Chapter Text
Peter’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually care anymore if Wade knows his identity. A concept that would definitely surprise a baby Spider-Man, still in highschool and just a year into the whole gig, but is certainly true now.
Deadpool and Spider-Man have been friends for two or so years now. They sure didn’t start off on the best terms, but Peter would be an asshole of the highest degree if he said he didn’t trust him after all that Wade has done for him. All the late-night tacos, trips back to Wade’s apartment to get patched up, and actual bullets taken for him. You don’t just watch someone get literally disembowelled to keep you safe and then turn around and decide that they’re not worthy of knowing that you go to college in the city. It’s just a dick move. And besides, his identity may be a secret he holds close to his chest, but he does it to keep the people around him safe. Deadpool isn’t going to go and hold Aunt May hostage or shoot up his campus to get a hit on him any time soon. He’d given his - incredibly concerning - reassurances that Wade would never reveal anything under torture. They’re besties now (Wade’s words, not his).
So he’s kind of stopped trying. Not that he’s officially taken off the mask yet – it’s probably always going to be scary, the idea of bringing someone into both Peter Parker and Spider-Man’s life – but he’s stopped trying to throw Wade off the scent. He doesn’t bother to make offhand comments that are blatantly false in their implications, or dance around the point when he has to tell Wade that he can’t patrol for whatever reason. Hell, he even mentions May by name. Peter’s honestly 100% okay with Wade figuring out his identity, even if he doesn’t take the steps himself.
He hasn’t yet though.
Or at least he hasn’t said anything about it. Because while Deadpool has the general demeanour of a chatty, perpetually annoying pest, he’s actually wicked smart. He’s a mercenary, the best in business, and you don’t earn that kind of reputation without ruthless efficiency and the observational skills needed to track someone down like that. So Wade has either not said anything or not tried to do it at all, hopefully out of respect for Peter’s boundaries.
It’s kind of sweet actually. Deadpool is a much better friend than anyone gives him credit for. Sure, he’s brash and crude and completely steamrolls through most social interactions, but for someone who is clearly very lonely and has been through the shit that he has? He- well, okay, maybe doesn’t have the best understanding of boundaries, but he’s always reliable. And even though his morals are on the greyer side, he’d do almost anything to keep Spider-Man safe. Wade has taken bullets and bombs and death for Peter, and continues to be unfailingly devoted. Almost overwhelmingly so. He brings food without knowing it’s what keeps Peter from starving during those weeks that his meager budget can’t fit groceries, and protects Peter while Spider-Man protects the streets. It’s too much care that Peter knows what to do with, always used to being the one doing that for others.
It’s new and it’s good, being so secure in his friendship with Deadpool. It’s not often that he’s able to spend so much time with someone as Spider-Man, and not have to split his attention so that he doesn’t give himself away. He gets to blend Spider-Man the hero and Peter Parker the person a lot more than he thought he’d ever be able to, even on patrols like tonight.
It’s not a particularly difficult patrol. No surprise visits from any of Peter’s rogues gallery - sometimes it feels like they have an actual schedule on who gets to slam him into walls for a few consecutive weeks every six months - or any organised crime, or even a favour needed from a fellow vigilante. But there‘s a lot more of the... crueler kinds of crime. One too many drunk women to walk home and their stalkers to shoo away, a fight broken up between a married couple that looked like it was going to get very violent very quickly, a vile group of teenagers to scare away from a tiny, broken little kitten. It leaves Peter’s stomach rolling, and doesn’t bode well for his sleep tonight.
Wade keeps a running commentary as always, and although Peter no longer finds it insensitive like he once did, he doesn’t laugh much at the jokes. He feels bad, because Deadpool seems thrilled that he managed to cheer up a frazzled drunk girl after what could’ve been something horrible, but Peter can’t focus on the sliver lining tonight. He’s exhausted and he knows he can’t really afford to be running on fumes tomorrow with all the lab work he has to catch up on, but he has a feeling he’s going to be anyway. Oh the joys of being a post-grad student, a scientist and a superhero. 2/10, Peter does not recommend for healthy stress levels.
“Okay Webs, what the fuck is up with you?” Wade says abruptly, cutting off his own tangent about the pros vs cons of leftover tacos. They’re sitting on a billboard, eating Mexican like they do every night that Wade pays (which is most nights. Peter is too broke to give up free food just because they get the same thing every time) and Peter has just realised how tense he is.
“Who says anything’s up with me?”
“I says. Your entire posture screams ‘if you mildly inconvenience me, I am going to rip off your head and tie your guts in a bow.’” Wade responds. “Now c’mon Spidey, tell Dr. Deadpool all about your troubles. I’ll fix ya right up.”
Peter huffs a tired laugh, unwilling to argue this time. “Yeah okay ‘Pool, it’s been a rough patrol tonight. You know, sometimes it’s just...” He waves a hand vaguely.
“Less evil supervillains and more confronting the horrors of humanity?”
“Yeah, that.” Peter sighs. “Feels like it never gets easier, either.”
“Shit’s just like that, baby boy. What’s impressive is that you keep doing it, honestly.”
Peter hunches in on himself, twisting his body in a way that wouldn’t be possible for someone more human. “‘M so tired, dude. I gotta get to campus tomorrow at seven to catch up on lab work and I know I’m not gonna sleep well.” He groans into his hands. “Wade, why’d I tell my adviser I was gonna be in so early?”
Peter expects a snarky comeback but surprisingly doesn’t get one.
“Wait, hold on here, let’s backtrack a sec. You’re in college?” Deadpool instead asks, incredulous.
“Yeah? I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it before. And I’ve definitely mentioned how goddamn sleep-deprived I am, it’s basically synonymous with college.”
“Webs, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to elaborate. ‘Cos unless you’ve been web-slinging since adolescence, there’s no way you’re fresh outta highschool.”
“What? No of course I’m not like, eighteen. Christ, Wade, I’m doing a post-grad degree.”
“Damn the author is playing fast and loose with canon here.“
“What?”
“Never you mind, Spidey-poo. Anyway, just saying that if I had been ogling a highschooler’s ass these past couple years, I was probably just gonna tip myself straight off this billboard in shame.” Deadpool says casually.
“Jesus, fuck, don’t do that either. I don’t have the energy. ”
A beat passes between them before Wade asks “Sooooo, whatcha studying?” He kicks his legs back and forth from where they swing over the edge of the billboard, like he’s a pre-teen girl trying to talk to her crush. If he had hair, Peter bets he would be twirling it around his finger.
Peter snorts. “I’ve just started on my biochem doctorate. I’ve got a bachelors in bio-engineerin and masters in biochem too, but I needed a couple years’ break before I started again. Dunno what I’m actually doing it on, though.” He hasn’t figured out his dissertation yet, but he wants the labs tomorrow to test spider webbing to see if it’s got research potential. Sue him, okay, he knows spiders.
Wade whistles low and long. “Damn, knew you were smart, Webs, but a PhD? Sign me up to be a trophy husband, Dr Spider.”
“Dr Man, actually.”
“Dr Man and Wade Man. Has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?”
Peter smiles wryly under the mask, not that Wade can see it. “You’d make great arm candy, ‘Pool, but you’re forgetting here that I’m broke as shit. No husbands are being trophied anytime soon.” He says. “And if I wasn’t poor, we would definitely be eating more post-patrol Italian food instead of Mexican every time.”
“But Webs! Chimichangas!”
“I know, dude, I love Mexican as much as the next person - actually, not as much as you do, but that’s not the point.” Peter comments, “The point is that we eat it every time you pay, and if I had enough money to turn down free food, we’d be getting pasta.”
“I know but like, c’mon, burritos.”
The conversation continues to go in circles until Peter almost falls off the billboard in exhaustion, re-remembers his lab plans and advisor meeting tomorrow, and swings home.
From there on out, Deadpool asks Peter regularly about how college is going and lets him nerd out about science. And Peter feels like Spider-man and Peter Parker become a little bit more the same person around Wade.
It’s a quiet night this time, which is not something Peter usually gets to say when Wade’s around. Deadpool’s been out on a pretty big job for two weeks now - just intel gathering, he defended himself before Peter could even get a word in - and it’s the first night that Peter’s had almost nothing to do. The quiet tonight is peaceful, but he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t noticed how different things are without Wade. He’s nowhere near in over his head yet, he’d been Spider-Man completely on his own for at least three times as long as he’s known Wade, but he will admit that he’s stretched a bit thinner without someone watching his back. He’s been getting migraines more than he did, his senses having to work overtime to make up for the fact that he doesn’t have backup. Not just his spidey-sense either; his enhanced hearing has been latching onto every little thing in a fight, and while it is good for keeping him alert enough to avoid concussions, he didn’t realise how grounding Deadpool’s constant chatter is. The fights have been the easy part, honestly, the hard bit has been the half an hour periods after each tussle where Peter hears everything in a two-block radius.
Tonight isn’t like that, though. There are no fights, so he lets the city drone on in the background while he messes around and does tricks on a high building. He brought out the camera earlier, getting some really nice photos for the Bugle, but then he swung home and dropped it off again. Someone without a major guilt problem and too much self-inflicted responsibility would probably have changed out of the suit and gone to bed, but it was too early for Peter not to feel like he hadn’t properly done his job.
It’s not that bad though, he’s genuinely having a great time doing stupid dangerous flips on a skyscraper and pretending he’s a diver. He might’ve gone down a YouTube rabbit hole last night and binged the official Olympics account, watching every diving, gymnastics and figure skating video they had. Those are just the cool sports, okay?
“Aaaand he does it again, folks! A stunning back one and a half with a half twist from your favourite wall crawler!” Peter puts on his best announcer voice as he swings back up to the top of the building, expecting a crowd of absolutely no one, but hearing whoops and clapping anyway. He smiles under the mask. It sounds distinctly like one Wade Wilson.
When he makes it to the rooftop, Deadpool is there, pretending to hold something out.
“Now, our first place gold medal goes to the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man!” Wade calls, taking a step forward. Peter ducks his head while Wade mimes putting a medal around his neck.
The second Peter pops his head back up, they start laughing.
“So Wade, how was the job?” Peter asks when the laughter finally leaves his lungs. In an instant, he’s being swooped up in an absolutely bone-crushing hug.
“Spidey! I missed you!” Wade squeals, and now Peter is being lifted all the way off the ground, his feet dangling uselessly. “And, I didn’t kill nothin’ while I was out! You proud of me, mama?”
“Mmph.”
“Ah, whoops.” Wade sets him back on the ground.
“Yeah I’m proud, ‘Pool.” There’s a warmth in Peter’s chest he doesn’t care to identify. He’s not sure why, but the warmth feels gooey, like it’s going to trickle through the gaps in his skin and his suit. Peter is hesitant to be seen leaking out the cracks of himself like that.
“So are you gonna take me out to dinner cos I got a good report card?” Deadpool asks.
“So long as you’re paying.”
“Fuck yea! You said I can get whatever I want and you’ll eat it!”
“Not what I said, Wade.”
It ends up being Mexican again anyway. They eat it on top of Chrysler Building because Peter hasn’t had the adrenaline kick tonight that proper patrols give him, and he’s making up for it by being stupid. Like, you know, doing flips he’s never trained himself in off high buildings and eating Mexican on the tallest skyscraper in New York.
... No one ever said Peter has common sense, okay? Science prodigy does not equal a healthy understanding of risks.
Wade talks the entire time they eat, like usual. The details of the job are insane but they hold enough truth that Peter just decides to believe it anyway. But somewhere between the first and second taco of like, seven, Wade smears the meat sauce on the corner of his mouth and Peter has a hard time focusing on his words. It’s stupid, but he keeps staring.
Eventually, he gets fed up with how badly it bugs him and he leans forward with a napkin and wipes it off, also finding the first way of effectively shutting up Deadpool. He could charge money for that.
“God, you’re a slob. No one ever teach you manners?” Peter says as he shoves the dirty napkin back in the takeout bag with all the wrappers.
A beat passes, and then another, and Deadpool is still staring at him like Peter’s the one with taco smeared across his cheek. Wade is dead silent, which is most concerning. Peter wonders if he stepped on one of those unspoken boundaries by accident, like the stretch of time between cancer and Deadpool that makes Wade go all funny.
“Dude. You’re looking at me like I’ve grown a second head, what is up with you?”
“Did you always have fangs, baby boy, because what in the fresh funky fuck?” Wade responds, and Peter moves his hands up to his mouth on instinct. Deadpool’s right, he can feel long curved fangs, dark and black over the top of his regular teeth. He’s not sure how he didn’t feel them in his mouth.
“Huh, it’s been a while since they’ve made themselves known.” Peter comments, running his tongue over the top and feeling the needle sharpness of them. He wonders how Wade has never noticed. They eat a lot together, has it just never happened before?
“You knew about them!? Why don’t I know about them!?”
“Uhhh, it’s my mouth? And they turned up like all the other powers when I was in highschool?” Peter answers.
“Do you have venom? Wait, can I touch them? What do they do?” Wade’s hands are inching forward towards Peter’s mouth before he smacks them away.
“Yes, no, and many things.”
“What things?”
“You’re not going to stop asking questions anytime soon, are you?
“Nope! Now c’mon, how fast can you kill a guy with those chompers?”
Peter heaves a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve never tried to, ‘Pool, and I’m not about to. Also they’re not necessarily chompers, not like a mammalian predator.” He adds, because Peter is nothing if not a pendant.
“I love it when you speak nerdy to me babe.”
“Are you talking about my use of the word mammalian? Wade you learn this shit in like, elementary school. Mammals have skin, internal skeletal structures and give birth instead of laying eggs.” Peter says, and then pauses. “Okay well, apart from platypuses, they’re fuckin’ weird. But other than that it’s pretty simple.” He corrects. Because pedantics.
“Well if they’re not mammalian teeth, or platypus whatever-the-fuck they have goin on, then what are they?” Wade asks.
Peter sighs, opening his mouth as wide as it can go and tilting it up to Wade can see the fangs better. “It’s hollow, see?” He taps a finger lightly on the bottom of it, where the the little pinpoint hole is. “They’re part of a spider’s chelicerae - much more like syringes than teeth. Spider fangs inject venom and enzyme secretions for external digestion. I don’t know if mine’s a cytotoxin or a neurotoxin though, I’ve never actually bitten anyone.” And he never wants to, but Peter would be a filthy filthy liar if he said he doesn’t still want to know the details of his venom. Spider-Man is a hero/spandexed vigilante but Peter Parker will always be a scientist.
“Uh huh, mhm,”
“You don’t understand any of that, do you?”
“Absolutely fuckin nothing, babe.”
Peter makes a clicking noise in the back of his throat - also a spider thing - while he thinks. “Spider venoms are like, a myriad of different chemicals. There’s generally two types though. A neurotoxin works directly on the nervous system and usually paralyses it. You’d end up dying from respiratory or circulatory issues if it got bad enough. The other kind, cytotoxins, cause necrosis.” He explains to a surprisingly attentive Deadpool. Peter feels flattered.
“Fuckin necrosis.” Wade grumbles. “Can tell you from experience, Webs, that shit sucks big wrinkly balls.”
Peter snorts. Wade is ever-creative in his language.
“Yeah. Most spiders - apart from some of the funnel web spiders and the recluse - can’t hurt people. But I have big, human-sized amounts of venom. Also the digestive enzyme, that breaks stuff down into a fun bug smoothie for spiders to slurp up.”
“That’s so fuckin’ hot.” Wade says, and then adds, “Wow, this should really not be doing it for me.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Honestly, Peter constantly wonders if he means it, the flirting. Because on one hand, it’s relentless and so... responsive. Like Wade’s immediate, genuine reaction is that he thinks Peter is attractive. But then again, he’s also seen Wade make come-ons to gimmicky supervillains they fight, and once, Peter watched him do heart eyes to an especially well-dressed mannequin in a store window. It could be easy to believe that Wade really feels something, but Peter doesn’t want to make a fool of himself by assuming.
“You got any extra legs or a couple more pairs of big black spidery eyes under there, Webs?” Wade asks. “Just out of curiosity o’ course, not at all related to that earlier comment you didn’t hear.”
“Again, gonna ignore that second part. No extra eyes or legs, but I’m spidery in other ways.”
“Like..?” Wade waggles his eyebrows, a surprisingly clear gesture from under the mask.
“You’re not giving up on this, are you?”
“Nuh uh, no way. I may not be allowed to know about the man under the mask, but I will hold your spidery secrets close to my heart for the rest of my long, long life.”
But you could, Peter wants to say. I would tell you anything if you asked.
Instead, he holds up a hand and counts on his fingers. “Well, I can’t eat peppermint or anything with vinegar anymore. Insect repellent is absolute purgatory and if my home ever gets infested I’m basically done for.” Peter says, trying to remember it all. “I have like, no thermoregulation either. My apartment is the shittiest two rooms you’ve ever seen because I spend so much money on heating and cooling. I also have bendy bones? Kind of? I dunno, I’m able to do a lot of things with my body most people can’t, probably because I have thicker skin and a weirdly flexible skeleton, courtesy of the spider’s invertebrate-ness.”
“You could probably do other incredible things with your body, too.”
“Wade. No.”
“Aww.”
Peter ignores that and adds to his list. “I have biological webs as well as kinda, spidery instincts?”
“Ooo, are you gonna like, liquify someone’s guts and drink them like a smoothie if they make you mad? I heard somewhere that spiders are cannibalistic.” Wade sounds far more excited than he should. Peter decides not to mention the time that an organised crime group took Aunt May and he got so viciously, mercilessly angry that he almost did.
“No. I just prefer dark ceiling corners and skitter around like a creepy crawly on instinct.” Peter had to actually train himself into walking around like a regular human being, with regular human bones, after the bite. He’s pretty much got the ability to seamlessly switch between Peter and Spider-Man down to an art form.
“That’s adorable, Webs.”
“You are so weird.”
Thunk.
Thunk.
Peter drops his camera case onto the kitchen counter and then his forehead immediately after. It’s been a long day.
Why must Jameson be the way he is?
He really, really thought that this time the pictures were good enough to pay off the latest of May’s bills. They were high quality, with artfully balanced colours, and the shutterspeed was finally absolutely perfect to capture the movement while Peter flipped gracefully in the sky. They were beautiful, far closer to art then journalism, and it should’ve gotten Peter the paycheck he needed to get the insurance company off May’s back.
But that didn’t happen today. Instead, he got berated within an inch of his life for not getting a good shot of Spider-Man’s latest fight with the Rhino. And he is suffering the consequences of Jameson’s temperament, because he got told he can’t get paid until he brings in something new.
“Oh jeez, sorry for not getting good pictures of the fight, boss. It’s not like I’m the one getting thrown into walls by a supervillain, or anything.” Peter grumbles to himself.
There’s a deep purple bruise on his spine. A lesser evil, considering anyone without his armoured skin would have shattered vertebrae and some permanent paralysis. But it’s still a bruise that goes all the way through his tissue and goddammit it hurts. And Peter kind of just wishes he would suffer through his chest heaving and his voice cracking and he wants to cry. He wants to crawl into the dark ceiling corner and not leave until some other spider has covered him in cobwebs because that paycheck was supposed to be for his aunt. The Bugle job isn’t for him, it’s for May, because the American Healthcare system is shit and by God, Peter will not lose another person that matters. So he has to withstand Jameson’s stupid temper, and the shame he feels about taking photos of himself for a newspaper that slanders him, and the stress that sometimes feels like a physical weight, or else he’d be leaving May to deal with the bills on her own. And he won’t do that, he’d sooner give up Spider-Man than give up on her.
He scrunches his eyes and takes a deep breath.
It’ll be okay, it has to. It will be.
There’s always more villains to fight, more pictures to take, and more money he can make before the next appointment happens and it starts to pile up.
One cup of admittedly shitty chamomile tea later, Peter calls May. He’s roiling with shame when he tells her that it’s going to have to wait another week, and she’s the same she always is. Patient, kind, the stern badass Peter has always remembered her to be. God, he loves her.
She says it’s okay. That Peter’s doing enough for her, for the city - even though it never feels like enough - and that it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault. It’s Jameson’s temper and the pettiness, Peter knows. But he also knows he has a thing about guilt and about responsibility, and he knows that right now shame is crashing through his veins like it’s an ocean trying to replace his blood. The call is both comforting and a vicious perpetuation of how awful Peter feels to have let May down, worse when he has to say it out loud.
By the end, emotion leaves him exhausted and Peter honestly reaches his limit on the amount of unwarranted personal responsibility he can put on himself today, so he goes to bed early and skips Spider-Manning.
The next day is not good but it is not worse, and Peter goes out on patrol anyway. There’s been worse days that he’s gone out, he reasons. Besides, the feeling of web slinging across the city is completely unbeatable.
There’s this moment of stillness in the height of a swing, never more than a second, where he stops moving upwards and hasn’t yet been pulled down by gravity. Peter clings to those seconds and finds peace in the way that everything seems to stop. New York seems to halt, there’s no medical bills while he’s in the mask and no Jameson yelling at him and the sleep deprivation doesn’t matter because there’s adrenaline in his blood, and Peter is floating above the city for just a minuscule amount of time, but it‘s peace.
But New York is New York, the city that never sleeps.
Peter forces himself to be okay with the way the calmness washes right out of him, and tunes into the faint screaming he heard a number of blocks away. His spidey sense hums in a way that feels distinctly more like it’s tugging Peter towards something instead of shrieking at him to get away. He follows it like it’s a physical string pulling him forward, and spidey sense is reliable as always.
He stops the attempted hate crime on some poor trans girl and continues to move through the city, like one crime has kickstarted New York into its usual cacophony. Peter won’t ever not love it here, despite everything.
Wade joins in on patrol before long, too. He’s always had the uncanny ability to track Peter down, and it’s been a good while now since Peter’s gotten startled by the sudden appearance of flashing katanas and shitty jokes. Deadpool’s singing Britney Spears tonight as he swings his swords around like the blades of fan. His skill with them is always impressive.
“Oops, I did it again,” Wade sings with endearingly awful pitch, fighting as he shimmies his way through the enemies. It’s a wannabe-supervillain tonight, complete with a hoard of incompetent minions. Peter likes the way they get to have fun with it.
“I played with your heart, got lost in the game,” Peter sings back, as he webs another minion to the ground.
The grin in Wade’s voice is audible. “Ooh, baby, baby.” He spins with a katana in one hand a gun in the other, holding it up to his face in an absurd parody of a teen girl singing into her hairbrush. “Oops, you think I’m in love.”
The handle of the gun is held out to Peter. “That I’m sent from abooove. I’m not that innocent,”
They mow down the rest of the men and apprehend the guy ordering them around. Unsurprisingly, it’s a rich idiot who believes that the power he holds with his money is not enough, and thus decided he’d be more suited to a life of supervillainy.
You’d be surprised how many of these guys Peter nabs in a month.
After several other, smaller crimes that have been stopped, Peter calls it a night. And by “a night”, he usually means that he kind of just hangs out with Wade for another few hours until he really does swing home.
Peter finds an appropriately high building in an appropriately secluded area and crawls all the way up the side of it, snickering as Wade yells something exasperated about spider powers. A few minutes later, Deadpool hauls himself over the edge of the roof and sprawls out next to Peter. He rolls into a faux-sexy “draw me like one of your French girls” pose and Peter is so used to his bullshit that he doesn’t bat an eye until Wade speaks.
“So loverboy, long time no see.”
“Not your loverboy,” Peter retorts out of habit more than any real annoyance. “And besides, we just spent the last three hours beating people up and singing all of Britney Spears’ discography.”
“And damn, what a discography it is.” Wade responds. “But my point is that you left me all on my lonesome last night. You stood me up on date night, Webs!”
“Wade I have told you to stop calling it that. And anyway, you’re not kidding anyone here. I know you ate the entire bag of Mexican takeout by yourself, happily.”
“Maybe. You can’t confirm that.”
“Yeah okay, ‘Pool.”
Wade groans. “You’re missing the point here! I know I don’t usually have a point, but this time you’re definitely missing it. On purpose.” He points a katana at Peter accusingly. It would be intimidating if Peter weren’t so used to everything that’s supposed to make Deadpool scary.
“Mhm. And the point is?”
“Where were you last night, duh. You never miss patrol, Webs. You’re like if a workaholic wasn’t asked to do their job or paid for it.”
Well that’s unfair, Peter thinks.
“Rude.”
“So where were you, Spidey? Cos I’ve seen you at the tail end of some pretty shitty days before. Like, ‘I’m lactose intolerant and I’ve just had day old Taco Bell doused with milk’ kind of shitty. You even rocked up with a sexy case of six cracked ribs once.”
Wade, regrettably, has a point. Not for the first time, Peter wishes Deadpool is as stupid as everyone thinks he is. And anything but the truth here will get him interrogated.
“My Aunt May is... having some trouble.”
“The one who sniffed out your Spidey secret like a bloodhound and makes fucking banger wheatcakes?” Wade asks, and Peter startles. He hasn’t been trying to keep his identity secret anymore, but he hadn’t realised that he’s let so much slip.
“Yep, the one and only. She, uh, her strength comes in the form of her character, not her health.”
Peter wonders if he should be saying this. There’s no reason not to - they’re friends, pretty damn good ones even - but it feels so fundamentally wrong to be talking about May like this. Not when her safety is the reason he keeps this secret so close to his chest in the first place.
“May got sick pretty recently. Really really sick, and I’m uh, paranoid. Kinda.”
“You? Paranoid? Baby boy, why would you even say that!”
Peter snorts. “Shut it. I don’t talk about this shit often.” Definitely not as Spider-Man, is what goes unsaid. “But yeah. The doctors think it’s an underlying illness that she’s had for a while, and she aggravated it recently. So there’s been a lot of doctors appointments to figure out what it is. They don’t- she doesn’t have to go to them, May says she’s okay with not knowing. But I’m not, and she’s old, and there’s a lot of things I can take but May... getting really ill again, when there’s something I can do about it, is not.”
He flops backwards onto the roof and feels the impact crack his spine in a satisfying way.
“But you know, American healthcare systems. She goes to the appointments and I work a second job to pay for them. It’s freelance work so my boss, well, he doesn’t have to pay me if he doesn’t want to. It’s probably a violation of the contract, but I need the job so I don’t do anything. And yesterday he didn’t want to pay me. And last week we had to reschedule the appointment, and then because of that it threw off the cycle that I have going for the finances and now I have two appointments to catch up on and no paycheck from the job that’s supposed to pay for them.”
“Fuck, Webs, that is definitely lactose-and-Taco-Bell shitty.”
“It sure is. I had to call her last night to explain and I was just-“ Ashamed, humiliated, stressed beyond belief- “Tired. New York can last a night without me, right?”
“Mmmmm, you want an honest answer to that?”
Peter rubs a hand down his face - his mask - and groans.
Fuckin’ righteous city that Peter loves too much to abandon, relying on him to fix all their problems while complaining about it. Fuckin’ New York believing that he’ll always be there to take down the bad guy, being right about it.
“Ugh, they do like to have their cake and eat it too. How many times have they launched a city-wide decree to arrest on sight, again?”
“And they still haven’t managed it yet, that’s my special boy!” Wade slings an arm around Peter and pulls him close. He’s warm, so warm and Peter soaks it up like the spider that he is. His arachnid brain is telling him that he needs to stay close, that Wade is a source of heat that will drain right out of Peter as soon as he moves away. It’s probably true.
Wade says nothing when Peter leans into the hug instead of away from it. He stiffens ever-so-slightly instead, before relaxing. For all that Wade touches and clings to Peter, he never seems to know what to do when Peter embraces it. But that’s okay, really. How many people have touched Wade and meant it with affection recently?
How many people has Peter let embrace him, instead of pushing them away?
Just for the record, Peter is aware that this is a terrible idea. For someone so hung up on his privacy and security as Spider-Man, making his webs on a public rooftop with chemicals he stole from the ESU’s labs is, yeah, not his best plan yet. The cognitive dissonance going on here must be a psychologist’s goldmine. Actually, everything about Peter would keep a psychologist well-paid for the next lifetime and a half, if he only had the money to go to therapy.
That’s kind of why he’s doing this anyway. The money, not the lack of therapy. Although there’s no doubting that’s definitely also got something to do with it too. The story starts with the fact that he did, thank fuck, find a way to pay May’s medical bills. Unfortunately that way was taking a sizeable chunk out of his grocery money. A week ago.
He hasn’t eaten more than three bowls of cereal in two days. It’s not good.
It was the only food he had left in the house and last night, Deadpool had been called into an any-and-all-hands-on-deck type situation with the X-Men before they could get to the “take-out and hanging out” part of the night. A meal that Peter had been pathetically relying on, just gone.
So now Peter is broke and hungry, more so even than usual. Why did no one tell him in highschool, before he had to pay for himself, that being a superhero is expensive?
And there is a rat in his apartment. Which would not be a problem (hello, New York), if not for the fact that he is hungry, and has a spider’s predatory DNA written into the fibre of his being. Peter is desperate, but not desperate enough to eat a rat scurrying around behind his fridge. He has standards.
But he also has shit to get done, I.e making webs so he doesn’t become a splat on New York’s pavement or rip his wrists out trying to use his own. And he cannot get those things done if he is distracted, thinking about eating a rat. And then distracted again, being grossed out by thinking about liquifying and drinking a rat smoothie.
“And they think Spider-Man is the weirdest part of this.” He snorts to himself, listening vaguely as his music all fades into one from where it plays in the headphones over the top of his Spidey mask.
“Ooo, weirdest part of what, exactly? I love it when things get weird.” Wade’s voice appears over his shoulder, as it tends to do.
“Oh, you know,” Peter waves a hand, widely gesturing to himself. “All of me.”
“We goin’ back to that spider thang, or is there something else freaky I get to know about you?”
“Is that an in- nevermind, it’s always an innuendo with you.”
Wade cackles as Peter goes back to his work, very carefully inserting the cartridges of fluid into the mechanism. Too much pressure, and it becomes a web explosion that is absolute hell to clean up.
“So, Webs, what’s with the webs? Thought you didn’t want anyone knowing your secret spidey-patty formula.”
“My apartment has a rat. I don’t really want to work there right now.”
Wade nods knowingly. “Didn’t think the Amazing Spider-Man could be taken down by one of New York’s infamous acid-spitting rats, but everyone’s gotta have their weaknesses I suppose.”
Peter cringes. “No it’s... just a rat.”
“A rodent of unusual size from the fire swamps?”
“It’s, uh, appropriately sized.”
“Literally just a regular rat?”
“Yep. No acid. No Princess Bride references. Just a rat.”
Even Wade is thrown for a loop. “... why?”
Peter sighs into his hands and sets the mechanisms and the fluid down. Wade isn’t judgemental - well, he doesn’t shame Peter for anything, but he does have opinions on everything. Peter’s more likely to get verbally ripped to shreds for not eating than the rat thing really, and that’s kind of a lot more embarrassing anyway.
“Uhh, well, I haven’t really... eaten an actual meal in about three days. And I have a spider’s DNA. Who are predators and, you know, there are a few of them big enough to eat birds and rodents.” Peter says, not elaborating further. He can feel his face heating under the mask. It’s, unsurprisingly, really humiliating to admit that you’re so unable to take care of yourself that you keep thinking about eating a rat.
“Holy shitsticks Spidey, you’re scared of eating it?”
“When you say it out loud it sounds so much- actually no, it sounds exactly bad as it is.” Peter grimaces. “It’s just- ugh, I can feel it scurrying around. I can tell by the vibrations in the floor where it is at all times. And I can like, sense the warm blood in it and my stupid spider brain can’t stop thinking about it.”
“You want me to kill it for you?” Wade offers.
“If that was the problem, then I wouldn’t be here. I’d be in my apartment, eating a massacred rat.” Peter deadpans. “Also, the poor thing doesn’t deserve it. It’s New York, it probably thinks it belongs in my apartment.”
“Yeah, but that’s where I’m the solution to both your problems. I kill the rat so you don’t have to feel bad, and grab takeout on the way there. Knight in shining armour, at your service.”
“Okay but point: that would require you to come to my house. You see the issue?” Peter says. He’s not lying to himself when he admits that his identity isn’t a hangup anymore with Wade, but there’s a difference between discovering that he takes selfies for a newspaper and seeing where he lives. All the stupid sci-fi posters he put up because Ben gave them to him, his broken and fixed and re-broken alarm clock, the photographs of him and Harry and Gwen on the fridge before everything went to shit.
“Counter point: I can close my eyes if you swing us there.” Wade offers.
“Counter-counter point: I’m not stupid and neither are you, ‘Pool. You knowing where it is not really the problem here. And besides, part of the deal is that you get food for us. Can’t do that if I’m swinging you with your eyes closed.”
“Counter-counter-counter point: I really wanna see what your home looks like?” Wade pleads. Peter doesn’t even know why he’s so insistent. He’s never had a problem about the secret identity, and that’s clearly not what this is about now, either.
Ah, fuck it.
Peter needs the rat gone, and he’s made worse choices in his life than inviting his best friend to buy him food and play pest control.
“Aw hell, why not? I’ll swing us to my apartment.” Peter finally stands up and cracks his neck after all the hunching.
“Oh em gee, really!?”
“I have terms and conditions you need to sign, though.”
“I would literally cut off my own head and gift it to you in a basket to see your nerdy little spider-cave.” Wade says, way too serious for Peter’s comfort.
“Do not do that.” He replies. “My conditions are that you only get rid of the rat, instead of killing it. And also that I’m going to drop you off to get food, and swing back after I’ve gone to my apartment and gotten rid of any incriminating evidence.”
“Incriminating evidence? You eating people in there too, baby boy?”
Peter’s whole body cringes. “No. Why would you- I meant like photos of my face and stuff.”
“Well. A guy can dream.”
Peter refuses to acknowledge that, so instead he picks up Deadpool by the collar of his suit like a kitten and jumps off the edge of the building with the man in tow. He takes a vindictive pleasure in how loud Wade shrieks.
Peter spots his favourite Thai place as he swings and drops Wade onto the pavement as soon as they’re at a not-ankle-breaking height.
“Webs! You told me that we can get Mexican if I pay.” Wade pouts. Like he’s five.
“How many times do I have to remind you that that was not how the conversation went?” Peter responds. “If I come back and find out you haven’t gotten Pad Thai and green curry, I will eat you instead.” He waits for no response before he shoots a web in the direction of his apartment building and swings off.
He does, unfortunately, still hear Wade distantly yelling “Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby!”
After Peter has successfully cleared away any and all mentions of his name or face from his own home (and failed to ignore the constant scuttling sounds from the rat), he makes his way back to Wade. Who is hopefully waiting for Peter with boxes of curry and noodles, and will not at all be having a pleasant night if he isn’t. Lucky for Wade, he is holding a three foot high pile of tubs with rice and curry in them, and Peter is not struck with the urge to throw him off a bridge.
“Quick question dude, how exactly did you plan to hold all of those while we swing?” Is what he says when his feet hit the pavement.
Deadpool looks at the piles of boxes, and Peter can just tell his face is stupidly blank under the mask. He snorts and webs up all the tubs in a sticky cocoon to keep the lids on.
“Yep, that. I totally knew you could web ‘em up, Spidey, that was the plan.” Wade responds.
Peter scoops the man up bridal-style - out of convenience, of course, how else is Wade going to keep hold of their food? - and they’re off again. When he gets to his apartment, he plucks the food from Wade’s arms as he bowls the man through his open window. Are there much more pleasant ways to get in? Definitely, but none of them have as much entertainment value as watching Deadpool get thrown onto his living room floor like a sack of potatoes. He even rolls a little, which is like icing on the cake.
“The rat is under my fridge, by the way.” Peter says, crouching on his windowsill with his arms protectively around their food. Wade rolls onto his feet and claps his hands excitedly like a little kid. “No snooping, ‘Pool. I mean it.” He droops immediately after.
While Wade shoves his fridge around and sets up a trap for the rodent living under it, Peter carefully rips apart his Thai food cocoon. It’s true that his webs are practically unbreakable, but he has more strength in his pinky finger than even the buffest men in the world have in their entire body. Peter’s too smart to make webs he can’t break.
Doesn’t mean that he’s not stupid enough to web plastic tubs, which are decidedly not as strong as he is.
Peter doesn’t get all the web off, but he does get enough off to remove the lids and dump the food into bowls without getting chemicals on them. Hurrah. He puts the food on his coffee table and scuttles over the ceiling - he’s in his own home, okay - to Wade in the kitchen. The rat gets captured and Peter banishes Deadpool to four flights of stairs with a wriggling rodent because the elevator is always broken. He only hopes none of his neighbours see the man in full leather and mask.
They eat when Wade comes back, and he spends the entire meal on Peter’s ratty couch looking over the apartment. He does it in such an efficient manner that Peter ever-so-briefly worries that he’s been hired for a job or something. But no, he’s just strangely really excited to be in Peter’s home. It feels... vulnerable, but not in a bad way.
“You done examining my sci-fi collection?” Peter asks when Wade’s head finally tilts away from his shelf of DVDs that he’s been collecting his whole life.
“Yeah, and my considered opinion is that you’re a fucking nerd, baby boy.”
Peter snorts. “Took you that long to figure it out?”
“Nah, but your entire house of old, nerdy memorabilia definitely makes a statement.”
Peter doesn’t respond in turn, and a beat passes of silence. An unusual occurrence for them.
“So what do you think? Of my house, I mean.” Why is he asking this? Why does Peter want to know what Wade thinks of the apartment he’s decorated with pieces of himself?
“C’mon Webs, it’s yours. Of course it’s pretty fucking great. “
If he’s being honest, it’s about time something big happens to Spider-Man again. He doesn’t like it, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s found that super villains and otherwise superhero-paygrade incidents tend to pop up like clockwork. He’s been getting antsy, waiting for someone from his rogue’s gallery to break out of jail or someone else to inexplicably be not-dead and bring a myriad of complications with them.
This time, it’s a super-powered terrorist attack. An evil scientist guy who had been wronged by the higher ups of the city etc. etc, believes he’s justified in killing the hundreds of people on Brooklyn Bridge. Peter wasn’t really listening to his super tragic and unjust origin story. Honestly, you hear it once, you’ve heard them all.
“Hey dude, can we just skip to the bit where you tell me about the nefarious plan you’ve cooked up for revenge? Cos that does sound like it sucks and all, but I’m not a licensed psychologist nor do I get paid for any of this, so maybe keep it for the therapist’s office.”
“Spider-Man, you-“
“I’m rude and insensitive and not taking this seriously, yadda yadda yadda, I know. Heard it all before.” Peter swings across the cables of the bridge. “Listen, is it bombs, or robots, or what exactly? You’re not the only one who’s pulled this before.”
Turns out, it’s bombs. Again. Of course, they’re fancy and incredibly scientifically advanced and inexplicably biologically related to whatever superpowers this guy has that he’s so mad about. Peter’s done this before, okay? What matters at the end of the day is that they’re gonna blow, and take all of Brooklyn Bridge down with them. Including the hundreds of people going across it, unaware of their little spat all the way up on the top of the tower.
Peter swings over and across the bridge, looking for the little buggers planted on the support structures. And because nothing is ever easy for him, he gets to be shot at while he does it, like an especially fun, life threatening game of dodgeball.
Ah, feels just like highschool.
“Hey! Catch!” Peter lobs a bomb up as hard as he can from the very bottom of the bridge, right over the East River. He snickers as it blows right above the evil scientist guy still on the tower, too far away to actually hurt anyone.
Peter then hurtles himself through the air, twisting his body as his spidey-sense spikes and a bullet goes whizzing by him before he even processes that it happens. When he reaches the top of the swing, he fires a web downwards and launches himself at the evil scientist. It’s a risk, to move so fast and so straight, assuming he will hit first before he can get shot. But it pays off, because Peter’s feet come into brutal contact with the guy’s face and he goes toppling off the bridge before Peter can catch him again.
“Woah, whose party am I crashing here?” Wade’s voice is distinct, even from far away. Peter takes a second to look down and see Deadpool strolling onto the bridge, looking up at their fight. “Is it someone’s birthday?”
“Just so you know, I’ve already called dibs on the first hit of the piñata!” Peter yells.
“Spidey! At least tell me there’s cake left!”
Peter grins under his mask and shoots a web straight at Wade, yanking him up when it lands true. “I make no promises.”
When Wade is close enough to be in arm’s reach, Peter opts to drop the webs and just yank him up by the straps on the Deadpool costume.
“So what’s the deal, Webhead? Who’s the villain of the week?” Wade spins a katana in anticipation as soon as his feet hit the flat metal of the tower.
“I’ll give you the sparknotes version: superpowered terrorist mad about his origin story has planted superpowered bombs on the bridge. I could use a hand dealing with this before it blows.”
“That’s what she-“
“No, Wade. And it’s not even a good set-up.”
“You are no fun.”
Peter doesn’t bother to dignify it with a response. He turns and shoots a web to go find the other bombs before they show themselves, but his spidey sense has sparks popping up his spine before he can swing. Peter ducks and misses an absolute slugger of a bullet from behind him. He spins around to see that the terrorist has somehow gotten out of his webs and somehow, still has shots left to fire.
“Change of plans, ‘Pool. You keep this guy busy while I get the bombs.” Peter doesn’t like leaving his friend to fight Spider-Man’s battles with no backup, but he has the mobility that Wade lacks to get all the bombs scattered across the bridge. And besides, Wade‘s pretty damn good in a fight.
“Sure thing Spidey. I can handle this guy’s plot-convenient superpowers no problema.”
The cracking sounds of gunfire and fighting start up the second Peter turns his back, and he tunes out the consistent hum of spidey-sense that it causes in favour of following his other senses to the bombs. He’s lucky that they’re mostly mechanic - only detonated with a biological component - and they emit a kind of high, squealing sound that Peter can follow like a breadcrumb trail. Swinging across the bridge, he hones in on the squealing sounds and plays hot-and-cold until he can find the little flashing devices pierced into the metal of the bridge. There’s not enough time to disarm all of them - as much as the scientist in him wants to study them - so he mostly just tosses them away from all the people.
Peter swings by to grab a bomb, but the squealing gets worse and it feels hotter in his hands, and he’s moving too fast in his swing in the wrong direction to throw it into the river like he has been without hurtling himself straight into the metal tower of the bridge.
So instead he yells, “Batter up!” And lobs it right ahead of him, towards Wade. Reliable, chaotic Wade, who doesn’t miss a beat as he swings his katana into it and whacks it away from the bridge, where it blows over the East River before it even hits the water.
As Peter continues to get the few bombs left hiding, he doesn’t notice how the sounds of the fight grow more chaotic instead of less so. He’s too laser-focused on just the squealing of the electrics.
Later, he’d wish that he heard how the sound of Wade badly rapping Fergalicious had trailed off into just gunfire and grunts of pain. He’d realise the mistake that he keeps making, misjudging his opponents and always underestimating the wrong ones. He’d kick himself for not thinking of a better plan than divide and conquer.
But it doesn’t stop Peter from letting it all go over his head now. At least until he gets the last bomb and skitters up the support tower to go help Deadpool, where he sees Wade get shot point-blank in the head as the terrorist makes his getaway.
And then his lifeless body is toppling backwards off Brooklyn Bridge, and it’s been years, and it doesn’t even matter because all Peter can see is Gwen as he scrambles to catch Wade.
He won’t-
He can’t do it again.
And it doesn’t matter that Deadpool can’t be killed permanently, that Peter is watching a blank panda mask fall, that Wade’s heartbeat has already flickered out.
None of it matters because all Peter can see is whipping blond hair and terror written into her face. All he can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he throws himself off the bridge without a second thought.
He won’t fire a web. He won’t make the same mistake twice. Even if it doesn’t matter, he won’t.
Peter holds Wade’s body close to his chest the way he held Gwen. Time has passed in a blur and he doesn’t know where he swung them to, but it’s quiet. The only thing heard in the unnervingly silent alleyway is Peter’s choking, strangled sobs. They tear out of his throat without his permission, but they sound so unlike him that Peter doesn’t do anything. He sounds like he doesn’t even know how to cry.
Time doesn’t feel like it exists at all. Peter lives in a bubble somewhere between Wade falling and Wade waking up again. His existence in his own body marked only by the fact that at some point, Peter struggles to breathe and shoves his mask up over his nose.
He’s waiting for Wade to wake up. He’s waiting for Green Goblin to start the fight again.
An eternity passes. Time is blank.
But then Wade takes a deep, heaving breath and groans. And Peter can see Deadpool again instead of Gwen in his place.
“Ugh, did someone reschedule naptime, cos-“ Wade gets halfway through whatever joke he was making before notices Peter sobbing. “Woah, woah, woah. What- Webs, what’s this about? You’ve seen me walk off worse than this.” Wade places a tentative arm over Peter’s back as he talks.
Peter inhales a shuddering breath, gasping through it as he tries to get his own body back to normal. He pushes the image of Gwen out his head and reminds himself that it’s different this time.
“‘M sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, it’s not like you killed me.” Wade says, and Peter buries his face further into Deadpool’s shoulder as the sound of Gwen’s spine snapping echoes in his memory. “What is this even about, Spidey? Not that I don’t appreciate a good hug, but you’ve definitely seen me take a bullet to the brain before.” Wade’s voice softens.
“You looked like her.” Peter whispers. He doesn’t know if he even wants to be heard, but Wade deserves an explanation.
“Who?”
Swallowing the sob building in his throat, Peter looks at Wade. He doesn’t know if it would be better or worse to see the blue eyes behind that mask. “Gwen Stacy, years ago. I... I loved her, so the Green Goblin threw her off Brooklyn Bridge.” Each word is harder to get out than the last. “It wasn’t- the fall isn’t what killed her. I tried to catch her with- with a web, but it snapped her spine.”
“Fuck, Spidey.” Wade breathes out and hugs Peter tight. Tighter than he ever has. “You shouldn’t have had to watch that.”
“You’re not her.”
“I’m not. And I pinky promise you Webs, that you’ll never have to do that again with me. I’ll always get back up. I’m not going anywhere you can’t catch me.” Peter takes the gloved pinky that Wade offers, and realises belatedly that he loves him.
Later in the week, Peter reads a news article on the subway about how the terrorist that had gotten away was found last night, skewered like a kebab. Peter closes the article and makes no mention of it later that night as Spider-Man.
+1
Right out of the gate, Wade would just like to announce that he’s in love with Spider-Man. The backstory is hardly important, even if it’s a fanfic. All you need to know is that he’s head over heels. Completely gone on the guy. Down bad, if you will.
There was no italicised “oh” moment either - sorry readers - he knew was falling the moment he met Spider-Man. Cliche? Probably, but let’s be real here, Wade was never not going to be in love with the guy. Funny, smart, kind of fucking weird with a body carved by the Gods - Wade had no chance of getting through this with strictly platonic feelings. Even the boxes adore Spidey, and they like to be as contrarian as humanly possible. Or, like, textually possible, if that’s how that works.
Which is how - freeze frame, record scratch - he got here. Sauntering into some lab like he belongs here (which he doesn’t, Wade’s failed every highschool science class he’s ever taken) with some twitchy nerd in a ratty lab coat and a notebook that has supposedly world-changing formula written in it. Or something. Wade doesn’t care, he was just hired to play bodyguard and road trip buddy, escorting some paranoid genius across the country from one lab to another.
Because what’s actually important here is the fact that there’s no slicing and dicing necessary to complete the job. Wade likes staying in Spidey’s good books, so now he saves most of the unaliving for the real baddies, proper scum of the earth types. This job was just for the money. And damn good money it is, seeing as the paycheck comes straight from the company that runs the labs. Triple bonus that it lands him back in New York, too, right into spider territory.
Three birds with one bullet. Wade doesn’t get this lucky often.
And now that his roadtrip buddy has been safely deposited back in his hermit lab, Wade is free to wander back through the building and watch the scientists at work as obnoxiously as possible. He’d go find Spidey if it wasn’t the middle of the day and the guy didn’t clearly have a desk job of some kind.
Maybe he should go to that coffee shop Webs had mentioned instead. Isn’t it just around the corner? The labs are too empty to be of any interest - it’s boring to poke around when it’s all just samples and writing and shit Wade that doesn’t understand.
He turns down a hallway that he assumed that he recognised to get out of this place, but it looks strange now and- oh, who is he kidding, Wade is lost as shit. Damn this building for being so clean and clinical and fucking identical all the way through.
Wade had just about resigned himself to jumping out of the nearest window and dealing with the broken bones later, when a voice calls out.
“Hey,” It’s just Wade in the lab. He looks to the voice and finds a guy in a lab coat with his eyes wide, like he surprised himself, too. “You, uh, you’re Deadpool, right?”
And okay, normally, Wade would just say something snarky and go back to finding the best window to hurtle himself out of. But this guy looks cute from a distance, and Wade is absolutely shallow enough to indulge a stranger if they’re pretty.
Wade saunters up to him with all the confidence he can manage and, wow, is he glad he does. The guy is gorgeous, well into ‘pretty people Wade wouldn’t mind impressing’ territory.
“Indeed I am. Merc with a mouth, at your service.” He holds out a large, gloved hand. “Well, you’d still have to pay for my actual services. But you do get the service of my delightful company.”
The guy (Wade needs a name, pronto. ‘The guy’ must be getting boring to read) takes his hand and laughs in an awfully familiar way. Wade can’t put his finger on it, but he doesn’t have a chance to really think about it before he gets distracted by the cute guy’s smile. It’s wide and dimpled and crooked, and Wade is more than a little bit weak. Maybe if he were less smitten, Wade would realise that this guy’s smile is also something he already knows. But as it is, he’s a bit too preoccupied with the way the cute boy’s brown eyes look like polished copper when the sun hits him at the right angle.
He shakes Wade’s hand firmly. “Peter Parker. I don’t have any services other than my company, but at least you don’t have to pay for it.” Peter has this knowing smile on his face and amusement in his eyes as he introduces himself.
“I’d pay if you charged.” Wade replies. He didn’t mean to flirt, but he’d hardly be Wade Wilson if he doesn’t run his mouth even a little bit.
“Yeah but the thing is, if I were the kind of person to charge for that then you wouldn’t want to anymore, would you?”
“You take donations, then?”
“Careful there, big guy. Wouldn’t wanna waste your money on one conversation.” Peter still has that amused grin that just shows off a couple chipped teeth, and Wade has never been more grateful for the mask that allows him to stare unashamedly.
Wade drinks in the details of this guy like it’s the last time he’ll get to look at anyone at all. Chipped teeth and an ever-so-slightly crooked nose that makes Wade think of high school bullies. Smooth skin and long lashes over sharp edges and defined cheekbones. The way Peter Parker walks the line between handsome and beautiful, devastating Wade all the while. It’s the humanity, leaving marks on Peter’s face by way of freckles and crooked noses and faded old scars, that really has Wade caught.
God help him, he is so fucked already.
“You underestimate the amount of things I am willing to waste money on.” Wade says.
Peter snorts, probably at Wade’s stupidity, and every prior thought in Wade’s head comes to a screeching halt because he knows that noise. That stupid little snort before he laughs is one of Wade’s favourite sounds in the world.
“Webs?”
Peter smiles something soft and gives him a tiny wave. “Hi, Wade.”
Holy shit. This has got to be one of the best days of Wade’s life. He can’t even help himself from taking Peter’s face in his hands and squishing it. Peter - Spidey - indulges him, amused.
“Oh my god, look at you!” He squeals, playing with Spidey’s cheeks.
“You’ve been looking at me the whole time.” Peter places his hands over Wade’s wrists but doesn’t pull them away from his face.
“Yeah but now I know it’s you.”
“Again, it’s been me the whole time.”
Wait...
“You little shit, that’s why you looked so smug!” Wade gasps.
Peter grins and even with his cheeks smushed, Wade has to recategorize the expression in his brain now that he can see Spidey’s eyes and brows. He’s weak for it already.
“Yeah, I was waiting for you to figure it out. I honestly thought you’d get it the second you met me.”
Wade’s definitely not going to mention that he was so infatuated with Peter’s pretty face that he completely ignored all niggling feelings of familiarity. It’s not good for his reputation as the best mercenary of all time. Or his dignity.
“Right, yes, that’s absolutely what happened. Knew it the moment I saw you, I was just waiting until I was 100% certain.” Peter laughs at him and Wade forgets all his thoughts for a couple of seconds while when he sees Peter’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Anyway, don’t you have like a million hang-ups about your secret identity?”
Peter shrugs. Somewhere along the line, Wade has gone from smushing his cheeks like a child to holding his face tenderly, Peter’s hands still gentle on his wrists.
“I haven’t cared for a while. I really thought you would’ve noticed by now.” Peter says, like it’s not rewriting Wade’s brain that he was allowed to know? “I’m kind of really sorry I haven’t done it myself. You do deserve to be given my trust properly, but it’s always hard to unmask. Most of the people in my life who know or have known always figured it out on their own or I told them because I needed to keep them safe.” Peter explains, as if Wade even has the right to be upset about it.
“Webs. I could never be upset that you didn’t give that information up. People have died because they knew who you are.” Wade says. This wasn’t meant to be a serious conversation, but he can’t let Peter go on thinking that he owed Wade his identity. “I’m lucky to know, and it’s a privilege to be trusted with this.”
And Wade might be hallucinating or projecting a little, but he swears he feels Peter press his cheeks forward into Wade’s hands.
“Feel free to smack me if I’m overstepping, but take the mask off? Please?”
And it kills Wade to take his hands off Peter when he was almost actively encouraged to keep them there, but he goes to take off his mask anyway. Because he’s shown his face before, and Spidey hasn’t screamed or thrown up. And if he hasn’t already mentioned a few too many times, he’s completely whipped for the guy. Webs could tell Wade to jump and he’d be doing it before he even has a chance to ask ‘how high’.
It doesn’t stop him from feeling stripped bare, though. But it does make it worth it when Peter takes Wade’s face in his hands and smiles so genuinely that even Wade can’t convince himself that this is something other than it is.
That doesn’t mean it’s not still a surprise when Peter kisses him. An incredible surprise. The kiss is indulgent and long, and he makes Wade feel like a puddle of goo. The sensation of Peter’s hands on his face, tracing divots and edges of Wade’s scars with his thumbs, will become a part of him forever, he’s sure of it. Wade wants to hold him back and so he does, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist. It’s as good as he always wanted it to be.
When Peter pulls away - because Wade would probably stay there until he couldn’t breathe anymore - his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. Everything about everything is turning Wade’s brain to mush.
“You okay there, big guy?” Peter asks. That’s how you know, dear readers, that he’s the smart one.
He has regained coherency much faster than Wade.
“Woah...” Is all he manages.
And then Webs laughs at him which really doesn’t help his mush brain because it’s always been Wade’s favourite noise in the world ever.
“You wanna... uh, coffee date?” Wade scrambles to rearrange his mind into understandable sentences. “I mean, you mentioned that cafe, right? You wanna go with me?”
“I would love to, but unfortunately I am at work, as you can see.” Peter gestures to the lab coat and the cluttered working space around him. “My workday ends in a couple hours, though. We could go after?”
Wade makes dramatic whining noises. “Petey, sweetheart, why would you do that to me and then make me wait another two hours?”
“Can’t say I necessarily planned this turn of events.”
“You’re killing me here.”
Peter rolls his eyes, and Wade is briefly gratified to note that he’s been right in assuming that’s what that specific tilt of his head means under the mask.
“I‘m sure you’ll find ways to entertain yourself.” He says and pecks Wade on his still-bare cheek.
Okay, maybe Wade can be convinced to come back later.