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His life was officially over.
Peter Parker, age 16, found mutilated by a grown-ass man in a black and red Kevlar-spandex-leather mix. Surrounded by his friends and classmates. What a way to go out.
“Oh, please, P. You’re so dramatic. It’s probably not even him,” MJ elbowed him in the stomach. Her witch outfit was low-quality, dressed in a basic hat and black clothes. It was clear she didn’t want to be here any more than he did. “Isn’t he a Spider-Man super fan? He should know better than everyone how accurate replica Spidey suits can be.”
“You don’t understand!” He hissed dramatically. “I’m not Spider-Man! I’m Peter Parker, and he’s a fucking mercenary. He’ll see right through me!”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You’re underreacting!”
“Dudes!” Ned elbowed into their conversation, holding a cup of something fruity. His Stormtrooper helmet was abandoned, but the white body armor remained. “Did you see the Deadpool costume? His weapons looked so real.”
“Ned, that is Deadpool,” MJ muttered monotonously.
“WHAT!?” Ned yelled, immediately being shushed by the other two. “What?”
“Apparently, Peter hangs out with him.”
“MJ!” He whined.
“What?”
“Wait, you’re telling me you hang out with Deadpool? Famous-for-killing-and-maiming-in-ways-you can’t-even-imagine Deadpool?”
“Yes, Ned,” Peter sighed. “But he’s been good lately. Like, really good. You guys know Matt would never let him near me if he wasn’t.”
They hummed in agreement. Matt Murdock was a force on his own, but Daredevil was a new beast entirely: one that very few had the displeasure of witnessing firsthand.
Oh, how Peter wished he was in Hell’s Kitchen. Not even Daredevil could’ve prepared him for this.
“Oh. Em. Gee! Is that really you, Spidey? SPIDEY!!!” Deadpool was waving his hands frantically, desperately trying to make eye contact with him.
“Shit.” He handed his drink to MJ, making sure his mask was still in place. “I gotta go.”
Ignoring his friends’ protests, he made his way to and walked out the front door, his heart racing. It would’ve been less suspicious if he stayed, but he couldn’t risk Deadpool connecting the dots, especially in front of his friends. He could still hear the mercenary calling his name. Good. Deadpool would follow him to neutral ground where they could talk properly.
A few people remained on the lawn, and Peter continued at a brisk pace. Cindy knew how to throw a party, but she seriously needed to work on the whole stranger danger thing.
“Phew! It reeks of teenage hormones in there, Spidey. I don’t know how you deal with it.” His Spidey-sense buzzed, a faint reminder in the back of his head as Deadpool slung an arm over his shoulder. Now his heart was really pumping. Okay, think this through, Peter. He knows your voice. Just don’t respond and he’ll never know. How hard could it be?
He shrugged off the arm nonchalantly, and he was almost in the clear when a grating and awfully familiar voice rang out.
“Yo, Penis Parker! That your boyfriend?” Flash and his friends laughed, and Peter felt Deadpool tense. His body screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t just abandon Flash with him.
“Aww, shucks, I’m flattered, boys! You think widdle ol’ me got a chance with the Spider-Man?” His voice was forced and shrill, and he was swooning like an idiot.
“Jesus, what a freak,” Flash muttered, and it was Peter’s turn to tense. “Look, Penis, I’m not one to kink shame, but this? It’s just pathetic.”
“Oh, piss off, Flash!” Peter exploded, his face flushed with embarrassment, hidden beneath the mask. “Would you just leave me alone? For once in your life, just stay the hell away from me.”
“Fuck did you just say to me?” Flash stood, fuming. He took slow steps towards Peter, obviously expecting the other to run. But Peter refused to give in. “At least I’m not the one boning a grown-ass man. Let me guess, is he your sugar daddy? God knows you need one; we all knew the orphanage couldn’t afford your tuition.”
Peter’s blood turned ice cold. His hands balled into fists, and he shook with rage, but he didn’t dare move. Flash never took it this far. Sure, he was an asshole, but he never, I mean never, brought up Peter’s family. His lenses fogged up as tears welled up, despite trying his hardest to stop them. He almost missed the click of a cocked gun.
“Usually, I wouldn’t even think about aiming this at a kid.” Deadpool was pissed, his voice unusually deep with rage. “Give me one reason not to.”
Everyone was silent, even Flash. Peter heard his breath hitch in fear, and the silence spread across the lawn. Everyone was focused on Deadpool, the real Deadpool. Merc-with-a-Mouth with whole katanas strapped to his back. The killing machine that took names and kicked ass. Yeah, that Deadpool. Muffled music pounded from the house, and Peter forced himself to blink his tears away. He couldn’t get out of this with his dignity and secret identity.
“Flash,” he started. His voice was scratched and deep, speaking with more confidence than Peter Parker ever had. “Go home.”
With that, he began the long walk home. He was vaguely aware of Flash awkwardly shuffling away, obviously shaken up, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to swing home, but he refused to out himself over something so stupid. Peter could feel Deadpool’s eyes on him as he walked off, but thankfully, he didn’t follow. It’s good to know he still had some common sense.
----
“Look, Pete,” Matt sighed. The teen moped around the house until he came home from patrol, and now Peter’s head was in his lap while Matt played with his hair. “I know how you feel about your identity, but is it that bad if Wade finds out?”
“I’m not pissed about Wade knowing who I am,” Peter whined. “I’m pissed that he almost outed me in front of my classmates. Puny Parker the orphan. There’s no way he could be Spider-Man! I once saw him winded after climbing a half-flight of stairs!”
“That just means you’re doing a good job keeping up appearances. A secret identity can’t be secret if it’s not believable.”
“I know that, I just wish I could’ve had some warning before he decided to pull a loaded gun on Flash Thompson.”
“...You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Peter groaned, hiding his head in his hands.
“Peter,” Matt said in his best dad voice. “You know we have to talk to Wade. It was bound to happen someday.”
“I know, I know. I just... don’t like it.”
“Why not? I thought you liked him.”
“Of course I do, but it’s because then he’ll know I’m just some kid! Everyone treats me differently after they find out, Matt. Even you did.” He sighed. Peter wasn’t wrong.
“Deadpool is the most irresponsible and irrational person I’ve ever met. If you’re worried about the long lecture about juvenile vigilantism, I’m pretty sure he’s the only one of us who’d skip it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I just,” he sighed. “I wish you were there. We should’ve just gone as each other for Halloween this year.”
“Oh, please,” Matt chuckled. “Nobody wants to see me try to fit into your spandex.” Peter laughed and grabbed his phone, already drafting a text to the Team Red group chat.
S ‘hyphen’ M: we need to talk
S ‘hyphen’ M: 47th and 10th, 20 mins
Wr. WorldWide: we? dd included?
Peter read Wade’s message out loud, and Matt nodded.
“It’s for the best. Unless you don’t want me to come?”
“Of course I want you there, Matt. It’d be awkward if you weren’t.”
S ‘hyphen’ M: dd included
[DoubleD liked a message S ‘hyphen’ M sent]
----
Peter’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, and it was starting to get on Matt’s nerves.
“Spidey,” Peter looked up as Matt sat on the ledge next to him. Their backs were to the many-story drop, but neither really cared. “He’s on his way. You know Deadpool, he’s always late for one reason or another.” Peter laughed humorlessly.
“I think I’m gonna puke.”
“Then let’s talk. How much do you want him to know?”
“Everything. It’s... He deserves to know.”
“You’re free to tell him about me too, y’know.”
“... Are you sure? I can easily tell the story without outing you.”
“I know, but you’re right. He deserves to know.”
As if on cue, a blob of red and black heaved itself over the last fire escape ladder, paper bags crinkling in his hands. Unsurprisingly, it smelled like Mexican.
“I’m here! I’m here! And I’m on time!” He wheezed, tossing a bag to both of them. They all began unwrapping their respective foods. Shitty takeout during long nights was an unofficial Team Red tradition, and the only one to withstand the Devil’s impatience for Deadpool’s antics.
Silence stilled between the three of them, only trumped by the occasional chewing and wrapper wadding.
“So,” Deadpool started, sounding surprisingly serious. “That really was you, huh?” Peter nodded slowly behind a taco. “Fuck. I thought you were just some nerdy fanboy with a boner for superhero spandex. I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I? I didn’t really expect you to be the real deal. Or that young. Jesus, kid, how old are you?”
“Seventeen.” Wade spit out his drink and sputtered for a second.
“SEVENTEEN? I knew you were young, but I thought you were, like, early twenties, at least! Oh my god you’re in high school. Was that your bully?” Wade gasped. “Spider-Man gets bullied? In high school?”
“Waade,” he groaned.
“No, no this is huge! Let me guess, rivals since birth? Hate at first sight? Want to punch him into applesauce on the pavement but can’t because of your super secret identity?”
“Jesus, Wade!” Peter stood, slipping into his normal exasperated voice. It sounded younger than Spider-Man, almost childish in comparison. “Are you going to let me talk or am I going to have to web your mouth closed?”
“Oh my god, I’ve offered you so many drinks.”
Peter raised his wrist threateningly.
“Okay, okay!” Deadpool raised his hands placatingly. “Sorry, go on.”
So, Peter took a deep breath and told his story. He started with the bite. For hours, he just talked with his friends as his anchors. He talked about MJ and Ned, and he talked about May. How she would curse in Italian and dance with him after a graveyard shift. How they would relentlessly embarrass him over homemade dinner. He talked about being Spider-Man and about juggling super-villains with school. He talked about Tony Stark, and how he sparked his passion for biochemical engineering.
But he also talked about his parents, and about Uncle Ben. He talked about Tony and he talked about Germany. He talked about lying to his friends and his family for so long that Spider-Man wasn’t about helping people anymore. It was his escape, his second skin, and his home away from home. He talked about the Vulture, and he talked about Spider-Man’s rebirth.
Finally, he talked about May.
“It was a heart attack,” he started. “I didn’t – couldn’t – see it coming, and just like that, she was gone. I just stood there. For so long, I just stood there, staring at her. I didn’t know what to do. So, naturally, I grabbed my phone and called 911. I knew she was dead, I just… didn’t know how else to contact CPS.” He laughed bitterly.
“But when they came to pick me up, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just leave her there, even as they zipped her up into that bag. So, I ran. I grabbed my school bag and was out the window before anyone noticed. I ended up holed up in some condemned building. I didn’t expect to stay there, exactly, I just needed time to think. Time alone.
“I was dead set on emancipation. Everyone I cared about was gone, and it’s not like I couldn’t take care of myself. I mean, I’m Spider-Man. I remember Daredevil mentioned some lawyer friends, and before I knew it, I called him up. God, you were so pissed, Double D. You should’ve seen it, DP. He freaked the fuck out; told me he was on his way in the pouring rain. Can you believe it, Pool? All it took was a phone call from a random kid and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen became the Dad of Hell’s Kitchen.
“He hooked me up with some really good lawyers. They were defense attorneys, but they had the qualifications and the connections. But they refused to emancipate me. They told me I didn’t need to hold the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore, and I just... broke down after that.”
“So, Wade Wilson,” he stood up. The early morning light was peeking over the skyline, barely illuminating the trio. In one motion, he ripped the Spider-Man mask off, finally approaching the shocked merc. “My name’s Peter Parker-Murdock. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
For once in his life, Wade Winston Wilson was speechless.