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2019-09-01
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2019-12-31
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Final Frontier

Summary:

Deadpool is unpredictable most of the time, but when it comes to certain things he is remarkably consistent. So when Spider-man can't find him, he knows it can't mean anything good.

He only has a half-baked idea of where Wade could be, but Peter is prepared to take some potentially drastic measures to find him. He's not sure he's ready to consider the reasons why.

He just tells himself it's worth it.

Probably.

Notes:

I have a few yet-unfinished fics to work on, so is it the best time to have started another? ....meh, no. But this was in my head and when plot bunnies come you must follow... ...

Not related to 'In Unison' or other fics.

As a maybe-unecessary FYI: I'm pulling some inspiration from the Spider-man/Deadpool comic run, but it's not necessary to know anything from them because I'm deviating all over the place. But, anywho, Peter's in his later twenties, at least.

Okay. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: Come on

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



Asking Dr. Strange for assistance is possibly not the smartest thing that Peter has ever done.  Or, you know, it’s absolutely-without-a-doubt the smartest.  Only time will tell on that one.

Without a doubt, it is not the easiest thing he has done.

Not that Stephen Strange is outright mean. No. 

Peter would almost prefer it if he were because that’s straightforward and easier to understand.  He is used to mean - villains, bad press, assorted bullies - and can plan a response to mean.

No, no.  Strange is ...well, strange. He is poised and full of manners while also being condescending. He is pompous and oppositional but... helpful? 

At least Peter is pretty sure that he’s been left here to wait in this study while the wizard went off to do something helpful.  The older man had certainly hinted that he was going to go do something but, see, he hadn’t been explicit.

Weird, indeed.

And, also, why did he have to accept guests in this dusty-ass old room?  Oh, sorry: Sanctum Sanctorum. That is the proper name, or so Peter has been educated. He’s not a student of Latin, but he understands this to mean something practically holy. AKA: very important. AKA: don’t touch anything.  AKA:  it’s still ancient AF.  AKA: hire a new interior decorator.

Peter crosses his arms tightly and wiggles himself a little tighter into his coat.  He’s not comfortable here for multiple reasons, not all of which have to do with being wrong-footed by Strange himself. 

This place is a trove of, quote: “priceless and timeless artifacts”.  End quote. 

Which ...cool. 

But Peter can count on his hands how many things he owns that weren’t bought second-hand, so a house of antiques is not his ideal hangout space.  Not that he’d break anything - he has the good kind of sticky fingers, see? - but it’s just the whole aura of being out of his depth that he doesn’t like. 

Even visiting Avenger’s Mansion doesn’t make him feel this way because that place is floor-to-ceiling tech, and tech Peter understands.  Loves, in fact.

No, hardly anything here is thrumming with electricity.  The energy here is something...else.

Magic.  Peter knows that’s what it is. 

It’s old and it feels ...dense and sticky.  His spidey-senses do not like it even a little bit.  His neck is cold and his spine prickles in a way that won’t let him get comfortable.  In short, this is not the kind of thing that Harry Potter promised. 

PS: do not make Dumbledore jokes to Doctor Strange; that’s not in his repertoire of humor. 

But Peter can handle it. He’s Spider-man, after all. Not that the Lord of Sorcery - or whatever title he likes these days - gives a single shit.

Crude, Strange has called him on more than on occasion.  Like there’s something wrong with being witty.

Pedestrian, he has said. As if being street-level when the Avengers aren’t in need is so bad?  Sorry not everyone has access to the infinite cosmos, or what-the-fuck-ever.

 

Which, incidentally, is exactly the playing field Peter has come here to try to level.

.

“...and it’s hella trippy meeting yourself, Webs, I’m telling you!”

Spider-man, being a red-blooded, if radioactive, American was busy slamming Big Macs and so hadn’t been listening to every word Deadpool was prattling. At this statement, however, he blinked and drew breath to respond a little too quick...

“Chill, man...” Deadpool thumped him hard between the shoulders to help him out when he started to choke on a bite.

Spider-man gurgled, then actually coughed properly to propel the hunk of food up and out. 

“Shit,” he wheezed and made a valiant effort to catch the hunk of bun that landed on his lap and then rolled down off of his knee...

 

“Nasty,” the large man beside him laughed as they both leaned over the edge of the theatre marquee where they were seated.

Spider-man supposed he could have webbed-up the mushed food, but no one was passing under them so he let it splat to the sidewalk.  He felt a bit repulsed with himself but quickly remembered the choke-worthy topic at hand.

“What did you say?” he twisted toward Deadpool.

The man’s mask was also partially rolled-up so he could down some greasy fries, so Spider-man caught his smirk.

“I said that was nasty ...I approve, though.  No worries.”

As if Spider-man would have thought that, of all people, Deadpool would be the one to get hung-up on daintiness or table manners.

“No,” he knocked the mercenary with his elbow, “before that.”

“Aw, yeah,” Deadpool’s tongue snuck past his scarred lips to lick some salt from his gloves, which Spider-man found to be a highly questionable choice. “Trippy, shit.  Like I said...”

Spider-man paused a beat to decide whether it would be worth offering his companion a quick lesson on sanitation. He calculated a high probability of having ‘cell regeneration’ thrown back in his face and skipped the whole thing.

“Back up one more step; how did you “meet yourself”?” he couldn’t help but repeat this back in a derisive tone because ...come on. 

Deadpool said a lot of zany things, not all of which Spider-man bothered to follow-up on.  Some of it was total malarky, of course, but Spider-man had already come to learn that Deadpool spoke a lot more sense than people ever gave him credit for.  Dude just ... ...well, a judicious term would be that DP’s had “a lot of life experience.”

Even so, this one was a little out there. Right?

Right?

Deadpool didn’t go on right away, just munched on some more fries.  He even chewed with his mouth open a little, probably because he knew that doing so irritated Spider-man to no end.

“Inter-dimensional travel, Webs.  You impressed?”

Spider-man snorted.

Yeah. No.

“Come on.”

“Sure thing. Cum on what?” Spider-man could make-out the way that Deadpool’s brows waggled up and down under his mask.

“I thought you were being serious,” he elbowed Deadpool again and took another large bite of of his burger.

He knew the meat in those things was controversial, but whichever health-nuts were concerned about that should show him celery that tasted that damn good.  

Thanks be to the fast food gods for his over-active metabolism.

“I am!  Take a look at this...” Deadpool shoved his carton of fries into Spider-man's hand and shifted around to dig into one of the pouches on his belt. “Eat your heart out.”

Spider-man could only blink at the small thing in the palm of the mercenary’s hand.  It looked like a tarnished brass ring, the kind that would fit over two fingers instead of just one.  Not Deadpool’s usual aesthetic, though Spider-man couldn't claim to be up on the latest trends.

“...neat?”

“Stole it off Strange and his one true homie! I forget his name...” he added this tantilizing bit of information with glee. 

If Spider-man had taken a fresh bite, he would have choked again.

“You didn’t!” his masked eyes were wide and focused on the other man.

No.  Just ...no.  Deadpool was known to be bold, but this was just too much. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised, but everything about Dr. Strange always seemed heightened and forbidden.

To Spider-man, at least.

“Sure did!  They call ‘em sling rings,” the man tossed the thing a bit and caught it back out of the air. “I just call it Bad-fucking-Ass.”

Balls. 

Deadpool had all the balls. S

pider-man didn’t like admitting it, but damn. If for no other reason than Dr Strange, via magic, could probably make Deadpool suffer a lot more than most other people.

Without thinking, he reached for the thing. 

To inspect it.  Ya know, for science. 

In the name of discovery, he forgot his trepidation.  Then again, well...it could be jewelry from a quarter machine. With DP you just never knew.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Deadpool clenched his fist. “Gotta be careful, Webs...”

“I’m always careful!” he was positive that he was more careful that Deadpool ever was.

“Says the man who just spat half-eaten bread onto a public sidewalk.  Couldda hit a poor pedestrian, ya know?”

Dick.

Spider-man scowled and ate some of Deadpool’s fries.

“So, c’mon.  Are you pulling my leg or what?” he asked with a half-full mouth despite the manners his Aunt had engrained in him.

“Would I lie?! ...wait, no, don’t answer that,” Wade snatched his fries back.

The ring was now shoved onto his left hand.  It only fit halfway down his fingers with his gloves on, but the man didn’t look concerned about it falling off.

“I would totes lie, but I’m not this time ... ...been to a few different dimensions.  Some might make you blush,” he winked through his suit and his mouth was twisted into a smirk. “Not all of the others versions of me like the me that is me ...but we usually have a ball, though.”

“So, like ...you can visit the past you?” Spider-man wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t being Punk’d, but he was also more than a little fascinated.

“That’s a negative, Ghost Rider,” Deadpool swung his legs with apparent delight.

Spider-man thought the mercenary rather liked that he wasn't catching up to something Deadpool could educate him on. That was either supremely endearing or annoying as hell.

“It’s not time travel,” Wade’s tone flirted close to condescension   “It’s dimension travel ...into an alternate reality.  Whole different ballgame, yeah?

.

Yeah, a whole different ball game is right. 

Wade has never been super clear about his reality-hopping, as he likes to call it.  Once Peter had decided to believe him and shown interest in maybe-possibly-definitely trying to tag along, Wade had backpedalled and stopped bringing it up so much.  Not because it wasn’t true, he promised, but because Peter “shouldn’t get wrapped up” and “it’s some fucked up shit sometimes, Webs.”

So Peter tried to forget about it. 

Until a few months ago when Wade dropped a couple agitated lines about not being the only Deadpool who’d liberated a sling ring from its rightful owner.  Someone was looking for a hand with something. 

Was it this Wade’s business? 

Was he required to care about other versions of himself?

Once again, when Wade realized Peter found the metaphysics of these questions intriguing, he’d clammed right up.

Fine. Whatever.  Wade Wilson is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside of an enigma ...yadda, yadda, yadda.  That’s old news.

Except now Peter hasn’t been able to track Wade down in a few weeks. 

And, sure, Wade is often unpredictable in many ways.  However, in hitting patrols a couple time a week with Spiderman, he is remarkably consistent.  If a job takes him off in one direction or another, he always leaves a candygram atop The Daily Bugle with a note about it. Or just texts.  Okay...sometimes texts a little too much if Peter’s being honest.

So Spidey’s been on a bit of a hunt. 

Weasel had been unhelpful, though not in his usual cagy way; he had seemed genuine at a loss. 

Al hasn’t seen her roommate in weeks, either, and Peter definitely believes her because the lady’s always been sweet to him.  Wade promises that doesn’t mean she likes him, only that she’s confused... but Peter doesn’t buy that. 

And, well, Wade doesn’t have a lot of other BFF’s.  He’d been engaged a year or so ago to a woman that he and Weasel both swear - hand on the Bible style-  is a demon.  Peter figures she’s probably just another mutant using her powers for darker purposes, but in any case he hasn’t been able to find her.

‘You can’t find what lives in hell!’ Weasel had mocked him.

So, still dubious about whether the sling-ring nonsense was some sort of long con, Peter had come to the alleged original owner.

And.

Well.

Stephen Strange had had some choice words regarding the company Peter keeps.  The man has never been impressed with Peter, so it’s really not a huge loss.

‘Can’t you, like ...look into other dimensions and find him?’

‘That’s a ridiculously simplistic view of the multiverse.

Great.  Super.  Thanks for nothing.

But the Sorcerer of Time and Space and Whatever had bustled off for something important.

So Peter’s waiting.

Still.


 

When Peter hears rustling and footsteps approaching, he straightens out of his unhappy slouch.  Truth be told, he is half expecting to see Dr. Strange returning with Deadpool at his heel like this is all a ruse and he’s known all along which hole to pry Wade out of. 

That seems like a game Strange might like to play.

Peter also recognizes this is wishful thinking, that he’s sort of hoping not to have to do the things he’s pretty sure he wants to attempt.  Because as fascinating as he finds the theory of multiple dimensions, he's also mature enough to admit the prospect is intimidating.

It’s wild that this is his life.  He should be used to it by now, he knows; his life has not been average in quite some time...

“A solution, I believe,” the stoic doctor announces.

Does he ever emote, Peter wonders. Wasn’t he an actual doctor at some point?  Where is his beside manner? And should Peter help him find it?

Rather than say so, he looks to what the man is holding.

It appears to be a bracelet, which Peter doesn’t know what to make of.  The thing doesn’t look 900 years old like everything else in the room, however, so Peter wants to touch.

“What is it?” Peter absolutely does not touch because he doesn’t have a lot of trust in whatever this building is producing.

“A tool,” Strange extends it properly to Peter.  “To help pull yourself into another reality.  It will be easier to use than a sling ring ...how your friend has managed to use one without getting himself killed is beyond comprehension...”

Peter steps over this insult to more important things.

This thing?”

But maybe Peter shouldn’t be surprised.  Rings. Bracelets.  Mystic artists are fashionistas, perhaps?

“Yes.  This.  Miguel O’Hara created this in the year 2099.”

And isn’t that a statement?

Peter blinks.

“Come again?”

“I sped time forward to 2099 to fetch it and rewound myself back here so that you can use it.”

Okay.  Yeah.  Totally.  But Peter is the asshole for suggesting Strange just poke around in a neighboring dimension to look for Deadpool.  Noted.

“2099?” Peter does snatch the thing from the doc to hold it up for close inspection.

Were materials the same in 2099?  Is this a yet-unheard-of-synthetic?  What energy does 2099 even use for power?

“It works?” he raises a brow.

Strange curls his eyebrow right back. 

Oh. Fine.  Stupid question.

“How?” he amends.

“It’s a concentrated and controlled product of a particle accelerator.

Peter freezes.

“Didn’t I say controlled?” Strange is straight sneering, now.  “Once turned on, it can slice through this reality to another,” he points to the face of what Peter can now see is a slick watch rather than bracelet.  “It’s set on our dimension,” he indicates the time.  “And can dial into the next ...and the next...”

“And set it here to come back?” Peter eyes the hands.

06:16:00

“Indeed”

“...do I have to know how to choose a dimension?  Or does it choose for me?” there’s no way to know if this is another stupid question; Peter has absolutely no basis.

“You could choose if you want to cross your fingers and step through hundreds of thousands of dimensions ... ...focusing on what you want to find should help immensely.”

“Oh ...just think of DP?”

Strange sighs through his nose.  A nose that Peter, incidentally, finds he very much wants to punch.

“You are being simplistic and naive.  Your...Deepee is not the sole version of himself," he reminds Peter. "Merely thinking of him will find you any him.  Focus, I said.  Pure and specific.”

“Okay...”

Strange doesn’t look hopeful or excited about Spider-man’s newest adventure.  Peter can sympathize.  He’s not sure how to feel, either.

“Find your friend. Bring him back or leave him there, whichever you please ....just bring the ring back to me...”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to join me?” a companion who knows something about multiple realities, however pious he may be, isn’t an altogether horrible idea.

“There are too many people who would be happy for me to leave this plane of existence open to an attack,” the good doctor declines.

Peter doesn’t bother to point out that The Avengers could usually help with that kind of bullshit.

“Alright...”

“Be careful. Not everyone enjoys realities outside of their own,” he finally gives some more ominous advice.

Great.

 

Yeah, he’s definitely not sure how he feels about this yet.

Notes:

Yeah, there is going to be some half-cocked science happening, but considering the canon I feel like we're all ready to suspend our disbelief.

*2099 Miguel O'Hara is a nod at the end credits of Into the Spiderverse. There's not an in-depth explanation of the "watch" he has there, so I'm just filling in blanks. Because I can...

Chapter 2: Lift off

Summary:

"You’re new at this still, huh?” he calculates.
Peter scratches at the back of his neck stupidly.
“Well, yeah...”
“Ah, you’ll figure it out ...you’re all usually pretty smart,” he considers.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text


Peter paces around his apartment trying to decide what he is going to do.

Because ...he is not going to put on a watch and just go to another dimension, right?

Like ...right?

Ugh.

He feels the need to consult someone.  Not Stark.  No.  Tony would confiscate this thing so fast and test and theorize, and back off old man - it’s mine!  So no dice there. 

Banner, would've been better.  If he wasn’t off at Berkley holed up in some lab with Ben Grimm he would be an excellent sounding board.

...and would anyone believe him anyway?  If they did believe him, would they do so enough to  want to help him?  Wade Wilson hasn’t exactly endeared himself to a lot of people.

 

Anyway, Peter’s already done some of his own research about the Multiverse, both now and when Deadpool had first made his claims.  It’s fascinating physics but Peter has always preferred hands-on science to getting bogged down in theoretical debates.  There’s very little consensus on this matter...

So it seems more and more likely that Peter just has to do this thing.

Right ...now.

Or now.

Peter keeps pacing a bit more because this is crazy.  And does he even know Wade is stuck in another dimension?  He suspects it, but that doesn’t make it a fact. 

Not really.

The evidence does point this way, though, and he’s a man of science.  Sure it’s possible Wade wants to be wherever he is.  Maybe he found a really great reality he has zero inclination to leave.  Or he’s just gotten busy somewhere.

But the fact remains that this long of an absence is unprecedented. 

If Peter has learned anything from scouring city streets for 10+ years it’s that deviation is always noteworthy.  Even people who think they don’t have routines form habits.

In some part of him, Peter wonders whether this is even his business to care about.  Hadn’t there been a time not so long ago that he would've paid - not a lot, mind, but a bit - to get rid of Deadpool showing up in his life?

...how long ago had that been? 

Hadn’t Wade dragged him into this friendship kicking and screaming?

... that really had been quite a while ago, now.

Point is, they are friends now. So even if Wade is having a grand ole time wherever the fuck he is, his happy ass is getting found. 

Peter packs a Spidey suit and extra webbing into his favorite backpack and leaves his apartment.  He thinks he shouldn’t travel from inside in case Peter Parker doesn’t live in that building in whatever dimension he must visit.  Or ...actually, maybe he doesn’t want to appear in that apartment even if Peter does live there.  Sort of terrifying, right?  Or ...maybe Peter Parker doesn’t even exist in the reality at all.  That’s possible, right?

Yup, the thing is already freaky.

In any case, he goes up to the roof where he can reasonably hope no one is around.  Once he’s up there in the chilly air, he zips his coat higher.  Then he stares at this strange but unremarkable looking watch.

Turn it on and focus.  Focus on ...what?  There are many Deadpools, Strange had said.  He said to be ‘pure and specific.’  Ironically, that had not been an incredibly specific thing to say.

But, okay, what is something that is specifically Wade?  In this particular moment, all Peter could think of is:  Wade, the Man with the Gall to Rob a Wizard.

Good enough.

Probably.

Peter focuses on this impressive, albeit frustrating, trait and presses the face of the watch inward. Though he half expects nothing to happen, Peter immediately spots a distortion in the air in front of him.  Something fuzzy, almost pixilated.

“This is where I die,” he mutters to himself in attempts to lighten his own nerves.

The attempt fails.

Even so, he shuffles forward and inches his hands out.  Moments later, he's surrounded by blurry nothingness. 

 

His body feels compressed on all sides, and colors blend and flicker in a disorienting fashion. Then his stomach swoops in a weightless way before he stumbles forward ....and unloads his stomach.

 

“Ugh,” he finishes puking and stands upright to look around with wild eyes.

Not because anything particularly interesting is happening around him, but because it worked.  Or at the very least something has happened. 

He’s no longer on a roof but standing in a shadowy alleyway.

So, first lesson: where you travel from isn’t exactly where you end up.

Because of an alternate city layout or just by chance?  Information unclear.  He’ll need more data for that.

Before he can move on, the smell from the nearby dumpsters invades and upsets his compromised stomach enough that he has to vomit again.

“Hoo-hoo!  Someone’s had too much to drink tonight!”

It’s lucky that Peter’s finished the puke show when someone nearby speaks up because he jerks up straigh and would have gotten sick all over himself.

He knows that voice.

 

Indeed, he looks around and finds a familiar red and black leathered man standing one landing up on a fire escape.  He’s leaning forward to rest his forearms on the railing to watch Peter’s disgusting moment, casual as you please.

No matter.

“You’re Deadpool!” he laughs in relief.

“Duhhhh,” the merc lifts himself over the rail with ease and drops to the ground.  “You don’t sound drunk.  Are you actually excising a demon Linda Blair style?  Cuz that is something I might stay to watch...”

“No, no, something just ...didn’t agree with me...”

“Myeh.  Boring.  Hasta,” he waves a bland little wave and then pivots on his heel.

“Wait!  I was hoping to find you, actually ...” Peter scrambles forward to fall into step with Deadpool.

“Weird - I don’t usually get the fanboys. Not that I’m not flattered,” Peter receives a once-over he’s seen before.  “But I don’t have time, alright?”

“What?  No.  I’m not going rabid fan on you.  I was looking for you.  Maybe it’s weird ...no, it’s definitely weird,” he keeps up with the mercenary.  “But you don’t happen to know anything about dimension traveling, do y--”

Before he can finish his question, Peter is tackled to the ground.  He hadn't even seen Deadpool shift and doesn’t quite process it until his shoulder scrapes along the cement and the breath huffs from his lungs.

Luck for him, he’s not Spider-man for nothing. 

Peter uses Wade’s momentum and vaults him up and off before rolling to his feet.  Deadpool recovers just as quick and unsheathes both of his swords.

“You want your ring back, you’ll have to come and get it,” he growls. 

“What?” Peter drops his defensive posture.

“I figured one of you wizards would come looking eventually...”

“No, wai-”

“Gotta say.  I thought Stark would come himself, though.”

“What?!  What’s Tony Stark got to do with it?” Peter's flummoxed all the way through. 

“Ain’t he still Douchebag Supreme over you fucks?  I admit I’m not always paying you all of the attentions,” Deadpool goes on, twirling one katana deftly.  “And yes: offense intended...”

“Tony Stark is Sorcerer Supreme?”

Oh he has landed in a rich world.  Tony would hate this ... ...or, no, maybe he'd love it way too much.  Peter resolves to never tell him. Ever.

He should be focusing on Wade’s glare instead.

“What, did they call in out-of-towners for this, then? Where you from?” his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Not here.  A whole different reality ...and I’m definitely not one of the wizards!”

“Who taught you to fight, then?  Those bastards are tricky...”

And doesn’t Peter know it.

“Long story ....look, the Sorcerer in my world gave me a way to search dimensions for my Deadpool ...uh, our Deadpool,” Peter frowns at the sound of that. “Our reality’s Deadpool.”

This Deadpool’s eyes widened a bit and he gasps.

“You lost me!”

The accusation is clear.

“Not me!” Peter’s a bit affronted by that.  “I didn’t do anything.  He just ...hasn’t come back. He’s a friend.”

Deadpool cocks his head. Studies Peter.  The length of the stare is a little unnerving but at least his weapons are now held in lax hands. 

“...you his Spidey?” he finally asks, having added up something about Peter and found an answer he must like to some degree because he doesn’t sound mad about it.

Peter’s first reaction, of course, is to deny it.  That is always standard.  What if the Peter here looks like him?  He would out himself ... ...sort of.  Then again, this Deadpool has obviously been to other realities himself and so may have witnessed many variations.

“...maybe?"

Deadpool chuckles, and Peter thinks his laugh is different from his own Wade’s.

...

 

“Ah-hah-hah-haha!  What the fuck...” Deadpool’s voice ramped up an octave with his laughter.

Spider-man was unamused.  And to make sure that the other man knew for a fact that he was unamused, he planted his fists importantly on his hips.

“Shut the hell up...”

“Now, Spidey,” the merc sobered up and came to attention.  “Not even Queens’ finest hero gets presents from Santa with a potty mouth like that.  What would the reindeer think?” he gestured a gloved hand at Spider-man’s chest.

For tonight Queens’ masked hero was not simply wearing his Spidey suit.  He had pulled a cheerful Christmas sweater on overtop of it, and he’d been wearing it with pride until about two minutes ago when he’d flipped down into the alley Deadpool was lurking in.

He was regretting the move entirely.

“My aunt made it for me!”

“Aw,” Wade tilted his head to the side and gave the impression that he was pouting a bit. “And you love your Auntie ... ...I’m getting some serious Christmas Story vibes.  You know, the whole bunny suit...”

“God, you are the actual worst,” Spider-man dropped his head back to stare skyward.

Deadpool snorted. 

“And a merry Christmas to you, too...”

“Hey, you started the antagonism!" Spidey straightened and pointed his accusing finger at the other man despite knowing it was a childish response. “I came here in the Christmas spirit...”

“Yeah, no shit...”

“Jesus ... ... I’ve been looking for you, alright?" he opted to simply move on. “I thought you were coming to the little holiday shindig...”

Deadpool twitched.  Stared.  Then narrowed his beady white eyes and squared his broad shoulders. 

“What?  Stark’s bullshit?”

“Well ...yeah,” Spidey was a little nonplussed. “When I called to tell Pepper I was running late, she gave me a rundown of who was there.  I noticed you were missing.”

“Don’t make me laugh ...aha ...ha ...hah ...pff,” the merc mimed stroking his dick and then tossed a hand flippantly through the air. “Bunccha jagoffs...”

“Damn.  Tell me how you really feel ...”

“Sure.  You got an hour?” Deadpool was still glaring and Spider-man was still wrong-footed.

Not that he was always Mr Popular or anything, but he usually got a warmer reception off Wade.  They weren’t BFFs every second of the day - usually to Wade’s chagrin, mind you - but they got on even if they bickered and sniped.  It was ...part of their charm.

“Ugh,” Wade sagged his shoulders dramatically. “You look all innocent and confused.  Like, ‘Help! Why are mommy and daddy fighting?’” he put on a high-pitched voice.

“Jeeze, cut it out. I’m not a kid.  Just tell me what’s going on or tell me to get lost!”

The glare lingered around Deadpool’s eyes as if, yes, he very much did want to tell Spider-man to scram.  He stayed surprisingly mum, however.

“...you and Stark had some falling out again?”  Spidey concluded.

Deadpool was always in and out of graces with The Avengers.  It wasn’t like the mercenary went to great lengths to stabilize the relationship, what with his unpredictable comings and going and his oscillation between helping and heckling.  Natasha called him a chaotic neutral. Sam argued he was probably more a chaotic good who dabbled with denial.  Cap couldn’t make up his mind what to think of him and didn’t really follow that conversation anyway.  And Tony ...well, Tony butted heads with him 9 days out of 10.

Nevertheless, Deadpool was in the “Friend Of” category when it came to the Avengers, so Spider-man knew he’d gotten an invite.  Pepper was ultimate planner and dictator of the party, so that meant Tony didn’t get to make last minute alterations on his own whim.

“You’re aware, somewhere in your little webby brain, that Stark and I have never actually had a falling in, right?” Wade cocked his head. 

“Well, I mean, yeah ... ...I just didn’t think that would make you miss a party.  Food.  Booze.  Plenty of other people there...”

Wade growled and scrubbed his hands over the top of his masked head while he began to pace. 

“Dude. Chill.  I’m not going to make you go,”  Spidey carefully watched what he considered to be quite the overreaction.  “I just thought I’d check in ...plus, I got you something!” he remembered and wiggled his backpack from his shoulders.

Deadpool’s boots slid in the slush as he came to a stop.

“You what?”

Spider-man snorted and pulled one of the small gift bags from his pack.  He’d never seen the point in taking time to delicately wrap a gift if someone was just going to rip it open, so everyone got reusable gift bags.  Every year.  No exceptions.

“They’re just doing the old cliche gift exchange at the party ...Tony always out-spends everyone,” he rolled his eyes behind the mask as he re-zipped his bag.  “But I found something for you.”

He held it out but Wade just stared at it. Blinked.  Then blinked a few more times.

“Uh...are you stroking out?  Is this ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’?”

That snapped the other man out of it. 

“Don’t act all theatre-savvy like I’m not the one who made you watch that movie,” he quipped.

True enough.  He’d heckled Spidey into coming to one of his (allegedly numerous) safe houses to expand his Sci-Fi repertoire.  Spider-man had been hesitant to take the invite and step into some new boundary of their friendship  -- like, was Wade going to expect to come to his place, too? -- but he’d gone and enjoyed himself.   He had even returned a couple times to play Overwatch.  He couldn’t help it.  Wade had a boss set-up and a much newer TV, so what’s a guy to do?  As an added bonus, he so far hadn’t seemed to give two shits about the reciprocity of getting invited to Spidey’s pad.

“Yeah, DP, you’re the super cultured one,” he quipped and then shook the bag in his hand, hoping to tempt.

Wade was usually more grabby than this.  Definitely more curious than this.

“I ...don’t have one for you,” he seemed reticent to admit.

“So? Why would you?  You weren’t planning on going to the party ...now go on, or I’m returning it.  I have Amazon Prime, you know.”

“Who fucking doesn’t,” Wade finally reached out for the bag and dug in. 

Wade laughed anew when he plucked the bottle out.

“I’m not sure if it’s the same brand you were talking about, but the reviews said it’s hot as hell...” Spidey smiled, behind his mask.

“Well I’ve been there once or twice, so I’ll be able to confirm or deny,” the mercenary continued to chortle while he held the bottle of hot sauce of up for inspection. 

So long as there was good flavor, Deadpool’s motto was ‘the hotter, the better!‘  He tried any taco stand’s hottest sauce, always went for the spiciest wings, and claimed that he refused to eat eggs if tabasco sauce wasn’t involved.  He’d recently been talking about this ghost pepper sauce, which sounded insane but Wade was certain would be worth it.  He enjoyed testings the bounds of spice, particularly because enflamed taste bugs never lasted too long for him. 

Spider-man called that cheating.

DP told him he could get fucked (wink!).

“Thanks ...thanks, this is fan-fucking-tastic,” he spun the bottle in his gloved hand lightly.  “And,” he sighed and glanced away.  Then back.  “It’s not that I don’t want to come hang ...you know, with you and other Wilson or Cap ...and you know I’d eat the shit out of Stark’s spread...”

“Still not too late to change your mind,” Spidey mimed glancing at a watch he didn’t wear.

“Thing is ...I know a pity invite when I see one,” he didn’t sound agitated anymore, just factual and bored.

“What?  I’m not--”

“Nah, not you, Spider-Santa,” Wade blinked again.

“Oh...”

“Yeah, oh ,” his huff was back to derisive this time around. “And I know I’m guilty of giving everyone tons of shit -- I own that.  Happily.  It’s like my #1 past time, and  - total brag here - I’m hella good at it...”

“Alright,” Spidey agreed because he already knew all of this to be fact. “So?”

“So ... ...it’s the fucking holidays,” the other man spat and threw both hands so heatedly into the air so that Spider-man had to catch the glass bottle of sauce, “and I fucking hate Christmas, alright?  I do. I’m a goddamn scrooge, and I don’t want to go sing Christmas carols with a room full of fuck-heads who only actually want me around when I can die for them.  Fuck them,” he flicked a hands in the general direction of Tony’s penthouse. “Ugh.  Fucking hell...”

Well then.

“..technically I don’t think there’s going to be any caroling...” Spider-man responded cagily, surprised and unsure just what kind of ground they were on.

“Fuckin’....mmmm,” Wade growled and flexed his fists uselessly.

Then he squinted one eye and lifted his hand to pinch his fingers together in a way that made it clear he was pretending to squish Spider-man’s skull.

“...dude, seriously?”

“Ugh.  Gimme my present back,” the merc resorted to petulant grabby hands.

Spider-man hesitated, wondering if it would be just be flung about again. He figured DP knew he would catch it and the throw had been solely for dramatics, so there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again.  It was a gift, though, so he extended it back out to the other man, who snatched it greedily.

“Sorry to poke fun.  I guess I just ...didn’t know you had such strong feelings on the mater....”

“On Christmas?  Or the rest of the Care Bears?”

Spider-man snickered despite himself.

“Both?  I guess ...well, I know you’re not besties with the team...”

“Christ, that’s an understatement ...‘he’ll be up in a second, don’t bother’ ...” he pitched a nasally voice.  “...‘you’ll be fine Wade.  You always are...’”  his timbre dropped low as he adopted a Russian accent. “...‘damn, Deadpool, why you gotta bleed all over our shit?...’ ...ugh.  Sanctamoneous cock-suckers.”

He trailed off in his mutterings, though Spider-man caught a couple inventive nicknames that made him fight a smile.

“...totally can’t tell if I’m being attacked here,” Spider-man wondered if maybe he should ...go?

Wade had called himself a scrooge, after all.  He was clearly in a mood, and Spidey had already given him what he wanted to give him.

Plus, Wade had a point.  Spider-man couldn’t recall these exact phrases being said, but he knew there was a dismissive attitude about Deadpool’s wellbeing on jobs because... well, just because he was Deadpool.  Spidey could see why that was unfair.  He supposed he’d just never noticed because ...because, yes, Wade did heal.  He did bounce back. Always.

Still.

It was easy to understand why maybe he’d had enough of the Avengers.

“Nah, not you,” Wade pushed a breath out nice and slow.  “You’re more down to earth than the rest of the circle-jerk club ... ...staying street-level and shit.”

True enough.  Spider-man worked fairly often with the Avengers and joined the team as-needed in NYC, but he’d noticed the differences long ago.  The grandiosity of everything they did here and abroad was a far cry from the gritty shadows of the city.

And.  Ya know.  Sanctimonious might not be a completely unfair appraisal.  Sometimes. Maybe. 

But Spider-man was still totally honored to work with them!

But he got it.  Well, as much as he could.

“...wanna go try out that hot sauce?”

Deadpool tilted his chin.

“Is that a come on?”

Spider-man shoved his shoulder.

“It’s a dinner invite, idiot...we can go find tacos for you to test that on...”

He earned a dubious look for that.

“What about your fancy boy party?  Tables of hor-devours? Champagne? Finest bourbon? Crystal g- ahck!” Wade got himself punched properly in the shoulder to shut him up.

“I’m good with plates of tacos and a mountain of guacamole.  You in?”

“Fuck yeah!”

 

Twenty minutes found them seated in a taqueria that, quite honestly, was used to their presence by now. Enough so that they didn’t seem to care that Deadpool had brought his own sauce. 

The workers also didn’t seem to care when Spider-man revealed and unpacked the remote control helicopter that he’d meant to enter into the gift exchange.  They took turns flying it in circles around their table while they waited for food.  He knew it was nothing compared to drones and Tony probably had just laying around, but he’d followed the rules and stuck to the spending limit. They couldn't all be billionaires. 

“Could be dime-store and it’s still entertaining as shit, Webs.  Don’t worry,” Wade promised, head tilted up to track the progress of his flight.

They reigned it in a bit once the food came. 

Spidey watched closely as Wade tried and loved - hated, loved, hated, hated, hated, loooooved - his new hot sauce.  He promptly declined to try any of it himself, though he was glad Wade enjoyed it.  He was happy to busy himself with too-many tacos and an embarrassing amount of chips.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Wade finally addressed the circumstances of their meal once they’d devolved to just picking at the refillable chips.

“But it’s delicious,” Spider-man shrugged and adjusted his mask where it was rolled up around his nose. “Besides ...you have valid points.”

“Oh, I’ve always got points,” Wade smirked.

They fell quiet for a few more minutes and the basket dwindled to crumbs.  Spider-man subtly nudged the bowl towards the edge of the table in hopes that a waitress would notice without him having to announce his gluttony.  Wade made no comment about his desperation, just tapped his fingers distractedly along the edge of the table.  Spidey assumed he was matching the beat of some song, as per usual, but he couldn’t pick it up.

“...I found out I had cancer on Christmas Eve,” he blurted after Gloria swiped up the basket on her way past and Spidey had just begun mentally congratulating himself.

“What?!”

“...well, technically I wasn’t diagnosed for a couple days after that.  But I fainted half-naked on Christmas Eve after this real bitchin’ party ...”

Spider-man just gaped.

“Yeah, that ,” Deadpool pointed into Spidey’s mask, ”is the face that always greets that news.”

The younger man blinked and snapped his jaw shut for the sake of politeness.

“So you hate Christmas”

Wade nodded.

“And I don’t have patience for anyone’s bullshit...”

Spidey nodded along with him.

“Okay,” he wasn’t sure what else to do with this admission besides accept it.

“Okay”

They stared at each other a little longer and Gloria dropped off a fresh basket of chips.

“My name’s Peter,” he decided to offer something of himself, too.

“Well shit...”

...

“Hah! You might be Spidey, huh?  Might be?  Pffff. Yeah, sure, alright ... ...you a Miles?”

That one makes no sense.

“...er...”

“Alright, that’s a no,” the other man surmises but doesn’t lose his grin when he re-sheaths his katanas into their homes.  “Look, whichever one you are, keep moving.  He ain’t here.”

“How-”

“Cuz I know.  We drop in on each other, yeah?  Usually a first stop for the few of us who got these,” he pats a pouch on his belt.  “Curiosity, I guess.  Maybe a courtesy for dropping in to run amok ...although some of us are bigger assholes than others."

“Oh...”

“Yeah, oh.  You’re new at this still, huh?” he calculates.

Peter scratches at the back of his neck feeling like a true dunce.

“Well, yeah...”

“Ah, you’ll figure it out ...you’re all usually pretty smart,” he considers.  “Go on ...go find me and get me outta my shit.”

He says that like it’s normal and Peter feels a little nauseous again.

“Yeah...”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Peter smiles, pleased to have at least found a nice(ish) Wade the first go-around.

“...come back if you need a hand,” Deadpool’s voice lilts in a pleasant offer.

Okay, now that’s a little more reassuring.

“You don’t want to come?” Peter tries.

“I mean it sounds fun and all ...but you don’t want too many people ripping through reality for too long.  Trust me. Throws shit off.  Balance.  Zen.  I dunno what the fuck,” Deadpool shrugs a broad shoulder.  “So just for emergencies, ya dig?”

And this Deadpool is also a little taller, Peter thinks.

“...sure, I dig.”

“Course ya do.  Now go.  Peace out.  May the force be with you ...Spidey phone home ...click your ruby slippers...you can’t stay here...

There’s the annoying.

Peter rolls his eyes and looks at his watch. 09:08:10.  He’ll have to write that down for later.  Just in case.

He clicks back to 06:16:00 while Deadpool sings ‘Closing Time’ and concentrates on the comfort of home before being sucked back to his living room.

His stomach rolls again, but he’s pretty sure it’s empty so nothing comes up.

 

He drops onto his couch.

Well.

Well that had been ...a thing.

Ultimately unfruitful but he had learned some useful intel.

He’s going to need to write it all down, organize what he’s figuring out so he remembers it’s not all some trippy dream.  He’ll do that.  He’ll write it all down.

In a second.

Notes:

*So apparently in Earth-9810, Tony Stark really is Sorcerer Supreme. Fun nod here. Not all dimensions Peter is going to will have a meaningful basis in any cannon, but some will be tossed in for fun.

*'The Invasion of the Body Snatchers' is the reason I'll never trust Donald Sutherland again.

Chapter 3: Full frontal

Summary:

Peter has seen the bottom half of Wade’s face with its uneven and mottled skin. He’s also seen his similarly raw and scarred hands and arms. From Wade’s own jokes, he knows the man wasn’t born that way.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text


 

When Peter returned from that first foray into an alternate dimension, he’d felt overwhelmed.  Like he’d gone so far and learned so much.

When he actually gets up the next morning to try to piece together meaning from all he has learned, he comes to appreciate that he has only taken baby steps. Obviously, he should have already known this. It had all just been so exhilarating. And new.

But it isn't nothing, what he’d learned.

He now knows that Deadpools check in with Deadpools.  Unless, of course, they are of the utmost asshole-ish variety.  He doesn’t know how he’ll avoid meeting one such DP, but it’s good to know anyway.

He also knows that traveling from a building (or street, etc.) does not mean he will arrive in that same exact location in the next reality.  This could mean that no two New York Cities are the same.  It could also mean that Peter was drawn to that particular spot because Wade, the subject of his search, was nearby.  Or it could probably mean a bunch of other things. There’s no way to know yet, but a few more trips might help him figure that out.

He also knows the process of traveling between dimensions makes him a little sick.  He ought to travel on an empty stomach. 

He knows there are different Spider-men out there, which is fascinating if not necessarily relevant to his task.  He notes the name Miles, for whatever that ends up being worth.

He knows at least one other Wade is a fan of pop culture.

He also knows ..or is starting to know, that Strange’s advice about focus means more than he might have given it credit for.  Peter’s still figuring out what ‘pure and specific’ truly means, but he thinks he sees how he’d ended up where he’d ended up.  He had thought of the fact that Wade had the balls to steal from the veritable tomb that is the Sanctum Sanctorum, and then he’d wound up yards away from another Deadpool who had also stolen a sling ring.

So the question is: why that Deadpool?  The guy had admitted there were at least a few of them with sling rings.  If Peter keeps focusing on that same thing, will he find all of them?  Or just the same one? And how many even are there?

“So much bullshit,” Peter sighs while he cleans up the counter and his dishes from a late breakfast.

He had been keyed up the night before and couldn’t sleep, so he’s behind in his weekend plans.  He’s already resolved not to introduce himself to a new dimension by puking in it, however, so he’ll need to wait a couple hours to let things settle.

And decide just what he’s going to do next. 

That’ll be important to know.



A couple hours pass and he still hasn’t settled on what he’ll focus on.  There’s not just one part of Deadpool.  Which is the most important?  Which one is pure and specific?

There are plenty of things he has come to appreciate about Wade ‘Deadpool’ Wilson.  And yet there are allegedly hundreds of thousands of realities out there and potentially a version of Deadpool in each.  What sets his Deadpool apart?

“Our reality has it’s very own specific and pure Deadpool,” Peter repeats again. “Where the fuck are you... ...”

A riddle wrapped in a mystery; Peter has thought of Wade that way many times.  He’s never believed it more than he does now. He has committed to slipping through endless dimensions to find this fucker, and he hasn’t even seen his face properly. 

...and why is it that he’s so dedicated, anyway?

Not having a ready answer to this makes Peter squirm.  He should probably devote some time to the question, but he just hops to his feet and shoulders his backpack.

Wade’s funny in this reality.  Just give him a funny Wade.  Not one of the asshole ones. Maybe that person will help point him in the right direction.

He’s distracted, but this does sound like a good start.  Or, at this point, it is at least as good as any other.

Sometimes you just gotta do the damn thing, right? Right.

...right.

 

Peter blinks his sight back into focus a few moments later and swallows against the thick hint of bile.  Once his head is done swirling and he can take an actual look around, Peter realizes he knows where he is.

He’s only a few blocks from the apartment building that he knows his own Deadpool to inhabit in his own New York. Could that be the reason why he’s arrived here in this place?  Should he ...go there? 

That would be bold.

 

So he does it.

Because why not?

“Hi Al,” Peter blurts without proper consideration when the old woman answers her door.

“Who’s there?” the lines around her mouth tighten as she scowls.

“Oh, uh, hi ...I’m sorry to disrupt you,” he backpedals so as not to be a complete creep. “My name’s Peter.”

“What do you want, Peter?  I’m a busy lady.”

Is she, though?  Peter suspects not, though who’s to say.  It’s hard to remember that he should be setting aside all of his assumptions when everything and everyone looks so similar.

‘Some trippy shit, Webs...’

“I’m looking for Wade”

“Well I hope you’re not asking for my help looking,” she jabs a finger at her own face to indicate her dark glasses.

“No, no ...” he is not off to a great start here. “I just thought maybe you knew where he was...”

“Who?”

Wade

“I don’t understand. That a name?”

“Yes ma’am”

"Don’t you ma’am me.  I don’t know you or a Wade, and I don’t want to!” she squeezes her bony grip on the edge of her door, which Peter already understands is going to snap shut any time now. “And if you plan on robbing me, I’ve got a gun!”

Um, ma'am. In his own city, Peter has never seen her point a gun in the right direction.  She gets jumpy sometimes or likes to threaten Wade with it a little, but she always gets things just a bit wrong. 

He doesn’t want to press his luck today, however.

“I must be  confused.  I’m sorry...” he shuffles backwards.

“Should be,” he hears her grumble.

“Have a nice evening...”

“Not very likely!”

Fine then. 

Wade always calls Al an ‘old bird,’ and she’s really acting the part today  He always says it with his special, snarky brand of love, of course.  Wade would carve the heart out of anyone who hurt her and anyone who knows him knows that to be true. Still, the description isn’t exactly wrong.

“Strike one,” Peter grades himself once he reaches the sidewalk again.

But it’s fine.  He knows more than one of Deadpool’s traditional haunts.  They’ve been rivals, allies, frenemies, and friends for years, now, so of course he knows how to round him up.  He’s done so countless times for various reasons - from help with recon to late night snacks while gaming.  Spider-man and Deadpool know how to paint the town.

Peter pauses, wondering if he should be looking for this dimension’s Spider-man instead. Peter.  Miles. Someone.  The first Deadpool had guessed who he was, so maybe the pair of them being pals is a common thread.

No. Peter decides  he’ll avoid that for now. Things are already surreal; staring down another version of himself ...he’ll put that off.  Please and thank you very much

 

So Peter heads for Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children.  It’s not a school at all, of course.  A bar.  A very specific kind of bar.

“Fresh blood!” the familiar voice of Weasel greets Peter as he nears the wooden bar.

This place is smaller and grungier than the Sister Margaret’s Peter has visited with his Deadpool before.  In contrast, this bartender is more clean cut than his original Weasel.  His hair is cropped and his face clean shaven.

“Weasel,” Peter passes another patron to pull out a stool for himself.

“Oh, so you’re here on referral.  Great...what’s your poison?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Peter easily ignores the shifty looks he’s getting from other customers for being a newbie.

He knows he doesn’t look like anything special, but he’s not intimidated. Peter has walked around in a body capable of tossing school buses for too many years to be menaced by glares or muscles.  Statistically, there might be a few mutants in the building to throw-off a fight, and guns might cause problems, but still. Spider-man.

“Are you saying you want a specific guy for a job?   Or does the job you want done involve finding someone?” Weasel’s job is often to get straight to the point.

“...neither.  I’m just looking for someone. Might go by Deadpool?” he settles himself onto the tattered cushion on his selected stool.

It’s thin and uneven.  Uncomfortable, in other words, so that’s stayed the same between realities. 

Weasel snorts.

“You mean The Deadpool?” he lifts a finger and points above the bar.

Peter leans back in his seat to glance up at the chalkboard over their heads. 

Yeah, yeah. He’s seen that before. 

The humor of it is not to his taste.  Not in this or any other universe. 

“No.  Not the betting.  A man who goes by the name Deadpool,” Peter clarifies and watches Weasel’s face closely for his answer.

“Sounds fucking stupid if you ask me,” he scoffs, still eyeing Peter like he’s mad.

And, hey, it’s not like there’s a lot for Peter to say that will refute that belief.  How’s he going to explain that he doesn’t know how to find his friend because he’s not from this universe?  That he doesn’t even know if his friend is even his friend in this city?  

“Oh, I dunno.  I think it sends a message ...”

Oh.

 

Peter slams the brakes on his thoughts regarding how sane - or insane - he sounds.

Because he knows that voice. Of course he knows that voice.  But Deadpool couldn’t have snuck on him; he hadn’t heard anyone moving nearby. 

No. 

He’d already been there.

Peter twists to stare at the man two stools away from him.  The one he’d walked past without even noticing. The one who definitely isn’t wearing a red and black suit.

Peter’s brain seems to glitch.  To falter in the act of trying to consolidate that distinctive voice coming out of the face before him.

During late nights of snacking, drinking beers, or slamming burritos, Peter has seen the bottom half of Wade’s face with its uneven and mottled skin. He’s also seen his similarly raw and scarred hands and arms. 

From Wade’s own jokes, he knows the man wasn’t born that way.  And yet ...he realizes, now, that he’d never really taken time to think about what Wade had looked like before all the hell of Weapon X. 

Well, no. 

That’s not true. 

He’s wondered before - how could you not? He’d just never settled on a definitive picture.  Didn’t even know where to start guessing.  And, like, you can’t ask to see a picture.  Not when Wade’s so self-conscious.

...

 

“How come you never take your mask off?”

Spider-man was sprawled out on his stomach by the edge of the roof where he and Deadpool were spying on Roxxon Energy Corp.  It was important, the person they were waiting for.  

He was bored, nonetheless.

He wasn't generally great at being static.  Squirrely, Aunt May said.  Uncle Ben used to say he was a victim of a his own hyper-competence, that he’d be more efficient if he planned a little bit longer rather than trust in his own track record.

Which...okay, yeah. There was a little evidence for that.

But, in all honesty, he did have a pretty bonkers track record these days. So. Results, ya know?

“Shit, Pete.  The fuck do you keep your mask on for?” Wade returned with attitude.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Touche - kind of. But you aren’t exactly hiding your identity, are you?”

Peter already knew his full name.  Had been to a couple safe houses by now and to Wade’s favorite bar.  He’d even met the dude’s roommate at a laundry mat once when some neighborhood douches had been giving her shit and had swiped her stuff - Wade had been in the middle of a job but had texted the only Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman he knew to swing by and knock a few heads together. Al was prickly but awesome no matter what Wade said.

Which was all to say: not much about his identity was a secret.

Just his face.

“Nah, guess not.  What’s the point?” the mercenary muttered while he leveled the binoculars back up to his face to study the windows across the street.  “What’s somebody gonna do?  Find me and kill me?”

Peter cringed. 

“So?”

“So fucking what?” Wade twisted to scowl at him.

Peter hissed a sigh between his teeth.  He knew that tone.  He should just back off.  But ...he was bored. And it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d wondered. He'd only wonder again at a later date.

“So it’s like you said: what’s the point?”

Wade snorted.

“...fuck off.”

“What?”

What’s the point?” Wade pulled a whiney tone that did not accurately represent Peter’s voice in the slightest.  “You’ve seen the shit show I’m working with.”

He tapped a finger on his own chin in explanation.  Yes, Peter had seen the bottom part of his face.  They’d eaten an unholy amount of food together. Of course he’d seen.

And, yeah, maybe it was startling the first time around, but:

“Exactly”

“Huh?” Wade’s head lilted to the side, confused.

“I’ve already seen”

Wade blinked.

“I mean yeah, but no.  You haven’t.”

“Now you’re just contradicting yourself..”

“Well, I’m not trying to play a word puzzle, you lexical dork,” Wade dismissed. “You know what I meant...”

“Yeah, that I know you have a...” Peter faltered. “Skin condition--”

An abrupt laugh burst from Wade’s throat.

“Skin condition?  Good one...”

“Sorry, sorry...I don’t know what to call it...”

“Fuckin’ torture horror show?  Grated cheese?  Ground chuck? Rotting avocado? Dimpled--”

“Dude”

“Just sayin’...there’s lots of options and you went with skin condition?”

“I’m-”

“Let it go, Webs. I’ll even sing the song if you need...”

Peter tutted and twisted to study the profile beside him. 

Wade was indeed humming music from 'Frozen.' He was also steadfast in not looking over at Peter.  Instead, he studied the sleek building across from them as if this wasn’t the most unsatisfying recon they’d ever decided to do.  Like he wasn’t the one who was usually chatty and incessant.  Like he wasn’t nosey. 

Wasn’t it only last month he’d asked Peter why he only talked about his Aunt, never his mom or parents?  Just like that, like it was no biggy?  Peter had also declined to answer.

Maybe, Peter suddenly thought, they didn’t  trust each other as much as they thought they did.

And, to be fair, meeting outside of these costumes, outside of these clear bounds, was one thing DP was not nosey about.  Didn’t pick or pry.  Peter knew, in the recesses of his conscious, that Wade had the know-how to find out who he was and where he lived and what was under his mask.  Yet he remained disinterested.

Was that because he genuinely didn’t care?

Or was it because he didn’t want it turned on him?  Couldn’t handle Peter expecting reciprocation.

He doubted he’d get a straight answer if he asked.

“You know ...I wouldn’t think any different of you bec--”

“Ho-ly fuck.  You are an after school special, aren’t you?  Wade complained.  “Watch Hallmark much?”

“Can’t you ju--”

“No, I cannot just,” Wade snapped. “The hell’s gotten into you tonight? You need to go get a breather?  Take a lap or somethin’?”

“Nothing.  I just ...I dunno, don’t want you to think you can’t.  Like I’ll care -- I mean, I do care! I ...shit....” he conceded to himself that he’d ruined this.

100%.

No doubt.

Wade sighed, long and slow.

“Don’t even stress.  It’s not like that.”

Peter considered.  Figured he was already pushing it.

“What is it like?”

“You’re a reeeeeal fuckin’ delight tonight...”

He cut a look to Peter, who just waited patiently.

“Hell.  Tell me your deepest insecurity, then.  Tit for tat, big guy.”

Damn.

But... fair.

Did they trust each other enough?  Peter chewed on that question for a bit.  Long enough that Wade looked away disinterestedly, clearly under the impression that he had won something.

“...I didn’t join the Avengers - like for real.  Full time, I mean - because I thought there would be too much pressure to reveal my identity.”

“They were gonna make you? Fuck that noise...”

“No.  Just that everyone else is out in the open.  I have no interest in that, to have that be my entire life.  I need my mask...”

Wade let a beat pass.

“Yeah?  You got a skin condition, too?”

Peter slid his leg to the side to give Wade a nice kick.

“No, it’s just ...sort of a security blanket, yeah?  Like ...I dunno.  No one can see if I’m scared as long as I have a mask on...”

A couple more beats passed.  Peter squirmed and turned back towards their job.

“...so you’re equating your lack of balls to my torture-induced freakshow of a face?”

“Ugh,” Peter made to shove himself to his feet.

If Wade didn’t think it was an equitable trade, then fine.  Whatever.  But Peter had never told anyone that before.  Had never actually spoken this reasoning.  Never said aloud how much he believed the safety of his friends and family hinged on his ability to stay anonymous.  Had never discussed how scared he’d been when he’d set out on this Spider-man path and decided to hide it under a mask.  Behind some persona.  Mostly because no one asked about it, but partially because it was a big admit. 

He was more confident these days, but even so.  It was pretty fucked up out there.

“Cool it, Mariah,” Wade caught his shoulder and shoved him back down. “I was fucking with you.”

Peter batted Wade’s hand away, but the merc didn’t seem to mind.  He just returned to his binoculars. 

“I don’t sit around scared you’ll revoke my friend card at the mere sight of me."

“Good”

“I’m the one who doesn’t like it.  I’d rather just pretend none of it’s there ....kindda hard to do when everyone gets shifty and full of pity when they see you...”

No, he’d rather inspire surprise or avoidance by looking shocking and imposing because of his suit.  Would rather get a laugh for being a dick than inspire pity.  It wasn’t altogether a shock.  Didn’t they always say humor is a deflection?  Peter should know; he didn’t quip at criminals to meet some kind of word quota.

“Gottcha”

“...so stop being selfish and making it about you, cupcake,” Deadpool snorted, then apparently had no more to say.

Peter figured that last dig was only 1/2 a joke.  He punched the other man’s shoulder anyway just to keep up appearances.

And he made a note not to ask again.

...

But now.

Now here he sits.  Wade Wilson circa sometime pre-Deadpool. 

He’s ...well, shit. He’s handsome.  He’s tall and broad as ever, but he’s also got chiseled facial features and smooth skin and perfect teeth behind his grin. A pretty boy.  Weasel had said as much before, but always like some sort of half-joke.

But it’s true.

“Wade,” Peter finally speaks.

Wade’s grin falls, and Peter realizes he’s going to need to work on his filter.  Greeting people by name when he can’t be sure he actually knows them is going to land him in trouble real quick.

He’ll add it to the fucking list.

“Wade Wilson,” Peter clears his throat. “Your reputation preceeds you,” he hopes that has an air of believability to it.

Or that it will at least stroke the ego a little.

“Yeah? You run in dirty circles, do you?” Wade scratches at his short stubble and looks dubious. 

Peter gets it.  He has a very clean-cut look, almost always has.  He can grow a bit of a beard, something moderately respectable, but he’s not a great fan of the feel of it. Plus Aunt May had always said it made him look tired if he got a little scruffy. And Gwen, well, she hadn’t liked the way it felt...he shouldn’t care about that anymore, probably, but he’s never forgotten her protests.

“You’d be surprised.”

That’s certainly the truth. 

It must not sound too shitty of him because Wade looks amused.  His too-perfect teeth flash in his too-handsome face, and Peter can still hardly believe who this is.

“I certainly hope so,” Wade gives him a once-over and downs the last of his beer.

“Can I buy you another?” Peter nods at the finished drink.

He watches Wade and Weasel share a look, can imagine the strange picture he cuts by waltzing in and making himself at home.

Whatever.  He’ll be gone soon.  Though, in truth, he knows he should already be gone.

Like right now. 

If this Wade is human and living his normal life, it’s not very likely that he’s working with sling rings and sorcerers and immortality.  Peter should just excuse himself to the bathroom and fuck off to the next dimension.

But he’s not going to.  He’s going to stay for one beer, at least.

It’s senseless, in a way.  He’s well aware of that. 

But he’s never known this Wade.

And yet ...Wade references this part of his life so often, wishes for it back, that Peter can’t not be interested in this.  There’s always a possibility that his Wade had looked different than this, but he already knows this is going to be the pre-Weapon X Wade in his mind from now on.  He’s going to go ahead and experience it for a hot minute.

Then he’ll go.

“Well, I never turn down a free drink. Next round, Weas,” Wade knocks a knuckle on the bar while he continues to watch Peter curiously.

“Always happy to witness young love,” Weasel rolls his eyes high behind his thick glasses.

“Don’t be jealous, pumpkin.  You’re the only one for me,” Wade blows the bartender a kiss despite the fake-gagging he gets in return. “So you got a name, hiker?” Wade jerks a chin at Peter’s backpack.

“Peter,” he extends a hand across the seat between them and is mildly surprised to get a polite, yet firm, handshake back without hesitation.

“So what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

If Peter closes his eyes, he’s on any random rooftop with his suited Deadpool.

“Are you hitting on me?”

“He’s always hitting on something,” Weasel, as per usual in multiple universes, is griping again when he returns to tap down two beers.

For a wild moment Peter panics when he hands his payment to Weasel.  Could money be different in this dimension? It could, right?

Right?!

 

But Weasel takes the bills without complaint or any further comment at all.

“So?” Wade’s dark eyes are pinning him with a stare.

“So what?”

Wade rolls his eyes dramatically, even slumps his shoulders into the move. Peter's seen that before.

“You come looking for someone named Deadpool in a bar that has a Dead Pool, and that’s supposed to be a coincidence?” he gives Peter a clear ‘fuck you’ look.  “Riiiiiight.  And I’m Tony Stark’s designated ball-scratcher.”

“I mean...you could be,” Peter knows almost nothing about this world, after all. “Someone’s gotta get in there and do the deed, right?”

Wade smirks.

“...don’t try to make me like you,” he decides.

“Oh, I would never.”

The air between them is tense like it hasn’t been in years, but this also feels somewhat familiar. Not quite normal, but almost.  

“...you guys have Spider-man in the city, right?” he checks, willing to go for broke in the department of being wrong.

“Fuckin’ out of towners...do we have Spider-man?” Weasel slaps the bar in irritated fashion. “Of course we have fucking Spider-man.”

“Spider-kid is more like”

“S’that suppose to mean?” Weasel stops glaring at Peter to quirk a bushy eyebrow at his friend.

“Means what I said, you damn cockwaffle,” Wade picks idly at the label of his beer bottle. “I’ve run into him before.  If he’s not a fucking teenager, I’ll cut off my own arm.”

Now there’s some damn foreshadowing.

“Got a mean left hook, though...”

“You got beat up by Spider-Man-Kid-Thing and you never mentioned it? Asshole,” Weasel waves his dirty rag around rather than clean with it.

“Hey, hey, hey... I did not get beat up, okay?  I'm the one who lays the ass beatings.  I just wasn’t going to hit a kid, ya know?” Wade defends his very special honor.

“...you got beat up by a kid,” Weasel decides with finality and shuffles off to service someone else.

“Mother fucker,” Wade looks annoyed that he’d spoken up at all as he watches the bartender go, then whips his attention back to Peter.  “So, Petey ...don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided the question:  what brings you by?”

“Like I said.  I was looking for someone.  Shady place for shady folks, right?” it doesn’t feel like an insult because ...well.  Look at the place.

“Was?”

“Huh?” he blinks.

“You said was.  I was looking for someone.  Aren’t you still?  Because it doesn’t seem like you found them,” Wade looks around with faux-drama. “... ...unless you fucking did,” he blinks, the teasing and smirking from moments ago melting away as he speaks.

Peter had been on the receiving end of glares and yelling from Deadpool over the years.  He’s never scared, per-say, but something is always just a little eerie about it anyway.  It’s the blanks eyes, probably.  He’s been told the same about his own mask.

However, there is something menacing about Wade Wilson sans mask, too.

And, yeah, Peter did fuck that up a bit. 

He really needs to expand his thinking.  After all, he is still looking even if he was no longer searching in this universe.  That’s a confusing sentence, but even so. 

He’s smart. 

He should be able to wrap his head around this.

‘Trippy shit, Webs...’

Yeah, yeah.

“I should go,” he decides.

From the bar.  From this world.  Start over somewhere else.

“You should keep your squirrely little ass right where you are is what you should do,” Wade lilts his voice in a would-be-pleasant away, but he's still casting a suspicious glare.

“Yeah,” Peter goes ahead and drains the second half of his beer.  “I think not.”

He slides form his stool and feels more than sees Wade rise and reach for him.  Peter yanks his elbow out of the way, but the man’s fingers curl around a pouch of his backpack.

“No touching what isn't yours,” he quips and twists to bat the arm away.

Wade manages to catch that hand, but Peter twists his wrist easily in the grip.  He takes control and cranks Wade’s arm so it’s bent up behind his back.

“Fuck...”

“It was nice meeting you,” it comes off delightfully petulant, but Peter means it.  Truly.  For real.

He gives the mercenary a little shove away from him. 

His attention is split to some of the other patrons who are bristling where they sit, so he almost doesn’t dart back from the uppercut Wade wastes no time with once he’s free.  Rude.  Once all of his focus is back on Wade, he is able to catch the knuckles of the next fist Wade punches at him.

The merc can’t hide his surprise. 

Peter gives his first a squeeze to hint that he should back-off without making a complete and utter scene. To let him have a taste of what he’s dealing with.

“The fuck do you get your drugs from?  Can I have some?”

Peter rolls his eyes, something he assumes happens in all universes where Wade is concerned.

It isn't easy to get the jump on Wade Wilson in every universe, but this Wade A) isn’t enhanced,  and B) doesn’t know what Peter’s capable of.  So it’s almost effortless to yank him close and twist him into a headlock, forcing him down to Peter’s height so that the taller man loses his leverage.

“How the fu-” his surprise at being manhandled is clear, but Peter overrides him.

“I don’t want trouble...”

“Oh.  I can fucking tell...”

Wade throws an elbow back at him, and Peter considers letting it land just for the sake of Wade’s pride.  He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, after all, and it’s hardly fair.  Still, he catches the arm and holds it fast.

It’s Peter’s fault that he’s made some mistakes today, but it’s not his fault that he needs a human shield.  It’s Wade’s friends who have pulled guns on a fist fight.  That makes them good friends in these circles, sure, but they aren’t Peter’s friends. 

He should not have stayed for that beer.  No sir.  Maybe no more drinking.  He’ll add that to his list.

“We’ll just walk out nice and easy...” 

Peter thinks of his web-shooters tucked in his bag, but they’re no good to him at the moment.  He can usually dodge a little gunfire anyway, but now he’s gone and dragged Wade into it, so ...well, hopefully these really are caring friends of his.

“Sounds romantic, but I’m not that kind of guy...”

Peter snorts and eases them backward to the side hall and through the thick metal door.  No one’s giving chase - yet - only watching attentively.

 

“Alright, we -”

“Wade!”

“Ness,“ Wade hisses and immediately runs backwards to ram Peter into the wall.

Peter grunts but keeps his hold tight and wrenches backward on Wade’s shoulder in warning. 

There’s a woman in the alley, which he hadn’t expected.  Her hair is short and so is her skirt.  Ness.  Vanessa?  Peter has heard her name in his world.  Wade will undoubtedly do something stupid - or brave, whichever your prefer - for her.

He squeezes Wade’s elbow in warning.

“Nngh,” Wade groans but keeps his feet steadfast underneath himself.  “Keep walking, Ness ...keep walking, baby...”

Peter hears the breath huffing in and out more quickly through Wade’s nose.  Can feel the man’s pulse quicken against his forearm.

“I’m not going to hurt your girlfriend,” he doesn’t like the idea of that fear hanging in the alley between all of them.

He thinks maybe he’ll wear his Spidey suit next time.  It tends to nspire a little more trust.

“Babe?” the woman’s eyes are wide and she hasn’t moved yet.

Peter can tell she’s scared but also that she doesn’t want to abandon her man.  Her guy.  Her Wade. Peter respects that almost enough to just go ahead and let Wade loose now, but not quite.

“Go on,” he jerks his chin at the door he’s just dragged Wade through.

“Don’t talk to her!” Wade punches at Peter’s arm.

His angle is awkward so the hit is weak, and Peter absorbs it without a fuss.  He probably deserves it, truth be told.

“He’ll be right behind you,” he tries to reassure Vanessa.

Whatever goodwill he hopes to convey with this is not well received.

“Fuck you!” she’s venomous but she is backing away.

“It’s alright,” Wade promises just as she’s reaching for the door.

And then she disappears, leaving  the alleyway impossibly quiet.

“Alright ...this was much more eventful than I planned,” Peter sighs and begins to loosen his hold. “I’m gonna go.  You won’t see me again...”

And as he says this, he realizes that he cannot promise it is true.  This world has a Spider-man who may very well be Peter Parker who looks just like him. He realizes he may have just sullyied any relationship this Wade was supposed to have with Spider-man.

Or were they never friends in this reality?

How is he supposed to know?  He can’t ask.  He can’t explain.  Not without sounding like an utter loon, at least.

Shit.

Ultimately, that’s a different Spidey’s problem and there’s not a whole lot Peter can do about it.  So he lets Wade go. There’s just nothing else for it.

“Kiss my a-”

Peter has only taken one step back and Wade’s reaching into his jacket. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up to scream danger, and Peter snaps out a hand to catch Wade’s gun before he even fully processes that he’d let his guard down too soon.

His hand wraps over Wade’s trigger finger and shoves the butt of the gun up into Wade’s face.  Then he liberates the gun swiftly with his other hand.

“Ah, shit! You fucking mother fucker,” Wade slaps a palm over his nose but Peter’s already seen the the drip of blood.

Ooops!

“Ah, shit, sorry!  I’m sorry!” Peter cringes.

He has super strength and Wade is regular Wade - a badass, sure, but still.  This isn’t fair.  Not even a little.  And he’s not even mad at Wade, doesn’t want to fight him.  He, Peter, has been the weird one here.

“What?!” Wade glares over his fingers at Peter.

“I’m sorry!”

“You’re ...the fuck?!  You’re sorry?  I don’t think you know how to be in a fight...” Wade takes a swipe under his nose to keep the blood from seeping into his mouth.  “Fucking dweeb...”

Peter snorts. Then outright laughs.

Yeah, dweeb might be an accurate description for how he’s acting tonight.  But the thought he’s never been in a fight when, actually, he’s fought side-by-side with Wade countless times...

Not this Wade, though.

His Wade is scarred. 

His Wade wears a mask.  

And his Deadpool doesn’t bleed easy.

Peter sobers himself up to blink at this Wade.  Will this Wade become Deadpool? 

“What?” Wade's sniffling sounds thick and wet. “...the fuck you looking at?”

Peter opens his mouth.  Then clicks it back shut again.

Is he ...allowed to answer that question?  This isn’t time travel, so Peter doesn’t actually know this man’s future.  He can guess, though.  Is he allowed to warn him?  To say?

“The fuck you looking at me like that for?” Wade is still piss and vinegar despite the disadvantage he’s at.  “Is this a body snatchers situation?”

“What?” Peter blinks.  “No, no, I just,” he sighs and drags a hand through his hair.  “This is going to sound crazy...”

“So this is body snatchers...fucking great...”

“Just shut up and listen,” Peter pinches his nose while he thinks and then resolves to do the thing he feels he needs to do because this isn’t time travel and this isn’t The Butterfly Effect. 

Probably. 

...and what exactly is Peter warning him off of, anyway? 

Well, torture, yeah; that’s the obvious answer.  But is the alternative that Wade will die?  Is Wade meant to become Deadpool?  Weapon X was horrible - an itchy hemorrhoid on the anus of humanity, if you choose to ask Wade on a good day- but they had put a stop to Wade’s sure death sentence, so ...is this advice going to kill him?

“I’m listening,” Wade tickles his ear childishly.

“I know how this is going to sound.  I know you don’t know me ...but I do know you.  That was Vanessa; she’s your girl, right?  You took her to the arcade to play skee-ball when you first met her, right?”

“... ...air hockey,” Wade eyes him dubiously.

“What?”

“...we played air hockey at the arcade...”

“Dude, it’s gotta be skee-ball or you can’t make jokes about putting balls in holes,” Peter knows he sounds crazy, but he’s heard Weasel retell this story multiple times, much to Wade’s annoyance.

Peter would have never gotten Gwen with lines like that on their first date, but he’d always been impressed that Wade managed it.

“Balls in holes,” Wade looks thoughtful, though still cautious. “...that’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, it’s certainly on-brand,” of course Peter’s lost the thread of the whole thing now by telling jokes.  “I don’t want to get into all the shit I know, but ... ...you need to go to the doctor.”

Wade looks mildly alarmed by this, but by some miracle his mouth stays shut at such unexpected words.

“I think you’re really sick - don’t make a joke,” Peter holds up a hand when Wade opens his mouth. “You might not have a lot of time.”

“...who the fuck are you?” Wade looks confused but his earlier fight has drained from him somewhat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter glances away from the handsome face in front of him and down to the gun in his own hands, which he fiddles awkwardly with. “Just forget that I’m probably some psycho stranger and do it, huh?”

“You some telepath?” Wade continues.

“No ...” Peter starts to fiddle with his watch.

“Did you escape from somewhere?  Is someone looking for you...?”

“Quite the opposite...”

“Right ....who the fuck is Deadpool?”

06:16:00

“No one,” Peter smiles and presses the face of his watch so he can step into the blurry void between this world and his own.

Let him think Peter’s a time traveling guardian angel or something.

 

Once he’s back in his kitchen, he realizes he’d never handed Wade’s gun back to him. He considers going back to return it, fuck with Wade a bit, but decides he’s given Wade enough to think on.

He plunks the gun down onto the counter; he'll chalk it up to being a souvenir. Then he trudges over to his small kitchen table to drop onto one of the chairs.

Well.

He’s seen Wade’s fucking face, now, hasn’t he?

Notes:

*Poor Peter. Maybe he'll wrap his head around inter-dimensional travel vs. time travel vs. craziness soon

*The random thought of this (Peter, in one way or another, warning an "early Wade") initially kicked-off the whole idea of this story. Idk why I love it.

Chapter 4: Just fine

Summary:

Why the fuck did Wade even keep that sling ring? Peter thinks he wouldn’t keep doing this if he wasn’t trying to find Wade. He’d return the watch to Strange and be done with it.

Notes:

WARNING: self-harm/suicide ...though it's Deadpool so no one is staying dead.

Mild mentions of gore

Also brief intro to Wade's "boxes" and mentions of mental health issues.

Chapter Text



“Nope.  Nope ...fuck this,” Peter clicks the watch back to his normal universe so he can regroup in his home.

His real and right home. 

Purely and specifically his, you might say.

 

It’s going to take him a while to get this stench out of his nose.  Certainly zombie movies are now ruined by that smell.

He had thought the idea of rescuing Wade might bring him to his Wade-in-need (still assuming, as Peter does, that Wade is in need of help), but that had been a mistake.  Peter had landed in what appeared to be a late-stage zombie apocalypse.  He hadn’t stuck around to ask a ton of questions but had decided this based on:

      1. Deadpool’s ragged clothing and half-rotted-half-healing face
      2. His utter shock at seeing a full-fledged human

Peter shudders to think of what diseases he might have been exposed to and makes a mental vow to pay a 9-1-1 to visit to Stark’s facilities if he feels so much as a tickle in his throat today.

He adds 02:14:09 as the second ID on the “Hell No” list, which is in a column next to a “Can Return” list. 

So far only the dimension with the first, ‘Good Luck’ Deadpool is on that list.  If he can help it, Peter doesn’t want to return to any place that has already proven fruitless.  Strange had said “hundreds of thousands” of dimensions, after all.  Just in case he wasn’t being facetious, Pater isn’t looking to waste his time.

He’s nearly twenty trips deep already, and his mind is still being blown just about as often as he learns something concrete.

“...disgusting,” Peter mutters and strips off his Spidey suit right there in the kitchen so he can rinse it in the sink.

 

The first thing he had saved-up for upon moving to his own apartment had been a small washer and dryer to finally attach to the hook-ups in his place.  Since then it has been a lifesaver - or at the very least a time and sleep saver - to be able to wash his suit in his own apartment. He doesn’t have to use the laundry room in the basement in the middle of the night and sit attentively while it washes.  The extra sleep this has garnered him is a pure treasure.

Once some of the special gunk from what he will now call Zombieland is rinsed into the garbage disposal - his Super would probably love to know that -  Peter chucks the suit in the washer to get things going. Then he changes into some civvies and glances back at his watch.

He’d gotten home from work a little over an hour ago; he still has plenty of time for another trip before he wants to go on patrol.

Because who needs sleep?  Right?  Right. Ha ha.  Ugh.

If he takes a break after this latest freak show, he might start to think of the look of pure surprise on zombie Deadpool’s face when he’d finally spotted someone alive.  He might start thinking he should have stuck around longer to help him.  Well, he couldn’t reverse a zombie infestation, so not help ...still, maybe he could have offered a little comfort.  Peter understands, now, why Wade was torn about whether he was obligated to help other versions of himself.  Of course he wants to help or feels he should, but ...just how much is Peter supposed to take on?

If he really stops to think ...he might start getting ideas about recruiting help and banging his head against that wall.  Colossus might be inclined to get involved, but he would probably need to run it by Professor Xavier, and who knows if he wants his staff mucking around in this.  Cap, Peter thinks, might help, but that’s a pretty big maybe.He does seem to have a soft-spot for Deadpool at times, but he doesn’t trust the mercenary.

No one does.  Not really.

“Just me....”

And that is as infuriating as it is sad.

Whether he’s mad at Wade or at everyone else, he’s not so sure.  He supposes it doesn’t matter.  He’s already decided he’s doing this thing.

He just hopes this next trip will be a palette-cleanser of sorts from the gore.



Peter stomach still rolls a little when he slips into existence elsewhere, but he has stuck to his Not Eating Before Travel plan and is used to the feeling.

He is on a rooftop this time, and he peers around to find something familiar. 

Sometimes he has been able to; other times things are a little too skewed. As always, Peter’s Spidey-senses tickle his spine as they readjust to a new world.

“Well, i guess we have ourselves a mutant...”

Or they are just letting him know he’s not alone. 

He doesn’t always land right in the lap of the man he’s looking for, but he has a few times by now and it’s generally convenient.

“That was easy,” Peter grins and turns around.

Wade, in complete Deadpool regalia, doesn’t react at first so Peter simply assumes he doesn’t know Peter Parker.  That or he doesn’t even have one.  No matter.  He can explain the universe thing, and if Wade thinks he’s cray-cray, well, then.  It won’t be the first time.

Before he opens his mouth, Deadpool pulls a gun from his waistband.  Peter’s spine flares into a tingling mess, but Wade has the gun twisted to his own temple before Peter can even fully reel back.

“N-!” he shifts his weight to leap forward instead.

 

He’s too late. 

 

The gun fires. 

Wade crumples in on himself.

Peter skids to his knees and catches him before he slams against the roof, but he lets the gun clatter to the ground.  All Peter can do is blink, and his breath sounds loud in his ears.

“Shit...”

Peter knows, of course, that Deadpool isn’t gone gone.  He’s seen limbs grow back and bullet wounds close-up in moments, burns heal...the list truly goes on.

Even so.

“Shit...”

He’s never seen that.

“Okay ....okay ...it’s okay,” Peter tries to convince himself.

Only he’s not sure it really is.  There’s brain matter on the ground. His right sleeve is already soaked in blood from the still-gaping head-wound in Wade’s temple.

‘Shots to the dome takes a little longer, baby boy, but I’m good...’

His Wade had said so.  Some time ago, now.

“It’ll be okay...”

That’s a little more true. 

But they’re too exposed where they’re at.  More importantly, at least to Peter, they’re too close to the gore Deadpool has created. 

He picks Deadpool up and carries the limp body across the roof behind some ventilation to lay him flat where they can hunker-down out of the way.

“Okay, okay, okay....” Peter flops down to lean against the roof’s ledge. 

He breathes.  Rests his eyes. Drapes his legs over Wade’s feet so he’ll know as soon as the other man stirs.

Wade really better have a good explanation for what he’s just done here. Because Peter is never going to get the visual of this out of his head.  He’s seen plenty of bullshit, but this is both special and unexpected.

Wade hadn’t even hesitated.

With that thought firmly in mind, Peter lurches forward to remove the rest of Deadpool’s guns from his person.  He slides them all a few feet away so they're o ut of arm’s reach. 

Peter’s not sure how long healing this particular wound is going to take, and he doesn’t particularly want to poke at Wade’s head and get a look at the current progress. 

I nstead he rests his head on the brick behind him and waits.

...

 

“Can you hold on to me?”

“...lotta jokes I could make on that one, Webs,” the teasing in Wade’s words was clear even if his voice was strained and shaky.

“C’mon, you know what I mean,” Peter tightened his grip on Wade’s elbow when the mercenary’s equilibrium seemed to sway.

“Yeah, I know. I -”

“Spider-man!” a shout cut Deadpool off, and Peter twisted to see Black Widow standing on the quinjet’s ramp a few dozen feet off.  “You need a lift?  Team debrief!” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

“Sounds like a blast,” Wade dropped whatever he’d been saying. “You better go...”

He started to shift away from Peter, who kept a firm grip anyway.

“No,” he hollered back and waved her off.

She continued to stand there for a few moments, hands on her hips, before tossing them up in the air and sauntering back up the ramp.  Probably straight to the pilot’s seat to whisk off.

“You’re gonna miss a Cap speech, Spidey,” Wade coughed.  Then groaned.

“Someone can fill me in later...”

“You’re not interested in When Androids Attack?  Cuz I’d definitely like an explanation...”

“Shut up.  Can you hold on or not?”

Peter wouldn’t be at all surprised if Wade didn’t think he could.  The arm Peter wasn’t holding was sporting some spectacular burns and may very well be completely useless. 

Hell, the entire right side of Wade’s body was a bit of a nightmare.  Peter had been able to see the bone of his shoulder blade, and he thought he’d caught a glimpse of a patch of bare skull when he had jogged over after Steve had incapacitated an android version of The Human Torch .  

Steve had been able to knock him out with his vibranium shield only after Deadpool tackled the thing to the ground in a mess of flames so he wouldn’t take flight again.

Wade hadn’t even hesitated.

“Yeah ...I’m good, Pete.”

He didn’t look or sound good, but Peter had the tact not to mention it. No reason to add insult to obvious injury.

“Climb on ...be careful...” Peter turned so Wade could wrap two arms around his neck with a grunt of effort. “I can do this one-handed if I have to, so give me a heads up if you can’t hold on anymore or, ya know...if you think you’re going to pass out.”

Wade breathed out slowly.

“M’not gonna pass out, Webs...I’ve had worse...”

That was not as reassuring as Wade probably wanted it to be. 

It was mostly just disgusting.  Maybe a little sad.

The quinjet had been rising from the ground in Peter’s peripheral vision, and as he ‘thiwpped’ his first web to a nearby building, it streaked away. 

Natasha, Steve, and the others weren’t worried about Deadpool, of course.

Because he’d be fine.

“He’s always fine,” Tony had said before.

Sure he would always be fine in the end, but so what?  That made it okay to ignore how badly he’d gotten hurt helping out?  Deadpool liked to make a nuisance of himself, but shouldn’t they want to encourage him on the occasions he showed up as an ally?  Wasn’t that how positive reinforcement worked?

Peter had not enjoyed psychology as much as he’d liked organic chemistry, but he was pretty sure Pavlov was still a pretty big deal.

Wade healed.  So what.  That didn’t mean his pain wasn’t real, right?

Because the grunts and labored breathing coming from the man clinging to his back sounded pretty real.  The charred skin and burnt muscle looked pretty real, too, though Peter could admit he hadn’t taken a super close look.

“Mm,” one of Wade’s hands began to pat Peter’s chest in an urgent manner. “Gotta pull over, Pete,” he sounded a little desperate through the strain of his voice.

Peter hastened to yank them a bit higher so he could get to the roof of the nearest bodega.  Once he released the web, he reached back to grab Wade’s legs so that he could absorb the impact of the landing himself, jogging forward a few steps rather than fall.

Wade released his neck immediately and let himself slump to the ground.  Peter watched with mild alarm as the man fumbled frantically with his mask, then stepped back when he peeled it up and lurched forward to puke.

“Oh...”

Yeah, that made sense.

“Hope that didn’t get on your shoes...” Wade mumbled before his whole body tensed and he heaved again.

Typical Wade.

Peter watched Wade’s good arm shake as it bore his weight, and he squatted down to loop an arm under Wade’s so he wouldn’t fall forward into vomit.

“Thanks...” he managed but wasn’t quite done.

Lovely.  Peter looked away, up at the dim sky like there was something interesting in the clouds.  This saved him from looking at the sick and left Wade a little extra dignity.  Win-win.

Wade groaned, which reminded him the man probably didn’t feel like he was winning anything.

“Sorry...” he eventually spoke again and eased back on his knees to spit off to the side.

“Don’t be”

“Well, I’m afraid this is horribly unattractive...” 

Peter rolled his eyes high.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he stood and slowly drew Wade up with him.

“Yeah, yeah...” Wade cringed as his body straightened back up.

“...there would’ve been a lot more damage if you hadn’t helped, you know?”

Wade scoffed between his teeth.

“It was brave of you,” Peter plowed on.

“Ain’t brave if you can’t die, Petey-Pie...”

That wasn’t true.  It wasn’t true at all, and it frustrated Peter that Wade likely believed his own bullshit on this one.

Not that this was the time or the place.

“Just...don’t be sorry,” he maintained and then began to assess Wade’s exhaustion.

Wade only grunted in response.

“This will be easier if I just carry you...”

“We talking Princess Leia style?” the mercenary made a valiant effort to sound enthusiastic.

“More like fireman style. I don’t want you to have to do any work...”

“Just a different kind of fantasy...”

Peter’s eyes rolled again behind his mask, and then he made quick and gentle-as-possible work of hefting Wade up over one shoulder.

 

When he got them to Wade’s apartment he just barged right in before any prying eyes could get a good peek.

“Wade?”

“The one and only,”  his voice was muffled into the back of Peter’s shoulder.

“You sound funny,” Wade’s little old roommate came shuffling in from the kitchen.

“Oh.  Well.  Fuck you, too...”

“We had a rough evening, Al,” Peter explained and eased Wade back to his feet.

“Spider-man, you’re a dear, but I thought you were supposed to keep him out of trouble...”

“Mind your business, ya old bat,” Wade shuffled across the living room toward the hall that housed his bedroom.

“Wade, do you need help?”

“Nah, go to your team debrief...”

Peter cringed. 

He also cursed Natasha mentally.  But never aloud, not ever. It was too likely she would hear. Somehow.

“Yeah, but you-” Peter started to follow after Wade, but the man slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Well then.  That was quite the message.

But okay.  He was feeling vulnerable and wanted some privacy.  Totally normal.  Totally acceptable.  Except that Peter didn’t like to be idle when someone needed help.  He liked to go. To do.  To fix.  That was kind of his whole deal.

Peter started when he heard a small shout from the bedroom and a muffled curse, then a long groan.

“Shit...”

“He’ll be alright...” Al muttered, though she didn’t sound pleased herself.

'He’ll be fine.' 

'You’ll be fine, Wade; you always are.'

'He can handle it.'

Peter was fond of Al.  She was funny and didn’t take Wade’s shit but was ultimately kind.  He wasn’t going to take her word on this, though.  So he shadowed Wade’s path to his bedroom door.

“Wade?” he knocked lightly before trying the handle.

It rattled but wouldn’t twist.  Wade had clearly locked it in a fit of precognition.

“I’m good!” Wade called back despite the fact that Peter could hear him panting on the other side of the door.

“Do you ...need help?”

Not that Peter wanted to peel burned leather from Wade’s skin but, like, if Wade needed it...he’d do it.

“Nope!  Go make yourself at home!”

Peter dawdled, shifting from foot to foot.

“Are you -”

“Mmmmmgh!  Shit!  Get fucked, Pete...”

“C’mon, c’mon....” Al had made her way down the hall and poked her hand blindly through the air until she found Peter’s arm.  “He’s a miserable prick when he’s hurting, but he’ll get through it.  He always does...”

Right.

“So I’ve heard...”

So Peter sat himself in the living room next to Al and made small talk, all the while pretending he couldn’t hear the grunts and groans from down the hall.  Even when Wade escaped his room and darted to the bathroom, Peter could hear a quiet stream of curses.

 

When Wade did finally emerge in sweats, a vintage t-shirt, and a fresh mask, he was still moving a little stiffly.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Oh, perfectly peachy ...you just never realize how sharp worn cotton is until your epidermis is MIA...”

Peter had always appreciated Wade’s ability to laugh despite it all, to lighten a situation that couldn’t be changed.  Yet some of his more morbid humor didn’t hit quite right.

“I’m serious.”

“Me too.  Zero stars.  Do not recommend. Will not try again.”

“Wade-”

“You’re supposed to let a man wallow; didn’t your mother teach you anything,” Al interrupted, waving a dismissive hand at Peter.

“Spider-man was raised by his Aunt, everyone knows that,” Wade swiftly corrected her.  “And she’s a goddman American treasure, so show some respect.”

Finally, Peter couldn’t help but grin.

He saw Wade was going to the kitchen, though, and jumped up.

“You go relax.  I’ll find something to eat ...go, go,” he shepherded the mercenary back and over to an armchair.

“You’re lucky I’m not fully recharged yet.  Have to throw you an ass-whoopin’ for kicking me out of my own kitchen...”

For all his huffing, Wade did sigh and rest his eyes once he’d eased himself down into the seat.

“I thought you said Spider-man was stronger than you and could kick your a--”

“Shut it, you!” Wade overrode his roommate easily.  “Hush or you’re going to have a little fall and break a hip.”

“You’re the worst...”

“And yet I’m still not as bad as you...”

“You’re both the worst,” Peter graded and tossed a Little Debbie snack to Wade to tide him over while he found something more substantial.

Thank you for being a friend,” he heard Wade sing softly while he tore the package open without grace.

He grinned despite the circumstances.

Everyone was a little awful in their indifference but, yeah, he’d be okay.

...

 

Wade has always been cavalier about his healing abilities.  Uses it as a punchline if ever the chance arises.  For a long time Peter just thought DP had a sick sense of humor and liked to shock people.  And, okay, yeah, that’s all true.

But Peter has come to surmise that, to some extent, Wade needs to laugh about it or it would drive him crazy.  Dealing with all the pain that Wade has felt is a lot to process, and dude is looking at an eternity of it. 

Peter’s sense of humor would probably get a little twisted, too.

Even so, he’s never seen Wade go this far.

He starts when the feet under his legs start to shift around.  Peter opens his eyes and draws his legs away so that he’s not a bombardment as soon as Wade fully wakes up.

“Mmmm, fuckin’...”

He watches Deadpool turn his head from side to side, then he spots Peter and immediately sits up straight.

“Fuck.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Peter scowls when this Wade has nothing more to add.

DP just sits there, head cocked at a steep angle.

“You’re right...”

Peter watches Wade reach to his belt, then pat around wildly when he notices his tactical knife is missing. 

“Stop,” Peter leaps forward before he can locate his liberated weapons and forces the other man’s hands into his lap where they can’t do any harm. “What’s wrong? Do you know me?”

“...course it’s a trick. I’m not stupid.”

“A trick?” Peter echos and flexes to keep Wade from wrenching his arms away.

For good measure he plops himself onto Wade’s knees, too.  Not that he can’t survive a good kick, but why bother?

“S’fucked up is what it is ... ...huh, yeah, could  be the X-Geeks...”

“You know the X-Men?” Peter tries to keep up and then just tries to take control of the conversation himself.  “Look I’m sorry if I scared you.  I came-”

Before Peter can explain himself, Wade throws all of his weight forward so that Peter falls backwards.   He wonders, for the tiniest flash of a second, if the frequency with which he finds himself fighting with a Deadpool says anything about their friendship.

 

Then he’s distracted because this Wade’s hands come straight for his neck.  Peter punches him in the shoulder and throws his own weight and strength to the side so that he can get back on top and catch both of Wade’s wrists again.

“I’m from another dimension!” he shouts. “I’m just looking for my Wade...”

“Your Wade?” this one stops fighting and the mask beneath Peter cocks to the side again.

“Yeah, he’s lost ...or something,” Peter doesn’t let go of Wade’s arms just yet, unsure if he can be trusted.

“...that’s not true... ...no because we met one before...”

“Met one what?” Peter’s ask is hopeful even though he’s still more than a little bit confused.

Small, white eyes seem to fix on Peter’s gaze, now.

“...met another Deadpool.  Thought I’d gone crazy, so I tried to kill him...”

So he has big reactions to lots of people.  Peter shouldn’t feel special.

“When?”

“...‘bout a year ago.”

“Oh,” Peter’s shoulders slump and he climbs off of Wade completely because the man hasn’t made a move since he’s calmed down and actually talked to him directly.

Wade sits up and scans the rooftop, clicking his tongue in disapproval when he spots the haphazard pile of his favorite weapons.  He doesn’t make a move for them, however, and that can only be dubbed an improvement.  He just gazes at Peter and rubs at the side of head where his mask is ripped and still wet with blood.

“...yeah, I see it’s not there ...no it is not my fucking fault,” Wade mutters to himself in a dark tone that, frankly, is a little disconcerting.

“Come again?”

“Nothing,” Wade’s snappy about his answer but continues to stare at Peter despite this apparent annoyance.

“...what?”

Wade pauses long enough after Peter’s question that he assumes the man isn’t going to answer.  He starts to think he ought to go.

“You look just like Peter,” he finally states.

“Oh ...and ...do you not like the Peter around here?”

Wade makes a choking sort of noise, almost like an aborted laugh that he’s trying to swallow.

“...well, dumber, for sure ...stupid fucking question...” Deadpool ticks his chin to the side, then looks at Peter again.  “The ‘Peter around here’?” he throws air quotes over Peter’s own wording, “is dead.”

Even though he is perfectly alive and relatively fine, this feels like a gut punch to Peter.  For some reason he hadn’t considered this being a possibility.  He’s accepted that Peter Parker may not exist in some dimensions, but hearing that he had been here but was now gone, well ...that feels a little different.

“Oh...”

“Got a Spider-man memorial for himself in Queens and everything.  It went up a few months back ... ...no, I can’t take him ...fucking morbid,” Deadpool hisses to himself.

Which is strange, but also true.  Peter doesn’t think he wants to see a memorial to himself.  The sentiment is mildly flattering and all, but the thought of seeing that ...well it’s making him feel a little squeamish even though he had never known this world’s Peter.

It’s him.

But it’s not.

“Okay, that’s ...wow, so you two were friends?”

Deadpool full-body flinches where he sits, through he tries to cover it by pulling up his knees and resting his arms atop them.  His fingers tap together restlessly.

“You might say that ... ...one might also say lovers,” he looks away from his fingers to peek at Peter’s reaction to that.

Peter stiffens.

That’s ...new.  Sort of.

“Oh...” 

“Mmhmm...” Wade cocks his head this way and that in thought.  “He had a birthmark on his neck.  Should’ve known...”

“Well,” Peter sighs and can’t decide what combination of awkward and devastating this must be. “How could you have known?”

“...thought I was hallucinating,” he mutters on.

Devastating. Yes. It’s definitely on that side of things.

“But I usually get the details right...”

Peter’s not sure what to say, so he just lets them sit there.  He wants to know what happened to him ...or the other him.  It feels indelicate to ask given the circumstances, however.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says.  “Eh, I know that sounds lame.  I’m sad for your loss,” he tries again. “And I’m sorry I came and rehashed all of that. This can’t be ...well.  Obviously it’s not easy...” 

Peter finds his hand snatched up, and Wade lifts it to inspect the blood-soaked wrist of his sleeve.

“...sorry you had to see that,” he looks from the sleeve and to Peter before dropping the hand away. “That was, uh ...an extreme reaction.”

“Not a first, though, I’m guessing...”

Wade snorts.

“So the crazy is written all over my face, huh?  Or is your Wade the same way?”

“No! No, I’m not saying you're crazy,” Peter assures him, though something is certainly different about this Wade. “I just meant that you didn’t hesitate.”

“Ah, well, I always come back....”

Always fine.

“And my Wade ...well, no, I don’t know that he’s ever had hallucinations,” Peter admits, though he knows he can’t say for certain.  “Except for the time he took LSD ...it didn’t last long because, ya know, his body just kind of ate it up. He was pretty fucked up for a while, though.”

The Wade beside him snorts.

“Sounds about right... ...go ahead.  I can tell you wanna ask...”

Peter squirms guiltily.  This Wade can read him as well as his own.

But he’s been invited, so he asks.  Asks if Wade sees his Peter a lot.  It’s personal and well beyond what he would ever ask a stranger.  Because they are strangers, even though in a weird little way...they also feel like they aren’t.

And Wade talks.  Mostly, Peter understands, because this probably feels a lot like an extra moment with the Peter he’d lost, like that person is back with him.  So long as he doesn’t stare at him too hard, maybe he can pretend.

So, no, he doesn’t see Peter often; not unless you count in dreams.  It’s mostly voices.  Ones he knows aren’t real, except for when he forgets no one’s there.  Or for when he’s extra lonely.  Anyway, sometimes they’re just hard to ignore; they disrupt his thoughts or real conversations he’s trying to have, so, in a fashion...yeah, they are real. Except they’re not, and he totally knows that so don’t worry. 

Because he’s fine.  He’s been taking up some of Spider-man’s old patrol, like he thinks Peter would’ve wanted.  Keeping people honest out on the streets.   The Avengers have even come to call a few times, though they still seem a little tentative with him.  Understandable. It’s an olive branch extended solely in Peter’s memory, he’s pretty sure, but still.  Might be nice.  Might keep him honest...

“That’s good of you,” Peter is actually a little impressed by that, “but you have to take care of yourself, too...” 

Wade snorts again. 

“Why? ‘m I gonna fall down dead from exhaustion?”

“Oh, ha ha.”

He’s fine.  Always fine.

“Besides, I have a feeling you’re not the definition of well-balanced, either ... ... I know it might be rude, but it’s fuckin’ true...” Peter is only half convinced the last part was for him.

“Well ...I dunno.  I would want my Wade to take care of himself,” Peter shares, choosing to believe that any iteration of himself that this Wade could love would feel the same way.

Wade only blinks.

Yeah, he’d gone too far.

“Shit, I’m sorry ...that’s not appropriate...”

“S’fine... ...”

“It’s not.  He’s not my business...”

“Kindda is, right?” Wade shrugs a thick shoulder, though he’s avoiding Peter’s gaze.  “You’re sortta the same person, aren’t you?”

That sounds a little too hopeful to be completely comfortable. 

“I’m not sure.  I haven’t figured that out yet,” Peter admits.  “Some dimensions seem a lot the same; some ...terrifyingly different,” he thinks of the zombies and sentinels he’s already met. “I don’t know how much I have in common with any other Peter...”

Wade clears his throat and nods.

“You seem like him ...I guess your Wade’s lucky...”

“Shit.  I hope so,” Peter sighs and knows that he should get going. 

It remains to be seen if his Wade is lucky. He’s not sure he’s doing a great job at any of this.  Or if he’ll ever straighten this out.  Or if Wade’s even still alive...

Peter clears his throat, too.

“I need to go.  I’ve only got a few thousand dimensions still to go,” he shoves himself up off of the roof stiffly.

“Fuck.  Seriously?” Wade follows his lead, cracking his back and neck as he does so.

“Possibly a lot more than that, I’m told...”

“Fuck.  Then, yea, you better go find me ...him...what-the-fuck-ever...”

Peter grins.  He obviously knows that feeling.

“I’d, uh ...give you a hug, but I think I’d like it too much,” Wade plants his hands on his hips to keep them to himself. “See you around ...or not.  Probably not, right?”

“Probably not,” Peter hates himself a little for agreeing.

But he knows he shouldn’t come back.  It wouldn’t be natural or appropriate.  Best to be honest.

“That’s good ....good,” Wade does his best to agree. “Do you, uh ...need privacy?” he asked awkwardly.

“No,” Peter grins and starts clicking at his watch. “Good luck ...I hope things work out with The Avengers here.  You shouldn’t have to do this all on your own.”

Wade huffs a loud breath through his nose.

“Look who’s talking...”

Yeah. Yeah.

“Bye...”

Feeling oddly guilty again, Peter presses the watch face and steps forward into the dimensionsl split.

 

Back in his apartment, Peter stands numbly in his kitchen for a few long seconds. 

Then he takes off the watch and tosses it onto the counter.

It needs to be cleaned. 

His coat and sweater come off next and go straight into the garbage.  They’re caked in blood, and even though Wade had once told him the fastest way to get blood out of clothing Peter no longer wants them.

He’s not sure if he’s going to be sick or if he’s going to cry. 

Maybe he’ll eventually do both.    

For now he slams his hands onto the counter to concentrate on the sting in his palms.  It’s hardly satisfying, so he grabs a mug from the sink and chucks it across the room so it cracks and shatters against the wall.  He’ll have to clean it up later, but the sound of the shattering somehow feels good.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, finding Wade.  Sifting through other dimensions had been half-intimidating, half-exciting at first. 

And some of it is exciting, sure.

But there’s a complex layer of emotion and ethics and confusion weaving through all of it, too. Why the fuck did Wade even keep that sling ring?  Peter thinks he wouldn’t keep doing this if he wasn’t trying to find Wade.  He’d return the watch to Strange and be done with it.

Because all of those realities might not be his world, but now that’s he’s experienced them...they also are his reality.

Chapter 5: Right thing

Notes:

This is a long chapter. I was going to make a Pt. 1 & Pt. 2, but that seemed silly since it all works together.

No real gore here, but mild mentions of torture. Some angst.

...and no offense to anyone named Jed.

Chapter Text


 

6:43pm: You getting these?
6:48pm: Just wanted to remind you that if ur on vacation in Hawaii and not actually missing, I’m going to beat the piss out of you.

Peter sends texts like this nearly everyday.  Just to check.  Just to try. 

But he doesn't actually wait for an answer.  He sits up where he’d been flopped on the couch and cracks his neck.  He’d felt pretty whipped all day, so he’d grabbed a bite to eat on the way home and crashed-out after work.

Now he’s got to go for a trip, or multiple if there’s some quick busts. Like yesterday when he’d found a Deadpool...dog?  It was definitely a dog in a red and black mask and vest, and no human Wade had happened along. 

Cute? Yeah, actually. 

Weird?  Super fucking weird.

But now he's got to go onward. Peter shoulders his bag and focuses on his watch.  He had decided earlier in the day to hone back in on the idea of saving Wade.  He reasons there are probably not a lot of Deadpools that need saving.  Not really.  Not with the immortality bit.

Hoping it will work, he presses down.

 

Since so many of his travels plop him right in the general vicinity of his target, Peter wanders the dim streets he arrives on.  Sometimes he gets little lost doing so.  Other times the city appears to be a carbon copy of his own until he looks a little closer.

Koca-Kola instead of Coke.

PDNY instead of NYPD.

‘Pic-A-Boo’ instead of “SnapChat’ under the yellow logo.  That had been adorable. Approve.

An advertisement for ‘Red Man Group’ instead of ‘Blue Man Group,’ which ...why?

And his least favorite of all: The New York Red Sox.  No.  No.  Absolutely not.

He doesn’t find a Deadpool; human, dog, or otherwise.  So then he needs to get proactive and hunt down Sister Margaret’s.  So far this has been the most consistently fruitful tactic.  Plus, he would rather fluster Weasel than Al in the event that he’s wildly off base anyway.

 

“You lost?” Weasel’s nothing if not blunt when Peter reaches the bar.

“No,” Peter peers about.

He doesn’t see a face he knows but is also aware that Wade Wilson could look different than he expects.

“You sure?” this Weasel isn’t precisely friendly. 

Then again, the Weasel he knows shows affection with derision, and if you didn’t know him you wouldn’t know the different between friendship and disdain.  Even so, no Weasel he’s met has been an idiot.  They’re always in the know. 

“I’m looking for Wade Wilson.”

Weasel snorts.

Which is strange.  Peter probably looks like a customer. Weasel is usually down with that.  Has often been happy to hook him up since he’s hoping to get his cut.

“What’s so funny?” Peter mugs at him.

“You’re a little late, pal...”

Peter feigns a glance at his watch.

“Is it past his bed time?”

And ...well, he really shouldn’t joke, should he? 

‘No kid Deadpool.  No kid Deadpool.  No kid Deadpool, please...’

“No, smart-ass.  He’s dead.”

Peter’s heart seizes, and he gapes a moment.  He’s both sad and disbelieving until the two feelings just glom together into surprise.

“Mhmm,” Weasel grimly nods.

“But, w- ...how?”  Peter decides it’s best to ask.

“The Big C, ya know?”

Shit.

“Oh wow...”

Weasel shrugs.

“Ain’t like there was an obit.  Nothing official,” he’s more ready to talk thinking Peter is a friend.

“Why not?” 

That doesn’t feel right.

“Wasn’t no body.  Fucker took off so we didn’t have to see him waste away or what the fuck ever,” he grumbles dourly, but Peter’s chest lightens a moment.  “At this point you just gotta assume, right?  He was not looking good...I mean, I personally think he went ahead and offed himself before it could get any worse...”

“Right...”

“Course he could’ve done it somewhere public so I could collect on the dead pool,” Weasel gestures upward, but Peter refuses to look.  “No proof, no money.  Jackass likes his last sick joke or something...”

“Pretty sick,” Peter frowns at the bartender.

“Whatever,” Weasel clearly doesn’t mind. “You got a need, though?  I can get someone else...”

“No,” Peter’s mind is already racing.  “Look ....look, didn’t someone come looking for Wade?” he leans in across the bar.  “A while back ... ...promised he could help?”

“Yeah,” Weasel eyes him with slightly more interest.  “He told you about that?”

“Yes,” that’s not at all a lie. “You recognize the guy?”

“...why?”

“Cuz I wanna find him.  Why do you think?” Peter snarks right back to him.

“Look, buddy,I dunno what you’re about-”

“No, you look,” Peter feels increasingly desperate. “I don’t think he’s dead. You can laze around all you want, but I’m going hunting. Who was the guy?” 

Weasel just eyes him like he’s a nut.

“If I find him and he is dead, you get that pay day.  Right?” he entices despite his personal tastes.

Weasel blinks.

“Alive?!  Look ...he didn’t look good...”

Peter wonders if Weasel is trying to convince him or feels guilty and wants to convince himself.

“The guy,” Peter insists.

He has no interest in devolving into a debate with Weasel on this.  He might not be right, but he’s going to need proof before accepting he’s wrong.  Maybe he can’t find his Wade yet, but he’ll have a go at this one. Hell yes he will.

“I don’t know,” Wade eventually sighs.

Just to check, Peter grabs a metal tumbler from behind the bar and crushes it in his hand.

“Idon’tknow!” Weasel steps back, eyes wide.  “He was some Matrix looking mother fucker.”

“Matrix?”

“Yeah ...Agent Smith, ya know? He gave Wade a card.  Wade showed me, but it only had a phone number.”

“I don’t suppose you remember it?” Peter isn’t hopeful; not everyone is his level of nerdy.

“Do I look like Rainman?”

No.

Peter inhales slowly through his nose and sighs it back out.

“Did he say how he found Wade?”

“...not to piss you off more, but I don’t ask a lot of questions.”

“No.  I guess not...”   Peter slouches onto a stool and considers.

Wade had never really been specific about his time with Weapon X.  It had been in the city.  It had been hellish.  Francis.  Angel.  Why can’t Peter remember that recruiter’s name?  Had Wade said?  Had Wade even known?

Ugh.  If only Weasel for some reason remembered the guy’s number.

Then again...

“How did that guy find Wade?” Peter looks back up.

Weasel shrugs, still eyeing Peter with high levels of suspicion.

“He never said?”

“No.  Just showed up and asked for Wade.”

“...and knew he had cancer, right?  He already knew?”

Feeding on the desperate.  Some sick shit, Spidey...’

“Mhmm....yeah, guess so.  Knew he was Special Forces and shit ...but Wade wasn’t exactly secretive about that...”

How could this be?  He couldn’t have known about Wade’s health concerns from his military records; the cancer had come later.

“Was he telling everyone about being sick?”

“No.  Who the hell wants to brag about that?”

“Right ...okay.  Okay. Who were his doctors, then?”

It’s a pretty twisted assumption, but it does make sense...

Weasel’s eyes pop behind his coke bottle classes.  Either he’s surprised with Peter’s logic or his gall.

“No clue...”

There’s too many options in New York to go in blind about it.

“Where can I find Vanessa?”

“Hey, now, look...”

“Shut up and tell me.”

Peter can give Weasel a little credit for not wanting to get Wade’s girl roped-up, but he’s keyed on this idea and not feeling especially patient.

“... ...she works at ‘Little Darlings.’  She’s probably there,” the man muttered.

“Okay.  Where’s that at?”

“Don’t you have GPS or something?  Jesus...”

Peter’s not certain his cellphone will work here but there’s no need to explain that.

“Humor me,” he glares at Weasel one more time.

Because Peter is - as Wade likes to remind him- an insufferable nerd, he doesn’t need to write down the directions Weasel gives him.  He remembers each instruction.  He’s remembered harder: a 30 digit password, for instance.

Pie. Easy as.

 

What’s not so easy is winding his way through the strip club where Vanessa works.  Peter isn’t shocked that this is where Weasel had directed him.  He has heard Wade make enough veiled comments about how he first met Vanessa and her “professional ventures” at the time that he has gotten the gist of things.

The place is warm and dark and he doesn’t particularly like the smell.  The lighting is disorienting.  And, like, he knows the purpose is to look - hell, get a whole eye full - but he feels very much that he ought not look. Certainly cannot touch.

Hands flat at his sides. Check.

Peter gets leered at when he asks for Vanessa by name.

“You sure, baby?” large, blue eyes blink up at him.

Yup.  Totally sure.  Just looking for Vanessa. Eyes up, Peter, and don’t blush.

Pouting all the way, the blonde does take him to Vanessa, who’s picking up some drink orders at the bar.  She has longer hair than when he’d last seen her, and it’s streaked with purple.  He’d scared her in an alley last time.  He has a good inclination he’s going to scare her now, too.

He’s just a peach that way.

“Yours by special request,” the petite lady quips and then saunters off.

Vanessa’s gaze cuts to him, her eyes flit up and down.  There’s no recognition there, which is probably for the best.

“I’m not dancing tonight,” she easily dismisses.

“Good,” Peter nods.  “No, I mean ...” he takes a deep breath, though he’s sure he already seems like a total dweeb and should probably just embrace it.

“...you new at this?” there’s a cute smirk on her lips, an eyebrows arches over a lined and shaded eye.

So maybe dorky hit a soft spot.

“Yeah ...I mean, no.  Not really...” Peter steps out of someone’s way but then finds it brings him much too close to Vanessa, so he artfully twists to the side.

She snorts, though not in a way that seemed cruel.

“I think there’s no good way to say this, so can I just say it?”

“As long as it’s not a marriage proposal,” she’s still grinning but her eyes turn shrewd again.

“No,” Peter rushes.  “No ...no, it’s about Wade.”

Her whole look melts.  Yeah.  No good way to say it was probably an understatement. 

“... ...I need to deliver these,” she finally says at length.

“B--”

“Then I’ll snag a break”

Without waiting for him to respond, she strides away stiffly. Peter is sure whatever patrons have ordered from her are not about to get the service they’re hoping for.

While she goes, he shrinks back against the wall as flat as possible. To hopefully not be noticed.

He doesn’t like it here. There is just deceit everywhere, and he can sense it.  It tickles lightly as his spine.

He had felt similarly when Wade had dragged him right up to the door of a strip club once under the explicit instructions to ‘chill the fuck out.’

...

“You’re way to wound up, Petey,” Wade had declared.

“I don’t like it...”

Peter stood stiff and straight.  He hadn’t made it inside yet and was unwilling to relax enough to even think about making an inviting-looking lap.

“C’mon.  You don’t know that til you try...”

“And they’ll never let me in with a mask.  That’s creepy...”

“Ah, you’re giving the place way to much credit,” Wade promised, which was not at all reassuring. “They’ll think it’s funny...”

“I’m not going in. You said club--”

“This is a club”

“--and I was uncomfortable enough with that thought.”

“Tense as fuck, Webs.  I’m telling you...”

“Cut it out”

“Would it help if I called it a Gentlemen’s Establishment?”

“Absolutely not”

“Jesus Christ,” Wade released a breath between his teeth. “Fine ...what do you do for fun?”

“Honestly?”

“Duh.”

So they went to the Bronx to see how many lemurs were up and about at the zoo.

...

“Start talking”

Peter’s pulled from the memory when Vanessa returns.  He dutifully keeps his eyes from gazing at her cleavage ...much.

Oops.

“Could we...” he looks around for a less exposed place.

She grasps him by the elbow and tugs him past the bar and through a door into a dim hallway.  A gentlemen’s establishment behind the scenes; surely everyone out in the bar would love a peek.  Peter can recognize the part of him that is, in fact, curious, but he’s too busy getting poked in the sternum.

“What do you know? Where is he?”

Her voice doesn’t waver, but Peter can see her eyes are wet with gathering tears.  Because yeah, this must hurt.  He’s hurting her. 

Hopefully not in vain.

“I’m not sure...”

“Jesus...” Vanessa releases a long, shaky breath.  “Is he dead?” her voice is a little hoarse this time.

“...I don’t think so,” he is careful not to promise anything.

Because this dimension might not be prepared to play-out the same way his world has.  He knows that, though it’s hard to fully accept.

He should be leaving. He has other things to do.

But he can’t.

“What?” her eyes are still full and her face is pinched now, but she’s not crying. Peter thinks he understands what Wade saw in her. “How can you know that?”

“I’m ...you’ll think I’m crazy...”

“Your crazy matches my crazy,” she looks a little wistful when she says it, which Peter’s not sure fits, but he takes this to mean that she’s willing to go out on a limb with him.

“I think he was taken, okay?”

“Taken?” she twitches. “No ...look, he left.  He packed a bag...” her chin trembles.

“I know that.  I know.  I do.  What I mean is I think he was taken advantage of ...someone who knew he was sick preyed on him...”

She looks alarmed, now.  A glare quickly fills into her eyes where fear had been.  Yeah, Peter definitely knows what Wade loves about her.

“I need to know who his doctors were...”

“What?”

“Someone knew he was sick.  How could they know that?” Peter spells it out. “Someone out there is finding vulnerable people; they can’t just be lucking into a bunch of poor shmucks, right?”

Vanessa’s trembling, and she looks far-away a moment while she takes all of this in.

“When he was taken to the ER, it was at Metro General.  They sent him on to a specialist. Dr. Yamamoto diagnosed him; she has an office on Adam’s near Plymouth...”

Alright.  Good start.

“But she wasn’t the only one.  We got second opinions. I looked into alternatives when no one had high hopes...”

“Do you remember any?”

“Of-of course...yes...hold on”

Peter watches Vanessa scurry off down the hall and out of sight.  He’s relieved that she’s onboard to help, and yet he already feels a little intimidated about how many doctors Wade might have seen. He should have expected that.  When Aunt May was sick, there had been a lot of specialists as well as a rotation of nurses ...not to mention MAs and orderlies.

Just how much time was he willing to devote to this?

He watches Vanessa hurry back with a pen and pad of Post-It notes, and he knows the answer.  A lot.  He’s going to devote a lot of time to this if he has to.

So how long can he devote to this?  He’s not entirely clear if he’s supposed to stay in other dimensions for days on end.  He never has before.  Has never even been inclined to.

Well.  More data for his notebook, he supposes.

 

“Damn...” Peter flicks trough the chunk of sticky notes that Vanessa eventually hands to him.

Names.  Approximate addresses. Type of speciality.

“...he said I was tenacious,” she admits.

“That was good of you,” Peter smiles, thinking of how many more specialists he would have carted his aunt to if necessary. “Thank you...”

“So what ...what does this mean?  What now?”

“Now ...I guess I have some work to do...”

“Well what do I do?”

Oh no. No. No. No.  He wasn’t going to let her get tangled up in anything further.  Absolutely not.  Given the amount of scribbled-on notes in his hand, he should have expected this, too.

“You do nothing.”

She blinks at him.  Incredulous. Peter feels thoroughly chastised by it and frowns at himself for it. 

“No,” he doesn’t change his mind.

“I’ll just do some work of my own,” she juts her chin up in the air.

Shit.

“Look ...this thing ...this thing is...” Peter sputters.  Doesn’t want to say.  Doesn’t want to scare her more. “I think Wade is alive, but if you get roped-up into this at all ....he’ll wish he wasn’t.”

Vanessa’s face seems to fall apart in front of him again.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad”

“...so what are you going to do?” she looks him over closely.

Peter tries not to think that she probably doesn’t come up with much confidence from her assessment.  Looks can be deceiving.

“I can’t tell you that”

She clamps her lips together and stares up at the ceiling.  Blinking.  Peter gives her the courtesy of pretending he doesn’t know she’s trying to will away new tears.

“You’ll bring him back?” she finally looks at him again to ask. “Even if he’s ...will you bring him back anyway?”

“Sure,” Peter’s glad that he has a jacket on so she can’t see the goosebumps that spring up along his arms, but he promises anyway.

“Okay ...okay, come on...”

Peter follows her, already trying to think ahead to what he’ll do next.  Where he’s going to start.

“So are you going to tell me who you are?” Vanessa finally asks when she stops beside a thick and graffitied door.

“A friend,” he answers unhelpfully at first. “We...used to work together...”

“In the Army?”

Peter pauses.  Wonders what he looks less like: a soldier or a mercenary.  He chooses to trust Vanessa’s first instinct and follows her guess.

“Yeah...”

“...I didn’t know he stayed in touch with anyone from back then,” she muses thoughtfully but not, Peter things, doubtfully.

“It’s been a while...”

Liar. Liar. Liar.  He’s gotta go.

“I’m sure I’ll be in touch,” he nods and shoves at the door.

“Good luck”

Yeah.  He’s probably going to need it.

“One more question ...is Spider-man a thing?” he chances just in case he needs the back-up.

Surprisingly, Vanessa becomes haughty.

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Look--”

“I assume you mean Spider-Woman?”

Well.

Well.

Okay, then.

“Right.  Brain fart...bye...”

Peter hadn’t even considered that. Does that make him sexist? 

So, at the very least, there are Peter Parkers, Miles’, and Spider-women.  None of that should be a surprise since there was a zombie Deadpool and, potentially, a doggy Deadpool.

 

 

Peter swiftly becomes familiar with various medical facilities in Brooklyn and Manhattan, which might behoove him sometime in his life if he actually lived in this reality.  It’s probably irrelevant because he’s 100% sure he’s burning bridges.  Corning doctors when they are alone and threatening them in a ski mask ...surely that endears him to no one.

That’s not to say the strategy doesn’t get results, though.

Dr. Grodin, of ProCare Pain Consultants, had been thoroughly petrified to be accosted by him, and Peter is only a teensy bit sorry to say he enjoyed it.  Sleeping at the bus station doesn’t exactly make for a happy for cheerful Peter Parker, however.

It seems that Dr. Grodin himself is perfectly plain, but Peter’s demands did ring a bell for him.  It was the ‘Agent Smith’ dig, which Peter truthfully hadn’t even planned on mentioning.  But the good doc recalled seeing an odd man in the clinic a couple times who, as far as he knew, never made an appointment.  Just stood around the front desk talking to Calvin.

But Calvin’s not up to anything, see. Couldn’t be. He’s just a kid, really, ya know? One of the MAs who works in scheduling sometimes. Wants to go to nursing school once he saves up some more money. Calvin’s just Calvin. 

Peter has a sneaky suspicion that Calvin has a side-hustle to save up for school.

Calvin’s in trouble.

 

But, like ...so is Peter.  Just a bit.

Because Calvin is scared, sure, but Peter’s not exactly an interrogator.  Doesn’t think he’ll have the stomach to push too hard if it comes to that.

  For now he’s just letting Calvin stew in fear where he’s tied-up to a chair in an abandoned basement Peter had found.

Cliche, he knows.

...

“...but always effective, Webs...”

Peter did not - repeat it for the kids in the back, did not - condone torture. Nope. Not no way, not no how.

“He needs a hospital, Deadpool,” Peter scowled at the scene Wade had created.

They were at some docks on the East River, where they’d raided what they believed to be a human trafficking operation. The storage containers on the boat had been empty, though they both knew that didn’t mean they’d arrived that way.

Only one man had been left conscious, so Peter had webbed him up for the cops.  Wade had taken this an invitation to harass a captive audience.

“No,” the other masked man growled.  “What we need is to Zero Dark Thirty his ass. If that cinematic adventure taught me anything, it’s that violence is effective...”

“I don’t think that was the main idea there...”

“You say data, I say data,” he waved a gloved hand around dismissively.

Then he stomped back over to the immobile man and stepped straight onto the bullet wound in his shin. The resulting scream made Peter cringe.

“Come on...”

“Come on, what?”  Deadpool glared backward over his shoulder. “You feel bad for this shit-stain?” he pressed a little more weight forward.

The correct answer was: no.  But also ...maybe. Yeah. Sort of.

Because, sure, Peter had hurt people - plenty of people.  Fights with him weren’t exactly fair for an average human, were they? But once they’re down for the count, well ...it was a little too much like bullying. Like taking advantage.

He told Wade so before the irony hit him.

“Taking advantage?” Wade spat and then eased off the whimpering man to bend down low. “Uh, Mr. Trafficker, sir ...were you going to give those girls milkshakes and play Yahtzee? ...no?  I didn’t think so.”

“That’s not what I mean.  I just...”

He huffed a sigh.

The guy did deserve what he got...

“I don’t feel bad for him, I just don’t like flaunting power...” he squirmed.

Because Spider-man could derail a subway train.  Because he could toss a entire damn bus.  Because he could, in theory, kill anyone who passed him on the street with his bare hands without even breaking a sweat.  Hell, he almost had back when he’d first started out, back before he even knew how to fight.  Back before he knew how to hold back.  Before he was anyone’s friendly neighborhood anything.

It wasn’t the kind of thing he liked to be flippant about.

Deadpool eyed him from where he stood several feet away.  It was a strange look that made Peter glance away.

“Then don’t,” he answered, chipper once more. “I will.”

“That’s not--”

“Look,” Wade heaved his shoulders in a sigh and finally turned fully away from the criminal for a moment. “You know what he was doing, right?  What he would have kept doing if he’d given us the slip?”

“I’m not a kid, Wade.”

“I know. I’m not saying that,” Wade threw up his hands in innocence.  “But you’re naive about some shit, Spidey... “

“Hey--”

“I’m not complaining,” Wade overrode him. “It’s not a bad thing, and I’m not sorry for it; it’s part of what makes you ...you, ya know? You couldn’t be otherwise, but you can’t be blind,” he jabbed a stern finger in Peter’s direction. “This,” he twisted the finger to the bleeding man. “Is the dirtiest sort of secret in this city, and you can’t pretend you don’t see it...”

Peter clenched his jaw.  He wanted to snap at Wade for being patronizing, but he knew the other man was just being factual.  Peter already knew the things Wade was saying were true.  Knew the cops couldn’t always keep up.  Knew the justice system was imperfect and the city was full of tricks, full of new people who would step up to take this asshole’s place.

“You don’t have to climb into the underbelly if you don’t want,” Deadpool mimed washing his hands. “You just let papa do the dirty work.”

Peter started.

“Don’t make it sound li--”

“Ah-ah,” Deadpool waved a shushing finger.

And he stalked away.

And Peter let him. Didn’t raise further protest while he coerced some more information out of the man with a little more blood and a lot more flare. He didn’t like it, exactly, but he didn’t walk out of earshot, either. He’d chewed over Deadpool’s words, kicked around the lesson in them.

Then, when Wade was satisfied, Peter finally called the cops.

And they beat tracks across town to the apartment basement where the girls had been transported to.

...

Far and away, that had not been Peter’s favorite experience with Wade.  And yet ...Wade hadn’t been wrong, had he?

Human trafficking.  Mutant slave trade. These things aren’t the muggings or car-jackings Peter had cut his teeth on back in the day. 

Peter isn’t a teenager anymore.  He has grown into nuance.  A thief, for instance, used to be very black-and-white to him. But, like Wade had said, Peter isn’t blind.  He sees, now, that while a thief isn’t right... they are no more wrong than a system that tends to reward the rich and yet spits on the disadvantaged hand that reaches out for help.

So he has matured, and so have the crimes he seeks out.  Which brings him new moral quandaries. Which brings him here.

Here, where he is facing this man’s pain versus saving Wade and countless others.

Utilitarianism has always made Peter a little uncomfortable.  Maybe because he’s always liked an underdog. Maybe he’s just idealistic.

But he has to make a choice now.

‘This is the dirtiest sort of secret...’

Yeah.

Yeah. Ok.

If Peter had been willing to sit back and let Wade do the “dirty work” before, then he can suck it up and do it now.  He’s no better than Wade...

His mind wars against this notion a bit, but he’ll examine that later.  For now he’ll just stick with what he knows.  And what he knows is that Wade would’ve ripped this guy apart by now to find Peter.  Peter doesn’t have to go that far, but just standing here is useless.

“Alright, Calvin...

Calvin, it transpires, is probably a lot of the things that Dr. Grodin believed him to be.  Just a dumb kid, really.  He certainly isn’t tough to crack.  Backhanding him across the face and jabbing him in the solar plexus makes him talk real quick like.

Well, as soon as he had his breath back, anyhow.

Always effective, Webs...’

It’s clear that he’s scared of the guy who pays him to violate HIPAA, but the information buyer isn’t there. The immediacy of Peter is a more pressing threat, thank you very much.

He might not be so bad, Calvin.

But he had committed several no-nos, so Peter leaves him there to shout for help while he uses the dude’s phone to figure out where one reports licensing violations.

 

The man who recruits the destitute and dying is named Jed.  Yes, Jed, and Peter literally hates that. 

Anyway, he needs an ass-whooping more than Calvin does, but Peter’s going to have to lay low.  This man must know more than Calvin, must be better connected.

Must be followed, in other words.

Peter decides to stake-out some of the other clinics Calvin knew the man to frequent.  The Agent Smith comparison really is a dead-ringer - Peter makes a note to send Weasel some flowers - and is easy to spot in his stupid suit coming out a methadone clinic, the fuckwit.

Peter tails him from there to a cafe where he meets up with a bedraggled woman.  The man buys her lunch, smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes, and makes a whole lot of promises.  The whole thing makes Peter want to strangle him, but he sits back while the man promises to meet the woman later that night.

Because she requests to go visit her daughter first.

Peter almost vomits.

 

While he waits to crash that rendezvous, Peter tries not to picture how that same conversation must had gone down with Wade.  Which is to say, he ends up thinking about it pretty much all afternoon.

About how worn Wade himself must have been before he’d accepted the offer.  How scared he’d probably been.  Had he said goodbye to Vanessa?

‘He left ...he packed a bag...’

But had he said goodbye?  Maybe not properly, but in his own small way?  In some way that Vanessa hadn’t even noticed until it was too late?

Peter suspects he had.  Knows that Wade - or his Wade, at any rate - is shockingly sentimental.  You just have to read between the lies, peer behind the humor. You have to take the time to understand what’s genuine and what’s a facade, a smoke-screen that leaves him space to joke-off anything he says incase he senses rejection or dismissal.

He imagines leaving Vanessa had not been simple.  Thinks that Wade probably even stopped  by Sister Margaret’s for one last beer with Weasel.

Maybe Peter’s the sentimental one.

 

And at some point, Peter realizes that this rescue mission is going to have consequences.  He remembers, again, that even though Weapon-X is fucked up - beyond fucked up - their bullshit had also kept Wade from dying of cancer.  Kind of like trading the bad for worse, but still.  He might be able to save Wade and get him back to Vanessa only for him to die anyway.  To waste away from disease.  Without a healing factor, that’s what will happen, right?  That’s why he’d been hopeless enough to take Jed up on his fucked offer, right?

The thought scares Peter.  Terminal illness is ...well, to put it very lightly, it’s not pretty.  Wade will suffer, and the Deadpool Peter knows will never come to pass.

But that’s selfish, and he knows it.  Wade hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t asked for this hell. Not knowingly, anyway. 

Besides, doesn’t Peter know as well as anyone that sometimes it kills Wade that he can’t die?  He uses his healing factor like a parlor trick sometimes, sure, but immortality means he has to live with the fact that there may never be an end to his pain.  That he’s going to have to watch the whole world pass by.

Yes, getting him out is the right thing to do.  Fuck the rest of it.

This is right.

 

By the time he tails Jed and his latest recruit (i.e: victim) to an unremarkable old warehouse, Peter’s just itching for a fight. He’d love to take it out on Jed but knows that would just tip-off the rest of the operation.  Jed’s like a petty little worker bee buzzing around the hive, but the real treasure is inside.

He needs to remember that.

It’s not so hard.  Spider-man is good at stealth.  He’ll don his suit and enter through the roof.  Been there, done that.

 

 

Once things quiet down and Peter slips out of the upstairs duct work, he finds the nearest staircase.

“Ho--ly hell...” 

The stench hits him when he’s on the stairs: stale sweat, the metallic tang of blood, something like urine. Once he can look around, the place bizarrely reminds him of the temporary disaster relief centers they plaster all over the news after a hurricane or a flood.

Cots and hospital beds stand in neat rows. Some with crisp curtains pulled between them.  Others out in the open with people sprawled upon them. Chained onto them, Peter sees.

The space is half-lit, and it’s eerily quiet save for some snuffling and an occasional grunt or groan.  The air feels thick and oppressive. The whole thing is overwhelming. 

He somehow hadn’t expected the operation to be so big, though he’s not sure why.  He should have known.  Could have guessed. And here he thought he’d already been expecting the worst...

“Wade,” his head is on a swivel as he starts to roam the place. “Wade!” he hisses.

Most people he passes take no heed of him, asleep or ...well, otherwise unconscious.  Some try to shrink away when he nears.  Others stare.

“Wa-” Peter pauses when he comes across someone laying on their stomach with dozens of spikes growing from their spine. “Shit...” but, ultimately, he has seen stranger so he hurries on. “Wade...”

He passes dozens of beds before one brings him up short.  A man stretched out in bed and strapped down by his ankles, arms, and neck. His clothes, which appear to be plain old scrubs, are stained and currently look wet. He doesn’t seem to be awake and therefore isn’t responding to the sight of Spider-man.

Peter has only seen early-Wade a few times so it’s hard to be sure past the stubble, but ...he recognizes the scar that runs through his right eyebrow. It’s a fairly distinctive thing.

“Wade?” he pats the end of the bed. “Wade, hey...”

“Fuck ‘ff,” the man mutters groggily.

Jackpot.  Definitely.

“Hey, wake-up, wake-up...c’mon...” Peter scurries to the head of the bed.

“You douche-fucks gotta let me sleep.  ‘m gonna call my Union rep...”

“You shouldn’t call me names; I might not liberate you... “

Hazel eyes open, then crease tightly.

“The fuck...”

Peter snorts and starts undoing the belt around his neck.

“What the fuck...” he speaks a little more clearly and lifts his head when Peter moves on to unstrapping his forearms. “Cunningham, ‘m I hallucinating....Cunningham!”

“Shh!” Peter scolds because he’s sure there must be staff or security despite the eerie stillness.

Peter tries to ignore the bruises all along Wade’s arms, but they’re a little hard to miss.  So is the smell, but he can’t be held accountable so Peter tamps down any joke he manages to think of.

“There you go.  Can you sit up?”  Peter starts to free Wade’s feet.

“Mmgh, shiiiit,” the man groans but does as he’s told. “Holy fuck balls, there’s two of you?” he gapes when he sits up.

“Two? No. You must have a concussion...”

Probably the least of his worries, Peter knows.

“No, I mean your costume...”

“I prefer suit...” Peter grumbles.

“Data, data,” Wade murmurs in response, but his voice is soft and his eyes are wide while he watches Peter.

“No, suit is much more refined.  Costumes are for Halloween...c’mon, can you stand up?”

Wade grunts but twists around so that his feet dangle off the bed.  Without much hesitation, he scoots himself to the edge.  As soon as his feet hit the floor, his knees buckle and Peter swoops forward to catch him.

“Alright, alright...” he lifts Wade’s arm to loop it over his shoulders for support.

“A real live super hero,” Peter finds Wade’s face unreasonably close to his own. “Fuck me sideways...”

“Look, w--”

Peter’s interrupted by a CLANG.  His Spideysenses jolt and he hits the deck, brining Wade down with him by default.  He peers across the room from under the gurney and spots a woman, tall and thick with black hair, stomping around.

“You’re gonna wanna run now,” Wade whispers.

“Hard pass,” Peter whispers back, tracking the woman’s progress.

“She’s, like, freaky strong, Junior...”

Peter clicks his tongue.

“So am I ... ...alright, I’ve got a plan.  Don’t go anywhere,” he begins to crawl away since the woman is not coming in this direction. Yet.

“Got fuckin’ jokes...” he hears the answering retort.

Peter moves across the warehouse floor, sticking to the shadows as much as possible, scuttling under and behind furniture as needed to keep out of the woman’s view.  Once he is a sufficient distance from Wade, he vaults himself to the ceiling and crouches upside down near a sprinkler head. 

Peter had learned about how fire suppression systems worked back in high school when there was a little mishap in Chem Lab. It’ll be interesting to see one in action again. The sprinkler gushes on immediately after he breaks the small vial, then he leaps for the nearest fire alarm and gives it a pull. 

Lights flash.  An alarm blares.  It hurts his over-sensitive ears, but it’s worth it all the same.

He streaks back across the room with a little less finesse than before, and his wetted suit allows him to slide impressively when he dives under Wade’s gurney to start hefting him back to his feet.

“Distraction’s probably temporary.  C’mon...”

“Who the hell are you?” Wade’s words aren’t so slurred, but he still looks like shit.

“Call me an old friend ...c’mon,” he half-walks, half-drags Wade along.

“Mmmm, wait...” 

Wade’s attempt to dig-in his heels is physically ineffectual, but Peter stops anyway to see what the problem is.  Wade’s looking backwards over his shoulder.

“Cunningham...

“C’mon...”

“What about--”

“I need to get you out of here,” Peter forces him a few more steps before Wade starts trying to pull his arm from Peter’s shoulders.

“He’s got kids...”

Shit.  Peter squeezes his eyes shut.  It’s not like his heart isn’t bleeding for everyone back there, but he’d had a plan.  And since when is Wade the softer of them?

“I’ll come back for them,” Peter promises.

Because, yeah.  He will. Probably could never have neglected to even without Wade’s insistence.  Still, he only has so many hands at one time, right?

But Wade’s still trying to get autonomy of his body back like a petulant child. A caring, petulant child. But still. 

“Wade,” Peter jerks him around to face him.  “I’ll come back for them, but I have to make sure you get out.  I promised Vanessa.”

“Ness...” the fight slackens out of Wade’s body and his eyes grow wet and full.

It had been a dirty card to play.

‘...always effect, though...’

“Yeah.  Come on...”

Wade starts to move again, and Peter hopes they’re home free.  With his misdirection and the disorientation of the lights and alarms, who will even notice them?

“Waaaaade Wilsoooon!” someone very specifically shouts.

It’s garbled a bit from the alarms, but Peter picks it out just before his spine flares to life.

He drops Wade unceremoniously and turns, hand flying up to catch the crowbar that had been thrown at their backs.  He flings it back at the man who’s now running at him, and it catches him in the shoulder but it hardly impedes him.

Great. Just great.

This, he thinks, may be Francis.

Peter ‘thwips’ a web up to the ceiling and yanks himself forward to meet the man halfway with a boot to the chin.  The man falls back but scrambles back up without hesitation. Peter swings back in to land atop him and pummel him to the ground. It seems clear he doesn’t need to treat this man like Calvin, so he thinks of Jed and lets loose a little.

Probably-Francis seems to lose his bearings a bit, but in the flashes of light Peter can see that he’s grinning.  It’s creepy, so he hits him harder.

The man flings his weight to the side and they both topple over on the cement.  Peter rolls gracefully to his feet and stoops forward to catch the man around the middle and slam him back on the floor to start all over again.  Dude’s gotta pass out sometime; that’s just physiology.

Hopefully.

Peter gets a couple more hits in before he feels pressure on his shoulder and is flung backward. He literally flies several feet before he reorients himself and webs the wall to jerk himself to a stop. The black-haired woman from before is helping the man to his feet.  Peter can’t pick out what they’re saying, but the lady smirks in his direction.

Then she’s charging him, and he’s reminded heavily of a bull.

“Shouldn’t have worn red,” he sighs, then leapfrogs spryly over her once she nears.

She skids to a stop and pivots quickly to correct herself. He could probably play this game all day, but he does need to get out of here.  Preferably ASAP.

Peter catches a shout behind him and twists to find that Francis has reclaimed his crowbar.  He’s advancing on Wade, who can’t seem to get his legs under him.  Wade’s shuffling backwards on his hands and feet to get to the wall for support.

Peter webs the guys wrists, gives a sharp yank so that he looses the weapon. He wants to web that down and render it useless, but he’s bowled over before he gets the chance.  The alarms had covered the sound of the woman’s second charge. The air whooshes from Peter’s lungs, and the hits the woman starts to land on his face and chest hurt.  Like Doc Ock’s metal arms kind of hurt.

These fucking people.

With a grunt, Peter catches one of her fists by the knuckles, then snags her other wrist.  He gets his feet between them and gives her a hearty kick off.  She doesn’t fall as easily as most, but he’s free of her anyway and flips back up to his feet faster than she does.

He webs her hand to the wall where she is trying to steady herself.  She gives it a tug. Nothing happens.  She and Peter share a glance, and then he adds a few more webs to the job before she can put more muscle behind it. You know.  Just in case.

He glances to Wade again.  Sees he’s getting stomped by his attacker. Then, as he watches, Wade wraps himself around the guy’s leg and drops his weight to the side. They both fall, and Peter flings out a web so that this man gets much the same treatment as his girlfriend. His arm is adhered to the ground so he can’t get back up.

The Spidey-senses once again stab a warning at Peter’s neck, and he ducks in time for a knife to whiz overhead. He aims his attention back at the woman just in time for another knife to twirl his way.  He webs it out of the air, then sticks her second hand to the wall, too. 

She spits in his direction, but unless she’s also poisonous he is hardly threatened.

Points for spunk, though. 

He flashes her a peevish thumbs-up, which only makes her mug harder at him.

Uh-huh, yeah.  Super intimidating.

Something that isn’t quite danger tickles at Peter’s scalp, and his mouth gapes open when he lazily spins around yet again.  Wade has managed to fetch the crowbar this time, and he has it raised with clear intention.

It’s almost like time slows down.  Peter knows what Wade’s going to do.  He also knows he has time to stop it.

But it’s one of those gray areas again.  Maybe no one is right, so the real question is: who’s most wrong? Peter knows the answer to that.  He’d seen the hell of this place, now, and also understands his minutes there have only scratched the surface. So he doesn’t feel pity for the man.  Doesn’t feel a pull to save him...

Wade smashes the crowbar into the Francis’ face once.  In a fit of adrenaline, he bats away the hand that comes up to stop him.  Smashes the crowbar into his head a second time.

And then time zips back to normal and Peter remembers he’s not judge and jury. Remembers he’s never wanted to be that.

He darts forward and wrests the metal from Wade mid-swing.  The man fights him on it, but even his panic-induced zeal is no match for Spider-man’s strength.  Regardless, Wade falls forward with a shout and continues the job with his bare hands, which he wraps around the neck of the stirring man.

“Shit,” Peter throws the crowbar away for good and wraps his arms around Wade’s torso.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Peter isn’t sure if Wade’s talking to him or his captor.  Isn’t sure it matters either way. Wade’s trembling with exhaustion and rage, the kind that’s deep and consuming.  Peter can practically feel it through his suit and through Wade’s paper-thin scrubs.

“Come on, let’s go,” Peter shouts over the alarm. “...you don’t need to be here.  I’ll get you home,” Peter heaves at the same moment that Wade goes slack, and they both tumble backwards.

“Home?” Wade’s ask is weak, but given the proximity Peter hears it clear anyway.

“Yeah...yeah, c’mon...”

Peter sees Wade nod, and then he doesn’t resist being hoisted up and essentially dragged down the hall.  He doesn’t argue or try to turn back when they burst outside, either.  He just gasps at the fresh air and looks around wildly.

“We’re still ...we’re still in the city...”

Peter confirms this and wonders where Wade’s mind had imagined he’d been moved to, but the other man doesn’t elaborate.  Doesn’t say much for a bit.  Doesn’t even protest when Peter sets him down and tells him not to move so that he can dash off and fetch his backpack, which he’d stashed on a nearby roof. 

 

He hasn’t moved a muscle when Peter returns, nor does he make a sound while Peter digs out a new pay-per-minute phone and calls the address in to a 9-1-1 dispatcher.  Wade’s in shock, Peter thinks.  He’s seen it often enough.

He pulls his own sweater and jacket from his backpack and manhandles Wade into them.  They don’t fit him great, of course, though he’s thinner than usual, which helps.

“Wade...okay, we’re almost done. Where do you live?” Peter ducks to catch Wade’s eye because his gaze is wavering around where they’re hunkered in an alley.

“Home,” Wade repeats.

“Yeah, like I said.  I’m gonna get you home; I promise...”

“To Vanessa,” Wade squeezes his eyes shut and releases a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” Peter echos himself indulgently. “She misses you...”

“It’s over,” tears sneak past the corners of Wade’s eyes. “It’s over...”

“It’s over,” Peter lets Wade hear it from another voice, too. “I’m no hallucination,” he remembers Wade’s earlier half-joke, half-concern.

Wade sniffs, and the act is thick and wet.

Peter’s never seen Wade cry, but there’s no judgement in the first time.  In fact, Peter feels something a little thick in his own throat. Wordlessly, he shuffles forward and pulls the other man into an embrace. Though this Wade doesn’t know him, couldn’t possibly know him, he allows it.  Even latches his arms around Peter’s shoulders.  Buries his eyes into Peter’s clavicle and sobs. 

It’s quiet, and Peter lets it be dignified, too.  Doesn’t offer platitudes that are meaningless. Doesn’t promise everything will be okay because it might not be fucking okay. He has no clue.  He just rubs Wade’s too-lean back and lets him get his head wherever he needs to get it.

“Ready to go?” he leans back when Wade’s mostly gone still.

“Yeah ...yeah...” Wade makes haste of wiping at his face, and Peter doesn’t have the heart to tell him it doesn’t help a whole lot.

Wade still looks gaunt.  Still looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.  Like he’s been to hell and back, which ...well, that seems to be an accurate assessment.

“Alright, good ...that’s good.  So where do you live?” he asks again and hopes it won’t set-off another wave of emotion because cops are going to be swarming the area soon and it will best if they scram.

Wade gives him an address, and Peter checks where it is in relation to Sister Margaret’s because he’s already learned this city’s layout was a little janky from his own.  They make it a few steps before Peter decides that Wade’s limping simply won’t do; he’d like to make it to Vanessa before dawn, thanks. Wade bickers this because in no dimension and no state can he be easily amenable.

“I just rescued you,” Peter finally spits.  “You owe me.”

“... ...damn.”

Uh-huh.  That’s right.  Trump card.  Peter’s tired and he’s going to have a fuck ton to process when he finally gets home. Time to hustle.

“Princess style or piggyback; I’ll let you choose,” he plants his hands bossily on his hips.

“...can you only carry me to the front door?”

Ah. Pride.

“Yeah, man. Totally.”

“...piggyback,” Wade grumbles.

For all his bitching, the taller man’s weight drapes limply onto Peter’s back once he’s hitched his legs into place.  Peter doesn’t mind.  It’s an easy load to bear.

 

“You awake?” he rolls a shoulder once he’s inside Wade’s building.

“Mmhmm...”

“...you sure you don’t need the hospital?” Peter’s not sure he trusts Wade’s  judgement on this point but also can’t blame him if he doesn’t want to see a hospital bed again for a few years.

“Mmhmm”

“Okay,” Peter pats his knee and heads up the two flights of stairs.

At the door to the hallway, he pauses. 

“Hey, Wade?”

“Huh?”

“...you know...the thing they were trying to do back there? It still could have worked...”

He feels Wade stiffen behind him, so he tightens his hold on the man’s legs incase he tries and fails to bail.

“They certainly didn’t fucking think so...”

“Yeah, well, they’re fuckwits.  See ...I know the mutation you were supposed to develop...”

“The fuck...”

“Just hear me out. You were going to develop a healing factor.  Cellular regeneration. And the stress they already put you through could have activated it,” Peter theorizes for his own sake as well as Wade’s. “I don’t know, just ...ya know, don’t give up hope.  That’s all...”

Without waiting for Wade to decide on words, he kicks the door open and trudges down the hall to 3C.

“Ready?”

He eases Wade slowly to his feet, and his knees do their job properly by supporting his weight. He only blinks at the door a few times, so Peter knocks on it. Then knocks again a little louder because Vanessa’s probably asleep.

Or, he realizes, at work.  If he has to go to the strip club in his suit to fetch her, he’s really going to --

But he hears shuffling, then a shout:

“Who the fuck is it?”

Wade snorts.  Then chuckles.  Then begins to giggle in a hysterical sort of way.

Great.

“An early Christmas present,” Peter calls back and knocks again.

A little more rustling.  A whispered curse.

“It’s Wade,” he adds.

The door rips open, and he barely sees Vanessa move before she’s got herself wrapped around Wade, who sways as he continues to chuckle.  Peter fists his hands into the jacket on Wade’s back and slowly steers the entwined pair in through the door. 

Neither seem to notice.

Vanessa’s soon crying.  Then Wade’s either laughing or crying.  Maybe both. But it doesn’t matter.

Nothing really matters.

Peter just soaks in the sight for a while.  Watches Vanessa step back and begin to inspect Wade.  She starts asking a flurry of questions that Wade doesn’t answer, then she just yanks him back to her.

And Peter knows this isn’t his sight to see anymore.  This isn’t his world.  Isn’t his Wade.  He’s done a good thing here, but he’s not meant to stay.  This isn’t for him.

He doesn’t want to interrupt, so he just moves for the door.  Maybe that’s a little shitty, but they’ll get over it.  They have too many other things to be wrapped-up in than to be concerned about who made it happen or where he went.

“Hey!”

Wade’s hoarse voice is aimed at him and he knows it.  Turns red-handed in the doorway before he’s managed to escape.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Wade asks, leaning pretty heavily on Vanessa beside him.

“I gotta go.  I gotta ...ya know, check on everyone back there...”

Wade’s face goes soft. 

“Yeah.  You’re coming back, though, right?  Once you’re done? You can’t just go after all of that,” Wade looks expectant despite his tiredness.

“Yeah,” Peter puts a smile in his tone.  “Of course.  I just ...well, hey, I promised you, right?”

A small, tired grin.

“Right”

Peter nods to the pair and slips out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

He’s not going to go back.

These aren’t his people.  They had been for a moment, but it’s passed now. They aren’t for him, and he has things to do.

 

When he returns to the warehouse, it’s swarmed with cop cars and a couple fire trucks and several ambulances. 

Good.

Peter has no desire to interfere, but he does crawl up to a nearby roof to keep an eye out in the dim light of dawn.  Partially to see his handiwork. Partially as back-up in case something pops off ...the woman, for instance, would be hard to wrangle.  And who knew who else down there has fresh, uncontrolled powers thanks to this whole operation.

“Hey, you!”

Peter starts.

Twists around and sees another masked figure across the street on a different roof.  The suit he’s staring at is black and white, complete with a hood lined in pink, and it’s covering a body that’s distinctly curvier than his own.  The over-large eyes staring at him from beyond the hood are a mirror of his own, however.

Spider-woman.

That’s his cue to go, he supposes.  He stands and dials his watch even as he hears the other Spidey swoosh across the street. 

He’s gone before her sneakers hit the rooftop.

 

Back in the warmth and safety of his own apartment, Peter stands unmoving in his living room.

For some reason, he is not comforted by the familiarity.  He’s done something good, accomplished something, but he still feels ...a little sick.  A lot disgusted. 

He needs a shower.  Maybe ten.

He rips his suit off with a fervor that he doesn’t really understand and then cranks the shower up to scalding.  The water melts at some of his tension, but he still doesn’t feel good.  Doesn’t feel right.  Something’s hollow in his gut, twisting in on itself, and he lets a few of his own tears fall now.

He thinks he needs a day off from this.

He doubts he’ll take one.

 

Chapter 6: Just a glimpse

Notes:

...more feels here. Pretty sure I was in a mood when I wrote most of this.

Discussion of major character death, but no actual death scene. No talk of anything graphic.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

“But you’re cute...”

“No I’m not,” Peter chirps, still wide-eyed.

“Sorry, is that too dainty?  You’re haaaaandsome, how’s that?”

“....no thanks.”

The woman in front of him laughs heartily and spins a perfectly balanced knife in her palm.  Peter can’t quite get over her.  Or the long, blonde ponytail sticking out of the back of her red and black mask.

“I suppose you’ve got a Wade?  Never met a Wanda?”

Wanda Wilson.

Geeze. But she is showing understanding, which is more than he can say for the last few Deadpools he’s found.

“You know Wade?”

“Met one once,” the woman confirms.  “Teleported in like he owned the place.  Helped me out on a job against General America...

“H -- General?” it’s not relevant but it feels noteworthy anyway.

And it’s not like Peter hasn’t already followed his whims now and then.

“Uh-huh.  Grouchy mother fucker...”

“Is...wait, is that Steve Rogers?”

“Course!  Who else?”

“Wow...”

Cap got a promotion.

But ...if Wanda had fought him, does that make her the villain?  Peter stiffens into hyper-alert even though the Steve Rogers here could have been the problem.  He resolves not to ask further despite the nagging curiosity.  He doesn’t need to concern himself with the politics here. 

“What?  You got some historical boner for the guy?  Sorry not sorry!  He’s kaput.  Gone.  We’ll never have Paris.  He won’t be back.  It wasn’t the start of a beautiful friendship - oh, look! I did two from one movie!  Hah.  Anyway, I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse ...then I shot him in the head.  Ya dig?”

There goes any doubt she’s a W. Wilson.

“No....no boner... ”

“Wah-wah-wahhhhh”

Peter hates himself a little.

“Is there another DP around now, by any chance?”

“DP?” Wanda asked, then laughs giddily.

Yeah, yeah.  Ha ha.  No one’s made that joke before. Certainly not Wade himself.

“I’ll take that as a no...”

“Uh-huh, no extra DP here.  Not today anyway...”

She seems awfully pleased with herself.  Classic.

Peter looks down at his watch and stars to dial off of 03:00:10.

“Ooooo, what’s that?”

Peter leaps back instinctually.  He’s not ready to share this watch. Certainly isn’t going to let it be stolen - a thing one Deadpool has already tried to do, which lead to a pretty dirty brawl to get it back and then get the hell out. He’s not going to let that happen again. 

If Peter has to track down an all new Dr. Strange and explain what he’s lost, he’s going to hate himself.  Like a lot.  More than a lot. 

No.

Not today, satan!

“A secret?!” Wanda sounds way too interested.

“....no,” Peter continues to hedge hedges.

He’d nearly been back to 06:16:00 but now doesn’t dare to take his eyes off her to finish the task.  Instead, he leaps up to the ceiling of the bar to get himself just a bit of space. 

“Whoa.  What are you?!” she sounds downright delighted to see him crouching up there upside down.

Peter’s almost sorry he doesn’t trust her.  Almost.  Not quite.

“I’m nothing,” he shrugs and fiddles a bit more with the watch.

His Spidey-sense flares from a whisper - a typical sensation when he’s out of his own world - to a screech.  He hops to the side just in time for a knife to twist by and lodge into the ceiling beside him.  Shit.

“Here tricky trickster....” she coos like she’s calling to a kitten.

Awesome.

Peter checks the watch face and then jabs his thumb into it.  Hard.

 

So there’s another memorable meeting.  Peter adds the dimension ID to his list of “Not Welcome” worlds.  Besides it he scribbles ...Lady Deadpool?  She-Deadpol?  ShePool? Ladypool?  DeadLady - no, that sounded wrong.  Whatever.  Doesn’t matter.  He’s not going back to ask her.  He simply writes “Wanda” and trusts he won’t forget what he means.

He already knows there’s a Spider-woman out there, so a female Deadpool should not be in the least bit surprising.  And yet here is is feeling a little shook.  Possibly a lot shook.  He likes to give it a little while to settle and digest before grading these things.

It is a weekend though, so he isn’t going to stay idle for long.  He’s got plenty to do.

‘Trippy sit, Webs...’

Factual.

 

He still hasn’t quite shaken the surreal feeling of the latest Deadpool when he gets ready for another go.  He realizes maybe he could’ve been a little nicer to her, but the knife had undoubtedly been an overreaction. Right.  So.  He’ll be nicer to someone else.  To the next Deadpool, hopefully.

So he needs friendly Wade.  His friend Wade.  Not some chick who will stab him for his watch.  He knows he shouldn’t think of her.  He needs to think of Wade.  Just Wade.  His friend Wade.

“Alright...”

 

It’s dawn in the city when he arrives and it’s brisk, making him thankful for his sweater.  He has his bag with his suit, of course, but doesn’t travel it very often anymore.  Doing so has served him well at times but also tends to draw more attention.  Has created some straight up alarm at times.  When he’s just trying to get his bearings, it’s unnecessary.

As he gazes around, Peter slowly becomes aware that he’s near Empire State University.  Even though he’s not in his city with his school, being close to campus makes him feel a little cozy.  He’d done a lot of growing up there and met a lot of the best people there.

It bodes well, he thinks.  Or at least hopes.

 

So he starts to wander and keep a look out.  He’s not sure why Wade would be on this side of town, but the man is rarely easy to predict, so who’s to say.

He decides not to actually wander through campus, as he is aware that would be more self-serving than potentially productive.  He peruses the vicinity, though, until he nears a bookstore and spots a familiar profile exiting it. 

He almost throws up.

Instead, he freezes and says a small prayer of thanks that the woman heads in the opposite direction.

Gwen Stacy.

...

Six years. 

Once upon a time six years had felt like forever.  Like something unfathomable.  

And now it had passed absurdly quickly.  Like it was nothing.

It didn’t hurt all the time anymore.  He felt more normal than he could have once imagined.  On a day like this, that truth felt somehow cruel.  Almost unfaithful.

But he could think of Gwen Stacy without falling part, now, and he knew that was what she would want.  He could beat himself up about a lot of things - so, so many - but that didn’t make it untrue.  She had loved him. She would want the best for him despite the rest of it.

 

Peter didn’t come back here to Gwen’s grave with Ms. Stacy anymore.  He had for the first two birthdays, but then he could see in her face that it hurt her.  To see him growing.  Moving on.  Getting ready for graduation. In other words: doing the things he and Gwen had planned to do together.  The things she’d never get to see her daughter do.

She promised she was proud of him, and Peter believed her.  He also knew she would never outright ask him to give her space.  He’d taken so much from her that he wasn’t wiling to add her solace to the list.  He just stopped going. Now he went the day before to leave something so she knew he hadn’t forgotten, but he no longer intruded.

Ms Stacy sent him Christmas letters at May’s address, and he’d sent a letter back.  He did swing-bys at her new apartment to keep an eye out for her.  No more.  No less.  Two ships and all that.

So there, that night, it was just Peter and Gwen’s headstone.  Six years on from the night she'd died.

Or was killed, rather.  That shouldn’t be a hard distinction to make.

Osborne had killed her.  And yet ...

It wasn’t quite that simple, was it?

Peter ground the heel of his shoe into the lush grass.  Told himself not to think that way.  Gwen never did like his tendency to act the martyr.

...not that it mattered what she did and did not like.  Not anymore. 

“Jesus,” Peter cursed himself.

He was being a morbid asshole.  Maybe he should have brought May.  She was always happy to accompany him and tended to keep him from climbing too far inside his skull.

He remembered originally being unwilling to discuss his grief with May.  He had loved Gwen but had felt strangely sure May would think he was childish.  Thoughtless, even, to complain when she had lost her husband.  She’d done no such thing, of course.  She wouldn’t.  She’d honored his feelings for Gwen.  The relationship might have been tragically shorter than anyone wanted, she said, but it had been real.

“Real,” Peter repeated.

He still loved her.  Just maybe not in the frantic, consuming way he had after she’d died - the way that made him think nothing would be right ever again.  He knew, now, that joy and sadness could co-exist without either being a lie.  That he could both morn her and celebrate having known her, that he could be content in his life without betraying her.

Gwen had been brave to love him and all of his baggage, and questioning everything or doubting everything or beating himself up ...well, maybe that robbed her of the dignity of her choice.  She was smart.  If she had decided he’d been worth her time and energy and care ...well, then, maybe she’d been right. She so often was.  That was something he should honor.

He’d given Spider-man up for a while, hated himself for his failure.  Then he’d realized that quitting made it all mean nothing.  Made it all pointless.  Didn’t benefit anyone except the piece of him that needed to wallow and feel punished.

So now here he was.

Six years on and still Spider-man.  Still grueling.  Still confusing.  Still satisfying.  A blessing and a curse.

“Miss you...”

And that, he thought, would always be true.

He straightened the roses he put by the tombstone and pivoted to go.  Uncle Ben was in this cemetery, as well.  Peter had half a mind to visit, though chose not to .  It was nearly dark, now, and time for patrol.  He was already dressed for it.  Because why not? 

Spider-man owed Gwen, too.

“Didn’t know you were a spook, Spidey”

Peter jerked.  Whirled around.  He’d been so caught up in thought he hadn’t recognized someone nearby.  Then again, this wouldn’t be the very first time Deadpool had slipped past his subconscious. He wasn’t sure how he did it but wasn’t quite prepared to believe that Wade was as surprised by it as him.

“What the hell...” he glared at Wade leaning casually against a tree.

“Oh! I know!  Is this a Supernatural situation?  Ghosts, right?”

“Ugh...”

“No - I’m in! I can play Dean’s part.  You’re totally a sexy Sam..”

“Get lost.  I have work to do,” Peter growled.

“Feisty ... ...what work, exactly?" Wade made a show of glancing around while he shoved himself away from the tree.

Peter stiffened.

“Nothing”

“No, for real.  Is this a demon thing?  Cuz that sounds fun.  I’ve seen Annabelle; I’m ready to fuck up a shitty doll...”

Peter laughed despite himself but also kept a close eye on Wade - where he was wandering and where he was looking.  This wasn’t a place for him.  No sir.  No desecrating graves here.

Or, ya know, anywhere. 

But especially here.

“Nothing like that...”

“Yeah?  Cuz you’ve been here a long time ...started to get worried. S’why I followed.”

“What?!” Peter sputtered and became aware that he wasn’t even sure how long he’d stood over there.  “You followed me?”

“Duh.  Caught sight of you on 5th.  Thought I’d trial you and then drop in all dramatic-like when you started busting your first scene...”

Peter blinked, very disturbed that this had all happened without his knowledge.  He’d need to examine that later. 

“And during all of your stalking -”

“Stalking’s a little harsh...”

Stalking ,” Peter plowed on, “did you consider that I came to a graveyard...for the normal reasons someone comes to a graveyard?”

Because Wade was a whole lot of things but oblivious was rarely one of them.  Mr-Off-The-Wall was observant as hell.  Sometimes annoyingly so.

“Well, not at first.  But it became more clear as time went on, sure,” he admitted without hesitation once he was called out.

“Wh - so ...so you just kept lurking around like a creep?  Decided to stroll in and be intrusive?”

“Sure. Yeah.  You could paint it that way”, Wade had gone stiff and crossed his arms hard.  “Or you could consider it friendly that I gave you space, then came to check on you ... ...then gave you room to make a joke about it since you’re so fucking secretive.  That’s another interpretation...”

Oh.

But Peter wasn’t ready for that.  Wasn’t ready to admit Wade was doing something real here and that it was safe for him to be real in return.  Tit for tat; wasn’t that their way? But he already felt raw; he couldn’t flay himself open for public consumption, too.  Never mind that Wade was not the public at large.  He was Wade, which meant something more these days than it used to. 

But not today.

“Fuck off,” he dismissed when he caught Wade’s eyes had drifted past him like they were trying to study headstones.

“Damn...”

Paint it how ever you want, but following-along to a cemetery is pretty low.  Morbid curiosity, what ..for the sake of being nosey?”

For all Peter’s belief that he was grown and his belief that he could remember Gwen in happy ways, he was certainly panicking now.  It was too much.  Too vulnerable of a thing.

Not that Wade would give him shit.

Not that he thought Wade would laugh.

But ...

Only two other people knew Peter connected to Spider-man, who connected to Gwen, who connected to Peter ...it was all one.  Wade might not know Peter Parker, but this was too much of a piece.  Much too revealing and not in any of the ways Peter was getting used to.

“Thanks for thinking so much of me, Webs.  Really feeling the warm and fuzzies...”  Wade’s eyes tightened.

Everything was fucked.

Why did Wade have to be here?  Why now?  Why not last night?  Why not tomorrow?  Hell, Peter would have welcomed friendly company an hour from now.  Why here? Where all the doubt and fear and grief was still bubbling right at the surface.  He hadn’t packed it all away again yet.

He opened his mouth to retort but slammed it shut instead because he realized his throat was thick.  He didn’t want to do that here.  Not now.

“...sorry,” he offered softly instead.

And he was, but he didn’t want to get into it.

Wade scoffed. 

“Yeah, alright...”

But he didn’t. Want. To. Get. Into. It.

So he wondered if he could pretend he thought that answer was genuine.  Straight forward.  That this could be the end of it.   But he wasn’t that obtuse.  Neither was Wade.  They both spoke sarcasm too fluently.

“Can’t we just not?”

“Not acknowledge that your assumptions of me are the worst?  ....sure.”

He was in a ruminative mood, wasn’t he?  They stood there with this observation a while.  Peter felt compelled to go but unwilling to leave Wade here to do some quick research.

“If you want to head out, I’ll give you a ride,” he offered for expediency.

Wade rarely turned down a good swing through the city.

And it wasn’t like Peter didn’t know Wade could easily come back here any time he pleased.  He just knew he couldn't make himself walk away while Wade lingered.

“A ride, huh?” Wade’s tone was pure lechery.  “You have my attention...”

“Ugh.”

“Cemeteries don’t usually get me going, but whatever floats your boat....”

That rubbed Peter wrong for reasons he couldn’t readily explain.  Never mind that Wade had paid a bevy of descriptive compliments to Peter’s ass in spandex or that those didn’t even bother Peter anymore.  Hell, he’d shot back with a few of his own observations of Wade’s penchant for leather.

Still, this one didn’t land right.

 

It was disrespectful as all hell - not to mention immature - but Peter punched him anyway.  Straight in the jaw and not in the friendly way they sometimes did while sparring on rooftops.  They pulled punches more then.

There it is,” Wade sounded satisfied as he stumbled aside, which should’ve told Peter to stop.

But it felt good to release something.  Because he was stoutly refusing to cry, apparently.

‘Yeah, Parker.  Real evolved you are...’

Wade didn’t fight back.  Not really.  Just dodged and deflected.  Not even when Peter tackled him to the grass.  Then he just worked on restraining, absorbing a fist or elbow with a grunt when he failed.  It didn’t feel good anymore, but Peter wasn’t sure how to stop. 

“Like I said ...fuckin’ feisty,” Deadpool huffed when he got an arm around Peter’s neck and tangled him up.

“Get off...”

“Dirty,” Wade muttered.

Peter’s heart raced and not in an exhilarating way.  The panic was back.  They shouldn’t be doing this.  He wasn’t stupid.  This wasn’t the time or place.  And it wasn’t Wade’s fault anyway, was it?

Was it?

‘Just being friendly ...that’s another interpretation...’

He was fucking up again.

“Get of, Wade ....get off, get off, get off...”

“Oh, sure.  Spidey wants a truce when he’s not at an advantage...”

Yeah, he deserved that accusation.

Peter’s eyes stung.

“I gotta go,” Peter stopped fighting and tried to relax his body as much as possible. “Can we just go?”

A beat or two passed.

“Sure,” Wade released him and shoved himself to his feet. 

Even though Peter asked for that, Wade’s swift acquiescence caught him off card.  He slumped to the ground and blinked before climbing up, too. 

“After you...”

Still thrumming with energy, Peter strode back towards the paved path that would lead them out.  Wade followed easily.  Even after Peter was shitty to him Wade was agreeing, was ready to just go ahead and go.

He’d fucked up. 

“Thanks,” manners and consideration were late, but, like, they were always valid, right?

“Sure, Webs...”

They strolled out of the graveyard, then down the sidewalk to nowhere in particular.  They were quiet, though it would likely soon be ruined by pedestrians.  It wasn’t so late that walking out in the open went unnoticed.

“I need to go,” Peter announced again.

Away from Wade.  Away from anyone who might happen by and have a comment or want a selfie.  That was usually highly amusing, but he couldn’t stomach it tonight and he knew it.

“Wh-”

Before Wade could protest or ask to cash-in on that ride Peter had tried to bribe him with, Spider-man bailed.  He webbed a nearby windowsill to yank himself upward, then swung away building momentum as he went.

...

Someone bumps into Peter’s shoulder, making him stumble.  The unknown stranger curses him lightly but keeps moving.  Peter continues to stand, lets other pedestrians part around him while he stares uselessly. It’s a few more moments before he realizes that the sight that had held him up short in the first place is gone.  The smiling profile is gone, and the bobbing blond ponytail is now nowhere to be seen. 

 

He begins to follow in the direction she had disappeared, and a block later she is only a couple yards in front of him again. It takes another block before he realizes the head of dark, shaggy hair walking with her belongs to him. Well, a version of him.

It may have taken him longer to realize if the other him hadn’t been talking with his hands in a way that is achingly familiar.  Gwen had always laughed at that excited tick. 

These days it’s usually Wade who amusedly mimics it. 

In any case, the knowledge makes him slow his steps.  He lets the space ahead of him grow for a little bit.  The last thing he needs to do is set off other-Peter’s Spideysenses and then face the pair and upset everyone.

After all, he’s been decidedly avoiding meeting himself and freaking himself out on these adventures.  Seems the polite thing to do, especially considering there’s a chance this Peter Parker is not and has never been Spider-man.

It takes Peter several minutes of continuing to essentially be a stalker before he starts to question himself.  This is absolutely not what he’s here for.  He’s meant to be finding Deadpool and asking some questions.  If he isn’t going to tap this Peter on the shoulder to ask for help - and he definitely isn’t - then what the hell is he doing?

That’s a very good question, right?

Because there’s no greater purpose here; he knows he just wants to see her.  Can’t help that he suddenly wants to see her smile one more time. Can’t shake the feeling that he’s jealous of himself, of this iteration of Peter Parker who hasn’t had to crawl through the misery of losing her.

He tells himself it’s natural, this sudden longing.  He pays no mind to the question of whether or not being natural makes it healthy.

 

So he continues to trail from a distance until Gwen and other-Peter pick a cafe to eat at. Then he’s able to dart down an alleyway across the street and scamper up to the roof where he can peacefully (if creepily) watch from a adjacent rooftop.  This, he thinks, will allow him to look his fill.  Surely once he’s able to just sit and watch a bit, then he’ll feel ready to get back to his real business.

Sure.

Right.

He watches for a grand total of twenty seconds before his spine tingles to life.

“The fuck’re you doin’ stalking on--”

He whirls around to find Deadpool feet from him.  He has a katana in one hand and the other hand stretched out in Peter’s direction.

“Aw, fuck...” the other man reels back when he’s faced by a visage he clearly already knows.

“Shit!” Peter just sort of slumps against the ledge he’d been spying from.

He wonders if it would be better if Wade didn’t recognize him.  If he were just some random maybe-weirdo who happened to be doing something maybe-weird on the same rooftop Wade was passing through. If he knows Peter and now there’s two Peters ...well, do normal adjusted young men stalk themselves? 

It’s hard to say.

And yet Peter feels that the answer is “no.” No they do not. So he slouches a little heavier and lets himself start to slide down the wall to sit and have a think.

“No, no, no,” Deadpool catches his elbow and hauls him right back up.  “You’re not supposed to be here poking around.  The fuck are you doing here, Pete?”

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he realizes he should’ve said so right away. “I came here looking for you, actually ...but I found myself instead,” he nods towards the street.

“Yeah, and you’ve been following you for like five blocks.  What gives?” Wade gives him a little shake.

He does also put his katana away, which is heartening.

“Wait ...you’ve been following for all that time, too?”

“Course.  I came to get Spidey for a little recon and spotted his tail instead.  Gotta investigate that shit for my bro, don’t I? Solidarity,” he pledges and pounds his chest with an enthusiasm that is right on brand. “Now don’t change the subject ...the hell gives?”

“I’ve ...never met myself before,” Peter admits this much since it’s not a lie.

“Get the fuck out,” Wade releases him with a little snort.  “You’re hippity-hopping from one dimension to the next and haven’t let yourself know about it? You inconsiderate fuck,” he laughs a little more. “When Deadpools drop by, they have the common decency to say hello, maybe even help with a job if they’re bored ... ...didn’t know there was a universe where Spidey had fewer manners than me.”

“Yeah, well ...”

“Want me to go get him?” Deadpool jerks a thumb towards the street, now.  “He’s totes cool ...will probably get a kick out of you.  He met another me once, so I don’t think he’ll freak,” he seems to consider this a moment and then nods in agreement with himself.

“No! No, don’t do that,” Peter quashes that because the thought that Gwen might come up, too, makes him want to vomit again.

Deadpool raises his chin to stare down at Peter in a decidedly skeptical fashion. Right.  That was a little suspicious.

“I just ...like I said, I was looking for you.  Or ...I didn’t come here on purpose.  Like ...here.  Specifically...” he struggles under this particular Wade’s scrutiny.

And how had he come here, anyway?  He’d been thinking of a friendly Wade, right?  This Deadpool does seem to be friends with Peter, was almost protective of him.  So that fit...

Unbidden, he remembers his desire to simply not find Wanda, who had unnerved him.  Whose long, blonde hair had been quite a shock ...and was similarly bright like Gwen’s.

Peter starts to look back toward the roof’s ledge, then stops himself.  Scrubs his hands over his face.

“Yeah?  Whattcha want me for?” Wade still looks uncertain.

“Like I said, not you specifically.  A Deadpool.  I need to know if you have any extra yous at the moment...”

Christ.  The things he says these days.

“No...” this Wade answers slowly.

“Great,” Peter’s shoulders seem to suddenly feel a physical weight to pair with the figurative one he’s been lugging around.

It’s so much.

“Why, you need spares or somethin’?  Got somethin’ goin’ down?” Deadpool sounds a little more hopeful than leery, now.

“...I’m trying to figure out where my Wade is.  He’s ...” Lost? Gone? Run off? Kidnapped?  Pool-napped?  Surely not dead. “He’s missing.”

This Deadpool blinks.

“You sure?” he sounds hardly concerned. “Cuz I jet-off all the time.  I was in Japan two weeks ago for a hit.  Didn’t tell Petey - he doesn’t like that shit - but I wasn’t missing. I come and go.  Free as a bird, baby! Nobody puts Deadpool in a corner...”

Fair.  Because hasn’t Peter also wondered if he’s overreacting?  If being undiscovered truly means Wade is “missing.”

But he knows.  He can feel it.  There’s no good way to explain that.  He could explain that his Wade doesn’t do “hits” anymore.  He could explain that when work does take DP out of New York, he mentions it.  Or he at least texts incessantly in the interim, in his lag time. He could explain Wade seems to enjoy keeping in touch, that it’s not some obligatory thing.  That they have fun even when it’s work.

That stuff he could explain because it’s tangible, but mostly by now he just knows.

“No, it’s not like that.  He’d been traveling.  Ya know, dimensionally ...he met someone who was up to something...”

“Well shit...”

“Pretty much”

“So how’d you get one of those rings for yourself?  I tried hauling my ass to Katmandu to steal one off Strange, but no dice.  Hate to admit it...”

“No ring,” Peter keeps his details a little vague.  “I just found him in Manhattan and asked for his help.”

“No shit?  Your Strange stays in the city?  I think he hates us all ... ...shows up sometimes to bitch at Cap but that’s about it.”

That’s vaguely familiar, isn’t it?’

“Yeah, I wouldn’t say he was stoked to help me out.  Mostly just wants me to get his ring back, I guess..”

“So ...the fuck?  You’re just wandering around on hopes and dreams?”

“No!” Peter bristles.  “It’s just not easy, okay?  I don’t know how to find him...”

Wade holds up innocent hands after this outburst.

“Alright.”

“I’m trying, okay, but ....the whole thing is finicky.  I think a distraction brought me here...”

He does let his gaze wander, then, and finds himself watching the Peter and Gwen below.  They’re laughing, so Peter sees her smile ...can imagine what she sounds like..

...

Peter was perched on the corner of City Hall and looked at the streets without seeing.  It wasn’t an active patrol, but he was there if something popped-off.  That was going to have to be enough.  It was already a shit stain of a night.  He’d just call it a wash and go home, but wallowing here felt just a bit less depressing than doing it while shut up alone in his apartment.

“You’re predictable as fuck...”

Peter had heard someone climbing up, so he wasn’t shocked.  He’d suspected it was Wade due to the lack of creeping dread at his spine to serve as warning.

“I’ll try to be slicker tomorrow?” Peter offered.  “Slicker?  More slick?”

“I think both work, but I’d have to Google it...”

“Hmm...”

Peter didn’t turn as the merc approached.  Partially as a hint that he wasn’t welcoming company.  Partially because if Wade wanted to shove him off he probably deserved it and wouldn’t stop him.

“Here, you morose mother-fucker.”

Rather than a hearty push, Peter received something cold shoved into his chest, and he caught it instinctively.

“An ice cream cone?” he examined the wrapped gift.

“Good reading there, Webs,” Wade dropped to swing his legs over the ledge, though he kept a few pointed feet from where Peter was crouched.  “Chocolate and sea salt caramel.  You’d think the salt’s weird, but it’s fucking not...”

Despite his surprise, Peter unwrapped the treat because he didn’t feel hungry but he also never turned down dessert.  Probably some family trait because Aunt May had a sweet tooth, too.

“S’good,” he decided shortly.

“Duh.  That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

True.

They ate quietly for a while.  By the time he was munching halfway down the cone, Peter knew he was supposed to say something.  Wade had been wronged but had come to find him anyway because he was clearly in a bad way.  Had even brought a comfortable offering because he might’ve been a little wrong for interrupting Peter’s time in the first place.

But Peter had lashed out.  Had been unfair.  Should have given some more credit.

“My girlfriend died six years ago,” he blurted once the guilt churned in his belly just enough.  “Well, six years ago tomorrow.  She was killed...”

It sounded abrupt, but he supposed it wasn’t.  This conversation had started over an hour ago in the cemetery, after all.  Could have been over already if he hadn’t spazzed a bit.

“Okay,” Wade answered after a moment to digest.  “So that’s all the excuse you need to shit on other folks?  Noted...”

And that ...stung.

Because Peter knew he’d been expecting some kind of leeway for the confession, some measure of allowance. Because that’s how people so often treated loss - didn’t want to touch it, wouldn’t disturb it.  He supposed he wasn’t surprised Wade didn’t subscribe to that norm.

And at the same time, Peter was grateful he hadn’t been handed a pass.  Wade laughed so many things off, but Peter was begrudgingly pleased Wade had called him out instead of accepting his displaced emotions to be directed his way. That he wasn’t leaving room for Peter to use Gwen’s good memory to be a little shit.

He would, Peter felt sure, have been much more accommodating if he’d just explained himself in the beginning.  Wade had given him the opportunity, hadn’t he?

“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted without argument.  “I’m sorry about that ... ...I guess I still get twisted up about it sometimes, but that’s not your fault.”

“Well ... ...you were hitting like a pussy tonight, so...” Wade started to do it.  To give ground again.

But Peter knew he should finish first.

“And I shouldn’t have assumed that you were ...well, I’m not sure what I thought you’d do,” he confessed. “It’s just ...a dirty little secret, in a way...”

He wasn’t going to spell it out, all the connections Wade could make if he had a mind to.  If he went back and got Gwen’s name and dug a little ...well, hadn’t he just apologized for nasty assumptions?

“We all got those, Webs.”

Peter nodded.

“...the Green Goblin found out who I was,” there was little point in not completing the tale, now, and... maybe this would feel good.  “He attacked her because of me, and I couldn’t ...I was too late...”

Peter trailed-off, staring at his hands. At the web shooters.  He’d done so many amazing things with them ...but not that thing.  This most crucial thing.

He could feel Wade’s eyes boring holes into the side of his head.  What he must think of Spider-man now...

“You’re melting there, Webs...”

Peter blinked and looked at the bottom portion of his cone to see Wade was right.  Delicious though it was, he found his throat felt thick. A little acidic. 

No reason to tempt fate.

He held it out to Wade, who rejected food for the first time in memory  He simply nudged it back at Peter.

It was a tasty gift.

One more sucking lick fetched the rest of the ice cream from the bottom. The rest of the cone he could take his time nibbling at.

“Hot...”

Peter snorted mid-swallow, then coughed.  He stretched to shove Wade’s arm as he shifted around to sit properly.

“Look ...I know I’m supposed to say something.  But all the shit people say when someone dies is always fucking useless...”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

And Peter meant that.  There wasn’t much to say.

“I know you, Webs,” Wade plowed on anyway.  “There’s no way you didn’t do everything you could ...the way you clearly tear yourself up is proof enough.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, unsure if Wade’s steadfast confidence in him was comforting or painful. “I know...”

Wade gave a curt nod, then said no more on the matter, which was uncharacteristic ...but welcome.  It was enough.

They sat and watched cars whiz by while Peter slowly finished his snack.  Then they dusted themselves off and got up.  While Peter righted his mask he weighed the pros and cons of just going home...

“So this girl ...she hot?”

Peter snapped a stare to Wade.  He held in an angry retort and tried to decide how he felt abut the comment.  Parsed through Wade’s genuineness and crude humor.  Was he being perverted or just nudging the door open on this topic as a standing invite?

‘Don’t go assuming the worst, Parker...’

Police sirens kicked up in the distance.

Peter grinned under his mask. 

“Beat me to the crime scene and I’ll tell you,” he decided, then dove off the roof.

“Fuck,” he heard Wade scramble off.

He swung with strong, purposeful pulls.  He was going to beat Wade there because, no, he didn’t want to talk just now.

But the door was open, he supposed.

...

“Distraction? What distraction?”

“Gwen, I think,” Peter answers without thinking.  “But I wasn’t thinking of her.  Not consciously...”

“Christ,” he hears Deadpool muter, then his neck tingles harder again when he’s grabbed by the shoulder and pulled back.

“Wh--”

“No,” Deadpool’s pointing a finger straight into his face.

“I--”

“No,” he repeats like Peter is a naughty puppy.  “She ain’t yours, pal.  She’s his.”

“I know that!”

Of course he does.  He isn’t going to go do anything crazy.  He’s just ...wanted to see...

“Good.  Cuz whatever you’re al about,” Wade waves his hand vaguely but dramatically towards Peter’s face,  “it’s just going to fuck everybody up.”

Wow. Rude.

But does he even disagree?  Hasn’t he been avoiding meeting himself because he thinks it’ll be fucked up?  Thinks it’s too much on top of everything else?  He’s here for actual reasons, after all.  Reasons that are more than enough to occupy him.

This-Wade is right.  That Gwen down there is not his.  He has let go and moved on.  Nothing here is for him.

He’s in search of something else just now.

“I know,” he admits and loses the indignation he’d been trying to muster.  “I know, thanks.  All this ...is confusing.”

“I’ll fuckin’ bet,” Wade backs off, apparently convinced for the moment.  “Thought I’d finally gone and lost my mind the first time another me popped up...”

“How’d he convince you that you hadn’t?” that feels like it’ll be important if he ever finds that he can’t avoid other-Peter. He can’t bank on the idea of finding a Spider-man that is familiar with the reality of inter-dimensional travel.

“I dunno,” the other man is lackadaisical about the matter again.  “Just heard him out, ya know?  Ain’t like multiple dimensions is the weirdest thing happening, huh?”

“That’s true...” Peter starts to glance back down to the streets but stops before he can find himself with a face full of Wade Wilson again.  “So how long have you known who he is?  Peter...”

DP shrugs again.

“Since, like, the beginning?  Well, no - that’s lies,” he scolds himself.  “Early, though.  Few years back.  He was already buddying around with Daredevil getting tips and big ideas.  I can’t let a bromance that fucking rad blossom in my backyard without getting in on it, can I?  So ...the rest is history.”

Daredevil?

“Years?” Peter blurts instead.

“Sure”

Was this Peter stupid?  He appears younger than Peter himself, so ...years?  Shit, that really would be almost the beginning.  Stupid little idiot.

“What’s wrong?” Wade must have read the conflict on his face.

“Nothing.  Just surprised.”

“How long’d you hold out?”

Ah. That.

They just blink at one another.

“Your Wade doesn’t know?!” he fits all the pieces together all on his own.

“Well...”

Deadpool’s little white eyes go wide.

“You’re chasing his ass all over the fucking universe and you don’t actually know each other at all?”

“We do too!” Peter bristles right up.  “We’re friends. We’ve known each other a long time...”

“So the fuck’re you doin’?”

It hasn’t felt strange in a long time, keeping their masks on.  Peter’s thought about it, of course.  Just cutting the act.  But it’s their normal.  Their comfortable.  De-masking would just be a thing now.  So much so that it feels ...important.  Intimate, almost.  Like it will need to be a grand gesture.   

“Whatever,” he accepts that he doesn’t need to explain himself.

“...he’s self-conscious, huh?” Wade takes a stab.  “You won’t unless he does, and now it’s a stalemate?” he nods knowingly.

“What? No...”

It’s not a game or a prize. It’s just one last layer between them - both figuratively and literally.  One last veneer even though everything else has slowly peeled away.  Or has been haphazardly tossed aside.

On second thought, maybe they are caught in a game of Chicken.

Then again, there’s more to friendship than faces.

“Not exactly...”

He’s protective of his identity.  For safety.  For plain old comfort in anonymity.  What exactly he’s protecting from Deadpool, he’s not quite sure.  Or, at the very least, he is not ready to say.

“Huh ... ...I think you gotta go figure your shit out, buddy,” Deadpool decides.

Eh. Fuck him.  He knows a different Peter.  One who’d clearly approached his Spider-man life differently.  A Spider-man with some sort of team.  Who wasn’t jaded in some ways.  Whoop-de-doo.  Good for him.

Peter does let himself glance at the non-him and the not-his-Gwen one last time.

“Yeah, I should go...”

“Want my advice?”

He’s not sure he does.  This Deadpool is saying some things he’s very much on the fence about.

“Sure,” he decides advice can’t hurt at this point.

“If you’re having trouble finding our boy, go find a Deadpool with one of those baller rings.  Maybe they can do it better.”

Not bad, all things considered.  There was a bit of a knock toward Peter in there, but not utter nonsense.

“Yeah, maybe I will...”

“You do that .... ...I’m not sure I like you,” he sounds no less chipper than before as he delivers his assessment.

“Thanks”

“You’re cagy ....and I don’t mean Nicholas.”

As if he doesn’t have reasons to be.  Zombies.  Stab-happy Wade Wilsons.  A Weasel who tried to shoot him.  Alternate versions of himself to avoid.  Dead girlfriends reappearing.  Multiple Spideys in general.  A full-blown Skrull invasion - that shit’s on his “hell no” list, as well.

There’s a lot to be cagy about, sir.  It’s only been a few weeks but he’s seen some shit, okay?  Stop judging.

“Right, thanks for that,” Peter starts tapping at his watch.

“Is weed legal in your city?” Pete - ya know, my Pete - says it doesn’t effect him because of his metabolism. Course he refuses to try LSD ...anyway, maybe you’ll be able to feel the effects.  Could be worth a --”

Peter doesn’t stand on ceremony with goodbyes, just slips back to his world through the void.  To his apartment.

 

There is a picture of Gwen on his bookshelf.  One Peter had taken in the library while they studied one morning.  Her profile against the wide window overlooking campus had been too beautiful not to photograph.  Now it stands as a reminder of how utterly content they’d been, how comfortable they were with one another.  There’s a lot of potential in that photo, so much promise that never came to pass ... ...it means a lot of different things to Peter.  It’s the only thing he’s let himself keep of her.

He can’t look at it just now, of course.

He physically turns away from it and tosses his bag to the floor.

Traveling doesn’t make him nauseous anymore.  Mostly it just tickles at his senses, which know something isn’t quite right unless he’s home.

Some trips, though.  He’s found some trips do still make him a little sick for varying reasons.

He decides he ought to be done for the day.

For reasons.

Notes:

If you're a spotify-er, this is a playlist I've been growing and listening to while writing/editing.
Obviously not necessary for reading and I dunno if it'll add anything to the experience, really, but just for funsies:
http://open.spotify.com/user/8xpxe0msjalvqvrcilvvslqfj/playlist/5P9N9MR1X9grImz81lCt2g

Chapter 7: Buckling down

Notes:

Sorry for the longer delay than usual. Life, ya know? But it's all good. Here we go...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

Peter had not expressly enjoyed some of his last DP’s more judgey comments, but that doesn’t mean that nothing he offered made sense.  

After all, First Wade had told Peter he should only travel with him in case of emergencies.  He hadn’t said Peter couldn’t come back for help that was outside of that.  For advice, say.

Simple.

Finding him had indeed been pretty simple.  Weasel - who is a gruff chick in this world, as it turns out - had called Wade right up for Peter.  She’d passed along Peter’s message that “not-Miles is back” and he’d popped up.

He had thought Peter was back to announce victory, which was admittedly cringe-worthy.  Still, he heard Peter out.

 

 

“Shit, you did that?” he sighs when Peter gives him a summary of some of his exploits and mentions liberating a different Wade last week.

“Yeah ...couldn’t not, I guess...”

“Okay. No more of that shit, Mr. Maybe-Spidey,” Wade has not let go of Peter’s previous poor attempt to lie, and --wait. 

“What!” Peter blinks.  Recoils.  Now that he’s seen the place, how could he have abandoned Wade? “It was the right thing to do!”

“In a way,” Wade shrugs and takes a pull of beer where he's sprawled at their back table.  “But you gotta be careful.  Every world you step in has it’s own fuckery.  Whattcha gonna do?  Save everyone?”

“I just--”

“Sounds reasonable,” the other man continues airily.  “I’m sure you’ll get back to finding your Wade someday before you die...”

“Look...”

“Ain’t your business,” First-Wade overrides him again.

Since Peter apparently isn’t allowed to speak, he settles for mean-mugging across the table.

“Careful or your face will stick that way,” Deadpool snorts rather than succumb to the glare.  “You think Weas is hot?”

Peter follows his gaze towards the bartender.

“I think she might kick your ass...” Peter grades.

“I think I might not mind...” the mercenary smirks.

“Weasel is a hairy dude in my city,” the younger man shrugs rather than truly answer.

“Yeah, I’ve met a few variations,” Wade admits.  “Now that you’re done eviscerating me with your eyeballs ...you gotta accept that everyone else isn’t your fucking problem.”

Easy to say so, but that’s sort of the whole shtick Spider-man founded his career on.  So.  Next reason, please, kind sir.

“All you need to care about is your city and your fucking Wade.  Done.  That’s it.  End of the deal,” Wade snaps his fingers.

Hmmmm.

“Is this a destiny issue?”

Because Peter’s thought of that. Had wondered if he's showing up in these other universes and throwing them off-track.

“No, it’s a fucking drive-yourself-crazy issue.  You can’t go full bleeding-heart on everyone.  You just can’t...”

“But it was you,” Peter throws his hands up in an exasperated way because hello.

“Was fucking not,” Wade juts a finger at his face.

He isn’t so secretive as Peter’s Wade.  He’d just waltzed in and ripped his mask of to chug a beer, and no one here seemed to care.  He isn’t the first scarred Deadpool Wade that Peter has seen, now, which feels oddly like cheating...

Peter can’t help but to compare him to the couple others he’s seen and wonder what variation his own Wade is.  This Wade seems older than most and with a rounder head, though it is equally as scarred.

“And you know what?  He wasn’t your Wade either.  You might as well just face facts on that one.... “

“I know that!”

Of course he knows it’s true.  That just doesn’t make it feel true.  It certainly hadn't looked true. 

“Do you?” Wade unknowingly echos his thoughts

This argument feels familiar.

 

So ...does he?  Does he know it’s true?  Is he keeping things separate the way he needs to?  Or is he getting bogged down in semantics when he should be focussing?  When he should be thinking harder, digging deeper....

Peter grinds his teeth together.  The other man isn’t being cruel or mocking, but Peter can’t quite reign in the dissonance here. Can’t settle it.

 

“You set out to help one guy.  Just one.  Be morbidly curious all you want out there ...but it's all just a distraction.  You hear that?” First-Wade is gruff.

“Why shouldn’t I do good along the way?” 

Wade snorts.

“As if I didn’t already know you were Spidey ...Christ...”

“It’s not that I don’t get what you’re saying,” Pete slumps against his side of the booth.

He gets it.  Cognitively, he really does.

“Just want me to be sayin’ something else?”

“Maybe ...no...” he makes himself admit because he did come for information towards finishing this.

“Get in.  Get out.  No fancy decorations on it,” Wade downs the last of his beer and waves it around in hopes that Weasel will take note.

“I’m taking it under advisement...”

“Nerd.”

“Alright, genius.  So if none of anyone else’s bullshit is your business ...how come you offered to help me?"

“Cuz you’re cute,” First-Wade smirks.

Peter shifts.  The come-on isn’t quite right when this is an impostor - though a nice one - to his Wade.

“Like a lost little puppy,” Wade hedges it, perhaps out of pity.

“I’m being serious!”

“Me too.  Thanks, Weaz ...hey, isn’t my friend cute?” he nods his chin at Peter.

The middle-aged woman stops to consider.  Looks Peter up and down.

“Sure. If you’re into that...”

Wade blurts a laugh and Peter bristles while the barkeep stomps away.

“Into that,” he quotes.  “Into what?”

“Dunno,” Wade swirls his fresh beer around a little like he’s pretending it’s fine wine.  “Maybe the pretty boy thing?”

“I’m not ...pretty,” Peter’s torn on how he feels about this. 

He’s not as self-conscious as he used to be, but ...pretty. Hmm.

“Alright.  Sure.  You’re not pretty.”

Peter doesn’t believe a word First-Wade’s saying right now, so it’s time to change the subject.  Like ASAP.

“How did you make the ring work when you first got it?  How do you do it?”

This Wade pauses like he sees the abrupt turn for exactly what it is.  And so what if he does?

Then he snorts softly.

“Dunno.  Concentrate, I guess,” he considers.  “Lotta trial and error at first, let me tell you.  But what did I care?  Ain’t like it was going to kill me," he shrugs and takes another long pull off his bottle. "If I got stuck somewhere I wasn’t going to panic, right?  All I have is time when it comes to figuring a way back.  I think that helped: no fear.  Even if I got stuck between dimensions, who gives a shit?”

Peter mulls that over and sees how that could make a difference - why would Deadpool be frightened? He also clamps his mouth down tight to skip asking about the “between dimensions” business.  It seems like bait to see him get off track some more.

“Just ask,” this Wade smirks.  “Go on.  You know you wanna?”

Okay. Fine.

“Between dimensions?  That’s possible?” he’ll frame it like he needs to know for safety reasons. 

Not sci-fi related reasons.  No sir.  That would be a waste of time.

“Uh-huh.  There’s pocket dimensions all over the place.  They’re pretty wild ...not like our worlds.  Sometimes there’s not even humans there...”

“Oh..”

Okay. No interest in that.  That’s next-level weird.  But then he thinks of Avatar...

Ugh.  No.  Overrated.  He doesn’t need or have time for that.

“Yeah. Oh.  Oh shit usually...” Wade looks troubled, lost in thought, and then just shrugs to himself with a lingering grin.

Yes he’s very devil-mare-care about this.

“...why did you do it?” Peter just has to ask.  “Take the ring in the first place, I mean?  You don’t seem like you want to do anything with it...”

What is this guy looking for?

Do?  Just because I’m not looking to hop around and save every-fucking-body doesn’t mean I’m not up for some fun or an adventure now and then.  Like I said.  All I have is time...”

Well then.  Shit.  That’s dark.  Yet Peter can see why it would be appealing to get his hands on one.  Deadpool is staring down the barrel of a very long life.  Maybe more life than one universe could entertain.  If all you have is time, then maybe it’s natural to build the widest and most expansive world for yourself as possible.

Is that what his Wade had been planning for, too?  Jeeze.  He really needs to stop being surprised with the growing depths he’s found in Wade over the years.

“I guess you’ve given me a lot to digest,” Peter tries to check his watch only to remember this one doesn’t work that way.

But he’s been here quite a while, he’d guess.

“Chew away.”

“...I might be back.”

“Hope you don’t have to.  You gonna finish that?” First-Wade points to the full beer bottle Peter had just been picking at the label of.

“Go for it,” he slides it across the table so Wade is soon double-fisting the drinks.  “I gotta get ready for work.”

“Oh shit,” the man laughs.

Yeah, yeah.  Yuck it up.  If this guy is similar to his Wade, then he’s never had a traditional job.

“Go make them Benjamins! Money, money, moneyyyyyy....!

Yeah.  Peter wishes.

 

 

At work, while he meticulously edits photos, Peter is half-distracted by the morning’s advice. 

It had not been without merit.  Those people out there in other worlds; they’re not his people.

But they are people all the same.

Maybe he can’t get hung up in a Skrull war or a zombie attack, but ...he can do something right?  If there’s an issue right in front of his face he should do something. Right?

‘Arrogance...’ a voice that sounds very much like Norman Osbourne tickles at Peter’s mind.

He shivers.

 

And yet ...true.

Hasn’t Peter already learned to temper himself?  He likes helping The Avengers, for instance, but doesn’t want that weight on himself.  Doesn’t want to burden himself with the whole world each and everyday.  He’d been a thrumming ball of anxiety when he used to work with them too much and had taken a purposeful step back.  He’ll do what he can when he can - and he’ll do it the best he can - but he needs to stay Peter Parker.  Needs to stay grounded and sane.

He can apply some of those boundaries to this, too.  Ground himself to his own reality.  That doesn’t mean whatever city he steps foot in.  It means his city and his Wade.  Maybe it sounds selfish on the surface to put it that way, but ...it’s not.  It can’t be.

Peter can’t let himself be tugged in every direction.  That’s just hubris.  First-Wade was right.  He’d never get to his own Wade without some boundaries.  Some more discretion.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself.

“Huh?  You say something?” Betty Brand holds up short at his cubicle.

“What?  Oh...no.  Nothing.”

“...you look upset,” she observes in a motherly sort of way that makes him happy and a little sick.

“I just haven’t felt well.  That’s all,” he tries to relax himself into being believable.

“Then take it easy.  You’ll just stay sick longer,” she tuts over this.

Yeah.  No.  No time for that.  He’s steeling his resolve just now.

“I know,” he says anyway, “but there’s work to do...”

And Jameson would give him shit if he decided to head home early, and they both know it. Never mind the way issues flew off the racks a few months back when he got some sick action shots of Spider-man.

Hah. Wink. Nudge.

“Fine.  Sure.  Spread your germs around the whole place,” she tries to guilt him one more time before leaving him be.

It doesn’t work, of course.  The source of his tiredness and consternation is his special watch that doesn’t tell time, and he won’t be sharing that any time soon.

On his own again, he turns back to the photos from the Court House of DA Nelson talking to reporters that morning about the latest Wilson Fisk case.  Not his most exciting camera job by far, though it was satisfying in its own way.

.

Spider-man was busy.  Not with patrol, although he did have an ear out for ruckus.

He was setting up his camera on a roof corner.  It was sturdy and flat; his camera would be safe there for a bit.  So he fiddled with the timer and then hurried off to go do a swing-by or two in hopes of a good shot.  It usually took several tries, but as long as things stayed quiet he had the time.  It would be too dark in a while, but if this didn’t quite work he could always try again tomorrow.

So it was something of a surprise when he swung spectacularly by the same building and there was no flash.

With a strong yank, he rerouted himself right back up onto the same roof.

“Wade?!”

“...huh?!” the merc responded only after taking his selfie, which was complete with a peace-sign.

“What’re you doing?”

“Participating in the 21st century - duh,” the man twisted the camera to check the pick and whistled humbly at himself.  “Can you send me that?  Could update my Twitter pic.”

Yes, yes, of course Peter had seen Deadpool’s Twitter account.  Yes the feed was hilarious.  No he hadn’t created an official Spider-man account to interact with him in real time.  Yes, he was considering it.  Just a little.

Maybe a lot.

 

“I was in the middle of something,” Peter approached.

“Yeah,” Deadpool stiff-armed him in the face to hold him at arm’s length and keep hold of the camera. “What are you doing?”

Peter batted the arm away and webbed the camera to himself instead.  He took a glance at the selfie and was mildly annoyed to see it did look pretty cool with the glow of the street behind him.  That was supposed to be Peter’s good lighting ...but, sure, he’d probably send it to Wade.

“Taking pictures”

“Doin' it for The Gram?”

Cue eye roll.

“No.”

“...online dating profile?”

“You mean the one for all the superheroes and vigilantes?  Totally," Peter snorted.

“Whichever service you like.  You’ll get the right swipes.”

“I just want a few action shots,” Peter heaved a sigh. “...thought I’d sell ‘em to a tabloid or something.”

True enough.

“PR troubles?” Deadpool cocked his head curiously, probably wondering what breaking news he had missed.

“No, nothing like that ...a bit of a cash flow issue. That’s all.”

Also ...sort of true.  He managed rent and bills but didn’t actually have a lot leftover for Aunt May lately.  This wasn’t something he was proud to tell Wade - mercenary for paid contract - but it wasn’t likely a huge shock.  The enthusiasm he’d shown about finally paying-off the last of his student loans a while back had probably highlighted that he wasn’t rolling in dough.

“Sucks ... ...you good?”

Peter was grateful Wade didn’t just start offering up money - never mind that he talked about his excess cash on the regular - but appreciated the check.

“Yeah ...I’ve just been helping out my Aunt a bit, so the extra payday is for her,” Peter shared a little.

“Aw.  Little’s Auntie’s boy...”

“I guess,” Peter wasn’t sorry to admit.  “Only family I have left...”

For a second he considered telling Wade about the cancer, about how May had finally daned to cut her hours at the hospital because she just didn’t have the energy for it ...but he kept his mouth shut.  He didn’t want to bring the mood crashing down.  It wasn’t a good topic for Wade.

And, anyway, it was fiercely personal.  He’d spoken to MJ about it when she had been back in town recently, but that felt natural since she knew Aunt May.  Wade knew of May, but that was all.  Those were different sides of his life.

“Right.  Well, I’ll take the pictures...”

“Huh?”

“Me.  Take.  Photos,” Wade mimed the movements slowly for Peter and then made grabby hands to have the camera back.

“Oh.  Well...”

“Come on.  Why not?  I’ll photograph you like one of my French girls...”

Peter blushed under his mask, but he grinned, too.  Which, by now, he was used to with Deadpool.  Mixing discomfort with enough dependability to make something that fit just about right.

“Okay ...you know what to do with this?” he handed his camera back over.

“Point, click.  Point click ...repeat.  Eh?"

There was a little more to it, but Peter supposed he could always spend time editing if he needed to.

“More or less...”

And it was nice not needing to stop and reset for every photo, Peter had to admit.  That and Wade could move around as much as he liked so there was a variety of angles.

 

“Thanks, Wade...” Peter clicked through a few dozen pictures once he was back up on the roof.

“Gonna pay me commission?” Wade rubbed his greedy little hands together.

Peter tutted, though it wasn’t a particularly crazy question.  He would be getting paid for theses, after all.

“What’s your going rate?”

“One hour between the sheets?” Wade proposed.

“Think again,” Peter squirmed a bit on the inside but didn’t show it.

“...back alley blow job,” he seemed happy to haggle.

“Lower”

“Psh, fine.  Pizza?”

“You’ve got a deal,” Peter agreed.  “Now? Or you want a raincheck?”

Wade hummed and patted his stomach thoughtfully to conduct a self-assessment.

“Raincheck.”

Peter was amenable to that.  He saw Wade so often anymore that there would be ample opportunity to follow through. 

“So you do that a lot?  Sell pictures of yourself? ...oh!  I made that sound dirty without even trying."

“Now there’s a talent to brag about...”

“Hey, you’d totes make bank on dirty photos,” Wade argued.

“You always seem to assume so...”

“I’ve got a good feeling. But, I mean, you could leave the mask on.  People would be into that...”

Peter knew he had a nice physique - not stacked like Wade or Cap, but he was lean and sturdy all the same - but blushed behind his mask anyway.  Both at the prospect of selling these kinds of pictures and at Wade’s bald praise.  He should be used to Wade’s brash commentary by now and supposed he was, in a way, but he’d been scrawny loser Parker long enough in his youth to still be caught off guard by others’ attraction sometimes.  Like he forgot himself now and then.

“People?  Or you?” Peter felt how bold those words were only after speaking them.

Wade chuckled deeply.

“Well, shit - I’m people, aren’t I?” he held his hands out wide. “Now, c’mon, answer the question.  This your usual side-hustle?”

“Here and there,” Peter confirmed.

“Cool.  Let me know if you need a hand again.  Maybe next time I’ll photograph mid-fight, huh?”

He didn’t sound judgmental about Peter snagging some side income, but Peter felt suddenly self-conscious all the same.

“Maybe. Like I said, though. I don’t do it all the time. I could just use the quick cash...”

And, okay, that didn’t make it sound less desperate, really.

“I hear you,” Wade seemed to catch the taboo of the money subject.  “Helping out your aunt.  I get it.  Well, I don’t because my family sucked sweaty ass cracks, but, ya know.  I get it.”

“Yeah...” Peter fiddled needlessly with his camera.

“S’matter?”

“Nah.  Nothing,” Peter shuffled over to his bag so he could pack up.

“M’kay, sure.  Totally believe you...” Wade commented slowly, staying put while Peter bustled around in an uncharacteristically bumbling way.

Peter knew he needed to take a breath.  That he was usually more controlled and calm.  This wasn’t a logical situation to be solved, however. It was emotional and unknowable, and maybe he hadn’t completely wrapped his head around his own fear.  Because he wasn’t the one who was sick.  He wasn’t the one who was supposed to be scared.  He was supposed to be bett-

“Auntie M okay?” Wade had always found this reference pleasing but said it without amusement now.

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Pete...”

He shrugged as if to physically brush off Wade’s concern. 

“Thanks a lot for this.  You saved me a lot of time tonight, and ...it was fun.”

Of course it had been entirely unnecessary for Wade to give him orders like he was on America’s Next Top Model - “look into the camera”, "no, you need to really feel it this time” - but it had been more entertaining that way.

“Any time,” Wade elected to accept and Peter released a small sigh.  “No patrol, then?”

“Wasn’t going to ...why, you got a lead on something?” Peter could read Wade almost as well as Wade did him.

“Don’t I always?”

Distressing though it ought to be, yes.  Wade did often have a beat on things.

“...can I stash my pack at your safe house?” Peter knew one nearby.

“Spidey, you can stash your anything in my anywhere.  You know that...”

“Ugh”

“Don’t knock it till you try it!”

Peter had a comeback for that but cut himself off.

“Let’s get moving, then.”

.

Peter grins at this memory, this favor that had not been a one-time deal.

Wade has made a habit of this kind of thing.  Showing up.  Stepping in.  Steady.  Ever-present.

As he thinks this, Peter almost stands up right then and goes home despite what he’d just told Betty.  Instead he buckles down to finish the project so he won’t be distracted.

Wade is a lot of things, but he’s been consistent for Peter.  Even when Peter hesitated. Even when he had warmed up slower, pulled away, or been pissy.  Peter can forgo his urge to step in - his complex, as Wade is sometimes wont to say - and be there for him, too.  He can stop fucking around.

 


“I don’t have time for this fucking shit,” Deadpool groans and disappears from the roof Peter had tracked him to.

Disappears. In the most literal of ways.

“That’s new...”

But he catches a muffled “BAMF” noise in the distance and spots Deadpool reappearing a few buildings away.  Backlit by the sunset the way he is, Peter thinks of that Twitter account picture his Wade had been so jazzed about.

“Hey!” Peter jogs in his direction.

“No you don’t!” Deadpool shouts back.

But he’s not taking orders, right?  He needs to get things done.

So he builds into a sprint and leaps off the edge of the building to swing after him.  He hears a “What the shit!” as he does so and decides this must be a world without Spider-man.  He’s traveled in his suit today- it feels fitting given his decision to go harder - so no wonder he’d spooked Deadpool. 

Pretty reasonable.

But Wade’s there waiting, hands on hips, when Peter flips onto the roof.  Must not’ve alarmed him too much, then.

“Hey, don’t run off, okay?  I’m not here to cause trouble,” he holds up his hands in innocence.

“The fuck did you do that?  ...you steal those from Spidey?” this Deadpool eyes his arms dubiously.

“You do have a Spiderman?” Peter blinks.

“Have a --? Of fucking course there’s a Spider-man.  Who’re you?”

“Spider-man.”

“Don’t make me hurt you, buddy,” Deadpool squares up to him. “The fuck you are.  It ain’t like we’ve never run-off some wannabes before...”

“Wan-- oh! No, man.  I am Spider-man.  I’m -”

“Okay.  Fine. I warned you, but I have zero percent patience today,” Wade draws a katana as he mutters darkly.  “Still think you need to tango?”

“Wh- no! Hold up.  I’m from another dimension,” Peter keeps his eyes on the sword but sees the way Deadpool twitches his head interestedly.  “I’m just a different Spider-man ...that’s how I did that.  No stealing.”

“Sounds like a shitty ass story.  You’re lucky Shiklah told me there’s a mutliverse... everyone goes to the same Hell, though, apparently, which seems very confusing. Not to mention lazy.”

Now there's a jumble of half-nonsense.

“Shiklah?”

“Yeah.  The wifey,” the other man’s chirp sounds fairly happy so Peter relaxes.

Interesting.

“Oh,” he mutters.  “Well congrats,” he tries to recover from the admittedly lackluster response.

"Thank you. Thank you.”

“...so I guess you haven’t met any other Wades running around here?”

“You know my name? ...and no.  Shit sounds cool, tough,” Deadpool wanders closer but he sheaths his katana, making the approach neutral rather than alarming.

“Jury’s out on that,” Peter confesses.  “And yeah I know your name.  We’re ...well, I’m friends with the Wade in my world.”

“That sounds like the tits!” Deadpool cheers. “...you two team up?”

“Mmhmm...”

“Fuck.  You wanna stick around here?  You already sounds cool as hell, and my Spidey doesn’t play well...”

“No shit?”

“None,” Wade picks at what looks like dried blood at his shoulder.  “Says I’m off the rails or something.  And let me tell you, he is not flexible in his standards.”

Peter makes an understanding hum of acknowledgement, though he himself has been rather lenient lately.

“I figure I’ll give him a few years and then he’ll get jaded.  He’s young, but cranky older Spidey might be fun,too, I guess...” Deadpool sizes him up a moment.  “Like you...you must be older; you’re bigger than him.”

Peter finds himself a little pleased when Deadpool gestures vaguely at the width of his shoulders.

“How young?” he can’t help to pry.

“Like ...19, unless he already had his birthday.  I forget.  He’s in college.  Anybody ever told you you’re a real nerd, Miles?  Or are you not a geek?  Cuz he fucking is...”

“Miles?”

“S’what I said.  Yeah.  I know we aren’t BFFs, but I am a nosey mother fucker, as you probably already know, so ...” he holds up both hands in a ‘what-can-ya-do’ fashion. “What?  Are you," Deadpool cocks his head. "...not Miles Morales?”

“No,” Peter chuckles and suddenly finds he hopes Spider-man does show up.  “Peter Parker.”

“Hah!” an abrupt - dare Peter say uncalled for - laugh bursts from Wade’s lips.  “Shut the fuck up!”

“Wh...” That's strange.  “Do you know a Peter Parker?”

“Do I ...Jesus!  You mean like Peter Parker from Parker Industries?”

“...come again?”

“Eat your heart our, pal,” Wade skips towards the opposite edge of the roof and gestures grandly toward a sleek skyscraper.  “Ta-da!”

Indeed.  ‘Parker’ is emblazoned brightly down the side of the building.

“Whoa...”

“You ain’t some fancy pants CEO back home?”

“Definitely not,” Peter blinks a few times.  “Wow ...what do I - what does he do?”

“Competes with Stark, mostly,” Wade shrugs.  “Probs lots of cool shit in there that I need to steal ....he makes stacks on stacks of cash, that’s for sure. Singin' dolla dolla bill, ya’ll!  Dolla dolla bill ya’ll....

“Awesome,” Peter feels  a little proud of not-him.

“Totes magotes ... ...so you up for some excitement? I gotta go find Miles...”

“I thought you weren’t friends,” Peter grins.

“Ain’t,” Wade sticks to this.  “He think I’m the worst, but he’s playing host to a symbiote, s--”

“What?!” Peter goes rigid.

“Guess you’ve got those back home ...yeah,” Deadpool sighs as though he is very put-upon.  “So he’s gotten himself all infected with that shit.  The Avengers don’t believe me so they’re useless - as per, am I right?”

“So you’re going after him?” Peter blinks.

“Course I am.  I’ve got a bone to pick with Venom, that insufferable douchebag.  Plus, Miles is just a kid, ya know?  He might not know how to make friends yet, but I can’t just leave him to it.  What would Rio and Jeff say? ... ...those are his parents, by the way,” Wade explains for Peter’s benefit.

“Th--”

“I know!” Wade interrupts swiftly and slumps his shoulders.  “I know. I stalked him hard, okay?  Then when I realized how young he is I felt like a creep of the highest order, so now I gotta look out for him.  Stop judging me!”

Peter, incidentally, hadn't even planned to question his knowledge.

“I wasn’t judging.  I was just going to say that’s good of you...”

“Oh!  Great!" Deadpool focuses back on his mission. "So you’re in then?” 

Naturally, Peter’s mind leaps to agree, but he catches the words in his throat. 

Fighting Venom is no joke in any universe, and it would not be an in-and-out kind of job. 

On the other hand ...poor Miles.

 

No.  Poor Wade.

“Shit, man.  I can’t.”

“...fucking hell.  I take it back.  You are not the cool Spidey,” Deadpool scowls, and his fingers twitch almost like he wants to grab for his sword again.  “You’d just leave him?” 

“I know.  I’m sorry.  But I’m kind of on the clock, too.  I’m trying to save my Wade,” he explains.

“Hmmm...well, now I’m torn.  Thanks for nothing,” he mutters.  “I guess.”

“Look-”

“Adios!” Wade’s back is already turned.

“How are you going to fight him?” Peter calls.

“Fire,” Wade glances over his shoulder. “Obviously.”

“Sounds like a good way to get Miles hurt ...try high frequency noise.  That’s been the best way in my world...”

“Noise, huh?” Wade half turns back.

“Yeah.  I know it sounds like ‘Signs’ level of convenient, but I’m talking kilohertz kind of frequencies...” Peter explains.

“Dude.  It’s ‘A Quiet Place’ level of convenient.  You need to update your references,” Wade can’t seem to help himself.

“If the reference still works then timeliness is irrelevant...”

Deadpool guffawed.

“New is always better!”

“M’Kay, so you’re saying ‘Attack of the Clones’ is better than ‘Empire’?” Peter challenges the logic.

“Watch it,” Wade growls softly.  “I’ve killed men for less ... ... ...thanks for the tip, nerd. I might need to go sneak in and poke around Stark’s shit to see what he’s got that can crank that kind of jam.”

“Couldn’t you just ask?”

Deadpool scoffs again.

“You come from a real interesting world...”

Without another word or actual goodbye, he squeezes a pouch on his belt and disappears in a small wisp of purple smoke.

And he says Peter’s world is interesting?  He’s never seen his Wade do that.

 

He spares one last thought for Miles, wishes him the best, and then glances back down at his watch.  He isn’t blowing off this Spidey for nothing.  He’s got to keep going.

Notes:

*Teleporting Wade! I want to teleport, too ...

Here's how he does it, according to 'Spiderman/Deadpool' (vol. 1, I believe)

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/99/e0/67/99e067b41883b18b5554de816b2f39e7.jpg

Chapter 8: In the presence

Notes:

Another chapter I had sketched-out in my head since the beginning.
A little bit of a bummer but it gets to a good place ... ...thing will be going up and keep getting quicker from here.

Warning: discussion of major character death(s). Nothing graphic, just talking about grief and death.

Chapter Text


Pleased- if mildly disturbed- with himself for sticking to his guns, Peter doesn’t go back home. 

There’s really no need to at the moment.  

Nothing catastrophic had happened, nothing that needs a great amount of processing.  He’d met a pretty nice Deadpool, actually. One who cared in some way about Spider-man even if he was a little cloak and dagger about it.  Hell, that Deadpool was married, which so far was fairly novel.

 

His Wade was protective, too, even if he didn’t strictly need to be. So maybe he was onto something. He slips on to the next universe hoping to at least find someone equally as caring.

 

 

It is the middle of the day when he arrives in a New York that looks very much like his own.  He doesn’t spot Deadpool anywhere and doubts very much that he will because: daytime.  Wade, like Peter himself, is traditionally a nocturnal sort. 

But he trusts, as ever, that Weasel will help him out on this one.  Once he finds out what street he’s on, his walk to Sister Margaret’s is exactly the way he expects it should be.  The thick metal door guarding the entrance is even dented in all the places he is used to.  Peter actually checks his watch to make sure he didn’t accidentally go back home.

He hadn’t.

Cool.

As he enters the dim bar, he sees right away that he isn’t even going to need to ask Weasel for a hand.  Wade is already sitting at the bar in civvies.  It’s an oddly mismatched outfit, but whatever.  He’s there. Peter doesn’t have to search.

Even cooler.

“Pete!” Wade lurches up to his feet upon seeing him.

For a moment Peter is too pleased about finding a Wade who is familiar with him and is welcoming to his arrival to notice that he’s swaying on his feet.  That fact becomes painfully obvious, however, when he takes a stumble-step right into Peter’s arms.

Oh. 

Okay. They hug here.  That’s nice.

“It’s good of you to come...really good,” Wade squeezes him tight and pats his shoulder heavily.

“Yeah, sure.  I-”

“Did you shrink?” Wade mutters, plunking his chin right on top of Peter’s head.  “You seem shorter...”

“I’m not short!”

He’s 5’10’’ and that is perfectly average.  He’s looked this up.

“You’re shorter,” Wade states with quiet finality.  “That’s fine ...still a good man,” he leans back and pats the top of Peter’s head. “A good friend...”

Which, honestly, feels a little condescending.  Are Peter and Wade friends in this world or not?

“Dude, I’m ...are you drunk?” Peter raises a brow when Wade turns abruptly away and returns awkwardly to his stool.

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p‘ on this word. “Wanna join?”

“...I didn’t know that was even possible.”

He’s certainly never seen his Wade drunk, though he does like beer very much.

“It’s a science that requires heavy and steady intake, but don’t worry.  I’ve been perfecting my methods,” Wade waves a hand around and then shouts down the bar.  “Haven’t I, Weaz?  I’ve managed to stay low-key drunk all afternoon...”

“Well I don‘t know about the low-key part, pal...” Weasel shuffles over, “but you’re racking up a hell of a tab.”

“Pffft.  Doesn’t matter...”

“The fuck’re you?” Weasel frowns when he spots Peter lingering near his friend.  “You fuckin‘ need something?”

“Fuck off,” Wade glares. “That’s Pete; you know Pete.  He’s my friend...”

Weasel looks Peter up and down and it’s strangely almost intimidating.  Not quite, though, so he takes a seat.

“I do not know Pete,” he answers definitively after his assessment apparently finds the other man lacking. “But if he’s drinking he can stay...”

“I’m right here you know”

“Yeah, yeah, I see ya ...” Weasel seems entirely uninterested, only casting an appraising look at his friend before heading down the bar again.

“You heard the man...”

There’s a few different glasses in front of Wade accompanying a bottle of tequila.  He chooses a shot glass that’s been tipped over and flips it up to fill it with clear liquid and slide it to Peter. Then he quickly pours his own.

“To Vanessa,” he raises it sloppily, though somehow manages not to slosh any alcohol over the edges.

“Vanessa?” Peter frowns but clinks his shot glass with Wade the way the man clearly intends.

“Mmhmm,” he throws back his shot, then glares at Peter when he only sips his.  “Boooo! Party foul! Strike one, Pete!”

“Sorry, sorry...I’m trying to catch up.  Why’re we drinking to Vanessa?”

He asks this even though he’s already wondering if this Vanessa, like in Peter’s home world, has left Wade. He had not known Wade back then, but the retelling of it suggests that the deed had been followed by ...well, dramatics.

Wade does have a certain flare.

And, to be fair, nothing Peter has so far seen of Vanessa(s) suggests she is small or particularly subtle.

“Fuuuuuck,” Wade groans and thumps his forehead down onto the bar.

“That’s not sanitary...”

“We’re toasting because she’s fucking dead and it’s what you fucking do...”

Oh.

Well.

Fuck indeed. 

“Shit.  Wade...”

“I killed her...”

“You what?!”

That can’t be right, and yet Wade slowly sits up straight and looks the essence of contrite.

“I couldn’t save her ...I killed her ...”

“Oh, Wade...”

Peter must sounds far too pacifying because one of Wade’s hands manages to find his face and gives him a small push away.  Given the state of the mercenary, the effort barely makes Peter shift.

Wade doesn’t seem to want to hear anything, but there’s so much Peter wants to say. So much he should say. 

 

Then again, he knows better than anyone that words won’t really matter to him right now.  Wade isn’t in any condition to see sense.  Anyway, Peter could specifically remember telling Wade he “didn’t have to say anything” when he’d told him about Gwen’s death.  There’s not a lot to say. 

Not right now, anyway. 

“I’m really sorry ...I know she loved you...”

Or the Vanessas he had met had certainly loved Wade.  If Wade’s this upset, he can only assume things had been the same way here.

Indeed, Wade nods slowly.  Peter lets himself imagine that he does know this Wade well, and he reaches over to squeeze his shoulder.  Then he finishes his shot without saying more. Just sits with Wade.

Not that he’s going to stay long, mind.  No.  No he can’t do that.  But also, like...he can’t just hop up and walk out, right? It would be plain cruel, especially given that Wade had been so happy to see him. Surprised, it seemed, but happy.  His presence, in one way or another, is obviously something of a comfort.

...

“Jesus.  Thank fuck you finally called me back ...the hell have you been?” Peter could hear Weasel hissing on the bar phone but did not care thanks to the alcohol he’d been drinking  “Okay, you know what - shut up.  I don’t need the story.  Your friend is here...”

“That’s me,” Peter muttered to himself with a grin he didn’t feel.

He didn’t have to listen-in to figure out who Weasel was talking to.  He knew who the bartender had been trying to call for the last hour or so.

“Oh, you know ...yay-high, has a fetish for spandex and tempting gravity” - Peter chuckled quietly at that - “Yeah.  Obviously. Come shape him the fuck up.”

Um. Yo. Rude.

But Peter didn’t interrupt, just let Weasel keep bitching at Wade through the phone and took a sip of his whiskey.  He’d been there just long enough that it didn’t really burn anymore.   

 

He wasn’t sure how much time went by before Deadpool strutted in and laughed at the sight of him.

“Hitting it hard, huh, Webs?”  he was still chortling when he slapped Peter on the back where he was slouched with his elbows on the forearms bar and his mask rolled up under his nose. The light hit made him grunt but little more. “You drunk?”

“Sortta?” Peter shrugged. “Just gotta keep the drinks flowing in order to stay a liiiiittle fuzzy...”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Wade was clearly still amused and Peter thought he was (probably) not offended by that. “Weasel never leaves me the bottle...”

“He’s tallying up a fucking bill,” Weasel shouted over from the bar safe where he was pulling money in order to pay-out another merc’s job.

“Fuck off!” Wade waved him away, which Peter frankly appreciated because Weasel had been a real pill all night. “Throw it on my tab...”

“Ain’t gotta do that.  I’ve got money,” Peter was mildly offended by that one.

“Oh yeah?  In what pocket, Mr. Skintight?”

Peter frowned, then shrugged rather than concede verbally.

“Gotta get a nice belt,” Wade patted his own.

“I’ll come back an’ pay it...s’fine,” he decided and reached to pour himself another shot.

Wade grabbed the glass with a snort, so Peter ticked his shoulder and made to take a pull directly from the bottle.  Only Wade covered the mouth of that and pushed it back down, too.

“What?” Peter squinted his mask in the mercenary’s direction.

“Well I’m offended, Spidey,” Wade placed a dramatic hand on his chest, and Peter thought he should be amused by that but he was annoyed instead. “You didn’t invite me to get smashed with you? I brought you to this bar, sir. It’s mine.  You can’t just come here behind my back.”

“What? You go to the taqueria on 6th with the god-send guac all the time without me!” Peter thrust a finger at Wade for the suggestion that he, of all people, did not have manners.  Wade would only know etiquette if it bit him in the ass. “And I showed you that place, fuck you very much.”

“OooOoo Spider-man’s getting sassy!  What a time to be alive...”

“Eh.  Go fuck yourself...”  Peter grabbed for the whiskey bottle again only for Wade to snatch it away entirely.  “What do you want?”

“What do I want?  So many things. Uh.  Nudes of Kate Middleton, for sure. DNA evidence to finally catch The Zodiac killer because that mystery’s killing me. An all access pass to North Korea would be great... I swear all I need is one day to fix that shit permanently,” Wade ticked these things off on his fingers.  “But I’ll settle for an explanation for all of this...” he shook a hand in Peter’s direction.

“All what?” Peter glanced down at himself.  Nothing was showing.  His suit was fine, and Wade had seen him pull part of his mask up before to smash a cheeseburger in public. “What?” he asked again when Wade snorted.

“Dude, you’re in a bar you don’t even like trying to get trashed ...”

“I do too like it here.  Weasel and I are friends...”

“No we’re not,” Weasel trudged over to cross his arms moodily.  “He’s been in here moping.  It’s freaking people out.”

“You mean it’s freaking you out?” Wade corrected, making Peter chuckle.

But then Wade peered around a bit. 

“You are kindda out in the open, though...”

“So?  I can take ‘em...”

And that was certainly true.  He’d never had a problem rolling in here; people knew who Spider-man was.  Then again, he was slightly compromised at the moment. So maybe his back to the crowd wasn’t the best idea... ...of course that was the kind of thing Wade would puzzle together first.

“We’ll take this to go...” Wade kept the whiskey bottle and fingered up two shot glasses to step away from the bar.  “C’mon, you lush...”

“Where we going?”

“Comfier seating,” he ticked his head at a booth. 

Peter took a look and considered if it was worth the walk.  Wade did have the booze, though, and the buzz he was trying to steadily maintain was fading away already.  Wade likely knew that, the crafty bastard. 

So he followed and slid into a thinly padded booth seat across from Wade, who still held custody of the whiskey bottle.  He poured them both a shot, though, so at least he was being generous now.

“Seriously, Webs - the fuck?  You trying to move in on my turf?”  Wade threw back his drink without a care.

“Huh?  No.  Why would I do that?  I kindda figured you’d be here...” he confessed.

He, in contrast to Wade, stared down at the amber liquid in his glass for a little while. Considered setting it aside before remembering he wanted it.  Then he downed it.

“Yeah, usually a safe bet,” Wade’s head bobbed in a nod. “You could’ve given me a fucking call.  Or stopped by my place...”

“Could’ve.  But I was faced with alcohol.  So,” Peter shrugged because, hey, it had been simple and clear at the time. 

“So the fuck’s up with you?  I’ve never even see you do shots...”

“Maybe you should’ve offered...”

“Oh, I’m calling bullshit real fucking hard, buddy,” Deadpool waved his gloved hands in the air to call him out.  “I have offered you a blow job shot every time you’ve walked in here!”

“Dirty...”

“Thank you!” Wade preened at that. “Now would you like to explain why you’re drinking Weasel out of house and home?  Freaking the poor boy out isn’t nice, Spidey.”

Peter clamped his jaw shut. 

When Wade sighed and poured two more shots he saw it for what it was.  Manipulation.  Loosening of the tongue.

He downed it anyway.

“C’mon, Spidey ...c’mon, c’mon,” Wade sing-songed once he swallowed his away, too. “Haven’t seen you lately ...”

“I haven’t been out,” Peter admitted dully and twisted his empty glass between his fingers.

It felt incredibly delicate, suddenly.  He could shatter it without any effort.  He imagined it would sound kind of satisfying when it cracked.  Then his throat felt strangely thick.

“Why not?! I helped Daredevil ferret out some members of The Hand this week; you would’ve loved it...”

Peter just shrugged one shoulder and shook his head.  He kept watching the glass as he spun it slowly.

“You get hurt?”

He shook his head again.

“Uh-huh ... ...so whattsa matter?”

Peter kept his jaw tight and glanced up at Wade, then away into the bar proper.  Every face he saw was unfamiliar to him, and that made him feel strangely hollow.  Looking in the opposite direction only found him the wall, so he stared back at the tabletop and spun his glass some more.

It was summarily yanked from his grasp.  He thought maybe Wade was going to fill it again, and he was definitely going to let that coercion continue. When Wade didn’t pick up the bottle, Peter glanced up to find the mercenary staring steadily at him across the table.

“Did something happen?”  he demanded once he had the younger man’s attention.

Peter looked down again.  Nothing was there now but the tabletop, and he dug the tip of his index finger into a groove in the wood.

Did something happen...

Did something happen?

Well.

Peter felt his chin tremble, and his lip twitched as he tried to tighten his jaw against the movement.  It was much too late, he knew, but he tugged his mask the rest of the way down to hide that weak point. It felt safe, if suffocating.

Neither of them made more sound than to breathe for a few moments.

“Hey,” Wade’s voice was still firm, and in his peripheral Peter could see him ducking his own masked head in hopes of catching Peter’s eye and drawing his attention back up.

Peter just kept scratching his blue-gloved finger at that imperfection in the woodgrain. He could gouge his fingers in and pull the table apart with scarcely more effort than it would have taken to crush his whiskey tumbler.  It might be nice to watch the wood splinter away from each other, but he just continued to scratch.

“What?”

He shook his head a third time and swallowed convulsively.

He heard Wade shove a sigh out of his nose, and he felt like he could use another drink.  Thought maybe Wade would provide it. 

He didn’t. Instead, the other masked man slid smoothly out of his side of the booth, which was admittedly a little surprising. Then he let himself in on Peter’s side and wasted no time getting all up in Peter's space, torso twisted in towards him.  Peter could feel the heat from the other man's body they were so close.

Which was kind of relaxing even though his heart was hammering.

“What the fuck happened, Peter?” Wade’s voice was low and commanding.

He sounded scary.  Except Peter wasn’t scared of Wade.  Couldn’t remember the last time he had been.

And he had come here looking for him.  That hadn’t been a lie.

“...my aunt’s dead,” he choked a little on the words, but they were clear enough given their proximity.  They were out there now.

Some of the tension sizzling in Wade’s being seemed to fade. His body slackened slightly.

“Fuck, Pete...”

He nodded.

He knew. 

Fuck indeed. 

“She’s been sick quite a while,” he had thought of telling DP numerous times and always stopped,  but there was nothing left to hide now. “Hospice and ... ...I just thought I was ready...”

The obvious implication there being that he fucking wasn’t.

Over the past several months Peter had often wondered if it would have been easier if she’d passed quickly - a stroke in her sleep, for instance, would have been more peaceful.  Instead she’d faded away slowly, broken down over time.  It had not been easy to watch...

And yet it had given them time.  Time for them both to say all the things they wanted to say.  Time for May to see what she’d meant to people as friends, coworkers, and neighbors brought food or dropped by the apartment to help her with things or just show some love. That had always brought a smile to her face and had comforted Peter,  as well.  It took a village to raise a child, maybe, but Peter had now seen it also took a village to see someone out of the world with dignity, too.

Which was all to say that he thought he’d made some peace with losing her.  And he tdidn't want to be selfish but, like ...what about him?  He wasn’t sure what to do next.  He was consumed with the idea that he had no one left.

Not that that was entirely true. He had Ned and MJ, his oldest friends.  Some of May’s friends loved him like family.  He had his roommate from college. The Avengers.  Wade, whose body was still warming the left side of his body.

Wade, who he’d specifically sought out. Which meant something that Peter had exactly no spare emotional capacity to define right now.

Fuck indeed.

“I dunno if you’re ever prepared for that kind of shit, baby boy."

Peter thought he should hate the coddling moniker except that Deadpool used it all the time.  He didn’t mean anything.

“And it’s just ...nothing changed out there, ya know?  It’s still just the same shit on a different day in this city.  I feel different, but nothing’s different ... It’s stupid,” he didn’t know if he was explaining right or if he made any sense at all.

“Nah.  It’s not.”

Peter couldn’t tell if that was just pacifying.

“It’s just a lot.”

“Yeah...”

Peter focused on breathing in and out.  Nice and slow.  His buzz was going thin, and he was torn between diving across the table for that bottle and regretting drinking at all.  Regretting coming here.

“I’m sorry, Pete.  I know she was important to you.”

It was always strange to hear Wade when he was serious.  He so often laced humor into everything - appropriate expectations be damned. 

Maybe there just wasn’t anything funny to comment on here.

“Shit,” Peter plunked his elbows onto the table and hung his head into his hands.

“Not here,” Deadpool’s advice was sound, and Peter nodded but couldn't sit back up.  “Hey,” he squeezed the back of Peter’s neck gruffly. “Don’t do that here.”

Peter allowed Wade to guide his head back, but he kept his eyes averted to the wall. Wade was right.  This wasn’t the place for this.  He shouldn’t have come.  Shouldn’t have stayed.

“It’s too much ...I just need shit to stop for like ...a day,” he let his shoulders sag.

“Yeah.  Yeah maybe you came back out too soon...”

Peter nodded. This was a thing he knew now.  Too late.

Wade was quiet a few moments just letting his thumb graze over Peter’s neck where he kept hold of him, perhaps creating the guise of something that would look rough or threatening to passersby. And, not that he needed it, Peter appreciated the grounding pressure.

Because this could have gone a very different way.  Wade could obliterate him right now, Peter realized.  He was here being stupid and vulnerable, and Wade could ruin him.  Tear him down with the right words.  Maybe even physically because Peter couldn’t quite name what he felt ....but he was pretty sure he didn’t have it in him to fight back. That fact was probably quite obvious.

The thought made him shiver, yet he was acutely aware that Wade wouldn’t.  That was exactly what he’d come, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t sure how he knew.  He just did.

“Come on,” Wade tugged on his neck and slid out of the booth. 

Right.  He was being embarrassingly fragile in Wade’s hang-out.  It was time to go.

Peter considered being indignant about being manhandled out of the bar, but that was energy he didn’t have.  Let Wade’s colleague think Deadpool was kicking Spider-man out.  He didn’t care.  Hopefully Wade would just call Dopinder and dump him in a cab.

“Barkeep!” Wade stopped and knocked his free hand on the bar top. “Gimme the keys to your truck.”

Or personally chauffeur him home.  That was new.  Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen Wade drive.  Unless you counted the time he’d stolen a semi attempting to make a Roxxon Corp delivery, and Peter tried not  like to count that.  It had been death-defying.

Safe or not, Wade bullied Weasel’s keys from him and proceeded to march Peter out to a rusty white truck.

 

Peter rested his eyes closed and so wasn’t paying attention to the route Wade was taking.  After some time he simply became aware that they have been driving longer than should be necessary.

“Where’re we going?” he didn’t recognize whatever unexceptional buildings they were passing. 

“Don’t worry about it.  Go back to sleep,”  Wade wasn’t even distracted from tapping along to the beat on the steering wheel.

“I’m not asleep,” Peter slouched back down anyway because he found he didn’t really care where they were going.

The alcohol had worn off so he was a little more alert, but he was also just worn out. He felt confident Wade wasn’t going to drive them off the road, so he let them continue.

 

“...are we going to The Avengers complex?” he straightened after a few more minutes, recognizing a couple landmarks that suggested they were nearing Croton Point.

Was his melancholy suggesting he needed some full intervention? Because he decidedly didn’t want to face a group.

“As fucking if,” Wade snorted, though he sounded more amused than offended. “You know me. Those wet blankets can fuck right off...”

Right.  Silly of him, probably.  Yet Peter began to keep an closer eye on just where the truck was headed.

 

“...I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Peter found himself blurting after he was left to ponder the situation on his own.

He stared blandly out the windshield but didn’t miss Wade shift in his seat.

“Nah, it ain’t even like that...”

“Well, it’s the kind of thing you tell friends,” Peter conceded despite the out he’d been handed.

“M’kay,” Wade mulls that around quietly as he drives.  “....so why didn’t you?”

“I just,” Peter rolled his shoulders stiffly and wondered whether he regretted toeing at this at all. “I thought it would make it more real, I guess...”

“Hmmm,” Wade hummed his acknowledgement but seemed to be searching for something more to say.

“I haven’t ...well, besides her I guess I haven’t really leaned on anyone in a long time. I mean, I have friends ...and the Avengers are always there if I’m in trouble,” which was perfectly true even if that always seemed like a more distant alliance. “But...”

“...but what?” Wade poked after he fell silent a while.

“... ...it’s different.”

And just why was it different?  Peter couldn’t really spare the energy for peeling that question apart tonight, understanding only that it was complicated.  His life had been meticulously compartmentalized for a long time...

And maybe it was time to just not have two sides of his life. Couldn’t it all be one? That sounded both terrifying and comforting.  So much so that Peter considered ripping his mask off right there.  How would that be?

The urge more or less passed, and Wade made no further comment.  Instead he was soon pulling into a park.  One Peter had passed  before.

“What’re we doing here?” Peter frowned as Wade cut the engine.

“Sometimes you need things to stop ...sometimes you gotta stop...”

“But I’m--”

“Not like for forever,” Wade shoved his way out of his door, leaving Peter with no other option than to follow along if he wanted to hear him out. “I’m not saying hang up the ole Spidey suit.  It doesn’t hurt to fuck off outta the city sometimes, though...”

“You have getaways?” Peter asked dubiously.

Wade took jobs out of the city - hell, out of the state and country, sometimes. Peter was more than aware of that.  Those didn’t seem to count as relaxation as Wade was suggesting, however.

“Sure.  I’m from Canada, Petey.  I hightail it North to camp sometimes... “

“You do?” Peter rounded the front of the truck in surprise. 

He knew Wade was Canadian, and sure he knew the associated stereotypes.  Even so, the hustle and constant thrum of New York City just seemed very much like Wade. He always seemed like part of the city to Peter, like he belonged there.  Like he was simply a given. 

Apparently that was only his own perspective. 

“Every now and then,” Wade bobbed his head in a nod and hoisted himself up to perch on the hood of the truck.

“So ...we’re here to start fires and like ...make s’mores?  It’s all new to me...”

“You’ve never been camping?!” Wade ticked his head in surprise when Peter slid up onto the hood, too.

“Nope.  I went fishing with my uncle a few times.  We went upstate to do that, but we never stayed over or anything...”

“Huh.  We’ll have to work on that.  Not planning on any s’mores tonight, though ... ...just stars,” he summarily flopped back so that he was reclined on the windshield.

It took Peter a moment to figure what Wade meant.  Then he realized it was probably precisely what he’d said, so Peter rested backwards, too.

He stared straight up at the dotted stars against the expansive black night.  It had been a long time since he’d seen that many stars blinking at him.  Maybe not since he’d been to a planetarium back in high school...

It made him feel small in a way that was relaxing rather than oppressive.  It was peaceful.  Yet his throat still felt a bit thick.

“This is nice,” he summarized simply.

Because it was.  Wade had read between his lines and figured out what he’d needed quite quickly, never mind that Peter himself had been trying to ignore it.  To deny himself and jump right into his everyday ...well, back into his bullshit.

‘That worked out well, Parker...’

“Course it’s nice.  No one else is around.  People are the worst ...”

Peter grinned.

“No they’re not...”

“Gonna need some evidence of that, baby boy...”

“Well, I’m people and I don’t think I’m the worst. You’re people.  You’re not the worst...”

“Hmm...compelling argument, bruh, I gotta admit...” Wade agreed and shifted his hands behind his head. 

“Bruh?”

“Bro? Buddy? Pal? Chum? Compadre? ...future lover?”

Peter snorted.

“...I think friend about covers it... “

“Boring but alright...”

Wade’s arms were folded and tucked up behind his head, so Peter patted his elbow and then folded his own hands together on his stomach.  The quiet was a bit much after a while, though he no longer wanted to talk about himself.

“Tell me about working with Daredevil...”

“Oh yeah,” Wade huffed a small laugh. “Shit was wild!

Peter let him tell his tale and breathed slowly.

...

“She did ..she loved me, yeah.  Not sure why,” Wade waved a sloppy hand at himself.

“Don’t be like that...”

“The fuck not?  ‘m dangerous...”

Not untrue.

The unshed tears biding time in Wade’s eyes suggest he needs to be talked down, though.  Peter recounts the self-talk he’d worked on when coming to grips with after Gwen.

“Look ...she knew you, right?  All of you?”

“Like nobody else,” he confirms.

“Then she made a choice.  She knew your had a dangerous life, and she chose you anyway...”

“You sayin’ she’s stupid?  That it’s her fault?” Wade pushes up off the bar and makes as if to stand.

Unintimidated at the moment, Peter clamps a hand on the man’s shoulder and shoves him back down.

“Don’t be an idiot. You know me better than that” - probably? - “I’m saying she was brave.  I’m saying you gotta respect that.”

“I fuckin’ do!” Wade protests.

“Then you need to find a way to stop blaming yourself.  She obviously thought you were worth it ...don’t take that away from her.”

Peter doesn’t like the way the tears puddle over Wade’s lower lids and collet in the bags under his eyes.

“I’m not, though...”

“Not your choice, man,” Peter has decided this long ago.

Hindsight being 20/20 doesn’t invalidate the choices he had made with the information he’d had at the time. That’s not easy to accept everyday, but it’s factual.

“I’m not saying today or tomorrow ... ...and I’m not saying it’s easy,” he promises. “But you gotta try to respect her choice to love you despite all your shit...”

“I wasn’t good enough”

“She thought you were.”

“No, Pete.  I wasn’t fucking enough...”

“Did you do everything you could?”

“Obviously fucking not!”

And Peter knows that feeling more than most.

“Just food for thought ...just don’t blame her for loving you.  You’ll stay madder longer...”

Wade grinds his teeth together angrily, but melts back down again after a few quiet moments.

“We were gong to have kids, ya know ...or try.  If my mutant sperm could even do the job...”

Peter inhales sharply.  He’s never really thought of Wade as a father, though he knows that his Wade likes kids.  Had his Wade also wanted children with Vanessa when they had still been together?

She died thinking I liked the name Todd ...s’fucking stupid...”

“Todd, huh?” the tears have stopped so Peter leans into the flow of the conversation.

“Yeah ...I was just talking shit ... ..you think she knew that?”

“Probably.  Todd’s a pretty boring name and you’re not boring...”

“Yeah ...yeah...”

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Is that a come on?” the lager man asks without any of the humor Peter is accustomed to in nearly any and all Deadpools.

“No.  Just seeing if you want to leave,” Peter assures him.

“Yes.  Go.  Get out of here, you wallowing asshole,” Weasel returns just to chime in.

“Dude,” Peter shakes his head.

“What?  He’s practically been living on that stool for the past few weeks,” the bartender gripes.  “I don’t have any more compassion in me.  I’m tapping-out.  He’s ours now, O’ Friend Peter.  You think you’re so great - see you in four weeks.”

“Fuck you,” Wade rallies back to life.  “You can’t talk to Spider-man that way!”

Weasel freezes so Peter does, too.

He studies Peter.  Looks him up in a way that still seems unimpressed.

“Feels like you weren’t supposed to say that, pal,” he comments on Peter’s blank stare with a perceptiveness he always pretends he doesn’t possess.  “Thought you were always lying that the two of you are pals...”

“I never lie.  My life is just wild...”

That is both a lie and not a lie, which, Peter knows, is pretty much exactly how he does get away with lying so much.

“Gonna keep your mouth shut?” Peter glares at the bartender.

He looks enough like this iteration of Peter Parker that he’s fooled drunk Wade, so he probably needs to look out for the other him.  Seems fair.

“Dunno.  You wanna pull some jobs round here?”

“Fuck no he doesn’t,” Wade growls.  “Blackmail him and I’ll kill you...”

He pulls a gun from the back of his pants and raises it unsteadily, but he doesn’t fight when Peter plucks it from his grip.

Weasel, to his credit, doesn’t flinch at any of this.

“You need to get some fresh air”

“I actually agree...” Peter announces and stands up.  “Come on...”

He can understand if Weasel is worn out from providing some sort of solace. 

Not that Wade should have it together after a month.  A month is practically nothing.

When Peter was young and Uncle Ben had died, May had explained to him that grief would be like waves in the ocean.  Some days they crashed and others times they were barely rippling, but they never go entirely.  Peter has since found this to be true of the major losses that have dotted his life.  Life goes on but some days feel hard and full of the things you miss.  It’s hardest in the beginning, so he pictures Wade as something of a tempest right now...getting beaten and thrown around, no shore in sight.

He gets that.

Thinks he can be a lifeline.

 

Though not for long, he remembers.  He’s resolved not to stay anywhere very long.

And yet...

“Do you want to go home?”

“Home ... ...uh, about that,” Wade shakes-off the hand Peter ahd been guiding him with.  “I mightta blew that shit up...”

“What?” Peter’s steps falter.

“Yeah I did some rash shit ... ...you didn’t hear about that?” Wade side-eyes him.  “Thought you fucked off cuz of it .. ...X-Men are pissed as shit...”

“Well ...did someone get hurt?” the X-Men  of his world are kind of unfair when it comes to Wade, but Peter also doesn’t condone explosives on a casual basis.

“No!  Fuck, I’m not an asshole ...I mean, I am ...but shit.  No.  No one got hurt.  ‘Sides, me,” Wade drags his heels down the grimy alley.  “Collosus says I’m too fucking much ...ya know, minus the ‘fuck’ part.”

“Do you agree with him?”

“No.  Fuck is an essential part of a good vocabulary....”

Peter rolls his eyes up high.

“That’s not what I mean...”

“I fucking know that ... ...and I dunno.  Everything he says sounds so condescending and annoying with that stupid speech impediment of his,” Wade gripes and continues dragging his feet moodily.

“Pretty sure that’s called an accent, Wade...”

“It’s called fuck him!” Wade insists on being argumentative.

Which, alright.  Fine.

But Peter needs to decide how to get Wade to a better place - mentally, literally, or any other way - and get going.  This can’t be fixed, clearly, but he needs to feel okay about leaving.

“Whoa... what the hell!”

And like an answer to his mental prayers, Peter Parker arrives unto Peter Parker.

 

Shit.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw...” Wade mutters, and Peter assumes this is a reference but doesn’t pick it up. “... ...I am so drunk.”

“Oh boy...”

“...what the hell?!”

Peter is standing on the sidewalk next to Wade staring down another version of himself.  And he definitely wants to bail.  Could.  Should.

“Hi,” he offers instead.  “Don’t panic ....”

“Are you from the future!?” Other Peter blurts and his face splits into a grin.

“Wh-”

“Dr. Strange has talked about time travel but I’ve never seen ...this is so cool!”

Right.

Nerd.

Peter should’ve expected this as a possibility.  Isn’t sure why he hadn’t, to be honest, only that he’s freaked himself out enough throughout this to simply assume the worst.

And it sort of makes sense.  This Peter looks a little older...just subtly and mostly around the eyes.  They are wide just now, but there’s some grooves there that Peter doesn’t see in his mirror.  And, to his chagrin, Wade’s right.  The other Peter looks a tad taller as he approaches.

“What...” Wade’s still gaping, trying to catch up.

“...and Stark says time travel is impossible no mater what Lang has to say ....” this Peter is still eyeing him like  a science experiment he is going to have to poke a few times.

So the Best - if shorter - Peter prepares himself for that eventuality.

“You can time travel?!” Wade tuns to him with a somewhat manic look.

“No!” Peter’s thoughts spin forward to what Wade must be thinking.

He gives Wade a hearty shove.  It’s possibly not fair for him to use some extra special strength when Wade is drunk, specifically, but sometimes an enhanced guy’s gotta do what an enhanced guy’s gotta do.  He has 0% desire to duke it out with a Wade who wants to travel back in time to see the love of his life again.  Nope.  Not ever.

“I cannot time travel,” he jabs a finger at Wade.

“Bu-” Other Peter scowls and absolutely isn’t helping.

“I came from another dimension...”

“The fuck’s that mean?”

“...with the Reality Stone?” Other Peter cocks his curious head.

“...with none of your business.”

Other Peter continues to scowl.  This probably isn’t what he’d imagined or hoped for.  He can join the club.

“...the fuck does that mean?” Wade asked a little louder.

“A parallel universe, basically...”

He cocks his brow.

“Like ...step through the magic wardrobe and play with centaurs?”

“Not really,” Peter considers, “but kind of.  I guess.”

“Wow ...what’s it like?  Can I come?” Peter #2 rubs his hands together happily.

That’s a tic Peter himself doesn’t have, but he feels little bad about squashing the excitement anyway.

“It's tripppy.  And no ...I don’t really have time for tourists.”

“I’m not a tourist!” Other Peter ruffles all over again. “I can give you a hand and you know it.  What’re you doing? Are your Avengers here, too?”

Offering to help before he even gets all of the facts. Now that is a tendency they do have in common.

So ...what is he doing?

What’re you doing? What’re you doing?

 

“Hold on, hold-on ...how do you know he’s not your evil twin?” Wade directs himself to his own Peter. “This could be straight up Dark Mirror shit.”

This Wade is full of references Peter isn’t grasping.

“It’s not,” he can interpret the context anyway.

“Shut it, you,” Wade growls in his direction like he isn't not the one Wade was hugging on not so long ago.

And, in a way, he supposes he wasn’t.  He wasn’t who Wade thought he was leaning on, anyway.  Still, he’d been a good stand -n friend, had he not?  Seems like he should get a little goodwill from that.

“Guess he could be an android or something...” Other Peter concedes.

However he still looks curious and possibly even delighted with that.  It’s clear he would be happy to poke and study an android just as much as a time traveler.

“Christ ...I don’t have time for this...”

“Why?  Gotta go plug in before you lose too much power?” Wade kicks a stray bit of litter at Peter moodily.

“Whatever, man -- I tried to help you out.  You,” he nods to his not-twin, “Need to help your friend out a little more...”

“What!  No!  I’ve tried.  He’s been staying with the X-Men; he’s just been sneaking off to get smashed...”

“With the X-Men? Really?”

That’s novel.

“Fuckers want me to join-up with them as a recruit ...rookie-hero they said,” Wade’s distracted enough to scoff about this.  “Twats...”

“Well you told me to get fucked with a cactus.  I thought maybe you’d have more fun at the X Mansion... ...” Other Peter shrugs.

“Like you’re setting up a fucking toddler play date...”

“I’m sorry,” Other Peter slumps dramatically. “But you said you didn’t want me around.”

“And you fell for that shit like a chump...”

God you’re so histrionic ...you want a lift back to the mansion to get your stuff, then?” 

“I gotta keep crashing there ...I blew up my spot,” Wade grumbled. “S’why I’m walking a fine line of friendship and fuckery...”

“You’re not toeing that line as well as you think you are,” Other Peter tells him and crosses his arms.  “Besides, I told you that you could crash with me and MJ ...not forever.  But, ya know, for a while.”

“Suuuuuure, live with the happy couple...”

“I’m trying here, man,” Other Peter unfolds his arms to throw them up hopelessly.

“Well, frankly, I think you could do better...”

Peter privately thinks that may be so.  Though, to be fair, Wade doesn’t look like he’s trying to make it easy. Still, dipping out rarely helps.  If he’s learned anything with his own Deadpool it’s that presence counts.  You don’t need magic words, sometimes; even the Merc with a Mouth knows that.  Can operate that way.  Can take solace in someone just being there.  A thing, if Peter isn’t mistaken, that has often sorely been lacking in Wade’s life.

He could say so.  Should, maybe.

But this friendship seems a little complicated.  Very push and pull.  Not that him and his own Wade agree all the time, but they don’t bail or run these days. He feels a swell of gratitude for his own friendship with Wade.

The slightly more dysfunctional relationship in front of him is none of his business.

“Where you goin’?” Wade snaps his head round when Peter starts to back away.

“Thought I’d just leave you to it...”

“Now hold on...”

“Fine.  Fuck off! Be gone!" Wade cheers. 

“But -” Other Peter looks a little alarmed.

Perhaps he’s flustered that he let himself get distracted from the shiny new thing.

Peter isn’t normally into depriving a nerd of the chance for scientific inquiry, but he is not responsible for this Peter’s edification.  Only for his own progress.

So he presses at the face of his watch in search of a happier Wade.

Chapter 9: Give and take

Notes:

Deadpool 2 vibes coming your way.
But happier :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When Peter stumbles back into solid reality, he is on a fire escape. 

It’s no more disorienting than usual, though much preferable to showing up in the middle of a corner store and scaring shoppers who then shout “mutant!”

Been there.  Done that.  Bye.

 

He’s climbing down the first set of metal stairs when he hears gunshots.  Then shouting.  Then both mingled together.

He gets a sneaky suspicion - an assumption more than anything associated to his Spidey-senses - that this is a Deadpool homing beacon. 

Arriving this close to unrelated chaos would be quite the coincidence.

So he tears through his backpack for his mask and yanks it on before diving off the fire escape.  He catches himself on the building’s wall and scrambles towards the street.

Indeed, he is pleased - if somewhat alarmed - to see Deadpool bolting out of an alleyway.  The man dives through the backseat of a taxi, which immediately screeches off down the street.

Unwilling to lose Wade, Peter skitters along the wall, hops over to a lamppost ...then to another.

And quickly a third. 

Then he’s able to make a calculated leap onto the roof of Deadpool’s cab. He hears an unexpectedly high-pitched scream from inside before poking his head over the edge of the roof so he can peak into the window.

He immediately rears back again when he spots the barrel of a gun pointed at him.

“Spidey!” Peter grins upon hearing this greeting and shoves his head back down. “Hi!” Deadpool chirps.

Then he’s rolling down the window, and frankly it feels nice to be welcome.

“Long time no see.  When’d you get the new mask?” Wade asks conversationally like their positions aren’t awkward in the least.

“Funny story...”

“Friend of yours, Mr. Pool?”

“Hi Dopinder,” Peter turns his attention to the driver and waves when he glances back.

“Uh, Spidey?” Peter twists back towards Wade. “Totes not my business, and I’m a pretty accepting dude if I may say so myself ... ...which I may because this is my movie--”

“Movie?”

“But when did you get re-cast as white?  Kind of a big change.  Folks will notice...”

Peter looks at his hands thoughtfully.

“...guess that’s a funny story, too...”

Deadpool blinks at him blankly from behind his mask a few times.

“Well I like jokes.  Come on in,” he slides easily across the bench seat and waves Peter in.

 

Peter accepts the invite and crawls right in. This Deadpool has made it clear that the Spider-man of this world looks nothing like him, so he decides to go ahead and peel his mask off and ruffle a hand through his hair.

“Whoa ...big changes going on here. Re-cast? Or are you world hopping?” Deadpool’s beady eyes narrow in thought.

“You’ve met other Spider-men,” Peter sighs, please to now be somewhere that he doesn’t need to explain himself.

Much.

“Nah.  I’ve met myself before, though ...guess I shouldn’t be surprised  I’m not the only one out there pulling a Dumbledore and apparating all over the damn place...”

Peter might’ve explained that it wasn’t quite like that, but he lets it go because he always appreciates a Harry Potter reference.

“I’m Peter,” he extends a hand.

“Nice ta meetcha,” Wade grabs his hand tight, shakes it once, and releases him.

“So ...have you seen any other Deadpools recently?”

Deadpool scratches the leather covering his chin thoughtfully.

“...mustta been a few months ago now.  He tracked me out to Japan ...why?” he leans in with interest as Peter’s face falls.
“...I’m just looking for someone...”

“For me? Well...you know what I mean. Him?”

“One of you guys, yeah...”

“How come?”

“...I lost him,” Peter shrugs simplistically.

“Fucking rude...”

Peter accepts that without a fight and flops back against the seat tiredly.  He’s more than a little sick of fucking this up.

 

“Alright.  You’re coming up with me!” Deadpool announces more loudly than necessary. “Hit the gas a little harder, could you Dopinder? I’m already late...”

“Of course, Mr. Pool ...what are we late for today?” the driver asks jovially as he does, indeed, accelerate.

“You mother fucker, making it sound like I’m always late,” Deadpool gripes and kicks the driver’s seat childishly. “...I’m late getting home to Vanessa.  It’s our anniversary, if you must know.”

“Ah! Congratulations!”

“And why am I supposed to come with you if it’s your anniversary?” Peter cocks his head.

“Because I promised Vanessa a devil’s three way...”

Peter blanches.  Not exactly shocked but also not interested in sex with two practical strangers.

“Hah!” Deadpool claps at his own joke. “No. I’m bringing you home because you look sad; you’re reminding me of the ASPCA commercials.  Sarah Mclachlan gets me every time, that crafty bitch ... ...”

“I’m not a kitten!”

“No, more like a puppy,” Deadpool grades. “Besides, Vanessa’s never met a time traveler...”

“Well it’s not actual time travel...”

“Fucking nerd - no one cares about semantics,” the suited man complains. “Dimension traveler, okay? Happy?  ...she doesn’t actually believe me that I’ve met other Wades... ...now there’s a three-way I could get down with...”

Peter lets the other man get lost in this thought for a moment.

“Then I suppose you’d be interested to know I’ve met a female version of you...”

“What the shit?! Sorry. Stop. Back up. Come again...”

“Her name was Wanda,” Peter smirks.

“...was she hot?”

“...she had a mask on.”

“Yeah but her body? Come on.  Tell, tell!”

“What do you care?  It’s you ...” Peter argues.

“So? I’d still try to go for it.  I’d tray it hard,” he growls lecherously.

“Aw, jeeze...” Peter’s unclear whether that’s nasty or not.

“So tell me!  You can’t drop that bomb and then hold out like this...”

“She was ...very curvy,” Peter admits.

“Fuck yeah,” Deadpool fist pumps a bit. “I’ve always known I would make a hot chick...”

“Really?”

“Hells yeah.  You’ve never thought about it?”

“...can’t say I have. No.”

“Hmmm...” Deadpool leans back and surveys Peter up and down. “No voluptuous curves for you, I think. More like...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Peter waves his hands around. “None of that, I don’t care...and I don’t really have time to come hang out.”

“Yes you do!  You gotta come explain to Vanessa that it’s your fault I’m running late!” Deadpool complains dramatically.

“What? That’s bullshit.  I just got here!”

“But Vanessa doesn’t know that, and she won’t get mad at you.  ASPCA puppy, remember?” Deadpool attempts to snap his fingers at Peter to get him to catch up. “Are we or are we not friends where you come from?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Then help a dude out!”

“...fine,” Peter admits to himself that he sort of wants to see a Happy Wade and Vanessa together after his most recent run-in. 

It might be nice.

He’ll keep it brief.

 

“Honey! I’m hooooome!” Wade’s obnoxious announcement upon bursting into his apartment should not at all be a surprise.

Peter snorts anyway and catches the door when it bounces back.

“Where h--” Vanessa starts from her perch on the back of the couch, but she stops herself when she spots Peter and slumps her shoulders. “Babe.  We talked about bringing home strays...”

Uh?

“Don’t give me that.  You love Negasonic Teenager Whatever,” Wade yanks off his mask and waves it around dismissively.

“Yeah because she’s hilarious,” Vanessa doesn’t bother arguing.   But Miles actively tries to eat us out of house and home, and then his dad interrogates us when he comes looking for him. Don’t even get me started on when his friend Ganky stops by. Then there’s Logan, and the two of you can never not get in a fight when he’s in town.  And Matt’s great but I’m convinced he always steals something when he leaves...”

“Oh, sure, he does, but it’s just a game between friends because he thinks tchotchkes are stupid,” Wade shrugs. “I always get it back.”

“I knew it!  And, no!” Vanessa hops triumphantly from the couch to start waggling an accusing finger at her boyfriend. “I have not seen the return of the Yoda figurine in my terrarium!”

That, Peter has to admit, is a clever and adorable home decor idea.  He takes a mental note for himself.

Meanwhile, Wade is visibly cringing.

“Yeah, he’s a being a pill about that one, but don’t worry, okay?  This,” he gestures grandly towards the door. “Is Peter!”

“...okay...” Vanessa’s eyes widen slightly in confusion like she’s not sure if this is supposed to mean something.

“He’s from another dimension,” Wade makes the announcement in a mystical sort of way as he wiggles his fingers.

Vanessa blinks.

“...he invited you in off the bus, didn’t he?”

Peter laughs again.

“No, I really am from another dimension.  I’m Spider-man where I come from...”

He merely has a dark manicured eyebrow risen at him.

Fair.  So he hopes to the ceiling and dangles there by his fingertips for a few moments. To her credit, Vanessa hardly flinches.

“You need normal friends,” she twists a look at her man again.

“Well Weasel doesn’t h--”

“Not normal,” Vanessa negates before looking back to Peter thoughtfully. “You look like you could use a beer.”

“That’s what I said!  Same wave length right here,” Wade waves a finger between himself and his girlfriend.

“Actually you said that I look like a sad puppy...”

“Same thing,” Wade shrugs and shuffles to the refrigerator to fetch said beers.

Vanessa looks agreeable to that assessment so Peter seems without an ally.

And yet ...he doesn’t feel compelled to leave just yet. He doesn’t doubt that he looks sad. He feels sad. He could use a beer. Maybe twelve.

But he’ll just stay for one.

...possibly two?

 

“You look tired, babe,” Vanessa announces once they’re all a beer in.

To Peter’s surprise, she’s eyeing him rather than Wade.  And the way she is looking at him ...well, he kind of wants to give her a hug.  Except he’s only just met her.  So he can’t.  Nope.  He’s not weird and these two don’t have a Peter at all since this is a Miles world.

He can’t freak them out.

“She’s right - you look like shit,” Wade returns.  “I wasn’t gong to say anything...”

“Gee.  Thanks...”

“What did you expect?” Wade shrugs and holds his thick arms out wide to indicate himself. “You do know me, right?”

“Yeah, of course...”

But that doesn’t mean automatic asshole.

.

Peter had something of a love/hate relationship with hospitals. 

He loved the staff he’d gotten to know when Aunt May was in and out of Metro General ...but she had also died in the hospital.  And Uncle Ben had ultimately died in a hospital. 
Not the best of memories was all.

And, technically ...this was not a hospital at all.  It was a medical facility inside of some of Tony’s labs.

Different.  But close enough.  Semantics didn’t make him feel more comfortable. He was edgy no matter what the word for the place ought to be.

Not that he had even been there that long.  This was’t going to take days or weeks or anything.

 

Wade was laying quiet and still in the bed that sat a few feet away.  A strange place for him, to be sure.  It had probably been years since he’d been to any doctor or hospital.

But he was there now.  By choice, too.

Given what Peter knew about Wade’s hatred of doctors -- thank you cancer diagnosis and pseudoscience-based torture -- the whole thing was a minor miracle.

But it also had Peter feeling shitty.

Waiting.

Stewing where he’d perched himself on the stiff but warmly-colored chair. 

He was back in Spider-man regalia after having wandered off during surgery to shower and grab a spare outfit he left around The Tower for Avengers-related work.

 

Sam - warm-hearted Sam - had poked his head in an hour or so ago to check-in.  He’d been surprised and (probably) genuinely concerned that Wade was still out.

“Takes a while to kick back on-line sometimes,” Peter had explained blandly.

Because unlike the others Peter had seen the whole show before.  The dead dead part.  Now just laughing at flesh wounds.  Not just cracking wise wile internal organs bled from nonfatal wounds and melded themselves back together.  He’d seen the entire re-growing of pieces and the slower, entire reformation of life.

Because offering Captain America your liver, diaphragm, and a lung - in the most literal of ways - means you’re dead.  Temporarily dead but still dead.  No heart beat dead.  People had been oddly shocked to hear Wade would, in total fact, die.  Not that Avengers and Co. were stupid.  Peter just assumed they’d been so caught up in fretting over Cap - and by extension Bucky - to think through all facets of the thing Wade had offered.

 

Which, fair.

Cap, his com long-broken, had barely been breathing when Deadpool dragged him to the jet.  A symbiote making a circus of Brooklyn had torn into his torso something fierce, and he couldn’t get a full breath.  Bucky had promptly lost his sometimes-still-delicate shit because apparently asthma had once been the blond man’s worst enemy, and the sound of this sort of tortured breathing was tantamount to to Bucky’s old timey nightmare.

In all of the hubbub, no one questioned Wade remaining on the plane or that fact that he was snoopy as hell upon finally being allowed to do so.

It was for the best by the time Tony’s suit scanned Steve’s injuries and sent a report to Dr. Cho, who announced bluntly that it was a lot of trauma even for Steve.  He was extra durable and his ability to heal surpassed the average man, but his body might not be able to keep up with this injury even with swift surgery.

Deadpool had then looked up from Clint’s spare explosive arrows and offered to donate “what the fuck ever” Steve needed.


“I’ll recover and my healing factor should give his shitty one a boost ...” he’d shuffled over to glance down at Steve’s bloody body in a disapproving sort of way. “Plus we will totes be blood brothers...”

 

And so here they were.

No one had questioned the idea, and why would they?  Even Peter couldn’t really argue with Wade when the likely alternative was so ...well...

Once Cho’s assistants ran some blood test and revealed that Wade’s healing factor meant his blood adapted to a new host it seemed like an obvious decision.

“Course it does,” Wade had declared to this announcement.  “Ain’t my first rodeo...” he then promptly hopped onto the closest gurney.

“What?” Peter had time to sputter.

“Where are the orderlies?” Wade had begun to snap snap his fingers. “Mush!  Mush, I say!  C’mon doggies...”

 

Now he simply laid there.

He was breathing by then, which was nice.  The lack of a moving chest when he’d first been brought it was eerie even though Peter knew it would come back. The stiff silence had just been so very un-Wade and felt --

“...fuck...”

Of course that would be Wade’s first waking word.  Peter should’ve be amused.

Instead a cool feeling of relief flushed over his jittery nerves.  If it was stupid of the others to forget Deadpool could kick the bucket, it was equally as foolish for Peter to worry about his ability to return.

Whatever.

Nothing was normal.

“Hey, idiot ...” he rose smoothly to his feet to approach the bed.

“...seems impolite,”  Wade grumbled and coughed himself back to normal behind his mask.

 

According to the medical staff, Wade’s only orders had been to leave his mask on since he would not, after all, require their oxygen or resuscitation of any kind.  He’d then also told them they didn’t have to waste anesthesia on him if they didn’t want to, either.

Peter had swiftly demanded to know whether they had followed the first order (they had), and disregarded the second (they had).  He’d been more heated about it than necessary.  He should send flowers or coffee or something to apologize.  Or both.  Definitely both.

Spider-man is not meant to be a bully.

He made a mental note to send for both.

 

“Feeling alright?” Peter snatched the half-drank water bottle he’d been nursing and thrust it at Wade.

“Peachy ...” Wade fumbled funkily with the cap.

“Here,” Peter saved him the effort of continuing and opened it for him.

“...sorry, still getting all the nerves back on the same page,” Wade yanked his mask up and then chugged the rest of the bottle. “How long was I out?” he asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Few hours after surgery...”

“That long?  Fuck me, I’m getting old...that’s slow...”

“Well you might’ve been tired.  It was quite a fight...”

True enough.  They’d been doing serious battle out there - symbiotes were never a joke.  Since he had’t eaten yet, even Peter was feeling it still.

“Eh.  Gotta do what ya gotta do, baby boy...” Wade shifted uncomfortably on the bed and plucked at his baggy gown in agitation.

Peter tutted and watched the fidgeting a moment before he took pity.

“Cap’s stable...”

“Duh,” Wade must’ve caught Peter’s gaze and switched himself to clench his fists in his lap.

“Duh...” Peter echoed, cocking a brow. “Cuz this is’t your first rodeo?”

“...you know you’re kind of like a Disney princess the way you’re over-large eyes emote like that,” Wade attempted a reflexive perry by mocking Peter’s mask.  “It’s a trick to portray innocence, but I’m not buying it...”

“C’mon.  I’m asking...”

“Ugh. Ya,” Wade scoffed. “Sure.  It says donor on my driver’s license.  What’s the big deal?”

“...you don’t have a license,”  Peter crossed his arms stubbornly for he knew this to be fact.

“Back from the dead and I still can’t get any leeway with you,” Wade threw his hands up.  “I gave Storm a kidney once, okay?  Jeeze.  I heard Wolverine had come in clutch giving up a body part before and he was out of town ...I can’t let him get all the immortal glory, can I?  Hells nah.”

“I--”

“Whenever Wolvie gets high-and-mighty I let McCoy go mad doctor on me and ship a few or my parts to the children’s hospital.  He has a friend there who hides that it’s icky mutant DNA they should be doing tests on ...’”

“Wade, that’s --”

“Real stupid?  I fucking know that, alright! But I stalk that altruistic fuck and threaten her now and then to make sure she’s on the up and up.  She’s a mutant, too, so I think she’d on the right side of shit.”

“No, I meant --”

“Can I just get some real clothes now?!”

“Wade...”

“Clothes,” Wade waved his hands around wildly.

Peter blinks at him a few times, wondering if is over-large eyes really will work.  He does know they can be endearing ...or unnerving.  Ambiance always makes a deciding difference.

He gets nothing, so he acquiesces and shuffles off to hunt down clothes. Deadpool’s suit had been a mess so it’s anyone’s guess where that is and JARVIS had informed him all the weapons were packaged and stashed away for a safe exit.  Still, there were spare living quarters and gyms with extra clothes that he could plunder around in.

 

 

“Fucking finally!” Wade blurted as soon as Peter rounded into the room.

Two disquieted nurses had scurried past Peter in the opposite direction back in the hallway, so he suspected he wasn’t the only one to be greeted this way recently.

“You’re welcome,” he tossed a small pile of clothes onto the bed next to Wade, followed by a few snacks.  “Would’ve been quicker but I found a vending machine.  I know you’re always hungry after...”

After dying.  Now that Wade was alive and awake it seemed almost silly to say.

Wade eyed the clothes, then the food.

He snatched a bag of beef jerky and ripped it open.

“You keep spare change somewhere in that skintight evening gown?” he nodded at Peter’s suit.

“No” Peter grabbed one of the candy bars. “But I’m very strong, so ...”  he let Wade’s imagination fill in how he managed the task.

“So you stole from Stark? Tisk, tisk ...” Wade snorted around a mouthful of half-chewed meat.

“Eh. He can afford it, can’t he?”

“Stop trying to make me fall in love with you -- anarchy is totally one of my turn-ons ...now gimme a piece,” Wade grab-handed towards the Snickers.

Peter tore off a chunk and handed it over without the obligatory “you’re not yourself when you’re hungry” joke.  Too easy.  Not to mention too overdone between them when they were slamming food.

“M’kay ...that was smart.  Dis is good,” Wade shoveled the rest of the jerky in his mouth and then started rifling through the clothing pile.

“...so you donate to children’s hospitals?”

“Could we not ?”

“What? You can’t tell me a story like that and expect me not to have questions,” Peter snorted.

No-way, no-how.  Literally no one could tell that story without follow-up commentary from the audience.

“Sure I can.  I died today.  I should get what I want for at least 24 hours, don’t ya think?”

“So we’re good to go on this topic tomorrow?”

“Fucking no.  It’s just a fucking thing I do; you basically know everything already.  End of fucking story ... ...unless you just assumed I’m not capable of generosity...”

“Don’t turn this conversation on me,” Peter could see through Wade’s attempts to make him get defensive and back-peddle and lose the original thread. 

“Ugh,” he got a wadded-up wrapper thrown at him.

“Wade, I just think it’s kind of amaz--”

“Leave it, Pete!” Wade snapped now.  “I’ve got a drilling headache and I am in the least magical place on earth ...maybe I can catch a break, yeah?"

Well...actually, that seemed fair.

“Right. I’ll just...” Peter backed out to give Wade privacy, sliding the glass door shut behind himself.

 

“Hey Spider-man...”

Sam Wilson found Peter a few moments after he’d excused himself.  As the former airman had no concerns about his identity, he strolled up in jeans and a t-shirt, casual as could be there in the glitzy tower.

“Everything all right in there?”

“Yeah, he’s just changing.  I scrounged him up some real clothes...”

“Oh, he’s up!” Sam brightened slightly. “That’s great ...awesome, man.  This day has been a trip.  The docs are amazed an--”

“Bruce is destroying everything, right?” Peter butted-in.

Hearing that Wade stalked the pediatric surgeon who was friendly with the X-Men really high-lighted how serious Wade had been with his stipulation that he didn’t want Dr. Cho keeping any spare blood to play with next time she got bored.

“Yeah man,” Sam pulled his shoulders back and got more serious. “He was there every step of the way to re-sterilize everything like a one-man autoclave.  He’s incinerating everything else left behind. If anyone gets why people don’t need to be trying to duplicate that kindda shit, he does.  Ya know?”

Peter nodded.

“Everyone’s really grateful - even Tony, if you can believe it.  Banner won’t let anyone take advantage...”

“That’s good...”

“He’s something, huh?”

For a moment Peter through they were still talking about Bruce Banner - of course that guy was something. Hello!

Then he saw that Sam was gazing at the door he’d just shut.  He meant Deadpool. Well, yeah, he was always something, too.  Sam was being complimentary just now, however.

Not always the case with DP; Peter could be honest about that.

“Yeah he is...”

“...I don’t know if you saw, but he cut up pieces of his own suit to pack Steve’s wound.  Some quick triage before getting him to the jet, I guess...”

Sam, a proper medic, would of course be impressed with this.

“Yeah.  Well, I’m sure he’s had the training ...he was Special Forces, ya know...”

Sam cringed.  Because he did know. Deadpool was something of a mystery in the details, and yet they all knew the broad strokes.  This brothers-in-arms connection was something that Sam enjoyed feigning blind to given that Wade was so ...well, he was so Wade.

He looked a bit guilty about it now, though.

“Besides, he likes Cap,” Peter moved them along.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t start getting careless; he won’t do the same for me?” Sam chuckled.

Peter tilted his head like he was sizing Sam up.  The truth was he wasn’t sure.  This was new information to him and he didn’t really know what ruler Wade used to decide who he would or wouldn’t literally die for.

 

The door slid open behind him, saving him from needing to guess. Wade stepped out in his mask, a hoodie that didn’t leave a ton of wiggle room, and sweatpants that were just a bit too short, leaving a sliver of skin between their hem and the top of his socks.

“Sup Big Bird...”

“Good to see you vertical, man,” Sam ignored the name and extended a hand.

Wade eyed it and then eyed Sam.  He looked to Pete, then back to the hand.  He had, after all, not been on pleasant terms with The Avengers for the past several months, ever since an ...unfortunate incident at their complex upstate.

“It ain’t a trick, man,” Sam promised, dutifully keeping his hand out.

Wade slowly grasped it and gave it a shake.

“I’m glad you were out there with us, today...”

“Shit was fun,” Deadpool gave a nod. “Shall we?” he focused his attention back to Spider-man.

They hadn’t actually discussed it, but Peter knew he was ready to go.  He didn’t need or want any attention from a doctor, and he apparently also didn’t want to play nice.

Peter remembered the allegedly drilling headache.

“Yeah, let’s go....”

“Go? As in go go?”  Sam scowled.

“Sure.  Isn’t like this has been much of a vacation ... ...get it?  Go-Go’s?....Vacation all I ever wanted, Vacation had to get away...” Wade cut himself off and looked between the other two.  “What, no love for Belinda Carlisle?  Fuck ya’ll...”

Peter grinned.

“Yeah.  We’re going ...I’ll make sure he gets home...”

“You can’t leave yet!”

“I dare you to try to stop me - I’ve got a guard spider,” Wade nudged Peter with his finger. “Spider trumps bird.”

“Come on ...Steve isn’t awake yet but he’ll want to thank you.”

“Ugh!”

“Barnes, too.  He’s just busy standing guard upstairs; boy can’t be moved but he’ll want to say thanks...”

“Ew. Gross. Too sentimental. Take it somewhere else, Feathers...”  Wade started stomping off own the hall despite not knowing the way.

Although ...Peter probably shouldn’t assume he didn’t know the way.  The fact that Deadpool doesn’t get invited to a place did not mean he’d never been to the place.

“Don’t be like that, man...” Sam followed along to argue when Peter took Wade’s lead.

“Shoo.  Shouldn’t you be packing to fly South for the winter?” Wade didn’t miss a beat while he continued to gripe.

“I’m serious.  Why do you have to make everything so--”

“Leave it alone, Sam,” Peter interjected himself. “If Steve wants to say something, he knows how to find Wade. But I’m going to get him home now.

“Yeah, but what he did--”

“Was above and beyond.  And now he’s earned the space to do whatever he wants to do,” Peter reasoned as they drew to a stop at an elevator.

Wade pushed the button at least a dozen times, which was clearly overkill but Peter didn’t admonish him over being a spaz about it.

“You’re right ...alright, yeah,” Sam drew a deep breath and conceded. “We all owe you one, Wilson.”

“Baller.”

“I mean it...”

“Yeah, I know you think you do,” Wade nodded and then slipped away into the elevator as soon as the doors were opened wide enough for it. 

Never mind that this sent some researchers scurrying out in surprise.

“...is he alright?” Sam grabbed Peter’s shoulder to halt him.

“He will be”

The way Wade stood rigid against the back wall of the elevator with his arms crossed didn’t suggest that what Peter said was true, but he thought Wade would be a lot better once he was away from anything that looked like a lab.

So he walked into the lift, hit the lobby button, and stood right up at the doors so he could turn away anyone else who tried to get on with them. 

...

 

“And do you have a me?” Vanessa’s grinning a little now.  “I’m hotter, right?”

“And if she’s not, can you bring your Vanessa here for a three-way?” Wade proposes.

Vanesa doesn’t seem sorry about it.  Rather, she makes a thoughtful face. 

“Well,” Peter hesitates and then supposes there’s no harm. “No.  Not really.  I’m mean, I’ve never met that Vanessa,” he explains. “The two of you broke up, back home.”

He finishes slowly and glances between the two.  They look a little surprised but not troubled.

“For realsies?  Because we broke up for a while there, too,” Wade shrugs. “A couple years ago.  Right after the--” he jabs a finger at his face.

“Because you can’t help but be a moron!”

“Rude!” Wade accuses her.

“It was for lots of reasons, I guess, according to my Wade,” Peter butted-in.  “But it’s been years, so I’m pretty sure it’s for keeps...”

“Ah, well...sucks for that poor sap...”

“Your Wade, huh?” one of Vanessa’s thin eyebrows is high up on her brow again. “Do I need to be possessive?” she glances at her Wade.

“Wh--”

“Cuz we’ve already done that kind of three-way, and personally I don’t need the rerun,” Wade chirped.  “No offense.”

“My ...? No.  It’s not...  I won’t...” Peter points stupidly between him and the Wade who’s still perusing his cupboards for a snack.

Vanessa and Wade both laugh.

“Alright then...”

She saunters off to go help Wade find something to eat.  Or, by the looks of it, to just plain old choose for him.

Peter’s not sure if he should say more.  To explain what their friendship is.  How Wade had gone and figured him out despite his best efforts.  How he’d peeled off so many surprising layers of Wade that Wade made obligatory Shrek and Donkey jokes any time Peter mentioned it.

But the pair don’t really seem to care.

Peter’s the only one feeling particular about it with all of the reflection on this relationship that he’s been forced to do lately.

Which reminds him, of course, that he really ought to be going.  Things to do, dimensions to travel ...but Wade and Vanessa weren’t wrong. He was tired.

Beyond tired, really.

So when Wade announces that he’s making multiple bags of pizza rolls - “in the oven, New-Spidey, because fuck you if you like to microwave them!” - it sounds pretty nice.

 

 

 

“Spicy, saucy, and just a little cheesy,” Wade is going on about the reasons he likes pizza rolls despite the fact that no one had said a word against them.

“You ever try them in an air fryer?” Peter asks before throwing one in his mouth to chomp on.

“Ugh, don’t get him started,” Vanessa mutters as she returns to the couch with a fresh beer.

Peter diverts his eyes, as she’s been waltzing around in a fuzzy sweater and no pants.  She has noticed that he’s flustered but hasn’t altered her behavior in any way.  On the contrary, she seems to think its adorable. Wade apparently has no opinion on it.

“Huh? Start him on--”

“If something is fried, it better be coming to be nice and greasy,” Wade explained. “I’m calling fuckery on that air bullshit....ain’t right.”

“B--”

“It’s not right! ... ...now can anyone tell me why I know this fucking song?” Topic apparently closed, he tosses a napkin at the TV across from the couch they’re all seated on.

“Yeah because the movie’s classic, babe...”

Peter continues to watch Barbra Streisand and wonders whether Wade’s right.  He has, in fact, heard this Yentl song before, but certainly not so frequently that it should be this catchy to him...

“No there’s something about it ....”

“Frozen!” Peter blurts.  “It sounds like ‘Do You Want to Build a --”

“Snowman!” Wade finishes with him. “Yes it fucking does! Fuck yes!”

Dropping the pizza roll in his hand, Wade reaches across Vanessa for a high-five, which Peter happily meets.

“...you’re both crazy...”

“No way!  Pappa can you hear meeeee....”

Wade continues to warble a few lines with Peter’s laughter as background.

“So, Pete ....you’re not like living here now, right?” Vanessa pins him with an exasperated look.  “I like you and all, but you’re also officially annoying together...”

Incidentally, that’s something Peter has heard from Clint about the two of them on a few occasions. 

“Don’t listen to her.  You totally need to live here now...”

“No...no can do,” Peter lets Wade down to assure Vanessa. “I really should’ve moved on but ...these are delicious,” he picks up his last pizza roll.  “And you guys have been nice ...it’s nice to take a breath.  I’ve been working pretty hard.”

“Well I’m not saying you need to go now!” Vanessa promises, suddenly looking sorry.  “Crash for the night.”

“Sleep over!”

“No...I really should split, I guess...”

“You gotta at least polish off the food with me.  Vanessa’s already quit on me,” Wade gestures to the plate she’s abandoned on the coffee table. “C’mon, there’s still half a tray...”

Unable to turn that down, Peter follows Wade over to the kitchen where a baking sheet is still resting on the stovetop.  He slides some of the food that left onto his paper plate while Wade starts poking around for potato chips, too.

“Hey, Pete, what do you think of the name Todd? And be honest,” he asks with little preamble.

“Todd...” Pete cocks his head and for a second he’s not sure why.

It’s just a name, after all.

But then...

‘She died thinking I liked the name Todd...fucking stupid...’

“Yeah, Todd,” Wade confirms when Peter doesn’t go on.

“Tell him it stinks!” Vanessa called over.

“Hush thyself, woman!”

Peter swallows and looks around shiftily, trying to remember this is a different reality completely.

“Todd ...kind of makes me think of a toad,” he decides when he can get his thoughts to line up. .

“Oh, fuck ...well, I’m never going to un-hear that,” Wade grumbles. “Ness, cross it off the list!”

“It wasn’t on the list, babe...”

“You’re being a real party pooper, Peter ...heh, I like that alliteration, though,” Wade congratulates himself in lieu of anyone else noticing or caring.

“Sorry, I ...” Peter trails off when an extra ‘zing’ tickles his spine.

His senses are always a little sensitive when he’s in alternate dimensions so for a second he thinks he might be off-base.  That he’s made himself a touch paranoid with the whole Todd memory...

But then he can actually hear something, too.

“What?” Wade’s still smirking.

“Shhh...someone’s out th--”

Before he could explain his bad feeling, the door to the apartment burst in, bouncing off the wall with the force of whatever had flung it open.

 

Peter and Wade both erupt into action. Peter leaps for the door, and Wade frisbees the baking sheet at one of the men pouring in without missing a beat.

Todd. Todd. Todd,’ repeats in Peter’s head as he lands on someone’s shoulders, causing the man to stumble.  He twists his weight so that they fall to the floor and he can slam the man’s head into the ground to knock him out.

He’s back on his feet in seconds to grab the arm of another gunman and break it over his knee before he gets a shot off. The resulting scream doesn’t phase him, though it’s swiftly cut-off by a knife landing in the man’s throat.  Peter reels back and looks across the room to see Wade is flinging knives straight from a knife block.

“Unnecessary!” Peter scoffs and grabs the next one out of the air to kick the intended target in the chest instead, then he slams the man’s head into the doorknob when he doubles over.

He slumps to the ground but stays alive. Win.

“I have the right to stand my ground!” Wade shouts from the kitchen and throws another knife, though Peter notes this one lands in a shoulder.  “Fuckin’ lawman says so!”

“New York is not a Stand Your Ground State---”

“Nerd alert!”

Another knife twists through the air and beds itself in a thigh.

“I’m just saying,” Peter kicks that man in the hip, then elbows his temple.  “If you’re going to defend your actions do it right.  New York follows a ‘castle doctrine’....”

“So either way, I’m fucking right!” Wade cheers and relaxes once the guy Peter elbows crumples to the floor next to one of his pals. “I hope I’m always right in your world, too ... ... baby, you good?” he smiles when Vanessa slowly stands from the couch she’d taken refuge behind.

“I think so ...yeah ....yeah, I’m good,” a wary smile twitches at her lips, though her eyes are wide and her breathing erratic with panic.

“Well I know what will cheer you up; I didn’t have to use the cream cheese spreader,” Wade chuckles and plucks it from the knife block he’s still holding. “Bagels for breakfast sound good?”

Peter’s spine tingles again even before Vanessa gasps. He is still holding the knife he’d grabbed earlier, and he cocks his arm to throw it before he even fully turns back towards the door.

As if in flow motion, he watches it spin in the air and slice into the last man’s wrist just as he pulls the trigger of his handgun.  A fraction of a second later, Peter hears a window shatter but by then he’s already on his way to tackle the man to the floor.  There he wrestles him and pistol-whips him with his own dropped gun.

“Are you okay? Is she okay? Is everybody okay?” he scrambles straight back up to his feet in what he’s pretty sure is a fullblown panic.

 

Wade and Vanessa are nowhere in sight for a moment, then both of their heads peak up over the couch.

“Good,” Wade confirms and straightens up.

Vanessa is slower to follow suit, but when she does she looks ruffled but unhurt.

“Holy shit...” Peter heaves out a long breath.

This time, for good measure, he stomps out into the hall to make sure there isn’t another wave of attackers.

“Holy shit ...”

“Aw man ...we’ll totally get evicted for this. Pete, you gotta help me move all this fucks outta here...” Wade vaults the couch to take in the full scene around his doorway.  “Pete?”

Peter’s too busy hyperventilating.

“Oh, shit ...look, Mile isn’t big on death either.  Sorry about that.  But like you said ...castle things.  Right?”

“Castle doctrine, babe,” Vanessa offers helpfully.

“Yeah that ...sooooo technically New York state says I’m in the right here.  So we’re good, yeah? Can we get moving?”

“I’m fine; I’ve seen worse,” Peter said very truthfully. “It’s just you ...and her,” he points at Vanessa. “...but she’s okay. She’s not hurt - look at her, she’s perfect. Even though they broke in and even though ... ...Todd,” he interrupts his own ramblings.  “Todd was a baby name idea, wasn’t it?”

He watches Wade and Vanessa share a look.

“The fuck Pete?”

“Yeah...”

Peter bends to plant his hands on his knees and take a deep breath. And then another.  Nice and slow.  Nice. And. Slow.

“What do you know?” Vanessa asks, slowly rounding the couch.

“I know ...what do I know ...way too fucking much...”

“Whoa, big boy words...my Spidey doesn’t do that...”

“Babe,” Vanessa shakes her head slowly at Wade.  “Are you okay, Peter?”

He sees her hand coming  near his arm so he straightens up to stop her.

“I’ve met ...Wades who’ve lost you. Where you were killed by people coming after him.  You were talking about having kids ....Todd.  Todd.  You were shit talking about baby names ...”

“Jesus christ...”

“I gotta go.  I need a break.  I can’t stay here ...”

Peter announces this and decides that it is true in the same second.  Before he make any moves to actually get himself moving, though, Vanessa hugs him.  Just grabs him around the shoulders and gives him a squeeze.

“Oh...”

“Thank you”

“Sure...” he pats her back stupidly because she’s pantsless, still, and a real hug seems a little intimate. 

This is nice, though.

 

When Vanessa lets Peter go, Wade tucks her in against him with a slightly disturbed look about him.

“Look you, uh ...need help?  I owe you one ...or like a thousand,” Wade states. “I mean, I’m not going to pretend I know how this time-hop works...”

“No, babe. Time Hop is a Facebook thing,” Vanessa corrects him.

“The fuck ever. Twitter is king...”

Peter grins at the pair.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he promises Wade, giving him a small nod of understanding. “Oh...” he remembers the bodies around them when he looks down at his watch. “Did you, uh....still need help with this?”

He needs a hot shower or a Xanax or both, but he could lend a hand first.

“Nah.  I can make a call.  I’ve got people ... ...body people,” Wade admits.

“Not surprised....”

Peter doesn’t hesitate longer for food or hugs or more banter.  He dials into home and presses the watch’s face hard.

 

Home sounds good and looks good and smells good, and Peter flops down hard on the couch when he arrives in his own living room.

He’s tired and he’s freaked out and it’s ...so much.

 

And lonely.  He can’t find his friend and he’s spending time in separate realities. It doesn’t matter that some of them are perfectly nice, they aren’t his and he doesn’t belong there.

For a moment he considers finally calling the Avengers to try cashing in favors and see who would come help. Then he remembers that Wade had not-so-long-ago killed a captor holding mutant hostages who the Avengers had wanted to question about missing SHIELD artifacts.  Based on how agitated Wade had been about it, Peter actually happened to believe that he hadn’t intended to do it, that the scene had gotten a bit away from him.  In any case, the team was pissed and were probably glad for their current Deadpool reprieve.

So he’ll be sticking with lonely a little longer, then.

...

 

“...sorry I got shitty with you,” Wade had been quiet on the way back to his apartment, even while stopping to pick up burgers and shakes, but  spoke up once they were tucked away and he had changed into his own properly fitting clothes.

“S’okay.  I know how you feel about hospitals...”

Wade tutted as he scrounged up extra cheese from his refrigerator because there was never too much cheese in his humble (not so humble) opinion. 

“Still ... ...I’m guessing you weren’t exactly having fun, either...”

“No,” Peter admitted and appreciated the thought. “But I’m glad you were able to help ... ...and I didn’t mean to make a whole big deal about what you said about it. It’s just that--”

“It should be them”, Wade interrupted him, still facing away at the counter while he doctored his burger.

Peter was perfectly happy with how his greasy masterpiece was made and had already taken a couple huge bites.

“...huh? Who?”

Wade exhaled deeply and stared up at the ceiling.  Perhaps he was regretting carrying on the conversation and now prayed to be smited.

“Just ...whoever.  It should be Cap who can’t die - he’s Captain America.  Or it should be Storm; she runs that fucking school up there like a boss ass bitch for all those kids. It shouldn’t be me; it should be someone better...”

“Wade...”

Peter wasn’t sure what to say.  He felt extremely unqualified for this.  It wasn’t news to him that Wade had, on more than on occasion, wished he could just go ahead and die.  When you’ve lived through enough pain to kill you dozens of times over, that was probably natural.

But...

“Save it, Webs.  It is what it is...” Wade shrugged this off, as he was wont to do.

Lacking what he felt were the right words, Peter grabbed the taller man in a hug when he turned around. 

“... ...we hug now?” Wade asked dubiously, though he reciprocated with one arm since he only had one free hand.

“Yup,” Peter refused to balk.

“Well you know I can get with that,” Wade ticked his arm a little tighter.

This lasted a second longer, then Peter clapped his shoulder and stepped back.

“...you’re better than you think you are.”

Wade blinked at him.

Once.

Twice.

“Fucking liar,” he curled his lip, through something still sounded pleased if Peter wasn’t biased.  “And I dripped ketchup on your suit,” he pointed at Peter’s shoulder.

Seeing that this was so, Peter wiped it off with a finger and licked it clean.

“Not sanitary...”

“Are you kidding me?  Stark has suits cleaned and stored if I ever leave one there.  If I didn’t know better I’d say he just remakes one every time...”

“How do you know better?  You stitch your name on the tags?” Wade laughed his way to the living room.

Peter just shrugged and followed.

“You fucking do?!?”

“No, but I have my ways ...”

“You mysterious fucking nerd,” Wade plopped onto his beaten-in couch with a grunt.

“I’ve been called worse,” Peter joined, knocking his knee into Wade’s and enjoying the warmth because he, at least, was glad the man couldn’t die.

“By who?” Wade demanded around a mouthful of food before swallowing thickly. “I’ll kill ‘em...”

“Down boy,” Peter gave him another nudge before he started to root around for the remote.

“No fucking way!”

Despite his ultimate disapproval, Peter couldn’t help but chuckle and be just a little bit grateful.

 

Notes:

*Apparently there's a little Deadpool needing to donate organs out there. Have never forgotten that so the general idea's been waiting in my mental backlog a while.

*Happy Wade and Vanessa make me happy here ... ...even if Spideypool makes me happier. Some universes can have Wade/Vanessa happily ever after. I'll allow it!

Chapter 10: Good feeling

Notes:

So ...here our Peter going to learn some things. To do so he's going to spend more time with another Peter than he has in any other other chapter. I tried to make it as clear as possible so I hope it's not confusing.

Possibility of some edits to come on conversation tags.

On with Chapter 10!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Peter lets himself sleep in the next day.

Well “lets” is sort of a strong word.  He doesn’t mean to do it; he just sleeps 10 straight hours without even trying.

He has no regrets, however. 

After a long sleep and a long shower, he feels better than he has in quite some time. He even drinks an extra cup of coffee before checking and shouldering his backpack.  Whether it is the sleep or that extra jolt of caffeine or something much more subconscious ...he feels optimistic.  Like he’s close.  Like he had made progress, though he isn’t sure he actually has.

The thought that he’d nearly seen a Wade’s worst nightmare come true still makes him a little nauseous if he thinks on it too long, but that isn’t his Wade. 

He has a good feeling about his Wade.

“Let’s go...” he concentrate on that good feeling and activates his watch.

 

 

Compared to the crisp almost-winter Peter had just left, he practically lands in a sauna. The sun is out and he immediately sheds his coat and ties it in place around his waist. Too bad there was no whether channel for alternate realities. 

Maybe Dr. Strange could get on that...

 

In short order, Peter gets himself turned around.  He sees all the right street names but nothing connects to what it “should” and it’s no surprise that no one is keen on helping him.

Even so, he eventually finds Columbia University as a landmark.  It doesn’t help a ton because it’s clearly not going to be where he expects it to be, but the sight of it is comfortable anyway.  It may not be his alma mater but Gwen’s brother had attended so Peter had spent time on the campus.

“...and it’s not my fault you’re a fuckin’ dweeb, baby boy!”

 

It takes a moment for Peter to process what he’d just heard.  He had been caught up in thinking about the plays he and Gwen had seen there at the campus, so he nearly misses it.

But ‘Baby boy’ is a name he has literally only ever heard from one mouth.

He zips around and is nearly bowled over by a hooded (but still visibly scarred) Wade and, well... himself

A skinnier version of himself, but something of a twin of him from college when he’d been running himself ragged.  Not that he is exactly bulky now, but he’d filled-out a handful years ago thank you very much.

“Woo-wee ...babe, tell me this is a sexy birthday present!” Wade has an arm around this Peter’s neck, and he tightens it in wide-eyed glee.

“Uh...”

“It’s not your birthday,” Skinny Peter retorts as he eyes Peter.

Sexy birthday present.

Babe.

 

Oh.

Oh.

“Hi...” Peter fidgets stupidly, for this is only the second self that he’s met.

Skinny Peter is as contemplative as the last Peter had been giddy. Neither had panicked.  Peter, apparently, had really underestimated his many, many selves.

“Hi indeed...”

“Fuck off.  You’re making him uncomfortable,” Skinny Peter admonishes.

It’s only half true.

“Can I help it?  What else would you and I use time travel for...you’re a time traveler, right?  Tell me you’re a time traveler and this one stops studying so much and beefs up a little wh-- ow!” Wade only stops when he gets an elbow to the ribs.

“Ignore him,” Skinny Peter steps away from him to extend a hand to his sort-of-doppelganger.

“I do half the time,” Peter accepts the hand.  “And I’m not a time traveler...”

“Oh,” Wade grumbles. “Dimension traveler.  Big whoop.  Boooo-ring.”

That’s blase.  Even for Deadpool.

But Skinny Peter just laughs.

“He’s jealous deep down.  He used to have a sling-ring but Dr. Strange beat him up for it....”

“He did not beat me up!” Wade bristles right up to his fullest height and widest breadth. “Merlin wannabe can not physically beat me ...”

“So where’s your sling ring?” Peter challenges with a grin.

“He threatened to stick me in a time loop ...the fuck am I supposed to do against that?  Our time wizard dipshit does not play,” he crosses his arms to emphasize a complaint he’s clearly made more than once. “And he has zero chill. Harry Potter he is not...”

“That’s what I said!” Peter fully laughs despite himself.

The banter is pointless, maybe, but it’s a damn relief to be landing in worlds lately that aren’t complete shit shows.  Not that they’re perfect - pretty far from it - but it’s like they’re getting a little bit better.  A little bit calmer.

That, Peter hopes, is progress.

“Of course you fucking did.  It’s obvious.”

“I don’t know ...Dr. Who seems like an easy reference, too,” Skinny Peter suggests.

“What?! Harry Potter is so much better than that b-- you know what? No,” Wade stops himself short.  “I’m not having this argument again.  You know what’s true...”

“I -”

“You know!” Wade cut his own Peter off in full dramatics.

“Jeeze...”

“So ...I don’t suppose you’ve seen any other dimension travelers recently? Or just me?” Peter steers them back to the point at hand.

“How recent we talking?” Wade sobers up a bit.

Before Peter can answer he’s shouldered aside by a yuppie with a backpack.

“Sure, just stand in the middle of the sidewalk - good plan,” the young man muttered on his way through.

“Hey, fuck you pal!  We were here first - possession is 9/10 of the law! Hah!” Wade shouts after the guy. “Law school!”

“Not how that works,” Skinny Peter scoffs and shoves away the fist that Wade is waggling after the boy who is now flipping them all off over his shoulder.

“I don’t give a fuck.  I hate this place... ...”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the insufferable nerd. I know,” Skinny Peter sighs and adjusts his own bag. “He had a point though ...we’re out in the open talking about weird shit...”

He begins to usher them off the path where they’re standing, and Wade looks mildly contrite. 

“To be fair, I never said you’re insufferable.  I’ll suffer you all day long!”

“My hero ...” Skinny Peter pushes Wade at a dark bench tucked along a hedgerow, then he sits down closely to him to leave room for Peter.

Not so close that’s it’s PDA but close enough that their overtly comfortable together. That there’s a little more familiarity going on than night-fighting buddies.  That this is normal.

Peter eyes this but doesn’t comment as he takes his own seat and turns to face them, leaning in with his elbows on his knees.

“So you have?”

“A while back ...not  Peter, though.  It was a me,” Wade points to himself with his thumb. “Skulking around like an insufferable dick,” he side-eyes His Peter. “You like that?”

You’re the insufferable one...”

“Gah ...anyway, so yeah there was a me. Few months back.  What’s it to ya?”

“Hmm...that could be my Wade...”

“Is your Wade an insufferable dick?” Wade dodges the swat that comes his way and gets a dead-leg instead. “Won’t last,” he grunts, calm though his face is screwed up for the moment.

“Honestly?  It depends on the day,” Peter decides is an arguably honest answer, and Wade laughs. “But mostly ...no. Why? What happened?”

“Dude was just shady ...said he was looking for help in his own world.  Kindda presumptuous that the rest of us should care, but whatever,” Wade shrugs. “Anyway, he rubbed me wrong...”

Skinny Peter looks as curious as Peter feels. 

“You never mentioned that...”

“I don’t mean he literally rubbed me ...I would’ve invited you to watch,” he winks behind his hood. “I know, I know - be serious,” he sighs before Skinny Peter needs to pull him back on track. “Anyway, he wanted me to travel with him and that’s a no-no.”

“It is?” Peter needs to know who’s writing the damn rules.

And why didn’t he get a copy when Strange gave him the watch?

“Well, he already seemed like a dubious mother-fucker so I wasn’t going to travel with him now that I don’t have my own sling-ring.  That shit would be dumb,” he lays that bit out very seriously. “And I promised the old ball-and-chain” - he nudges Skinny Peter for fun - “that I wouldn’t dabble in that shit anymore and tempt Strange out of his hidey hole.”

“True,” Skinny Peter nods.  “It’s one of my rules.”

“Rules?”

“Yeah, we both get up to so much bullshit that we each get to make a few rules for each other...”

“More like suggestions...”

“They’re rules,” Skinny Peter repeats. “We each get three.  If you want to try to make a new one, you have to get rid of an old one and be open to amendments...”

“Okay, they’re really just like guidelines...”  Wade tries to edge-in again.

“Cool.  So next time I pick-up a lead on where Venom’s hiding...I can just go alone?  So long as I consider getting your input first....”

“Fuck that noise! Take it back!” Wade’s glare is fierce.

“Does your Wade talk just to hear himself sometimes?” Skinny Peter poses to Peter, then turns to Wade. “They’re rules.  You know it, I know it.  It works for us. Drop this topic, would you?”

“... ...sure,” Wade decides. “So, what’s up?  Shady Wadey bugging you, too?” he twists back to Peter.

“...I think he might’ve been around.  My Wade was talking about another guy with a sling ring coming out trying to recruit help,” Peter recalls this.  “He didn’t say much else. I don’t think he wanted me to know a lot about all this,” he gestures at nothing in particular. “The whole dimension thing...”

“Ah.  Secrets.  See, you need rules,” Wade snorts.

“Rules? Oh ...well, it’s ...we’re not,” Peter gestures at the pair before him. “He’s my friend.”

“Oh!”

“...but this doesn’t weird you out?” Wade lifts a hairless brow and also points at himself and Skinny Peter.

Peter swallows.

“Man, this doesn’t even rate on the scale of things I’ve seen that are different from my world,” he shares and Wade snorts anew. “Besides ...you’re not the first I’ve met.  I mean, you’re the first Peter and Wade I’ve seen together in front of my own eyes so that’s ...new. But it’s been implied,” he thinks of the Wade who’s boyfriend had been killed, and his insides  briefly seize in guilt. .

“Huh ...interesting that Wade’s always in our life even if it isn’t the same way...”

“Nerd,” Wade repeats himself in a cough.

“Not always,” Peter corrects, though he thinks that sentence is going to stay with him. “In some worlds we’re not even Spider-man.”

“What! Really??”

“Dude, I told you I met a Spider-woman,” Wade reminds.

“And I met a LadyPool,” Peter adds.

Then it’s Wade who’s wide-eyed.

“Yeah?  Was I hot?”

“...seriously?” both Peters turn to him.

“What? Why’s that weird?” Wade appears to be dead serious. “If you met a female version of yourself, you wouldn’t go for it? Cuz I would,” he nods.  “I’d go for it hard.  Like for r--”

“Anyway!  My Wade is missing now so I’ve been trying to track him down,” Peter doesn’t need a story from Wade because he’s already forming a weird visual.

“Wow...”

“Fuck...”

“...but you said you saw this other guy months ago?” Peter checks on the couple’s timeline.

“Uh-huh”

“Okay ...I’ve seen Wade sense then.  So maybe the shady one came here first or something,” Peter considers. 

It’s good to know he is on the right track, but he’s not actually sure what good it does him.  It’s not as though this tells him where to go next. Still, it also means he’s not wildly off base.

He’ll continue to be optimistic.  That’s working for him today.

“Alright, well thanks ...kind of ...I think,” Peter botches the whole gratitude attempt.  “I’m pretty sure anyway.  Thanks.”

“Sorry I didn’t tie that mother fucker down,” Wade needlessly apologizes. “Course he probably would’ve just cut a hand off or something to get out...”

“Or dislocated his shoulder,” Skinny Peter reminisces.

“I was going to say hip,” Peter adds in much the same tone.

That had been one hell of a day with some Cartel members.  All due to Wade’s snooping, of course.

They all grin.

  “Been there,” Wade seems to approve of all this self-maiming talk. “You gotta go? Or you wanna hang in our world for a while?  It’s not so bad, really...”

“Yeah, you can tag along with us.  We’re having dinner with Aunt May -- she’ll think you’re a trip,” Skinny Peter’s eyes light up a bit at the thought. “You might actually be the weirdest thing I’ve ever dragged home...”

“Besides me?” Wade chortles.

“You’re not weird. You’re obnoxious. There’s a difference.”

“Not to May I’m not.  She thinks I’m bomb ...and she’s not wrong, let’s just all be real honest,” Wade’s getting little dramatic and big with his arms again. “Besides -- sup New Pete? You swallow a bug?”

Peter sees in his peripheral that Wade is smirking at his own spider joke despite sounding a little worried. 

For Peter’s gone very still.

He’s always known, somewhere in the back of his head, that Aunt May is surely alive in some (or many) of the worlds he has visited. And in a distant way he has wanted to see her. Sort of like how he’d wanted to meet himself sooner but wasn’t sure how scary it would be. Or in the same way he’d wanted a peek at Gwen’s face, but only from a distance.

Now he’s been invited to go see her in a very real way ...and he knows he can’t go. She either won’t be the same as his May and he’ll be crushed, or he’ll see her and never want to leave.

“I can’t...”

“What’s the matter?” Other Peter has now also noticed the way his face has dropped and sounds defensive.

He’s wary that something’s wrong with Aunt May.

Good. That’s good of him.

“Nothing, um ...” Peter doesn’t want to drag down the whole mood; there’s no reason for Skinny Petter to have to imagine a world without his Aunt yet. “That would probably be nice but I’ve got a few more dimensions to hit before my lunch time...”

“Damn...she’ll never buy this.  Can I get a picture with you to prove it to her?”

“Sure,” he didn’t see how that could hurt.

Wade dutifully snatches his Peter’s phone and hops up to do the honors.  Then, since he knew the drill, he offers them to walk Peter to a discrete place he can disappear from.

 

“So what’re you studying here?” Peter asked as they trekked around one of the academic buildings.

“Masters in Physics ...then PhD. Well, maybe,” Skinny Peter catches himself and sighs.  “I could get a job without it so I kind of want to wait while I go get my feet wet.  Dr. Banner says he thinks I should go for it because he thinks I would like teaching someday.  But Tony thinks teaching is for schmucks...”

“Tony Stark is a cockwaffle!” Wade yells nice and loud in response to being forced to hear his opinion on a matter.

“Yeah that’s on brand...”

“Babe,” Skinny Peter pinches the back of Wade’s arm. “We’re going for subtle here, yeah?”

“Then don’t bring up Tony Stark,” Wade is matter-of-fact and unrepentant.  “You know better ...which, frankly, makes this your fault.”

“... ...he has a point,” Skinny Peter concedes.  “You go here, too?  Well, not here here.”

“No, I was an Empire State man...”

“Meh,” Other Peter teases. “Science geek?”

“In my own way,” Peter hedges, for he’s fought the laboratory fight with Stark himself when Stark had found out he built his web-shooters and formulated the webbing from home.

He doesn’t need to rehash all his reasons for his life choices now.

“Tell me that means you hunt big-foot! Cryptozoology counts as science, right?” Wade punched a hand into the air

“Depends who you ask ...and Sasquatch is Pacific Northwest,” Skinny Peter scoffs.

“Not exclusively - god you’re a nerd about all the wrong things.  Moth Man, then? You study him?”

“None of the above,” Peter laughs and drops his bag so he can pull his coat back on.  “Thanks for the info, guys ...it was nice meeting you.”

“Sorry we didn’t know more,” Skinner Peter curls his thumbs around the straps of his bag. “Good luck.”

“Yeah...put a tracking chip in Other Me when you find him, huh? Keep that shit on GPS lockdown.”

“Hey, that’s a bad idea...” his own Peter eyes him.

“Fuck you.  If I get a chip you get a chip, and then I’ll know anytime you to go for Fro-Yo without me, so ...think about that...”

“It helps me study!”

“You’re a gluttonous sneak and you know it,” Wade catches his Pete in a headlock like this is the final word on it.

Peter eyes the pair.

“...can I ask you guys something?” he had opted not to earlier, but figures it can’t hurt now.

“I bet his is bigger,” Wade shakes the man under his arm as fake answer.

“Aaaand you ruined it.”

“Just ask,” Skinny Peter throws an elbow sideways into the other man, though this doesn’t make him look sorry for what he’d said.

“It was a compli--”

“Shut it. Ask!” Skinny Peter cuts Wade off.

“How did you guys ...this whole thing start?” Peter pauses in buttoning his coat to point at the both of them.

They snort simultaneously.

“You’ll never believe it...”

“Ah, yes, too silly for a big man of science,” Wade agrees sagely even though he’s still grinning.

Peter grins despite himself, too, and cocks his head.

“C’mon. What happened?”

“Don’t laugh...”

“Alright”

“Witches!” Wade blurts.

Peter blanches.

“I know!” Skinny Peter jumps right in, laughing a little..  “It sounds wild, but you know magic is real, right? Dr. Strange ...Wanda ...it’s really not that weird.”

“...I don’t understand,” Peter probes for more even though his spine is practically on fire it’s tingling so much.

“Wade found himself in a little spot--”

“Sorry not sorry!” the taller man throws up his arms in something like celebration.

“--and some witches cast a spell on him.  They were trying to hunt-down his ex-wife only they didn’t know she was his ex, right?  Anyway, they did a spell to summon his heart mate and I showed up.  Not who they were expecting, let me tell you.”

“So we kicked their asses,” Wade inhales deeply and then sighs loudly. “...then we fucked. Well, okay. To be fair, we’d sexed around before that.”

“Perv,” Skinny Peter admonishes but doesn’t dole out a pinch or poke for this contribution. So apparently it’s true. “There was a lot more to it, but ...it certainly started a conversation we needed to have. So we thank them every year.”

“Yeah we send our flowers and cards straight to The Raft cuz their asses are locked up! Boom! Byeeeee!”

“...I know it sounds ridiculous,” Skinny Peter relents in the face of Peter’s staunch blankness.

“Mmhmm... I gotta go...”

“Right.  Sure. Good luck.”

Peter nods one last time, dials in 06:16:00 as quickly as he can, and punches it home.

 

Fuck.

“Fuck me...” Peter dropped to sit on the edge of his coffee table, the nearest sturdy furniture.

Yup.

Fuck.

“Ugh...” he scrubs his hands hard over his face and wonders if he’ll wake up in bed having really slept 11 hours instead of 10.

He most certainly does not.

.

“What should we do with them?” Peter glared down through his mask at the teenage girls huddled together on the floor.

This cozy basement had been chaos for a short while, but he had the five of them rounded up.  Or webbed up, rather. First their arms behind their backs and then their mouths to stop them yelling at one another.

Because teenagers, man.

“...probably ship them off to The Raft,” Deadpool hooked his thumbs into his utility belt like a real desperado.

Peter barely held in an eye roll at that theatrical addition.

“That is where they send powerful telepaths and witches then they go dark,” he agreed severely.

The wide-eyed looks the girls give them were worth the tough act they were putting on.

See, Peter had not really had the most broad social circle in high school and he’d never quite believed MJ’s propaganda that adolescent girls could be downright wicked.  Most of his own harassment had come from other boys, so he just didn’t know any better.

However, he has now collected new data.

These girls had hatched a diabolical plan to summon a damn demon using Wade’s blood.  Then when that didn’t work they’d tried to double-down and cast a spell on Peter.  When they also failed at that, they turned on each other.  Blaming and yelling and saying some real petty shit.

Teenage girls could be cold as ice. Noted.

“Yeah, they’ll keep ‘em there for a few years ...neutralize their power if they can.  If not, could be a life sentence.  Shit ain’t no joke.  I’ve seen The Craft ...it all goes dark so fast...”

“Iron Man could probably fly them out there tonight still,” Peter hypothesized.

A couple of the girls started crying, and even though MJ had always said that you couldn’t trust teenager tears Peter didn’t relish tormenting kids.

“Let’s go,” he nudged Wade lightly and turned his back on the girls. 

He grabbed a ratty looking book off the floor on the way out, stomping after Wade up the stairs for added effect.

“Fucking bitches,” Wade muttered, checking the rip in his glove where one of the girls had stabbed his hand for a few drops of blood.

Peter glanced, too.  The area had healed, of course, but it was the principle of the thing.

“You can say that again...”

“Fucking bitches,” Wade obliged.

When they reached the main floor they were in a nice house, a sprawling tri-level. There were no sounds of movement anywhere up here so they let themselves straight out the front door.

“I thought girls’ sleepovers were supposed to be pillow fight and wine coolers, not this Spook-Spook shit...”

“Dude, their teenagers,” Peter shot Wade a glare.

“Yeah, and teenager Wade W. Wilson had dreams, okay?” the other man defended himself.

“...where are we?”

Peter, having had been summoned by evil little witches straight to the basement, didn’t see any familiar landmarks.

“Suburbia, my friend...”

“No shit...”

“Language, language...I’ll get Dopinder. I don’t know about you but I’m not waiting for Fury and Company...

“No, seriously, where are we?  And what were you even doing here?”

Wade looked around shiftily.

“I did not know there were teenagers involved.  Besides that... ...I would rather not say.”

Peter was by no means going to let that go permanently, but he didn’t need to pry just now. 

Wade perched himself on the house’s front steps while he texted Dopinder from one of his burners, and Peter squatted next to him to start leafing through the book he’d snagged. Some of the pages were delicate but he flicked through them with little care. 

He, unlike some, had no interest in starting a Coven.

“So what will SHIELD do, you think?” Wade referenced Peter’s earlier call to one of the Agents he knew working for the re-forming organization.

“Question them. Search the house for any more of this shit.  They don’t seem like much, but they’ll probably flag them to keep an eye out around here...” Peter shrugged and continued to search through pages.

“Might not seem like much but they did make magic work...” Wade pointed out, scratching at the back of his mask. “They probably deserve to have an eye or two on them.”

“Amen...” Peter was a little distracted to notice how deep Wade’s voice had fallen, no lilting to his serious statement.

“You, uh ... ...feel alright?”

Peter blinked when he processed this and looked away from the page headed: Invocation.

“I think so...”

He watched Wade a moment as he nodded in the porch light, then ticked his gaze back to the book in his palm.

He eventually found a page with a ‘Heart Mate’ subheading.  It didn’t so much tell him why they were looking for Wade’s heart mate, only that heart mates, in general, made magic stronger when brought into the same ritual because of the special strength required in such a bond.

Unsure what to make of witchy business, Peter handed it off to Wade.  He did know a witch, sort of - the Scarlet Witch did what could only described as magic.  That was more of a mutation and internal power than a thing she achieved by chanting and drawing blood and burning sage or ...okay, he hadn’t read through all the ingredients.

“They were hoping for an old ex-lady of mine,” Wade slowly closed the book.  “You could say she had a...connection to the afterlife. That’s putting it mildly, but I don’t really want to get into it.  I can feel you judging me, though, so just know that after Vanessa I went off the deep end a little.  I took some, ah, drastic measures--”


“I’ve heard,” Peter particularly hated the story of him feeding himself to a polar bear; it seemed slow and painful, which he didn’t like.

“Right ...well, I got super into Death.  Death is a real person, by the way ...and not all grim-reaper and shit.  She’s cute,” Wade mused. “Well, sometimes she’s cute....”

“I thought you weren’t going to get into it,” Peter rested his eyes behind his mask.

This had not, after all, been his plan for the night.  Just routine patrol. He was even planning to keep it brief.  Then “ poof .”

He’d disappeared off the streets of Queens in a literal cloud of smoke.

“You’re right. I did. Curly-Sue in there said they were trying to commune with a dead teacher or some shit...so they tricked me into coming and wanted help from my Ex. That’s the end of the short version.”

“Well, I’m sure I disappointed them quite a bit... “

“I sure fucking hope so ... ...you still feeling okay?”

“Yeah.  Why?  Am I growing an extra limb?” Peter looked himself over.

“No but they threw a dead lady’s ashes on you ....that’s some Spook shit, like I said,” Wade sounded uncharacteristically wary.

“...it was probably dirt,” Peter countered.

Because maybe summoning him there was a fluke.  They were just kids, after all.  Maybe they didn’t truly know what they were doing.  Teenagers fucked shit up all the time; this could be that.  He really needed it to be that.  He really needed to not be possessed.  Enough tomfoolery had happened tonight without that as a cherry on top.   

“True.  Maybe.  Then all you need is a shower.  Good for you,” Wade agreed with this possibly, Peter was very aware, to appease him.

 

In fairly short order, a Yellow Cab stopped in the middle of the street and a man ducked to wave to them through the window.

“Our chariot awaits,” Wade rose to his feet grandly.

“Good timing,” Peter was glad to slip out of here before overly-formal SHIELD agents arrived. 

“What can I say, he’s my secret weapon,” Wade ignored Peter’s answering snort because he was only 60% joking.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Peter reached for Wade’s far hand. “Leave that.  We don’t need it...”

“This?” Wade waved around the book he was still holding. “Yeah fuck that.  I’m going to make Strange take a look at this.”

“Seriously?”

Wade just blinked at him through his mask.

“DP?”

“Sorry.  I’m just trying to figure out when I became the responsible one.  Of-fucking-course Strange needs to take a look at it,” he stated firmly and without humor. “I know they’re just kids but they summoned your ass out of thin air.  That shit ain’t kosher.  Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark. You get me?”

“Yeah ...sure ...I get you,” Peter nodded as they reached the taxi.

He was a little taken aback by the straight assertiveness, truth be told.

“Good.  You’ve got an appointment with him, too ...he’s examining your ass.  And not in a porn-y way,” Wade added and yanked open the passenger door.

“177 Bleeker Street, Dopinder.”

“Certainly, sir ...what brings you to such a lovely neighborhood tonight?” the driver smiled in his usual genial way.

“No time today,” Wade snapped his fingers impatiently. “Come on.  Punch it, Chewie!”

 

“I’ll walk from here.  Thanks Dopinder - always a pleasure,” Wade high-fived the man and then climbed out of the cab to join Peter on the sidewalk in front of the Brownstone-cum-secret lair.

“Do you ever pay him?” Peter asked, mildly concerned about all the free miles Dopinder must put in.

“Sure. In friendship,” Wade was happy to explain. “Now have fun,” he shoved the spell book into Peter’s chest to force him to take hold of it.

“Wh -- oh come on! You’re making me go in there alone? I hate it here...”

“Yeeeeeah, well I’ve stolen things here,” Wade reminded him quietly, eyeing the bricks of the building like maybe they could hear.

And honestly? They probably could.

“So?” Peter mugged.

“So I can’t trust that Strange and Co. aren’t going to sense that shit,” Wade’s shrug seemed to say that there was nothing he could possibly do about this. “It’s not natural in there.  You know that.”

“Yeah.  I do,” an unbidden shiver shook itself up Peter’s spine. “Never feels right in there ...” he eyed the place suspiciously, too.

He couldn’t help it.

The magic in there didn’t mesh well with his senses.  The ancient state of things felt suffocating.

Wade sighed long and loud.

Dramatically, in other words.

“You want me to come, too? Cuz ...like, I can.  Just promise to help me fight that cape of is because it doesn’t like me.  I’m sure of it...”

Peter was sure of it, too, despite that he had never seen them meet.

“No, it’s fine ...”

“Yeah?”

Peter nodded.

He was an adult.  Not to mention a local superhero.

He could go face an ally, no matter how pretentious he tended to be.  Plus he sort of was curious what Strange would have to say about this book. Depending on what the man had to say, Peter might  even have some questions.

Questions he could hesitate to ask if Wade stuck around.

“I’m sure,” he promised.

“Alright ...uh, let me know what he says? Whether or not your face is going to melt off, or whatever...”

Peter grinned.

“I don’t think this is the Ark of the Covenent,” he shook the book lightly in his hands.

“And your not a nazi ...as far as I know...”

“Right ...well, I’ll let you know...”

This is more awkward than any hello or good-bye has been for them in ...well, a very long time.

“...you’re sure you’re feeling okay, right?” Wade must have been feeling it, too, because he rubbed at the back of his neck uncharacteristically. “I know that was ...like, a lot...”

“I’m good. I’m just gonna...” he nodded up the stairs towards the front of the creepy but necessary house.

“Cool cool cool....” Wade, in contrast, was the picture of anything but cool. “Later Webs,” he attempted to recover.

“See ya...”

Once he was strolling around the corner, Peter started up the front stoop of Dr. Strange’s home for some answers.

.

 

“Okay...” Peter sighs and pushes his hands roughly through his hair, pulling at it a bit. “Okay...”

Well.

He’s pretty sure there’s no denying what he needs to do.

 

Click for Heart Mates :)

Notes:

Well well well ...we are either winding down or ramping up. Depends on your perspective, I suppose. But we're looking at one more loooong chapter and an epilogue ...unless I go rogue and split up Chapter 11. I'm not done fiddling yet so I haven't decided. Either way we're almost there! Thanks for all the kudos/comments/support on this! Ya'll make my day :)

*If you've read the Spiderman/Deadpool team-up comics you may know they're cannon heartmates. If not, click the above link. I couldn't pass that up, could I? Hah.