8919/HEY. HEY. LISTEN.

HEY. HEY. LISTEN.
Date of Scene:	22 August 2019
Location:	Backyard, Avengers Mansion
Synopsis:	Steve removes bullets and information from Wade about the mafia hits.
Cast of Characters:	Deadpool, Captain America

---

Deadpool has posed:
Strangely early in the morning, a text comes through from one particular wade. It's to the point.

"I HAVE GIFTS WHERE ARE YOU."

And then,

"IT IS A SURPRISE."

And then,

"DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THE SURPRISE?"

Captain America has posed:
The glow of Steve's phone along with the particular chime assigned to Wade makes him glance over from blearily brushing his teeth. He picks up the phone, reads the text...and then next...and the next...his tooth brushing slowing by increments as they arrive. A sigh.

"Sure, Wabe," he says around the toothbrush as he slowly texts back, using his thumbs. Then, he backspaces before sending the text. The Merc is known to be timely -- sending it now would mean entertaining the man before he's properly dressed or nourished.

As such, about half an hour later, Steve thumbs out the text once more and off it flies:

<<On the back deck at the mansion, have muffins if you want one.>>

For indeed he does, a plate of four, three presumed for him alone. More rib-sticking sustenance will happen later. For now, he sips his coffee where he slouches in a deck chair. The Captain is in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, given it's a morning boding heat later in the day. The air is soft and smells of green; all the foliage and flowering beds around are breathing in the brief perfect mid-temperature.

Deadpool has posed:
<< Sorry I used quotes instead of the carrot marks for designating text. UM. I will be shot at by drones if I appear there. I will come to front gate and ring the bell. With bells on. >> /That/ Wade can do.

There isn't a lot of warning or time between that and some raised voices at the front of the mansion.

Captain America has posed:
Steve looks up from his phone, the motion only in his eyes. They then rise to the blue morning sky, streaked with white shreds of cloud, and he whispers something to himself in Gaelic.

<<Be right there.>> Ping, it flies to Wade.

Indeed, with fairly brisk speed, there's the blond super-soldier exiting the front door of the mansion and walking towards the gates. He squints.

What on earth is going on?

He needs more coffee.

Deadpool has posed:
Yep, there's Wade, with security at the gate. He is pointing directly towards the backyard. Security is doing well with holding him back, but multiple drones are no doubt starting to take heed.

Spotting Steve, Wade begins to bounce and wave.

Wade is an explosion of violent evidence. There's blood, bullet holes in his attire, some burns up the side of one leg of his merc outfit. And blood. And some gritty reddish stuff on his upper left pectoral; skull fragments or concrete? Both? He's wearing a child's backpack over one shoulder, the strap magenta and dark red (from blood).

Captain America has posed:
A hand is held up as the man approaches the gates, firmly, militaristic in bent, aimed at Wade: hold. Steve then addresses the drones. "JARVIS, please grant temporary guest status to Deadpool." Mild stress is put on 'temporary', as if to mollify the AI.

The Captain's eyes run over Wade with interest almost clinical before he puffs a sigh. With hands on his hips, he squints at the Merc, eyebrows lifted.

"We'll go to the back deck 'nd you can tell me about this surprise," he says before waving Wade to follow him. Leading the way around the perimeter of the green lawn and alongside the building, he's sure to listen to anything the Merc chooses to share.

Deadpool has posed:
Like a bouncy gazelle, Wade parades towards Steve. And then sort of past him, leading into the back yard, then walking backwards as soon as he gets past Steve: so he's always facing him. "I did something for you! And you didn't ask me to, so if you're upset, it's guilt-free," Wade specifies, in a way that probably just suggests all of whatever Wade did is not going to go over well.

"To the deck, first. With sitting. And coffee. Are you awake? I can help you wake up if you need a rush of adrenaline," Wade offers.

Captain America has posed:
Rubbing at the side of his face, Steve blinks a few times at the amount of enthusiasm on display. In a way, it's refreshing -- in another manner, it's slightly overwhelming. The offer to further wake him up makes him blurt out a laugh before he can stop it.

"Thanks, Wade, but I'll stick with my coffee this morning." The inlaid bricks of the back deck are warmer, drier than the soft dew-laden grass, and he relishes the sensation on the soles of his feet as he walks back over to his deck chair. Sitting in it with a grunt, the Captain picks up his cup of coffee once more and then gives Wade an infinitely patient, expectant look.

"What'd you do then, Wade?" Pointedly, he does not spit at his coffee just yet; perhaps the amount of gore on the Merc's suit makes him leery of a spit-take.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade pauses before going up on the deck. He does a very different thing with the sensation of the grass on soles of feet: meaning, he scrubs his boots on the grass and walks in a circle back and forth, very obviously wiping blood off his feet onto the grass. Since he's ahead of Steve, Steve will have to avoid that zone of grass, or he'll have a more lingering 'sensation' on his footsies.

"I got you these, just a second," Wade says, unshouldering the backpack he's wearing. It is a very charming hello kitty pack, except that it is smeared with blood and some gunpowder residue. "Oh no! You were shot!" Wade says in dismay, moving his fingers into the holes along the upper area of the backpack. "At least not in the head," he says, treasuring the line where hello Kitty's head is compared to the pink background of bullet-holes. Distracted? Yep. "She's innocent, she didn't deserve it. But I brought her into the line of fire. It's on me."

A pause. "Literally, I have bullets from her being shot still in my back, I think. She won't win any medals from being 'in the line of fire'. Or would she? I think those medals are for getting shot. I should have a case of them. Okay, a handful. I do leap in front of people to take bullets."

Captain America has posed:
Lip remain parted in dubious curiosity as does the rise of his cup to his mouth. Still patient, relatively unruffled, Steve observes the conversation between inanimate (much beloved) object and the Merc. The mention of bullets still lodged internally is enough to make him wince around the eyes.

"You, uh...want those bullets removed, Wade? The surprise can wait...?" It really mustn't be comfortable at all. Every time the super-soldier's been under fire, it's been less of a picnic and more a case of a nice super-cocktail of drugs for removal.

Deadpool has posed:
"They'll work their way out like kidney stones on their own," Wade says, not fully listening to the offer about the bullets in his back. "Without even needing a bathroom. I mean. I guess neither one /needs/ a bathroom. As a requirement." Wade lifts one hand and presses the fingers and thumb into his mask eye sockets. Meaning, he presses his fingers against the front eye areas of the mask: like you'd do with a face. Except with the mask there. So it makes no sense. Except to show his difficulty.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck. Okay. Um."

Wade actively tries to get his monkey-filled brain to climb down from the rafters. He drops his hand, unable to do it. "IF you want to, though, I'll sit in your lap."

Captain America has posed:
A few scrubs at his mouth serves as what must be a combination of sympathy and maybe a touch of gut-clenching nausea at the idea of removing foreign objects bare-handed. Steve then sighs.

"'m not gonna fish bullets out of your back with my fingers, Wade. We'll do it in medical downstairs, like we always do, if you want. This isn't a war zone where I don't have access to numbing agents 'nd forceps." The rest of the coffee goes down as if he were steadying himself with a shot of rotgut liquor and then he sets the mug aside. The four muffins remain untouched for now. A fly is shooed away with a swish of his hand. "Bring the backpack, Wade." Steve rises to his feet, collecting dishes as he goes, his expression set and determined.

Deadpool has posed:
"I always carry pliers," Wade says, as if affronted by the idea that it would be bare-handed. "And I'm immune to numbing agents. Lucky me, right?" Wade drops his hands to his thighs, fluttering them against the weapons and ammunition there on muscular thighs.

"Backpack," Wade agrees, then, with a snap-point, and unshoulders it fully (it had fallen to hang off his elbow on the left), and brings it over. "Ooh, muffins," Wade says, looking at them, but pulls himself to the pack, unzipping it.

There's a plastic bag inside, Ziploc, gallon size. It has holiday decorations on it: some snowflakes and a little cabin in white. Inside are a bunch of standard size papers with handwriting on them and some bloody smudges: both inside the bag and out of it.

"So I took care of your sad!"

Captain America has posed:
"I'll be using forceps," Steve informs the Merc, but his voice contains notes of distraction. His sad was...a bunch of papers? The bloody fingerprints are noted both internally and externally of the adorable, winter-themed Ziplock bag. Flicking his eyebrows up, he tilts his head for Wade to follow. "Stay next to me, Wade. I told JARVIS you were a guest, but it doesn't mean you can wander."

With the gentle if firm reminder given, he leads the way downstairs to medical. The muffins and empty mug are placed on a spartan side-table in the main hallway before he walks into one of the nurse's rooms. His broad palm patpats the clean white rolling gurney in the center of the room. "Sit. We'll yank 'em like teeth 'nd you can tell me about those papers."

Deadpool has posed:
"In my mind just now I prepared a lot about telling you about the gifts but okaaaaay, if we have to. I'm really okay," Wade says, baffled by the concern. "But touched. Like. I mean, even though you're going to use forceps." He snares Steve's arm, and comes along, stuffing the plastic bag back into the backpack for the travel to medical.

When told to sit, Wade does sit. "Yes sir, yes Captain."

Captain America has posed:
The sounds of metal muted by sterile plastic can be heard as Steve fishes out a pair of forceps from one of the drawers. "Lemme see the bag again, Wade, please," he asks as he strips the instrument from its housing. "'nd you go ahead 'nd tell me what you need to about those gifts. It'll help distract from the pain. Put the papers on the cot here," and the space beside the Merc is indicated with a taptap of a finger."

It's not the first time the Captain has had to remove foreign objects from a body, but it doesn't mean he's ever going to get used to it. With his mouth thinned in concentrated, he waits until Wade's relatively still before he begins fussing with the first of the puckered bullet wounds. "Hold still, this's gonna sting," he murmurs, hoping the Merc continues talking rather than flailing.

Deadpool has posed:
That Wade's body is trying to heal the spots makes this unusual, probably. The channels are open, but there's warped, cancerous flesh all around it partially knitting. If Steve stares for a time, he may see the veins actually adjust, as the intense healing works on dealing with the issues. It's tired; Wade took a bunch of injuries that HAVE healed. Some bullets must have gone through him, based on the healed flesh under a few of the spots one would expect to find a wound.

"I was thinking like, I could be all forensic science on it. But then it doesn't really matter. But I had the plastic bag with me from some leftover pizza from my stakeout, so I thought, WHY NOT," Wade says.

There isn't much complaint from Wade from the bullet removal, except some squirming while he chatters.

Captain America has posed:
It's uncanny valley for the Captain, the active work of the body knitting itself, and he compartmentalizes what he's seeing as he works. He feels the tips of the forceps bite at the end of a mostly-crunched bullet and carefully, he pulls the first slug free. Blood feels a bit like warm soup on his thumb as he shoves it against the wound channel -- now warm soup sounds extremely unappetizing, good job, self-Steve.

"Good call, keeping the papers safe with the bag," Steve comments, voice flat in concentration. Plink: the red lump lands in the sink. "What's on the papers, Wade?" Now time for bullet number two.

Deadpool has posed:
The blood stops almost immediately, so the soup is limited. Wade twists and grunts at a deep press from Steve from behind, but doesn't complain. "Deep, huh?" Wade asks, with a low flirt in his tone.

Wade abruptly unzips the bag and digs in it, pulling a few of the pages out. "So there were hits out on heroes," Wade begins, distractedly. "We talked about this. Tuesday? Monday?" Days are hard.

"Whenever. Anyway, I saw a hit was out on one of the guys /calling/ for those hits, so when I got him, I got these, for you. I figured you wouldn't just like my word for it, so he and I sat down and did some writing. Well, he sat. I didn't really sit," Wade clarifies. He pauses, and then just shoves them back in and offers the baggie to Steve. There's one on the top, and it can be read through the bag:

In crooked handwriting, it says, 'I withdraw the hit on "Elixir"', and then a scrawl of signature. A guess would suggest that they are probably all like that.

"I was going to stop for confetti to add to the bag, but you answered my text really fast," Wade says, apologetic.

Captain America has posed:
"Yeah, Wade, deep," mutters the Captain under his breath -- it's highly likely he wasn't paying half-attention to the nature of the commentary. He's almost got the forceps about the second bullet's quashed form when the Merc gets to fussing around in the backpack. Awkward: the forceps remain buried about an inch into the Merc's back as Steve accidentally lets go. A palm ends up over his mouth in blank shock. There they shift about, ignored, proof of the mercenary's intense pain tolerance.

Steve still has the wherewithal to take the offered baggie and peer down at it. It takes a second or two for his brain to kick back into main gear. "No, it's...it's fine, Wade, thank you. No confetti's fine," the Captain comments distantly. "This's...thank you, Wade." The repetition of gratitude is far more firm now.

Forceps are still hanging out in the wound channel. Steve, realizing this, puts the baggie aside in order to retrieve them and the second bullet. Yoink, more blood for just a second, even LESS interest in soup now.

Deadpool has posed:
"I know I've got Scarlet Witch in there, but I don't remember them /all/ right now," Wade chatters, and glances back at the progress of bullet removal. He arches his back and moves around. "One left, low, towards the hip here," Wade describes, twisting to point downwards at his lower back.

"Oh, wait." Wade stretches, and there's a thunk as it drops out of his back on it's own. "False alarm!"

Captain America has posed:
Steve rocks back half a step, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

"Wait, Wade, I heard two bullets. You got shot more'n twice?" //And you're ambulatory//, he seems to imply in unveiled surprise. The second bullet pinks into the sink and rolls a little, having not been smashed as much as the first. Pulling his lips flat again, the Captain frowns and peers.

But no need! Wade's spectacular healing factor means he instead watches the bullet emerge and drop out. The forceps end up juggled in brief limp-wristed surprise before they too end up in the sink. Wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead, Steve blows a gusty sigh and then turns to wash off his hands. Meticulous, he works every fleck of it from his skin.

"You're a good man, Wade. Thank you for taking the heat off of my teammates." Glancing over his shoulder, he shoots Wade a half-smile.

Deadpool has posed:
"I wasn't counting. I count how many times I shoot the other guy. I mean, why keep track of mine?" Why indeed, the healing makes it less important!

"I mean, unless I'm going for like 'top score' or something. How many bullets are in me at once. I suspect that's really high, I've been shredded before. But not often. At least, not unintentionally." Wade considers, and pivots around, still seated on the table, and then beams.

"It wasn't just that ONE guy putting out the hits, but this was the one that I get paid for. But I think he had the Avenger ones, so, yay?" Wade offers both thumbs up?

Captain America has posed:
In the middle of toweling off his hands, Steve keeps smiling at the Merc, if it's got an uncomfortable, sympathetic cast to it. Shredded? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that healing factor is nothing to mess with.

"Yay," he echoes firmly before putting aside the hand-towel. His palms migrate to his hips now as he eyes the back of Wade's suit as best he can and then the masked face. "I really appreciate this, Wade, I do. While I don't..." A little shrug, as if agreeing with himself that honesty is the best policy. "I wish it involved less violence, if only for your comfort, you saved a bunch of lives here -- not only just my people, but everyone else they'll save in the future. Thank you."

Deadpool has posed:
"I didn't murder the gangster," Wade says, with a sort of uncomfortable dismay. "I mean, I hurt him, yes." He lifts one finger, and then curls it downwards, and then shrugs. "More money alive on that one. I don't really get /involved/ in the 'whys' or who needs who to have cement shoes," Wade says. He drops his hands. "I think they just put a hit on someone else that's nasty, and therefore there was a counter-hit issued. Happens a LOT. Maybe Batman. Again, I stay out of it. That's why I get the big jobs. Trust. That sort of thing. Now, technically, hurting Elixir would've paid better, but we gotta make some moral judgements sometimes." Wade claps his hands together once, and then nods at Captain America. Moral. Yes.

Captain America has posed:
"Good call, Wade." Slowly nodding, Steve leans back against the sink and seems to relax a visible amount. The tension in his shoulders bleeds away and now his thumbs loosely hang from his jean pockets. "Good call. 'ppreciate the moment to check yourself. No more bullets, right?"

His eyes rove over the Merc's suit one more time. The burnt section of it appears to have healed over just fine, as he expected.

Deadpool has posed:
"Yeah. I mean, no bullets inside my body. Gonna catch a quick shower, that cool?" Wade asks, gesturing sort of loosely around or above them. It's somewhere, and Wade's pretty sure he can find it, even if it takes wandering into the wrong place a few times first.

Captain America has posed:
Steve points out towards the hallway of the medical ward. "It'd be the third door down on the left, with the bathroom sign on it. Dunno if there's any soap in there, but the water runs hot enough. Should be some towels folded on the rack on the wall beside the stall. S'got hand-rails if you need 'em."

Not that Wade probably needs them, but it's the thought that counts.

"I'll sit in the hallway until you're done...eat a muffin or...something." Contemplating a muffin is an option, but apparently not the most accepted at the time. Maybe he'll try one regardless, stubborn as he notoriously is. "Rather not have the drones after you again."

Deadpool has posed:
"Oooh! Muffin first!" Wade pivots mentally without looking back. He pats his hands together once, twice. Yes for the muffin. "Healing makes me starving. And other things. Or being confused makes me heal. It's connected. Fo' sho'."

Captain America has posed:
"Sure, muffins." Pushing off the sink, the Captain then walks back out into the hallway. There, on the plate once seen gleaming in the morning sun, are the four muffins. He picks up the plate and offers it towards Wade.

"Pick one. Got apple-fritter, blueberry, chocolate-banana, and banana-walnut." Steve points at each as he introduces it. He swallows, still tasting the scent of blood in the back of his throat. Blech. Maybe the blueberry for himself, to wash away the metallic residue.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade does pick. It's extremely random. He then reconsiders, and starts to put it back, but he got his bloody prints on the wrapper. He grins - it shows despite the mask, and takes it again with a 'tee-hee'. "Didn't even have to lick it to claim it as mine," he says, playful, and settles to eat it, agreeable. And then attempt to take a second one. Hungry, yes.

"Are you sure you don't wanna shower, too? I'll pass the soap," Deadpool offers, as if that were somehow a way to coax the other man. "Then again, we might revisit your muffins, I'm a travesty. Sit tight. I'll go get squeaky!"

And with that, Deadpool's off to get wet.

Or whatever.