Chapter Text
There’s a limit, Wade thinks, to how much one person should be required to withstand before they snap. He hasn’t reached his yet, but there has got to be a limit, right? The big talking turnip in the sky wouldn’t abandon her creation to just suffer endlessly for no reason?
[We should start a religion.]
(We should kill God and take her place.)
“We should leave,” Wade mumbles, as he watches Thor shatter an alien’s entire rib cage and Captain America does several back handsprings.
It’s enough for there to have been an alien invasion on a Tuesday morning. Really, that’s plenty of excitement. More than enough for Spiderman to tap on Wade’s window to let him know about the aliens and ask if he wanted to come help. The Avengers showing up is just sort of overkill.
“Why would you leave?” Spidey asks, dropping down next to Wade.
“Baby, I just got enough new spank bank material to fuel a small city. As long as the city ran on spunk. I’m gonna have to take the weekend off just to go through it. Care to join?”
Spiderman just groans, shaking his head. “Can we please have one normal conversation? Once?”
Wade grins. “Maybe on your birthday, if you ask real nice.”
An alien comes skidding to a stop in front of him, driving down into the pavement in a heap of twisted limbs and purple-ish blood. He lifts his boot to avoid getting splattered. Not that blood worries him, but it is sizzling and burning holes into whatever it’s touching, so he might as well avoid the itchy process of healing a bunch of tiny burns.
Spiderman sighs. “Go home, ‘Pool. I’ll see you for patrol later?”
“You’re going on patrol after this?” Wade asks.
There’s no reply, just another exasperated look (and really, it’s impressive that he can do that through the mask) before Spidey thwips a web to the nearest building and flies back into the fighting. Wade gives the scene one last considering look, because it is kind of hot. Black Widow launches off of Cap’s shield and snaps an alien’s neck with her thighs, which is going to be the Emmy award-winning scene in his dreams later, and then turns and walks away.
Spidey doesn’t make it to patrol after that. Wade gets a text as he’s getting ready to leave.
Spiderbabe: alien blood got in my eyes banner says im out for a week 2 heal ): sorry
Wade: no worries srry u got acid jizz in ur eyehole. city will survive w/o that sweet ass while u rest up
Wade: txt if u need me 2 bring u anything
Spiderbabe: 🫶🫶🫶
Despite the fact that Peter doesn’t actually ask Wade to bring him anything, he still drops off some takeout from one of their favorite places when he passes by. He doesn’t wait for Peter to answer the door, just drops it off and heads back out, but he gets another string of emojis texted to him afterwards.
The city is quiet tonight, still reeling from the aliens earlier. Usually after a scene like that, the local criminals take a couple days off while the various costumed crusaders are still on high alert. Any other time, he’d be grateful for it. He and Peter could have an easy night, hang out on rooftops and shoot the shit until one or both of them had to tumble back to their apartments and catch a couple hours of sleep. Tonight, it means that Wade lasts about forty minutes wandering around until he’s officially too bored to cope and is about to turn around and go home, maybe log some hours into Hello Kitty’s Island Adventures, when he hears a scream.
“Shit,” Wade hisses, but he backtracks down one block and over three until he locates where the sound had come from.
It’s just a mugger trying to steal some lady’s purse, but before Wade can even step in to grab the guy, another figure jumps down from a fire escape and slams the criminal into the alley’s wall. His head hits the brick with a sickening crack, again and again. Wade almost interrupts, because the overkill is a little intense, but why interrupt someone’s art, y’know? The surprise masked visitor scoops the purse up off the floor and passes it back to the woman standing nearby. She runs off towards the street, and Wade rolls his eyes.
“Did she even say thank you?” he asks. “I hate this city.”
Daredevil doesn’t startle, which is slightly disappointing, but he’s also used to Spidey’s super senses, so he isn’t surprised. “What are you doing here, Deadpool?”
“Me?” Wade frowns. “Working, Dare-dickhead. What are you doing here? Aren’t you like narratively bound to the confines of Hell’s Kitchen?”
Daredevil does turn then, and even though Wade can’t see his eyes, he has a pained grimace on his exposed mouth. “What are you talking about?”
[He knows what we’re talking about.]
(Why is it that everybody else gets to protect the whole city or the galaxy? Why does DD only get like 12 square blocks?)
“Just thought you lived over there,” Wade says casually. “Didn’t realize you ever branched out.”
He never sees Daredevil, is the thing. Which is probably only fair, given that Daredevil’s never seen him either. Sure, there was the Typhoid Mary thing, but that hardly counts. Wade sees Peter like four nights of the week, and he sees the X-Men at least once a month. Daredevil always just seems so busy, and every time he’s had something going on, it’s never anything that Wade wants to touch with a ten foot pole.
“Spiderman’s injured,” Daredevil explains. He shrugs lightly. “I figured I’d help cover his usual spots.”
It would be insulting if it wasn’t so damn nice of him. Wade rolls his eyes, then remembers that it’s pointless. He sighs instead.
“Spidey and I patrol together most nights. I can handle it on my lonesome, but it was nice of you to come lend a helping hand, Red.” He eyes the alley that they’re standing in, trying to figure out what to do next. He’s kind of curious what Daredevil’s like, now that they’re standing in an alley together. He’s bored, and Spidey won’t be back in the ring for a while yet. Might as well entertain himself with someone who hasn’t had the time to start hating him yet. “Now, what do you wanna do with this body? I vote to leave it. Or, dumpster fire? If you’re concerned about evidence, that is.”
Daredevil cocks his head. “What are you talking about?”
“The guy you just scrambled against the wall,” Wade says slowly. “What do you want to do with his body?”
“He isn’t dead,” Daredevil scoffs. “I just knocked him out.”
There’s definitely brain matter splattered on the wall where the guy’s head slammed into it. He’s slumped down at a strange angle, and his eyes are wide open. If Wade were a betting man, which he is, he’d say that man is dead. He’d make a fair bit of money off of it, too.
“Right,” he nods. “Totally unconscious. I can even hear him snoring.”
“I don’t kill people, Wade.”
Something sparks in his brain.
(Did you hear that?)
[I heard that! Did you hear that?]
“Woah!” Wade claps delightedly. “Hornboy knows my name!”
The other man flexes his hands into fists again, aggravation laced through his body language and voice as he tries, Wade thinks, very hard not to throw a punch. It’s not that he wants to piss people off, but a lot of them just make it so easy. Wade gets the feeling that not a lot of people in Daredevil’s life want to piss him off. That, or he’s just already having a shitty day, because Wade’s hardly gotten started and Daredevil is already looking violent.
“Everyone knows your name,” Daredevil bites out. “You give out business cards.”
“Yeah, but they’re not in Braille,” Wade replies easily. He takes another step towards Daredevil, leaning in to peer at the eyes of his mask. “How do you know my name? Did someone tell you? Did you ask?”
“Wade,” Daredevil hisses. “Shut up.”
Wade holds his hands up in the universal sign for I’m innocent, Officer Devil, but you can bring out the cuffs if you still want. “Okay, murderer. Whatever you say.” He scuffs the ground with his boot, letting his arms swing back down to his side. “Wanna come with me for the rest of this patrol?”
“No.”
“You’re a terrible replacement spider,” Wade sighs. “I bet you don’t even have any venom, either.”
“I’m not– Does he really have–” Daredevil takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb “I do not have the patience for you tonight.”
Wade grins, backing out of the alley. “All I’m hearing is that we’ll try again tomorrow! Patrol starts at 10. I’ll see you…” He spins around, pointing back the way he had come, “Three blocks that way.”
When Daredevil doesn’t respond, Wade only takes half a second before he smacks his palm against the side of his own head. “Oh shit, sorry. I don’t know the street names.”
“It’s a grid system,” Daredevil says drily as he pushes past Wade’s shoulder.
“Yeah, but this author doesn’t live in New York. Just find me with your super ears tomorrow.”
One of Daredevil’s hands comes up to skim the length of Wade’s arm and, assumedly, figure out the direction he’s pointing. After a moment, Daredevil nods to himself, but he doesn’t move, just remains a light pressure on Wade’s hand.
[Do. Not. Move. Let the man cop a feel.]
(Screw that! Flex your biceps right now!)
Daredevil drops his hand and starts walking away in the opposite direction. The urge to follow him is sudden and strange. Wade’s always curious about the lives and times of other masked vigilantes, but he doesn’t actually like to pry unless they let him in. Only a handful have taken him up on offers to hang out outside of the costumes and get food, play video games, or hook up. Somehow, he doesn’t think Daredevil will be one of them.
He walks backwards in the direction of distant sirens. Patrol ain’t over yet. “Ten PM, Eastern Daylight time!” he calls after Daredevil’s retreating form. “Don’t be late!”
He’s leaning against a streetlight, belting the lyrics to Defying Gravity, when Daredevil finally shows up. There really hasn’t been a lot going on tonight, either, so he figured the easiest way for Daredevil to find him would just be to make constant noise.
Daredevil presses his palm over Wade’s mouth. “Please, for the love of God, shut the hell up.”
“You’re late,” Wade tries to say, but it’s muffled against the leather glove shoved against his face. Daredevil pulls his hand away.
(He actually showed up? No way.)
[He totally wants us.]
“What?”
“You’re late,” Wade repeats. “Patrol starts at 10. Usually Spidey and I meet up on that roof over there and eat first, but that’d be a lot of stairs for you, so we can eat down here tomorrow. Or wherever. But last I checked it was almost midnight, so you’re late.”
Matt Murdock. That’s Daredevil’s name. Wade’s known it since the last time they worked together. It’s not like he even really tried to figure it out. Foggy Nelson is always either hanging around Matt Murdock or Daredevil, and never the twain shall meet. Regardless of what everyone seems so eager to believe, Wade isn’t an idiot.
Also, there are like twenty videos on Twitter of Matt Murdock having scary reflexes for a blind guy. Like, scary reflexes.
He starts walking down the street, and Matt falls into step beside him. Usually, he tries to be sneakier on patrol, but usually he’s following Peter across rooftops. The kid really hates being seen, which is probably because he understands the full weight of bad press. Wade is basically all bad press, all the time, so he doesn’t really give a shit.
“I would apologize,” Matt says, “but I don’t really care.”
“Ouch, Darkness!” Wade holds a hand to his chest. “That would hurt my soft bits, if I still had any left.”
They walk for a bit, and Wade can’t help but ask. “So, where were you?”
Daredevil’s steps falter a bit. “What?”
Wade stops walking, spinning around to face him. He even puts his hands on his hips, for full judgmental effect. Hopefully Matt can sense it, with his weird heat-signature bullshit. “Where were you? Why were you late?” He taps his watch. “I’d say it in another language, but I don’t speak Braille.”
Matt cocks his head, shakes his head a little. He’s probably rolling his eyes under that mask. “Ha. Ha ha. You should be a stand-up comedian.”
Wade starts walking again, one foot carefully laid in front of the other on the thin line of the curb’s edge. He swings his arms out for balance, tilting to one side and then the other. “And you should be a professional avoider of answering questions, or something.”
[Like the opposite of Jeopardy?]
“Reverse Jeopardy,” Wade answers out loud. “Ugh, God, I miss Alex Trebek.”
(Pour one out for Canada’s finest!)
Matt keeps a few steps behind him, probably trying to avoid getting clocked in the face by Wade’s hand. “Is this all you and Spiderman do every night?”
The city is still quiet, but at least he has company tonight. Besides, quiet doesn’t mean silent.
“No,” Wade grins. “We also paint each other's nails and play truth or dare. You’ll start. Truth? Great choice. Where were you?”
Matt exhales sharply, irritation evident. “I was at confession, if you’re not going to leave it alone.”
“Confession?” Wade repeats, stopping again. They aren’t going to cover a lot of ground like this, but he finds Matt Murdock far too fascinating to care. Wade wants to peel back all of his layers to see what’s going on underneath. There are just so many layers, and it’s gonna take him a while. He wants to dice Matt up like an onion, caramelize him with a bunch of brown sugar and deglaze him with some red wine, and–
[This analogy has run away from us.]
(No, no, keep going. Are we talking french devil soup? With crusty bread?)
“I’m Catholic, Wade.” Matt stops, too, obviously uncomfortable with this entire conversation.
Wade tilts his head, smirking. “Well, that was evident. Have you met you? Your whole shtick screams I think suffering is an act of love – which is bullshit, by the way– but you actually do it all? The whole nine yards?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Matt says, wrinkling his nose, “and I don’t think I want you to elaborate.”
“I mean,” Wade continues, “I’ve known Catholics before. They’re kind of boring. Most of them don’t even go every week. You actually, like, do it.”
“Yes, Wade,” Matt sighs. He takes a moment to school his irritation into careful nonchalance, which is obviously something he’s practiced at doing. “I’m a practicing Catholic. I go to mass, I pray the rosary, I go to confession.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal but Wade is listening intently.
A large part of him has several new jokes to make, but a somehow even larger part of him just wants Matt to keep talking. Wade likes the gravelly rasp of his voice, the quiet manner in which he carries himself. All of that muscle and violence folded up neatly to fit in one admittedly slightly twunky package.
(Speaking of twunky packages…)
Wade waves a hand in the air silently, trying to physically shoo away the voices in his brain.
“I try to go once a month at least, but I like going every week,” Matt admits. “I just get busy sometimes. My priest knows that I… Well, he doesn’t know that I do this,” A vague gesture in the air between them, “but he knows I keep odd hours. Sometimes he’ll meet me outside of his typical confessional hours.”
Matt seems like he’s finished his spiel, and he didn’t even try to convert anyone, so Wade figures that it can be jokes time again. He takes a step into Matt’s space and lowers his voice.
“So, you what? Get down on your knees and tell him how bad you’ve been?” There’s an undeniable tension stringing Matt’s shoulders up higher than normal, and his mouth is pressed so tightly closed that Wade can see his jaw clicking from the pressure. He chuckles, “You Catholics are kinky fucks.”
“Maybe you should try it,” Matt mumbles, but Wade can see the edge of a flush creeping up past the neck of his suit. Interesting. Matt Murdock keeps getting more and more interesting.
“Oh, don’t tempt me, Double-D,” Wade grins, leaning in close enough that he knows Matt can feel Wade’s breath on his jaw. “I’ll get on my knees for you any day of the week.”
Matt jerks back as if he’s been struck. He looks pissed, but that creeping blush has turned dark red and full coverage. Maybelline, eat your heart out. “That’s blasphemy.”
Wade laughs again, the sound rolling through him like thunder. It’s so fun to push Matt’s buttons that he almost forgets what they’re meant to be doing out here tonight. “Aww, DD. Don’t get that judgemental look on your face like you doesn’t turn you on to think about it.”
Matt swears, and it sounds almost wrong falling out of his mouth. Wade doesn’t think he’s ever heard Daredevil say anything harsher than damn. As soon as the moment seems to grow between them, it disappears just as quickly. Matt shakes himself off and takes two quick steps backwards. “Yeah, this conversation is over now.”
“That’s fine,” Wade shrugs, “There’s a burglary in progress two blocks over.”
Matt blanches, mouth dropping open slightly. “What?”
“I watched them break in while I was waiting for you to be done telling your priest about your wet dreams,” Wade explains. He breaks into a light jog, and Matt follows, pushing past him as soon as his hearing picks up the distant sounds of muffled conversation and crunching glass. “They’re probably almost done.”
“You suck,” Matt calls back at him.
[He wishes.]
“You wish!” Wade answers.
The next night, they’re sitting on the fire escape outside of Wade’s apartment. Of course, Matt doesn’t know that it’s Wade’s apartment, but that can’t be helped. Wade told him the building was abandoned, even though Matt could obviously tell that it was a lie. They’re tucking into some lo mein and orange chicken when Matt lifts his chopsticks, using them to gesture to the air around them.
“You and Pe– Spiderman really do this every night?”
Wade clocks the hiccup in Matt’s sentence and snorts. “Aw, you know Petey’s name, too! I thought I was special. Oh well.” He shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much, unless baby boy has work to catch up on or something better to do.”
The top half of Matt’s face is never visible, but Wade has a special sense for raised eyebrows. Matt is giving off some major raised eyebrows energy. “And you two are…?”
Wade’s snort becomes a full-on coughing fit. “Only in my dreams,” he laughs. Then he shakes his head before he remembers that it’s pointless. “Nah, the kid’s like 25. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, and if something ever did happen I’d probably be down, but I could say that about anyone. We’re just pals.”
“Right,” Matt says, almost disbelievingly. “So you just call him ‘baby boy’ for fun?”
Wade waggles his brows and chuckles. “What’s up, Horndevil? Jealous?”
Matt doesn’t dignify that with a response, so Wade takes it as an invitation to keep talking. “I can come up with some pet names for you if you feel that put out about it. Let’s see–”
“Let’s not,” Matt interrupts flatly.
“Well, you won’t.”
“Wade.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Wade mutters. He cocks his head. “No blind jokes? That’s fine. I have tons of other material to work with.”
Matt takes another bite of food, chewing it slowly. Wade watches the muscles in his jaw work and tries very hard to not pop a boner because of a few inches of exposed skin. Matt’s mouth just looks really soft, and Wade has not had a real date in too long. He almost does something stupid, like reach out and touch, when Matt swallows and shakes his head.
“You’re absolutely certain that there’s no way for me to kill you?”
Wade laughs loudly, the sound echoing around them. “Not for longer than a day,” he admits, “but if you need a break I can throw myself off the building.” Wade squints, leaning back to peer up at the roof and measure the distance to the ground. “Might want to cover your ears, though. It won’t sound pretty.”
“Don’t,” Matt grimaces. If Wade didn’t know any better, he might say that there’s a hint of a smile on Matt’s face. He does know better, but it might still be a smile.
(Aww, he does care!)
“I do have an off button, y’know,” Wade smirks. “It’s right next to the prostate.”
[Classic.]
Matt chokes on the bite of food in his mouth, but when he clears his airway, he’s definitely smiling this time. “Are you this charming for everyone, or just me?”
Wade leans forward, getting in Matt’s space. The food is balanced precariously on the edge of the fire escape, but Wade doesn’t give a single shit if it falls to the ground under them. All he cares about is the way that Matt’s smile wavers as he realizes how close Wade is to him. He presses his luck a little further, tucking his head next to Matt’s and whispering in his ear.
“Want me to charm you, Matty?”
There’s a split second where Matt sucks in a breath, and Wade thinks holy shit holy shit it’s working I’m totally getting him all hot and bothered—
“Wade,” Matt breathes. “How do you know my name?”
“How do you know mine?” Wade asks immediately, leaning back to put some distance between them.
Matt’s tense all over, and his mouth is a thin, angry line. “Wade.”
“Fine,” Wade groans. “God, you’re no fun. I can pretend I don’t know it, if you want. We can play the long con. Wanna go sit in that bar and pretend like we don’t know each other at all? I love that game.”
Matt ignores his rambling and leans against the iron railing with his hands crossed over his chest. “Do you know everyone’s names?”
“Define everyone,” Wade replies. There’s a woman walking down the street below them, and Wade points at her. “I don’t know her name. Hey, Amy!” The woman looks up and lets out a startled noise at the sight of two men in full costume above her before jogging off.
(She did respond to Amy, though.)
[I don’t think we know an Amy.]
“Damn,” Wade says. “Maybe I do know her name.”
“How many secret identities do you know?” Matt clarifies.
“Only the ones I think are hot,” Wade shrugs. It would probably be easier to list the names of supers that he didn’t know. “So, yeah, kind of everyone.”
“Wade,” Matt sighs.
Wade holds his hands up peaceably. “Listen, I won’t make the blind jokes and I’m even being nice about the Catholic thing, and I haven’t even mentioned that you’ve definitely unalived at least four people—“
“I haven’t—“
“—in the last three days, but–”
“Wade.”
“–you gotta let me talk about the fact that you’re a snack. It’s basically all I can think about in half of our conversations. Your ass is–”
“Wade, shut the hell up.”
He closes his mouth, and only then does he hear the sound of heavy breathing coming from over his shoulder. There’s the click of a gun’s safety, and then cold metal being pressed against the back of his skull.
Wade rolls his eyes. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”
He’s mentally preparing himself to get his skull blown to bits when Matt grabs him by the front of the suit and yanks him down. In a single second, Daredevil slams their would-be attacker in the chest while side-stepping the gun in his hand. The man obviously hadn’t been expecting movement that fast, so he doesn’t even scream as he falls from his position clutching the stairs. His body makes a sickening crunch as it hits the pavement.
“Okay,” Wade says slowly. “Okay. He’s dead.”
Matt tilts his head, listening. “His heart is still beating.”
“Sure,” Wade nods, looking down at the mess of limbs in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. “Of course it is.”
(He might be crazier than we are!)
[Hold me, I’m scared.]
“Thanks for the save,” Wade tells him, scratching the side of his neck awkwardly. “Growing back a brain is the worst. I feel like I always come back smarter.”
Matt nods, just a quick jerk of his chin. “Yeah, no problem. Wanna head out now?”
Wade just hops over the side of the fire escape, scaling his way down to the ground with practiced ease that only comes from not giving a shit if you break any bones. Matt follows a little more carefully, but just as fast, and Wade takes the extra moment to appreciate the curves of his spine, the way his muscles fill out the lines of his suit.
Matt just saved his life, and Wade can only think about the fact that he really wants to know what Matt looks like naked. It’s not really anything new, and it’s barely a surprise, but it still makes him feel just a little on-edge. Maybe it’s because Matt is new, and despite his constant flirting, Wade doesn’t really do well with new people. It always feels like there’s a countdown on how long it takes for them to realize they never want to see him again.
(You’re totally fucked if you want him to like you.)
“Yeah,” Wade mutters. “Probably.”
“Did you say something?” Matt asks.
“Sorry,” Wade grins. “The voices.”