Nurse Parker

A lot of people whom Peter had an unfortunate displeasure of meeting when learned about his occupation, often voiced their curiosity with a nosy level of judgment. An inquiry to Why Peter decided to be in the profession that he had been doing for almost five years: a professional nurse. Answers that Peter had given them varied depending on how much that day Peter was feeling generous on tolerating douches. For those who were Flash-like clones, which sadly were many, who outright mocked Peter’s career, Peter ignored them or asked them to stick their noses somewhere else that were their businesses. However, there were some people who just asked out of pure curiosity. In that case, Peter would just shrug, give them his polite smile and a short answer along these lines: “I love helping people”; “It pays the rent.”

Regardless of their true intentions, Peter couldn’t help but scold down at their ignorance. Even though it may not make it to the top lists of career choice considered by young men, males in nursing career weren’t uncommon and it was an honorable career. But because of the disappointingly successful effect of masculinity charades in this patriarchal state, many men has shunned the profession just because it emphasized on the traits of femininity. Peter had grown up in a house which the most caring couple, he’d ever known. His aunt May was also a nurse. And Uncle Ben ...Uncle Ben never taught him to live up to the image of the alpha male instead, he always urged Peter to be a caring and gentle person.

Perhaps, that's why he would never understand the importance of mantivity. But Peter was totally fine without understanding it. At the mirror in the hospital's staff room, Peter stared at himself in a blue gown with pride. He had more important works to do.

Nevertheless, hospital works were chaotic and exhausting and sucked out Peter’s lifespan. Being a single, healthy and enthusiastic staff meaned that more works for him to be responsible to. Not to say some extra shifts that he volunteered himself to help his acquaintances when they had family urgencies. So, everyday Peter had been drowned in works and because of this Peter had no time for any forms of socialization. He didn’t need one. Like, right now, Peter was walking on the apartment's corridor to his designated room. All he ever wanted was to sleep to the next election. But as Peter slipped his key to the door’s lock, a shiver ran through his body, instinctively informing him that something was off in his apartment. Peter groaned and almost bang his head on the door out of frustration. He just came back from his last shift of the day and it was now three in the morning. Something that happened at this hour couldn’t be anything good.

‘Except, Gwen and MJ thought it a good idea to hold me a surprise birthday party.’ Peter snickered humorlessly at the idea. It was not out of possibilities as the girls would love to do that just to annoy Peter. But Peter’s Birthday wouldn’t be coming until the next three months, so nope – all he likely gonna get was a robber. Or worse.

You might ask, what could be worse than a robber? See, Peter had been a New Yorker his whole life. And he had seen some serious shits that could wreck the world in his city more times than any inhabitants of other large cities combined. So, with all carefulness he could summon from his sleep-deprived body, Peter silently opened the door and turned on the light. Everything in his living room looked as normal as he left them be in the morning. Dirty dishes in the sink, having been abandoned for a week long, takeout boxes on the brim of bursting out of a garbage bin. Dirty clothes on the scale of unwearableness scattering all over the floor, some that were salvageable draped on the couch. Nothing having been removed from their original spots or being miraculously cleansed. Yeah, no one broke into his room to clean them but Peter would still keep that fantasy. Because it was sweet. He checked his bathroom next, finding no traces of things that unsettled his nerve. So he moved to standing at the door to the last section of his tiny apartment. The bedroom. He took a deep breath, handle on his hand, from this spot he could now hear a faint mixture of sounds. Gurgling, heavy breathing. A similar sound of someone with a serious case of blood lost. They were dying.
At this thought, Peter sprinted into the room, quickly swept his eye on the floor, bed, and wardrobe searching before he spot a shadow form of a man hung in a distorted position on his balcony railing.

It was the infamous current resident of the underground world. Deadpool.

This was what Peter mentioned earlier of what could be worse than an ordinary robber. An enhanced individual whose vigilant lifestyles often more than not cut-crossed with the way of living of people like Peter.

New York was somewhat a Leyline but instead of paranormal activity, it invited the cluster of extraordinaire people. These people just kept migrating to the Big Apple in the attempt to build up their fame. Some opted with justice vigilance, some with destruction. Peter’s point was that there were so many of them in the city that the Bugle never run out a new menace to slander. In other words, people couldn’t remember their deeds, or their super names if the new super wasn’t that remarkable enough. And Deadpool was the one that still occupied the big headline on the Bugle.

No one knew much about him except that he was a mercenary who recently made New York his new hide. By just a month the guy settled in the city, both communities of the two worlds, supers and folks alike were terrified of him. Rumors from all gossipy sources regarding his skills, his hideous figure and his madness spread like Australian wildfire. Now, the residents of New York heard and whispered about the new boogieman.

You may be surprised that these weren’t the things that had Peter concerned about the current situation he was in. In a minute, Peter scanned the body identified as the Merc with a month, he immediately ran to his bathroom where he stored his medkit and ran back to Deadpool. Every fiber of Peter’s body screamed only one thing.

He must save the guy.

“Hey, are you still conscious?” Peter asked, following the medical protocols. Not wasting a time, as the man was still unresponsive, Peter acted. He gently removed Deadpool’s form from the rails, placing him on the floor and started searching for his pulse. It was very weakened. Peter cursed and began to perform CPR. He placed both of his hands on the center of Deadpool’s chest and pumped rapidly. His own exhausted state forgotten. Then, Peter unceremoniously lifted Deadpool’s mask to just above his nose in order to give him a blow. Switching between chest compression and blows, 10 minutes later, Peter’s hard work was rewarded with a satisfying sound of stable breathing. It was the most melodic sound to his ears.

However, when he was going to remove the mask completely to see whether the man had a concussion or not, Peter’s hand was suddenly caught in a deadly grip. His eyes widen, startled.

“Mask stays.” Deadpool hissed dangerously. But it also meaned he was in panic.

“Okay, okay. Got it. Mask stays.” Peter said regaining his composure fast. Having been in this career taught him well how to handle the unexpected so Peter added to the wounded vigilant, trying with a gentle tone to not scare him off. “I’m a nurse, Peter. Please let me see your wounds. I can help.”

He waited. But after giving him a harsh order, Deadpool was silent for no reasons. However, he also didn’t utter anything to voice his discontent so Peter took it as a sign to continue. He cut Deadpool’s top garment with his scissor from the kit, scanning for wounds. Seeing two from the chest and more on the torso, he started cleaning the first with alcohol before applied bandage on it. They didn’t attempt at converse, saving one time that Peter asked Deadpool to raise his upper body a little so Peter could continue his procedure which the mercenary easily complied.

Peter was unaware of Deadpool’s silent observation on him until he spoke. Or actually leering at him. Inappropriately.

“Usually I’d not allowed getting handsy until the third date. But you’re cute, so I’d let it pass instead of suing you for a molestation.”

“Did you just hit on me? Dude, I’m trying to save you here.” Peter said dryly, not even looking up from treating the second wound.

"And to save your time, Sweetie, that beautiful meatloaf you’re currently touching are my skin. So, you don’t have to busy you little butt save it. There is no salvation for them.” Deadpool chirped cheerfully but also with a tinge of sarcasm at the same time. He was really like a comic-booked character and Peter’s exhausted mind found him hilarious. Weird.

In reality, Peter kept rolling his eyes.

“I am a nurse, in case that you don’t know, I can differentiate between scars and wounds. And I don’t think your scars resemble meatloaf.”

Deadpool blinked or Peter just hallucinated out of exhaustion that he blinked through the white lens of his mask. Also, Peter just noticed that Deadpool’s mask was like a red panda.

“Then, what are they resemble?” He inquired, sound genuinely curious.

“Dude, you are asking too much from me. A comparison requires the ability to abstract thought which also demands the work of a full-functioned brain which I currently don’t possess. All I can tell you now is that your scars are very artistic. Most fascinating out of all I’ve seen in years.”

Deadpool’s breath stuttered suddenly which made Peter had to look up to see whether he was going for another episode of the panic attack or not.

“Are you alright?”

“Who are you? Where have you been all my life?” Deadpool mumbled, clearly to himself as he watched Peter in awe like Peter was a new kind of species he just discovered.

“I’m Peter. The owner of the balcony you fell into. I’ve been living in New York for all my life but just 3 years in this apartment.” Peter answered him a matter-of-fact. At this hours, and his sleep-deprived state, Peter couldn’t even spell rhetoric let alone comprehending them.

“Hi, Petey. My name’s Wade Wilson.” Deadpool introduced himself. Why he was doing this, Peter had no clue, sleep-deprived and exhausted, remember. “I go by a jolly alias Deadpool. Have you heard of me? The regenerating degenerate which means I can’t die.” Deadpool – Wade informed him.

Peter was dressing another wound, so he hummed to let Wade know that he was still there even he couldn’t grasp a thing rumbling from him.

“Which allllso means that no need to waste your medical supplies on my injuries. They’ll heal anyway.” Wade added helpfully as Peter seemed to not get his subtle message yet.

“Doubtful. Pretty sure that you almost died had I not performed my CPR.”

“Die and come back, Baby Boy.”

“But you have to die first right?” Peter asked with a surprise coherent thought this time. Deadpool tipped his head in puzzle

“Yeah?” he said, sound almost uncertain with the answer himself.

“Can or can’t resurrect, no one dies on my watch.” Peter said firmly, with an absolute tone of finality.

Deadpool said nothing after that.

As true to his word, Wade was back to his fullest physical health by two hours. Despite having the firsthand witness of the infamous healing factor that everyone talking about, Peter still informed Wade to visit a doctor for a medical check. He also gave Wade a lecture for being reckless and Deadpool pursed his lips petulantly like a child. A finely built muscular child. By the time, the sunlight dawn on the horizon, Peter successfully kicked Wade out of his apartment. Wade seemed to be reluctant to move and voiced his displeasure loudly so Peter gave him his last portion of m&m to shut him up.

“Be careful, Wade.” Peter said one last time when the man prepared to jump off. Wade regarded him silently and gave him a thump up. Then, he turned his back and was out of Peter's sight.

After sending Wade off of his balcony, Peter collapsed unceremoniously on the floor. Unbeknown to him that he just invited a very big change in his comparatively peaceful 25 years old life.