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asknarashikari · 1 year ago

Note

[crossover with ansatsu kyoushitsu (adult class 3e)]

Karasuma: Thank you, Ritsu.

Ritsu: Is it really necessary, to put him down?

Karasuma: He’s become too dangerous, Ritsu.

Ritsu: We know Beroba and Kekera gave the drivers to those terrorists right and sabotaged his wish.

Jelavic: He’s still become too dangerous.

Jelavic: I’m sorry Ritsu.

Karasuma: Of course if Ukiyo wants to save Sakurai, despite the atrocities he’s committed…

Jelavic: I wouldn’t go that far yet.

Jelavic: While he’s currently a mob boss equivalent.

Jelavic: He’s kept the gang riders in check.

Karasuma: That is true…

---

Ace: No, Tycoon’s not that low yet, just trust him.

Win: Oh, so the Ministry of Defense is now getting themselves involved.

Michinaga: Ministry of Defense?

Michinaga: Oi, Geats!

Ace: Companies such as the Kurama Zaibatsu has been giving the government hush money so that the DGP could continue its operations.

Win: And Na-Go’s father so happen to be the convenient scapegoat, hence he was the only one arrested.

Win: They’re going to send their assassination squad?

Michinaga: Assassination squad?

Karma: No, not just yet.

Karma: But they will soon.

Nagisa: Hello, Azuma-kun, how’s it been?

Michinaga: You! Hebiku!

Michinaga: I thought I crushed your ID core!

Nagisa: I’m not here as a Rider, I don’t think Ace-kun could bring back the ID core that I let you destroy.

Ace: So you were holding back while a contestant?

Nagisa: I was entered because the Ministry of Defense wanted information on the DGP.

Nagisa: Didn’t even write something for the wish.

Nagisa: And yes there were a lot of us that were entered into the DGP before.

Win: So they’re waiting for our god of creation to decide whether to kill Tycoon or not?

Ace: And I’m saying no.

Karma: Welp, Ritsu you heard the godly person on this planet.

Ritsu: I’m telling Karasuma-san!

----

Goon1: There she is, Head, she wants to see you.

Keiwa: Who are you? And What do you want?

Kekera: Oho, Sakurai Keiwa, a beautiful girl wants you and you’re treating her that way?

Jelavic: I want to talk to you oh handsome head.

Keiwa: Go away, I have no business with you.

Jelavic: Oh but I do.

Jelavic: *glares at Keiwa and brandishes her guns and fires at him.*

Keiwa: Henshin *transforms into Bujin Sword and cuts down all the bullets coming at him.*

Kekera: Oi, oi! Help out your head!

Keiwa: No need, I can handle this myself.

Keiwa: No need to get everyone else involved.

Jelavic: Should you really talk like that to the assassin assigned to kill you?

Kekera: An assassin! You’ve really gotten to the big leagues! Sakurai Keiwa!

Keiwa: I didn’t realize that the ministry of defense employed assassins.

Jelavic: Oh, how’d you know that I work for the ministry of defense.

Keiwa: Just a hunch.

Jelavic: You’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for.

Keiwa: Kekera, Beroba, if you want to make yourself useful, why don’t you turn away the people that are about to jump at me from above!

Jelavic: Abort the mission boys, it seems Ritsu’’s information is accurate.

*A lot of men jumped down from the second floor and went behind Jelavic.*

???: Well take those.

Multiple shadowed people stole Beroba’s and Kekera’s cards.

Beroba: Wha-

Kekera: How-

Jelavic: Good work girls.

???: It was our pleasure Bitch-sensei.

----fastforward: basically, Ritsu fires BBs at everyone and releases smoke at the same time, courtesy of Itona’s invention, while Nagisa stuns Keiwa before Isogai and Maehara grabbed Keiwa’s hands and ran somewhere where Beroba and Kekera aren’t around.----

Keiwa: *detransforms out of Bujin Sword*

Keiwa: You got me out of the hideout, what now?

Keiwa: if you really are sent to kill me, you would have already done so earlier.

Jelavic: Like I said smarter than given credit.

Nagisa: Can’t you be persuaded Sakurai-kun?

Keiwa: If I don’t do this, I lose my only chance at reviving my family

Isogai: Even at the cost of everyone else’s family?

Keiwa: I TRIED DOING THE RIGHT THING?! WHAT DID THAT GET ME?! IT KILLED MY SISTER!

Keiwa: I’m not going to be a door mat any longer.

Keiwa: They wanted me to fight for my desires so I’m doing it.

Maehara: But the sacrifices.

Keiwa: As long as my family gets to live, I don’t care what happens after.

-----

Karasuma: What now?

Ace: Give me one last shot.

Ace: I do hope that you won’t resort to killing him.

Ace: The punishment doesn’t fit the supposed crime that you’re pinning on him.

Karasuma: We’ll see.

----

Geats cast react. The cast are when after they yanked Keiwa’s out of Kekera’s hold, so yes Keiwa is among the reactors XD

I'm just smiling at the thought of this being the live action versions because Karma was played by Masaki Suda (aka our resident human search engine Philip)

Anyway, I kinda think everyone will be a bit speechless at the government going that far to pull Keiwa out... and definitely a little suspicious, because in canon the government was well aware of the DGP shenanigans and were actually in on the conspiracy in a similar fashion to Kurama Kousei- keeping their existence a secret from the public in return for wish(es). While getting Keiwa away from the influence of Kekera and co is a good thing, the government involvement stinks of a coverup from above. They're probably doing it only for their own benefit, i.e. to erase their own involvement in this sick game.

On the other hand, Keiwa being supposedly perceptive enough to read through the deception and knowing they were there to "rescue" him rather than eliminate him may surprise them. Though they'd be disappointed with his stubbornness.

#kamen rider geats #assassination classroom #sakurai keiwa #ask #hxmxbros

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years ago

Text

Rescue pt 1

It wasn’t unusual for SHIELD to have jobs for Deadpool that were in other countries. Those jobs could take anywhere from a few days to a few months to complete, especially since Deadpool was trying to cut down on the cutting down, so to speak. It was okay though. Even if the goons form SHIELD still looked at him like he was something that had crawled off the bottom of a boot, he still friends.

All three of them.

But it’s fine. Three’s better than none. And they all liked him.

Well. They tolerated him. And one of them was none other than New York City’s own wonderful, fantastic Spider-Man!

Okay, so Webs was less of Deadpool’s friend and more of Deadpool’s parole officer, but it totally counted! The web-slinging superhero would totally work with Deadpool. They even ate together!

True, Spider-Man was always a few feet away and made sure the food was between them. True, sometimes the vigilante would swing away in the middle of eating. And true, he never accepted any of Deadpool’s offers to go play games or anything.

But that was fine. Webs would totally miss him if he was gone.

(No he wouldn't.)

And he knew that Webs liked him, because he had the vigilante’s phone number! He didn’t use it for much, just the occasional picture…

(Every thirty minutes.)

But it was fine! Spidey must like the pictures, because he never told Deadpool to stop sending them! Who cared if Spidey never responded to the pictures? He knew it wasn’t a burner phone, because they’d clearly been read by the other phone.

“All right,” Douche1 yelled over the roaring of the copter blades. Deadpool shot a pic of him, outlined by the light coming in through the open door of the chopper and quickly sent it to Spidey. Why not? He knew that Spidey had a certain—appreciation, wink-wink nudge-nudge, for good photography.

“Deadpool, are you listening?” demanded Douche1.

“No,” admitted Deadpool as he stowed the phone away in one of his pouches. “These things are always the same. Touch down in the jungle. Get shot at. Fight the guys shooting at us. Try not to destroy anything with information. Blah blah blah, repeat last Wednesday. Are we there yet?”

Douche1’s eyes bulged as his throat convulsed, but before he could actually say anything, the chopper touched down. “Time for me to earn my money!” cried Deadpool as he leaped up and skipped out of the chopper. He had to buy that food for his little wall-crawling vigilante somehow.

“And a-one!” crooned Deadpool as he used the flat of his blade to knock out Goon1. “And a-two! One two three four!” he sang as he made his way into the building, knocking goons out as he went.

Strictly non-lethal. Spidey would be proud. Or maybe just relieved. Too hard to say.

He laughed as he danced his way through the building. This was going to be the easiest mission yet. He was going to be back in the city before nightfall.

He burst into one room. “Hit you like a wrecking ball!” he sang out.

“No!” screamed the little guy in a white coat.

Deadpool was no stranger to guys in white coats. There were even a few that he currently liked, such as that cute brunette at the iron dildo’s tower who refused to let his fellow scientists try to get blood samples from him.

But this one. Something about this one was raising uncomfortable echoes that he didn’t want to think about too hard. “Man,” Deadpool complained as he walked into the room where the scientist was scrambling. “Can’t you just surrender already. I have dinner plans!” Not that the wall-crawling vigilante knew it (yet), but they were still plans!

“No,” said the madman as he gripped a large red button.

Seriously? A large red button? How cliché could someone get?

“You realize that even if you press that button I survive this, right? Well,” pondered Deadpool, “not exactly survive, but revive and in any case you won’t.”

The mad little guy gave a grin. “I don’t mind,” he said before pushing the button.

The world caved in.

***

Peter first noticed something was wrong when his burner phone didn’t get a text from Deadpool. The man was an obsessive texter, sending memes, pictures, gifs, emojis, etc. Peter barely had time to finish reading what had piled up in the phone while he was working before another one came in. They were always interesting, especially the pictures. Usually, the picture series told a story. One time he’d gotten a picture of a bicycle tire, a kid on the bike with a pizza (Peter remembered that job; it had sucked rotten eggs), a car with a katana through the engine, and a terrified kid staring with a grimace and wide eyes with a perfectly safe pizza in their hands.

It was pretty great, and Peter was about to send Deadpool a kudos for a good job when his phone got flooded with another sixteen unrelated texts. Deadpool liked to talk, but he didn’t really seem to care if anyone was listening. It filled some of the loneliness of Peter’s hours, if he was honest.

(He rarely was.)

So when six hours rolled by without a message from Deadpool, Peter began to get slightly worried. Twelve hours and he was extremely worried. Twenty hours with no word from Deadpool found Peter breaking into the Avenger’s Tower to go through their records.

“Spider-Man,” the soft voice of the tower’s AI addressed him as he hooked up his machines to the computer, “there are several files with delicate information I feel certain you are not interested in accessing.”

Peter thought about that for a moment. He wondered what “delicate information” was. He didn’t care. He had a job to do, and that was it. ��I’m just looking for Deadpool’s last mission,” Peter said, keeping his voice soft. If the AI hadn’t informed the Tower residents that the building was getting hacked, Peter didn’t want to.

“Deadpool? Why?” asked the AI, sounding confused.

“I haven’t heard from him.”

“My records indicate that six month lapses in communications with the mercenary are quite typical.”

Peter didn’t have the time to explain that while, yes, Deadpool fell out of contact with almost everyone else, he still blew up Spider-Man’s phone. “Something’s wrong,” he told the computer. “Call it—a gut feeling.”

“Everyone in the Tower agrees that your prescient abilities are not to be discarded,” agreed the machine before the computer by Peter began to whir into action. “That’s why they refuse to invite you to poker night.”

There were so many questions Peter wanted to ask. Such as, The Avengers have a poker night? And, They think I can sense the cards? If that was true, then Peter would have no need to sell photos to a verbally abusive boss between shifts in the lab and patrolling.

Actually, maybe if he was playing poker with someone like, say, the Kingpin…

The machine by Peter beeped and the AI said, “Your device is safe to remove now.”

“Thank you,” Peter said as he took his drive and left. Time to check some information.

***

Wade woke up, gasping for breath, the weight of the building pressing, pressing, pressing him…

He died again.

***

So, from what Peter was able to tell, the location that SHIELD had taken Deadpool to was redacted. Probably because they were afraid that someone with fewer of Peter’s morals would find it, but that was beside the point. The important things he knew were 1) where the last picture Deadpool sent him had been sent from and 2) who the agent was in the picture. Apparently, like most non-Avenger supers in New York, Deadpool had a handler.

First thing Peter needed to do was talk to that handler. Fortunately, SHIELD had less security than Stark. And the agent was easy to find, since he was lounging in a break area. “Hey,” said Peter as he drifted down via web string.

The agent looked up and, without missing a beat, said, “I’m not your handler.”

Peter was thrown, but only for a moment. He hadn’t known that SHIELD was so blatant about acknowledging their handlers. “I know that. I’m not here for him anyway, I came to talk to you.”

The agent sighed and dunked a chicken nugget into some foul-looking brown sauce with black spots. “What about?” he asked.

“Deadpool. He’s missing.”

The agent scoffed before eating his nugget. “Not for long enough,” the man muttered. “Pain in the ass, never shuts up—”

Peter was well acquainted with the litany. “Not joking,” he said flatly. “I’m looking for Deadpool.”

The agent rolled his eyes. “He’s probably still under the building,” he said dismissively.

What?

“Under a building?” repeated Peter, his lips numb. He’d been under buildings. And Wade wasn’t nearly as strong as Peter was.

The agent waved a dismissive hand. “It blew up over him.”

“Blew up.”

“He’ll be fine.” The agent dunked another nugget. “He always is.”

Peter took several deep breaths to prevent from unleashing the full force of his rage on this guy. That was bad. He knew better.

Besides, SHIELD had a vested interest in making sure the vigilantes they shadowed didn’t get murderous ideas towards their agents. He really didn’t want to know what they did to enforce it, but he knew they did.

“This has happened before?” Peter asked, just to clarify.

“It happens all the time,” the agent said. “He’ll be fine. He always is.”

***

The debris had shifted, just enough, that there was a piece holding things up and away from Wade’s torso. He could, for the moment, breathe. It was close, so close, like the tube—

The debris shifted again, crushing him once more.

***

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” The craggy face of the crime reporter stared at Peter in disbelief. “You’re texting buddies with Deadpool.”

Peter squirmed. He’d thought about having this conversation as Spider-Man, but neither Eddie nor Venom had any reason to help Spider-Man. They might help Peter Parker, especially since Eddie seemed to see him as some kind of reckless rookie kid. “Is that really the important part?” he asked.

Eddie ran a hand down his face. “Sorry,” he said. “Just trying to wrap my head around it. You—you’re in contact with Deadpool?”

Peter sighed. “Yes, Eddie,” he said patiently.

“And—he texts you—on a regular basis?”

“Usually about every thirty minutes. I don’t think he sleeps. Look, he’s in trouble.”

Eddie stared at him.

The two of them, well, three of them, had actually started getting along. Eddie didn’t see Peter as the only thing keeping him from succeeding anymore, and Venom wasn’t trying to kill Spider-Man. It probably helped that the two of them covered entirely different stories; Eddie went for major corruption and Peter, well, Peter followed the supers.

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. Peter hadn’t wanted to have witnesses to the conversation, just in case Eddie was able to help. He knew that said help wouldn’t be entirely legal.

The black skin of the symbiote crawled over Eddie until the long black head appeared and the white framed eyes watched Peter. “You like him,” the black creature hissed.

Peter looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. For almost two years, Deadpool had been his constant. The one thing that kept the crushing weight of loneliness away from him. But did that mean that Peter liked him? Or was he just using the other man? He couldn't tell.

“You are worried,” Venom hissed.

Peter nodded. “I am,” he admitted freely.

“We sssshould help,” Venom hissed to Eddie.

Eddie gave the black head a wry look. “Yeah?”

“Yesss. We wissh to do good, to help. Deadpool wisshess to do good, to help. And Peter likesss Deadpool.”

Peter wasn’t certain what that last one had to do with it, but he was up for just about anything that could help. “Will you help?” he asked Eddie, hopefully.

Eddie sighed and rubbed a hand over his head. “Yeah. Yeah, Pete, we’ll help. Gotta save your boyfriend.”

Peter was too happy to protest that Deadpool was not his boyfriend.

***

Wade’s vision flickered between rock and smooth metal and glass. Rock and smooth metal and glass. Rock and smooth metal and glass. All he knew for sure was that he couldn't breathe. He tried and tried as spots danced in his vision.

The world went black.

***

“So, where are we going?” Eddie asked as they walked away from the dock.

Peter had protested that he didn’t need Eddie’s help, but the other man had just looked at him and demanded to know when he’d learned another language. Since Peter hadn’t, he gracefully accepted that he wasn’t going to be able to ditch Eddie. After all, he was going to need Eddie’s help in getting back into the US with Wade, after all.

Peter pulled up the coordinates on his phone before showing it to Eddie, who frowned. “How’d you get these?” he asked as he looked at the numbers.

Peter knew he was committing them to memory. “I tracked the phone’s location at the last photo that was sent to me,” he said. He took the phone back and pulled up the photo. “And this guy is a SHIELD agent.”

“Well, if you know that,” started Eddie.

“He told me that Deadpool gets hurt all the time on missions. That it didn’t matter that they left him there, because he always gets back.” Peter knew his voice sounded cold.

He felt cold.

Before this he would have said that rage is hot, that rage will burn someone up from the inside out.

This wasn’t. This was ice cold, this was glacier cold. He hoped he was never in a position where he’d have to defend the agent, because he wasn’t sure that he could.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the hand that dropped on his shoulder. “So, we start there,” Eddie said firmly.

“Yesss,” hissed Venom. “And we eat those who make make you cry.”

What? Why would Venom want to eat people who make him cry? Not that anyone was making Peter cry.

“Ignore it,” Eddie said breezily. “Let’s find a base before we get there. We don’t know what we’ll find.”

***

Dark. It was dark. It was cold. There was some kind of liquid running along his back. He heard something shift.

He died again.

***

Peter and Eddie stared at the rubble that used to be a building. “So,” said Eddie, “how were you at the game of Pick-Up-Sticks?”

Peter remembered that game. That was where the player let a bunch of sticks fall out of a tube and then had to pick them up one at a time without moving more than one. “I was better at Jenga,” he said mentioning the game with the blocks where players took turns moving blocks from the bottom to the top until the structure collapsed.

“Channel that,” Eddie said, just before Venom completely covered him. The two of them walked over to the rubble and picked a piece up before tossing it to the side. Peter, careful not to let Venom see him, scaled the side of a nearby building and began calling out pieces that were safe to move, and unlikely to cause the rest of the structure to shift.

Four hours later they reached Deadpool. The merc was badly injured and currently dead. Venom retreated leaving Eddie in place looking at the merc. “Well, this is going to be interesting to explain to the hotel,” he said.

Peter, wary of the crowd that had formed, climbed back down the building and leaped off to run to the body. As he reached Deadpool the merc took a long, shuddering breath and Peter reached under him to hold him up so that he could breathe better.

One of Deadpool’s hands came up and gripped Peter by the throat as the merc sat up, looking around with wild eyes. That was when Peter noticed that the mask was torn beyond usability. Fearlessly, one of Peter’s hands cupped the scarred cheek. “Sh,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”

Deadpool’s eyes closed and he fell forward, limp.

***

Wade was—almost comfortable. His skin felt like it was on fire, as always, but other than that—other than that he was warm, dry, and on something soft. Someone was also holding his hand. He opened his eyes to see an adorable head of curly brown hair.

Who was this? Why was the cutie holding his hand? More importantly, how was the cutie holding the hand with no glove to protect him(her?) from the disaster that was Wade’s skin.

“So you’re awake,” a voice called. Wade looked over to see a scraggly man that he vaguely recognized.

“Do I—know you?” rasped out Wade.

“We haven’t met,” said the man. He nodded to the person holding Wade’s hand. “But you’ve met him. He went looking for you and wouldn't stop until he found you.”

Wade looked back at the curly head with confusion. “Why?” he asked. No one looked for him. They all knew he’d crawl back eventually.

“You’ll have to ask him,” the man said calmly. “But listen.” The man leaned towards him. “If you don’t treat him right, you’ll be,” suddenly the man was covered in what looked like a black and white suit as he hissed, “eaten.” The suit vanished and the man left the room.

The room. Wade looked around the room. It was nothing special, just a generic hotel room. Which—how? The last thing he remembered was being in a building as it blew up.

The person holding his hand twitched and he looked over to see the dark brown eyes open lazily. Wade’s heart skipped a beat as the young man woke up and then realized that Wade was awake. “You’re up! Are you okay? Hungry? Thirsty? How do you feel?” A single, smooth and unmarred hand reached up to cup Wade’s cheek.

Wade had no idea how to tell the guy that he had no idea who he was. “I’m—fine,” he said harshly as he gently grabbed the hand and pushed it away from his face. “Fine.”

The young guy relaxed. “Oh, thank goodness. I mean, I knew you healed fast but you were dead, like dead-dead, and you didn’t know who I was, and you were totally out of it—are you okay?”

This cutie had—worried about him? Wanted to make sure he was okay? “I’m sorry,” Wade said, “but I still don’t know who you are.”

The guy stared at him for a moment and Wade could see tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. “You’ve been texting me for almost two years,” the boy said with disbelief.

What? The boy pulled out his phone and showed Deadpool—the pictures. The ones he sent Spidey. He looked up at the boy, wondering. “Webs?” he asked softly.

The boy grinned and put a finger to his lips as he nodded. “Peter,” he said, offering his name like a gift.

Like the gift it was. “Peter,” said Wade rolling the name on his tongue. He reached out. “Wade,” he said softly.

“Wade,” repeated Peter. He smiled.

The smile was dazzling. The mere thought that this beautiful creature was smiling at him was making him lightheaded. He could see the edges of the room start to spin.

A knock on the door alerted them to the arrival of Eddie, who was carrying several take-out bags. “I figured someone with a healing factor might need to top off their tank,” Eddie said as he walked into the room. He dropped two of the bags in Wade’s lap and firmly placed a third in Peter’s. “Eat,” he ordered the younger man. “I know damn well that you haven’t eaten since you realized he was missing.”

Peter flushed. “You don’t know that,” he protested.

Eddie snorted. “Shut up and eat your food,” he said warmly. He gave the younger man’s hair a tousle even as he shot Wade a glare. “We’ve got a long way to go in the morning.”

***

In the end it took a week to get all three of them back to the States. Eddie’s contacts were kind, sympathetic, and ready to help—right up until they learned that one of the people they were helping was Deadpool. Peter didn’t speak Spanish, but he was almost certain that the language he was being exposed to was not appropriate for all ages.

Finally they were back in the States, and then back in New York. Peter couldn't wait to get back to his apartment and just collapse for a couple of days. He didn’t even protest when Wade (and that was a little bit of a thrill right there) started following him home.

His key didn’t work. He stared at the lock with a frown and tried again. “You were two days late on your rent,” said his landlord. “I threw all your shit away.”

Well. Aside from the camera and suit (which he had on him) most of his stuff was pretty disposable anyway. Still. It had been his stuff.

Wade enveloped him in a hug. “Don’t worry,” said the larger man. “You can stay at my place! If—if you want.”

Peter smiled at his friend. “I’d love to,” he said. He allowed Wade to lead him out of the apartment building and down the street.

Down the street. This entire time, Deadpool had lived less than two blocks away from Spider-Man. How had Peter not known?

Well, that was easy. He’d been trying to respect Deadpool’s privacy. He assumed, given how stunned the merc had been when he’d seen Peter’s face, that Deadpool had done the same thing for Spider-Man. No matter what anyone else said, Peter knew that he was considerate like that. It was one of the things he liked

(loved)

about the other man.

Just as they reached the door Wade stopped. “Okay, uh, I’m gonna need to you to stay here for a moment—or five.”

“What?”

Wade opened the door to the apartment and slipped in without letting Peter see inside. Then followed the unmistakable sounds of hasty, “Oh, shit I have company,” cleaning. Peter couldn't help but smile; he didn’t think anyone had ever done that for him before. It gave him a warm feeling. He wasn’t sure what it was yet.

After about thirty minutes (and some seriously concerning crashes and what sounded like one small explosion), the door opened again and Wade grinned at him. “Peter! Fancy meeting you here!”

Peter grinned back. “Fancy,” he said.

Wade stepped aside and gestured. “Welcome to our humble home. And when I say ‘our’ I’m not using the Royal Plural, I’m using the singular plural, as in stating for two people since this is your home too now?”

Peter laughed. “I get it,” he said with a smile. “And yes, this is our home—for now!” He reached up and gently rubbed Wade’s cheek, and Wade pressed into the hand like an overly affectionate cat. “Silly merc,” he teased. “After a couple of weeks you might not want me to live here.”

Wade grabbed the hand and kissed it. “I will never ask you to leave.”

Peter was pretty sure the words came out a lot more serious than Wade had been intending. He blushed and looked down, not sure what he should say. He hadn’t known that Wade cared for him as much as he did; he’d thought that Wade’s attitude was the same towards everybody. He wasn’t used to people caring for him.

But it was nice.

Peter set his stuff down by the door. “Let’s get some sleep,” he suggested.

“You want to sleep? That’s great, bed’s this way,” Wade babbled as he led the way to one of the rooms (and his apartment, unlike Peter’s own, had multiple rooms). “The bed’s huge, so there’s plenty of room if you decide to sprawl none of you will fall over the edge, unlike that hotel.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “The only reason,” he told the merc, “that I fell off the bed is because there was a huge, muscled man in it.”

“Yeah? Wonder who that was,” said Wade with a smirk. The scarred man opened the door and Peter looked at the bed. And blinked. He didn’t know beds even came that large—it was bigger than a king. The bed filled the room (no dresser, no side table, nothing but bed) wall to window, and it was not a small room. Peter was pretty sure the room was bigger than his apartment.

His former apartment.

And it doesn’t sting like Peter had thought it would. He’d thought he would feel some kind of attachment to the place he’d lived in ever since he turned eighteen—but he didn’t. It was slightly disconcerting.

“All right, so just crawl in there—not sure what I was thinking with that bed—or how I got it in there, maybe folded? Eh, not important. What is important is that a certain little spider gets his sleep.”

Peter, used to the rambles by now, folded his arms. “And what about your sleep?” he countered. Wade had to be tired. He hadn’t slept, as far as Peter could tell, for the last few days.

“Aw, don’t worry about it much,” Wade said as he looked away.

No. Peter was not allowing that this time. He reached out. “Wade,” he said firmly. “You need sleep too.”

Wade cringed even as he leaned into the touch. “I can do without,” he protested. “My nightmares—”

Ah. so that was what the problem was. “Wade,” said Peter as he ran a thumb over the larger man’s cheek, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, baby boy,” protested Wade. “I could have hurt you!”

Peter reached up with his other hand and pulled Wade down so that he could press their foreheads together. “You can’t hurt me Wade. Come to bed. Get some sleep.” Wade whined—but obeyed. The two of them laid in the bed as Peter curled around Wade. “Good night, Wade,” he said softly. Wade murmured something Peter, even with his advanced hearing, couldn't catch and was soon asleep.

Peter had known he was exhausted. He didn’t know how Wade normally “dealt” with needing to sleep, but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t healthy. Wade didn’t seem to have a lot of healthy coping mechanisms.

Not that Peter was really one to talk.

Later that night, Peter was awake while Wade still slumbered. Peter sat up next to the windows as Wade’s arms encircled his waist. He looked down at the scarred man with fondness and gently rubbed the top of Wade’s head, resulting in him burying his face in Peter’s hip.

Blue light caught Peter’s attention as a hulking form dropped on the bed. Peter looked up into the scarred, craggy face of a one-eyed man with white hair. The man saw Peter and frowned. “Wade,” the man said.

Wade began to stir. True, he only grumbled and pressed his face harder into Peter’s hip, but this intruder was disturbing his much needed rest. Peter glared up at the man. “No,” he said firmly.

The man frowned down at him. “You don’t have a say,” he told Peter.

Peter thought of Wade, broken and buried, under the rubble of a building. Of how he’d been trapped there until Peter and Eddie found him. Constantly regenerating and dying again. He glared up at the man even as one hand drifted down protectively. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I do have a say. And I say that you’re not taking him anywhere.”

The man crossed his arms and glared with his one human eye at Peter. “Do you know what kind of man he is?”

“Yes,” said Peter unflinching, unhesitating. He knew. He knew better than anyone.

“Good.” As Peter stared the man stepped back and white light surrounded him again and he—vanished.

What was that about? At his side Wade whimpered and Peter gently stroked his cheek. “You’re okay,” he said. “You’re safe.”

And he was going to do whatever he needed to do to keep it that way.

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool #rescue

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