"On the one hand apparently Doc Ock would have given me eleven more hours to get there if he hadn't been able to tell I'd had warning; on the other hand, this way everyone knew exactly what was happening and I had help and am therefore not dead, so on balance I think I like having it out there." 

"Last time I checked he wanted you to call him or something, but I'm not gonna say no to more tips."

"I'm going to text him. We should maybe have a group chat or something — we here meaning all the superheroes who know each other, not just the two of us." 

"Stark and Cap are kind of the contact point for the whole Avengers thing. The rest of them are bad at phones. Give me your number, I'll get you in on that group text."

He pulls up settings and shows it to him rather than saying it out loud. Can't be too careful. 

Deadpool's heavy-duty phone case has a vinyl sticker of a unicorn on the back.

dorito, tin can, i present to you...spiderman

spider-man? what's ap style here

either's fine

the newspapers use spiderman but I think that's just to minimize characters in the headline 

heya ungoliant 

how are your burritos

they're great 

deadpool has such good taste in restaurants 

he's a liar they're not even here yet

I'm not lying this place smells great 

I'd say fight me except for how please don't 

murder hobo has great restaurant recommendations

I assume he learns about them by stealing from their dumpsters

how dare you

i steal from better dumpsters than this

The food arrives. Deadpool's combo plate contains some kind of horrifying deep-fried mini-burrito object. Sasha's burrito is, indeed, bigger than his head, and drenched in sauce, with rice and beans and some kind of little pile of greens that might aspire to be a salad.

Deadpool reaches up immediately to pull up the bottom of his mask, folding it over a few times carefully.

Half of the exposed part of his face is normal – pale skin, chapped lips, spider bite piercing. The other half is all deep red, pitted scar tissue, Krueger-esque in texture.

That had to have hurt. 

Sasha mimics the way he folds his mask up. He knows he's probably staring but if he looks away awkwardly that won't exactly be less hurtful. 

"This is good," he says, instead of commenting. 

"I'm great at restaurants."

He starts to take apart his obligatory chimichangas.

"You can ask about the bacon face, if you want," he adds.

He takes a bite, swallows it probably too quickly. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Not that often," he says, between bites. "The nerves are a little weird, sometimes, but usually that's the bottom of my foot or something. Which is a bitch when you have to run everywhere."

He nods seriously and goes back to eating. That Guy clearly needed the food, but fuck he's hungry. 

...aww. He's kinda cute, isn't he?

Deadpool makes very short work of his own food. Tiny pile of weird salad included.

He leaves the tiny pile of weird salad but everything else is gone. 

Deadpool inspects Sasha's empty plate.

"...that's pretty impressive."

The first response that comes to mind is definitely oversharing. He doesn't give it. 

"I was hungry!" 

"You're more powerful than I thought," he says, with what is by all appearances a completely straight face. Not that it's easy to tell through the mask.

He's a fifteen year old boy who hasn't eaten all day. Power has nothing to do with it. 

"...Thank you?" he says instead of that. 

He wipes his mouth, takes one last drink of water and returns his mask to its unfolded and locked position. Way more comfortable like this.

"So, you got my number, you got my burrito-eating tips – anything else?"