Peter's back hits a stack of crates, his mind barely registering the loud collapse of the flimsy wood that couldn't support his weight for more than a second.
His breath comes out in heavy pants that sends dizzying amounts of oxygen to his brain, fueling the adrenaline and rage while dampening the warning strain on his body.
Deadpool cheers nastily from atop a metal contraption, throwing his arms into a broad X shape near his pelvis in a crude sign.
His face is twisted with similarly unkind emotions, his voice following suit in a throaty, angry pitch that makes a mockery of his usual manic tone. “For being a fussy little
and sticking its
where it – “
With a shout of climbing frustration, Peter uses his webs to attach to opposite metal towers, launching himself like a rocket out of the pile of wood,
startling a smack-talking Deadpool with an unforgivable pair of flat-footed heels to the face.
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