Peter remembers the fateful day that he had met Deadpool. He would swear to anyone who asked that he had had a target on his back all day. From rain to school to more rain and a crappy day of being a hero, Peter had dearly wished to just go home, roll up in a blanket burrito, and ignore the world until the next morning.
But, no, he couldn’t do what every sixteen-year-old would have done on a crappy day because he was Peter Parker, New York’s one and only friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Therefore, he had to go to the Helicarrier where he had the snot beat out of him by training bots all while his teammates, his dear and ever-supportive friends, made his day even less likable (if it were possible).
Just when he had hit rock bottom, the universe had decided to open the trap door.
And into Deadpool he crashed.