"Motherfucking stupid son of a hit-monkey's ass," Wade barely knows what he's saying as he scales down the fire escape with Olympic speed. He would've jumped, but time is of the essence, and shattered legs take too long to heal. Around the third floor, he chances it, and his crackled ankle heals in 2 minutes.

By the time he's jogging down the street, he pulls up Weasel's number again, and the call barely rings before Weasel is on the other line, like he was expecting it. Like he already knew what happened to Spider-Man and was waiting for Wade to come to terms.

"Get me everything you have on these guys," Wade snarls.

"I take it Spider-Man isn't in good condition?"

Wade shoves aside a man who doesn't get out of his way fast enough, and everyone else on the street at least has the sense to jump around him when he approaches. It might have something to do with all the weapons strapped to his body or the bloodthirst that emanates from him in waves. Who's to say?

"Wish I knew," he says, switching the phone irritably to the other ear, "but he's not answering my calls. He could just be taking a dump for all I know, but just in case..."

"I'll see what I can scrounge up, but I wouldn't hold my breath."

"You'd better hold yours if you don't find me anything."

Weasel ends the call. Just as well, Wade needs it for other things. One of the perks of being in a city bursting with cameras is that people have a habit of documenting every single thing they can about superheroes and supervillains. Mostly tourists, eager to snap a pic of the elusive Dare Devil, but plenty of locals too. There are enough pictures and videos floating around the Internet that there are even a few official Twibber tags for them. Wade punches in #SpideySpots and searches for the most recent post.

There are quite a few.

Spider-Man's debut after being MIA for a week was met with enthusiasm and well-wishes, a majority of them happy to have him back. The most recent post was an hour ago, down on 31st Street in Koreatown. They'd managed to snap a decent picture of Spider-Man as he swung by. Given that he's not just a red and blue blur, Spider-Man was going slow and taking his time, meaning he's not being chased or hurt. It's not much to go off of. Spider-Man moves fast, so there's a chance he'll be long gone by the time Wade gets there, but it's the only lead he has.

Every minute chips away like crumbling marble, not helped by every taxi on the street refusing to touch him with a nine-foot pole. He considers shoving aside the lucky ones who manage to flag a taxi down and take it for himself, or simply waving a fistful of Benjamin's until a cabbie tries their luck, but in the meantime, he runs.

He's just turning a corner when his phone rings. Assuming it's Weasel, he answers without hesitation. "You better have something for me, or I swear-"

"Whoa, simmer down," Tony Stark says, making Wade stumble, almost tripping over a dog nipping at his heels. "You're the one that told me to figure out how to contact you."

"How'd you get this number?" Wade demands. "I don't remember winking and slipping you a napkin."

"Tracked you down, hacked your phone, no biggie. I have a question."

"Oh, in that case, we'll just brush aside your blatant disregard for privacy and the steaming pile of rich privilege shit that allows you to get away with it. What's up?"

"Where the HELL did you get this drug?"

Wade groans in annoyance, cutting across the street and flipping off a car that almost hits him. "I thought we went over this already. We just got it off some guys we stumbled on. No, I don't remember their names. No, I don't know where they came from. And, no, I don't know where they are now. I named one Ponytail, if that helps."

"It doesn't. Where's Spider-Man? I want to talk to him."

"Yeah, well, that's not going to happen."

Tony gets more annoyed after receiving the news that Spider-Man is gone and that Wade doesn't know where he is, to say the least.

"How could you lose him?!" He demands.

"Oh, I'm sorry I can't be everywhere at once, Iron Dick. I was a little busy talking to you, so when you really think about this, it's actually all your fault."

"Not, it's not."

"We'll leave it open for debate. Comment below who's to blame. Iron-Dickwad, or me. Tiddie pics to those who vote for the billionaire who hacked my phone without permission."

"What are you even-" Tony starts but takes a deep breath, re-orientating himself. "Just, whatever. I don't even care. Give me his number."

Wade snorts, cutting through an alley. "No offense, but I don't think you're his type."

"The number, Deadpool."

"The position of lover is already being considered for someone else. I'm someone else. My interview is this Friday. This is my dream job, would you really crush a poor Canadian's dream?"

"Deadpool," Tony snaps, almost snarling into the phone, "His NUMBER. Now. I can track his phone. It'll be a hell of a lot easier than scrolling through Twibber tags."

Wade gasps and sputters, "Are you hacking more of my shit?! The fuck is wrong with you, man? This is an incredibly unhealthy habit and I'm calling the police."

"Tell my therapist about it. The number?"

"Yeah, you're right, the police won't do shit anyway. The US justice system is a total piece of garbage."

"Do you WANT Spider-Man to say missing?" Tony demands. "They could be dumping his body in a river by now. Just give me the damn number before I find it in your contacts myself. I'm being courteous right now."

Wade hesitates on the wire fence he's climbing over. "You're going to look at all his junk. Spidey likes staying anonymous for a reason."

"Are you really pulling this shit right now? Does it fucking matter?"

"Yes, actually, it does," Wade snaps, cutting between two buildings. "He bitches about it so much, I know it matters. He's going to flip his shit if he finds out you snooped through his phone."

"Yeah, and he could also be dying in a ditch right now, too. I think there are more important things to worry about."

As much as it makes Wade want to throw up, Tony has a point. Peter could be in danger right now. He could be hurt. Each minute ticking by without finding him makes it that much harder to track him down.

Still, Spider-Man safeguards his identity obsessively. Wade only managed to figure it out because, for some unforeseen reason, he'd gained a level of trust with the other man (and because he's fucking good at his job, not to toot his own horn.) Spider-Man makes it a point to tread carefully around SHIELD, the Avengers, and even other vigilantes to make sure they weren't going to slip a tracker on him or try to follow him home. He always looked over his shoulder, always kept his ear to the ground, and always covered his tracks. For Wade to come in and ruin all those years of anonymity would be crushing. He'll kick his ass, mummify him in webs, and dangle him over the side of a building as a warning to anyone else trying to dig up his information.

But...

Wade runs a hand over the top of his head, agitated. Tony has a point. Does it matter how upset Peter will be later if he's dying right now? Maybe that's a bit dramatic. This is Spider-Man, after all. He's picked himself up from more than one gruesome battle.

But worry rattles in Wade's chest. Peter had only just finished molting and his skin is still so sensitive. What if something happened?

Well, you better make a decision fast, the voices say. To tell or not to tell, that is the question. I bet Tony's just itching to get his gold-plated fingers all over that number so he can blackmail Peter into joining the Avengers. Or signing some superhero restrictions act. Are we sure this isn't the Civil War arc?

Wade waves his hands around his ears as if to physically shoo away the voices. He drops his hand, heaving a loud, frustrated sigh at the smog, and presses the phone back to his ear. "Fine," he barks. "But you have to promise you're only going to track his number. No digging into all his private junk, got it?"

"Fine, whatever."

"Don't 'fine, whatever,' me, young man. I know you rich fucks think you can do whatever you want, so this is your only warning. If you even think about peeping into his stuff, I'm going to crawl up your sewer pipes and shove my gals so far up your ass, Jim Henson is going to slap some felt on you and call you a Muppet."

"Geezus, alright. Calm your tits."

"My tits will not be calm. They'll bounce as they were meant to."

"Just give me the damn number."

Wade rattles off the number, hating the sinking pit in his stomach. "Remember your promise," he warns. "And give me an address."

"Just when I didn't think you could get any more annoying," Tony says, and then goes quiet for a few seconds. "Bingo. His phone pinged at five-hundred west in Chelsea, close to the Piers. He hasn't been gone long, right? He should be relatively close to that area."

"I'm close by, I'll head that way."

"I'm faster. I'll meet you there."

"Uh, who said you were invited?"

"I did. This drug you dropped off is potent is HELL, and it's full of all sorts of complicated, concerning shit that I'm not even going to bother trying to explain to you. Point is, if this stuff gets out, or reaches a completion stage, we've got a big problem on our hands. I'm nipping this in the bud now."

"You Avengers are so pushy," Wade grumbles. "Always weaseling your way into other people's turfs. Dare Devil spilled all the hot gossip. But also, hold your horses. Chillax and sip some booze, I know your alcoholic ass is itching for it."

"Do you have no filter?"

"I'm offended you don't know the answer to that."

"I'm not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you botch his whole operation."

"Yes, you are. I don't know if you know this, Richie, but you don't exactly blend in with that shell of yours. If you go flying in there, they'll see you coming from a mile away."

"Not if I fly fast enough."

"How about no? Who know's what they'll do to Spidey if you drop in unannounced? They'll use him for leverage and that's going to piss him off even more. I'll go first, and if you must tag along, then I'll let you know when you can pop their cherry."

"Since when do you know anything about stealth?"

"Hey, I broke into your liquor cabinet and peed in the scotch once, and you never found out."

"You WHAT?!"

"Exactly my point. Hold your horses and let me handle this. I'll call you for backup."

Tony gripes and grumbles, and tells JARVIS to throw out all the liquor, but begrudgingly agrees. Good, Wade's tired of negotiating. His fingers itch and his weapons are heavy. He needs to burn off this energy building in his limbs, and he knows just where to start.

He heads in the direction of Chelsea.