Chapter Text
Spider-Man was robbed.
The irony wasn’t lost on Peter. In fact, he laughs, staring down at his mattress with one hand threaded through his hair and the other tap-tapping on his hip, as amused as he is flabbergasted. After all, what crook had the balls to break into Spider-Man’s apartment and steal his most beloved possession?
To be fair, they didn’t steal the entire bed. Just the blanket, pillows, and sheets, which is 85% of what made it likable. All he had left was a mattress and a bedframe that looked unnervingly bare amongst the clutter of his room. Goodie. Great. This is exactly what he needed.
His body yearned to catch the handful of hours he had left before his alarm whisked him away to work, which was a far cry better than the pinch of Z’s he usually got. Patrol didn’t take long tonight. With temperatures dropping to a chilling 23 degrees, no crook worth their two cents would be caught dead breaking into a store so late at night. Stupidly, Peter assumed the same of bed thieves.
It was dark when he stumbled into his apartment at 3 AM. The only reason he stayed out as long as he did was because of his chronic can’t-leave-shit-alone disease, the side effects being numb cheeks and frozen toes. Yawning, he’d stripped out of his costume as he maneuvered through his apartment, using his spider-sense as an arachnid’s version of echolocation to find the bedroom.
Like a man returning to the arms of a lover, he expected to be embraced by warm blankets and soft pillows.
Only to fall face-first onto a cold, barren mattress.
It took a minute of confused patting before he realized what was wrong, and flipping the light switch revealed the true magnitude of his horror.
And now, here Peter stood, scratching his head and wondering why bad things happened to good people. Had he pissed off an ancient god by trespassing in a sacred parking lot? Did he forget to fill his daily quota of inconvenience and strife? Or did the universe simply enjoy taking away the things he loved?
Even the weighted blanket was gone. That had been a gift.
“Stupid bed thieves,” he grumbled, kicking a dirty shirt petulantly. “Those sheets were cotton. And the pillows, god, the pillows.”
He tracked down the boot he’d hazardously kicked off after climbing through the window and fished out his phone, debating whether he should call the cops as he checked the door. The lock had been shimmied open because, like an idiot, he forgot to check it before leaving this morning.
“Wade’s never going to let me hear the end of this,” he sighed, swinging the door chain from side to side before sliding it into place and doing the same to the other two Wade insisted on installing.
“Behold,” he’d said, holding up a heavy padlock like he expected Peter to drop his coffee and start applauding.
“I’m Spider-Man and you’re Deadpool,” Peter had said, taking an unimpressed sip. “This isn’t Stark Tower or anything, but how much danger do you expect us to be in?”
“Not for us, Petey.” Wade placed a ginger hand on the gun he always kept holstered on his person. “It’s for my babies. What if some looney-bin waltzed in here and kidnapped them? Straight outta the closet like a couple of repressed gay children. If we’re gonna live together, we’ve gotta have fail-safes. We gotta have a plan of action.”
Plan of action they had. Fail it did.
On that note, Peter strode back to the room to check the closet as he pulled up Wade’s number. Wade’s weapons were surprisingly untouched. He finished examining the rest of the room by the time his call went to voicemail.
As expected.
“Hey, Wade. You’re not going to believe it, but we’ve been robbed. I know, I know, so exciting. I - okay, I swear if you tease me about this, I’m buying nothing but takeout from that taco truck you hate. For a month. But, I kind of forgot to lock the door before I left, so…this one might be on me. Umm, I don’t think anything but the blankets and pillows were stolen.” Peter checked his laptop and Wade’s gaming system, to be sure. “Yeah, they didn’t even take your new system. Only in Manhattan, right? Probably not going to call the cops. I just got back from patrol and I don’t have the brain cells to explain the armory in my closet. Maybe we can go bed-shopping when you get back.” Here, Peter leaned against the door frame, running a tired hand through his hair.
“Uh, yeah, that’s all, really. Nothing happened tonight. It’s been pretty quiet. Hope you’re getting more action on your end of the world. Call me when you can. I…I miss you. The TV isn’t as good of a conversationalist as I remember. And…yeah. Love you. Bye.”
Peter ended the message and closed his eyes. Another addition to the pile of voicemails he’s leaving in Wade’s inbox. God, did he sound as clingy as he felt? Wade takes one job on the other side of the world and Peter can’t stop calling for more than 5 minutes. And they used to joke that Wade was the clingy one. If Peter sat by the window and sighed any more than he did, he’d be mistaken for a poor widow waiting for her lover to return from the war.
Wade was so far underground he wouldn’t even get these messages until he was topside again.
Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This job was taking longer than they expected. It was supposed to be a month, maybe two, tops. But it’s been almost three, and Peter might’ve been worried if he didn’t have faith in Wade’s healing factor bringing him home alive. The number of times he’s had to reattach body parts or wait for Wade to wake up from getting his chest blown out was staggering. But like everything that came with the job, he got used to it. Not the kind of thing you’d say to your therapist, but who has the money for mental health, really?
No, Peter couldn’t even complain because only a handful of people even knew they were dating. Ever since his reacquaintance with loneliness, he’s rued the day they agreed to keep their relationship on the down low. Not because they were ashamed of each other or anything, they just had a lot of mutual colleagues who liked “discussing” how close they were, and if Peter listened to one more well-meaning “friend” express their opinion on his dating life, he was going to backflip off the Washington Bridge sans webshooters.
You know, sometimes a guy needs to bitch about missing his boyfriend, and that’s a hard thing to do when the only available ear was his Hollywood-Star friend who was busy having an actual life.
Groaning, Peter tossed his phone on the bed and stripped the rest of the way out of his Spider-Man suit. He didn’t bother with pajamas, just grabbed an extra blanket on the couch, turned off the light, and burrito’d himself on the mattress. It wasn’t as comfortable without Wade’s microfiber deluxe fleece blankets, and Peter felt like such a pampered ninny for missing its silky softness. Don’t judge him. Up until moving in with Wade, he’d slept with the blanket equivalent of sandpaper.
Ugh. Replacing that weighted blanket was going to be a bitch.
But these things happen. It’d be strange if he wasn’t robbed at least once in his life. Chalk it up as a new life experience and check it off the list.
“Later,” Peter mumbled, squirming until he found the perfect spot, and drifted.
Sleep almost had him in its loving clutches when his spider-sense hummed and he lifted his head, squinting at the darkness. It wasn’t an alarming tingle or even a moderately high tingle. Just a tickle across his skull, soft and featherlight.
But as quickly as it came, it was gone.
Probably just bedbugs, he reasoned. He’d been careful not to let those devils back into his life, not since his last infested apartment. He’d check the mattress in the morning. Sleep now.
With any luck, the stolen blankets had bedbugs, and that robber was going to be in for one hell of an ass-kicking from karma.
With that happy thought, Peter was fast asleep in minutes.
Mary Jane has a riot when she finds out. Where Peter found it ironically funny, MJ declared it the single greatest joke the universe could’ve played on him. What’s funnier than a superhero getting robbed? It went against the natural order of things, like a cat chasing a dog up a tree.
Peter sipped his drink as she bent over the table, wheezing, making the silverware jump as she slapped her palm against the cheap laminated top.
“Oh, that is too good,” she said, running a hand through her red hair and pulling long, wavy curls out of her face. “They stole your bed?”
“Everything but the frame and mattress,” Peter said, invoking another round of laughter that he waits out by starting on the sandwich the waiter slid onto their table. When she finally composed herself, smoothing down her green sweater and sipping her lemonade with an enormous smile, Peter continued, “I decided not to call the cops. Was still in costume and didn’t want to deal with hiding my gear. Wade still needs to find a better place for his toys, anyway. That would’ve been hell to explain.”
“So, you’re just letting them get away with all your stuff?” MJ clarified.
“Not all my stuff. Blankets can be replaced. At least it wasn’t something super important, like the coffeemaker. I’d actually die without my coffeemaker.”
“Poor, caffeine-addicted baby.”
“Very poor, caffeine-addicted baby. I can’t afford to lose it. I didn’t even afford it. It was a gift from Robby.” Peter laid a hand over his eyes in shame. “And I almost lost it because of an unlocked deadbolt.”
“Heroism has made you compliant,” MJ said, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Peter rolled his eyes, but can’t really disagree. He’s been Spider-Man for a while now, almost 10 years. Petty crimes and home robberies didn’t happen to him. He’d busted so many of them they lost their tarnish. They’d become something easily preventable.
Right. So preventable. What a great job he was doing in that department.
It was a blow to his pride, but better now with just a couple of blankets, rather than, say, the TV. Or his laptop. Dare he say, his Spider-Man gear. He wasn’t joking about the coffeemaker, either. Losing it would be akin to losing a family member. Lesson learned, universe. Superhero or not, he’s not above petty crime darkening his doorstep.
“Hm, did you tell Wade?” MJ asked, shoveling a large bite of cheesecake into her mouth.
“Left him a voicemail.”
“He’s still not returning your calls? It’s been a while.”
Peter shrugged, pretending it wasn’t something he thought about every hour of every day, to a maddening degree. “He said this one was going to take a while, so I’m not surprised.”
MJ’s smile sharpens and her eyes glitter, a shark tasting blood in the water. Trying to hide things from her was like trying to hide tuna from a cat. Or drugs from a sniffer dog. She pointed her fork at him. “You miss him.”
“Real mature.”
“You liiiike him.”
Peter turned his nose up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and you’ll never be able to prove it in court.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Seriously, though, Pete. I can tell how much you miss him. Your eyebrows get all scrunched and sad, and you make this kicked puppy face whenever you bring up the job.”
Peter scowled, setting down his sandwich. “I do not make a puppy face.”
“The cutest puppy face. Big round eyes. Sad, pouty lips. Aim those bad boys at the guy behind the counter, and I promise you’ll get a free donut.”
Peter scoffed and shoved his sandwich into his mouth to avoid this humiliating conversation. MJ snickered meanly, but her expression softened after a moment, and she dropped her hand on top of his.
“You know, it’s great that you found someone like Wade. Aunt May and I were beginning to worry.”
Peter shot her a disconcerted look. “Worried about what?”
“Just…how lonely you were. You were distancing yourself. You hardly came around, you weren’t returning our calls, you avoided me like the plague, and you just,” she took a small breath. “I just…think it’s great that you found someone. I’m glad you’re not alone anymore.” There’s meaning behind her eyes. A crypted message that makes Peter blush from the sincerity of it.
I’m glad you found someone since our breakup, is what she’s saying.
I’m glad you’re not isolating yourself and blocking everyone out anymore because we were seriously concerned for your health, and by god, pull yourself together, you’re embarrassing yourself, you self-pitying prick!
Well, that last bit was an open interpretation from his very reliable self-hatred, but it was a well-deserved criticism, nonetheless. He was a mess after they broke up. Throwing himself into being Spider-Man. Avoiding her, May, and even Flash—before the military shipped him off again—because talking to them about it was as pleasant as chewing glass. The sad looks in their eyes, the disappointment on their faces, made him feel like the world’s biggest piece of shit on the underside of the world’s dirtiest shoe.
MJ broke the budding tension by adding a sly whisper, “Especially now that you have help when you’re your ickier, stickier self.”
Peter grabbed the offered lifeline eagerly. “Never refer to it as my ‘ickier, stickier’ self ever again.”
Her grin is ruthless. “Nope. Patented by Wade and used exclusively among all of us. Deal with it.”
Peter rolled his eyes, suffocating upturned feelings of shame, and turned his hand up to squeeze her back. “Thanks…I think. I do kind of miss having him around. A lot. It’s quieter with him gone. I’m not as funny without someone to bounce off of.”
“Oh sweetie,” MJ smiled at him sadly, “you were never funny.”
“Ouch. Any more kicks while I’m down? A blow to my pride, maybe? A few knocks on the ol’ self-esteem? The floor is yours.”
“Nah, that’s just another Monday for you,” MJ snickered. “Come on, eat. If we don’t hurry, I’m going to be late and you’re going to have to pay for both our food when I’m forced to run out of here early.”
“MJ, I can pay for your food, I’m not-“ he patted his pocket and his stomach dropped. He patted them again, more frantically, and dug into his backpack with a curse. “I swear I put my wallet in here. I swear.”
Once upon a time, MJ would’ve been annoyed. Frustrated, even. But now, she only grinned fondly and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. There’s always a chance you’ll forget your wallet, so I carry extra cash on me. Just in case.”
“I swear I’ll pay you back.”
“Invite me over for dinner when Wade’s back and we’ll call it even. That guy makes the best garlic bread I’ve ever tasted. Besides, this way, we can both tease you for leaving the door unlocked, and I can get my monthly dose of the Parker soap opera.”
“Hey, you like my soap opera.”
“Only when I’m not dangling from bridges or hitting villains over the head with a bat.”
Peter puffed out his cheeks but conceded her point. “Fair enough. I’ll plan something with him.”
They ate in silence for a while, but silence didn’t come naturally to Peter, nor a quiet head. He fiddled with his napkin, scratched the laminated table top, tapped his fork against his plate a few times before timidly asking, “I didn’t…I didn’t really distance myself, did I? I mean, I probably did, but I didn’t mean to. I mean, I might’ve meant to in the beginning, but you guys know I wouldn’t abandon you, right?”
MJ paused halfway through a bite, lowering her fork. “Yeah, we know,” she said, carefully. “You just tend to get caught up in your stickier side a lot,” Peter’s nose wrinkled, “and you’re a huge flake. Like, god, you’re such a massive flake, I should know by now to never make plans with you.”
Peter scowled. “Thanks.”
“And you get caught in your head all the time and it’s a pain in the ass to get you back out.”
“Okay. I get it. Thank you.”
MJ smiled, eyes crinkling faintly. “But we know you don’t mean any harm by it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It does. We just…wish you would come around more often. I miss you. Aunt May misses you.”
Peter scratched his shoulder uncomfortably. “I’m visiting her tomorrow.”
MJ pointed her fork at him. “Good. Do that more often.”
“I will. I’ll try. I promise.”
“Then enough said,” MJ nodded approvingly.
The rest of lunch passes with meaningless workplace gossip. Afterward, he waits with MJ for her cab to arrive, trying—and failing—to refuse the train fare she shoves into his hand, and then making his way to the subway. Webslinging was faster, but it being the crisp beginnings of December, the temperature was rapidly declining and the wind was a pair of nipping cats biting any exposed skin.
He’ll subject himself to the elements tonight during patrol, but for now, he was content huddling on a train, squished between a man and his kid and a middle-aged woman engaged in a rapid conversation on her phone in Spanish. Warmth made up for the lack of personal space.
It was ten minutes later, during a frustratingly difficult level of Candy Crush, when his spider-sense tingled and he instinctively looked up. Across from him, a teenager sat slumped in her seat, a pair of headphones clamped over her ears as she mindlessly bopped her foot to an unheard beat. Sensing his eyes, she glanced up at him and offered a small smile. Peter’s spider-sense tingled again.
She went back to her phone.
He leaned back in his seat, glancing carefully around the car like someone else might’ve picked up the strange vibes he was getting. Given a lack of sixth senses in the common civilian, it made sense that no one did. It wasn’t like Peter could point it out, either. There was nothing incriminating about this girl, from her dark denim jeans to the beanie atop her head. One hand was stuffed in her jacket pocket and the other was scrolling on her phone, the picture of youthful teenage ease. No bulges in clothing to suggest a weapon. No feverish eye contact, fumbling hands, or sweaty skin to let on that she was hiding something. She didn’t even have a backpack, purse, or any bag on her to be a bomber. Unless she had it strapped to her chest, but even then, her shirt was too thin to hide something as bulky as that.
She didn’t look at him for the rest of the ride, and when the train stopped at the next station, she got up with a handful of people, heading out before he could figure out what was setting him off.
But just as the doors closed, through the grimy train window, she turned back and looked at him. Her lips twisted into a dark smile and her eyes glinted with amusement. Peter stood up, but the train was already moving.
She disappeared from view and Peter’s stomach coiled, unable to lose the feeling that he’d stumbled across a loaded gun and narrowly avoided taking a shot to the head.