Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wade

[White]
{Yellow}

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And every bite I gave you left a mark
And tiny vessels oozed into your neck
And formed the bruises
That you said you didn’t want to fade
But they did, and so did I that day

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[He was a boy.]

{She was a girl!}

[Can I make it any more obvious?]

{He was a punk!}

[She did… ballet.]

{What more can I say???}

Wade hummed along as he snapped a full clip into Betty and swiped a loving caress over her freshly oiled barrel, tapping her tip with two fingers before tucking her back onto his hip.

He’d been in a delightful mood all evening, still riding the high since Peter left to meet Nurse May after her day shift ended. In a spectacular flurry of productivity, he had checked off several items on his crayon drawn to-do list. He washed all the dishes in the kitchen, looked up three new recipes he could try out with all the groceries he bought earlier that morning, watched four YouTube tutorials on cutting hair (because Peter’s was getting quite long, and while Wade wouldn’t deny that he liked it,

{Gahhh so soft and pretty and it looks so good after we run our fingers through it all fresh fucked like nnnggganfdijvnawfso don’t cut his hair Wade we need it we need to pull it and see his face do that delicious thing where his mouth falls open and his eyes go all heavy and fuck me dark}

[But if we cut his hair, we get to hold sharp shiny scissors close to his pretty pale throat. Just one thin layer of fragile skin between our blade and his sweet blue spidery veins.]

{….Oh. Yes, let’s do that.}

he’d noticed Peter brushing it out of his face with these aggravated little flicks like it was bothering him, so he wanted to be prepared just in case the opportunity presented itself), retrieved a load of his forgotten laundry from the dryer in the basement, and even had time to watch a little softcore porn before he needed to get ready for patrol.

He reloaded his freshly cleaned trench and bowie knives into the holsters on his thigh and boot, tucked a few extra clips and some power bars into their appropriate pouches on his belt, and gave Bea and Arthur two affectionate pecks on the hilts before slinging them across his back.

“Ah,” he sighed happily, smoothing down the leather straps across his chest. “Daddy’s all geared up and ready to lick some ass.”

[Kick some ass, moron.]

{Wait, what? I’d rather lick some, to be honest.}

As an afterthought, he paused near the front door and checked his grenade pouch to make sure all the pins were still secure. He never used to bother with incendiary safety checks, but now he remembered to do them a solid half the time.

[More like one out of five.]

“What are we, OSHA? It’s better than not at all.” Probably. He patted the pouch absently and swiped his other hand over his neck, making sure his mask was fully tucked in before he yanked open the door and stepped into the cramped hallway outside his apartment. He proceeded up towards the roof access, taking the stairs two at a time. “He was a skater boy!”

{She said, ‘see you later boy!’} Yellow jumped in without hesitation.

[He wasn’t good enough for her.]

“She had a pretty face!”

{But her head was up in space!}

[She needed to come back down to earth.]

He kicked open the door at the top of the stairwell and burst happily into the fresh air. It was still a bit hot, the last glow of the setting sun dissipating on the horizon, but a rejuvenating breeze blew across the rooftop and the stars twinkled gayly in the stretch of night sky overhead. Okay, maybe the breeze smelled like old hotdog water and those twinkling lights were just gay planes, but it was still nice! And he was going to meet Spidey for patrol, his precious Petey Pie, with his beautiful laugh and sweet mouth, so nothing could bring him down. Maybe he’d even let Deadpool beat up some bad guys tonight, if Wade promised to be good and not maim anyone.

He took a running leap onto the next rooftop, starting in the direction of Midtown where Spidey usually waited for him. “He’s just a boy!”

{And I’m just a girrrrllll}

[Can I make it any more obvious?]

{We are in love <3}

[Haven’t you heard]

“How we rock each other’s world?” Wade belted the lyrics as he launched towards the next building with a flashy front tuck that twisted into a backflip, startling a flock of pigeons when he stuck the landing and took an exaggerated bow.

{Wait, are we just a boy or am I just a girl?}

“Spidey’s the one with the pretty face.” Wade didn’t linger, continuing his parkour journey across the neighborhood. “And also he’s way too good for us, so.”

[Except that he’s literally a skater boy.]

{Ooooooh that’s right he’s so fuckin’ cute with his little emo skateboard and I just bet he can do all the fancy kickflips and shit, damn that song has so many levels – hey, what’s that?}

Wade skidded to a stop in the middle of another rooftop smoker’s retreat, cocking his head at the glowing orange line that appeared suddenly in the air a few feet ahead of him. As he watched, fingers lighting on Betty’s hilt, the line expanded quickly into a sunset-colored rectangle, wide enough to fit a grown man and hovering a few inches off the ground. It had a shimmery, watery quality but was opaque enough that he couldn’t see through it.

“Hold the fucking phone, it’s not time for our TVA adventure, is it?”

{What’s a TVA?}

[Wrong universe.]

Wade crept carefully towards it, leaning to peer around the edge to see if there was anything behind the weird glowy square thing. Before he could complete his visual inspection, a large metal arm shot out from the two-dimensional portal, grabbed him by the belt, and yanked.

[Oh.]

{Shit!}

Wade came through shooting blind, vision compromised by a sudden shift from the city at night to the blinding white glare of sun beating down on a wide-open space.

“Watch it, idiot!” A sharp, forceful punch accompanied the growled words, snapping Wade’s head back at the same time as his gun arm was knocked aside.

He recovered with a grunt, his other hand swiping out with the sharp end of his second-favorite knife, only to have it blocked with a hollow clang of metal on metal. Another punch landed square in his gut with enough power to have him doubled over, dinner making its way up his throat with a dull burn.

“Whaaaaaat the fuck,” Wade groaned and yanked up his mask, retching onto the ground as a pair of familiar boots swam into sight.

{GASP!}

[You can’t say ‘gasp.’]

{Then why the fuck did I just say it. It’s our old buddy old pal!}

“Whoa,” Wade wheezed, watering eyes trailing up the planes of a beefy grey body suit. His glance traveled up and up until he caught sight of that serious frowny face and glinting yellow eye. “Hello, more comics-accurate Josh Brolin! What’s with the gimp suit and cosmic kidnapping?” He struggled into an upright position and smoothed down his mask, insides squirming back into place with another nausea-inducing lurch. “Not that I would say no to a little consensual non-con, but you sort of caught me at a bad time and we never did get around to setting up a safe word.”

{We’re introducing Cable, AKA Nathan Summers, for you readers who may be a little slow on the uptake. He’s a real sweetie pie!}

“Nice to see you too, fuckface.”

“Aw, your pet names are too much, honey boo! I’m blushing here.”

[Shut the fuck up, we need to see what he wants.]

“What do you want?” Wade tucked his gun away but kept the knife out, twirling it dexterously between the fingers of his left hand.

Nathan just grunted and turned away, fiddling with something on his oversized tech harness as he strode towards a blocky silver truck parked a few yards away. Wade trailed after him, taking the opportunity to glance at their surroundings. They appeared to be on a dusty, abandoned plateau that was currently baking under the heat of midday. A sprawling city lay in the valley below, tan buildings squatting under a smog-covered horizon, little grey arteries of skyways and zipping trains threaded through like sluggish blood feeding a bloated corpse.

“Seriously, seasons greetings and all that, lovely to catch up, we should do it again some time but what the fuck do you want?”

The time traveling dildo continued to ignore him, opening a hatch on the back of the truck and starting to rifle around inside.

“What, you got lock jaw from sucking too much dick? Cough it up, robo cop, before I pop a grenade in your little cybertruck™ and see if Elon’s batteries can really hold a charge.”

{Ew.}

“I’ve got a mission for you.”

{Ooh, a mission?? The stabby blowie up kind??? How much does it pay????}

“Doesn’t matter how much it pays, we can’t take it.”

“You’ll take it,” Nathan stated, infuriatingly overconfident.

“Um, ex-squeeze me, I wasn’t talking to you. And also, fuck off. I’m not taking shit from you anymore.”

“You take shit from everyone.”

“Okay, ow. True, but still. It’s gonna be a no for me, dawg.”

{Awwwww but I wanna take it!!! We haven’t been on a mission in forever.}

[Did you forget about our mission in New York?] White’s words carried a sharp edge. [Emo little bug with big eyes and a soft mouth? You were the one who was so obsessed with trapping the spider in a cup and tapping on the glass all the livelong day, but if you’re ready to move on…]

{Oh fuck, no! Never.}

Nathan finally seemed to find what he was looking for in the trunk of his car, yanking out a weird canister-like thing and setting it on the ground between them. It looked like a reinforced glass tube, about the length of Wade’s forearm and half as wide across, and the caps on either end had the dull sheen of vibranium. “You’ll need this.”

“Okay, I think maybe you’re having a little trouble with the listening. Want me to clean your ears out for you?” Wade brandished the knife helpfully.

“Put that away before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, someone’s definitely gonna get hurt.”

Cable fixed him with an unimpressed stare, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “It’s a containment unit. Once you’ve completed the grab, just activate the transport module and the device will return to me.”

“Did that pesky techno-virus burst your eardrums? Read my lips, sugar-tits.” Wade drew his next words out and accompanied them with one-handed sign language, jabbing his knife into Nathan’s plushy pec for emphasis. “I’m. Not. Doing. It.”

Cable’s metal hand snapped up to grab Wade’s wrist, fingers tightening dangerously as his mouth twisted into a scowl. “I’m telling you, you will.”

“You can tell me all you want, but I’m not your boyfriend, baby.”

{I ain’t your cute little sex toy!}

[I’m not your lion or your tiger.]

“Won’t be your nasty little boy.” Wade pressed the knife forward with a grin.

Cable squeezed down and snapped his wrist with a muffled crunch.

“Ah, shit fucking tits in a box you motherfucking slut!” He jerked away, fumbling the knife from numb fingers and shaking out his hand, agony sparking up the bones of his arm, until everything ground back into place. “Control your anger, you Stalinist pig!”

“Control your mouth, you jabbering freak.”

“Oh, please. We both know what you want to do with my mouth, you big –” Nathan drew his overpowered mech arm back and Wade let out a shriek, flinching away and covering his head with his arms. “I’m just a girl!”

“Will you please just shut the fuck up.”

“How long have you known me, Summers? It’s not like you to start wishing for miracles now.” He bent over to retrieve his knife and slid it back into his thigh holster. “If you want to shut me up, I suggest forgetting all about this stupid mission thing and sending me back home.”

{Or he could fill our mouth with something else…}

[Jesus. Your degradation kink is astoundingly pathetic.] White’s tone was scathing.

“Or I guess you could occupy my mouth some other way,” he mused. “But I gotta warn you, I’ll be obliged to bite down. I’m in a committed relationship now, and so I’m just not that kinda girl anymore.”

“Look.” Nate had the bridge of his nose pinched between thumb and fingers, eyes squeezed shut and mouth twisted in a frown. “You want to do this.”

“These aren’t the droids I’m looking for. Really? That’s your argument?”

He hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. “This is a solution to a problem you’ll want to solve. You won’t even have to go anywhere or do anything differently. Your lazy ass can just keep crashing through life until you have a need for this, and then you can use it. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Mmmmm,” Wade made a high, disbelieving sound. “Sounds like I’m the one doing you a favor, Mr. Lazy Balls. Except I’m not and I won’t. You’re a big boy, you can take care of your own shit.”

“By the time this is needed, it will be too late for me to get involved without risking a poor outcome.”

“Well, that’s reassuringly vague. Why don’t you just skip back through time to before this mysterious Bad Thing happens and nip the bud before it grows into a singing, man-eating monster plant?”

{Shoot baby Hitler!}

“Yeah, the Hitler plan! Except that never seems to work out in the movies… Thank the gods this is a fanfic, amiright?”

Cable growled impatiently. “I don’t have time for you to be psychotic, Wilson. Pick up your fucking marbles because you’re taking the fucking job.” He ignored Wade’s narrow-eyed glare and kicked the canister towards him. “Things must happen in a certain way to preserve the timeline and ensure that vital future events will come to pass.”

“Okaaaaaay. Then why fuck with the timeline at all?”

“To save lives and prevent catastrophic outcomes.”

“But then why not just go back and change the bad thing before it happens? If you fuck with the thing, you fuck with the thing. It’s a time paradox!”

[Like the Butterfly Effect.]

“Tenet, but less confusing.”

{The Terminator!}

“Oh, oh! Back to the Future. Classic.”

“God damnit, Deadpool!” Cable threw his hands up, volume rising to a yell. “Your thick skull clearly can’t comprehend the fragility of the Multiverse!”

“Hey, now!” Wade yelled back, planting his hands on his hips. “I know all about the Multiverse. Did you know we’re part of Disney now?”

{That’s right bitches, we’re a Disney princess. Dreams really do come true!}

[That’s not what that means.]

“Yep, brand new movie and everything. Turns out we’re a bomb ass dancer!”

{Hells yeah baby, bye bye bye! We manifested that shit – Part 1 Chapter 14.}

“You can blather on about your fictional audience ‘till your brains leak out of your ears,” Cable jabbed a metal finger into his chest. “You don’t know shit about the delicate web of timelines I’m trying to preserve here.”

“Oho, was that a Spider-Verse reference?”

“Shut the fuck up and stop wasting my time, you deranged nut-job.” He loomed over Wade. “We both know you’ll do what I fucking tell you because you love following orders like the dog you are.”

Wade’s hands tightened into fists, leather gloves creaking. “Find someone else.”

“It has to be you.”

“Why you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know!”

“It has to be you, Deadpool.”

“Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you’re gonna have to find somebody else to be your time traveler’s wife this time. I’ve got other responsibilities now.”

“This is your responsibility.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t do the galivanting through time thing anymore – I’m puttin’ down roots. Homemaking. Thought I’d try out the trad wife trend, y’know.”

“You absolute shit for brains. This. Is. Your responsibility.”

[Wait.]

Wade went still, staring at Cable through narrowed eyes for a long moment. When he spoke, the words dropped quiet and low. “Does this have something to do with Spider-Man?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

He drew his katanas in a flash, sharp point of one blade angled straight towards Cable’s forehead. “You’ll fucking tell me. Now, if you want to keep your last working eye in your head.”

Nathan rolled his eyes and bared his teeth in a sneer, but he’d gone tense all over, weight sliding back onto his heels, ready for defensive maneuvering. He always had been a canny fighter when he needed to be, despite his preference for throwing his weight around like a clumsy giant. “If I tell you,” He spelled it out slowly, like Wade was stupid. “You’ll fuck everything up and he’ll get even more hurt.”

{He’s gonna get hurt?} Yellow gasped.

[We can’t let that happen.]

Wade could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. He dipped his sword down and pressed gently forward until the edge dug into Nathan’s neck right over the artery, just enough pressure to indent the skin. The taller man held very still, eyes fixed on Deadpool’s mask. “How is he involved?”

“Centrally.”

His hand held steady, but the rest of him trembled with the urge to lash out. Fuck this. Seriously, fuck this. “Who’s coming for him?”

{Who do we need to kill?}

Cable just shook his head. Carefully.

[We can torture it out of him. We’re good at getting information.]

{Yesssss if we remove that shiny eye of his and take a rusty screwdriver to his arm, I bet he’ll start feeling chatty.}

Wade sized him up, fingers tightening on his katanas. It wasn’t exactly a thought he savored, despite the boxes’ enthusiasm. In all truth, he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to overpower the other man without killing him outright. Even if he could get the upper hand, get Cable restrained and start putting his interrogation skills to use, there was no guarantee he’d get anything meaningful out of him. The man was pathologically stubborn with a martyr-complex even more overdeveloped than Spider-Man’s.

He spun on a dime and skewered the taillight and oversized tire of Nate’s stupid-ass truck with both his katanas. “Fuck!” He screamed, and kicked the damn thing for good measure. It rocked forward and settled back with anticlimactic ease. Cable let out a put-upon sigh and Wade stood still for a moment, chest heaving, before he yanked his blades back out with a screech and re-sheathed them. He turned back around. “Alright. What do I have to do?”

Cable bent to pick up the canister, not bothering to hide a smug smirk that made Wade’s blood boil. “Here’s the control panel.” He jabbed a finger at one end of the device. “This button is activation – you only get one shot because it seals after containment is occupied. The switch on the side is transport initiation; it’s coded to my location signature.”

“Ooh, what’s this one do?” Wade reached towards a little red dial in the corner of the panel. Nate slapped his hand away.

“It’s a sonic disrupter.”

“Like Friday by Rebecca Black? Yellow, don’t you fucking dare I can hear you gearing up.”

“No, like a sonic disrupter.”

“Gee, that’s so unambiguous and not at all vague foreshadowing,” he snarked, but Nathan was no longer paying attention. He was digging out a jack and a spare tire from the trunk, and Wade grinned with petty joy at the minor inconvenience he had caused. “So, what exactly am I grab-and-tagging? Bomb? Virus? Cure for cancer? We sure could’ve used that in the first act.”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Of course, you can’t. How am I supposed to know what you’ve ordered for delivery if you don’t select something from the menu?”

“You’ll know when the time comes.”

[Sanctimonious prick.]

Wade would argue some more, because he never got tired of pressing Nathan’s buttons, but time was a-ticking. And frankly, he was used to receiving incomprehensible bits and pieces of information from the man that didn’t resolve into a logical pattern until the last possible moment. Despite the animosity between them, he did begrudgingly trust that Nate meant what he said.

“Okay, I’m getting a little tired of the cloak and dagger act, so I think I’ll just take my time-hopping tupperware and call for a portal back to NYC the year of our lord 2017 A.D. – Anno Deadpool.”

{Holy shit, is that when this fic started? The authors are slow as fuck.}

He hoisted the canister into his arms. It was a little unwieldy, but he could probably rig something up to hook it onto his belt. “Wanna help a fella out or should I try for an uber?”

“You’re not taking it with you.” Cable used his metal arm to lift the back of the truck and wedge the jack underneath.

“Um, maybe I’m mistaken, but I thought the whole point was for me to use this cutting-edge FedEx tube to save the multiverse?”

“That’s not what I said.” He straightened up and plucked the containment unit out of Wade’s hands. “If you take it now, you’ll just fuck it up.” He pressed something on the control panel that summoned a small holographic menu. He closed his eyes for a moment and the holograph flashed with indecipherable code, then disappeared. “I’m sending it to the time and place it will be used.” He flicked the switch on the side with his thumb, and the whole thing blinked out of existence with a light pop.

Wade let out a low whistle. “So that’s just gonna show up out of thin air at exactly the right moment and deus ex machina the whole story? Sounds like lazy writing.”

“Sounds necessary.” Cable grunted. “Remember what happened last time I trusted you with a simple task?”

{Our legs never grew back right. It still hurts when it rains!}

“Hey, we’ve lost legs since then. No biggie.”

Cable fiddled with the clunky watch strapped to his flesh wrist and another orange doorway appeared beside them. “Now scram. I’ve got shit to do.”

[Rude… And we’re the ones doing his dirty work for him. A little appreciation wouldn’t be too much to ask.]

{We’re doing it for Spidey, too. Can’t forget that.}

“Of course not,” Wade muttered. “Sure, fine. See you next century, I guess.” He held up two middle fingers as he strode towards the portal. “Suck a dick, much cheaper Wolverine!”

He front-flipped through the shimmery orange rectangle and fumbled the landing when ground-level dropped on the other side, twisting one ankle. “Fucking shit! He did that on purpose.”

He peered around, noting that the portal had disappeared. He was back on the same rooftop as before, marked by a lonely garden box full of dead leaves and two dirty lawn chairs arranged beside the roof access door, a pile of cigarette butts scattered beside them. The sun beat down at a shallow angle, mid-afternoon heat rising off the asphalt and warming Deadpool’s boots. “Ah, fucking shit squared! Spidey’s gonna be pissed.”

He'd missed patrol.

{We were gone all night?}

[And half the day.]

{What the fuck???}

“Apparently Nathan decided to be a petty, douche-guzzling transformer with a flagpole up his ass,” Wade griped as he started back towards his apartment, taking a running leap at the next building over. “Again.”

{Fuck that tonka truck bitch!}

“Yeah, fuck him.”

[We need to find Spider-Man.]

Wade grunted as he hefted himself over a ledge. “You think he’s mad? I mean, it wasn’t so long ago he was giving us the slip when we got too annoying. He probably wanted a break anyway.”

{But things are different now. We’re all in love and shit and we do cute couple things like fucking to The Office.}

“That was pretty great.”

[He cried.]

“Yeah but like, in a nice way.”

[Or because having to see your orgasm face made him want to kill himself.]

“Hey, he was crying before that! Get the fuck off my dick, damn.”

{Yeah! He might have been crying from the feel of Wade’s gross, bumpy hands. Ever think of that?}

“Okay, you’re not helping.” Wade tried to keep his cool, but his stomach was starting to fill with knots. He’d struck such a delicate balance with Peter, had just started feeling like he was making progress and gaining back some trust, and now it looked like he’d fucked off and disappeared for an entire night. “It’ll be fine. We’ll just explain that it wasn’t our fault.”

[Sure. Because he’s been in such an understanding, listening mood these past few weeks.]

Wade slowed down when he reached his own rooftop, nervously fingering the hilts of his katanas to double check they were still there. “It was just one night. He probably doesn’t even care.”

{Didn’t miss you… Yeah, that tracks.}

He took the fire escape, feeling a little too edgy to brave the cramped stairwell inside. Peter was probably at his own place, or out fucking around on his skateboard somewhere, but there was a possibility he’d come over to hang out. They’d been spending a lot of time together lately, and it made Wade’s chest feel tight to think that Peter might punish his absence by running away again, withdrawing his presence, his sweet sighs and easy pliancy.

[If he runs again, we’ll just catch him and bring him back.]

{We’re good at spider hunting. Can tie him up nice and pretty so he never leaves again.}

“Better try spider-coaxing,” Wade mumbled, curling his fingers under the edge of his bedroom window and dragging it up. The frame squeaked, which was annoying. He’d just oiled everything the other day.

He ducked inside, mouth twitching into a confused frown as he took in the sight of his room. It was a mess – more so than usual, which was impressive. Clothes were strewn across every surface, half-empty drawers opened and tossed, suitcase overturned, spare ammo and firearms pulled out of the closet where he usually kept them tucked out of sight. The sheets were twisted up at the bottom of the bed, pillows on the floor, and his special little box of sexy time toys had been pulled out from under the bedframe.

{GASP! Don’t tell me they took the dildos!!!}

[Yeah. Someone broke in, left all the valuable weapons, and took the used hunk of rubber that’s been up Wade’s ass.]

{I mean, those things are expensive… The sparkly one was custom-made!}

He stepped silently out of the bedroom, hands hovering over his holsters. The kitchen cabinets stood open, some of the dry goods he’d just put away tipped over carelessly. The living room was similarly tossed, weapons pulled out of their hidey holes, TV stand at an angle, couch cushions on the floor. And on the couch, just visible over the back of it, was a familiar head of fluffy brown hair.

The tension melted out of Wade’s muscles and his heart thumped faster. “You’re here.” He circled the couch. “Look, I’m sorry about last night. But did you have to take it out on my stuff? Not that it really, um…”

Peter’s eyes were open, but he looked half-asleep. He stared blankly towards the wall, not even glancing in Wade’s direction. His eyes were sunken, dark, lips chapped and skin pallid. He was wearing one of Wade’s sweatshirts, sleeves pulled down over his hands, and the blanket from the bed was draped across his legs where they tucked into the corner of the bare couch.

[He looks like shit.]

“Hey. You okay?” He didn’t respond. He didn’t move at all, and Wade wet his lips nervously. “Peter?”

His head whipped towards Wade so suddenly that he startled, taking a half-step backwards. Peter stared at him, something like shock in the shape of his open mouth and the widening of his eyes.

“Wade?” His voice was scratchy.

“The one and only!” He made jazz hands. That was probably a poor choice, because the surprise on Peter’s face was quickly morphing into stormy anger.

“You asshole.”

{What did we do now?}

Peter tore the blanket off his lap and slung it at Wade. It hit his face with a muffled thump.

“Oof. Look, I got a bit held up and—”

“I tore the fucking city apart looking for you!” He was yelling now, up on his knees with hands curled into fists, blotches of red rising to the surface of his cheeks.

[Someone’s being a little melodramatic.]

“Okay, okay! No need to be jealous, honey bunches of oats. I just got caught up with an old friend.”

Peter froze, and a zing of danger shot down the back of Wade’s neck. “You left. To see an old friend?” His voice was deadly low, tight with barely contained rage.

{Unghhhh so hot.}

Wade swallowed reflexively. “No, not exactly.”

Peter let out a frustrated growl and hurled a pillow at him. “I can’t believe you!” He grabbed blindly at items scattered across the coffee table and threw a closed pocketknife next. It hit Wade in the forehead with unerring accuracy.

“Ow, okay.” He backed up towards the kitchen, holding his hands up to fend off further attacks. “Listen, it wasn’t my fault!”

He didn’t seem interested in listening. Wade knocked aside a couch cushion and shielded his face from a flying remote. “You were gone, you fucking jerk!”

Wade’s stomach lurched, and he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the plate Peter flung next, which shattered across his chest. Then he grabbed the laptop off the table. “Hey, hey, that’s my—” He ducked, and the computer bounced off the fridge with a dull crack. “Yep, okay.”

Peter picked up and threw the literal fucking coffee table and there was nothing Wade could do to avoid it. It smacked into him, knocking the breath from his lungs as he stumbled painfully into the counter and tripped over a pillow, barely catching himself against the granite as he lost his footing. There was a soft thwip under the crashing of wood and the end of a web line stuck itself to Wade’s chest. It pulled taught, yanking him roughly back to his feet.

{Ooh, Spidey suit under the clothes. Kinky.}

Then Peter was launching himself over the back of the couch and Wade flinched, expecting to get hit but prepared to take it. Instead, the little spider wrapped his arms and legs around him and squeezed so tight all the air was pushed out of his lungs in a rush. More than one rib cracked under the pressure with a sharp, radiating throb. He was shaking, face pressed tight to Wade’s shoulder.

[Damn. I guess he did miss us.]

Wade tentatively rubbed at Peter’s back, heart climbing up his throat at the display of affection, aggressive though it was. It was sort of freaking him out, to be honest. There was a sinking sensation behind his compressed ribcage, like he was missing something important.

The clinging boy didn’t loosen his hold at all, and it started to get uncomfortable after a few seconds. Wade tapped at his shoulder blade. “Kinda can’t breathe,” he managed to whisper. Peter’s full-body grip loosened just enough to let his lungs expand, but he didn’t allow an inch of space between them.

The mercenary relaxed just a bit, inhaling to dissipate the tightness in his chest and the ache in his bones. He buried one hand in Peter’s hair, noting that it could probably use a wash, and pressed a masked kiss to the top of his head. “Baby Boy.” He felt Peter shiver against him. “Sweetheart, I’m really sorry.”

“You were gone.” The cracked whisper was pressed into his suit, and Wade’s throat felt hot and tight. Jesus. He was really upset about this.

“I know.” He wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist and squeezed gently. “I know, but it was only for a few hours. I didn’t mean to be, okay? I came back as soon as I realized.”

Peter finally peeled his face away from Wade’s suit and looked at him, eyes red and expression frighteningly blank. “Wade. You were gone for two weeks.”

He froze.

[That… No.]

No. That wasn’t possible. He’d just been here. Nathan was a dick, but he wouldn’t… Except that he totally would.

“I’m gonna fucking kill Cable,” he growled, hands tightening into fists where they clung to Peter.

[He needs to be put down. Permanently.] White was livid.

{We’ll fucking slaughter him that motherfucking sanctimonious prick how dare he? Who the fuck does he think he is? No right, he had no right we’ll hunt him down across his stupid fucking web of time and shove a knife into his stomach and a grenade down his throat, see how he likes it when we slice his balls off and stuff them into the hole we blow through his bionic skull. Good luck trying to fuck with time when you’re wearing your guts like a necklace, precognitive prick.}

Wade clenched his teeth and shook his head, trying to think over Yellow’s raving tirade and his own rising panic. Peter was frowning at him, and that miserable blank look was still lingering on his face.

“It’s his fault,” Wade tried to explain. “He… Gods, okay, I know this sounds crazy.” He turned them around, kicked the broken coffee table aside and set Peter down on the edge of the counter. He couldn’t think with Peter still wrapped tight around him and Yellow ranting in his head, but neither one of them gave him any space.

“Shut up.” He winced, braced his hands on the counter, then grabbed the outsides of Peter’s thighs instead. “Fuck, sorry. Look, I was only gone for a few minutes. An hour, tops. I mean, I know that’s not what it felt like. Was. Here, at least. But for me, it was literally last night like an hour ago, and now it’s today. Or two weeks later, apparently. Shit, I’m not saying it right.” He took a deep breath, trying to slow down enough to maybe stop sounding like a lunatic. Peter had that little furrow between his brows, like he didn’t understand, and that was Not Good. “It’s all Cable’s fault. He can travel through time. Nathan, I mean. Summers. He’s got a time-portal thingy and he sort of protects the multiverse I guess, it’s not super clear, but he did this. Okay? He zapped me into the future – at least I think it was the future – because he had to talk to me about something, and then when he sent me back, he got it wrong and yeeted me into the future. My future, his past. Now, instead of when I was supposed to be. Except he probably did it on purpose because he’s a fucking asshole and I’m going to murder him the next time I see him.”

Wade’s hands were shaking. He pressed them flatter against Peter’s sweatpants-covered legs and waited for him to give the obligatory ‘murder is bad’ speech, but it never came. His eyes had gone glassy and sort of far away, and a horrible suspicion sank into Wade’s gut like lead. “You believe me, don’t you?” Peter blinked at him, and he reached up, clumsily pushing the hair back from his face. “Petey, baby, you gotta—I didn’t mean to. Do you believe me?”

“You promised.” Peter’s voice wavered, and Wade felt his stomach drop out of his body. “You promised you wouldn’t leave again.” His face crumpled, a quiet, tired collapse, and tears slipped silently down his cheeks in shiny lines.

{No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no}

“Oh, Baby Boy. Honey, no.” He cradled Peter’s head, rubbed his thumbs desperately over his cheeks and smeared the wetness across his skin but it didn’t stop spilling over. “I didn’t… Gods, I didn’t mean to.”

[Jesus, Wade.] White’s voice was tight with pain. [Look what you fucking did.]

“I’m sorry.” Wade’s throat burned. He pressed a frantic kiss to Peter’s temple. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He trailed leather-covered kisses and futile apologies over the hero’s head and face, trying to smother the horrible hitching sound of his silent cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Peter cut him off with a small whimper, grabbing his head and yanking at the bottom of his mask. He pressed their mouths together in a clumsy rush, the catch of their lips stealing Wade’s breath away. It was wet and salty with tears and it made him ache. Peter wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and dragged him closer, kissed him hard enough to hurt, until Wade was lightheaded from lack of oxygen. He couldn’t stop the groan from crawling up his throat, muffled around Peter’s tongue where it shoved inside his mouth, mingled pain and pleasure overwhelming.

He gasped when Peter pulled back abruptly, swaying forward before he got control of himself. The hero’s mouth was red, cheeks damp. His eyelashes clumped together in shiny strands and he was staring at Wade intently, gaze flickering from the white eye patches to his panting mouth and back again. He dug clever fingers under the raised edge of the Deadpool mask and pulled it up and off, unheeding of Wade’s reflexive flinch. Then he was staring at his bare face and Wade felt his skin prickle. He forced himself not to duck,

[It’s not like he hasn’t seen this revolting mess before.]

but he was starting to feel distinctly sick to his stomach. Peter was looking at him with too much focus, wide brown eyes searching over the map of his scars like he was looking for something.

“Is this real?” He whispered.

Wade tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Yeah.” He dragged his thumb over that slick cheek again. “Yes, Baby Boy. This is real. I’m here.”

Peter didn’t seem to hear his words, but after a few moments he blinked, breaking that intense stare, and buried his face in Deadpool’s shoulder with a sigh. Wade scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and then wrapped his arms around the small body curled against chest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his hair.

[He doesn’t want to hear it.]

{But we are,} Yellow whined. {Tell him again. He needs to forgive us so we can go back to being in love and stop that pain in the chest stop hurting it hurts.}

Wade bit down hard on his tongue and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sweat and tears and Peter. They embraced for a long minute, until their flush chests rose and fell together in the same rhythm. Wade gave him a squeeze and pulled back with another press of his lips to the boy’s bowed head.

“Hey.” He cradled Peter’s neck and hooked a thumb under his chin, tipping it up so he could see his face. “When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?”

Peter blinked at him, gaze fuzzy. He took a moment to answer. “Not sure. Last night, maybe.”

He didn’t bother asking how much shut-eye he might have gotten – the poor spider was clearly running on fumes. “And how about food? When did you last eat, Spidey?”

Those tired eyes skittered away at the question, head ducking as he picked at one of the buckles on Wade’s chest. He shrugged.

Damn it. All that work he’d been doing, down the drain. Spider-Man’s metabolism was as enhanced as the rest of him – he needed to eat.

{Yessss now we can feed him, get our fingers in his pretty mouth.}

“C’mon.” Wade gently untangled himself from Peter’s legs and took his hand, helping him slide down off the counter. Peter grabbed hold of his fingers and clamped down tight, as if Wade might try to shake him loose. He led the way towards the fridge, ignoring the mess of broken items scattered across the floor, and opened the door to peer inside. “Ah, shit.”

He’d just been grocery shopping, but all the fresh fruits and veggies he bought were starting to rot and the milk was just about expired. The visual confirmation of the passage of time made him feel kind of buzzy and unreal around the edges. But it wouldn’t do for both of them to start questioning reality, so he shoved the off-balance feeling aside and bent to dig in the back for some pre-sliced cheese. It was the fancy kind, so it would still be good to eat. Then he moved around the kitchen, pulling an upended box of crackers and a slightly dusty can of soup from one of the shelves, pushing cabinet doors shut as he went. He would have cooked something better, but he didn’t know what ingredients he still had available, and he didn’t want to make Peter wait any longer than necessary. There was an urgency pushing him forward, a need to fix this as quickly as possible.

It was a bit awkward getting the soup heating on the stove one-handed, but Peter didn’t seem inclined to let him go anytime soon, so he managed. His fingers finally got released, a bit numb from being held so tight, when he needed both arms to lift the little spider onto the open space of countertop between the sink and the stove. He made sure to stay close, leaning in between spread thighs as he tore open the cheese and arranged a piece on one of the crackers.

“Open up,” he offered, free hand coming to rest on Peter’s hip, slipped under the loose edge of his sweatshirt. The fabric of his Spider-Man suit was slick and cool under his fingers. Peter blinked at the cracker, an oddly unsure expression crossing his tired face, and Wade waivered, suddenly unsure if he should force the issue. This felt different from the usual obstinance and bratty refusals he’d grown to enjoy subduing. “Is it…” He cleared his throat. “I can order something or cook something else if you want. But you gotta eat, Baby Boy.”

“No!” His eyes flashed up to Wade’s face. “No, this is good.” He seized the mercenary’s wrist and pulled the cracker up to his mouth, taking the whole thing between his teeth in one bite. “Thanks,” He mumbled as he chewed, thumb stroking a line across the bottom of his glove.

Wade swallowed, that vague sense of unreality growing stronger. “Yeah. ‘Course.” He prepared another cracker, anchored by the soft weight of Peter’s hand lingering on his arm. He let Wade feed the next one into his mouth. And another, and another after that, eventually transitioning to taking bites instead of devouring the whole thing in one go. The scrape of his teeth on leather gloves made Wade tingly all over. They got through most of the cheese and half the box of crackers by the time the soup started to bubble. Wade retrieved a bowl from behind Spidey’s head and poured carefully. If he was alone, he wouldn’t have bothered with the bowl. Hell, he wouldn’t have bothered with heating the soup at all, but Peter deserved better.

He scooped up a spoonful and blew lightly across the hot liquid, cooling it off a bit before he offered it to Peter. The first few mouthfuls were accepted easily, and Wade was quick to refill the spoon, bringing each bite to those soft, pale lips. Then Peter began to slow down, taking longer to chew and swallow each bite, and it settled something in Wade to know he was getting full. But he kept opening his mouth for more, letting Wade literally spoon-feed him chicken noodle soup like he was determined to fulfill all the mercenary’s inappropriate fantasies. Except in his fantasies, Spidey might need Wade to take care of him, but he never actually looked like he was sick. By the time he’d swallowed half the bowl, Peter had gone a bit pale. A subtle sheen of sweat was collecting at his hairline and he looked vaguely ill, eyelids drooping when he swallowed an extra time before opening his mouth for the next bite.

Peter had never failed to let him know when he’d had enough food, so Wade kept offering more despite the concern stirring behind his ribs. It wasn’t long before Peter was practically panting between bites, and Wade paused with the spoon hovering over the bowl. “You okay, Baby Boy?” Spidey nodded jerkily, but his eyes had gone unfocused, and his fingers trembled where they were latched around Wade’s forearm. He frowned and dropped the spoon back into the bowl, setting it aside on the counter. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

He slid a hand up the side of Peter’s face, brushing some of the hair off his forehead. Peter opened his mouth, then snapped it closed again. He shut his eyes and shook his head, then he jerked towards the sink and puked.

“Oh, fuck.” Wade rushed to stroke his hair out of the way, clamping his other hand over the back of Peter’s neck to help him bend over the sink. His own stomach twisted with guilt as he watched the regurgitated food splash down the drain.

“Sorry,” Peter gasped between retches, tears squeezed out of his eyes and tracking down his blanched cheeks as he heaved.

“Shh, shh, no, no, no.” Wade squeezed the back of his neck and trailed his hand down, trying to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades as the boy swayed and gripped the edge of the counter. Shit.

{There you go, fucking everything up again and making our little spider sick.}

Peter spat into the sink and wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth, sitting up shakily to turn into Wade’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he repeated in a horrible little voice, fresh tears leaking out of his hazy eyes as he gripped desperately at the front of Wade’s suit. “I’ll be good, okay? You don’t have to leave again.”

[What the fuck.]

Wade stiffened in horror, hands hovering uselessly. “Peter…”

An awful, blanked out numbness spread over his body. He couldn’t comprehend how he’d fucked up so completely. How everything he’d tried to do turned out so utterly wrong. His head felt kind of floaty and cold pinpricks spread across his scarred-up skin. He was paralyzed, unable to think of a solution. Couldn’t decide what to do now, what to do next, because whatever he did would just make it worse. He always made it worse. He wished somewhat distantly that the boxes would suggest something. Even something bad, because then maybe he could do the opposite and it would be better than doing nothing at all. Better than standing here like a fucking idiot having a mental breakdown when he should be doing something, anything to make this better.

He couldn’t think. The boxes couldn’t think. It was only empty panic in his head.

“I don’t know what to do here.” The words came out flat, like maybe someone else had said them.

Peter’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”

Wade seized him by the shoulders, something frantic flashing through him. “Stop apologizing, okay?” His voice was tight, as close to breaking as the rest of him. “Please.”

[Fucking hell. Even I’m surprised by how badly you managed to fuck up this time.]

{We hurt him.} Yellow whimpered.

[He’s scared of you, Wade. Is that what you wanted?]

{We made him cry.}

[You trained him up real good, didn’t you? Like an obedient little dog, desperate to please its master and avoid the boot.]

He watched the delicate column of Peter’s throat flex when he swallowed what was probably another apology. Wade squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in denial, sick guilt sinking in his gut like a stone.

{We’re bad for him.}

[Always have been.]

{We should leave.}

[You should die. All you do is screw up. Hurt people. Everyone would be better off if you could die for real – pity it’s not possible.]

{We should go away. Far away where we can’t hurt him anymore.}

[Yeah, let’s abandon him again. That’ll make him really hate us.]

“He already hates us,” Wade whispered, head hanging.

Two cold hands landed on his face, gripping his jaw and forcing him to look up. “I don’t hate you,” Peter said fiercely. “I don’t, Wade. I need you. I lov—”

Wade clamped his palm over that careless mouth, as if he could shove the words back inside. “Let’s save that for some time I’m not liable to absolutely lose my shit and put twelve bullets in my brain, shall we?”

They stared each other down, the hero’s eyes glinting mulishly before softening with some unnamable emotion that turned Wade’s insides to soup. Ugh. Soup was definitely ruined for him now.

Peter’s hands slipped from his face and gently curled around his wrist, pulling his arm down so he was no longer muzzled and threading their fingers together. He cleared his throat. “Can I have some water?”

Wade nodded jerkily and reached into the cabinet above the sink, fumbling for a glass and nearly dropping it. He filled it clumsily from the faucet and held it out, glove dripping, for Peter to take. He drank half the glass, then rinsed his mouth out and spit into the sink again. Wade handed him a dishtowel on autopilot.

{Should we offer him more food?} Yellow sounded meek, unsure.

“Probably not a good idea,” he mumbled, taking the glass from Peter’s hand and setting it aside, then gripping him carefully around the waist to help him slide off the counter. They stood there for a moment, Wade staring blankly at the drape of his own Akira sweatshirt, too loose around the smaller man’s shoulders. Peter had curled his hand around one of his katana straps again, holding on, and the line of his shoulders was slumped with exhaustion. Wade gently pried his fingers off the suit and took his hand instead, leading him towards the bedroom. “C’mon, you look like you could use some sleep.”

They only made it a few steps before Peter tugged them to a stop. Wade’s eyes snapped to his face to see what was wrong, but he just shook his head mutely, staring towards the bedroom with that far-away look.

“You don’t want to sleep?” Wade questioned, tension crawling up the back of his neck again. He didn’t get a response, and his fingers flexed anxiously around Peter’s. His whole body revolted against the idea of forcing the issue and cajoling him into bed for a nap anyway. Not after what just happened. He cleared his throat against the hot achy feeling building there, trying to loosen it enough for words to come out, hoarse and scratchy. “I… I need a signpost here, Pete.”

Spidey blinked a few times, seeming to refocus on the room around them, and drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he glanced toward the couch. “Can, um. Can we just sit? Please?”

Wade let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Sure, we can.”

He led them around the couch, bending to pick up the cushions strewn across the floor and hastily shove them back into their spots until they had something vaguely comfortable to settle on. Then he shrugged off Bae and Arthur and dropped down on one end, giving Peter space to decide where he sat. He climbed up right next to Wade, tucking himself under the mercenary’s arm and wriggling his socked feet beneath his thigh, until he’d curled in close and small, cheek pressed to Wade’s shoulder.

“Can you… Can you stay?” Peter asked, the words hushed and wavering. Wade thought his heart might shrivel up and calcify in his chest. Or maybe it would just stop beating – he’d heard you could literally die from a broken heart.

{Wish we would.}

He tightened his arm around Spidey’s shoulders, tugging him just a tad snugger against his side. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I—” He choked on the word.

[Your promises won’t mean shit to him now.]

Wade swallowed painfully. “I’ll stay right here.”

He felt Peter relax infinitesimally, but not enough. He was still strung too tight, a taught little ball holding itself immobile. The silence stretched out between them, dead air filled with nothing but Spidey’s shallow breaths and Wade’s military even respirations. It put him on edge, made his already prickling skin crawl like it was covered in ants. He rubbed the fingers of his free hand together, feeling the snags of stitching on the inside of his glove, and itched to feel the comforting weight of steel in his palm. He stared at the black screen of the TV, aching for noise. Color. Something. Anything.

“Guess we’ll need to buy a new remote,” he mumbled.

Peter uncurled just enough to lean over the edge of the couch. Wade let him go immediately, arm rising so he didn’t feel trapped, but he just fished something out from under the worn piece of furniture and sat back again, handing over the TV remote. Wade stared at it dumbly. “The one I threw was for the DVD player.”

“Oh.”

{We have a DVD player?}

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, then winced when he saw Wade’s hands tightening into fists, nearly cracking the TV remote to pieces, too. “Or not. I take it back.” A ghost of a smile flickered briefly over his mouth when Wade snorted in response. He shuffled back and pulled his knees up to his chest, nodding towards the remote. “Want to, uh, put something on?”

“Yeah,” Wade breathed, gratefully turning the TV on and navigating back to The Office. He felt a little less fatally awkward once deadpan dialog filled the room with sound. He notched up the volume, probably too high, and carefully raised his arm to invite Peter back into his side, if he wanted to be there. He leaned in immediately, fitting against larger man’s body with frightening ease despite the continued stiffness of his shoulders. Wade carefully stroked one thumb up and down his bicep, trying to soothe the tension away.

The show was basically background noise, for all the attention they paid it. Wade watched the little people move around the screen, registered jokes a little too late after they landed, and hummed absently along to the opening theme music. All the while he was acutely aware of how still Spidey was, how he was watching Wade out of the corner of his eye, until eventually he just turned his head and stared up at his face.

And stared. And stared.

{Go get our face, Wade.}

[He took off the mask. Wants to see it when Wade lies to him.]

{But we can’t hide this way.}

[Exactly.]

{He’ll see us.}

Wade fought the urge to pull away, to get up and find his mask wherever it was discarded earlier. His mouth turned down in a scowl, the discomfort crawling over him in waves. “What,” he muttered. “Forgot how ugly I was?”

He immediately regretted the comment when he felt the way Peter tensed up even more under his arm. But he stopped looking, turned his head back towards the TV, and Wade gritted his teeth around the useless apology stuck in his throat.

He fucking hated apologies.

They sat in silence that was awkward in a way it had never been between them, and the minutes ticked by. One episode faded into another, and the opening theme played again. Wade had hoped Peter might fall asleep with a show on in the background and a warm body to lean against, as he had half a dozen times before, but it clearly wasn’t going to happen. He had barely relaxed enough to lean against the back of the couch, slouching under the weight of Wade’s heavy arm. His hands kept fidgeting restlessly with the edge of his stolen sweatshirt, picking at the elastic until a little thread trailed out of the seam. And he kept looking, intermittent glances getting longer and longer.

The quiet and the staring were making Wade edgy. For once in his goddamn life, he couldn’t come up with any mindless commentary to spout his mouth off about. Even the boxes were muted, a strained and restless presence churning behind his forehead like a migraine. Trying to actually watch the show was a lesson in futility. But they sat on the couch and they let it play, and it felt like a parody of the habit they’d formed. The shift was jarring, like missing a step at the bottom of the stairs, when the intimacy and closeness had been so easy just yesterday. But days had passed – fucking weeks – without his permission and now it was ruined. And Wade’s chest ached with the loss of it.

A handful of episodes began and ended. The angle of the sun through the window turned shallow and golden. And when Peter’s phone alarm buzzed from his pocket, Wade felt grateful to hear it for the very first time.

He sat up, stretching his arms over his head to get the kink out of his back, and aimed for a casual, “Time to meet Nurse May, huh?”

{What a gal. Think she likes Golden Girls?}

Peter reached into his pocket and shut off the alarm, but he didn’t get up. He sat, hands curled over the edge of the couch cushion, and stared at the TV even after Wade paused the show.

“Is she, uh, working tonight?” Peter shook his head, but he still didn’t make any move to rise. Wade cleared his throat. “So… Isn’t she expecting you home for dinner?” He shrugged. Wade waited for him to say something, anything else, but nothing came. “She’s gonna worry if you don’t show up, won’t she?”

Nothing. Wade leaned forward a little so he could see Peter’s face clearly. It had that blank, vaguely haunted look again, dark blue smudges standing out under tired eyes. He set a hand between his shoulder blades. “Pete? Honey, what’s wrong?”

The lack of response made his chest go tight and heavy. He wanted to hook his hand under Peter’s jaw and make him look at him. He wanted to grab his neck and shake him, just a little. Order him to answer in the low tone that always made his attention snap to Wade with a hitch in his breath and a shiver down his spine. Instead, he wrapped careful fingers around Spidey’s bicep and nudged him around, so they were face to face. “Talk to me.”

It took a few seconds for Peter to focus on him, and a few more seconds for him to speak. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Wade frowned. “I’m not leaving, Baby Boy. You’re the one who has to go see your aunt.”

Peter’s eyes grew wider, pupils contracting slightly. He gripped onto Wade’s wrist too hard, tendons grinding under his fingers. “Please don’t make me go.”

The tight feeling spread down Wade’s limbs and the pound of his pulse grew louder in his ears. “Pete, I’m not… It’s not… I don’t want you to go, but you gotta.”

He shook his head vehemently, breaths turning quick and ragged. “Don’t make me go! Please, please Wade, I can’t—you’re gonna leave again and I can’t, please don’t make me.”

“Peter, shh, no no no,” Wade hushed him frantically, trailing a gloved hand down his cheek and neck and shoulder, until he held him by the arms. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

[Yeah, like he’ll believe you now.]

“Please.” He was working himself up, exhales wheezing as his chest heaved, the whites of his eyes flaring with a wild edge. “Please I’ll be good, okay? Just let me stay, I’ll be good!”

Wade’s teeth snapped together around a growl and his vision flashed red, a pulse of staticky anger filling his skull. He had to make a conscious effort not to dig his fingers into Peter’s arms and shake him. “You have got to stop with that ‘good’ bullshit, you’re—”

“I know, I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Peter.”

“I know!” He grabbed at the front of Deadpool’s suit, fingers sticking to the leather, and his words came out hitched between short panting inhales. “I know you don’t want me here, I know I’m, I’m annoying and clingy and I know you need time away from me but please—"

“Peter.”

“Please don’t leave again, okay? I’ll, I’ll go if you want, just don’t… Don’t…” He dissolved into wet gasps, trembling so hard that Wade could feel the shudders ripple through his body.

{Do something!} Yellow hissed, distraught.

“Fucking hell, Peter, breathe.” Wade shoved his head down between his knees and held him there, rubbing firmly across the top of his back. “Slow down, c’mon. In, and hold it, then out. Slow, slow.” He coached him through it, watched him squeeze his eyes shut and try to blow air through his lips at a normal human pace. “You’ve gotta chill, Baby Boy, ‘cause I’m about an inch away from a panic attack of my very own and nobody wants to see that. Trust me.”

[Seriously. It’s… not pretty.]

It took several long, painful minutes for his back to stop heaving under Wade’s hand, for the line of his shoulders to stop trembling. Wade rode it out on the fuzzy edge of panic, rambling inane affirmations and instructions over the white noise in his ears. When some semblance of calm finally settled over the smaller man, he petted his tangled mess of dark hair and helped him sit up, bleary eyed and dazed.

“You back with us?”

Peter managed a small nod. “Yeah.” He swallowed. “Sor—"

“Uh-uh, nope. You listen now.” He wrapped a hand around Spidey’s nape and hooked his thumb under the line of his jaw, angling his face up to make sure he had his full attention. “I have no intention of going anywhere, and I never fucking did. It’s fucked up that a time-cop with a metal rod up his ass dropped me off at the wrong calendar station, and I’m so sorry,”

[I thought we weren’t using that word anymore?]

“but it wasn’t some sort of punishment or Spidey-vacation, so you’ve got to get that out of your pretty, dumb little head. It was a fucking mistake. Okay?”

Peter blinked at him, brow furrowed. “’M not dumb,” he mumbled.

Wade let out a startled, relieved huff of laughter. “No, you’re not.” He rubbed his thumb over the column of Peter’s throat, still shaky, and felt him swallow. “I won’t make you go alone, okay? I’ll walk home with you. Okay, Baby Boy? I’ll stay with you.”

Peter melted into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay. Thanks.”

“’Course.” Wade gave his neck a gentle squeeze, then let his fingers slip away. “Just let me go get changed.”

He stood up, unsurprised when Peter mirrored him and followed all the way into his bedroom, sticking close enough to be his shadow.

[I guess privacy isn’t a thing now.]

{Did you notice how he didn’t say he believed us?}

Wade stared blankly at his rifled through bedroom, not sure where to start looking for clean clothes in the mess. He could feel Spidey shuffling guiltily at his side, his urge to apologize again practically palpable, so he grabbed the first pants and t-shirt and sweatshirt that he saw. He didn’t particularly like dressing in civies, so he wasn’t picky – just looking for full coverage. He set them on the bed and started unbuckling his holsters and belt, clearing a space to lay them all down on autopilot.

It always felt like a strip tease to disarm, leaving him naked in just leather and fabric when he tossed his last knife onto the pile of weapons. He froze up before he could take off the suit, hand hovering near the zipper, a bitter taste climbing up his throat.

Peter was still there. Watching him.

[Does he want to puke again?]

{Maybe he’s punishing you now. For leaving.}

[Or he thinks he’s earned a ticket to the freak show.]

“Can you—” He had to clear his throat to get the words out, eyes trained on the crumpled-up bed sheets. “Can you, um. Turn around. Please.”

He heard Peter take a short breath, as if he were going to say something. Instead, he turned around silently and paced a few steps away, lingered by the closet and averted his gaze.

Wade stripped quickly, peeling himself out of leather sticky with anxiety sweat. He felt horribly exposed, the cool brush of air like sandpaper on his skin. He yanked on the civies, clumsy with haste, and jerked the hood of his sweatshirt over his head even though it was too warm outside.

“’Kay,” he mumbled, turning around again. “We can go now.”

Peter barely glanced at him, just strode across the room and immediately wrapped his arms around Wade’s waist, burying his face in his chest. The mercenary melted just a little, returning the hug with a firm squeeze.

It was still sunny when they left the apartment, but the shadows were long and the air had an orange tint to it. The after-work rush hour was dying down, people moving through the streets in a steady stream rather than a crushing wave. They took the subway to Queens, which was weird. It reminded him of old times, when Peter was just some strange kid he met at a nursing home, too sweet and pretty for his own good. Something untouchable.

Now Peter held his hand the whole ride, clammy palms pressed together between the slouch of their bodies. It made him feel some type of way, squirmy and warm in his guts. Like a parasite was gnawing away at his intestines.

{A parasite of looooove.}

They didn’t talk much. Wade walked him all the way to his building, lingered outside while Peter unlocked the door, and allowed himself to be pulled through the dusty lobby and up the narrow stairwell to his floor.

“Alright, little bug.” Wade slowed to a stop a few paces from the Parkers’ front door. “Here you are, safe and sound.”

Peter blinked up at him. “You’re going?”

“I… Yeah, I mean. I can hang around the neighborhood. We can meet up for patrol later?”

{I bet we still have scopes and snacks on the roof across the street! It’ll be nice to be back.} Yellow sighed wistfully.

“I thought you were staying,” Peter accused in a small voice.

Wade let out a nervous laugh. “You don’t want me here, Pete. I’m not exactly a meet-the-parents type.”

“You’ve already met Aunt May.”

“Yeah, but, like… It’s different now.”

The furrowed brow and twisty frown aimed his way felt like judgment. “I’m not suggesting we go make out on the couch, Wade.” The image punched through his body with a jolt of shameful heat. “She knows you’re my friend. We’re not… We don’t have to tell her anything else.”

[See? He’s ashamed of you.]

He swallowed. “I don’t belong in there.”

Peter looked down for a long silent moment, shoulders hunching. “I know it’s not… Your vibe, or whatever. And you probably have other shit to do, but. Um.” His voice wavered. “Just tonight, could you maybe…?”

Aw, fuck. “I… Yeah, okay. I can stay for a little while.”

“Thanks,” he breathed, flashing Wade a weak smile before he turned to unlock his door and let them inside.

The apartment was cramped and warm. There was a pile of unfolded laundry on the couch and the smell of garlic bread in the air. It looked smaller than how Wade remembered it.

“Peter, is that you?” May’s voice called out from the kitchen on the far end of the unit.

“No, it’s a robber,” Peter called back as he shut and locked the door behind them, words flat with the tone of an oft-repeated ritual.

“Oh, good. I was hoping someone would help clear out some of this clutter.” The high beep of an oven timer sounded, then shut off. “I was afraid you were going to miss dinner again.”

“Um, actually. I invited someone over.” Peter led the way into the living room, weaving around the couch. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh!” There was a clatter, then May emerged from around the corner. Her hair was escaping its bun in unkempt wisps, and she had a stain on the front of her t-shirt. Her eyes widened when they landed on Wade and he shifted awkwardly on the threadbare carpet, hands shoved into his pockets. “Wade, hello. I wish you’d called and let me know, Peter, I would’ve…” She tugged at the bottom of her shirt and glanced around the living room, wincing at what she saw. “Sorry, it’s a mess in here. I’m afraid the housekeeping has gotten away from me lately.”

“Aunt May, it’s fine. Wade doesn’t care.” Peter gathered the pile of clothes into his arms and dumped it in the hamper sitting next to the couch.

“I really don’t,” Wade assured her. “You should see my place, it’s a disaster zone right now.” He immediately regretted the reminder when Peter’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I mean… Um, I don’t mean to intrude. If, like, you weren’t expecting company I can totally, um…” He wanted to offer to leave, hell, he wanted to leave flat out because this was the last place he belonged, but he’d told Peter he would stay.

“Nonsense!” May offered him a tired, but genuine smile. “Stay for dinner. We have plenty – especially with how Peter’s been eating lately. I need someone to help us limit the leftovers.”

Wade’s stomach sank. “Right. Okay, thanks.”

“I hope you like lasagna?” She turned back to the kitchen, and they followed her in. Peter started pulling glasses out of the cupboard and Wade lingered in the doorway, not sure if he should offer to do anything.

“Oh, sure. Call me Garfield, I can totally fu—uh, eat, like, a whole tray.”

She chuckled, donning oven mitts and pulling the dish out of the oven. It was burnt around the edges, but it smelled heavenly. “Glad to hear it. So, when did you get back?”

Wade blinked at her, mind churning for a response.

[What did he tell her?]

{Peter talks about us???}

“Today,” Peter interjected, filling the cups with ice. “I, um, told Aunt May you were traveling for work. You know, when I couldn’t… Get ahold of you.”

“Right.” Wade swallowed, guilt making his throat feel tight again. “Yeah, I just got back today.”

“I see.” May was cutting the lasagna into squares, her tone indecipherable. “Did you get to go somewhere interesting?”

“Um.” His mind flashed back to dry, hot air and a city in a valley. “I can’t really say. Sorry. Contract work, y’know? I had to sign a bunch of NDA’s and shit.”

“Right. That’s a shame.” She began piling garlic bread onto a plate. “Peter, can you go set the table?”

“Sure.” He gathered a stack of plates and silverware, then hesitated in the doorway, eyes flickering over Wade with that little crease between his eyebrows, before he reluctantly left the room.

{He doesn’t want to leave you alone with her. Probably afraid you’ll say something stupid.}

[Probably afraid you’ll take the chance to jump out the window and leave again.]

Wade cleared his throat awkwardly. “Can I, uh, do anything to help?”

“No, dear, that’s alright.” She turned to face him, leaning back against the counter and wiping her hands on a dish towel. She stared at the spot where Peter had disappeared. “He’s been going through such a tough time, lately. Well, I’m sure you know. I wanted to thank you, for being there for him.” Wade stared at her, stomach twisting unpleasantly. She gave him a shaky smile. “He doesn’t really open up to me. Not anymore. I’m just… I’m glad he has someone to talk to.”

He had no idea how to respond to that. “I… I don’t really…”

“No, I know.” May reached out and patted him on the arm. “I’m not saying he’s your responsibility or anything. It’s just… He hasn’t really had a father figure in his life since my husband passed. I can see why he’s glommed on to you. I just want you to know I think it helps, having someone like you around. So. Thank you. For humoring him.”

[Oh, that’s so fucked up.]

Wade felt like he might be sick. He searched for words, spoke around a clumsy tongue. “I’m not… Humoring him.”

It was the only thing he could say that was remotely honest and wouldn’t have this poor woman calling the cops on him or stabbing him with the kitchen knife still covered in tomato sauce from the lasagna, red like clotting blood. He’d fucking deserve it.

May’s smile turned firmer and warmer. It cut worse than the knife would have. “I know.” She patted his arm again. “I know, Wade.” She turned to pick up the lasagna. “Bring the bread, would you?” She left to deliver food to the table, passing Peter on her way out.

Wade stood frozen, staring at the blinking oven clock as if it could hypnotize him into forgetting the past five minutes. Fuck, better make it the past five hours.

{Are we going to address the Daddy kink in the room?}

“Shut up,” Wade hissed, fingers twitching with the urge to grab the discarded knife and plunge it into the meat of his thigh.

“Hey.” Peter wrapped a hand around his arm and tugged, pulling him around to face each other. “You okay?” He searched the mercenary’s face and frowned. Wade tried to figure out what his expression was doing right now. What he might be seeing. He wished he had his mask. “What she said…” Of course, he’d heard. “That doesn’t mean anything, okay? She just knows that you mean a lot to me. That’s all.”

He wasn’t sure what Peter wanted him to say.

“Wade?” He reached for the older man’s face, but Wade jerked away.

“Better not,” he mumbled, grabbing up the bread and retreating from the kitchen.

The table was set for three and May was dishing up the lasagna already. Wade deposited the bread and sat in the closest empty chair, slumping down to take up as little space as possible. Peter followed close behind, casting a concerned look at Wade as he set the glasses of water by their plates and took a seat beside the mercenary.

{This is really… normal.}

[Yeah. Except for the part where Wade is fucking the teenaged son in this little family affair.]

{Peter’s parents are dead, though?}

[Wow, you are so missing the point.]

“Bread, Wade?” May was holding the plate across the table. He took a piece on autopilot and grunted in thanks.

They all started eating. The lasagna tasted like nothing, but Wade managed a mumbled compliment anyway. It would probably be delicious if he weren’t currently feeling like trash even a dumpster rat wouldn’t sniff.

The conversation was stilted at best. May asked Peter something about an internship, and he muttered a platitude about boring spreadsheets in return, then fell silent. Desperate not to have May’s questions or cutting compliments turn back to him, Wade blurted out an inquiry about workplace drama at the nursing home and got her talking about Penelope the receptionist. She filled the silence, but her story was lackluster, the jokes flat. She sounded tired. The sort of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from more than just lack of sleep. Her nephew matched the tone – he looked about ready to pass out in his lasagna.

It wasn’t too long before Wade had cleaned his plate on autopilot and politely refused seconds. May had finished most of her food and Peter had pushed his around into little piles, only swallowing a few bites.

“Dessert?” May offered doubtfully.

“No, thanks,” Peter told his plate.

Her face fell, but she gave it a valiant try. “Wade? Ice cream?”

“Oh, I’m stuffed. Couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Well, alright.” She pushed back from the table and stood with a groan, stretching her back stiffly before reaching for the lasagna dish. “Let me at least pack some of this up for you to take home.”

“That’s really not…” She shot him a quelling look, and he trailed off. Cleared his throat. “Thank you. That’s, um, really nice.”

“Of course, dear.” He watched her shuffle towards the kitchen, not entirely steady on her feet, and heard her mutter under her breath, “Somebody’s got to eat it.”

{Does she look older to you?}

[She definitely has more grey hair than she did a few months ago.]

She did look older. Thinner and frailer than before, a matched set to her nephew and his dull, sunken eyes and pallid skin. They both seemed beaten down, crumpling under the weight of hopeless circumstance.

[That’s what knowing you does to a family, Wade.]

{Hey! Mean Kermit and his spawn from hell did this.}

[They may have started it, but Wade finished the job by skipping town.]

{Right. Maybe Petey would’ve been okay if Wade stuck around like he promised.}

[Or maybe Goblin Senior never would’ve gone down the way he did if Wade hadn’t gotten involved.]

{None of this would’ve happened if Wade had just shot him in the head instead of letting him hurt Spidey!}

[Or if he hadn’t gone scientist slicing in Oscorp’s murder basement.]

{Or if he hadn’t been a dumb fucking incompetent piece of shit who let all that Weapon X data fall into the slimy old man’s clawing hands in the first place.}

Wade clenched his eyes and jaw shut, trying to swallow the whimper caught in the back of his throat.

[It’s all your fault.]

{Fuck up after never ending fuck up, that’s all you are.}

[Poisoning everything and everyone you touch. Not much you could do to make it worse, huh?]

{Might as well let go and fuck it up nice and messy.}

[It’s ruined anyway.]

{Go ahead. Slide Dick out of his holster and spray a nice red picture on the kitchen cabinets.}

[Nurse May doesn’t look like she’s long for this world, anyhow. Not since you’ve pushed her to an early grave.]

{She’ll look so pretty with a hole in her head, Wade.}

“Hey.”

Wade didn’t realize he had been thumping his fist against the side of his leg until Peter’s cold fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him.

“Wade, look at me.”

He shook his head mutely, didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the blood drip down Peter’s temple. Didn’t want to see the shiny round hole appear between his creased eyebrows.

[He’s weak right now.]

{So tired and small…}

[He might not be able to stop us.]

{We can overpower him, Wade. We can have him. Have him nice and wet for us, spread him out like a pretty little bug and pin his legs get a display case just for him so pretty behind glass so we can look at him all the time can hang him up and—}

“Yellow. White.”

Wade’s eyes snapped open. Peter was right there, all angry glare and scowling mouth.

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice was low, but fierce. “Wade doesn’t need you right now. I need him. He’s mine. Okay? So fuck off.”

The words rang in his head like a shockwave, like tinnitus after a bomb goes off, loud against the muffled background silence.

Peter leaned back in his chair and squeezed Wade’s wrist, watching him closely. “Better?”

The mercenary blinked at him, tipped his head to the side and listened to the ringing. Cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Peter broke eye contact and dipped his chin, mumbled his next words to the tablecloth. “I don’t like it when they bother you like that.”

Wade’s chest went tight, but it was a different kind of tight than the crushing band of iron that had been making it hard to breathe all day. This felt more like a fist, squeezing his heart in a throbbing, painful, loving grip.

[That’s not going to work every time…] White seethed, but his voice was subdued.

He found Peter’s knee under the table and squeezed it gently, earning a small flash of a smile that turned his tummy all weak and fluttery.

They helped clear the table and sat down to watch TV in the living room like a regular Brady Bunch special. May folded laundry and Wade tried to help, but she shooed him off. Peter got put to work though, building a slightly sloppy stack of towels and sheets on the ottoman. It was disgustingly domestic, but Wade was able to tolerate it with minimal distress since his hero got him feeling more like a Real Boy again. They got through two reruns of Scrubs before Peter was dozing against the arm of the couch, socked feet pressed up against Wade’s thigh.

“He’s been so exhausted lately,” May commented as she stacked all the folded laundry back in the hamper. “Hasn’t slept well since the funeral, you know.” Wade watched his sleeping face, the way his lips parted, eyes tense and nose crinkled. The theme song blared from old TV speakers as a new episode started up, the jump in volume enough to rouse Peter, who blinked fuzzily and rolled over, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Alright, I think that’s our cue.” May reached for the remote with a weary smile. “Pete, honey, why don’t you say goodnight to Wade and head to bed?”

Never one to miss a social cue (although he frequently ignored them), Wade patted Spidey’s ankle in a totally sexless way and got to his feet. “Thanks so much for dinner, Nurse May.”

“Oh! You almost let me forget. I’ll go grab some leftovers for you.”

Knowing better than to argue with her, Wade peered silently down at Peter as she left the room. He was half sitting up now, a disgruntled expression on his face as he met Wade’s eyes.

“You’re tired,” Wade mumbled under his breath.

Peter’s shoulders twitched in a shrug, eyes flickering down, then back up.

“Here you go.” May reentered with two Tupperware containers full of lasagna and shoved them into his hands. “They should microwave just fine, but if you want to warm them in the oven, I’d just do a few minutes at two-fifty or they’ll dry out.”

“Thanks, really, you… You didn’t have to.” Wade was not going to get choked up about leftover lasagna. He really wasn’t.

[You’re such a sentimental fucking baby.]

“I know, dear.” May patted him on the arm again. “Pete? Did you say goodnight?”

Peter pushed himself fluidly off the couch and padded past Wade towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He offered May a parting nod and trailed her nephew out of the apartment. Peter closed the door behind them, claiming a bit of privacy. The hall light had a steady flicker, casting little highlights and shadows across his tired, pretty face.

Wade opened his mouth to wish him a good night, but Peter grabbed onto his sleeve and spoke first. “Don’t go.”

He frowned, twisting his wrist to take Peter’s hand in his. “Baby Boy, you’re so tired. You need to get some rest, okay? Your aunt will want to make sure you’re tucked into bed all safe and sound.”

“I can’t just…” Peter ran his free hand through his hair, fingers yanking roughly at the messy strands. “I’ll come with you, okay? Just, hold on. Stay right… I’ll go tell her I’m sleeping over at Ned’s. Stay right here.”

Wade tightened his hold on the hero’s hand and kept him from going anywhere. “No, you should stay put. You don’t need to patrol every single night, honey. The city will survive and—”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Pete.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just call her. Let’s go.”

“Peter.” He jerked hard on the boy’s hand, needing to use a fair amount of effort to keep Spidey from dragging him down the hall toward the stairwell. “She doesn’t deserve that. And more importantly, you need to take a fucking night off you are a mess, no offense Baby Boy but seriously, you need to get your ass in bed and stay there.”

“No, I…” Peter wouldn’t look at him, chest rising and falling too quickly. “I don’t want you to leave.”

The sick-anxious-too-tight feeling was coming back again. “I know, honey. I… Look, I’ll camp out across the street, okay? There’s a rooftop with sights on your window,”

{Yeah, home sweet home away from home tell Petey Pie about the time we jerked off there I bet he’d like that story.}

“I can stay all night, keep watch, okay?”

Peter had his jaw set. “I’m coming with you.”

[Stubborn little thing.]

“Pete, you…” His jaw was set but his lips were trembling, fingers clamped too tight around Wade’s. “Fuck, okay. Okay, I’ll stay, alright? I’ll stay.” Wade tugged him close and slid a hand into his hair, letting the shorter man bury his face in his chest. “You go inside, get yourself ready for bed, and I’ll come back to your window. We can play Romeo and Juliet – the Baz Luhrmann version because that soundtrack is sick.”

“Okay,” Peter mumbled into his sweatshirt. “Thanks.”

“Don’t even mention it. Seriously. It’s not like climbing through your bedroom window at night is a deeply rooted fantasy of mine or anything and I’m going to be totally normal about it.”

Peter snorted in weak amusement, and the anvil on Wade’s chest got lighter. Still, it took Spidey a few long seconds to pull back and loosen his death grip on Wade’s hand. Even then he lingered, casting unreadable glances at Wade’s face as he moved away, hesitating at his door like he was reluctant to let the mercenary out of his sight.

“See you in a minute,” he finally mumbled, before he visibly steeled himself and slipped back inside his apartment.

Wade blew out a breath when he had disappeared, heart pounding.

[You really did a number on him this time.]

“Shut your whore mouth, White. This wasn’t our fault.” He spun on his heel and pushed into the tiny stairwell, bounding down the flights at record speed.

[Uh huh, you keep telling yourself that.]

{Oh. Em. Fucking. GEEEEEE we’re finally gonna have a sleep over with Spidey? We’re gonna sleep in Peter’s ROOM in his BED??? Oh this is just so exciting we wanted this for so long yes we did and dreams really do come true if your heart is pure and your love is strong anything is possible!}

[Wade’s heart is the farthest thing from pure, idiot. It’s rotten all the way through, corrupted and dipped in an oil slick of blood and perversion.]

The mercenary grunted in agreement, shoving open the lobby door and stepping out into the mild night. A siren sounded in the near distance, an argument echoed loudly from an open window across the street, and the dull, distorted thump of bass rattled the frame of a car parked on the next corner. Wade pulled his hood up over his head and stood for a moment, breathing it all in. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and strode around the corner of the building, down the narrow alley where a rusted fire escape clung to crumbling brick.

He leapt the short distance required to catch the bottom rung and pulled himself smoothly up the ladder, climbing easily onto the iron platform. He wound his way up the narrow structure, humming under his breath and counting the floors until he got to the familiar stone cornice outside Peter’s bedroom. His window didn’t open directly onto the fire escape, but it was within reaching distance. Wade planted a hand on the railing and swung himself over, landing carefully on the ledge and balancing there with the toes of his shoes and the fingers of one hand. He used the other to tap quietly on the glass.

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” He muttered under his breath.

{Does that make us Juliet? I wanna wear that angel costume.}

Peter appeared almost immediately, face pale and eyes frazzled. He shoved the window up and curled a hand around Wade’s wrist, yanking him inside. “You’re here.”

“’Course I am.” Wade murmured, careful to keep his voice low as his eyes flickered toward the closed bedroom door. Peter wet his lips, and Wade noticed a raw spot right along the curve of the bottom one where he’d bitten it. He wanted to lick across it and taste the metallic hint of blood.

“Thanks,” he whispered, and he looked so genuinely grateful that it made Wade’s brief flare of horniness dry right up again.

“Don’t… Just, it’s cool. I’ve been dying to see your bedroom, anyway.”

A ghost of a smile flickered over Peter’s mouth. “You’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, but that was different.” Wade made a show of peering around the room, taking in the familiar posters and teenaged clutter. It was messier than before, but not much else had changed. “That was before I knew it was your room.”

“Right.” There was a morose tint to his words. “Back when I was just some nerdy kid you knew.”

The words were on the tip of Wade’s tongue, ready to inform Peter that he had never been just some kid, but his eyes caught on something in the bed and every other thought flew out of his mind.

“What are those?” He whisper-shouted, pointing just past the pillow.

{I understood that reference!}

There, half-covered by a twisted clump of sheets, were not one, but two cheaply stitched Deadpool plushies. They were ugly as hell, the eye patches uneven and stuffing sticking out of a torn seam on one’s arm, but they were recognizable.

“Nothing!” Peter darted forward, deftly flicking the bedding up to hide the stuffed mercenaries from sight.

Wade immediately reached past him and plucked one of the things out from its hiding place. In Peter’s bed. “Why do you have two?”

“Look, it was, just, like, an impulse buy.” The hero’s face was flushing a lovely shade of pink, and Wade grinned. “They were on sale.”

{He is so freaking cute I just wanna bite his face off aaaaahhhhhhhh}

“Awwwww!” Wade took Peter by the hand and pulled him down to sit on the edge of the bed, pressed tight into the larger man’s side. He waved the little Deadpool’s deflating arm. “Guess you can’t resist inviting me into your bed, huh?”

Peter punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Don’t be embarrassed! I know I’m no slouch between the sheets, so it makes sense you’d want to sleep with me every night. You know what they say about—” He froze, staring towards the desk.

“Wade?” Peter leaned in, trying to follow his gaze.

He reached out and carefully lifted a paper crane from behind a stack of ragged notebooks. It was made from a faded taco wrapper.

“Oh.”

“You kept it,” Wade breathed, something slipping between his ribs all achy painful but in a good way.

“Yeah. Of course, I did.”

He carefully set the Deadpool plush on a free patch of desk and balanced the crane on top of the small notebook tower, then he leaned into Peter’s space and captured his mouth in a kiss. He drew his tongue across the broken skin of his bottom lip and dipped inside his mouth to taste the minty residue of toothpaste, slid a hand into tangled brown locks and swallowed down the breathy whimper he was fed in return. Peter twisted his fingers in the loose fabric over the mercenary’s chest, tugging him closer, and Wade slipped his free hand under the edge of his borrowed sweatshirt, palm skimming across the slick material of the Spidey suit, following the line of his ribs, down the small of his back.

“Wade,” Peter sighed into the kiss and the mercenary groaned low in his throat, delving in for one more taste before he trailed his mouth down the side of the hero’s neck, letting his teeth scrape gently and savoring the responding shiver. He buried his face in Peter’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist, tugging the boy into a hug.

They sat like that for a minute, until Wade’s pounding heart started to slow and Peter rubbed his cheek against the side of his hood, jaw cracking in a yawn.

“Bedtime,” Wade mumbled, giving him a squeeze before he raised his head and pulled back. “If I crash here, do I need to keep an ear out for a midnight bed check? ‘Cause I’m not sure I’ll fit in your closet if I’m forced to hide like a high schooler getting laid for the first time.”

Peter’s mouth twitched upward at one corner as he rubbed tiredly across his eyes. “Nah, my door is locked. And she won’t check in until she has to leave in the morning, anyway.”

{Locked door, hhhhmmmmmmm? Wonder what we could do all night…}

[Do you ever think about anything else?]

{Nope. Come ooooonnnnn we’re here… in Peter’s bed… You know you want to fuck him all nice and quiet like, hand over his mouth so we don’t wake his aunt, taking our sweet—}

“Nope, not doing that.” Wade hissed, then patted Peter brusquely on the knee. “Why don’t you get changed for bed, hm? You’ll be hot if you keep all those layers on.”

“You, too,” Peter murmured, climbing to his feet and crossing the room to flick off the lights.

[How considerate. He’s letting you undress in the dark so he doesn’t have to look at all that mutilated skin and force you to watch him throw up again.]

“Nah, I’m okay. I like to sleep warm,” Wade lied. It was much dimmer with the overhead light off, but there was still a significant amount of illumination spilling in from the open window, along with a whisper of a breeze which would hopefully turn cooler as the night aged.

Peter grunted in protest as he stripped off his sweatshirt and kicked out of his shoes and pants, but he didn’t argue. The dull black of his suit blended into the shadows of the darkened room, his face and hands like splashes of ghostly white. He padded back over to the bed and Wade shifted to the side so he could climb onto the mattress.

“You gonna keep the suit on?” He asked, curious.

Spidey shrugged, nudging his crooked pillow so it lay in the middle of the bed and tugging on his sheets until they were mostly straight. He didn’t make any move to take off his spider-armor. Maybe he felt safer with it on.

[Maybe he wants his web shooters easily accessible, so he can tie you down if you try to leave again.]

{I certainly wouldn’t object to that…}

“C’mon,” Peter whispered, something almost shy in the way he shifted close to the wall and folded the sheets back from the open space beside him.

Wade stood up, fumbled off his boots and kicked them out of sight, then slid into bed beside Peter. It was only a twin, barely enough room for an oversized mercenary let alone the both of them, but he didn’t mind. He slid one arm under Peter’s waist, the teen rolling easily into his side, and settled on his back with Peter half slung over him, using Wade’s chest as a pillow. “You good, Baby Boy?”

“Mhm.” Peter nodded, his hair tickling Wade’s chin, and caught a fistful of his sweatshirt to hang on to.

“Good,” Wade breathed. He raised his other hand and gently combed through the boy’s messy hair. “Sleep tight, little bug. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

It was evidently the right thing to say. Peter’s shoulders relaxed and his breathing grew deeper. It wasn’t long at all before he became dead weight laying across half of Wade’s torso, and he relished the sensation. He continued stroking Peter’s head, hoping to lull him to sleep. Just before the grip of his hand on Wade’s top finally grew slack, something caught Wade’s eye. He only saw it because his gaze was fixed on Peter’s curled fingers and tight knuckles, waiting for them to relax. Across the edge of his sleeve, up the side where a seam might go, a rippling shine of black on black glinted dimly under the spillover from the streetlamp. It was there and gone again so fast, it could have been a trick of the light.

{Did you see that?}

[We all have the same eyes, moron.]

Wade squinted down at the spot, but he could barely make out the spiderweb pattern sewn intricately into the fabric – it didn’t look any different from usual. He wondered if Peter had managed to unlock some new feature of the suit, and he wished he had more light to take a closer look. Maybe he could replicate the effect if he held the fabric up at the right angle, but the last thing he wanted to do was jostle Peter or wake him up, so he stayed still.

Peter did slip into unconsciousness, but it was a restless and fleeting slumber. For the first time, Wade’s presence wasn’t enough to ensure he slept soundly though the night. He jerked awake every hour, sometimes more, startled and hazy with fear. He didn’t speak, but the hitch of his breath and the tremble in his limbs said enough. Every time he woke, he pulled back to look at Wade in the dark, eyes tracing over his features as if to reassure himself who was there with him in bed. He wouldn’t fall back asleep until Wade had stroked his neck and pressed kisses and whispers into his hair, rubbed soothing circles into his back for long enough to ease the tension in his muscles and slow his breathing again.

After the fourth time it happened, Wade sang softly to him under his breath, hoping the background noise might help him stay in dreamland.

“If I lay here,”

{If I just lay here,}

“Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

[I don’t know how,]

{How to say how I feel.}

“Those three words,”

[Are said too much.]

{They’re not enough.}

“If I lay here,”

[If I just lay here,]

“Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

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Song Credits:

Chapter Title:
Tiny Vessels – Death Cab for Cutie
Lyrics:
Sk8er Boi – Avril Lavigne
IMNOTYOURBOYFRIENDBABY – 3OH!3
Just a Girl – No Doubt
Obsessed – Mariah Carey
Friday – Rebecca Black
Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol

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