'Cause I Love My Occupation
Peter pried the window open and slumped into his apartment with a thud.
Spider-Man didn't do detective work, his job was more of a "catch it in the act" kind of gig.
But he also couldn't just leave a crazed murderer on the loose and hope he makes it to the scene on time. Not when a woman was just traumatized, probably for life, by the sight alone. His arm still stung from where she dug her nails just to stay upright. Which is saying something, usually that would've long healed over.
Peter groaned and took to the internet. Half-exaggeratedly dragging himself to his laptop that laid open on the edge of his bed.
Scrolling through the latest local news, there wasn't anything new. Nothing had yet come up of the event from earlier, so for the most part it was all either "Wall-crawler menace" related or one of those feel-good animal shelter stories that get pushed out every other month or so to keep people from losing faith in their local government.
Was it just a one-off?
Plenty of criminals in the city have beef they probably wouldn't settle over a cup of coffee. But what could anyone have possibly done to warrant such a.. that?
Maybe they were just caught in the crossfire of something else, maybe this was a wrong-place-wrong-time situation.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, in an attempt to rid his mind of the image of the alleyway. He finds himself going over it in his head. The body parts, the pool of blood. It was a bright red, so there's no way the body had just been sitting there until it was stumbled upon. Why hadn't he heard the attack? If he had just paid a little more attention, spent less time wrapping up one goon then maybe...
He realizes, for a moment, that he's still dressed as Spider-Man, save for the mask.
"Ahgg, fuck, okay, screw this," Peter said decidedly, to no one in particular (unless you count the infestation of roaches in the corner of his room as an audience), shoulda-woulda-coulda isn't going to get him anywhere. He slapped his laptop shut, "Shower, then bed. Shower, Bed." Shower. Bed. Shower-bed? What? No, shut up.
And now he's talking to himself.
Thinking to himself?
Wait that's just thinking.
God, he needs to sleep.
He almost considers going right to bed, but the smell of his suit as he peels off his gloves convinces him otherwise. A trip to the Laundromat was in his future. It's kinda hard to save people when they're shoving you away to blow chunks on the sidewalk.
Peter abandoned the suit in his wired laundry basket, wrapping it in a couple of hoodies "just in case", and stepped into his icy-cool tiled bathroom.
He rubbed his eyes in lieu of looking into his reflection before turning the handle on the shower. The water flickered like an old lightbulb before it properly streamed out.
Glancing at the fingernail prints on his forearm, he considers how strongly she must've been holding onto him for the marks to still be there, with a little dried blood streaming off his arm under the hot shower.
Hopefully there weren't any tears in the suit, he doesn't think he can quite afford the amount of string he uses biweekly on repairs these days.
Peter lets the steam (and exhaustion) lift the weight off his chest, if only temporarily. He'd have to look into it more after his classes let out tomorrow; thankfully he just had a physics lecture around noon. That class went by the slowest, but the work itself wasn't particularly straining after big assignments. Just review, maybe some peer grading.
He let out a deep sigh.
Being a superhero-slash-grad-student sucks. Pretty hard. One of these days he's going to go out of town for a week, maybe visit Harry Potter Land at Universal Orlando. New York could survive a week without Spider-Man right?
Ha.
He wonders what J. Jonah Jameson would have to say about him then. Breaking News: Spider-Freak Scurge Slacks Off, Leaves Innocents in Peril. Something like that. Peter can't help the airy giggle that escapes him as he rubs the shampoo into his hair.
When the hot water turns lukewarm, Peter twists the knob to the side and watches the water swirl down the drain.
He'd almost forgotten how it felt to not have a pit of stress in his gut, maybe this really is do-able-- being a hero and a person. Peter sets out a plan: after class he's going to go back to that alleyway, find whatever he can find, maybe look for that woman too in case she saw anything else. God, if she saw... No. Nope. That's not going to get him anywhere. And really, the chances are pretty good it could've been an animal. Yeah, it might not even be a murder case.
All he has to do is find whatever wildebeest escaped the zoo and wham bam, thank-you-ma'am. No murder, no murderers, no complications, no problem.
He steps out of the bathroom, letting the fog escape into the rest of his apartment. Still wrapped in his towel, he flops down onto his bed and lets his mind drift off. Almost.
His phone vibrates on the floor next to his mattress. Who in their right mind could possibly need to reach him at this god-awful time? Peter stretches his arm as far as he can without moving the rest of his body, scratching at the case with the tips of his fingers, lamely trying to drag it closer to him. Peter scoots just barely closer until he finally gets his phone in his hand. A sigh of relief escapes him and he moves his hand to power the darn thing off.
The screen flips on, briefly blinding him with the burst of light. And oh. That's where that pit went.
---
Wade practically skipped down the street. He forgot how much being Deadpool fucking rocks! He loves fatherhood and all, don't get him wrong, he'd blow up the moon before giving Ellie up, but it was nice, too, to be able to shed his inhibitions. You hear that? Wade developed inhibitions! Those new parent books are so right, parenthood really does change a person!
He scans the walls of each building until he falls upon the right number. "Eighteen-seventy-three, what a year!" Wade calls out in a sing-songy voice.
its a large tower of a thing, windows for walls, one of those buildings that rent out each floor to different companies. He has to commend the crook who bought out the third one, hiding illegal activities between a handful of other businesses? Definitely a Wade Wilson thing to do, well, old Wade Wilson at least-- New and improved Wade Wilson? He recognizes the importance of small businesses in the local economy. Yup.
Wade tugged on the front door. It didn't give. He tugged on it a few more times until its just about torn off it's hinges, "Whoopsies."
The lobby was completely dark. Once his eyes adjusted, he stepped up to the front desk and dinged the little metal bell. Then he dinged it a few more times, harder, "Hello-o!" He shrugged, "Well, they can't say I didn't try,"
He found the elevator rather quickly, only the light didn't click on when he pressed one of the buttons. "You've got to be kidding," Wade grumbled.
Stairs don't really leave much room for cool superhero entrances, but he trudged along anyways.
{Wow, you're out of shape}
[There's still time! You should go back home, let someone worthwhile take over !]
"Oh fuck off," Wade flicked his skull just above his ear, not that it would really hurt the boxes, if anything it just made them more excited.
[We're just being honest!]
{Yeah, no need to get so bent out of shape!}
[Speaking of out of shape...]
The entrance to the third floor seemed to require some kind of key, but a couple of good kicks to it's center worked just as well.
It was... Empty.
Where were the booby traps? The damning evidence of criminal activity? The pizazz?
He trotted up to the closest office door and knocked in his best, slightly pitchy, cleaning-lady voice, "Hello? Room service,"
Well, that takes away a lot of the fun.
Wade opened the door slowly, stealing as much of a glance between the crack as he could. Nothing.
He swung it open. Then he swung the next one open. Then the next one. The boxes giggled at him.
[You sure you went to the right floor?]
{The right building?}
[Its a shame Weasel had to settle for you instead of a competent mercinary, maybe Gandalf?]
{Pity work, you must be his good deed of the day}
[How embarrassing!]
{Maybe Ellie would've been better off--}
"Could you please shut your fucking mouths for two seconds?!"
That seemed to do something.
The room swarmed with what he assumed were guards, Wade kept his face neutral, even if he couldn't help but be a teensy bit giddy. This is nothing. He can handle the boxes, he has to remind himself.
{Maybe they're just really in-character actors studying for the same role}
[I hear acting gigs can be very competitive these days!]
Two of them fired their pistols in his direction.
{Not actors}
[Nah, they could just be method actors]
{Ooh!}
"You both have really bad judgement!" Wade called out, slipping one of his katanas out of its sheath on his back in response to a bullet landing a little too close to his torso for his liking.
[You talking to us or the... Well we didn't exactly decide what they are did we? Actors? Guards? Jigalos?]
{We're extensions of you! You have bad judgement!}
[Hey! Don't lump me in with that guy!]
{You're the one talking about we first!}
[Did not, did not!]
Wade missed another shot.
{Did too, did too!}
"Will you shut up?! I'm a little busy here!" A couple of the men looked at Deadpool curiously, "Oh don't worry shnookums, not you," Wade held his hand to his ear using the universal hand sign for on the phone, before smashing his fist into someones nose.
{Awe, what'sa matter Wadey?}
[Not as strong as you thought you were?]
{Wow, playing family really has made him soft!}
[Maybe he needs a big strong man to come and save him!]
{Oo, you think Captain America is in town? I'd love to see his ass in action}
[I'm more of a Wonder Woman guy]
{Wrong universe, moron!}
[I'm not a moron! You are!]
Wade was cornered, what did he say back at Weas' bar? A night? Maybe he really was rusty. A good mercenary should know when to bail. But maybe Deadpool wasn't a good mercenary anymore.
But who rents a whole floor just to keep a disc? And who even uses discs anymore?
He was never one to judge his clients (except when he was), but perhaps a little recon would've been helpful here. There definitely shouldn't have been this many people, based on the information Weasel provided... And where was the disc even meant to be kept? There wasn't even one piece of furniture on the whole floor. Fucking Weasel.
Deadpool pulled one of the men towards him, wrapping one arm around his throat and aiming his pistol at their head with the other, "I don't really kill anymore, but I'm willing to make an exception tonight, so just let me get what I came for and you and your buddies can all go back to your orgy-- or whatever you freaks were doing in here,"
[Was that the best you could come up with?]
The guy in his arm jerked suddenly, flipping Wade to the ground while another guard kicked his gun away.
"Uh, ow?! Did your mother's never teach you any manners?" He looked over at the one he'd held his gun at, "Also you're pretty strong for being so skinny, good for you, thats kinda ho--"
One of the bigger guards grabbed his leg with abnormal ease, even for their size, mutant maybe? That would explain the really sharp canines on the guy... And the claws digging into his calf. Were those even there a moment ago?
Listen, Wade was team Jacob all the way (because Edward was definitely a predator in all meanings of the word) but he did not need a werewolf clawing at the legs of his suit tonight. But maybe in a different context... No. Ellie still needs school supplies. And maybe a new pair of shoes, she's getting a bit too big for the ones she has now.
"Alright Bucko, gonna need ya to loosen the grip a little, feeling too much dub-con, but hey! I'm sure you'll find a lovely she-wolf one day to--" Wade suddenly remembers something: being Deadpool fucking sucks.
The thing tossed him to the side like week old lunch meat.
Did that make any sense?
Sure it did.
Shit.
Deadpool never used to be one to leave a job unfinished, but maybe he's not the merc he used to be. A year ago, he would've been on his way back to Weas' by now. Can he really not kick one mutant guys ass anymore?
[Hey what's-his-nuts!]
Wade narrowly avoids a fist (claw?) to the guts. Plan B. Get the fuck out of dodge.
"It's been lovely meeting you all, but you know.. it's getting late, and a lady really should leave something for the imagination," he batted his eyes coyly, not that they could see it from beneath his mask. Something in his abdomen burned, and he grabbed at it with an iron grip.
If the Wolf-Guy was listening to him, he showed no signs of it. Wade could hear the sickly wet sound of the guys bones cracking as he changed into something... dog-like, with wild eyes. Lunging towards Wade, skin still tearing to make room for it's new growths, while the rest of the men in the room seemed to be evacuating.
Wade is totally upping his commission for this one.
"Fu-uck that in particular!" He drawled out, hardly noticing the boxes comments if they were making any.
He ducked down, because that seemed like the next move to make, but the beast instead carved it's claws into the wall and glared down at him. It's mouth frothing and dripping something vile mixed with blood and saliva, it made a rough, gargling noise from what had once been a jaw... God knows what it would be classified as now as it's muscles trembled-- like it was trying to stay in one place.
"What the..." Deadpool hesitated, briefly, not even the boxes having a clever quip. Until he could finally make out what the thing was saying.
It sent a viral shock down his spine. For the first time in Wade Wilson's life, he had nothing to say. He gripped Arthur with white knuckles and drove it through the monsters chest.