Just three months into getting his license, and Peter Parker was anticipating losing it through an 'accident' to shut up a customer. College had racked up some pretty painful bills, and he'd taken to job-jumping until something flexible came up; hence his current situation, a customer sat to his side rather than in the sectioned off boot, spewing incomprehensible bullshit with no indication of stopping. Thank god they were pretty, or they'd have nothing going for them.
"Pizza?" The man offered, waving his open box to let the smell waft around, "Got it on the job but, honestly, I didn't even want it. Just seems more dramatic."
Peter glanced quickly from the road to the contents, half eaten and the card scratched at suspiciously in random place. He declined with a curt shake before eyeing the Satnav, each meter count dragging them closer to the destination and him away from the customer. Most gave up conversation, or simply stopped addressing him, but not this man.
"You ever taken a shit in kitty litter before?"
"No sir," Parker responded, flexing his fingers on the wheel and indicating left, pulling further into the rather rough neighbourhood. He'd never been there without adorning his spandex, and hoped that after this visit, he wouldn't return.
"Yeah, I don't recommend it. I mean, it smells fantastic, don't get me wrong, but there's something so satisfying about flushing that you just don't experience - pull over here!" The man grappled the wheel and forced them aside, front wheel skimming across the pavement as Peter slammed the breaks.
"What the fuck?" Peter glanced angrily at the man beside him, who had already unclipped his seatbelt and was thumbing through a wad of cash. The customer took one look at the meter before tossing a set of notes into Peter's direction, barely giving time for collection before the man was out the car and striding away.
"Names Wade, by the way," He informed, hesitating only to speak, "If you're lucky, you'll never see me again."
Peter had to silently agree as Wade sauntered off, and it was only once Wade had disappeared behind a corner that Peter noted the cash in his hand, an extra $50 having been tipped. Huh. Maybe the smart-ass (great ass) hadn't been so bad, although he hardly anticipated another meeting between the two.
Shrugging to himself he pulled away, listening absently to the radio and waiting for his final call of the day. Two teenagers party-hopping had him returning closer to home, boarding into the back with the scent of cheap vodka sticking to their clothes. He continued driving. Life goes on.
You never see a new yorker twice, not if they're a good Samaritan certainly. Peter never intended to see anyone from his line(s) of work, having had some rather nasty incidents in all his occupations; however, it wasn't coincidence when he faced the same Wade at the skate park that night. The man had been conversing with a group of teen girls, getting a rather emotional response from all of them when displaying picture evidence. Peter had been grinding across the rails - ripping the shit out of his trucks as he went - but switched to ramp in order to overhear more of the conversation.
The only words he caught during this were, "You're my hero."
If kitty-shitting Wade was a hero, then he deserved a noble piece prize; whatever delusions were inflicted on this crowd were not affecting Peter. Perhaps he'd prematurely judged, but there was something of a vibe that clung to Wade each time he took a step - internalized hatred and guilt, mixed with a strong waft of Vodka and pizza probably. The kind of stink that clings to a guy after waking up next to his bestfriends girlfriend, only far more intense.
"Now that I do hate," Wade began his exit, crossing the ramp with zero disregard for the boarders passing across the flatter section. Peter attempted to manoeuvre aside but momentum was against him, they still scraped shoulders: enough of a mistake to toss Peter from his board. He landed heavily on his side, feeling pain erupt across his shoulder and his head scraped against the gravel floor. Several other skaters hesitated to check on his safety, before noting a man already doting on him.
"Shit man, you alright?" Wade knelt down and offered a sturdy hand, pulling him up only to dash across, attempting to rescue his skateboard before it became a hazard for the other teen rebellions. One girl with a shaved scalp and dark make-up gave him a judgemental look before placing her foot on the grip and kicking it back towards Wade, the board crawling into his reach. Peter ducked off the ramps, shortly followed by Wade who handed the skateboard back over.
Wade reached out with a tentative hand, inspecting the cut across Peter's forehead - it blossomed with fresh blood. He mopped it away with the red of his jumped, making a quick mental note to wash the damned thing when he got home, before poking around the injured shoulder. After several careful touches, he affirmed that all the remnants would be was a rather nasty bruise.
"Thought I told you it was bad luck to see my twice," The man laughed gently, glancing back at the group of girls he had prior been talking to; they were snickering in his direction. Great. "Now look at the clumsy rep we're both gonna get."
"It's a travesty, man," Peter deadpanned, touching his injuries with a curious, albeit hesitant, hand, "We're never gonna be able to show our faces in his neighbourhood again. Guess I have to move to mexico."
"Hey, I got a neighbourhood you can put your head any time you want," Wade raised one eyebrow before expressing disgust at his own pick up line, "I'm sorry, that was gross, I don't know why I said that. Just- ah. Well."
Peter snickered lightly, covering his mouth as he laughed. Wade noticed the response and shrugged, "Hell, if you don't mind."
"Hit me up when you're not taking a dump in a litter tray and maybe we can sort something out," Never a sentence Peter wanted to say, and yet somehow he was almost compelled to; almost like the writer was too lazy to keep with basic character consistencies. Strange, that.
"Ah man, I wish that was the weirdest thing I'd done today, or even in the past hour," Wade began leading them away from the park, sparing a second to wave at his previous companions - who reciprocated, giggling at a muttered comment between themselves - looking around awkwardly as he went.
"Oh yeah, I just wanted to check, did you mean to tip me 50 bucks? You kinda bailed before I could confirm and it seems rather excessive given you really didn't go that far," Peter shrugged uncomfortably; as if he could afford to loose that at the moment. At least he was morally correct and financially broken, rather than the reverse.
Wade caught the uneasiness in his expression and wafted it away, "Yeah, I always tip well when a guy knows how to give a good ride - feel free to keep that in mind for later. Although normally I like to get a name, but hey; small steps."
"Parker. Peter Parker," He smiled, beginning to stick out his hand before realising how nerdy that would seem and withdrawing, rubbing invisible dirt onto his jumped.
"Nice to meet you Parker Peter Parker," Wade grinned, offering a strong handshake, directing his gaze straight into Peter's, "Names Wade Wilson and I'm telling you, you're gonna get a broken mirrors lot of luck if you keep spotting me about."
Wade had to split in a different direction, having arrived at the streets they had slowly been meandering towards, and he finished the conversation with, "See you around if you're unlucky."
"Third time's a charm, Wilson." Peter waved him away, wanting to head home before the threatening rain came overhead and washed away his good mood. It's true, you never see a good New Yorker twice; he supposed he should be thankful that Wade wasn't exactly moral, or else they'd not have crossed paths once more.