Chapter Text
"I have a bone to pick with your organisation," Wade says, tossing Spider-Man's femur back into the smashed-up coffin.
The problem with fanfiction is that a dance sequence to NSYNC'S hit song Bye Bye Bye doesn't really hit the same on paper. Fanartists and the nerds who make those animatics have the right idea. But the song is stuck in his head anyway, and he hums it under his breath as he steps over a TVA hunter's severed leg.
Cavalry Cemetery in Queens houses over three million corpses, and Wade has ever so thoughtfully increased that statistic by fifteen. Paradox won't be happy. He better not stick around long enough for the funerals.
If they're lucky, they might get buried with the Anchor Point they love so much.
Wade drags a hand down his face. So, Spider-Man is really dead. And he has 72 hours to save the universe that this self-sacrificial bug boy had ruined for everyone with his rigid morals and sense of responsibility.
We're introducing the stakes a tad early, aren't we? White says.
All the best fanfics start in media res, dumbass, Yellow argues.
Wade picks up one of the hunter's TemPads and searches for Spider-Men. If this world's fucker is dead, he'll just have to find another one to save his universe, won't he?
A Time Door opens next to Ben Parker's grave, and with one backward glance at the blood staining the snow, Wade steps through.
There are nine people in the world that Wade cares about.
He glances over at Vanessa. Not all of them return the favour.
Jamming all of them into one cramped apartment is a recipe for disaster. If Blind Al asks Colossus if he wants to 'build a snowman', the Frozen-obsessed freak will say yes. The X-Men's goody-two-shoes reputation — and their apartment's security deposit — could be over in minutes.
And yet, these nine people are the only ones who care enough about Wade to celebrate his birthday with him. His ex, his coworker, a cab driver, three X-Men who rejected him from their team, Domino, and Weasel.
(Al doesn't count. She lives there. He had to invite her.)
Somehow, this sad list is still an improvement on his social circle from six years ago.
Is this what we've come to? Inviting our ex to our birthday?
Please. Like this is the most embarrassing thing we've ever done.
Wade pastes a smile on his face as the Boxes offer him a rerun of every embarrassing moment of his life; from the time he shit his pants in kindergarten to the car he scratched on a test drive last week at work.
Dopinder is ranting about New York's public transport system, but none of his words sink in. Wade's too busy watching the light leaving Weasel's eyes. If anyone throws themselves off their fourth storey fire escape tonight, it better be him. He's the birthday boy. He's not letting Weasel steal the limelight.
Vanessa laughs, and the sound cuts through the chatter and music like Bea and Arthur. Wade glances over his shoulder to see her smile, the wig staples tugging at his scalp. Yukio grins at her own joke, and Negasonic Teenage Warhead is staring at her girlfriend with this soppy, love-struck look that makes Wade want to pour bleach into his eyes.
What did Vanessa see in him all those years ago? Did he really change so much that she stopped loving him? Or was she just looking for a reason to leave?
Can you blame her?
You're a loser now. And not even rich.
Al pulls a lighter out of her bra and passes it to Peter, who disappears into the kitchen. Wade shakes his head. He needs to get a grip before the cake comes out, because even he can admit that he's ruining the vibe of his own party.
Dopinder grabs Wade's wrist and holds it up for a high five. He stiffens, but offers him a tight smile.
"Congrats, DP," Dopinder says.
"I'm not Deadpool anymore," he corrects reflexively. He's no one. Wade Winston Wilson, a man who gained just enough morals to stop killing for money to live out his life as a broke bachelor.
Fuck family. What's the point in trying to be a better man if they hate the loser version of you?
Dopinder winks and nods, as if he's in on some inside joke. Weasel just pats him on the arm pityingly and chugs the rest of his drink.
Peter bursts out of the kitchen with the cake before Wade can say anything else. They sing happy birthday so loud and so out of key their grumpy neighbour pounds on the wall with a broom and Al wishes she was deaf. Wade hates that he's faking a smile as his friends call for a speech.
"It's been a challenging few years," he says. A few years where he's hoped Al's prayer of God finishing the job would come true every day. "But I'm happy. And that's because of each and every one of you. This is about how proud I am — how grateful I am — to be standing in a room with every single person I love."
He catches Vanessa's gaze and a lump forms in his throat. Probably more cancer, with his luck. She's seeing Dermont or Derek or Dave or whatever his name is now. But at least Doug hasn't got her shot yet.
His jaw aches. Is this what he fought for? Living in a shitty apartment with Al covering his half of the rent? Surrounding himself with people who loved him more as a murderous vigilante than a normal man with normal hair and a normal job?
Weasel pointedly clears his throat and Wade realises he's staring.
"I'm the luckiest man alive," he finishes, hating the pitying crinkle around Vanessa's eyes. He's the reason she lived long enough to develop those laugh lines. He's the reason she almost didn't.
He blows out the candle.
What are you wishing for?
Our own Christmas album. A unicorn carrying a sack of cash. Reputation (Taylor's Version).
He used to think he had a purpose. He doesn't even know what he wants as a birthday present anymore. Although a unicorn would be pretty fucking cool.
A knock on the door interrupts the chorus of 'hip hip hoorays'.
Wade's running to answer it before anyone can protest, and the TVA drags him to another dimension before Peter can cut the cake.
For an hour, Wade thinks his birthday wishes came true.
Paradox tells him he's important enough for a multiversal organisation to pluck him out of retirement for a vital mission. Their pervy tailor makes him a new suit with adamantium versions of Bea and Arthur and funky guns and a baby knife. And he knows he looks fucking fantastic by the way the suits working underneath the glass walkway stare.
One guy even pours coffee down his shirt, his jaw dropped open.
Wade should've known there was a catch.
And then Paradox tells him that his universe is dying.
And then Paradox tells him he wants to kill it faster.
And then Paradox tells him it's all Spider-Man's fault.
His timeline's Spider-Man took a bullet to save a stranger's child. Boo fucking hoo. He leaves behind a sobbing, Oscar-winning wife, a timeline about to turn into spaghetti, and the child goes on to win a Nobel Peace Prize.
You made that last bit up.
At least the spaghetti might actually kill us.
"I deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for putting up with your bullshit," Wade mutters to himself.
He isn't Marvel Jesus. He's the multiverse's most gullible idiot.
But like fuck is he going to let a scrawny British man who eats plain cheese sandwiches kill his entire world, idiot or not.
Wade snatches Paradox's TemPad and jumps to a graveyard in Queens back in his world.
It's not like his birthday could get any worse.
The first Spider-Man Wade encounters is made from Lego.
"What the shit?" he exclaims.
Little Lego-Man presses a button on his wrist with his ridiculous claw hand and says "beep" out loud as if it's perfectly normal. Wade only watches on, gobsmacked, as a small hologram of a woman wearing a fur coat and heart-shaped sunglasses pops up.
"LYLA, I've got a variant here," Lego-Man says.
The next thing Wade knows, he's trapped in an impenetrable orange bubble.
A Spider-Woman who looks like she's just strolled out of Tron bundles Wade into a strange machine. She glitches and separates into three avatars of herself, each of them furiously typing on the computers stuck to the ceiling.
"I need help saving my universe," Wade tries. He's not sure how picky the TVA are about gender, but a futuristic Spider-Woman has got to be better than some random idiot willing to end a timeline over a random child.
"LYLA, send him home," Spider-Byte says.
A giant mechanical spider descends from the ceiling, and Wade doesn't even argue with White and Yellow as they try to convince him this isn't real.
A blink later, and he's standing outside his apartment's front door.
As much as Wade would love to go inside and binge watch The Great British Bake Off, he has a universe to save. So, Wade fiddles with the TemPad again, and steps through the next Time Door.
The Spider-Man he runs into is easily twice the size of his world's variant. Claws protrude from his navy and red suit and he bares his fangs at Wade.
Great. They're making vampire Spider-People now.
Wade can't find it in himself to be too intimidated when Miguel's ass is also twice the size of every other Spidey's.
"Damn," he says. "Do you have a permit for that?"
Spider-Man growls and webs Wade's mouth shut before he can even mention Moon Knight.
Earth 332's Spider-Woman tries to run Wade over with her motorbike.
Earth 138's Spider-Punk smacks him in the face with his guitar.
Earth 65's Ghost Spider refuses to work with a mercenary.
Earth 50101's Spider-Man hits him in the crotch with a yo-yo for interrupting his date.
Every single one of them sends him back to the Spider Society's HQ.
"Back again?" Margo sighs and presses a button. She created a shortcut to Wade's universe on his fourth trip to the Go Home Machine, probably when she realised just how stubborn he could be when he wanted. "Please stay at home this time, Deadpool."
"My universe is dying," Wade says. He really doesn't want to beg a nerdy teen for help, but how can he give up and go home to his party when he knows he's condemning the only people who matter to him to a grisly death? "Aren't Spider-People supposed to be selfless heroes?"
LYLA pops up again. She's really solidifying Wade's hatred for AI. "Your universe will die anyway. I keep telling you, there's nothing any Spider-People can do to save it."
And then he's outside his stupid fucking party for the billionth time.
Domino sticks her head out of the front door. "Thought you might be out here."
Wade glares at her so violently he's surprised he doesn't burn holes in the eyes of his mask. "How lucky you found me."
"What's with the suit, Mr. Not-Deadpool?"
"Birthday present." He kicks the toupee and it slides down the hallway. It'll make an excellent nest for the rats that live in the walls.
"Tell me the truth," Domino says.
Wade groans and buries his face in his hands. Fuck the X-Men and the Avengers — he can't even get the Spider Society to help him. He feels like the guy who throws up on a night out begging the bartender for one more drink.
"The world is going to end," Wade says. "And only one person can save it."
Dom raises an eyebrow. "You?"
"Fuck no." He rolls his eyes. "I just have to find the guy who can. But no version of them will help me."
There has to be one Spider-Man out there willing to help a man in need. If they're out here taking bullets for strangers, he thought they'd be fighting each other for the responsibility of saving an entire timeline.
"Pass me your doodad," Dom says.
Wade hands it over. She fiddles with the dials for a moment and passes it back. "I'm feeling lucky about Earth 420."
He stares down at the universe designation. He hopes Margo doesn't get sick of him and send him to some multiversal-Raft situation.
Dom pauses by the door. "Don't fuck this up, yeah? I'm not ready to die just yet."
Wade salutes. "I promise to fuck it up as much as possible."
She smiles. "Happy birthday, Wade," she says, as she slams the door shut behind her.
He better be a good Spider-Man.
Hopefully with an ass as fat as Miguel's.
The Time Door opens behind Wade, and he steps through into a dingy apartment in Queens.