Fic: Helping Hand
Title: Helping Hand
Rating: PG13
Pairing: implied mild Deadpool/Bullseye, Daken/Bullseye.
Warnings: profanity, alcohol use, vomiting, violence
Summary: Deadpool stands in for a hit. Bullseye is gross. No, really gross.
Notes: A part of Drinking Buddies Verse
Spoilers: Deadpool #63, Deadpool vs the Marvel Universe #1-4, NEW Deadpool #1 preview.
”PARTY ROCK IS IN THE HOUSE TONIGHT! EVERYBODY JUST HAVE A GOOD TIME!” Deadpool sang, off-key and very, very poorly, and drank from the bottle of Tokaj and shimmied mindlessly across the living room floor, then breaking into Gangnam Style dancing.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” Bullseye groaned from the ratty couch and drank his Stoli.
“But Rookie, we're celebrating! It's just been 65 hours of drinking and I haven't even broken out the really good stuff yet!” Wade protested and adjusted his pink, sparkly, Disney princess party hat, and contemplated raptor attacks and Golden Girls erotica. Wade had wanted Pony party hats but hadn't found any, he had wanted to be Pinky Pie, but Belle from the Beauty & the Beast had to do.
“The fuck are we even celebrating? Fuck, I think my hangover is catching up with me...” Bullseye muttered miserably and then hiccuped. He, on the other hand, had ditched is party hat ages ago, as well as multiple times, to Deadpool's great annoyance. It had been a nice hat with Cinderella and blue sparkles on it. Now is was a blood-soaked pulp on the kitchen floor.
“I have a new ongoing! New writers! New opportunities! And not just is some alternate universe we're I kill everybody, though you opt out, you pussy, but in the regular canon universe! Isn't that awesome?! I'm fucking stoaked! I've been promised dinosaurs and dead presidents! Honey Boo Boo and the redneck Olympics! It's the American Dream! Even if it did cost me my handsome looks, no offense to Way but after several years a guy needs some change in his life-- EEEWWW!” Deadpool rambled as Bullseye vomited on his carpet. “Oh, that's fucking gross, can't you keep that on the inside or at least out of the window like normal people? ”
“I fucking hate you, Wilson,” Bullseye gritted out and blew chunks once more. It was like a Technicolor nightmare done in acid. Wade expected Oompa-Loompas, and Jefferson Airplane tunes.
“Naaaah, you don't. You loooove me. I'm your bestest friend in the whole wide world. Princess Priss doesn't count, you fuck but you're not BFFs. I kinda feel sorry for you, Rookie, I'm all you got but me, I've got a ton of friends. Everybody loves me; I'm nearly as popular as Wolverine,” he exclaimed and jumped excitably.
“And now, with Brian and Gerry, I'm going to have the most awesome team-ups EVER. I little birdie told me that I get to team-up with THOR in my very first issue! I mean, how cool isn't that? He's so dreamy. And you, dudebro, are still dead, no offense, I have friends who are dead, and undead. It's not like I discriminate or anything. But you really got the wrong end of the stick, if you know what I mean? The one with the poop on it,” Deadpool rambled and patted Bullseye on the back, rubbing circles across his shaking shoulders.
“Keep talking and I'll show you who's dead,” Bullseye growled, “and take your fucking hands off me.”
“No homo. It's all alright,” Deadpool shushed him and jumped over the back off the couch to settle down next too him, feet up to avoid the projectile vomiting of course, one arm slung casually over Bullseye's broad and muscled shoulders. “OK, maybe a little bit of homo.”
Bullseye hurled once more, this time also through his nose, and sobbed.
“Or maybe. Not. At. All.” Deadpool concluded and winced. “Seriously dude, you're going to totally fuck up my floor like this. And I'm not cleaning that. Dude, what the fuck did you drink? Never-mind, I already know that, what did you EAT, seems to be the more relevant question. Did you go crazy at a sea food restaurant, because I think that was something living that just scuttled away. All Mr. Creosote at an All-You-Can-Eat-Shrimp $4.99?”
“I hate you. I really do,” Bullseye whimpered and clutched the coffee table like it was salvation. Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope!
“May the Force be with you, young padawan. You have much to learn of the noble art of the binge!” Deadpool declared gleefully and kissed Bullseye's shiny bald head. Bullseye glared daggers at him but then burped, turned a shade of greyish-green and threw up once more all over the carpet, which, btw, Deadpool would have to feed to the flamethrower once Bullseye was done with it.
How much can one man's stomach contain?
Normally around one liter, but up to four. Or if you're morbidly obese that can rise exponentially.
Thank you, yellow box, for that disgusting infomercial.
BRINGRR!
“Right with you. Gimme a sec, I think that was your phone,” Deadpool said and reached for the burner phone on the table.
“Don't you... fucken touch that,” Bullseye protested lamely before settling back into his face-down-trying-his-best-not-to-puke-once-more pose.
“Hey! It's a job! You gotta job! I thought no-one wanted your sorry ass after the Dark Avengers debacle and getting killed on LIVE TV. Congrats! Time and place is... huh, one hour from now in the lower East Side. Not too far from here, even with the subways flooded. You could be there in and out in like 15, buddy. Buddy? Bullseye? You alright?” Deadpool asked and peered at his friend, concerned. Bullseye groaned and hiccuped, his eyes looking rather glazed.
“Guess what, I think you deserve a break. I'll deal with it, I might be out of the game a bit but this seems straight cut enough. Now who am I supposed to off? Never mind, silly me, you'll have a photo on your cell, dontcha, lessee-- nope, nope, ah here, his dude right? Gotcha. I'll be back in a sec, Rookie, don't worry I'll take care of everything, for old time's sake.” Deadpool said and patted Bullseye on the back once more, and then disappearing from the room. Seconds later he reappeared.
“You just, eh, try not to vomit your guts out, I did that once, not fun. Like seriously. Or choke. That's nasty. And remember to hydrate! Bye!” Wade chirped and waved goodbye, grabbing a few of his favorite guns.
“No... wait.... Motherfucker! It's not a that kinda hit!” Bullseye protested to the empty apartment once his brain caught up with what had just happened
“I'm going to fuckin' kill him,” he concluded miserably and tried to shamble onto his feet, and lost whatever he had left in his stomach.
Meanwhile, Deadpool was merrily heading to the lower East Side. The dark and damp streets were a strange sight but made good covered for a heavily armed merc wearing a stolen raincoat and booties. The job would be a piece of cake, once he found the mark of course. Wade figured he'd gotten a bit turned around on Madison and that he was at the wrong park. Still, he had about twenty minutes. He got to the site in ten and with a pizza with a burnt crust and anchovies. God bless America.
His target was in place, he had his guns and really, he could take the shot at any moment. But where was the fun in that? The mark, Deadpool dubbed him Marky Moose, was a twenty something douchebag who stank of cash and Axe body spray, likely to have swum in from the Jersey Shore - the TV show. He wasn't surprised that someone had put a hit on this douchenozzle, Wade might even have done it for free once upon a time. Justifying this hit was no problem-o, it was a public motherfucking service.
Marky Moose was currently chatting up some very mob-like looking fellows and would presumably be preoccupied with them a little longer. Plenty of time for Deadpool to prepare.
It was as he was on the roof, putting up the finishing touches to his ingenious master plan, that someone decided to garrotte him. Instead of panicking like lesser mortals, Wade most awesomely did his super special anti-choke move. It was super ineffective. The guy knew what he was doing despite smelling like an Russian drunkard.
It wasn't until the stench of vodka and vomit was combined with a running litany of profanities and creative threats that Deadpool recognized his assailant.
“Rrgrkkee!” Wade greeted his irate friend. Moments later, Bullseye released him. Gasping for air and rubbing his bleeding throat, Wade sat down on the ledge.
“Way to say 'hello' and 'thank you', B,” Deadpool griped and shot his fellow assassin a sour look through his mask. Bullseye not only stank like crap he also looked the part and didn't seem to give a damn about Wade's utterly legitimate complaints. Now, whereas Bullseye was the type of guy to kill you with a number #2 pencil for looking at him wrong or to happily jerk off into a pool of children's tears, he usually wasn't ungrateful.
“Thank you for killing my target? You expect me to thank you for running my mission?”Bullseye hissed in Wade's face and held a blade to his eye.
“Eh, he's not supposed to die?” Wade asked.
“No, he's not! He's worth ten times more alive!” Bullseye hissed.
“Then you better hurry, 'cause he ain't dead yet. But he will be. In about thirty seconds, give or take,” Deadpool replied and shrugged.
“What did you do?”Bullseye asked, horrified and fascinated.
“That,” Deadpool replied and pointed.
“What?” Bullseye asked but his question was answered as the building next to them exploded.
BWWWOOOMMMMM!
The shock-wave had them falling down on the concrete, and the noise was enough to cancel out all sound. Deadpool saw Bullseye throw up, again, as the both crawled to their feet to look at the burning rubble of the house that had once contained Marky Moose and his pals. Well, arguably it still did just in a crispier and more disassembled state.
“--idiot. You motherfucking moron. I'm going to fucking take you apart.”
It was the first thing Deadpool could hear. It didn't sound good. Though Bullseye seemed to be perfectly serene, if a bit singed and smelly, which had to be good, right? Then again last time Wade had heard anyone threaten him with that tone of voice he'd woken up half-naked at a Denny's parking lot with 50,000 volts directly applied to his nipples, covered in flesh-eating bacteria, and, for some inexplicable reason, a bucket of raccoon heads, and three tickets to a Yankees game. It had been a very strange game of Strip Poker.
“The target was the idiot son of a drug lord who had gone into weapon's trafficking. I was supposed to ensure that the trade went off smooth and then to kill everyone except the little punk. You just cost me three mil and a long term contact,” Bullseye confessed.
“I guess giving you the suitcases with the actually money he had intended to use to pay off the mobsters might smooth over the whole affair,” Deadpool responded and raised a heavy suitcase. “I think it's about five mill, whaddya think?”
“I don't even want to know. Don't ever help me again and we'll call it quits,” Bullseye agreed, took the case and ambled off.
“Hey, what about our party?” Deadpool shouted at his retreating back. Bullseye flipped him off.
“Asshole,” Wade muttered just as his old pal stumbled and fell down the stairs.
“You alive?” he hollered.
“'m fine,” Rookie grunted in reply.
“I'm going to have to carry you, ain't I?” 'Pool asked and walked down the stairs. “How did you even get here?”
“I stole a car,” Bullseye muttered petulantly from the floor. “Kidnapped a driver.”
“How very responsible of you. Now up you go,” Wade remarked and hoisted his friend on his back and took the case in hand.”Ouhf! Try to hang on for fuck's sake.”
“Fuck you,” Bullseye mumbled but hung on like a particularly smelly koala.
“Yeah, love you too, buddy. If you puke on me I'll leave you in the gutter, get me?” Wade grumbled and walked homeward, telling Bullseye all about Adventure Time.
THE END
Rating: PG13
Pairing: implied mild Deadpool/Bullseye, Daken/Bullseye.
Warnings: profanity, alcohol use, vomiting, violence
Summary: Deadpool stands in for a hit. Bullseye is gross. No, really gross.
Notes: A part of Drinking Buddies Verse
Spoilers: Deadpool #63, Deadpool vs the Marvel Universe #1-4, NEW Deadpool #1 preview.
”PARTY ROCK IS IN THE HOUSE TONIGHT! EVERYBODY JUST HAVE A GOOD TIME!” Deadpool sang, off-key and very, very poorly, and drank from the bottle of Tokaj and shimmied mindlessly across the living room floor, then breaking into Gangnam Style dancing.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” Bullseye groaned from the ratty couch and drank his Stoli.
“But Rookie, we're celebrating! It's just been 65 hours of drinking and I haven't even broken out the really good stuff yet!” Wade protested and adjusted his pink, sparkly, Disney princess party hat, and contemplated raptor attacks and Golden Girls erotica. Wade had wanted Pony party hats but hadn't found any, he had wanted to be Pinky Pie, but Belle from the Beauty & the Beast had to do.
“The fuck are we even celebrating? Fuck, I think my hangover is catching up with me...” Bullseye muttered miserably and then hiccuped. He, on the other hand, had ditched is party hat ages ago, as well as multiple times, to Deadpool's great annoyance. It had been a nice hat with Cinderella and blue sparkles on it. Now is was a blood-soaked pulp on the kitchen floor.
“I have a new ongoing! New writers! New opportunities! And not just is some alternate universe we're I kill everybody, though you opt out, you pussy, but in the regular canon universe! Isn't that awesome?! I'm fucking stoaked! I've been promised dinosaurs and dead presidents! Honey Boo Boo and the redneck Olympics! It's the American Dream! Even if it did cost me my handsome looks, no offense to Way but after several years a guy needs some change in his life-- EEEWWW!” Deadpool rambled as Bullseye vomited on his carpet. “Oh, that's fucking gross, can't you keep that on the inside or at least out of the window like normal people? ”
“I fucking hate you, Wilson,” Bullseye gritted out and blew chunks once more. It was like a Technicolor nightmare done in acid. Wade expected Oompa-Loompas, and Jefferson Airplane tunes.
“Naaaah, you don't. You loooove me. I'm your bestest friend in the whole wide world. Princess Priss doesn't count, you fuck but you're not BFFs. I kinda feel sorry for you, Rookie, I'm all you got but me, I've got a ton of friends. Everybody loves me; I'm nearly as popular as Wolverine,” he exclaimed and jumped excitably.
“And now, with Brian and Gerry, I'm going to have the most awesome team-ups EVER. I little birdie told me that I get to team-up with THOR in my very first issue! I mean, how cool isn't that? He's so dreamy. And you, dudebro, are still dead, no offense, I have friends who are dead, and undead. It's not like I discriminate or anything. But you really got the wrong end of the stick, if you know what I mean? The one with the poop on it,” Deadpool rambled and patted Bullseye on the back, rubbing circles across his shaking shoulders.
“Keep talking and I'll show you who's dead,” Bullseye growled, “and take your fucking hands off me.”
“No homo. It's all alright,” Deadpool shushed him and jumped over the back off the couch to settle down next too him, feet up to avoid the projectile vomiting of course, one arm slung casually over Bullseye's broad and muscled shoulders. “OK, maybe a little bit of homo.”
Bullseye hurled once more, this time also through his nose, and sobbed.
“Or maybe. Not. At. All.” Deadpool concluded and winced. “Seriously dude, you're going to totally fuck up my floor like this. And I'm not cleaning that. Dude, what the fuck did you drink? Never-mind, I already know that, what did you EAT, seems to be the more relevant question. Did you go crazy at a sea food restaurant, because I think that was something living that just scuttled away. All Mr. Creosote at an All-You-Can-Eat-Shrimp $4.99?”
“I hate you. I really do,” Bullseye whimpered and clutched the coffee table like it was salvation. Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope!
“May the Force be with you, young padawan. You have much to learn of the noble art of the binge!” Deadpool declared gleefully and kissed Bullseye's shiny bald head. Bullseye glared daggers at him but then burped, turned a shade of greyish-green and threw up once more all over the carpet, which, btw, Deadpool would have to feed to the flamethrower once Bullseye was done with it.
How much can one man's stomach contain?
Normally around one liter, but up to four. Or if you're morbidly obese that can rise exponentially.
Thank you, yellow box, for that disgusting infomercial.
BRINGRR!
“Right with you. Gimme a sec, I think that was your phone,” Deadpool said and reached for the burner phone on the table.
“Don't you... fucken touch that,” Bullseye protested lamely before settling back into his face-down-trying-his-best-not-to-puke-once-more pose.
“Hey! It's a job! You gotta job! I thought no-one wanted your sorry ass after the Dark Avengers debacle and getting killed on LIVE TV. Congrats! Time and place is... huh, one hour from now in the lower East Side. Not too far from here, even with the subways flooded. You could be there in and out in like 15, buddy. Buddy? Bullseye? You alright?” Deadpool asked and peered at his friend, concerned. Bullseye groaned and hiccuped, his eyes looking rather glazed.
“Guess what, I think you deserve a break. I'll deal with it, I might be out of the game a bit but this seems straight cut enough. Now who am I supposed to off? Never mind, silly me, you'll have a photo on your cell, dontcha, lessee-- nope, nope, ah here, his dude right? Gotcha. I'll be back in a sec, Rookie, don't worry I'll take care of everything, for old time's sake.” Deadpool said and patted Bullseye on the back once more, and then disappearing from the room. Seconds later he reappeared.
“You just, eh, try not to vomit your guts out, I did that once, not fun. Like seriously. Or choke. That's nasty. And remember to hydrate! Bye!” Wade chirped and waved goodbye, grabbing a few of his favorite guns.
“No... wait.... Motherfucker! It's not a that kinda hit!” Bullseye protested to the empty apartment once his brain caught up with what had just happened
“I'm going to fuckin' kill him,” he concluded miserably and tried to shamble onto his feet, and lost whatever he had left in his stomach.
Meanwhile, Deadpool was merrily heading to the lower East Side. The dark and damp streets were a strange sight but made good covered for a heavily armed merc wearing a stolen raincoat and booties. The job would be a piece of cake, once he found the mark of course. Wade figured he'd gotten a bit turned around on Madison and that he was at the wrong park. Still, he had about twenty minutes. He got to the site in ten and with a pizza with a burnt crust and anchovies. God bless America.
His target was in place, he had his guns and really, he could take the shot at any moment. But where was the fun in that? The mark, Deadpool dubbed him Marky Moose, was a twenty something douchebag who stank of cash and Axe body spray, likely to have swum in from the Jersey Shore - the TV show. He wasn't surprised that someone had put a hit on this douchenozzle, Wade might even have done it for free once upon a time. Justifying this hit was no problem-o, it was a public motherfucking service.
Marky Moose was currently chatting up some very mob-like looking fellows and would presumably be preoccupied with them a little longer. Plenty of time for Deadpool to prepare.
It was as he was on the roof, putting up the finishing touches to his ingenious master plan, that someone decided to garrotte him. Instead of panicking like lesser mortals, Wade most awesomely did his super special anti-choke move. It was super ineffective. The guy knew what he was doing despite smelling like an Russian drunkard.
It wasn't until the stench of vodka and vomit was combined with a running litany of profanities and creative threats that Deadpool recognized his assailant.
“Rrgrkkee!” Wade greeted his irate friend. Moments later, Bullseye released him. Gasping for air and rubbing his bleeding throat, Wade sat down on the ledge.
“Way to say 'hello' and 'thank you', B,” Deadpool griped and shot his fellow assassin a sour look through his mask. Bullseye not only stank like crap he also looked the part and didn't seem to give a damn about Wade's utterly legitimate complaints. Now, whereas Bullseye was the type of guy to kill you with a number #2 pencil for looking at him wrong or to happily jerk off into a pool of children's tears, he usually wasn't ungrateful.
“Thank you for killing my target? You expect me to thank you for running my mission?”Bullseye hissed in Wade's face and held a blade to his eye.
“Eh, he's not supposed to die?” Wade asked.
“No, he's not! He's worth ten times more alive!” Bullseye hissed.
“Then you better hurry, 'cause he ain't dead yet. But he will be. In about thirty seconds, give or take,” Deadpool replied and shrugged.
“What did you do?”Bullseye asked, horrified and fascinated.
“That,” Deadpool replied and pointed.
“What?” Bullseye asked but his question was answered as the building next to them exploded.
BWWWOOOMMMMM!
The shock-wave had them falling down on the concrete, and the noise was enough to cancel out all sound. Deadpool saw Bullseye throw up, again, as the both crawled to their feet to look at the burning rubble of the house that had once contained Marky Moose and his pals. Well, arguably it still did just in a crispier and more disassembled state.
“--idiot. You motherfucking moron. I'm going to fucking take you apart.”
It was the first thing Deadpool could hear. It didn't sound good. Though Bullseye seemed to be perfectly serene, if a bit singed and smelly, which had to be good, right? Then again last time Wade had heard anyone threaten him with that tone of voice he'd woken up half-naked at a Denny's parking lot with 50,000 volts directly applied to his nipples, covered in flesh-eating bacteria, and, for some inexplicable reason, a bucket of raccoon heads, and three tickets to a Yankees game. It had been a very strange game of Strip Poker.
“The target was the idiot son of a drug lord who had gone into weapon's trafficking. I was supposed to ensure that the trade went off smooth and then to kill everyone except the little punk. You just cost me three mil and a long term contact,” Bullseye confessed.
“I guess giving you the suitcases with the actually money he had intended to use to pay off the mobsters might smooth over the whole affair,” Deadpool responded and raised a heavy suitcase. “I think it's about five mill, whaddya think?”
“I don't even want to know. Don't ever help me again and we'll call it quits,” Bullseye agreed, took the case and ambled off.
“Hey, what about our party?” Deadpool shouted at his retreating back. Bullseye flipped him off.
“Asshole,” Wade muttered just as his old pal stumbled and fell down the stairs.
“You alive?” he hollered.
“'m fine,” Rookie grunted in reply.
“I'm going to have to carry you, ain't I?” 'Pool asked and walked down the stairs. “How did you even get here?”
“I stole a car,” Bullseye muttered petulantly from the floor. “Kidnapped a driver.”
“How very responsible of you. Now up you go,” Wade remarked and hoisted his friend on his back and took the case in hand.”Ouhf! Try to hang on for fuck's sake.”
“Fuck you,” Bullseye mumbled but hung on like a particularly smelly koala.
“Yeah, love you too, buddy. If you puke on me I'll leave you in the gutter, get me?” Wade grumbled and walked homeward, telling Bullseye all about Adventure Time.
THE END