Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, the Goblin serum, Deadpool, Wolverine, or Chinese restaurants. (But if I did I would be sooo rich right now!)
What I do own: Sophia Dyhar, the voice in Sophia's head, the creepy counter, the creepy man behind the counter, ten bucks, and my imagination. So don't try and steal any of them, or I will sic Deadpool on you!

A/N: This story takes place after the events in my other story 'Shut Up Already!' but it is written in such a way that you should be able to understand it without some explaining. Enjoy!

Deadpool's Apprentice

Chapter 1: Intros and Chinese Food

Deadpool stared at the girl lying, facedown, on his couch. She had been unconscious for three hours now, having been injected with the same serum that turned Norman Osborn into the Green Goblin. She stirred, flipping herself onto her back. Wade Wilson moved over to the girl, and kneeled next to her. He listened for her heartbeat, counting it and keeping time for a minute. Her heartbeat was extremely erratic, speeding up then slowing down until you could barely notice it was there, then speeding back up again. The girl's eyelids fluttered open, revealing her gorgeous emerald green eyes. She stared at the man in a red and black costume in front of her.

"Who are you? Where am I?" the girl asked in a panicked voice. She was about 17, and on a couch in a strange man's apartment. Not a good combination.

Deadpool chuckled softly, "Who am I? Why I'm the one and only Deadpool, the person who saved your life! But you can call me Wade Wilson, if you prefer. As for where you are," he motioned around him, "You're in my lovely apartment! Isn't it wonderful?"

The girl looked around her slowly, taking in all the little details about the apartment. She noticed that Deadpool didn't own a toaster, and that he had a really small TV. She stared at the tiny TV, gazing at the news that a building, which looked suspiciously like her old base, had been blown up.

"Now it's my turn to ask the questions. Let's start with a simple one: What's your name?" He kneeled closer to the girl to hear her answer.

"My name is Sophia Dyhar." The girl answered softly.

Sophia's Point Of View

The man who called himself Deadpool nodded once I answered. He backed away a little when he heard how loud I could talk. Which was good for me, because he smelled funny. Sort of like a mix between pickles and peanut butter, this is not a good combination, if you ask me.

I kind of like it. It gives him character.

What was that? I didn't used to have a voice in my head. What happened to me?

Osborn poked you with the Goblin serum, don't you remember?

Oh yeah, then I fainted and somehow got out of the building before it exploded.

Ah, now you remember. You had better pay attention, Wade is about to ask you a question.

"So, Sophia. I'm gonna need to know everything about you, if you're going to become my apprentice. You may begin, now." Wade said with a grin on his face. Well not on his face exactly, since he was wearing a mask. But you get the idea.

Wait a minute; did he just say I was going to become his apprentice?

Why yes, I believe he did. You should take him up on that offer, or he may decide to kill you.

Kill me? Why would he do that?

He's a mercenary. Did you not notice the various weapons on his belt and the katanas on his back? I suggest you start talking to him soon, or he'll get suspicious.

Good idea. "I have no living family; they were killed in a terrible car crash that I wasn't in. My mother was an only child and so was my father. My grandparents died when I was five years old. I was put in various households, but none of them liked me. Mostly because I usually got home around midnight on early nights. I grew depressed, and dropped out of high school. I enrolled in AIM, because I had nowhere else to go. Norman Osborn hit me with that needle, then I passed out and you know the rest." I told him without showing any emotions.

"Hmm…very interesting. Reminds me of myself, except I went to the military, and then Weapon X, and Norman Osborn didn't hit me with any needles. That I know of, anyway. What are your special skills, Sophia?" He went to the kitchen and picked up a clipboard and a pair of reading glasses off the counter. Then he pulled up a chair next to me, put the glasses on, and crossed his legs once he was sitting. I tried to stifle the impulse to giggle. He looked ridiculous! Like an interviewer for a teaching job!

Get a hold of yourself, Dyhar! Tell him everything you can do, before he gets too impatient.

Skills? Like what?

Like how you can hot wire cars and stuff like that! Hurry up, we haven't got all day!

"Well Mr. Deadpool, sir. I can hot wire cars and other vehicles." Deadpool nodded, motioning for me to continue. "I have experience with various weapons. Um, I can pick locks and stuff. Is that okay?"

"It's enough for me to accept you as an apprentice. Don't worry; I'll help you build up on your skills, especially with the weapons part. Since you've been injected with Gobby's serum, you will probably develop superhuman strength and speed! Isn't that great? Well, we had better get started! We have a long day ahead of us!" He picked himself up off the chair and threw it across the room.

"Why are you just sitting there? We need to go! I made an appointment with the tailor in ten minutes! Get off your butt!" he practically yelled at me. I tried to move my feet, but to no avail. They wouldn't budge.

"Uh, sir? I think my legs are numb." I reported to him.

He kicked me in the legs, which hurt, and asked, "Did you feel that?" I nodded, clutching my knees to my chest. "That means your legs aren't numb. We'll never make it in time. Here, hold onto me." He held his hand out to me. I grabbed onto it slowly. This guy was a nut case that's for sure. How is he going to get us to the tailor's in like, eight minutes?

He has his ways. Don't doubt anything he says. Just trust him.

Trust him? How can I trust a psychopath who kicks me? Which still hurts by the way.

The same way you trust me, the voice inside your head. You just do.

But that's crazy!

Then why are you still talking to me?

Good point.

Anyway, back to the real action. Deadpool latched on firmly to my hand, making sure to get a good grip, while the other hand went to the large button on his chest. He pressed it. Almost immediately we were enveloped in a cloud of red dust. I then had a sudden coughing fit. Deadpool looked down at me, then back at the dust. Once it had settled, I realized we were standing in the middle of a tailor shop. A scruffy little old man stood in the center of the room, staring at us. I looked down and realized I was still wearing my black jumpsuit, and that it was now covered in red dust. For some weird reason, I decided to sniff my sleeve. Ewwwww, it smells like pickles and peanut butter!

Now you have character too.

Would you just be quiet?

That's like telling yourself to shut up.

Ugh, fine. Do whatever you like. What should I call you anyways?

You should call me whatever Deadpool decides to name you.

Name me? What do you mean?

You'll find out soon enough.

Deadpool went over to the little old man and asked him a question. The man pointed to the back of the room, still staring at me. Then I realized I was still on the floor, so I got up and followed Deadpool to the back of the room.

He led me through a series of short and long hallways until we reached a room filled with fabric. And I mean filled with it! There was so much fabric, there was barely enough room to walk. The fabric was in all the colors of the rainbow, ranging from orange to purple to green to gray.

And of course the man known as Wade Wilson wanders toward the blandest colors there: White and gray. At least the gray was a pretty shade of gray.

Oh stop complaining! Just be glad you even get to come with him.

Why should I be?

Just shut up and listen to him.

Jeez, someone's a little cranky today.

Deadpool picked up three different materials; one gray, one white, and one dark gray. He handed me all of them to hold. Whoa, I didn't know that fabric could be this heavy.

"Uh, sir? Why are we here? I thought we were supposed to meet a tailor."

"We are. Didn't you see the creepy little old man in front? That's our tailor." He smiled and led me out of the room and back towards where we had come. The creepy old man in question was standing behind a counter that wasn't there before. I shot a questioning look at Wade, who just shrugged. We walked over to the counter-I-swear-wasn't-there-before and handed the materials to the creepy little man.

"Would you like paper or plastic?" the man asked in a scary voice.

"Neither. We brought our own bag," Deadpool pulled out a cloth bag from one of his many pockets. That made no sense to me. How does a bag like that even fit in a pocket?

It just does. You don't question Deadpool. He's the best he is at what he does.

Wait a minute, I thought that was Wolverine!

It is, but Deadpool is really good at putting things in his pockets.

That doesn't even make any sense!

It doesn't have to.

Whatever.

"You're total comes to 700 dollars. I will accept cash only for your convenience." The man behind the weird counter said, holding out his hands.

700 dollars in cash? How does he expect anyone to pay that?

Maybe he has billionaires shopping here.

Maybe.

"If you think I'm going to pay that, then you're even crazier than me!" Deadpool announced.

"Well if you won't pay it, then I won't sew it," the creepy man declared.

"Fine then, I'll sew it myself!" Deadpool yelled at the man, then led me out of the store.

"You can sew?" I asked him once we were out on the street. I really had no idea if that was a bluff or the truth; Deadpool was hard to understand.

"Yes, I can. Because I am awesome like that."

I laughed at his response, then grew serious again. "Why did you learn?" This seemed like a logical question to me, but it got me an odd look from Mr. Wilson.

"Does there really have to be a reason to learn how to sew?" he asked as we passed a Chinese restaurant. "Hey, that reminds me. I'm still hungry! You in the mood for Chinese?" he searched his pockets for money, coming up with ten bucks.

My stomach growled at the mere mention of food. I nodded then led him inside to the waiting area. We stood, side by side, which made me realize just how tall he was. I was almost as tall as his shoulder, so he towered over me. We stood for ten minutes until a waiter nervously led us to a table. Seating a man in a red and black costume practically covered in weapons and red powder that smelled like pickles and peanut butter can do that to a guy.

After we ate dinner, Wade handed the waitress his number on a napkin along with the ten dollar bill, while at the same time grabbing me and teleporting us back to his apartment. When we arrived, I found myself wondering why I was still traveling with him and not trying to escape.

Easy; you have nowhere else to go.

Thank you, crazy self. Goodnight.

"Goodnight Mr. Wilson," I said out loud.

"Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the Weasels bite!" he replied cheerfully.

What in the world does that mean?

It's best not to worry about that right now. Goodnight Sophia.

After those few words, I drifted off into blissful sleep.