Weasel hates pain, in any way, shape, or form. Definitely not a turn-on. Despite his best efforts to hide this information, most of the regulars at the bar had learned it one way or another. Which had, of course, resulted in a lot of jokes and comments at his expense. (It also resulted in a few hard-to-explain-away situations; an axe impaling the bar, missing his hand by inches, was what made it so the regulars started enforcing his no weapons around the bartop rule. Another time when a knife was flying across the room unexpectedly and there was no way Weasel 'not superspeed having' would have been able to get out of the way, so Rooster had simply stepped into the path and taken the knife himself before dragging the offender out of the bar kicking and screaming.)
He probably had a hundred stories of Wade getting revenge on a thousand stupid things for causing Weasel the smallest pains. (Dozens of glass bottles he'd cut himself cleaning up, a trash can he'd tripped over, and a broken stool he'd gotten a splinter from.) So it was nice the mercenaries showed they cared in some ways.
Ferret had noticed as well, he must have; he's a baby super genius. Weasel doesn't ask where the ten-year-old gets the painkillers from (he probably- no definitely should, as a guardian and a dealer himself. Maybe he'll find a good wholesaler for- off track.) But he finds everything from the spray-on localized anesthetic to the highest dosed ibuprofen he'd ever seen. (Which is a lot. He is a drug dealer. Ferret should definitely put him in contact with his supplier.)
His phone rings out, echoing across the apartment from where he'd left it on the mini fridge. Weasel glanced over and debated abandoning his failed coding for a while to chat with Ferret; it might do him some good.
Ferret had started, tentatively, calling when he got out of school. Weasel had told him to only call during emergencies, but he had not scolded Ferret the first time he'd called just to talk about what happened at school, which had apparently reinforced the idea.
Weasel answered on the third ring, clicking it over to speaker so he could at least pretend to work while Ferret rambled. (No, he didn't have shit hearing, no matter what Ferret said about it.)
"Uncle Weasel!" Comes the expected shout, but instead of excited, it sounds terrified. Weasel's blood runs cold.
"Ferret, what's up?"
"Uncle Weasel, this guy was trying to mug me on my way home from school, and I tried telling him I didn't have any money, but he pulled a gun, and I ran while he was distracted, and he's following me, and I don't know what to do." Ferret was panicking; he rambles harder when he panics. That's information Weasel never wanted to have.
"Come to Sister Margaret's; I'll have the door unlocked. When you come in, go straight through to the apartment and stay up there. I'll chase off Flynn Ryder." Weasel is scrambling, loading his shotgun as he rushes down the stairs.
"Flynn Ryder? Prince Charming from Tangled?" Comes Ferret's breathless reply; Weasel can hear his feet hitting the ground if he strains.
"No, he's the thief who stole the crown."
"And then finds and marries the lost princess. I don't want to marry this guy, Uncle Weasel." Ferret huffs out, he's talking again after a moment. "I think he's more like Farquaad."
"Be real with me right now, Ferret. Are you being chased by an angry midget with a gun?" Hellhouse doors are unlocked; Weasel stands and waits.
"They're called little people now." Ferret says almost absently. "No, I just meant he's a whiny little bitch who gets upset when he doesn't get what he wants."
Weasel laughs. Maybe for a whole minute, the unexpected bitch-drop from his wholesome nephew caught him off guard.
Then Ferret, ducking inside and rushing past Weasel for the apartment, he barely makes it halfway before the doors are being thrown open and Farquaad has made an appearance. He has a gun that he instantly trains on Weasel, who reciprocates with his shotgun in a very 'try me'-esque manner.
"Look, nobody has to get hurt. Just give me the kid, and we'll be on our way." The mugger tries, clearly underestimating his situation.
"If you don't get the hell out of my bar in point five seconds, I'll paint your gore stains on my walls." Weasel snarls in response.
He sees the moment Farquaad realizes where he is. His body tensing and snapping like a frayed line. He feels the moment Farquaad panics because of the bullet in his arm (he'd clearly wanted to disarm Weasel but had never been in a gunfight before.) And seconds later the shotgun blast rings out as the man's guts are ripped out of him.
Then Ferret is there, having hidden when he didn't make it to the apartment, and he's fussing over the bullet wound (not at all bothered by the fact Weasel just overkilled someone at their feet, and wow, Weasel is not a good example for children) and Weasel is groaning as Peter is sitting him down on a barstool and already trying to pull the bullet out. "Kid, how do you even know how to do this?"
"I did a bunch of research right when I first moved in about first aid and various weapon injuries." Ferret explains, as if that's something any ten-year-old would do in this situation. "I'm not going to lose any more family because of something I could have fixed with some extra knowledge. Besides, Aunt May was a nurse; maybe I'll become a doctor." And oh, if that didn't make Weasel's heart shrivel up and die.
---
Weasel makes it three days of recovery before feeling like he was going insane, and he reopens the bar.
The mercenaries are notably careful around him, as if he's suddenly fragile because he's in constant pain. Several offer their services for free, only to cheer and buy extra drinks when he points out the new stains on the wall and floor.