Doctor Octopus is, in what is not remotely a surprise to anyone except the parole board, not on the straight and narrow. In fact, he appears to be planning to take revenge on Spiderman for the last six times he went to prison. He's not working with Kingpin and doesn't seem to be working with anyone else. He is intending to smoke Spiderman out by threatening something near Central Park either Tuesday or Friday of next week, probably in the afternoon, then lure Spiderman into an elaborate deathtrap which uses Chitauri technology. Several diagrams of possible deathtrap designs follow, with advice about how to prepare to escape them.

The last paragraph is "I don't know whether Spiderman's villains read this website, but it is not exactly a secure means of communication. My Signal number is 718-462-3635."

...Sasha has literally no idea how anyone could possibly know that, but whoever runs this website knows a lot of things that Sasha has no idea how anyone could possibly know. He studies up on ways to escape deathtraps; he's planning to bail if they don't need Actually Specifically Spiderman In Particular to deal with it, but better safe than sorry. 

He looks up what the hell a Signal number is, then downloads Signal and texts the website owner. 

thank you for the help 

this is spiderman by the way 

I can facetime if you want proof but idk if this app supports it, I'm new to everything 

And he's getting a Signal videocall!

The person he's talking to has their video off.

Good thing he was already wearing the suit. "Thank you again for the help." He doesn't hide his accent most of the time, but when he has the mask on the extra anonymity just makes him feel more secure. 

"No problem." He pauses. "Can you show me that you're spiderman and not some dude in a Halloween costume?"

He angles the phone so the person on the other end can see, and then shoots a web from his wrist to the ceiling of the building he's sitting on. "I'd swing around but I have a 'no being on the phone while swinging from tall buildings' policy." 

The guy's voice sounds a little weird. "That... makes sense. So, uh. I know things about you. Which is not really helpful for you because you... also know things about you. But I know things about your villains too and that might... come in more handy?"

"I'd like to know your information about me just to get a sense of how much you know, if that's something you're alright with sharing. But yes, the villain information is more directly useful." 

"That's not a question that really has, um, an answer? What I know about you. I mean."

"...I don't know what that means, I'm sorry." 

"I'm, uh, a mutant? And my power is... pattern recognition, I guess? I can look at information and see what it implies? --It's a really dumb power, it's mostly good for solving sudoku really fast and running a fansite."

That sounds like it'd be good for more things than just a fansite but it's not like Sasha's ever poked at it.

"— oh, good, some of the crimes you've listed me as having stopped are crimes I didn't think anyone knew I was there for and I was worried I was getting careless — you don't have to take them down, to be clear, I don't mind people knowing I just wasn't sure how you knew." 

"I figured. It would be better. If people knew about all the good things you did?"

"Thank you. Again." 

The person on the other end can't see that he's smiling, because of the mask, but he can hear it. 

The person on the other end is quiet for an uncomfortable period of time. 

Finally he says, "Uh, I got... lucky? With Doc Ock."

"— like, by sheer chance you happened to be looking at the right information? or something else?" 

"He has, um, the arms? So whenever he goes anywhere it shows up on a bunch of true super crime websites. So I had a lot of data? And Norman Osbourne can just take off his armor and walk around."

"Oh, that makes sense — seriously, thank you." 

"If you tell me more things about what your villains are up to, I can probably... help? Better. I mean, you don't have to, you have no reason to trust me or anything, but like it might help to know what people are doing? I can text you with anything I can get from publicly available information anyway."

"It's been quiet the last couple of weeks, which is good but makes me nervous. I don't get a lot of advance warning and most of the things I do wind up making the news but I can text you things too." 

"That's... good. Uh. A lot of stuff that doesn't seem like much to normal people can still help me? I just. --I'm not powerful enough to get things out of information that aren't there in the first place."

"Makes sense — uh, Kingpin's doing a thing with rent pricing? It's not actually illegal but usually that means he doesn't have any supervillainous schemes planned for the near future." 

"Oh, wait. Kingpin has a lot of publicly available information, doesn't he? Sorry. I probably should have thought of that by myself. Sorry."

"No, you don't have to be sorry, you were right, there's a lot of publicly available information about Kingpin in general but his supervillain stuff tends to go under the radar. Can't imagine why." 

"No, I mean, there'll be patterns in it-- places where the money obviously isn't going where it's supposed to be going or has come from nowhere, or where his companies' decisions don't make any sense-- I can definitely tell you what Kingpin's up to."

He sounds significantly less anxious.

"I seriously can't thank you enough." 

"Don't... worry about it? It's fine."

"Still. Thank you." 

"I'll... go? And get started on the Kingpin thing?"

"— yeah, good idea. And I'll talk to you later?" 

"I'll text you when I have something?"

Nod. Two fingered wave. "Bye!" 

Lev does not get started on the Kingpin thing. He flops in his bed and contemplates the fact that Spiderman smiled at him. He's kind of ecstatic and kind of horny and he kind of wants to die. 

He really only came up here to have somewhere private to talk. He swings around buildings for a little while just because he can, and then slips back inside and changes out of the suit and goes to bed. 

When Sasha goes to English class the next morning, That Guy Who Always Lets Sasha Cheat Off His Test is sitting in his accustomed seat next to Sasha. He's thin, almost emaciated, like he's looking for a career in fashion modeling once he graduates from Stuyvesant. In his usual manner, he's eating something calorie-dense with one hand (today it's a muffin) while solving a puzzle with the other (today it's the world's thousand most impossible crossword puzzles, through which he is moving at a steady clip). 

He has his homework done (thank god for SparkNotes and Goodreads quote lists) and, while he didn't actually read the chapters they were supposed to read, he did read someone's blog post about the book so he has some opinions on it that he can use for the class discussion. 

He definitely does not look longingly at the muffin, because seriously That Guy Who Always Lets Sasha Cheat Off His Test needs to eat more, and knowing him That Guy would totally just give Sasha his food. 

That Guy eats a lot, actually; he's eating basically whenever Sasha sees him. It doesn't seem to have made him any less thin. 

Class starts. That Guy sadly puts away his crossword puzzle book. He not only has done his homework, he is the only person in the class who actually seems to care about the thematic implications of the green light in the Great Gatsby.

Yeah, well. He still clearly needs to eat more.

Sasha is careful not to never raise his hand, but also to never be one of less than five people with their hands up. He gets called on exactly once and, while he hasn't in fact read any of The Great Gatsby, he sure can make up some stuff about the color green. 

That Guy snorts at Sasha's opinions on the color green. 

Halfway through class, the teacher announces a group project. That Guy turns hesitantly towards Sasha as if he wants to ask him to work with him, but is also terrified at the prospect.

Oh, good, That Guy knows what he's about. 

Sasha turns his whole body to face him, sitting sideways in his desk. "Want to work together?" 

"Yeah. Yeah I would."

He makes a mental note to tell his parents about the group project; this'll be his excuse for getting home late for as long as he can make it last. 

"Awesome!" He smiles at That Guy. He does not remember That Guy's name. He's pretty sure he's heard That Guy's name, and it would be kind of rude to not remember it, so he's just going to glance at his paper later to find out what it is. 

That Guy glances at the teacher. She is not paying any attention. 

He whispers, "we can, like, go to your place to work on it if you want? But if you don't I'm happy to just... do it. I know you're really busy." 'Because you keep cheating off my tests' goes unstated. "And it's often faster and the project gets a better grade if I do the whole thing by myself."

"...are you sure?" 

He asks more because it feels like a bad idea not to say it than for any other reason. 

There is some amount of internal conflict on That Guy's face!

"Yeah, of course, I don't like spending two hours arguing about what font to use any more than anyone else does."

Well, That Guy had his chance to say that no actually he wanted Sasha to do his part. 

"Okay! I will try not to get underfoot, then." 

When Sasha smiles at That Guy he blushes bright red, bites his lip, and looks down at the desk. 

Perhaps that will provide some enlightenment about what That Guy's internal conflict about the group project was and why he's putting so much effort into Sasha's grade in English class.

Oh no that's cute. Sasha feels a tiny bit bad about using him for a grade and significantly more bad about not remembering his name. "Thank you," he says, a little bit softer. 

Blush blush blush blush. "Anytime."

He smiles again and keeps to himself for the rest of the period; if anyone looks at him, he is very intensely working on what looks like it might be the project but is actually his homework for next period. 

By coincidence That Guy is also working on something that... might be their group project? It's not super-clear. There are a lot of circles and arrows drawn between circles and question marks and everything is named things like "K3" or "LL" or "~*~". 

It's either a really weird approach to the Great Gatsby or homework for some class Sasha is too stupid and too Spiderman-y to be in. 

That Guy seems like he knows what he's doing; if he wants to do his (....math? people do stuff like that in higher math, right? or maybe it's programming, who knows) homework in English class Sasha will trust him. And keep working on his history questions, which he is mostly bullshitting based on half-remembered anecdotes. 

By the end of class his hands are shaking and he almost falls over when he stands up. 

As he walks up, he opens up a pack of Reese's Pieces and shoves them mechanically into his mouth. 

....this isn't the route Sasha usually takes to his next class but it's whatever. And there's free apples and stuff at the cafeteria, it's not like he'll be hungry if he gives That Guy.... whose name he still doesn't know.... his food. He hurries to catch up to him on the way out. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Uh. Yeah?"

That Guy looks profoundly uncomfortable. 

"Okay. I, just, um. Have food? If you want it?" 

His eyes are huge.

"Yes," he says around a mouthful of Reese's Piece. "Please."

His lunch is a sandwich and a Snicker's bar. That Guy can have it. 

They disappear in like a minute flat. 

"Sorry, it's a medical thing," he says. He looks noticeably less shaky.

"It's fine, I'm glad you're okay. 

— I should get to class, probably. See you." 

"Yeah. See you." 

As Sasha leaves, That Guy takes an Ensure out of his bag and drinks it in a single gulp.

Yeah, he's just... not... gonna interact with that. 

School is school. He takes the subway home, drops off his backpack, and heads for Central Park on the subway; halfway there he gets off the subway, suits up, and swings the rest of the way. Do they in fact need Spiderman there, as opposed to Literally Anyone Else Who Is More Equipped To Survive A Death Trap? 

Doctor Octopus has a loudspeaker!

"If Spiderman doesn't turn himself in to me in the next hour," he says, "the bombs under the Met will go off!"

Wow, that's blatant. 

He really hopes they're evacuating the Met, just in case. 

"What's this about bombs?" he says, all casual, from a wall twenty feet above Doc Ock's head. 

"You've thwarted me for the LAST TIME, Spiderman!"

"You say that a lot," he observes. 

Instead of a response, Doc Ock roars and tries to hit Spiderman with one of his arms.

"It does kinda lose its punch after a while."

Bullets.

He takes a few shots for the base of the offending arm – and one for the head, but the stupid headshot never hits the first time with recurring villains.

DId he really expect that Doc Ock's arms wouldn't be bulletproof?

Doc Ock catches the headshot bullet out of the air.

Once there aren't any bullets flying around, this seems like an excellent moment to swing over to a different building. Perhaps one further away from Doctor Octopus. 

"You know New York is big, right?" he says, still false-casual. "What if I'd been in the Bronx? Were you seriously going to bomb the Met if I couldn't hear you from the Bronx? You weren't even gonna try to send an email?" 

Doc Ock chases him to the next building. "I was going to give you twelve hours but your little friend at the fansite gave you some warning."

Yeah that's pretty much how he figured the opening salvo was gonna go down.

"Yeah, about that – I heard there were gonna be death traps? And if there aren't I'm gonna need to ask for a refund."

More bullets. Aiming for the squishy bits this time.

"I'm kind of offended that you think I'm the kind of person who reads my own fansite," says Sasha, who absolutely reads his own fansite. Over here is a building that looks like it's already been evacuated, how about he goes over here. 

It maybe should have been predictable that the building without any people in it would instead have a robot that would grab Sasha and throw him into Deathtrap Type #2. 

— look, presumably they were evacuating the area, if Doctor Octopus is announcing his intention to bomb the Met it is not that weird to evacuate office buildings around the Met — 

 He goes very very still. 

—well, fuck, how is he supposed to get up there?

(Also, wow, having his internal monologue in the third person is weird.)

Deathtrap Type #2 is a classic. Someone has been paying more attention in English class than Sasha has. 

Sasha's wrists and ankles are cuffed to a slab; the cuffs are Chitauri tech and he can't break out of them. A razor-sharp pendulum is moving back and forth, gradually getting closer and closer to Sasha's belly. 

He's pretty sure they don't teach this in English class. 

He shrinks backwards against the slab — it's not much more time but even a couple of seconds counts — and then goes back to holding still. 

Why! Does this building! Have so many stairs!

The pendulum explodes. 

"Not a very original death trap design. Villains these days think they can rip off Poe and nobody will notice because obviously no one has ever read a book published before 1900--"

Someone bursts out of the stairwell.

“Fuck these fucking stairs—”

“—Oh. Beat me to it, huh.”

He flinches back from the explosion, turns his face away from any bits of razor-sharp pendulum that might go flying. 

When several seconds go by and he is not in fact being cut by bits of razor-sharp pendulum, he turns back, opens his eyes. 

The facemask opens and a face from the cover of a magazine is grinning at him. 

"Spidey! Always a pleasure to see you tied up."

"I'll have to show you again some time," is the first set of words that pops into his head. 

"Under more recreational circumstances!" he agrees. After briefly examining the cuffs, he says, "crap, those are well-made. I'm going to fly Deadpool down to handle Dr. Dream of the Fisherman's Wife over there and then I'll see about getting you unlocked."

“Aww, don’t I get to stick around for the bondage?”

"Later, sweetheart." He throws Deadpool over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. 

He tries to make himself breathe more normally. 

(The death trap is gone, his parents aren't going to have to wonder where their son is because he's going to get to go home —) 

Aww. Poor kid.

He waves goodbye as he’s carried off.

“Bye, Spidey! Love your work!”

Okay, that makes him laugh. He'd wave back, but: handcuffs. 

"I've turned over this whole pacifist leaf," Asher says, "but I used to go to the Met with my dad when I was a kid. So I am going to drop you off with your giant-ass guns and when I get back I expect you to claim it was self-defense, okay?"

He winks. Which isn’t actually visible through the mask, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Gotcha. Doc shot first.”

Doc Ock is, in fact, on top of the building, preparing to enter and deliver his dramatic monologue about Spiderman's demise. 

Asher puts Deadpool on the ground and takes off. "Fuck his shit up for me."

“You got it, hot stuff.”

He levels one of his pistols at the back of Doc Ock’s neck and fires.

Doc Ock dodges the bullet and says something about how Deadpool will never stop him. 

And Asher goes back in through the window. 

"Spidey, my love, I am heartbroken, absolutely wretched, about the time we spent apart."

"I pined at the window," he says, and flexes his fingers. "Am I going to get out of these handcuffs?" 

"As soon as I figure out how to get you out, my darling, without breaking your skull."

He works at one of the cuffs. His fingers touch Spiderman's wrists slightly more than strictly necessary.

That could be awkward but whatever he'll deal with it if he has to. In the meantime it's nice to have contact. Asher's hands are warm. Sasha's breathing has gone back to normal by now. 

The cuffs open. 

"I can probably solo the bombs but I wouldn't mind company, especially not company as delightful as you are."

(There is quite a lot of yelling and machine gun fire from outside.)

"I'm happy to thwart Doc Ock one last time." 

"Truly you know the way to a man's heart."

Asher jumps out the window.

Sasha follows — avoiding all the bullets is complicated but totally doable — and makes a point of flashing a peace sign at Doctor Octopus. 

Doc Ock is, unfortunately, a little bit busy right now. He does snarl at Spiderman.

Sounds like a great time to grab the katana and go for his neck!

It turns out combining a katana and a neck produces a LOT of blood. 

That sounds like a problem for Doc Ock to deal with. Until it isn't, of course. 

The Met should be empty by now; he drops to the ground next to where Asher lands. 

"Now, if I were a bomb, where would I hide...'

.....can he just play hot-or-cold with the spidey sense? A buried bomb should count as danger, right? 

He sure can!

Asher has some complicated piece of Stark tech that does basically the same thing. 

(Wow, he totally didn’t expect that slice to actually connect. But now, after a little extra work, he has a souvenir!)

"Here," in the middle of the front staircase. 

"Your thing is better than mine, want to find the rest while I disable them?"

"For sure." 

There's another near this fountain — another over here, another right here — he leaves webshots to mark the spots for Asher. 

"Think I found them all, but do we have any way to know how many there are?" 

"I can check whether the thing he was doing makes any engineering sense?"

Nod. "I left web to mark where they are. All the ones I found are the same depth but I don't know how deep that is." 

"Cool." Asher uses the loudspeaker in his suit. "Hey, murder hobo, get in here and go buy Shelob a chimichanga." 

"I am Ungoliant herself, excuse you." 

Asher blinks and then grins. "Go out with me?"

'I can't, I'm fifteen' is right out. 

".....maybe some other time," he says instead, and lets himself sound a little bit shaky. 

Luckily for certain spiders’ pristine virtue, he was already on his way. Nobody understands how hard it is to be slogging around everywhere on foot.

“Hey! Does it still count as self-defense if I keep this?”

He holds up a...head. Yep, that’s a head.

"As far as I'm concerned, the head mysteriously disappeared and I don't know where it went. But please stow it in some appropriate place before you take Ungoliant here out for post-first-deathtrap Tex-Mex."

— Is this how you make friends when you're a superhero? He really hopes death traps aren't the only way to make friends as a superhero. 

“Aww, you’re letting me keep my head and you’re setting me up on a lunch date? If you ever cash in all these favors I’m gonna be so fucked.”

“I mean, you know, figuratively.”

"Sweetheart, the only thing I would cash in my favors for is a literal fucking."

Crap, eating involves taking the mask at least partway off. "I can't believe you're stealing my date," he says, as if this is a thing he does all the time. 

"I steal everyone's dates." 

He is suddenly quiet and serious.

"But my intent here is actually platonic. You seem like you need distraction and I don't actually know a person who is more distracting than Deadpool."

“It’s my special skill!”

Other than murder. And getting incredibly injured. And finding decent Tex-Mex places that’ll let you in carrying seven guns and two swords.

"...yeah. You're not wrong.

Thank you. For everything." 

The seriousness disappears as quickly as it came. 

"I'm never wrong! --Unless you ask Marlo. Marlo has a whole list of things I'm wrong about."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever meet him." 

"Hey, Spidey?"

"Yeah?" 

"The offer was serious but I can in fact take 'no' for an answer."

"...It's not that I wouldn't like to, just. Circumstances." 

Circumstances like being fifteen. 

"Totally fair. Go eat your Tex-Mex, I gotta dearm these bombs."

Facemask on. Sasha can distantly hear the sound of Metallica.

During this emotional exchange, Deadpool has managed to conceal his souvenir in a nearby shrub.

He claps his hands together, spattering his already significantly stained costume with more blood.

“Okay! Little fried burritos! Doctor’s orders!”

That is probably the first time anyone has ever said those six words in that arrangement.

It probably isn't. There's a lot of people in the world and they say a lot of things. 

Now he just has to come up with a way to eat without taking his mask off by the time they get to the Tex-Mex place. 

Luckily, this one is vaguely within walking distance. Which saves one of them the embarrassment of being a superhero calling an Uber.

“So—are you a mutant, or did some cruel bastard do science to you?”

"Some cruel bastard did science to a spider, which was probably trying to just live its life when I came along and it bit me as spiders sometimes do." 

“Aww. Rest in peace, superspider.”

"Indeed. You? — do you actually have superpowers beyond all the guns, I have heard some things about you that would be physically improbable for someone without them but I have also heard some things about me." 

“Oh, yeah. Science bastard got me. I’m unkillable.”

“...or, wait, I think I did die for a couple seconds that time. Point is I regenerate when people do nasty things to me.”

"Damn." 

“Fun, right? Kind of a shame about the side effects.”

And the trauma, but that’s pretty par for the course with his template.

“Anyway show me your web things.”

He shoots at the ground, once from each wrist.

"They don't look like much, you can kinda see them if you're looking really close but I'd basically just be showing you my wrists." 

This is still apparently very exciting.

“So many applications.”

“I’d show you mine, but I just finished sticking my arm back on.”

".....damn," he repeats, because what else can you say. 

“It was a hard breakup, but we’re cool now,” he says, patting his shoulder.

....oh, right, he can just ask Deadpool. "Do you know how to eat without taking the mask off, I have this thing about people knowing who I am." 

"–yeah, that's tricky. I don't think anybody's gonna clock you just from your mouth – yours a separate piece, or do you have a zentai suit thing going on?"

"It's a separate piece. I'm probably being paranoid, but being paranoid isn't really a habit I want to get out of." 

"I can show you how I do it, but you're kind of out of luck if you don't want anybody to see your mouth."

Deadpool is drawing some concerned looks from passers-by. It might be the supervillain blood (although that doesn't show up that much. Red suit, baby!), but it might just be Deadpool.

"Whatever you do seems to work!" 

He does his best to ignore the passers-by. They'll think whatever they'll think. 

"If it works with me, it'll work with anybody. I've got a, uh...kinda distinctive face."

Well, he'll find out. "Then I can just do it your way," and hope nobody notices how young he looks, because from the mouth down isn't enough to notice his identity but it might be enough to notice his age. 

"That's the spirit."

He stops at the door of a tiny restaurant with a couple of potted cacti in the window, and gestures for Sasha to follow him inside.

When he walks into the restaurant, he remembers very suddenly that he's had four apples and nothing else to eat today. 

It smells amazing in there.

A little old Mexican lady (who seems moderately pleased to see them) escorts them to a table and hands them a couple of menus before disappearing into the back.

Deadpool, who already has An Order, doesn't even look at his.

Sasha, who has never been here before, doesn't eat much Mexican food, and barely has preferences about food at all, just looks for the thing that sounds like it'll keep him full the longest. 

"The burritos here are bigger than your head," Deadpool points out, with suspiciously perfect timing.

Sasha looks at him for a moment before he says, "Alright." 

Can you hear me? he thinks at Deadpool, mostly to see if it'll work. 

Deadpool cheerfully inspects his own phone until the old lady comes back with no particular sign of psychic abilities.

"Combo platter number four, please!"

....kay. 

He orders a burrito. 

"...So. Let's get down to brass tacks."

He leans in across the table.

"How creepily accurate is your fansite?"

"Extremely. And now it's apparently offering accurate information about my villains too." 

"Wow. That's serious dedication."

He puts his chin in his hand.

"He doesn't give me villain tips. I'm kinda jealous."

"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?"

"Not that I can think of? And nothing I can't text you to ask about." 

“You all distracted? Mission accomplished? Do you need me to buy you a margarita?”

"Mission accomplished — Once I get home I'll probably manage to undistract myself but at that point I have," don't say parents, "people to hug. A margarita would not help." 

“Well, you ever need one, you’ve got my number.”

Deadpool kind of wants a hug now. Deadpool can keep this tidbit to himself.

“You can swing on home if you want. I got this.”

"Kay. Thank you again, for everything."

“Are you kidding? I definitely got the sweet end of this deal. Met Spiderman, got a head...”

Spiderman. Spider-man? God dammit.

"Still!" 

He swings halfway home, then finds where he'd hidden his clothes, changes, takes the subway the rest of the way back, and hugs his parents. 

When Sasha gets around to checking his phone, he'll discover fansite guy has sent him a message.

kingpin's up to something big, don't know what, tell you when I know more

And so has Asher.

I have your number now

I can use it for nefarious schemes

wait you do have a starkphone right I'm not texting some piece of shit hammerphone

He texts 

thank you 

to the fansite owner, and 

I have a starkphone yes 

to Asher. 

no problem

good because otherwise I would have to get you a starkphone and that might be hard for you to cover up

"yes this is a present from my friend asher stark, we met when I was yachting"

if I said literally exactly that but really sarcastically, probably nobody would question it 

if hypothetically I was going to be worried about a nefarious scheme, what kind of nefarious scheme should I be worried about 

...from you obv I know what kinds of nefarious schemes to actually be worried about 

sometimes it's 2 am and I've been spending the last twelve hours building something nifty and then I climb on top of stark tower and have deep thoughts about life and feel the impulse to text them to people

also when I was a kid I used to sneak out and fix people's cars but I don't really need your cell phone # to do that

that's adorable what 

also I am happy to get 2 am texts about your deep thoughts about life although probably I won't answer them until 6 

I almost got in trouble when my parents found out but my dad actually couldn't stop laughing long enough to think of a punishment

you say that now but you haven't ever woken up to a text that's like "if you think about it isn't knocking on doors basically punching people's houses until you let them in"

the only two am texts I get are like 

flood warnings 

it'd be a nice change 

— Oh that's probably oversharing how about a joke. 

also if you're punching a house you are not knocking on doors correctly 

it's this kind of penetrating insight that makes me want to text you my deep thoughts at 2am

your friends are not late-night people, huh?

I, uh

don't so much with the "having friends" thing 

people are missing out, you're cool

Oh thank god he didn't make it too weird. 

aw 💛 thank you 

yw 💛

ungoliant I have a good feeling about you

He types

what kind of good feeling

and hits send before he can talk himself out of it. 

I think we're gonna be friends

what

were you expecting an innuendo

wasn't expecting anything in particular 

I'm glad 💛

me too

He smiles at his phone for a minute. 

I should probably do a work, but friend

go work, I'll still be here tomorrow

you will! 

He keeps smiling down at his phone while he does homework. 

As promised, Asher texts Sasha random thoughts, sometimes but not always at 2am.

He solicits Sasha's opinions on Iron Man suit redesigns. He takes pictures of flowers he sees growing through cracks in the sidewalk. He has passionate and detailed opinions about the proper kind of New York pizza. He complains about supervillains' terrible sense of aesthetics. He sends Sasha links to melancholy indie rock he likes. At 4am one morning he texts, "I really miss my dad."

Asher flirts, but only occasionally and jokingly. He always calls Sasha 'Ungoliant.'

The fansite guy is apparently having a hell of a time unravelling Kingpin's plans, but he does warn him about no fewer than two assassins Kingpin had hired to kill him.

That Guy gets in trouble for eating in class. He always seems to be doing the thing with the circles and the lines and the cryptic letters. He blushes whenever Sasha smiles at him.

Sasha gets an A on the group project. In the process of getting graded he finds out that That Guy's name is Lev Aarons.

He has strong opinions about Iron Man suit designs and supervillain aesthetics; he sends pictures of cool birds and pet-store fish and links to music he likes, flirts back when he's flirted with but doesn't initiate; the morning after Asher says I miss my dad he doesn't mention it if Asher doesn't, but makes a point of sending him pictures of random small things that day. He listens to more melancholy indie rock than he ever thought he would enjoy. He dodges assassins and thanks the fansite guy. He smiles at Lev whenever he gets a chance and shares his food with him when it makes sense to do that. 

He flirts less and doesn't bring up his dad again, but he has good taste in random beautiful things. 

Lev looks very grateful every time Sasha shares some food with him. 

A while after the food-sharing starts, he says mid-apple-bite "wouldyouliketogotoamoviewithme."

He blinks. "Sure! Do you have a particular movie in mind, or," and he doesn't know why he set that sentence up to need a second clause but he doesn't have one. 

"Uh. I didn't actually get that far in the planning process."

He tries to remember what's in theaters at the moment. "I have heard good things about Into The Woods?" he tries.

"I like musicals. Friday night work?"

"Friday night works!" Assuming nothing comes up with being Spiderman but if he added that caveat every time he made a plan he could never schedule anything. 

"Great! See you then."

Lev spends the next two days alternately panicking about all the stupid things he said in the conversation ("I didn't actually get that far in the planning process", really?), reminding himself that Alexander probably isn't gay and it is probably just a friend thing and that's fine, and speculating about what would happen if it was a gay thing though. 

He can't really dress up but on Friday he makes more of an effort than usual before he meets Lev. 

He's rewarded by Lev staring at him and having to physically resist the urge to say "you look nice."

Lev himself tried on every outfit he owned, realized he had no taste in fashion, and wound up wearing blue jeans and a baggy Star Wars T-shirt.

Awwww. 

"Hi! I already have candy but we can get popcorn inside if you want." 

"Uh yeah I'm probably going to get. A lot of things. Because of the medical condition."

"Makes sense!" How does Lev feel about Sasha taking his hand? 

He blushes, glances around to check that he doesn't know anyone there, and then smiles like Alexander is the most wonderful person in the world.

Unfortunately, they have to stop holding hands, because Lev has ordered two large popcorns, nachos, cinnabon bites, and an ice cream.

Yeah, that's par for the course with Lev. Sasha helps him carry all of his everything and finds them seats in the middle towards the back. 

Lev screws up his courage and puts his head on Alexander's shoulder.

He's so cute. Sasha puts an arm around Lev's shoulders. (He is well aware of how much food Lev is getting but it's still kind of worrying how bony he is.) 

Lev looks around again to make sure that no one he knows is in the theater, then snuggles into Alexander's shoulder and makes a little happy noise.

He's so cute!!! 

Sasha keeps holding him for as long as he seems to want to be held. 

Lev wants to be held for the entire movie!

And then they should make double-extra-sure there aren't any unexpected after-credits scenes. 

Lev seems nervous about having people see them (Sasha's guess is closeted), but by the time they're really truly extremely sure that there aren't any after-credits scenes, they're the only people left in the theater and there's nobody there to see Sasha turn and kiss Lev on the cheek. 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

"You're cute," he says, still hushed. "...we should probably leave the theater before they come in to clean up." 

"You're cute too. I mean, you're not just cute, you're really hot, I mean, I don't just, I mean--"

Another kiss, on the lips this time. "Thank you." 

Coherent thoughts are not really Lev's strong point right now. 

He grins stupidly up at Sasha and then kisses him.

He's so cute! And so good! 

They can just keep doing that until the lights come on and the door opens for the clean-up people, at which point Sasha will hurriedly stand up and start collecting their garbage. 

It's really very unfair and unreasonable for Lev to be expected to do something other than kiss Sasha. 

He cleans up the garbage and "accidentally" touches Sasha a bit more than is reasonable.

They're on a date, it's completely reasonable.

Once they leave the theater Sasha gauges Lev's body language before trying to touch him again. 

He really, really wants Sasha to touch him.

Then they can keep holding hands! 

"We could go to a park. Or something." 

He flinches away when Sasha tries to grab his hand. 

"We should go to a park."

...right. Closeted. "There's one I pass by sometimes over this way," he says, and doesn't mention that "sometimes" means "when I'm swinging downtown to fight Sandman." 

"Sorry. I want to hold hands with you, I just. The last time my parents saw a news story about gay marriage they were talking about disgusting faggots who deserve to die of HIV for the next hour and I... don't think I'd make a great homeless person."

"I'm so sorry." 

He'd squeeze Lev's hand if they were holding hands. 

"Sorry for getting all depressing during the d-- while we're hanging out."

"Don't be sorry. It's been a great date." 

aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAaa

"Maybe we could go to your place if your parents are cool or, like, busy."

"We...don't have a lot of space, there'd be basically no privacy, but they're cool. — um, I'm the only one in my family who speaks English, so we can talk about whatever we want, they'll just be in the room for it." 

"What do they speak?"

"Russian and some Yiddish." 

"я тоже."

Me too. 

"— You can call me Sasha," he says, in Russian. "If you want." 

"Hi, Sasha," he says, also in Russian. "...Not one of the rich kids of our school, I guess?"

"Not even a little bit. Guessing you aren't either?" 

"To quote my dad, 'why did you get a B on this test, do you WANT to live in apartment with rats for your entire life like your parents?'"

"We really need to be somewhere private so I can hug you." 

"...I'm not going to turn down a hug but it's really not that bad, my parents love me and want what's best for me."

"It doesn't have to be that bad for me to want to hug you over it. My apartment is this way — if you want?" 

"I do want!"

He doesn't try to take Lev's hand until they get in; his parents are, as it turns out, absent. 

Even for New York it's a tiny apartment. There's not literally zero privacy, but there's not much. 

If Sasha's parents aren't home then they can make out on the couch. 

Lev is pretty excited about this. 

They can! 

Sasha's hands go straight to Lev's hair. He's never done this before, Lev might be able to tell, but he's excited to be doing it and excited to be doing it with Lev. 

Lev has also never done this before!

He moans into Sasha's mouth when Sasha touches his hair.

Then he'll keep doing that, petting and maybe pulling a little bit so Lev's head is where he wants it to be. 

He hisses loudly when his hair is pulled. 

Lev wraps his hands around Sasha's back and pulls him close.

He keeps pulling Lev's hair — he's gentle about it, testing which parts to pull and in what directions rather than testing how hard he can pull — and with his other hand he takes one of Lev's hands and puts it on the back of his head. 

Lev pulls Sasha's hair very hesitantly.

He gasps and melts against Lev. One hand twists in Lev's hair; he clings to Lev with the other. 

Oh, that's wonderful.

Lev keeps an ear out for Sasha's parents. Sasha said they were cool, but there's "cool" and then there's "okay with their son sitting in another guy's lap moaning."

There doesn't seem to be any sign of them.

He makes little desperate noises into Lev's mouth and presses himself into Lev's chest. 

One of his hands is in Sasha's hair and the other one creeps under Sasha's shirt. 

(He vaguely recalls that he once had some intentions of going slowly but they seem really unimportant right now.)

hey i hope none of you are doing anything important

doc left manhattan a giant robot in his will

i just wanted a hot dog

I'm in uganda, sorry

— oh fuck that's Deadpool's text tone. 

"I should check this," he says, and then, "oh fuck." 

He is instantly no longer dazed and horny. 

"What happened?"

could really use some muscle down here cap

i don’t think you can shoot this and that’s like all i do

I'll be there 

where are you 

He pulls his shoes on and grabs the bag he keeps the spidersuit in. 

"Family thing. I need to go, I'm sorry —" 

He manages to share his location (thanks, Starkphone!) immediately before he is thrown through a wall by a robotic tentacle.

"It's cool, I get it, you're busy." Lev grabs his bag.

"Bye see you Monday —" and he's out the door — he takes the stairs four at a time, runs down the street and into an office building and swings out the window of the other side of the building as Spiderman — it'll take him a couple of minutes to get there even going as fast as he can but —

Lev walks home with his fingernails digging into his palms. 

He tells his parents he has a lot of homework. He works all night. He doesn't eat.

There is an enormous, vaguely octopus-shaped robot crashing occasionally into buildings like it’s had one too many drinks.

There’s also a conspicuous hole in a wall where Deadpool is lying, limbs all twisted at unnatural angles, looking mournfully at his shattered phone screen.

He could try webbing its limbs together, that works sometimes — 

— a shield slams into where the octopus's head would be if it were an actual octopus. 

“Love you, Cap!” Deadpool calls from his pile of bricks. He sounds a little wobbly.

The octopus-thing turns, now dented, and makes for its assailant, significantly more coordinated now that it has a target in mind.

Can't be coordinated if its limbs are tied together, right? 

Slam. Slam. Slam. 

...wow, this is the fastest he’s ever seen two superheroes cripple a giant robot. Big change from religious angst.

The robot tips over and crashes into the street in short order.

Once the robot's down he slams his shield into it a couple more times and leaves Spiderman to make sure it stays that way. 

Deadpool isn't under the wall, is he? 

Not mostly!

“Heeey, Cap. I’m gonna need a little help making all my body parts go the right direction.”

He clears the pieces of wall on top of him first, then gets to work setting Deadpool's shoulders. 

(He glances over his own shoulder once the wall is clear. The robot is very thoroughly tied up, and Spiderman seems to have gotten a bottle of Gatorade from somewhere and is dousing the circuits in it.) 

This is the best part of his job.

He doesn’t bother being quiet about it. Luckily, most people would make a lot of noise having their shoulders popped back into the sockets, so he probably won't offend any pedestrians.

Other shoulder. He can't make a cast but it's Deadpool, he doesn't need to; he pulls Deadpool out of the hole and arranges his limbs so when the bones regenerate they'll regenerate right. 

Wow. He thinks he needs a cigarette.

“My hero.”

"'S my job. Do you need anything?" 

“Hold on, just let me savor this moment—”

oh my god pull off my mask and fucking kiss me you ridiculously considerate triangle-shaped throwback why are you so hot i hate you with all my heart

“Nah, I’m good.”

He nods and stands up and starts with cleanup, prioritizing buildings that looked like they would've had people in them at night, until the assorted responder teams arrive. 

It’s not that long before he can pick himself up and dust off the remaining rubble.

For a weird antihero he’s not bad at crowd control. He helps herd the remaining civilians, until he hears sirens, which is usually his cue to start walking literally anywhere else.

Yeah, how about the menace to this city gets out of here and lets the firemen handle digging up buildings. He waves at Cap before he swings away. 

if Sasha checks his phone he'll find a message from Asher:

whaddaya think of cap?

bit of a strong and silent type imo

he seemed friendly enough with the firemen once they showed up 

but yeah you're not wrong 

he seriously needs to get laid

...speaking of which, goddammit, he doesn't have Lev's number. He makes a note to get it on Monday. 

I haven't really talked to him when he's off-duty, I can't say 

I don't recommend it he's like 1000% more tolerable when he's on duty

I mean I'm not going to write him off before I even try 

idk maybe it's just that he knows you but he didn't get all worked up about the public menace thing at all and I like that in a guy 

oh man it's not me

whenever he talks about me he's like "asher is a good colleague and I respect his work" which is marlo for "I hate his guts"

I think it's cuz I hit on him that one time and he's super-straight

he seemed totally cool with Deadpool and Deadpool's...... Deadpool 

idk I don't know him really. from what I saw I liked him, tho 

well don't let me bias your opinion

he's definitely all professional when he's at work tho

and the rest of the time he thinks it's not star-spangled enough to actually hate people so he's all civil and shit

"able to be civil even if he hates someone" is a trait I like. do you know how much I wish more people had that trait. it's every single time I see a newspaper and sometimes more often than that 

I'm really bad at being civil to people I dislike but I like almost everyone, does that count

for sure 

He types "speaking of liking people," pauses for a moment to think about whether he wants to describe Lev, and elects not to. 

speaking of liking people why can't I hug people who are in Uganda 

eh I'm flying home today

if you're on top of stark tower at midnight you can get hugs

I can be on top of Stark Tower at midnight!! 

He is, in fact, on top of Stark Tower at midnight. 

And Asher is sitting there in blue jeans and a T-shirt sketching schematics for the new Starkphone.

Sasha sits next to him and hugs him. 

On the one hand, he wants to take the mask off. They're not on-duty. On the other hand, he really doesn't want Asher to see how old he is, or how old he isn't. 

"Hey." 

"Hey!"

Asher gives great hugs, because of course he does. 

"Oh you're warm," Sasha says without thinking. 

Asher is mildly surprised at himself when he responds to this by rubbing Sasha's back instead of by making a sarcastic comment about the normal human body temperature. 

Sasha curls into him, buries his face in Asher's shoulder. 

"You need to talk about something or you just want a hug?"

Soft humming sound. "There's nothing I particularly need to talk about. You just give good hugs." 

"I'm glad! My dad was great at hugs and I always want to carry on the Stark legacy."

Awww. "So how was Uganda?" 

"Dude bought a guitar and wrote a song about how great my cash transfer program is."

"Oh my god," and Asher can hear the way he's grinning. 

"You watch, I'm going to quit superhero-ing and become a full-time cash transferer. Nobody has ever written a song about how great it was that I saved Earth from an alien invasion. Totally ungrateful."

"Aw, does the fanfic not count?"

"The fanfic keeps insisting I have a tragic backstory and hidden depths! I am as shallow as a puddle. I have left concrit but no one believes it is me."

"Maybe you'll just have to write your own," he says. "Start the tag 'actually in-character Asher Stark.' Annoy all the tag wranglers. — please don't actually annoy the tag wranglers." 

"You say that like I haven't written my own!"

"Oh my god," he repeats. "And I've been making fun of myself for reading my own fansite." 

"Your fansite is great! Very useful for fanfiction research."

"And bizarrely accurate. Please send me a link to your AO3." 

"What if I don't want to because it has a story where we make out in it? --Not saying it does, just, you know, what if?"

"Then I'll make a very sad face, which you won't be able to see but it's the thought that counts."