Chapter Text
Thanks to Eurydia for the beautiful art! Check out her art at eurydia.tumblr.com
Life had changed a lot since Matt joined a team. The Defenders were a ragtag bunch, but Foggy respected what they were doing. Jessica was okay, Luke seemed decent, and Danny was nice enough. At some point, the group must have exchanged secret identities because they referred to Matt by his real name. Matt had reluctantly introduced Foggy to them, and it had now reached the point where Foggy would hear a knock on the door of his apartment and open it up to find one of the team, bleeding heavily and nodding politely at him. He restocked his first aid kit on a weekly basis.
Their friendship had to take the backseat and that was…fine. Matt seemed happier now, or at least, full of purpose. He believed in the team and what they were hoping to achieve, and Foggy felt better, knowing that Matt had three more people looking out for him. The other Defenders had been slow to trust Foggy at first, but it was getting to that point where Foggy would roll out of bed at 3:00 AM to visit the bathroom, and he’d see Jessica sitting on his couch, watching infomercials and drinking his beer. He’d groggily wave to her and then stagger back to bed.
Of course, the Defenders weren’t the only vigilantes around, and they crossed paths with a few, which is how Foggy met Wade Wilson.
One day, Foggy was watching Wheel of Fortune and working his way through a family-size of Cheetos when there was a knock on the door. He got up and peered through the peephole to see Daredevil’s blank, red stare.
“Oh, shit! Just a second!”
The group filtered in. Jessica swaggered by already en route to the fridge, Matt came in and hovered awkwardly by the door, and Luke entered the room, carrying an enormous lump of red fabric. Danny was absent.
“Hi, guys, what’s going on?”
Jessica wasted no time on small talk, she never did. “Are you up for babysitting duty?”
“Depends. Who am I babysitting?”
Luke dumped the red mound on the couch and as it made a faint moan of pain, Foggy realised it was a person. A man. Every inch of his skin was covered in red leather and kevlar, his hands were gloved and a strange red and black mask hid his face.
“This joker thought he’d tag along, try to help us. He took a lot of bullets and hit his head. He needs somewhere to lie low for a few hours.” Jessica said, and she gave the lump a kick. It groaned.
“Um, no, he needs the hospital, are you insane?”
“Deadpool has healing powers,” Luke explained. “He recovers. Fast.”
“Healing power…” Foggy said faintly. “Few hours…that, that must be a very, aggressive healing power…”
“It is. Look after him, try not to let him get under your skin,” Jessica said. She grabbed a handful of Cheetos and stuffed them in her mouth. “Guys, let’s go.”
“Thanks, Foggy,” Matt said, briefly touching Foggy’s arm before he left.
Right. Okay. Deadpool.
Once Foggy was left alone with the unfamiliar vigilante, he took a minute to study him. The man was tall and broad, closer to Luke’s build than Danny’s. The red jumpsuit didn’t leave much to the imagination, it seemed almost moulded to his body. The whole thing was littered with tears, revealing pink, bloodied skin underneath. But the blood had dried and Deadpool’s breathing sounded consistent. His huge chest rose and fell with equal, even breaths, and as Foggy sat down and watched him, the breath began to sound less raspy and more…normal. Maybe he was healing, as Luke had claimed.
It didn’t seem like Deadpool was in any immediate danger, so Foggy returned to daytime television, keeping an ear out for the faint breathing.
“Fuck me, that hurt!”
Foggy jumped about a foot in the air, then realised the voice was coming from beside him. He turned, heart pounding, to see Deadpool sitting up, mask turned towards the television screen. Foggy had been idly watching a quiz show, but it hadn’t held his interest. Now, there was something more important to attend to.
“Deadpool? You’re up?”
“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Deadpool turned his head this way and that, his odd mesh eyes taking in the sparsely-decorated living room. “Where are we? Last thing I remember, I was getting bullets up my ass.”
"You passed out. The Defenders brought you here. To recuperate.”
“The Defenders! I love those guys! So serious. So attractive. Ooh, let’s play fuck, marry, kill. Oh no, wait, you need three people for that, and the Defenders are four. Well, we’ll let Iron Fist sit this one out. He’s, like, the lamest one.”
Deadpool was nice enough to explain everything. The threat they’d been up against (arms dealers) and the fight that had ensued. He even explained the range of his powers. That wasn’t something that the Defenders did. They only gave him the necessary information, leading him to guess or work out the rest. With Matt and the others constantly rushing off, it was nice to have some company for once. Foggy knew Matt was vague about his vigilante work because he was only trying to protect Foggy but Foggy felt grateful that Deadpool actually clued him in on what was going on. He wasn’t a baby, he could be trusted with information.
When the gang returned, Foggy was deep in a game of Exploding Kittens with Deadpool. Deadpool was apparently called Wade Wilson, he was Canadian, Scorpio, and liked PB&J sandwiches, Golden Girls, and the taste of latex. He shared these revelations voluntarily, to Foggy’s surprise. It was weird to go from having someone like Matt who cherished their secret identity and then encountering folks like Wade and Jessica who had no issue with people knowing their names or faces.
Wade had conjured up the pack of cards from one of the many pouches on his jumpsuit and had helped himself to the contents of Foggy’s refrigerator while Foggy familiarised himself with the rules. This was their third match.
The Defenders trooped in, most likely tracking blood and dirt onto his carpet. Whatever. Foggy wasn’t above sending Iron Fist a dry cleaning bill. That guy had deep pockets.
“How did it go?” Foggy said without looking up from his cards. He had a good hand. At least, he thought so. It was hard to tell.
“Ugh. You got booze?” Jessica asked but she was already heading to the kitchen. You could probably drop her in prohibition-era America and she’d be able to sniff out the local speakeasy.
“Did the arms dealers give you any trouble?” Wade asked. He’d stretched out on the couch and was taking up far too much space, leaving Foggy pressed to the side. Wade was simply too big for the couch and had insisted on resting his legs on Foggy’s lap.
“No, we got them,” Matt said. He shuffled over and perched on the end of the couch, by Foggy. “How are you feeling?”
Foggy almost responded, until he guiltily realised Matt was addressing Wade.
Wade stretched out like a cat, still half-lying on his generous host. Foggy felt the calf muscles roll, they felt rock-hard. “Gucci, all things considered. All I needed was a nap. I should probably head on back to Casa De Deadpool.”
Foggy tried to squash down the sting of disappointment. Wade was a funny guy, crazy but good crazy, and he’d been a hoot, watching TV and yelling at the gameshow hosts.
“You can stay ‘til the end of the match,” Foggy told him and Wade made a pleased sound.
By listening in to conversations, Foggy gleaned a few details. Apparently, The Defenders had no plans to absorb Wade into their ranks, but he stuck to them like glue, they couldn’t shake him off. And they grudgingly admitted that he could be useful. He and Luke were basically bullet-immune, seeing as how Luke’s skin couldn’t be harmed and Wade could easily walk off a stab or bullet wound.
From then on, Foggy began to see Wade show up at his apartment, just as often as the rest of the gang.
Wade was erratic, boisterous and…completely charming. Foggy couldn’t help himself from laughing at the merc’s idiotic jokes or his pratfall stunts. Foggy had come to the impression that Wade, for all his nonchalance, felt a little sorry for Foggy. He mentioned, in passing, that it must suck to not have powers when your best friend did. Wade had a best friend that he spoke of, a guy named Weasel, who wasn’t a mutant. But Wade also was good friends with Spider-Man. The way Wade spoke of Spider-Man, it ventured on adoring. His voice would lighten, as if his vocal cords were lined with gold. He regaled Foggy with tales of his adventures with the webbed wonder. They’d battled an evil hypnotic felon called the Hypno-Hustler, a shapeshifting villain who called himself Chameleon and a…
“Hit…Monkey? What? What is a Hit Monkey?”
“He’s a monkey, but he gets paid to…you know. Separate heads from bodies.” Wade made a slashing motion with his arms.
Foggy wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Is he a mutant? Is he a man with monkey DNA or something?”
“This ain’t Umbrella Academy! No, he’s just a monkey. A monkey in a suit.”
Foggy smiled, shaking his head. “I’ve listened to a lot of your tales but this is one shaggy dog story—”
“Shaggy monkey story! Sorry.” Wade chimed in. He mimed zipping his lips and neatly folded his hands in his lap.
“—that I don’t believe, Wade.”
“It’s true! Spidey took a photo with him. When I next see him, I’ll ask him to gimme the photo so I can show you.”
Foggy smiled. “I’d like that. Can I ask you a question?”
Wade aimed one of his guns at the ceiling. Foggy hoped to God that the safety was on. “Shoot.”
“Why do you always wear that costume? Even Matt takes his mask off when he’s here.”
Wade looked away. “Uh, trust me, you don’t wanna know.”
“I do!”
“You don’t.”
“Are you self-conscious about how you look? Because, I gotta say, if I had a body like yours, I wouldn’t hide it,” Shut up, Foggy, what are you doing? Don’t flirt with the merc. Don’t even think of flirting with the merc. You’re already hopelessly in love with one mutant vigilante, don’t amass a collection!
“I appreciate that,” Wade said seriously. “But it’s not like that. I was some British fucker’s guinea pig, they experimented on me. That’s how I got my powers. It left my face looking all kinds of messed up. My body too. Damn, I had a really nice face. Before. People used to tell me I looked like Ryan Reynolds.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Foggy said but Wade made a faint, miserable whimper. He wasn’t sitting in his usual style, half-draped over Foggy. Now, he was sitting as far from him as he could on the couch, as if afraid of the proximity. “I won’t unmask you, you know I wouldn’t do that. I just…I want you to be comfortable here.”
“Fuck it, might as well get it over with. You promise you won’t freak?” At Foggy’s nod, Wade squared his shoulders and sat up a little straighter. “Okay. Get ready for the horrorshow.” He lifted his hands to the back of his neck, fidgeted a bit and then fabric fell down.
Oh.
“It’s not that bad,” Foggy said earnestly, as Wade ducked his head. “I’m not going to lie and say it’s not noticeable but it could be worse. I like your teeth. They’re very white.”
“Thanks,” Wade said cautiously, but he shifted in his seat, turning to face Foggy. Foggy rather felt like he was trying to tempt a squirrel into scampering closer. “I try to take good care of ‘em.”
Foggy cast his eyes over the ravaged skin, the gentle laughter lines, the deep, brown eyes. Eyes that reminded him of another vigilante. “I like your eyes. I like the colour.”
“Thanks,” Wade said again, scooching even closer. He was so close now, that Foggy could see every scar and bump, every break of the skin. There was one thing left that wasn’t scarred or mangled. “I like your lips.”
“Thanks,” Wade breathed and then there was warmth on Foggy’s mouth, a drag of rough skin. He leant into it, and dazedly kissed back, feeling dry, chapped lips rake over his own lips, making them tingle. But thoughts of dark hair and pale skin swam in his mind and he pushed on Wade’s chest, breaking the kiss. “I’m sorry.”
Wade sprang back as if he’d been burnt. Maybe he had been. “It’s…totally fine. I wouldn’t kiss this face either. Don’t apologise, dude, I get it.”
“No, it’s not your face. I…I have feelings for somebody. I try to cover them up, pretend they’re not there but…I can’t. No matter what I do, all I think about is him.”
“Hmm,” Wade’s face softened. “This mystery guy. He wouldn’t happen to be a blind, ninja lawyer, would he?”
“Maybe. There’s a lot of them around.” Foggy said nonsensically, while inwardly panicking. His instinct was to trust Wade, but he’d revealed an intimate secret and he was floundering.
“It’s all good, your secret is safe with me. I think you should go for it. You and Matt make sweet, beautiful music together.”
“Trust me, he doesn’t feel the same way. I wish…never mind.”
Wade threw a tree-trunk arm around Foggy’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “Ah, no, we don’t do that here. You were gonna say something. Tell your Uncle Wade what’s on your mind.”
Foggy sighed and Wade leant forward in anticipation. He might as well tell him, Wade already knew the worst of it. “I just wish I knew what it would be like to sleep with him. See his face as he comes. I think I could die happy. I’d be fine with being friends with him because I’d have that memory to live on. Being around him, seeing what I can’t have, it kills me. It’s like I’m starving. But if I had one happy memory of being with him, I think it would fuel me. Does that sound crazy?”
“It doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Wade said. “In fact, that gives me an idea.”