Marvel’s Most Normal Man: Just Let Me Make Coffee!

Chapter 11: "Deadpool Orders a Coffee… and Regrets It"

The café was having a relatively quiet afternoon—if you ignored Thor sulking over his powerless hammer, Strange muttering to himself, and Loki finding way too much amusement in everyone else's suffering.

Then the door slammed open.

"Hellooooo, my favorite plot device!"

I barely had time to blink before Deadpool waltzed in, spinning his katanas like some kind of deranged street performer. His red and black suit looked just as ridiculous in person as it did on TV.

I sighed. "Please tell me you're here to actually buy something."

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Me? Not supporting local businesses? That hurts." Then he pulled out a crumpled $20 bill. "One chimichanga. Extra guac."

I stared. "This is a café."

Deadpool tilted his head. "So… no chimichangas?"

"No."

"Nachos?"

"No."

"Can I at least get a fourth-wall break to go?"

I blinked. "What?"

Deadpool turned toward the nonexistent camera. "See? He doesn't get it. This is why we can't have nice things."

Loki, watching from his seat, chuckled. "Oh, I like this one."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Look, just order something that's actually on the menu."

Deadpool huffed. "Fine. One caramel macchiato. Extra foam. Extra love."

I went to make his drink, but before I could even finish, he started fidgeting. Then he pulled out a tiny teleportation device and pressed a button.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again.

Still nothing.

His masked head slowly turned toward me. "Uhh… did I just get nerfed?"

Loki smirked. "Oh, this is fun."

Deadpool frantically checked his belt, pulled out a grenade, and tried to activate it. Nothing. He grabbed a gun. Click. No bullets.

He froze, staring down at his hands. "Wait. Waitwaitwait. Am I—?"

I placed his macchiato on the counter. "Here's your coffee."

Deadpool ignored it, eyes wide behind his mask. "Bro. Am I just some guy now? Like, some average, boring, tax-paying guy?"

Thor grunted. "Welcome to the torment."

Deadpool whimpered, collapsing onto a chair. "No healing factor. No fourth-wall jokes that actually work. I can't even shoot things." He looked at me. "Buddy, I think I'm having an existential crisis."

I sighed. "Drink your coffee."

He picked up the cup with shaking hands and took a sip. Then he gasped. "Okay. Okay, this is really good. Like, 'makes me forget I'm mortal' good."

I wiped down the counter. "Glad to hear it."

Deadpool slumped back. "Y'know what? Fine. Maybe I need a break from all the crazy." He took another sip. "Yep. Just a normal guy. Drinking a normal coffee. Having a totally normal day."

Then he bolted upright. "Wait. Does this mean I have to start paying taxes?!"