Chapter Text
Sakaar sucked absolute ass.
And not in the fun way.
Wade had lived there four years, and each year was shittier than the last. It was life through shit-stained glasses day after day. The shit on Sakaar shitted.
[Okay, we get it — It’s shitty.]
So shitty.
Wade sat in the red and white room he shared with three people and tapped his foot to the imaginary beat of “Shoop,” grinning. “So, let’s do the daily news. I’m scheduled to kick another alien ass this morning — no need to applaud my astounding alliteration — after the legendary Clay kicks yours truly’s. Then we get to eat the shit that stains our glasses here on the lovely Sakaar before retiring to play poker, but not the kind you’re thinking of. It’s shaping up to be a very day today.”
Taliks threw a mechanic pillow at the wall above Wade’s head. Or at Wade’s head. They had terrible aim, so it was hard to tell. “Shut your asshole, Wade.”
“Unlike you, I don’t talk out my ass. It’s exclusively for fucking, but not for exclusive fucking.” He winked.
“Oh, sorry, can’t tell the difference with the way you look.” They shot him a red, sharp-toothed smile and grabbed another mechanic pillow to lie down.
{If nothing else, at least we have banter, the spice of life.}
[You sound like a middle-aged, white mom who hangs up “live, laugh, love” signs all over her house.]
Clay sauntered out of her cave-like section of the room with a prolonged sigh, flipping her sheathed sword over her shoulder. She plopped down shoulder-to-shoulder to Wade and kicked his boot. “No mask today?”
{Oh, true. That is rare.}
“Guess I’m just too hot, hot damn.” He fanned himself as he spoke, trying to get some sort of breeze in his section by the boiler. It didn’t usually stop him from Deadpooling up even during their rest hours, but today was sweltering, and he didn’t want to suffocate in a sweaty mask before his match even began.
“Fuck yeah, you are.” She slapped his ass and stood up. “But better put it on. We have a match in five minutes.”
“Oh em gee, did we both swipe right? Now you have to get me flowers.” He batted his eyes and held out a hand daintily.
She grabbed his forearm and pulled him up roughly, which absolutely filled his dick with those famed butterflies.
[This is why you always lose to her. You don’t use your head.]
{Oh, I think he’s using it.}
Wade swiped his mask from below his pillow and tugged it over his sweaty, wrinkly ballsack of a head before posing for Clay, now as his better self.
The door beeped and whooshed open, revealing four armed guards, dressed in all black. They didn’t do anything, just stood there as Wade and Clay made their way over to their designated spots like good little gladiators, trained by years of
torture “correctment.” But no amount of correctment could keep Wade from moonwalking to his spot.
The guards led them to their separate entrance chambers, where they had two minutes to psych themselves up or out before battle.
{We just straight up psych o. No ut about it.}
Wade scratched his sweaty ass and checked his guns while he waited, content in knowing the outcome but a little disappointed that he would have to regenerate a stomach so soon after breakfast. His stomach always did its reappearing act empty of any earlier contents.
[As if we’re ever not hungry.]
The steel door grinded open abruptly, revealing the dust bowl arena of the stadium, which shook from the reverberating screams and the pounding of crowds of feet. It stretched almost far enough for the door on the other end to fade out of view, but Wade didn’t need to see to know who would be swaggering out of the doors, ready to shove his face into the dirt.
[Not if we get her first.]
{But our masochistic nature prevents that.}
Wade drew his katanas and stepped out into the ring.
---
The dust drifted softly around his feet as he walked casually toward the door at the opposite end. Pulling out a couple throwing knives, he cocked his head at the uncharacteristically late entry from the other end. The arena remained empty except for Wade, and he couldn’t see into the shadows of the other entrance chamber to get any idea what the dealio might be.
He took the time to aim at the center of the chamber and threw a knife with one, swift movement. A very un-Clay-like yelp came back as the only answer.
The knife was returned, sloppily but in Wade’s direction, and it landed a couple feet away from him, lodged in the dirt.
Whoever was hiding in the other chamber was not Clay and was most definitely a newbie. No experienced gladiators cowered in the chamber because they learned from experience that you just got killed by doing that.
Well, they didn’t learn. But others learned.
Wade waited for the telltale buzz of electrocution before charging in to pull the poor victim out for a slow kill, which would earn him extra money from his sponsor to spend on showers and food that didn’t taste like actual shit.
Unlike other gladiators, Wade never minded prolonging a nice blood bath to soak in after a long night with a snoring Taliks. It took the edge off. Calmed him.
And this poor soul arrived right after a sleepless night in a sweltering sauna of a room. Wade was edgier than a teenager listening exclusively to My Chemical Romance.
{Edged all night, you know what I’m saying?}
[I hate that I do.]
Wade grabbed whatever limb jutted out at him first and flung the body into the ring, for the people to enjoy.
Pulling a clip point from his boot, Wade sliced into what turned out to be a leg and felt the rush of adrenaline thrum through his body.
{Got me all tingly.}
The body beneath him cried out and jumped up, favoring the unmarred leg. “You’re turning out to be a real cutup, pal.”
Wade laughed in disbelief. “Not so bad yourself. But these ups aren’t going to cut themselves.” He swung the knife again but hit only air.
The other gladiator, who was in a truly hideous costume of red and blue sweats with a scrappy, goggled mask, lept into the air and away from Wade’s knife with apparent ease. “Do you think we could, like, call a truce? I did not think this through.”
Wade almost felt bad enough for the cute-sounding guy to let him snap Wade’s neck. Almost.
{As I said, masochistic. It’s gonna happen by the end of this chapter, mark my words.}
Pulling out a gun, Wade said, “Think about it this way: you just have to get through the other guy. Usually their head, to be specific.” He shot, aiming for his head, but the newbie moved quicker than a cricket avoiding a boot.
“Gee whiz!” The newbie shot something long and white out at Wade. He didn’t see where on the dude’s body it came from, but he had his guesses, and this was the grossest thing anyone had done to him in the arena.
“Ew. I can’t believe it’s not butter. I’m sex offended.” Wade tried to wipe it off, but his hands stuck to it like it was glue.
{Sticky Spunk™}
“It’s not — Ew.” The guy limped toward him as Wade found himself further tangled up among his own limbs from the sticky substance. “It’s webs.”
“Motherfucker of a bitch.” Wade ceased his struggle and sat down in the sand of the arena, breathing heavily, and scanning the newbie for weaknesses. So far, the biggies were his moral compass and his balls which were located riiight above Wade’s left foot. “Nice to meet you, Webs,” he said with a grin before swinging up with his left foot.
The fucking newbie dodged the hit and practically flew through the air, landing gracefully in one of those superhero squats that were always hell on Wade’s knees.
{I think I’m in love.}
[What’s new?]
Another web launched itself right at Wade (he still didn’t see where it came from), and the newbie tugged on it to yank Wade across the arena to land at Newbie’s feet.
Wade was too busy watching the sliver of neck that appeared between pieces of Newbie’s costume to notice or to care that he was being wrapped up like a spider burrito. Maybe he was about to be cannibalized. Wade didn’t really know much about spiders. Just how to squish them.
[Didn’t squish this one, did you?]
By the time Wade broke out of his daze, his arms were fully bound to his chest, and his legs were his Only Hope. With a huff and a tremendous amount of body strength (yeah, he was ripped), Wade managed to kick his legs up, kicking Newbie in the face and rolling back into a super cool kneeling position that definitely didn’t hurt his kneecaps.
Newbie limped back away from him. “I can’t really let you stay alive and kicking, but I really don’t want to do this. Can you just surrender?”
“Not how this works. We at least need a little blood to get the crowd all hot and ready.” Wade swayed to his feet and took in the position of his opponent. He looked scared, from the way he kept looking up at the Jumbotron as if it would save him from the big, bad Deadpool.
Despite the legends the Gamekeepers spun about their top gladiator, Wade didn’t enjoy hurting innocent babies like this newbie. He just enjoyed killing not-so-innocents and happened to have an outlet handed to him along with a jail cell and nothing else to do but kill.
He was a little stir crazy.
[And just straight up crazy.]
But something about Newbie just puppeteered his heartstrings. So, he lowered his voice and stepped as close as he could without risking Newbie running off. “I’ll let you in on a not-so-secret. I can’t die, and I can’t feel pain. So, I’m basically your very own get-out-of-jail-free card.” He offered a conspiratorial smile, which probably only partly showed through the mask.
The ‘couldn’t feel pain thing’ was a lie, but Wade figured that’s what it would take to get the kid to hit him. And to hit him hard.
When he saw Newbie’s fist coming for him a moment later, there was little else to do but sit there and take it.
{Title of your sex tape.}
[That seems kind of long and convoluted for a title.]
The fist slammed into his nose with a crunch, sending enough blood out of his face to soak through the mask and begin seeping out in drops.
The hits didn’t stop after that. It was like Wade had opened a dam that had been holding back a swarm of children ready to play whack-a-mole with Wade’s face. Fists, and feet, and elbows hit Wade all over, breaking bones and skin until he was wavering in and out of consciousness.
Newbie sounded like he was crying above Wade, whimpering I’m sorrys in between hits.
Wade reassured him with what was left of his mouth. “It’s okay, baby boy. Can’t die anyways.”
And with that, Death grabbed him.
---
He fell back into life while he was still in the arena — sandy, broken, and bruised. Newbie was bent over him, cradling his head.
[So sweet.]
He coughed up the last of the blood in his throat and smiled. “I’m back.”
{Schwarzenegger style.}
“Holy shit.” Newbie dropped his head onto the sand.
Wade hissed. “Nice to see you, too.”
The Gamekeepers ran out into the arena to take them back to their rooms, and Peter stepped back from Wade.
So he had at least heard the rules about breaking up the fight when the Gamekeepers showed up. That was good. They didn’t take that one lightly.
The Gamekeepers escorted Wade back through the endless hall, which held the newer gladiators and the ones who weren’t trusted, and into the main area of the building.
He would be expected to report to his sponsor after losing his match. His sponsor didn’t talk to him much, but he liked to “mentor” Wade whenever he lost a match (rarely) to make sure he stayed at his top game.
Not that Wade was complaining. He vastly preferred his setup to that of his colleagues’ who often spent hours doing various tasks for their sponsors. The whole setup was akin to servitude, but sponsorship just had a better ring to it, apparently.
He tugged off his glove and pressed his thumb to the scanner of his sponsor’s door.
The security AI beeped a low tone. “Denied. You have a new sponsorship. Please report to room 1002.”
Wade scowled. He had been happy with his long-term sponsor who, unlike most sponsors, hadn’t acted like he literally owned Wade’s body outside of the fights. Probably because he looked like a pepperoni-pizza monster, and most people did not want to fuck that. But Wade wasn’t so innocent as to not know about the stray monsterfuckers who would just love a slice of him.
{We’re magically delicious.}
[Wrong food.]
His pal Clay fucked him between battles, and Wade often wondered if she was into the mushed pepperoni look or if she was just as lonely as he was.
[I’m going to go with door number two there, buddy.]
So, between Clay and his sponsor, Wade had a good thing going that was all about to be very fucked up.
He had hoped the long-term deal would last a few more terms, but everyone grows tired of trash eventually, no matter how shiny it is. Thus, the new sponsor.
Wade twirled a knife around his hand with a bitter smile. “Let’s see who the new fangirl is that wants to titty fuck me tonight.”
[Maybe they just want you for your skill.]
{Yeah, our skilled titties.}
Wade sheathed the knife in his leg and walked to the elevator, where he smashed the glowing, white button pointing up.
[So. . . This new sponsor is on the 100th floor, right?]
{Yes, and? Omg, look at me. I could be an improv master.}
[Sure, but the second room on the 100th floor must be somebody big. Like, really big.]
{Ohh, I hear what you’re saying. We’re about to be fucked real good tonight.}
[No, get your mind out of the garbage if it’s possible. This is somebody with real power who probably had enough wealth to outbid our previous sponsor.]
As the numbers counted up and up inside the elevator, Wade pondered. White was right. Which meant that Wade might be about to fall into the lap of luxury, but there was a lot of room to fall from the 100th floor. The 100th floor meant he was about to be the personal plaything of somebody who had way too much time on their hands and who had probably earned their spot by playing with the lives of people like Wade.
The 100th floor consisted entirely of people completely devoted to the game and the trading of players. People like the Grandmaster himself.
They reached the 50th floor, and Wade pulled the knife out from his leg, wiping it off on his pants. It was the only weapon he was allowed to keep while outside the arena after he had been hilariously deemed “not a threat” by the Gamekeepers. Bunch of dick-waving douchewads.
[It is true that we haven’t stabbed anybody outside of the arena.]
{Probs because we have an outlet we can stick a fork in day after day to keep from getting too bored.}
[I wish that was literal so I could shut you up from time to time.]
The 78th floor.
Wade flipped his knife in his hand, knowing full well that they would take everything away from him the moment he reached the top floor. Everyone knew the stakes of the top floor, and the residents there knew better than to let their toys have toothpicks to poke them with.
But Wade was really good at hiding toothpicks. And he really, really liked poking people.
{Me gusta.}
He took a breath and plunged the knife into his stomach in one quick movement. The slim handle slid in after the blade with a sick squelch, slipping through sticky blood into his guts. He yanked his mask up and leaned over to barf blood into the corner of the elevator as he reached the 100th floor.
“We just met. You don’t have to spill your guts already.”
Wade pulled down his mask and turned around to meet his new sponsor and the entourage, but the entourage was nowhere in sight, and this dishevelled, adorable nerd in a lab coat grinning at him could not be his new sponsor.
Wade grinned back. “Can you blame me for being nervous when meeting a cutie like you?”
Pink splotched over the nerd’s face, and his eyes widened. “Oh.”
Wade leaned an elbow against the door of the elevator to stop it from closing. “So, what’s up, doc?”
“Right.” He held out a hand. “I’m Peter. I can show you to my room.”
Wade hummed, low. “Coming on strong there, Petey. Not that I’m complaining.” He gave an obvious twice-over, then added a third just for good measure.
{Oh, I measured all right.}
[Perverts.]
It was hard to see much through the lab coat and loose, ripped, black jeans, but he had a solid build even with the way he slouched in on himself. He was wearing a t-shirt that said “I don’t trip I do random gravity checks,” and Wade snorted.
Peter laughed. “Oh, yeah. I just like to get right down to business.” He gestured down the hall with the outstretched hand that Wade realised he never took. “After you.”
Wade assumed this was some bizarre sort of entourage that his sponsor had set up to get him ready for. . . labwork? Oh, fuck. If they stuck him in a lab again, even with this hot piece of topic, he might just lose his mind.
{Been there, done that.}
Yeah. Lose it again. He was still rummaging through the lost and found bin for some stray piece of it, so it was not on his bucket list to lose the remaining chunks.
[Even if we can regenerate them.]
{Yeah, like, been there, done that way too many times.}
His stomach hole was already almost fully regenerated over the knife, but Wade let it be for now. There were plenty of sharp things in labs, and he was ever so resourceful.
He did a curtsy and walked past Peter.
Behind him, he heard Peter do a gravity check and stumble after him to catch up. “How long have you been here?”
Wade assumed he wasn’t just talking about the 100th floor. He checked his watch. “Oh, four years, twenty seven days, and three hours. Give or take.”
He was silent for a minute. “Have you had many sponsors before?”
“Just the one,” he said with a shrug.
Peter’s arm brushed against Wade’s, and he motioned with his head to make a left. Wade logged the turn in his mental map of the floor. Still arm-to-arm, Peter continued walking down the hall casually, as if he knew the area by heart. He probably did. “So I guess we’re both kind of new to this. I don’t know if that’s reassuring or terrifying.”
“Both?”
“Yeah, I’ve never sponsored anyone else before. You’re my first.”
Wade would have made an innuendous joke, but he felt like he had put a non-metaphorical fork in an outlet.
[Shocked, you mean.]
“ You’re the fangirl who wants to titty fuck me?”
Peter laughed awkwardly. “I don’t remember putting that on the paperwork, and that was definitely not in the job description, but. . . yes?” His eyes widened, and he held up a hand in alarm. “Not to the sex part, I mean, but I guess I could be considered a fan.”
“Because you’re gonna blow me away?” Shit fuck, he needed to stop with the shitty pickup lines and focus on getting out of here now that he knew who his sponsor was.
Peter snorted a laugh and gestured to a doorway. Wade entered slowly, walking through the living room to another room, which he surveyed.
It wasn’t a sterile lab like he expected, though it was just as science-y. It was a large bedroom with posters, textbooks, and gadgets covering every surface except a chair and one spot on the bed, which had a comforter with electrons circling nuclei scattered over the red background. It was like Wade had taken a wrong turn into nerd-ville, population Peter, and he might be stuck here for years, if his last sponsor was anything to go on.
Peter gestured to a cushy chair covered in papers filled with math equations. “Here, take a seat. Sorry for the mess.”
Wade decided to test his boundaries. “I prefer to stand.”
{Masochism.}
[Stop fucking talking about our tendency toward self-destruction. We know .]
Peter shrugged and sat in a desk chair that he twirled around in. “Fair enough. I guess you gotta keep fit, huh?”
“Yeah. How else will you get those dolla dolla bills?” Wade flopped down in the cushy chair bitterly, but became a bit sweeter with the way he sank into it like a cloud.
With a snort Peter gestured to his room. “Not really in it for the money. Just trying to keep busy and try something new.”
As usual, Wade was just a plaything to be tossed around and thrown out when no longer interesting.
{We’re always interesting.}
[In the worst way.]
Apparently not enough.
“That does bring up something I wanted to talk to you about.” Peter paused.
If Wade wasn’t trained to read emotions as intently as he was, he would have thought Peter to be careless and free. But Wade’s newest sponsor kept his emotions close to his chest, hidden behind smiles and awkward bumbling.
Wade watched the way his eyes shifted slightly, displaying some hesitancy before his shoulders slumped and he continued: “Since I’m not in this for the monetary rewards, I’ll leave it up to you how many matches you want each day. You can just let me know the day before, and I’ll file it in the system.” He grinned again, masking something deeper than the more casual conversation he hid behind. “I figure you can take a break tomorrow so we have a chance to adjust and get to know each other, but it’s totally up to you after that.”
{And we all know what “get to know each other” is code for.}
[Two human beings, talking.]
{Oh, you poor, innocent soul.}
Yep, Wade was fucked.
---
Waking up to a red and black nerd comforter surrounding him rather than his regular white, cave-section of a shared cell brought a tear to Wade’s well-rested eye. He wasn’t sure if it was because Clay’s snoring was 96 floors down or if it was because there was no one left to throw piles of nuts and bolts at his head to prepare him for his bout in the Hunger-Games-style arena.
Either way, this wasn’t Kansas anymore, Toto.
“Wade?”
Apparently he was woken up by the king of Nerdville himself, who was now standing in Wade’s doorway, shuffling from foot to foot and wringing his hands.
He grumbled not-so-sweet nothings and huddled further in the lappest of luxury he had had the pleasure of snuggling into in over four years. He was warm, and no amount of torture — threatened or actualized — could make him move. He was like a mountain. A warm, cozy mountain covered in a pile of blankets and pillows.
“Wade, I just wanted to know if you want to join me for breakfast or if you’d like to eat alone? You know, in your room.”
A choice? Well, call him Sophie and slap him in his very own movie. This never happened. Normally they stuffed protein bars into his gullet like a turkey.
[Normally you stuff a turkey from the other end.]
God, that would be so much sexier.
[Protein bars?]
{Yeah, there are sexier foods, but still.}
Speaking of sexy things just begging to be eaten, Peter was still in his room waiting for an answer. An answer for something. Wade racked his newest edition of brain matter but could not for the Death of him come up with the question.
“I’ll just have it sent to your room. You can hop on over to my room whenever you’re ready.” Peter pointed down the hall with an empty smile. This kid hid way too much for Wade to be any semblance of comfortable around him.
{Maybe he just got a fucked-up hand in life and this is how he copes.}
Maybe. Or maybe he was another one of those evil fuckers who ran this place while pretending you were human in their eyes, when all the while you were a game piece or a toy to them.
Wade saw that same smile on the Grandmaster’s face on the Jumbotron too many times to not recognize it at this point.
A breakfast tray graced his bed as he continued thinking, and he sat up abruptly to take it. The motion shoved his stomach knife further into his organs, and he repressed a shout of pain.
He really needed to Operation himself before the buzzer got the game piece lodged away for good.
[I don’t even understand you half of the time.]
Taking the butter knife from his plate, he set to work sawing open his skin.