Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Chapter 3: Cracks in the Foundation

So what now?

His thoughts turn to the journal sitting in his apartment, tucked safely inside one of his duffel bags. He thinks of the observations and notes inside, the ones he's been collecting on the man trembling in front of him. What he wouldn't do for it now.

Well, there is one thing he can try. Wade doesn't know if it'll work—doesn't really expect it too—but it's all he's got.

Carefully, he lowers his hand to Spider-Man's wrist, watching the man's quivering frame for signs of fear or discomfort. He doesn't grab it, just lays his hand on top, resting it there. Spider-Man flinches, and Wade would've pulled away if not for Spider-Man's finger flicking against his gloves. It flicks again, hesitant and unsure, as if dipping his toes into a puddle and expecting a shark bite. But he doesn't pull away.

Taking that as a go-ahead, Wade spread his fingers down Spider-Man's wrist, mimicking the way Spider-Man had done it for Spidey Jr, and strokes the area above his wrist joint. To his great surprise, and even greater relief, Spider-Man exhales shakily and leans against the dumpster, shoulders sagging.

It's not perfect. Tightness lingers in his arms, his legs and hands, like a strained rubber band ready to snap. His breathing is still raspy and labored. But his hand unsticks from the dumpster wall and wraps around Wade's forearm, clutching it like a piece of driftwood amidst a stormy sea.

"There we go," Wade murmurs. "Just like that. See, I'm a friend. I'm not going to hurt you."

"There are things," Spider-Man whispers, swallowing hard and nervous. "Th-things everywhere. Watching us."

That...is very concerning. Wade glances outside the dumpster, but it's just the two of them. He doesn't have an OP 6th sense, but he's positive the alley is empty. He's heard of bad drug trips, but he didn't think hallucinations were a common side-effect. For hallucinogenics, maybe, but for LSD's?

"Acid my ass," Wade growls. He's going to hunt Ponytail down and give him a very stern talking to with his trusty little knives.

In the meantime, Wade takes Spider-Man's other wrist and rubs it too. "They're not real, I promise. And when was the last time I lied to you? And that one time I told you I didn't eat the last taco doesn't count. Technically, I hate half of it and a pigeon stole the rest. That's a half-lie. Point is, nothing is going to get you on my watch." He looks around the dumpster again. "Now, how about you come with me, okay?"

Spider-Man's grip tightens and the bones in Wade's forearm creak. Any harder and they'll snap clean in half. Wade doesn't stop rubbing.

"Can't." Spider grits out, shaking his head with the intensity of a stubborn child refusing to go to school. "I can't go out there. They - they're everywhere. I can't. They'll - they'll -"

Wade shushes him, leaning in to keep it soft. "Hey, I won't let them get you. You know me. I'm Deadpool. If anything even tries, they won't make it two feet without saying hello to Bea and Arthur." He indicates to his strapped katana's with a tilt of his head.

Spider-Man considers this. Let it muddle through his thoughts and grind through the gears in his brain before nodding. It's small and timid, but it's all Wade needs. Tugging on his wrists, he pulls Spider-Man closer, helping him stand among the uneven ground of trash-bags and cardboards boxes. As he aids Spider-Man in climbing out, a perfect mold of the hero's hand imprints into the dumpster's mouth. Wade stares at it.

Spider-Man is losing control of his strength. If that's not a sign they need to skedaddle as fast as humanely possible, then Deadpool will receive his Honored Citizen Award in the mail soon. Thank Beyonce he found him before anyone else did. Except that one lady, and she was lucky to make it out unscathed.