Pep talk
"So let me get this straight..."
The lenses of Deadpool's suit were harshly squinted, as he squeezed his eyes shut behind the mask in frustration.
"Spiderman is not only a child, but a child that I kidnapped and ended up severely injuring."
"I'm fifteen so not technically a child" Peter mumbled "And I wouldn't say severely. I've handled worse."
"Is that meant to console me? Cause if it is you suck at it." Deadpool crouched further into his stoop as he leaned with his back against the kitchen counter, Peter opposite from him still sitting atop the island. "And fifteen? Fifteen is a baby- no a fetus compared to everyone else on the earth. Everything about this situation smells like a lawsuit and a half. That's not even counting what happened to your toddler mug."
Deadpool raised his hand and dragged his fingers down his face, pulling the fabric of his suit downwards into a warped frown. Peter was starting to think he really was a cartoon character. "You're practically disfigured" he sighed, letting out a little more air than necessary.
He wasn't completely wrong on that part. Peter looked down at the mirror in his hands. They ended up finding it in the bathroom cabinet behind unopened bottles of painkillers and more gun magazines (at this point even Peter could see that Deadpool's relationship with guns was getting a little excessive. And that was putting it nicely.).
The side of his face was now somewhat messily bandaged with an adhesive patch that was peeling at the sides. It was obviously old if the lack of stickiness and the dust that clung to it when it was found were any clues. He'd have to change it when he got home with some of his own first aid stuff.
Before they finally moved after the grand reveal to find something to get his face to stop throwing up oodles of blood, Peter's face was a mess. He saw it when he was first handed the mirror. The mask had made his blood spread out to nearly every inch of his face, growing darker as it dried and crusted. He looked like he popped right out of a crappy 80's horror movie where they went a little too nuts on the makeup of someone freshly butchered. It felt surreal when he gazed into the mirror and couldn't recognize an inch of his face. Probably thanks to the shock.
Because of the gash in his cheek taking priority, Peter hadn't even begun to look at the bruises covering the span of his shins. He could feel them but hadn't found the time to run off to a private area and lose the suit to examine them. Then again, he didn't feel like stripping in this guy's apartment anyways.
Gym on Tuesday was going to be a nightmare.
The only upside is that his cheek might heal enough to look like a scab so he won't have to wear a massive medical patch on his face for the rest of the week. It was still Saturday so he doubted that would happen. It wouldn't take that long to fix itself anyways, but Peter couldn't let other people know that. He had to sell his 'Puny Parker' image with all the asthmatic, frail tendencies that came with it. That included a normal-person recovery time. He's pretty sure he would heal better if he ate more, but that wasn't in the budget right now. He shouldn't have to worry Aunt May with his enhanced metabolism, and what she didn't know couldn't hurt her.
"It's fine. Really. I'm a quick healer. One of the many perks of having Spider DNA welded into you."
"Surprise surprise. That still doesn't magically negate the Grand Canyon inbuilt into your face kiddo." Deadpool sarcastically retaliated. "And it doesn't make the fact I was the one who put that hole in your face any better either. I got one rule and that's not to deal with kids in my line of business, and here you are messin it all up."
"Me? Sorry I wasn't expecting to get carried unconscious through the city into a stranger's sketchy apartment. Kinda messes with my rule of not getting kidnapped."
"HEY. That was me looking out for you. Even though I didn't have to. Did you think you'd be any better if I had left you out there? No freaking way, jose. You're going to have to explain that eventually as well. Whatever your freakout was about, cause at this point I think I deserve to know. You put me in a lot of trouble trying to drag your ass over hither. Had to call in a favour from my kidnapping protege. And he wasn't all too happy stuffing a well-loved defender of the people into his backseat of his Ford Crown Victoria."
So that's how he got him here.
"Look. I'm grateful for your way of... looking out for me, but you didn't have to. It's not the first time I've passed out in an alleyway and it's probably not the last. Things like this just happen sometimes, and I can deal with it myself."
"Sometimes? How often is sometimes, because whatever happened there is suppose to happen no times." Deadpool's voice was starting to rise. As a result it echoed in his hallow apartment making him sound ten times more aggressive. It let his words ring. Why was he so peeved off anyways? It wasn't that big of a deal.
Peter lowered his head a little and looked to the side, making some of the hair matted to his forehead separate and bob back into a lax version of his usual curls. He knew that he occasionally got hurt more than necessary. But doing anything else in most cases would mean not saving lives.
Peter was pulled out of his stupor by a loud sigh across from him.
"Look... Kid... I get you don't want to be scolded and berated over this, but these are dangerous people you are meddling with. They're not the kind of peeps to give you a slap on your wrist and send you on your way home back to your family. They put bullets in people's heads for looking at them wrong, what do you think they're going to do to you? What do you think they're going to do when they realise you're a kid?" Deadpool's tone lowered when he asked Peter these questions. It was clear that he wasn't trying to be sarcastic or witty, all the usual playful humour gone from his voice. This was completely expected though. In fact, it was a typical reaction any sane adult would have to a teenager running around, fighting grown men and women, getting thrown into another superhero's business.
"I... I know it's dangerous. But you can't expect me to just stop. You barely know me. This is what I do and I'm good at it." Peter began to articulate himself more. If this was going to be anything like it was with May he'd have to get ready for the long run. He'd had enough of these 'talks' that end in him feeling like shit and the other person going on a tangent on how he was 'too young' or 'just not good enough' for the responsibilities of Spiderman.
He placed the mirror atop the counter next to him. He slid off the island to stand directly facing Deadpool and hitched his knees in the process. Deadpool flinched forward, but couldn't do anything before Peter grabbed the side of the counter with his palm before he was lowered any further, and slowly let himself back up.
"Good at it? You can barely stay on your feet! For most of the time I've known you, you've been either collapsed or too busy hurling yourself into another problem. For christ sake, you have nearly as little self-preservation as me!" Deadpool's arms were thrusted forward in the direction of Peter's pitiful display. Peter knew he wasn't the buffest guy, but draped in presumably Deadpool's oversized shirt he felt tiny. Standing next to a 6' 2'' muscle-packed macho guy in a taut leather suit didn't necessarily help either.
"I save lives with what I do. You caught me on an off day." Peter bargained, voice fluctuating with his last statement. He stood up a little straighter and pulled back his shoulders. He was nowhere near Deadpool's height, so the attempt looked rather sad. And, God, did it kill his legs.
"One hell of an off day for you to crash and burn this often. You've got ME impressed. Side note: that's generally not a good thing.". Deadpool scoffed and pulled back his arms so they were intertwined with each other, encompassing the width of his chest.
"Well, I'm not looking to impress you. This whole situation has been one, big... misunderstanding. And I'm not going to give up Spiderman 'cause some dude that picked me up in an alleyway tells me to."
"I'm not asking you to stop. I'm asking you what you're going to do."
Peter paused and raised his head to look directly at Deadpool. His brows creased and his eyes narrowed in confusion, making the edges of his eyelids crinkle and some of the missed blood to flake off the sides of his cheeks.
"What?"
"I said I'm not going to ask you to stop. I mean, look at me! Do you think I'm in any position to be lecturing you? Hell to the no! I was only a little older than you are now when I ran away from home and joined the army (long live Canada), and that's way worse than getting cats out of trees and giving grandmas directions. Yeah, that's right. I'm up to date with your fan page, but that's not important right now. I'm asking what's your move, what's your backup. 'Cause by the looks of it you have zilch going on behind those bambi brown eyes. Safety slash living-'till-tomorrow wise at least."
"I- well I- I ca"
"If you say you can handle yourself one more time I'm going to throw you off the roof. And there's going to be no reinforced glass to save you this time. Look at this as objectively as your underdeveloped, malleable brain can. From what I saw in the alleyway you're easily distracted and lose focus on your targets. When you're in a difficult situation you freak out instead of being level-headed and ignore possible solutions because of it. You've got the strength but have absolutely no technique. And you're susceptible to panicking to the point of passing out, but that seems to be a whole other can of worms."
Peter clamped his mouth shut and clenched his jaw. It wasn't like he was wrong. He didn't have any support or knowledge on how to fight. Mr Stark didn't really count as backup either, and definitely hasn't helped on the 'mentor' front. The closest thing Peter's had to a teacher are video games and whatever Youtube video he could find online about martial arts or self-defence. More often than not, trying out the moves in real life Spiderman situations are what keeps getting him injured. Turns out muggers were a little harder to face than a hoodie crammed full with shirts and underwear.
Most of his 'training equipment' was DIY. Peter didn't really have a choice in that department. He didn't need all too much to begin with seeing he's utilizing every muscle, joint and bone when fighting crime. Anything greater than that felt more like a needless chore. One that ended with him being more tired the next day on patrol. Other than the practically mandatory scratch ups with self-taught parries and counter-attacks, he didn't really do anything.
Deadpool sucked in his breath, which made his chest seem broader than it usually was. His arms fell from where they were crossed and laid either side of him, his forearms twisting so his fingers could grip the counter behind.
"So you honestly have no one watching your back. Who taught you to fight then?"
Peter paused and looked back up.
"They say experience is the best teacher" He said tentatively, shifting his eyes back and forth from the wall and to the black and red design of Deadpool's suit. He was starting to feel guilty for some reason. A little embarrassed as well. Mr Stark never mentioned his lack of training. On the contrary he seemed unbothered by it, and that was when he was fighting a war. Was it that bad that he wasn't officially qualified to be in combat?
Deadpool's face immediately found his palms, paired with a strained intake of breath. He buried his face further into his hands before lifting himself up again, sounding tired. "So you're untrained."
"I wouldn't say-"
"You're untrained."
"I'm untrained. Yeah. Basically." he admitted, tangling his fingers in the hem of the borrowed t-shirt. His voice was waning as the conversation moved on.
Peter began to lean back on the island more, relieving his legs of some of the pain. It was a minute reduction, but it allowed him some respite from the ongoing conversation. It was enough that he was getting called out left and right, he didn't need the ceaseless pain shooting through his shins to be attacking him physically as well. No point in burning the candle at both ends.
Deadpool exhaled again "Of course he's not trained" he mumbled out, strung into his outgoing breath.
"What's your name?"
"Huh?"
"Your name. The thing people call you when you enter a room?"
Peter clasped the table just a little bit tighter. He was pretty sure at this point he could trust the guy, but that didn't mean he didn't have his own reservations. Deadpool was suspicious in every-which-way. That didn't mean he was a bad person. And from what Peter had seen first hand he wasn't in his books. It couldn't hurt him that much. And if it did he could look after himself.
He didn't want to admit it but going to Happy about this was starting to sound better and better. If things went anymore south he just might.
"It's Peter... Parker."
"Well Peter, I guess I should finally introduce myself as well. Lots of people like to call me Captain Delicious Pants, but most compromise with Deadpool. But you. You can call me Wade. Or Mama, since I think I'm going to stick to you like gum to work boot grip."
Peter's frown deepened and his brows hooded his eyes as they hunched in confusion.
"Stick? what'd you mean stick? I can just leave if you don't want me here anymore. I mean thank you for everything but I should get going anyway-"
"No no no no no Petey-pie. I mean long term. It's decided. I dub thee my new pupil. If you get enough gold stars I may even announce you to be my second coming, my 2.0, my mini-me! Consider yourself lucky, disciple, not many get real-life work experience with THE Wade Wilson. No one out there better to nurture the metaphorical bud of a growing super-powered child." He leant further towards Peter and whispered "I'm virtually baby proof" before straightening his back and releasing his hold on the counter, stepping to the other side of the kitchen with a skip in his step. If the situation before weren't so distressing and confusing, Peter could have easily mistaken his behaviour as excitement.
"Phone. Or do you have a ladybug home call flip-and-learn dialler? If you do we might be meeting our first hurdle as a team. OOO I got to put this in the calendar."
"Wha- no! I don't have a kiddie phone, okay?" Peter's left hand scuttled to his hidden pocket built within the hem of his suit, pulling up the large shirt to get to it. He pulled out the phone with little grace and raised it as if proving a point. "See. Normal damn phone."
"Great! Go you kiddo, upgrades left and right." Deadpool stated as he lunged forward to snatch the device. Peter had the just reply of briskly jerking it just out of reach.
His eyes narrowed, crinkling his injury making him grimace. Fitting for his current suspicion. "What do you want it for? I'm not dumb enough to hand a stranger my phone."
"But you're dumb enough to pull it out in front of them when they ask for it"
Deadpool side-stepped around Peter with speed and seized the phone from his hand.
"Hey!" Peter attempted to dive towards Deadpool and his mobile but was stopped short when a large hand stuck itself out and held Peter in place against the counter.
"Tut tut tut. No wonder you're so hurt all the time. You're not very mindful of your scrapes and scratches, huh? You were definitely that kid on the playground. Or maybe you are that kid on the playground. Fifteen makes you a sophomore right? Second year of high school? Don't quote me. I have no clue how the American education system files their brainless creepy little locker-stuffing clones into their knowledge eating network. They're basically freaky hickory tussocks gobbling all those books like no tomorrow. And if you couldn't remember I'm no a stranger anymore. We've done the whole my name your name our name tango, so let's not regress back to that stage of our soon to be blossoming relationship. We just have to work out the kinks... and... done."
Deadpool lowered the arm keeping Peter at bay, who had reluctantly given into his fate of being at arms reach of Deadpool's antics, and pushed the phone back into its owner's hands. As soon as it was secure, He pointed downwards to the glowing screen where the words Master Wade were highlighted in a luminesce halo.
"My number. Fitting name and completely uncondemning. Has a nice ring to it as well. 'Master Wade and his tutee'."
Peter slowly blinked as his gaze remained fixed on the contact details, his eyes stinging a bit from the screen. He'd forgotten to turn down the brightness after taking it out to check the time last night. He couldn't keep up with the conversation, and he definitely needed some answers before he left.
"I- I'm confused."
"About what? 'Cause I'm being excruciatingly blunt. You. Student. Me. Teacher."
"That's not helping me right now. You're going to teach me what?"
"To fight of course."
"What."
"Did you really think I would let you go scot-free without getting some 'how-to-not-die' lesson out of this encounter? And it can't possibly hurt you either. Unless you're allergic to actual battling techniques. None of the 'experience is the best teacher' spiel you've been preaching" His tone grew higher towards the end mimicking Peter from before.
Peter's eyes widened and his neck jounced as he swallowed. The idea of what was being proposed was settling in. This man wanted to be his teacher. For what reason, he couldn't find, but none the less he still wanted to be his teacher.
"Why?" he croaked. Funny when the time comes to ask the questions that are killing you your voice tends to fail you.
Deadpool waited there for a long time, quiet. There was nothing to be sensed in the apartment except Peter's breathing. It put him on edge. After a short while, Deadpool finally spoke.
"Guess I have a soft spot for newbie toddler super-vigilantes. Call it a weakness of mine" he shrugged.
"Now let's get you out of those clothes so you can actually go home. Doesn't count as a secret identity if you're running around the subway in the suit with no mask." Deadpool noted shooing him towards a door on the other side of the room.
"You've got to look dapper when you hit the streets"
The door closed and Peter was once again alone. His eyes caught a pile of clothes on top of the dresser to his side. Huh. Guess he had this prepared before he woke up. He stood there bewildered. Guess he made a new friend. And finally found a teacher.