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Chapter Text

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…Jack Frost nipping at your junk—”

{Pretty sure that’s not how that song goes}

“Yuletide carols butchered by a drunk and folks dressed up as fuck-knows-what…”

[It’s like he’s trying to get it wrong]

“Moi? Bastardize a beloved Christmas jingle? How dare you,” the red-and-black clad mercenary admonished loudly as he squinted, readjusting the M21 rifle for a better vantage point of the apartment building.

{Isn’t it a little late for Christmas songs?}

[Or really, really early?]

“Isn’t it really, really early for you to be a little bitch?” he asked sweetly, continuing to hum the tune.

[Someone’s a little touchy]

{It’s the holiday season. This time of year he’s…sensitive}

“Excuse you, I’m all steel baby, have you seen these abs? Ain’t nothin’ about me sensitive!”

{Classic deflection}

[Borderline narcissism]

{With just a touch of delusion}

“Just a touch of love—a little bit,” the masked man known as Deadpool (Wade Winston Wilson if you’re nasty—his words) sang as he slowly nudged the scope around, looking through the windows of each apartment.

“Well hell-o there,” he jeered at the sight of a buxom woman standing in front of her refrigerator, pouring herself a glass of lemonade.

“What fine…jugs you have,” he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at the large glassware she held.

{4/10}

[Weak. Could do better.]

“There’s just no pleasin’ some people,” Deadpool sighed as he moved onto another window, a gaggle of children chasing each other around a living room, now visible.

“Ha ha ‘gaggle.’ Who talks like that?”

{The writer’s European}

“Well, we can’t all be perfect.”

A shrill laugh broke through the late evening air, floating out the crack in the open window as the children continued to play, their rather haggard-looking father clearly distressed as they ran under his feet.

{Pretty sure we’re not here to kill some kids}

[To their dad's dismay]

“Give 'em hell, kiddies…” Deadpool smirked before tilting the rifle to the left, another apartment coming into view.

[Does nobody close their drapes anymore?]

A response was on the tip of the mercenary’s tongue, but before he could open his mouth, a tall, thin, brunet man in his twenties walked through the front door, shirking off his coat and scarf and pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose, raking a hand through his messy mop of hair.

{Cute}

[10/10. Would totally bang.]

Deadpool tilted his head, his narrowed eyes drinking in the younger man as he moved about his home, opening a laptop and settling at the kitchen table, rubbing the back of his long, pale, very attractive neck.

“So we’re going with Andrew Garfield Spidey instead of Tobey Maguire Spidey, huh? Good to know…”

[Shh! You’re not meant to know that it’s Spidey yet!]

{Have you heard of story narrative?!}

[He’ll probably forget in a minute anyway]

“Forget what?”

[See?]

Wade shook his head, one of his many futile attempts to silence the boxes as he continued to watch the young man. It was clear from his current posture that he was used to being hunched over for long periods of time, and yet his slim but firm form suggested that he had at least some degree of athleticism. The mercenary couldn’t tear his eyes away as the brunet typed away at his keyboard, engrossed in whatever he was composing, the glare from the screen reflecting in his glasses.

“What an adorable nerd,” Wade mused with a smirk as the bespectacled beaut suddenly let out a happy shout, his fist shooting up and pumping the air in excitement.

{Pretty sure we’re not meant to kill him either}

“You’re pretty sure about a lot of things, aren’t ya?” the merc groused, forcing himself to move away from the cutie’s apartment and instead focus on the one right next door.

It wouldn’t be long now…

Peter Benjamin Parker was having one hell of a day. And not the good kind. Whoever said that with hard work comes great rewards, clearly had never been a grad student.

He frowned at himself when that thought flittered into his tired brain as he climbed the stairs of his apartment building. It wasn’t like him to be so negative, but these last few months were really testing him.

When he accepted a research position at Stark Industries six months ago, Peter had been stoked. It had been his dream for as long as he could remember to work side by side with none other than Tony Stark – genius, billionaire, former playboy and philanthropist, but now, along with balancing his lab research, grad school, his old part-time photography gig at The Daily Bugle, and his responsibilities as your friendly neighbourhood Spider Man, he was beginning to feel the strain.

It was days like these when he missed living with his Aunt May. She always had a way of making him feel better, no matter what he was up against. Moving out of his home in Queens and down town to his small, dingy apartment alone had been difficult, but necessary. Stark did offer him a place at Avengers Tower (he was one of them after all) but Peter politely declined, feeling that he needed his own separate place, away from Spider Man and everything that went with him.

So the apartment, as cramped and begrimed as it was, became somewhat of a sanctuary. He had spent the last few months making it as hospitable as possible, carving out his own personal mark on the place, adding little touches here and there so when he came home after a long day like today, he would be able to unwind before going on patrol.

Rubbing at the creak in his neck, Peter dragged his weary body to the door and unlocked it, stepping in and dropping his book-bag to the floor, wrenching off his coat and scarf and pushing his glasses up on his nose with a deep sigh. He had been kept later at the lab than he intended (it seemed that Stark didn’t care that Peter also had a million other things to do as well as help protect the city) all this week, and super endurance or not, it was taking its toll.

The only saving grace was that today was finally the day where he found out if his paper (the one he slaved over for the last three months) was to be published in the next issue’s scientific journal. With an attentive grin, he scrambled over to the tiny round table that housed his laptop and quickly booted it up, his posture alight with a renewed nervous energy.

Biting his lip, the glow of the laptop basking his face, Peter typed in his email and password and waited with baited breath. His heart lurched as he saw the new email from his professor, his hand shaking slightly as he clicked on the subject line. Two hazel eyes rapidly scanned the email before a roar of elation burst from his chest, his fist rising in the air in triumph as it was confirmed he was going to be published.

Maybe it was time he reconsidered his notion about hard work after all…

“Keep it down in there!” an angered yell wafted in from behind the wall.

“Sorry Mr. Guggenheim,” Peter called back, the moody old man not even being enough to wipe the ecstatic beam from his face.

After a few moments, when the initial elation began to subside, the familiar tingling sensation began licking at his skin like flames, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, alerting him to imminent trouble.

His whole body tensed as he stood up, keeping deadly still, trying to hear anything out of the ordinary. When all that greeted him was the muffled sounds of Mr. Guggenheim’s nightly soap opera, Peter frowned, cautiously stepping over to the window and looking down into the street below.

The road was busy as usual, the pedestrians on the sidewalk going about their business with no visible sign of distress. Running a hand through his hair, the young hero cast his glance upwards, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he tried to make out shapes in the darkness.

Tilting his head, Peter scanned the rooftops of the opposite buildings, his breath catching in his throat as a flash of red and black caught his attention.

“That can’t be good…” he gaped as he ducked down, hardly believing the sight, frickin’ Deadpool of all people, aiming a rifle straight at his building.

How the hell does he know where I live?! How long has he been there? Oh god…did he see my face?

Brain firing off potential half-baked worries and plots a mile a minute, Peter let his autopilot take over as he leapt into action, sprinting towards his bedroom to get his gear just as the first round of shots erupted into the front of the building.

With a yell, he threw himself to the floor, crawling on his stomach towards his closet. It was when his fingers were inches from his web-shooters that he realised that it wasn’t his apartment that was under attack, after all.

This notion was confirmed when he hastily glanced around and found his room completely void of bullets. Heart hammering in his chest, he frantically weighed his options before snatching the web-shooters, throwing the hood from his Stark Industries sweatshirt up over his head and racing towards his door, wrenching it open wide.

The corridor was in complete chaos, his neighbours from all around screaming and running in every direction. Peter doubted even if he dressed up as a giant panda and starting doing the conga that anyone would take any notice of him. Guess that was the normal person’s response to a hail of bullets sounding off a few feet from your home.

Jaw clenched, the hooded hero made his way to the door directly next to his, the apartment that was currently being leased to a salt-and-pepper haired guy that he only saw briefly and exchanged quick pleasantries with once or twice over the last few months.

Reaching out, Peter prepared to break down the door but had the foresight to check to see if it was unlocked first. When it creaked ajar slightly, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. The guy, Haynes, didn’t seem like the type to leave his place unlocked even when home. But, now that he thought about it, he also didn’t seem the type to warrant someone enlisting the services of a mentally unstable mercenary either.

The gunshots had ceased almost immediately after they started, the overall round lasting mere seconds. A heavy bout of dread settled in the pit of Peter’s stomach when he reflected on what that could mean as he stepped into the dwelling, crouched and ready to attack, his nerve endings on fire.

Coming up empty, Parker kept low and tip-toed to the left, calling out quietly, “Mr. Haynes? It’s Peter…from 24L. Are you here? Are you hurt?”

Dead silence rang in his ears as he crept through the bedroom.

Just as he was about to give up, race back to his place, don his suit, and high-tail it after the surely long-gone Deadpool, Peter caught sight of a crimson stain on the floor, illuminated by the bright moonlight streaming through the bullet-ridden window.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, the brunet skulked towards the agape bathroom door, pushing it open to reveal a bloodied cast-iron tub. Wincing at the crimson hand-print on the wall, Peter gingerly made his way towards the shower curtain, stealing himself for the worst as he quickly reefed it back to reveal…nothing.

The tub was empty, no sign of his surely injured neighbour.

Brow furrowing in confusion, the young man turned on the spot, his senses going into overdrive as he left the bathroom and went in search of the rest of the place.

He stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes landed on a large dry-erase board standing tall in the middle of the kitchen, a gun-holster hanging on the edge of it. His spidey-senses going wild, Peter’s legs automatically dragged him to the object that peaked his interest, his hand reaching out to flip it over.

His jaw dropped, eyes widening, breath knocked from his lungs.

There, plastered to the board, were dozens and dozens of surveillance photos of him in various different places from the entrance of Stark labs, to outside his college, to the bus-stop across the street from his local coffee shop.

“Whoa…” a familiar voice behind him suddenly broke Peter’s stunned silence, “looks like someone went all Rear Window on your ass. Ha! Get it? REAR Window! I know, I just heard what I said. I’m a riot!”

Whipping around, Peter was met with the sight of Deadpool leaning nonchalantly against the door-frame, head cocked to the side as if in contemplation.

“Not that I can blame them. I mean, you are just darlin',” he continued with a fake southern-drawl, seemingly unfazed by his companion’s combatant stance.

Peter took a step forward, keeping his face firmly in the shadows as his fingers itched towards the kitchen knives.

“Easy there, Harry Potter. No need to whip out your wand yet, we’re just gettin’ to know each other…” Wilson murmured, the smirk in his tone evident, an exaggerated wink unmistakeable as his mask moved with his face as it always seemed to.

“Where’s…where’s Mr. Haynes?” Peter asked, minding to lower his voice to try and modify it.

He and the merc with the mouth had come across one another before, even teamed up once or twice when the need arose, so he feared that his voice would give him away…that is, if Deadpool didn’t see everything he needed to already.

“Mr. Haynes is…oh, how do I put this? Gone to the big pearly gates in the sky? Although, I suppose tryin’ to assassinate an ass like yours would be considered a sin so…maybe he’s gone down South?”

Peter’s world ground to a halt as the mercenary’s words rang in his ears.

Mr. Haynes was trying to assassinate him?!

“Not like Atlanta down South but like…the fire and brimstone kind, you know? Hey…kid? Yoo hoo, kid? You still in there?” Deadpool waved a hand in front of his face, somehow edging closer to him as Peter spaced out in shock.

Had he really been that distracted that he didn’t realize his own neighbour was surveying and possibly plotting to murder him?!

“Guess Grad School really will be the death of me,” he murmured under his breath absentmindedly.

“Oh hey, you talk to yourself too? Awesome!”

Peter shook his head, the gravity of the situation sinking into his veins. He only had Deadpool’s word and a very creepy board to go on, but it was better than nothing at the moment. Apparently his neighbour had it in for him. Huh. And he’d seemed so…neighbourly.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. Namely, how Peter was gonna get the hell out of here with his identity, both secret and otherwise, intact.

“So…” Wilson was now whistling, his tone lowering an octave, clearly flexing his muscles under his spandex suit, “you come here often?”

Peter glanced about them.

“To my dead neighbour’s apartment?”

“Touché.”

A short silence fell between them.

“Hey,” the merc spoke up, no doubt unable to keep quiet any longer, “so uh…how come you’re not…you know, scared, and stuff?”

Words failed the brunet as he felt the other man’s gaze glue to him, an edge of suspicion in his posture now.

Fortunately or unfortunately (depending how you looked at it) he was saved from trying to respond however as suddenly, a familiar tricking feeling rose up his spine a split second before something whizzed past his left ear.

“GET DOWN!” was the only head’s up he got before Deadpool tackled him, their bodies colliding roughly as they slammed to the floor.

The wind was knocked from Peter’s lungs as all of Wade’s two hundred and ten pounds landed on his chest.

“I don’t know who you are, handsome,” the merc yelled into his ear over the hail of bullets, his breath bouncing off Peter’s skin, “but someone sure as hell wants you deader than disco!”

Hang on—we were promised sex! Frottage, hand-jobs, blow-jobs, oh my! What gives, writer-lady?!

It’s coming, Deadpool—

Ha, ha, coming.

It’s a slow-build fic. But we’ll get there. Hope you all liked the first instalment :)

Chapter Text

“Oh…fuck.”

If there were ever a phrase to sum up Wade Winston Wilson’s existence, that’d be it.

“What now?”

If there were ever a phrase to sum up Peter Benjamin Parker’s existence, it’d be that.

As the two men lay on the floor (well, Peter lay on the floor as Wade lay on him) each shouted their words over the deafening pop, pop, pop of bullets and shards of glass that sprayed down on them.

“Deadpool!” Peter growled angrily, forcing himself not to use his super strength to shove off the mercenary, “what is—”

A large gloved hand clapped over his mouth.

“Shut your beautiful face, Harry Potter!” Wade hissed before jerkily tilting his head to the right, the eyes of his mask widening almost comically.

[Ha ha! ‘Comically.’ I see what she did there]

{It’s not our Point of View Yet!}

[Right. My bad]

Eyebrows furrowed, (and ignoring the overwhelming scent of nacho cheese emitting from the glove over his face) Peter looked to where Deadpool indicated, gaping in alarm at what greeted him. Under the sink, barely two feet from them, was a small, rectangular box with the black and red Deadpool logo, complete with pipes and wires sticking out of it, a digital clock ominously counting down in red glowing numbers.

5:45

5:44

5:43

“That’s a bomb,” Wade supplied him unnecessarily, “you know, the type that goes boom?”

Peter fixed him with a glare before wrenching the hand off his face.

“Ooh, we’re already at the hand-holding stage? But we only just met!”

“Why the hell did you plant a bomb?!” Peter hissed.

“See, that’s just the thing cutie, I didn’t,” Wade replied with a shrug before reaching up and pushing Peter’s glasses up his nose.

[Gasp! Someone’s framing us]

{Did you seriously just make a glasses pun when someone’s trying to pin a ton of murders on us?}

[Gotta get my kicks somehow]

Secret-identity be damned, Peter shoved the merc off him easily (as he seemed to be off in his own world) before turning towards the bomb, frantic gaze watching as it continued to count down.

5:40

5:39

“You know, unless you wanna go all Harvey-Dent-Two-Face, I’d really advise against going near that.”

{Wrong franchise idiot!}

[We’re Marvel, remember?]

“What?” the brunet asked distractedly, not bothering to ask what the hell a Two Dent or whatever was, as he scrambled to figure out how to disarm the explosive.

“All I mean is,” Wilson sighed, “that you wouldn’t wanna ruin that jailbait mug of yours, so maybe you can, you know, skedaddle?”

At the younger man’s non-response, the merc rolled his eyes.

[You do gotta wonder what old batty would do in situations like this though, right?]

{WWBD?}

“What would Batman do?” Wade whispered, before clicking his fingers in triumph, yelling in a gravelly tone “I’M DEADPOOL” and leaping on Peter’s back.

“Wha—!” the brunet exclaimed as the larger man half-strangled him, wrapping his arms around his chest and neck, and dragging him backwards.

“C’mon cutie, today’s not the day for your schoolboy heroics, you gotta get that tight little ass outta here,” he yelled as a bullet shot through the window and lodged in his shoulder.

“Let…me…g—”

“You know, you’re surprisingly strong,” Deadpool cut across Peter again, ignoring his choked protests and throwing open the apartment door.

“BOMB! BOMB IN THE BUILDING, EVERYBODY OUT!” he roared before reaching out with one hand to pull the fire-alarm on the wall, and using the other to give the shorter man one final shove before deftly turning on his heel, and slamming the door behind him.

Peter silently gawked at the entrance to 25L, his brain struggling to make sense of everything that had just transpired as his few remaining neighbours scrambled desperately down the corridor. It was a faint but frenetic scream that unglued his feet from the floor and powered him down ten flights of stairs, picking up a crying toddler in his arms, bursting out onto the street and into a large crowd of gawping bystanders, he the last person to exit the building it seemed.

He skidded to a halt, his eyes landing on the woman that had screamed for her child before holding the little boy out for her to take. He could only nod as the woman wept with thanks, clutching the boy to her chest.

Adrenaline surged in his veins as he turned to watch and wait in horror for his new home to come crumbling down before his eyes as the first slew of police and fire brigade arrived at the scene and began to cordon off the area and moving people to a safe distance, their red and blue lights flashing and basking each of his neighbours in a dazzling glow. Stood there on the street, Peter felt each second pass as if it were an eternity, this being the first time in a long while, since he started on his Spider Man crusade feeling as powerless as he did after his Uncle Ben’s death.

These things weren’t meant to happen. He couldn’t afford Spider Man business to be dumped on his literal doorstep so unceremoniously on a good day, but now, with Deadpool in the mix, and he potentially knowing one or both of his identities, as well as someone clearly having it out for him to the point of hiring a guy to survey and possibly assassinate him, it became even more immobilising. He couldn’t don his suit, couldn’t have anyone link sightings of him in it near the apartment block, and yet, every ounce of his chemical make-up was screaming at him to do something, anything, to help Deadpool.

He couldn’t explain it, and even though past experiences with the unstable man should have deterred him, Peter still believed the mercenary when he said that despite what it looked like, against everything that logic may have dictated, he really wasn’t the one to plant the bomb.

And now, that same man, immortal or not, was stuck in the building with an unfamiliar explosive that was about to detonate and Peter had no idea if he had the skill (or frankly the mental stability) to disarm—

A thunderous boom jarringly shook him from his thoughts, the ground underneath his feet vibrating rapidly as smoke began to rise steadily from behind the building. Without a second’s thought, Peter took off in a sprint towards the smoke, evading the police officers and letting the darkness engulf him.

Hopping the perimeter fence that led to an alley, he skid slightly as his sneakers met the slippery pavement. With a frown, he righted himself and took a step, wincing as he heard a sickening squelching sound under his foot.

Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he shone its light down and hissed at the dark crimson substance that covered his shoe, quickly stepping onto a dry point in the pavement with a shiver. His stomach lurched as he slowly forced himself to look further into the alley, eyes raking over the concrete walls that were now marred with the same substance, except a lot thicker.

“Oh my god…” he grimaced as he pointed his phone to the right and caught sight of a shadowed figure lying near what appeared to be a recently exploded dumpster, a trail of trash and carnage leading up to it.

Scrambling forward, Peter tried not to look at the blood, guts and yep…brain matter that scattered the ground and kneeled as close as he could to what remained of Deadpool’s body.

“Jesus, Wade,” the brunet gasped, his horrified gaze drinking in the charred and bloodied torso and head, trying to not linger on the fact that Wilson was missing three out of four limbs. His remaining left arm lay outstretched, barely still attached to his body, resting against the now destroyed dumpster.

As he surveyed the scene, Peter began to piece together what probably happened. The merc must have either been unable to disarm the bomb, or didn’t have the tools or time, and instead opted to take it to an uninhabited area and have it detonate securely. Whether he even took his own safety (healing ability or not) into account when forming this hare-brained plan made Peter’s heart sink a little in his chest.

And it was this feeling that he would hold fully accountable for his next decision…

“All these chimichangas for little ol’ me? Aww Death, you shouldn’t have! Best threesome ever!” Wade murmured dreamily, turning over on his side and snuggling deeper into the warmth.

[Wakey wakey eggs and bakey]

“No, not eggs, chimichangas! And sex!” the merc with the mouth argued as he began to regain consciousness.

{Thought you said the best threesome ever would be us, Spidey and Tacos?}

[He’ll take what he can get. Beggars can’t be choosers]

{And he would beg}

Wade let out a groan as he cracked open one eye and appraised his surroundings, his adrenaline spiking when he took in the white, blank walls.

[Oh fuck]

{That seems to be the theme of the evening}

With a jolt, Deadpool shot up out of bed, hands immediately flying to his face, relieved to feel his mask still intact, but completely ignoring the fact that he was otherwise completely naked, his left leg only partially restored, and began hopping across the room.

[Huh. Guess the Roger Rabbit parallel could work as a name for this chapter, after all]

{And you doubted her}

“Shaddup,” he growled, up turning the only furniture in the room (a bedside table) and kicking it until it splintered and he was left with a make-shift weapon, seeing as his prized katanas were missing from his arsenal.

[Speaking of ARSEnal, how do you plan to get outta here in your birthday suit, big boy?]

{Americans don’t say arse}

[We’re Canadian]

{It’s more of a British thing}

[Still a funny word]

“Whoever’s out there should revel at the opportunity to see my rockin’ bod,” Wade interrupted, flexing his guns, pleased to find them just as massive as he remembered.

[They’re not the only thing that’s massive]

“I know right?” he leered, looking down at himself, “they should write poetry about my dic—”

{We were talking about your ego}

Before Deadpool could let out the burst of indignation that was welling in his chest, the sound of a click caught his attention before the handle of the door began to turn.

Leaping back behind the bed, the merc adopted a combatant stance, holding up the sharp piece of wood, ready to strike.

A mop of brown hair appeared around the door, before a familiar and handsome face came into view.

Deadpool had half a second to witness the utter shock, quickly followed by the rush of blood to pale cheeks register on the cute brunet, forming an adorable blush, before he clapped a hand over his eyes and let out a yell.

“OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!”

Wade lowered the piece of wood and shrugged, “hey, I’m the one that woke up here, shouldn’t I be asking you that? Perv.”

That got his attention.

Slowly, hands lowered from the man’s face, but his eyes remained firmly closed behind his black-rimmed glasses.

“I just—I thought…when you…regenerate, that maybe your clothes did too,” he murmured lamely.

“Regenerate? Who am I, the Doctor?” Wade scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, not caring if the other man couldn’t see his obvious offense at the term.

[That’s right, we know sci-fi]

{We’re down with the kids}

“Golden Girls is still the best though,” the merc conceded.

“What?” the brunet asked, confused at his completely random statement apropos of nothing.

“Okay, okay, you gotta tell me your name or somethin’ kid, ‘cause this whole the ‘other man’ and ‘brunet’ thing is kinda gettin’ on my nerves,” Deadpool groused, watching him carefully.

The frown on his face deepened, a line forming between his eyebrows as his lids remained firmly shut.

“Uh…call me…Harry,” he murmured.

“No way, your name’s actually Harry? And you look like that? Man, you must have gotten so much shit growin’ up,” Wade scoffed.

{You’re one to talk. You got your name ‘cause some writers thought it’d be funny to say you’re related to Deathstroke}

[And it rhymes with Slade]

{That too}

“Can you uh…like cover up…or something so I can open my eyes?” ‘Harry’ interrupted the conversation his boxes had started, still standing with his arms tight at his sides, fists clenched.

“You sure?” Wade asked with a teasing hilt to his tone, “because there’s nothing better than a naked house guest to brighten anyone’s day…”

“It’s midnight, and no, I’m good thanks,” ‘Harry’ retorted.

“If you insist,” Wade sighed, dragged his two now fully-formed feet over to the bed and plonking down, pulling the sheet up to cover his waist.

[Why are there quotation marks around ‘Harry?’]

{Because we don’t actually think that’s his name}

[Right. That’s way too much of a coincidence. This kid is so not the best liar]

After a moment, ‘Harry’s’ eyes opened, he blinking owlishly into the dimly lit room and breathed a visible sigh of relief at seeing his house guest at least somewhat descent.

“I uh…I can get you some clothes…I mean, they’ll be a tight fit but it’s better than—”

“My gorgeous figure distracting you?” Deadpool smirked, throwing him his patented exaggerated wink.

Another adorable flush tinted ‘Harry’s’ cheeks before he shook his head and cleared his throat, a flash of irritation crossing his features.

“Just…wait there until I get back. Don’t…go anywhere. We need to talk,” he grumbled, before turning on his heel and walking back out into the hallway.

Deadpool shrugged, laying back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling.

It was only then that he began to really reflect on the events of the evening, more and more questions about this strange guy popping up with every passing second.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded from just outside the door, ‘Harry’s’ voice travelling quietly into the room: “okay so I only had—”

“So someone hired me to take out a guy that was tryin’ to kill you,” Wade interrupted him, sitting up in the bed again, facing him.

When all he was met with was silence, he continued: “so I did. I mean, it’s what I do, what I’m really fuckin’ good at, and the pay was great, so why not?” he threw up his hands and tilted his head, fixing the other man with a completive stare.

“So yeah, I unalive the guy, only to find that you, even in all the panic, decided to go Nancy Drew-ing around the place and stumble across yet another guy trying to assassinate your ass from across the street? A vantage point that couldn’t have been too far from mine. So, I do what any good hot-blooded-male would do, I save the damsel in distress by throwing them to the ground, because hey, any chance to have my fine body cover your fine body, only to find that a fucking bomb with my logo on it has been planted to level the whole goddamn building? To kill one puny guy? I mean really, even that’s just over kill, even by my standards…” Wade trailed off, clutching the sheet to his waist and standing up, taking a step towards ‘Harry.’

“And as if that wasn’t enough, you then seem completely unfazed by a bomb, even believe me—a goddamn mercenary, when I say it wasn’t mine, and try to fucking disarm it without batting an eyelid while any other sane person would have run for the hills screaming—”

{Like you can comment on anything an actual sane person would do}

[Stop he’s on a roll!]

“Only to THEN find me blasted to chunks finer than taco meat, bring me back here and are not even the slightest bit freaked out that I’m like…you know…walking, talking, and gracing your eyelids with my epic naked man-bits?”

Wade paused, bringing his face down inches from the other man’s, chocolate eyes reaching hazel.

“So, to review,” he smirked, “you run to danger when anyone else would flee, to try to disarm a bomb that could or could not have been planted by me, you just taking me at my word, then you find me in pieces and bring me back here, knowing about my healing factor and are not one bit freaked out by it…”

Wade’s eyes narrowed, zeroing in on how the other man had appeared to stop breathing, his dark orbs flickering behind his glasses.

“Which leaves me with just one question for you ‘Harry,’” the mercenary murmured, taking that last step so that he had the shorter man caught between his body and the wall:

“Who the hell are you really?”

______________________________________________________________

I’m so fucking awesome. Look at me being all Sherlock Holmes-y.

Yeah, for the purposes of this story, you’re astute.

What do you mean ‘for the purposes of this story?’ I’ll have you know, I’m always a goddamn genius!

Didn’t you just try to use one of your katanas as a Q-Tip?

…
Fuck you.

Chapter Text

Peter’s breath caught in his throat as Wade’s eyes narrowed, his features morphing conspiratorially.

“Which leaves me with just one question for you, Harry,” he murmured, taking another step towards him, closing the space between them even further.

The shorter man fought the urge to swallow nervously as their gazes met.

“Who the hell are you really?”

Peter could practically see the hamster halt in its wheel within his head like a cartoon. If he were in a cheesy sitcom, the screeching scratch of a record would have also rang in his ears. For the first time in recent memory, words failed him.

As the silence continued to stretch between them, Wade began to impatiently tap his foot on the floor, it reverberating around the room at a steady rhythm.

“Any time today would be nice,” he groused, glancing at the non-existent watch on his wrist.

“Uh…” was the younger man’s highly intelligible reply, as he scrambled for something, anything to say, his eyes drinking in his now destroyed bedside table.

It was then that he realized two things. One, he would need to make another hellish trip to Ikea, and two, Deadpool was in his home. Deadpool. Wade Wilson. The Merc With The Mouth. The man whom he’d met five years previously and had both fought against and beside over that time. The man he had sat on a few rooftops with, eating hot-dogs or tacos after a long day. The same man who had the innate ability to both irritate and amuse him, who he had been furious at many a time, but also couldn’t find someone quite like him to exchange witty banter with. He was in Peter’s new home. His abode that was full to the brim with everything that made Peter…Peter. Spider-Man he could hide (unless Wade went rummaging in his closet), but Peter? There was no hiding him…

“I’m Peter,” he blurted out before he could think about it too much, “…Peter Parker,” he finished, extending his hand for Wade to shake.

The man in question looked down at it as if he had never seen a hand before and wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with it.

[Oh I have a few ideas of what we could do with it… *wink*]

{You shouldn’t have to say ‘wink.’ That’s why God invented emojis}

{Also, it’s not our Point Of View Yet!}

“Peter…Parker…” Wade tried the name out on his tongue, “Peter, Peter, Peter. Parker, Parker, Parker,” he chewed on the words as if trying to taste them, his mouth no doubt doing ridiculous actions from under his mask.

“That’s me,” Peter tried and failed to sound nonchalant, wanting to take back the words instantly, his nerves frayed, his brain screaming at him WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE!? as he fought the urge to fidget under the merc’s scrutinizing gaze, trying not to think about what his reaction could be.

“Huh. You look like a Peter,” was all Wade said with a shrug, “still think Harry would have suited you better, though. Your parents kinda dropped the ball on that one.”

The brunet cleared his throat at those words, “yeah, well…uh, anyway—”

“Hold up,” the mercenary interrupted with a wave of his hand for what felt like the millionth time that night, “so, I know you’re someone called Peter Parker now sure but…that still doesn’t explain everything else.”

Peter frowned at him, arms folding across his chest in subconscious defense.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Deadpool admonished with a scoff, gesturing to the other man’s face, “just ‘cause you’re pretty, doesn’t mean I’m gonna conveniently forget what happened here tonight.”

{Unless you do}

[It is up to writer lady, of course]

“What’s your deal, Peter?” the merc continued, ignoring his boxes. “You ain’t just some ordinary college kid, that’s for sure.”

Peter tried not to let the surprise show on his face.

“You’re…more astute than your reputation would have the general public believe.”

Wade shrugged, “yeah well, I’m crazy. Not stupid. Despite what people think, they’re not mutually exclusive.”

He had a point there. Over the years, Spider Man had seen just how violent, risky, and plain bat-shit crazy Deadpool could be at any given moment, but he could never accuse the man of being an idiot. Unless it had something to do with social interaction…then all bets were off. One night in particular where the man got into a ‘fist fight’ with The Hulk over who could growl the loudest, stuck out in his mind. But, airs and (lack) of graces aside, Peter knew that Wade was far too inquisitive (boarding on nosey) and well, paranoid, for him to continue lying about who he was.

So he went with the half-truth to avoid the other man digging further into him and potentially revealing his secret. Really, it was the lesser of two evils.

Sure, he could know that he is Peter Parker, employee of Tony Stark, perpetually-exhausted grad student, and part-time photographer of all things Spider Man.

But there was no need for him to know (and indeed no way he could content the dots) that overworked and underpaid Pete was the web-slinger himself.

That was Peter’s logic (to use the term loosely) and he was stickin’ to it. No pun intended.

“Okay…” he sighed, brain racing a mile a minute to figure out how he was carefully going to word this without arousing suspicion, “you’re right, I’m not just an ordinary college student, at least, I don’t want to be…”

A silence met his words. Wade’s gaze bore into his, head tilted a little to one side.

“What are you, pausing dramatically now? Spit it out already, kid!”

Never let it be said that Peter Parker didn’t know how to set a scene.

“I’m not just an ordinary student…” he repeated, walking around the other man and towards the window to gather his thoughts before turning to face him again.

“I…I also work in Stark Industries. I-I’m around Tony Stark a lot. Tony Frickin’ Stark. Iron Man! Captain America has even dropped in on occasion. Captain Steve Rogers has stood across from me! I have been in the same room as legends…” he trailed off again, keen orbs aware of Wade’s growing interest at his not-so-casual name-dropping.

Throwing up his arms, Peter went into full fanboy mode, knowing that that would appeal to the merc, who didn’t hide his hero-worship of The Avengers all-too-well in the past.

(He had a hand-print on his ass for three days to prove it)

“I mean, you know what it’s like, right? To be around these amazing people, to witness all the great and wondrous things they do? Except…you have it even better than me. You have fought beside them! Got to do heroic things with them! And I—” he broke off, lowering his head, “I don’t have any powers or skills. I can only dream about doing something like that. So…so when the opportunity sorta fell into my lap today I—I jumped at the chance of doing something even as half as heroic as them.”

[I’d like to fall into his lap]

{POINT. OF. VIEW!}

[Whatever.]

Wade hummed in response, sounding neither convinced nor unconvinced, stepping over to the bed at sitting down, the sheet riding a little lower on his abdomen than before, exposing even more muscle that lay beneath the newly-fitted yet heavily scarred skin.

Peter desperately ignored that fact as he continued, making sure his gaze didn’t fall below eye-level as he hushed his voice to a wistful murmur, “and after all these years of working for The Daily Bugle and taking photos of Spider Man—”

“You’re the guy that takes pictures of Spidey?” Wilson interjected, “dude, you’re good! I’ve gotten pics you took on my wall! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve yanked my chain looking at—”

Peter stumbled backwards a little, hoping his face didn’t look as scandalized as he felt, heat rising in his face.

“Uh anyway,” he cleared his throat, trying to banish images of Deadpool doing anything but standing near a picture of him from his mind, “being an ordinary guy around all those…heroes…I think I just got a little carried away with trying to actually be one today. I know it was stupid but—”

“I get it, man,” Wade held up his hand, “trust me, I get it.”

The honesty in his voice, laced with something a lot deeper, made Peter’s stomach give a little jolt.

Another silence passed between them. In all their interactions as Deadpool and Spider Man, Peter couldn’t remember this much blank space between them, this many unsaid words. The banter was usually rapid fire and sometimes razor sharp, but now it felt almost…an afterthought. It seemed Wade and Peter were slightly different than their alter-egos after all.

“Hey, wanna hear my Spider Ass haikus?”

Well, maybe Wade wasn’t all that different.

“Uh…what?” the bespectacled man asked, terrified by the response, but also morbidly intrigued at the merc’s sudden proposal. (So help him.)

“You know, haikus about Spider Man’s ass. What about that wasn’t self-explanatory?” Wilson asked, as if it were perfectly understandable, waving his hand dismissively, looking around him, not as keen to hold eye contact, it seemed.

Peter stared at him, unwilling or unable to do much else.

“I’m somewhat of a Spider Man aficionado,” Wade continued, despite the non-response, an excited gleam in his eye, yet still managing to avoid his companion’s.

Was he…nervous?

The dread in Peter’s stomach rose.

“It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it,” Deadpool mused before cracking his knuckles, clearing his throat, letting his eyes fall closed and waving his hands theatrically:

“Spider Man you are
So good, heroic and true.
But wow, that ass though.”

Here, the aspiring poet paused, his body tense as he slowly cracked open an eye.
Peter was frozen to the spot, not for the first time wondering how this was indeed his life.

Did he want feedback?

“Uh—”

“Spiderman’s assets
Are his webs, fists, and booty
The last most lethal.”

“Wade—”

“Oh Spidey’s round ass
Tortures me so sweetly that
I'd gladly never die.”

A shrill ring sounded throughout the room, effectively cutting off ‘Wade Whitman’ before he could begin another carefully-crafted haiku.

Saved by the fucking bell, Peter couldn’t help but think as he hastily dug his hand in his pocket, retrieving his cell phone, his heart hammering as a picture of Aunt May flashed across the screen.

“Uh that was…something…” he murmured distractedly, not looking at the man on the bed, forcing himself not to run to the door, “I just—I gotta take this!” he finished, before wrenching it open and stepping out into the hallway without a backwards glance.

Wade watched the brunet leave in a flurry, eyebrows raised.

“You think he liked it?”

{Let’s just say he probably wouldn’t support you ever quitting your day job}

[True. That last line was six syllables. Idiot.]

A/N:So, sorry it’s a little shorter than usual updates, but that’s all I’m really up to writing at the moment, under my current circumstances. The next update will most certainly be much longer, with a lot more plot development. Thanks for your understanding. To make up for the brevity, below is a small snippet of the next chapter. Also, Peter and Wade’s conversation is not over. Just postponed. Wade got distracted by his love of ass haikus. ~Ck

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

“I’m blue da ba dee da…” Wade sang as Peter hid a smirk behind his hand.

{Our younger readers probably won’t get half of these references}

“They saw Iron Man 3, didn’t they?! It’s like the first song from that kiddies…right before he boinks the hot scientist chick that dies at the end.”

[WHOA. SPOILER ALERT!]

“Oh like there’s anyone here who hasn’t seen that movie by now.”

Chapter Text

“I’m gonna swing from the chan-de-lier, from the chan-de-lier…I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist, like it doesn’t exist…I’m gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry! I’m gonna swing from the chan-de-lier, from the chan-de-lier…”

Peter Parker glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, wincing at what could only be described as tone-deaf screeching omitted from behind it.

Just when he thought it couldn’t possibly get worse than haikus about his ass…

“Honey, what is that? Is someone singing? Do you have company?!” the excited voice of his Aunt May wafted from the phone cradled in his hand.

“Uh—”

“Oh Peter, I’m so glad you’ve made a friend! I worry about you in that tiny apartment all alone with only your work to keep you company. It doesn’t do a person any good to coop themselves up like that,” she began her well-worn opinion on his social life (or lack thereof) as her nephew fought not to sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes tightly shut behind his glasses.

“I know Aunt May, I know. I’ve just been busy—”

“And I couldn’t be prouder of you, sweetheart. But, you know what they say, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!”

“I couldn’t agree more, Aunt May! Poor Petey needs to play some more,” a new innuendo-laced voice agreed loudly, startling Peter violently, his hazel eyes popping open as he stumbled back against the wall.

There in front of him, leaning very nonchalantly against his bedroom doorframe, stood the newly dressed Deadpool, Peter’s sweatpants at least three inches too short on his muscular legs, his marred ankles clearly visible, and his t-shirt stretched tightly across his chest, riding up his abdomen and exposing the scarred skin that lay underneath.

Waving angrily at him to get the hell back into the room, Peter grit his teeth and forced his tone into a pseudo cheery one: “I uh…gotta go Aunt May, I—”

“Oh your friend sounds delightful, Peter! And he’s right of course, you do need to relax more. I’ll let you two get back to whatever you were doing. Call you tomorrow, love you!” May Parker rambled hurriedly and promptly hanging up on him before he could get a word in edgewise.

The brunet stood in his corridor staring dumbly at his cell phone for at least fifteen seconds before the not-so-subtle clearing of a throat caught his attention. Heaving what he knew would be only the first of many sighs to follow, he turned on the spot to face his house guest who tilted his head and pointed at him.

“You like Mexican food? You look like a guy that likes Mexican food…”

A shiver ran up the spine of Joseph ‘Buck Shot’ Blye as he lit a cigarette, taking a decent drag of it and staring up into the night sky. It was rare in New York, that the stars shone so brightly visible, but there was a change in the air tonight, a shift in atmosphere in the very spot where he stood, cigarette in one hand and M24 rifle in the other.

He couldn’t explain it but…this wasn’t what he expected when he had first taken the job. He was still new to this gig. The rookie, really, although he’d rather die than admit it. It had been his cousin Gio that had recommended him, knowing that the kid was gifted at what he did, but as he stood there, head tilted back, leaning against his car, he couldn’t help but dwell on his failure.

Gio had been vague about the exact details of the hit, bar the name and location of the target, but Joe knew above all else, that a live target was never a good thing. And he was still alive.

Peter Benjamin Parker.

The twenty-four year-old grad student and research assistant at Stark Industries.

Hell, the kid was only a couple of years younger than him. Joe didn’t know what he did to piss off the boss, but whatever it was, got him a bullet to the brain.

Except, Joe missed.

In his sophomore year of wasting those who needed to be wasted, Blye had never missed his target. It may take more than a magazine or two, but when all was said and done, the target was well and truly dead, no matter who they were, where they were, or what they were doing.

As it happened, tonight’s lucky winner was holed up in a shitty apartment building down town, tired after a long day at work. He didn’t really fit Joe’s regular marks, in age, socio-economic background or status, but despite only being in the business two years, Joe learned quickly not to ask questions.

When you got a name, you erased that name.

End of story.

Except this time.

“The boss will see you now,” a gruff voice called from his left, snapping him from his reverie by snatching the gun off his shoulder and turning on his heel.

With a nod, Joe flicked away the cigarette before following the beefy guy he thought was called Mike, towards the dirty steel door, leading into a giant warehouse, his only sense of comfort being the glock (that he had lifted from a cop he wasted a while ago) that was safely tucked into the back of his jeans.

He had never met the boss before.

A steady stream of bile tried to claw its way out of his throat at the thought of what could be in store for him. Not many got to meet the boss (hell, he didn’t even know the guy’s name) but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a probably better for his health if he didn’t.

Well, too late now.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Joe forced his feet forward, stepping further into the gloom, the darkness engulfing him.

He could feel dozens of eyes on him as he shuffled past hundreds of wooden containers and towards a desk standing in the middle of the dusty, dank room, the creak of a chair drawing his eyes up to whoever sat behind it.

“Joseph Blye,” a deep, almost robotic voice greeted, its owner’s face still basked in shadows, “come, sit.”

Forcing his shaking hands out of his pockets, the young man came to a stop beside a solitary seat and sat down, narrowing his eyes, trying and failing to identify any features belonging to the person opposite him.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” the voice continued, “Peter Parker is still breathing. Care to explain to me why that is?”

The tension in the room shot up several degrees at those words.

Joe swallowed deeply, his throat feeling as dry and coarse as sandpaper, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Uh I—”

“You came highly recommended by your cousin, Gio,” the voice cut across him, the creak of a chair punctuating the sentence as the boss leaned back.

“Yes sir,” Blye managed to croak, another chill rising up his spine as he caught movement coming from his left.

“I find that that recommendation may have been…less than accurate regarding your capabilities,” the boss continued, the mechanical voice setting his teeth on edge.

“Sir I…since I began working for you, this is the first time that I—”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

A heavy silence descended on the room.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Blye, in our line of work…this type of grievous error can’t even be only a one-time thing…” the voice trailed off as the man that was approaching from Joe’s left reached the desk and lay down a large box on it.

Joe’s eyes flickered to the box before staring back into the darkness above it, giving up on trying to determine anything.

“Sir…there were unforeseen circumstances—”

“Ah, yes. Deadpool. I heard he killed Groves,” the boss interjected as if commenting on the weather and not the death of an employee, “shame, really. His alias as Parker’s unsuspecting neighbour really was the perfect cover.”

Joe shifted uneasily in his chair, bothered by how much the disembodied voice was unnerving him.

“Thanks to Wade Wilson’s histrionics and actual ability to hit the target he was paid to,” the voice paused to let the shame wash over Blye, “we now must figure out who ordered the hit on Groves, as well as dealing with your little mess.”

The young man sat forward in his chair, trying to ignore the hilt of desperation in his tone as he pleaded: “give me just one more chance boss, and I swear I’ll get him. He stops at a coffee shop every Saturday before work, I can hit him there, no problem!”

Another short pause met him before a gloved hand reached out of the darkness and pushed the box across the desk and towards him.

“See that there isn’t, Mr. Blye. Perhaps this…will provide the proper incentive.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Joe wet his lips nervously, before shakenly standing up and laying a sweating palm on the lid of the box.

An eerie calm hung over the large warehouse as he pulled back the lid, a loud gasp escaping his throat as his wide gaze was met with his cousin Gio’s bloody severed head, his haunted eyes forever frozen in his last and surely terrifying moment.

“You have 72 hours…”

~*~

“Help me I’m holdin’ on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes, keep my glass full until morning light,” Wade sang as he sauntered around Peter’s apartment, eyes scanning every inch of the laughingly small living space, stealing a hoodie from off an armchair and throwing it over his head, pulling down the sleeves over his arms.

“You really like that song,” the bespectacled beaut commented drily as he continued to dish out the giant order of Mexican food he was forced into buying, trying not to dwell on how his favourite hoodie was now impossibly stretched forever.

{Yeah, and it’s so 2014 too}

[Keep up with the times, old man]

“Well, we were talkin’ about Spidey and…that song always reminds me of him,” Wade replied with a shrug, his voice a little softer than usual as he ignored his boxes and studied the bookcase to his left.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter still, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“And why does it remind you of him?”

[Yeah, it’s not like the boy-scout is secretly a party girl]

{Pity. We could have gotten the chance to see Spidey Gone Wild}

“It has the word ‘swinging’ in it. And it was either think of Spidey or those old folk swingers trying to re-live the 60s,” Wade smirked as he plonked down at the table, rolling up his mask over his mouth and immediately beginning to inhale a taco at an alarming rate.

[So when do you think it’ll hit him that he’s not self-conscious eating around this kid for some reason?]

{Probably around the time he remembers who this kid actually is}

[He never is his most astute when food’s within the immediate vicinity]

Peter gaped at him as he continued to wolf down his Mexican cuisine, before heaving a sigh, taking a seat and opening his laptop.

It was here where Wade was again struck by just how weird everything about this guy was.

“So…what?” he spoke over chewing his food, spitting morsels everywhere, “you just gonna sit there on your computer and act like it’s totally normal for you to invite an insanely famous mercenary over for dinner?”

[Insane? Yes. Famous? Not so much.]

{Deadshot you are not}

[He may be DC, but he’s AWESOME]

{How’s that inferiority complex workin’ out for ya?}

“Pssh, I’d annihilate that cyclops,” Wade murmured under his breath.

[Ooh. We’re goin’ with Arrow’s version? Cool.]

{Writer lady does love her some Arrow}

Hazel eyes rose from the computer screen, raking over his sauce-covered mouth for a moment before meeting his gaze.

“Technically, I didn’t invite you anywhere,” Peter responded to his previous statement, seemingly ignoring Wade’s quieter comments, giving his own shrug before focusing back on his laptop.

{Touché}

[I like to touch his touché}

“Potato, tomato,” Deadpool dismissed with a wave, digging into his forth taco, before scooting closer to the younger man, right into his personal space and trying to see the screen.

“Whatcha lookin’ at anyway, nerd?”

The brunet rolled his eyes, leaning back a little before gesturing to the video in front of them.

“It’s the breaking news report on what happened tonight. My…aunt called, said she saw it on the news. I-I managed to convince her it was a different apartment block…she worries.”

Wade could tell by Peter’s face that he was surprised at himself for willingly offering up such information to someone like him.

{Maybe the kid isn’t so bright, after all}

[Shame. He really rocks the chic geek vibe]

“That all you gonna eat?” Wade asked, just for something to say, gesturing to Peter’s solitary and now limp taco, opting not to comment on the kid’s personal life, feeling neither bothered nor prepared to do so.

“Gotta watch my figure,” the brunet quipped rapidly without ungluing his eyes from the article he was reading.

[I’d watch that figure all day long]

{Of course he is snarky. Just when we thought he couldn’t get any cuter}

“You got a TV or what?” Deadpool looked around the room, noticing for the first time what was conspicuously absent.

Peter shifted a little in his seat, not meeting his eye.

“Uh no, sorry. There’s just…my laptop. I have a few DVDs—”

“Ooh Avatar!” Wade exclaimed suddenly, spotting the movie in question lying beside a few other DVDs on the bookshelf before hurrying over to it.

“I’m blue da ba dee da…” he sang as he picked it up.

{Our younger readers probably won’t get half of these references}

“They saw Iron Man 3, didn’t they?! It’s like the first song from that kiddies…right before he boinks the hot scientist chick that dies at the end.”

[WHOA. SPOILER ALERT!]

“Oh like there’s anyone here who hasn’t seen that movie by now.”

He could feel Peter’s eyes on him as he continued to talk to his boxes, and not for the first time that night did he question just how it was that he felt so… almost comfortable (or as close as he could get anyway) around this perfect stranger.

[Perfect’s definitely the word, alright]

The niggling doubts about everything that had transpired tonight refused to go away though, and before he knew it, Wade was turning on his heel and half yelling at the other man.

“Seriously though, kid. You’ve done great so far at avoiding the question but, what is your deal? Don’t think I’ve forgotten how fuckin’ weird this whole situation is, even for me. You’re far too…I don’t know…familiar with me and my zany antics. I mean, you didn’t even flinch when you saw my…” he trailed off, again yanking down the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie, wishing he could summon the fake confidence he had managed to convey when the other man had walked in on him naked merely an hour before.

“After seeing you blown to bits by a bomb, not much could make me flinch,” the brunet replied evenly, standing up and walking towards him, “and it’s like I said before…I—I have worked with Tony Stark, and met Captain America and Dr. Banner…I guess I’m just not as star stuck as I used to be.”

[Ouch]

{How he wounds us}

“Okay, fine. You’re not star struck by my mere presence,” Wade shrugged, trying and failing not to feel affronted as he crossed his arms and stared the guy down, “but how exactly did you manage to get me back here without losing your lunch?”

“Who says I didn’t?” Peter fired back, “you wanted to know if that was all I was eating?” he paused gesturing to the still uneaten taco on the table, “well, truth is…it’s kinda hard to focus on food when I had to help carry and reassemble pieces of a man like some grotesque puzzle a little over an hour ago.”

{He speaks sense}

[More than you ever do, anyway]

The two men breathed heavily into each other’s space, they standing much closer than before, having gravitated during the argument, realizing that they both got a little more carried away than they originally intended, and taking a step back from one another.

“And you’re…you’re just okay with me hanging out? Forcing you to order Mexican food and wearing your clothes and going through your stuff?” Deadpool asked, unadulterated disbelief in his tone as the two men continued to stare at one another.

Suddenly, it hit Peter like a freight train.

Wade wasn’t used to this.

He wasn’t used to an ordinary person (or super one, really) treating him…kindly. To Peter, it may have been just re-paying the man who had saved his life tonight, but to Wade, who (if what Peter could remember of his past was correct) seldom was shown any respect, let alone gratitude and genuine concern, it was just too much.

His heart panged in his chest.

Still, he had to say something more substantial to make his story more believable or Wade wouldn’t let it go and then who knows where they could end up.

“Look,” Peter held up his hands, his brain racing a mile a minute as he made up an excuse on the spot, hoping it’d be enough to damper suspicion, “this has been one hell of a crazy night and…and truthfully, I’m never one hundred per cent normal, anyway, so I’m not likely to have your run-of-the-mill reaction to anything. But that being said—someone is still trying to kill me. And fuck me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t it be in my best interest to keep around a trained mercenary, crazy or not, just in case that someone decides to come back?”

[Does that mean we get to fuck him?]

{Unfortunately, nope. Thinking about it, it’s totally in his best interest to keep us around}

[Really?]

{Either that or he ends up like swiss cheese when that sniper comes back}

[Good point]

Peter watched intently as Wade seemed to battle against himself, before eventually, a little bit of tension in his body drained a little.

“So, does that mean you’re hiring me as your body guard, Whitney Houston?”

Humour. Good. Peter could work with humour.

“Only if you’re up for it, Kevin Costner.”

[Oh we’re up for anything]

“Well, I guess that just leaves us with one more thing to sort out then,” the merc smirked, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

[Payment?]

{Oh I’ve a feeling that saving his fine ass could be payment enough}

[And more tacos!]

“And what would that be?” Peter was almost too afraid to ask, it dawning on him that he had probably reached the point of no return. He was so going to regret this.

With a chuckle, Wade leaned forward, his nose barely an inch from the shorter man’s.

“The sleeping arrangements,” he winked, “you a cuddler, Petey Pie? You look like a cuddler…I call little spoon!”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

So yeah, slow build is fun. But the pace will pick up a little after this.

So…sex?

Soon, Deadpool. Geez, and they say romance is dead.

Hey, I’m plenty romantic! I will romance the pants off Petey!

[That’s the idea]

Oh and if you want you can find me over on Tumblr at octoberobserver

[Shameless self-promotion is shameless]

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

“Cap, he…kinda doubts your commitment to…you know…saving people,” Spiderman shrugged.

“Yeah well, sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!”

Chapter Text

Tony Stark was a man known for many things. His fame, fortune, genius intellect, innovative inventions and sexual prowess, to name but a few. But if there was one thing that anyone who knew Iron Man himself was not in the least known for, it was patience.

“Where the hell is that kid?!”

This morning, it seemed, would not be the morning he miraculously found some.

“Sleeping upside down on the ceiling or somethin’ probably,” Clint Barton shrugged as he straightened up after taking his shot in pool, a smirk creeping onto his face as Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

“That’s bats, genius. Not spiders,” she deadpanned, deftly syncing three balls into the corner pocket before tilting her head at him, her eyes ablaze with challenge.

Barton merely shrugged again, signing ‘same difference’ with a wave of his hand and taking a swig from his beer.

“It’s 8am,” Bruce Banner commented with folded arms, eyeing the archer’s beverage of choice with a frown.

“Any time is happy hour when you haven’t been to bed yet,” Clint winked just as Steve entered the room, halting just shy of his irate teammate.

“I take it by Mr. Sunshine’s mood here that Peter still hasn’t shown?”

A chorus of grumbles met his ears.

“Perhaps the arachnid is in hibernation?” their Asgardian colleague piped up from his perch at the breakfast bar, hands laden with a mound of toast and pancakes, maple syrup dripping down his fingers, his cheeks akin to that of a chipmunk, stuffed full of food as he munched happily.

“That’s bears,” Romanov shook her head at Thor, before potting the black ball, smirking at Clint and reaching over for the remote to the giant television that hung on the wall, rapidly clicking through the two thousand channels.

“Technically, spiders can—” Bruce began and abruptly broke off at the sight of Natasha’s quirked eyebrow, “uh, never mind.”

Steve took a step towards Tony who was clutching his cell phone and glaring at it as if it personally offended him.

“He needs to be debriefed about what he missed at the Shield meeting. You did ask him to join us this morning, didn’t you?”

Stark whipped around, ready to chew the Cap out, when he suddenly faltered, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, as he muttered: “I’m not his damn babysitter. I don’t see how it’s my responsibil—”

“I sent him notification via text and email, Captain Rogers,” the dulcet tone of Jarvis sounded throughout the room, “Master Parker replied promptly, assuring that he would be present this morning.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve replied, staring pointedly at the shorter man who very maturely pulled a face at him, before turning towards the line of monitors embedded in the desk in front of him, typing at the keyboard.

“Watch you don’t hurt yourself, grandpa,” Tony remarked drily, trying to hide his trepidation at having the senior citizen anywhere near his electronics.

“Yeah, yeah, Tony Snark, you’re hilarious,” Steve quipped, eyes narrowing as a particular article peaked his interest.

“Someone has been paying attention to Sam’s lessons,” Nat murmured, side-eying Rogers before focusing back on the TV, clicking over to the news to see what they missed when they were out of town, precisely as a grainy image of what appeared to be an explosion erupting behind an apartment building came onto the screen.

“Hey, look at this,” both she and Steve called in unison, she gesturing to the TV, he to the monitors.

“Bomb explodes in dumpster at 10:30pm last night, moments after shots were fired at a nearby apartment building,” Steve read before Natasha joined in, reading the text from the news scroll, “the fire alarm was pulled after the gunfire, alerting authorities…who arrived just as a bomb exploded in an alley behind the building. At least three pints of blood were found at the scene, but as of yet, no body has been recovered…”

“…Does anyone know exactly where Peter lives?” Bruce asked the question on everyone’s mind as the tension began to rise in the room.

The team lapsed into silence, gazes firmly fixed away from anyone else, each mulling over the events and potential ramifications, before a sharp knock shook them from their respective reveries.

“Uh…hey guys,” a dishevelled Peter Parker waved lamely from the door, eyes darting around as his teammates turned sharply in unison to stare at him, “sorry I’m late. It’s uh…a funny story actually…someone is kinda trying to kill me.”

 ~*~

Beep. Beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Ugh…five more minutes, mom,” Wade Wilson groaned, throwing an arm over his face and turning on his side, something crumpling loudly underneath him.

“What the…?” he grumbled, his voice coarse and sleep-riddled as he forced his eyes open, reaching down to pull out whatever it was that lay against him.

It was a piece of paper.

Blearily, he shook his head, waiting for his gaze to focus.

There, hastily scribbled on the scrap of paper in chicken scratch cursive, was a note.

Gone to pick up breakfast.
Feel free to shower or whatever. There’s some clean clothes at the end of the bed.
Please don’t break anything.
Be back soon.
~Peter

Wade’s eyes widened as the message began to sink in to his still groggy mind.

{Does the kid have a death wish?!}

[He’s probably holier than the plot of an M. Night Shyamalan movie by now]

“No. He’s fine. The sniper won’t try anything so soon after last night…it’s too risky,” Deadpool murmured, sitting up from his resting place on the floor to the left of Peter’s bed.

{Who are you trying to convince, big boy? Us, or yourself?}

[Face it. The kid’s probably a goner. D.O.A, D.N.R, R.I.P – dead]

{Shame. He was just starting to grow on us}

[Wonder if he has any pancakes?]

“Shaddup!” Wade hissed, leaping up from the floor and stubbing his toe on the bed-frame.

[What? It’s not like he’s gonna need them]

{Waste not, want not}

“He’s not dead!” Deadpool scolded, his tone a little frantic, alarmed at just how much he really, really hoped that the brunet wasn’t lying dead in the street somewhere, the swiss-iest of swiss cheese.

{Guess he was growing on you too}

[Aww…does Wadey have a crush?]

{And we thought you just wanted to fuck him on any and every available surface}

[But…you actually care if this kid lives or dies? Stop the presses! It’s been like one day. Talk about desperate]

{He shows you the most basic and limited of attention and you’re ready for the U-Haul and kitty adoption?}

[Didn’t realize you were starring in an episode of The L Word]

Wade shook his head, growling deep in his chest as he raced into the bathroom, pulled off his mask and glared at his reflection in the mirror.

Deep and shallow jagged scars and sores of all shapes and sizes marred his forehead, cheeks, chin…his bald head reflecting the sunlight that streamed in through the window, his reddened and irritated skin awash in a sickly glow.

[Well hello there, handsome]

{We’re taking it for granted that sarcasm can be detected through the written word}

Wade gripped the edges of the sink, starring into his face, chapped lip caught between his teeth as he fought to steady his breathing.

He had to get a fucking grip on himself.

[Naughty!]

“Fuck you,” he grit out, eyes snapping closed as his jaw clenched angrily.

{Ooh, someone’s in trouble…}

[Not me. Him. For being a sappy loser and letting himself care about some nerdy college kid that wouldn’t even give him the time of day if he didn’t throw himself on a bomb last night]

{You should probably just leave before you embarrass yourself even more than you have already}

[Too late. He’s already seen him naked.]

{Surprised it wasn’t that that made him lose his lunch}

[He just felt sorry for you…wanted to pay you back for saving his life by plying you with tacos and letting you sleep on the floor by his bed like some lost puppy]

{You really are a cheap date}

Wade let out a huff of indignation, thumping the sink with his fist, it shuddering and creaking noisily under the strain.

[He might not even really be coming back]

{Maybe he’s come to his senses and realized he doesn’t want a mentally-unstable mercenary as a house guest and gone to get help.}

[He did say he knows Iron Man, after all]

{And Captain America}

[And The Hulk]

“Fuck.”

The word reverberated around the small room as Deadpool forced himself to open his eyes again, slipping the mask back over his face.

[Guess it’s time to go]

{By some miracle, if the kid is still alive, he can just get one of The Avengers to help him with his little sniper problem}

[They are the real heroes]

{Let’s face it, he’s no Whitney Houston, and you’re definitely no Kevin Costner}

[Probably best to quit while you’re ahead. You even got some tacos out of it.]

{That’s a win for you}

With a sigh and slumped shoulders, Wade plodded out of the bathroom, stopping at the small table that housed his various weaponry and loaded up.

It was time to go…

With one last look around the place, the merc made his way towards the door, heart heavy in his chest as he opened it and stepped out.

“Goodbye Peter Parker. It was nice knowin’ ya…”

~*~

“Define ‘trying to kill you,’” Tony Stark air-quoted, taking a step towards the younger man with a look of irascibility on his face.

Peter cleared his throat, shuffling further into the room, “uh…well, the ‘rapidly shooting bullets into the side of my building and planting a bomb under my neighbour’s sink to finish the job’ trying to kill me.”

“Wait…that’s your building?” Steve asked, pointing to the TV, where the same news report that his Aunt May must have seen last night, was still running.

The brunet’s cheeks flushed, his heart sinking as he realized that his safe-haven, the apartment he had spent the better part of a year perfecting to keep hidden away from his Spider Man life, was now plastered on national television for his friends and colleagues to see.

“Yeah,” he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the pool table.

“Are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you?” Bruce asked, taking the slightest step forward attentively.

“I’m fine, thanks. Managed to avoid all the bullets,” Peter responded, throwing him a quick appreciative glance before staring back at the floor.

“Wait…” Tony drew even closer, his hands risen, “you said the bomb was planted in your neighbour’s place? Why not yours?”

The younger man could feel a dozen eyes boring into him as he scrambled to get everything straight in his head.

“Uh…that’s the other thing. I—my neighbour…turns out he’s been tailing me for a while now. Has a bunch of surveillance photos of me leaving school and work. He had some Grade-A weaponry too, so I think he was the one that was originally supposed to take me out…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But…?” Tony prodded, folding his arms across his chest.

“But uh…” Peter sighed, forcing himself to look up and meet his gaze, “someone took him out first.”

Stark’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“That was the first round of gunfire,” Parker continued, skirting around the issue that he knew the others wanted him to address.

“So who shot a hail of bullets into your building and took out your would-be assassin, then?” Clint asked bluntly what everyone else was thinking, watching Peter’s face intently to read his lips.

The youngest member of the group fought the urge to scuff his feet on the floor as a delay tactic and instead forced himself to take a deep breath in, and slowly let it out, before answering lowly:

“Deadpool.”

The silence that met his response was practically deafening.

“Deadpool,” Natasha stated drily after a moment, “Wade Wilson took out the guy that was meant to kill you?”

Peter nodded, “I—didn’t get all the details but…from what I can surmise, he was hired to kill the guy. It was just…good timing that he did it before the guy had the opportunity to kill me, I guess.”

Another silence descended on the room.

“So then…what about the bomb? Was that Deadpool’s doing?” Cap asked, coming to stand in front of him.

Parker worried his lower lip.

“I—I’m not sure. I mean, I asked him—”

“You talked to him?!” Tony interjected loudly, his eyes glazed with anger, “is your cover blown? Does that crazy bastard know who you are?!”

Peter held up his hands, hoping to calm the older man.

“He—he knows my name is Peter Parker and someone was hired to kill me. He doesn’t know I’m Spider Man. I…with everything that happened, it just seemed the lesser of two evils to tell him a half-truth than try to completely lie. But there’s no way for him to connect the two. Seriously Tony, it’s fine—”

“Nothing is ever fine when it comes to that lunatic, you should know that, Parker! You were the one that wanted your identity to remain a secret, not me, you know my stance on the whole thing, kid, remember that. But now you’ve practically told your real name to the literal worse person you could ever tell. So, don’t be surprised when it comes back to bite you on the ass!”

The bespectacled man watched helplessly as Tony turned on his heel and stalked off towards the bar, away from them, but not completely out of ear shot.

Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye, before focusing back on the boy in front of him, “as much as I hate agreeing with Stark,” he began with a small smile, “he does have a point, son. Wade is…unstable at the best of times. And even though he may have good intentions occasionally, and has been an aid to us in the past, doesn’t mean that he is completely trustworth—”

“He saved my life,” Peter cut across Cap, his tone hardened, “not only did he stop the guy that was plotting to kill me, but he also shielded me from the other sniper that showed up, and got that bomb out of my building and into the alley, saving countless other lives!”

He paused to draw breath, surprised how rapidly his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Look, I know he has had his…moments, in the past, I was there too, remember? But…it’s like I said, he has no way of connecting Peter Parker with Spider Man, so really, I don’t know why we’re even discussing it. I told you what went down last night as a courtesy and maybe to get a little advice, not to be ridiculed or lectured on my choices. I’m not a child.”

The clank of a glass sounded behind him. Turning slightly, he watched as Tony poured himself a drink, taking a long gulp before sighing.

“No Peter, you’re not a child. But you are the most inexperienced out of us all, the newest member to all this, and are dealing with your first contract killer. I know you’ve dealt with your own brand of bad-guys before you joined us, but now that you are one of us, not only is your life more in danger, but so is every other facet of your existence, including everyone on this team.

“So, forgive us if we have some misgivings about letting Wade Goddamn Wilson be your gal-pal. The guy kills people for money, has absolutely no alliances and is as crazy as a sack of cats. The whole thing just reeks of bad idea.”

And there it was.

Peter knew that coming here and telling all wouldn’t yield the best results, but having it said plainly like that, really helped put things into perspective.

Didn’t mean he had to like it though.

“Now,” Tony continued, as if things were even remotely settled, “why don’t you go through everything again from the top. Then we can start figuring out how to fix this…”

~*~

Five Years Earlier…

Spider Man swung graciously from building to building, soaring through the chilly, winter air, his hazel orbs trained on the large, red-haired man that was currently thundering his way down the streets of New York City, giant duffle bag full of very stolen money, slung across his chest.

“Tired yet, Chuckie? ‘Cause I can do this all night,” Peter sing-songed over the roar of wind and passing traffic as he watched the robust man huff and puff, his cheeks rosy, his forehead glossy with sweat as he barrelled his way through pedestrians.

“S-Screw you!” the thief gasped, taking a turn down an alleyway, only to find himself met with a brick wall.

“Oops, looks like it’s the end of the line for you, buddy,” the web-slinger smirked, hopping down from the wall and landing behind the robber.

Suddenly, a cold sliver of steel was pressed into the back of his neck, the click of a gun being cocked reverberated in the alley.

“Actually, it looks like it’s the end of the line for you, web-head,” the red-head’s companion hissed as he emerged from the shadows behind him, digging the pistol further into Peter’s skin.

“Oh well now it’s a party,” Spider Man smirked with a roll of his eyes, leaping into the air, doing a somersault over the gun-wielder and adroitly landed behind him, shooting his webs to snatch the gun before weaving the criminal up like a tightly-wrapped burrito.

“You know, I would make a joke about a spider and its prey, but I really value my brand of humor and think I’m better than that,” an unfamiliar voice quipped from up above.

Confused, Peter glanced up to the roof to see a flash of red and black before he shot his webs at wannabe Carrot-Top, wrapping him up as well.

“Ooh someone’s a greedy Spidey,” the voice called again from the darkness.

“What…?” Peter muttered under his breath, stringing up the two criminals before taking the duffel bag of money (the precinct was on his way home anyway) and began scaling the wall and onto the roof.

“Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper I love you, birds singin’ in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me…” the voice was now singing softly as Peter approached the hunched over figure, clad head to toe in a black and red suit, eerily similar to his own.

“You must be Deadpool,” he stated, watching intently as the taller man stood up, wiping blood from the large katana, as well as what looked like taco meat from his mouth, before waving.

“Let me guess, my reputation precedes me,” he grinned cheerily.

“Something like that…” Peter murmured before stepping back against the ledge.

Truth was, he had heard many a thing about the mercenary, most of which weren’t exactly favourable. He wasn’t sure being alone with this guy was the best idea.

“Well, I gotta be go—”

“You gonna keep that money, Spidey? Maybe buy yourself some fly-filled burritos?” Deadpool cut across him with a tilt of his head.

Spider Man frowned, taking a glance at the duffel bag in his hand before turning back to the merc, “no, I’m not…you know, because it’s illegal.”

“Illegal…” Wilson repeated, tapping his chin as if he’d never heard the term before, “oh yeah, that’s the word good ol’ Captain America keeps throwin’ around every time I ask to join The Avengers. ‘Killing people is illegal, Deadpool.’ ‘Stealing weapons is illegal, Deadpool.’ ‘Walking around naked, is illegal, Deadpool.’”

Spider Man snorted, shaking his head. He had heard why the man was dubbed The Merc With The Mouth, and he was certainly living up to it.

“I mean,” Deadpool continued with a shrug, “what a lame excuse to exclude me from Heroes R Us. What about me isn’t tailor-made for that super-squad?”

Peter shrugged, brain scrambling for a reply, “I guess he could sometimes…doubt your commitment to…you know…saving people.”

“Yeah well, sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!”

A laugh bubbled up Peter’s throat at Wilson’s snappy retort, understanding the reference. The man in question went still, eyes on his mask widening comically.

“You can go suck a fuck,” the webbed-wonder said suddenly, tilting his head at Deadpool and waiting.

The merc gaped, not believing what he just heard.

“Oh please tell me Elizabeth…” he said slowly, taking a step forward, “how exactly does one suck a fuck?”

Peter slanted his chin, crossing his arms.

“You want me to tell you?”

A brief silence descended on the roof before the two men started to laugh, it melodious as it carried in the night air.

They stared at one another for a moment, as if both shocked that such an exchange did indeed happen, before Spider Man glanced over Deadpool’s shoulder, and nodded at the familiar fast-food wrappers that lay on the ground by one of his katanas.

“So is that what you do up here all night? Eat tacos and quote weird cult classics?”

“Hey, give me some credit,” Wilson responded with a wave of his hand, “I occasionally behead a bad guy or two.”

And that was Peter’s cue to leave…

“Well, I better get going,” he gestured behind him, “you know, bad-guys to deliver, money to return…” he trailed off, walking backwards to the ledge.

Deadpool scrambled forward, hands held up, pointing at Peter’s arm, “you know, it’s a pity the webs aren’t like built in or anything like in Tobey Maguire’s run…but I guess, for accuracy’s sake, you being part spider and all, your webs would have to shoot outta your butt!”

The brunet stared at him.

“I uh…have to go, now…” he replied with a confused tone, not knowing what the hell the other man was talking about, but electing just to ignore it and taking another step backwards.

“Aww already?” the mercenary whined like a small child told he can’t have ice-cream before dinner, “but we were just gettin’ to know each other! I’ve heard all about you Spidey and I gotta say, you’re all kinds of awesome! Do you want a taco? We could talk some more about Donnie Dar—”

“You know, I would like to,” Peter interjected, his brain racing a mile a minute, not too sure what to say, but not wanting to insult the man, “but I really should get going. Maybe some other time?”

The merc faltered a little, his posture deflating as he nodded, looking a little distracted, no longer looking at Peter.

“So uh…it was nice to meet you?” the brunet murmured uncertainly, standing up on the ledge, “I’ll probably see you around,” he finished, before leaping off the roof, shooting his web at the opposite building and swinging away.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Spidey!” he heard the mercenary call after him. “I’m Wade, by the way! Wade Winston Wilson, if you’re nasty!”

~*~

Present Day…

Turns out, when Tony Stark was pissed about something, he could very well make it seem like one moment was stretched into an eternity – which would explain Peter’s giant headache and exhaustion as he walked back to his apartment, later that morning.

The other reason could be the fact that Wade kept him up all night snoring and talking in his sleep from his post on the floor by Peter’s bed. The two had fought briefly over sleeping arrangements, the brunet not even entertaining the merc’s commentary on cuddling or spooning, they eventually deciding on the floor being the best place, as the larger man’s form had no chance at fitting on his tiny couch.

Peter wasn’t born yesterday, he was smart enough to conveniently leave out the fact that the mercenary now happened to be staying with him under the guise of being his ‘bodyguard’ when he was running down the events of last night to his teammates, but couldn’t help but be bothered by the feeling of dread creeping into his chest with every step he took towards home.

He had time to reflect on it, and now he wasn’t feeling sure about the whole bodyguard deal he struck to try and keep his other identity secret. He was playing a tough game, a risky one, he knew that, but after everything he witnessed, from Wade saying him from bullets, and then everyone from a bomb, he couldn’t bring himself to ask the man to leave.

The two of them had been through a lot since meeting five years ago. He had been thinking about the night in question as he neared his building, remembering how the two of them bonded over their mutual love of Donnie Darko. A small smile spread across his face as he recalled how Wade had wanted to keep talking, even offered to share his food (something that was practically unheard of) if Peter would stay and talk with him.

It was funny, despite hearing all the horror stories about the merc, Peter had been tempted to take him up on his offer. He had been in a bad place at that time (it being less than a year since Gwen’s death) and he felt starved of human interaction. Alas, the duties of a hero came first, and he had to leave, but he remembered how he thought about that meeting, the strange guy with the similar suit bantering with him, for a long time afterwards.

He couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the mercenary. What little pieces of information he uncovered of Wade’s past was never anything but horrid and depressing, and knew how the man was shunned by most superheroes in the vicinity, dubbed a menace for his actions.

Whilst Peter certainly didn’t agree with his status as a killer for hire, over the years he had seen some good in the merc, a glimmer of something that convinced him not to completely write the man off as a crazy killer, or at least not just that. He couldn’t explain it, not really, but it had been enough to convince the others to give the man a chance on occasion. And while those occasions had not been without their hitches, the times when Deadpool did team up with him or other members of The Avengers, his enthusiasm and desire to help in his own misguided way was mind-bogglingly endearing…

Which was what ultimately convinced Peter, as he reached his front door, to conclude that while this plan definitely wasn’t his smartest, he had to give Wade a shot, just one. He deserved that much…

“Wade…?” he called as he opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him and heading for his bedroom.

“Sorry I took a bit longer than I thought I would. There was a long line at the—” Peter broke off as he was met by an empty room.

With a frown, he made his way to the bathroom, finding it void of anyone too.

Trepidation crept further into his chest as he searched the rest of his place, still seeing no sign of the other man.

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his eye catching on something on his bed. Edging closer, he picked it up – the note he’d left this morning, crumpled into a ball.

Peter’s heart sank.

“Wade?”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

My heart hurts.

It’s only temporary Wade, I promise.

Better be. This is almost as sad as the first ten minutes of Up!

[Oh no, he’s thinking about Up again]

Why, Ellie?!

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

“Nice suit, by the way…I almost thought you were Spider Man the first time I saw you around town,” Peter smirked, leaning back against the wall.

“Whatever you heard, I did not copy the look…I just…perfected it,” Deadpool winked, “besides, there’s no way you could ever really mistake me for that string-bean cutie.”

“You’re telling me you’re not cute under that mask?” the words erupted from Peter’s mouth without his permission, he immediately regretting them and forcing himself not to wince in response.

“Hey,” Wade stepped toward him, pointing a finger in his face, “I’ll have you know that I’m fine as hell, okay? Some may say I even look like Canada’s Sweetheart Ryan Reynolds!”

Chapter Text

Forget what anyone said about Mondays, it was Thursdays that sucked ass.

Thursdays were the day-time equivalent of a root canal, that sneeze that just won’t come, and a surprise pop quiz after you’ve spent the whole semester sleeping.

Basically, Thursdays were the bane of Peter Parker’s existence.

“PARKER! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOUR DAMN PICTURES?! I DON’T PAY YOU TO JUST HANG AROUND WITH YOUR BUDDY HOLLY GLASSES, LIBERAL AGENDA AND FIVE DOLLAR HAIR CUT!”

And the reason why Thursdays sucked so much? Three words. John Jonah Jameson.

“I left them on your desk, sir,” Peter elected to reply instead of webbing the brash man’s mouth shut like he desperately wanted to at least three times a day, since he began working at The Daily Bugle as a teenager.

Jameson scattered around dozens of sheets of paper in front of him, before throwing his hands up in a huff.

“Marge! MARGE! Where are Parker’s pictures of that flying costumed menace?!”

Marjorie, Jameson’s put-upon secretary, who clearly did something awful in a past life to warrant having to deal with such a man every single day, waltzed into the room and exchanged a quick knowing glance with Peter before gesturing, “they are right there, Mr. Jameson. On your desk…an inch from your left hand.”

The salt-and-pepper-haired man froze, glancing down at his hand and back up again.

“Well, what are you waiting for Marge, a medal? Skedaddle! Me and Steve Urkel here need to have words!”

Marge turned on her heel and left the room without a backwards glance, letting the door slam behind her.

That woman needs a 500% raise and 360 vacation days…

“What, are you just gonna stand there all day like an unemployed grad student busking his way through Europe to pay for his ticket home to mommy? Sit down Parker!” Jameson growled, interrupting Peter’s mental admiration of Marge, slapping his desk and jostling his coffee, drops of it spilling out over onto the pages at his elbows.

The brunet sat in the seat opposite his boss, trampling down the familiar urge to web the guy up like one of those disgusting cigars he always smoked despite it being against regulations.

“Good,” Jameson nodded, standing up and clasping his hands behind him, walking around his desk and halting a foot from Peter, before pacing back and forth.

“Now, as you may not have heard, thanks to your generation’s incessant need to be glued to your phones playing Angry Crush and Candy Birds, here in the epicentre of relevance, good ol’ fashioned paper and ink, we report on what the people need to know. And what the people need to know, Parker…” he paused, leaning forward dramatically, towering over the bewildered younger man, “…is that Spider Man, the little havoc-wreaking freak of nature, is finally dead.”

Well, those were some words Peter definitely didn’t expect to hear when he got up this morning.

“Uh…dead, Sir?” he asked, brow furrowed, shifting in his seat.

“DEAD!” Jameson boomed before catching himself, glancing around for a moment and lowering his voice, “…but it’s all hush-hush, for now. My source only confirmed it last night. We run with the story first thing tomorrow, so I want you to go through your little stalker scrap book and find me your best picture of the dearly departed degenerate, the one that most says I-think-I’m-better-than-everyone-else and bring it here to me before 6pm to—”

“Sorry Sir but,” Peter held up his hands, leaning forward in his seat, “how can you know for sure that Spider Man is actually—”

“Remember that apartment block that was evacuated because some wacko with a rifle shot up the place? The same building that had a bomb go off the alley behind it?” the editor cut across Peter’s protests with an excited wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Well, turns out that a small scrap of evidence was left at the scene. A piece of red fabric, fabric that Mr. Fashionista himself has been known to wear…right beside about a gallon of blood. There is also an eye-witness account of the stupid web-head running into the alley so he must have tried to disarm a bomb and it blew up in his face, LITERALLY! Talk about poetic justice!”

Peter was torn between irate scowling and sheer bafflement. J. Jonah Jameson was never his biggest fan, sure, he knew that, but to hear him now speak so callously about his alter-ego’s apparent death, really rubbed him the wrong way.

He couldn’t help but think that Wade would have turned that into an innuendo.

And he was thinking about Wade again…

Over the last two nights, he had laid awake, staring up at his ceiling, the shadows casting dark, misshapen ink blots onto the walls in the dead of night. If he tried hard enough, he could make pictures out of them as he tossed and turned, and when he did, whether it was his mind playing tricks on him or not, the images formed things that looked awfully like sharp swords, machine guns and tacos – all things Wade Wilson.

He should have gone after him…

Except, Peter Parker wasn’t meant to know how to find the elusive Deadpool. Hell, even Spider Man would have had a hard time, although it wasn’t impossible.

After wracking his brain, the bespectacled man still had no idea what drove the mercenary to leave his home, but knowing Wade, it could be anything from receiving another job to trying to satiate his seemingly insatiable hunger. The crumpled note on his bed however, had inexplicably made his blood run cold at the sheer sight of it. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt that Wade’s reasoning for getting the hell outta dodge, may have been more than just craving Mexican food.
It was that very thought that had kept him up for the last two nights.

It’s true, Peter and Wade were never what you would call incredibly close friends, but, over the years, they had certainly built up a rapport, an acquaintanceship, an attentive if somewhat tumultuous friendship. While wildly differing in everything from world view, to morality, to their favourite flavour of ice-cream, it was their undeniable ability to somehow make the other laugh even in the direst and sometimes most inappropriate of times, the striking of quick conversation out of nowhere and their sheer, albeit odd connection, that helped push Peter’s previously established lines…

~*~

Four Years, 8 Months and Six Days Earlier…

“Well, well, well, Charlotte, how’s your web?”

“If I’m Charlotte, does that make you Wilbur?”

Deadpool let out a snort as he swung his legs back and forth over the ledge of the building.

“Rambunctious and strongly emotional…nope, doesn’t sound like me.”

“Are you reading that from the Wikipedia page?” Spider Man asked as he took a seat beside the mercenary who had his phone in hand, scrolling rapidly.

He shrugged, before pocketing said phone and reached behind him.

“Fancy chicken taco with lime cilantro crema, lightly seasoned with cumin and paprika. Your favourite,” he paused, holding out the taco, its delicious aroma wafting from it and making the teen’s stomach growl.

The web-slinger stared silently at the older man, highly aware that in the last two minutes, he had referenced one of Peter’s favourite books and foods.

“How…how do you know what my favourite taco is?”

It had become a thing. Despite Peter’s best efforts to avoid it, these rooftop meetings were becoming more and more frequent between the two red-clad spandex enthusiasts over the last three months or so. Whether fighting side by side, or arguing and getting into each other’s faces over various jobs that a certain someone may have taken (Deadpool) and people certain others wanted to protect (Spider Man) the two had seen each other a lot over the last while. The rooftop rendezvous afterward, though. That had just sorta…happened.

“Come on Spidey, take the taco…it won’t bite. Growing boys need their sustenance,” Deadpool dodged his question, waving the tightly wrapped food in front of his face teasingly.

With a sigh, the ‘growing boy’ in question shook his head and indeed took the taco, his gloved fingers brushing against Deadpool’s slightly. The other man tensed at the contact and snatched his hand back, trying (and failing) to make it appear as if he was smoothly moving to rub the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” Peter murmured, ignoring the man’s uneasiness and taking a bite of the frankly delectable treat.

“Always so polite,” the merc smirked, clearly amused at the younger man’s manners before tucking into his own food with the ferociousness of a mountain lion.

“And uh…” Spider Man began after a moment of transfixed awe at the nature documentary that was unfolding in front of his eyes, “thanks for…you know…helping out back there.”

The eyes on Deadpool’s mask widened at the words as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

“Mrrumph nooosh probablab,” he replied, bits of food spraying everywhere, the sliver of scarred skin on display now shiny with a thin layer of grease.

Peter fought a grimace as he caught himself staring at Wilson’s jawline, and not for the first time. He had to admit, what little he knew of the mercenary, was enough to make him have nightmares about what could have possibly caused those scars. They looked…painful. And deep. And with the sheen of grease, under the glow of street lights, they appeared…haunting.

Was that what drove him crazy?

The thought flittered into his head without warning. This was the third time he had seen Wade with his mask rolled up slightly, and it was still as distracting as it had been the first time, but not for the reasons one may think. He wasn’t gawking, wasn’t disgusted by the scars…he was mesmerized by the enigmatic backstory behind him. As hypocritical as it may sound (wanting to protect his own personal life and all) the web-slinger was fascinated by everything that led up to the Canadian killer-for-hire being exactly where he was now.

Peter knew that The Avengers were all aware of Wade’s past, but, as he was not (yet) part of their team, the teen was not privy to such information…not matter how many times he asked whenever he came across Captain Rogers or Mr. Stark.

With a shake of his head, Wade distracted Parker as he brought a hand up to wipe his mouth murmuring, “it was uh…no problem, Spidey. Glad I could help out. Never can pass up an opportunity to flex my heroic muscles when The Avengers are around. You never know when a new spot could open up!”

It was a badly kept secret that Wade Wilson worshipped the ground The Avengers walked on, and desperately desired to become their newest ally. On the last couple of occasions that they interacted, Deadpool had regaled Spider Man with his many epic plans of impressing every member of the elite team, each more fantastical than the next.

“I hear The Hulk loves knock-knock jokes,” was this evening’s recognisance apparently.

“Really? And you know that how exactly?”

It always went like this. Wade said something outlandish, and Peter would humor him. Mostly for his own entertainment. After all, the merc-with-the-mouth was anything but boring.

“I’ve got my ways, Spidey,” Deadpool smirked, tapping his nose before tilting towards Peter slightly, whispering conspiratorially, “knock, knock!”

“Who’s there?” the younger man found himself asking before he could talk himself out of it.

“Spider,” the grin laced in Wilson’s tone was evident.

Peter fought a sigh.

“Spider who?”

“Spider what everyone says, I like you!” Wade finished before erupting into a booming laugh, quickly followed by a girlish giggle that was quite unbecoming for such a large, muscular individual.

The brunet couldn’t help a wry smile, but revelled in rolling his eyes at the truly terrible attempt at humour.

“Be sure to duck when The Hulk’s fist comes flying at your face after you tell him that,” he murmured, taking another bite of his taco.

Deadpool waved dismissively, “that’s comedy gold! No way Mr. Tall, Green and Angry doesn’t crack an itsy bitsy smile. Ha, get it?! Itsy bitsy! Man, I’m on fire, tonight.”

Peter shook his head, wondering not for the first time how he came to be here, eating tacos with the guy who would crack lame jokes one minute, and your neck, the next.

“It’s your funeral,” he shrugged, morbidly hoping that he be there when the merc tries to tell that joke to the green Avenger.

“Ha! Funeral! Me! Good one, Spidey!” Wade chuckled, apparently tickled at the thought of his own demise.

Before Peter could comment on Wade’s somewhat morbid sense of what was amusing, the merc was clearing his throat loudly and mumbling something under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” the brunet leaned toward him slightly, “didn’t quite catch that.”

Deadpool’s hand reached behind his neck, rubbing it gently again before letting out a short cough, “I said I…do…uh…like you.”

Peter knew that if his face was visible, he would be gaping openly at the older man, his brain completely frozen and failing to reboot.

Apparently unnerved by his companion’s silence, Wade tapped on his now jiggling knee and rushed to continue: “I—what I mean is that…I mean…you’re alright, kid, you know?  For a whiny web-head who’s always tryin’ to ruin my fun. Don’t let it go to your head or anything…thing’s already big enough.”

It was a good a save as any, Peter supposed.

“You’re…alright too, Deadpool. You know…for a loud-mouth mercenary who’s always tryin’ to add to my fun…usually with explosives. And sexual innuendo.”

“In your end-o,” Wade couldn’t help but add with a cheeky grin as Spider Man heaved a put-upon sigh, knowing it would not be his last whenever he was in this guy’s company.

It truly was the beginning of a beautifully fucked up friendship…

~*~
Present Day…

“Thank you for being a friend…travel down the road and back again…your heart is true, you’re a pal and confidant. And if you’re threw a partaaaay, invited every one you knew, you would see the biggest gift would be from me and the card attached would say…thank you for being a frieeeeend!”

{Who told this guy he could sing?}

[Probably the same idiot that told him he could write poetry]

“Oh Bea Arthur…more like Bea still my beating heart,” Wade Wilson sighed into his giant bowl of guacamole, a dozen nachos clenched in his gloved fist that he was now sloshing around in the green dip.

[So…another day watching Golden Girls re-runs, huh? That’s what we’re doing with our never-ending life?]

{He’s sulking}

[Pining]

{Pathetic really}

“That smile’s foolin’ nobody Rose!” Wade yelled at the TV as Betty White came into view, aiming to drown out his insufferable boxes.

[Aww that’s so cute. He thinks he can ignore us]

{Adorable}

[Think he’ll drill another hole in his head? That shit was hilarious last time]

Wade gripped his beer tightly, jaw clenched, as the voices continued to converse about him smarmily.

{Nah…it’ll probably take him thinking about little Petey Pie before he breaks out the power tools}

[And not the sexy kind]

“SHUT UP!” the merc roared, leaping up from the couch, the bowl of guacamole tumbling to the floor and shattering into a thousand pieces.

{It seems we’ve hit a nerve}

A growl escaped the mercenary’s throat, his chest heaving with each deep breath.

[Well mark me down as scared and horny]

{Man, don’t you miss SNL? Why aren’t we marathoning the shit outta that?}

[Because Mr. Pissbaby here is too focused on pining over nerdy college kid to appreciate Bill Hader’s genius]

“I’m. Not. Pining!” Wade hissed, before chugging the rest of his beer and throwing the bottle at the wall with a resounding thump, satisfied as it too smashed into bits, large shards of glass raining down to the floor.

{Oh and Andy Samberg! Remember that guy’s run? Epic!}

[Oh yeah, he rocks]

“What? You two ignoring me now?” Wade asked, eyes narrowed.

[Mmm whatcha say]

“Very funny. You shoulda been a fuckin’ comedian,” Wilson grit out, snatching up another beer from the battered coffee table and ripping off the cap with his teeth.

{He knows it’s not even noon, right?}

[Alcohol and pining tend to go hand in hand]

“I said I’m not fucking pi—”

Suddenly, four booming knocks resonated throughout the apartment, interrupting him.

{Creepy}

[Very Doctor Who]

{Does this mean we’re finally gonna die?}

[Not till April]

“Mr. Wilson?” a male voice called out from behind the door.

[Ooh ‘Mister.’ Aren’t we fancy?]

Wade retrieved his gun from its hiding place in the couch cushion and approached the door with cat-like agility, barely making a sound.

“I’m unarmed, Mr. Wilson. I’m aware of your proclivity towards weaponry and…violence, so I’m approaching you unarmed and alone as a sign of good faith. I’m just here to talk,” the voice continued with an air of clearly practised professionalism.

“Nobody’s home,” Wade called out, leaning towards the peep hole.

[Let’s give him a minute to think that through]

“Please, Mr. Wilson. I ask for five minutes of your time,” the voice paused a moment before adding slightly louder, “you will be compensated.”

[Cha-ching!]

{If I had eyes, there would be dollar signs in them}

[Go on, let him in then. You heard him. Alone and unarmed]

{Poor misguided bastard}

Keeping his gun raised, Wade used his other hand to unlock the door, throwing it open wide, revealing a tall man in a sharp suit with thinning brown hair.

“Mr. Wilson,” he began, eyes flickering to the gun before focusing back on Wade’s masked face, “I’m Agent Coulson.”

The merc stared silently at the other man for an instant, before tilting his head.

“Coulson? Shouldn’t you be like injecting blue alien blood and going all psycho Banksy on a wall or whatever the hell is goin’ on in your show right now?”

The agent frowned, clearly bewildered, before the cool and collected mask came across his features once again.

“Mr. Wilson, may I come in?”

Wade’s eyes narrowed, raking in every inch of the man’s appearance before taking a step back, allowing him to pass.

Coulson, tactful as ever, didn’t grimace at the state of the place, the stench of dried blood and rotten food hanging in the air or the multiple mysterious stains that covered the room, and merely took a stand by the window, hands clasped behind his back.

“So, since when do Directors make house-calls? Didn’t think I was that high on SHIELD’s priority list what with Hydra running rampant and tearing you apart like velcro off a stripper,” Deadpool commented, lowering his gun but remaining very much on guard.

For his worth, the Agent of SHIELD didn’t wince at the merc’s crude summary of his organisation’s plight.

“We’re in dark times, Mr. Wilson. House-calls are a requirement every now and again…especially in circumstances such as these…” he trailed off enigmatically.

{Ooh mysterious}

[I think this guy gets off on all the cloak and dagger crap]

“Circumstances such as these…” Wade began, tapping his chin, “and what would they be, exactly?”

The agent’s eyebrow quirked, “like when you’re tasked to take out a trusted employee of Tony Stark.”

Deadpool scowled.

“Hold up blue balls,” he held up his hand and took a step towards the agent, “I was hired to take out some dude called Haynes or Groves or some shit. He was some middle-aged muscle for the cartel – not really Stark Industries material.”

Coulson faltered for a moment as those words sank in.

“You mean you weren’t hired to assassinate Peter Parker?”

The air was knocked from Wade’s lungs.

[Why are the Super Humdrum Inquisitive Egomaniacal and Laughably Dull interested in Petey Pie?]

{I thought it stood for Supremely Hellish Interfering Extremist Lackadaisical Division?]

“Why are the Strategic Hazard Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division interested in some harmless college kid from Queens?”

{Impressive}

[I still prefer my version]

“You…” Coulson took a step towards him, seeming intrigued, “you know Mr. Parker?”

Deadpool’s scowl deepened.

“Well, duh. I mean, you did just accuse me of tryin’ to take him out. And seen as I have a feeling you didn’t mean ‘take out’ as in the wine and dine kind, it would suggest that I’d have to do at least some basic recon on the guy.”

[Why does everyone think just any regular idiot can be a world-class mercenary?]

{Because the world-class mercenary in question is Wade Wilson?}

[Oh yeah]

“But you said you were hired to kill some cartel muscle, not a college kid. So, that begs the question, how are you familiar with Peter Parker?” the agent pressed, not deterred in the slightest by the angry clench to Wade’s jaw.

The Canadian shrugged, “let’s just say I cock-blocked my guy before he could ‘take out’ your guy.”

Coulson hummed, mulling over that information, a crease forming on his brow.

“So, someone hired you to kill the guy trying to kill Stark’s star pupil. Why?”

{That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?}

[I dunno, I think with an ass like that, Petey’s worth a bit more]

“Well, you’re the one in the business of knowing the answers to covert questions, Mr. Agent. Not me. Now, if that’s all,” Wade motioned to the door, tiring of his inquiring house-guest.

“Who hired you?”

Wade stilled, turning back towards Coulson, his spine dead-straight.

[Only part of him that is]

{Sexually and physically}

[Bow chicka wow wow]

“A disembodied voice over the phone,” Wade elected to reply, inexplicably feeling generous towards the agent who looked like he had easier days.

“So, no name then,” the man stated rather than asked, looking at something over the mercenary’s shoulder.

“Got the money upfront. Didn’t really see a need to ask any questions,” Wilson shrugged, before flipping his gun up in the air and catching it again.

“They said you were difficult…impossible to have a reasonable conversation with,” Coulson commented, sounding surprised at the ease of the exchange, eyes trained on the gun that was now back in the other man’s hand, his own fingers flexing in desire to reach for the hidden glock in his ankle holster.

“And you said you were alone and unarmed,” Wade replied, whipping out a second gun from nowhere, holding it in his left hand towards Coulson, before turning on his heel and pointing his other gun at the head of an aggravated-looking Asian woman as she held her own pistol on him.

{Hottie alert}

[Think of all the beautiful angry sex we could have]

“Stand down, Agent May,” Coulson murmured, hand held out in a calming gesture that would definitely not work on either of them.

“You said five minutes. It’s been six,” she replied curtly, never taking her eyes off Wade.

“No need to worry, your boyfriend’s virtue is still intact,” Deadpool smirked.

“You get what you need?” May ignored him, instead looking towards her colleague.

Coulson minutely nodded before raising both hands, palms outwards, and stepping around the mercenary towards the door.

“It really was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Wilson. Your reputation precedes you,” he remarked with the smallest of smiles.

“Always happy to entertain,” he responded, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “give my best to Fury.”

“Fury’s dead.”

Wade snorted, “and I’m Shirley Temple.”

“Really? I love your movies,” Coulson grinned before turning on his heel and following Melinda ‘The Calvalry’ May out, closing the door behind him.

“Hey! What about my compensation?!” Deadpool yelled after him, only to be met with silence.

{I think your compensation was that hot angry lady not tapping you twice in head with her pistol}

[Well that was weird…and rude]

{Understatement of the century}

[Do SHIELD typically get involved with the murder plot of some kid? Stark wonder boy or not?]

{Petey must be special}

[Like we didn’t already know that]

{But why?}

“No idea,” Wade murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, a trepidation rising in his chest at what he was about to suggest, “but I’m gonna find out.”

[Does that mean you’re done with your pity party? Because I gotta say, it wasn’t nearly as fun to watch as we thought]

{Yeah. And we need more visual aids for our spank bank}

“Someone’s still trying to kill the kid,” Wade began pacing the floor, “and…it would be a sad day for humanity to lose an ass like that,” he surmised as he began gathering his weaponry, “and I can keep my distance. Totally. Can do. So, just a little recon, that’s all. Doesn’t mean I need to become best buds with him or anything…” he trailed off, a little lost in the fantasy of what that would be like, before snapping himself out of it, “I’m just scratching my itchy curiosity, that’s all. There’s something…off about all this, and I want to know what.”

{So… that’s a no to the SNL marathon then?}

~*~

Peter Parker rolled his aching shoulders as he trudged towards Jitters coffee shop after leaving J. Jonah Jameson’s office.

He had only been there for a half hour, but it may as well have been an eternity. Mere moments in that man’s presence was enough to render even the most patient person irrevocably incensed within an inch of their lives. And now, to top it all off, he had to go into the lab and spend an indeterminate amount of hours hunched over a microscope (which usually he wouldn’t mind but after the nightmare that was the editor of The Bugle, it was a special type of torture) before then making a round-trip back to Jameson’s office with what would likely be his last batch of pictures of the ‘dearly departed degenerate’ that was Spider Man.

The never-ending slew of Terrible Thursdays had struck again.

And what a particularly terribly Thursday it was proving to be. The editor of The Daily Bugle thought Spider Man was dead…and revelled in it. He could barely contain himself at the notion of running the story across the front page for all the world to see tomorrow morning and Peter had no idea what he was going to do about it.

Was there anything he could do?

“…-get you, Sir? Sir?” a voice called suddenly, snapping him from his reverie.

Blinking, Peter glanced up to find a concerned barista staring at him.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, a blush colouring his cheeks at having been caught daydreaming.

“I asked what I could get you?” the black-haired girl clarified with a gentle smile, her whiskey-toned eyes sparkling a little.

“Oh, right, sorry. Yes, I’ll have—”

The brunet broke off as the familiar tingling sensation crept up his spine. Turning his head to his right, Peter’s hazel gaze was drawn to a rooftop where a small bright light glimmered against the afternoon sun.

“Everybody get down!” he yelled just as a burst of gunfire erupted around him.

Peter leapt across the counter top, colliding roughly with some glass jars before tugging the alarmed barista down behind it as various foodstuffs exploded, glass shattered and rained to the floor, the cracking sound of bullets lodging in everything but their primary target surrounding them as the rest of the customers screamed and scrambled to take cover.

When there was a lull in shooting, a crouched Peter spared a quick glance out and saw that the rooftop was empty. With frantic eyes he looked up and down it again, but there was still no one to be seen. Police sirens in the distance, steadily nearing the coffee shop rang in his ears as he helped the barista to her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, gripping her elbows firmly but not too tightly.

White as a sheet with shock, the girl merely nodded, now anxiously eyeing about her to check on her colleagues and customers.

“Is anybody hurt?” she asked quietly, before clearing her throat and repeating herself louder for everybody else to hear.

When a chorus of ‘no’ greeted her, Peter decided it was about time he split. Nothing aroused suspicion more than being in the middle of two attempted shootings in less than a week. The last cop interview he had given had taken forever, so he didn’t desire to have to suffer through another one any time soon. So, when the barista was distracted, he edged towards the side-entrance door, taking one last quick glance around him, and once he found that indeed everyone was unharmed, he made a hasty exit, out into the alley.

He barely got ten steps however before he was wrenched roughly backwards, hand covering his mouth and dragging him in the other direction. In an instant, Peter broke free from the strong grip, whirled around and grabbed hold of the person, shoving them back against the wall with force.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, Petey Pie, it’s just me,” Wade Wilson’s voice broke through his adrenaline-fueled haze.

His grasp on Deadpool’s shoulders slackened but didn’t let go as the man in question came into focus. Breathing heavily up into the merc’s face, Peter glared daggers at him, his hazel eyes flashing angrily behind his glasses.

“What the hell, Deadpool?! Is this how you spend your days? Hiding in alleys and trying to abduct people?!” he barked, chest heaving as he fought to calm down.

The mercenary shrugged, “not usually…but if this is the reception I get, I could start,” he smirked, leaning a little closer to him so that their torsos were touching.

Peter’s grip on Wade’s shoulders tightened minutely for a moment before he let out a growl, taking a step back. His first foot barely collided with the ground however before he was pulled back, albeit much gentler this time.

“You’re hurt,” Wade murmured softly, one hand holding him in place as the other ghosted an inch from his shirt, his gaze zeroing in on a spot on the younger man’s shoulder.

“Wha—” Peter broke off as he glanced down, just a little to the right of his clavicle, where his check button-down shirt was now stained crimson.

Wracking his brain, the brunet concluded that it must have happened when he collided with the jar of coffee beans as he jumped the counter-top.

“It’s…nothing. I’ll be fine,” he dismissed, acutely aware that Deadpool was very much still touching him.

The merc had already witnessed his super-strength on more than one occasion, so he really had to reign it in around him. With a grimace, Peter tested the waters and tried to step back, surprised when Wade let him go, apparently realizing that he was still holding onto him and letting his hands drop with an awkward clearing of his throat.

“I uh…I tried to catch the guy on the roof but the bastard was like fucking Road-Runner,” he grumbled, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “so I took care of the security cameras instead,” he gestured to the camera that was above the side-door, “had a feelin’ you wouldn’t want the cops seein’ you in the middle of another shooting.”

Peter’s eyebrows raised.

“Thanks,” he replied sincerely, quietly admitting to himself that was incredibly smart and something he had forgotten about in all the madness.

Wade shrugged, and it was in that moment that Peter really took him in, his eyes raking over the larger man.

“What are you wearing?”

He knew that if he could see Wade’s face, Peter would witness a sheepish grin spread across it.

“It’s my uh…my Spider Man hoodie. What, you think I rock the spandex 24/7? It’s my day off, dude.”

He really was a sight to behold. Deadpool mask very much still on his face, and yet, everything else he wore was…casual. Red and black hoodie that Peter knew had to have his emblem on the back, faded and tattered jeans, and converse that had certainly seen better days.

It was…weird, seeing the usually spandex-clad and armed to the teeth mercenary like this, to say the least.

“Okay well uh…I—I gotta get going. I gotta get to work—”

“Hell no!” the merc interjected, taking a step towards him.

“You’re taking a sick day. Call your boss, tell them you’ve got a bad case of conjunctivas, cooties, the clap, I don’t care, but there’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere public. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s some crazy dude with a sniper rifle trying to make spaghetti outta your brains and you don’t strike me as the type to cause the harm of innocent bystanders.”

Peter opened his mouth only to firmly snap it shut again. He hated to admit it, but the guy had a point.

“Thought so,” Wade nodded, before gesturing to his arm.

“Now…let’s get that looked at before it gets infected and falls off, ‘cause somethin’ tells me it won’t grow back.”

~*~

If you had told Peter Parker less than a week ago that Wade Wilson would be a guest in his home, not once, but twice in so many days, he would have laughed in your face.

Had you then told him that said house guest would take it upon himself to become his personal nurse, he probably would have slapped you.

“Now, you sit down there Petey, and let Nurse Wade take care of you,” Deadpool murmured, gently pushing Peter down to sit on his kitchen table before rummaging through his first aid kit.

“Have you been going through my medicine cabinet?”

The mercenary stilled for a fraction before replying, “well, yeah. You were clearly not gonna be able to tend to yourself, the wound being at that angle, so this made the most sense.”

“Because you’re all about being sensible,” Peter couldn’t help but gripe with a roll of his eyes.

To his surprise, Wade let out a booming laugh.

“You know, I can see why Spidey likes you so much. Not only do you take killer pictures, you’re funny too!”

The bespectacled boy wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he just silently offered him a half-hearted shrug (his shoulder was starting to ache now that the adrenaline had worn off) and a small smile.

“Hey…” Wilson began as he upchucked the first aid kit onto the table; gauze, band-aids and bandages flying everywhere, “you uh…haven’t seen our favourite arachnid anywhere, have you?”

Peter tensed, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he forced himself to sound casual.

“No, I haven’t. Not in a few days. I just figured he was off doing Avenger stuff…”

The mercenary nodded, accepting that response before turning to him, his larger frame looming over Peter even as he sat at an elevated height.

“Take off your shirt.”

Peter’s heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing into his ears.

“W-What?”

Wade let out another laugh.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll be gentle…” he cooed before his tone turned a little more serious, “I can’t get at your wound with your shirt on.”

Heat rose in the younger man’s cheeks.

“Oh…right,” he mumbled, his fingers slowly undoing his shirt, wincing as pulled his arms through one at a time and let it fall to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his undershirt.

[Hubba hubba]

{How many times do I have to remind you about Point of View?!}

[Oh come on. Like I was gonna let this happen without saying anything. I’m only human]

{No you’re not}

[Nope. But the big guy is. And he’s damn near a heart attack]

Peter cleared his throat, nervously avoiding Wade’s frozen gaze as he stood in front of him, rooted to the spot, antiseptic in one hand and cotton ball in another.

“Uh, right—” the assassin seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had gone in to, “so…this will probably sting like a motherfucker.”

Talk about not mincing words.

Before his patient could comment, Wade pressed the soaked cotton ball to his injured shoulder with unexpected care.

Peter held back a hiss as it did indeed begin to sting like hell despite the ‘nurse’s’ gentleness, hoping against hope that his healing factor wouldn’t quite kick in yet so that a bandage could at least be applied to cover the fact that his arm that would no doubt but as good as new in a short while.

“There. All clean!” Deadpool sing-songed happily as he wiped his skin, revealing the long but shallow wound that lay underneath the dried blood.

“Told you it was just a scratch,” the web-slinger couldn’t help but grouse.

“You did,” Deadpool agreed before selecting a thin bandage and beginning to apply it.

Once he was done, he stepped back to admire his work with a tilt of his head.

Peter couldn’t help but feel like he was being examined under a microscope and desperately wished he could bend down and pick up his shirt.

As if reading his mind, the merc did just that, kneeling to retrieve the shirt from off the floor, looking up on bended knee at the brunet, before holding the garment out for him to take.

Peter swallowed, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden as he hastily took the shirt from him, avoiding his gaze as he put awkwardly put it back on, ignoring the large blood stain marring it.

“Thanks,” he said lowly to the floor as he hopped down from the table.

“Hey, I’m just returning the favour,” Wade shrugged, standing up. “You did—oh what did you call it? ‘Piece me back together like a grotesque puzzle’ a few days ago, so it’s no biggie.”

The stark reminder of that harrowing experience burst through the forefront of his mind like a macabre film reel, before Peter shoved it back into the dark recesses of his brain with a shudder.

Purely for something to say, he gestured to the mercenary’s attire, “nice hoodie, by the way.”

Wilson glanced down at himself, “thanks. I made it myself.”

At those words, Peter was reminded of earlier that day, something that he should probably talk to Wade about, occurring to him.

“You make your suit too, right?” he began, walking around him, forcing a laugh, “you know, I almost thought you were Spider Man the first time I saw you around town.”

“Whatever you’ve heard, I did not copy the look…I just…perfected it,” Deadpool winked, folding his arms, “besides, there’s no way you could ever really mistake me for that string-bean cutie.”

“You’re telling me you’re not cute under that mask?” the words erupted from Peter’s mouth without his permission, he immediately regretting them; forcing himself not to wince in response as he leaned back against the wall.

“Hey,” Wade stepped toward him, pointing a finger in his face, “I’ll have you know that I’m fine as hell, okay? Some may say I even look like Canada’s Sweetheart Ryan Reynolds!

“I don’t know who that is…” the brunet shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Wade gave a scandalized squawk.

“How dare you,” he gaped, “how could you not know who Ryan Reynolds is?!”

At Peter’s continued blank face, he began to pace back and forth, listing on his fingers: “he played such iconic characters like a giant man-baby afraid to graduate college in Van Wilder, the kid forced into a green-card marriage to Sandy Bullock in The Proposal, the typical white dad who has a mid-life crisis and moves his family to live in a haunted house in the re-make of the already shitty Amityville Horror, and stars as yours truly decently for like five minutes before they fuck everything up in a bastardized attempt at making Wolverine remotely interesting in X-Men Origins and—wait, no, I hear it now. I guess I don’t blame ya, kid. He’s had a tough career. But I know a certain 2016 flick will change all that…” he trailed off, his tone suggestive, but to what, Peter had no clue.

Pushing off the wall, the younger man took a step closer to the merc, wondering how the hell he was supposed to broach this subject.

“Well, listen, Wade…” he began, his brain racing a mile a minute, “you know how I said that I mistook you for Spider Man at first because of your similar suits?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Peter cleared his throat, taking another step closer, “turns out that the general public have too and…when you saved everyone from the bomb and well, exploded into bits…you left behind a scrap of your suit. Just a small red part and…well, everyone thinks it belongs to Spider Man and that he’s…dead, you know ‘cause he doesn’t have the intense healing ability that you do and…hasn’t been seen in a few days,” he finished, practically gasping for air, glad that that struggle to explain things was done.

Silence met his words.

He watched carefully as Deadpool shoved his hands into his hoodie’s pockets and took a seat on the vacated table, nonchalantly looking at the remote.

“Wanna watch a movie? That old shit Lunch at Walmart, Dinner at Target or whatever, is on.”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” Peter asked, brow furrowed.

“That’s the one!”

The brunet shook his head, not too surprised that the mercenary chose to ignore the fact that his heroic act was again being overshadowed and the credit being unjustly stolen by an Avenger.

Swallowing his guilt, Peter responded evenly, “maybe later. Turn on the news, I wanna see the report on the shooting at Jitters.”

For once doing as he was told, Deadpool took up the remote and turned on the TV, flicking over to a news channel where, predictably, there was coverage of the coffee shop shooting from an hour before.

Gradually, Peter came over to stand next to his guest, they both watching in silence as the news anchor recounted the events:

“We’ve just managed to gain footage from a nearby traffic camera of the shooter from the building across the street from Jitters coffee shop. As you can see, the man in question, is a familiar one, his red and blue spandex suit seen clearly here as he—”

Not quite believing his eyes, Peter stopped listening as he saw a very familiar figure indeed come across the screen, rapidly fleeing the roof, a duffle bag large enough to fit the components of a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Whoa…” Wade murmured beside him, smacking his side with a heavy hand, “dude, I think we know why we haven’t seen Spidey in a while. The guy’s totally tryin’ to kill you!”
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

DUN DUN DUN! The plot thickens! And whoa, over 7000 words…someone’s tryin’ to make up for being a procrastinating fuck.

Hey, longer chapters means you’re that much closer to getting it on with Spidey.

Who you’ve made a murderer, apparently.

*Sigh*

What? Don’t blame me for your unrealistic plot! Like that sweet, adorable, ass-of-an-angel arachnid could ever hurt a fly…ha, ha, well, maybe he could hurt a fly, you know, being a Spider and all—

Okay, that’s enough of that. Hope everybody liked the chapter :) don’t forget to check out my tumblr octoberobserver if that’s your thing!

Sell out.

Chapter Text

361 Days In The Future…

Peter Parker was never the kinda guy to actively think about how he would die.

Sure, when he got bitten by a radioactive spider, donned some spandex and began fighting crime on the regular, the thought flittered into his brain every now and again, but mostly, he focussed on the good he did, the people he helped, the bad guys he stopped…the successes.

The thing about success, though?

It’s not final.

The famous words of Winston Churchill had reverberated around his room on those nights when the thought of his own mortality crept in from the dark recesses of his mind, preventing sleep, inducing heart-racing anxiety and forced him to accept certain truths.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts.”

This was never truer than after he lost Gwen.

Courage, like success however, is not final either. Despite what he may have lead the general public to believe, courage was not a constant state of being, not for him. There were days, where courage was so foreign a concept that Peter forgot its definition, forgot how the word sounded on his lips, forgot that he had ever felt it.

Watching her fall, her cerulean eyes wide with unshed tears…courage abandoned him, crippling fear instead embracing him like an old friend, clutching at him until he was numb.

After she fell, where it felt like he couldn’t ever continue, couldn’t ever possibly don the spandex and fight crime with his homemade web-shooters, a cheeky grin and a whole lot of luck ever again, there was only failure. Failure to get up some mornings, failure to get dressed, failure to let his mind ever wander from those moments in between the last time they spoke and he catching her that split second too late.

It was in those months, the long and agonizingly painful months as he silently grieved, that he allowed himself the luxury of facing his own mortality. Logically, he knew with the bite that he gained the power of accelerated healing, knew that his abilities had given him a chance…an advantage over the average person in fighting the inevitable, but it was by no means infallible.

He wasn’t infallible.

Or invincible.

Hell, most days he didn’t feel in the slightest amazing as some had dubbed his alter-ego.

Really, even on his A-game, that thought, that sheer fact of knowing that despite his best intentions, his best abilities and his desire to always end in success, Peter knew that it was only a matter of time.

When your time’s up, it’s up.

He may not have accepted that with his parents, or his Uncle Ben, or with Gwen, but it was something that he could accept for himself.

Had to accept.

He wasn’t always going to win.

Because success wasn’t final.

Failure wasn’t fatal.

But death was…

“Peter?! Peter stay with me! Don’t you dare close your eyes! Peter? Please don’t leave me…”

~*~
Present Day…

“Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged…it is kinda what I do.”

Peter glared at Wade, chest heaving angrily as he switched the TV off and slammed the remote back down on the table.

“Go ahead then…kill me,” he growled, hazel orbs flashing dangerously, his head cocked to the side in livid defiance.

The mercenary snorted, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“You know, for someone who has a superhero already tryin’ to kill them, you’re way too chill about daring a trained assassin to do the same.”

Peter’s jaw clenched tightly.

“There’s no way I’m letting you confront Spider Man, Deadpool,” he repeated for the sixth time in the last five minutes, his initial panic at the notion abating with his rising ire.

“Pretty sure you can’t stop me, Petey. No offense,” Wade held up his hands and stepped closer to him.

Stubbornly, the brunet stood his ground as he continued to glare up at the taller man, fists clenched firmly at his sides.

“Pretty sure I can, Wadey. No offense,” he replied curtly.

The merc hummed at that, taking another minute step towards him, leaning down to meet his gaze, their noses barely two inches apart.

“Oh yeah? And uh…how would you do that exactly, baby boy?”

Peter bristled at the familiar name. This wasn’t a time where Wade was using it as a pet-name as he frequently did with Spider Man, though. This time he meant it derogatorily.

And that just pissed him off more.

Ignoring the rational part of his brain, the brunet stepped right into the mercenary’s space, chin jutted defiantly as he reached up to poke him in the shoulder.

“You don’t know—”

A loud knock cut him off.

“Peter? You in there? Be a good boy and open the door, this bag is heavy,” the voice of his Aunt May wafted from behind his front door.

Hazel eyes widening, Peter gaped at Wade, before calling out: “just a minute, Aunt May,” while waving frantically and hissing under his breath: “hide!”

Wade snorted, “yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Oh yeah?” the younger man spat, tugging on the merc’s sleeve, making sure not to use too much force, “‘we’ll see about that. ‘Cause I’m sure as hell not explaining to my aunt why a known assassin is hanging out in my living room!” he finished, pulling Wade roughly down the short hallway.

“So instead you’d rather explain why a known assassin is hanging out in your bedroom?” the merc asked, smirk lacing his tone as Peter gave him a shove towards his bed.

“Ooh Petey…buy a girl a drink first!”

Peter rolled his eyes before pointing a finger in his face.

“Stay here!”

Wade mimicked him, lazily saluting, “aye aye, Captain Crazy.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Peter shut his bedroom door with a snap, before crossing the short hallway and stopping at his front door, wrenching it open wide.

“H-Hi Aunt May! Let me take that,” he plastered a smile onto his face as his aunt came into view, large grocery bag in her hands.

“Thank you sweetheart,” she murmured, stepping into his apartment and subtly looking about her.

“Huh…I could have sworn I heard voices in here.”

Peter stilled, his back to her as he deposited the groceries on the table.

“Oh it was uh…the TV,” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck.

If he were to glance behind him, he would witness May’s quirk of a disbelieving eyebrow as her gaze fell on the television that was clearly turned off.

[Point Of View change!]

{Sigh}

Deadpool silently opened the bedroom door a crack, peering out into the kitchen, having heard every word (damn the walls were thin), frowning as something occurred to him.

“Where the hell did he get that TV, anyway? That definitely wasn’t here the other day. I specifically remember him saying he only had a shitty laptop,” he whispered to himself, watching as the man in question began to unload the food from the bag with the older woman’s help.

{Continuity Error Alert!}

[Ooh, writer lady messed up]

{It was bound to happen sooner or later. She has had other important things on her mind}

[Like smutty sex scenes?!]

{No. Like pizzas and Netflix}

“Thanks again for the TV,” Peter began as if reading Wade’s mind and overhearing the ongoing conversation between the boxes, “it really is a great house-warming present.”

May placed a hand on her nephew’s shoulder, “you’re welcome, sweetheart. Ace gave me a good deal on it. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble carrying it on the subway last night.”

[Handy how she can just explain that away, huh?]

{All hail The Powers That Be}

[We’re not worthy!]

{Easy there Wayne Campbell}

Wade watched the scene unfolding in front of him with mute fascination. This Peter, the loving nephew seemed…different to the snarky, pushy grad-student he had gotten to know over the last few days. He was gentler, quieter, but no less enthralling as he chatted and laughed and moved about his apartment in fluid motion, each movement seeming part of a well-worn dance.

How often did they do this?

Was this what a stable familial relationship looked like?

[How the hell would you know?]

{He had Blind Al…for a while}

[Right…because their relationship was the picture of emotional stability]

{I think we’ve really got this sarcasm thing down}

Shaking his head, Wade fought to rid any thought of the fire-cracker elderly lady from his mind, instead focusing on the one in front of him.

Because if one thing was for certain, May Parker was definitely that, albeit probably in a different way to Al.

[Yeah. I mean, what are the odds that Petey’s maternal figure also happens to be a super shady, lethal, laxatives enthusiast?]

“I am surprised to find you home, Peter,” May spoke up as she began brewing tea for herself, “aren’t you usually at the lab at this time?”

Wade watched as the younger man nodded frantically, clearing his throat.

“Uh yeah…usually, but uh…Professor Rickards gave me the day off, in celebration of uh…my paper being published in next month’s scientific journal,” Peter rambled the lie, as if saying it faster made it any more believable.

A shrill, delighted squeal far too lurid to have erupted from such a small woman (who was now clutching her nephew in what seemed like a bone-crushing hug) startled Wade so badly that he jumped, bashing his knee off the door-frame and cursing loudly.

“What was that?” May asked, pulling away from Peter, her eyes travelling down the hall, just in time to catch a glimpse of Deadpool who was too slow in the confusion to step out of sight in time.

[Uh oh]

{Incoming!]

Frantically, the merc glanced around the sparse room for somewhere, anywhere to hide. Finding none, he paced back and forth, mind racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to do as he heard the now clearly desperate Peter trying to dissuade the woman from investigating.

“Aunt May really, I’m sure it was noth—”

“Peter, I could have sworn I saw—oh. Hello,” she stopped dead in the now open doorway, her eyes landing on Wade who stood in the middle of the room, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, mask off, hood up.

“Uh…hi, Mrs Parker,” he murmured, carefully avoiding the gaze of a certain brunet that was currently boring a hole into his now fully visible face.

May’s eyes lingered between the two men before she elbowed her nephew, “Peter! Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

The younger man gaped, and when Wade’s eyes finally rose to meet his, he found that they weren’t laced with horror and disgust as he expected, but instead with something else entirely, something he couldn’t quite identify.

“I—uh, Aunt May, this is…Wade. My…lab partner.”

Were this any other type of situation, the mercenary would have laughed out loud at the ridiculous lie that the kid was actually trying to sell, but as it was, he didn’t really find it productive so merely nodded, his gaze falling back down to his grubby converse, hating the sinking feeling of familiar discomfort that had settled in his gut.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Wade. I take it you’re the gentleman with the lovely singing voice I overheard on the phone the other night?” May asked, taking a step towards the other man and holding out her hand for him to shake.

Wilson’s head snapped back up, meeting the woman’s warm eyes for a moment before staring down at her hand.

“That was me, yeah. Gotta hone my skills if I ever wanna be the next American Idol,” he responded, forcing himself to shake her hand gently.

{You’re Canadian}

[And American Idol is so not a thing anymore, grandpa]

“You’re Canadian,” Peter spoke up to Wade’s surprise, eyebrows raised at the exchange in front of him, “so uh…thankfully for all of us, you couldn’t enter even if American Idol was still a thing.”

[Whoa]

{It’s like he can read our mind}

[Wait…can he read our mind? Don’t think about sex, don’t think about sex]

{And…we’re thinking about sex]

[With Petey]

{And Spidey}

[No! Spidey’s trying to kill Petey. That would surely end badly]

“Peter, don’t be rude! I thought you sounded great, Wade,” May smiled warmly at Deadpool, before turning to her nephew, “well, I’ll just go and set another place at the table for lunch. Really sweetheart, I would have thought by now that you and your friends would have outgrown hide and seek,” she finished, an enigmatic grin on her face as she deftly stepped out the door and down the hall.

A silence descended on the bedroom, as the two remaining men refused to look at one another.

After a moment or two of awkward shuffling, Peter forced himself to speak lowly.

“You…took off your mask.”

After five seconds or so, the merc shrugged, his head still lowered, eyes trained on the floor.

“Didn’t wanna give the old lady a heart attack.”

[And exposing your ugly mug definitely wouldn’t do that]

{Surprised she didn’t have a coronary right then and there}

“Seemed better to be faced with…this,” he motioned to his scarred flesh, “than the mask of a ‘known assassin,’” he air-quoted, repeating Peter’s phrase from before.

The brunet nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, still avoiding his gaze as he replied: “yeah uh…good idea.”

Deadpool shrugged again, fighting the urge to claw at his bare face by forcefully injecting some light-heartedness into his tone, “so…lab partner, huh? That’s the best you could come up with?”

Peter glared at him, although it seemed a lot softer than his previous ones.

“It’s the first thing that came to mind. If you hadn’t been acting like a herd of elephants in here, I wouldn’t have had to lie so badly in the first place!”

“Touché,” he responded, tipping his imaginary hat and taking a step towards him, a frown now forming on his face, “but hey, when did I tell you I was—”

“Boys! Can you come help me in the kitchen, please?” May interrupted Wade, her voice drifting down the hallway.

The two men shared another glance before mentally preparing themselves for what they were about to endure, neither knowing fully what to expect.

As they made their way out of the room, Peter couldn’t help but realize that this would be the first time since Gwen died that he and his Aunt May shared a meal that wasn’t just the two of them.

In his new home, he and his aunt were actually going to dine with Wade ‘The Merc With The Mouth’ Wilson.

What the hell was happening to the world?!

~*~

Joe ‘Buck Shot’ Blye’s back slammed against the grimy tiled wall of Club Purgatory with a heavy thump, his legs buckling under his weight, causing him to slide slowly to the floor.

Chest heaving with gasping breaths, the young man reefed off the mask that covered his face and threw it across the restroom, it landing underneath one of the dank toilets.

“You gotta get your shit together, kid,” Jack ‘Hammer’ Reilly gruffly remarked as he rinsed his hands under the sink, the crimson-tinged water contrasting his pale skin as it washed down the rusty drain.

“Did you—did you have to have to beat the shit outta the bar-tender? He…said that he wouldn’t say—”

“Look, kid,” Jack turned to him, wiping his now clean hands on his jeans, “this bleedin’ heart bullshit that you have goin’ for you was cute for a hot second, but it ain’t workin’ in your favor now. The boss wants ‘e wants, not a fuckin’ runnin’ commentary of whatever shit goes through that tiny head of yours. So do me a solid, clean your skinny ass and be ready when I call.”

Joe gaped up at him, trying to calm his erratic breathing.

“Unless you like playin’ dress-up,” Jack leered, “that your thing, Joey? You got a thing for superheroes?”

The younger man hung his head, his eyes darting down to the large spider emblem on his chest.

“Why is the boss so interested in this guy Parker? Why change the plan from just takin’ him out, to framing Spider Man for it?” he asked, the words just bursting from him like a dam as they had plagued him for the last 48 hours.

“You’re not being paid to ask questions, Blye,” Jack predictably responded, before stepping over him and heading to the door.

“No. I’m being paid to kill Peter Parker,” Joe muttered, unable to look the other man in the eye.

“And you failed. Twice.”

With those ominous words, Jack left the restroom, the door slamming shut behind him, with it shattering any and all sense of calm that Joe felt.

After what happened to Gio, he knew he was a goner.

With shaking hands, the young man forced himself up off the floor, gripping the sink tightly and staring into his reflection, grimacing as a scared, snivelling, pathetic kid looked back at him.

He was given 72 hours to kill the Parker kid and he didn’t do it…couldn’t do it.

See, the thing was, along with his many other ‘half-truths,’ Gio had told the anonymous (yet no less petrifying) boss that his little cousin was the man for the job, that he had a long list of hits of various backgrounds to his name.

Bullshit.

Truth was, he was no more of a ‘buck shot’ than Gio was an Honest Abe.

What was that saying? ‘Fake it till you make it?’

He had killed people, sure, but he wasn’t as proficient or neat as his cousin may have led others to believe. He had long since made peace with his misdeeds, but as far as he was concerned? Those guys deserved it. They were all of a certain ‘type,’ each having done deplorable things, but this grad student?

Let’s just say, if he drove, he wouldn’t even have a parking ticket to his name.

Usually, Joe subscribed to the notion of ask no questions and be told no lies, but in this case, the curiosity was killing him, long before the hilt of a blade or the lead of a bullet ever would. Having gotten the low-down on what Groves managed to find out about Parker (which was about as interesting as a weather report) the reasoning behind the hit just kept getting more and more intriguing.

The kid practically lived at Stark Industries, was enrolled at the local college in a graduate program, rented a dinky one-bedroom apartment and occasionally took pictures of Spider Man for The Daily Bugle. With the exception of that last one, everything about Peter Parker screamed ‘normal,’ ‘average,’ and even ‘boring’ in a world where aliens, superheroes and science fiction was becoming a reality.

So why did one of the most formidable crime bosses Joe had ever encountered, want him dead?

What was it about Peter Parker?

Before he could ponder on it further, the restroom door sprang open, banging off the wall with a thump and startling the young man.

“Come on Blye,” Jack barked, standing back and holding the door open.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat to no avail, Joe nodded nervously and walked past his associate, out into the dimly-lit bar, ignoring the pained groans of the man that lay crumpled up on the floor and focussing on the pool-table, where a figure stood with their back to him.

“Mr. Blye,” the robotic voice ripped through the air like a knife, “I don’t think blue and red are your colours…”

The figure turned, revealing a tall, bald, African-American man in a suit, holding out a cell-phone, it apparently the source of the voice.

With a startled frown, Joe’s eyes darted around him, for once noting various cameras that must have been installed as he freaked out in the restroom.

What the hell?!

“Forgive my inability to meet with you in person, but I am far too busy dealing with your recent failure,” the disembodied voice continued, the words clipped with obvious distain.

“Boss I—”

“No excuses. Have some respect for yourself,” the voice cut across him, “please note, Mr. Blye, that under any other circumstances, we would not be having this conversation. In this business, failure is not accepted and is swiftly dealt with…”

The tension rose several degrees at those words.

Joe felt his knees begin to quiver.

“However…I’m feeling charitable. So, instead of liberating your head from your shoulders like our dearly departed Gio, I’ve found something much more suitable for you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Jack shift back and forth, shoulders hunched, eyes firmly on the floor.

The intense feeling of dread sank in the younger man’s stomach.

“The mercenary known as Deadpool. Bring him to me.”

Joe’s heart leapt into his throat, his eyes bugging with shock.

“That’s suicide!” he exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing in the practically empty bar.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blye, perhaps I made the mistake of letting you think you had a choice. Either you deliver me Deadpool, or my associate here delivers your head to your mother. This will be our final communication. I wish I could say it has been a pleasure.”

The sharp click rang in his ears as the call was brusquely ended.

Creaking his neck from left to right, the man in the suit deposited the cell phone back in his breast pocket, before walking around Joe and halting a few feet from where Jack Reilly stood. Calmly and swiftly, he pulled out a gun with his gloved hands, fastening on a silencer and aiming it down at the bar tender.

Snivelling, the beaten and bruised man stared up at him from across the room, pleading, his voice bordering on hysteria: “no, no please—”

Two soft ‘pip’ sounds cut across him as the bullets lodged firmly in the centre of his chest, silencing him permanently.

The suited man then put it back in his holster before stalking over to the body, pulling out another gun, hunching down to the corpse’s level and aiming it squarely at Jack.

“Hey whoa what the—”

The mobster was abruptly cut off as the suited man squeezed the trigger, another soft pip erupting from the gun, sealing Jack ‘Hammer’ Reilly’s eyes open forever, decorating his forehead with a small, round wound, a solitary drop of blood falling from it like a crimson tear.

Joe stood rooted to the spot, shell-shocked as the guy with the suit took up the bar-tender’s hand and pressed it against the second gun then depositing it on the floor, before straightening back up and approaching his now-deceased colleague with the remaining gun and doing the same.

Once satisfied, he stood back up, his dark, cold gaze boring into the horrified younger man.

“Tail the mercenary and find out as much about his routine as you can. Then bring him to this address. You have six days.”

The ‘or else’ was silent, but no less present.

~*~

“Holy Crap Balls Mrs. Parker! This has got to be the best lasagne I have ever had in the history of ever!” Wade Wilson exclaimed around mouthfuls of food, humming happily with each bite.

The older woman chuckled, clearly amused as the three of them ate at Peter’s small kitchen table.

“Thank you, Wade. I’m glad you like it. And please, call me May,” she smiled before catching her nephew’s gaze and tilting her head towards the other man, her expression clearly trying to convey something to him.

With a frown, Peter merely stared at her.

Rolling her eyes, May set down her knife and fork and regarded the mercenary with a curious glance, “so Wade, how did you and my Peter meet?”

The clatter of a fork hitting a plate echoed around the small apartment before the brunet cleared his throat, his eyes darting nervously, “we met at Stark Industries. Professor Rickards assigned us to work together on a project last week.”

May fixed her nephew with another inscrutable stare before focussing her attention on the bald man in front of her, who was now nodding along vigorously, “oh yeah, I know science. MythBusters, Bill Nye, Neil deGrasse Tyson, I’m all over that shit!”

[♫ She blinded me with science – science! And failed me in biology ♫]

{Okay, creepy Todd}

[Oh Breaking Bad, how I miss you!]

{Roll on Better Call Saul}

Peter forced a laugh, nudging Wade with his elbow with more force than strictly necessary.

“Wha—” the mercenary began to ask before catching sight of the pointed expression on the other man’s face, “uh…what I mean is, I love science. Yay science!”

[Nice save, Jesse Pinkman]

May only smiled brighter and shook her head with amusement.

[How come she’s not freaked out?]

{How can she stand the sight of your melted pizza face?}

[Petey’s definitely doing his best to avoid looking at you]

“Peter,” May’s questioning tone broke Wade from his shattering realization, “what is that stain on your shirt?” she asked with a frown, nodding at the large spot of red at Peter’s shoulder.

Wade felt the younger man tense in his chair.

“Tabasco sauce,” he felt compelled to answer for him.

May looked between the two men, bafflement etched onto her face.

“You ate tabasco sauce for breakfast,” she stated rather than asked with a disbelieving tone.

“Pancakes and tabasco sauce…breakfast of champions,” Wade replied without missing a beat, before nudging Peter, “isn’t that right, Petey?”

The brunet was snapped from whatever panicked trance he had fallen into as Wade’s elbow connected with his ribs.

“Uh…yeah, that’s right. Wade’s has been…introducing me to uh…new delicacies.”

[Ba dum dum tish]

{This kid is just one innuendo after another. No wonder you like him so much}

The older woman raised her eyebrow for what felt like the thousandth time in the last five minutes. Neither man was stupid, they knew she certainly wasn’t buying what they were selling, but that was hardly Wade’s fault. It was kinda cute that the kid sucked so much at lying to her, though.

[Everything about him is kinda cute]

{Pity you had to go ruin everything with your Freddie Kruger face}

The familiar sinking sensation lurched in his gut, churning his insides. The aching desire to cover his face was ebbing just under the surface of his skin, like a dull itch that he couldn’t yet scratch. It had been a long while since he had been this...exposed in front of another person and he couldn’t abate the nervous energy he felt every time either of the two glanced in his direction…especially Peter.

The kid was a special kind of gorgeous. A delectable mix of nerdy, cute and sexy that shouldn’t have worked for him, but did. His hazel eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses, his messy Harry Potter-esque hair that fingers needed to be raked through, his narrow but well-built body hidden behind shirts that were at least a size too big, his 5’10” height a little stunted by his tendency to curl in to himself and of course that ass that you could bounce a quarter off…Wade couldn’t remember the last time he was this captivated by someone.

[Uh, yeah you can]

{You just don’t wanna think about it}

[You’re emotionally cheating on Spidey, admit it]

{Can you cheat on someone that doesn’t technically reciprocate your feelings?}

There was just…something about Peter that drew Wade in. He couldn’t explain exactly what, but it transcended the physical. It was in the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he tried to be a hero and had just accepted a mercenary into his home with barely the blink of an eye.

Bottom line, the guy was way out of Wade’s league. Just like Spidey.

[Story of your life]

The shrill ringing of a cell-phone snapped Wade from his reverie, his eyes following Peter’s hand as he snatched the device off the table, starred at the screen with distain and stood up.

“Sorry, I gotta take this. It’s The Bugle.”

With that, he walked down the hall, towards his bedroom.

With a jolt, it occurred to the mercenary that he was now very much alone with May Parker. Slowly, he forced himself to look up from his third helping of food, and found that the woman was indeed regarding him with a pleasant, albeit penetrating expression.

[Whoa. There is never a good time to use the word ‘penetrating.’ Ever.]

{Well, except the obvious, of course}

[Yeah. So, unless there’s gonna be some banging happening, keep the P word outta here]

{There…there isn’t going to be any banging, right? ‘Cause well, Aunt May is a cool lady and all but…no. Just…no.}

[Well, there’s an image I’ll never get outta my head]

{Doubt the readers will either}

[Writer lady is evil]

Clearing his throat, Wade tried to desperately drown out his boxes and the frankly alarming direction of their conversation.

“So uh…you’re Peter’s aunt?” he asked lamely, forcing himself not to cringe.

Kindly, the woman ignored the pathetic attempt at conversation and placed her hand lightly on Wade’s sleeve, leaning forward and looking straight into his eyes.

“I’m glad Peter has you as a friend, Wade. I was getting worried about him, being cooped up here all alone, only going to Stark Industries, the newspaper and college…it’s nice to know that he has someone to come home to after a long day…” she trailed off, patting his arm.

The merc’s eyebrows shot up at her tone.

“Oh no I—I don’t live here or anything. I—I was just here this morning uh…helping Peter—”

The soft smile that broke out on the older woman’s face silenced him.

“Oh of course,” she agreed, “I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. Still, it’s been a rough few years for Peter. He has a tendency to…isolate himself, after everything that happened with Gwen and his falling out with Harry, I worried that he wouldn’t make any new friends. But, I’m glad to see I was wrong.”

The mercenary made sure that his confusion didn’t register on his face at her words and merely nodded before she stood up and said the magic words:

“Would you like some dessert?”

Wade was half way through his gigantic slice of homemade apple pie when Peter came back into the room, a deep line having formed between his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” May asked as she placed a plate of pie in front of him.

“Jameson,” he muttered darkly, before picking up a fork and stabbing at the pie vehemently.

“Oh no, what has he done now?”

Wade watched as a shadow passed over the younger man’s face as he glared at the table.

“You saw the news? Apparently Spider Man shot up some coffee shop? Well, it was only this morning Jameson told me that Spider Man was dead, and now he’s telling me he’s alive but an attempted murderer…” he sighed heavily, his gaze flickering to the mercenary’s for a fraction of a second, “well, now he wants me to email him a ton of photos of Spider Man, the ones that best say, and I quote: ‘I’m-secretly-a-psychotic-lunatic-that’s-finally-cracked-harder-than-Humpty-Dumpty’ before 6pm tonight.”

May grimaced, squeezing her nephew’s shoulder with sympathy.

“Well, I don’t care what the news or John Jonah Jameson says. Spider Man is no murderer, he’s a hero…” she trailed off, letting her words sink in, before clapping her hands, “well, I better get going. I have a shift at the hospital tonight and I have to go get some sleep.”

After another few minutes of pleasantries and May subtly taking note of everything that she would need to deliver to her nephew next time she visited to make sure he would continue to survive, Peter walked his aunt the short distance from the kitchen to the door, Wade silently following at a respectable distance.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” the brunet asked for the third time.

“Absolutely not. You boys have work to do, and I’m a grown woman. I can find my own way home,” May dismissed with a wave, before reaching forward and placing her hand on Wade’s forearm.

“It was lovely meeting you, Wade. I hope you will join Peter the next time he comes over for dinner,” she smiled, squeezing his arm gently, before turning to her clearly startled nephew and smacking him gently on the shoulder.

“And you! Make sure you’re getting enough sleep. And eating regularly. Honestly Peter, I don’t know what Tony Stark has you working on, but it’s not worth sacrificing your health,” she finished, leaning up on her tip-toes and enveloping him in a tight hug, her eyes connecting with Wade’s over her nephew’s shoulder.

“That goes for you too, young man,” she commented as she stepped away and opened the door, waving a finger between the two of them, “don’t you dare be strangers. If I don’t see you both over for dinner in the next two weeks, I will come down here myself and drag you out by your ears. Got it?”

Stunned and yet weirdly satisfied to have her badassery confirmed, Wade saluted the fire-cracker that was May Parker, “yes ma’am.”

She tilted her head at Peter who blinked owlishly for a moment before nodding, his voice a little raspy as he echoed, “yes ma’am.”

With that, May took her leave, turning on her heel and striding confidently down the hallway, towards the elevators and out of sight. Once she was out of ear-shot, Peter closed his front door with a snap and slowly turned to shiftily glance at Wade.

“Dude,” the mercenary murmured, “I think your aunt has the hots for me.”

“Gross,” Peter grimaced, before storming over to his couch and plonking down onto it with a heavy sigh.

Wade’s gaze tracked him, unable to look away as the silence stretched between them, the events of the weirdest week of his life (which was certainly saying something) starting to catch up with him.

“So uh…I better get going too,” he found himself saying before he could over-think it.

Parker seemed surprised at that, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“Unless…” Wade faltered, taking half a step forward before rubbing the back of his neck, the fact that he was maskless feeling the most evident in that moment, “unless you want me to stay? There is still someone trying to kill you…a someone that may or may not have superpowers and a really big rifle.”

[I bet Spidey’s rifle is MASSIVE]

{The crotch kind definitely is. You have a six sense for those kinda things}

[Not that you’ll ever get the opportunity to confirm it, though]

“Spider Man is not trying to kill me,” Peter groused, letting his head fall back onto the couch, “so no, it’s fine, you don’t need to stay. I’ve taken up enough of your time already.”

The mercenary desperately wanted to argue with him, to tell the younger man that he would gladly spend his time protecting him from stray bullets and bombs and anything else that threatened to harm him.

[Need I remind you that you know this kid like a week?]

{You’re kinda ticking all kinds of boxes here}

[And not the good kinda boxes, like us]

{The creepy, restraining order kinda boxes}

[You called him ‘baby boy’ for fuck’s sake]

{You only ever call Spidey that}

[It’s your favourite term of endearment]

{You’re so fucked}

[And not in the fun way]

{Put some distance between you before it gets embarrassing}

“Uh…yeah, I should…get going. You know how it is, places to see, people to do,” he responded, turning on his heel and walking to the door, resting his hand on the doorknob.

“We’ll…we’ll figure this all out, Peter,” he threw over his shoulder, not believing the sincerity in his own voice, “in the meantime, take a few days off work, stay away from any public places and I dunno, hone your Call Of Duty skills or some shit. I’ll—I’ll uh…get in touch with some of my old contacts and see if they’ve heard anything about a nerdy Harry-Potter-lookin’-motherfucker pissing off some big wigs and get back to ya when I have somethin’…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peter sit up, his trim body rigid.

“You’re not going to confront Spider Man, are you?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Deadpool retorted far too quickly and easily for his liking.

[Dude, you’re whipped already]

{Pathetic}

“Good…” the younger man trailed off before standing up and walking towards him, “so I guess I’ll…see you later, then?”

Fearing he’d never leave if he were to turn around, Wade kept his back to him as he nodded, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, glancing left and right to check to see if it was empty, before pulling back on his Deadpool mask that was shoved into the pocket of his hoodie.

Peter watched with an enigmatic expression on his face as the other man lowered his hoodie, the dim light of the corridor bouncing off his bald head, before the red and black mask was pulled over the heavily scarred skin.

The two men regarded one another for a moment, words having abandoned them both, when suddenly, something from earlier occurred to the mercenary.

“Hey, Peter?” he piped up, pulling his hood back over his now masked head.

“Yeah?” the brunet asked, leaning against his doorframe and folding his arms across his chest.

“When did I tell you I was Canadian?”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ooh! I smell intrigue!

Is that what that smell is? I thought it was your feet.

Hey, I’ll have you know that my feet smell like roses and lollipops!

Weird combination. And totally not true.

Face-sticking-out-tongue-emoji.

Exasperated-face-emoji.

You know you love me.

Chapter Text

A shock of russet hair descended on him, tickling his jaw as a trail of hot kisses peppered his neck.

Wade hummed happily, raking his fingers through the brunet tresses, giving a little tug. The mouth on his neck dragged up his flesh to nibble on his earlobe before brushing against his lips, begging for entrance. Fighting back a grin, Wade opened his mouth as he ran his hand down the firm back, gripping the narrow waist confidently.

Tilting back, his head hit the couch arm-rest with a soft thump, just as a weight sat on his lap, two knees wedging themselves either side of his hips. Smirking at the new angle, Wade slid his hands down to rest on the cushy, tight ass that was now within perfect reach and giving it a good squeeze.

“Oh what a big booty you have, grandma,” he murmured lowly, mimicking the fairy-tale girl, before a familiar chuckle sounded in his ear.

“You have the weirdest pick-up lines,” Peter faux-admonished with a roll of his eyes, leaning back to look at the merc, that wondrous ass flush against the growing bulge in his pants.

“Hey it’s the truth, not a line. I don’t need one, I’ve already picked you up, figuratively and literally,” he laughed, wiggling his non-existent eyebrows before bringing his hand up to cup the younger man’s jaw.

The scowl on Peter’s face softened at his touch, his hazel orbs falling closed.

“C’mere,” Wade whispered, before gently pulling him forward, meeting him half-way and crashing his mouth into his, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

The kiss grew more and more impassioned as hearts raced and hands explored each other’s body, sneaking under clothes to roam over skin.

Wade’s fingers brushed over Peter’s stomach lightly, causing the younger man to yelp and smack him away.

“Ooh Petey…is someone ticklish?” the mercenary asked with a smirk, deliberately touching him in that exact spot again.

“Don’t you wanna be doing something more productive with those hands?” the brunet quirked an eyebrow at him, batting his hand away again as he ground his hips against him, creating the best kind of friction.

With a groan, Wade gripped him by the collar and pulled him back down on top of him, kissing him feverishly, his eyes falling closed.

Peter responded enthusiastically, pulling up his T-shirt over his head between kisses, and dropping it to the floor.

A loud bang sounded suddenly, startling Wade, forcing his eyes open as he broke away and looked up.

He gasped.

There, frozen on top of him, was Peter, his hazel orbs wide as he stared down at him, a large hole in the center of his chest, crimson blood dripping down his pale torso towards his naval like a macabre treasure trail.

“Peter what—fuck…” Wade yelled as he sat up, clasping the younger man’s shoulders, his mind racing a mile a minute, scrambling to think of something, anything to do.

“W-Wade,” Peter gasped as he fell onto his back, hands stained, bloody finger-prints panting his body.

“He had to go…” a familiar voice sounded behind them.

Slowly, Deadpool turned and was met by the sight of Spider Man, masked as ever, pointing the literal smoking gun at them.

“What…what the hell have you done?!” Wade asked, helplessly glancing from Peter to Spider Man and back again.

“I did you a favor,” the arachnid hero spat angrily, throwing the gun to the floor, “that’s all I ever do. Stick my neck out for you, put up with your bullshit, and what do I get? You gettin’ all love-sick over some guy you only know a hot second.”

Deadpool gaped at him before turning his attention back to Peter, pressing a hand to the wound, watching in horror as the blood seeped through his fingers like a crimson caramel.

“I mean, how long have we known each other, Wade?” Spider Man continued, seemingly ignoring the gravity of the situation, too wrapped up in his rant, “over five years! And suddenly, along comes nerdy college guy so what—bye bye Spidey?” he waved his hand in an angry flourish as Peter gasped for breath.

“What—you—it’s not like I’m cheatin’ on you, Spidey! We…we’re not…a thing. We never will be a thing. I know that,” Wade murmured lowly, his eyes still glued to Peter, unable to meet the web-slinger’s gaze, even if he couldn’t see it behind the mask.

“Do you? You built up this fantasy over the last five years…hell, three weeks ago this whole make-out-on-the-couch scenario would have featured me, not him. But no…now it’s all about Petey Pie. Now I’m the bad guy, which just proves you’re stupid as well as crazy,” he paused, laughing hollowly, more harshly than Wade had ever heard him, “and I know why, too. It’s ‘cause I joined The Avengers, isn’t it? It’s ‘cause they accepted me and not you, right? You’re mad at me. Been avoiding me to the point that your subconscious has villainized me! You’re only keeping up your childish awe for appearance’s sake…” he trailed off, taking a step toward him.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Deadpool muttered, ignoring the other man’s claims as he pressed against Peter’s chest.

“Oh Wade, I kinda did…” Spider Man cooed, closing the space between them, his tone infuriatingly sympathetic as he lay a hand on his shoulder, they both watching as the light dimmed in Peter’s eyes, “you can’t have nice things, remember?”

Wade bolted upright on the couch with a yell, his eyes springing wide open in shock, knocking a bowl of popcorn and a half-empty beer to the floor with a loud crash.

{Easy there big guy…it was just a dream}

[A sexy dream]

{Until it wasn’t}

“But it…it felt so…real…” the Canadian gasped, trying to catch his breath as his heart hammered in his chest.

[It was too soppy to be real]

{Not to mention…you know…completely unrealistic]

[Ha! Like Petey would ever make-out with an ugly mug like yours]

{Did you see the cutesy crap? What a sap!}

[Ooh are we rhyming now? Very Doctor Seuss! Petey’s got a big caboose!]

“Shut up,” Wade groaned, dragging a hand down his bare face, his tired gaze falling onto the remote as his heart finally began to slow down.

[The whole Spidey thing was totally on point, though]

{Yep. Nail on head}

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Wade snapped angrily, palm to his forehead.

[Look at him trying to play dumb]

{And he’s usually so good at it}

[Not this time, Wadey Boy. You know exactly what we’re talking about]

{You’re replacing Spidey}

[You’re so jealous that he’s The Avengers’ new golden boy that you’re actually trying to make yourself believe that he’s trying to kill Petey]

{You may be doing well at ignoring it while awake, but asleep…}

[That shit creeps up on you]

{You resent him. You just don’t want to admit it}

[It’s why you haven’t gone looking for him in over three months. And only wanted to after the guy in his suit shot at Petey]

{Who is now your new distraction}

[Good luck with that, by the way]

{He’s just as unattainable as Spidey}

[You really do have a type]

Shaking his head, Wade swung his legs over the edge of the grubby couch and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV and flicking through the channels, hoping to drown the boxes out.

“—a fatal shooting at Club Purgatory,” an anchor was saying as he left stopped at the news.

“Two bodies were found at the scene, the evidence suggesting that they shot one another. The first man is known to be a bar-tender at the establishment and the other has been revealed by the police to be Jack ‘Hammer’—”

{Weasel?!}

[Did that loser get himself un-alived?]

Wade frowned, blearily staring at the TV, barely listening as the news anchor recounted the discovery of two bullet-riddled bodies at a nearby club yesterday morning.

Grumbling, he took out his cell phone and dialled a number he couldn’t quite recall how he knew.

It rang four times before being picked up.

“Weasel Incorporated, Weapons and Tech for your mercenary needs, how may I be of assistance?” a familiar voice omitted from the phone.

Deadpool took a breath and leaned back on the couch, his foot resting on his knee.

“Huh. So you’re not pushin’ up daisies, sleepin’ with the fishes or six feet under.”

The silence that met him was palpable.

“What the hell do you want, Wade?! How did you get this number?”

The merc chuckled, shaking his head, “aww Weaz…what’s got your panties in a bunch?”

A squawk of indignation erupted from the phone, “what’s got my…are you serious?! You’re actually tellin’ me you have no idea why I’m pissed at you?! Motherfuc—”

[Seriously, why is he mad at us again?]

{Fucked if I know}

“Yeah, yeah, that’s nice, Weaz. Listen, just lettin’ ya know that some guy with your name got himself dead at some club downtown,” Wade interrupted the other man’s long-winded tirade down the phone with an air of dismissal.

“And another thing you fucking pric—what?” Weasel halted mid-way through his rant, “what are you talkin’ about?”

Wade, forgetting that the nerd couldn’t see him, waved a hand in the direction of the TV, “it’s all over the news. Some guy called Jack Hammer something was shot at a club, some bar-tender too. Made to look like they shot each other but screams professional hit, if ya ask me…” he trailed off, picking up the bowl of popcorn, fishing out what remained and shoving it into his mouth.

“I heard of that hit,” Weasel remarked, his tone still tinged with anger but now with a hint of intrigue, “I’ve been hearing a lot, lately…”

{How very predictable}

“That’s part of the reason I called,” Deadpool played along in their well-worn game, “other than checkin’ up on my ol’ buddy’s welfare, of course.”

A humourless laugh erupted from the phone.

“What do you want to know, Wade?”

And so Deadpool recounted the tale of Peter Parker and the illustrious hit placed on him, leaving out any personal details that could be used against him (he wasn’t in the fully-trusting business, after all) and waited for his old-acquaintance’s response.

“Did you…did you say Peter Parker?”

Wade sat forward, elbows pressed against his knees.

“Why? You know him?”

Another hollow laugh sounded from the other man.

“Figures you don’t remember. Yeah, you could say I know him. The bastard stole my life.”

[Well, say hello to our Prime Suspect, ladies and gentlemen]

~*~

Peter Parker was a lot of things.

A loving nephew, a studious student, a hard worker, and a dedicated crime-fighter. One thing he was not however, was the best time keeper.

“Hold the elevator!” he yelled as he sprinted towards the metal box, desperately clinging to his bag, books and notes while also trying to put on his lab coat.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, twisting at an awkward angle as shoved his arm through the sleeve.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Parker,” a devastatingly familiar voice replied, with just a hint of amusement.

Slowly his head turned, hazel eyes meeting the cerulean gaze of Selena Rickards. His professor. And boss.

“Professor Rickards, I uh…didn’t—didn’t see you there,” he stammered, clearing his throat, “I’m just on my way to the lab now I—”

“Relax, Peter,” Rickards interrupted him with a wave of her hand, “if I wanted to punish people for being tardy, I would have become a high school teacher like my mother wanted me to. I was only going to congratulate you again on being selected for publication in the journal,” she paused, offering him a small smile.

Peter visibly deflated, relaxing at her tone, a little embarrassed to have reacted in such a way in front of her.

Dr. Selena Rickards was a remarkable scientist. Not only was she one of the most renowned this side of the equator, the winner of multiple awards, but a published author and motivational speaker, all at the tender age of twenty-seven, to boot.

Peter had followed her career for a number of years now, and nearly passed out when Tony told him that he was to work with her as a part of a research team. He was determined to prove himself to her, but also was just giddy at the very thought that he got to learn from a mind as distinguished as hers. Needless to say, he was a fan.

“Peter…” the professor called, waving a hand in front of his face, snapping him from his reverie, “you still with me?”

Shaking his head, the brunet threw her a wry smile before nodding, “yeah, sorry. I—really owe it all to you, Professor. You’re the one that nudged me in the right direction, towards the AOC research. If it wasn’t for your advice, I’d still be hung up on the undiscovered capabilities of LK90. And honestly, it was starting to drive me a little nuts…” he trailed off with a shrug of his shoulder.

A beautiful smile broke out on Rickard’s face before she shook her head, her auburn tresses glinting against the light of the elevator, “you did all the work, Peter. You deserve all the credit. I know what it can be like to get stuck in your own head and let the work creep up on you, I was happy to help in any way I could,” she paused, tilting her head, “and please, I keep telling you, Peter. Call me Selena.”

Peter nodded, hiding a pleased grin behind his hand as the elevator stopped at floor 13, notorious for housing Tony Stark’s private lab.

“I have a meeting with Mr. Stark in ten minutes, which you know, means I actually have at least an hour to kill,” Selena smirked as she stepped out, looking at him over her shoulder, “so, I’ll probably be down to you and Edward soon. Make sure he doesn’t blow anything up, won’t you?”

A nearly-hysterical laugh bubbled up Peter’s throat as the elevator doors closed, trying not to let it show just how unnerved he was by how many times he indeed had to prevent Eddie from levelling the building with one of his experiments.

Heaving a sigh, he pressed the button for level 9 and mentally prepared himself for another draining day of research. With all the evasive tactics he had used in order to keep out of any danger zones on the way to work, he was already behind schedule, but at least he knew he (and all the innocent bystanders around him) were safe inside Stark Industries. There was no way any sniper would be crazy enough to take a shot at Iron Man’s place of business.

But even with these assurances, and no matter what Peter told himself, it wasn’t enough to fully put his mind at ease. He hadn’t heard from Wade in over three days, and despite not having any other incidents since the coffee shop, he knew that things were far from over.

Someone was literally gunning for him, for whatever reason, and was now framing his alter-ego for it. He had spent the last seventy-two hours raking over all the limited information he had managed to scrape together from what he stole out of his neighbour’s apartment (before the cops cleared the scene) and had come up with exactly zero theories on who could be behind all this, and why.

As the merc flittered into his mind, Peter winced, unable to stop thinking about the last time they saw one another.

~*~
77 Hours Earlier…

“When did I tell you I was Canadian?”

Peter froze, his heart lurching at Wade’s words.

Oh shit.

Staring blankly at the him, Peter’s brain stuttered along like an old car leaking oil, his synapses backfiring and struggling to stay on track.

“Uh…” he murmured, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding the other man’s curious gaze, “Spider Man told me.”

If Wade had distinguishable eyebrows, they would have surely shot up his forehead.

“Spidey talks about me?” he questioned, a tinge of excitement in his tone that was overshadowed by a cloud of confusion and suspicion.

The brunet found himself nodding along vehemently, rambling, “sure, yeah, he’s mentioned you a few times. You guys have worked together, right?”

Deadpool shrugged, “oh yeah, me and Spidey have had many the adventure over the last five years,” he faltered suddenly, his head lowering slightly, “though I guess that’s a thing of the past, now.”

Peter frowned, “why’s that?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“He’s trying to kill you. Duh. And associating with an attempted murderer would really ruin my street cred,” Wade shrugged again, a smile present in his voice, the irony in his statement not lost on him.

A spike of irritation flared in the younger man’s veins.

“Didn’t think you were judge and jury as well as executioner,” he snapped, taking his hands out of his pockets and folding his arms across his chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the merc asked, sounding genuinely confused at his steel-edged tone.

“What I mean is,” Peter began, taking a step towards him, “you’ve known Spider Man for over five years now, and after one news report of some guy wearing a similar suit shooting at a coffee shop, you’re suddenly willing to believe he’s gone over to the dark side?!”

“Well, they do have cookies,” Wade snorted, trying and failing to mask his surprise at the brunet’s outburst, “why the hell do you care so much, anyway? It’s your life that’s being threatened here, dude. You should be the most pissed.”

Peter paused, trying to relax, “I am pissed. But I still don’t think you’ve enough to go on that warrants you not working with Spider Man anymore. I thought you…I thought you liked him?” he asked, trying and failing to ignore the hilt of hurt that had somehow managed to bleed into his tone, it only further galling him to continue, “the way he tells it, seems like he stuck his neck out for you more than once, when no-one else wanted anything to do with you.”

Despite not being able to see his face, the younger man knew that he had hit a nerve by the way the mercenary’s entire body tensed and angled away from him.

“Yeah well, I never asked him to do that,” Wade retorted curtly, all traces of levity gone from his tone, fists clenching at his sides, “he doesn’t owe me shit, I never needed or wanted his damn charity!” he threw up a hand, taking a step back, “look, I’d like to believe that Saint Spidey isn’t trying to un-alive you kid, but truth is, I haven’t seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin’ out with those Avenger assholes, he’s not been the same!”

Peter felt as if a bucket of ice-water had been dumped on him.

It was hard to tell with his mask on, but Wade seemed just as shocked by his explosion as Peter was if his jittering hands and restless shuffling were any indication

“What? Where the hell did that come from?” the brunet gaped, not believing what he just heard, “I—you always go on about how great the Avengers are! What are you talking about?!”

Wade was backing away however, hands held up in surrender as he walked backwards down the corridor.

“I—forget it. I gotta go. I’ll see you later, Peter,” he gave a two-fingered salute (the civil kind, for once) before turning on his heel and storming away.

Peter rushed out the door, “Wade? Wade wait—” he broke off, throwing up his arms in frustration at the lost cause, the man having already turned a corner and out of his field of vision.

What the hell was that all about?!

~*~
Present…

“Peter, my man, you’re just in time for the show,” the cheery tone of Edward ‘Eddie’ James called as he snapped safety goggles on over his eyes and leaned towards his work station, his hands inching towards a large circuit box that was attached to an even larger machine made up of cubes and spheres.

“Is that the high-powered SH Laser Weapon System?” Peter asked as he drew closer into the lab, careful to avoid the device’s trajectory, side-stepping a hefty mannequin wearing a helmet that was directly in its path.

“Yep,” Eddie grinned, rolling up his sleeves before rubbing his hands together in what could only be described as pure glee.

“The same laser that Mr. Stark expressly told us not to touch,” Peter stated rather than asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yep,” his companion beamed, popping the ‘p’ with a toothy grin.

“Remind me again how you still have a job?” the brunet asked with an amused shake of his head, putting down his bag and books before coming to stand next to Eddie.

“‘Cause I’m just too damn handsome. All the ladies would be inconsolable if Stark ever fired me. Some dudes, too,” he winked before shrugging, “face it Parker, I’m like the black Ryan Gosling around here.”

Peter snorted, chuckling a little. Ever since Eddie started working with him four months ago, things around the lab certainly became a hell of a lot more amusing. The guy just exuded humor and an all-round cheerfulness radiated about him, it downright infectious at times. Couple that with the fact that the guy was a categorical genius, and Peter found it easy to cover for him when he got a little too ‘enthusiastic.’

“If Ryan Gosling was a giant nerd, sure,” he smirked, watching intently out of his peripheral vision as Eddie tinkered around with the circuitry.

“Hey, it’s like my little cousin Miles always says,” Eddie shrugged, waving around the screw-driver in his hand, “everybody’s at least a little nerdy. Even A-List Hollywood stars.”

“Spoken like a true nerd,” Peter laughed, rifling through his drawer to fish out his goggles.

“Hey, isn’t it the age of the geek? I’m pretty sure it is. What’s Miles always saying?” Eddie was apparently asking himself, scratching his chin with the screw-driver, “oh yeah! And the geeks shall inherit the Earth.”

Peter snapped on his goggles and walked back over to stand by his friend, “Miles sounds like one smart kid.”

“Oh he is,” Eddie nodded vigorously, “trust me, Parker. That kid is going places,” he paused, closing back up the circuit box with a dignified snap, “alright, that should do it. Let’s power this baby up!” he yelled, spinning in a flourish towards his lab partner, a grin akin to that of the Cheshire Cat spread across his face, his chestnut eyes alight with boyish excitement.

“Mr. James! I hope that is not the SH Laser System I’m seeing or so help me I’ll have you outta here so fast you’ll travel through time,” the clipped tone of Dr. Rickards sounded as she entered the lab with an air of professional grace.

Eddie and Peter exchanged sheepish glances.

“No Doc, this is definitely not the SH system. And I was absolutely not about to power it up,” Eddie boldly lied, throwing a large sheet over the machine, trying and failing to adopt an innocent expression.

“I’m sure it isn’t, and I’m sure you weren’t,” Selena retorted, her tenor making it abundantly clear that she believed nothing of the sort, “just as I’m also equally sure that when whatever it is, is returned, you won’t need to enter the security code that Mr. Stark recently changed to 310156.”

With a silent nod, Eddie shrugged at Peter and began to push the gargantuan device out of the room, back towards the adjacent room that was supposed to be off-limits to personnel of their level of security clearance.

Once he was out of ear-shot, Selena leaned towards Peter, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Peter, Vivienne from the lobby just called me. Apparently there are two people downstairs that want to see you? They say they’re police detectives.”

Peter’s stomach sank.

Well, that couldn’t be good…

~*~

A stinging cramp jolted Joe Blye’s calf as he shifted uncomfortably behind a dumpster, hunkered over lowly, stealing quick glances at the building across the street.

The mercenary known as Deadpool, had been cooped up there for the last few hours, having entered in the early hours of the morning, carrying what looked like enough take-out to feed a small army.

He had found his residence. Honestly, Joe didn’t think he’d even get this far.

After a few false starts, losing the merc in crowds and even empty streets (his evasion tactics were impressive) and one time following the wrong person altogether (similar red hoodies) Blye had pretty much accidentally stumbled across Wilson’s temporary living quarters.

Despite now knowing where the mercenary lived, it did nothing to ease the knot of distress that had firmly lodged itself in Joe’s chest. The man’s reputation was renowned in all criminal circuits, the name Deadpool instilling fear in even the most distinguished crime-bosses, and yet, here he was, the rookie with limited experience, hired to track the man down and somehow convince him to come to the address of a club where two murders was recently committed.

Piece of cake.

As that sour thought crossed Joe’s mind, the man in question appeared, exiting the apartment building dressed in a plain black hoodie and jeans, heading west.

Waiting a beat, Joe stood up, shaking his dead-leg, watching as Wilson walked, his shoulders slouched, head lowered and hands shoved in his pockets.

Biting his lip and taking a breath that didn’t calm him in the slightest, the rookie began to follow the mercenary who seemed to have a clear destination in mind, crossing the street and heading left.

Keeping a safe distance, Joe trailed Deadpool all the way to a food truck labelled ‘Sam’s Tacos’, frowning as he witnessed the merc opening up the back door, jumping up into the van and slamming the door behind him.

From his perch around the corner of a nearby building, Blye took a moment to psych himself up before quickly and quietly stepping over to the truck, pressing his ear up against the door, trying to hear what was going on inside.

“One way, or another, I’m gonna find ya, I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha…”

Joe frowned as he heard the enthusiastic singing waft from behind the door.

This guy really is—

Suddenly, the door burst open, knocking him to the ground, flat on his back. Dazed, he found himself staring up at the sky, but before he could react, he was being reefed up by his collar and thrown into the van, his back smacking against the second closed door, the thump reverberating loudly in his ears.

“Okay, you little shit,” Wade Wilson spat, bringing his scarred face within an inch of Joe’s, his breath bouncing off his cheek, “you better explain why the hell you’ve been following me the last three days, very badly by the way, or I’m gonna introduce your face to your ass hole, got it?”

~*~

Peter couldn’t help but notice the dozens of stares he was receiving from his colleagues as he shuffled quietly behind the two police detectives towards one of the conference rooms.

Soft, curious murmurs followed him down the corridor, the rumor mill surely well and truly up and running, no doubt pondering why he, the nerdy newbie that Tony Stark brought in himself, was being questioned by the NYPD.

It was exactly the kind of publicity that Peter had always wanted to avoid. What was the point of having a secret identity, if your real identity could end up being blown to hell?

“Mr Parker, please, take a seat,” the female detective spoke as they entered the room, her male partner pulling out one of the wheeled chairs and gesturing to it.

Clearing his throat, Peter sat down as the two detectives took a seat opposite him, placing a manila folder on the table in front of them.

“Now, as we said before, I’m Detective Beharie, this is my partner Detective Cassidy,” the female cop began, “we’re just here to ask you a couple of questions, Mr. Parker. First, could you tell me your whereabouts at 11:45am on Thursday morning?”

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat. Biting his lip, he took a moment to weigh his options, before deciding that there was no point in lying.

“I was at Jitters coffee shop,” he answered, “this uh…this is about the shooting, right?”

The two detectives exchanged glances, before Cassidy asked, “is there any reason why you didn’t stick around to talk to the cops?”

The brunet forced himself to meet his eye, “I didn’t know anything that could help the cops. I was fine. Nobody else was hurt…and I was seriously late for work. I—I had a really important meeting that I couldn’t miss.”

Detective Beharie nodded, opening up the manila folder to reveal and black and white picture of him standing beside the barista.

Deadpool must have missed a security camera.

“This is you at Jitters, correct?” she inquired, pointing at the photograph.

Peter nodded.

Beharie pushed that picture aside to reveal another.

Hazel eyes widened slightly as Peter recognized it as a close-up still of himself, standing in a crowd outside his apartment building.

“And this is also you, Mr. Parker?”

He nodded, his throat dry.

“So…let me get this straight,” Cassidy said suddenly, pushing out of his chair and standing, “you’ve been at the sites of two shootings, and you didn’t think it was relevant to talk to the police?”

“I did speak to the police, they interviewed everyone in my building,” Peter retorted, willing himself to stay calm as the cop began to pace back and forth in front of him.

“Yes, you did,” Cassidy agreed, “you said that you saw, nothing? Heard, nothing?”

Peter didn’t bother to dignify that with a response.

“You see Mr. Parker,” Beharie jumped in, “there is only one thing that we can find that connects the two shootings,” she paused, sliding the two pictures to lay beside each other, placing a hand on each, “care to take a guess what that is?”

Cassidy stepped closer to him, leaning down with a condescending expression on his face.

“I’ll make it easy for you, kid. The only thing that these two shootings have in common…is you. Now, after speaking to witnesses from both scenes, it seems that you were within a few feet of both attacks…you can’t blame us for finding that a little…note-worthy.”

Peter shrugged, “I suppose that’s understandable, but I assure you Detective, I don’t know anything that can help.”

Beharie quirked an eyebrow at him, “in that case, care to tell us what your relationship to Spider Man is?”

He turned his head to regard her, “I barely have one. He…tolerates me taking pictures of him. That’s all.”

“And yet, there’s evidence that he may have tried to assassinate you at least once, probably twice,” Cassidy stated rather than asked as he leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

“Maybe I took an unflattering picture of him,” Peter smirked.

“Mr Parker,” Detective Beharie sat forward, catching his eye, “it cannot be a coincidence that you’ve been present at two shootings involving snipers. Your life could be in grave danger. Anything you could tell us about Spider Man, even the slightest thing, could be incredibly helpful.”

Peter stared at her, before snorting with thinly-veiled irritation, “you actually think Spider Man is going around shooting a rifle to try and kill me? The guy is…” he shook his head, “he helps people, not kills them.”

Beharie sat back in her chair, nodding, “and that may still be the case. But until we know for sure, we have to take what we see in front of us as the truth. Someone matching the appearance of who we know as Spider Man shot up a coffee shop and possibly your apartment building.”

Peter threw up his arms, “and what is it exactly you want me to do? Authenticate his suit, or something?”

The partners exchanged glances before Beharie turned back to Peter, a resigned expression on her face.

“Actually Mr Parker, we want you to help us catch him.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

*Sniff*

Are you…are you crying?

N-No.

You sure? You know it’s okay to cry, Deadpool.

*Sobbing* THEY’RE RE-CASTING HIM!

Oh no. I was hoping you wouldn’t find out quite yet.

Andrew Garfield! My sweet summer child!

Well, I mean, I suppose something good could come out of this.

What good could possibly come out of the world being deprived of that hot British ass in tight blue and red spandex?!

Hopefully less crazy Sony product placement?

Oh yeah. That is annoying as fuck. But uh…for the sake of story, we’re just gonna ignore this, right? Spidey isn’t gonna magically change in appearance or anything, right?

Nope. Too late to go back now. But out of curiosity, who are your picks to replace Garfield?

Donald Glover, Alfred Enoch, Dylan O’Brien and Ben Schnetzer, in that order.

You know, for someone who is so torn up about it, you answered that pretty quickly.

What can I say, I have a vested interest. The sooner I know who’s cast, the sooner I can start all my sexy new fanart!

Chapter Text

“Is this a sex thing? Please tell me this isn’t a sex thing…”

“Aww, Petey! You’re no fun,” Wade Wilson murmured, folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow at the horrified brunet as they both stood in front of a gagged man, heavily bound to a chair.

“Seriously Wade, what the hell is this?!” Peter Parker exclaimed, his gaze glued to the twenty-something man who was silently watching them, his amber eyes darting back and forth between them with a panicked gleam, a large purple bruise forming on his jaw.

Deadpool sighed, before stepping closer to him, “this Petey Pie,” he began, gesturing over his shoulder, “is the ass-wipe that tried to kill you…”

~*~
6 Hours Earlier…

“Actually Mr. Parker, we want you to help us catch him.”

Those were the words that echoed in Peter’s mind as he made his way back to his apartment, rolling his aching shoulders with a grimace. He and Eddie had been working since the early morning on the latest batch of nano-trackers that Stark Industries were adapting. He even brought a couple home to work on, knowing he could do some tinkering to them when he insomnia kicked in.

It had been a long day, even more so after his conversation with the cops. Honestly, the last time he could remember being just as nervous as he was walking back to the lab with curious eyes following him every step of the way, was when he was in High School and was trying (and failing) to not make a fool of himself in front of Gwen.

With this however, there were larger ramifications than looking like a complete tool in front of a smart and beautiful woman…

Namely, how did he appease the cops by helping catch his alter-ego, without, you know, either letting himself get captured, or being placed under suspicion by refusing to help in the first place?

Thankfully, they had let him go before he had to scramble to think of something. ‘We will be in touch,’ they said, each syllable sounding more ominous than the next. Peter felt Cassidy desperately wanted to add a ‘don’t leave town’ after that, but with one stern look from his partner, thought better of it. Still, the words were implied.

Peter was starting to get antsy. Along with the unwanted scrutiny, he hadn’t gone on a decent patrol in nearly two weeks (the longest he could remember in recent times) and now, with everything that had been going down, it didn’t look like the safest time to start back up again. Realistically, he knew that the rest of the Avengers could handle anything that came up, but, they weren’t the nightly-patrol-to-combat-everything-from-petty-crime-purse-snatchers-to-felony-murder types, they were the call-us-in-when-the-whole-city’s-gone-to-hell-and-the-cops-can’t-handle-it types.

There is always Deadpool…his mind supplied him helpfully as he made his way up the flights of rickety stairs in his apartment building.

He almost scoffed, not believing that he was even entertaining the idea, but something stopped him from fully discarding the notion. Sure, in the past, Deadpool hadn’t been the most…responsible, or reliable, when it came to public safety. But he had his moments. Especially lately.

Pity he seems to hate you now…

Peter frowned as he again cast back to what Wade had inadvertently blurted out the last time they’d spoken.

“I’d like to believe that Saint Spidey isn’t trying to un-alive you kid, but truth is, I haven’t seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin’ out with those Avenger assholes, he’s not been the same!”

Despite his best efforts, Peter had been unable to drown out those words, they creeping up on him in every quiet moment throughout the last three days, evoking a sense of unease in his veins. He hadn’t wanted to face it at that moment, but upon reflection, he had an awful feeling he knew exactly what they were about…

Perhaps he had taken it for granted in the past, hell, maybe he had even taken advantage of it on occasion, but Wade’s admiration of Spider Man had been a steady constant since their first meeting over five years ago. One constant that now seemed less so, and that just didn’t sit well with the web-slinger.

But not for the reasons one may think.

Was it nice to not have absolutely everyone deem him a public menace? Sure. Was it fun to have someone that could keep up with his level of witty banter and endless pop-culture references? Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t why Peter appreciated Wade’s slightly unorthodox fanboying of him.

When the two had met for the first time, the young high school graduate had gone through his fair amount of physical, emotional and psychological trauma. Losing Gwen, especially not that long after losing his uncle, coupled with the guilt over Captain Stacy’s death and Harry’s decent into madness and villainy, Peter was…in a bad place, to put it lightly.

Truthfully, that night on the roof with Deadpool, reciting old Donnie Darko quotes, was the first time that that hollow ache in his chest had lessened, even minutely. It was a welcome break from having to keep up his patented bravado, his teasing nature as Spider Man (it was part of his shtick after all) but it hadn’t rang true, not in a long time.

After that night however, with the added levity of the merc’s slightly unhinged mannerisms and admittedly amusing sense of humor, Peter found that it wasn’t so hard to find the silver lining, however odd, macabre or plain crazy, in the every day anymore.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

Which was why, as he climbed the last flight of stairs, his black and white converse sneakers scuffing on the rough wooden floor, that he couldn’t quite shove down the rising guilt he felt…the shame.

Because Wade was right.

Since joining the Avengers, he hadn’t been the same.

And honestly, Peter was surprised that Deadpool hadn’t called his alter-ego on his bullshit long ago.

He deserved it.

And more.

With a shake of his head, the brunet refused to think of that night, the fateful night over a year ago that began his transformation from teenage-come-young-adult-lone-vigilante to the mature-and-valued-team-member of the infamous Avengers.

The very same night where Peter realized that despite his best intentions, he still had the capacity to be a complete and utter dick.

It hadn’t been his proudest moment.

And he had admittedly spent a large chunk of time avoiding Deadpool after the fact.

Not that the merc hadn’t made it easy for him. Wade had practically disappeared off the face of the earth and had only reappeared in New York a little over six months ago.

They had interacted a little since then, swapping a few quips here and there, but now that Peter really let himself reflect on it (and being immersed in the real wacky world of Wade Wilson recently) he came to the understanding, right there on the last step of the staircase, that it had all been completely disingenuous.

Spider Man and Deadpool had just been going through the motions.

Keeping up appearances.

“No wonder he thinks Spider Man is tryin’ to kill me. He still hates the guy,” the brunet couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, ignoring his lapse into the third person as the realization rocked him to his core.

“Peter?” a voice broke him from his reverie, before he could dwell on anything further.

Frowning, his hazel gaze rose to meet his Aunt May’s, heart lurching in his chest as he raked in her frazzled and pale appearance as she stood at his door, wringing her hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asked sharply, dread rising from a pit in his stomach as he approached her, clasping her shoulders gently.

“Oh Peter…” May murmured, looking up into his face, her brow furrowed, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, “it’s the house…it’s been robbed.”

~*~

Russet glistening orbs swept the darkened room with practiced skill and intensity, gun raised and back to the wall, the expensive grey suit rubbing gently off the well-worn wallpaper.

“You aren’t starting to lose your edge are you, Mr Daniels?” a robotic voice pierced through the gloom.

The man in the suit, Daniels, halted, squinting into the darkness.

“Chenko. Always a pleasure,” he replied drily, holstering his weapon.

“Forgive the cloak and dagger theatrics,” the voice continued as the outline of a body standing up from a chair could be made out in the dimness.

Daniels took a step forward, fastening a loose cuff-link, tilting his head.

“You value your anonymity. I respect that.”

“And that’s why you’re my number two,” Chenko responded without missing a beat, their mechanical tone as disconcerting as ever.

Daniels clasped his hands in front of him, waiting patiently for his boss to continue.

“I take it the necessary precautions were taken?”

The man in the suit nodded, crossing to the small table in the corner of the room and retrieving the folder before holding it out for his boss to take.

“May Elizabeth Parker, née Reilly,” he began as Chenko scanned the file, “Brooklyn native. Born May 5th 1951. Became the legal guardian of her husband Ben Parker’s nephew Peter when his parents died fifteen years ago. Is currently employed at the local hospital as a nurse…”

Chenko paced back and forth, their outline barely visible as they passed by the window.

“Did anything turn up at the house?”

Daniels cleared his throat, fighting the urge to take a step back.

“Nothing concrete. It was made to look like a run-of-the-mill burglary. But by now, Parker is aware he’s being targeted.”

Chenko hummed, the vibration of the robotic tone echoing around the room.

“Good. If he thinks his last remaining family member is no longer safe, the added pressure should cause him to slip up.”

The suited man crossed his arms, psyching himself up to ask the multitude of questions that had been plaguing him for days.

“Spit it out already, Daniels, I haven’t got all day.”

Tilting his head, he regarded the shadowed figure.

“With all due respect, boss…why the change in plan? I thought you just wanted Parker eliminated?”

Silence met his words.

Daniels felt compelled to continue, “why did Groves need to be taken out?”

The silence was becoming deafening.

Suddenly, questions were cascading from Daniels before he could stop them.

“Why hire Blye when you knew he was sub-par and wouldn’t get the job done? Why make him plant the bomb to frame Wilson? Why make him dress up as Spider Man and attempt to kill the Parker kid again, only to fail, again, and then send him on a suicide mission to tail the mercenary?”

The man in the suit physically clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip, shocked at his own outburst.

“Please boss,” he took a step forward, raising his hands, “don’t misunderstand me. I’m…I’m not questioning your methods I…I just feel like I’m not seeing the full picture and as your number two—”

“You asked why I had Groves killed, Mr Daniels?” Chenko cut across him, the mechanical syllables clipped, “simply put, he got too close. Asked too many questions. I don’t like questions. You of all people should know that.”

The threat hung over his head like a dark cloud.

“I will say this however,” Chenko continued, “your idea to hire Wilson to take him out has proved to be more lucrative than I originally thought.”

Daniels looked as if he desperately wanted to comment but was restraining himself.

“I could have just gotten the Blye kid to eliminate Groves and Parker simultaneously, but, as you so candidly put it, he has proven to be…unreliable. Pinning both murders on the unhinged mercenary and letting The Avengers deal with him seemed to be the perfect plan…but now? Things have changed. So that plan had to too. As the great Stephen Hawking once said: intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.”

Daniels watched with narrowed eyes as Chenko turned their back, reached into a briefcase and retrieved a notebook.

“Upon inspection, it seems that Parker remembers nothing of the event,” they noted aloud while writing, “it is now time to check on our other subject…”

The man in the suit nodded, pushing down his mounting doubts, just glad that at least this element of the plan was something he had a firmer understanding of.

“Yes, boss. I’ll notify Blye. He should be delivering Wilson in the next 48 hours…”

~*~

When Peter was eleven, a raccoon burrowed its way under the Parker household and eventually found its way inside. For weeks, everybody thought they were going crazy, hearing random scuffling, scratching and banging, almost as if the house itself was processed by some wayward spirit.

He could remember vividly, even now, how he had shot bolt-upright in his bed in the middle of the night, heart hammering wildly in his chest, his tired eyes fighting to adjust to the gloom as he fumbled around for his glasses, a particularly loud crash sounding from downstairs.

Biting his lip, he trampled down his fear of the unknown and forced himself out of bed, grabbing his unused baseball bat from his closet, and creeping down the hallway. As he made his way downstairs, he heard the hushed voices of his aunt and uncle coming from the kitchen.

Relief flooding his small body, he reached out to push open the kitchen door, only to freeze, wide eyes drinking in the sight before him.

The entire room was in disarray.

Broken glass, cutlery, food, spilled liquid and a slew of trash littered the floor. The lower cabinets were in various states, some half open, one even hanging off its hinges.

Uncle Ben and Aunt May whirled around at the sound of Peter, alarmed expressions marring their faces.

Peter barely had time to glance back before another round of rustling could be heard, startling May and prompting Ben to leap into action. As the elder Parker raced towards the door leading out into the back yard, a large black and grey blur scarpered around his feet, causing him to trip.

“Oh Ben!” May exclaimed, rushing to her husband’s aid as he collided with the kitchen table with a loud thump.

“That little bandit!” he groused before catching Peter’s eye.

As the two Parker men regarded one another, the elder suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, as the raccoon, bold as brass, continued to rifle through the overturned trash can in the middle of the kitchen, attempting to pick up an empty beer bottle in its little hands.

Fears abated, a small smile broke out on the young boy’s face as his aunt rolled her eyes, taking action by grabbing a broom and shooing at the small creature.

“Honestly Ben, this isn’t funny! Raccoons can be very dangerous and can carry rabies. Peter, go back upstairs while I call animal control…” she paused, pleased when she managed to coax the mini mammal into the pantry, deftly shutting the door behind it.

“Nobody touch that door, do you hear me? As of now it’s—”

“Coon Correctional Facility?” Ben piped up as Peter let out a giggle.

“It’s times like these where I’m reminded that there’s actually two children in this house,” May sighed with a shake of her head, hand coming up to her face to try and hide her growing grin.

“Hey,” Ben called after his wife as she made her way out to make the phone call, “look at it this way, honey. At least we now know it’s not a poltergeist!”

That was a good memory. One that Peter’s mind conjured as he found himself standing in the same kitchen thirteen years later, it much in the same state that the raccoon had rendered it all that time ago, albeit now, he had the sinking suspicion that the disarray had a much more sinister culprit.

“Peter?” his aunt murmured as she placed her hand on his shoulder gently.

Spinning towards her, they both silently drank in the scene before them.

Every room in the house had been ransacked, furniture overturned, possessions broken and thrown about haphazardly.

His hazel eyes caught on something near his foot, his heart clenching as he leaned down to pick up the familiar picture frame, now cracked, that held the last picture of he, his aunt and uncle before Ben’s death the following year.

Biting his lip, Peter traced the outline of each face before righting the table and placing it gently back down onto it.

“We have to call the police,” he murmured quietly, not in the least looking forward to another run in with the cops, but knowing it had to be done, whether he liked it or not.

As silence met his words, he was compelled to turn to his aunt, confused at the astonished expression on her face as she stared at something over his shoulder.

“Aunt May what are you—” Peter broke off as his eyes landed on none other than Tony Stark himself, standing in the open front doorway, arms folded.

“Hey kid,” he began, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I'm sorry, the door was open. Mind if I come in?”

~*~

“I don’t think ya ready for this jelly, I don’t think ya ready for this jelly, I don’t think you’re ready for this, ‘cause my body’s too bootylicious for ya babe!”

{Beyoncé he is not}

[He’s not even a Michelle]

“Hey, don’t rag on my girl Michelle,” Deadpool scolded the boxes in between singing his beloved jam, ignoring the muffled groans sounding from over his shoulder and selecting his favourite ice-pick with the bloodied handle, practically vibrating with glee.

Tilting his head, he brought the sharp instrument up to his eye and watched as it gleamed against the harsh light of the room.

“Perfect,” he giggled, running his finger up the shaft to brush lightly along the tip.

[Ha ha. Dirty]

“Have some self-respect, yellow,” Wade admonished, “we’re above cheap innuendos.”

[Are we?]

{I’m sorry. Have we met?}

“Hey, give me some credit. I’m not just some taco and chimichanga lovin’ moron that just spews pop culture references and dick humor like a two cent gumball machine! I do have depth, you know.”

[Big words for a guy who was just singing a song called Bootylicous]

“It’s a classic! And besides, I said I’m not JUST those things. It’s called having layers. Like an onion.”

{So you’re not above quoting Shrek, then?}

“Mike Myers is a goddamn comedic genius and I will not have a word said against my fellow Canadian!”

[Three words: The Love Guru]

“We do not speak of that,” Wade muttered darkly, aware of the baffled and terrified stare of his new houseguest burning a hole into his back.

{We’re being rude hosts}

“This guy,” Wade whirled around suddenly, pleased to see that the motion had startled the man he’d bound to the chair, “doesn’t deserve our manners. He has been a very bad Nancy Drew and has been following us around for the last three days,” he paused, stepping closer, bringing himself up to his full height, looming over the man and holding the ice-pick an inch from his eye.

“And unless he is a very good boy and tells me why, he will end up nicknamed Jack Sparrow and becoming a member of Nick Fury’s Club For The Visually Impaired!”

The young man’s dark eyes widened in alarm as he struggled to speak around the gag in his mouth.

[Um, not to throw a wrench in your plans there big guy but…how are you going to interrogate him if he can’t talk?]

Deadpool faltered, frowning.

{Oh yeah. You’re a real onion, alright}

[Also, Jack Sparrow doesn’t have an eye-patch]

{Why the hell would anyone ever encourage Johnny Depp to cover even part of his face?!}

Rolling his eyes, Wade wrenched the gag and tape off the young man’s face. He cried out in pain, body hunched over as much as the binds would allow, head down.

“Alright…let’s try this again,” Wade growled, using his free hand to pat the guy down, stopping when he felt something in his jacket pocket.

Ignoring how he flinched and shivered at his touch, Deadpool plunged his hand into his pocket and retrieved a wallet.

“Well hello…Joseph Blye, 26 years old from Queens,” he began with faux civility, staring down at his driver’s licence before placing a hand on his heart, “I’m Wade. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he paused, leaning down into the Blye’s face, a steel edge to his tone, “now tell me what the hell you’re doin’ followin’ me around like the worst P.I. in history or so help me, this will be goin’ in a lot more orifices than just your eye socket!”

Every drop of blood drained from Blye’s face, his chocolate eyes glazed with unshed tears as they glued to the menacing ice-pick, his limbs shaking like a leaves in the wind.

Yet his remained silent.

“You’re either an incredibly brave mother-fucker, or a really stupid one,” Deadpool snorted before shrugging, continuing to rifle through the wallet, upturning it onto the floor.

Cards, coins and bills fell at his feet. Leaning down, he sorted through everything, a small scrap of folded paper catching his eye. Glancing up to Blye (who was now avoiding looking at him) he straightened up, paper clutched in his hand.

“Well what do we have…” Wade’s voice died in his throat as he opened up the paper, revealing a scanned picture of a very familiar, bespectacled brunet.

His blood ran cold.

There was a definitive shift in the air, an ominous morphing of ambiance as he took a step towards Blye, picture held up for him to see.

“Kelly, can ya handle this,” he began singing under his breath as he inched closer and closer to the younger man, his tone dangerous.

{Really? Are we actually doing this?}

[This is too cheesy, even for us]

“Michelle, can ya handle this,” Wade took another step, ignoring his boxes as rage flooded his veins, “Beyoncé can ya handle this…” he stopped directly in front Blye who stared up at him like a frightened child, “I don’t think ya can handle THIS!” he roared as he plunged the ice-pick into the man’s thigh.

Joe let out an ear-splitting screech of anguish.

[Wow, if we had neighbours they would totally hate us]

{Shh! This shit’s gettin’ good}

“Alright you little shit!” Wade yelled into Blye’s face, his own twisted into an ugly scowl as he dug the ice pick further into his flesh.

Ignoring the frantic, agonizing screams and blood soaking through material, he spat with unrelenting fury, “if ya wanna keep your kneecaps, you tell me right now why the fuck you have a picture of Peter fucking Parker!”

~*~

When Peter was ten years old, he had a poster of Tony Stark on his wall. The man was many things, but to pre-adolescent Peter Parker, he was an inspiration. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist...and the head of his own company since the tender age of twenty-one.

What wasn’t there to like?

Turns out, a lot.

“You know, I have the name of a good cleaning lady, if you want,” Tony murmured under his breath as he took Peter and May’s silence to enter the room, raking in the scene before him.

Peter glared at him, stone-faced.

Stark’s movements seemed to awaken May however, who immediately jumped into action, gesturing wildly.

“P-Please, Mr Stark, come in! Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Forgive the mess...we-we’ve been—”

“Robbed, it looks like,” Stark interjected, “and no thank you Mrs Parker, I’m fine. Please, you’ve had a shock, you should probably sit down,” he gestured to the chair behind her.

It appeared that May didn’t need to be asked twice, and collapsed into the chair, wringing her hands as her eyes continued to dart around the room in dismay.

Peter frowned at her worriedly for a moment, before clearing his throat, “uh, excuse us for a minute, Aunt May,” he turned to Tony. “Mr Stark?” he gazed pointedly at the older man, before gesturing out into the hallway, paranoid now, the nano-trackers burning a hole in his pocket as he suddenly remembered that he had taken them from the lab. He found that he didn’t care, though. Even if he borrowed the SH Laser, it didn’t give Stark the right to come to his Aunt’s of all places!

Once the door shut behind them, the brunet whirled around, angrily hissing, “Since when did Iron Man start making house calls?! What the hell are you doing here?!”

Tony barely batted an eyelid at Peter’s theatrics.

“Selena told me you were questioned by the cops today,” he murmured nonchalantly, shrugging, “when you didn’t answer your cell, and weren’t at that dump you call an apartment, I figured you were here.”

Peter threw up his hands in frustration, “you know the whole point of a secret identity is for it to be kept secret, right?! I mean, I know your ego wouldn’t let you fight crime without getting the credit, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t value our anonymity!”

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him, but Peter was too pumped up to stop now.

“What the hell is my aunt meant to think when Tony Frickin’ Stark of all people shows up at the doorstep of one of his lower level employees for apparently no reason?! Did you even take that into account before traipsing over here? And forgive me if we don’t all live in penthouse apartments at twenty-four, we can’t all be children of billionaires!” he ranted, whisper-shouting as he paced back and forth in the hallway.

“You know, for a low-level employee, that sure is some way to talk to your boss,” Stark deadpanned before taking a breath, “look, I’m gonna ignore pretty much everything you just said ‘cause it’s obvious you’ve just had a shock, but let’s not forget here, kid. In just two weeks, you’ve been shot at twice by a crazed sniper, almost had your apartment levelled by a bomb and now had your childhood home ransacked...” he trailed off, taking a step towards the younger man, catching his eye, “you wanted to know since when Iron Man started making house-calls? Since someone clearly has it out for everyone’s favourite neighbourhood Spider Man, that’s when.”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, visibly deflating as the older man’s words sank into his panicked brain. Raking a hand through his hair, he tried to calm his fraying nerves.

“Alright...” he nodded, “I-I’ll think of some excuse for Aunt May. But for now—I...I gotta get her outta here. Thank god she wasn’t home when this went down. She—she could have been hurt,” he bit his lip, forcing back the tears that fought to well up in his eyes at the very thought.

Tony’s ever-present smirk disappeared as he nodded solemnly, before folding his arms, “she can come stay at the tower. That way, you won’t have to worry about her safety.”

A laugh bubbled up from Peter’s chest.

“Did you hear nothing I just said? How the hell would I begin to explain—”

“Are you forgetting the philanthropist part of my persona?” Tony cut across him, his eyes glinting with haughtiness, “just tell her that your wonderful boss has graciously invited her to stay in his home while the police process the crime scene that is no doubt a completely random B&E...” he paused, tapping his chin, “which reminds me, you should come back to the tower, too. Your place has already been compromised once already. And you wouldn’t want to put your neighbours in any more danger, would you?”

As Peter stood there, opposite the man who was not just his boss, but his team-mate and somewhat mentor, he marvelled at the varying ways the man seemed to somehow cause several spikes of irritation to smoulder under his skin.

Loath he to admit it, he knew Tony was right.

Before he had to go through the humiliation of professing such however, he felt the vibration of his phone through his pocket.

Avoiding Stark’s trenchant gaze, he retrieved it, the screen lighting up, indicating a new text message received, along with a dozen missed phone calls.

“Oh, so now you answer your phone,” Tony groused.

Peter ignored him as he tapped into the message, frowning in confusion as he read:

Hi Petey! It’s me, Wade. Huh, that sounded like that Hi God, book, didn’t it? Lolz. Anyway, I’ve something super important to show u so I’m sendin u my ANUS. Dammit. No! Stupid Automatic! Auto-machinery. AUTOCORRECT. Stupid Autocorrect! I’m sendin u my ADDRESS. So, yeah, kinda urgent. So hurry that fine ass up, kay? Kisses! <3 <3 <3 xoxoxo

“Everything okay?” Stark asked, his tone more than curious as he leaned forward slightly.

Peter started, hurriedly shoving the phone back into his pocket, feeling another vibration that was more than likely Wade texting him his address as he did so.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. It’s just...The Bugle. I have to stop by for—”

“Peter I don’t think it’s the best idea for you to be out on—”

“I’ll be careful,” Peter ground out, his tone one of finality as he turned on his heel, murmuring over his shoulder, “guess it’s time to tell Aunt May the good news. A sleepover at Casa Del Stark.”

“Actually kid, you need to brush up on your Spanish. I think the proper translation would be Casa De Stark.”

When Peter was twelve, he fully began to understand just what exactly Tony Stark made at Stark Industries, and didn’t find him such an inspiration any more. He remembered looking up articles and finding death and destruction with the Stark logo emblazoned on the side of the culprits: weaponry, missiles, bombs.

It made him sick.

But a few years later, when Stark had disbanded his weapons division and began working on new projects, laying claim to the fascinating invention that was the Iron Man suit (and adopting a life of crime-fighting) Peter steadily found his admiration in the man returning.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t still a jackass, though.

~*~

Squinting down at his cell phone’s screen, Peter read and re-read the address that Wade had sent him, before glancing up at the building in front of him.

This was definitely the place.

It was...something.

Let’s just say, he would never complain about the state of his apartment building, ever again.

Heaving a sigh, he made his way into the place, none too shocked that the elevator was broken and began to climb the stairs.

Once he had been satisfied that his aunt was settling in comfortably at the Tower, important and essential possessions in tow, an awe-struck expression on her face as Tony (and Jarvis) played the perfect hosts, he had made his excuses and left, heading west.

Although he was incredibly paranoid about his only remaining family member being so near to everything Spider Man, his two lives dangling incredibly close to one another, threatening to collide disastrously, he had to admit that he was relieved that she would be safe with the other Avengers being so close, and yet out of sight.

Stopping outside apartment number 69, Peter rolled his eyes, (he wouldn’t be one bit surprised if that was the whole reason Wade lived here) and tried to mentally prepare himself for what he would find inside as he raised his hand and knocked loudly.

Visiting Deadpool at his home. Another thing he never thought he’d do. What other milestone was he destined to make this week?

After a moment, a high-pitched squeal could be heard as thunderous footsteps made their way closer, seconds before the door was swung wide open to reveal a masked Wade, sporting what appeared to be a rather frilly purple dress over his jeans.

Peter gaped, words stuck in his throat, his eyes roaming the other man, as the mercenary bounced on the balls of his feet giddily.

“Petey Pie! You made it! Do you like what you see?” Wade leered as he curtseyed.

“How did you get my cell phone number?” Peter opted to ask in lieu of even attempting to answer that, stepping into the apartment as Deadpool stood aside.

“Petey...” the merc began, sounding offended he had enquired such a thing, “I kill people for money. You really think it’s that hard for me to find out one little phone number?”

Peter stared at him.

Wade stared back.

The silence stretched between them.

“Fine! I asked your aunt, okay?”

“And how did you get her number?”

“Phone book! Can you believe they still make those things?”

A loud groan suddenly interrupted their back-and-forth, startling Peter, who turned on his heel and gasped at what met his eyes.

“Is this a sex thing? Please tell me this isn’t a sex thing…” he gaped, horrified at the sight of a clearly beat-up man bound to a wooden chair.

“Aww, Petey! You’re no fun,” Wade admonished, entirely too blasé for Peter’s liking.

“Seriously Wade, what the hell is this?!” he exclaimed with alarm, his eyes wandering over to a nearby table that was laden with all different types of sharp objects, gleaming menacingly under the light.

Deadpool sighed, taking a step closer, “this Petey Pie,” he gestured over his shoulder, “is the ass-wipe that tried to kill you.”

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back, clearing his throat, and adopting an overly-formal tone, “Mr Peter Parker, meet Mr Joseph Blye. Joe, I hear you’re already familiar with Peter…” Wade trailed off ominously, a hardened edge to his tone as he removed the gag that he had unceremoniously shoved back in his mouth to plug the screaming.

“P-Please, let me go. I—I don’t know anything I swear,” the bound man rambled, his eyes wide with fright.

Peter took a step forward, “how do you know this is the guy?” he asked, side-eyeing the merc wearily.

Deadpool threw up his hands, scoffing, “because he admitted it!”

“Because you tortured him,” the brunet responded flatly, bile rising up his throat at the sight of the man’s open wounds that littered his body, a particularly nasty one on his left thigh, his pant leg almost completely soaked with blood.

“Well, when I asked nice, he just cried like a little bitch,” Wade snapped hotly, his body rigid, “you have a problem how I conduct my investigations Petey, there’s the door.”

Peter’s eyes glinted with steel.

“I’m not leaving so you can kill him.”

“Well then,” Deadpool shrugged, “guess you’re staying for the show,” he finished, lunging at the man, katana appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

Peter leapt forward, his arm sliding around the taller man’s chest.

“Please, Wade. No killing,” he breathed against him, surprised by how close they stood, his chest brushing against the taller man’s back as the air bounced against Wade’s bare shoulder, causing him to shudder.

“That’s kinda the perks of being a mercenary, kid,” the merc ground out, his tone sounding almost pained.

[Ooh…he said the name of the chapter in the chapter! Like when they say the title of the movie in movies. I love that!]

{If Petey keeps breathing on us like that, I think the next movie title mentioned will be The Dark Knight Rises}

[The Dark Knight being his junk?]

{Take me down to erection city}

“Let me talk to him,” the brunet continued as Wade slackened in his grasp, having fallen uncharacteristically quiet.

Wade’s fingers itched to touch Peter’s arm as it rested on his chest, the younger man’s posture awkward and strained due to their height difference.

“Fine. Knock yourself out,” he shrugged, forcing himself out of his grasp and storming over to the other side of the room.

Peter stared at the mercenary’s retreating back for a moment, mesmerized by the breadth of his scarred shoulders under the flimsy material of the dress, before shaking his head and focussing back on Blye.

“I’m...sorry for my friend,” he began, almost wincing at the conversational tone he adopted in such a dire circumstance.

Blye stared at him, apparently thinking the same thing.

“Is there any truth to what he’s saying? Are you the one with the sniper rifle?” he asked, pulling out another chair and sliding it across to room to stop in front of Blye, before taking a seat.

“Look man,” Joe bit his lip, his head hung low, “I know who this guy is, I’m not stupid. He’s gonna kill me anyway, so why should I tell you shit?”

Peter hated to admit he understood where the guy was coming from.

“He’s not going to kill you,” he responded, not entirely confident in what he was saying.

Wade snorted. Apparently he wasn’t either.

“He’s not going to kill you,” Peter repeated pointedly, glaring at Wade who turned around to watch the two other men talk.

“Are you, Wade?” the brunet asked, although his tone suggested it was less of a question and more of a demand.

The mercenary shrugged, “he followed me around for three days and had a creepy picture of you in his wallet...people have gotten dead for less. Just sayin’.”

[Why is Petey looking at us like Jim from The Office?]

{Because I think the big guy was meant to promise not to kill the big baby in order to get him to start spilling the beans}

[Oops]

{Also, we’ve just completely given up on trying to maintain proper Point of View, haven’t we?}

[Yep]

“Uh, I mean,” Wade murmured, pulling on one of the frills on his dress, “I promise I won’t kill you if you tell us everything about who hired you. And also where you got that leather jacket because damn! I gots ta get me one of tho—”

“See, he’s not going to kill you,” Peter cut across the merc’s gushing over Joe’s jacket with a roll of his eyes.

Joe wearily looked between the two men, before sighing.

“All I know is that the boss is called Chenko. I’ve never seen him, though. Dude speaks with some sorta voice-modulator thing. His right hand man is Daniels, a clean cut, suit-wearing, white-collar lookin’ type. My cousin Gio got me the gig...they killed him...” he trailed off, tears welling up in his eyes.

Peter let a beat of silence pass before asking, “And why do they want me dead?”

Joe’s head shot up at that, his tone frantic, “dude, I swear, I have no idea! All I was told was a name, time and place. After I—botched the first job I...they made me try again at the coffee shop. I don’t know what their beef with you is...but I do know they aren’t playin’ around.”

Peter lowered his head, letting the information sink in.

“So it was you dressed up in the Spider Man suit?”

Joe nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Wade shift uncomfortably.

“Were you the one who planted the bomb that looked like one of mine in the apartment?” he asked sharply, folding his arms, the dress bunching up slightly and exposing a little of his toned and heavily scarred chest.

Blye’s entire body tensed as his eyes travelled up the merc’s, his uninjured knee bouncing nervously up and down.

With the slightest inclination of his head, he minutely nodded.

Wade leapt towards him, “you little—”

“Wade can I have a glass of water, please?” Peter cut him off, stopping the Canadian in his furious tracks.

“I’m not leaving you with this—”

“He’s tied to a chair. I’ll be fine,” the brunet assured him firmly.

Fists clenched at his sides, the merc glanced between the two men before angrily turning on his heel and storming into the other room.

“How the hell do you get him to listen to you? That freak is insane. Fuckin' talks to himsel--”

"Did you have anything to do with the B&E in Queens this afternoon?" Peter cut across him, his tone razor sharp as his aunt's face formed in his mind's eye.

Blye stared at him blankly.

"Dude, I've been here, getting fucking tortured by a goddamn lunatic for the last seven hours! I know nothin' about some fuckin--"

"Did the people who hired you mention anyone apart from me that was in danger? Was there any other hits put out on anyone close to me?"

The other man shook his head vigorously.

"Nothin' anyone said to me. Why?"

Ignoring his question, Peter stood up from his chair and hurried over to Blye, quickly beginning to untie his binds.

“What—”

“Shut up and listen. If you don’t get outta here, I will not be able to stop him from killing you,” Peter hissed as quietly as he could, “the nearest hospital is a little over a mile west from here. Hurry!” he finished, hauling the man to his feet and pushing him back towards the door.

Joe trampled down the desire to cry out in pain as he hobbled, limping badly.

“Why are you doing this? I tried to kill you! Why the hell would you save—”

“Do you want to argue with me about my logic or get the hell out of here?” Peter cut across him, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

Blye didn’t need to be told twice, throwing open the door and frantically limping down the corridor.

Peter watched his retreating back until he was out of sight then quietly closed the door, turning around just as Wade was coming back from the kitchen.

“Okay Prince Petey, here’s your damn—” he stopped dead.

Peter forced a small smile onto his face, knowing it probably looked closer to a grimace.

“Where the hell is he?!” Wade erupted, frenetically searching the room for Blye.

“I let him go,” the younger man responded simply, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the door.

“You let him...” he gaped, “have you lost your goddamn mind?! The guy tried to kill you! Why the hell would you—what the fuck is that noise?” his tone morphed from fuming to irritated as the constant stream of beeping wafted through his haze of fury.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, Peter dug his hand into his pocket, holding up what looked like a miniature monitor that had a red flashing dot on it, that was the source of the irksome beep.

“That would be the nano-tracker I planted on Blye...I haven’t managed to fix the sound yet.”

Wade took a step towards Peter as he held out the device for him to take.

“His first stop will probably be the hospital, but after that, my guess is that he’ll either go straight to whoever hired him, or they’ll find out that he squealed and go to him,” Peter explained as the merc stared down at the slowly moving dot as it headed west.

Gently approaching him, he continued, “either way, I figured we could see where Blye could lead us.”

“You fucking genius,” Wade breathed, awe dripping from his tone.

Peter shrugged, ignoring the heat that had spread across his face. He had to admit, it was a decent bit of quick thinking.

“Oh shit!” the mercenary exclaimed suddenly, disrupting the pleasant silence that had befallen them “I never got to ask him where he got his jacket!”

{Focus you idiot! You are alone with Petey in your apartment, all dressed up. And it’s late...}

[He needs to sort out his priorities]

{Is that who we are now? Someone who quotes the Harry Potter movies?}

[It’s a step up from Shrek]

Peter was watching Wade, confusion etched on his handsome face.

“Wade? Are you alri—”

“It’s late!” Wade exclaimed suddenly, apropos of nothing.

The brunet shuffled uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh yeah, I uh...I better get going th—”

“NO!” the merc interrupted him loudly, holding up his hands.

“I uh...what I meant was—it’s late and you probably haven’t eaten yet so...uh...did you wanna stay, have something to eat? We can keep our eye on the tracker, make sure Blye really is at the hospital?”

Peter’s eyebrows raised, surprised by the offer.

“I—that sounds nice Wade, but I should probably get back. It’s late and...” he trailed off, suddenly remembering that Tony had brought his Aunt May back to the Tower and advised him to do the same as soon as possible and not go home.

The thought of Tony’s ensuing lecture didn’t sound as appealing as dinner and a maybe-stake-out with Wade, if he was honest.

It worried him slightly that that didn’t surprise him.

“Actually, sure, okay. I’d like that,” Peter replied before he could talk himself out of it, highly aware that he had just passed another milestone.

Wade leapt up into the air with a gleeful yell before catching himself, clearing his throat, a blush forming on his neck and clavicle that was still very much visible due to the dress.

“Awesome,” he said lowly, his tone noticeably deeper as he tried (and largely failed) to be cool.

The younger man nodded, glancing around him, letting his surroundings sink in for the first time. He had to admit, despite the make-shift torture chamber the merc had morphed his living room in to; the place was a lot cleaner than he thought it would be.

[Totally knew our last minute sprucing of the place would pay off!]

“A good ol’ fashioned sleep over it is, then!” Wade clapped his hands gleefully, crossing the room to get the take-out menus, failing to notice Peter’s confusion.

“What d’ya say, Petey? Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

[♫ Creole Lady Marmalade! ♫]

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The plot thickens…seriously, it’s like soup consistency at this point. 

Worry not. All will become clear soon. Like consommé. 

Big words comin’ from the chick that’s making up this shit as she goes along. And really, soup humor?

Yes, soup humor. Fuck you, I'm hilarious. And I have a plan, I'll have you know. It’s a loose, somewhat sporadic, and certainly subject to change, but it’s a plan. You and Petey are in the same bed in the next chapter.

I never doubted you, you wonderful woman you! 

Uh huh.

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER: 

{Is she seriously doing the sleeping-in-the-same-bed trope?}

[Shut up! Do not ruin this for us]

{So cliché. Seriously, all we need now is the big guy to get all handsy during the night and for poor Petey to wake up to a hard-on pressed against his—}

“Hey, you okay?”

Wade was spat from his reverie by the sound of Peter’s voice. Catching his eye, the two men regarded one another from either side of the bed.

{This is exactly how all our dreams start}

[And most pornos. Just with pizza delivery guys instead of grad students]

Chapter Text

The Morning After...

The thing about realizations is that they’re not always jarring. They’re not always these earth-shattering, hit by a truck, quaking in your boots moments that rock you to your very core and make you question every last decision ever made from birth to present day.

Instead, they can sometimes creep up on you quietly, sinking into your bones in the dead of night, the new information covering you like a well-worn blanket and making you ponder how you never knew they were there before.

With a crinkle in his brow and a tilt of his head, Peter Parker found himself being gently tugged from his sleep as light shone onto his eyelids, his senses, both spidey and human, in overdrive as his hazel orbs blinked open, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Stifling a yawn, he fought to remember where exactly he was. Biting his lip, a flurry of thoughts entered his mind as he recounted the night before.

He was in Wade Wilson’s bed.

With Wade Wilson beside him, snoring surprisingly softly.

Holy shit.

With as little movement as possible, he awkwardly turned his head, his eyes landing on the other man that was sprawled haphazardly across three quarters of the king-sized mattress.

Peter watched as soft light danced around the room like a million tiny poised ballerinas, the air particles glimmering through the crack in the grubby curtains and reflecting off various surfaces before finally settling on Wade’s mask, basking him in a soft glow.

The younger man felt an ache rise in his chest, an emotion that he couldn’t quite place as his fingers reached out to hover an inch from the merc’s covered face. He caught himself at the last moment, surprised at his body’s wayward action unbeknownst to himself, as his tired mind was groggily trying to catch up.

What the hell is wrong with you, Parker?! his mind admonished him harshly as he stiffly retracted his hand completely and forced himself to look back up at the ceiling, a safe, neutral focal point.

These last few weeks had been...oddly eye-opening to say the least. There was nothing quite like two assassination attempts and a home burglary to force some introspection on a person. He couldn’t quite explain it, but lately Peter had seen a different side to the mercenary, a side he had never seen before.

Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t Spider Man, that one of the many layers to Wade’s personality managed to shine through the bravado and folly, or maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t Spider Man that he had managed to see a little more under the surface of Wade’s front, whatever it was, Peter knew that their…friendship, if you could call it that, was evolving into something unlike anything they had had before.

Wade just didn’t know that.

But Peter did.

And it was that realization that was creeping up on him steadily, more and more as the days drew on.

For longer than he’d care to admit, Peter had felt like he had been merely existing on the world, not living in it. Even with his oftentimes exhilarating crime-fighting, his life had become somewhat monotonous. Work, home, class, home, patrol, class, work, home – wash, rinse, repeat. All day, every day, for years.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had any sort of downtime, leisurely hours where he did nothing or everything he wanted. Sure, he had gone and gotten a few beers with Eddie after work on occasion, and he had had fun. But there was always that little voice in the back of his head warning him not to completely let go, keep his inhibitions...just in case.

He couldn’t recall a time where he felt one hundred per cent in the moment, where he was just one hundred per cent Peter Parker, the student and part-time photographer. And he missed it. It had only taken last night to finally make him realize that too.

Who knew some video games, pizza and bad smack-talk could be so therapeutic?

And who knew that the one person who made him feel more sane than he had in years, also happened to be one of the least sane himself?

Life was funny that way, he supposed.

Guess somewhere along the way, Peter had forgotten that.

“Is this the part where you snap, rip off my skin and make yourself a meat-suit? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya kid, there are a hell of a lot more viable options if you’re in the market for a new face.”

Good thing Wade seemed to be determined to remind him every once and a while, even if it was about as tactful as slinging him over his shoulder and carting him off kicking and screaming.

“How long have you been awake?” Peter asked, wincing at how deep and cracked his voice sounded.

“Depends,” the merc murmured, “how long have you been staring at me?”

The Night Before...

“A good ol’ fashioned sleep over it is, then!” Wade said happily, clapping his hands, failing to notice the look of confusion Peter threw at him.

“What d’ya say, Petey? Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

A flutter of something licked at the brunet’s insides as he watched the merc bounce giddily around his apartment, grabbing at least three dozen take-out menus and skipping (actually skipping) over to his dilapidated fridge, frilly dress swishing behind him.

“Uh Wade I...” Peter trailed off, the objection dying in his throat, his dark eyes trained on the mercenary’s scarred back as he danced on the spot.

He was supposed to go to the tower. Be with his Aunt May. Start investigating the burglary and assassination attempts with the rest of the Avengers...

I haven’t seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin’ out with those Avenger assholes, he’s not been the same! Wade’s words echoed in his head, causing him to wince.

He really was a masochist sometimes.

He couldn’t help but smirk at the thought that the Canadian would give anything for him to admit that out loud.

...And he was back to Wade.

The sheer amount of times that his mind wandered back to the mercenary lately really should have concerned him.

Peter couldn’t even begin to suss out quite why it didn’t.

“I uh...just gotta make a call,” he spoke up, ending that line of self-reflection before he could completely tumble face over feet down the rabbit hole, gesturing over his shoulder and walking backwards as he pulled out his cell-phone to dial May’s number.

Unsurprisingly, she was having the time of her life. Peter barely contained an eye-roll as he heard her over-joyous tone lament how charming Mr. Stark was. How gentlemanly Jarvis was. How the bathrooms had towels like hotels, how the guest room was bigger than his apartment and had a wonderful view.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy she had the temporary reprieve from the worry and stress that the break-in had caused, but it was more so that he wasn’t too psyched about Stark’s modus operandi. He knew that if Tony had his way, there would be no separation of Peter and Spider Man, and having his aunt in such close proximity to a man that thought that way, didn’t sit well with him.

“Aunt May? Can you put Mr. Stark on the phone, please? I...have to ask him something about work,” Peter interjected his aunt’s glowing recommendation of the in-house chef’s risotto, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes falling on Wade who was busying himself at the stove.

Well that can’t be good...

“Hey kid,” Tony Stark’s breezy voice came through the phone, demanding Peter’s attention, “you on your way to the tower?”

“Not exactly...something came up,” he replied under his breath, taking a few more steps into the next room, nose wrinkling as a strong scent, something akin to sweaty gym socks and mouldy cheese, assaulted his senses.

“What the hell kinda ‘something’ could be more important than savin’ your own ass, Parker?” Tony hissed, clearly trying to keep his voice low so as to not alert May.

Peter’s eyes flickered back to Wade, who was now donning what appeared to be a chef’s hat, humming loudly and nimbly twirling around in circles, the dress swishing around him.

He fought the smile that threatened to form on his face.

“I’ll meet you at the tower tomorrow,” he ignored the other man’s inquiry, “can you put my aunt back on, please?”

He could practically hear Stark’s exaggerated eye roll, as something that sounded awfully like “it’s your funeral, kid,” wafted through the phone.

There was a beat of silence before the merry tone of May reached his ear, “oh Peter! You have got to try one of these mini quiches when you get here, they are just—”

“That’s what I was calling you about, Aunt May,” Peter cut across her gently, rubbing the back of his neck and lowering his voice, “I’m so sorry but I—won’t be able to meet you until tomorrow. Me and uh...Wade...something came up and Professor Rickards needs us. Will you be okay staying with Mr. Star—”

“Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart! I’ll be just fine! Mr. Stark has arranged for some officers to come and take my statement tomorrow morning. You and your friend don’t work too hard, and I’ll see you then,” she interjected, her tone laced with something that he couldn’t identify.

“Are you sur—”

“I am a grown woman, Peter. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I know you worry sweetheart, but really, there’s no need. I’m perfectly safe here. I’m in Iron Man’s home for pete’s sake!” she laughed before he heard her physically clap a hand over her mouth, no doubt realizing how loud she had said that.

“And besides...” she continued after a moment, significantly quieter than before, “Jarvis is the perfect gentleman. He’ll no doubt keep me entertained for the evening. You and Wade be sure to have fun in between all the work, won’t you?”

There was that tone again.

“John and Mitchie were gettin’ kinda itchy just to leave the folk music behind...” Wade was singing softly, still at the stove a few minutes later when Peter came into the kitchen, having finished speaking with May.

“You’re in for a treat, Petey Pie! I don’t make just anyone my famous peanut butter and banana pancakes, you know!” he called over his shoulder as Peter took a seat at the small, round table, fighting the urge to inspect every inch of the place.

“Pancakes? I thought you wanted to order take-out,” he replied in lieu of giving into the temptation to go snooping.

Now that he was finally in Wade’s home, he found that he was becoming overwhelmed with curiosity at what he could find.

And terrified.

So very terrified...

“Oh we’re totally ordering take-out too! Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he assured, “let’s just call these appetisers. I can’t have you say I’m not a gracious host, after all.”

Peter shook his head at him, feeling for what must have been the tenth time that this last while had been culminating into a strange series of firsts for him.

“McGuinn and McGuire just a-gettin’ higher in L.A., you know where that’s at. And no one’s gettin’ fat except Mama Cass,” Wade began singing again, gesturing with the spatula in his hand towards the living room.

“Feel free to browse my eclectic collection of video games. Don’t expect any Xbox One shit though...stupid glorified brick,” he finished, flipping the pancake, it landing with a loud sizzle onto the pan.

“Uh, thanks,” Peter responded, standing up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, making his way into the next room.

Looks like he now had permission to snoop...

If he was feeling particularly reflective in that moment, he’d realize how hypocritical he was being. Had always been when it came to Wade. He was fascinated with his back story, and now with his home, yet had never been too enthusiastic to share his own, the sheer idea of the merc roaming free in his home unattended, setting his teeth on edge.

He shoved down the soft ebb of guilt that was gnawing at him.

“Woah...you weren’t kidding about ‘eclectic’” he remarked as he raked in the dozens and dozens of video game titles that lined a crooked shelf.

“Super Mario, Rayman, Sonic the Hedgehog...” he trailed off, noting a particular theme in each.

“Why the long face, puddin’ pop?” Deadpool asked, appearing in the living room, plate full of stacked pancakes in hand.

“Oh uh...” Peter turned on the spot, shrugging, “it’s nothing it’s just...I thought your video-game collection would be a little more...I thought you’d be more of a Grand Theft Auto or Call of Duty, kinda guy,” he finished, clearing his throat, silently berating himself for being so damn awkward.

Wade crossed the room, depositing the plate on a cluttered coffee table and sitting down on the grubby couch, already taking a large bite of pancake.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate unrealistically large tits and a good kill,” he spoke around his full mouth, “but it’s my living. The killing, not the tits. Although, after Lady Deadpool, I always did wonder what it’d be like to have—” he waved dismissively, clearly realizing he was going off on a tangent.

“What I mean is, if I were to do it in my downtime too? It would kinda ruin the fun for me. Always wondered how ladies-of-the-night manage to their rocks off at home...” he trailed off, shrugging, “so the only excessively violent video game I own, is mine.”

Peter felt that there was more to it than that, something just a little off in Wade’s tone, but didn’t feel like prying.

“You have your own video game?” he asked instead, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead as he selected a few games and made his way over to the couch, taking a seat beside Wade, immediately noticing that it was quite a tight squeeze, their shoulders and thighs brushing off one another.

“Sure. Doesn’t everybody?” the merc enquired, piercing the pancakes with a fork and holding them up to the brunet’s face.

“Uh, not usually, no,” Peter murmured, raking a hand through his hair and taking the fork with a small smile.

“Whatever Princess Peach. What are we playin’?”

~*~

“FUCKING BLUE SHELL BASTARD!” Wade roared as Peter hid a laugh behind his hand.

They’d been playing old school Mario Kart for a couple of hours now, but Peter had to admit that it was far more entertaining watching Wade play video games than actually doing so himself.

Let’s just say, he didn’t perpetuate the polite-Canadian stereotype.

“Little horny piece of shit,” the merc was murmuring under his breath, leaning to the far right with the PS3 controller clutched in his hands, as if he moving his body would somehow help Mario move his.

“Hey, I have a name, you know.”

The retort fell from Peter’s lips before he could stop it.

What the hell is wrong with you, Parker?!

He felt the mercenary tense up, completely frozen for a split second, before clearing his throat, and reaching out to give him a gentle shove.

“Pass me another slice will ya, Petey?” he croaked, a blush creeping up his neck, disappearing under his mask.

Well, that wasn’t the kinda response Peter was expecting...

The brunet had been dropping subtle hints all night that it was okay if Wade wanted to take off his mask, but either the older man was being deliberately obtuse or just didn’t feel comfortable to do so. Peter couldn’t help but feel troubled by that. He hated to think that Wade was too self-conscious to be himself in his own home. He was also a little confused by it, considering that he was wearing a bright purple dress, but again, it was something he didn’t want to push.

Silently, he handed him a slice of double-cheese pizza, their fingers brushing lightly.

With a jolt, Deadpool’s head jerked towards him before lowering to their hands.

“Wade...you okay?” Peter asked, brow furrowed with confusion.

At those words, the mercenary seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had fallen into.

“Weasel.”

“Excuse me?”

Deadpool shook his head, leaning back on the couch, pizza slice resting in his hand.

“Jack Hammer...you know him?”

Peter shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against Wade’s dress strap that had slipped down to reveal a sliver of scarred skin at his collar bone.

The brunet swallowed deeply, averting his eyes.

“Yeah, he’s a huge geek from college. Haven’t seen him in years.”

“Talk about the pot callin’ the kettle nerdy,” Deadpool snorted, rolling up his mask and shoving the pizza in his mouth.

“Why are you asking me about him?” Peter enquired, putting down the controller and shifting his body to face Wade.

The merc shrugged, “the guy just doesn’t seem like your biggest fan, is all. Thought you might consider him a suspect.”

The brunet let out a laugh, “nah. Hammer’s harmless. He just doesn’t like me ‘cause I beat him out of a big scholarship to work with Professor Rickards.”

Wade nodded, “this Professor Rickards...she works for Stark, right?”

Peter busied himself with grabbing another slice of pizza, taking a bite and chewing slowly before responding, “yeah. She lectures at my grad school part-time and also works at the lab in Stark Industries.”

“Where you work,” Wade stated rather than asked.

The brunet bit his lip, feeling a little tense at this line of questioning.

“Yeah, I started there about six months ago.”

“And what do you do exactly, Petey? I overheard you say to your aunt that you were gettin’ some sorta paper published in an academic journal?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders.

“Science stuff. Nothing you’d be interested i—”

“Nothing I’d understand, you mean,” Wade interjected, sounding a little affronted.

Hazel eyes widened.

“N-No, that’s not what I meant, Wade. It’s just...it’s nothing that great, really. The paper I’m getting published, yeah, I worked hard on it...but it wasn’t where my true interests lie...” Peter trailed off, annoyed at himself that he was thinking about this again, after managing to avoid doing so for weeks.

“So where do your ‘true interests’ lie?”

It was an innocent enough question, sure. Didn’t mean it was so easy to answer, however. Where the hell did he start in condensing and explaining his intense passion for biochemistry, biophysics, scientific technology, research and development and all round advancement in scientific discovery? Trying not to think about it too hard, he just let the words flow from him.

“You ever hear of Peggy Carter?”

“Badass British Lady, Co-Founder of SHIELD and Cap’s old flame? Sure,” Wade nodded, licking the pizza sauce off fingers with a loud smack.

“Well...” Peter began, hardly believing he was talking about this, “during her tenure, she and Howard Stark, Tony’s dad, worked on a lot of fascinating cases together. Back before SHIELD was founded, she worked in the sorta precursor to it, the Strategic Scientific Reserve and took down a Russian hypnotist called Johann Fennhoff. He stole a weapon of Stark’s that could...well, it was bad. Anyway, about a year ago, a very similar tech of unknown origin was uncovered. LK90. When I began at Stark Industries, I started looking into it, just making some observations but...” he trailed off, raising one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“But...?” Wade prompted, leaning forward, apparently captivated by his tale.

“But it didn’t work out,” Peter responded, staring down at his lap, “you have to study the weapon before you know how to disarm it. I wasted months and couldn’t...couldn’t figure it out. Had nothing to show for it. So I moved on to more established things. One of those being the focus of the paper that’s going to be published so, all’s well that ends well, I suppose...”

“You don’t sound super happy about that,” the Canadian remarked with a tilt of his head, taking a sip of his beer.

Peter’s head raised, his eyes lingering on the sliver of exposed skin from under Wade’s mask as he took a drink.

“Yeah well...it was my first delving into the scientific world that Tony Stark dominates. And I was a spectacular failure. Not only did I embarrass myself in front of him, but also Professor Rickards, whose career I’ve followed for years now,” he huffed, reaching down to pick up his own beer and taking a swig.

“Mistakes are the portals of discovery. You’ll get there, Petey. You just gotta stop being so hard on yourself,” Wade lamented wisely, raising his beer to clink it against Peter’s.

“Did you just quote James Joyce?”

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

A small smile broke out on the younger man’s face. He hadn’t spoken about those first few months at Stark Industries with anyone, not even his aunt. He had honestly been afraid, apprehensive of the growing sense of failure he felt, the disappointment in himself. Yet, here he was, suddenly talking about it with Wade Wilson of all people. He hadn’t planned it, but now that he had said the words out loud, he found that he didn’t feel as bad about it as he used to. That was progress, he supposed.

A warmth rose from the pit of his stomach, spreading throughout his chest.

“Thanks Wade,” he found himself murmuring softly, clinking his beer bottle against his, feeling truly appreciative of the merc’s listening ear.

“That’s what friends are for,” the Canadian replied lightly before his whole body tensed, “not that I’m suggesting that we’re...I mean I know we only know each other a short—”

“How do you know Jack, anyway? What did you call him? Weasel?” Peter interjected, saving the older man from his embarrassment, resting his hand gently on his bare arm.

Wade glanced down at Peter’s hand.

“Oh Petey...” he croaked before clearing his throat, “that’s a story for another day,” he rambled frantically before abruptly standing up, wiping his hands on the frills of his dress and taking a step away from the couch.

He barely got a foot however before he tripped over the console controller that lay on the floor and stumbled backwards.

Peter hardly had time to gasp before he suddenly found himself with a lap full of Wade Wilson.

The room lapsed into a sudden silence so profound that Peter swore that all could be heard was his frantic heartbeat, hammering in his chest as he stared up at the 6’2” looming figure on top of him, strong thighs wedged either side of his hips, muscular chest brushing against his as his ass rested firmly on his crotch.

“Funny. I didn’t figure you for the clumsy type,” he murmured, aiming for teasing but it sounding far too breathy for his liking.

“I—” the merc broke off, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat.

Wade Winston Wilson speechless. Peter never thought he’d see the day.

He should do something. Why wasn’t he doing something?

No Spidey strength, his mind supplied him helpfully, you’ve used it far too much already. The ball’s in Wade’s court.

An odd sense of déjà vu passed over Peter as Wade absent-mindedly gripped his shoulder. He had no idea why and he couldn’t even begin to explain it, but something about it seemed strangely familiar.

[Okay, I can’t take it anymore!]

{This time I’m totally with ya. Screw POV. Oh my fucking god! We’re straddling Petey! What the hell is the big guy doing?! Has he had a stroke?}

[I think he’s in shock]

{He’s never in shock}

[Should we do something?]

{Don’t you dare!}

Seconds ticked by as Wade continued to loom over Peter, purple dress bunched up around his waist, exposing his Captain America boxer shorts.

{Why did he take off his jeans again?}

[To ‘let the boys breathe’]

{Well they’re definitely respiring now!}

“Wow...you really are a fan of Cap,” Peter forced out a laugh that sounded false even to his own ears, a bundle of nervous energy as his hazel orbs flickered up Wade’s body.

Another crimson flush rose up the merc’s neck, disappearing under the mask. The brunet found himself following it with a steely gaze.

“Uh I—I should...” Wade attempted speech again, “uh...sorry,” he paused, lifting himself off the younger man and stepping several feet away from the couch.

Peter sat up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s—that’s okay. Accidents happen. So uh...time for bed?”

[Oh sweet Lord in Heaven]

{Have mercy on us}

“I-I mean,” Peter bolted up from the couch unsteadily like a frightened deer, holding out his hands, “I just...I didn’t mean...I...” he took a deep breath, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, “it’s been a long day. I was just wondering if there was somewhere I could crash?”

Wade nodded vigorously before gesturing behind him.

“Uh yeah, sure, follow me.”

[Point Of View change? Pretty please?!]

{Sigh}

[If the big guy’s heart beats any harder it’s gonna burst outta his chest Alien style]

{Where’s Ellen Ripley when ya need her?}

Wade forced himself forward towards his bedroom, trying not to dwell on the fact that Peter was mere inches from him, following obediently.

“And this is where the magic happens,” he joked, it falling flat as he gestured to his tossed bed, stepping through his shabby room.

He could feel Peter’s eyes on him.

Turning on the spot, he compelled himself to look directly at him. Never was he more thankful for the mask that covered his tomato-red face.

{Looks like Bashful is our Disney Dwarf of the day}

[Great. Next up Dopey. Then sleepy. Then tomorrow morning – Grumpy]

{Don’t forget Happy. A rare occurrence, I know. But considering the tenor of this evening...methinks some very nice dreams are coming our way}

[I wonder if there’s an eighth Dwarf called Horny?]

{Or Desperate?}

[Or Pathetic? Seriously though, when the hell did he turn into a blushing virgin on his wedding night?]

{Since this is the most fun he’s had with another person in...a long time}

Wade frantically tried to ignore his boxes as he watched Peter’s eyes fall on the very singular bed.

“I’ll take the couch. I...I’m not as great a host as you were to me but...that’s the least I can do,” he stammered, forcing his feet to move back towards the door.

“No wait!” Peter held up his hand, stepping in his way, “don’t...you don’t have to do that. I’m not kicking you outta your own bed. It’s...it’s big enough for the two of us,” he remarked quietly, his eyes bulging behind his black-rimmed glasses, looking beyond surprised that he had suggested such a thing.

{Is she seriously doing the sleeping-in-the-same-bed trope?}

[Shut up! Do not ruin this for us]

{So cliché. Seriously, all we need now is the big guy to get all handsy during the night and for poor Petey to wake up to an erection pressed against his—}

“Hey, you okay?”

Wade was spat from his reverie by the sound of Peter’s voice. Catching his eye, the two men regarded one another from either side of the bed.

{This is exactly how all our dreams start}

[And most pornos. Just with pizza delivery guys instead of grad students]

“Looks like you came prepared,” he pointed to the small backpack that was slung across the brunet’s shoulder.

Peter shrugged, clearly not wanting to get into it, before depositing the bag on the bed and riffling through it.

Wade frowned as he began taking out pajama pants and a tooth-brush, wondering why the guy was carrying around such things.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

Once he had left the room, the merc let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

{You’re in for it now, buddy}

[Good thing we have that sexy lingerie for such an occasion]

{I thought we were being gentleman and not giving into our desires to tap that harder than Fred Astaire in Top Hat}

[Now there's an outdated reference. Way to alienate the readers]

Meanwhile, Peter was gripping the sink in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

“Calm down, Parker. Why are you freaking out? You’re just gonna share a bed with Deadpool...no big deal,” he whispered to himself, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

He bit his lip as a steady stream of dread rose from the depths of his stomach.

“Famous last words,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair and making his way back out to the bedroom.

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued to the ajar door. Through the crack, he could see Wade, his back to him as he slipped the dress up over his torso, letting it cascade to the floor.

Peter stopped breathing as the light caught Wade’s tarnished skin, every scar, no matter how minute, seeming magnified as if under a microscope. The hard, rigid lines of muscle rippled underneath the blemishes with each movement, his broad shoulder blades and biceps stretching as he reached up to slip on a plain white T-shirt.

As the shirt fell to cover the last of the scars on Wade’s lower back, Peter found himself coming out of the odd trance that had befallen him.

Clearing his throat loudly, he raised a hand to knock on the door. 

“Uh, come in,” Deadpool murmured distractedly over his shoulder, fingers tugging his mask back down over his face.

“You’re not gonna wear that to bed, are you?” the brunet asked before he could stop himself, wincing the instant the last syllable left his lips.

Deadpool shrugged half-heartedly, still facing away from him, “well, I wouldn’t want you to have a heart attack when you wake up next to this,” he waved a hand at his face, “in the morning. So...better safe than, you know, dead.”

Peter decided to let it be, his arms coming up to cross over his chest, the trepidation of what was happening finally getting the best of him.

“Well, go on then. Or are you waiting for me to tuck you in?” Wade asked, the teasing hilt to his tone tinged with an air of something that could be construed as nervousness.

The younger man did as he was told, getting into the bed and slipping under the covers, pulling them tight up to his chin and laying rigidly on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Wade shuffled around the room for another few moments, clearly trying to prolong getting in beside him for as long as possible, before finally heaving a sigh and sitting down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to turn off the lamp.

As the room was engulfed in darkness, Peter could just see the outline of the mercenary as he climbed under the covers and after a lot of tossing and turning, eventually settled.

The bed was large enough that there was a decent amount of space between them both, and yet, Peter was hyper aware of the warmth radiating from the other man. He was like a furnace cranked all the way to eleven.

How had he never noticed that before? He had known Wade over five years and had no idea that he ran hot. Or that he only played video games aimed at kids because his life was violent enough. Or had a row of rubber ducks in his bathtub all named Bucky Ducky (if the inscriptions were anything to go by) and made really delicious peanut butter and banana pancakes.

Peter wasn’t a fool. He knew that what he and Wade had over the years didn’t quite pass as true, normal friendship and yet, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed. The older man seemed to know a ton about his alter-ego, from his favourite movies to his favourite type of taco, whereas Peter knew that he couldn’t say the same about the Canadian.

It had taken these last few weeks for him to realize it, but now that he did, he found that he wanted to know more. While Deadpool’s past always fascinated him, now it was more than that. He had seen a side to the merc that he never had before and it just made him more and more curious about the world of Wade. He wondered what other layers there were still deeply hidden within the man’s shadowy intrigue, what nuances and neuroses deeply entwined in his chemical make-up that made Wade, Wade.

It was that gnawing curiosity that had him reflecting on their earlier encounter, the desire to know what he had meant by those words growing deeper with each passing second.

I haven’t seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin’ out with those Avenger assholes, he’s not been the same!

Those words had been haunting him ever since they erupted from Deadpool, spat in his face with as much force as a back-handed slap.

“What—what happened between you and Spider Man?” he quietly murmured into the darkness, giving in to his longing to know Wade’s side of the story, preparing himself for what could lie ahead, however uncomfortable and guilt-ridden it may prove to be for him.

The Canadian seemed surprised that Peter had spoken up. Shuffling in the darkness, he turned towards him, sitting up slightly.

“Nothing, really. The guy…he just—wasn’t who I thought he was,” Peter could feel Wade shrug as he leaned back on his elbow.

“What does that mean?” the younger man compelled himself to ask, his stomach churning into knots.

“He—it’s stupid, really. I…thought we were friends. Turns out, we weren’t. No big deal.”

Peter’s heart lurched painfully in his chest as that sentence reverberated around the otherwise quiet room. His breath caught in his throat at the flippancy of it, it containing a practiced nonchalance, as if it were something that Wade had repeated to himself over and over in front of a mirror.

Maybe he did.

Don’t think about that night, don’t think about that night, don’t think about that—

“Well, if it’s any consolation…I think he’s an idiot,” words fell from Peter’s lips suddenly, desperate to drown out his inner chant, “I-I know we don’t know each other very long, Wade, but even I can see you’re…you…make a good friend. Things would never get boring, anyway.”

There was a beat of silence while seemed to stretch for eons as Peter fought the rising sense of panic in his veins, forcing himself to close his eyes and take a deep, calming breath.

“Thanks Peter,” Wade replied eventually, the sincerity in his tone doing something to the brunet’s insides.

“You’re welcome,” Peter murmured, turning slightly to face him, hand resting comfortably at his side as he waited for sleep to claim him.

“You make a good friend too,” he distantly heard Wade mumble softly close to his ear a little while later as he was being tugged into unconsciousness, “a Slytherin like me and a Hufflepuff like you? We could take over the damn world...”

~*~

[Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. STOP FREAKING OUT!]

{Petey is totally still staring at us}

[Was he gonna touch our face?]

{We better get a goddamn grip, quick}

[I know what I’d like to get a grip on]

{He can’t just keep staring at us. Bad things will happen. This has to stop. Self-preservation! Say something! Say anything!}

[Ooh, I see what she did there]

“Is this the part where you snap, rip off my skin and make yourself a meat-suit? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya kid, there are a hell of a lot more viable options if you’re in the market for a new face.”

{Really? That’s the best thing you could come up with?}

[You know, this ‘he’ ‘I’ ‘us’ ‘we’ business is confusing]

{What can I say? We’re complex}

[There it is again]

Wade ignored his boxes, instead focusing on the adorable blush that was painting Peter’s face, his dark hair standing up in every different direction.

{Damn. Of course he’s cute in the morning}

[He’s cute every time of the day. And bangable. So. Very. Bangable.]

{Schwing!}

 “How long have you been awake?” Peter asked, the sound of his deepened voice causing a little shudder to shoot up Wade's spine.

A sly smirk crossed the mercenary’s face at that question, he feeling a little impish this morning, happy to have woken up to such a beautiful sight beside him and glad not have an embarrassing case of morning wood.

[Yet]

“Depends,” Wade murmured shrewdly, “how long have you been staring at me?”

He watched with unadulterated glee as poor Petey shone an even darker shade of crimson, his hazel eyes alight with shock.

“I don’t—”

The younger man was saved by the bell, or rather, the incessant beeping that began from across the room.

Frowning at one another, they both sat up in the bed, their gazes falling on the culprit.

The tracker.

“Blye...he must be on the move,” Peter mumbled, running a hand through his already delectable hair.

Tearing his eyes away from that delicious sight and barely stifling a groan, Wade sprang into action, throwing himself across Peter, their bodies connecting for a split second before he rolled out onto the other side of the bed, landing on the floor and shuffling over to snatch up the tracker.

{Was that entirely necessary?}

[Nope. But I’m thankful anyway]

 “You know what this means, dear Watson?” Wade half-yelled with excitement at his rumpled friend who was clearly trying to recover from having his large frame draped across him for the second time in less than twelve hours, “the game is afoot!”

 ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

So this chapter was originally titled ‘Hero Stark Flirty’ but I’ve decided to split that up to become the next chapter.

Yeah...nobody cares. Onto more exciting news! Woo! We’re gettin’ an R-rating, baby!

So I heard.

And not your weak-ass R-rating, either. A proper, balls-to-the-wall, knock down, drag out, shit-hits-the-fan, big tits, bigger guns, blood, guts and gore rating!

You’re like a kid at Christmas.

You’re sure as shit, I am! Morena Baccarin is gonna be CopyCat too...me-ow!

She is hot. And a good actress.

All I know her as is that weird alien chick from V, but I’ll take your word for it.

Uh huh. And how do you feel about the whole Vanessa thing? I know it’s a sore point in your past.

All part of the origin story. I’ll deal. Sigh.

What?

If only Spidey and I could appear on screen together...

I don’t think the world could handle that.

But I could totally rock that upside-down kiss in the rain! I would out-Dunst Kirsten!

Sure ya would, Wade.

Chapter Text

It’s been brought to my attention that some of my work was copied and posted to ebooks-tree.com without my authorization. I just want to again reiterate a disclaimer that while I do not own the Deadpool or Spider Man characters, the plot is mine and all my works are written solely by me for the entertainment of readers on Ao3, my Tumblr and fanfiction.net alone. Any other postings of my work in places other than these are there without my consent. If you happen across this fic (or indeed any of my other fanfiction) posted in other places than the above, I would greatly appreciate it if you would let me know. Thank you. ~Ck

Not to make light of anything writer lady but…this kinda makes the first line of this chapter a little ironic, huh?

Shut up, Deadpool.

~*~

“Please tell me you didn’t steal this.”

“Oh Petey, ye of little faith!”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” Peter murmured as they walked into an alleyway towards a shiny, red Chrysler.

“Subtle,” he retorted as Wade turned on the spot, walking backwards, arms thrown out.

“I woulda preferred a giant bumper car, but it gets the job done,” the merc winked, “besides, I get paid handsomely so, no need to steal…although, I am great at it,” he added as an afterthought.

Peter stared at him.

“Don’t give me that face, pouty pants,” Wade brandished a disapproving finger at him as he threw open the car door, sliding into the driver’s seat and putting the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life, “onwards noble steed!”

Peter, during this display, remained rooted to the spot, ever aware of the incessant beeping omitting from his pocket.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Watson? A formal invitation?” Wade yelled over the noise, his voice muffled from inside the car.

“Why am I Watson and you’re Sherlock?” Peter asked loudly, leaning down to glare at him through the closed window.

“Because I’m taller. Duh.”

The brunet let out a snort. “Of course. What an astute observation. Clearly you’re meant to be the detective,” he finished sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, before reaching out and opening the passenger door, sliding onto the leather upholstery and glancing over to Wade expectantly.

“So tell me, Sherlock. You actually got a plan or are we just walking into this blind?”

“The true seeing is within, my friend,” Wade replied enigmatically, revving the engine.

“What…what does that even mean?” Peter asked, completely bewildered.

“George Eliot. Seriously dude, I thought you were meant to be the smart one,” Deadpool deadpanned before starting to fiddle with various buttons.

“I know the quote, Wade. I just don’t understand the context. Do we or do we not, have a plan?”

In lieu of replying, the merc just revved the engine again, bouncing up and down in his seat.

“You’re gonna drive with the mask on then?” an irked Peter continued to question, waving a hand at his face.

“Oh I’m sorry, Princess Peach. Would you prefer I take it off?” the other man asked with an edge to his tone, his head infuriatingly facing forward, all traces of levity gone from his demeanour.

“Yes.”

Peter watched as Wade’s entire body tensed.

They really should have had this conversation the night before as they prepared for bed. Peter hadn’t wanted to push but now…it was more awkward. The younger man just wanted to point out that he had already seen Wade’s face (and a lot more of him) so it really wasn’t a big deal for him to remove his mask, only…it was a big deal. For Wade. Peter could only imagine how hard it must be for him, and to ask him something of that calibre…he feared he was crossing a line.

But seriously, driving with a mask on wasn’t the best idea.

A silence descended on them that was so stifling that the brunet had to force himself not to crack a window just to hear the sound of the electronic mechanism. He watched with bated breath as Wade continued to sit perfectly still, more so than he could ever remember seeing, his head tilted at a slight angle. He couldn’t be sure, but it appeared as if he was inwardly arguing with himself.

Just when it began to get too much and Peter opened his mouth to apologize for making him uncomfortable, Wade slowly reached up with his right hand, slipping back his hood and gently pulling the mask up and off his face.

Two hazel eyes flickered over the exposed skin, drinking in the sight before him.

Scarred didn’t even begin to describe Wade’s face. It was much more than just that. It was flecked, gaunt…haunted. Damaged skin stretched over protruding cheek bones, the head and brow completely void of hair, a wet sheen from a jittering tongue coated chapped lips. But the eyes…it was the eyes that drew him in.

They were dark. This surprised Peter. He could’ve sworn that in an old file he caught a glimpse of back in the early days of his acquaintance with Deadpool had stated that he originally had blue eyes and blonde hair. He remembered this purely on the basis that he had conjured an immediate idea of what his face looked like under the red and black mask. He had imagined something along the lines of Cap, a well-built, fair-haired, blue-eyed guy.

The reality was…not what he expected.

The dark brown eyes that were currently focussing intently on a spot to Peter’s left, were more expressive than even the merc himself probably knew. In that short moment, Peter caught a glimpse of something behind them, something that murmured a vulnerability, a whisper of uncertainty that was usually hidden behind layers of bravado and pop culture references.

Peter hadn’t really let himself truly look at Wade that time in his apartment, not with Aunt May sitting a few feet from him, but now, within the confines of the small space of the car, he allowed himself to linger, without crossing into staring territory.

His heart panged in his chest at the thought of just how painful it must be for Wade, physically, mentally and emotionally to keep up his persona. Peter himself knew how hard it was for him sometimes to constantly play the quick-witted and sharp-tongued Spidey, especially on his shitty days. But to do that to a larger and more eccentric extent while in constant pain? Honestly, he hadn’t given it much thought over the years, oftentimes he’d explain away the mercenary’s mania as just plain insanity, but now that he was literally faced with what Wade had to deal with on a daily basis—

“Now that you’ve got your fill of the Freak Show, can we hit the road?” the merc ground out, interrupting Peter’s reverie, his hands twitching on the steering wheel, eyes still avoidant.

Peter nodded mutely, his orbs dancing down Wade’s body to settle on the expanse of his shoulders.

He waited until the car was kicked into gear and they were making their way out onto the busy, bustling, noisy streets of New York before he mumbled under his breath, “seeing as you’re so fond of quotes. ‘Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it’ – Confucius.”

~*~

A sharp, wooden toothpick scraped underneath a dirty thumbnail, collecting all the grit. Two lips pressed together to blow out a puff of air before moving onto the next digit.

“Okay Mr Blye, you’re free to go,” a voice called just as a nurse entered the room.

Joe glanced up at her, toothpick clenched in hand.

“I have some crutches for you waiting at the door,” the nurse continued as she helped him into a wheelchair and began pushing it down the hospital corridor, towards the exit.

“Thank you, Tomiwa. I appreciate it. And please, call me Joe,” he smiled, offering the beautiful woman a flirtatious wink.

Tomiwa shook her head, a small smile gracing her face at his coquettish tone.

“Here we are Mr Blye,” she emphasized his last name with a quirked eyebrow as they reached the exit, “now remember, no strenuous exercise for at least three weeks and try to keep that leg elevated for as long as possible. Rest and relaxation is key.”

Blye nodded, reaching out for the crutches, taking a moment to steady himself before throwing her another grin.

“Just what will I do with myself during all that rest and relaxation?”

Tomiwa folded her arms, rolling her eyes.

“You’ll rest. And relax. Nurse’s orders.”

Blye gave her a short salute, “yes ma’am!”

With that he was off, hobbling his way down the street towards the subway.

It had been one hell of a night. He had spent the majority of it in the ER, blood trickling down his leg, drifting in and out of consciousness. Vivid, petrifying images haunted him in between his frantic waking hours as he reflected on the torture he endured at the hands of the crazy mercenary. He had been beyond terrified, sure that Deadpool would ultimately kill him.

But then the Parker kid showed up.

The same kid he was supposed to kill.

And saved his life by letting him go.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Joe had taken the opportunity and gotten the hell outta dodge.

The trek to the hospital had been nothing short of agony, stumbling his way down the street, weaving in and out of pedestrians, just doing anything and everything he could to remain upright and moving. The mile and a half walk had felt like an eternity and when he finally crashed through the doors, sweat was streaming down his face, his hands stained crimson from where they had clutched at his leg.

Eighteen hours, thirty-two stitches and enough pain meds to knock out a horse, later, Joe Blye was on his way to the first place he knew he had to go before he could even dream of going home.

The warehouse.

He had debated with himself over the last eighteen hours about whether he should alert his employers of what had gone down last night.

In the end he figured that honesty was the best policy. Less chance of his head ending up in a box if he was upfront about it. Right?

Or maybe that was his naivety talking. Or the copious amount of drugs he was on.

Either way, one crutch under each arm-pit, he was warehouse-bound.

Forty-five gruelling minutes filled with panted breaths and clammy palms passed before a familiar view met him. With a quick glance left and right, Blye crossed the street, shuffling his way down a side alley and halting at the wide, empty clearing that stood just in front of the dilapidated warehouse.

Taking a deep breath to summon the courage that he knew wouldn’t come, Blye took an attentive step forward, nearly jumping out of his skin when the large, burly man known as Mike suddenly appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere.

“The boss has been lookin’ for you,” he said gruffly, fingers twitched against his thick, grey beard.

“I—I need to talk him. Or Daniels,” Joe forced himself to reply, trying not to grimace as his voice shook.

Mike threw him an unimpressed look, turning on his heel and walking away.

Joe watched him leave with a frown. Was he supposed to follow him or—

“Time is money, Blye. Get your damn ass in gear!”

Guess that was his answer…

~*~

“But you gotta make your own kinda music, sing your own special song, make your own kinda music, even if nobody else sings along!”

Peter glanced at Wade out of his peripheral vision as he continued to sing at the top of his lungs, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as they waited, stuck in traffic for the fourth time in fifteen minutes.

Man, he hated driving in New York.

“We shoulda taken the subway,” he grumbled, reaching back to cradle his neck, trying to work out the uncomfortable creak in it.

“And miss you gettin’ a look at my sweet ride? No way, Petey,” Wade responded, head still firmly forward.

Since taking off his mask, the merc hadn’t even turned in his direction, let alone met Peter’s gaze.

“Blye’s half a block ahead of us. Looks like he’s heading towards the old O&F Warehouse…geez my grandma walks faster than that guy!”

“That might have something to do with the gaping hole in his thigh, curtesy of your ice-pick,” Peter deadpanned, folding his arms and glaring at him.

“Oh yeah!” Deadpool exclaimed as if only suddenly remembering, which he very well could have, knowing him.

After three more minutes battling traffic, Blye finally came into view, several hundred feet ahead of them, hobbling along on crutches before disappearing down a side-street.

Near the end of the street, Wade pulled over, lucky enough to find a space.

“I don’t think we can park here,” Peter remarked with a frown.

“C’mon baby boy…be a rebel,” the mercenary smirked, quickly turning to him before catching himself and facing forward again.

“So…what now?” the younger man asked as the seconds ticked by.

Holding up a finger, Wade leaned across him (still avoiding his eyes) to open the glove box, rifling through dozens of taco wrappers and what looked like false moustaches before pulling out a pair of binoculars and handing them to him.

“Go to town, Petey boy. Get your Rear Window on!”

Peter heaved a sigh, taking the binoculars and making a show of looking through them, pressing them right against his glasses.

“He’s…talking with some guy. They’re both heading inside,” he commentated before leaning forward, “we should follow—”

“Patience you must have, my young padawan,” Wade cut across him, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him back against the seat.

Peter took the binoculars away from his face and threw him a dubious look.

“You don’t strike me as the most patient person. Or a Star Wars fan.”

The merc shrugged.

“Our surprises we each have.”

Before Peter could reply, a loud tapping against his window startled them both.

Wade took that precise moment to finally share a glance with him, his dark eyes widened with shock before he looked at something over his shoulder.

“Speaking of surprises…” he breathed.

Slowly, Peter turned in his seat and was met with the very unimpressed face of none other than Tony Stark as he stood hunched over at the passenger side window.

“Hi there. Not interrupting anything, am I?”

~*~

Joseph Blye was not a man that would ever be considered particularly cowardly. He was in a dangerous line of work and any sign of weakness, and that’s what cowardice was seen as – a weakness, proved to be a death sentence. He couldn’t afford for any type of fear to break through his calm and collected persona when on a job. And nine times out of ten, he didn’t.

This was that pesky tenth time.

With shaking hands, he dug out his cell phone and called his cousin Gio’s number.

On the fifth ring, someone finally picked up, “hey man—”

“What the hell, Gio?!” Blye instantly launched into his tirade as he ducked behind a dumpster, silently counting down the seconds before the bomb he planted levelled the building.

“You told me it was a simple job. You said the apartment block was a shit hole, a cess pool of junkies and ex-cons. You said nothing about it having kids, man! And this Parker kid…he’s nothin’ like any of the others. He’s a goddamn college student, a nerd, not a fuckin’ fat cat embezzler or a drug tycoon! Why the hell does the boss want him de—”

“Joey, stop. Just relax—”

“Relax? You want me to relax?!” Joe whisper-shouted as he paced back and forth, “outta the blue you call me, tell me all about your shady boss and how you recommended me for a job that I sure as hell couldn’t refuse. Do you know they’re making me plant a bomb that looks way too much like a Deadpool design than I’m comfortable with? They’re having me frame that nut job as well as levelling a building! Did you know that that psycho would be here, Gio?”

Silence met his words as he gasped for air.

“He shot Groves, you know. Dead,” he continued, admittedly relieved when he saw the majority of the residents of the apartment building beginning to file out onto the street, fire alarm blaring.

“Gio I…I missed, man. The kid’s still alive. Which is more than I can say for me, after this,” Joe murmured, running a hand through his hair, “Deadpool chased me. But I got away. What the hell do I do now?!”

“You keep your head on straight, Joey,” Gio replied, as calmly as ever, “keep outta sight and get to my place ASAP. We’ll figure out the rest then.”

Giovanni Blye was ever the pragmatist. While Joe would concede that he was more the idealist. Unfortunately for him, he was only beginning to realize that idealism and assassination don’t tend to be naturally amenable.

It was that moment, the last time that Joe ever spoke to his cousin that was firmly lodged in his mind’s eye as he followed Mike throughout the warehouse and towards the very same spot that he had been given Gio’s severed head.

He had known in a way, that night when he showed up at Gio’s apartment and he wasn’t there, that something bad had happened to him. The punishment had been swift, at least. Joe hadn’t even failed to kill Peter Parker two hours and his cousin already paid the price. That was the business. Which was why it was so baffling to Joe that he had not only been given a second chance, but a third one.

And he’d blown that too.

Fourth time’s the charm?

“How does it make you feel, Mr. Blye? Being the sole reason that Gio, your far more talented cousin, is dead?” a voice asked, wafting out from behind an ajar door as Joe and Mike came to a halt in the middle of the room.

“Well, my Dad’s Italian, my Mom’s Mexican and my Grandma’s Irish, so I’ve enough Catholic guilt to last me several lifetimes,” Joe forced himself to respond, trying to give the illusion that the other man’s words didn’t shake him to his very core.

He wasn’t successful.

“Much like your so-called skills, your tone lacks conviction,” Daniels sniped, stepping out from the office, rolling up his sleeves and dusting off imaginary lint from his crisp, white shirt.

Joe compelled his eyes to stay trained on the older man, to not lower or avert, but to focus, track. It was a widely known, yet very seldom discussed fact, that Lucas Daniels was the closest thing to a purely human weapon that anyone could get. Highly skilled and physically imposing, the sharply-dressed second-in-command had an air about him that demanded respect and instilled fear in those around him.

Blye had already been privy to (and direct witness of) what Daniels was capable of (his stone-cold assassination of their associate Jack still firmly burned into his retinas) and had absolutely no desire to repeat the process, especially if he was today’s target.

“So, let’s review,” Daniels clapped his hands, (Joe absolutely did not jump) “you were hired by my employer to assassinate Peter Parker and frame the mercenary known as Deadpool. You failed. You were then tasked again to take out Mr. Parker, this time framing the vigilante known as Spider Man. You failed. You were then given a third opportunity to redeem yourself by tailing Deadpool and bringing him back to Club Purgatory to meet with my employer and were yet again, a failure. That correct?”

Blye swallowed deeply, a lump forming in his throat. Nodding minutely, he did everything in his power not to fidget uncomfortably.

“Well that’s just one fuck up after another, isn’t it?” Daniels laughed suddenly, breaking his patented cold composure and clipped vernacular, “I mean…shit. You’re one dumb motherfucker.”

Joe gaped at him, not believing what just happened. It was like something out of Invasion of The Body Snatchers.

Was Daniels a Pod Person?

“The boss was right,” the older man continued, his tone almost one of awe, “I mean, I never doubted it, not really but…to this extent? Jesus. I love it when a plan comes together.”

Joe frowned. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Mike was just as bewildered by their superior’s odd behaviour as he was.

“I mean, I have no idea how Chenko could have known but…damn. It’s really coming together exactly the way they said it would. And with none of the usual side-effects!” Daniels marvelled, stepping closer to Blye and staring down directly into his eyes, “you don’t have any nausea, right? Memory loss? Sleep-walking? Night-terrors? Déjà Vu? Discombobulation?”

Blye’s frown deepened as he shook his head.

Daniels let out another disconcerting laugh before turning on his heel and calling over his shoulder, “Mike, ready our guest. It’s time for Phase Two.”

A spike of fear rose up Joe’s spine as Mike’s large form cast a shadow on the side of his face.

“P-Phase Two?”

~*~

“You know, you’re shorter in real life…”

Tony and Peter simultaneously turned to glare at Wade who held up his hands in defence from where he stood outside the driver’s seat door, observing the brunet and his boss across the roof of the car as they went back to staring at one another silently.

“Peter, a word. Alone,” Stark demanded pointedly, breaking their staring contest and storming away up the street.

“Ooh someone’s got a bee in his bonnet. Or does he always walk like that? Seriously, I couldn’t sworn that dude was like six inches taller in the movies,” Wade commented to himself, tugging on the hood around his head, following Peter with his gaze as he rounded the car to halt in front of him.

“Sorry about this,” he began, “it’s…work. Mr. Stark is probably pissed I took the nano-trackers out of the lab,” he explained hurriedly, “you keep an eye on Blye. I’ll be back in a minute,” he finished, high-tailing it down the street after his boss.

Deadpool watched the two men go, a frown etched onto his very visible face.

“Curiouser and curiouser…” he murmured under his breath.

[Since when do bosses stalk their employees?]

{Yeah. And low-level ones, at that}

“Petey isn’t low-level anything,” Wade admonished White, “he’s A Plus, Top Tier, O for Outstanding. Totally stalk-worthy. Stark probably just wants to pick his brain about some science shit.”

[This is Tony Stark we’re talking about]

{The only scientist’s brain he picks is Banner’s}

[Science Bros FTW!]

“Should we…” Wade began before faltering, shaking his head, “no. Petey wouldn’t like that.”

[What Petey doesn’t know won’t hurt him]

{Like the fact that you woke up last night and stared at him while he slept]

[He doesn’t need to know that]

{Or that you jerk off in the shower thinking about him}

[He definitely doesn’t need to know that]

{So really, this is just another thing to add to the list}

[So quit being a pussy and follow them already!]

{Meow meow mother-fucker}

Mind made up, Wade walked swiftly in the direction that the other two men took, stepping as quietly as he could.

After a few moments, he started to hear voices [not us! Well, not just us] so he kept close to the wall, taking a quick glance around it into an alley, spotting Peter and Stark standing a few feet away, talking in hushed yet clearly angry tones.

“You had SHIELD question Deadpool?!” Peter was hissing, his hands waving with an irate flourish.

“I had Coulson ask him a few questions. Someone had to make sure he wasn’t the one tryin’ to kill you kid, seen as apparently you’re so focused on being his BFF,” Stark snorted, taking a step towards him, “tell me Thelma, when are you and Louise planning on driving that car off the nearest cliff?” he finished with a faux-sweet tone, folding his arms.

Peter’s jaw clenched tightly, his hazel eyes ablaze.

{So hot}

[*Drools*]

“How long have you two been having sleepovers, braiding each other’s hair and playing truth and dare, anyway?” Stark continued, “‘cause the way your aunt talks about him, he’s the best thing since those limited edition Captain America calendars…you know, the photo-shopped dirty ones that Steve tried to get discontinued.”

[That was one hell of a calendar]

{It made great spank bank material}

[Pity it was photo-shopped]

{Have you seen Steve Rogers? The dude looks photo-shopped in real life. He’s like Marvel’s answer to Ryan Gosling}

[Emma Stone was right]

“Aunt May talks about me…” Wade gaped quietly, trying to focus on the two men in the alley.

[Yeah she does!]

{To Tony Stark!}

[Since when do bosses mix with their low-level employee’s family?]

{Since Aunt May was the coolest of cool aunts?}

[Petey did say that he knew Stark, Rogers and Banner]

{Guess we didn’t realize just how well}

“Me and Wade are friends, so what? Last time I checked, I didn’t need to get your permission on who I can and can’t hang out with,” Peter ground out, mirroring Stark by folding his arms, “he’s been helping me investigate this whole assassination attempt thing. I figured it was an all hands on deck type of situation, so…”

[Whose hands?]

“You don’t need him, Parker! He’s more trouble than he’s worth, you know that,” Tony hissed, rolling his eyes, “how many times do we need to have this conversation before it sinks in? Deadpool is bad news. End of story.”

{Ouch}

[Rude]

{Wait…they’ve had this conversation before?}

“Deadpool,” Peter spat, taking another step closer to Stark, glaring openly, “is the reason I’m alive to have this stupid conversation with you. Why is it that he’s all right for you to have around when you need him, but the second I come within five feet of him you start freakin’ following me around like you’re a goddamn chaperone at a Junior Prom?!”

“Because you act like a kid at prom around him, Peter! Don’t you see that? ‘Cause I do. And your aunt sure as hell does, if her constant smiling and her ‘Wade this’ and ‘Wade that’ was any indication last night. Look,” he held up his hands, “I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all,” Stark finished, a displeased expression crossing his face, he apparently pissed at having to admit that.

Peter eyed him wearily.

“Did Steve put you up to this?”

“Like that geriatric can make me do anything.”

There was a beat of silence where Peter seemed to give up whatever line of questioning he had in mind. Tony took this as an opportunity to start afresh.

“So the guy that shot at you. Blye. He’s hauled up in the warehouse across the street?”

The brunet nodded, “he went inside not too long before you arrived. Deadpool…interrogated him last night and I planted the tracker on him. It led here. We were just working out what our next move is.”

Stark shook his head, “go home, kid. Let us handle this. Bringing Deadpool in on anything is always a bad idea. Me and Steve will come back and case the place. I’ll be in touch if something comes up,” he went to turn and walk away.

“And Spider Man,” Peter piped up, halting the billionaire in his tracks, “I—I know about what’s been on the news and all but I still think—”

A car alarm sounded suddenly, cutting off whatever Peter was saying.

With a jolt, Wade leapt back behind the wall before either man could spot him.

[Phew! That was close]

{Guess we better skedaddle}

[We wouldn’t want Daddy Stark to find us. Something tells me he wouldn’t approve]

It was sat on the hood of the Chrysler where Peter found Wade a few minutes later, walking up to him quietly, folding his arms and leaning against it, his hip a few inches from Wade’s legs.

“Sorry about that. Stark can be a little unrelenting when it comes to his—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Peter froze, turning fully to look at the merc.

“Tell you what?” he asked slowly.

Wade levelled him with a pointed stare, scooting his ass down the hood of the car until his feet touched the ground.

At the brunet’s puzzled expression, Deadpool sighed and began pacing back and forth in front of him.

“I may have…overheard your conversation with Stark,” he began hurriedly, deliberately not looking at him, “I know what you’ve been hiding…”

Peter seemed stunned by Wade’s revelation.

“Wade I…” he moved closer to him, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression and tone incredibly apologetic, “I know I should have told you sooner, I just…I didn’t know how. I’m sorr—”

“I mean, I know Stark and Rogers fight like a married couple and all, but I wasn’t aware they practically adopted you,” the merc deadpanned, interrupting Peter.

“Wait, what?” the younger man asked, his tone dripping with confusion.

[I don’t think Petey’s on the same page here]

{I don’t think he’s even on the same book}

But Wade was too far gone to pay any heed to his boxes.

“I mean, I don’t know why you couldn’t just tell me that you and The Avengers are tight. I know they’re not my biggest fans and all but…I would have gotten over it. I actually think it’s cool that Stark’s kinda Daddy Bear with you in a non-sexual way. Gives new insight into his personality. Adds layers to what could be a two dimensional portray—”

“Wade, stop!”

The mercenary halted his pacing at Peter’s words. He turned to him, throwing up his hands.

“Petey, it’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. I get it now. It totally explains all your weirdness when we first met, too! You didn’t want your Surrogate Dad knowing that you’re…friends with me. That’s why you didn’t tell me that you’re way closer with Stark than you let on. Hence why the dude’s following you around town. Your Aunt May let slip that you were with me, so he was coming to check on you. It’s kinda sweet, really, once you get over how offensive it is…” Deadpool trailed off, his tone a little dreamy.

[Did he really just say ‘hence’?]

{Indubitably} 

Peter looked like his brain had just short-circuited.

The two men stared at one another for a beat before the brunet seemed to come back online.

“Uh yeah…you’re totally right, Deadpool. That’s—that’s it. I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Tony he—he knew my Dad and he has been a big part of my life for a few years now. He and the rest of The Avengers have been looking out for me. You know, getting me a job, helping me with science projects, that kinda thing…” Peter stumbled through his explanation, a red blush tinting his cheeks.

Wade walked back over to him, his head tilted, his eyes filled with curiosity.

“And Spider Man? What is he to you?”

The younger man’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, unable to hold the mercenary’s gaze any longer, his head hanging low.

There was another beat of silence, except this one felt much heavier, the atmosphere in the air electric.

It hit Wade like a freight train.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, leaping up from the car and whirling around, “I’m such an idiot! How the hell did I not see it?!” he growled, furious at himself as his heart sank painfully in his chest, crushing disappointment settling into his bones.

That prompted Peter to look up.

“Wade what—”

“Spider Man!” the Canadian exclaimed, stamping his foot on the ground, practically vibrating with tension, “I get it now! He’s your boyfriend or something, right?”

Peter’s mouth dropped open, the blush spreading further across his face.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Holy shit, I am Sherlock Holmes!”

Wade picked back up his pacing, ranting at full force now.

“I mean, I’m not gonna lie, Petey. I am still shocked because Jesus I thought…I thought you and I...if I’d known…” he mumbled, his voice dropping several decibels that the brunet almost didn’t hear him, “now I’ve lost you and Spidey.”

Peter rushed towards him, his hand connecting with his shoulder, turning him around to face him.

“Spider Man is not my boyfriend, Wade,” he said firmly, staring up into his eyes, “how the hell could you think that?”

Wade seemed beyond surprised by this information.

“Oh I don’t know, Peter!” he yelled, stepping right into Peter’s space, glaring down at him, his nose an inch from his, “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable assumption. I mean, you take an awful lot of pictures of the guy. And you were so damn adamant that he wasn’t trying to assassinate you and wouldn’t let me confront him. So if you’re not his boyfriend, then what are you to him?”

Peter bit his lip, his hazel eyes flickering as they connected with Wade’s chocolate brown ones. He could feel Deadpool’s angry puffs of air bouncing off his face. It was as if all the sound had been swallowed up and all that was left was the hammering of his heart beat in his ears.

He watched as Wade’s orbs trailed down his face, stopping at his lips.

“We’re…just friends,” he forced himself to reply, the words expelling from him like a punch to the gut as his feet flat out refused to step away from the mercenary, no matter how much his brain screamed at them.

“Just friends…” Wade murmured, his eyes still locked on Peter’s lips, “you mean like how me and you are just friends?”

The brunet swallowed deeply, his throat suddenly dry.

“N-No,” he stammered with a shake of his head, “not like us.”

Something unidentifiable passed over Wade’s face as he heard those words. His eyes softened, tinged with that same unidentifiable something as he leaned closer.

“Good…” he breathed, closing the gap between them even further, his lips inching closer and closer until—

“Get the hell out of the street!” a voice yelled over the sudden honking of a car-horn.

The two men leapt apart, whirling around to see that they were indeed in the middle of the road, blocking a very angry man in an SUV.

Silently, they stepped out of the way and watched as the driver sped off, still yelling expletives at them.

[Well, that’s a mood killer]

{Has the big guy lost his mind?! He actually nearly kissed Petey}

[Petey looked like he might kiss back]

{I wouldn’t count on it. The guy may be ‘just friends’ with Spidey, but that doesn’t mean shit. Now that we know he’s rubbing elbows with the greats on the regular, what kinda chance does ol’ Scarface really have? He’s hardly a catch at the best of times, but up against Spidey and Black Widow?}

[You’re totally right. He’d be an idiot to actually think something could possibly happen between them. Petey’s surrounded by much better options. Who’d want stale tuna when they could have caviar?]

“…ade? Wade!”

The whole world came crashing back with brute force.

Deadpool fought to stay standing as he snapped out of his reverie to find Peter calling him, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Hey? You okay?” he asked, slowly lowering his arm and pinning him with a concerned look.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. We uh…we better get goin’, huh? Wouldn’t wanna still be here when Daddy Stark and Papa Rogers get here,” he rambled, stepping well away from Peter and making his way back around to the driver’s door and unlocking the car.

He could feel Peter’s puzzled gaze on him but stubbornly kept his head lowered.

“So where will it be, Petey? I can drop you off to see your aunt if you like?”

He could hear the scuff of the other man’s footsteps as he made his way over to the passenger side door.

“Wait, that’s it? You’re…you’re done helping me?”

Before he could think it through, Wade’s head snapped up and met Peter’s gaze from across the roof of the car.

“You said it yourself, you’re tight with The Avengers. What the hell would you still need me for?”

A flash of anger and…no, Wade had to be seeing that wrong. There was no way that there was actually hurt in Peter’s eyes.

“So what…this is you resigning as my bodyguard, Kevin Costner?”

“You don’t need another bodyguard. You already have seven,” the merc mumbled before pulling open the door and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Oh yeah, they’ve been doing a great job so far,” he heard Peter growl under his breath before doing the same, slamming the door so hard that it shook it the car.

“So, where to Miss Daisy?” Wade asked, trying to inject some levity into the tense atmosphere.

If Peter’s folded arms and rigid posture were anything to go by, he wasn’t in the mood for banter.

“Sally’s Diner. Me and my aunt meet there every week at this time for lunch. Step on it. I don’t want to be late.”

The mercenary nodded, putting the key into the ignition, ignoring the slight shake to his hand and forcing himself to focus on the road in front of him.

And to think…the morning had started off so promising.

This was what happened when he deluded himself into thinking that he could actually have nice things…

~*~

“Is it…is it safe for you to be out in public, like this? Maybe you and your aunt should go home and—”

“I thought you resigned as my bodyguard?” Peter cut across Wade sharply as they sat outside Sally’s Diner twenty-five minutes later.

It had been one hell of a tense drive, for both of them. While that morning, the air was punctuated with Wade’s off-key singing and Peter’s occasional observations, the last half-hour was spent in stone-cold silence, the former focussing on the road in front of him and the latter determinedly staring out of the passenger-side window.

The merc’s mouth snapped shut as he nodded, still facing forward in his seat.

“Well, thanks, I guess…” the brunet murmured before leaning forward and placing his hand on the door handle.

Wade watched silently as Peter exited the car, slamming the door behind him. Swallowing the awful dread sensation that was rising up his throat, he forced himself to open the passenger side window and yell after him:

“So I’ll see you around right, Watson?”

Peter halted in his tracks several feet from the car, his shoulders tense. Slowly, he turned, barely enough to reveal one side of his face.

“I don’t know, Wade,” he called, his tone stiff, “will you? You’re so hot and cold lately, who knows if you’ll just change your mind last second…”

With that, he continued on his way, thundering towards the diner without a backwards glance.

The merc let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as he watched him go.

“I’m such an idiot…”

[No arguments here]

“You were the ones that said it was a stupid idea to kiss Petey!” Wade growled, starting the car and speeding down the street like bat outta hell.

{Since when do you actually listen to us?}

[And you heard Petey, you’re so hot and cold]

{Always changing your mind}

[Always second guessing yourself]

{And now you’ve lost him forever}

[Just like everyone else you’ve ever given a damn about]

{Think it’s time to go back to daydreaming about Spidey instead?}

[Even though last time you saw him he was a gigantic douche]

{Your crush on him was always easy}

[You always knew it was unrequited, so it was easier than this anyway]

{Less painful}

[Safer]

{You did hear Petey say that he wanted him to help Stark and Rogers case the joint}

[You could help catch who’s after Petey and go back to crushing on Spidey in person. Talk about killing two birds with one stone]

{Pissing off Stark is just an added bonus}

[And you haven’t seen Spidey in months, wouldn’t it be nice to get back that rapport?]

{The banter?}

[It’d help you get your mind off Petey]

Well, if nothing else sold it, that did.

“Fine. I’ll head back to the warehouse. It’ll be good to see Spidey again…maybe I could even grill him about his relationship with—”

[The whole point of this is to stop thinking about Peter!]

“Right. Stop thinking about Peter. I can do that. No problem.”

{Well that was about as convincing as Paris Hilton’s attempt at an acting career}

[Or singing career]

{Or any career at all, really}

~*~

Wade Wilson was going to kiss me. Fucking Deadpool was going to kiss me. And I was going to let him. What the hell is wrong with me?!

Have I lost my mind?

Is this what crazy feels like?

Have I been drugged?

Am I that desperate for human interaction?

Human affection?

…Am I really that lonely?

Peter Parker was fuming.

He had always been the type that while it took a lot for him to get angry, when he did, he got furious.

Today was one of those days.

He just…didn’t know why.

That was a lie. He did know why.

You wanted him to kiss you…and you’re mad because he didn’t.

What the actual fuck?!

“Uh oh. I know that look,” Bruce Banner remarked as Peter burst into the lab, storming across the room, running his hands through his hair.

“Peter…you okay, buddy?” the scientist continued, his tone tinged with concern as he watched the younger man pace back and forth.

“So stupid,” the brunet grumbled to himself, “so goddamn stupid!”

“What are you—”

“Does Tony still keep my spare suit in the vault?” Peter cut across Bruce’s attempt to figure out what the hell was going on with him, eyes ablaze with a dangerous flash.

“Uh…yeah,” Banner murmured with a furrowed brow, “I think so. Why?”

“Because,” the younger man ground out, still jittery, his dark eyes filled with fury and determination, “I think it’s about time I get back into the field. They messed with my aunt, Bruce. My aunt. I’m not letting the bastards away with that! Where is she?”

“Playing pool with Clint, last time I checked,” Bruce responded, his face an odd mixture of concern and amusement, no doubt of the comical image the older woman beating his teammate’s ass at pool conjured.

Peter nodded before turning on his heel and thundering out of the room without a backwards glance.

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up his forehead as he stood alone once more.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing something?”

You’re deflecting…Peter’s mind whispered devilishly to him as he stormed down the corridor of the tower, berating him all the way.

You are beyond furious and frightened that they went after Aunt May…but that’s not what’s fuelling you now.

You’re pissed at Wade.

You’re frustrated at yourself.

You’re freaked out at what you nearly let happen.

And you’re terrified at the overwhelming sense of disappointment you felt when that jackass interrupted you…

Jaw clenched, Peter shook his head, trying desperately to stop his rapidly derailing train of thought as he neared Ops. He didn’t have time for this. Someone was trying to kill him. Someone had broken into his childhood home and ransacked it. That was what he had to focus on.

His hammering heart eased a little, a small smile forming on his face as he heard the tell-tale laughter of his aunt, seconds before she came into view, a giant grin on her face as she potted the black ball causing Clint to double over, groaning in frustration.

“You have got to be kidding me! Are you sure you’re not cheating?!”

“I’ve no need to cheat, Mr Barton. I’m just that good,” May winked before her grin grew larger at the sight of her nephew.

“Oh Peter, you’re here! Just in time to see me take even more of Clint’s money!”

The brunet shook his head at her, ignoring his teammate’s wounded expression and crossing the room, enveloping her in a tight hug.

“Did you have a good night?” he asked, his words muffled against her shoulder.

“Oh, the best!” May exclaimed as they broke the hug, staring up at him, her eyes dancing with delight, “did you have a nice time with Wade?”

Peter faltered, his smile fading as he felt Barton’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.

“Uh…it was fine, yeah,” he murmured, not able to meet his aunt’s gaze.

May stared at him for a moment, the beat of silence giving in to the rising tension. Peter bit his lip, forcing himself not to fidget.

No doubt feeling sorry for her nephew, after what felt like an eternity, May broke the quietness that descended on them.

“Did you know Jarvis is a remarkable chess player?”

“Admittedly not as remarkable as you, Mrs Parker,” Jarvis’ dulcet tone omitted around the room.

“You’ve been making friends I see,” Peter smiled softly, relieved at the subject change, he and Clint exchanging a glance before he turned back to her.

“Yes, your…colleagues are very welcoming,” she replied, something unidentifiable crossing her features that puzzled Peter.

“They’re not my—”

Her quirked eyebrow made the rest of his sentence stick in his throat.

It was never something they directly discussed. It was something that they danced around for as long as he could remember, a notion that passed like ships in the night but never made direct contact. She knew. He knew that she knew. And she knew that he knew that she knew. May Parker was a smart woman. Peter Parker wasn’t always subtle. He’d been doing this for over seven years now. Ample time for various math to be done. And May had always been good at math…

“I uh…I have to check in with Mr. Stark about work. You okay to hang out here for a little longer?” Peter opted to say instead, not wanting to insult his aunt’s intelligence, but still not quite ready to be one hundred percent open.

“That’s great, don’t worry about me. Just means I have more time to win more money,” she smirked, tilting her head at Clint.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” the archer asked, folding his arms.

“That’s how it’s gonna be,” the older woman replied smoothly, smirk growing larger and smugger, “how much money does a superhero have, anyway?”

Peter left the room and made his way down to the vault, finding comfort in knowing that his aunt would be fine.

Clint on the other hand…he had his work cut out for him.

~*~

“This hit, that ice cold, Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold. This one, for them hood girls, them good girls, straight masterpieces! Stylin', while in, livin’ it up in the city. Got Chucks on with Saint Laurent, gotta kiss myself I’m so pretty!” 

[Bruno Mars he is not]

{Why does he keep insisting that he can sing?}

[Delusions of grandeur]

{Or just straight up delusions}

“Girls hit your hallelujah—woo! Girls hit your hallelujah—woo!” Wade continued to sing, ignoring his boxes as he surveyed the warehouse, trusty binoculars over his eyes.

[It isn’t girls that you want to hit your hallelujah]

{Well, not at the moment, anyway}

[Although…that Morena Baccarin]

{Wowza}

[Hubba hubba]

{Writer lady approves}

[Still…she’s no Pete—]

“I thought we weren’t mentioning him,” Deadpool remarked coolly, trying to appear nonchalant and fooling nobody.

[Stickin’ to that, are we?]

{It’s so much more fun not to}

“I hate you.”

{We know you mean love!}

[You do gotta wonder what Petey Pie is doing right now…]

{He’s probably busy having his obligatory ‘big gay freak out’ that most guy goes through at some point}

[I’m not sure Petey’s gay…and if he was, he wouldn’t be for Scarface. Now Spidey on the other hand…there’s a man any self-respecting guy would go gay for]

“How would you know? You’ve no idea what he looks like,” Wade grumbled at Yellow, still scouring the perimeter of the warehouse for any sign of life.

[Oh he’s hot. Trust us. We’ve got a sixth sense for these things]

{He and Petey together would be even hotter}

[I bet they get up to all kinds of freaky shit. Can you imagine the acrobatics? Those web-shooters would surely come in handy in the boudoir]

{I’ve always been partial to the phrase ‘come in handy.’ Kinda sounds like something Spongebob would say instead of ‘jerk off’}

“Shut up,” Wade growled, growing impatient with his boxes’ nonsense.

Before they could retort, a sudden movement to the side of the warehouse caught the merc’s attention.

[Well if it isn’t Dorothy, Tin Man and their little dog Toto]

Wade watched silently as Captain America, Iron Man and Spider Man approached the building in a tactical formation, clearly scoping out the place in hopes to penetrate it.

{Still not a good enough reason to use the word penetrate}

“Petey took my advice then,” Deadpool couldn’t help but mutter to himself as he got out his listening equipment, trying desperately to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was rising in his chest at seeing Spider Man again after such a long time.

After turning a few dials, Wade held up the large cone-shaped contraption to his ear and listened, faint voices now audible.

“…that clear? We stick to the plan,” Steve Rogers was saying in his serious I’ve-been-through-many-wars tone.

“Crystal,” Stark and Spider Man responded in unison, albeit much less enthused than their teammate.

“What do you see in there, Stark?”

[Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?]

“At least three dozen bodies…and something big, lit up like a Christmas tree,” Tony remarked, clearly intrigued by what he was picking up from inside.

“Okay, we do this like we discussed. In and out. Natasha and Clint are on backup if needed, so if you run into any trouble…” he trailed off, his words clearly directed at Spider Man.

“I got it, Cap,” the webbed wonder responded somewhat impatiently before shooting his webs up at an open window and swinging through.

Wade watched as the other two Avengers each took up positions on either side of the warehouse and entered as swiftly and covertly as their colleague.

“Well boys,” the Canadian murmured to himself, unsheathing his katanas and leaping down from his vantage point, poised and ready for a fight, “looks like it’s show time!”

~*~

Lucas Daniels was a patient man. He always had been. First, in the military, when he had drill-sergeants yelling in his face, their spit landing on his cheeks and all he wanted to do was snap their necks, then when he came back home to the mundane and dreary, each day running into the next until all that was left was a monotonous routine that he despised more than any battlefield. Still, he remained patient. Because he knew that he was here for a grander reason than foot soldier or ex-military glorified baby-sitter for the rich and famous.

He was too smart and uniquely skilled not to have an ostentatious plan. Something that would pull him out of the depths of drivelling civilian life and into the light of something bigger, bolder and more ballsy than anything he’d ever been a part of.

Enter Chenko.

Admittedly, he had had doubts when the plan was first initiated. He had not been privy to the full picture and was left floundering on more than one occasion.

But that was all behind him now.

Chenko had come to him, finally. After all the waiting, his patience, his one constant in his life, had paid off.

He knew all aspects of the plan now.

And he was to initiate Phase Two.

Quite the honour.

“That’s it, Mr Blye. Lean back…it’ll be all over soon,” he murmured quietly, tipping back the slab that Joe was strapped to and adjusting the overhead light.

“What…what are you doing to me?” Blye cried out, struggling against his restraints.

“Relax, Mr Blye…it’ll be over soon,” Daniels cooed condescendingly, tightening the wrist straps before walking around the other side of the slab and picking up a clip board.

“Pulse is elevated,” he noted aloud to the dictaphone that rested in his shirt pocket, “that’s to be expected under the circumstances. It’s not a concern. All perimeters have been met for the initiation of Phase Two. To commence in ten, nine…” he began to count down, placing a gas mask over his face before grabbing a large canister that stood to his left and began fastening it to the oxygen tank.

“Seven, six…” he continued to call, ignoring Blye’s panicked protests, placing an oxygen mask over the frenzied man’s face and putting his other hand on the dial to the canister.

“Five, four…” he dropped his voice to a whisper, watching intently as Joe’s eyes flickered closed, rolling back into his skull.

“Three, two—”

“Stop what you’re doing and turn around. Slowly,” a very familiar voice interrupted the countdown.

“I can’t do that, Captain Rogers,” Daniels called over his shoulder, his hand still poised on the valve.

“Step away from the table and put your hands up or I’ll be forced to take action,” Steve continued, his tone more dynamic than before.

“You do what you gotta do, Captain…and I’ll do what I gotta do,” Daniels murmured, just before he whirled around rapidly, pulling a pistol from his holster and shooting off three times in the super-soldier’s direction.

Those shots proved to be quite the domino effect. Seemingly out of the woodwork, seven other men came firing at Steve, each with semi-automatic shotguns, while three approached Spider Man from the east and four others ascended on Iron Man from the west.

The room erupted into chaos filled with bullets, shattered glass, yelling, bullets, beams of light, webs, more bullets and—swords?

“I’m too hot (hot damn), called the police and a fireman, I’m too hot (hot damn) make a dragon wanna retire man, I’m too hot (hot damn) say my name you know who I am!” Deadpool sang maniacally over all the bedlam as he burst down into the room via a glass opening in the ceiling, landing adroitly, bullets ricocheting off his katanas as he expertly deflected them.

The man known as Mike gaped openly at him, standing just feet away, gun laying lax in his hand, forgotten in the shock of it all.

“I’m gonna uptown funk you up,” Deadpool smirked, approaching the robust man with a swagger to his step, “don’t believe me? Just watch!”

With that, he leapt three feet in the air, launching himself at the other man, roundhouse kicking him in the face.

His scream of agony pierced through the air as he stumbled back, falling hard onto the warehouse floor, dust rising up and around him.

“I don’t know about you,” Wade purred as he advanced on the terrified man, his movements akin to the cat who got the canary, “but I’m in the mood for some pot-bellied pork!” he finished gleefully, pointing his katana at Mike’s stomach, it gleaming menacingly.

“Deadpool!” a shout halted his ministrations, “no killing!”

Wade’s head swerved to be right, his eyes falling on the familiar red and blue suit that was currently zipping around three perps, dodging their bullets with an acrobatic flair, swinging in loops around the rafters.

“Spider Man!” the Canadian exclaimed warmly, looking up, his voice adopting a conversational tone, “long time, no banter! How’ve ya been?”

There was a beat that Wade used to kick Mike in the face as he stupidly tried to get up and Spider Man shot his webbing at another perp’s feet, causing them to trip and fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

“I’m kinda busy here,” he called as he narrowly dodged a bullet, “can we catch up later?”

Deadpool laughed as his katana slit into the thigh of another criminal, eliciting a blood-curdling scream, “sure thing, Spidey. Rain-check!”

“Not to interrupt your date-planning or anything guys, but could one of you maybe go check on the guy strapped to the table?” Tony snarled in their direction, luring two men away from what was clearly dangerous and highly flammable chemicals to where he could safely disarm them.

“On it!” Wade called, practically skipping over to the slab, knocking two culprits’ heads together on the way.

“Well hello there, Joe,” he sing-songed as he reached the table, seeing that the man was wide awake, staring up intensely at him, his dark eyes containing an odd glaze as if he were in some sort of trance.

“Now, I know we’ve had our differences…” Deadpool murmured distractedly as he worked on undoing the many bonds covering the man’s body, “but Tin Man over there says that I gotta save ya so…how about ya just be a good little hostage and cooperate, hmm?”

As the last of the restraints fell away from Joe’s wrists, he suddenly sat bolt upright, and before Wade could react, he had launched himself at him, their chests colliding roughly and knocking them both to the floor with a loud thump.

“What the—what did I just say? This is the opposite of cooperating! Bad hostage! Bad hos—” Deadpool was cut off as Joe wrapped his hands around his throat, squeezing hard enough to make his eyeballs bulge out of his skull.

With strangled gasps, Wade tried to force the other man off him but found himself struggling.

[Is it wrong that we’re a little turned on by this?]

{Does little Wadey have a submission and asphyxiation kink?}

[I don’t think it’s just the choking that’s cutting off valuable blood supply to his brain]

“I shoulda…turned you into a human sheshkabab…when I had the chance!” the merc gasped out before finally summoning the strength to shove Joe off of him, straddling him and pulling his hands behind his back.

{Huh. Little Wade also has a domination kink}

[And a bondage kink]

{And a voyeur kink}

[Hell, he has all the kinks!]

{Greedy little meat-stick, isn’t he?}

“Could you…stop calling it little? You’ll give me…a complex!” Wade scolded his boxes in between catching his breath as he finished tying up Joe.

[Oh goody. Another one to add to the collection]

{Three more and we’ll have the whole set!}

Joe continued to struggle, growing more and more violent as Wade kept him restrained. It was proving to be a full time job that he couldn’t afford right now as two other perps made a bee-line for him.

“Hey—hey buddy! Keep it together, huh? We’re the good guys…well, they are,” Deadpool gestured to where Spider Man and Captain America were now battling four more bad guys back to back, “so how about you stop acting like a rowdy chihuahua and chill the fuck out?!”

Nothing seemed to be getting through to Blye however as he mindlessly continued to try hitting and kicking the mercenary, now frothing at the mouth like rabid dog.

“Gross. Say it don’t spray it, dude,” Wade grimaced before he yelled over to Tony who was busy sticking all his bad guys together with some sort of adhesive, “hey Egg-Head! You know what the fuck is goin’ on with this guy? If he keeps acting like this, I’m gonna have to take him out back and give him what’s what. Ol’ Yeller Style!”

That caught everybody’s attention.

In a tactical formation, both Captain America and Spider Man moved closer to Wade and Joe as Tony had Jarvis run some preliminary scans.

“It’s whatever was in that canister. It’s messing with his brain chemistry. He’s raging out. He’s lost all higher function like conscious thought. He’s…regressing into a basser state,” Stark explained hurriedly, scanning the abundance of medical equipment and drugs he saw in the cordoned off area that had once housed Blye.

“What is this?” Wade gaped, eyes glued to Joe as he continued to drool excessively, his eyeballs dancing around in his sockets, “a Treehouse of Horror episode?”

Knocking the last guy unconscious, Steve straightened up and fixed Daniels with a permeating stare as he lay slumped on the floor, having gotten the full whack of justice via his adamantium shield to the chest.

“It’s over. Whatever you were planning here today, failed. If you ever want to see the sun from anywhere but a cell ever again, you’ll answer my questions,” he paused, descending down on one knee to look the man right in the eyes, his tone sharpening, “first…why are you trying to assassinate Peter Parker?”

Before anyone could reply, the sound of sirens and revving car engines broke through the beat of silence, whirring loudly, approaching from all directions outside.

The cops would be flooding the place in seconds.

Wade watched as Spider Man began to walk backwards.

“Uh Cap I…I should probably get going. You got this, ri—”

“SPIDER MAN! WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF CIVILIANS OF NEW YORK CITY. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

The three Avengers and Deadpool regarded one another in stunned silence, the dozens of unconscious bodies littering the floor around them.

“COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO TAKE YOU BY FORCE!”

[Kinky]

{Not funny! They’re trying to arrest Spidey!}

“Spider Man,” Stark spoke suddenly, trying to catch the younger man’s attention, “go. We’ll get this all straightened out, I swear. But in the meantime, get the hell outta here…don’t let anybody see you. The last thing we need is a city-wide man-hunt.”

It seemed the webbed-wonder didn’t need to be told twice. With barely a nod, he took off, swinging up to the now Deadpool-made sun roof and out of sight.

Hardly a second later, dozens of police officers broke through the door of the warehouse, scattering in all directions.

“It’s alright officers. We have it handled,” Rogers began in a calm tone, raising both his hands in a show of peace.

[I think that’s our cue to leave]

Quickly and covertly, Deadpool took off, weaving in and out of the crates that lined the warehouse and towards the back entrance, out into the alley that eventually led back to the road that he and Peter had parked at this morning.

That seemed like an eternity ago now.

Before he could fall too fair down that particular rabbit hole, Wade forced himself forward, sheathing his kananas and taking off in a sprint, his athletic body proving to be handy as he scaled the opposite building neatly.

Unfortunately, it was only at the very last second that he noticed the police sniper that had set up shop on top of the adjacent building.

A bullet whizzed past his ear as he was suddenly jerked to the left and thrown against a wall, a heavy something pressing up tightly against him.

“Stay still!” a voice hissed in his ear.

“S-Spidey?” Wade gaped, starring down at the shorter man who looked quite dishevelled, his mask pulled half-way up to expose his jawline and mouth.

“They have me cornered. They—they’re shooting at me!” he was rambling, jittery body in constant movement as he tried to form a plan.

“I-I’m not sure it’s even the real cops,” he gasped, clearly disturbed at how aggressive the law-enforcement officers were being, “I—I need to get over there, but I can’t…lure them away.”

Wade, in all this time, was only half-listening, instead trying to figure out how to get them over to the escape route Spider Man pointed to. A small smirk spread across his face when it hit him.

“Do you trust me?” he asked before waving his hand dismissively, “on second thought, don’t answer that. Just—follow me.”

With that, he took Spider Man’s arm and dragged him towards the edge of the building, taking a pistol from nowhere and firing off some shots in the opposite direction to distract the cops, before leaping off the roof onto the fire escape of the neighbouring building and waving frantically at him.

“Come on! Before they see you!”

The sound of gunshots erupted behind him, but the web-slinger just focussed on jumping, landing adeptly beside the merc who then proceeded to pull him again by the arm and leap the final few feet off the fire-escape, down onto the ground.

They both landed heavily, tumbling, limbs akimbo, Spider Man on top of Wade.

Before they could even collect themselves, they heard the distant shouts of more police officers, approaching rapidly.

Brain buzzing a mile a minute, Spider Man leapt off Deadpool, pulling him up with ease, clawing at his mask until it was up around his nose, before shoving him towards the shadowy corner of the alley, pressing him against the stone wall.

“Hey what are you—oomph!”

Lips pressed roughly against his, cutting off whatever Wade was going to say.

For once, his boxes were completely silent. All he could feel, all he could see, all he could hear, all he could smell and all he could taste was Spider Man pressed against him, their lips joined, dead still.

Eyes fluttering closed, it was as if Wade’s mind and body were completely disconnected, his body on autopilot, his brain taking a break in the passenger seat as he opened his mouth and ran his tongue along the web-slingers bottom lip.

A soft gasp escaped the shorter man, his shoulders tensing for a split second before relaxing.

Just when Wade was about to pull away, his brain moments from coming back online and freaking the fuck out, Spider Man pressed even further into him, opening his mouth wider, his hands coming up to clasp his shoulders, his fingers digging in almost painfully as his tongue met his.

Wade’s heart hammered so hard in his chest that it beat in his throat. His hand moved on its own accord, wrapping around the shorter man’s waist and pressing him even closer into him, their chests colliding roughly, the friction it created, so sweet…

It felt so…right. Every nerve ending in Wade’s body was on fire, but in the best possible way. It was complete sensory overload. It was stronger than the pain. He was finally kissing Spider Man! After years and years of fantasizing and day-dreaming and jerking off to the idea, it was finally happening!

And yet…

There was an underlined sensation of dread clawing in the depths of his stomach, breaking through his momentary feeling of elation.

It also felt…wrong.

[Because he’s not a cute bespectacled brunet, mayhaps?]

“I think I saw him go this way!” a voice shouted, it (and his boxes) the verbal equivalent of being doused with a bucket of icy water.

With a startled jump, Deadpool broke the kiss, he and Spider Man gasping desperately into each other’s space, mouths still only inches apart.

“This isn’t right. It should be raining and you should be upside down.”

[By that logic you should also be Kirsten Dunst]

Those were the only words to come to mind, despite them not being the ones he had wanted to say. There were so many of those, so many ‘what the actual fucks’ and ‘am I dreaming’ and ‘have I died and gone to heaven’ but none of them could escape his throat because it was too stuck, a large lump forming, one that felt oddly like guilt.

He had nearly kissed Petey this morning.

And now he was capping off his evening by kissing Spidey.

[Boo you whore]

Spider Man on the other hand was now doing his best impression of a spider stuck in the bathtub, his jittery body bouncing about as if he were trying to move to several places at once.

“Public…public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” he gasped, as if that explained everything when really it just confused Wade more.

He took a step forward, “Spidey what—”

“I-I gotta go. The cops are everywhere looking for me. I gotta…I gotta…” he trailed off, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck before his other shot out threw a web at the open dumpster.

The merc gaped, watching as the other man retrieved a back pack from it, pulling it harshly towards him and catching it.

[Is it…beeping?]

Before Wade could ask that very question, the Avenger took off without a backwards glance, sprinting off down the alley, keeping close to the walls and ducking into the shadows.

“Oh no. There’s no way I’m just letting him kiss and run. I ain’t that kinda girl!”

With that, Wade took off after him, his speed and agility proving him well as he fought to keep up.

He caught a glimpse of red and blue up to his right, ducking into a side-street.

The merc skid to a halt, forcing himself to take softer footsteps as he rounded the corner. He didn’t want to startle the Avenger, knowing that tensions were high enough after the whole, you know, being on the run from the cops who were trying to kill him and also just experiencing that mind-blowing if a little guilt-ridden kiss…

{Wait up, is he stripping?}

The mercenary’s eyebrows shot up as he squinted into the gloom, catching sight of Spider Man, who was, dare he believe it, actually stripping off his suit, rummaging through the backpack and pulling out a pair of jeans.

[Well fuck, now we know we’re definitely asleep]

Wade was just about to contradict Yellow when Spider Man turned his head slightly to the right, basking the side of his face with the soft light of the street lamp.

His whole world ground to a screeching halt. It was if everything finally slotted into place. The last puzzle piece transforming the once blurry picture into a one thousand inch, high resolution, high definition image of what he had in some way always known.

He’d recognise those hazel eyes anywhere.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, hardly believing his eyes, “Peter Parker is Spider Man!”

[No shit, Sherlock]

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This gargantuan chapter is dedicated to mytrexhasfleas for being wonderful :D

Surprised you didn’t dedicate it to Matt Murdock.

Oh, you’re just jealous.

That you binge-watched all of Daredevil, are crazy-obsessed with Rosario Dawson, and are in awe of Mister-I-see-like-a-bat-but-can’t-be-called-Batman? Puh-lease.

Don’t worry, Wade. You’re still my favourite.

Damn pan.

Pan?

Well, I’m not straight, so…

You seem to taking the news that Peter is Spider Man remarkably well.

And you seem to actually be a competent adult sometimes, when really you’re a giant child that’s far too obsessed with fictional characters. See? We’re all capable of hiding things.

I take it from your bitchy tone that you’re pissed.

The only bitch I am is Head Bitch In Charge.

In charge of what exactly?

Being pissed at Petey. Which I am and will be for a long time.

Uh oh. I can see the passive aggressive destruction already.

Let’s just say that I see a lot of squished spiders and caps being left off toothpastes in his future…

Chapter Text

You took your sweet-ass time updating.

I’ve been sick. I guess that affected my ability to properly get into the headspace to—

Bullshit. You’re still riding the crazy fangirl train since Oliver and Felicity hooked up on Arrow and are using it to fuel the flow of your supple creative juices.

Ugh. Why do you always pick the grossest ways to say things? And so what if I am? You can’t afford to judge me the way you ship yourself so hard with Spidey/Petey.

The way I USED to ship myself with Spidey/Petey. Or the ‘Spectacular Spider Man’ as he’s known now, apparently. Stupid, if you ask me. Nothin’ spectacular about him. Except maybe his lying ability. That’s pretty fucking spectacular.

Whoa. You really are pissed at him, aren’t you?

I ain’t gonna do your job for you, writer-lady. Show, don’t tell, and all that shit.

~*~

321 Days In The Future…

Wade Wilson was never the kinda guy to actively think about how he would die.

Mainly, because he couldn’t.

Not permanently anyway.

Ever since the Weapon X Program, death had become a foreign concept to him. It was something he flirted with on many occasions, both literally and figuratively for more years than he cared to remember, but it hadn’t been a solid, unflappable, real possibility in a very long time.

The thing about death, though?

There’s more than one kind.

Wade had forgotten that in between his brushes with the grim reaper, the dates he and Death had had together. It had dissipated from his mind somewhere in his moments of sanity and insanity, on the cusp of reality and fantasy over the thousand times he had passed over to the other side.

He knew, in some way, that every time he took a life, every time he watched the light fade from their eyes, that death was very real, at least for other people. Normal people. Just like he knew that every time he took a life, a part of himself, somewhere buried deep, deep down underneath all the bravado, all the smoke screens, a little part of him died too. Piece by piece…

His benevolence.

His empathy.

His humanity.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

And in its place grew something else entirely. Something that he needed in order to do what he did best.

A coldness. A lack of feeling. A numbness.

Except, he still felt so much. Physically, mentally and emotionally. He just hid it well. Or not well at all, depending on who you asked.

In many violent, traumatic and gruesome ways, he had died. He had all those lovely encounters with the enchantress herself to prove it. But it never stuck. He always came back…in some way, shape or form. Not good as new, but as good as he could possibly get.

So it wasn’t an inevitability for him. It didn’t hang over him like a dark cloud, it didn’t plague him every moment of every day because even if his heart stopped, even if his head was chopped off…he always came back.

Always.

For him, there was no pearly gates or fire and brimstone. No ‘here lies Wade Wilson.’ No final resting place.

But that wasn’t the case for everyone.

In one way or another, everyone else would greet death for the first, last and only time.

Eventually.

Until all that was left, was him.

And it was that, that terrified Wade.

“Peter?! Peter stay with me! Don’t you dare close your eyes! Peter? Please don’t leave me…”

~*~

Present Day…

“It’s been two weeks and that’s all you’ve got?”

Tony and Steve fixed Peter with pointed stares.

“He’s pretty unflappable. I don’t think even a surprise visit from our Tall, Green and Angry friend would manage to shake him,” Stark remarked with a shrug as he knocked back his scotch, slamming the glass down onto the table with a loud clank.

Steve eyed him wearily before nodding, “he is a tough nut to crack.”

Peter rolled his eyes, pacing back and forth, fingers running through his already untidy hair, forcing it to stick up in every direction.

“Why not test that theory?”

Stark and Rogers exchanged a look.

“You want us to…sic The Hulk on Daniels?” Tony asked slowly, a deep line between his eyebrows.

“You realize why that would be a monumentally bad idea, don’t you son?” Steve asked, taking a step closer to the younger man.

“Well, nothing else has worked so far!” the brunet snarled, hazel eyes ablaze with frustration as he continued to pace back and forth, jaw clenching painfully.

“All that would achieve is more property damage. And I think I speak for everyone when I say, after last time, that’s exactly what we don’t need,” Cap responded calmly, but his worried gaze gave him away.

“What?!” Peter demanded as he registered the expression on the other man’s face.

Steve stood up, holding his hands out in what was probably meant to be a magnanimous gesture, but really just pissed Peter off more, “it’s just…you haven’t really been yourself lately, son. Are you…is everything okay?”

Let’s see. He was being hunted by some unknown force, his childhood home had been ransacked, his aunt had been terrorized and to top it all off, he was having some sort of internal crisis, a mental break or something because he willing shoved his tongue down Wade Wilson’s fucking throat. And liked it. He liked it so much that he was actively avoiding the Canadian for the last two weeks. So, no. Everything was not fucking okay. Not even slightly.

“Everything’s fine,” he responded, swallowing the rising lump in his throat and turning away from them again.

There was a beat of silence. Peter didn’t have to look to know that Stark and Rogers were exchanging yet another weighted glance behind his back like concerned parents.

Irritation spiked in the younger man’s veins. He wasn’t a damn child and he was getting fairly sick of being made feel like he was.

“Remember outside the warehouse, I said I saw something big, lit up inside like a Christmas tree?” Tony asked suddenly, clearly in an attempt to alter the shift of the conversation, to dissipate the tension.

Peter merely tilted his head a fraction to indicate he had heard him.

“Well, it was Blye,” Stark remarked with folded arms, “the guy is…he’s not doing so hot. Whatever Daniels injected him with, it’s messing him up big-time. Me and Bruce still have to do more tests to be sure what’s going on with him but…one thing is for sure. He doesn’t know the full picture. He doesn’t know who is running the show.”

“So we still have more questions than answers, is what you’re saying?” the younger man asked, his tone still hilted with a sharp edge as he leaned back against the pool table, running both hands through his hair.

“What I’m saying is,” Tony began, stepping over to stand beside Peter, “is that we’re doing everything we can. We’ll get there, kid. It’s just gonna take some—”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Tony, but I don’t really have a lot of time!” the brunet interjected with a wave of his hand, “these people have already tried to kill me twice. They broke into my childhood home. The cops now think that Spider Man is a gun-wielding maniac and my aunt hides it well, but she’s freaked the hell out! I’m done waiting! I’m going to question Daniels myself...” he trailed off, pushing past Stark and storming towards the doors.

“What makes you think he’ll answer Spider Man’s questions?” Steve called after him.

Peter halted in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder, “what makes you think I was gonna ask as Spider Man?”

~*~

“Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife, offer me my deathless death, good God let me give you my life…”

[Wow]

{Depressing much?}

[Who sings that song again?]

{The Irish kid with the man bun}

[So that’s why his hair is so big! It’s full of angst]

{Like the big guy here}

[He is being more of a sad sack than usual]

{Ever since he found out Petey is actually Spider—}

“Shut up,” Wade growled under his breath as he trudged down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, his unmasked face tilted down.

[I mean really, he should be psyched]

{His two huge crushes have converged into one}

[More efficient really]

“Oh yeah, finding out that the guy I…finding out that Petey has been lying to me this entire time is just fan-fucking-tastic,” the merc muttered under his breath, eyes narrowed as he watched a sickeningly-in-love couple in front of him make kissy faces at each other.

[He had to have his reasons]

{Secret identity reasons}

“That he obviously didn’t trust me enough with,” Wade snarled, “we’ve…we’ve known each other a hell of a lot longer than I thought. Years. And he…he’s not the guy I thought he was.”

[Looks like he hasn’t forgotten ‘The Incident’]

{Really? It gets its own quotations?]

[It’s the whole reason why he stopped crushing on Spidey. Why he left New York for six long months. Why he now feels shit for finding out that Petey and Spidey are one in the same. So…yeah. It gets its own quotations]

“He was right about me. What he said that night. Petey…Peter obviously still thinks that,” Wade said softly, his tone tinged with dejection as he crossed the street and headed towards his favourite taco place.

{But he kissed you. Surely that’s gotta mean something?}

“Yeah. It means he went to the Natasha Romanoff School For Distracting Bad-Guys. ‘Cause that’s all it was. He was running from the cops. He was cornered. It was an evasion tactic. It’s like he said: public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”

[Really? You’re going with that?]

{Are you forgetting that you were both wearing your suits at the time? Spider Man and Deadpool sucking face would surely draw more attention than your regular hiding in the shadows routine, no?}

The merc halted at those words, his blood pumping fast in his veins.

“What…what gives? Since when are you two nice to me?” he asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

[How he wounds us!]

{We’re not that cruel!}

“Past experiences beg to differ,” Wade replied smoothly, grabbing a shiny red apple from a cart outside a store and taking a large bite.

[Careful, Snow White. You wouldn’t wanna get poisoned]

{Not before finding out what the fuck is going down between you and the webbed wonder anyway}

[Then by all means, chow down on an arsenic avocado]

{A hemlock ham}

[A belladonna burrito]

{We could do this all day}

“And there it is,” the merc murmured to himself, announcing the return of the familiar dynamic as he took the final few steps towards the taco place, almost relieved that his boxes were back to their snarky selves.

When they were anything other than mean to him…it creeped him out.

And usually meant there was something very, very wrong.

“Wade?”

A familiar voice shook him from that foreboding line of thought. Slowly, Wade turned on the spot and braced himself for who stood behind him, offering him an attentive smile, her chestnut eyes shining bright.

“H-Hi, Mrs Parker. Fancy meeting you here…”

~*~

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Lucas Daniels smirked from his perch on a bench in the customised cell within the depths of Avenger Tower.

“Well, seen as you and whoever you’re working for is so interested in me, I thought I may as well introduce myself properly,” Peter Parker remarked as he stepped up to the glass, taking a seat and resting his hands on his knees.

The older man stared at the younger for several moments, his dark eyes a gleaming steel, boring a hole into Peter’s hazel orbs. He didn’t blink however, didn’t flinch or turn away. He wanted to look this man in the eye, the man who had made it his mission to see him dead.

“I mean, you have been trying to kill me…way I see it, the least you owe me is a little one on one,” he shrugged, opting for an air of nonchalance.

A small smirk spread across Daniel’s face.

“Stark…Rogers…they care for you,” he murmured, “tell me, Mr. Parker. How is it that a broke graduate student managed to gain the attention of such…influential people?”

Peter folded his arms, leaning back a little in his seat.

“I’m not here to answer your questions, Mr. Daniels. You’re here to answer mine.”

There was a beat of silence where the older man nodded, seemingly mulling over those words.

“Is that so?” Daniels asked eventually, eyebrows rising, “well then, by all means…ask away.”

Peter’s orbs narrowed. He was no fool. He knew that it wasn’t that simple. The other man wasn’t going to make it a cake-walk, not after being interrogated by Captain America and Iron Man to no avail.

So…he’d start of easy.

“Did you like being in the army?”

Daniels’ head shot up. The brunet almost smirked with smugness. Bet he wasn’t expecting that.

“What has that got to do with anything?”

His voice was tinged with poorly-concealed anger.

Peter shrugged, “it’s just a question, Mr. Daniels. Call me curious.”

“Oh I’d call you more than that,” Daniels shot back before catching himself, schooling his incensed features into something more neutral.

Peter shifted in his seat, crossing his ankle over his knee and leaning on his elbows, his head tilted in a pensive expression.

“So you didn’t like the army. Your dishonourable discharge kinda answers that question, anyway. Tell me, do you like being a patsy? A fall guy?”

A stony silence met his words.

The brunet shrugged, “‘cause that’s what you are. You’re not the mastermind behind this. You’re just the right hand man. The guy that follows orders. You know…like the not-so-good soldier you are…”

Daniels’ left eye twitched.

“I’m sure good ol’ Captain America already gave you the speech. You know the one. The merits of righteousness, duty, honour. Blah, blah, blah. I’ll spare you. ‘Cause I’m nice like that. Even to those who are trying to kill me. What can I say? It’s a character flaw,” he forced a laugh, winking at him, “but here’s the thing, Daniels. Your people went after my aunt. And that? That I can’t forgive.”

Peter stood up, fists clenched tightly at his sides as he stared down into the cell, his face practically pressed against the glass.

“So unless you wanna be cellmates with The Hulk, I suggest you start answering my questions. Who do you work for?”

Daniels sat back, a huff of laughter escaping his chest.

“You’ve got some balls, kid. I can’t say I got that impression of you from the recon. But you sure do talk the talk.”

Peter inclined his head, “you think I don’t walk the walk?”

A contemplative expression crossed Lucas’ face.

“Had you asked me that a week ago when all I’d seen was pictures of you? No. I wouldn’t have thought that you walk the walk. But…seeing you in person there’s…there’s just something about you. I…I get it now.”

The younger man’s jaw clenched.

“Get what?”

Lucas let his head fall back against the wall, his white teeth gleaming against the harsh light, the sharp hilt of his canines catching Peter’s eye.

“I get what Chenko sees in you.”

A soft gasp escaped the brunet against his will, the name ringing in his ears. A pit of dread rose in his stomach. Something was telling him that something wasn’t quite right.

It had all been too…easy.

Still, Peter was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Biting his lip, he drew a breath.

“And who is Chen—”

“Peter? Peter are you there? There are detectives here looking for you,” the voice of Professor Rickards’ assistant rang throughout the room, through the PA system.

A predatory smile spread across Daniels’ face.

“Guess that’s your cue, Mr. Parker.”

Peter glared down at the older man, fighting the urge to slam his hand against the glass.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Mr. Daniels. I’ll be back…” he growled before turning on his heel and making his way out of the secured room.

“I look forward to it, Peter,” the assassin called after him, “I look forward to it!”

~*~

“Oh Wade, these are delicious!” May Parker hummed as she took another bite of her peanut butter and banana pancakes, grinning as the Canadian sprinkled some finely chopped chocolate chips over her plate.

“Well, you know what they say…if you’re good at something, never do it for free,” he winked.

[Man, that Joker is one smart guy]

{Well, Ledger’s one anyway. Can’t say the same about that idiot with ‘Damaged’ tattooed on his forehead}

[Damaged? Puh-lease. The only thing damaged about that guy is his fashion sense]

{That silver grill? Really? He makes Lil Jon look sensible}

“Of course. Sound advice,” May agreed with a nod of her head, “I will honour our agreement, Mr. Wilson. Don’t you worry. Now, sit. Eat,” she smiled, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

It had been an interesting afternoon for Wade, to say the least. There he was, just minding his own business, making his way to Sam’s Tacos, when who bumps into him, only Peter Parker’s aunt. Before he knew it, he was being invited back to the grad-student-come-arachnid-superhero’s childhood home for lunch and a chat. One thing led to another, and soon after devouring some homemade enchiladas, he found himself being charmed into giving the older woman his patented pancake recipe for dessert. It felt almost like some bizzaro version of some movie where he was meeting his would-be in-laws for the first time. Except for the fact that he was no bumbling Ben Stiller and his would-be-fiancé was not actually a smoking hot Teri Polo, but a vigilante that was bitten by a radio-active spider and happened to be avoiding him like the plague thus you know, not actually being present.

Needless to say, it was all making it incredibly difficult for Wade to maintain his anger and frustration towards the brunet when he was spending time with the delightful woman who raised him.

“So Wade,” May began as he took a seat opposite her, tucking into his pancakes with thinly-veiled enthusiasm, “what’s going on between you and my nephew?”

The Canadian choked on several mouthfuls of pancake.

[Mayday, mayday!]

{This is not a drill!}

[Danger Will Robinson!]

“Uh, what…” Wade cleared his throat noisily, “what do you mean?”

The older woman fixed him with a quirked eyebrow and unimpressed downturn of her mouth.

“Don’t give me that,” she pointed an accusatory finger at him, “something happened between you two. Peter has been staying here with me for the last two weeks and any time I even mention a letter of your name, he gets all tense and jumpy and changes the subject. Did you two have a fight?”

Wade swallowed nervously, eyes darting all around the room.

His fingers had been itching towards the mask in his hoodie pocket for the last hour. It was hard for him to have his face exposed for this length of time, but something about this woman made him feel a little more at ease. Now though, with the sheer mention of Peter and what may have happened between them, got him all on edge again.

[Just tell her you and her darling boy sucked face]

{And you wanted to suck so much more}

[Until you found out he was the web-slinging vigilante that you’ve had so many sexual fantasies about in the last five years that you could paint your entire apartment with your dick juice]

{What’s the worst that could happen?}

“We…had a disagreement,” he murmured slowly, his brain bouncing all over the place, half-baked plans and sentences threatening to fall from his lips as he tried to formulate a coherent response, “it’s just…work stuff, you know. We’ll be fine.”

May folded her arms, her head tilted at an angle as she regarded the hooded man in front of her.

“A…work disagreement?” she asked, her tone suggesting that she didn’t believe him in the slightest, “that’s all it was?”

Wade couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze, his eyes glued to the table as he nodded silently.

The older woman leapt up from the table suddenly, and if Wade were slightly less of an all-powerful-killing-machine, he would have jumped at the sudden movement.

“When Peter first came to live with my husband and I, he was a quiet little thing,” she began, her back turned to him as she rolled up her sleeves to wash the dishes in the sink.

“May let me—”

“Sit! Finish your pancakes,” she interrupted the merc’s attempt at politeness with her stilted words and pointed finger.

Mutely, Wade did as he was told.

[Whuh tsssh]

{That was the whipped sound, BTDubs}

[She has you wrapped around her little finger]

{Wonder if she knows Al?}

[If not, let’s never introduce them. Ever.]

“He barely spoke a word for the first two months he was here,” May was continuing as she scrubbed a pot, her tone wistful, almost as if she was talking to herself, “it took everything Ben and I had to pull him out of it…especially after Richard and Mary died.”

Wade’s heart jolted in his chest at those words, fork stopped half-way to his mouth.

[So Petey’s parents are dead]

{Have been since he was young}

[Poor kid]

{Why is it that every superhero’s origin story needs dead parents?}

[Are orphans particularly good at ass-kicking or…?]

{We’re technically an orphan}

[I’m not sure killing your own parent counts as tragic]

{Just fucked up}

[Guess we’re not superhero material, after all]

{Like that was ever a possibility}

“He just…he used to sit up in his room all day long, looking through microscopes and telescopes and anything science-orientated he could get his hands on. He already wanted to be like his father, make him and his mother proud. And they would be…they would be so proud of him, as I am, and as Ben was,” May paused, her shoulders sagging a little as she took a deep breath, moving onto a plate.

“When Ben died…Peter was so…angry. He wasn’t just withdrawn and quiet like he was when his parents died he was…furious. He blamed himself, couldn’t get over some demon that he never really told me about. I know they had a disagreement right before Ben…I don’t think Peter ever forgave himself for that,” she murmured, her voice tinged with an undercurrent of intense pain.

Wade stared at her back intently, wishing he could do or say anything to comfort the woman. She clearly had been put through the ringer. Had probably suffered more pain in the last twenty years than the average person would in their entire life. He could relate to that.

“After Ben…Peter changed. I—I don’t know how,” she paused, rubbing the back of her neck restlessly, “but he wasn’t the same old Peter. He became…someone else. Someone that he has been for a long time now. And I love him. I love him so much but sometimes…sometimes I worry. It’s…whatever it is that fuels him now, it’s a lonely life. That’s why I was so happy when he and Gwen—”

She broke off and Wade could see that she was fiercely biting her bottom lip.

“But she died too. And Peter…Peter was lost. For a long time. A darkness settled into him, a…hopelessness, almost like Gwen took all of his optimism, his joy, his vivaciousness with her when she passed. After a while, time began to heal him. Day by day he got better but…that spark that he had once, that light behind the eyes, that was extinguished…” she trailed off, turning around to face Wade finally, her dark orbs awash with unshed tears.

“But then I saw him with you,” she whispered so lowly that Wade had to lean forward to hear her, his heart hammering in his chest, “and—and I know it was only for a few hours but…Wade. When Peter is around you he…he lights up. Even when you two were arguing and snarking at each other, it was the most animated I can remember him being in a very long time. The spark was back,” she finished with a folding of her arms and a gentle nod, her eyes glued to the man at her kitchen table.

Wade remained rooted to the spot, feeling as if an invisible force was keeping him tied to the chair as her words sank in, seeping in through his skin and down into bone. Much like when Peter kissed him, his boxes were oddly silent, giving him a very temporary reprieve from their running commentary.

“So please…” May continued after a pause, walking towards him, “whatever it is that happened between you two…if you can…fix it. If he did you wrong, I don’t expect you to just forgive him but…please consider mending fences. Peter he’s—he’s as stubborn as a mule like his uncle and father before him, but I know he cares about you. A blind person can see that. So just…give him another chance?” she finished, biting her lip again, her eyes still shining bright, an ounce of hope creeping into them as Wade stared up at her.

With a nod, the merc stood up, making a movement as if to clutch her hand but suddenly thinking better of it.

May’s eyes cast down and slowly, she reached forward, clasping her fingers around his and squeezing ever-so-gently.

Wade stared at her, completely dumbfounded by her tenderness. A warmth spread within his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, awakening in him. An echo, a whisper of a long forgotten childhood, a mother who hugged him like he was the most precious thing in the world and read him bedtime stories with warm milk, her voice soft and her smile bright.

{Ah, the mother-dying-of-cancer storyline and not the…other unpleasant maternal backstory}

[Writer-lady is being kind to us]

{Don’t expect that to last long}

After a moment, May smiled gently at him and began to speak, “now, time to honour our agreement, I think. I am a woman of my word. You shared your pancake recipe, so I have to hold up my end of the bargain. Just let me grab the photo album!”

~*~

It had been established over the last forty years that Tony Stark was not a patient man. Nor a patient child, nor a patient adolescent. It was just something that he, loath he admit it, was incapable of. He was used to a certain way of life, a certain luxury of getting what he wanted sooner rather than later, that years of growing up as Howard Stark’s son had afforded him.

“God damn it!” he growled as another test came back inconclusive.

“Language,” Bruce smirked, not looking up from his clip board as Natasha laughed and Steve rolled his eyes.

[WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring a SPOILER WARNING!]

{It’s not that much of a spoiler}

[Of course it is! That’s like saying that ‘bet you didn’t see that coming’ isn’t a spoiler! Are we even incorporating what happened in Age of Ultron?]

{Kinda. Not really. Writer lady picks and chooses what she wants}

[Okay then. Just—easy on the spoilers. Carry on]

{Sigh. We’re not even in this scene}

“Let me guess, the tests were inconclusive?” Steve asked, tapping his chin, looking on the cusp of complete and utter boredom as he and Natasha played a game of hangman in between her sharpening her knives.

It had been a long day. Neither The Super Soldier nor The Spy wanted to be cooped up in the lab with their scientist-teammates but with Peter on the war-path and determined to fight the fight alone against Daniels, they had been reduced to waiting on test results. To say they were disgruntled would be the understatement of the century.

“I just…I have to be missing something,” Tony growled, “you get anything?” he asked, turning to Banner.

Bruce frowned down at his clip board, dark eyes scanning the charts, his brow furrowed.

“Maybe…” he murmured, before stepping over to one of the computers and pulling up some data.

“Okay,” he began, turning to his teammates, “on the left, are my brain waves when the big guy takes over,” he pointed at the cranium that was almost completely immersed in dark reds and oranges, “and on the right are Joseph Blye’s.”

Stark, Romanov and Rogers took a step closer to the monitor, respective eyebrows risen.

“They’re nearly identical,” Natasha remarked with surprise.

“The rage…it’s encapsulating,” Tony added, “does this seem really familiar to anyone else?”

Bruce gave him a weighted stare.

“No, no, not just Mr. Tall, Green and Angry,” he dismissed with a wave as he began to pace, “there’s…there’s something about this that’s ringing bells for me I just can’t—” Stark broke off suddenly, halting in his tracks.

Banner and Romanov shared a glance as Tony leapt towards the monitor and began typing furiously.

“Uh…care to share with the class?” his fellow scientist prompted with an intrigued tone.

Tony whipped around, his eyes alight with discovery.

“LK90!” he exclaimed as if they were just meant to understand what that meant.

“Gesundheit,” Natasha murmured smoothly, not looking up, continuing to sharpen her knife.

“Come again?” Steve asked, confusion marring his features.

“LK90,” Tony repeated with exasperation, “it was a…a serum, I suppose you’d call it. It showed signs of affecting people the way Blye has been affected. It was uncovered a while back, its origins unknown…the guys upstairs were working on it. Peter was working on it,” he emphasised, typing out a few more words into the computer.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked, peering over his friend’s shoulder.

“Whoever dosed Blye, had to have had access to this serum in order to either replicate it or…steal it,” Stark explained, “they had to be someone with high enough credentials to get close to it. As far as I know, only two people were working on it at the time. One being Peter.”

“So…” Steve began, catching onto what Tony meant, “you’re looking for who was working with him on it.”

“Give the guy a gold star,” the genius remarked sarcastically, still typing rapidly before suddenly coming to a halt, his fingers hovering over the keys.

“No that…that can’t be right,” he mumbled, confusion and frustration leaking into his tone as Bruce let out a noise of astonishment.

Steve and Natasha stared at the credentials that were now flashing on the screen, the latter tilting her head inquisitively.

“Who’s Edward James?”

~*~

Peter swung his wheeled chair back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It had been over twenty minutes of this shit show, and his mind was slowly but steadily beginning to numb with sheer boredom.

“Are you listening to us, Parker?” the irritated voice of Detective Paul Cassidy broke through his haze.

“You tracked down Spider Man, he escaped, he is a maniac and now wanted fugitive that has threatened the lives of innocent New Yorkers and you want me to help you catch him. I miss anything?” Peter asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, an air of exasperation about him.

“That’s the gist of it, Mr Parker,” Detective Shonda Beharie said, standing up out of the chair, “we are setting up a sting for this coming Saturday night. You are integral to its success. Can you handle that?”

Peter stared at her, his mind well and truly firing off synapses now as he struggled to think of a response.

The detective must have taken his silence as compliance however as she suddenly nodded with clear intent and headed towards the door, “we will be in touch with you before then to do a full run-down of the operation. In the meantime, do not go back to your apartment. Our officers have been keeping an eye on it and on your aunt’s residence, so you should be secure. But, to be safe, we recommend you don’t travel anywhere other than home and work for the time being…not until Spider Man is apprehended. Is that clear?”

Peter nodded, knowing that there was no point in his voicing again how ridiculous is was for them to think that it was actually Spider Man that was trying to off him. It had fallen on deaf ears the first dozen times, why would this be any different?

“Yes ma’am,” he elected to say instead, vowing to himself that he and the other Avengers would work out some way to get him out of this, but for the now, he was too preoccupied with getting back to questioning Daniels.

“Can I go now? I really need to get back to work…”

Detective Beharie gestured to the door. Peter stood up and nodded at them both before leaving the room without a backwards glance, fast and steady footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get even more complicated.

At least things couldn’t possibly get worse…

It was that thought that rang in his ears as he made his way back down to the basement, towards the secured cell. He had gotten a name out of Daniels. Chenko. Now it was finally time to find out who the hell that was.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Peter entered the code to the security pad and pushed open the heavy door.

“Alright Daniels, time to tell me what the hell—”

The brunet’s words died in his throat as he stared at the assassin who was now kneeling down on the floor of the glass cell, looking intensely fierce and indomitable as his mouth began to foam, blood dripping from his eye sockets, leaving trails of crimson down his cheeks.

Immediately, Peter leapt towards the wall, hand pressing against a hidden panel, sounding the secret alarm connected to Tony’s private facilities only open to The Avengers, before racing over to the glass, entering the security code to open the door and storming towards Daniels.

“Don’t you dare die,” he yelled frantically, kneeling down and clasping Daniels by the shoulders, tilting back his head, grimacing when blood and saliva spilled onto his hand.

“Don’t you dare die, you bastard! Tell me who Chenko is! Tell me why they want me dead!” he roared demands at the dying man, trying to mask just how horrified he was, hoping against hope that Bruce got there in time to save the man.

Daniels stared up at him, his dark eyes classy and distant, as if he were looking at something, or someone that Peter couldn’t see.

With gasping breath, he opened his mouth a fraction, pulling on Peter’s shirt to weakly drag him closer to him, whispering into his ear, “schwäche von haltung wird schwäche des charakters,” before his entire body went limp, collapsing back onto the floor.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Bruce yelled as he ran into the room but Peter barely heard him, he instead transfixed on Daniels’ frozen eyes as they stared up into nothingness.

“It’s too late,” he whispered, heart hammering in his chest, “he’s gone…”

What was that he was saying about things getting worse?

~*~

“Oh Peter just had the cutest tushy in the whole world, didn’t he?” May Parker laughed heartily as she and Wade sat by the living room fire, flicking through the albums housing her nephew’s baby photos, stopping at one where the young toddler was in the bathtub.

[He still does]

{Only got better with age if you ask me}

“He would be so mad if he knew I was showing you these,” the older woman continued, nudging Wade with her elbow as he had fallen oddly silent.

“What Petey doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” the merc remarked, a small smirk on his face as he came across what appeared to be a six year old Peter dressed up as Albert Einstein for Halloween.

[Besides, we’re entitled to keep some secrets from him]

{See how he likes it}

{Whoa…what do we have here?}

Wade’s non-existent eyebrows rose as he pulled out a picture from the back of the photo album of a very shirtless Steve Rogers, clad in tight black boxer-shorts, smirking seductively at the camera.

[I’d know that picture anywhere! Does Petey have an X-Rated Captain America calendar?!]

{I don’t know if we should be jealous or impressed}

“Oh my!” May exclaimed suddenly, sounding a mixture of surprised and embarrassed.

One look at her face told Wade that it wasn’t Peter who was the proud owner of such a calendar.

“I, um, have no idea how that…” she trailed off, snatching the picture from him and shoving it under a book on the table, all while expertly avoiding his gaze.

An awkward beat of silence descended on the pair before Wade let out a snort of laughter.

“Hey, no judgement from me. Cap is one fine piece of ass,” he retorted jovially, nudging her gently with his elbow, much like she did to him only moments before.

Another beat passed before she erupted with laughter, clutching his arm as she gasped out breaths.

“That he is, sweetheart. That he is!”

[You ever notice that Johnny Storm looks uncannily like Cap? The old Johnny Storm. Not the new guy. He’s a basketball player]

{No. Michael Jordan is a basketball player. It’s Michael B. Jordan that’s Storm]

[Either way. He’s hot. Ha ha, get it? ‘Cause he’s The Human Torch]

{Ground-breaking}

The two continued to giggle like two school-children for several minutes before May collected herself, dabbing at her eyes, an indistinguishable expression on her face as she turned to her house guest.

“So Wade do you have a…special someone?”

“You mean a someone who poses half-naked for me in photographs?” Wade asked before he could stop himself.

Instead of being horrified, the elder woman only laughed even heartier.

“Unfortunately I think even if Captain Rogers would pose for such a picture, it wouldn’t be for me,” she smirked before sighing, “but yes, a someone like that. Do you have one?”

Wade bit his lip, wondering how to answer such a question.

{We could go with the truth}

[That’d be a first]

{Or even a half-truth}

[Something tells me there’s no point in full-out lying to this woman anyway]

“There is…someone. But we’re not…we’re not together,” he replied quietly, staring down at his clasped hands, his scarred skin turning ghostly white as he squeezed them so hard he cut off their blood supply.

“Do you want to be with them?” she asked gently, lowering her head to try and catch his eye, her hand coming to fall atop of his, coaxing him to release his grip.

“I’m not sure he’s who I thought he was,” Wade responded without thinking, his eyes widening as it dawned on him what he just admitted.

If May was shocked by the male pronoun, she didn’t let on.

“And are you who he thinks you are?”

That question surprised him. He took a moment to mull over her words.

[Of course we are! We’ve always been straight up with Spidey and Petey]

{Just not as straight as he’d like us to be, sometimes}

[Although lately, Petey seems to kinda like our not-straight times too]

{He was totally gonna kiss us}

[And then he did!]

{Ugh those soft, kissable lips…}

[Wait…what was the question?]

“I…there are some things he doesn’t know about me. Some things that hardly anyone knows about me. But…but he does know me. Probably better than I’ve let anyone ever know me. Especially lately. But he…he didn’t extend the same courtesy to me. He—he lied about something pretty big. Well, lied by omission, anyway. And he’s still lying about it and I—I don’t know if I can forgive that,” words were just cascading from Wade like waves as May intently listened.

She shuffled a little on the couch, her brow furrowing as she thought of what to say.

“He probably has his reasons for not being one hundred per cent open with you, Wade,” she began, her tone holding an air of knowingness, a wisdom that he could only ever dream of having, “but that doesn’t mean he will never try and tell you as much as he can. The key is patience and willingness to take whatever the other person can give.

“Take it from someone who has been married for over thirty years. The whole ‘knowing someone better than you know yourself’ shtick is just that, shtick. It’s not reality. You can never know anyone one hundred per cent. Life is about discovering more and more about the person you love every single day and if you’re lucky, you’ll learn ninety per cent about what makes them, them by the time you come to the end of your life. That ninety per cent that they choose to share with you in that time is what’s important. You shouldn’t get hung up on the ten percent that is just for them,” she finished, patting his hand gently.

The merc stared down at their hands for a moment before slowly raising his gaze to meet hers.

“But what if what he’s kept from me adds up to more than ten per cent?”

May smiled softly at him, squeezing his hand one more time.

“Then I say: screw math. If you really care about this man, and by the sound of it, you really do, then you gotta ask yourself: what’s more important? This thing that he has kept from you, or you both finding a way to get passed it so you can both be happy?”

[Whoa]

“And besides,” May continued with a little shrug, “like I said before, who knows. Just because he hasn’t told you the big thing yet, doesn’t mean he never will. Maybe all you have to do is give him some time.”

{This woman should have her own talk-show}

[Move over Ricki Lake]

{Stand aside Dr. Phil}

[May Parker is comin’ to town!]

“I see trees of green, red roses too, I see them bloom, for me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…”

The honeyed tones of Louis Armstrong wafted through the late-evening air from the radio placed on the kitchen counter top.

“Oh I haven’t heard this song since before Ben…” May lamented softly, the rest of the sentence sticking in her throat as the flickering of the fire shadowed her eyes sadly, “we used to dance to it all the time…”

Wade listened to the lyrics for a beat before offering his hand out to her.

“Mrs Parker, may I have this dance?” he asked with a small smile, a warmth spreading in his chest as she instantly took his hand.

“You may, Mr Wilson,” she grinned as they both stood up, he placing his other hand on her back while she rested her other on his shoulder, they beginning to softly sway.

“The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world…”

~*~

19:00. UNKNOWN LOCATION.

Two figures stood beside a large, black SUV, staring out into the night gloom.

“Sir…the subjects are getting worse. I think it’s time that we call in the bigger guns,” Agent Maria Hill said firmly as she folded her arms, coming to stand slightly closer her boss.

“Stark will be pissed,” Former-Director Nick Fury replied, lighting up a cigar, “almost makes me wish we called them in sooner, just to see the look on his face,” he finished with a smirk, taking a long drag.

“Pissed or not, his expertise is needed,” Hill responded, staring at the data now flashing up on her phone.

“And the others, they’ll be needed too,” he nodded, gesturing to the screen. “Romanov and Barton on recon, Banner on research with Stark, Thor can have a chat with that all-seeing friend of his and Cap can do what Cap does best…keep them all in line.”

Maria typed into her phone before pocketing it.

“And what about Parker, Sir?”

Fury tilted his head, exhaling enough smoke to form a large, dark cloud around them.

“Parker can handle himself. And besides, I hear Wilson is cosying up to him, if Coulson’s intel is anything to go by.”

The agent frowned, wondering if she heard him correctly.

“Wilson, Sir? Is that…really a good idea?”

Nick shrugged, stubbing out the cigar and turning to her.

“They’re grown men, Hill. Who am I to tell them what they can and can’t do? Or who, for that matter. Now get Stark on the phone. Let’s get this over with…”

~*~

“No. No way!” Peter Parker exclaimed loudly as he paced back and forth in the lab, shaking with barely-controlled vehemence.

“It makes sense, Peter. Eddie worked alongside you on the LK90 experiments. If you had have continued with the research, you would have exposed his plot to steal it and do god knows what with it. Clearly dosing people like Blye was on the cards. It all fits,” Tony Stark was trying to reason with him, following his pacing with beady eyes.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” the younger man spat, whirling around at his boss, his eyes ablaze with anger.

“You have absolutely no proof that Eddie had anything to do with this! I know him, Stark! He wouldn’t ever do anything like—”

“He hasn’t shown up for work today. Or yesterday. Or the day before,” Stark cut across him, his tone razor sharp, yet his eyes seemed hollow, as if he didn’t want to believe his own words, “when Clint dug into him, his records, financials…he’s in serious debt, Peter. His student loans alone mount up to over a hundred thousand dollars. But if he were to steal the LK90 and its tech—”

“And is there any indication that anything has been stolen? The serum or the tech?” Peter interjected bitingly, jabbing a finger at Stark.

“Jarvis is doing inventory as we speak,” Tony responded with a wave of his hand, “Clint and Natasha left a while ago to go to pick Eddie up at his place. At the very least, we need to ask him some questions.”

Peter shook his head in disbelief, glaring at Tony before turning to Bruce.

“And you by all this, do you?”

Banner had the decency to look more than a little sheepish.

“Hey, I’m of the opinion of innocent until proven guilty. I hope we’re wrong. Eddie is a good kid. I helped recruit him,” he shrugged, turning back to his notes and breaking eye contact.

Peter continued to stare at him for a moment, before jumping back into motion.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Let’s just say for the argument’s sake that somehow Eddie is Chenko. Or at least someone working with Chenko. Then who poisoned the dead guy lying on a slab in our basement? You said Eddie hasn’t been here in a few days. So who could have gotten to Daniels?”

Stark and Banner shared a glance before Rogers piped up for the first time, clearing his throat.

“He could have had a cyanide capsule on him that we missed. We won’t know for sure until Bruce finishes the autopsy.”

Before anyone could comment on that, the shrill tone of a cell phone broke through the tension-filled air.

With a nod, Stark took out his phone and stepped away from them, just as Clint and Natasha made their way into the room, towards them.

Peter whirled around to meet them, staring frantically between the two.

“James is not at home. We’ve checked all his usual haunts, his parents’ house, his friend’s houses…looks like he hasn’t been seen or heard from in over two days,” Romanov remarked with folded arms as Barton took a breath.

“Which leaves us with two options,” he began, staring intently at Peter, “he has either skipped town, or he’s missing…”

Peter gaped at him, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth.

This couldn’t be happening…

Before anyone could breathe, Stark made his way back into the room, looking stricken.

The youngest team member frowned at him as he met his gaze, his expression, for once, appearing apologetic.

“I’m sorry, kid. That was Fury. Something big is goin’ down and he needs us immediately.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open.

“He can’t be serious! Does he know somebody is trying to kill me? I can’t just up and leave my aun—”

“Not you, kid. He just needs the rest of the team. You gotta stay here,” Tony cut across him lowly, the words practically having to be pulled from him, a look of discomfort etched onto his face.

Peter looked at each of his team members in turn, astonished by the news.

Where was Thor when you needed him? At least he would share in his overwhelming sense of frustration at the circumstances. Like his adopted brother, he always had a flair for the dramatic, that son of Odin.

~*~

“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you. Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you. But in your dreams, whatever they be. Dream a little dream of me…”

Peter frowned as he heard the dulcet tone of Mama Cass wafting from the kitchen as he got home, bone tired and weary from one hell of a bad day.

“What the…?” he muttered under his breath as more than one shadow caught his attention from the living room.

Spidey senses not picking up any danger, he was still on guard as he neared the door, edging it open quietly and gaping at the sight that greeted him.

There, right in front of him, were his aunt and none other than Wade Wilson, dancing together, swaying back and forth, Wade twirling May around as she laughed, throwing her head back with glee. Peter found himself transfixed by this, surprised at how her eyes were alight with mirth. It was only the booming laugh that managed to break his trance though, re-focusing his attention on the merc.

Wade seemed more carefree than Peter could ever remember seeing him. His hoodie was down off his head, gone completely in fact, his face, neck and arms entirely exposed, his scarred skin illuminated by the embers of the fire as he wore just a white T-shirt and jeans. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he continued to twirl his aunt around and around, his entire body moving fluidly, he clearly having some skill in dancing.

The brunet found himself staring intently at the other man’s body, watching as the muscles contracted and expanded, contracted and expanded. A heat pooled in his stomach, the same heat that he had been actively ignoring for the last two weeks, every time his mind tried to cast back to the moment where he went temporarily insane and kissed Deadpool.

Peter bit his lip as he tried to stamp down the desire that was rising in his chest to go over to Wade and do just that all over again. Damn the consequences…

“Peter! You’re home! ” May’s sudden exclamation snapped him from his reverie, startling him.

“Uh…hi,” he mumbled lamely, rubbing the back of his head, avoiding eye contact with both of them.

He could feel Wade’s gaze on him, the merc now standing stock still, his hands in fists at his sides.

Peter knew it would be awkward seeing him again after what happened. It was mostly why he had been avoiding him for the last two weeks, but what he didn’t anticipate was how his heart sped up rapidly in his chest and his palms began to sweat.

Pull yourself together, Parker. You’re not a twelve year old girl with a crush on her teacher for fuck’s sake!

“Wade here is quite the dancer,” Aunt May was saying with a smile, “he’s been helping me get back into the swing of things. Literally!” she laughed at her joke, before her eyes averted to something on the couch, her expression growing sheepish.

Peter followed her gaze and was horrified by what he saw.

“Are those my baby pictures?!” he exclaimed, a flush rising in his cheeks as his eyes found Wade’s.

“Peter Middle Name Parker, are you blushing?!”

The younger man glared at him as he chortled, folding his arms across his wide chest, his biceps flexing.

Which is something Peter absolutely did not notice.

“I’m…I’m going to take a shower,” he opted to say instead of latching onto Wade’s bate.

He didn’t wait for a response before bolting up the stairs and into the bathroom. Closing the door with a snap, he leaned over and turned on the shower before sitting down on the toilet seat and pulling out a fleshly bought burner-phone.

He had formulated a plan on his way home. Since Fury had spirited away the rest of his team mates, whether he liked it or not, he now needed Deadpool’s help to try and track down Eddie and get to the bottom of the whole Chenko situation once and for all. So he bought a burner phone from the store a block away and was now putting the next part of his plan into motion, his thumbs tapping away at the buttons.

He’d have to be careful sneaking out. The police detail was still out front of the house, watching. While it did wonders for his peace of mind that his Aunt May would be safe while he was gone, it didn’t make things any easier on him to try and implement a meet with Deadpool.

Still, he had to try.

His, his aunt, and probably Eddie’s life depended on it…

~*~

Wade stared down at his cell phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. He had almost had a heart attack when he had read the message for the first time twenty minutes ago, and still, even now, the words erupted a frantic sense of unease in him.

Deadpool, it’s Spider Man. I need your help. I’m in trouble. Can’t go into more detail here. Meet me where we first met five years ago. The lives of innocent people depend on it. If that doesn’t interest you, I’ll pay you. Either way, please come. Please.

Needless to say, Wade had made his excuses to May and quickly left the Parker residence.

He couldn’t help but wonder how Peter was managing to escape from the house without using his Spidey-powers and with a police detail right out front. Colour him curious. So he made his way downtown, heading towards the familiar building where he had met the web-slinger so long before.

Sam’s Tacos.

Scaling the building was always going to be the easy part. It was the waiting around that was slowly killing him. He knew it would be difficult seeing Peter again after everything that had happened, after everything that he had learned. He had agonized every night for two weeks straight about how he would feel when he was in the same room as him again and honestly, he was annoyed with himself.

Because he wanted to be pissed at him.

He wanted to be childish and petty and bitter.

But all he was, was yearning.

Seeing Peter in the flesh again brought back all the feelings he had felt that night, they all rushing through his veins at once, like a shot of adrenaline.

Excited. Nervous. Horny. So. Very. Horny.

“Thanks for coming,” a very familiar (seriously, how did he never notice that before?) voice wafted through the gloomy, night air.

“Well, when you get a mysterious text out of the blue, it’s kinda hard to ignore…especially if it’s from the guy that stuck his tongue down your throat the last time you saw him.”

[Wow, okay. We’re going there already?]

{What? Petey’s the only one that’s allowed have any fun fucking with the narrative?}

[Good point]

Wade smirked as he saw Peter misstep, faltering a little before straightening, smoothing out his suit.

Clearing his throat, Spider Man rubbed the back of his neck. Another familiar gesture.

[Seriously. How did the big guy not connect the dots sooner?]

{It’s so goddamn obvious!}

“I…I’m sorry about that. It uh…wasn’t cool to just spring that on you. Consent is important and…I uh, I shouldn’t have just kissed you like that. I panicked and I’m sorry,” he replied, his tone utterly sincere.

Wade folded his arms, tilting his head at him.

Peter shuffled his feet nervously, clearly uncomfortable at the other man’s continued silence.

“I promise next time I’ll ask your permission,” he laughed before halting, as if just realising what he said.

“I-I mean—”

“I’ll hold you to that, Spidey,” Wade winked, zipping up his hoodie and shoving his hands in his pockets. “So, not that this awkward flirting isn’t adorable as hell and all but, care to fill me in on why I’m really here?”

Peter seemed relieved to have something else to focus on and immediately launched into what was going on and what he had missed today.

Wade tried to not grow frustrated as Peter continued to omit pivotal details from his account. As far as he could gather, he was saying that he (Spidey) was there today when Daniels was killed and he (Peter) was in even more danger now that his (Peter’s) colleague was missing. And he (Spidey) couldn’t do much about it because he (Spidey) was now considered a fugitive for allegedly trying to kill him (Petey) and other New Yorkers. The police even being so convinced of this that they were now setting up a sting on Saturday to catch him (Spidey).

[Wow. This whole Spidey/Petey thing is gonna get confusing]

{Makes me almost wish the big guy could go back to thinking they are two different people}

“Okay so, what you’re saying is, now that the rest of wonder-team have bailed on you to do fuck knows what for Fury, you’re what…calling in the last resort?” Wade couldn’t help but ask, his tone laden with bitterness.

Peter took a step forward, holding up his gloved hands, “no, no Wade. That’s not it. I—look, I know things haven’t been…great, with us, not in a long time but…I really do need your help. Peter is in danger. So is his aunt and probably Eddie James. I can’t do this alone, not with the cops thinking I’m some sort of murdering maniac—”

“I couldn’t possibly imagine how that feels,” the merc interjected with heavy sarcasm, eyes checking out his cuticles nonchalantly.

“I know you know how it feels…it’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. To…fix things between us. To apologize. You…you deserve better, Deadpool. I’ve been beyond shitty to you, longer than two weeks ago. And I don’t deserve your help, not after everything that happened last year. But I’m asking you to do this for Peter. For his aunt. For anyone else that this Chenko person may hurt with the LK90. Please,” he finished, his fingers itching towards his mask.

That prompted Wade to speak up, despite his heart being in his throat at the brunet’s pleading.

“As for the cops gunnin’ for ya, you could just walk around without the mask. That way, you won’t be recognised. Hell, you may have been a while back, but technically, as of now, you don’t even look like you,” he shrugged, gesturing in the vague direction of his face.

“What?” Peter asked, his tone tinged with confusion.

“You’ve been re-cast, dude.”

[As an ACTUAL teenager, too. Not a thirty-something playing sixteen]

{Makes us feel dirty}

[Asia Buttercup is a weird ass name, too]

{Asa Butterfield}

[That’s what I said]

“I—I don’t know what that means,” Peter replied slowly, “but I…I have an identity to protect. I can’t put my loved ones in danger by exposing who I am. Nothing means more to me than protecting them.”

“Not even the city you love?” the merc couldn’t help but ask.

The superhero seemed hesitant, nervous.

“Protecting this city is my job. My loved ones are my life. I—I’ve experienced first-hand what it’s like to lose someone I care about to this job. I never want to go through that again. So, no. Exposing my identity, fighting crime like Tony Stark or Steve Rogers or you…that’s not an option for me. Ever.”

Wade’s heart panged painfully in his chest at the brunet’s words. He remembered what May had told him, all the tragedy that Peter had gone through in his short life. Losing his parents, then his uncle, then Gwen.

At least part of him could see why he still chose to fight crime from behind the safety of a mask.

He decided at that moment, that at least for now, he’d cut the guy some slack.

“Alright then, Spidey. I’m in. What’s the plan?”

~*~

A large, discoloured droplet dripped from a leaky water pipe, down onto a dirty, gravelled floor. A hunched figure tied to a chair stared at the droplet, his dark eyes shifting nervously from it to around the sparse room.

Any second now…

“And how are we this evening, Mr James?” a disembodied voice wafted from the shadows, startling the man in the chair.

He gave up trying to respond long ago, the gag in his mouth preventing him from doing so.

Surprisingly however, the owner of the robotic voice drew nearer to him than ever before, a gloved hand reaching out and pulling the gag down from around his mouth so he could speak.

“Please, why are you doing this?” Eddie asked, hating the hilt of desperation in his tone.

It had been nearly three days now since he was abducted from outside his apartment on his way to work. He desperately hoped that someone, anyone was looking for him, although a bit of despair was steadily rising from the depths of his stomach.

Most of his family lived on the other side of the country, his parents on a round-the-world trip for the last two months and his sister being deployed in Afghanistan. As for friends, his roommate Monty was so stoned most of the time that he would hardly notice if he himself was abducted let alone Eddie, and Peter, his work friend, had been oddly distracted lately. He had also told his colleague that he hadn’t been feeling well so everyone there would probably presume that he was sick.

So really, odds were that nobody was looking for him.

That sickening sense of dread rose ever higher in his gut.

“Oh Eddie, no, no. You misunderstand. You won’t be asking the questions here. I will,” the voice continued, its mechanical manner more than a little unnerving.

Despite it being an obvious voice-modulator, something about it rang familiar with Eddie. Even being terrified, he couldn’t help but ignore that gut feeling. The curiosity.

“Who are you?” he croaked, not caring that he was asking another question.

A haunting laugh erupted from the figure as they suddenly stepped into the light, it harsh and bright like that of a flashlight being directly shone into someone’s eyes.

Squinting, the scientist fought to catch a glimpse of the person’s face. When he did, his whole world ground to a screeching halt.

“You can call me Chenko…” a very ordinary and even more familiar voice murmured as the voice modulator was disconnected from the neck and dropped onto the ground, it falling with a clatter at Dr. Selena Rickard’s feet.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DUN DUN DUN! Holy plot-twist-radioactive-man! Another huge chapter to apologise for the long wait. Hope you enjoyed! As always, thanks to MyTrexHasFleas for being amazing in all her advice. Go read her stuff, it’s amazing!

Hot as fuck too. Especially that Mitchers fic.

Yep! And now they can totally get married in Ireland, too!

If they weren’t…you know…fictional.

Don’t ruin my fun, Wade or so help me, you and Petey won’t have a Winter Wedding!

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

“Why am I really Watson, though? And don’t say it’s ‘cause I’m short or I swear to God—”

“Because I’m the protagonist in this story, Peter. That’s why,” the merc retorted, arms folded.

“Everyone is the protagonist in their own story, Wade.”

“Wow Petey, that was very profound. You should write greeting cards.”

[Or be a motivational speaker]

{‘How to lie to someone’s face about everything and anything in 3 easy steps’}

Chapter Text

Sorry for the slow update guys. I had quite a busy few weeks with my cousin’s wedding in Spain, organising my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary party and—

Binge-watching Sense8 and Orange Is The New Black.

That too, not gonna lie. Man, Netflix are just killin’ it!

Yeah, they’re killin’ it so hard they’re puttin’ me outta business.

You’ll never be outta business, Deadpool. Someone will always need uh…what do you call it…un-aliving?

Yeah. It’s just a nicer word, don’t ya think?

I suppose. But you’re still kill—

Shh. No more of the K word, please. It’s kinda like Beetlejuice that way.

What, you say it three times and turn into Michael Keaton?

Yep. Michael Keaton as Batman.

Could be worse. You could turn into George Clooney as Batman.

BEWARE THE BAT-NIPPLES!

~*~ 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter. Wade is our guest—”

“Then he can take my bed and I’ll take the couch!” Peter interjected over his aunt’s protest, eyes darting over her shoulder towards the living room where the merc was patiently sitting, hands folded on his lap in a dignified manner.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. Something was going on with Wade ever since they saw each other again after two weeks apart. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but he was determined to.

“I don’t understand what the issue is, Peter. You used to have sleepovers all the time with Harry—“

“When we were kids, Aunt May. Wade and I are adults—”

“Exactly,” May smiled, “which means that you’re more than capable of sharing a bed without any mishaps. Or should I be expecting pillow fights at dawn?”

“Har, har,” Peter murmured sarcastically, rubbing the back of his neck before sighing.

“Good boy,” May smiled before pushing her nephew towards the stairs, “now you go fix up your room.”

Peter stared at her in exasperation.

“I’m an adult,” he grumbled under his breath as he climbed the stairs.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the merc who was now offering her his best smile.

“Peter is just getting the room ready,” she explained with a wave of her hand, “I’m so glad you decided to take me up on my offer, Wade. Did you finish that errand you had to run?”

The Canadian nodded, “oh yeah. My friend just had to…swing by for a sec. It’s all good now.”

It had been two hours since his rooftop rendezvous with Peter/Spider Man. He had allowed the webbed wonder time to get back home and pretend to be just exiting the shower before he made his entrance into the Parker household. The matriarch had graciously invited him back after he ‘ran his errand’ and before Wade knew it, he was being strong-armed into staying the night.

[Strong-armed? More like limp-wristed]

{You gave in immediately}

[The words ‘Wade would you like to stay the night’ were barely out of her mouth before you grabbed your Captain America Onesie]

{I wonder how Cap would feel if he knew that his face is all over the big guy’s body}

[And junk]

{Those boxers were the best Christmas present ever}

[But not as good as fucking with Petey’s head]

{That’s gonna be so much better}

[And they say Christmas only comes once a year]

{Well, like Denise Richards in that movie, it’s coming twice}

“Roll on the mind-fuckery,” Wade murmured under his breath as his eyes followed Peter’s aunt from over the rim of his tea cup.

{Remember, pinky out!}

[We want to make a good impression]

The mercenary stuck out his pinky finger as he sipped his tea, smirking wryly as the older woman regaled him with plenty of embarrassing stories about her nephew.

He had decided after their conversation on the rooftop (and with the critical background-information he was plied with via May) that while he could not completely forgive Peter’s secrecy and subsequent lies, he could somewhat understand their necessity and would thus, not be too hard on the younger man.

[Better not sit on him, so]

{That near-constant erection you have for him would definitely qualify as hard}

[Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson’s abs are softer]

{Matthew McConaughey’s accent is softer}

“So there he was, dressed as a bumblebee, pants down around his ankles, standing in the middle of the stage like a deer caught in headlights!” May laughed, dabbing at her eyes as she pottered around the living room clearing up from their tea, “second grade was a tough time for him after that.”

[Have we mentioned how much we love Aunt May?]

{‘Cause we do}

[A whole bunch]

{The woman is a goddess among men for these stories alone}

“I think the kids even called him Pee Wee Parker for a while…” May mused to herself thoughtfully, tapping her chin.

“It was Pee Bee Parker and thanks so much for making me relive it, Aunt May,” Peter’s sarcastic tone wafted into the room.

Wade looked over the rim of his cup and was delighted to see the patented blush inflaming his cheeks.

[Who knew Spidey was such a blusher?]

{Who knew that would be such a turn on?}

[Hot damn]

“I wouldn’t be fulfilling my proud parent duties if I didn’t embarrass you, sweetheart,” May retorted, patting her palm against his face before crossing the room and leaning down to Wade, kissing him gently on the cheek.

“Now, time these old bones got to bed. I’ll leave you boys to it. Goodnight, Wade. Sleep tight. Look out for Peter’s sharp knees, if I remember anything from when he was young, is that he sure can kick in his sleep.”

“Aunt May,” Peter groaned in exasperation, but it fell on deaf ears as the woman just smiled at him and waved before making her way upstairs.

“That woman is a menace,” the brunet lamented as he took a seat opposite Wade, snatching up a cookie from the plate on the table and taking a large bite of it.

“She’s a menace that loves you very much. You’re lucky to have her,” Wade found himself replying without any real reason to.

[It’s writer lady. She likes making you two talk about serious shit]

{It just doesn’t happen too often}

[‘Cause let’s face it, you don’t really scream serious and she doesn’t really scream comfortable writing emotional shit]

{Banter on the other hand? If writing that made her cold hard cash, she could put herself through graduate school}

“I am lucky to have her,” Peter agreed with an inclination of his head, his eyes still averted.

And that was another thing. Not once, since he got here, had Peter actually directly looked at Wade. The mercenary mused that he had his reasons not to, the whole sticking his tongue down his throat thing being the top reason obviously, but it still didn’t mean that it didn’t bother him. He liked Petey’s eyes. They were so…expressive. And now knowing they were what lay under that mask?

A shudder ran through his body at the sheer thought.

“You cold?” Peter asked, clearly paying the other man enough attention that his shiver didn’t go unnoticed.

“Nah, I’m good,” Wade waved off the notion before leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he fixed the brunet with a calculating stare, “so…you were in that shower a long time.”

[Oh so the mind-fuckery begins now, huh?]

{No time like the present}

Peter shrugged, “what can I say? I like cleanliness.”

“You must have been pretty dirty then,” the merc conceded, “your Aunt May had enough time to tell me all about your adorkable elementary school years and I had time to run my errand and make it back before you even stepped outta the bathroom…” he trailed off, before smirking, “I bet your ass is so clean you could eat off it.”

The brunet swallowed deeply, his dark eyes narrowing, a flash of steel illuminating them.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

[Ooh fiery! Spidey’s got some spunk]

{We knew this}

[We could use it to our advantage]

{Knock the little shit down a peg or twelve}

[Two can play that game]

That thought barely had time to flitter into his brain before Wade was opening his mouth and replying, “yeah actually, I would like to know.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, his lips separating slightly as a tiny gasp escaped him.

“You…you wanna know if my ass is clean enough to eat off of?” he breathed, eyebrows knitted together.

[Aww, he’s so cute when he’s confused]

{Ten points to Slytherin if we can make the confused puppy expression last longer than two minutes}

Wade nodded his head, both in response to White’s challenge and to Peter’s query.

“Sure, Petey. Who wouldn’t? You have the second finest ass in all of New York city, after all,” he smirked, munching on his ninth cookie in an hour.

[Another confused frown]

{And Slytherin wins the House Cup!}

“The second finest? Who has the first?”

{Ding, ding, ding!}

[Ha! I wonder if he realizes how offended he sounds?]

Wade let out a laugh, slapping his knee, “Spider Man! Duh! Have you seen that ass? You could bounce quarters off that thing…” he paused before leaning a little closer, his knees actually touching Peter’s now (damn they were sharp), “is that jealousy I see, Mr. Parker?”

Another flush crept across the brunet’s face as he sat back in the chair, his knees moving away from Wade.

“What? No! I just—can we stop talking about asses now?”

[Forcing him to change the subject out of discomfort? Double jackpot!]

Wade’s smirk grew larger.

“Sure thing, Petey. Change of subject…let me see…” he tapped his chin, pretending to wrack his brain before snapping his fingers, “oh! I should totally tell you about the errand I had to run. It’s a doozy!”

The younger man’s eyes widened a fraction before he schooled his expression into something more neutral.

“Oh no, that’s okay Wade. You don’t have to—”

“So, I was with Spidey,” the merc interjected with a wave of his hand, “turns out there’s some crazy shit goin’ down at the Avengers Tower…”

~*~

23:00. UNKNOWN LOCATION

“It’s goddamn insane! I gotta get outta here before—”

“Your not-so-little green friend comes to visit?” Tony Stark interrupted Bruce Banner’s rant with his breezy tone.

Bruce glared at him.

“Before that ‘not-so-little green friend’ destroys half of wherever the hell we are.”

“Only half? Someone must be having an off day,” Stark commented drily, “maybe the big guy needs a vacation to recharge his batteries? How about the Poconos? Or Tahiti?”

“I hear it’s a magical place,” Maria Hill interjected into the scientists’ premium banter with her deadpan delivery, “and before anyone invites any of their oversized friends to the party,” she levelled Bruce with a knowing stare, “know that it is something that we have handled.”

Banner let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“‘Handled?’ Is that what the kids are calling this nowadays?” he groused, waving his hand around, motioning to the pristine room they found themselves in.

Tony nodded, clapping his friend on the back.

“If you actually had it handled, you wouldn’t have needed to call in us,” he tilted his head with a smug smirk.

Hill glanced between the two of them before rolling her eyes.

“Okay Heckle and Jeckle,” she began, pointing first at Tony and then at Bruce, “let’s get one thing straight, here. Fury called you in as a precaution because of the sensitive nature of the operation and it’s relation to one of your team members. If it wasn’t for those elements, we wouldn’t have had to ‘call you in’ at all,” she finished with an air quote and a slight shake of her head.

The scientists threw her identical looks of bemusement.

Bruce took a step towards her, arms folded, “was that a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde pun? Really, Hill?”

The agent of SHIELD gave another roll of her eyes just as her phone vibrated.

“Just…follow me,” she directed more at her phone than at them, turning on her heel and walking out of the room without a backwards glance.

Tony and Bruce shared another glance before following her.

As far as secret bases went, this one wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t quite up to The Avengers Tower and Covert Facility standards but in all fairness, it also didn’t have the luxury of being funded by Stark money.

“So apart from human experimentation, what else goes on down here? Is this the real Area 51? Do you have E.T. hauled up in a bunker somewhere?” Tony asked, walking backwards as he surveyed their surroundings.

“It’s not human experimentation, it’s—”

“If you’re using human subjects to test out previously untested elements then yeah, it is human experimentation,” Banner cut across her with a loaded tone.

Hill had no response for that.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on what way you looked at it, it seemed that they had reached their destination which halted any further discussion of the matter.

“Holy shit,” Tony gaped as they stopped at a gigantic glass window that overlooked a gargantuan laboratory/hospital ward that was lined with hundreds and hundreds of beds that were housing one person per bed.

“So this is them, then,” Bruce stated rather than asked with an unimpressed bobbing of his head, “the guinea pigs…”

“We prefer to call them patients, actually,” a deep and familiar tone responded from behind them.

“Fury,” Stark nodded before turning back to the window.

“Stark, Dr. Banner, Agent Hill,” the former-director inclined his head at each of them in turn, “welcome to Skyline Laboratories.”

The group took another moment to drink in the sight that lay in front of them before they began to walk the incredibly long corridor towards a more private area.

“You’ve briefed Steve already?” Bruce asked Nick, hands folded behind his back as he walked.

“Captain Rogers got the full lo-down on the plane. It seemed…appropriate, under the circumstances,” Fury informed them as they entered a door to their left.

A decently-sized office was what awaited them, and for what it lacked in decoration, it made up for in the sheer magnitude of technology that lined it, stainless steel and glass surfaces aplenty.

“Someone got some shiny new toys for Christmas,” Tony remarked as he tapped on a nearby touch-screen monitor.

“You’re the asshole that taps on the glass in zoos and aquariums aren’t you?” Maria deadpanned, looking as if she was suppressing yet another eye-roll.

Tony merely smirked at her before crossing the room and taking a seat at Fury’s desk. Bruce hung back a little, hands in his pockets, seeming a little unsure of what to do.

“Please, Dr. Banner, take a seat. This could take a while,” Nick gestured to the chair beside Tony before rounding his desk and sitting down.

Hill remained standing, stock still, her hands placed behind her back.

“I’ll cut right to the chase,” Fury began without preamble, “we have an idea why Peter Parker has been targeted.”

Banner and Stark exchanged a weighted glance.

“I’m on the edge of my seat,” the latter remarked, “so come on. Tell us. What has the kid gotten himself into now?”

~*~

“And then BAM WOOSH THUMP we hit the ground like a ton of bricks, tumbling like fuckin’ gymnasts until suddenly, I’m pulled to my feet by some strong, manly arms and pushed up against a wall all sexy like and I shit you not Petey, he just lays one on me! One giant smackeroo right in the kisser!”

Peter gaped silently at Wade as he enthusiastically re-told everything that had gone down from when he entered the warehouse up until the last few hours, complete with exaggerated hand-motions and excited sound effects.

“Spider Man fucking kissed me! I mean, what the hell is that all about?”

He couldn’t be sure if Wade meant it rhetorically or not but felt absolutely no desire to try and figure it out. The merc didn’t seem enthused by his silence, however. An indistinguishable expression crossed over his face as he leaned forward on the chair and stared expectedly at the brunet, looking as if he would hang on his every word.

If Peter could manage to speak any words, that was.

“Oh come on, Petey! You gotta have some insight into that web-head!” Wade exclaimed, waving his hand with a flourish, “what d’ya think he was thinkin’ shovin’ his tongue down my throat? Was it some elaborate ploy to hide from the cops? Or do you think he…” he trailed off, shaking his head vigorously, before muttering seemingly to himself, “nah…he couldn’t possibly like me. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat as those words reached his ears.

“I…” he scrambled to find words, his eyes darting around the room, “I’m sure he had his reasons,” he croaked before clearing his throat and shrugging, “I mean, you don’t just go around kissing people for no reason! You—you’ll just have to ask him, I suppose.”

Wade nodded slowly as if he were mulling over those words.

“Maybe I will, Petey…maybe I will,” he murmured before leaping up and clapping his hands, “well, I don’t know about you, but I’m sleepier than a roofied sloth. Where’s your bed at?”

And that’s how Peter Parker found himself giving Wade Wilson a tour around his childhood room.

He was like a hyperactive kid in a candy store, bouncing into the modest bedroom with wonder, turning around in circles to drink in every inch of the place.

“Is that a Tony Stark poster?” Wade asked as he leapt towards the wall, his eyes darting around with unadulterated excitement.

“OMG you’re totally a Stark fanboy, aren’t you?” the merc continued without waiting for a response as he pressed his face up against the poster and inhaled deeply.

“Hmm…smells like entitlement and an overly inflated sense of self,” he murmured under his breath before skipping over to the desk and running his hands along all the trinkets that lay there.

“You’re a tactile looker,” Peter remarked, trying to let the Canadian know that he didn’t appreciate him getting handsy with his stuff.

“And you kinda look like a human-shaped velociraptor.”

Peter stared at him.

Wade’s eyebrows shot up, “my bad. I thought we were giving each other weird compliments.”

[What is with him and dinosaurs, lately?]

{He thinks he’s Chris Pratt}

[Dat raptor squad tho]

{Next thing you know he’s gonna don a leather waistcoat and try to tame flamingos at the Zoo}

The Canadian could feel Peter’s gaze on him as he continued to explore the room with a vested interest.

“So…you were always into science shit then,” he remarked as he picked up a microscope and weighed it in his hands before his attention was grabbed by a picture to the far left of the desk.

“Aww, look at Mini Petey. You’re just a tadpole! And you won the 2nd Grade Science Fair. Awesome! Your dad looks so proud…” Wade said, warmth in his tone as he grinned down at the picture of young Peter, his two front teeth missing as he beamed excitedly for the camera, trophy in hand.

“That’s uh…that’s my Uncle Ben,” Peter responded, his voice low.

Deadpool turned on the spot, catching the hazel eyes for a split second, before nodding.

“Your Uncle Ben looks proud,” he amended.

The brunet nodded, his arms crossing at his chest.

“So uh, do you need any pajamas or…?” he let his query trail off into the awkward silence that had descended on them.

“Nah,” Wade waved off his suggestion, “I’ll just sleep in my jeans.”

[We should totally carry around our Captain America onesie all the time]

{*making a mental note for next time*}

[‘Cause there will totally be a next time]

An adorable crease formed in between Peter’s eyebrows. “Sleeping in jeans won’t be comfortable,” he murmured as he turned his back, crossing the room towards his closet.

Wade let his eyes follow him, wandering uninhibited up and down the other man’s body, lingering over the lean muscle that was visible, his head tilted, teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

“You tryin’ to get me to take my pants off, Petey?”

The smirk on his face grew wider as he saw the younger man stiffen, his entire body tense.

A beat of silence passed.

“Something tells me I wouldn’t have to try that hard to get you to take your pants off, Wade,” came Peter’s reply as he turned around to face him, his hazel eyes boring a hole into Wade’s chocolate ones, they alight with challenge.

[Ooh Petey’s fighting back]

{Has he finally gotten sick of our bating?}

“I mean,” Peter continued, taking a step towards him, “I have already seen you naked so…it wouldn’t be that BIG of a deal…”

[How very dare he!]

{Did he…did he really just insinuate that we’ve got a small—}

[Pee Pee? Yep.]

{That bastard!}

Wade chuckled darkly, also taking a step forward, “not that big of a deal, huh? Well, you shoulda told your face ‘cause you looked like it was the biggest deal you’d ever seen.”

Peter let out a laugh, shaking his head before tilting it at him.

“Nobody likes someone who blows their own trumpet, Wade.”

“Care to blow it for me then, Peter?”

The superhero let out a puff of air at that question, his eyes flickering a little as he stared up into the mercenary’s eyes. Neither man was particularly surprised to find themselves mere inches away from each other, a hair’s breadth between their bodies, having migrated closer and closer throughout the exchange. It always seemed to just happen, the more they talked, the more they tried to one up each other, the closer they got.

“I don’t know, Wade. I wouldn’t wanna…stroke your ego too hard,” Peter smirked, never breaking eye contact.

Wade’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, his gaze glimmering.

“Your head shouldn’t get any bigger, you could end up giving yourself a size complex. And like I said…not all of you could afford that,” the brunet continued with a quirk of his eyebrow, his eyes dropping to Wade’s crotch.

The merc snorted, “whatever you say, asshole. I know for a fact that you never saw a thing—”

“Yeah, it was so microscopic it was invisible to the naked eye,” the brunet interjected with a chuckle.

Wade raised his hand and shoved him lightly, his hand clutching his shoulder.

“Shut up or I’ll be forced to show you just how not microscopic any part of me is,” the mercenary murmured, very aware that his fingers were tracing the outline of his collarbone.

Something blazed in Peter’s gaze as he took one last step forward and breathed right up into his face, “don’t make promises you can’t keep, Wade,” before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

He could feel the Canadian’s eyes following him every step of the way.

When he got to the bathroom door, he forced himself to open it, step in and close it calmly before freaking the hell out.

“What the fuck was that?!” he hissed quietly, blood boiling in his veins as he flailed at himself in the mirror.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! First you nearly kiss Deadpool, then you do kiss Deadpool and NOW you’re flirting with him?! What the fuck, Peter?! Get a fucking grip!” he angrily whispered, running his hands through his hair, trying to stifle the groan of frustration that threatened to claw its way out of his throat.

Except, it wasn’t just a groan of frustration…not if the pooling heat in his abdomen had anything to say about it.

“You are so not turned on right now,” he told mirror-Peter. “You can’t be. You’re not turned on by this or by Deadpool. That’s crazy-talk.”

Mirror-Peter wasn’t buying it.

Neither was his dick, apparently.

“You are not turned on by Deadpool…you are not turned on by Wade…you do not find him attractive,” Peter murmured to himself, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

Thing was, this wasn’t the first time Peter had had to have this type of conversation with himself. If he was being honest, he started saying those kinda things to himself when he was in middle school and the thought that Jimmy McQuaid’s freckles were cute first entered his barely-pubescent brain.

The same line of conversation continued all the way through high school when he admired the slope of Gwen’s neck and also Shane Colby’s jawline, before finally culminating in college when he shared a drunken kiss with his RA, Rob, at his first and last keg party.

So, yeah. He knew he was attracted to guys as well as girls. That was not news to him.

What was news to him was that he was not only attracted with Wade Fucking Wilson, Wade, not just his alter-ego, but actually enjoyed his company and desired to spend time with him.

Those two weeks apart were hell. He had kissed him, on a whim, and spent the next fourteen days torturing himself about it. Because he enjoyed it. Damn, did he enjoy it. He hadn’t kissed anyone in…a very long time and kissing Wade had felt…good. More than good. But that wasn’t the biggest of his problems. No. That particular prize belonged to the fluttery feelings in his stomach, the same ones that travelled into his chest every time he thought about the kiss, every time he touched himself…

“Fuck!” he exclaimed loudly as the realization rocked him to his very core.

“Uh uh, Petey boy. That’s not very PG13! You’re breaking rule 14 of sub-section A,” Wade’s voice suddenly wafted from behind the door.

The brunet jumped, pushing his glasses back onto his face before pulling the door open wide, revealing the mercenary (thankfully) still fully clothed, “what?”

[Oh yeah! Petey can’t use ‘foul language beyond PG-13']

{Sony execs are made up of a bunch of white suburban moms, apparently}

[And bigots too. ‘Cause Petey can’t be gay, either]

{Seriously, look it up. Google is your friend}

[But it says nothing about him being bisexual, though]

{Woo! Gotta love that LGBT loophole!}

“Nothing,” Wade shook his head before gesturing behind him, “so uh…you ready for bed, or…?”

Peter nodded vigorously, motioning for Deadpool to go back into the room, he following his lead.

“Am I original, yeah…am I the only one, yeah…am I sexual, yeah…am I everything ya need ya better rock ya body now,” the merc was singing to himself gently as they made their way back into the room.

[So we’re gonna completely ignore what just happened, right?]

{Petey was absolutely not flirting. So, yeah. We’re ignoring what just happened}

[Can’t help but wonder what he was thinking in the bathroom, though. He looks…frazzled]

Wade let his singing quieten as he climbed into Peter’s bed and settled down, waiting for the younger man to join him.

[Wow. That was the sexiest unsexy line yet]

“Good night, Wade,” Peter mumbled as he turned out the lights and got into bed next to him.

“Good night, Peter,” the mercenary replied, shifting around, trying to get comfortable.

A silence descended on them as they both lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. All that could be heard were their mingled breaths and the occasional rustling of sheets. It was tranquil, in a way, if you ignored the overwhelming tension between them. It was stifling; the electrical charge between their bodies that had been steadily growing since day one.

Wade shifted around again and accidentally brushed against something in the dark.

“Uh…sorry…” he murmured, realizing too late that he was far too close to Peter, his breath bouncing off the younger man’s cheek and the thing he brushed up against being his hip.

“‘S’okay,” Peter mumbled, his too-alert voice piercing the darkness with a sharp edge, “accidents happen.”

[Was it an accident, though?]

{Kinda felt too good to be unintentional}

Biting his lip, Wade shifted a little again, his lower abdomen again brushing against the brunet’s hip, creating a friction so delectable that he had to chomp down on his tongue to stop himself from groaning out loud.

“Fuck…” Peter groused lowly, it sounding half-way between a gasp and a growl.

Wade shook his head, feeling the familiar tightening in his pants, a delicious heat pooling in the pit of his stomach.

{You’re half-hard from one touch?}

[Sweet and Sour Jesus]

{You got it bad}

The merc pulled a face at his boxes, something akin to a child sticking out their tongue, not caring as the action went unobserved in the darkness.

…or maybe it didn’t. Peter was Spider Man after all. He did have certain powers…

[Lightbulb!]

{Oh, this could be fun}

Finally settling down (inches closer to the other warm body than he was before) Wade forced himself to even out his breaths to mimic that of someone who was falling asleep. He waited a long while, at least ten whole minutes, his ears straining to listen to Peter’s breaths (that were very much still of an awake person) before he put his plan into action.

Slowly, he turned around onto his back again, this time stretching his entire body in one fluid motion, his hips lifting off the bed and edging up towards the ceiling. Allowing a soft groan to escape his throat, he lifted his left arm (the one closest to the brunet) and let it fall heavily down onto his lower abdomen, his fingers scratching at his T-shirt, bunching up the material slightly to expose a sliver of skin.

He felt Peter tense up beside him.

[Oh yeah. Spidey can definitely see in the dark]

{Funny how the big guy’s body insecurities aren’t rearing their ugly head}

[Never underestimate the power of horniness]

Slowly, Wade brushed his fingers lightly against the exposed skin, the ever-constant ebbing of pain just below the surface as his knuckles dragged over his abs, dipping a tad lower into the waistband of his jeans. Trying to keep his breathing steady, he slipped his fingers into his boxers and heaved a deep sigh.

Beside him, he could hear laboured breaths as Peter turned to face him.

Trying to quell his smirk, he edged a little closer to Peter, letting out a tiny puff of air, it bouncing against the crook of his neck. A shiver wracked the brunet’s body, reverberating throughout the bed. Wade shifted again, angling himself towards the younger man and accidentally brushing his now very hard cock against something that felt just as hard.

[Sure. “Accidentally”]

{Uh, nope. Judging by the big guy’s heart rate, it was definitely an accident]

Wade stilled, his eyes popping wide open as his heart hammered in his chest. Smirk well and truly gone, the merc tried not to let on that he was awake, quickly shutting his eyes again and forcing himself to relax.

A deep groan that morphed into a growl had him tensing up again however, this time for an entirely different reason.

[Petey…Petey has a—]

{Hard on the size of Mount Vesuvius}

[Think he’s gonna erupt too or…?]

Before Wade could let those somewhat distasteful words sink in, Peter was quickly but quietly exiting the bed, his bare feet padding across the room in total darkness as he made his way out into the corridor. The merc sat up and just caught a glimpse of the younger man’s back as he raced into the bathroom and closed the door with a snap behind him.

Seconds ticked by before Wade’s ragged breaths were joined by the low noise of the shower running. Biting his lip, he strained his ears, waiting on tether hooks to see if Peter was going to re-emerge any time soon. Seconds turned into minutes as the Canadian desperately tried to ignore the uncomfortable bulge in his jeans and failed miserably.

Unable to stop himself, Wade moved as if on autopilot, across the room and out into the corridor, halting barely a foot from the door, his dark eyes staring at it so intently he was surprised he didn’t bore a hole into it.

Suddenly, he heard a rustling, the unmistakeable sound of clothes falling heavily to the floor. Biting his lip so hard he drew blood, the merc’s mind conjured up a very vivid image of what Petey could possibly be doing in that shower…

~*~

The water was luke warm when the brunet stood under the spray, the droplets cascading down his leanly muscled body. Peter tilted his head back, his brunet tresses dampening as his hand finally wrapped around his cock, squeezing very gently at the base, giving an experimental tug. A strangled gasp escaped his throat when he trailed his fingers down, his thumb brushing against the head, sending waves of pleasure up his spine.

Clumsily, he reached out with his other hand towards the lotion, squirting a decent amount out into his palm before gripping himself again, sliding his hand slowly up and down, creating a lather. Biting his lower lip, hard, Peter’s eyes fell closed, his head tipping back further to rest against the tiles as a burst of images formed behind his eyelids.

Wade lying next to him.

Wade stretching in his sleep.

A sliver of Wade’s incredibly toned abdomen becoming visible in the darkness.

The brushing of Wade’s very hard cock against his own.

He knew it was wrong. He shouldn’t have been turned on by Wade who was asleep and apparently having a very pleasant dream, but he couldn’t help it. If he was honest with himself (which was getting more and more difficult as they days went by) he knew that it was no new development, his…appreciation for the merc’s physique. The red and black spandex (like his own) left little to the imagination, and Peter would be a damn dirty liar if he said that over the years his eyes were never once caught wandering across the wide expanse of Wade’s shoulders, or the slope of his back or the impressive bulge of his crotch.

He was only human, after all. Well, mostly.

But now, it was so much worse. He was experiencing every inch of that 6’2” body up close and personal, just not as close or as personal as he desperately wanted.

Another gasp clawed up Peter’s throat as he remembered how amazing it felt, pushing Wade into that wall and pressing his body against his own as their lips met. He yearned for more. His hand sped up, the friction delectable as the slapping of skin against skin reverberated off the walls.

A knot of tension was forming in the depths of his abdomen as his hand moved faster and faster, up and down, up and down with a little twist at the head, just how Peter liked except, in his mind, it wasn’t his own hand, it was Wade’s.

He imagined the merc stepping into the shower with him, his large hand cupping him tightly, just on the cusp of painful, moving slowly, torturously so, dragging up and down, up and down. Peter would let out a cry of impatience and Wade would smirk devilishly at him before upping the pace, his thumb swiping across the head and gathering the pre-cum, bringing it up to his lips and sucking it dry.

Peter would mourn the loss of warmth from Wade’s hand until he watched, through half-closed eyes as the merc kneeled down in front of him. An excited thrill would shoot up Peter’s spine as Wade looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes gleaming with a smug mirth yet undeniable fondness that made the brunet’s stomach do somersaults before he leaned forward and took Peter into his mouth.

A heat would envelope him, a wet, hot heat around his cock that would have him clenching from head to toe, an arousal so unbridled unfurling within him as Wade bobbed his head, taking him all in until his cock hit the back of his throat. Peter’s hand would clutch the back of Wade’s head as eyes rolled into his skull in delirium when he realized that the merc had no gag reflex, he able to take every inch of him.

Wade’s tongue would slide from tip to base, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake as he wrapped his fingers around Peter’s cock, tugging as his lips closed around the head, sucking powerfully, lapping at the slit, tasting him.

Peter’s orgasm would rise within him, a crescendo of pleasurable sensation licking at his insides, his toes curling as Wade brought him closer and closer to the edge, his breath escaping in short, desperate spurts. Heat would radiate from him as the merc kept his eyes trained on him the entire time, his dark gaze never wavering as he tantalizingly pulled his orgasm from him, a hand stroking up and down his own hard length, in perfect rhythm to his mouth’s ministrations.

Then the brunet would feel it, the tell-tale sign, the tightening in his balls that said that he was close, so fucking close. He would gasp this out, trying to give the merc warning, but it would fall on deaf ears. Wade would only suck harder, longer, his gaze intense as Peter cried out, spilling into his throat, he happily swallowing it down, a moan of pleasure falling from his lips.

Peter let out a guttural groan, his head bashing against the tiles as he came, spilling into his hand with the image of Wade on his knees, swallowing his come.

“Fuck…” he gasped for what felt the tenth time that night as he came down from his orgasm, now realizing that the water had turned cold sometime during his vivid fantasy.

Suppressing a shiver, Peter quickly grabbed a wash-cloth and cleaned himself up before shutting off the water and stepping out of the shower. As he wrapped a towel around his waist, he walked over to the fogged mirror and ran a palm over it, his sated eyes and crimson cheeks reflecting back at him as his stomach continued to do somersaults.

He jerked off thinking about Deadpool sucking him off.

That was a thing now.

Fuck.

~*~

03:30. AVENGER’S TOWER. 

A glistening white key card swiped through an electronic lock, the light flickering from red to green as the door clicked open.

A tall figure stepped through, walking with purpose in the darkness, head swivelling left and right, surveying the room.

They scanned the large, rectangular drawers until a familiar one came into view. Barely making a sound, they made their way towards it, using their key card again before reaching behind them and wheeling over a gurney.

Slowly, they pulled open the drawer, a large something covered with a white sheet being revealed. With careful, gloved hands, the figure peeled back the sheet, exposing the head and face of Lucas Daniels.

Mission complete.

Now came the hard part.

~*~

“Curse you aqua scum!”

“The sink acting up again, Wade?” May Parker asked as she entered her kitchen to find the Canadian yelling expletives at the faucet.

He turned, water dripping down his face, his T-shirt completely soaked.

“Uh huh,” he nodded, his movements akin to a dog shaking himself after a bath, droplets spraying everywhere.

“Darn,” the woman muttered under her breath as she made her way over to the stove, “I was meant to call a plumber. But with everything going on, the break-in—”

“I can fix it for you…if uh…if you like?” Wade interrupted her, a sheepish expression on his face before he went back to wrestling with the still uncooperative faucet.

“Oh no, Wade, I couldn’t ask you to do—”

“You didn’t. I’m offering,” he called over his shoulder, “I’m no Billy Mays or Tim Taylor or whatever, but I’m not too bad at being handy.”

[Certainly were handy with yourself last night]

{I wonder what Aunt May would think if she knew you fondled yourself thinking of her nephew in the shower?}

Wade stilled, snapping his eyes shut as he fought the memory of last night. It was beyond sexy. He hadn’t meant for it to go so far but…hot damn, he couldn’t say he regretted that it did. When he realized that Peter could see in the dark, he thought a little mind-fuckery was in order, pretend he was asleep and having a naughty dream or two but…when he found himself hard and brushing up against an equally hard Peter? All pretence flew out the window.

He was falling for him. Hell, he had already fallen. He’d had a crush on Spider Man for over five years (it not even really dissipating fully after ‘The Incident’) and these last couple of months with Peter only solidified it. They had grown closer, Wade could feel it. And although he knew he could be a little tough on himself, even his self-esteem issues couldn’t argue that their relationship had changed, morphed into something else entirely.

Spider Man and Peter Parker were one in the same, Wade knew that now. And with every passing moment he spent with the grad student, he understood it that little bit deeper. Yeah, he was still beyond pissed that Peter had been lying to him all this time, but he had to admit that he got it. He didn’t necessarily agree with it, but he understood why.

After that quiet acceptance, Wade found it easier to let himself go that little bit further with his game. It was mostly what egged him on last night. He couldn’t even blame the insanity, not really, it was a different type of madness. He wanted…he wanted to make Peter as crazy, as frustrated, as he made him.

What he wasn’t expecting however, was the brunet to be as turned on as him. He thought the kid would be embarrassed, would blush a little and grouse to himself. That’s all. Maybe it was the insecurities, maybe it was sheer disbelief, but never in his wildest dreams, did the mercenary ever think that Spider Man, Peter Cute Brunet Parker, would ever have a hard on for him.

Turns out he was wrong.

So, so, very wrong.

{And when he went into the bathroom…}

[We couldn’t help but follow and listen at the door like a perv]

{The noises…}

[Fuck]

{Surprised we didn’t blow our load then and there}

[He was touching himself]

{All wet and soapy in the shower}

[Yep. That’s gonna be front and center of our spank bank for a long time]

“Good morning,” a familiar voice sounded from behind Wade, making him jump and half turn around.

[Smooth]

“Morning,” he forced himself to reply, watching with bated breath, his throat dry, as Peter stretched, his sleep-shirt rising up his abdomen, a sliver of skin peeking out.

{Dayum}

[That Andrew Garfield-lookin’ mother-fucker]

{The new Spidey was announced}

[What happened to Butterscotch?]

{Butterfield. And he was replaced by some other British dude called Tom Holland}

[I don’t care if he’s Tom Mexico and makes the finest tacos in all the realm. He looks about twelve]

{Which makes us feel gross}

[So Andy Garfield it is. Even if he’s named after a lasagne-loving cartoon-cat]

{Pretty sure he’s not named after it}

[Think about it…Garfield is 37 years old. How old is Andy?]

{32}

[I rest my case]

“Good morning, Peter,” Aunt May smiled, giving her nephew a kiss on the cheek, “you boys sleep well?”

A silence descended on the room.

{Oh yeah. We slept like a baby}

[A really horny baby]

Wade made a face at his boxes just as May turned to look at him.

“Oh you didn’t, Wade?” she asked, misunderstanding his look of disgust.

“No uh…I-I uh slept great, thanks!” he stammered, unable to look at Peter, turning back fully around to the sink.

“Why is your shirt wet?” the brunet asked suddenly.

He could hear May sigh behind him, “it’s that damn faucet again. Wade is being a dear and fixing it for me.”

Wade couldn’t help but smile at the warmth in her tone.

“Do you know anything about plumbing?” the younger man’s somewhat sceptical and weary tone inquired as he stepped closer to him, halting at the sink.

“As a matter of fact, Watson, I do. I know a great many things about a great many things, I’ll have you know,” Wade replied evenly, still not looking at him as he felt his shoulder brush against his.

He could practically hear Peter rolling his eyes.

“Seriously, why am I Watson? And don’t say it’s ‘cause I’m short or I swear—”

“Because I’m the protagonist in this story, Peter. That’s why,” the merc retorted, this time unable to resist a quick glance at him.

“Everyone is the protagonist in their own story, Wade.”

“Wow Petey, that was very profound. You should write greeting cards.”

[Or be a motivational speaker]

{‘How to lie to someone’s face about everything and anything in 3 easy steps’}

[I thought we were being chill about that?]

{We are. Which is why we’re not saying that shit to his face. Yet.}

[Sounds ominous]

{When are we not?}

[Good point]

A laugh broke out, interrupting Wade’s boxes. He and Peter quickly turned and realized that the entire time they were bickering, May was watching, quite the attentive audience.

“You two, I swear,” she waved her hand, grinning from ear to ear, “I’m off to get some groceries. I’ll be back soon to make some lunch. Try not to flood the house while I’m out.”

And with that, the trio were down to a duo.

Another silence enveloped the room. Wade was suddenly very aware of his own breathing, each breath raspy and shallow, much like it had been the night before.

{Don’t think about last night!}

[Unless you want to try fix the sink with your dick]

{Then by all means, go ahead}

“You uh…you need help with…?” Peter trailed off, waving vaguely at the faucet.

The merc tilted his head slightly, forcing himself to look at the younger man.

God, he was just delectable, standing there with his hair all sleep swept in his baggy check pajama pants and tight, white shirt.

And to think, less than twelve hours earlier, that same hot body slept beside him after he gave himself quite the orgasm judging by what Wade heard through the door.

The thought was almost too much.

“No uh, it’s fine. I got it,” he ground out, his voice an octave higher than usual, “you can just—”

“Watch?” Peter interjected, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yeah,” the mercenary felt himself nodding, “you can watch.”

[Kinky]

{This is how most porn starts}

[I’ll get the popcorn]

~*~

“I’m pretty sure that doesn’t go there,” Peter piped up from his perch at the kitchen table an hour later, raising a smug eyebrow.

“And I’m pretty sure I told you to shut your face five times already,” Wade groused from his position under the sink, wrench in hand.

[Ooh is that a euphemism?]

{No. It’s a literal wrench. The big guy thinks he’s Mike Holmes or some shit}

[For any readers not in the know – Holmes is a Canadian Handyman]

{Writer lady actually googled it for this very purpose}

[Nerd]

“What’s wrong, Sherlock?” Peter asked in a sing-song tone, clearly enjoying watching Wade struggle, “I thought you knew a lot of things about a lot of things?”

The merc scoffed as he glared up at the pipe a few inches from his face.

[Geez. Is everything in this chapter gonna be a euphemism for dick?]

{Hey, it’s a mature Spideypool fic. The people know what they signed themselves up for}

“You’re hilarious,” Wade deadpanned, both at his boxes and at Peter, sticking out one hand and waving it at the younger man, “why don’t you make yourself useful and hand me that other wrench.”

{Writer lady knows nothing about plumbing}

[That’s okay. Neither does Wade]

He could hear Peter stand up from the table and make his way over to the sink, kneeling down at his Uncle Ben’s old toolbox and taking out a wrench.

“This what you want?” he asked, holding it out, smirk firmly in place as Wade sat up, roughly bashing the top of his head off the pipe.

“OW! Motherfucker!” he yelled, punching the pipe in frustration.

As his fist connected with it, a loud creaking sound rang out before water burst from every angle, spraying right into Wade and Peter’s faces.

“Shit!” they yelled in unison as the water pummelled them with incredible force.

“Wrap…wrap your hands around it!” Peter shouted, throwing an arm over his head to shield his face.

Wade did as he was told, gripping the pipe to try and stem the flow.

“Tighter!” Peter exclaimed, leaning closer to him, “grip it tighter!”

[Good lord, get your minds outta the gutter!]

{You dirty minded heathens are all going to hell}

“Shit…get—get something to wrap around it. Anything! We need to do something before the whole place floods,” the merc rambled, wincing as he became absolutely soaked.

“Let me in,” the brunet demanded suddenly, inching even closer to him, practically straddling him as he tried to dodge the water and simultaneously get a good look at the pipe.

“No! Peter! There’s no room! Just—just get something to—” Wade was cut off by Peter’s hand slipping from where it supported him, causing him to fall down onto the mercenary’s chest. Hard.

The merc gasped as he was suddenly confronted with bright hazel eyes barely half an inch from his own. They were completely pressed together, chest to toe, sopping wet.

[Yep. She's straight up writing a cheesy porn scene]

{Shameless}

[Could be a good career move, though. Are there actually script writers for porn?]

{I dunno. But writer lady should definitely google that shit}

A droplet fell from the tip of Peter’s brunet strand, down onto Wade’s cheek.

They stared at one another, the rushing water being the only sound between them.

The Canadian watched as a pink tongue peeked out to dab at Peter’s bottom lip, before teeth chewed on it, the hazel eyes shimmering with something unidentifiable.

“I—” Wade broke off, unsure of what to say as they continued to stare at one another, the water running cold, causing a shiver to flow up his spine.

Peter, noticing this, seemed to come back down to Earth, speaking up, his voice still a little quiet, “so uh…this would be a bad time to tell you that my Uncle taught me plumbing when I was a kid then, huh?”

He should be furious, but the mercenary just found it hilarious. Because of course the nerd knew this shit. And of course he would watch and see just how bad of a job Wade did. The bastard.

“You’re a prick,” he chuckled, still not finding the strength of will to move from under him, “well go on then, boy wonder,” he gestured, “fix it before we die Jack and Rose style.”

Peter smirked, although a lot less smugly this time as he shifted a little off Wade and lay down beside him directly under the pipe, wrench in hand, “technically only Jack died.”

“Poor bastard,” Wade nodded, trying to ignore how good it felt to have Peter’s entire body pressed against him, actually enjoying the sound of his feet squelching in his sneakers as he watched him work, “there was totally room on that damn door, too. I think they even tested it out on Mythbusters once.”

Having found the nut that the Canadian accidentally knocked off when he punched the pipe, Peter made quick work of stopping the water. With one last twist of the wrench, the water came to a halt, save for a few drips here and there.

“And that’s how it’s done. Not bad for Watson, huh?” he asked, turning to look at Wade, a teasing glint in his eye.

They both regarded one another as they lay crammed together under the sink, the air thick with the best kind of tension.

Something passed over Peter’s face as he stared at Wade, that same something from before flickering behind his gaze.

“Wade I—”

The loud chirping of a cell phone interrupted whatever he was going to say. With a sigh, he offered the older man an apologetic look before awkwardly climbing out from under the sink and sloshing his way through the three inches of water on the floor, towards the table.

Without bothering to look at the caller I.D. he picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Parker? It’s Tony. Where are you?”

Wade pretended he couldn’t hear every word as Peter turned on the spot and lowered his voice.

“I’m in my aunt’s house. Why?”

There was a short beat of silence, before Stark heaved a heavy sigh.

“Because I just got a call from The Tower. Somebody stole Lucas Daniels’ body from Bruce’s lab.”

Peter’s grip on the phone tightened so much that his knuckles turned a ghostly white.

“Who?”

Another bout of silence followed his query.

“That’s just the thing, kid,” Stark’s weary voice paused, another sigh sounding down the receiver, “according to security…you did.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

♫ Smut glorious smut, hot sausage and blow-jobs! ♫

That’s quite a song you’ve got there, Oliver Twist.

Please Sir, may I have some more?

MOAR?! I just gave you smut.

A fantasy. Doesn’t count.

Really? It seemed to count plenty when you were fondling yourself like you were playing an enthusiastic game of Bop It.

It was naked Spidey jacking off in a shower. What the hell else was I gonna do?

*Sigh* Anyway…big shout out to anyone reading this who was at Arcade Con 2015 in Dublin! You’re all amazing!

Especially that dude dressed as me. He was awesome.

I thought you said he didn’t have, and I quote: “enough rippling muscles and raw sex appeal to be accurate.”

That is true. But you know what they say, imitation is the sincerest form of battery.

That’s not how that phrase goes.

Whatever. He was cool.

He was. And the guy dressed as Spidey.

He was alright.

And as always a big thank you to mytrexhasfleas for her invaluable help and advice. You m’dear are the Troy to my Abed!

♫ Troy and Abed are in mournnnnning! ♫

Why, who have you un-alived this time?

You if you don’t finish this long ass author’s note!

Someone’s touchy.

Yeah well, that’s what happens when you don’t update for like three years.

It wasn’t that long.

Dude, it was so long that a new fucking Spider Man was announced, a sexy trailer for the Deadpool movie was shown at Comic Con and Sony had more leaks than you after six beers.

…Shut up.

Oh and there’s the tiny little matter of MARVEL SAYING THAT A COMIC WITH ME AND SPIDEY IS THE BEST IDEA EVER AND THEY’RE GETTING RIGHT ON THAT!!! WOO!!! WE’RE GOIN’ CANON, PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!! *sniff* I think—I think I might cry!!!!!!!!!!! Oh. And it goes without saying…I’m touching myself tonight.

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?

Spider Man nodded, holding his hands up in a surrendering motion over his head and getting down on his knees.

“Cuff ‘em,” the lead detective advised an officer with a gruff tone and a nod of his head, “if you so much as twitch, “ he directed at the superhero, “I won’t hesitate to empty my clip into you. Got it?”

The detective’s partner, an African American woman with compassionate eyes threw a glare at her partner before addressing the web-slinger, “I assure you, you’re perfectly safe. I’m going to accompany you to the station where we can then contact your lawyer, okay?”

Spider Man merely nodded and allowed the officers haul him to his feet and push him towards a squad car, pressing his head down and depositing him in the backseat, arms restrained behind his back.

From a safe distance, a figure dressed in a red and black hoodie watched this all unfold.

“Show time…”

Chapter Text

Ooh an update hot on the heels of a sexy red-band trailer! Mama like ;)

Yeah well, the trailer inspired me to get my ass in gear.

Ryan Reynolds inspired me to get my ass insured. It’s looked all kinds of sexy-like on the big screen. Gotta take care the money-maker.

How much does is cost to insure mercenary ass these days?

And arm and a leg. Luckily mine grow back.

~*~

[That was a groan]

{That was definitely a groan}

[Another moan]

{Holy shit}

Wade Wilson chomped down on his bottom lip, hand ghosting over the bulge in his jeans as he stood outside Peter Parker’s bathroom door at 3am on a Friday morning.

The brunet had disappeared behind the door several minutes ago, the noise of the shower omitting from it not long after. Even without the benefit of super hearing, the merc could hear very plainly, downright filthy sounds as the younger man did whatever he was doing in the shower.

[I’ll give you three guesses]

Wade snapped his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing.

“Okay Wilson, keep it together. You can’t—you can’t blow your load here. Petey will know. His freaky spidey-senses can probably taste spunk in the air or something,” the merc murmured under his breath as he fought to urge to touch himself.

{You got yourself into this mess, big guy}

[Shouldn’t have put on your little show]

{We’ve no sympathy for you, blue balls}

Wade growled at his boxes, gritting his teeth as another particularly loud moan wafted from behind the bathroom door.

[You think Aunt May is a light sleeper?]

{Let’s hope not}

[Petey doesn’t seem too worried about that]

{I think he’s a little busy at the moment}

[Wonder what he’s thinking about?]

Wade’s eyes rolled back into his head as his fingers ghosted over his cock, palming himself through the material at the thought of what Peter could possibly be thinking about.

[Hey! No touchy-touchy!]

{Unless you want to paint the walls a lovely cream of spunk colour?}

[Maybe you could get a career in interior design?]

{‘Cream of Sexually-Frustrated Merc’ by Wade Wilson}

[You could be on the cover of Living]

{Make Martha Stewart proud}

Wade bit his lip hard, teeth scraping against dead skin cells as yet another loud groan wafted in his direction.

[Knew Petey would be a screamer]

{Just imagine how loud he’d get if we got our hands on him}

“Great job at keeping…me distracted,” the merc gasped out, a shudder wracking his body.

[That’s not in our job description]

{Yeah, mostly we’re here for snarky comments and thinly-veiled insults}

[And sarcasm. Don’t forget the sarcasm!]

Wade let out his own groan (although, his was far more frustrated than Peter’s had been) as he continued to struggle with the truly delectable sounds wafting into his ears. He rue the day he ever decided to step up his game, going that little bit further in his teasing of Peter.

[It is hella backfiring]

Before the merc could scold Yellow, he heard one last guttural groan soon followed by a sudden silence. The shower had been turned off.

{Looks like Petey’s all finished}

“Shit,” Wade hissed, frantically glancing around him for somewhere to hide. When he found none, he high-tailed it back into Peter’s bedroom and threw himself onto the bed, wincing when his hard-on jostled against the mattress, the friction equal parts delectable and uncomfortable.

He waited with bated breath, ears straining for signs of approach. After a few moments, he heard the bathroom door creak open slowly, the pitter-patter of bare feet tip-toeing closer and closer to him. He felt rather than saw Peter enter the bedroom, his presence lingering in the doorway. Wade held his breath, keeping his body angled away as he heard Peter cross to the closet, rummaging around.

[Petey’s nakey]

{And wet}

[If we just turned around—]

Wade shut his eyes, a redundant move he knew, considering the room was pitch black and he was facing the wall, but he felt the need to do it anyway. The temptation was just too much and he’d already pushed several boundaries already.

[Aww, come on! Where’s your sense of adventure?]

{Just one peek won’t hurt}

[Don’t be such a chicken shit]

{Bok kok!}

[Heh heh. I think it’s his ‘kok’ he’s worried about]

Wade clenched his teeth tightly, his jaw aching as the rustling of clothes halted abruptly. With a frown, he waited, confused as near complete silence engulfed the room.

{What is Petey doing?}

[*Gasp* You think he’s looking for underwear? IS HE COMMANDO RIGHT NOW?!]

{Don’t freak out, don’t freak ou—}

“Wade?”

[FREAK OUT!]

The merc’s entire body tensed as he heard Peter call him, his voice piercing through the quietness.

[What do we do?]

{Do we pretend to be asleep?}

“I know you’re awake, Wade.”

[Well there goes that plan]

“You know nothin’, Peter Parker,” the merc admonished in a faux Northern-English accent, hoping to inject some levity into the heavy tension between them.

“I do know some things,” Peter fired back, taking a step closer to the bed.

[Ooh…someone has been re-watching Game of Thrones]

{*Gasp* is he gonna finish the rest of that quote or…}

[Nah. We’re not that lucky]

Taking a deep breath and making sure that his waist and everything below it was fully covered by the sheet, Wade turned in the bed, lying on his back as he looked up at Peter who was…very shirtless.

Soft wisps of moonlight shone between the crack in the drapes, basking Peter’s ivory chest in a soft glow, the fine dusting of hair that stretched across his lean muscle faintly visible among the glistening droplets of water. His eyes trailed the smattering of moles that were scattered across his torso, two on his neck, one on his collar bone and another…dangerously low on his stomach, disappearing into the treasure trail of hair at his waist band.

Wade’s throat went dry.

“How…how long have you been awake?” the brunet’s tone, tinged with nervousness, pierced through the Canadian’s mental appreciation of his physique.

“Not long,” Deadpool replied with a wave of his hand, his voice a little strangled, “think you walking around on those creaky floorboards woke me up.”

[Not a terrible lie]

{Think Petey’s so desperate to believe we didn’t overhear his little show that he’ll believe just about anything}

“Oh…okay…” he responded slowly, rubbing the back of neck, his cheeks aflame, his head lowered.

Suddenly, he stilled, his eyes blinking owlishly down at himself as if only now realizing that he was naked from the waist up.

“I—uh,” he turned quickly on the spot, searching his closet hurriedly before reefing out a T-shirt and throwing it over his head, “I…just wanted to say sorry,” he finished, his voice muffled from underneath the fabric.

Wade frowned.

“Sorry for what? Creaky floorboards? I know you’ve a guilt complex and all but I don’t think that’s your fault, dude.”

Peter turned on the spot, squinting at him.

“What makes you think I have a guilt complex?”

{Uh oh}

[Panic stations!]

Wade forced himself to shrug as nonchalantly as he could while he freaked the fuck out on the inside.

“Just somethin’ about ya, Parker. Call it a hunch,” he lamented, before feeling that a change of subject was direly needed, “so if not the floorboards, what did you want to apologize for?”

Here, Peter paused, going dead still except for his teeth that chomped down on his bottom lip.

[That’s really not helping our pocket rocket]

{Our fun gun}

[Goop shooter]

{One-eyed trouser snake}

[Purple-headed yoghurt-slinger]

{Blue-veined love pump}

[Boney Baloney]

{Cock-a-saurus Rex}

[Long-dong silver]

{Spurt Reynolds}

“The last time we saw each other…I was kinda an asshole,” Peter interrupted Wade’s boxes, for which he was eternally grateful, “and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for how I acted. It was shitty,” he finished, rubbing the back of his neck again before running the same hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Wade’s left shoulder.

The merc stared at him, trying to make out his expression in what little light was getting in through the drapes.

[I can remember a time he was even shittier than that]

{I thought we weren’t gonna think about ‘The Incident’ anymore}

[Hard not to when Petey’s apologizing for being a little snarky with us but still hasn’t for all the horrible shit he said about us when—]

“It’s nothing, Peter. Don’t worry about it,” Wade forced himself to say, wincing as the memories he fought to keep at bay began to rise once more.

“No—” the brunet took a step forward then back in quick succession, “no, it’s not nothing. You…you saved my life, Wade. More than once. And—and when you found out that I knew The Avengers, you thought that you had to bow out. I get that. I shouldn’t have gotten pissy because…because you didn’t see the need to be my ‘body guard’ anymore,” he trailed off, hands raised up as he did air quotes around the word body guard.

His shoulders slumped, arms lowering to his sides.

“I was avoiding you,” he admitted quietly, his gaze now on his bare feet.

[Of course he was]

{You tried to kiss him in the middle of the street}

[Can you really blame him?]

{But then again…he actually did kiss you}

[It’s quite the conundrum, really]

“I felt bad about being so shitty towards you and—” Parker took another step forward, this time sticking to it, “I just…these last few months…I’ve…” he let out a groan of frustration, the merc tried to not let it affect his dick in any way, “I’ve never had a friend like you before, Wade.”

[He called us his friend]

{Keep it together, big guy. Be cool}

Wade propped his elbow on the pillow, resting his face in the palm of his hand as he stared at the brunet.

[We said be cool. Not act like one of Jack Dawson’s French girls!]

“I’ve never had a…friend like you before either, Peter,” he replied, clearing his throat, “and look, I’ll admit, when I found out you were tight with The Avengers, I did think that you had no need for me—”

“But that’s just it,” Peter interrupted, crossing the room, closing the last of the space between them as he stopped right next to the bed, staring down at the merc intently, able to make out his face in the gloom, “it’s not about needing you to be my bodyguard. I mean, it was at first but…I…I like having you around. And not just because you’ve saved my ass. Seeing you today, dancing with Aunt May…I haven’t seen her laugh like that in a long time, Wade. You did that.”

Deadpool gaped at him, utterly stunned at his words.

“So…” Peter wrapped his arms around himself, looking a little self-conscious, “thanks. And…uh…I’ll shut up now,” he waved his hand and made a self-deprecating face that Wade could barely decipher before climbing back into the bed, mindful to leave a large space between them.

After shuffling around for a few moments, Peter settled down, lying on his back, his breathing a little fast. Wade fought the urge to fidget as he kept his body angled slightly away from him. Time seemed to drag, seconds feeling like minutes as he waited for sleep to take him. But it wouldn’t come.

[It’s not the only thing that hasn’t come tonight]

{How’s your love torpedo doing, big guy?}

He winced as he tried to think of something, anything, to abate his raging hard-on.

Dead puppies.

Sick children.

Katie Hopkins.

[Bingo!]

{Not sure if all of the readers know who Katie Hopkins is}

[Good. Let’s keep it that way]

Once he’d calmed down, Wade found it easier to just quietly listen to Peter’s breaths, which had now slowed a little. After several minutes, they levelled out even more when he’d finally slipped into unconsciousness. The merc let out a sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been keeping in as he finally began to relax, comfortable now to turn on his side, facing Peter.

The soft glow of moonlight had followed the brunet like a shadow, basking him just enough that Wade could make him out if he squinted. He was…something else. All alabaster skin with a smattering of moles here and there, fainter, smaller freckles barely visible from the sliver of exposed collar bone.

Wade’s hand itched to reach out and trace them with his fingers.

As he lay there, his eyes roaming every inch of the brunet he could see, the lyrics to an old song he didn’t remember ever learning, popped into his head, his lips mouthing the words:

“You’re my obsession, my fetish, my religion, my confusion, my confession…the one I want tonight, you are my obsession, the question and conclusion, you are, you are, you are…”

[Just when I thought he couldn’t get any creepier]

{He goes all Edward Cullen creepy staring at his sleeping crush and singing an angsty anthem to himself}

[You okay there, Gerard Way?]

{Wrong band}

[Well, if the emo shoe fits…]

{Ooh this is the song the reviewer asked for, isn’t it?}

[We’re nothing if not accommodating]

{This one’s for you, Ray!}

With the song lyrics still whirling around his head, Wade tried to ignore how apt they were as he let his eyes slip closed, the weight of the day finally weighing him down into a rare, dreamless sleep…

~*~

He was running. Panting. Screaming.

It was chasing him. Growing ever faster, faster until—

He was in a white room. Whatever it was, whatever had caught him, was no longer there. He was in this giant, empty room. Alone.

Until he wasn’t.

“Gio?” he croaked, eyebrows furrowing as his dead cousin stood next to him, looking more alive than the last time he saw him.

The fact that his head was still attached to his shoulders, helped.

“Hey Joey,” Gio smiled at him, that same, sly smile that would spread across his face as he gave him a noogie, wet willy and wedgie all in quick succession.

“How are you—”

“Shh…don’t overthink it cuz, you’ll hurt yourself,” Gio interrupted him with a sardonic grin and wave of his hand, “just do as I say and everything will be fine.”

Joe shook his head, palms sweating, that antsy feeling and overwhelming urge to run creeping up on him again.

“You…you’re not real. You’re dead,” he mumbled, squinting as the light in the room grew brighter and brighter until it was blinding him.

The sharp echo of Gio’s laughter pierced his ear drums as he was plunged into darkness, a faint whispering of voices off in the distance the only other sign of life.

“Who—who’s there?” he called.

No one replied.

“How’s he doing?” Tony Stark asked Bruce Banner as they stood over the sleeping Joseph Blye in one of the hospital wards at Skyline Laboratories.

“Dreaming,” Banner responded without looking up from his notes, “but his condition hasn’t changed. He’s still…unresponsive to stimuli when awake. It’s almost like he’s—”

“In a trance,” Tony finished, scratching his chin.

“Fury give any particular reason why we had to bring him with us?” Bruce asked, not really expecting a definitive answer, this was Fury, after all.

“Whatever is goin’ on is directly linked to…this,” Tony gave a wave of his hand in Joe’s direction, “so further tests were needed. You know me Bruce, I just do what I’m told.”

The scientist rolled his eyes at his friend’s knowing smirk.

“Where’s Steve?”

Stark dragged a palm down his weary face, rubbing his knuckles against his stubble.

“With Fury.”

A short silence passed between them.

“You worried about Peter?” Bruce asked, finally catching Tony’s eye, his own face marred with concern.

“After what Fury told us?” Stark quirked an eyebrow, “I’d be an idiot not to.”

“I appreciated the debriefing before landing, Fury,” Steve Rogers said firmly as he and Nick sat opposite one another in the same office that Tony and Bruce vacated a few hours before.

Nick shrugged, unlit cigar in his fingers, tapping gently against the desk, “this involves Carter. A debrief was necessary.”

Steve hung his head at the mention of Peggy, a tightness in his chest.

After a moment, he collected himself, taking a breath, “so this…LK90. It—it was originally manufactured in this facility?”

Fury inclined his head.

“And…it’s modelled after some gas that Howard Stark made? The same gas that was released in a movie theatre back in 1946? A case that Peggy worked on?”

“So the records say.”

Steve nodded, cogs in his brain turning rapidly.

“And it makes people—”

“Hulk out. Just…without the super strength and puke green pigmentation,” Fury shrugged.

“And you’ve been testing it on human subjects,” Steve flatly stated rather than asked, his jaw clenched, “hasn’t anybody learned anything from what happened to Bruce? Emil Blonsky? Aldrich Killian?” here he paused, running a hand through his hair, “…Bucky?”

Nick seemed to entertain the idea of lighting his cigar before throwing it down on the desk and standing, walking around to lean against it, arms folded, his eye trained on the World’s First Avenger.

“It was stolen out of this facility nearly a year ago,” he began, seemingly ignoring Steve’s comment, “and then it shows up on Stark Industries’ radar a few months later. They bring it in, not havin’ a goddamn clue what they’re dealin’ with, so they have Parker and Edward James, the rookies, work on it without success. Then, a few months after that, you bust a guy in the middle of dosin’ Parker’s attempted-assassin with it in some warehouse. Daniels gets taken in, interrogated, and when given the opportunity, kills himself before we can find out anything other than a name. Chenko. Who seems to have it out for Parker for fuck knows what reason,” he paused with a shake of his head.

“Parker may not realize it, but the kid is in way over his head. This…whoever Chenko is and whatever they’re planning, is bigger than just some serum. There’s a bigger agenda at play. And I need you to figure out what that is,” he finished, levelling Steve with his piercing, unwavering stare.

Rogers nodded, standing up, preparing to take his leave for the night. But before he could turn around, a file on Fury’s desk caught his attention.

“Hypnosis?” he remarked, reading the title of the file that was written in small, black print, “that’s something that’s done here?”

Fury glanced behind him at the file before turning back to Steve, “that’s just the tip of the ice-berg of what’s done here, Cap.”

~*~

It was dark. This wasn’t a surprise, he hadn’t seen sunlight in days. What did surprise him though, was the cupcake.

Was he hallucinating?

And if so, why a cupcake?

Why not a slice of pizza or jumbo shrimp?

Apple pie or his momma’s banana bread?

“It’s a gift,” a familiar voice broke through his haze, answering his unasked question.

“A…reward, if you will.”

He snorted, hunger and exhaustion making him reckless as he glared at the chocolate treat sitting innocuously at his feet, “keep it. I don’t want your threatening cupcake with hostile frosting.”

Selena Rickards heaved a sigh, taking a step towards him, the click of her heels reverberating off the stone walls, “don’t be like that, Eddie. You have to eat something.”

Edward James tilted his head, squinting as light streamed into the room from where Selena stood, basking her form in an almost supernatural glow.

“What happened to you?” he asked, his tone equal part exasperated and morbidly curious, “I followed your career for years. The rate you were goin’, you coulda won the Nobel Prize before you turned thirty,” he paused, heaving a heavy shrug, as much as he could with his arms restrained behind his back, “guess that won’t be happening now. Last time I checked, people tend to frown on kidnapping.”

A beat of silence filled the room with a thousand unspoken words.

“Eat the cupcake, Eddie,” Selena’s flat tone pierced through the gloom as she leaned down, her hair brushing against his shoulder as she stared into his face, her eyes large and oddly glazed, “we can’t have you passing out from hunger before your big debut…”

The scientist gaped at her vacant face before she turned on her heel and stormed out the door, slamming it behind her.

With a sigh, Eddie stared down at the cupcake, annoyed as an obvious problem arouse.

“Oh yeah? And how am I gonna do that with my hands tied behind my back, huh?” he yelled after her with gritted teeth, “aren’t you supposed to be a genius? Goddamn.”

~*~

♪ Nobody wants him, he just stares at the world, planning his vengeance that he will soon unfurl. Now the time is here for Iron Man to spread fear, vengeance from the grave, kills the people he once save— ♪

“This better be good,” Tony Stark groaned as he picked up his phone that was ringing at an ungodly hour and interrupting his well-deserved beauty sleep.

“Tony, it’s Happy.”

The billionaire opened his eyes as the familiar tone trickled into his ear.

“Happy,” he said flatly, “it’s…” he turned to his right to check what time it was, only to remember that he wasn’t in his own bed, “ass o’clock in the morning. What the hell couldn’t wait till—”

“The Tower’s been robbed.”

Tony sat up in the bed, a cot really, in one of the staff quarters at Skyline Industries.

“The reception really must be shit in this giant apocalypse bunker ‘cause I coulda sworn you just said that the Tower has been—”

“Robbed, yeah,” Happy finished with a sigh, “you know that dead guy that Bruce was gonna do the autopsy on before you guys had to high-tail it to god knows where?”

An uncomfortable feeling rose in Stark’s stomach.

It was too fucking early for this shit.

“Lemme guess…he went for a walk?”

Happy hummed in agreement, “he had a little help. Someone used an employee security pass to get into the lab.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Was their face caught on camera?”

Another sigh, “no such luck, mi amigo.”

The billionaire dragged a palm down his face, a gesture he was well aware he was doing far too much of lately, “well, who’s security pass was it?”

A weighted silence followed his words.

“Happy?”

…

“Happy!”

“Peter’s!” his friend exclaimed, his wince palpable, “it was Peter Parker’s…”

Tony fell back into the bed, his head smacking against the pillows with a hard thump.

Yep. It was far too fucking early for this shit.

~*~

May Elizabeth Parker had been a patient person for the majority of her life. It was one of her many positive attributes that grew from being a wife, a mother-figure and a working woman simultaneously, while also dealing with every crazy thing that life deemed to throw her way.

There were things however, that made her lose her patented patient composure.

And one of those things?

People who were rude to cashiers.

Or wait staff.

Or anyone, really.

“I told you already, missy. I got a coupon for all this shit! I just—I just gotta find it—” a snarling woman in front of her began rifling through her incredibly large purse, throwing random objects from it in her haste.

May exchanged a glance with the twenty-something cashier, offering her a small smile in consolation.

The young woman then turned to coupon-lady, offering her best ‘serving-a-difficult-customer’ smile.

“Well ma’am, if you’d like to step aside so I can serve these people, I’ll be happy to take the coupons when—”

“I said I have the damn coupons! Hold your horses you little—”

“Ahem,” May interrupted, her tone cutting through the rising tension like a knife, “excuse me but, is this your coupon?” she asked, bending down to pick up the slip of paper that had been under the customer’s shoe.

The woman tried to snatch it from her hands without as much as a thank you, but May held her ground, her eyes scanning the paper intently.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, just loud enough for the customer and the cashier to hear, “it looks like these are expired. The print is faint, but…yes, it’s right there. These expired yesterday. You must have missed it. Oh, isn’t that a shame?”

If looks could kill, May would find herself, hanged, drawn and quartered.

With a shrug, she handed the bothersome customer the coupons, “guess you’ll just have to pay full price.”

The cashier hid a grin behind her hand as she rang up the items (at full price) as the null-and-void-coupon-lady filled her many bags with flustered exasperation before handing over her cash so slowly it looked like it physically pained her to do so, before taking her leave, her cart practically bursting, an irate huff directed May’s way.

“Have a nice day!” May called cheerfully after her, turning back to the young woman, eyes shining with mirth, “I’ll take two scratchers please.”

Bags fully loaded with everything she’d need to make lunch for the three of them, May made her way out of the store and began her trek back home.

From across the street, a figure began to walk that same trek, subtly snapping pictures of her as they did so…

~*~

Dear god, he wanted to fuck him.

He wanted to be fucked by him.

He wanted to do every last filthy thing that could ever possibly enter his fucked up brain to him and have them all be reciprocated tenfold.

He wanted to lick every last inch of that skin, he wanted to bite, kiss, suck…everywhere.

The two were under the sink, Peter having just stopped the flow of water that burst from the pipe. They were drenched, clothes sticking to them as they drank each other in, their gazes raking up and down each other’s slick bodies, the air thick with the best kind of tension.

Something passed over Peter’s face as he and Wade finally locked eyes, their stare weighted with unspoken words.

“Wade I—”

[What the fuck is that noise and why is it interrupting Petey’s obviously very important sentence?!]

Wade bit his lip as Peter threw him an apologetic look before climbing his way out from under the sink and sloshing through the three inches of water to grab his cell phone from off the table.

Wade’s non-existent eyebrows furrowed when he heard Tony Stark’s voice trickle out through Peter’s phone.

Admittedly, he was barely paying attention, far too concerned about his heart that was threatening to beat out of his chest over what just happened, but then Stark’s tiny voice said this:

“I just got a call from The Tower. Somebody stole Lucas Daniels’ body from Bruce’s lab.”

[Talk about an attention grab]

{What an asshole Tony Stark move}

[Fucking cock-blocked by Tin Man himself. Great.]

Wade watched as Peter’s grip tightened on the phone, turning his knuckles white.

“Who?” he asked, his tone sounding as if he was almost afraid to ask.

Dread rose in Deadpool’s stomach.

“That’s just the thing, kid,” Stark sighed, “according to security…you did.”

[Well slap my ass and call me Sally]

{Can’t say I saw that comin’}

[Meh. I kinda did. Me and writer lady are tight]

{Fuck you! Me and writer lady are even tighter}

[Nope. We’re an OTP. Yellow and writer lady. Or ‘Wellow’ for short. We have fanfiction and everything. Look it up]

“What…” Peter blanched, finally meeting Wade’s eye from across the room, “what do you mean I—”

“Someone used your key-card, kid. Happy emailed me over the security feed. Don’t worry, it’s just between us. Happy oversaw it personally. It won’t get out.”

The brunet began pacing back and forth, apparently not caring that he was splashing around in water.

“No Tony,” he shook his head with a frantic glance to the merc, “you don’t understand. I—I have my key card. It’s on my keys. I’m looking at it right now.”

Wade followed his gaze, finding the key card in question hanging on a hook by the kitchen door.

“Well, someone must have cloned it or somethin’, I dunno, Peter. Whatever. I’m just calling as a courtesy. I’ve already spoken to Selena and Ethan and they know not to expect you in today. Told them you were working on something for me. So…you know, give the place a wide birth until I get back and we can investiga—”

“So, what? You want me to just sit on my ass and do nothing as this asshole ruins both my careers?!” Peter hissed, clearly too far gone to be bothered what he was saying in front of Wade, “this guy has already done enough to me, goddammit! I’m not gonna just here while—”

“You will exactly that, Parker. Look, I can’t say much over the phone but…me and the guys, we’re working on something down here. We just need a little time, okay? So just, keep your head low. Just for the time being,” Stark finished, sounding as if all fight had deflated from him.

Peter nodded before catching himself, “yeah…okay. T-Thanks for calling.”

“Stay outta trouble, Parker. I mean it. I’ll be in touch.”

Wade heard the exact moment the call was disconnected. Peter must have kept his phone to his ear for a solid five seconds before lowering it with a sigh on his lips.

Feigning ignorance, the merc piped up, “so what did Stark want? Makin’ sure you’re not hanging around people you shouldn’t be?”

“You’re hilarious,” the grad student deadpanned, before crossing the room to the pantry and retrieving a mop, “yeah. He uh…it looks like whoever is tryin’ to kill me is also trying to frame me and ruin my reputation too.”

“Fun times,” Wade remarked drily before awkwardly standing, water droplets falling from him onto the floor.

“Guess we uh…” he gestured around the soaked room, “better get this cleaned up before your aunt gets home, huh?”

Here, Peter smirked, thrusting the mop at him with a quirked eyebrow, “who said anything about we? You’re the one that burst the pipe with your exemplary plumbing skills, Sherlock,” he tilted his head and winked, “so…chop chop!”

~*~

“This is stupid.”

“Is it, though?”

“Really the most idiotic thing you’ve ever thought of…and I’m including that time in Beirut.”

“C’mon, Barton. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Natasha Romanoff levelled Clint Barton with a stare that would cause a weaker man to fall at her feet and beg for mercy.

Barton was immune.

Mostly.

That didn’t stop him for looking away first, though.

[Aww! I really love these two. Remind me again why Whedon decided to give Clint a secret wife and Romanoff an unnecessary romantic subplot?]

{Well, Mark Ruffalo is dreamy}

[True. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a lame move, though]

{I concur. Also, we’re not in this scene}

[You’re no fun]

“So where does this hallway go, then?” Barton asked, gesturing to the long, empty stretch ahead of them.

“Well if I knew that, I wouldn’t have suggested we go exploring, would I?” Romanoff deadpanned before practically skipping onward, seeming completely at ease to the untrained eye, but Barton knew better.

Her heckles were up.

With good reason.

Skyline Laboratories was…creepy, for lack of a better word. Ever since Clint got there, something had settled into his skin that he just couldn’t shake. An unease that grew deeper and deeper as time went on, festering into his bones. Maybe it was the human experiments or the clandestine smoke and dagger shit they had to go through to get here, I mean, blindfolds…really? Whatever it was, it was beginning to bother him. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Look. Fury kept this place hidden from us for a reason. Don’t tell me you don’t wanna know why that is…” Natasha voiced her companion’s exact thoughts as they made their way down the hallway.

It had crossed his mind. More than once in the last eighteen hours. He also didn’t like leaving the kid back in New York to deal with whatever shit was going down, but…orders were orders.

His shoulders stiffened at that thought.

A lot of good people had died because of orders.

He hoped Peter Parker wouldn’t be added to that already too long list.

“The kid’ll be fine,” Nat murmured, as attuned to him as always, like they shared a brain.

Now there was a scary thought…knowing her sense of humour and proclivity for gaining enjoyment from his embarrassment, she’d more than likely just keep that time he tried to incapacitate a guy on ice, fell on his ass and split his jeans on constant replay in their shared consciousness.

“You’re thinking really loud. It’s distracting,” she remarked over her shoulder as she scanned the signs on all the doors.

“You gettin’ rusty, Romanoff? Back in the day, even my humming wasn’t enough to distract you from the mission…” he trailed off, trying to keep his smirk under control.

He valued his limbs.

“One, this isn’t a mission. Two, ‘back in the day’, what are we Steve and Barnes? And three, that atrocity you call humming is enough to drive anyone to murder/suicide. You’re lucky I didn’t tap you twice in the head and go get lunch,” she responded drily, catching his eye for a split second before nodding her head at the last door on their right.

[There really has to be more Black Widow in shit. She’s awesome]

{Yep. These two both need more love, really}

[More merchandise!]

{More screen time!}

[Who needs another Spider Man movie when we can have a Black Widow movie?]

{*Gasp* You mean you don’t want more Spidey?!}

[We’ve had plenty of Spidey already. With this new guy, it’s three in like, thirteen years. It’s not that Spidey isn’t awesome and loveable and fuckable as hell but…it’s Romanoff’s turn. She’s an Avenger too goddamnit!]

{You got a point. Black Widow Movie 2k16!}

[Hawkeye Movie 2k17!]

{And buddy assassins movie 2k18!}

[‘What Happens In Budapest, Stays In Budapest’]

{Damn. Why aren’t we movie execs again?}

Clint stared at the ‘Private’ sign with a tilt of his head before signing ‘after you’ at Nat, following as she tried the door, miraculously finding it unlocked.

[Fancy that]

{How convenient}

[*Cough* Lazy writing alert! *Cough*]

“And here I brought my lock pick for nothing,” Barton murmured.

“A true boy scout,” Romanoff smirked before opening the door wide and stepping in.

Two pairs of eyebrows rose as a giant room with dozens and dozens of lines of filing cabinets stretching as far as their eyes could see, was revealed.

Craning her neck, the spy leaned over to the archer, “I’ve got a feelin’ we’re gonna need that lock pick after all…”

~*~

“We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine…we didn’t like the colour so we painted it green, painted it green, painted it green…”

Peter didn’t bother to suppress a chuckle as he listened to Wade mop up the floor.

“John Lennon is rolling in his grave,” he remarked from his spot at the kitchen table, his already soaked socks resting on the chair in front of him, ankles crossed.

Wade scoffed, turning to glare at Peter, waving the mop at him, ignoring how he was sprinkling water everywhere, “John Lennon is alive and well, off the grid and holed up in a cabin in Nantucket. Look it up.”

[Don’t look it up. Writer lady made it up specifically for this bit]

{And also doesn’t mean any disrespect to the late John Lennon}

[Or the lyrical masterpiece that is ‘Yellow Submarine’]

{Okay…now she’s just being sarcastic}

[‘Hey Jude’ is fantastic though]

“I suppose you believe that the real Paul McCartney died in 1966 and was replaced by a lookalike too, huh?”

“Duh.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re a conspiracy theorist?”

“My charming personality, good looks and rapier wit?”

“That must be it.”

The two stared at one another, matching grins on their faces as they sparred back and forth, their banter as enjoyable as always.

[Seriously. You can’t make up chemistry like this. How the big guy never made the Spidey connection I’ll never know]

{Because then there wouldn’t be a story…?}

[Oh yeah]

“I suppose you believe in Big Foot and The Loch Ness Monster too?” Peter asked, standing up from the table and walking towards him, pleased to note that there was considerably less water underfoot.

“Dude…” Wade began, mirroring the brunet’s stance, “we live in a world where Gods go on killing sprees, aliens fall from the sky through magic portals and mercenaries re-grow limbs on the regular. You tellin’ me a Scottish maybe-dinosaur and a furry caveman-type is too unbelievable for you?”

Peter inclined his head, “you got a point.”

The merc smirked, “damn right I do…” he trailed off before a mischievous expression crossed his face.

Peter found he really liked that Wade was finally comfortable keeping his mask off around him.

“What’s that face for?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

“Scaring children and Freddie Kruger Cosplay mostly,” Wade shrugged, parroting his usual response to that question, “but for now, it’s for…this!” he finished, stomping his foot down in one of the remaining puddles and splashing Peter.

“Oh for fuck’s—Deadpool!” the brunet growled, his eyes flashing before he retaliated, kicking his foot at him, laughing when the entire front of Wade’s pants got wet, looking an awful lot like he’d pissed himself.

“Uh oh, did Wadey have an accident?” he snorted before yelping as the merc smacked him in the face with a sponge.

“He shoots, he scores!” he yelled before bursting out laughing.

Peter swiped his palm over his forehead, fixing his skewed glasses, his bangs sticking up at all angles hilariously, before he picked up his mop and held it like a sword.

“En garde!”

Wade snorted, rolling his eyes before snatching up the nearest thing to him, a considerably shorter, rainbow-coloured feather-duster.

Peter quirked an eyebrow at him, his eyes lowering to the measly duster, tilting his head.

“You do remember what I do for a living, right kid? I could beat you with a toothpick and both hands tied behind my back…” he trailed off, his tone tethering on the edge of playfully threatening.

The brunet huffed out a laugh before suddenly darting forward, catching Wade off guard.

[Shit!]

{Forgot how speedy Spidey is}

Wade easily blocked his attack though, surging forward and thrusting the duster under Peter’s chin, tickling him.

The younger man squirmed, jumping away from the feathers, an annoyed chuckle sounding as if it was forcefully ripped from his throat.

“My, my, my,” the merc grinned, stepping towards him, “is little Petey Pie ticklish? That is very good to know…”

Peter glared at him, “you wouldn’t dare.”

Wade snorted, “wouldn’t I? Please. It’s like you don’t know me at all,” he finished, doing a little fancy footwork and striking the brunet on the shoulder.

Peter stumbled back before righting himself and pivoting, his own footwork pretty impressive, he closing the already small space between them as he managed to hit the Canadian on the hip, the fluffy tassels of the mop brushing against his soaked T-shirt.

“Not bad, Petey. Not bad. But, I still got ya beat—”

The merc suddenly reached out, snatching the other man’s wrist, but the he was having none of it, pulling until his back hit the wall, dragging Wade with him, their chests colliding roughly, their soaked clothes squelching between them.

The two men breathed into each other’s faces, their eyes locked, their lips barely an inch apart.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Wade murmured softly, fingers still clasped around Peter’s wrist, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he watched the web-slinger tilt his head in confusion.

Before he could allow him to think too hard about that, the merc was struck with an idea. A slow smirk spread across his face as he slowly dropped the feather duster and reached behind him, snatching up the wet cloth he was using and ringing it out on top of Peter’s head, gleefully enjoying himself as the boy-wonder yelped loudly, the water no doubt freezing.

“Looks like it’s time for another shower, Petey. What’s that, your third one in twelve hours?” Wade asked innocently, taking great pleasure in watching the droplets drip from his brunet tresses and down his now rosy cheeks.

Peter tensed at his words, his hazel eyes shining with something that looked a lot like anxiety.

[Uh oh.]

{Someone dun fucked up}

[Now Petey knows we heard him in the shower last night]

Swallowing several times, Peter gaped at him before opening his mouth, his voice small, “Wade did you—”

“And how are my boys getting—why are you wet?” the voice of his Aunt May interrupted him as she stepped into the kitchen, hands laden with shopping bags, staring widely at them before surveying the room.

Both men leapt apart from one another as if scalded, yelling in unison:

“It was an accident—”

“We’re cleaning it up—”

“Please don’t be mad—”

“Be gentle with me!”

She gawped at Peter, then at Wade and back again.

“Honestly, I can’t leave you two alone for five minutes,” she sighed, her half-smile really easing her already-less-than-heated tone, “come on, clean this mess up and I may just tell you all about my coupon crackdown at the grocery store.”

~*~

“So, then I said ‘guess you’ll just have to pay full price.’ Ha! Oh lord, you should’ve seen her face! I thought she was gonna hit me with her frozen ham,” May chuckled, a glint of mirth in her eyes.

Wade’s laughter boomed around the kitchen, Peter’s chuckles a soft undercurrent. After cleaning up the rest of the water and changing into dry clothes (Wade borrowing some too-short sweatpants and too-tight T-shirt) the three of them sat down to May’s lunch of chicken risotto and peach cobbler dessert.

“Only you could get into a supermarket showdown over coupons,” Peter shook his head at his aunt, a little exasperated.

“No,” May pointed her fork at him, her eyebrow quirked, “it wasn’t over coupons, Peter. It was over rudeness. A lack of human decency and common courtesy. Remember—”

“It costs nothing to be nice. Yes, Aunt May, I know,” he finished with a small smile.

Wade watched this exchange, an indecipherable expression on his face.

“I think you handled the situation really well, May,” he remarked, waving his fork around, his third helping of peach cobbler slipping from it, “I know a lotta people who woulda just BAM KICK KAPLOWED her face into—”

Peter cleared his throat loudly, drowning out the merc’s awesome smack-down sound effects.

Chocolate eyes met hazel.

“Uh, I mean—not me. I’m a model citizen. A regular, everyday Joe Soap with absolutely no homicidal tendencies whatsoever.”

[Wow. That was convincing]

{Oscar-worthy, really}

[Someone call The Academy!]

May merely smiled at Wade’s sheepish expression however, before shifting her attention to her nephew.

“So you two don’t have work today, then?”

Peter and Wade exchanged another glance before the former replied:

“Uh…no. Mr. Stark gave us the day off. I’ll be back in on Monday as normal.”

Mrs. Parker seemed pleased by that.

“Good. I’ve always said you work too hard. It’s about time you had a day off. And you too, Wade,” she nodded at the merc, “be a dear and pass me that newspaper, please.”

Deadpool wordlessly did as he was told (a feat in of itself, Peter couldn’t help but think) before standing up and beginning to clear the table.

“Oh no, Wade you don’t—”

“You cooked, May. This is the least I can do after flooding your kitchen,” the mercenary waved off her protests as he made his way over to the (now fully functioning) sink and began to wash the plates.

“I’ll help,” Peter piped up, also standing, collecting the rest of the cutlery and moving over to stand beside Wade, towel in hand, ready to dry.

A tranquil ten minutes passed, the only sounds being the scrubbing and submerging of dirty dishes and the occasional rustling of newspaper pages being turned. It was nice. Peter caught himself staring over at his house guest more than once, an odd feeling settling in his chest. One that wanted to whisper of how domestic it seemed, how homely, how natural it felt to stand here, washing dishes, Wade by his side, his aunt’s cheerful presence in the background.

His heart rate quickened at the very thought, his cheeks burning.

Stop feeling things, Parker! Jesus. This is getting outta—

“Oh no…” his aunt’s dejected tone interrupted his mental scolding.

Both men made sounds of acknowledgement, prompting her to continue, another rustling of paper prefacing her words.

“It’s only a few days away from the first year anniversary of that RCorp factory fire. So tragic. That poor family…”

Peter felt rather than saw Wade’s entire body tense, his grip slipping on the plate, it crashing back down into the sink.

The brunet suddenly felt very queasy, shutting his eyes tight, hoping that the merc wouldn’t notice his sudden intake of breath and his shaking hands, an overwhelming sensation of guilt settling under his skin.

“Wow,” he forced himself to reply, his throat feeling like a Boa Constrictor had it in its grip, “that’s been a year already?”

Standing stock-still beside him, Wade had tuned out completely, his mind stuck on repeat, it replaying over and over in his head like a broken record.

That RCorp factory fire, that RCorp factory fire, that RCorp factory fire…

The incident.

[Oh no.]

{Guess the time has come}

[It was inevitable, really. Could only block it out for so long]

{Initiate flashback}

[De de doo loo, de de doo loo, de de doo loo]

{What are you doing?}

[You know. The flashback sound. From Wayne’s World?]

{Oh…that means I’m on wavy hand gestures and camera dissolve, right?}

[Right]

{*wavy hand gestures as the image starts to dissolve into the next scene*}

[How are you doing that without hands?]

{I’m just that good}

355 Days Ago…

“And I wonder what would happen if you SAY WHAT YOU WANNA SAY, and let the words fall out, honestly…I WANNA SEE YOU BE BRAVE!”

Clint Barton heaved a sigh as Natasha Romanoff rolled her eyes.

“Guess the party just got a little bigger, Cap,” Tony Stark stated as he folded his arms, casting a glance at the First Avenger.

“Yo, yo, yo, Deadpool’s in the hizzle! What be the shizzle, Super Squad?” Wade Wilson called as he approached, finally coming into view of the full team, clad in his patented red and black, katanas glinting in the mid-morning sun.

“How did you get in here?” Tony barked, forever flabbergasted at how the merc still managed to evade his top security system at the Tower.

Deadpool merely winked however and stopped right next to Captain America.

“What can we do for you, Deadpool?” Steve Rogers asked, turning on the spot to face him, trying and marginally failing to keep the obvious weariness out of his tone.

“No, no, no, mi amigo, compadre, hombre manífico, it is not what YOU can do for ME, oh no,” the mercenary shook his head before placing a palm on Roger’s broad shoulder, “…wow you are ripped,” he murmured under his breath before clearing his throat, “it is what ME can do for YOU!”

An irked ambiance settled within the group. This was a speech they had heard many times before.

Too many times.

“Let me guess…” Stark began, walking around Wade in his Iron Man suit sans helmet, “you want to join The Avengers.”

Deadpool giggled, “aww, Tony! There’s just no foreplay with you anymore, is there? Just straight down to it. Five minutes, missionary position, twice a week. And here I thought you were more of a Casanova than that. Not just a ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ kinda guy. I gotta say, I’m disappointed in—”

“You’re not joining the team, Deadpool. How many times do we have to go through this?” Stark cut across him, his limited patience already wearing thin.

“But wait—just—hear me out!” Wade held up his hands, stepping closer to Rogers, again ignoring Tony whilst being mindful to not bump into The Hulk.

That was not an experience he ever wished to repeat.

“If I could just…show you guys, what I can do. I mean, haven’t I already been a big help in the past? That awesome tandem thing me and Spidey did last time was not only sexual as fuck, but pretty damn effective, if I do say so myself!” he exclaimed, a gleeful bounce in his step, “so my thought process was, if you just let me and Spidey tag-team again—”

“Spider Man isn’t on the team,” Romanoff cut across him with a roll of her eyes.

“Not yet, Red,” the Canadian smirked, “but I know you’ve got your eye on him. He’s a good kid. He deserves a spot on this team. And so do I.”

“We don’t hire killers, Deadpool, you know that,” Steve responded, almost as if he was on auto pilot.

“Riiiight…” Wade murmured, glancing between Romanoff and Barton, “because nobody on this team has ever killed anybody.”

 An uneasy silence followed his words.

“Nobody is currently killing anybody for money,” Steve clarified, folding his arms across his impressive chest.

Deadpool opened his mouth and abruptly closed it, gaping like a fish for several moments.

“Okay, okay, you got me there. I admit it. But, there’s nothin’ wrong with a little freelancing, right? I mean, a guy’s gotta make a living—”

“There are better ways to make a living, Deadpool,” Steve interjected, his stance stiff.

“Yeah,” Wade nodded, waving his hand, “but they don’t pay as well.”

Rogers shook his head, “and that, right there, is why we continue to turn you down.”

“And here I thought it was my cologne,” the merc muttered under his breath.

Stark and Cap exchanged a look, the latter piping up, “that assassination of the foreign dignitary at McCabe’s Gala last week…would you happen to know anything about that?”

Wade put a hand to his chest, throwing him a wounded expression.

“Cap. Bro. Dude. Bro-dude. Broheim. I’m just a simple Canadian Mercenary in New York. Kinda like The American Werewolf In London, except deadlier…and less hairy. What could I possibly know about such horrors?”

[Uh…maybe ‘cause you just said the words ‘mercenary’ and ‘deadly’ in the same sentence?]

Judging by the many dubious glances aimed his way, the merc knew they weren’t buying it, but before he could try and spin some spiel, the dulcet tone of Jarvis rang out around the room.

“So sorry to interrupt, but a fire has broken out at a factory fourteen blocks from here. Judging by the time of day, the rapid spreading of the blaze, the vast number of employees, the traffic congestion and the fire station’s response time, there is potential for mass casualties. Time is of the essence.”

Everyone erupted into action after the seventh word in Jarvis’ sentence, hurriedly getting ready.

“How many inside, Jarvis?” Tony asked, pressing various points on his suit until it was fully secured on him once more.

“1047 employees have punched in this morning sir,” Jarvis replied, “there is also record of a local Elementary School group consisting on thirty children and two teachers visiting the facility for a field trip.”

The tension in the room rose several degrees at those words.

“It’s all hands on deck for this one,” Steve called, taking note of the absence of Thor and the incapacitated and wholly inappropriate Hulk before turning to face Deadpool, “you said you wanted to prove yourself? This is your last chance. Don’t screw it up.”

RCorp was as impressive of a building as it was a company. Fifty-five storeys high with over a thousand employees within at any given time, it had been established at the height of the recession, and despite all odds, flourished over the passing years. It was a prime location for tours, everyone from all walks of life coming from near and far to view its inner workings, fascinated by all the different departments and products – but by far, the most intriguing point of RCorp, was its focus on all things superhero.

The founder and CEO of RCorp, had started off with merely an idea. Ever since the emergence of Tony Stark’s Iron Man, he watched as the general consensus towards crime-fighters morphed and rejuvenated the musing and enthralment from the era of Captain America. He thought, that if he could only find his niche and tap into that market, the same market where people clambered into stores for Captain America lunch boxes to give their children at the height of the war to establish and keep up morale, he’d be set. He just needed the 21st century version of that. And with the emergence of The Avengers, he eventually found it.

And so began the mass production, featuring the famous six with the occasional special appearance every once and awhile from non-Avengers and up and coming Avengers like Spider Man, The Falcon and most recently, an enigmatic individual out of Hell’s Kitchen. It was much, much more than some lunch boxes, too. If you could think of it, RCorp could guarantee you that there was Captain America’s shield or Thor’s Hammer or Hawkeye’s bow and arrow on it. And with every success of The Avengers, every tick in the win column, from the Battle of New York to smaller victories, RCorp capitalised on it.

Until it caught fire…

“Glad you guys could make it. I didn’t think I could handle something like this on my own!” Spider Man yelled over his shoulder as four of The Avengers plus Deadpool arrived at the scene, made frantic by the running and screaming of people in every direction around them. The heroes barely noticed this however, all too transfixed by the blaze and smoke rising from the skyscraper, it completely engulfed by black clouds, soft shadows of people still trapped inside barely visible.

Cap morphed into his leadership role, dolling out the formation in which he thought they should proceed, “Tony and I will take floors thirty-four to fifty, Nat and Clint you take floors eighteen to thirty three and Spider Man, you’re with Deadpool. Take the rest. Rescue as many as you can. Emergency Services should be here soon. Go!”

Each person took off, scattering in various different directions, sprinting, flying and web-slinging their way into the burning building.

Deadpool fought to keep up with his arachnid companion as they raced in through the automatic doors, trying to see through the smoke and hear themselves think over the blaring of the fire alarm.

“Alright, nobody panic! Please just make your way in an orderly fashion towards the door,” Spider Man shouted as bodies weaved in and out around him, desperately trying to get out.

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that always works,” the merc couldn’t help but deadpan as he just shoved folks haphazardly towards the exit.

The web-head ignored him however, continuing to call over the panicky people’s heads. The heat was palpable, the smoke rising and stinging his eyes from underneath his mask. He suppressed a cough as he glanced around wildly for any other signs of life.

“The fire…it looks like it’s spreading from the basement,” Deadpool’s yell broke through his hyper-focus, pointing at the smoke that was billowing out from under the door marked ‘basement staircase,’ “we gotta find those elementary school kids!”

Nodding, Spider Man helped up a woman who stumbled to the ground, “okay, I got things here. You check the next couple of floors and I’ll go check out the basement. When it’s clear, I’ll meet you back up on—”

“No way! We do this together, man. It’s too—”

“Deadpool, we don’t have time to argue, just go. I’ll meet back up with you soon!” With that, he took off without a backwards glance.

Wade watched him go for a split second before sprinting down the corridor towards the other staircase. Suddenly, he halted, his attention piqued. A slow smirk spread across his face as his eyes landed on a megaphone sitting on a desk. Picking it up, he pressed the button and yelled: “ALRIGHT PEOPLE, THERE IS A FIRE IN THE BUILDING, YOU GOTTA GET YOUR ASSES OUT! SO TRY NOT TO FREAK THE FUCK OUT AND FOR GOD’S SAKE TAKE THE DAMN STAIRS, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO GET IN AN ELEVATOR OR YOU WILL SURELY DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH! THIS HAS BEEN A PSA. DEADPOOL OUT.”

[That should do it]

{Chicago Fire taught him well}

Meanwhile, Spider Man stifled a groan when he heard the merc’s little broadcast as he attentively made his way down towards the basement. This was definitely the origin of the fire, the smoke thicker and blacker than—

[The biggest blackest dick!]

{Really? You think now is a suitable time for a Cards Against Humanity joke?}

[It’s always a suitable time for a Cards Against Humanity joke]

—what he saw on the first floor, the heat intense. Beads of sweat broke out on Spider Man’s forehead, at the nape of his neck, as he drew closer and closer to the door. Reaching out, he tried to open it, wincing as it burned his hands through his gloves, not budging an inch. Persevering through the pain, he summoned his super strength and wrenched the door open bit by bit, finding that it had warped somewhat due to the heat. His mouth fell open as his eyes drank in the scene that was revealed to him.

Flames licked at the already sullied walls, the low ceiling engulfed with a large, thick, soot-coloured fog, the confining room littered with overturned furniture, equipment, broken support beams and…bodies. Tiny, tiny bodies.

The web-slinger raced over to the nearest body, checking on the neck for a pulse, his own racing a mile a minute.

There! A pulse. Not a body. A person. A living, breathing little girl who couldn’t be more than nine years old. He found the elementary school class.

“…elp! Help!” a voice emerged from somewhere in the gloom, the voice female, yet older.

Picking up the little girl, he followed the direction of the voice, picking up another small boy and hosting him over his shoulder.

“Oh thank god! Spider Man!” a woman with a deep gash on her forehead exclaimed from where she lay on the floor, trapped under an overturned table as the spandex-clad man neared her, “oh no, Kevin! Olivia! Are they okay? Please tell me they’re okay! Oh my g—”

“Are you alright?” he cut across her rising panic, jostling the children around so he could move the table off of her, “can you walk?”

The woman nodded, getting up off the ground with a little difficulty, swaying slightly, but otherwise stable.

“You need to get out of here, now,” Spider Man continued, “take the children. I’m going to try and round up the rest. Do you know where they are?”

The woman took the children, holding one in each arm, wincing a little under the strain. “Y-Yes, they’re further down with Robert. I—I was on my way out with Kevin and Olivia towards the restroom when we noticed the smoke and…I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It seemed to come outta nowhere! Then I…we passed out. I—I don’t understand how—”

Spider Man waved his hand to cut her off, “we’ll worry about that later. It’s time to go. Go back the way you came in, the door is open, the fire hasn’t spread properly to the first floor yet, but it will, so you have to hurry. Go!”

She didn’t need to be told twice, moving as fast as she could carrying two unconscious children, disappearing into the gloom.

Spidey turned and made his way further into the room, crossing with a speedy ease that the webs provided, dodging debris left and right. Halting, he came to another door, finding it ajar. Squeezing through, he was met with an even more of a horrifying sight than the one previously. There, right in front of him, amidst the inferno, lay a floor absolutely beleaguered with unmoving children, at least two dozen of them, sprawled over and hidden under wreckage, flames dangerously close to their small frames.

Frantically, the hero glanced around for something, anything that could possibly help him with this impossible situation when precipitously, a small window at the very corner, high on the wall caught his attention.

[When God closes a door, he opens a window]

{Shh!}

Racing over, he used his elbow to smash the glass, smoke escaping out into the air as if being sucked up by a vacuum. Gritting his teeth, Spider Man grabbed two children nearest him and lifted them gently to the window, pushing them out, standing on his tip-toes.

“Alright Spidey, I checked most of the floors and—holy shit!” a familiar voice came from over his shoulder.

Wade’s heart hammered heavily in his chest as he took in the scene before him. Children, so many children, the fire rapidly spreading, the smoke getting darker, the—

“Deadpool,” the younger man rasped, breaking the mercenary’s trance, his throat constricted from breathing in so much smoke, “go outside, around to the…basement window and drag the children I pass out, to safety. It’s the…quickest way to get them out.”

The merc gaped at him for a moment before nodding quickly and for once, doing what he was told.

The web-slinger took those moments (which felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than minutes) waiting for Wade to take stock of the situation, mentally cataloguing everything that had to be done, trying to get control over his frenetic synapses firing left and right. His eyes trailed over the remaining two dozen little bodies scattered around the room, knowing that there had to be more that he just couldn’t see and felt the panic rise up his throat like a claw scratching an itch. He took an involuntary deep breath, immediately heaving a cough, gasping as he sucked in a large amount of smoke, causing him to splutter, tears rolling down his face.

“Hey now Spidey, don’t die on me yet. There’s still work to do!”

Spider Man never thought he’d be so happy to hear the voice of Wade Wilson in his entire life.

They set to work. Like a well-oiled machine, they worked quickly and efficiently, the younger man gathering as many children as he could at a time and passing them out the window, single file, as gently as he could, whilst Wilson carried them the rest of the way, out to where there were now streams of flashing blue and red lights and a flurry of activity in the distance.

“The cavalry are here,” he informed his fellow crime-fighter as he ran back towards the building after his tenth trip back and forth.

Smoke was billowing steadily out the broken window now, so much so that it caused the merc (who was leaning down into it) to go into a fit of coughing.

“You—you sure you’re okay in there, Spidey? It’s…it’s getting really bad and—”

“There’s only…four more kids and…another teacher somewhere I think,” Spider Man cut across him with a rasp, “I just gotta find—”

An ear-splitting creaking noise drowned out the rest of words before the ground beneath Wade’s feet shook harder than any earthquake he had encountered. Inside, Spidey was thrown completely off balance, landing hard on the ground with a definitive smack, his skull bearing the brunt of the blow.

“Spidey!” the merc yelled through the window, fighting to see anything through the murky fog, “Spidey!”

Dread rose in his stomach as silence met his cries.

Shaking his head, Wade leapt through the window, landing deftly on his feet. It was like jumping directly into hell itself. The mask was useless to shield his mouth and nose from inhaling the toxic smoke as he blearily looked around him, surrounded by a pit of darkness, swirling ever higher with the rising heat. Flames engulfed most of the room now, the source of the creaking noise being the beginning of the collapse of a gargantuan support beam. As Wade squinted at it, his heart leapt in his throat as he saw a minute hand peeking out from behind it.

Rushing forward, dodging debris and shifting a gigantic concrete slab so he could squeeze past it, Deadpool reached the beam, a tight space barely big enough for him to get his arms through to pull out the child. Huffing out wheezy breaths, he managed to grab the child’s arms and pull them out, falling back from the momentum. Thankfully, the little boy seemed (like the others) to be completely unconscious, but as Wade inspected him for injury, his heart lurched painfully in his chest when his eyes landed on the boy’s legs. They looked...mangled. As if the beam…

“Jesus…” he gasped, before erupting into another fit of coughing.

Once he got himself back under control, Wade held his breath, stumbling back through the room towards the window, pushing the boy through it and whirling back around, his gaze bouncing around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of red and blue.

“Spidey! Spidey?! C’mon you tease, don’t leave me hangin’ like this! It’s rude!”

His tactic of flirt-annoying-the-web-slinger-into-compliance may have worked if it weren’t for the hint of hysteria in his tone.

…it was getting really hard to breathe.

“There’s…there’s another body…the teacher…” a soft, barely audible voice whimpered.

Deadpool glanced down at his feet, finding Spider Man lying on the floor to his left, facing the support beam, his arm lying at a weird angle, the back and edge of his mask completely split, blood gushing from a nasty cut, a sliver of too pale skin peeking out from underneath all the crimson.

“I’ll—I’ll get him,” Wade murmured, his head swimming, his lungs feeling as if he had inhaled lighter fluid.

“No…I…you can’t fit through the space. My webs…I can swing over and…” the merc watched as Spider Man continued to lose more and more blood, it gushing from his head like a grotesque waterfall.

“No Spider Man, you’re getting outta here. Now!” he replied firmly, taking a hold of the hero’s good arm and hauling him to his feet, pushing him back towards the window.

The shorter man stumbled for a moment before planting his feet resolutely in defiance, causing Wade to crash into his back.

Hissing in pain, the arachnid spat through gritted teeth, “I’m the only one that…can get to him, Deadpool. You get out and make sure…that boy gets to an ambulance. I’m—I’m getting the teacher ou—”

Another booming groan shook the room, throwing the two men in opposite directions. Wade landed with a loud and painful thump, his head spinning worse than that time he got drunk off his ass on Blind Al’s moonshine.

[Which time?]

{There was more than one}

[Quit lying to yourself]

“S-Spidey? Spidey!”

Biting his lip, he heaved his aching body forward, completely unsurprised to find a large metal spike sticking out of his side. That would explain the blinding pain, then.

A wounded moan off to his left alerted him of Spider Man’s location. Wincing, the mercenary dragged himself across the floor, waving his hand wildly through the air as his suit caught fire.

[Stop. Drop. And roll, dude.]

{Did that song teach you nothing?}

“Gotta…gotta get…”

Wade’s stomach gave a painful swoop as he heard Spidey’s desperately murmurings as he fought to stay conscious, his good arm outstretched towards the beam where now a larger hand was visible.

The teacher.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as the web-slinger’s pant-leg was attacked by flames.

“What the hell…is takin’ those fire-fighter assholes…so long?!” he rasped as he again forced himself to his feet, gathering Spider Man up, pulling him to his feet, his back pressed against his chest as he trudged them both forward towards the window again.

“NO!” a sudden roar was wrenched from Spidey’s throat as he realized what the merc was doing.

He stopped again, this time whirling around, losing his footing. Wilson caught him, hands clasping his shoulders, steadying him. Spidey thanked him by pushing him back with a strong shove, stumbling closer to the beam, walking through the fire that licked at it as if he couldn’t feel the heat.

Leaning down, he ignored his very broken arm and lay on the aflame floor, pushing himself in as far as he could through the gap, his fingers inches away from the teachers arm.

Wade stumbled forward, shaking his swirling head, trying desperately to focus, to catch his breath to—

The beam was slipping.

“Spidey! SPIDEY LOOK OUT—” he screamed, leaping towards Spider Man just as the beam (and the very jagged metal that aligned it) collapsed with a thunderous roar.

There was a rushing in Wade’s ears, like the entire ocean had entered his ear canal as dust and smoke swirled in the air, completely blinding him. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, could only sit there, a lapful of Spider Man (something he had always wished for, but never in these circumstances) and wait on tenterhooks for the scene to settle.

It was one of the worst moments in his entire life.

And that was saying something.

Gradually, some of the dust shifted, a fuzzy and incomplete picture forming in front of them.

But it was enough.

There was no hand anymore.

No space for anyone or anything to get to the teacher.

“NO!” a scream ripped from Spider Man’s chest as he stared at the broken beam in horror, “NO! I CAN—DEADPOOL! LET ME GO! I CAN STILL SAVE HIM! I CAN—” Wade pressed down hard on a pressure point at his shoulder, feeling him immediately go limp, crumpling in his arms, unconscious.

Head bowed, he dragged the kid towards the window, lifting him up and out the window, before following, coughing and spluttering as he collasped on the grass, his eyes staring up into the afternoon sun, the faint sounds of singing birds still audible over all the screaming sirens.

Letting his hand fall to his side, the merc found himself covered in blood, it a darker shade than normal, almost black.

[Well, that can’t be good]

It was the last thought he had for a while…

~*~

“The fire was weird...it was in the basement, on floor nine, thirteen, twenty four, and forty seven. Like someone purposely set fire to those floors and not the entire building.”

“And what was with all the kids being knocked out? Sure, some of them could be explained by the trauma, the smoke inhalation, but what are the odds of them all being unconscious at the exact same time?”

“Has Spider Man said anything yet?”

“No. He’s yelled a lot, though.”

“After what he went through, that’s kinda understand—”

“They found the teacher’s body.”

“Is he…?”

“…of smoke inhalation. So he wasn’t alive when…”

Wade Wilson groaned loudly as voices, different to his boxes, broke through his subconscious and dragged him towards consciousness.

[How very dare they!]

{We were having such a nice dream}

[Naked Spidey feeding us tacos on a gondola]

{I hear Italy is beautiful this time of year}

“Deadpool!” the first voice exclaimed, far too loudly in his opinion.

“Tha’s muh name,” he slurred in response, his head still a little fuzzy as he struggled to open his eyes.

He felt two people approach the bed, leaning over him.

“You died again,” the second voice, he could now make out as Tony Stark’s, informed him.

“I figured as much,” he groused as he blinked, Stark and Rogers coming into focus.

“How’d I go this time?” he asked, blinking down at himself, his suit torn on his side side.

“Scrap of metal to the liver. You bled out in minutes,” a doctor informed him as she entered the room, nodding to the two Avengers.

“What d’ya say, doc?” Wade stage-whispered, “will I ever play piano again? What about the banjo? Bag-pipes? Spoons?”

She offered him a wry smile, “your healing factor kicked in as normal, Mr Wilson. So I’m sure everything is back in working order.”

[*nudge nudge wink wink*]

{She’s totally flirting with us}

[Speaking of flirting…]

“How is Spidey?” the merc asked, trying to keep the level of concern to a minimal in his tone.

Rogers and Stark exchanged a weight glance.

“He’s…recovering,” the former responding evenly, his expression unreadable.

Wade nodded, biting his bottom lip.

“You did good, Deadpool,” Rogers continued, nodding at him, looking as if he wanted to clap him on the shoulder but thought better of it.

[Holy shit. Did Cap just compliment us?!]

{Stay calm, be cool}

“Of course I did good. I told ya I would,” he replied smugly, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt.

[We said be cool, not be a douche!]

“So…” the merc trailed off, “does this mean I get to join Super Heroes ‘R’ Us or…?”

“We’ll…discuss it,” Steve retorted with a weary sigh, “in the meantime, don’t leave town, Deadpool. We still need to get your…account of what went down this morning.”

The second half of Cap’s sentence was completely lost on Wade, however, his brain stuck on the fact that he said they’d discuss him joining The Avengers.

{Just ‘cause he says they’ll discuss it, doesn’t mean we’re actually gonna be their newest member}

[Shaddup you! Don’t you dare jinx this!]

The two heroes left Wade alone in his private ward at Avengers Tower, boxes bouncing around excitedly in his brain at the buzzing possibilities now at his feet.

He felt tears well up behind his eyes.

He’d been dreaming about it for years and now…now it could finally happen.

He would no longer be a mercenary. A law-breaker. A villain. Now he could be an Avenger. A crime-fighter. A hero.

Finally.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Wade jumped at the sound of a booming voice coming from down the corridor.

“Spidey?” he whispered to himself, that flare of concern he always tried to tamper sparking in his veins once more.

With a frown, he stiffly stood up from off the bed and padded out of the room, towards the voices.

“No. Seriously. Please tell me this is some kinda cruel joke,” Spider Man was continuing, less loudly but no less venomous as the merc approached the door, hanging back so he wouldn’t be seen.

Peering around the corner, Wade saw Bruce Banner, looking more than a little sheepish, shake his head. He watched as the still-masked, bed-ridden hero scoffed, throwing his good arm up in the air, clearly pissed.

“Deadpool,” he spat, the rancour in his tone palpable.

Wade’s heart leapt into his throat.

A bitter and hollow laugh escaped the younger man.

“They’re actually considering letting that lunatic join you guys. Have they lost their goddamn minds?!” he exclaimed, voice growing louder by the second, “if it wasn’t for him—”

“You’d be dead,” Banner interjected, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly.

A sharp silence engulfed the room.

“If it wasn’t for him…” Spider Man paused, his fist clenched, “I could have saved that teacher! I was right there, barely an inch away from getting him out and FUCKING DEADPOOL pulls me away. I have super strength and accelerated healing, did he forget that?! I coulda handled that beam falling on me. I could have survived—”

“You don’t know that,” Bruce cut across him gently, “you already had a pretty serious head wound—”

“What the hell is going on?! Why are you defending him all of a sudden? Aren’t you the one that’s always saying how unreliable and untrustworthy and bat shit crazy he is?! What…the second I start agreeing with you and you have a sudden change of heart?!”

Wade winced, the harsh words hitting him hard in his chest cavity.

[Spidey’s just upset ‘cause of what happened]

{He doesn’t mean it}

[He can’t]

{Although, it makes sense. It was only a matter of time before he saw you for what you really are}

“We’re considering you too, you know,” the scientist piped up, not answering the other man’s question.

“You think I care about that? You think being a member of an elite club will make that teacher any less dead and me any less at fault?” the web-slinger hissed, his tone an amalgamation of furious and heart-broken.

Bruce took a step forward as if to comfort the younger man, aborting the motion at the last second.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was—”

“Deadpool’s!”

Wade’s head hung lowly, that one word a punch to the gut.

“It was his fault and now you want to reward him,” Spider Man let out another horrible laugh, his voice thick with emotion, tethering on hysterical, “what the hell makes him any different to any of the bad guys you face every other week? Nothing! He is just like them in every way, the scum we’re trying to get off the streets of this city. But by all means, give him a job, don’t let me stop you! Just don’t be surprised when he stabs you in the back and when I tell you I told you so. He is nothing but a murderer, a monster, a villain—”

He couldn’t listen to it anymore. Turning on his heel, Wade went to march away, only to bump into a nurse who was on their way into the ward.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” the nurse exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of Banner and Spider Man who both looked out, spotting Deadpool standing there awkwardly.

It was the only time he could ever remember being glad that he couldn’t see Spidey’s face.

Words jamming in his throat, he merely waved his hand before high-tailing down the corridor like a bat outta hell, Spider Man’s words echoing in his ears every step of the way.

A killer. A monster. A villain.

He was right. It was their job to rid the streets of guys like Deadpool. How could he have ever thought he could possibly be one of them?

He had to get out. Away. Make their jobs easier for them.

What was that phrase? ‘You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain?’

That was just it.

Wade Wilson couldn’t die.

~*~

Deadpool stood frozen at May Parker’s sink, the flashback washing over him like a tidal wave.

[Annnnnd we’re back]

[Wow. That flashback was impressive]

{Even more so because apparently we’re privy to events that we weren’t even originally there for. Huh.}

[I’m sorry. Are you new here?]

He’d almost forgotten just how bad it was. Had repressed it so much that it had diluted in the recesses of his mind, but now it came back full force, winding him with a powerful blow to the gut, all over again.

“…ade? Wade dear, are you alright?” May’s voice broke him out of his reverie.

Avoiding Peter’s piercing gaze, the Canadian turned on the spot and flashed her a smile that he feared was nothing more than a grimace.

“I’m fine. I’m just gonna go to the—”

Four sharp knocks at the front door cut him off as he made his excuses.

May threw him an apologetic look, raising an eyebrow at her nephew, before making her way out of the kitchen into the hallway.

Wade’s fists clenched at his sides as he and Peter were left alone.

The silence was deafening.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” the brunet enquired lowly, his eyes still focused on the plate he was drying.

“Never better,” the merc responded through gritted teeth as he heard May talk with whoever was at the door.

The younger man turned to him then, his mouth open, “Wade I—”

“Peter?” May voice called out as she entered the kitchen, two well-dressed people, a man and a woman, following behind her.

Wade felt Peter go completely still beside him.

“These detectives are here to talk to you. Something about your plan to help capture and arrest Spider Man?”

So, admittedly, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble and got away from me a little. It was originally supposed to be Spiderman Of Alcatraz, but I’ve had to split it up as it was getting far too long. So yeah, I know you guys just read like a billion words, but I’d love to hear what you think of this particularly difficult (for me to write) instalment!

I gotta say, I’m curious too. Just how much did you think it sucked?

DEADPOOL!

What?!

You’re meant to be supportive!

Right. My bad. Just how much did you think it sucked…in comparison to the rest of the chapters?

*sigh* That’s marginally better, I suppose. Oh. And if anyone wants to know what the hell the boxes were doing, here’s the clip from Wayne’s World >> (x)

And if you just can’t get enough of this Spideypool ‘verse, I also have a series here. And I’ve started posting snippets and sneak peeks on my Tumblr too.

Well that’s clickbait if I ever saw it. You’re shameless.

You’ll be mouthless if you don’t shut up.

Been there, done that, got the shitty sewn up mouth in an even shittier movie. There’s nothing you could possibly to do me that’ll hurt—

*hides all of Wade’s Spiderman plushies*

*gasp* YOU MONSTER!

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

“Would I lie to you? Well, my hips might. They’re dirty, dirty liars. But the rest of me is all truth, I swear.”

Beharie and Cassidy exchanged dubious glances.

“You have an attorney you’d like us to contact?” the former asked.

“Yeah, actually. These two guys based outta Hell’s Kitchen. Henson and Cox, I think? Or was it Neilson and Murtagh? Whatever. One’s fat and the other’s blind. Ha! Kinda sounds like the start of a joke, huh?”

Chapter Text

Daredevil spoilers and speculation ahead.

Consider yourselves warned, cupcakes! *stage whispering* Matt Murdock is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen!

*Gasp* Deadpool! How could you?!

Uh, ‘cause the whole fourth-wall-breaking thing? Duh.

That’s not what I—

Also, huge shout out to writer lady’s best friend who just started reading this. Writer lady is freaking out because her real life and online life are colliding and she in no way warned her best friend just how unbelievably weird and gay this was gonna get. So…you know. Consider this your warning, BFF!

*sweats* It’s a little late now…why did I agree to let her read this again?!

*pats head* Don’t worry, writer lady. She’s your BFF, she’s kinda contractually obligated to stay your friend no matter what stupid or weird shit you say or do. And let’s face it, you’ve done a lot worse than this already.

Thanks, Deadpool. You always know just what to say to make me feel better.

I know right? I’m just—

I was being sarcastic.

~*~

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

Spider Man nodded, holding his hands up in a surrendering motion over his head and getting down on his knees.

“Cuff ‘em,” the lead detective advised an officer with a gruff tone and a nod of his pasty, balding head, “if you so much as twitch,” he directed at the superhero, “I won’t hesitate to empty my clip into you. Got it?”

The detective’s partner, an African American woman with compassionate eyes threw a glare at her partner before addressing the web-slinger, “I assure you, you’re perfectly safe. I’m going to accompany you to the station where we can then contact your lawyer, okay?”

Spider Man merely nodded and allowed the officers haul him to his feet and push him towards a squad car, pressing his head down and depositing him in the backseat, arms restrained behind his back.

From a safe distance, a figure dressed in a red and black hoodie watched this all unfold.

“Show time…”

 ~*~

31 Hours Earlier…

The towel was rough, scraping against his skin like a slightly softer scrap of sand-paper. He must remember to pick up some new ones for his aunt the next time he was at the store. It was an odd thought to have at this particular moment, but it was better than the alternative.

The fire.

It had been nearly a year.

A shudder rose up his spine as he recalled the entire thing, as fresh in his memory as if it happened only yesterday. An uncomfortable feeling lay in the pit of his stomach, a pulsing and putrid mixture of guilt, anger and sadness churning and churning until he grew nauseous. Leaning forward slightly, Peter gripped the sink in front of him with one hand as the other still tightly clasped the plate he had been drying.

He could still see it, the smoke, the flames engulfing the building, the sound of dozens and dozens of terrified people, the smell of charcoal high in the air. He managed to block it out most of the time, but it was never truly gone, it was always there under the surface, lurking in the space between awake and asleep, just ready to strike when he was at his most vulnerable, when he was his least guarded.

Those first few months after it happened had been the worst. He’d awaken, his entire body drenched in a cold sheen of sweat, the sight of the crumbling beam replaying over and over again like a macabre film reel behind his eyelids. He’d see the sliver of skin, the five fingers buried underneath the rubble, scratched and sooty, laying palm up as if to reach out to him, just that few inches short. No matter how many different ways he played it in his head, he could never reach that hand before it was consumed by the debris. But that didn’t mean he didn’t try every damn night in his sleep for six solid weeks.

It was during that time, when he finally started to calm down and reflect on things that Peter realised that Bruce had been right. If it wasn’t for Deadpool, he very well could have died. A strong wave of guilt had hit him instantly when he saw the merc standing there gormlessly at his hospital door, clearly overhearing everything Peter had hissed about him, but it wasn’t until he watched him hastily retreat and in the coming weeks when it had become apparent that he had left New York altogether, that the brunet really began to suffer the intense pangs of regret, remorse over what he had said.

Truth was, Peter didn’t think Wade would make a bad Avenger. Not really. Sure, he still had questionable methods and even more problematic morals, or lack thereof, but he had proven himself time and time again when it came to getting results and seemed to really want to try his best. His tenacity, his willingness to listen to Cap, his desire to do good…these were the traits that the webbed-wonder thought of often when his teammates would debate over Deadpool. It was the ghost of a memory of strong hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him out from under that beam, it was the hazy image of him with an armful of unconscious children lifting them out to safety that stayed with him in those moments of doubt, those moments of questioning if he lost his mind to think such things, it was those instances and many more over the years that solidified Peter’s stance that yes, despite everything he had said to the contrary, Wade would make a good Avenger.

He was broken in his own way, but they all were. Each and every one of them had their own stories, their own pasts that helped pave the way for who they were now, Wade being no exception. But because Peter was bitter and angry and hurt and lost he snatched that dream away from the merc with cold, pale hands that still shook in the dead of night. Peter wanted to punish him for doing what he knew deep down was the right thing because a man had died. A man that he thought he could save, but finally knows now that it was a lost cause.

He was an asshole, no two ways about it. And he’d be lying if he said some of his behaviour in the last few months towards Wade wasn’t in some way a by-product of what happened. He felt more guilty than he could ever recall being. He didn’t like himself in that moment and would give anything to turn back the clock to erase all the terrible shit he said.  But that was the easy way out. He didn’t deserve the easy way out, not by a long shot. He knew what he had to do, what was long overdue at this point…

“Wade dear, are you all right?”

May’s sudden words awoke Peter from his reverie. Blinking, he turned to look at the merc standing stock-still beside him, looking as dazed as he felt.

He watched as a myriad of emotions passed over Wade’s face before he cleared his throat, “I’m fine. I’m just gonna go to the—”

Four sharp knocks abruptly cut him off mid-sentence. Peter forced down the surging of annoyance that rose in his veins as his aunt, looking mildly perturbed, cocked an eyebrow at him before she made her way out to answer the door.

The room was plunged into a dead silence. Beside him, Peter could sense Wade’s fists clenching and unclenching tightly.

He couldn’t take it anymore…

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked lowly, his gaze dropping to the plate in his hands, unable to look the mercenary in the eye.

“Never better,” came the coarse and wholly fallacious response, tone flat and veiled.

Peter’s heart began to pick up speed. It was obvious that Wade was reflecting on the fire too, no doubt all the horrible things that Spider Man had said about him…

 Shit.

He couldn’t handle Wade dwelling on those stupid lies a second longer. With a steely determination, Peter forced himself to turn and look directly at the merc, jaw tightened, “Wade I—”

“Peter?” May called out as she entered the kitchen, two very familiar people following behind her.

Double shit.

“These detectives are here to talk to you. Something about your plan to help capture and arrest Spider Man?”

Triple shit.

~*~

Bistre eyes blinked open, still sleep-swept and hazy as they fought to focus in the dim light of the room. With a wince, Eddie James forced his head up, it feeling several pounds too heavy as his whole world tipped on its axis. His stomach lurched painfully as he swallowed down his nausea, blinking several more times to try and right his fogged vision. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten that damn cupcake…

“Welcome back, Mr. James,” an unfamiliar voice came from the corner of the room.

“Who are you?” Eddie inquired, opening and closing his eyes for longer increments to try and focus.

“Someone you’re going to get more acquainted with,” came the enigmatic response.

“You…drugged me,” the scientist murmured, trying and failing to inject heat into his tone.

“A necessary evil,” the voice replied, far too nonchalantly.

“Necessary my ass,” Eddie spat, the vehemence evident now as he forced his head further forward to try and catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure in the doorway, “first you abduct me, then you tie me up in this shitty, damp room, then you starve me, then you finally give me food only to have it drug me…remind me how any of this has been ‘necessary?’”

A low chuckle erupted from the stranger as he made his way closer to the scientist, basking himself in the limited low light of the room. He was tall, maybe 6’2”, strong build with dark hair and jade eyes. Eddie was certain he had never seen him before in his life.

“I needed to dull your senses,” he retorted as if that was the most obvious answer, leaning down and gripping Eddie by the hair, wrenching his head backwards, exposing his jawline and neck.

“What are you—ah!” Eddie hissed in pain as a needle was jabbed into his neck with force.

The world was spinning, faster and faster and faster as if he was on the wildest tea cups at a County Fair before suddenly, everything ground to a halt, a floating feeling settling into his bones, making him feel lighter than air. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something glinting and was oddly intrigued by it. What was it? A coin? No…a ring.

“That’s it…” the stranger continued, his voice sounding muffled now, almost as if he was submerged under water, “focus on the ring…”

In the deepest recesses of his mind, the nerd in Eddie wanted to make a Lord of the Rings joke, but found he couldn’t muster the energy. He was too busy, too distracted, too drawn in by the almost rhythmic movement of the ring as it spun on his captor’s finger, back and forth, back and forth…

“Now, Eddie…listen to me very carefully…”

~*~

“And you’re sure that Spider Man will agree to meet you?”

Peter fought the voracious urge to roll his eyes as Detective Asshole asked him the same question for the fourth time in so many minutes.

Running a hand through his hair, he craned his neck to look warily towards the kitchen door, wondering not for the first time, just how much his aunt and Wade were overhearing.

“I’m the only one from the paper he trusts so…yeah, I think he’ll agree to meet me,” he nodded, ignoring Cassidy and instead addressing the much more affable Detective Beharie.

She hummed in response, clearly thinking over their plan.

Which was basically one big trap.

That Peter had to help set.

Talk about self-destructive.

“Okay then. Thanks for your time, Mr Parker. We’ll meet you at the rendezvous point for 22:00 tomorrow,” Beharie said as she stood, hand extended for him to shake.

Peter clasped her hand, shaking it firmly whilst nodding at Cassidy. Silently, he saw them out, walking them though the living room, out in the hallway and towards the front door. Closing it gently behind them, he glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen door, hearing his aunt and Wade speaking softly about Golden Girls. Biting his lip, he tip-toed up the stairs and into the bathroom. With another quick glance over his shoulder, he made his way towards the toilet cistern and lifted the lid, revealing his burner phone floating in a plastic bag.

[Geez, where is he getting his stealth ideas from? Breaking Bad?]

Opening the bag, he took out the phone, switching it on and typing out a quick message.

Deadpool, it’s Spider Man. Meet me at 9pm tonight to finalize the plan. You know the place.

With shaking hands, Peter pushed the send button before shutting the phone off again, putting it back into the plastic and sealing it up in the cistern.

Time to put his money where his mouth was…

~*~

“Hey—hey Clint! Look at this!”

Clint Barton let out a frustrated groan as he cracked his back straightening up from his hunched over position on the floor of the records room in Skyline Laboratories.

“What are you, a hundred and twelve?” Natasha Romanoff asked with a smirk, “I mean, I’ve never heard Steve complain about a bad back. And he’s 96 year old fossil. Just sayin’.”

Barton shot her the bird before snatching the case file that she had had in her hands out of her grasp.

“Been in here for like five fucking years,” he grumbled under his breath, before dissolving into indecipherable mutterings, Nat only able to pick out the occasional word or phrase like ‘fit as a fiddle,’ ‘may need more calcium’ and ‘can’t all be as flexible as string cheese.”

“Hypnosis Specialists…” he raised his voice after a moment, reading aloud, eyes scanning down the list of names, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“You see it too, right?” Romanoff asked, taking a step closer to him and re-reading down the page once more.

“Huh,” was all her companion managed to reply before the unmistakable sound of footsteps began to approach them.

Silently, the two spies exchanged glances, mentally mapping out their plan. Slowly, they each took a corner of the room, heckles well and truly up as they prepared for combat, Black Widow with her pistol at the ready and Hawkeye’s hand twitching aside his bow. As the footsteps drew nearer and nearer, the tension in the room rose several degrees. They exchanged one last glance, jaws tight and eyes narrowed as the footsteps abruptly stopped, a shadow falling in the doorway.

“I just want you guys to know that if you shoot me with bullets or arrows, I can’t be held accountable for the big guy’s actions,” the familiar voice of their friend and colleague Bruce Banner rang out.

Visibly deflating, the pair made their way out from their respective hiding places and was met with the wry smirk of the scientist.

“Didn’t realize we were playing Hide ‘n’ Seek,” he deadpanned before gesturing over his shoulder, “the overlords want a word in the conference room.”

The spies nodded, cleaning up from their snooping and following their friend out of the room, the very enlightening document still clutched in Clint’s hand. Whatever Fury wanted to discuss, dollars to donuts what he and Nat uncovered was a hell of a lot more interesting…

~*~

“The mama pajama rolled out of bed and she ran to the police station, when the papa found out he began to shout and he started the investigation. It’s against the law, it was against the law, what the mama saw, it was against the law!”

“Do you ever stop singing?”

Peter approached the Deadpool-shaped shadow with a slow ease, feeling the wafting of hot air even through his suit. They were standing on the roof of Sam’s Tacos, their old meeting place, the merc with his back to him, looking down onto the streets of New York.

[How Batman-esque]

{He’s gonna don a cape and talk like he’s got strep throat any second now}

{Staying with the emo theme, I see}

{Didn’t realize this was Superman 3}

[Shout out to NaruHinaLuvr for that awesome reference]

{There was nothing awesome about Tobey Maguire’s floppy depression hair and bad Chris Crocker impression}

“There are many health benefits to singing,” he remarked, back still turned, “it releases endorphins so like, instant high! It’s a natural stress-reliever, helps you sleep better, it improves your heart rate which reduces the risk of heart disease, and when you sing with someone else, your heart rates can even sync! It also helps straighten your posture which makes you appear more confident, it’s a work out for your lungs, your abdominal and intercostal muscles, it can boost your immune system, it’s really good for your brain and helps lower depression and risk of dementia while enhancing your mental awareness, concentration and memory—”

{I sincerely doubt that in your case}

[I feel he made up like six of those]

{Nah. He read it on Buzzfeed}

[Oh the same website that tells you what your inner potato is? Then it must be true!]

{FYI, writer lady is a couch potato}

[Shocker]

“Huh…maybe I should sing more often,” Peter replied, taking another step closer to Wade, an uneasy knot forming in his stomach when the merc still refused to look at him.

“So the plan—”

“I’m sorry about everything that went down that day,” Peter cut across him, words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them, his heart feeling like it would burst out of his chest if he didn’t get the words out now, “you saved my life and…if it wasn’t for your help, those kids could’ve died too. It wasn’t fair of me to be mad and blame you for what happened. It wasn’t your fault. If you hadn’t gotten me outta there when you did…” he trailed off, eyebrows raised, his heart racing a mile a minute as he walked around Deadpool, forcing himself into his line of vision.

Now that he had started, he didn’t think he could stop. It was like this aching under his skin, an aching he had ignored for far too long and had now festered into this molten lava in his veins, burning white hot and demanding he let it out. All of it. And not stop until all was said and done. But the merc was still not looking at him, just standing very tensely, his head still bent. Peter took another step toward him and was relieved when he didn’t move away.

“I didn’t mean any of what I said. I was an asshole and I know it’s no excuse but I was hurt and angry and feeling guilty as hell and you were the easiest to blame, the best to aim all my pent up shit at because I couldn’t handle the fact that I’d failed and couldn’t save the teacher,” the brunet rambled, his hands flailing as his brain charged on a mile a minute, words slipping through his grasp like water.

Deadpool’s head slowly raised, not quite to his eyelevel, but just enough to let Spidey know that he was definitely listening.

"I never should have taken it out on you,” he began, taking a breath, “And I really am sorry. Sorry for what I said and sorry it took me this long to apologize," he paused to observe Wade who was now definitely paying attention.

It was in this moment, snapshots of their time together passed through his mind, from their first meeting, to their rooftop rendezvous, to snarky back and forths in the middle of a battle, to everything that had happened between them in the last few months. When Deadpool met ‘Harry.’ Then met the real him, Peter, the man behind the mask, without knowing it. Saving his building from the bomb, helping him cover his tracks by destroying security cameras, cleaning and bandaging his damaged arm, having lunch with him and his Aunt May, playing Mario Kart and eating pizza, listening to him as he regaled him of his fears and failures, capturing his assassin and not killing him, dancing with his Aunt May, making her laugh more heartily than he had heard in a long time, kissing him…

Peter’s breathing hitched as he remembered the kiss, the rush he had felt, like he’d been stabbed with a syringe full of adrenaline straight to the heart. It had been an impulse, something that had been teetering on the edge of whatever was between them for a long time. He hadn’t thought about it, too riled up in the moment to let his mind sabotage what his body desperately wanted to do. And it had been…everything and nothing like he thought it would be. Not that he ever really let himself indulge in fantasies like that, at least not until recently. It was terrifying and exciting and warm and soft and gentler than he would have expected. On those rare occasions his mind did wander, he always imagined a brutality to Wade, a fierceness in him that would surely translate to how he kissed, how he touched. An unfurling, feral nature to him that would match his off-beat personality and unhinged demeanour. How wrong he was…

Peter had never had a kiss like it. Even though he instigated it, had seemed to catch the merc off guard, it took only that split second of brushing lips to morph the situation entirely, to unbalance the brunet, to steadily take him apart…it was maddening, infuriating and intoxicating and god help him, he wanted to do it again. But he couldn’t. Not with how he had treated Wade. He deserved better, better than how Peter and Spider Man had treated him. He had ignored it for long enough, pushed down his shitty behaviour and venomous lies to try and fail to spare himself from more guilt. It was time the merc knew the truth, knew exactly what both parts of himself, the grad-student and the web-slinger actually thought of him. No lies, no omissions, just the unadulterated truth…

Taking a deep breath, Peter readied himself to say the last of what had been plaguing his mind ever since that night, when he had uttered those horrible lies. Fighting the urge to reach out and touch Wade’s arm, he closed the last of the space between them and tilted his head up, trying to have some semblance of allusion of eye-contact. Minutely, the merc moved and the brunet could sense that he finally, finally met his gaze.

"The truth is…” he cleared his throat, his stare unwavering even if they couldn’t see each other’s eyes, “the truth is, the Avengers would be lucky to have you Wade, you’ve proven that time and time again,” he swallowed deeply, their eyes locked, their mingling breaths passing between them in the night air, “you’re not a monster or a villain…you’re a hero.”

Wade could count on one hand how many times his boxes were completely silent for an extended period of time. The last instance was when Spidey had kissed him. Now it was right at this very second. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not really. How many nights had he spent, lying awake and staring up at a dark ceiling, the words ‘he’s a killer. A monster. A villain,’ echoing around and around in his head, taunting him, torturing him, the sound of Spidey’s usually easy-going voice tainted with anger, bitterness and disgust? It was enough to force him out of New York, force him back into the life of a mercenary full-time, to completely immerse himself in the killing, the maiming, the torture because that’s the kind of man he was. No, not a man, a monster. A villain. And that’s what villains do, right? Kill and maim and torture?

He knew he enjoyed it, once upon a time, and admittedly, sometimes still. His memory may be spotty at best, but he could recall times where, when a kill was particularly extravagant, it was enough to fuel his high for days. That excited buzz lying just underneath his skin, an effective barrier for the pain, like a soothing balm until he’d get the familiar itch again. The itch that always needed to be scratched. The itch that had been scratched so many times it left a hollow dent that grew into a gaping hole in his chest where his heart still inexplicably beat, time and time again. No matter how hard he tried, he could never fill it, and dammit he had tried. He had people once, people he cared about, Vanessa, Blind Al, Weasel, Cable, Carmelita, Ellie…and more, some fleeting and others prominent, but for the longest time, he was alone. Like monsters and villains deserved to be.

Until he met Peter Parker. A Harry Potter-lookin’ motherfucker with a crooked grin, an adorable blush and a baffling personality. He wasn’t afraid of him, barely batted an eyelid as Wade tackled him to the ground and discovered a bomb in his neighbour’s apartment. The lunatic even tried to disarm it before Wade could strong-arm him out of the building. Then Peter put him back together after he was blown to smithereens. He bought him tacos and put up with his nonsense. He ate lunch with him and his Aunt May, he played video games and ate pizza and opened up to him about his life. He didn’t flinch when Wade took off his mask, he didn’t gape with horror or run away screaming. He let Wade help him, made him feel useful. He laughed with him and verbally sparred with him and made him feel…lighter than he had in years.

Then Wade found out that he, the adorkable grad-student from Queens, was none other than his friendly neighbourhood Spider Man. This Peter and the webbed-wonder were one in the same. And he still continued to share pieces of his life, his other life, with him. They still sparred and laughed and broke and fixed sinks together. And in that time, in between when Wade thought Peter was just an ordinary twenty-something nerd and when he discovered he was so much more than that, the merc knew that he was in trouble. So, so much trouble.

Peter may not have divulged his identity to him, but after everything May had told him, Wade had begun to understand why. There was so much…tragedy in his young life already, they having more in common than Wade could have ever imagined, that he couldn’t help but empathize with him. So for all his talk of betrayal and anger at being lied to, the mercenary found that while he wasn’t psyched about it, the fact Peter hadn’t told him he was Spidey was far outweighed by everything else that he had been privy to. The jokes, the smiles, the late-night noises of ecstasy, the kiss…

The kiss! Christ on a cracker. He had never felt anything like it. Even though in that moment he hadn’t realized that it was Peter who was pressing his lips to his, the spark was undeniable. Like a thousand matches ignited between them, the heat growing and spreading until they were warm all over, from the top of their heads to the tips of their toes. He had gasped when he felt the shorter man grip his shoulders tightly, almost painfully and that’s when he lost it completely. He wrapped himself around him, pressing as close as physically possible against him, the action surprisingly a lot softer than his usual move. There was something about it, something different, the merc could sense it then and he knew it now. It wasn’t like any other kiss. It felt…deeper. More profound.

And that excited him. And terrified him.

He was still hurt over the incident and as soon as he found out that Petey was Spidey those dark thoughts began to plague him again. This beautiful, wonderful, adorkable kid was the very same that called him a monster, a villain. How could Wade possibly still like him after all that? But Peter’s actions over the last few months, began to abate those fears. Spending time with him, with every passing second, those words got quieter and quieter in the merc’s brain.

And now? After that speech…those haunting words were almost vanquished altogether. Almost.

So yes, thanks to Peter Parker, Wade Wilson wasn’t alone anymore.

Wade just couldn’t help but wonder how long that was going to last after tonight…

“I told Peter that you kissed me and he said I should ask you why,” he began after what felt like an eternity, deciding to ask what he had wondered most ever since it happened. He couldn’t even begin to properly process and address Spidey’s speech yet.

Spider Man seemed taken aback by the inquiry, clearly expecting some acknowledgement of what he had just said. But Deadpool wasn’t making it too easy on him. He probably deserved as much. Silence descended on them. They were still standing close, so close that the heat of their breaths mingled between them.

Wade leaned forward, tilting his head down at the shorter man.

“So…why did you?”

Peter took a step back, a little unbalanced on his feet as he cleared his throat.

“I—I told you. It was a…a diversion. So the cops wouldn’t catch me. I’m sorry, it was a shitty move, apparently I’m full of them late—”

“See, I’m not sure I believe that, Spidey,” Wade interrupted with a sing-song tone, clearly enjoying the other man’s discomfort before taking yet another step towards him.

The superhero stumbled backwards several feet before colliding with a tall vent that stood in the middle of the roof. He imagined an almost predatory grin spreading across Wade’s face from behind his mask as he crowded him, taking advantage of the fact that he was now stuck between him and the vent. Logically he knew he could push past Wade and bench press a hundred of him without breaking a sweat, but something kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, watching the merc with bated breath.

“Aww, is the little spider trapped? This must be how flies feel before they’re eaten alive…” the mercenary murmured, moving in so close to him now that the tips of their toes were touching.

Peter inclined his head, forcing himself to glare up into Wade’s face, refusing to be intimidated.

“You know I don’t actually eat flies, right?”

“Why did you really kiss me?” the merc asked again, ignoring him.

He sighed. “I told you already—”

“And I told you that I don’t believe you. C’mon Spidey, after that rousing speech about how sorry you were for saying those lies, you’re not gonna really do it again, are you?”

Peter gaped at that, it being the first time Wade acknowledged his apology.

“I—”

“Why did you really kiss me?”

“I’m not—”

“Why did you kiss me, Spidey?”

“Oh for god’s—”

“Why did you put your lips on mine, grip my shoulders and shove your tongue down my—”

“BECAUSE I WANTED TO!”

Peter gasped as the words were wrenched from his mouth without his permission. Wade had gone dead still, the only sound between them being their ragged breaths, their respective heart beats hammering in their ears, thrumming like rushing water.

“I…” the brunet trailed off, blinking rapidly, his mind racing a mile a minute as he tried to say something, say anything, to rectify his words.

“You…you uh…” Deadpool started, seemingly just as lost for words as he was, his hands beginning to flounder as he struggled to comprehend what just happened.

[Did he just…?]

{Yep}

[Holy shit]

“I need to hear you say it, Wade,” Spider Man said suddenly, apparently ploughing through the awkwardness with a determined change of subject.

“Say…what?” the merc was hesitant to ask, his fingers itching at the edges of his mask.

The webbed wonder stilled, shaking his head for a moment before looking up at him, his shoulders set.

 “I don’t expect or deserve your forgiveness. But I do need to know that you don’t believe a word I said that day. Because I sure as hell don’t.”

That was it. That was what did it. Something within the merc snapped, whatever tenuous thread that was keeping a limp hold on his resolve, on every good reason why distance was key, was suddenly broken, severed beyond repair. Those words, said in such a sincere tone, crumbled to dust whatever reservations he had had, in a firm, close-fisted grip and before he knew it, Wade had launched himself at Peter, pulling his own mask up past his mouth whilst pawing at Spidey’s too.

“What are you—”

Wade pushed Peter back against the vent, swallowing his query with his lips. In a flurry of jittery limbs, he pressed further into him, trailing his tongue along his bottom lip. He almost came in his pants at the delectable growl that ripped from the younger man’s throat as he opened his mouth, his tongue meeting his. It was complete sensory overload, like the other kiss had been yet magnified tenfold. Wade barely suppressed a shiver as he felt strong hands trail up his back, ghost over his shoulder blades before squeezing just on the brim of painful and pleasurable. He gripped Peter’s hip with one hand, his fingers on the other raking over the top of his mask, feeling those brunet tresses he so loved to tease just under the thin material, his heart leaping into his throat as he suddenly felt teeth nibble along his bottom lip.

A gasp escaped him as a wave of pleasure tingled up his spine, Peter taking advantage of his shock to press himself fully against his chest, his neck craning upwards, one hand sneaking to the back of Wade’s head, pulling him down into him. The merc stumbled forward, the force of the strong hand dragging him even closer to Peter’s body, heat radiating between them as the shorter man’s back slid against the vent, the hard ridges of Wade’s body digging into his, pinning him. Another moan sounded between them but they were both too far gone to register who it originated from. The mercenary’s head was pounding, blood rushing in his ears as he fought against the need to breathe. It would be, by far, the best way he could die…

Reluctantly, he forced himself to break the kiss, gasping for breath, “…I believe that…you believe I’m not a monster, or a villain,” he whispered against Peter’s lips, “and that’s…that’s good enough for me,” he finished before stepping away without a backwards glance, letting the darkness engulf him.

~*~

“Shit!” Peter hissed as he stubbed his toe, jaw clenching in frustration as he kicked the wayward book out of his way, pulling the rest of his body in through his open bedroom window and over his desk.

Breathing shallowly, he began disrobing himself from his Spider Man spandex hurriedly, his eyes and ears straining for any sign of life nearing his door. Wade had gotten a good head-start on him, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he was already back downstairs, wondering where Peter was, having no idea that he had had just been with him, kissing him within an inch of his life. The brunet lost his balance, stumbling with his foot in his hand as he was suddenly assaulted with the vivid imagery of Wade crowding him with his broad shoulders, his chest pining him against the vent as his tongue licked into his mouth…

“Holy…” he breathed into the blackness of the room, the ghost of where Wade’s lips had been making him shiver.

He still couldn’t believe it. Wade Wilson had kissed him! Well, he had kissed Spider Man.

Spider Man who was, as far as Wade knew, not Peter. He was an entirely different person, in fact. A person that the merc had had a crush on for years, had fawned over and flirted with countless times, but Peter…he was just a guy Wade had known for a few months. A nerdy college guy that dragged him into some attempted murder plot completely by accident. A guy who found himself more and more attracted to Wade every single second but couldn’t hold a candle to Spider Man in his affections, not in the ways that mattered. And it was Spider Man that Wade kissed, not Peter, and that, at the end of the day, was what mattered.

Holy shit am I actually jealous of Spider Man?! For fuck’s—

His heart sped up as he heard footsteps approaching his door.

“Peter?” his aunt’s voice wafted through it.

Biting his lip, Peter pulled the last of his suit off, throwing it with perfect accuracy into the trunk sitting in his closet before swiftly pulling on pajama pants and a T-shirt.

“Yeah?” he answered, stepping over and opening the door wide, his aunt standing behind it with a bemused expression on her face.

“What are you doing up here? Wade just got back from running his errand. I thought you were gonna watch a movie with us?”

Peter nodded, murmuring how he just came up to change into his PJs, following May out into the hallway and down the stairs towards the living room. His heart hammered in his ears as he felt Wade’s presence immediately, his skin tingling from the phantom sensation of his touch barely an hour before. Distantly, he registered that the landline had started ringing but he found he was too distracted to pay it any mind as soon as the merc came into view, his back to him as he riffled through their DVD collection.

“So I have it narrowed down to The Young Savages and Birdman of Alcatraz. I mean, both are great Lancaster classics, but I’m partial to Birdman my—” Wade broke off mid-sentence as he turned and realized that it wasn’t May who had entered the room.

“Oh. Peter. Hi…” he mumbled, giving a half-hearted salute in his direction before turning back to the TV, “your Aunt May said it was okay if I chose the movie. I’m in an ‘oldie but goodie’ kinda mood so…Lancaster it is!”

The brunet stared at him, at the broad expanse of his shoulders hidden beneath his hoodie, the slope of his long neck peeking out from under his hood and found himself dumbstruck, the memory of raking his hands up that firm back and feeling the unyielding muscle under his fingertips so strong that he forced himself to take a step away, not trusting himself to not reach out and touch him again.

“Uh yeah, sure,” he forced himself to reply, his tongue becoming unglued from the roof of his mouth as he shuffled towards the couch and sat down heavily, the weight of everything that had transpired that day pressing down on him.

A silence befell the room as Wade busied himself setting up the DVD and Peter stared into the roaring fire that his aunt had built despite it being a warm night. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, feeling antsy, on edge, literally and figuratively as he sat rigidly on the couch, drumming his fingers against his bouncing knee. He was the very picture of pent-up anxiety and he knew it.

Without his permission, his eyes dragged themselves away from the embers of the fire and instead settled once again on Wade, transfixed as the merc took off his hoodie, his razor sharp scapulae coming into view from beneath Peter’s, tight, white T-shirt that he had borrowed that afternoon after flooding the kitchen and himself. The brunet’s throat went dry as he stared at the very strained material barely covering his gargantuan biceps.  

“Phew! It’s hotter than Satan’s ass in here,” Wade remarked dryly, turning to face Peter, throwing his hoodie onto the back of the armchair.

The younger man felt a blush tinge his cheeks as he was caught in the act of openly ogling him. If the merc noticed however, he didn’t let on, merely moving to sit down next to him on the couch, a large space (presumably for May) in between them.

“Well boys,” May’s voice grew steadily closer to them as she made her way in from the hallway, “that was Ester, apparently she’s having some sort of crisis and is in need of some wine and a listening ear straight away so, duty calls,” she halted as she reached the couch, smiling with a wave of her hand, glancing down at the two of them, a twinkle in her eye, “looks like you’ll have to have movie night without me. I’m sure you’ll manage…”

Peter couldn’t help but glare at her and her incredible lack of subtlety.

She merely winked at him however, thrusting a large bowl of popcorn into his hands and kissing him and Wade on the cheek before turning on her heel and walking out, calling over her shoulder, “you boys have fun, now! And don’t wait up on my account…”

The slamming of the front door announced her departure. Peter gripped the bowl of popcorn so hard the plastic bowl began to groan under the pressure. He could feel Wade’s gaze on his face, then on his hands, silently watching as he dealt with his internal crisis. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to try and relax, pushing out words that were glued to his mouth like molasses:

“She thinks she’s so clever. I know Ester works nights. She’s really gone to see Rick from four doors down. I think they’re dating, or…whatever. Don’t know why she can’t just tell me about him…” he trailed off, still not looking at Wade, instead focusing on Burt Lancaster’s face that was now paused on the TV.

He felt rather than saw Wade shrug, “people are weird when it comes to matter of the heart, Petey,” he murmured before reaching over to grab some popcorn, only to accidentally brush against Peter’s hand.

The brunet stilled, an electric shock flowing up his arm from where the merc touched him.

Weird was only the tip of the iceberg…

~*~

“Glad you three could make it,” Ex-Director Nick Fury deadpanned as Romanoff, Barton and Banner entered the Conference Room that was already occupied by Rogers, Stark, Odinson, Hill and an unknown woman wearing a white lab coat.

“When did Goldilocks get here?” Clint asked Steve loud enough for Thor to hear him and throw him a wry grin.

“I made safe passage from Asgard to Midgard mere moments ago,” he replied with a tilt of his head, “I return with news from Heimdall.”

The tension in the room rose several degrees at those words.

“Okay,” Clint broke the histrionic silence after a moment, “I’m sure Asgard’s John Edwards has interesting news, but first…” he paused for dramatic effect (hey, if Thor can do it, he can too) “Stark, tell me if anything jumps out at you,” he finished, sliding the piece of paper Nat found in the records’ room towards his teammate.

“Who is this John Edwards?” Thor asked Bruce imploringly whilst Tony scanned the page, eyebrows slowly raising.

Clint and Nat exchanged smug grins as Stark raised his eyes to Fury.

“Tell me Fury,” he began with an air of entitlement only he could pull off as he walked closer to the ex-Director, shoving the page in his face, “when the hell were you gonna tell me that one of my employees used to work here? And as a goddamn ‘hypnosis specialist’ too!”

Nick glanced down, completely unsurprised to see the name of Dr. Selena Rickards among the short list of specialists Skyline Laboratories had had employed over the years.

“Beat that blondie,” Clint winked at Thor, pleased that he was proven right in that his and Nat’s discovery was far more intriguing than whatever they had been called in here for.

A slow smile broke out on the Son of Odin’s face that Hawkeye didn’t like the look of, not one bit.

“Very well,” he smirked, his eyes glinting with challenge, “this…Doctor Rickards that you and The Widow discovered. Are you aware that it is she that helped plan the slaying of the young arachnid?”

Silence met his words. Thor tilted his head and folded his arms, his gaze steadily on Clint, ready to deliver the final blow, “are you aware that it is she that we seek by the name of Chenko?”

Well, shit.

Thor, 1. Hawkeye, 0.

~*~

Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, dowsing Peter Parker’s face and torso. Grimacing, he screwed his eyes shut even tighter against the attack, sinking further into his incredibly hard pillows.

His pillows that appeared to be breathing.

Wait…what?

His hazel eyes snapped open, glancing blearily around himself, confused as he realized he was on the couch in the living room.

What the…?

Heart skipping a beat, he slowly turned his head and found his face inches away from Wade Wilson’s sleeping one, his cheek resting on the other man’s shoulder, aka his pillow.

It all came flooding back to him…

Movie night. Aunt May going out. Peter being so nervous to be alone with Wade he thought his heart would beat out of his chest…but, after a few tense moments, like every time he seemed to spend with the merc lately, he found himself beginning to relax, letting himself get lost in Wade’s rambling about the movie, his words washing over him like waves, like a comforting balm for his frayed nerves.

It must have lulled him to sleep…

Biting his lip, Peter tilted his head ever so slightly to get a better angle to watch Wade sleep. He felt like a creep, but couldn’t help it, completely transfixed with being within such close proximity of the merc’s uncovered face, void of a sardonic smirk or teasing grin or manic gleam. He looked…peaceful. And that wasn’t a word Peter would ever use in relation to Deadpool. Ever. But, right here and now, sleeping beside him on his aunt’s couch at early o’clock in the morning, Wade Wilson looked peaceful.

It suited him.

I’m in trouble.

Suddenly, Wade heaved a deep sigh in his sleep, jostling the brunet a little before settling again, his arm resting on Peter’s stomach. The same stomach that felt like it had a million butterflies fluttering around and doing somersaults in it.

So, so much trouble.

Before the young hero had too much time to reflect on that, he forced himself up and off the couch as quickly and quietly as possible, barely disturbing the merc an inch. Sometimes it really came in handy to have super agility. Making his way over to the kitchen, he frowned as his eyes scanned around and failed to find his cell phone. Wracking his brain, he tried to think back to the last time he had it.

Rolling his eyes, he picked up the landline and found that his aunt had forgotten to charge it again. Walking over to where the charger sat on the wall, he deposited the phone into it, it lighting up as it turned on, before turning to begin making himself some breakfast. He had barely gotten two waffles in the toaster however when the shrill ring of the landline interrupted him, prompting him to race over to the wall to snatch it up, but just as his fingers brushed against it, another hand appeared out of nowhere and wrenched it off the wall, an all too familiar voice cheerily calling out “Parker Residence, the guest-man of the house speaking, how may I direct your call?”

“Wade!” Peter tried to reprimand but he knew his amused grin gave him away as he half-heartedly went to take the phone off him.

“Uh huh,” the merc was nodding, ignoring the brunet’s protests, smacking his hands away as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the phone, “he’s otherwise engaged at the moment. Can I take a message? Oh I see, yeah, yeah, yeah, sure.”

Peter folded his arms and tilted his head, hoping his stance said serious and annoyed more than his face did.

Wade’s eyes glinted with mirth as he stuck his tongue out at him, phone still to his ear.

“Sure thing, Vivienne. And you work with…oh awesome! Me too! Well, no, I’m more of a Cap fan myself but…oh I know, right?! So dreamy!”

Peter’s jaw clenched tightly, Wade merely winked at him.

“Oh look, here’s Peter now. I’ll just…oh yeah, it was nice talking to you too, Vivienne. You have a good day now!”

He held out the phone for Peter to take, grinning ear to ear. With a roll of his eyes, the scientist took it and opened the back door, stepping out into the yard (away from prying ears) before murmuring, “hello?”

“Good morning, Peter!”

The grad student bit his lip as the familiar cheery tone of his professor and boss’ assistant trickled down the phone.

“Uh, good morning to you too, Vivienne,” he replied, trying to inject some warmth into his tense voice.

“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,” she continued, her tone laced with something akin to impishness and evocativeness, “I was told I could reach you on this number if I couldn’t get through to your cell. I was wondering if you’d be able to come into the office for like a half-hour tops? I know Mr. Stark has called you away on some super-secret business, but I have some files here that need your sign off seen as Eddie is sick…”

A knot of worry tightened in his gut as he was reminded of Eddie. None of his initial searches had turned up anything, likewise with any of Clint and Natasha’s surveillance, it was if his friend had just…vanished. The sooner he could get this exonerate-Spider Man-plan over and done with so he and Deadpool could focus fully on finding Eddie, the better.

“Asshole,” he threw in Wade’s direction as he walked back into the kitchen a few minutes later, halting where the merc was standing at the toaster, waiting on some waffles. His waffles.

The Canadian snorted, rubbing his hands together gleefully as the toaster popped. Peter stared at him as he moved about the kitchen as comfortably as if he lived there. A familiar warmth settled into his chest, blossoming as Wade spent more and more time in his childhood home. It was the same feeling he had gotten when they ate lunch and did dishes together as his aunt read the newspaper behind them. If he had to dig deep and put a name to the feeling he would say it was like that of warm sunlight on his skin, like being wrapped up in a large blanket on a cold night, a contentedness, domesticity…home.   

So. Much. Fucking. Trouble.

“So how do you take your waffles, Pete—”

“I uh gotta go, actually. I’ll be back in a bit,” he cut across the merc, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked backwards towards the front door.

Wade watched him go, his head tilted in confusion.

“Wait, you’re not going into work, are you? I thought you know, with somebody framing you for stealing a stiff from the lab that you were gonna take a few days off?”

Peter waved his hand dismissively, still backing away.

“I just gotta sign some papers, I’ll be in and out. It’s no big—”

“People are trying to kill you, Peter,” Wade interjected, his tone staid, stepping closer to him, hand still gripping the plate.

He’s ignoring his waffles. He must be serious…

Hazel eyes watched as the taller man approached him, sleep swept yet jarring in his offbeat gravity, halting mere feet from him, chocolate eyes meeting his, unblinking as he spoke softly yet resolutely: “if you insist on going, then I insist on going with you,” he finished before unceremoniously shoving a waffle into Peter’s mouth.

And that’s how he found himself on the subway that brought him within a block of Stark Industries accompanied by Wade Wilson in his patented red and black hoodie, completely unaware of the fifty-seven missed calls he had waiting for him on his still-misplaced cell phone from an uncharacteristically worried Tony Stark… 

“You let me do all the talking, okay? That way we’ll be in and out in minutes,” he murmured under his breath, leaning in to Deadpool as they walked together into the building, the scientist flashing his security card through the system.

“Hi Peter,” Gerry the receptionist smiled as he made his way through and towards his desk, “who’s this?”

“Hey Gerry! This is Wade my…friend. I’m just here to sign some documents for Vivienne,” he gestured, throwing the man a quick grin before sauntering backwards down the hallway calling: “say hi to Stuart for me! And I’m still waiting on that key lime pie he promised. A bet’s a bet!”

He could feel the Canadian’s gaze on him the entire way towards and into the elevator. Once the doors closed he heaved a sigh and turned to him, asking wearily, “what?”

The mercenary, who had kept his head decisively down pretty much since they left May’s house, finally raised his eyes to meet his, a smirk spreading across his face, “nothin’. It’s just…this is a side to you I haven’t seen before. Peter Parker The Scientist. The nerd I’ve met before, sure, but this is like The Professional Nerd, the nerd who’s paid the big bucks to be a nerd. Whole different story. I like it.”

The brunet rolled his eyes at him, muttering “hardly the big bucks,” as the elevator stopped and they got off, walking towards a smiling Asian American woman sat behind a large desk.

“Peter, good morning!” she greeted jauntily before turning to Wade who kept his head down.

“Hi Vivienne,” the scientist smiled, ignoring her curiosity at his companion, “I’ll just sign those files and get outta your hair.”

The assistant handed over the documents, her gaze never wavering from the merc who was aberrantly quiet. After a few moments of nothing but the soft scratchings of a pen running across paper, Peter handed back the pages and threw the woman another grin.

“Thanks, Vivienne. I should be back in as normal soon. Please tell Prof—Selena, I’ll have that progress report on her desk by the 9th.”

She was no longer paying attention though, instead looking over his left shoulder. After a moment she tilted her head, meeting his gaze, “you can tell her yourself,” she said, gesturing behind him.

Slowly, Peter turned on the spot and was met by the sight of his boss walking steadily toward him, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.  

“Peter…” she began slowly, glancing from him to Wade and back again, “I wasn’t expecting you in until next week. Tony said something about reassigning you for a while?”

He nodded, his eyes flickering to the merc for a moment then back to her, “he did. I’m just here to fill in some files. I’ll have that progress report for you for the 9^th, though,” he smiled, beginning to step away, back towards the elevator.

“Oh, let me walk you out,” Selena called out, following him.

Peter sensed Wade tense as she joined them, her strong stride never wavering. They talked shop for the two minutes it took to reach the elevator and for the doors to open before turning to each other.

“That last paper kicked my ass, not gonna lie,” the grad student chuckled as he and the merc stepped into the elevator.

“But you got through it,” Selena smiled at him, “you’ve never let anything beat you. You’re far stronger and capable than you give yourself credit for. It’s like Einstein said, Peter. Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character. So keep your head on straight, don’t sweat the little things and before you know it, you’ll be here full time,” she winked, taking a step back to regard him.

Peter’s blood ran an icy cold in veins in that moment, his brain short-circuiting, barely registering when his professor addressed Wade, apparently letting him know it was nice meeting him just as the doors closed in her face, her emerald eyes dilated and glistening as they unblinkingly stared at them.

In his peripheral vision he could see the mercenary calling to him, his voice sounding distant, as if Peter was submerged in water, an entire ocean surging in his ear canal. His heart rate spiked as those familiar words spoken in Selena’s tone rang in his head over and over and over.

The quote from Einstein.

He had heard it before.

Only then it had been spoken in German.

By a dying Lucas Daniels…

~*~

She had to tell him. She knew she had to. The lies were getting more and more extravagant as the days wore on, but she found she just…couldn’t get the words out. Where the hell would she even start? For so long it had just been the two of them and now? Well, now there was Wade. Which was good. Better than good. She couldn’t be happier, in fact. One glance at those two told you everything you ever needed to know and she had to admit it warmed her heart that her nephew had finally found someone who could make him smile, joke and laugh as easily as breathe. It had been a long time, too long in fact, since she saw him do any of those things for any extended period of time but with Wade…even when he wasn’t smiling or joking or laughing, there was this lightness about him, an ease in which he carried himself as if the weight that had once pressed down upon his shoulders had lessened and while she knew it wasn’t all down to the Canadian that had carved himself a place in Peter’s life, she did know that he had a significant impact in her nephew’s emotional pendulum swinging to the happy side for once.

“You still with me?” a voice broke her from her thoughts.

Speaking of the person who swung a pendulum to the happy side…there was hers.

“Sorry Rick,” she threw him an apologetic smile with a wave of her hand, “I’m a million miles away. What were you saying?”

Her companion, a tall, broad shouldered, African-American man in his mid-sixties grinned warmly at her, his whiskey-toned eyes glinting amusedly in the early-morning sun.

“I was just gonna ask if you were up for a re-match tonight after work? You know I can’t let this winning streak of yours continue,” he teased, still a little sore at the fact that she had yet again beat him in their bi-weekly Gin-Rummy game last night.

May’s melodious laughter trickled in the air as she took another bite of her danish. It had been quite the game. It had lasted long into the night, she only retiring to her own home well after 2am. She couldn’t banish the grin from her face at the memory of Rick’s lips brushing hers at her doorstep before she snuck inside like some ill-behaved teenager only to find her sleeping nephew curled up on the couch in front of the dying fire, head resting firmly on Wade Wilson’s shoulder, he too slumbering softly, an affable expression spread across his marred face.

She couldn’t help but snap a quick picture with her phone, berating herself only slightly before heading up to bed. She ended up being the last to sleep and the first to rise, sneaking past the living room at 7am to meet Rick for their breakfast date before work. She winced at the thought of the boys’ uncomfortable limbs after sleeping all night on the couch, but still didn’t have the heart to wake them. They seemed to be perfectly fine all wrapped up in one another, more than likely going to be a little embarrassed when they awoke in such a state (oh to be a fly on the wall then) so they certainly didn’t need her to force them into consciousness or any types of revelations. They’d get there, in all senses of the word.

“You’re on,” she accepted Rick’s challenge with a grin and a kiss to the cheek as the hospital drew nearer and nearer in her sights.

“It’s a date,” he smiled, squeezing her hands gently, wishing her a good day at work and taking his leave.

May watched him go for a few moments before heading down the alley to her right, taking her regular short-cut. She was making good time this morning, able to leisurely walk, her footsteps echoing in the early-morning air. Humming softly to herself, a crease soon formed between her eyebrows as she frowned, an odd rustling sound omitting from up ahead. As she drew nearer, a hunched over figure came into view, a wounded noise escaping their lips.

“Are you okay?” she called out, her voice echoing, bouncing off the alleyway walls, “hello? Do you need help? I’m a nurs—”

A sharp pain pricked her neck, a tingling sensation rapidly flowing through her veins.  With a gasp, she blinked rapidly, stumbling and swaying on her feet as dark ink blots began to dot her vision. She felt strong hands grab her from behind, closing over her mouth and chest, dragging her backwards.

“It’s okay, Mrs Parker…” a voice said softly from a distance, a shadowy shape looming over her, “it’ll all be over soon…” were the last words she registered before darkness claimed her.

~*~

It had to be a coincidence. It just had to be. There was absolutely no way Selena Rickards was in any way involved in any of this. She just couldn’t be.

Could she?

“…and then the magical fairy delivered me to the underworld where I spent the rest of my days spanking naughty politicians and frenching Satan.”

Hazel eyes snapped up to meet familiar chocolate ones.

“What?” Peter croaked, realizing that somehow he had managed to board the subway, get off the subway and make it back into his Aunt May’s kitchen completely immersed in his panicked revelation.

The mercenary tilted his head at him, an exasperated expression on his face.

“All right, what’s up with you? You’ve been quieter than a dead mute ever since we left Stark Industries…”

Peter began to pace back and forth, no longer able to keep still, feeling like a thousand ants were crawling beneath his skin, thrumming along in time with his blood like some macabre courting ritual. 

“I think…but no, that can’t be right. That’s crazy. I have to be…it’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything,” he rambled, ignoring Wade’s look of confusion, raking his hands through his hair until it stood up in all different directions.

It conveyed the gravity of the situation that the merc wasn’t side-tracked too much by how adorable that looked.

“Peter what—”

His pocket was vibrating.

[God dammit! Writer lady really does love interrupting important conversations, doesn’t she?]

{It’s getting ridiculous at this point}

[At least she’s self-aware of the idiocy]

{Doesn’t make her stop though, does it?}

Gritting his teeth, Wade dug his hand into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. Absolutely nobody apart from the crazy guy standing in front of him and his charming aunt should have this number, so whoever was at the other end of this call surely had nothing good to say. He answered anyway. Call him curious.

“Edwards’ Crematorium: you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em, how may I direct your call?”

“Cut the crap, Wilson,” a very surprising yet familiarly gruff tone trickled into his ear.

Raising his non-existent eyebrows, Wade purred into the phone loud enough for Peter to hear even in the whatever-freak-out-crisis he seemed to be going through: “Tony Stark, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

That seemed to infiltrate the brunet’s panic long enough to get him to stop pacing and whirl around to gawp at the merc.

“Is Peter with you?”

Cutting straight to the chase. Alrighty then.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Why do you ask?”

“Put him on the phone, Deadpool.”

“There’s no point asking how you got his number, is there?”

“…I’m Iron Man.”

Wade rolled his eyes and handed the phone to Peter wordlessly.

[Who does Tin Man think he is?]

{He’s no Bruce Wayne, that’s for sure}

[I dunno…Bruce Wayne got all his shit made for him. At least Stark makes his own]

{*Gasp* Do we actually prefer Iron Man over Batman?}

[Does writer lady?]

{I think she’s conflicted. And this probably isn’t the best time to hash it out}

The mercenary ignored his boxes, instead focusing on Peter as he took the phone and listened intently to whatever Stark had to say. It wasn’t long before every drop of blood drained from his already pale face.

[Whoa. Petey’s cosplaying as Casper the Friendly Ghost]

“Yeah, yeah okay,” he was mumbling, left hand still running through his hair, pulling on it, “okay. I said okay. I won’t. Yeah. I get it, Tony. Okay. Bye.”

The room lapsed into silence as Peter hung up the phone and handed it back to Wade. When it became apparent that the younger man wasn’t going to speak first, the merc took the initiative.

“Well? What’s so important that Stark’s tin undies are all in a knot?”

Peter raked a hand down his face, heaving a sigh before finally meeting his gaze, looking more wrecked than Wade could ever remember seeing him.

“It’s Selena. She’s the one that’s trying to kill me.”

To say the Canadian was surprised was an understatement.

“Hot scientist boss lady? Why the hell would she—”

“No idea,” Spider Man interrupted with a wave of his hand, “apparently Thor found out from Heimdall. It’s…weird, though. His vision caught only glimpses, but it was enough to implicate her. I…” he faltered, his whole body deflating, “Wade…she’s Chenko.”

[Really? That’s how they find out? Idris Elba told them?]

{Writer lady did struggle with whether or not to make use of Heimdall’s power}

[It is kinda a shitty plot device]

{But it is only gonna be used this once. For reasons. Narrative and suspense reasons}

“Wait…” Wade stepped forward, desperate to wipe that horrified and defeated look from Peter’s face, “what exactly did Malibu Barbie ask Mr. Cleo, exactly? ‘Cause you know, for a guy who is apparently all seeing, he can have blind spots. Loki masquerading as Hannibal Lecter, anybody?”

The grad student frowned at him, obviously not following him at all.

[Uh, nobody knows about that until Thor 3, big guy]

{And technically, we’re not one hundred per cent what happened to Heimdall at the end of Thor 2 so…}

The merc waved away his boxes’ arguments, taking another step towards the brunet, “all I mean is, that maybe she is Chenko. But there is definitely more to the story. As soon as Spidey and I get the cops off his back, we can help you figure all this out. You still okay to hold up your end of the plan tonight?”

Peter nodded, “I plan on running into a door frame really, really hard.”

Wade winced. He didn’t like the idea of Petey hurting himself, but at least he knew he’d heal pretty quickly. Not that he could tell him that.

“Okay. Let’s keep on track then. One problem at a time. We’ll get to potentially-murderous-boss-lady. First, let’s focus on exonerating Spidey. Now…where’s your corn syrup and food dye?”

~*~

The cops were idiots. No doubt about it. Especially that Cassidy asshole. How they could actually believe they would be capable of capturing Spider Man unawares let alone arrest him, was beyond him. Yet, they did. And would. But only because he wanted to be caught.

Sure, Wade knew Spidey was Peter when they started hatching this plan, but that didn’t mean he had every aspect of it down pat. In fact, part of it he had no idea how Peter was going to implement without giving himself away, but that was kinda the fun of it. And wow, did Wade love fun when it had anything to do with that adorable, bespectacled brunet.

He had kissed him. Well, he had kissed Spider Man. Whatever. It was glorious. And terrifying. And really, really dumb. And he loved every stupid second of it. That didn’t mean it was his brightest idea, though. They were in this weird limbo now. Spidey kissed him and he had kissed Spidey. Turn about is fair play and all that. But where did that leave him and Peter?

The same Peter who was under the impression that Wade still thought Spider Man was an entirely different entity than the dorky grad student he had been getting to know these last few months. The same Peter who seemed skittish and awkward around him since he laid one on him. The same Peter who despite all that, had kissed him back with as much fervour and force as he had?

Fucked if he knew.

But in that uncertainty, lay an anticipation, an unfurling exhilaration festering under all the nerves, the qualms and the second-guessing. An anticipation that seemed to hold the promise of great things, sparked a flare of hope in Wade’s veins, a sensation he hadn’t been familiar with in far, far too long. But, as with most things, that positive feeling was counter-balanced by a bad. The fear of the unknown, the unease of a path finally chosen, the embarking of a journey never taken before…

He had to do something. The other shoe had to drop sooner or later. Waking up this morning to a mop of unruly hair on his shoulder, tickling his jaw, had been the last straw. He had watched him for a moment, several moments actually, as the sunlight shone over his face. He had looked so…striking, his long eyelashes resting on his slightly rose-tinted cheeks behind his black-rimmed glasses. Wade’s heart had been a crescendo in his chest at the sweet torture of the sight, warmed by the touch of skin on skin and the gentle pressure of a body against his. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up next to someone before he met Peter, shared a bed with him. He had forgotten just how…intimate it could be, even without sex.

It was there, sitting on May Parker’s worn couch that the intimacy hit him full force, not surprisingly, in the few times that he and Peter had shared a bed. They had always been careful to keep a distance between them, but there, wedged on the sofa in front of the dying embers of the fire they were practically one flesh, breathing in each other’s air, limbs heavy and entwined. It felt…right. Righter than anything Wade had felt in a long time.

And that was beyond terrifying. And exhilarating. And most definitely something that he had to address, sooner rather than later.

Before it drove him crazy.

…or crazier than he already was, anyway.

As he stood there, in the alley, waiting on Peter, or more accurately Spider Man, he couldn’t help but make the decision. Something had to give. It was time, he realized that now. Had realized it a long time ago actually, but was only willing to admit it this morning, after the kiss, after the innocent sleeping together and after Spider Man had finally apologized for everything that had gone down between them.

Mind made up, he tried to supress the excited yet jittery smirk that spread across his face as he heard footsteps approach.

“Where did you come from?” he asked the darkness, calling over his shoulder, hoping, damn well nearly praying for the response he desperately wanted to hear.

“Do you believe in time travel?” Spider Man did not disappoint, delivering the Donnie Darko quote as easy as breathing as he took the last few steps towards Deadpool, walking around to face him.

“You’re early,” Wade remarked with a tilt of his head, his heart thrumming quickly in his chest as the smirk on his face morphed into a full smile, safely hidden from beneath his mask.

“Well, I thought the sooner we got this shit show on the road the better,” came the deadpan response, the hero motioning with his hand for Deadpool to turn around.

“Gonna strip now, Spidey?” the Canadian couldn’t help but tease as he dutifully turned and faced the wall.

“Don’t get too excited,” the arachnid responded, the amusement tinging his voice, albeit reluctantly.

“Sorry, can’t promise that,” the merc told the wall with a flourish of his hand.

“Is Peter clear on the plan?”

“Oh somethin’ tells me that Peter is clearer on the plan than I’ll ever be,” Wade couldn’t help but cheekily reply.

If the younger man suspected something was up, however, he didn’t let on. The mercenary listened intently as the sound of rusting clothes echoed around them. He tried not to let him viscerally affect him though, and deserved every medal going that he didn’t turn on the spot right then and there and rip off the rest of Peter’s clothes, push him into the wall and fuck him harder than he had ever been fucked or would ever be fucked again. 

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Spider Man’s slightly worried tone broke through his fantasy.

“Geez, Spidey. You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve worn your suit,” Deadpool scoffed with faux-offense.

“It’s the first time I’ve been actually conscious to give you permission.”

“Hey, I saved your ass last time. Cammy didn’t kill you and the paper even wrote a nice thing about you. Win-win.”

“This is different, Deadpool—”

“Yeah, yeah, incarceration changes things, I get it. You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve been in jail.”

“It’s the first time you’ve been in jail dressed as me.”

“Well then I guess I’m officially poppin’ Spidey’s jail cherry then, huh?”

“Jail cherry?”

“It sounded better in my head.”

“Why do I feel like that should be your personal catchphrase?”

A brief silence formed at those words, quickly followed by a trickle of laughter from the two of them. A good verbal sparring always brought out their giddiness.

“Here,” hands snuck around Wade suddenly, almost like a backwards hug, thrusting the red and blue spandex into his hands.

“Get dressed already, before I come to my senses and realize how incredibly stupid this plan is…”

The mercenary didn’t need to be told twice.

“You gonna turn around too, Spidey? I’m a modest girl, after all,” he asked, his voice a lot more nonchalant than he actually was.

Even after all the recent revelations, it didn’t mean his insecurities just melted away.

[Ha! Melted. Like your face]

{And the rest of you}

Trying to ignore his boxes, Wade forced himself out of clothes and into the too-tight spandex. He was larger than Spider Man, in height and in build, but he was banking on the cop’s stupidity and their desperation to catch the webbed-wonder than they wouldn’t read too much into it. Distantly, he registered Peter’s hitch in breathing and silently wondered if the younger man actually did turn around or if he was now staring openly at the merc’s naked back as he dropped his pants, exposing his non-boxer-clad ass to the open air.

[I see a bad moon rising…]

{And it’s full as fuck}

“Not as cold as I was expecting it to be tonight,” he couldn’t help but comment, his nerves frayed as he quickly began peeling on the spandex, trying to bend over as little as possible.

[Now you’re just teasing]

{Not so eager to give Petey a show now, are ya?}

“You’re…” Spider Man breathed, clearly perturbed, “you’re going commando in my suit?!”

“Why change the habit of a life time?” the Canadian quipped, pulling up the rest of the spandex onto his chest, frowning as he found a key piece of the suit missing.

“Where’s the mask?” he asked, looking around his feet to make sure he didn’t drop it.

The clearing of a throat caught his attention, urging him to turn around.

There, he was met with the sight of a casually-dressed-from-the-neck-down Spidey, mask still firmly on his face.

With a roll of his eyes, Wade approached him, basking in the smell of the suit, a mixture of earthy scents, mint and something so uniquely Peter, he couldn’t give it a name.

Halting barely a foot from the shorter man, he tilted his head, his very un-masked head, his chocolate eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“I’m not sure the plan works without the mask, Spidey,” he whispered, the moment inexplicably feeling as if it demanded a more hushed tone as the tension between them rose higher and higher with each passing second.

“I’ve been told I’ve a kinda recognizable face. No idea why,” he shrugged as Peter let out a small laugh.

“It’s ‘cause it has so much character,” he replied, a smile in his tone.

“Is that what they’re calling it now? Well in that case, I’ve got enough ‘character’ for an entire book series, TV show and a bad made-for-TV-movie.”

The two men shared a chortle, it mingling together in the short space.

Spider Man’s hands twitched at his sides before slowly raising to his neck, slowly peeling the material up and over his jaw, leaving it bunched up just under nose, his mouth and chin exposed. He gestured with his left hand for Deadpool to turn around again.

Wade bit his lip as the oh-so-very familiar sliver of skin came into view. It sparking something in him, something that made him bold.

“Kiss for luck?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could really give them any conscious thought. Not that that would have made any difference.

But, just as he was about to make some sarcastic remark to try smooth over the impending awkwardness, Peter surprised him yet again by surging forward, capturing his lips, both hands cradling his face.

It was different to the other kisses they had shared. What it lacked in intensity, it made up for in tenderness, an unspoken promise, one of which neither of them were entirely aware of, passing between them.

Far too soon, they broke apart, a brushing of lips all they really had time for.

A chuckle escaped Wade as he forced his eyes open, his hand creeping up to clasp the bottom of Spider Man’s mask.

“Just when I thought I had you all figured out, you surprise me yet again. You really are something else…Peter Parker.”

With that, he pulled the mask up and over the other man’s face but turned away immediately, not meeting Peter’s surely astonished gaze and instead high-tailing it towards where the big showdown between Spidey and the cops was due to take place.

But that didn’t stop him from hearing that gasp of absolute astonishment that followed him into the darkness.

It was nice to know that after everything, he was still capable of surprising Peter too...

~*~

It was a simple plan, really.

One might even call it idiotic.

[One being us]

{And more than likely the vast majority of the readers}

But with the cops involved, it wasn’t bound to be anything else.

So, that was how, fifteen minutes after having his entire world rocked (and not necessarily in the good way) Peter Parker found himself smearing homemade fake blood (curtesy of corn syrup and red food dye) on his pant leg and lying down in the middle of an empty construction site, cell-phone in hand, having called ‘Spider Man’ in distress to lure him into a lame trap that had no chance of capturing a fly let alone Deadpool masquerading as the web-crawler.

But, seen as dozens of armed police men and women were hidden strategically around the construction site, Peter did what he could in that situation, and played along, trying desperately to ignore the fact that Wade knew.

He fucking knew.

Peter had no idea for how long or how he actually figured it out, but Wade knew who he really was.

And the grad-student-slash-vigilante had absolutely no idea how to handle that.

So, he lay in the comforting arms of distraction. And if that meant that he had to play the damsel in distress in front of a quarter of the 12^th Precinct of the NYPD, then so be it.

He was barely in the dirt mock-clutching his leg for ten minutes before he heard the tell-tale sign of Wade’s unmistakable gait approaching.

Lights, camera, action.

“Oh my god, Peter! Are you okay?”

He fought to keep his heart beat under control when Deadpool came into view, basked in moonlight, looking downright majestic in his suit as he raced towards him, the faux-concern in his voice at the sight of his ‘injured’ leg, seeming for all intents and purposes, entirely genuine.

“I-I’m fine,” he forced himself to reply, remembering the ‘script’ that the cops made him memorize, “I…I was jumped by some guys. They got my wallet, my phone…” he trailed off, knowing he was not winning any Oscars for this performance, but far too overwhelmed by everything else to give a damn.

“What way did they go?” Deadpool asked, looking out into the distance, “maybe I can—”

Suddenly, the entire site was flooded with artificial light, blinding the two men as a loud voice called out with a megaphone.

“Spider Man! Don’t move! You are under arrest!”

Peter took that as his cue to get up, quickly retreating into the darkness, hugging his black and red hoodie to his body, a cop nodding and clapping him on the shoulder for a ‘job well done.’

Silently, he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Dozens of cops clambered onto the site, their guns all pointed firmly at Wade as he stood frozen to the spot.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Detective Beharie began reading him his rights, “anything you do or say will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

Wade nodded, holding his hands up in a surrendering motion over his head and getting down on his knees.

“Cuff ‘em,” Detective Cassidy advised an officer with a gruff tone, “if you so much as twitch, I won’t hesitate to empty my clip into you. Got it?”

Beharie practically rolled her eyes at her partner before turning to the Canadian, “I assure you, you’re perfectly safe. I’m going to accompany you to the station where we can then contact your lawyer, okay?”

Wade nodded, allowing two cops haul him to his feet and escort him to a squad car, depositing him in it.

Peter bit his lip, hoping the next part of the plan would work as he whispered into the darkness, “show time…”

~*~

Unsurprisingly, this wasn’t his first time in an interrogation room.

It was however, the first time he was dressed as someone else and booked on a crime that he actually didn’t commit.

Life was full of little surprises.

“I swear, I’m telling the truth,” he said for what felt the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes, “would I lie to you? Well, my hips might. Unlike Shakira’s, they’re dirty, dirty liars. But the rest of me is all truth, I swear.”

Beharie and Cassidy exchanged dubious glances from their side of the table.

“You have an attorney you’d like us to contact?” the former asked.

“Yeah, actually. These two guys based outta Hell’s Kitchen. Henson and Cox, I think? Or was it Neilson and Murtagh? Whatever. One’s fat and the other’s blind. Ha! Kinda sounds like the start of a joke, huh?”

Neither of the detectives laughed however.

“Look,” Wade sighed, trying to gesture at them but couldn’t as his hands were chained to the table, “did it ever occur to you two numb nuts, that if I really did those things, and Peter was all connected to it, then I wouldn’t have come to his rescue tonight? That I would have instead tried to finish the job? Why the hell would you ask Peter to do this if you actually thought his life was in—”

“Because we never actually thought his life was in danger,” Beharie interrupted him with a wave of her hand, speaking very quietly, her gaze travelling to the two-way mirror for a moment before snapping back to him.

“My partner and I, are actually two of the only members of the NYPD that don’t think you’ve gone off the deep end and decided to bomb one place and shoot up another,” she continued, walking around the desk and leaning against it, inches from him.

“We just had to keep up appearances,” Cassidy piped up, “keep the bosses happy. If they think you’re a maniac, it makes our job easier to get permission to bring you in. Parker told us that you weren’t trying to kill him and we believed him. We may not agree with your methods Spider Man, but we don’t think you’re a bomber or attempted murder.”

[Can’t say I saw that coming]      

{Who knew Cassidy had another mode other than asshole?}

“Then why the dog and pony show?” Wade asked, curiosity well and truly piqued.

After everything that went down tonight, he deserved some answers, dammit. Interrogation room chairs hurt his tushie!

“To get you here,” Beharie replied, “we knew you’d never come willingly so…let’s say we capitalized on the fact that someone is so determined to frame you for crimes you didn’t commit.”

“To get me here for what?!” he exclaimed, more than a little exasperated, “what could possibly be so important that you had to orchestrate a ridiculous plot to—”

“We know who set the RCorp Factory fire last year,” Beharie interrupted him, “the one that killed the elementary school teacher and wounded several others. Their body washed ashore a few weeks ago. We think it could be connected to whoever is behind framing you and trying to kill Peter…” she trailed off, a solemn expression on her face as she leaned forward, “so, tell us, Spider Man…how much do you know about Skyline Laboratories?”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

15,077 words. *Collapses from exhaustion*

Hey! Hey, wake up writer lady! This is no time for sleeping, dammit!

Sorry. BIG shout-out and thank you to the wonderful DreamFeathers over at ff.net for all her help and advice.

She’s criss-cross-awesome-sauce!

*snort* Didn’t realize you were a thirteen year old girl.

Doesn’t make it any less true.

Touché.

You can’t touch my touché *wink*

Oh please. We all know how easy you are, Wade.

*Southern accent* Well, I do declare!

That wasn’t a denial.

No. It wasn’t.

*cough* Also…it’s my birthday soon.

It is. Your point?

I…I like—

Reviews?

*Blush*

Subtle.

Shut up. *sticks out tongue*      

Dude. You’re 24. Have some respect for yourself.

25 on October 9th.

Dear God.

NEXT CHAPTER TEASER:

Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson was having a good night. Well, as good a night as he could in this ridiculous heat. And of course the A.C. was busted, again. So not a very good night at all, really. So much for his reckless optimism. It also didn’t help his drastically souring mood that Matt was off gallivanting around Hell’s Kitchen (as he was wont to do) after getting his ass seriously handed to him only two days before.

The Punisher? Seriously? Who calls themselves that?

Karen had taken a half-day, meeting up with Doris for lunch and gone to run some other errands before heading home. She hadn’t been sleeping well, the lawyer noticed, so he sent her off with a smile and well wishes to Mrs Urich. That left Foggy all by his lonesome, working on the O’Connell case from mid-day to now, clearly close to burning the midnight oil even though he promised himself he wouldn’t. Ever since the Fisk debacle, the firm had begun doing marginally better, their number of clientele rising ever so slightly. It was enough to keep them in the black, if only a little.

But that also meant that he and Matt had to delegate more and more time to the office than they had in their first few months. This was no problem for Foggy, but Matt…the crime-rate had slowed in the wake of Fisk’s reign, but only for a short while. Now it seemed things were beginning to heat back up in Hell’s Kitchen, which meant that Matt was back out there, every single night, sometimes too beat to shit to make it in to work in the morning.

But he tried and Foggy respected that. Didn’t mean he didn’t worry his ass off every damn time though.

Chapter Text

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Are you actually telling me or singing the Van Morrison song?

Both.

Uh…thanks?

YOU MADE ME AND PETEY KISS IN THE LAST CHAPTER! TWICE!

I did. There’s more to come soon, too.

*incoherent babbling* *flailing* *collapsing*

Oh, boy. Wade, honey? You still with us?

…

Wade?

…

Alrighty then. Ahem. Just note, I am by no means a scientist. I mean, I sorta wanted to be at one point in my life, but then I realized I’d rather just write one for TV. So…yeah. The ‘science’ I go into in this chapter, is probably by no means accurate, or you know, actual science. Oh well.

~*~

“Just when I thought I had you all figured out, you surprise me yet again. You really are something else…Peter Parker.”

The brunet barely registered the mask being pulled from off his head as the words rang in his ears, a gasp being knocked from his lungs with startling force. Gaping, his hazel eyes followed the vague Wade-shaped-shadow as it sprinted away from him into the darkness until he was completely engulfed.

Holy shit, he knows…

That was the one and only thought that kept whirling around and around Peter Parker’s brain for the next two hours as he participated in ‘the trap’, watching Wade being led away by the police and now prepared to initiate the final part of the plan to clear Spider Man’s name. Gritting his teeth, he tried to shove down the feeling of ridiculousness that was ebbing away in his stomach and resolutely punched himself square in the face.

Satisfied to feel a deep cut marring his cheek, Peter straightened up, running his hands through his hair to mess it up (more than it already was) before ripping the hem of his T-shirt.

There. That should be enough…

Taking a deep breath, he took out his phone, leaned against the wall of the police station, basked in shadows, waiting for someone to pick up.

“12^th Precinct,” a gruff tone uttered down the phone after a moment.

“Uh, Detective Beharie, please,” the grad-student murmured, taking a quick peek around the corner to see if he could spot anything.

“She’s busy. Can I help you?” the voice asked, sounding as if that was the last thing they wanted to do.

Sighing, Peter just hung up.

Looks like I’ll just have to do this the old fashioned way.

And by the old fashioned way, he meant the not-strictly-above-board way. He had no choice though, it wouldn’t take long for his cuts and bruises to begin to heal, so he had to get moving if he wanted the someone-else-just-attacked-me-while-Spider Man-was-in-your-custody-so-it-can’t-be-him-that’s-trying-to-kill-me plan to work.

Crossing the street, Peter utilized his spider agility and sneaked into the precinct without detection, his senses trying to hone in on Wade’s whereabouts. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and focussed until the familiar tingling crept up his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

There he is…

With a quick look over his shoulder he weaved light-footedly through the precinct, towards interview room 4 at the end of a long hallway. Biting his lip, Peter let his curiosity get the better of him, pivoting to the door right next to it and deftly slipping inside.

He had never seen the other side of a two-way mirror before. It was surreal. Like he was privy to something utterly cloistered, like he was in the projector room at a movie theatre or behind the satin curtain at a play. With bated breath he watched through the special glass as two detectives paced the length of the infinitesimal room, lording over the man in the Spidey suit, who sat slack against the metallic chair, hands bound to the table by thick, steel shackles.

“I swear I’m telling you the truth,” Deadpool was saying in an almost childlike tone, “would I lie to you? Well, my hips might. Unlike Shakira’s, they’re dirty, dirty liars. But the rest of me is all truth, I swear.”

Peter barely suppressed an eye roll as the detectives exchanged dubious looks.

The merc wasn’t the best at playing innocent, even when he was…

“You have an attorney you’d like us to contact?” Beharie asked with a hint of weariness.

Wade shifted ever so slightly in the chair, his torso angled forward, “yeah actually,” he nodded, head tilted, “these two guys based outta Hell’s Kitchen. Henson and Cox, I think? Or was it Neilson and Murtagh? Whatever. One’s fat and the other’s blind. Ha! Kinda sounds like the start of a joke, huh?”

Peter frowned as the room lapsed into silence. The merc was supposed to ask for the lawyer they discussed, one of Tony’s representatives, not some guys from Hell’s Kitchen.

What the hell is he doing?!

“Look,” Wade sighed, his hands making an aborted move, “did it ever occur to you two numb nuts, that if I really did those things, and Peter was all connected to it, then I wouldn’t have come to his rescue tonight? That I would have instead tried to finish the job? Why the hell would you ask Peter to do this if you actually thought his life was in—”

“Because we never actually thought his life was in danger,” Beharie interjected very quietly, her eyes flickering to towards the two-way mirror.

Peter froze like a deer caught in headlights. If he didn’t know better, he would say that the detective’s steely gaze could see right through to him.

“My partner and I, are actually two of the only members of the NYPD that don’t think you’ve gone off the deep end and decided to bomb one place and shoot up another,” she continued, walking around the desk and leaning against it, inches from Wade.

“We just had to keep up appearances,” Cassidy piped up with a fold of his arms, “keep the bosses happy. If they think you’re a maniac, it makes our job easier to get permission to bring you in. Parker told us that you weren’t trying to kill him and we believed him. We may not agree with your methods Spider Man, but we don’t think you’re a bomber or attempted murder.”

Well, colour him surprised. Shocked. Downright aghast. There actually was some cops who didn’t think Spider Man was a public menace. Well, two anyway. But then—

“Why the dog and pony show?” Wade asked his question for him, intrigue interlaced with frustration in his tone.

Beharie shrugged, “to get you here. We knew you’d never come willingly so…let’s say we capitalized on the fact that someone is so determined to frame you for crimes you didn’t commit.”

Irritation spiked in Peter’s veins, his jaw tightening at her words. It was just like the cops to coordinate something like this instead of just trying to actually talk to him like he was a decent, reasonable human being and not some unpredictable danger to society.

“To get me here for what?!” Wade aptly expressed his exasperation at the situation for him, “what could possibly be so important that you had to orchestrate a ridiculous plot to—”

“We know who set the RCorp Factory fire last year,” Beharie interrupted him, causing Peter’s heart to leap into his throat, “the one that killed the elementary school teacher and wounded several others. Their body washed ashore a few weeks ago. We think it could be connected to whoever is behind framing you and trying to kill Peter…” she trailed off, a solemn expression on her face as she leaned forward, “so, tell us, Spider Man…how much do you know about Skyline Laboratories?”

Peter gaped, unable to believe his ears. The fire. The RCorp fire that plagued his dreams for months and haunted his waking hours, that had something to do with all of this.

But how?

When the brunet was wracking his brain, a steady stream of dread rising from the depths of his stomach, Wade was scoffing loudly, for all intents and purposes looking completely unfazed by the line of questioning. But Peter knew him better than that…he was as rattled as he was.

“Never heard of it. And why the hell would a fire over a year ago have anything to do with offing some nobody college kid?”

The two detectives exchanged another weighted glance before the former nodded and the latter stood up, opening the door and whispering to a uniformed officer.

“All right then, Spider Man,” Beharie murmured, shrugging a little less nonchalantly than she seemed to want, “if you say so. We’ll take a break. Give you time to have a long, hard think about your options here. Let’s get you that lawyer, shall we?”

~*~

Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson was having a good night. Well, as good a night as he could in this ridiculous heat. And of course the A.C. was busted, again. So not a very good night at all, really. So much for his reckless optimism. It also didn’t help his drastically souring mood that Matt was off gallivanting around Hell’s Kitchen (as he was wont to do) after getting his ass seriously handed to him only two days before.

The Punisher? Seriously? Who calls themselves that?

Karen had taken a half-day, meeting up with Doris for lunch and gone to run some other errands before heading home. She hadn’t been sleeping well, the lawyer noticed, so he sent her off with a smile and well wishes to Mrs Urich. That left Foggy all by his lonesome, working on the O’Connell case from mid-day to now, clearly close to burning the midnight oil even though he promised himself he wouldn’t. Ever since the Fisk debacle, the firm had begun doing marginally better, their number of clientele rising ever so slightly. It was enough to keep them in the black, if only a little.

But that also meant that he and Matt had to dedicate more and more time to the office than they had in their first few months. This was no problem for Foggy, but Matt…the crime-rate had slowed in the wake of Fisk’s reign, but only for a short while. Now it seemed things were beginning to heat back up in Hell’s Kitchen, which meant that Matt was back out there, every single night, sometimes too beat to shit to make it in to work in the morning.

But he tried and Foggy respected that. Didn’t mean he didn’t worry his ass off every damn time though.

Running a tired hand through his hair, the lawyer screwed his eyes shut for a moment, suppressing a yawn. It had been a long day at Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys at Law, and he had just gotten off the phone with his mother, explaining yet again, that yes, he and her darling Matt would definitely be present for Christmas this year and yes, he did ask the fabulous Miss Page too and yes, he would let her know as soon as he got a response and yes—

His office phone’s sudden shrill ringing cut the mental replay of his mom’s previous call, short. With a roll of his eyes, he prepared himself for another onslaught of his mother’s Christmas ideas and more not-so-vague innuendos where he and his friends were concerned. Heaving a sigh, he picked up the phone and jumped straight to his well-worn explanation:

“Mom, about Karen— no, we’re not dating, getting married or having children. And Matty, like I’ve been telling you since the dawn of time— no, we’re not dating, getting married or having children, so stop asking, okay?!”

“…Mr Nelson?”

Annnnd that wasn’t his mom.

Awesome.

“Uh…yeah,” he cleared his throat, embarrassment burning his cheeks, “this is Mr Nelson of Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys at Law. How may I help you?”

Slowly, his eyebrows raised higher and higher to the ceiling in the next few minutes as he listened intently to the voice at the other end of the phone.

“Spider Man. The superhero. Has been arrested. And said I’m his lawyer,” he stated choppily rather than asked the officer, hardly believing the words that had fallen out of his mouth.

“He did. So…can he expect you, Mr Nelson?”

Foggy glanced wearily down at the mountains of paper work littering his desk.

He could do with a break.

Matt was still out waging the war on crime in his ridiculous red get-up, but Foggy could handle this on his own.

After all, he had had his fair share of experiences with vigilantes lately, what’s the worst that could happen?

~*~

“And he said that.”

“Yeah.”

“Those were the exact words out of his mouth.”

“You hard of hearing now, grandpa?” Tony Stark asked in annoyance, throwing up his hands and pacing back and forth in front of an irked Steve Rogers, “it’s like I said already. I told Parker to stay outta trouble, keep his nose clean, the usual, until we get back, and he said, and I quote: ‘of course I’ll not be a complete tool and do anything stupid, Mr Stark. That would just be selfish and idiotic of me. Not to mention inconsiderate of my teammates. So yes, I’ll be on my best behaviour until you return. Have a safe flight!’”

There was a beat of silence in which the other Avengers stared at Iron Man, each face identical in their doubtful expression.

“I don’t believe you,” Rogers responded, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m shocked. And appalled. Really,” Tony deadpanned, taking a sip of his scotch.

“So, Selena Rickards. She used to work here and now works for Stark. Didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” Steve turned to Fury instead of continuing what would likely become an even more childish discussion with Tony.

It had been a few hours since Thor had informed them that Rickards was Chenko. In that time, they had broken up to gather as much information as they could, Steve organising a team of SHIELD agents to visit and question Rickards and Tony calling Peter to inform him of the development, before re-convening in the conference room.

“There wasn’t a need to. She was properly vetted. No red flags showed up,” the ex-Director shrugged.

“Huh. Weird how she now has more red flags than a military training exercise,” Romanoff remarked dryly.

“Seen as she has stolen the LK90 serum, had Lucas dose Blye with it and…you know…tried to kill Peter, and all,” Clint joined in, tilting his head at the bald man.

“Still think she didn’t warrant mentioning?” Steve asked, stopping a mere foot from Fury, jaw clenched.

But Fury didn’t seem to be paying attention anymore. Instead, his brow was furrowed, his visible eye staring intensely into thin air.

“Did you say Blye?” he asked Barton suddenly.

“Uh, yeah…why?” the archer replied, his voice tinged with confusion.

With a shake of his head, the ex-director snatched up the piece of paper Natasha had found in the records room and waved it in the air before slamming it down on the table, pointing at a name five names under Selena’s.

Each member of The Avengers, Maria Hill and the Skyline scientist all leaned forward to glance at what he pointed to.

Tony’s eyebrows raised, his gaze flickering to Fury who looked beyond resolute.

“That’s why.”

~*~

Foggy Nelson stepped up to the reception at the NYPD’s 12^th Precinct. After a long cab ride in which he mentally berated himself on all the countless ways this was surely to be a stupid idea, and leaving a hurried and vague voice mail for Matt, he clutched his briefcase that consisted of exactly a notepad, pen, and half eaten sandwich from Jitters, and strode assertively into the police station, head held high.

He hadn’t been to this part of the city in a long time. Not since before the battle of New York. Aliens falling from the sky through a magic space portal tended to tamper his desire to travel this far. And yet, here he was. Ready to represent none other than the web-slinger, the wall crawler, the friendly neighbourhood Spider Man himself.

What the hell am I thinking?!

“Can I help you, Sir?” a very bored sounding officer asked, flicking his pen back and forth on his desk, not bothering to look up.

“I’m Franklin Nelson. Defense Attorney. Here to see my client uh…Spider Man,” he replied, wincing at his vacillating tone. 

It still managed to catch the officer’s attention, though.

Straightening up, the young cop nodded vigorously, “of course, counsellor. You’ll find him in Interview Room 4 with Detectives Beharie and Cassidy. They’re expecting you.”

Foggy nodded his thanks, frowning a little as he suddenly realized that every eye in the place was now on him as he walked down the corridor. It seemed the arachnid has caused quite the stir. Hardly surprising, really. When The New York Bulletin started printing more and more about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, the buzz that had generated around everything and anything even slightly Daredevil-related had been aplenty. He could only imagine what it’d be like if Matt ever got himself caught and put under a microscope by the local PD.

His blood ran cold at the mere thought, a shiver flowing up his spine. Nope, he definitely couldn’t think about that. Ever.

Think about the case. Think about Spider Man.

Foggy had gotten very little details over the phone. Just that the webbed wonder was brought in on supposed attempted murder charges. He had seen the news. Didn’t believe for a second that one of the Avengers had gone off the deep end and joined the dark side. There was definitely something else at play here. I mean, was it really that hard to believe that it was just somebody else dressed up as Spider Man taking a shot at those people?

But, as he and Matt could personally attest to, when it came to the media, public opinion could easily be swayed. So yeah, some people definitely thought that it was actually Spider Man that had put a bomb in a building and shot up a coffee shop, no matter how ludicrous it seemed. That’s why Foggy was nervous when the articles on Daredevil became more frequent. He wasn’t always a favourite in Hell’s Kitchen, and who’s to say that one of these days the favourable outlook on him and his deeds wouldn’t sway back to the hatred, fear, and disgust of before?

But that was a worry for another day.

Foggy was now outside Interview Room 4.

Time to get this show on the road…

Right hand raising to the handle, he swung open the door, letting it bang loudly against the wall. This didn’t seem like the time to knock.

“Detectives,” he nodded to the unimpressed cops, “I’d like a moment with my client. Alone.”

And wow, wasn’t that a weird sentence to say out loud?

He, Franklin P. Nelson of Hell’s Kitchen, co-founder of the minuscule law firm that was Nelson and Murdock, was actually going to talk with his client, their client, one seventh of an illustrious team of superheroes, Spider Frickin’ Man.

He may throw up.

But only after he’s done.

He was still a professional, after all.

“Counsellor,” the female detective tilted her head in his direction as she and her partner begrudgingly left the room without a backwards glance, closing the door with a snap behind them.

The small room was engulfed in a perplexing silence. Foggy made several false starts before he eventually managed to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, his eyes staring widely at the superhero sat in front of him, hands bound to a steel table.

He had only ever seen the web-slinger on the news and in newspaper articles but up close, he had to admit, he looked larger, taller, wider…

He almost looked menacing. You know, only if Foggy was the easily intimated type.

“M-Mister uh…Spider Man,” he forced himself to speak, shoving down the overwhelming desire to wince, “my name is—”

“I know who you are,” the vigilante cut across him, his tone dry, “I’m the one that got them to call you, remember?”

The attorney merely waited for him to continue, clasping his hands in front of him.

“So, as you’ve probably surmised, Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb out there, think I tried to kill some college kid and random other New Yorkers, hence the fancy bling,” he finished waving his wrists at Foggy, the chains clanging loudly around the room.

Nelson nodded, crossing the room and sitting down, taking out his notepad and pen, scribbling a few things down.

“I didn’t…just for the record,” the web-slinger continued, leaning forward slightly.

For a few moments, the scratching of Foggy’s pen as it dutifully made notes across the yellow paper was all that could be heard.

“You and your partner, Murdock…you guys helped take down that guy. The one from the papers,” the hero piped up with that same dry tone.

Foggy tilted his head at Spider Man as he gestured with his bound hands on the table.

“Fish or something, right? Big guy terrorized like 841 square miles of downtown Manhattan. Daredevil must have had his work cut out for him.”

The lawyer bristled at the vigilante’s sarcasm. How dare he downplay everything Hell’s Kitchen had been through, everything Fisk had put them through, everything that Matt had done to try and fix it!

“He did, actually. That’s what happens when dozens of bombs are set off and snipers start taking people out left and right. I didn’t see you offering to lend a hand. Where the hell were you?” he asked, a sudden anger flaring in his veins.

Spider Man shrugged, “had bigger things goin’ on. Being an Avenger kinda warrants more than micro-managing the shit outta one neighbourhood in New York.”

A stony silence fell between them.

“You know,” Foggy began, leaning back in his chair, running a weary palm down his face, before looking him up and down again, his gaze hardening, “you’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

That seemed to pique the arachnid’s interest as he tilted his head at him.

“Oh yeah? And how’d you think I’d be?”

Nelson scoffed, throwing up his hands in frustration.

“Oh I don’t know. Humble. Gracious. Friendly?”

[Basically everything that Peter actually is]

{You’re doing a shit-tastic job at convincing this guy you’re Spidey, big guy}

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to both of them, Peter Parker watched the entire exchange with a growing sense of foreboding. This wasn’t going well at all. Wade was doing a terrible job at convincing this lawyer that he wasn’t a complete asshole, let alone innocent of attempting to commit murder.

It was time to put his part of the plan into action.

Taking a deep breath, he quietly exited the room, snapping the door shut and deftly breaking off the handle (no point risking any snoopy cop overhearing anything) and made his way down the corridor, following the voices of Beharie and Cassidy, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say and forcing himself to walk a little unsteadily.

“D-Detective Beharie!” he called out as he rounded the corner, that just so happened to be populated by more than a dozen cops within ear-shot, hoping his tone sounded appropriately distressed.

“Peter?” Beharie turned to him, exclaiming in confusion, her eyes drinking in his ragged appearance, “what the hell happened to you?!”

Biting his lip, the brunet’s gaze flickered from her to Cassidy and back again, deliberately pausing…to keep them in suspense and all that.

“I…I was attacked on my way home. T-This big guy with a knife tried to force me into a van. I-I managed to get away but only barely I—detective I…if Spider Man is in your custody than how…who could’ve…” he trailed off, looking about him as if he was lost, wringing his hands.

Through lidded eyelids, he didn’t fail to catch the telling glance between partners.

He already knew they didn’t actually think that Spider Man was a danger to him. This should be enough to get them to drop the act and let Wade go, once and for all.

Now if only he could figure out a way to get rid of whoever the hell that lawyer guy was…

~*~

Matthew Michael Murdock was having a good night. Well, as good a night as he could in this ridiculous heat and even more ridiculous suit. And of course the criminals were being even stupider and more cowardly than usual, not even giving him a decent fight to vent his frustration at failing to catch The Punisher. Again. So not a very good night at all, really.

Heaving a sigh, he climbed in through his apartment window and immediately began disrobing, grimacing as the material stuck slick to his marred and bruised skin with a thin sheen of sweat. He was calling it an early night. Hell’s Kitchen was more or less quiet, the one or two nuisances already dealt with and The Punisher being a complete no show. Besides, he wanted to make it back to the office before midnight. Guilt stabbed him in his chest as he thought about the office, and Foggy within it, all day, working on the O’Connell case alone…

On that note, he wrestled with the last of his Daredevil suit and stood, chest heaving in the middle of his sparse living room in nothing but his boxers, senses zeroing in on his cell phone. It was time to check in with his best friend.

“You have 1 new voice message from…Foggy,” his audible alert informed him as he held up his phone and put it on speaker.

“Hey buddy,” his best friend’s voice trickled around the room, sounding a little forcibly cheerful, “so I know you’re busy with your uh…pottery class and all but, listen, I got this weird call tonight. A new client. You’ll never guess who! Oh my god, I’m freaking out a little dude, if I’m honest. But anyway, I’ll fill you in when I get back from the 12^th Precinct. Later loser!”

“You have no new voice messages. Press 1 to return to the main menu…”

Matt clenched his cell phone tightly in his grasp as the voice message ended. His heart inexplicably began to pick up speed as he frantically threw on his suit, work suit. He couldn’t explain it, not really, but something about this felt…wrong. He had to get the hell down to the 12^th Precinct to where Foggy and this mysterious new client was, and he had to get there yesterday…

~*~

His nerve endings were on fire. Acid flowed in his veins, molten lava replaced his blood and every other dramatic metaphor he could possibly think of to explain the sheer physical hell he was experiencing at this very moment. Blearily, through the pain, he just about registered another body being slowly dragged into the dank room and roughly deposited on the floor like a sack of potatoes by the same mysterious man as before. It was a woman, in her late fifties/early sixties, dark hair, oddly familiar looking…

Gasping, Eddie James waited until the man left before he stumbled over to the woman, sinking down onto the grimy floor and worriedly shaking her shoulder.

“Mrs Parker? May? Can you hear me? Please wake up!”

~*~

“Burning the midnight oil again, Dr. Rickards?” Vivienne Khang called into her boss as she watched her stand, hunched over a microscope in her personal lab on the thirteenth floor of Stark Industries.

The scientist glanced up, startled at the sudden sound.

“Oh! Vivienne. Hi. Sorry,” she shook her head, smiling softly at her before scribbling down a few notes, “yeah, another late night. But what Mr. Stark wants, Mr. Stark gets…” she trailed off with a wave of her hand, slipping her goggles up over her head and depositing them on her desk.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Vivienne deadpanned, shuffling some files in her arms before flipping a long strand of dark hair over her shoulder, “anyway, that’s me done for the night. Is there anything else you need before I leave, Dr Rickards?”

Please don’t leave…

“Nope,” Selena shook her head, forcing another smile and injecting levity into her tone, “that’ll be all, Viv. Enjoy your night!”

Forlornly, jade eyes followed her assistant as she left the room through the large glass doors, walking down the corridor towards the elevators and out of sight. Once the echoed clacking of footsteps was no longer audible, Rickards let her weary shoulders slump, her entire body visibly deflating and going down like a lead balloon as she wiped the back of her hand against her brow. Biting her bottom lip, she crossed over to the kitchen area at the very back of the lab, taking off her gloves and rinsing her gaunt hands under the spray of piping hot water. She barely felt the sting however, her long limbs heavy and sluggish. Heaving a sigh, she straightened up, catching her reflection in the mirror.

Her eyes were large and glassy, her cheeks sunken, ashen and sweaty. She lost more time today. Three whole hours. That had been the worst she’d experienced in a while. She knew she was being followed, observed like some lab rat that had ingested poison and was now being watched to see just how slowly it would die. Her pre-emptive strikes hadn’t been enough, her mental exercises falling far too short. He had obviously gotten to her. Again.

Rubbing her eyes, Selena let down her hair, blowing her bangs out of her face, trying desperately to ignore the shaking in her hands. She was losing more and more control over herself. She didn’t know what she had done this time, but she was steadily losing this battle. She was…tired. Mentally, physically and emotionally, exhausted. She had hid it well, for a while, but as time went on, it was growing worse. She had lost weight, kept forgetting to eat, drink, and sleep, instead focussing on her work and ignoring the bigger picture. That had gotten easier to do over the years. She was practically an expert now.

It was only a matter of time. The little breadcrumbs she had dropped were bound to lead Peter and his associates to the right conclusion and then finally, finally it would be over. She would be free. She just had to…keep going. Had to just keep working on the antidote so she could help right her wrongs and at least have the small comfort that all of the pain, heartache and suffering could have possibly meant something. Hadn’t been in vain. She just had to—

Her knees were buckling. Frantically, she gripped the sink but it was too late, she was already slipping to the floor, a dead weight, her fatigued limbs no longer able to support her. With a heavy thump, she banged the back of her head as she crumpled onto her back, staring blearily up at the ceiling, her entire world tipping on its axis, little black ink blots doting the edge of her vision.

Distantly, she registered footsteps approaching the lab, several pairs of them. She barely had time to call out however, before a booming voice rocked her:

“Selena Rickards! You are wanted for questioning in the involvement of attempted murder…”

The scientist wasn’t a religious woman, but in that moment, as she slipped into unconsciousness, she found herself thanking every deity that may be out there.

The house of cards was finally beginning to crumble…

~*~

“That is complete B.S. and you know it,” Foggy Nelson ground out, frustration surging in his veins as he paced the room.

“Dude. Stark is totally a secret musical lover. Someone as theatrical as him has gotta be singin’ Defying Gravity, on the regular,” Spider Man snorted with a wave of his hand.

“He strikes me as more of a Popular fan,” Foggy murmured under his breath before shaking his head, “so what, he told you about his secret love affair with Broadway. Personally,” the lawyer deadpanned in disbelief.

If you had have told him only a few hours ago that he would be down at the police station with none other than Spider Man, debating whether or not his teammate was a closet theatre nerd, he would’ve thought you were crazier than Thor’s brother with the horns. Then again, if you told him last year that his best friend secretly went out at night to beat the living shit outta criminals dressed as a giant Devil, he would have thought the same.

Life was funny like that.

“Not in so many words, no,” Spider Man snickered, “call it my ‘Spidey Senses’…” he air-quoted, trailing off as he shifted a little in the chair, head tilting at him, “look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, Mr Nelson. I—I can be kinda a jackass when I’m accused of attempted murder, you know?”

The lawyer faltered in his steps, hands in his pockets. Slowly, he nodded.

“Let’s get back to it, then. How exactly did you find my firm? I woulda thought that you would utilize some of the suits on Tony Stark’s payroll. Being Spider Man and all—”

“See, that’s where we hit a little snag,” the hero interjected with a hiss to his voice and a wag of his finger, leaning forward in his seat.

Foggy’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t under—”

Again he was cut off when Spider Man adroitly broke his hands free from the shackles and stood up, walking over to the mirror and leaning his head against it.

The defense attorney gaped at him, his gaze flickering to the handcuffs and back again.

“How did you—”

“Ha! The NYPD are so cute,” Spidey murmured as he walked along the mirror, waving his hands and making jerky movements before turning to him, “dude. Super strength. Those cuffs may as well be made out of marshmallow,” he waved dismissively before gasping, “ooh yum! Now there’s a fun idea! Making a mental note for later. Marshmallow handcuffs, delicious and sexy!” he finished, a leer in his tone as he literally danced back to his chair.

What the actual fuc—

“Well, now that I know that the walls haven’t sprouted eyes or ears…to answer your question, Franklin P. Nelson, cum laude graduate of Columbia and Co-Founder of Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys At Law, based out of Hell’s Kitchen with his best friend Matthew M. Murdock, summa cum laude graduate of Columbia, the reason I called you instead of Stark’s yes men is for one reason and one reason only,” Spider Man finished all in one breath, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms, seemingly to build suspense.

Foggy stared at him.

“All right, I’ll bite,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. Apparently Tony Stark wasn’t the only theatrical Avenger. “What one reason would that be?”

“Your hair. It’s exquisite. I just had to see it up close with my eyeballs.”

Foggy blinked.

“Excuse me?”

The arachnid snorted, “nah, I’m just screwin’ with ya. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Though the hair is bangin’, dude, major props. Mark me down as super jelly. I would kill for hair like that, not kidding.”

Nelson gaped at him.

“You know, that probably isn’t the best way to convince me that you’re not actually an attempted mur…”

The words died in his throat as Spider Man suddenly pulled his mask up and over his head, exposing his face – his incredibly scarred and discoloured face.

Foggy leapt up from the chair, backing up against the wall, his heart jackhammering in his chest.

“You…you’re…”

He had heard about that face. And all the stories that came with it.

Oh shit. I’m gon die. Matt is gonna be so pissed…

“Relax, Poppin’ Fresh, I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” Spider Man—no, Deadpool, began, raising his hands in surrender.

“You’re…” he gasped, still not able to get the words out in the midst of his panic attack.

“Deadpool, Piscina De La Muerta, The Merc With The Mouth, Wade Winston Wilson, at your service,” he winked, his gaunt skin stretching grotesquely along his jaw as he grinned, extending his right hand for him to shake.

“Why…” Foggy swallowed, his eyes flickering from his hand to the door and back again, “why are you impersonating Spider Man?!”

Wilson frowned, slowly lowering his hand, apparently disappointed in his line of questioning.

“Really? That’s the first thing you ask? Alrighty then, straight to it,” he shrugged, “so, my buddy, Spidey, we’re tight, tighter than most people think we are, especially lately ‘cause me and him kinda have a thing now, I mean it’s new, so I’m not really sure where it’s going but it’s exciting, like really fucking exciting and I can’t help but hope—”

The loud clearing of a throat interrupted his tangent.

“Uh, right,” he shook his head, “sorry, my bad. I’ve Spidey on the brain, lately. Well, not lately…for the last five years or so really, but—anyway, you’re wondering why the Spider Man cosplay?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the steel table, interlacing his gloved fingers, “well, it’s simple, really. Someone is framing him and he needed time to help clear his name. So…I’m the diversion for the more inept crime-fighters, while the decent guys get the actual job done.”

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Foggy couldn’t possibly be smack bang in the middle of some crazy scheme the even crazier mercenary had cooked up. He had to get the hell outta dodge. Now.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, striding purposely towards the door, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh! No can do el grande avocado,” Deadpool suddenly jumped in front of him, blocking his way.

Foggy’s heart leapt into his throat at the familiar words.

“How—how do you know about—”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. You said you wanted to know why I hired you, right?”

The lawyer forced himself to look the merc in the eye, barely supressing a grimace at seeing such a sight up close, his almost translucent skin reflecting incongruously against the dim light. Silently, he nodded.

Deadpool returned his nod, bracketing the attorney’s head with both his palms against the wall, blocking him on both sides before leaning in very close and whispering:

“Well…that’s because, you’re the only law firm in all of New York that has its very own vigilante fighting crime from the court and the streets. If anybody knows how to deal with clearing the name of a framed hero, it’s gotta be you guys, right?”

Foggy’s heart stopped.

No. No, he can’t…

“Tell me,” Deadpool leaned even further into his face, his breath bouncing off his cheek, “how is white Stevie Wonder doin’? He get his ass handed to him by The Punisher, yet?”

~*~

Detective Beharie rolled her shoulders as the Police Commissioner absolutely lambasted the Captain of the 12^th Precinct. The Captain, worth her salt as usual, was taking it remarkably well, her resolve never once slipping as the newly appointed P.C. (who was surprisingly quite the Avengers fanboy – if only they had known that before) verbally laid into her for keeping Spider Man in custody even after the victim, Peter Parker, had come forward and reported being attacked mere minutes after the supposed perpetrator was arrested.

“Of course, Sir,” Captain Wicks nodded when the P.C. paused to take a breath, his face steadily growing purple, before turning to Beharie and Cassidy, “you heard Commissioner Oldman. Release Spider Man immediately.”

Their hands were tied. Even though the detective knew it in her bones that the superhero truly didn’t have anything to do with the attempted murder, she still wanted the illusion of the interrogation to get some answers out of him about Skyline Laboratories. She and Cassidy had had the RCorp fire case open for over a year with little to no results, that was until several weeks ago when a body washed up ashore. It was their first break in the case and she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet…Police Commissioner or no Police Commissioner.

“Yes, Captain,” she murmured, sharing a glance with her partner before they both took leave of the room, making their way back out to Interview Room 4.

Heaving a sigh, Beharie raised a hand and knocked on the door. Frowning, she heard a murmuring of voices and rustling sounds before Mr Nelson eventually opened it, looking a little more dishevelled than he had had previously, his eyes wide and every drop of blood drained from his face.

“Are you okay, Counsellor?” Cassidy asked, not particularly sounding like he actually gave a damn.

“I-I’m fine,” he stammered, looking behind him to where the webbed wonder was still bound to the table, staring at them silently, before turning back to them, “I hope you’re here to—”

“Spider Man is free to go, with apologies from Police Commissioner Oldman,” Beharie cut across him tightly as the superhero began to chuckle under his breath.

Nelson seemed surprised by that, and a little perturbed.

 Weird.

“We may have some follow up questions for your client, however. Just routine stuff. Is there a way we can get in contact with him or—”

“For you, Detective? Sure,” Spider Man interrupted as he stood up and walked towards her, the smirk evident in his tone whilst he twirled the broken handcuffs around, halting in front of her and placing them in her hands.

“Anything for the two people who set me up, made me think my friend was injured, dragged me down to the police station, shackled me to a table and made me wait a hell of a lot longer for a lawyer than I should have,” he paused, shrugging, shoving a business card next to the shackles, “you can reach me on that number. Don’t be a stranger now. Toodles!”

With that, he practically skipped out of the room. Mr Nelson watched his client go for a moment, a bewildered expression on his face before he offered them a strained smile, nodded and took off after him.

Beharie glanced down at her hands to the broken handcuffs and the small, white business card that lay on top of them.

Barely supressing the eye roll that desperately wanted to make an appearance, she read aloud: “for when you need a Spider Man who does all he Spider Can, call ~ 212-SPI-DERM.”

~*~

It was cold. Like a blizzard in a morgue, an avalanche in a freezer, a snow storm on bathroom tiles, kinda cold. He could feel the vibration of his teeth chattering inside his head as he glanced around the darkness, trying to see through the gloom, to make out something, anything around him.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” a familiar voice spoke next to him, a hair’s breadth away from his ear.

Joseph Blye jumped, startled at the sound.

“Gio?” he called out into the void, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“Marco!” the voice answered from far away this time, playing the game from their childhood.

“Polo!” Joe yelled back, cupping his hands against his mouth.

“No need to yell, lil cuz, I’m right here,” Gio chuckled from two feet in front of him as all the lights in the world suddenly turned on at once, basking them in a blinding glow.

Squinting, the younger of the two Blyes regarded the elder, who looked just as he did the last time he saw him. Well, the last time before his head was separated from his shoulders, anyway.

“Where—where are we?” he asked nervously, glancing around him to find that it was just an empty room, except every inch of the darkness had now been replaced with light.

“We’re inside your head…” came the enigmatic response, “empty, isn’t it?”

A snide laugh echoed around them.

“That’s what I always liked about you, cuz,” Giovanni continued with a wave of his hand as two chairs suddenly appeared in front of them and he took a seat at one of them.

Joe frowned at him but followed his lead, sitting opposite him.

“You just weren’t much of a thinker. I mean sure, when you were a kid you had a wild imagination, but you never…put much thought into anything. School. Sports. Any skills to speak of really…except for your dad’s old target practice. You always tried at that…” he trailed off with a shrug, “so it wasn’t too much of a stretch for you to get into the business you got into, I guess.”

A rifle suddenly appeared in Joe’s lap, the weight steady and familiar.

His head snapped up, his gaze finding his cousin’s in alarm.

“Go on,” Gio nodded, “show me what ya got.”

~*~

Bruce Banner hated hospitals. For a man of science and fascinated with all things that came with it, he drew the line when it came to illness, the stale stench of antiseptic and death. Everyone has their limits, and he’d rather test his in a controlled environment where the maximum potential for disaster was turning oneself into a giant, green rage monster and not…

Not this.

“What’s wrong with them?” he murmured quietly to Dr. Elaine Hart (the scientist who had been present in the conference room with them for the best part of the day) as they stood over one of dozens of patients lining the hospital ward.

“That’s above your security clearance. Sorry,” she replied, making a note in her files, not looking at him.

Irritation spiked in his veins.

“So what, you’re privy to our private conversations and it’s not above your security clearance, but I can’t ask about a patient’s condition even when they’re clearly exhibiting the same symptoms as Joseph Blye?”

“I don’t make the rules, Dr Banner, I’m sorry. Take it up with Fury,” she finished, stepping away from him and moving on to the next patient.

Bruce watched her go for a moment before turning back to the young woman in the hospital bed. She looked…eerie. Her entire face was screwed up in all manner of pain; physical, mental, emotional. Her breaths were quick and shallow, her skin sweaty and pale, her body frail and brittle. It was like all the life had been sucked out of her until she was a shell of her former self, this exoskeleton-esque form left behind in a medically-induced coma.

It was similar to what he had witnessed Blye go through since being injected with the LK90 by Lucas Daniels. The shallow breaths, the pale and sweaty skin, the frail and sunken body mass and the seemingly endless internal and external pain. He had no choice but to render the man unconscious when the screaming and thrashing became unbearable. Lately it seemed that the man had been plagued by nightmare after nightmare, his subconscious being haunted by some imaginary demons, making his heart rate and blood pressure sky-rocket.

But when he was awake…it was worse. He ranged from an empty, emotionless shell to level-eleven rage monster. Banner had yet to completely figure out what was happening to him, but his brain chemistry told a fascinating story. The hypothalamus, the centre of the brain that controlled emotional balance, was going haywire and captivatingly, the fronto-median cortex area which could be argued is where all planned actions stem from, was perplexingly bare. Completely void of any and all activity. In a normal human being, the synapses should be firing on all cylinders at any given moment as one planned to do something and fulfilled that action, each and every reaction requiring as such, but with Blye…nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. The big goose egg.

It was like he wasn’t in control of his own body. Like he was possessed or couldn’t consciously make a decision, like he was completely unaware of his own existence. It freaked Banner out, if he was honest. He truly had never seen anything quite like it.

Until he was brought to Skyline Laboratories.

He wasn’t one to believe in coincidences. The universe was rarely so lazy.

“No change?” Bruce asked the nurse who was standing over the bed that Joseph Blye was currently occupying.

Solemnly, she shook her head as she reattached his I.V.

“He has been having more nightmares. Bad ones,” she lamented before sighing, “just like the others…” she trailed off, eyes going a little wide as if she had given something away.

“Thank you, Nurse…” Bruce extended his hand to her.

“Eliza. Eliza Woodruffe,” she replied with a wry grin, shaking his hand.

“The others have been having similar symptoms too, Eliza?” he asked, dark gaze raking over the dozens of other patients within his eye line.

She nodded, leaning in slightly and lowering her voice, “some of them have been here for over a year, Dr Banner. None of them show any signs of getting better. Frankly, I thought that’s why you and Mr Stark were brought here but…”

Bruce waited patiently for her to continue, throwing her what he hoped was a somewhat reassuring smile.

“But now Dr Hart is saying that as little any ‘outsiders’ know, the better. I—I really think these people need proper help, Dr Banner. And, forgive me for saying but—they just aren’t getting it here…”

He nodded, shaking her hand once more and took his leave. There wasn’t much he could do for Mr Blye right now.

Not until he had all the facts.

Which he planned on getting.

 Soon.

~*~

“So, we’re just gonna ignore it then, huh, Rainy?” Deadpool asked breezily as he and Foggy made their way out of the police precinct and down the street.

“It’s Foggy. And ignore what?” the lawyer asked over his shoulder as if he really didn’t care for the answer, clearly scanning the streets for any sign of a cab.

“Your best friend, white Ray Charles and his nightly activit—”

 “Leave me alone,” Foggy cut across him, picking up his pace, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Wilson’s laugh followed him up the side walk.

“Oh please, you’re gonna have to do better than that, Dewey—”

“Foggy—”

“If you actually wanna make people believe that you are totally not in the know about what your boyfriend gets up to when the sun goes down,” the merc finished, walking briskly around the lawyer and stopping him dead in his tracks.

Foggy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously before he took a deep breath.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you know. But one, he’s not my boyfriend, two, all he gets up to ‘when the sun goes down’ is reading, writing depositions and charming the occasional woman with his really lame game and three, knock it off with the blind jokes already. You don’t see me calling you the uglier Freddy Kruger, do you?”

His heart hammered wildly in his chest, brain running ninety miles an hour in sheer disbelief of what he had just said.