Looks Like We're On Different Sides of the Fence Here

Oh, this is SO MUCH FUN! Deadpool thinks as he fires tranquilizer darts at Captain America again, and the good ol' Cap'n blocks them with his mighty red-white-and-blue shield of freedom and rescued kittens.

“Hercules can hit him a few times,” comes an oh-too-familiar voice, calm and self-assured as $%^&. “Deadpool has a healing factor.”

As if they all didn't already know that.

“He'll recover. Eventually,” Cable, aka Nathan Dayspring Askansi'son Gesundheit, says, stepping out into the room all glowing blue—no seriously, his left eye flashing blue, and a blue aura around him. Way to make a dramatic appearance, Nate. Just like always.

Soldier from the future here to save the world from its own—and his own—insanity.

And currently here to save me from mine, Deadpool thinks, and rather bitterly. Or so he believes. The #$&%$.

“Looks like we're on different sides of the fence here,” Nate says, approaching Deadpool with sure strides. Though please notice how he never once lets down his gravimetric force-field whatsit thingie. “I'll double whatever the Commission on Superhuman Activities is paying you.”

“My principles cannot be bought!” Deadpool says indignantly, cuz Nate soon-to-be-sainted, Savior of the World Cable thinks that he knows Deadpool so well.

“And I'll give you a bigger badge,” Cable adds. He keeps his gaze steady on Deadpool, not blinking.

Okay, so maybe Cable knows Deadpool pretty well after all.

“Oooooh! Can't/must conflict...!” Deadpool drawls out, as if he's really thinking about it.

Then he whips out his gun (which is currently loaded with tranquilizer darts, unfortunately—regular ol' bullets would be better) and fires at Cable, even though he hasn't let down his gravimetric-whatsit-shield-whatever. See? Cable knows Deadpool so well.

“NO!” Deadpool yells as he fires, because even though it's not really doing anything, he likes the PFFT sound the projectiles make as they hit Nate's forcefield, and the weapon-firing gets his anger across pretty well. “NO! NOT EVEN MORE A BIGGER BADGE COULD I BETRAY MY UNCLE SAM!”

He kinda hopes Nate will actually believe he's a patriotic idiot, and that this isn't actually just all about how angry Deadpool is with Cable.

And he doesn't want to get hit by the tranquilizer darts and fall unconscious because he and Nate aren't done with this yet, and hey, maybe Cable's glowy blue pseudo-telekenesis shield doesn't encases him for the full 360 degrees, so Deadpool runs in a circle around him as he fires.

“Wade,” Cable says, in that patronizing tone of his, “you're not a patriot.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW I'M NOT?!” Deadpool demands.

“You're not even American,” Cable continues calmly, letting the mercenary continue to fire bullets at him, not even turning to try and keep him within view. “You're Canadian.”

“SO?!” Deadpool demands. He runs out of bullets, so he just chucks the gun at Nate. He would have hit him right in the nose, too, if Nate didn't have the forcefield thing going on for him. “Maybe I agree with the superhero registration act! I don't have a secret identity, after all!”

“I don't have a secret identity, either,” Cable points out calmly, and Deadpool really wants to hit him. If only that glowing blue energy shield wasn't in the way...

“And I know you don't actually care about the Superhero Registration Act,” Cable continues.

“NO, YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!” Deadpool yells, and #$^% it, when has Nate's stupid telekenitic abilities ever stopped Deadpool from trying to attack him? So he throws himself at Cable, fists flying, but he isn't even able to connect with the glowing blue barrier before it's encasing him and holding him up in the air, immobilizing him. “MAYBE I JUST WANT TO BE ON THE THE RIGHT SIDE OF GOVERNMENT FOR ONCE, HUH?!”

“You've never cared about that,” Cable says, still calm as $^%& as he steps toward where Deadpool is held helpless in the air. “You just want the license to fight superheroes.”

“Hey, that reminds me,” Deadpool muses, demeanor changing from furious to thoughtful in a fraction of a second, “does Hawkeye need to register? Cuz he really doesn't have any superpowers...”

Maybe the mood change would disconcert someone else, but not Cable. He's too used to Deadpool.

“You just want to be on the side that gets the most fighting,” Cable continues, as if he actually knows &^%$.

“So what if I do?!” Deadpool demands, furious again as he glares down at the half-living-metal man. “So why don't you let me down so we can fight then, huh? Without you cheating by using your fake telekenesis and telepathy stuff.”

“No, I need to talk to you,” Cable says seriously, and geez, why has nobody ever told him that he looks constipated when he's serious? “Joining the rebel cause will be a better fighting deal. Not only will you get to fight against supers like Iron Man and Captain Marvel, but you'll be able to fight against any government soldiers sent after the rebels. And trust me, there will be a lot of government soldiers licensed to hunt the rebels down.”

“WELL MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT AGAINST ANY OF THEM!” Deadpool shouts angrily, trying desperately to kick out at the silver-haired, self-proclaimed Savior of the World. “MAYBE I JUST WANT TO FIGHT AGAINST YOU!”

Cable stills. “Is that so?” he asks after a moment, tone still calm and even as he pins Deadpool's gaze with his own. “And why would that be?”

“Why would—?” Deadpool splutters, his mouth gaping behind the red and black mask. “BECAUSE YOU'RE A SELF-RIGHTEOUS @%$^& #@*%$ AND I'M NOT YOUR PET PSYCHO KILLER! THAT'S WHY!”

(The other assembled rebel superheroes, who'd been all but forgotten by the Cable and Deadpool, (glance at each other, then back at the scene before them.

(“This seems rather... personal,” Daredevil remarks.

(“Perhaps we should leave them to it,” Captain America suggests.

(“Aye,” Hercules agrees.

(As quietly as possible, they exit the room.)

Meanwhile, said two figures who are currently making a scene don't notice any of that, because they're too busy staring at each other.

Well, 'staring' is perhaps the wrong word—Deadpool is definitely glaring, while Cable actually has the gall to look hurt.

Deadpool is still ranting. “Just because we're best buds whenever you need somebody to do your dirty work or to make a fool of and you dismiss me like trash the rest of the time does not mean that we always have to agree or that I'm attached to you like a baby to its mother's teat! So you can take your %@#$^* leash and choke collar and shove them up your @$$!”

And now Cable looks both hurt and guilty. The @#*^$. And damn this stupid comic-book censoring.

“Wade...” Nate says quietly. “You know I don't think of you like that.”

“Yeah?!” Deadpool demands, livid. “Well, everybody else does! I'm a full-grown adult, you know! I can make my own #&$%*^# decisions, and if I want to sign up with the government to kick your and every other unregistered super's @$$%# then I have a right to do that!”

“Please,” Cable says, somehow managing a confused-and-hurt-puppy-dog-face, despite having white hair because he's actually like super old (or at least, he's somewhere between 30 and 50, who really knows with continuity especially when people don't age, not even hot old guys like Cable and Magne-effing-to) and somehow is buff as a ^$#% Asgardian god. “You could do so much more by my side.”

“SEE?!” Deadpool shrieks at him. “THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN! People either hate me and want to kill me or else they want to control me, and you fall in Category #2! And that's the thing with you, Nate!” Deadpool continues, before Cable can do more than open his mouth in a vain attempt to say something. “I know why I don't have any actual friends! It's because I'm a #$%@^& #*%$ who kills people I don't like or that I'm hired to, annoy the hell out of anybody I don't kill, and treat all my allies like #$%@. You want to know why you don't have any friends?”

He doesn't even give Cable a chance to reply before yelling, “IT'S CUZ YOU NEED TO CONTROL EVERY-#$%&^#@-ONE AND EVERY-#$%&^#@-THING!”

There's a THUMP! as the the gravimetric field surrounding Deadpool disappears and he drops to the floor.

“Somebody has to,” Cable says quietly, looking at Deadpool with an unreadable expression as the mercenary springs up to his feet, glaring at him. “The people of this world need a leader. Somebody has to step up to the job. Somebody has to point them in the right direction, has to give up everything for the future.”

“And somebody has to play the manipulatable idiot,” Deadpool grinds out, fists clenched at his sides as he glares at the time-traveler from the future. “But I'm sick and tired of it, Nathan @#&*%^$ Priscilla Summers.”

Cable holds his gaze, both eyes blue and un-glowy. “So what now?” Cable asks, voice uncharacteristically quiet, muscles tenser than Hawkeye's bowstring. “Do you still want to fight me? Because if it's a fight you so badly want, it's a fight I'll give you.”

Deadpool stares at him, face unreadable behind the expressionless mask. “Me? I'm going to go back to my apartment and watch TV twenty-four-seven until my brain rots. You? You're going to keep trying to save the world, no matter how much it doesn't want to be saved.”

Deadpool turns and starts striding out of the warehouse. “Good luck, Priscilla. You're sure gonna need it. Even I can tell it's a long, lonely road you're headin' down.”

Cable stood there silently for longer than necessary after Deadpool left, staring at nothing.

“What happened to Deadpool?” Captain America asks Cable later, somewhat cautiously.

“He went home,” Cable intoneswithout emotion, keeping his gaze fixed on the table, where the rebels have spread out their plans of resistance.

Captain America frowns slightly. “So which side is he on?”

“Neither,” Cable says tonelessly.

“Are we going to have to worry about him?” Captain America presses.

“Only if you attack him first,” Cable answers. “So don't attack him.”

Captain America looks at the savior with concern. “Is everything alright, Cable?”

“Yes,” Cable says immediately, his left eye flashing blue as he scans the revel plans, already planning on how to get Deadpool back firmly on his side by manipulating the US government into going after the mercenary.