Wade tugs off the jacket of the freshly dead corpse, using it to wipe his katana clean.

Sliding it back into its scabbard, he picks up the tangle of webbing he'd cut from the walls and stuffs it in a garbage bag from the kitchen. It helps that the webs are compactible and easily smooshed, but there are so many of them the bag is already bursting at the seams. He already cleaned the webs inside the storage closet and backtracked from there, working as quickly as possible. There's not a lot of time before his backup will arrive and there are pieces of information he doesn't want them privy to.

He nudges the body he'd cut down from the wall with his foot, searching for any lingering webs on her being. There are a few in her hair that he promptly cuts away, but otherwise, she's picked clean. Good. Only a few more spots to go.

He casts the woman a final scowl, her blank, lifeless eyes staring ahead. Blood still gushes from her slit throat, amassing a puddle on the floor. The wound on her should have been cut up too, looking more like a hack job with a sword than a bite. It's shoddy, but as long as no one looks too closely, it will pass.

Fucking bitch, the voices snipe. Hurting OUR Spidey. She had it coming.

Wade shouldn't agree, but he does. It took little to spill her guts, literally and figuratively, but she didn't tell him everything. He doesn't know who's funding the creation of the drug, or how this group got so organized in such a small amount of time. But she did tell him that the drug Peter had was a base for a superhuman drug and that a few of the people working on it went awol and sold the base to a third party, hoping to profit from it themselves. But their plans were foiled when he and Spider-Man busted the exchange. They figured Spider-Man would have it instead of Deadpool since he was the "hero", which hurt to hear, but Wade can't disagree. They'd spent a lot of time planning how they were going to jump him to get it back, but the week they'd orchestrated the jump, he just disappeared.

Wade didn't tell them that's because Spider-Man was a little busy growing out of his skin.

But when their look-outs reported sightings of Spider-Man tonight, they didn't want to give him time to go off grid again, so they converged on him immediately, got the jump on him, and brought him back here to "convince" him to give up the drug-base.

She'd told him other things too. Like how Spider-Man's eyes had gone pitch black and the strange noises he made in the back of his throat. He ripped through their people too fast and too powerful to stop. How they tried to run but weren't fast enough. How she'd been kicked straight through the wall and webbed above the ground. The look in Spider-Man's eyes when he went for her throat.

It surprised Wade that he can picture the scene perfectly, which grosses him out at first. The fact that he can even think of Peter doing any of this in a normal light feels wrong, but after what he's learned about the other man and what he can do, it's really not surprising at all.

Wade already got a glimpse of the spider hiding under Peter's skin. A creature of pure instinct. Peter has stared at him with black eyes in his apartment, which was plenty unsettling. There's no denying that. But in a sexy vampire way.

What this bruiser described was something else. Something angry, hurt, and pushed beyond its limits.

Spider-Man has amazing tolerance, evident enough by the fact that he hung out with Wade at all. He has perfect control over his strength, perfect control over his adhesion, and perfect control over his speed. He knows how to use his powers and did so flawlessly. But there's a simmering darkness underneath it all that has slowly made itself known to Wade. He saw it when Spider-Man's fist shook in barely concealed rage as he fought traffickers, abusers, and rapists. The fury when an innocent bystander gets caught in the crossfire of a fight and is sent to the hospital, or worse, the morgue. Wade's seen it, understands it and is amazed Peter holds back so well.

It's a little inspiring, actually.

But they took it too far this time.

Wade straightens, slinging the bag over his shoulder as footsteps fill the stairwell. He glances quickly around the hall once more time, snatches a few webs from the wall, and turns on his heels in time to greet his guest.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Deadman himself," a large, dark-skinned man greets him, slapping Wade on the shoulder. "Getting into trouble again?"

"Always," Wade grins. "I'm under contract to give Shield at least five headaches biweekly. Extra points if I give Fury an ulcer. Does Fury have an ulcer, Toby? Keep in mind my feelings if he doesn't."

"Sorry, he's as fit as a fiddle last I knew," Toby says, looking around. "So, why am I in a hall full of dead people? Well, I know why, but why?"

Wade knocks him in the shoulder, right on the patch sewn into his work clothes where the words USDC are embroidered in thick yellow thread. The United States Department of Damage Control is what it stands for.

"Come on, you know me," he says, playfully."I go all in or I don't go at all. I have a motto, you may have heard of it."

"Yeah, yeah, Maximum Effort. You never shut up about it. And about that movie you're supposed to be in, I looked it up, and I didn't find anything."

"Sorry, my movie is unavailable in this dimension. You have to upgrade to three separate streaming services and get a premium account that takes your firstborn."

Toby rolls his eyes and hefts the giant duffel bag over his back. He kneels next to the closest body, which happens to be the woman Wade just cut down. "Sure. Whatever. So what am I looking at here? Spring cleaning? Or deep cleaning? What's the score?"

Wade sobers. "Personal score, deep cleaning. Nothing left. Bodies burned, all surfaces bleached, and not even a strand of hair left behind. No trace of anything by morning."

Toby looks back up at him, eyes reaching for his pulled-back dreads. "You serious?" He asks, and Wade stares. "Yeah, you're serious. What's this about?"

"It's personal," Wade repeats. "No questions asked, remember? That was our deal."

"You also know this is a one-time deal, right?" Toby says and gestures to the body. "You really want to cash it in for this?"

"Yes."

Toby shrugs. "Well, you're the boss, I guess." He examines the woman more closely, leaning over to get a better look at the gross, mottled flesh of her shoulder and the broken bones that could only happen through sheer blunt force. His eyes narrow. "You're not even gonna give me a hint?"

"Nope."

He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "And you say you did this?"

"Yep."

Toby pokes the purple-tinged flesh, nose wrinkling. Wordlessly, he finds another body and checks their wounds too. And then another. Wade follows close behind, checking over Toby's shoulder to make sure he'd cut across every bite mark.

"You've never been the, uh, tidy type, but these seem kind of random, even for you," Toby says.

Wade shrugs, "I was having a bad day. Can't wrap them all in shiny bows."

Toby stands back up, hands on his hips, and surveys the mess. His eyes flicker to the ceiling and widen. Wade follows, repressing a cringe at the handprint on the ceiling. He'd smeared the few he could reach, using boxes from the storage closet, but it looks like he missed one.

"You're kind of quiet," Toby observes, glancing at Wade from the corner of his eyes.

"And you're kind of talkative," Wade retorts. "Can you handle the job or not?"

"I can handle it. I honor my deals. My team and I can get this done in four, maybe five hours tops."

"Do you trust them?"

"They won't squeal. This wouldn't be the first time we've had to keep quiet."

Wade presses a hurt hand over his chest. "Have you been making deals with other lunatic wackadoos behind my back?"

Toby chuckles, shaking his head. "Just part of the job. There are always messes that need to be swept under the rug."

"Gotta love the American government," Wade chirps. "Well, I'll leave you and the crew to it. I shouldn't be seen here." As he walks away, he feels Toby tug something off the back of his suit. When Wade turns, it's to Toby holding a strand of silvery webbing that must've stuck to Wade's as he cleaned up.

Toby pinches it between his fingers, cocking an eyebrow. "How's Spider-Man been?" He asks without looking at Wade. "I've seen you two on the news. You friends or something?"

Wade's eyes narrow and his fingers slide along the holster of his gun, perching on the handle. Relaxed, for now, but the implication is there. "Something like that," he says. "He's dandy. Great, even. As great as you were when I took that job for you. Remember that?"

Toby goes silent.

"Well, I do," Wade carries on, taking a step forward. "I remember how ungreat you were when a villain got a little too cocky in your neighborhood. I remember how ungreat you were when a school bus crossed his path. I remember how ungreat you were when you had to bury your little boy six feet under. And I remember how ungreat you were when you came to me, begging me to hunt the motherfucker down and make him pay." Wade leans towards him. "How are you feeling now?"

Toby's eyes flicker between the hand Wade has on his gun and his maskless face.

"I'm great," he says and deliberately winds the web into a tight knot and slips it into a black discard bag. He pulls out a lighter and sets the bag alight, letting it burn in front of Wade's eyes. "No traces," he confirms. "You should get going. I'll contact you when the job is done."

"Fantastic!" Wade spins on his heels and waves over his shoulder. "Thanks, I owe you. Only I don't, because you owed me."

On his way out, he stops inside the room Peter was held in. He'd already gone through and slashed through any wounds he needed to, but what he was interested in is the slogged-together gun partially hidden underneath a goon's body. The bruiser mentioned a weapon they used on Spider-Man. Said it knocked him out immediately. She didn't know what it was, all she knew was that it once belonged to the Tinkerer, before he was arrested.

Looking at it now, yeah, it has the expertly slapped-together disharmony of one of the Tinkerer's gadgets. Wade bought from the guy a few times and has seen plenty of weapons and armor used by villains and criminals who commissioned him as well.

He's never heard of this gun, though.

It doesn't look particularly special. It has a hose nozzle on the end of the barrel, instead of a hole, so it doesn't shoot bullets, even though it has a firing chamber. When Wade unlatches the chamber, there aren't cartridges inside, but three large, separate containers. Two of them are full of a colorless liquid and the third is connected to the barrel and almost empty. Holding it away from himself, Wade squeezes the trigger and a burst of fine white mist erupts from the tip. Immediately, he holds his hands to his nose, coughing. The smell is too sweet and reminds him vaguely of a hospital. Yuck.

Still coughing, Wade waves the mist away and trudges out of the room. He grips the gun as he ascends the steps, squeezing past the rest of Toby's crew who don't even spare him a glance.

<><>LINE BREAK<><>

Kate the Receptionist isn't happy to see him twice in under 24 hours. Some would say that's a bad omen, she would call it handing in her 2-week notice.

"Douchepool," she says and pushes the button for the elevator before he has to ask. How sweet. At least Tony told her to let him in ahead of time.

"Katie-Cat," he chirps, blowing her a kiss. "As lovely as ever."

"Eat shit and die."

Wade giggles, stepping into the elevator. "We have the cutest banter."

Jarvis is on him the moment the door close. 'Mr. Stark requests your assistance in Lab 2-C immediately. Spider-Man has woken up and is rampaging throughout the lab.'

"Fuck! For how long?"

'Exactly one minute and forty-three seconds.'

Well, at least Wade has good timing. If Peter woke up any earlier, Tony might already be a cocooned mummy by now. The minute it takes to get to the right floor is the longest minute of his life, and he bolts out the moment the doors open. Jarvis directs him to the lab.

Just in time too.

Peter is awake alright and hasn't snapped out of spider-mode yet. The Deadpool mask is still on his face, but it's disheveled like someone tried to pry it off. Peter is crouched high on a wall, hissing down at Tony, who is furiously herding a gaggle of doctors and nurses out of the room. Peter's head snaps from side to side, listening to the sound of their pounding feet and panicked noises. When the door opens, Tony turns to Wade with relief barely flickering across his face before Peter takes the opening to pounce.

He grabs Tony by the throat and slams him into the wall. Tony scrambles to gain leverage, but Peter's hand digs into his neck, keeping his front pinned as he leans in, baring his fangs over the back of his neck.

"Spidey!" Wade shouts and Peter's head snaps up, cocking to the side. He might recognize Wade's voice, but he also might just be picking up on the new vibrations. Wade needs to proceed carefully.

"What the hell is he—" Tony starts, but Wade shushes him.

"Stop talking. He can feel the vibrations."

Tony gives him a hard, incredulous look, but doesn't exactly have the room to argue. He clicks his mouth shut.

"Good boy," Wade purrs, and he glares. "Now you need to relax. No moving. Try not to breathe too loud, either. You need to act like you're not a threat, and struggling only makes you look like a big juicy fly. Or a big juicy enemy. Neither you want to be because he will bite you, and do you want to learn first-hand how potent his venom is?"

Tony does not want to learn first-hand how potent his venom is.

He follows Wade's instructions and goes limp. Peter still hovers over him, so Wade chirps, hoping to get his attention. That is a noise Peter remembers and he looks up from the fleshy delicacy of Tony's neck.

Wade chirps again, adding a rhythm to it, and Peter cocks his head. He clicks back, releasing Tony, and the Iron Avenger slides pathetically down the wall, doing the smart thing and remaining motionless as Peter steps away from him. Peter falls into a crouch and half-scuttles/half-limps toward Wade, still wary. When he's a decent distance away, Wade says to Tony, "Alright, get up slowly. If he looks at you, stop moving. When you're on your feet, head to the door. I'll lead him farther in."

Tony doesn't respond. Smart man.

With that, Wade side-steps, switching to clicks as he goes, and Peter follows religiously, inching closer and closer until he's just a few feet away. He sniffs the air and his nose pinches as he fumbles back with a hiss, falling into a defensive crouch with one arm up, prepared to launch a web. Wade doesn't know what he's so worked up about until he remembers the gun he's still holding.

The smell. That sweet, ether-like odor must still linger on Wade's clothes. Immediately, he sets the gun down and kicks it towards the door, and holds his hands up, chirping what he hopes is "I'm not a threat," in spiderish. But Peter still looks agitated, pacing around Wade, but refusing to get closer.

So, ever so slowly, Wade begins the slow process of unclipping his weapons and pouches and dropping them into a pile again. By the time he's tugging his shirt off, Tony made it to the door and is giving him a confused look. Wade merely tips his head in a gesture to fucking leave already and points to the gun. Tony grumbles under his breath and grabs it, but just before sliding the door opens, gives Wade an inquiring look. "Can you handle this?"

Wade shoos him out.

Peter's head snaps to the doors as they open, and then he flips onto the ceiling when they close. Wade keeps stripping until he's wearing nothing but a pair of Captain America briefs. Bet you were expecting Spider-Man undies, weren't you? He likes to be spontaneous.

"This good?" He murmurs. "We good?"

Peter clicks, head snapping in multiple directions at breakneck speed, but with everyone out of the room his shoulders don't look so tight and he's slowly sliding down the wall. Wade keeps up a litany of chirps and clicks until he's face to face with him. Peter sits on the wall similar to when they are out eating and he doesn't want to obey the laws of gravity. Wade settles between his thighs and, with the utmost care, rubs Peter's wrists and shoulders.

That's all he needed to do, it turns out, because Peter falls on top of him, clinging to Wade like an overgrown koala, fusing himself to Wade's skin.

Wade stumbles back from the sudden weight but stabilizes quickly. Peter returns to his previous position, head tucked against Wade's neck, arms curled under his arms, and panting heavily. Wade shushes him, doing his best to keep rubbing at this new angle, and walks them farther into the room. It's wide and spacious. A medical room.

They'd started patching Peter up. The gunshot had been treated, thank fuck, but the cuts were only half-bandaged and his skin was only partially clean. They hadn't made a lot of progress before he woke up.

When they pass a glowing monitor, Peter winces, hiding from the light.

"Jarvis, can you lower the lights?"

Immediately, the lights dim. Peter stops shaking and a giant, heaving breath leaves his lungs like he's expelling all his pent-up tension. He burrows his face into Wade's neck and closes his eyes.

Safe at last.