Say Anything…Except That

Chapter 21: Crazy With A Chance of Murder

By Cortexikid

Hey guys, I'm so—

You have some fucking nerve.

I know, Deadpool. I'm so sorr—

Save it. I don't even know who you are anymore.

Oh come—

Seriously, what's your name again? Crabbykid? I mean, I know I've made jokes about you taking three years to update but dayum, writer lady. You're really goin' for gold, aren't ya?

Wade I—

Just what the hell was so goddamn important for a fucking YEAR that you had to abandon me, Peter, your incredible readers, me, Aunt May, me, The Avengers, ME—

I was getting my Master's Degree!

Oh well ex-cuuuuuse me, Ms Fancy-Pants-Think-I'm-So—

Peter is also getting his Master's Degree, don't forget.

Yeah, because Peter's awesome.

And I'm not?

No. You suck ass.

I thought that was your thing?

It would be if you actually got around to actually writing it, fuck wad.

Well, as lovely as this has been…wanna catch people up?

Hmm…let's see. Trump's SCROTUS—

POTUS.

Same diff. Hugh Jackman hung up his Wolverine claws, the Babadook is the new gay icon, Ryan Reynolds fulfilled my dream of sticking his tongue down Andrew Garfield's throat, and that's what you missed on Glee.

I kinda meant catch people up on what's going on in the story?

Shit, I'm not doing your job for ya, writer lady. Not my fault you're the slowest writer in history. You just want me to remind YOU BECAUSE IT'S BEEN 17 FUCKING YEARS—

Wade…

Ugh, fine! Me and Petey made sweet and tender love, then harder and rougher, then—

I kinda meant plot-wise, Wade?

Who gives a shit about plot? We all know why we're really here.

But—

Yeah, butt. Dick too.

Jesus.

Actually, you know, what? Don't even sweat it about the 350-day absence.

Whoa. Really? I thought—

You've left me for some dumb Netflix show, I get it.

Great. Here we go.

I mean, sure, why wouldn't you go write fic for Stranger Things? It's new and flashy and everything I used to be…

Wade.

I'm the tired, chubby wife and it's the fresh, sexy mistress with an ass that just won't quit.

Speaking of, if you guys wanna read my Stranger Things fic—

Are you serious?! YOU COME INTO MY HOUSE—


306 Days In The Future…

He was beginning to lose consciousness. The pain ripping through him like hot knives through butter.

"Peter...Peter! Stay with me!"

His ears were full of cotton balls, they had to be. Everything just sounded so...distant. Like a horn through a fog, a splutter through water, a scream through a storm. Everything was just so far away from here.

Here was anger. Here was sadness. Here was pain.

He didn't want to be here anymore.

"Peter! Don't you dare close your eyes! Come on! Say something...say anything!"

Joseph Blye had never been particularly book-smart, didn't excel in academics in any subject at all, really. But he was good with his hands and had wicked aim. His father was a man that didn't care for academia, both he and his brother, Giovanni Sr. also men who were good with their bare, weathered hands, strong and unyielding. This served them well in their line of business over the years, they both pleased with each of their sons, the cousins, Gio Jr and Joseph - men with good, strong hands like their fathers before them.

Robert was different. He excelled in academia, in nearly every subject he took, which was a lot. Math, English, Science, History, Geography, you name it, Rob was at least good at it, if not great. Ever since he was a child, he would have his nose buried in some book as his brother and cousin played cops and robbers, reading about Gulliver's Travels as the other boys planned elaborate fictional heists.

So, it didn't come to much of a surprise to Joe when Robert told him he wanted to be an Elementary School teacher and was denouncing himself from the family, adopting his mother's maiden name - Hennessy, and moving to Brooklyn. Personally, Joe didn't give a shit what Robert did. They were close, sure, but not in the way that he could tell his older cousin what he thought of his life-choices. Gio on the other hand, he took it hard. He and Robert were close as kids, but gradually drifted as the former took up the family business and the latter shied away from it.

The older sibling naturally wanted to take care of his little brother, make sure he didn't make any damaging mistakes, but had to concede that despite missing him, Robert was better off out of the way, out of trouble. Out of the life that most Blyes were thrust into. Joe knew that this meant that Gio Jr got the brunt of Gio Sr's anger, his disappointment, his contempt. From the day Rob left, it had begun to tear the Blyes apart, a rip in the fabric of their family that would never be repaired.

It only got worse after he died.

Joe remembered the day he got the call. It was his aunt, voice shrill and broken as she tried to explain that there had been a fire and they couldn't find Robert. Joe nodded frantically and tried to sooth her as he raced to his aunt and uncle's home, only his right arm in his shirt sleeve, his left flapping in the wind behind him. It had been both a chaotic few hours (he'll never forget the hammering of his heartbeat in his ears) and a pensive few hours, each and every member of the Blye family's faces etched with worry as they wore the floor down with their pacing.

It was 5:30pm when the phone finally rang.

Ina Blye stared at it wide-eyed for several long moments before Gio Sr snatched it up and barked: "what?!"

Joe remembered how he tried to catch Gio Jr's eyes then, but those jade orbs were too busy being locked on Joe's uncle, Gio's father as his face gradually drained of all colour, his fist turning purple as he gripped the phone tighter and tighter.

It was an eternity before Blye Sr finally spoke.

"No...no, I—I can come identify him."

Joe's blood ran an icy cold, pumping through his veins like a broken faucet that had burst inside him as he stared at his uncle to his cousin and back again, mouth agape.

A noise, something unlike anything he had ever heard before, sounded to his left. Whipping around, he realised it had come from Gio Jr and was still emitting from him as if he had no control over it. It was awful, animalistic and raw, ripped from his throat where it had crawled its way up from deep in his chest.

It was what devastation sounded like.

Pain.

Anguish.

Grief.

All rolled into that one unforgettable sound that Joe still heard in his dreams to this day. It was what he was hearing now as he fought to wake up, scratching desperately at the recesses of his brain to try and force himself into consciousness. His thoughts shoved to the periphery of his mind, mentally screaming from the side-lines as he was forced to do things out of his control time and time again like a puppet on strings, he tried to cut himself free, break from this stasis he had fallen into.

No, he had been put into.

This was something that had been done to him. He knew that much.

How had that happened again?

"...Blye? Mr Blye, can you hear me?"

Huh. That was new.

A voice, muffled and distant and unfamiliar was calling out to him as a blinding light began to shine right in front of his eyes, a dancing orb bouncing back and forth. He reached out with his hand to bat it away, but found that he had no hands, no limbs, no body at all. He was merely...there. Wherever there was.

"Mr Blye...Joseph...can you hear me?"

The light was getting brighter and brighter, burning into his retinas as he squinted, struggling to see through the shine. With no tangible arms to speak of, he could do nothing to shield his face as the unyielding light grew stronger and stronger. Just as it became unbearable, he finally managed to close his eyes. The light still shone through his lids however, the voice taking on a hardened edge:

"Joseph! Joe! You need to wake up now."

There was that voice again. Still unfamiliar, still annoying. Why couldn't it leave him alone?

He didn't like being in this place, this nothingness, but didn't like the idea of what may await for him when he awoke from here either.

"Joe!"

Well, look like he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. With an inward groan, Joe felt himself being slowly dragged to consciousness as if a large tarp was being pulled from off his slumbering mind. Bit by bit, feeling came back to him, first in his toes, then in his fingers, spreading rapidly down his arms and up his legs, across his waist and up his chest. His skin was singing with sensation, a burst of goose bumps covering every inch of his skin right up his hairline as he began to register sound. An incessant and steady beep. An odd scratching. Short even breaths that weren't his...

His eyes slid open, bouncing around in his skull for a moment before he managed to focus. There, inches from his face was a deep brown, so rich it was almost black, no, they were almost black. Two of them. Eyes. Unfamiliar eyes.

"Welcome back."

That voice, it was the same as what he heard in his dream, not-dream, whatever.

"W-Where..."

Holy shit his throat was on fire.

Spluttering, Joe tried to sit up as a round of harsh coughs clawed up his throat but found that he was glued to the spot, his arms bound to his sides. The pair of eyes, which belonged to a man that actually looked vaguely familiar, narrowed, before he produced a glass of water, so beautiful Joe almost wept at the sight, a long straw sticking out of it, tilted down towards his lips. Ravenously, Joe surged forward as much as he could, clasping his teeth around the straw and gulping down the liquid, the coldness of it a soothing balm for his raw throat.

After several moments of frenzied gulps, Joe finally let the straw fall from his lips, gasping for air.

"You good?" the now-kinda-recognizable man asked, eyes lowering a little to catch his gaze.

Joe nodded, still not quite ready to talk.

The man took a step back, placing the now-empty glass on the bedside table and glancing down at a clipboard in his hands, pen flying across the page.

Well, there was the source of the scratching.

After what could have been a minute, an hour, or several days to the disorientated Joe, the man looked up from his notes and offered him a small yet grim smile.

"Mr Blye, my name is Bruce Banner."

Oh yeah. Definitely familiar.

"I'm here to talk to you about your cousin."

An icy dagger pierced Joe's heart at those words. Biting his bottom lip, he took one or two more steadying breaths and forced out, his raw tone barely above a whisper:

"I got a big family. You gotta be more specific."

He really didn't, though. Joe knew the second the words left Banner's mouth which cousin he was talking about.

It could only be Gio.

It was always Gio.

And Joe had a feeling that he may be a little less dead that previously thought.

Call it a hunch.


Foggy Nelson was an all-out pacifist. He was a lover, not a fighter. He was a man of words, a man of negotiation, a man who believed in arguing points verbally, a sharp tongue his sword. But that didn't mean he couldn't kick ass when he needed to.

Case in point:

"I hate you, Matty. So fucking much," the aforementioned lawyer gasped, candlestick held high over his head as he stared down at the very crumpled, very unconscious man sprawled on the floor.

"Nah," Matt Murdock waved his hand dismissively, taking off his Daredevil mask to grin at his best friend, "you love me."

Needless to say, breaking into a shady basement, clubbing a burly man over the head and stopping an attempted murder wasn't how either of them expected to spend their evening.

Well, not how Foggy expected to anyway.

"Dude, I just killed a man Clue-style. I fucking hate you."

"Relax Professor Plum, he's not dead. Just knocked out."

"Just knocked—" Foggy threw up his arms in exasperation, glancing around them, searching desperately for someone to commiserate with him for his fucked up situation and even more fucked up BFF, "just knocked out his says. Oh, well, that's just fine then. Just another Sunday night kickin' back with beers and unconscious men laying at our feet. Where's the Cheetos? Is there a game on?"

Matt shook his head as if he was actually the one who was exasperated and instead bent down to sling Gio Blye's henchman over his shoulder.

"You were the one who followed me here, Foggy."

The lawyer scoffed, a high-pitched noise emitting from his throat, "you leave me a voicemail telling me that Parker's whacko ex-boss gave him the address of an even wackier attempted-murderer and you actually expect me to stay put? Write some depositions? Work on my tan?"

[Is it obvious that writer lady has absolutely no idea what lawyers actually do?]

{Only thing more obvious is her complete and absolute failure at gaining pretty much any type of stable career}

{Whoa. Too real, man. Too real}

"This is what I do, Foggy. I'm not gonna—"

"Yeah, yeah," Foggy interrupted with a sigh, "let's shelve that worn argument for when we're not standing in a building that may go boom at any moment, 'kay?"

He had a point. Giovanni Blye was not a careless man. Matt could hardly be surprised that this entire place was pretty much a walking booby-trap.

[Haha he said—]

{Don't. Joke's already been done}

[Why you gotta do me like that?]

Upon arriving and sensing Foggy from several blocks away, Matt managed to stop him just before he stepped right onto a trip-wire as he approached the derelict house's porch. As he concentrated, he could sense various death-traps set up around the place, each one more intricate and elaborate than the first.

Giovanni Blye was one smart man.

And 1000% bat-shit crazy.

Matt moved around Blye's home-lab, shuffling papers in exasperation before shoving them into his friend's hands, his fingers brushing the back of his hands.

"Foggy, you're my best friend and I'll be damned if I'm not gonna do everything in my power to keep you saf—"

"I get it, I get it. You Tarzan, me Jane."

Matt's jaw clenched as he tightened his hold on Foggy's hands.

"Dammit, Foggy! This isn't about Daredevil. This isn't about my 'hero complex' or 'death wish' or whatever you're callin' it this week! This is about you and me. It's…it's always been about you and me. Can't you see that?"

Foggy's heart ricocheted off his ribcage in a timely rhythm, his pulse, despite it's speed, forever a lulling balm to Matt's fraying nerves.

Time stood still.

"Matt—"

"Can't you see how much you—how much I—"

"Matty, as much as I'd love to have this discussion right now, I really think we need to get the hell outta here."

Matt let out a breath, his own heart beating a mile a minute as he reflected on his own words, not even entirely sure where that last sentence was going.

[Lying liar who lies]

{Kinda goes with the territory}

Foggy's heart-rate spiked even further as Matt steeled to ask him:

"Why?"

His best friend's breath hitched a little as he shuffled the papers that were gripped tightly between them.

"Because, Matt. If I'm reading these right? There are people who are in a hell of a lot of danger…"


Natasha Romanoff was so done with this shit.

112% done.

And to top it all off, she missed Tony getting choked out. Twice.

Talk about the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Aww come on, Nat. I'm sure Tony will piss off someone else sooner or later. And when he does, I'll make sure to get a polaroid for you to hang on your wall," Clint Barton smirked as they stalked the halls of Skyline Laboratories.

"I'll hold you to that," she grumbled under her breath, pulling back the slide on her pistol.

{Polaroid? Really?}

[Clint is such an old man]

{Hot though}

[In an old man way]

{Dude. Renner's only like 5 years older than Reynolds}

[Shit]

{Think you might have a Daddy kink goin' on}

[Me and the rest of the Internet]

"Tony thinks that the trigger word is RCorp," Nat murmured under her breath as she and Clint turned a corner, heading towards a large ward.

"I'll do my best to not let that really specific word slip out," her partner deadpanned as they entered the ward and looked around.

It was near silent, deathly so. Rows of beds were laid out in front of them, each housing a comatose patient of various demographics – men, women and some as young as teenagers. Clint took the lead, Nat covering him as they made their way between the beds, checking for any sign of movement. Yet, nothing seemed disturbed. Heart monitors beeped, indicating life, but the bodies themselves were…still. Too still to be natural.

Natasha's gaze lingered across the many sleeping figures, young and old, her eyes catching on a young girl who couldn't be more than fourteen. She was small – short and petite in a way that suggested that she would not reach the average height for women in America, with red hair that lay limp atop her shoulders. She was ghostly pale, so much so that her freckles looked translucent—

"Uh…Nat?"

Romanoff's head snapped around to Barton who had gone stock-still in front of her, staring at something she couldn't see.

"You might wanna take a look at this."

Her guard well and truly up at the tone of his voice, she cautiously approached him, looking over his shoulder, her eyes falling on a large cylindrical object sitting ominously on the ward floor. The assassin and the archer watched wide-eyed as a little compartment of the cylinder opened and a long spike protruded from it, spraying something in their direction.

"Well," Clint murmured as the spray particles rose into the air and dispersed about the room, over the patients' beds, "that can't be good."


RCorp's new headquarters really didn't seem much different to its predecessor that Peter and Wade had ventured into the year before. Save for the molten heat, smoke and flames, it was pretty much identical. But, like most empty buildings, at night it gave off an ambiance that was downright creepy.

"I feel like we're in the first five minutes of Are You Afraid of the Dark," Wade mumbled as they made their way down the vacant corridor, their shadows bouncing off the dim casting of moonlight.

"I loved that show," Peter replied, his eyes ever-watchful, ears ever-listening for anything out of the ordinary.

"What can I say, Petey. Canada births the best."

"Canada birthed you?"

"Like a proud mama heifer."

Peter could see the door to the basement up ahead of them. He suppressed a shudder as memories started to assault him. He shook his head, once, twice, to try and rid himself of the image of Robert Hennessy's pale and unmoving hand that he just couldn't reach—

Fingers delicately clasped his. With a start, he looked down to find Wade's gloved-hand winding around his own, squeezing gently. Slowly, he raised his head, not for the first time that night wishing that he could properly see Wade's eyes from behind the red and black mask.

"You're not alone, Peter," Wade spoke softly and with more sincerity than Peter could ever remember him having, "we're in this together."

[ We're all in this together ]

{Don't ruin this with a High School Musical reference. Just, don't}

"He's gotta be down there, right?"

Wade turned his head to where Peter gestured.

"If I was a wackadoo supervillain, that's where I'd be."

['If' he says]

"It is where Henn—his brother died," Peter conceded before taking a deep breath.

Wade squeezed his hand again, "after you, baby boy. I got your back."


Peter Parker had the softest hair known to man. Well, known to Wade Wilson, anyway. To him, it was a fact, and there was nothing he liked more than raking his fingers through it. Well, maybe there was one thing he liked more…

Wade stared into the mirror, the image reflecting back at him taking his breath away.

There, right in front of him, stood Peter bent over the sink, strong arms quivering slightly as he fought to hold himself up, ecstasy washing over him as Wade pounded into him, over and over and over, their bodies rocking together in a wondrous rhythm, Peter's hair clenched in Wade's fist tightly.

"Mirror of Erised," the merc breathed, more to himself as he clutched at Peter's hip with his free hand, pulling the shorter man back onto his cock with such startling force that he let out a surprised gasp, quickly followed by a deep groan, his head tipping backwards to rest on Wade's shoulder, exposing his throat.

"Okay," he mumbled in confusion, "this is a really weird time to bring up Harry Potter."

"It's…it's like the book says," Wade scrambled to explain between thrusts, peppers his neck with kisses, "you—you look into the mirror and you see what you most desire most and I—I see you. And me. Not hot me. Me now. Ryan Reynolds crossed with a Shar Pei, me. That's what really freaked me out when we first did this. But now…" he trailed off, eyes slipping closed as Peter reached up to stroke himself, once, twice.

"Now it's not as hard to look at. Still...still hard. But not as much."

He felt rather than heard Peter's breathing change.

"Huh. We do make one hell of a picture," he mused, affection lacing his tone.

"Wade?"

"Did you say something, Pete?" he asked, lapping at the shorter man's jugular.

"No."

"WADE!"

"Are you sure? I could have sworn—"

"WADE! WAKE UP!"

He jumped, eyes bursting open. With laboured breath, he drank in his surroundings in confusion. He wasn't in Peter's bathroom anymore, not in Peter anymore…where—

"You awake?" a familiar voice asked.

His eyes snapped to Peter who was suspended several feet above him, slung up on what appeared to be a meat hook, hands and legs bound.

"What happened?" Wade grumbled, letting out a pained groan from his place on the ground, where he was chained by large and heavy (even for him) shackles.

"Something whammied us just as we got to the basement door, I think," Peter murmured, sounding a little more than groggy, still affected by whatever happened to them, certainly more so than the merc was.

"Ugh," he blanched, "my insides wanna become my outsides. What the hell—"

"Welcome to the party, boys," an unfamiliar voice called out, interrupting him, "sorry to interrupt whatever nice dream you were having Wade but, we have business to attend to…"

The two masked heroes tilted their heads at one another as the voice rang out in the darkness.

"Sure thing ominous voice, let's get to it," the mercenary replied with false cheer, "wanna do us a favour and step into the light? Or better yet, off a bridge?"

The voice let out a chuckle, "and there's that famous Deadpool wit I've heard so much about. You really do not disappoint, Mr Wilson."

With that, the sound of footsteps reached their ears before finally, a tall, dark-haired man was revealed in the dim moonlight, standing several feet in front of them.

"Lemme guess, Giovanni Blye?"

Blye let out another laugh, "got it in one."

"I thought you'd been decapitated?" Peter piped up for the first time, dragging Blye's attention away from Wade and onto him.

The smile from Gio's face vanished, morphing into an expressionless mass as he took several steps forward, his jade eyes boring a hole into Peter before he reached up and pulled the mask of his face, leaning in close to him.

"You've thought a lot of wrong things, Mr Parker. That's just one of the reasons you're here tonight…"

Peter stared him down, refusing to even blink.

"Why don't we skip the big-bad-villain speech and get to whatever your endgame is, Blye. I don't have time for theatrics."

That brought a smirk to Blye's lips.

Wade's blood ran cold at the sight, an uncomfortable feeling flowing up his spine.

[Uh oh. His spidey senses are tingling]

{Huh. And here I thought that only happened when he was turned on}

Turning on his heel, Gio called back over his shoulder, "you may not have time, Peter…"

He paused, leaning down to flip some sort of switch.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with a harsh artificial light, something akin to a hospital hallway. Wade's jaw dropped open at what it revealed. There, not twenty feet away from them, lay over a dozen children, sprawled out on the ground, none of them moving, their eyes closed.

"…but they have less."

Wade could see Peter struggling to get out of his binds but his movements were slow, sluggish. It was also probably the reason he had failed to react to something else that stood in the room that was all Wade could look at now. His gaze glued to it, ice seeping into his bloodstream at the sight.

A large, broken beam, identical to the one that had hindered them from saving Robert Hennessy one year ago creaked threateningly. But it was the singular, upturned hand that was peeking out from behind it that nearly stopped Wade's heart dead.

"EDDIE!" Peter roared.

The scene was so uncanny Wade felt as if his (and surely Peter's) nightmare had come to live in front of their very eyes. It was practically identical to the one they had walked in to all those months ago, down to the most minute detail. Well, all but one…

[Hoe, don't jinx it!]

{Sigh. Too late}

Blye's face broke out into a large, gleaming smile.

"What do ya say, boys?" he asked in a conversational tone as he retrieved a lighter from his pocket and flicked it, sparking its flame to life, "who wants a do-over?"


So, um… *waves* hi everybody. Long time, no see. I know, my bad. Between jobs and grad school and moving house and illness and thesis-writing and losing 75% of my hard drive, things just kinda got in the way for me. But dear god, how I still love this story. And I WILL finish it. It just may take me another while. Hopefully not another year, though. I just want to take this time out to sincerely thank each and every one of you for your patience and particularly the people who reached out in support with your kind words and cheer-leading. It has meant the absolute world to me. As someone who has wanted to be a writer since I was six years old, to know that people enjoy my work is the best compliment of—

Okay, okay, enough of the sappy shit. Give 'em the teaser already.

Well, uh, actually, I kinda wanted to talk about my project, you know, the one where I'm trying to write my own original book that has a similar humour to this, with LGBT+ themes and fun new characters and—

Yeah, nobody cares about that, writer lady. Give us the goods.

Sigh. Fine. But no porn. You're being super pissy so fuck you, you can wait.

Whatevs, thanks to you, I'm an ol' pro at that now. See you guys in like, 17-24 months!

17-24 months? What are you, a white suburban mom?

Yeah, and you're the neglectful husband. Fuck you and your mistress, Harold. Me and the twins, Hashtag and Legend-Horoscope are leaving!

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

"You're my rock," Wade smiled, serene and unnerving, "my paper, hell, my scissors too."

Peter's heart hammered in his chest, his eyes darting from Wade to Gio and back again.

"And you terrify me."

No, this couldn't happen.

This wasn't happening.

Gio took a step forward, eyes locked on Wade.

"Okay now, Wilson. Pick up your gun," he motioned, his movements practised.

Wade complied, picking up the gun from off the floor and holding it limply at his side.

"Good," Blye grinned so wide nearly all his top teeth were visible as he turned around to face Peter, "now, be a good mercenary and shoot your boyfriend."