God is a Gun: Wade & Bullseye, Rogue & Cammie | Tuesday Evening (backdated)

[x-deadpool.livejournal.com]

Bullseye gives Wade his version of a last supper before they get started, Rogue and Cammie interrupt the party just in time to keep Wade from losing his head. Literally.


Everything was bleary. The part of Wade's brain that never really shut off, that was always whirling a million miles a minute to figure out entrances, exits, unconventional escape routes, odds of mission success versus mission failure, when to jump ship, who to save, how to save them, and the precise number of bonbons he could fit in his mouth at any given time... was screaming at him that something was very wrong. Mind blinking through the events of the last couple days, he settled on the moment when he's known something wasn't right. He froze it, noting everything and discarding the unimportant parts.

What had he done with his phone?

"I wouldn't have bet on you being a squirmer." Bullseye said, from across the room, where he was seated in on a cheap folding chair, eating from a box of fried chicken. "A talker, for sure, but not a wiggler." He eyed Wade down, and then plucked a plump chicken breast from the box. "Last meal? Least I can do, since you'll be earning me a pretty pile of dosh. Doubled up if I can pick off that little blond boy of yours. Nice bit of side, that one." He tossed the chicken at Wade, landing it gently and perfectly in the middle of the other man's lap, followed by a handcuff key that landed precisely atop the chicken. "Won't unlock your feet, I'm not as stupid as all that."

Wade ignored the chicken for a moment, taking stock of everything around him before he started talking. "Is that KFC? They're kinda stank, friend, not gonna lie. I mean, I'm not against doubling down or anything, but like, I have a minion who makes chicken so good, you would not believe it. If you hadn't shot me - three times - I might've offered to share. I mean, once - yeah, okay. Whatevs. I can see that being accidental. But the second and third time - that's just rude." His shoulder was functional but nowhere near optimal, his side still hurt like a motherfucker, and his knee... was still kind of useless. He could work with this, though. Probably.

He took the key and uncuffed himself, giving the other man a smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes as he said, "You touch him and I will rip you apart joint by joint starting with your right little toe and working my way up."

"That is love, I almost hate to put a bullet through his pretty face." Bullseye said, as he peeled crispy skin and meat from a chicken wing. He popped the chicken into his mouth and chewed. "Maybe I'll get him through the heart. Dead is dead, and I'll get the contract same as if I picked him off with one behind his ear, and then your pretty girlfriend won't have to go to two closed casket funerals." He flicked the wingbone at Wade, bouncing it off his elbow and into a paper sack of trash. "Because I am going to slice you open nose to neck."

"Baby," Wade crooned to the other man. "You and me, we got the same kinda crazy." He finally reached down and picked up the chicken, taking a bite of it because he was, in actual fact, starving. The amount of intel this guy had on all his friends was straight up disturbing. He was going to have to die. And then Wade would have to talk to the Professor and be forced to drink tea as he explained that no, this was a real problem. "But seriously. You did all this for a contract? On my pretty blond friend?" He obviously hadn't done much looking into Marie-Ange, at least. If Wade somehow actually died and didn't wake up again, he was pretty sure Marie-Ange would make this dude pay. "Pufferfish. Inland Taipan..." Finishing off the meat on the chicken, Wade tossed the bones into the bin.

Bullseye smirked, and shook his head. "I did all this for a contract on your beat ass face. Your boyfriend is just an extra paycheck." He wiped his fingers on his pants and stood up. "I could retire on the contract on him alone. Buy a nice condo, keep some brazilian spiders, hire someone to milk them, sell the venom." He picked up a drumstick and spun it around the base of his thumb several times before tossing it to bounce off the bridge of Wade's nose. "You... you I'm going to spend the money on a Bugati."

Wade cause the drumstick before it could smack him in the face and lowered it to his lap. "Cyanide," he said simply, arching an eyebrow. "Look, could we just get on with this? I mean, your tossing shit at me is entertaining and all, but let's be real. If you're gonna try to off me, you should just go ahead and do it. Sack up, half-nut."

Bullseye picked himself up from his chair and set the box of chicken down on the floor. He languidly walked over to Wade's chair and took another set of handcuffs keys from his pocket. He turned them around a few times, rolled the keys over his knuckles, and then back, and then sauntered back to sit in his chair again. "Nah. More fun to watch you squirm and get irate first. You always did have a gift with insults, and if I'm going to be the man to take that gift from the world, I'm obliged to take down some of the better ones." He tapped his forehead. "I'll remember them for you, give you credit even."

Eyes narrowing just slightly, Wade watched the other man for a moment. While his expression gave nothing away, on the inside he was a ball of rage and denial and slight resignation. As fast as his brain supplied options for dealing with the situation, he discarded them - he was at an actual disadvantage here. A real one. A disadvantage that could theoretically result in a serious death. A 'you're not gonna shut down and wake up again' kind of death. A 'no, dude, you're really, really dead this time' kind of death. Which would suck a lot. Also, he had people he had to think about and he wasn't used to actually caring about the people he was thinking about in situations that involved him being cuffed to chairs.

But this guy'd shot his friends, he'd shot -

"Wait," Wade said. "Wait." He held up one finger, every single thought other than the one he'd just had settling into a quiet murmur at the back of his brain. "You took a shot at my kid, didn't you?" He ran the logistics, freeze-framing everything from the point where he'd been shot to right now and he went completely cold. The man sitting so smugly across from him couldn't be allowed to live. It didn't matter if Wade actually died, if he for-real kicked it and didn't wake up after the fact. This guy knew things. Knew people. Knew faces and dates and times and movements and he couldn't be allowed to live.

Wade moved. It wasn't necessarily a conscious decision to move so much as a lack of any other option. The bin full of chicken bones made a perfect arc toward the asshole but Wade wasn't paying attention to Bullseye in the second it took him to get enough leverage to break the chair out from under himself. He came up with twisted metal attached to his ankles by the handcuffs there, but they were hinged anyway, so breaking the cuffs themselves was a no-go, even for him with his enhanced strength. The knee was bad, the shoulder wasn't fantastic, his side hurt like a sonovabitch, but he categorized the issues and filed them away. Hand into his pocket, press the fuck out of the emergency button on his Xavier's phone, jacket off, and he was on the attack.

"Well, ain't you just wicked het up to bust in my face." Bullseye leapt back from Wade's frantic lunge, kicked over the sad greasy paper sack he'd been tossing waste in and came up with a handful of trash - toothpicks, shattered plastic from a red solo cup, and the bones Wade had thrown in there only a short time ago. "It wasn't frigging KFC, you tool. For that, bone in the eye." He winged the shattered plastic at Wade, striking his cheek, his neck, and the delicate tendons across one wrist. "But later, I want you to watch how I chainsaw your face off first. Bet you'll live through that, and then I'll take out your eye, and then cut your frigging head off and put it in a box."

Superficial cuts didn't matter - the tendons might be a problem, but they were pretty high up on the healing factor's list of 'important things to prioritize when necessary' so Wade ignored them for the moment. There was banter in the back of his head, the small part that had gone exponentially more quiet than usual at the realization that this man in front of him would've killed Molly for shits and giggles. That small part remained quiet, though, rather than pushing the banter past Wade's lips and he was glad of it, as focusing on destroying this asshole piece by piece was going to take some concentration.

He had so many different considerations to juggle - injuries, weaknesses, cost of life, worth of life, likelihood of success, probability of failure, friends finding this guy after Wade was dead. This wasn't going to be one of those epic, cinematic finishes where he pulled out the win at the last possible moment. He knew that. His only chance was to tag the fuck out of this guy so he couldn't crawl too far. Wade was sorry he wouldn't get to apologize to Doug or Kurt or Jubes for getting them shot. Or any of the guys in his poker group. Or Kyle. He wanted to tell Marie-Ange -

The thought cut off as he engaged, disregarding thrown objects and the man's uncanny accuracy as inconsequential. Wade tackled him, bodily and inelegant, but it was effective.

It was effective and the most statistically likely thing Wade would do, so it was also expected. Bullseye had enough time to plant his feet before he was lifted off the ground and slammed down onto the floor. He let it happen, and got one arm tightly around Wade's neck, actually pulling the older and larger man closer. "Total spaz idgit, why'd you let me get in tight?" Still hanging onto Wade, he flipped the toothpicks around in his free hand and jammed one in Wade's ear, and the other in his neck. "Nerve clusters, bitch. Vertigo, bitch."

All the control and meditation in the world couldn't have kept Wade from howling as the toothpicks punctured his eardrum and the nerves of his neck. He didn't stop moving, of course, decades of training letting him get in some good punches, but he was outmatched this time and he knew it. It didn't look like he was even going to be able to do any real damage to the cocky bastard currently latched onto him like a goddamn tick.

Even Wade bullrushing him into the wall didn't break Bullseye's grip. He let the momentum bounce them off the wall, and then he twisted, taking both men down to the floor, where he drove a knee into Wade's face - again, and again, and again, until he could no longer feel the crunch of broken nose against his knee and could feel the warm blood soaking through his pants.

Bullseye flopped Wade over onto the floor, and then sat down, poking the other man with the end of the chicken bone until his eyes cracked open. "Promised I'd let you be awake for it, an' since I'm not gonna cut off your face, seeing as I need you to be at least a touch recognizable so I can collect my big fat paycheck, I don't need you to be able to actually see outta both eyes when I cut your head off." He tossed the bone around, and caught it by the blunt end, and without pause jammed it into Wade's eyesocket.

"You think that fast healing trick of yours means you'll live all the way through your head being taken off?" He asked with a dismissive shrug, and stood up. "Hell, lets not find out, because you heal up again and you'll try to fight your way out, and I didn't think to bring a nailgun to keep you from wriggling around much."

There hadn't been room in the duffle bag for a nailgun anyway, around the gas can, and the chainsaw.

When the alarm went off, Rogue was at Kurt's bedside, filled with anger. ‎No matter how many times she'd seen it, it still burned inside, thinking of their dangerous lives. Her brother was badly injured, his girlfriend attacked in broad daylight.

Obviously, it had to be more than just being mutant on a Tuesday.

And then to hear that Wade was in trouble....well, there was no doubt she was going to go. It seemed like Cammie had the same idea. Because time was of the essence, and they were the closest to the scene, it made sense for Rogue to scoop the girl and fly as quickly as she possibly could without hurting either of them.

From there, it was surprisingly easy to get access into the building. ‎With the little bits of Wolverine she had floating in her head, she was able to track them to the room where Wade was being held. When she heard the chainsaw, there was no time to waste.

"Unglove your hand, chicky. I'm gonna knock this door down and toss ya in. Dose the big guy, and get to Wade. I'll finish him off."

"Fuck yeah," Cammie said darkly, her left hand already unbound and looking for a good time. When the door was knocked in, Cammie charged in head first, a toxic cloud hovering around her.

"Hey, fuckface! I'm here to send you to hell in a handbasket!" Cammie said, taking a swing at the asshole who had hurt her self defense teacher and annoying asshole friend, Wade.

The smell of gas in the air had masked the smell of Cammie, and the loud roar of the chainsaw dulled the noise of the door until it splintered open. Bullseye was caught by surprise, and seemed to almost drop his chainsaw before catching it again by the safety catch. He turned, started to swing the tool at Cammie before he gagged, and instead of striking the green-haired woman with a power tool, splattered the floor with the vomited up remains of fried chicken.

Before he was done coughing, he was up again, rushing towards Cammie with the chainsaw in one hand.

The poison from Cammie wasn't as fast-acting as Rogue had hoped. Recognizing that, she motioned to the younger girl to get to Wade. There was a bone in his eye socket, gashes all over his face, and it looked like they'd interrupted the chainsaw halfway, if the wound in Wade's neck was any indication. When Bullseye turned towards Cammie to attack her, Rogue stepped in.

"Hate to sound like a cliche, but pick on someone your own size, ya big bully." Without hesitation, she reached for the chainsaw. It was times like this that she was thankful for her invulnerability, as the teeth of the chainsaw broke against her skin. Her gloves, on the other hand, shredded, which worked well for her next move. Using his momentary disbelief, she reached for his hand.

It'd been a while since she'd absorbed powers, but one thing never changed: if there was no consent, it was gonna hurt like a bitch, both ways.

Memories flooded her brain, the most recent of them regarding Wade's torture, but Rogue wasn't interested in that. She wanted Bullseye's power. Gritting her teeth against the instant migraine, she drew back, and punched him right in the head. "This perfect aim stuff is useful," she announced, rounding off the punch with a kick to the side. With Bullseye still uneasy on his feet, Rogue took the opportunity to pick him up, and throw him against the window. Glass shattered everywhere, and Rogue zipped over to ensure he wasn't getting up.

"Hey, Asshole," Cammie said, dropping down to her knees in front of Wade, "We're here. Oh fuck, you're royally fucked up. This isn't even fair," Cammie said. A lot of other people might be grossed out by the type of injuries he was sporting but Cammie had seen a lot of violence in her years as a runaway. Still, it was different seeing it happen to someone you respected. Someone who she was sure had been so much stronger than her.

It didn't scare her. It pissed her off.

"Let's fix you up a bit so you look less like you spent the night in a hillbilly mosh bit, okay?" Cammie said, carefully pulling the chicken bone out of his eye, being careful not to take the eye with it. Normally she wouldn't touch an injured person at all, but Wade's healing factor seemed to counter her poison well enough. The chicken bone out she started on the toothpicks, "The fuck was he trying to do? Turn you into a pin cushion? One of those heads in a jar from Futurama? Fuck."

Rushing over to Wade's side, Rogue nodded her head in approval. ‎ Athough Wade was critically wounded, the younger girl had done an excellent job at triage and staunching the blood. Rogue reached into her back pocket and pulled out a second pair of gloved. It always paid to be prepared

She put them on and said, "We only got a few minutes before Dum-Dum comes to his senses. Girl, put those gloves back on and put your arms around mah neck. We are gettin' the hell outta Dodge." She would have to carry them both to the clinic and fast and Rogue seriously doubted Wade would last until they were extracted. "And put your hood up, sugar. We are movin' fast."