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Wade is a fairly smart man. He’s observant, can pick up a new hobby or skill in record time if need be, and is intellectually competent at worst. He plays the part of the dim-witted anti hero with a knack for pissing people off, but if you look deeper it becomes very clear that he is an intelligent individual who only acts so asinine to either lower people’s guards or just because it’s fun—acting like he doesn’t have all the answers. Like he doesn’t know hundreds of ways to kill someone with his bare hands, like his IQ isn’t in the hundreds, only rivaled by people as smart as Spider-Man or Tony Stark (is he in this universe? Oh well, anyone reading this fic knows who he is.)
This one, though, wow. He feels like a complete idiot and wonders if the cancer has finally eaten its way through his hippocampus. Peter Parker, Mouse, the guy he’s been visiting at Weasel’s bar for the better part of a year, is Spider-Man. Wade’s Spider-Man. The crime-fighting, spandex-wearing, sexy-as-fuck arachnid that Wade has been obsessively following around like an obnoxious fanboy with nothing better to do than stalk his favorite celebrity. His partner, ever since Webs finally caved and allowed Wade into his inner circle, ever since he stopped flinching when Wade would show up to a fight or offer him takeout on the roof of a New York skyscraper.
Those are the same people, and Wade finally figured it out from Mouse’s laugh. His laugh, of all things! The signs were all there; the boxes have known for weeks. There were plenty of other things much more obvious that should have clued him in, but no. Mouse’s, Spidey’s, Peter’s laugh is what, after all this time, made Wade’s thinking cap fall back into place on his bald, scarred head for just long enough to piece the evidence together.
Looking back, it really was clear as day.
His constant evasion of the topic of his mutation…
“I’m okay, really, ‘Pool. Just stubbed my toe earlier.” On the same day that Spider-Man got badly injured just hours before. The nickname, the limp…
“—I’ve seen Spider-Man call you that… on the news, you know?” And White calling him an “oblivious idiot” for brushing it off…
When Mouse was distracted yet somehow sensed that he would run into Wade on the street that day they met outside of the bar…
He called him Wade! And said that the “distance around the equator” comment was his own!
Honestly, his entire conversation with the boxes that day should have been enough for him to figure it out.
Even today there were hints. Both he and Spidey being missing for the same amount of time, the way Mouse freed himself and fought alongside Wade effortlessly, how he yelled “don’t kill them” just like Spidey does…
Huh. That would explain why Wade wasn’t bothered by the kiss they shared even though he’s deeply in love with Spider-Man. His subconscious could tell he was kissing the love of his life, so there was nothing to be upset about.
Also—wait. Holy shit. Spider-Man just kissed him?
Spider-Man???
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“Um. Wade? I know that sometimes you stop to talk to the boxes, but you’ve been zoned out for nearly five minutes, and I’m getting worried.” Peter shuffles nervously in place, rubbing a hand up and down his arm.
That snaps Wade out of his deep contemplation, eyes refocusing on the gorgeous man standing before him. The gorgeous, ripped, spider-man that just kissed him and is now probably feeling very self-conscious because Wade hasn’t said anything after coming to his shocking, identity-revealing revelation.
“Sorry—I’m sorry, Baby Boy, don’t you worry your pretty little head. I have so many things to say, but should we maybe…? Leave the room full of passed-out bad guys? Before they become awake and angry bad guys.” Wade resists dragging a hand down his face, not wanting to stress Mouse, Peter, Spidey—what should he and the boxes call him now?—out any more than he already has, but feeling a weird, fluttering anxiety in his stomach as he turns over all the new information in his mind.
It’s just… hard. He’s shared so much with Spider-Man; so many late nights spent together in one of his safehouses, so many bad days where Spider-Man comforted Wade in ways that he didn’t know possible, so many fights—some with them on the same team against the world, some being an argument between them that broke Wade’s heart because fuck, he can’t lose the one person that he truly cherishes.
And now, Wade is finding out that this whole time he’d been sharing it all with the silly bartender he’s only recently come to know. A cute, sarcastic, anxious, very out-of-Wade’s-league person working at a newly-rebranded bar to get himself through college where he’s surely learning to become something extraordinary like the CEO of his own multi-million dollar company or a rocket scientist who does what he does both to help others and because it genuinely interests him.
The more Wade really thinks about it, the more he realizes how easy it is to put those two people into the same category in his mind. They share so many traits—of course they do, they’re the same person—so Wade has no trouble at all seeing Spidey as Mouse and Mouse as Spidey. Peter, Mouse, Spider-Man—it doesn’t matter, because that guy somehow finds a way to be perfect in every aspect of his life, secret identity and mutation be damned.
No, what Wade really struggles with is how this person, someone so perfect, likes him. Wade, the fuck up. Wade, with hideous scars covering him head to toe. Wade, who never censors himself because the boxes get too noisy and he can’t help but think aloud. Wade, whose mere presence makes most people run and hide. Why would Peter choose this? It would make sense if he had something wrong with him too—if he were ugly under the mask, or had voices in his head like Wade does, or was a grade-A douchebag outside of the spandex. Something to lower him down to Wade’s level, a flaw of some kind. But there’s nothing. Peter is perfect, all day every day, and he still chooses to spend most of his time with the mentally ill mercenary with a penchant for bugging the living shit out of everyone in his life. In and out of his costume, he chooses to seek out Wade. Rooftop taco nights, Mario Kart, the bar, patrolling—they spend it all together, and he’s never once complained or tried to pull away. To put distance between them.
Why?
Before he knows it, Wade has blindly followed Peter out of the room, out of the warehouse, to the empty lot outside, and into Dopinder’s cab. He vaguely remembers murmuring a “hello” and is now quietly watching buildings and people whizz by. Peter had directed Dopinder somewhere, probably, but Wade isn’t sure where. He was too caught up in his own head.
Without speaking, he and Peter have silently agreed not to hash out what’s causing the thick tension hanging in the air until after they’ve left the vehicle; though Wade knows Dopinder would try to take Peter’s secrets to his grave, he also knows how quickly the man folds under the slightest bit of pressure. Peter/Mouse/Spider-Man vaguely knows this as well, having met the taxi driver once or twice throughout his partnership with Wade.
The cab ride stretches on for ages, but when Peter’s pinky hooks itself around Wade’s, they both find themselves relaxing. The simple touch is enough to quell each other’s nerves—like a silent promise that through all of the miscommunication and internal conflicts, the bond they have will remain unbroken.
Eventually they reach their destination: an apartment complex made up of weathered brick masonry, concrete steps that are chipped and most likely a few shades darker than they started out, and a door with squeaky hinges that leads into an entrance hall aesthetically stuck in the 1980s. Wade takes it all in with the same level of interest as a baby seeing the world for the first time.
Peter trudges through the door in a way that screams “I’ve done this hundreds of times,” so Wade can’t help but assume that this is where he lives. His apartment building. There are many boundaries that Peter has allowed Wade to cross over the years, but this was never one of them. An uneasy feeling settles itself in Wade’s bones, each step toward the rickety elevator across the lobby feeling more and more like a point in their relationship that he can step into but never return from.
Things will never be the same.
That’s already true, though, isn’t it? He knows Spider-Man’s identity now. They kissed. He can never come back from this; he can’t just pretend he doesn’t know anymore. There’s no playing dumb, no more blissful ignorance, and definitely no plausible deniability left to be pled.
“Wade?” Peter hums, curious and concerned eyes latched onto him as he refocuses after yet another spell of dissociation.
“Sorry, Webs,” is all Wade says, shaking his head lightly and attempting to blink away the fog in his mind. The boxes are oddly silent for once, choosing to fade into the background as Wade works through everything completely on his own.
“Stop apologizing. I know I sprung all this on you way too quickly… It’s—I’m sorry. I should’ve told you who I was sooner, maybe the first day we met at Sister Margaret's. I was just scared. Scared that you’d be disappointed, or that it’d change the way things are between us. I know Peter and Mouse aren’t nearly as interesting or… well, attractive in any sense of the word as Spider-Man is.”
“Wait, what?” That got Wade’s attention. Peter thinks Wade is upset because he isn’t good enough?
“Damn, maybe he is fucked in the head, after all.”
“That does seem like classic impostor syndrome…”
“Impostor syndrome doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Wade mutters, exasperated. Naturally, the boxes would return for a confession like that to give their two cents on the matter. The matter being Spider-Man thinking he’s not all that, apparently???
“I’m sorry?” Peter chokes, eyes wide and face frozen in what could almost be seen as a smile. Wade knows better—he’s been watching the minuscule movements from beneath Spidey’s mask for so long, he knows exactly what each face means, no matter how it may appear here and now.
The elevator opens, and Wade is striding out with newfound vigor. He has no clue which apartment is Peter’s, but he doesn’t care.
“Baby Boy, you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Scratch that, you’re way better than sliced bread; I’d give that shit up in a heartbeat. You think I’m disappointed? No, my marvelous fallen angel with several different animal monikers, I’m just flabbergasted that you want to be around me! The screw-up! The serial killer with visual and auditory hallucinations!”
“Wade—”
“—Nuh-uh! Not done! You are perfect. So perfect, in fact, that it scares me. I was worried you were just trying to arrest me back when you first let me bring you takeout a few years ago after a particularly rough patrol, I was concerned that something might be wrong with you psychologically when you took a liking to me at the bar, and now? Now, I’m really confused, because you have chosen to spend your Spider-Man time and your civilian time with me! What gives? Are you secretly running a decades-long undercover op to gather information on me before finally arresting me? Are you—”
“Jesus Christ, Wade! Shut up for a second!” Peter yells, the same exasperation painting his face that Wade has been feeling since the warehouse. Wade’s jaw snaps shut, ever so obediently. To be fair, Spidey’s commanding tone is such a turn-on, it’s hard not to be compliant.
“I’m ignoring that for now, but I’m filing it in my mind for later.” Oh. Wade said that out loud. Oops.
Wait, did he say he’s filing it for later—
“Anyway.” Peter huffs, opening a door that Wade is sure he stormed past at least once during his passionate speech. The interior is cramped but cozy, with two doors down a small hallway to the left and a living room, kitchen, and dining area all in one sitting before them. Green and blue hues are used primarily throughout the open floor plan, giving things a comfortable, calm vibe. Peter tosses a set of keys onto the old marble countertop, then turns on his heel to pin Wade with a frustrated glare. Wade closes the door behind him slowly, as if trying not to provoke a rabid animal. What was that about Peter being referred to as different animals in all parts of his life again?
“Wade Winston Wilson, you really had yourself—have yourself convinced that all of this is, what? Some ploy to throw you in prison?” Peter scoffs, like the very notion offends him.
A shrug. “Well, yeah? I killed people for a living up until we met—and even after that, for a while. What was I supposed to think when someone like you randomly let me hang around you?”
“You were supposed to think that I enjoy your company! That I like being around you, Wade! God, I—fuck. I should’ve seen it. I know how you can get, how the boxes can get, I should’ve—” An accidental tear rolls its way down Peter’s cheek, and Wade doesn’t do more than stare at the offending droplet in shock.
“You like being around me? That’s it?”
Peter hiccups, choking down a sob. Wade frowns, unsure what he did or what he can do to fix it.
“Yeah, ‘Pool. That’s it. I like being around you. I like you. You’re great! Smart, kind, funny, skilled in so many ways… I mean, seriously, you need to find something you’re bad at.” Peter smiles despite his tears, red-rimmed eyes shining in the low light.
“You like me.” Wade says, more statement than question, but he can’t help but be skeptical. He just keeps circling back to his original question: Why?
“He likes you? What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Wade snaps, waving an aggressive hand by his head on instinct.
“You’re right; nothing is wrong with me. Whatever the boxes are saying, don’t listen. Wade, just—look, I kept my identity from you, and that wasn’t fair. Not after I started at Sister Margaret's, not when you’ve told me so much about yourself. I should have reciprocated sooner, instead of letting you continue to doubt yourself or our relationship. I care about you; I was just—nervous. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long, though. I’m sorry.” Peter sighs, looking down at his feet and then back up with a regretful grimace, wringing his hands together between them.
Wade chuckles sadly, unable to find it in himself to care about the things he’d panicked about just an hour ago. “You don’t have to apologize for my insecurities, and you don’t have to apologize for your own, Peter, even if you’re crazy for ever thinking that way about yourself. I think things just got… out of hand, on both ends.”
Peter sniffles, nodding his head slowly. “I can’t put real words to how I feel about you. It’s too much, too complicated for any labels that the English language has to offer. I really, really care about you, and it’s upsetting to find out that you didn’t know that. I wish I’d made it more clear.”
“I think you did; I was just too in my own head to notice,” Wade sighs. “I’m sure there were plenty of things I missed all because I had pre-conceived notions about you. I just couldn’t understand what you were doing spending time with me, of all people, so I assumed the worst.
“Also, you should try out German. They have a word for everything.”
Peter stares at Wade in disbelief for a whole two seconds before bursting out in boisterous laughter, a fist flying up to lightly punch Wade in the arm. Peter’s shoulders shake in such a familiar way Wade that questions how he ever spent time around the man without realizing who he really was.
“I never heard you laugh at the bar. At least not a real laugh.” Wade grins when Peter’s giggling finally subsides.
Peter raises a brow, smile still plastered on his face. “Never?”
Wade shakes his head, tapping the side of it with his index finger. “Nope. I would’ve figured your secret out sooner if I had.”
“...My laugh is what made you realize?”
“I’ve literally been in love with you for years, Webs. There may have been a lot I didn’t put together, but your laugh is my favorite sound in the world, other than maybe you yelling at me because hot damn—”
“Jeez, okay, hush.” Peter snickers, smacking a hand over Wade’s mouth. In turn, Wade licks Peter’s hand, which has him pulling back in disgust with a startled yelp.
“Wade!”
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Weasel isn’t sure what changed, but he knows something has. The atmosphere has shifted, feeling much less charged. Ever since Mouse came back from his impromptu leave of absence—which he distractedly explained away with a mumble about “family stuff”—things have been different. Nothing is blatantly out of the ordinary, but Weasel can see it in the way he acts.
The way Mouse smiles more often, laughs a bit louder when someone tells a joke. The way Wade stares dreamily at Mouse when he comes into the bar, which is much more frequent than before. The way those two engage with each other, the longer-lasting glances, and less hesitation when interacting directly.
No one else may see the change, but Weasel has always been exceptionally observant. He may not know what’s going on between them, but this, on top of Spider-Man’s return, which Wade had been gushing about while Mouse stood by with an incriminating blush high on his cheekbones? There’s only so much a man can assume.
From then on, if Weasel is a bit more lenient with Mouse’s absences from work, and a bit more cautious around him on nights the news had been reporting about Spider-Man’s latest brawl that resulted in some major injury, so what? It’s the least he can do for someone who could easily sic the entire New York police force on him for the less-than-legal things he gets up to.
Remy is not as eager to accept this change when Wade earns the Mouse Pool winnings but is unwilling to share what Mouse’s mutation is. The fight that ensued was both hilarious and terrifying, ending in Mouse prying them off of each other mid-cackle.
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