blowfish | IC CONTACT

[ 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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