Chapter Text
"I'll give you a dollar if you go an hour without swearing."
Wade turned to Peter with the most offended expression he could muster. The audacity. The sheer... audacity. "How dare you."
Oh, but that face. Those eyes. That absolutely not-at-all serious smile—Wade crossed his arms, as accusatory as he could manage toward Peter's tousled bedhead and rumpled shirt. "I don't need your dirty money."
Peter's grin widened.
Teasing.
"Fine," Wade pointed a finger at him. "I bet you ten bucks I can go the whole day without swearing."
What a shit-eating—aw, fuck.
This... was a mistake.
But if he didn't talk all day, maybe that would work. He knew sign language, he could just use that. Well... no, now that he thought of it, his ASL was about as vulgar as his spoken word, and Peter probably didn't know any. Or if he did, it was like... "Thanks." Though, that could theoretically be used to Wade's advantage—no, what was he doing.
It was a simple challenge.
Which he had brought on himself, entirely.
Just don't swear for like... until the next morning.
Easy.
Within the hour, he found himself... tested.
"Moooootherf....ffffffffffrappucino piece of shhhhhhhhhut up, this is hard, I am doing my best, stop laughing—" Wade pulled a shard of glass from his arm with a none-too-pleased noise. Sure, he always hurt. But damn, he didn't need more hurt on top of the already-present hurt. 24/7 skin crawling and itching and stinging didn't need stab pain added on. At least, not like this. Maybe in a more intimate context, he'd be down with it, but not on the cold concrete floor of some godforsaken warehouse where they probably made glass bottles in the 50's—
His train of thought was derailing.
"Hey!" He pointed his blood-stained arm-shard at Spider-Man, who was just outside with his leg half over the sill. "If you think you can just climb through the window I so graciously broke with my body—you are absolutely right, please, use me as a welcome mat."
Peter, for all that he probably wanted to (or was that projection?), did not step on Wade. He hauled himself through the window, picking his way around shattered glass with all his awkward grace and lean athleticism—and yeah, okay, maybe "awkward grace" was a little bit contradictory but it made sense in Wade's head.
"Next time, maybe just... open it?"
Wade turned his attention to Peter's words, instead of his body.
"You know, with your hands, like normal people do."
Normal people? Ouch.
He had a point, though. The windows... did seem to be openable. He'd have to keep that in mind for next time. Assuming there would be a next time.
"Good job not swearing." Spidey offered him a hand—wow, he did care—and Wade took it with a grateful grunt, pulling himself to his feet and briefly leaning on Peter for support. But not too long. Precisely timed. Just long enough to feel the familiar warmth of his side, and no longer, in case he got suspicious that the jokes weren't jokes.
"Don't condescend to me." Wade cracked his neck and looked down on the deserted factory floor.
Husks of old machinery cast deep shadows, in the largely unlit building. Sheets, here and there. Tarps, or something. Not bed sheets... though that would have been fun. Maybe plaid... or with little penguins...
It was very quiet.
Wade could hear Peter breathing, just a little bit of exertion coloring each inhale and exhale, but not to the point of being winded.
Yeah, okay, no complicated feelings there.
Focus.
Where... was... their... man....?
There.
Wade drew his gun.
Spider-Man looked at him. Sternly.
"Relax." Wade kept his voice low, quiet. "It's loaded with blanks."
Blanks, and a laser sight for show. He took aim at the side of a conveyor belt, hoping for their quarry to take note of the red dot drawing near. Sure enough, the guy froze. Looked in their direction, as Wade moved the laser up to his forehead. Still frozen. Wade gave him a little wave, and muttered, "Cover your ears."
He pulled the trigger with a flash of light and sound, and the guy fainted on the spot.
Ears ringing—it'd be fine in a second. Boy did those big, empty concrete buildings amplify sound, though.
He hopped the railing and dropped down to the floor below—
"Ah, Jesus Christ on a bike—" Wade rolled onto his back. "I always forget those are breakable."
Of course, Peter "Spidey" Parker landed beside him like a cat. Or...wait. Like a spider? Spared him a glance, and everything, before shooting a web at their victim—no. Prey? No... What was the not-villainous sounding word? Target? Close enough. Spider-Man webbed up their target and then turned to Wade in full.
"You okay?"
Wade gave him two thumbs up from where he lay. "Gimme like, five minutes."
Peter tapped his foot against Wade's as he pulled out his phone, and Wade hissed.
Jerk.
But when Wade made to stand, Peter helped him up again, and led him limping toward the exit as the sound of sirens grew louder. Always with the 9-1-1. Wade let Peter take most of his weight, not that he really needed to, but why not make him work a little? And anyway, it was kinda nice to have someone to rely on, even when it wasn't strictly necessary. Especially when said someone had super strength and all that fun stuff, so it didn't even seem like much of a burden in the first place.
The sky was very dark, clear of clouds and jet black.
"Hey."
Peter tilted his head, listening.
"Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?"
Peter frowned. Or, it seemed like it, through the mask, but it could have been another expression. "What?"
Softly, Wade laughed, and said, "Nothing." His shins had fully fixed themselves by this point but he couldn't bring himself to take his arm from around Peter's shoulders. Narrow as they were.
God...
Don't just keep spouting media references at him.
Bite the bullet.
Suck it the fuck up.
Make a move.
Carpe that fucking diem.
There was no way in hell he'd make it a full day without swearing.
"Hey, Webs?"
Peter glanced at him, with a little "Hm?"
Wade took a breath, as inconspicuous as he could manage. "You know that painting I showed you behind the little door?"
"Uh...huh?" Peter tilted his head.
"How do you feel about a reenactment?"
A beat.
Peter tilted his head even further, like some kind of... dorky puppy in a superhero mask. "I mean, it's dark out. Wouldn't it be better to go see it again during the day?"
What a complete misunderstanding. What a—what a dumb, beautiful idiot.
Wade stopped Peter, with a tug on his arm. He looked at him for a good, long thirty seconds before cupping his face in his hands and whispering, "Peter, you're so fucking stupid."
"Wha—" The weird lenses on his mask narrowed, presumably to match his eyes underneath. "Speak for yourself, jerk."
Peter continued to glower and added, "You owe me ten dollars."
Ah, shit.
Him and his fucking potty-mouth.
"Mr. Rogers, I've failed you." He let Peter's face go, digging out his wallet to hand Peter a couple of fives. Exchange made, he resumed walking, too much of a coward to commit. Too many possibilities. "You're right, though, better to go during the daytime, unless that suit has some kind of flashlight." He drummed a beat on his thigh with his fingertips.
Peter followed after him. "Not yet!"
--
The next day, they really did go back.
Not as Spider-Man and Deadpool, this time. Just Peter and Wade, bundled up in the chill of mid-afternoon. Coats and scarves and gloves, and Wade had pulled on what may or may not have been a Captain America beanie to keep his head warm, and his white baseball cap to keep the pre-winter sun out of his eyes, and his biggest most reflective shades to hide the fact that he couldn't help staring at Peter every five seconds they spent together.
Or maybe those were also for the sun.
He had sensitive eyes, okay?
"It's the same."
Wade snorted. "Duh." He sat with his back to the wall, beside the little door, and looked out past the trees, at the glaring white clouds. "Did you think there would be a new painting?"
With a sigh, Peter sat facing of the art-piece-slash-graffiti. "I dunno."
But, despite his seeming disappointment, he scrutinized the painting and its miniature door for a pretty long time.
As for Wade... well, he found himself pulling at a loose string on his gloves, trying not to stare at Peter, and had to stop himself from unraveling a hole in the finger. He slapped his hands on his knees in an uneven patter, directing his energy instead into something less destructive. Which, ha. Right. Wade Wilson, not doing something destructive? Real unlikely.
After a minute, Peter spoke up. "You only do that when you're stressed."
Wade blinked. "What?"
"Your hands—" Peter nodded toward Wade's tapping. "You're nervous?"
Wade stilled his hands with a great deal of difficulty. They itched to move, and he smiled with some small amount of... bemusement? Was that the word? He crossed his arms and stuck his hands in his armpits. "I have no idea what you mean."
Peter rolled his eyes.
He did that a lot, but it was okay because it was cute.
Focus.
"Hey. Peter."
Raised eyebrows, but he waited expectantly.
Shit.
"Never mind."
Peter pursed his lips in that frustrated but not willing to push it way he had. Like, he was annoyed, but he wasn't gonna do anything about it. The most infuriating of the Parker expressions but what the hell was Wade supposed to do? Get mad at him? No way. He might have been an asshole but he wasn't that kind of asshole. He didn't ever wanna be that kind of asshole.
He drew his legs up with a sigh, hands still in his armpits, and rested his chin on his knees.
Better not to look at Peter anymore.
Quietly, Peter closed the door on The Kiss, and moved to sit beside Wade, close enough that their arms touched. He leaned over so his head rested on Wade's shoulder, and Wade closed his eyes. Did he know? He dug his fingers into his sides, toes curling inside of his shoes. But then he let out a breath and relaxed.
Just take in all the sensations.
Cold wind, warm shoulder, half-numb ass, itching legs, Peter's soft breathing, a distant chirping bird...
"Wade." Peter got up onto his knees, facing Wade—his hands, bare and warm from his pockets, brushed against Wade's cheek, and Wade looked up at him. Peter leaned down, and Wade... didn't know what to do. His baseball cap fell off when Peter's forehead bumped against the brim. He held his breath so long he probably killed his last two brain cells.
When he'd imagined this moment, he'd been the guy on the left, not the girl on the right.
But who was he to complain?
Maybe he always wanted it that way, anyway.
Peter had very long eyelashes, and very soft lips.
Wade sighed. "Took you long enough."
Cover the nerves with bluster.
Peter grabbed Wade's beanie and pulled it down over his eyes. "Shut up."
But Wade could not control the grin that overtook his face. Did he look a little manic? Hopefully not. He felt like dancing. Instead, he threw his arms around Peter, burying his face in his neck—Peter yelped, balance thrown off—
"Your nose is freezing!"
Oh, whoops.
Wade laughed, and Peter held him—or let himself be held?—and laughed too.
drew this real quick, posted it to my twitter (link) and art blog (link).