Chapter Text
When Wade was a kid, he used to hide in the closet of his room while his father shouted unintelligible complaints at his mother. It always started as a simple spat. It always ended with loud crashes and his mother's begging. The worst part was, she did not beg for mercy. She pleaded for forgiveness.
Forgiveness for not being good enough. Forgiveness for saying the wrong words. Forgiveness for existing in the same space as that bastard did.
She apologized and apologized and he beat her all the very same. You would think she changed tactics.
Wade was smarter. He did not ask for forgiveness and he avoided showing his face to the man who would have exploded in rage just because that's how he woke up that day. Wade was barely in the house and when he was, he hid.
The closet in his room was his favorite hiding place. It was as old as the house itself, rusty and surrounded by the smell of rotten wood. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't the first boy hiding in there from the world. Maybe the closet had protected countless boys before him. Maybe that's why it stunk of sweat and fear.
Wade wasn't afraid.
He would pull his sweater up to his nose and press his knees to his chest, closing his eyes and dissociating from the sounds around him. He would feel the coldness of the closet and imagine Death's hands petting his hair. He would see the dark shapes of coats around him and picture Death's black clothes swirling in the small space. He would hear yells from behind the wall and envisioned it was merely a hallucination meant to distract him from the welcoming embrace of Death.
Wade wondered what it would be like to meet Her, to hear Her voice, to breathe the same air She was breathing. Could She breathe? Could She talk? Could She hear Wade's thoughts begging for Her to visit him? If only for a second. Only the moment it took for him to blink.
He fantasized about Death a lot. Probably more than it was normal for a kid. Wade was never normal. And he never became better.
"I missed you, dear."
Wade stretched his arms behind his back, a perfect image of a relaxed man.
Even without looking at Her, he could feel Her presence. It reminded him of the ocean. Every step closer to it meant more fresh air and the smell of salt. Except Death didn't give him fresh air but more like sucked it out of his lungs, leaving just a hint of Her own cold touch.
"Love what you did with the place." Wade joked, this time turning his head at Her. The slight tilt of Her head indicated Her amusement.
The environment of Death's lands was never a constant thing. One minute there was soft grass below Wade's feet and the other it was hard rock. The atmosphere kept transforming from beautiful clear blue skies into dark cosmos with blinking stars and galaxies somewhere far away. Sometimes there was a lake. Sometimes there was sand. Sometimes there weren't either of those things.
It was like the space couldn't really decide what it wanted to be. Or more like what Wade wanted it to be. Death told him the afterlife looked different for everyone and mimicked their inner selves. Wade's brain was something too disordered. Too unstable. Too erratic.
"How much time do I have left?" Wade asked, already knowing the answer. Killing himself was an art he was a master of, however concerning that sounded. He had done it so many times that it didn't seem unnatural anymore. In fact, it was part of his routine.
Head injuries gave him the most time. His brain usually put itself together in an hour and a half.
"Twenty-two minutes." Death answered anyway.
Time always passed so fast. Too fast. And still, every second he spent by Her side was like a gift. How ironic it was that he could never stay.
When Wade was in special forces, he loved playing Russian roulette. He would grin like a maniac as he put the barrel of the gun to his temple. He would pull the trigger and laugh at his fellow soldiers’ expressions. They thought he was crazy, but they were never too surprised. Few people there could say they were of a sober mind. Still, Wade's buddies would ask for him to stop fooling around and get to work. They didn't understand how much Wade loved the game.
Did it even count as a game if he was the only one playing?
Wade spent his days so close to Death. The battlefields were drenched in blood, the air was chill like Her breath. The men he just killed were whispering their last words and only She could truly hear them. Wade was the pawn of Death. Her loyal little soldier.
He never pretended to not like it. The violence. The rough atmosphere. The thrill. But he knew others wouldn't understand. They were plagued by guilt or maybe by something more complex. Wade wasn't complex. He was just Death's soldier.
"Do you ever get bored of this?" Wade asked as he stared at the constantly-transforming sky. It looked like a sunset at the moment, but he saw rain clouds creeping up from the corners.
"You make it less boring." Her words were kind. Wade grinned at Her and grabbed Her bony hand. His lungs started to feel smaller with the touch, but he didn't care. "My purpose is important but so monotonous."
Wade couldn't imagine doing the same thing for centuries. He was a creature who constantly needed entertainment and excitement. Every time he sat down in his silent apartment, the voices would get louder and louder. So, he spent his free moments with Her. In a place his voices couldn't follow.
"You think I could bring you some cards or something? Maybe a laptop? You should discover the internet. It's a horrible, beautiful place."
She just laughed, the sound echoing through the hills they were currently standing on. Though they were slowly turning into sand.
"I swear, I'm usually more of a gentleman than this. Can't even get you any presents down here."
"You, Wade Wilson, are enough of a gift."
"I think you're growing soft."
"I was never that harsh to begin with. It's not my fault you humans fear the end so much."
Wade just hummed. The end. Would he fear it if he could actually get it? He doubted it.
When Wade was not Wade anymore, just a science project with a mouth, he used to plead for Death to come to him. He screamed for Her as his limbs were torn off, just to count in how many minutes they would grow back. He begged for Her when his surroundings didn't make sense anymore, all blurry and red. Sometimes he even cursed at Her for not rescuing him from the constant pain. And then he would immediately regret it and get back to pleading again.
At some point, She heard him.
At least that's how Wade liked to think of it. The idea of Her being his savior was much more appealing than the truth. It was just another experiment. Just a natural progression from cutting off limbs and damaging his brain with their sharp cold tools. They never quite killed him, even if sometimes Wade could almost feel Death's touch.
They pierced his heart with a knife and Wade gasped as he felt the blood inside him still. It was the worst and best day of his life.
He finally met Her.
She was dressed in shreds of long, dark capes, Her body all white bones. Her face was nothing but a cold skull with empty holes instead of eyes, a loose hood over Her bald head. And yet Wade could still feel Her curious gaze on him.
He stared at the Goddess before him and She just smiled. It was a weird thing watching the stoic skull and feeling that weirdly warm smile.
She extended Her hand.
Wade took it.
Those moments with Her were the calmest he felt in years. No men in lab coats shouting things at each other. No needles jabbed into his skin. No pain.
She transformed into something new to him that day. Not a curious wish of a little boy in a closet. Not a master of a loyal soldier. She became his savior. A protector from life itself. A friend.
"I've been hearing things." The mercenary suddenly remembered the reason he visited Her. It was hard to think about things concerning life when you were with Death. "Something about a weapon. A fabricated deadly virus."
She just turned Her head at him, the full attention a bit overwhelming. No one ever truly looked at him. Barely anyone listened.
"Rumors say it spreads through mutants. Something about the virus clinging to the X-Gene."
Dark cloths curled around Wade in excitement. For a moment, all he could see were black and Her white skull. Wade shivered from the cold. Others might have called the moment frightening, but Wade just lazily brushed his fingers through the dark.
But the moment had passed and She stepped away again. "Don't give me hope. I know how many times you have tried to stay here before."
She made it sound simpler than it was. Wade had been trying to escape the curse for years. At first, it was extravagant suicide attempts. Next, he tried weird alien weapons and complicated future technology (Cable was not amused). Wade even tried magic—all those spells and demonic writings.
Wade Wilson was unkillable.
"I wouldn't mention it if I didn't believe it. The X-Men are shaking in their knee-high boots about it and they will for sure send someone to destroy it. All I need to do is add myself to the action. Or get there before them. Whichever option would be easier."
Wade didn't say that the weapon was created by the same place that created him. The same people responsible for the Weapon X program; however many of them managed to stay alive after Wolverine's rampage. The same place that cursed him.
Some time ago, even hearing the name would have made his blood boil with rage. But right now, it was an opportunity. The fact that it was that place made Wade convinced that this time it would work. After all, it would be symbolic if the same people who made him immortal would finally kill him in the end.
After Wade took them with him, of course. That rage was something the scientists accidentally stitched into his whole being and they will suffer the consequences themselves.
Death's fingers interlocked with his. Pleasant wind swirled around them and Wade could almost feel hair on his head. Her mood was good. Maybe, She believed this time it would be different too.
"Will you be mine, Wade Wilson?"
When Wade became Deadpool, he didn't fear to play with Death. He became an infamous mercenary because of it. Deadpool lived without limits. Life and death were merely fairytales to him, rules made him laugh and humanity was something he couldn't see himself a part of. Deadpool hadn't been human in a long time. Even before the experiments. Maybe even before special forces. Wade Wilson was born out of hate and he was just its creature. A mistake the universe made and couldn't get rid of.
Deadpool always finished his jobs, even if he ended up dead by the end of them. He didn't mind the break he got while talking with Death. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He liked to stare at Her and soak up all that mysterious energy coming off of Her in waves. But every time he woke up, Her presence would get blurry; that energy was gone in a blink. It was impossible to feel Her when he was alive.
At some point, something changed.
Wade knew he was in awe of Her. That love for Her had been within him ever since he was a boy. But it grew into something stronger once Death caressed his cheek, whispering words of infatuation into his ear.
She was in love with him. With Wade Wilson, the boy who hid in his closet, the soldier who killed without a second thought, the lab rat who survived. The mercenary who had no one but Her.
"Yes. I will be yours."