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 and sex 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 illuminating his huge, toned muscles, as he comes to save them from the madman called Deadpool. 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 #$&%$ who's too damn sexy for his own &%^$#@ shirt. And pants. The pants, too.

“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, sexy Savior of the World Cable thinks that he knows Deadpool so well, when he doesn't even know Deadpool's feelings for him.

“And I'll give you a bigger badge,” Cable adds. He keeps his gaze steady on Deadpool, not blinking, and it's all Deadpool can do to suppress a shiver, because just damn. Those were eyes that could look right through you into your head, even though they couldn't anymore, and they never could see into Deadpool's.

Really, though? Cable thinks a badge would get him to switch sides, when what he actually wants is something that Nate can't give?

“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—cupid love arrows would be better) and fires at Cable, even though he hasn't let down his gravimetric-whatsit-shield-whatever, because if Cable knows anything about Deadpool, it's that he gets violent when he's angry, and you never, ever let down your guard around a violent, angry Deadpool.

“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 what he maybe feels for him that might be a bit stronger than friendship.

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, because really, Cable probably knows more about every single other #&%$@ person on the planet than he knows about Deadpool, since Deadpool's mind is the only one he's never read (patching the holes and preventing more from happening was not actually reading Deadpool's mind).

Sometimes Deadpool wonders: if Nate had ever been able to read his mind, would he keep coming back for him like this? Or would he hate Wade just as much as everybody else, and find a way to kill him? (Because if anybody could find a way, it would probably be Nate. &%$^, he was practically killing Wade with a broken heart as it was...)

“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!” It's so easy to use that as an excuse for his anger. Now if only Nate would buy it...

“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, and damn it, Nate is too smart for his own good, and if he sees through Wade's excuses then who's to say he won't eventually make his way to the truth?

“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, and maybe that kind of telekentic bondage thing would be fun in bed, but right now it's decidedly not fun and is just pissing Wade off. “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, and Wade should really not find that as much of a turn-on as he does. “You just want the license to fight superheroes.”

“Hey, that reminds me,” Deadpool muses, forgetting about his anger for a moment as a thought occurs to him, “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, and Wade doesn't know if he loves that or hates it.

“You just want to be on the side that gets the most fighting,” Cable continues, as if he actually knows &^%$ about Deadpool and his oh-so-elusive-and-well-hidden feelings.

“So what if I do?!” Deadpool demands, furious again as he glares down at the half-living-metal man who somehow manages to make saving the world look sexy. “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, purposefully serious and accidentally really %&^$#% hot.

Wade might be drooling a little bit, so he hastily swallows. Good thing his suit makes it extremely difficult to get hard, and hides it even if he does.

“Joining the rebel cause will be a better fighting deal,” Cable continues. “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.”

That might be a good approach, Nate, if it wasn't so incredibly, completely not what Wade's $#@%^*& problem is.

“WELL MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT AGAINST ANY OF THEM!” Deadpool shouts angrily, and the words: “MAYBE I JUST WANT TO FIGHT AGAINST YOU!” comes spilling out before he can stop them.

Cable stills, and Wade thinks: ^%&*$#@! And then curses this fanfiction for censoring all swearwords comic-style, because it's really annoying, and Wade wonders how the hell Nate hasn't noticed that all his cursing is getting bleeped out.

“Is that so?” Nate asks after a moment, tone still calm and even as he pins Deadpool's gaze with his own, and Wade wouldn't be able to look away even if he wanted to. Nate's eyes are so #@$%^&* blue, and look way younger than they should, after all the year's he's lived and all the things he's been through. “And why would that be?”

“Why would—?” Deadpool splutters, his mouth gaping behind the red and black mask, because it's ridiculous how ^%$ clueless Nate is when it comes to himself. “BECAUSE YOU'RE A SELF-RIGHTEOUS @%$^& #@*%$ AND I'M NOT YOUR PET PSYCHO KILLER! THAT'S WHY!”

At this point, the other rebel superheroes leave to give them some privacy. Cable and Deadpool have both already forgotten about their existence, however, so they don't notice them leave, sending almost-pitying glances back at them.

Deadpool glares furiously at Cable, while Cable actually has the gall to look hurt, as if Wade could hurt him and wasn't the one who was actually hurting.

“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!” Deadpool shouts, and it says a lot about how much Cable's gotten used to Wade that he doesn't so much as blink at that simile. “So you can take your %@#$^* leash and choke collar and shove them up your @$$!”

And now Cable looks both hurt and guilty. The @#*^$. Even though he should feel guilty, but he shouldn't *&@#^%$ pretend like he's guilty, because Wade knows that he's not.
“Wade...” Nate says quietly. “You know I don't think of you like that.”

“Yeah?!” Deadpool demands, livid, because oh yes Nate does he's said so out loud to Irene nobody pay attention to how Wade knows that when he really shouldn't be he does so shove it. “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 like super old (but he's aged pretty damn nicely) probably but somehow also is buff and sexy as a ^$#% Asgardian god. “You could do so much more by my side.”

“SEE?!” Deadpool shrieks at him, furious, because Nate wants (to use) him but he doesn't actually want him, not like Wade wants Nate. “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 sexy mouth (that Wade is trying very hard to keep himself from staring at) in a vain attempt to say something that Wade definitely doesn't care about. “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?”

Cable looks like Wade just punched him in the face, but Wade keeps right on with: “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.

Wade can't decide which he wants to do to that face more: punch it or kiss it. Maybe he could compromise and shoot it instead...

“The people of this world need a leader,” Cable says, still in that soft, I-have-the-entire-$%#@^*&-world-on-my-shoulders voice. “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 if what you say is the case... why did you believe in me?” Nate's face is one of need—a child begging for attention, for praise, for an affirmation.
Deadpool glances down. “I still believe in you,” he says. “Or at least, I believe you could do it—that you could save the world—if the world let you. But I don't believe in the world enough to think that it'll let you save it. And truth be told, Nate,” he glanced up at the taller, broader, older, sexier man, “I don't want you to succeed.”

When he glances up, Nate's expression looks pained.

“I don't want you to succeed because I can't live in the kind of world that you're trying to create,” Wade hisses, and the venom in his voice is scalding his throat. “There's no place for me in your peace-loving, granola-eating, violence-and-murder-free paradise.”

“Wade—”Nate starts, but Wade quickly cuts him off.

“No, I don't,” Wade snaps, and it's probably a good thing that he's wearing the mask and Nate can't see all the... the hatred and anger and fury on his face. “I tried to live that way, remember? I tried to live on Providence—and we both saw how well that worked out.”

Nate looks down, no doubt remembering how Wade killed that (supposedly) former terrorist for absolutely no apparent reason, other than that he felt like it. And if, after Nate restored his memory, Wade now remembers that he'd killed the terrorist because he was still a terrorist and he was plotting against Nate and Providence and that Wade didn't want Nate to know so he'd destroyed all the evidence, well—Nate doesn't need to know all that. It's not like he'd believe it, anyway.

“I'm a violent, unstable murderer,” Deadpool points out harshly, because it's true, no matter how much he might try to convince himself that he doesn't want to be that way (except that, secretly, deep down, that's just who he is and it's never going away, and as soon as Nate figures that out the better—there's no place for Wade in the wannabe-messiah's dreams). “Even the brainwashing One World Church couldn't get rid of my urges to kill and maim.”

“Wade,” Nate tries again, concern and hurt scrawled all over his handsomely rugged features, and he's so virile and male and he really should not be Wade's type, because Wade likes hips and boobs, right? (Right?)

“I know that you're actually a good person—” Nate tries, but Wade isn't having it. He isn't #@$%!& having it.

“No, you don't know that!” Wade practically screams, and in a fraction of a second he's slipped a knife out of his sleeve and has it pressed to Cable's neck, Cable shoved violently back against the warehouse wall. “You can't see what's inside my head and you don't know anything about me!”

Nate doesn't know—Nate doesn't know what an awful, violent, @#^%$&$-up, ugly person Wade is on the inside (because if you think he's ugly on the outside?—which everyone does—he's so much worse on the inside), and he doesn't know that Wade loves him—he doesn't know that Wade loves him so much that it hurts. Hurts worse than the Cancer-HealingFactor War going on inside him every second of every day, hurts more than what little conscience he has, hurts more than the screams and disgusted looks of most people who see his face.

And the terrifying thing is that this isn't just lust—it's full on #@!$%*# love, the kind that Cable Savior-of-the-Earth Summers doesn't have time for. Even if there were somehow a chance for Nate to love him back, if it wasn't painfully obvious that Nate is as straight as Wade used to think that he was and that he has the hots for Domino, a relationship between them could never work, because Cable doesn't have any time to pursue relationships between all his world-saving.

The best Wade might be able to get is a quick fuck every now and then, but that's not what Wade wants. A quick fuck would just make Wade feel even more dirty and pathetic and used than he already feels when it comes to Nathan Gesundheit Priscilla Messiah Summers because Wade doesn't want to fuck around with him—he wants to make love with him. The slow, deliberate kind, permeated with sappy love confessions and all that junk that Wade neither deserves nor needs but wants. And he can't even remember the last time he wanted something like that.

He just wants to spend time with Nate, time that Nate doesn't have. A disturbing amount of Deadpool's fantasies involve things like sunscreen massages, rather than just fucking, and are creepily non-violent and quite nearly domestic, and it honest-to-a-God-that-either-doesn't-exist-or-doesn't-give-a-$#!% scares the living $#!% out of Wade.

“I know some,” Nate says, trying to keep an iron grip on whatever calm he can, because Wade's been silent for a total of about three seconds and doesn't seem to be opening his mouth to say anything else.

It takes Wade a moment to remember what they were even talking about, his mind had run off on such a tangent.

“I know that you don't actually like chimichangas, you just like the word,” Nate says, and he's trying to hold Wade's gaze, but Wade's wearing the Deadpool mask and so Nate would never know whether Wade was actually looking at him or not, ha! “I know that for you, violence is akin to mediation. I know what you usually dream about,” and that's actually not as creepy as it sounds, because Wade has this nasty habit of talking rather loudly in his sleep—he really only shuts up when he's dead. “I know that—”

“Shut! Up!” Deadpool hisses, putting just enough pressure on the knife that he'd temporarily forgotten he was holding against Nate's neck to nick the surface of his skin, a single, solitary drop of blood trickling down the tanned flesh.

“Wade...” Nate whispers, staring at him unblinkingly, unflinchingly.

“I said shut up!” Deadpool shouts. Only suddenly he realizes that he's leaning into Nate's face, and that Nate's deep blue eyes are slightly widened in surprise, his lips slightly parted, and Wade has never wanted to kiss those lips more than he does now.

And Wade's never had the best impulse control, and he realizes, somewhere, in darkest corners of his shallow heart or deeply buried in the disturbing junk that fills his brain, that this might be his only chance to do this.

So he stands up on his toes and leans forward, pressing his mask-covered lips to Nate's, and he doesn't close his eyes because he wants to see Nate's expression of disgust, only Nate doesn't look disgusted, only surprised, and Wade thinks it's definitely a good thing that he's kissing Nate through his mask.

The knife is still pressed to Nate's throat with one of Deadpool's hands, while the other reaches for a grenade on his belt, fumbling to pull out the pin.

And then Wade is suddenly lowering the knife and pulling back, and Nate looks all adorably (adorably? really? how the hell does he manage that?) confused and he's about to say something, only then his blue, blue eyes alight on the pinless grenade in Wade's hand, and Cable barely has time to throw a gravimetric shield over himself before the grenade goes off in a fantastic burst of white and yellow and orange and red.

Once the explosion dissipates, Nate drops the shield and looks around to see that the area is painted red with Wade's remains.

And Nathan Dayspring Askansi'son Summers, who's seen all kinds of horrific battles and carnage imaginable, feels incredibly, inexplicably sick.

When Cable catches up with the rest of the superhero rebels, his face is cut out of stone.

“Cable,” Captain America greets. “What happened with Deadpool?”

Cable doesn't answer. He doesn't even appear to have heard the good captain.

“Come on,” Cable says, easily stepping forward to take the lead, to show the way. “We have a mission to complete.”

When Wade's heart starts beating again and his brown eyes reopen, he's lying naked on the cold, concrete warehouse floor, wishing, not for the first time, that he could have just $#%^&!* stayed dead.