Good soldiers didn’t work in armies, like the books stated or the legends proclaimed. Good soldiers knew that relying on other people made you soft. It made you weak. It meant that you trusted someone else to watch your back instead of surveying the environment for yourself. Stick claimed all of this and more as he was training a young Matt Murdock, yet it transpired that the whole time, Stick had an army behind him all of his own – the Chaste, an army that fell long before Matt could join their ranks, long before he could even consider what it meant to be one of them.
Good soldiers wouldn’t trust someone like Deadpool, at least not on the surface. At the start, Matt tried dropping off the edges of buildings and dodging anywhere with his unique trademarks in an attempt to avoid the man entirely, but Deadpool was… well, he was like a bad penny. He turned up at the slightest provocation and he stuck to his side like a lichen. Over time, much like an over attached puppy, he started to grow on a person.
Matt would die before he admitted it, though.
Under his helmet, Matt’s jaw clenched as he made his way up onto the rooftop. “Better than DD,” he muttered, although it was a tight competition for most irritating reaction to his superhero name. (Jessica would enjoy it, he figured. She enjoyed anything that took some of the dark and brooding out of his nighttime activities.) Matt stood, arms crossed, waiting for Deadpool to finish up his level … only to flinch slightly when the other man fell back dramatically.
“Feeling’s mutual,” Matt deadpanned. “Now that you’re done defeating fictional supervillains, how do you feel about helping me with these ones?” For Deadpool’s benefit, he’d got Jess to write down a quick summary of the gang they were tracking tonight on a piece of paper, which he tossed over towards Deadpool. “Do we need to go through the ground rules?” No talking, no flirting, no killing. Three very simple terms and conditions … which Deadpool managed to subvert spectacularly and uniquely every. Goddamn. Time.
“You’re happy to see me? Awww, Devvy-egg~” Wade’s faux-panda eyes filled with fictional tears, and he sniffled dramatically before Daredevil’s serious-voice kicked in. “Right. I guess I can kill some –– I mean, uh...” Daredevil had rules. A lot like his baby boy, Petey. Wade reached for the paper, humming like he was even somewhat comprehending the information before him, and most definitely not thinking about the newest episode of Teen Titans: Go! that would be on his stolen DVR when he got home. “Totally do-able. Like yo–”
Lips pursed behind his leather mask, Wade stopped himself from finishing his sentence. The man’s “rules” were always so hard to follow! Pouting, Wade clapped the smaller man on the shoulder, knowing he would see it coming despite not actually seeing it coming. ...Because he was blind. Haha. Funny joke, right readers? No? Yeah, a little too problematic, I guess.
“Uh. Anyway – what were these guys doing anyway? Other than being baddies, of course.” Slowly, Wade’s steel-toed boot reached out to gently tap at Daredevil’s, the mutant giggling the moment they touched. “Hehe. Footsies.”
