Chapter Text
Wade jimmies the lock, ignoring the common sense part of him that argues that he really has no need to be here. He’s already decided that Spidey – Peter – isn’t a bad guy. That he isn’t going to kill him.
But Wade doesn’t claim to be a good guy, and if he’s going to give up the payment he would’ve received for all these weeks of stalking and reconnaissance, he might as well satisfy his curiosity.
The door swings open, revealing the saddest apartment Wade has ever laid eyes on. He steps inside and closes the door behind him, taking in all its glory.
It’s a one-room apartment. There’s a bed in the corner – a twin, unmade – with a bedside table beside it. There are books stacked on top of books with a lamp sitting on top of them. More books, not being used to prop up a lamp. At least three different glasses of unfinished water, and an alarm clock blinking the wrong time.
There’s a tiny desk mashed into the corner next to the bedside, similarly cluttered except for a small space where a laptop sits, undisturbed. And across the room seems to be the makeshift living room, with a raggedy looking couch, a TV, and another cluttered table. Finally, there’s the kitchen, equally small and messy, though the mess is still clutter, rather than food stains and disgusting dishes. The only other door in the apartment is across from it, presumably leading to the bathroom.
Wade sets to work immediately, despite the fact that he isn’t looking for anything in particular and he doubts there’s anything exciting to be found.
He heads to the sleeping area first. Several of the books are annotated, passages underlined and a messy scrawl jammed into the corners of pages or running up along the sides. Inside the drawer, there are more books, receipts, birthday cards, and lube. Nice.
There’s a not-so-secret compartment, which Wade pries open. Peter keeps little cartridges in there, tiny vials that presumably contain his web fluid. There’s also a notebook, which Wade removes with a raised eyebrow. Yep, definitely reading that later.
For now, he heads to the laptop. It isn’t password protected, which is idiotic, but Wade sinks into the desk chair and takes his good luck in stride. There are several tabs open – a school website, an email, a bunch of scientific journals. Peter also seems to be doing research about how to best navigate a burning building, how to best de-escalate a hostage situation, and how to treat children after traumatic situations. Typical teenage research, for a hero.
The desk drawers are less interesting. Mostly school supplies and textbooks, although there are a bunch of different scraps of paper inside, seemingly never-ending to-do lists and reminders.
Call May. Schedule appointment. June 12th bomb – similar to Goblin’s? Create new budget. Test new WF.
There are a few pictures hanging above the desk. Mostly of Peter and an old, sweet looking lady, but also a few with an older dude, only in the ones where Peter looks younger. A few others have random friends in them. And there are newspaper clippings too, though not in a crazy, red-string-theory kind of way. They’re mostly pictures, and when Wade gets a closer look, he realizes that all of them are credited to Peter Parker. Must’ve been his previous job.
The fridge is depressingly empty. Peter keeps his bowls in the cabinet meant for cups, and his cups in the cabinet meant for dishware. His cutlery is mismatched.
The living room area doesn’t have much of interest, though Wade finds a dollar between two of the couch cushions. He leaves it there, figuring Peter probably needs it.
Finally, he settles on the edge of Peter’s bed and flips open the notebook from the bedside table, feeling like he saved the best for last.
(He did.)
It’s chock-full of overwhelming proof that Spidey’s a good dude, not an evil bone in his body, which makes Wade twinge with guilt for snooping around like this.
It’s full of formulas Wade doesn’t understand, charts and drawings of different kinds of webs and how Peter created them. He keeps notes about evolving criminals – some of them he even had an eye on before they turned into supervillains. He notes patterns. There’s a map of New York City, different areas highlighted or circled or starred. There are diary entries too, which Wade feels sick for reading.
Peter clearly isn’t the kind of person to detail the menial shit going on in his life. He doesn’t talk about work or a bad smell on the subway or feeling guilty for ignoring a beggar on the sidewalk.
All of his entries are full of pain and guilt. Details of times where he messed up, where he failed, where he walked away from a situation feeling like he only made it worse. He berates himself for his mistakes and theorizes how he can do better in the future. Wade closes the notebook after reading a passage about someone who jumped. Peter tried to talk him down from the ledge, but the guy wasn’t having it. Peter couldn’t catch him in time. Or – he didn’t catch him in time. According to Peter, he froze, watching him fall. Thinking that if he shot out a web, the man would end up dying anyway, stopped so suddenly that his spine would snap.
Wade puts the notebook back, his stomach crawling with guilt. He’s just about to leave – maybe think up a plan on how to confront Spidey, explain some of the situation and figure out how to make it up to him – when a key starts twisting in the lock. Wade stares at it, frozen. He didn’t lock the door behind him, and it’ll only take Peter a moment to realize that.
There’s no time to escape. Wade hides in the only place possible – the bathroom.
He’s only just eased the door almost-shut behind him, slightly open the exact way Peter had it, when the front door opens and Peter’s voice fills the apartment.
“—no, I know, May, it’s okay. But I’m busy that day anyway. We could reschedule for next Friday?”
Peter’s silent as this May person responds. He doesn’t seem to realize that his door was unlocked – or at least doesn’t think it out of character for himself to have left it unlocked – and he crosses to the kitchen with his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, rummaging through the fridge as he hums in response.
"Yeah, that would work. I've been wanting to try that place anyway. You said you know the owner?"
Peter hums again, nodding despite the phone call’s recipient not being able to see it. He stabs a fork into some leftover sesame chicken and crosses the room at the same time, squatting beside his bed. He lifts a floorboard – just sticks his fingers to the board and pulls – and it comes loose, revealing his suit underneath it. Wade raises his eyebrows. He’d assumed Peter kept it on him, when he wasn’t able to find it in his apartment.
“He’s an idiot,” Peter says, laughing. Wade tells himself not to stare as Peter changes, but he can’t help it. He strips off his pants and his shirt, looking far more fit under the clothes than he does in them. There are bruises and cuts littered all over his body. Probably another secret no one knows about, the injuries Spider-Man constantly sustains.
“Nah, nothing really,” Peter says, struggling into his suit. He hops around, doing three things at once, still eating and still talking and still changing. “I’m just gonna work on an essay for my political science class. If I finish that up, I might try to find something to watch. Mhmm. Yeah. Yep.”
Peter takes one more bite of chicken, then yanks his mask down over his face. He tests each of his web shooters, sending webs across the room and directly into the trash can. Then he picks up the alarm clock and winces, the wrong numbers apparently making enough sense in his mind to let him know he’s late.
“I’m gonna let you go now, okay?” he says. “It was good talking to you. Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”
He hangs up, tosses his phone onto his bed, and stretches his head in each direction. Then he slides open his window, crawls onto the wall outside of it, and leaps into the air.
Wade remains hidden in the bathroom, just for a few moments more. He’s shivering with unease, knowing for a fact that he shouldn’t be here. That he never should’ve accepted this job. That he knew in his heart that Spidey was a good person, and seeing him all normal and mundane is only proving to make Wade feel hopelessly endeared.
Right. He knows he’s not going to kill Peter. He’s known it for weeks. It’s probably only fair if he lets Peter know, too.