Chapter Text
The next week passed by in a flurry of very-much-not-atonement very real Dates, in tandem with a flurry of … surprisingly unquestioned cancellations from Spider-Man to Deadpool.
Peter had an increasingly difficult time reconciling how happy he was riding roller coasters and thrift shopping and indulging in so so so many kisses, with how illogically jealous he was of his best friend Deadpool’s new fixation.
He knew he and the fixation were one in the same, so thusly he knew he was acting clinically goofy-brained. But even with Wade’s assurance that whatever he felt for Peter was only matched by his feelings for Spider-Man, and the knowledge that they were the same person and that person was him, he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep the two separate.
Though taking a week off of patrol had worked out surprisingly well - unprecedented lack of crime in the city, I love thee - he’d begun missing his suited nights with Wade. He was dreading the idea of going back to any amount of interaction that wasn’t laden with open affection.
It was time to fess up. He was anxious as hell, but he knew Wade would forgive him. He’d realistically be fuckin elated, and Peter couldn’t wait to see the look on his mask.
He hadn’t married his true self and alter ego to another person in … well, in years. The last person who’d known who he really was was Gwen, and that scar still had yet to fully heal.
Peter was in love with Wade. He had been for months, and getting to know him outside of superhero stuff - getting to know the taste of his tongue especially, hey-o - had only deepened and reaffirmed the feelings he’d been harboring.
He didn’t want to hide anymore. He trusted Wade. He trusted him with his life, and more than that he trusted him with his heart.
Wade would make him happy. Wade did make him so so happy.
So that morning, he sent Wade a text asking to meet that night for coffee and got to work putting together a belated flash drive.
–
Hours had passed since he last heard from Wade. This was normal enough for Deadpool and Spider-Man, but before this last week their communications hadn’t been nearly as frequent. As Peter, he allowed himself to voice a lot more of the random thoughts he had throughout the day to Wade. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d woken up with his phone pressed to his ear, having fallen asleep talking to Wade for hours after he’d gotten back home. So while his first thought was to Not Worry About It, Peter! He then found himself falling into a nice little 10ft pool of anxiety and fear.
He wasn’t tired of Peter already, was he?
No. He may have horrid self-esteem, but he’d already passed the point of catastrophizing the romantic aspect of their relationship. There’d be plenty of time for that years from now, when they’d left the honeymoon phase and weren’t constantly all over each other - which, for the first time ever, Peter wasn’t even convinced would ever happen with Wade. Terrifying! Great! Where Is He, Also!!!
Because if it wasn’t ghosting, it had to be something more serious. He wracked his brain, trying to think of whether Wade had mentioned any upcoming team-ups with the X-Gang or the Avengers, or even a solo mission that’d take him out of town. Nothing was coming to him, but that didn’t necessarily mean that none of the above were happening. Sure, Wade always always always told Spider-Man about anything that might take him out of town. But Peter? Maybe he didn’t wanna worry his precious little baby photographer (Wade’s words, not his). Another detriment to putting off spending quality suited time together.
But Wade had Spider-Man’s number, and there’s no reason he wouldn’t have warned him that way. And no amount of screen-looks was changing the reality of his very empty text inbox.
Fuck.
There wasn’t much to do but wait, right?
—
Yeah, right.
Two days had passed with no word from Wade to either of his phones.
The first day after no contact had found Peter swinging across the city to all of Wade’s safe houses; he waded thru ankle-deep piles of takeout bags at his emergency-only spots, looked thru the cabinets and drawers of his sparklier digs, he even made a stop at Sister Margaret’s just in case.
Nothing. Not even Weasel knew where Wade was, but he was - predictably - thoroughly unconcerned.
Yesterday he’d spent all 8 hours of daylight doing some old school investigating outside of Wade’s usual haunts. He knocked on neighbor's doors, called Logan and Cable and Domino. Not a single one of them had heard anything, but at least the three heroes had the grace to be a little worried alongside Peter, promising him they’d keep their ears open and let him know if they got any intel.
By the time the sun rose on his first supposed day back at work, he’d barely slept. Fear sat sluggish in his veins, making the very idea of getting out of bed a fuckin impossibility. He shot a text to Jameson letting him know he’d be late, not bothering to call knowing he still had a fair amount of leverage on the man. Still felt sorta guilty about that, but not this morning. No room for feeling extra morally sensitive when his (indestructible, Pete, so he has to be alive at least, wherever the hell he is) soulmate was completely awol.
–
He didn’t roll in to the bugle until noon, and when he made it to his desk he was shocked to see his message light blinking an ominous red.
The only people who ever called his work phone was Jameson, and on a very rare occasion Aunt May. He knew it wasn’t his boss, because he’d only call Peter at work if he was out of the office sick and needed someone to scream at. He didn’t think it was Aunt May, because they’d had a phone call not 5 minutes ago as he was getting off the subway.
Trying not to let his hand shake, he reached for the receiver and held it to his ear.
As the automated voice read out the number of who the message was from, his heart picked up.
Wade.
He couldn’t fathom why this would be the first venue he’d choose for initiating contact, but he figured he’d find out soon enough anyway.
“Hello, Peter.”
Oh fuck. Fuck oh fuck. Of course.
It wasn’t Wade’s voice on the phone.
“It seems you and I have a friend in common. Well, in your case he seems to be more than a friend, no? Personally I’d rather choke on my own vomit than suck face with someone who looks like the same thing, but I suppose we all have our preferences.”
Fuck this guy anyway, but really seriously. Fuck this guy.
“You see, Deadpool and I have had a … let’s call it a disagreement, of sorts. He didn’t come through as promised on a job, so as nasty a business as it is, I really had no choice but to teach him a little lesson. He really doesn’t go down any easier no matter times I put a bullet through his head. So talkative, this one.”
Peter felt his armrest crack under his hand; hopefully no one else was near enough to hear.
FUCK this guy I swear to god-
“I’ve got him trussed up all nice in one of my compounds. Safe and sound. If I don’t see you tonight at this address, I can’t promise his safety much longer. See you soon, Mr. Parker.”
He nearly cracked his wrist scrambling to type the location into his phone, and leapt up from his desk with little consideration for his brief acrobatic display.
Maybe he’d taken up gymnastics during his week off. Plenty of people had unexpected hobbies.
He stopped at Jameson’s office to let him know he had to chase down a lead on Spider-Man’s nefarious activities or some shit, who predictably just gave him a strained smile and too-big thumbs up.
–
The next six hours made Peter feel like he was gonna crawl out of his skin. Nothing had ever felt so innately wrong as it did to wait til sundown before going to meet up with whoever the hell had Wade. But the caller had been very clear, and though he didn’t trust the stranger’s word for shit, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that might put Wade through any more pain than he’d already survived the last few days.
He distracted himself however he could. Though they were expecting him to appear as Peter Parker, that didn’t mean he was going to come empty-handed. Walking into a situation like this with anything that could identify him as Spider-Man was risky, but there’s no way he was leaving that damn “compound” without Wade. He wore his webshooters under long sleeves, and stuffed his bag with extra webbing cartridges. Then he sat down at his laptop and did whatever research he could on the location he was heading to.
A myriad of dead links and even dead-er ends later, he had a pretty good idea of who he might be meeting -
And it was a fucking joke.
Which meant he could rest a little easier in terms of how quickly he might be able to tie up (ha, ha, get it? Because he’d tie the guy up with his webs?? Lack of sleep was really settin in bad) the situation, but also served to make him that much more fucking annoyed at this asshole.
As he closed his screen, he looked out the window to see the sun winking out on the horizon.
–
The building was just as disappointing as its - probable - owner. Plain concrete facade. One in a long line of nearly identical properties. You’d think someone aiming to be the World’s Coolest Supervillain (that’s an actual quote from an interview he gave) would at least have painted it something spooky, or thrown a gargoyle or two on the roof. But he might as well be showing up for a carpet sampling for all the character it had. Pulling the strap of his bag a little tighter, he blew out a breath and pushed open the door.
It was silent at first; all he heard was the sound of a slow drip of water from somewhere in the corner of the cavernous space. Looks like the integrity of this place was just as disappointing as its aesthetics. But then -
“Pete?”
Wade!
He broke into a run, almost losing his footing in the haze of relief that he was running through.
A cough, then “Pete, wait- don’t run-”
Turns out, the haze if relief was only part of why he almost lost his footing. He realized barely too late that the proprietor of this shithole had covered the floor leading up to Wade in some sort of viscous solution. It made quick work of his progress, quickly taking him from vertical to flat on his ass in less than a second.
Very smooth, Peter. Clean rescue so far.
As he tried to stand back up, he found that he couldn’t. Of course, of course it was sticking to him now - and as a result, sticking him mostly to the floor. He wasn’t completely prone, but the fluid had congealed into a sort of jelly-like consistency. He could get his limbs a couple inches off the floor with little effort, but he’d need to use his super strength to do much more than wiggle around. At least he’d landed sitting, so he could still look around. Less fortunate was the sight that greeted him, as the very man he’d been expecting stepped out from a door off to his left.
Doctor Nasty - yeah, that’s what he goes by; hope you weren’t expecting anything less icky and/or incredibly mediocre - strode towards him, far from imposing in his ill-fitting lab coat and fully greased back dyed-black hair. His shoulders looked far too broad for his stature, and his legs too short. His face was one he’d seen a million times, nothing remarkable about it save for his penciled-in incredibly thin eyebrows.
“Mr. Parker! I’m so glad you could make it.”
He barely heard the man over the indignant roar that came from Wade upon his entry; his heart picked up at the sound. Sometimes he forgot how scary Wade could be when he wanted to, and it had never felt more soothing.
“You motherfucker, I swear to god if you even think about touching him, I’ll kill you in ways way way worse than I was already-” silence.
The one notable thing he’d found about the doc’s whole “shtick” was that he was purported to be relatively skilled in knife throwing. How that even remotely fit in with his whole mad scientist vibe was beyond Peter, but the evidence lay before him clear as day.
Wade had only stopped shouting because there was a knife sticking straight through his forehead. It was far deeper than it should’ve been able to land, and Peter tried to think about what biological modification Doctor Shithead could’ve made to his lopsided musculature to get that result - it was easier than thinking about how Wade was dead. Not dead forever, never dead forever Parker he’s gonna be okay because you’re going to get him out of here, and this piece of shit responsible was gonna rot in the lowest layer of the highest security holding cell he could find.
Moments like this reminded him why it was so important that he held onto the importance of human life - because he was having a really hard time rejecting the idea of letting Wade handle this the way he might’ve a year ago. Sure, Pool had just made a pretty clear threat against this poor excuse for a villain’s life, but Peter knew that he wouldn’t actually take his life.
Unless Peter didn’t survive, maybe. All the more reason to get this shit taken care of. Maybe even before Wade managed to come back.
“Fuck you.” he spat, resisting the urge to rip his arms straight through the floor goop and kick some sense into ole’ Nasty.
“Such a horrible mouth for such a sweet boy! Tsk, tsk, Mr. Parker.” The doc must’ve been wearing a homemade set of shoes, because he walked thru the liquid with ease. He leaned close near Peter, and snagged his bag off his arms.
The loss of his extra cartridges was unfortunate, but they were mostly a precaution anyway. The real issue was when he remembered the only other item in his bag - that fucking flash drive.
Days ago, when he’d yet to start losing his mind with worry, he’d finally put together the files he’d promised Wade. He’d intended the flash drive to be his cheeky version of a face reveal, with a lot of, ahem, sensitive photos of him in his suit - with great power comes great need to take provocative pics for your almost-boyfriend - leading up to a picture without his mask on.
It had seemed like a cute idea at the time, but now that he was faced with the reality of nasty Doctor Fuck You discovering his identity on top of seeing all the flirty stuff, he wasn’t sure he’d ever use a flash drive again. Wade probably had a very secure email. Or better yet? Don’t take pictures of himself ever again; especially if he’s not thinking straight because of a certain masked merc.
He had a couple options, so he started with the easiest one.
“Give me back my bag, asshole.” Not his cleverest work.
The man only laughed, a horrible wet choking sound. “Well doesn’t that only make me more interested! Calm down, Peter. I couldn’t risk you pulling something out of here that might harm me,” he began sifting through, pulling out one of his shooter refills “like whatever the hell this is. Oooh, what do we have here?” Shit.
“Nothing. You want to tell me why you even called me here? What purpose can I even serve when I’m stuck in your gross little arts and crafts project?”
Doctor Nasty god ew pocketed the flash drive with a smirk, then pulled out a gun as he walked towards where Peter sat.
“You don’t need to do anything Peter - when Mr. Wilson wakes up and sees a gun against his plaything’s head, I think he’ll be a little more willing to get back in my good graces. You see, I offered him a very lucrative contract involving only a handful of targets and he- why are you laughing? Shut up, boy!”
Peter couldn’t control himself, honest. Even with a gun pointing at him, this guy was embarrassing as hell. He finally caught his breath, and looked up.
“First of all, Doc, I don’t give a shit about why you wanna hurt Wade.” His left arm began lifting. “I could tell you that he stopped killing ages ago, or remind you that an offer on your end does not guarantee an acceptance on his, but none of that matters either. Doubt you’d listen even if it did.” His right arm now, too.
“How do you know who I-”
“I really did wanna stick to talking you down, but I’m just so tired, man. Literally tired, because I haven’t slept much since you kidnapped my best friend, but also tired of hearing you say stupid shit.”
His mini monologue had been working so far; the doc’s head was distracted enough that he hadn’t noticed Peter shifting into a crouch, nor that his limbs were all only millimeters away from breaking the surface of Floor Goo. He honestly doubted the man would’ve noticed if Peter grew a third arm for all his lack of observation skills, but Peter obviously wasn’t complaining. It was one of the best perks of dealing with C-grade wannabe villains. How a guy this unimpressive managed to contain Wade for three days was a mystery to him - but he’d have plenty of time to ask Wade for more details after he kicked this guy’s ass.
The next few seconds happened very quickly.
In one move, he snapped free from the jelly, rolling quickly to an empty patch of floor - away from the stick, and away from the bullet haphazardly shot off from a very surprised Nasty.
He shot back up to his feet, and threw a handful of webs in quick succession at the man. As a precaution - and because he really, really fucking hated this guy - he knocked him out with a quick punch. He snagged his flash drive out of the man’s pocket, then felt his body still as he heard his favorite voice ring out from behind him.
“Baby boy!”
There was only person who Wade called that name, and it wasn’t Peter.
He slowly turned around; Wade was still strung up, but the knife had been pushed out of his skin and he was grinning huge huge huge.
“Fuck honey, that was so hot.”
“Wade?”
“Peter? You gonna come let me down?”
He was, but also why was Wade so calm right now? What the hell was happening??
He ran over in no time, making quick work of the thick knots holding him up. As Wade fell, he landed on his feet and crushed Peter into his arms.
“Oh Bambi, I’m so glad you’re okay, so so glad, you must’ve been worried sick angel I’m so sorry I left ya hangin like that.”
“Wade.”
“Yeah, honey? Wait, did he hurt you? Do you need anythin are you-”
“Wade, it’s me. I mean, I’m him. I’m Spider-Man. Peter. Both of em. You obviously saw me web that idiot up, but you’re not having any kind of response about it and its freaking me out.”
Wade’s only response was another big ol grin. Asshole.
Peter punched him. Not hard, but enough to let him know he was annoyed. It was more of a push, really.
“Okay, okay, jeeeeze Mr. Tyson, I get it. But honestly, baby boy, you might not be super happy with my explanation.”
Peter gave him a look indicating that he didn’t particularly care if Wade’s answer upset him, which must’ve translated well, because the other man simply softened his smile and continued.
“Alright. So you know that I’ve spent a lotta time in other universes, timelines, all that shit. I’ve seen a million different New Yorks, tasted a million different versions of Mt. Everest’s naan recipe, and met a million different Spider-Men. Well, not quite a million of any of those, but you know what I mean.”
“A lotta Spideys weren’t too fond of me, even when I had enough time to get to know 'em. Some warmed up to me well enough, but we weren’t exactly friends. And just once, in some version of Earth that I spent a couple years in ages ago - though it couldn’t’ve been more than a month in our timeline - I became real good friends with one of you. He was maybe a decade or so older than you, but otherwise really really close. We’d do all the same shit you and I do, without quite as much juicy sexual tension.” He waggled his eyebrows, but for once it didn’t work to disarm Peter. Not yet. Wade cleared his throat, carrying on. “One night, he and I are out on patrol. Green Goblin showed up, and we were really handin' it to ‘im. I mean, Pete, you should’ve seen it. Never had such a good time fightin' alongside someone 'til - well, 'til you, really.”
“So we’re kickin' the shit out of this fucker, throwin' as many verbal jabs as we are landin' physical ones, but then I, uh. I fucked up. Norman had some sorta projectile shooter attached to his hoverboard, and he shot it off at this other Spidey and I didn’t snag it in time and he uh, he fell,” Wade’s voice cracked as he said the last word. Just in the slightest. Peter had never heard him sounding this choked up - about anything, ever. “He fell so far and I tried Pete, swear to god I did, but I just couldn’t save ‘im. I managed to knock out the Goblin, and by the time I got down to the ground it was too late but he wasn’t gone, wasn’t gone yet. He was my best friend, y’know? Best friend I ever had. Never even meant to meet, bein from different universes and all, but we found each other anyway.” He swallowed thickly.
“So I held him, held him and told him it was gonna be okay, even though we both knew it wouldn’t be. And before he left, he told me to take care of his aunt.”
Peter couldn’t breathe.
“Told me to make sure his best gal Gwen was okay.”
His throat was tight. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or not.
“And then he … Pete, he took off his mask.”
At some point they’d both sunk to the floor, and Peter was clutching at Wade’s arms like a lifeline.
“Told me his name.” Now Wade’s voice really cracked, a half chuckle half sob escaping him.
He’d always known. Wade heard this thought, or maybe Peter had spoken aloud. He still wasn’t sure he was breathing or not.
“I never knew for sure, Pete. Not really. When I met you, I didn’t see him. I saw someone similar, someone I knew I could trust and someone who was really really good, the kinda good you don’t see ever, really, but you were always you more than anything else. You reminded me of him, but only in flashes. I mean, the first time I heard ya speak it felt like my heart cracked in two. Dick twitched a lil bit, obvs.” This time his disarming worked on Peter, just a little bit. He distantly felt a small smile appear on his face.
“Never felt that way with the other Pete. And I figured even if you never saw me like that, that I’d be more than lucky if I even got to be very casual friends with ya. Patrol once a month, no active animosity, whatever. But then you crept in, Bambi, you crawled right into my heart and built a beautiful lil spider’s nest in there. Couldn’t go a day without thinkin about ya, or more than a couple without seein’ ya. Had to see you living and breathin' and smilin', Pete, god I love that smile. Felt like my best pal was still alive, because he was. And it was different, he was different, he was you and you’re not him, not really. Just you. Best friend I ever had. First person I ever fell in love with. So I thought about lookin' into it, ‘course I did, thought about googling his name ‘n seein if it might be yours too.
But I didn’t wanna breach your privacy. Felt like if you wanted me to know who you were under the mask, it’d be up to you and you alone, not because I had a cheat code. It was completely accidental when I came across your name under a picture of Spider-Man, only a couple months after we first met. And even then Pete, cross my heart, I didn’t look any further. Honestly I thought if anythin', it was a funny lil coincidence that someone with the same name as another Spider-Man was real set on photographing this one.
I meant it when I said I have every photo of yours that’s been published. Got a whole creepy wall collage of em, actually.” Peter had actually seen this collage when he’d been searching for Wade. He’d thought it was pretty tasteful. “I think it was a cross between seein that name and wantin’ the pictures of you all suited up ‘n swingin'. When I first met ya on that rooftop, soon as I saw those lil doe eyes… You two look alike, but not identical. More like cousins than brothers, y’know?
But even if I'd never seen that Peter’s face, I’d’ve known. I’d’a known right away, baby boy. Spent so many nights starin at that pretty head across rooftop ledges and city streets ‘n park benches; soon as I saw ya, I knew you were this Spider-Man. My Spider-Man.”
Wade had been holding onto Peter’s hands, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into them. Gently, always so gently, reeling him back into his body.
Peter looked up at him, and did the only thing he could stand to after finding out something so Big and Real.
He reached for the bottom of Wade’s mask. Slowly, always so slowly, giving the other man plenty of time to move, or say no, or stop him.
Wade did none of this.
Peter’d known he wouldn’t.
It hit the floor with a soundless thud, and Peter looked.
And looked and looked and looked.
Wade’s smile, still so laced with pain and that damned uncertainty and Peter could’ve kissed it away if he wasn’t so busy looking.
His nose, full and masterful; painted in thick and strong brush strokes.
His eyes, so bright and hopeful and full of the kind of love Peter’d only ever imagined he’d hold in his own hands.
His hands couldn’t stop touching, joining his eyes in their perusal of this gift, this beautiful perfect better-than-he’d-imagined face. They fluttered at Wade’s cheekbones, fingers drawing soft and barely-there shapes as they drifted, his thumb passed over Wade’s full bottom lip then joined his forefinger in caressing his ears. Then the back of his head, smoothing over the hairless surface with reverence, bringing Wade closer to touch their foreheads together.
“Wade?”
“Peter?” His voice was so soft, now. Reverent.
“You make me so, so happy.
I love you.”
–
They cleaned up easy enough; brought Doctor Whatever to the Avengers tower with instructions to, as Wade put it, “go Men in Black on his ass”, in order to keep Peter’s identity safe. On the way there, Wade explained to Peter that the doc had been threatening Wade with Peter’s life - lied that he was being kept somewhere, that the minute Wade even looked like he was trying to escape it’d mean Peter’s death.
That night, curled up half-naked on Wade’s couch - so much skin he never thought he’d see so much, feel so much pressed up against him it was the best thing he’d ever known, both of them reveling in how alive and together and real they were - Peter finally showed Wade the flash drive.
Shockingly, it went over very well. Peter had to promise to make Wade a dozen more, to which he easily agreed. Wasn’t hard when Wade was using his mouth to convince him in a way that didn’t involve any talking.
–
Peter walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, dressed only in a blanket slung around his hips. Wade was deep in sleep, keeping his(their) bed warm. The sun was just starting to creep back up over the skyline. As he walked to the sink, the changing light caught the cover of a spine on Wade’s shelf.
The Victorian Language of Flowers
It was old, so old that he placed his glass down and cradled it in both hands as he opened it so as not to strain the spine.
Tulips, red - you must know that i love you
Camellias, red - you burn bright as a flame inside my chest
Carnations, red - alas for my poor heart, how it aches for you
And a note, scribbled in the margins beside that last flower in sparkly gel pen
in every universe, but especially this one
i love you, Peter Parker