Deadpool hated boredom. S.H.I.E.L.D. was still in preparations for the trip to space, and with no skills or interest in organization, Deadpool was doing his part by harassing one of the clerks responsible for making sure all of the heroes were appropriately geared-up for space. Helpful as ever, he was trying to convince the clerk that rubber duckies were supposed to be on the list of required supplies. The poor clerk had started out indignant at the very suggestion, but Deadpool's determination and liberal use of impenetrable technical jargon (none of which Deadpool actually understood) had the poor man flustered and confused, starting to panic that Nick Fury really did expect rubber duckies to be handed out as part of the gear and would be, well, furious when they weren't.
"Do you think they call him Mr. Fury just because of his cuddly demeanor?" Deadpool beseeched him. "Good god, man!"
"But it wasn't on the list!" the clerk insisted, trying desperately to transfer blame for this unforgivable error.
Opening his mouth to continue badgering his victim, Deadpool noticed a youth wandering through the hall, who suddenly stopped and reversed direction, staring at him.
In Deadpool's universe, making eye contact was open invitation for being targeted in whatever antics were underway.
"Aha!" he crowed, making a beeline for the strange boy. "You must be the delivery boy. At last! You know, this mutton-head was trying to tell me that they weren't on the list? Well?" Acting very serious about this whole business, Deadpool peered at him, as though he suspected that this oversight was clearly all Billy's fault. "Where are they?"