A/N: The prompt was 'whump,' but this ended up being whump with a hint of hope at the end... oh well.

...

Deadpool had finally done it.

Well, Yukio and her moody teenage-long-name-human-weapon girlfriend had done the actual work. But Deadpool had commissioned them to do it, meaning that he had done it himself, in part, maybe just a little.

Whatever! I have it now, and that's all that matters. I can fix everything now.

Using the time travel watch, Deadpool goes back to the day Vanessa died, and tried to kill off everyone, especially that last individual, the one that ended her life.

He tries and tries and tries but couldn't seem to do it.

He goes back further in time and tries to make sure he has enough supplies to do it, but no matter what he does, she always dies, maybe not that same day, but within that same week.

He goes back again, to try to hunt down the individuals well before they sought him out at his own apartment, but that just made Vanessa's death more sporadic. She would just manage to die somehow, often times when he wasn't there to save her, within that same month. And it would always be linked back to the same people.

He decides to go all the way back, to when he became Deadpool, but he wasn't able to touch that timeline, couldn't alter it any way.

He returns to now and struggles with how to confront Cable about this.

I need to save Vanessa… but I also need to not get shot in the face and all my limbs blasted off by brooding future man here.

After much deliberation, Deadpool manages to get an answer out of Cable.

He explains there are fixed points in time that cannot be changed. Some events just have to happen. "Good, bad, apparently trivial to the individual, some things will need to occur no matter what."

This wasn't good enough for Deadpool.

"What about how we changed time, some momentous event, completely affecting a child to prevent several murders in the future. That seemed like a huge deal, affecting so many people. So, what about something smaller… just preventing one death."

Cable caught on, demanding to know what he had been doing in order to prevent losing Vanessa.

Deadpool ended up being right. Cable did pull out his guns on him. But it wasn't as bad as he had imagined, only having one limb shot off.

Cable manages to find the time travel device on Deadpool. "You weren't able to stop it."

Deadpool shook his head, holding the stump of his arm to prevent the blood from spilling too much.

"How many times…"

Wade just shook his head.

"How many times did you watch her die."

"Watch her die? Well, if you want to be that specific… I don't know. I lost count after about twenty, twenty-five… but I heard her die a few times, plus, she also died when I wasn't there at all about another dozen times or so. Should really keep track of this stuff, shouldn't I?" Deadpool tries to laugh it off, but it was apparent to Cable that he was trying not to break.

"You need to stop. This is something you can't change. Go set things right, and leave it be, learn to heal."

Easy for you to say. You were actually able to set things right. Your wife is still live.

Fixed points in time, fixed histories… they cannot be altered… SUCH BULLSHIT!

Deadpool refused to believe this, refuse to accept that this is his fate, a future without Vanessa.

He goes back a few more times, refusing to give up, but nothing changed. She always managed to die somehow.

He kept trying until one day, he had flashed backwards and forwards, altering so many things, until he had it right. The timeline seemed completely different. It was nothing like he had seen before, different people, different apartment, and no risk of death. Best of all, he was with Vanessa.

That month of tragedy had passed, and Wade could feel himself start to relax, his shoulders being tense for too many days. Finally, he was free of the trap of her death. Finally, he could just enjoy his time with Vanessa.

Deadpool wakes, but not from sleep, more like a weird trance, as if he was hypnotized, or maybe just coming off of a weird high or something.

He smells the familiar smell of gun smoke and looks down. He's standing, wearing nothing but boxers, and holding a gun that's much too large in one hand.

He tries to convince himself that he had just gotten up to go pee in the middle of the night, standing too quickly and is now hallucinating, but he couldn't. Now with the weight of the gun nor the smells all around him.

No. No. No. No. No.

FUCK!

NO.

Why is the timeline trying to fix itself like this!

He feels sick to his stomach, already knowing what else was in the room, but he forces himself to look anyways. He struggles to lift his head up and over, towards the bed. A scream that breaks down into a sob escapes from him as he drops the gun, lunging towards the bed.

The smell of death hits him harder now, and he falls against the bed, scrambling to her, hoping to stop the bleeding.

I was so close! I was so close!

But as he reaches up, fingers already smeared with blood and bits of flesh, he realized he couldn't stop the bleeding, not like this. Not with his hands hovering over the still warm mass of tissue, skull fragments, and brain, desperately seeking a miracle solution to appear.

The way he must have shot her ensured she couldn't be saved. Ensured she couldn't be recognized.

If it wasn't for all those times he tried to memorize every inch of her, hoping to find some clue as to save her, he could try to convince himself that this now faceless corpse in his bed was someone else, perhaps an intruder.

But he knew.

It was her, and this time, it was clearly his fault.

He cries harder than he had for any of her deaths, and slowly drags himself to where he hid the time device. With heavy sobs, he goes to set the timeline back to where it once was, to her first death. It took a few tries, but he cut himself some slack.

Kinda hard to find the right death when you're too busy crying.

He finally manages to get to the original timeline, but this time, he uses the fleeting moments he had with her to tell her how much he loves her.

And with her final breath, he got a chance to say a proper goodbye.

He tries to move on, to heal, he really does, but it's hard.

This is a part of him that cannot regenerate.

Over the next several months, he finds people who attempt to comfort him especially on his bad days. He jokingly calls them his "hand-selected new f-word." But it's not the same, it's nowhere near the same as the f-word he had with Vanessa, the one he was hoping to build with her.

A few of them try to get Wade to go to therapy.

No therapist could handle all this. They'd end up seeing five other therapist themselves, if they don't end up committed.

Some even try to force him to talk it out, claiming he has to allow these feelings to happen.

I don't need all this emotional bullshit. I don't need to relive it because you think you're a licensed psychologist all of a sudden. All you're doing to do is what everyone else had been doing.

And that was the worst part… everyone, at some point or another, sometimes way too often, had words. Those words. Those awful cliché words he can't stand to listen to anymore.

They honestly sound like something you'd find in a clinic that was bought off of Etsy and no one had the heart to say, "Helen, this is tacky, and I hate," right before they trashed it with her watching. C'mon guys, Helen needs to learn to stop buying shit décor for the office.

Over the next several months, he puts up a brave face, not letting his new f-word know that his depression had gotten too deep, that he had tried to kill himself a few more times to find Vanessa again.

The days blur as he finds himself suffering from derealization. He wishes there was just someone to talk to that either understands, genuinely understands, without quoting cliché lines…

Or does the opposite, and just treats him like he's normal. No excessively gentle demeanor and especially not having pity infecting every interaction.

Eventually, he learns to take it one day at a time, though some days seem impossible to deal with, even if he tries to adjust it to taking it just one minute at a time. This inability to control the sudden sadness, the sudden bouts of mourning, had really started getting to him. He would find this embarrassing at times, especially when it involved people not part of his new f-word.

The day it happened in front of Spider-Man was the day he toyed with the thought of suicide again, not to see Vanessa, but to just get away from the situation.

If I can't literally die of embarrassment when I feel like it, maybe I can just die in general.

However, Spider-Man didn't start coddling him, asking too many questions, or even attempt to put an arm around him.

Instead, he swung away.

Deadpool felt a sigh of relief escape him.

I don't care if he just felt too awkward and had to run away, or if it was just perfectly timed Spider-senses at work… I hate having him see me try to hold back sobs.

Wade slips off his mask, just to wipe away the few tears that escape. He lets the cool night breeze dry the rest of his face off, as he tries to steady his breath. He purposely pushes away the thought of how ragged his breathing had gotten, how quiet and sad his words had sounded, in front of his new acquaintance.

Friend? Acquaintance? Crime fighting duo without a theme song? How does one determine the level of relationship without stuff like those bracelets that say 'best' and 'friends' that you can get at-

OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO GET US FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS.

One day, if I don't scare him off with my incessant weeping…

He pulls the mask back on and starts to stand up from the rooftop ledge, when a string of web lands right beside his hand. He sits back down and curiously watches as Spider-Man swings back into view, carrying a paper bag.

Wade could smell the answer before he even asked.

"DID YOU SERIOUSLY GET BURRITOS?"

Spider-Man nods as he sits back down next to Deadpool. He pulls out one burrito, handing it over.

"Hey, so about earlier-"

"Don't worry about it," Spider-Man interjects. "Allergies have been kicking my butt, too, so I thought I could either get some sinus medicine or burritos with extra hot sauce."

"Well, you made the right choice. I don't even know why you would consider sinus medicine. I obviously got a lot to teach you still," Deadpool said, pulling up his mask just enough to eat.

He freezes and watches as Spider-Man stares at him, looking at his scars. But once again, he doesn't ask. He just pulls up his own mask and takes a bit of his own burrito.

"Oh, hell… that was too much… too much… hot sauce…" Spider-Man said as he tried to chew the wad of burrito while also allowing his tongue to air out.

Psh. Rookie mistake. Deadpool thought as he immediately followed suit, but with the added gesture of attempting to fan his mouth with his free hand.

He thought back to Spider-Man's weird allergy comment.

Kid must think I'm dumb or something. I know damn well that he knows damn well that I wasn't sniffling because of allergies. But whatever, if he just wants to brush these things aside like that, I actually don't mind.

It's preferable.

Wade smiles to himself, feeling his face ache a little.

Damn… haven't moved my face like that in quite some time.

He allows the smile to fade in favor of taking another bite of burrito.

Both boys sit on the rooftop, quietly eating their oversized burritos. The only sounds that could be heard were of chewing… and sniffling due to too much hot sauce.

Deadpool had about three or so bites left when he decides to shove all of it in his mouth, making obscene sounds as he chews, mouth still partially opened since there was too much burrito in the way for it to close properly. He leaned in closer to Spider-Man as he did this, making him laugh and shove at him.

"Dude! Gross! …Learn some manners!" he complained around his own mouthful of food.

Deadpool stopped and leaned back when he felt a weird tug inside him. It was overwhelming and almost dizzying.

Though Vanessa's death was apparently unavoidable, a fixed point in time necessary for some future event, Deadpool for the first time ever, felt like he had actually taken one real step past that.

Not a brave face, or a front, or a whole lot of convincing himself he's getting better when he's actually not. But one small yet genuine step of progress.

He just never imagined that that step would be in the form of a too spicy burrito delivered by Spider-Man.

-the end-