Chapter Text
"If I had theme music, it would definitely have bagpipes. You know the Scottish instrument that janitor guy always has in The Simpsons? And yes, I know, you might be thinking, 'That is a very annoying instrument, Wade, why would you want it to be in your theme' but that is the whole fun of it! Don't tell anyone, but sometimes I can be a bit on the annoying side, and hey- I know it too, okay? It's my whole charm. Annoying to my very core. And bagpipes, they have the same reputation. So, it's like I'm the bagpipes and the bagpipes are me. We're connected- God, connections. They are so very hard to find. No one wants romance these days! Where are the flowers? The chocolates? The blushing before taking your shirt off? This guy once basically slammed me into the couch and okay, yeah, I wasn't complaining much but my point still stands- wait, no, this wasn't my point at all... Ah right! Bagpipes! Just imagine me walking in and some bagpiper—hehe, it sounds so stupid, just say it out loud. Bagpiper. Bagpiper. Snort. Anyways, I'm walking in and no one cares, but then this old as fuck bagpiper starts playing or blowing or whatever you do with bagpipes and suddenly everyone knows I'm there. And then I'm the Cinderella who arrived fashionably late with her beautiful white - not blue, it was never blue! - white dress and everyone is in awe except I usually get a bit different reaction but you know-"
"Deadpool, leave the fucking band alone."
Wade let out a dramatic sigh, sending the band, who were staring at him blankly, a look that said, 'Can you believe this guy?' Except they definitely couldn't believe this guy because that guy, Weasel - yes, it is a very lame codename, Wade tried to tell him - is in his earpiece and is heard only by Wade.
Unfortunately.
"All I'm saying is that this whole classy violin and cello thing you have going on is very boring; you should consider bagpipes."
One of the guys in the band, with a double bass between his legs, slowly nodded. Wade knew that look. It was the look people gave him when they didn't want to look rude but also really wanted Wade to get out of their face.
Fine. Wade will be an adult about this and will only huff once. Loudly, of course, and while doing his best snobby rich person impression.
It's why he is even here after all.
Ah, rich people and their irresistible urge to show off all their shiny and fancy stuff to other rich people. Though, let's be honest, shiny stuff is shiny. Wade loves shiny stuff. Just look at that big chandelier! It pulled him towards itself like Wade was a bug and it was a dim light in the middle of the night.
He loved stuff in general. Why are people always so against liking things? They love to brag about how they're not materialistic and only need their family and blah blah blah, shut up, Jennifer.
Stuff is meant to be enjoyed, not gasped over how unimportant, 'unhealthy' and 'wrong' it is. Gross. People just love to pretend they found a way to make themselves better, when they all know deep down everyone is a little shit.
Yes, even that 90-year-old man sitting in an old-fashioned armchair in the corner, sipping whiskey as slowly as that sloth from Zootopia. He might look innocent but he probably had some fucked-up thoughts before.
Wade has fucked-up thoughts all the time. It's his favorite pastime.
"Deadpool, you promised to not get distracted."
Fucking Weasel and his dumb and totally unnecessary body cam.
"How do you expect me not to get distracted with all this gold and chocolate fountains?"
"...told her you were wrong for this job." Weasel muttered angrily under his breath, probably forgetting that his microphone was still on.
Or maybe that was his intention. Weasel was one of those people who didn't hide his shit-like nature. Wade appreciated that.
Wade scoffed as he snatched a champagne glass from a tray carried by a very irritated-looking waitress. "I'm the best this damn organization has."
"You're confusing 'best' with 'useful' again."
Wade groaned. A few women, dressed in long slick black dresses, glanced at him with their judgy hawk eyes. Ugh. As if they wouldn't be judging him even if he seemingly wasn't talking to himself in the middle of the beige-colored living room. Was it even a living room if it was bigger than a parking spot next to Target?
Wade bet they called this ‘the party room' or some other dumb name (he would totally call his room a party room if he had the chance).
"Focus." It was like Weasel got some kind of telepathic message every time Wade's thoughts slipped a bit too far away from the mission. Which happened a lot. That might be why Weasel was so used to it by now. "Did you spot the target yet?"
"Of course I spotted the target, I'm not an amateur, Weas. He has been sitting in that same armchair all evening." Wade glanced at the old man with his whiskey. Yup. Still there.
"Good. I hope you still remember Strategy Mayhem."
Wade huffed like an offended horse. "Weas, please. I'm the master of Strategy Mayhem."
He could hear his partner's sigh, which was definitely accompanied by an eye roll. Sometimes Wade tried to see how many eye rolls he could get out of people in one day. His record was 24.
"Wipe that smug look off your face before someone thinks you're challenging them to a duel."
"You can't even see my face, asshole."
"You do know you're not supposed to reply to me out in the open?"
"And you're not supposed to talk this much."
"Hypocrite."
"I take that title proudly."
Weasel sighed again but didn't continue their little childish scramble. Everyone knew Wade Wilson was not the agent you take on a precise and quiet mission. He was their flashy man, their attention-grabbing agent of chaos, their loud and full of energy soldier, perfect for their little games.
And Strategy Mayhem's champion, thank you very much.
Wade looked around, a plan brewing in his head. He was supposed to already have all of it figured out, preparing some kind of mental list of actions to not mess up or whatever. But that was exactly why Wade was so good at Strategy Mayhem.
Preparing for it was the first mistake you could make.
Wade tapped one of the server's shoulder. "Can I have this tray?"
The middle-aged woman raised her eyes at him, as if checking if he was joking. Then, she glanced at her tray with those tiny fancy sandwiches, shrugged, and outstretched it to Wade.
"Thanks!" Wade smiled his politest smile before throwing the tray like a shield into the big chandelier. He always won those little competitions with Neena on who would make a random object a better weapon. You could say Wade was a master of that too; he once won with an electric toothbrush and an empty take-out box.
There was silence. All eyes frozen on the big icy structure swinging left and right.
Left and right... Left and right...
The conversations died down. The drinks were left forgotten in hands covered with diamond rings. Some were smart enough to slowly back away, others were stuck staring at it with wide eyes.
Left and right...
A loud shattering sound was like a wake-up call for the frozen guests. There were shrieking and screaming and crying and gasping and running and-
Wade giggled. This was the first time this evening when there were no eyes on him, no curious glances and no whispers while pointing hidden fingers (not so hidden, huh?).
The feeling of being watched was gone and Wade felt free.
He started to stroll down towards the corner, where the armchair with the old man was. No one cared where Wade was going or why he was snickering to himself. No one cared and Wade loved every second of it.
"Did I just hear glass breaking?" Weasel's voice didn't sound particularly surprised or even interested.
"It was actually the chandelier." Wade corrected him while pushing a screaming man out of his way (the screaming was really unnecessary; the chandelier was already down and definitely not moving to eat him).
Wade didn't hear his partner's reply, the sound of security's yelling blocked out his earpiece. He was sure it was something equally sarcastic and uncaring, like most of the words that came out of Weasel's mouth.
"Excuse me- Yup, going through. The exit’s that way, yeah, you're welcome, yup. I swear to god there weren't that many people here before- A-ha! There he...is." Wade stopped in front of the armchair. An empty armchair.
"Fuck."
"What did you do?" Weasel was quick to accuse Wade the Innocent.
"Nothing! The man is gone!"
"Shit. You think he left?"
"He's like a thousand years old! His hand could barely hold the whiskey." Wade hissed (for no particular reason except panic) as he looked around, hoping to find the man slowly crawling away or something.
"I told you to not let him out of your sight, Wade! Someone must have helped him."
"Shit."
"You're taking the blame for this."
Wade groaned while spinning in a circle. Some people ran past him, not sparing him another glance. The mansion was almost empty, which meant Wade was supposed to be gone by now and sitting in the van Neena parked outside. She was lucky; she managed to get out of wearing an earpiece and was now probably peacefully reading her book.
"Just look at the damn cameras!" He yelled at the armchair, imagining Weasel's face.
The man in his ear scoffed. "I'm not an idiot." There were unmistakable keyboard sounds and the annoying slurp of a drink.
Wade would love to say that this kind of thing never happened on his missions, but he would be lying through his hairless asshole.
In a way, the missions wouldn't be Wade's missions if something didn't go wrong and completely opposite of the plan. Though that might be because Wade was usually too lazy to come up with a plan. The right phrase would be 'completely opposite of Weasel's plan'. And again, that might be on Wade too because sometimes he just wanted to get on Weasel's nerves.
Which raises a question: how the hell is Wade a fucking agent?
You could say Wade had a certain kind of skill set. Which were very appreciated by his boss. After all, Wade was the only agent who never failed to deliver a target, whether it was dead or not.
But that didn't mean he was liked. COVERT had its own kind of rules and protocols, for which Wade didn't care much. Spy shit was supposed to be fun, not endless reports and training and talks and 'How do you feel in your workplace, Wade?'
That kind of thinking wasn't appreciated, even if Wade's lack of moral compass or guilt was. And failing? Definitely not appreciated either.
"Found him, go east."
Wade perked up to run and then stopped.
"Do I look like a compass to you?"
"Fucking- Right! Go right!"
Wade bolted in the said direction, pulling out his favorite pistol just in case.
"I was right. Some dude helped him." Weasel informed him of this completely useless information. "Go up the stairs. That's... odd. Maybe dear grandfather needs to lay down or something."
Wade didn't offer any of his own insight and kept running. He was in his serious mode now.
And okay, calling it his 'serious mode' sounds very not serious but he is totally one hundred percent serious. He didn't even complain about the unnecessary length of those damned stairs.
"They entered a room. I think I was right again. Turn left and go to the end of the hallway."
Weasel didn't bother to mention the security guys walking around the second floor, but Wade can let it go this time. He shot two of them in their toes (it's a painful injury, believe him), and while their screams distracted the remaining guards, Wade slipped past them towards the end of the hallway Weasel was talking about.
"I can't see them anymore, they're on the balcony."
"Which door?"
"Left."
Wade ran into the room and- damn. That bed is massive. Just imagine sleepovers on that thing! And is that a tiny fountain with even tinier glass swans?
"Deadpool. Balcony."
Wade grumbled something that was nothing but irritated syllables and walked past the beautiful bed and gorgeous fountain towards the balcony.
A fresh wave of cold air hit his face and Wade breathed in. He didn't breathe out.
There was a helicopter. And a rope. And the old man, with a blue dart in his neck, passed out in some guy's arms. The said guy stopped his actions of getting that rope around grandpa's waist to stare at Wade.
He was wearing a fancy get-up just like Wade, his dark blue tie the same shade as the unusually-looking gun in his hand. His brown hair was flapping wildly in the air, the wind from the helicopter really not helping with keeping it put. And his chocolate eyes were nothing but hypnotizing, or maybe that was just Wade.
The man's stare wasn't out of fear or confusion; he didn't have that deer in the head streets look Wade was used to seeing. The stare seemed more like an analysis, his eyes scanning Wade's body and everything around them. He was one of those guys, huh.
"Shit. I think he's an agent." Weasel actually had some emotion in his voice, reminding Wade of that stupid body cam Weasel forced him to put on. "He's stealing our target! Do something!"
Wade ignored him and instead leaned against the gate of the balcony casually, his legs crossed.
"Did you know people with brown eyes are perceived as more dominant? I'm always up to test that theory." Wade tilted his head and wiggled his eyebrows.
The Hot Guy didn't even blink at Wade's usual tactic of confusion. "Technically, all humans have brown eyes. It's all about how the iris reflects and absorbs light. I could send you an article."
Wade hummed. "Does it have pictures? I can't read anything without pictures."
"It probably has some generic Google images?"
"I could work with that."
"Deadpool, stop fucking around!"
Wade would disagree; fucking around with this Fluffy Hair James Bond sounded like a great plan actually.
Unfortunately, the way The Agent tied a knot around the old man had to wake Wade up from that particular fantasy.
"I saw him first." Wade pointed at the unconscious grandpa.
"There's no proof of that."
"Just ask him!"
"He's unconscious."
"How unlucky. I guess you'll just have to take my word for it."
The Agent with fluffy hair sighed. "Not that I would not love to get into this pointless argument but I kind of have to go." The Hot Guy pulled the rope two times, signaling to the pilot to take off.
"Hey wait a minute-"
"Fucking hell, Deadpool, don't let him get away."
"Don't piss your pants, Weas, I'm on it." Wade finally replied, pointing a gun right at The Agent. There was only a second or two of hesitation before he shot right at his chest.
The man didn't flinch, some kind of force shield revealing itself around his body.
Shit.
Wade shot again. And again. And again and again-
The Hot Guy grinned as the rope was pulled up, holding onto the unconscious man.
That fucking asshole-
The Hot Guy officially lost that title. Now he's the Annoying Guy.
"Wow, this kind of force shield and with that kind of power? That's serious stuff. I wonder where he hid it. The logical solution would be some kind of bracelet but it looks more like it came from his suit-"
"No one cares, Weasel." Wade yelled as he jumped forward and clung to the Annoying Guy's legs. Swinging in the air was usually fun but Wade was too busy trying to climb the guy (unfortunately, not the fun way) to maybe reach the rope and cut it off. They weren't that high up yet.
The Annoying Guy tried to push Wade off, squirming and kicking his legs, his one free hand pushing his head down.
"Get off!"
Wade clung harder. "For the record, I'm usually for consent and all that, but you're just being a very big dick right now."
"I'm the dick? It's you who is about to ruin my pants."
"Do you want me to keep making dirty jokes? You do hear how that sounds, right?"
Instead of replying, the Annoying Guy with fancy pants managed to pull out his weird blue gun and pointed it at Wade's shoulder. The man was quick. Quicker than Wade expected him to be. Which meant the blow was unavoidable.
Wade closed his eyes, ready for that familiar flash of pain before his whole body went on fire.
Zwing!
That wasn't... a gun shot. Wade opened his eyes and met The Agent's gaze. He was smirking that bastard-
Wade's body felt heavy. It grew even heavier every second and shit- did that fucker inject concrete into his bloodstream?
His hand, tightly gripping the man's legs, let go. Wade widened his eyes, trying to cling back but it had the opposite effect.
He let go.
"Fucking shitballs- Wade, what is going on?"
Wade knew he had fallen to the ground. Though he could barely feel it. In a way, it was mercy. Because his back was definitely not happy about it.
His body felt like those gold statues in the mansion - completely frozen and useless.
"Wade? Talk to me!"
His mouth was frozen too. His eyelids grew so heavy that it hurt to keep them open. Everything went blurry and dizzy- And are those stars with cowboy hats riding unicorns around him?
The last thing Wade saw before passing out was a blue dart sticking out of his shoulder.
There were voices.
"The body cam video is all messed up; that is definitely not a coincidence."
It sounded small and far away, as if he was listening from the basement.
"She is going to flip."
A sigh. Nervous tap of the fingers.
"It's Wade. She always forgives Wade."
"What about us? If I get thrown into desk duty again, I'll go crazy."
The voices were louder now. There was a smell of a familiar cinnamon perfume.
"As if it's our fault Wade messed up! It's not like we could have helped."
"I should've gone with him..."
There was shuffling and feet sliding forward and back on the squeaky floor.
"Neena, this was the plan. We followed the plan. That's all there is."
Wade's body relaxed, just now releasing all that accumulated tension. He breathed in.
"You would be freaking out too if you weren't 'the tech guy'. You're useful and you know it. I'm just an agent amongst a hundred other agents."
"I hope you're not expecting me to start complimenting you or something because I'm not going-"
"What is going on?" Wade sat up, startling the two.
Neena jumped in place and slapped him on the arm, which was bare for some reason- shit, he's in a hospital bed. Even a bigger shit, it's a hospital bed at the headquarters of COVERT.
Hospitals meant doctors and doctors meant needles and needles meant-
"Did they-"
"No." Weasel said with that pitying tone; no one liked to talk about the scars or how they came to be. Wade didn't like it either. "No one touched you. They took the dart to the lab, though I don't think it was anything dangerous. Just a drugging."
Wade rolled his eyes, happy that his lids didn't feel so heavy anymore. "Oh yes, just a casual drugging."
"It could've been worse."
It could've. The thought didn't affect Wade much. No agents became agents because they were normal functioning citizens. Dangerous was in the job description.
"What happened?" Wade asked as the memories flashed in his brain like a terrible PowerPoint presentation with way too many dramatic transitions.
Weasel stood up from the chair next to the wall to walk up to Neena and also give him an unhappy look in the process.
"You messed up, that's what happened."
Wade sat up a little to face the two agents standing at the end of the bed. "I was caught off guard." The excuse didn't land like he wanted it to.
"That's ironic."
Now Weasel was the one who earned a slap on the arm from Neena.
The woman, also known as Domino - now that was a cool as fuck codename - sighed.
"We don't have time for this. The target is already lost."
"He wasn't that important, right?" Wade asked with hesitant hope.
Weasel scoffed, crushing that hope. "Sure, we have been only tracking him for months and the information he is holding doesn't determine the future of our missions at all."
Wade closed his mouth.
Could an argument 'How was I supposed to know? She didn’t tell me' work? Because that was true. Either everyone here was convinced Wade was a brain-dead idiot and it wasn't worth explaining anything to him or maybe there was a deeper meaning. Wade didn't care. All he wanted was respect and recognition on everyone's faces when he walked into a room. The good kind of recognition.
COVERT was the only place he could get that.
"Well, when you say it like that-"
"Everything was perfect, Wade! There was no room to fail!" Weasel threw his arms in the air, frustrated. And everyone thinks Wade is a drama queen. "All you needed to do was cause a distraction, take the target to the van and skedaddle! This was easy. You've done way harder things than retrieving targets. You've been in a shoot-out against twenty people goddammit!"
"Jack." Neena’s tone was a warning one.
Weasel grumbled something under his breath.
"It's all Fancy Pants's fault." Wade complained. "He came out of nowhere with his shiny toys and helicopter- Ooh do you think I could convince The Boss Lady to buy me some cool gadgets so we wouldn't be behind times or whatever? Like one of those laser in a pen things-"
"We need to figure out who the fuck he was."
"You didn't scan him?"
"Tried to, nothing came up. And now all the footage is gone, so no point in that."
Neena hummed in thought. "There's no chance that he works alone, right? There must be something bigger here."
Something bigger? Does she mean more agents with blue guns and force shields or a whole ass organization? Well, COVERT exists completely in the shadows. It wouldn't be that crazy if there were more organizations hiding from the public.
Though the bigger question would be, what's their goal?
Weasel was quicker with his thoughts than Wade. "Okay, let's say there's some spy organization, another spy organization. And they need the same guy as us? Wouldn't that mean they know about Them?"
Neena nodded. "Why else would they take him?"
Wade's brain was working extra hard to keep up with the conversation. The drugs still in his system didn't help much.
But he got the most important part.
There was another organization.