Fanart by: AdamMasterman – boom
(Warning, this chapter contains semi-graphic descriptions of significant injury as well as detailed descriptions of shock and panic)
Controlling Chaos: A MCU Spideypool Fanfic
Issue 07: But I’m Not Dressed for company
Spider-Man woke to intense pain, the smell of burnt meat, and a dead weight on top of him. He felt heavily bruised all over and his back ached with a pain particularly evocative of road burn. He prayed that his costume was holding together. Breathing hurt. He probably had a cracked rib. He definitely had a concussion. He struggled to open his eyes. It took several tries before he was successful. It took longer before he could process what he was seeing.
He was laying on asphalt in a back alley, staring up at the giant hole blasted out of an apartment complex. What happened? Vague recollections flittered through his mind: the drug dealer, his apartment, the ticking, the backpack, the explosion. Deadpool. Deadpool?
Deadpool had jumped between him and the explosion. He had pulled Spider-Man close, shielding him as they were blown out of side of the building. They’d struck something…what? Glancing straight up he saw an impact crater in the wall. Right…they’d hit the wall of the next building over. There had been a long moment of stillness, and then suddenly Deadpool hadn’t been holding him anymore and they had fallen to the ground, bricks, mortar, and metal raining down on them.
The drug dealer’s livingroom no longer existed. All of the apartments adjacent to it were suffering from some level of damage. Smoke poured out of the maw. Clouds of dust billowed in the air around him. There was rubble surrounding him and a large piece on top of him. Fucking hell, it hurt to breathe.
Where was Deadpool? He looked around as well as he could from his low lying vantage point, trying not to move his torso at all. There. He could see Deadpool’s arm several feet to his left, among more rubble. He needed to get up. He needed to see if Deadpool was alright.
First, he needed to move the rubble off himself and sit up. He could do this. He went to take a deep breath but instead what escaped halfway through his attempted inhale was a nearly soundless sob. He tried a few shallow breaths. He looked back over at Deadpool’s hand and forced his head to turn a little further so he could see if Deadpool was also pinned. There was no Deadpool. It was just his arm, separate from his body.
A jolt of adrenaline flooded though Spider-Man and his mind cleared. He started to sit up, pushing at the weight holding him down. That was when he realized that the charred mass on him wasn’t rubble. It was Deadpool.
In addition to being extreme burned, Deadpool’s left arm was ripped off at the elbow, his left leg ended mid-thigh, and sharp white bone spiked out where his right foot should have been. What was left of Deadpool was sprawled on top of Spider-Man in the same position they fell into earlier when climbing into the apartment, but there were no innuendo or jokes this time. For once, Deadpool was quiet. Too quiet.
Deadpool wasn’t breathing.
Earlier Spider-Man had thought that seeing the dead body of someone he had met personally was bad, but seeing the devastated corpse of someone he had been hanging out with for the past two weeks was so much worse. Even his time in the Battle of New York hadn’t prepared him for something like this. One dead body was traumatic enough, but two in one evening…Yeah, this day officially had two bodies too many. Fuck.
He just barely managed to pull his mask up over his mouth and twist his head to the side before he vomited. He vomited until he had nothing left to vomit up. Then he dry-heaved as panic took over. A sudden sharp pain in his chest called an abrupt halt to his full-body convulsions. He turned his head away from the smell of vomit and lifted his shaking hands to rest on Deadpool’s shoulders.
“Oh man, don’t do this. Please, don’t do this to me, Deadpool.” He couldn’t have someone die because of him, he just couldn’t. Not again. Not even someone like Deadpool. He was sobbing as he babbled, feeling more desperate with each word. “Get up. Please. Make some random joke, grab my ass, whatever, please, just get up. I’m begging you. Just–get up. Deadpool, please. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead. Please… Wade? Please don’t be dead, Wade. I’ll kiss you, I promise, just please don’t be dead.”
“You promise?” a hint of a whisper came from the charred form.
“You’re alive?!” Spider-Man exclaimed. But Deadpool hadn’t been breathing!
“As if a little blast like that could kill me,” the faint voice said derisively.
Spider-Man started to lift his hands off Deadpool, concerned that his grasp might be exasperating his injuries.
“Don’t let go…I liked it…”
“Don’t talk. Just take it easy.”
Spider-Man lowered his hands onto Deadpool’s back and gripped gingerly. He slowly rotated them both until Deadpool was on his side, resting on his remaining intact arm. Spider-Man carefully pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
Spider-Man had no idea how he was going to do that, and what it would mean for the mercenary when, not if, when he recovered. Government authorities, S.H.I.E.L.D. and who knows who else would swoop in as soon as Deadpool was through the hospital door. But Deadpool had nearly killed himself to protect him, so Spider-Man would do whatever was necessary to help him. Even if that meant breaking him out of jail later on.
“No need.” Deadpool started to move as if he was trying to sit up on his own. “I’ll recover.”
Spider-Man held Deadpool gently but firmly. “Don’t be stubborn. I’m amazed you’re alive as is. You won’t last much longer without medical help.”
“Not being stubborn,” Deadpool insisted, his voice gaining strength. “I told you before. I have a healing factor. My body recovers.”
Spider-Man gave the barest of head shakes and asked in disbelief, “How can you possibly recover from this much damage?”
Deadpool looked up at Spider-Man. “You just saw me come back from death.” The matter-of-factness of his tone belied the enormity of his statement.
Spider-Man felt Deadpool’s words like a physical blow. Deadpool had died. He had died to protect him, even though Spider-Man had treated him badly. Spider-Man suddenly felt regret for how callously he had regarded the mercenary the past few weeks. “You saved my life,” Spider-Man said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
There was a long pause before Deadpool forced a grin and observed, “I had to protect that sweet ass. Now whata’bout my kiss?”
Spider-Man was relieved that Deadpool was flirting with him—it made the whole ‘talking to a man missing more than half his limbs in a back alley after a massive explosion’ situation feel a little more normal. Maybe. Spider-Man was about to give a good-natured retort when he heard the sounds of distant sirens moving closer. “We’ve got company coming.”
He hesitated. On one hand, there were definitely people injured in the explosion, possibly even dying. On the other hand, help for those people was arriving and Deadpool, who had just saved his life, had no one else that could help him. There was no way Deadpool could get away on his own, not missing both legs. Making his choice, and hoping he wouldn’t regret it later, Spider-Man announced, “If you’re certain you don’t need a hospital, then we need to get out of here now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Deadpool assured. “Could you grab my arm, though? It’s easier to reattach than to grow from scratch.” Spider-Man stared at him incredulously. “My life motto!” Deadpool singsonged, “It even rhymes! Better to reattach, than grow from scratch!”
“Right. Ok. Arm. Yeah, I can grab the severed arm. Yup.” Spider-Man used the wall beside him to pull himself up into a standing position. He fought past the wave of vertigo and pushed on. He stepped forward to where the arm lay. He really didn’t want to touch it. He paused to consider where he should grab the arm. The narrow part of the wrist or the hand itself? After a brief moment of indecision, he picked up the severed arm at the narrow part of the wrist where the sleeve covered the flesh still.
Spider-Man turned and walked the couple of steps back to Deadpool and held out the arm. Deadpool took it and pressed it to his stump.
“How long will it take to reattach?” Spider-Man found himself asking, morbidly curious.
“Less time than it’ll take for my legs to regrow.”
While Deadpool held his arm in place, Spider-Man knelt down and put his arms around Deadpool’s torso. He scooped him up over his shoulder in a modified fireman’s carry. His ribs screamed in protest but he refused to let his pain prevent him saving the man that had saved him.
With a flick of his wrist, he shot web out and he swung them up and away.
********************
Holy fuck is he strong!
We knew he was fucking fast but we hadn’t realized how fucking strong he really is!
‘He could totally pin us down and have his way with us.’
“Not happening, Deadpool.”
‘Oops, did we say that last bit out loud?’
“Yes, and that part too,” Spider-Man commented.
We gotta stop doing that.
‘Yeah, sorry. Still sort of off after the whole dead thing. Hard to keep track of inside voice and outside voice.’
It’s nice to be carried by someone.
‘It totally is, but it’d be better if he was carrying us princess-style.’
“Your back is a charred mess,” Spider-Man observed. “Carrying you like that wouldn’t work.”
“But when it heals up, then you’ll carry us princess style?”
“Not happening either, Deadpool.”
“Oh well. At least at this angle I can enjoy watching your ass glide under that spandex.”
Spider-Man almost missed his next swing but recovered in time. “OK, we’re done talking on this subject. Especially if you want to get home in one piece.”
“But I’m not in one piece.”
“Well I am, and I’d like to stay that way.”
“I like you in one piece, too, Spidey,” Deadpool said softly. “I like you in one piece, too.”