Chapter 18
Slade snapped awake when his internal clock told him it was time to, without ceremony, or any real transition. One moment he was lying down asleep, the next he was fully conscious and getting to his feet. Nothing special there. The dull, afterglow of pain where his eye used to be had woken him that way every morning for a long, long time.
Dawn light, already cool and thin, speared in through the gaps in the curtains. He had slept naked. He pulled on his slacks of soft brown kid-skin, socks and army-issue boots, and went over to the window bare-chested. A hard rind of sun was cresting up over the city. The windows weren't designed to open, but a bit of work took care of that, and he sighed in the cool breeze.
He’d been having the strangest dream. His body felt stiff and unresponsive. He stretched a little, and tried to remember his soothing dream. He wasn't sure, but he thought perhaps his wife and kids had been in it. Water under the bridge, perhaps, but nonetheless, empty, hollow comfort was better then nothing at all, and it was all he got these days - and that little only if he was lucky.
He turned, and stretched. Normally, he'd work in some exercise, but the room wasn't exactly equipped for that. Instead he began stretching, and slid into a few forms of yoga. His brother's idea, working on his flexibility, and he'd found it suited him. He was just beginning to feel calm when his brother burst in. "Okay. Before you turn on the news or read the paper or whatever, first let me tell you my side of the story."
Slade sighed, but then got to his feet, and took a seat, adjusted himself until he was more or less comfortable, then shook his head. "One thing. There was one thing you had to do."
"It was totally not my fault. They started it, and the media is biased and controlled by the liberal agenda and will blow it all out of proportion, and besides, it all turned out fine in the end. But on second thought we probably don't have time to go over it now because Alpha Flight is almost definitely looking for me."
"Alright. I'm listening."
"Did you miss the part about us not having time?"
"No." Slade replied. "I ignored it. Now start at the start."
"Well fine. But consider yourself warned - if Narwhal, Dragon, Northstar or someone does come crashing in looking to punch us a whole lot, I'm sure not going to be the one to pay for the window. Anyway, so I got attacked by Sabertooth last night." Deadpool began. Slade raised an eyebrow, but just listened. "For some reason, he wanted a piece of this, and so after smacking him around like an uppity seven year old, I decided to pay his boss a visit, and went after Shaw." Slade's eyebrow was rapidly approaching his hairline. "So I snuck into his club, where he was up to all sorts of no doubt diabolical… Alright, could you interrupt me already?"
Slade stirred a little. "I'd prefer to ask my questions at the end."
"Please don't do that. It puts me off my stride."
"Just say what you need to."
"Come on, just ask a few questions. This listening politely is just the worst."
"Well, if it matters that much to you. Why did want to kill Shaw, and how did you know he owned a club?"
"Dunno. Just felt like killing." Deadpool replied. "And everyone knows Shaw owns a club." That seemed good enough for Slade, who made a motion to continue.
"Anyway, so I got into a fight with him and Mr Sinister, and blew up their headquarters."
Slade still wasn't reacting. Wade Wilson had no physiological need to perspire, but he permitted his body to do so given the tension he was suddenly feeling. "And then I made my way back here. And that's why I think we should leave this part of the world. Like now."
Slade looked at him levelly. "Sabertooth is in town." He said at last.
Deadpool blinked. "Well yes?" He coughed. "There was a bit more to my story then that." He'd pointedly avoided mentioning Cable, which led to some glaring plot-holes, but Slade, as usual, was going off on his own tangent. By this point it shouldn't even surprise him - but somehow it did.
"Give me a dollar." Slade said, his voice still low and getting very dangerous.
"Brother, you're starting to scare me." Deadpool admitted, but handed him a few coins. He had no idea where this was going, and wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Slade took them without looking and put them in his pocket without even bothering to check he hadn't been short-changed- a first for him, then grabbed a duffel bag, and looked at it thoughtfully, considering the guns. Then he put it back down, and walked over to the kitchen, where he removed a single kitchen knife, and began sharpening it, honing the edge with practiced ease until the sharpness was almost suicidal. He blew on it approvingly, then glanced at Wade. "You start a fight with my brother, then you start a fight with me as well." He said, his tone of voice disturbingly neutral. "Sabertooth will be good practice for his jackass brother."
"You already beat him. And that's a misconception, they're not actually related. I don't think - it's hard to tell. If they are, it's more like…" Deadpool shrugged. That continuity was too confused even for him to follow, it made even the Summers family or Hawkmans history tame by comparison. "Look, this really isn't…" He trailed off. There would be no talking down Slade. "I thought we were trying to avoid making a scene." He said at last.
"Oh don't worry about that. This won't take very long at all." Slade assured him, heading out. "And trust me, I'm not going to stop at a beating."