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A soft thud in his living room startled Wade into consciousness. His guns were out and aimed at the door before his eyes were fully open, and the voices in his head, White and Yellow he liked to call them, were already rambling on at high speeds. Usain Bolt was a snail in comparison.

Maybe all the shit on your floor was tired of your lazy ass and took a physical form to clean itself, yellow told him.

Or maybe that man you neglected to kill four years ago finally found you, White added logically.

“Shut up,” Wade hissed, getting out and tiptoeing to the door, only to fling it open with a loud thud for the element of surprise at the last minute.

For once in his life, both Wade and his voices shut up.

In front of him stood a small child with round, chubby cheeks and curly brown hair looking at him looking not at all phased. Maybe the chubby cheeks were because of the bagel that the boy was holding inches away from his mouth, but that was beside the point. The point was that there was a random ass kid in an oversized white t-shirt in his living room.

Ask his name

Ask how he found a fresh bagel in all that mold

“Why the fuckcicles are you in my living room!?” Wade exclaimed, ignoring his voices and raising his gun.

The boy backed up a bit in surprise, but he still didn’t look scared. Confused would be a more accurate term.

“I… slept here?” The boy’s voice was soft and hesitant.

“Who are you!?”

“Dad? Dad, what’s wrong?” the kid looked at Wade with wide, worried eyes.

Wade couldn’t respond. He blinked and blinked, thinking this was all a bad dream, but he wasn’t waking up.


Ha! All that fucking you did years ago finally bit you in the ass!

That’s not your son he’s too cute to be your kid!

The boy went from hesitant to downright angry. “Are you fucking drunk again?”

Wade didn’t lower his gun, but he did have a small conversation in his mind with his voices. Going over the past week attempting to remember anything that struck him as unusual, nothing came up. He went to Sister Margret’s every night as always. Other than seeing Weasel’s hair washed and clean, there was nothing unusual about the place. He decapitated some heads, but none of those people seemed out of the ordinary. He didn’t anger anybody at the place where he bought taco’s, so really, he couldn’t think of anybody he hurt so much that they’d abuse a kid and place them in this shithole.
“You’re drunk again, aren’t you?” Peter narrowed his eyes. “Whatever. I’m going to take a fucking shower.”

Well he has your mouth

At least he doesn’t add unnecessary letters to the end of his curse words

Hey! The more creative the cursing, the more fun we have

Well, Wade remembered not drinking last night, and he made it a rule not to drink before 12 in the afternoon, but this called for a couple shots of rum.


Wade didn’t get too drunk, cause the last thing he wanted was to be judged by this kid. Somehow being called drunk by a strange child was somehow hurtful.
It wasn’t until his third shot when a memory popped up into his mind. A brief memory but one very vivid and detailed that he slammed the shot glass down, breaking the glass in the process.


The child’s name was Peter. He remembered in first-person view of him being in an apartment. One of his safe houses and he was at the kitchen table. He saw a birthday cake. A blue and red birthday cake that he knew he made with a number eight candle on it and Peter was there blowing out the flame with a grin on his face. Wade remembered laughing.

But he couldn’t remember ever being in his apartment with a child.

Fuck it. He downed a fourth shot before he decided to deal with this situation. Whoever this kid- thing was, he needed it figured out ASAP.