Chapter Text
“Thanks for bringing me here, Mr. Deadpool.”
It was quiet out and both hero and mercenary stood near one of the side entrances of the Avengers tower. Deadpool had escorted Peter there personally upon the discovery that Peter was starting to shown signs of a cold, and insisted upon taking him to the tower himself.
Deadpool was, by his own account, ‘adulting very well’ and being, ‘uncharacteristically responsible’ and, ‘painfully awesome’.
And…?
Peter had to agree - he sort of was.
Though Peter was more privy to the softer side of the mercenary, it wasn’t often that he got to see this side of him.
“No prob, Pete,” Deadpool said casually, his arm wrapping around Peter’s shoulder to tug him into a firm one-armed hug. “It’s my job to take care of people.”
“That is literally the most incorrect thing you’ve ever said in your entire life,” Peter said while half-mushed into the man’s chest.
“I mean,” Deadpool corrected hastily, letting go of Peter, “it’s my job to take care of people,” his tone dark for a second before brightening and adding in a loud hoarse whisper, the back of his hand ‘covering’ his mouth, “When I say that, I mean killing people.”
Peter laughed approaching the door.
Without prompting, the door slid open.
It was a perk of the suit and being a sort of not-so-official member of the Avengers. He didn’t have to ring in a key card or anything. Karen could wirelessly interface and interact with the tower if he needed her to.
“Thanks Karen.”
“No problem, Peter,” she replied gently, “Peter, might I suggest that you get to bed as soon as possible? Your temperature has gone up another point oh-seven degrees.”
“Yeah that’s the plan,” Peter started to say, when Deadpool cut him off, standing right beside him, his arms crossed.
“Whew, kid. You’re going downhill fast.”
Peter rose an eyebrow. “Did Karen broadcast that to you too?”
“Yep,” Deadpool said long and drawn out and with a popped ‘p’.
“Well. You don’t have to worry about that anymore, because you’ve done your duty. I’m at the tower. I’ll be going to bed. I’ll be good,” Peter explained as he crossed the hallway and stopped in front of an elevator that opened for him. “Sleeping time for me.”
The elevator in question was one that was solely accessible to anyone with permission to get to the living space of the tower, no one else. And this ‘living space’ was a sort of common area with attached rooms and suites. Peter had one designated to him to use whenever he wanted.
It was a sort of home away from home.
“I’ll be okay here, Mr. Deadpool,” Peter assured again at the doubtful look of the mercenary.
“You sure, kiddo?” Deadpool asked, crossing his arms.
“Yeah.” Peter tugged off his mask with a sigh and pushed away sweaty bangs, “I’ll be good.”
“Oh-em-gee - face reveal!” Deadpool squealed.
Peter gave him a flat look for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. “Dude. You’ve seen my face,” he gestured at it, “More than once.”
“Oh,” the merc deflated. “Right. Right. The whole adorable and wanting to adopt you shtick.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That.”
Suddenly, and without preamble – as Peter balled the mask of his suit in one hand, Deadpool took a step forward, pulling off one of his gloves and pressing an exposed calloused and scarred hand to Peter’s forehead.
“Sheesh! Karen is right! You’re a fucking furnace!”
Peter bat away the hand. “I’ll be good,” he repeated.
Deadpool looked around them, pulling back on the glove. “Is anyone here right now?”
Peter shrugged. “Probably not. S’why Cap gave me the ‘stakeout mission’. They’re out of the country - I don’t think any of members are here. They took the full roster.”
“What about like, auxiliary team people? Like, B-List superheroes. The uncool ones that don’t get movie franchises. Someone who can look after you?”
“First of all - what are you talking about? Second of all - I don’t need someone to look after me. I’ll be good. I just need to sleep.”
“Yeah but maybe you could get, like, a super hot - or super handsome - secretary to like, tend to your burning forehead,” Deadpool said, “Hashtag Goals.”
Peter flushed, “I don’t want that! Also, don’t say ‘hashtag’! Besides, I doubt the random staff here want to look after me – also, they aren’t exactly allowed in the common area.”
Deadpool’s hands were back on his hips. “…Fuck.”
“What?”
In lieu of an answer, Deadpool just grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him into the elevator.
“What are you doing?” Peter staggered when he was let go, supporting himself with a hand on the elevator wall.
Ugh.
He felt woozy.
Deadpool didn’t respond to him. “Karen, babe? Can you hear me now that the mask is off of Petey-pie-”
“Don’t call me Petey-pie.”
“- If you can, can you take us up to that common area thing-a-ma-jig?”
Peter couldn’t hear her, his mask was off, but she must have replied because Deadpool cheerfully blew a kiss and gave a bright, “Thanks babe~”
Peter groaned, turning to lean against the wall with his back. “What are you doing?”
“What I hate to do the most in the whole world kid,” Deadpool said grimly, looking forward with his hands on his hips.
Peter looked up at him, “Which is…?”
Deadpool looked down at him, his expression serious through the mask. He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Be an adult.”
“… How awful for you.”
Deadpool choked, turning his head away and putting a hand over his mouth. “I know.” He took in a long shuddering breath. “Thanks for understanding.”
The Elevator doors closed without either of them prompting it to.
“Hello Mr. Parker. Mr. Wilson.”
Deadpool gave a start. “New voice! Who is this sexy dame? Have we met? I’m Wade, by the way. Wade Wilson - but you can call me the man of your dreams.”
Peter put his face in his hands.
“I am FRIDAY, Tony Stark’s personal assistant; as well as the AI in control of this facility. I am aware of who you are, and I am to inform you that you have been given provisional limited clearance to the common area and Mr. Parker’s personal suite.”
“Sweet.” Deadpool nudged Peter with an elbow, “Geddit? Suite? Sweet? Oh come on. Give it to me.”
“Ha ha.”
Peter repressed a real chuckle.
“So tell me, Irish AI - you’re Irish, right? What is with Stark and accented AI? Is it a thing of his? Like a -” Deadpool suddenly stopped himself. “Scratch that. Nevermind. Forgot I’m around a minor. Anyway - so like, does the team know I am here and what not? Am I to be eviscerated upon their arrival? Will they be arriving? Do I have to make a hasty escape out a window?”
“Tony Stark has been made aware of the situation as has Captain Rogers. They were the ones that gave clearance. You are to be strictly monitored. Karen has also vouched for your intentions.”
“Aww!” Deadpool clapped his hands to his cheek. “Karen! Babe.”
“If you are in need of anything else, you can speak to me or use Karen has a proxy.”
“Guys seriously this is a bit much,” Peter complained. “I’m seriously okay. I just need to sleep.”
“You have a reported temperature of 103.1 degrees.” Was FRIDAY’s clinical reply.
Deadpool whistled. “Sheesh, Peter.” Peter felt the merc’s hand wrap around his shoulder, “We gotta get you into bed. Any higher than that and it’s like actual-doctor issues and I am not an actual-doctor -”
“I never would have guessed.”
“- I just play one on tv.”
“What.”
A digital bell rung – announcing they had arrived at their floor – and the doors slid open.
“Ha. Quaint.”
The lights of the common room sprang to life half a second later.
They hadn’t even been on the floor for half a second and Peter was already being dragged by the wrist out of the elevator by the mercenary.
He staggered and Deadpool stopped.
He probably realized he had no idea which way to go.
“Which way to your room, kiddo?”
Called it.
“That way,” Peter pointed.
“Nice. Cool. You just like hold onto me so we can walk there together, okay?”
“I don’t need support. I can support myself just fine.”
“You’re clinging to my arm kid.”
Peter blinked and he looked at his own hands. Deadpool wasn’t grabbing him, as so much he had both his arms wrapped around one of Deadpool’s, his legs were shaking.
“Um…”
“Yeah. Come on,” Deadpool slipped his hand away from Peter swiftly and tucked his hand against Peter’s back, steadying him. “This is the downhill part. I have an idea, how about you save the whole downhill thing for a bed and not for the hallway just twenty-feet from one?”
“I’m not going downhill -” Peter’s legs had another idea. They buckled.
“- Shit.”
Deadpool’s arm gripped him before he could go face first, and Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around the mercenary’s neck.
With a click of the tongue, Deadpool put his other arm under Peter’s knees and swept Peter up into his arms.
“There we go!”
“Hey!”
This was so embarrassing.
“Sorry kid. Don’t want you face-planting.”
“Put me down.”
“Sure. I’ll absolutely do that for you. Once we’re in a bedroom. With a bed. You know? A soft thing with a mattress. Far better than a floor.
Deadpool marched with Peter in his arms the twenty-or-so feet to the door to Peter’s personal room and the door opened for them.
“Aw man. I wanted to kick it in dramatically.” Deadpool lamented as he carried Peter through the threshold and straight toward the bed.
Peter was put down onto it with a surprising amount of gentleness.
“Yo. Irish Lady. Wednesday -”
“It is FRIDAY.”
“Right - In all-caps, like FRIDAY? Or is it Friday? Or is it F.R.I.D.A.Y?”
Peter had no idea what he was talking about.
FRIDAY didn’t either, or chose to ignore it. “… What do you require, Mr. Wilson?”
“Tell me if there are like, clothes and shit for the kid around here. I don’t think Webs should be stuck in his suit. Skin-tight and fever do not equal good time. Believe me - I know.”
“There is a closet to the right with some of Mr. Parker’s clothing options.”
“Thanks, boo. I’d totally be into you if Karen and I weren’t in a committed relationship.”
Peter snorted from the bed. “Oh great - you’re going to date my AI, that’s going to be so awkward.”
“So awkward,” Deadpool agreed, opening up a closet. “Could you imagine the children?”
Peter barked a laugh that turned into a light cough, imagining the horror of Deadpool somehow managing to procreate with a formless AI.
Haunting.
Peter watched muzzily from the bed, turning over to watch clothes fly over the mercenary’s shoulders as Deadpool rather sloppily looked for something for Peter to wear.
“Nope,” A sweater hit the floor.
“Nope,” another sweater.
“Double-nope,” another sweater.
Deadpool turned to look at Peter. “Seriously, what’s with all the sweaters, kid?”
Peter shrugged. “It’s winter?”
“… Right,” Deadpool turned back. “Aha! … Aw, that’s so fucking cute.”
“What?” Peter pushed himself partially up to see what Deadpool was crooning at.
Deadpool held up a unicorn shirt. “Look! It’s sparkly - and it has nerd glasses.”
Peter flushed again. “Look… My Aunt got me that and-” he refused to admit it was one of his favourite shirts. It had ‘U Ni Co Rn’ written under the unicorn as elements of the periodic table…
“No no!” Deadpool immediately defended. “ I’m not teasing, I swear! It’s awesome! I want one! Tell me where she got it so I can get it. So cute. Nerd unicorn. Best.” Deadpool approached Peter with the shirt over one arm with a pair of generic black shorts. “Here we go.”
Peter pushed himself into a sitting position and took them. “Thanks.”
“No prob kiddo.”
Peter hit the spider on his suit and the fabric loosened, slipping off of his shoulders.
He looked up and saw Deadpool gaping at him.
Peter instinctively covered his chest. “What?”
“Holy shit that’s awesome. I want my suit to do that! Why can’t my suit do that? That’s not fair!”
Oh.
Peter chuckled a little, relaxing. “That’s a Tony Stark invention for you.”
“That is so un-fucking-fair! Why do you get to have the cool tech? The hot AI babe in your ear, the cool-ass suit that deflates. The sticky webs? Man.”
Peter snorted.
“How are you feeling right now, Pete?” Deadpool asked as he started to unbuckle the holster for his two katanas and set them down on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“Really shaky,” Peter admitted. “Like, a lot worse than before. Heavy?”
Deadpool hummed as he took off his belt and gun holster dropped it at the end of the bed.
He sat back down on the bed, but this time much closer to Peter. His mask was rolled up to his nose and he pulled off his glove with his teeth.
It wasn’t the first time Peter had seen the bottom of Deadpool’s face, but it was the first time it had been voluntary and not because it had been ripped or cut off because of some attacker or another.
The calloused hand was pressed once more to his forehead.
“I swear you’re warmer since last I checked. Look, I know healing factors kid, very personally, and believe me when I say we gotta get this fever under control, or your healing factor might make this a heck of a lot worse” Deadpool explained, his voice uncharacteristically calm and adult sounding. “Because that’s what fevers are, they are your body’s way of killing those intruders - your own personal defence force. Yours just happens to be turned up to eleven.”
Peter hummed, subconsciously leaning into the cool feeling of the mercenary’s hand.
“Okay, time to lay down.”
The hand moved away from his sweaty bangs and pushed him back onto the bed.
A light sheet unfurled and draped over him.
“Sleep,” was the soft instruction.
Peter heaved a yawn. Wow, he was so tired all the sudden. “Mr. Deadpool…?”
“Yeah kid?” the weight left the bed.
“… Your responsibility is showing.”
“GASP!” Deadpool said in fake shock, yanking down his mask before he covered his chest with his arms and hiked up his leg like he was a scandalized woman caught int he middle of changing, “Don’t look!”
Peter snorted as his eyelids started to grow heavy.
The lights went out, and the last thing Peter heard was the sound of a door closing.
— — —
Peter hummed at the feeling of something cold sliding across his face, dragging him away from the heavy feeling of sleep.
What was that?
Ice?
Water…?
Huh?
It took a while, but once Peter was conscious, the first thing he was aware of - was that he felt like crap.
He was weighted down. His body felt like lead.
He ached.
He was so cold and hot at the same time.
So yeah, feeling like crap was pretty accurate.
Peter puffed a breath as he struggled to blink open his eyes. Had they been laden with lead?
“Sorry,” a voice apologized from above him. “So, so, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby-boy.”
“Mmf… Mr. Deadpool?” Peter asked, reaching a hand up to rub his eyes.
“The one and only,” the cold feeling returned to Peter’s head and he sucked in an uncomfortable breath.
“Sorry. Sorry,” Deadpool hissed. “So sorry. I mean it. Sorry. Shit - I know it feels really bad but like, gotta get that temp down so-”
“Why are you using ice?” Peter grunted, pinching his eyes shut as a bead of freezing water rolling over his forehead and down into his hair.
“Therein lays the real problem, Spidey. I’m not. This is just mildly cool water. You ain’t suppos’ta use ice,” was the soft explanation, “It exacerbates the issue. Ha… exacerbates…”
Peter held his arm across his eyes and let the feeling of the teeth-chattering cold cloth run across his forehead again.
He swallowed thickly. “What time is it?”
“Bullshit o’clock,” was the reply before the clarification of, “It’s three in the morning.”
“Gross.”
“So gross,” Deadpool agreed solemnly as the cloth brushed against Peter’s face. “Three AM is only acceptable during sleepovers where nobody gets sleep and it’s just all-movies all night long.”
“Totally,” Peter mumbled in agreement.
“Completely, right?”
“Pizza too? Like,” Peter huffed a breath, adjusting himself, “Gotta have copious amounts of pizza…”
“Oh you know it, girl.”
Peter snuffed air in amusement. “Oh good.”
Ugh. The world was swirling from even behind his eyes. He felt like his bed was rocking with the waves of a ship.
The cold cloth dabbed his forehead again, soaking his already sweat-damp hair and running down his temples.
The feeling of the cold water was less and less icy and biting, and more comforting as this went on.
“What’s th’ temp?” Peter asked hazily.
“Too high,” was Deadpool’s answer. “Thanks to your oh-so-wonderful healing factor - it’s overdoing it.”
“Mmf.”
Fingers gently wrapped around Peter’s wrist and pulled his arm away from his eyes.
Before he could blink at the light of the room, the cool cloth was placed over them and Peter couldn’t help the sigh of relief.
“Oh yeah - that’s the stuff,” Deadpool chuckled.
“Thanks.”
Peter lay there in silence, feeling the edge of his consciousness dipping away back into sleep when Deadpool spoke again. “Pete? Just before you go back to having dreams of chasing squirrels and barking at cats, just want you to know I tried to get a hold of your incredibly hot Aunt. I couldn’t get through.”
Peter took a breath, and replied slowly, “She’s… out on a vacation for the week… not in town…”
“Okay. Cool. Do you have her mobile number?”
Peter hummed, sleep was dragging him deeper down.
“Pete?”
Peter shifted, oh. Right. Words.
“Dun’ have her… number on me… S’at the apartment. N’my phone… Or Mr. Stark could have it…”
“That’s good to know.”
Something pat his chest.
“Go to sleep baby-boy.”
“Way ahead of you…”