spider webs (and other sticky substances)

Regulus remembered it vividly.

He had turned 17 a month or two ago, and was still slumming it out in the depression heap that was W******* and O****’s house.

House? No. Mansion.

He remembered being home, sitting on his cardboard-imitation mattress and staring blankly at everything in his (otherwise empty) room.

His discarded violin case.

The bright blue and red vinyl player left behind Sirius.

A stack of books (classics only, obviously), in which the middle of one book was cut out with space for Regulus’ burner phone.

A little black dragon plushie gifted by Pandora (also called Regulus).

A spider web in the corner of his room.

He barely registered the objects, more preoccupied with wasting as much time as possible staring into the distance.

A week ago, he would’ve spent that time talking to his parents’ butler, Kreacher. 

But he was dead. He was shot just one block away from a ‘fundraising’ gala Regulus and his parents were attending while going to pick them up. 

Regulus was kneeling in front of him as he bled out, trying to cover the wound when he said: “Master Regulus. Don’t.” His voice didn’t waver or rasp. “You’re a special young man. Where great power is bestowed, so too is an equally great responsibility incumbent.”

Kreacher was dead.

And Regulus was depressed.

He sat in his room and drew up a plan to get out. But plans can fall through, as so often they do. He was a pussy. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t do what Sirius did.

He remembered being home, sitting on his cardboard-imitation mattress and thinking.

When he got the call.

“Is this Regulus Black?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Is it?”

“...Yes.”

“Sir, it’s your parents…”

Regulus listened to the rest of the call, unmoving and unfeeling. Probably unblinking as well. 

W******* and O**** Black. Dead. Princess Diana style.

They were driving to some gala, all dressed up, through a dark street, when the car broke down. The driver stepped out to check if their was anything faulty with the tires, while they waited in the car. Ten minutes passed, and O**** stuck his head out the window to check what had happened.

His head came back severed.

Authorities didn’t know what else followed, but they suspected it was bloody and gory and horrific. They were dead and an hour and a half late to the gala.

Regulus remembered being told to go and take a look at the crime scene photos as soon as possible.

When he hung up, limply holding the phone at his side, he blinked away tears. Was he crying? He didn’t know if they were from relief or sadness.

Regulus remembered going to check out the photos, asking for them to not be censored. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary at first, but when he took another look, he saw something.

At the foot of where W******* and O****’s dead bodies were slumped in the back seat, there was a wrapper.

A fucking burrito wrapper.

They would have never had left a burrito wrapper in their car.

Of course, Regulus didn’t tell the authorities. He didn’t want the killer to be found.

But Regulus took home the photo. When he sold the house, inherited the ‘head of the house’ title and moved out, he took as much time as possible in between to study the photo. Specifically, the wrapper. 

Little cheesy Mexican sombreros, with detailing at the hat band, which Regulus now knew was a belt buckle. Deadpool’s belt buckle.

You can guess how Regulus felt, seeing the two dead bodies slumped against the wall of a New York sewer tunnel, and at their feet, the same wrapper he had been studying for years.

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

Regulus swung out of the tunnel, rubbing his jaw as he rammed his back into the nearest wall (barely wincing at the crunch of the wall) and slid down it.

He ripped his mask off, his head between his knees and ruffling his hair out from the stupid fluffy friction-induced mess the mask made it.

He sniffled, taking a deep breath in to stop the hiccups. Oh, he was hiccuping, by the way. Rubbing his eyes with the base of his palm, he looked up to see bright headlights in front of him.

“Mr Spider-Man!” 

“-The fuck? Dopinder?” Regulus quickly moved to pull his mask on.

Wrong, of course.

He put the mask on all wrong. The eyes of the mask were aligned with Regulus’ ear.

“There’s no need to put your mask on, Mr Spider-Man! I will not sell you out, or whatever.”

“Uhm, shit, okay.”

“Get in!” Dopinder reached across to open the door of the passenger side for Regulus to get into.

Regulus gingerly sat down, pulling the mask off, and Dopinder started driving.

“Uh, Dopinder? I need to get back-”

“I know, let’s just drive around a block and we’ll figure out what to do.”

What?

“...Okay?” Regulus shuffled in his seat, bringing his knees up to his chest in a half-assed fetal position.

“So, what has got you so down in the dumps?”

“I’m-I’m not sad, who’s telling you I’m sad?”

“Your defensive nature.”

“...Touche.”

“So tell me, Mr Spider-Man. Why are you morose?”

“It’s-just- it’s just Spider-Man. You can just call me Spider-Man.”

“Okay, Mr Man!”

“I- whatever. It’s just… well… Deadpool and I kind of…”

“Boned? Fruit caged? Aggressively cuddled? Did the horizontal tango? Sheathed the meat dagger? Launched the meat missile? Bruised the beef curtains? Did the dipsy doodl-”

“What? NO! No, we did not! …You-you know how I have a strict ‘no killing’ rule, right?”

“Of course. Mr Pool had told me multiple times.”

“Right. Well, I don’t know what happened, or why it happened, but I was walking around the tunnels to find Deadpool, and I came across two… dead bodies.” 

“How do you know Mr Pool killed them?”

“That’s the thing. I know for sure. Because he was the only person there hurting people and he admitted it when I… sort of exploded on him?”

“Then-”

“It’s not just that. The killing, I mean. I would be mad if he just randomly killed two security guards but… it’s not just that. God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but… when I was seventeen, my parents died. Don’t be sorry, I fucking hated them. They were abusive - mentally, physically, emotionally, the whole deal. But when they died, the authorities gave me a picture of the crime scene, and in the corner of the picture… there was a wrapper. A burrito wrapper.”

“Ah. Mr Pool’s signature killing burrito.”

“Yeah- that’s what it’s called? Bit on the nose, no? Anyways, um, I saw the same wrapper at the foot of one of the dead bodies and it kind of… clicked, you know? He killed my parents. The worst part is, I’m not even that mad about him killing my parents. I’m mad that I’m mad. I hated them. If he didn’t do it I’m sure I was bound to end up doing it myself. I’ve spent years studying that stupid wrapper, and I never figured it out.”

“So it seems you’re not that mad at him about killing your parents, and a lot of this is self loathing?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s also… he told me he wouldn’t kill anybody. It’s the… betrayal? That feels very sappy romantic movie, but it is that. He promised not to kill anybody.”

“...Well. I can’t say anything for sure, but in my years of knowing Mr Pool, it’s come to my attention that he’s… loving. That is a huge characteristic. He’s incredibly loyal about the important things. He would do anything for the people he loves, and sometimes it clouds his values. Personally? I think he killed those guards for a reason. They were probably trying to hurt… well… you. Or they were compromising your position. Something like that. And in my complete unprofessional opinion? He’s probably beating himself up about it. And his determination will make him make sure you’re safe. And it’s ultimately your decision whether you choose to forgive him, but I think it will be useful to remember this conversation when making your decision.”

“...Okay. Thank you, Dopinder. Really, thank you. And… I hope it goes well with your Fight Club-esque underground ring.”

“Thank you, Mr Man!”

“You know, as a superhero, I probably should be more concerned with that, but I’ll let the boys in blue figure that out.”

“And, just on time, we’re back at the tunnel opening. Good luck, Mr Man. May you get railed very soon.”

“...Okay? Bye, Dopinder.” 

Regulus opened the door, pulling his mask on and taking one look at the still-opened manhole, looking up at the dark night sky (there was no use trying to look at stars - this was New York, for fuck’s sake) and jumped in.

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

Okay, Regulus, you remember your way around this dump.

Regulus rounded the last corner before he could have fully scoped out all the tunnels under operation when he turned around, feeling his Spidey sense blare at him, pounding from behind his eyes.

He whipped around, jumping onto the ceiling. Vantage point, you could argue. As he squinted to the end of the tunnel, where he had just came from, he saw a trail of something.

Blood.

It wasn’t there before. 

Regulus crawled across the ceiling, stopping at where the blood had started. But from his higher view, he could make out a trail of blood going around in a circle, and another trail of blood going around in a- for fuck’s sake.

It was a dick. Made out of blood.

For fuck’s sake. Deadpool.

Regulus sighed, dropping down, following the trail of blood back where he came from. The trail of blood led off into different tunnels that Regulus hadn’t even located. So apparently Deadpool had gone around looking at more tunnels while Regulus was gone.

But Regulus couldn’t help thinking, as he rounded his fifth corner in the last fifteen seconds, why did his Spidey sense go off?

Then he was knocked out.

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

When Regulus woke up, it wasn’t gradual. Nor was it a blockbuster movie gasp-and-jolt-awake awakening.

It was because he was slapped over the back of his head.

Regulus squinted his eyes open, moving his neck to the side and cracking it. He knew he was tied up. Strapped to a chair. Yeah, it was nothing new. To be honest, Spider-Man got ‘kidnapped for ransom’ every fortnight. If he was lucky.

But this was different. 

He was meant to be on a stakeout. Then the S.H.I.E.L.D communication system got taken over, and now he was kidnapped? Fishy shit.

Like if you went to a Nando’s in a new town, and the worker was all like ‘hey, *your name*, you want your chip seasoning mild or hot?’ and you were all ‘Jeremy? How the fuck do you know my name- I mean I know your name because of the name tag, but how do you know my name? Oh, I know why, this isn’t a Nando’s, this is a front for a heroin dealership! So I’mma dip.”

Or maybe Regulus was just projecting.

Regulus could still feel his mask on, though. And he might have a slight concussion. And he might’ve cut open his arm. And tore open some old still-healing stitches. But overall, not too shabby.

No, he was kidding. He had cuts on his face and the suit was pretty tattered. What, did he get gangbanged while he was knocked out? Okay. Ew. Terminating thought immediately.

He turned his head slowly to look at the security guard who had slapped him over the back of the head.

“This is why I hate going to the dentists.”

Silence. That was the thing, with these facemask-bearing security guards - no humour, no outlet for telling if they understood your humour, overall very humourless. 0/10. Would not recommend. Unless you actually wanted them to security guard.

Regulus looked around, trying to gauge where the fuck he was, when the echoing noises of rows of lights turned on. He was strapped to the chair smack in the middle of a massive warehouse, with multiple floors and metal railing around the outside of every floor looking down at him, like a theatre. The infamous massive warehouse.

“Uh… guys?” Regulus asked. No answer. Obviously. They never did. Pretty annoying, to be honest. “Wh-Where’s Deadpool?”

“Dead.” A voice came from behind him. Female.

At the sound of the voice, all the security guards left, practically disappearing immediately as Regulus felt a shiver go down his spine. He couldn’t place the voice immediately, but it was someone he knew. Someone he was related to.

Also because, dead? Deadpool was… dead?

Obviously it wouldn’t do much, thank god Pedro Pascal for the healing factor, but he was… dead. Done-zo. Zilch. Dead.

Regulus tried swivelling his head around to see the person who spoke, but he couldn’t. He was tied up with vibranium-laced rope, probably - that’s why he couldn’t immediately break out of it.

Regulus felt something prod his side (his bruised rib, mind you) - a pole? Blunt knife? Club? Something along those lines.

He heard heels clacking on the floor, walking in front of him. Women in male dominated fields! 

Okay, maybe that’s not that good, he thought as his ribs were prodded again.

“Wake up, Bug Boy. Wake up.” 

Regulus’ eye twitched under the mask, because he knew that voice. The same condescending tone that followed him around for a good chunk of his life.

Bellatrix.

He darted his eyes up, and of course, there she was. She was wearing a normal office siren-esque black suit, and there were her Prada heels, click-clacking their way into Regulus’ nightmares.

He looked to the side, inhaling sharply. He didn’t even have to second-guess himself, because everything slotted into place. ‘Boss’? Bellatrix. She naturally commanded that genre of fear. Cornering Regulus and asking if he wanted to contribute his chemistry prowess to her new company? Because she needed chemists for the symbiote experimenting.

“You awake? Good!” She purred. “Bring him in.” 

Two stray guards dragged something into the middle of the theatre, in front of Regulus. He tried checking what it was from his peripheral vision, but he couldn’t see anything through his cracked lens. His eyes widened at the red and black leather lump was deposited in front of him before the guards scuttled away through the trail of red Deadpool had left behind.

When Regulus squinted, he could see multiple holes in the suit - through his leg, his torso, and - most alarmingly - his head. The leather was puckered and raised where the bullets had gone all the way through his body and he was completely still.

“What did you do?” Regulus asked firmly, noticing the jagged slices made in Deadpool’s arms and legs.

“What was necessary.” Bellatrix shrugged, checking her nails nonchalantly. “The only downside is that he’ll be waking up in a bit. You took quite a while to wake up, Spider-Man.”

Regulus sniffed, looking away from Deadpool to make eye contact with Bellatrix. 

“Why are you doing this?” Okay, ew, Regulus, so superhero of you. But the point was made.

“Why does anybody do anything?” She not-answered.

“Okay, Wonderland resident, try to be a little less vague?”

“Sci-”

Bellatrix was interrupted by a broken groan from Regulus’ feet.

“Oh, he’s awake!” She cheered. “Get him away.”

Flotsam and Jetsam made a reappearance, dragging Deadpool’s now reawakened body from in front of Regulus to the corner of the room, chaining him up.

“Oh, what’s up, guys?” He croaked.

“You were saying, Bellatrix?” Regulus continued.

“Oh!” Deadpool exclaimed, voice still a bit shaky. “It’s Bellatrix, I should’ve guessed.” 

Yeah, Regulus should’ve too. Considering he was her cousin. Deadpool probably wasn’t even friends with one of her cousins.

“Oh, right! Like I was saying, it’s for science. For the greater good, if you will. You’d know all about science, and the greater good, wouldn’t you?”

“...What’s that meant to mean?”

“This whole… project is just so mankind can successfully evolve- I mean how useful would it be if everybody could genuinely bond with their own symbiotes? Of course, that would be too tedious, so we’re simply trying to create a… one size fits all symbiote. So everybody can have a Venom to their Eddie Brock. We need you two - alive, unfortunately - to dictate different types of DNA. You, more than the guy laying dead on the floor right now, because he’ll live. But you’re one of a kind. Got the proper hybrid DNA and all that.” She continued, ignoring him.

“No-no, wait, rewind, what the fuck do you mean ‘I would know all about it’?”

“You know,” she shrugged, waving him off.

“No, I don’t. What do you mean by that?”

“I’m just saying,” She shrugged. “Considering your major and all, Reggie.”

What. What. Whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhat.

“What.” Regulus said at the same time as Deadpool.

“Oops,” she giggled, obviously not put out. “I didn’t mean to reveal that until later, aw, you’ve messed me up! I had a whole speech planned. I guess it’s time for presents now.”

A huge claw machine arm (but more menacing, less scam than the actual ones in arcades) extended from the ceiling, reaching for Regulus’ head. His mask, more specifically.

That’s when Regulus started thrashing around, trying to get his head away from the claw. Bellatrix sighed, like she was being inconvenienced and strutted over to hold his head in place for the claw machine to rip his mask off.

His face stung, the cold air being abruptly exposed to his fresh cuts.

“Hello Regulus,” she cooed, ruffling his hair.

“Fuck you.”

“You next.” Bellatrix pointed a manicured finger in Deadpool’s direction, who seemed momentarily stunned. Whether at Regulus’ unmasking or because he just died was unclear. 

“Wait,” he choked out. “Waitwaitwaitwaitwait,” Deadpool started thrashing around as well, and he actually managed to loosen the chains as Bellarix walked slowly towards him.

“My god,” she groaned. “I thought the other guy was meant to be flighty like a bug- arachnid, sorry.” She pulled out a lipstick from nowhere. Was she really going to touch up her makeup then?

Apparently not, because she shook it out, and it expanded in rapid time to reveal a long pole, with a pointed end like a knife, resembling a sleek spear.

As quick as a whip, she brought the sharp end down into Deadpool’s thigh, pinning him to the floor.

“You, little cocksucking bitchy-” he trailed off, slurring his words - or maybe that was another language - into more curses. “-MotherFUCKER!” He threw his head back in pain, slamming it against the concrete wall.

Regulus would’ve flinched, but his face was uncovered, so no thanks.

“Well now that you’ve stopped moving,” Bellatrix gestures lazily to Deadpool. “Get him.”

The same claw came back down, grabbing the bottom of Deadpool’s mask from the front, and started to lift it up.

In that split second, it occurred to Regulus that he had never seen Deadpool’s face. At all. He had never really though about it before, because Deadpool was naturally so… open about everything.

The mask lifted up past his neck, and just to the bridge of his nose - where Regulus kept his mask when he ate. So far, golden brown skin and full lips. Holy shit, yeah. Regulus could work with that. Regulus could work with that.

But when the mask started lifting higher, Regulus’ eye started twitching. Because he knew that face. More importantly.

Those.

Cow.

Eyes.

That hair. That sheepish smile. He knew all of it. He loathed all of it.

James motherfucking Fleamont motherfucking Potter.

Deadpool. James. Same person.

James was the person who sat on his counter watching K-Dramas while removing grenade shrapnel from his whole body with My Little Pony tweezers.

James was the person who insisted on buying Regulus ‘whatever he wanted’ and continued to educate him on the dangers of consuming too much sugar when he gets something with a gram of sugar in it.

James was the person who yells “LET’S HAVE A BAJA BLAST!” while jumping off roofs.

James was the person who impulsively tried to put fires out with his bare hands- okay, that was expected from James and Deadpool.

“Hi,” James grinned sheepishly, Flynn Rider style. “Your eye, it’s-it’s twitching pretty freakily-”

“Don’t.”

Deadpool’s-James’ jaw snapped shut.

“Aw, look at this,” Bellatrix was holding both their masks in either hand. “Trophies! Oh- ew, this one is covered in blood. Never mind.” She threw it to the side. “Oh- ew, so is this one. That sucks.” She threw them both to the side, sighing disappointedly.

“And swallows!” James heckled from the side.

Regulus maneuvered his webshooters to shoot a web directly at James’ mouth. That was enough of him.

“Well, we don’t need the claw anymore. And you’re probably wondering how I managed to track you two down so… flawlessly. It was really simple, really. And I didn’t even need to travel back and forth from New York to London too much. So you can come down!” She called mock-giddily. 

Regulus heard another clack of heels, coming down from where someone was controlling the Evil Claw of Doom and Bad Times ™ . 

“All this applause? For me?” The person gushed, coming down the stairs to stand next to Bellatrix, dramatically draping herself on Bellatrix’s shoulder, surprisingly not getting whacked off.

“Right. Rita Skeeter. Of course.” Regulus nodded, sighing.

“Mm-mmm!” James muffledly called out.

Someone that could spy on Regulus during his civilian hours and had enough pull with society to put them off Spider-Man. Enough for him to be gone for a while without repercussions.

“Aw, Regulus, don’t be like that.” Rita pouted. “...Okay, be like that, you’re kinda fucked.”

“Okay, well, that’s enough dramatics,” Bellatrix sighed, walking towards Regulus. “Time to get you two to the lab.”

She pulled her spear back out, chopping a leg of Regulus’ chair clean off. 

“Motherfucker,” he groaned, teetering on the chair.

“Um. No. That would be your mother’s cousin. Or should I say, your father.”

Ouch. Guilty.

Then she went over to Deadpool talking to him while he exhibited his signature wisecracking. 

Regulus’ eyes darted around, looking for something - anything - to get him away. 

But… the thing was…

Regulus surveyed the floor rapidly, and there it was. Amongst practically all of Deadpool-James’ blood, was a gun. 

Regulus knew it was Deadpool’s because it had a faded, half-burnt off Hello Kitty sticker near the muzzle.

“Bellatrix? You need my DNA, sure, but you need my DNA working, right? You need me alive. You don’t even really need Deadpool, but I am… one of a kind, apparently. You need me alive.”

With a straining jerk of his wrist, Regulus had ripped half of the actual chair arm off, and he had a free arm. He fumbled with the gun, before successfully cocking it and pressing it up against his temple.

“Don’t you, Bella?”