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Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

Chapter Text

The wind whips around Peter harshly as he makes his way up the side of the building, looking for the right room. His breath comes as slow inhales and exhales, his hands sticking and unsticking rhythmically to the side of Stark Tower as he makes his way to the upper floors. He opens his senses, reaching out to try and find where the voices were most concentrated in the building.

Around the back, two floors up.

He hones in on the location, making his way diagonally along the tower until he reaches his destination. Tapping the top of a window lightly, the tower’s AI opens it willingly, letting Peter crawl inside via the ceiling.

“Spider-man! Thank you for joining us, just in time for the end of the meeting.” Tony rolls his eyes in the direction of a certain masked arachnid, huddling into the corner of the ceiling. The meeting has several supers from all around New York, crammed into one room for a ‘briefing’- essentially just Tony Stark’s way of telling everyone what was happening in New York. Peter could see Daredevil, the Fantastic Four, Steve Rogers, and several of the Avengers- to name a few. Peter shrugs, not really seeing the point in answering and interrupting the meeting further.
Peter was not the biggest fan of these… ‘get togethers’. He felt their purpose was more to keep track of the supers, than to inform them of what was going on. To keep them in check. Spider-man often skipped these meetings, or only caught the tail end of them. He didn’t know why Tony was surprised that he came late again. He only showed because there had just been a pretty big fight involving some unsavory creatures who crawled out of the sewers. Peter wanted the run down and the stats, not to sit around and let someone else govern what he did and when. He probably missed all of the fight info already, though.

His hands twitch with the need to move, the constant thrum of his spider sense making its way up and down his spine. So many supers packed into one room, it’s a miracle a fight didn't break out already. Morals were a pretty hot topic when it came to mutants, mutates, and superhero’s alike.

Peter shifts his weight, leaning back into a squat, with his hands and feet all poised close together directly above his body. Raising - Lowering? He’s upside down- his head brought him a clear view of everyone in the room.

Tuning back in, he catches the tail end of something Steve is trying to remind Tony. “-want to mention the, ah-” Steve starts, only for Tony to enthusiastically clap and inhale, effectively cutting off whatever Steve was about to say.

“Right! Thank you Steve. I wanted to let everyone know that a certain annoying, loud cockroach is back in town!” The screen on the far end of the wall, right behind Tony, changes from whatever they were talking about before, something about adding installations to the sewers, to a new picture.

A picture of a large man in red and black. The man seems to be mid fight, turning his head only seconds before the picture was taken. The look on his face- mask , is obviously intended for who he is presumably fighting, but it’s… intense. The white eyes of the mask are drawn tight, almost closed, into a glare. The black, oval shapes around the eyes only intensify the glare, and the material over the brow bones are angled downwards into an obvious furrow. The man’s stance is tense, hard muscles rippling with the power of his own movements. One foot is angled forwards, slightly bent at the knee, the other poised back in the same bent fashion for support. The picture mainly shows his back, as it was taken from about twenty feet away, slightly elevated. Probably from a low rooftop or balcony. The expanse of his back is large, his shoulders even wider. His arms are drawn up, wielding katanas, but guns and smaller knives are all around the man’s body, some presumably concealed, and some not.

“Who is that?” Peter hears himself speak before he really has the time to think about it, and he only slightly regrets it as almost everyone in the room turns to look at him.

“You don’t know?” Hawkeye asks, and Peter just shrugs.

“I’ve never seen him around. Who is it?” He repeats, the slightest bit of agitation bleeding into his voice. He hates these meetings.

“Deadpool.” Tony answers, spitting out the name like it belongs in the garbage. Peter’s gaze snaps back to the billionaire. “He’s an insane, ruthless mercenary who doesn’t care about anything other than money . He travels wherever his contracts are, and he will kill anyone and do anything to get the job done.”

Peter almost wants to laugh and comment, since Tony has a lot of moments where he’s only cared about money, but he’s too preoccupied learning about a killer in his city . A killer for hire that he wasn’t aware of. Until now. Peter commits the image of the man to memory, taking note of the distinguishing features. The red suit, katanas, rippling muscles, and the guns.

The many guns of various sizes and shapes all around the man’s body. Peter suppresses a shiver just thinking about it. The sound of one echoing in his head, the ripping of flesh and breaking of bones when a bullet imbeds into skin and muscle. The sharp gasp and stuttering breaths of someone shot, the cry of pain and pure agony as Ben falls to the ground, blood pooling-

Peter takes a sharp inhale. Right. Deadpool. “How long is he going to be in New York?”

“Don’t know, Web-head, all I know is that if you see him trying to maim someone, put a stop to it. Shield wouldn’t mind detaining him, so maybe gimme a call if anything goes down?” Tony finishes, looking around the room to make general eye contact with most of the supers. “And on that note, that’s all I got.” Tony turns, lifting his body from its resting on a table, starting to pack up his belongings.

Peter takes that as his cue to leave, and goes back the same way he crawled in. The cool outside air pools in around him as the window opens, allowing him access out.

A killer. A person who is hired to kill . Peter couldn’t imagine wanting someone else dead. Let alone taking out a hit on someone to actually get it done. A shiver wracks up his spine again, and he shakes his head to rid himself of it. Looking out towards the city, he takes a moment to think about what he should do with the new information. He had to do something about Deadpool. He couldn’t just sit by and let it happen, he was Spider-man. Protecting the little guys was his job.

“Might as well patrol for now, and research this Deadpool guy later”, he says to himself, shaking off the bad taste the meeting left in his mouth.

He looks down at the tower wall behind him, shifting his weight so both feet rest on the metal beam between windows. He took aim at the nearest building, and shoots off his first web. It sticks, and he let his calf muscles snap as he launches himself into the air. He turns into a spin to see Stark Tower once again.

Didn’t shatter the window this time- score one for Spider-man.

Leaning back, he lets his body fall as he hurtles toward the ground. He closes his eyes, knowing the web would catch him before he got too close to the ground.

His body jerks as he hits the end of his line, starting a swing through the streets of Manhattan. Stark Tower is located conveniently near Times Square, which means he was in the area almost every day. Not because he visited as Spider-man, but because he also worked there, in the labs. The avengers knew nothing about who Peter Parker was, beyond a scientist. As far as they knew, Tony Stark had employed any other Joe Shmoe, nerd extraordinaire. He made sure to always swing through Times Square, though. Give the tourists what they came for.

At the arc of his swing, he relaxes his spinnerets, letting the web snap out from his wrist. He lets momentum carry him for a moment, before shooting out another one. He continues on, making his way to a rooftop in upper East Village, crouching on the lip of the ledge to pull out his phone. Peter opens the police scanner, letting it play in the background as he pulled up google.

“So! Lets see who this Deadpool is, huh?” He says into the immediate silence of the rooftop. No answer comes, unless the honks of cars and bustling of nightlife in New York count as one.

A quick google search reveals something he didn’t expect, thought.

A twitter account. What kind of killer has a twitter account?

“What the hell?”

 



“I’m telling you, He didn’t glitter for any other reason than to be a sparkly vampire! Vampires do not sparkle in sunlight , they probably don’t even burn! It’s just a weird trope! And definitely a weird cinematic choice” Deadpool talks animatedly, walking down E 13th Street, heading towards 2nd Ave. The streets are dark, not many people around. Anyone he did see normally gave him a wide berth. Guns and katanas normally had that effect. Wade doesn’t mind.

(Oh please, you live off attention. You wish people would come up to you)

{Kill them if they do}

“What the fuck? Why would I do that? And White, stop going through my emotions. Just because you’re in my head does not give you permission to psychoanalyse me.”

{ Big words}

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment, so thank you.”

(Pay attention big guy. Your ten)

Wade looks over to his left, searching for whatever White had seen. Not immediately spotting anything, he scans the area, until he notices movement on a rooftop. At first he can’t really tell what’s going on, until the light catches the mask of who he’s looking at.

“Is that,” Wade pauses, staring in awe. “Holy shit balls, pinch me.”

(Yes, it’s Spider-man)

“Holy fucking shitballs, Batman!” Wade gasps, “This is the best thing to happen to me since the Golden Girls! I should make a scrapbook! Wait, I don’t have any scrap book materials. Remind me to get that.”

{Did you just call him Batman}

Wade makes his way to the back of the building, searching frantically for a fire escape. “No, it was an expression.” Spotting one, he huffs a quick ‘booyah!’ before making his way up with far too much finesse for such a hulking body. Reaching the top, he is startled to see that Spider-man is in fact still there. He didn’t seem to notice Wade yet, and the merc was kinda confused on how to get his attention.

{Suck his dic-}

“Spidey-babe!” Wade immediately starts to cut Yellow off, And Spider-man jumps at the new company. “Isn’t it great I ran into you?” Spidey’s head turns, slowly taking in what’s going on. In a matter of a second or two, several things happen. First, Wade brings his hand up to his face with a look of surprise, or at least tries to. Second, Spider-man’s eyes widen only to narrow right after, and his body tenses. Third, he shoots a web out, catching the others hand, halting his movements.

“Kinky,” Wade says before he can help himself. “Take me on a date first, baby.”

“You’re Deadpool.” Spider-man says, and Wade might as well have short circuited.

“And you know my name! Oh my god, say it again.” He pleads, but can’t continue before the web connected to his arm is roughly pulling him forwards.

Listen.” Spider-man starts, his words made of ice. “I don’t why you’re here, but let me tell you one thing. I don’t let killers run free in my city. The second I see you trying to hurt anyone, in anyway- you get tied up and left for the police. I’m sure Rykers would love to have you. Capiche?” Spider-man says slowly, and when Deadpool takes a few seconds too long to respond, he continues. “The only reason I’m not already doing that is because I couldn’t find anything solid on you. Either get out of my city or behave .” He releases the web, and the next thing Wade knows, Spider-man is swinging away.

“That ass, though.”

Chapter Text

The blaring sound of Peter’s ringtone goes off right next to his head, and he groans as it immediately rips him from sleep. He blearily opens his eyes only to shut them with another groan .

Fuck sunlight.

He sits with his eyes closed for a moment, listening to his own steady breaths. He inhales deeply, and lets his senses take in his surroundings. The feel of the walls of his room, the quiet of his apartment, the morning bustle of the other tenants in his building. He opens his eyes- blinks once, twice.

Somewhere in his sleepy brain he registers that the sound of his ringtone will end faster if he picks up the phone, so he grabs for it and answers before even looking to who it is.

“Ello?” His greeting comes out as a mumble, and only after saying it does he hope that it isn’t his supervisor from work.

“Meet me at the café near your house in fifteen minutes, or you’re buying” Mj’s voice sounds smooth like silk over the phone, and Peter can’t even help the scoff that makes its way up his throat.

“It’s your turn to buy, though.” He croaks, swallowing- as if that would give his throat some reprieve.

“Then don’t be late.” He can hear her smirk. Although he should be mad at the thought of having to pay when it’s clearly her turn to do so, the expression is contagious. She must be fifteen minutes away herself, so he’s assuming its whoever gets there last, pays. He glances over to the digital clock on his bedside table, and it reads 8:05. He has to work today, but not till later in the morning.

Rolling out of bed, he flips onto his feet gracefully and seamlessly. Webbing to grab the pants he wore yesterday- no, it’s not gross- he goes over to his closet and tears out the first thing he sees, a blue jumper that says ‘never trust an atom, they make up everything’ . He sheds the clothing he slept in as he walks to the bathroom, and only stops once there to put on his new clothes for today. Looking up, he sees his hair's a mess, as always, but he figures he can let the wavy curls run rampant for now. He’ll tame it later before he goes into work.

Peter makes quick work of brushing his teeth, checks to make sure he has his keys, wallet and phone, toes on his shoes, and he’s off.

He exits his apartment almost silently, stepping out into the foot traffic of the back streets of Manhattan. It’s no Queens, but he moved to be closer to his job at Stark Industries. He makes his way down the street, briefly wondering what Tony would think if he found out that Spider-man was operating right under his nose. He immediately casts that to the back of his mind in a little bin labeled ‘think about later’, and renews his pace through the people on the sidewalk. Weaving in and out of the people making their way downtown, he catches sight of the cafe, and makes a mad dash to ensure his place in being there first. Bursting in, he looks around to confirm that he is, in fact, here first, and a smile makes its way onto his face.

With a quick check of the time, 8:15, he secures a table that’s facing the door and patiently waits for Mj to come buy him coffee .

When she walks in three minutes later, she scoffs as she sees Peter waiting with his head in his hands, batting his eyelashes at her. He lets out a light laugh, his eyes scrunching with the smile.

One americano and cappuccino later, they sit down and settle back at their table.

“So, how have you been? Haven’t seen you in a couple weeks.” Peter starts, immediately putting the subject of conversation on Mj.

“Oh, not much has changed since we last got coffee. I’m not that interesting.” She says, rolling her eyes, before a look of excitement crosses her face, and she perks up. “Except, remember that guy that I was telling you about? Harry?”

“The rich one?”

“That’s the one! Our dates have gone so well, I actually really like him. I hope it goes somewhere.”

“You sure that’s not just the money talking?” Peter inquires, giving her a shit eating smirk that tells Mj he’s pulling her leg.

Definitely not the money talking. You know I’m not that kinda girl. I mean- I dated you.”

And there it is, the only-awkward-for-Peter moment when Mj brings up the fact they used to date. It isn’t a big deal, really, but Peter would rather forget it ever happened. They’ve been best friends since they were kids, but then they dated for a little while, and it didn’t work out. Peter broke it off, Mj was sad, they got over it- and now they're best friends again. Simple as that.

“My wallet is offended that you called me broke.” Peter continues, “But I will have you know I got a raise recently.”

Mj gasps. “Pete that’s amazing! Are you finally cooking real meals?”

“That I am, vegetables and everything .” He finishes, looking down at his coffee to pick it up. He takes a sip, the drink only slightly burning his tongue. Worth it.

“So, enough about me, what's new in your life Tiger?” Mj continues, flipping the conversation from her to Peter swiftly. Peter debates telling her about his recent finding with Deadpool, and he almost does, but in the end, decides against it. While Aunt May and Mary Jane know that he is Spider-man, He tries to spare them the details and involvement. The less people who know about his double life, the better.

“Oh, not much. You know how boring my life is.” He offers a smile, and she frowns.

“You got nothing juicy for me? Not even a little bit?” She begs, and he shakes his head.

“Nothing, sorry.”

“No hot dates to report?” She tries again, and he chokes on his coffee with how immediate his laughter is.

“Ouch. Sorry, no. Haven't had any of those in a long time.” Mj takes a breath in, lifting her finger. “And no, you are not allowed to set me up on a date.” She wilts, and he chuckles.

 

His predicament with Deadpool stays in his head all throughout work. He can’t let Deadpool go around murdering people for money, but he also can’t just send him off to the police without him doing anything in New York , it goes against everything he works towards. He believes in second chances, and understanding more than just what the surface brings. He doesn’t know Deadpool. He doesn’t know his motives. And he doesn’t know what to do about him either.

The topic it still on his mind as he gets ready to go on patrol. He needs a game plan, a go-to if he comes into contact with the mercenary again. The mercs attitude, his personality, throw Peter off more than he’d like to admit. Deadpool’s quips and perky attitude somewhat reflect his own, and he’s never come across someone quite like that before.

He pulls on his suit, adjusts his mask, and opens up the window. Climbing out onto the fire escape, he’s met with cool air and a clear view of the city around him. Slinging out his first web, he sets off into the night to patrol.

 

The first thing he encounters is a few guys trying to steal a car. He hears the guys talking from a mile away, and interrupts their little heist before they’ve even gotten started.

“Woah. Hate to tell you guys, but BMW’s aren’t really all that. Their parts crap out kinda fast. Toyota will last you much longer.” He nods as he speaks, because that’s a real piece of advice, but when the first guy steps forward to take a swing at his head, he gets a little offended. “And here I was trying to help.” He grabs the guys fist, stopping it mid swing before twisting it. Mr. Grumpy Pants curls with the movement, and Peter uses it to his advantage, shoving the guy down with his foot. “I promise not to do that again, I’d hate to be useful .” He finishes, webbing his assailant after he’s on the ground. He looks up to the other two men, leveling them with a look. It doesn’t do anything to curb their impulse to fight Peter though, and he rolls his shoulders with a sigh as he realizes he’s going to have to take down the two remaining men.

“What’s your next line huh?” He flips onto the side of building, avoiding the second guys attack swifty. “Lemme guess, ‘You’re gonna wish you hadn't done that?’ bad grammar and all? Will you roll up your sleeves? It looks cool, but it’s generic .” He finishes, and notes that he pissed them off.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” one of them says, and Peter dramatically rolls his eyes.

“Why would I do that? it helps me process.” He crosses his arms and gives kind of a ‘disappointed superhero’ look, but number three whipps out a gun. Peters senses quake and flare, zinging up his spine without any remorse. “That’s a little bit of an escalation, don’t you think?” He shoots a web for the man's gun, and rips it away before anyone can do anything about it. Peter flips it with the web, refusing to even touch it, and webs it to the building closest. He jumps, landing with grace on the guys shoulders, and front flips, smashing the criminal into the pavement.

He flips again, landing into a crouch. He lets himself slowly stand, lets his quadriceps and hamstrings go taut with the effort. His hands are poised outward, arched in the palm and fingers crooked in. He widens his stance for balance as the man reaches to the base of his back, behind his coat, and pulls out a knife.

“What do you have?” Peter quips, but the man only grunts in response. He starts menacingly walking forward, flipping the knife out with a flick of his wrist. “This is when you say ‘A knife!’ and I say ‘No!’ and chase you. Play along- otherwise it’s no fun.”

The man slowly builds up to a run, and Peter stills his body with the approach. Soon enough, the man is close enough for combat, and takes a swing. Peter’s senses tingle as the knife approaches his head, and he ducks on reflex. The man recoils, and tries to strike again. Missing once more, Peter decides to take pity on the guy, and stop him. He shoots a web at the man's eyes, and the tug on his spinnerets tell him the web shot true before his own eyes even do.

Grunting, the man tries to rip the webbing from his face with both hands. Spider-man takes advantage, shooting another web that binds the guy’s hands to his face.

Peter takes a step forward, placing his right foot parallel to the criminal’s left, and pushing. Throwing him off balance, Peter sends a hard punch to his chest, making him fall back and hit the pavement. With a quick web job to the ground, the criminal is left to struggle. Peter searches for a phone in the first guy’s pocket, and calls the police with it.

After the situation is taken care of, Peter makes his way to the nearest rooftop. He waits for more trouble to reach his ears, and fidgets with his mask in the meantime. He shifts it back and forth over the bridge of his nose, hoping its centered by the time he’s done moving it around.

Right as he’s about to move to another rooftop to listen around, He hears a sharp gasp, and then muffled speaking. The drop of a bag, the grunt of a second person, and then a staggered scream. Two blocks east.

He sets into motion swiftly, losing no time in flinging webs with both hands to nearby buildings, and pulling himself above the streets. One block before he reaches the alley, he hears another person rushing onto the scene. He feels a surge of pride that someone else rushed to the scene, until he hears them speak.

“Looks like someone doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no. Lucky for you, I won’t be listening to your safeword.” The voice rings a bell in Peter’s head, and he placed it as Deadpool quickly enough. While no zing travels up his spine, the knowledge of what this man can do makes him panic, and race even faster. He finally made it to the ledge of the rooftop above, but assessing the situation had him holding his form, second guessing what was actually going on.


 

(Hurry up, I want to get home and watch the movie)

“I’m going, I’m going. You can’t rush perfection.”

{Yes you can, it’s called premature ejaculation. Let’s go home and watch porn}

Wade takes a moment to stop, and bring up his into a questioning manner. “Why would I do that? To remind ourselves how ugly we are? How no one would wanna touch us with a ten foot pole? My head is in a good space today, if you think I’m gonna risk that then you’re more insane than I am.”

{I’m literally apart of you. We’re equally crazy}

“Yeah, and I’m ignoring that part because you’re the fucked up part of my brain I like to deny exists.”

{Do NOT ignore us}

“Pipe down Hannibal, this is my brain. Be glad I don’t charge you rent.”

(How about we stop talking about this and we pay attention to what’s happening on your right, doofus)

Wade stops, pausing to look around. He hears shuffling and a gasp to his right, so he makes his way to mouth of the alley. It appears to be a man trying to take advantage of a woman, and the rage that fills his veins almost makes him see red. “Looks like someone doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no. Lucky for you, I won’t be listening to your safeword.” He says as he steps into the alley, and he reaches up to unsheath his katanas as he walks. The dickwad on a stick turns away from the woman, and his eyes go wide as he realizes who is before him.

“D-Deadpool! Woah, man, nothin was going on.” He stutters, and Wade takes mild comfort in the fact this guy is terrified of him.

{Kill him kill him kill him kill him}

“Lemme stop you there buckaroo. I don’t think that was the most mutual thing happening. Hey there, lady, did you consent to this?” Wade asked the petrified lady and she looked back and forth between her assailant and Deadpool, slowly shaking her head no. “Well then that answers it huh?” Deadpool makes his way to the man, getting his face up close and personal to whisper. “This isn’t your lucky day pal. I hate rapists.” He says, and in a blur of movement he has a katana through a shoulder and into the concrete behind it. The guy screams bloody murder. Wade ignores it, even going as far as to put a hand over the guys mouth. “Isn’t so fun now is it fucktard? You should be glad I don’t break your goddamn neck.” He backs off, and takes his katana out of the man’s shoulder. For good measure he decides to shoot the man’s kneecaps, and when even more screaming fills the air, he groans. “My god, I’ve had way worse, suck it up.”

He turns to the woman, now cowering in the corner of the alley, shaking and keeping herself small. Wade lets his shoulder fall, now realizing she’s scared of him too. He backs into the opposite corner from her, putting his hands up. “Hey there, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. You can go if you’d like.” He offers, trying to sound gentle and reassuring, but not really knowing how well it comes off with the suit on. He wouldn’t be much better with it off, though.

The woman peaks around her fingers, gasping when she realizes she isn’t Deadpools next target. Wade sees her slight hesitation still, so he sits down on the ground cross legged, and holds up his hands once more. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re free to go.” He says, and his voice cracks. While he’s glad he strikes fear in baddies, the fact innocent people are terrified of him makes his heart wrench awfully. Yeah, he has a record, but he’s been trying to do better recently.

{Can’t teach an old dog new tricks}

He wants to bite back at the insult his own mind offers, but he keeps himself still to not scare the woman now making her way to the alley mouth. When she gets there, she pauses, turning around.

“Thank you.” She says. Simple, quiet, but meaningful. She hurries away with her bag, and Wade makes slow work of getting back up. Dusting off his knees, he barely notices the person crawling down the wall until they’re two feet away and speak.

“Hey.”

Wade yelps, jumping around with a finger pointed to reprimand- until he realizes who it is. “Spidey! You scared me. How’s it… hangin?” He finishes even though Spider-man is not hanging from a web. He is hanging from the wall, but- details. Last time he saw the hero, he was mad at Wade.

(Be nice)

{Shoot him}

Spider-man eyes him for a moment, the eyes of his mask blinking as he tilts his head, clearly studying the man in front of him. “I saw what you did just now, and I was wondering if I could talk to you.” He speaks, voice smooth and soft and-

{Spank bank}

“No!” Wade says to his side, and then realizes what Spider-man just asked. “Wait! Not- I didn’t mean no to you, I meant no to Yellow. He’s this box in my head but I’m just gonna shut up now, what were you saying? OH, wait Spidey, It wasn’t- I didnt- I was helping.” He emphasises, hoping that Spider-man doesn’t think that he was trying to- gross. “Or at least trying to. I don’t know how well I did.” He finishes, and his head drops with his shoulders. Before his mind can take him down a rabbit hole, Spider-man interrupts him.

“I know you were, Deadpool, and that’s exactly what I want to talk to you about.”

“I just- wait. What?” Deadpool takes a step back, and the way Spidey’s head tilts even more is so adorable it makes him want to squeal if he wasn’t so shocked. “But- But the other day? You said-”

“I know what I said. Hold on- lemme just,” Spider-man flips off the wall, graciously landing in front of the merc. He tries to hold in his excitement, and it only half works. Spidey steps forward, and Deadpool takes another step back. There’s no way Spidey wants to be close to him. Even if he doesn’t know it. “I owe you an apology.”

{...}

(What)

{What}

“What?” Wade must be dreaming, he must be dreaming. There’s no way Spider-man owes him anything, let alone an apology.

“I misjudged you, Deadpool. People told me some bad things about you, and I let it dictate my opinion of you. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.”

“Wha- I mean, Why?”

“What you did there was a good thing, you saved someone that needed help. That’s what I try to do. If the things I was told about you were true, there’s no way you would have done that. I saw the whole thing because I heard the alterication from when it started. You did good, DP.”

This time Wade does squeal, and if Spider-man does the head tilt thing once more, no one needs to know that it’s the reason Wade gasps.

“So, you mean- you don’t hate me?” Wade asks hopefully.

“I don’t think so. Why don’t we go get some food and talk some more? My treat.” Spidey offers, and Wade would have to be crazy not to accept.

Hell yes baby boy, let's zoom.” He says easily, and catches Spidey staring at him. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, c’mon, lets go. What kinda food do you want?”

“Tacos! Anything else would be betrayal.” Wade says, following Spider-man with a jog to catch up.

 

Wade finds out that Spider-man likes to eat on rooftops, and he finds out he likes it too. Seeing the city from up high kinda amazes Deadpool. He’s always on the ground, and everything always looks so big around him. But up on the rooftops, things look small, accessible, reachable.

Wade finishes his last taco, and turns back to face Spidey as he pulls down his mask. The hero is still eating, and Deadpool makes no move to rush him. Their conversation had been easy going, normal even. Spider-man seemed to be able to keep up with Wade in a way that others normally couldn’t. It was wit, and jokes, and banter that was never given back to him when he conversed with other people.

(Not since Vanessa)

He’s brought back to the present as his eyes catch the smooth pale skin on Spider-man’s jaw.

{Those lips}

Looking to those lips , Wade lets out a sigh at how pretty they are.

(This is doing nothing for your crush the size of Alaska on him)

“Nope.” Wade murmurs, and he sees the other’s lips start moving. He stares even more, watching the way the way Spider-man’s lips move. The soft, lush pink, the pout of his bottom lip.

{Would look great wrapped around our-}

“Hello? Deadpool?” Spidey says, and Wade snaps out of it.

“You can call me Wade.” He hears himself say, and he flushes despite the fact that he gave up the information himself.

“Okay.” Spidey starts, speaking slowly. “Wade.” He pauses, and Wade is grateful, because his eyes close out of their own accord and he lets out a breathy sigh. He’s touch, attention, friend- you name it - starved. Sue him. “How long have you been helping people?”

Deadpool’s eyebrows scrunch, and he thinks about what the hero next to him means. “You mean like- like back there?” He points over his shoulder. Shrugging, he makes a random gesture with his hands. “I mean- I try to whenever I see something. I wanna stop doing jobs, you know, merc jobs, but I don’t really know what to do if I do stop.”

“Why do you want to stop?” The other asks, and the question catches Deadpool off guard. He looks to Spidey for any indication that the other is joking, or asking one of those rhetorical questions where they don’t want the answer, but upon inspection, the other looks genuine.

“I mean. The merc business is all I’ve known since I got out of special forces. It’s- It’s what I’m good at. Killing is all I’ve ever done. But-” he catches, looking again to the city around him to help him breathe. “Everything good in my life was either non-existent, or taken away from me. I have nothing good anymore. I- I want to be better. I want to feel like I’m apart of something meaningful. I don’t know, I’m probably not making any sense. Like- I’m immortal, right? I can’t die. I gonna be here for a while, might as well be of some use for once.” He finishes, shrugging once again. “I don’t remember a lot from the past. My memory is unreliable at best. The lines of who’s good and who’s bad is kinda blurring, and I’m kinda forgetting why I started in the mercenary biz anyway.” He finishes rambling, and looks to Spidey. The other is looking back at him with wide eyes, and Wade fidgets under his gaze.

“You want to be better? You want to do better?” Spider-man whispers, and Wade nods dramatically.

{You can never do better you piece of shit}

(Wade, are you sure this is a good idea?)

“Then can I help you in the right direction?” he asks, and Wade gets so excited he gets up to start pacing.

“You mean like, like team ups? Like, fighting crime together? Really?”

“If you want to, yeah. You said the line is sometimes blurred for you, maybe I can help you see it again.” Spidey says, and since his mask is still rolled up Wade can see the smile stretched upon those light pink lips. “You have goals, I want to help you reach them. You’re a good person Wade, despite what I’ve heard. You deserve as good of a second chance as anyone else.”

Gasping, Wade flails his arms “Does this make us friends?”

Spider-man laughs, and sticks out his hand. “It does.”

Wade takes the hand firmly, and shakes it almost wildly. “Wade Wilson.”

“You can call me Webs.”

 

Chapter Text

Wade opens the door to his friends bar with a sense of renewed vigor that really only exists alongside him here. Out in the world, Deadpool is a dirty mercenary that people look upon with disgust or fear. Here , Wade is the top if the food chain. Here, Wade’s healing factor is almost as terrifying as his skills.

Draped in full Deadpool uniform, Wade makes his way over to bar, seating himself in a stool with empty seats on both sides.

(Just because we can’t die doesn’t mean fuckers won’t try.)

“Wade, long time no see. You here for a job?” Weasel asks, and Wade is shaking his head no before even speaking.

“Maybe if you got any recon or scare gigs. Not really looking for any kills right now.” He looks around, drumming his fingers on the top of the bar.

“Not really looking for any- are you okay? Is that the real you? First you go off the grid for two months and now you don’t want hits?” Weasel asks, and the spike of defensiveness that hits Wade settles before he can do anything about it.

“I wasn’t off the grid just because I wasn’t in here. Look. Things have been kinda…” He makes a garbled movement next to his head, “lately. Nothing made sense for a while, I’m trying to get back on track. On a better track.”

“What, so you’re gonna become like a goodie two shoes superhero or something?” Weasel laughs, and when Wade doesn’t deny it, the laughing stops. “You’re serious. Wade, You’re not the superhero kinda guy, bud.”

{Listen to him you stupid fucking-}

(Think about it Wade. You really haven’t been debating giving up jobs for very long. Is it something you actually wanna do?)

“Yes-” He says to himself, before realizing what Weasel asked him. “I mean, I don’t know, Wease. I don’t really know what ‘kinda guy’ I am anymore. I mean- I’m still me, I know who I am and my personality. But maybe I should shake it up a bit, refresh myself. Self growth and shit. I’m trying to not listen to the crazy voices in my head when they tell me to kill people.” He points a finger at his friend. “Don’t encourage them. Now if you’re done yelling at me for not taking jobs for a month or two, give me a goddamn shot. I didn’t know I was signing up for a game of twenty questions.”

Weasel grumbles but compiles, and the second the glass touches the bartop Wade is picking it up with one hand, rolling his mask up to his nose with the other. He tilts his head back and downs the shot, the trail of it leaving half a second of a burning sensation behind it before his healing factor takes care of it. He slides the mask back down as the glass leaves his lips.

“So tell me why you waste my alcohol if you can’t even get drunk?”

Wade groans at more questions. “It’s for the effect, Wease. I can pretend I’m drunk if I’m nursing some actual booze. I’d just look stupid if I was trying to get fake drunk drinking water. Keep up.” Wade finishes with a scoff, and he ignores the eye roll he receives from Weasle. “But you ruined it anyway, my fake buzz is killed before it even started. Give me three more of those and I’ll be on my merry way.”

He makes quick work of the shots once more, and stands up from his stool, giving Weasel a nod.

“I would say don’t die on me, but since that’s impossible, just actually show your face more.” Weasel calls as Wade is walking towards the door, and what he says makes Wade laugh. Sarcastically.

“Oh yeah, I’ll sure try to do that Wease. Last time you saw this shit show you were sick for four hours. I think I’ll save that party trick for april fools. Or Halloween.”

“You know what I meant Wade!” The bartender calls, and Deadpool throws a hand dismissively behind him in a show of recognition.

“Yeah yeah. Bye~” He sings, and busts the door open with only a little bit of frustration.

The sun is long passed set, and Wade makes his way out of the alley Weasel’s bar is huddled in. The area surrounding is less than ideal, but the nightlife is in full swing- and that covers almost any lackluster quality that the area holds. The chatter of people and rev of bikes pillow around him, and he inhales the smell of smoke and piss begrudgingly.

(Ew. Go back inside, at least there's no piss in there)

“Debatable. I know you’ve seen those bathrooms.”

{God I wish we could get drunk}

Wade tunes out the boxes, instead thinking about what he should do. He wants to go patrol with Spidey, but it’s been a couple days since they last met, and they never exchanged numbers or anything.

{Maybe he decided he doesn’t like us anymore. Maybe he saw you for what you really are, a fucking freak}

As much as Wade didn’t want to admit that the scenario was possible, it was. Webs probably realized what a mistake it is to be hanging around Deadpool, and the next time Wade sees him, he’s gonna tie him up and leave him for the police. A heavy sigh escapes his lungs.

{I wouldn’t mind being tied up by him}

“Oh shut up, save your breath for something useful” He says out into the open air, and he definitely was not expecting a response.

“I know of something useful I could hold my breath for, If you’re interested.” The smooth voice of a woman reaches Wade’s ears, and he tenses before slowly turning to see who it is.

He doesn’t recognize the person, but he does see that it’s a very beautiful woman, maybe mid twenties. She has long, wavy white hair, a curvy body, pointed lips and sharp eyes. She steps closer slowly, sensually, and Wade hates himself for the way his body tenses and coils.

{DO NOT LET HER COME NEAR US}

(Relax, she’s a prostitute, not a killer. God, you’re so touch starved it’s actually sad)

She reaches him gracefully, like a soft summer breeze, and brings up a hand to rest on his shoulder. Wade flinches by reflex, and the calculating eyes on him narrow. He doesn’t notice, as a split second after he tenses, his body melts into the contact. His eyes slide close and it takes a momentous amount of effort to open them once again.

“Hey baby,” She purrs, and the shiver that sneaks up Wade’s spine makes him want to fall through the floor. The last time he was touched by anyone, loved by anyone, was too long ago- he barely remembers it.

{The debate here is whether or not you deserve love, not when you should get it. Spoiler, the answer is no}

“Why so skittish, big man?” She tilts her head up towards his and to the side, with a small smile adorning her red lips. “You seem,” She takes a second to look him over, “Well endowed. Why don’t we go find a hotel and you can show me all the muscle under that hot suit? I promise I don’t come with a huge price tag.”

The flush of arousal travels down Wade’s body so fast it startles him out of his stupor. He takes a shaky inhale and gulps, hands fisting at his sides to restrain himself. He wants more than anything to feel another body against him. To wake up next to someone, or cuddle close with them to sleep. And- call his heart treacherous, but he already has someone in his mind for that, even if it probably won’t ever happen. Not only that, but this woman is looking for money, not to be scarred for life.

(HA, was that supposed to be a pun? Scarred for life? It was good)

His body sags with resignation as he steps back, his hand coming up to gently take hers off of his shoulder. “While the offer is very tempting, I shouldn’t. Thank you, though.”

Her demeanor changes from domineering mistress to whiny cutie in a second, and she pouts. “You sure?”

“Damn you’re good. Yeah, I’m sure.” He offers a sad smile, hoping that it translates through the mask enough.

“Okay. You woulda been nice to have, though.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that, but I hope you find other clients!”

She chuckles as she steps away, looking back once more with a pout that pulls on Wade’s heart before continuing down the street in search of a weaker man with a larger wallet. Wade turns himself in the other direction, adjusting his pants to make the semi he’s sporting more comfortable.

He treks on, heading toward Midtown from where he is in Hell’s Kitchen.

{Now can we go watch porn?}

“Goddamn Yellow, no.” He mumbles, taking note of the mexican restaurant he’s passing. He makes a mental sticky note to try it one night. Mental sticky note with glitter for effect.

{Fine}

“You’re a child.” Wade spits, not caring that a random guy across the street hurries his pace when he catches sight of the red and black clad merc talking to himself.

{You’re a child}

“Oh for Christ’s-” Deadpool turns the corner and is met face to face with Spider-man. He screams, turning to rest one hand on a knee and the other over his heart. “Please stop doing that, my heart can’t take it. Holy fuckballs.”

“Sorry Wade, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Spider-man laughs, and Wade would take offense that Spider-man is totally not sorry, if he wasn’t so excited to be back in the other’s presence.

“Wait, no it’s okay- does this mean we can patrol together?” The anticipation and excitement make Wade giddy, and silently hopes he doesn’t come off as too… fan-y.

(Oh, what ever shall you do if he finds out you’re in love with him. Cut the bullshit, Wade, you know you want him to know.)

“Yeah, if you’re not in the middle of anything. I was already patrolling, and saw you while swinging past. Figured I’d say hi if nothing else.”

“Oh em gee! My first real patrol! Do I get a badge that’s like ‘Spider-man’s assistant?’ or like ‘superhero in training’? Wait I actually don’t like that second one.” He looks back to Spider-man, and while Wade can’t see his face, the pose and air he gives off tells Wade he is amused. Wade smiles to himself, glad Spider-man can enjoy himself around the merc.

{Pathetic}

“Yeah well at least I’m not a voice in someone else's head so who’s pathetic now?” He snaps to his right, and immediately regrets it after. Webs doesn’t outwardly react, but Wade thinks that might be worse. The silent judgements are always somehow more scathing. But when Spidey speaks next, he doesn’t sound filled with disgust or contempt.

“That’s that box again, right?” He says softly, understanding oozing out of his features.

“Yeah, that was Yellow. There’s White too, but Yellow tends to be more…” He whistles a cuckoo clock bird noise. “White is more my main hoe, but they can both be mean in their own ways.” He explains, and Spider-man nods while listening.

{Don’t talk about us you little bitch}

(Oh god, shut up Yellow. The plot is just getting good)

“Did one of them call you pathetic? Just now? I don’t mean to pry, let me know if I’m overstepping any boundaries.”

“No, you’re good Web-head. Yeah, Yellow is the mean one more often. Sometimes I can ignore them, and sometimes they’re just too loud.” Spidey nods understandingly again, seeming to be in thought. The moment passes, The web slinger still seemingly staring off into space. Wade wonders if he made the hero uncomfortable, so he breaks the silence. “So, that patrol huh?” That snaps Spidey out of his stupor.

“Right! Wanna start?”

“Is my suit red?”

“Yes?”

“Then let’s go baby!”

Spider-man laughs breathy and elated, and turns, facing his back to Deadpool. He points over his shoulder to his back. “Hop on, Wade.”

 

Wade learns slinging through the streets is liberating and terrifying. Liberating because it feels as if the world is his. It feels open and ripe, crisp and new. Terrifying because after the ark of each swing, Spider-man lets the web supporting them go from his wrist, and for a few gut wrenching moments, they’re free falling. While Wade can regenerate from anything, emotions like pain and terror still exist in his dictionary. His stomach drops each swing, and the feeling makes him shake, but want it more.

“Not to be like, a major disney nerd, but this is totally wicked!” Wade screams over the wind around them, and Spidey’s laugh is loud and boisterous this time, but equally as beautiful.

They land in upper Midtown on an extremely tall building, and Wade is trying to reel his soul back into his body as Spiderman watches him.

“That was like, wild in the best of ways.” He wheezes, more because the building they are on is tall rather than the ride took his breath away.

“Like that vine where the guy is just like ‘ woaw’?”

“Yes! Exactly like that, Webs! So, Spider-man knows vines?” Wade stands with his hands on his hips, and Spidey’s mask moves in a way that tells Wade he was opening his mouth to respond, when he abruptly looks off to his left. His body hunches in on itself and his stance widens, and it tells Wade the other heard something he didn’t.

“C’mon, Deadpool.” The web slinger says, his voice hard and unforgiving. His body language gives Wade the signal to get on his back again, so Wade complies. The realization dawns on the merc that Webs hasn't used the same tone of voice with him, and it makes him a tiny bit happy as he climbs back onto the other’s back.

They’re once again swinging through the streets of New York City, and the whole time Wade tries to hold in any sounds that threaten to escape.

Spider-man takes them four blocks southwest, and once they reach the area Deadpool realizes why Webs was so hasty to get there. A hostage situation is unfolding in front of them in a local convenience store, and after Deadpool gets off the arachnid’s back, the hero huddles in close to make a plan.

“Front or back?”

{Front}

(Back)

“What are we talking about?” Wade asks instead of answering, because he’s pretty sure the image in his head is not what Spider-man is propositioning.

“Do you want to be the distraction or the infiltration?”

“Not a good choice of words, Webs. I’ll be the distraction. You take it from the back.” Wade says without thinking, and the slow blink he receives makes him realize his own choice of words. “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Spidey jokes, and quickly waves it off. “For real though. Some tips- No killing, no casualties, minimal maiming, and uh, have fun I guess. Meet you in the middle, Pool.” He raises his fist for Deadpool to pound, and he does so gingerly.

{Wait, was that flirting?}

Wade watches as Spider-man webs off to the back of the building silently, and moves his gaze to calculate the best plan.

{Are you idiots just gonna ignore that he kinda flirted? Even a little?}

(It wasn’t flirting)

{Maybe it will be if we let him-}

“God guys, shut up, I’m superhero-ing. Less talk, fangirl later.” Wade says, standing up on the ledge of the roof only to step off and drop the three stories below. He lands with a crunch, but by the time he goes to take a step his legs are already realigning and healing. Looking up to the convenience store in front of him, he takes note of everyone in it. He doesn’t know the number of hostages, but he assumes Spidey does. One person dressed in all black with a semi automatic is out front keeping watch, two are visible attending to the hostages he assumes are on the ground of the store. Wade guesses another is in the back dealing with the worker and money, so he skips his way to toward the store.

“Hey! I’d back off if I were you.” The person says, face covered by a cloth the same color as their clothes. Wade notes the deep voice and burly stance, and takes the gun from his thigh holster with alarming speed. He points it as the guy’s crotch.

“Yours won’t regrow.” He teases, and when the man is startled, Wade moves, getting up close and personal, right hooking the person so hard they’re out cold. Wade waits a moment or two, and sure enough one of the people inside are looking for confirmation through their coms that everything is still okay. “Spidey said distraction, here goes nothin.”

He holsters his gun, steps over the body and into the store like it wasn’t being raided, and waves to the other people dressed in black.

“Hey! You guys sell guns here now? Wow, that must be illegal! Convenient though.” His outburst has the desired effect, and all guns turn on him. The hostiages scream as the guns move, but Deadpool stays as still as possible. “Oopsies, did I come at a bad time?”

The guns start firing at Wade, who barely moves with the impact on his chest. Spider-man drops through the flimsy tiles the second the guns go off, and the first thing he does is web the guns away from the assailants. He performs a badass roundhouse kick to one of the bad guy’s head, and jumps to kick the the middle of the other ones back, sending him to the floor. They groan airily, and Wade knows they’re down for the count.

“Huh,” Spider-man says, looking around with his hands on his hips, “That was too easy.”

Wade smiles, but notices movement out of the corner of his eye.

(The guy in the back)

{Kill him}

The person from the back has a gun pointed at Spidey, and the boxes scream bloody murder. Wade feels as if he doesn’t have control of his own body, his arm taking hold of the tactical knife at his waist. He brings his arm up above his head for the throw, down hard, and flicks his wrist. The knife sets sail toward the man's hand. Spidey’s super senses have already told him what’s going on, but he’s watching Wade with wide mask lenses. The man flinches away, and Wade is grateful, because the knife imbeds itself into his shoulder, and all the strength in his arm dissipates. The gun clatters to the floor with the man writhing in pain, and Wade realizes offhandedly that he starts breathing again.

They stay silent for a moment before Webs heads to aid the hostages, and Wade thoughtlessly goes to check on the guy in the back. He steps extra hard on the douchehole who aimed a gun at Spidey, and helps the cashier out. He got shot in the leg, presumably by Mr. Triggerhappy.

He notices blearily that the man is a little scared of him, but he can’t really think straight enough to try and make it better.

{Ha, think straight}

Wade helps him stand, maybe a little too roughly aiding his movements. They walk out of the back room together, and everything seems to be slowly coming back into focus for Deadpool. The pressure he feels in his body starts to fade, letting the feel of the room around him swell to its full capacity. his vision clears from the red haze it had, and Wade takes a deep, shaky inhale.

Spider-man walks over and lightly holds his shoulder, bringing Wade’s attention to him.

“Let’s head out, Pool.” He says, and the merc nods, following. The hostages have started to take care of one another, making sure they’re okay until the police arrive. Deadpool sees webbing over the bullet wound on the cashier’s leg, a makeshift bandage until he gets in an ambulance.

Wade starts to hear sirens, and he follows Spider-man out the back entrance. The hero shoots a web to the top of the next building over, quickly grabs Wade’s waist, and yanks on the web. It sends them flying toward the rooftop, and he angles himself differently so they don’t clip the side in their landing.

The older of the two is stunned and a little bit motionsick. “Take me on a date first Webs.”

Spider-man swiftly ignores the comment. “You did good today, Wade.”

Deadpool processes the statement for a moment. “Really? Cuz I feel like I did kinda shit. I almost killed that guy back there. I don’t even know what happened- he had a gun pointed at you and my body just… moved. I don’t know how to explain it.” Wade shakes his head and curls in on himself unknowingly. Spider-man recognizes it as self comfort.

“But you didn’t. Whatever it was that kept you from aiming somewhere different, it worked. You did good.”

A swell of pride and confidence rushes through Wade, and he stands up straighter with the praise. “Thank you.” He murmurs, not really believing the other’s words.

“Oh! Before I forget like last time, give me your phone.” Spidey exclaims, and holds out his hand patiently.

Wade complies, and before he can ask what the man plans to do with it, it’s being placed back in his palm. He looks down and sees a new text conversation, with ‘Spider-man’ typed in as the subject. The text, sent from his own device, is a simple smiley face.

“Oh right, and from before, those mean boxes in your head? I want you to know that you can call me if it ever gets bad.”

A tremendous wave of raw emotion overcomes Wade, and all he can do is nod once. “Again, you did good! Feel free to text me about more patrols!” He shouts over the wind, and then he’s running toward the ledge and jumping, slinging through the air.

{Totally flirting}

Chapter Text

Because New York is the city that never sleeps, that means its enemies don’t either.

That’s why Peter is woken up four hours after he fell asleep to the static chatter of his police scanner, the people on the other ends screaming in panic.

His eyes snap open almost instantly, and he’s up getting his suit on in a matter of seconds.

“What are these things?”

“We need backup, they’re heading uptown!”

“They’re here at Broadway and W 83rd!”

“In Times Square too.”

Peter concentrates on the live feed as he moves around his apartment. His body protests, aching to crawl back into his bed. His patrol the night before with Deadpool ran a little late. He had just been finishing up his normal route when he came across the merc- ex merc, now. Wade looked so excited at the prospect of patrolling with Spider-man, he couldn’t refuse. While he didn’t regret it even sleep deprived, it was coming to bite him in the ass.

He’s half pulling on his mask as he grabs a premade protein shake- for situations like these where he doesn’t have time to make something before going. He flips open the bottle, downs it in seconds, and once he finishes- places it on the counter, and runs toward his open living room window.

Four feet before the window itself, he springs his left leg into a jump off the floor of his apartment. He uses his weight to get his body position parallel to the ground, and straightens his limbs into a line as he turns his torso to his right. The momentum makes him spin as he sails through the window narrowly, and only when gravity starts bringing him to the ground does he loosen up and throw his first web toward Times Square.

“Oh Spider-man, what is it like having two full time jobs? Doesn’t that take a toll on your private life?” He fakes a higher pitched voice, as if he was an interviewer. “Why yes, yes it does.” He mock answers, taking a sharp turn and curving around the bend with his current web. “Th ank you for all you do for this city!” He uses the fake voice again. “No problem! It would be nice if I could collect the royalty checks for the merch though…” He passes by Madame Tussauds as Times Square comes into view. “Or have my own wax figure. That would be cool too. But I guess they’d need a way to get in contact with me for both of those, so, yeah. That wouldn’t work.”

When he cuts off his web, he aims his next one for the side of the nearest building, and propels himself towards it. Sticking with one hand and both feet, he turns to see what’s happening around him. On the far side of Times Square, He sees giant creatures that only slightly resemble any animal on earth. They have the head of a mouse, the skin of a naked mole rat, the body similar to that of a guinea pig, the legs of a kangaroo, and tails adorned with spikes that keep swinging into buildings. Peter’s heart wrenches as he thinks about how they’ve probably swung into people too. The creatures are easily eighteen feet tall, and the spikes on their tails look about three in length. Four of them are in the vicinity.

Peter sees one of the Avengers already on the scene, and he assumes the others have spread out, taking on the different locations where the creatures are wreaking havoc. Peter wastes no time in using his ability to stick to his advantage. Times Square is full of tall buildings, sure, but to web to a building across the way and try to swing would put him on the ground. It’s too wide, and web slinging is best with tall buildings closer together. So instead, he stands up on the side of the building he’s been on, and starts running toward the creatures. Each time he reaches a gap in the buildings. He jumps, slinging a web to connect to the next structure, and aids his landing. He rolls, using the momentum to continue his run, and soon enough he gets to the split in the road where a building breaks up the openness of Manhattan's staple. He webs to it and pauses, looking down where the fight is now practically below him. Iron man seems to be dealing with this area, so Peter figures he’ll aid the genius first, then go see if anyone else could use his assistance.

Below him, Iron man is trying to incapacitate the beings, but can’t focus on one with the other three trying to go after him.

Peter is about to ask what Tony wants him to do, but other notices him first, and the high tech suit is shooting something at him. While Peter’s spidey sense doesn’t go off, his relex catches the object.

Inspecting it, he takes note that it’s a com, and lifts up his mask only a sliver with one hand, and wiggles the other to put the com in his ear. It cracks to life as it registers it’s in use, and Peter can hear all the Avengers.

“Hey, Spider-man. Nice of you to join us.” Iron man goats sarcastically.

“Oh you know, I was just swinging past and it looked like you guys needed some help.” Peter says, shrugging, and Iron Man’s suit gets swiped with a spiked tail in his distraction, throwing him off balance. Tony’s suit adjusts, bringing him back to where he was hovering, and he looks back to Peter once again. This time, Spider-man can feel the annoyance.

“Then maybe, oh I don’t know, help?”

“Right. On it.” Peter flips off the building wall, and lets the inertia of the first flip carry him through three more. When his body is facing upright once more, he straightens out, and he gets a good look at the creatures as he passes between them. “ What? Why are we fighting these things? They’re cute!” Peter shoots a web from his right wrist to connect with the first creatures small itty bitty arm, and uses his left arm to briefly web to a building behind the rat… thing. He pulls, moving his power, and drops the web from his left arm. He lets himself be carried, and he makes sure to constantly be producing more web to make up for the fact he’s wrapping up an otherworldly giant rodent.

Man his spinnerets are going to be sore after this.

When the oversized rodent becomes aware of what he was doing, things become a tiny bit more complicated. It cries and thrashes, trying to rip the restraints and swipe at Peter.

A pang of guilt hits his heart, but Peter ignores it. He dodges, and shoots a web for its other free hand, and continues wrapping it up, this time trying to go faster. He needs these things immobilized, and he can’t go feeling guilty or he’ll end up adopting it.

Peter makes his way down the creatures body, and once he reaches the bottom, he pauses, trying to figure out the best way to get it on the ground and out of harm's way.

The decision is ultimately made for him, and Iron man pushes the giant rodent over with his suit. A shudder goes up Peter’s spine in sympathy, and he sends a glare to Tony in retaliation.

“Oh what- next you’re gonna tell me to go vegan.”

“Well, I’m vegetarian so I might.” Peter smirks as Tony groans, and they start to head over to the remaining three.

“You sound like Pepper.”

“Pepper sounds like she cares about the environment.”

“Stop sassing, more super-ing.” He states, and if Peter weren’t wearing a mask, he’d have stuck his tongue out.

They deal with the remaining three in Times Square similarly, and Peter remembers the connection in their com’s weren’t just between the two them, when Black Widow speaks up.

“I need backup outside of Fisk Tower.” Her voice is steel and ice, and Peter makes a mental note to try to never piss her off.

“Wait, I want Spider-man to help me!” Hawkeye, if Peter’s assumption is correct, speaks up. “You can have Tony.”

“Child. Fine.” Black Widow reponds, and Peter wants to laugh.

“Where do you need me?” Peter asks as Tony flies off towards Fisk tower.

“Manhattan mall. West 33rd Street and 6th Ave.” Clint’s com cracks to life again with his response, and Peter has long since been grateful he knows the streets of this city like the back of his hand.

“You know,” He starts, and hopes any of them are actually listening as he starts on his way to Hawkeye. “All of them seem to be in a rather close radius, considering. Do we know their origins?”

“NYPD says some emerged from the subways, but where they are nesting is unknown. They also smell like garbage.” Tony speaks up again.

“The sewers might be where they live,” Peter takes a moment to pause as he releases a web and thwips a new one out. “There’s a huge networking of waterways, railroads and sewer tunnels under New York. They all might connect to subway tracks as well, which would confirm how they got out without making any street damage. The only real question is how did they get around down there if they’re so big.”

“I heard somewhere that rats and mice can fit anywhere they can shove their head through.” Bucky supplies, and Peter nods to himself.

“So we agree they probably have a nest down there.” Silence meets his theory, so he speaks up again. “Does that mean someone should go into the sewers to find the nest and seal it off?”

A huge corus of ‘not it’s meets Peters ear, and he groans.

“Really? I find out where they are and I have to go do it?”

“You’ll be fine, you can just make your way through on the ceilings. Everyone other than Tony would have to get wet, and his repulsors might irritate them underground.” Clint says, and Spider-man can’t really argue because he’s right. Just as he’s arriving to the scene where Hawkeye is, he pauses on a building.

“So do you want me to help you first or go into the sewers, because I’m here.”

“Me and Tony finished up here, so we’ll go help Clint.” Natasha speaks, “You go to the sewers.”

Peter sighs and casts his head down- and because the world likes to make fun of him, there is a manhole cover right on the street in front of him. “Yay me.”

He webs the cover, pulls it to himself, and jumps out into the air in the middle of the street. With his free hand, he webs to the lip of the manhole, and pulls himself so he propels toward it. Peter straightens out his body into a perfect line, and creates one last line of webbing connecting him to the manhole cover. He glides toward the concrete, moving his hands to hold the manhole cover above his head. His spider sense tingles at the back of his neck, and he instinctively tucks his elbows to his body. It proves important, because as he whizzes through the small hole in the street, he feels the air around him move, just a shred of space open between the lines of his body and the metal of the implanted sewer lid.

His body tenses for the impact, and when the cover sets, his arms and the web he placed as reinforcement both give leeway to the pressure. His hands stay stuck, and the web stretches out.

While the move he performed to get into the sewers is frankly badass, the smell instantly overrides his sensitive nose, and his skin prickles in irritation. The open, dark expanse of the sewers make him uncomfortable, and the soft, self soothing clicking sound that starts in his throat does little to take the edge off his nerves. He’s up on the ceiling, looking down to the murky waters below him, and the perfect round shape of the tunnel only aids to make his vision swirl.

One thing about the coms they wear is that they are efficient. It turns off when it doesn’t have anything on the other ends to deliver via audio. It uses dual microphones so that all the far off, white noise is muted, and only close up, important noise is transfered. That being said, Peter’s com, since he isn’t in any direct affiliation with the avengers, isn’t made to suit his senses. The static that emits from the device whenever it turns on is loud and rings in Peter’s ear, and it makes his head twitch in annoyance constantly.

So when it crackles to life in the erie sewers of Manhattan, he startles so hard he almost falls off the ceiling.

“You still alive, kid?” Falcon speaks, and he has to calm himself before answering.

“Yeah, I’m in.” Spider-man keeps his voice low to avoid echoing, and fights the instinct to say that he was in fact, not a kid. He was thirty. Not a kid. Breaking the webbing holding him to the cover is basically a fidget for him, and he looks around almost wildly as his eyes finish fully adjusting to the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” Steve inquires, and Peter tries- fails, to fight off the blush that rises to his cheeks when he realizes they can hear the clicking.

The spider bite that gave him his powers changed a little more than Peter ever liked to let on. When he was alone, or at least in private, he liked to appease the spider side of him. In public, as Spider-man especially, he squashed the instincts down. The bite gave him organic webs, inhuman strength, durability, stamina, agility, speed, reflexes and a spider sense. But it also make his throat make a soft clicking noise sometimes- he hadn't yet figured out the circumstances. It made his body unable to thermoregulate, it made him seak high places, webs and corners for peace, and it made spiders gravitate toward him naturally. He wasn’t complaining, really, he wasn’t. But having the Avengers hear a piece of his biology felt vulnerable- like his mask was torn off in front of an audience.

“N-nothing! Must be the uh, the connection getting shot.” He knows it’s a stretch. Peter recognizes an out, and takes it. “I need to find out where these creatures are, and seal them off so they can be dealt with. I’m gonna take out my com so I can hear properly.” He quickly lifts up his mask and takes out the device before anyone can protest, and sighs a breath of relief. Stuffing the small equipment into the thin side pocket on his suit, he starts his way into the tunnel.

As he makes his way deeper in, the noise of the outside world fades, and he is left alone with the dripping of water, occasional squeak of normal, earth rats, and the groan of pipes. His senses calm in the serenity, but they stay alert, and the self soothing clicking starts actually helping him calm. He reaches a intersection of three tunnels, and takes a deep breath as he makes his way into the middle of the small clearing. His nerves feel less frayed, and the clicking slowly subsides. He sticks a web to the ceiling above his body, and hangs, bringing his limbs together on the organic substance. His body sways, but is comfortable. Taking another deep breath, he snaps his senses out, as far as they can reach, and listens for the same sounds the rodents from earlier were making. He tunes out the noises around him, and similar ones farther away, and focuses.

Fainty, as if trying to go unnoticed, the sound of chattering and grinding of teeth floats to his ears. High pitched squeaks follow, and they seem much more calm than the ones he heard on the surface. Sated, even. His eyes snap open, and with the path through the tunnels sharp in his brain, he sets off toward them.

“Bingo.”

The path there is a long one, and even longer with just crawling along the ceiling. He’s trying to be silent, not spook the creatures from their nest. So he takes his time, occupying his mind as his body goes on autopilot. His mind flits from mundane things, like if he left the stove on, to more important things, like the fight he got into with the mugger last week. He had left the man unconscious, and he forgot to check if he was okay before leaving the scene. Guilt weighs heavy on his conscience, but he casts it away in favor of something else to think about.

His mind settles unceremoniously on Wade, and he decides to let this train of thought play out. The night before was good, really good. Wade was funny, they clicked, and he wanted to help the man do better.

For a split second, his heart stops with the thought that he was treating Deadpool like a charity case, but his logic immediately weighs out. He wants to help Wade, not solve his problems. He doesn’t pity the man, and he wasn’t going out of his way more than he would for any other person. It wasn’t charity, it’s just who he is. Helping people is what he does.

Peter remembers when Wade’s body tensed, and threw the knife. He could tell through the mask that Wade would have killed the man under different circumstances, and while that should have set Peter’s senses off, it didn’t. Since Peter apologized for his original awful behavior, the ex-merc has never registered in Peter’s mind as dangerous. Seeing him with his body hard and tense, calculating and throwing a knife, he was reminded that the other is a tactical, highly trained former assassin. But, Deadpool restrained himself well, and made good choices under stress. When Peter told Wade he did a good job, he wasn’t just saying it. An offhand thought occurs to him. Wade didn’t seem that defensive about his own safety, but rather Peters. He might be imagining it, but it was a thought the keep up with. See if it’s an actual observation or merely a theory.

Noticing that he has been traveling for a substantial amount of time, Peter stops and opens his senses again, listening for the same sounds he looked for prior, and maybe some heartbeats. He finds it through the tunnel opening to his left, and he takes it gingerly but slowly. It’s a tunnel much shorter and smaller than the others he’s been in, but it seems to have a direct link to where he needs.

When the tunnel ends, Peter pauses, and looks out in front of him to asses the situation.

The first thing he notices are the openings. It looks as if this specific area was the meeting point between tons of different tunnels. Peter counts at least ten openings just across the way from him.

The second thing he notices is the size of the area he’s looking at. At least the size of a football field was carved out underground in front of him, and while that doesn’t seem like much when you’re standing far away looking down, say, in the bleachers at a football game, the feeling is much different, much more vast when standing in the middle of the field. This area was huge.

And so were the creatures lying in it. The last thing Peter notices is the sheer amount of these rodents, gathered and cuddled up, sleeping peacefully. What was concerning was a giant pair of the creatures, among all the other ones of various ‘normal’ sizes and ages. The pair were much larger, probably triple the other’s largest size, and they had spikes adorning the spine, all down the back. One of these giant ones was facing him, it’s head propped up, giving him a good look at the creature. He offhandedly realizes that these might be similar to that of a queen bee in a hive.

His instinct to talk makes him itch to grab the com and put it back in, let the Avengers know what he found, but he curbs the impulse immediately. Waking these creatures is a horrible mistake he doesn’t want to make. While the ones he incapacitated didn’t try to attack him very much, he’s not blind to the power they hold. He wasn’t trying to piss these things off, and he couldn’t imagine how mad they would be if he woke them up from slumber. That, and there was at least fifty in this place. He wasn’t sure if he could fight off that many and win.

Peter got to work quickly, climbing out of the small tunnel he was in, and down onto the wall of the open area. Utilizing the stickiness on his feet, he settles back into his hips, and aims for the upper wall above the opening, but pauses. While these things are big, they move fast. Waking up them all could mean having to outrun them, or having to wait it out on the ceiling inside their den. Luckily, the room was similar to the tunnels in the sense that it was perfectly spherical, meaning the middle of the room had the most amount of distance between the ground and floor. Readying himself for the worst, he shoots one web out of his wrist, and stops breathing when he hears the quiet thwip sound reverberate through the mostly empty den. Peering back over his shoulder, he watches the dark, damp sea of oversized rodents for movement. When he saw none, he turns back, and sticks the webbing to the underside of the hole. Continuing, he shoots one web at a time, using both hands efficiently to seal up the tunnel he came through.

Peter makes his way through the openings, one by one, until there is only one left. His wrists hurt from over exerting his spinnerets, and his stomach aches with the need for food to refuel his energy. Taking a deep inhale, he readies himself to seal it off halfway, get inside the tunnel, complete the rest of it, then make his way back to the surface.

The task is boring and mundane, and he sighs breathily, wanting this to be done. It’s been at least an hour since he’s been in these tunnels, and while he’ll be fine, the fumes have made him shakey.

He shifts his foot, and it catches on a stone in the rocky brick wall that sticks out. He leans into it to gather his bearings, and to give his legs a break, when his senses flare. He rebalences his leg and shifts on instinct right before the half of the brick that sticks out, breaks off. He watches in disconnected fascination as it skips down the curve of the the structure, cloping and thunking until it makes its way to one of the creatures.

Time passes in slow motion. Peter keeps his eyes locked on the rock for half a second, and has to physically pry his eyes from it to look at the rodent it tapped.

At first, nothing happens. Moments pass by, drawn out, and Peter’s eyes burn from staying open, almost comically waiting for the worst to come.

Then, the creature shifts.

Peter snaps out of his haze, and instantly turns back to his work, speeding up his process. No longer caring about keeping quiet, he hastily starts webbing the tunnel up haphazardly, leaving a hole in one side just big enough for him to escape out.

The back of his neck starts to prickle and the small hairs all over his body rise defensively. He wholeheartedly has to fight the urge to turn around and snarl at the creature, but bites it down.

He hears a huff behind him, and the crunching of grout and rock. Sweat starts to accumulate on his brow.

Suddenly his senses swell, and his body goes rigid before piloting itself. Peter is jumping through the small hole he left open in a split second. Landing on his back, he watches as the rodents tries to bust through the seal Peter created. Only the tip of its nose fits though the hole the size of Peter’s body, and it pauses to sniff before squealing and trying again. Getting up, Peter sends a quick thanks to the spider that bit him that his webbing strength is as proportionate as his own. He hears several shuffles, clicks and teeth grinding as he seals off the last of the barrier, and runs down the incline of the tunnel. He registers somewhere in his brain that this specific one must be for water runoff, because there is no sewer water, but instead clear rain water in small accumulations of puddles, and an overhead grate in the middle for draining rain off the streets of New York.

Hopping onto the ceiling, he forces the grate out of its hold, clearly breaking whatever sealant or metal kept it in place.

Oops.

Peeking his head out for any traffic or people bound to trip, he crawls out onto the street.

Turning around, he forces the grate back in place, and reaches for the com.

Inserting it back into his ear, he hears the crackle and static of it turning back on. Looking around, he finds himself on W 110th Street, looking out into Central Park.

“At least they won't have to dig up a building to extract those guys. The nest is under the very top of Central Park. It’s sealed and ready. They might be a bit mad though.” Peter speaks, his throat hoarse and dry for the stress and lack of speech. Several people let out sighs of relief, and Tony speaks first.

“You were down there for two hours, we were starting to think you got eaten.”

“Rodents are herbivores. Kill me maybe, but I don't think they would eat my body, alien or not. They have chinchilla teeth.”

A laugh breaks through the coms. “We’ll be there in a minute or two.”

Peter uses the time to let his senses calm from the gross smell of the underground tunnels, and hopes he doesn’t smell to much like it. He takes out the com to hold in his hand as he sees a small jet come to begin landing on the grass in Central Park, only about ten yards away from where he stands at the edge of the street. S.H.I.E.L.D agents and the Avengers step off of the jet, walking out into the grass with way too much formality and swagger all in one.

The Avengers gravitate toward him, but the agents stay in the estimated area over the creatures nest, strategizing how they’re going to deal with the rodents. Peter winces when he hears words like ‘exterminate’ and ‘vermin’, but he understands that these animals can’t stay here.

“Good job Spider-man.” Steve claps him on the shoulder, and Peter gives an awkward smile and wave. He doesn’t know how to deal with formal conversation.

“Yeah, good job twinkle toes!” Tony waves him down as well, and his senses tell him the Avengers have all come to circle around him. He shifts in mild discomfort, half from being so close to his boss as masked vigilante, and half from having all the attention of the team directed at him. He shifts the com between his hands, letting the conversation float around him without taking part. He thinks back on what to say, and an idea pops into his head.

“Hey Tony, can I talk to you for a sec?” He interupts, and the faceplate being up on the Iron Man suit lets him see the small look of surprise on the older’s face, before it’s swept away by the smug look Tony Stark always seems to adorn. They step away from the rest of the group, and Peter wastes no time, diving into what he wants to talk about.

“So you remember last week when you had that meeting? And at the end you talked about Deadpool?” Tony nods. “So I actually met up with him, and he’s not what you thought-”

“You what?” Tony practically screeches, and Spider-man is taken aback, looking wide eyed up at the older genius. “Do you know how dangerous that degenerate is?”

“No, I’m trying to tell you he isn’t-” Peter is interrupted again.

“Look, that guy is all kinds of trouble. If you care about your reputation, or safety for that matter, you won’t be caught dead around him again. He is dangerous, crazy, unstable, and he is not someone you should be associating with. Trust me, if it were possible to kill that bastard, we would have already.”

“Excuse me?” Peter asks incredulously. He feels insulted, on behalf of Wade and himself, at what he is hearing.

“What’s going on?” Black Widow asks, and Tony turns, pointing at Peter.

“Spider-man met up with Deadpool.”

“What?” Captain America walks over with the rest of the Avengers trailing behind him.

“You were at that last meeting dude! Did you not listen to the end at all?” Clint sounds offended, but Peter doesn’t know why he has any reason to be.

“That guy is disgusting.” Natasha spits, and Spider-man is quickly becoming pissed off.  Natasha has the audacity to call Deadpool disgusting like she hasn't taken lives, the same as Wade, and it irks Peter.

“Listen, kid.” Tony starts, and there’s that insult again.

“He isn’t the way you guys think he is!” Peter strains to be heard, but the people surrounding him ignore his attempt.

“What lie did he try to feed you?” Tony questions immediately. He sniffs, drawing up the side of his nose and lip in frustration.

“What do you mean?”

“Spider-man, that guy is crazy. If he told you anything to make you think he’s good or whatever, it was probably a lie. He kills people. For money.”

“He’s trying to get out of that business! He wants to do good!” He bites back, but he hates the way doubt settles in his stomach at the words he hears.

“You’re defending him?”

“If I don’t, who else will?”

Tony groans, bringing a metal hand to lightly rub at his face in exasperation. “You’re too good for this. He is insane. He is a killer. We have his file, we know the shit he has done. He is unstable, ruthless, maniac-”

“I can’t believe you’re letting a file dictate what you see him as.”

“And I can’t believe you’re seeing him as human!” Tony screams. He shakely exhales, closing his eyes to let some of the frustration go. “I’ve seen what he’s done, what he’s capable of. If you call yourself the spider that looks out for the little guys, kid, then-”

A small part of Peter snaps. “I think you’re overstepping your bounds. I’m not apart of your team, Tony.”

“And you’re lucky S.H.I.E.L.D isn’t after you for it. Masked vigilantes aren’t really looked upon with smiles and daisies. You should have called him in when you saw him.”

“And I think I’ll keep my business to myself from now on, thank you.” Peter brings the com up, not realizing that he had crushed it in his fist. He shoves it into Tony’s hand, and steps back. The Avengers part as he moves, letting him out with looks of pity or contempt. His lip curls in retaliation.

He webs to the nearest building, and he’s off, not once looking back. He’s vibrating with frustration, wanting nothing more than to go back there and scream their ear off. But it would be unprofessional.

Comparing the conversations he’s had with Wade to the conversation he just had with the Avengers, he immediately and confidently throws away everything they tried to tell him. If they’re not willing to see past a file, that’s their fault. They have two ex-assassins on their team, but they draw the line at Deadpool?

Peter thinks they’re stuck up.

He huffs, trying to let his frustration go, and decides he needs a nap. He changes direction towards his apartment, and childishly mocks the Avengers the whole way home.

And it’s no ones business but his.

Chapter Text

(Just send the text big guy, the phones not gonna explode)

Wade looks down to his phone resting on the table in front of him, hands wavering around it. He doesn't touch it in fear of somehow sending the text before he’s ready.

“It’s not just a text, guys. It’s a text to Spidey. It’s my first text to Spidey. This could make or break our relationship!”

(I don’t think it’s that big of a deal, Wade)

“But it is! What if we say it wrong and he never wants to talk to us again?” He wines. He knows it's childish, but he does not care. This is his idol he’s talking about. Everything matters.

(You’re asking to go on patrol, not to marry him)

“Not yet we aren’t”

(Hold your horses)

“Yeah, yeah. Doubt that will ever happen.”

{Send the text}

Wade’s hands flex absently, and he rubs the pads of his pointer finger and thumb together on his right hand. His left moves to tap the table in rhythmic thunk ’s. The ridges of his scars back in his right hand shift and dip against each other, and he deeply inhales. A swell of fiery, anxious energy settles deep in his stomach at the thought of pressing the send button.

Sighing, he brings his left hand up to rub at his bare face.

While Webs did give him his number, Wade’s mind was telling him that it was more out of pity than actuality.

(WTF Wade. He gave you his number for a reason. Use it)

“Did you just acronym me?”

(Send. The. Text.)

{The faster you send it the faster we can see his ass again}

“Thats creepy, Yellow…” But his mind has already wandered. His brain almost happily supplies images of the web slingers ass, lips, smile, and Wade is done for. He shuts his eyes and brings both hands down to the table in fists, and one lands normally, thunking the table. The other clips the edge of the phone, and his eyes snap open in alert. The phone almost comically flips into the air, and Wade realizes instantly that the device is heading toward the floor. The non carpeted floor. His reminds himself that he’s been trying to save money now that he’s not taking jobs, and he reaches out, fumbling only for a second with it before he has a firm grasp on it.

The whoosh sound of a sent text reverberates, and a small, devastated cry escapes the back of his throat. Looking to the screen, he sees the only texts in the conversation, both sent from him.

:)

 

Want to patrol 2nite?

 

The first texts reminds him of how Spider-man specifically asked for his phone, and put the number in himself, even going as far as to send a text so he would have Wade’s number in return. It soothes the anxiety in his stomach, and it brings a smile to his face. He feels the scars and ridges around his mouth stretch with it pleasantly. If his skin was dry, or dirty and grimy, they would pull and his skin would crack and tear just with regular movements.

With his cell turnover rate being so high, his skin constantly needs attendance and care, or his life would be a living hell.

It had taken him about a year to figure out how to make the pain of his skin being dry, sensitive, irritated and torn apart- stop, but once he did, he followed his skin care regime dutifully. Shower every other day with gentle cleansers, moisturize every day with oils and standard moisturizers. At first, Wade hated it, but over time, it’s helped him become more comfortable in his skin, literally and metaphorically. Taking care of his skin also made the sores that used to litter his skin go away completely. It took down the red and raw aggravated edge, and left his skin soft and evenly toned. He still looks like a burn victim, yeah, but now the grotesque edge is gone. Now he just looks bad, not horror movie bad. He still hates when other people can see him bare, so no one ever does, but when he was alone he didn’t mind being out of his suit.

Baby steps.

A chime emits from his now locked phone, and he realizes he let himself zone out.

Remembering what was going on beforehand, he takes a quick inhale, and turns over the phone to look. The screen lights up, and Wades heart skips a beat when he reads the text.

 

sure! meet you at the building next to the convenience store from last night?

 

Wade takes a moment to think back, and remembers Spider-man swinging them both up to the building where they exchanged numbers.

 

Sounds good 2 me

Wut time?

8?

 

Looking up to the clock on his stove, he sees the time read 6:50. He should have enough time to get ready and there for eight, so he sends one last text before heading off to his bathroom.

B there or b square

 

He busts into his bathroom hard in his haste, and winces when the door slams into the wall behind it. He got rid of all his safehouses, and now he only just has one apartment.

He doesn’t wanna trash it, but old, expensive habits die hard. Checking for damages, and finding none, he continues on in his rush. He sets his phone to play music on the counter, turns the water on to heat up, and quickly strips his t-shirt and sweats off.

Stepping into the stream, he sighs, and lets the water wash over him and sooth his skin further. He really was in a better place than he was a year or two ago. Sure, he still has bad days, some so horrible he sometimes puts a bullet into his head, but things were getting better. Slowly, but surely, getting better. He hated dying anyway. While it was reprieve from the boxes when they were too much, it also fucked up his body for a day or two, making everything feel wrong until it settled back into a new, comfortable state. Back before Wade figured out how to take care of his body the right way, dying was comfortable, like sleep. Now, it’s a bad hangover that wasn’t worth the drinking it took.

Reaching for the face wash he had, he let the song that was playing register in his mind.

“White, back me up on the vocals!” He moves his hips to the sway of the beat as it starts. “Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco.” He accentuates each line of the verse with a slow jut of his hips.

(Absolutely not)

“They want my treasures so they get their pleasures from my photo,” He grabs for the silicone pad with small, gentle bristles he uses to wash his face, as to not aggravate his skin, and puts it under the stream for a second, getting it wet.

{You could see me you can’t squeeze me, I ain’t easy I ain’t sleazy, I got reasons why I tease ‘em, boys just come and go like seasons}

“Fergalicious,”

(So delicious)

“But, I ain’t promiscuous,” He smiles at White caving, and gingerly places a small blob of face wash onto the face pad, but uses the tube of the wash as a microphone instead of putting it back. “And if you was suspicious, all that shit is fictitious, I blow kisses.”

{Muah}

Deadpool blows a kiss to the wall of his shower. He must make a sight, a world renowned ex merc singing to Fergie, but he lets the thought pass without much follow up.

(Aren’t we on a time crunch?)

The bottle of face wash slips out of his hand at the realization, and he swears to himself while picking it up.

He makes quick work of washing his face and body, then turns off the hot water.

Wade steps out and grabs a towel that's fluffy and soft, and dabs at his skin until it's dry.

(Today’s a good skin day)

{LOL thats funny}

“Stop using slang with me or I’ll put you in time out.” Once his entire body has been pat down, he steps to the sink, opening the right drawer to take out his lotions and oils for his skin.

Applying them is clockwork for someone like Wade, and the time passes slowly but surely. He lets his mind wander during it, but the boxes see it as free reign and get loud and boisterous in his head.

Next comes the suit. Still humming Fergalicious, he wraps his towel around his waist and steps out into the rest of his apartment. The warm, steamy air of the bathroom pools out around him and mixes with the cool, dry air of his apartment.

His skin perks to attention at the cold, and a shiver makes its way up his spine as his skin stiffens in lue of goosebumps.

Wade makes his way to his bedroom, and takes out one of his many suits. Silk lines the interior of the lighter, more breathable suits he has, and carbon fiber kevlar makes up the outer portion, making it cut resistant and soothing for his skin.

Putting it on soothes his frayed nerves, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he finally puts his mask on.

He makes his way around the apartment, picking up things he needs for his patrol. He arms himself, and loads his guns with the new rubber bullets he bought just for Spidey. His katanas go into their holsters last, and just as he is about to leave, he remembers his phone.

Going back into the bathroom for it, he finds its still playing his music. Now, Brittany’s Toxic plays, and he pauses it as he sees he has a text.

 

don’t worry, i’ll be around

 

It’s a text from Spider-man, and he’s confused for only a moment or two before realizing what it’s in response to. He barks out a laugh, deep and obnoxious, and considers replying, but deciding not to. He’s he’s leaving for their meet up in a few moments, he doesn’t want to risk annoying Spidey.

{You should look up his number, see who it belongs to}

The idea is so intrusive, so rude that Wade can’t even try to prepare himself for the way his mood turns. His face scrunches under the mask, and he brings his head backwards like he smells something sour. “What? No, Yellow, we are not going to do that.”

{Why? We could find out his identity, keep it our own little secret}

His breath catches at the thought of knowing who Webs really is, but he still instantly rejects it. “First off mister psychopath, we never saw his phone, it could be a burner.”

{No capitalization? Fully spelled out words? Definitely a smartphone. You have the new iPhone and you can’t even spell right. Imagine doing it with a flip phone.}

“Ignoring that even though it makes sense. Second, that is a huge invasion of privacy that we are not going to breach. I want him to trust me, not regret giving me the trust in the first place. If, and I mean if, that’s his actual phone number and not a burner, he already placed a huge amount of trust in us that we probably don’t deserve. The least I can do is respect it.”

{You’re no fun}

(And you’re insane, Yellow.)

“Now that we have that squared away, lets go patrol with the coolest friend we have, yeah?” Opening the door to his apartment, he makes his way out of the building swiftly, and enters the street. One of the main reasons he chose to keep the apartment he did was not only because of how nice it was, but the location. Manhattan was ground zero for super activity and wanna be world takeovers. Villains sprouted almost every day and hero’s stalked the streets at all times. With the fantastic four, the Avengers, and other, unaffiliated supers around, it was a wonder any normal human lived in New York City.

He shakes off the sour taste in his mouth from Yellow’s idea, and heads toward the convenience store from a couple nights prior. Checking the time, he makes sure he doesn’t need to rush. The store isn’t that far from his apartment, but he has to take alleys and backroads to avoid any police. The sun being still up means he could be spotted easier, and while he wasn’t on the right side of the law quite yet, he remembers that some police still try to go after Webs.

People avoid Deadpool like the plague, and he lets them. He tries to tell himself that soon enough they won’t feel like they’ll have to, but he doubts that will be any time soon.

He approaches the convenience store from the back, and spots the ladder leading to the roof almost immediately.

“Boo-ya!” He grabs hold and starts to hoist himself up, taking the bars two at a time.

(Okay, Ron, where’s Kim?)

Deadpool gasps dramatically, pausing to bring one hand to his chest in fake astonishment. He lets his body lean back on the ladder and become deadweight, but his arm left on the bar of the ladder handles it efficiently. “Using a Disney joke on me? Sly, White, sly.”

He continues his way up as if he never paused, and soon enough he reaches the roof of the building.

Wade looks around for any place to sit and wait, but he reminds himself that Spidey might not think he’ll be waiting on the roof. He takes to sitting on the edge instead, dangling his feet over the side of the building.

“I figure he’ll see me swinging by, or from the ground if he goes looking for me there, ya know?”

{Who are you talking to dingus?}

“You! Asshat. I do this all the time, don’t act like its new.”

The unmistakable thwip of webbing hitting brick sounds, and Wade turns in time to see none other than New York’s own arachnid swinging towards him.

The web seems to carry him close enough to the building to drop down, and he lands in a crouch a few feet near Wade.

“Nine out of ten.” Wade blurts, looking up at Spidey as he steps closer. Webs puts his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side.

“Why only a nine?”

“I feel like you coulda fit in a flip or two. For flare.” Wade makes some jazz hands to emphasize, and Spidey huffs out a laugh at his antics.

“I’m totally a ten, you’re just mad you don’t have webs to swing with.”

“Baby boy, I never said you weren’t a ten. You’re the only ten I see.”

Spider-man pauses for a moment, and shakes his head. “That pickup line isn’t even relevant, we’re not in Tennessee, and I wasn’t born there either.”

“Where were you born?”

“Ha ha, very funny. Want to patrol now?” Webs easily sidesteps the attempt at personal information, and Wade decides to give him credit for swiftly keeping up with him.

“Yeah! Lemme just-” He turns, setting his hands on the concrete roof, shifting his hips to let his knee out and support his weight. Hoisting the leg not supporting his weight over the edge of the building, he brings himself to stand. Rising to his full height, he carefully dusts himself off, and looks to Spider-man. Standing this close on level ground, Deadpool realizes the height difference between the two of them clearly. Wade knew his height of six foot, two inches. The top of Spider-man’s head came up to about the top of Wade’s ears, so he places the arachnid at around five foot, ten inches.

{He’s so small compared to us. I like it}

(He has the body of a swimmer. He’s kinda hot as fuck, not gonna lie.)

Deadpool resists the urge to tell them that he knew that all along, and or comment further, but he bites his tongue instead.

The moment doesn't drag farther, as Webs had turned once Wade stood up without any trouble.

“Does this mean I can ride on your back again? Because it was both amazing and terrifying, let me tell you, and I’m really torn about wanting to do it again or not.” He gestures with his hands as they walk to the opposite edge of the roof. “So I’ll let you decide for me. Where we going, Webs?” He comes to stop near Spider-man again, and looks at other. Spidey has his back to Wade, head turned over his shoulder, the lenses of his mask squinting into what Wade would assume to be a glare.

“Get on my back, Wade.” Webs sounds playfully annoyed, but not actually frustrated. Wade openly swoons at the use of his name, and the mask lenses widen, then squint again. Deadpool registers it as an eyeroll. “You’re a big flirt, aren’t you?”

“The one and only, sweet cheeks. Lemme know if I make you uncomfortable, though. I can shut up. I think.” He climbs onto the others back, and they take off.

Spider-man doesn’t respond, at least not openly, and Wade takes it for what it is. Wade is a flirt, yes, but he also has had a crush on Spider-man since he first found out about the web slinger years ago. If the other just thinks he’s a natural charmer, that’s fine- as long as Wade doesn’t overstep any bounds.

They make their way around Manhattan leisurely, looking for trouble, but they find none. Wade is able to hold in his excitement and fear at riding shotgun to web slinging, but he also notices this ride isn't as dramatic as the ones from the other day.

As it slowly reaches nine, they decide to rest on the terrace of Carnegie Hall for a moment. They stretch, Wade’s muscles tense from being curled around someone smaller for so long. Wade’s stretching turns into shadowboxing, which turns into him dramatically acting like he’s fighting an invisible mime, ultimately flopping onto the ground of the wide terrace.

“Are you getting any crime tingles?” He asks like a child would ask ‘are we there yet’, and Spider-man chokes before laughing.

“That’s totally- oh my god. That’s not how my spider thing works.” I don’t- how do you even-”

“Something about a fourth wall, don’t even get me started.” Webs makes a confused noise, but Wade carries on. “Tell me about your cool spider biology later, I have an idea.” He tenses his abs, curling his body into a concave arch, and rocks. The weight of his body centers on the backs of his shoulders on the first pass, and as he rocks forward toward his legs, he uses the momentum instead to flip into a squat. “Why don’t we spar?” He offers.

Webs first looks like he’s about to reject the idea instantly. Then, Wade sees the gears turning in his head, and weighs the options. Ultimately, he caves. “I… don’t see why not. How do you wanna do it?”

(This guy could stop with the innuendos any time, really)

{No, don’t let him stop.}

“Gross, Yellow, calm down.” He mumbles to himself. The spider shouldn’t have been able to hear it, but the way he looks almost confused for a second reminds Wade about how he heard a hold up from four blocks away. “I’m thinking hand to hand, no weapons. I know you have super strength and all, but is there a way to like,” He makes a motion of a dial turning down, “Bring it down a notch? Otherwise you could beat me in a second.” The webhead nods. “Cool! If we, and by we I mean you, hear anything, we’ll stop. I figure this will be a fun way to wait for crime though!” He says absently, taking off his more bulky weapons and depositing them on the ground. He places his katanas down gently, then drops his big knives and holsters to the ground without a thought. “Okay,” He grunts, “I’m ready. Be gentle with me.”

The webhead scoffs, and crouches defensively to start. Wades stance is similar, but less open, more ready to strike. Spider-man has the upper hand when it comes to reflex, and speed, but Deadpool has more of an advantage when it comes to stamina. His healing factor is so advanced, he can’t fatigue. The normal person has lactic acid build up as muscles get strained and tired. Wade’s lactic acid leaves the muscle as it's still being used. He still got the build up, but the muscle heals itself over as it's happening. He never got a steady burn all around, just spotty fire licking into his muscles. While Spidey’s stamina is not one to be looked down upon, Wade’s is better by fact.

Spidey has super strength. Wade does not.

Wade has military training. Spidey does not.

He knew he had to take the slight defense, let the hero tire himself out a bit before taking any real shots. That meant taking fake jabs to get the other moving. Wade wasn’t sure how the other’s senses worked, but he could tell they were enhanced even farther than just the normal five senses. He needed to use any of Webs' weaknesses against him to have a shot at winning.

“When do we know we won?” He asked, them both still crouched low, ready to go at a moments notice. They start walking in towards each other, circling almost comically.

“We can do a three second count or a forfeit.” Spider-man gave the option, and Wade considered them.

Spidey doesn't seem like the type of guy to forfeit, and neither is Wade. “Let’s do a three second count.”

(You only gotta hold him down for three seconds. This should be easy)

“Is that sarcasm?” He whispers to himself. Spider-man nods, and he seems to be picking up on when Deadpool is talking to the voices in his head, because he doesn’t look confused again. Wade knows he can hear even when he’s whispering, but can’t resist talking to the boxes all the time. He’s a chatter mouth, and he has two voices in his head always conscious when he is. It’s almost funny, really, how well it works out. Talking to them is almost therapeutic, sometimes. Sure, one is batshit, and the other is cynical, but White can be cool sometimes. Yellow he just tries to ignore, honestly.

{I heard that}

(Super sarcastic)

Wade decides to take the first move, and starts running toward Spider-man at full speed. The expressive eyes of the mask widen a tad, and the hero hunkers down. “Yeah Yellow, you can hear what I think.”

{Don’t be mean to me, I’ll be mean back}

Wade reaches Spider-man and throws a left hook, and the hero jumps back a few feet. “You’re always mean to me, dipshit.” He drops into a crouch, and sweeps one foot out, making the hero have to move again.

Webs seems to instinctively shoot a web to try and ground Wade’s ankle, but he rolls, dodging.

“Ah ah ah, baby boy,” He reprimands, getting back to his feet with the pause the conversation creates momentarily. “No weapons, that means no shooty shoot.” He recreates the hand gesture Spider-man makes to shoot webs.

“Right, sorry. Habit.” The other is honest, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It’s all good.” Wade sidesteps the hero and tries to jab his side, but the other flips away.

This seems to cause Webs to start on the offense, and Wade happily stands his ground as the other starts to retaliate.

(Good. Aerobics are tiring)

“That they are.” Wade responds without thinking, and watches the other calculatingly.

“You talk to them a lot, huh?” Spidey asks, and Wade is thrown off guard by the question. His stupor is taken advantage of easily, because Webs jumps, and lands with his thighs around Wade’s head. The hero throws himself back, going into a backbend even with his legs up around Wade’s head, and places his hands on the ground when Wade’s spine comes down with him. Curling in his abs, he throws Wade to the ground face first. The groan that escapes Wade is real, not even for show, because his face hurts for a few seconds before it’s gone like the wind. The moves puts Spidey crouching over Wade, and he moves to settle onto the ex merc’s back.

“Yes I do, and also- is that you handicapped? Because I think you broke my nose.” Wade admits truthfully, but it has the desired effect on the hero, who startles and hesitates.

He takes full advantage of the others sudden gentle demeanor, and bucks his back up so hard the younger falls over Wade, onto the pavement.

“Just a scratch to me, honey, but I’m glad that worked.” Wade quickly takes his head from between the others legs, does not admire the sight of the hero bent over with his ass up, rolls away from him, and stands. They rise at the same time.

{You should bend him over and-}

Wade makes a loud, sudden yipping sound to shut Yellow up that time. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Webs tries to take advantage of Wade being frazzled, and starts a barrage of kicks and jabs, but Wade stands his ground. Realizing that Wade isn’t budging, Spidey lets himself go a little past the boundaries of human strength.

Wade catches on as he starts shifting with each blow, and he gets an idea.

The next time Spidey kicks his side, he grabs the hero’s ankle fast and pulls.

Webs’ other foot sticks to the ground, so he moves to kick out the hero’s stable foot. When that still doesn’t make him budge, he moves to punch his stomach, still holding onto Spidey’s right leg. At the same time, he kicks the other’s foot again, and in his distraction with the punch, it gives. He pulls the hero with his left hand, and it brings him down with a groan.

Instantly, Wade collects both of Spider-man’s hands in one of his, and holds them down to his stomach. Wade puts a knee to his chest, and brings his free elbow up against his throat. It tilts Webs’ head up. They look into the eyes of each other’s mask, panting.

(One)

{Two}

“Three.” Wade says, and shifts off of the wed head. He stands, and reaches a hand down to help the other up.

Spider-man takes it, and Wade hefts him up easily.

“Man, that was awesome Webs! I mean, I have no doubt that if you used your webs and your full strength you could finish me in seconds, but that was awesome. I never really get to spar.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Spider-man starts. He sounds frayed and shaky. Wade wants to ask if the other man is okay, but he continues talking before Deadpool can open his mouth. “I have a... ‘spider sense’. It warns me of danger for me and others. You don’t set it off. That was actually really hard,” He pauses to take a breath, “since I’m used to fighting people that set it off.”

Wade thinks about that as he goes to get his weapons that he dropped. He attaches them one by one, staring down at the ground like it will give him answers. Not setting off the others sense of danger while fighting must be a huge deal.

(I bet that’s a huge sign that he’ll trust you more)

“And I bet that’s a huge sign of foreshadowing.” He mumbles back. He finishes putting his katanas back into place, and turns, about to ask more about this sense he doesn’t set off, but the web head turns sharply, looking off into the buildings of New York.

“That’s our cue, Wade. Lets go.”

"Oh! Perfect timing!"

 

Crime picks up steadily after that. They encounter people trying to rob a jewelry store, a stalker, mob activity and little old lady that needed help with her groceries. It’s easily 11:30 by the time they pause next, and they decide to take a break to eat.

“I know a good taco truck nearby.” Wade offers, and the other groans.

“Is all you eat tacos?”

“Um, probably!” Wade fakes defensiveness, “No, I eat burritos too. And chimichangas.” The look Webs’ gives him is unimpressed. “Kidding! It’s just what I eat a lot of the time.”

“Well, does this place have good bean burritos?”

“Duh, their beans are to die for.”

“Then lead the way, big guy.” Spidey says, gesturing for Wade to start moving. He does, and they walk side by side through the alley nearby as a shortcut.

(I take it he’s noticed you’re bigger than him)

{I hope he likes it like we like it}

“Maybe…” He mutters. He’s looking down, and Spidey grabs his shoulder, steering him out of the way of a trash barrel. Wade barely notices.

(He most definitely noticed when you were holding him down like that. Did you see how shaky he was after?)

The thought makes Wade inhale his own spit, and he’s coughing and hacking inside his mask. He didn’t even think about that. They were just sparring!

{That’s what they all say}

“Oh my god,” He garbles during his coughing fit, and Spidey pats his back soothingly as he wraps up his choking fit.

They don’t have the time to keep walking, though, because Spider-man is stiffening moments before men crawl out of the shadows. They have bullet proof vests on, with purple shirts underneath.

“Fisk’s men.” Spider-man says, and Wade doesn’t question. He pulls out glocks from his holsters, and when the hero gives him a hesitant side glance, he clarifies.

“Don’t gimme that look! I got rubber bullets! Just for you Spidey!”

“Oh. Wow, okay. That’s- thanks.”

“No problem baby boy. Now, we had some creepy fiskies to take out?” He turns from Spider-man, and feels the hero do the same. They stand back to back, and their shoulder blades press together from how close they’re standing. In a wave of movement, all the men seem to start their attacks. There are roughly fourteen of them, and they all pull out their own weapons. They range from guns and knives to bats and clubs. In a split second, he shoots the first guy that raises his firearm in the chest. While rubber bullets don’t kill the same way real bullets will, they can if you aim for vital spots. These men are wearing bullet proof vests, though, so Deadpool doesn't worry too much about were he aims. The impact knocks the guy back, and he shoots him once in the back of the calf to keep him down.

The second guy that tries to come close has a knife, and Deadpool uses the top of one gun to stop the stainless steel in its tracks. He brings his other hand up, firing off twice. Once in the man’s chestplate, and another down in his foot. He screams in pain, so Wade fires at the other foot. “Be quiet.”

(Don’t let Spidey get hit by a bullet or I swear I’ll kill you myself)

“Bit protective, are we?” Another one of the baddies comes up on his right side, and he has bat over his head, ready to strike. He lifts his glock up, shooting the man’s shoulder point blank. The shirt does nothing to protect, and a small chunk of skin and muscle goes flying off the man. Wade watches in fascination. He shifts his weight back, and kicks the man down. A growl works its way up his throat, and he bares his teeth at the man out of sheer pent up frustration. He decides he’ll have a better vantage point in the line of fire, so he steps forward. He holsters both glocks, and reaches behind his head to grab his katanas.

The sound the glinting metal makes as he unsheaths it is holy to him, and a shiver wracks his body. His lips work into a smirk under the mask, his tongue peaking out to lick his lips. “Daddy Deadpool time. Who wants some?”

Someone flanks his left, so he shoves the butt of his katana into their forehead. He turns, raising his right arm, pointing the blade down. He shoves it into the man’s hamstring, just outside where his femur would be. This time, he barely hears the scream.

He continues, no wound he inflicts being a fatal one, until there are only a few left. When the last one in front of him drops, he turns. Spidey seems to be keeping his own just fine, but a piece of his suit on the back of his neck has been ripped off.

{Find out who did it and kill them dead}

(Maybe chill out, dude)

He takes a breath and waits for Spidey to resolve it. The webhead flips away from the man’s knife attack, and handstands for a moment as he moves around. He bends one arm at the elbow and juts it outward for stability, and keeps his other arms elbow locked. The shift lets him turn his hips, bending his body in the shape of an ‘L’. He kicks out both feet hard, and the last guy crumples to the ground.

Spidey lets his legs drop, and he stands as easily as leaves move in the wind. He reaches up to back of his neck, and sighs.

“Crap. Deadpool, I gotta go, my heater in the suit is offline. One of the guys ripped out the wiring that connects it to the rest of my suit.”

“Your… heater?” Wade tilts his head, not understanding why it’s urgent. He couldn’t even tell there was a heater in the skintight suit Spider-man wore.

“Yeah, the heater keeps me warm.”

“Dude, you aren’t from Tennessee but are you from Florida? Because it’s not that cold, it’s only like, fifty five. I think.”

Spider-man laughs, but it has a nervous edge to it. The heater must actually matter. “Wade, I’m from Queens. I’ve never even left New York.”

(I knew he trusted us more! Who called it? I did!)

{He’s cute, I love him}

“My body can’t keep me warm naturally. I take a lot of precaution to make sure my temperature doesn’t drop, and my heater being cut out is a big problem.”

“Oh.” Wade realizes. He starts getting nervous for the webhead, and begins wringing his hands out of habit. “How far away is your apartment? Will you be able to make it?”

Webs peers past the alley mouth they’re in, and shakes his head. Wades heart drops in concern. “I- I don’t know. But I should leave now if I wanna, you know- live.” The joke is stale, and it hangs in the air sourly.

Taking a moment to look at Spider-man, he already sees shivers wracking over him.

{Warm him up. Now}

His mind is made up before he can think about it, and he reaches out for the web slinger. He doesn’t touch the hero, but it catches his attention as it was intended. “My apartment is just a few blocks over. If you wanted, you could come over and borrow a space heater for a while. I could give you something warm to wear for your way back? I’d feel really bad if you froze to death while on patrol with me.”

For the second time today, Wade sees Spidey have an internal debate. Deadpool gives the arachnid the best puppy eyes he can muster. It must do something good, because he wins Webs over.

“That would be great, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”

Deadpool does not jump in excitement, nope. Definitely not. “Oh em gee! This is like that one dream I had, but there’s no giants or anteaters!”

“What kinda dreams do you have, Wade?”

“Oh, just the normal kind. Anyway, this way, can’t have you freezing.” He starts to lead other other in the direction of his apartment. “Wait! Still want tacos?”

“Uh,” Spider-man takes a moment, seemingly to see if he’s hungry. “Yeah.”

“Okay! Tacos, then casa de la Deadpool.”

“I’m pretty sure it would just be casa de Deadpool.” Spider-man corrects, and Wade starts running off to the taco truck. Because suddenly, his life is buying Spider-man bean burritos and leading him back to his apartment so he won’t freeze.

(Things could be worse)

“True.”

Chapter Text

Peter clutches the warm bag of food to his chest, stealing its heat as best he can. He can feel his temperature slowly dropping, but thankfully not as quickly as it would if he was webbing home.

The suit does well to insulate him, but the rip on his back is exposing skin. The more heat that escapes, the more his body tries to send warmth to the area. Which in turn lets the heat escape all over again. It’s a losing battle if he’s ever seen one, and he doesn’t want to experience the outcome.

“So, how does the whole thermoregulation thing work? I mean, you’re human right? Why doesn’t it just kick in anyway?” Wade asks, and Peter doesn't even hesitate like he would have a day or two ago before jumping into an explanation. They walk easily beside each other, their shoulders brushing occasionally.

“I don’t know how much I count as human anymore DNA wise, being a mutate, but as far as I know, my biology is only slightly different than it was. A human’s temperature can’t drop below 95 degrees Fahrenheit, or they get hypothermia. But, a normal human’s body has the hypothalamus to control the heating and cooling off of the body’s temperature. I’ve never run tests on myself, but it seems my hypothalamus has only lost the ability to heat, not cool off my body. It must have something to do with the genes melding together, because spiders work completely differently.” He looks to Wade, and the other is intently listening, nodding along as they walk. “Spiders are poikilothermic, meaning cold blooded. They don’t get outwardly affected by the cold, which means no shivers or seeking out warmth.”

“But I saw you shivering earlier!” He points to Peter. “You are shivering!” Wade almost shouts, and Peter nods to him, showing his understanding.

“But I’m not full spider.”

“So… so it’s like your genes are duking it out?”

“Sure! So, spiders are mostly unaffected by the cold. But at a certain point it becomes too cold, their body slows down and eventually they hibernate. Before that, though, their body will make glycol and protein compounds in their hemolymph. It acts as a,” He pauses, making a wild hand gesture with the arm not supporting the burritos. “Anti-freeze of sorts. Lets them work longer in the cold without their body temperature matching the outside and freezing. But I don’t have that. So while spiders can get to the freezing point before the cold affects them, I can only get to the human hypothermia temperature of ninety five before anything would happen. And I can still shiver, and sweat, things like that.”

“So you can’t thermoregulate like human can, don’t have nature's anti-freeze like a spider does, and can’t drop below ninety five? That’s not really duking it out, so much as your genetics combining into one big, problematic biology lesson. How high is your heating bill? What about warm temperatures?” Deadpool asks, counting off the questions on his fingers. He motions for Spider-man to turn with him at an intersection, and Peter complies easily.

“My heating bill is the highest of my utilities, I can say that. Warmer months are easier, the high temperatures only help keep me warm.”

“Wait, like- so you don’t sweat from being too hot? Like, ever?”

“Only if my body gets over one hundred do I start overheating, similar to that of a normal human.” Peter answers, and Wade looks dumbfounded, pausing his walking for only a second before continuing. There’s a pause in the conversation, and then Wade is whispering to himself- to the boxes.

“No, stop- I know it's cool!” He pauses again, “Tell him yourself then.” He snaps back to Peter, shyly smiling under the mask.

The ex merc slows their walk to an eventual stop in front of a rather nice looking apartment building. Taking note of the neighborhood they’re in, Peter realizes that this part of Manhattan is pretty upscale. They walk up to the front, communal door, and Deadpool sifts a key out of his pocket to open it.

“And you still sweat normally?”

“I do! Exercising, mostly, but also if I get too hot. My body still expels heat like any other person, I just can’t keep the heat like a normal person.” Wade pulls open the door, walks through, and holds it open for Peter, who nods as he takes it.

“Huh.” Deadpool brings a hand to his masked chin. “So what happens if your temperature gets too low, do you hibernate like a spider or do you, you know…” Wade trails off, gently, like the question will upset Spider-man.

“Honestly? I don’t know, but I’m planning on never having to find out.” Peter replies truthfully, and Wade nods in understanding.

A woman opens her apartment door to start leaving right as they walk down the hall, and she regards the two with a second's glance before moving on like they aren’t even there. It confuses Peter, not only because Deadpool is standing right in front of her, but also because Spider-man is standing in front of her. Two world known supers, and no reaction. Now that was a first for Peter. He’s about to ask Wade why, when the taller motions for him to keep walking down the hall.

Wade leans down to whisper in Peter’s ear once out of earshot of the lady. “I told them all I’m a cosplayer to get the apartment.”

Peter nods along, thinking that it’s a pretty genius way to keep things under wraps. He wants to tell Wade- make a remark, continue the joke- but his mind draws blank instead. That's new.

The moment passes as fast as it came on, because they reach Wade’s door soon enough. The other fumbles with his keys for a moment, but once he finds the right one, he opens the door smoothly and quickly.

Walking in, Peter gets distracted by the apartment, and he doesn’t register Wade start to speak.

The place is not what Peter expected. He doesn’t really know what he should have been ready for, but a large, open plan two bedroom with full length windows in the living room wasn’t what he was thinking. The place is modern, but it’s obvious Wade’s own flare has filled the place, taken up the empty space a bare contemporary apartment once was. There’s posters all over the walls, but every single one is framed. The ex merc has a huge Tv, a very large movie collection, and almost every gaming console ever made. Peter notices a lot of red accents throughout the apartment, and it just reminds him of the larger man that much more. The place is walking the line between messy and clean, so Peter settles with lived in as a way to describe it.

The apartment is so Wade- so out there yet very precise, that Peter finds himself smiling. Wade is the type of person you get a sense of very quickly, he’s learned.

“What’s funny is I'm actually fluent in Spanish, but sometimes I just forget it. Anyway, mi casa es su casa or however.” He makes a large gesture with his hands, referencing the entire apartment. He brings them together, and the fabric of his suit makes a soft pat. “Whatcha looking at Spidey?”

Peter breaks out of his trance, focusing his eyes back on the other man. “Just looking around, you have a nice place.” He admits, “Better than mine. Being a hero doesn’t really pay the bills- unless you sell your secret identity like its a soul and the buyer is the devil.” He turns, and his eyes drag across the living room to the kitchen. The pans on the stove are strewn about, and the sink has a small accumulation of dishes that tell Peter the utilities in that room are well used.

The taller of the two seems like he’s about to agree and add some point of his own, when he pauses and shifts to the right. “Oh yeah!” Wade gasps, breaking the pause he created, and starts toward a door in the hall. “I promised you a heater! And protection from the cold!” He throws open the door to reveal a small closet. Peter sees the lower portion has a fan, vacuum, and sewing machine. The upper half shelves are filled with fleece blankets, comforters, sheets, and pillows. Sitting alone, nestled into the corner of the top shelf, is a space heater.

Wade’s hands grab for the heater, and they almost wrap around the whole thing. He quickly brings it to Peter, handing it over like it’s both highly important and fragile. Wade quickly runs off again to a room down the hall, and he’s left standing awkwardly in the middle of Wade’s apartment.

It’s not that Peter feels nervous or uncomfortable. He knows he’s safe- if not for his trust in Wade, then because of his own spider sense. It’s that he feels out of his element. He doesn’t have a whole lot of friends as Peter Parker, let alone Spider-man. He’s not used to the dynamic, he’s not used to Wade’s boisterous, sweet-bunny-meets-intimidating-dog personality. He doesn’t hate it, that’s not it. It’s just new. Peter’s not good with new things he doesn’t know how to handle.

Wade comes storming back in, holding up a chunk of cloth like he’s just won a trophy. “White reminded me I have this, so here you go! It’ll keep you all kinds of warm.” He jaggedly thrusts the cloth towards Peter, and so he takes it.

“Thanks!” He pauses to unravel it, and sees its a hoodie. It’s thick and warm, so he pulls it on without much thought. Looking down, he slowly realizes the pattern is that of Wade’s suit. It takes a couple of tries for his eyes to see past all the gear, but low and behold, the black and red pattern is the same. “What does this make me now? Deadspider?” He looks down and around himself to try to see how it looks all together, “Spideypool?”

He shifts his hips to the side in slight discomfort. The feeling of having a skin tight spandex suit with a hoodie on top feels weird, and for one of the first times, he feels vulnerable in his suit. The large, baggy form of the hoodie starkly contrasts the smooth spandex that hugs him, and it throws his senses off like a stun blast. He almost wants to ask for pants too, but he decides not to. He’ll get used to it soon enough.

Peter feels an intense gaze on him, and looks back up to see Wade standing frozen mid-step, holding the taco bag. His head moves to the right. “Yeah it looks better on him.” He says to himself. “You know about that?” Wade asks Peter, shaking his head to rid himself of his stupor.

“About what?” Peter’s head tilts in confusion, and he tries to think back to what Wade is talking about. A small, weird noise escapes the other.

“That’s a no, then. Nevermind, baby boy, that’s a whole rabbit hole you don’t want to fall into.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” Peter teases.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He shifts, bringing the bag of burritos to eye level. “Food?”

Peter’s stomach audibly rumbles at the sight of sustenance, and Wade laughs in time with Peter’s embarrassment. They make their way to the couch, and Wade shows him the plug closest, so he hooks up the heater and turns it on at his feet.

They sit down beside each other, and Wade places the bag on the coffee table before making himself comfortable. Opening the bag to grab some, Peter immediately lifts up the bottom of his mask and unceremoniously shoves the burrito into is mouth.

“You wanna watch something while we eat?” Wade prompts, not yet taking any of the burritos.

“Uh, sure.” He reaches his tongue out to take the sauce off his upper lip. “What do you have?”

“Netflix, hulu, youtube- the works. Not cable though, fuck cable.” Wade has his Tv remote poised in his hand, ready to pick something. All Peter has is Netflix, so when he hears the first option, he perks up.

“Netflix! Have you seen Friends ?”

“Have I-” Wade scoffs, “Have I seen Friends. The real question is have you seen it. I’m no spring chicken, Spidey-babe. You on the other hand, sound like you should be carded at every bar.”

“How old are you? I bet we aren’t that far off.” Peter would like to say that he’s not pouting like a child, but he is.

“Forty six, Webs. Born in ‘73.”

“Well,” Peter starts, as he feels the last of his anxious jitter leave. The normal flow of banter returning lets him relax more, and he’s grateful. “I’m thirty. ‘89.”

“That still means I’m sixteen years older!”

“That’s irrelevant to the conversation! I watched Friends as it was airing!” Peter shoots back, his annoyed and sassy tone seeping with sarcasm.

“Yeah! When you were five!” Wade jabs back, turning to face Spider-man. Peter mimics, turning to face Wade, who’s still holding the remote pointed toward the Tv almost comically.

Peter squints. “Oh! I’m sorry, because twenty one is so much better.” He uses the hand not supporting his burrito to gesture, emphasizing his point.

Wade gasps dramatically, bringing a hand to his chest and leaning away like he was burned. “Exc- use me,” He pauses, “Oh wait!” He bursts out laughing. “I didn’t watch it on it’s original run, I had joined the Canadian Army by then! There’s no way I was watching Tv, whoops!” He laughs airly, his voice smooth and low.

Peter licks his lips again, and he sees the skin around Wade’s eyebrow move strangely. “Good, because I don’t remember anything from when I was five.” he finishes in a chuckle, “Wanna watch it?”

“Hells yeah I do, what season?”

“Well I’m at the end of season nine in my current watch through, do you wanna watch it from there?”

“Sure!” Wade says, clicking the buttons on the Tv until Friends starts playing.

 

They fall into comfortable silence, and Peter’s eyes are glued to either his food or the Tv for the duration of the first episode. Only when the intro song to the next one starts playing, does he look over at Wade.

The other is relaxed, contently leaning back into the couch, while Peter is leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees to not make a mess.

But Peter also notices that Wade’s mask is not up, and he’s not eating, either. He speaks before thinking, as per usual. “Are you not hungry?”

Wade seems to contemplate how he wants to answer for a moment, shifting a little bit in his seat. “No, I am.” He pauses, but he ultimately doesn’t continue.

“But?” Peter says, and then remembers the first time they ate together- Peter’s ‘I’m sorry for misjudging you’ tacos. Wade had angled his whole body away from Peter, eating hunched in on himself. He never thought much of it, but now, looking back, he realizes there must be something Deadpool is uncomfortable with.

Wade looks confused as all hell. “Do you not know?”

“Know what?”

Deadpool’s body stiffens slowly, coils like a snake ready to strike. Peter can feel it just as well as he can see it. “That I look like a burn victim. You didn’t know?” He spits the words like they’re a tooth that just got knocked out.

Peter is taken aback at Wade’s harsh tone. He’s clearly closing off, shutting himself in, and Peter can’t help the way he deflates, just a little. Not because he’s scared of Wade, but because he doesn’t know why Wade seems mad. Everything was going so well. “No, how- why would I know something like that? I’ve never seen- I- there’s no way I would know something like that, Wade.” He’s never been good at hiding his emotions, and his tone betrays him just as much as his eyes would if they were on display. He figures the frown his mouth shows also helps, but the way his voice sounds hurt is evident.

This seems to soothe whatever was rubbing Wade the wrong way, and he’s startled by it, surprised even. “Oh, I- huh.” Wade smooths his hands up and down the tops of his thighs, repetitive and monotonous. “Yeah. I figured, no- I thought you were playing a joke there for a second. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” And now, Wade seems nervous, like his actions are somehow going to drive the web slinger off.

Peter’s heart constricts painfully. “No, you’re fine. I would never- that’s so mean.” Wade shrugs, acting as if it was normal, and once again Peter is reminded of how everyone he knows in the world of supers seems to hate Wade. Without even caring that he’s trying to change. Wade assumed Peter was making a mockery of him because there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t be. Apparently, there’s no person Wade really knows that wouldn’t. Wade shouldn’t have to assume everyone’s going to make fun of him. He deserves that at least.

He deserves a little respect, if Peter says so himself. “Do you want me to turn away? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you’re hungry, you should be able to eat. You even bought all this yourself.” He gestures to the whole bag of burritos.

Deadpool once again seems to pause, having an internal debate. “I guess I can’t hide it forever.” He mumbles. “I know! Don’t remind me.” He hisses, and then looks up at Peter. “No, you don’t have to turn away or anything, just- try not to stare too much. Or puke. Or make that face of pity that everyone does, I’ll be able to tell from your mouth alone.” Wade brings his hand up, and slowly, ever so slowly, starts lifting his mask up. Peter looks away to try and soothe Wade’s frayed nerves, and it seems to help, just a little. Wade takes a deep inhale as the mask is at his chin, and as he exhales, he quickly brings it up over his nose. Bringing his hands down, Wade starts rubbing them along his thighs again.

He decides the best plan of action here is not to try and make Wade feel better with words, but rather actions. Reaching for a burrito, he turns, offering it to Wade.

For the first time ever, he sees Wade’s skin, and honestly- with how much Deadpool made it seem like a big deal, he was expecting something much worse.

The skin is littered with ridges and dips from scars, but it isn’t gross, or make Peter want to vomit. A small impulse pops into his head, and he’s filled with the overwhelming urge to feel Wade’s skin. He knows the spider in him would love the uneven texture, and he wants to look at it all up close.

Peter lets a small, genuine smile take hold of his lips, and he sees the eyes of Wade’s mask widen.

“You… you dont care, do you?” Wade asks, taking the burrito gently. Peter lets his smile grow, now showing his teeth.

“You don’t look nearly as bad as you think, Wade.”

Deadpool takes a moment to process, and has to break eye contact from the weight of it. “No, I know he is.” He mumbles to himself, moreover, the boxes. He turns back to Peter, “Thank you.”

“You deserve people to treat you decently, Wade. You don’t have to thank me. I understand not wanting to show people what's under the mask.”

Wade looks confused and intrigued, so Peter elaborates. “For different reasons, but the same principle.” he was fully intending to leave it at that. But the way the other leans in, curious, makes Peter more inclined to tell. He has a suspicion that Wade is also eager to take the spotlight off of him for a bit, so he allows it.

“I don’t wanna overstep or anything.” Wade says softly. Friends is still playing in the background, but it fades with the rest of sound that floats to Peter’s ear. He’s fully focused on his conversation with Wade.

“I don’t mind. It’s not anything big or dramatic, it’s just that- people in the past, when they see the person under the mask, they,” He pauses, trying to formulate his words the right way. “They are sometimes disappointed. They expect that because I’m also Spider-man, I’m going to be this epic, insanely cool person. And I’m just a regular guy.” His voice is soft, quiet, almost a whisper. “It’s happened a few times.” He shrugs.

“Who?” Wade asks, and his voice matches Peter’s. “I think you’re one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. Not only that, but the nicest. Not many people care to give me a shot, Webs.”

“You heard of Black Cat?”

“Yeah, in passing.” Wade finally takes a bite of his burrito.

“We were a thing for a while. It worked when the mask was on. When I took it off… not so much.”

Wade seems to be trying to grasp an answer he can’t reach, “What? You mean- she -she saw what was under the mask and just,” He gestures an explosion, “Poof?”

While talking about it should stab some sort of dark, deep seated hurt in Peter, it doesn’t. He chuckles instead. “Yeah, it really hurt, at the time. Other than that, a few times people on the street have asked me mundane things that don’t really matter. When I answered them, they were let down. Now, I don’t know how asking Spider-man if he wears boxers or briefs matter, but apparently it does.” This draws a laugh out of Wade, so he continues speaking. “For a while it was a touchy subject for me, but I slowly realized that they were only let down because of their own expectations. Being a regular guy under the mask works for me. It’s how I’ve gone over fifteen years without being found out. Besides, keeping it a secret from most of the people around me keeps them safe.”

The ex merc looks at him blankly, the mask portraying no emotion. “Woah.” He finally says. Peter nods in agreement. “I guess that makes sense. That kinda puts things in perspective.” Peter feels happy, knowing that explaining something so mundane to him could benefit someone else. “So, Black Cat? How many supers have you dated?”

“Two.”

“Who’s the other?” Wade turns fully, taking another bite of his burrito. Peter loves the easy going vibe they have going on, and he smiles at Wade once again.

“Human Torch.” Wade’s reaction is instantaneous. First, he startles, looking up from his burrito mid-bite. He seems to be looking for a hint at a joke. When he finds none, he starts floundering. He goes between opening his mouth to respond, nodding profusely, and gesturing with his hands. It’s funny, but Peter only let’s a smirk go. He understands the reaction, it’s not like many people know that Spider-man swings both ways- pun intended. He turns his head forward once again, and his eyes are drawn to all the movies Wade has. He doesn’t own nearly as many, and he wonders if Wade would want to watch one.

Offhandedly, Peter realizes how comfortable he is around Wade now, in such a short amount of time. He’s met the guy four times over the course of a week or two, and their friendship feels normal, like they’ve been friends for years. It should scare Peter, being this comfortable with someone so soon, when he has a secret Identity to keep and people to protect, but it doesn’t.

“Have you dated any supers?” He finds himself asking, and he’s not too sure why he wants the answer.

“Um, well I had a thing with Cable a while back, but it was never official or anything.” Wade ponders, looking up to the ceiling like the answers are written there. “Other than that, just some regular, normal humans. Not any recently, though, I haven’t been in the dating scene since I turned into a close scale model of the moon’s surface.” Wade finishes, still looking at the ceiling. He doesn’t seem to realize that he may have left an awkward moment, and switches subjects like whiplash. “Oh em gee! What’s your favorite movie Spidey?” He turns to the web slinger hastily.

After being initially startled by the outburst, Peter laughs lightly, “I don’t really watch movies too often. Um, but my favorite from the ones I have seen would probably be Wonder Woman.”

“What? Why don’t you watch them?” Deadpool whines, deflating. “Movies are awesome! Wonder Woman was great, gotta love DC!”

“I never really have anyone to go with, and by the time it’s out on DVD I never want to buy it. I only own movies that I really love. Plus, it wasn’t until fairly recently that I could start spending money on extra stuff like that, so I’m not really in the habit of it, I guess.”

“That makes sense…” Wade trails off. “Wanna watch one?”

Peter nods immediately, glad Wade brought it up before he could. “A movie? Sure! Sounds fun.”

Wade jumps to his feet, loudly cheering. “Do you wanna pick one? Do you want me to pick one? Oh my god between netflix, hulu, amazon, and my DVD collection we could watch like, anything!”

Peter reaches out, lightly brushing Wade’s forearm. “Wait, you never told me your favorite movie.”

“Oh. Duh, that’s Mean Girls.”

Peter probably should have expected that, honestly. “Fair enough. You know more about movies than I do, why don’t you pick.”

“Oh! Okay! There’s so much to choose from! What should I- Oh, this one.” He holds up a case, and Peter focuses his eyes on the case to see the name. IT stares back at him.

“Oh- Wade, I dunno… I’m not really good with horror.”

“What kinda ‘not good’? The kinda not good that gives you nightmares or the kinda not good that means you’ve never really watched horror before? Lemme guess, the second one.”

Peter flounders, mouth gaping open until he finds it in himself to shut it. “Yeah, the second…”

“Oh, Spidey, you’ll be fine! I’m here! I can make any horror movie funny.” Wade waves his hand dismissively at Spider-man.

Peter isn’t quite sure about it, but he figures it’s worth a shot. “As long as it’s funny.”

Wade whoops dramatically, turning to put the movie into his Tv.

“How many inches?” Peter asks, wondering how big the screen is.

“I dunno, like- seven on a good day?”

“What? Oh- Wade!” Peter chokes on his own spit, and he’s never been so glad he’s wearing a mask. His cheeks heat up, not only because he’s hacking up his lungs, but because of the implication of Wade’s words. “Wade, I meant the Tv!”

“Oh! It’s a seventy five inch.” Deadpool supplies, and keeps fiddling with the Tv like he didn’t just tell Peter the size of his penis.

He comes back to the couch right as Peter is able to breathe without coughing again. The movie starts in the background. Wade stops next to the couch, not yet sitting down, and gently places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You okay Webs?”

“Yeah- yeah I’m good.” Deadpool looks like he doesn’t believe Peter and has a little frown on his lips, but sits back down next to him anyway.

True to his word, Deadpool makes IT funny. He goes between antsy for the characters and laughing his ass off, and overall- it’s pretty fun. Sure, the jump scares still get Peter. Yes, he will deny that he flipped onto the ceiling during one of the scares until the day he dies. Wade promised to never speak of it again, so he should be in the clear. Suspense just gets him, okay?

Peter closes his eyes for just a moment as the credits scroll, and all the sudden a tired, sleepy feeling washes over him like a wave. He seems to have hit his limit, and the longer he sits on the couch, the farther he seem to sink into it.

“Oh my-” He yawns, bringing an elbow up to cover his mouth. “My god I’m tired. That was a good movie though.” The warmth the heater and hoodie supply make him pleasantly floaty, and all he wants to do is curl up and sleep. He shifts, peeling his phone out of the pocket in his suit. He has a couple texts from Mj and May from throughout the night, but he knows he can answer those later. What startles him is the time. “Holy crap, is it really past four?”

Wade looks across the apartment to the stove, and there, stark as day, is the time. “Holy shitballs! I guess so.” The blaring red burns bright even though the apartment is dark, and Peter yawns once more.

“Good thing it’s friday night or I would be-” He stops, not really knowing where he was going with the sentence. He stands up, trying to shake the sleep off of him like a bug. “I would be screwed. Hey, Wade.”

“Yeah?” Wade has a smirk on his lips, and Peter would smirk back if it didn’t take so much energy.

“I think I gotta head home. Thank you for helping me.” He says softly, moving continuously to try and keep his lazy bones from falling asleep.

“No problem, Spidey.” Wade makes a move for the front door, but Peter moves for the window. Not for the big, full length ones in the living room, but for the wall adjacent. Wade changes directions, muttering to himself about spiders never using the front door. Peter ignores it, and the wall he reaches has smaller, normal sized windows. He lifts one open, and puts one foot onto the sill of it.

He turns his head back, facing Wade. “I would give your hoodie back, but I could die, so- I guess I’m keeping it for now.”
Wade laughs, light and airy. “I know, baby boy. Get home fast, or I’ll have Lady Death bring you back so I can fight you about it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Deadpool.” Peter moves to leave, but brings himself back. “Don’t forget to turn off the space heater or your apartment will heat to ninety.”

“I’ll go turn it off right now!” He points back towards the couch with both thumbs.

“Okay.” Peter slowly blinks. “Oh, right- text me, I’m free most of the weekend if you wanna hang out again. Or patrol.”

Wade seems to perk up at this, and the smile he gives involuntarily reminds him that his mask is still up across the curve of his nose. He shifts, bringing his other foot to rest on the window sill. At the same time, he lifts a hand to pull his mask down. “Yeah? Okay! I’ll text you!” Wade sounds giddy and excited.

“Bye.” Peter waves and lets himself fall back. Nothing catches him, of course, and the wind rushing around him brings his senses back to the land of the living.

Turning instinctually, he blinks the world into focus, and throws a web.


Chapter Text

“‘ Spider-man and Deadpool, Teaming Up for Trouble , not a bad headline if I do say so myself.” Webs jokes after reading the headline, handing the newspaper off to Wade. Spider-man’s smile doesn’t carry to Deadpool, though. In fact, the ex merc’s smirk falls. Wade eyes the article with distaste, and bites his lip under the mask.

{Rip it. Looking at it pisses me off}

(Look at what you’ve done. You’re ruining his rep, dumbass)

Wade wills the boxes to tell him something he doesn’t know, but they’re right. He wishes it was as simple as just ripping the paper to shreds, but it’s far more complicated than that.

Wade’s noticed that hanging out one time seemed to have opened the doors to hanging out all the time. A few months have passed, and now Spidey and him are always doing something after patrol- even if it’s just getting a quick bite. And they patrol every day.

It makes him happy, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to it day in and day out. Spidey seems to be trusting him more and more, and Wade welcomes it. He wants to be close to his idol and friend.

(And crush)

{Don’t forget that one}

But the headline glares back at him, and no matter how hard he squints at it, it will not be bursting up into flames.

He wants to talk about it with Spider-man- as this has been bugging him since they started hanging out, but he’s also nervous that pointing out the elephant in the room will make the webslinger come to his senses. He’s been trying to ignore it as best he can, but the paper they picked up after their drug bust brought it all back vengefully.

{I’m surprised he hasn't already left you}

His fears tell him it could happen at any time, but he logically knows that Spider-man wouldn’t do that- or so he hopes. He knows, somewhere in his brain, that Spider-man enjoys his company just as much as Wade does his. He doesn’t want to stop hanging out with the web head, but he also wants what’s best for the hero.

“-Wade, hey big guy, you okay? We don’t have to go back to that Thai place on 72nd, I was just messing.” Wade blinks up to see Webs right in front of him, and he realizes he missed a lot of their conversation.

Looking up at him with big lenses, Webs’ mask still seems to show an air of concern. He casts his eyes back down, and he reads a bit of the article. ‘Spider-man is a known menace swinging around the streets of NYC, but since being seen with another known vigilante type- Deadpool, we have to wonder: what are they really doing? Whose interest do they have in mind? For those that might not know, Deadpool is a killer for hire-’  “What are you thinking about in there? Talk to me.” Spider-man shifts his position, opening his body language and turning his attention to Deadpool.

Wade takes a breath, and decides getting it over with might make it hurt less.

(That’s never worked before, don’t know why you think it might now)

“They know we’re teaming up.” He blurts, and holds his breath. He waits for everything they’ve built over the last couple months to come falling down around him like a lost game of jenga, but it doesn’t. Spider-man doesn’t react. In fact, he seems to be waiting for Wade, like what he said didn’t tell the hero everything he needed to know. Finally, Spider-man understands that Deadpool isn’t going to continue talking.

“Yeah,” Spidey breathes out, “Yeah, that’s okay, Wade.”

A breath pools into his lungs, refreshing the organs and giving him a little life back, but he’s shaking his head before he even responds, “No, Webs, no it’s not.”

“Okay,” He steps closer, crossing his arms loosely over his chest and looking up at Wade, who takes a small step back. “Why is it not okay?”

“Because” He frets, “they’re talking bad about you because of me. They think you’re evil because of me.” Wade tries to explain, begging Spider-man to understand. To get what he’s saying and do something about it.

{Don’t let him go, I love him! I’ll kill you}

(He’s better off without us)

“Hey, Wade, look at me for a second.” Wade does not move his head from where it is hung. “Please?” Webs asks, and damn Deadpool to hell, but he can’t not do what the other asks when he asks like that. When he makes apparent eye contact again, Spidey continues. “Jameson has been trash talking me since I first debuted on the streets, okay? You did not bring this on. You aren’t ruining my reputation- hell,” He gestures his arm out in the direction of the city, “If I cared about what everyone thought of me, I wouldn’t be able to do my job. I’ve saved people who have spat in my face right after. It’s just what it is. It’s vigilante politics, and there’s a clear divide down the middle with opinions. It’s okay if people talk, we know what we’re doing, and we know we’re doing good. Yeah?”

Deadpool takes a slow inhale to calm his nerves, and nods. “Okay.” He turns to pace a bit on the rooftop they occupy. He tries to grab ahold of his bearings, put all his ducks in order. “As long as it’s not hurting you.”

“It’s not.”

“Good. Okay.” He says again, and turns back to Spidey. Offhandedly, he realizes that it probably wasn’t cool to spring that on him mid-patrol, but when they swung by the newspaper stand to get one on their downtime, all his fears from the last few months were solidified. “Okay, so we were on patrol?” He steadies himself, looking back up to Spider-man.

“Yeah big guy. Let’s check the police scanners, see if anything is going on outside of my range.” Spidey says, pulling out his phone. The scanner cracks to life, and they don’t have to wait long as the radio chatter between officers give out to something juicy.

“All available officers, the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s security alarms have been tripped. Figures in dark clothing have been reported to be around the premise.”

Spidey looks at Wade, slips the phone into the thin pocket on the back of his suit, and they’re off towards the Met in a second. The ride there is like every other one Wade has become accustomed too, but the childlike giddiness he feels with the downward arc of each swing is still the same, newfound feeling it’s always been.

Arriving at the Met, it’s easy to find what’s going on. Glass from the window above the middle door is littering the entryway, scattered around the scene haphazardly. It crunches beneath their boots as they walk closer, and Wade gasps at the sound, shifting his feet. “ASMR!” He says lowly as Spidey inspects the building.

“It seems like the alarm is silent? That or is was cut out.” Webs stands, looking up at the broken window with his hands on his hips.

“It seemed someone wanted to sell some art on the black market. They might be gone, too.” He continues crunching the glass under his boots, “Do you want me to check some sources to see if any authentic pieces have popped up where they shouldn't be?” Deadpool asks, but he stills his feet when Spider-man goes rigid.

“Hold on, I hear something.” Spidey angles his head weirdly, as if trying to find the sound in the air as one might with smell. Wade doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t need to. Webs gets things done.

(Don’t question an artist’s process, Wade)

Deadpool wants to laugh at the sarcastic, fake articulate voice White uses, but he’s being quiet for Spidey, so he lets it go.

“They’re still inside, c’mon.” Spidey is signalling him to get on his back once more. He complies, and the hero propels them through the broken window elegantly.

When he climbs off the other’s back, he starts to hear sirens in the distance behind them. Still listening, Spider-man leads, sneaking farther into the museum. He’s crouched, poised low, walking fast but light on his feet.

Apparently, he pinpoints where they need to go, because he’s signalling Wade to follow him and running down the empty halls.

They move swiftly and efficiently. Wade moves with his legs already slightly bent. He eases the heft of each footfall by landing on his heal without his full weight behind it. He rolls each step down, easing his weight onto the leg through the move, efficiently making himself silent while moving quickly. Spidey seems to not need to do this, easily silent as he runs. His form is crouched in the same manor, but while Wade is landing on his heels, Spider-man is running more from the top half of his feet. He stays feather light, like he was never even there.

The rooms all seem identical to Wade, and the only reason he knows they aren’t going around in circles is that he never catalogues the same artwork around them twice. It all moves with them, changes around them, and soon they reach a door that reads ‘staff only’.

“You sure we should be breaking into there? I mean it clearly states employees. Now I don’t know about your day job, but...” Wade whispers, trailing off and looking at the hero. Spider-man fake glares at him before stepping back.

“Can you reinforce the door for me? I’m gonna kick it down, but I don’t want it to rattle.” Webs asks instead of an answer.

He crowds the door, “You got it, baby boy.” He holds the handle and presses as much of his body against it as possible. Slowly at first, easing the door into its new position with his weight to absorb any movement. He looks back to Spider-man and nods, “Ready.”

The hero seems to collect himself, taking a breath in. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

The door remains surprisingly quiet as Webs kicks it in. The hinges give, and the noise blends in with the hustle and bustle of sound coming from behind the now detached door.

Placing it down on the ground, they make their way down into what looks to be storage, a basement for all the artwork not on display. The art is still clearly taken care of, but the space its held in has seen better days.

“Tell me this doesn’t give you Wendy Wu Homecoming Warrior vibes, Webs.”

“It looks the exact same, oh my god you’re right!” Spidey hisses back, staying quiet. They take their time walking through the artifacts, and Wade has some trouble not stopping to look at some of the works.

“Wade! C’mon!” Spidey urges, and Deadpool pouts in retaliation. He stands from where he was bent on the display case, and puts a hand on his hip.

“You’re just jealous because I’m not looking at you like I’m looking at the Bain á la Grenouillére.”

Spider-man pauses, staring for a moment at Wade, now leaning back on the case once more. “You’re right, Wade. Paint me like one of your french girls later, patrol now.” He drones in a dry, empty voice, all the while with sarcasm filling his mouth.

Deadpool makes a show of weighing his options, and eventually lets the spider win out. “Fine! You caught me, deal.”

{I know what I want to paint on him}

“Oh there you are Yellow!” Wade quietly exclaims, stepping back with a hand on his heart, as if he was actually surprised to hear the box again. “For a second I was hoping I lost you in the european sculptures.”

(If we get the chance I’d like to go back to the medieval art)

Continuing on, they learn the noise they heard earlier seems to be coming from a room, a few paces away. A small hall leads them there, and they walk down it tensely, only stopping when they’re nestled behind the door frame that now separates them from the people inside. Peaking in, Wade sees its a musty back room with people huddled around the artwork in the center. They have flashlights and loud enough utility tools to cover their voices.

Turing back to face the hero, he tries to be as quiet as possible when he leans into the other’s ear to speak. “Ten of ‘em or so, how do you wanna handle it?” Wade prompts, turning his head down to let the other whisper in his own ear.

“Have they broken through the casing or are they still working on it?” Spider-man whispers, having complied with Wade’s gesture.

{Yum}

(Focus)

Looking again, Wade focuses on the case the baddies are trying to break this time. There’s three people working on it, screwdriver, crowbar and a wrench being used to try and open the acrylic. Wade can’t help the the thought, but he looks at the group of people and the word amateur comes to mind. It doesn’t make sense to him. Who breaks into the fucking Met to try and steal from them? These goons don’t look rushed. They don’t look like they care about getting anything other whatever is in the case.

(They don’t even have a lookout)

Turning back to Spidey, he leans into the other’s ear again. “Something's off.” They lean away from each other, making eye contact. Webs tilts his head exaggeratingly, clearly conveying Wade to expand on his thought. They huddle together once more, and Wade can feel the fabric over his lips brush the spandex over Spider-man’s ear. “They’re being amateurs but they're doing a hot shot job. Either they’re in way over their heads, or they have something that’s making them think they’re sharks.” They part once more, and Wade can feel the eye contact they make is solid, even without being able to see each other’s eyes.

“Do you have any ideas?” Spider-man asks, and Deadpool contemplates for a moment, ultimately shrugging.

“Storm in?” He offers, uncertainty bleeding into his frisky, hushed tone.

As it turns out, that exact moment is when the police sirens become audible from the inside. It’s quiet, barely there through all the walls in the building, but the people inside take note.

“Shit, let's get this wrapped up.” A woman's voice sounds, and there's rusling behind the two vigilantes.

“Move out of the way, I got this.” Someone else in the room says, and there's a moment of silence before the resonance of a hit reverberates, and the splintering of the acrylic fills Wade’s ear. He turns to face Webs, right as the case shatters. He hopes the look he gives Spidey portrays the air of uncertainty he feels, and waits for Webs to answer the question he asked prior.

“Okay. I’m gonna do recon, take their weapons. You work on knocking them out. I’ll help once I can.” He whispers in Wade’s ear.

Spider-man jumps right onto ceiling, crawling into the room undetected by any of its occupants before Wade can even nod, so he pauses a moment to let the arachnid get situated.

(Amateurs. Definitely amateurs)

Nodding once more to White, Wade turns, standing in the doorway. He notices Webs huddled into the far corner of the ceiling, so he claps his hands and rubs them together, effectively catching the attention of everyone in the room.

“Hey! Whatcha got there? An alibi I hope.” He quips, and weapons are pointed at him immediately. Spider-man takes that as his cue, starting to web the weapons away hurriedly.

Startled and confused, the group openly gapes, and the vigilantes take it in stride.

Rushing the first person, Wade punches them under the jaw with his right hand. He turns with the force of it, moving his weight to his right, and he brings his left leg up to collide with the person's head. They crumple to the ground, and the criminals watching in inept fascination spring to life.

Two try to storm him at once, and he ducks as they go in for the punch. “Oh, gosh.” He starts. They fall against each other, and Wade hits them in their crotches to take them down. “Oopsies!” He’s about to knock them out after they’re on the ground, but spider webs incase their body, adhering them to the ground. Looking up, Wade makes eye contact with the hero.

Winking, Deadpool brings up his elbow right as someone is trying to hit him from behind. He forces his appendage back hard, and hears a sickening crack as they fall.

Turning, he looks to the woman on the ground with blood trickling down her nose.

{Yum}

(Gross)

{Make them bleed, make them all bleed}

Spider-man swoops next to him, landing on another one of the criminals, forcing them down with a, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He webs the guy down, and turns back to the center of the room.

Wade follows the movement, and his eyes widen out of instinct as a gun starts to be drawn from the last remaining person in the room- the woman seemingly in charge of the raid.

Spidey springs to life, starting into a sprint towards her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he watches as Webs seems to tense for a second mid stride. The lenses of his mask widen to almost full white as he watches the gun, trained on Wade.

(Why-)

The woman turns as she fires a shot, and Deadpool catches a glimpse of metal in the woman’s other hand before Spider-man is being shoved against the nearest wall in a cry of pain. The bullet rips through Wade’s shoulder, but his eyes are focused on Spider-man.

(Did she)

{Kill her, Wade.}

Stepping forward drunkenly, Wade watches as the woman moves back, like shes going to take another hit.

Spidey looks down, confused, and his hands are shaking as they reach for the knife embedded in his abdomen.

{Rip her fucking throat out}

(She stabbed Spidey)

{Make her pay}

Reaching up, he grabs the katana on his right. He takes another staggering step, and blearily realizes that the world looks red.

{Paint it with blood, Wade}

His boot lands hard on the floor with his next step, and the woman looks up wildly at Deadpool. His eyes follow her arm, and he sees the gun pointed point blank at Spider-man’s chest.

The boxes screech, cry out like nails on a chalkboard, and Wade finds himself moving swiftly without so much as trying. He doesn’t attempt to stop it.

He watches as he body slams the woman into the wall, katana falling out of his hand, forgotten. He crushes her hand against the wall, feeling the crunch of her wrist as he grabs the gun, but another bullet leaves the chamber.

{Kill her}

Yellow sounds calm, surrene, but Wade can’t hear anything over the adrenaline, can’t see anything other than red.

Yellow sounds like a voice of reason.

He punches her, once, twice, three times in the abdomen with all the strength he can muster, but she’s still standing. He grabs a fistful of her hair and slams her skull against the wall, but her eyes are still open.

“-op!” A weight on his arm almost catches his attention, and he stills to process. The world becomes pink, the sound a little less loud, just for a second, but when he catches sight of the bloodied knife in her hand he feels new anger pool into his veins.

He can’t control himself.

His consciousness wavers, twitches like a tadpole out of water with his self restraint.

He doesn’t want to.

Ripping his second katana out of its left holster, he brings it down precisely, and watches as the bitches arm falls to the ground.

{Cuts smooth as butter}

His head cranes to the side, and he blinks drunkenly at the knife coming out of his friend’s stomach, the bullet hole in the wall two inches from his friend’s head.

Turning back, he drives his katana into the woman, in the exact same place, and rips it out right after, letting the crimson red blood flow.

“Wade!”

Deadpool looks up, snaps out of his stupor. The world starts returning to its normal color, and the sound in his ear is sated.

The woman is writhing, crying out in pain, but Wade’s entire being is focused on his hero.

Spider-man turns, lifting his mask while crying at the pain in his abdomen, and throws up. “Oh god,” He whines, shifting his feet like he’s ineffectively trying to crawl away. “There’s so much blood.” He spits to his side, more bile landing on the ground with a gentle spat. He’s panting, heaving while trying to stay still to help the pain.

Wade makes a move towards Spidey, to crouch in front of him and see if he’s okay, but the other flinches violently, reflexively.

Like an ice cold bucket of water washing over him, the reality of what he just did sets in.

“Oh god.” Deadpool reiterates, and his emotions are once again haywire for what feels like the millionth time that night.

Looking over to the woman, he steps back again, curling in on himself. “I’m sorry I cut your arm off, I wasn’t supposed to do that.” He admits.

“Go fuck yourself.” She bites out with her jaw clenched, body shaking.

{Who the hell cares? Spidey is still stabbed over there}

He looks over again, seeing the trail of a web on his right arm connecting him to the hero. “He doesn’t wanna be near us right now.” He whispers brokenly to himself, to the boxes. The feeling of dread crawls up his body, slinging over his legs, through his chest until he’s submerged in it. He feels guilty, and bad- so bad. He disappointed the one person he has on his side. Spidey probably hates him now, and for what?

He proved all of his own fears right. He does make Spider-man look bad. The cops are going to come down and they’re going to see a woman with her arm cut off, they’re gonna see the blood, the webbing, and they’re gonna assume Spider-man did it. He’s ruining his hero’s reputation just by being near him, and while it didn’t prove to be a bad idea before, it certainly does now.

{You sure fucked that one up didn’t you}

(Shut up! You told him to kill her! What do you think would happen if he did)

Wade wants to cry. He wants to crawl in a hole and kill himself to sleep, but he has a feeling the webbed wonder would be against that as well.

A soft thunk against his boot makes him gasp as it rips him out of his thoughts. Looking down, he sees the the gun, an HS2000, resting near his foot.

Inhaling, he realizes his nose is stuffy and running, breaths stifled and quick.

{Crybaby}

His hands feel stiff from the position they were cradling his face in, and he moves them idly, trying to gather his bearings.

“Wade,” Spidey gasps out. The ex merc wants to go to his friends side, but he isn’t sure if he’s welcome. “Wade, help me.”

Hesitantly, like he’s expecting Webs to change his mind, Wade walks closer. Bending down beside the hero, he hovers his hands over Spidey, but doesn’t touch. He notices the mask is back in place, and his breathing is more under control.

Using his right hand to cradle the wound, Spider-man pulls the knife out with his left in one swift motion. He flinches back hard, biting down a cry of pain.

Wanting to help, Wade finally rests a hand on the hero’s shoulder, trying to give comfort without risking his own.

{Touch really isn’t your forte, unless it’s sexual}

“No shit, Sherlock.” He mumbles back to Yellow.

Wade watches as Webs uses his right hand to hold the wound closed, and with the other, he shoots webs on it to act as a clot. The lower layers of the substance slowly turn pink and red with the blood, and Wade has to tear his eyes away.

Spider-man hooks his left arm around Deadpool’s shoulder, and keeps his right hand on the wound. “Help me up, I need to close her wounds too.”

He wraps a hand around the arachnid’s waist slowly, like he’ll break if he uses too much force, and slowly shifts his weight to stand.

The hero staggers when they reach full height, falling slightly into Wade’s chest. They make their way over to the woman as fast as they can, which admittedly is not fast, but they drop down next to her soon enough.

Her cries have subsided, and she sits blearily in a state of haze. Her eyes open when she senses the shifting next to her, thought, and she looks to Spider-man first.

When she catches sight of Deadpool, though, she flinches.

{Ouchy}

(Fair)

“She’s not in shock, that’s good.” Spider-man says, making quick work of webbing up her injuries. He even goes as far as to cover the raw side of the disembodied arm with a layer of webbing incase it can be reattached. Right as Wade is helping Spidey back up do they hear footsteps coming down the stairs on the other side of the basement.

{Took them long enough}

(Cut them some slack. That took forever to read, but it all really happened within like, ten minutes)

Getting out of the building proves difficult, but they exit the room and find another stairway up within a few minutes. Using Spidey’s cool senses also helps, and they hide away from the cops in the building until they can find a window to get out through.

“I need to stitch this, it’s at least two inches deep for four across.” Spider-man says as they make their way back to the sidewalk.

“About that,” Wade starts, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, everything went crazy when she got you, I- I lost control- I didn’t want control.” He admits, looking down to the pavement.

Spidey takes a deep inhale, and Wade is ready to be told off, but instead, the arm around his shoulder tightens, and Webs sounds kind and soft when he speaks.

“Let’s talk about this in a little while, okay Wade? I need stitches.”

“Okay, where do you want to go?” He asks, wondering if a hospital will be the answer to his question. He hopes not, hospitals give him the creeps.

“Do you have a med kit?”

Wade shakes his head. “Not stuff for stitches”

“Okay, then my place it is. You know how to suture?” Wade nods. “Head to Bryant Park, I’ll direct you from there.”

 

Thankfully, they don’t run into any other kind of trouble on their way to Spidey’s apartment. The other gives directions whenever needed, but other than that, their walk is mostly silent- apart from Wade talking to the boxes.

Walking up to Spider-man’s building, they pause.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a way we could just walk in through the front, do you?” Wade asks, turning his head a tad to direct the question at Webs. This pulls a laugh from the other, albeit stiff and short.

“No, I don’t. It’s the fire escape or the side of the wall.”

“I could carry you up?” Wade offers, jutting his head in the direction of the ladder.

“No, that might jostle me too much. I’ll climb up the wall, you climb up the escape.”

“Will you be okay?” Concern bleeds into Wade’s voice, and the other nods. They walk to the base of the fire escape together, but when they reach the wall, Spidey moves to take his hand off of Deadpool’s shoulder. He stumbles at first, and Wade has to work through anxiety to not reach out for him once more.

(Our side is cold now)

White sounds somber, and Wade agrees with the boxes tone. Guilt is still eating away at his insides, and he hopes that the web slinger won’t be too angry at him for slipping up.

(He did bring us to his apartment though, so)

{Go through his things, find out who he is}

Deadpool makes a big show of putting up a mental block in his mind, clearly telling Yellow hell no without saying anything out loud.

He watches with baited breath as Spider-man sticks the hand not holding his wound, to the building. Slowly, he follows with his feet, placing them on the brick slowly, like he’ll fall if he doesn’t concentrate.

Lastly, he takes his right hand off of the stab wound falteringly, as if the blood will start flowing again immediately. He sticks that hand to the building as well, and turns his head back to see Wade.

“It’s the one on the fifth floor. Meet you there?”

“You got it, baby boy.” He stays put for a moment, watching as Spidey takes the first couple of strides. He looks out for flinches, muffled groans of pain, but finds none, and takes the couple of steps needed to reach the fire escape.

Jumping to grab hold of the ladder, he hauls himself up expertly. Him climbing the stairs would normally give Webs the advantage in this situation, but the hero takes it slowly, and Deadpool ends up reaching the window first. He waits patiently for Spider-man to catch up, watching nervously as he scales the last few feet.

“It’s open, I’ll be right behind you.” Webs says, and Wade doesn’t wait, pulling open the window and stepping inside. He immediately turns around, though, stepping off the the side to help Spidey in. He notices a spider in the windowsill, and laughs at the irony of the situation. A spider in Spider-man’s apartment. The boxes laugh.

Webs crouches on the fire escape and eases himself in laterally. He straightens his torso and brings it down, making the mobility of the move focus in his legs. Wade can see them shaking, so he lightly holds Spidey’s arm and hip, helping into the room.

“Thank you, Wade.” Webs says honestly, and Deadpool preens silently under the positive attention.

They turn at the same time, and Deadpool’s movement’s halt as he takes in his surroundings.

The first thing he notices is that he is in Spider-man’s bedroom. The covers are messy, gadgets and pieces of suits are thrown about the desk, but it’s overall contained and orderly. Next, he realizes it’s warm, as he knew it would be.

Then he notices the spiders. Not the one on the windowsill, no.   Spiders. Plural.

Spiders are over the walls, in the corners, on the desk, on the bed.

(You’re probably making it seem more dramatic, let’s be real about this)

{No, there are spiders everywhere, White}

Without actually counting, Wade can easily see at least twenty through the room. Not all of them are small, little spiders either, though. A few are bigger, more angry looking ones, and Wade’s mouth is very dry.

“Holy shit.”

Webs is already holding a change of clothes, about to walk through the doorway when Wade says it- and he turns, looking back at the ex merc inquisitively. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing nothing. Um, is there a room that maybe doesn't have spiders?”

Webs pauses, thinking for a second before looking around the room to the inhabitants. “They won’t hurt you. Are you afraid of spiders?”

“A little, but I’m sure I’ll get over it.” He assures, and Webs nods, making his way out of the room. “Eventually.” He gulps, eyeing the creepy crawlies, and quickly following after the human arachnid.

“I’m gonna go change in the bathroom, then can you help me stitch this up? They heal faster if I do that.”

“Yeah…” Wade trails off, looking around the living room and kitchen area. Spiders still hang out through the rooms, but they’re more spread out, and it lets Wade relax a little. He hears the door the the bathroom close as he makes his way into the living room.

(How does he sleep?)

“Probably with spiders crawling on him!” Wade hisses to White, and he walks over to the couch, checking it thoroughly for spiders before sitting down.

Waiting for Spidey while he’s in the bathroom starts to feel much longer than it probably is in actuality, so Wade takes the time to look around the apartment.

{Go through his stuff}

“Not that kind of look.” He checks out the area from the couch, letting his eyes scan over everything. From what he can see, the apartment is a one bed, simple layout. The main area is a kitchen and living room, similar to his own, with a bathroom attached between the two. Opposite the bathroom door, there’s a small hallway- it’s only purpose being to lead into the bedroom and having cupboards on both sides for storage. It’s a simple place with a good layout, and Wade nods to himself absentmindedly. He notes that there are two windows in the bedroom and three out in the living room. The kitchen has none, pointing to the inside of the building.

(I think I saw one in the bathroom as he was walking in)

Looking to the Tv, Wade sees that Spidey has a small movie collection-like he said he did the first time they hung out- a small, older flat screen, and no video games.

{Invite him over to play games}

(That’s the most sane thing I’ve heard you say all week)

To the right of the Tv set is a bookshelf, and it’s overflowing with different books and resources. Some look like college edition textbooks, while others look like stacks of papers stapled together. The odd normal novel pokes through, and Wade wants to whoop when he recognizes some of those titles.

The door to the bathroom opens, and Wade snaps his attention to the web slinger still inside the small room.

“Wanna come help me stitch my stomach back together?” Spider-man jokes flatly.

“Yeah!” Wade jumps up, making his way over to the open door. Looking in he does a double take.

Spider-man is standing in front of the counter, masked face looking down as he rifles through the contents of a drawer.

Pulling out what he needs, he holds the box up. “Here it is! Let’s get this going, I’m tired.” He brings the box down and starts pulling out everything he needs.

Spidey’s face is still covered, yes, but the rest of his body isn’t. At least not by the suit. He’s bare chested, wearing just some low riding joggers.

{Look how pretty his skin is}

(Holy hell, that definition)

{Nut}

While Spider-man isn’t as beefy as Deadpool, his muscles are not any less impressive. They’re well defined, the skin over them taught and firm.

{Yum}

(Yum is right)

Webs turns, looking at Deadpool frozen right outside the doorway. “Wade?”

“What? Yeah!” He steps forward out of his stupor, “What do you want me to do?”

“Think you can suture the stab wound for me? It will help hold it together as it heals. I’ve had some pretty nasty reopenings happen because I just let it be.”

“Yeah, gimme the needle.” Wade pauses for a second to think, and ultimately takes off his gloves.

Webs complies, getting up on the counter and leaning back to make the wound site more accessible. Wade sits on the closed toilet and the hero faces him. He takes a deep, labored breath at the sight in front of him.

{When I thought we’d be at eye level with his crotch this is now how I pictured it}

(We’re eye level with his waist)

Shaking the unwelcome thoughts out, he gets to work. Putting the first suture through, he feels Spidey still. “You don’t like doing them yourself, huh?”

Spider-man laughs, “How did you know?” He tenses as Wade presses on the upper half of the wound, widening the gaping slice a tad to push the needle through again.

“Well, for one, you asked me to do it for you. And you hold your breath when I poke you.” Wade takes the two ends of the medical thread, making a knot and looping the needle through before pulling it closed.

“Caught me. How did you learn to do it so well?” Webs asks, looking down and watching Wade methodically threads him back up.

“I was in the army, special forces, and a mercenary before I got my powers.” He raises his free hand to put air quotes around the last word. “I had to stitch myself up a lot before then.” He ties the thread again after his second pass, pulling it closed and continuing wordlessly until the web head’s set of stitches is complete. Pretty soon into them hanging out, the conversation of Wade’s powers came up. He touched upon it lightly, telling what his abilities were and how he got them. He spared the details.

Cutting the last thread, Wade stands, moving out of the other’s way. Spidey eases off of the counter, turning to pick up a hoodie he brought in with him, and pulls it up over his head. Wade watches as the hero moves, his mouth going dry as the muscles flex and stretch. When Webs smooths out the hoodie he almost has a heart attack, because he realizes that it’s the hoodie Wade gave him. Immediately making the choice to not say anything about it outloud- in the hopes that the web slinger won’t notice and try to give it back, Deadpool has to bite his tongue.

(He looks good like that)

{Look at his collar bones}

Wades eyes trail to where the hoodie doesn’t cover on the hero’s neck automatically, and his eyes trace the smooth dip of Spider-man’s collar bone graciously. “Holy shit thats hot.”

“What was that?” Webs looks over, his head tilted to the side.

“I said maybe we should go talk!” Wade corrects enthusiastically. “About… what happened earlier.” He loses steam, dropping his shoulders.

“Sure.” Spidey says, and Wade can’t tell if it’s an affirmative or sarcastic doubt regarding the authenticity of the small cover up he just told.

(There’s no way he didn’t hear us)

Wade makes his way out of the room first, turning to go back to the couch. He checks it for spiders once more, and sits stiffly. Spider-man follows slowly, one hand hovering over the wound as he makes his way to the couch and eases himself down beside Wade.

Deadpool has been told off tons of times, it’s not a big deal if Spider-man does it too.

{What if he never wants to see us again}

(Yes it is, you hate being made fun of, Wade. We all know you’re gonna cry about it later with a gun against your head)

He wants to answer, talk back to the boxes, but Spidey is shifting on the couch, turning to face Deadpool, and Wade gets caught up staring as the hero’s leg touches him.

“I’m sorry.” Deadpool blurts, hoping to be able to convince the web slinger that he isn’t a total psychopath. The skin over his brow bone scrunches, his eyes narrow into a glare, still looking down at their legs. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, in the moment it seemed so- I don’t know what came over me- I.” He pauses, shifts his mouth open to lick his dry lips in a self calming gesture. “I understand if you don’t wanna do,” He motions between the two of them, “This anymore. I just- I just want you to know I’m sorry.” He risks a glance up, and the stoic Spider-man mask staring back at him does nothing to calm his nerves.

The seconds tick by, and as they do, Deadpool steadily loses any and all confidence he had entering the conversation. He’s just about to get up, make his way out of the apartment, when Spider-man speaks.

“What you did is wrong.” Webs starts, and Wade’s form crumples next. He hunches in on himself, preparing himself for what he thinks is coming. “It’s not our job to be the judge of another person's actions. You don’t get to decide if they lose an arm, a leg, their life. It’s not up to us. The law can do that.”

Wade scrunches up his nose, interjecting, “But don’t the cops around here, like, suck at their job? Isn’t the judicial system like super unfair?”

Spidey doesn’t look annoyed, or angry. Instead, he nods understandingly, and continues. “Yeah, maybe- but if I wanted to be a cop, or a judge, or a lawyer, I would have done that. I would have become a crucial part of the judicial system to change the way it’s done. But I don’t want to carry that burden. I don’t want people’s sentences on my shoulders. I catch them for the crime, nothing more.”

“But- It wasn’t like that-”

“It was like that, Wade.” Spider-man continues, softly. “You were upset, and blinded by rage, and you did something irreversible. Luckily, she didn’t die, but she may have to live without an arm forever.”

“But she-”

“She stabbed me, yeah, but I’m fine.” Spider-man brings his arms out, showing Wade that he is, indeed, okay.

“And she’s not.” Wade finishes, understanding seeming to dawn in his brain.

“Exactly. Look, I’m not going to punish you for it or anything like that. You already feel guilty enough, I just think maybe it’s something we can work on.”

(He’s right)

{He wants to control you, Wade. He wants to lock you up and run tests and-}

“Okay.” Wade agrees, nodding his head- slowly at first. He looks up, facing Spider-man’s mask head on. “So like, impulse control? I can do that! I practice self restraint every day, that’s like, my M-O. I just have to apply it to the right place!” Wade turns giddy, the anxious bees in his stomach turning to butterflies quickly. Just like that, the mood turns light and soft once again, and Spidey’s laugh sounds gracious and rewarding to Wade’s ears.

“Good, because I have to go to bed. I’m so tired, I need to let my healing take over for a bit. But first, food.”

 

They eat dinner together quickly, the usual banter soothing Wade’s nerves entirely. The end of the night comes fast, Spidey yawning and almost falling asleep leaning on his island counter before Wade even leaves.

“Okay, well I’ll leave you here.” He reaches up to pull his mask down from over his nose. “Make sure you rest up!” Wade says, standing up and making his way to the window.

“I’m gonna sleep like a brick, let me tell you.” Spidey says, following behind him closely.

Cranking open the window, Wade folds in on himself to squeeze through.

(Ask him to hang out again)

“Oh! Right, wanna come over for video games tomorrow? I got that new zombie one that just came out! It’s two player!” He teases, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Webs laughs weakly, nodding. “Yeah, text me tomorrow about it.”

“Sweet! Okay, night spidey, don’t let the obscene amount of spiders you have in your apartment bite you in your sleep!” He steps out onto the fire escape once more, standing up to full height.

He hears a faint, “Yeah, yeah.” Behind him as he makes his way to the stairs, and the soft thup of the window shutting reaches his ears.

Chapter Text

The third test of Peter’s experiment turn out just as well as the first two, and he takes off his safety goggles with a long, heavy sigh. Looking to the clock, he sees that it’s not even past noon, and his break isn’t for another ten minutes. Leaning forward on his work station, Peter rests his elbows on the counter, letting his hands hold the weight of his head solidly. His eyes slip closed off of their own accord, and flashes of his dream- nightmare from the night before play in his head. The way the woman’s arm dropped to the floor plays over and over in Peter’s mind- her cries and screams on repeat.

He sighs once more, slumping farther into his research table. His arm brushes the beaker filled with hydrochloric acid, and the sharp ring the brush of his lab coat makes on the glass reminds him too much of the sound Wade’s katanas made being taken out of their holsters a few nights prior. The reality- instead of his trivial dream now plays over in his head.

Morbidly, Peter almost wants to laugh. His spider sense was blaring from the moment the woman took out the gun, but his confusion of where the danger was coming from fazed his mind.

He recounts it over and over unwillingly, and the more he sees the scene behind his eyes the more ways he finds himself to blame. To start, if he was concentrating enough, he would have been able to hear the gun rustling against against her shirt, but he was sloppy. Second, when the gun was drawn, he let the image of Ben’s murderer fog his brain, and made the wrong choice trying to disarm her. Wade got shot in the shoulder because of him, and while the other brushes it off like it’s nothing, he knows Wade can feel it. He should have webbed the gun away from her, not tried to take it away in hand to hand combat.

Peter tugs a fistfull of his hair angrily, and his body aches in protest. He let himself get stabbed. It was a rookie mistake, one he hasn't made in years, but watching a bullet embed itself in Wade’s shoulder left him disoriented and hazy with his reactions. He mistook the warning from his senses as one for Wade’s safety instead of his own, and he was almost disemboweled because of it.

He shifts back on his hips, but the fabric all over his body grating his skin makes him irritated and touchy. His healing is well underway, the wound almost gone in the two days since the incident, but his body has taken all his energy to heal itself- and he can feel it fighting off some sort of sickness now as well. He feels lethargic and weak, more than he should be in the aftermath of a healing laceration. At least last night he was able to visit his Aunt May, he recounts solemnly. She noticed right off the bat that he was hurt, and probably sick, and she made him soup, chiding him about staying healthy and uninjured. No amount of his Aunt’s reprimand could cover what he’s already feeling toward himself, though.

He couldn’t come back to his senses in time, and someone lost an arm because of it. Peter should have been more prepared, should have known that something like that could happen. While people say that Deadpool is insane, and clinically that might be true, Peter has never seen such an unstable side to the other man before the events a few nights prior. While Peter was not fearing for his own life, he was fearing for the woman’s, and he can only blame himself for putting them all in that situation.

Had he reacted faster, let his senses take over to avoid the knife- Wade wouldn’t have done it. Wade is relatively new to the whole hero business, and Peter shouldn’t have put him in a situation where someone he cares for is put in harm's way so soon. He should have been faster, better.

At the same time, some hidden, deep rooted part of him is flattered that Wade lost control over him. He lost control over Peter’s safety, and maybe in another situation Peter would let himself bask in that realization, but he knows this one is not suitable. He shoves aside the self indulgent feeling, and his mind is brought to the fact that Wade set off his spidey sense for the first time since knowing the man.

The revelation should be more earth shattering than it is. No one that Peter knows on a personal level really sets off his extra sense, but then again, Wade is the only super Peter really hangs out with- suit or not. His sense went off for the woman’s safety, not his own.

Another newfound flash of emotion fills his brain, and the meaning comes to him faster than he’s prepared for, because during the entire ordeal, never once did Peter fear Wade’s anger would be redirected on him.

Yeah, he flinched back when Wade tried to take a step toward him, and Peter feels guilty for the way it clearly hurt the other man, but it was a reflex reaction based on his hazy mind. His spidey sense was still inputting him with feedback far too quickly, and he was trying to figure out where the danger was.

That doesn’t change the fact Deadpool should be scary to him, though. He should be scared that Wade will turn on him, hurt him- but he’s not. He should be scared of Wade’s raw power, his immunity and stamina that come from his healing- but he isn’t. Wade could have easily looked up the number Peter gave him, realize it belonged to an actual person, and sell his identity to the highest bidder.

Maybe giving Deadpool his personal number instead of his burner phone used for spidey business was a stupid thing to do so soon into their relationship, but his senses didn’t fail him- Deadpool was trustworthy, and always has been. Peter wanted to become friends with Wade, and maybe he got ahead of himself too quick, but he can see past what other people view when it comes to Deadpool. He can see that Wade would never put him on the line.

He trusts Wade with his life.

The feeling is so foreign to Peter, so lovely and warm in his chest that he lets it blossom, fill his sleep deprived body with a chance at reprieve. He uses the new energy, convincing his muscles to cooperate after being stagnant for a short white. Lifting himself up, he rubs his hands along his face before opening his eyes.

The light floods his pupils, and he squints to adjust the input. Looking back to the clock, he realizes shockingly that the ten minutes until his breaktime have passed. Embarrassed, Peter looks around the lab shamefully, but he finds himself alone, just the same as he has been all day.

Quickly, he takes his wallet and phone out of his desk, and makes sure he has everything on him before walking out of the lab. The doors open automatically for him, the Stark Industries logo on the otherwise glass door parting to let him through. Going through the factuality of his experiment, and how to get it right in his head, he starts on his way to the cafeteria without a second thought.

He passes his coworkers methodically, nodding or smiling when needed, until a vibration in his pocket catches his attention. Pulling out his, Peter’s phone shows that the message isn’t for him, so he ducks into the utility closet he finds on his right to take out his burner.

The vibration of the text stops when he opens it, as per the ringer type set by him- to make sure he never misses anything that comes through on this phone- but what has Peter shocked is that someone sent him something on it at all. He reserves the phone for Spider-man emergencies, and only some of the other supers in New York have it.

The screen wakes up, displaying the text with horrible old pixelation.

 

Stark Tower, floor 205, ASAP

 

The message is from Iron Man, Peter’s technical employer. While his heart still momentarily stops from the anxiety of Tony knowing his identity, he rationally knows it’s just probably an emergency that Stark needs Spider-man’s help with.

Putting the phone back in his pocket, Peter busts out of the closet hasily, making his way back to the lab with his workstation. The doors part the same way they did the last time, and he walks back to his area, shedding off his lab coat only to immediately open his bottom drawer and take is bag out of it.

He leaves the room once more and heads for the elevators this time. Logically, Peter knows it would look sketchy if he showed up to whatever is going on the upper floors from the inside of the building, so he clocks out for his break and leaves the building entirely. Finding the first dead end alley he can, he changes behind a dumpster for cover, and webs his bag securely behind the metal waste bin.

“Man, I am too tired for this.” He complains, but he sticks to the wall and climbs up it anyway, his skin tugging around the trauma on his stomach.

Making it to the roof, he wastes no time in webbing along the edges of roofs until he makes it to Stark Tower. The buildings around Tony’s aren’t nearly as tall, so when he finally secures himself to the tower, he’s only at floor fifty. Rather than running up the high expanse of the architecture, Peter uses his webbing to secure himself farther up, and utilizes the muscles in his arms to propel himself upwards repeatedly.

He scales his way up quickly, the scene reminding him of when he last went to one of Stark’s meetings- when he first learned about Deadpool.

Thinking back, he remembers the sheer anger in his veins when he thought Deadpool was only here on merc business. He felt responsible to handle him- make sure he didn’t hurt anyone in his city, not just let someone know if the other was doing something illegal. He’s glad things turned out the way they are now, though. It’s only been about three months, but he really loves having Wade around.

Coming to the window he hopes is the right one, he settles back on his thighs to enter the same way he did three months ago- also the last time he’s been to the upper floors of the tower. Tapping on the window twice, it opens, and he crawls in.

Lifting his head to see bellow him from his position on the ceiling, Peter spots Captain America, Iron Man, and Black Widow.

While this would seem normal, the way they’re standing around, not really talking makes it seem far more out of place.

“You texted? What’s going on?” He inquires, dropping down from the ceiling with a flip. Given the situation where there was a New York emergency, this is where the Avengers would spring to life, collect their things while filling him in before all rushing out- if their strategy was a premeditated attack. He’s only met the Avengers in the tower before a fight maybe three times, most of their team ups being started on the field.

“Hey, Spider-man, we wanted to talk.” Tony says, and if Peter wasn’t seeing red flags before, he definitely is now. He’s almost glad he doesn’t have to fight right now, though, his body protesting almost all his movements. Stark idly fidgets with the papers he’s holding, sighing randomly and making far too much eye contact, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. While the other two Avengers are in their formal, work clothes, Tony is more casual, just wearing some jeans and a t-shirt with a thermal underneath.

“Okay…” Peter says slowly, letting the comment hang in the air before continuing. “What about?” He walks closer, letting his leg touch the edge of the table before he chooses to stop. He crosses his arms, watching as the other people in the room seem to be observing him just as closely as he is to them.

Stark takes that moment to step forward, turning the stack of papers in his hand so they face up, instead of facing his body. Once within reach, he tosses the papers down, revealing it’s a newspaper. Peter is still confused, that is, until Tony moves his hand once more, sliding the print over to him for inspection.

It’s the newspaper him and Wade picked up the other day. The one with them on the cover.

The same headline, same article stare back at him, and the realization of why he was called here dawn on him with a feeling of utter disgust.

“‘ Spider-man and Deadpool, Teaming Up for Trouble ’, huh?” The billionaire snarks, contempt and hatred easily bleeding into his inflection. “I thought we talked about this, kid.”

Peter stands his ground, not looking away from Tony, even if the other wouldn’t be able to tell through the arachnid’s mask. “And I thought I made myself clear.” Peter shoots back, sass threading itself seamlessly into his tone.

“Look-” Steve enters the conversation, and Peter wants to sneer at him, all of them, for even thinking this was something okay to do. Not only is it completely unprofessional, but it’s also laughable. His boss, who doesn’t even know he’s his boss in this situation, called him here during his own work hours to complain about who Peter chooses to be friends with. He cuts Steve off with a chuckle, low and light.

Peter came here, taking his break from his actual job thinking there could have been people in danger, only to be told that he needs to have a talk with the Avengers. Not even all of the heroes, either. He doesn’t know if he should be happy he’s only worth this amount of their attention. “Are you serious? You pulled me out of my day job for this?” He laughs out, and the hero’s share a look with each other before looking back to Peter blankly. “I already told you what I feel about this. Who I associate with is my choice, and you have no right rifling in my affairs.” He speaks sternly, solidly, hoping that will help them realize he’s not going to be budging.

“I just think that if you take the time to think this through, you’ll see-”

Anger bleeds through his blood, traveling around his body with the speed of his quickened heart rate. He inhales deeply, and he can tell he’s getting too worked up about this. “See what? You think I'm just gonna magically snap to attention and think that Deadpool is bad? That’s never gonna happen, so I suggest you quit while you’re ahead. What I do is none of your business. You don’t know Wade, you don’t-” He’s momentarily scared he name dropped Deadpool, cutting himself off with a small gasp. But then he remembers the Avengers saying they have his file, and his anxiety is soothed.

“You’re on a first name basis with that- that-” Tony sputters, the veins on his neck and face prominent. He looks flushed, just as worked up as Peter feels.

“Please don’t finish that sentence, Tony.” Peter pleas, because this whole ordeal has made him so agitated, so bitter, that he’s starting to realize why Wade had trouble wanting to practice self restraint in the first place.

“Spider-man, we’re just trying to keep you safe.” Steve starts again, successfully entering the conversation this time.

“I can keep myself safe just fine, Captain. Whatever you think Deadpool would do to me is a figment of your own imagination. He wouldn’t hurt me.” Peter spits out, cold and hard. Wade protects him a little too much, if anything, but he can’t believe he has to defend it.

“You don’t know that.” Black Widow speaks up for the first time, and her face is void of any emotion when Peter looks over to her.

“Well you don’t know him. I do.”

“You shouldn’t. I know what assassins are like, Spider-man.” She states back.

Peter has to look away because of the overwhelming input of his own emotions, and turns around fully with his arms crossed, laughing at the insanity of the situation he’s in. He looks to the wall, trying to even his breathing for a moment, before turning back around. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” He admits, bringing a hand to his forehead soothingly. “This is crazy.”

“I can’t believe we need to have this conversation.” Tony snarks back, and something inside Spider-man snaps. Not fully, not in a way that makes him lose control of his actions, but in a way that renders him so distinctly frustrated, so overwhelmed that he can’t help but scream.

An inhuman, rough noise escapes him, and the volume of his voice grates against his vocal chords as it leaves his throat when he speaks. “We don’t need to have this conversation!” He gestures wildly, hands shaking as they move through the air in pointed gestures. “We’ve never needed to have this conversation! What I do, who I hang out with, is none of your business. I’m not affiliated with you, I don’t work with you, you have no right. I don’t care how you feel about Deadpool, I don’t care if you’re trying to protect me, or whatever! Please, please do not do this again.” He heaves, panting. “Drop it, please.” His voice is rough by the end, and he’s surprised at himself for his outburst. Apparently, the Avengers are too, because they don’t respond for a few seconds. In the moment, though, Peter chooses the time suitable for his exit, and looks to the window he entered from. “Unless New York is being attacked, do not contact me. Have a nice day.” He walks to the window, tapping it a little too hard. It opens willingly for him anyway, and he jumps out of the building.

A strangled, “Spider-man!” Sounds from behind him, but he doesn’t pay it any mind, instead letting fresh, cool wind envelope him on his way down. Once low enough to the ground, he throws a web jaggedly, swinging to where his backpack is located.

Changing proves to be difficult when he’s so frustrated, and he has to take a few calming breaths in the alley before he can change effectively.

Looking to his watch, he sees twenty five minutes of his break have already been taken. Looking around, he weighs his options. He could go back into Stark Tower, as Peter Parker once more, and get lunch at the cafeteria like he originally was going to, or he could go across the street to the bodega and get a sandwich.

While Stark has never made obvious efforts at finding out who Spider-man really is, Peter doesn’t know if he’s trying in secret. If he was, it would look pretty suspicious if Peter Parker had to be gone for Spider-man to arrive. Plus, if he was taking his actual break during the time allotted to him, he probably would have already eaten a half hour into his forty minute break.

Sighing, he makes his way across the street, and enters the store. Greeting the shop owner, he quickly makes his way to the premade food, scoping out a veggie sub. Making his selection fairly quickly, he turns, but instead of being able to walk fluently, he collides with another person. The man is taller than him, and from where Peter was looking at the floor prior, all he gets a good look at is the man’s chest.

The person’s shoulders are wider than his own, and the rest of the body in front of him is proportional. Even though the man is wearing a hoodie and sweats, he can clearly tell that the guy has more muscle then most body builders.

Just as he’s about to look up and speak his apology, the person side steps him, placing a large, blue gloved hand down on his shoulder as he does. His eyes are caught on the appendage as it slips off of his body, and he barely catches the man mumbling a deep, “Scuze me, gorgeous.”

Somewhere in his brain, Peter notes that the inflection is similar to Wade’s. The low, monotonous tone of voice deters him from thinking it’s actually Wade’s own boisterous, expressive language. He turns in time to watch the stranger walk away, dark hood brought over the person’s head.

A grizzled clearing of the throat sounds behind him, and Peter startles, whipping back around to face the isle where he was walking. The store clerk looks at him with a smirk, and Peter comes to the realization that his face is flushed.

Quickly as he can, he pays for his food and exits the shop, heading back toward Stark Tower with a very different mood than just a few short minutes ago.

His head reels with the compliment he registered as he was leaving the bodega. Sure, he’s gotten tons of compliments throughout his life, but those were as Spider-man. Very rarely has he ever gotten anything of the sort as Peter. He isn’t someone that stands out, usually blending in with the background and overlooked easily. The thought that some random man saw him and thought to call him gorgeous sends a flushed heat over his cheeks and a small smile on his lips. He’s not saying he wants to be flirted with all the time, but it’s really a confidence booster when someone compliments him like that.

Clocking back into work, Peter is very thankful that he’s no longer angry over what happened with the Avengers. He’s able to walk into the lab easily, slipping back into the routine of Peter Parker’s life without the slightest of distaste for the logo on the lab door.

Spider-man has a problem with the Avenger’s meddling. Peter Parker loves his job.

He’s able to return to his work with a certain pep in his step that was not there earlier in the day, and even the feel of his wound is improved, seemingly hurting less after the fact. His experiments go smoothly from then on as well, and he’s finally able to make the two chemicals combine into one. While the testing does tie into his actual work, he was trialing the properties to see if they could combine into a thin, but sturdy like substance. He’s been looking for ways to reinforce his suit, and he hypothesized that given the right conditions, the chemical reaction would create a substance he could weave into the fabric of his spandex suit. He has the hopes of refining his costume, reinforcing the fabric for his own protection while not giving up the light feel and flexibility spandex provides.

Grinning, Peter riffles through his bag and takes out a container he keeps for situations like these. He seals his mixture up, putting the tupperware off to the side to make more of the new property.

The variable that had Peter stumped before was pressure. The chemical reaction needed to happen in a confined space for the gas to turn to a solid, he’s learned, and he takes notes wildly as he watches it happen all over again.

Continuing his work with the possible new element, he lets his mind wander, his movements becoming repetitive and trained without much concentration.

His suit still needs some repairs from when he was stabbed, the rip still gaping and his costume still bloody. Since he was wounded two days ago, he’s let Wade take the reign on patrols until he’s back in fighting shape. The other took the suggestion fluidly, jumping at the chance to do Spider-man’s job for Peter until he’s recovered. He thinks it’s also partly Wade’s attempt to show Spider-man he really is trying to practice self control, and it warms his heart. All the patrol reports he’s gotten so far have gone without a hitch, and to say he’s proud of Wade would be an understatement. The first time Wade came back from a patrol alone, he brought Peter food to “Help your stabby stabby, baby!”

The memory makes Peter smile, his lips tugging up at the edges affectionately.

Wade is so cute sometimes.

Peter’s heart stops for a moment, skipping over a beat like it was never supposed to in the first place. He gulps, looking around the room wildly as if someone else put the thought in his head.

What?

His heart is suddenly pounding now, jackhammering as he thinks about what he just thought.

He thinks Deadpool is cute?

He pauses, thinking of how Wade smiles while eating his tacos, food falling out of his mouth almost haphazardly. He thinks about how excited the larger man can get, resembling a puppy. His heart constricts in a way that is not abnormal when his mind is on the ex merc, but now, thinking about it, seems a lot less platonic than he originally assumed.

So he thinks Deadpool is cute. Okay.

Does he have a crush on Wade?

No, definitely not. He can’t, and he shouldn’t. There’s no way he can! Deadpool is his friend, nothing more. Spider-man is doing his best to help Wade be better, and having feelings for him seems too close to taking advantage of the other. He doesn’t wish to influence what Wade thinks, but he can’t just stop helping him because of his own selfish insecurity.

A little inkling of sadness rests at the back of his heart with the omission of just friends, and he has to second guess himself once more. He’s never been the best with liking people, if he’s being honest with himself, and sometimes he’s not sure if his feelings are self manufactured or genuine.

So are the feelings new or not?

He thinks back, trying to remember any instance where these seemingly new feelings might have been hiding in plain sight, and his brain- the traitor, supplies them one after the other. From the way he noticed Deadpools firm and unwavering muscles the first time he saw the ex merc, his defensiveness over the older man when it came to the Avengers, all the way to his inability to speak when Wade whispered in his ear going into Deadpool’s apartment for the first time. He remembers the flash of having Wade pin him down during their sparring session, him being so startled at the lack of his own spider sense that he forgot to notice the stuttering of his heart or the flood of heat that enveloped him.

Maybe it didn’t start off the bat, or develop quickly, but Peter’s not as blind to his feelings as he was five minutes ago, and now he can clearly see the how the obvious attraction became feelings. He noticed right from the start that they had chemistry, he just never had the thought that this context would be applicable.

Over the last three months, he may have developed something more for the ex merc. It wouldn’t be the most bizzare thing in the world, he debates. Parker luck must have struck him again unforgivingly. Peter is given the unwavering impression from conversations he’s had with the older man that Wade flirts just to flirt, and while the knowledge that Wade’s advances have always been hollow used to be overlooked by him, now they sting his frayed nerves.

Of course he develops a crush on his friend that has no actual feelings for him.

But Peter’s adult. He can handle it.

And lastly, there's the Avengers. The team who wants nothing more than for Peter to leave Wade and join their boy band, metaphorically of course.

The whole situation makes him feel childish, really, so he sets out to cast the new feelings to the back of his heart and continue his work.

His plan is pretty effective as well, and he’s back to his job efficiently until his phone vibrates in his lab coat. He pulls it out with is right hand, not tearing his eyes away from the new trial he’s running through until he can flip the switch on the hydraulics to turn it off. Looking to the phone, he sees its a text from Wade, and he chides himself for the way his heart rate picks up subtly.

 

Hey bb boy, up for some netflix n chill @ my place after I patrol?

 

He reads the text, a smile curling his lips up. He hovers his fingers over his phone screen, debating what he should say back. He wants to patrol with Wade. Really, he does, but just this morning he felt like death from his lack of sleep, and he doesn’t think he should risk it.

Then again, Peter has never been the best when it comes to self preservation.

 

actually, i’ll join you on the patrol

U sure?

 

Wade replies instantly, and Peter turns, resting his lower back against his work station and bringing his head down to focus on his phone.

 

yeah, i’m feeling better. i’ll just take it easy tonight

let you do the grunt work

I’m good at grunt work ;)

i have to wash my suit and make the repairs still

7:30 sound good?

Meet at my place?

yeet

 

Peter swiftly ignores the winky face, reminding himself that Wade doesn’t mean it. Putting his phone away, he returns to his hydraulics test runs.

He’s never really flirted back, per say. Maybe a handful of times he’s responded to Wade’s teasing, but none on the same level of enticement that the older man seems to strive for.

If there is anything being a superhero, specifically Spider-man, has taught him, is that normalcy is key. If he didn’t flirt back before, he shouldn’t now. Not only that, but he’s maybe a little terrified to flirt back. Peter has never really been a sultry person, so the idea of putting himself out there like that scares him just a little when it comes to his closest friend.

He envies the way Wade is carefree in that sense. He doesn’t appear to overthink the things he does, maybe even only after the fact, and Peter is a little jealous because he’s never been like that. He’s calculating and analytical, plays by the book even when it doesn’t work in his favor.

They’re starkly different in that respect, but it makes Peter admire the other that much more. Wade is outgoing, cordial in every way that Peter isn’t. It’s refreshing, honestly.

Continuing his hypotheses and note taking of his test runs, the rest of the work day goes by quickly. Four o’clock comes by, and he’s clocking out promptly. He hangs up his lab coat in his personal locker, and makes his his way out of the room, heading for the elevator. The walk back to his apartment is like any other, so he’s able to get home quick and fix up his suit.

A few hours later, he stands in his living room, pulling on his mask. About to head over to Wade’s, he thinks to send a text. Pulling out his phone, he realizes he already has three.

 

Okay, but like imagine this

Me, u, tacos, and a contest.

See who can eat more?

 

Peter doesn’t try to stop the laughter peeling up his throat, and realizes offhandedly that he’s screwed.

Because he likes his best friend.


Chapter Text

Wade awakens to the flooding of light, and basks in the sound of New York. The world around him seems far off in the lull of late morning traffic, and he keeps his eyes closed, letting his consciousness waver with hazy sleepiness. He breathes deeply, calmly, letting each breath of air in his lungs rouse him from his slumber.

Slowly, far too slowly for anyone with lesser abdominal strength to accomplish, he rises, sitting up first, then turning his body to the right. He settles, moving his feet to touch the cold wooden floor. Bringing his bare hands up to rub his face, he sighs, and then finally opens his eyes. The sunlight rushes through the large windows his bedroom has, the blinds pulled aside for mornings like these. His bedroom is clean, as the rest of his apartment, but the few out of place weapons or food wrappers make their way around in the area of his bedroom.

{Good morning Wadey, did you miss us?}

A lethargic groan escapes his lips, and he finally stands up, ripping himself from any sleepiness he carried. The moment was nice while it lasted.

(Good morning, what do we have to do today?)

“Well,” He starts, his voice low and grovely from sleep. “We’re going over Spidey’s later for a movie, until then, I don’t really know.” Opening the door to his bedroom, he walks out slowly, eyeing the kitchen. “With no jobs to do, I don’t really know how to fill my time. Or my bank account.” He admits, lifting an arm to drag his fingertips along the white walls and woodwork on his right. He stops for a second at the mouth of his small hallway, looking around his apartment, confirming that its state is the same from what it was the night before. The knowledge no one else touched it soothes a deep seated part of him.

{Just take jobs on the side, no one has to know}

“And betray Spider-man’s trust?” He brings his left hand to his heart, almost pretending to faint, “Never.”

(I see you’re just as eccentric as ever despite just waking up)

“Try and find my off switch then. Want a hint?” He wiggles the skin over his brow bone. “Anyway, I’m hungry.” Starting into a walk again, Wade drops his hand, shifting his weight with each step he takes. He makes his way over the kitchen and opens his fridge with an abrupt and sturdy yank. Upon looking inside, he catalogues what he has, and decides that pancakes would be the best option with the ingredients he has. “It would be a good opportunity to make that special recipe Webs sent me.” He mumbles to himself, pulling out his phone to locate the link.

Moving around his kitchen to find the ingredients, he hums a tune, trying to place the name of the song offhandedly.

(It’s old town road, I can’t believe you)

“Sure, why not.” Wade agrees, not even listening. He pulls the last of what he needs out of the cupboard, placing them all on the counter with his pan on the stove. He starts the mixture, only breaking concentration to view the recipe.

Cooking is methodical for Wade, and without much thought he’s making pancake after pancake, flipping them in the pan and plopping them into a stack one after the other. He’s able and efficient, and time passes quickly until he has a full stack of delicious food ready for him.

{Cook for Spidey}

The idea is one Wade would love to do, but Yellow’s comment reminds him of who sent him the recipe in the first place. He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of his breakfast and sending it over to the hero.

 

I made that vegetarian pancake thing u sent me!!!

 

Making sure the message sent, he stuffs his phone safely into his pocket, heading towards the table after picking up his plate, syrup bottle and fork. Sitting down, he pours the syrup generously, and takes his first bite.

(100% real Canadian maple)

{Nut}

The pancakes have a tang to them, a hint of banana from using that in place of eggs, but by no means are they bad. This recipe is probably a lot more healthy than his old one, so he elects to adopt the new one Spidey sent. Pulling out his phone again, he sees he has two messages.

 

LMAO wade it was a vegan recipe

i hope you don’t normally put meat in your pancakes

I mean i don’t

I think

The pancakes were good tho boo

good, or i’d have to rethink the status of our friendship

also do you ever just want to scream?

 

Wade’s head tilts at that, jaw slowing down its movements, and he’s a little startled. Spider-man has never been the type to be frustrated, at least outwardly so, and he’s surprised that the other is opening a conversation about it. He feels both sympathetic that Spider-man is clearly frustrated, but somewhat honored that he wants to talk about it with Wade. He starts chewing again, not noticing he stopped, but puts his fork down to respond with his brows knitted.

(I think this is the first time he’s really opening up about feelings to us)

Wade nods along, typing his message back.

 

All da time baby boy, but why do u wanna

 

He takes another bite while waiting for the response, filling any empty space with pancakes. He starts thinking of what he can do to make his day useful, and a bunch of ideas pop into his head. Only half of them are legal, though, so he starts to think about safe for Spidey ideas when his phone buzzes, fork halfway to his mouth. He hastily shoves the food in and puts down his utensil down, wiping the hand on his sweats for a second before having it join the other in holding the phone.

 

just a lot of things all at once

todays just not my day

:(

U like ice cream?

what kind do you have?

What kind do u like??

 

Wade takes his now empty plate up in his hands, bringing it over to the sink. He grabs his sponge, about to clean the dishes he used, when the phone buzzes almost immediately.

{I thought he was at work}

(Honestly, is he even working)

Instead of answering right away this time, Wade lets his phone sit, deciding to be responsible and finish cleaning his plates first. The task is quick, and he’s drying off his hands within a few minutes. Picking up his phone again, he wrinkles his nose at the message waiting for him.

 

strawberry

 

Spider-man’s favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry.

{We’ll still love him}

(LMAO)

FIEND!!!

Kk talk to ddy deadpool

Wuts wrong?

honestly? i barely slept, my coffee spilled all over me,

all my coworkers are bugging me and my boss is being nosey

I’m sorry Webs

I’ll bring extra ice cream xoxo

 

Looking up from his phone, Wade realizes that in the time he got lost in their conversation, he’s hunched in his upper body to see his phone, and rested his entire weight on the counter in front of him.

His mind wanders to what goes on inside of Spidey’s personal life. He’s curious as to what kind of person the hero is. What kind of friends he has or how he spends his time. He thinks to the tiny tidbits of information the other has given, but none are overly personal. None give weigh to further insight on what the younger’s life is like outside of his suit, and Wade is just a little sad because of it.

(Spidey needs ice cream tonight)

“Oh, right!” Wade immediately remembers, turning and opening the freezer of his fridge. He looks, and spots no ice cream, so he dejectedly closes it. “I don’t have any, I need to go get some. To Target!” He cheers, and the boxes respond accordingly. White is kinda unenthused about it all, but Yellow is stoked for a Target run.

Wade decides against changing, instead just pulling his hood up and putting on a pair of sunglasses and gloves. His sunglasses are large, square, and bejeweled, and his gloves are a sky blue pleather.

{Those sunglasses don’t suit you}

“Fuck you, I like them!” Wade responds, gathering his keys and wallet. “They compliment my eyes.”

(They’re reflective sunglasses. You can’t see your eyes)

“Doesn’t mean they don’t compliment them, there are no rules to fashion.” He huffs, turning to the door. He senses more than knows that White shakes his head, and he happily ignores it, hopping to the front door. His hand is on the knob when Yellow hisses in his ear.

{Leaving without a weapon? Go back and get one}

The comment make’s Wade hesitate, and think about what could happen. There could be a serious hold up, or a mugging on his way there, he could need to break into something, or stab someone, or cut off one of his limbs, or-

He stops thinking, grabs a knife and a gun from the small table he has next to his front door, stuffing them into his sweats on the way out. For safety reasons.

The air is cool, but the sun is warm, so Wade walks in the shade of the buildings all the way to the subway station.

It’s already mid afternoon, so there aren’t a whole lot of people in the subway, and he’s able to get onto the subway car with minimal onlookers.

He loves going out, and he misses the feeling of security and confidence from when his skin wasn’t multed and mutated. He misses the free smiles and light clothing he felt good wearing, strutting around with smiles all around- or so he thinks he remembers.  A small, melancholy part of him still weeps over everything that was lost with his mutation, but the larger, rational side of him crushes it like an ant under a shoe. Hope, nostalgia, longing for what is gone has never been a good thing. It destroys him from the inside out, and he’s not one to make that same type of mistake twice.

He really just wishes he wasn’t stared at so much.

The car he settles into is baren, towards the front of the train, and he takes out his phone to pass the time. He has a text from Spider-man once again, so he moves to answer it before going to play one of the games he has on his phone.

 

you’re a saint

I live to please ;)

I’m going to target to get the goods

What time u want me over?

6?

 

He’s about to respond when it’s time for him to get off, so he tucks his phone away and makes his way off the subway and out into the streets of Manhattan once more. The hustle and bustle of city goers weave around him as he makes his way to the Target south of Times Square. The people walking move rapidly, but Wade adjusts, cutting through the traffic like it’s water.

His trip into Target is a rather long one, and he gets distracted several times by different things. He finds some Spidey stickers that he just has to have, almost buys a slime kit, and finds a cool new Friends hoodie that he instantly wants. It isn’t until he’s almost leaving that he even remembers the ice cream, and he heads back into the isles until he finds them.

His eyes catch on the non-dairy ice cream section, and he wonders how it tastes compared to the real thing. If the pancakes were anything to go by, he figures the ice cream is good.

{That hero is corrupting you}

(I bet he would be so happy if you got him vegan ice cream)

Not having grabbed a basket proves to be a problem now, because the ice cream is making his hoodie cold and he’s bound to drop something. He’s carrying the hoodie, the stickers, and four pints of ice cream of all different flavors.

He breezes through the self checkout and heads back to his apartment in a rush. Not wanting the Ice cream to melt, he stuffs it in his freezer until he heads out, which only ends up being a half hour. Wade is only home long enough to change into his suit, but he’s not rushed, so he takes his time. He sends Spidey a quick text to let him know he’s on his way, and stuffs his phone away in his pocket when he doesn’t get an immediate response. Making sure the lock is done on his way out, he heads towards Spidey’s house.

The walk between their two apartments is really only ten minutes or so, and soon enough he’s rounding onto the street Spidey’s apartment is located, mentally cheering. He’s been excited all day about their movie night, and the time passed slowly because of it, despite waking up rather late.

Pulling out his phone, he fiddles with it, the stress of being outside in the open making him a little nervous.

He has no messages, which is a stark difference from the rest of the day. Since he first texted Spidey that morning, their conversation had pretty much been constant. It made Wade happy, really, but he was quickly noticing how much time it took up. He wasn’t used to having friends, it seems, but time was something he was used to losing. He could make the choice to do it willingly.

His heart skips a beat when his eyes focus back on the phone in front of him, and he thinks to what he should do. He doesn't know what to do in this situation, and Wade feels hesitant as to what he should do. He doesn’t feel that he should go in without an explicit affirmative.

{Maybe he realized he doesn’t want you over}

(Don’t be silly, he’s probably just waiting for you to walk in)

Wade pauses, pursing his lips, and ultimately decides to wait to see if Spidey will respond. Despite that, though, a swell of anxious emotion fills him, and he feels himself getting jittery. He thinks back to the only other time he’s been in the arachnid’s apartment, remembering being explicitly allowed in.

Today, though, he’s on time to what the other told him to be here. He;s confused as to what is expected of him. Maybe he was busy getting ready for movie night.

{Or maybe he was kidnapped}

Wade gasps involuntarily, head immediately snapping up to the fifth window up from the ground.

(That’s unlikely)

{He’s probably already been taken. He’s gonna be experimented on, poked and prodded and tortured just like you were. But it will be worse, because he has actual secrets, like his identity}

Wade’s heart is pounding with panic, adrenaline pumping as he crosses the distance to the fire escape.

He hooks himself onto the ladder the same way as last time, bag of ice cream being held up wrapped around his forearm, and climbs the first few bars with his hands before he can get his footing solid. Once he’s up on the actual fire escape, he rounds each close, jagged corner fast and takes the steps three at a time, until he’s facing Spidey’s window. It’s left an inch or two open, and Wade isn’t sure if he should be consoled by that or concerned.

Time moves slowly in his brain, and he hooks both hands under the window and lifts it smoothly. It gives noisily, creaking and shifting with the powerful movements Wade is forcing it into. Wasting no time, he contorts himself, moving to enter the apartment haphazardly. He’s about half way through the window when he thinks to look up, though, and he freezes when he realizes what his eyes are showing him. There’s a man sleeping on the bed, hair tousled and soft features greatly resembling the man he met a few days earlier in the bodega. The arm pressed into the mattress is loosely holding a phone, fingers twitching slightly around it. His knee inside the apartment thunks against the side of the wall, the bag in his hand crinkling as it shifts and turns. It seems to be moving faster than the rest of the world as it swings in Wades periferal, and he accepts it willingly.

{That is the guy from the bodega, dumbass}

(Wait a second)

Wade realizes his mistake slowly, and moves to backtrack instantly. “I must have missed a floor.” He mumbles to himself, turning to move himself back through the window. He shifts, about to duck his torso back down to slide back through, but freezes momentarily when he hears something behind him.

Presumably in response to his words, he registers the rustling of sheets come from the bed along with a faint groan, and Wade snaps back to attention, trying to get out of the guys room faster- not wanting to startle him.

(Wade, wait)

Anxiety ripples through him as he struggles to get out, but his unrelaxed posture isn’t allowing him to fit through the window once more, and he’s caught right in the middle with his body half in, half crouched. His hand on the window sill slips, and he falls with the loss of the arm holding up some of his weight. His head smashes into the side of the window pane, and a pained sound escapes him before he can hold it in.

(Look around the room)

He turns dejectedly, now seeing the man blearily rub his eyes as he awakens. Wade glances to the side, sees the organized chaos, the gadgets and spiders littering the room, the-

Wait.

“Wade?” Spider-man’s voice sounds tired and groggy, immediately registering as familiar in his head, and Deadpool’s eyes are slowly ripped from where they were burning a whole into Spidey’s suit, dragging across the floor he totally knows to see the man that bumped into him at the corner store. The guy- Spider-man, is still rubbing one eye, looking at him dopily, void of panic or suprise.

{Holy shit}

(I knew it)

Wade tries to speak as the realization dawns on him fully, but a strangled sound is all that escapes him.

{He’s gonna be mad}

“Shit! I’m sorry Spidey, I really didn’t mean- I would never, it was totally an accident! Yellow told me you got kidnapped!” He tries to explain hastily, and he wants to leave more than he ever thought he’d want to in the presence of Spider-man.

(Also known as hot bodega dude)

Webs looks confused, tilting his head with his eyebrows knitted, and Wade’s heart explodes in affection with the movement, despite all the anxiety that wells up by knowing what Spider-man’s face looks like.

“Wha-?” Webs questions, and he brings his hand away from his eye slowly. His gaze tracks the movement, and the realization of exactly what is going on dawns as slowly as it did with Wade. The realization Spider-man is not wearing his suit. Soon, though, he’s looking at Wade with almost no emotion, only the slightest dusting of surprise widening his eyes, mouth barely shut, and Deadpool needs to leave.

“I really didn’t mean for this to happen, Webs, it’s six- I thought-” He cuts himself off as he shifts, struggling against the window and finally wriggling his shoulder through. “I’m just gonna,” He states, voice cracking and faltering with his spirit as he pulls the rest of his body through the window. His lungs fill harshly as he rises to his full height, and the world around him seems to waver slightly.

{You really suck, you know that}

All of his energy is gone and all he wants to do is cry, because he definitely just ruined the only real friendship he has at the moment. He didn’t think it through, he never would have went into Spidey’s apartment if he thought the other could have been maskless. But even if he tried to explain himself, it’s no use, because he overstepped a bound too big for him to take back.

“Wade,” Spider-man’s soothing voice sounds from behind him, and Deadpool realizes that he never actually left the fire escape after coming onto it. He turns his head from where his body faces out, and catches the same smile he’s grown used to for months grace the rest of the beautiful face he now knows is Spidey’s. “Wade, can you come back inside? We still have movie night.”

(I always knew he was pretty)

{Look at those eyes}

For once, Wade listens to Yellow, taking the moment to really look at the other’s features. Spider-man has big brown eyes that are almond shaped, the teardrop look of them making Wade swoon internally. He has soft, fluffy hair that waves and curls at its own discretion, and he wants nothing more than to run his hands through it from the roots, anchor his hold at the ends and pull down, making the gorgeous man in front of him bare his jawline and neck. Spider-man has angular features, soft in places and pointy in others, and Wade commits it to memory like he’s about to die- forever. The hero’s nose is small, sturdy and smooth in its arch and rounded at the tip. His lips, Wade already has committed to memory. While they aren’t big, they’re firm and soft looking, a soft pink that compliments the smooth beige expanse of skin. He catalogues the sun spots, freckles and moles that dust the bridge of his nose, and all Wade feels anymore is the urge to weep.

He studies the other man, and if he were an artist, he would never draw anything else in his life. Maybe it’s the fact Wade’s been practically in love with Spidey for a while, a long term crush, realized love as their friendship developed, but he looks at Spidey’s face and his heart cries out lovingly. Webs has talked a lot about how he’s an average person, able to blend in with crowds and go undetected, but Wade finds everything about him outstanding and beautiful. It’s not even just the knowledge that the man in front of him is his hero, his crush, his love. He thought the other was breathtaking from the moment he saw Webs in the bodega. But there’s a difference from before in knowing that the man he thought was beautiful at face value is also the man he adores to no end. It makes it deeper, more raw for Wade, and he breathes out all of his willpower and just follows the hero’s lead.

(You’d really walk to the end of the earth for this guy wouldn’t you)

{Do it, I want to marry him}

He turns his body to match his face, now fully facing the other, and he watches as Spidey steps back to let him in. This time his entrance is smooth, and he’s able to contort to fit through easily. Back in the apartment, though, Wade doesn’t really know what to do, so he stands, waiting as Webs takes the bag of ice cream off of him easily.

“Can you tell me what happened Wade?” He asks, and Deadpool flinches even though the question is asked softly and reassuringly.

“Uh-” he starts, at a loss. He’s not sure why it matters, but he clears his throat anyway, licking his lips in preparation to speak. “I was on my way over for movie night, and you didn’t answer when I said I was on my way. I didn’t know, uh, if I should come in, and I wasn’t going to, but then Yellow said maybe you were being kidnapped and tested on- being a guinea pig really isn’t fun, ya know? So I came in here, since if you were kidnapped I wanted to help- I never thought that you might not being wearing a mask- I’m sorry.” He finishes, looking down at his boots.

Spidey nods along, arms crossed lightly over his chest. As Wade finishes, he steps forward, looking up at Wade with those big chocolate eyes and he’s gone, he’s so far gone, he would find a way to take the stars out of the sky for those pretty browns-

“I’m not mad, Wade.” He admits like it’s obvious, and Deadpool’s neck snaps with a spasm, surprised.

“What?”

“I’m not mad, it was on accident,” Spidey breaks eye contact, moving to unfold his arms, bringing them up in a shrug. He walks to his bed and sits on the edge, leaning back on his hands, locking his elbows and rolling back his shoulders. “Besides, it was never a matter of if I was going to show you who was under the mask. It was a matter of when, Wade.” Spidey says like it was written in the sky- clear as day, and Deadpool is once again overcome with emotions too strong for him to comprehend. He doesn’t mind the onslaught of feelings, not at all, because it makes him feel alive. It makes his breaths more sweet and movements more lively, and it’s not something he would trade for the world.

A thought pops into his head, and he’s reaching up before he can stop his impulse.

{That’s not a good idea}

(Shhhhh)

He grips the base of his mask in one rough movement, and pulls it up with an inhalation of breath that’s quick and shallow. The soft internal fabric slips off his face slowly, caressing the bumpy skin there, and then he’s maskless, vulnerable to the gaze of his idol and love.

The sharp breath that Spidey takes is one of awe, not horror, because when he looks up to lock eyes with the other, his face is majestic, not twisted in contorted fear. Wade can sense that his own facial expression is one that’s harsh, the skin on his brows brought down into a furrow, his eyes displaying all the emotion and fear he holds over the action he’s done.

“My name is Peter.” Spidey- Peter supplies breathily, and tears form in Wade’s eyes before he can think about how to rid himself of them.

{He’s perfect}

Wade nods, agreeing wholeheartedly with the statement Yellow supplies, and bringing a hand up to take the tears away from his eyes.

“I trust you with my life, Wade. I know you have my back. I can trust you with my face and name.” Peter continues, and Wade breaks a little. He brings the other hand up to his eyes, and he moves them to press the heel into his eye sockets. He feels so raw, so vulnerable and bare, but for once he doesn’t mind. Peter doesn’t look at him with a face controlled by disgust, doesn’t avoid his touch like so many people do. He welcomes it, encourages it even, and Wade couldn’t ask for anything more from a friendship. A single sob escapes him, enveloping him in all of his emotions, and when a hand rests gently on his shoulder he leans into it.

Peter takes it in stride, bringing his other arm up to fully hug Wade over his bulky shoulders, and his heart bursts more than he ever thought it would again. He moves his hands, wiggling them down to wrap around Peter’s middle, and they press together in a heartfelt way that has Wade breathing out a long sigh he didn’t know he had waiting in him. Some of the tension in his body disappears, and he sags against the stronger of the two minutely. When Peter moves his hand to rub along the top of his back, though, the rest of his inhibitions leave. He buries his face as far as he can into the youngers neck, and one more choked hiccup escapes him. His bottom lip quivers, his arms tremble, and he doesn’t know where it all came from but he knows he welcomes it.

(What’s that sound)

Wade focuses on the noise around him, and sure enough, there’s a light, repetitive click that’s soft and soothing in nature. He would be confused as to its origins, but he feels the light rumble coming from where his face is pressed against Peter’s throat, and so he accepts it as something the spider does.

After a few seconds, they pull away mutually, and they make solid eye contact. He can see small gold flecks in Peter’s eyes, and he’s sure that Spider-man can see his own brown eyes just as intimately.

He feels his nose dripping, so he brings a hand up to wipe at it at the same time that he sniffs theatrically, and then Peter is cracking a smile. It’s contagious, and soon they’re both beaming so wide and laughing easily. “You know,” He starts, looking down at his feet for a second before looking back up, “I ran into you the other day. If I had heard your voice I would have known it was you, though.” He holds his smile, watching as Peter’s brows knot in confusion.

“Where did we bump into each other? We were both out of the suits?” Peter poses, and his nose wrinkles in thought, trying to recall the situation.

“At a corner store? Like two days ago. You turned into me.” Wade supplies willingly.

A slow blush seems to settle over Peter’s face as he realizes, and his mouth forms into a cute little ‘o’ shape.

{Kiss him}

(He probably wouldn’t appreciate that)

“It’s probably good you didn’t say anything then, huh? I would have known it was you. Not that it matters much now, but.” He offers, shrugging, not really knowing how to navigate the situation they’re in right now. It feels intimate in a way that Wade is not accustomed to, therefore making him the slightest bit uncomfortable. But at the same time, it’s nice, heartwarming and familiar in a way that makes his heart swoon.

Peter is cracking a smile once more, and Wade follows suit, warm emotions taking over their features without a beat.

“So, how about that ice cream?” Peter asks, turning towards where they’re seated on the bed easily.

Wade watches him walk towards it, picking it up and finally facing back with a genuine, wide smile on his face and a dust of rose under the sprinkle of freckles.

He could get used to this.

 

Chapter Text

Looking at Wade’s bare face is honestly never something Peter thought he would be allowed to do. He accepted it, of course, welcoming Wade into his life any way the ex merc would grace him with, but the fact that he was granted something so vulnerable and hidden away makes him feel… special.

He imagines Wade might feel the same way, not only seeing Spider-man’s face, accident or not, but learning the name behind the mask as well.

He suspects Wade also took off his own mask out of guilt for seeing Peter in a way he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it was a way of equalizing the playing field to him, putting them on the same level, and while Peter wanted to tell Wade that he didn’t have to do that- he wasn’t expected to give up the same level of intimacy that was granted accidently, Peter was too mesmerized to will his throat to create the words. Instead, all that came out of his mouth was his name, but he didn’t regret it one bit.

Standing where he is, looking at Wade with what he knows is a dopey smile covering his own features, he feels at home. He feels comfortable and respected, basking in the relatively new feelings that have enveloped him.

He forgot how scary liking someone is. It’s lovely, and wholesome, and fills his heart with this unmistakable presence, making his days brighter, but the stark reality that love is a two way street hits him on the back of the head and takes him down a notch.

Wade doesn’t like him like that. Wade may never like him, and he has to be ready for that. He’s not willing to lose Wade over his crush, and he has to keep his feelings in check.

That doesn’t mean he can’t let himself feel them though.

“Ice cream! Hell yeah baby! I got you two kinds and myself two kinds- cuz they were quarts. I don’t know about you, but I can destroy one of those in one sitting, so.” Wade starts, coming over to where Peter is holding the bag of goods. “But that’s not the best part! Look inside!” Wade’s voice carries the same enthusiastic tone it always has, but now Peter watches, enchanted as he sees the face that moves below the mask.

It’s not the first time Peter has seen Wade’s scars, not by any means, but the ridges and dips in the skin are always changing with Wade’s fast cell turnover rate, so every glance is like a new one to the arachnid.

He’s never minded the state of the ex mercs skin, never been grossed out by it, but he’s found himself loving every moment he gets to see more. While it’s very evident that Wade himself does not like his skin, and other people have been cruel to him on the mere basis of his scar’s existence, Peter loves the trust it shows. He loves he’s gotten to a point where Wade entrusts him with his own insecurities.

He thinks Wades eyes are the most expressive. In the maybe two minutes Wade has had the mask off, Peter has gotten a better insight to the man’s emotions than ever before. Deadpool’s eyes are a dark brown, stark and deep like wood on a varnished table. They’re a gorgeous deep mahogany, and Peter is obsessed with the way he can’t tell where Wade’s pupils end and his irus’ begin.

The skin over his brow bones curve downward into a scowl more often than not, and the face Wade made when he pulled his mask off makes Peter’s heart shake in a way he hasn't felt in years. It was raw, unhinged and genuine, and Spider-man wishes he could undo the damage that other people caused Wade.

Even now, facing the man’s neutral expression with full eye contact, his heart shakes in it’s cage and threatens to fall, spilling its contents.

Finally, after what has felt like years, Peter looks down into the bag. Unsure of what Wade is pointing out to him, he reaches in, grabbing what he assumes will be the ice cream and pulling it out. He steals an upward glance, making brief eye contact with a dopey smile and bright eyes before looking back down. Turning over the cold pint carton, take notice of everything about the labels. Not only did Wade get him some from the non dairy section, but he somehow got Peter’s favorite brand and flavor as well. Pulling out another one of the four quarts, he finds another strawberry flavor that he didn’t even know existed. “Are you like- a mind reader or something?” He asks, laughing a little at how Wade always seems to have luck on his side when it comes to small, unimportant things.

“I feel like it’s just because I’m Canadian, ya know? Like, the niceness just makes us magical. I could probably guess the color of your underwear.”

“Honestly I wouldn’t doubt any magical tendencies. I have bad luck most of the time- I call it Parker luck.” Peter says, putting both containers of ice cream back in the bag and turning to leave his bedroom. On his way to the door, he juts his head in the direction, giving Wade a signal to follow him into the kitchen.

“Parker luck?” Wade questions, and Peter can easily tell by the volume of Wade’s voice that he’s following closely behind.

“My last name- Parker.” Peter supplies, continuing his walk easily. He stops, however- when he hears as well as senses that Wade halts his movements. Turning, he’s met with a surprised expression and a finger held out in his direction.

“What’s wrong big guy?” He chuckles, voice light and breathy.

“Wha- you, I- uagh!” Wade fumbles, ultimately huffing out a distressed sound. Peter waits patiently with a fond smile as Wade pieces his words together, turning and mumbling to the boxes before turning back to him in a matter of seconds. “Peter Parker!” He yells, pointing a finger at Spider-man once more. Peter nods in understanding, encouraging the other to elaborate. Deadpool turns his hand, pointing it at himself this time. “Wade Wilson!”

“Mmhm.” Peter nods again, not quite getting where the other is going with his outburst but enjoying it nonetheless.

“Alliterations! This is so perfect! Peter Parker and Wade Wilson! It’s like we were made to be friends!” Wade bursts, finally able to get out what was on his mind. Peter’s eyebrows rise in amusement and he laughs at Wade’s antics once more. “It’s like-”

“If you say ‘fate’, I’m eating your ice cream.” Peter says, faking a stern and unapproving expression.

Wade scoffs, “You sayin you don’t believe in fate?”

“I’m a scientist. I believe in fact.”

“Okay, Petey-pie. But what about those like, unexplainable events that just line up for people?”

“Coincidence and point of view.” Peter settles, finally turning back and walking into the kitchen. He places the bag on his counter, turning to open his cutlery drawer and take out two large spoons. He shifts his hip, sending the drawer into a close, and turns around to face Wade once more. The other is still standing in the hall, awkwardly tense for a reason Peter cannot place until he speaks.

“Wah-” He starts, looking up to Peter with unsure eyes, “A scientist? What kinda, uh- science do you do?” He asks carefully, and Peter is confused for a moment before the correct memory pops into his head. He recalls Wade telling him of the experiments throughout his time in Weapon X, making them sound far lighter than they actually were. Torture to find out if normal people could become mutates, and Wade was living proof it was possible. Science probably isn’t his favorite subject, and that was putting it lightly.

He elects to smile at Wade before answering, but instead of it being understanding and firm, he feels it come off more reassuring and shy. “I work for Stark Industries. I mainly do tests involving forms of sustainable energy, I create new tech to help people, test my Spidey gear out in secret, and I dabble in trying to find new elements every once and awhile.” He finishes, and Wade shoulders slowly slump.

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” He mumbles to himself. “I know, I just- forgot he was Spidey for a sec.” He hisses to his left, taking a long inhale before looking back to Peter with none of the same, nervous energy he had moments prior. He strolls into the kitchen unaffected, coming up to pluck one of the spoons from Peter’s grasp, taking one of the two ice creams for him into his grasp. He looks over, making eye contact with the hero, and motions his head toward all of the ice cream with a quick nod. “Which one do you want to eat first? We should put the other ones in the freezer.”

A second passes, and Peter uses the time to catch up mentally. Sometimes, how fast Wade is able to let things go, switch emotions or gain a new one entirely throws him for a loop. It gives his mind whiplash, as someone who can’t easily change his mood unless they’re similar. It’s amazing, really, and it speaks bounds about the control that Wade has over his emotions. Pulling himself out of his stupor is easy, and he’s grabbing for his favorite of his two flavors. “I’ll eat this one now.” He says, already excited to eat it. Wade takes the one Peter did not select, brings them to his freezer and places them inside easily. He walks back, grabbing his own left on the counter, and walks into the living room fluidly.

Peter’s gaze lingers as Wade walks, and he’s caught up in the moment without so much as allowing it to happen. Wade’s head is angled down as he walks the short distance, shoulders wide. The Deadpool suit hugs him rather snugly, not always being given the allowance to slack with Wade’s muscles. The dips and valleys of his shoulder blades warp as he moves, shifting in a repeating motion, and the sheer size, the absolute look of power the stance gives sends something hot and white down Peter’s spine. He jolts with the utter presence of it, abs tensing and bringing the small of his back off the counter abruptly, and his lips part from their own accord.

Shame fills him next, taking the room that any arousal once had in a split second. He feels disgusting with the emotion, gross with the feeling of abused power, and casts it aside- locks it away for another day. His focus comes next, and his eyes blink in time with Wade dropping himself on the couch, making himself perfectly at home.

He decides to join the ex merc, taking his ice cream and joining the other on the couch. He sits down next to the other, but the level of the cushion is sloped from someone already sitting on it, so he shifts, trying to find a better way to sit. His couch is small, cramped with two men of their size on it, and he’s practically pressed up against Wade by the time he finds a comfortable angle to sit at. His face heats and he rolls his eyes to himself, opening the ice cream and digging in instead of unraveling the emotions he’s feeling. He’s grateful that Wade doesn’t seem to mind their closeness, not even outwardly reacting to it as far as Peter can tell. He takes large bite after bite of ice cream, humming his apparent approval loudly.

“So,” Wade starts, large chunk of his desert in his mouth. He efficiently talks around it, but the smacking sound his mouth makes as he tries to eat while talking makes Peter cringe, laughing. “It’s still movie night, Peter Piper.” He pauses, taking another bite.

“Parker.” Peter corrects, and Wade completely ignores it, instead continuing what he was saying like Spider-man never spoke.

“What movie do you wanna watch?” He finishes, turning to make eye contact. Peter follows, taking notice of how close their faces are. Offhandedly, he supposes that they’ve been this close before- probably closer at times. He distracts his mind from the fact his heart rate has picked up, trying to think of any movies he could want to rent.

“I don’t really know,” He says honestly, mind blank. “What movies are new? We want to watch a new one, right?” He asks, licking the ice cream off his upper lip subconsciously.

Wade gasps dramatically, “I know! Oceans 8! Have you seen that one? It’s not new new, but I haven’t seen it yet! I just watched the preview.”

“I haven’t seen it either. Where can we watch it?” Peter asks, grabbing the remote to turn on the Tv. He knows he doesn’t have the DVD, so he figures Wade is about to find it on one of the apps his older smart Tv provides. He hands the remote over, flexing his hands idly.

It’s not until he’s shifting the ice cream in his hand that he realizes how cold he had gotten when he wasn’t paying attention. The muscles are stiff- like they would be on a regular human after being out in freezing temperatures for thirty minutes. He’s startled, a bit scared he didn’t realize sooner, so he puts the ice cream down and grabs a fleece blanket to wrap himself in. He stands, pulling the blanket over his shoulders as he walks to the thermostat on the wall.

“Hey, to rent the movie is three bucks, do you mind?”

“No, go ahead.” Peter answers, not really able to give Wade his full attention in the moment. Turning the temperature up by three degrees, he walks back over to the couch, sitting down in his spot once more. Shifting, he brings his feet up to his right and under his body. The movement makes him lean more into Wade, and he allows himself under the guise of needing warmth.

“Hey, what’s wrong baby boy, you cold?” Wade asks, setting the remote on the coffee table as the movie starts to play. He sounds concerned, turning his head to look at Peter. “Your lips are blue.” He whispers, half awe, half suprise.

“Whoops,” Peter starts, shifting to hide his small shivers, “I must have had too much ice cream. I’ll be fine.” He assures, turning to give Wade a small smile.

“You sure? Want me to get you a heater or anything? More blankets?” He offers again, and Peter’s heart swells a bit with the care.

“I should be fine, thank you though. Are we going on patrol after?”

“Yes!”

“Then maybe I should just go change into my suit now? The heater in it will keep me warm.” Peter offers, standing up to head into his room. “Can you pause it? I’ll be right back.”

Wade’s expression seems to deflate a little, and Peter really isn’t sure why. It’s not a big change, not really, just a hunch of the shoulders and a tiny frown, but he picks up on it anyway. He sulks to himself as he’s walking to his room, and he hears the Tv pause as he shuts the door quietly. His left side feels even more cold than his right, no longer pressed up against Wade, and his instincts hiss at him to go back and burrow into the warmth Wade provides.

He ignores it, obviously, and strips down to his briefs quickly, replacing the layers with his suit. His Spider-man costume is built as two parts; mask and body. The mask is the only seperate piece for eating purposes, and the body is the other piece to accommodate for his theatrical, more flexible stunts. His earlier suits were more broken up, but he soon learned that the spandex would move unless they were all attached. Surprisingly, the one piece that never gave him trouble with moving was his mask, so he kept the design the same. As Peter finishes pulling the body of his Spidey outfit on, the heater kicks to life, and he sighs at the warmth that starts to envelopes him. He moves to the door, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders once more when his eyes set on his mask.

He debates putting it on for a second, but ultimately comes to the conclusion not to. While he could, he doesn’t really feel the need to. With Wade, the mask has always felt like a barrier in between them rather than the protection it normally feels like with other people. With Wade knowing his face and name now, there’s no real reason to wear it around the other- even if Deadpool seeing his face was completely accidental. Putting it on now would feel wrong, given the events of the night, and he also does not want Wade to feel like Peter doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t want the ex merc to feel like Peter doesn’t appreciate Wade showing his own face, either, so he lets his gaze drop from the fabric as he reaches for the doorknob and pulls it open.

The sound of Wade’s voice greets him as he exits his bedroom. It’s muffled and low, but Wade cuts hims off when he takes notice of Peter’s presence.

Spider-man watches as Wade’s eyes scan him from the bottom up. There’s a glint in them that Peter can’t place, but Deadpool’s expression looks almost sad- until they reach his face. Wade seems to take in Peter’s bare skin as something unexpected, and understanding encompases the hero.

Wade was sad because he thought that Peter was going to put on the mask again. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t ask if Peter was planning on masking himself again, didn’t ask if there was a way to avoid that until later, when they went on patrol. It makes Spider-man a little sad, if he’s being honest, because Wade is so ready to accept any treatment he’s given, it makes Peter wonder how he has been treated by people close to him in the past.

“Ready for Sandra Bullock to be the true crime queen we all know she really is?” Wade asks instead of any delve into his internal monologue, and Peter goes with it, not willing to break the moment they have going.

“Just what is this movie about, Wade?” He scoffs, walking around the coffee table to sit back in the same spot from before. He doesn’t put his feet up yet, but if he lets himself press into Wade a little more than he needs to, neither of them says anything about it.

“Don’t worry, it’s good. I watched the preview.” Wade presses the play button once again, and the opening scene quickly catches their attention and holds it. Peter is confused for maybe three minutes until he figures out what Wade meant.

“She- That, that’s genius and illegal! Wade, we’re watching a movie about crime?” Peter practically screeches, and Wade laughs loud and earthy in his joy. Even reprimanding the other without any heat, the world seems to slow to welcome the image before him into Peter’s memory. He realizes that this is the first time he’s seen Wade’s face when he laughed this uncensored, and a smile encompases his own face regardless of any rebuke he had regarding the movie selection seconds prior. Wade looks happy.

The emotion looks good on Deadpool. Peter wants to make sure it gets the chance to showcase on his features more.

“It’s not real, Pete, she didn’t actually steal anything!” Wade yells back, his tone light and airy still.

“It’s glorified crime! Did you forget that you’re watching this with Spider-man?” He whisper-yells the last word, tone just as joking as Wade’s, and the comment makes Deadpool laugh even harder.

“It’s a good movie! Give it a chance, it has Rihanna!” Wade clarifies, words interrupted by chuckles every word.

“Oh!” Peter settles, wiggling back into his spot like nothing ever happened. “Why didn’t you just say so. Play it.” He’s smirking, looking at the Tv even if the movie is paused, and waits patiently for the single second it takes until Wade is busting out more howls. Peter looks over slyly, watching in factination as Wade’s face scrunches up in joy. The merriment is contagious, it would seem, because he’s joining in not long after, eyes crinkled from his smile.

It takes Wade a full five minutes to calm down. Every time he slows his laughter, he breathes a few times, ultimately finding something funny about the situation once more, and starting all over again. By the time he’s able to fully stop, he’s wiping tears away from his eyes and coughing from the catch of air in his throat.

“Oh my- oh my god Pete. I haven’t laughed this hard in like- I can’t even think right now.” Wade forces the words out, ultimately giggling by the end of it from the residual mirth. Peter is watching him, a full and happy smile stretching his lips, and Wade turns to face Peter as the last of his laughter dies out. They make solid eye contact, Wade’s giggles fading into small vocalizations. Their faces are close, closer than they have been the entire night, and it makes Peter take notice, a small gasp being pulled into him against his control. His lips part with the inhale and he takes notice of how dry his mouth feels.

Wade seems to follow the movement of his mouth opening, eyes dropping down to look at Peter’s lips.

He can feel his heart rate picking up, a flush of arousal running through him at the thought of kissing Wade.

He wants to, he realizes somewhere in his foggy brain. He wants to kiss Wade, wants to slot their lips together just so, feel the ridges of Wade’s lips move against his as they kiss- slowly at first, picking up speed steadily until they their tongues meet, Peter panting into Wade’s mouth. And Wade- he’d be making a soft little growl, reaching over to grab Peter with one hand right under the curve of his ass and pull him up until he’s seated on Wade’s lap snugly, pressing their-

Oh shit.

Peter snaps out of his fantasy when Wade swallows, watching the other man’s adam's apple bob with the movement. He’s transfixed, watching Wade’s lips with some inept fascination. He’s so overcome with want, with need, and he can’t see anything beyond his desires. He can’t set his sights on the bigger picture, can’t think twice about what he’s doing, and he finds himself gravitating toward Wade like a magnet. His mind is ultimately blank, nothing taking up his thoughts other than how Wade’s lips would press against his. He imagines how it would feel to wrap his hand around the base of Wade’s neck, angle his head up to his own and just look into his eyes. He wants to feel lips on his skin, he wants to feel Wade against him, wants-

He’s ripped out of his thoughts when his phone starts buzzing against the coffee table. He startles hard, flinching back with his surprise. The world twists and turns, and suddenly he’s on the ceiling, looking down at Wade with surprise.

He webs for his phone while looking at Wade’s face, studying it as what almost happened catches up to him. Wade looks surprised, yes, but he also looks… lost. Peter can’t seem to interpret the emotion quite right, but he’s overwhelmed and frazzled as he pulls the phone to his chest.

He totally almost took advantage of Wade, he realizes. He just almost kissed his friend, without so much as a hint that the other actually wanted to. He feels horrible, gross, and the same feeling from earlier floods his senses, submerging them in distaste. He feels like he’s abused power he was given. He feels unjust and wrong, but he doesn’t quite know why. He knows the obvious of the why- he almost kissed Wade- but he never felt this sense of guilt when it came to any of his other romantic interests. He doesn’t want to influence Wade, doesn’t want to mold him into something he may not be, doesn’t want to use the power he has as an influence in Wade’s life against him, and the knowledge that he might, even without knowing, makes him feel like crap.

He almost kissed his best friend.

He turns the phone over idly in his hand, glancing at it as a distraction more than anything else. It’s still buzzing, shaking in his hand, and he can’t help but feel the same way- unstable and unsettled.

The caller ID reads Aunt May, and he remembers with a groan that he was supposed to call her when he got home. Thinking back, he now remembers why it escaped his mind. His horrible day and sleep deprivation caught up with him and he ended up falling asleep instead. He looks back up to Wade, who is now holding his head in his hands, and feels the same overwhelming sense of guilt once more.

Peter messed up. Peter really messed up. He doesn’t know what the other will think of him now, doesn’t know what the other will want to do with their relationship, but Peter sighs with the resignation that it isn’t his choice. Wade can end their relationship here and now if he chooses to. He can tell Peter that he’s just been messing around with the flirting, tell him that it was all a joke that was never supposed to actually mean something, but the damage was already done and now they both had to live with the repercussions.

“It’s my aunt.” Peter says, still looking at Wade. Time feels warped, slowed five times and sped up three all at the same time, and he’s confused as to what to do in this situation. “Can I take this really quick?” He asks, and Wade looks up to him. He looks stiff, a little uncomfortable, and Peter wants nothing more than to take it back. He had no intention of making Wade feel bad, had no thoughts of the sort-

Because he wasn’t thinking at all. He got lost in a dangerous impulse, got carried away beyond what was socially acceptable, and he mentally kicks himself again for the way Wade can’t meet his eyes.

“Yeah- I’ll just be here.” Wade states, coughing and looking away, back to the Tv. Peter finally, finally answers the call from his aunt after what has felt like four years. In reality, only maybe fifteen seconds have passed, and he answers right before the call gets sent to voicemail.

“Hi Aunt May.” He greets, voice shaking, erratic as he feels. Either May doesn’t notice like she normally would, or just doesn’t care in the moment, because she’s off, yelling at him faster than he can process at the moment.

“Excuse me, Peter Benjamin Parker, but I don’t recall there being any good reason you haven’t visited me in almost two weeks.” She states, her sassy and strict personality seeping into how she speaks. Apparently, the call is loud enough that even Wade can hear, because Peter hears a chuckle from below him, and tilts his head up to see Wade watching him with an amused smile.

He’s once again confused by the other’s ability to jump from emotion to emotion, because not even ten seconds ago Wade was clearly distraught over what had almost happened, and now he seems fine, content even. Peter offers a smile back, crawling with only three of his limbs toward the hall. Once he’s able to, he drops down onto the clear floor, walking into his room and lightly closing the door behind him. “Hey, I’m sorry.” He admits truthfully, letting his emotion show through into his words.

“It’s okay Peter, as long as you come see me within the next forty eight hours, that is.” She laughs, smug, and Peter lets a breath out that he didn’t know he had waiting.

“I know, I’m sorry. I had a bad day at work and fell asleep when I got home, and then my friend came over and that was a whole other event-” He starts, but quickly gets cut off by May’s shrill and urgent tone.

“You didn’t say a name, which means I don’t know this person. What kinda friend is it? Hm?” She asks insightfully, teasing him with no hesitation.

“Just a friend- May! He’s just a newer friend is all-”

“Then why do you sound so out of breath?” She asks smugly, and Peter makes a strangled sound on his end somewhere between frustration and embarrassment. “Oh fine. I guess I’ll leave it alone for now, even though that’s no fun.” She settles, and Peter feels himself relax. The thought of having to talk about his relationship with Wade- to his aunt, with said man in the room right next to him, after they just almost kissed makes him so uneasy, he’s glad he doesn’t have to go through with it.

“Thank you.” He breathes. He knows not talking about it up front will make it look a lot more suspicious, and there for juicy, to May, but he’s willing to deal with that rather than this, so he counts himself lucky.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll let you go. I was mainly making sure you were okay. See you soon! Love you!” She says, cheery and bright sounding as ever.

“Love you too.” He says back, and waits until the line goes dead before taking the phone away from his ear.

He sucks in a huge breath, figuring it would probably be better to not make the situation any more awkward than he already is, and walks out of his room.

“Your aunt seems cool.” Is what Wade greets him with when he enters the living room, and stealing a look at him shows Peter that he didn’t actually ruin everything. Wade looks relaxed, leaning back into the couch with a teasing smile on his face, so Peter lets himself fall back into the routine he knows with Wade.

“You have no idea. Where do you think I got all my sass? I grew up with her.” Peter quips back, placing a hand on his hip for emphasis.

Wade chuckles, and while Peter wishes he could hear the same belly laugh he got to earlier, he knows that probably wouldn’t be the best idea, thinking back to where it brought them before. The moment passes and Wade holds up the remote. “Movie?” He asks, and Peter nods easily, stepping over Wade’s legs to sit back in his spot.

It’s a little startling how easily Wade was able to seemily forget about what happened, but if that’s how Wade wants to deal with it- subconscious or not- than he’s no one to judge.

They resume the movie easily, and Peter sits at his original distance of just barely touching once more. The movie turns out to be really good, he learns, and they joke and laugh easily throughout the runtime.

After the movie remains normal between them as well, and Peter is just starting to finally lose his nerves as they stand up from the couch.

“Patrol?” He offers, and Wade’s face lights up in surprise at the offer.

“Hell yeah baby!” He agrees enthusiastically. Wade must have forgotten, Peter assumes, and elects to go back into his room to get their masks. They’re both on the floor, a couple feet apart, and he sweeps them both up in his grasp with one motion. Wade meets him in the doorway of his bedroom, and he holds out the Deadpool mask to the ex merc in a small show of peace. Wade smiles at him, warm and soothing in nature, and Peter beams back.

Wade starts to pull his mask on and Peter is stuck watching for a moment. Wade does the motion delicately, much more practiced than the way Peter does it. Bringing his own mask up, Peter pulls it on, letting the cool spandex brush up against his skin soothingly. He hates the way it makes him feel protected in front of Wade after what happened, but he knows that the feeling will fade with time. They’ll be able to return to their regular flow soon enough, and it really will be like that particular interaction never happened. Setting his mask into place, he wonders what Wade thinks. He wonders if Wade assumes it was an accident. Maybe he doesn't even know that Peter almost kissed him! Though that would be amazing, Spider-man doubts he’d be that lucky.

Taking a big inhale, Peter lets his nerves go with the last sliver of skin that’s shown on his neck. He slides into his role as Spider-man easily, and he looks toward Deadpool with a different air than he had moments prior.

“Ready to go?” He asks Wade, stepping toward his bedroom window. Peter opens it easily, letting the cool outdoor air meet his heated suit in a muffled form of temperature.

“Yeah! What’s the plan?” Wade steps forward, and Peter ducks out onto the fire escape, Wade following right after.

Peter bends slightly, pointing to his back to signal to Wade. “Get on, I’ll swing us around until we find something.”

Wade complies gingerly, and it makes Peter cheer internally, because their relationship wasn’t ruined.

Looking out into the buildings of New York, Peter takes one more breath. He shifts, launching him and his companion off of the fire escape and into a free fall for a few moments. He lets the world rush around him, wipe the last threads of embarrassment from his mind, and he reaches out, shooting a web to connect them to a building. He feels Wade’s legs shift around his hips, arms tighten around his neck, and sighs.

Despite all the events of the night, he knows he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.



Chapter Text

Consciousness comes to Peter in fragments. First, there’s a whisper of sleep and what feels to be a hand dragging along his thigh. It vanishes as his mind tries to chase it, and his dream flashes in front of his eyes for a split second.

Wade standing across the kitchen, leaning with his shoulders rolled back, relaxed against the counter. His expression is that of pure lust, magnificent and glorious in its vessel. Wade moves, the world shifts, and then he’s standing in front of Peter, closing in around him with a hand reaching to grip under his thigh and pull. Peter complies, wrapping a leg around Wade’s trimmed waist, watching their bodies in longing fascination. Wade is bending down, Peter’s body knowing what to do even when he does not, and Peter can feel the ghost of Wade’s lips-

The sound of his phone blaring is what registers next. Instantly, a low and sad groan escapes him, his pining for the dream to continue now a sad afterthought. He has a scowl on his face as he turns to face his nightstand, and webs his phone begrudgingly. The caller ID tells him Mj is the one who ruined his dream, and while he wants to snarl at the phone, he settles for answering it instead. 

The call connects with a crackle and he can hear the hustle and bustle of the city from beyond the inhale Mj takes to speak. “You have twenty minutes to get ready.”

Peter’s brows furrow, a quip coming to him faster than his brain can process. His lungs take a second to fill with air, his body forcing the pressure into words. “You need to stop waking me up like this.” He grumbles, recalling the other times Mj has conveniently interrupted his sleep.

“Oh look, now it’s nineteen minutes.” She states, the sass radiating from her tone. 

“What exactly are we doing in nineteen minutes?” Peter asks, his voice low in his vocal fry. 

“Going shopping. It’s Saturday and I need new things.” She states, and a long, deep sigh escapes him.

“And what if I had plans?” He doesn’t, but he could have. He’s grumpy, uncaffeinated and was just told he has to get up and go shopping on his day off. Rude.

“But you would have said that when I first told you the time until I get to your apartment. Which is now seventeen minutes by the way- and you’re still laying down.” instead of answering like a normal, civilized adult, Peter instead chooses to mock her tone like an actual twelve year old before hanging up the phone.

He sits up slowly, focusing on his breathing to take in his surroundings. The wax and wane of his senses fluctuate with his focus, and he struggles to bring his sensory intake down to a manageable level. 

It takes a few minutes and tries, but he manages it eventually. The world feels much more calm and serene with everything muted, and he’s able to start getting ready soon enough. He has a bagel for breakfast, brushes his teeth, re-applies deodorant, changes his clothes and fixes his hair before taking a break. He never really knows how long Mj is going to keep him out of the house when she does things like this, so he thanks himself for not having plans for the day as he heads back to his bedroom to get his phone. Not really being sure of how much time has passed, Peter elects to wait in his apartment rather than outside.

Turning over his phone, the screen lights up and shows him the time for the day. It tells him 8:47. He feels tired and worn already- which is sad given the fact he’s been up for maybe twenty minutes. He has one text waiting for him, and he’s grown to assume it’s from Wade. Checking, he learns he’s right in that assumption, and opens his phone to read it. 



Gmorning bby boy



A smile spreads his lips faster than he can think about it, and he’s typing out a reply, leaning on the wall next to his front door. 



morning wade

What’s goin on today?

Wanna play video games?

maybe later, i’m about to go “shopping” with my friend

Why the “”?

because i’m going to be bored out my mind

i’m not much for shopping really

i’m just gonna get dragged around for hours

Take funny pictures with things you see!

Spice up the trip bby

Thats what I always did

maybe! i’ll try that



Peter is startled out of their conversation as his entire screen is taken up by a call. His phone vibrates dramatically, and he fumbles for a second before pressing the answer button. Bringing it to his ear, he can once again hear all bustle from outside, and Mj doesn’t waste a single second before taking the conversation up herself. 

“Pete? I’m here, are you ready?” She starts with, and Peter shifts the phone, utilising the spider-like hairs all over his body to grasp the device, adhering it to his face with no trouble. Not holding his phone allows him to turn, grab his wallet and keys off his kitchen counter, and head back towards his front door. 

“I’m ready, I’ll be outside in a minute.” He answers. Once he has his door opened, Peter shifts his right shoulder upwards, bringing it to rest against the phone as if that’s how he’s holding it up. He turns to lock the door behind him, jiggling the knob afterwards to ensure it’s safe and sound. “What are we shopping for?” He asks, wanting to know what he should be preparing himself for beforehand. 

“Lingerie.” Mj answers with a laugh, and Peter’s face scrunches up before the intrusive thought of Wade wearing lace panties pops into his head faster than he can erase the thought.

Oh.

Peter quickly gets off the phone with Mj, promising he will see her outside in a matter of seconds, and takes the moment before he leaves his building to calm down. 

He takes a few breaths to calm his racing heart, steadies himself and tries to scour his mind for the reason he had the thought in the first place. Not only is it unprofessional, but it’s disrespectful. Wade is his friend. A very close friend who he hangs out with almost every day, and maybe Wade was okay with Peter almost kissing him, but he highly doubts Wade would be okay with Peter having wet dreams about him at every turn. Sighing, Peter lets his head fall into his open hands, rubbing the skin to help him wake up faster. “What is wrong with me.” He whines to the empty hall, and thankfully- receives no response.

The outdoor air feels more refreshing to his lungs when he steps out into it, and Mj greets him right away. 

She’s leaning against the side of his building with an unimpressed look, but brushes it off with an eye roll and steps forward anyway. 

“Let’s go, this shouldn’t take too long.” She turns out onto the street gracefully, blending into the foot traffic easily as water flows. Peter follows suit, falling into step beside her.

“So why do you need new lingerie?” He inquires, looking over to his friend with his head tilted. She responds with a sly smile, and Peter instantly knows where the conversation is headed.

“Remember Harry? I brought him up a few months back.”

“The rich guy?” He asks, brows coming together to try and place the face he’s probably never seen. 

“You always say that whenever I bring him up.” Mj rolls her eyes playfully. 

“You know I can’t remember names. I’m surprised I haven't accidently called him Kevin. But what about him?”

“I mean you did call him Kevin once, but I let it slide.” She laughs, lightly swiping Peter’s shoulder with her manicured nails. He lets out a huff as well, enjoying her antics. “Anyway. Things are finally- finally official between us.”

“That's great! Does this mean I can finally see a picture of him?” He teases, and Mj laughs loudly, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

“I can’t believe I haven’t shown you a picture yet! I’ll send you one later.” She giggles.

Peter finds himself chuckling along, slowly letting himself quiet down as the conversation drops for a second. He remembers dating Mj, how weird it felt for him after being friends their whole lives. He assumes that their prior friendship isn’t the main reason their relationship ultimately failed, but rather the fact they’re more compatible as friends. They always have been, and- if Peter is being honest with himself, he sees something akin to a sibling when he looks over at Mj. They’ve always been close, extremely so, but their relationship, at least on his end, has never been one meant grow into something romantic. Looking back on their past together, it’s easy to see why they didn’t work. He doesn’t feel jealous that this Harry guy is dating his friend. He doesn’t feel anything but the hope that she will have a healthy and happy relationship, and he finds himself smiling at her, proud of her accomplishments. He feels warm and grateful- something he’s found himself feeling quite often lately.

“So,” She starts, and he’s brought out of the corners of his mind to listen, “Any romance happening in your corner, Tiger?” She asks like she always does, but what she probably wasn’t expecting is a reaction. 

It’s involuntary, as most of his counteractions are, be she sees the way his face heats up and avoids eye contact, much to his dismay. “Not- no, not really.” He tries for nonchalance, and curses himself with a wince as Mj hooks onto the show of weakness.

“There is! Oh my god! I thought this day would never come! Tell me!” She screams in a hushed whisper, grabbing onto his arm and shaking it wildly. Peter sputters, not really knowing how to tell Mj that there is no romance happening. She runs with the pretense anyway, gasping as ideas come to her. “Who is it? What’s their name? Is it a guy? No! Is it a girl? Let me see a picture!” She turns to him, hand still gripping his arm and eyes predatory in nature.

“He doesn’t like pictures.” Is all he manages, and the way her eyes narrow at him tells him he’s not going to get away unscathed.

He knows he’s being dramatic, really, but he feels like a meer schoolfish in the presence of a great white when it comes to Mj and his love life.

“So it’s a guy.” She smirks, and his heart skips over its own trepidations. He’s digging his own grave.

“Yeah- but it’s not like- going anywhere or anything so if we could just-”

She gasps again, this time stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Mj leans close, brings her face near his and speaks quietly. “I heard Spider-man’s been getting cheeky with a certain former merc lately. What’s his name again? Deadpool?”

He feels the way his body heats up more, he tries- and fails, to fight it. “I don’t know what cheeky is supposed to mean-”

“It means you have a crush on Deadpool!” She hisses, giddiness and excitement clearly showing on her features. “What’s he like? Is he as scary as everyone says he is?”

“No- he’s really nice-”

“You got it bad.” She says as fact, and he sighs, resigned.

“Maybe.” He looks around, purposefully not making eye contact with Mj. She seems to take the cue he drops, breaking out of whatever stupor had her, and looks up to the store in front of them.

“This is the store! We can talk more about your crush later. Help me find cute underwear for my boyfriend.” she says, leading them through the front doors confidently.

“Are we shopping for you or for him?” he teases, and he laughs as she playfully swats at him. 

Time passes by slowly after that, and Peter is soon bored out of his mind without much to occupy himself. He fidgets, not really able to do much other than give commentary when Mj wants it. She looks for things slowly- so slowly, and he quickly becomes bored enough that he takes out his phone to occupy himself. Only an hour has passed since he last checked his phone, and he curses the creation of time. Looking down to the lower part of the screen reveals he has a text from Wade, and he feels the giddiness creeping up.



Send me the pix if u do!



Peter’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, and he backtracks the conversation, re-reading the tips Wade gave him for passing the time while shopping. 



i lasted this long and i’m already bored out of my mind

photo shoot time

I knew you’d come around



Peter looks around, trying to look for anything funny, and ultimately grabs a bra from a drawer. He knows just doing this by himself wouldn’t occupy him very well, but he’s positive Wade will love it, and that knowledge makes it completely worth while. He takes the bra, looks around to make sure no one is looking at him, and places it on his head with the straps framing his face. His hair is wild and fluffy, so he brings the bra forward on his head so it’s resting just behind his hairline, and opens the front facing camera. He positions his phone awkwardly, the screen only showing his eyes and up, and takes a photo. Quickly, he grips the side of the bra and slides it off his head, putting it back. A quick check around him lets him know that no one saw him, so he sends the picture to Wade quickly. 

Looking around once more, he realizes he’s lost Mj in the sea of bras and underwear, so he walks around looking for her. He feels his phone vibrate multiple times, but he focuses on locating his friend before he looks to see what Wade said. 

He finds her soon enough, holding up different lacy night dresses in front of her in a full length mirror. Knowing where his friend is, he allows himself to turn his attention back to his phone.



LMAO

Omg do you remember captain underpants?

Ur captain bra

captain bruh

IM FUCKING DYING STOP



Going along with the line of of the joke, he opens the camera again, this time using the rear camera. He steps up to the full mirror as Mj moves away from it, trying to make the most frat boy pose possible. He lifts his free hand up, making a formation very similar to his movement to shoot his webs. He makes sure to not press down on his palm for fear of actually shooting them, though. He turns the hand, palm facing inwards, so it looks more like a rocker symbol. He lifts of side of his lip as if he’s elvis, sticks his tongue out and closes one eye. Snapping the picture, he doesn’t take the time to focus on it before sending it with the caption, ‘captain bruh’. Looking around again, this time Mj is watching him with an amused smile.

“I’m gonna have to meet him eventually, you know that right?”

“Not if nothing ever happens you don’t. I feel like you two would team up and bully me.” He admits, laughing at the thought. Mj, Wade and Peter all have a sense of humor that is very quippy and sassy. While it’s very fun one on one, Peter has a feeling that combining them would result in all his secrets on the line.

He turns back to the mirror, this time posing how he would normally. Mj comes up behind him, so Peter takes the photo after they both finalize their positions. It shows him just standing with his free hand in his pocket, smiling as he looks at the camera, and Mj behind him. She’s making a silly kissy face from over Peter’s shoulder, holding up one of the lace dresses up above her head. He goes to send this one as well, but he notices he doesn’t have as much service as he did prior. He hits send it anyway, and watches as his phone struggles to deliver the message. At the same time, though, he receives more texts from Wade. 



Oh my god what have you done with Peter

Ur frat boy Peter

Begone, thot

Rt = respect for the loss of my Petey pie



Finally, the picture message sends and delivers while Wade is still typing. Peter watches in fascination as the typing bubble goes away quickly, only to come back three seconds later.



Is that who you’re with?

She looks like a model

Everyone I know looks like crackheads

You look good together.



He’s confused by the wording. While it could just mean that he is physically in the presence of Mj, it could also be an implication of being in a relationship with Mj. Peter isn’t quite fond of having Wade think he’s in a relationship, given his crush on the man, so he sets out to fix it.



shes my friend

she needed lingerie for a date with her boyfriend or something

she brought me bc she likes to torture me with shopping

Ur friend?

Cool cool  



“Could he be anymore obvious?” Mj asks, still watching over his shoulder. Peter’s attention comes back to the world around him, and he realizes she’s been reading his entire conversation. While that should bother him, and deep down it might, he doesn’t care that much. Wade’s mood seems to have shifted, and Peter wants to bring the light joking back.

“So. His name’s Wade, huh?” Mj asks, obviously having read the contact name, and Peter glares at her for a second before going back to his phone.

“I don’t get him sometimes.” Peter admits, not really knowing how to navigate the conversation and say what he wants to. “He flirts all the time, but it’s clear he just flirts for the fun of it. Which is fine! But- like something happened last week, and he still does it-”

“What happened last week?” She asks, turning from where she’s searching for her size.

Peter pauses, taking a moment to debate whether or not he wants to tell Mj about it. Ultimately, he knows he’ll greatly appreciate her advice, so he spills. “I almost kissed him.” He rushes out, leaving no pause before he continues talking. “And it’s obvious he doesn’t actually like me, so I’m confused as to why he still flirts.”

“Oh honey.” Is what Mj says first, and a spike of irritation stabs through him before he wills it away. “Deadpool has the biggest crush on Spider-man. It’s like- a known fact.”

“How do you know that?” He asks, confused. 

“I looked into him when I saw that article about you two. Really stirring up the media. Anyway, his twitter page tells me all I need to know.”

“But he’s told me he’s just a flirt before.” Peter counters, eyebrows furrowed. There’s no way Mj knows more about his friend than he does. There’s no way for her to be sure. 

Mj smirks, shaking her head like shes about the give Peter the best advice he’s ever heard. “Then flirt back.”

Peter’s immediate reaction is to shut down the idea without a second thought. It seems too far fetched, but the more he thinks about it, the more it grows on him.

Wade is constantly flirting, complimenting him or making innuendos. Would it really be so bad if he did it back?

If Wade asks him to stop, then he does. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, and, if Wade flirts back, then- then they flirt. He’s always been so convinced that normalcy is key, that he should never change how he operates when it came to Wade- like he did when he got bit, that he forgot the circumstance is completely different. People don’t go from weak nerds to football stars overnight. People can operate in a new manner without anything actually being different.

Because Wade is a flirt, and Peter would be playing the same game back. If it means nothing to Wade, then it can still mean nothing that Peter is doing it back.

“Huh.” He vocalizes, accepting the new revelation as slowly as it dawns on him.

“Yeah, Tiger. Not everything has to be so strict and complicated. Now flirt back.”

“But I have to wait for him to flirt, don’t I?” He asks, and Mj’s answer is just a shrug while shaking her head at him.

His chance comes right as they’re finally leaving the store. Mj is carrying all her bags, Peter trailing behind like a kid in Target, eyes glued to his phone like a hawk.

Wade sent a picture of himself in a bathroom mirror in response to Peter asking what he was up to. The mirror itself is clean of water marks, but the graffiti left on and around it makes Peter question its overall sanitation levels. 



where are you?

you look good



He lets a breath he didn’t know he was holding- out, nodding with his decision to start small. It was a simple compliment, and also true. Wade was wearing a t-shirt that hugged his form delicately, jeans that could barely be seen over the rim of the sink, and his pose shows off the proportions of his body fairly. He has one shoulder relaxed backwards, that hand in the back pocket of his blue jeans. The other hand is holding the phone just off to the side of his face. His expression is almost cocky, the skin over one brow raised and a smirk adorning his mouth. It’s not the worst thing in the world to say he looks good. It’s just an observation. 

To settle his heart, however, he elects to focus on his walk back to his house. Mj is still walking with him, as her apartment is in the same area as his, and he slides his phone into his pocket to walk focus on his walk with her the rest of the way back home. 

It passes quickly, Mj rambling about whatever comes to mind. Peter is distracted, though, mind stuck on the fact he felt his phone vibrate during the walk, mind creating possible responses Wade could have sent. They range from vulgar and angry to sultry and tempting, and when they arrive back to his apartment he’s eager to get inside and check.

“Have fun with your little mission.” Mj says, and Peter can feel the embarrassment creep up on him regardless of his thanks for her help in coming to the very conclusion. 

“Have fun with your boyfriend.” He says back, and is very proud of the blush that spreads over her cheeks. 

Peter enters his building mindlessly, focus glued to the phone burning a whole in his jeans. He rushes in, taking the stairs by three’s on his way up to his place. 

Finally, finally he reaches his door, and unlocks it in a rush. Letting it close loudly behind him, he leans back against it and pulls out his phone. 



I’m at my friends bar, baby boy

Would say you should come but it might not be a fun place for you



There’s another picture waiting for him, this time the focus being Wade’s arm. He has his bicep flexed, facial expression similar to the one Peter sent earlier, but the thing that gets Peter is the size of his bicep. He’s seen it flexed, hell, he’s seen the raw power that the man possesses more times than he can count. Maybe it’s a combination of the thrill of what he’s doing, or the dream he had the night before, or even the fact that he hasn't gotten laid in a while, but the flush of arousal that courses through him isn’t what he expected.

He remembers the sheer force he felt when Wade held him down during their sparring session. He feels the ghost of Wade’s arm pressing into his throat, feels Wade’s weight bearing down on him, and he breathes out slowly. Looking down to his phone, he knows he has to find a way to respond. 



you’re proving my point

idk about that, you’re there

What point?

U like biker bars where people try to kill each other every five minutes?

that you look good

sounds like spider-man’s dream

And what’s Peter Parker’s dream?



Peter has to take a breath at that, a flood of his actual dream from the night prior coming to haunt him. 

He wonders what would have happened in that delusional fantasy- had it been allowed to continue. He wonders how it would feel to have Wade between his legs, pressed up against him. He wonder’s how Wade’s mouth would feel on his own, not for the first time, and he’s left in a daze as he lets the thought wash over his body. It makes a chill take over him, the hairs on his skin stand to attention, which only aids to make a rush go through him once more.

He realizes their flirting is relatively light at the moment, but it’s starting to dawn on him that Wade will go all in if he allows it. His mind is quickly becoming clouded, though, and he can’t tell what’s appealing to his libido and what’s appealing to his brain.



you sure you want the answer to that?

Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know, baby

mhm

You tired or are you having some fun over there?

wouldn’t you like to know

I would



Peter knows its fake. He knows, but his heart skips a beat as his stomach swoops, and he realizes off-handedly that he’s getting hard. 

Definitely the fact he hasn't gotten laid in months. 

He takes a moment to walk over to his couch, and sits down, eyeing his phone. 

He can end this all right now, or he can do… whatever this is. If he was in his right mind, maybe he would instantly put an end to this charade, take a cold shower and claim fatigue. But he’s not in his right mind, he’s horny and wishes Wade would hold him down, leave marks on him, fuck him-

Shit. 

He leans back, pressing a hand to his crotch to ease some of the pressure. It does what it’s intended to do, but it also makes pleasure bloom from the area, radiate around him, and the need to chase the feeling overwhelms him. He presses harder, shifting his palm against the front of his jeans. The zipper jabs into him uncomfortably, but any discomfort is muted by pleasure, so he keeps going.

His phone vibrates from where it was abandoned on his chest, and he uses his free hand to pick it up again.



Baby boy? You okay?



While he knows a simple ‘yeah’, would be fine, he feels confident in a way he normally isn’t, so he opens the camera and faces it towards the front. Reluctantly, he brings his other hand up, running it through his hair. He licks his lips absently, noting how his saliva leaves a gloss over them. He uses the hand in his hair to his advantage, bringing his head back with the movement. His chin angles just slightly upwards, neck exposed and flexed, and he takes the picture. 



do i look okay?



He means it as a joke, but it falls flat with the lust that weighs it down.



You look delicious

Fuck, baby

You have sex hair



Peter closes his eyes from the intensity of his feelings and lets the meaning wash over him as if it was real. It’s sad, really, but Peter can’t think about that at the moment. All he can think about Wade calling him delicious, and his brain supplies the heated look on Wade’s face from his dream. His eyes were hot, heated and intense, like he wanted to eat Peter alive. 

The idea sounds tempting in all honesty, letting Wade do whatever he wants with him. Giving up any shred of dignity he has left, he reaches down with both hands, unbuttoning his pants and struggling to get them down below his hips. He succeeds eventually, and picks up his phone once more. His other hand finds it way into his boxer briefs, skirting around his dick but not touching it yet. 



you have to have sex to get sex hair

Could have fooled me



Peter takes a second to process, not really knowing how he should move forward with the conversation. On one hand, he’s about to jack off while texting his best friend. On the other hand, what he says with his lust driven brain could mess this up between them. Wade is just flirting. He knows that. He moves his right hand, gripping the base of his dick and squeezing it harshly. Pleasure spreads throughout his body from the action, and his jaw clenches, head lolling back to the couch cushion behind it. 



my romantic life is about as dry as the sahara



He figures this option is safe, a saving grace from the borderline dirty talk they’ve had going on. He misses the send button once, twice, and finally jabs it on the third try. His comment is specifically not sexual, an opening- or escape, if Wade wants an out. His phone shakes on his chest, the vibrations running through his skin like shockwaves, sending a ghostly rush through him. 



I can help with that u kno bby ;)



Oh god. 

He knows its play, for fun, not real, but the thoughts that the sentence brings to Peters mind make him whine in the back of his throat and throw his head to the side.

By no means is he the most conservative guy in the world. Yeah, for the most part he’s only really had sex with the people he’s dated, but he’s had fun in his thirty years of life too. He knows what getting fucked feels like, and damn does he want it now. 

His mind is ever so helpful, imagining Wade on the couch with him. He wonders how Wade would look kneeling on the other end, towering over him. 

Watching him.

Peter starts roughly stroking himself before he even has the brainpower to register it happening. It’s dry, and rough on his sensitive skin, so he swipes his finger along the head of his penis, gathering the wetness there. It isn’t much, so he wiggles his hand out of his underwear and grabs for the drawer of his side table. He roughly pulls it open, almost breaking it in his haste, and latches onto the lube easily. 

He only puts a small amount on his hand, bringing his other down to shove his underwear out of the way entirely. Gripping himself once more, he strokes, spreading the lubricant over himself slowly. The amount he took takes the edge off of each drag, but still lets the pressure aid in his pleasure. 

His mind wanders to how Wade would handle him. He wonders if Deadpool would be delicate with him, soft in his touches and meaningful with his actions. Or, his mind supplies, Wade being rough, knowing he can take it as a super, driving into him over and over and over. 

He doesn’t know which would be better, and the thoughts contrast in his mind. He thinks Wade being gentle would be sweet and heartwarming, but he also wants Wade to lose it, give in to any, every possible want he has with Peter. 

He yanks particularly hard, twisting his hand as it comes to his head, and shakes with the pleasure. He can feel it building behind his skin, running through him as hot as his blood. He can feel the sweat that’s accumulated on his brow, between his shoulder blades, on his chest. 

His skin feels electric, his senses spanning out to encompass everything around him. He can hear the couple a block away watching Tv and laughing along, he can feel the bass of a guitar from almost a mile, but his focus is pinpointed on the feeling he’s experiencing.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, his pleasure starts to arc. 

Peter bites down on his lip hard, restraining the urge to move, twitch and spasm. He tries to stay still as he’s submerged in the feeling. His back arches slightly, hips rotating forward, and he’s pushed passed the point of no return. 

A strangled noise escapes him, and he shoves his free hand into his forehead as he comes. His fingers tangle into his hair, wrapping into the strands and tugging hard.

It comes in the form of several waves, each one pulling on his restraint faintly until he’s collapsing back into his couch, spent. 

Reality comes back to him slowly, and his eyes resist his will to open them. 

His living room greets him the same way it was before, save for the bottle of lube tossed on the floor and his phone teetering on the edge of his couch cushions. 

He tries to bask in the sleepy serenity that is granted to him, but the weight of what he just did hits him shortly after, and his heart sinks through his chest. 

“I’m the worst friend.” He whines, pressing his clean hand into one of his eyes. 

Fuck.



Chapter Text

Consciousness is slow and sluggish as it returns to Wade in the form of waking up. For a few long moments the world seems so shift and swirl before stabilizing, but it feels muted and far off when it does. His immediate surrounding is damp with silence, and everything beyond his four walls seems unimportant- nonexistent. 

{Good morning asswipe}

Wade flinches minutely at the volume of Yellow’s voice, bringing a hand up to rub along his face. The movement is heavy and slow, but it causes the fabric of his sheets to rub against his skin, agitating the sensitive flesh.

Wade feels weak, not physically but mentally, and he knows right then and there that this day is not going to be a fun one. His muscles are stiff and coiled as he sits up on his bed, pausing to breathe for a few minutes before finally opening his eyes. The flood of sunlight is intruding and unwelcome, and his digital clock next to his bed tells him he slept well into the afternoon.

(Lazy)

That knowledge doesn’t startle him at all, not really, because while he is someone who normally gets up early- from his time in special forces- lately he’s been out late all the time on patrols. He just slept a lot longer than normal today.

{Can you do something for once and not just sit there like a useless piece of shit}

Wade’s brows furrow and his face scrunches up to match. Yellow normally isn’t this… aggressive so early in the day. He lets out a sigh, accepting it, and stands up, cracking his back once at his full height. 

He starts toward the kitchen, each fall of his feet seeming more like a struggle than the last. Reaching his fridge, he opens it to see what’s available. He sees nothing easy to make, and he’s tired, so he closes the door with a huff, grabs a banana and makes his way to the couch.

Sitting down brings relief he didn’t know he needed, and he flips on the tv and mindlessly chooses something to watch. He feels his mind sinking into its own recesses as he opens his banana, taking a slow bite. The world seems as if it’s being controlled by someone else- muted and out of his control. Wade feels like he’s taking a back seat to his own life, and while it’s slightly daunting in nature, he’s used to it. He knows he’ll be okay- so shifts his eyes to the Tv and watches the screen shift and bend. 

He registers somewhere in his brain that the boxes seem off. They’re more rude than normal, but they seem to be inconsistent in their commenting. They spoke when he first woke up, but as he watches Tv he notes they have nothing to say or scream about. It makes him feel even more offset than he did prior, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he settles back into the couch. 

Somewhere in his mind he realizes that he’s watching golden girls. It makes him perk up a bit, try to focus on the show, but the effort makes his mind hurt. 

{Text Spidey you asshole}

He wants to reply verbally, but his limbs seem weighted and his throat feels sealed shut. The idea is a good one, though, so Wade shifts, moving around to feel for his phone. It’s not in either of his side pockets, and a sluggish check shows it’s not in his back pocket of his sweats either. 

(What if Peter needs you, and you’re here being nothing but a waste of space. He could be in trouble. If something happens to him it’s your fault)

White’s voice fills his mind, echoing in his body, turning his thoughts to liquid fire. He shoots up, the coil in his muscles back in a matter of seconds. He feels panic overtake him, feels it creeping up over his body until it’s the only emotion he can touch, and he struggles against his imobile joints to move to his bedroom for his phone.

{Useless}

Yellow’s tone makes him pause, the overwhelming volume startling him. What was he doing again? 

{Take your glock and fire it under your chin, dick for brains}

(You’d be doing us a favor)

Wade flinches, hurt seeping into his brain as all his senses overwhelm him. Everything seems to fluctuate around him, the sound of the city outside finally rearing its head. Wade can hear the honks like they’re happening in his living room, can feel the wax and wane of his own mind pressing against his skull, and the spike of pain that stabs through him is cripplingxdrth as everything around him comes to a head. 

He looks around, lost, seeking for anything around him that could help him. His head is pounding, pulsating with his own rapid heartbeat, and a pained cry escapes him as he realizes there’s nothing that can help him. 

Just when he thinks he can’t take the pain, the pressure, the noise, it all seems to lull into manageable background noise. He heaves fast breathes, trying to take in air, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. 

The sound of his breathing is all he can hear, but it’s internal, like his ears are filled with cotton. Even that seems to slow after a moment, though, until his breaths are stated and mismatched, and Wade can’t tell what he’s listening to as his vision swims. His apartment seems to lose its color, tilting at odd and awkward angles, and Wade is confused, so confused, until he realizes his vision is darkening, his apartment seeming to lose its light. 

Suddenly, Wade realizes he can’t hear anything at all, and his vision goes black a moment later.

 


 

Wade’s awareness doesn’t come back to him in the form of waking up, no, it comes back to him in the middle of Central Park. The world blinks back into focus all to quick, the light flooding him abruptly, and he tries to recall what brought him to be standing in the middle of a park over a mile from his apartment. He’s confused, to say the least, so he looks around, trying to figure out how the hell he got to where he is, but his memory draws blank. It’s dark now, the night traffic fully on it’s way, and Wade can’t piece together how he got here. He was in his apartment, he was watching Tv- and now he’s in Central Park, barefoot, in the t-shirt and sweats he slept in. Everything around him seems to be happening faster than he can comprehend, and he wills it to slow down for a moment- but it’s futile. 

{Good, you’re back online, fuckface}

(Wade, it’s happening again)

Yellow sounds predatory and White sounds scared, and that knowledge freaks Wade out even more, because while he now knows what is happening to him, he knows he won’t be able to control it.

This kinda thing used to happen to him a lot, but it became farther and farther apart- until he forgot what it felt like to have the control of his life ripped from him again. Looking down to his hands, Deadpool tries to focus- get all his marbles in line, take some deep breaths and plan out his course of action. His lungs feel shaky and fragile as he breathes in, and he wills the panic away for one second before it rears its ugly head again.

He stimulates the muscles in his hands, wiggling his fingers to try and ground himself. 

“I’m losing it.” He admits, his voice sounding wonderous while he feels unstable. 

(We might hurt someone, Wade)

{Kill everyone who looks at you}

He immediately ignores what Yellow tells him, trying to form a plan on what to do while he’s still aware. He doesn’t have his phone or wallet, he discovers, so he needs to walk back to his apartment. “I’m a lot less crazy than I used to be, White, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He says, but his voice shakes weakly and he doesn’t even believe himself.

He starts into a fast walk back in the direction he knows his apartment is, and he tries to focus on the grass beneath his feet as he makes his way out of the park. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest, fear eating away at his mind as he quickens his pace further. 

The walk back to his apartment is terrifying for Wade. He can feel himself slipping again, holding on by threads for the sanity he knows he doesn’t have. He hums the entire way, trying to block out the boxes as best he can. He accepts the stares, albeit reluctantly, and keeps his head down until he makes it back to his place. 

Letting out a shaky breath, he closes his door behind up and leans up against it as he locks both the knob and the deadbolt. 

He relaxes, finally feeling safe for a moment after what felt like years. 

(Of course that's when it all has to go to shit again)

{Bye bye Wadey, see you after the show}

 

“Wade, baby, please come here.” A voice sounds in front of him, and Deadpool stops, tears threatening to show their face at the recognition of the voice. He brings his head down slowly, body taught, to face someone he has not seen in years.

“Hi Mom.” He forces out, his voice failing him like it used to during puberty. He looks at his mom, really looks at her, and is struck by how beautiful she always was. Here she sits before him, in his living room, radiating the life and love she always held. 

He walks forwards, not knowing what to do. He knows he saw her die. He knows he saw his father kill her, so how can she be…

“So real?” She says, and he haults his movements. He stands just a few feet away from her now, and as he reaches out, kneels down to touch her hair, confirm that this is all actually happening, she speaks again. “My baby boy. You look,” she pauses, voice warm and welcoming. He expects her to say something like ‘older’, or ‘different’, because she was always such a soft and loving soul. During her pause, however, her face ages years worth of hardships and her expression sours, before she spits, “Foul.”

She stands suddenly, and Wade throws himself back as her face morphs into something vicious and so unlike the woman he knows to be his mother. “You let him kill me.” She spits, stalking forward as Wade steps back, getting in his face with her anger. “You’re the reason I’m dead, Wade. You could have stopped him before he got to me.”

Wade lets out a sob, feeling his insides turn and recoil with hurt. He knows, he knows that it’s his fault that his lovely mother is dead, he knows. Hearing it from her lips, though, that hurts more than he’d like to admit. 

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry.” He cries, voice shaking as he tries to console his mother.

When he opens his eyes, though, she’s back on the couch with the same expression as when he first saw her. She looks peaceful, and calm, thin blonde hair flowing just past her collar bones, blue eyes shining on him with a look of love and acceptance.

“He’s here.” She says, and now he can see the fear hidden in her expression that makes his blood run cold. He knows the look, knows the voice his mother uses to mask her fear, and he stands up straighter and looks around to find his father.

His eyes are brought back to his mother, but her look of hidden fear is directed right at him, and realization dawns on him a second too late. 

“You never learn, do you.” His father speaks from right behind him, and he’s shoved to the ground roughly. He lands on his hands and knees, eyes squeezed shut, and he takes a few breaths to try and steady himself.

Opening his eyes, however, makes Wade even more concerned. He’s staring at the floorboards, but they aren’t his floorboards. He knows the jagged edges and dusty, wrongly placed cedar wood flooring, but he wishes he didn’t. Slowly, painfully, he lifts his head and stares at the rest of his childhood home, the same way it was the last day he lived in it. Wade stands, facing his father once more. There’s blood spattered on his clothes, a crazed look in his eye and a bloodied wrench in his hand. 

Wade’s aware of what that implicates, but he looks over into the kitchen anyway. 

Exactly as it happened, his mother’s body is lying motionless on the kitchen floor. Her blonde hair seeping red, and her warm and inviting blue eyes- lifeless and cold.

Wade can feel his jaw shaking, so he clenches it, setting it still, and snaps his eyes back to the monster in front of him. Eyes that look eerily similar to his own stare back, and Wade feels hatred and raw, aggressive energy radiating off of him. He takes a step forward, fists clenched at his side, but his father takes a step back. He does it again, and receives the same response.

“I should have killed her when you were still inside.” He admits, and rage bursts behind Wade’s eyelids so feverently. He wants to attack, wants to rip the limbs from the waste of space in front of him until nothing is left, wants to make him suffer and feel the same pain him and his mother felt, so he does. He’s moving with a twitch of his muscles, crowding his father up against the far wall with a hand around his throat. “Look at you. You look disgusting.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know, asshole.” Wade spits, the tears in his eyes from his encounter with his mother now dried. 

“At least when you were younger it was kinda fun, you know? To see that scared look in your eyes when I got mad. How you’d flinch before I’d even hit you. You were so small, so weak. Now you’re this hulking… thing. What the fuck even are you? You used to cry when I took off my belt, Wade, what happened to that son of mine?” Wade has no response to this, instead keeping the leveled glare with the man who ruined him. “No response, huh? I thought you were a talker.”

Wade tightens his hand, constricting the airflow as he brings his mouth next to his father’s ear. “I’m going to enjoy killing you again.” He whispers, noticing the gun in his other hand as it twitches. How convenient. 

He raises the gun, bringing it to press up against his father’s stomach, and empties his round with the two bullets left in the chamber. 

The man cries out harshly, and Wade grins maniacally. 

“You’d kill me? With Spider-man hovering over your shoulder? I thought that would disappoint him?” His father grins, blood staining his teeth, and Wade pauses. 

Is it worth it to kill his father if it will cost him his friendship with Spider-man?

His mind feels cloudy, making him unable to find the answer he wants. He feels angry, rage boiling behind his temple and he wants nothing more than to put his father in the ground for all the suffering he caused Wade, but something keeps him from doing it. 

A hand slowly wraps around his wrist that holds the gun, gently pulling it away from were it was held. In a blink of an eye, his father is gone, and he looks to his right to see Peter, in his Spider-man suit, masked eyes looking at him with what he knows is warm understanding.

“Would you? Kill him?” He asks, taking the gun from Wade. He lets Peter, trusting him with his weapon, and turns away to see his own apartment once more. 

“I wanted to.” Wade admits, and Peter nods, walking farther into the apartment before turning and shooting webs at Wades chest, binding him.

“I knew you’d never change.” Peter spits, shooting web after web to wrap Wade into a cocoon.

“You try to be better, Wade, but where has it gotten you? What have you earned?” A new voice says, and Deadpool looks next to Peter to see Vanessa. She looks just as glorious as she did the day she died, long hair waving around her form, makeup slightly smeared.

“The two people you’ve loved are dead. Am I next?” Peter says, stepping forward with Wade’s gun still in hand. He raises the hand slowly, movements trained and calculated, bringing the barrel of the gun to rest on Wade’s unmasked forehead. “Tell me why I shouldn’t pull the trigger, asshole.” He drawls, voice hard and unwavering, and Wade shuts his eyes. His cheeks feel wet, and he realizes offhandedly that he’s crying again. He feels movement off to his left, and he opens his eyes, seeing Vanessa crouch down next to him. She moves closer, brushing her lips against the shell of his left ear, and his eyes squeeze shut in preparation for what he knows is going to be another blow.

“I don’t think anyone could learn to love a face like that. Not even me.”

Wade’s form crumples, all the strength he had leaving him all at once. He brings his knees up, wrapping his arms around them as he starts rocking back and forth. His forehead bumps the barrel of the gun with every forward movement, and he silently prays that when Peter pulls the trigger, he’ll stay dead.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He chants, over and over again, until on one forward movement, his forehead doesn’t touch anything. It startles him, bringing him out of the dark corner his mind was in, and he slowly looks up. No one is around him, not a single soul, and he can’t tell if being alone is better or worse than whatever just happened.

{Now wasn’t that fun}

(You piece of shit)

Wade stands, using the wall to support him, slowly rising to his full height. His mind is in pieces, scrambled and frayed, but the tears on his face are real and so is the fully loaded Beretta on the floor.

“Is this real?” He asks, voice shaking almost as much as his legs are.

(I don’t know, why don’t you put a bullet in your head and we’ll find out)

{For once White and I are on the same page. Must mean you should do it}

“N-no.” He protests, weakly, but the gun is burning a hole in his eyes from how much it stands out, and his insides are almost begging to sprayed on the nice white walls. “No- stop.” He turns, facing away from the gun and takes a step towards the hall. His mind screams and so do the boxes, willing him back to the gun, and he can’t help but look back to the offensive object.

(You can go to bed now, Wade. You can make this all stop)

His face scrunches up, more tears forming, and he can’t say that the offer isn’t tempting as he cries silently.

{Do it, Wade. Just one shot. You’ve done it so many times before. One flash of pain, then silence for what feels like an eternity}

(We just want what’s best for you, buddy)

Wade nods, slowly at first,  finally accepting their encouraging words, and kneels down to grab the gun reluctantly. He doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t want to, but they’re right. It will feel like sleep, it will be rest. 

The Beretta glissens in the light of his apartment, and he turns it over in his hand, clicking the safety off.

(Good boy)

{Put it under your chin}

He complies, numbness overtaking him, and looks up to the ceiling as the cold metal presses into the soft flesh under his tongue.

(Pull the trigger)

{Pull the trigger}

Wade moves his finger, resting it on the trigger, and he sobs even harder as the gun shifts. The trigger clicks once, and Wade flinches violently, a soft whine escaping him. 

(Do it)

{Do it}

“Oh right, and from before, those mean boxes in your head? I want you to know that you can call me if it ever gets bad.”

Wade gasps, finger falling off the trigger as Peter’s voice fills his mind. He heaves, slowly taking the gun away from under his chin. 

The boxes scream bloody murder, disrupting any form of thought that he possibly could have had, and he covers his ears in an attempt to make the noise stop. His gun clatters to the ground, and Wade breathes a huge sigh of relief that it’s not in his hands anymore.

Peter. Maybe Peter can help him. 

(No, you dipshit, didn’t you just see what happened before? He hates you)

{He wants to shoot you. Call him over here and he’ll take the Beretta and do it himself}

Wade wants to counter, tell them they’re lying, but he doesn’t know what’s real anymore, and he needs help. He only hopes Peter is willing to help him again. 

Slowly, Wade makes his way down the hall into his bedroom. Every step feels like fire, every movement of his muscles creaking and screeching in protest. The boxes are screaming, howling bloody murder that he didn’t comply, and the world around him is starting to swell in volume as he finally reaches his phone. 

Each second that passes Wade can feel his control slipping again, so he finds Peter’s contact quickly and dials the number. He’s terrified of falling into the same hole as before, scared shitless of what he’ll do to himself if it happens again.

(Hang up! He hates you)

{You absolute dumbass, I hope you rot}

“Wade! I haven’t heard from you all day, is everything okay?” Peter’s voice breaks through the chaos that is his mind, and the knowledge that Wade hasn’t seen or heard from Peter all day calms something in him. 

“It wasn’t real.” He breathes out, letting some of the tension go. Peter doesn’t hate him, doesn’t want to shoot him, doesn’t blame him for Vanessa and his mom’s death.

(It was real)

{All of it was real}

“What wasn’t real? Wade? Where are you?” He asks, and Wade can’t help the small cry that leaves him.

“I’m still scared.” He admits, and the boxes bang on their holds in his mind at the admission.

(You should be)

“Wade, scared of what? I need you to talk to me.”

“I’m losing it, Peter, I’m going crazy.” He says, not knowing how to explain it correctly. “Could you come over? I need-” He pauses, hiccuping over a sob. “Today was really bad.” He whispers instead, feeling his heart break. He hopes to god he’s not trusting a hallucination, but he knows he has nothing else.

“Yeah, I’ll- I’ll be right over. Can you stay on the phone?”

“Yeah. I can.” He pauses, thinking back. “Have you ever held a gun?”

“What?” Peter asks, and he sounds confused and concerned.

“Have you ever held a gun? Like, aimed it. You’re not trained in that are you?”

“No, I’m not.” Peter confirms, and Wade lets out a small chuckle.

“Good, it wasn’t real.” He says, and Peter must not know what to say, because the line falls silent. He listens to Peter moving around, breaths quick and fast with his exertion, and wonders how far away the web slinger is. 

“I’m right around the corner.” Peter answers as if Deadpool asked it outloud, and Wade nods, sleep threatening to take him away. 

His head lulls, falling off to the side, and his memories from the day start to play in flashes. The boxes are talking quietly, hushed whispers and far off commentary warping in Wades brain. 

He sees Vanessa, beautiful and ethereal, standing in front of him with a look full of hatred. He stirs, the scene cutting off as he takes a breath in. He feels Peter holding the gun up to his forehead, tapping it again and again. 

“-the window, Wade.”

Wade looks up to Peter, still holding the Beretta, and moves slowly. He shifts instead of rocks, using his hands as stabilizers as he leans forward. The gun presses into his forehead again, this time staying still. 

“Shoot me.” He says, and panic flares up in his conscience. He doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want his death on Peter’s hands, but he has no control over what he does. 

Before he can tell him to stop, before he can move away, Peter pulls the trigger. 

Wade gasps awake, air filling his lungs briskly as he feels phantom pains flash in his brain. He feels his body trying to repair the damage that wasn’t done, feels his muscles convulsing and stiffening up as if he was killed, but there’s no damage- at least not physically.

“Wade?” Peter asks, but not from the phone. He looks to his device, lying on the bed beside him haphazardly, and then brings his eyes up. Peter is standing in the doorway to his bedroom, decked out in his Spidey suit, and against his will- it makes Wade nervous. 

“Could you take off the mask?” Wade asks without even thinking, and Peter complies without so much as a hint of hesitation. 

The weight of that makes Wade want to cry all over again. He looks to Peter’s bare face, the concern showing through his features if he likes it or not, and Wade starts to feel okay for the first time since he woke up that day.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Peter steps forward, getting down low to accomodate for Wade still being on the ground. While Wade feels better than he has, he doesn’t feel okay. The world still seems to be too much for him, the boxes still screaming at him- but he manages to tune it out for long enough to explain.

“I had an episode kinda thing. Might still be having it.” He grunts, shifting to sit up more. “I haven’t had one of those in a while, nothing like a nice wake up call that you’re unstable, huh?" He laughs, but the joke falls short, and his expression gives his emotions away.

“Can I touch you?” Peter asks, and Wade nods stiffly. If anything, he thinks the one thing he needs most is positive touch and reassurance.

Peter comes close, moving slowly as if to not spook Wade, and offers one hand, putting the other on his shoulder. He helps Wade up after he takes the offered hand, practically lifting him, and they walk to the kitchen slowly. 

The boxes, who since he called Peter have seemed far off and quiet, start coming back full force. 

{You impudent little swine}

(What the actual fuck)

He flinches as they speak, and Peter takes note, stopping to see if he’s okay.

{You honestly called Peter over? You’re gonna put him in danger like that? What if you lash out again you unstable prick}

(He’s right)

Wade stops, tries to think around what they’re saying, but as much as he hates to admit it, they’re right. He’s putting Peter in danger.

“Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to ask you to come over.” He says, and Peter couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. It makes Wade feel even more guilty.

“Why?” He asks, voice quiet and soft.

“I could black out again, I- I don’t wanna lash out and hurt you.” He admits, and understanding crosses Peter’s face. His expression softens, a small smile forming on his lips. 

(Kiss him)

{Kill him}

He does neither.

“I can handle myself, Wade. Besides, I’m stronger than you.” Peter jokes, but Wade knows he’s right. He nods feverently, moving to continue to the living room. 

Once there, the Baretta on the floor stares back at him with a glare. Moving to separate from Peter for a second, Wade shakily makes his way to the gun. He picks it up, turns the safety back on as the boxes scream at him, and shoves it in the closet at the mouth of the hall that holds his weapons. Once the closet door is closed, he breathes out, slumping against it.

“Can we like- watch a kids movie or something now? I’m tired and I wasn’t even conscious for over half of my day.”

Peter laughs lightly, and they sit down on the couch and get comfortable enough to watch the Lorax. 

 


 

If, when Wade wakes up, he realizes that Peter stayed the entire night, sleeping on the couch with him to make sure he was okay- then it’s no ones business but theirs. 

And, if Wade makes Peter a huge breakfast in thanks, that’s their business too. 

It doesn’t matter if it makes Wade fall even more in love.

Doesn’t matter at all.

 

Chapter Text

Peter is having a little bit of a dilemma. 

It’s not a big deal, or at least it shouldn’t be, but here he is, pacing around his apartment in a panicked furl not even an hour after getting home from Wade’s apartment. 

“Okay. It’s not as bad as it looks, right?” He asks himself, staring down his phone. The device shows his and Wade’s conversation from two days prior. From when he- uh, yeah.

Although he has seen Wade since then, it wasn’t under the best circumstances, and Peter would rather not try and base the integrity of their friendship on a day where Wade was not mentally sound.

Wade needed him last night, that doesn’t mean he didn’t ruin their relationship. Wade could just be too nice, or not know how to say the obvious. 

But friends should be there for each other, regardless of their own feelings. The same way that Wade helped stitched Peter up. The same way Deadpool would have killed to ensure Spider-man’s safety. The same way Peter went over there the second Wade said he needed him, and the same way Peter said he’d help Deadpool find his way around being a more hero-esk super. 

Friends help each other, and the two mutates are in a sort of relationship where they both give and both take equally.

They’re adults, they know how to navigate friendships. But- that changes when feelings get involved.

Peter is worried that he’s overstepping bounds, putting Wade in a situation he doesn’t want to be in. He knows the ex merc doesn’t have a whole bunch of friends. It could be that he’s too nervous to confront Peter, too scared to lose him that instead of mentioning it, he’s just gonna hope it stops. And that thought is what makes Peter feel the worst. 

He shouldn’t be putting his best friend in the situation regardless, he thinks. He got lost in the undertow of his own feelings- his own pleasure, and he let it get in the way of the most important friendship of his life.

So he won’t be letting it happen again. Wade deserves better. He hasn’t heard a lot when it comes to the details, but he know enough about Wade to know that he won’t stand up for himself when he’s put in an uncomfortable situation with someone he cares about. 

So Peter needs to get a hold on his feelings.

Wade seems to enjoy the flirting Peter’s been dishing, so Spider-man is gonna let that self indulgent pastime slide , but he has to reel it in a bit. No more… jacking off during their conversations, no more sending selfies that border on R rated, no more anything outside of what friends do. 

With a tad bit of flirting. That’s fine. Yeah.

Peter takes a deep, shaky breath, and finally stops pacing. “I have this under control.” He tells himself- but he does not believe the words.

 

Despite Peter’s claim of knowing what to do, he- surprisingly, does not not have it under control. The same loop of thoughts plague him all day, and he catches himself pacing, murmuring or working through the thoughts as if it’s the first time he’s heard them. He’s wound up. So much so, in fact, that he’s lost in his thoughts over dinner. 

“Okay Peter, spit it out.” Aunt may says from across the table, and his brows furrow for a moment. He shrugs, slowly leaning closer to his plate, before letting the food he was chewing fall onto the plate. “Ew. Not what I meant.” Peter smiles at his aunt’s distaste, taking another bite with the grin still littering his lips. “I mean what’s got you so distracted?” She corrects, and nervousness licks at Peter’s bones as his smile drops. 

He puts down his fork, his chewing becoming slow and tedious, and he rubs his hands along the tops of his thighs. Something he picked up from Wade- damn.

“I’m not sure I follow.” He tries, but he knows he’s down for the count already. 

“Work? Other work? Maybe… does it have anything to do with the friend that was over when I called?” Aunt May asks, and if the slight startle that runs through Peter’s body doesn’t give him away, the heat he feels rising to his cheeks certainly does. “So I’m right. Lucky guess. Talk to me, what’s been going on?” She inquires, and Peter immediately shifts in his seat, nervously moving his plate and glass back and forth. 

While he knew his aunt would find a time to make him talk about Wade- he didn’t think it would be so soon. “I’d really like it if we didn’t talk about that right now, May-” he tries, but he’s cut off with a finger waving in his direction and a stern look before she even speaks. 

“If it’s bothering you this much, you should be talking about it. I’m positive that there’s no one else you’d rather be forced to have this conversation with. You bottle things up, it’s not healthy. So- talk to me.” She argues, and as much as he’d like to rebuttal, she’s right, so he lets out a long and languid sigh.

“It’s just- a lot.” He states, looking away from his aunt to look back not even a second later, and May takes a long and dramatic look at her watch before looking back at him with a genuine smile. 

“I got time.”

“Okay,” He starts, not really knowing where to begin. “So I’m friends with this guy.” May raises an eyebrow at him, and he feels the flush deepen against his will. “We’re just friends, May. But that’s kinda the thing.”

“Oh!” She says, clearly intrigued. “Do tell.”

“I- god I feel like an idiot- I like him.” He rushes out, and waits for some sort of response. May, on the other hand, seems like she’s waiting for the real ball to drop. She pauses for a few seconds, chewing her bite like it could combust at any moment, and swallows slowly, nodding the whole time. 

“Okay. Well, what do you plan on doing about that?” She finally asks, and Peter shakes his head, looking down to his food.

He shifts the plate’s contents around, poking it with his fork, and takes a breath before speaking. While he knows he was going to have to talk about this with his aunt, he didn’t expect it to be so soon. Or this awkward for him. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” She repeats, this time as a question, and he nods, looking up to lock eyes with her seriously. 

“Yes. Nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because!” He says just a tad too loud, and drops his fork unceremoniously as he brings his hands to his face. He rubs it, stimulating the skin there, and takes a long, deep inhale before speaking again. He knows he shouldn’t be taking his frustration out on her. With how much he’s been going back and forth with the same thoughts, he feels annoyed that anyone would ask the same questions he’s been prompting himself all day.  “Sorry. I’m just… wound up.” He admits, and the snort he gets in reply makes him shoot a glare immediately. 

“Well that’s for sure. You need to get laid.”

“Aunt May!” He scolds, looking around to make sure no one heard. Thankfully, no one is sitting around them in the restaurant, and he goes back to his conversation after some awkward smiles to the staff for his staring. His aunt is giggling like she’s twenty years younger, and he can’t help the contagious smile that overtakes his features.

“So. Why are you not going to do anything? Feelings are perfectly normal, you know. You’re allowed to act on them.” She reasons.

“Because,” He starts, emphasizing the word quietly this time, “The situation we have is unique, and I feel like I’d be taking advantage of him.”

“Taking advantage? Peter, really?” She levels him with an unimpressed look. “Is this some of that hero guilt coming back? I thought we worked through that after Ben and Gwen, honey.” 

“No, it’s not the same, but I don’t really want this convo to be about my biggest mistakes and regrets, either.” He says without any humor in his tone, and May has an apologetic look, but doesn’t immediately say anything. 

She takes a few slow bites, letting the conversation lull for a few long moments before starting again. “Why would it be taking advantage of this guy to pursue him?” She starts again with, and Peter hums, finishing his bite before speaking up. 

“Okay, so this guy has a bit of a more rough past. He was in a profession that kinda… contrasts what I do a lot. He can be mentaly unstable at times and everyone calls him insane- but I don’t really know for sure and I haven't asked-” Peter rambles on, not really able to get to his actual point before his aunt cuts him off. 

“Now, Peter,” She starts, interrupting him with a reprimanding tone, “I did not teach you to judge people on their worst mistakes. What kind of person would you- would Spider-man be if I did?”

“You didn’t let me finish, that’s really not the point I was going for, but I appreciate the concern. So he’s had a rough past, but he’s trying to be better. And none of the other people we ‘work with’ are really willing to bet on him. I mean- they have very persistently sought me out to try and make me stop talking to him. So I’m really the only other super that’s really in his corner, you know? We patrol together, we hang out, and I point him in the right direction sometimes. I don’t think also trying to pursue a relationship with him would be a very fair thing for me to do. I feel like it might be taking advantage of him, and while I like him, I don’t want to skewer his judgement or anything. I want it to be him making his own choices, not him following me because of anything else. Which brings me to another point-” He stops for a moment, taking a huge inhale to continue on his rant. “I don’t even think he likes me. Which is like, a major part of anything actually happening, you know? He’s flirt- like a huge flirt, but I know that doesn’t mean anything. It would be so rude of me to just assume he likes me back, but if he doesn’t? There goes our friendship- He may be insanely nice and caring, but it has got to have a limit at some point, right? I almost kissed him and he’s still friends with me. I mean, he got upset when he saw me without my mask for the first time- not because he was disappointed or anything, but because he thought I would be upset.”

“Hold on- slow down.” Aunt May starts, eyes slightly wide from the sheer amount of information she’s trying to take in. “He knows who you are?”

“Yeah.” Peter replies easily. “He came over for a movie night early and I was asleep.”

“And you hang out with him? In and out of work?”

“Yeah, like every day at this point. Why?”

His aunt stares at him for a few moments, a small, gleaming and wondrous smile overtaking her features. His own brows furrow, confusion eating away at him. So him and Wade are close, that’s not the strangest thing in the world, is it?

“No reason.” She finally says. “So, you feel like you’d be taking advantage of him and that’s why you won’t pursue him?”

“Yeah.” He says, realizing in the back of his mind that he hadn't touched his food in a few minutes. He takes his fork up again, gathering some food on it for a bite. He chews fast, narrowly avoiding inhaling it to continue talking once more. “I didn’t do a very good job explaining. Basically, I don’t really know how he views me, and I don’t wanna abuse any power I may have over him or his mind. I just wanna be his friend.”

“I think you mean boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well…” He trails off, ultimately not being able to come up with a comeback. He sticks his tongue out and wrinkles his nose instead, fully acting like the child he knows he embodies around his aunt. 

She laughs a light and full sound, body seeming to bounce with the force of her laughter. It slowly breaks off, dissolving into hums and chuckles soon enough. “Anyway, you know I have to meet him, boyfriend or not, right?”

“I was hoping you would forget that part.” He admits, and laughs at the offended look May gives him.

“How rude, I raised you and this is the thanks I get.” She jokes, turning her head away from him.

“I expect bringing the two of you together will either be the best or worst thing I will ever do, but either way, I’m kinda scared of the outcome.” He reasons, and this time when he laughs, she laughs too.

They break conversation once more, pausing and eating their respective plates for a few minutes. Peter watches outside, where people walk by in a flurry and the colors blur together without intense focusing. Right as he’s about to talk again, change the subject, May beats him to the punch.

“And does this guy have a name?” She asks, and any hope of escaping the conversation is lost in Peter. 

“Uh- yeah. I mean most people have names.”

“And his is?” She prompts again.

“Wade.” Peter finally admits, and in no way- absolutely none , does the squeal she lets out make him a bit giddy.

The rest of their dinner goes as usual. They talk about the normal things, like the weather, current politics, the crime rate in the city, and as always, he walks her home at the end to ensure her safety. 

“Thank you Peter.” She says, moving in to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek before walking up to her front door. He waves his goodbye, about to depart, when she calls to him, catching his attention once more. “Make sure you bring Wade by soon, Peter!”

He brushes her off with a more aloof hand gesture, and turns in the direction his apartment is in. It’s a long walk, but he sets out for it anyway, stuffing his hands in his front pockets and letting his mind wander as he walks. 

Maybe May has a point. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to go after Wade. Maybe having feelings for his best friend isn’t the end of the world. 

But the thought of what could happen if Wade doesn’t feel the same way back makes him scared all over again. The fear sets in the same way it did the first time, cold and icy in his veins. He doesn’t want to lose Wade. While he can’t lose him to death- a first for Peter regarding his friends, the other could deem him unfit or unsuitable to be near him. He could find it gross that Peter has feelings for him, given their situation. He doesn’t know how Wade views him, doesn’t know if Wade would see it as being taken advantage of or not, and that’s not a risk Peter is willing to take. It’s just not.

While the thought of pursuing Wade is a nice one, he seems to finally be able to put it to the back of his mind, set in stone with his decision. He breathes out a sigh, letting the prospect of what could be go with it.

He can’t risk it. 

With that note in mind, Peter takes out his phone as he strolls, opening it to see he has a few messages. The earliest one he receives is from Mj, and he opens it first only to wish he hadn't.



What ended up happening with the flirting plan?



He thinks on how to respond, ultimately deciding the less details he gives Mj, the better. 



it didn’t bust, but it definitely wasn’t what i expected

long story short i’m torturing myself



He goes back to the overview of his texts, looking through only to find one from Wade, sent before he left for his dinner. It’s the last reply from their earlier conversation, just a text of agreement from the joke Peter sent prior.



my aunt may or may not know about your existence

she may or may not want to meet you now



He clicks the lock button on his phone, swaying it with each step as he walks, until not even a few minutes later the device buzzes in his hand. He wonders offhandedly what Wade does all day, seeing as though he can always reply, but the thought is lost quickly as he reads the other’s texts. 



WHAT

Petey I don’t think that’s a good idea

1 Take me on a date first, I don’t put out on the first d8

2 I’m not the bring home kinda type, bby



Peter thinks for a moment, trying to find a response that fits. The flirting makes him nervous, as if Wade will be able to see straight through him the longer he does it. It seems natural, relationship or not, though, so he lets it go as easily as the worry comes to him.

He flirts with criminals , sometimes. Jokingly of course- point being he can do it with a guy he actually has a crush on. 

Hopefully.



you don’t count stitching me up as a first date? :(

you’d be surprised. i’m pretty sure my aunt already loves you

You didn’t even kiss me gudnite, so no.

What does a girl gotta do to get sum romance round here?

Also????? Why and how did that happen

woe is wade

poor you

i guess you’re just a likable person

Dam right poor me

Kiss it better

Also no I’m not

you wish & too bad



Peter sends the text, about to send another filled with the same snarky remark, when he senses a shift behind him.

His senses giving way to the startle up his spine. He pauses, opening up his mind to feel for what caused it. 

He feels a shuffle behind him, a presence coming up on his own in an attempt to be sneaky. It would be, if not for his enhanced senses.

His first instinct is the flip up onto the building in front of him, make a snarky remark about trying to mug him, and web the person up for even trying it. 

But, alas, he’s Peter Parker.

If he wants to keep his identity a secret, he needs to be a civilian about to be attacked- just like he always is without his mask. He sighs, resigning himself to his fate. 

He hates getting beaten up. 

Peter keeps walking, showing no signs of acknowledgement even as the person closes in behind him. 

Panic sets in as he realizes what could go wrong. They could actually take his wallet or phone. They could find his Spider-man phone, figure out more than anyone ever should. He knows he could take care of the person, he knows he could run away, but he doesn’t need any revengeful person seeking him out or looking into him. 

An idea dawns on him, and he takes the opportunity before he even has a chance to see if it would work. He speeds his walking, carrying him faster and father in his gait to buy him a few more seconds of time. 

His idea is not in the form of darting into an alley, or turning around and scaring off the person following him, it's in the form of looking back down to his phone and sending Deadpool more texts. His phone is still unlocked, open to showing their conversation, so he shakily tries to explain the situation in the shortest way possible. His thumbs fly across the screen, and he sends the messages without so much as checking for grammatical errors. 



i think im aboout to be mugged

if youre free could you coem get me out of it

[Location]



Right as he sends the last message is when he feels the person move in right behind him. He takes the opportunity to slide his phone back into his pocket, protecting it from whatever is about to happen. It takes a split second, and right as he finishes the movement, his senses flare. 

His perception of the world seems to swell for a moment, coating his awareness in anxiety and panic. His senses tell him the danger is not in the form of immediate death, but more in the form of bodily harm, so Peter fights his instincts that scream at him to move, locking his muscles into place for a moment to prohibit his instincts from taking control. That in itself distracts him long enough for the person to execute whatever they had planned, and time seems to speed up all at once as his assailant collides into him.

In one motion, he’s pushed up against the nearest building, a hand resting on the back of his ribcage. He brings his own hands up, bracing himself against the wall and absorbing the impact. 

“If you scream you’re gonna be in a whole lot more trouble.” The man says in a deep, gruff voice, and Peter speaks before he can even think about shutting his mouth.

“What about talking?” He says, and curses himself immediately. He talks when he’s nervous- it comes in handy for witty comebacks, but he should really get a handle on it if he wants to, yaknow, live.

The man makes a disapproving noise from behind him, and Peter finally registers the gun in the man’s other pocket. He feels the movement of the persons free hand, the flex of fingers and ruffling of fabric as he dips his hand into his pocket and clutches the gun. Peter can hear the metal shift, can practically taste it on his tongue if he tries, and the thought of such power in the wrong hands makes him want to throw up. “You might wanna rethink that too. Where is your wallet?”

“My what? I don’t think I own one of those.” He says, trying to buy himself some time while he figures out if Wade is going to show up. While Deadpool seems to always be off doing something, he always manages to appear insanely fast, so Peter hopes that this time is no different. 

The hand on the back of his rib cage moves, leaving his body only to come in contact with it on the back of his skull. The guy slams his head into the wall, and Peter’s temple grates against the unforgiving brick, his head instantly giving way to a headache. Fingers tighten in his hair, and he’s more forcefully pushed into the wall, as if the brick would give to the pressure and eat Peter whole. “Smart talk is gonna get you nowhere. Tell me which pocket your wallet is in before I have to go lookin.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remain calm while figuring out what to do. He needs more time, needs to get out of the situation, needs-

“Honey, I’m home!” A familiar voice rings, and Peter slumps in relief. Wade. His head is let go, but he doesn’t take the opportunity to turn around, instead focusing on his breathing as his spider sense finally gets a break. 

“What the fuck? Who the fuck are y-” The mugger starts, but is cut off as Deadpool starts talking once more.

“I’d step away from the pretty one if I were you. I have a short temper when it comes to things like this.”

“How about-” He tries again, and Peter can feel just as well as hear the shift behind him as Deadpool lazily takes out a gun.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Wade reprimands. “What did I just say? Step away.” He says, his voice hardening into something cold and calouced. Peter finally feels the man step away from behind him, and he feels the last threads of tension leave his body. He takes his time to turn around, limbs shaking slightly as he takes in the scene. Wade is in his full Deadpool suit, one arm crossed over his chest and the other poised on the first, holding his gun loosely. Peter breathes deeply, no longer being pressed against the hard brick, and finally brings his eyes up to Wades. 

Deadpool must see something he doesn’t like as he stares back, though, because the whites of his mask widen, only to furrow down into a glare a moment later. His head snaps to the mugger in a second’s time, wrist flexing to hold the gun more firmly. “You have ten seconds to run for your life, or my restraint might snap as fast as your neck. Capiche?”

The man takes the cue, darting from the scene like a mad man. Peter stands still, listening to the quick breaths and hard footfalls for a few seconds before letting a long sigh go. 

Wade seems to take the same moment to relax, putting his gun back in the hostler and stepping close. “You’re bleeding.” He says, voice soft and caring. It makes some part of Peter preen, knowing he gets to see this side of Wade, but he shoves it down violently, looking up to meet Wade’s eyes once more. 

Deadpool’s words seem to dawn on him a moment later, and he reaches up to touch his forehead. Pulling his hand away shows red on his fingers, and he makes a noise of dismay at the sight. 

“Your cheek too.” Deadpool adds, and Peter looks up in confusion for a moment, catching a strange, forced feeling radiating Wade’s mask as he touches his cheek with his free hand. Blood shows up again when he pulls the limb away, and he sighs.

“I walked my aunt home but it looks like I need to be walked home too.” Peter jokes, but it falls flat as Wade stands stiffly. Realizing Wade doesn’t find the joke funny, Peter turns awkwardly to make sure he still has all his things. Thankfully, the mugger didn’t actually take anything, so he turns once more to find Wade still close. It throws him off, the way Deadpool is acting, so he gestures to the road behind him with a thumb pointed over his shoulder. 

“Wanna head back?” He asks, and Wade nod’s stiffly.

He feels stiff again, muscles pulled up to his body in a defensive manner, and their walk starts off silent. 

Peter lets the seconds tick by slowly and occupies himself by listening to their footsteps. 

He lets Wade break the silence first. And it happens about twenty minutes into their walk. “Can I ask you something?” He says, turning his body to face Peter as they walk. 

“Yeah.” Peter answers, a bundle of anxiety forming in his stomach at the ideas that pop into his brain. Maybe Wade’s finally going to address Peter’s childish crush, maybe he’s going to say they need to stop working together-

“Why didn’t you fight back?” He says instead, and Peter’s mind draws blank.

“What?” He manages, not really knowing what Wade is talking about. 

“You got mugged. Like- you let it happen.” Wade stops walking, and Peter copies him. “Why didn’t you fight back? You could take that guy, but you let him shove you against the wall- I. I just don’t understand.” He explains, brow furrowed and hand gestures wild.

Realization comes to Peter in several forms. First, he realizes that not once in their time of knowing each other has Peter been put in a situation where he can’t do anything to help himself. Most of the time they’re together, they’re in their super suits- no one would mug Spider-man or Deadpool. Even when they’re out in their civilian clothes, no one would think twice about messing with Wade. He’s big, strong, and has a reputation the proceeds him. People who don’t even know that he’s Deadpool still are intimidated by his presence.

Secondly, Peter has always defended himself around Wade- because he’s never needed to as Peter around Wade. 

He’s a super hero, for god’s sake. It makes sense that Wade would be confused.

“I’m just Peter Parker right now.” He says first, and when Wade shows no sign of understanding, he continues. “Like, I used to get bullied in school. I was this little scrawny kid that was weak, and I couldn’t defend myself because I physically was unable to. I mean, even with Skip-” He cuts himself off, realizing Wade doesn’t know anything about that man, and he doesn’t want to explain it. He starts again with a deep breath. “In my life before I got my powers, I was a normal civilian. I couldn’t resort to my abilities for help when I needed it- because I didn’t have them. I live my life in a way that Spider-man and Peter Parker are completely separate. If I want that to stay the same, Peter Parker needs to stay the same person he was before Spider-man came into play.” 

“But- but what about normal self defense?” Wade tries again, slowly starting to walk again. Peter follows, contemplating what he should answer. It’s not like he’s never thought about it, it’s just that he’s never had the guts to do it. 

“I think defending myself without a mask scares me a little bit.” He admits with a nervous laugh, looking over to Wade to look him in the eyes of his mask. “I’ve never really done it. The mask gives me the confidence of ambiguity. I don’t have to be Peter when I have the mask on. Spider-man has no trail, no line leading back to me. It’s reassuring. Say I stood up for myself from that mugger, and instead of just moving on, he got stuck- wanted revenge or something. He knows my face- theres a lot he can do with just that. There’s a lot he could find with just that.” He finishes, but then adds on, “I’ve gotten this far being a boring old run of the mill guy.” Peter shrugs, finding his explanation good enough to leave as it. 

Wade nods, seemily to think on what Peter said. The moment lulls, their walking becoming monotonous once more, and Peter is dragged into the recesses of his own mind with the silence. Wade has never really lived the same kind of double life that Peter has. Deadpool has always had a connection to Wade Wilson, always closely hand in hand, and Wade’s never cared much about who knew and who didn’t. He can’t die- he doesn’t need to have the same caution as Peter when it comes to his identity. 

“For what it’s worth, I think Peter Parker is pretty badass.” Wade says, and the small smile that breaks out on Peter’s face is one he couldn’t wipe off if he tried. “Powers or not.”



Chapter Text

There’s something wrong. Peter can feel it.

Not in the context of his spider sense, no, there's no spikes of fear up his spine or tremor on the back of his neck. Instead, something in his gut is shaky and unstable, and despite there being no definitive proof- he knows something is wrong. 

Wade is never late to their meetups. And- on the off chance he is, he let’s Peter know. Maybe a text or a call as soon as he can. 

He’s never forty five minutes late with neither of the previously stated forms of communication used.

So something is wrong, Peter knows. 

They agreed to meet up at seven, and here he stands, alone, as the clock strikes 7:45.

His foot taps rapidly, fingers fumbling together as he tries to think. 

What could have happened that Wade not only doesn’t show, but doesn’t let him know?

The thoughts that plague his mind make his stomach curl in disgust, and he turns abruptly, muscles stretching and flexing to aid him as he runs to the edge of the roof. He jumps, legs going taught to aid his momentum, and he sails through the air as gravity brings his upwards arch into a doward hurtle. 

“Now. If I was my best friend, ex assassin, totally weird- but totally cool Wade Wilson, Where would I be?” He asks himself, throwing his first web of the evening out onto the nearest building. It sticks, and the energy that was carrying him down shifts, yanks his arm and slopes. The web stretches, but stays true, and he’s brought back upwards before he releases, throwing his weight forward to carry him longer. He continues his thwipping, letting his body carry him on auto pilot as he thinks. 

“Wade always seems to be in his apartment.” He muses, nodding his head mid swing and changing directions slightly. “Guess I’ll check there first.”

His trip is a quick one, and thankfully he doesn’t encounter any crime that needs his attention on the way.

He catches the bar of Wades fire escape roughly, fear and anxiety making him shake has he braces himself on the bars. They rattle in his hold, but he doesn’t let up until he’s climbing over the side onto Wade’s fire escape. He releases his hand once he’s over, turning back onto to see the bar’s bent to the shape of his palm. While he sees it, he doesn’t really register it, though, and he turns back to the window jerkily. 

Crouching down in front of it, he peers in. There’s a few lights on, and he can hear the Tv on inside. He doesn’t see Wade, though, so he knocks lightly on the glass pane. He strains his ears to hear any possible thing that could be going on inside, but quickly loses his patience.

He knocks again when he doesn’t get any response, this time with a little more force. Waiting once more, he sighs.

So Wade isn’t home. 

Or maybe it just looks like that. 

Him and Wade have gotten used to just walking into each other’s apartments after the whole not wearing a mask thing happened, so Peter shifts his weight, sticks his fingers to the glass and raises his arms up. The window gives, not having been locked, and he brings his torso down, entering head first into the apartment. 

He crawls through, sticking to the wall below the window and moving forward until he’s slipping his back legs through the same way. Once he’s in, he shifts, moving his upper body back with the use of his biceps. The movement changes the angle of his weight, seating it on his legs. He looks around, taking a moment to scope out where he is, and he finds himself in Wade’s bedroom. 

The realization dawns on him that he’s never been in the room before. He thinks back, not understanding how he’s never seen his friends bedroom, but the logic behind it finds him a second later. 

In Peter's own house, the two of them enter after parol- or whenever they're in their suits, through the fire escape, which also leads to his bedroom. In fact- he thinks, their apartments are almost exact copies of each other, save for the longer hall and added bedroom in Wade’s.

But, when they come back to Wade’s, they can walk right through the front door, as everyone thinks they’re cosplayers. He’s never needed to be in Wade’s room.

It’s still surprising to see it. Not to say that it’s different from the rest of Wade’s apartment really, because it still has the same red accents and modern-meets-Deadpool’s-personality vibe. The bed is made, the fluffy comforter folded over itself at the head of the bed, showing that contrary to its blood red outside, the alternate side is pink with Hello Kitty logos and faces. While the sight of it makes Peter want to laugh, the fact Wade isn’t in the bed makes his heart drop minutely. He scolds himself for it, knowing full well that Wade could be anywhere else in the place. 

Peter pulls his weight up, standing to his full height and scanning the rest of the room. The bedside tables are mostly bare, no clutter of papers or keys like Peter has on his own. What does grace the surface, however, is a gun on the right bedside table next to a wad of cash. It makes him uncomfortable, being so close to something he hates so much, but he knows that there’s no one else he would trust more with the weapon than Wade.

The other bedside table is what really catches his attention, when he does take notice. It has a lamp and a stuffed plushie sitting atop it.

It’s not the lamp that catches his attention.

It’s the Spider-man plushie. 

Peter moves inward, stepping toward the left side table, and picks up the stuffed figure. He eyes it, scrutinizing the fabric for any difference in the design of the suit, but he finds it exact. The stitching is hidden as well, the feel of it smooth and lush. 

It’s well made- Peter notes, probably custom. It makes Peter smile, the expression filling his face to the brim with emotion as he sets it back down. Peter gets the idea that Wade only keeps what’s important close to him- both metaphorically and physically.

The knowledge warms his heart tremendously, but it seats some darker part of his insecurity that he’s been mulling over for a little while. This is evidence that Wade looks up to him, admires him- it further solidifies Peter’s decision that he can’t take advantage of Deadpool by trying to pursue him, there's no way it would be right. Even with the warmth in his chest combating the sinking feeling in his stomach, he does not linger. He puts the plushie down and turns, making his way to Wade’s bedroom door. Grabbing the knob and shifting the handle, he’s let out into the rest of his friends apartment.

The silence is loud in his ears, slight ringing sounds echoing in his head alongside the voices from the Tv. Wade’s apartment has never felt so empty to Peter prior than this . normally the two of them fill it with life and laughter, the contrast feeling jarring and unwelcome to Peter’s senses. 

He walks into the living room, seeing Golden Girls playing on the TV. He thinks back to last week, his conversation with May playing in his head. He remembers saying how bringing them together would be disastrous- not for them, but for him. Peter’s not scared of the two hating each other- no. He’s scared for his own secrets and integrity, as he knows it will go out the window once the two people who know the most about him are in the same room. Aunt May will love Wade’s crude sense of humor, and in return, Wade will love May’s soft, soothing personality. And her sass.

Staring at the Tv, Peter is brought back to what originally made him think of the two again- they both love Golden Girls. Walking over the Tv, Peter switches it off, letting the silence fully take over the room. 

“Wade?” He calls out into the apartment, listening as the sound expands throughout Deadpool’s house, filling every corner before being dampened by the furnichure. “Big guy?” He calls again, but he hears no heartbeat, no shifting in the air or muscles and bones moving around. 

Wade is not here.

Just to be thorough, thought, Peter checks all the rooms anyway. The terrifying thought that Wade could be dead- even temporarily- and therefor unable to be detected by Peter’s senses, makes his blood run cold. He checks in the shower, under the bed, in all the closets for a body that isn’t there.

Finally resigned after his search, he finds himself back in the living room. 

And that’s when he sees it. 

It’s not Wade, though he would much rather see the ex merc. 

It’s a scorch mark on the corner of the wall. 

Peter walks over to it, eyes squinted in confusion and body once again tense. Wade keeps his apartment meticulously clean, he’s learned. Organized chaos, really- but insanely clean. 

This kind of mark would have never escaped Wade’s cleaning supplies. Taking another scan of the living room, Peter realizes that while he was looking for Wade, he wasn’t looking for clues. Something there is a large abundance of, once his eyes are open to the idea.

After the scorch mark on the wall, he finds three more. One on the ceiling, one on the cabinet doors in the kitchen, and one next to the window in the living room. They scare him, make his heart race like it hasn’t in months, because they point in the direction of Wade being taken. 

Wade Wilson- the terrifying, highly trained assassin. Deadpool, the almost untouchable ex merc who somehow… got bested 

Peter frantically starts searching for more clues, but they are blatantly obvious from his new position at the windows.

A slightly curved line of drywall had been punched in to his right. It confuses Peter, but everything dawns on him when he catches the two small devices on the floor. They’re circular, having an inner, round shape with an outer ring around it. It arches on the top side only, seemingly to hold its gravity when being thrown, and the small, vine like burn marks on the floor around it draw his attention as much as the Black Widow symbol gracing it’s center does. 

This time, Peter’s blood runs hot. Rage fills him immediately, realization gracing him smugly. The scorch marks are Iron Man’s repulser blasts, the damage from Captain America’s sheild in the drywall- glaringly obvious now. 

“They really…” He starts, trailing off in hazy state of anger. “I can’t belive they won’t leave this alone.” He says to himself, running for Wade’s bedroom. He hops out the window, landing for a second on the railing of the fire escape before pushing off of it with all of his strength. It recoils, groaning under the pressure, but the wind masks it around Peter’s ears. He’s off, swinging as fast as he can toward the Avengers tower.

He can’t believe they kidnapped Wade. Merc-napped? Wannabe-boyfriend-napped? It doesn’t matter, because they took Wade, obviously against his will. Wade wouldn’t ghost him on patrol for the Avengers, wouldn’t not text him or call him, wouldn’t… do that for the Avengers. 

The over glorified team of assholes are funny if they think Peter is going to let them get away with it. 

He forms a plan on his way there, knowing for a fact it will work. Between his two lives, he’s gotten to know both the upper and lower half of Stark Tower. He knows his way through and around it, knows how to get to where he needs. He has a plan B, just incase, but the second option is more risky, has more of a chance of leading back to him- to Peter Parker. He hopes he won’t have to use it.

The building comes into view, and he sets his sights, using the power of each swing to move faster, go harder, until he’s in a freefall for the building.

Peter tucks his lower body in, bringing his knees up to his chest and lets his momentum carry forward. He frontflips once twice, three times until his senses tingle. He brings his legs down on the next turn, opening his arms and legs to take the effort. In the blink of an eye, he lands against the building. He takes the force in his arms in order to not break the glass, and concentrates on his senses, sticking to the building to stop from sliding down it.

Taking a deep breath, Peter looks up. He plans to go in through the communal Avengers floors, as they’re always open to authorized personnel. He only needs to crawl up four floors, so he does, keeping on the metal parts of the building rather than the windows.

When he gets to it, the window to the conference room opens the same way it always has, and Peter turns, crawling onto the ceiling.

This time, however, he doesn’t stop in the room. 

He continues his crawl on the ceiling until he reaches the vent, pausing to shift onto his legs when he reaches it. 

As a small present for Tony, Peter rips the grate off the entryway to the vent, letting it fall to the center table without a shred of guilt.

He crawls into the tight space, thanking Tony, despite his anger, for making the vents human sized- as foolish as it may have been of him. It was probably for Hawkeye, He realizes as he situates himself, knowing that the hero likes the small, safe place the vents create.

Peter starts to move, mentally mapping out where he needs to go. If they took Wade, which it is obvious that they did, he would be in the interrogation wing. That, or the containment wing- both only one floor apart from each other. 

The ventilation system is all connected by the workings of the tower. In each floor, there’s the same space taken up, as shown by the blueprints, that hold the ‘behind the scenes’ of the floor. This, thankfully enough, includes the central air. Each floor’s vent system then branches outward, separating into vents like the one he’s in now, making each room have temperature control. All he has to do is follow the vents in, go down to the floor he needs, then branch back out. 

Peter crawls laterally, making his way farther into the interior of the building silently. He wonders why the AI of the building hasn’t talked to him yet, or wonders if it has already notified Stark. He hopes not, as that might complicate his plan a little, but he also knows the AI understands that he’s still Peter with the mask. The tech reads energy signatures, not solely appearance, as it can be easily faked. He assumes he has a high clearing in the company, because never once has being on the upper floors been a problem. 

Or maybe Jarvis just has a soft spot for him.

After a few minutes of crawling, the sounds from the floor he’s on start to become more muffled through the walls. He notices the vents becoming slightly bigger, tapering off into what he hopes is the main core of the floor. 

He finds out he’s right in his guess, however, when he gets to a junction of what seems to be all of the vent lines. There are four large vent openings that are lateral, including his own, and they all join with a vent that goes vertical. Peering out over the edge of his own space, though, Peter realizes how strong the airflow really is. It blasts up from the bottom of the building, he assumes, because the force is coming from bellow him. Thanking himself for having a heater in his suit, he crawls into the vertical shaft, making his way down.

The windflow makes him hard of hearing, and he feels himself getting jittery, so instead of crawling down slowly, he turns himself right side up and lets go of the vent.

He drops immediately, quickly gaining momentum as he falls through. He keeps his body straight as he falls, though, whizzing by each floor in seconds time. 

He focuses completely on his senses, spanning his hearing out to try and hear for Wade’s heartbeat as the seconds tick by.

The floor he entered on is one of the highest floors, so he calmly and quietly lets himself spear through the air. He keeps his toes pointed down, hands crossed over his heart, arms flattened against his chest. 

Surprisingly, after about only ten seconds is when Peter catches the sound of Wade’s voice, he can’t make out the words, given all the variables, but he can tell it’s a little shrill. Finding his heartbeat, though, is what makes Peter settle. It’s steady and alive, even if a bit quickened, and it calms something in him he didn’t know was rustled. With some of the comments Tony has made about Wade, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if the billionaire tried to have him killed- permanently. 

Peter unravels his form, bringing his hands and feet out a hairs distance away from the metal walls of the vents. All at once, he expands their distance from each other, dragging them alongside the metal before gripping it with his abilities. The structure barely groans and Peter stops with little resistance, despite the speed he must have been traveling at. 

Letting a breath out, Peter focuses once more and hones in on Wade’s heartbeat. The source is from two floors bellow him, so he keeps to the side of the vent and crawls down.

After entering the correct branch, locating Wade is easy from there. With the wind from the vents now considerably lower once again, his senses aren’t muffled. He’s more unceremonious now, prioritizing speed over stealth, and zeros in on his friends location without much hassle. 

Reaching the vent, it’s easy to see why Wade’s voice traveled so easily. He’s seated right bellow it. From the looks of it through the grated vent cover, Wade’s hands and feet are bound to his chair- seemingly made out of steel. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m supposed to be with him right now, actually. You’re cutting into our bro-time. We’re BFF’s, for realsies!” He says in a light tone, trying to gesture with his hands. He looks physically unharmed, at least from where Peter can see, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding at the knowledge. 

“Cut the bullshit Wade. We know you’re up to something.” Tony says, but his voice is through a com- presumably in an adjacent room. That tells Peter all he needs to know, so he shifts, preparing to drop in.

Peter grabs the vent cover with both hands gently. He makes sure all his fingers are spread wide, encompassing as much of the metal as he can, and takes a deep breath in.

“Now I don’t know why you think I’m trying to kill him-” Wade starts, voice lower and serious in tone, but he’s cut off by the crackle of the com once more.

“This will be a lot easier if you just do as we say. We want you to stop associating with him entirely.”

Peter crushes the metal is his fists, cutting Wade off with the loud groaning noise it produces as rage fills him all at once. He drops the metal to his right, far enough into the vent that it won’t roll out, and lets his body go lax. His vision is clouded as he lets himself fall head first through the vent, but he retains his temper, keeping his focus on Wade. With Deadpool being right bellow his drop point, Peter chooses to be stylish and sassy. He extends his arms, keeping them slightly bent at the elbow, and braces them on Wade’s large- so large - shoulders. Wade is looking up, right at Peter, the whites of his mask wide and excited. Peter lets his elbows bend a bit, bringing his own masked face extremely close to Wade's. It reminds him of when they almost kissed, heart skipping a beat with the memory. 

“Baby boy! I knew you'd come for me!” Wade gasps, excitement and fondness evident in his tone. 

Peter winks without a single thought, and as he moves his power, redirecting the force back upwards, Wade winks back. The momentum carries him into a flip, and this time, he lands on the solid white table in a crouch. 

“What’s the point of a table when you have his hands bound?” Peter questions as he looks around, and a glint in the corner makes his head turn. A one way mirror graces the left hand wall, and Peter stands slowly, facing it with a hard, leveled glare. “I guess it makes sense, though. You’ve never been one to play fair.” 

“Spider-man.” The com cracks, and Peter continues looking around the room, walking along the table like he’s out for a midday stroll.

He spots the door into the room a few feet behind him, so he hops off of the table, walking toward the poor attempt at a hidden entrance. 

Maybe it wasn’t really a poor attempt, but with Peter being able to hear as well as feel the difference of the reinforcements behind the door with every shake or step he takes, he can instantly tell what it is- despite it looking like a wall. Not only that, but Peter is feeling a big snarky, so he’s allowed to say it's a poor attempt. He is. 

“I see you haven’t listened to our advice.” Tony says, arrogant and condescending tone coming through the speaker. Peter hears whispering from the com as well, but he focuses on the door. He taps along the right edge, mostly for show, until he hears a dense reverberation. Instantly, he pulls his fist back, slamming it into the spot with all his force behind it. The metal bends to his will, locking Wade and Peter in the room, but more importantly, the Avengers out. 

“And I see you didn’t listen when I asked you to stay out of my business.” He responds, not pausing long enough for them to give an answer. “You know,” He starts, turning from the deformed door to walk back towards his friend. “When I said ‘don’t contact me unless New York is under attack,’ I didn’t mean to contact Wade instead.” He finishes, making hard eye contact with the one way mirror, as if his gaze would show him the other side. While he doesn’t have super powers for that, he can dream. “Oh wait! I’m sorry. Not contact, no, kidnap.”

“Deadpool is no kid.” 

Peter eyes Wade’s restraints, watching as the man focuses on him with his full attention. His mask gives way to his confusion, awe and discomfort clearly, so Peter makes an effort to speed things up. “Then you Wade -napped him, I don’t care what you call it. I saw his apartment. That didn’t look very consensual.” He reaches out, wiggling one finger against Wade’s wrist to pry open the cuffs one by one. It doesn’t take much effort at all, just a flick of his wrist once he gets a good grip. They were only meant to hold a regular guy, after all. One by one, they break against Peter’s strength, until Wade is free. Peter holds out a hand to his friend, helping him up when he takes it. He does almost all of the work, pulling Wade up only to take a small step closer once he’s at his full height. He stumbles, though, and braces himself on Peter’s weight. It presses them together, and Peter cranes his neck up to still look at Wade’s face. It soothes something in Peter, being this close to Wade after knowing he was taken. Some irate aspect of him hidden far back in his mind is sated, but he wants to pull the other even closer. He denies what his instincts tell him, though, and he looks into the white’s of Wade’s mask instead. “You okay?” He says, not being able to help the way his voice turns soft and caring. 

“Yeah, sweet thang. I’m good. They only tazed me a little bit.” Wade says, and Peter has to suppress the anger that rips through his body. He wants to scream a little. And probably cry too. 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” He says, moving them under the vent. Kneeling down, Peter creates a step with his hands, looking up to Wade in a silent question. Deadpool complies, and once he’s situated, Peter lifts him, enabling him to climb up into the vent. 

“We just wanted to ask some questions.” Captain America speaks next, and Peter rolls his eyes. 

“Then the cuffs and kidnapping weren’t really necessary, now were they?” He asks rhetorically. “We’re gonna leave now. Bye.” Peter says, the ‘don’t try to stop us’ hopefully a given. He jumps into the vent, meeting Deadpool face to face once inside. He hears the com crackle in complaints, but he ignores them fervently, not really caring what they have to say to him.

“Can we like- talk about-” Wade starts, and Peter interrupts. 

“Once we get out of here, big guy.”

The task turns out to be fairly easy, all things considered. They follow the same plan Peter originally used, but instead of going up to the top floors like Peter came in through, they only go up two floors- just to get out of the ‘hostage’ type of sections. Apparently, luck is on their side that day, because they find a vent that leads directly outside. To spare Stark some money, and security, Peter puts the grate back when he’s done letting Wade get on his back outside of the tower.

“So what was all that about?” Wade asks, face pressed up against his own over his shoulder. His voice is soothing and raspy in his ear at a first glance, but he knows the tone Wade is using really means he’s uncomfortable.

Launching backwards off the building, he starts explaining. “Remember when we first met?” He feels a nod, releases his web to shoot anther one. “They were the ones that told me all that fake stuff about you. After, I tried to tell them how good you were doing, how much you were trying to be different, but they just went off on me with a bunch of lies. Every time I’ve seen them since, they end up doing the same thing. They want me to stop hanging out with you or something.”

Deadpool is silent for a long while, the wind around them taking the airspace as they head back for Deadpool's apartment. Peter accepts it, knowing Wade might need to process the information intricately before reacting.

When they do land on the roof of Wade’s apartment, he speaks up.

“Why didn’t you listen to them?” Deadpool says, voice far and distant. He steps back, climbing down off of him, and Peter turns around to accommodate. “Why didn’t you stop hanging out with me?”

“Because they’re assholes.” Peter starts, seeing the surprise grace Wade’s features at the vulgar phrasing coming from Peter’s mouth. “They’re condescending and judgemental and rude. They think they know whats best for me when they don’t know me. They think you’re dangerous and they don’t know you. They have a weird, skewered version of what they think is right, and they turn into asshole children when they don’t get their way.”

“But they have connections, they have-” Wade starts, but Peter shakes his head, cutting him off.

“I’ve gotten this far without their direct affiliation or help. I’ll be fine.” He says, turning for the fire escape, but keeping his head turned, looking back at Wade. “Besides, I have much better company right here. If they can’t see what a good person you are, they aren’t worth my time.” Peter makes sure Wade is looking at him, letting that statement sink in before turning around to face him head on. It seems to have it’s desired effect, because Wade perks up in the blink of an eye. “Now, I’m up for some video games. I- for one, am gonna go down to your apartment and play your PS4. You in, pool?” He asks, walking backwards. He winks, just like he did earlier, and Deadpool’s head seems to sway, his body giving into the movements easily. He jogs to catch up, and Peter can hear the delight in in his tone as he replies to the boxes for the first time that Peter has seen that day. 

“I know he is- Wait up Webs!” He calls after Peter, until they’re walking side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other.

 

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to state the obvious, but they have us surrounded.” Peter says, and Wade would laugh, given any other situation, but he has a bad feeling that they are definitely, royally fucked. It’s not a good feeling, take his word for it. 

{Shit}

(I knew the trail was a trap, I told you)

“You don’t say.” He grunts in response to both Peter and White. He tries to take a moment, assess the situation, but his heartbeat in his ears leaves little room for thinking. He’s more of an instinct kinda guy when he gets into it.

{Plan before, action now}

They were on patrol, a normal, pretty boring night turning interesting when Peter caught wind of a scuffle happening a few blocks down. They were off, rushing to the scene, only to find that the bleek alley they were led into was actually a set up.

(Wonderful way to spend our tuesday, really)

The break in Peter thought he heard being conducted by a gang turned out to be a lure- for them nonetheless, and now they’re back to back with thirty or so goons surrounding them like they’re the next item on a Taco Bell menu. Wade does not appreciate it.

He can feel the rise and fall of Peter’s chest through their shoulder blades touching.

The situation they’re in shouldn’t be a problem, really. They’re supers! They battle baddies every night, a set up shouldn’t be a big deal. And it’s not. Or so, he hopes it won’t be.

The crowd around them seems to be circling them like vultures, he realizes. No one has made a move yet, standing off against each other like an awful version of a WWE televised match. 

“Something about these guys scream evil genius, don’t they?” He asks Peter, and he feels the other nod even before Spider-man starts to speak.

(Like doctors)

{Kill them before they experiment on us, Wade}

“Really gives you a happy feeling in your gut, huh?” Peter replies with a huff.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, honey bunch.” He finishes, and one of the goons speaks up. 

He’s to the left of Wade, the right of Peter. He’s exactly perpendicular to the two supers, stepping forward with an air of nonchalance that he shouldn’t have the right to. “I don’t know about you two, but we’d like to get this show on the road. We have a quota to fill.”

“Sounds very rehearsed if you ask me. I’d give that a two out of ten. The two being for effort.” Wade says, breaking whatever semblance of a mood they had going on for the humor he puts in its place instead.

He feels Peter tense behind him, looking to the man who spoke with a whip of his head. “Quota?” He repeats, but that’s when everyone decides to finally move. Whatever thought process Peter had is quickly cast aside in lue of self defense, and they keep their positions in relation to each other to ensure each other’s safety as the fighting starts. 

Three people come at Wade all at once. He focuses on the closest one first, bringing his leg up, shifting his weight to throw all of his power behind a kick that knocks the breath out of the guy instantly. He carries the power, turning once to punch the next guy in the stomach. He goes down, so Wade kicks him hard in the balls before hitting the side of his head to ensure he’s out for the count.

“Wow, times like these I really wish you were a little looser on the morality topic, honey!” He calls, looking over his shoulder for a second, and Peter grunts in response, momentarily ignoring his comment as he jumps onto someone's shoulders. Wade watches for a second in fascination as Peter traps the guys head between his thighs, milliseconds before forcing the guy to follow him into a contorted backflip.

“Damn baby, why didn’t you do that to me when we sparred?” He says, turning his attention back to the people coming for him. Next, a woman runs for him, and he throws the first punch. She blocks it, so he hooks his other fist under her chin. She seems to not see it in time, and he gets her. She stumbles back, so he rushes forward, taking his elbow back to hit it hard in the center of her chest plate. It does the trick, and she falls as well.  

“I see you’re turning your chatter during fights on me.” Peter says, sounding falsely resigned and bored. Wade knows it’s for show, though. 

“Well, the boxes aren’t talking right now, so-” He shrugs, taking down the next guy to storm him with the butt of his Desert Eagle.

(I resent that statement)

{I’ll talk when I wanna walk, dickwad}

“And there they are!” He draws out, throwing himself forward as someone tries to tackle him from the side. The momentum gets the guy off of him, but it gives someone the chance to punch the side of his head. The blow makes him recoil, muscles shifting against the movement in an effort to stabilize his stance. 

Lip twitching, Deadpool slowly rises, standing up to his full height once more. He rolls his shoulders back, kocks his head to each side once for a stretch, and holsters the Eagle for his katanas instead. “Fine, bitches. Let's dance.”

{Get them good}

Their enemies start to blur quickly after that. Deadpool takes them down one by one, keeping himself in check with his blades. He really only uses the tips of them, nicking and slicing non-vital areas to take them down. He works on auto pilot, not registering much outside of where he and Peter are in relation to each other. It goes well, only three goons left standing as Wade heaves a breath, katanas poised outwards as he decides his next move. 

That is, until he hears a click beside his head. He knows the sound of a gun cocking, knows it like his middle name. 

It seems Peter knows the sound as well. Spider-man’s head whips around, focus honed on Wade, who has a barrel pressed against the side of his head in the time it takes. 

(This can’t be good)

Time slows as one of the last remaining people sneak up behind Peter.

Wade doesn’t know how Spider-man’s senses work, but the gun against his own head must be enough to distract him from his own danger. He watches in horror as the person behind Peter raises their hand, revealing a syringe. 

Wade tries to say something, warn Peter for his own safety, but he feels paralized by the raw, unrelenting fear of losing Peter. Losing someone he loves. It’s a feeling he knows well, even with its absence for years at a time.

It’s those same emotions that hold him as he watches the needle be pressed into Spider-man’s neck. 

The eyes of Peter’s mask go wide, body contorting and convulsing to get away from the intrusion, but the damage has already been done. He falls, body slowly being paralized with whatever sedative was used, and the mask lenses go impossibly wider as they stare at Wade.

He can hear the trigger be pulled all the way back, and the last thing his consciousness can focus on is overwhelming pain. 

Then everything calms into a deep, dark black.

Sleep. 

 

 


 

“I haven’t seen you in a long while, Wade.” A woman says, and he tries to distinguish the voice from his memory. It’s bleary, hazy, and when he attempts to open his eyes, nothing more than a lazy twitch seems to happen. 

“Our time here is short, so I’ll be brief.” She says again, and Wade feels a hand ghost his chest. “It seems you’ve changed. A shame, really- I liked your more… unstable side.”

Confusion fills Wade, holding his mind in a cage of uncertainty as he feels a face come close to his. “You know the drill. Time here works… differently. Seconds here blend into hours up there, and while our time has never been enough, it seems I was destined to long for a man who cannot grace my terrain.” The voice says, lips hovering his in a wisp of a kiss. “Although I can’t look into people who still reside in the land of the living, I’ve heard about your new love.” She says, a hint of mirth seeping into her voice. 

Wade’s eyes seem to finally pry open, the face above him being blurred by his own incompetence. He knows the face, though, and he watches as Lady Death’s expression turns wicked. “Let us hope I never have the pleasure of meeting him.” 

 

 



The first thing that comes back to Wade is pain. Its blinding and intrusive, filling the pocket of every single cell until he’s basking in it- being tortured with it. It’s persistent and resilient, moving onward to every new part of him created, leaving the settled ones to take a breath with their freshness. 

The agony materializes in his head, but his pain receptors transport the torment to every fiber of his body. 

He can feel his healing factor slowly, agonizingly thread each cell back into its rightful place.

It’s hell. If Wade were of conscious- fully so, he would cry out, begging for mercy or permanent death, because the healing is always worse. 

Awareness comes to him in small waves. First, sound graces his ears. Muffled, not all there- but fragments of it resonate in his head, giving way to the world outside of his own, dead mind. 

Then, like a layer under the pain, the feeling of his own body is tangible. It’s hazy, and he can’t acutely move anything, but he can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his lungs filling with air for a few hesitant, slow breaths to start off. It seems to be an automatic response- breathing- as if he’s sleeping. 

One would think that life would fill Deadpool after death with a sense of haste. Maybe a gasping breath, startling heartbeat and a flailing of limbs. 

Reality is quite the opposite. It’s slow, meaningful and deliberate in its perception. Things come back to him one by one, gracing him with pain and mindfulness slowly, until it’s all there once again. 

His ability to think comes last. It’s sluggish at first, much like all his other abilities, but he gains his thought process back with the retreating thoughts from before his death returning to the forefront of his mind. 

The same unbridled fear washes over him moments before he can even understand why. It fills his senses, tightening his lungs in a threat, and after moments of steeping in the emotion, the reason behind it comes back to him as well. 

It causes his breath to hitch and his fingers to spasm, itching for a weapon to grab for a sense of security. 

“I don’t care if it’s Fox News, hack into it.” A gruff voice says, and Wade decides to listen in despite the haze his entire body still seems to hold. “I want every station, every goddamn news outlet seeing this. That’s our best shot, and, I don’t know about you, but I like getting paid.”

The tone of voice coupled with the words make Wade want to snarl, but he decides the best course of action is to not give away that he’s awake. First, he shifts his nose, testing if he’s still wearing the mask- which he is. He opens his eyes, knowing that his second skin won't show that he’s awake.

Thankfully, he didn’t move while waking up, and he makes sure to keep his head still as he looks around. The floor is grimey and dirty- about as gross as he feels, given all the blood caked onto him and the fact that he just came back from the dead. 

Details.

“Make sure the audio is working.” The same person speaks again, and Wade ignores the flare of recognition to try and feel for his weapons. 

(We’re back, and you have all your weapons. They must be grade A dumbassses)

{Or they have something that makes them think they're better}

He shifts, angling his right arm to try and grab for the knife he keeps on his left wrist, but someone walks towards them, so he pauses. He expects the person to leave, maybe walk by, but instead they crouch down in front of Wade. 

They seem to be disappointed with whatever they find, because they make a tsk sound before rising. 

Wade once again expects for them to walk away, only to be punched in the gut. 

The air rushes out of him, a pained wheeze makings its way out of his throat from the unexpected hit. 

“Wake up!” The guy yells right in Wade’s face, so Wade decides that now is as good of a time as any to let them know he’s coherent. It seems they did their research, being able to knock Spidey out and know they can kill Wade.

His head rolls back naturally, and he lets it as he deals with the pain. He brings it back around, Facing the guy with a leveled glare. “Could have just asked nicely.” He says, irritation showing through. It makes the man smile, his ski mask accommodating the gesture. 

(Cliche)

{Ski mask? Really}

“That would be no fun.” The man says, then looks over to where Spider-man is bound to his own chair a foot to their left. Wade’s eyes follow. 

For the first time since waking up, Deadpool gets a good look at Peter. His clothes, more importantly his mask, remain in tact. He’s bound to the chair the same way Deadpool is- hands cuffed behind his back in some metal hold- but there’s a medical table next to him that causes anxiousness to rip through Wade. 

“What is this all about?” He finds himself asking, voice hoarse from disuse. 

{And dying}

(Thanks for the reminder. We already feel hungover)

At the recognition of his voice, Spider-man seems to stir. This seems to please the men, and the one who punched Wade finally backs off. 

“You see,” He starts, and Deadpool rolls his eyes, preparing for the villain monologue they’re about to get. “I’m not gonna bore you with the details.” Surprising. “But, I will let you know how this is gonna work. We’re hacking into news outlets and social media alike, to broadcast a little message. If the Avengers want you two back unharmed, they’ll pay the ransom.”

“I don’t wanna burst your bubble,” Peter starts, and Wade can tell from his voice alone that whatever drugs they gave him still have Spider-man feeling under the weather. “But we aren’t Avengers.”

“And they aren’t really happy with us at the moment.” Wade adds on, turning back from watching Peter to face the man in front of them. 

“We’re live.” A person says off to their left, and the man in front of them raises his arms to his sides, as if presenting the situation to them for the first time. 

“For your sake, I hope they pay.” He says, looking pointedly at Spider-man, before walking away. It makes Wade’s hackles rise, and he shifts, trying to get the guy’s attention again.

“Hey!” He calls, but his shout is not given a response.

“Putting the prerecorded message into the stream now.” The tech person says, and silence seems to fall heavy on the room. 

Wade looks around wildly, as if the walls of concrete will give him the answers he’s looking for. He checks behind him, seeing they’re backed up against the wall, and takes the opportunity to fumble for his wrist knife again. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter tracking the movement. It makes his nose scrunch, not because Peter is looking at him, but because he knows what he’s about to do with the knife, and he doesn’t want Spider-man to have to see. 

He shakes his head, drawing Spider-man’s attention, and gestures out into the room. He not only doesn’t want Peter to watch, but he also doesn’t want his cover to be blown.

This may be the only shot they have.

Peter seems to get the gesture, though, and keeps his eyes trained forward.

With one last wiggle, Wade gets the knife free. It’s three inches, serrated- long enough to do what he needs, and he takes a deep breath. 

He puts the blade to his wrist and starts cutting. 

The cuffs are one, joined cylinder containing both of their arms. If he can cut one hand off, he’ll be able to get both of his arms out, take the goons, and then get Peter. That’s his plan.

He’s aware Peter can hear the blood vessels start to pop when he turns his head away entirely, but Wade is used to the sounds. It’s the pain he has to clench his jaw for.

Pain has always had a very close relationship with Wade. Through his life, physical agony has always been something he has had to deal with- self inflicted or not. It’s a complicated relationship, Deadpool and his injuries, and it’s not a topic he always wants to talk about. 

Something he’s noticed, though, is that the more of a handle he has on his mentality, the harder pain is to endure. 

Two years ago he’d have been able to cut his hand off without a second thought. He’d barely be able to perceive it.

{I miss those days}

(Can it, asswipe)

Now he can feel it clear as day. 

And Peter knows it. 

They’ve talked about it before, and Wade’s explained how his mentality has affected his ability to comprehend and process pain. He’s also told Peter about how now, pain isn’t something he wants to experience, while years ago- it had been. It’s hard for him to cut his hand off with any audience- but Peter being the one having to listen, witness it makes him sick. It makes him want to cry. 

Instead, he hacks away as quickly as he can, doing his best to keep it quiet. 

The world seems to waver around him, so he shuts his eyes, bowing his head to brace the pain. It swells around him, threatening to take him under with sharp teeth and a wicked grin. He moves what little mobility is allowed, rocking back and forth as the pain strikes over and over again- like a snake. He hears words, but they seem far away and unfocused, so he ignores them, trying to keep his breathing in check.

{Wow, what a rush}

(Don’t be sarcastic)

Wade starts working on auto-pilot, zoning in and out haphazardly, when the sound of a laugh catches his attention.

“If we do not receive payment within the hour,” The main guy starts, and Wade would make a comment if he wasn’t fighting off the pain still pulsating through his arm. “Spider-man’s mask comes off.”

The weight of the situation seems to dawn on both Peter and Wade in split seconds. The air turns electric, both of their muscles coiling at the sheer implication.

Immediately after, Peter starts thrashing. He doesn’t seem to have all his power back, not entirely, but his strength is still monumental compared to that of a normal human, and the metal he’s contained in starts to groan as he yanks at his restraints. Spider-man’s livelihood is dependant on secrecy. He operates as a normal guy because Spider-man and Peter Parker are separate. Wade understands that, so he’ll be damned if he lets some no name baddie rip that away from Peter. 

He starts back up on his arm, sawing through bone and muscle easily with his knife. It hurts, blindly so, but he keeps on it dutifully, battling his own breathing and healing factor to cut his own hand off.

He hopes both Peter and himself will be able to get out of their restraints easily, but the blossom of courage almost dies in his chest as someone runs over to Peter. 

He watches hazily, sees the person pick up another syringe and plunge it into Peter’s neck. 

A cry of pain escapes Spider-man at the intrusion, and Wade can’t do anything but watch as he struggles against the effects of the drugs.

Slowly, it seems like Peter’s losing, and Wade’s vision starts to swim, slowly turning red.

“What wonders neuromuscular blocking agents do, huh?” The man says, and Wade feels his soul leave his body as Peter goes limp. 

(Too limp)

{Seriously, is he breathing? Check}

With a final tug, Wade’s hand is off, and he’s slipping both arms, one by one, through the hold, only to grab his gun and start shooting without so much as checking if the bullets are rubber. 

Thankfully- maybe not to Wade, they are rubber. Now out of his confinement, he can see that there are really only three people in the room, shrouded in darkness and a sense of fog as cover.

One of the men tries to run up on his side, though, so Wade drops the gun, grabbing a katana with his one good hand. The man has a syringe as well, but Wade doesn’t stop, plunging the weapon into the man's upper thigh without so much as a shred of sympathy. He can feel his femur splinter and eventually break under his pressure, and he grins as his sword glints an awful red as it comes out the other side of the leg. 

Ripping it back out, the guy finally drops. Wade makes to turn back to the other two left, but a twinge in his neck makes him stop, reaching up to see what it was.

He closes his hand around an object, pulling it out of his neck to see an empty syringe.

He slowly looks up, making eye contact with the two people left. From what he can see, their expressions are both expectant and fearful, as if this is their saving grace.

“Someone didn’t do enough research.” Deadpool says, and Wade watches with a grin as the fear in their eyes take over. 

Uninhibited by the drug that was administered to him, Wade charges the closest goon, taking him by the neck and throwing him down to the ground. A cough, alongside a sputter is all Wade can hear, and he briefly debates keeping his hands tight around the mans neck, before a little nudge in the back of his mind reminds him that Peter needs his help. 

When Wade lets the man go, he falls limply to the ground, unconscious. Standing up, he scans for the last person, dread rushing him when he notices the last person is standing next to Peter. 

They’re holding Spider-man’s head up with one hand, gripping the edge of the mask with the other. 

The threat is clear as day, and Wade rapidly tries to think of a way out- one that doesn’t put Peter in the crossfire. 

The decision is made for him, however, when the man speaks up.

“He’ll die from the lack of oxygen soon enough.” 

For what seems like the millionth time that night, terror grabs Wade in an unwavering hold. 

He needs an out- fast. 

His military training rears it head, making him grab for another gun in a split second. 

In the time he raises it out of his holster, the man makes the decision to start lifting Peter’s mask.

Wade brings the handgun up to eye level, aiming like he has a million times before as time seems to slow around him. 

The mask is uncovering Peter’s mouth as Wade takes a breath in. He has both eyes open- doesn’t need one eye closed to shoot, and straightens his posture as he levels his shot.

With doubt crawling up his legs, Wade pulls the trigger. First, the gun cocks, and he tightens his grip as he prepares for the recoil. He doesn’t stop, not once rethinking the choice he’s been forced into, and fires. 

The bullet leaves the chamber, and Wade instantly drops his stance in favor of running towards Spider-man as if his life depended on it. 

{Maybe it does}

He doesn’t have time to watch the bullet, but he sees it rip through flesh and realizes that the bullet isn’t rubber.

While Wade only shot the man’s hand, the muscles in the appendage clench, gripping the mask. So, when the goon recoils in pain, Spider-man’s head lolls back with the force, resting uncomfortably at the bounds of his flexible muscles. 

The mask doesn’t slip off like Wade was afraid it would- instead, it rips.

A look of bewilderment barely has the chance to cross the person’s face before Wade is grabbing a knife off his belt and throwing it. He doesn’t look to Peter’s head, too scared of what he might find uncovered there, and keeps his eyes on his last target instead. The knife lodges in the flesh of a shoulder easily, and Wade is on top of the man a second later, rage and failure filling him as a deeper red settles over his gaze.

While Wade isn’t entirely sure how much of Peter’s face is uncovered, he feels the failure creep in on him as if Spider-man’s face was bare to the world. 

He wants to cry, wants to scream out and beg whoever is in control of time to rewind it, but most importantly, he feels the urge to kill.

The man is on the floor, being straddled in a moments notice, and Wade rips out another gun, cocks it, and presses it to the person’s forehead in seconds.

{Kill him}

(Peter can’t breathe)

{He’s already dead, he’s gone too long without oxygen}

(You dumbass, it hasn't even been a minute yet)

{Kill this fucker, Wade}

(With the drugs he was given, it would take six minutes for him to suffocate, give or take. Go help Peter)

{Kill}

He wants to, he really wants to, but the sane part of him, for once, tells him to recoil his weapon. 

The old him would kill this fucker- would have been dead seconds ago, but he holds his breath and tries to decide if it’s worth it.

He doesn’t know if this man saw Peter’s face- doesn’t know anything because he didn’t check. Peter is sitting right next to them, likely unable to breathe- and he needs Wade. Is it worth it?

He doesn’t think it is. 

He doesn’t feel as if he would be satisfied because of it, like he used to. He knows there are more important things he needs to be doing. He doesn’t feel the itch to pull the trigger, and he tugs on his mental restraints one more, finally bringing the barrel away from the guys head. 

He slams the butt of his gun down instead. 

Wade shifts his weight, bringing his knee up to plant his left foot on the ground. Leaning forward, he grabs the part of Peter’s mask that ripped off, then follows the movement to stand. Mentally, he chases off the sorrow, knowing he’ll have to deal with it later. Rising to his full height, Wade is greeted with the situation he’s left to deal with.

Finally willing himself to look at Peter, he sees that none of his face was put on display. The mask ripped from the bottom up, but where the man had gripped it was off to the side. The fabric tore in a way that showcases the edge of his jaw, his ear and the sweaty, fluffy hair he hides under the mask, but the lenses of his mask are still firmly over his eyes, and none of his actual face is uncovered. 

It makes the snake of apprehension around his head finally uncoil, and he steps in front of Peter, blocking his friend from the cameras sight, and lifts up the ripped mask, uncovering Spider-man’s face. He checks for Peter’s breath- he feels shaky, high on nothing as he fights his own emotions off, but a huge sigh of relief escapes him when he feels Peter start to twitch, gentle and soft breaths leaving Spider-man’s mouth.

“Thank god you’re a super, huh Webs? The drugs must have not fully stopped your breathing.” He says, but his voice is high and wavering as he searches Peter’s face.

While his eyes are hauntingly hazy and vacant- they are not unseeing.

Wade shifts, letting the flap of mask rest on the crown of Peter’s head, and reaches into one of his pouches. He pulls out eyedrops he carries around, and gently, as if Peter will break if he’s not careful, administers them to each of his eyes. His hand is shaking as he puts the eyedrops back in his pouch, but it’s almost uncontrollable as he slowly shuts Peter’s eyes, one by one. He knows from experience that dried out eyes are nothing fun, and he wants to save Peter the pain. He places the mask back over his friends face, once again concealing the identity of Spider-man. 

Looking back down to his hand, Wade is drawn back into his own head for a moment as he watches it shake and shiver. 

 Now that he focuses on it, his entire body is vibrating, unstable and weak in the face of the adrenaline and fear he was faced with.

He doesn’t like it very much.

“Otherwise I would have had to give you CPR, and, I don’t know about you, but I forget things when I panic, so…” He trails off, moving around to the back of Spider-man’s chair.

He makes quick work of Peter’s restraints, thankful that they’re latch operated, and moves back in front of Peter, helplessly watching as he twitches and breathes shakily. 

(Lucky, huh? Latch operated super restraints)

{Who cares}

“Don’t worry, Spidey- we can go home now.” He says, but his voice is almost unrecognizable as he speaks. He squats where he is, sitting back on his haunches as the gravity of what happened fully falls around him. 

Spider-man almost died. Any more of that drug and he could have not been able to breathe- he’s guessing the people just assumed the amount needed, but Wade feels endlessly, hopelessly glad they didn’t use any more.

Not only that, but Wade, himself, did die tonight. The feeling leaves him raw and unhinged, sensitive to his emotions, more so than he would normally be. 

He heaves out one, two breaths before he breaks, a sob making its way out of his chest as he curls in on himself. 

He feels so unstable. So uncoordinated, so… helpless. He wants to curl up with Peter and sleep in a nice, fluffy cocoon. He knows, however, that will likely not happen, so he huffs out the last of his sobbing and sniffles. 

Collecting his emotions is like a game of Jacks, he finds out- he can’t get everything in order before the ball drops, and he’s left more red faced each time he tries.

It’s Peter that draws him out of his emotions, and he has to wonder how long he’s been crying when he feels a shift from in front of him.

Wade raises his head, not knowing he had let it rest on Peter’s thigh, and pays attention as Spider-man tries to croak out words. 

“S-” Is all he gets out at first, and Wade waits patiently for whatever Peter will say. “Ream-” Webs’ huffs out breathlessly, and Wade is confused for a moment before realization washes over him. He turns, body feeling like a vessel more than a home as he locks eyes with the camera. 

The computer seated next to the device shows that the stream is still going. As far as he can tell, that is- he doesn’t know how many of the news outlets they apparently hacked have already regained their own control. He reviews his facts. No one saw Spider-man’s face. He counts it as a win, no matter how shitty the night was. Deciding he doesn’t care about the stream regardless, He picks up one of his guns from the ground- having been dropped at some point, and shoots the camera four times. 

(Look at the angle. The camera didn’t even catch the side of Peter’s face)

A sense of calm washes over Wade at his own confirmation, and he huffs out one more long sigh as he shoots the laptop as well. The camera, while seated directly in front of their restraining chairs, was not only far away, but slightly below eye level. When Peter’s mask ripped, he recollects, his head tilted back, meaning his face was shielded entirely. Not even Peter’s hair color will be revealed to the public. And, even if the goon who did see decides to let the information slip, there are a million people in New York with brown hair. 

(That doesn’t seem like an actual number. Did you make that up)

Holstering his gun, Wade turns, looking back up at Spider-man from his place on the floor.

Peter’s body is shaking and straining with the effort of moving, but he eventually manages to bring his head forward. He’s looking down at Wade, the side of his cheek and neck flushed with the sheer amount of effort being used, and Wade is sure that if he were in Peter’s shoes- and not immune to things like drugs- he would not be able to accomplish what Spider-man is right now. 

“Ca- can we go?” Peter says brokenly, and Wade’s heart breaks all over again. Tears threaten to fall once more, and he sniffs, holding it all back for the sake of Peter. If what happened today was scary to him, he couldn’t imagine how it felt for Spider-man. 

“Yeah.” Wade confirms, smiling as he stands once more. He gathers his weapons hastily, not wanting to be away from Peter at all- much less any more than necessary. His hand is regenerating painfully, cells knitting together to form his scarred hand, but he shifts forward, picking Peter up bridal style to find the exit. “My house?”

“Ye-ah. I’m gonna sleep there.” Peter confirms, using a few words as possible while getting his point across effectively.

“Fine by me, baby boy.”

 

Chapter Text

Peter can list the worst moments of his life off like it’s a speech he’s been planning for months. He can tell you the moments he’s felt the lowest, most helpless, most… useless. He can describe the pain and agony it caused him, and the long lasting trauma each moment triggered. He can recall the stories as if they had just happened- because at the end of the day, they were his fault. 

There was everything that happened with Skip, but he passes over the opportunity to think about it, shoving the memories down and moving on.

Uncle Ben getting shot would be the first, then. If he had stopped the criminal when he had the chance- done something with his powers, come to the conclusion to do better in the world before the thief got to Ben, maybe his uncle would still be alive. He watched it happen, saw the bullet tear through flesh, and it’s something that will haunt him for the rest of his life. He knows that. 

Then it was Gwen. He wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t refined enough to catch her in time, and her death is on his hands for the rest of his life, much like his uncle’s. He saw the life leave her body, held her in time to feel her go cold, and no matter how much he tries to chase the image from his memory, it’s there, taunting him from behind his eyelids.

Lastly, there was tonight. Being drugged, captured- almost unmasked- is all too close to home for him. It’s unnerving, knowing some random people could get the drop on him and Wade, and his sense of security has been ripped out from under him in the aftermath of it all. 

Being drugged the first time- was terrifying in its own right. Being unconscious in the hands of attackers is never something he wants to do again. 

But being drugged, unable to move a single muscle while fully aware? Thinking about it makes him sick. The drug went through his system rather quickly, all things accounted for, but for almost a minute, he couldn’t breathe at all. It’s intense- he knows it is, but the feeling of being completely and utterly helpless in the hands of others is terrifying. Being able to watch it happen is even worse. 

And then there’s Wade. Possibly the worst part of the night- watching Wade die as he slipped under. It was hazy, steady but sure, a blinding warning through his entire body before he watched someone he cares for deeply get shot in the head. He saw the bullet shock through Wade, watched it come out the other side, memorized the way his friend’s body went limp and dropped like a bag of potatoes. 

Even though he knows- logically- that Wade will live, death is usually so final and fixed that it made doubt settle in his bones as he slipped into unconsciousness.

In the moment he watched Wade die, Peter didn’t care what would happen to him, didn’t spare a single thought about his own safety, because he was petrified for Wade’s.

He’s seen death take the people he cares about most. Deadpool got added to that list. 

 Wade was dead. 

 

Peter comes out of his thoughts with a sharp inhale. He holds the breath for a moment, trying his best to let the tension go with the exhale. He tightens his arms around his own torso, wishing they were around Wade’s neck so he could hug him instead of be carried. He feels frayed and unhinged, and he wants to be even closer to Wade because despite a bullet to the head- he’s alive, breathing and safe. 

Peter wants to cry out of relief, most of all.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” Wade says. Peter can feel the rumble of the words through his chest, and he sniffs, taking note that his nose is running. 

He is crying. Oh.

Wade’s voice sounds raspy and unstable, much like Peter feels right now, and he can’t imagine how Wade must be holding up. What he went through is nothing compared to what Wade dealt with tonight. 

And here Peter is, being carried bridal style because he was drugged. He feels foolish to a certain extent because while Wade literally got killed, Peter is still the one needing to be taken care of. 

He feels endlessly guilty. “That’s not why I’m crying, Wade,” he says, nose dripping onto his face, seeping into his mask. It makes the spandex adhere to him, cling to his skin and the small hairs that cover his body. The same thing is happening with his steady stream of tears, and he can’t wait until he’s able to take the suit off.

“I know,” Wade says, voice scratchy and raw in a way that tells Peter he’s fighting off tears himself. 

The memory of Wade breaking down in front of him comes to mind, and Peter is brought back into his own processing as Wade’s even steps lull him. He couldn’t look to Wade as it happened- not for lack of trying: he physically couldn’t move his eyes. It was heart wrenching, having Wade sob over him, unable to do anything more than be. He assumes it was a result of the situation, the weight of it being too much for one person to bear. 

If he had been able to move, he would have been clutching Wade, much like he wants to do right now, sobbing along with him. What happened was traumatic- more so the longer he thinks about it. Every secure aspect of Peter’s life was torn apart, threatening his demise in the wake of it all. To top it all off, he watched Wade die, and the scene replays in a loop behind his closed lids. 

Wade looked resigned, too. Right as it happened, he seemed more concerned with the fact it caught Peter’s attention. He seemed okay with dying, in a way- even if Peter knows he did not want to. 

He was caught up in the fear for Wade’s safety, so much so that he didn’t realize the threat to his own. If he had been able to work through it, distinguish it- he would have been able to avoid the needle- to prevent what happened. 

That’s why, coupled with the sorrow and the unstable, frayed nerves, he feels guilty. 

He feels responsible. 

If he had been faster, or more efficient throughout the whole fight, they would have been finished quickly. Maybe if he saw the syringe or listened to his senses more acutely, they wouldn’t have been met with the same fate. It would have been nice, he guesses. 

“Tonight was rough.” Wade says, voice soft- so soft. 

“Yeah.” Peter responds, looking around to take in where they are. Not too far away from Wade’s apartment, thank god. 

“I’m sorry it happened.” Wade says brokenly, but there’s a tone underlying his words that makes Peter think he’s shouldering all the guilt for himself.

“It’s not your fault.” Peter says, guilt weighing heavy in his stomach. He looks up to the eyes of Wade’s mask. 

Deadpool doesn’t respond. 

The silence that engulfs them doesn’t once feel awkward, thankfully, and they arrive at Wade’s apartment door soon enough. 

“Can you help me walk? I think I can move more now,” Peter says, and Wade puts him down, arms shaking around him as they help keep him steady. Spider-man’s feet touch the ground tentatively, as if he expects to collapse the second he takes his own weight, but his legs hold true as he slides out of Wade’s arms. His muscles tremor as they take the first few steps. 

He still leans on Deadpool- for comfort and help walking, but he doesn’t know which he needs more.

Things start to feel normal once they get into Wade’s apartment. The door clicks shut behind them and the ex-merc locks it, triple-checking before turning around. Peter takes off his ruined mask, muscles flexing weakly. They feel worn and shot, pushed past his physical limits, and he sighs as he realizes he won’t be able to take off his suit. 

Not alone, at least. 

Deadpool’s arm shifts around Peter’s stomach at his sigh, and he turns, searching Wade’s masked face for a second before opening his mouth. 

The first time he tries to create the words he needs, nothing comes out. He doesn’t know why, but a lump is stationed in his vocal chords. He has to swallow a few times before creating any sound. 

“Can… can you help me take my suit off?” he says, and the blush that flushes through him gives way to the emotions he didn’t know he was harboring. Embarrassment. “I’m still too weak- I need to shower-” He adds, but the genuine, small smile that appears on Wade’s face makes his frayed nerves calm. 

“Yeah, baby, let’s get you to the bathroom,” Wade says, and Peter nods. They turn, slowly walking further into the apartment and to the left, when he realizes that Wade never turned on the lights. 

It doesn’t affect him, seeing as he essentially has night vision, but he knows that Deadpool only has normal human vision.

It makes him feel less embarrassed about his request for help, so Peter does his best to lead them where they need to go, avoiding the island counter and the chairs strewn around it. He does pretty well, considering Wade is still essentially carrying him, and he’s seated on the toilet breathing like he ran a marathon soon enough. 

He takes a moment to catch his breath, but when he looks up Wade isn’t in front of him. A feeling of loss engulfs him even as he tries to chase it off, and he feels his raw, frazzled feelings rearing to the surface as he attempts to crush them down. “Wade?” he calls, and he curses the way his voice sounds broken and on the verge of tears, even if that’s exactly what he is. He was feeling better a moment ago, but the absence of Wade brings the fear and distraught emotions rushing back, even if losing him was only momentary. 

“Right here,” Wade responds without missing a single beat, and Peter calms, looking up to greet his friend as he walks into the room. Peter’s eyes lock onto Wade as he sees the bare skin of his friends face. He perks up immediately, throat moving without him saying a word as puts his hands out for Wade. He’s able to interpret the action, bringing his head down for Peter to inspect.

He checks Wade over meticulously, not really knowing why he’s doing it beyond needing to obey the irrepressible urge. His fingers grace over the ridges and twisted dips of Deadpool’s skin, keeping his touch light and hesitant, not wanting to cause any discomfort for Wade. He seeks feverently for a bullet hole, knowing full well he won’t find one. Following the same impulse, he moves on to Wade’s hand to check that as well. 

By now, most of the palm is fully formed, and all that’s left are the fingers. He guesses it will take under an hour, and his throat flexes and dips to make a cooing sound at the obvious mutilation of his friend’s appendage. 

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” Wade asks, and it snaps Peter out of his haze, bringing his focus back. He realizes he’s making the clicking sound in the back of his throat.

“Do what?” he feigns, and it draws a half cackle from Wade, voice hoarse and rough and silky in a way that makes Peter’s inner self lax and inviting.

Huh.

“That clicking sound. You do it kinda often, I don’t think you really notice it though,” Wade says, and Peter shrugs, not really knowing how to explain it. He’s never heard the same feedback from anyone else about the sound, so he assumes it’s only Wade that this happens with. Instead of thinking deeper into why he apparently makes the noise around Wade so much, he struggles to turn, showing his back to Wade to imply that he should help him undress. Wade complies without much thought, and somewhere in his brain, Peter realizes that there must be more ambient light in here than there was in the kitchen- because Wade can see just fine. Which kinda sucks, since he doesn’t wear anything under the suit. 

He tries to think about if it really matters, and his hazy, tired, and trauma recovering brain thinks no, no it really doesn’t. 

So the suit loosens around him as Wade undoes the zipper, and it pools around his torso. Wade starts to ease his arms out of the suit, holding his bicep up with his regenerating hand and pulling the sweaty spandex off of him with the other. He repeats this with his other arm and Peter complies, letting his throat rumble and click away as Wade’s soft touches lull and relax him. 

There are hands on his hips, guiding him into standing, and Peter rests himself against the wall adjacent to Wade’s large shower as the last remnants of the fabric slide off of his skin. 

Wade chokes.

The clicking gets louder.

Instead of dealing with the situation, Peter chooses instead to ignore it entirely, using  the wall as a crutch when he steps into the shower. The curtain closes behind him, followed by some humorous muttering about teasing and following through, and Peter sticks his hand to the wall, lowering himself onto the floor of the shower with a laugh as Wade blindly reaches in to turn on the water for him. 

Given that all Wade actually saw was his ass, he thinks it was worth it. 

He makes quick work of cleaning himself up once getting situated on the floor. He has to web for everything he needs, and Wade stays in the bathroom throughout the entirety of his shower, having gotten clothes for Peter earlier when he disappeared. He finishes showering soon enough, and Wade hands him towels. Only after Peter is dry and done wrangling himself into boxer briefs does he give permission for Wade to peel back the curtain and help him. In  any other circumstance, sitting to talk through each other’s showers would be a bit clingy, but given the situation they were both put through tonight, he feels they get a free pass. He suspects Wade needs the extra comfort just as much as him, and finally, only once they’re both showered and their suits are discarded do they elect to go to bed. 

Peter has full control of his legs now, and he shows it by walking without support. Wade still hovers around him like he’s going to drop at any given moment. When Peter tries to settle on the couch, Wade redirects him to the bed, and Peter’s protests fall on unwilling ears. 

“Don’t you have two bedrooms? Let me sleep in that one.” Peter reasons, but Wade shakes his head.

“It doesn’t have a bed- so no can do, baby boy,” he says, and guides Peter to his bed in the silence that follows. He turns once Peter is seated on the plush covers, scurrying away as if speed would let him win.

“But- you- Wade!” Peter says as he’s about to go through the door. Wade turns back around at the shrill tone. “You died. If anyone gets the bed, it’s you.” And yes- there it is. The open and vulnerable tone under their guise of normalcy. 

“And you got drugged, baby. Just let me take care of you,” Wade says pleadingly, but Peter shakes his head back in retaliation. 

“Then who’s taking care of you?” he asks, and Wade, for once in his life, looks honest-to-god stunned. Maybe it’s not the fact of it that surprises Wade, because they really are in no state to be taking care of anyone else. It’s the implication. “We both had a horrible night, Wade. Just get in the stupid bed and we can share. I don’t want to be alone, anyway.” The sensitive edge to his voice must pull on Wade’s heart a little, because he does as he’s told without waiting or fighting. 

Peter suspects tonight changed their relationship a little, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s not much, not really, but he feels that they’re closer, more touchy than they were before. 

It may just be a guise, both of them needing to seek attention and reassurance for one night, but he has a feeling that they opened up a new part of their relationship altogether.

As he watches Wade crawl into his own bed with a sense of hesitation, he finds himself hoping it has. Since they met, Wade has always been cautious around him, tiptoeing like any second, Peter is going decide he’s too much and cast him out. The thought of ever actually doing something like that makes him want to cry. He would never hurt Wade like that- never, but he knows a person’s trust can be broken and betrayed in a way that makes having confidence in others almost impossible. 

In the same notion, Peter’s noticed that how Wade perceives his relationships is slightly different. Coupled with how he acts, he’s a unique person that not everyone can handle.

 Why, Peter doesn’t know- but he finds Wade charming and hysterical. A little risque, maybe- but that makes spending time with him that much more fun.

Other people tend to find Deadpool annoying, and it makes him sad that Wade assumes people hate him before even meeting them. The default interactions he expects  when meeting someone new are negative, and it makes Peter wish he could give Wade everything he actually deserves. 

He realizes he’s been staring off at the wall for a long time, so he breaks his gaze to look at Wade. Who, as it turns out, is staring back.

“How you doin’?” he asks, like Joey from Friends, and couples the greeting with a brow wiggle- even without the brows. Peter isn’t stupid, and he knows Wade. He can see the attempt to mask vulnerability with humor, but welcomes it all the same. 

“I’m… okay, I guess. Tired,” Peter says honestly, and then flips the question. “How you doin?” he asks, with an upward nod instead.

A smile breaks out over Wade’s face, and he leans back, bringing his hands behind his head as he stretches his legs. They take up a lot of room, and Peter is once again reminded of how big Wade is. His eyes track his arms next, and the bicep closest to him flexes- Peter gulps, looking to Wade’s eyes. They are eyeing his feet under the covers, unaware of Peter’s inner turmoil. Which- he chides himself- shouldn’t even be happening right now. He just had one of the worst nights of his life, now is not the time for his libido to kick in. 

The ache in his muscles is reminder enough, and any arousal he momentarily had is quelled. Tonight is just a rollercoaster, huh?

“Not really the best day ever. I’m just…” Wade trails off, and Peter hones in on his expression change, shifting to lay down fully. “Glad we made it out okay. It was hell, and probably one of the most terrifying situations I’ve ever had to deal with, but- I’m glad we’re okay now.” He looks down at Peter as he fiddles with his hands. 

Peter can’t help but smile at the honesty, and nods. “Yeah, we’re okay.” His eyes close for a moment or two, but as the tension is released from his body, he realizes the extent of his exhaustion. 

The next time he wills his eyes to open, Wade is laying down instead of resting on the headboard, facing him. Their eyes search each others for a few moments, before Peter lazily opens and closes his eyes twice. A nonbverbal way to tell Wade, ‘sleep’. It does the trick, because Wade’s eyes fall shut and a long, drowsy sigh escapes him too. His breath ghosts along Peter’s face as he exhales, and Peter lets his eyes shut, letting the comfort of rest overtake him. 

 


 

“-er!”



“Pete- please…”



“Baby boy, I need you to help me!”

His eyes are heavy and weighted when he opens them, and while he hoped that would show him what was going on, it doesn’t. Everything is hazy and disorienting, and all he can see is a lumpy figure in front of him. 

It seems to be moving quite rapidly- shaking and jerking, and he wills his eyes to focus on the shape as it calls out for him. 

He blinks, trying to work past whatever is clouding his vision, but the second his lids catch together, sleep grabs him and suddenly, resting is far more important to him. 

“Peter, please- before they come back.” The person rushes out, and he struggles to open his eyes at the pleading tone. Finally, after what feels like years, he accomplishes his goal and the figure is much closer, just at the edge of where his vision hazes out. 

It’s Wade. He’s only about five feet away, struggling with wide, fearful eyes that are locked onto Peter. 

“Pete! Thank god.” Wade says again, relaxing just barely before looking back up with panicked eyes. “I need you to undo my restraints. Someone will be back soon,” Wade says, checking around him in fast movements.

Peter makes an effort to move. 

Nothing happens. 

He attempts it again, this time with more force, and he’s surprised to find he has still not moved a muscle. 

Fear bleeds into his veins now, confusion and apprehension taking hold of his nerves as he tries again and again, until he’s using all of his possible strength and not even a finger twitches. 

“Peter, I’m not playing around, I really need your help,” Wade says, a light joking tone masking his panic, and Peter wants to comment back, snark that he is, in fact, trying, when he realizes that not even his mouth will move. Suddenly, Wade’s panic is shared, and Peter starts trying to thrash violently, all his strength behind each movement- for nothing. Not a twitch, not a facial expression.

Nothing. 

He knows what he must look like, lazily blinking at Wade as he pleads for help, and it infuriates him, being in this position and not even knowing why. 

That’s when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. His gaze shifts without his permission, and he sees himself walking towards Wade with a gun. 

The feeling that overcomes him is ravenous and electric. Fear blends with confusion, shooting up and down his spine as his senses warn him that something bad is going to happen.

Wade knows this, too, because he starts calling out profanities, screaming foul words at the other Peter. The imposter doesn’t seem to care, however, and continues his approach slowly. 

A wash of anxiety flows through Peter the longer he tries to move, mixing with the fear to create an awful monster in his stomach, clawing and crying to get out. 

The more seconds tick by, the more Peter is realizing he might not be able to help.

The mirror image before him is cold and hungry in a way that he isn’t, it seems, because the person walks up to Wade, raising the gun to his temple without the slightest bit of hesitation. 

Peter would never do that to Wade, doesn’t even know how to fire a gun, but a glint around Wade’s neck catches his eye, and his perception shifts once again. 

He’s looking right at the collar now, and it only takes him a second to identify to object as a power dampening device. 

His eyes shut from their own accord, and when he opens them once more, he’s the one holding the gun. It glints in his hand, shining black and metallic in the dim light surrounding them, and Peter should be relaxed, should feel in control now that he can stop it. 

But something in his mind knows how this is going to go, and it makes terror wash over him in waves. He tries to retract his hand, but he can’t. He can’t move anything, even still, and he wails on the inside- because he would never do this.

Wade is crying and screaming for help now, his throat sounding raw and scratched as he pleas for any shred of pity.

Wade doesn’t want to die; Peter knows he’s going to. 

Suddenly, his senses are aggravated and inflamed. It’s painful, and he can’t make out left from right as his body doesn’t listen. 

He wants to put the gun down, but instead he pulls the trigger. 

His senses calm as everything around him goes silent. Wade is no longer crying out for help, no longer thrashing in his hold, because when Peter’s eyes open again, he’s met with the dead, void look in Wade’s. His expression is still one of agony and fear, and the bullet hole in his temple is dripping blood down the side of his face slowly. His warm brown eyes are now white and grey, and Peter’s entire world falls apart, the weight of it crashing on his shoulders.

He did this to Wade. 

 




Peter is sitting up before he even knows he’s aware, a sob catching in his throat. His senses are haywire, ricocheting danger and save him up and down his spine, but all he feels is guilt and sorrow. 

Distantly, he knows it was only a dream, but it’s blending with his memory from earlier and Peter isn’t sure what real anymore. Every time his eyes close, he sees Wade’s lifeless face, dead body, and the immense sadness and guilt of grief washes over him before he can tell himself that Wade is fine. 

His lungs ache, and as he finally takes in his first heaving breath, he feels the bed shift next to him. Immediately, his lungs spasm, and anxiety ripples through him powerfully as a sob tears itself out of his throat. His hands are fisted in the covers and sheets, scrambling to steady him, but the cause is lost in Peter’s brain. 

His thoughts are intrusive, telling him everything is his own fault as if he doesn’t already know it. He doubles over in an attempt to soothe himself as a hand comes to rest on his back.

The touch lets his lungs relax a little, but he’s dragging in breaths like he’s been suffocated. In the back of his head, he remembers that he knows what that feels like. 

“Hey, baby boy,” Wade rumbles lowly, and Peter can’t focus on the words, can’t make out their meaning, so he listens to the calm, firm grating of the voice. “It’s okay, Petey, it was just a dream,” Wade says, and Peter lets himself get lost in the shushing noises he creates.

His heartbeat is pounding, pulsing so forcefully that he can feel it thrum in his temples, and his breaths continue to be stuttered and hitched even as he finally starts to breathe normally. He offhandedly notes that he’s rocking back and forth, but the warmth of the body near him is comforting.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, his breath slows and his heart rate steadies. 

His eyes are swollen and puffy when he finally opens them, and he battles through the tears that clump his eyelashes together as he looks to his right. 

And there’s Wade, next to him in bed as if Peter didn’t just relive an interpretation of his death. 

Relief- absolute in its force, rolls through him like shockwaves, letting the last of his tension go. 

Because Wade isn’t dead, as much as his mind tells him so. He’s breathing, heart beating, and as many times as his brain might make him relive the moment- Wade is alive. 

Peter closes his eyes, covering them with shaking hands as he continues to focus on his breathing. The hand on his back doesn’t stop its soothing action, and another one is added on his arm, rubbing up and down calmingly. It causes his body to sway, his own rocking now finished, and goosebumps rise on the surface of his skin steadily. 

And then the guilt comes back. It’s powerful and monstrous, taking his unravelled emotions and pulling them taut. More tears gather in his closed eyes, and he huffs out two strained breaths before they turn into cries. Wade is pulling him into his chest, wrapping his steady arms around Peter and holding him close. 

The action does something to Peter, pulls apart whatever hold he had, and he’s talking through his unbridled sobs before he can help himself. “I feel like it’s my fault,” he makes out, voice cracked, wet and shaky. 

“What do you feel like is your fault?” Wade says, soft and low. 

“You dying,” Peter admits, and his voice goes high in the middle of his second word, crescendoing into a whine. It should make him embarrassed, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“Baby…” Wade says, stern tone trailing off into something much more somber. Peter hates the way his heart skips a beat. “You didn’t do that. The guy holding the gun did,” he assures, squeezing Peter that much closer to him. Peter’s dream flashes in front of him, and he locks his eyes onto Wade’s arm to ward it away. 

“Yeah, well…” he sniffs, letting tears flow down his face. “I still feel guilty.”

“Guilty? Baby, you didn’t pull the trigger, you didn’t know it was an ambush-” Wade says, but Peter butts in, tone harsh and icy as he speaks. 

“Yeah, but I could have. I should have been looking out more. I should have been on my toes. If I just focused more- god. This happens every time,” he chokes, bringing his hands up to rub his face. A moment passes, the silence of it eating away at Peter’s insides before Wade speaks. 

“I’m not sure I follow,” is what he says, voice hesitant and unsure. 

Peter decides this is as good of a time as any to pull away from Wade. He only sits up straight so they’re still close, and he finds reassurance when Wade leans in, their legs brushing together. He’s glad Wade doesn’t seem upset by him sitting up, because the movement is in no way supposed to mean anything other than him preparing for a long, hard conversation.

“I- my,” he stops, pausing to formulate his words. “When I was fifteen, I got my powers. I didn’t really understand the responsibility involved with them yet, and I wasn’t operating as Spider-Man either. I left the house, trying to figure out what to do with them, but my Uncle Ben came looking for me since I was out so late.

“I passed this store, and a masked guy comes out holding a bag of cash. I figured-” he pauses, his lungs contracting three times in quick succession, making him draw in breaths. “I figured, ‘it’s not my problem,’ so I turned the other way and kept walking. Well, he went the way I came. Ben encountered him and tried to defuse it or- get him to take the money back- I didn’t see. My senses went off the rails and I turned around in time to see the guy shoot my uncle in the chest. 

“He raised me after my parents died. He- he gave me everything, and I-” Peter cuts himself off, his emotions welling up enough that he can’t speak. He fights back the tears, willing them to go away, and Wade speaks in his silence. 

“You didn’t pull the trigger, Peter.” Wade says. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t pull the trigger.” Peter agrees, but he continues, looking Wade in the eye for the first time since he started explaining. “But I let it happen. I saw someone who was clearly doing wrong, and I walked by. I had my powers, Wade. I could have stopped it, if I put in more effort. The same thing happened tonight,” he says, shifting his weight. His fingers find the hem of the sweatpants Wade gave him, and he watches himself pick at the fabric absently. Before Wade can speak again, he continues. “Then there was Gwen. I was too obvious about being around her in my suit- the Green Goblin figured out a weakness and took a shot at it. Dropped her off the Brooklyn Bridge. I caught her with a web, but her head slammed into the metal framework because of the rebound. She died. That’s on me too.”

“But-” Wade pauses, his face showing his emotions blatantly. He looks urgent, his eyes alert and precise. The rest of his face shows a different emotion entirely. His hairless brows are drawn down, mouth pressed into a line. He’s sitting up straight, arms hanging by his side as his hands clench over and over again. “You didn’t put her in the position- meaning it’s not on you. It’s not automatically your responsibility to fix everything, Peter. You can’t shoulder all that. People do bad things, that doesn’t make it- You didn’t put your uncle in the position, you didn’t know-”

“But I still feel like it’s my fault. Not outwardly so, at least. I don’t sit there beating myself up every day, but if I think long and hard, I do. Blame myself, I mean. I’ve learned to live with it, but when the same things keep happening... ” Peter says, a sense of finality in his tone. His gaze locks with Wade’s once more. Peter sees a glimmer in his brown eyes as they soften, and Wade breaks the contact first, looking down. 

“I get it. I know how you feel,” he says slowly, and Peter leans in a miniscule amount, prompting Wade to talk about it if he wants to. “My dad was pretty rough growing up. Well I mean, maybe a little more than rough. He was batshit, beating us like we were punching bags or something. I didn’t understand it, didn’t know anything else, and my mom- she was too soft. She was amazing, but she was too nice. I loved her, adored her. He was always kinda crazy, but one night he just…” he trails off, making a gesture signifying something blowing up. Wade’s shoulders are tense, hard lines mixing with the soft look of him in his sleeping clothes, and Peter recognizes that opening up about his past is not something that’s easy for him. “My mom tried to fight him off, and he b-” He inhales, moving his hands in a gesture Peter recognizes as a nervous habit. “He bashed her head in. I don’t remember what happened, but I killed him for it. I just remember seeing her body on the kitchen floor and losing it.” 

Peter understands, in a different sort of way. He understands the feeling of losing control after someone’s death, but he knows for Wade, it’s more extreme. “Then there was Vanessa. She was- could you be quiet? Jesus,” Wade says off to his side, and Peter recognizes it as the boxes, letting him continue when he’s ready. He straightens his stiff back, processing everything Wade told him. 

While he lost his parents, he could never imagine being in the same position as Wade. He can’t fathom the thought of having to fight off his dad or Ben, can’t imagine the distrust and the hatred Wade must feel for his father. His heart feels heavy and resigned as he finds himself wishing Wade had been dealt better cards.

“Vanessa was… I loved her. We met before all this,” he gestures to his face. “She was amazing. Even through the cancer and me leaving and turning into what I am now, she still loved me. But some failed hit of mine followed me home, and they shot her. I lost her because of my own recklessness, so I get where you’re coming from Peter, I really do.”

Peter’s brows draw together at that, and he finds himself reaching for Wade’s hand, cradling it in his own delicately.  “Maybe I need to learn how to not blame myself too, but I’ll be damned if I let you beat yourself up over things that weren’t your fault. You didn’t know your uncle was around. You didn’t know Gwen would fall like that, and there’s no way you could have known we were walking into a set up. It’s- it’s just not your fault,” Wade says, and Peter’s face scrunches up in sorrow as his words fall over him. “I get it’s harder on bad days. I understand how difficult it can be when your brain makes you out to be the villain.” 

A memory crosses Peter’s mind, and all at once he understands why Wade called him for help those few weeks ago. He remembers how distraught Wade sounded, how defenseless he seemed as admitted to his fear and mental state. 

It makes Peter’s grip tighten around Wade’s hand, fingers shaking as they smooth over Wade’s skin. An urge bubbles in his chest, and he finds himself speaking before he can think. “It’s-”

“Not my fault?” Wade suggests. Peter nods firmly

“Then Gwen and Ben wasn’t yours. Neither was me dying tonight,” Wade says, with a sense of resolution. Peter breaks, a laugh merging with a sob and leaving his throat breathily. He nods, slowly at first before gaining momentum as he starts to take Wade’s words to heart. “And, not to rewind or anything, but- I’m confused. What about defending yourself? Like when you got mugged? What makes defending you and defending other people different?”

“I-” the topic change throws him off, and he takes a moment to think. Peter finds he doesn’t really know.

The realization startles him. He was never fully aware of the distinction, and trying to find the reason why is taxing on his exhausted brain. 

Until he remembers the memories he tries to forget. 

His recollection of Steven Westcott- Skip- comes to the forefront of his mind before he can really decide if he wants them there. It’s intrusive, and it makes him shy away from the thoughts instinctively. 

But all at once he knows the answer to Wade's question, and he debates if he wants to bring it to the surface again. 

He looks into Wade’s eyes, searching for judgement he knows he wont find, and pushes through the fear and anxiety that mixes into his consciousness. “That probably has something do with Skip,” he admits, bile threatening to rise into his throat if he’s not careful. A grimace is on his face from the exertion before he can think to take it away.

“I’ve heard you say that name before,” Wade comments, and Peter nods, looking down at his hands as he fiddles with them. 

“When I was-” he cuts himself off with a sigh, not knowing how to talk about it. “It was before I got my powers, this guy-” he stops again, looking off to the far wall across from the bed with a glare. 

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” Wade assures, and Peter nods absentmindedly, understanding what Wade is telling him. He doesn’t need a moment to think about it again, though. He wants to tell him. He wants Wade to know. 

“It’s just kind of a hard topic to talk about. I mean-” he sighs with frustration one last time, and then starts again. “I was about… twelve? Thirteen? I don’t know. I was at the library one time and I bumped into this guy. He was older, maybe upper highschool or in college. I didn’t have a lot of friends and I got bullied a lot, so when he wanted to talk to me, I was happy. We started hanging out, and over time he got… handsy.” Peter looks back to Wade for a second, catching his demeanor change in the blink of an eye. The longer he keeps his eyes on Wade, the more lethal Deadpool looks. “For a while I didn’t notice, when it was small stuff. Then I did, and when I said I was uncomfortable with it, it just got worse. A lot worse. I was too weak compared to him, I couldn’t stop it,” he whispers, and he looks to Wade again- all at once realizing why he’s so careful with their relationship.

He doesn’t want to take advantage of Wade- that he knows, but the core of it becomes apparent. He doesn’t want to abuse power like Steven Westcott did to him.

Peter doesn’t want Wade to feel pushed into a relationship with him, doesn’t want him to feel like he owes Peter, and that is why he’s so careful.

He doesn’t want to be Wade’s Skip.  

“I thought he was my friend, But it got bad enough that I would refuse to go see him. Aunt May kept asking me why until I broke down and told her and Ben. In my brain, I thought the reason it got worse was because I tried to make it stop- I tried to stand up for myself. Stupid, I know-”

“Not stupid,” Wade says matter of factly, voice like metal. It makes Peter smile a bit, despite the conversation they’re having. 

“But that’s how I rationalized it. That and the bullying, I guess I just stopped trying to defend myself all together,” Peter finishes with a shrug. “Nothing good ever came of it. It scares me.”

“What does?”

“Defending myself- as Peter. It can be a bit frightening, when a part of your brain tells you it will all blow up in your face if you do anything about it. But as Spider-Man, defending other people is my job. It doesn’t blow up in my face, and it’s so much easier-”

“Because of the mask,” Wade finishes for him. Peter nods. They stay silent for a few short moments as he lets Wade process the information. “So I know you see Spidey and Peter as different people, but both are still you. Even if you categorize them as separate. So what if you- like, channel Spider-Man as Peter Parker when you need it? Like, you act like you have the mask on, channel the confidence and the motivation from when other people are hurt. Use it for yourself-” he offers, pausing for a breath. “Just an idea.” Peter sits there, thinking it through for a moment. 

He’s never tried that before. He’s always been too frightened of it spiraling out his control, he never really attempted to do anything about it. He supposes he can’t go his whole life without standing up to bullies and criminals when he’s without a mask. 

While he knows it won’t be so easy- undoing the way his brain is essentially hardwired, he knows its needed. 

Bitterly, he recognizes that letting J. Jonah scream at him for hours on end probably could have been prevented.

While he has a plethora of things he could say to Wade in response, he settles with a, “Thank you,” hoping it conveys the extentof his gratitude. Wade answers with a small smile, features softening with care and emotion. 

His smile fades, though, his expression slowly becoming somber as he retreats into his own headspace. “It was Vanessa that did it for me, you know?” he says, and Peter’s brows scrunch, confused. 

“Did what?”

“After I lost her, I lost it . My depression, everything, got really bad for a few years, and that’s when I really started questioning why I was even doing what I was doing. Mercenary shit like that. It was a wake up call, and I would just sit there thinking about where it got me. I wasn’t feeling fulfilled from jobs anymore, and the longer it went on, I just lost direction. The line between what was good and bad started blurring, and I was confused. I stopped taking jobs, and that’s around the time I met you.” Wade looks to Peter with a smaller, happier smile. Peter smiles back, genuine and proud of the person Wade has become. 

“Ben did that for me. After what happened, I realized that if I had the power to stop something, I should use it to the best of my ability.”

A silence falls over them after that, but it’s not awkward or strained. It’s comfortable, and Peter starts to realize how tired he’s become. 

“Thank you,” he says eventually, leaning back on his hands, looking at Wade with what must be a drowsy expression. 

“For what?”

“For telling me all this- opening up to me about it. For helping me through tonight and working with me. I really appreciate it. You’re an amazing person, Wade.” 

Wade looks overwhelmed all over again. He takes a moment, blinking away what Peter assumes to be tears, and swallows reflexively. 

“You too. Thank you. For everything,” Wade says, and although it’s not a lot of words, Peter can catch the weight and meaning behind it all.

Once their exhaustion fully catches up to both of them, Wade lays back down. Instead of just letting his own body fall back onto the bed, he takes Peter with him as well, one arm wrapped around his waist.

He lets it happen, a small smile resting on his face as he shifts, turning to Wade and curling up with his head pressed into Wade’s chest. It’s comforting, and Wade is warm, so he lets himself burrow into it, laying a hand over his friends abdomen. A palm comes to rest on his back in return, fingers splayed out, and he finds comfort in the weighted feeling. 

He notices his throat is rubbing together again, but he doesn’t mind it this time. Instead, he focuses his attention to Wade’s heart. It’s sturdy and firm as it beats, filling Peter’s senses as sleep starts to overtake him. He breathes in deeply, letting himself fall asleep surrounded by Wade. 



In the morning, long after they went to bed for the second time, the world comes back to Peter as slowly as it faded away. He’s encompassed in warmth, and he feels content and sated in a way that sleep hasn't provided in a while. There’s a hand draped over his waist, shifting and twitching on his stomach in a way that has Wade’s name written all over it. Their legs are tangled together, one of Wade’s larger thighs between Peter’s. It’s not sexual, but it is grounding and comforting, and Peter presses back into it, letting sleep take him as his heart overflows.

The feeling is familiar, something Peter has experienced before- although not in a long time. He’s disconnected and far off, floating away into a dreamless slumber, and he lets the possible moment of recognition go. He tells himself he’ll think about it later.

Chapter Text

In the days following their kidnapping, Wade does a lot of thinking. 

Maybe it’s because he has nothing else to do all day, or his overactive brain, but he thinks about the whole situation on repeat until he can recite it in his sleep like a script from a play. 

It’s not the trauma he’s stuck on, no- he compartmentalizes that pretty quickly. It’s the aftermath of everything that happened. It’s his conversation with Peter, sleeping in the same bed, waking up spooning. 

{We were the big dipper}

He can’t get over it, no matter how many times he runs through it all. 

First and foremost, he’s elated that Peter trusts him enough to talk to him about his past. He’s overcome with love and affection, filled with adoration, and as many times his brain tells him he’s not worth it- for once he finds himself not listening. 

On that same wavelength though, Wade feels exposed and raw in the aftermath of telling Peter his own past. It’s not something he’s used to doing, and he can imagine Peter is going through the same thing. He just feels… weird. Not bad, just different. He’s never really told anyone about Vanessa, much less his mother. He’s not one to voluntarily bring up that kinda stuff. In the moment, it had seemed right. And while he doesn’t regret it, he also feels off.

(I think what you’re trying to describe here is intimacy)

“Right! That thing!” Wade rounds the street corner he’s on, passing an Army Surplus store on his left. The person standing in the doorway eyes him warily, retreating back into the safety of the store as Wade hurries by.

Normally, all people care about is how he got his scars. They don’t see him past face value- literally, and while Peter didn’t specifically prompt Wade to tell him, he’s glad he did. Peter accepted him and his baggage in the same way Wade did for Peter. For once, it was an equal exchange in Wade’s life. It felt freeing, in a weird way, but more importantly it made him feel loved.

{Not really a feeling we remember}

Which brings Wade to his next point- what Peter told him. 

About Skip.

{Find that fucker and gut him like a pig}

(Remember why we didn’t do that from the start)

Right. When Peter brought that scumbag up, it took everything in Wade to not ask for a full name, a location- anything so he could go and tear his stupid dick off. He wanted to, desperately wanted to give that trash bag what he deserves, but Wade knows full well that the conversation was not about Skip.

It was Peter telling him something that’s vulnerable and sensitive, and Wade would shoot himself before he made the situation about Skip.

Peter needed him. He’s not stupid, he knows that Peter’s desires here outweigh his. He knows Peter doesn’t want him to go after Skip. He understands it, in a disjointed kind of way. 

Which brings him full circle, boiling with rage because no matter what Wade does, it still happened. He can’t go back in time, can’t find the guy and rip him a new one before it’s even happened. He can’t undo the damage it did to Peter, and maybe knowing that is what hurts most. 

He doesn’t know the details, would never ask Peter to tell him, but the knowledge that he was taken advantage of makes Wade feel the urge to find the sorry fucker and rip his throat out.

But he knows Peter. He respects him, his wishes, and his moral code, so without having to be told, Wade takes steadying breaths. 

He resumes his walk, stiff limbs just on the edge of shaking as he does his best to calm down.

(Can we just talk about how much he trusts us instead? Cuz damn)

Wade has to agree with that.

His mind is brought to his other main point, and memories flash in his thoughts because the entire night was a huge show of trust. Maybe when they were kidnapped it wasn’t really willingly, but after that, everything Peter did- and didn’t do was of his own discretion. And that’s what hits Wade right where he can feel it. 

Peter chose to tell him about his past. Peter trusts Wade enough to be comfortably undressed around him, to let him help take off his clothes- and to not take advantage of the situation. 

{Nut}

(Crude)

{You’re acting like his ass wasn’t the hottest thing we’ve ever seen}

(Good point)

They cuddled, Wade helped him after his nightmare, and they woke up honest to god spooning. Wade could die happy.

The weirdest part about it all- it wasn’t awkward. After it was all said and done, they woke up like nothing that happened was weird. It was amazing- if a little confusing.

In Wade’s relationships, the other parties normally get tired of him at some point. Romantic partners, friends, or mere acquaintances. Even the most patient of people wear thin, and in the end, he’s left alone with the boxes in his head. 

But not with Peter. Even in the five or six months since they met, Spider-Man has never once seemed irritated by Deadpool’s presence, jokes, tendencies. 

If he’s being honest with himself, he feels like their relationship only grew deeper.

(Sounds like wishful thinking)

He feels like they’re closer. Hell, within the past week since everything happened, it's been proven that they’re closer. There’s more touching- it seems they’ve both lost the concept of personal space. Wade has found that Peter doesn’t mind when he gets touchy, and even initiates contact himself. 

It’s new, amazing and heartwarming, knowing Peter trusts him. 

{God I just want to touch his ass}

Wade tunes the boxes out briefly, looking around. He’s only a few blocks over from Pete’s apartment, and he waits for a car to pass before crossing the street. Two days ago, Peter caught wind of a drug cartel running right under their noses. They did extensive research, almost pulled an all nighter on patrol for intel, and today they were planning on taking it down. Almost a week had passed since the whole kidnapping thing, and Wade feels like they’re finally getting back into their regular swing of things. 

He approaches the apartment with broad, heavy steps, and rounds the back to beeline for the fire escape. He’s a couple hours early, but he knows Peter won’t mind. Lately, they’ve both been showing up to hang out as early as they possibly could. It’s become habit almost, and they come and go from each others apartments comfortably.

Wade is hooking his hands under the window and shimmying it up soon enough, and he catches the boxes in an argument as he contorts himself to slip inside. 

(You can’t beat the pronunciation of chimichanga)

{Burritos sound good and taste good, it’s just fact}

(Chimichanga sounds way better)

His feet land on the floor with a light thunk, and he makes sure his head is clear from the window before raising it. He takes a deep breath, about to call out for Peter when something catches his eye. 

{But we don’t like those}

(I don’t care if a burrito tastes better, we’re talking about sound)

{Now I want a burrito}

His gaze catches the flicker of red in his peripheral, and his senses are captured by the scene before him. 

(Oh fuck)

{Mmmmmm}

It’s Peter, stretched out across his bed like he’s posing for a painting. He’s asleep, exquisite and tranquil. His face is relaxed, eyes feathering back and forth under their lids. His muscles are firmly defined, but not tense. Wade is glad that the nightmares have left him alone, but that’s not what really has his attention.

{Petey is nakey}

His legs are thrown out haphazardly, one half-bent and the other pointed straight to the bed corner. His right hand is clutching the thin sheet that only covers a portion of his chest, and his left is fisted in his own hair- something he does more than he realizes. The setting sun is shining through the open window, osculating Peter in a light so divine he has to take a moment to just stare.

Peter is beautiful. The orange glow accents his olive undertone, making him radiant and lush in a way only sunset can accomplish. The light breeze floating in through the window makes the room rustle just so- It sets everything back into motion for Wade, and his eyes are trailing downward before he can help himself.

Peter isn’t really naked. Well, he would be, except for the tight boxer briefs stretched over his hips and thighs. They’re mainly pink, but they have blues and purples bled throughout the fabric. That’s not what holds Wade’s attention, though. It’s the pattern that does it, once he registers what it is. 

It’s him. The art is drawn in a comic style and the boxers depict Deadpool in various poses and scenarios. 

(Remember to breathe, dude)

Wade takes in a long, labored puff of air, willing his body to calm down. 

{Nice semi you’re sporting}

Shifting his legs to readjust himself, Wade takes a step further into the room. He tears his gaze away from Peter’s lower abdomen and drags it up his body. 

He’s met with the soft sight of Spider-Man sleeping once more, and Wade melts. 

{Lick him}

Instead of following Yellow’s nonconsensual advice, Wade stumbles to the bed and falls next to Peter in a heap. It rocks the mattress, but Peter barely stirs. 

(Wake him up)

“Man, I’m trying,” Deadpool speaks for the first time since entering the apartment, and his voice makes Peter twitch. The happiness that fills Wade the second Peter’s eyes flicker open is overwhelming, and he blurts out, “We gotta stop meeting like this, my libido can’t take it. And Deadpool briefs? A man after my own heart.”

Peter’s eyes open after that, slow and deliberately. The warm browns he’s come to love squint at him, and he’s left to wonder why for only a moment before Peter is bringing his left hand down from his hair. The movement confuses Wade, and he’s only given a moment to question if Peter is going to cup his chin before Spider-Man’s ring and middle finger are coming down into a movement he knows all too well.

(Can he really? This is amazing)

{I could nut right now, don’t tempt me}

A web is leaving Peter’s naked wrist and grabbing hold of his mask before Wade can think of what to do with himself. He’s never seen Peter make a web outside of his suit- he just assumed they weren’t-

(They’re organic)

{Holy-}

“Fuck me,” falls out of his mouth as he pulls off his mask, and he can’t bring himself to care that it sounds as lustful and breathless as he feels. “Your webs are biological? I thought they were a gadget or something in your suit- oh my god thats hot.”

Peter has the decency to look bashful at that, expression schooling into a false annoyance. The hint of a smirk that tugs his lip as well as the light blush over his freckles gives him away.

Wade loves it. Peter’s reactions- no matter how subtle- always manage to feel rewarding. He knows it doesn’t mean anything, knows that Peter thinks he’s just flirty by nature, but the confidence it gives Peter to flirt back is what Wade really loves. 

“Wade-” He tries to reprimand, but cuts himself off when Deadpool moves forward. It’s a small gesture, him tilting his head in a way that brings their faces closer, but he watches in fascination as Peter tracks the movement. He doesn’t shy away though, doesn’t look uncomfortable by any means. 

{Kiss him}

(You don’t have a chance)

Wade has to admit, the thought of kissing Peter is very tempting. He’s still glowing in the golden hour, and his eyes are a sea of caramel in the soft light. His breathing is calm and slow, and the small smirk from before has morphed into a gentle smile.

Kissing Peter is certainly what he wants, there’s no doubt about that. But White is right- it would never happen. Peter is beautiful, he’s lovely and-

(Perfect)

{While you on the other hand}

(Not so much)

It’s not a startling reminder by any means. He’s had the same thought over and over, gone through all the possibilities. But they all turn out the same.

It doesn’t matter how much he loves Peter. Peter deserves better. He knows that, he’s okay with that. So he lets a sly smirk show his sharp canines. “Baby,” he starts, trailing his eyes down Peter shamelessly. “If that’s what you got coming out of your wrists then I wanna see your real web shooter.”

Wade’s eyes are on the boxer briefs once more, but his attention is ripped away as Peter starts to move. 

Spider-Man is undoubtedly fast, and in a blur of movement he rolls on top of Wade. He holds his position, legs bracketing Wade’s waist in a manner that would be risque if it lasted any longer. “That sounded like it came out of a fourteen year old,” Peter says, and Wade can’t find it in himself to think. 

Right as Peter seems to settle on Wade’s waist he’s twisting again. Wade watches the muscles in his abdomen flex to accommodate the added weight as everything else around him seems to blur.

Suddenly, Wade is on top of Peter, kneeling above him on the soft sheets. That only lasts a moment as well before Wade’s being pushed upwards. 

The movement is gentle and firm. Wade feels like he’s being lifted more than being pushed, and he looks down to see that he is being lifted. Peter’s right foot is the only thing holding him, toes lightly scrunched into the fabric of his suit. The action is disorienting and confusing until he realizes that Peter is essentially dangling his entire body weight from his toes. He’s obviously using his super strength as well as his spider stickiness, and the flush of hot arousal that travels down his body is unhinged and pure. “I am fourteen,” Wade says in retaliation, sass mixing into his tone. 

Peter looks smug, clearly in control, but Wade can’t find it in himself to care. Spider-Man is powerful, raw strength and talent mixing with soft edges and fluffy hair and Peter just lifted over two hundred pounds with his foot like it was nothing.

Wade needs a breather.

{Or a blow-}

Peter sets him on the ground gently, smirking at him as he rolls off the bed. Wade takes the time to pause- breathe, and reset. 

(What the fuck)

{If you don’t get on your knees for him right now I swear to god}

Peter walks out of the room, and Wade’s gaze trails to his ass before he can help himself. An undignified high pitched swoon falls out of his throat, and he chokes on his own spit as Peter laughs from the hall. 

{He’s laughing at us}

(How is this hotter than seeing him naked, I don’t get it)

“He’s not laughing at us, he just knows he’s hot.” Wade lets his muscles relax, feels the shift of the world around him as he lets himself fall backwards onto the bed. 

{Why aren’t you following him}

Wade ignores Yellow and lets his eyes fall shut instead. The ambient sounds of the city register, and Wade feels the flux and shift of the cars passing by on the street below. He hears the clatter of Peter moving around in the kitchen, and offhandedly wonders if this is what domesticity between them would be- light, airy and easy.

He lets himself think about it for a moment, and all the thoughts that he normally holds at arm’s length wrap around him. 

With the newfound physical closeness in their relationship, they seem to have surpassed the line between what friends and partners do. They sit like they’re glued together, they touch each other- not always out of necessity, but on whims. They cuddle on the couch during movie nights now, they laugh, and Wade swears they stare into each others eyes for a moment longer than normal sometimes. 

(Wishful thinking)

But he thinks about what it would be like to not have that line of just friends. To be able to lean over and kiss Peter, wrap a hand around the base of his neck, thread his fingers into his soft, loose curls and pull him in. He wants to wake up every morning like he did after their abduction- wrapped around Peter like a blanket. He wants to be bathed in the light that Peter seems to hold, and he would give anything to have that be reality. 

His fingers twitch absently by his side in a steady rhythm, but he misses the beat once he notices the movement and it draws him back to real life. 

“Wade, you hungry? I’m making sandwiches,” Peter calls, and a suffering sigh escapes Wade before he can help it. He wants to wrap his arms around Peter from behind, give him kisses, fall asleep next to him, laugh with him all the time- because he loves Peter. 

He loves Peter. 

He knows that, it’s been a fact between him and the boxes for a while. Maybe some of his friends know, but it’s not like it’s a big deal. Everyone already knows that Deadpool has a crush on Spidey. 

But there’s an ache in his heart, overflowing with pain and want and adoration that he can’t always control. It’s hot to the touch, firey and strong in a way that overpowers him sometimes.

He loves Peter. He wants the domesticity, wants the kisses and the heat and the fire of it all- even if it burns him. 

(But you can’t)

“But I’ll never get the chance.” 

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts in the room in front of him and the ambient sounds are dampened. He opens his eyes, finding Peter leaning on the door frame just off to his left. “Hey, big guy.” Peter shifts, planting his weight onto his other foot. It moves his center of gravity and angles him more toward Wade. His fingers grace the door frame with an air of elegance and caution- almost like Peter is afraid of splintering the wood from grasping it too roughly. The action fits Peter seamlessly. He’s powerful, unmeasurably so, and the knowledge that he’s constantly being delicate with things and holding that power back fits him so well that Wade forgets. Peter can lift a bus, can hold up a crumbling building so people can get out, can lift Wade from his toes. It’s clear he’s trained himself to be gentle- he’s always so careful.  

“Want some food?”

“Yeah,” Wade sits back up, letting the blood in his body readjust. He rises and follows, noticing Peter is now wearing a hoodie along with the Deadpool briefs. It’s a simple article of clothing, all black save for the word ‘Queens’ in light blue lettering . It sits loosely on his frame, falling off his boxy shoulders geometrically. He follows Peter out into the kitchen, taking a seat at the island while Peter continues making the food.

“So,” Wade starts, shifting through some of the information they’ve compiled on the drug cartel. It’s spread out on the island, so Wade picks up a paper listing their previous sales and looks at it blankly. “Gimme the rundown again, and what’s our plan?”

(He printed everything out Jessica Jones style)

Spider-Man opens the bag of bread, picking out enough for two sandwiches for each of them. “So- they’re running mainly cocaine. Operating in a warehouse by the docks in Hell’s Kitchen. Our source from the other night says the workers are mostly children.”

“That’s disgusting,” Wade says honestly, looking up to catch the tail end of Peter nodding in agreement. His back is to Wade, head bowed to the counter and shoulder blades flexing with the movement of his arms. 

“Yep. So, 58th Street. There’s a vent on the upper east side, I’m gonna go in through there. You stay on the outside for about a minute, in case anyone tries to leave. I don’t want the people in charge getting away.” Peter turns, extending a plate of two sandwiches out to Wade. He takes it immediately, spotting Peter’s own plate in his other hand. Wade shoves the papers out of the way, clearing the seat next to him for Peter who continues his explanation as he sits down. “So a minute after I get in, you’re gonna take the door on the east.”

“Which one is that?” Wade asks, and Peter takes a bite of his first sandwich, sifting through the pile with his free hand to procure a map. He places it in front of Wade, pointing at the entrance he’s talking about. 

“So you come in from the front, I go from the top. The bottom floor is pretty open, so you’ll have a visual of the other doors once you’re in. We’ll meet in the middle and make sure no one gets out. Everything should go pretty smoothly, all things considered. Hopefully no one will get hurt.” Peter turns to look him in the eye then, tongue peeking out to get some of the sauce on his upper lip. Deadpool watches as he does it, his gaze flickering back up to Peter’s eyes only when he moves to take another bite. 

“Okay Spidey-babe, I have some questions.”

“Shoot.”

“First, where is the third vigilante of our red trio? Why isn’t he working this too? He’s basically the god of Hell’s Kitchen-

{Wrong choice of words}

“-True, more like a satanic pain in the ass if we’re being real honest. God complexes sound tiring. Second, why don’t we board up the exits so no one can get out? Third…” He trails off, wracking his brain for the thought he just had on the tip of his tongue. “I forget my third point.”

Peter laughs a light and airy chuckle at that, pausing to answer before taking another bite. “Daredevil said he’s tied up in some legal stuff? Something like that. Sealing up the doors is kinda risky, don’t you think? If something does go wrong, maybe someone inside finds out what’s happening before we get to them and sets a fire? All the people inside would be at risk, including us.”

{That’s stupid, we can heal}

(But he can’t heal from being burnt alive)

{Oh shit good point}

“Plus like all the kids too.” Deadpool adds, realizing at the last second that his words respond to both Peter and the boxes. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember recklessness isn’t really an option anymore,” he admits, looking down. 

“Hey, it was a good idea.” Peter says, angling his head down to catch Wade’s gaze. “I just don’t want us to be put in the situation if something happened, and maybe I was injured or couldn’t break us out… I want us to be safe about it. I’d rather chase an escapee than bust out if need be.”

“Yeah,” Deadpool agrees, smiling at Peter.

(God I love him)

{White? Being emotional? Who are you}

(He just… he never makes us feel like an idiot. It’s nice. He doesn’t put us down)

“You can say that again,” Wade mumbles and takes a bite of his sandwich. 

“Hmm?” Peter hums, but instead of answering verbally, Wade points to his head. Peter understands instantly, nodding again. 

The moment stills for a second, the sounds of them eating really the only noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

Then Peter breaks the silence with a light, “What are they saying?”

“Who?”

“The boxes,” Peter continues, voice soft and kind in a way that makes Wade not register the words correctly. 

(He-)

{He asked about me! Oh my god}

Wade sits still for a few seconds, thinking the words over and over. “What?” 

“It’s okay if you don’t-”

“No baby, it’s fine, trust me. I’m just- no one’s ever- it just startled me is all.” Wade takes a breath, willing his heart to calm down, and starts picking at the bread of his sandwich as he speaks. “Well Yellow just got excited that you mentioned him. They’re kinda just like running commentary.”

“But they’re mean sometimes,” Peter says. It isn’t a question, but it’s not said in a way that demands answers either. 

“Yeah, on bad days they try to convince me to kill myself, but that’s just part of being crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Peter says, voice firm and steady, unlike the last few times he’s spoken. Wade looks over, making eye contact with Peter. He looks genuine, brows furrowed as if he’s searching for the reason behind people calling Wade insane.

(So pure)

“Baby I’m textbook batshit. Psychology Today literally has an article about it. Hearing voices that tell you to do stupid shit is numero uno. Maybe I don’t think the CIA is tapping my phone, but S.H.I.E.L.D. might be. Not too worried about it.”

“Who controls who, then?” Peter poses the question, and Wade waits for the rest of the question until he’s sure he’s not going to get it. 

“What?”

“Do the boxes control you or do you control them?” Peter sounds impatient now, like he knows the answer before asking his own question. Looking back on their relationship, maybe he does.

Wade thinks about it for a brief moment, inhaling sharply when he’s found his answer. “If I always did what they told me to do I would probably be locked up,” Wade admits, and Peter shrugs, turning back to his meal as the tension fully leaves his shoulders.

“You just proved my point,” Peter says, peering back over with a sly smile. It’s contagious, and Wade can’t even be mad about it- Spider-Man is the only person rooting for him, the only guy in his corner. If he thinks that Wade is sane… then that’s really sweet. “What else do they say?”

(Marry him)

{Don’t talk about us}

“Well, they both have really different personalities. White is more stable, usually doesn’t come for me unless its a bad day, and is just pessimistic.”

(Rude, but true)

“Yellow is more… sporadic. Kinda fun on good days, really annoying any other time.” He continues, ignoring the high pitched scream that Yellow lets out. “They really say anything they want. Sometimes I think they’re an extension of my own thoughts, but some of the stuff they’ve told me to do makes me think otherwise.”

Peter tilts his head, shifting on his seat so he’s angled completely towards Wade. “Things you wouldn’t do?”

“Yeah. Yellow’s tried to get me to kill you at least once. He didn’t try very hard though. Just a comment here and there.”

“Well that’s rude.” Peter jokes, eyebrows only raising a smidge as he finishes off his sandwich. 

“I know right? But other times the both of them are basically in love with y-” Wade stops himself short, coughing on the air in his throat  as he realizes what he was about to say.

(It’s fine, you said we weren’t an extension of your own thoughts)

He coughs a few times, avoiding eye contact with Peter until he downs a glass of water. “I think they really like you,” is what he settles on, and he looks back to Peter with an expression full of hesitance. 

Peter’s no idiot. It’s clear he knows what Wade said, his brows furrowed in the way that means he’s thinking. It makes anxiety coil in his gut, heating him up from the inside. He wants to claw out of his skin.

Spider-Man opens his mouth, the perfect picture of a person about to ask a question, and Wade feels stiff in his seat for three long seconds until Peter’s mouth closes. 

Wade slumps in relief, breathing out a sigh before stuffing the last of his food in his mouth. 

“Want to go on patrol before we do the bust?” Peter asks, and Wade hooks onto the question, repeating it three times in his head before he can make himself answer.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Let me just go get changed and we’ll go,” he says, hopping off the stool and wandering in the direction of his room. His eyebrows are furrowed, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He almost walks into the corner of the wall, clearly lost in thought, but jerks to the side at the last second, saved by his own senses. Wade’s eyes trail down, locking onto the briefs once more, tight and perfect against his ass. His mind is silent and airy, the boxes calm until White speaks up. 

(Maybe he likes you too)

White says the sentence like it’s a revelation more than a question. It confuses him, pushing his thoughts off center. False hope rises in his chest and Wade is left with no other option than to put it out of its misery. He smothers it, wills it down until it’s small and miniscule. For as long as he can remember- which admittedly is not long- White has been telling him there’s no way Peter would ever like him. Now the voice in his head is flipping the table, trying to build up a hope that will never be realized. So, because he’s witty like that, he uses White’s own line against him.

“Now that’s just wishful thinking.”

 

 

Chapter Text

“Spider-Man, we need you at the tower.” That’s the first sentence that filters through his Spider-Man phone the second Peter hits answer. It’s Steve- for once, but his last few run ins with the Avengers and their tower make him wary. It’s his day off, and for the first time in months he has no plans. No meetup with Wade, no MJ to crash his late morning with a shopping trip. His dinner with Aunt May isn’t even until the end of the week. 

He also doesn’t really feel like dealing with the Avengers right now. He knows full well it might not be an actual emergency. 

Peter takes a drawn out inhale. “Why?” 

“Because we- uh, we need-”

“I want to know why,” Peter says back, fully cutting off whatever Captain America was about to say. He could bet that it was going to be either ‘ you’ or ‘ help’.

He isn’t buying it. Ever since he let them know he’s hanging around Wade, they’ve done nothing but be insulting and rude. Spider-Man no longer has the patience for it. 

There's a silence then, filling the space over the phone, and Peter can hear the way Steve pulls the device away from his ear, talking to the other Avengers while holding a hand over the receiver. 

Peter is standing in his living room, looking out through his window as he waits for a response. The TV is on mute, his empty breakfast plate balancing on the arm of his couch. 

When he originally felt the phone go off, he assumed it was going to be Tony. While Steve was a pleasant suprise- if you want to call it that- he still wasn’t in the mood. Suddenly, a small yell , and then the mouthpiece is uncovered. 

“We have something we want to show you,” is what Captain America settles on, and Peter instantly hates how curiosity spreads through him, shoving some of his annoyance out of the way.

It’s not like he has anything else to do. “Fine. What time?” Peter looks to the clock, noting his day off is quickly becoming unrelaxing. He was watching How I Met Your Mother, but he knows he won’t be able to concentrate on the show now that he has a meeting with the Avengers. 

“Now, if you can.” Steve has the audacity to sound sympathetic at that, although there’s a hint of urgency in his tone that makes Peter wonder if there was actually an emergency they needed Spider-Man for. 

The last hope he had for a nice day off is extinguished, and he agrees. He closes the flip phone, cutting the call, and turns around to stare blankly into his apartment. 

“Let’s get this over with, I guess.” Walking through his living room, he picks up his abandoned plate, making a detour into the kitchen to put it in the sink. He normally would take the time to wash the dishes right after eating, but there’s a sense of anxiousness and impatience that’s coiling in his gut. He knows full well he’s just frustrated because of the run-ins he’s had with the group within the past six months, but he can’t shake the feeling. 

“It might have to do with Wade again,” he grumbles to himself as he trudges to his room, and his stomach swoops angrily. He hates having these confrontations with the Avengers, he despises feeling like a volatile child, but they started it. What he does is none of their business, and he can’t stand the way they talk about his best friend. 

He takes a few calming breaths, reminding himself that he doesn’t yet know why they need him, so he can’t make any assumptions. Opening the door to his room, he tries to let the anger go. He succeeds, but the anxiety that’s weighing down his stomach stays put. 

He strips down, putting on his suit with jittery hands until he’s wrapped up in the fabric.

He walks out into the living room, slipping on his mask only to readjust it immediately. The fabric is sitting wrong on his face, pressing into the spider-like hairs in a way that has his skin irritated. He can’t figure out which way the mask should be seated, though, and it takes him five minutes and a ton of frustration to get it right. 

Eventually, he’s fully suited up and exiting his window. Instead of dramatically throwing himself out of it like he normally would, he takes the time to crawl onto the brick exterior and shut his window from the outside. The colder months have started their descent over New York, and Peter doesn’t really feel like heating the whole of Manhattan. He moves quickly, not wanting anyone to see him coming out of his apartment, and shifts one leg forward on the brick to push himself into a backflip. The inertia carries him through two backflips before he extends his limbs, stabilizing his rotation.

He shifts to the right, moving his body to favor his dextral arm as he locks his gaze onto the edge of a building. Tucking his legs in to shift him more upright, Peter brings his wrist up. He turns his palm, bringing his middle and ring finger down. The pressure alongside the angle presses the gland under his skin, and the organ produces the silk protein that his webbing is made up of. Peter can feel the small twitch of the protein solution being pushed through the ducts of his spinnerets. 

He can pinpoint when the webbing gathers at the opening, waiting for a fraction of a second before shooting out of his wrist in the blink of an eye. The webbing sails, sticking to the building the second it makes contact. The rope of webbing between him and the building snaps back, reverberating it’s force through the line. Peter grasps his hand around it just as his weight is borne by the organic substance, and all at once he’s swinging between the high-rise buildings of Manhattan on a web. 

The web bows under his weight, stretching out the fibers until Peter’s instincts tell him to let go. He flexes his pinky into his palm, cutting off the web at the spinnerette. Peter moves automatically, throwing out web after web because cutting through the air feels like breathing. He’s submerged in his reflexes, the undertow taking over his brain. He trusts it, letting it carry him every which way until his eyes are locked on Stark Tower. 

It gets steadily closer until Peter is hurtling towards the reinforced glass, bracing his arms and knees to take the impact without damaging the exterior.

Tony never told him what floor- or how to get in, so he’s left looking around for a moment as anxiety creeps in on him. 

Peter really hopes this isn’t about Wade.

He doesn’t like how angry the situation makes him- no matter how justified he is. He doesn’t like the feeling of unbridled anger, hates how it makes his skin crawl and his insides hiss. Peter doesn’t like how they talk about and treat Wade. He doesn’t want to have his entire day taken up by the anger and annoyance the Avengers always seem to cause, but most of all he doesn’t want Wade to feel guilty or think he caused it. Before the Avengers took it upon themselves to kidnap Deadpool, Wade didn’t know they were bothering Peter. Now he does, and Peter fears that if Wade finds out it happened again, he’ll feel guilty about it. 

Apparently, he was left looking lost on the outside of the tower long enough for someone to let him in. The window to his right is sliding open, tearing him from his thoughts. 

The wind is frantic and harsh around him, so he takes the invitation without much consideration. He crawls inside, dropping down to steady himself on the polished marble floors before standing up. 

“Mr. Stark is on the one hundredth floor,” JARVIS says from above him. 

He doesn’t respond to the artificial intelligence audibly, but he nods as he storms down the hall. 

“The elevator is the other way.”

“Right, thank you,” Peter mumbles as he changes direction, biting his lip inside the mask in mild embarrassment. While he has been to almost every, virtually identical floor in the tower, he had went in the direction of his lab. Granted, his space was on a lower floor.

He takes the walk to the elevator to control his breathing. It’s really not a big deal. Maybe it is about Wade. He’ll argue with them as usual, but it’ll eventually stop and then he can go home. And maybe bug Wade into hanging out with him later. 

Or, it’s not Wade-related and they’ll have their first adult conversation in months.

Peter sighs. Sounds too good to be true.

Realistic or not, Peter reaches the elevator soon enough. He boards it, turning around to face the doors with a drawn out breath that raises his shoulders. They drop with the exhale, and Peter closes his eyes as the machine starts moving.

He only opens them when the elevator chimes, and the scene that unfolds in front of him isn’t quite what he expected.

The room seems recreational, full length mirrors on one side and windows on the other. There are boxy, soft looking couches and chairs scattered throughout the room and a large, low oval table in the center. 

As for the inhabitants, there are three, not including himself. Natasha stands in the left corner, looking as misplaced and uncomfortable as Peter feels. Steve is in one of the chairs off to the right, hands poised in his lap- and then there’s Tony. Stark is standing front and center, a shit-eating grin on his face that tells Peter this is most definitely about Wade. 

He chooses to enter cautiously, slow and stiff in his movements as he gravitates to the left- closer to the wall and windows. “You know, Tony, I think you’ve succeeded in making a room that represents you perfectly.” Peter says it without thinking; there’s a jitter crawling up the right side of his spine and he’s apprehensive- can you blame him for a bad joke? Peter clears his throat, shifting his weight. “So why am I here?”

Tony’s grin only widens, and Peter feels his heart fall to the floor. He made the wrong choice- he should have stayed home, he should have kept watching How I Met Your Mother, but instead he’s about to get yelled at by Tony Stark for the millionth time. 

“Because!” Tony turns, walking further into the wide room and gesturing for Peter to follow. “I want to show you something.”

“Well I already know that.” Peter follows three steps behind Tony. Steve finally moves, shifting to his side as if looking for something next to him on the chair. “I want to know what it is.”

Steve stands, what looks to be a stack of papers in his hand. He steps closer, finally holding it up, only to toss it on the table in front of Peter. 

Spider-Man looks at the folder in front of him, head tilting in confusion until he reads the two words on the side.

“Wade Wilson,” he says, voice void of any and all emotion as his brain struggles to comprehend exactly what is in front of him. A few seconds go by before he gives up, crossing his arms and looking up to make eye contact with Tony. “What is this?”

“That is Deadpool’s file.”

Peter takes a moment, letting his thought process fill in things like intention and why.

Then, all the rage under his skin is back, and he narrows his eyes in disgust, fully understanding what’s going on. “Why is it here?”

“We have files on everyone, even you-” Black Widow chimes in, but Peter shakes his head, cutting her off.

“Why is it in front of me?” he asks this time, voice sounding as cold and as furious as he feels.

Cap moves again, approaching Peter with the air of reassurance and wisdom he always seems to carry. In this situation, it leaves a bad taste in Peter’s mouth. He moves away as Steve tries to rest a hand on his shoulder encouragingly. This makes the Captain falter, hand wavering awkwardly in mid air until he rethinks the movement. He brings the hand down to rest on his hip instead. “We want you to understand.”

“Understand what?” Peter can feel his skin becoming itchy with irritation. He takes a slow breath through his nose; the room reeks of arrogance in a way that makes him think he might prefer to suffocate. 

“Understand exactly what Deadpool is capable of.” Tony leans over the table, putting two fingers on the file and sliding it closer to Peter. The action is so suave, so Tony that anger burns behind Peter’s eyes.

He takes three long, steady breaths as his anger brings forth the need to cry. He can’t have one good day off? All he wanted was for the Avengers to see that Wade isn’t bad. That’s all he still wants. He never wanted to cause all of this, never intended for it to fly off the handle- he just wants them to see Wade like he does. 

“I’m not opening the file.” Peter’s emotions, primarily his sadness attempt to rip through his voice, but he keeps it firm and icy. Stark seems to wither at that, in a way that means Peter struck his ego.

Did Stark really expect Peter to swoon over an unprofessional setup like this?

Steve brings a hand up to his temple and shuffles forward a step or two. “We really think it would be a good idea to look at the file, Spider-Man.”

“No.”

“If you-”

“Why? So I can see every bad thing he’s ever done painted to make him look evil? I know what he’s told me. What he wants me to know. I’m not reading your file,” Peter spits the words, offhandedly realizing that he’s shaking. He grips his crossed arms, digging his fingers into his forearm so forcefully he can hear his joints and bones creaking. It doesn’t hurt though. His anger is blinding him to his own nerves. 

“Exactly! You’ve only seen what he wants you to see. This-” Stark motions to the file, “This is what he really is.”

“No! Do you want someone nosing around in your darkest moments Tony? How would you like it? I know what he wants me to know because that is how trust works. You clearly don’t understand that.”

“No- you clearly don’t understand what you’re dealing with here-” Tony turns, pacing the length of the room with his hands rubbing together. 

Good. Let Peter annoy them like they have him.

Peter isn’t faring much better, honestly. He can feel a major headache thrumming behind his forehead, can feel his pulse in his fingertips. He wants more than anything to lay down and rest.

“He has you wrapped around his finger- I don’t get what you see in him, Spider-Man,” Tony admits, falling into a chair. He looks tired and worn, but Peter knows better than to be fooled by the front Stark puts on. In no way is he going to give in. Neither is Peter. 

Finally, after what feels like months, Peter moves his tense joints. He steps forward, placing a hand delicately on the table and curling his fingers into it. While his mask doesn’t offer much opportunity for nonverbal communication, Peter hopes Tony can feel the glare he’s sporting. “I see a human. I see a person that deserves every bit of love and care that you do, Tony. I see someone that’s made mistakes, just the same as you and I. He’s not perfect- no one is. But to say that he’s not worthy of a second chance when so many other people have gotten it?” Peter looks to Natasha pointedly, watching her expression harden. He inhales harshly, hating the way the air scratches at his lungs. His eyes snap back to Tony. “If you can’t see that, then you aren’t the hero I thought you were.”

Tony doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s turned, walking back towards Peter with his finger stretched out offensively. “He’s a killer. He’s a human who has killed hundreds of other humans. He enjoys it, he-”

Peter can’t help the growl that leaves his mouth at that. He can’t help the way he can feel himself slipping, losing hold of his verbal restraint. He hates the way he doesn’t care. “Don’t be stupid, we all have blood on our hands. He’s trying to move past it-”

“He enjoys killing! I’ve seen him after a job, grinning, covered in blood. You don’t know him -” Tony is yelling now, coming closer with every word, but Peter can’t back off. He doesn’t want to. 

“He doesn’t anymore! You’re the one that knows nothing about him! He wants to do better! So what if he has a bad past?” Peter moves away from the table, muscles protesting. In his anger, his fingers automatically stuck to the wood, so when he moves his hand back, the table follows. It startles him, but he refuses to flinch and releases the furniture, still talking. “Who am I to turn away someone that wants to be better? There’s no reason I shouldn’t support that.” Peter waits, feeling the tension leave his body when Tony doesn’t immediately bite back. 

For a few brief seconds, Peter allows himself to believe that the argument is over. His shoulders slump as he steps away from the table, turning to large windows. He walks toward them, looking out onto New York with clouded vision and retreating anger. He can’t hear the car horns from where he is, can’t make out the street traffic with the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears. For what feels like the millionth time, Peter forces himself to breathe. It hurts at first, his emotions constricting his chest in a vice grip, but a twinge in the air catches his attention and his nose catches all the anger in the room.

Something shifts behind him, and he’s ripped from his thoughts, turning to face Tony. 

“You…” Stark starts, and Peter can’t help the flare of defensiveness that rears its head inside him. In a second he’s bristled again, tense and desperately in need of a vacation. 

“I what?” he says back, sass and distaste clear in his words. 

Tony laughs, “You sound like you’re in love with the guy or something,” It sounds as frustrated as he feels.

If Peter thought he knew anger before, he was wrong. What he’s been feeling so far is nothing compared to this. His blood is liquid metal in his veins, burning everything around as it churns. He turns from the window, rage evident in his hunched pose and curled fists. How dare Tony assume anything about him and Wade’s relationship. How dare he use those words as if they’re an insult- as if someone being in love with Wade was something bad. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, but his restraint keeps him in check. Instead of a dignified response, he spits, “And what if I am?”

His words are foriegn and aggressive to his own ears, and the shock of it pulls him from his own rage. The words sink in one by one, coating Peter in realization until he’s left to think about what he said. Yeah, he likes Wade. He has a crush the size of Texas on the guy, but there’s a big difference between love and like.

Does he love Wade?

The question is a weighted one, heavy on his mind as the words repeat themselves over and over again until they make sense.

Is he in love with Wade?

Peter wants to sit down and dissect his emotions scientifically until he has an answer- yes or no. He wants to nitpick every situation he’s been in with Wade, every thought and text and action until all that’s left is data and statistics.

But he can’t. He’s in Stark Tower, probably miles and miles away from Wade, and as the sad realization that he’s not going to see Wade all day sets in, Peter finds his answer.

He’s been in love before. He’s no spring chicken, not new to romance by any means, so when the memory of that emotion mirrors how he feels about Wade, he knows.  

It’s not all that complicated when he finally recognizes the overflow of emotions Wade Wilson causes. It’s not hard to understand that he feels most safe and comfortable when he’s wrapped up in Wade. It’s a no brainer when he realizes that seeing Wade, no matter the circumstance- is always the highlight of his day.

All this time, he’s been blind to his own emotions, drastically underestimating what he’s been feeling.

Peter is in love with Wade.

It’s easy to see where he fooled himself. At the start, he was so convinced that it was merely lust. He was willing to pass it off as that for only minutes until it became evident that it was more. But never- never did he expect it to grow into this. He thought he had put aside his own feelings to not take advantage of Wade. 

Guilt floods him as he realizes that he completely lost his handle on the situation. He was under the impression that if he kept himself in check, stuck to being friends with Wade, it would be manageable.

Instead, he’s in love with his best friend, and this is not how it was supposed to go.

He was supposed to be helping Wade, not falling in love with him.

But here he is, admitting it to the Avengers before he even knew it himself.

That’s probably the most embarrassing part of it all. Not that he loves Wade- that’s not humiliating at all- Wade is an amazing, selfless man that anyone would be lucky to have. The embarrassing part is the fact that the Avengers knew before Wade even did. That anyone knew before Wade. Peter would prefer that no one knew. Now three people- probably soon to be the rest of the Avengers- know, and the one person that deserves the knowledge isn’t around.

The thought of Wade knowing elicits an entirely different emotion, and the rug is pulled from under Peter all at once. Sorrow envelops him as he realizes just how badly he fucked things up. Wade could be disgusted when he finds out Peter is in love with him, would have every right to be enraged at Peter for being so goddamn stupid.

Wade will probably never want to speak to him again once he knows, and Peter’s the only one to blame for his own foolish actions.

He offered to help Wade stay on the right side of things. He’s in a position of power over Wade no matter how he looks at it, and the knowledge that the power he has is tainted with self-centered ill intent makes him sick to his stomach.

Here he is, constantly making comments to himself about how unprofessional the Avengers are when he really is no better. He’s just as toxic to Wade as the Avengers are.

Most of all, he’s selfish. He’s utterly and hopelessly selfish, because if there’s any way to keep Wade in his life- even if that way is not telling the man- he knows he wants it. 

A confused sound tears Peter from his inner tribulations, and he’s brought back to three Avengers around him, staring him down with surprised, urgent expressions.

The looks on their faces is enough to get him moving, so he tosses any thoughts away to instead think about getting out. 

“I- I gotta…” he starts, anxiety locking around his lungs as he looks back out the windows. “I gotta go.” Peter fumbles at a window, willing it to open before he magically combusts. 

“Wait, Spider-Man!” Someone calls out, but he ignores it as the window opens. He takes the out, leaping from the building and into the safety of the air.


Chapter Text

Wade catches himself staring at the empty space in front of a window.

{Hold on, go back}

Wade wants to, desperately needs to rewind time to make sure he heard that right. His brain is faltering, failing to connect whatever the fuck he just witnessed.

Wade’s mind, for all intents and purposes, is not currently available. He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening.

(I knew it! What did I tell you)

{Peter loves us}

No. That’s impossible. There’s no way… Wade must be hallucinating. In fact, the entire day has been off for him- that has to be it. Wade is hallucinating. The thought calms him, lets the outlandish tendencies of his brain mend the gap where reality has left him frazzled.

The door towards Wade’s left bursts open, and Tony Stark storms in, fists clenched by his sides. “That wasn’t how it was supposed to go!” He paces the large room, walking back and forth in front of the one way mirror that takes up the front of the room they’re in.

{If you’re hallucinating then lets just kill everyone and get some tacos, these restraints are making our wrists itchy}

(Wade, you’re not hallucinating)

“How…” Wade starts, voice cracking with it’s misuse, “How was it supposed to go?” The words come out of his mouth light and airy- a testament to how far away he feels from the situation. It helps in making him believe that everything really is a hallucination, so he dismisses the weight of the circumstance.

He turns to look at Stark, neck creaking with the movement. He’s been sitting in the same goddamn chair for well over an hour, and he kinda wants to leave.

{If we’re hallucinating, maybe the restraints are good. We might lash out}

“Unless these are fake too,” Wade says to himself, looking down and testing their hold. “No, they’re probably real.” His tone is light and casual, far too casual for everyone else’s mood, and he hears a sigh from behind him.

Captain America walks into the room looking dejected. He makes his way to the table, taking one of the chairs in a heap. Stark, on the other hand- is staring him down and breathing loudly. 

“What was supposed to happen,” Stark blinks slowly, clearly annoyed. He walks forward with a finger pointed at Wade’s chest. He pauses, pressing the finger into Wade’s chestplate, “He was supposed to read the goddamn file. He was supposed to see what a piece of shit you are and realize that you’re a good for nothing mercenary. That is what was meant to happen. He shouldn’t be-” Tony scoffs, taking his finger away from Wade to turn, “He loves you? What bullshit.” Tony continues his pacing, moving between the chairs around the room now. The words stir something in Wade emotions, truly bringing them forth for the first time since Peter left through the window. The numbness surrounding his emotions thaw, and he can feel hope and desire rising in his chest.

{Thats right! Peter loves us}

Wade doesn’t concede to the false emotions. They’re tempting, extremely so- feather light and magical in a way that reality is not. He clamps down on them, holding them hostage in an iron fist as he adjusts his wrists in the cuffs around them. “No he doesn’t. We’re hallucinating.” Wade hisses to himself, hating the way his heart aches with the words.

Clint, having been in the room the entire time with him, finally steps forward, coming to Wade’s side and looking down at him with a cautious expression. “No, this is real.” He says it simply, as if the words don’t make Wade’s entire world flip upside down. 

Wade’s voice refuses to work the first two times he tries to speak. “What?” He finally manages to get the word out, but it’s weak and breathy. He takes a moment to look around, trying to find things that go against reality. Normally when he hallucinates there’s something that doesn’t belong, no matter how real it feels.

But the room is the same as when he first walked in, and he had no thoughts of hallucination then. It’s a mirror image of the room this one observes- where Peter was. It has the same oval table, the exact modern looking chairs scattered about. The only real difference was the occupants. There’s nothing outside of what could be considered normal, nothing to blatantly tell Wade that this is all fake, and he gulps as that notion sinks in. 

“I mean, maybe something else is going on in your head but the thing with Spider-Man was all real.” Clint speaks up once more, and Wade’s brain is having trouble rationalizing it all.

{Stop talking to us out loud okay? You’re making us look crazy}

(Back to the topic at hand)

The hope in his chest rises once more, banging at it’s restraint in an effort to get out. Wade steadies himself; he has to think this through.

(Everything you’ve ever wanted has just been offered to you on a silver platter)

{Fucking take it}

Wade’s heartbeat is loud and erratic as he tries to think. He can concentrate, can’t stop the boxes and the shuffling from the other occupants of the room, so he locks his eyes in one spot and forces his mind to work with him.

His eyes are looking at the marble floor under him, particularly one long and wispy line of black in the middle of that particular tile.

If he’s not hallucinating, that means Peter has feelings for him. Real, actual feelings for him. 

(I think the word used was ‘love’)

Love.

{Like we love Peter}

And Peter… Peter loves Wade.

Right.

Right?

(Right)

Okay.

(Back to my point before- weren’t you not going to go for Peter because you would never get the chance? You’ve just been given the chance)

Now that… is true. He’s had a crush on Spider-Man since long before he ever got the pleasure of meeting him. Now they’re friends, close in a way that constantly has Wade longing for more- and he’s head over heals.

He takes a moment, thinks about waking up next to Peter. How the sun would shine through the windows just so, show the deep mahogany dimension of Peter’s hair. He pictures Peter sleeping peacefully, body relaxed and pliant in a way that has him sinking into the bed. Wade imagines combing his hands through Peter’s hair idly, working out any knots and smoothing it out of his face. Maybe Peter would wake up then, eyes opening slowly to accommodate for the light. 

Then Wade thinks about kissing him. Pressing their lips together slowly, moving them languidly in the morning ambiance. Peter would sigh- a light and happy little huff of air, and the clicking Wade’s grown to adore would start after that- Wade’s borderline obsessed. His heart is straining with the thoughts, quivering with love so strong it hurts. 

He wants it. He wants to run after the man he’s in love with and tell him the feeling is mutual between them. 

Suddenly he’s giddy, virtually a child on christmas morning as he thinks about being able to have what he’s been dreaming about for months. He’s in the midst of formulating his plan, thinking about where Peter could have gone as he removes himself from his thoughts.

He lifts his head with an air of determination that is instantly put out as his eyes land on Stark. His insecurities rise up, twine themselves around his ankles and yank. 

Tony is hunched in on himself, veins prominent in his forehead and neck as he’s staring off into the room the confrontation happened in. The man’s words are echoing loudly in Wade’s brain, threatening him with degrading words and dark smiles. 

Wade tries, he tries to fight off the negative emotions as they feed into his brain, but they grab any positive mood he had by the throat and thrash.

He’s the reason this happened.

(Now wait a damn minute-)

Wade is the reason Peter was so livid.

Never in the time they’ve known each other has Wade seen Spider-Man so angry. Here Peter is, defending himself against the Avengers for no reason other than Wade. Peter was visibly stressed over it, was furious when they took Wade last time, and none of it would have happened if Wade wasn’t in the picture to begin with. 

And Peter is wonderful. He gives and fights for others, even when they don’t deserve it. He’s there for the little guy without having to be asked, but at what point is he fighting a lost cause?

Deadpool has not brought anything good into Peter’s life, and this event is a perfect example of just that. While Wade takes, Peter gives, and that is as blatant he can think of them in comparison. Peter has been there to help Wade over and over again. Peter has only needed Wade’s help a handful of times, but at what point does being in Peter’s life become pure selfishness?

If Wade is being honest with himself, he feels like he passed that point long ago.

At the end of the day, Stark is right. Wade is good for nothing. He’s foul and he’s selfish and he’ll take from Peter until the poor man has nothing left to give him.

(You- you just)

{Hate to admit it, but you’re probably right, Wade}

(No! No, he’s not-)

If Wade really wanted to be a hero, he would have never sought Spider-Man out. He would have left when he noticed he was becoming a big part of Peter’s life, would have done something to save Peter from what Wade is. 

{Stark is right}

And Peter trusts him. At the end of it all, Peter has full faith in Wade.

That means Wade has to make the right choice here. If not for himself, for Peter.

{If you cared about him, you’d leave}

Wade is torn from his self deprecating thoughts as someone’s feet enter his field of vision. He looks up, locking eye contact with Black Widow. Her expression is schooled, but Wade can see the remnants of a grimace on her face as she slowly unlocks the cuffs around Wade’s wrists.

“You’re just gonna let me go?” Wade asks, confusion evident through his mask. 

Black Widow shifts, stepping away from Wade with her arms crossed. “I don’t see anyone else in the room, and I don’t feel like dealing with you. Just go.”

{Oh shit when did everyone leave}

Wade looks around, and true to her word, there is no one in their room or the room adjacent. He stands slowly, bringing his hands together to rub at his wrists soothingly. 

(What are you gonna do Wade)

The question sobers him once more and dampens any mood he could have had. It weighs him down as he walks through the tower, and he’s grateful to not run into any other super as he leaves.

Once he’s out on the street, he notices that even people on the sidewalk give him wide berth, and it only upsets him further.

People are scared of him. They see him as a bomb, ready to blow up and reek havoc on everything around him.

Stark is right. What does Spider-Man see in him? Whatever it is, clearly Peter is the only one able to see it.

{Probably sees a pity case. A leech}

Yellow is right. Wade should leave. 

(No)

{Yes}

(No! Wade, please. Just go talk to Peter)

Wade sucks in a deep breath, watching his feet thump down one step after another. The cool outdoor air does not make Wade feel better. It burns his lungs, reminds him of how disconnected he feels. 

“I can’t go talk to Peter,” He mumbles. Yellow groans in frustration at his words, and White takes a long sigh. 

(Why can’t you go talk to Peter)

“Because!” Wade’s loud voice echos slightly, turning heads from all around the street to stare at him. He ignores it, stomps his feet down harder with his next few steps. He knows he’s irritated, knows he’s being childish, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “If Peter loves us, that means he’s not going to see how bad we are for him. Yellow is right.” Wade keeps his eyes locked on the ground. “He’ll be better off without us.”

The boxes stay silent for a long while after that. They both seem to be thinking things over themselves, but Wade is grateful for the silence nonetheless. It gives him time to think, churn the same thoughts over in his head until his solution is resolute. 

He opens the door to his apartment and goes for the essentials. First, he opens the closet in the hall, taking his largest duffle from the floor. He stuffs a few of his favorite weapons into the bag before moving around to the rest of the apartment. He takes his toothbrush, toothpaste and days worth of clothes, stuffing it all into his bag jaggedly.

Wade walks into his bedroom, seeing the Spider-Man plushie that rests on his bedside table first. He moves toward it, sorrow weighing his heart down as he picks it up. He rubs the soft fabric of the plushies cheek gently with his gloved thumb, thinking about the whole situation. 

He doesn’t want to leave Peter- or New York for that matter. He doesn’t even know where he’s going yet, or what he’s going to do. But he doesn’t feel like he has a choice anymore.

(Yes you do)

“No I don’t!” The yell rips itself out of his throat jaggedly and he throws the stuffed plushie into his bag with all of his power. His breathing is heavy, emotions wild in his head as tears gather in his eyes. “I don’t! I don’t, you saw how angry he was! You saw how,” Wade pauses, turning around and storming the length of the bedroom. His footsteps are heavy and loud in his sensitive ears each time his foot hits the floor. “You saw how upset he was! We caused this! I - I caused this.”

{You’re saving him from ending up like your mother, Wade}

His breath gets caught in his throat, and he pauses, glaring at the space to his left. Rage is bubbling under his skin, threatening to boil over in a moments notice. 

{You’re saving Peter by doing this}

“Saving Peter from what?”

{You. You know what I’m talking about. He’ll end up just like Vanessa if you have a relationship with him. You’ll bury him}

Instead of anger, sadness is what spills inside him. Wade pulls his bottom lip up between his teeth and bites down hard. Tears fall from his eyes, gathering in the soft material over his face. His hands come up to his mask, pulling the fabric from his face with hard, jerky movements. He throws it, ripping off his gloves with the same force.

{You’re saving him, Wade. You’re helping him more than you know}

Wade’s face scrunches up with the painful truth of it all. He falls into the wall behind him and slides down it miserably.

Sobs bubble up in his lungs and escape eagerly. The sound is wretched, high pitched wheezes for air mixed with agonizing low cries. The vocalizations mix in the room, filling it to the brim until Wade is drowning in his own distress.

{Or you could kill youself. Bullets a day keep the pain away}

(Shut the fuck up)

Wade doesn’t even contemplate the option. He throws it away, not willing to let himself revert to his old tendencies, no matter how unhappy he feels.

{Why, don’t you want poor Peter to walk in and find you dead? I’m sure he’d love to see that again}

“Stop.” It’s a plea if Wade’s ever heard one. His own voice is soft and broken, asking for pity he knows he won’t receive.

{Then get far, far away from here}

Wade doesn’t respond. Instead he sits for what feels like an hour, staring at a blank section of wall across from him. He blinks periodically, breathes as slow and quiet as he can. The room is stagnant around him, and his own stillness replicates it perfectly. 

He needs something to do. But Wade is impulsive and doesn’t always make the best choices. 

So he grabs his phone. He has a text from Peter, but he doesn’t dare look at it.

He calls Weasel. The ringing is scratchy and slow to his ears, but after four rings, his friend picks up.

“This better be good, I was about to-”

“I need a job.” Wade’s voice is monotonous at best, creepy and hollow in a way Weasel immediately picks up.

There’s a pause in the conversation. And then, “How far away do you need it?”

Wade contemplates that for a moment. His eyes cast upwards, stare at the ceiling and the patters in the plaster mindlessly. “Out of the U.S.”

“You still on that no killing streak?”

Wade is about to confirm that he is on reflex when Yellow speaks up. 

{Say no. You could do with some stress relief}

(Wade, think about this)

He takes White’s advice, lets the conversation lull in silence as he thinks about the question. Is he looking to fuck up everything he’s created in the past six months? He wanted to be more of a hero. 

(Heros don’t kill random people for no reason)

{Fuck being a hero. If we can’t be with Spidey, what’s the point}

(Stop. Wade, if you listen to nothing else I say, at least trust me on this. Don’t take a kill job)

{Oh fuck off}

(No, you fuck off. You’re destroying everything. If it wasn’t for you he’d probably be staying. Wade, please say yes)

His mouth is opening before he’s decided on what he’s going to say. His mind is blank, emotions long gone from his conscience. He takes a deep breath to steady his frayed nerves. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Okay, so what do you want? I have recon, intimidation, intel… couple of people need stalkers off their asses.” Weasel seems minimally concerned for Wade, only a fraction of hesitance bleeding into his tone. Wade knows he’s never been one to talk about things. 

“Where’s the recon?” Sounds easy enough. Steal something back, bring it to whoever paid. 

“Canada.”

{Home sweet home}

“I’ll take it.” Wade shifts his weight, standing slowly. His joints take the brunt of sitting still for so long, aching for a second before feeling good as new. 

“I’ll send you the info in a few minutes,” Weasel says, and then the line goes dead. 

Given the events of the day, Wade is thankful to find a ride easily. His destination is ultimately Vancouver, and with Weasel’s connections he’s able to secure a route quickly. The time before his flight is short, and he uses the two hours to finish packing. The boxes are quiet during the time, leaving Wade alone for the first time since he left Stark Tower. The silence welcome, but it ends as he’s leaving his apartment.

Wade is standing in doorway, arm outstretched to hold the handle with the other hand keeping his duffle up on his shoulder.

(You’re really doing this)

“Yeah, I am.” Wade’s voice is low in his vocal fry, and the sound of it rumbles in his chest before emitting into the space around him. His mood isn’t much different from earlier, and the apartment looks as melancholy as he feels.

{What do you plan to do after the job}

Wade takes a long breath, shifting his nose under his mask absently and finally turning to close the door behind him. It clicks shut with a soft thump, and Wade realizes he never really thought that far.

“Probably come back to pack my things, I guess. Find a new place.” He throws his left shoulder up, lifting the bag of his things enough to shift it higher on his shoulder.

(New place as in new apartment or new area)

“I don’t really know yet,” Wade admits, walking down the hall of his apartment with heavy steps. He feels empty and utterly exhausted. Wade would give anything to be having a movie marathon with Peter, but instead he’s leaving the country. 

(You don’t have to leave)

White’s comment makes a wave of anger and hurt rise up in Wade. His immediate impulse is to refuse, but a door opens behind him and his neighbor three doors down is leaving with her daughter. Wade clenches his jaw instead, redirecting his anger into force as he pushes open the heavy front door of his apartment. His face scrunches up with the movement, and he lets out a shaky puff of air after he’s out on the street. The sky is as dismal as he feels, fark and angry clouds hanging over the city. It does little to help his mood, but he wasn’t really looking for a pick-me-up.

The taxi Weasel arranged for him is waiting on the curb, so he’s pulling away from the curb and on his way to Teterboro Airport before he gets the chance to stop and process. Despite Yellows request to annoy their driver, Wade stays silent. 

Right as they cross the state line into Jersey does rain start downpouring. It makes visibility tough being on the highway, and the windshield wipers sweep hastily to wipe away the water. Not only is the rain coming down hard, but the force of the wheel’s traction causes water to spray. His driver swears under their breath, slowing down when the red of break lights illuminate the cab. 

Wade makes it one piece and on time. He hates the way his heart is heavy with disappointment.

Instead of going into the normal drop off, Wade’s driver pulls off into a different, long road stemming from the airport.

The scene in front of Wade makes him feel the unexpected comfort of familiarity. He can feel himself slipping into a more structure mindspace as they slowly approach a gate. He can feel efficiency and professionalism flooding his senses, glazing his emotions over. It takes away the sting the thought of leaving brings.

There’s a person waiting at the gates, sunglasses uptop their nose and black suit wrapped around their body. They’re stone faced and clinical, only asking for the information to confirm they’re the clients up next for takeoff. The gate opens and the Wade’s drives on to the tarmac. The area is semi secluded, a designated landing strip for the private jet company. Wade doesn’t know much about the inner workings of the business or how they work above the law, but he does know it’s the best air-based, semi-legal company he’s ever taken. A private jet in addition to a personal, secluded landing strip means his business stays his.

The cab pulls up near the jet, and Wade flips open his wallet to pay the driver for the forty minute drive. He feels slightly foolish when the man just waves him off, and Wade realizes that Weasel obviously already paid.

It’s expected that he’d be rusty, given it’s been half a year since he’s taken a job.

He pushes through the embarrassment, grabs his bag and steps out of the car. His foot touch the ground slightly off center, but his structured, flat soles correct the mistake as pressure is applied to his leg. The right side of his foot comes down, stabilizing on the ground as he rises out of the car. The motion settles him, lets him shake off the jarring feeling, and his left foot comes down more confidently that the first.

Boarding the plane takes less than five minutes, and Wade walks into the cabin slowly, taking long steadying blinks to steady himself. He picks a seat next to the emergency exit, setting his belongings on the seat adjacent. He sits with his legs spread wide, leaning back into the comfortable seats when his phone vibrates in his side pocket.

{Don’t open it, it’ll only make things harder}

(That’s assuming it’s from Peter. It could be more job details)

Logically, Wade knows it’s going to be Weasel confirming he made his flight on time. Peter isn’t one to double text.

His heart still feels heavy as he pulls his phone out. 

When he opens his messages, it shows two from Weasle and one from Peter.

{I wanna know what it says}

Wade’s curiosity agrees with Yellow, but his logic does not. Opening the message will only make him want to respond, and he can’t. 

His thumb is poised back from the screen, hand holding the phone precariously as the jet takes off from the runway. 

The movement is jarring, and the phone falls forward in his grip. It slips between his fingers, and Wade is quick to bring his right hand up to catch it. He fumbles, rotating between dropping it and almost dropping it for a few seconds before he manages to get a good grip on the device. When he turns it over, the screen is displaying Peter’s message.

(Cliche)



hey, can i talk to you about something?



It startles him a bit, if he’s being honest. He expected some random message about Peter’s day, or a link for him to check out- something normal between the two. 

The message on his screen is not normal between them. 

His first thoughts are ultimately also the worst case scenarios, and Wade’s mind races with all the possibilities of the situation. 

{What if Stark told him you saw what happened}

(I guess he could know you love him back. He’s not an idiot)

Both thoughts make Wade panic. Stark very well might have informed Spider-Man that Wade was present during the meeting, and he wouldn’t put it past Peter to be mad. He wasn’t supposed to hear what was said- but he also didn’t get a choice in the matter.

Or maybe Peter wanted to cut off their friendship. Maybe he realized Stark is right- just the same that Wade did.

{At least you’re one step ahead then}

Wade turns to his right, peering through the window. New York City is retreating, falling back into the green and grey image of the world around it. Somewhere in the city down there, Peter is waiting for a reply he won’t get.

Wade feels emotions flare up inside him, and he presses his lips together, taking a deep breath to keep them under control.

He locks the phone, ignoring Weasel’s messages to sit back in his chair. 

“I guess so,” Wade replies tonelessly.



Chapter Text

The day after Peter meets with the Avengers, he starts to realize something is wrong. 

It’s not like he’s saying it’s strange that Wade didn’t text him back… but it’s kinda strange. Peter is worried, not only because Wade didn’t reply, but because of the wording of his message. It’s ominous in any situation, a ‘talk’ often never meaning positive things. Some dark corner of his mind whispers that he’s scared Wade off, and his anxiety does nothing to combat the intrusive thoughts. 

But with Peter’s frustration and anxiety, he never really noticed Wade didn’t respond until later. After he sent the message, his nerves got the better of him until he resolved to go out patrolling. He was so caught up in the swing of things, he didn’t notice it had gotten late- and he had work in the morning.

Now, with the next day upon him, Peter is left to wonder just what happened that Wade didn’t text him back. Logically speaking, it could have been anything. Wade is an eccentric guy. He could have gotten himself into any hysterical situation that they could laugh about later.

But given both of Peter’s jobs, he’s learned to hope for the best but expect the worst. 

 

Six days later, nothing is different. Well, his anxiety is through the roof and he’s worried, but otherwise things are the same. His days have been filled with work, patrol, and wondering what happened to Wade that has him gone for so long. It’s never happened before in the time the’ve known each other, and even showing up at Wade’s apartment doesn’t give him answers- because Wade isn’t there. He’s checked. 

First it was knocking on the window with no response. Then he peered in and saw the same room he always has, if a little disheveled. Next was finally entering uninvited two days later. He found nothing. No trail, no Wade.

He vowed to keep it at that, leave it alone and hope that Wade would show himself soon enough with a wild story and a few laughs. 



Right as Peter is getting off work, one of the TV’s in the Stark Tower lobby cuts to breaking news. The footage on screen is shaky and pixelated, but the large clouds of dust are obvious regardless. Peter stops walking, focuses on the screen as the short video plays over and over again.

Peter is exhausted and frazzled, but he hears the words explosions and bomb so he doesn’t waste any more time. Everyone else in the room is turning to pay attention to the screen, and he uses the distraction to slip out. 

The majority of people outside are stopped, eyes glued to the billboards relaying the same footage as inside. Some people are frantically dialling numbers, cursing if they aren’t answered and gaining hysteria the more times they press call. There are a few people running like mad, but their directions are all different.

Peter ducks into the first alley he comes across. It’s not shrouded in darkness like he’d prefer, and it’s not in the solitude of his own home, but there’s a dumpster in the dead end and that’s all he needs.

He drops his bag, throwing open the zipper and opening the back compartment where he keeps his suit during work. Giving a quick check to the alley entrance, he strips himself down and throws on the suit with a practiced ease that is only slightly hindered by the panic of the situation. 

In the midst of his thoughts, Wade pops in, and he thinks briefly that if Wade were here, he’d be able to help Peter. He’d probably make some situationally inappropriate jokes, make Peter laugh to ease his tension.

And god, does Peter have a lot of tension. To say he’s strung a little too tightly would be an understatement. In the past week, he’s cried over dropping his muffin, snapped at a few of his coworkers, and caused damage to many buildings during patrol. Which is very bad. He’s losing his cool- losing control. 

As far as Peter knows, Wade might not even be in New York. He could be in another country, possibly against his will- no. Peter has to shut down the train of though where it stands.

He has work to do. 

Wade probably went on vacation and forgot to tell him. Yeah! That’s it, he forgot to tell Peter. No harm, no foul. When Wade gets back it will all be a funny joke. 

If he gets back. Ugh.

Peter comes back to himself with the sound of another explosion. His senses flare up, his skin becomes sensitive in a way he associates with danger, and he adjusts his mask.

Focus comes to him the same way it always does. His mask mutes things, dials his sensory intake down so he can pinpoint his mindset. 

He can’t be thinking about Wade when people are in trouble. 

Peter gathers his things together, shoves his clothes into his back and zippers it all up. He takes ahold of the wall next to him, climbing up several paces before adhering his bag to the wall with layers of webbing.

With that, he takes a note of the street his things are on, and he’s off in the direction of the explosions. 

Swinging through the streets of Manhattan while knowing there is disaster is something unique. It’s not freeing like the first time he used his webs as transportation. It’s not fun like it is when he swings Wade around- and now is no exception. He’s heading into danger, and he knows the risks he runs each time. 

He doesn’t let himself reach his full arc on any of his swings. He waits until his momentum is directing him forward, releases each web with a surge of power that propels him every time, but his mind is elsewhere as he swings. It’s taken up by the acute cries for help he hears far away, and he feels the overwhelming weight of guilt on his shoulders for taking too long. 

He’s been out of it all week. 

He knows why. He’s not dumb. The guy he is kind of in love with disappeared with no warning the same day Peter found out about his feelings. Parker luck at it’s finest, no doubt. A sigh escapes him, exhaustion evident thought his ministrations.  

Spider-Man has a lot of responsibility, but Peter Parker is still human. 

Which makes him feel guilty all over again.

He should be allowed to put aside his own feelings in favor work, because that’s what being Spider-Man is- it’s work. It’s his duty to make sure he does the best he can, but right now he feels slow and sluggish, like he’s taken an hour to get this far from Stark Tower. 

Thankfully, he isn’t left with the time to feel sorry for himself once his eyes catch on the scene in front of him. 

It seems the source of the explosions was a building right on the edge of upper Central Park. The building itself is a shell of what it once was, crumbling and settling with the aftermath of the explosions.

Just as Peter is about to go in, he catches sight of the Avengers. He doesn’t know what his reaction would be given any other circumstance, but given the situation he seems to be stuck in, he’s quite grateful they started handling it already.  

The first person he catches sight of is Tony, so he casts his personal feelings to the side as he webs himself on the ground next to him. 

His landing seems to startle Tony, but he regains his composure rather quickly. “Oh, it’s you.” The face plate of his suit lifts showing an unimpressed, guarded look. Like he’s expecting an argument. 

Peter wants to avoid any possible conversation. “What can I do to help?” His voice is gravely, breaking in the middle of his sentence. It surprises him, along with the dryness in his throat- and all at once he realizes he’s barely spoken all day. Whoops.

Tony seems to look him over once, and then his expression softens slightly. Not in a way that tells Peter it’s okay, his expression conveys more of a, next time. Tony sighs, long and obvious, and then he brings his hand up, throwing a small com to Peter. “You and Steve are doing rescue. Find anyone in there and bring them out.”

Peter nods, bringing both his hands up to his face. He uses one to lift the fabric away from himself, keeping it level as to not show skin, and he shoves the other hand under the edge of the spandex to place the com in his ear. “What about the sources of the explosions?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just find everyone in there, okay?” Tony gives him one last look, this one a tad bit patronizing, and then his face plate slams down and his repulsors are lifting him off the ground.

“Okay,” Peter says, more to himself, and then again, “Okay.”

His first action is a strand of webbing him to the base of the building. It’s still in tact, and he uses it as leverage to pull himself toward the structure. He lands lightly, absorbing the shock into his appendages for a moment before he starts moving.

He crawls in where the concrete broke about ten feet off the ground. Once inside, he listens for heartbeats. 

The first two he finds easily. They’re about twenty feet into the building, one with their leg trapped in rubble and the other calling for help with panic laced in their voice. Peter treats the situation like he always does, but something feels distant about it all. He feels mechanical, lifting the debris off the woman and escorting them both out before going back in.

He finds ten more people, thankfully all alive. By the time Tony is calling everything wrapped up, his joints are aching and sore with exertion and all Peter wants is a nap.

His plan is to give his com back and head out, but right at he’s about to leave, Natasha walks up to him with a look of determination that sets Peter on edge. Normally he wouldn’t be brash, but the events of the past week weigh heavily on his shoulders and he feels exhausted, if not defensive as well. “Look, if this is about last week, I’m not looking for another argument,” Peter poses, lifting his hands up in a show of peace. 

“I do want to talk about last week, but I don’t want an argument. There’s something you should know.” Natasha says, catching Peter’s attention. His hands fall down to his side slowly, waiting for her to continue. She seems to be searching for the appropriate words, looking down to he ground with her brows scrunched up before looking up to him with the same expression. “Last week we took Wade in.”

Peter’s hackles instantly raise. “You what?” Is that why Wade isn’t around? He’s been in Stark Tower this entire time? “You’ve been keeping him there for a week?” His voice is hard now, unwelcoming and angry as he feels. Inside, he feels relived and hopeful to find Wade.

Natasha, as cold and heartless as she’s said to be- grows a bit somber in her expression. “You haven’t seen him?”

The hope in Peter’s chest shrivels up and dies. “What happened to him? When did you take him in?” His voice sounds soft now, vulnerable and sad. 

Natasha looks guilty. “The day you were there.” Peter recounts the past week, pinpointing the events that took place last time he was at Stark Tower. He looks back up to Natasha confused. There’s a deep pit in his stomach that only grows the longer he looks at her without an answer. 

The next time she speaks, it’s almost inaudible. “He saw your conversation with us. All of it.”

Peter’s brain tries to process what that means. 

He laughs. It’s tense and fake, forced out of him by reflex.

Then a frown sets into his features as he really thinks about it. “What?”

“We took him in. He watched everything that happened through the mirror on the wall.”

Peter looks down to the ground. He swallows- once, twice. Blinks. Swallows again. “I-”

“I’m sorry it happened like that,” Natasha says finally, and Peter looks back up at her in time to catch her expression once more. The guilt evident on her features finally reads to him as regret and intention, and all at once he feels numb. They planned it like that. 

He nods once, stiff and robotic, and then decides that leaving is his best option. He doesn't want to have a breakdown in front of the people that may have caused it. 

Peter turns, quickly shooting a web at the nearest building and taking off with two steps of a sprint. The air is cold and bitter around him, but he doesn’t think about it. He just… swings. 

It takes five minutes and twenty two seconds for him to arrive at Wade’s window.

He feels rushed, like the breath is knocked out of him, and he throws open the window, stepping inside the apartment with shaky movements. “Wade?”

The air around him is still, unmoving and stagnant in the space. “Wade?” Peter calls again, once again having no response. The lack of answer burns him, makes him more frantic to search for one. “Wade?” He calls louder, voice raw and unhinged. He looks around, makes his way through the home quickly. Just the same as last time, it’s empty. 

Peter takes a breath. A single inhale turns into three, and then the air is being forced out of him in gasps and heaves. The quiet sounds gain momentum in the silent apartment, and Peter takes ahold of his mask, pulling it up over his nose as the first hiccup escapes his lips. “Wade?” He calls again, this time not expecting an answer. His voice is quiet now, soft but grating in his throat. His eyes sting, and he knows he’s crying. 

And then his eye catches the hall closet door. It’s slightly open, so Peter walks to it. His fingers are shaking with emotion as he opens the door fully, and his heart drops as he sees half of Wade’s weapons are gone. 

The sight makes him frantic to disprove his fears. He steps back, looking around the apartment with new findings. He’s not looking for Wade this time, instead looking for signs of abandonment. He walks to the bathroom, opens the drawers to discover Wade’s skincare is gone. So is his toothbrush. 

In the bedroom, some clothes are missing from Wade’s meticulously organized drawers. 

Then he sees the nightstand, void of the Spider-Man plushie Wade normally keeps beside his bed.

Peter’s heart breaks as his fears are confirmed. Finally, he feels his tears seeping into his mask, so he pulls it fully off, letting it fall to the floor beside him as he paces. 

Wade left. Wade found out Peter was in love with him and left. God, Peter is such an idiot. He fucked up everything, didn’t he? He was so careful, too. He never wanted to hurt Wade, never wanted to make him feel uncomfortable with his feelings, and he somehow fucked that up too. 

He’s Wade’s Skip. 

Peter crumbles then. His knees feel weak and unstable, so he lets himself lower to the ground as emotions boil over. 

He made Wade so uncomfortable that he felt like he had to leave his own home, city- possibly the state - just to get away. 

And the worst part is Peter knows what that feels like. He understands it, but he still managed to push Wade too far. 

The first sob is ripped out of him like a well worn bandaid on soft skin. It hurts, scrapes against his throat in a rush, and then he’s inhaling as soon as it’s over.

But it doesn't happen only once. The cries continue, flow out of him like a sink that's too full and he’s drowning. His biology intends to soothe him, starts up that stupid clicking from the back of his throat, but it only makes crying hurt more. 

Which makes him cry even more. 

And who knows if he can even fix things? He may never get the chance, and that hurts just as much.

Peter doesn’t know how long it takes him to stop sobbing. Every time he’s close, the same thoughts return to him until he’s heaving once more, and Peter doesn’t know what to do. 

With shaking hands, he takes his phone out of his pocket and opens up his messages with Wade. The unanswered words from a week prior glare at him dissaprovingly, and Peter feels stupid. 

He still types out message after message. 



wade i’m sorry, im so sorry. you weren’t supposed to find that out

 

not that it's any less inappropriate

 

i get that i shouldn't have feelings like that for you but i do and i'm sorry

 

please

 

please come back, wade

 

i never wanted to make you uncomfortable 

 

i’m sorry i made you feel like you had to leave

 

if you never want to see me again, that’s okay too

 

just let me know

 

i’m sorry



By the end of what he decides to say, he’s teetering on the edge of the couch. The cushions are soft and plush under his tense body, but Peter couldn’t focus on that if he tried. 

He reads over the messages again and again, waiting for a response knows he doesn’t deserve- knows he probably won’t get. 

The crying proves infectious, coming back to him every time he rids himself of it, but he doesn’t have anymore energy. He slumps back into Wade’s couch, rubbing his eyes with the damp sleeve of his suit, sniffling like the wimp he knows he is.

He created this situation. He shouldn’t be crying so much just because the inevitable happened. He’s a scientist. He knows statistics.

But here he is.

He shouldn’t even be in Wade’s house right now. Is it creepy that he is? It might be creepy. 

He huffs out another sob, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears. It doesn’t stop them, doesn’t even come close, but it makes him feel better, like everything could all be a dream. He’s just like Skip. He’s sitting in Wade’s dark apartment, crying about the man leaving when he’s the one that caused it. He pushed Wade too far, that much is very clear, but he can’t even find it in himself to get out, leave Wade alone like he deserves.

God.  

He just hopes Wade comes back.

Time passes around Peter as easily as a summers breeze. He keeps his eyes closed, finally being lulled by the sound from the back of his throat as his muscles slowly uncoil. 

His heart still hurts, still aches for a person who has every right to hate him, but he stays still, lets the comfort of being in Wade’s home soothe him as much as it can. 

He knows that in the morning, he’ll have to leave and wait patiently for anything Wade may give him. He knows full well that he may never see Wade again. 

More tears brim under his lashes. 

As sleep slowly takes a firm hold of Peter’s mind, he decides that’s a tomorrow problem. 

 

Chapter Text

By the time Wade is entering his apartment building again, he’s exhausted.

The job went well, all things considered. He was a bit rusty, and it took a while for his old standards, but he got it done.

{And more importantly, got paid}

(I’m definitely not complaining with those numbers)

All in all, it was nice, given the circumstances of what made him take it. “Almost like a vacation,” he mumbles to the boxes, shuffling down the hall towards his door. Now, being back in New York, he has to decide what he wants to do.

(About Peter)

“Not necessarily. I’m gonna stay away from him because he deserves better.” Wade’s voice turns cold and angry for a second before returning to normal. “I need to find a new place to live, decide what I’m going to do with my time.” Wade slots his key in his deadbolt, moving to hike his duffle higher on his shoulder as he turns the key properly. 

{But we miss him. Go see him}

Wade clenches his door’s handle in his grip, twisting the mechanism with unnecessary force as he jams his code into the last locking mechanism. He presses enter, the final deadbolt retracting and letting him push his front door open. “We can’t just go-”

The first thing Wade takes note of is the temperature of the room around him. Fall is in full swing, and he doesn’t have his heat turned on yet- but he makes sure to shut everything before leaving town. His eyes trail to the windows, catching the culprit quickly. It’s the smallest window in his living room, but it’s wide open. The sight sets him on edge, so he makes a move toward it silently.

(Someone’s in here)

{Slit their throat}

Taking a mental check of everything in his apartment and what people would most likely steal, Wade grips the top of the window pane and slides it down. It’s fairly silent, but there’s a quiet creak that the movement makes, and Wade keeps his ears open. 

That’s when he hears it. 

He was expecting maybe a grunt of surprise or a fumble of objects to give away any intruders. 

All he hears is a soft sigh. 

{Slice them in half}

(Hold up)

Wade turns slowly, anger and rage pooling into his veins as his fists clench. Whoever thought it was a good idea to break into Deadpool’s house is a dumbass. They’re going to be lucky if they still have their teeth after Wade-

Peter. 

Wade blinks, blinks again against the darkness in his eyes, but the form is still the same. 

Peter is curled up in the crook of Wade’s couch, fast asleep. 

Wade almost says something instinctually, but catches himself. 

Why is Peter here?

He takes a step forward, dropping his shoulder down to place his back on the floor gently. The new angle gives his eyesight a better view, and he can see how wrecked Peter looks. 

His heart clenches, twists in his chest at the sight of tear marks on Peter’s face and swollen, red eyes. 

Oh no.

Peter’s arms are curled into his chest, one hand gripping his phone like a lifeline. Wade remembers he hasn't checked his in a week, so he shifts down, opens up a small compartment in his bag to take his phone out. He taps the screen, and there’s a multitude of different messages, but there's ten from Peter, not including the first he never opened. 

{Don’t open them}

Wade opens them. 



wade i’m sorry, im so sorry. you weren’t supposed to find that out

 

not that it's any less inappropriate

 

i get that i shouldn't have feelings like that for you but i do and i'm sorry

 

please

 

please come back, wade

 

i never wanted to make you uncomfortable 

 

i’m sorry i made you feel like you had to leave

 

if you never want to see me again, that’s okay too

 

just let me know

 

i’m sorry



(What)

Guilt pulls Wade down like an undertow. It’s confusing and disorienting, but the feeling doesn’t go away no matter how hard he tries to shake it off.

He has to deal with it. 

Peter… Peter is guilty to have feelings for Wade because it’s inappropriate? How is it inappropriate? Peter has never, ever made Wade feel uncomfortable in his presence. What the hell is going on in Peter’s mind?

(It seems his capability to blame himself for everything rivals yours)

Wade feels horrible. He left to help Peter. He left because Peter deserves better, but in the process he was mean to him without realizing it. He ignored Peter for a week, and in that time Peter found out Wade saw what happened.

This is a mess. 

(What are you going to do about it?)

Wade takes that for a second, mules it over in his head. Leaving obviously didn’t help Peter, it only made everything worse. 

{Does that mean we get to be with him now?}

A sliver of hope rises in Wade’s chest. Will Peter want to be with him after everything?

Wade isn’t sure he knows what’s best anymore.

Maybe it’s smart to leave it up to Spider-Man. 

Wade shifts again, heart speeding up with the knowledge that he’s going to wake Peter. He crouches down in front of Peter’s sleeping form, admiring the way the Spider-Man suit hugs his frame so elegantly. 

(Not really the time)

Right. 

Wade brings a hand up, contemplating how to wake Peter for a moment before deciding to take a more affectionate approach.

His hand brushes Peter’s cheek, and Wade watches as he shifts into the touch. It takes his breath away, watching Peter’s features soften with the contact, even though he’s not conscious. 

“Peter,” Wade says gently, and he watches brows furrow in confusion for a moment before his eyelids slowly open. 

Wade almost forgot how expressive Peter’s eyes are. 

He looks pained to be awake. The warm brown color of Peter’s pupils look cool in the dark lighting of the room, and the expression worn on Peter’s face is gut wrenching at best. 

Wade feels awful. 

And then Peter’s eyes lock onto him. 

His heart stops in his chest as he watches confusion and hope rise in Peter’s features. 

Then, all at once, Peter fully awakens. He jerks, sits up so fast Wade’s face almost touches Peter’s chest, and then he’s trying to get away. 

“I’m sorry, Wade please I’m so sorry,” Peter chokes on his own emotion, curling back into the back of the couch as if to give Wade space. 

“No Peter, I’m sorry.” Wade says, and Peter looks confused, so Wade goes on, “I didn’t leave because you have feelings for me- I left because I have feelings for you.” Wade can hear the small gasp that leaves Peters lips, but he continues on. “You deserve better, which honestly I still believe, but I let everything cloud my judgement and left without talking to you. I’m sorry.” Wade finishes, not even trying to hide how raw his voice sounds.

He’s so stupid. “I left because I thought I’d be doing you a favor, and I fucked it all up, Peter I’m so sorry,” Wade’s throat tightens and his next words come out strained. “I wanted to go after you, I thought it was the best thing that had ever happened to me, you feeling the same way. But then I thought about how angry I made you- you shouldn’t have to defend me against the Avengers, Pete. You shouldn’t have to go through so much stress to hang out with me-” Wade feels something bump his fingers, and he looks down to see Peter caressing his gloved hand as if it’s the best thing he’s ever gotten the opportunity to do. He gets lost with the movement, letting the soft touches comfort him. 

“Wade, look at me.” Peter whispers, and any words Wade was going to say get clamped down in his throat. He faces Peter head on. “You don’t get to decide if you’re good enough for me. I get to decide that. You’re all I want- all I have wanted, and I say you’re good enough. I argue with the Avengers for you because no one else bothers to, they don’t see how amazing you are.” Wade feels tears pricking his eyes, so he takes his free hand, curls it under the edge of the mask and pulls it off. 

His eyes lock with Peter’s again, this time without any materials between them, and he can feel the intensity his own eyes show. Peter doesn’t seem to mind. “I’m sorry I made you think you were the problem. I should have come to you and talked about it. I’m sorry.” Wade says, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“Wade,” Peter says sadly, this time surging forward to capture him in a hug. Wade lets himself be held, feels Peter wrap his limbs around him like vines, reciprocates as best he can given his position on the floor. 

It feels perfect. Wade doesn’t remember the last time he’s been hugged, but he knows he wants to do it more. He feels safe, loved, protected. He hugs Peter back with just as much emotion. 

When they separate, Peter doesn’t retreat back into the couch. He stays hovered over Wade, looking down at him from above, and the position steals Wade’s breath. He wants to tell Peter how beautiful he is. Instead he asks, “Are we okay?”

Peter nods instead of answering verbally. Wade looks up with the movement, catches Peter’s eye, and can’t look away. 

It’s intense.

Peter’s expression is soft, light-

(Loving)

{Is now an inappropriate time to say I’m hard}

Peter’s expression is loving. His features are soft, only illuminated from the lights outside, casting into the room from the large windows to Wade’s left. His eyes are glimmering in the same light, the evidence of his previous crying still visible. Wade looks away from the intensity in Peter’s eyes, now landing lower. His lips are plump, probably being bitten and rubbed while crying.

Not for the first time since knowing each other, Wade wants to kiss Peter. Wants to wrap his hands around Peter’s neck, pull him down and meet him in a bruising kiss. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed, so he holds still.

Wade knows there must be heat in his eyes as he looks to the man he loves, but when he forces his eyes back up, they match. Peter’s looking at him the same way.

Offhandedly, Wade remembers that they love each other. It’s mutual. What he’s feeling could very well be what Peter’s feeling too, and that sends a rush down his spine.

It’s overwhelming, really. He loves Peter and Peter loves him, but is he allowed to say it? Would that be too soon? He doesn’t know how he should act, it’s been so long since he’s been like this with anyone.

Right as he’s about to say something, Peter opens his mouth. Wade can’t help but track the movement, and his mind goes unthinkably blank as Peter darts his tongue out to wet his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Peter’s voice is quiet, low and smooth in a way that Wade hasn't really heard before. It’s not necessarily seductive, but its raw with emotion, and that makes it mean something.

(Makes it hot)

Wade’s throat is dry when he tries to swallow. 

He watches as Peter’s eyes track down to his lips. Wade parts them, huffs out a small breath, and then nods jerkily. “Fuck, yeah- yeah.”

Peter gulps, Wade tracks the movement of his adam's apple bobbing, then looks back up.

{I wonder if he can hear our heartbeat}

(He can)

Peter shifts forward and Wade has to remember how to breathe. Is this really happening? Oh god, is he hallucinating?

Wade watches as Peter’s hand moves towards him. He feels it brush against his neck, curl around it and then settle, cupping his jaw. He leans into it, unashamed at the fact he’s clearly touch starved, and takes a breath, letting his eyes fall closed at the same time.

{Oh god}

When’s the last time he’s been held? If this is a hallucination he’ll go insane. More insane.

When he reopens his eyes, Peter is right there. In front of him. Their faces are inches apart. He can hear Peter breathe, feel it ghost against his face as the moment hangs between them. 

Wade twitches a bit, shifts his face closer to Peter by meer millimeters.

The move is mirrored by Peter, and they stay like that, inching two paces closer and backing off one. It’s funny, given any other situation Wade would laugh, but his heart is pounding and he’s been dreaming about this moment for months. 

(Oh god)

Then Peter is leaning in and their lips brush together. It sends a jolt of adrenaline through Wade, makes him inhale sharply. His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t need to see. This is a religious experience. 

The first kiss is a simple press of lips. It’s soft, Peter’s lips being smooth and warm against his own for a moment before they pull away. 

Wade needs more. His hands surge up, one traveling to rest on Peter’s hip while the other hooks around Pete’s neck, just the way he’s always wanted to. 

He threads his fingers into soft, wavy brown hair and guides Peter’s face back to his for a second kiss. 

“Oh god,” slips past Wade’s lips right before they connect, this time slotting their lips together, letting them slide away before going back in once more. 

And then Peter’s throat starts creating that beautiful, gorgeous sound. 

Wade draws a sharp inhale, tightening his grip in Peter’s hair and pulling away for a second to get a good look. 

He’s ethereal.

His eyes are still shut, but they're not tightly closed. His lashes are long and feathered over flushed cheeks, mouth still slightly open and lips glossy with spit. 

{He’s a wet dream}

(Our wet dream)

Finally, Peter opens his eyes, and Wade dives right back in, impulsive and impatient to kiss Peter again. The action draws out a laugh, the sound breathy and delicious. Wade eats it right up.

This time, their kisses pick up the pace. It’s a rather slow ascent, but after minutes of languid, slow kissing, Peter’s breath is hitching. 

So Wade catches his bottom lip and bites it between his teeth. He holds the grip for maybe two seconds, darting his tongue out to caress the sensitive skin before releasing and going back in for more. Peter lets out a small stifled noise, and if Wade weren’t so focused, he might have missed it with all the clicking. 

God he’s in love. 

He shuffles closer in his next movement, crowding Peter into his seat on the couch and slotting himself between Peter’s legs. Wade’s still on the floor, now kneeling so Peter doesn’t have to lean over so much, and a pleasant sigh escapes his partner in their next kiss. 

This time when they part, Wade uses his hand in Peter’s hair, intentionally pulling it to have him follow the movement. 

Peter moans.

It’s soft, barely there, but Wade hears it, and it sends a rush down to his stomach. 

“Oh shit, fuck- you’re hot,” is all Wade can say, and Peter laughs, shifting his hips in a way that tells Wade he’s feeling it too. 

“Shut up and keep kissing me,” is what Peter says, but his voice is utterly, deliciously wrecked. It’s gravely and low, right at the bottom of his vocal fry, and Wade would do anything to have that burned in his mind forever.

“Sassy. I like,” Wade quips back, this time shifting back on his haunches, seating himself fully on the floor and releasing Peter. He looks confused, so Wade pats his lap with a devilish smirk and then makes grabby hands. 

Peter laughs again, moving into Wade’s space elegantly. He places his knees on either side of Wade’s thighs, raising his hands to rest on Wade’s shoulders. Then he eases down, seats himself right into Wade’s lap. 

(Holy shit)

{His ass is on our dick, repeat, his ass is on our dick}

“I’m in heaven,” Wade chokes, but it sounds more like a gasp to his own ears.

Peter is smirking, “I thought I said shut up and kiss me.”

“I’m fairly positive you could do something to solve that problem yourself,” Wade snarks, hands coming to rest on Peter’s waist. His thumbs find sharp hip bones, smoothing over them in repetitive ministrations.

“I guess I could.”

Wade catches the tail end of a smirk as Peter cants his hips forward, pressing himself into Wade.

(Shit that feels good)

He follows through with the rest of his body, arching his back until their chests touch. The movements bring their faces millimeters apart, much like their first kiss, but he waits. Wade’s own mouth is parted, Peter’s hands framing his face and holding him still.

A few seconds pass, but Peter holds the position. His smile grows, fully blooming across his face until a soft laugh escapes him. 

Wade brings his hands up, fingers curling around Peter’s wrist in an attempt to get them kissing again, but his gloved fingers touch something slightly raised and Peter gasps. 

Wade is confused, so he looks up. Peter’s mouth parted, eyes half lidded. His gaze is hazy and disoriented. 

So he does it again. 

This time, Peter’s hips stutter, jerking forward and down which only provides more pleasure, and Wade can’t help a sharp intake of breath as he realizes what’s happening. 

He withdraws his hands, peels off his gloves and grabs hold of Peter’s wrists once more. His grip is loose- not that it really matters. Wade’s strength is nothing to Peter’s, but he doesn’t want Peter to feel forced. He uses his thumbs to brush over Peter’s spinnerets again, and this time he’s rewarded with a soft, choked cry.

“Shit, baby boy,” Wade rasps, letting go of one wrist to pull Peter in from the back of his neck. He complies easily, moving with Wade like it’s natural to him, and then they’re kissing again. 

It’s fast, heavy and mostly uncoordinated this time around. Wade is eager to draw any noise he can from Peter. He’s kissing, licking, biting whatever he can while rubbing Peter’s wrist like it’s his damn job.

Peter doesn’t seem to have a whole lot of complains in the matter. He’s enjoying it, hips moving in stuttering gyrations alongside little moans and grunts. 

(How far is this going?)

Shit. White’s right. 

Wade pulls away very reluctantly, holding Peter still just long enough to suck in air and ask, “Pete, maybe we should stop.”

And Peter, god bless his heart, opens lazy unfocused eyes with furrowed brows and looks at Wade like he killed a puppy. “Why?”

“I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want to, I’m down for that. Really down. But I just mean, how far do you want this to go? Maybe we should stop and cool off before things get more heated,” he starts, but Peter is staring off, a contemplative expression over his features. “Whatever you want, baby,” Wade adds. 

{You’re the devil}

(He did the right thing. Sex on their first day together?)

{Woulda been hot}

(Would have been rushed)

They make eye contact then, Peter’s expression breaking into something much softer. He smiles, taking a hand out of Wade’s loose hold to cup his head. “Thank you.” He leans in, slotting their lips together in a deep, sensual kiss. Wade chases it, moves with the action to earn a few more pecks, and then they’re separating.

Peter rises on his knees, backs off a few paces before fully standing up. Wade follows, and when even as they fully rise, they stay close.

(We have a problem)

{It’s in our pants}

“Well,” Wade turns, adjusts himself then grabs his bags, “That’s one way to be welcomed home.” He hoists the duffle over his shoulder and starts toward his room. He can hear Peter behind him, light footsteps barely registering even though the floor is hardwood. 

“Yeah, so where did you go?” Peter asks conversationally. His brows are furrowed when Wade looks back for a moment, but his tone isn’t demanding or firm. 

“I took a uh- I took a job.” Wade deflates a little as he says it, so he keeps his eyes on his luggage as he starts unpacking all his belongings. He can’t see Peter’s reaction, but the stale silence lasts a moment longer than he thinks it should and it makes him crumble. While he didn’t kill anyone, taking jobs was something he intentionally stopped doing to better himself. He knows logically he didn't do anything wrong. Hell, he’s a grown ass adult, he can do as he pleases. But saying it to Peter makes him feel like he failed. “It was just recon though. I didn’t-” Wade can barely make himself say it. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“I never said you did,” Peter says from right behind Wade, making him startle. Hands smooth over his shoulder blades, curving over his deltoids until they join in front, locking Wade into a hug. “I was worried about you. I’m just glad you're safe and home.” Peter’s voice is much softer now, cracking in the middle of his sentence with emotion.

Wade feels both relieved and guilty. He turns in the hold, Peter accommodating the movement easily, and then they’re eye to eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first.” He brings his hands up around Peter’s waist, locking them together the same way Peter’s are around his shoulders. 

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I hurt you, made you worry. I’m sorry.” Wade pushes, staring into Peter’s eyes even though he’s not looking back. 

But his eyes flicker and he blinks, and the next time Wade sees the warm brown color of Peter’s iris’, they’re locked with his own. 

Peter seems to search for something, feathering between Wade’s eyes until he finds it. He relaxes, melts into their hug, presses closer and rests his head on Wade’s chest. “Please don’t-” he starts, sighs, then continues, “Don’t leave without telling me. Please.”

“I won’t baby boy,” Wade says truthfully, squeezing Peter tighter in apology.

They stay there for several minutes, swaying in each other's embrace. For the first time in a while, Wade feels… normal. Whole. Which is strange, because he’s Deadpool. He’s Deadpool standing in the middle of his Manhattan apartment hugging Spider-Man. And they’re together.

(That was never confirmed)

Wade inhales sharply, lifting his head from where it was resting on top of Peter’s. “Are we dating now?”

Peter lifts his head, pulling away to look at Wade. He’s smirking, but his breaths tell Wade he’s stifling a laugh, “So romantic, Wade.”

(Ask him out)

{Suck his dick}

“Oh! Sorry. Spider-Man, please only have heartfelt dry humping sessions with me.” 

Peter smacks his shoulder lightly for that, but they’re still laughing. 

Not soon after they find their way to the living room. They’re laying down on the couch, Peter resting his head on Wade’s chest. It’s calm, and they have a movie playing in the background. 

Peter shifts, moving his torso into a more comfortable position. The light from the TV catches his face and Wade sees how tired he looks. He has bags under his eyes and his hair is unwashed, soft waves now frizzy from being tousled too much.

Wade shifts to card his hands through Peter’s hair, pulling a sigh from him. “You tired?”

“Yeah,” Peter answers, closing his eyes. Wade watches as he stills, eventually tearing them wide open again in an attempt to stay awake. 

“Sleep.”

“No, I’m fine,” Peter yawns. 

“I’ll be right here, you can rest if you need to,” Wade assures, and Peter smiles sluggishly, shutting his eyes once again. 

Wade watches as sleep takes him within minutes.