Chapter Text
Tuesdays With Morrie was the only thing on TV other than boring nature shows and televangelists, and Wade was seriously considering pulling an Elvis. The whole point in paying for extra channels was so there would always be something to watch. This was good money down the tube. The boob tube. And he wasn't even seeing boobs. If they were going to shove sermons down his throat on fifty separate channels, they should at least have one porn channel to balance it out. Rude.
This was depressing, and it was not distracting him from his problems, thank you very much, which was the opposite of what watching TV was supposed to do. He did not want to think about Nate and the ridiculous amounts of effort he'd gone to just to get Domino back so they could be in epic love on his stupid perfect island where people treated you like a person even when you were a piece of shit but you weren't allowed to go back because you killed someone and you still fucking don't know why you did it. He was not going to think about the fact that the only thing Nate went to ridiculous amounts of effort to do for Wade was torture him emotionally and make him hallucinate until he almost killed bunch of people so that Wade would come groveling to Nate for help so Nate could make him think and act like he thought he should. And sometimes, he also went to a ridiculous amount of effort to humiliate Wade on TV, get him fired from the one legit job he'd had since he got booted out of the army, and make it impossible for him to get merc work.
Rhyme. Heh. Meh. Rhyme again. Shit, even rhyming wasn't fun.
Nothing was fun.
Wade was going to sit on the couch and watch TV and eat until he felt like doing something. So far, like the rest of his life, it sucked. And he'd lost his chips. Well, not lost them. He could see them. He just couldn't get them without bestirring his fine ass, and that was not gonna happen.
What he needed was something long enough to reach the bag. Like a katana, but those had vanished into the mysterious depths of his couch cushions a few days ago. The chips had migrated beyond his toes sometime last night, and he was not getting up. Like his beloved Hall and Oates, he was becoming one with the couch. He was finally comfy and properly settled in after the mistake that was his last potty break, and he had an empty gallon jug on hand now so he wouldn't have to get up for a good long time. Only problem was, he had no more salty snacks, and sweet and spicy just weren't as complimentary without something savory to tie it all together.
His phone rang, but it was out of reach too, and besides, by squinting at the screen, he could see that it was just Nate, not a potential client. Whatever the hell was going down on Nate's hippy-dippy tropical paradise could continue, or discontinue for all he fucking cared, without Deadpool's intervention, and he was not in the mood to get roped into another plot of Nate's where Nate had a plan no one else knew about that ended in Wade not getting paid or laid. Or even in Nate giving him the time of day, since he was so fucking busy being King of Future Island and some make-believe rinky-dink country that sounded vaguely eastern European or possibly Asian.
So, he ignored it and flipped through the nature channels again. Maybe, there were animals doing it on one of them. Not as hot as naked chicks, but it was closer to porn than fucking Tuesdays With Morrie.
Nate came through the door as Sekekama was driving Satau out of the pride for the sixth time like a boss-ass lion king.
"Can you pass the chips?" Wade asked, lowering his gun and turning back to his show. His totally awesome show which was totally distracting him from his problems. Or it was until his problems decided to show up. At his home. In person.
Fucking Nate.
"They're three feet away from you," Nate said.
"I can't reach."
Nate sighed, and the bag of chips drifted up into Wade's lap. He grabbed a handful and shoved them into his mouth. A little soggy. Huh. He must have been sitting there wishing he had them longer than he thought.
"Wade, when was the last time you left your apartment?" Nate asked.
Wade shook the bag of soggy chips at him in response, not taking his eyes off the TV. Maybe, he'd go away and leave Wade to his Savage Kingdom reruns if he ignored him long enough.
"To get food, I'm guessing about two weeks ago based on how many wrappers and beer cans there are. When was the last time you got off the couch?"
Wade shook his piss jug at him. Carefully. The lid had vanished into the couch along with his katanas and the remote. And the jug was almost full.
"Well, at least you didn't piss your pants," Nate muttered. That was the spirit. Low standards. Always low standards.
The TV blinked off.
Okay. Not cool. Time to dig Hall and Oates out of their cocoon and see if they'd transformed into a beautiful butterfly. Of death.
Nate could take Wade's pride, his reputation, his last dregs of sanity, and his heart and crush them under foot, but he wasn't going to take his Savage Kingdom.
"We need to talk," Nate said as Wade rummaged in the couch with one hand while shoveling soggy chips into his mouth with the other, "but I'm not doing it with you in this state. Go shower and change clothes, and for god's sake, get rid of that jug before you spill it on your carpet. And I don't mean throw it in the trash or out the window as is. Dump it in the toilet first. Now."
Wade heaved his most dramatic sigh, folded his arms over his chest, and slumped back so he slid off the couch onto his ass on the floor. Moving sucked, but stupid Nate wasn't going to stupid leave until he stupid got what he stupid wanted, and Wade really wanted him to leave before he made him feel guilty or angry or sad or manipulated him into doing something he didn't want to do.
"I don't wanna," he said after laying there for a while. He couldn't really remember what he was supposed to be doing, but he was pretty sure that saying no was the way to go. He was mad at Nate, after all. That much, he remembered. Nate was a butthole with a god complex who was always trying to fix people's lives whether they wanted it or not. And in Wade's case, that translated into making his life a living hell and turning off his TV when it was all he had to live for. Oh, to be one of Sekekama's queens and worry about nothing but gorging on wildebeests, raising adorable cubs, and occasionally getting the brains fucked out of him by the biggest, baddest lion to ever shake his luscious mane.
"Wade, I'm ten seconds from getting a fire hose and spraying you down."
Nate was still here, and Wade was popping a wistfulness boner thinking about being a beautiful, fierce lioness with a pride that cared about him and maybe six or seven kids of his very own to teach to shoot guns and order Mexican food online. He would be a great lioness.
"Okay," Wade said. He couldn't really bring himself to care about getting sprayed with a fire hose. That sounded like not a lot of fun, but it was probably better than a flamethrower. Also, he still didn't remember what he was supposed to be doing.
"Get off your ass and into the bathroom."
Oh. That. That sounded like work. Not worth it. Better to just stay here until he became one with the floor or the couch fairies gave the remote back because they too missed the life-sustaining glow of the TV.
And now Nate was hauling him to his feet fake-telekineticly so Wade had no choice but to get up.
"Why are you so mean?" he whined, "I was comfy."
"No, you're wallowing," Nate said, "Go."
Walking to the bathroom reminded him that he really, really needed to take a shit, and there were clean-ish boxers and a shirt in there already, so he didn't even have to hunt for clothes. Who said being a slob didn't pay off? Also, standing felt good, and so did the hot water, and the soap was nice change from rotting BO and week-old pee ammonia. But he wasn't going to tell Nate that because he did not need to be told he was right about anything. Seriously. It was amazing even his fake-telekinesis could hold up his huge fucking head.
By the time he was clean and clothed, Nate had bagged up the trash, untangled his katanas, pistols, and the remote, as well as an assortment of skin mags, from the depths of Davy Jones' Locker, put Wade's blanket nest in the washing machine, and had the couch and pillows on the balcony to air out.
"I should have you do all my housework," Wade said, "That was way easier than doing it myself."
"You don't do it yourself," Nate said.
"Well, sometimes, I think about doing it, and that's hard enough without actually going through the effort. So, what brings you from Who-ville all the way to Mount Crumpet? Are you taking the sleigh to the tip-top to dump it?"
"We need to talk."
About what? Wade hadn't left the apartment in two weeks. He hadn't had a job in ages. What could he possibly have done to piss Nate off?
"You mean you need to talk," he said, opening his fridge to see if there was something to eat and recoiling from the stench. Note to self: buy a new fridge. Also, booze and food.
"I mean we need to talk," Nate said, "I decided to ask Neena to bond with me--"
Wade's stomach lurched even harder than it had from the fridge smell, and he interrupted because he didn't really need to hear how blissfully happy the love of his life was with another woman. With a woman. Not with Wade. Who was a man. "And you want me to be your best man? Done. Wait, can I be the person who throws a fit if everything isn't exactly right on the bride's special day? A personal attendant. I would be so good at that. Your veil and train would never be in the wrong position, and your push-up bra would be stuffed to perfection. And don't argue about that, because I gotta be honest, you're a little challenged in the boob department, and if you want proper cleave, you're going to need a push-up and something in there to provide a little jiggle. Otherwise they won't look real, and that would be a travesty."
"Will you let me finish?"
"Yes, right, you were about to ask me to be your best man. Spoiler alert: my answer is yes." Actually, he was pretty sure Nate was about to tell him that he'd kill the shit out of him if he came within a thousand miles of him, Domino, or their destination wedding, but yeah, same difference.
"I wasn't- That's not what I was going to say." Nate took a deep breath. "I decided to ask Neena to bond with me--"
Wow, hearing it a second time wasn't any less awful. "And you want me to walk you down the aisle? Walk her down the aisle? Officiate? Cater? Tend bar? DJ? DD? Mop vomit off the floor when it's over? Mop blood off the floor when it's over?"
"Wade, just shut up for five seconds. I'm not bonding with her."
Say what?
"She said no?" Wade gawked. "What in the ass? I would never in a million years have called that."
Why would Domino turn him down? She was as completely, drippily in love with Nate as Nate was with her. Watching them together was horrible, and not just for people like Wade and Irene who were in love with Nate and having to watch him be smitten with another woman. With a woman. Who was not Wade. Who, again, was a man. A man. God, he needed to remember that.
"I never asked her," Nate snapped, finally losing patience, "and if you'll stop interrupting, I can explain."
"Why didn't you- sorry, sorry, shutting up. You'll explain if I shut up. Shutting up now."
"I went to the courthouse on Providence to get the preliminaries started, and when they tested my blood, they said I was already bonded."
So, that was what this was about. He needed someone whacked, and he couldn't do it himself. And what was the one thing Wade was good for? Killing motherfuckers. That was fine, but he was getting paid this time. Wait, no. It could be a wedding present. Then he wouldn't have to come up with one later. Although, he was pretty sure you didn't have to give them a present if you weren't invited to the wedding, and he was definitely not invited to the wedding. So. Paid. Or maybe, doing it pro bono would get Nate off his jock about being a good person or whatever other bullshit he was on about. Wade was not a good person, and he was never going to be. The sooner Nate got over that fact, the better for all of them.
"And you want me to kill whoever it is? Done." It wouldn't be as satisfying as killing Domino, who Nate actually wanted to bond with, but it'd be better than not killing anyone. "Just point me at 'em, and your problems are solved. Wait, when did you bond? Who is it?"
"It's you."
It was a long moment before Wade's brain could come up with a response to that. "Sphincter says what?"
"I'm bonded to you."
Oh. That was why Nate was here. To kill him. Well, that did kind of make sense. Didn't make sense that he was warning him like this because that generally led to a fight, but maybe Nate was bored. Really, though, Wade didn't have anything to live for, so he wasn't going to bother. Probably. Maybe, Nate could figure out how to make killing him stick with all that sciency crap, and then Wade could be with his forever girl just like Nate would be. Actually, that sounded kind of nice. Him and Death in epic love for all eternity instead of watching from the sidelines while Nate got his happily-ever-after on and Wade pined hopelessly and wound up in the poorhouse because he had one marketable skill and no one would hire him to use it. Wade could get behind that. But there were a few questions he wanted answers to before he was dead and couldn't ask.
Like how in hell he'd been bonded to Nate and neither of them knew it.
"When?" Wade asked, "How? I'm pretty sure I'd remember that happening."
"I don't know, but my best guess is when we swapped DNA to get rid of the Facade Virus."
"I can not be the only one who heard how homoerotic that sounded. I'd offer to kill myself, but I've died more than a few times since then, and it clearly hasn't made a difference. Maybe, if you did it?" Inviting him to do it was giving permission, right? That'd make things easier. Maybe, Nate wouldn't drag this out if he knew Wade wasn't going to fight him and that he wouldn't need to feel guilty after. He could just make it quick and easy. Better for both of them. Grooms-to-be didn't need more stress in their lives. Or their deaths.
"Did what?" Nate asked and then saw the pistol Wade was holding out, "Kill you? No. I don't care if you'd heal in a few hours. Just no."
Wade wasn't sure what the big deal was. It wasn't like Nate hadn't wasted him before. Although, now he thought about it, that had been before they'd bonded. Literally or metaphorically.
"Oh, right, that'd probably hurt you a lot too since we're bonded and all and losing your bondmate is supposed to suck hella balls." Stupid stupid stupid. Of course, Nate wouldn't want to do that.
"That's not- it's fine, okay?" Nate said, looking pained, "This doesn't have to be a problem."
Wait. Wait. It was fine? He didn't have a problem being bonded to Wade? He didn't mind? He wasn't jumping at the first opportunity to get the hell away as fast as his fake-TK enhanced speed could carry him?
"You're okay with this?" Wade asked. Maybe, Nate did actually like him like that a little. Maybe, he did want to bond with Wade like Wade wanted to bond with him. You wouldn't be fine being bonded to someone you didn't have any kind of feelings for, right? Maybe, Nate wasn't taking the sleigh to the tip-top to dump it. Maybe, he was going to bring the Grinch back to Who-ville with him and teach him the true meaning of Christmas, feed him Who-hash, and let him crave the roast beast. That was the weirdest euphemism for sex.
"It's fine," Nate said, "We'll adjust. I'm not sure how we missed it so far, but I suppose your healing factor would take care of any discomfort you might feel, and I'm used to constant pain from the techno-organic mesh and headaches from telepathy. We both must have shrugged off any separation problems, and now that we know, we'll adjust."
"By adjust, you mean spend more time together," Wade said, pretending he wasn't hopping up and down in excitement internally. They could hang out and go on dates and watch Golden Girls together and maybe Nate would let him use one of his BFGs. Maybe, Nate would ask him to come back to Providence. Now that it was permanently located and Nate wasn't omnipotent anymore, they'd had to beef up security, and Wade was very, very good at being beefy, so he'd have a job and be contributing to society and his work would by definition allow him to sate some of his desire to shoot and stab things, and then Nate would be proud of him for doing good, and he would have to take time away from work to see Wade and talk to him and hang out with him because they were bonded, so it wouldn't be like when he was happy with Wade but didn't have the time of day for him.
"Yes," Nate said.
"Can I come back to Providence?"
"That's not a good idea. I'll come here for a few hours a couple times a week until we figure out what we need to keep the bond settled."
That sounded like he was trying to figure out the absolute minimum amount of time he had to spend with Wade.
That was a big comedown from his fantasies.
"It's not ideal," Nate was saying, "I'd rather it were Neena, but it's fine."
Wade ignored the way his insides twisted. Disappointment sucked. He usually wasn't this disappointed because he didn't let himself get his hopes up, but there was something about Nate that made it hard not to. Maybe, it was the part where sometimes, it seemed like he actually liked Wade instead of barely tolerating him like everyone else.
"What are you going to do about Dom?" Wade asked. Because even though he knew the answer already, he needed to hear this. He needed to hear Nate tell his stupid, stupid brain flat out that just because they were bonded, it didn't mean Nate was his or that Nate wanted him at all. It was just something Nate was willing to work around to be happy rather than go to the trouble of figuring out how to sever a bond without killing anyone or how to kill the un-killable man.
"We'll continue as we have been as long as she has no objections," Nate said, "It hasn't been a problem so far, and bonds can be platonic."
Because that was what Wade wanted. A magical connection he was supposed to get once in a lifetime with his perfect soulmate to someone who wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole, barely wanted to have a conversation with him, and was actively in a sexual and romantic relationship with a beautiful, talented, less-morally bankrupt than Wade, super-spy. And Wade couldn't even pay for sex without getting a lecture on ethics from said bondmate, or make money to pay for said sex because that person had shot him in the foot, career-wise.
Dream come true right there. How lucky was he?
Not that it mattered what Wade wanted. You could tell how much Nate cared what Wade wanted by the number of times he'd asked.
"Are you going to tell her about, you know, me?" Wade asked instead of bringing that up because it didn't really matter. Nate would just bring up a zillion well-reasoned arguments that Wade couldn't talk around and get his way anyway. Easier to just skip that part and how stupid and frustrated and insignificant it made him feel.
"Yes," Nate said, "She should know there's a reason I can't ask her to bond."
"I'd think you'd be a little more pissed about that," Wade said.
"There's nothing to be done. Getting angry won't help."
"No one gets mad because it'll help. They get mad because something pisses them off."
"And they can choose to let it go when there's no point in being angry. This was an accident, and if anyone is to blame for it, it's me."
"Good lord, I can see the seeds of that damned granola-eater just lurking right there behind the guns and the explosions. You are one camel away from a broken back, aren't you?"
"What?" Nate looked confused. Oh, right. Wade never told him about Brother Nathan or War or that techo-organic Borg thing.
"Nothing," Wade said, "Just promise me you won't grow your hair long and start wearing a robe and carrying a staff. No Gandalf cosplay for you no matter how much he kicks ass after he comes back from fighting the balrog. Say it with me, 'Dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow. You cannot pass!' And then smash the bridge of Khazad Dum and plunge into the depths of the mines--"
"What in hell are you talking about?"
"Your Gandalf cosplay. You could be Saruman, I guess, but he's a bad guy. Although, he does kind of have the megalomania thing going for him like you do."
"First of all, if I was going to cosplay Lord of the Rings, I'd be Elrond, and second of all, can we get back to the subject?"
This. This was the problem with Nate. He kept doing things that made Wade think he actually got him and liked him as a person, and it wasn't fair when he really didn't. It was a- a cocktease for his heart.
"Hump-backed dromedaries?" Wade asked. He should say hump more. Hump. Hump. Hump. Hump. Hump. Hump. Hump. Hump.
"Will you stop saying hump, please?"
"Sorry, I thought that was just in my third-person narrative. Chimichanga. Chimichanga. Chimichanga."
"Okay, that's marginally better."
"Chimichanga. So, what's your schedule like, Priscilla, and are you expecting me to have dinner on the table when you get home from work? Chimichanga. Chimichanga."
"It doesn't have to be over meal time."
"All time is meal time. Chimichanga. What were you thinking? Netflix and chill before bed?"
"Don't think I don't know that's a euphemism for sex, but we can watch TV together for a few hours in the evening. That'd be fine. We can start with three times a week and then increase or decrease depending on how we feel."
"What if I have a job?" Wade asked, "Chimichanga. Chimichanga."
Nate gave him a raised eyebrow that made Wade want to gouge his eyes out. Like it wasn't his fault Wade couldn't find work.
"Shut up, I have plans. People are gonna be tripping over themselves to hire me."
"Wade..."
"It doesn't involve killing anyone, so don't get all prissy and uptight on me, you damned hypocrite. The only one gonna get hurt is already a dangerous criminal, and he'll be trying to kill me too."
"That sounds like a bad plan."
"It's a great plan. Weas is in on it, and he's not an idiot like me."
"Just be careful."
"No. I'm never careful."