Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Chapter 3: Cracks in the Foundation

Her eyes flicker to a half-open dumpster against the opposite wall.

"Awesome! Thanks for the help. You can go now." He steps away, and she hot-foots it out of there at record speeds.

Overflowing garbage bags surround the dumpster, spilling rotting junk and black juices onto the cement. Wade approaches cautiously, and when he's close enough, peers slowly over the top as to not startle the person within. Inside, Spider-Man hunches over himself, legs pinned to his chest, and breathing heavier than a panting dog. One arm he keeps wrapped around his legs and the other has the heel of his hand pressed tight against one of his eyes. He's half whimpering and half muttering, the words so jumbled its hard to decipher. Judging by tone, Wade doesn't think the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man is feeling all-too friendly.

"Hey," Wade says, and that's enough to send Spider-Man reeling backward, hitting the back of the dumpster with a painful CLANG! Wade winces.

Spider-Man's hands shoot up, but Wade dodges the webs easily, tapping down years of military training and habits that make his fingers twitch towards his guns. Trying to pin down Spider-Man in this state was going to do more harm than good, and it'd likely end with Wade glued to the wall with several broken bones to match.

He waits until Spider-Man lowers his hands, pressing them to his face again with a pained keen, before climbing inside, taking care not to startle his friend as bags crinkle under his weight.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay. It's me, Wade. I know you're off the fritz right now, but you're gonna be fine. I don't know what that drugs' doing to you, but it's probably why everything is going coo-coo crazy. But it'll wear off, so just...don't freak out."

Spider-Man's breathing doesn't lighten. Tension builds in his body, bristling and snarling like a caged animal prepared to bite. Still, his head jerks to the side, absorbing Wade's words.

"Wade?" he says, like he's not sure it's him.

"Yeah, it's Wade." Wade holds out his hands placatively. "Your buddy Deadpool. Merc with the Mouth and Killer Ass, but they usually keep that last bit out because it's too clunky. What's going on, Boo?"

"I...I don't know..."

"That's okay. We'll figure it out later. Right now, I think we need to get you out of here and somewhere warm and comfy, dontcha think? I like dumpsters as much as the next guy, but we can better."

Spider-Man doesn't hear him, or maybe the words just aren't registering, because it doesn't look like he intends on leaving any time soon. Wade still counts it as a win when Spider-Man allows him to scoot closer.

He pauses when Spider-Man makes a distressed noise in the back of his throat, heart pinching in concern. It's rare seeing these small moments of weakness. Spider-Man simply never allowed it. On the occasions that he didn't limp home to lick his wounds in private, sitting still long enough for Wade to attempt some level of medical treatment, he barely uttered a word, much less a noise of pain. Whether it was stitches, road-rash, burns, dislocated limbs, concussion, or broken bones. He tightened his jaw and stared at the wall, enduring it all. The guy had the pain tolerance of, well, a superhero.

Never in the year that he and Spider-Man have been partners has Wade heard him make a noise like that, and it's concerning.

Wade's mind flails in response, jumping between how he's going to make this worse and the idea of calling someone more equipped to handle it. Like the Avengers, or the Fantastic Four. One of them has to have a magic cure-all, fix-it pill. But he doesn't have either of their numbers and they're too far away to leave Spider-Man here to go knock at their doorstep.