9176/FYI, Wade. No.

FYI, Wade. No.
Date of Scene:	13 September 2019
Location:	Den and Study, Avengers Mansio
Synopsis:	Steve lectures Wade, and Wade flips out.
Cast of Characters:	Captain America, Deadpool

---

Captain America has posed:
Having recovered from the earlier incident in the second floor hallway of the Avengers mansion and finding himself not choking in the least, Steve is now sequestered away in the den and study. He's also managed to corral Wade in the room as well, one way or another, and bade the Merc to remain present. Somehow, despite the pink remaining at his ears, the Captain has showed a great restraint in both his actions and wording. The infamous self-control shines even if strained.

"Look, Wade." It's a simple beginning for what he hopes is a simple discussion. Lecture. Talking-to. Steve briefly rubs his temples where he slowly paces across the length of a long rectangular rug. Barefoot, it's soft beneath his feet, and he still wears the t-shirt and sweatpants from earlier.

The golden crow's nest of his hair is almost dry by now.

"Look, you can't just... There's gotta be some limits." He gestures now at Wade with hands out before himself vertically, as if to deliniate these limits before himself. "Do you understand the potential consequences of what you just did?"

Again, keeping it simple.

Deadpool has posed:
This is probably extra weird since Wade still has the previous image inducer image on: Thor. So there's that.

Wade takes a seat on one of the couches, looking entirely upbeat and attentive, weaving his fingers together in front of him neatly, and watching poor Steve. The emotion seems to be smiles and interest.

When asked the question, Wade lifts one finger against his cheek, and then raises his hand.

Like he's in class.

And waves it a little bit.

Captain America has posed:
It's with what must be a rueful slump of his shoulders that Steve sighs (champion sigher that he is) and decides he'll humor the Merc.

"Yes, Mister Wilson, go ahead," he says in a patient tone very comfortably belonging to a substitute teacher wishing to be anywhere but here.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade looks around as if to be sure he's the correct Mr. Wilson that is being called upon to answer the question.

Then he drops his hand.

"No," Wade says, helpfully. It's full Wade-voice, there's zero attempt to pretend to be anyone else. Beyond the image displayed, anyway.

Captain America has posed:
Appearing to have sucked on a lemon for a fleeting seconds, the Captain then composes himself. He ends up with his hands on his hips in unconscious display of disapproval even if his tone remains as calm as he can manage despite the mild beat of his pulse in his skull still singing merrily. Oh, Asgardian ale, you delicious, dastardly day-wrecker.

"Not only are you supposed to be on-site in your usual suit so we can recognize you, you showed up as an Avenger who has been missing for enough time to merit legitimate concern and the eventual call for an exfil. Thor has not been responding to comms for weeks and while a few days is normal, weeks is not. Not only that, but his absence has been a critical point of interest for someone who should NOT be f -- "

Ahem.

"Mucking around as he is. Not only that, but impersonating this particular individual that you are STILL IMPERSONATING despite every indicator of this being a less-than-wise idea is not only distracting the team from their daily tasks around the mansion, but also giving this individual every reason to find fault in you and bring a case against you of illegal image-inducer use."

Inhale.

"And this doesn't even BEGIN to cover the fact that I was, in fact, NOT CHOKING in //ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM//."

Pointed index finger at Wade.

"So while your assistance was well-intended, I'M SURE, please...for the love of all things holy, Wade, please be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN I am choking next time before you attempt any form of assistance."

He sighs and rubs a hand down the side of his face. "...I hate being hungover."

Deadpool has posed:
Wade seems capable of listening. He is also capable of very very obviously moving his hand to the image inducer and shutting it off. He does this about during the 'STILL IMPERSONATING despite every indicator of this being a less-than-wise idea' bit, and then drops his hands back to his lap, fingers laced. He is in his usual black and read leather suit, hood on, expression far harder to read with the image inducer off.... and yet his eyes somehow are big and full like Puss'n'Boots from Shrek.

"Natasha did tell me if I wanted to try to fill in while Thor is missing I should do it as myself, but she ALSO said she didn't think that would fly. Those are very mixed signals," Wade sighs heavily. "I did not think anyone HERE would be confused, because I failed to be able to create sparkles from my hands or fly." Those are the requirements that came to mind.

"Also I refuse to wait if you really are in danger and I can help. I wasn't gonna hurt you," Wade scoffs. "If I had gotten out a pen to stab you in the throat, /then/ maybe yes, my helping would have been a problem. But you will NOT CHOKE on my watch, Captain Rogers!"

Captain America has posed:
By the forebearing little wrinkle of nose, even Steve can spot the points of earnest logic put forth by the Merc with the Mouth. He's grateful to have the man seated and in his usual costume. It's a bitter thing still, however, balancing the relief of reality in front of him with the continued absence of the Thunderer.

"I...//appreciate// you keeping that eye out for me, Wade, but I really don't think I'll be choking anytime soon. However, Nat's right. You can't help as Thor because you're NOT Thor. You're Wade. You can't make summon lightning or suddenly get yanked off the ground by a magic hammer."

The thing's heavy enough anyways and it's been some time since the Captain's tried to lift it. Maybe another idle attempt sometime soon, after...well. IF Thor returns from whatever's keeping him.

"It's not helpful. None of that was helpful, Wade. If you want to help us, you help as you -- in THAT suit right there," and again, the pointed finger.

Deadpool has posed:
"This suit right here."

"I thought I'd enjoy a special time with Captain America giving a speech," Wade observes, as if talking to somebody in his own head. "Like maybe that's for a bucket list. 'Earn a private talking to'. But then I look at myself, like. Really, Wade, this is all you've come to."

"Yeah. Not an Avenger. Hm. Well. Fuck it." Cheerfully, but there's a tone under it that's sharp, like a lucid bite in a jumble of lazy french kissing.

At the pressure of guilt, Wade suddenly moves. Like many of his more unpredictable states, there's no warning about it. It isn't like he acts more dangerous, then is dangerous. It's just out of nowhere.

He unlaces his hands, pats them down his thighs. And then hooks a gun out (not the one he unloaded and tossed the magazine at Cap from, different one), and flips it around to just under his own jawline on the right side, pulling the safety off in the same motion. If Steve's fast, he might be able to do something about it, but otherwise...

Captain America has posed:
Steve's head jerks back at the insinuation and the language. It's not the latter that makes his mouth fall open in a quiet sound of disagreement.

"Wade, I did NOT imply that you could not be an Avenger, I said you could help as you. My point wasn't to exclu -- "

Upon the sight of the gun, the first thing through the Captain's mind isn't that the man in the red-and-black suit can heal from anything: it's that he has to stop this IMMEDIATELY. He goes a shade paler even as he moves, choking out what could have been Wade's name on an exhale. A lunge for the gun with his hand attempts to wrap around the length of the barrel and shove it backwards as well as away from Wade's head and towards the ceiling, bullet holes in the very nice and varnished wood be damned.

Successful grab.

Then comes the yank on the gun itself as if he'd disarm the Merc of it -- but this, in turn, comes with pulling Wade along with him and more than likely against Steve's chest like one half of an Argentine Tango in key of C major for MAJOR CHAOS.

Deadpool has posed:
"No it's mine," Wade replies automatically, orienting to the sudden stimulus of being pounced on for NO REASON.

Seriously, so out of the blue.

The gun doesn't fire, though there were four pounds on that five pound trigger; Wade has enough finesse to not put bullets where he doesn't want them. In this case, Steve's now too close, and he's not going to be the guy that shot captain America. He's not some Winter Soldier. "LET IT GO, LET IT GOOOOOOOO, ELSA."

Wade pulled his knees and legs up and forward bizarrely as he's pulled forwards, which means that if Steve topples, he may have a Wade squatting on him, instead of spread eagle. It's just that Wade went into FITE mode unconsciously.

"Let go let go," Wade says, pat-patting at Steve's fingers on the gun they are both holding with his free one, uncaring about the rest of what's going on, or if they're toppling mid air, or what.

Captain America has posed:
They're definitely toppling. With another WHUFT of lost air, Steve lands on the carpeted flooring. He doesn't, however, relinquish his grip on that gun's barrel. It's going to take Wade prying his cold dead hands from it. Or maybe the metal body itself giving to his super-strength.

"No, Wade, I'm not -- " Cough. " -- not giving you the gun back, it's -- " Another cough and the Captain sits up at the waist, still trying to pull the weapon from Wade's hand. "Just gimme the gun, Wade, I WILL NOT HAVE YOU HURT IN MY HOUSE!!!"

Deadpool has posed:
"I'm just going to shoot the mind-spiders," Wade says with a frustrated sound, as he were asking for something totally rational, like a kleenex to blow his nose. Look at the snot, he clearly needs a damn tissue, you heartless person.

"They're just crawling and I don't like it much. I start /considering/ real things." That's likely true. Wade doesn't want to ground quite that much right now. It might suck to actually accept the rejection, rather than just 'distract' himself with this.

The objective becomes not to necessarily give the gun up, but to get in front of the muzzle, and Wade leans way forward, chasing it, while not letting go of the gun trigger. It's become a bizarre game of twister. "Too late, already hurt, in the feels," Wade declares, sadly.

Captain America has posed:
"Wade, listen to me!" Steve fights to direct the gun away from the bobbing and weaving of the Merc, still ignoring the fact that he's on his butt in the middle of the den in a spat over a rogue firearm. "LISTEN TO ME!" The volume of his voice has a coincidental parallel growth with his insistency, apparently.

A hand leaves the clutch-fest at the gun to splat in the middle of the Merc's face and shoves hard to attempt to earn some space. "I SAID YOU COULD HELP US, GODDAMNIT, WADE! STOP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Deadpool has posed:
"Mmmffphhhrhh," the merc with the mouth says.

It's proof, really, that the best way to deal with Wade is, very often, to shut him up. That's why the apparently cruel stabbing that Logan does of Wade's lungs tends to happen. Wade is still being clingy about the gun, but the other hand went to Steve's wrist, as he's pushed back. He can't hold onto the gun in a direct fight of strength, just like he'd lose in arm-wrestling, so finally it's torn from him.

A twist of face ends up with saying, snarky, "If you choke me, then YOU have to do CPR---"

Captain America has posed:
"I AM NOT GOING TO CHOKE YOU, WADE!"

The gun is his, excellent. Glass breaks as he immediately throws it out of the nearest window. Out the firearm goes in a decent arc down two stories to the lawn, where security drones immediately converge upon it. Now it's well-guarded indeed.

"Nobody's being choked, nobody's doing ANY CPR, and you need to LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW!" Maybe the full parade voice will filter through to the Merc's past military history.

Deadpool has posed:
Wade ignores the flight of the gun entirely, as if it wasn't even anything after all, and adjusts his head to rest his cheek more comfortably against the palm that's shoved up into his face instead.

"That's true, you aren't," Wade does agree. There's no reaching for his neck here, and that much they can agree on. It's all very tender, if kind of TERRIBLY LOUD.

Captain America has posed:
"Yes, I'm not," Steve agrees firmly, his voice now back down to a volume far less intense than parade-grounds barking. He then drops his hand but remains seated as he is, the splay of his legs stretching on behind the Merc's crouched state. One knee draws up as he continues frowning at Wade.

"Wade. The hell was that."

Deadpool has posed:
Wade adjusts his position, hands dropping now that there isn't a big super soldier palm on his nose. He drops his hands to the floor just between Steve's legs (and just that! I did scare you though, didn't I).

He then draws them up to rest on his knees, squatting against his heels, and picks imaginary lint from one of his knees.

"I didn't really like where my thinker was thinking," Wade says, shrugging one shoulder, with a lose gesture towards his head. "It's still thinking it," he adds, with a mini-shrug. "'Cause I know I made it worse. Nat had told me not to. I'm not always good at instructions. Seemed like a good idea at the time. So did the gun thing." Just now. Seemed like a good idea.

Captain America has posed:
Steve runs a palm down his face before setting it back to keep him more easily seated. He gives Wade an even look, his eyes falling to the pinch and flick of nothing off the suit before they rise again to his masked face.

"Wade. I need you to do me a favor, please, as one of my friends. If your thinker is having those thoughts, can you text me? Shoot me a message. I'll talk with you even if it's only texting." Reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls out his cellphone and gestures at the Merc with it. "Look, it's not like morse code machines or messages by pigeon. Texts fly fast." The cellphone gets put away again, on the off-chance of misconstrued assumption that Steve is giving it to Wade.

Deadpool has posed:
"I can just show up in the hallway," Wade reminds, as if that were more appropriate than texting. "Oh."

/Ohhhhh/.

"Instead of being in person. Text. Mmmm."

Wade moves to his pockets, fishes around -- moves some dental floss and a harmonica out of the way to get his phone, and then begins to text. Right then.

Emoji stream: RUBBER DUCKY. SWORD. SKULL SKULL SKULL SKULL. SAD FACE.

"I like to talk more, honestly. Usually I talk to myself while I text. Or emo-gize. Whatever this is," Wade explains. "I think it's nice here. I came by. Natasha gave me a snuggle. It's good. Self-snuggling only goes so far. I guess it's extreme to put it in terms of snuggle or gunshot to head. Sorry Steve."

Captain America has posed:
"Then show up in the hallway, Wade." By the sounds of it, for now, Steve's giving up on the concept of personal space and predictable privacy -- but he's fully aware that it's for a good cause. "Text me, and then show up in the hallway, and we can talk in person. If I'm here," the Captain amends with a tilt of his head to one side.

"I'm going to be very busy soon here and I might not be home often. You can go to Nat too, I assume, given you were visting her earlier. If we're not home, then text us anyways, okay?"

Deadpool has posed:
Wade climbs to his feet, with a smooth movement of leg and balance, coming up from a crouch.

Emoji stream: UNICORN UNICORN HEART TACO HEART. ....SAD FACE?

"I'll figure a new way to help. Must not despair. I was just thinking like, hey, I have a gizmo, and clearly that's what the team /lacks/, so. Thor peg in Thor hole," Wade explains.

"It sounds really insane. Even for me," Wade reflects.

"Brain spiders again. Mmmmmm. Like thoughts you don't really want, and they are chewing so you can't think about the things you'd rather think about," Wade chatters. "They are allergic to ice-picks and bullets. But I see that upsets you. I'll try." Wade offers a hand up.

Captain America has posed:
With a grunt, the Captain takes the offered hand and gets up to his feet with Wade's assistance. He takes a moment to straighten his shirt and brush palms down it, as if to ward away any wrinkles upon its fit.

"I appreciate that you'll try," he says quietly, holding eye contact...supposedly, with how Wade's mask is whited out where the eyes should be. "It's all most of us can do in the end. I expect you'll succeed."

Deadpool has posed:
"Can I stay tonight? Couch. I'll stay out of your bed, like you asked me to," Wade says, with some clarity. "You can say no, I'll try Nat next," Wade clarifies. "You're not like, leaving me in a bathtub with a pile of razors either way, just sos we're clear. Also I cannot actually die that way, and it just ends up being a huge waste of time and water."

Wade senses the issue with eye contact, and abruptly pulls up both hands to pull at the neck of his mask, and pull it off fully. There's emotion on Wade's face that the mask held hidden the whole time: awareness. He may even be pushing the crazy more than usual, that 'mask' literal and figurative, against something else, deeper and injured, that probably was going on long before he showed up and tried to be accepted as Thor and part of a team.

Captain America has posed:
"...yes, Wade, you can sleep on the couch," replies Steve after a moment of consideration. His shoulders slump and he lets out a long sigh as he rubs the back of his neck briefly. "You can borrow a pair of sweatpants and a shirt too, if you want. There's food in the mini-fridge if you're hungry. C'mon."

The man turns to walk out of the den with a measured speed of pace, as if he expected Wade to follow.

Deadpool has posed:
"Okay. I --- am going to not be weird right now. I had some weird stuff. But I'm actually sleepy as hell, and it's effecting me," Wade says, coming along.

"Is my gun gonna be okay all alone on the lawn?" Wade wonders, as if it might need a bedtime story.

The window is looked at, but Wade chooses wisely: he goes with Steve, instead of the gun. This time.