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“Ahh. Baby Peter Benjamin Parker’s bedroom.”
Wade spread his arms, savouring his surroundings like he were entering the Cave of Wonders.
“Hallowed ground,” Wade continued, “... this is where all the magic happened.”
Wade closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of socks that haven’t been laundered in upwards of a decade .
“Ahh.. . Smells like teen angst.” Wade whispered in reverence.
Wordlessly shaking his head, Peter made his way past Wade.
He side-eyed a poster spread on the wall at his bedside and upon seeing it, closed his eyes and sighed.
Wade approached behind him.
“Hoohoo... Britney?”
“Shut up.”
“Picturing a tiny Peter Parker jumping on his bed, belting out the lyrics to Stronger and it’s just, the most delightful mental image.” Wade said, giddily.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wade spotted a plastic CD-cassette player on the desk behind Peter. He gasped immediately in delight.
Peter seized when Wade was barrelling towards him, and it took a moment to register exactly what Wade was doing before it was too late.
“No –” Peter pled, ”– no no no no no –”
Chkk.
The tiny squeal of a CD being scraped back to life after 15 years, and Britney’s Stronger rang out from the small, tinny speakers.
Peter groaned, throwing his head back.
Wade grinned, so, so unbearably.
“Stroooonger than yesterday ~ “ Wade sing-songed, biting his lip as he hummed the rest of the bridge. He bobbed his head to the 2000s bop in the most self-satisfied of ways.
“I wish I could perma-kill you.” Peter said.
“I wish I could hang with teenage Peter Parker,” Wade beamed, “That’s a kid of impeccable taste.”
That chipped away at Peter’s exasperated expression, and he smiled a little, slumping his shoulders.
“I still love Britney.” Peter admitted, in a small voice. “She’s timeless.”
Wade’s grin softened into something more sincere. Fond.
Wade stepped back from his position cornering Peter, and Peter continued traversing the room, feeling waves of nostalgia wash over him from the faint ring of Britney, and the sound of running water from Aunt May doing the dishes downstairs.
He stopped at an indentation in the wall that he hadn’t remembered making. It looked like fist colliding with brickwork.
The warm glow of nostalgia fell, and Peter breathed out.
“All the worst years of my life,” Peter said.
Wade was still occupied with mentally cataloguing all of teenage Peter Parker’s embarrassing interests as immortalised by the posters that covered nearly every inch of the walls.
“Linkin Park?” Wade muttered, nodding thoughtfully. “Checks out.”
Peter finally approached his closet.
A little hesitantly, he reached for the handle. It creaked open, and the dry, dusty smell filled Peter’s nostrils immediately. He coughed.
Then he knelt, pulling out a shoebox from the bottom of the closet.
He brought it up with him and settled the shoebox on his bed. He quietly opened it.
Old, tired red and blues.
Slowly, he pulled them out of the box, like they were something fragile.
“No way.”
“My first pair of tights.”
Peter fingered the stitching.
It was coming apart.
So amateurish, Peter thought. He had gotten so much better at sewing since then.
“Web wings?”
“Yep. ” Peter sighed. “Pretty lame, huh?”
Instead of the inevitable teasing Peter had anticipated from Wade, Wade seemed to take in the sight in quiet awe.
“Should be in a museum.” Wade said, finally.
Peter looked at Wade, and flushed a little.
“Yeah – right. Some dumb kid’s arts and crafts project.” Peter said, fingering another rip in the seams. “It’s a miracle it’s held up this well.”
Peter handed the tights in Wade’s direction, and Wade, so gently, took the worn fabric in his hands.
He held it like it was some priceless artefact that had just been uncovered in the uncharted depths of Peter Parker’s childhood closet.
“Some kid’s arts and crafts project? Peter Parker – have some fucking respect. These are the most iconic pair of tights in the world.”
Wade held the suit up with reverence, eyes tracing down the worn webbing patterns and the spindly limbs of the slightly asymmetrical spider insignia emblazoned on the chest.
Peter never knew what to say.
He never knew what to say when he was faced with just how much Wade idolised Spider-man.
To Peter, it was just a mask.
A mask that he’d hide behind.
A mask he’d hide behind because he was scared.
“The most iconic tights in the world, and they came out of some kid’s bedroom.” Wade said in awe. “Some weird, bullied kid with rage issues.”
Peter sighed, thinking back. Thinking back to that fifteen-year-old Peter Parker, and how terrified he was.
How much he wanted to scream, and kick, and prove something to the world.
“No matter how the world beat that kid down, and tormented him – he kept getting back up and fighting. People – people need that, Pete. I…”
Wade exhaled, sitting down on Peter’s tiny bed. It creaked under the weight of him.
“2007. Bad way. Inoperable brain cancer.” Wade recited, fussing with the fabric in his fingers. “I…I was dying.”
Peter was still.
Apart from the faint, faint ring of Britney, the room rang quiet.
“I… I felt so… powerless. Like, yeah, okay, literally. But like… I was the world’s fucking pincushion . But…”
Wade held Peter’s old, worn mask in his hand. One of the lenses was cracked, and Wade traced the damage with his finger.
“…there was a kid. Some dumb kid. Some stupid beacon of strength and hope. Some hope that heroes were real, and good conquers bad if you’re strong enough. If you just – if you keep fighting the fight.”
Peter was silent.
“...and so I fought. Fought for the hope that I could have a second shot at life. That it wasn’t all over for me. That I could keep going. That I...” Wade swallowed, “...could…”
Wade’s voice trailed off.
Peter wordlessly joined Wade, sitting on the tiny bed. It creaked with the weight of both of them.
He took Wade’s hand in his own.
Wade sighed, shutting his eyes.
“...that I could be a hero too. A beacon of hope. To someone. To anyone. ”
Wade hung his head, with a grumble.
“F’course we all saw how that one panned out.”
Peter lay his head on Wade’s shoulder, bringing an arm around him.
“...you’re my hero.”
Nuzzling in with his nose, Peter placed a kiss on Wade’s cheek.
“Yeah…” Wade croaked, dismissively.
“...I… I was so, so scared." Peter said, caressing Wade's skin with his thumb. "A-all my life. All the time, Wade. I was terrified."
Wade's attention was still taken by spindly, asymmetrical spider-legs spread over tattered red. But Peter's words fell over Wade's ears like something so, so familiar.
"Scared of what I was. Scared of letting anyone in to know me. The real me. And you — you taught me that I didn’t have to be.”
Peter squeezed Wade’s hand.
“You’re my hero.”
Wade’s fixed gaze on the red fabric in his hands finally moved up to Peter Parker.
Soft, brown doe eyes.
"So's Britney. You're in the same league." Peter said, "Should get a poster of you up in here."
Wade grinned, but there was a wobble to his lip.
He heaved a shaky sigh.
“I’m having such a fucking day today, Pete. I’m like, way over my limit for emotional sincerity and right fucking now I could really go for a dick joke to obliterate the mood.”
“But nothing cums to mind?”
Wade could do very little when the tears started forming in his eyes for the second time today.
“Fucking a-awful , Pete. 3/10. Un- fucking- forgivable .” Wade sobbed, burying his face in Peter’s stupid hair.
Peter pulled Wade closer to him, kissing him again on tear-stained cheek.
“Fucking Father’s Days, fuck. I can never fucking keep it together on a fucking Father’s Day.” Wade grumbled, voice wet with tears. “ Fucking— “
Peter kissed Wade, framing Wade’s face with his hands.
Wade whimpered into it.
For minutes it was the quiet slide of their lips, and Wade calming his breathing. Peter’s fingers smoothed comforting circles on Wade’s skin.
Wade’s hands gripped Peter tight by his red hoodie.
“Just –” Wade whispered, parting the kiss. ”S-stop giving that dumb kid such a hard time, Pete. He – he was a fucking hero. Saved my sorry ass. For better or worse.”
Peter grinned against Wade’s lips, wasting no time in kissing Wade again. And again. And again.
Wade’s hands found Peter’s hair, raking through it as the kiss deepened. In Peter Parker’s teenage bed. Peter Parker’s teenage bed, where one teenage Peter Parker spent many an evening dreaming up steamy make-out scenarios just like this one.
Well, maybe not exactly like this one.
“Mm, bet this bed never thought it’d see any action.”
Peter snickered.
“Honestly I’m surprised it hasn’t given out under us yet.”
“Oh?” Wade chuckled, hoarse. “Should we test its strength?”
With a cursory bounce from Wade Wilson’s behind, the rickety metal bed frame collapsed underneath them, with a mighty thud.