Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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If this had been 5 or so years ago, the patrol would’ve been easy. A couple small crimes here and there, returning purses to old ladies, stopping assholes from mugging people in alleyways, catching petty thieves after they tried to rob a bodega. You know, the normal cliche stuff. Toss in a Villain-Of-The-Week? A regular Tuesday.

However, 5 or so years ago, Peter had some help. “Help” was a gracious choice of words. But in the form of a hyperactive, loudmouthed, practically immortal maniac in a black and red gimp suit, he had some help.

That was before Wade Wilson, the man that Peter had unintentionally grown attached to in all of their flirting and getting on each other's nerves when they weren’t saving the city, retired and backed out of his life.

The will-they-won’t-they had been cut short by the man's midlife crisis, but Peter could understand that. What he couldn’t understand was the immediate loss of contact. He felt selfish for missing it, but he really had thought it would’ve lasted longer.

He’d gotten used to it years ago, as much as it did suck, and as much as he could’ve really used the help. He’d figured out a system to work alone again, and it worked well enough. ‘Til he overworked it and ended up burning out and getting himself into trouble.

And tonight? Oh tonight it was big trouble.

He sat on a rooftop, laid back against one of the building's external air vents, exhausted.
Peter had stopped most of the bleeding on his injuries, as gross as it was, sometimes webbing the cuts and dealing with them later worked just fine.

He was trying to angle himself in the least painful way so he could just web the last major slash on his side. Grimacing, he could feel as he twisted his body he was reopening some of the webbed wounds on his shoulder.

If the cuts weren’t bad enough, whatever said Villain-Of-The-Week had soaked their blades in was messing with his head. Some sort of chemical, something bad.

His healing factor was working overtime, and between the cuts, chemicals, exhaustion, and let's be honest here- aging, it wasn’t working fantastically. He needed help. Bless his Parker luck.

He needed more hands, and deliriously, he thought about what it would’ve been like, growing four more limbs. He couldn’t tell if the image made him want to laugh or puke, but luckily his mind couldn’t hold onto the thought for very long.

Man, whatever he was exposed to was strong. Stronger than he could handle alone.

His mind wandered and little did he know his body was trying to wander too. He didn’t really have anyone at home to help patch him up. 5 years ago? He would’ve been at Wade’s apartment, listening to him jabber on while he dressed any serious injuries. They had a sort of routine of licking their wounds and then ordering take out. Looking back at it, it almost sounded like a slice of heaven.

Weird, he hadn’t been on this rooftop earlier. His legs ached, and his side was screaming for attention. But here he was, standing, on a different building. Looking down he recognized the street below, the nearby shops, the corner store.

He felt detached from his body, like he was floating over it, watching it move on its own. Following it, he had found himself somewhere familiar.
Way familiar. Too familiar.

Once he could put two and two together, he was far too tired to do anything about it. Collapsing on the fire escape of an apartment building, he let his eyes slip shut, feeling cold hard metal against his body.

—--------------
Logan had been planning on going to bed early tonight. He’d taken care of the household chores, walked Puppins, had run a quick TVA errand with Wade, even made a nice dinner, and he was tired enough to admit maybe he was getting old. Wade, however, was as energized as ever on a good day. (He’d call them “bones days” on occasion, but had yet to explain what that meant).

So, instead of going to bed early, Logan sat with Wade on their couch as they watched whatever movies Wade had insisted Logan needed to see.

B.D. (Before Deadpool) Logan very rarely watched movies or television for that matter. But now, he was used to a couple films or episodes a day, cuddled in as much as he could bear while the other man would talk through the entire film and their dog would drool in his lap.

As strange as their odd little life and routines were, it was starting to feel incredibly domestic. It felt almost sacrilegious, something Logan had decided he couldn’t have years ago. Sometimes the quiet was really nice, like he could finally settle, and exhale a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Other times, it felt like he was waiting for the shoe to drop, and well, it wasn’t a shoe, exactly.

Logan had gotten into the zone where words were starting to sound very far away, and his eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. He’d settled into Wade’s side, feeling the vibrations of him talking about the actors in the movie that played in the background. Blinking slowly, he began to let himself doze off, before abruptly being startled by a loud crash outside their window.

On his feet immediately, his claws were already drawn out.

“Jesus fucking Christ! I was not in the mood for jumpscares tonight!” Wade let out a squeal and stumbled to his feet, quickly grabbing one of his handguns from the coffee table.

The noise had come from the fire escape, followed by a soft grunt.

There was a stark smell of blood, laced with something Logan couldn't quite place, and he could hear the man breathing, definitely unconscious.

Quickly, he stalked to the window, glaring out onto the fire escape to see a crumpled man in red and blue spandex, passed out and pretty badly beaten. Patches of his suit were torn, revealing bruises blooming and gashes hastily covered in… a thick layer of spider web?

Logan had known of "Spider-man" in his universe, but had never met the guy. Looking down at him, laying sprawled and bleeding on the metal grating, his instincts kicked in.

Before he could think twice, he opened the window, ducking out onto the fire escape and scooping up the limp man. Wade was still standing in the middle of the living room, his gun now back on the coffee table, seemingly shell shocked.

“Ohhh shit.” He muttered to himself, taking in the sight, repeating the phrase like a mantra.

Logan carefully laid Peter out on the couch, tucking one of the endless pillows Wade seemed to collect under his head.

“Wade, first aid kit.” He snapped, trying to break Wade out of his trance.

“Right. First aid kit, we have a first aid kit?” It was a fair question, considering they healed before they got back to the apartment after missions. However, Logan kept their aftercare kit stocked in case of emergencies, or accidents, or very intentional homoerotic injuries.

Sighing, Logan stood up and went to go find it himself, leaving Wade to look after their new unexpected guest.

As he rummaged through the closet, pushing aside Wade’s copious amounts of plushies, collectables, and sex toys, he found the kit.

He noted that Wade was eerily quiet, and inhaled the sour-sweet anxiety that seemed to roll off of the man in wafts.

Returning to the small living room, he noticed Wade had barely moved. The parallels to his own episodes were far too apparent. It usually helped to give the man something to do, something to focus on.

“Bub,” He began, urging gently, “I’m gonna sit him up, can you help me get this web shit off so we can clean him up?”

Wade seemed to hear him distantly, slowly nodding. It was clear he knew the man, someone before Logan, someone that was causing him distress. Distress and… Guilt. The odor mixed with the anxiety like the world's worst air freshener, and it made Logan’s nose twitch, but the man was seemingly not a threat.

“You got it honey badger.” Wade said quietly, still not really moving. Logan looked back at the guy on the couch, before returning his gaze to his roommate.

“Actually, I’ll clean him up. Grab the guest blankets?”

“Right, got it, you got the first aid kit?” Wade asked, seeming to try and blink his way out of the dissociation.

“Yeah, I’ve got this taken care of.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.” Wade said, shifting his weight and wandering to their closet to find some extra blankets and pillows.

It gave Logan a chance to take better stock of the situation. He began with the mask, gently taking it off to check for any injuries. Besides some bruising, his head seemed okay, no bleeding minus a split lip.

He looked older than the Spider-man he knew of in his universe. From what he’d heard that kid was in college, but this guy seemed at least a little more grown.

Getting to work he began trying to remove the webbing, although it was pretty damn hard, sticking to his fingers as he tried to pry it off. Letting out a frustrated grunt, he almost considered using a claw to cut it off, but he didn’t want to maul the guy any further.

This was going to be a long night.

—--------------
Holy. Fucking. Shit balls Batman. Sorry, wrong IP. Moon Knight? Daredevil? Who cares.

Google has yet to answer what to do when your past situationship you ghosted ends up collapsing onto your fire escape and passing out.

Wade walks himself to the bedroom, and begins looking through the already disorganized closet of miscellaneous treasures. Blankets, spare blankets… Where do they keep their spare blankets again?

He was anxious to get the blankets as fast as he could so he could go back, but at the same time, the blankets can take their sweet ass time because he’s not particularly ready.

Finding the stash, he grabs as many as he can, remembering Peter runs cold. Fuck. Why does he remember that after 5 years?

His mind is spinning as he tries his best to pull himself together. Clearing his head the best he can, he shoves all his reeling thoughts to the side.

As he returns, he can see Logan is already getting tired of Parker’s makeshift bandages. He takes a deep breath and grounds himself, wanting to intervene before kitty decides to use his claws.

“The webs are fine on his cuts, they’re naturally antibiotic and play nicely with his healing factor.”

“Kid’s got a healin’ factor?” Logan asks, sitting back on his haunches, examining the man and highly doubting the claim.

“Yeah, not as kick ass as yours or as insistent as mine though.”

Logan nods, and begins to disinfect any cuts that aren’t fully covered. Wade drops the blankets next to the couch, watching Logan work.

“Could you grab him some spare clothes bub?” He asks without looking up.

“Personally I think he’s rocking the ‘I just got mugged in an alleyway’ look, modern fashion Peanut, you wouldn’t understand”

“I need to wrap the wounds, he’s not sleeping in a shredded suit”

“Yeah yeah. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, he doesn’t go commando like yours truly”

“You are the only one who would go commando in a suit.”

Wade snorts as he wanders back to their room, grabbing a random t-shirt and pair of pj pants.
He already knew Peter would roll his eyes after seeing he’d been adorned in hello-kitty pants and Wade’s ‘Big Dick Is Back In Town’ t-shirt, or have a panic attack. He’d probably also have a panic attack.

When he returned once more, Logan was dressing the wounds on his shoulders, working his way to the man’s arms and then his side.

“How else can Nurse Deadpool help you doc?” Wade teases, leaning over the back of the couch, setting the clothes on the cushion. After a few moments of grumbling to himself he answers, not looking up.

“What’s the deal between you two?”

“Oh, I see we’re going for a longer word count here. Should’ve listened to the hurt/comfort tag earlier. Honestly if I see a fic with the smut tag I look no further.”

“Wade,”

“Right.” He lets out a breath, trying to find the right place to start. “We used to work together, y’know, had a whole comic run about it. Although we’re crossing a lot of media here… Between the MCU and comic books, this timeline’s a little convoluted for my taste. Very patchy, but blame the author I suppose-”

“Wade.” Logan urged, knowing that when Wade rambled his nonsense like this, he was usually killing time.

“Okay, okay, tragic backstory cutscene unlocked, you impatient handsome bastard! Petey and I worked together, taught me the virtue of not killing people and all that”

“That worked out well.” Logan muttered, earning an over dramatic gasp.

“How dare you! Sure I started killing people again but for a good while there I was clean! While working with mr. Spidersaint at least! Anyways, we hit it off, I had a mental break, didn’t want him getting hurt, and so, y’know…” he trailed off, trying to avoid the creeping dissociation from the guilt.

“Well it seems like he wanted to see you, or trusts you at least.” Logan replied, finishing his last bandage and slipping the t-shirt over Peter’s head. “Fuck, he’s shivering. Pass me the pants?”

“Yeah, he gets chilly easily, something to do with Spiders and his blood temp I’m sure, something beyond my GED level of education.”

“How do you..?”

“We got pretty close, not as close as I had hoped, but I like to think of myself as ‘the one who got away.’”

“Right.”

There was a pause as Logan laid Peter back down, tucking him under a blanket, before adding another. He was very peaceful as he slept, his face relaxed, but even as he actively was resting, he looked utterly exhausted.

“Someone’s been burning the candle at both ends again.” Wade breathes as they both watch over the sleeping man. Logan hums in agreement.

Cleaning up the scraps of his suit, scrubbing out any remaining blood off the furniture (although considering the men who lived in the apartment, trying to clean out blood was a lost cause), and packing up the first aid kit, they both got ready for bed quietly.

Chapter Text

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Whatever was in his system was throwing his head in for a loop. Tossing and turning, Peter nearly fell off of the couch, waking up with a start. What did cause him to topple onto the floor, was the silhouette of a very built, stocky man with glowing eyes across the room.

Feeling his heart stop for a second he let out a shout, crawling backwards in a panicked daze.
Shit, had he been kidnapped? Or did he pass out on the wrong stairwell? He must’ve been wrong. Wade had obviously moved, wanting nothing to do with him, and he’d ended up trespassing in some strangers' apartment.

Before he could spiral much further, the light was switched on, and a familiar voice called out. A voice that made his heart catch in his chest.

“Petey pie? You okay out there? Oh my god Peanut you’re going to give him a heart attack, don’t loom!”

Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Wade in the doorway, next to a vaguely familiar man. As if the guy wasn’t someone he knew, but more he knew of. He just couldn’t quite place it. Hard to focus when you go from mystery-drug-addled-nightmare to waking up in Hello Kitty pj pants.

Trying to take some deep breaths, Peter attempted to ground himself. He was seemingly safe, Wade was there, he was bandaged and in pajamas that were definitely not his own, and his head was killing him.

Raising a hand to rub at his temple he began to manage a rasp, looking for words.

“Wade?” His voice came out much more pathetic than he had hoped it would.

Wade was by his side quickly, although he seemed to hesitate. The other man joined him.

“Nightmare, bub?” The man asked, and that’s when he placed it. The Wolverine. The realization sent a shiver down his spine. The man was a legend, someone any mutant could look up to. Hadn’t Peter seen a headline about him dying? But here he was, crouched beside him on the floor, wearing flannel pajama pants and a tank top.

Peter slowly nodded, trying to process words through this pounding headache.

“Here baby boy, how about we get you off the hardwood, I can’t imagine it feels great on that fine ass of yours!” Wade teased, making Peter groan.

Before he could try to move his aching body towards the couch, he was suddenly being scooped up by Logan with a yelp.

“Let’s try not to reopen those wounds again, alright webs?” Logan said with a small smirk, placing Peter back down on the couch.

Peter gave a small nod, unsure if his heart rate was spiking from the mini panic attack, or the fact that The Wolverine had just bridal-carried him.

Wade sat down carefully next to Peter on the couch, almost as if he were scared to touch him. Like Peter would shatter if he laid a finger on him. Maybe he would.

“You’re still here.” Peter said quietly, looking down at the floor. He couldn’t really muster the courage to look Wade in his pearly eyes right now. Eyes he’d missed for a long damn time. He knew the weight of the words he had breathed. Behind them stood so many questions; why had Wade left? Why didn’t he say anything? Why hadn’t Peter checked earlier?

Suddenly his heart was caught in his throat, he felt like he was choking on every last word left unsaid.

His chest swelled with an aching pain, something much deeper than the cuts and bruises he’d sustained. Wade was quiet, the man who had a one liner and reference for everything, couldn’t even tell him why he’d left.

Peter blinked back angry hot tears and suddenly turned and punched Wade in the gut. The man let out a surprised grunt and Peter could feel his skin prickle as Logan shifted his weight where he stood.

“Yeah, I deserved that-” Wade gasped, recovering from the wind being knocked out of him.
It made the anger in Peter’s throat coil again, ready to strike. The tears he had been trying to hold back spilled over, and he punched Wade again, before Wade caught his fists, moving to hold his arms at the wrist.

“You’re still here-” Peter repeated, frustrated and gritting his teeth. His cheeks burned in embarrassment as tears rolled down them.

Wade opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to find words, an explanation that justified why he’d left.

Instead of saying anything, he pulled Peter close, letting go of his wrists and wrapping his arms around the man's shaking body.

Peter tried to squirm, petulant, frustrated and upset, but it wasn’t long before he broke down. His closed fists turned into searching hands, looking for any sort of purchase and he clung to Wade.

Pent up sobs wracked through his body, and the burning anger melted into grief, which in turn, melted into exhaustion.

Logan had quietly sat on the other side of Peter, awkwardly extending a hand to rub his back.
After a while, the soothing did work. Peter’s breathing had evened out, and his emotions didn’t feel like they would suffocate him at any given moment. As hurt as he still was, it felt so relieving to be held. It was a feeling he’d forgotten he’d missed. Warm hands and strong arms wrapped around him, sheltering him from his thoughts.

Wade gently rocked him, running his hands up and down the man's back, holding the man's head, petting his hair.

It had felt like it’d been lifetimes since he’d gotten this much attention, and even longer since it had been from Wade.

Time seemed to slow down and slip by, and Peter let himself relax and be held. Before he knew it, he had let his eyes close, letting sleep take him, still clinging to Wade.

—--------------------
The two men across the couch made for a very interesting pair in Logan’s opinion.

He was gently rubbing Peter’s back, unsure of what else to do. He’d never been the best at consoling, not back at the mansion, and definitely not now.

He looked at Wade for direction, how exactly to handle the man who was now practically cuddling into Wade’s chest. But Wade was far too focused on Peter.

His white, glassy eyes stared downwards, and he ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, gently murmuring and making soft shushing noises.

It was a familiar behavior, he’d do the same thing for Logan after bad nightmares. It was like a sort of magic trick the man pulled, because every time without fail, it soothed Logan to sleep too.

Logan couldn’t tell if the sight made him feel incredibly fond or like he was interrupting something. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

Wade had explained his history with Peter a little further earlier, as the two of them had gotten ready for bed. He had talked about how they’d worked together, and were even roommates for a brief period of time, his words betraying how much he truly cared for Peter, every sentence soaked in self loathing.

If anyone understood the instinct to run away, it was Logan. The feeling would gnaw at him whenever he began to feel too comfortable, too safe, too at home.

After living with Wade for a few months now, he'd begun to understand how the man's brain worked, how he processed things. How he protected those he loved, and how he thought of himself as a danger.

Logan wasn't sure exactly how Peter fit into Wade’s mind, but it was clear the spider had spun a home in his heart.

Logan wondered if this meant it was time for him to find somewhere else to camp out for a while. If this was yet another inevitable change, a relationship he wasn’t welcome inside. It wouldn't be the first time, hell, probably not even in the first hundred times. It was a routine at this point. A fact of his life.

Logan cleared his throat stiffly, trying to dismiss the train of thought. Wade looked up with wide eyes, in an almost startled expression.

"You want somethin’ to eat bub?" Logan asked, keeping his voice quiet in hopes of not rousing Peter. He was well aware of Wade's affinity for midnight munchies, and Logan needed something to do with his hands besides half heartedly comforting someone already unconscious. Wade was doing a solid job anyways.

"Do we have any cereal left?" Wade asked, squinting towards their kitchenette across the room. To call it cereal was generous in Logan’s opinion, the stuff Wade would pick out in the grocery store always contained copious amounts of sugar.

"Yeah, I think so. Which one do you want?" Logan began getting up, ignoring the stiffness in his joints that had been nagging at him since it began cooling down outside. Wade made a small humming sound as he thought for a moment.

“Lucky Charms please! It’s the one with that twinky little green leprechaun, remember?”

“I can read, bub.” Logan replied, and despite the words, to his own ears he sounded almost pathetically fond. Too fond for a man who was seemingly on the shore of yet another relationship. An onlooker, again.

“Milk?”

“I’d never turn down milk from you, honey badg-”

“Okay, alright. Jesus christ.”

“Y’know, you can just call me Wade, babycakes”

Logan rolled his eyes, and let out a snort, finding the milk in their mess of a fridge. Along with it, pointedly pulling out the Wolverine action figure that had been sitting next to the carton. He didn’t know how many times he would have to tell Wade to quit buying those and sticking them in the refrigerator.

It was good that Wade was making jokes like that again. He’d recovered from his initial panic, and had returned to something closer to normal in his mind. While his back was facing the couch, Logan let a small smile creep onto his face, pouring the milk over the stupidly sugary cereal. Wade was no spider, and yet, Logan had been caught in his web.

Christ, this one was going to hurt, wasn’t it?

—--------------------
The weight of Peter on Wade’s chest was a soothing one, like a very depressed weighted blanket in his mid 30s, or one of those stuffed animals you put in the microwave. If they lightly snored and drooled a little.

Drool and all, you must admit Peter was a pretty sleeper. Logan was too, but Wade wouldn’t say that out loud less he wanted to be a Deadpool-Kebab.

Logan padded quietly back to the couch, passing Wade his bowl of cereal and sitting on the other end of the couch awkwardly, like you might do if you’re in highschool and at your girlfriend's house for the first time and don’t know what to do with your hands. Logan did have one hand occupied with his comfort bottle of whiskey, but his other was awkwardly laid in his lap.

Wade began eating his cereal, although not mindfully enough to keep milk from dripping down onto Peter’s sleeping head. The guy needed a shower anyways, what’s a little extra dairy in his hair going to do?

“Is the weather nice all the way over there, Peanut? Jesus, you’re acting like we don’t share a bed babe!” Wade whined, wishing he would come closer. Wade didn’t know how, (nor wanted to know how) to deal with the Peter situation alone.

But then, Logan glanced down at the sleeping man. Something in his expression was so dejected, as if he didn’t even have the heart to be jealous.

As much as he did wish he could pull off the whole sexy Goblin Queen routine, Wade was not about to pull a Jean Grey. Or Madelyne Pryor. Whatever, confusing clones and convoluted timelines aside, Logan deserved better than being a third wheel.

“He’s not a replacement, you know,” Wade’s voice softened, and Logan looked up to meet his eyes.

His expression was nearly unreadable, complex and pained, and it made Wade want to be taken behind the shed and told about the rabbits.

Wade was met with silence, Logan opting to take a long swig of whiskey and then stood up. Wade watched him quietly walk back to their bedroom, leaving him alone with Peter and his cereal that was starting to sour in his mouth.

Frankly? Fuck angst writers.

Reaching out, he placed his bowl of soggy, half eaten cereal on the coffee table, his hands returning to Peter, as he readjusted them on the couch. The man stirred quietly, before relaxing back into Wade’s touch.

He’d almost forgotten how much he had missed Peter. This reminded him of nights after long patrols; once they’d eaten their fill of whichever local joint they’d chosen, and after they’d half-watched enough shitty b-list movies, the quiet calm of being next to one another. Wade often was blessed with a sleeping Peter, whether he was curled into his side, tucked under his arm, or against his chest.

The problem wasn’t that Peter was once again, curled up into his chest, comfortable, and safe. The problem was that Logan wasn’t there too.

Logan, the man who had been willing to sacrifice everything to keep Wade alive and to save his universe. Logan, the man who had really said “fuck it” to Wade’s crazy idea of moving in together days after meeting. Logan, the man who, as much as he fussed, not only just put up with Wade, but enjoyed his company.

Logan, the man now laying alone in bed, with nothing but a bottle of whiskey.

Wade knew he couldn’t choose one or the other.