Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for all the positive feedback last chapter!

Once again, a BIG thanks to my beta Peter for staying up through the night to read over this for me! You're amazing my dude!

Wade saw Spider-Man's face by accident.

It was after a battle in Hell's Kitchen. Dare Devil was fighting a group of ninjas who had a bad guy boner for him and, being the chivalrous crime fighters they were, Wade and Spidey gave him a hand.

With the combined forces of the Devil's freakishly enhanced senses, Spider-Man's inhuman abilities, and Wade's repertoire, the battle didn't take long. But that didn't mean they went without their share of bruises. Dare Devil was limping by the end of it and holding his ribs like his innards might fall if he let go. Wade took several throwing stars to the spleen and several more stab wounds to the gut. Spider-Man got away with only a cut on his brow, but it was leaking blood into the pocket of space between his lenses and his eyes. Wade, being the epitome of a gentleman, helped him find the nearest bathroom to clean up in.

It all happened too fast. One minute Spidey had his mask on and the next he slapped onto the counter as he bent over the sink, scrubbing furiously at his eye. Spider-Man probably thought Wade would leave the moment they separated, and normally Wade would've. He only stopped to ask if Spidey needed anything, like disinfectant or a towel that didn't have the durability of paper mache. It barely took 5 seconds.

When Spider-Man didn't hear the door close, he looked up and met Wade's eyes. A beat. Then Wade slammed the door shut and bolted down the hall like he had Colossus's recruitment speeches on his ass. He found a nice, cramped janitor's closet to hide in. It was a split-second decision. One hadn't made since he was a kid, running from the sound of his dad walking through the front door. It was within this sanctuary of brooms and mops that he tried to wipe Spider-Man's face from his memory.

Unsuccessfully.

Tangled brown hair, all knotted and messy. A grimy, sweat-soaked face flushed from adrenaline and colored purple on his jaw where a ninja roundhouse kicked him (good cheekbones, sharp jawline). Deep brown eyes that went wide and panicked when they locked onto Wade's blue ones, the left bruised and bloodshot.

Wade scrubbed his hands over his face. "Forget it. Forget. Forget. We are not breaking the bro code. Nope, nope, nope. Just forget the eyes and the hair and the face."

When was the last time Spider-Man shaved? His chin was prickly with a stubble that didn't look groomed enough to be intentional.

Stop! Bad Deadpool! Erase it from your memory like everything else important in your life. If you can forget you had a daughter, you can do this.

Has Spidey been sleeping? His eyes were heavy with bags and even juiced after a fight, he looked exhausted.

Wade smacked himself.

"No! Stop it!" He grabbed a container of Clorox off the shelf and had it halfway unscrewed before his brain caught up with him. Ruining his eyes would not ruin the memory. Nothing can ruin that memory. Mephisto himself couldn't pull it from Wade's head. Those beautiful brown eyes (dark from lack of sleep) and that tangled bushfire he called hair (probably so fluffy after being washed) were going to haunt him for the rest of his miserable life.

All it took was a few seconds for Spider-Man's face to sear into his brain. Grafted, carved, and welded. Chained to him.

Wade didn't know how long he was in the closet, but he shot up, knocking his head on one of the higher shelves when a soft progression of knocks thumped on the door. Knock knock na-knock knock. A shadow moved beneath the crack of the door and Wade went ramrod straight, and then shrunk in shame, shoulders meeting his ears. Timidly, he knocked back, finishing the rhyme.