Like a sugar cube
It was two weeks later when he got a message on his phone. He was in the middle of grocery shopping when he felt his phone buzz. He had a crumpled list in his hand with soup and bagel scribbled on it. So far Peter had gotten to ‘soup’, but ‘bagel’ was pushed to the back of his mind as he stood in front of energy drinks.
“Bet Harry’s asking for yogurt,” He muttered to himself as he shifted his basket to one arm, digging around his pocket for the device. “‘Didn’t want anything’ my ass,”
Instead of finding the pitiful text he was expecting from his neighbor, he opened to his lock screen and stared at the unknown number. It took him a moment of staring at the message, 8th Ave at 10, before he realized who it was from. He vaguely remembered deleting the chat with Daredevil’s number in it from the week before.
He hadn’t labeled it either, thinking that at the time it was the smartest decision in case anything happened to his phone. He knew the last four digits, so to keep his relationship with the vigilante that much more discreet, he left the contact unnamed.
Peter was also kind of stupid, so he stood in the middle of the general store for a few minutes, brows furrowed, before he connected the dots.
“So not Harry,” Peter said, mostly to himself, and felt suddenly nervous. This was the first time Daredevil was reaching out to him, not the other way around. He felt honored. He felt like he was going to vomit.
He slipped into his suit just around 9:30, checking his web fluid, then checking his back up canisters, and then looking over them a second time when he felt his nerves build. He jumped from the roof a few minutes later, letting the rush of air whip around him, the drop and curve in the air helping a little with his anxiety. He let out a laugh of exhilaration when he got particularly high at the end of a swing, spreading his arms before shooting a web to catch his momentum.
He sped past seventh avenue, sticking to the side of a building and walking his way leisurely to the roof of what seemed to be an office building. He was two minutes early, but he already heard voices from the top. He quickened his pace.
“C’mon, just tell me,” An unfamiliar voice was whining, the smell of aftershave and gunpowder filling Peter’s nose. “Is it Frank? Is it Jessica? Oh! Oh! Higher? Did you get an Avenger in on this shit? Is it that new one, the girl? She’s not the Black Widow but she’s like…the Black Widow. No, you’re not cool enough for that…”
He reached the edge of the roof, lifting himself up into a crouch, tilting his head as he watched the two figures at the other end. Daredevil was standing, stoic as always, his arms crossed and his head cocked, with another man just besides him. He had a few inches on the Devil, also wearing a red suit with black accents and two swords crossed over his shoulder blades. He was more animated, talking with his hands, walking back and forth, bouncing a few times as he strutted.
Peter thought about calling out to them, but he was really just trying to place the figure. He’d definitely seen him before, either in the newspaper or on the internet. He didn’t remember.
Daredevil beat him to it. “He’s here,” He grumbled, and the two of them turned in frightening unison.
The stranger gasped, the white and black lenses of his mask widened as the muscles in his face moved. Peter was kind of impressed that he was so expressive seemingly without the use of mechanics. “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” He squealed, and ran up to him.
Peter moved to stand, dropping from the ledge and to the concrete. “Hello,” He said, feeling a little awkward when the man stopped a foot away from him, holding his hand out as if he wanted to touch him, but was too afraid. “I’m, uh, I’m Spider-Man,”
“I know,” The man in red whispered at the same time Daredevil chimed in, “He knows,”
“Right,” He nodded, taking care in stepping around the stranger with a wide berth, giving him a little wave before he approached the other vigilante. “What did you need me for, DD? Punching? Kicking? Backflips?”
The exposed bit of skin below his mask stretched as he smiled, dryly, and shook his head. “Nothing that flashy,” He seemed to mull it over. “Probably a bit of punching, though,”
“I’d like to see him backflip!” Peter turned just in time to watch the other man raise a hand, hopping over to them on the heels of his boots. “I can only backflip if the moment is right. Or if the writer suddenly gives me incredible acrobatic abilities,” He snapped his mouth shut, as if waiting for something, and the silence stretched until he groaned. “No? Okay, well, I can’t backflip. You should teach me. I can add it to my arsenal,”
Peter glanced down at the guns strapped to his thighs reflexively. “Maybe later,” He looked towards Daredevil, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “I’m sorry, who is this…?”
“Deadpool,” He replied, gruffly, at the same time the other man said, “Whoever you want me to be,” They seemed to stare at each other for a few moments, and he pulled a little bit at the fingers of his gloves, tugging at lose fabric and then pulling at his wrist to tighten it again.
Deadpool, as he was apparently called, placed his hands on his hips and struck a pose. Peter tried not to audibly laugh, catching himself before he could make more than a sharp exhale. “I’m just a crime-fighting, revenge seeking lone wolf with a love of food trucks and a complicated, tragic backstory,” He cleared his throat. “It all started in 1991—”
“He’s a mercenary,” Daredevil interjected, and Peter felt his shoulders tense. “But he’s…semi-reformed. He can also regenerate. Super healing,” Peter felt his mouth open in a silent ‘ah’.
Deadpool made a big show of flexing his arms. “Yeah, I’m literally unstoppable. Well, unkillable , really, but tomato, right?”
Peter watched him for another moment, and let that fact really sink in. He cleared his throat before speaking. “So is this like a weird self-destructive tendency that has somehow been spun as like, a good quality?”
Blank white lenses stared back at him, empty but filled with his emotion, moving ever so slightly in a widened tilt. “Wow,” He said, then turned quickly, crossing the short distance between them and Daredevil to lean on his shoulder. “Matty, get this guy away from me, he’s reading the subtext super well,”
“What?” The devil-themed vigilante did not sound impressed, and his posture mimicked his tone, stiff and exasperated.
“He’s so close to breaking the fourth wall. I’m the one who breaks the fourth wall,” He explained it as if it made any sense whatsoever. “I don’t like sharing, Matty. Next he’s gonna tell me he has white and yellow, too, and then I’m really gonna freak,”
White and yellow, he mouthed to himself. “I’m red and blue…?”
Daredevil ignored both of them, grumbling under his breath, probably about how cool Peter was. Or how much he wanted to push both of them off the roof. He was an optimist, so he was really betting on it being the former. “I’m going to go punch some sex traffickers,” He announced, roughly shoving Deadpool off of him, stalking away as he continued to mutter.
After watching him go in silence, the mercenary began to approach, taking quick strides until he was in front of Peter. If they weren’t both wearing masks, he would’ve been able to feel his breath. He smelled like leather and hot sauce. Peter felt his arm start to itch.
“You don’t happen to know what ao3 is, right?” He asked, his tone suddenly serious.
“Um,” Peter scratched at his elbow, which wasn’t very effective through the spandex. “No?”
His mask seemed to shift again, and he was back to being bubbly. “Oh! Good! Amazing! Fantastic! Wanna be my best friend?”
“Um,” Peter still couldn’t seem to get the itch, even when he tried to shift the fabric. “Should we also be punching sex traffickers?”
“Right!” Deadpool clapped his hands, then reached for one of his guns. “You’ll keep us on topic, I knew that this team would work perfectly!”
Peter wondered if Deadpool knew something he didn’t about this very random, possibly one-time interaction they were having. It wasn’t unusual to find help from other vigilantes for bigger takedowns, but he was acting like they had all just started a business. His elbow was still itchy, sore from where he had been unsuccessfully prodding it.
“Okay?” He said, and followed the other man as he sprinted to follow Daredevil, hopping off the edge of the roof and joining the fight.