Emily (foresthouse) wrote,

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Deadpool. Weapon, Part I: The Devil

[Confused? Start at the beginning with Chapter 1]


Previously, on Deadpool: Weapon:

[Face front, true believers! It’s me, Wade Wilson, a.k.a. Deadpool, a.k.a. the Merc-with-a-Mouth [sorry for all the a.k.a.’s, but I thought you might need reminding, seeing as the lazy writer decided to go on vacation last week and didn’t post a thing about me]! So! When last we left Our Hero [Me? Yep, me!], he was valiantly fighting the evil Deathstroke--

[What? Why can’t I say that?


Well, he’s being evil now, isn’t he? I mean, pickin’ on the Teen Titans an’ that cute Koriand’r! That’s SO messed up, beating on teens like that. Like they don’t have it bad enough with the acne and all. Trust me, I know.


Ok, ok, OK. *grumble*

-- the sometimes evil Deathstroke, who’s also sometimes a good guy because that’s the way we mercenaries roll. Anyways. ‘Stroke an’ me were fighting in some dirty alley in the Big, Shiny Apple, but for this recap, I get to sit here in this nice, comfy, mothball-smellin’ old Broadway theater for a bit while I tell you amnesiacs what’s been happenin’. Ahhh. It’s nice to have a break, y’know, because t’tell ya the truth, Deathstroke was kinda kickin’ my canastas just now. Only a little bit, though, and I was totally just about to--

--“Hey! Weasel? Blind Al? T-Ray?!?! Whatchu all doin’ in New York?”

Blind Al: “MST Central just got a call about this storyline, Wade, so we got pulled in to do a little light commentary. You stupid merc. I’m missing Matlock for this.”

Deadpool: “What?! But I thought MSTing was for bad writing. I mean, clearly, this fic is of the super-stellar, extra-helpings of Mouthy Merc in your Murky-Os variety! Why the MSTing?”

Weasel: *hem* “Actually, although the original MST3K TV program was used as a vehicle to poke fun at bad movies, MSTing is now used in fanfiction not only to serve that function, but also to occasionally point out fanfic that strays from canon. True, usually the two purposes go hand in hand (see, e.g. deu_sex_machina) , but it is not completely unorthodox to utilize the format in order to simply point out a glaring swerve away from canon in an otherwise, as you say, 'super-stellar' fic.”

Deadpool: *facepalm* “Trust you to know that, you walking Wikipedia. I can’t believe you just used “utilize” in a sentence in MY fic. Geez, Weas. You need to get out more.”

Weasel: ”Um...well...yeah, not gonna argue that.”

Deadpool: “Anyway, you’re missing your Matlock, Battlestar Galactica, and Passions for nothin’. Em would never mess with canon. No way. You know she’s all about the canon. I mean, a little continuity flub here and there, sure – they come in handy in future retcons, as T-Rex well knows-- (Ed. note: Wade is referring to the little ‘Deadpool's pants’ detail in Issue #39 of Cable & Deadpool) -- but canon is sacred. She said.”

Weasel: “Apparently not, Wade.”

T-Ray: *snort* “Like anything is sacred to you anyway, Wilson.”

Deadpool: “Well, you kinda got me there, T-Bone; but Em’s different. She’s a canon freak. She’s always saying how canon-freaky she is. Why would she change her mind now?”

T-Ray: “Apparently for a bit of lame romance, Wilson. Or possibly a major plot point. But why’s it got your panties in a twist? You of all people should know no one has any scruples these days.”

Weasel: “And, uh, Wade, buddy? I hate to tell you, but she’s been planning this little hiccup from Day 1. I mean, I think this little canon deviation we’re about to hit was actually the impetus for this whole fic...”

Deadpool: “...but...but...”

Blind Al: “Face it, Wade. She’s a dirty, double-talkin’, double-dealin’ gal.”

Deadpool: ”...The cake is a lie...I feel woozy...”

T-Ray: *yawn* “This is boring. Can I get back to looking pasty and killing people with my magic green glow now?”

Weasel: “Probably...Hey, T-Ray, by the way - you ever gonna change that dirty ol’ Band-Aid on your nose?”

T-Ray: “No.” *smack*

Weasel: ”Ow. By dose.


Um...I thik I need a Bad-Aid now.”

Blind Al: “Well, it’s been real, Wade, but I’d best get back to scrawling obscene phrases on your Thor Underoos. And possibly the walls. It’s hard to tell where you’re writing when you’re blind. So, you know, ciao! Oh, and don’t forget to finish the recap before the chapter starts.”

Deadpool: *hrmph* “Yeah, and I love you too, you old hag.”



You’d think I’d be used to stories shifting around by now, what with my constant brain-cell regeneration, but some things still throw the old brain-pan for a loop. Canon deviations? I refuse to believe it. Not from her.

...And clearly, since I refuse to believe it, it’s not true! So, back to the recap! Em took my hand puppets away, so no reenactments this time
[merg]. But let’s just say I may have underestimated Deathstroke a teensy tiny bit. I mean, I knew he was fast, but no one told me about that whole “moving between the seconds” gig. And yeah, I’d heard about that staff thingie, and I might just have some plans for it pretty soon, but I thought for sure the adamantium claws would be more than a match for that promethium armor. I mean, Wolvie uses them to lord it over pretty much everybody in the Marvel world, so how was I supposed to know the DC folks had anything better?

...Not that I can’t still handle things, you know? But this is supposed to be my story. So how come I sort of just got my ass handed to me on a gold-plated platter? Sort of, I said. I mean, I was still totally coming out on top. I just teleported away for a little breather, you know? Just a little break to grow my face back and stuff. No big deal. Find a quiet spot, lay low for a minute or three, regain my eyesight...Funny, though. I thought I felt something hit my ankle as I faded out...

Chapter 6: It's amazing what velocity can do when human beings are in season*

Some Grassy, Sunny Area Where We Probably Shouldn’t Be Hanging Around With Sharp, Pointy Things

Deadpool faded onto the grass, surrounded by a faint purple glow. Already he thought he could see a little blurry sunlight. He took a deep breath--and choked. A hazy red-and-black mask filled what vision he had just regained. Deathstroke had come with him--


--and now he was sitting on him--


--and choking the hell out of him.


“So,” Deathstroke said, “Have you grown back enough of your tongue to tell me where Pat is yet?”

Deadpool shook his head feebly.

“Well that’s ok, I can wait. And it’s not like you’re going anywhere for a bit.”

[Probably true. ...Where are we, anyway?]

Deadpool looked around, as much as he could.

[Um. Oh. Central Park. Huh. Not exactly a quiet, unpopulated place to hole up at until I finish growing my eyes back. Nor was I intending to ice any civilians today, and my are they out en masse, taking advantage of the sunny skies. Oh well, you know what they say--if you can’t handle the heat, don’t come out to play when Deadpool’s around!


Something like that, anyway. Oh, hey! I think I can feel my tongue.

Deadpool tried clearing his throat. It worked. “H-hey, Slade,” he said. “Listen. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, you know? Why don’t you ease up on the chokehold a bit, and I’ll tell you where Pat is. What say?”

Slade eyed him suspiciously, but shifted his weight and his grip a tiny bit. “That’s all the leeway you get, Deadpool. Now talk.”

“Talk? I thought you’d never ask! But actually, I don’t think I’ll talk about Pat just yet, since you just freed up my arm enough for me to do this!” With a flourish, Deadpool stuck a small, six-pointed bit of metal to the armor on Slade’s chest and pushed the button in the middle.


“What the--?” Deathstroke’s armor and staff began to fade away like it was being teleported...but Deathstroke wasn’t going anywhere.

“Oh, Weasel, you little genius. You are so getting a new subscription to Maxim for Christmas!” Deadpool chortled as he heaved Deathstroke away from him.

“What the hell did you just do to my armor?” Deathstroke roared as he landed on his butt. “What was that thing??”

“Well, Weasel calls it the “Wicked-Cool-Winning-Move-I’m-a-Genius Doodad,” but I like to call it the D.E.M.”

“...What? How do you get D.E.M. out of that?”

“Long story, possibly with clues hidden in the recap section of the last chapter. Anyway, I hope you had some little tags nailed to all that armor.”


“Yeah, you know: ‘If found, please return to Slade Wilson, a.k.a. Deathstroke’? My dad used to put those in all my clothes before boot camp: “If found, please return to General Wilson, so he can kick the snot out of his son for being so careless.’ Man, the guys had a lot of fun with my stuff before I got so good at carrying everything around with me.”

Deathstroke launched himself at Deadpool and started choking him again. “Forget your whacked-out childhood, where’s my armor?”

*gackt* “Who knows? I teleported it away. All promethium within ten feet of that thing is now about a thousand miles from here. [Thank everything.] But guess what? My swords are still right here!!!”

Deadpool brought his katanas slashing down on Deathstroke’s back. “Oh, finally, some blood that isn’t mine,” he crowed. He flung Deathstroke away, heard some startled exclamations and scattered cheers and boos, and whirled around to see some New Yorkers pointing and staring from a nearby footpath.

“And the crowd goes wild!” he yelled, holding a pretend microphone to his mouth. “Yes, folks. It’s another bright day here in Central Park, and the contenders are rarin’ to go. In this corner, Deathstroke, who no longer clangs when he walks. And in this corner, the amazing, the awe-inspiring, the alliterative...Deadpool!” He turned and blocked a swordblow from Deathstroke.

“Yes, Stan, ‘Pool is really using those katanas to his advantage as he gets the leap on Deathstroke in round two of this match!” Deadpool narrated. “OHH, would you look at that? The Assassin Strike, followed by a full out Blade Cyclone!!” Deadpool slashed and sliced at Deathstroke. “Man, I haven’t seen moves like those since Ultimate Alliance. WHAT a fight this is going to be. On one side at least!”

“You got that right, Joe. I hope Deathstroke can get it together there, because as far as I can see, all he’s doing right now is bleeding on the nice park grass. And that’s bad form.”

“Wait, Stan! You see it?” Deadpool exclaimed. “It looks like Deathstroke’s up and reaching for his knives.” *gshuugt* “And he’s successfully stabbed Deadpool in the side, but does Deadpool fall? No he. Does. NOT. A quick bounce back and out with the shurikens. Ooh, right in the perineum – isn’t perineum a fun word? And one in the thigh! And one in that clown holding the balloons! [Oops.] Geez, this is just not ‘Stroke’s lucky day. Maybe he should just run away now.”

“And speaking of runaways, Joe, make sure you check out those cute li’l Runaways in issue #30, out now!” Deadpool spun and kicked Deathstroke in the stomach. “Our sponsor [Joss Whedon, who else?] proudly endorses both the Runaways AND our main man, ‘Pool.”

[Man I’d like to ‘endorse’ some of those Runaways. ‘Specially that Nico babe.]

“Will you shut UP??” Deathstroke yelled, blasting at Deadpool with the guns he held in both hands. Deadpool dodged to the left. "How can you keep talking all the time??”

“Well, as Dr. Bong once said, ‘I believe lengthy speeches in mid-leap are a form of mutant power.’ And everyone knows I’m a mutant. Now stop interrupting my commentary!” Deadpool kicked Deathstroke in the knee, sending him to the ground. Deathstroke rolled, grabbed Deadpool and punched him in the face.

“Say, Stan--OUF--not all of our good folks listening in know about our main man--GYEEEOOWSH!--(Oooh, there goes Deadpool’s hand. That serrated knife had to hurt. And that was his favorite glove, too. Shame!)-- So why don’t you give ‘em some--OWWIE--stats?”

“Sure thing, Joe. Well, as all you ‘Pool fans know, Deadpool has only two speeds: walk, and kill. Also, the chief export of Deadpool is Pain. And the way I hear it, Deadpool doesn’t shower; he only takes blood baths." *grrf* "Basically, folks: when Deadpool hits town...even Chuck Norris runs for his life. After all, Death waits for no man. Unless that man is Deadpool.”

“Thanks Stan, I think that summed it up nicely.” *whuff* “I think he’s grown his hand back, too. Way to go, 'Pool!” Deadpool rolled away from Deathstroke’s sword.

“This is ridiculous!” Deathstroke yelled as his sword thwacked into the grass. “Don’t you ever stop?? I blew your head off, stabbed you in the gut, sliced you apart, cut off your hand, and broke your jaw THREE TIMES. How can you just keep going like this?!”

“Didn’t you know?” smirked Deadpool. “I’m the best there is at whatever it is Wolverine does!”

“Who’s Wolverine?!”

“Aw, HELL. This crossover plot is really ruining my schtick.” Deadpool grumped as he ducked the hail of bullets Deathstroke was spraying everywhere. “And hey! Watch with the shooting, why dontcha? You start killing civilians, it’s gonna put a real crimp in this hero persona I’m tryin’ to pull off.”

“What?! But you killed that clown over there when you threw those shurikens at me!”

“So? Clowns are the biggest threat to mankind. Anyway, the clown isn’t really dead, ‘cause none of this is really happening. See, there’s a woman...with a computer...and she’s getting really pissed at you. Why don’t you DIE already??”

“Because it’s not what I do, you fool. People don’t kill me; I kill them. Why do you think they call me ‘Deathstroke the Terminator’?”

Deathstroke picked Deadpool up by his teleport harness and threw him into a tree, which made an ominous cracking sound--

“Well I just assumed it was so people would think you were awesome like Arnold, but hell, what do I know?”

--and came crashing down towards a dark-haired woman just walking beneath it, headphones in her ears, completely oblivious to the fight. [Oh, crap.] Deadpool dove at her and knocked her out of the way of the tree--only to be pinned beneath the tree trunk himself. “Grrrrrnph!” he grunted as he lifted the trunk and slid from beneath it. [And now we know why headphones are a dangerous, dangerous thing.]

“Dammit! There you go with the civilians again. And that one was pretty, too! NOW I’m pissed!” Deadpool growled. “And we all know what that means..."

"Tornado Kick!” [that’s Tatsumaki Senpuukyaku to you] Deadpool yelled, as he teleported circles around Deathstroke, slicing, dicing, and kicking every available surface. “Dude! Did you see that? I can fight in Japanese! How frikkin’ cool am I? Well, not as cool as Iceman, obviously, but even Iceman--“

“Aaaaaauugh! I can’t take it anymore! Hara-Kiiiriiii!!” screamed Deathstroke, holding up his hands so Deadpool would stop kicking him.

Deadpool stopped. “What, seriously? Toasty!”

“Well, not exactly hara-kiri,” panted Deathstroke. “But I want to make a deal. Please. You just want me to stop fighting the Teen Titans, right? That’s what this is all about?”

“...Yeah,” said Deadpool.

“OK. I promise to stop fighting the Teen Titans...if you promise to tell me where Pat is, AND to never, ever talk to me again after we leave Central Park today.”

“Hey, you know, that’s not a bad deal,” Deadpool said as he snapped one of his fingers back into place. “I could run with that offer.”

“Just so we’re clear – I ever hear your voice again after today, the deal’s OFF,” growled Deathstroke.

“No prob, bud.” Deadpool slapped Deathstroke on the back, then shook Deathstroke's hand to seal the deal.

“As for the first condition, I never actually had Pat. I was just using her name as bait. ‘S far as I know, she’s at home or at work or wherever, so we’re square there. And as for the second, I promise you’ll never hear my dulcet tones again after this. Scout’s honor,” Deadpool said. “And just to make sure of that--” Deadpool switched on the teleporter he’d just stuck to Deathstroke’s back “--I’m sending you after that armor of yours. Sayonara!”


As Deathstroke faded away, Deadpool looked around at the damage.

[Hrm. One dead clown, one busted hot dog stand, one broken tree...oh. And one injured woman. Damn.]

He ran over to the dark-haired woman still sprawled near the tree. Her hair covered her face and part of the white lab coat she wore. “*&%#$!” he swore, brushing the hair out of her face. “Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?” She groaned, opened her eyes wide, and looked up at him. He looked back at her.




[Hey, why is my head surrounded by little hearts? HEY!]

“What?” the woman asked.

[Um...did I say that out loud?]

“Are you ok, miss?”

“I...I...” She was staring at his hand...his hand, which no longer had a glove on. His hand, which was covered in scars and cancer tumors. Erk.

Deadpool thrust his hand behind his back and backed away from her. “Uh, I gotta go,” he said, reaching toward his belt with his other hand.


As he teleported away, the last thing he heard was her voice.



Chapter 7, arriving soon in all its glory...

Chapter 6 title from A Boy and His Machine Gun by Matthew Good Band.
Tags: comics, deadpool, deadpool: weapon, fanfic, writing

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