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The Green Goblin's glider screamed through the night sky. Zanka swung between skyscrapers after it, web-lines snapping taut as he launched himself over traffic. Below, people pointed up at the blur of red and green streaking across the city.
"You're really making me work for this one!" Zanka shouted.
Ahead of him, the Green Goblin cackled. "That's because you're always late, Spider-Man!" A pumpkin bomb hurtled through the air, and Zanka's spider-sense exploded as he twisted sideways. The bomb flew past his head and detonated against a billboard in a shower of sparks.
"Okay, rude."
The Goblin wheeled around sharply and fired razor bats. Zanka dropped beneath them, landing on the side of a building. "Can we talk about this like emotionally healthy people?" Another explosion answered him.
"Thought not."
The Goblin dove as Zanka leaped. They collided above the street. The glider spun out of control as both crashed through a rooftop greenhouse. Glass shattered everywhere, Zanka rolled across the floor and sprang back up. The Goblin landed on the opposite side of the rooftop from him. For a moment, both simply stared, catching their breath.
Then–
A gunshot echoed. Both Zanka and the Goblin froze in place. A second gunshot followed, then a third. Zanka blinked. The Goblin looked around.
"Was that?--" Goblin muttered as he frantically looked for the source of the gunshots.
Then suddenly, a figure crashed through the greenhouse ceiling. The newcomer landed between them in a shower of broken glass.
Red and black.
Twin pistols. Two swords. And absolutely no sense of timing.
Jabber spread his arms. "Good evening, citizens!"
Zanka groaned immediately. "No."
"Yes."
"No." Zanka’s tone changed to more of a whine.
"YES!" Jabber screamed in excitement, raising his hands over his head.
Jabber pointed a pistol at the Goblin. "I saw you two fighting and thought, 'Wow. What this desperately needs is me.'"
The Goblin looked genuinely confused."Who are you?"
Jabber placed a hand over his chest. "That hurts, Mr. Lizard Reptile."
"Deadpool," Zanka sighed.
"Spider-Man."
"Deadpool, leave."
"Spider-Man, no." Jabber grinned under his mask.
The Goblin looked between them. "...Are you two finished?"
"Yes, we are," Zanka said.
"Definitely not," Jabber disagreed.
The Goblin snarled and threw another pumpkin bomb, but Jabber caught it.
Everyone froze.
Jabber stared at the bomb. "Uh."
Zanka pointed frantically. "Throw it!"
Jabber nodded. "Great idea!" But instead of throwing it away, he threw it straight upward.
The bomb exploded, and the greenhouse roof disappeared.
Zanka covered his face; the Goblin followed suit.
Jabber looked pleased with himself. "Nailed it."
The Goblin immediately charged, but Zanka intercepted him. The two slammed into support beams as the rooftop trembled beneath them. Jabber just watched, then pulled out a folding chair.
Zanka glanced over. "Where did you even get that?"
"I have my sources," Jabber replied smugly.
"You are the source." Zanka sighed.
"That's true."
The Goblin punched Zanka across the room. Jabber stood still. "Okay, now it's personal."
"You don't even know him!" The Goblin screeched.
"I know enough!" Jabber drew both pistols. And the Goblin immediately changed targets.
"Finally," Jabber said. "Someone appreciates me."
The next thirty seconds became complete chaos. The Goblin fired missiles. Zanka webbed them. Jabber also shot at them.
But one exploded anyway.
Znaka landed beside Jabber. "Are you actually helping?"
"Maybe."
"Why?" Zanka tilted his head in confusion.
Jabber tilted his head. "You looked busy."
Zanka stared. "That's your reason??"
"I also got bored," Jabber admitted.
"Thought so…”
The Goblin roared in frustration. "You two are insufferable!"
Zanka pointed. "See? That's the first thing you've said tonight that we all agree on."
Jabber looked genuinely touched. "Aw." Then he slung an arm around Zanka's shoulders.
Zanka immediately shoved him off. The motion was automatic, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Jabber grinned beneath his mask.
Zanka rolled his eyes. "Focus."
"You never say that when we're–"
"Focus!"
Jabber laughed. The Goblin looked like he regretted every life choice that had brought him here. A final web-line wrapped around the glider, and Zanka yanked hard. The vehicle slammed into the rooftop. For a split second, it looked like the fight was over. But then Jabber pulled out a rocket launcher.
Zanka froze. "Why do you have that!?"
Jabber looked offended. "Why don't you have one?"
"Because I'm not an insane lunatic!"
Before Zanka could stop him, Jabber fired. The rocket screamed to life across the rooftop.
Everyone's eyes widened as the rocket burst forward. But the rocket missed the Goblin completely. Instead, it struck the damaged greenhouse support. Zanka's mask lenses narrowed.
"Oh, come on," Zanka whined.
The rooftop groaned, metal twisted, glass shattered, and the entire structure began collapsing.
Jabber slowly lowered the launcher. "In my defense–"
"DON’T EVEN START." Zanka barked.
The floor disappeared beneath them, and Zanka shot a web upward. But the Goblin recovered first. A cruel grin spread across his face. "Thank you, Deadpool."
Jabber pointed at himself. "You're welcome?"
The Goblin's glider shot from the smoke like a missile. Zanka's spider-sense exploded, and he twisted to avoid it, but he was half a second late. But only because half a second earlier, Jabber had crashed directly into him. The impact threw off Zanka's balance.
The glider slammed into Zanka’s side. And pain erupted through his ribs. Zanka was launched across the collapsing rooftop, his body smashed through steel beams. Concrete cracked beneath him.
The world spun.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
The Goblin cackled. "Surprise!"
Zanka forced himself up onto one knee as his vision blurred. Something felt wrong, very wrong.
He looked down. One side of his suit was torn open, his skin was visible, and blood had stained the fabric. His pale skin began to bruise, already turning an ugly shade of red as a semi-deep gash began to trickle blood slowly.
Jabber landed nearby.
For once, he wasn't talking.
The Goblin fired another volley of razor bats. Zanka tried to move, but his body moved too slowly. Jabber reacted first. He tackled Zanka out of the way. The blades embedded themselves in the concrete where Zanka had been kneeling.
A long silence followed.
Zanka pushed himself upright, though his ribs screamed in protest.
Jabber stood beside him. But neither looked at the other.
The Goblin hovered above the rooftop debris. "You've gotten sloppy, Spider-Man!"
Zanka clenched a fist.
Jabber’s voice was unusually quiet. "He's right."
Zanka glanced toward him.
Jabber wasn't smiling, wasn't joking, wasn't doing any of the things he normally did.
The realization settled heavily between them.
The injury wasn't the Goblin's fault, not entirely.
Jabber had caused the opening. He knew that.
Zanka knew it.
The Goblin knew it.
And the Goblin was enjoying every second.
"Oh, don't stop now," the Goblin taunted. "You were having so much fun."
Zanka slowly stood, one hand pressed against his injured side. The city lights blurred around him. Across from him, the Goblin hovered above the ruins with a manic grin. Beside him, Jabber spun a pistol in one hand and drew a sword with the other. His joking energy was gone. For the first time all night, he looked genuinely angry.
The Goblin noticed the lack of energy, and his grin widened.
Zanka straightened despite the pain. "Deadpool."
"What?"
"After this fight… We're having a very unpleasant conversation."
Jabber sighed. "Fair."
The Goblin's glider engines roared.
Zanka fired a web line.
Jabber charged forward.
And the rooftop exploded into chaos once again.
The Goblin came screaming down from the smoke, glider first. Zanka fired another web line towards the glider. Jabber fired three bullets. Neither slowed the Goblin down. The Goblin twisted between them and hurled a pumpkin bomb directly at Zanka.
Zanka's spider-sense flared too late, but his injured side slowed him down. The world seemed to slow down. The bomb bounced once across the broken rooftop.
But then Jabber slammed into him. The two crashed through a ventilation unit as the bomb exploded behind them. Pain washed over Zanka's back. Metal rained from the sky.
For a moment, all he could hear was ringing.
Then he heard Deadpool’s voice: "You alive?"
Zanka groaned. "Unfortunately."
"Good," Jabber hauled him to his feet. The movement made Zanka wince. Jabber winced quietly himself as he noticed his enemy's pain. But he didn't make a joke out of it. And that worried Zanka more than the injury.
The Goblin swooped overhead again. "You should've left him behind, Deadpool!"
Zanka fired two web-lines, one connected to one of the glider’s engines, the other connected to a water tower. Then he yanked.
The glider veered violently sideways, and the Goblin cursed as he went off-course. And Jabber immediately took advantage. He launched himself through the air with absolutely no regard for physics, safety, or any amount of common sense.
"HELLO!" Jabber screamed. The Goblin barely had time to react before Jabber crashed into him. Both disappearing into a cloud of smoke.
There was shouting.
Then more shouting.
Then an explosion.
Then Jabber’s voice. "I'M WINNING!"
The Goblin's voice answered. "YOU AREN'T!"
A second explosion followed. Zanka decided not to reply to the shouting. By the time the smoke cleared, the Goblin had retreated. His damaged glider sputtered as it vanished into the night. "You haven't seen the last of me!"
Jabber pointed after him. "I certainly hope not! I spent all night getting ready!"
The Goblin disappeared.
A heavy silence finally settled over the rooftop.
Zanka sat down on a chunk of concrete. His ribs felt like they had been rearranged in reverse alphabetical order.
Jabber walked over. Both remained silent for a brief moment. Finally, Zanka spoke, "You tackled me."
"Several times," Jabber admitted.
"You saved me." Zanka’s tone switched to confusion.
Jabber looked offended. "I also endangered you."
"Probably balances out." Zanka laughed despite himself. The sound echoed across the ruined rooftop.
Jabber stared. "Did you just laugh at one of my jokes?"
"Don't make it weird." Zanka groaned
"Oh, I'm absolutely making it weird."
Zanka stood and immediately regretted it. His legs nearly gave out. Jabber caught his arm before he hit the ground. For a second, neither moved, but then Zanka pulled away. "Don't."
"Mm." Jabber hummed as he nodded seriously. Jabber shoved his hands into his pockets. "So."
"So?" Zanka glanced over at the mercenary beside him.
"I'm hungry,"
Zanka blinked. "You interrupted my fight."
"Correct."
"You got me injured." Zanka’s voice slowly began to rise in volume.
"Also correct."
"And now you're hungry."
Jabber nodded. "That's the sequence of events, yes."
Zanka stared for several seconds, then sighed deeply. "There’s a diner."
Jabber grinned.
"Lead the way."
…
Twenty minutes later, they sat in a run-down diner three blocks from Zanka's apartment. The neon sign outside flickered so badly it looked like it was struggling to stay conscious. The booths were cracked, the coffee tasted questionable, and the waitress hadn't even blinked when two masked vigilantes walked in. Zanka sat in one booth with his mask rolled above his nose. Jabber sat across from him with his own mask pushed up.
The waitress set down two menus. "Usual?"
Zanka nodded.
Jabber looked confused. "You have a usual?"
"Some people eat at places regularly."
"That's kinda adorable."
Zanka ignored him.
The waitress pointed at Jabber with her pen. "And you?"
Jabber studied the menu. "Which item is most likely to kill me?"
The waitress didn't hesitate. "I’d say the chili."
"I'll take two."
She wrote it down and left.
Zanka rubbed his eyes. "One day you're going to meet someone who can't stand you."
Jabber leaned back. "Bold of you to assume I haven’t met someone who can’t stand me already."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." Jabber scoffed
"No, you're not." Zanka stared, the eyes of his mask narrowing.
"You know me too well."
The food arrived a few minutes later. A stack of pancakes, two burgers, and a plate of fries. And for Jabber, enough chili to qualify as a biohazard. Jabber immediately stole one of Zanka's fries. Zanka instantly slapped his hand away, but Jabber stole another. Zanka didn't even look up this time.
"You're unbelievable." Zanka groaned
"Yet here we are, you taking lil ol’ me on a date."
“This is NOT a date, Deadpool,” Zanka growled.
Across the diner, an old man glanced over, then looked away. As if masked vigilantes arguing over fries were the most normal thing he'd seen all week.
"You know."
Zanka immediately groaned. "Whenever you start with 'you know,' something terrible follows."
"I think this place likes you."
"It's a diner." Zanka tilted his head slightly.
"You have a favorite booth, you know the waitress, and you have routines here."
"It's just where I sit. I come here after patrols, and where are you going with this?"
Jabber smiled, but for once it wasn't the loud, obnoxious grin. Just a small one. “Don’cha worry ‘bout it.”
That answer somehow felt less trustworthy than all the others. Zanka looked out the window, and Jabber watched him for a moment… Then quietly stole another fry.
And for the first time all night, neither felt particularly interested in fighting. Not physically nor verbally.
…
They left the diner sometime after midnight. The city had grown quieter by now. Streetlights cast pale pools of light across the sidewalk as they walked. Zanka kept holding his injured ribs. And Jabber walked backward in front of him.
The alley opened before them like a dark mouth. Their masks stayed raised over their noses. The streets were empty anyway; there seemed to be no reason to lower their masks.
Zanka turned into the alley without thinking, his feet carrying him off the main street and into the narrow passage between brick buildings. The sounds of the city faded immediately. Traffic became a distant hum. The diner they'd left twenty minutes ago felt like another world entirely.
Jabber followed without hesitation.
Of course, he did.
The alley stretched ahead, lit only by the ambient glow from the street behind them and a single flickering light mounted halfway down. Brick walls rose on either side, close enough that Zanka could have touched both at once if he'd stretched out his arms. The air smelled like old rain and garbage bins and something metallic he couldn't quite place.
His side ached where Goblin had caught him earlier. The makeshift bandaging beneath his suit pulled with every breath, a constant reminder of how close that blade had come.
"Your body's stiff." Jabber acknowledged.
Zanka didn't look back. "I'm fine."
"That's not what your ribs say."
"My ribs can’t talk." Zanka hissed.
"They're whimpering, actually. I can hear it from here."
Zanka stopped walking and turned, immediately regretting the sharp movement as pain blossomed through his side. Though he kept his expression neutral. Jabber stood a few feet behind him, hands loose at his sides, head tilted in that infuriating way that meant he was either about to say something insane or something completely idiotic. With Deadpool, it was impossible to predict which.
"I'm injured," Zanka said carefully. "Not disabled."
"So you're not fine." Jabber's grin was audible even through the mask.
"That's not..." Zanka stopped himself, exhaling through his nose. The breath seemed to shift his broken ribs. "You don't get any points for this.”
"I absolutely do."
Zanka sighed. "Your standards are hazardously low."
Jabber pressed a gloved hand to his chest like he'd been shot. "You wound me, Spidey. Truly."
"You literally got me wounded." Zanka hissed.
"Technically, Goblin did that."
"You created the opening."
"You could've dodged," Jabber argued.
"I was dodging you."
Jabber laughed. Loud and unrestrained, the sound bounced off the brick walls and echoed down the alley. Zanka hated how the corners of his own mouth twitched in response, hated how familiar that laugh had become, how it didn't agitate him the way it should. The echo faded. Silence rushed back in to fill the space. Zanka turned to keep walking, but Jabber's voice stopped him. "You know, most people thank the guy who saves their life," Jabber argued.
"Most people don't need saving from the person who caused the problem."
"I said I was sorry!"
Zanka glanced over his shoulder. Jabber's grin hadn't faltered. The bottom half of his face didn't even seem to hesitate out of sympathy.
"Now I see it." Zanka sighed.
"Huh?"
"That stupid grin. The reason I can never take you seriously." Zanka groaned.
The words hung in the air between them. But something shifted in Jabber's posture. The grin was still there, but it had changed, softened a bit at the edges, lost some of its usual energy.
The flickering light above them buzzed faintly.
Zanka crossed his arms carefully, mindful of the pull on his injured side. "What?"
Jabber tilted his head, studying him with an intensity that made Zanka's skin prickle beneath his suit. "You really don't know?"
"No," Zanka replied, tilting his head slightly.
"That's annoying."
"Yer’ annoying," Zanka replied, knowing Jabber wasn’t going to explain what he meant.
"See?" Jabber gestured vaguely between them. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."
Before Zanka could respond, Jabber moved. One step forward, then another. His steps were slow and deliberate, closing the distance with the kind of focus he usually reserved for serious combat. His boots scraped against the concrete with each step.
Zanka held his ground. Because backing away would feel too much like losing, and he refused to lose to Deadpool. Especially at something this stupid. Whatever this was.
"Yer’ impossible," Zanka said, but his voice came out quieter than intended.
Jabber's smile shifted. Smaller now, almost private. "Takes one to know one.” He said, his grin widening as he knew damn well that sentence didn’t even make sense.
Zanka opened his mouth to argue. But the words died somewhere between his brain and his tongue because Jabber was suddenly very close. Close enough that Zanka could see the way the mask creased at the corners of his eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him despite the cool night air.
The space between them felt charged.
But neither looked away, both glaring at one another.
That was the problem, wasn't it? Neither of them ever looked away. Every interaction was a challenge, a test, a silent question of who would blink first. Who would give out first?
Jabber's hand came up fast; he grabbed the front of Zanka's suit in one fist and moved. Zanka's back hit the concrete wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. The impact sent a sharp spike of pain through his injured side, and he couldn't quite suppress the hiss that escaped between his teeth. The rough brick scraped against him through his suit, pressing against the injury beneath his suit; pinned against the alley’s concrete wall.
Jabber's grip loosened slightly. "Shit, your side–"
"Don't." Zanka grabbed a fistful of Jabber's suit before he could pull away. "Don't you dare."
Jabber's eyes widened behind his mask. Then something darker flickered there. Something hungrier. "You sure about that?"
Zanka's pulse kicked hard against his ribs, sending another ache through his injury. "Deadpool."
"What?"
"This is a terrible idea."
"I know."
Neither moved nor let go. The tension stretched between them like a wire pulled tight, humming with dangerous energy. Jabber's body was solid against his, warm and real and there. Zanka could feel every point of contact. Could feel Jabber's breath ghosting across his mouth. The pain in his ribs throbbed almost in time with his heartbeat.
Then the wire seemed to snap.
Jabber moved quickly, leaning in and kissing him. It was quick at first, impulsive and graceless, the kind of thing that happened before either person could think better of it. Lips met lips, firm and insistent, and for half a second Zanka's brain went completely blank.
Then he grabbed a fistful of Jabber's suit and kissed him back. That was probably his first mistake.
His second was not pulling away.
The kiss deepened immediately. Jabber's mouth opened against his, and Zanka responded without thinking, their tongues meeting in a clash that felt less like intimacy and more like hand-to-hand combat. Jabber pushed forward, trying to take control, and Zanka pushed back harder, refusing to give an inch.
It became a fight for dominance.
Jabber's tongue slid against his, trying to dominate the kiss through sheer aggressive want, or maybe it was need; neither could tell. Zanka met him with equal force, their mouths moving together in a rhythm that was all friction and heat and a stubborn refusal to submit. When Jabber tried to deepen the angle, Zanka bit his lower lip. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.
Jabber made a sound low in his throat. His grip on Zanka's suit tightened, and he pressed closer, using his body weight to keep Zanka pinned against the wall. The pressure against Zanka's injured ribs intensified. The discomfort barely registered because Jabber was kissing him like it was a competition he intended to win.
Zanka's hands found Jabber's shoulders and gripped hard, fingers digging in. Their tongues tangled again, each trying to claim more territory, more control. The kiss soon turned messy, all teeth and the kind of intensity that made Zanka's head spin.
He could feel Jabber's breath coming faster, hot against his mouth. He could feel the way Jabber's body pressed against his, entirely unrelenting. Every point of contact felt electric. The hand braced against the wall beside his head shifted, fingers curling against the brick like Jabber needed something to hold onto.
Zanka twisted his head, breaking the kiss just long enough to gasp for breath. The movement pulled at his side, and he felt the warm trickle of blood under the bandaging. Jabber immediately dove back in. But this time, Zanka was ready. He caught Jabber's lower lip between his teeth and pulled, then soothed the sting with his tongue. Jabber groaned. An actual, honest-to-god groan. The sound went straight through Zanka like a current.
Their mouths crashed together again. Zanka's tongue swept into Jabber's mouth, and Jabber met him with equal fervor, their tongues sliding and pressing and fighting for dominance in a way that made Zanka's knees feel unsteady. The hand fisted in his suit loosened slightly, then slid up to cup the back of Zanka's neck. His fingers dug in, holding him close like he might disappear if Jabber let go.
Zanka's own hands had migrated. One still gripped Jabber's shoulder. The other had somehow found its way to Jabber's waist, fingers hooked in his belt. Their bodies were flush now, no space left between them, and Zanka could feel Jabber's heart hammering against his chest. Or maybe that was his own heart. Hard to tell anymore.
The pressure against his injured ribs was constant now, a dull throb that pulsed in counterpoint to the heat flooding through him. Pain and pleasure tangled together until he couldn't separate one from the other.
Jabber's tongue traced the roof of Zanka's mouth, and Zanka shuddered, his grip tightening reflexively. He retaliated by sucking on Jabber's tongue, hard and deliberate, and Jabber made another one of those sounds. Half moan, half groan. The kind of sound that made Zanka want to do extremely stupid things.
The kiss went on, and on. Neither was willing to break away first, neither was willing to admit defeat. Their mouths moved together with increasing desperation, like they were trying to devour each other, like this was the only way to resolve whatever the hell had been building between them for months.
Zanka's lungs burned. His lips felt swollen. His entire body felt like a live wire. The wall behind him was the only thing keeping him upright. His ribs screamed in protest, but he didn't care. Couldn't find the energy to care. Not when Jabber was kissing him like the world was ending.
Then finally, they broke apart.
Both breathing hard. Both were staring at each other with expressions that were equal parts stunned and irritated.
Jabber's lips were red and wet. His chest heaved with each breath. Then his gaze dropped lower, to where Zanka's suit had soaked with blood. His eyes widened. "You're bleeding."
Zanka looked down. A dark stain was spreading across his side, visible even in the dim light. "It's fine."
"That's not fine."
"It's not yer’ problem."
"Like hell it isn't, I caused it-," Jabber's hand moved toward the injury, but Zanka caught his wrist.
"Don't."
"Spidey–"
"I said don't." Zanka's voice came out rougher than he intended. "I'm fine."
Jabber stared at him for a long moment. Then that insufferable grin slowly spread across his face. "You're insane if you think you’re fine."
"Says the mercenary who just made out with his injured enemy in an alley."
"Fair point," Jabber smirked.
Zanka groaned and shoved him backward. Not hard, but just enough to create space. Enough for him to breathe. "Don't get any ideas."
Jabber pressed a hand to his chest, looking offended. "Me? Getting ideas?"
"Yes, you, getting ideas."
"I never have ideas." Jabber gasped dramatically.
"That's a lie." Zanka rolled his eyes under his mask.
"Fair point."
Zanka turned and started walking toward the far end of the alley. His side protested with every step, but he forced his body to cooperate. After a beat, Jabber fell into step beside him. Neither mentioned the kiss. But they didn’t ignore it either. It simply existed in history between them now. A new complication in an already impossibly complicated dynamic.
They emerged from the alley onto a wider street. A taxi passed, its headlights sweeping across them briefly before disappearing around a corner. The city stretched out ahead, all shadows and distant lights. The world had continued on without them, oblivious to what had just happened in that narrow brick passage.
After several blocks of silence, Zanka finally sighed. "Just so we're clear. This doesn't make us allies."
Jabber nodded solemnly. "Okay."
"We're still enemies."
"Sure." Jabber rolled his eyes.
"I'm serious." Zanka hissed.
Jabber looked over. His expression softened for the briefest moment. Something genuine flickered beneath the mask of humor. Then his familiar grin returned, sharp and knowing.
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Spidey."
Zanka rolled his eyes. But he didn't argue. Didn't walk away. Didn't do any of the sensible things he probably should have done. Instead, he kept walking. And Jabber kept pace beside him.
Together, they disappeared into the city night. Still enemies, still impossibly confused if that would change, and somehow infinitely more complicated than they'd been an hour ago.
The streetlights cast their shadows long and intertwined across the pavement behind them. Behind them, in that dark alley, a few drops of Spider-Man's blood marked the concrete where they'd stood.