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The American Barter System

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“Yeah, Spidey, sorry but we’re all on our way out of the country.  There’s some huge SNAFU going on near Malvania.  Or maybe it was Malvekistan.” Clint’s voice became muffled.  “Hey, Nat, where the fuck’re we going?”

Peter could perfectly picture the cold glare of Black Widow as her muffled voice came across the line, “It’s Maldonia, Clint.  And since you’re piloting I would hope that you actually know that.”

“Right, Maldonia,” Hawkeye said cheerfully.

Peter closed his eyes in frustration.  Okay, nix the Avengers as backup.  With the Fantastic Four currently offworld...who did that leave?  Even Jessica Jones and her crew were out of town in K’un-Lun.  

Who else could he...an idea occurred to Peter.  It was possibly an extremely no good bad truly terrible idea but...

“Clint, do you know where I can find Deadpool?”

“...uh, sorry, Spidey, I think you broke up there.  Did you just ask for Deadpool?”

“Yes,” Peter replied impatiently.  “I need backup and my regulars have all fled New York.  Deadpool’s immortal, he’s got skills and, last I heard, he was importantly in New York.”  

He’d met the self professed ‘merc with a mouth’ at the all hands on deck battle against the invading dinosaur army last month.  Deadpool had bordered on asshole-like behavior but he’d also matched Peter quip for quip which had been a nice change from the seriousness of most of the heroes Peter tended to team up with and had resulted in the bonus of Captain America issuing a stern warning to which they had both replied simultaneously, “Yes, Captain Mom...jinx!”

The post battle lecture on professionalism had been so worth it.  

More importantly for Peter’s current needs, however, Deadpool was a Grade A badass with the handy talent of shrugging off things like gaping stomach wounds.  Useful in a fight.

“Look, Spidey are you sure you…”

“Dude.”

There was a long pause, a sigh, and then, “There’s this bar he hangs at…”

 

 

 

Peter stood in the entrance of Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Girls, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lights.  His senses weren’t going off even though Clint had informed him the bar was a hive of scum and villainy.  Right now it just looked like a slightly seedy bar.

“We’re closed, asshole,” a tired male voice growled out.  “Come back at four.”

Peter ignored the order and stepped forward, letting the door close behind him.

“Ah, noooo, fuck,” the sandy haired man the voice belonged to looked at him in dismay.  “Are you fucking shitting me?  Fucking Spiderman is in my bar?  Look, dude, there’s no one here, I don’t know anything about anyone and I just had the chairs replaced so can you please not…”

“Uh, hi, I’m looking for Deadpool?”

The man stopped mid-rant and squinted at Peter suspiciously through his black horn rimmed glasses.  “Why?”

“I need his help.  Do you know where I can...”

“Wait,” the guy held up a hand.  “Just…, uh, wait.  Did you just actually say you need fuckin’ what now?”

“I need Deadpool’s help,” Peter repeated, biting back his impatience.

The man stared at him for another long second and then guffawed.  “Oh, man, Jesus, fuck, this...I gotta see this.”  He turned his head.  “Hey, Deadpool!  Pool!  Spiderman’s here for your help!”

Peter heard a muffled voice from further back in the bar.  “Yeah, right, Weasel, and the Black Widow’s stopping by later so she can ride your dick like you’re the…” the red and black very large form of Deadpool came into view and paused.  “...huh, Spidey.”

Peter looked at the mercenary in relief.  “Deadpool, I’m glad I found you.  I need your help.”

Deadpool stared at him and then raised a hand and whacked the side of his ear a couple of times. “Yeah, I know he said it,” Deadpool muttered to himself, “but that‘s gotta be a hallucinatin’ kind of deal.  Right?  Wait, why do you think he’s...right.”  Shaking his head, the man turned away from Peter and slid onto the bar.  “Weasel.  This is clearly a ‘fuck me’ night.  Pour me the good shit.”

The bartender, apparently named Weasel, gave Deadpool an unimpressed stare.  “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, DP, and also, fuck no I’m not pouring you the good shit.  It’ll make you even more pathetic and maudlin than usual for the five and a half fucking seconds it’ll work on you.”

Peter watched in disbelief as the two men proceeded to completely ignore him, launching into a heated argument about the effects of the ‘good shit’.  

“Uh, excuse me, I’m not a hallucination,” Peter finally interrupted although he was coming to the reluctant conclusion that this had been a waste of time he didn’t have.

Deadpool turned from arguing with Weasel and stared at him through white lensed eyes and, okay, that was a little disturbing.  No wonder Spiderman freaked some people out.

“Y’know,” Deadpool said flatly, tone sending a prickle of warning up the back of Peter’s neck,  “Yellow thinks you’re a hallucination.  White thinks you’re an evil clone sent to kill me.”  The fact that Deadpool was fingering his sidearm while he spoke to Peter was not reassuring.

Peter resisted the urge to bang his head against the bar wall because what the hell had he been thinking?  But he was here and he didn’t have any other options right now so...he had to try.  

Peter took a deep breath.   “Deadpool, I am not an evil clone.  I need backup, people’s lives are at stake and I don’t have a lot of time!”

Deadpool looked unimpressed but at least he stopped caressing his gun.  “Uh huh.  What’s the pay?”

Peter blinked.  “The pay?  You want me to pay you?”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Deadpool emphasized each ‘ding’ with a motion of his index finger.  “And we have a winner here, folks.”

“But...people’s lives are at stake,” Peter said blankly.

“And I’m a mercenary.  Y’know what the dictionary defines a mercenary as?  ‘Does not do shit for free’.”

“Well, I don’t have any money,” Peter snapped back.  He sooo did not have any money.

Deadpool shrugged.  “Then good luck with your little ‘Save the Day’ project.”  He turned back to the bar.  “Weasel, the good shit...now.”

Peter stared at the man’s broad back for a long second and then shook his head.  “Wow.  Guess the Avengers were right about you.”  He turned and headed towards the door, frantically trying to think of who else might be able to provide back up.  Maybe he could…

“I’ll do it for a blowjob.”

Peter froze before turning back to give the other man an incredulous look.  “What did you say?”  

Deadpool had twirled his barstool around and was facing him, shoulders back against the bar top, muscular legs spread obscenely, showcasing an intimidating bulge and Peter would swear he could detect a smirk under that fucking mask.  “I said, if you don’t have the cash, I’ll help you out for a blowjob.”

“You...y’know what, fuck you,” Peter said and began to turn away again but stopped at Deadpool’s next comment.

“Oh, wow, Spidey.  So you’re sayin’ your chastity is more important than the lives of a bunch of innocent New Yorkers—okay, I get that’s a contradiction but still—a bunch of civilian lives?  Thought heroes were supposed to be self sacrificing and all that shit.”

Peter tried to see through the mask to Deadpool’s actual thoughts.  “Are you literally for real serious?  You’re blackmailing me with the lives of people?”

Deadpool shrugged.  “Spideybabe, you call it blackmail, I call it payment for services rendered in a fine example of the barter system that is the basis for our capitalistic society.  Well. Yours.  I’m Canadian.  We’re more polite about it.”

Peter opened his mouth.  Shut it again because this was ridiculous.  Deadpool had to be messing with him but...what if he was actually serious?  He opened his mouth to say no, paused as he thought about the people who needed help.  He needed Deadpool’s help.  Half the Sinister Six were planning to kill him in a crowded area, they’d given him a deadline to show up, and if he went alone the odds of people getting hurt were too high.  And in the end...wasn’t Deadpool right?  Who was he to put his own discomfort above the lives of innocent people.  “Fine.”

Deadpool stared at him.  “Really?”

“Yes, fine,” Peter gritted out.  “Deal.  Meet me at the rooftop of the First New York bank building in Manhattan in two hours.  If you actually help save lives and don’t kill anyone then...fine.”  He turned and left the bar deciding he was going to ignore the hell out of the deal he’d just made until he couldn’t.  

Denial was totally a thing.




 

Wade watched Spidey hallucination/evil doppelgänger leave the bar and turned to Weasel.  “Wait, was that, uhm, actually Spiderman?”

Weasel stared at him in awed disbelief.  “I don’t fucking know, Wade, but he sure looked like the real creepy crawly deal and if so you just got Spider-freaking-man to agree to give you a blow job.”

Wade blinked.  He was still healing the last of the brain injury from that morning because a knife plus three bullets through the brain took a little time even for him but...wait…”so, that was really Spidey?”

“A blow job,” Weasel breathed out.  “It’s like Darth Vader making out with the Little Mermaid.  It’s so so wrong but oddly hypnotic to think about.”

“Wait.  That was actually Spidey,” Wade said slowly as the last of his healing brain knitted itself together.  “And he just agreed to give me a blow job.”

“Welll,” Weasel waved a hand.  “I would say less agreed to and more gave his dubiously blackmailed consent but tomato...tomahto…”

Wade’s brain suddenly snapped into complete focus.  “I gotta go Weas...”

“Take pictures!” Weasel yelled after him.