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Chapter Text

Wade Wilson stomped up the stairs of the thirty floor social media company, Marvelous Captions, that he worked for as the executive editor. He was in no mood to stand waiting for the elevator with his coworkers and employees and then stand cramped with them until he reached the twenty-fifth floor. Anyone taking the stairs only had a few flights to climb, leaving Wade alone by the sixth flight. It had been a restless night of reading several horrible manuscripts, going through a list of employees to fire and to give pay raises to, a video conference at 2:00am with a man from India, and then a morning of P90X. Despite his schedule, Wade was still fifteen minutes early to work, which meant that his always barely-on-time personal assistant wasn't going to be in the office yet. And there wasn't much Wade could do when his assistant was the one with the remaining manuscripts that needed to be read and trashed. Taking the stairs seemed like the only reasonable time waster and energy consumer that he needed right now.

When he reached the twenty-fifth floor, barely out of breath, he barreled through the glass doors into the room full of cubicles that he oversaw. He watched all the employees bolt to their chairs and hastily pick up books and begin typing on their computers like they'd been doing it since they walked in. Wade snorted to himself but didn't say anything. He only had a minute to spare and not enough time to scold them.

He stalked into his office, a large room with a full view of New York City's sky scrapers and the street a dizzying amount of feet below them, his dark wood desk and the newest model desktop computer the company supplied on one side of the room, and a few chairs, file cabinets, and his personal assistant on the other.

His personal assistant and arguably the company's best photographer was a lanky and wild-haired young man dressed in his usual work casual, a gray button-up, black tie and slacks, and large, full-framed glasses that Wade had barely noted as coming back into style.

"Good morning," he extended a to-go cup of Starbucks coffee to Wade.

Wade took the cup and slouched into his leather chair behind his desk, turning his attention towards his computer. "Just a morning, Peter. Do you have the other manuscripts?"

"Yes, I've already read them. Only four of them passed the quota on outside sources and word count, and I've already emailed them to you," Peter told him. "Did you get Max to agree to an interview?"

"Yes, Mr. Fargas will be coming in later today," he responded absentmindedly.

"Wow, that's great," Peter said, surprise widening his eyes. "He hasn't agreed to an interview in twenty years."

"If I wanted your praise, I'd ask for it," Wade sipped his coffee, paused and frowned, examining the cup. "Ummmmmm, who is Anna and, uh, why does she want me to call her?" He turned the cup around to give Peter a view of the name Anna Maria and a number written in sharpie and decorated with a smiley face.

Peter stared blankly at the cup, fiddling with a stack of manila folders in his hands. "Well, uh, that was originally my cup."

"And I'm drinking your coffee why?"

"...Because your coffee spilled."

Wade nodded and took another drink. He raised his eyebrows and looked directly at Peter. "So, you take your coffee black with a shot of espresso and a packet of sugar?"

"I do," he swallowed nervously. "I...don't like all the additional, uh, stuff Starbucks offers in their coffee. Black coffee tastes more like, um, coffee."

"Like coffee," Wade considered him as the phone began to ring. "Is this a coincidence?"

Peter nodded apprehensively. "Incredibly. I wouldn't order the same coffee in case yours, I don't know, fell or something, that would be, uh, pathetic." He snatched up the ringing phone and looked away, staring down at the table. "Morning. Mr. Wilson's office... Hey, Mr. Jameson..."

Wade looked back down at his computer and set the coffee aside, making a flicking motion of his wrist at Peter.

"Yeah, actually, we're headed to your office now," he heard Peter say into the phone, puzzled. "Yep...Bye." The phone clicked as it was set back down, and he felt Peter's eyes on him. "Why are we headed to Jameson's office?"

Wade made a clicking sound with his tongue.

Peter raised his eyebrows and parroted the clicking sound back at him.

Wade nodded in confirmation, watching Peter leave. "If your blazer is at your desk, put it on," he called after him.

Peter gave him a thumbs up before leaving, and Wade stood, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, and walked out of the office, coffee in hand. Peter joined him again as he walked briskly down the aisle, his blazer now on and the manila folders gone.

"What did you think of the Krampus manuscript I gave you yesterday?" Peter asked Wade as he struggled to keep up with Wade's longer strides.

"Garbage," Wade dismissed it.

" 'Garbage?' It's the only Christmas themed story we've gotten this month," Peter said in moderate crossness. "And Christmas is a week from now! We haven't received any other stories like this, and we need something for the season--"

"No, we don't. Remember, Christmas isn't for everyone--"

"It's holiday themed," Peter stressed to him. "It's not even religious--"

"It eats children and is referred to as 'half-goat, half-demon,' " Wade pointed out. "That will really spread the holiday cheer."

"It's cool."

"Uh, wrong," Wade caught the eye of a passing employee, glancing down at a large coffee stain on his white shirt. Wade looked at his own coffee. "Also," he whispered to Peter, "I do think you order the same coffee as me just in case you spill it, which is, actually, pathetic."

Peter frowned back. "Or impressive."

"I'd be impressed if you didn't spill it in the first place," they paused in front of a glass door marked with a plaque reading J. J. Jameson. "Remember, you're just a prop in here."

Peter sighed. "Won't say a word."

They entered the room without knocking, Wade putting on a tight smile, and Peter trailing behind. Sometimes, he hated his job.

"Ah, our audacious leader and his ever loyal companion," a middle age man with a stiff mustache and stiffer posture greeted them. "Please come in."

Wade looked around. He wasn't much of a man for small talk, but he was feeling particularly irritated today and had the mind to be a bit mean and drag this brief meeting out. His eye caught a tall, wooden cabinet. "Oh wow, this is a lovely breakfront," his 'wow' holding a hint of mockery. "Is it new?"

"it is English Regency built in the 1800s, but, yes, it is new to my office," Jameson gave a hostile smile.

Wade smirked and muttered to himself, "witty." He caught Peter's eyes flickering between him and Jameson. Wade stood straight up from where he'd been examining the breakfront and turned to Jameson. "James, I'm letting you go."

Peter's head whipped to look at Wade, and both of them gave Wade a shocked stare.

"I've asked you over a dozen times to get Max to do an interview, and you didn't do it," Peter nervously shut the door as if trying to keep the conversation private. "You're fired."

"I've told you, it's impossible!" Jameson snapped. "He won't do it! He hasn't done an interview in twenty years!"

"Really? That's interesting," he said. "Because I just got him to agree to one. You didn't even call him, did you?"

"Excuse me--!"

"I know," Wade said patronizingly. "Max can be a little scary. He's old and might be hard to talk to. For you. Now, I will give you two months to find another job, and then you can tell everyone you resigned. Okay? Okay."

Wade walked swiftly out of the older man's office, Peter on his heels. As the door clicked shut, he said to Peter, "What's his twenty?"

Peter looked quickly behind him, watching Jameson pace in his office. "Uh, he's moving, he's got crazy eyes. You know he's got high blood pressure, right? I think you just made it worse--"

Wade breathed out as Peter rambled. "Don't do it, Jameson, don't do it."

There was a loud sound behind them as Jameson burst out of his office and pointed a pen at Wade's back. "You poisonous bastard! You can't fire me! You don't think I see what you're doing here? Huh? Sandbagging me over this Max thing so you can look good to the board because you are threatened by me! And you are a monster!"

Wade turned around, switching his coffee into his other hand as Peter gave him another nervous look. "Jameson," there was a condescending warning in his voice. "Stop."

But Jameson continued, his fuse having already been lit and exploding. "Just because you have no semblance of a life outside of this office, you think you can treat all of us like your own personal slaves! You know what? I feel sorry for you. Because you know what you're going to have on your deathbed?"

Wade raised his eyebrows, nodding his head for Jameson to continue. Jameson's face couldn't have gotten any ruddier.

"Nothing! And no one!"

There was silence around the office as everyone watching from their cubicles, breath-taken; a phone rang somewhere across the room, and no one picked it up.

Wade rubbed his face and gave him a quizzical, are-you-done? look. "Listen, Jameson," he spoke quietly but just loud enough for everyone to hear him. "I didn't fire you because I feel threatened by you. Nope. I fired you because you're lazy, entitled, incompetent, and spend a lot more time cheating on your wife than you spend in your office. And if you say another word, Pete over here--" Peter looked up, startled. "--is gonna have you thrown out on your ass. Capisce*?" Jameson angrily opened his mouth. "Another word, and you are leaving with an armed escort. Peter will film it with his phone, and he will put it on YouTube. Is that what you want?" Jameson's mouth imitated a fish out of water and his eyes twitching. "Didn't think so."

Wade turned on his heel and stalked away, Peter hurrying after him. When his assistant caught up to him, Wade said, "Have security check on him periodically and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I'm so fucking tired of stupid."

"Will do," he responded.

"And I need you this weekend to help review files in his manuscript--"

"This weekend?!"

Wade furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Peter. "You have a problem with that?"

"No, I just--I just, uh, this weekend is my flight to my Aunt's for Christmas," Peter sputtered. "We get the week off, remember?"

"So?" Wade pushed into his office. "Cancel that flight and move it to Monday or something."

"Yep, okay," Peter called from the doorway. "I guess I'll just...do that. Christmas is a pain in the ass, anyway. So, um--"

The door cut him off, and Wade watched Peter turn away and find his own cubicle.

***

"Yes, Aunt May," Wade paused, his hand on the knob of his office door, about out to leave when he overheard Peter on the phone at his own desk. "No, I'll catch another flight...What can I do? He wants me to work this weekend. I'll still be there for Christmas...I promise. I love you. Bye."

Wade stepped out into the hall and approached Peter's desk. "Family?"

Peter took a deep breath and began typing on his computer. "Yeah."

"They tell you to quit?"

"Every day."

Peter's work phone started its shrilling ring again, and he lifted it to his ear. "Wilson's office...Okay." He set the phone down and looked up to Wade. Wade raised an eyebrow. "Boothe and Hammer want to see you in their office."

Wade sighed and nodded, turning around and down the hall. What could his bosses want with him now? Weasel, or Jack Hammer, was his best friend, and probably his only friend, and he would have at least messaged him before anything serious happened. Perhaps it was over him firing Jameson; it was his right as Jameson's boss to be able to fire him, but maybe they wanted to discuss what happens with Jameson's manuscripts.

As he waited in the elevator, a buzzing came from his back pocket, and Wade pulled out his phone.

Weasel (10:37AM)
Dude youre fucked

Well, there it was. He was fucked. But what the hell was fucking him?

Wade stepped out of the elevator and made his way to the large, double doors on the top floor. He knocked and entered, smiling his why-the-hell-was-I-called-here smile. "Hey, Boothe. Weaz."

Boothe was a dark man with an imposing, business like manner who dressed smartly, and Weasel was pale with long hair, glasses, and regularly without a tie. The pair seemed to get along well.

"Congrats on getting the interview with Max, Wilson," Boothe replied as a greeting.

"Thank you," Wade stood to move in front of them. "But this isn't about the Max thing. Why'd you hotshots call me up here?"

Weasel leaned back uneasily against a cabinet. "Listen, Wade. Remember when you said you weren't going to go to the Frankford Book Fair because you weren't allowed out of the country while your visa was being processed? But you went anyway?"

Wade nodded. "We were sort of going to lose a contract and publicity, I had to go."

Weasel ignored him. "Well, that sort of made your immigration attorney contact us, and we've been talking. And, uh, your visa application has been denied."

Wade tilted his head forward, eyebrows shooting up, and he licked his lips. "Alright..." he drew the word out.

"I'm sorry, man. But you're being deported," Weasel and Boothe gave him apologetic looks and watched him solemnly.

"Deported?" Wade exclaimed.

Boothe shifted in his chair, taking the question. "There was also some paperwork you didn't fill out in time--"

"There's gotta be something we can do. I mean, I'm from Canada, that's--" Wade lost his words, searching the two with disbelief in his eyes.

"We can always reapply," Weasel told him. "But you have to go back to Canada for at least a year in order for us to do that."

"Okay...Okay, that's not ideal, but I can just work from Toronto. Video conferences and emails and--"

"This is an American company. You can't work as an executive editor if you get deported," Boothe put him down. "Until this is resolved, I'm going to have to turn this over to James Jonah Jameson."

"James Jonah Jameson? The guy I just fired?" he deadpanned.

Weasel scratched the back of his neck. "We're gonna need an executive editor, and he's the only guy in the building who knows what that even looks like."

"You can't be serious," Wade turned around to face the door, and then turned back to face his two bosses. "This can't be real. I can't go back."

"Wade, I know this is hard," Weasel tried to placate him. "And we're desperate to have you stay. If there was any way--any way at all--that we could make sure you stay, we'd be out trying to do it."

"I'll do whatever--"

There was a knock on the door.

"I'll figure this out--"

The knock came again, this time, with Peter's head popping in through the doorway.

"Excuse me--" Boothe started.

"What?" Wade snapped.

"Sorry," Petter replied, looking hesitant. "Max is on the line. He's getting impatient. Says he needs to speak to someone."

Wade took a deep breath. "I know--"

"He's on hold. He needs to speak right away--"

Wade nodded impatiently. "Okay."

"He says unless someone is getting engaged or dying, he wants to speak with you, so..."

He paused and stared hard at Peter.

Peter eyed him back. "What?"

Wade glanced at Boothe and Weasel before looking back at Peter. Peter looked at him in bewilderment, still holding the door open.

"Uh," Wade said to no one. He looked back at Peter and whispered, "come here." Peter hesitated. "Come here!" 

Peter stood up straight and stiffly moved to stand beside his boss.

"Alright," Wade turned to Boothe and Weasel, clapping his hands together. "Uh, gentlemen, I understand the issue here, but, uh, well, I think there's something you guys should know. And, um, sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Weaz," Wade took a few steps back to stand directly beside Peter, his personal assistant looking back up at him curiously. "We're getting married."

Weasel's jaw dropped, and his hand stopped rubbing at his chin; Boothe blinked, face blank to Wade's words.

Wade felt Peter stop breathing beside him before he gave a sharp in take of breath and leaned into Wade's ear.

"Who's getting married?" Peter whispered, sounding breathless.

"Us," he hissed back.

"Who..." Peter trailed off and looked at Boothe and Weasel as if his body had been unoccupied for a few centuries.

"Isn't he..." Weasel regained his voice and pointed at Peter. "Isn't he your secretary?"

"Assistant," Wade said quickly. "Executive...assistant. Uh, titles."

"But he's your assistant."

"I..." he looked at Peter, who was still staring into space. "So, truth is, Pete and I, we're just two people who were, um, never supposed to fall in love," his voice raised a little bit. "All the late nights at the office, and, uh, book fairs..."

Peter was coming to and beginning to shake his head. He whispered, "no..."

Wade continued. "Something...Something happened."

Peter turned to Wade, still shaking his head and looking lost. A mumbled, "something happened," slipped past his lips.

"Yep," Wade turned towards his bosses, smiling perhaps one of his worst smiles. "We tried to fight it, and, well, we couldn't."

Peter subtly shook his head again.

"Can't fight a love like ours," he awkwardly slung an arm around Peter's shoulder and pulled him in close. "So, everything good? Is everything okay? Because, well, we," he pointed at Peter and himself. "Really want to be."

"Wade," Boothe clasped his hands.

"Yeah?"

"It's...It's great. Just, uh, make it official?" He pointed to his ring finger.

"Oh, yeah! Then, I guess we need to get ourselves to the immigration office, huh, Honey?" Wade said pointedly to Peter. "So we can work this out. Thank you very much, you guys."

Wade nodded to them and started towards the door, pulling Peter behind.

"Gentlemen," Peter said in parting, looking behind him in desolation.

Chapter Text

Peter had never considered his boss in a romantic light. Sure, when he'd been hired, he thought to himself that his boss was certainly attractive, but by no means did Peter of three years ago think he'd have to consider his boss in a married sort of way. Peter of now was still having a hard time doing it.

It was just this morning that he'd been so deathly worried about being late to work that he ran into someone, spilled coffee down his front, and asked a friend to switch shirts with him in exchange for baseball tickets. Just this morning he'd sent out a group message telling his coworkers, the devil is leaving his lair right before he and Wade left to fire Jameson. Hell, just this morning, he'd watched his boss fire another person. And he'd had to cancel his flight home because his boss wanted him to work the weekend.

And now he was being told he was going to marry his boss.

"I don't understand what's happening," Peter broke the silence as he watched his boss sitting at his desk pull a stack of papers in front of him and rifle through them.

"What do you mean?" Wade asked without looking at him. "This is helpful for both of us."

The thing about Wade Wilson, Peter often noted as his PA, was that he had two moods. He was either childish and never seemed to take anything seriously, the kind of mood that had Peter dashing between all the printers (more than thirty of them) trying to clean up the printed pages of obscene images, or an uptight, I'm-too-busy-to-listen-to-you mood, which he was displaying brilliantly right now; it was usually an attitude recognizable with a dismissive comment while Wade worked on something else.

"Do tell," Peter countered bitterly.

Wade sighed. "They were going to make Jameson executive editor."

"So, naturally, we get married."

"What's the issue? Were you saving yourself for someone special?" he asked with a small huff.

"I like to think so," Peter's voice rose in pitch. "Yeah. Besides, it's illegal."

"They're looking for terrorists, not social media editors."

"Wade."

"Yes?"

"I'm not," Peter breathed. "Gonna marry you."

"Sure you are."

"No, I'm not!" Peter leaned forward on the desk, almost hissing at Wade.

"If you don't," he finally looked up at Peter. "Jameson will become executive editor, and your happy ass is going to be fired. What? Didn't think that was going to happen? He won't wait more than a second once I'm outta here to fire you. Which means you'll be on the street without a job, and all the driving to pick up take out, all the cancelled dates, all the weekends here will be for nothing. You'll never get that full-time photography job you've spent three years working towards. Once this is all said and done, we'll get a quick little divorce, but, until then, we're getting married."

Peter took a step back and watched Wade take a pen through the papers he was looking at.

Wade was right. He couldn't get fired. He'd spent too much time here to get fired, too much work. He didn't sell almost all his photos freelance to this company for nothing; it was all to secure himself a job doing something he liked, not just sitting around being a PA all the time. And all those times he'd had to grab take out and come back to work in the middle of the night, all those dates he'd never see again, it would be for naught if he was fired.

He was going to have to marry his boss.

***

"I have a question for you. Are you two committing fraud to avoid Mr. Wilson's deportation to keep his position as executive editor and chief of Marvelous Captions?"

"I'm--I'm sorry, where did you hear that?" Wade leaned forward in his seat. Peter and Wade were sitting together in an immigration office with an attorney, a balding, middle aged man, attempting to get the fiance files signed. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I got a phone call earlier this afternoon, from a man--" the attorney started.

"Ah, would that be James Jameson?" Wade cut in smiling politely. "I'm so sorry, he's just a disgruntled former employee."

"Yes," the attorney looked at him. "James Jameson."

"I know you must be busy, so if you just move us onto the next step, we'll be out of your hair shortly," Wade said in a persuasive tone.

"Mr. Wilson," the attorney held up a hand in a placating gesture. "Let me explain the process that is about to unfold. There will be a scheduled interview. Step one, I will put both of you in a separate room and ask each of you a set of questions a real couple would know about each other. Step two, I dig deep. I look at your phone records; I talk to your neighbors, I interview your coworkers. If your answers don't match up, you," he pointed at Wade, "will be deported indefinitely. And you," he pointed at Peter, who straightened up. "Young man, will have committed a felony punishable by $250,000 and a stay of five years in federal prison."

Peter looked over at Wade, who was nodding as he if already knew this and completely understood the consequences. Peter looked back at the attorney, his heart hammering in his chest.

"So, Peter," the attorney said, giving him a conspiring wink. "Anything you want to tell me?"

Peter looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. This was it. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"No...?" the attorney asked.

Federal prison or the truth. Peter was making his decision now. He started to nod his head. He saw Wade shake his out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes...?"

"The truth is, Mr. Robertson," Peter cleared his throat. It was now or never. "The truth is," he glanced at Wade. "Wade and I are just two people...who were never supposed to fall in love. But we did."

Mr. Robertson leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"We couldn't talk about it to our coworkers," Peter continued, pressing his trembling hands together. "Because of my big promotion."

"Promotion?"

Peter nodded, "we both felt that it would be deeply inappropriate if, uh, I was promoted to a full-time photographer while we were," Peter gestured between to the two of them, looking at Wade slyly as Wade watched him sharply.

The attorney coughed and started picking through the file Wade had given him at the beginning of the meeting. "So have the two of you told your parents about your relationship?"

"Oh, no," Wade cut in. "I don't have any living relatives."

Mr. Robertson raised his eyebrows at Peter.

"Um, no, not yet," his voice reached a new pitch. "Wade is my boss, and I've been nervous about telling my aunt. She's so protective--"

"But we're going to tell her this weekend," Wade added sweetly.

Peter looked at him, trying poorly to hide his shock. "This weekend...?"

"This upcoming week, a large portion of our office has the holiday off, and Pete and I were going to take the week to visit his aunt, and tell her the news," he pushed, only giving Peter the smallest of glances that was by no means reassuring.

"This weekend, okay..." Mr. Robertson eyed them.

Wade nodded. "Thought it might be a nice surprise and take a week to, uh, ease everyone into it."

"And where is this surprise going to take place?"

"At Pete's aunt's house," Wade nodded, looking at Peter with eyes that he recognized as pleading for help.

"Alright, and where is Peter's aunt's house?"

Wade gave a brief laugh and said, "why am I doing all the talking? It's your aunt's house, Pete. Why don't you tell him."

Peter giggled nervously, attempting to calm his racing heart. "It's in Leavenworth, Washington."

Mr. Robertson considered them dryly. "You're going to go to Washington this weekend?" It was posed as a question but sounded more like a disbelieving statement to Peter.

The two nodded, and Peter squeaked out a, "yes."

"We are going to Washington," Wade reiterated. "That's where, um, my little Peter's from."

Peter gave a weak smile to the attorney.

Mr. Robertson leaned back again and began writing on a sticky note. "Okay, I see how this is going to go. Be here one o'clock, the Monday after this, for your scheduled interview, and your answers better match up, or there will be hell to pay."

The three of them began to stand from their seats, meeting clearly finished. Peter took the sticky note from Mr. Robertson as Wade held open the door for him.

"Have fun," the attorney said like it was a horrible blessing as they left his office.

***

Peter stopped on the sidewalk outside of the immigration office as Wade told him the plan for this upcoming week. He watched the cars rush by, not hearing a word out a Wade's mouth, trying hard to continue breathing and trying harder not to shout.

"We're going to go to your aunt's, tell her we've been dating, boyfriend and boyfriend, and then you'll tell her I proposed to you, and that we're getting married," Wade rambled on. "I should be able to get you up to first class, but we have to put the tickets on the miles, it gives discounts. If we don't put it on the miles, we're not doing it. Hey, are you listening?"

 Peter breathed deeply before turning around to face him. He needed now more than ever to not explode in the middle of a busy sidewalk. "I'm sorry, were you not in that room?"

Wade looked blankly back at him, tilting his head like he was irritated that Peter was asking him such an obvious question. "Oooh, are you talking about the promotion thing you said? Because that was brilliant, really, I think he fell for it."

Peter itched with rage, lowering his hands from where he was pointing at Wade to clench them at his sides. "I'm being serious. I'm looking at a $250,000 fine and five years in federal prison. That changes things."

"Promote you to full-time photographer? No way," Wade shook his head.

"Then I quit, and you're screwed," Peter turned around. If he was going to be denied his promotion, then Wade was going to be denied his good ol' American freedom. "Buh-bye, Wade."

"Peter." Wade called as Peter walked away, incredulity in his voice. "Peter! ...Peter!" He kept walking. "...Fine!"

Peter paused and turned around. Had Wade been broken that easily? After all this time of being Captain Dickhead, he was giving Peter his promotion?

"Fine, I'll promote you to full-time photographer," Wade said defeated when Peter caught his gaze. "If you do the Washington week and the immigration interview, I will make you a photographer. Happy?"

Peter stalked back to stand in front of Wade, looking at him defiantly. "And not in two years. Right away."

He could see Wade's jaw clench. "Fine."

"And we'll tell my aunt about our engagement when I want and how I want," Wade looked slightly affronted. Peter continued. "Now. Ask me nicely."

"Ask you nicely what?"

Peter took what he hoped was a calming breath and successfully didn't choke his boss. "Ask me nicely to marry you. Wade."

Wade's mouth opened and closed, his eyes darting between everything except for Peter's face. He opened his mouth again but didn't say a word. He finally rested his eyes on Peter and said, "what does that mean?"

Vindictive joy clenched at his heart. "You heard me. On your knee. Or what am I supposed to tell my aunt?"

Wade looked around the street uncomfortable, as if he couldn't believe what his employee was attempting to make him do. He opened his mouth and looked as if he was about to make an excuse, and Peter raised his eyebrows. Wade said nothing, instead furtively glancing around them again. "Fine."

Peter watched in happy resentment as his boss, his I'm-hot-and-I-know-it boss, his I'm-smarter-and-I-know-it boss, his the-elevator-is-broken-but-I-need-you-to-get-coffee-from-the-first-floor-for-me boss, knelt down on the dirty ground and looked up to him.

"Will you marry me?"

"No," Peter smiled briefly. "Say it like you mean it."

Wade smiled meanly back at him and cleared his throat, speaking sweetly. "Peter."

"Yes, Wade?"

Sweetest Pete."

"I'm listening."

"Would you please with cherries on top marry me?"

Peter looked away like he was weighing the pros and cons of marrying him, dragging out Wade's display just a little longer. He sighed. "I don't appreciate the sarcasm, but I'll do it."

Wade lifted his chin in response, "good."

"See you at the airport tomorrow." Peter turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Wade on one knee in the middle of a busy New York City walkway.

Revenge felt so good.

Chapter Text

There had never been a point in Wade's life that marriage seemed like an option. Life always moved too fast for him. He'd dated in high school, barely, but his mother died in his last year of school, and there was no way would he have let himself fall in love when he was only seventeen. And then it was graduation day and military and traveling around the world and making a friend, just the one, and college, then dishonorable discharge, and, suddenly, he was leaving his country for a new one on the word from his friend that he'd have a job in the United States. It had been a wonderful break, like spring break when everything was new and clean, and you started to believe it would warm up just a little, but it was short. His break had ended, and he had to make a decision. Go back to Canada, which seemed inconceivable, or he could do what he always did, what was shove people around trying to get where he needed to be. Wade chose what he always chooses; push people down, and do what had to be done.

He knew his personal assistant didn't deserve this treatment, he deserved to save himself for who ever he loved, and he knew that Peter knew he deserved better. But Wade had to knock it down. His work was his safe place, his security blanket, and he couldn't bear to part far from it. It had been the only stable thing in his life, and it needed to keep being that thing.

Often now, especially through the plane ride--the space between Wade and Peter charged and silent--he wondered if he wasn't built for stability. It seemed everything except Wade was in agreement that it just didn't suit him. He'd been given it, briefly, and someone somewhere had the vaguest impression that Wade Wilson just wasn't capable of holding onto it. And he wouldn't have it back until far after he and Peter were legally allowed a divorce.

The idea of failure hung heavy over him, over both of them, and he felt it. But he knew what he was supposed to be, or what he wanted to be, so Wade pretended he was cocksure, that he was doubtless in their performance and success. He was a good liar in a pinch. He knew it set Peter at ease, or at ease as someone with $25,000 and five years of federal prison dangling over their head could be, despite the glares and the snappy remarks about how Wade needed to be serious or 'should probably shut up now' before Peter tied his earbud cords around Wade's neck; in which case, Wade reminded Peter who was boss, quite literally, and that stopped the death threats and started the stormy silence. But Wade had caught onto Peter's behavior well enough after working with him for three years and knew better than to mope and appear indecisive in front of him. That's why bathrooms were built in every crevice humans could creep into. Their invention was pretty much intended for a boss needing to hide from their personal assistant and buck up on more self confidence.

Which was the only reason Wade rushed to the restroom as soon their plane landed in Wenatchee, Washington, leaving Peter muttering and collecting the luggage by himself.

The last time he'd met someone's relative, it had been Weasel's brother, two years ago, before the pair had a falling out over their grandfather's will, and they'd only met to go drinking for Weasel's birthday. The last time he'd met someone's relative that he'd needed to impress and convince them he was a genuine boyfriend of her nephew had been never.

He reminded himself that he convinced and sold stories and headlines to thousands of people and selling one more person on the idea of him being romantically incline to his personal assistant couldn't be as hard as maintain his job. Especially when keeping his job relied on his ability to convince them.

Leaving the bathroom, he found Peter standing along the wall, their suitcases propped beside him, and staring skeptically at his phone. Wade approached him without a word, picking up his own bags. Peter started and hastily slipped his phone in his back pocket and took liberty of his own suitcases.

"It's going to take us at least an hour to get to Leavenworth, if not more," Peter informed him as they made their way through the airport in search of an exit. "Traffic isn't looking too good right now, not with it snowing and tourists coming in through the sewers."

Wade acknowledged him, and they fell silent again. This time, Peter didn't feel angry, instead, he seemed uneasy, and Wade could only give an educated guess. His irritation had probably been worn through during the plane ride, and they were on their way to meet the only family and friends Peter had. Wade was sure it didn't sit well with him.

Peter spoke up again, breaking the silence with a cautious voice. "I have a friend picking us up."

"Yeah, I figured," Wade digged without looking at him.

He heard Peter sigh irritably, probably holding back a counterattack. Instead, he said, "we need to stop walking."

Wade stopped abruptly in front of the big glass airport doors. "What do you mean?" He looked back at Peter, perplexed. 'We're about to leave."

"We need to talk, Wade," Peter replied exasperated and defeated, moving out of the way of the flow of people entering and exiting to stand beside the walls, giving Wade a look that said 'come here.' Wade followed, albeit in frustration.

"Okay," he drawled, waiting for Peter to say something. What was there to talk about?

Peter sighed again and started up in a pressed voice. "Wade, this is my family. These are the people I grew up with. I need you--" Wade started to roll his eyes, Peter snapping at him. "No, I need you to be on your best behavior. Like, the-Hudson-St.-Home-for-Girls-from-Annie* best behavior--" Wade raised his eyebrows at the reference. "--My aunt is possibly the most perceptive person you are ever going to meet. You have to act like you care. You have--Christ," Peter stared at Wade in incredulity. "Are you not even worried?"

"Oh, I'm worried," Wade told him calmly. "Not about me though. I'm a top notch actor, could've been on broadway. No, hot stuff, I'm worried about you. You've never been very good at lying to me, which makes me pretty certain you're not good at lying to anyone."

Peter's jaw clenched and his cheeks reddened. "I know how to lie to my aunt. I've known her forever, of course I've had to lie to her!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure," his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Lying about having your hand in the cookie jar, or 'I swear it wasn't my fault I failed the test, Auntie! The teacher was absent all week!' Something like that?"

Peter glared and his shoulders were raised, looking like he wanted to snap Wade in half. "This is ridiculous!" He hissed. "You're so-so-so--"

"Insufferable? Intolerable? Infuriating?" Wade offered helpfully.

Wade watched him pause, holding in an angry breath and calculating the weight of his words. His answer escaped through his closed teeth. "Yes."

"Good," he responded, chipper. "Hope you're ready to tell everyone how much you love it this week!"

He hefted his suitcases together again and started out towards the doors only for Peter to hiss at him again.

"Stop! Wade!" he called, agitated. He moved to stand beside Wade, having his attention again. Peter spoke in a quiet, almost vulnerable tone; it startled Wade. "The guy picking us up--he's my best friend. We've known each other since...since before we were born, pretty much. I really want..." his voiced seemed to fizz out like flat soda before he said softer and pink-faced, "I really want him to like you. I mean, whoever I bring home! So that's you right now! I want--"

"You want him to respect your choices," Wade interrupted, speaking insightfully. "I can get behind that."

Peter looked away sheepishly. "Thanks..."

"Alright, let's go then," he began towards the door again for, hopefully, the last time. "And let's never speak that intimately again."

Peter laughed and chased after him. Wade smiled softly, the impression of Peter's mood having changed to light, hopeful, and anxious. He really wore all his feelings on his face. How had he gotten by so far in life with a terrible filter like that?

The cold, blistering wind hit them hard, and Wade finally understood why Peter had told him to wear his heaviest coat and wondered why he didn't listen. He hadn't expected it to be much worse than New York, but they had apparently caught Washington in the middle of a snow storm.

"It gets colder every year!" Peter told him over the din of the wind in his ears. He must have been witness to Wade's shocked face.

Wade wrapped his too-thin coat around himself as best as he could, hands still on his suitcase and let Peter take the lead. He watched snow and wind whip through Peter's hair and burn his ears and nose red as they travelled through the parking lot, feeling the sting on his own cheeks and being reassured that he must look the same.

"Peter!" There was a distant shout, and they both looked to see a young man in a thick coat, hat, and scarf wrapped tight waving at them, his grin blurred at the edges from the snow.

Peter's mouth turned up gleefully and he led them both over to the man. As they approached, the man opened his trunk and hurriedly grabbed their bags, stuffing the suitcases into his car before shuffling them into the back seats and hopping behind the wheel. When the last door slammed shut and the noise and whirling snow was muffled by the sleek, black car's protection, he turned around to look at them, looking delighted. "Hey, Pete, it's been forever! How are you?"

Peter responded happily. "Yeah, y'know, it's either money issues or time issues. It's hard to get around. But I'm doing well. What have you been doing?"

The young man chuckled, perhaps one of the few people Wade had ever met who really chuckled. "Not a whole lot. Working, hanging out with Mary-Jane. And," he turned eagerly on Wade. "Is this the Devil's Spawn I've been hearing about?"

Wade saw Peter's mouth open in ashamed protest, but Wade smirked and extended his arm. "Yeah, pleasure."

The young man, at least Peter's age Wade could finally tell, took his hand, looking startled but almost pleased. He chuckled again and said, "Harry. Osborn. Nice to meet you, Devil's Spawn."

"It's Wade," Peter whispered aghast.

"Nice to know you talk about me to your friends, Baby Boy," he laughed and settled in his seat. Harry Osborn gave him a curious glance, but Wade was watching Peter out of the corner of his eye. He'd thought long on what sort of nickname to use, and he thought it was best that it fit the relationship they were making up and seemed distinct to them; something that not many people used. Peter's faced reddened at the words but didn't say anything, looking at neither of them.

Harry turned around and took the wheel in hand, backing out of the parking spot. He continued to steer the conversation as well.

"So, Devil's Spawn--or do you prefer Wade?" He asked good-naturedly.

"Devil's Spawn is fine."

Harry kept rolling. "So, Devil's Spawn, I know Peter talks about you, but what's he say about me?"

It sounded like he was teasing, so Wade answered lightly. "Says you're his best friend. Told me to be on my best behavior in front of you."

"Sounds like Peter," he laughed, cautiously driving through the snowy highway.

Harry and Wade chattered easily for at least half an hour, Peter mostly silent. It was all small talk: 'so what's working social media really like?' 'how much do you get paid?' 'was that question insensitive?' ("No," Peter had spitefully cut in then.) 'what part of New York City do you live in?' It was too easy to answer, and he only had to throw the questions back to keep up a healthy conversation. But then there was--

"How did you know Peter was bi?" Harry asked with a mischievous tone. "Did he have to tell you?"

"No," Wade responded, sneakily glancing at Peter. "I could tell by his glasses."

Peter looked mortified. "No, you couldn't!"

Harry guffawed, and Wade continued. "I could tell by his pants."

"Wade!" Peter's hands were on his glasses now like they were whispering secrets in any passing person's ears.

"And I could tell by his ties," he grinned cheekily at his pseudo-fiance . "Only bi men wear red ties."

Harry was still laughing in the front seat, and Wade caught the young man's happy eyes in the rearview mirror; he'd won one of them over. Now for the next.

As they began to reach civilization, Wade's attention turned to the window. The thick fall of snow had lessened, and he could make out the faint outlines of approaching buildings. The buildings were quite quaint, like pages of a German storybook had been ripped from its binding and enlarged enough to look life-sized. Warm lights were spilling out of the windows, and he could see the shapes of people moving about the buildings, but the roads were empty save for a few cars. Mountains loomed in the distance, meeting the gray sky and surrounding the town like a shelter. No wonder it was a tourist destination.

The buildings grew closer together and taller as Harry drove them straight through the town, although they were nothing close to New York City's cramped streets. Parker's Souvenirs was lit up in bright Christmas lights, and Wade watched closely as a man, visible from the shop's large windows, rearranged the snow globes. They passed another shop, Parker's Shoes, and Wade furrowed his eyebrows, craning his neck to watch it pass. Right beside it was Parker's Sandwich Shop.

Wade turned his body to Peter but kept his eyes still trained on the moving buildings. Uneasily, he whispered to him. "Money issues?"

"What?" he heard Peter ask curiously.

He snapped his neck around to look at him, hissing as quietly as he could, hoping childishly that Harry couldn't hear them from the back seat. "You didn't tell me your family owned a town!"

Peter's face flushed. It wasn't the first time Wade thought it would be easier on Peter if he just wore a mask; he was perpetually turning red. "You never asked!"

"He's just being modest," Harry cut in, smiling at them through rearview mirror. So much for keeping the conversation private.

"Seriously," Peter muttered as his friend continued.

"Peter's dad started business up in this town right before we were born; he brought all the tourism. When his dad, uh," he paused, glancing at Peter through the mirror before continuing. "Couldn't keep doing it, his uncle and aunt took the business over. Family trade, right, Pete?"

"I guess," he mumbled in response, looking like he wanted no part of the conversation.

"I work for his aunt," Harry told Wade matter-of-factly. "Great business, great woman. You'll like her. And, if you don't," he winked at Wade. "You better make it look like you do, or this whole town will give you hell to pay."

Wade laughed effortlessly enough and wondered briefly about the father and uncle Peter had never mentioned. Although, to be fair, Wade had never told Peter about his past or maternal origins. At that, his curious thoughts quickly turned to the Aunt May Peter, and now Harry, wouldn't stop talking about. It sounded like the whole town adored her, and if he needed this week to work out for them, then it was her he needed on their side.

***

The snow crunched under the car wheels as Harry slowly pulled into a long driveway leading Wade's eyes following it all the way up to the house it belonged to. He gaped when he was met with a sprawling, three-story house built into the rolling, snow-covered hills that marked the beginning of the mountains. It was built with red cabin wood and stones, with sloping roofs and two open balconies built into the front; warm, yellow light spilled out of the large windows, illuminating the driveway against the darkening night.

"You live here?" he asked Peter in astonishment, as Harry shut the door of the driver's seat and walked around to the trunk.

"No. I live in an apartment in Queens, New York," Peter gave a testy response, sliding out of his seat and closing the car door before Wade could reply.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and followed them out of the car and around to the trunk. They pulled out their bags and suitcases, careful not to let anything touch the fresh snow, and slowly made their descent to the front door. Harry went first, the only one with hands to spare, and held the door open for the pair. They didn't make it very far when Wade heard a happy shriek and ran right into Peter's back, who had promptly dropped his bags at the sound.

"Peter!" a woman's voice exclaimed. "How was your flight? Have you eaten? You look like you haven't eaten for weeks! How was the drive from the airport? It wasn't too snowy was it? I was afraid when the forecast called for a blizzard! But everyone seems to be here in one piece, so--"

Wade sighed lowly behind Peter, concerned the woman wasn't going to move out of the way. Peter must have felt the same, or, at least, he'd heard Wade's sigh, because he interrupted, although not unkindly. "Aunt May, everything was fine. I'll tell you all about it in a sec. But could we come inside? it's really cold."

There was a shuffling sound, and Peter grabbed his suitcases again, moving forward with Wade trailing behind him. Warmth met him almost blindly, and he held his eyes closed for a fraction of a second longer as the door clicked behind him. When he opened them, he was met with silence, and a woman watching him curiously behind round glasses. She had long, mousy brown hair, high-waisted jeans, and the delicate wrinkles of a woman aging well.

He heard Peter breathe deeply, and he glanced at him. "This is Aunt May. Aunt May, this is--"

"Your boss," she said breathlessly.

"My boyfriend," Peter squeaked at her words. "Wade."

Wade took it as his time to intervene. He leaned forward and extended his hand. "Hi, Ms. Parker. It's a pleasure to meet you."

May took his hand, shaking it with a smile. "Just call me May, Wade. Peter's told me a lot about you."

"Yeah, I'm starting to notice he has a pattern of things he talks about. Mostly complaints," he told her brazenly, giving Peter a teasing look that he ignored.

"Don't worry," May raised her eyebrows, a hint of a grin on her lips. "I won't judge too quick. I know Peter likes to exaggerate."

"Aunt May," Peter grumbled.

Wade exhaled a laugh, "tell me about it." 

"Alright then, enough teasing," May said, but she's still giving laughing breaths. "I'll show you to your room. Follow me."

She starts up the stairs, tucked away along the side of the walls. As they follow, Peter said, "actually, Aunt May, we were thinking separate rooms. We both sleep better with our own beds, and we haven't really shared a whole lot--"

"Really, Peter?" somehow she gave him an appraising look without turning to them; Wade knew by her tone that she would've if she hadn't been leading the way. "I'm an adult, you know. I know what other adults do. You don't have to pretend just because I'm you aunt."

His voice raised in pitch, but he responded quietly in protest. "I'm not pretending."

Wade opened his mouth to second Peter's request, only for Harry's shouting voice to drown him out. "Mary-Jane will be here in a couple minutes, Peter!"

Peter turned awkwardly to look down the stairs and shout back, "okay!"

They reached the second floor and turned down a hallway, stepping lightly on a rug. There were several unopened doors they passed by with beautiful woodwork and gold-painted doorknobs, or, at least, Wade thought they were painted; the more he considered it, the more he wondered if they were really gold. They stopped at the end of the hallway, and May opened a door, flicking on the room's light. Yellow light flowed through the the hallway as Peter and Wade crowded into the bedroom.

Crowded had been the wrong word. The room was open and large, a fireplace sat already crackling opposite the bed, king-sized and piled with pillows, and a balcony was visible through glass windows, displaying the mountains and purple sky. A television was hanging precariously from above the fireplace. Wade's head was light and dizzy.

"Peter's bedroom wasn't big enough for both of you, so this is a guest bedroom," She said, most likely only for Wade's benefit. May pointed at a door in the corner of the room. "There's the bathroom, and the remote for the television is on the bedside table. Once you get situated, come back downstairs. I'm sure MJ is dying to see you!"

She disappeared down the dark hallway before either of them could say anything as much as a goodbye. Out of his element, Wade waited for Peter to move.

"Right," Peter said anxiously. "So, this was unexpected."

"We could've just got a hotel," Wade pointed out.

"Aunt May would never let that happen," he countered. "I've told you already."

"Then someone's sleeping on the floor."

"I know that already!"

"Okay, good," God, Wade thought, this conversation is going nowhere.

Peter must of thought so too, because he said, "Alright. Get situated. Let's put our clothes away, I guess."

Together, they opened their suitcases and divided the closet and dresser between the two of them. It looked scant with only a week's worth of clothes between the two of them, and they were done so quickly, Wade was starting to wonder what else they could do to busy themselves when there was a shout from downstairs.

"MJ is here!" came Harry's voice.

"Alright," Peter told him tiredly. "She's going to ask you a lot of questions too, just bare with them. She talks fast."

Wade nodded walking beside him into the hall. "Okay, but which one is she? Like, who is she to you? In case, y'know, she does the same thing Harry did and asks me about what you say about her?"

"She's my ex, and Harry's girlfriend," Wade's eyebrows shot up, but Peter wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was saying thoughtfully. "She's in the plays that our town hosts for tourism. She's a wonderful actress and makes really good cornbread, but that's also the only thing she really knows how to make. We met in 2nd grade..." But he trailed off as they took the stairs, coming into earshot of the other house's residents.

The chatter fell quiet as the pair reached the floor, and a woman with bright orange hair and a brighter grin threw her arms around Peter's neck, giggling. Just as quickly, she pulled away from him to look him up and down as if he'd changed from the last time they'd seen each other.

"Peter, it's been forever!" she exclaimed happily, looking back up at him. In the commotion, Harry had moved to stand beside them.

"Only about a year," Peter told her, beaming back. "You look good, MJ."

"Thanks," Mary-Jane somehow lit up even more at the praise. "And you look too skinny."

As Peter laughed, she seemed to take notice of Wade, who was standing in the background, tired and trying hard not to be noticed. He smiled pleasantly at her anyway.

Harry noticed her change in attention, and a devilish glint came to his eyes. He indicated to Wade. "Mary-Jane, this is Devil's Spawn."

At that, Wade couldn't help but laugh, as Peter turned horrified, and Mary-Jane looked shocked.

"No, this is Wade," Peter cut in quickly before Wade could introduce himself to another one of his friends as a crude nickname.

"What's wrong, Baby Boy? You use it all the time when I'm not around," Wade made fun at him. Harry snickered.

Peter started, "please--"

"He's your secret boyfriend?" Mary-Jane interrupted, eagerly looking Wade up and down just like she had to Peter not even minutes ago.

"He's not my secret boyfriend--"

"And he's your boss?" she questioned swiftly.

"Yeah--"

"Of course you kept it a secret," she was nodding to herself, and then told Peter, "he's hot."

"Thanks, Peter hasn't seemed to notice yet," Wade answered instead, smirking. Peter's face and neck were red with embarrassment, and he looked like he was about to throw a fit.

Mary-Jane laughed. "Oh, I'm sure he has. It's not every day Peter compromises his morals just to date his boss."

"MJ, stop--" Peter had found his voice, but it was high-pitch and restrained.

But everyone was laughing, and the room had grown comfortable. Peter's embarrassment didn't hold him back for long until he was giggling with them too. It was easy and welcoming, and Wade's excuse was a long plane ride, hunger, and sleepiness, but he felt like he could do this for a long time. It wasn't even hard to follow everyone into the dining room when May had called them to set the table.

Chapter Text

Peter stared wide-eyed into the darkness and tried not to think about the hard floor still managing to dig into his shoulders through the fluffy comforter. When they had been sent to bed early by Aunt May ("I'm throwing a party for your arrival tomorrow night, and I'm sure that flight drained you. Go get some sleep."), Peter had snatched some of the pillows and blankets off of the large bed and had arranged a nest on the floor before Wade had even left the bathroom. No need for a fight when they were both tired. And, besides that, Peter's belly full with real, homemade food for the first time in forever made him that much more compliant.

But even through the happy tummy and sleepy head, the evening was whirling behind his eyelids like a snow storm. He'd lied to everyone. He'd lied to his two best friends and his aunt. He'd lied about the stupidest thing, but it was somehow so amazingly important. He'd lied about his work and his home in New York and about loving another person, and he'd been almost fine all evening. He'd been sort of happy, eating and laughing and watching Wade come up with dumb stories when Mary-Jane wanted entertainment and when Aunt May clapped at his jokes. He'd felt himself crumble on the inside when he washed the dishes elbow-to-elbow with his aunt, and she didn't say anything, just smiling wistfully and giving him little, joyful glances. And he'd felt proud. Proud that his aunt approved, that his friends weren't upset. Proud that it had been a good evening. Proud of his lie.

He needed a distraction from knowing he was sleeping under the same roof of a person he held so dear and had lied horribly to her.

"Wade?" he asked the dark.

A soft noise came from the bed, sounding a lot like, "huh?"

Peter didn't say anything in response, closing his eyes again and moving his hands to hold the covers to his chest.

There was a rustling sound of sheets above him coming from the bed. Then a clearer, "what?"

He opened his eyes. He needed a distraction, and nothing worked better than embarrassment. "How did you know I was bisexual?"

There was a lapse of silence, probably Wade formulating a dumb remark or rousing himself more to say something rude. He eventually replied back, "Anna Maria isn't the first name I've seen on one of your coffee cups."

Peter laid there on the wooden floor quietly, processing. His face flushed suddenly, and he was very glad for the dark. "Oh my God." He whispered, aghast. "Why didn't you ever say something before?"

He heard Wade shrug, the movement disrupting the sheets, and snigger quietly. "I've never really cared. I only said something about Anna Maria because I had to fire someone that morning; I was in a bad mood."

"You've had to fire people before!" He hissed, now propped up on one elbow and looking in the direction of Wade, though he couldn't be certain; he was probably just staring at the wooden foot of the bed.

"The presented opportunities always change," he told him sagely. "If I'm not snapping at you over coffee, then I move on to manuscripts, and if it's not you I get angry at, then it's someone else in the office. Whoever gets to me first."

Peter fell back onto his makeshift bed. "You're ridiculous."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Silence followed again. Maybe it was just Peter, but it was awkward and uncomfortable. When his stomach began to twinge uncomfortably, Peter broke it. "What about you?"

"What about me what?" Wade quickly asked back.

Peter headed on without weighing his words. "Are you gay? Bi? Dead to all feelings of affection? What are you?"

Wade laughed this time, louder, and Peter smiled softly. When he'd calmed, Wade responded with, "I'd love to identify as dead to all feelings of affection, but I think your aunt would like it better if I said pansexual."

There was a long, awkward silence where Peter was thinking to himself, before he said, "Yeah, she probably would."

More extended silence sidled up to the darkness. Before Peter could wake Wade up again, his eyes slid shut, and sleep washed away his worrisome thoughts.

***

He awoke to strips of bright light sneaking playfully through the closed curtains and an aching bladder. He laid there, watching the ceiling fan turn and feeling the sun make a line across his forehead. When his bladder overweighed his heavy limbs, he disentangled his legs from the blankets and pulled himself off the floor, back cracking. Sighing and rubbing his eyes sleepily, Peter shuffled into the bathroom and shut the door without turning the light on. When he'd washed his hands and left the bathroom, he was greeted with Wade sitting on the edge of the bed, laptop open and balanced in his lap.

"Are you working?" Peter asked, yawning and moving to gather the blankets and pillowed he'd left on the floor.

"Yeah, are you--oh my fucking God," Peter snapped his head up to catch Wade snorting. "What the hell are you wearing?"

He looked down at himself, mystified. Arms extended and examining still, he snapped. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

Wade was still guffawing when he responded. "What the hell--does that say 'the physics is theoretical but the fun is real ' ?"

He glared and growled back at him. "So what? It's my shirt!"

"How old are you? When did you get that shirt?" he was grinning gleefully, laptop abandoned.

"I'm going downstairs," Peter said instead, flipping him off as he closed the door. "Goodbye, Wade."

Irritate and mildly embarrassed, Peter stomped down the stairs, running a hand through his messy hair. He rounded the corner into the kitchen and was greeted with Aunt May squatting and pulling out pots and pans from the cabinets. Grabbing a couple coffee mugs, he mumbled, "good morning."

"Good afternoon," she replied pointedly. Peter glanced at the clock. 11:47am. "How did you sleep?"

"Alright," Peter responded, ignoring his aching back.

"Good," she smiled warmly up at him. "You'll be helping me with cooking for the party tonight. I know it's for you, but it's just me in this house, and I can't cook for the whole town. And I'm not letting you get away without putting in some work this holiday."

Peter frowned in response. "The party isn't going to be that big, is it? What about Christmas?"

"That will be a family event," she told him, standing back up. "This party is for everyone who hasn't seen you for at least a year now."

Having no other response to that, he asked, "What about Wade? What'll he be doing?" Peter tried not to sound like he was antagonizing while he pouring coffee into the mugs. "I don't think he can handle being without a task."

"Don't worry, I'll have him on decoration duty," Aunt May laughed, walking past him towards the hallway adjoined to the kitchen. "I won't let him get in trouble."

"Good luck," he mumbled, but she didn't hear him.

Still smarting over the jab at his shirt, Peter added creamer to both of the coffee mugs and trudged upstairs, careful not to spill. Wade had gone back to his laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard quickly, and eyebrows furrowed. He didn't look up or make any acknowledgment when Peter entered and set one of the coffee mugs on the bedside table. With barely a glance, he took the mug and sipped from it. Peter watched cautiously as he drank from his own mug, but Wade didn't make any remark on the creamer, just kept working. Jet-lag? Peter wondered.

Moving to the dresser and gently setting the mug down to rifle through his clothes, Peter said, "Aunt May says you aren't allowed to stay holed up here all day. This is a holiday not a work day."

"No, she didn't," he can tell by Wade's absent voice that he's still working. "You said that."

"Alright," he sighed, examining a button-up shirt. "I say you're not allowed to stay holed up here all day. This is a holiday, a family holiday," he emphasizes without looking at Wade. "That means, make yourself present. Besides, you're on decorating duty."

"I'm on what?" This time, Wade does look up. Peter gave him a sparing look before finding a pair of pants.

"You're on decorating duty," he told him again. "I'm sure MJ will come by later this evening to help you. But, just be warned, Harry is the one who's actually good at it."

"Decorating duty for what?"

"For the party tonight?" Peter turned to Wade and gave him a withering look. "Were you not paying attention last night?"

"I think I might have been the bathroom for that part," Wade responded dryly.

His face is skeptical, but Peter doesn't say anything else against it. Instead, he threw a pair of pants at Wade and said, "get dressed." Before stomping into the bathroom.