Work Text:
Based on THIS SONG (lyrics only) by Rihanna
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“You can’t do this.” Peter held both hands out pleadingly, one towards the man he loved, the other towards the pistol Wade was spinning around his index finger. “Babe, we’ve talked about this. We’ve been going to therapy and working through a lot of stuff and we’re getting better. We’re getting better, you can’t do this.”
“See, that’s the thing Pete, Peter Parker, Peter Pumpkin Patch.” Wade was smiling but it was empty, his eyes were locked onto Peter but his gaze was murky and shaded and awful as the voices in his head clouded his senses. “Here’s the thing. We have talked about this and we’ve been going to therapy and we’ve been working through a lot but I?”
The mercenary jabbed a finger at his own chest. “I am not getting better. I am the same up mess I was when you met me, the same mess I was before you met me, the same mess I’ve been since the day I was born and the universe said, ‘You know what? FUCK HIM!’ Same mess, Pete! Not getting any better!”
“But you are getting better.” Peter was patient, he was trying so hard to be so patient but when Wade got like this there was no reasoning with him, no bringing him back when his mind started slipping and his speech turned gibberish. “Babe, we’ve had so many good days! Good weeks!”
“A few good weeks doesn’t change a thing when I’ve been bat shit-crap shit-kooky looky crazy for longer than you’ve been alive!” Wade shouted, shouted and waved his hands and when the revolver dropped, he snatched it mid air and racked a round in the chamber and laughed.
Christ, Peter hated that laugh.
“It’s no big deal, Peter Cottontail.” Wade insisted, and his eyes swirled white and then yellow as his psyche cracked further, his mutation and damage allowing the splintered parts of his mind to blink out at Peter like they were real people. “No big deal, Spider-man, Itsy Bitsy Spider. Just a click and a bang and I’m gone and then I’m back and everything right here?” he tapped at his temple with the barrel. “Everything right here will shut the hell up and we can go right back to being in love. Isn’t that what you want, Pietro, Pedro, Pretty Preppy Parker?”
Wade never called Peter the right nicknames when he was like this, never lemonwhiskers or snickerdoodle or sweet cheeks and never ever baby boy. It was always something that twisted Peter’s real name or a play on his hero identity. Never the sweet words Wade crooned into Peter’s ears when they were laughing together or eating together or loving together. Never those, only these ones and Peter hated it.
“Isn’t that what you want?” Wade repeated. “For me to be normal and then I’ll love you again and you can love me again cos I know you can’t love me like this, you can’t love me like this, Peter Princess no one could ever love me like this.”
“I love you like this.” Peter put a hand to his mouth and tried to quiet a sob. He couldn’t ever manage to say the right thing when Wade was like this, he could beg and he could plead but in the end he always left Wade to do what he was going to do and Peter went home to cry himself to sleep that night and the nights that followed until Wade was together enough to come find him again.
He never knew what to say, never managed to say the right thing, so he repeated what he always did, over and over and over-- “Wade, I love you so much. Every way you are, I promise. I promise.”
“Then love me enough to turn around and leave so you don’t have to see this.” Wade twirled the gun once, twice, pointed it at his forehead and then off towards the wall. “Go away Pete-Pete, go away and leave me alone, I’ll clean up before you come back, just gonna play a little game, just a little game, just a little game of Russian Roulette.”
“Wade, no.”
“Either way I win.” Empty smile and flickering eyes. “Always a winner, me. Always a winner. Go away and let me celebrate in peace.”
“No.” Peter said it louder this time, said it firmer this time, stripped off his jacket and then his shirt and Wade’s eyes snapped into focus for just a few seconds like Peter knew they would. Even lost, Wade loved him, Wade needed him, Wade knew him and that’s all that mattered.
“I’m not leaving you.” He spread his arms wide so Wade could see he wasn’t wearing his web shooters and wasn’t going to tie him to the wall again like he’d done last time. “I’m gonna stay right here and if you want to do this, then you have to do it in front of me.”
“You think I won’t?” There came the ugly voice, the one that was yellow, the one that pushed Wade to say terrible things that Peter cried about in therapy but never ever held against him because Wade was hurt and maybe even a little broken but Peter would never not be there to pick up the pieces. “You think I won’t do it in front of you?”
“I’m right here.” Peter darted forward and snatched the gun, was back in his spot before Wade had even blinked. “I’m right here and I’m not going to let you do this in front of me.”
“Peter Pumpkin Eater.” The smile gave Peter chills but he didn’t back down. “You don’t like guns.”
“I hate them.” he agreed. “And you know that. You know that about me. But if you want to play a game, let’s play a game. Russian Roulette? Let’s play. I’ll go first.”
“I’ve played this game a hundred times.” Wade wavered, his eyes flickered, voice dropped a notch back towards him. “I’m still here, Mr. Parker and that means I’ve never lost. Aren’t you scared?”
“I’m terrified.” Peter licked his lips. “Terrified, but I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m done leaving you to work through this alone, Wade. Done with you sending me away. Count to three. I’m going first. Don’t close your eyes, you have to look right at me. Right at me, or you lose.”
It was like a light switch, Wade coming back to focus when he saw the gun in Peter's hands, a light switch that dimmed and wavered as he tried to come back to himself because suddenly the situation was wrong wrong wrong and Wade didn't know why.
“Pete--” Wade straightened, put a hand to his head as everything screamed. “Pete-- wait--”
Peter held the revolver to his head. “You ready? Cos you’ll survive this, but I won’t. I won’t survive Wade. You’ll come back but I won’t. Say goodbye.”
“Pete, what the fuck--” The mercenary wavered, nearly collapsed, yanked back from the brink by the sight of his love, his heart, his soulmate with a gun in his hand. “What are you doing?”
Peter put his finger at the trigger. “You’re not allowed to play this game without me, Wade. If you’re going to push yourself this far, then you have to realize you’re taking me with you. It isn’t about you coming back, or you just wanting the voices to shut up, at some point you have to think about what it does to me to know you do this.”
“Pete.”
“One.” Peter had never been so scared in his life, but he was done. He was done with this, and done never being able to say the right thing, done with letting Wade break so many times alone.
“Peter!”
“Two.” Peter closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I love you, babe.”
“Wait--”
“Thr--”
“STOP!” Wade wrenched the gun out of Peter’s hand, pointed it at the wall and fired--
--and the gun clicked on an empty chamber.
“Fuck.” Peter went to his knees sobbing with fear, with relief, with anger. “You let me get to three. You let me get to three.”
“I’m sorry.” Wade was crying too, falling onto the floor and grabbing at Peter desperately, bundling him up into his arms and sagging back against the wall. “Pete, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, please don’t ever do that again. Don’t you ever fucking put a gun at your head again, Pete I swear to god--”
“YOU EITHER!” Peter shouted through his tears, punching Wade hard in the shoulder. “You can’t do that either! You’re not allowed to do this shit anymore! No more!”
“Oh sweetheart--”
“NO!” Peter grabbed at Wade’s face and stared deep into still swirling eyes, watching until the yellow and white faded away to nearly nothing. “No, you listen to me. Wade, you are allowed to be hurt. You’re allowed to be broken, that’s okay I can deal with broken but I cannot deal with you breaking yourself.”
“S’just a bad day, Pete.” Wade said softly and Peter shook his head. “No it was, it happens. And I’m sorry but--”
“It’s not just a bad day.” Peter hissed. “I know after Vanessa and--and before me this is how you dealt with your bad days. I know the voices were awful and you were scared all the time but I’m here now! I’m here! You don’t have to do this!”
“I never want you to see me on my bad days.” Wade ducked his head and mumbled. “I try to hide them but then it all just explodes and--”
“I want to see your bad days.” Peter was whispering now, pushing their foreheads together and clutching at Wade as tight as he could. “Baby, I want to see your bad days. When I told you I love you, I meant it. I love all of you. The laughter and the really bad jokes and the sex and the good days and yeah, the bad days too. All of you.”
“Pete, I’m so sorry--”
“No. Not sorry. I’m tired of hearing sorry.” Peter shook their heads. “Just no more. No more. This is my line in the sand, my boundary, my one hundred percent deal breaker. I don’t care what the voices are saying, if you’re just a little down or if you’re standing on top of the Empire State Building ready to jump. You call me. You talk to me. I won’t forgive you if you don’t. Do you hear me? I won’t forgive you the next time you do this.”
“I always come back, Pete.” Wade said lamely, and Peter countered in a broken sort of voice, “But a piece of me is lost every time anyway. You break another piece of my heart every single time. I’d rather see you on your worst bad day and listen to everything the voices are screaming at you than find you with a gun in your hand.”
“Baby boy--”
“Promise me you’ll let me see the bad days instead of only the breaking points.”
“But what if--”
“Promise me.”
“...I promise.” Wade held Peter tighter, tighter again when Peter tried to mold right up against his body.
...I promise.