Improvisation, Deadpool-style
5:12 p.m.
"Alright, Dylan let's see if I can at least set you on the edge of the bed for a minute so I can figure out a way you can somehow sit up and eat something."
"I think I should be able to move myself," Dylan adjusted their hands on either side, pushing themselves up. "I'm not in too much- son of a motherfucker..." they collapsed in defeat. "Spoke too soon, I guess."
"Those painkillers only do so much," Wade walked over to the bed. "Let me help." He reached down and carefully picked them up like one of his treasured unicorn plushies.
"Holy shit!" Dylan exclaimed, their eyes widened in panic as their arms tightened around his shoulders. "You are... way stronger then you look."
"Yeah..." Wade wracked his brain for an answer that could explain his super strength.
'Come on, Wade... put what braincells you have to good use; and no wisecracks!'
"Well, since I'm kinda fucked up on the outside, I try to keep my insides in better condition... working out, healthy-ish diet. It's a routine I fell into pretty naturally with my job." He took a couple steps and set Dylan on a corner of the mattress.
"Oh," Dylan looked at him, examining the healed scars that dappled his face and neck, feeling bad for whatever caused them and felt tempted to ask about it, but changed the subject."How did you and Pete meet? Rhyme not intended."
Wade worked on arranging the bedspread and pillows into something that Dylan could be comfortable sitting on. "Peter's the better one of us to tell this story, but I was just passing through at the time; I stopped at Julius' for a drink and I saw this beautiful guy with a group of friends taking shots at the bar... his smile is what did it first for me. I wanted to talk to him but I didn't know how, but fate intervened and we haven't looked back... and it's almost been four years now."
"That's really sweet, Wade. I'm happy for you." Wade saw their smile, but clocked the fact that Dylan couldn't look him in the eyes when they talked, but he held his tongue: Dylan was going through a lot and he didn't want to pry.
'What's going on? Why aren't you gonna ask? This isn't like you, Wade!?'
'Wouldn't you consider this form of growth a good thing?'
'No... this slice of life shit is booriinnng!'
'Well, this "slice of life" attitude is refreshing in my opinion... ever since meeting Peter, he has learned how to process his emotions intuitively and save his primal instincts for when he's out fighting crime.'
'How about I slice you in half, Mr. Smart-Ass, good for nothing, sack of-'
"Wade?" Dylan's voice snapped him out of his internal conflict.
"Oh... I'm sorry, Dylan. My inner thoughts were kind of having a heated back and forth and it's easy for me to get distracted when it happens."
"You have an internal narrator, too?"
Wade paused, pillow in hand before fluffing it and arranging it with the other pillows in the bedding bird nest he created. "Internal narrator?"
"Yeah: I'm autistic and my thoughts work a lot like a TV show narrator, even when I sleep. It took a lot of adjusting, but I have no trouble with it."
"I was diagnosed with ADHD as a kid, but who knows what else I've got rattling around up here." Wade tapped the side of his head twice then walked towards Dylan. "Okay, let's see if this works for you." He picked them up again and carefully sat them in the 'birdnest'. "How does it feel?"
"It's a little awkward, but it'll work. Thank you, Wade."
"You're welcome, hon... I'm gonna check on Pete and see what's going on with dinner."
"Alright, I'll be here." They reached into their hoodie pocket, retrieving a cell phone. Wade turned and left the bedroom, back down the hall towards the kitchenette where Peter was getting plates from the cupboard.
"Well, I did find our order in one of the bags, hopefully one of the stolen two belongs to Dylan."
"I'm sure it does; besides the place was gonna be a crime scene. I doubt anyone will be going through the caution tape to get their take out. Let me see which bag has what." Wade tore open the two remaining bags, and peeked into the containers within. "One has a couple quart containers of pozole and an order of steak fajitas with french fries, the other bag has enchiladas with rice, beans and a side order of tostones. Let's see if I got lucky." He calls out towards the bedroom. "Hey Dylan, do you remember what you had ordered before shit hit the fan?"
"Uh... I think I went with my usual: a chicken burrito with beans, rice and a regular pozole."
"Okay, Dylan." He looked at Peter. "Well, shit... I'll give them the enchilada container and you can heat up half of one of those soups in a microwave bowl. At least you and Dylan can bond over pozole." He closes the second Styrofoam container and picks it up, grabbing a fork from the dish drainer.
"Babe, I really hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking about right now."
'What would he be thinking about?'
'Well, I'm certainly not gonna tell you, asshat.'
"What would I be thinking about other then the traumatized person in there who needs our help and these enchiladas before they get cold; it's what any hero would do." Wade kisses Peter on the cheek before making his return to the bedroom with Dylan's dinner, leaving him perplexed but willing to help Dylan until they've fully recovered from this freak incident.
As Wade, Peter and their new compatriot Dylan get to know each other over Mexian takeout and getting to be more acquainted, Peter can't put his mind fully at ease until Dylan reaches out to their cousin, and how he's going to telling Matt about this new roommate when he and Foggy visit Saturday.