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Getting around by bus wasn’t all that bad. Pop in some headphones, read a book, catch up on Instagram—do whatever you like, as long as it’s not talking to a total stranger. On the bus, people kept to themselves. Everyone was just trying to get from point A to point B in relative peace. Well, most people were.
Some people, Peter noted, were just meant to be disruptors of the general peace on public transportation. There was not a single doubt in his mind that some people got kicks out of holding fellow bus riders ears and eyes hostage. Living in New York City meant he had seen (and ignored) everything on the bus before. Hell, one time someone put on an amateur magic show. It was entertaining until the magician decided unleashing untrained pigeons was acceptable. His excuse? Couldn’t find any doves. That day, Peter had elected to get off a few stops early to take a walk in the mid-January urban tundra.
Ignoring people on the bus was relatively easy, despite the few outliers that were impossible to ignore. Someone taking off their clothes? Glue your eyes to your phone. Zealous, drunk, and vaguely religious man yelling at the top of his lungs? Crank up your music until your ears bleed. Someone smells like they’re drenched in nuclear hot dog water? Try to see how long you can hold your breath. Peter had every trick in the book.
Despite the temptation to get around by web-swinging on his days off, he knew he had to let himself be normal Peter Parker sometimes. In fact, he planned on having some quality time with himself via photography escapades downtown. It had been a while, a long while since he had done any hobby-related photography. It was nice to take pictures of civilians. Whether they were looking fashionable or completely lost, he wanted to capture it all. And if he got bored of the view from the ground, maybe, just maybe , he’d pull on the mask and take pictures from a much higher vantage point.
His bus ride, so far, had been peaceful. Peter was reading, enjoying a novel. When was the last time he had read a book for fun? Probably never. Of course, something like peace and quiet was a commodity that rarely lasted for Peter.
"This sauce right here is the holy grail,” an unmistakable voice boomed across the bus, carrying itself all the way to the back where Peter was sitting. Immediately, he shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, making a grab for his headphones. When Peter realized he had forgotten them, he breathed a heavy sigh and sunk in his seat.
Of course Wade Wilson was on the bus.
There wasn’t a single person on planet Earth that didn’t know Deadpool and Wade Wilson were one in the same. The whole secret identity thing wasn’t an issue for the mercenary; Peter was almost positive Wade had introduced himself to Spider-Man as Wade Wilson instead of Deadpool. Wade’s lackadaisical regarding his secret identity made Peter’s stomach churn. For Peter, his identity staying unknown was crucial. Aunt May had just found out he was Spider-Man, and she was the only person that knew other than MJ.
Peter knew who Wade was, Wade didn’t have a clue who Peter was.
Wade may have known Spider-Man, but the person that was under the mask was a complete mystery. At least Peter hoped it was. Wade had always been respectful over his choice to keep his identity anonymous. On several occasions Wade even went out of his way to protect Peter’s identity from being revealed.
Wade had been prattling on to a group of strangers sitting near the front. None of the bus patrons seemed to be listening, as much as they were being held conversationally hostage. Nobody was responding to Wade, yet he continued his monologue while taking brief breaks to chomp into a burger he held in one hand. In Wade’s lap sat a grease-splattered brown paper bag.
Peter quirked his eyebrow in deadpan amusement, trying not to make it known that he was paying attention to Wade. Number one rule of interacting with Wade Wilson: never give him too much attention, he’ll just want more.
“Mild sauce? This ain't got no name,” Wade said, gesturing to the burger in his hand while leaning closer to an elderly woman sitting next to him. “This is Misty's sauce. Everyone knows this. Go ahead, go anywhere in NYC — ask any burger joint about Misty. She’s infamous. Makes one the best damn burgers you’ll ever have. Kinda scares the hell outta me, to be honest. I don't know if she sided with the Illuminati to get this recipe or what, but this sauce is the bee’s knees."
Like a fast-food magician, Wade reached a hand into the take-out bag and pulled out a paper tray of cheese covered fries. They teetered somewhere between looking delicious and disgusting. Having reached part two of his ode to Misty’s cooking, Wade showed off the half-eaten burger and fries like a proud father.
“You wouldn’t believe how much I paid for this.” A man sitting across from Wade shrugged his shoulders as if to say, I don’t know, how much did you pay? Wade pointed a finger at him and smirked. “Double cheeseburger, cheese fries, and a drink—all for six bucks. You can’t get anything for six hard-earned American dollars in this city. Misty, she’s a miracle worker, an unrecognized saint, a goddess of the Bronx.”
Alright, so the guy gave a pretty decent sales pitch. Now Peter was craving a burger, but still wasn’t craving any sort of interaction with Wade. There was a creeping paranoia gnawing at the back of his head, one that told him it was better to avoid Wade all together. He couldn’t ignore the possibility that Wade would put two and two together.
“Anyway, do you want a shot of vodka? I’ve got a bottle of Grey Goose, haven’t cracked it open yet but this bus seems like a great place to spread the wealth,” Wade said to the elderly woman sitting next to him. She didn’t respond, so Wade stood up and made the announcement to the entire bus: “Hey, anybody want a shot?”
Wade started walking down the aisle, slowly making way to the back of the bus, offering fellow riders alcohol as he went. Surprisingly, Wade had a few takers.
As Wade got closer to the back of the bus, Peter realized he would most definitely have to interact with Wade. There was no hope of escape. Could he jump out the bus window? No, no, bad idea.
In a sudden panic, Peter tried to figure out what to do. He anxiously shuffled in his seat, looked out the window, looked at his camera, looked at his shoes, took out his phone, put away his phone, looked out the window again, and stopped. Peter’s thoughts raced with the repeating mantra of: don’t come over here, don’t come over here, don’t come over here.
Just as Peter was deliberating between examining his shoes and looking out the window again, Wade stopped at his seat, and of course, sat down next to him. Peter did not make eye contact.
“How you doin’?” Wade said, chipper as always, friendlier than any person should have ever been.
“Fine.” Peter spat out the word like venom, praying to whatever god would listen in that moment. His thoughts shifted to a quick and resounding: leave, leave, leave, leave, leave.
“Don’t know if you heard, but I’m offering shots,” Wade said, his voice lower, taking on a more conversational tone. He shook the vodka bottle and wiggled his eyebrows.
“I don’t drink,” Peter answered, which was mostly true. Hangovers weren’t really good for the whole Spider-Man business, and unfortunately, Peter was a lightweight.
“That’s fine, I respect that. Good to know D.A.R.E. worked for someone.” Wade paused, staring at Peter for longer than what was socially acceptable. Oh God, did Wade recognize his voice or something?
“Well, see ya!” Wade finally blurted out. He got up and made it to the very end of the bus, where he decided to plop himself in the middle of the back row of seats. Peter felt his face heat up in embarrassment, but then forced it away. Despite his spidey senses not going off, he could feel Wade’s eyes on the back of his head. When the curiosity ate away at him too much to resist, Peter turned around and looked at Wade.
Wade winked, and Peter felt his face turn red again as he spun back around and impulsively tugged the cord. He got off five stops early, walking in a rush to nowhere in particular.
Later that night, Spider-Man went on patrol with Deadpool. It was a quiet night, the kind of night where they spent a lot of time socializing on rooftops. No bad guys to fight. Big bummer. Peter and Wade sat on the edge of a building, their legs dangling over the edge. He had gotten a can of Coke out of a vending machine earlier. To make sure he didn’t open up a shaken up can of soda and stain his suit (again), Peter waited for a bit before popping the tab. He rolled his mask up to his nose, and took a gulp of his drink.
“Earlier, I was on the bus and I saw this guy,” Deadpool mentioned. Peter’s heart stopped. There was no reason for Wade to bring that up, right? After all, Wade didn’t know who he was, it was just a silly little coincidence. Peter’s number one defense mechanism activated: snark.
“Oh yeah? I mean, I probably saw about twenty different dudes on the bus today too. It’s part of riding the bus. You like, see people, you know?”
Real smooth, Peter.
“But this guy was different,” Wade continued, his voice almost taking a daydreamy tone, like a school-girl recounting a crush. “He had this messy brown hair, and sorta nerdy thick-rimmed glasses. But in a hot nerd sorta way, you know?”
“Mmm hmm,” Peter affirmed, his voice nervously raised by a few octaves. He cleared his throat, trying not to focus on the burning warmth creeping up on his cheeks again. Peter kept sipping on his drink, trying to give himself some sort of distraction.
“That dude was total eye candy. We didn’t really talk much, but I’m committing that face to memory,” Wade said. “I mean, he was a rockin’ twink.”
Peter spat out his drink, dropped his coke can, and webbed it back up to himself all within the span of three seconds. Shooting up to his feet, Peter pulled his mask down and said, “Well, great going on patrol with you Wade, see ya tomorrow, it’s been fun!” Which really just sounded like one word with how quickly it came out of his mouth. Before Wade had a chance to interject, Peter shouted a high-pitched “bye” before swinging away as fast as he possibly could.
From that day on, Peter decided to never take the bus ever, ever, ever again.