I'm glad to give you the next part of this story arc! There's only gonna be, like, one more chapter. So whoop-de-doo!

The picture above is of Madcap without his mask on.

And here's a picture of the Merc's for Hire:

Center - Deadpool

Deadpool-look-alike on the right - Masacre

Green and brown guy on Deadpool's left - Solo

Purple guy dabbing - Fool Killer

Lizard-looking guy with hat - Terror

Center white and red guy with the wings - Stingray

White cartoonish character wielding the mighter sledge-hammer - Slapstick

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They met up at an old run-down building not far from Wade's apartment. It was good and isolated, and there were plenty of things to destroy in case the Merc's grated on each other's nerves too much.

Wade made sure to use simple words when he gave them directions, and couldn't emphasize enough that they needed to be discreet. Walk in at different entrances. Stay away from public eyes. Avoid any and all cameras. Don't draw attention to yourself.

Still, he wasn't surprised in slightest when Slapstick jumped in through the window wearing the most cliche outfit Wade's ever laid eyes on. A long trench that was too big for his body, a top hat that looked like it belonged in an old 80's detective crime show, and a baggy pair of slacks that bunched around his scrawny ankles.

"Aw hell," Wade growled, snatching the hat off his head. "What the fuck, Slapstick? I said discretion!"

"This is discretion!" He snapped, snatching the hat back and slamming it on his head. "This is the most classic outfit of discretion. No one looked at me more than five times."

"Maybe if it was still the 80's!"

"Yeah, what the hell Slapstick?" Fool Killer said, emerging from the shadowed doorway across the room.

Slapstick stared at him, arms crossed and lips pursed, as Wade slapped a hand over his head and gestured wildly at Fool Killer's outfit. "You're literally wearing the same thing!"

Fool Killer adjusted his hat and straightened out the wrinkles in his trench coat, "Yeah, well I fill it out better."

"Only because you're wearing your armor underneath it," Slapstick accused, poking his metal-plated chest so hard it curled his finger like a slap-on bracelet. "And I can fill mine out too! Watch me!" He stuck his thumb in his mouth and blew out the way someone might blow up a balloon. As he did, his body got bigger and bigger as if someone were pumping him full of air, until the trench coat was completely filled in. Slapstick took his thumb out of his mouth and puffed his chest proudly.

Wade poked him sharply with the blunt end of his knife and air gushed out his mouth, making his lips flap grossly until he was a sagging, wrinkly mess of white skin and stretched clothes. His three pillar-like clumps of hair sagged limply around his head as he flopped over to glare at Wade.

"Rude."

"Estos trajes son realmente buenos para el espionaje," Masacre said, joining them, and Wade gaped. He was wearing the exact same thing as the other two.

"Not you too, Masacre."

"Se veía muy bien. Tuve que comprarlo," he said meekly, tapping his fingers together.

The side door opened and Terror stepped in. He was halfway across the room before he stopped, eyeing the identical set of trench coats and top-hats that mirrored his own. "Well...this is awkward."

"Ugh, why does Terror look so much better in it than we do?" Slapstick grumbled, trudging across the floor and plopping on the ground with a pout.

"It's the decaying skin," Fool Killer said, "It brings out his color. Besides, he has a better figure than the both of us."

Terror chest puffed. "Damn right."

"Alright, okay, we need to focus," Wade said.

They all stopped, freezing as if a frost giant at licked them or something, and stared at him, holding equal expressions of surprise. "Did I just hear Deadpool tell us to focus?" Fool Killer demanded, taking his helmet off to clean out his ear.

"Hey, I'm being serious," Wade snapped. "My Baby Boy is in the hands of a madman."

Slapstick huffed and lay back on the floor, his limbs akimbo. "I still don't believe in this 'baby boy' of yours. Where's my picture proof? Where're my stories of intimacy? How do you know its not just another one of your hallucinations?"

"What would you know about intimacy, Slapstick?" Solo asked, stepping into the room from the same door Terror used.

Slapstick jolted up, giving Solo a wide, nasty glare that made his features pinch too tightly to be natural. He jabbed an elongated, judgy finger in Solo's direction. "Hey, sexual intimacy isn't the only kind of intimacy! Just because I don't have testicles, doesn't mean I don't need human affection to survive!"

"I think all of you are testing my patience. Look what you've made me do. I'm resorting to bad word puns - this is all your fault. Solo, why are you so late," Wade turned around and gasped, hands slapping against his cheeks, "You've got to be shitting me. A trench coat and hat. Really? Did you guys all chat-up and decide to mess with me by dressing the same? What part of discretion is hard to understand for you idiots?"

"Says the guy who's gone to missions in heels and dresses," Solo mumbled. "For your information, this outfit was on sale. I've got expenses and bills to pay, you know."

"Don't we all," Terror snarked from the back.

"Shut up you zombie-wannabe!"

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU GUYS NOT TO CALL ME A ZOMBIE!"

"Hey now, kiddies, play nice in the pool. Heh - a little Deadpool humor for ya. But we need to discuss a strategy." Wade said, directing them to the old table he lugged in inside before everyone arrived. He found out in the dumpsters in the alleyway. It was kinda moldy and looked a breath away from crumbling, but he figured that if they were going to have a super badass mercenary meet-up, they at least needed a table to sit around. Besides, he didn't have time to lug the one from his apartment down there.

Solo stopped his arguing with Terror and Slapstick to look at him flummoxed. He glanced at Terror and Slapstick, both of whom shrugged, and looked back at Wade. "Strategy? You? Since when?"

"C'mon, I've always been a master of strategy!"

"You do realize that Stratego and Battleships don't count, right?"

"THEY'RE BOTH STRATEGY GAMES SO SHUT THE FUCK OF HAN-SOLO!"

Footsteps scuffled down the stairs to the left of Wade and whirled around with a gun in hand, instantly centering it on Stingray's forehead.

"Whoa, hey!" Stingray shouted, hands shooting up. "Chill out, it's me!"

Wade gave him a once over and gasped, tossing the gun over his shoulder where it reverberated off Fool Killer's head and smacked into Slapsticks face. "Finally, someone with a little taste," Wade beamed, flinging an arm over Stingrays shoulder.

Stingray looked down at his casual button-up shirt and jeans. "You said discretion, right?" He eyed the rest of the groups' apparel. "Was I supposed to wear a hat and trench coat? How come no one told me?"

"See guys, this is a true team member," Wade said, steering Stingray to the table. "The most trustworthy one in this group. Y'all should be more like him."

Stingray glowered at him, "Weren't you the one who said I was useless out of the water. And that I'm your teams 'Aquaman," he demanded. "Whatever that means," he added under his breath.

"Oh, tomato, potato," Wade flapped a hand at him. "Aquaman got so much cooler in his cinematic reboot. Though, I'm pretty sure that's only because they cast Jason Momoa to play him. Anybody can be popular with a bod like that. Now, let's get this mass-murdering, Madcap killing party started! Everyone, take a seat."

Solo glanced around the room, "There aren't any chairs."

"Then stand around the table and try to look like badasses."

They all sighed but begrudgingly did so. Though, they looked less like badasses and more like sadasses. Or maybe exasperatedasses. He couldn't really tell. "Alright," Deadpool started, needlessly slamming his palm against the table and making it creak and rattle. "Madcaps got my Boo. I want him back. Please help me."

They all stared at him for several minutes as the silence stretched on. Finally, Stingray quirked an eyebrow, "Wait...that's it?"

"Uh...pretty please help me with a cherry on top?"

"No, I mean, that's all you've got. Where's Madcap right now?"

Wade shrugged, plopping down on the table with his head in his arms. "I don't know. He was in my basement for a sec, then he upped and left. The bastard."

"How do we know Madcap is really back and this isn't just Wade's brain pulling tricks on him?" Terror asked.

"Yeah!" Slapstick demanded, leaning forward from where he was sitting cross-legged on the table, to poke at Wade's head. "Prove that this isn't just some big hallucination?"

Masacre slapped Slapsticks hand away, "A pesar de que esto puede ser un efecto de su enfermedad mental, todavía debemos ayudarlo. No deberíamos dejarlo en el estado mental en el que se encuentra. Obviamente está en apuros."

"See," Slapstick said, "Masacre agrees with me!"

Masacre sighed. "¿Por qué me uní a un equipo que no puede hablar español?"

"He sent me text messages! And pictures!" Wade exclaimed, "He's real! I promise!"

Solo folded his arms, face straight and deadpanned, "Fine, then where are these text messages? What pictures? I'm not gonna believe a word you say unless you've got some way to back it up."

"I..." Wade rubbed his neck, unable to meet their eyes. "Okay, funny story. I kinda shot an entire round of bullets in the phone."

The rest of them threw their hands up in the air.

"You've got to be kidding me," Stingray grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What, it pissed me off!"

Terror crossed his arms and loomed over Wade. He was probably glaring at him behind those sunglasses. "So, you're saying that you have no proof that Madcaps back, no proof that you actually have a boyfriend, and you expect us to just drop what we're doing to come help you without any disregard that you might be using us for your own gain again?"

Wade traced a meaningless pattern into the table, staring at the moldy wood so intensely it might break under his gaze. He only looked up when the silence grew heavy on his shoulders and rolled his fingers together meekly. "Uh...yes..."

"Okay, this was a waste of time," Fool Killer concluded, pushing off the table and making a bee-line for the door. "Catch ya'll Saturday for bowling night."

Wade looked up, eyebrows pinching, "You guys have a bowling night?"

"Slapstick, it's your turn to pay."

"You guys told Slapstick and not me?!"

Slapstick pat Wade's head unsympathetically, "Some people's company is more enjoyable than others."

"No," Terror said, picking up Slapstick by the nape of his neck, "It's because we can't get rid of you. You're like a piece of chewed up cinnamon gum on the bottom of our shoe that we can't pry off because it's actually a wad of super glue died pink from the blood of our enemies."

"That is oddly specific."

One by one, they each left the table. All except Masacre, who watched their retreating backs sorrowfully. "Todavía están molestos contigo, jefe. No quieren admitir que sus sentimientos están heridos."

Wade spared him a withering glance and lurched to his feet, following their retreating backs. "Come on guys," he said desperately, "I'm not gonna cheat you, I promise! This isn't like that! If he hadn't kidnapped Peter, I wouldn't have even called you."

"So, your imaginary boyfriends' name is Peter," Solo says without turning around. "Kinda mediocre, but eh. I guess you do you."

"HE'S NOT IMAGINARY!"

There was no use. They weren't going to listen to him. Probably still didn't trust him either. He was getting heavy paranoia-vibes.

Looks like it really was just him on this mission. Well, with Masacre of course. Which wasn't all bad. The guy only spoke Spanish, but at least he was loyal.

Wade turned back around and stalked to the table. Well, at least he had something to vent his frustrations on. The table would probably give out with the first kick, but he was willing to beat up on it till it was nothing but a pile of kindling. Masacre moved away from the table as if sensing his intentions.

But just before his foot could make first contact, Fool Killer called his name. "Hey, uh, Deadpool," Wade turned around to see Fool Killer looking down at his phone in confusion. He held it up to Wade. "Um, I think this is for you."

Wade swiped the phone from his hand, where a text message had popped up on the screen.

(212)731-6520: Hello, is DP with you?

(212)731-6520: C'mon Fool Killer, I know he's with you.

(212)731-6520: Be a dear and put him on the phone for me.

That was Peter's number.

Wade blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then screamed bloody murder.

Holy shit, Madcap knew Wade contacted the Merc's for Money. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Wilson, you risky-ass, stupid fuck! Madcap said he'd hurt Peter if he did. Ah, dammit it hell, what was Wade thinking? He shouldn't have called them. Should've left well enough alone and found Peter himself. Why is he such an idiot?

Wade couldn't breathe as he swiped the home screen, only to curse and thrust is back in Fool Killer's hands. "What the fucking code? C'mon, man! Who has a code in their phone anymore?"

"Everyone," Fool Killer huffed but quickly typed in the password.

As soon as he was done, Wade snatched it again and was typing out a reply.

U bettr not have hurt him u muthrfukr

(212)731-6520: There's a little more of the Deadpool I know.

(212)731-6520: I see that you violated the rules of our agreement.

(212)731-6520: I told you not to contact our old Merc buddies.

Wade's hands were trembling. He held the phone as steady as he could, swallowing thickly, but he felt like a charged up vibrator. One made out of nails.

He swears if Madcap sends him a picture of Peter's corpses he's gonna flip his shit. Morality code be damned. Who cares how many days he's gone without killing someone. None of that mattered with Peter wasn't there to celebrate with him.

He was going to hunt Madcap down to the ends of the Earth and tear the candle-melted face of his apart.

(212)731-6520: But then I thought, wow, they'd actually make this game of ours so much more fun.

(212)731-6520: So why not. Let them join. It won't matter in the end.

(212)731-6520: It'll be fun to have the gang back together again.

(212)731-6520: Oh, and Wade...

A few minutes passed before Wade realized Madcap was waiting for an answer.

Whut

(212)731-6520: I know your little secret.

A picture followed. It was a Spider-Man plushie with hearts colored on the eyes. A thumbtack pinned a note to its chest that read: DP <3 SM.

(212)731-6520: Boop.

"Dammit!" Wade growled and nearly threw the phone onto the ground if Fool Killer hadn't caught it at the last second. "Great, now you're all invited to feel my pain! It's not even a fucking surprise anymore!" And that picture! It was painfully clear what he meant. Madcap knew Peter's secret identity. The disgusting bastard knew that Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

Wade did kick the table that time, and as he demolished it with his very body, the rest of the Merc's for Money gathered around Fool Killer's phone to read the conversation.

"What secret?" Terror laughed, "Everyone knows you have the biggest crush on Spider-Man."

"I have yet to see the shrine you made for him," Slapstick sighed, "I don't need testicles to appreciate a butt like that!"

"You shall do no such thing," Wade yelled as he broke the table leg over his knee and pointed the splintered remains at Slapstick.

"I still don't see anything about a boyfriend, though," Solo pointed out, reading through the messages again. "Wouldn't Madcap had threatened him right about now? To get under your nerves or something?"

Huh. Guess the Merc's wouldn't really believe that Peter was Spider-Man. They couldn't wrap their heads around Wade having a boyfriend, much less that boyfriend being Spider-Man.

"He's real," Wade insisted, body slamming the rest of the table. "Madcaps just - ow, splinters - trying to pull one over on you guys."

"That's so believable I can't even believe it," Slapstick deadpanned.

"Oh, what would you know you animated American!"

"Was that another jab at my lack of a dick? I swear, if it was, you're about to lose yours in the next 5 seconds!" He withdrew a crazy amount of knives from the void of his pants, edging closer to Wade with a manic look in his eye.

Stingray slapped him upside the head, "Put those away! Geez, we can't go 5 minutes without you pulling something out of your pants."

"Well, at least these messages confirm that Madcap is back," Terror conceded, returning Fool Killer his phone. "So, I guess it wasn't all a lie. Still not believing the boyfriend part. But the maniac out to kill you, yeah, makes sense now."

"You guys are the worst," Wade groaned, pulling a long piece of wood out of his stomach.

"Bueno, nos llamaste jefe."

"Yeah, yeah, right back 'atcha Masacre." Wade fell back on the floor, arms and legs spread eagle wide. "So...will you guys help me?"

They all shared a long, insufferable look.

Terror shrugged, "Might as well. Madcap will probably come after us after he's done with him anyway."

"Yeah, probably." Solo sighed.

"Besides," Stingray added, kicking Wade's foot, "Someone's gotta keep him from blowing up the city."

"I don't know, an explosion of that magnitude would be a sight to behold," Slapstick grinned. When Terror made to slap him, Slapstick jumped away with a hissing, arching his back like a cat and swiping at him with newly conjured nubby-claws.

"We're in," Fool Killer concluded, and Wade jumped to his feet.

"Great. Wonderful. You guys are the best. Love and kisses all around. Mwah. Mwah. Now let's go save my boy!"

"Also, we're expecting 10 grand each when this is all over. 5 grand right at the door. We are mercenaries, after all."

"Ugh, you guys really are the worst. But you're all I got, so fine. Deal," He sashayed to the small box he stashed to the side and pulled out the trench coat and top-hat stored within. He pulled them on, ignoring the pieces of wood still protruding from his chest and abdomen. "And now we can all laugh and points fingers because Stingrays the only one who didn't dress like us! Sucker!"

"Oh, fuck you, Deadpool."

Meanwhile...

Peter was pissed.

Thing is, it took a lot to get him super pissed. He could get exasperated. Under the right circumstances, he could get annoyed extremely easy. But it took real talent to get him super, ultra, mega, alpha, insert-adjective-here, angry.

Which was where he was lingering at the moment.

No, it wasn't so much because he was attacked in his own home, cut and beaten, hung from a pipe, sedated, and driven off to some secondary location. If anything, that just made him annoyed. Things like this happened a lot, actually. Usually in some alleyway, and not his home, but whatever.

No, he was pissed because the lunatic that did it was using him to blackmail his boyfriend. This oddly dressed, creepy-smiley lunatic clown was threatening his boyfriend, toying with Wade's head, and acting like it was all a game. The absolute nerve.

If it weren't for the gag Peter would be giving him a piece of his mind.

The lunatic clown, Madcap he had gone on to introduce himself as soon as Peter woke up, dropped Peter's phone with a snorting giggle. The Spider-Man plushie in his hand was getting twisted to a pulp as he laughed louder, and louder, and louder, before completely ripping off the head in outlandish glee.

Geez man, not the Spidey plushie. Anything but the Spidey plushie.

"Oh, what fun we're having," he clapped, hopping from foot to foot like an excited toddler. He whirled around and skipped over to Peter. "He's so riled up! What did you do to him, Spidey? Did you actually manage to brainwash him with that conscience of yours." He bopped Peter's head and laughed again.

Oh yeah, another thing that irked him. This guy knew he was Spider-Man. That definitely rubbed him the wrong way. Like sandpaper on a dick, as Wade would say. That information was usually kept close to the chest. The only way to get it from Peter was to pry it out of his cold, sticky hands. So how in the hell did this guy get it?

"I can't wait to keep playing. Ooh, we should have codenames or something. I'll be the Mad Capper. You...hmmm...what was it Deadpool calls you? Baby Boy?"

Peter glared at him. Only Wade was allowed to call him that. Nobody else!

"Well, Baby Boy," Madcap skipped across the room and picked up a box. Peter craned his neck to see what was inside, but thanks to the chair he was tied down to, it didn't get him very far. Normally, it'd be easy to bust out of his binds. But Madcap happened to be psychotic and had tied Peter down with a bunch of razor-wire. If he pushed against it, they just dug into his skin. Bloodied lines weren't already grafting into his arms and chest.

Unless he wanted to end up pieces, he needed to stay as still as possible. At least until he came up with a plan.

"I think it's time we played a little dress up. Gotta look good for your knight in shining armor!" He dropped the box at Peter's feet. Inside was a cheap-looking Spider-Man costume and a ball-gag. "I'm thinking something straightforward and simple, hmm?"

Peter grimaced.

He, officially, was both super pissed and unnerved.

Madcap grabbed the ball-gag and licked his lips behind the mask. "Shall we get started?"

Okay, make that creeped out and freaking out of his mind.

Wade, if you plan on helping him out. Make it soon.

Please.

Oi, Madcap is a creep.

Hurry Wade. You and your Merc's need to get there ASAP. I hope I wrote the Merc's for Money write. It's my first time writing them, so I hope it went well.

Thank you for all the love guys. We'll see you in the next chapter!