Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What people don't know is that after you die, there's no bright white light and angelic singing, no ferryman looking for coins, or even the emptiness of oblivion. No, when you die, you step off an elevator to a classy bar. If you're polite, Tony will pour you a drink. If you're not, he'll blast you with a searing blue light. Trust Wade, he knows.

The hosts of the bar call it Vindex.

Which, if you ask him, sounds a lot like a vampire needing Windex, and not a cool Latin moniker.

Wade knows he won't remember this place when he wakes up, but it's still fun to know he has information others don't.

Because he will wake up.

When you die, you find yourself in Vindex. You play a game with another recently deceased, and the winner gets to be reborn while the loser gets tossed into the Abyss. Capital A. Kind of a crappy system, especially if you get paired with someone like Wade, but hey, who is he to argue with cosmic machinations?

Life isn't fair, but at least it's not an entirely random lottery. You COULD win and be reincarnated.

Although, Wade is a bit strange, according to literally everybody in Vindex. Instead of being reborn, like a normal human being, he returns to life in the same body he left in. Even better, he remembers his life and all of his times in limbo while in Vindex. Bruce thinks it's because of his mutation, so thanks Weapon X. An eternity of whack-a-heart and darts for him!

Today's death was caused by drowning. In the Hudson, no less, ew.

He really needs to stop pissing off mobsters, but come on! Chipped-Tooth Tim had it coming.

Nursing a Sea Breeze, Wade eavesdropped on Clint and Natasha discussing the merits of adding an ice hockey themed game. Like, table hockey or an actual ice rink, because Wade would start dying more if they let him beat people with sticks.

The elevator chimed as someone new entered the bar. Steve placed a hand on Wade's shoulder, equal parts comforting and reproachful. He liked Steve, Steve cared when he died. Steve also thought Wade's blasé attitude about death and his enjoyment of the death games was disconcerting, but he still cared when he died.

A young woman stepped around the corner, and did a double-take at the scene. Surprise! Welcome to the afterlife, first drink's on the house.

"W-What? Where-where am I?" Aw man, a mousy one. Wade tended to feel bad about sending these types down, but oh well. He waved cheerily anyways.

"Welcome to Hell, sweetheart! We've got unlimited peanuts and whiskey sours, make yourself at home."

Steve scowled at Wade. Heh, as if that'll deter him from messing with the newbies. If anything, it's encouragement. But before he could make a lewd comment, Steve turned towards the woman with a gentle smile.

"Don't mind him, he's a dick. This is Vindex, do you know why you're here?" She shook her head. "Well, I'm very sorry to say this, but you've died." She gasped, stepping back in horror.

"No, no I didn't. What kind of sick joke is this? I have to get home, my boyfriend and I have a date tonight." Damn, what was it that Kübler-Ross said?

"It's not a joke, here, you might want to sit down for this."

"No, I have to go, you can't keep me here! This is kidnapping, I'm calling the police!"

Fuck, her voice was grating on Wade's nerves. Welp, Steve tried it the nice way, it's time for Wade to do what he does best. Knocking back the rest of his drink and passing the glass back to Tony with a wink, Wade stood from his place by the bar.

"Listen, cupcake. I'm dead, you're dead, they're some sort of unalive-but-not-dead entities that run this place, and you're here to play demented arcade games to try and win a chance at reincarnation, capisci? So, let's get this show on the road, because enough time should have passed for Spidey to fetch my body."

Maybe his way isn't any more effective than Steve's, because she was still standing there, all doe-eyed and frightened. Fuuuuuuck, he's not good with people he isn't threatening.

He tried to soften his voice.

"Here, just play a game with me, and they'll let you go, okay?"

That seemed to get her attention. "A game?"

"Yeah. Steve here, the buff blondie, is going to spin a wheel, and it'll tell us what game we'll play."

"And afterwards, I can leave?"

"Yup, promise."

A little underhanded, but technically the truth.

Steve frowned, the goody-two-shoes probably wanted to fully explain the situation and tell her the specifics, but Wade had played against enough people to know who is open to harsh facts this soon after death, and who needs a bit of time to process on their own. She'll figure it out eventually.

Tony pushed a hidden button to expose the wheel of misfortune, which Steve leaned over to spin. Around and around it went, until it landed on organ pop. Fuck yeah, Wade loves the dart games.

"The rules are simple, you each get five darts to pop as many high-value targets as you can. In the end, whoever has the highest score wins. Do you understand these rules?"

Upon receiving confirmation, Steve led them over to the play zone, as Wade had affectionately dubbed the sketchy backroom that could totally be a secret sex dungeon.

Behind the heavy red curtain were two carnival stands, each outfitted with a board of balloons. Eight feet from the boards were low wooden beams, where the darts were kept in small ornate boxes.

Wade took his place at the far end, knowing the stranger would probably want to run once she figured out the unspoken rules, and not wanting to be knocked over. It's happened before.

The balloons had cute little anatomical drawings of their organs on them, and Wade was pleased to be able to recognize his from first-hand experience. Bruce thinks Wade has 'problems'.

"Hey, sugarplum, you can go first. Just take a dart and try to pop a balloon. Easy!"

She nodded and stepped up to the plate.

Her first dart bounced off one of the kidney balloons and stuck in the back board. Wade felt the slight twinge, but didn't outwardly react. She'll figure it out eventually.

He nodded encouragingly when she glanced over at him, urging her to continue playing. It was for the best; Wade was really good at darts.

Her second attempt went too far right, not hitting the board at all.

Fuck, he feels bad for her again. Curse his soft heart; Weasel was right, he's too warm-blooded for a merc.

"Just three more to go, you can do it!"

She appeared more determined now, starting to get invested in the game. She wants to win, even though she doesn't know the stakes yet.

She's breaking Wade's heart, oh, literally now, good job!

He sucked in a pained breath as his heart balloon was popped. Fuck, of all the ones to go; he could hide a punctured lung or twisted intestine, but his heart, oof. The woman cheered as she scored her first point (double for a vital organ) and turned to celebrate with Wade. Except Wade was doing his best impression of a fish on land.

"Oh my God, what? Are you okay!? What's wrong?" She rushed over to pat at him worriedly, trying to figure out the source of his pain. Oh, honey. Don't worry, you'll figure it out eventually.

He waved her off, straightening up as best as he could. "It's okay, don't worry about me. Good job with the game! Just two more and you can leave."

Skeptically, she went back to her board, still casting concerned looks his way. Which is how she saw him wince when his eye balloon was hit.

"Holy shit, it's hurting you!" She whirled on Steve. "What the fuck?! What the FUCK?"

He raised his hands placatingly, but the damage was done.

"Is this a nightmare? Why can't I wake up? This isn't real; this isn't possible. Is this really Hell?" So close. "Are you the Devil?"

Yet so far.

"Nah, he's one of the unalive-but-not-dead hosts of this place, remember? There's no heaven or hell, just Vindex."

"And what does that make you?"

"Another fresh corpse here to play for reincarnation."

"How do you know all of this?"

"This ain't my first rodeo. Or even second. I'm a regular here, so I know all the dirty little secrets."

"And you didn't think to tell me?!"

"We tried, but you were all 'deny deny deny', so we started without you."

"Started what!? None of this makes any sense!"

"Just finish the game and you can leave, remember? That's all you really need to know."

"But the darts are hurting you."

"Only on a technicality. We're already dead, it's not like we can die twice. It's just meant as an encouragement to do your best."

She rolled the final dart between her fingers. "You're sure?"

"Yup! So go ahead and throw the last one."

With a slight shake of her head, she sent the last dart towards the board, popping his spleen. Lovely. That puts her at four points.

Wade took a deep breath to recenter himself after her round, then stepped up to pick up all five of his darts.

"I'm really really sorry, so I'll try and make it quick."

Brain, heart, lung, liver, kidney. Ten points.

She screamed and collapsed as she felt the repercussions of the game. He rushed to kneel beside her.

"Shhh, shhh, I know, I know, it hurts, but you're gonna be okay, just breathe through it."

Steve shifted uncomfortably from his place by the door, probably wanting to comfort her as well but not believing it his place to do so. Instead, he spoke softly, "Thank you for playing the game. With a score of 10 to 4, Wade Wilson won this round. If you'd like to leave now, you can."

The woman stood on shaking legs before running out of the room. The distant sound of the elevator chime indicated she had left.

"Abyss, huh."

"Abyss."

"How did she die, anyways?"

Steve helped Wade to his feet as the last of the game's effects worked its way out of his system.

"I'm not supposed to tell you."

"But you're going to."

He sighed. "She was early in getting home for date night. Her boyfriend was with his fiancée, and they both killed her as an anniversary gift for one another."

"Holy shit, that's fucked up."

"I know."

Steve led Wade back over to the bar.

"A drink for the road?" Tony questioned.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I should get back; I don't want Spidey to worry for too long, ya know?"

The hosts of Vindex nodded; Wade had spoken non-stop about his partner in anti-crime, so they knew how much he meant to him.

Wade sort of stumbled back over to the elevator. It was a gaudy gold thing, with no buttons. Those who take this elevator don't choose where they go. Their path is chosen for them, by whoever decided fair games were actually fair. Maybe that was the point, and the universe is just one big pun.

Peter would get a kick out of that, if only Wade could remember it when he woke up.

He always wakes up.

Chapter Text

When Wade regained awareness of his body, the first thing he noticed was the heavy chill permeating through his bones. The second thing was an uncomfortable weight pressing against his ribs, which meant waterlogged lungs. Oh, joy. As soon as he got his sluggish limbs to cooperate, Wade turned on his side to cough up what felt like half the Hudson. Oh wait…

"Shit, don't like, choke on your own vomit and die again, I have no idea what I'm doing."

Aww, he stuck around. Wade's gonna give Peter a big ol' smooch. As soon as the world stops spinning. In the vertigo way, not the turning on its axis way. Because that would be bad.

Wade tried to say something witty, but all that came out was a wheeze. Fuck, his throat hurts. And not in a fun way. Curse Chipped-Tooth Tim.

"Shush you, don't try and talk until you're done healing. Come on, my apartment isn't far from here."

The world shifted AGAIN as Peter tossed Wade over his shoulder and made his way onto a nearby rooftop. For a twink, he sure is strong, holy fuck. Oh yeah, spider bite. Wade really needs his brain to come back online before he does something stupid. More stupid than getting killed by a criminal amateurmind. Because no matter what he says, Tim is not nearly creative enough for the title of mastermind. Death by drowning, where's the pizazz? The theatrics? Does his death mean nothing to the seedy underbelly of New York? It's been too long since he's been ripped apart by fireworks. Oh, they're in Peter's apartment, when did this happen?

Peter carefully set (dropped) Wade onto his couch before making his way down the hall, presumably to his bedroom. It wasn't until then that Wade noticed he was soaked too. Shit, he really fished him out of the river, didn't he? Fuck, it's too cold out, he's gonna get frost bite and die of hypothermia and pneumonia and well, hello there. Peter had managed to change into sweats and was drying his hair with a towel.

Shirtless, as one does.

Wade silently tracked a droplet of water as it made its way down the planes of Peter's abdomen. Yum.

"Here, I grabbed you some clothes to change into; I can't imagine wet kevlar feels too good. If you need help, let me know. Otherwise, I'll see if I have any tea."

Wade grabbed the proffered articles, a soft hoodie and matching sweatpants. He really really wanted Peter's help, which means he shouldn't. Fuuuck. "I got it," he croaked instead.

And with that, he wiggled his way out of his suit to put on the warm and DRY clothes. This is nice.

What was even nicer was the honey-sweetened lemon tea Peter brought to him a moment later.

"We should get you a little nurse outfit, your bedside manner is impeccable."

Peter laughed. This was no laughing matter.

"For realz, with a stethoscope and one of those little reflex hammers-"

"So I can knock you out again?"

Wade leaned towards him, making obnoxious kissy noises. "I've got a boo-boo, Nurse. Kiss it away?" All he got was a shove. So rude; he's calling The Bugle.

"You feeling better?" Dammit.

Wiggling his fingers and toes, Wade nodded before taking a sip of his tea. "Definitely not dead anymore, thanks."

"Good. I'm glad. Speaking of, while you took an impromptu visit to your ex, I found out Tim-"

"Chipped-Tooth Tim."

"...You do realize this is why people try and kill you, right?"

"Worth it."

Peter sighed. "I found out Tim and Joey, you remember Joey?"

"Uhh, Jam-Hand Joey?"

"No, the other one."

"Green-Jello Joey!"

"Right. So, Tim and Joey have been sneaking around on behalf of Sam-"

"Sauce-Hating Sam or Cat-Shirt Sam?"

"Cat-Shirt Sam."

"Really? Didn't think he had it in him."

"Me neither. Anyways, they've been hanging around that office building by the laundromat."

"Sketchy shit always happens at laundromats. And park benches at 2 pm on Wednesdays."

"What… Nevermind. Like you said, sketchy shit. I'll do some recon this week, but you up for a part two this weekend?"

"For you? Any time, baby boy. Just text me the deets and I'll be there."

Fairly confident he isn't going to dry nor secondary drown, Wade gathered up his discarded suit and started towards the window. "Thanks for having me, supper was wonderful; I'll see you at the luncheon this Tuesday!" got a snort of laughter. Hell yeah.

The next week passed by slowly, with only occasional texts from Peter updating him about the now-dubbed Sketchy Shit going down in the office building. Who even needs 300 copies of an English-to-French dictionary anyways?

Wade normally would be doing his own research for a job like this, except Weasel, the sly fucker, had him running around Connecticut for five days straight.

'It'll be fine' are some pretty famous last words.

Patrol that Saturday night started out normally. They met up, swept the city for urgent early-starters, then headed over to scope out the Sketchy Shit one last time.

From the rooftop, Spidey couldn't hear anything particularly nefarious happening, and his Danger Tingle was quiet.

So they moved in.

As the searing heat enveloped him, the ground shaking and metal screeching, Wade only had the thought of "Oh God, not Peter." before there was nothing.

Chapter Text

The elevator chimed as it deposited Wade in Vindex. Following the familiar route to the bar, Wade was somewhat pleased to see the surprised and worried faces of the hosts.

"Dude, didn't you literally just die?" Thanks, Clint, for pointing out the obvious. Hopping up onto one of the barstools, Wade shrugged.

"Technically about a week ago. You know how it is."

"No, we don't. We have literally never met someone who dies as often as you do."

"So I'm special, nice. You sure know how to treat a girl right."

Tony slid over a Sea Breeze, earning himself a flirty wink. Which he totally ignored; he does NOT know how to treat a girl right.

"So, who am I yeeting into the void?"

In a comical sense of timing, the elevator gave its signature ding, alerting them to the arrival of the second deceased. Except… Natasha was giving Wade an apologetic Look. He'd expect that from Steve, or Bruce, or even Clint, but Natasha?

Rounding the corner was a too familiar face.

Oh no…

Not him…

Peter wasn't supposed to be here.

Not yet, not for another hundred years, when he passed away peacefully in his sleep after a long and fulfilling life. He didn't belong here, among the dead. Didn't Wade get to him in time? Didn't he protect him?

Evidently not, because he was glancing around the room owlishly, trying to take it all in. Ever the clever mind. Fuck, he can't do this, he can't do this.

How fucking dare they. Whoever made this sick fucking system better watch their fucking back because how FUCKING dare they. How dare they take Peter, kind and passionate Peter, from the living. How dare they send him HERE. Wade knows there's other bars, parallels to this one. Too many people die simultaneously to fit in one bar. So what kind of sick joke is this? What do they want? Are they pissed that Wade keeps coming back? Fine. He'll stop dying. Or hell, they can KEEP him, he doesn't care, just as long as Peter can go back. Is this a divine punishment? A cruel hallucination? But no, Tony looked heartbroken too, and he wouldn't fake something like this. They know how much Peter means to him, they KNOW. Maybe that's the point. Wade didn't care about the others he competed against. Do they want him to care? But how can he care? He's killed too many people, and sent so many more into the Abyss, that kind of guilt would destroy the average person. But he isn't the average person. He knows how Vindex works. He can plan. He can lose.

"Wade?"

He will lose.

"Hey, Petey-Pie, Shirley Temple?" At Wade's subtle prompt, Tony quickly mixed the aforementioned drink. He takes back every single negative thing he has ever thought about Tony, even jokingly. He's a real one.

Peter made his way over to where Wade was sitting, which gave him just enough time to realize Peter didn't know. Peter is normal, he doesn't have his last memories; for all he knew, this was planned. He can't do this, he can't listen as Steve gave the usual spiel. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck. Okay. He can do this.

Nudging the other blond slightly to the side, Wade took over the introduction. He was definitely surprised the hosts let him, considering this is their sole purpose after all, but apparently they're softer on him than he thought. He's gonna miss them.

"Welcome to Vindex, baby boy! You're just in time for the next game."

"Wade… We don't have time for games, there's still the Sketchy Shit going down by the laundromat, we need to go." Wade's hand darted out to grab Peter's arm before he could finish turning to leave. He can't know, not yet.

"Just one game, please? Afterwards, I promise, we'll see to it that Tim and Joey and Sam are all apprehended, okay?"

He squinted skeptically, but acquiesces. It's not often that Wade asked for things. He should've taken advantage of that when they were alive.

After a slight nod from Wade, Steve silently spun the wheel of misfortune. The cheery music and flashing lights felt inappropriate in the face of such a somber mood. Has it always been like this? Is this what death truly is? Why hadn't Wade noticed before?

The indicator landed on 'skee ball'. An arcade classic. How the fuck is he supposed to pretend to fail at fucking SKEE BALL? Peter knows from first-hand experience that Wade is a beast at skee ball.

Death is a cosmic joke. And so is Wade.

As Steve led them to the play zone, Peter leaned over to whisper to Wade.

"Hey, is it just me, or is this place giving serious Cirque du Mort vibes?" Too close, Spidey, too close.

Wade wrapped a comforting arm around him.

"Nah, did you see the roguish blond? This is clearly a cabaret."

Past the curtains, the bright glow of Vindex's macabre skee ball machines appeared.

It's too soon. He's not ready to say goodbye.

"Would you like me to explain the rules?" Steve, no, he's not ready. But Peter nodded with a polite 'yes, please', so they carried on. "Standing at the end of the ramp, each player will have five balls to try and score the highest amount of points. The smaller the target, the bigger the payout. Any questions?"

It's just like regular skee ball, no questions here. Carefully not mentioned is the fact that each hole corresponds with one of their bones and landing a ball breaks said bone, but that's best saved for later.

Just like the woman from earlier this week, Wade let Peter go first. Except this time, he absolutely cannot show any reaction, because Peter cares too much for his own good. Stupid heroes and their martyr complexes. He wouldn't be able to play it off and convince him to keep playing, not if he knew the stakes. Unethical? Perhaps. But it'll be worth it.

Peter's first ball took out one of Wade's metacarpals. Not a bad start, he breaks his hands all the time.

The second cracked a rib bone, but again, he breaks his ribs all the time. Not even a flinch.

Harder to hide was the fracture along his tibia, as he had to shift his weight to keep the leg from giving out completely. For a moment, Wade worried Peter would hear the snap crackle pop of his bones, before he remembered it was all, technically, in his head. He just needs to stay standing, stay calm, and make sure Peter wins.

His scapula and clavicle were shattered near simultaneously as Peter launched his last two balls in quick succession. Okay. This is good, he has 180 points.

Taking a deep breath, regretting the twinge in his ribs it caused, Wade stepped forward. He could see Peter watching him from his peripherals, and sent a silent apology to him. He isn't quick enough to send all five balls at once, like with the darts, so Peter will know he purposely threw the game. But, hopefully, he won't ever know why.

Dud. Dud.

"Wade, come on-"

Dud. Dud.

"It's no fun if you don't try."

Dud.

He lost.

Good.

"With a score of 180 to 0, Peter Parker won this round. If you'd like to leave now, you can."

"Uh, thanks, dude. Alright, Wade, we should get going."

He's so sorry.

"You go on ahead, I think I left something at the bar. We'll meet up at your place to brainstorm for the Sketchy Shit."

"If you insist. See ya, DP."

And he left.

"You lost."

"I know."

"On purpose."

"I know."

"Was it worth it?"

"He is. Always."

Chapter Text

Wade finally took that one last drink for the road.

For the first time since he found out he's pseudo-immortal, he feels… peace.

Peter will be reborn, Wade will go to the Abyss, all is well in the world.

It was weird, hugging the hosts goodbye, but it felt right. They were the closest things to friends that he's had in a long time. Except Weasel.

Fuck, he never got to say goodbye to Weasel.

Or Domino or Blind Al or Dopinder or Cable or Colossus or-

FUCK.

He does have friends.

But, facing the elevator doors, Wade knew he wouldn't have changed a thing. This is the one thing he doesn't regret.

He's ready now.

The first thing he noticed was the inescapable heat surrounding him. It was even worse than when he burnt down that damn facility. His skin felt as though it were melting and peeling off simultaneously, a rather unpleasant combination.

Is this Hell?

Opening his eyes didn't contradict that theory.

The world around him was smoldering; charred wood glowed a mesmerizing orange and red, bits of metal were blackened with ash, and the air was heavy with a suffocating smoke.

Except…

No.

It can't be.

He lost the game.

So why the hell is he alive?!

There's a winner and a loser; the winner gets reincarnated, the loser gets sent to the Abyss, and Wade LOST.

But if he's here… that means Peter isn't.

And… he isn't supposed to remember that.

Not when he's outside of Vindex.

What the hell is going on? Is this the Abyss, just reliving your death over and over? But Wade can feel his body repairing itself, so he's definitely not dying or dead. Just to be sure, he dragged himself over to where Peter was when they first entered the building.

Fuck, so he DID protect him from the blast itself. Peter was killed by a piece of the ceiling as it came down. As close as he is to where the door was, he probably tried to turn back and escape when the bomb went off.

Wade knelt beside his body, carefully watching for any sign of life. Maybe, if the rules have been turned on their head, Peter will come back too.

An hour passed this way.

Peter did not wake up.

He never got to know how much Wade loved him.

Wade always wakes up.

He wished he didn't.

Chapter Text

Breaking News : Spider-Man Dead! New York Mourns the Loss of Local Vigilante.

Breaking News : Criminals Are Turning Up Dead at the Hands of Deadpool. Is This How Vigilantes Grieve? Experts Weigh In.

Breaking News : Explosion Causing Spider-Man's Death Linked to Human Trafficking Ring. Victims' Bodies Found at the Bottom of Hudson River.

Breaking News : Deadpool Missing? After Months of Terrorizing Criminals, Deadpool Disappears From the Scene Entirely.

Wade tried to follow Peter's Guide to Morality, but without the web-slinger there, it just felt hollow.

Like playing the part of a justice-seeking do-gooder.

But Wade isn't good.

Hell, at this point, he isn't even bad either.

He's just… there.

He helps the X-Men on occasion, but only to have something to do.

He was so SO tempted to go back to Vindex, to demand answers, but he couldn't risk it.

Something changed, and until he figured out what, Wade dying just meant Peter's chance of reincarnation was wasted entirely.

The first year hurt the worst.

Every day felt like he was being torn apart, not deserving the most recent chance at life.

The first panic attack at the sight of fire surprised him, but he supposes it's not entirely unexpected. Peter died in a fire.

The second year was spent completely numb.

He ended up moving back in with Al, just to have a reminder that he existed. It only lasted a few months before he realized he couldn't handle being in New York at all.

The fifth year was when he finally laughed for the first time since Peter died.

Jamie got his claws stuck in a tree. It was hilarious.

It hurt when he turned to tell Peter and he wasn't there.

The tenth year, he returned to New York to visit Peter's grave. He left a coffee by the headstone. It was quiet.

The Spider-Man memorial was buzzing with activity. Flowers being laid, candles being lit, people leaving little notes of thanks.

Wade didn't get too close.

By the twentieth year, Peter "Spider-Man" Parker had become a relic. Someone who people mentioned in passing, a "Oh yeah, that vigilante guy".

Wade trashed a room the first time he heard him spoken about so dismissively.

Do they not understand?

He was so much more than that.

You don't have to be immortal in order to remember people; schools teach about Captain America all the time!

That's the love of Wade's life you're talking about.

It was the twenty-fifth year that something interesting happened.

Wade had gone to a nerd convention on behalf of the X-Men to find some mutant scientist. Peter would have loved to go; technology advances so much over time.

Presenting their idea for a newer protective fabric was an uncannily familiar brunet.

Impossible.

He must be a doppelganger or a visitor from a parallel universe, because reincarnates rarely, if ever, look like their past lives.

Except.

Except it is just about nine months after Peter's deathiversary.

And this presenter, with a little "Happy Birthday, Benny!" pin, is the mutant scientist he's meant to find.

And he looks so similar to Peter that Wade had, for a moment, thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

But when their eyes met for a fraction of a second, Wade knew without a doubt that this was the same man he used to protect the city with.

As the audience began to disperse, Wade approached 'Benny'.

"Hi, I'm Wade."