Chapter Text
Ugh, Thursdays.
Sure, Mondays suck but Thursdays, man. That's the Devil in disguise. You wake up and think to yourself 'finally it's Friday' but no, it's a fucking Thursday.
Peter will stand by this statement no matter what. And he's not pulling this information out of his ass, no thank you! He has evidence.
Anytime something bad happens to him, it's always a Thursday!
He forgot to pay his electric bill? Thursday. He was late to an important job interview and failed it? Thursday. He ran out of webs right as he was flying mid-air which ended up in a very painful fall to the ground? Guess what? It was a Thursday.
Being held gunpoint at his workplace which honestly doesn't appreciate him enough but it pays the bills so he can let it slide?
Peter glanced at the little calendar on Jane's desk.
Yup.
Thursday.
"Nobody move or this twink gets it!" Deadpool shouted while pushing the gun even closer to Peter's face.
Ah yes. Deadpool.
It would be a lie if he said they got along ever since their first meeting, even if Wade always told the story that way. The truth is, Peter was being careful while Wade looked anything but trustworthy.
The mercenary always carried a ridiculous amount of weapons, blew up things he wasn't supposed to and never failed to make inappropriate jokes. Everyone Spider-Man ever met always made almost the same comment.
Don't involve himself with him.
But here's the thing.
A really important thing.
Sometimes Peter laughed at those jokes. And sometimes he felt relief when he saw the merc was there to help him out. And sometimes he even enjoyed their little roof hangouts afterwards.
So yeah, Peter would consider Wade a friend.
Even if that friend was pointing a gun at his head at the moment.
"Where's Jameson?" Deadpool yelled across the office. Everyone was too shocked too reply. And you would think journalists would be a bit more prepared for these kinds of situations.
Though, to give them some credit, you can never be prepared for Deadpool.
Just look at Peter!
"Uh could you maybe stop squeezing my arm so hard? It'll go numb." Peter complained.
Deadpool paused his angry glaring at particularly no one to send a glance at his hostage.
He loosened his grip on Peter's arm. Or at least he let Peter think he did. "Oh sorry man, I'm getting a bit heated here."
"It's okay."
"WHO THE HELL LET THIS MANIAC IN!?"
And here's that lovely voice of John Jonah Jameson. Even though Peter couldn't see the man, the image of his angry mustache and the almost literal smoke coming out of his ears was clear in his mind.
"I let myself in, dipshit."
Jameson stepped a bit forward, now Peter could actually see him. And look at that. The man was barely concerned for his wellbeing, sending him a short glance. Like a three-second-long glance. Come on that’s just cruel.
Asking for a promotion after this won't work, will it?
Deadpool's gun was cold against Peter's skull. "Jamey Jamey Jamey." The mercenary clicked his tongue. "I'm disappointed in you."
"Your crazy ass opinion is the least of my worries! Where is security—"
"They're sleeping." Deadpool blinked his eyes innocently. "They looked in need of a nap. Did you see their eyebags? Almost as big as your lovely employee's over here. Speaking of which! If you want him to stay alive after this, you should probably sit down and listen, Jamey." The last sentence out of Wade's lips came out cold and threatening.
Peter called that his serious voice. Even if it wasn't really serious. Wade just wanted others to think it was.
And it seemed to work. Jameson blinked angrily at him but didn't say nothing else.
"Great!" Wade's cheerful tone was back. "I'll keep it simple. You need to stop writing about Spider-Man anything ever. You clearly suck at it so I think it'll be better for all of us if you just stopped."
So that was his plan?
Peter would feel touched but that was hard to do seeing how Wade planned on achieving it.
When the mercenary barged into the office of Daily Bugle while shooting bullets into the ceiling, Peter's first assumption was he needed some help with finding somebody.
Of course, that idea flew right out of his head when Wade grabbed him from the coffee machine and pointed a gun at him.
After that, anything was possible.
"Stop?" Jameson looked flabbergasted at the suggestion. "You think I'll just stop making my most profitable articles because you asked me to?"
Deadpool blinked.
Then silently nudged Peter with his gun while making overexaggerated gestures with his other hand.
"I'm sorry was I not clear or something? I'm threatening your employee's life!" He seemed frustrated.
Jameson squinted his eyes. "Did Spider-Man send you here? Because you can go and tell him I'm not stopping anything!"
Great. Now there will be an article about Spider-Man hiring mercenaries to kill New York's national treasure John J. Jameson.
"Spider-Man doesn't know about this."
Think again, Wade.
Jameson scoffed. "Sure. I'm not an idiot! You're Deadpool. A mercenary. You need to be hired."
"We can call this my personal project then."
Peter groaned. "Jesus, how long will we be standing here? You need to give up, man. Jameson cares about his newspaper much more than me."
Deadpool turned his head to look at him.
Peter shrugged. "Sorry."
Wade groaned loudly, raising his hands to rub his masked face. For a moment he forgot he was supposed to hold the gun at Peter.
Well, it's not like he had anywhere to be or anything.
"I can't believe this! Did you know I could be watching Golden Girls reruns right now? But no! I came all this way here to do something good for once and help Spidey out. And for what?" Wade groaned again. "You can't even threaten people these days."
"It has to be the phones." Peter summoned his inner old person.
Wade chuckled. Then stopped abruptly.
"Dude, are you like okay? Everything's good?" The merc asked with a bit of concern in his voice.
"I mean you just probably earned me a free day today so I think I'm doing pretty good."
"Free day? In your dreams, Parker!" Jameson yelled from across the room.
Peter rolled his eyes. "Or not." He murmured to himself.
"Okay wait wait wait." Wade held his hands in a 'stop' motion. "Can we get back on track here? I'm not leaving until you agree to stop writing terrible articles about Spidey."
Just after saying his statement, Deadpool pointed the gun at Peter again.
Hello there, old friend.
"I don't agree to your demands!" Jameson held his ground.
"So, you're fine with me shooting this guy?" Deadpool asked casually, as if they were discussing their McDonald's orders.
Jameson's brows were furrowed so much it was hard to tell where one started or ended. "Leave my photographer alone, you psychopath!"
"I think I would fall more into the sociopath spectrum." Wade corrected him.
"I don't give a damn which illness you have, just get out!"
Deadpool narrowed his eyes, the hand with the gun becoming completely still against Peter's head.
"You don't have the power here, Jamey. I do."
Jameson copied the expression. "The only thing you have is that rusty gun and a dumb costume."
Look, Peter would never say a compliment to his boss. Mainly because there isn't anything to compliment about him, really. But he has to say, the man had balls to stand up to Deadpool-the-fucking-mercenary-with-a-gun-and-probably-a-hundred-knives.
Though maybe he shouldn't do that while Peter's life was at risk. Good thing it was only Wade and not some more brutal mercenary.
Because Peter was pretty sure he would be already dead otherwise. Good job, Jameson!
"Rusty?" Deadpool scoffed in offence. "How dare you insult my favorite gun! Rusty! Did you know I stole it from Punisher? The Punisher! You're lucky he's not hearing this, he has a bit of an anger issue. I've been trying to confront him about it but I always end up dead in a dumpster somewhere. That's why I stole his gun." Wade rambled on easily, not caring that his audience was just silently blinking at him. The tension in the room just grew, everyone watching Deadpool's every move.
"Uh, Deadpool?" Peter tried to stop the pointless ramble about how Frank Castle was terrible at sharing. "My lunch break is in like ten minutes so maybe we could... wrap this up?"
"It's not my fault Jameson doesn't have a conscience!"
"I'm not the one pointing guns at people!"
"Well, no. But you do call people who are just trying to do something good menaces."
"Spider-Man is a menace!" Jameson yelled with a confidence only an old white guy could have. "And if you think otherwise, he's got you wrapped in his little web."
"If only..." Wade sighed dreamily.
Peter suppressed an eye roll.
"Anyways," Deadpool shook whatever thoughts he had away. "What are we having for lunch, hot stuff?"
Peter needed a moment to realize Wade was addressing him.
"Instant noodles."
"Instant- Come on! That's not real food." Wade sounded a lot like Aunt May. "No wonder you're so skinny."
This time Peter didn't stop the eye roll.
"Hey hey hey mister! Don't give me an attitude right now!"
"I just don't see how my lunch choices are relevant at the moment."
Wade grinned. "Everything about you is relevant to me." He gave him a cheesy wink.
Well that's... new.
"Are you flirting with my photographer?!" Jameson pointed an accusatory finger. "Why is no one doing anything? What do I pay you for!?"
Wade let out an irritated sound. It was a mix between a sigh and a whine. That would be the Jameson effect.
Deadpool was silent for a while. Though it was not the tense or threatening silence. If it was, you could feel it in the atmosphere.
He was debating. Debating with his voices - or boxes, how he called them, what to do next.
"Maybe..." Wade started slowly, retreating the gun from Peter's head. "I should take a different approach." He pointed it right at Jameson.
The man shifted uncomfortably but didn't move further. At least he wasn't an idiot.
"Now here's my demands if you wanna come back to your wife tonight." Wade wiggled the gun casually. The subtle mention of Jameson's wife wasn't missed. "You should probably write that down— Do you have one of those cool boards in here? Ah wait, that's more of a detective shtick, isn't it."
"We have a white board." Peter offered while motioning with his head to a white board on wheels on the other side of the room.
Wade ooed like an excited child. "Yes! Bring that over!"
No one reacted.
Wade sighed. "You! With the bowl cut. Yes you! Get that here!"
The said guy - Peter was pretty sure his name was Robert - jumped in place at the sudden Deadpool's attention but did as he was told.
Everyone silently watched him wheel the board in.
"Alright! Now onto the business!" Wade grabbed a red marker. "Firstly," He drew a big one, circling it a few times. "You should write an apology or something. I know it won't be genuine or anything but I just love watching those YouTube apologies, with fake tears and shit. It's my guilty pleasure." Wade chuckled to himself as he wrote 'Apology' in big bold letters next to the number one.
"Secondly, you don't mention Spidey ever again." The merc continued his list, now writing 'No Spidey business' with a few aggressive exclamation points. "And I mean nothing."
"And thirdly," Wade's three was a bit crooked. "You should definitely write something about me. Reputation is everything between mercenaries and I'm getting tired of explaining how I'm not doing the putting-you-six-feet-underground type of jobs. I know it's an understandable mistake but still a bit annoying. Anyways, it would be great if you helped clearing that up." Deadpool wrote his last demand - 'Deadpool ad'.
Jameson watched him write on the board in silence. For the first time this past hour, he truly looked hopeless. Maybe the adrenaline and anger had worn off.
Wade loudly threw the marker across the room. "So? It's simple enough I think."
The unmistakable sound of police sirens filled the room. It wasn't a big surprise. The office was filled with a bunch of reporters and Deadpool wasn't doing a really good job at keeping an eye on them.
"Shit," Deadpool murmured. "I was supposed to— Do you agree to my demands?" He tried to ignore the people murmuring between themselves, relieved that the police was coming.
Jameson's fear was gone once again. "Hah! You think I'm that easy to control? No one can control me! Not you. And not your little friend Spider-Man." He glared at him.
Deadpool glared back.
The sirens were now louder, right next to the building. Peter glanced to see a bunch of officers enter it, guns in hand.
Wade groaned. "I can't believe this! I just can't— Yeah yeah, I'm going." He pocketed his gun and strolled down to the window.
Then, as if he remembered something, he turned back around. He stopped right in front of Peter, searching for something in one of his pouches. He grinned to himself once he found it and grabbed Peter's hand to push it into his grasp.
It was a few 10-dollar bills.
"For your lunch." The mercenary patted his back twice and winked.
Peter was a bit too caught off guard to say anything back.
Though it didn't matter anyways, Deadpool was already opening the window at the other side of the building, where no police cars were parked.
Before jumping ten stories down, Wade sent Jameson a last glare. "Don't think this is our last meeting, Jameson."
That was his real serious voice. Peter could tell from the way the merc was completely still, his voice calm, too calm, and even if he was wearing his Deadpool mask, Peter knew his eyes were ice cold.
Jameson gulped.
But the famous mercenary was gone before he could see it.
It was like the whole room of journalists took a breath of relief at the same time.
"Oh my God, Peter, are you okay?" Betty ran up to him, her previous neat bun now a complete mess.
Peter nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"I have no idea how you stayed so calm. I could barely stand still." The woman was now pacing back and forth. "When he pointed that gun—"
"Betty, I'm fine. Everything's fine."
Betty took a deep breath. "Yeah, yes, you're right. You're right."
Peter chuckled at his coworker's stress. "Look at the bright side. We just got this week's main story right at our doorstep."
"Not sure that's my preferred way of getting stories." Betty stopped the pacing to face Peter properly. "But seriously Peter, how did you not shit your pants right there?"
"What pretty words you use."
Betty nudged his shoulder playfully. "Stop avoiding my question, Parker."
Peter sighed.
He knew Deadpool. He even knew Wade Wilson. And that man had his own set of rules and morals, even if many people would argue he didn't. Maybe it wasn't long but it was still meaningful. Wade never killed innocent bystanders.
So, the answer was simple really.
"I knew he wouldn't pull the trigger."
Betty blinked at him. "Never thought of you as an optimist."
Peter shook his head while smiling. "No, definitely not. I guess I just have a lot of faith in people."
"Even Deadpool?"
The word sounded so dangerous in her mouth. Like a weapon or a curse, something unwanted and something you would want to avoid.
Peter imagined the word differently.
When he said it, he was calling to his partner. To his friend. To someone he believed was good, to someone he trusted, even if some deep parts of him said not to.
But in the end, Deadpool was Wade Wilson. And Wade Wilson was just a man, like any of them. A man full of pain and insecurity. A man in need of a friend.
Peter liked to imagine himself as that friend. Well, not Peter. Spider-Man.
"Yes, even Deadpool."
Betty didn't have a reply to that. And even if she did, the loud shout would have interrupted it.
"PARKER! DID YOU GET SOME PICTURES OF THAT MANIAC?" Jameson was already over his little shock and ignored the police officers swarming in.
"I was kind of too busy with a gun pointed at me." Peter answered with fake politeness.
His boss scoffed. "I always said you're a terrible reporter. Always thinking of yourself."
Peter bit his tongue to give him a thin smile.
Fucking Thursdays.