Chapter Text
“An act of kindness
Is what you show to me
It caught me by surprise in this town of glass and eyes
Kindness, so many people past me by
But you warm me to my core and you left me wanting more”
~Act of Kindness – Bastille
WADE
In a battle against a horde of invading alien douchebags, one must always carry heavy weaponry.
[No shit, Sherlock.]
“Fuck you, Yellow, no one asked you,” Wade snarled, spinning around and nailing one of the green freaks right between what he was going to assume were nostrils. “BOOM! Headshot!”
“Cut the commentary, Deadpool,” Hawkeye ordered, shooting off his little explosive arrows with the most adorable grumpy-face known to man. Wade told him as much, and he was rewarded with the finger before Short Stack ran off across the rooftops to get to the next point, or whatever the fuck Captain Sparkle Pants’ strategy called for next.
Deadpool wasn’t there to follow some dumb strategy – he was there to unalive as many aliens as he could before the heroes made him stop and play nice with the little invaders.
In fact, this was one of the only times Spidey didn’t get his knickers in a twist about Wade’s methods of dealing out justice.
{I think you mean “justice”; air quotes included.}
And Spidey was the real reason Wade was even there, fighting alongside the Avengers, in the first place. A fact which resulted in Wade pinching himself every so often in order to insure this wasn’t just a wacked-out fever dream. He got those from time to time. It was a continuously-regenerative cancer thing.
But no, it was real, and Spiderman himself had asked Wade to tag along! How fucking lucky was that? Wade Wilson was never that lucky.
As if the universe wanted to remind him of just that, everything started going to shit. And not in the fun way. He wouldn’t have even noticed it happening, had Iron Man not called for reinforcements for himself and the Spider-dweeb on the north side.
[You noticed because we’re obsessed with the webbed-wonder. It’s ok, you can admit it. This is a safe space.]
{Technically, we could get shot in the dick at any moment. So, it ain’t that safe.}
“Worth it!” Deadpool exclaimed, bulldozing his way toward the bridge.
He saw Iron Man and War Machine knocking the little buggers out of the air side by side, making their way toward the center. It should have been easy for the two of them to get there, but everything was always more complicated once magic got thrown in to the mix. Especially when their blonde god of thunder was MIA. Plus, Strange hadn’t been around lately, due to something about portals and a monastery in Asia – Deadpool hadn’t really been listening when Spiderman was explaining all the latest gossip last week.
But none of that mattered the instant Wade got on top of one of the overturned semi-trucks and saw the reason Iron Man had called for backup.
He surveyed the scene and less than a second later, his brain went to static.
His guns were out and he was shooting the ever-living fuck out of anything that got in his way, but he couldn’t feel a thing.
Spiderman was lying prone against one of the ripped-open cars.
Wade heard Iron Man shouting, “Get him out of here!” and suddenly he was running again. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten through the horde of fuckers, but then he was crouching next to the web slinger, checking for a pulse.
A tight knot Wade hadn’t even felt forming suddenly released in his chest as he found it, slow and muted but there all the same.
“Mhuh,” Spiderman mumbled, his wrist jutting out, sending one an attacker flying backwards over Wade’s shoulder with the web shooter. “Got your back,” he said, half coherent.
Wade laughed, because how could he not? “How bout we take this party back to my place, huh?”
“Kidnaping…” but Wade didn’t hear the rest of whatever Spiderman had meant to say, because the guy passed out, going limp in Wade’s arms.
“What the fuck are you waiting for? Go!” Iron Man bellowed, clearing Wade’s path with a hot blast of blue light. He couldn’t remember what Spidey called those things. Wade would have to ask him later, after he’d woken back up. But first – safety.
Stark no doubt intended for Wade to dump Spiderman back at their big fancy tower, but fuck that idea. Wade’s place was closer and had a significant lack of judgy assholes that the tower was literally filled with. He didn’t know Spiderman all that well, but he did know the guy had just recently made it officially onto the A-team. It would suck ass to be that one newbie that passed out on one of their first runs, and Wade was a kind and caring soul: he couldn’t let the Spidey suffer such indignity.
Also: Spiderman. In Wade’s apartment.
The fan club was going to freak out.
----
PETER
He woke up to darkness and the smell of stale fabric. Having been a superhero for years now, and having been captured more than a handful of times, Peter knew better than to start flailing about wildly. Instead, he kept his eyes closed and tried to remember what the hell had happened…
There had been a fight, duh.
He felt it in his ribs and his left shoulder and – ouch – his face, too. As far as he could tell, he had bandages wrapped tightly around his midsection, extending up and around the shoulder that was killing him every time he moved.
He didn’t seem to be on any pain medication which sucked majorly, but then again, at least the only thing muddling his mind was the pain. Pain he could power through – drugs, not so much.
The room was quiet, save for the sound of people moving around and talking on the floors both above and below. Apartment complex or an office building? And he was in a bed. Or at the very least, it was a mattress with a blanket and pillows. The cheap, only partially stuffed pillows that screamed low-budget in a way Peter was all too familiar with.
So, either the baddie was a cheap bastard, didn’t care, or was just as poor as Peter Parker. Great.
The room also stunk of bleach and antiseptic, as well as what Peter hoped was his own blood and sweat on the sheets. He decided not to think too hard about what else it could have been.
He couldn’t hear any breathing in the room, nor the tell-tale hum of a machine, so Peter let one eye drift slowly open; praying there wasn’t some camera pointed right in his face that would alert whoever had taken him that their prisoner was –
“SPIDEY!”
Peter jerked involuntarily, causing what he now knew as a deep tear in his abdomen to spasm and his eyesight to fade out around the edges, going blurry. Peter gasped in pain, and then he could only see red.
Or rather, red and black.
Red and black and white…an apron over a suit...?
“Fuck me,” Peter wheezed. It was Deadpool.
“I’d love to, Spiderbutt, but I’m supposed to be making sure you don’t bleed out, and trust me when I say; my dick too bomb. Literally.”
“I…what?” Peter asked, angling up on one arm while pressing the other gently to his side. It was hard enough to keep up with Deadpool on a good day, but throw in what just might be a gunshot wound to the abdomen and it was nigh on impossible.
Deadpool waved off Peter’s confusion and came around to lean over the side of the bed. Peter tried to shift away out of instinct, but didn’t get too far as another spasm of pain shot down his spine.
“Here I thought the first words out of our mouth were going to be something like: oh Wade! My savior! Thank you so much, how will I ever be able to repay such a gallant and dashing hero?!” Wade mocked. He started to poke around Peter’s bad side, checking the bandages and looking for signs of increased bleeding, all while ignoring Peter’s half-hearted protests.
“Where…are we?” Peter asked slowly, regaining his breath. Whatever injury he had sustained, it must have been gruesome for his own slight healing factor to still leave him this out of it.
Deadpool leaned back, stretching his arms out wide. “Welcome to Casa de Deadpool! The one and only Wade Manor!”
Peter glanced around the small room with bullet-riddled drywall and patchy, peeling wall paper. Yeah, this was about what he expected from the man who had to be reminded that washing his gloves was an important part of daily hygiene – especially considering he went to the bathroom with those things on.
Sure, the super-suit was annoying sometimes, and Peter was pretty lazy when he had the opportunity to be, but even he was nowhere near that bad. Then he realized Wade had been handling his wounds with those very same gloves and choked out a gagging sound.
“Augh! Please tell me you disinfected your hands earlier? Wait, scratch that. Don’t tell me. Don’t even look at me – I don’t want to know.”
“Not look at the prettiest face to ever grace these hallowed halls?” Wade asked incredulously, a hand over his heart.
Peter froze, only then comprehending the lack of fabric over his cheeks, then his eyes flicked over to where his mask lay on the nightstand. The thing was half torn to shreds, and yet he still itched to shove it back on.
Wade seemed to understand Peter’s panic, and held up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, no worries about the secret identity. My memory is shit, Spidey-boy, I probably won’t even remember what your hair color looks like tomorrow morning, much less be able to pick you out of a crowd.”
Peter didn’t buy that for a second but…he appreciated the effort. Huh. That was a strange feeling, appreciating something Wade did. “Thank you,” he replied automatically, still feeling shell-shocked by it all.
Wade looked uncomfortable at that, and mumbled something to those boxes in his head he always talked to.
“So, uh. Does anyone know I’m here?” Peter asked, trying to keep his mind off the pain.
“I’m hurt, Spidey. You think I kidnapped you?” Then the eyeholes of Wade’s mask blew wide open. “Holy mother of tits, Yellow, you’re right!” Wade exclaimed, jumping back from the bed, his arms flailing out in wide arcs. “You’re legal, aren't you? Fuckity shit, have I been perving on a kid this whole time?! You’ve got that baby face that could be either be twenty-five or sixteen. Good God of Pornography, say something!”
“I would if you’d stop freaking out for more than five seconds!” Peter exclaimed, trying not to laugh at the horrified expression on Wade’s face. He thought about lying and saying he was seventeen just to watch Wade have a mental break down, but then thought about the fact that Wade was pretty unstable already, and decided against it.
“I’m twenty-two. You’re not a pedophile, Wade.”
Wade let out an exaggerated breath and flopped down on the bed again. “That’s a relief. Now I can perv in peace without feeling creepy.”
“Yeah no, you’re still creepy,” Peter teased back, unable to help the smile playing at his lips. He knew what Wade was doing, or at least he thought he did – providing a distraction. As surprised as Peter had been at his earlier bout of appreciation for the loon, he was less surprised to find himself feeling comfortable. It was still weird, Wade would always be weird, but it wasn’t the bad kind.
Now that they weren’t on the job and Peter wasn’t constantly paranoid Wade was going to kill someone, blow everything up, or some chaotic combination of the two, it was easy to joke around. It was easy to talk to him, or more often listen and occasionally interject something into the rambling stream of consciousness that was Wade’s brand of communication.
Somehow, the next time Peter looked out of the window of Wade’s living room – hours after Peter had made a comment about video games and Wade had demanded the chance to kick Peter’s ass “for realsies” – it was pitch black outside.
Peter frowned. “Hey, what time is it?”
“No idea, clock got busted last time Cable got pissy about respect and duty, and you can’t wear a hooker dress on this mission, Wilson,” Wade mocked, putting down the controller to do proper air quotes.
Peter was that close to taking the bait and asking about the dress, but shook his head in an attempt to clear out the mental image instead. “Is that why you’re always late to everything?”
Wade scoffed. “I’m never late. I run by the only time stamp that matters,” he said, waiting for Peter to ask.
“Deadpool time?”
“Lady Liberty’s!”
“But aren’t you Canadian? I distinctly remember Black Widow mentioning something about Canada in your debrief.”
“Well if you want to get technical about it,” Wade said, sniffing. “Shut up, Whitey, I know we’re banned. I was there!”
Peter paused for a moment, considering if he wanted to know the story behind that one, or if he’d sleep better at night if he let it go. One quick look at the rising moon and the sudden panic at remembering he hadn’t called Aunt May yet, and she definitely would have seen the news about the battle, and he forced himself to stand up.
“I better get going, it’s way later than I thought,” he said, proud of the way he didn’t let out a pathetic squeak at the twinge of pain that resurfaced at his movement. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, and he probably could have left Wade’s hours back, but he’d been having fun and lost track of time. That sort of thing really only happened when he was neck deep in science mode either with Tony or by himself in his at-home lab (otherwise known as his crappy kitchen).
“Bed time already? Thought you said you were legal?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “More like I better get home and call my Aunt before she gets worried and tries to cook, or worse, bake.” He shuddered, remembering the last time he’d been injured worse than this, and had come home to a plate of rock solid cookies that tasted almost exactly like the ash pile he’d crawled out of.
“Ew. Family. Can’t relate.” Wade kicked his feet up on the coffee table and threw his arms out along the back of the couch. “Well then get going, shorty. You can only cramp my style for so long: Daddy’s got bills to pay.”
“Whatever, nut-job. I’ll see you later,” Peter called, slipping out the window and onto the fire escape before quietly making his way out into the night,
It wasn’t until Peter finally crawled into his own bed that he realized he’d forgotten his mask entirely. Oh well, he reasoned, he could always go back for it tomorrow.
And that was the start of it.
The start of Wade and Peter running into each other more often, so much so that they had built up a routine of Wade joining Peter on patrol, and of almost weekly gaming sessions as Wade’s place. Peter just kept on showing up every Friday night, usually with a dumb excuse like “forgot my mask” (he had multiple), or slightly better ones about looking for information on someone (which was only good until he thought about the Avengers' resources he now had access to, and the fact he was friends with Natasha), and then the downright terrible ones that started with stuff like, “So I thought of this joke…”.
But Wade never called him out on the excuses, regardless. That was probably the second weirdest thing about it all, since Wade called Peter out on absolutely everything else.
“That’s bullshit, Spidey,” he said one day through a mouthful of pizza. That was another, much more logical reason Peter had for coming over: free food.
“No, it’s not!”
“I may be a few screws short of a tool shed, but even I know 'we still love each other' just about the worst cop-out there is.”
“I do love her! MJ is great, she’s amazing. I’m lucky she even gives me the time of day.”
Wade dropped his slice to tick off his points on his fingers. “She can’t accept your lifestyle, you resent that, the two of you fight it out, then have mind blowing make up sex, and the wheel keeps on turning. This is textbook telenovela stuff. Trust me. Next, one of you is going to kill the other’s mom or best friend or dog and then become the most notorious serial killer there ever was.”
“But…” ignoring the last part of that, what Wade said hit too close to home.
“Stringing your relationship along for the sake of a comfortable routine isn’t fair to either of you,” Wade said seriously. “It’s pretty damn selfish.”
Peter could only blink. The rare moments when Wade was serious and spouted genuine wisdom were enough to knock Peter off his feet. It was hard to reconcile this version of Wade with the loud-mouthed merc who frequently mooned his opponents during battle, and shot people in the dick because it was “funnier that way”.
But the moment was over as quick as it came, and suddenly Wade was grinning widely under the mask. “Don’t think because your love life is pathetic that I’m going to let you win. Your hand-eye coordination on COD is shit and kicking Spiderman’s ass fair and square is one of the finer joys in life.”
“Fuck you, Wade, you always cheat! Just for that, you’re going down!”
“LOOK WHO’S WINNING!”
Peter did end up ending things with MJ just a few days after that conversation. He hadn’t gone to Wade’s house that Friday. Instead Deadpool found him on top of a roof in Queens, greasy paper bag of tacos in hand. Wade had rambled at a mile a minute, letting Peter just sit there and eat, and not be so alone.
It was the first night Peter had consciously thought of Wade as a friend, and the night Peter told him about what had happened to Uncle Ben. Then about Gwen, and then everything that had happened with MJ that brought them to this.
When it was late enough that Peter knew he’d only be getting three hours of sleep at most that night, he’d said; “Thanks Wade. You’re a good friend.”
He hadn’t seen Wade for two weeks after that, the merc having apparently left town.
When Wade finally showed up again during Peter’s patrol, he acted like nothing had happened, and Peter was more than fine to go along with that.
----
WADE
It was the day the coffee table broke that Wade knew he was really done for.
The coffee table was a piece of shit.
{Damn you, IKEA!}
But that wasn’t why Wade so utterly fucked ten ways to Sunday – he didn’t actually give a damn about the stupid thing. In fact, he probably would have broken it all on his own, eventually. But it didn’t break because of Wade, hence his problem.
Spiderman broke the coffee table.
[Correction: Spiderman’s ass broke the coffee table.]
{No, Spiderman’s ass broke the coffee table after being thrown across the room by Tanya Sealy.}
“WHO IS THIS?” Spidey shouted, picking himself up out of the compressed fiberboard wreckage. Maybe it was lucky Wade had gone cheap, since it broke so easily.
[Protect the booty at all costs.]
Wade laughed – because Yellow was 100% right – but his laugh was cut short by Black Mamba’s darkforce energy choking the air from his windpipe. Lovely woman. “Spidey, meet Tanya. Tan, Spidey,” he said, introducing them between gasping breaths.
Tanya cocked out her hip, leisurely crossing her arms over her chest. “You didn’t call me back, Wade. How’s a nice girl like me supposed to take a slight like that?” Her eyes flicked over to the Webbed Wonder. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone back to the puppy dog gays, that’s so early 2000’s.”
“Hey, it’s spiders, not puppies. I mean, come on, I got the webs and everything, it’s not that hard,” Spidey quipped, flicking out his wrist and trapping Tanya’s to the wall, safely away from Wade’s throat.
Her eyebrow quirked, and flashed the deadly smirk that meant great things for Wade in the sack, but horrible and possibly illegal things in literally any other situation. “You’re that Spiderman?” Tanya whistled. “Wade, I might just get jealous.”
“Tan, my vicious, deranged, beauty; you have a body like a viper with tits, but come on. We weren’t serious!”
Her eyes flashed and, just like that, she was pissed again. Peter threw up his hands in exasperation, and this time, ok, the guy might have had a valid point. “You forget who I am, Wilson,” she continued, her tone turning significantly threatening. “Talk to me like that again, and you’ll really find out why they call me the Black Mamba. Give me my damn money before things get gruesome.”
“Black Mamba?” Peter squeaked. “You slept with Black Mamba?! Wade!”
Tanya tore her eyes away from glaring holes in Wade’s skull to stare dumbfoundedly at Spiderman. “Slept with? Shit, Wade, how young are you pulling these days? Has he bled yet?”
“Okay, rude,” Peter accused, and it was so adorable it would have knocked the breath out of Wade if Tanya hadn’t taken care of that already.
Peter webbed her other hand to the wall, which was cute up until Wade realized Peter genuinely didn’t understand her power set, and wasn’t trying to be funny. Black Mamba didn’t need the use of her hands to murderize them.
“Why is Black Mamba asking for money from you?” Peter asked him, still glaring at Tanya like she’d kicked a puppy right in front of him.
“It’s my money, jailbait,” she spat back, looking as venomous as her namesake. Then, as she studied Spiderman, her expression turned wary. “You’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”
“Fuck yeah he is!” Wade cheered, and she sent out the darkforce again, this time stronger. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath as he felt it wrap around his throat like a vice grip, memories and hallucinations swimming in his eyes. That choking move had been kinda hot in bed, but not so much now.
Lucky for Wade, his savior Spiderman was on her in an instant. “Let him go.” The commanding tone in Spidey’s voice went straight down to–
{Focus, asshole, what if he needs backup?}
[Plus, fighting with a boner is worse than kicking puppies. Keep that shit on lock, bro.]
{“Bro”? What decade are we in again?}
Wade had to bite down on his tongue to keep his focus on the two people in front of him and block out the boxes’ argument. “I don’t have beef with you, Spiderman,” Tanya was declaring. “Or the Avengers. I just want my money, and then I want to get out of town. That really too much to ask? It’s my damn property and he stole it!”
“Wade?” Spiderman questioned, not taking his eyes off Tanya for an instant. Wade totally wasn’t jealous. He might have been if he had a little more oxygen flowing to his brain, though.
Wade let out a few strangles noises, thumping his fist on the carpet. Tanya rolled her eyes and released her hold. “How the fuck you managed to steal so much from me, I will never understand.”
“I’m just that good in the sack, darling,” Wade groused, then stood up straight, gun cocked and pointed at her temple. To her credit, her eyes only widened marginally.
[That’s right bitch, bask in our glory!]
{I hope Spidey saw that.}
“Try that again and I paint my walls red. I’ve been told I need a splash of color around here. Ain’t that right, Spidey?”
“Yeah, I’d say so. Maybe angle the splatter a little to the left like a Jackson Pollock. That kind of thing’s trendy with the art-deco crowd, I hear,” Spidey agreed, in what was probably the first time he’d ever backed Wade without any hesitation. Wade was completely thrown for a second, but didn’t let it show, narrowing his eyes and pressing the barrel to her temple for good measure.
“Sounds like a plan, what do you say, Tan? Maybe we can make an art show out of it, charge five bucks at the door.”
“You’re fucked in the head, Wilson. I didn’t want trouble with the Avengers.”
“Well there’s a check mark in the sane column for you, then,” Spidey said lightly. Wade could feel Spiderman standing behind him, which was doing nothing to help his concentration.
“He’s not one of you,” Tanya argued, appealing directly to Spiderman. “Not organization in their right mind would tack on him to their image. Why fight his battles and associate yourself with a lunatic?”
“My brand of crazy has nothing to do with the moon, thank you very much,” Wade corrected her lightly.
Spiderman’s mouth opened, then closed. “Wade, not helping. Look, Black Mamba, since there’s no evidence you’re doing anything particularly illegal, aside from breaking and entering and minor assault, I don’t think there’s a need to make this any uglier than it needs to be.”
“He stole my money!”
“She choked me out!" Wade argued. "What do you mean, minor assault?!”
“You’re lucky I didn’t do worse, Deadpool,” Tanya growled.
“Bitch, please!” In hindsight, that was not Wade’s smoothest line.
Tanya’s eyes flashed, her face twisting in rage right before Wade’s vision was overwhelmed by darkness, and then suddenly Spiderman was in front of him. Spiderman without his mask, smiling a big toothy grin, eyes dark with the suggestive hint of…
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wade remembered the more intricate aspects of the Darkforce, but in the moment, his meager portion of rational thought was overtaken by the red and blue suit and the soft, light brown hair.
“Spidey?”
Two sets of the same voice called out, “What?”, one in front of him and one from behind.
Then the first one grinned, giving Wade a look that the real Spiderman would never give him in a million years. “Wade, that’s not really the gun of yours I like pointed in my face. Why don’t you put that down and come over here?”
It wasn’t real – obviously, it wasn’t real, since Spidey was hitting on him and giving him a look that said he might like to unwrap Wade like a birthday present – but that didn’t stop Wade’s mouth from going bone dry at the suggestion.
It was more tempting than the meager shambles of Wade’s pride would admit. But it couldn’t have been real, because Spiderman wasn’t that stupid.
“Tanya, sweetheart,” Wade cooed gently. “I was annoyed before. Maybe mildly irked. Now? You’re a dead woman walking.” He knocked aside the Darkforce skin, firing off shots in a halo around Tanya’s head, sending a warning, but she never was good at being cornered. Tanya fought back instantly, kicking out at his extended arm but he had the advantage of decades worth of shame and anger pumping through his veins. When it came down to it, she just wasn’t pissed enough. He had her pinned in a matter of minutes.
As he reared back to knock her unconscious with the butt of his gun, Spider man shouted, “Wade!”
“You’re not real!” Wade growled.
“What?! No, I am, I’m real. Don’t kill her!”
Wade was pissed, but not quite pissed enough to resist swinging his head around to give Spidey-with-a-mask the most incredulous look possible while having his face covered by red and black spandex. “Did it look like I was going to kill her? If I wanted her dead, she’d be brain matter on a wall.”
“Like hell, you bastard,” Tanya growled, spitting a disgusting glob of blood and saliva onto the side of Wade’s face.
The room went quiet as Deadpool turned back to face her, her body still struggling to break free from his hold.
Spiderman must have had some kind of Jean Grey level premonition, because he shot out webbing to cover the lower half of Tanya’s face and keep her from opening her mouth before she could get out another word. That, or he figured Deadpool would do his worst if someone didn’t stop him.
[Which is valid, because we totally would have fucked her up.]
{Oh, the age old question of is it more sexist to not hit her, or to knock the bitch out Rocky Balboa style?}
“Table the gender politics for later,” Wade snapped.
Spiderman threw out his arms. “I wasn’t keeping you from knocking her out because she’s a girl, I did it because beating her is unnecessary right now!” he sighed, sounding exceedingly put-upon, despite not being the one Wade was talking to in the first place. Wade was used to people not getting it, but when it was Spidey, it was different.
“Get up so I can restrain her,” Peter said, but it wasn’t an order like Iron Man would have given. Spidey was too polite for that. Fuck. “Also, because you’re kinda still straddling her and it’s weird.”
Wade didn’t bother correcting Spidey, to point out that he was talking to the boxes, but he did wave his gun around dramatically. “So, I can’t shoot her, can’t hit her, what am I supposed to do?!”
Tanya was glaring maliciously, looking like she’d much rather kick the ever-loving shit out of both of them.
Wade stood up off her, and ripped a chunk of the webbing away from her face with a painful-to-hear tearing sound. “Ack! You deranged, schizophrenic, psychopath! I will destroy-”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence, as Spiderman took the opportunity to knock her lights out. With his fist.
Wade stared open-mouthed at him. “I can’t hit Black Mamba, but you can?”
“It wasn’t necessary when you wanted to. You already had her restrained,” Peter explained nonchalantly, webbing her hands together and lifting her up in a fireman’s carry like it was nothing. Tanya wasn't that heavy, but as a full grown woman with a killer set of muscles, she wasn't exactly light either. Bad Deadpool, not the time to get turned on by displays of power. But oh, how freaking hot was that!?
He covered up his internal conflict with dramatic blustering. “How was it any more necessary just then?! I will never understand you hypocritical white-knighters with your…”
Spiderman interrupted him again, shrugging awkwardly with Tanya out cold over his shoulder. “I was tired of her talking shit about you. Ok, maybe it wasn’t the most polite way to handle it, but at least now I can drop her off at the police station without her trying to kill you, or me.”
Well. Wade didn’t quite know what to do with that statement. He wasn’t sure how one responded to being stood up for, especially by someone like Spiderman. He figured that more staring open-mouthed at the guy wasn’t the way to go, so he grinned, pretending that the comment hadn’t affected him at all.
“Well by all means, lead the way, Prince Charming. I’ve been meaning to check out how high my bounty’s gotten in New York. You know I once paid off a bounty in pounds of Krispy Kreme donuts? Turns out galactic overlords do have a weakness, and that weakness goes straight to their hips.”
Spidey laughed, all light and happiness again, even as he slung Black Mamba’s unconscious form over his shoulder, careful not to jostle her too badly.
Oh, Wade was a gonner. And he didn’t even know Spiderman’s real name…
----
PETER
Peter flung himself down on the couch as soon as he entered the common floor of Avenger’s Tower. Easily the best perk to finally being on the roster was the incredible couches Tony had. They put the lumpy love seat back in Peter’s apartment to shame – but then again, a one-dollar bill was sacred to Peter, and Tony hardly knew notes that low existed.
The cushions on the more-expensive-than-monthly-rent couch didn’t so much as bow when Nat came to sit by Peter’s head – how was that even possible? Maybe money warped the laws of physics…but then again, Tony didn’t believe in the word ‘impossible’. The only thing that gave the assassin’s presence away was her hand lightly brushing the hair from Peter's forehead.
“Not going to hang out in the rafters with Clint?” she asked in her strangely soothing voice.
“Too tired. Can’t quip.”
She let out a puff of air, which was as good as a belly laugh from Natasha. “Speaking of quips, I noticed you hung around Crazy a little more than usual in the field today.”
She might have been referring to the insane little robots elves they had fought on Brooklyn bridge, but Peter wasn’t that lucky. He knew exactly who she meant, and mumbled back something incoherent in response. Maybe the biggest downside to being on a team as big as the Avengers, and being the youngest of the lot, was that you were never able to avoid anyone for long; especially if you weren’t in the mood for talking.
“Which of us has a greater chance of outlasting the other, do you think?” she countered.
Logically, so long as it was a fair fight, that was Peter, hands down. Sure, Nat could be patient, but even she had nothing on Peter’s skills. However, Nat and the word fair didn’t so much as belong in the same sentence. For one, she was an intensely trained super-spy, and quite literally the best in the business. Secondly…no, the spy thing was enough. Not only did it mean she could probably figure the truth out on her own, but she knew how to break people as naturally as Peter knew how to tie his shoelaces.
Let it never be said Peter Parker couldn’t recognize when he was outplayed.
That being said, he still gave her a cop-out answer. No one was perfect. “Cap said swing left, and he just so happened to be to my left.”
She hummed. “He made certain he was to your left.” Was it better that she didn’t ask him to clarify who the “he” was, or just depressing that she saw right through him?
Peter grumbled and sat up, crossing his arms over his chest until he realized it made him look far too much like a petulant child to be having a conversation Black Widow. Not that she was ever impressed, but he should at least stop making it so easy for her to grin at him like that.
“I don’t know what you’re getting at. Hawkeye does the same with you all the time.”
“He does,” she said simply, staring Peter down.
Oh, hell. What was worse: getting the Disappointed Dad look from Cap, or the no less subtle ‘I’ll wait’ look from Nat?
He was not sweating. “So…you two are just friends,” he argued quickly. “Everyone knows that. Just friends. It’s no big deal. That’s us. Really, really good friends.”
“Really, really good friends…” she repeated slowly. “With Deadpool?”
If she hadn’t already been suspicious, she was now. Great job on putting out that fire, Pete, really solid work.
“No, not like that! Not in a weird way! I mean, I guess I wouldn’t say really, really good friends. Just. You know.”
“Friends,” she finished for him. Then the left eyebrow was raised and Peter wanted to eat his shoe. Why did nobody believe him that he didn’t have a thing for Wade? They were just two guys. Two guys being bros. Good bros. Great Bros. That’s all.
Crap. Even in his head, he knew how stupid that sounded.
Nat was smiling like she could read everything he was thinking right on his face. Screw secret identities, this was why masks were important. Peter hung his head, feeling defeated and confused all over again.
“I don’t have a thing for Wade,” he insisted. At least he meant to insist, but it didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.
“Wade, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Does he know your name?” she asked, her tone more serious now as she leaned forward with her elbows balanced on her knees to be level with him.
Peter shook his head and let it hang. “Nope. He’s seen my face, though. I was injured, it couldn’t be helped.”
“Hm. Tony mentioned something about that.”
“What did he say?” Peter asked, his head snapping back up.
“He was worrying over you again, nothing out of the ordinary,” she explained, waving off his curiosity with a roll of her eyes.
“Did he say the word worried?”
“Of course not, no one is allowed to know Tony’s really made of marshmallow fluff under all that metal.” Well, she wasn’t wrong there. Nat paused for a moment then continued, meeting Peter’s eyes with renewed purpose. “I think it’s a good thing you haven’t told him, yet.”
“But you think I’m going to?” He hadn’t actually decided that one for himself. Yet…
She paused again, studying him in the way that always had him feeling like the kid who stole a cookie from the cookie jar. “Yes,” Natasha decided, finally. “That much is inevitable, but only after you realize you trust him. It would have been a mistake to do it sooner, just because he saw your face. Had you done it then, you’d be worried about him revealing your identity, or doing something to put your aunt in unnecessary danger by association. Stress like that would ruin whatever it is you two have going on.”
“Friendship,” Peter clarified. Again.
“Right. Friendship.” Nat didn’t sound convinced, but at least she was no longer teasing.
Strangely enough, Nat was the easiest person on the team to like. She shouldn’t be – considering she knew more ways to kill a person than the rest of them combined – but still. Natasha protected her own, did was what right, and she was honest. Even if she went about accomplishing those things differently than Cap did, it was still true. Peter respected that.
He swallowed the lump in his throat quickly and stood. Too much emotion was hazardous for his health. “I’m going to stop by the lab then head out. Duty calls bright and early at six-thirty AM!”
She smirked. “The duty to take pictures of your own ass for money?”
Peter held out his hands with a big, cheesy smile. “What can I say? It pays the bills.”
----
Really, he only meant to briefly check up on the experiment that he had set up in his little corner of Tony’s main laboratory, and then head straight home. But the genius himself was there when Peter peaked in – hard at work, not back from defending the city and the team from legal trouble caused by property damage for more than an hour – and looking less human and more Mad Scientist by the minute.
So, Peter being Peter, knowing the overwhelming pull of science better than most people in the tower, ran back up to the kitchens to pull out some human food and more of Tony’s favorite sludge (otherwise known as plain black coffee).
When he came back in, Tony hardly noticed. He was running back and forth between two stations, keeping one from lighting on fire and the other from melting through the table.
“New repulsor applications?” Peter asked, setting the food down in Tony’s line of vision.
“Huh? Hey there, Slinger!” Tony exclaimed, apparently noticing Peter for the first time, despite FRIDAY having announced Peter’s presence the moment he entered. Then Tony’s eyes lit up as he looked down to the sandwich and coffee. “Food!”
Within the next three seconds, he had downed half the sub.
Peter didn’t so much as blink. He was used to this kind of thing, having experienced it himself nearly every time he got to fiddling with his web shooters and formula and forgot to rejoin society for hours on end.
He poked around one of the stations until Tony slapped his hand away. “Ah-ah-ah. No touchy,” Tony reprimanded through a mouthful of half-chewed sandwich.
“You’re welcome,” Peter prompted, knowing he wasn’t getting a thank you from Tony during either of their lifetimes.
“So, why’d you pop in? Trouble with the release?”
“Nah, I got that sorted out with that lighter solution of the grease last time. I was just making sure you didn’t collapse from malnutrition. Again.”
“Hey,” Tony said defensively, pointing a finger at him. “That was one time.”
“One time that I was there for. Didn’t Pepper say…”
“Enough story time, Pete, you’re distracting me. I’m working genius here.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get out of your hair. Just wanted to protect my internship. You know how it is.”
He got nearly to the door before Tony chucked a wrench across the room. Peter snatched out of the air it just before it could smack him in the back of the head. “Make yourself useful,” Tony demanded, “and help with the repairs to Bucky’s bike.”
Peter grinned, deciding to press his luck a little more. “How about the suit-case suit?”
“Hell no! That’s my new baby, you keep your webby little fingers off it, Parker.”
----
The two of them worked side by side in silence for the better part of three hours, with only Tony’s god awful scream-o (“I’ll cut out your tongue the next time you call ACDC scream-o, you uncultured millennial”) and the sounds of metal on metal between them.
Tony was a little quieter than usual, only throwing out three off-hand remarks where there usually would have been ten, and it didn’t take a super-genius to figure out why.
“How long is Cap gonna be gone this time?” Peter asked nonchalantly, not daring to meet Tony’s eye. But the effort was in vain because Tony kept his eyes trained on his work.
“Eight days. Two weeks at most,” Tony answered back automatically, then seemed to realized he’d said that out loud and his lips pursed. “Why? Missing the geezer already?”
Yeah, because I’m the one pinning after America’s sweetheart, Peter thought with a carefully concealed eye roll.
“Oh, no reason. He’s just usually down here by now, force feeding you protein bars or making you take a nap.”
Tony coughed out a laugh, in the most unconvincing way possible. Peter wondered if the guy knew how red his ears got when he was bullshitting. “Right. Gotta burn the midnight oil as long as I can while Mom’s away.”
“You two have a heartfelt goodbye after the mission ended?” Peter teased, not missing a beat.
Tony looked up and raised an eyebrow. “No, but now that we’re discussing heartfelt goodbyes, maybe we should get to yours.”
He frowned, feeling like he’d missed something. “Huh?”
Suddenly, Tony was grinning for real, and it was never a good thing when his face got like that. It meant something evil. Or embarrassing. Or both. “What was it the wack-job said just before the team split up? ‘Love you, miss you, mean it’?”
Peter groaned, tossing the canister (gently) aside, but Tony wasn’t done.
“Oh, no, right before that was my favorite bit, it had Katniss ready to puke up a lung: ‘See you back home sweet-ums!’” Tony started cackling, clutching his stomach as he doubled over.
“It’s not like I told him to do that!” Peter protested, but Tony was too busy laughing while Peter scowled. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up now, bucket-head. We’ll see who’s the one laughing the next time Wade blows up a building with your name on it, since that accounts for like, half of New York.”
“Seriously Slinger, it’s just too good. You got yourself a groupie!”
“He’s been pulling this stuff for years! Why is everyone psychoanalyzing it all of a sudden? You’ll all give yourself headaches trying to wrap your-”
“Stop, stop, stop!’ Tony exclaimed suddenly, throwing his hand over his ears. “My mind just went to a dark, dark place that it will never go to again so long as you don’t finish that sentence.”
Peter threw up his arms, exclaiming, “Why?!” Why was this happening? Why did he do this to himself?
“Now there’s a good question,” Tony mused, tapping the end of the blowtorch against his chin. “Why the hell are you putting up with this shit from the likes of him?”
“He does this to everyone?”
“Uh. No-go on that logic, short stuff. He doesn’t even pull that with Luke, and those two have known each other for decades.”
“Maybe because Luke is terrifying and could throw him through a window? Plus, Jessica would break Wade in half the second he opened his mouth.” They had very aggressive friends, Peter realized.
“Point,” Tony conceded. “Maybe it’s because you’re so gosh dang adorable, Spiderman, but that guy is on you like Thor on Pop-tarts.”
“In a friend way, not…like that!” Peter defended, knowing full well he was fueling Tony’s fire, but unable to shut himself up.
“Maybe your high school sex-ed experience was a little lacking, considering you spent most of it punching green goblin men in the face, but we don’t wax rhapsodic about our friends’ spandex-clad asses unless we want a better look. Catch my drift?”
Hearing that from Tony, a mentor, a father figure, was just too much to handle. “Ok, so what about you and Cap?” Peter shot back, eager to switch the focus from Wade as fast as possible.
Tony frowned again, one eyebrow raised. “I'm definitely sure I haven’t made up a sonnet about his star-spangled butt cheeks, kid.”
Peter smirked, finally gaining some ground. “Your eyes do enough of that for you, trust me.”
The frown only twitched slightly, but Peter caught it all the same. “Don’t know what you mean.”
Peter rolled his eyes in a wide arc. “Come on, Tony. This whole knowing-each-other-too-well thing goes both ways. I don’t have to spell it out, do I? We both know how you feel about the guy.”
Tony made a sound like he was being strangled, and Peter had to bite his cheek to keep another smirk off his face. In truth, a blind person could see Tony had the hots for Steve. Natasha and Peter had a running joke of scratching their necks and pulling at their collars whenever Tony said or did something totally gross and transparent, like staring at the good captain’s ass as he walked past.
Clint was less kind about it: breaking out in full-on fits of laughter that were always made worse by Tony’s ears blushing or asking what was so funny.
“We aren’t talking about me,” Tony insisted; a little petulantly, Peter thought. “And besides, Cap is different.”
“Because he’s like eighty, or because he laughs at your jokes? I’m sure Wade would laugh at you more if he was, I don’t know…allowed inside the Tower on a regular basis…?”
“Yes, because we all want me to have to replace an entire floor of this place. Again.”
Peter winced. He’d heard stories about that one from Bruce. As nice as the doc was, not even he could have painted that in a better light. “Ok, so maybe keep him with an escort when he’s on the premises.”
“Let me guess,” Tony drawled, “You nominate yourself for the honor?”
“Well I know him the best, not counting Logan. And Logan sure as all heck won’t take very well to you sticking him with Wade whenever he’s here. Plus, Logan’s in like, ten different teams now. He’s a busy guy.”
“Did you just say ‘all heck’? Christ, kid, you need to stop spending so much time with Steve.”
“Why, so you can have him all to yourself?” Peter teased quickly, wiggling his eyebrows.
Tony brandished the blowtorch at Peter, narrowing his eyes. “Ohh, sure, keep it coming, but you better make sure you can take what you dish out.”
“Ok, old man.”
“Old man?!” Tony exclaimed, aghast. His hand unconsciously went up to his greying temples, and for once, Peter’s sense of self-preservation took over and he didn’t call it out. Tony bounced back fast though, way past mastering the art of deflection at this point in his life. “You know, the more you keep changing the subject like this, the more awkward the conversation is going to be when I have to keep coming back around to it.”
“What conversation?”
“The one where you agree to pull your head out of the clouds, maybe?”
Peter huffed out another sigh. “Do you really have to exaggerate so much?”
“This, coming from the kid who just yesterday told me, and I quote, ‘I’m literally dying, Tony, this is the end. Aunt May is going to kill me. Just let Clint use me for target practice’.”
Ok, so Tony may have a tiny point there.
“This is different,” Peter pressed on, regardless. “You could at least try to be supportive.”
Peter knew he’d bitten himself in the ass as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back and pretend he hadn’t mean it. Had he meant it? Huh. He shoved that thought away to avoid thinking about for the foreseeable future.
“Supportive of what? Of my protégée’s newest lapse in self-preservation?”
“But he’s getting better! He’s promised to try and stop all the killing, and I believe him.”
Mostly. Tony didn't need to know the specifics.
Tony scoffed. “Seriously, Pete, be realistic. That man is insane; clinically and certifiably. He’s not just dangerous, he’s a menace.” He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. “You shouldn’t get yourself tangled up with someone like him. It’s not good for you.”
The words were hot on the tip of Peter’s tongue – You’re not my father – but he bit them back, kept them locked up tight in his chest because those words would never leave his mouth again. Not ever. Not even if Tony was being a controlling idiot, not even if he was insinuating that Peter couldn’t make his own decisions. Not even if it was 100% true that Tony Stark wasn’t his father. And it was true – Tony wasn’t Peter’s father; they weren’t even distantly related.
But those words were the last ones Peter ever said to Uncle Ben: right before he was murdered. Right before Ben was taken away from Peter and Aunt May for good; dying with the fresh memory of a selfish kid throwing everything Ben had ever given to him right back in his face.
Tony must have caught something in his expression, because his eyes went wide and he was pointing an accusing finger. “Oh, fuck no. Don’t let him get in your head, Peter. He’s living out his twisted, perverted fantasies. Don’t let that freak convince you he’s changing, because we’ve all been there done that with him. He’s a damn murdering menace, and he’ll drag you through the mud as soon as grin at you.”
There was a fire raging just behind Peter’s eyes and a hailstorm of words ready to fly out in defense of the man he had come to know and begun to respect. He wanted to rage at Tony, and a small part of him was angry because some of the things Tony was saying had crossed Peter’s mind too. Coming from Tony, though, they sounded like nothing more than bullshit.
But he remembered Uncle Ben. Tony was nothing like Ben, not even a little, but Peter cared about him in a similar way. Just similar enough to sting. He wanted nothing more than to lay a solid punch into Tony’s jaw, but he still remembered.
So instead, Peter shut it down.
He bottled all of it up and shoved it down as far as he could manage. His fists went limp and his shoulders sagged. He sighed and his face fell, losing that brief burst of anger in less than an instant.
He hated that he sounded so defeated as he said, “I can’t do this with you, Tony.” But his voice sounded firmer when he added a quick, “I’ll be here for the Avengers’ meeting tomorrow.”
Then Peter turned away before the confused look on Tony’s face could morph into hurt, because it would break Peter’s resolve entirely if he saw that. He couldn’t let Tony play the victim, not when it came to this.
“Peter, wait,” Tony called out, moving to stop him, the blowtorch falling, forgotten, at his feet.
But Peter didn’t stop. He kept walking until he got to the nearest balcony and jumped, swinging back to his apartment in Queens without a second glance.
----
At least Peter meant to head back to Queens.
Except that it wasn’t until he passed by the second taco truck in a row that he realized he wasn’t headed toward his own place at all.
It was Wade’s.
Before the rational side of his brain could take over, Peter slipped through the open window. Really Wade? He thought absentmindedly, anyone could have walked in here!
Then again, walking in on Deadpool when the merc wasn’t expecting it was a death sentence to just about everyone but Peter. Thank all the gods for that, including Thor. Especially since it was partially due to the threat of Thor’s hammer smacking Wade out into space that had kept Peter un-unalive for so long.
Un-unalive? Had he seriously just thought that? Jesus. Maybe Tony wasn’t that far off when it came to the idea of Deadpool rubbing off on him…
But then there was Wade, standing in the middle of the living room in full gear, looking like he was seconds from heading out the door.
“Spidey!” he called out, throwing his arms out wide the second he saw Peter. “What a surprise, old buddy, old pal. You should have called ahead; I would have cleaned up the place a bit. Give her the old spit shine if you know what I’m…hey, why the long, red face?”
Was Peter going to have another heart to heart with Wade…? No. If he tried to start a serious conversation right now, Wade would probably fling himself right out the window Peter had just closed.
“I don’t know why I bother wearing this mask around here, it’s not like you haven’t already seen my face,” he said instead, sitting on the couch without asking if he was interrupting something. The way Peter saw it, Wade had interrupted him more than a few times without pause, so he could afford to repay the favor just this once.
Wade flopped down on the couch beside him. “To be totally fair, which I always am, I was more concerned with your many gaping, leaky wounds than snapping a mental pic of your face for future reference. I barely even remember your ugly mug.”
Peter snorted. “Sorry that not everyone has a healing factor that can literally bring them back from death.”
Wade snapped a pair of finger guns at him and smirked – or at least Peter assumed he did, what with the mask in the way and only the stretching fabric in the mouth area to go by. “And don’t you forget it, hot stuff! In fact, continue complimenting my greatness! Yellow and Whitey don’t do it often enough to keep our ego happy. And let me tell you, that bitch is moody.”
Peter just smiled, glad his mask hid his bemused expression as he looked at Wade a little too long. “You know, I think I’m lost during more than eighty-five percent of our conversations.”
“And that’s why I love ya, Spidey: most scrubs don’t make it past ten.”
“Logan?”
“That old grouch puss? He’s learned to tune me out. You’ll get there eventually.” Wade said it so matter-of-fact, kicking his feet up on the still-destroyed coffee table and resting his arms behind his head, that Peter suddenly worried Wade actually believed that garbage.
“No, I won’t.”
Wade didn’t look back at him, which was an action weird enough on its own, but adding that to the way he was picking at a sticker on his .45, Peter knew something was up. “You’re too smart not to, Man of Many Spiders. Now be quiet, Yellow is playing my song.”
Peter had to ask. “Hollaback Girl?”
“Funeral Dirge,” Wade supplied.
Peter’s mouth literally popped open. “Okay. Nope. I came here so you could cheer me up. You’re horrible at this.”
Wade gasped, flailing about so dramatically he fell off the couch with a thud that sounded like it hurt. “How dare you?!”
Peter bit his lip to keep from grinning, which was stupid because Wade couldn’t see his expression anyway. “Easily.”
“That’s it. Come, Spider-dweeb. I’m taking you out on the town!”
“No killing!” Peter said belatedly, scrambling to stay on his feet as Wade yanked him by his arm up and off the couch. He was physically (probably) a lot stronger than Wade (they hadn’t tested it yet), but he let himself be pulled along anyway.
----
An hour later, Peter found himself sitting on the roof of a financial building with his feet dangling off the edge, eating a chimichanga. Wade had had other plans in mind, but Peter had refused to go hunting for hookers and blow, so they reverted to what they knew best: stuffing their faces with their masks halfway rolled up, judging the attire of passersby.
“Look at that one! No class! No style!” Deadpool hollered, spewing out bits of food and gesturing down at the businessman just exiting the building. “I wouldn’t use that two-bit suit to clean my bathroom floor.”
“You clean?” Peter asked, not bothering to mask his skepticism.
Wade paused, reconsidering. “If I did clean, I wouldn’t use it!”
Peter rolled his eyes. “In no way do you, a guy who only owns Avengers themed underwear, know anything about what makes a good suit.”
“I resent that comment, and choose ignore it from here on out,” Wade sniffed in mock offense. Then he turned his head, scarred mouth smirking in a way that was anything but innocent. “But I do have some other kinds of lingerie too, play your cards right, Spidey, and maybe I’ll give you a peak.”
“I’ll pass,” Peter replied, chuckling. His face was suddenly too hot, and he tried convincing himself it was just because of the food, but that trick only worked so many times and over the past few months, and he’d gone way past the overused mark.
They were silent for a while, or what counted for silence with Wade, since he had started humming something that sounded vaguely like an out-of-tune ‘Hollaback Girl’.
Peter broke the calm the only way he knew how, by shooting himself in the foot. “Peter,” he blurted, too quickly for it to be natural. But if he would have said it any slower, he would have had time to reconsider and then he might never have said it at all.
Wade just stared at him. “Were we having a conversation and I totally blocked it all out? That happens, you know. Sometimes you get going on a science-y topic and my brain does everything it can to escape the learning.”
Peter knew that was an outright lie, but he didn’t call Wade out on it. He was doing a lot of that lately, watching what he said, and he felt like patting himself on the back. Even if he’d just done the exact opposite and blurted out his real name without thinking…well. Too late, now!
“My name, asshole. It’s Peter. Peter Parker.”
Wade just stared at him, the white lenses unmoving. That had never been creepy before, but somehow, now, it definitely was.
Peter sighed, fidgeted, and pulled his mask off the rest of the way. “Look, don’t make it weird, I just wanted you to know, and I couldn’t think of a cool way to drop it into conversation. You know, like how James Bond does it all suave and stuff. I don’t know. That’s just my name. Now you know it. There you go. We’re even.” He was rambling, he knew it, but it was nigh impossible to stop the floodgates once they were brutally kicked open.
Luckily, Wade was pretty much the same. “You’re not even kinda cool, Webs, not even close. There’s cool and then ten million steps down, straight past Go without collecting two hundred dollars, wave bye-bye to the devil – you’re still going down – then eventually there’s you, somewhere next to Keith Urban and Tumblr.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter mumbled, absolutely not pouting. He’d expected some sort of surprise on Deadpool’s part, maybe a bit of gratitude for the display of trust, something, but nope. That just wasn’t Wade’s style.
“Peter, huh?” Wade mused. “Peter Parker picked a peck of pickled peppers,” he sang, swinging his feet to the rhythm of his horrifically off key tune.
“Ok, screw you, Wade,” Peter mumbled, swatting blindly at the idiot. Strangely enough, Peter didn’t regret telling him. Not yet, anyway. Maybe that would come later, like after Tony found out about this and the man gave himself an aneurysm.
“You wanted to tell me?” Wade asked suddenly, pulling a complete one-eighty in the tone of the conversation. “Why the hell would you do that, Petey? Aren’t you worried I’m gonna sell off your soul to whichever devil bids the highest like Daddy Stark thinks I will?”
Something in Peter snapped at hearing that, and all the bottled up emotion left over from the earlier fight with Tony came rushing to the surface in waves. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Peter honestly couldn’t believe it. He got up on his feet and yanked the mask right back down over his head. “I’ll see you later Wade, I’ve got stuff to do.”
He didn’t want to yell at Wade – ok, yeah, maybe he did want to yell at Wade a little. Why the heck couldn’t he just accept the fact that Peter didn’t completely hate his guts and move on? Hadn’t they gotten to the trusting part of their friendship already? Peter obviously had, like Nat had said; he wouldn’t have told Wade his name if he didn’t trust the guy. But it still stung worse than Peter was willing to admit that Wade just as obviously didn’t trust him.
“Woah there, Tiger! Warn a guy before the mood swings hit, huh?” Wade called out, catching up with Peter just as he was about to jump off the roof, a hand grabbing for his shoulder.
Peter shoved him off. “Not tonight, Wade. I’m not in the mood.”
“For what?! I know I’m not one to talk when it comes to saying things don’t make sense, but I really think you’re comin’ outa left field with whatever this is, baby boy.”
In retrospect, it was probably the light touch of Wade’s hand on his shoulder that did Peter in.
Wade touched Peter all the time, literally any moment that Peter let him get away with it. But this time was different. Wade didn’t do lots of serious emotion; it was part of the reason for why Peter had started hanging out with him in the first place – especially since all the other Avengers had started getting all touchy-feely. But now that dumb hand was cupping Peter’s shoulder in a gesture of support that was almost hesitant, and it was too much for one guy to handle, all over again.
Peter really needed to get his shit together, he realized. Or rather, he needed to get that feeling in the pit of his stomach under control before he did something really stupid and fucked all of this up.
“I know,” Peter sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m the one being weird.”
Wade hadn’t pulled up his mask yet, and so Peter could see the deep frown he was now sporting. “Who do I need to unalive? Give me a name.”
Peter shucked off his mask again to run his hands over his face and through his hair. It was probably fine to have this conversation here; it was a rooftop in the city in the middle of night. Who would even see them?
“No one,” Peter sighed. “Leave everyone just as alive as they are, please.”
“No, no-no. Nuh-uh. Someone did this. Someone made you all…” Wade motioned with his free hand up and around Peter’s face. “Like that. That’s no bueno, muchacho. No one is allowed to upset you but me, capiche?”
“You do do a pretty good job of that sometimes,” Peter teased, but it didn’t have the desired effect. Wade was still frowning, even though the tone of his voice was still falsely light hearted, as if he had forgotten Peter could see his expression.
“Exactly!” Wade said. He almost sounded pleased, but the inflection of the statement was off, enough so that it set Peter on edge. Nat had talked a bit about the files that SHEILD had on Deadpool before, and about the eerie calm before every single one of his worst shit-storm episodes, and the piles and piles of bodies left in his wake, afterward. Peter hoped that wasn’t what this was.
“Spill all your little spider guts,” Wade insisted again, “lemme have it.”
“If you’re going to proposition me, Wade, it’ll take more than half a chimichanga and humming some Gwen Stephani.”
Wade’s mouth fell open a little, then he shook his head. “You’re trying to throw me off the scent with your sexy personality!” he accused. He got up in Peter’s space again, taking another step forward. Peter did everything in his power to force his eyes to not fall down to Wade’s mouth. Instead, he focused intently on the stitch between the man’s eyes, where Wade had sewn the mask up from the last time he’d been shot at.
So, Peter did what he did best, and hid behind jokes with a sly grin on his face. “Is it working?”
“Yes! No! Stop cheating!” Wade pulled his mask the rest of the way down, taking away at least half of Peter’s temptation. Peter was a little grateful for that, and a little disappointed, too.
“I’m not cheating, Wade. Come on, let me go.”
“Just tell ol’ Deadpool what happened, and you can be on your merry, totally-not-jail-bait way.”
“I’m twenty-two!” Peter exclaimed, voice cracking despite every cell in his being praying for the opposite.
“Good to know!” Wade yelled back. Were they fighting? Did this count as a fight? Luckily, Peter didn’t have to wonder too much before Wade put his other hand to Peter’s other shoulder, forcing him to stare right into the eyeholes of the mask. “Was it Tony? Was that why you got so pissy after the ‘daddy’ bit?”
Peter went silent.
“HA! I’m right!” Wade cheered, before catching on to Peter’s expression. “Oh. That’s probably not so great for you, huh?”
Peter rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. Was there a reasonable point to not telling Wade? Probably. But there was a solid argument for telling him, too, and Peter went with that option before he could fill up the ‘don't tell’ list too high.
“Tony forgets sometimes that he can’t order me around in my personal life the way he does in the field,” Peter said simply, hoping that would be enough. Of course, it wasn’t.
“He tell you to pee standing up for a change?”
“What? No! I already do…oh, shut up. He told me to stay away from you, that you’re no good for me, and you’ll probably get me killed, or worse. And I…basically told him to shove it.”
Wade’s hands fell from Peter’s shoulders. “Why would you do a thing like that?” he asked, his voice sounding near lifeless. Peter panicked, knowing that tone better than he wished he did. Wade was in one of his ‘I’m terrible, awful, not worth saving’ mood and suddenly Peter realized this was the reason he should have kept his fat trap shut. Those boxes of Wade’s were probably saying the worst kind of garbage imaginable, and this time it was Peter’s fault.
He stepped forward when Wade stepped back, and they repeated the motion twice, kind of like a little dance, and it was so stupid that Peter almost joked about it. Almost.
“We’re friends, Wade. I’m not ditching you just because Tony’s got an inflated ego. If I made every decision based on Tony, I’d probably be living in the Tower and driving a Mercedes or a Ferrari with the Stark logo stamped all over it to work every day.”
That was the wrong thing to say, and Peter knew it the second it came out of his mouth, but by then it was too late to take it back.
“He’s your family, Peter, you should take his advice.”
“Okay, and what are you then, chopped liver?”
A choking sound came from Wade’s throat and he turned away before rounding back on Peter, the eyeholes of his mask narrowing angrily as he shouted, “I’m a KILLER. I kill. It’s fun, and I do it for money; no matter who’s paying, no matter whose name is on the list. You’re a smart kid, and we both know that the smartest thing you can do is to get the FUCK away from me.”
Peter flinched back involuntarily when Wade spat out that curse. The wrong thing to do, yet again.
Deadpool, and there was hardly any Wade in him then, kept coming at Peter, flinging words meant to cut as he grinned mercilessly. “Run back home to daddy. Tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you’ll never see that fucking disgusting, son of a bitch Deadpool again. Ha! Look at you! You’re afraid,” he laughed, a cruel cold sound that felt like ringing in Peter’s ears. “You haven’t even seen my whole face yet, and you’re afraid already! You can’t take being friends with a thing like me, you haven’t got the stomach for it, Spiderman. You’re weak, and you always will be.”
Peter was speechless. Speechless and hurt. Maybe that was why he did it.
“Screw you, Wilson.”
“Run, Peter, you’ve always been pretty good at that, haven’t you?” The way Wade said it made his meaning as obvious as a blow to the stomach.
Peter had told him about Uncle Ben, and about Gwen Stacy and her father just weeks ago. All without using their names of course, but still. He had told Wade how afraid he’d been. How he’d run from it all in the beginning. That painful bit of honesty had been the first time Peter remembered fully trusting Wade. The first time he had felt his heart kick up in his chest when Wade smiled at him, too. And now, Peter felt his stupid heart drop like a weight.
Peter’s fist went flying before he knew what he was doing, acting on sheer instinct and raw emotion.
It hit with a sick, sharp crack to Wade’s jaw.
Deadpool was only startled for a moment, then he swung back. Peter dodged out of reach, but got hit by a second blow on the way up. Deadpool shoved Peter back, knocking him on his feet and pulling out a gun in a move so fast it was no wonder all the crime bosses in the city steered as far away from the mercenary as they could. People forgot, amongst all the wise cracks and the vulgarity and the madness, that Wade Wilson was a trained killer. One of the best there was – he would probably be number one if it weren’t for the fact he was certifiably insane, as Tony liked to put it.
Peter forgot that sometimes, too. Not now.
Wade sucked in air like a dying man as he trained the gun to Peter’s head, his hand as steady as stone against the trigger.
What the fuck. Whatthefuckwhatthefuck. Peter’s head felt like it should be spinning, but because of his heightened senses he took in every detail. He knew he could web the gun away, blind Wade, do something to get himself out of his current position, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gun. Couldn’t makes his hands move to defend himself. Wade had a loaded gun pointed at him, and he wasn’t making any move to put it away.
Then there was wetness on Peter’s upper lip, a little steam of blood coming from his own nose, and Peter shook off the shock. He narrowed his eyes, giving Wade a hard look.
“You do this to everyone dumb enough to give a shit about you, Wade, or is it just the blind old ladies who don’t get to escape?”
The gun faltered. “You’re bleeding…”
“That happens when you pop a blood vessel in someone’s nose with your fist,” Peter deadpanned.
Wade clicked the safety back on and holstered the gun quickly, but by the time he looked back up, Peter was gone.
-----
WADE
[Holy shit did we just tell Spidey to go fuck himself and mean it in the totally-not-fun way?]
{Man, and here I thought we were a steaming pile of garbage before!}
“Fuck him,” Wade growled at the boxes, knowing better than to try and shut them up by asking nicely. What was the point, anyway? There was no one hanging around the apartment to complain about him talking to himself, now.
[Yeah, no one’s around because you took his heart and goomba-stomped it to oblivion.]
{Right when we find out his name is Peter, too! So much good material down the drain.}
[At least now there’s no point in washing the gloves anymore, who the fuck else would let something like us touch them?]
{Good-bye human contact, we hardly knew ye…}
Wade drained the last of Logan’s stolen beer and flung the bottle at the wall, listening to the satisfying smash of the glass against brick.
Doing the right thing sucked. None of those wide eyes heroes cared to mention that when they told Deadpool how important it was to be a good person. Good was overrated. Good was useless. Here he sat, feeling lower than shit, knowing he had just tossed his one chance at making something meaningful out of his life into a meat grinder and turned it on full blast. All because he’d felt the need to do what was best for someone else. It was bullshit.
He knew it couldn’t have lasted, that happy feeling he had with Peter. That tiny bit of hope he’d felt that had painstakingly crawled its way up from the forgotten corners of Wade’s head just to disappear faster than Barry Allen.
[Wrong universe, shithead.]
Happiness was for other assholes.
But Peter was one of those assholes, and if Wade could only do one fucking half-way decent thing, it was going to be making sure Peter had his chance to find it. Peter… Fuck. Whitey was right. There were so many golden nicknames for a name like Peter. And a name like that fit the guy annoyingly well, too. Cute and nerdy and FUCK. It wasn’t fair. He smashed another bottle, this one full.
“That’s it. No more moping. I’d rather lick a dog’s asshole than end up like Cap, brooding over the past until all my friends are dead.”
[Aw, that’s cute. He thinks he has friends.]
{‘Friends’.}
“Screw Peter Parker and his adorable – no, stupid – alliterative name! I do have other friends!”
[Name three.]
“Who the fuck needs three whole friends? That’s just greedy…Logan! HA! Haven’t talked to Logey-bear in a while, better go see what he’s up to.”
[So we can move the plot along before the author takes up drinking, you mean.]
{Oooh we’re so gonna get maimed!}
----
PETER
The next Avenger’s meeting went by in a blur. Peter heard his assigned location for the alien stakeout but nothing more. Was it even aliens, this time? Did it matter? Not really.
It was bad to zone out like this, definitely disrespectful, but he couldn’t help it. His best friend had aimed a gun at him and said…nothing that was untrue. No, screw that. It was untrue. Or at least Peter was going to convince himself that it was.
As soon as Carol gave the dismissal and Fury’s Skype call clicked off, Peter was up and out of the room. He vaguely heard his name being called, but not by Captain Marvel herself (who was leading the team in Steve’s absence), so Peter didn’t feel obligated to listen. He had avoided Tony’s gaze like a pro all throughout the meeting, and only felt a little bit like an ass for it. He wasn’t in the mood to brush everything under the rug just yet, like Tony always did with his problems.
Oh, Pepper moved out? Who wants chicken for dinner?
Pepper signed on as the CEO of the European division of Stark Industries and is now living in France with another man? Time to show Cap and Thor the glory of Die Hard!
The behavior was so commonplace for Tony that even Peter, the newest member, knew exactly what to expect, including the way the team would subtly agree to just go along with it and pretend it was all totally normal. Not even Cap called Tony out on it anymore, according to Natasha. Or at least if he did, he didn’t do it in front of everyone.
So, Peter knew Tony was planning on doing the exact same thing with him. The jerk had even flashed a grin at Peter when he’d sat down at the start of Carol’s opening pep-talk, and Peter had only just stopped himself from throwing his hands in the air and walking out. Maybe he could pretend nothing happened tomorrow, after he’d slept a little more and sent a few low-lives to jail.
Plus, he still had a couple more shots to take of Spiderman before work the next day, and now that he didn’t have Wade helping him out it would take longer than it had the past few weeks.
Peter frowned. It had been just under twenty-four hours, and he already missed Wade. How pathetic was that?
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end to the pathetic-ness of it all.
Peter, feeling like the world’s clingiest ex-boyfriend, found himself perched on the rooftop opposite Wade’s apartment after his sweep of the city. He told himself he was just stopping by because the neighborhood was crappy and there would undoubtedly be some crime to stop – but of course, since Peter was the luckiest person on the planet, there wasn’t so much as a kid stealing a candy bar.
He sat there, staring at a Wade-less apartment and… what was he waiting for? For Wade to show up?
Yes. That was exactly what he was doing.
He wanted to pull a Tony and pretend that last night didn’t happen. He wanted Wade to toss him a taco and snap at his boxes while they played videogames and talked about absolutely nothing for hours on end.
He wanted Wade to apologize, too, but hell would freeze over before that ever happened.
Peter was still pissed off, still wanted to slap Wade for being so stupid and defensive and for not trusting that Peter wasn’t going to run in fear or toss him aside like yesterday’s news once some other hero started looking more interesting.
But Peter had run, just a little, hadn’t he? Then again, Wade had almost shot him right before that, and thrown the past back in Peter’s face because Wade knew it would hurt.
Logistically, he knew Wade was a fucked up human being. Wade hurt the things he feared might hurt him back if they got too close and kept everything else at arm’s length. Peter understood that on a basic, scientific level. It was a pattern of behavior that was far more common than anyone ever liked to admit, especially in people with a history of abuse. And from the way Wade had alluded to his father and his life before the cancer, there had been some pretty hellish stuff going on in the Wilson family home to say the least. Not to mention everything with Weapon X and all the psychotics Wade had met in between.
But Wade had been changing! He’d been making progress on the whole “killing people is bad” concept, and Peter could have sworn that the mercenary had been opening up more and more every time they hung out. He’d been seeing the real Wade, and he’d liked what he saw.
Liked it.
More than liked it.
Crap.