Deadpool and Peter | Anybody Home
I think everyone’s got a point in their lives where they have to look at where they are and look at how the hell they got there. You know, consider what brought you around, what kind of decisions you made that put you into the position that you’re in, if it’s worth it, all of that. In my case, it’s trying to figure out why the hell I’m dangling from a goddamn widow ledge in Queens in the middle of five o’clock rush.
He shifted his grip once more on the rough concrete edge, thankful that he was flexible. I know a whole other group of people who are thankful that I’m flexible, too. Maybe not really the time for that, though.
You think?
No need to be rude.
I’m not being rude, you’re being rude.
Right. Because you’ve never done anything wrong in your life.
I’ll have you know--
A low growl pushed up from the base of Wade’s chest, gritting his teeth as the tension from holding himself in place started to burn in the tendons of his fingers.
“Guys, guys, you’re both pretty, but can we move on from this, seriously? I can actually feel pain in my thigh so that probably means I’m breaking something. Maybe. I never really know with this.”
Then nothing.
“Thank you.”
There were always the golden moments of silence from both yellow and white that followed in a life-or-death situation. Maybe it was why Wade was eager to put himself in harm’s way, but that was more of a conversation for a therapist, wasn’t it? He was sure he’d make a goddamn treat for some budding masters-to-doctorate out in New York City. Might even give him treatment for free. Or, you know, the cost of a permanent admittance. It was the kind of thing that when it happened once you didn’t forget about it.
He put his heel up further on the edge of the ledge, hauling himself up the rest of the way with a scrambling foot on the flat of the wall until he was perched animal like on the sparse bit of edge in front of the bathroom window. Shifting his weight seemed to be the more detrimental movement here. He planeted his feet firm and unyielding on the ledge as he put his hands on the window itself, cramped into the small space.
Now, when you lived in as many different apartments as Wade had, you learnt that they all had a lot of things in common. For instance, if you figured out how to get blood out of one of the drab, off-white carpets, you could probably get it out of all of them; if the front door had a simple key-and-bolt locking system, they could all be opened the same way; almost all buildings had the same windows and almost all push panel windows had the same weak spot. He put his forearm right under the parallel bar that separated the two panes, his left hand flat against the bottom pane. With his right, he pulled one of the smaller knives from his person, tip poised against the separation. From then, it was just a simple matter of a push, a stab, and a twisting motion. A nearly manic smile split across his face when he heard the telltale click that it was indeed open. He shimmied the window open before scurrying inside.
He didn’t make a habit of breaking-and-entering. At least not without a guaranteed job on the inside. For the most part, when Wade went into someone’s home, there was a good chance that they were not coming back out. In this case, Wade was simply after information. A list of wanted folks with names that children usually looked up to promised at least two months of worry-free living. It wasn’t like Wade wanted to do this, he honestly liked most of the guys, but better him (who would bring them in alive guaranteed) than the other assholes he called friends from Sister Margret’s. He’d glanced the list over and it’d been pretty self explanatory. It was a matter of whether you wanted to take on America Incarnate, the face of the Red Scare, a Halloween Decoration, or one of the two birds of prey. Or, of course, there was the actual God and Jolly Green Giant. Getting intel first wasn’t the worst thing that Wade could do and if anyone was going to know where Dr. Banner was, it was going to be Tony Stark.
And if anyone was going to have dirt on Tony Stark, it was going to be his plucky little intern.
The apartment wasn’t much in Wade’s opinion. Perhaps a little nicer than he was personally used to, but that really wasn’t saying anything at all. Sure, mercenary work made a pretty chunk of change, but between constantly moving places, rent, utilities, cat food, replacements knives, amo, guns, and the ridiculous amount of food Wade had to eat to keep up with his regenerating body, money got sparse very quickly. Still, the kid’s place was nice for a college habitation and upon a quick inspection of the living room, he found his ideal perch. Swords on the floor, legs crossed, Wade settled back into a recliner, shimmy down into a comfortable spot facing front door.
Now to wait.