Chapter Text
Peter is confident in his skills. As Spiderman, he’s taught himself his limits. He knows how hard, where and when to hit people so they become less of a threat and more of a slightly inconvenient meat-bag. He has extensive notes on body language, changes in tonal pitch, even what people say.
Peter is confident as Spiderman. He thinks he’s allowed to be – at this point, he’s been Spiderman for almost half his life.
But Deadpool is not, and never has been, an opponent Peter is confident in dealing with.
“Hey Webs! Fancy seeing you here!”
Peter doesn’t really stop to consider how silly the line is – Deadpool is in the middle of a busy street, fighting what looks to be 5 decently skilled ninjas, given that they’re still alive. It’s after dark, sure, but since when does the city ever sleep? With the general screaming and property damage, did Deadpool really think he’d just swing on by?
Both of these questions are mostly just rhetorical.
Peter doesn’t just dive in, as much as he wants to. He knows the mercenary probably isn’t going to kill him, not today at least, but Deadpool hasn’t always reacted… favourably when Peter has joined the fray. He sticks to the outskirts of the fight, darting in and pulling people – stupid, terrified, dumbass people – out of the way of the furiously fighting figures.
Getting this on camera isn’t worth anyone’s life.
He continues to hover, even when the last of the civilians are out of harm’s way. Peter’s eyes stay focused on the fight, but he’s mentally wondering which side he should help, if any. Sure, ninjas are rarely good news, especially this side of town, but their opponent is Deadpool.
Just as he thinks fuck it, Deadpool slices cleanly through one of the ninjas that happens to get a little too close. The mercenary grins and laughs like someone just told him the funniest joke in the world. He slaps his knee, the movement causing the attack by one of the still alive ninjas to literally fly over his head. Deadpool mimes wiping away a tear, lunging forward. Blades clash, sparks fly, and the mercenary cackles as he shoves the ninja back, muscles flexing beneath his suit.
This. This is why Peter can never quite decide if he should help Deadpool or not.
“As much as I’d love to dissect exactly what was so funny about that,” Peter calls. “I think I’m going to have to ask you to wrap this up, fellas.”
Deadpool laughs again. “He said the d-word,” the mercenary snickers. The ninjas ignore Peter.
“Alternatively, I can wrap this up,” Peter says, making sure his voice is very, very dry.
Deadpool actually stops and bends over laughing. Peter takes advantage of the mercenary’s stillness to web him up, leaving him dangling from a streetlight. The mercenary wriggles, shouting angrily, but he’s wrapped up for now and usually, Peter can rest assured he’ll stay that way for at least a few minutes.
In those few minutes, Peter works on taking down the rest of the ninjas. Maybe it’s because one of their number has been killed, but the ninjas seem almost afraid to fight him. Very weird. Regardless, it makes Peter’s job of webbing them all up disgustingly easy, and so he has plenty of time to notice that Deadpool has cut himself free and is conspicuously absent from Peter’s view.
The really, really bad thing about Deadpool is that he can attack Peter without it ever setting off his spider sense. Peter turns carefully, keeping himself low to the ground so that he can attack, dodge or defend at a moment’s notice. Ideally, he’d love to be closer to a wall, because as skilled as Deadpool is, Peter’s fairly sure he can’t climb walls like Peter can.
He can definitely teleport, however, so climbing walls seems like a pretty abysmal defence, if anyone wanted to know.
The quietest whoosh of something very sharp cutting through the air is Peter’s only warning.
He drops lower, basically laying on his stomach, as the katana blade slices through the empty air where his neck had been only a second ago. Before Deadpool can get any closer, Peter flips himself back, landing steady on the balls of his feet as he stares at Deadpool from what he knows, from experience, is a safer distance.
“You’re no fun, Webs,” the mercenary says, obviously pouting under the mask. “You could give me one hit. You ruined my fun!”
He waves at the hanging ninjas, and Peter realises that Deadpool has, somehow, already killed another of them, their head only barely attached to the rest of them. The hair along the back of Peter’s neck stands at attention.
“And here I thought you needed me to make things a bit easier for you,” Peter replies, falsely unaffected. Even if his spider sense is quiet, every other instinct is telling Peter, very plainly and loudly, that he should be gone. He should not be hanging around – ha – Deadpool any longer than necessary. “You did seem to be having a bit of trouble there.”
Deadpool scoffs. “You, help me? Not in this universe, Webs. We are very firmly on our respective sides of the morality line.”
“It was my bit of charity work,” Peter snipes back, the words out of his mouth before he has a moment to consider them. He winces. No one wants to be thought of as charity, and he could have taken this as an opportunity to point out that they’re not exactly as different as Deadpool seems to think. Maybe they had been once, but not so much anymore.
Deadpool tilts his head, absently twirling the katana in his hand. The other is suspiciously absent, but Peter has a feeling he won’t have to look very far for it. He’s not stupid enough to look away from Deadpool, though. Not now, not when it’s still so unclear which way Deadpool’s unpredictable nature is leaning.
“You could do charity work for anyone in this shit hole, and you picked me?” Deadpool eventually squeals, and another flinch jerks through Peter’s body. This one has less to do with Peter putting his foot in his mouth, and more to do with the obscene pitch Deadpool can get his voice to hit. “Holy shit, Webs, that’s so fucking sweet!”
Peter chances a glance at the webbed ninjas, and finds the missing katana, impaled in a different ninja. That one is still alive, judging by the frantic gurgles, but nothing Peter will do can save them.
He focuses back on Deadpool, who did not take advantage of Peter’s brief inattention to do anything other than continue to gush about how sweet Peter is. “I’m generally drawn to where I’m most needed,” Peter says, interrupting Deadpool’s stream of word vomit. “The fly struggling the most, if you will.”
That seems to get to Deadpool. “How many flies do you know that can do what I do?” he demands, abruptly ready to lunge at Peter. Peter doesn’t react. Not yet… “You know, I think I remember something about some money for your head,” Deadpool says, musing. “Or maybe not even your head – maybe just a limb. An eye. I can keep the rest.”
“While I know most spiders willingly give up limbs to stay alive,” Peter replies, still and alert, “I’m afraid I don’t have that inclination.”
“Then what’s your inclination?” Deadpool asks, a leer in his words.
“Nothing,” Peter says, shrugging. He’s not about to play this game with Deadpool.
Deadpool hums, the katana twirling again. “Nah, Webs. Surely you got a little something something, hmm?” He takes a dangerous step forward, but Peter’s pretty sure he’s still in the clear. “What makes this little hero tick?”
Peter’s already leaping backwards, that almost imperceptible shift in the mercenary’s tone enough of a warning. Deadpool curses, tearing the katana free from the crack in the pavement it had either made or been lucky enough to get caught in. Peter didn’t particularly care how it had gotten stuck – as long as it isn’t stuck in him.
He’s close enough to a wall that he can flee, get away unscathed from his little run in with the mercenary, but he hesitates. Three of the ninjas are still alive, and there’s a chance Peter could get one, maybe two, out –
The knife Deadpool throws at him carves a line of white-hot pain into his shoulder, and Peter is reminded, again, that Deadpool is not someone he can take on confidently. He mutters an unkind word, directed at himself, and spares one last glance of pity for the webbed ninjas.
He wants to save them. He does. But he’s not as naïve and green as he used to be, and he values his life more than the lives of ninjas he’s at least mostly sure are not good guys. Daredevil deals with this sort of crowd fairly often, so Peter’s pretty sure he’s better off not getting killed saving the lives of some ninjas who both Deadpool and Daredevil would be happy to get rid of.
Peter darts up the wall and is in the wind before Deadpool can throw another knife.