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Peter‘s at the subway station, waiting for an already delayed train. He has noise-canceling headphones on, listening to his playlist. He’s pretending to fiddle on his phone, because he’s got absolutely no cell service in the subway station. It’s absolutely freezing and his coat never seems like enough to keep the cold out. He should be used to the cold, being a native New Yorker, but he isn’t. His spidey-sense is a distant hum in the back of his head, as it usually is. It peaks, slightly, but not enough to turn his head. He’s gotten used to picking his battles, and stopping what he’s doing over something as miniscule as someone in the station taking a piss was not worth it.
Someone taps him on the shoulder, he turns and sees a man next to him, he’s tall, wearing a green hoodie that seems very worn and a medical mask. Peter catches a glimpse of it while he tries to force himself to make eye contact. He also has a baseball cap on, and it has literal boobs embroidered into it.
The man starts to speak, but Peter can’t hear him with his headphones on. He takes one ear off,
“I’m sorry, what?” His tone is flat. He grew up in the city, and if it weren’t for his spidey-sense telling him there’s no danger, he wouldn’t even bother. Rule 1 of living in any city: Don’t Engage, and if you must, don’t be overly nice. That’s how you get robbed. He doesn’t outwardly be a dick of course, but he kind of sounds like an asshole even when he’s trying to be nice.
“I asked if you knew which train would take me to the Planned Parenthood on Bleeker, I’d look it up, but no service. Which, you know with all the tax dollars put into this place, you’d think they’d put in some wifi, not that I pay taxes but--” The man starts to ramble, but Peter really doesn’t have the social battery to have a conversation.
“F train. It’s this one. Though if you’re trying to get there soon, don't count on it. The thing has said “arriving soon” for the past 10 minutes.” Peter cuts him off, pointing to the empty tracks in front of them.
He once again attempts to make eye contact and sees the scars. Yeah it’s not pretty, but after seeing the seemingly thousands of weird Villain Of The Week, he doesn’t really care enough. Peter has a thing with Eye Contact. He doesn’t like it. He knows he’s supposed to make it, but it hurts in a weird way. Everytime he looks someone in the eyes, there’s a slight pressure when their eyes meet. On good days, he can do it for a couple seconds, break it, and then go back to looking them in the eye. Rinse and Repeat. On Bad Days, it’s practically impossible. Unfortunately, eye contact and social cues as a whole are required for human connection. Bummer.
“Thanks. I just moved here, and well. I’m usually good with directions, but these trains are confusing.” The man continues, Peter can’t for the life of him, figure out why this guy is still talking.
“You’ll get it.” Peter replies in that same city life tone.
“You doing anything right now?” He asks, and in a split second, Peter’s head goes through a list. He likes lists.
- This man is, 100%, Wade Wilson. Deadpool. Mercenary with a tragic backstory, and insane healing factor. Can’t die. Nor can he shut up, to the point they had to mention it in his file. He remembers the SHIELD file that he might or might not have hacked into on a boring Sunday night. The scars were memorable.
- Peter is doing something. After a long day teaching bored college freshmen, he is going home where a PBS Nova documentary is waiting for him.
and, 3:
“Is this your way of asking me out? Because I’m not sure that accompanying you to get an abortion is very romantic.” Peter blurts out, and shit. He really should work on filtering his thoughts and maybe, not speaking every single thought that comes out of his brain.
Deadpool’s eyes widen and his nonexistent eyebrows raise. He laughs. Loudly.
“Wow. I have no words. Well actually, I have many. No, I mean, I’m not getting an abortion, but how gender inclusive of you. I’m escorting patients from the jobless protestors. Who hate women, or uterus havers. Not a date. More of an invitation to do some good. I mean, with my scars scaring them away and your puppy dog eyes and overall vibe of feeling morally superior, we could be a team.”
Peter thinks for a second. First, Deadpool said a lot of words. This conversation is becoming longer than Peter wanted or expected. And his daily plan did not include going to Planned Parenthood. He has his plans, and he likes them. He sticks to them.
“I.. can’t. Sorry. Busy.” Peter turns him down. Feels guilty. He’s not good at being spontaneous. He feels the urge to explain, but he’s not good at explaining without sharing too much information.
Deadpool’s face falls and he looks off to the side, muttering with dark eyes, “See, I told you he’d say no.”
Peter wouldn’t have heard it if he didn’t have enhanced hearing. Peter isn’t sure who exactly Deadpool is talking to, but he then remembers from the SHIELD file that Deadpool hears voices. Peter feels a twinge of pity for him. Deadpool looks back at Peter, his demeanor becoming bright like it was before.
“Sure, that would be expected—“
“But if you give me your number, we can go some other time.” Peter interrupts. He cringes at himself. For multiple reasons. He doesn’t know why he just did that. Mostly guilt.
Deadpool lights up a bit. He’s expecting another long monologue.
“You got a pen? And maybe a name for me?” Is all he says.
“No pen. But I’m Peter.” Peter says, sticking out his hand. Handshakes are what people do when they meet someone, right? He knows he probably shouldn’t be giving his name or his number to a mercenary. Unfortunately, Peter isn’t good at controlling his impulses.
“Wade. This is quite the meet-cute, you know. Let me know if you need a fake date to some plot-device event. My tux is collecting dust.”
—
To be fair, Peter was not going to become friends with Deadpool. He wasn’t even sure that Deadpool would even text him. People Do That. Offer plans with no intention of following through. High School Peter is well aware of this fact.
But he got a text from an unknown number: ready to scare the shit out of old ladies with nothing better to do?
Peter ignored him.
For a while. A couple days. Okay, a couple weeks.
Then one night, Peter was patrolling as per usual, sitting on a rooftop and playing with the texture of his suit, trying and failing not to freeze his ass off. He feels his spidey-sense trip up. He knows it's Deadpool, because strangely enough, his sense feels different depending on the person.
“It’s a bird, no, it’s a plane, No: It’s Spider-man!” Deadpool says, his voice booming. Peter turns around, facing him, trying to radiate a look of annoyance through the mask. He’s not sure if he’s successful. Bare-faced Peter is already terrible with facial expressions.
“Deadpool.” Peter says, monotone, and more annoyed once he realizes that Deadpool is seemingly unaffected by the cold.
“I was waiting for us to meet. I wrote it down in my manifestation journal everyday, twice a day to be safe, and today, all the Gods have brought us together. Maybe even Jesus himself too.” Deadpool clasps his hands together in a prayer, looking up at the sky and gives out a sigh.
“Anyway, this is quite a lovely conversation. How are you doing? What’s your day been like? What’s your social security number? Do you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain?” Deadpool says as he sits next to Peter on the ledge. Peter says nothing, mainly because he’s wondering if he should be turning Deadpool in right now. He’s debating if it’s even worth it.
“Wow, riveting conversation. You talk too much. Maybe you should get a filter.” Deadpool continues, and the guy has the gaul to nod along in Peter’s silence like he’s actually saying anything.
“Shouldn’t you be off committing crimes, or something? Murder, for instance.” Peter finally says, laying on the snark. Maybe if he annoys Deadpool enough, he’ll go away. It’s worked with other people in the past, though not on purpose.
Deadpool gasps dramatically and pretends to swoon, quite literally. He lays a hand on his forehead and falls backwards off the ledge and onto the floor of the roof.
“I am appalled you would even ask that! Haven’t you heard? I’ve turned a new leaf. I haven’t unalived anyone in a couple weeks, Webs.” Deadpool says in a dramatic, and strangely, a British accent.
“Seriously?” Peter says, his doubt creeping through his voice.
“As a heart attack! I even downloaded the "I am sober” app, I can tell you to the second how long it’s been since I’ve, y’know,” Deadpool mimics a slit throat with his finger, “I would go to a sort of MA- murderers anonymous group, but they don’t have that. I googled it.” Deadpool pulls out his phone and taps around before shoving his phone in Peter’s face. The screen shows the app, with “I’ve been murder free for” at the top with a graph that shows that it’s been 1 month, 4 days, 6 hours, 14 minutes, and 53 seconds since Deadpool apparently killed someone. Peter watches as the timer ticks up by the second.
“I mean, congrats, I guess.” Peter says sarcastically, and a bit annoyed. It’s a stereotype that autistic people don’t get sarcasm. Peter understands his sarcasm perfectly. Just not anyone else's.
“Oh, you woo me. Thank you for the support Webs. I’m going to pretend that you’re being completely genuine right now.” Deadpool remarks. There’s a lapse of silence.
“So, what brought this “new leaf” on?” Peter asks. Sue him, he’s curious. Famous mercenary with a body count so high that even SHIELD doesn’t know it, decides suddenly that he’s not gonna murder? There’s got to be a reason for it.
“I was bored. You know, you get so good at something, you gotta challenge yourself.”
“You’re bored. That’s your excuse?” Peter says, raising an eyebrow, even though Deadpool can’t see it. Whatever.
“Ah! Alright fine, you wore me down.” Deadpool says, sounding exasperated, even though Peter did not in fact, wear him down. He asked him one question.
“The truth is, I kinda want to, maybe, join you? In this whole hero thing. I don’t know. We could fight baddies, become close, maybe even fall in love, and have a shit-ton of spider-babies.” Deadpool says, suddenly shy. Peter didn’t even have time to take in oxygen to answer before Deadpool starts to backtrack, “I mean, J-K, who am I kidding? Stupid right?” Deadpool moves to get up. Peter starts feeling guilty, but also annoyed. Deadpool just expects Peter to let him go on patrols with Spider-man, all willy-nilly? Yeah, right. Totally. Why not let Hannibal Lector join him to beat up muggers too? Or the Unibomber? Deadpool walks away, muttering to himself, arguing with what must be the voices he hears.
“Deadpool.” Peter speaks up, but regrets it immediately. He didn’t mean to continue the conversation, be meant to just let Deadpool walk away, and continue on with his life. He feels his anger burst up inside, but tries to quell it. Deadpool stops in his tracks.
“Look, prove to me that you’re serious, maybe, and I mean, maybe I’ll let you join me. Because, really Deadpool, you expect me to just let you just waltz in and be a hero? Because that shit is earned.” Peter starts, and then backtracks, after realizing he’d let his annoyance show through.
“Trust is earned, Deadpool. So earn it.” Peter finishes, trying to let his voice go soft.
“Playing hard to get? Alright, fine. I like a challenge.” He walks away, jumping from rooftop to rooftop before climbing down a fire escape. Peter watches him fade away, before sighing, and webbing off to finish his patrol.
-
The next couple days, the conversation with Deadpool replays in his head. He has a feeling that there’s something he’s not telling him. Peter wants to be flattered that his presence alone is enough to make Deadpool turn a new leaf, but he feels like there’s something more to it. It can’t just be him.
He may or may not pace around on his ceiling for 30 minutes thinking it over. In a moment of impulse, he flops down on his bed and grabs his phone. Then, he does something very stupid. Category: Very Bad Decision.
He texts Deadpool. He scrolls down in his messages until he finds the number with a weird area code and taps on it. He shoots out a text and presses send before he can think better of it.
Hey, sorry I didn’t respond. Things have been crazy. You still scaring old ladies?
Peter immediately regrets it. Maybe even throws his phone at the wall. He prays that maybe Deadpool accidentally blew up his phone and had to get a new number. Or better yet, just moved completely out of New York. Or even better, the entire country.
His prayers are left unanswered. Great. Thanks for that.
Deadpool responds almost instantly.
not anymore, apparently i’m too “aggressive” and “only making things worse” blah blah blah
we can still do smth else if you want
maybe steal plastic straws from big-chain restaurants
idk lol
u free thursday?
Peter has internal, and totally not external, panic. He’s definitely not rubbing his hand over and over on his fuzzy blanket. Totally not.
No, I’m busy.
Even though he totally isn’t, but it's only a half lie. He has one class in the morning, but nothing for the rest of the day.
when r u free?
Not sure. I’m pretty busy with school.
ur in school?
Not a student. I teach.
woowwwwwww tahts cool asf
thast***
tahts**
THATS**********
Thanks.
what do u teach?
Peter curses at himself. He’s kind of backed himself into a wall here. He shouldn’t be telling Deadpool anything about his personal life, or be texting him at all. In the back of his mind, he’s forming a plan. A possible plan. He tries to go for a vague answer, but not to the point it seems like he’s being evasive.
Nothing too interesting. Just some science classes.
WOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!! ur smart
Thanks. I am smart.
yeah ur the next einstein
Peter found himself laughing, despite trying not to. He shakes his head at himself. What is he doing? This is Deadpool! The Merc with Mouth. He kills people and goes against everything Peter believes in. And Peter is sitting here, texting him like it’s normal. Is he that starved for friendship that he’d go and be all buddy-buddy with a literal murderer?
Wade texts him in the middle of his crisis, rudely interrupting it.
there's this shitty theater in queens
and it plays the worst movies either
but the tickets are like 2 bucks so
#worthit
Peter reasons that if he goes to see Deadpool, he can figure out how serious Deadpool is about all this. And, see a cheap movie while doing it. No other reasoning for it. Has nothing to do with how Peter hasn’t hung out with anyone that wasn’t Aunt May in months. Maybe partially. Only 10%. No, 15%.
Peter devises a plan. He’ll see Deadpool, figure out what the hell is going on, and deal with whatever comes out of it. If Deadpool is serious, no harm no foul. If not, well. He’ll just have to deal with it.
How’s Sunday?
--
The dollar theater ended up being in Queens, so Peter wasn’t dreading the commute. It’s much closer than Manhattan, that's for sure. Peter was dreading meeting Deadpool though. He still doesn’t know exactly what the hell his game is. Anxiety bubbles up in his belly on the train ride over. He ended up calling the theater that morning so he could have an idea of what was playing that day.
Deadpool was waiting for him outside the theater, wearing the same green hoodie they met in, along with a big fluffy jacket, and the typical hat and medical mask combo. While Peter was walking towards him, he noticed that Deadpool was looking to the side, muttering to himself. Peter couldn’t hear what he was saying, he was too far away. Peter only noticed because the medical mask that covered Deadpool’s mouth was moving slightly. Deadpool waved him over when he saw him, and they said their hellos. There was an awkward silence, before Deadpool and Peter started going back and forth with suggestions on what to watch. There was a very small selection, but they settled on The Covenant which was playing in about 30 minutes. Deadpool suggested hanging out in the coffee shop before it started, and Peter readily agreed, wanting to get out of the cold. Yet, Wade asked if he could smoke a cigarette before, and Peter decided to to stand out with him in the hopes of grabbing more intel.
“I don’t usually smoke ‘em honestly. It’s just something to do, you know? Idle hands are the devil's work or whatever. Like once, I had nothing to do all day, so I started to throw hot-dogs outside to unassuming pedestrians. I mean, if you think about it, that’s more addicting than nicotine.” Deadpool comments, his medical mask is bunched down at his chin, giving Peter a good look at his face once again. Peter notes that his nose is straight and curves up a bit at the end, unlike his own. It’s a good nose.
“Committing assault through hotdogs?” Peter raises an eyebrow, and tries not to sound like a douche. Friendly Neighborhood Peter Parker here! Totally not hanging out with you to figure out if you're continuing to murder people for money.
“No, the look of a hipster covered in relish and mustard. Duh. Keep up, Petey, I thought you were smart.” Deadpool says, flicking a finished cigarette in front of him, and tapping his finger on his temple to accentuate the point.
“I am smart. I have a Masters.” Peter says, not quite getting the joke. Well, he doesn't in some sense. ‘Is it a joke, is it not’ feels like a game he plays often with Deadpool.
Peter points at the pack in lue of verballing asking to bum a cigarette.
“You smoke?” Deadpool seems surprised by this, but holds the open pack towards him.
“No, barely. Maybe. When I’m drunk, or something. But like you said, it’s something to do. Can’t really grow up here without having a slight nicotine addiction phase.” Peter responds, grabbing the cigarette with some success. He puts the cigarette in his mouth and motions for Deadpool’s lighter. He obliges and Peter lights it after a couple failed attempts, with the wind blowing.
“So what, you were an angsty teen trying to rebel or some shit? You had an emo phase? You have pictures right? Please tell me you have pictures.” Deadpool begs as he makes praying hands.
“I mean.” Peter muses, taking a pull of the cigarette.
“You had an emo phase? Kawaii? Hot-topic? Mall emo? Midwestern? We’re dying to know.” Deadpool asks incuriously, his eyes are wide and he’s smiling.
“I did. But I was in middle school. I don’t know which emo I was. Maybe a hot-topic emo. Very wannabe. I even straightened my hair.”
“Gasp! Your poor curls. Never do that again. Well, maybe you should. I wanna see this terrible eye-liner in person.”
“I’ll dig up the pictures for you.” Peter quips back. He hates to admit it, but bantering with Deadpool comes so naturally.
“How considerate.” Deadpool says. There’s a moment of silence. Deadpool breaks it almost immediately.
“You know, seeing a nerd like you smoke a cigarette is ruining the image of you that I, quite unfairly, created in my head. I mean, have I corrupted you already? Shouldn’t you be playing Pokémon Go, or reading textbooks for fun?” Wade says, and Peter stifles a laugh. He scolds himself in his head, he’s supposed to be collecting intel, not laughing at his jokes.
“You have not corrupted me. I unfortunately succumbed to peer pressure in high school and smoked then. But it was a short amount of time, maybe a month. I don’t even like the taste.”
“What’d you smoke?”
“Newports. Duh, this is New York.” Peter says, gesturing around to the city around them.
“Well, that’s why. Newports taste like shit. Like a breath mint covered in trash and city sludge.” Deadpool says. Peter laughs.
“This also tastes like shit.” Peter says, holding up said cigarette.
“I’m hurt Pete, truly. Reds are the best thing to grace the earth.” Deadpool says, placing a hand on his chest and mocking the offense.
Peter smiles, shaking his head and drops the half-finished cigarette on the curbs, stomping it out. They walk into the coffee shop, the heat welcoming them both. Peter decides to start his very subtle interrogation once they’re in line. He can have tact, when he wants to.
“So what brings you to New York? You’re new here, right?”
“Yeah. I, uh. I’m here for spiritual enlightenment--” Deadpool starts.
“Oh, so you’re one of those ,” Peter rolls his eyes, interrupting. He’s 58% sure Deadpool’s not being serious, so he allows himself to tease.
“I’m kidding Pete. I don’t know, I just wanted a change. I’m Canadian actually. I haven’t been there in a hot sec though. I’ve been all over, honestly. Trying to settle down--”
“Get married and have 6 children? Nuclear family model?” Peter interrupts, and he only realizes after the fact that it’s rude to do so. Though, then again, He’s not sure Deadpool is the type to care about politeness.
“No, absolutely not.” Deadpool shakes his head, but doesn't say more. Deadpool looks off to the side, eyes getting dark again. Peter is starting to realize when Deadpool does that, he’s arguing with the voices in his head. They’ve been shuffling down the short line at the cafe, and they’ve now reached the beginning. Peter stops to order, getting a latte. Wade gets a chai latte, and stops Peter from paying. It’s a kind gesture, considering the drinks were at eight dollars each . Typical New York.
Once they’ve finished ordering and giving Wade’s name to the bored looking barista, they find a seat in the corner of the shop. Peter continues right where they left off.
“Don’t like kids?”
“Now Pete, that’s a 3rd date question,” Deadpool starts, and Peter’s beginning to notice that this is when Deadpool will start to monologue. See, he gets ‘social cues’.
He totally doesn’t.
“Too bad this isn’t a date.” Peter says. He’s not sure if he’s flirting right now. He hopes he isn’t. It’s happened a lot, where he’ll make small talk with a stranger, and then after walking away, one of his friends will tell him that he came off as flirty.
“It’s not? Well, then I’ll have to throw away the hundreds of roses I got you.” Deadpool says. Peter is worried he might be serious. Hopefully not. He doesn’t have the room for that in his studio.
“Poor me.”
“My heart is broken Pete. Shattered even.”
Peter hears Deadpool’s name called out by the barista, and gets up to grab them, stopping Deadpool with a hand when he moves to get up.
Once Peter has sat down at their table, with the hot drinks warming his hands, Wade doesn’t waste time to start talking again.
“If this isn’t a date, what is it? I mean, just so I can rearrange my plans to woo you tonight.” Deadpool asks. Peter wonders if Deadpool is doing undercover interrogation himself.
“I don’t know-uh. A friend-hangout? Making friends. I don’t know.” Peter stammers, not knowing what to say without giving himself away.
“Well, I can make up for what you don’t know. And you’re right, this is a platonic, friend hangout. Also, I’m waiting to get pregnant so I can take you on an abortion date, don’t forget.”
Peter laughs, and glances at his phone.
“Time to go, our shitty movie awaits.” Peter says as he gets up, grabbing their now finished drinks and throwing them away.
Once they’ve arrived at the theater, they buy their snacks. The popcorn looks like it’s older than Peter himself, and he knows for a fact the candy sold isn’t made anymore.
The movie is awful, but Deadpool’s commentary during the movie makes it way more entertaining. The floors are sticky, and Peter tries not to freak out at the sensory aspect of it.
After the movie ends, Peter is feeling tired, and his social battery is empty. They stand outside the theater, and Deadpool looks at him like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Peter is doing the same. Unfortunately, Peter’s retcon efforts were fruitless. Deadpool talked too much, but didn’t say anything of value. Mainly about which actors he thought were hot, or some random tangents that always found a way to turn sexual. It’s almost impressive that he can make a tangent about Jeep Wranglers turn into one about blowjobs.
“Well, Bye-” Peter starts to say, intending to end the night and never speak to Deadpool again. At least as Peter Parker.
Deadpool, unfortunately ruins his plans for the second time that day, and speaks at the same time.
“I’m Deadpool.”
“Uh.” Peter doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s not like he didn’t already know that, he’s Spider-Man, he kind of has to know this kind of stuff.
“So, if you don’t want to be friends, or you want to turn me into the pointless boys in blue, Johnny law or whatever. I mean, I’d get it.”
“I don’t want to turn you in.” Peter says, trying to buy time to figure out what to say next. He could say he already knew, but that might open up questions. This was supposed to be a subtle retcon, he was supposed to be undercover, finding answers. Deadpool, being Deadpool, immediately bulldozed those plans in two words. “I mean, why would I turn you in… I’m not sure I even know what that means.”
“It means I used to be somewhat of an anti-hero.”
“Used to be?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf. I also can’t die. I mean, like literally. I’ll come back to life no matter what. I used to kill people for a living. Not Grannie from bingo, I’m talking scum of the earth, people. Rapists, traffickers. Molesters. I’m a mutant. It’s why I look like this. I mean, you seem really fucking cool, and I want to be BFF’s five-ever, but it’s like, if you found out later, it’d be all dramatic, a real teen drama moment, and I don’t want you to think i’ve been lying to you.” Deadpool spills out, looking awfully serious. Peter feels bad, because at this moment, Peter does not want to have this conversation. At all.
“Okay.” Peter says, his tone flat. Well, flatter than usual.
“Okay?”
“As in, I’m tired and my social battery is gone. It’s so fucking cold, I think I might freeze on the spot, and now is the time you want to have this conversation?” Peter says, irritation bleeding through.
“This is very John Green of us Peter. Are you sane in the head? I just told you I used to kill people and you’re just like ‘okay’”
“Well, what do you want me to say?”
“I can give you some options, like maybe some screaming, or maybe crying for your mama--”
“My mom’s dead,” Peter interrupts.
“--Or maybe just shooting me, I don’t know.”
“I don’t think I want to shoot you, I mean. I don’t know Wade. I don’t care if you’re a mutant, I mean I saw one in Starbucks a week ago heating up his coffee with his mutant powers, or whatever.” Peter says, stalling,
“You’re beating around the murder thing Pete.”
“I mean, you’ve put me in a tough spot here, Wade.” Peter says, and Wade makes a face. It’s true. As Peter Parker, he can’t just beat Deadpool up, web him to a wall and call the police. He can’t start screaming at Deadpool, for he couldn’t defend himself if Deadpool were to attack. “You don’t still kill people, right?” Peter asks.
“No. Not anymore.”
“Well, that’s a start.” Peter says, for a lack of anything better to say.
“You’re a fucking weird dude.”
“Ouch.” Peter says, sarcastically. Pot, meet kettle.
“No, it's a compliment. I’m not gonna look a Gift Nerd in the mouth.”
They stand there staring at each other for a couple seconds and Peter is very, very, tired.
“Let me think about this, okay?” Peter says, then turns around and goes home.
---
Friday is automatically a Good Day. One, he has no classes and second, it’s Shabbat. He gets to go to Aunt May’s, drink wine and eat delicious Challah bread, as well as catch up with May about her week and vice versa. His Hebrew isn’t the best, he never learned in a formal setting, like Hebrew school, but years of Passover prayers and Shabbat dinners makes it somewhat passable.
They don’t go completely full out, they still use power and electricity. But Fridays and Saturdays are reserved for relaxation, a ritual of Shabbat that they do honor. He goes to May’s at sundown every Friday, and it’s a routine he appreciates. It’s comforting, having a space to appreciate his faith and remember his parents, as well as Uncle Ben.
He knocks on May’s door, nervously fiddling with his Star of David necklace as he waits for May to open it and let him in. It’s his turn to bring the wine today, and he’s carrying it in a sticky palm, something he does in case he drops it. Extra security and all that.
May opens the door with a smile on her face, her crows feet and wrinkles crinkling, accentuating her brown eyes.
“Shabbat Shalom!” May greets, with open arms and a warm smile. He accepts the hug, feeling at home in her embrace and the way her perfume smells.
“Shabbat Shalom, Aunt May.” He says into her neck. When they part, he hands the red wine over, and watches as she inspects the label.
“You picked a good one.” May walks into the house taking the bottle with her, and Peter follows. The house smells like challah bread, for May bakes it herself every Friday.
They exchange small talk, with Peter asking May about the hospital and May asking Peter about his students, before sitting down at the table with the freshly made challah and candlesticks ready to be lit. May lights the candles, and they begin the ceremony. The hebrew rolls off Peter’s tongue, tasting familiar and somewhat like grief.
---
The thing is: Peter doesn’t really have friends anymore. At 29, out of school and no longer being in a context where people his age have to talk to him, well. People move, they go to new places and become people you still love, but don’t see on the daily anymore. He knows that friendship with Deadpool is a bad idea, especially with his retcon bringing nothing reliable. Yet, in that short time of hanging out, going to the dollar theater, smoking shitty cigarettes outside, he likes Deadpool. Despite his best efforts to hate him. He’s funny and seemingly kind, even if it’s in his own way. Sure, Wade is extremely annoying and doesn’t shut up, but that’s a way people have described Peter before. They are two sides of the same suit-covered coin.
Peter doesn’t trust him fully yet, or really at all. He feels stuck between a rock and hard place. He craves friendship, but he doesn’t know if Wade is serious about all this. Wade jokes, quite often, and maybe a bit too much. How is Peter supposed to know that this ‘no murder’ business isn’t a big joke?
--
Weeks pass, and Peter learns that Wade was truly serious about not killing anymore. He learns this as Spider-Man.
Peter Parker has been blowing off Wade. He feels guilty, and he knows it's wrong. But he doesn’t trust Wade, and he thinks by hanging out with Wade, even as Peter, he’s endorsing Wade’s past. He doesn’t completely shut Wade out, he responds to his texts, but always says he’s busy whenever Wade invites him to hang out.
Wade has joined him on some patrols over the past couple of weeks, and though Peter reluctantly agreed, Wade really hadn’t killed, or even seriously maimed anyone. He even switched to rubber bullets, which sure, still hurt like a bitch, but so do his webs if he thinks about it. They even banter during it, with Peter getting irritated, somewhat jokingly, and Wade flirting his way through said irritation.
It’s an assuming Tuesday Night. Peter’s on a random rooftop, about to make his way over to the nondescript warehouse that shady organizations always seem to be held at. It was going to be a short trip, only about a mile out, but Peter likes to sit before these types of missions and mentally prepare.
His peace, and mental preparation, was just interpreted by Deadpool.
“Well, fancy seeing you here! You know, I had a dream just like this. Though, you were naked, in a sexy way, not a nightmare way.” Wade calls out while climbing up a ladder, his head peeking out as he said it. Peter knew he was coming, his spidey-sense causing the back of his neck to tingle.
“You know, the best way to know I’m dreaming is when you’re not constantly hitting on me. ” Peter says, turning around as Wade walks over and stands over Peter.
“Oo. You dream about me too, Spidey?”
Peter can admit that he kind of walked right into that one.
“More like a nightmare.”
“Tomato-Potato.” Wade waves him off.
“That’s not how--”
“Anyway! Whatcha-doin? Anything interesting, besides the normal purse-snatchers and wannabe gangsters?” Deadpool says, sounding somewhat excited, cutting Peter off.
Peter weighs the idea of Deadpool helping him in his head. He really could use Wade’s help on this mission. He thinks of Wade Wilson, not Deadpool, who helps escort women into abortion clinics, drinks chai lattes, and had made fun of Peter’s emo phase.
“Well, ” Peter starts, and then gives him the details. Shady organization, manipulating and sometimes straight up kidnapping society’s so called “low-lifes” to experiment on them, and sell them to the highest bidder. As Peter relayed the information, Deadpool’s cheery demeanor became dimmed more and more. When Peter was done, Deadpool’s happy-go-lucky act had completely vanished, and his words and stance had become cold.
“Motherfuckers. Let’s get these bastards.” Deadpool says, determined, and his voice a bit rough.
“You gonna control your murderous impulses? Keep that murder-sobreity streak?” Peter jokes, with a hint of truth behind it.
“Not even just a smidge of murder is allowed? Maybe some slight life-altering injuries?” Deadpool says, seeming a bit less upset.
“Deadpool.”
“Fine, Mom. I’ll try. Or should I say Dad. Or-” Deadpool whines, his posture loosening, and that frightening and rigid Deadpool seemed to disappear.
“I’m gonna need more than that, Deadpool.” Peter says, stopping Wade before he makes yet another, unwarranted sexual comment.
“I won’t. But don’t ask me to go easy on these douche canoes”
“Never.” Peter manages a small smile.
They make their way over, with Deadpool on Peter’s back as he swings them over. Peter reluctantly agreed to let him on his back, but mainly only did it to make Wade feel better.
Deadpool was rambling the whole time he was on Peter’s back.
“Oh my god. This is just like twilight, but better. Can we do the famous Spidey-kiss next?”
“The- what?” Peter yelled back, confused, but his face warmed at the idea. Peter chalked it up to embarrassment. Deadpool continued on like he hadn’t heard him, which is fair, it’s hard to hear with all the wind from swining.
They don’t waste time once they get there, going as stealth as possible. Deadpool shoots the goons in the leg with a silencer, with real bullets. Peter webs them up as they make their way over to the Main Guys. Peter crawls through a vent and makes his way onto the ceiling, and moves to a spot where he can still see Wade, who’s against a wall, hiding and waiting for the right moment.
In the middle of the Warehouse, with an open space, the Main Guys are standing around, smoking cigarettes and joking with each other, while some are typing away on their computers and some are making phone calls. It’s so nonchalant, and human . It’s so morbid to see, in comparison to the things they’ve done, and are continuing to do.
Peter listens for a second, bracing himself. He motions at Deadpool, letting him know it’s time and all hell breaks loose. Deadpool goes in, and Peter jumps down, webbing as many people as he can as he falls.
It’s brutal. Deadpool is brutal.
Peter can’t pay much attention as he’s fighting the Baddies, webbing and punching, with the occasional one-liners. Admittedly not pulling any of said punches. Yet, when he glimpses over to Wade, he’s fighting with a precision that would be scary if he was on the receiving end. From what Peter sees, he’s not doing anything lethal, but it’s still terrifying. He’s shooting without a second thought at the Main Guys out of arm's reach, and slicing with his katanas as soon as one gets somewhat within reach.
It’s all over quite quickly, with Deadpool there.
Peter webs the last Main Guy down, and webbing his mouth as well in case he wants to get chatty, which they usually do. Deadpool’s standing there, panting and tense. There’s smoke still coming from his guns, and blood on his suit that Peter knows isn’t his. It strikes Peter that not only is Deadpool an extremely competent fighter, but how serious he was about not killing anymore.
Peter calls SHIELD on his Spidey-phone, letting them know everyones apprehended and accounted for. They let him know they can head out, and Peter hears with his enhanced hearing that the Quinjects are already approaching. Once he’s done, he sees that Deadpool is no longer in the warehouse.
“Deadpool?” Peter calls out. He’s not worried. Definitely not. Peter hears a somewhat faint ‘over here’ and walks outside to follow his voice. Wade is sitting on the concrete, arms braced on his bent knees with his head down. Peter walks over, not knowing whether or not to touch him, or how to comfort him.
“You wanna blow this popsicle stand? Without the C4 though.”
Deadpool nods and gets up, not looking back, muttering that he needs a "fuckin' cigarette."
Peter, not Spider-Man, texts Wade the next morning, agreeing to his invitation to go out for ramen.
-
Flash forward a couple weeks, and Wade, not Deadpool, has become somewhat of a friend. Peter has been apprehensive, only hanging out maybe once a week, and texting every couple days, but they are becoming something like friends. Wade talks all the time, but doesn’t really say much. The meaning is written between the lines of his words and Peter has a hard time reading it.
Peter hoped that he could tell, so he wouldn’t have to have The Conversation about it. It’s always awkward and way more serious than he ever wants it to be. Peter being autistic is as important as the fact that he wears glasses. It’s a part of him, sure, but it’s not a big deal. People always seem to treat him like a baby after, like he doesn’t have a Masters in Biochemistry, and has lived on his own quite well since he was 19.
Turns out, the conversation wasn’t needed.
Wade had picked up on it.
They’re sitting in Central Park in the grass, listening to music softly from Peter’s phone. Peter has been attempting to read a book he picked up from the library. Wade has been talking and talking, turning People Watching into a sport. Today is a Bad Day, in the sense that Eye Contact was not going to be successful.
“Oh, see Purple Jacket over there?” Wade points and Peter looks over. He nods, not wanting to waste the energy on words.
“I bet she’s the head of a MLM. A ‘you can be your own boss!’ type thing. Maybe she sells ugly leggings. And she’s cheating on her husband with a lady. ” Wade comments, and Peter can practically hear his eyebrows waggling. Or more so his brow bone. Wade has no eyebrows. Wade likes to do this when he’s bored. Makes up crazy accusations about people he doesn’t know, based on their look and “vibe” as Wade puts it.
“Because the MLM community needs some bisexual representation, of course.” Peter adds, smirking.
“Exactly! No such thing as too many bisexuals. If you think of it, Multi Level Marketing has the same acronym of Man-loving-Man, which is gay in itself.”
There’s silence between them, and Peter can’t tell if Wade is upset at being somewhat ignored. Peter feels the need to explain, even if he knows he doesn’t have to.
“I’m sorry, about you know.”
“For stealing my burrito last week? I’ve already forgiven you, don’t worry. Radical Acceptance.” Wade muses. Peter rolls his eyes, and tries to look at Wade’s face. He manages to look at his neck, which is covered by his hoodie being zipped all the way up despite the fact that it’s spring, and a humid day today.
“No, the uh.” Peter waves his hand in front of his eyes, trying to communicate it all. “It’s not that I don’t care, I just have. Autism.”
“Well, yeah. I already knew that.” Wade says it incredibly nonchalantly.
“You did? Is detecting autism a part of your mutant abilities? You could make some sweet cash with that.” Peter says, trying to hide the insecurity in his voice. He doesn’t care if people know, and he’s proud of it. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t try to hide it. It’s not him that’s wrong, it’s the people around him who are.
“Oh, I wish. Wouldn’t even have to become a merc. Could charge 500 bucks a pop for that. But, I could tell you got the ‘tism. You know, ex-mercancy. Picking up on people is, or was, kinda my job.”
“Got to touch up on your freaky observation skills, of course.”
“Look, I get it. I got screws loose up here, not that you do, but you don’t have to apologize for your weird quirks, or whatever. I don’t care. It kinda works out ‘cuz you don’t like looking at people’s faces, and I don’t like people looking at my face. Boom! Works out perfectly. We both win.” Wade says, and Peter looks at his hands, seeing Wade fiddle with a loose thread on his jeans. Peter manages a glimpse at his face and sees something in his eyes he hasn’t seen before. It’s not one he’s memorized the meaning to, so he doesn’t try to understand it.
There’s this stereotype that autistic people don’t ever understand facial expressions. It’s true to an extent for some, but Peter knows that after being friends with someone for long enough, he can memorize what they mean to a certain person. Like a mathematical equation. For example, Peter has learned when Wade looks off to the side, and smirks, he’s being sarcastic. It’s one of the first one’s he learned, which is good, because Wade is sarcastic maybe 46% percent of the time.
Peter looks down at his book that he's now accepted he won’t make any progress on today. His hand goes up to his necklace, pressing his fingertips into the points on the star.
“That’s good.” Peter says, quiet.
“Yeah.” Wade breathes out. Peter smiles, looking down at his book. He has a feeling Wade is doing the same.
--
Peter never thought he’d say it, but he and Wade are friends. It’s been a couple months since they hung out in Central Park, and since then, they’d only become closer.
Deadpool and Spider-Man aren’t friends, or even partners. They patrol sometimes, beat up bad guys, and then part their ways. Peter is relieved at this, managing the juggling of their friendship as Peter and their partnership as Spider-man is already exhausting enough.
As Peter Parker, he’s fallen into a sort of routine with Wade. On days he doesn’t have class or Shabbat, he’s usually with Wade. Obviously, Wade isn’t always free. Sometimes he has day-long missions or prior commitments. Once a month he usually has a week long mission doing who knows what. Wade assured him that he’s not killing. Strangely, Peter finds that he trusts that Wade’s telling the truth.
Sometimes they go out, getting whatever food they’re craving, catching a movie, or even hitting up a second-hand shop. Most days, especially after Wade confessed he doesn't like going out in public without his Deadpool mask on, they stay in. Usually playing video games, or binging whatever TV show they’re hyper-focused on.
Peter’s sitting on Wade's extremely comfortable, and questionably stained couch, watching him play Fallout: New Vegas . It’s a single player, and Peter would play if he didn’t suck so bad at it. It’s more fun to watch Wade play and make commentary about it. He also likes to stare at Wade while he does it, observe his faces of concentration, frustration, anger, and accomplishment. All expressions that Peter has learned to memorize and understand.
When Wade turns every once and awhile to look at Peter, and say something, Peter looks away, and his face heats up a bit. Part of it is autism. Another, well.
It’s not like Peter is ignoring his slowly growing feelings for Wade. He’s just not sure what kind of feelings they are. Peter’s gone back and forth on it for a bit, some days he thinks he just likes Wade platonically, that they’re just good friends. On others, he wonders if there’s something more there.
It’s driving him crazy, the not knowing.
He knows that most don’t find Wade attractive. The scars, sure, aren’t great. But Peter has seen them so often, it’s not a point of his attractiveness being outside of them. They’ve become a part of him, that mingles in, and fades in the background when Peter looks at him. Wade is very bulky. Ripped. He has really nice eyes and a killer jaw to match.
Wade turns to him, and by the look on his face, Peter knows he’s about to make some dumb joke, completely unaware of Peter’s dilemma.
“Hey, look it’s you!” Wade ribs, point at the screen where Dr. House, the malnourished villain from Fallout out is lying in a tube, half dead, to the point where he has no muscle mass. Wade loves to call him skinny and make fun of him for it, which always makes Peter laugh. Mainly because Peter knows he could stop a moving car. He has. Multiple Times. Peter snorts and kicks Wade with his foot. Wade pretends to die, with the comical tongue popping out of his mouth after throwing himself off the couch.
“If I’m him, then you’re the roaches in the vaults.” Peter jokes.
“Oh, you wound me, Pete. I can’t believe I was fooled by your nerd persona.” Wade gets up, rather ungracefully and plops back on the couch.
“I am a nerd. Just a rude one.” Peter corrects. He suggests getting pizza, and decides to figure out his feelings later.
--
Today is a Bad Day.
Peter couldn’t sleep last night. Luckily, he doesn’t have to teach this morning, so he’s glad for that. He was so overstimulated, his sheets feeling wrong. He even tried switching from his couch to make things better, which helped a bit, but his sleep was fitful. He kept getting things in his hands, which he hates. First it was toothpaste, then maple syrup. Even after it was washed off, he still felt it, the feeling ghosting on his hands. Then his shirt got wet after putting it on too quickly after a shower.
He groans loudly when it happens, shaking out his hands, trying to will the feeling away.
It doesn’t work. It’s moments like this when he wishes he could just crawl out of his skin, and get a break from touching and smelling and seeing everything.
To make things worse, the city is extra noisy today. It feels hot and stuffy, too humid for it only being July. Peter knows rationally that it’s not, and the combination of everything is making it seem louder than it actually is.
He shakes out his body again, trying to get the pent up energy and irritation out. He puts on his Comfort Hoodie, the one with no tags or strings or anything wrong with it. Then some boxer briefs (boxers always ride up when he wears them) and fuzzy socks. He takes his headphones and starts pacing and rubbing his palms together.
On the ceiling, obviously.
He knows that there’s nothing wrong with him. He knows that what he feels is normal, in a sense that maybe Normal People don’t do it, but it’s not completely out of the ordinary for other autistic people. But when he does it, he just feels like a child having a tantrum. He refuses for other people to see. It feels like if he were to write out what he was feeling, like a transcript, he’d look like a completely irrational and cranky 6 year old stuck in a 29 year old’s body.
He turns on some music, his favorite songs that scratch all the right parts of his brain, and walks around all the walls of his apartment until he feels better. When he’s feeling somewhat better, he drops down on the floor and lays on his bed, trying to ignore all the parts that feel wrong. He picks up his phone, and sees that Wade had texted him.
sushi?
Peter thinks about it for a moment. He’s at a point where he’s somewhat non-verbal, and doesn’t really want to do anything today. But, in a weird way, Wade does make him feel better on days like this. Wade distracts him, pulls him out of the cycle of being too hyper aware of everything. He remembers that Wade mentioned that he knows ASL, so if Peter does go completely non-verbal, Wade will be able to understand him.
Learning ASL was something Aunt May brought up. When his parents died so suddenly and after being turned over to his Aunt and Uncle, he had become a very difficult child. He barely understood the world before their deaths and had to cope with being thrusted into a new one. In the first couple months, Peter was mostly non-verbal, not wanting to communicate, and could barely do it even if he wanted to.
May had heard from one of her friends that there were devices for non-verbal autistic people that would speak for them. But with money tight, with most going to his parents funeral service, there was no way they could afford it. May brought this up to the same friend, who had an autistic child herself, and she suggested ASL.
They shelled out what they could for classes, since they weren’t sure if Peter being selectively mute was going to be permanent, and he’s been fluent ever since.
Peter communicated in a mix of ASL and spoken word for a couple years, fizzling out as he got older and adjusted. He finds use for it still, allowing him to stay fluent. On non-verbal days, and as Spider-man. On the very rare missions with the Avengers he uses it with Hawkeye, and whenever he saves a deaf person from whatever crime was about to be committed.
And now Wade. It’s not just on days when Peter’s nonverbal, or having a bad day. Sometimes, they use it when it’s convenient, if they want to say something in public, but can’t for whatever reason. Like when someone next to them on the train is doing something funny, and they can’t voice it outloud incase said person is a nutcase.
Not having a good day.
But you can come over if you want.
whats wrong???????????????
My autism superpowers are acting up
LMAO
ill be over soon gotta grab the sushi
the usual?
Peter smiles at the fact that Wade already knows his order at the takeout places they frequent. They eat so much takeout, usually on Wade’s dime, it shouldn’t be impressive. But it’s cute.
Peter mentally adds this as evidence on his internal “do i like wade” list.
Duh.
Peter fidgets for a bit, waiting for Wade to come over. He decides to tidy up his place a bit, not because Wade would judge, but mainly for something to do.
And maybe because he wants to impress Wade.
Whatever.
Half an hour later, he buzzes Wade up, and they settle on his couch, which unfortunately is not as comfortable as Wade’s. Wade is currently talking about H2O: Just Add Water, the show he’s currently hyper fixated on, and doesn’t judge when it takes a couple seconds for Peter to get the words out. After Wade asks whether or not he thinks H2O: Just Add Water and Mako Mermaids are in the same universe. After Peter doesn’t respond for about 20 seconds, and not for a lack of trying, Wade speaks.
“Do you want to switch?” Wade asks, casually. Peter cringes at himself. He knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed, but he is. He doesn’t like people seeing him struggle. Seeing those parts of him, raw and exposed.
Peter takes his closed fist, and nods it.
Yes.
Not in the same universe. No way.
“Yeah, like all of sudden there’s moon rings, and pods, like where were they during the stupid water tentacle plot. Makes no sense Petey.” Wade says. There’s an unspoken agreement that Wade speaks when Peter signs. They’re both fluent in ASL, so they both know that facial expressions, especially with questions and tone, are extremely important. If Peter can barely speak, there’s no way he’s gonna be able to look at Wade’s face. Or even his general direction.
Season 3 sucks.
“Amen to that!” Wade says, continuing his tangent on the show in general. Peter isn’t very into the show, but he likes when Wade rambles, and he’s always saying something that is both outrageous and hilarious.
--
The weird thing about friendships, close ones at that, is unless you grew up together, there’s so much you don’t know about them on a factual basis. He knows Wade. He knows that his eccentric personality and boldness is a front, that he’s an insecure person, not just about his looks. He knows that Wade is extremely protective of his friends, but flippant about those he doesn’t know. He knows that Wade is extremely impulsive and spontaneous, and that word “plan” is barely in his vocabulary. Peter also knows that, while Wade talks all the time, he never really says anything of importance, and never about his feelings, unless it’s poorly disguised as a bad joke.
There’s so much Peter wants to know though. What kind of kid Wade was going up, what his favorite sport is, what he wanted to be when he grew up. So much ground to cover.
In the factual sense, Peter knows some too, as they become closer. Peter compiles a list in his head, whenever he thinks about whether or not they’re really that close.
- Wade is Canadian, but actually doesn’t have much pride in it, only in an ironic sense. He will defend bagged milk to his nonexistent grave though.
- He will eat anything. He is the opposite of Peter, who’s a picky eater. However, he hates cottage cheese and iceberg lettuce.
- Despite the Canadian stereotype, he doesn’t like the cold.
- He knows how to drive, and is actually a “Grandma Driver” as Wade puts it himself.
- He speaks 14 languages, most fluently, some only conversational.
- Wade calls the voices in his head “boxes” , something about comics that Peter couldn’t tell was a joke or not, and didn’t know how to ask about.
- He was in the Special Forces. Got Dishonorably Discharged, for not following orders. Shocker.
- He was married. To a succubus. Don’t ask.
- He has a very expansive taste in music. He likes it all, from Spanish Indie to UK Drill.
- He’s obsessed with skincare. It’s ironic, and Wade is aware of this fact.
- The scars hurt. Peter tries not to think about this often. It makes him sad, and angry, that he can’t do anything about the pain.
- The whole Weapon X backstory. Peter tried not to cry when Wade told him one day. While he’d already read about it, hearing it first hand with Wade going soft and sad, from cracking jokes during the re-telling made it hit harder than ever.
And 13)
“I have a daughter.” Wade says, randomly. They’re at the park, on a rare warm day in November. Peter’s laying down on an old blanket, with his head pillowed on Wade’s lap as Wade plays with his hair, messing up his curls. Though, Peter doesn’t mind all that much. Wade was ranting about TurboTax. There was a bit of silence, and then Wade dropped this bombshell.
“What?” Peter asks, jolting up from Wade’s lap, confusion and surprise bleeding through his raised voice.
“I have a daughter.”
“I-” Peter doesn’t know what to say.
“Yeah, she’s the cutest string-bean to grace this earth, since you of course.”
“Wade--” Peter starts, but Wade continues, and Peter knows Wade’s self-defensive mechanisms are about to pop up and Wade’s going to make this all into a light-hearted joke monologue.
“I found out about her about a year ago. I mean, ok, picture this. I’m in Paris, City of Love, slicing up some French baddies, and I get a call. I took it, mainly because I thought maybe I'd get a rebound mission, get some cash or something. But no, it’s this lady, old as hell. She tells me that I have a daughter, and she’s been asking about me quote-unquote non-stop, wanting to meet me, blah blah blah. Lady sounds pissed that she’s even having to call me. It’s all in Espanol, but obvi you don’t know it, so I’ll be ‘ol Google Translate for you. Anyway, I’m so surprised, and quite frankly, I’m thinking it’s a prank call. I didn’t even think Wade Jr’s swim team even worked. So, I kind of hung up on her.”
“But then. I remember, in my ‘ol cancer-filled noggin, that there was this lady I had a fling with. Back in 2013. She told me she was preggo over text, and I laughed at her. Then, life kinda got away from me. Didn’t hear from her again, so I assumed I was right. Anyway. Turns out she was right. I don’t know how, but the old lady got a DNA test to prove it. I mean, my blood kinda ends up everywhere so it’s not hard to find. She shows up at my house back in Oh-Canada, not with this mysterious kid that’s apparently mine, shoving the DNA test in my face. Turns out Baby Mama died.” Wade gets a bit sad saying that last part.
Peter opens his mouth to talk, but Wade interrupts him again.
“Anyway, I have a bit of a crisis, blah blah blah. Nothing interesting. Definitely not. G-ma tells me she knows what I am, and then gives me a lecture about how if I want to meet her, I have to turn a new leaf, if I even care. So, I moved to New York, stopped killing, and now I get to see her twice a week. But, I’m sure the child support definitely helps with that fact.”
“I--. Can I see her? What’s she like?” Peter finally spits out, seeing that Wade is done talking. His head is reeling. Wade goes on monologues often, maybe a bit too much for his tastes, but never like this. He’s trying to wrap his head around the fact that Wade has a kid. One that he’s kept from Peter for the almost year they’ve known each other. But it makes sense . Why Wade stopped killing, that inkling he had all those months ago, that there was something other than hero worship getting Wade to stop killing people.
Wade smiles, and pulls a small picture out of his wallet. It’s clearly a Picture Day photo, its edges worn and frayed. There’s a girl, smiling, in the awkward way kids do. She’s young, and couldn't be older than 10. She has frizzy and curly brown hair, with olive skin and brown eyes. She’s wearing a tie-dye shirt, and has a couple moles on her face. Wade and her have the same smile, down to the dimple on the right side of her face, which for Wade is barely visible behind his scars.
“Looks nothing like me, thank god.”
“I see some of you in her. You guys have the same smile.” Peter points out, and Wade says nothing at that. He looks away, looking melancholy.
“What’s she like? Hopefully she didn’t inherit your sense of humor.”
“She’s a good kid, about to be 10 soon. Talks too much. Maybe knows too many curse words. She loves Spidey actually, it’s genetic, I asked the doc. Wants to be a veterinarian. Hates broccoli. She loves me, for some reason.”
“Not for no reason. I bet you’re a good dad.” Peter says, placing his hand on Wade’s shoulder, and letting it linger there for half a second too long. He doesn’t ask why Wade didn’t tell him. He doesn’t ask if he can meet Ellie. He knows in time, he’ll get his answers. He also doesn't say that it’s not far-fetched that someone could love Wade, that he knows how easy it is to love him.
He doesn’t say any of that, no matter how much he wants to, how much it echoes in his head over and over again. That he loves Wade. That Peter knows for sure now, in this moment, what he feels for him.
---
It’s Friday, and Peter’s at May’s house. They’ve finished their prayers, and are now finishing off their wine, with the challah bread practically crumbs. Peter had just finished info-dumping about a study he had read recently on Black Holes. While, yes, biochemistry is a great love of his, Peter’s first great love was space. As a kid, he would go around at the library, check out all the books he could on space, specifically black holes. Back then, there wasn’t much information on it, but as time went on and science progressed there’s much much more to learn.
May smiles and takes a sip of her wine after Peter is done speaking on the study. He could talk more about it, but decides maybe he should let Aunt May actually talk. That’s what conversations are, apparently.
“So, anyone new in your life?” May says, smirking. Peter hates this conversation. May also knows this, and Peter thinks she likes to see him get annoyed at it.
Peter groans, hiding his face in his hands. His romantic life hasn’t been horrible. He’s a Full Blown Adult now, far from a virgin, and has had a couple serious and not so serious relationships in his life. He’s been single for over a year now, after getting dumped by a girl he met on Hinge. It was a short-term relationship, barely serious. He wasn’t very distraught by it. MJ and him dated, and they were quite serious. There was a point in his life where he considered marrying her. He even popped the question. She turned him down, as gently as she could. That was a couple years ago, and while they’re still somewhat friends, it’s not him and Wade, where they hang out and text all the time. They still talk every once and awhile, MJ actually drunk-FaceTimed him a couple weeks ago. She lives in Chicago now, doing a marketing job that she complains about endlessly, after her acting career wasn’t as successful as she hoped. But it’s not like he hates her, or he’s a disgruntled ex, they just aren’t as close as they used to be. Things fizzle out. People grow up, they change, and people you thought would be there forever, aren’t anymore. Welcome to Adulthood.
Peter is no longer a teenager, or a young adult. He can no longer fein innocence or pretend it’s too soon. August came and went, bringing oppressive heat and his 30th birthday. He spent it separately with Wade and May. May and Peter went to dinner, splurging at a boujee bistro with $20 drinks. Wade threw him a “surprise” birthday party, which wasn’t a surprise at all because Wade told him every detail the week leading up to it. They ate an entire cake by themselves, got Peter’s favorite ramen, and watched The Martian.
Now, at 30, Peter’s at the age where you're expected to settle down, get married, and pop out some kids. He’s not opposed to the idea, but he feels both like a child and more mature than he should be. He knows why May’s asking. Mainly because they've had this conversation almost every Friday. She’s never said it, but Peter knows she’s craving being back into a type of Mother role. She’s not the type of parent where she’s constantly egging on for grandchildren, but he knows she wants it.
“Not this again.”
“I’m just asking!” May says, defensive, holding up both her hands, including the one holding the wine glass, in a mock surrender gesture. Peter thinks of Wade, and his newfound understanding of his feelings towards him. He thinks of them, being together, holding hands while buying pasta and cuddling on the couch while watching some random nickelodeon show.
“There is someone? A maybe-someone?” May asks, trying not to sound a bit hopeful.
“No, I don’t. I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter.” Peter says, wanting to change the conversation. The last thing he wants to do is talk about his romance problems with his Aunt. Or anyone. It’s funny because he's had girlfriends and boyfriends, and lots of hookups on the side. Yet, he gets extremely uncomfortable talking about it with anyone.
“What about you , May?” Peter says, switching the question on her. May looks surprised, and actually blushes. Peter laughs, widens his eyes and points at her, in a ‘gotcha!’ move.
“Well, I mean. There might be. But it’s too soon to tell, so hush!”
“Don’t be like that! You can’t press me about my romantic life every week and then not say anything when I ask.”
“It’s only been a couple dates. It’s just, well. It’s strange. I-” May trails off, looking to the side. Peter knows what she’s feeling. He reaches over, and grabs her hand where it’s resting the table.
“I miss him too.” Peter says, squeezing it. May smiles, but it’s one of her sad ones, where her eyes get glossy and her smile is tight.
“Me too.” May says, quiet. There’s a moment of silence, and Peter looks at the floor, not knowing what else to say.
“Now, enough of this mushy-gushy shit. I think it’s time for some Snapped !” Aunt May says, getting up. Peter laughs, and follows her to the living room, waiting for her to queue it up off the DVR.
--
Peter has been Spiderman for nearly half his life now. He’s gotten good at hiding it. It’s second nature now, to deepen his voice slightly in the mask, not sure about any information about his personal life, and to lie about it. He barely feels guilty anymore, when he does.
Except with Wade.
Every time Wade joins him for patrols, although it is quite rare, Peter feels like he’s going to burst into flames. He’s both paranoid that he’s going to give himself up and guilty for not saying anything.
People give Wade less credit than he deserves. Wade is extremely intelligent and scarily observant. He always knows and sees more than he lets on. Hence Peter’s paranoia. He’s constantly checking himself, wondering if Wade knows.
They just stopped a mugging of a deaf girl, who couldn’t have been older than 19. Once the would-be mugger was webbed against the wall, Peter goes to console the girl to make sure she’s okay, and to ask if she needs an escort home. Peter starts to speak, and she makes a face, and points to her chest, then brings her hand up to the side of her ear with a pointed finger, then down to the side of her mouth.
Peter starts to sign back immediately.
That’s Okay. Do you need help getting home? Peter signs. He knows she can’t see his eyebrows raised behind the mask, but he does it out of habit.
Depends. Can you swing me back while I ride with you? She signs, smirking.
“See! She gets it!” Deadpool jokes, next to him, signing as he speaks.
“You get to ride on my back all the time, don’t act like you don’t.” Peter says, not signing that part. He doesn’t really want The Bugle to get word of them teaming up, regardless of Wade’s new change. The Bugle doesn’t really care about facts.
“There’s some other things I’d Like to--” Wade starts, and Peter webs his masked mouth. It doesn’t really have the desired effect, because Wade just mumbles the rest of the sexual comment anyway, pulling off the webs with some success, though it sticks on his gloved hand for a bit. Peter rolls his eyes and pulls off the web himself.
The girl is watching them, a bit confused, and Peter turns back to her.
What’s your name? Peter signs.
She spells out Daniella, Shorthanded slightly but with some other movements, as sign-names usually do.
Yours? She signs. Peter laughs.
Nice Try. I’ll give you a walk home.
“Mind waiting? And maybe, calling the cops?” Peter says to Wade, pointing at the mugger webbed to the wall, who looks more pissed off now. Wade nods. He’s silent, which is rare. He’s standing there, cross-armed, staring at Peter, like he’s trying to work something out.
---
Peter knows that he should tell Wade he’s Spider-Man. He knows rationally, there’s no reason not to tell him. At first, he didn’t tell Wade for obvious reasons, they weren’t close and Peter still wasn’t convinced at that time that Wade wasn’t committing murder on the regular. It’s been almost a year since they’ve met, and it feels too soon to tell him, yet simultaneously too late.
Now it’s snowballed to where he doesn’t know how to say it, and every day that passes where he doesn’t, the guilt grows.
He scripts it in his head sometimes, while trying and failing to sleep. He wonders if he should just say it. No fanfare, no speech. Just a simple ‘I’m Spider-Man’ and pray that Wade doesn’t hate him.
They’re on Wade’s couch, watching How To Get Away with Murder, Peter is stretched out horizontally resting his legs on Wade’s lap. He’s watching Wade attempt to knit. Keyword: Attempt. Over the past couple hours, he's been throwing the needles at the wall with a shout, and then getting up to grab it and trying again. This has happened about 7 times now. It’s been 4 hours. He’s also been muttering to himself, or moreso the Boxes, a lot of ‘fuck you’s and ‘it didn’t look so hard on Pinterest’. The funny part is, Peter knows how to knit, Aunt May taught him a couple years ago. But it’s funny to watch Wade mess it up.
Peter knows he shouldn’t do it now. But there’s no time like the present to reveal your secret identity to the guy you’ve been crushing on for the past 3 months.
Wade turns to him, and Peter knows that he’s about to go on a monologue about knitting and old ladies with a pinch of sexual comments sprinkled in throughout. Wade opens his mouth, and Peter interrupts before he can say anything.
“I’m Spider-Man.” Peter says, taking his legs off Wade’s lap and sitting criss-cross, facing him. Wade looks surprised. Peter panics.
“And, I mean, if you’re mad I totally get it, like I’ve been lying to you for months. I didn’t say anything. And At first it’s because I thought you were a murderer okay? And you are, I mean. But I thought you were still murdering? And--” Peter says, it all spilling out and his brain is screaming at him to just shut the fuck up, but he can’t seem to stop and it all comes out without permission.
“Pete.” Wade says, and Peter doesn’t know how to gauge his reaction because he can’t look at Wade right now, he can’t face him, and he just can’t stop talking .
“You know, I just trust you now, and I didn’t know how to tell you, and I mean I don’t usually feel guilty about this sort of stuff! But I do! With you! You tell me stuff, like how you have a daughter--”
“Peter.” Wade says, sounding a bit more urgent.
“And, all that stuff. So I’m saying it now. But if you’re mad and don’t want anything to do with me I totally get it, but I really like you, and I want us to be friends, and I just. I don’t know how to do this shit--” Peter says, feeling like he’s going to breakdown more and more as each word spills out of him,
“Peter!” Wade yells, putting his hand on Peter’s thigh.
“Yeah?” Peter says, hating how small his voice sounds.
“Holy shit.” Wade says, drawing out the ‘o’. Peter panics more, but doesn’t say anything.
“You don’t talk like that unless you're talking about your nerd shit. Like space, and biology, or Garfield. I mean, Jeez. Is that how it is for you when I’m going on my monologues? Wow. I’ve had a moment of empathy.”
“Wade.” Peter says, 17% sure that Wade is fucking with him, and that he’s not made.
“What? What do you want me to say?” Wade says, feigning innocence. Now, Peter’s 34% sure.
“That, you don’t hate me? Or something.” Peter looks off to the side, and feels Wade place his hand on top of Peters, just resting there. Wade moves in close, looking into his eyes. Peter looks away, not being able to bear the eye contact.
“Peter. Why would I hate you for telling me something I’ve already known for weeks. Okay, well, months.” Wade says, still holding Peter’s hand. Peter looks at it for a second. He would be having an internal freak-out over it if he wasn’t already having an external one over Wade knowing about him being Spider-Man
“You.. you knew?” Peter asks.
“I mean, yeah. Dude. I’m one of, or I used to be, one the best mercenaries in the world. And not just ‘cuz I couldn’t die.” Wade says, taking his hand away and pulling back to where he was sitting before. Peter misses the warmth immediately.
“Shit.” Peter laughs, partially out of anxiety and disbelief. “What gave it away?”
“Well, lots of stuff. One, you both are major nerds. Two, you guys are the same height, and have the same body type, same perfect ass. I could pick that ‘thang out of a line up. Which, at first I didn’t think much of, I barely knew you at that point.” Wade starts, counting on his fingers. “Then, it was your voice. I mean, Petey, you can try to deepen it as much as you want, but it’s still the same vocal chords. I don’t know, Pete. There were a lot of things. I didn’t really put it all together until a couple months ago, or at least I didn’t get an inkling.”
“But, when did you really figure it out?” Peter says, trying to see how bruised his pride is going to be after this conversation.
“About a month ago, with the girl, the deaf one. You guys sign the same. Especially when you sign ‘home’. That’s when it all clicked. Also, you know you have footprints on your ceiling? Sorry, that’s been bothering me for weeks. ” Wade says, looking up and pointing at the ceiling.
“Oh.” Peter says, looking at the ceiling and seeing he’s right. There are footprints on his ceiling. He huffs a small laugh at that.
“Yeah, oh. You should probably mop that or something. But, don’t get your nerd panties in a twist. I’m not mad. I mean, I would have said something, but it’s kinda like when you know someone's gay, but they’re clearly trying to hide it, so you’re waiting for them to get out of the closet. But the closet is made of glass.”
“Ok, well. That’s good. I think”
“Great. Good talk. Now, are you gonna let me knit or not?”
“If that’s what you wanna call it. You know I know how to knit, right?”
“What?” Wade yells. “You mean you could have been helping me this whole time? Now, that is unforgivable! Lying to me about your not-so-secret identity is fine, but this? I’ll never forgive you.”
“Shove over. I’ll show you, if you stop screaming and scaring my neighbors.”
Wade scoots, and Peter sits next to him, their thighs touching and ignores the heat that crawls through his body.
--
Peter has had crushes before. Many times, actually. He always told his crushes when he did. He knew it could go 3 ways: They could either reject him, and then he’d get over it. They’d like him back, or they’d hate him. Luckily, the third option has never happened, and sure, there would be some awkwardness for a bit. Though, Peter thinks that whole “ruining the friendship” thing only happens in movies and poorly written romance books.
He didn’t tell Wade before, because Peter knew a the time that realistically, he couldn't be in a relationship with Wade if he didn’t know about Peter's secret identity. Especially because of Wade’s anti-hero status.
Now, there’s no reason not to. Peter doesn't know if Wade likes him back, but that’s not why he’s telling Wade. Peter has learned that expectations lead to disappointment. Doesn't mean that Peter doesn’t fantasize about them together, in more ways than one.
So, Peter decides to tell him. He just doesn't know how to.
--
Peter finishes up his class, assigning textbook reading and tells his students to prepare for the lab that’s going to start next class. The spring semester started a couple weeks ago, and yet his students still haven’t gotten used to his class yet. They look at him with mostly bored expressions, but some of his students do seem a bit excited. He dismisses the rest of the class, the ones left who didn’t walk out 15 minutes early, as some of them do.
He’s packing up his stuff, ready to get home. His phone buzzes, and sees Wade's name on his phone, along with a silly picture of him that Peter took while they were eating ramen a couple months ago.
Peter frowns, not because he isn't happy to hear from Wade, but on Tuesday’s Wade is usually with Ellie. He lets the call drop, waiting for the rest of his students to clear out.
Once the last one leaves, he grabs his phone, and calls Wade back immediately.
“Petey!” Wade says when he answers.
“Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah, of course. I was just wondering if you wanted to head over, maybe get some Pho?”
“What about Ellie?”
“She’s at G-Ma’s. Her abuela is having some fam’ over, Tios and shit. So, I’m gonna see her later this week. I queued up a PBS Nova Doc, and it’s on the first humans, that Lucy chick.” Wade explains, and Peter smiles at that. PBS Nova Documentaries are the best, and the fact that Wade knows that Peter loves the ones on the First Humans makes his heart warm a bit.
“I wouldn’t call her a chick, mainly because they’re mostly ape, but sure. I just finished up class.” Peter jokes.
“How was it? Teaching the next great minds of this generation.” Wade asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Well, one of them fell asleep during my lecture, which is always reassuring.”
“Maybe you should tell them you’re spidey. Might make it more interesting.”
“Yeah, because exploiting my secret identity to make my students listen to me is a great idea.”
“I’m just saying!”
“Yeah, yeah. I gotta go, bout to hit the station. I’ll text you when I’m close.”
“Oo. Yeah, you should definitely text me when you’re about to--”
“Goodbye Wade!” Peter hangs up, chuckling to himself.
---
Now that Wade knows about Peter’s double life, they team up constantly.
It’s nice. Really nice. It feels downright domestic sometimes. They meet up at Peter’s house, with Wade already in his suit. They chit-chat for a little bit while Peter changes into his suit. Sometimes Wade helps him get into it because spandex onesies are a lot harder to get into than people think, especially when you have built in shoes. Well, half shoes. The soles are cut out so he can still stick to walls.
After they’ve snuck out the window, Peter webs them both over and they start patrolling. After so many years spending his crime-fighting nights alone, Wade’s incapability of silence has become comforting. It’s easier to take down baddies, even if it wasn’t really hard to begin with. After the night has calmed down, and Peter’s Spidey-sense has gone down to a low drum, they grab some shitty food, and head to Peter’s place.
It’s become a routine that Peter is quite fond of.
It’s Sunday, one of the more chiller nights in March. They’re currently trying to take out an attempted carjacking. He jumps down from the rooftop, and into the parking lot. He webs the guy's hand to the car and shoots another to grab the hanger the carjacker was shoving into the window.
“Dude, a hanger? What is this, car-jacking for dummies?” Peter snipes, throwing the hanger to the ground. Strangely the guy doesn't even look surprised. Peter’s having difficulty reading his face. Wade’s sitting on the rooftop above, not even bothering to get involved in something as miniscule as a carjacking. Too many cooks and all that.
Then, Peter feels his Spidey-sense scream at him, blaring in his head to the point of pain. He moves to the side, letting this intuition take over, and hears a gunshot in that moment, and the whizz of a bullet brushing just right past him.
It’s an ambush. A bit clever, he’ll give them points for that. Five guys come out of the shadows, each armed with a gun. Wade jumps down from the roof immediately, landing next to Peter. Peter grimaces a bit. That had to hurt.
“Where’d you guys come from? A plot-device shadow?” Wade snipes, and doesn't even give them a chance to respond before they both start attacking. Wade throws a knife at the goon on the far left, piercing Baddie #5’s shoulder and the force pinning him against the brick wall. Peter, webs Baddie #2, the one with an infected eyebrow piercing, hitting him in the leg and keeping him stuck to the ground. He jumps and grabs the gun, throwing it to the side.
Peter hates to admit it, but seeing Wade fight is really, really attractive. He moves with certainty in his attacks, like a dance routine, knowing exactly which move to do next. He’s efficient, extremely strong, and it shows when they’re taking down baddies.
It’s all over very quickly. Peter assesses them, with them all either unconscious or webbed to the whatever surface was closest.
“They must have something against primary colors, Webs.” Wade says, crossing his arms and looking at them. Peter laughs, and then immediately feels a sharp pinch on his neck. He pushes Wade out of the way, out of instinct.
He feels pressure, then pain on his upper arm, and knows immediately he’s been shot. It’s a feeling he’s very familiar with, unfortunately. Guess the bullet was actually for him , not Wade.
As soon as the shot rang out, Wade grabbed another knife, from god knows where and threw it into the wrist of the gunman. Baddie #2 lets go of his grip of the gun, dropping it with a groan of pain. Peter presses his good arm onto the gunshot wound, feeling a bit woozy from the shock. Wade walks over to Baddie #2, slowly and intimidatingly.
“This is a nice gun! Too bad it’s gonna go for a permanent swim. Like you. Maybe the water will help with that keloid.” Wade says, his voice darkening as he presses a gloved finger on Baddie #2’s eyebrow piercing, and he lets out another whimper of pain.
“Fuck you, man!” $20 Eyebrow Piercing chokes out.
“Deadpool, stop. Let it go.”
“Hm, I don’t think so. I’ve become a bit of a defender of the arachnoids lately.” Wade says, pushing harder on the piercing.
“Wade.” Peter breathes out, feeling himself become slightly weaker. The arm is the most ideal place to get shot, but it still hurts like a bitch. Suddenly, Wade stiffens and lets go. He kicks Baddie #2 in the stomach for good measure, and turns to Peter.
“Fine. Let’s go play nurse, alright Webs? I got just the outfit for this.”
---
They call a cab back to Peter’s apartment, or a couple blocks from it. With his arm out of commission, they can’t swing back. The cabbie barely glances at them, in suits in various states of injury. The cabbie does widen his eyes a bit when Wade hands him a roll of 20s without blinking. Not that you could see it through Wade’s mask.
When they get out of the cab, Wade turns to him.
“You can get mad at me for this later, Webs.” And promptly scoops Peter up in a fireman's carry before Peter can question it. Peter doesn’t put up a fight. The adrenaline from the fight has long worn off, and exhaustion bleeds through him. He’s tired, and his arm hurts like a bitch.
Somehow Wade carries him up the fire escape without banging Peter’s head against the metal. Wade puts Peter down once they reach his floor, opens the window and gestures to it.
“Ladies first.” Wade says, seeming quite subdued. Peter rolls his eyes and crawls through, ignoring the pain in his arm when he has to grab the frame to get inside.
Peter starts to take off his suit, trying not to let out groans as his arm protests. Peter hears Wade take off his own mask, and feels his hands brush the zipper of Peter’s suit.
“Let me,” Wade says, quietly. Peter says nothing, but lets his arms lay limp in lieu of an answer. He feels Wade’s fingers explore around his ribs for the invisible zipper, stilling when he finds it.
Peter steps out of the suit once Wade has pulled it down, not letting himself become modest. They’ve seen each other around in various states of undress, more Peter than Wade.
Peter drops down on his bed, laying on his back with his legs dangling off the side, in a half sitting half laying down position. He sees Wade out of the corner of his eye, riffling around in the bathroom, searching for the first aid kit that Peter keeps there.
“Under the sink,” Peter mumbles, hoping Wade hears him. With the way that Peter hears the creak of the sink cabinets open, he does. Peter lets the sounds of Wade shuffling around wash over him, Wade washing his hands methodically. Wade taking off his gloves and dropping them on the floor of his bathroom. Wade’s footsteps as he walks around Peter’s shoebox apartment, like it’s his own home, comfortable.
“Pete?” Wade says, hesitant. Wade touches Peter’s shoulder with a bare hand. It feels nice.
“Hm?” Peter responds, almost passed out.
“We gotta patch this up, okay? Can you sit up for me?” Wade says. Peter nods and moves to get up, feeling more awake and the pain becoming more present as he tries to move. Wade’s hand is on his shoulder still, more of a guide and comfort than actual help.
Contrary to popular belief, getting bullets out is not a quick and easy process. Especially when you don’t have the right equipment, and you’re a crime-fighting vigilante with a secret identity.
“So,” Wade starts, “Did you see that tiktok I sent you? The one with the furry dolphin, cosplaying as Spider-man?” Wade asks,
“What? What are you--” Peter says, frustrated and tired and in pain.
And then Wade dumps a shit ton of isopropyl alcohol on his wound.
“Ah, fuck!” Peter yells, groaning.
“Sorry pumpkin, had to get that over with.” Wade grimaces. Peter grumbles that it’s fine, and tries not to touch his wound in pain.
Wade grabs the medical pliers that Peter may or may not have stolen from a wrecked ambulance from a couple of alien invasions ago. Peter sees him dump some more alcohol on it, and brings it close to the wound, pausing.
“You ready?”
“Let’s just get this shit done.”
Wade spends the next 20 minutes getting the bullet out. The main part of the sucker was the easy part, but the fragments that splintered off into Peter’s muscles were not. It’s a slow, methodical process. Sometimes, Peter gets lucky and the bullet goes right through him, but Parker Luck is a thing for a reason. Most of the time, the bullet just gets right in there, not wanting to leave its new home.
“Last one,” Wade says, quietly. The past twenty minutes have been awful, just Peter waiting for it to all be over. Wade’s fingers on Peter's skin, near the wound to steady his hand has been nice, if that’s one positive out of this shitshow.
Wade takes the last fragment and drops it into the trash can that he’d been dumping the bullet pieces into.
“Alright, time for the fun part.” Wade jokes.
“What do you mean? All of this has been fun. I’ve been having the time of my life.” Peter says, flat.
“Feeling better then?”
“Oh totally. Tons. How’d you know?” Peter says sarcastically, but he does admit the pain has been relieved slightly.
“You’re getting less dickheadish and more sarcastic. Though, you’re still an asshole, just less of one.” Wade points out while sanitizing the area with an alcohol wipe. Wade threads the needle, and immediately starts stitching him up, not stopping to ask if Peter’s ready. It’s better that way and Peter thinks Wade knows that.
Peter tries to ignore the prick of the needle going through his skin, the way the string moves inside of him. He looks at Wade’s face instead, the way he’s honed in, focused and concentrated. He’s careful and delicate with his stitching, not going too fast, but not going so slow as to lengthen the process.
Wade’s whispering encouragement as the time passes, telling Peter he’s doing good. He’s also muttering to the boxes, something Peter knows he doesn’t do unless he’s stressed.
“No, I don’t know why he would jump in front of me either…” Wade pauses, “Yes, he knows I can’t die,” Wade continues, Peter doesn’t respond, he knows this conversation isn’t for him, and that Wade gets uncomfortable when Peter talks to them.
Wade stiffens for a second, not stopping his stitching, but still clearly shook to whatever the Boxes said. “No. That’s, that’s not possible.”
They don’t speak again until Wade’s finished, bandaging his gunshot wound with gauze and medical tape.
Peter tries for a joke.
“Kiss it to make it better?” Peter says.
Wade laughs, but doesn’t really smile.
“Sure, you’ll need all the help you can get.” Wade jokes, and exaggerated smooch on the gauze covered part of his arm. It’s more of a raspberry if anything. Peter laughs, and moves to get up to help clean everything up. Wade stops him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Nah-ah, I got this Webs. You go hibernate or whatever spiders do in the winter.”
“It’s March, hardly winter anymore. But, I think they just die, actually.” Peter says, not even thinking when he says it. Great, Foot, meet Mouth. He doesn’t even think it true, he distantly remembers reading that they actually do hibernate. Peter just said it because it’s honestly the first thing he thought of.
Wade pauses, frowning.
“Well, we’ll have to bundle you up then, huh?” Wade says, grabbing the left over scraps and puts them in the trash. He grabs the bin, and turns to put it back in the bathroom.
It’s late. It’s about 4 in the morning, it’s cold as shit outside, and he knows that Wade would either have to walk or take a cab to get home. It would be completely logical and rational for him to stay the night. They’ve done that before, with Wade crashing on the couch.
“You can stay, you know.” Peter says once he’s under the covers and had thrown on a sweatshirt Wade threw at him.
“Yeah?” Wade says, not really questioning, but more so just asking to make sure it's okay with Peter.
Wade stayed the night before. Completely, totally rational. Scientific too.
Then, Peter’s so-called brain goes out the window, taking his common sense with him.
“Yeah. Come and snuggle.” Peter blurts.
Wade’s face is carefully blank. Wade is naturally extremely expressive, normally. His emotions always bleed through his face, so obvious that even Peter can read them. Peter’s now realizing that it’s all intentional. Peter only sees it all because Wade wants him too.
“C’mon. Don’t make me ask twice. Gotta hibernate, right?” Peter says. He doesn’t pout. Definitely not. Wade shakes his head, smiling softly. The smile is barely there, but it’s a smile nonetheless, and Peter will take it.
“Okay.”
“Very John Green of you, Wade.” Peter says, calling back to that day at the dollar theater. It’s insane how much has changed. How much they’ve both changed. It’s been over a year since they’ve met and then some. If he told Past Peter that he’s here in his bed, healing from a gunshot wound that Deadpool treated, asking that same Deadpool to come cuddle, well. Past Peter would attempt a lobotomy.
Wade sighs, and starts getting out of his suit, grabbing some clothes out of Peter’s dresser. Wade started keeping his own clothes at Peter’s place a couple months ago, and has his own designated drawer.
Peter can hear Wade talking to himself in the bathroom, mumbling. He tries to ignore what Wade is saying to the Boxes, out of respect.
Wade emerges from the bathroom, wearing a t-shirt and fuzzy Spider-Man pajama pants, ones that Peter got for him after seeing them at Walmart. He climbs into Peter’s bed, the springs of his mattress groaning at the weight of him.
“Don’t break my mattress.” Peter jokes, trying to break the tension.
“You need a new one anyway. I've sleep on rocks more comfortable than this shit.” Wade grumbles, and turns towards Peter.
“Why’d you push me out of the way? You know I can’t die.” Wade says, and it’s not a question. Peter thinks for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain it.
“Just ‘cos you can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t feel pain. Or that I like to see it. And, if you think of it, If I hadn’t pushed you, it would have gone through my heart, so. Fucker had good aim, I guess.” Peter says, honestly, but not in the right parts. It’s true that the bullet could have hit his more squishy and fatal bits. But, the truth is, Peter pushed Wade without even thinking. His spidey-sense went off, telling him that there was danger, and his first instinct was to protect Wade. It’s stupid, and nonsensical. His sense doesn’t tell him what’s happening, or what’s about to. It just told him ‘danger’ and he acted on impulse.
“Don’t talk like that.” Wade says, his breath hitching.
“What? That I don’t like to see you in pain?” Peter says, turning to face Wade, grateful that he doesn't have to lay on his right side.
“No. About you, you know. You dying. I don’t like to think about it.” Wade closes his eyes, sighing.
“Well, I’m not dead, so.” Peter says. Wade opens his eyes, looking off to the side. When he looks back, his eyes are hard.
“Yeah, but you could have. I don’t… just don’t. Don’t all be non-chalant about you fucking dying.”
“Well, everyone dies. Except you, of course.” Peter tries for a joke. Turns out that’s the wrong thing to say. Wade scrunches up his face, like Peter’s words are causing physical pain. Wade lays on his back. Bringing his face up to his face, covering them.
“Peter. Shut up.” Wade’s voice breaks, and it’s muffled slightly by his hands.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out.” Peter apologizes, not knowing what to say. So quickly, everything became serious, and he’s not sure how to make it better. Yet, he knows he can’t. One day, Peter will not be here anymore, and Wade will. Wade will always be here.
Wade doesn’t speak for a moment. He reaches out and grabs Peter’s hand under the blanket squeezing tight.
“Don’t you know how much you mean to me? How, losing you, would be like losing my right thumb. Yeah, it’s not fatal, but I’d really like my fucking thumb back. You know? And everytime I’d look at my hand, and see it gone, I’d be reminding that you’re not there, and you fucking should be.” Wade spits out, and with each word, his voice becomes more strained and upset, like he’s trying not to cry. Peter’s throat tightens. He’s overwhelmed with all of it. With this confession that’s not really a confession. With how Wade loves him, and is telling him, in his weird way. How Peter wants to pour all of his love for him into something.
“Wade.” Peter says, his voice soft. He pulls the hand holding Wade’s, silently asking Wade to turn back towards him. Wade does, with some help from Peter. The bed is small, so when he does, their faces are close to each other. Peter takes his free hand, and puts it on Wade’s cheek, ignoring the strain from his wound. He brings his forehead down to Wade’s, only having to move a couple inches.
“I can’t lose you either. You’re my thumb, too.” Peter whispers, his laugh wet at how dumb the words sound. Wade gives a half smile, sad and only for a split second in return. “And I don’t care if it can grow back. Losing it once is already enough.” Peter breathes out, soft, and not able to look at Wade. And, well.
He closes the distance, kissing Wade. Wade makes a noise of surprise, or maybe anguish. Wade kisses him back immediately.
Their breaths both stink, after hours in their masks, Peter tastes salt on his tongue from Wade’s tears. It’s clumsy and hungry, with Peter trying to pour everything he doesn’t know how to say into it. Peter’s not sure how much time passes. Wade breaks the distance first, and Peter tries to chase his mouth when Wade places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“We should go to sleep.” Wade says, seeming off. Peter nods, not having the energy for words anymore. Wade brings him close, into his chest, squeezing tight. Wade brings a hand up to Peter’s hair, stroking his curls.
Peter’s mind races, despite his exhaustion, and falls into a fitful sleep.
---
Wade isn’t there when Peter wakes. Bastard.
No note, nothing. The bed is cold when Peter’s alarm wakes him up. Peter sighs and lets out a noise of anger and frustration.
“Dickhead.” Peter mutters to himself. He checks his phone, no texts from Wade either. Just May trying to make lunch plans for this week, and emails from his students about the upcoming lab.
Peter gets dressed methodically and ignores the pain in his arm as he gets dressed. He ignores the ache in his chest as he leaves his apartment, feeling too empty and silent. He ignores the concern on his students faces when they ask him about his arm, and when he tells them he just "worked too hard at the gym"; they don’t believe him. He ignores how lonely he feels when Wade doesn’t join him for patrol that night and doesn’t text him for a week.
--
It’s been a week since they kissed. It’s been a long day, and Peter just wants to go home, and not think about Wade. Which is difficult considering everything reminds him of Wade. He looks at his couch, and thinks of Wade. He eats at his favorite restaurant, and thinks of sharing the place with Wade. He listens to his playlist, and a song will come up that Wade showed him. Rinse and fucking Repeat.
After a long day of teaching students and delayed trains, Peter finally reaches his apartment, feeling bone-tired and completely over it. It’s not like his life completely revolves around Wade, but he just wishes Wade would stop ignoring him and get rejecting Peter over with.
Peter walks into his apartment, after struggling with the janky lock, and is greeted with Wade sitting on his couch looking sheepish. Peter freezes, hand on the doorknob with it half open.
“What the fuck?” Peter blurts out.
“Hey!” Wade says, cheerful, like he hasn't been ignoring Peter for a whole fucking week.
“Where have you been? ” Peter demands, his voice firm, but not quite raised. He’s not sure he even wants the answer. He closes his door, locks it, and drops his bag. Wade opens his mouth, and Peter knows that he’s about to go on a tangent, full of lies and dramatics and Peter really can’t fucking do this right now.
“It’s actually a funny story, you see-” Wade starts, and Peter interrupts him immediately.
“No, we’re not doing this Wade. We’re not. Real answers only.” Peter says as he walks to his couch, sitting down and facing Wade. Wade shuts down, looking to the side.
“I don’t think I can do that right now, Pete.” Wade mutters, fiddling with a loose string on Peter’s couch. Peter doesn’t know how to deal with this. He knows that you can’t make Wade talk about his feelings if he doesn’t want to. There’s a part of Peter that wants to shut Wade out, tell him to leave. But, the other part of him, the one that loves Wade even if it hurts sometimes, that wins over.
“I missed you.” Peter breaths out. Wade looks up, a small smile on his face.
“Yeah, me too.” Wade says.
Then, somehow, they go back to normal. As normal as it can be with an elephant in the room that's the size of New Jersey. Wade starts talking about the apparent reason he was gone. He had to rescue orphans with fibromyalgia from a volcano in France. Peter just lets him lie and pretend. He knows, or just hopes that Wade will talk when he’s ready. Maybe it’s unhealthy, but he knows that Wade has not once pressured him to reveal something if he wasn’t ready. Peter’s trying to return the favor, even if everytime Wade speaks, his heart is bursting with impatience.
---
It’s been a couple weeks since that night, when they shared tears and kisses and metaphors that were weird, but felt right. There’s been some stilted awkwardness between them, and sometimes Peter catches Wade looking at him with a wild look on his face, like a deer caught in the headlights. It’s there and gone in an instant, and Peter doesn’t know what to do.
It’s Friday, and Peter’s walking home from Shabbat at May’s. It’s been a good day so far, and he walks home looking at the city around him. He allows himself to get sentimental, looking at the people passing by, all having their own lives. How in the grand scheme of things, he’s a grain of sand in this city. He sees two girls, walking by and laughing about a tinder date as they share a joint. There’s a man on the side of the street, playing the trumpet with his case open for tips. Peter throws a couple bucks in, and the man smiles around the mouthpiece of the trumpet as well as he can.
He loves this city, and depending on the day, the city loves Spider-Man back.
He’s smiling to himself still, unlocking the door to his apartment, with his lock not giving from much struggle. He opens the door, and is greeted by Wade sitting on his couch.
And about 30 balloons in his apartment, along with party stringers.
“What?” Peter says, laughing through the word. The balloons are gender reveal balloons, clearly from a discount store with some of them partially deflated. Wade’s wearing a goddamn tux . With a pink bowtie.
“Surprise!” Wade says, skipping over to Peter. He’s smiling, and it’s a real smile, though Peter can tell he's nervous.
“What’s all this?” Peter asks, locking his door. He walks up to one of the balloons, a pink balloon that says “It’s a Girl!” with sparkles and lipsticks on it. He flicks it, watching it fall to the ground. He turns to Wade, who has a gift box in his hand, with a gold string around it.
“Come sit!” Wade says, sitting on the couch and patting next to him.
“Is there some holiday I’m missing, or something? I mean, I know passover’s soon, but this is not how we do it. You know that, right? There’s less balloons and more horseradish.” Peter says as he sits down next to Wade
“Can’t I just do something nice for you every once and awhile?” Wade says, looking off to the side. He shoves the small, rectangular box in Peter’s hands.
“I wouldn’t exactly call trashing my apartment with dollar store decorations nice , but sure.” Peter jokes, not able to stop the smile that spreads onto his face.
“Just open the box.” Wade says, nudging him, going slightly serious.
Peter pulls the ribbon to get the box open, but it gets knotted. There’s an awkward pause as he tries to open it delicately, with Wade watching him with wide eyes. Peter gives up and uses some of his super strength to pull the ribbon off. He’s suddenly filled with nerves, but opens the box and. Well.
It’s a pregnancy test, with a terribly drawn plus mark on the screen. Peter laughs, turns to Wade to question it.
“I’m cashing in on that abortion date, Petey.” Wade says, and Peter stills. His brain goes back to the first day they met, that day on the subway.
“You..” Peter starts, not sure what to say. His brain stops for a moment, just processing all of it. Wade looks scared, and Peter is desperate to wipe that look off his face. He smiles, kisses him.
It’s not like their last kiss, desperate, full of bittersweetness. They kiss each other, unsure and soft, with Wade cradling the back of Peter’s head and Peter holding Wade’s cheek. It’s an awkward angle, and Peter moves in closer to get more comfortable.
It’s a wonderful moment, that Peter ruins by laughing, just thinking of the terrible scrawl on the pregnancy test, and the mess of this apartment.
“What?” Wade says, as he pulls back. He’s not upset, and he’s smiling too. It’s a good look on him.
“Can’t you just ever do anything normally? Most people just ask someone out for coffee.” Peter says, unable to keep the joy out of his voice.
“You and I both know that normal isn’t in either of our vocabularies.” Wade says, and Peter laughs, pulling him in for a kiss that’s quite unsuccessful because they just keep smiling into each other's mouths. Peter wills himself to stop grinning and kiss Wade properly. It becomes somewhat heated, and before it can go any further, Peter mumbles into Wade’s mouth,
“You know you’re cleaning this up, right?”
There’s not much talking after that.
--
Meeting a 10 year old should not be more nerve wracking than taking down New York's supervillain of the week. But it is. Since Wade told him about Ellie, he’s heard a lot about her, obviously. Wade talks about her all the time; what they did on their bi-weekly visits, or maybe just a tidbit about what she likes. Peter has technically already met Ellie, but not formally. A couple weeks ago while they were hanging out, Ellie FaceTimed Wade, and with permission, Peter jumped in to say hi. Calling it a conversation is a stretch considering they only exchanged about 7 words.
“Stop freaking out.” Wade says, poking Peter on the thigh. They’re on the subway, heading towards Ellie’s Abuela’s to pick her up and take her to the Zoo. Ellie loves animals, and they both know this, so if Peter gets all awkward (likely) they have the cool animals there to be a buffer. Peter bats it away.
“I’m not freaking out.” Peter responds, rolling his eyes. He totally is freaking out but he’s not going to let Wade know it.
“Yeah, okay. Sure.” Wade says, sarcastically. “What’s with the vest? Not that I don’t love your Hot Nerd look, but a vest? Seriously?”
“What’s wrong with a vest? They’re cute. And, you have no right to talk about fashion. You’re literally wearing a fanny pack.” Peter says, flicking said fanny pack with his finger.
“Wow.” Wade says, drawing out the word. “Me? Not knowing about fashion? From the man who’s wardrobe is 90% science-related graphic tees and ugly sweaters? Also, the fanny pack is very useful. Don’t hate on it.”
“I’m just saying, if I saw anyone but you wear the clothes you do, I’d turn the other way.”
“There’s a compliment somewhere in there, I think.”
“There is. I love you so much that I find your LaLaRue leggings attractive.” Peter points out.
“They’re comfy! And, you know. Hug all the goods .” Wade drawls, doing a motion over his body, his hands ghosting over his body in a suggestive way.
“Exactly.” Peter says, confirming this by squeezing Wade’s thigh and throwing a knowing look at him. Wade winks at him and grabs Peter’s hand clumsily.
Once they’ve arrived at Ellie's house, a small 2 story in Queens, Peter’s nerves are at a full 10. Wade grabs Peter’s hand and squeezes it twice.
“Ready?” Wade asks, and Peter nods. Wade lets his hand go, and knocks on the door. Each second that passes, waiting for Ellie or her Abeula to answer, feels like an eternity.
The door opens, and Peter looks down, seeing Ellie’s frizzy hair first. She’s wearing a t-shirt with unicorns on it, shorts, and carrying a Spider-Man backpack.
“Daddy!” Ellie nearly screams, stepping outside and jumping into Wade’s arms. Wade catches her, and pretends to crumble to the ground, groaning and landing softly on his knees. Ellie lets go and looks up at Peter as Wade gets back up.
“Ellie, this is Peter.”
“I know that, who else would he be? You told me, ‘we’re going to the Zoo with Peter, my boyfriend.’”
“It’s called being polite, El. Say hi.” Wade says, and Ellie latches herself onto Wade’s side.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Peter says, smiling. “You ready for the zoo?”
Ellie grins and nods, and they make their way down the steps and towards the nearest subway station. Ellie grabs Wade's hand, skipping slightly from excitement.
“I want to see the dolphins. And the sharks! Did you know that dolphins are actually really mean? They’re bullies. They do bad stuff to the other animals in the ocean. I like sharks too! Sharks are cool. They look mean, but they're just hanging out. Like Dad.”
“You like spiders?” Peter asks.
“Oh yeah. Spiders are great. Not as great as Spidey though. Daddy hangs out with Spider-man all the time. Did he tell you that?” Ellie asks, and Peter suppresses a laugh and coughs to cover it up.
“Yeah, he did. What do you like about spiders?” Peter asks, feeling like a blind man in this conversation. He is not good with kids. He feels like he’s walking in a minefield, not knowing what to say, how to act. He really wants Ellie to like him, and it feels dumb wanting the approval of a 10 year old, but it’s Wade’s kid. Of course he wants her to like him.
“They’re freaky looking. They stick to stuff, and make cool webs. The girls eat the dads after they mate which is super badass--”
“Ellie,” Wade warns. Peter finds it very cute watching Wade parent, and very ironic that he’s scolding her for cursing when Wade usually can’t go 30 seconds without either cursing or making a dirty comment. At least around Peter.
“Sorry, bad-apple. But the best thing about spiders, is that they created Spider-man. Without them, Spidey wouldn’t be around, and then we’d all die.” Ellie says, and Peter laughs at that.
“I don’t think everyone would die without him, don’t you think?” Peter asks, tilting his head.
“Well, maybe not, but Iron Man and everyone else isn’t as cool as him. I’d die from boredom. Though Wolverine is cool. And the cloud lady, what’s her name again?” Ellie continues, looking at Wade and shrugging their linked hands.
“Storm. El, why don’t you ask Peter what he likes?” Wade nudges her, as well as he can while holding her hand.
“But I didn’t get to talk about Bobcats yet!”
The journey over to the zoo, while long, is nice. Ellie rambles the whole way over, with Wade and Peter joining in occasionally. Peter sees where she gets that part from. Peter notices that Wade’s monologues go down about 60% around Ellie. Peter catches him smiling proudly at her, and it’s very adorable.
Ellie mainly talks about animals the whole time, with some other topics strung about. Every time they see a street or bodega cat, she insists that they stop and pet them, taking treats out of her Spider-Man backpack. Every time she does pet one, which is quite often, Wade makes her sanitize her hands with the hand sanitizer he keeps in his fanny pack.
Once they’ve made it to the zoo, Ellie’s excitement over the animals only increases. She reads every info-stand on each animal, and turns to them to relay a fact that she just learned. While they’re looking at Red Pandas, Peter sees a Dip & Dots stand and taps Ellie's shoulder.
“Which flavor’s your favorite?” Peter asks, pointing at the stand. Ellie smiles big at him, the dimple on her right cheek showing. She tells him she likes Oreo the best. He buys her one, as well as two more for Wade and him, trying not to cringe at the price.
He hands it to her, and she grabs it a bit excitedly.
“Thank you!” Ellie says, grandiose in the way that kids do.
Hours pass. Peter’s feet hurt, he’s tired and overstimulated. Ellie is getting cranky, so Wade calls it a night.
The cab ride home is silent, with Ellie napping against Wade where she sits in the middle seat with Wade's arm wrapped around her. Her hair is even more frizzy, with a humidity of the season and Peter finds it very adorable.
“Hey,” Wade says, softly to call Peter’s attention without waking Ellie up.
“You did good. She likes you.” Wade says, his voice still low.
“I like her too. She’s a good kid.”
Wade smiles, one that’s a bit sad but sweet. Wade’s arm, the one holding Ellie, reaches out slightly and places it on Peter’s arm. The angle is awkward and weird, but Peter’s heart warms at the gesture regardless.
--
It’s been a couple months since the day they got together, which they both call the “Gender Reveal Party” as a bit of an inside joke. They’re lying on the couch together, with Peter laying on Wade’s chest with their legs tangled together. Wade is playing with Peter’s hair, his hands stroking it and ringing up his curls. It’s a win-win, Wade loves Peter’s hair, and Peter loves him touching it. Wade is currently rambling about the importance of thyroid health, and how Peter needs to see an endocrinologist.
“I know finding one is impossible, but the thyroid is a very important thing. It’s actually kinda annoying, because like. One gland affects pretty much every part of your body? Like, talk about an overachiever. It’s not just women who are affected! I mean, men too. Me included. The good ‘ol il cancro got me there.” Wade says. Peter hums in response. Wade pokes him.
“Are you listening?”
“I am. Thyroid bad, get it checked. I’ll make an appointment.” Peter mumbles, wanting to sleep.
“Wade?”
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you approach me, on that day? You know, when we met. You could have asked literally anyone else. Was it just chance or something else?” Peter says, feeling more awake. It’s been on his mind a lot. If how his life is now, the one he’s created with Wade, was created out of a split second chance.
“Honestly?” Wade prompts.
“Yes, honestly.” Peter says, poking Wade’s ribs, where he knows that Wade is ticklish. Wade squirms and taps Peter to make him stop.
“I thought you were hot.” Wade says, honestly. Peter looks up at Wade, moving to sit between Wade’s legs, facing him.
“You thought I was hot?” Peter asks, laughing. “So you were hitting on me!”
“I hit on everyone! Or I did. I don’t know, you were hot and and seemed gay, and I just thought by your hot nerd appearance you wouldn’t be a dickhead. Which I was wrong, because you are a bit of a dick. But in a good way.” Wade says, pulling Peter back into his chest.
“I just wanted a friend, that’s all. But when I got closer, your stupid freckles ruined it for me. God, I’m a sucker for those.” Wade says, stroking Peter’s nose where his freckles are the most intense.
“Oh, so it was my freckles? Not my charming personality?” Peter laughs.
“Oh, of course. Once it’s winter I’m leaving ya, until the sun comes out again and they're back.” Wade says, booping on the nose and putting his hand back in Peter’s hair.
“You’re gonna ruin them. I just washed them today.”
“Well, what if I like them frizzy and all over the place?” Wade says, and makes a point of it by giving Peter a noogie. Peter bats his hand away, and when he isn’t successful, he grabs Wade’s wrist, and holds it down, flipping and stradling Wade’s waist. Wade tries and fails to tousle with him, with Peter grabbing his other wrist and pinning it to the side of it.
“C’mon! You don’t wanna wrestle? You know I love it when you play dirty.” Wade jokes, waggling his non-existent eyebrows. Peter laughs, and kisses him.
“You’re an asshole.” Peter says when they part, with Wade’s hands released and laying on Peter’s hips.
“Yeah, but what’s that cliche line? I’m your asshole. In more ways than one.” Wade says, and Peter rolls his eyes, and drops down, settling back on Wade’s chest, now laying on the side of him, with his hand laying on Wade’s chest.
“Love you.” Peter says, soft and casual. He looks up, and Wade looks sheepish, and smiles. Wade always looks surprised when he says it, like it’s the first time. It’s not, and Wade was the one to say it first, about a month ago. Peter pokes him on the nose.
“Say it back, doofus.” Peter says, poking Wade’s nose over and over again, until he relents. Wade bats his hand away.
“Yeah, yeah, love you too.” Wade says, sounding annoyed but his face says otherwise.
“You better. No takesies backsies.”