Author has researched stuff about police and hospitals, but they do not know everything and may have gotten details wrong. Sorry about that. Enjoy the chapter!

BIGGEST HUG AND THANKS TO KITTY FOR PROOFREADING THIS CHAPTER! I LOVE YOU KITTY!

The St. Ellis hospital is quiet.

Being as late as it is, the only people awake are the night staff, and a handful of too-anxious family members who were given the clear to stay overnight with patients. A blizzard rages outside, as it has been, on and off, for the past few days.

Some were calling it the biggest snowstorm New York City has ever witnessed, already breaking several records. For everyone else, it was a very cold, very unwanted inconvenience.

The biggest worry on everyone's mind was that it would knock out the city's power grid, and while the hospital generators would hold up, it wasn't a scenario they wanted to test. Thankfully, the weather reports were predicting that the storm would break late in the morning, so for the people inside the building, this nightmare would hopefully be over soon.

Little did they know that their night was going to be anything but easy.

The receptionist at the front desk is an ordinary-looking woman, with her brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail and wearing a standard pair of pale green scrubs. The night had been a dull one for her, and just as she started another monotonous game of Solitaire on her computer, the monitor to her right began blinking red. This was the first sign that her calm night was about to break.

Almost everyone was gone, and the night staff itself was nothing more than a skeleton crew large enough to keep the institution running. The entire building was locked down for the night, save for the Emergency Department, but even those doors were closed. They had motion-sensing cameras outside the ED that notified her system when someone was outside, wanting to be let in. Only she and the few guards on duty could open the doors; a security measure to keep anyone with malevolent intent from causing havoc on the unsuspecting staff and patients.

She'd opened the doors plenty of times for late-night patients with crazy stories about whatever injury they were sporting, but this one caught her off guard. They were in the middle of a blizzard, the city had issued an all-citizen home lockdown to keep people off the streets, and it was just past midnight. Who could possibly be out there at this hour?

But there the light was, beeping innocently, indicating that someone had set off the sensors outside the door.

Maybe it's just a stray animal, she thinks, or the storm blew some trash around and it activated the cameras .

She swiveled her chair, the squeal of her shoes scuffling against the linoleum floor being the only other sound aside from the ticking clock in the corner. She brought up the camera feed to confirm her suspicions, but what she saw made her heart stop. She blinked, dumbfounded, and had to stop herself from rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

There was a man out there. The camera feed was somewhat grainy thanks to the snow, so there wasn't a lot about him she could make out. He was shirtless, as far as she could tell, except for maybe a few scraps of clothing that clung to his shoulders. Snow frosted the tops of his head and shoulders, but past it, his skin looked...strange. Weird and almost surreal in the dull camera light. He was tall, broad, and big in every sense of the word.

She's heard plenty of horror stories of creeps walking into hospitals at night from other members of the staff, and her first instinct is to keep the doors locked firmly shut. It didn't look like this man was injured, and who in their right mind would be walking around in the middle of a storm like this? But the situation throws her a curveball when she realizes that the man isn't alone. There was something in his arms.

No, someone .

Whoever it was was covered in snow too, as much as the other man angled his body to shield him, and looked as motionless and pale as a corpse. Maybe it was a corpse.

Her stomach dropped to her grey hospital shoes and her mouth dried up like the Sahara Desert. The man was shouting through the grainy comm outside, barely legible over the howling winds.

"WE NEED A DOCTOR!" He was shouting, "LET US IN! HE'S FREEZING, AND HE'S UNRESPONSIVE, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" and when she didn't move fast enough to buzz him through, he kicked the door so hard it shuddered. She could hear the thunk against the doors across from her and her heart jumped.

She pushed the button and the doors swung open, and then another that let the staff know there was a medical emergency in the ED, before shooting to her feet and rounding the desk as the man entered the room. He was a lot more intimidating up close and she faltered for a fraction of a second before steeling herself.

Off guard or not, this was an emergency dammit. This was her JOB.

"He needs help," the man said, holding out the body, his voice has a rock-salt rasp to it that gives him a strange gravely tone, "He's not responding to me anymore. He's really cold, and he's hurt, I - I don't know if he-"

"It's okay," the receptionist reassured him, "It's going to be okay, we're going to help."

Thankfully, despite the short notice, the rest of the night staff were quick to respond as well, and within minutes three nurses were rolling a gurney down the hall. And just like that, the quiet atmosphere of the night was broken into shouts, and clamoring, as the smaller man was placed on the gurney. The wet pajamas he was wearing were soaked through with snow and blood and left watery red puddles dripping on the floor. He was gaunt and pale. Sickly. There was no way to tell that he was even alive if not for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

The bigger man looked marginally better, however undressed he was. There were no feasible wounds on him, and she assumed the blood on his hands came from his friend. Red and black tattered fabric clung loosely to different parts of him, and it was a fucking wonder he looked as well as he did after trudging through a storm for who knows how long. The scars that litter every inch of his body are disconcerting though, each mottled piece of skin telling a story that no one could hear.

The scarred man laid his friend on the gurney carefully but didn't back off to let the staff do their jobs. He clung to the man's hand, walking alongside him as they all moved inward.

"Sir, please, I'm going to have to ask you to let go," one of the nurses said as he wheeled them around the corner.

"I'm not going anywhere," the scarred man growled, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm going to have to insist," the nurse says anyway because this is an emergency and they don't need another person hanging off them as they work, "We'll take care of him. I promise. His care will go a lot smoother if you let us handle this."

The scarred man thinks about that and then falters, hesitation flickering through him, and his grip on the sick mans' hand softened. But just before any of the staff could breathe a sigh of relief, like a switch, the sick man stirred, movements slow at first, but quickly getting more panicked as he felt the hand in his slipping. His eyes flew open, wide and panicked.

"Wade?" he searched the faces hovering above him, chest heaving as he tried to seat up, " Wade?!" his eyes landed on the scarred man - Wade - who was back by his side in an instant. "Don't leave me," he rasped, voice thick with sickness and congestion, "D-don't leave - please, don't leave. Not again- please -"

"Hey, hey," Wade shushed him, "It's okay, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere."

"But-" the nurse started.

" I'm not going anywhere ," Wade snarled, and the threat in his tone settles the debate.

There's a reason people aren't allowed in the emergency room, but this guy is tall, thickly built, and there's something in his eye that suggests he isn't unfamiliar with blood, broken bones, and pain. If they wanted to force him to leave, they were going to need the help of the security guards.

Whatever it would have to be dealt with later. They wheeled the sick man away to begin diagnosis, their long night only just beginning.

<><>LINE BREAK<><>

Pneumonia.

Head cold.

Abrasions on the wrists and ankles.

Injured shoulder.

Blood loss.

Near-frostbite.

Abdominal pain.

Cut on his arm.

Cut on his leg.

Breathing problems.

Weight loss.

These were just some of the things the sick patient, now referred to as John Doe, was medically diagnosed with. No one knew his name, but it was clear he'd gone through a terrible experience. As soon as he was rolled into an emergency room, he was connected to a breathing device and given a sedative to keep him calm.

Or at least they tried to.

The moment he saw the needle, he'd flipped out. The gurney bent beneath the palm of his hand, and it took 7 nurses and doctors, plus the burly scarred man, to hold him down. He'd been pleading for them not to put him under, begging not to be drugged. They tried to talk to him and figure out why, but he was becoming hysterical, upsetting his bleeding shoulder and making himself worse and worse. His aggression was only building, and if they didn't do something to settle him, he was going to hurt someone.

Wade - the scarred man - hesitated, like he was going to force them to work on him awake, before squeezing his eyes shut and holding down the man's arms, telling them to stick the needle in now . When it was done, it was hard to tell who looked more upset, the patient or his friend, but it gave the staff the time they needed to do their job.

It has been several hours since then. The patient was out of the surgery room where his bullet wound was tended to, and once again the hospital entered a state of temporary calm. The patient was tucked away in one of their rooms now, unconscious and lying-in bed, hooked to machines. There was an IV drip in his arm, a heart monitor keeping tabs on his vitals, and a breathing mask to help his lungs. It had taken a while to get his body temperature back up, but he had yet to open his eyes.

Wade sat in the chair next to him, one hand on his chin, and the other wrapped around Peter's hand. He was exhausted, emotionally and mentally. Morning was fast approaching, and with it came the inevitability of the police showing up. And why wouldn't they? A half-naked man covered in scars, carrying another bleeding, half-dead man, was going to raise a lot of questions that Wade wasn't keen on answering. It didn't help that he provided none of the staff with information about him or Peter, only giving them the basics of Peter's medical history - but that wasn't much to begin with anyway.

Besides, Peter was still wearing the handcuffs. Wade was certain they were from the Raft now. Their design was too strong and indestructible, they were built to hold superhumans, and nothing the staff had on hand could pop them open. Which was going to inspire a legion of questions on its own.

So, yeah, they were walking a razor's edge by coming to the hospital, but he didn't know what else they could've done.

Wade watched the unsteady rise and fall of Peter's chest, focusing on the heart monitor instead of the hospital stench seeping into his skin. He hated hospitals. They brought back bad memories of illness, and bad news, and dread, and pain .

He squeezed Peter's hand, "Just focus on getting better," he murmured, but he felt like he was reassuring himself more than Peter.

They couldn't stay here for long. Wade never really kept his identity as Deadpool a secret; it seemed unnecessary when his costume was constantly being blown up every other fight. But after becoming official with Spider-Man, he decided to put more effort into secrecy, and it turns out, he enjoyed the anonymity. It helped keep things quiet on Peter's end too, so that was a bonus.

But it was only a matter of time before someone connected the dots. There had to be some newspaper or internet article about Deadpool, aka Wade Wilson, aka the merc who was glued to Spider-Man side most these days.

The sooner he and Peter were out of there, the better.

But Peter had just been checked in. The hospital staff did everything they could do in such a small window of time, but was it enough? Would it only be making Peter worse if they snuck out now?

Wade rubbed his forehead hard, hoping to spark an idea, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't understand hospital nonsense, or what prescriptions Peter would need. There was a reason Spider-Man didn't frequent hospitals, and Wade didn't know how to figure out how big of a dosage Peter would need for medicine if he bought it himself.

Besides, the longer they stayed, the higher the chance someone was going to recognize them. Wade wasn't entirely sure how it worked, but couldn't they match DNA to figure out who someone was, right? Would someone walk in and recognize Peter on the bed? There were so many ways this could go wrong.

Wade chewed on his lip in thought. If Stark was back he could check in with him, and if not, maybe he could sneak Peter into Avengers Tower. It was leagues better than a hospital and at least there their superhero aliases would be given complete privacy - depending on whether or not Tony had a stick up his ass.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was a start. There are a couple of things he'll need to take care of first. Leaving Peter alone made him itch uncomfortably, but he needed to make a phone call and he didn't want to wake him up.

Digging a burner phone from one of his pouches, he scrounged up the number saved on it and quietly opened the door. Out in the hall, he kept the door open a crack so he could monitor Peter, but put the dialed phone to his ear. He didn't have to wait long for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Wade?"

"Hi Auntie," Wade said, and he has to work to keep exhaustion from bleeding through his words. "I found him. I have Peter."

The noise Aunt May makes on the other end sounds like a sob and he can imagine her clutching onto the phone with white knuckles, one hand on her chest. It takes her a moment to respond, but when she does, her voice comes back choked and tight, "Is - is he okay? Where are you now? Can I see him?"

"Easy," Wade chuckled gently, "I've got him, he's okay. We're at a hospital-" another choked sound, "But I can't give you any details just yet."

"Why not?"

Wade hesitated, warring with his next response. He didn't want to worry Aunt May, but they all needed to be on guard. "Because Chameleon got away. We can't risk an information leak."

Aunt May is deathly quiet over the phone. It's a long moment of Wade fidgeting before she speaks again, "He got away?"

There's a sharpness in her tone that makes Wade feel a little frantic. Like a little boy in trouble with his mother. "I'm-...I'm sorry May. I wanted to go after him, but it was a choice between him or Peter, and I -... I couldn't leave Peter behind. I -"

"Wade, it's -" but Aunt May cuts herself off, and the word okay hovers in the air. Because honestly, was it really okay? "You made the right choice," she said instead, and her tone is gentle, "You've got Peter and that's the most I could've asked of you. As long as he's safe."

"Yeah," Wade mumbled, leaning his forehead against the wall, "as long as he's safe."

"'How is he?"

Wade glanced toward the door, "He's...going to get better. The doctors already worked on him."

"What's he being treated for?"

"Auntie, I'm not sure if-"

"Wade, he's my so-...he's my nephew. I can handle it. I need to know how he is."

Wade holds his ground for a few seconds before breaking, "He's...not in the best shape, Auntie," he confessed in a whisper, "He was already in bad shape when I got there, and that motherfucker shot him in the shoulder before running -" a noise of pain from May as if she'd been shot herself.

"But the doctors already patched that up, and he should come out of it as good as new," he hurried to add, "The bullet passed right through the shoulder, which is the best outcome you want from a bullet wound. It - uh...it could've been worse. It didn't hit anything important, and he'll be good as new with some physical therapy. It's going to be-" he didn't even know what he was saying anymore. He rarely made phone calls from the hospital, breaking bad news to someone who was more of a mother to him than what he could remember of his own mom.

"Anything else?"

Wade thought about lying. " Nope, that's all. He'll be better in no time!". Aunt May didn't deserve this kind of torment, hearing pain and suffering about the man she considered her son. But she'd asked and she was strong, it would be disrespectful to lie to her now.

"He's got pneumonia. And they found high traces of Carfentanil in his system, so they think he was drugged."

" Carfentanil ? What's that?"

"It's an elephant tranquilizer. They're really scratching their heads about why he's still alive. Stuff's toxic as hell."

Aunt May took a shuddering breath, but steeled herself, "What else?"

"Blood loss. Weight loss. His wrists and ankles are pretty bruised and scratched up too. He has these handcuffs on him, and none of the staff were able to get them off. Nothing I have on me could either. It's really high-tech stuff; I think it's from that Raft robbery a little bit ago. They're sending some officers to take them off, but I don't think we should be here when they arrive."

"That's...probably for the best."

"I'm just...I'm not sure where to take him," Wade said, "I can bring him to Stark Tower, but if Stark's not there, it's going to be hard as hell sneaking him in like this."

"What about that other organization? The one that works with the Avengers so much. SHIELD, is it?"

Wade chuckled wryly, "Believe me, Auntie. We don't want SHIELD touching him with a nine-foot pole. They'd love to have the both of us in their wheelhouse, and this is just the kind of debt they're looking for."

"What other option is there?"

Wade pinched the bridge of his nose hard, "I...I don't know. I want to take him home, but I'm not sure he'll last a week in his condition. I don't want to make it worse, but he can't stay here for much longer either."

Aunt May was quiet. "You know," she said carefully, "before I started working at the FEAST center, I was a nurse."

"Auntie-"

"I know Wade, it's been a while and I may be a little rusty, but I know my stuff. If we can find a warm, safe place to stay for a while, and we had the right equipment, I think we could take him there. I don't," a brief hesitation, "I don't want you two out there with that - that man wandering around. It scares me."

He's forgotten what it was like to have someone worry for him. Someone who wasn't Peter. Wade's face softened, "I hear you. Let me see what I can scrounge up." Noise from inside the room drew his attention, and Wade's head jerked in the direction of the door, back going ramrod straight, "I have to go Auntie. But real quick, before I do, we need to start using code words so there are no more swaps or mishaps. My code word for you is Dynamite Dash, so don't tell anyone . Whenever you think you're talking to me, ask for the codeword first, and I'll do the same. Establish a code word with Mary Jane too. I'll call you when I have a plan."

Aunt May agreed and the call ended. Slipping the phone into a pouch, Wade crept back to the room and opened the door, only to freeze in his tracks. His hands slowly moved up to show that he had no weapons on him.

"Peter," he said carefully, "It's okay, it's just me."

Peter is sitting up in bed and he isn't happy. Wade thinks he might've just woken up; the sedation the doctors used was supposed to keep him under for several more hours, but what they didn't anticipate was that he was superhuman and burned through drugs like a wick in an oil lamp. Still, his shaking body is struggling to fight off the lethargy, and his eyes are droopy and unfocused. His cuffed hands are up to his chest and trembling like shaking leaves.

But it's the expression on his face that breaks Wade's heart.

Fear. Wide-eyed, pale-faced, knuckle white fear.

"It's Wade," Wade said, taking a slow, careful step inside the room, and Peter's entire body tenses, breath hitching in his lungs so hard Wade sees his chest stutter. The heart monitor was getting louder and frantic as it picked up his racing heart, and it wouldn't be long before a nurse or doctor came by to check the commotion. Cornering a confused and paranoid Spider-Man wasn't a good idea for anyone.

"Code White," Wade said, "I know about Code White, I was there. It's me, the genuine article."

But Peter doesn't move. He doesn't acknowledge the word, "You could've been listening in," he rasped, and his voice is so dry and hoarse he could've been mistaken for a longtime chain-smoker, "You could've heard us talking. You - you could've- " it doesn't take long for panic to infiltrate Peter's very being and his eyes flitted over to the window across the room, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Wade forced himself to stay calm, even if all he wanted to do was step in front of the window so Peter couldn't make a break for it. That would send all the wrong messages and he doubted it would inspire any trust between them. So instead, he relaxed his stance, keeping his hands up. Body open and non-threatening.

"Okay," he said easily, "That's fair. You're right, you shouldn't trust me right off the bat. Ask me a question. Any question you want."

Peter's eyes narrow, like he's looking for the knife hidden behind Wade's back. Even as weak and medically intoxicated as he is, he glares like he's expecting a trick.

After a long, tense moment, he asks, "When was the first time we met?"

Wade smiled, wry and amused, "The Queensboro Bridge. You were riding with someone, it was, uh...Ken? Kent? Ellis? Ken Ellis? I don't remember him that much, but it started with a K. I needed to chat with him, and you just so happened to be in the passenger seat of the car, so I...just grabbed you and threw you off the bridge," he rubbed the back of his head with a small chuckle, "You were so pissed. It was no wonder you weren't holding back your punches. Cute story to tell the kids one day, huh?"

Peter doesn't laugh, "Where did you and I fight the Hypno Hustler?"

"I don't know, it was only ever referred to as 'high-level security prison''" Peter squinted at him, and Wade hurried on, "But the guy paid me to lure you there so you could help me bust him out. And it worked, but he was a complete sell-out. Got inside my noodle and sent me after you, but you snapped me out of it and we did the costume whammy jammy. I pretended to kill you, but you were really in my costume, and we got close enough to take him out."

"Uh-huh...and who was the cheer captain we met in my hallucinations."

"I was the cheer captain, and I looked great in my uniform."

Peter's expression softened, but it was a small chip in his walls.

"Who was it that killed Mr. Chang in his pharmacy store the night you came to town?"

"The guy's name wasn't Chang, it was Cheng , and it was a grocery store, not a pharmacy," Wade approached him cautiously, "You thought I killed him and gave me a solid beating for it, which you never apologized for, but that's not the point. When I told you it was actually Hit Monkey, you and I tracked him down, and you got shot, and I ended up posing as you again and faked your death to draw him out, like the sentimental bitch he is. I'm also starting to detect a running trope of us swapping costumes in our runs," Wade stopped by the bed, "Guess I've always wanted to get into your pants."

Peter's trying hard to keep up his facade, but his glare crumbles into doubt, "Wade?"

"It's me, baby boy. 100% authentic Canadian beef."

The doubt becomes overwashed with emotion and Peter grabs Wade and yanks him down into a hug, and like a balloon releasing all its pent-up air, Peter sags into him, deflated and shaking.

"You're really here? This isn't another trick? I swear if this is another fucking trick, I'm throwing the both of us out that window."

"Dark. But unnecessary because I'm the real me."

It squeezes Wade's heart watching Peter struggle to keep his emotions under control, and being medicated probably didn't help his battle. His eyes are wet with the tears he's furiously keeping in, and he's gripping Wade so hard it leaves bruises blooming on his skin that heal immediately after.

"What happened?" Peter asked, trembling, "I don't remember much after Chameleon shot me. Did - did you get him?"

Wade swallowed hard, guilt and remorse creeping back on him like a darkening shadow, "No. He got away."

Peter tensed, turning into petrified stone, and Wade ran his hands up and down his arms to relax him again, "Hey, it's going to be okay. I'm not going to let him come back. We're going to take all extra safety precautions, and our location will be hidden, and we're going to have more code words than a super-spy novel. That lizard isn't even going to make it past the front gate."

Peter sniffed and dug his head in Wade's shoulder. He doesn't respond right away, and as much as Wade wants Peter to tell him that he understands, he bites his tongue to keep it to himself. "We're in the St. Ellis Hospital right now."

"Hospital I know," Peter murmured, "Too tired to freak out."

"Hahaha, that's okay. You don't need to worry a pretty, greasy hair on your head. I'll take care of everything. We're going to be moving locations soon."

"How are we doing that?"

"Still figuring that part out. I need to make a couple of calls and cash in a few favors."

As if afraid Wade was going to disappear, Peter latched onto him, fusing their skin together, "D - Don't leave. I can't tell - I'm not sure if you'll be -"

Wade ran his fingers through Peter's hair, tucking him closer with his chin on his head, careful of the tubes and wires. Peter wraps around him, fusing any bare skin of his to Wade's body.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here in your line of sight, and you'll be in mine. We're not going to be caught off guard again.

"What about Aunt May and MJ? Where are they?"

"They're safe. Moved them to an undisclosed location the moment I found them. They'll be waiting for us at the safe house, and they'll have code words too so none of us get impersonated. Everything's been thought out."

"B - but Chameleon is crafty and clever. How do we know he won't sneak in? How can we be sure?"

"Everything has been thought out," Wade reaffirmed, "We're going to take every precaution. Chameleon isn't going to trick us again."

Peter didn't look as convinced, so Wade eased him back down on his back, and pulled the chair up next to the bed. He intertwined his hand with Peter's, squeezing tight enough that he knew he was being serious, but not enough to hurt. However clunky the handcuffs made it.

"It's going to be okay," he promised, "Get some sleep, we're sneaking you out of here in a few hours."

Peter lay back on the pillow, squeezing Wade's hand back with glossy eyes, "You're not going to leave?"

"Petey, I don't trust anyone in this hospital to be alone with you. I'm not going anywhere."

That comforted him a little. Peter relaxed into the pillow, even if the rest of his body was having a hard time doing the same. He ran a bruised thumb over Wade's knuckles, looking back up at him with those dark eyes of his.

"He's not going to trick us again? Then Chameleon got to you too, didn't he?"

"You don't need to worry about that."

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Wade."

"It's nothing."

" Wade ."

"Peter please ," Wade said, exhaustion slipping through and he pressed an earnest kiss to Peter's knuckles, fighting off the memory of a darker, more sinister Peter standing over him. "Please, not now. Maybe later."

"He did something bad to you," Peter murmured, and Wade can hear the guilt creeping into his voice.

He wasn't having any of that.

"Hey," he said, "He didn't do anything worse to me than he did to you. Don't go blaming yourself for anything that creepazoid did."

Peter's eyes were shining, his grip on Wade's hand borderline painful, "You were all cut and bloody when you found me. Your costume was in tatters. Did he do that?"

Wade closed his eyes, taking Peter's hands in both of his and pressing them to his lips. "Please, Peter. Please, I don't...I don't want to talk about that right now. Ask me again when we're in the safe house, okay. I'll tell you everything then."

For a long moment, Peter stared at him, eyes following every groove and dip in his skin like he was mapping it out, and then nodded. Just once, a curt jerk, and he lay his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He's not asleep, and he probably wouldn't be for a while. But as long as he wasn't moving or stressing his injuries, it was fine.

Wade dug his phone out of his pocket again and dialed up Weasel. He needed those favors cashed in, and maybe he'd have to deal out a few of his own. There were a couple of things he needed to get his hands on before they moved locations, and he wasn't taking any chances.

<><>LINE BREAK<><>

Several hours later, a group of officers is making their way through the hospital. They got a call about two men who arrived early in the morning, covered in blood with one of them half dead. The staff were unable to get information out of them, but the patient had traces of Carfentanil in their system, had been shot, and had on a pair of handcuffs that were only ever seen in one place: the Raft.

There was a story here, and if the hospital staff couldn't get answers, maybe the authorities could.

If everything went right, then at the very least, they could weasel out information on who they are, where they came from, and what happened. If things went sideways, they would be making a few arrests.

They made their way up to room 63, followed by the doctor who tended to the patient.

Hospital confidentiality was important, but some things weren't lining up. Nobody should've survived if they were pumped full of an elephant tranquilizer, much less with a gunshot wound, in the middle of a blizzard. The patient was speculated to be a mutant of some kind, given that he'd bent the medical table while being subdued. It might also explain why he was still alive.

"Just follow my lead," the officer in charge told her partner as she knocked on the door. When no one answered, she turned the handle and stepped inside.

"Excuse me, we need just a few minutes of-" she started, but stopped dead in her tracks. Her partner bumped into her, and then peered over her shoulder, eyes going wide.

"Where the hell are they?" he cried.

The doctor peeped inside as well and his eyes turned to saucers. "They were right here. This is their room, I was in here 15 minutes ago."

Grabbing her radio, the head officer turned on her heels, "We've got a couple of runners. The patient is gone and so is his friend. Head down to the lobby and scour the perimeter. We need to find them."

She hurried down the hall, away from the empty bed, from the empty room, cleaned so spotless it was like no one had been there at all.

Fun fact! All of those questions Peter had Wade answer were from legitimate team-ups they've had in the comics!

Wade throwing Peter off the bridge - ("Cable and Deadpool" #24) )

The two of them fighting the Hypno Hustler - ("Avenging Spider-Man" #12)

The two of them teaming up to stop Hit Monkey - ("Deadpool" (2008) #19, parts 1, 2, and 3)