Chapter Text
Bruce Wayne pretended to take a sip of his champagne, sighing as he looked over the well-dressed crowd that bickered and bragged and puffed out their chests like damn peacocks. His own suit was meticulously tailored, clean and pressed, and his hair was swept over with the traditional “playboy charm” he was famous for.
But he hated this. He hated all of this. Suits, no matter how comfortable, might as well have been strait-jackets. He much preferred the gentle weight of his armor, the way his cowl pressed onto his skull, and the familiar flutter of his cape around his feet. How he had ever lived without being Batman, he had no idea.
He inwardly groaned as a woman slunk up to him, her dress dripping off of her shoulder. A gazelle draped in pearls, with how long her neck was, how thin her skin was stretched over her bones, and how much jewelry she had managed to drape around her neck.
“Why, Mr. Wayne, it’s an absolute pleasure,” she drawled, lifting her wine to her lips.
“Yes, Mrs…?”
The woman tittered a bit. “Miss Robin Tucker. You know, you’re quite the philanthropist, Mr. Wayne. Arkham has been needing a good charity event, with all of the escapes recently. I’ve been just terrified, rising crime rates and all.”
“Indeed. I’ve been overlooking the needed funding for a while. I hope this will remedy that.” Bruce’s tone was cold and sharp. He was much more friendlier with other people, for public image, but he could spot a gold digger a mile away. And he hated them. So much. So much time wasted.
The woman chuckled some more, a snorting sort of sound that grated Wayne’s ears. “I met the patient they brought in for representation, ‘cause of his ‘remarkable progress’. Honestly, he didn’t seem remotely sane. All loopy-like and things.”
Bruce ‘harrumphed’ a bit. “I didn’t think they’d actually-… Huh.”
“Bad idea in general, he was quite rude. Sorry that you have an interview with him, Mr. Wayne. Can- can I call you Bruce?”
“No, Mr. Wayne is fine.” An interview. Interesting. Bruce couldn’t help but prickle for the fact that he wasn’t informed of this before-hand. He took a sip from his glass, brushing away the woman’s struck expression. “Lovely speaking to you, must be going.”
It was a few more minutes of hustle and bustle, with the traditional rich-party talk. Bruce did his best to enjoy himself, catching up with some of his older pals, but he couldn’t help feeling a disconnect, even more than usual.
Before he had become Batman, he had been cut off from the working man in a way he couldn’t bridge. He had been well-kept and provided for his entire life. The death of his parents also set him apart, the rich orphan, living alone his entire life. And then, once he donned the cowl, his past life was slaughtered entirely. These faces, so familiar, yet so distant. All of his old buddies that he had frolicked with-… They remained the same, while he had been cut away.
Which was a shame. He had fond memories of them all. Their smiles and laughs were untouched by time and tragedy.
However, he was now better equipped to connect with the people of Gotham, the common men, in ways he just couldn't before. His time training, traveling the world, it had taught him more than just the skills of combat.
It wasn’t long before one of the staff, touched his shoulder, urging him over to the area with the most cameras set up, along with a cue-screen. Of course, he couldn’t be trusted to make up his own questions. Maybe if they had TOLD him, he could-
“Mr. Wayne, this is Wade Wilson, a resident at Arkham.”
Bruce was very good at hiding his surprise, but he allowed himself a few extra blinks in his surprise. He had to wonder why they chose this man as the face of Arkham’s patients. His skin looked as if it was falling off in places, scarred and malformed, and all of his hair had fallen out, save for a few hairs that made him look like an under-cooked meatball someone dropped on the floor. And that was a gentle description.
His eyes were the textured, electric blue of butterfly wings, and his smile was like a kiss in the dark. He was wearing a nice suit and tie, but he looked obviously uncomfortable in it.
“Hiya, uh-…” He leaned over to his escort. “Should I call him Mr. Wayne, maybe ‘sir’, or-”
“Bruce is fine, if I can call you ‘Wade’.”
Wade lit up, nodding enthusiastically, and Bruce couldn’t help but be infected by his smile.
“Man, check all the fancy shit out! Haven't been to one of these in a while”
“You used to go to charity events and such?”
“Well, I'd drop in for a few minutes, piss in a few chocolate fountains before they would kick me out.”
Bruce snorted with laughter, almost spilling his drink at that. “That’s cruel!” Then, in horror, he looked at his glass of champagne. “You-… You haven’t-”
Wade looked at him in mock disbelief. “Shame on you, I’m a model patient now! I’d never.” They both chuckled a bit.
“But don’t try to tell me you haven’t caused a bit o' chaos here and there at these. I mean, gag me with a spoon, this is boring.”
Bruce considered it with a smirk. “Well, there was this time-”
“Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wilson! We’re about to start recording!”
“Ah, later then-” Wade and Bruce were both shuffled over to the area that had been set up for the interview, and they were sat down beside each-other, the reporter facing them.
Bruce stared at the live program that was playing silently next to the camera, only for a moment, before the woman that was interviewing them nodded to the cue of the camera-man.
“Yes, Sharon. We’re here at the Arkham Charity Ball with Bruce Wayne himself and local Arkham resident Wade Wilson. How are both of you tonight?”
“I’m doing wonderful. Lovely crowd of generous people tonight.” Wayne flashed his press-smile. Wade glanced at him for a second before turning back to the reporter and flashing an almost identical smile.
“Arkham has been without necessary funding for a while now, Mr. Wayne. What suddenly drove you to fund this event?”
“I’d have to say it was the recent breakout of the Riddler. His bombing of the Gotham Bank injured one of my employees, and I realized that we need better security and care to be able to keep these people in the place where they can receive the treatment they need.”
“A wonderful sentiment, Mr. Wayne. And Wade Wilson, you are currently a patient at Arkham. How would you describe your experiences in the asylum?”
“The food’s awful. Can’t get them to serve Mexican as much as I pester. Lots of alone time, too. Doctors are alright, but the cafeteria gets out of control a lot of the time, aren’t enough guards to keep the loonies in line.”
“And the extra funding from this event will help hire more staff, improve food quality, and provide more activities for the inmates, right, Mr. Wayne?”
“That’s right. Better security as well, as I was saying.”
“That’d be great, you know. With the bigger bads, Arkham’s basically a revolving door, and I haven’t been able to sit Joker down for a friendly chat in ages!”
Bruce and the reporter gave Wade a curious look.
“You talk with the Joker, Mr. Wilson?” The reporter gave him a gentle smile.
“Not as much now. But he told me I’m a ‘joke with no punchline’, so I'm sure he adores me.”
Wayne chuckled a bit at this. Dear Wade Wilson was the self-deprecating type. It was charming, and more than that, it was honest. A rare thing to see in the world Bruce was familiar to.
There was a bit more before they were both shuffled off, Wayne by the natural tides of the hungry crowd, and Wilson by his assigned escorts back to Arkham. It was a shame that they could only exchange a quick wave of farewell across the room.
By far the most memorable thing of the night.
The next time Batman went to Arkham, to check up on a few of his favorite villains, he casually asked to see the file of Wade Wilson, and he read it once he had some spare time.
Wade Wilson. Apparently, he had just appeared naked, screaming in the streets one day. He raided a few hot-dog stands before some police-men attempted to arrest him for public indecency. There was a conflict where he took out the three armed officers and began sprinting off. Eventually, he was caught, and once interrogated, he appeared to have no memory of the city he was currently in. All of the history of Gotham seemed unfamiliar to him, and he kept babbling about being “Goddamn Wade Wilson, the Merc with a Mouth,” along with other self-declared titles.
He was quite the trouble-maker in Arkham, constantly getting into fights, attempting to escape, and often succeeding to go onto a spree of bizarre crimes. None of the medications they prescribed seemed to have any effect on his cocktail of mental-illnesses.
Then, one day, he quieted down. He hadn’t had any new medications prescribed, or anything else remarkable that could explain it, but he simply just stopped resisting treatment. He made so much improvement so quickly, that the doctors decided to have him as the face of the asylum.
In fact, he was on the track of being released, maybe in a few months to a year or so.
Bruce smiled at that. Wade seemed like a good man.
__
A few months before:
The Joker sat slumped at one of the cafeteria tables. Usually, he was served his meals in the privacy of his cell, as he preferred, but his new doctor thought that making friends or something of that ridiculous veins would help him.
And so, a guard stood behind him with a taser prepped in case he tried anything.
What was even the point of sending him out to “socialize” if no one even talked to him? Of course, no one in Arkham was stupid enough to-
“Oh my God, it's Pennywise! I'm kidding. You're the Joker, right?”
The clown looked up at the man who had sat across from him. Wow, God had not been kind to him. His face was on the cringing side of ugly, definitely. Was that exposed muscle tissue? Nice touch, nice touch.
“I’ve got green hair and white skin, Georgie, you tell me.”
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, and I gotta say, love the aesthetic.”
The Joker was almost taken aback. This man was addressing him casually, friendly, almost like an equal. It was unusual when he was used to either being feared or hated or fawned over by anyone he met.
He grinned after a second. “Thank you, sorry I can’t say the same.”
“What I lack in appearance, I make up for in performance.” The man made sure to lace the statement with innuendo that made Joker smirk.
“And what do they call an ass wipe like yourself?”
“Deadpool. Or Wade. Doctors say I'm just Wade, but I claim a misdiagnosis.”
The Joker’s smile stretched a little wider. Delusionals were fun, when they could be manipulated.
“What sort of life did you have as ‘Deadpool’?”
This made Wade light up like a tree at Christmas. “Oh, I was the damn coolest. A mercenary, a hero! I have this awesome healing factor, so I didn't have to worry about anything!”
The Joker leaned a bit over the table. “Do you still have your healing factor?”
“Yeah, I tested it out by breaking my arm over my bed banister.”
Anyone could lie about that, but-… Smirking, the clown pushed his fork across the table to Wade. “Prove it.”
Wade snatched up the fork, and drawing it back, he stabbed it into his hand. But he didn’t make a sound, no sign of pain, save for the twitching of his fingers. Then, he pulled it out, laying it on the table.
“Give it, like, twenty seconds.”
And true to his word, after a few moments of tense silence, Wade grabbed a napkin and dabbed up the blood, revealing-… Nothing. No wound, only the scars that covered the entirety of the man’s body.
“How much can you heal from?”
“Anything. Probably. I mean, I haven't died yet.”
The Joker stared incredulously for a bit, before smiling again. “That seems quite, quite useful,” he mused to himself. Wade seemed exactly the kind of pawn that would be extremely influential, if handled correctly. The kamikaze pilot that would rise from the ashes of the towers.
“Do you want to get out of here, Deadpool?”
“As much as I want to kill myself at family reunions.”
“I’m quite… Influential here in Arkham. I could arrange some outings for you, as long as you do something for me each time you get out.”
“I suppose I could. Would I get paid?”
“Anything you collect on your own time is yours to keep.”
“Sweet! I’m going to rob at least seven Taco Bells.”
The Joker chuckled once more. He supposed Wade was at least more tolerable than most. Interesting, and quirky. This was going to be fun.
"Sure, sure. Just try to be quiet, do what the doctors say. They'll relax your security and make it easier on my part."
"Can do, Nickelwit."