Yes, it has been a while with this one. But seriously. Try writing a sprawling epic with an actual pseudo-plot thrown in there with all the loose ends that this thing has. Rest assured that this story will be completed. This is my baby. I just kinda dropped it off at the baby-sitter's…for a couple of months…
When Wade says things, it usually should be taken with a grain of salt. An odd term that, which merely meant that Wade was a raving nut but sometimes, what he says is true. When he'd said that he'd been followed the other day, Logan had done some checking. It wasn't that he doubted the other man…he just didn't feel comfortable taking his word for it.
Logan tracked guns, blood, and something sterile all the way to New York City and a bar – which was just so original; he'd bet twenty the main headquarters was 'hidden' in a warehouse. In any case, he really hated when Wade was right. He hadn't expected Weapon X to show up that quickly or to be this sloppy. He was starting to get where Wade was; this was insulting.
Logan did not take insults lying down. Wade took insults any way they were dished out, turned around, and shoved them right back down the person's throat. Logan was tense on a regular basis; it was healthy for him. Then Raven's reappearance which he handled mostly by not thinking about it; that didn't work. Let's not forget Rogue's little…involvement; it'd been a long while since he'd had an excuse to dismember someone. When he found the cockroaches meeting place, Logan also found a wonderful place to relieve tension.
It was so great how life worked sometimes.
A few nights later, Wolverine and Deadpool had a little roadtrip. It was, in fact, the same night Rogue and her friends had their night out on the town. This is largely inconsequential, save for a short phone call from Logan to Rogue once Wade remembered he was supposed to be telling him about Rogue leaving to…somewhere. He hadn't yelled or hit him. Instead, he repressed it.
Then the Wolverine and the Merc walked into a bar: a bar which was a total hole in the wall to a bunch of worthless sleaze balls and Weapon X grunts. The two mutants proceeded to trash the bar, mostly using the various men who insisted on charging them and throwing them, tables, and whatever else at the Weapon X grunts with the guns.
It was liberating.
In little time, the floor was practically carpeted with the bodies of mostly breathing men. Boot firmly planted on a random grunt's neck, sword situated near the nether regions of another, and gun leveled at another's temple, Deadpool grinned behind his mask.
"I have so missed moments like this, haven't you, Jimmy?"
Wolverine's fist was on one man's throat. Two claws were fully extended into the wall behind him. The middle one just touched the man's Adam's apple. The man's breathing was panicked and stutter, causing his throat to move. The sharp metal nicked his flesh, and the barest bit of blood leaked from the cut. Total fear showed on his face, and he froze, not breathing, not blinking.
Wolverine chuckled. "I hate agreeing with you, but yeah. So…which one do you think'll talk first?"
The masked man made a show of taking a keen look at each of the four conscious men.
"Well, that depends. My good man Tom down here seems likely. I mean, I don't know many guys who'd rather have their throats crushed under my size twelves than spill their guts. I mean that figuratively, in this case. Then again, you, Dick," the gun was pressed more firmly against the other man's head, "will have a hole in your head, and nobody needs another of those, right?"
He was rambling, and enjoying it so much. Wolverine would indulge him, this once.
"On the other hand," he addressed the third, very unfortunate man, "my friend Harry here would have the most to lose. You guys would just die, with little to a lot of pain. But this dude will have to live the rest of his pathetic live as a Harriett, and then die a horrible death later on." He gave the man a serious look. "I'll be honest. I'm not licensed to do surgeries."
The so-dubbed Harry just gaped at him, while 'Tom' had passed out from the fact Deadpool actually was applying a bit of pressure to his throat, and 'Dick' looked like he was going to piss his pants any minute now. It's sad to say, Wolverine's new friend already beat him to that trick.
"So who wants to be a snitch?" Deadpool asked cheerfully.
Everyone still conscious raised their hands.
Wolverine stood in the shadow of a dark alley. The smells and sounds of the city hit his sense, but he blocked them out for the distractions they were. He focused his attention on large structure across the street, standing near two stories tall. The location had several identical buildings on either side of the street. There were light posts toward the front near the street, but at the back of the building, only a single light bulb hanging over the back door provided light. The lights of the city couldn't stretch this far over the distance from there to several streets over, where the city stood proper.
Merely, it was a point of fact that the warehouse districts were rarely well-lit. That's right. Warehouse. Someone owed Logan twenty bucks.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Deadpool whispered, crouched across from him and fingering his gun.
"I mean, really, really, really, super sure?"
Wolverine looked at him. Deadpool was staring at the building, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. His fingers were tapping out a beat on the side of his pistol.
"Considering you removed the man's toe, and the place has their scent around it, I'd say sure."
"Great. It's after twelve by a lot. So that just means our boy is late. That is just so inconsiderate and typical. Doesn't he realize that people don't have the time or patience for this? I am missing Golden Girls for this? That's it! He's getting punched in the face. I don't care –"
It was at that point that Wolverine tuned him out. That tension was coming back again. Slowly but surely.
Stakeouts sucked eggs.
Just when Wolverine was about to claw out Deadpool's voice box – which experience told him would give him about ten minutes of quiet – their boy showed finally made his appearance.
A roaring motor was heard before a stream of headlights bounced off of one of the other warehouses up the street. It was a loud rumble, almost deafening in the relative silence. The familiar curves and lines of a green, fifth generation Camaro shot around the corner at a dangerous speed and then smoothly stopped in front of their target warehouse. The door was pulled open from the inside by an unseen worker, and the car surged through. The door slid closed behind it, and the two mutants looked at each other.
"Was that –"
"I thought it blew –"
"Huh. Well, I probably shouldn't use the grenades then."
Warehouses were often used for not so savory meetings and hangouts mainly because of the convenience. They were large enough to store all of the tech that had to be shipped and what they needed to use. There was also plenty of room for all of the men amongst the rows and stacks of crates for a fifth generation Camaro to park and easily maneuvering around it, maintain a radius of ten feet.
The door opened, and a cowboy stepped out of car. A Weapon X agent immediately approached him then took a quick step back from the car.
"Sir. We have a situation."
The black man adjusted the tan cowboy hat and shut the car door with a gentle hand.
"Can you walk and talk, boy?"
"Let's go then."
The younger man led the way through a maze of crates, past armed men on patrol and men standing guard. He delivered the report quickly and concisely, and in all his many years in service, John 'Kestrel' Wraith had never met a bigger suck up.
At the end of the walk, a screen bank of monitors showed footage of the surrounding area. Two men showed on one screen, and in a moment, they drifted off the screen like shadows. On either side of the monitors, two armed guards stood and the same suck-up who'd fetched him was working the controls of the system.
"How long they been there?"
"A few hours, sir. What are your orders, sir?"
"Take a break for a while."
"But…sir, I don't think –"
Kestrel never heard the rest of what he did not think because the man's neck broke in his hands. Before either of the guards could level their guns on him, Kestrel had put a bullet in both of their heads. He then added a few more to the torsos in a sporadic pattern. He pushed the first man out of the chair before taking his place and set to work scrambling the video feed, erasing the footage of two old friends sneaking in the back door. Not long after the screens were shut down, the gun fire, off-key singing, and screaming started. Leaning forward and cupping his chin in his hands, he settled to wait. He looked at the dead man cooling at his feet and blinked.
"Trust me; I did y'all a favor."
Not only were warehouses convenient for the people who'd initially used them, they were also pretty wonderful for other people. People who skulked around dark hallways on silent feet, ghosting around as many guards until one poor lackey finally spotted them.
"Freeze!" he called out.
Deadpool aimed an assault rifle at him.
"Fire!" he cried out and did as he said.
That naturally drew the attention of all of the men they'd managed to avoid and everyone else. They shot at him and while many hits landed, the bullets did nothing to stop him. Armed with a rifle and a handgun, Deadpool unleashed a sporadic hail of lead upon the men with utter glee. In fact, he even sang his own version of a song as he did.
"Oh mama! Mama, mama! I just shot a man down! And another! And another one! And a dozen man!"
Behind him, a separate troop of men were trying to sneak up on him.
"Shoot him!" one ordered.
He was answered with a wet 'Hrk' and turned around enough to have three massive claws miss his face and instead take off his left ear. He fell to the ground, clutching the side of his head screaming. His attacker, the fully feral Wolverine, wasted no more time on him and threw himself at another man. Between the two of them, they made steady progress cutting though their numbers. In little time, the warehouse resembled the bar they vacated earlier, only with more blood and corpses.
Deadpool poked one man's chest with the flat of his katana and sighed.
"They just don't make goons like they used to."
"Stop wasting time," Wolverine said as he wiped his claws off with a scrap of shirt and stalking around the bodies. "Cops're gonna come see what all that gunfire was about and we still –"
"Have to talk to me?" a familiar voice asked.
Rather than jump, Deadpool pointed and shot out of reflex. Fortunately, Kestrel figured he'd do that and teleported in front of him.
"That's a good way to get shot," Wolverine said, tossing the cloth over his shoulder.
"John Boy!" Deadpool cried and immediately lunged forward to glomp the black man.
Kestrel sidestepped the flying tackle and addressed Wolverine.
"You wanted to talk?"
"John!" Deadpool cried again and this time successfully hugged the man. "I missed you so much!"
"You just saw me a couple of months ago and didn't hug me. Stop it!"
"Look at this! The old crew together again," Deadpool reached for Logan who weaved around his grasping hand. "This is such a Kodak moment!"
"Victor ain't here," Wolverine put in.
"I meant everyone who matters and not dead!"
Kestrel pushed himself out of the madman's bear hug and straightened his hat.
"You know, I always forget how crazy you are."
"Thanks, man. Oh, and dude, you stole the car?"
"Like that's the worst thing I've ever done."
"Enough," Wolverine said. "We don't have time for small talk. John, do you know anything about what Weapon X is planning? Why are they still after us?"
"Don't be stupid. These guys will never let you go. Not for real. You forget, they put a lot of time and money into you, the both of you."
"Time and money?" Deadpool quipped. "I actually always forget that. Probably 'cause of all the sharp, pointy things they shoved in, too."
"Things are the same as ever around here. It doesn't change. Just different places, different faces. I know about one new project though. Heard some talk about it. It's called the Sentinel Project. I don't know any details, but it's supposed to be some kind of battle suit."
"That's all you know?"
"It ain't like they hand out newsletters on the latest projects. Although," Kestrel fished a USB stick out out his pocket, "they still leave such interesting info the in the damndest places."
He tossed it to Wolverine who caught and pocketed it. Deadpool stood next to Kestrel, arms crossed and amused.
"Say it," he coaxed.
"What?" Wolverine replied.
He hadn't the slightest clue what Deadpool meant. It was impossible to follow the man's train of thought.
"Tell him thank you. Go on. He deserves it. Say it."
Kestrel smirked. "It's cool, Wade. He doesn't have to say it."
"Yeah, I'm too busy wonderin' what you're gettin' out of this."
"Logan. Come on, you know me."
"I do. Which is exactly why I'm wondering."
"Let's just say if I ask a favor, you do it no questions asked."
Wolverine nodded. "All right. Wade, let's go."
"One thing! Real quick," Deadpool turned to Kestrel, "You know if you walk away from this without a mark, your people will be suspicious. I mean, we know you're good, but we're the best."
Logan gave Kestrel a questioning look.
"Him or me?"
"Guy with a metallic skeleton or Wade…this is karma at its finest," Kestrel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Would you rather I shoot you?"
Kestrel considered it for a long moment.
"Once. In the arm, through and through, and don't hit an artery."
Deadpool checked to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber, scoffing. "Puh-lease," he leveled the gun at him, "Like I'm an amateur."
He pulled the trigger.
The next morning, after the children had been sent off to school, Ororo was surveying the aftermath of another breakfast. Plates of food were stacked precariously on the counter, two dozen glasses were scattered around the room, and various spills littered the table, counter, and stove. The orange juice and milk were left out, half a banana was floating in a bowl of half-eaten cereal, and it looked like someone had crumbled an entire bagel onto the floor. She looked up. At least there was no food on the ceiling today.
The white haired woman began cleaning the mess by washing up the dishes. At that moment, Wade walked into the kitchen room wearing his mask, a wife beater, and boxers with his masked face on them. She looked next to her when he came to retrieve a bowl from the cabinet next to her.
"Good morning, Wade."
"Eh, if you say so."
"Is something wrong?"
He turned to the opposite counter, picked up a box of Flaky Frosties, dumped what little remained into his bowl, and added Loopy Fruits to the mix along with Shamrock Charms.
"Nope. Everything's pretty much the standard way of things. And things with me are kinda always one big SNAFU so that really does explain everything you need to know."
Ororo frowned at him while he poured milk into his bowl.
"I don't understand."
"Don't feel bad. Not a lot of people do. I can count on one hand how many people actually understand me."
"That's certainly not surprising," Emma said as she strutted into the kitchen. "You're a rather special case."
"Aw, and you're just a peach," Wade said. "And when I say peach, I really don't mean peach."
The blonde woman merely arched perfectly sculpted brow and went about making her tea.
"Good morning, Emma. How's your nose?" Ororo asked gently, and Wade snorted milk through his nose.
"Much better, thank you. Fortunately, it wasn't broken, and the swelling's gone down quite a bit."
"Sure it has," Wade muttered in between bites.
Emma's piercing blue eyes zeroed in on a suitably unimpressed Wade. At least he wasn't impressed with her eyes. He was looking too low for that. Emma looked him over quickly, a delicate sneer on her flawlessly crafted face.
"Why does your underwear have your face on it?"
"It's not my face. It's my mask."
"All right. Why does your underwear have pictures of your mask on it?"
"For one thing, it's a good opener for marketing opportunities and getting word out there about the products. I have T-shirts, gloves, jewelry, boots, belt buckles, coffee mugs...other stuff. There are some people in a sweat-shop working on evening wear and bags, but I'm not really liking the designs so far."
"Evening wear?" Emma said bemusedly.
"As for the boxers, some people have Batman underwear, I have Deadpool underwear. Heck, Batman has Deadpool underwear."
"Batman is not real. And even if he were, I doubt he'd be caught dead in those cheap things."
"I'll have you know these are not cheap! This is excellence, and Ting Ting works her knobby, arthritic fingers to the bone on this kind of quality stitching and weave. Besides, honey, not that I'm complaining, I know you don't wanna be talkin' to anybody about clothes seeing how little experience you have with them."
With a pointed looked to what she called a shirt, that in reality showed too much skin to be qualified as such, and to her pants that were tight enough to cut off the circulation of a broom handle, Wade turned up his nose and walked past her.
"Good day to you."
Emma whirled on him, not content with him having the last word, "You –"
"I said, good day!" Wade snapped.
Emma huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at the doorway.
"Oh! Can you believe that man?"
"No, I cannot," Ororo smiled. "I had no idea Wade was so entrepreneurial."
Wow. Wade seemed almost normal through most of this. Oh, horrors of horrors, have I lost the magic crazy? Say it ain't so!
It has occurred to me that my alternate universe needs its own name, like the Red Witch's. Suggestions?