Chapter Text
PETER
Objectively, high school is hell. Subjectively, trying to make it through with barely enough money to make the ends meet, barely enough hours of sleep to function and barely tolerable super senses while juggling a secret identity and frankly unrealistic expectations isn’t a piece of cake either.
On the bright side I have a plan. I have a system. I have an organized chaos situation going on. Or at least I did, until it went to hell like all things tend to do.
I swear it’s not my fault though. It started off as one of those slow days, with grey groggy morning after an all-nighter patrol, because my plan still heavily depends on impressing Mr. Stark, and so I walk into my second class with my head low and my hood up, resolved to keep under the radar even as my classmates stumble and crowd around the teacher’s desk. My first thought: Mr. Smith – yeah, seriously – must’ve scribbled something obscure and vaguely paranoid on the board again. But that’s old news, the man was weird, and mildly unnerving and kinda obsessed with mutants and mutates if you pay enough attention to read between the lines. It’s only after the bell rings and the crowd reluctantly dissipates do I realize that the slight tingling at the back of my neck is probably not from the lack of sleep…
“Hello kiddos,” a vaguely familiar voice booms brightly from the front of the class, “Now, I’ll be taking over Mr. Smith’s – I mean that’s just lazy, but hey, as long as they buy it, right?”
My head shoots up from my phone so fast I nearly give myself a whiplash.
“You can call me Mister,” there’s a telltale sound of a marker scribbling over the board and a telltale glint of red spandex, and unless I knocked out in the middle of the previous class and ended up in an awfully unlikely nightmare this is bad. As in baaad bad!
“Deadpool,” I choke out automatically, before thinking better of it.
“Ooh, a fan!” He turns excitedly, throwing a red marker over his shoulder and clapping his hands, “Hard to resist this charm, I know! Don’t be shy, pretty boy, tell Mr. Pool your name – am I the only one getting major teacher kink vibes in here?”
“I’m not your fan, you perv!” I blurt indignantly again realizing a little too late that I’m not in my spidey suit or otherwise equipped to talk back to murderous mercenaries.
“Oh,” Deadpool even despite his mask manages to look momentarily defeated. Momentarily is the key word, because the next thing he says is: “I might give you a detention for that, but for now, your teacher asked me to take over this class for him – though technically, he gurgled chocking on his blood, but I figured that’s what he meant anyway! So who of you kiddos in here is a mutant or mutate important enough to attract Weapon X’s attention? Because, as far as I know, sending people to pretend being teachers is not usually their style.”
My heart sinks.
“Was it you, fanboy?” He stage whispers, “Please let it be you, because if it’s not you this whole buildup is shit and I’m just wasting my time with a bunch of twelve year olds.”
“As if,” Flash huffs out, rolling his eyes.
“Shut up, Flash,” Gwen shoots at him automatically, and my racing heart stops for a second.
“This whole high school drama is so giving me PTSD,” Deadpool grunts, almost to himself.
Don’t you say, I think. But before I could contribute to this parody of a conversation again my spidey sense kicks in for real now, the usual shiver of a warning running down my spine, and I’m up on my feet before I know what I’m doing.
“Deadpool,” I growl, more than a little annoyed about the surreality of the entire thing, “Duck.”
“If you wanna see me on all fours, Baby Boy, all you gotta do is ask,” he croons, because of course he would waste time just to piss me off some more! Why the hell not?
“Duck,” I yell, and the exact moment the word leaves my mouth several things happen at once.
The glass in a window by the teacher’s desk shatters, the doors to a cupboard by the door, conveniently blocked with a katana, clatter and Deadpool finally drops down from his chair with a bullet hole in his shoulder. I land on my palms and knees halfway through the room, feeling them burn from the shards of glass scattered all around.
Next thing the room erupts in absolute havoc.
So much for staying under the radar, huh?
“Get down,” I shout again, over Gwen’s startled yelp and Flash’s panicked ‘what-the-fuck-what-the-fuck-what-the-actual-fuck’.
“I knew it,” Deadpool sighs happily, his narrowed eyes meeting mine and his red suit saturating with blood.