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The bar didn't even have a name. After taking down Ultron in Sokovia, Coulson had wired them about yet another catastrophe along the border of Canada. Long story short, a fight between two of the X-Men's guys led to the destruction of one of the North Atlantic's defense systems.

Why?

Someone stole someone's best girl. Easy as pie to figure out, really. Of course, after clearing up with Charles Xavier that the man in question was adamant about not joining his team, his best girl was stolen. Again. And thus, the Avengers found themselves in Canada, sipping on probably the best beer they'd ever have in what was basically a shit-hole of a bar. The floors were coated with sticky alcohol and dirty plates and utensils- Sam wrinkled his nose as went to sit down because was that blood on the floor there, all crusted and brown?!

"This is quite unsanitary," Vision commented, "I can provide some disinfectant if need be?"

Sam shook his head, sniffing as he slid onto one of the bar stools at the counter, "Nah, man. Nat said we wouldn't be here long anyway."

Vision smirked, "Let me know when you want it, Mr. Wilson."

"Will do."

Sam looked around for his team- they weren't exactly blending in with the crowd when accompanied by a green and red robot in a cape with a gem that could destroy the world implanted in his forehead. That, and Vision wasn't exactly apt at social interaction with humans. He spotted Nat's bright red hair in a sea of leather and muscle, dragging a nervous Wanda over to a table. At least the seating looked decent, with wiped down tables and cushioned stools. Sam could smell the nacho cheese from across the bar, his mouth watering slightly.

"What can I do for you fine gentlemen?" a voice asked, and Sam turned back in his chair to see a young man behind the counter, a bored look on his face. His glasses were crooked, the thick black frames slightly cracked, and long shaggy hair framed a long, pale face. The guy was also in need of a shave, the beginnings of a beard and 'stache evident on his upper lip and chin.

"Uh, two beers- light," Sam said hastily. The bartender snorted.

"Listen, if you wana drink the girly stuff I suggest you head over to Weenie Hut Jr.'s," he joked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, "I can let you out through the back so you don't have to go through the walk of shame."

Sam grinned as the guy laughed, shaking his head, "Nah, just kidding. Coors or Heineken?"

Sam pursed his lips as he waited for the drinks, letting himself look around again. There seemed to be a good amount of patrons, so business was obviously good, if not a little un-hygienic. The bar was made of a polished mahogany, Vision's fingers clicking as he drummed them. The bartender reappeared from under the counter to produce a green glass bottle, leaning forward with a grin, "So what kind of work do you need?"

Sam nearly choked on his first sip, "What?"

The bartender shrugged, "People don't usually come in here unless they need a quick fix. So what is it? 'Cuz I've got a couple of jobs lined up already-"

"Yo, Weasel!"

Sam raised an eyebrow as the man returned the  call with a rasped voice, "What do you fuckers want this time?"

The biker who had yelled was sitting next to Wanda and Nat. Wanda was trying her best to dissolve right there and then, Nat rolling her eyes as she nonchalantly ate more nachos.

"Put me down for five on Wilson!" the biker called. Weasel let out a scoff, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

"You know that's playing dirty, Cutthroat!" Weasel went to pick up a piece of chalk anyway, turning to write on a board hanging on the wall.behind him.

"Your mom plays dirty, Weasel!"

Sam repressed a chuckle as Weasel muttered, "You wish, you bastard..."

"Nice guy," Sam joked, jutting his chin at the board. White lines were drawn in a shaky grid, names listed at the top. Tally markes dotted random boxes, and drawn on the left were dollar signs and prices ranging from five dollars to five hundred, "What's this for?"

Weasel set the chalk down, "We have bets sometimes. I never win though." 

"Like the Superbowl?" Sam guessed, "'Cuz I never win those either, my friend Clint over there-" Sam pointed out Clint, who was now with Steve as they're sat with Wanda and Natasha, Steve giving any low-lifes a glare if they made a suggestive advance towards either of the women. The door creaked open, signaling more patrons as Weasel shook his head.

"Always wins?" Weasel finished with a knowing smirk, "Yeah, it's kinda like that, but not really."

Sam wrinkled his brow, "What do you bet on then?"

"Who dies first in one of our many bar fights. If they do die, they're picture goes up on the wall behind me." Weasel moved to lean against the bar, showing off what seemed to be thousands of pictures, most of them big, burly dudes in ripped jeans and leather. Two of them featured women, one standing proudly over a man's body, the other cuddling and smiling with a guy in a selfie. The first woman was big, with large muscles to go with a tree-trunk body. Her long dark hair was in a ponytail, showing off a square jaw and steely eyes. 

"That's Angel," Weasel tapped the picture. Sam thought he could detect a hint if wistfulness in his tone, made obvious by the slump in his shoulders, the goofy smile crawling across his face. "She's indestructible. And hot."

"I can detect a rise in your endorphin levels," Vision piped up, making both men jump. Sam had forgotten the robot was sitting there. His beer sat untouched, no doubt now warm. Vision cocked his head, giving Weasel a knowing look, "Quite normal when one experiences the emotion of extreme happiness or love. Is this correct, Sam?"

"Dude, that's sick- you didn't tell me you had a talking tin can!" Weasel's face lit up like it was Christmas. Sam rolled his eyes jutting his chin at the rest of the team, "Vision, why don't you go sit with Wanda?"  

Vision looked confused, "Is that what Miss Maximoff wishes?"

Sam shrugged, "Won't know until you try. I'll be there shortly, okay?"

Weasel chuckled, "That is awesome. Wade would so wish they gave him a metal arm or something." A funny look crossed his features, "I wonder how it works down there?" As Weasel babbled about the possible anatomical structure of a robot, Sam eyed the seco.d picture. It was cute, both the man and woman giving wide beams to the camera. Sam laughed when he noticed the woman had a Ring-Pop on her finger, showing it off proudly.

"That's Wade and his girl Vanessa," Weasel explained, "their engagement picture, actually."

"Congrats. When's the wedding?"

Weasel shrugged, eyes darting to his wrist, "Ask Wilson, I guess. He's just finishing up a job, but he should be here in like-"

BANG!

"Weasel!"

"-now."

The bar erupted into applause and cheering as a man waltzed into the room, wearing a bright red suit. Not a business suit, but one of spandex, with black accents. Straps hung off his arms and legs, toting various gun and blades. The man stomped through the crowd, stealing swigs of beer and food off people's plates as he went. Sam gaped as he approached his team, swiping up the plate of nachos Wanda was currently eating. Natasha looked ready to murder the guy as he smacked his lips and attacked the food with the fervor of a lion on the hunt for a gazelle, ending with a loud roar of a burp.

If Natasha Romanoff glared at you like she was glaring at this man now, you were dead. He didn't seem to notice, licking nacho cheese and salt from his gloved fingers. 

"That's Wade, I'm assuming?" Sam asked. Weasel nodded, "Yeah."

Sam pointed out Natasha, "My friend there hates when people steal her food."

Weasel shrugged, "The redhead?"

Sam nodded, "Yup. That look? Wade's a dead man."

Normally, people were more wary if Sam pointed that out. Natasha was a fighter, and eve if it was over food, if you just up and took what was hers, she would deck you into next Tuesday- Clint still had the bruises to prove it after eating one if her leftover chocolate bars from Halloween. But Weasel was laughing. As if it were funny.

An angry Black Widow was not funny.

Finally, he gave up, "What's so funny?"

Weasel shook his head, "Cutthroat is a fucking dumb-ass if he thinks he can win five hundred on Wade.

"What do you mean?" The bottle of beer was lukewarm now as he sipped it, the green glass slick with condensation. He heard Wade yelling at a bunch of other patrons before Weasel told him to slip into the back and change, saying it was "unfair if you have protective gear on!" Chairs and tables scraped loudly against the dirty tiles until the bar was cleared, leaving a space in the center of the room. People were already whipping out wads of cash, arguing amongst one another, and Weasel was already armed with his thin stick of chalk.

"Alright you motherfuckers!" Weasel yelled, and everyone fell into total silence, "This is one of the final fights of the year. Make your bets count, and anyone who loses gets a Blowjob!"

Cheers sounded as people were shouting names, and Sam watched as Weasel rushed to tally the names and numbers; his handwriting was chicken scratch at best, not even able to be considered print. Weasel turned to Sam, "You wanna bet, buddy? Christmas cheer and all that?" 

Sam shook his head, "I think I'm good. I'll just go.... sit with my friends now."

Weasel chuckled as he counted the wads of cash being tossed onto the counter, "Whatever floats your boat, dude. Whatever floats your boat."

--------

Apparently, Weasel was serious about betting on fights to the death. The Avengers watched as buff, rotten men charged at one another, fists flying and teeth being knocked from mouths. Fresh blood spattered the floor every once in a while, making Sam want to vomit. Sure, he had seen blood in war, and if he cut himself by accident, but to have people do it willingly for money was absolutely unheard of. Wanda cringed into Vision every time Weasel had to hop over the counter of the bar and confirm whether or not a man was dead.

So far there was one death and five near-misses.

Sam sneaked a sidelong glance at Steve; the war veteran looked pale, his pallor turning a threatening green. They had just watched their seventh fight, and so far, only one person had won. One hundred dollars, but compared to the other bets written on the board, it was the most anyone had gotten all night. Natasha smirked against the lip of her beer bottle as they watched the winner- a blind old woman- count out bills as she tapped her way back to her seat.

"Woman knows how to get shit done," Weasel announced, his voice hoarse over the crowd, "Round of applause for Blind Al, everyone!"

"Blind Al?" Clint laughed incredulously, "Are you serious?"

"You go by Hawkeye," Wanda pointed out. Clint shook his head, muttering low under his breath. Sam looked around- he still hadn't seen that Wade guy fight yet. He had been in the back since he got to the bar, apparently. Steve coughed into his fist, moving to take more nachos. The plate was almost done, but thankfully Natasha had ordered at least two more batches from Weasel when he had passed, handing out bills to whoever had won the most recent bet. A woman approached, wearing an all black ensemble that showed off a muscular physique; enough to rival any of the men in the bar, or put some to shame. Long black hair was tied up in a ponytail, showing off a square jaw and smirking pink lips. Her eyes depicted storms as she stared down Weasel.

This must've been Angel, Sam realized. The woman Weasel pointed out in one of the photos on the wall.

"Weasel," Angel said, making the scrawny man jump, "Where is Wilson?"

Sam heard Natasha chuckle around a mouthful of cheese and chips as Weasel blushed profusely, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose as he stared up at Angel. Weasel wrung his hands into his shirt, dropping a few bills as he stuttered, "H-Hey, Angel...."

"Guy's got it bad," Natasha snorted into her beer. Sam raised an eyebrow at Wanda and Vision. The two looked back, confused. Sighing, he grabbed a handful of nachos, cheese dribbling down his chin as he shoved it in his mouth. Really, Vision had it bad for Wanda. Wanda just didn't realize it.

"You're telling me," Clint chimed in, "that is way too much woman for me." Natasha punched Clint's arm, "Ow! What was that for?!"

Natasha glared, "Don't be rude. She's standing right there." Angel had apparently heard, throwing daggers at Clint. Natasha caught her attention, her grin turning into one of- was it admiration? Surprise?

"What? Is there something on my face?" Angel demanded in her thick Russian accent.

Natasha looked taken aback, testing her in her native language. Russian flew off her tongue like ale from a bottle, and Angel's face softened as she replied. The two women conversed, confusing everyone else even further. Clint leaned across the table for more nachos. After a few seconds, Angel turned back to Weasel, a smile on her face as she asked, "Weasel?"

Weasel jumped nearly ten feet in the air. His skin was clammy, and his hands had no doubt started putting holes in his shirt from all the wringing. The bills had fallen completely from his hands, and Sam could see as much as one thousand dollars in tens alone. Angel, still smiling, noticed the money and bent over to pick it up. The paper crumpled in her fist as she held it out to him.

"Y-yeah?" Weasel managed to get out.

Angel dropped the bills into his hand, "You dropped these. And I want a Blowjob later. With you." With Weasel's nod of agreement, Angel bid Natasha farewell and made her way to the bar. Weasel gasped, mouth floundering as he struggled to find the words, looking at Natasha like she was a gift from God. Ignoring the other patrons who wanted their winnings, Weasel wormed his way next to Natasha, eyes wide as he nearly begged, "What did you tell her, you absolute goddess?"

"I think 'goddess' is overkill to be honest," Clint laughed.

"We girls have to stick together," Natasha blatantly ignored him.

"Yeah, but-"

"All I asked was where she got her eyeshadow," Natasha said, and added after a beat, "....and I may have mentioned something about how pretty you think she is." Natasha was not prepared for Weasel hugging her (if squeezing her until she couldn't breathe counted as a hug.) The bartender went.back to announcing fights with a new spring in his step, casting looks at Angel every so often. The next fight was starting, the door to the back banging open. Out walked a man in a pair pf jeans and a res hoodie, the hood pulled down low to cover his face. Sam nudged Steve's elbow.

"Weasel said that was his friend," Sam explained, "Wade Wilson was his name."

"How do you know this?" Steve asked.

Sam jutted his chin at Weasel, "Weasel said so when he first walked in. Was wearing a black and red spandex suit."

Steve laughed politely, amused, "So Mr. Wilson is playing superhero too?"

"I wouldn't be too worried," Clint cut in, "these guys seem to.just be mercernaries for odd jobs. Wilson shouldn't be able to do much." Cutthroat was getting riled up, banging a fist on the table. Weasel yelled to reprimand him as he picked up a nearby chair.

"That's a new fucking chair, you goddamn fucker!" Weasel shouted as it smashed across Cutthroat's knee. Wade stood in the center of the makeshift ring, hands on his hips.

"Weasel!" Wade laughed, "C'mon, buddy. Daddy needs to express some rage!"

Weasel smirked, leaning into Sam's table, "Wade had a bad day today." 

"What does that mean?" Wanda asked curiously. Weasel nodded towards Cutthroat, "Told Cutthroat it was not worth betting on Deadpool today. Or ever."

"Deadpool?"

"His alias. Called him that since he started working as a mercernary."

"Oh."

Someome had approached the ring. He was tall, broad shouldered with tree trunks for legs. The crack of his knuckles echoed in the bar, silencing everyone.

"Y' know," the guy said, "you've never shown your ugly mug to anyone except Blind Al over there." A pause ashe teased, "Love is blind. Are you in love?"

"Love is not blind. Al is blind." 

Natasha let herself laugh out loud as the conversation fell, the man settling for his fist. Wade dodged easily, pulling a Matrix before grabbing his wrist and tweaking sharply. The man cried out in pain, sending a foot to Wade's kneecap. There was a sickening crunch as Wade's leg crumpled underneath him.

This was not going to end well.

 

 

Chapter Text

The bar fight between Wade and the other patron seemed to go on forever. Mostly because this Wade Wilson seemed to know what his opponent was doing before they actually did it. Natasha watched as he spun and dodged and kicked, all the while cracking jokes with what she assumed was a smile on his face. 

He wore the hood the entire time. It was starting to get on her nerves. As an assassin, you wanted to be able to calculate each and every move. Wade could do that to his opponent. Natasha couldn't do that to him. 

"You okay, Nat?" Clint asked, taking a swig of his beer as they watched. It was the fourth opponent who had bothered to go up against Wade, and the guy just wasn't letting up. 

"Can't see his face," Natasha finally pointed out, "good tactic, yet very annoying." A grunt sounded, and they knew the most recent opponent had lost, skulking back to his seat. Weasel went to the board, scratching tallies seemingly at random; these fights went for so long that Natasha hadn't even bothered to keep score anymore and Weasel's handwriting was shit. Wanda hummed, drumming her fingers against the worn brown table, the laquer of her nails shining in the dim light. The witch had been like that for a while, brown eyes trained on Wade as he fought, following every jab, stab and dodge he made. He always won in the end, but Wanda was forlorn as each win was announced. Pursing her lips, Natasha nudged her.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Wanda jumped, eyes wide as they searched her face. Wanda coughed into her sleeve.

"I don't know what you mean," she tried.

"Wanda."

The witch sighed, shifting slightly in her seat as she said, "I'm sensing sadness from him. Wade, I mean."

Natasha shrugged, "I dunno. He sounds pretty happy to me." As if to back up the claim, Wade's most recent opponent threw a sloppy punch, which Wade dodged easily and somehow managed to turn it into a German Supplex. Customers laughed and booed as the guy skunk away, head lowered dejectedly. Weasel was perched on the bar counter, Angel sitting on a stool next to him as she watched and clapped politely.

"Looksl like another Blowjob to give, huh, Wade?"

"You know how I like them! Nice and sloppy!"

Weasel threw in the towel, "Just aim for my face, alright buddy?"

Natasha quirked a smile as Wade made loud kissing noises. It still bothered her that she couldn't see his face. Wanda was still watching with pity, and Natasha pressed, "Wanda, seriously. There can't be-"

"He wishes he could die."

The ring had broken up now, Weasel counting out the winning money and doling out the bills. Wade rolled his shoulders, a crack sounding in the room.

"So, what, is he suicidal? Depressed?" Sam jumped in, adding hastily, "Overheard, sorry."

Wade ambled over to a table, hands shoved in his pockets as he plopped hinself down on the rickety barstool. His hood had slipped back a bit, and Natasha could see the point and bridge of his nose. His sweatshirt looked like it had once been a bright blue, now faded to a dull navy.

"Something is wrong, yes, but it isn't suicide," Wanda shook her head, "depression is a possibility. I keep hearing a name. Vanessa."

Sam rapped the tabletop with his knuckles, "Weasel had a picture of him and a woman on the bar." 

Natasha nodded, "Probably her then." They turned to watch Wade, who had pulled out a cell phone, pressing it to his ear.

-----------

"Hey 'Nessa. It's me again. I know I called an hour earlier, but.... well, I don't know, but Weasel is giving me a Blowjob. I'd rather it were you though."

Wade cringed. God, he sounded so stupid. In fact, he had a feeling that God was watching from his comfy perch in the clouds, laughing hysterically as he attempted to call Vanessa again. Of course, it could have been FrozenHearts, the writer of this stupid-ass fic. 

"What kind of name is FrozenHearts any way?" Wade glared at the ceiling, "Seriously, Frozen was so three years ago!" Wade grumbled under his breath, adding, "I bet you won't even finish this stupid fic- you'll get all caught up in stupid movies and making television and starring in your own movies because you're paranoid they'll get the characters wrong or something. Is that it?"

FrozenHearts didn't answer. Neither did God, but that was expected. God never seemed to answer his phone calls anyway. Wade hunched over in his seat, picking at the frayed edge of his sleeve. He had meant to patch it up or throw it away, really he did. But with Vanessa up and mysteriously missing again, he hadn't gotten around to it.

"You're the reader. Why don't you tell me?" Wade pondered.

You can't really answer. You are, after all reading this. Wade glanced at the ceiling again. Still nothing.

God sure was reliable, huh?

Wade sat, fidgeting with his fraying sleeve, his hood pulled low over his face. Weasel was really theonly person who had seen what Francis had done to him, along with having time to get used to it. Ever since he "officially" became Deadpool, he always wore the mask when coming into Weasel's bar. No one else in the establishment had seen the aftermath. He didn't really want them to.

Hewas aware of the group that had come in, and he knew they had been eyeing him all night. For some reason, it made him feel uneasy. As if he was a kid again, and he was with his uncle-

Wade shivered. No. Don't think about that. Never again, it was never going to happen again. Wade would bet his life that that son of a bitch was dead, he was sure of it-

"Wade?"

Wade looked up to see Weasel standing at the table, Blowjob in hand. The glass clinked against the scratched wooden surface, "One Blowjob. Looks like you need it."

Wade took it gratefully, "Thanks." He threw the drink back, almost recoiling at the sickly sweet taste. Whipped cream dribbled from the corners of his mouth as he tipped the drink back. Weasel watched carefully as he placed the glass down.

"You looked like you were thinking about it again," Weasel said. Wade nodded.

"Kind of just happens sometimes," Wade admitted, "I just wanted to hear Vanessa, hear her voice again."

Weasel shrugged, "I mean, you got her back last time, and Vanessa's a big girl. She's a tough one."

Wade chuckled, circling the rim of the shot glass with his nail. The skin of his hands was pockmarked, knuckles bent and nails scraggly. Stupid mutation. Stupid trigger.

Stupid Francis. He should have realized the honor that was getting stabbed with a katana by Vanessa. She was one hot mama. Weasel broke him out of his trance with a cough.

"So, there's a group here that wanted to-"

"Kill me?" Wade scoffed, "Who doesn't? And besides, they can't do it any way. Francis tried. Look what happened."

Weasel scrunched up his nose, fixing his thick-frames glasses, "I thought you said he beat the tar out of you, shoved said tar up your ass and left you impaled in the buff while the warehouse was on fire and came down on you." 

Wade gestured with a flourish, "Believe me, he was one of the worst one night stands ever. Ten out of ten would not recommended."

Lips pursed, Weasel collected tje glass, "I think I'll just stick with my porn, thanks. But the group just wants to talk or something." Weasel sniffed the glass, grimacing as he muttered under his breath, "Ugh. Why do I even make these things?"

"Because you love me."

"A little too much if it involves making this an official menu item."

As soon as Weasel left ("Angel has been checking me out all night, I'm gonna see if she wants to share a Blowjob."), Wade immediately wished that he had decided to talk more with Weasel. About Vanessa. About dating Vanessa. About sleeping with Vanessa. The way her hair smelled, her throaty laugh and wide smile. 

Maybe God would be willing to listen to an immortal man's wish. 

Yeah, right. God was probably too busy with whatever it was he did up in Heaven. Or she. Wade waa never one for religious belief. Leaning back in his chair, Wade idly scratched his head, letting his hood fall to reveal himself in all his glory. Damn what the spectators thought.

It was better, after all, to go out with a bang rather than a whimper. 

Chapter Text

Hi everyone!

So I understand it's been two years since Deadpool came out. I remember seeing it on Valentine's Day and I immediately went home to start writing this story. Unfortunately, life got in my way, and so i haven't updated anything.

Recently, I saw Deadpool 2, and I loved it! For a while this will stay as it is until I can figure out how to incorporate Deadpool 2 into a fanfic based on Deadpool 1.

Thank you for your time and happy reading!