Ch. 32

                                    

                                          
I just realized how invested I've become to this story like ???? I started this as some fun shit I'd write at my friend's request, and here I am with over 100 new followers and 61K reads and it's ridicilous what is this
                          
ok i'll stop my confused rambling now here you go 
                          
**PETER**
                          
"Wade.." 
                          
I immidiatly dropped to the floor next to him and forced myself to look at the bullet hole in the side of his head. 
                          
"Wade what have you done..." I whispered, taking his head in my hands to turn it gently around a bit so I was able to see his face instead of a fresh wound. 
                          
He was wearing his suit, but not the mask, so I gently checked his pulse by his neck. 
                          
Yep, barely there. 
                          
I sighed, and looked around the apartment. Blood stained the wallpapers, the floor and the couch. Some of it was dry, and some of it looked new. I already knew all of it was Wade's. 
                          
"What are you doing?" I whispered, looking at him sadly. I stroked his cheek lightly, before I got up from the floor. 
                          
I kind of almost knew my way around his apartment, so I decided I'd try and look for some food while he was out cold. 
                          
As expected, though, I couldn't find anything - at least not anything from this year. I did, however, see some flyer about this Mexican place, next to a drawing of...was that me? Why didn't I have any clothes on? And who was that dog? 
                          
"Well that was short," Wade suddenly said, and I turned my head to look at him from the kitchen. He sat up and shook his head, blinking excessively. 
                          
"Are my shots getting worse?" he wondered out loud as he stood up, looking at the gun as if that would give him an answer. 
                          
I still hadn't said anything, I just kind of stood by the fridge with a drawing of a naked me in my hands while I stared at a very disoriented Wade. 
                          
He eventually noticed me, though, and grimaced. 
                          
"Ooh, not you. Anyone but you!" I looked away, blinking the tears away before they even had the chance to fill my eyes. Focus, Peter, you were here to talk to him. You can't break down just because he's woken up. 
                          
"I'll take Carl any day over having to go through one with you," Wade continued, and I frowned. 
                          
"Who's Carl?" I asked. Wade rolled his eyes and waved his gun around. 
                          
"The other one. I don't know. Which one are you?" 
                          
"What?" What was he talking about. 
                          
"Oh, naturally," Wade said, still waving his gun around as he talked, clearly not worried he'd accidently shoot me - me, who didn't have a healing factor like his. 
"You're guilt, clearly. And Carl I suppose is...anger? Self loathing? Even Cable comes around sometimes, though mostly to mock me and remind me of how much better I'd be off on the 'good side'" 
                          
"What are you talking about?" I asked, even more confused and with even more questions. Who the heck was Carl? And Cable? Why was he calling me guilt? 
                          
For a brief second, Wade looked doubtful. And in that second of doubt, he also looked pained. But, of course, only for a second. 
                          
"Don't do that," he mumbled. "Don't mess with me like that. You're not supposed to be here yet, anyways." 
                          
I tried to approach him, finally starting to catch on. His voice broke, and he looked so...damaged. Yet he forced himself to look at me, shaking his head. 
                          
"Wade, we need to talk-" 
                          
"Shut up!" 
                          
Right as he lifted the gun to his head to shoot himself - again - I ripped it out of his hands with the help of my web, and he stared at it for a moment. 
                          
"How did you do that?" he asked, sounding so small and broken I immidiatly wanted to hold him. 
                          
I remained calm, though, and tried to gain eyecontact again. 
                          
"Because I'm real," I said, slowly. "I'm not a hallucination, Wade. I'm not in your head - I'm here. I'm real." 
                          
It only took him a few seconds to put his mask back on - metaphorically speaking. He wiped his face of all the pain I had just seen a second ago, and he looked at me with a small smirk. 
                          
"Come to beg for my love?" he asked. 
                          
So this was how he was going to be. 
                          
Well, I wasn't going to get anywhere with this; him shutting himself off and hiding behind humor and laughs. So I glanced at the flyer on the counter. 
                          
"Hungry?" 
                          
****
                          
well
                          
hope y'all enjoyed this chapter more than i enjoyed series 4 of sherlock