Carpool
"Hey Loser"
Peter looked up at Michelle who was standing next to him. She was far from the crowds, the last of their classmates trying to savour an extra hour with their friends before heading home or heading off the extracurriculars. She always seemed to be away from the masses. Other than the occasional wisecrack at the system and repartee with the teachers the girl was near silent. The lack of words added to her general air of intimidation. It was one thing being smart, it was another being smart and observant. And if there was one word to describe the nature of Michelle Jones it was observant.
But instead of maintaining her usual elbow room, she was here. With Peter. With the same, recurrent bored look in her eyes with only an inkling of something else underneath.
"Something happen to your leg?"
"What?" Corresponding with the accusation, Peter's head shot down to his shin. Nothing was showing or seeping down his leg so that was a good sign. It was only a huff from above him that tore his downward gaze back to Michelle.
"You've been limping all day Parker. Need the hospital or something?"
Has he been limping? He hadn't noticed. Guess his healing really has gotten worse if his legs weren't mended yet. An injury like this would have only taken a day max to come and go if he was on his A-game. The question was; why the hell wasn't he?
"Uh no. I just... stubbed my toe. When I was leaving for school. This morning." Peter strewed together the sentence in chunks. Lying was as much his pièce de résistance as punctuality. It was one of the many indisputable facts of Peters lacking complexion, and it never seemed to cushion the impact when these features chose to reveal themselves. Knowing things turned out terrible afterwards was super different from having to experience it first hand every single time.
"Sure." Michelle quirked her left brow and looked down on Peter, a glint of suspicion passing her features before falling prey to her usual indifference.
"You waiting for someone?"
"Huh?"
"You usually leave straight away for your 4:05 train."
Peter's temples creased and his forehead crinkled with constriction as he tensed up. "How do you know what train I get back home?"
She paused for only a second. Any longer and someone might of said it resembled hesitation other than her usual take-it-in-stride character revealing itself. "I'm observant." She says matter-of-factly "And I asked my question first. You waiting for someone? Or are you just sitting by yourself all nervous-like for a different reason?" Her tone pitched itself lower at the end, oozing sarcasm. Peter was sure Michelle was the only person that could upstage Spiderman's gibing.
"I- uh no. No, as in I am waiting for someone, not the... suspicious reason thing"
"I never said it was suspicious. Why, are you doing something sketchy? Very out of character for you Peter. If you keep this up people will start to think the usual golden boy's gone rogue."
It was difficult to tell if she was joking or not. The passive tone and unexpressive profile lead Peter to believe she's not, but then again she's always had an odd sense of humour. He'd learnt it the somewhat hard way after falling victim as one of her never-ending muses. Then again as a frequent person in crisis, he really couldn't complain that he fit the bill. There was nothing he could do about that taking his lifestyle into consideration. He didn't think he could if he tried.
"N- No not really. Just waiting to be picked up by a friend." The half-truth stumbled off his tongue. Peter was a terrible liar all round, but being under the scrutiny of Michelle Jones jumped his nerves up ten-fold. Who's wouldn't when held in view of her all-seeing eyes. The possibility of her being completely sagacious and preeminent towards everyone that came in contact with her was low, but that didn't not make it a possibility. The talk was for a while that she had a third eye on the back of her head. It was complete bull, but the sentiment that it was based around remained the same.
"I thought you only bothered to talk with Ned outside of school. You sure as hell don't reply to the decathlon group chat when you should, but hey, priorities right?" She intertwined her arms across her chest, gripping her biceps. The way she carried herself you'd think Peter answered wrong to a blatant answer.
"Well, you know... I know people."
"Uh huh." Michelle's expression shifted to one of unmistakable doubt. Great, he messed up enough for Michelle Jones to discover a new facial expression other than dead cold neutrality.
God Pete, you take time to think while you're still speaking and that's what you come up with? Lord forbid he ends up in a situation where his extempore bullshitting rounds are the difference between life and death.
Spoiler alert; he'd die. Not even a 60/40 chance. It'd be imminent.
"Yeah." He tried to say with more certainty pushed into it. "Yeah, and now I'm just waiting for them." He repeated.
"Sounds like you know what you're doing then. Where are you heading?"
These were questions he most definitely did not know the answer to. Come on Parker, you're time to shine.
"Well-" An invasive honk to the right of him interrupted his ad-lib (thank goodness. Peter didn't know if he could keep up with Michelle's probing in his current mental state). He looked over and saw a familiar red glove protruding the front section of a taxi through the separators. The honking didn't stop despite a young man in the driver's seat weakly struggling against the arm jutted into his personal space and onto the steering wheel.
Saved by the bell. Although he guesses saved by the horn would make more sense in this situation.
Peter brought his attention back to Michelle and gazed up at her. "Well, it looks like my ride's here. I'll see you at practice, MJ.", Peter spurred out in a rush. He got up and strapped his bag against his shoulder. He really wanted to leave. Anything to get out of this conversation. By the time he was thrown a reply, he was already lightly jogging away.
"You better not be late this time Parker." Michelle made no effort to raise her voice to compensate for the distance that was rapidly increasing between them. Peter's speed walking was not deterred trying to catch the comment, and in fact sped up. If Michelle got the last say in a conversation chances were it was one that she was happy with. Beats the dead silence and glares she dishes out otherwise. Peter may not have been popular in anyone's eyes, but to be in the good books of Michelle is a big consolation (more than it should be).
Peter walked out into the open and took in the turned heads and questioning stares zipping between the yellow monstrosity perched in the middle of the street and him. With Deadpool having a field day with the steering wheel and being the echo locational equivalent of mount Kilimanjaro, more kids were realising that the sudden pick up was for 'Puny Parker'. Not a great match with his rep. Wanting to avoid becoming the fall guy for another poorly formulated rumour, Peter used it as the fire at his heels to rush into the car. He gripped the handle (a little harder than he had to) and slung the door open before justly slamming it behind him in the same manner.
He sunk into the weary leather, breathing in heavily through his nose. He gives it a day before that scene becomes another target on his back. Flash was going to have fun with this one. The dude may be a jerk, but give a night's preparation and he'd think up some pretty creative stuff.
"Howdy Bubba!"
Peter twisted in his seat to face him, still keeping close to the ground and avoiding the windows. If anyone decided to come closer to have a peek with who he was catching a ride with they wouldn't show him any sympathy after finding a large, buff S&M leather adorned man in the back seat with him calling him rather loudly (and weirdly affectionately he might add) "Bubba". And they sure as cheese wouldn't show him any privacy when they went to report their findings to the entire school. The bad part about being in a school full of geniuses is that they always had a way of finding things out. It was majorly creepy how quickly word spread. "What the hell was up with all the honking. I knew it was you!"
"I thought you might have wanted a bail from that steamy convo you were having with stink-eye over there."
"Well I didn't. I was doing just fine talking to her."
Wade gave a low whistle and jostled his head. "I'm starting to worry about your definition of 'fine' Pete. Cause I can tell you as I spied with my little eye that whatever was going down over there was a bundle of raging hormones and teenage awkwardness. I could smell the pheromones the two of you were emitting to each other from over here. Must have been what amped up my urgency. I'm down with the primal baloo like that." He bent his fingers out and twisted his outstretched wrists, motioning as if his statement was something to boast about. Maybe it was. Peter had no clue what the heck he just said or what he meant so who was he to say what was cool and uncool. He didn't think he had the right to make that decision in general with his repute.
Peter fell into a deep blush, the passing thought said aloud plunging his cheeks, neck and ears into a deep rouge."That's not what was happening. Don't twist this around so I lose my point, I've got questions for you. Mainly things like why are you here Mr Deadpool? And how the hell did you figure out where I was?" Peter didn't necessarily have an issue with meeting Deadpool. But out in the open in the midst of his other life. That was a bit of a no-go, so sue him if he was getting a little impatient now. Not to mention he was entirely unprepared. He knew the promises the man made, but even if he did follow them through to begin with he wasn't expected this whole plan to be enacted so soon. It's been less than a day for Christ's sake!
"Hush hush and buckle up buckaroo. Standard motor vehicle protocol first, adorable interrogation later." Deadpool pointed to his own belt laid across the span of his body in a stewardess fashion. Peter conceded on this front. Safety was important and it's not like they didn't have the rest of the journey to talk (and he could use some of that time to let the blood rush out of his face). The main goal right now was to get out of here as soon as possible. Peter could hear his peers inching closer to the car. He couldn't blame them for being curious either, they'd been sitting here stationary for a while. The timing and way of it all were odd, and that's all it took to draw the attention of 60 rowdy school kids with nothing better to do.
Deadpool patted the seat in front of him twice and pushed his head through the open section of the divider. He squeezed his left arm through and raised the fringe of his suit up just enough to reveal a broken down hello kitty watch. "Vamonos Dopinder, we got to skedaddle to make it on time."
"On it Mr Pool!" Dopinder shouted back. For someone who seemed to be thrown around so much he had a lot of vim. It was refreshing seeing how Peter could relate to the 'thrown around' part. The car started and left before the students outside decided to leave their whispers and huddles and inch towards the car to catch a peek of who was inside other than Peter. At least that was one issue resolved before they continued their chat.
Deadpool turned back to Peter and thumped himself into his seat a few times as if he were getting ready for a gossip session at a sleepover. He lifted his arms and cradled his own face, swaying back and forth with the movement of the car. "So. Go ahead Petey-pie, I'm all ears to your ever-pressing questions. From Master to Student."
Finally.
"How did you find out where I go to school?"
"Well if I couldn't do that I wouldn't succeed in my industry"
So Deadpool was going down the 'avoid all replies that make sense' route. Not that he made much sense when talking normally. "That still doesn't answer my question."
"I don't think I can answer your question with that attitude clinging to your potty mouth. And I don't think it has to make sense, otherwise, I'm messing with my usual state-of-affairs. I'm quite an enigma in general; to both everyday people and doctors, to name a few."
Peter could tell wasn't going to get any other replies for this question. He would much rather know how the hell he got tracked down rather than let it go, but he could ask again later. If he was that easy to find it would become a real issue. He huffed and pushed on. "Fine. Don't answer that one. Why the front of the school? Couldn't you have just gone round the back?" The attention he brought to anything around him wasn't a surprise. Making Peter the hearsay of the week at school seemed a little deliberate.
"That's what she said. And didn't you want all your cool friends to see you cruise off in a snazzy car?"
"It's a taxi"
"It's a car of wonders if you stop being such a party pooper."
Peter is going nowhere. Maybe Ned was right.
Maybe he was just getting used by a know-it-all adult.
Again.
"Can you at least tell me where we are going?" Peter sunk further into his seat. His little inquiry pool had run dry. It wasn't a large pool to start with but none the less it had been parched and left unquenched, and henceforth; run dry. And the eagerness to find out more had lost its novelty after the thought of practically being thrown out again.
Doesn't take much to get him down recently.
"That, my sweet, unsuspecting youngling, is a surprise. A test of sorts."
"Of course it is." Peter mutters. He never seems to know about the things that involve him the most. Whatever. If this lead turned out to be a rotten end, he'd do what he always did. Run away and hope for the best. And hope some more that he didn't mess up enough to get another visit from Mr Stark. On that note-
"I don't have my suit with me." Peter gazed over to where Deadpool was still sitting criss-cross apple sauce with his hands now sitting on his knees. If they were in a crash right now his legs would be completely obliterated. Smiler style. There was only so much the seatbelt could do. The man didn't seem to care though and took a quick survey out the window to check they were going in the right direction before answering.
"No problemo kid. Where we're going, we don't need suits."
"But you're still wearing your suit." Peter deadpanned. A little hypocritical if you asked him.
"Unlike you, I haven't got a perfectly percolated gob underneath. It's better for other people if the mask stays on."
"If you say so." Peter picked at the fraying cloth covering the armrest dented into the side of the car. It was stained all kinds of funky colours and he was 79% sure he should not be touching anything in here if he wanted to stay disease-free.
"Now! My turn with the figurative talking stick." Deadpool breathed in forcefully and exhaled with his mouth letting the steam from it transpose through the fibres of his mask, puffing in front of him. Even in the car, it was getting cold. It wouldn't take long for the temperature to drop completely. As far as New York winters go in Peter's opinion, today was warm for a November afternoon. The frost creeping onto the windowpane seemed to disagree.
"Let's cut to the chase. In hindsight, I feel that I may have been too... hasty."
Peter stopped picking at the tidbits poking from the fabric at his side and holed up his chest, forcing all comings and goings of air to cease. His lungs felt too pressed up against his ribs and his muscles grew rigid. Peter's heart stopped. He knew it. He knew it and Ned told him and he ignored it because he didn't want to think about it but it happened anyway. He's an idiot. He's an idiot. He's a complete and utter idiot for falling for all of this again. And now what does he have? Sure as hell not a new suit like last time, or the conditional offer of being an avenger that wasn't really an offer, just another test. No. Now he had a potentially dangerous man who knew his identity and his school and the people he talked to. And- Oh god Aunt May. What was going to happen to Aunt May if Deadpool didn't like being the only one included in their little secret? What if people went after Ned and the decathlon team and May hedidn'tknowhathe'ddoifhelostMayHecan'tloseMayshe'sthelastone.
He went through the usual works. His breathing sped up, and his organs pummelled against each other trying to get out. The panic settled into his marrow and his brain short-circuited and simply... stopped. It was for his own good, he could feel another panic attack coming on. He can't have that twice. The mortification of it happening once felt like he was being buried alive, he didn't think he could handle it at round two. But his brain didn't restart like it usually did. His train of thought was completely derailed. Peter spaced out into the mass of blur that he assumed was now Deadpool. He should probably blink. He knew if he did, though, he wouldn't be able to stop the tears threatening to join and meld into each other to assail the bandage stripped across his cheek with streams of the stuff.
So he didn't blink.
The car halted in front of traffic lights. A sea of people bombarded Peter's peripheral vision from either side of himself, engulfing the setting with students heading home and businessmen marching back to families. It made it all seem like Peter was in a vortex that he couldn't get out of. A sweltering conglomeration that he'd been subject to work against.
"Oh" Peter utters. "I see. It's fine. I got ahead of myself. That's- That's on me. I do that sometimes. Look out for the little guy right?" Peter repeated this as it had been to him time and time again. From May. From Happy. From Mr Stark. It might as well be the default at this point, seeing as it's all he seems to hear. And it's fine. It's his own damn ideology. But he can't do this forever, and every chance that comes up that screams 'this could work out', 'this could finally make you better', winds up being another dead end. He should have seen this coming. He got ahead of himself. Again.
At least that wasn't a surprise.
Peter found himself wrapping his fingers around the handle of the door. He should leave. He's made a fool out of himself enough. It was a long shot this time but he-
He thought it would work. He thought he could, at last, be enough.
Wade undid his legs from their tangle, planting them firmly and suddenly onto the floor covering, and grabbed his shoulder harshly. It shocked Peter enough to pull out of his torpor.
"No no no. Wow, you're quick to jump to conclusions. You are going to make some serious communication issues with the people around you if you act like that. You didn't assume anything. I told you I was going to stick around right? Like gum to work boot grip? Remember that, webs? Our whole powwow in the kitchen together. A big moment for us, it's already in my special edition Wham! day tracker." Despite the jest, his voice grew more serious in its steady tone and even pitch. He nearly sounded concerned.
Yeah right.
Peter relaxed his chest and released his clasp in the handle. Small craters in the shape of his fingertips were left behind. "So.. you're going to teach me." Cause that's what mattered now. He wanted to hear it, to have the yes or no set in stone.
Something I should have done last time.
"Why wouldn't I teach you? Not like I have anything else of real importance to do with my time. It's between this or pounding down on my work. And too much of that is enough to make anyone sick of it. Repetition and schedules can kill you know. And you're not the only kid with superpowers that I've leant a Deadpool friendly paw to. They'll never admit it, but I'm somewhat of an expert when it comes to extreme child care. Kind of like extreme ironing. Except with half-formed humans who haven't advanced into the 'swell ethics' phase of their life." Deadpool sat back after seeing Peter was no longer going to make a break for it, leaning into the car door, fully facing Peter this time - who was visibly more relaxed after taking in the confirmation.
"But fear not. That's what I'm here for. The big surprise! And one that will help me decide where to start, and to show you what you're getting into. I've summoned you for your trial period. I said I would teach but I should have set some conditions. Not just anybody can be a disciple of moi. It takes guts. Brains. Moral leniency. And most of all, maximum effort." His voice was assertive and muzzled with the last checkpoint in his list of must-haves. Peter had an inkling it was the cherry on top of the cake for him.
The car pulled into a spacious alleyway, barely dodging the dumpster and knocking over some cans. Peter heard a faint "Sorry" from the front seat.
"Well, now that I'm done with that posey fuck of a hype up, let's go" Deadpool promptly unclipped Peter and himself from their seats and shoved the door open. He leapt over the top of the car lazily, hitting himself halfway and choosing the logical option to scoot the final stretch of the automobile's hood.
"Where?" Peter yelled. He scrambled outside of the car, mumbling a swift "Thankyou" to Dopinder. He stuck his head out first before stumbling out with the rest of his body and nudging into the wall. It was cramped with an entire taxi sitting in between the two buildings. Peter turned the corner to the front of the building, trotting to keep up with Deadpool's headstart.
"Where, you ask, my only child? Let's say it's a place where Mama makes all his piece of shit friends. A place where half of them die too!"
A glint to his side caught his attention. The last remaining waves of sun were bouncing off a golden plaque, browning with rust, age and neglect. The words were hard to make out, blending into the dirt brick wall behind it. Peter bent his neck to the side, blocking some of the light to catch the label.
"You'll love it."
The gleaming dimmed and the sign lost its remaining lustre. Leaving behind in its wake a name for the seedy establishment.
'Sister Margaret's School For Wayward Girls'