'll patronize you. Call it pity. Don't worry, my pointers are free." Wade said, sitting up and letting his left elbow rest on his knee. The red blanket covering his chest grew incredibly darker.

"It would help to toss in a few threats," Wade smiled, seemingly piecing together a monologue in his head. "First of all, I know who you are, and the substance you shoot from your wrist seems important. Therefore, I've got a feeling I have more dirt on you. Have you ever seen the paper, Peter? The vigilante of New York is quite popular. Officials call him dangerous. How many people have you put in the hospital?"

"They were bad people," snapped Peter. He sighed angrily. "How many people have you put in the hospital?"

"None. I lack your heroism, so I put them fuckers in the ground. Unfortunately, I don't have that good of an ass." Wade changed topic again, "Can I call you Spider-Man?"

"Why the suit?" Peter's hands waved at all of Wade. Every single bloody piece.

"Oh! That's right, baby boy. The mask is self-explanatory, isn't it? I don't want to be seen." Wade whispered theatrically under his breath, "No witnesses."

"Maybe you shouldn't bleed through floors if you want to keep your identity hidden."

"You're one sassy boy. I like it," Wade whistled, "so I won't kill you."

"Do it, I dare you. I triple dog dare you." Peter said in a mocking tone, finding his place far on the other side of the couch. He was testing Wade, for his eyes were locked on the red figure. Wade wouldn't kill him. At least, that's what Peter's guts were telling him.