Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Chapter 1: Strange Occurrences

Spidey had been running point with him before the explosion. He'd recoiled before it went off, but even he, with all his speed and agility, wasn't fast enough to escape the blast radius.

"Webs," Wade doesn't so much say than feel the motion of his jaw and vocal cords moving, ultimately getting him more acquainted with the taste of blood and dust in his mouth than proper communication. There are red stains where Spider-Man's ears are, so hearing is probably off the table for him too.

To prove him correct, Spider-Man spots him and gestures to the side of his head, mouth moving to convey speech where part of his mask had been torn. It's impossible to make out what he's saying, but the message is obvious: Busted ears. Can't hear a thing.

Like him, the spandex of Spider-Man's suit is warped from the heat, the black web-lines are a little more curved than normal on his left side, and the smell of burnt rubber gets thicker as he closes the distance between them. Otherwise, he's unscathed.

Unfair considering Wade's bones are still healing.

Together, they stumble out of the vacated building and back into the chaos outside. The street is overrun with a messy superhero-versus-clay monster slugfest. A bald hermit—Mole Man, Mr. Fantastic had said—stands on a roof a short distance from the fight, loudly urging his minions on as they enact his plan to sink the city into the ground. Grayish brown golems and globs swarm the streets like riled ants, either flocking around individual members of the Fantastic Four or sticking home-made bombs to surrounding buildings.

The sounds of battle are muffled and far away, but it's a vast improvement from the painful ringing that had been bouncing through Wade's skull. Give it another minute, tops, and he'll be back in tip-top shape. Spider-Man, on the other hand, gingerly touches the side of his head and the exposed portion of his jaw twitches in discomfort. Wade grimaces. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a life-hack healing factor like him.

He taps the bloody area below Spider-Man's ear, and when the man turns to him, points at it and gives a questioning thumbs up. Spider-Man returns the gesture with more confidence and yells again—probably something flippant about his bargain brand healing factor—before shooting a web and launching himself into the air.

Shrugging, Wade does a quick weapons check as he follows. Deaf or not, Spidey can handle himself. He's more worried about a glob of semi-sentient clay humping his leg like a gooey chihuahua. That shit's embarrassing.

By the time Sue Storm descends from above on an invisible platform, having spotted them approaching, Wade's ears are fully functioning again.

"Deadpool," she shouts, hovering eight feet in the air and still somehow covered in muck, "help Ben drive them back. Spider-Man, Johnny could use a hand."

Wade lifts a finger to relay the information that Spider-Man can't hear jackshit and a game of charades is in order, but Spider-Man shoots Sue a thumbs up and veers in midair, heading for the streak of fire herding a gaggle of clay-monsters towards Mr. Fantastic.

He drops his finger.

"Huh," he cocks his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say our Spidey's H-factor got exponentially better since our last romp in the streets."

Maybe you're finally rubbing off on him, the voices jeer, unfortunately, unaffected by any recent hearing loss.

"One can only dream," Wade sighs, unholstering a gun.

But it's a minor thought. So minor, he drops it as another BOOM shakes the end of the street, sending rubble into neighboring buildings with thick plumes of smoke smothering the air. Sue is already back with Mr. Fantastic, helping round up little blobs, while The Thing is steadily being overrun with goopy monsters the size of small horses. Wade checks his gun one more time, cocks it, and follows The Thing's gravelly curses, putting bullets into heads as he goes. BLAM!