Things to know:

The story takes place several months (possibly even a year) past episode 26 of season 4, "Graduation Day" Part 1 & 2.

Peter Parker has turned 19 - thus he is a legal adult.

Deadpool/Wade Wilson is around 20-22 (because creepers don't creep in my fanfictons...eh...usually)

My Deadpool isn't quite canonically aligned with the USM Deadpool. Only real difference is my Deadpool is more muscular than USM DP, because I like him buff like that - let me write my beautifully ripped, cancerous anti-hero. :P

Not all criminals are stupid

That said, criminals are also stupid.

Criminals have the absolute worst timing in the lives of hardworking just-turned-adult superheroes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ultimate Spider-Man or its characters - sadly :C

There's usually a time and place for everything.

You wouldn't ask you're parents about going to that party on the weekend if they were stressed and frustrated to the point that anything you could possibly say would end in some way or phrase of no. If you're soulmate just found out one of their loved ones died, you wouldn't get on one knee and pop the question right then. If you found out your house was flooded and everything you owned perished, then you probably wouldn't take that trip to Coney Island like you planned.

Because there was just a time and place. If the time wasn't right, or the place was off, you usually try to avoid it because it just wasn't right.

Spider-sense didn't seem to get the memo.

As soon as the first tingle prickled along his head like the worlds worst mental acupuncture needles, Peter had to withhold from dropping his hard-earned check and vaulting out the door before whatever tripped his alarms could appear. If he didn't see it, then it didn't happen - right?

See, spider-sense had this thing about going off on a flying whim, no matter the time, place, or circumstance. Sure, Peter couldn't necessarily put all the blame on his sixth sense, rather than the subject of interest setting it off. But he needed something to vent his frustration on, and when he couldn't see the culprit, spidey-sense was next in line.

But he couldn't just run off, openly curse his danger-senses' terrible timing, and shirk the important business Aunt May sent him on. This was the first time she's trusted him to do this on his own, and having recently turned 19, he had to impress her with his amazing adult-y capabilities.

Still, no one told him cashing a check would be so hard.

There were lines that he had to wait for and information to remember, and people to talk to. Sure, he's gone to the bank before, but that was with Aunt May. She had stood next to him the whole time, explaining all the guidelines and procedures it took for cashing a check - she was truly too wise for the common folk. This time, though, she was allowing Peter to do it himself, which considering all the wacked-up villains and near-death situations he's been in, it shouldn't nearly be as scary as it was. Yet, there he was, clutching the check close to his chest and mumbling over the information he might need to bring up that would ultimately complete his dire mission.

Now though, one rambunctious tingling later, he had to put all his very adult-like worrying on hold to figure out was making the fire alarm in his head kick up such a fuss. Peter tried not to crinkle the paper as he glanced left and right, subtle, trying to be discrete in his search for anything out of the ordinary. Everything seemed fine though. What he saw was the common polite bank attendee behavior and the bored, impatient tendencies of customers waiting for their turn at the desks. Nothing that should automatically set his senses on high alert.

But then the man walked in.

Peter squinted suspiciously, doing a quick up-down of the new arrival. Either the man was up to something or he was Nick Fury in disguise, because no normal person wore a black trench coat in the middle of the day, in 80-degree weather. The mans' disapproving eyes didn't instantly pin Peter's location though, so it couldn't be Fury.

"Suspicious, it is," Peter muttered.

One guy, probably a goon trying to get a decent score, shouldn't be too hard to handle. The cliche trench was a particular give-away too. All the newbie robbers thought copying the style of some spy-movie made them instant pros. More likely, it gave them instant problems - namely, Spider-Man. Peter had his backpack with him right now too. He could slip into the bathrooms before the guy made his move, get on his work-clothes, bust the guys' sad heist, and return in time to cash the check. All in a days work.

But just one step toward the bathrooms and something else picked up on his radar. Another man, sitting on a couch reading a sports magazine, got to his feet, grabbed his briefcase and headed toward the door. There was absolutely nothing weird-looking about him, other than his bola haircut, but spider-sense didn't lie. The new guy strode across the floor, glanced briefly at his watch, and stopped by the window.

Spidey sense again.

A woman put her phone down and grabbed the bag - suddenly unnaturally large when Peter thought about it - at her feet and walked toward the opposite window.

Spidey sense again, this time coming in the form of another man as he exited the bathroom.

Peter didn't want to know the story behind that one, but it didn't take a genius to know something was up. Carefully, he folded the check and put it in his back pocket, and slowly slid out of line, making a beeline for the exit. His backpack thumped against his lower back as he walked, and he imagined it was his costume poking him through the bag, pestering him to go faster. The wrist communicator thrumming warmly on his skin was tempting, and his fingers were already itching to sync it to the Academy frequency and send an alert to the team. Crime fighting's been slow-going the past week, so they'd jump at the chance for a good old-fashioned attempted robbery.

But Peter was barely five feet from the bathrooms when his spidey-sense went full spectrum. That's when it happened. The three people he spotted reached inside their coat, bag, and jacket, each pulling out a firearm. Only, they weren't alone. Three other seemingly "innocent" civilians dropped what they were doing and took out weapons sneakily harbored in their clothing as well. It happened so fast, everyone else's reactions seemed in slow-mo. A few customers noticed first, one screamed, and then bullets ripped along the wall and snagged the attention of everybody else.

Like a water-balloon dropping on an anthill, panic ensued. Screams erupted from the truly innocent civilians as most dropped what was in their hands and made a bee-line for the closest exit. Others covered their heads and dropped to the floor as if that'd save them from the rain of bullets. But any escape attempt or act for safety was foiled by bullets sailing overhead, and the woman at the window as she bellowed, "If anyone moves one more time, I'm shootin your brains out!"

One brave - maybe stupid - man charged her. But he got two steps in before a bullet hit his leg, and his courageous demeanor turned into one of pain as he went crashing with a scream. The next second, he was staring down a long gun barrel.

"The nex' one goes through your head," she told him. "Now head on over there 'less you want to get me angry." Sniveling, the man truckled with an obedient nod and began the painful crawl back to the crowding mass of paralyzed people.

Peter glanced around quickly and tried to move toward the exit. But his senses went off and someone grabbed him by the arm.

"And where do you think you're going?" the man, Peter saw at the window moments before, said and roughly shoved him toward the group. Before Peter could come up with a lame, sniffled excuse, the bank door flung open and someone new walked in. As soon as he walked past the doors, automatic alarms flashed, blaring like the world was coming to an end. As if unaware, the man calmly kicked a fallen case out of his way and set the giant duffel in hand on the ground, surveying the crowd of hostages that had been rounded in the center of the room. Outside, sirens could already be heard in the distance.

The man turned to his comrades. "Come on, get a move on it," he gestured to two of the men by the hostages, "E, G, stay by the hostages. Everyone else, let's get our cover-up."

Peter wanted to comment on how the man's face was actually quite clear and makeup wasn't needed when he was violently shoved in the back and pushed into the crowd, who had no choice but to accept him into their ranks. Rubbing his wrist, Peter glared at the retreating back of his foiler. The two guards, E and G apparently, kept their eyes fixated on the crowd as the other five of their group set to work stacking couches, chairs, and tables by the windows. Enough that it offered a substantial cover.

Head down, shoulders curled, Peter slowly felt along his communicator and pushed the small button on the side, knowing that somewhere at the Academy a red light was blinking on the SHIELD servers. One guard, E maybe, noticed the small action and his eyes narrowed. Peter kept his head down and feigned rubbing his wrist, thankful that he remembered to put his communicator in invisible mode, and hopeful that the guy didn't come to investigate.

The powers of truckling innocence won, and the guard looked away. Peter could breathe again. Now, it was only a matter of waiting for the team to show up. He certainly couldn't bust up the robbery this way, not without raising the question about his alter-ego. Normal young adults couldn't stick to walls and perform death-defying stunts via acrobatics, and Peter was quite fond of keeping his identity a secret. He'd have to just sit this one out.

His lips pursed, realizing that it meant he'd have to stay and boost hero-rep. The team would probably have a little fun afterward and confront civilian-Peter Parker too. Weeks ago, they all made a pact to pose as grateful citizens whenever one of them happened to be caught in the crosshairs of a fight, unable to change into costume. Afterward, they'd praise the team in front of news crews as a way to boost their media rep. A few compliments here, a small, grateful interview there, and their public-image went up. Well, except for Spider-Mans'. Jameson made darn sure of that.

But, still, dang it. This is the first time since the pact that it actually happened to Peter - ugh, which meant Sam was never going to let him live it down. For the next month, it was going to be an endless cycle of pictures and videos of Peter Parker praising Nova on his heroing performance.

Outside, the police arrived on scene, and realizing this wasn't a normal rob-and-run, called up backup and began setting up barricades on the street. Media vans were quick to pop up next, of course, because they could never miss a story like this. The leader dude peered at them over the tops of the stacked couches, a small, yet strange, smile of satisfaction lifting his face.

"B, D, C," he said, gesturing to three of his comrades, "in position. E, F, G, circle them, remember to stay within the distance. Keep track of where you're at. It's time for phase 2." The gang members, B, D, C, found places behind the couches and looked over the tops, guns in hand and eyes determined. The three goons around the civilians shifted so the crowd was closed in. Peter noticed as their eyes shifted down to their watches, and occasionally they would shift their stance as if adjusting. Odd....

He tilted his head slightly, trying to see what was on the watch, but the guard closest to him quickly caught on and jerked his wrist away.

"Watch it," he growled, pointing the gun. Peter, realizing he was still supposed to be playing the terrified civilian, withheld from sticking out his tongue and simmered down. Years of back-talking goons with guns was second-nature at this point, o it was strange being on the opposite end of things, needing to keep quiet rather than dish out quips as he was used to. But, the best thing he could do right now, for himself and his fellow hostages, was to look small and unimpressive, which was annoyingly not as hard as he wanted it to be.

The leader dude approached the small crowd, eyes roaming. People shifted as he got closer, obviously unnerved by the razor-sharp gleam in his eye. The guy wasn't even concerned about concealing his face, same as his group. Arrogance, or confidence. Peter had yet to decide. Leader dude's face was clean shaven, sharp jaw, handsome even. But his gaze was one of a predator, and everyone else was his prey. He circled his herd of sheep, shoes clicking softly against the floor as he looking over their numbers, passing from face to face. He was going to pick someone, Peter realized, and his stomach dropped.

Definitely not good.

Maybe there was still a chance he could sneak out. Maybe when one of the guards wasn't looking, Peter could sneak to the bathroom or find an air-vent to crawl through. Or - or perhaps if the team showed up and caused a distraction, he could sneak off, get in costume, and they could take these guys down together. However it played, hostages were not going to get hurt on his watch. That was a BIG no-no.

The leader dude silently sifted through the crowd, but none seemed to match his hostage requirements. A nagging thought hit Peter. There's no way he would be chosen....right...

The man stepped closer and wormy nerves surfaced in Peter's stomach. He wouldn't pick Peter, would he? That'd be - that'd be ironic, maybe even amusing in different circumstances, but - seriously - what were the chances...

He stepped closer.

Peter gulped.

He stepped closer.

Peter's nerves were a writhing yarn-ball of anxiety.

The man's boots stopped in front of him.

"Come on, boy," a hand gripped his arm and hefted him to his feet. Peter's jaw fell in complete disbelief as he was pulled across the room, but judging by the guys rolling eyes, it was probably taken as an act of sublime fear.

At his back, the crowd grew with dismay, and someone shouted, "What? He's just a kid!" but was instantly silenced with a threat delivered by F. It was heart-warming to know they cared, but Peter was still trying to wrap his head around such terrible, horrible, massively crushing coinkidink.

Still, strange as it was, Peter found he was hardly surprised. See, of course it was him. Because who else could the guy possible pick? Parker luck hit its mark. Cuz it's silly that way.

Peter was taken to the front of the doors, where the leader dude was given a gun and an encouraging slap on the back. His comrade muttered a quick, "Goodluck, A," and went back to her station by the window.

"A," Peter muttered, "Should've guessed."

"What was that?" leader dude - A' - warned, and Peter snapped his lips shut and forgoed any and all retorts.

Civilian, he told himself, loud enough that it might project his thoughts onto his captor. I am nothing but an innocent civilian.

His mental projections worked. A' looked over Peter as if suddenly questioning his hostage choice, but he shrugged, accepting what was done is done, and walked them both out the door. Every cop had a gun in hand outside, all of which went stiff with alarm when A's gun nozzle touched Peter's temple.

"Anyone moves and I blow his head off," A' shouted, digging the tip into Peter's skin in emphasis. "I have something to say so listen up."

Jean DeWolff, Captain of the Police force and Spider-Man tolerator, motioned for the officers to hold their fire. Peter liked her. She wasn't an avid Jameson supporter and actually gave him in the time of day when Peter found himself working next to the police. Besides, it was just an all-around nice thing to have the word of a police Captain on his side. Well, when he had her support anyway. She met Peter's eyes, naively unaware that she was staring at the face of New York's #1 vigilante proclaimed superhero, and seemed to silently be asking that he was okay. Once satisfied that Peter was unharmed, she addressed A'.

"What's your message?"

"My first message is to the NYPD," A' yelled, catching every officers attention, "if me or any of my crew are shot at, every hostage in this bank will be dead before anyone else has the chance to shoot again. That is your only warning, there will be no second chances for those people. Understood, Captain?"

DeWolff looked more than ready to shoot him, but spit out a, "Yes."

"Good," he turned to the news cameras. "Now, my message is for Spider-Man and his team, the Ultimates," Peter tried not to stiffen. A rustle of unease and excitement shifted among the camera crews, police officers, and spectators. Every camera swiveled to A' and zoomed in, even the phones.

This isn't just a bank robbery, Peter realized. This guy had it out for something else entirely. He wasn't just waiting for the heroes, he was calling them out. Which was odd, because that usually only happened when the bad guy had a vendetta against them. But as far as Peter was concerned, he's never fought this guy in his life. Then again, he didn't usually remember much about the crooks and robbers he's stopped. There was something about fighting supervillains that always stuck; be it the flashy costumes or their odd powersets. Crooks and robbers just didn't have that same flair.

"I want Spider-Man, White Tiger, Nova, Iron Fist, and Powerman lined up in front of this bank at 4:00." A' barked, like a general commanding his troops. "If they are not here at exactly 4:00, then I'll start shooting hostages, starting with this one," he jostled Peter, "every 2 minutes until they're here. If any other hero from SHIELD headquarters or the Helicarrier is spotted within a block of this bank, hostages will be shot. If the heroes I mentioned do not show up together at the same time, hostages will be shot. Once my instructions are followed, further instructions will be given at that time. Until then," he aimed this part at Captain DeWolff, "Me, my crew, and my hostages will be left alone." Then, with the gun still pressed tightly to Peter's temple, A' pulled them both back toward the doors, completely ignoring the clamoring of the crowds and reporters, as news anchors turned back to the camera with rapid-fire commentary.

Inside, instead of returning Peter to the group of hostages, A' kept a firm hold on the base of his neck and beckoned to D with the gun. D traded the gun for zip ties and A' shoved Peter's hands behind his back.

"And now it's your turn to listen, kid," he said over Peter's shoulder, securing the ties to Peter's hands. "Listen to what I say and there's a chance you won't end up with a bullet in your head. You stay with me, and if you try to leave, run away, or, if you're even ballsie enough and try to attack me, I will not hesitate to kill you and trade your body in for another one of those hostages over there. Understand?"

Peter glanced at the group, At the couple holding tight each other, a little girl tucked under her mother's arms, a man who couldn't be older than Aunt May. A surge of anger hit him. "Oh, understood. Hey, if I'm a good boy, do I get to have a letter too? Where'd the rest of your alphabet go anyway? Did the scheduling cross with their James Bond convention?"

A' grabbed Peter's wrist and twisted, "Look, he's a smartass," he growled, and twisted the ties harder. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not easy on sarcasm. If you talk again, I'm gonna shoot you."

"Man, you're trigger-happy. Have you ever considered meditation? Or, I don't know, medication. Did you forget to take your pill this morning, because-" A' took the gun back from D' and Peter decided to shut his trap. Dodging a bullet could be no problem, but he wasn't overly fond of revealing his secret identity, especially in these circumstances. He'd be the first superhero in history to give up his real name because he couldn't shut up in a hostage situation. He clicked his mouth shut, despite the remarks that pushed right back on his lips, and tried to look as wide-eyed and innocent as a super-spider-powered-individual-pretending-to-be-normal could be.

The gun hovered in A's hand, waiting for Peter to give into his natural instincts and him give a reason to shoot. When Peter disappointed, A' lowered it, just slightly, and grabbed him by the zip ties.

Peter was stationed toward the doors, barely in the line of sight of the cops, while A' stood to the side, smoothly hidden behind the makeshift cover. Peter felt like a damsel from a fairytale, subdued in the middle of the room, cast in the light, waiting for his rescuer to show up and defeat the trigger-happy dragon hiding behind the couch. He wished the team would hurry it up already. A' wanted them by 4:00, and it was already 3:48. Peter didn't want to bust out as Spider-Man in civies with the police watching AND his face flashing through ever TV in New York. It was bad enough being in the limelight as Spider-Man, but being in the limelight as Peter Parker was....

Was.... oh shiz-nog...

A' wanted Spider-Man and his team. Together. Arriving at the same time. Yet, Peter was standing in the middle of a held-up bank, with his costume in his backpack against the wall, and no way of getting it on or sneaking away. This situation just got a whole, whole lot harder.

Perhaps Danny could wear his costume again - and, nope, that wouldn't work this time. A' wanted the whole team front and center - no one missing. Perhaps Scarlet could - annnd that wouldn't work either. Scarlet Spider and Agent Venom took the Academy out to the Savage Lands on a wilderness survival field trip. The Avengers would be a no-show to because of their mission in Wakanda, and the Fantastic Four were off in some interdimensional space-warp mission. What were the frickin odds that every superhero would be busy today?

No, wait. There was still hope. Having already graduated SHIELD Academy, Miles and Amadeus weren't doing anything. Maybe one of them could pose as Spider-Man. Yeah, that sounded good. Miles is a little small though, but maybe the media wouldn't pick up on the height difference with all this excitement. Besides, he was pretty witty - maybe if he deepened his voice a little he could pass off as the real deal. Peter restrained from snorting. Miles was probably the only person who would have to deepen their voice to impersonate him. Puberty was absolutely terrible, but it reaps its rewards in the end...eh, so Peter hears. Besides, if Miles couldn't do it, then Amadeus could always try. Of course, Peter was still taller than the both of them (something he was actually quite proud of. He wasn't exactly known as the tallest super roaming the streets). But Amadeus wasn't exactly pulling an A+ in the quippage department. He could probably whip up some spider-power based devices to aid in the illusion though.

Peter took a deep breath to ease the nervous rattling building in his chest. He tried to soothe himself, building up the positive thoughts that everything would - might - maybe -work out. Nick Fury had to have seen what is happening by now, and SHIELD always has a plan. They had backup plans in case they had no plan. It was redundant and unorthodox, but it was what SHIELD did best.

The sudden lime-lights was getting irritating. At least as Spider-Man he had a mask on to filter the attention, but now he stood, feeling stripped naked and bare, in front of dozens of cameras with more arriving on the streets. Yep, come and join the spectacle. More cameras on his face were exactly what he needed to calm his anxiety.

3:54.

Shiiiiiiz, where were they?

The crowd of hostages shifted in, rightfully felt, unease. Peter could hear the soft screeching of rubber on linoleum, and clothes as they rustled anxiously. They were all watching the clock, waiting for the minute of doom to strike. Peter didn't want to stray into negative thoughts. He had to have faith that the team would get here. Albeit, he'd prefer it if they got here sooner so he wouldn't have to go full Spidey-butt-whuppin. That would likely end in the deaths of several hostages because however fast Peter was, he couldn't keep track of 7 different guns at once. Not without his web-shooters. Besides, bye-bye secret identity and hello revenge-rutting villains for the rest of his known existence.

His mind was beginning to stress heavily on that fact, which did nothing to ease his anxiety.

A' was watching the minute hand too, alternating his eyes between the clock, Peter, and his audience outside. Even he was getting edgy. Perhaps he was detecting foul-play. Not all heroes could be as by the book as Captain America - which was kind of a lie, because Captain America hardly followed the rules either.

3:56

The impending threat of being shot was getting to them all, and as bad as it made him feel, Peter was kind of glad it wasn't just him getting worked up. The hostages were moving more, shifting with the restlessly of a prisoner waiting for a conviction, which in a way, is what was happening. A' was their convictor, the gun the judge, and the team as the only piece of evidence that could clear their name.

3:58

A' got up and cocked the gun.

"If they're not going to take this seriously, then we'll have to show them how serious we are," he stalked toward Peter.

What? No way was Peter gonna get shot-up! Yet his spider-sense was running a race up and down his spine, delivering the spamming message that - yes - he was about to get shot up and if he didn't do something, right now, then he was going to take on the likeness of swiss cheese.

Oh, this sucks.

Peter took a step back, bracing himself, shifting his foot to kick the gun from A's hand as soon as he was in range. Once the gun was gone, he'd have to incapacitate A' as quickly as possible, then go for E, F, and G before they could shoot the hostages. If he was quick enough, he might even be able to get the drop on them and the hostages could, like, flee for the bathroom or something while he took out B, C, and D. His nerves weren't on board with his plan, and gnawed at the bowels of his stomach making him feel like the antagonist of a horror film. Or, perhaps, the terrified person watching it. But he couldn't chew his fingernails and wait for the horror to pass this time. There would be no hiding in blankets. It was now or never.

A' was closer, and Peter got ready. Two more steps and it was time to move. Just two more steps and he could kiss his secret identity goodbye where it would spend the rest of its days living it out in the gutter.

"A'!"

Both A' and Peter looked toward the door. C' gestured outside and Peter nearly slumped in relief. Admittedly, he was close. His knee's wobbled like jelly at coming so close. He could see White Tiger at the front of the building, followed by Powerman, Iron Fist, and Nova, the last hovering for a moment or two in the sky before dropping. The team looked up as someone jumped from a building out of sight. It was...Spider-Man.

Oh, so they found a substitute. Phew. Miles better make him look good.

A' grabbed Peter by the zip ties again and they headed outside, together to face society once more. He made sure to keep Peter right up front with the gun pressed tight over his temple, where it fit in nicely with the indent left there from last time.

Peter stared at his team and tried to convey how much this situation sucked without letting the media on to their little secret. His legs were still knocking from the close-call inside, but now that the team was here, he wasn't particularly frightened anymore. Terrified for the hostages - yes, because there was no way people were going to die on his watch. But frightened of the gun? Not really. He'd probably be a lot more scared if he wasn't positive he could disarm the guy, even with the zip ties.

But can you dodge a bullet centimeters away dimwit? His spidey-sense harshly reprimanded, and, oh yeah, that was an issue. Point: 5,948 for spidey-sense.

The grip on Peter's next tightened, and the chest at his back inhaled deeply to speak. But pseudo-Spider-Man had him beat before he could get exhale.

"Annnnd hello Mr. Bad-Guy-From-every-single-action-movie-ever," pseudo-Spider-Man said, shooting a two-finger salute. "You're looking remarkable cliche today. Did you rob a costume store on your way over here? Not to hate on you're get-up or anything, but it's absolutely terrible and you should be regretting every deciison. I mean, seriously, the trench coat? Gun to the noggin of our poor, tied up damsel? Should I be expecting a superhero/James Bond team up, cuz, I'm not gonna lie, that woul make this upcoming fight a lot cooler," the wide lenses looked closer at the patchy trench-coat A' wore, "Might have to cut out the nifty explosions though, I think that's a little above your pay-grade. But, have no fear, for," he planted a hand on his hips, squared his shoulders, and struck the most cliche superhero pose known to man that Peter would have booed if he wasn't so horrified. "It's nothing this superhero can't handle."

That - that was definitely not Miles. In fact, now that Peter was really looking, it was painfully obvious how much taller this "Spider-Man" was to Miles. It couldn't be Cho either, he had more dignity than to strike a pose like that.

A' seemed just as startled as his hostage. For a second, he seemed struck speechless, not that Peter could blame him. Spider-Man usually gave the bad-guys at least 2 minutes to toot their horn before knocking heads, and his one-liner greetings weren't usually so...wordy. He peered hard at White Tiger, using his eyes to try and drill into to her head and find who the heck they had set up behind his mask. Her barriers were impenetrable to his mental attack, and she shrugged off his critical brain-digging.

The hold on his zip ties tightened and A' dug the gun tip just a little farther into his head. "Cuttin it a little close, Webhead,"

The psuedo-Spider-Man clapped his hands, "Ooh, ooh, pet names. I didn't realize we were already at that stage. But let it never be said that me, Spider-Man, the Spider-Man, is not up for a little hypocorism." Peter winced, wondering if anyone was buying this. He didn't get far in his worry before pseudo-Spider-Man was listing out names. "K, how about Boris, or Grishenko? Humphrey because you remind me of the guy from The Princess Bride. Jack? You kind of look like a Jack. I have more, I promise, just give me a second to think of them."

"Wha - no. No! Stop, listen." A' pushed Peter forward, just a tad as if to re-establish the whole reason for this nightmare. "Me and my crew are-"

"Let me guess," pseudo-Spider-Man interrupted, holding up his hands to list off his fingers, effectively stopping the upcoming monologue in its tracks, "you're looking for money and want us to personally escort you and your crew's safety out of the state, or your gonna blow the brains out of your cute 'lil' hostage there, and, likely, the rest of the hostages in there," he nodded toward the building, "and, now stop me if I'm wrong, you want us not to follow you, and let you sneak off with millions of dollars to an overcompensated trip to the Bahama where you can live out the rest of your days in the lap of luxury - and, we all know luxury has a fantastic lap" Peter was almost the false Spider-Man was wiggling his eyebrows, but he was a little busy focusing on the 'cute lil' hostage' bit to try and decipher mask movement.

Not exactly the right thing to be focusing on, but he's never been one to get noticed out of costume, much less being called "cute" by someone posing as himself. What a conundrum.

A' stared helplessly and Peter almost felt sorry for him. Pseudo-Spider-Man pumped his fist when there was no reply, shouting, "HOO-HA!" in triumph.

"No, that's not-" A' tried desperately to get them back on track, and if he pushed THAT GUN ANY FARTHER INTO PETER'S HEAD HE WOULDN'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE BULLET BECAUSE PETER WILL BE IMPALED ON A FRICKIN GUN!

"LISTEN," A' stressed, "we're gonna negotiate inside the building. You and your team are gonna come in right now, single file, and line up. If there is any funny business-"

"You'll shoot the hostage in the head bla, bla, bla, bla, yes we get it. Consider all business non-funny and boring," Pseudo-Spider-Man was climbing the steps to the building before he even finished talking, causing A' to back up wildly and swing his other arm around Peter's neck, giving himself complete body coverage.

But Pseudo-Spider-Man walked past him, uncaring, and strode through the doors. The rest of the team followed behind silently, eyeing the gun A' had pinned to Peter's head. Nova, despite the situation, was looking particularly amused. It wasn't enough for the media, or even A' to notice, but Peter knew that face. Nova was having a ball over this, and Peter was now certain that he wasn't going to be living this down for a long while.

Even with the team inside the bank, as requested, A' still held out on his paranoia and kept his arm around Peter's neck despite the awkward shuffling gait that came with. They left the lights and cameras outside and the door's closed once more.

Inside, he motioned for the team to line up against the far wall. "Go on," he threatened, getting antsier and antsier with each growing second.

Pseudo-Spider-Man groaned and grumbled something about "procedures," and lined up on the back wall with the team. But even with the team under watch, Peter would feel A's growing anxiety in the way his arm was gradually tightening over his windpipe.

Cool it man, nothing's even happened yet! At this rate, A' was going to need to pick another hostage cause Peter was gonna quit. 0 out of 10, would not recommend.

Psuedo Spider-Man crossed his arms with a huff. He leaned toward Iron Fist and muttered something, of which Iron Fist responded with an awkward look and low answer.

A' scowled, "No talking!" he snapped.

"Well, that's gonna make negotiating a lot harder," Pseudo-Spider-Man commented dryly, "I haven't done ASL in a while, but I'll do my best." he cracked his knuckles and moved his hands in a gesture that A' didn't seem to catch. Deciding to switch tactics, Psuedo Spider-Man flipped the bird instead, and everyone knew what that meant.

A's grip twisted uncomfortably and shoved Peter forward with little mercy, this time directly a step in front of him and migrated the gun to the back of Peter's head.

"Now, listen," he said. "This is how it's gonna go. You all are going to take off your masks, slow and easy, then you're going to get on your knees and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Pseudo-Spider-Man interrupted again, waving his arms in a time-out gesture, "How high is this rating again? Are we going for a solid T, or does the author have to bump things up to explicit, cause," the smirk was so evident through the mask it was practically outlined in the fabric, "as much as the readers would just love to see this, I think I'm gonna have to pass. I don't exchange hostage lives with sexual favors." He really needed to stop winking before Peter grabbed A's gun and whacked him with it.

Where did his team dig up this guy? Why did his team dig up this guy?

At least he wasn't the one who getting irritated. A tingle raced up Peter's spine and the gun struck his head. He dropped face first into the floor. With no way to slow his descent, the fall was rough and he was almost certain his face was imprinted into the floor. Could his face even imprint linoleum?

Pseudo Spider-Man hissed, carefree demeaning changing so quickly Peter wasn't sure if it was just his headache or an actual mood-change. "Oh, that does it. You know, I was gonna be nice about this, but NOW drop your hands and put the gun in the air motherfu-"

Iron Fist and White Tiger grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back, as every gun in the room moved. The crooks at the window settled aim at the heroes, while the ones guarding the ring of hostages turned theirs inward.

"One more move and I'm blowing the brains out of every single person in here," A' snapped.

"Oh, would that include yourself?" Pseudo-Spider-Man asked, shrugging Iron Fist and White Tiger off carelessly. "Well, then I guess my jobs done. Carry on Humphrey, don't let me get in the way of your own unaliving,"

Peter froze.

The ache in his head didn't seem to matter anymore. In fact, he pushed it roughly to the side, right off a cliff, as Pseudo Spider-Man's words slivered through his ears. Did - did he just say unalive? Peter glanced up, wincing when his head twinged, and scowled skeptically at his cosplayer.

It better now be....Oh, it better not be.

"Deadpool?" he muttered.

No. No, no, no, no, no! Of all the people! Of all of the living, breathing human beings occupying the Triskelion (or, you know, the whole freaking earth) they chose Deadpool? DEADPOOL?

"Oh no," Peter mumbled to the floor. "Oh no. Please kill me. Kill me now." This was one of the worst things that could happen. One of the very worst. It was definitely on the list, at the very tippy-top right next to getting unmasked and body-swapping with Loki.

Who in their right mind would let this happen? Did Fury know about this? Did he honest-to-Odin authorize Deadpool to fill in for Spider-Man? Deadpool? He wasn't even a hero, he's a mercenary! What - why - how could this even happen?

Oh, the team was so dead once they got out this.

With death-threats circulating through his head, Peter was pulled back up, left to rest on his knees. His head stilled ached, but otherwise, the pain was bearable. You know, body wise. Couldn't say the same for the mania happening around him.

A' had a hold of him again, and Peter was really started to get sick of this.

"Last time," he growled and the gun is back, irritating and cold and Peter wants to crush it in his hands. "You have 5 seconds. 1!...2!...3!...4-oof!" The book came out of nowhere, hitting A' smack-dab in the face. PseudoSpider-Man, Deadpool, laughed loud and untamed.

The rest of the team was already in motion. Nova shot two blasts at E and G, just before the triggers could be pulled, and they went sprawling across the room. Somewhere on their persons, Peter heard a soft beep.

White Tiger raced across the room, a growl bubbling past her throat as she dodged the rain of fire shot at her and sliced B's gun in one deadly swoop, then turned on C' and did the same. Powerman grabbed F's with one hand as the gun turned inward, then took the weapon in the other and crushed it. Iron Fist caught D' before he could shoot Nova, and knocked her out in one punch.

There's another beep, one that Peter can't quite discern. It's making his spider-sense pinge. One of the guards, Peter recalled him watching his watch, adjusting his footing. Could it be...

It's a bomb. They're all rigged with a bomb! Peter tried to stand, his mouth already beginning to spill out a warning, "Guys, a bo-" when a hand clasps him on the throat.

You've got to be kidding him!

A's snarling. His nose is squashed and bleeding from the book, eyes wide and crazy as his lips curl into a feral smile. The gun cocks in his hand. "At least I'll get one," he says, focusing the nozzle.

Peter's feels the high thrum of his spider-sense, but just before he can kick the guy away, a red and blue blur tackles A' and they go sprawling over the floor.

Deadpool is straddling A', gives the guy a hard right-hook, before looking up and shouting, "They're armed and rigged with bombs my lovelies, take away their watches cause they definitely don't deserve em'. That's right Mr. Cliche, your time is up!" he grabbed A' by the collar, lifting him up.

There's a flash of light and Peter see's the gun pressed into Deadpool's chest before the merc sees it. The resulting bang is terrible, and all Peter can do is stare at the gaping hole followed after, and the blood soaking into the red and blue fabric. A's smiling, despite the small splatter of blood on his chin, chuckling when Deadpool slowly looked down at his chest.

He looked back up. "OUCH you FETCHING mother-FU-" he snags the gun from A's hands, like a parent taking away a child's toy, ignoring the crooks look of astonishment.

"Wh-what?" A' stammered. "How-"

"I'm Spider-Man you mothertrucker," Deadpool growled, "And much like the author's insistence against foul language, I'm pretty hard to get rid of." He leans in closer and adds with a whisper, "Believe me, I've tried to kill that guy. All he does is spout lessons and self-righteous crap. You're lucky it was me who got here,"

A's eyes are wide and confused. He doesn't get a chance to question any of Deadpools commentary before the gun hilt is slammed into his temple and he slumps. Deadpool gets to his feet, clapping his hands together and whistling a merry tune. He looked down, noticed the wound again, and poked at the closing hole in his chest.

Peter doesn't know what to think. He just saw Deadpool take a bullet to the chest. He already knew a bit about Deadpool's healing factor, having seen it work at Taskmaster's school that one time. But there was a freaking hole in his body. Blood staining the costume. It was bringing back bad memories.

Deadpool finally looked up, spotting Peter on the ground when he did. "Oh," he smacked his own head, "Duh. Forgot about the damsel." He sauntered over, kicking A's foot as he goes, and crouched next to Peter.

"Hey Pretty, you're not hurt are ya?" is what he says, and Peter has to take several seconds to fully come to terms with the shooting and the blood before he actually look into his familiar white lenses.

"Um..."

"Good, good," Deadpool grabbed Peter's arm, hefting him to his feet. "Hospitals are terrible, and they smell like medicine, which ew, who likes smelling like butt ointment and chemically questionable 'medical' fluids. Amirite? I'm right." He smoothed down Peter's hair, adjusted the collar of his shirt, and straightened his glasses. Somewhere beneath the mask, Peter thinks he's smiling, but it's hard to focus with a hand that keeps running over his hair.

After a moment of ceacless petting, Peter jerked away from the hand and almost stumbled. Deadpool caught him easily though, hand braced on his back, and they stay freeze. It's like a scene out of those romance movies Aunt May's watched, the ones Peter and Ava liked to make fun of, only it's happening to him and he really hopes Ava isn't watching. Deadpool lets go after a crucial minute, steadies Peter, and plants his hands on his hips like Regina George from Mean Girls.

"Easy there, you're too cute to fall for me," - Peter blanches cause that is a terrible joke, pick-up line? Reverse pick-up line? - "annnd you're still all tied up. Speakin of which," Deadpool bends down and retrieved a knife from his boot. He retrieved a knife from a Spider-Man boot - the media better not be getting this - and twirls Peter around. "Let's see about this zip ties, yeah. Zip ties are not the correct bondage type material. Take note of that, will ya? Gotta spread the word."

With a quick jerk from the knife, the zip ties break and Peter can function like a proper human citizen again. He rubs the red lines gouged into his skin and takes a step back from the knife still clutched in the red glove. He's still not sure how to go about this situation. Personally, he's never had to really interact with his alter ego in public, aside from the one time Danny needed to substitute for him. But that was a controlled situation, in a secluded area. Besides, Danny knew who he was and it was all planned. This wasn't planned, and however reckless and go-with-the-flow Peter was, he didn't like being in a situation caught so off guard.

But he also knows he should probably - maybe - say something to at least buy into both illusions that he's nothing but a hostage and that the hidden-merc was nothing but the web-slinger. Or maybe he could just go with door number 3 and pretend to be in shock. That way there didn't need to be any confrontation.

That may not have been in Deadpool's intentions though. He stepped forward, playing the part of looking Peter over for injuries, humming thoughtfully, arms crossed, finger tapping his chin. Peter has to look up at him and it's his first time realizing that - holy cow - Deadpool is actually really tall. Was he that tall last time? Peter had been a bit busy avoiding death-by-puns-and-impalement to really stop and ask for his measurement. Still, it was almost insulting. Spider-Man didn't get to be that tall, no matter how much Peter willed his body to grow the extra mile.

"Got a little boo-boo right there," Deadpool cooed, thumb brushing the gash where A's gun struck him. "You sure you don't need some, like, medical attention? Are you in shock? Do I need to call someone? Hey, Fist -" he stopped with a childish snort, "heh, all sorts of kinks in this one, aren't there - I think the writer's pushing for something," he nudges Peter's shoulder gently, going 'eh, eh' in a way Peter figured he thinks he's being clever. When Peter doesn't endorse the joke, Deadpool turns away, not quite put-off, and waved dramatically at Iron Fist who was helping the hostages out the door.

"Hey Fist! Wanna do your mystic-y magic energy reading shtick on this cutie over here? I think he's in shock." He turned to Peter, "You're in shock right," his nods is self-assured and he looks back, "Yeah, I think he's in shock. The trauma the poor citizens of this city face. You'd think they'd take a hint and leave, cause there's no frickin way a city can be attacked this much. Holleywood," he sticks a finger in the air, "You're really fetchin pushin it."

Iron Fist met Peter's look. There's humor in those mellow eyes, and Peter knows their resident fortune cookie is getting a kick out of this too. Yeah, Peter expected that kind of hidden humor from Sam, but Danny? Really, Danny? If he wasn't pouting earlier, he definitely was now.

"Namaste," Iron Fist greeted, calm and soothing, the way he tended to be toward victims in shock, "what's your name?"

Peter has to bite back many retorts. There's no use in blowing his cover now. Might as well keep up in the charade...maybe even have a little fun while he was at it. He lowered his eyes, curled his shoulders, and shuffled his feet shyly. "Peter," he muttered.

"Peter," Deadpool repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. "Peter. Petey. Sweetie Petey. Yeah, you look like a Peter."

Peter wanted to ask what that meant, but Iron Fist is already moving their interaction along. "Hello Peter, I'm Iron Fist. I'm going to check you're chi energy, is this alright with you?"

Peter thinks for a minute. If he's going to pretend to be a naive, innocent little hostage, he might as well go the whole 9-yards. Still, he bites back a grin and replaced it with pinched eyebrows and a frightened frown.

"Chi-energy?" He parroted innocently, taking a cautious step back as if Iron Fist might bite. "What's that?"

Iron Fist is struck for a moment, before rolling his eyes ever so slightly. But, honestly, did he expect anything else. The danger was over, and Peter was just making the most out of a bad situation. Deadpool interrupts with his own explanation long before Fist as the chance to open his mouth.

"Chi-energy, my sweet little Peter, is the energy flowing inside ones soul," he says it the way a teacher might give a lesson, and it brings Peter back to High School when the teachers lectured him about being tardy. "It runs through everything. It's the very essence of who we are. It's the bundles of energy that we feel. Terror. Pain. Happiness. Sexual tension," he waggled his eyebrows at that part, which Peter's teachers never did.

Iron Fist pushed him aside, as if to disregard everything just said, and stepped in front of Deadpool to cut him from view. "Chi energy," he answered, "Is the flow of energy throughout us. Our life breathe. There is nothing to be afraid of. Using my powers I will simply see if there is any unalignment of interceptions in your chi energy, it will make me aware of any injuries you might've sustained."

Deadpool's hands plant firmly on his hips. "Isn't that what I just said?"

Peter made a show of thinking it over, before nodding timidly. "Well, I guess so..."

"Goodie," Iron Fist replied, but it lacked real enthusiasm. He put his hand on Peter's shoulder, closed his eyes, and a moment later a golden aura encased his hand. It lasted only a second before Iron Fist pulled away.

"All is well," he told them, "You are free to head back to the authorities."

Ugh. Right. Peter would be spending the next hour or so talking with the authorities and getting checked over by a medic. Under normal circumstances - normal being him not getting shot at almost every day - he'd appreciate the measures the police and paramedics take. But he was already itching to get out of here, get his costume on, and get an audience with Director Fury because what the literal heck, Deadpool is the worst choice. Explain yourself, RIGHT NOW!...Please, and thank you Sir...

Peter turned toward the door, where Powerman, White Tiger, and Nova were watching.

Through the corner of his eye, Peter catches Danny's sinister smile. "Would one of you escort Peter here to the authorities. It's been a very traumatic morning for him,"

Oh, he has no idea.

"I'll do it!" Powerman automatically volunteered.

Nova pushed him out of the way, or at least tried to. He succeeded in a few strained shoves before smoothly leaning against the immense shoulder. "No, I'll do it." He refuted. "I'd probably do it better. Gotta make sure the little hostage makes it to the proper authorities." Powerman moved his shoulder and Nova stumbled.

"No, I'll do it," White Tiger said. Her posture is serious, and her voice commanding, but Peter can see that she's jumping at the bit to jab at him too. They are all. THey've probably been waiting for the moment to tease him, unable to wait the hour or so before he made it back to the Triskelion. None of them wanted to miss an open opporunity.

"OH! This game - this game!" Deadpool clapped his hands and jumped, "Let's all fight over the hostage. Now, since I'm the leader I'll take him to the authorities." He jabs a thumb to himself, puffing his chest. Peter hoped that's not how people actually perceived him. "Any challengers?"

Nova took a step forward, but Iron Fist is already handing Peter off to Deadpool.

"Good idea," is his only explanation as he pushed them both toward the door. "We'll head back to SHIELD. Meet you back there, Spider-Man."

"Well, how can I refuse," Deadpool shrugged, doing nothing to hide his appease, and grabbed Peter's wrist. "Off we go lil'Petey. To the proper human authorities."

The last thing Peter see's of his team is Powerman, Nova, and White Tiger sulking from their missed opportunity to poke fun, and the sinister smile still on Iron Fist's lips.

"Payback," he mouthed, and Peter gapes. He would never think such a thing before, but now he's convinced that Danny's been a villain this whole time. A true undercover agent. The most nefarious of his kind.

Deadpool swings an arm over his shoulder and steered him to the exit, purposely stepping on unconscious bad guys, leaving Peter to stumble in his attempts to avoid them.

"Soooo, how's your day been?" He asked.

Peter scowled. "Um, terrible," he offered. "I was just taken hostage in an attempted robbery...or hero unmasking..." he's still not quite sure where those bad guys were going with that. Both, maybe.

Deadpool hummed in sympathy. "A true soldier, arncha," he simpered. "Well don't you worry baby boy, Spider-Man will always be here to save the day. The flames of my heroism burn bright, and with them, I will warm this city from the cold clutches of evil,"

Peter

doesn't hold back his eye roll this time. "Wow, I feel so much safer now."

"Oooh, boys got some sass, doesn't he?" Deadpool leaned in closer, and Peter can see his own deadpanned expression reflected in those eye lenses. "I like that."

Peter pushed the face away and shrugged off the arm still swung over his shoulder. "Duly noted,"

It's so weird talking to someone dressed like him. Posing as him. At least when Danny did it, Peter was fully aware and prepared for it beforehand. Besides, Danny's never called him "cutie", "baby boy", or "sweetie-Petie" before. At least not that Peter was aware of.

Deadpool snorted a laugh and repositioned his hands behind his neck. "Ha! So, just so we're clear here, where do you stand on the media vendetta? Jameson supporter, or full-Spidey love all the way?"

"I am not a Jameson supporter," Peter said, and even the thought of it makes him bristle. Just imagining it is like his worst nightmare, ever.

"Good," Deadpool said, before his voice dropped several notes lower and took on a sinister tinge, "Then we don't have any problems. For a minute there, I thought things were gonna get messy."

His tone of voice alone had Peter jumping way, sputtering, "Wha-what?"

Deadpool burst into a loud, raucous laugh, throwing his head back. "Should've seen your face. HA! Priceless. Ah, don't worry about it Pretty-Petey. I wouldn't hurt one pretty strand of hair on your head," to emphasise, he patted Peter's hair again, "Besides, if you're not one of Jameson's nazi-supporters, then you're full Spidey love," he made a heart out of his fingers and whispered, "And Spidey love goes both ways." followed by kissy-noises.

"Dude, whatever," Peter ducked his head, hoping Deadpool couldn't see his smile, cause he in no way, shape or form, at all, found Deadpool's antics even slightly amusing. Nope. Not at all. And if you think so then you're lying.

They make it outside, finally. Deadpool stopped them at the top of the stairs. "And this is where we part ways," he sighed. "Now stay out of trouble baby boy, you're butt is too fine to save twice...or do. I wouldn't mind a sequel. Hint, hint," he took a step to the side, shot a web, blows Peter a kiss, and swings off, much to the displeasure of the camera crews yelling questions after him.

Peter climbed down the steps, occasionally glancing at the retreating red and blue form. A paramedic is quick to meet him and helps him the rest of the way down. Two cops are waiting to hear from him, and the news crew switched their attention to the hostage in the limelight as soon as Deadpool/Spider-Man was lost from view.

Questions shoot him from all sides. What was Spider-Man saying to him? Why had he looked so freaked out earlier? Why did Spider-Man blow him a kiss? Are they affiliated with each other? Why is Spider-Man bleeding?

It's going to be a long day.

__________________________

"Ah, our traumatized hostage victim has returned home," Luke boomed from his spot on the catch, stuffing another chip in his mouth as Peter slammed the front door shut. Sam looked up from his game boy, mouth already twisted into a sly smile.

"'Bout time? Take so long telling them how awesome I am?"

Peter dropped his backpack on the floor, folded his arms, and takes the time to stare at them all. One by one.

"Deadpool. As Spider-Man. Explain now."

Sam opened his mouth.

"Not you Sam!"

He closed it.

Ava grinned over the top of her book. "Everyone else was gone and Deadpool was visiting. Don't worry, we got the okay from Director Fury before going ahead with it."

"Well, that's fantastic. I can't wait to see how Jameson slanders my name this time." Peter plopped onto the couch next to Luke, swinging his legs over the other teen's immense ones, and stole a few chips from his bag grumpily. Luke allowed it and even offered him a better angle, as if to palliate his upcoming death-by-media.

"Can't be any worse than what Jameson usually throws at you," Sam shrugged, and goes back to his game. "So, what did you say about me to the media?"

Peter glowered at him. "Why don't you just turn on the news channel and see for yourself?"

"Cause that takes effort, and hearing it from you in person inflates my ego."

He rolled his eyes and steals another chip. But he still takes on a tired, innocent tone, "I'm was so lucky the Ultimates were there. They're all so magnificent and heroic. What would this city be without them. Even that weird Nova guy, with the weird shape helmet and-" a pillow thumped into Luke's face when Peter dodged it, cracking the chip in his hand.

"Hey!" Luke reprimanded, "This is Nacho Cheese!"

Sam only looked a little apologetic, as he pointed at Peter, "He started it,"

Peter steals one more chip before getting up and heading toward the kitchen. He passed Danny, who was farther in the corner, legs crossed in a meditating manner. He gets up though too and followed Peter into the kitchen.

He's standing by the counter when Peter closed the fridge, after grabbing some of the left-over spaghetti from last night.

"'What's chi energy," Danny mimicked lightly, and quirked an eyebrow, arms folding.

"Hey, if I was going to be the hostage, I might as well have had some fun with it," Peter put his spaghetti in the microwave, "Besides, it only bought into the helpless victim charade anyway."

"Uh-huh," Danny muttered, like he's not convinced, but Peter can detect no real heat in his accusation. Rather, the monk is smiling, small, amused, and just short of his secret evil smile. There's a mischevious light in his eyes that Peter's used to seeing on Sam. Seeing it on Danny is weird...unsettling...unnerving.

"So, how was you're time with Deadpool,"

Peter scowled, "Ugh, don't remind me,"

"Come on, it couldn't have been that bad." Danny insisted, taking two forks from the drawer and handing one to Peter.

Peter took the spaghetti out as soon as the microwave beeped, and stabbed his fork into the noodles, swirling them in the sauce. "It was, and still is. That was low, by the way. Having him take me to the authorities. He blew me a kiss, Danny. A kiss. Now the media thinks that I might have some sort of relationship with Spider-Man."

Danny shrugged, none to innocently, and took a bite of Peter's food, much without his consent. "I don't think you minded that much."

"Oh, really. Why's that?"

The monk lifted a glowing hand, "Chi energy," he answered. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were kind of," he draws it out with a smirk, "infatuated with Deadpool."

The tangle of noodles Peter was guiding to his mouth fell off with a surprised plop, peppering dots of sauce on the counter. "What!" Peter demanded around the fork, "NO, I was not infatuated. I think the word you're looking for is aggravated. I never want to ever do that again."

Danny slurped up a noodle. "Right," he said, still none too convinced. "Aggravated by your infatuation,"

Peter snatched the plate before Danny could go in for another bite. "Nope," he said, migrating down the counter. "No more for you. Only my friends, who don't lie, get to steal off my plate."

The teen monk grinned again and dropped his fork in the sink. "That's quite alright. I need to get back to my meditation anyway," he headed back to the living room, but turned slightly to add over his shoulder, grinning like the supervillain he secretly was. "It's okay that you're interested in Deadpool, I'm sure if he got to know the real Spider-Man, he'd be interested too."

"I'm NOT infatuated!" Peter insisted, "He's - he's annoying! And loud, and chatty, and tall - he's ridiculously tall Danny!"

Danny's still smiling when he returned to the living room. Peter grabbed his plate and quickly crossed the living room to get to the stairs, making it a point to ignore Danny's super-villain grin in the corner, and the hidden smirks from the rest of his team as if they hadn't been listening to their conversation the entire time.

Oh, he's infatuated, they all silently agreed as he stomped up the stairs.

I've been waiting to finish this! My first spideypool story in the Ultimate Spider-Man fandom! Whoop! This was fun to write, and they're my otp, so it was satisfying for me :3

The Deadpool in Ultimate Spider-Man seemed younger than the usual Deadpool, that's also a reason I made him younger in this one-shot. He gets to be taller too, because tall!Deadpool and not-as-tall!Peter is my love. 3

I accidentally developed a story plot for this one-shot if I ever decided to come back to it. So, we'll see if we have the makings of a Spideypool story in the works! :P

Also, toward the bottom I started slipping into a present tense tone, i tried to fix that but it might still sound funny. Sorry about that.

I think I've been developing a ship for PeterXHarry too. They'd be so cute together in this fandom! 3

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed. My next update for this account will be "At War with Monsters"

See ya then Chilladas!