#NotDead. #Probably.

Cross-posted from AO3/tumblr same day.

/ noun

/ 1. place or source of origin

"Oh hey, you have my book!"

Peter jumped and the pen in his hand translated the movement in a jerky scribble over his homework. Frowning at the mark, and at his spidey sense for failing to tell him he even had an intruder, Peter turned in his chair and glared at Deadpool who was, for some reason, not only in his room without a sound and without warning, but was also splayed on his back on Peter's floor with his copy of Frankenstein.

"That's not your book, Wade, it's mine," he finally replied before turning back to his work, trying to figure out if it was an acceptable scribble or if his professor would dock him for tidiness or whatever excuse he wanted this time. He tilted his head one way and then the other, then decided to just scribble through it like it was a word he'd messed up on. He could probably get away with one of those. There was too much work done on this paper already to transcribe it to a fresh, clean sheet.

"No, no, baby boy. I mean this book is about me. I'm Frankenstein's monster. Man, that Mary was a cool lady. You woulda liked her."

This time, Wade's words sawed through the haze of 'need to finish homework' over Peter's brain and he turned around fully to stare at the mercenary who'd flipped over onto his stomach and had his feet in the air like some high school girl. Which he was, sometimes. Which was… well, whatever. It was Wade.

"No way you met Mary Shelley," Peter finally replied as he got up and joined Wade on the floor. Wade was still wearing his suit, which made the arm he wrapped around Peter's waist slightly uncomfortable and the weapons strapped to his body really uncomfortable where they pressed against Peter's body, but he just relaxed into the embrace and closed his eyes. Just for a second.

"Yeah, yeah. So, that guy Cable? Not the tv thing, the dude thing. Anyway, he's got this sweet time teleport doo-dad and I got ahold of it and bam! I was in the 1800s century or wherever and totally crashed into this hot babe's super secret science club and wrecked all of her equipment. I think she stabbed me with a scalpel. Or maybe a bone saw? Or wait, she took off my head. Did she have a sword? Or-"

"Was that Mary?" Peter cut in smoothly, redirecting Wade's detached train of thought and smiling despite himself.

"Oh hell yeah. When I came back she was poking at me all doc-like and stuff and kind of fainted when I said 'hi'. Felt bad so I put her to bed and then broke into the apothecary or whatever and stole a ton of their glass science-y stuff and metal things, you'd probably know, and I brought them back. She wasn't happy to see me again, even though I brought back more than what I broke, probably, but she was totally cool with me. She was all medical and stuff so I let her poke at me a bit. She was hot when she was all concentrated. Like you baby boy, but with boobs. And a cool dress. And a writer. Cable showed up right when we were having tea because he's a party pooper and I haven't seen her since. But look, this is my thigh she's talking about right here."

Peter didn't bother opening his eyes but he snorted in amusement. "I can't believe you got stabbed by Mary Shelley," he murmured.

"I know right?" Wade said, sounding awed. "What an honour."

Peter couldn't help it - he laughed.

FINIS

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