Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 “I lost…I lost Gwen.”

Flickers of memories, soft as starlight danced through silent picture plays of his memory. A warmth that once would have cascaded across his heart at the very thought of her felt more like a mute, cold suffocation.

“She was my Mj.”

Soft kisses on his lips, golden sunlight filtering through tattered blinds and hair bright as the cosmos tickling across his skin. A constant safety. Home.

“I couldn’t save her.”

It was as if he was reliving it all over again. The momentum of Gwen’s fall sent her tears into an upward climb, almost reaching for him. His eyes locked onto hers as her descent achingly slowed in his mind’s eye. Their life together danced across his thoughts like a silent film as the wind tore his face from the momentum.

“I’m never going to be able to forgive myself for that.”

‘Breathe…Hey…You’re okay’

His hands desperately searched for a pulse, fingers delicately tracing across her skin, through her hair, covering the expanse on her neck that would always flutter whenever he’d kiss her. His thin gloves traveled across Gwen like she was made of glass. He knew. A part in the back of his mind was slowly growing, like a darkness that could swallow all of the brightness in the world as her limp weight seemed to only grow heavier.

‘You stay with me’

His hand at the back of her head trembled violently, unable to move with any grace as a crimson trail flowed from her nose, pulled by gravity, a slow descent that chilled him.

‘Gwen??’

‘Gwen!!’

He couldn’t breathe. His body desperately tried to register the uninhabitable air around them, lungs spasming and only rendering fitful gasps as he pressed his forehead to hers.

‘NO please!’

‘Please….’

‘Did you know that if you traveled miles away from the earth, and had the world’s most powerful microscope, you could see the lights from the city days back? See moments already experienced. Almost like you’re travelling back in time.”

Gwen smiled at him, snaking an arm around his own as snowfall speckled across their hair and onto the ground around Central park, “If you could do that. What would you want to see again? To re-live?”

Peter always had an answer to everything, but this gave him pause, ”Heh, you know, I’m actually not sure.”

He knew now.

He would want to see her, to see them. To feel the warmth of her hand, the press of her lips. To hear her laugh, see her smile. Watch how her eyes would light up at the simple things in life. To have the comfort that once more, just once, that the whole world could be against him and it wouldn’t even matter. Because he had Gwen. 

“But I carried on,  tried to…Tried to keep going. Tried to keep being that…That friendly neighborhood Spider-man, because I know that’s what she would’ve wanted but…At some point, I just…I stopped pulling my punches. I got rageful. I got bitter.”

–

Flowers of lilac, and roses of cream and lavender drifted lazily with the pull of the wind atop a mahogany coffin. Family members hugged its sides as close as they could bear. A somber audience filtered around dull markers already long grown into the earth. Peter could hear every stuttered breath, every whisper. He couldn’t remember putting on his clothes this morning, couldn’t remember Gwen’s eulogy, her mother’s expression reddened at the highest points of her face from near hours of emotion. The bitter east coast wind danced and weaved around him, numbing the tips of his fingers only kept from frostbite by the consistent warmth of his Aunt May’s hold, her thumb dancing across his knuckles to soothe the shaking he’d tried so hard to control, to hide. 

It had been weeks but his mind was still trapped in that tower, trapped in that moment. He couldn’t move as everyone slowly left, leaving only them. His body moved as if in auto-pilot, gently pressing a comforting kiss to his aunt’s forehead, lips ghosting to barely warm skin so she wouldn’t see how much light had faded from his eyes. He barely noticed her leave.

He came back every day. Just to sit, his mind a constant buzz, a static. He couldn’t bring himself to sit any closer than ten feet from Gwen’s resting place. Part of him thought her headstone would crumble if he even touched it. 

It was fall before Peter could even process it. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d been here, the lines had begun to blur–he could hardly tell day from night. Her flowers, once a vibrant magenta had faded, petals carried with the swaths of deadened foliage that had begun to leave the trees bare. 

–

Peter stared out into a sea of sound, into the expanse of the sleepless metal beast, paved by city scapes, the blood in it’s veins the flow of traffic, it’s song made by millions of heartbeats, voices, laughter, sorrow. A city that never sleeps. 

He let the air hit at his sides–try to knock him over. The downpour almost seemed to drown him, collecting in droplets at the point of his chin and drumming against his skull as he could only stare numbly at the city that buzzed below him.

“There comes times in living that transform us, and all we can do is choose how we are changed. Do we rise up or not? For the pain comes ready or not, the grief is absolute, the old self is burned clear away and the new self steps onwards.”

click , his thumb switched channels on his iPod, knees tucked close to his chest as he sat far too close for comfort at the edge of the empire state building.

“Spider-Man once more costs the life of another innocent civilian. Jay Jonah Jameson here bringing to light the masked vigilante’s most recent screw up. How many more lives have to be lost  before he realizes he causes more harm than good??”

click

“New York in a free-fall as the absence of Spider-Man has left the city in a panic. Will our hero in red ever return?”

—

It had been over a year since Gwen passed.

It still felt like yesterday.

“Please–!” The man’s plea was cut off as a fist sent him slamming into the cement 

like a rag doll, strong enough for his mind to mistake himself for being hit by a car. The taste of copper flowed from an open gash in his lip as he scrambled, trying to make purchase with anything around him, sensitive skin grating against rough concrete as Spider-Man sent his foot careening towards the man’s torso.

Everything around Peter was like a wall of sound, almost as if he’d been dunked under water.

His ears rang too loud for comfort as his body took over, casting hit after hit into the man’s body.

Just moments before he’d tried to mug a woman, and Peter nearly killed him for it. Every person he’d come across adorned Harry’s face. His countless nights devoid of sleep left him paranoid. Osborne haunted his waking hours, his night tides. He taunted him, tore him down. It was as if everyone he’d faced plucked him from reality and back into that clock tower.

He’d resorted to isolation. To bitterness, to rage.

—

“Peter…”

The door to their apartment clicked shut almost mutely, a soft pattern of footsteps halting from a shuffle to a stand-still as the soft call of his aunt carried from the kitchen a few steps from the small hallway the teenager had entered.

She slowly shuffled out into view, wearing an intricately patterned shawl she’d knitted herself a few weeks back. Her hair was mussed into a bun, brunette hair peppered with age dancing in small wisps across her face and framing her round cheekbones as she smiled at him with a knowing sadness. 

“I know you don’t want to talk, and that's okay. But know you’re never, ever alone.” she held her hands out in a gesture almost as if to soothe a cornered animal. And there couldn’t be any better way to describe how he looked to her, hugging the door with his back as if he was hoping he’d be swallowed by it. His clothes hung like wet laundry against his skin, driblets of rainwater softly pattering to the floor from pointed strands of his hair, long since flattened by the downpour. Peter’s lungs ached, just moments before he’d sent himself into a free-fall, not giving it a second thought before he could hear Gwen’s screams, see her falling. It had sent him into a panic.

Seeing as he didn’t make a bolt for his room May took a tentative step forward, ”You’ve been punishing yourself for something you couldn’t control–”

“She’s dead.” Peter’s voice hit the open space between them like diluted venom, his lip quivering as he stared at the old wooden flooring as if it had wronged him, worn sneakers causing the surface to creak as one of his heels scuffed down against the aged layout, “It’s like..It feels like everyone I care about gets hurt, because of me . Because I’m too selfish to let them walk out of my life, because I can’t handle being alone.” his voice dropped to a broken whimper.

“Oh, Peter..Grief comes in waves. At first they’re going to feel so strong that you’ll feel so swept away. Yet in time,” she slowly closed the gap between them, hands encompassing either side of Peter’s shoulders, eyes deep as coffee searching through this broken boy’s own as he squared his posture, sinking further back into himself, “those waves lessen, and allow the good memories to flood in instead. They allow for waves of smiles and warmth, they carry you until you can feel the sun against your skin, and the storm will be so far behind you that, Peter,” she curled her index and thumb into the nook below peter’s chin, very gently lifting his gaze to hers, “you’ll see that all of this pain, it stands witness to how strong you are. When your uncle passed… I felt the same way you’re feeling now. Lost, hopeless. I wanted to shut out the world and never let anything in again.. I know you felt that too. But I knew Ben would have wanted for us to be strong,’ she said this with emphasis, gently squeezing Peter’s arms,“ to continue to carry the wind under our wings, to give hope and warmth to those around us even when we don’t feel like getting up. And look at you, look at how strong you became because of it. You didn’t let it define you, you grew from it. It’s hard now. But I know how tough you are.” her index finger gently pointed to his heart, “and I know she’s rooting for you.”

Now that May was able to get close enough, she noticed a soft hint of stubble had begun to sprout across his framed face, under the sharp dip and curve of his jawline and upwards into his sideburns. His eyes were dark, cupped by tired fleshy pouches. May studied his face pointedly, lips thinning into a taut line as Peter’s only response came out as a jerky nod, eyes already beginning to show signs of emotional duress, a soft red blossoming beginning to bleed around his already strained eyes. 

And in a split second, Peter hugged her. He held onto her as if she was the only thing keeping him alive, which at this  moment wasn't very far from the truth. May held him as long as he needed her to.

–

“It’s easy to feel hopeful on a beautiful day like today. But there will be dark days ahead of us too. There will be days where you feel all alone. And that’s when hope is needed most. No matter how buried it gets. Or how Lost you feel, you must promise me that you will hold onto hope. Keep it alive. We have to be greater than what we suffer. My wish for you is to become hope; people need that. And even if we fail, what better way is there to live? As we look around here today, at all of the people who helped make us who we are, I know it feels like we're saying goodbye, but we will carry a piece of each other into everything that we do next, to remind us of who we are, and of who we're meant to be."

Chapter Text

Peter could only watch, nonplussed, as the world around him tunnelled into an incomprehensible brightness, and this new world he’d grown so familiar with faded from his sight until all he could see was an enclosing darkness. He slowly lowered his hand that had been raised in a fond salute as his vision narrowed to a pinprick, stiffening minutely as he wagered it would be better to wait than to bolt when he was practically blind. He hummed under his breath, keeping it’s rhythm in time with a tune he’d decided on while he waited until his vision returned.
Usually he’d feared closing his eyes, feared seeing Gwen. But once his lashes graced the tops of his cheekbones he was met with a welcoming nothingness. No clocktower, no Harry. He thrummed his foot against the ground, trying to stop the burning that rose from his throat. He sniffled soundlessly, head slumping as a weak sound left his lips.
‘Are you okay?’
The soft intonation of Mj’s voice rattled in the back of his mind. She’d seen the look on his face, an expression of familiarity, as if he’d known Mj, longed for her. But she must have known he was staring at someone else. When he had held her, he was met with Gwen instead of Mj, like a mirrored reality. What could have been. What should have been.
Before Peter knew it he was right back where it had all begun. The very same place where he had watched a wheel of golden sparks open up a world with two terrified kids staring out to him.
He turned back, breath fogging out into the air, almost expecting to see them again, to see their looks of fear and worry. To once more feel something that had been lost to him for so long: hope.Gwen’s word. But all he was met with was the end to the darkened alleyway; two faded dumpsters, littered with overflowing trash and broken bottles. He almost felt stuck there. Peter’s hand curled around the light fabrics of his mask, thumb tracing over it’s reflective lens as the gears spun in his mind.
“I’ll miss you guys,” he spoke out into the deep nothingness, wishing somehow his words would be cast into their world. His eyes flicked down to his feet, nodding to himself, lips pursed outwards as he exhaled through his nose.
He knew where he wanted to go.
–
“Hey, Gwen,” Peter said softly, settling himself a few feet away and placing flowers alongside a plethora of bouquets gently assorted around her headstone. He’d always brought her flowers whenever he’d visited without fail,“you’ll never believe what just happened to me..I..I saved someone, someone who was as important to someone as you are to me. She was…you but not you,” the smile that had begun to pull at his face slowly dissipated, and his teeth worried at his lower lip as the breeze tickled at his chaotic frock of hair,“I felt like I finally did something right…but, the back of my mind kept telling me that should’ve been what happened in our time..That I could have saved you.”
He sighed heavily, part of himself expecting to feel the warmth of her hand on his cheek, her words of comfort. His only response came as a whisper of city air, soft horns of traffic and the squealing of brakes, chatter of crowds. Of course only he’d be able to hear this. Sometimes he’d wished for moments of quiet, but being by Gwen was the closest he’d get to still the constant chaos of sound, both from the world and from his mind,“I know you’d probably tell me to stop finding reasons to keep punishing myself for everything,” he said after a moment's pause, twiddling his thumbs as he thought to switch topics. It was a bad habit whenever he knew he was about to send himself into a mental spiral, “Now it feels like–like I have this weight off my back..I don’t feel so..lost. I don’t feel stuck in time.” His eyes welled with tears, vision turning to spots which drifted across his plain of sight as his gaze lifted to stare up at her name, barely able to distinguish the letters from one another,“I don't think I– hate myself as much.” his gaze moved past her, into the open air,“but I’m scared? I feel like I don’t deserve to–I don’t want to forget you–us.” his hand motioned weakly between them, limply resting back onto his legs with a dull pat. He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands and tugging downwards below his eyes before his hands slid upwards again,“what am I even doing,” he muttered.
—
Peter stayed for a bit longer into the night, and it took the creeping chill of the air that seeped under his suit, brushing across healing bruises that no doubt littered his frame to realize that he needed sleep— no, he needed a coma. After all that he’d experienced it was imperative that he gave himself time to process it all, to adjust to being back in his own city again. With a gentle, “love you”, Peter left, pulling his mask back over his face and pointing himself in the right direction to his Aunt’s apartment.
—
Like his holy mantra Peter snuck back into his room through the fire-escape, nestled close to his apartment window. It led directly to his room and was a stone’s throw away from his bed so it was perfect whenever he’d come back from a fight that induced serious bodily trauma and he didn’t have the energy for more than five steps.
As per normal he stripped off his suit, tossing it haphazardly into his closet. The last thing he could remember was collapsing onto his bed into a heap, every part of himself feeling like it was screaming for some much needed rest.
—
Peter woke to the sound of an alarm, instantly slipping an ivory arm out from underneath the worn blankets that covered his body to break what would be his 100th clock. It took a moment for him to clear the fog of sleep in his mind to realize its absence as his fingertips met with the cold wooden touch of his nightstand, and the obnoxious sound persisted. He blinked blearly, trying to dash the sleep from his eyes as he keened, wanting to figure out the source to the sound with a strained groan. Peter willed himself to sit up straight, hair sticking up in every which way like he’d just been shocked. The sheets slid downwards to pool around his lap as he stayed there for a moment, bleary from sleep. His ears eventually were able to pinpoint the sound to be sourced from the kitchen. May must be making something. Soon he heard her hurried footsteps, and the all too familiar fabric shuffle of her slippers as she rushed to stop the ringing with a metallic clank. She’s had that old kitchen timer since Peter could remember. He stretched out, back arching inwards and arms reaching for the ceiling until he felt a satisfying pop in the mid section of his back, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The pads of his feet met the floor and he left his room, traveling through the cramped hallways until the space opened up to him.
“Morn–”
May made a shrill sound, almost like a bird who’d been spooked, sending her spatula catapulting behind her in an upwards arc. It took less than a heartbeat for the wanded end to have been snatched from the air and into Peter’s grasp, who gave it a brief nod as if greeting it,“Morning,”He finished the word he'd tried to say as he turned his gaze to May, half amused.
Her hand hovered over her heart as if she had half the mind to catch it, leaning for support against the counter,“My goodness, Peter you scared the daylights out of me! You're never out and about like this” she babbled, a forceful breath almost punching its way out of her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut before looking to her nephew who’d leaned against the open entrance,“oh– Peter you look great–” she stepped forward, having half a mind to turn off the stove as she moved with a series of rattling clicks,“and–is that a smile?”
Peter shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders rotating inwards as he shrugged shyly, gaze casting downwards,“Yeah um– I met some people and they– they helped me see things at a different angle. Got new perspectives and…and some much needed closure.”
“Honey that's wonderful,” May said softly,“I was just going to speak to you about something, while I was at work, one of the wonderful people I was helping told me about a group therapy program for people dealing with loss–”
“May I’ve told you I don’t–”
“Please,” May clipped quickly,“just take a look, if it doesn’t look like something that would help, you’re free to forget I even mentioned it,” she produced a pamphlet she’d kept in her sweater’s pocket. On it read Not Alone, Together with one of those cliche stock images of two people smiling and holding hands.
Peter almost snorted at it, but covered his tracks with an audible ‘ahem’. He gently took the small packet from her fingers, skimming through its contents as he weaved around her, grabbing a piece of fruit on the counter and distractedly taking a slow bite, eyes dancing across the lines of text as if grading it under heavy scrutiny.
“I know it’s been a while…But I also know how much Gwen’s passing affected you, and when I was told about this I thought it could help. It’s all up to you, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“I’ll..,” Peter interrupted himself with a sudden sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose,” I’ll think about it, ok? Promise.”
May gave Peter a hopeful smile, nodding curtly. With a new pep to her step she took the spatula back and turned, focusing her attention once more to the food she was cooking.
"First session starts tomorrow at 5 pm," she hummed, gesturing towards a plate of food she'd left for him at the table. Peter blinked, nonplused as he slowly tossed the apple core into the trash behind him.

-

One moment Wade was enacting a sweet blade on flesh- shishkebab like justice, and the next he was hit by an invisible ten-ton force. His body ragdolled until it was pressed flat to the wall with an audible slam, his ribs creaking in protest as he felt like his body was pressed into a pancake.
After everything in his mind stopped rattling around like he was in the world's largest
tuna can, he was finally able to fit all the pieces together. He was somehow suspended to the wall like some homemade porno, and some kid in-- a holy God that's a really form fitting spandex suit-- stood in front of him.
"And this is where I say I've been a very naughty boy~" Wade crooned, fingers flexing as he tested the strength of his bonds,"who's going to be the step-son this time?"
Peter had been on a rush of adrenaline, too much so to fully piece together what he was walking into. The only thing he knew moments before that was a few buildings away people were dying-- fast.
"Just-- shut up," he muttered, gaze flicking around them as he tried to measure the true extent of the damage, his heart fluttering like a caged bird.
"If you want to know why, I'm just gonna say it was a really convincing levitating kitten. If you saw it, you would have been like, Damn. That's the most sincere and loveable floating cat head I've ever had a chat with. And most importantly I was, like, 85% sober--"
"Shut up!!! Do you even realize what you just did??" Peters arms gestured around them, moving around forcefully as he kept a good ten foot distance from him.
Deadpool's head tilted like it was made of Jell-O,"What? Oh, those guys?" He looked down to the eight bodies littered around the top of the building,"we were having a sleepover, got into an argument on what nail polish we should use, I got carried away--"
Peter deadpanned. This guy was crazier than he thought,"what-- who even are you?"
"Some call me the smoking hot bringer of justice, other's call me daddy but that's a special privilege. Most call me Deadpool."
Peter's face burned,"Okay, Deadpool, take all of those 'words' swirling inside that toxic vat you call your brain and suffocate them. Every last syllable. Kill your words, and listen to me. You just took the lives of eight people--" Peter sliced at the air in a downward arc with his hands at each of his last words.
"Eight people that were turds of the earth--"
"That doesn't give you the right to kill them!!" Peter's ears rang, his fists clenched tight enough that he could feel his nails digging into his palm through the fabrics of his glove,"now I don't know you from Adam but regardless you're going to have a very nice chat with the police soon."
Deadpool winced, raising a finger despite the fact that he was practically crucified to the wall,"Don't yell at me, that's totally one of my turn ons," he groaned.
Peter had absolutely no idea what to make of him, letting out an exasperated sigh,"Can you at least tell me why? The truth this time. It had better be a really good one."
The Merc fell silent, looking around himself as if he had a buzzing in his head, using his skull to swat away invisible gnats,"he wouldn't understand," he muttered quietly, before turning his head the other way,"yes I know he has a nice ass but that doesn't mean he gets special treatment!!"
Pete's jaw just about dropped. Was he talking to himself?
"Deadpool."
The man perked, looking at him suddenly as if he was startled,"Sorry spider-babe, the voices in my head are arguing whether or not I should tell you."
"Jesus I don't have time for this," he turned on his heals, letting the gravel crunch under his soles.
"They killed my girlfriend."
Peter froze, lowering his foot from the edge of the building, his head inclining in the mercs direction,"they--what?"
"They took my girlfriend, so I'm enacting some sugar packet sweet revenge. Like Splenda but less artificial, more bloody and organic."
Peter had his body half turned towards the man, staring down at his feet before his lenses narrowed, honing in on him with a totally new energy,"I-- well-- someone I know understands. He uh..Went through the same. Lost someone he loved," Peter cleared his throat, trying to ease the hackles that were already raised just from talking to the guy,"He felt angry just like you, probably wanted to kill someone for it but he'd probably tell you that after all the anger, broken walls and isolation...It doesn't bring them back."
"Well aren't you the holy Pope. Thanks for the sage advice but I feel great."
"Is that what you tell yourself? That this makes you feel better? Or are you trying to convince yourself that it does?"
"Stop digging, webs!" These were the first words coming from his mouth that sounded genuine,"this isn't some therapy session, and I definitely don't need some kid to try and give me consoling."
"Whoa there, buddy I'm not a kid."
"Says the guy who's built like a willowy pre- season basketball player."
Peter took a moment to breathe before he said anything else. At this point he was trying to be the bigger person,"look-- what I recommend, talk to someone. Try therapy. You'll feel a lot better and have a lot less blood to wash off your suit."
"Not interested, Spidey."
"Of course you're not. Anyways, you're not the only guy trying to make New York crash and burn, and I gotta keep that from happening, sooo, have fun up here. And consider that therapy." With a curt salute he left, muttering to himself what a crazy experience that just was as he flung himself back through the city, loving the way the wind whistled past his ears.

Chapter Text

Like every other day Peter awoke to his alarm. Blinding morning city light illuminated his room, bouncing off the sheer windows of buildings built like skyscrapers and highlighting the slew of papers that littered his wall.The old posters he'd kept for years that at this point had begun to collect dust, their colors long faded from a mixture of age and sun exposure. Everything was kept the same since highschool, since the events that shaped him. He preferred to keep it that way even though he knew it was a part of what kept him tethered to them.

In a way, it was his last thread of normalcy, to his life before. The smell of Aunt May's cooking interrupted his thoughts, a welcome constant that woke him if he wasn't in a physical coma from the day before. He groaned, stuffing his face into his pillow and breathing in the fresh scent from the laundry mat below them before he pulled himself up like a limp puppet on a string. He no longer officially lived with May, but she'd kept his room the same and he'd come over often to see her.

No matter how long it had been they needed one another. The pamphlet May had given him rested at the edge of his childhood nightstand and Peter gazed at it like it had some sort of infection. His mind still swam from the events of last night, wondering what jail they'd have lugged him off to. His bet was a mental hospital. 

Peter sighed softly, he'd try it once. There wasn't any harm in going, plus he knew it would give May some peace of mind. Regardless he had the entire day to think it through. 

-

5 PM

He'd made up his mind.

Peter shuffled down the packed sidewalk, wrapping his double layers around himself like a blanket as he weaved his way to the location May had scribbled on a dated grocery list. No matter how many times he walked these streets, it always felt like trying to navigate in anti-gravity boots. He was so used to using the buildings as his own jungle gym that acting regular every once and a while gave him an awkward stiffness to his walk. 

Winter had taken it's cold grip on New York and squeezed, making the city's already gray exterior fifty shades lighter, and finished it off with a snot of white shaving foam that hugged the tops of buildings like snow caps. Wearing his worn beanie helped to muffle the assault of sound to his eardrums, it reminded him why he kept so high from the city floor. He winced at a cab's brakes squealing that left his ears ringing. Maybe it wasn't as effective as he'd hoped. What to any other person would simply be the sounds of the industry was more like a dog whistle to Peter's sensitive ears.

--

Peter stood in front of the double panel doors which had since been closed to keep the warmth inside. Outside a posted sign read, 'Not Alone, Together. Group Therapy sessions held Fridays and Saturdays 5-9 PM.' With a muttered breath Peter shucked off his gloves, stuffing them in his puff jacket's pockets. He pulled the flashy gold barred handles until they opened with a silent 'whoosh' of the rubber sliders at the bottom of the door. His eyes adjusted to the space which appeared to be a musical theatre for rent. They took advantage of the open space to create a wide berth of chairs, encompassing the center of the room in a generous circle. To the side existed a small row of foldable tables with sugar packets, paper cups and coffee machines. The smell that hit his nose reminded him of an ice skating rink, with the aroma of ice from the outside mingling with coffee and drying clothes swirling around the open area.

He took an experimental step forward, letting his frosted sneakers curl onto the change in flooring. The tiny icicles that clung around the bottoms of his shoes sprinkled from the gentle tap of contact and melted as soon as they touched the ground. Peter closed his eyes and breathed. Sometimes it was better to handle things like normal people, as hard as it was. 

He sidestepped, clutching the loops of his backpack as he hugged the walls until he knew it was absolutely necessary to join the rest of the group who'd since begun to mingle in sparse pairs. 

The sudden invading smell of cigarettes and gunpowder singed his nostrils and Peter stiffened as the familiar whoosh of the glass doors sounded once more.

"Is this the right place for the circus clown recital?"

If Peter was in a situation any different he would have velcroed himself to the ceiling faster than you could say Martha Stewart. His head practically swivelled on his shoulders until it settled on the man behind him.

The mystery man who stood behind him settled for a pair of jeans and a generously puffed hard fabric jacket. Probably something a lumberjack would wear until it's stitching melted. A dark worn cap fitted atop his head snugly. He was scarred, heavily so. Flutters of scar tissue kissed his cheekbones, the brow of his nose, pulled at the cut of his jawline and down his neck.

"You--"

"Me?" The other man spoke curiously, dark eyes settling curiously on the shorter brunette.

Peter almost babbled, for a seasoned superhero he shouldn’t have been spooked like this,"--come here often?" He said with a sharp intake of breath, breathing through a tight smile of teeth. He didn’t want the guy to think he was speaking on his appearance, but he definitely wasn’t about to say ‘hey, you didn’t set off my spidey sense and scared the absolute crap out of me’ 

"Oh this silly place?" The man looked past Peter,"nah. Was never my thing. "

Peter nodded slowly, offering a slow blink as he kept the awkward smile,"so…. What brings you here then? Oh– shit sorry, obviously, you lost someone too. Sorry. Me too." He softly bounced on his heels to stay the growing anxiety that funneled up his body, “I’m Peter, uhm, by the way.”

“Wade,” came as his response, “ and someone said it would be a good idea to come here. My way of healing was a bit too ‘destructive’. Had a greeeat ass,” he lifted his hands to form an outline of what he could only assume was the person in question. Almost like those cartoons where a dotted line followed the characters fingers as they traced the air. He was very generous when he shaped out the person’s behind, arcing his hands in semi circles.

Peter almost blanched, clearing his throat to stop his ears from turning red,"O-oh um, well I'm glad you considered it," Peter offered, rubbing at the back of his neck, still nonplussed that his senses had short circuited. Instead of the uncomfortable static tingle that would crawl up the back of his neck he was met with a confusing nothingness. 

"And who told you to come here, Jailbait?"

"First off I’m 29, not 17, and.. my aunt recommended it to me...plus some friends helped me realize I needed to focus on myself for once, try to move on from things that held me back." 

“Holy shit sticks smacked on a child you’re 29!?” Wade’s jaw was practically unhinged, “you’re like total Chris Hansen pedo bait who looks like a child but is like twice the age.”

Peter didn’t know if he should be offended or flattered, a rush or air leaving his lips in a sort of half winded chuckle, “And let me guess you’re what, 30?”

A hand fluttered over the man's broad chest, offering Peter a theatrical gasp, “You never ask a lady her age! For shame.” He looked almost stern, but the wry grin that tugged at his lips said otherwise.

Peter rolled his eyes, “Well I was going to say you don’t look a day over twenty,” he said wryly.

“You flatter me, sir,” he paused, choosing to take a new angle, “who’d you have to miss to drag yourself into this?”

“Well, I--"

"Welcome everyone! Thank you so much for coming," a gentle, timber voice interrupted their conversation,"If you would, please settle yourselves in any of the respective seats you see here so we can begin."

Peter could hardly contain the sharp exhale he hadn't realized he'd locked into his lungs, letting it out slowly through his nose while he found an empty seat, following everyone who soberly filtered into their own spots. Wade settled next to him.

He zoned for five paces, then twenty, his sense of hearing suddenly cupped by hands of static as he stared into space.

"...sir? I'm sorry I know it must have been difficult coming here, but if you could, please introduce yourself."

Peter's ears sharply cut to clarity as the man's words sliced through his haze of thoughts like a knife through foam. 

He blinked softly, adjusting to the man in front of him,"O-oh, um, I'm Parker, Peter Parker." He hadn't even realized everyone else had already introduced themselves. All that was left was him and Wade. 

A kind middle aged man with glasses falling about the narrow bridge of his nose smiled at him, pushing the metal piece that connected the two pieces of glass higher up his face,“Welcome Peter. If you could, would you explain how you’ve experienced and or handled your loss? Recent or otherwise?”

The only other time he’d been open, truly open was when he was on top of that building, trying to soothe a kid who looked to him like a fledgling who’d been stolen from it’s nest from a feral tom, broken and confused. He was much more limited here,“I um..I lost my girlfriend. 10 years ago. I was nineteen then. Her father, he..knew that being around me put her in danger, and um, made me promise to keep her out of my life,” Peter tried to distract himself, letting the words flow as his knee bounced, restless above his heels. He stared at his shoes, at his laces that had begun to split and fray, and at the color that faded in and out along it’s fabric, “I was too selfish to keep that promise, and she passed because of me.”

Of course the silent shuffle of sympathy that rippled along the loose circle of people didn’t help to make Peter want to sink even further into his seat. Shrink until he was invisible. He felt Wade's eyes on him, “I bottled it up, let the fumes out in the worst ways. I became unrecognizable to myself in the mirror. I’d forgotten what I stood for, what I believed in. My moral compass was spinning like two opposite magnets were pulling at its axis. I carried the weight and the burden all to myself, until it felt like..like the entire city was on my spine. Crushing me.”

“And what changed your mind?”

Peter’s tongue dashed across his lips to soothe the cracks that had begun to send darts of pain every time he spoke, “Hope. Hope changed my mind.”

Some nodded softly, listening to Peter with somber respect. After all, they too had missing pieces to their hearts, had burdens. 

“Thank you for sharing with us, Peter. Losing a loved one can be one of the most trying times in our lives, especially when we believe we had a part in it. Try to imagine grief is like a box with a metal ball inside of it. The moment it happens the ball will be so large it hits the walls of the box every time your heart beats. Although over time, the ball will shrink. It will hit the walls of your mind less often. But it will still happen. One moment you'll feel like the pain is behind you, then the next it'll feel like it happened yesterday. Take each day as an accomplishment. I know it's easier said than done but try not to blame yourself,” he turned his attention to Wade, who’d had his eyes remaining set on Peter with intent, a crease worrying the center of his brow, barely so for anyone across from him to notice, but enough for Peter who sat barely a foot from the man.

“Would you please introduce yourself to everyone?”

Wade's gaze hardened, and the concern washed off his face like a receding tide, a tense sigh pushing out of his lips,"Think I'll pass, I like the way I've been handling things just fine. Thanks for the free soap opera episode though." He stood, pushing off from the chair with his hands on his thighs before brushing them off like he'd dirtied them, "good luck with your grief in a box, Petey." He turned heading for the exit like if he didn't walk fast enough it would disappear. 

Peter stood, he didn't know Wade from anyone but he knew what grief could do. And he didn't want him to foxhole himself like he did to himself for ten years. The sun had pulled it's shudders over the sun, leaving the city dark and cold. Wade was power walking, and Peter found himself having to jog to match the man's large pace. The street lamps that lined the city streets casted a gold hue against the concrete and clumps of browned snow that made the city look like they existed in a broken ice grinder. 

"Wade-- hey! Wade, wait!!" Peter's lungs burned from the frigid air that strained his lungs, the books piled in his backpack bouncing inside their closed confines, causing their zipper sliders to clink softly.

Wade kept his back to him, humming some 90's song to himself as he only walked faster.

"I know how it feels, I know what it's like to be so angry you want to punch a wall until there's nothing left but dust, but it doesn't help. It won't bring them back, just, stop and let me help you, please --"

Wade spun on his heels, rounding on Peter fast enough to make him freeze, tilting back on his feet just enough so they didn't collide, "Listen, I'm not about to take advice from some kid who looks like a reject Coldplay member. You don't know Jack about how I feel. You have no idea what it's like. You may have suffered a loss but nothing like mine. Now stop trying to do charity work and focus on your damn self. I'm not some damsel in distress."

Peter's gaze hardened,"I know exactly How you feel. I know what it's like to feel grief so fresh it's like someone's tore you open and I can practically smell it on you. Now you don't need to accept my help, and I don't even need to care enough to help you, but dammit I don't want you to go down the same path I did. And I know just how damaging loneliness can be." They were inches from one another, and Peter's chin tilted upwards so they were almost level with one another,"now get off your high horse and let someone be there for you for once."

Wade's breath trembled from the emotion that no doubt was causing his blood pressure to do somersaults. He couldn't deny he was damn impressed at how brave this kid was, and he couldn't deny just  how gorgeous he was, enamored by the way his brows furrowed above large expressive doe eyes. He had lashes long enough that he could be in a mascara ad, and don't even get him started at how impressed he was that his hair was able to sit on his head like a perfect  hazel cloud. 

Wade had never been beaten in a staring contest, but this time he was, gaze flicking to the side stubbornly as Peter kept focused right on him like a laser. He had Vanessa's fire. She was the last person to make Wade's endless chaos of words in his head fall into a shocked silence. 

"Do you find it easier to talk over food or coffee?" Peter affirmed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Wade groaned, pulling under his eyes with his hands, he'd just become this hipster's bitch.

"Food," Wade intonated,"I get to choose. Also no promises on the impromptu therapy session."

"Deal."

Chapter Text

Peter sniffed, staring out at a ramshack mobile taco stand snuggled close to the side of the road alongside other portable food stands. 

With a sense of purpose Wade sidled over, angling his forearm across the space of metal that stuck out to place finished orders. Cups with forks and knives hugged the wall nearest to the window. It was very apparent to Peter that people were unaware of the existence of trash cans as his eyes flicked across the clear empty plastic packets sprinkled across the counter like dandruff. Wade glanced back at Peter who kept himself close to one of their waste bins, kicking his heels to dig up the thin layer of snow beneath his feet,"I'm not gonna lie I almost thought you'd take me to an expensive restaurant to try and draw me off," Peter spoke wryly,"but if you were trying to do that with this place, then jokes on you because I come here every Friday. Perfect place for a broke journalist."

Wade rolled his eyes, producing an aged leather wallet from his jacket pocket, "Trust me, if I wanted to draw you off I'd have taken you to a titty bar. They'd probably think your ID is a fake looking the way you do," Wade threw back.

"Who says I don't go to titty bars?"

"Everything about you, altar boy."

Wade turned just as he could hear the stubborn muttering of the brunette behind him, a quiet laugh pushing past his lips.

The hospital-esque brightness from the inside of the mobile kitchen cast a stretched out light in the shape of a cube to the floor at a sort of angle, creating a beam of light in the vast dimness around them. Wade turned his attention back to the man inside who waited patiently for him to place his order, a hand thrumming against the metal surface that slid the glass windows open and closed. 

Wade hummed in thought,"I'll have my usual, ah, make it a double," he said eventually, forking over a crumpled pile of bills and sliding it over and into the man's reach who took it willingly. He turned, disappearing into the depths of their cramped kitchen space without another word. 

"So," Peter spoke softly, exhaling soundlessly, a transparent cloud of breath curling out into the open winter air. 

Wade turned to him, arms crossed snugly to his chest,"So," he repeated.

Peter worried at his bottom lip, staring at Wade's steel toe boots before flicking up to meet his gaze, the reflection in his eyes showing the darkened backlit silhouette of the man in front of him,"listen you don't have to tell me anything. We've barely even met but I remember when I felt the way you did. I dealt with it alone, and I can only assume that's what you've been doing too. It doesn't have to be that way. You seem like a good person, Wade."

Wade's lips drew into a thin line," I'm nowhere near a good person. My morals are probably like the crusted salsa stuffed between a diner box sofa compared to yours. You don't have to act righteous and help me, the way I've been dealing with grief has been just fine. A lot more productive than touchy feely conversations. Your whole salvation army shtick is starting to get on my nerves."

"And what would that be? The way you're dealing with your grief?" Peter spoke out into the open air,"because you sound a lot like I did when I was at my worst. When I was self destructive. And look, I'd be weirded out too if some stranger suddenly cared about me enough to chase me down the street but I know it's what I needed then, and what you need now."

It was starting to irritate Wade at how good Peter was at reading him. He was a smart kid, aggravatingly so.

Wade sighed, turning away from him like some stubborn child as he focused on the worn menu in front of him, thrumming an impatient foot against the snow. 

"I'm feeling a bit hangry so let's wait until I've got a good pound of carnitas in my gut ok?"

Peter could hardly stop the full crescent of motion his eyes suddenly followed, Wade was starting to really take after a large man child.

Peter raised his hands in exasperated defeat,"Sure, fine."

--

Wade swung the drooping plastic bag like a cradle in his hand as they tracked back down the sidewalk they'd come from, inhaling the sweet aroma of salsa and meats that wafted through their tin foil confines.

"Are you taking me to some dark alley to mug me?" Peter chimed after a moment,"or was the grime covered eating area back there not sanitary enough for a heart to heart?"

Wade scoffed,"who do you take me for? A criminal?"

A defined brow arched upwards on the brunette's forehead,"I mean so far you've been speaking to me like you're the main role in an action movie with your ominous dialogues and dramatic lapses of silence so maybe, yeah."

"You make a very good point, Petey."

Peter hummed,"I know a good place we could talk, depends on if your creaky bones will let you do some climbing," he spoke airily, a shit eating grin worming it's way across the line of his lips.

"Hey aren't you the one who's supposed to be like pope Gandhi and give me life advice and shit not break me down? or is that your form of therapy?"

Peter let out a gentle guffaw as he waved a dismissive hand in Wade's direction,"think you're mixing up your religions. Plus uh, I'm new to offering impromptu therapy." 

Wade hadn't realized that during their banter they'd crossed an expanse of three blocks, staring upwards to an old broken down automotive factory. It's bold brick face looked over the Triborough bridge, a temperamental river shifting below the lights and metal frames like a lulled beast. 

Wade blinked,"well this is a hell of a place to share our deepest secrets."

Peter shrugged,"it's just one of the spots I like to go to when I need to clear my head."

"Climbing buildings' a hobby of yours?"

"You could say that," Peter responded with a knowing smile. He hefted his bag higher up his shoulders with a gentle bounce before he made for a rusted fire escape that clung suspiciously to one side of the building. Wade had half a thought that he'd get tetanus just touching it. Then again he looked like a full blown tetanus infection so who was he kidding.

 "So just um, follow my lead I guess," Peter threw over his shoulder, hopping upwards to latch to the rusted bars. He carried himself like he was made of feathers as he made his way gradually to a halfway point, the eventual soft metallic thud signalling Peter's settling. 

Wade took it upon himself to follow--he definitely wasn't as agile as Peter but he wasn't new to scaling buildings. 

With a dramatic harrumph Wade plopped down next to the brunette. He veiled open the plastic bag, settling it between them with an enthusiastic hum.

Time seemed to lapse in increments as they whittled down to eating their meals, sharing only miniscule comments here and there. 

-

Wade broke the silence, the wrapping that cocooned his burrito crumpling softly as he peeled it back for a better bite,"you said that you put your girlfriend in danger just by being around you. And that it ended up getting her killed," Peter could hardly focus on what the man was saying, too distracted by the fact that he was eating with his mouth stuffed full of a hearty bite of his burrito,"If I remember correctly you said you're a journalist so..did ya kill her with words or something? Did your flash photography give her permanent vision loss?"

Peter let out a soft breath, but the tension between his brow showed hidden depths of emotion Wade knew would be hard to share between them,"it's…complicated."

"Complicated? Now you're starting to sound like some hormonal teenager. C'mon if I'm gonna share my tragic story I have to hear some of yours."

Peter's gaze lifted to meet the scarred man. Thoughts whizzed past those round, youthful eyes, like he was trying to solve something so complex in his mind it was giving him a headache. He sighed, exhaling a soft crisp sound as he scratched the back of his head nervously, his movements rather jolty,"Being a journalist you tend to get into the thick of things. Sometimes the lines can blur and you get too close. Too comfortable," his hand dropped back to his lap almost like gelatin, fingers finding their way back to the oily wrappings that hugged his burrito. Peter had this look on his face like he could hardly believe anything he was telling Wade. He picked at the edges of his wrapping almost anxiously, curling at the edges like a child would,"..and you let people into that life. Even when you know you shouldn't. But you feel so...so invincible that it doesn't even matter and, you're so in love you don't even realize you're holding them centimeters away from a metaphorical saw blade. You don't listen to people when they tell you she should stay out of your life. You don't keep dying promises. What could happen, right? I could keep her safe." His eyes were dark, brows knitted angrily, highlighting the soft highlights of stress lines that fitted themselves into a familiar mold. He must have been stressed often, but this topic gave the strongest response, created the deepest lines,"god--I was so wrong. So--stupid. So impossibly naive." His arms lifted to shake his hands around his head like he wanted to wring his brain out like a towel before hugging either side of his face like he was trying to stop it from rattling around,"if I'm being honest I think one of the reasons why I felt so compelled to help you is because I'm just so impossibly--..alone. And you're like, among a handful of people in the world that I've met who understands, and I'm just desperate to cling to something-- to someone."

Wade stared at Peter, blinking as he realized with a soft bewilderment that his mind was silent--totally void of thoughts or the chaotic thrum of the voices often nestled in his brain like a disturbed nest of hornets.

The wind disturbed the sudden gap of silence that had begun to lay an invisible wall between them. For a while they let the sounds of the city take wind of their words as Peter dangled his feet off the edge of the fire escape, arms framing the bars so his chin could balance atop his stacked hands like he was in one of those Renaissance paintings. 

"You promised you'd talk if I told you my story, so...talk," Peter mumbled, watching as the city moved beneath them, the laces on his sneakers dancing loosely to the breeze. 

Wade crumpled the now empty wrapper, using the balls of his hands to roll it into a sphere before stuffing it into his pocket as he pushed his lips outwards like a duck. He knew that now was the time that he should be serious and theatrics definitely weren't appropriate for this moment. Good time to avoid being tone-deaf. Wade offered a vague nod, setting his jaw into a tight square for a few places before his lips parted,"I had a wife. Vanessa. She knew who I was, knew the life I lived."

Peter tilted his head in his arms, searching Wade's face with soundless curiosity.

"I was..," he spoke slowly, his words leaving his mouth with an unfounded gingerness,"the kinda guy who did pretty fucked up things for money, Petey. Didn't matter what it was. If it paid the bills, my only question was where and when."

He could feel the kid's eyes searching his face, burning through him. His face spoke volumes, almost as if he was coming to a decision on whether or not to hit him,"you never think the things you do will ever come to your front door until the wood is splintered open like a heart surgery and your couches are spraying out their soft fillings like some fucked up piñata. One moment you're talking baby names and then the person you love most in the world is on the floor. She's dying because you let her exist in your life, let her dance through your screwed up world like she had some sort of DC plot armor," Wade met Peter's eyes,"you know what's funny? When it happens, you can hardly remember the warmth of their skin as your fingertips feel their body go cold."

Peter's eyes turned dead, like he was thrown into a spiral. He knew how that felt, how thick the bile of denial could be before you even let yourself realize they were gone. That they weren't coming back no matter how many times you called out to them,"I understand..um..I--," Peter silently cursed at himself, the sudden shean to his eyes reflecting back the midnight blue that the city glowed against the water,"you never get over that feeling. Them in your arms, all flickers of life, their dreams, hopes, ambitions, just-- gone," he popped his hands open like he was imitating a puff of smoke," It's even worse when it's because of you. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Another gap of silence filtered between the pair-- Wade was surprised he was able to stay put for this long. He gave Peter a gentle clap to the shoulder like some soccer dad before heaving himself upwards,"ready to call it a night?"

Peter seemed to take a moment to process Wade's words before his chin inclined upwards,"O-oh, yeah," he slid back from the bars to lift himself to his feet,"It was nice talking to you, Wade, um, want to meet sometime again?"

Wade stared at Peter with silent bewilderment,"wait-- you're telling me you actually want to hang out with the guy who looks like a topographical map?"

Peter let out a soft laugh, lifting his shoulders slightly,"people like us gotta stick together. Plus I think I need to be your freelance therapist for a bit longer."

Chapter Text

A gentle arch of Wade's brow bone signaled his surprise," And I almost thought you were doing this to get an assisting the elderly badge."

Peter chuckled,"I already got that. Just doing this because I want to." he traveled across the short space to the ladder, his sneakers causing the aged platform to groan,"Group therapy is continuing at the same time next week, uh, I'll be there if you want to talk again." By now he'd taken a few carefully placed steps downwards, hands clutched to the side rails as he leaned back geekily. He offered Wade an awkward smile.

Wade looked rather confounded, ogling at this willowy teenager like he'd just grown a conjoined twin,"You're the strangest kid I've ever met, like seriously ever. You're probably missing that part of your brain that tells you to get the hell outta dodge. I've been tranquilizer dart tame around you and I think the effects are wearing off soon."

 Peter laughed,"I think the word you're looking for is the amygdala. And trust me I have a pretty good fight flight response. You haven't given me any danger tingles so far. Takes a lot to draw me off." He practically skipped down the stairs before hopping off and into the ground, sending a plume of dust into the air.

" Amygdala ," Wade crooned in a mocking tone, batting his eyelashes delicately in a half assed attempt to imitate Peter before his eyes crescented into an annoyed roll,"damn nerd," Wade orated, following Peter in his downward descent with a stubborn sputtering of words.

--

They'd traveled a good stretch of the city before their long-winded conversation began to whittle down to momentary fiddles of words and banter as they trekked across closing smoke shops and restaurants. The pair had begun to realize how long the night had grown as Peter gazed upwards to the thickly polluted blanket of sky.

"Peter, I think you have a talent. You've successfully managed to temporarily strip the rabies from my mind-- well the physical part of it is still there but usually I don't have the attention span for shit like this. Haven't talked to people this domestically since--well..since Vanessa," Wade admitted.

Peter's stride had concluded into a lanky sway, shoulders lulling side to side as he walked with a positive pep. He let out a breathy, unbelieving ghost of a laugh,"Glad I could help, Wade," he paused, shaking his head as if to rattle some sense into his mind,"god this whole thing seems so corny. Grief really makes you do things you wouldn't do otherwise on a healthy conscience. I haven't let myself just be normal for a really long time."

"Guess that makes two of us," Wade concluded, shouldering his thick fabric jacket to fit more snugly around his neck. He sighed,"I'll think about your group therapy offer, just don't be offended if I'm a no-show. Not reliable with stuff like that."

Peter feigned an inconclusive shrug,"Up to you. Just know you don't have to deal with this stuff alone." He couldn't deny the pang of disappointment at the thought of Wade not showing up, but then again he hardly knew the guy. He shouldn't get this attached to a stranger so soon.

Peter paused, spotting the street sign that signalled their departure,"this is my stop," he offered Wade a tight lipped smile, lifting his hand in salute,"it was nice talking to you, uh, take it easy okay? Try not to be self-destructive or destructive otherwise," he quipped, shooting the man the most god awful finger guns he was yet to see in his lifetime.

Wade scoffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he halted at the street corner, watching the brunette travel under the yellow-hued lamp and past him,"No promises geekatron."

–

Two days before group therapy

Peter loved this feeling.

That particular moment when your stomach would clutch your ribs like a rattled bird in a featherweight cage, feeling as though it were falling moments behind you as you sent your soul crashing down to earth, mocking gravity and life itself in a joyful free fall. It was a dance with death, the one thing that set Peter's nerves ablaze, shooting his adrenaline up like a skyrocket. He chased that sensation like it was an addiction. He'd wait until just moments, a heartbeat or two, before he'd catch himself, skimming along the busy city streets. He could almost feel the burn of the asphalt that chased his heels as he skimmed it's surface, dancing and weaving between taxi cabs and tightly tucked buildings. 

It had been days since he'd seen the crimson mercenary, and the thought of him sending more swathes of bodies to the morgue had begun to gnaw at his stomach like pack rats. He was insane– definitely. But what stilled Peter was his grief. A grief that he shared. It was moments like these that he wished his villains didn't have sad backstories. Make them simple, like, have an obsession with explosives and no real motive. It was when their reasons for being became more human that it would start to grapple with his morals. Should he stop them from the revenge they sought out? Peter knew well and hard that he'd felt the same way. Would that make him a hypocrite if he tried to stop it?

It was the blaring of semi-truck horns hurtling towards him that shot Peter back into his own body, yanking himself to the side moments before the moving truck could turn him into a red and blue pancake. 

Far from gracefully, he perched himself to an advertising board nestled above a business building, his chin dipping against his chest as he let out an audible groan, the tight container of oxygen he'd locked in his lungs shooting out like a Pepsi bottle. He couldn't get in his head like that while he was dancing with 1.4 ton moving pieces of metal. 

"Nice acrobatics Spidey-babe! For a second there I thought you were gonna be a sploot on that semis windshield. By the way– when's the clown act coming up? It's my favorite part!!"

Again?

His senses must be seriously misfiring for him to be caught off guard like this, let alone more than once. Was it the fact that he was nearing his mid-life crisis or was this guy just seriously good at turning metaphorically transparent?

And how the hell did they choose the same exact advertising board?

It was the only one the hoards of pigeons wouldn't leave layers of their own excrement on. 

Peter was rather fond of this perching spot.

Goodbye Dave Fernanda Car insurance advertisement board, you were a good perch.

" What the hell!!" Peter stood, balancing along the thin scaffolding like a trapeze performer as he spun to face him,"Do you seriously have anything better to do?? This was my spot!"

The mercenary ogled Peter, white highlighted eyes round as crescents,"Whoa there spandex boy– pump the hate breaks," his hands rose ahead of him in a half soothing half defensive motion,"I didn't know this was your little spot," a finger pointed downwards, swirling in a small circle as he pointed to where he sat,"It's the only billboard in two clicks where the pigeons won't shit all over it."

" That's exactly why I chose it."

"Maybe we're soulmates," the man crooned, hands placed together like he was about to pray and framed against his face,"are you here to stop me from finger licking good justice again or are we going to watch the sunset together?" His feet which he left dangling swing like a primary school student.

Peter had never experienced anyone to challenge him at his own game like this. Getting dual-quipped messed with his verbal rhythm. 

Peter groaned, pulling at the spandex mesh that covered his face as if it were his own skin.

"How do you not give yourself a headache?" Peter intoned,"and yes, killing people is a seriously big no no. Plus– you're concerningly sociopathic so as long as you're going to try and schichkabab people you've got me to deal with," Peter halted, mind deadpanning as he realized the merc was watching him at a rather slanted angle, body tilted as he almost seemed to peer past him,"do you see that?"

Talking to this man was like talking to a wall. Who was he kidding thinking he could talk some sense into him. Peter measured his hands on either side of his torso, palms upturned in a questioning motion,"see what?" he pivoted, gazing behind himself.

"Ha, nice." 

Peter stiffened, face burning as he realized he'd just given the man a full view of his behind, anger boiling up from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair like a kettle as he spun back around, pointing an accusational finger towards Deadpool like a dagger," NOT COOL."

The man in red simply hummed to himself, proud of his small accomplishment,"very cool," he argued,"so what's a little spider like yourself doing on this fine afternoon?"

Peter could feel the migraine starting to thrum at his temples,"trying to keep people like you out of my city."

" Ooooh!! goosebumps," Deadpool preened, ghosting a hand up his arm as if Peter could see them beneath the mercenary's thick red sleeves,"you look like the kinda kid to watch Cops in your free time. All save the day like."