(fanart by Honeybugs)

Issue 05: Hotdogs Don’t Solve Everything

“You did what?!”  Deadpool exploded angrily, almost dropping his hot dog.  With a quick scramble he was able to catch it before it fell six stories down.

“Look, it was a diner, a public place.  It was perfectly safe,” Spider-Man muttered.  There was a petulance to his tone that he didn’t intend.  He stared at his own hot dog, his appetite suddenly gone.

They were sitting on the edge of a mid-rise building overlooking the city, dining on hotdogs with the works.  A stone gargoyle sat between them, looking almost as if it were on fire from the last rays of the sun hitting it.  While they occasionally got a bite to eat after a patrol, this evening Spider-Man had picked up the hotdogs before he met up with Deadpool.  Considering what he had planned for the evening, they wouldn’t be getting any food after the mission.  Deadpool was so ridiculously happy for the hotdogs that Spider-Man felt a twinge of guilt.  The guilt lasted only until he glanced down at the folded up newspaper he’d left under the take-out drink holder, then his determination renewed.  Tonight was going to be their last mission together.

Besides the fact that there wouldn’t be a post-patrol celebratory meal, he figured eating would give Deadpool something to do so he would sit still long enough for Spider-Man to “wall of text” explain what was going on.  He thought he had a solid plan, but he hadn’t counted on Deadpool reacting so negatively to what he had done earlier that day.

“It wasn’t safe, baby-boy; you were meeting a drug dealer!” With his hot dog safe in hand again, Deadpool glowered over the gargoyle at Spider-Man.

Spider-Man glowered back at Deadpool.  He had been doing the hero thing for several years now and he didn’t need someone like Deadpool acting like he didn’t know what he was doing.

“I had it under control,” Spider-Man insisted. “I scoped out the location before I entered.   And as you can see, I survived just fine.”

Deadpool slumped and his aura radiated disappointment.  Seeing this, Spider-Man threw up his hands in exasperation, forgetting his hotdog which impacted the wall behind them with a wet splot.  “What’s the problem?” he demanded.

“You’re a hero–you’re not supposed to make drug deals,” Deadpool whined.  He protectively clutched his hotdog, glancing side-eyed at the splattered remains of Spider-Man’s dinner.

“I needed to so I can follow him to find the guy behind these drugs,” Spider-Man aimed for a patient explanation, but even he could tell his tone was too clipped.

“So we make him tell us who his boss is.”  Though he was pouting, there was a hard edge to Deadpool’s tone.

“That would be torture and heroes definitely don’t do that,” Spider-Man stated.  “Besides, this guy is only going to be loose long enough for us to track his boss, then he’ll be locked up as well.”

“But…” Deadpool started.

“No,” Spider-Man interrupted.  “Don’t even make jokes like that.  You can’t do anything even remotely villain-y right now—there are too many eyes on us.”

That seemed to catch the mercenary off guard.  “What do you mean?” he asked.

Spider-Man held up that morning’s newspaper.  In large black print on the front page, the title read “Double Infestation?  Two Spider-Men Terrorize New York!”

Deadpool took the newspaper from his hand and looked it over.  After several long moments he giggled in delight.  “They call me a ‘Spider-Man’!”

It was bad enough having a known mercenary around him without the mercenary being mistaken for him.  His public-standing was tenuous enough—he didn’t need to have people confuse Deadpool’s actions for his own.  “This isn’t funny!” Spider-Man snapped.

Deadpool stopped laughing and turned to Spider-Man.  His tone was dead serious as he said, “Of course it isn’t funny!  It’s down-right tragic!”  He held up the paper and pointed at it.  “This photo is too blurry and that angle is all wrong…it makes my butt look big!”  Deadpool shook his head in disappointment.  “We need to pick better poses for the next photograph.”

“There isn’t going to be a next photograph!” Spider-Man thundered as he snatched the newspaper out of Deadpool’s hand.  “And we don’t pose for photos!”

“But we do go on drug deals?” Deadpool asked pointedly.

“That was different!” Spider-Man insisted.  “I didn’t go in costume–I wasn’t ‘Spider-Man’ doing that.”

Spider-Man paused.  No, he wasn’t going to let Deadpool keep side-tracking him.  He shook his head.  He didn’t know why Deadpool was so hung up on this, but it didn’t matter.  He took a deep breath to calm himself.

After a long moment he continued.  “That was an investigation.  If I am going to figure out what this stuff is, I need to run tests.  If I’m going to run tests, I need a sample.  Having a sample is priceless.”

The sample might be priceless, but to get it had cost more than he had to spend.  It was going to be ramen for dinner for the next two months, and late fees on all his bills that he wouldn’t be able to pay this month.  Maybe it was for the best that his date the other night had bombed so badly—there was no way he could afford to date anyone.  Damn, that was a depressing thought.

Spider-Man didn’t want to think any more about the dire straits of his finances.  Instead, he recalled the strange interaction he had prior in order to arrange the meeting with the drug dealer.  The interaction that he had been trying to describe to Deadpool before the conversation had gotten side-tracked.  He took another calming breath and began again.

“I sat down where directed and I gave the password as my source told me, and was handed a phone,” Spider-Man explained.  “The guy on the other end of the line had a voice-synthesizer box, so I never heard his real voice.  He asked me what I wanted and I told him I wanted ‘something so people would obey me’, like my contact instructed.  He told me he had something that could do that and to wait.  So I got a meal and by the time I had finished, the waiter brought me the phone again.  This time there was another guy on the phone.  He didn’t disguise his voice like the first guy.  Anyway, we made arrangements on when and where to meet.  I went to the place and made the deal.  And seriously, I knew what I was doing and I was fine.”

Deadpool, having finished eating, was fiddling with one of his guns.  He muttered, “You should have asked me to do it.  I deal with lowlifes all the time and you shouldn’t…”

“I handled it,” Spider-Man interrupted.  Seeing the gun in Deadpool’s hand, Spider-Man thought it was a good thing he had taken care of it on his own.  Between the newspaper article and his constant worry about when Deadpool might shoot someone, it was definitely time to tell Deadpool to take a hike.  It would also be nice not to end every night frustrated by Deadpool’s constant jokes about hooking up.  Enough was enough.

His hotdog decimated, his dinner was clearly over.  Spider-Man pulled his mask fully down and stood up.  “Come on.  It‘s time to go.”

Deadpool also pulled his mask down.  He absently tossed his balled-up hot dog wrapper down several stories.  It landed perfectly in a trash can.  Spider-Man found himself impressed despite himself.  Deadpool had been mostly a goof the past two weeks, but it was little moments like this that reminded Spider-Man just how skilled the mercenary was.

“Where are we going?” Deadpool asked, continuing his unintentional display of prowess with a superhuman leap over to the roof of the next building as he followed Spider-Man’s swing.

At the next building over, Spider-Man paused long enough to explain, “I trailed the dealer back to his apartment.  That’s where we’re going tonight.  To check it out.”  He then swung away, assuming Deadpool would follow.

Instead, Deadpool abruptly stopped.  “We’re infiltrating some drug dealer’s secret base?”

“It’s a regular apartment, not a secret base,” Spider-Man said, annoyed that he was compelled to stop as well so he didn’t have to yell.  He stood perpendicular to the side of the next building as easily as if he was standing on the ground.

“We’re infiltrating a drug dealer’s secret base?” Deadpool repeated.  “Tonight?!  But I’m not dressed properly!”

Spider-Man glared at the mercenary.  Deadpool was dressed in his regular red and black suit with the two katana and several guns and pouches strapped to his body.  It was the same outfit he had worn the entire time they had been patrolling together.  “And what sort of outfit would you wear?” Spider-Man was curious enough to demand.

Deadpool stood defiantly.  “A fuck-ton more guns, blades, and explosives to start.”

“I said no killing,” Spider-Man reminded, narrowing his eyes.  “I was quite clear on that point.”

“You were quite clear on that,” Deadpool nodded in agreement.  “You were, however, somewhat fuzzier on the subject of kneecaps.”

“Firefly.  Cute,” Spider-Man begrudged.  “Still ‘no’ to the massive weapons arsenal.  We’re going to go in and out quiet-like.”

“Have you met me?”  Deadpool looked in bewilderment at him.  “Merc with the mouth?  Guy with the big guns?  Scoundrel with the swords?”

Spider-Man crossed his arms.  “And now we’re at the second point, the whole you ‘follow my lead and do what I say’ one.”  The third point, ‘leave the city when I tell you’ would come later that evening.

Deadpool grumbled but acquiesced.  “Alright, but I don’t like it.  I hate attending a party underdressed.”

“You don’t have to.  Just don’t like it quietly,” Spider-Man commanded.  With that, he swung away.

 

*****************************

This whole jumping between buildings thing is getting tiring.
‘He won’t carry us though.’
We need something to let us fly.
Like what?
‘Like a jetpack!’
Where are we going to get one of those though?
‘Maybe we can get one of Ironman’s old suits.’
Didn’t he blow them all up at the end of Ironman 3?
‘Such a waste.’
Looked really cool though.
Too bad the government confiscated all the alien gliders.
“Oh, we ARE good.  That’s a great idea!”
You do realize Spider-Man is leaving us behind?
With a devious grin, Deadpool hurried to catch up.