red :: spideypool au

5

After an entire week of solitude, Wade was burdened with an absent presence; there was a hollow space and deep down he knew he desired company. As the sun slept, he woke to a loud sound. The front door to the apartment was being bombarded as knuckles knocked repeatedly on the hollow wood.

"Fucking cock-sucking, cum-guzzling bastards." Wade muttered, sitting up on the sofa of which he passed out on hours before. As far as attire went, he wore only black boxers and a white wife-beater. Something in his gut had him scrambling for his nearby mask.

In hopes to cover his face, Wade slid the tight fabric over his head and cracked his neck. His heart hoped it was Peter; it yearned for the boy. However, despite Deadpool's wish to impress, he had no time to grab longer pants or a liberally woven sweater. The knocking was getting louder. Unless Wade had done something wrong, he would not have expected such a noise from Peter. He swore that if it just so happened to be the bitch of a landlord seeking rent at such an hour, Wade would feed her dog laxatives. See how she liked that in her bedroom. Much better than the front lawn, Wade would assume.

Wade skidded across the hardwood floor, socks sliding a little. His heart hammered as he pictured Peter on the other side. He was so undeniably eager. It was nearing pathetic. He anticipated it intensely and his judgment clouded with need. Happiness. The sudden positivity was foreign to someone like him. Seeing Peter on the other side was unlikely, but he chose a different cognitive path.

As he approached the door, Wade eyed a katana sitting in the closest umbrella stand. It bordered his bright pink cartoon kitten umbrella. The blood-stained blade was much darker than the other lengthy object. Wade proceeded to pull open the door fearlessly. If the mercenary could not die, there was no point in any other precautions. That did not mean, however, that he was not prepared to kill.

Nevertheless, the face before him made him want to shit bricks. Or slam the door. There, at the break of dawn, stood the wealthiest man of all New York. Dark sunglasses covered Tony Stark's deep brown eyes. The full suit only made the man appear even more arrogant.

Wade would be lying if he said he was not disappointed. His heart dropped and excitement dimmed. The butterflies in his stomach withered and died in a gruesome manner.

"Sunglasses inside at four in the morning. That's just sad, old man." With that, Wade pulled off his mask quickly. It imposed vulnerability, and it sure as hell created a sense of discomfort. It wasn't Peter. Deadpool did not need to mask his scars. The burn victim had no problem exposing himself to a rotten man, decayed from inside to out. Where Wade was bad on the outside, he knew Tony was on the inside.

"You know why I am here, Wade Wilson. Sorry, Deadpool, almost forgot that one." It was corrupted with false sincerity.

"Better than your names, but this ain't no competition, douche-face. You named yourself after a fuckin' rock, so I think I take the cake." Yes, Wade knew the specifics, but arguing about ores and sedimentary rocks wasn't on his agenda.

Tony was done. There was no need for further useless conversation. He visited the crowded, shitty apartment for a reason. He would not get dog shit on the soles of his shoes if the matter was irrelevant, after all.

"You stay away from my son."

"Oh, that gave me the chills." Wade smiled, scars pinching as his grin threatened to stretch ear to ear.

"You touch him and I'll make you wish you were dead," said Stark.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, hotshot, but I already wish I was dead. You wouldn't believe what it takes for me to get out of bed in the morning."

"No, I would have you rotting away in prison. No one to talk to. One of my own design, by the way. Good luck with that one." Tony had pushed his way across the threshold, letting the door fall shut.

"I have people to talk to even if there are no people."

Tony Stark squinted but continued. "Anyway, I could make him loathe you. I could tell him certain things, Wade. Little parts of an entire story, picking and choosing the negatives as I wish. Do you want that to happen? You two split ways?"

"You should work for the media," Deadpool quipped.

"Do you want to get him killed?"

"You underestimate him. Did you know that?"

"Excuse me?" Tony scoffed. "He is my son. I think I know him pretty damn well."

"No, I don't think you do at all. Wanna know what I think? I think Peter can handle me pretty damn well, Stark. No need to worry about him."

"You make a fair point, Wade." It was pure sarcasm, but Tony ran his fingertips across his beard in thought.

"Why can't I be friends with your little baby boy, Tony?" Deadpool stuck out his bottom lip in a lame attempt at a plea.

Stark hid his frustration and formed his venom into words. "Maybe I shouldn't worry about it. After all, you will inevitably fuck up on your own."

"Look at you with your big nerd words, nerd." It hurt, of course, but Wade refused to let feeling show. Unfortunately, that was nearing a fact; if the words were not so utterly clear, perhaps they may have stung less. The sentence was all Wade had in him after that specific hit.

For a moment, Tony calmed. "You must understand why I feel this way. You're a mercenary. You are paid to kill. You're dangerous. Hell, what if someone wants my son dead because of me? What are you gonna do then?"

"I guess that depends on the haul. But we'll cross that bridge if we come to it, playboy." Wade laughed dryly, but the other man was far from amused.

Without warning, a high pitch tune filled the room. It stung the ears as it dipped in pitch, eventually climbing back up.

Tony's arm was raised, and Wade received a small glimpse of remarkable technology. There was a beam of light coming from the palm of the mechanical glove of which Tony held. It wrapped around his left hand, intricately moving as it readied the first shot. Tony was not one to hesitate.

The blow hit Wade's neck, and he stumbled backward into an unknown piece of furniture. He winced and groaned at the burning sensation, feeling the blood and flesh slip slowly. It was as if the skin was melting, shying away from the initial wound.

"I hope that hurt," Stark muttered, pulling down the sleeve of his suit once more.

"You, sir, have way too much time on your hands." Wade's posture was still weak as he clung onto an armrest for balance, right arm grazing his wound. He gritted his teeth.

"Stay away from Peter, Wade. It's in your best interest."

Of course, that only made Deadpool want Peter Parker more. He bit back that particular confession, though, for he wanted Stark gone as soon as possible.

"Go play with your tin cans and trinkets you call friends."

When the door shut, Wade finally let out an agonizing groan. He cried out in pain, letting a few very manly tears slip. To be clear, they were definitely manly. In Wade's defense, he had just been shot by some bullshit glove, so the reaction seemed justified.

Most of the damage, however, was mental.

And unfortunately, Peter witnessed all from below, ears tuned in to the ceiling. He could not sleep. He was overwhelmed with sympathy and immortal curiosity.