Chapter Text
When Spider-Man took a fall, he usually got through it somehow. Sometimes Iron Man caught him, sometimes he landed on top of Wade, and most of the time he either caught himself at the last minute or managed a nest of webbing to land on. He was no stranger to falling, no stranger to injuries all across the spectrum.
So when the doctor whom May had sneaked into his apartment in the middle of the night after an insane battle with half the Sinister Six told him, "One more fall like this, and you'll be paralyzed for life. I have to advise you give up the gig, Peter," Peter felt a piece of his soul break away. He looked over at May, sad eyes meeting his own, and sighed. From that moment, Spider-Man no longer existed.
Peter sat around for weeks mourning the loss of his alter ego, lost without the livelihood that had given him a purpose. If he couldn't be out in the world protecting the innocent citizens of his Queens neighborhood, what was he even good for? He couldn't protect his uncle, his friends, himself. And now his reckless abandon made it so he couldn't be Spider-Man. What was the point of living?
May did her best to keep him moving. Cleaning the house, going out for grocery shopping, volunteering at local homeless shelters. Peter trudged along on autopilot, doing what he was asked without processing anything beyond a simple directive. He looked dead, he felt dead. Seemed appropriate since a large part of him had died when he put the suit away for good.
Then one weekend May dragged him to a church service, where the man in charge talked about how community based action could make all the difference between a criminal and a good person living with bad circumstances. The man's words were enough to reach Peter's heart, something he'd come to think had been lost forever.
After the service ended Peter went and talked to the man, Father Xavier. He shared insights about how church work had helped him turn from feeling hopeless and instead he now felt he had a purpose again. Following the betrayal of the man he loved, Father Xavier had hidden himself away within the rectory near his childhood home and taken to priest's robes like a fish takes to water.
A few hours later, Peter found himself apprenticed to this man in this church. The place was called St. Margaret's, ironically enough.
In the passing months since Peter Parker became solely Peter Parker, his phone had blown up with messages from other supers asking after him. No one had tried to make contact as much as Deadpool, not that Peter was really surprised by that.
He resigned from the Avengers, citing some personal issues, so no one called him now. He didn't mean anything to them if he wasn't useful on the team. He figured the news would spread from there, seeing as the whole lot of them were gossips. And when Wade had left 25 voicemails and 87 text messages, Peter knew he had been right.
He wanted to talk to Wade, but what could he say to him? How could they still be friends when trouble followed the mercenary around every corner? What would being friends now accomplish? It wouldn't change Peter's situation. And if he's being honest, he'd admit that seeing Wade in his suit and hearing story after story about taking out bad guys would only bring envy and jealousy and resentment. That was the last thing Peter wanted.
So he just went MIA, broke that phone into tiny un-salvageable pieces, and took to the church. He lived and breathed the dusty motes of air in the rectory, he buried his nose in the books Charles -- Father Xavier -- recommended, and he told May not to worry about him anymore.
Day by day things felt easier. He was less obsessed with the loss of his mask and more preoccupied with helping people on the ground. Food drives for the underprivileged, job fairs for reformed convicts, workshops and AA meetings and NA meetings. Soon enough Charles deemed him ready and let him deliver small sermons at Sunday services. Peter saw it as the honor it was and took his new duties seriously.
If he doesn't laugh or smile nearly as much as he used to, that's neither here nor there. If he can't find it in himself to be anything other than serious and cynical, that doesn't make him care any less about remedying the state of his neighborhood. Eventually the congregation warms up to him, other than the resident sticklers. Peter doesn't take it personally. You can't please everyone.
Months pass in the same way, seasons changing before Peter's eyes. He's not happy, but he's okay. He has a purpose that convinces him to wake up every morning and fall into bed exhausted every night. Who knew helping to run a small local church and all its duties would be so much work? Peter starts looking forward to giving his weekly sermon, studiously researching scriptures and working to seamlessly combine anecdote, scripture, and life lessons in a way that is neither tedious nor pedantic. It's a life, his life now.
So color him surprised when Wade Wilson slips into the last pew, hood tugged low over his brow. How does Peter know it's Deadpool? The blood stains give him away, but Peter would know those broad shoulders anywhere.
If Peter happens to stare at the back wall with a burning intensity as he delivers his sermon a little faster than usual, no one makes any comment. If he scurries out from behind the pulpit with nary a parting word, only mutterings greet his odd behavior.
Safely ensconced within the private office he shares with Charles whenever the man happens to be around, Peter takes a moment to just breathe. Long, deep, all encompassing breaths meant to tame his ratcheting anxiety. Where did Wade come from? How did he know where to find Peter in the first place? Why was he there? What did he want?
Peter crept to the door, peeking around the corner to ensure the pews were empty before he left the solace of the office. He hoped Wade's appearance was just a one time thing, but with his luck he didn't plan to bet on it.
Fast forward to the following Wednesday, the day when people from around the neighborhood gathered to help keep their parks clean and look after one another's needs. Peter stood at the door of the church, handing out trash bags and gloves to each person in line before him.
"Thanks, Father Parker."
Peter's head jerked up faster than he could suck in a breath, knowing Wade stood before him but still not quite able to believe it. He kept his face passive, gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, then moved on to the next person in line. He didn't see Wade for the rest of the day, but he could feel eyes on his back every now and again.
When Sunday morning rolled around yet again, Peter knew Wade would be there. He could feel it, in his spidey senses but more so in his bones. A buzz of anxiety pushed through his veins as he took his place behind the pulpit, followed by a heady rush of anticipation. He'd been numb for so long, and now the mere thought of Wade brought out a barrage of emotion. He had to stay calm, get through this service with the demeanor his congregation knew and appreciated. He could do this.
Peter greeted each person and welcomed them to the church, mentally keeping track of the pews slowly filling. First the dedicated followers who attended services twice a week and volunteered at all events, then the once-a-week members, and eventually those who had children to wrangle or difficult lives to schedule around made their appearances. Wade hadn’t shown himself yet, which Peter decided to take as a sign. He waited an extra five minutes past eight o’clock, just in case, and then headed inside when it seemed obvious no one else would be arriving.
“Good morning, everyone.”
“Good morning, Father Parker.”
“I’m glad to see you all here. Today, being so close to Christmas, I felt it prudent to focus my sermon on the topic of obeisance, of forbearance, of faith. It can be too easy to lose ourselves to hopelessness, loneliness, or despair. But it does not have to be so,” Peter assured. “We, as human beings of the church, can find solace and comfort in the arms of our Lord. We can seek to spread kindness among those around us, and push aside those who attempt to lead us down the wrongful path.”
“Amen!”
“Thank you, Tabitha,” Peter dryly commented. “Today’s reading will come from Colossians 13. As it is said: ‘Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth, for ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God. When Christ, who is our God, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory. Mortify therefore your members which are on the earth; fornication, uncleanness, inordinate affection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness, which is idolatry: for which things’ sake the wrath of God cometh on the children of disobedience, in which ye also walked some time, when ye lived in them.”
“God isn’t the only one who comes on the children of disobedience,” said a voice.
Peter looked up, eyes scanning the room for the perpetrator. Everyone seemed perfectly at ease, aside from the woman trying desperately to inconspicuously awaken her slumbering partner. His gaze drifted toward the benches farther down the aisle, though it was unlikely he’d hear someone past the first few pews.
Nothing suspicious or unusual met his eye, so he refocused and continued his sermon. "'But now ye also put off all these: anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy communication out of your mouth. Lie not to one another, seeing that ye have put off the old man with his deeds; and have put on the new man, which is renewed in knowledge after the image of him that created him.'"
"I have plenty of experience with putting people off, if you know what I mean."
That voice again! Peter squinted his eyes in concentration. He had ignored his spidey powers for so long he'd assumed they'd left him, but he should have known he couldn't escape his own DNA. He kept speaking the words laid out before him, but now he scoured the faces of each member of the church. Row by row passed with no culprit. Eventually Peter found his eye drawn to a man hunched over in the very back of the room, hood pulled securely over his head. Deadpool. Of course.
As if the man could feel Peter's gaze, he slowly raised his head and met Peter's eye. A smile stretched his lips as they moved to say, "Hiya Petey."