Wade is swinging his arms around, giving a passionate and over-excited speech about the new street vendor a few blocks away.
“C’mon Spidey, you have to admit that these are the best tacos you’ve ever fucking tasted! And the guy running the stand? The cutest, friendliest old man I’ve ever seen in my life. He didn’t even blink at the suit. I usually get some stares, but he just smiled and took my order. How professional, I’d die for him.”
Peter raises his hand to cover his mouth, speaking around a mouthful of food. “It’s good, I’ll give you that. But please try to avoid dying for taco man.”
“Baby boy, it doesn’t matter. You know I’ll just pop back up. It’s literally impossible for you to get rid of me.”
Wade throws his arm around Peter. Peter’s stomach flips, face heating up, and he sets his taco down before he drops it.
Confession time: Peter has a massive crush on the merc. Maybe at this point it’s more than a crush. But Wade is his best friend. He’s one of those with a flirty personality, so the way he treats Peter has absolutely nothing to do with reciprocated feelings. Besides, Wade kills people for money (Granted - not nearly as much as he used to. And only bad people. But still… people.). Spider-man dating Deadpool? It would never work, at least not without Spider-man having to completely re-evaluate his morals. Wouldn’t the (hypothetical) relationship mean that Peter condones the killing?
But Peter does love him. He’s not in love with Wade, although he’s terrified he’s getting there, but he knows that even the idea of Wade leaving has his chest feeling hollow.
Sometimes Wade dies on a patrol, leaving Peter to pick up the pieces and take care of him until he wakes up. It happens more than it should. Peter knows it takes Wade four hours to wake up from a stab wound, five hours from a shot to the chest, twelve hours from a headshot. It can take almost a day for Wade to wake up if he’s caught in an explosion. Peter’s seen too much, but he can’t bring himself to look the other way. It hurts that there's nothing to do but hope he wakes up when it's supposed to be impossible. Peter can’t function those nights. He can’t sleep. Can’t talk. Can barely breathe.
And Wade has no idea.
The silence went on for too long. Peter can sense him tensing, about to move his arm away, so he forces himself to relax and lean into it. Please don’t move away from me.
Peter can tell Wade’s surprised. He notices everything about Wade these days.
There’s a questioning “Baby boy?” His voice is strained in a way Peter has never heard before.
“I’m sorry.” Peter says, letting his head fall on Wade’s shoulder. “I was just thinking.”
“Oh. About what?”
Peter turns to look at the other. Both of their masks are pulled up to expose their mouths, but hiding their faces despite everything they’ve been through together. Peter’s secretly grateful for how expressive Wade’s mask is. He can see where his brows would be creased and a slight widening of his eyes, looking at Peter like he’s a puzzle he can’t quite solve. Wade has a sharp, strong jawline. Peter can vaguely make out the shape of his nose, crooked from being broken so often. Wade scars stand out, stark in the city’s lights, and his lips are pulled in a careful, gentle smile. Wade thinks he looks like a monster, but a monster could never make such an expression.
He sucks in a breath. Because what is he supposed to say? Peter’s thoughts are so scattered he just lets the truth slip out, his voice small. “I don’t like it when you die.”
It’s not a surprising statement. After all, who would like having to drag a corpse through New York’s streets and literally piece it back together? But they both know there’s more to it than that. Wade wakes up and Peter is always there. He doesn’t just dump Wade in his apartment and scram, like the Avengers would. Peter stitches him back together and cleans the blood off the floor and orders food and holds his hand until he wakes up. Wade knows Peter doesn’t treat him like a chore.
Wade also knows there’s a significance to that. Just like there’s a significance to Peter’s quiet tone and the shift in this conversation.
“I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful. I promise.” Wade offers weakly. It makes Peter feel a little bit better, but both of them feel weirdly vulnerable.
“Wade, I care about you too much to see you in that kind of pain.” I love you too much. “I’m so scared that there’s going to be a day when you don’t get back up, when you stay dead. And I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re my best friend.” Peter steals a glance, and Wade is staring at him like he just said the Earth was flat. He plows on. “I know I’m not the best at…. voicing my feelings? I’m not an emotional person, Wade. I hate attachments because they’re dangerous for people like us. But I care about you so so much. I hate it when you die - when you do, it makes me feel like you’re leaving me and I don’t know how to handle it.”
Wade grabs his hand. “Oh, baby boy, I’d never leave you.”
It’s a heavy truth, but it’s warm and comforting. Like the blankets his aunt and uncle would tuck around him when he was little.
Wade suddenly seems to shrink in on himself. His grip tightens on Peter’s hand, pulling him closer. “No, he doesn’t.” He says to the air, quietly and under his breath.
Peter’s heart sinks. Those fucking boxes. He’s known Wade for five years, at this point he’s used to Wade talking to the voices in his head. Wade tries not to talk to them out loud around Peter because he’s embarrassed. Ashamed. They’ve talked about it before, Peter will always remember the way Wade’s shoulders shook when he confessed, “I just don’t want you to think I’m crazy, even though its the truth.”
Peter wraps his arms around Wade in a hug that’s probably too tight. He takes a second to feel a little ridiculous for the way he threw himself at the other, but then Wade’s sighing into it and holding him there and it’s all okay.
“I don’t know what they’re saying, but remember you can always trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Wade buries his face in Peter’s neck. “I know you wouldn’t. They’re just loud today.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If anything, I’m sorry because now we’re having a Gay Moment and I’m low-key gonna have to tell Weasel about this when I braid his hair.” Wade tries to laugh. It’s small and forced, but Peter admires the effort to lighten the mood.
“Can I take my mask off?” Peter asks.
They both seem taken aback by the question. Peter doesn’t know where that came from, but he has the urge to give every secret away while he’s wrapped in Wade’s arms. They shift positions, leaving enough space to properly talk. But they don’t let go of each other.
“You shouldn’t, Spidey.” Wade says after a minute. “Your identity’s a secret for a reason. I wouldn’t want to leave you alone, you shouldn’t trust me with that.”
“I know so much more about you than you know about me. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“It’s not about fairness. You don’t owe me anything.”
Peter looks away because there’s something about the way Wade’s staring at him. It’s too intense. He doesn’t know what to do with it. Peter thought Wade would jump at the chance to know his identity. In the beginning, Deadpool had so much hero worship for Spider-man that he’d kill to get to know him better. Maybe he’s seen enough of him by now, he’s lost interest.
Peter feels like he’s on the verge of tears. It’s so embarrassing. “I just- I just thought you wanted to know me.”
Wade hears how choked his voice comes out. Sees the way his jaw clenches. He moves is thumbs in slow circles, trying to reassure him. “Of course I want to know you Spidey. I want that more than anything.”
“I don’t want you to regret it. You can’t take that back, and I don’t want you to throw years worth of secrets away on impulse. Besides, just because I don’t know your name or your face doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I know you’re good at talking to scared kids, informing the police, and being a hero. You like Thai food and the Empire Strikes Back and science. You’re in love with this city. And for some reason, one I’ll never understand, you let me hang around you. You’re the kindest person I know.”
Wade cradles Peter’s face in his hands. So serious. “Baby boy, I know you.”
Peter freezes. He doesn’t want Wade to move his hands away.
“But I want you to know all of me. I trust you more than anyone.” It’s a confession.
They stare at each other for a moment, absolutely lost. They’re surrounded by the city but none of the usual noise reaches them.
Peter moves his hands to the edge of his mask, but Wade follows him there. He grips Peter’s wrists. “Wait a second, Webs.”
“I don’t want to.” Peter admits.
“No, no, no. Just think about it. Really think about it. I don’t want you to regret this, and it seems a little impulsive. I want you to at least sleep on it for a night before you make that type of decision. Make a list of the pros and cons, I don’t know.”
Peter softens. It’s funny how that works. Peter gets so caught up in over-thinking the little things and making major decisions on impulse, while Wade is the opposite. Unlike Peter, he’s responsible when it actually matters. Peter can hold onto his identity for one more night, if that what Wade wants.
“Okay, I’ll think about it. But I really want to tell you… Um, when we meet up tomorrow I may not wear my suit.”
Wade’s grin is huge. “Sounds great. I bet you’re gorgeous under all that spandex. I mean, your ass rivals the gods’, by extension your face has to be pretty.”
Peter rolls his eyes, only slightly annoyed and secretly thankful. “Mood-killer.”
“Whatever, you love me anyway.” Wade says, picking up another taco.
And yeah, Peter can’t argue with that.
After the tacos and The Talk (and yes, the capitalization is very necessary) Spider-man and Deadpool took care of three muggings, four robberies, and helped find a man’s lost dog. It was a good night, and Peter got back to his apartment a few hours later, after a heated Mario Cart session with Wade.
Everything seemed normal when he turned his back to close the window.
But then his senses screamed.
It was so intense it almost knocked him off his feet. He could barely process what was happening.
He whirled around. There are at least ten people in his apartment, dressed in black with a familiar red logo on their shoulders. And fuck, he’s surrounded by Hydra and too many guns.
Peter’s ears ring when one of the guns goes off. His breath gets knocked out of him and white hot pain hits his chest. It's worse than anything he’s ever felt. Peter brings his hand up to the hole in his chest, looking on in shock as it’s instantly bathed in crimson. He’s immediately lightheaded from the bloodloss, from the piercing pain in his neck as his senses continue to shriek. He doesn’t feel the needle in his skin. But he registers falling to the floor.
“Oh Spider, you’re going to do great things for us.”