blowfish | IC CONTACT

[ He looks pointedly at the ground while listening to that sigh. Maybe he doesn't get it. Maybe listening to Wade talk about his is what he needs to get it. ]

So how was it?

[Wade sighs again, scratching his cheek with a finger. His voice takes on a distant, faraway tone, as if he's telling the sort of story that starts with "once upon a time".]

It was just after Boxing Day, I think. I don't remember the exact date-- only that it was cold. Bitter. The kinda cold that makes your lungs hurt. I'd just gotten kicked out of another bar, I can't remember what for. Maybe 'cause I started a fight or somethin', I dunno. Doesn't matter. I was on my way back to my shitty basement apartment-- had to move out of my girlfriend's place after she broke up with me a few months before. An' all of a sudden I feel somethin' pokin' me in the back. At the same time, I heard this raspy voice in my ear: "All right, pretty boy-- empty those pockets."

[Wade pauses, letting out a quiet, mirthless chuckle.] I'd never been jumped before. It didn't seem real-- like I was watching a bad gangster movie or something. Dude didn't even sound hard-- he sounded like he was reciting lines from a play, and doin' a bad job of it, too. I almost started laughing, if you can believe it. That wouldn't have gone over too well.

I felt like I was in a dream, like I wasn't really there. I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. Looking back on it now... he was just a kid. I mean, he was older'n I was at the time, but I wouldn't put him as bein' much older than you are right now. His eyes were green-- just this bright, vibrant color green. [He blinks suddenly, as if he's surprised.] I never noticed that. All those years and I never noticed that until now.

It was pretty obvious that this was his first mugging-- the dude didn't even have a gun. What was sticking into by back through the pocket of his coat were his two fingers shaped to feel like a gun. I know I should've been scared anyway-- dude had at least fifty pounds on me-- but I wasn't. I felt weightless. I heard him tell me to turn out my pockets again, and then... somethin' just came over me. Just this like... sheer, unbridled rage. Guess it was 'cause I finally had an outlet for all the shit that was happening to me. I dunno.

[He stops and rubs his fingers across his covered lips, pointedly not looking at Jesse. It's as if the other man no longer exists-- as if he's telling his story to an empty room.]

[ Eighteen years old, he remembers from their previous conversation. He blinks up and listens to Wade tell the story with his attention completely fixed. A mugging, regardless of the severity of the threat, is a pretty damn good reason to fight back. Biased for the storyteller, he's ready to disregard the attacker.

But it's when Wade mentions his age and muses over those little details that Jesse starts to feel uncomfortable. He talks about it with ease, perfectly able to relive a detailed account. He doesn't falter or fall back on vague explanations. Unbridled rage-- his mouth thins as the pictures form in his head. He blinks again through a very thin film of water.

It's an intense retelling and he's listening closely, or maybe it's the ability to place himself in either position. People have gone after him and he's been after people. ]

So you just, [ he wets his lip. Only one thing he can ask, and he already knows the answer. ] Just took him out?

[ Was it easy? Bloody? You didn't flinch or feel scared, not even for a second? ]

[Why is it so hard to drag this story out of him now? Wade's never given much thought to his Start of Darkness or whatever the heck you wanna call it. Every comic book character has his origin story, after all. This is nothing new to him. He supposes it's because it's the first time he's ever told anyone about this, with no bullshit and no exaggerations. The honest truth. That's something he hasn't dealt with in a long time.

He sighs a third time; passes a hand over his head. The smile he gives to Jesse is wan and without humor. He's suddenly become very tired.]

I gave him what was in my pockets, just like he asked. My Swiss Army knife, right in his neck. Didn't even think about it, really. All the anger I felt just kinda... burst outta me in a tenth of a second.

[There is a long pause.]

...He didn't die quickly. Kept makin' this throaty gagging noise, like a dog choking on a bone. Finally he just collapsed on the sidewalk and kinda... writhed there, slowly. Five minutes. That's how long it took him to finally die. I could tell you that I was horrified; that I threw up immediately afterward or started havin' a panic attack because I'd killed someone. But I didn't. I wasn't horrified. I was... tired. The anger just drained out of me, and all I wanted to do was just go home and go to sleep. I watched him lying there in a pool of his own blood, struggling to breathe, and the only thought that was goin' through my head was: "I wish this son of a bitch would just die already."

[Wade finds himself nodding slowly, unable to meet Jesse's eyes. On his mouth is a sardonic smile, as if he's saying, "This is me. This is who I am underneath."]

It was only when he finally kicked the bucket that I started gettin' a little paranoid. I still felt oddly calm somehow, like this was just a dream I was having. I wiped my knife on his clothes as best I could and got outta that alleyway. Took the knife with me, too. Maybe that was why I didn't get caught.

[Another long, contemplative silence. He huffs out a laugh with no mirth.]

...So anyway. That's the story of Baby Wade's First Murder. Joined the army not long after that, I dunno why. Guess I figured that they couldn't net me for murder if I did service to my country or somethin'. I was kind of a stupid kid back then.

Edited 2015-01-08 20:51 (UTC)

[ After seeing the effect that telling this is having on him, Jesse feels a little bad about holding out on the guy. He furrows his brow during the pause, at the exhausted smile he can see crinkling the mask. It's especially annoying to him right now, that fucking mask-- if there are subtleties in Wade's expression he can't catch them.

He frowns. It doesn't sound a thing like the Wade he knows, but he doesn't disbelieve him. He even appreciates the no-bullshit approach. It's not easy to listen to, but he does appreciate the truth.

Even when it brings nothing but a hollow feeling. That's all? Just "I wish this son of a bitch would just die already" and a little paranoia about getting caught? Jesse struggles to relate and finds that he can't. ]

...you never regretted it? [ It's the first question that leaves him after silence punctuates the end of Wade's story. ] You never saw his, his face in your head, or had nightmares, or nothin' like that?

[The chuckle comes again, more forceful this time; more empty.]

That's just the kinda guy I am, kiddo. Just how I'm wired. If I let shit like that affect me, I couldn't do my job. Probably wouldn't have even chosen the life of a mercenary if I was that bothered by my first murder.

[He doesn't sound as if that would be such a bad idea. His voice is not necessarily regretful; merely... rueful, as if he's aware there's something wrong with him but unable or unwilling to find a way to change it.]

Can't go back now, anyway. Even if I did regret it, even just a little... this is my life now. This is who I am-- who I've been for as long as I can remember. It's not like I can just pack up and start a new life, y'know? Not with all the blood on my hands. I'm knee-deep in it now. Don't know how to be anything else. Don't even know if I wanna be anything else.

[ I'm knee-deep in it now. Don't know how to be anything else. That part, he understands. An absent little nod as his eyes unfocus. No excuses from Wade-- he simply states that this is who he is and accepts what that means. ]

I was gonna do that. Pack up and go. [ We had a good run, but it's over. ] That was right before--

[ A quick inhale cuts him off and he rubs a hand over his face. ]

But after you do something like that, it's, for me, anyway, it's just... [ Trailing off, voice lame, he starts over on a stronger note. ] I switched to waitin' around for karma to catch up. Never really did. Unless you count this place.

[Wade sees the obvious emotion in Jesse's face; in the way his voice trembles. He's seen the way Jesse's eyes filmed over with tears as he was telling his story, how he patiently absorbed all of it, even when it was clear he didn't want to hear any more. In that moment, Wade is struck by one single, definite thought-- as emotionless as he had been when this whole mess had started; when he had begun pouring his heart out without a second thought... he was right. He and Jesse weren't the same at all-- not by a long shot, not when it came to something like this.]

...You didn't want to kill him, did you. [Gently, oh so gently, as if talking to a frightened dog who might bolt into traffic at the slightest provocation.]

[ Wade had a little trouble getting his own story out, just not the same kind of trouble Jesse is having revisiting his, it seems. What he feels when he closes his eyes and remembers Gale verges on the edge of a panic attack.

He's soon forced to do just that; he can close his eyes to Wade's question-statement but he can't keep the pictures out of his head. No, he didn't want to. That doesn't change the fact that he did it. Or that he'll have to do it again. He brings his fingertips and thumb to his eyes to squeeze away the beginnings of fresh tears. ]

Um... [ Fuck. There goes the strength he struggled for, collapsing out of his voice like it was never there at all. ] No. He was the only other chemist. Our planned replacement. [ There's the context for why, finally, spoken thickly. ] Guy wasn't armed, you know, when I knocked on his door. Wasn't expecting a thing. He was just, just scared. I...

[ He slouches over and sniffs. Wade's tone of voice is getting to him as much as everything else. Knowing how much he's been through, this should be embarrassing-- but it can't be helped or stopped. ]

Shit.

[Wade doesn't know the whole story, of course. He hasn't collected enough of the facts to form an opinion on whatever it is that might have made Jesse decide to take that route.

But he feels like he knows enough. He knows enough to know that Jesse's very different from him in this one aspect-- he views life as very dear, while Wade only sees it as fleeting and cheap. It's clear in the way they've both talked about their respective murders: Wade's voice never changed while telling his story, and Jesse's had. Just the thought of it makes him upset; makes him talk of karma and sin and punishment.

He's still innocent. If he can worry about the state of his soul like this, then he still has a soul to save. That's more of a relief than Wade can possibly articulate.

He reaches over and places an arm across Jesse's back, fingers lightly digging into his side as if to coax him closer. His voice is still soft; still almost impossibly gentle, as if comforting a child who's just had a nightmare.]

It's okay. You don't have to back go down that road if you don't want to. I won't force you.

Edited 2015-01-14 00:32 (UTC)

[ He could give a better explanation than that, with Mr. White's and his own life on the line by extension. Explanations skirt close to excuses, is the thing, and the only thing that disturbs him as much as what he's done is the thought of sweeping it under the rug.

And so maybe Wade has a point. It's hard to imagine himself stabbing someone in the neck and waiting for them to bleed out on the ground-- it's kinda hard to imagine that from Wade too, when the person he's gotten to know is so different from the image presented by that. An arm around his back causes his next breath to shudder out of him.

All that gentle understanding is more than he deserves. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and, without thinking about it, draws closer. It's a relief to hear those words, which doesn't seem to stop him from clinging. Wade's presence is a familiar and safe one and before he knows it he's back here again: buried up against his front with hands clinging to the material at his back.

Jesse wants to tell him his most desperate thought-- that that wasn't him, that thing he'd done. Naturally, he yearns to take some of the weight of it off his shoulders and tell someone how he really feels, but it's too late. It's not supposed to go away.

But he still can't stop himself from seeking some comfort in Wade. Why is it so easy with him? He actually expects it. ]

I didn't want to.

[ Despicable. He knows it. His voice is small with knowing it. ]

[He can't remember being this physically demonstrative with another man before. With anyone, really. It all went back to being afraid of going too far; of caring too much and getting hurt. Little playful touches intended to incite some sort of negative reaction, or facetious pats on the back that came off as never really meaning anything. That was usually the extent of his physical contact, despite being renowned in his world for having a lack of personal space. It's different with Jesse. Every little touch and embrace and hand upon the shoulder means something-- whether it be comfort or affection or simply an acknowledgement of mutual understanding.

There's never a time in which he doesn't want to give that to Jesse, he realizes. Like giving food to a starving, neglected dog and watching it feebly wag its tail in response. Wade doesn't shrink at the contact now. His arms automatically encircle Jesse seemingly of their own accord, one of his hands resting on the top of his head. The little sounds the other man makes hurts him-- the small sniffles and clearing of his throat that Wade recognizes instantly as an attempt not to cry.]

I know. I know you didn't, kiddo. But I'm glad. I'm glad you're not a killer like me. I'm glad you're still... y'know. Human.

[ Another sniff at the returned contact.

It's as soothing as ever. He isn't entirely sure where his willingness to be close to Wade comes from. At this point the man is like family to him; it's not strange for them to share something like this. That probably deserves some examination, but he can't for the life of him pin down the turning point, if there ever was one.

And isn't it weird how the one person he feels like he can open up to about anything considers himself less than human? Jesse leans back just to look him in the eye-- in the mask. His own eyes are still wet, gleaming with tears that threaten to spill. Doesn't seem like he's ashamed of that.

He knows so much of what Wade's been through now, but he doesn't really know. He's never seen the side of him described earlier. He crinkles his forehead. ]

You're human too.

Heh. Nah. Last time I checked, humans don't have cancer-fueled healing factors.

[His laugh is more painful than it has a right to be, and it all has to do with seeing Jesse's reaction to this conversation. Wade tries to think of what people back home would have said or done when faced with this truth about himself. Judged him, probably. Nodded their heads in understanding, most likely. It definitely would have made sense to them-- if any of his comrades back home were to write about the rise of Deadpool, that chapter of his life would have undoubtedly been closed with, "And so Wade Wilson finally snapped, just like we knew he would."

He sees none of that in Jesse. Those blue eyes stare at him with a mixture of empathy and pain-- the sort of pain that comes from understanding a person's turmoil all too well; being so close to them that the thought of their suffering moves you to tears. As it has undoubtedly moved Jesse to tears. He can't remember anyone crying over him like this, not even at his own funeral. ~~Bullseye didn't count.~~]

S'okay. I know what I am. Came to that startling epiphany a long time ago. Don't know if I'll ever be anything more than a monster, but I'm tryin', at least.

[Another cynical, self-deprecating laugh.]

Hell-- managed to rope a great kid like you into hangin' around with me, so maybe I'm doin' better at this than I thought.

Edited 2015-02-09 03:33 (UTC)

[ It hurts to hear Wade talking like this. He desperately wishes there was more he could do for him, that he had more to offer than just... himself. His measure of experience is underwhelming compared to Wade's, which leaves him feeling like there's not a lot he could say to convince him that there's one person who will never think of him as a monster.

But he gives it a shot anyway, wipes the water residue away from his eyes and inhales deep. ]

Wade... [ He reaches up to put a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. ] And I'm not goin' anywhere. Alright? That's it. You're stuck with me, in it for the long haul. You know how many people think of me as a "great kid"? One. You. You're--

[ Struggling for the words... ]

I... I almost can't remember what it was like not to know you. There's nothin' you could tell me that'd change my mind.

[Wade can't remember anyone swearing such undying loyalty to him before. Most alliances he had made in the past had been uneasy ones, formed out of necessity or an attempt to undo a mess that he himself had made. No one had ever said to him that they were "in it for the long haul" and meant it, and as shameful as it is, the reptilian part of his brain that still remains a callous mercenary whispers in the back of his mind: I could use this.

He dismisses that thought almost immediately, repulsed at the idea that he would think such a thing, but even more repulsed at the idea that he wouldn't have been repulsed at all in the past, if such a thought had occurred to him. Jesse is not a pawn, no matter how convenient it would be; no matter how useful his loyalty would prove. He wasn't Weasel. He wasn't Bob. He wasn't an ally out of necessity or intimidation but a genuine friend, one who listened to Wade's past with tears of pity forming in his eyes; who was still willing to touch him with affection and camaraderie even after witnessing Wade lay himself bare.

And Wade would never tell him these things. He can't. He wouldn't have a single idea of how to start. Another laugh breezes out of him, soft and awkward.]

Good. That's a relief, 'cause y'know... I've got a wide range of weird fetishes that I'd like to get off my chest someday. It's hell goin' into a Lowe's-- those Dyson uprights always look like they're askin' for it.

[He jokes, of course, but there's no mistaking that look of warmth in his eyes; the fact that he hasn't let go of Jesse.]

[That pulls a small laugh out of him in return. It's a bit shaky, all things considered, with the previous topics hanging over their heads.]

'kay, maybe there's some stuff it's better not to share.

[Coupled with an affectionate squeeze at his arm. Jesse would never be able to ping onto Wade having those thoughts, not on his own. The smile he gives him is a touch self-conscious-- he understands how genuine he's being. It's worth it for Wade to know that there's someone around here who will always be on his side, who won't be driven away.]

I like you, and all, but that's a level of private detail I'm not ready to hear about yet.

[Shaky, yes-- but the tension goes out of the conversation just the slightest bit at that small bit of appreciation for Wade's joke. Wade chases the joke further, adopting a wounded tone to his voice.]

What, izzat too much information for you? Geez, so much for camaraderie. I thought you'd be with me on this, bro. Way to crush my dreams.

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