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I hope everybody didn't forget about this fic, because I did, like an asshole. I promise more regular updates and not forget again. I swear. _________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Two In which Wade is surprisingly good at helping others deal with trauma
Wade threw open the door to his apartment and held his arms out.
“Tadaaa~” he sang. The Winter Soldier made an unimpressed noise, which was just so unfair. Wade’s apartment was actually clean! Sure there was a pile of pizza boxes in the corner that went all the way up to the ceiling and the carpeting in the living room was starting to wear through to the floor and Wade didn’t own a single piece of furniture that was first-, second-, or third-hand. But it all added up to a certain Wade-like charm.
It was, at the very least, not a shithole, and it wasn’t anything like the warehouse.
“Come in, come in, make yourself at home!” Wade cried, leading the Winter Soldier – the actual, factual, real life Winter Soldier in his very own apartment! – inside. The Winter Soldier’s expression of extreme judgment did not budge.
“This is the eating area, this is the living room, this is the kitchen, that’s the bathroom and in here is my bedroom. It’s a full size bed, so there’s room for two but only if we squish in real close. I hope you don’t mind being the big spoon.”
“I’m always the goddamn big spoon,” the Winter Soldier said. There was a long moment of silence. The Winter Soldier’s expression shifted between confusion, disgust, and frustration before settling back into a blank mask.
“Well I was not expecting that. Let me know. I’m a switcher. Not in sex! Just in cuddling. Wait, uh.”
The Winter Soldier didn’t seem to be—wait hold on, this was just getting awkward.
“Do you have a name? Something I can call you other than Winter Soldier? It’s making my narration all clunky.”
The Winter Soldier (uuuuuggghhh) looked panicked. His eyes darted all over the room. His lips moved and his eyes squeezed shut tightly, like he was trying to block something out. Wade waited, patiently.
“Yuri,” he said uncertainly. Then, “No. No, that’s not. Yasha?” He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “That’s not right, it’s almost right, but it’s not.”
“Hey, take your time, names are hard.”
“…James,” the man said at last, so softly Wade almost couldn’t hear it. “I can’t be…him. But I think I could be James. I think I could do that.”
“Great!” Wade said to James, deciding not to touch whatever that was with a ten foot pole. “Sounds peachy keen. You should take a shower. I take hygiene very seriously here.”
And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that we know he’s totally ripped under all that body armor.
Of course not. Shush.
“I have clothes that should almost sort of fit you; we’re practically nearly the same size.” Wade disappeared into his bedroom and began to dig through his dresser. Hmm. Which of his shirts could stand the awesome might of the Winter Soldier’s biceps? His eyes fell on his Hawaiian button up.
“No,” he whispered. “Not yet. Soon.”
He heard the rumble of the pipes and the slap of leather against the tile floor. The fucking Winter Soldier was taking a shower in his bathroom. Today was the best. Day. Ever.
He finally pulled settled on sweatpants and a tshirt, because all Wade wanted to do after a long day was be a slob, and he felt he should extend the Wint—James the same courtesy. Speaking of which, he shucked out of his own uniform and into something comfortable. Probably should wear pants though. They weren’t really at the underwear stage yet.
Wade left everything in neat pile in front of the bathroom door, then made his way into the kitchen to shuffle through his enormous collection of take out menus. He should get a rolodex. Did they make rolodexes big enough for menus?
I don’t know, let’s give the 80’s a call and ask.
James stayed in the shower for twenty minutes, and then stayed in the bathroom for another fifteen minutes. Not that Wade was counting. That would be weird. When Wade heard footsteps approaching the kitchen he started talking.
“So I’ve narrowed our choices down to Chinese or Mexican; I figure we should save Indian for lat—“
He trailed off. The arm was so shiny. And muscular. Both his arms were muscular. And the tshirt clung to his still wet skin, showing off even more muscle.
“Um.”
“What?” James demanded, glaring.
“Nothing. Wow. Uh.” He shoved the Chinese takeout menu at him. “Blue looks really good on you.”
James looked confused, then further confused when he looked at the menu.
“What is this?”
“A menu. You pick what you want and then they bring it to you.”
James opened the menu and scanned it. Then he looked back at Wade, still uncomprehending.
“Pick what you want,” Wade repeated. James looked at the menu. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His flesh hand began to tremble. When a bead of sweat began to run down his temple, Wade realized what was up.
Choices. Wade had had trouble making choices after he got out, just because he wasn’t used to having any. Dollars to donuts the Winter Soldier had been actively punished for having preferences. You didn’t want your gun thinking it could make a decision on its own.
“You know what, nevermind. I’ll just order some of everything and you can eat what you like.”
Dynasty Palace was delighted to hear from Wade, as always. You regularly order everything on the menu, and they start to remember you.
“Food should be here soonerish than laterish. You wanna watch tv while we wait?” Babysteps. Little choices. “Oooh, let’s watch Golden Girls!” Wade flopped down on the couch and waved James over to do the same.
“Normally I’d just do a best of compilation, but I think for you we should start at the very beginning. ~It’s a very good place to staaaart~” he sang as he queued up the DVD. “Episode one!” he announced as he plopped down on the couch. “Blanche Devereaux plans to marry the handsome Harry. Her friends are happy for her, but concerned, and rightly so! For Harry has a dark, dark secret.”
He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically. James’ face was a blank mask, though Wade could see the irritation ticking behind it. You got good at reading people for those sorts of things.
Two episodes later, the doorbell rang. James started forward, hand flying to his waistband and curling around a gun. Wade was impressed – not only had he not even noticed the gun, it was really hard to keep a gun in place with a pair of sweatpants. Maybe that’s what he’d been doing in the bathroom for the fifteen minutes.
“Relax, it’s the delivery guy. Or, guys. Probably.”
He peeped through the peephole, and opened the door.
“Danny, my darling dulcet delivery boy, I am delighted to see you.” Danny grinned and began handing over bags.
“Nice to see you too, Mr Wilson. Boss says the soups are on the house and he threw in extra fried rice.”
“Bless that man,” Wade said, hand over his heart. He peeled a few hundreds out of the wad of cash in his pocket. “Aaand one more for you.”
Danny beamed.
“You’re the best, Mr Wilson.”
“And don’t you forget it. Now scram!”
It took him almost ten minutes to open all the cartons and lay out all the food.
“Okay. Let’s start you off with dumplings. Everybody likes dumplings. Here, these are pork.”
James stared at dumplings as if they might rear up and attack.
“Pork.”
“Yeah. You know, from pigs? Oink oink?”
“I know what it is,” he snapped. Wade shrugged his shoulders and dug into his sweet and sour chicken. Out of the corner of his eye he saw James glaring at the dumplings. He stabbed one with a chopstick (note to self, teach winter soldier how to use chopsticks) and bit into it viciously. His face twisted into something that was less “fist of Hydra” and more “three year old eating grapefruit for the first time”.
When was the last time he got to say “no thanks, don’t really want that”, genius?
Damnit, helping was hard!
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”
James glanced over at him, jaw working around the food.
“Seriously, if you hate it, just spit it out.”
He did. Right back into the container. EW.
James dropped the container onto the coffee table and glared at the floor, hands clenching and unclenching.
Great. He’s been here for less than three hours and we’re already traumatizing him.
This was your idea!
It was not.
“Hey. Dude. Relax. It’s okay. We’re in the same boat, remember? Hydra torture buddies? Neither of us is in charge, here. Nobody’s gonna do anything to anybody.”
He hoped this didn’t count as one of his serious moments. He get a lot of those, and he didn’t want to run out at an inopportune moment.
“Seriously. It’s okay to hate pork dumplings. It’s weird, but it’s okay.”
“I don’t hate them, I just… can’t eat them.”
“…Whyyyy?”
“I don’t know. I can’t. It’s…wrong.”
“Well, here. Try this. Vegetarian fried rice. And a spoon.”
That James wolfed down, eyes glued to the screen as Blanche wrung her hands over whether or not she should donate a kidney to her sister.
First major hurdles, jumped. Crossed. Whatever. Pretty good for a guy who never got over his own issues. He had this in the bag.
A/N:Don't worry, Wade's competence won't last long. It wouldn't be a Deadpool fic without ~wacky, tragic shenanigans~
Re: Shared Life Experiences (2/?) gen. warnings: violence
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Re: Shared Life Experiences (2/?) gen. warnings: violence
(Anonymous) 2015-03-05 05:38 am (UTC)(link)_________________________________________________________________________
In which Wade is surprisingly good at helping others deal with trauma
Wade threw open the door to his apartment and held his arms out.
“Tadaaa~” he sang. The Winter Soldier made an unimpressed noise, which was just so unfair. Wade’s apartment was actually clean! Sure there was a pile of pizza boxes in the corner that went all the way up to the ceiling and the carpeting in the living room was starting to wear through to the floor and Wade didn’t own a single piece of furniture that was first-, second-, or third-hand. But it all added up to a certain Wade-like charm.
It was, at the very least, not a shithole, and it wasn’t anything like the warehouse.
“Come in, come in, make yourself at home!” Wade cried, leading the Winter Soldier – the actual, factual, real life Winter Soldier in his very own apartment! – inside. The Winter Soldier’s expression of extreme judgment did not budge.
“This is the eating area, this is the living room, this is the kitchen, that’s the bathroom and in here is my bedroom. It’s a full size bed, so there’s room for two but only if we squish in real close. I hope you don’t mind being the big spoon.”
“I’m always the goddamn big spoon,” the Winter Soldier said. There was a long moment of silence. The Winter Soldier’s expression shifted between confusion, disgust, and frustration before settling back into a blank mask.
“Well I was not expecting that. Let me know. I’m a switcher. Not in sex! Just in cuddling. Wait, uh.”
The Winter Soldier didn’t seem to be—wait hold on, this was just getting awkward.
“Do you have a name? Something I can call you other than Winter Soldier? It’s making my narration all clunky.”
The Winter Soldier (uuuuuggghhh) looked panicked. His eyes darted all over the room. His lips moved and his eyes squeezed shut tightly, like he was trying to block something out. Wade waited, patiently.
“Yuri,” he said uncertainly. Then, “No. No, that’s not. Yasha?” He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “That’s not right, it’s almost right, but it’s not.”
“Hey, take your time, names are hard.”
“…James,” the man said at last, so softly Wade almost couldn’t hear it. “I can’t be…him. But I think I could be James. I think I could do that.”
“Great!” Wade said to James, deciding not to touch whatever that was with a ten foot pole. “Sounds peachy keen. You should take a shower. I take hygiene very seriously here.”
And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that we know he’s totally ripped under all that body armor.
Of course not. Shush.
“I have clothes that should almost sort of fit you; we’re practically nearly the same size.” Wade disappeared into his bedroom and began to dig through his dresser. Hmm. Which of his shirts could stand the awesome might of the Winter Soldier’s biceps? His eyes fell on his Hawaiian button up.
“No,” he whispered. “Not yet. Soon.”
He heard the rumble of the pipes and the slap of leather against the tile floor. The fucking Winter Soldier was taking a shower in his bathroom. Today was the best. Day. Ever.
He finally pulled settled on sweatpants and a tshirt, because all Wade wanted to do after a long day was be a slob, and he felt he should extend the Wint—James the same courtesy. Speaking of which, he shucked out of his own uniform and into something comfortable. Probably should wear pants though. They weren’t really at the underwear stage yet.
Wade left everything in neat pile in front of the bathroom door, then made his way into the kitchen to shuffle through his enormous collection of take out menus. He should get a rolodex. Did they make rolodexes big enough for menus?
I don’t know, let’s give the 80’s a call and ask.
James stayed in the shower for twenty minutes, and then stayed in the bathroom for another fifteen minutes. Not that Wade was counting. That would be weird. When Wade heard footsteps approaching the kitchen he started talking.
“So I’ve narrowed our choices down to Chinese or Mexican; I figure we should save Indian for lat—“
He trailed off. The arm was so shiny. And muscular. Both his arms were muscular. And the tshirt clung to his still wet skin, showing off even more muscle.
“Um.”
“What?” James demanded, glaring.
“Nothing. Wow. Uh.” He shoved the Chinese takeout menu at him. “Blue looks really good on you.”
James looked confused, then further confused when he looked at the menu.
“What is this?”
“A menu. You pick what you want and then they bring it to you.”
James opened the menu and scanned it. Then he looked back at Wade, still uncomprehending.
“Pick what you want,” Wade repeated. James looked at the menu. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His flesh hand began to tremble. When a bead of sweat began to run down his temple, Wade realized what was up.
Choices. Wade had had trouble making choices after he got out, just because he wasn’t used to having any. Dollars to donuts the Winter Soldier had been actively punished for having preferences. You didn’t want your gun thinking it could make a decision on its own.
“You know what, nevermind. I’ll just order some of everything and you can eat what you like.”
Dynasty Palace was delighted to hear from Wade, as always. You regularly order everything on the menu, and they start to remember you.
“Food should be here soonerish than laterish. You wanna watch tv while we wait?” Babysteps. Little choices. “Oooh, let’s watch Golden Girls!”
Wade flopped down on the couch and waved James over to do the same.
“Normally I’d just do a best of compilation, but I think for you we should start at the very beginning. ~It’s a very good place to staaaart~” he sang as he queued up the DVD. “Episode one!” he announced as he plopped down on the couch. “Blanche Devereaux plans to marry the handsome Harry. Her friends are happy for her, but concerned, and rightly so! For Harry has a dark, dark secret.”
He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically. James’ face was a blank mask, though Wade could see the irritation ticking behind it. You got good at reading people for those sorts of things.
Two episodes later, the doorbell rang. James started forward, hand flying to his waistband and curling around a gun. Wade was impressed – not only had he not even noticed the gun, it was really hard to keep a gun in place with a pair of sweatpants. Maybe that’s what he’d been doing in the bathroom for the fifteen minutes.
“Relax, it’s the delivery guy. Or, guys. Probably.”
He peeped through the peephole, and opened the door.
“Danny, my darling dulcet delivery boy, I am delighted to see you.”
Danny grinned and began handing over bags.
“Nice to see you too, Mr Wilson. Boss says the soups are on the house and he threw in extra fried rice.”
“Bless that man,” Wade said, hand over his heart. He peeled a few hundreds out of the wad of cash in his pocket. “Aaand one more for you.”
Danny beamed.
“You’re the best, Mr Wilson.”
“And don’t you forget it. Now scram!”
It took him almost ten minutes to open all the cartons and lay out all the food.
“Okay. Let’s start you off with dumplings. Everybody likes dumplings. Here, these are pork.”
James stared at dumplings as if they might rear up and attack.
“Pork.”
“Yeah. You know, from pigs? Oink oink?”
“I know what it is,” he snapped. Wade shrugged his shoulders and dug into his sweet and sour chicken. Out of the corner of his eye he saw James glaring at the dumplings. He stabbed one with a chopstick (note to self, teach winter soldier how to use chopsticks) and bit into it viciously. His face twisted into something that was less “fist of Hydra” and more “three year old eating grapefruit for the first time”.
When was the last time he got to say “no thanks, don’t really want that”, genius?
Damnit, helping was hard!
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”
James glanced over at him, jaw working around the food.
“Seriously, if you hate it, just spit it out.”
He did. Right back into the container. EW.
James dropped the container onto the coffee table and glared at the floor, hands clenching and unclenching.
Great. He’s been here for less than three hours and we’re already traumatizing him.
This was your idea!
It was not.
“Hey. Dude. Relax. It’s okay. We’re in the same boat, remember? Hydra torture buddies? Neither of us is in charge, here. Nobody’s gonna do anything to anybody.”
He hoped this didn’t count as one of his serious moments. He get a lot of those, and he didn’t want to run out at an inopportune moment.
“Seriously. It’s okay to hate pork dumplings. It’s weird, but it’s okay.”
“I don’t hate them, I just… can’t eat them.”
“…Whyyyy?”
“I don’t know. I can’t. It’s…wrong.”
“Well, here. Try this. Vegetarian fried rice. And a spoon.”
That James wolfed down, eyes glued to the screen as Blanche wrung her hands over whether or not she should donate a kidney to her sister.
First major hurdles, jumped. Crossed. Whatever. Pretty good for a guy who never got over his own issues. He had this in the bag.
A/N:Don't worry, Wade's competence won't last long. It wouldn't be a Deadpool fic without ~wacky, tragic shenanigans~
Re: Shared Life Experiences (2/?) gen. warnings: violence
(Anonymous) 2015-03-05 07:57 am (UTC)(link)*frantic gestures*
*flailing continues*
OP here! Moving to AO3
(Anonymous) 2015-03-05 06:22 pm (UTC)(link)link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3487058/chapters/7660043
Re: Shared Life Experiences (2/?) gen. warnings: violence
Re: Shared Life Experiences (2/?) gen. warnings: violence
(Anonymous) 2015-03-06 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)You want my spleen for part 3?