Weasel - Wade's POV
Spider-man continued to babble about the spots of mold on the ceiling. Describing how they looked like various villains he’s fought. Wade thought they all looked like mold spots. His leg started to bounce. Spider-man should be asleep so his body could heal but he wouldn’t shut up. Wade was the one who wouldn't shut up. Merc with the mouth. Not Spidey with the mouth. He stood up and got Spider-man a fresh glass of water.
“Thank you,” he said. “Have you ever met Stilt-man? He asked. Wade blinked at him.
“Unfortunately,” he responded. “So our rogues galleries do have some crossover.”
Spidey nodded sagely even though Wade was sure he wasn’t following the discussion.
Spider-man was too quick to trust people. He was a mercenary for fuck’s sake and the guy just downed that glass of water with no second thought.
“Rhino, that one there is Rhino,” Spidey said and pointed at a mold spot.. Wade did know Rhino, he snorted. That was a memory. Spider-man let his hand drop hard. “You drugged me.”
“Starting to kick in then?” Wade asked. “Good. You were taking so long to pass out and I don’t have anyone to babysit you.”
“Don’ need …” His head lolled off to the side. It looked like it would be uncomfortable. Hopefully, he woke with a crick in his neck, little nosey asshole.
“Finally!” Wade yelled. “Maximum effort!” He wasn't sure what kind of adrenaline that guy had. It took a lot to knock him out. Wade stretched as he stood, enjoying the way his back popped. Then he started strapping all of his weapons back on. He wasn't going to wait for anyone to find them. Spidey could rest his little feet while Wade killed everyone involved.
He skipped outside. There was a nice chill in the air, enough to keep him from getting too hot in his suit and the cold air seemed to give him new energy. He breathed in deeply and then clapped his hands together. Now where to start?
Definitely with the lowly creature that gave him the job in the first place. Which meant he had to find a different lowly creature, Weasel.
His weapons-dealing, geeky reluctant friend.
Weasel could live in better conditions. But old habits die hard and he is a cheap, cheap man. Wade finds him squatting in an old apartment complex. How it has power and running water is anyone’s guess. Wade’s certain Weasel isn’t paying for a damn thing though. The wooden steps bend under his boot. He grabs the railing and it too wobbles. This is the kind of place you might fall through the floor if you’re not careful.
Wade is a bull in a Hobby Lobby. One foot goes through and he tips forward, ripping the railing down with him. Wood stabs painfully into his leg and he swears from the ground. He sits up, pulling his leg out of the new hole and ripping the wood out of his flesh. There’s no noise. No one coming to see what happened. He made a hell of a noise.
“Weas?” He calls out. “It’s just me, your friendly neighborhood Deadpool.”
He tosses the last piece of wood away as he hears a gun cock. He turns his head just in time to have it blown off.
He didn’t so much “wake up” as he suddenly wasn’t outside that condemned building anymore. He was somewhere much warmer, with soft warm sun on his face. He felt relaxed. He opened his eyes to see Mistress Death in front of him wearing nothing but a black bikini and her cloak. . Honestly, this is where he belonged. He smiled at her and then looked down at his body. Healed and free from the cancer that ruined it.
“Like what you see?” his mistress asked. Wade didn’t look up but grunted out a “yes.” Her cold hand caressed his face. “What happened?”
He shrugged and pulled her down onto his lap. “Weas is being jumpy. He won’t get far though. Give me some tongue, baby.”
Wade came back with a gasp to find himself in the same position he was in when his head was blown off. “Chicken shit little Weasel.”
His blood had dried, tacky and some of his skin peeled off onto the porch. Stung but nothing he wasn’t already used to. Today was a bad skin day, unfortunately. The chill air dried him out faster and everything hurt just that much more. He smacked his dry tongue off the rough of his mouth.
He didn’t know why Weasel was bothering to run. Wade would find him. He always finds him. He started by snooping through the building. The building only had 6 units. Wade searched them all anyway. The first one was locked. Wade didn’t bother with niceties and kicked the door in. It did not smell lived in. Very sour, rotten, moldy smelling. Enough mold and mildew to kill somebody.
He made a face as his boot squished down into the carpet. So gross. There wasn’t much in the living room. An old side table with a heavy TV. No furniture. A checkerboard sat on the floor, rotting next to a few empty beer bottles. Everything was covered in dust. He moved on to the bedroom. The door was hanging off the hinges and there was a hole in the wall next to it.
The bedroom held a few blankets and a pillow on the ground. He kicked them around, stirring up dust. A small picture of dogs playing pool hung on the wall. A sticker that says “fuck work” on it. The closet was empty.
He moved back to the hallway and into the bathroom. He immediately closed the door. Disgusting. So disgusting. He lived in questionable conditions but this was unbearable. He moved on to the next unit. More of the same until he got to unit 5. Some monster put carpet in the kitchen and bathroom. Who does that? He had half a mind to burn the place down when he was done just to make a point.
Unit 6 was of course the one Weasel had been squating in. This unit was comfortable. Nice furniture, servers, computers. The fans from the electronics made so much white noise Wade was surprised Weasel had even heard him. He poked around at a few keyboards. Clicked the mouse aggressively. The computer started but was waiting for a command. Wade scoffed and moved on.
“Would it be too much to ask that he just write something down? Like an address? A phone number even?”
There was a pile of empty soda cans in a corner. Mostly Mountain Dew. Typical geek shit. He kicked the cans around so they were sprawled everywhere. He left. Weasel was probably running frantically down the street, laptop under one arm. He shouldn’t be that hard to find again.
He took a leisurely pace. New Yorkers weren’t much help. They didn’t want to talk to the freak in the red suit unless he was waving a gun in their face. He was currently waving a gun in the face of one such New Yorker. The guy still dared to look angry while trying to look bored.
“You’ve got a bad poker face, sunshine,” Wade said as he released him.
The guy dusted off his t-shirt and stood a little taller. “Some guy did run by earlier. Kind of ratty looking, laptop under his arm. He kept looking over his shoulder. Can’t imagine why.”
“You think you’re funny,” Wade said. “I won’t shoot you but I’ll give you some advice, you’re not funny.”
He skipped away. He knew he was on the right path and his mood was brightening. Weasel wouldn’t get the drop on him a second time. He was the best at what he did. Wade didn’t have a spider-sense. So the spinning hook kick to the back of head, spun him right into traffic. He bounced off one car, fell into a group of civilians.