Chapter Text
The sun had just set on the first night of Chanukah, and somewhere amid the New York skyline on he-forgot-which rooftop, Peter Parker was having the closest thing to happy holidays he imagined he ever would.
It was a beautiful, cloudless night, with just enough of a chill in the air to keep him alert, and he had Deadpool at his side radiating enough heat to keep both of them warm. Both the metropolis below and the night sky above were shrouded by light pollution and skyscraper spires, but as views of the city went, this one couldn’t be beat.
A festival of lights, just for him.
He hoped it could last him the next eight days.
“This is the ultimate betrayal,” he told Deadpool between bites of a meatless Crunchwrap Supreme, and he was only mostly kidding. “Can’t believe you’d leave me alone for the holidays.”
“Sorry, sweet-cheeks.” It was the same empty apology Deadpool gave to his marks before he snuffed them out without mercy. He had no qualms about talking with his mouth full, either. Not even Doritos Locos Tacos could keep that man from running his mouth at every opportunity. “If it’s any consolation, I’d’ve said no even if I was in town.”
“Wow, thanks,” said Peter dryly. “I feel so consoled right now.”
“I love you to shreds, Spidey,” Deadpool sighed. If he saw Peter wince, he pretended he didn’t. Deadpool sprinkled the L-word around like ice melt, and something about it always made Peter a little uncomfortable. “But I wouldn’t be caught dead working a patrol over Christmas.”
Peter looked Deadpool up and down as if he’d been replaced by a stranger. “Since when do you observe any holidays?”
No matter who else left his side for greener-and-redder pastures, Peter had at least been counting on having Deadpool around in his little Christmas-less corner. There was no chance he was Christian. Those ideas were oil and water in Peter’s head. Even the secular stuff seemed a little off-brand for Deadpool. It was campy and obnoxious enough, he supposed, but kind of disgustingly wholesome; too sugar-coated for his trademark shock comedy to find itself at home.
“What I observe,” Deadpool retorted, “is a big old spike in crime. And not the fun kind.”
Sometimes Peter questioned his decision to be friends with a mercenary.
“The Debbie Downer kind. The too-dark-for-comfort stuff you can’t talk about on television. And all the Christian superheroes – which, inexplicably, is most of them,” Deadpool added, seeming just as touchy about the subject as Peter, “– are off in Christian Land doing Hashtag Just Christian Things. So the streets are both understaffed and overworked. It’s Black Friday for vigilantes, except you don’t even get the fifteen an hour for it.”
It felt like sacrilege to Peter to suggest that the job being more in demand this time of year was a reason not to do it. But Deadpool had never been one for altruism. He didn’t tend to help his fellow man out of the goodness of his heart. He typically did it out of the goodness of the paycheck, or else some perverted sense of satisfaction from gratuitous violence.
“You seriously don’t have plans for the holiday?” asked Deadpool in surprise. “‘Cause, no offense, but you have all the vibes of the guy who gets way too into it. Like, ugly sweaters, movie marathons, apartment covered in tinsel since November.”
Peter shrugged. “You know, I don’t really do the whole Christmas thing?”
He left it at that when he was in the suit. He didn’t need a Jewish identity slapped onto Spider-Man. He preferred not to have any identity slapped onto Spider-Man.
“God, I wish that were me,” Deadpool muttered. Peter could taste the salt in the air. He knew that feeling all too well. It was exhausting being inundated with inescapable festivities when he just wanted to get through the darkest, coldest, least wonderful time of the year.
Peter waved like a showgirl over the city streets. “All this can be yours if you stick around town and patrol with me,” he offered hopefully.
”Not happening.” Deadpool shook his head and took a bite that was too big for his mouth, a feat Peter would have deemed impossible until he saw it for himself.
“Where’re you off to that’s so much better than hanging out with me, anyway?” Peter joked.
“Top-secret mission,” mumbled Deadpool through a mouthful of quesadillas-plural. “I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
Peter lowered his voice surreptitiously. “Does Santa need you to save Christmas?”
Deadpool laughed so suddenly that Peter half-expected him to choke. “Do not count on me to save Christmas. If Christmas ever needs saving and I’m the only man for the job, it’s going the way of the dodo.”
“Cheers to that,” said Peter, raising his soda cup, and Deadpool readily knocked it against his own in agreement. “Ugh. I so wish you were sticking around. I’ll have a blue Christmas without you.”
“Ah, well, if nothing else, I’ll probably have cell service.”
“Probably?” repeated Peter.
“Yeah, I’m going about as far from New York as you can get,” said Deadpool, sounding deeply unenthused by the prospect.
“That sounds amazing, honestly.” Peter envisioned palm trees, idyllic coastlines, and hot sun beating down on a sandy beach a million miles away. “I haven’t taken a real vacation in… actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever taken a vacation.”
“If we take one together, we can get couples’ discounts,” offered Deadpool with a playful nudge to Peter’s shoulder. “Maybe one of those heart-shaped beds, maybe a penthouse suite… definitely a room with a view. That way we don’t even have to leave the hotel to get the authentic tourist experience. We can just eat takeout and cuddle the whole time. I’m a little spoon, though. That’s non-negotiable. I must be the little spoon.”
Peter huffed and pulled his mask down over his mouth before the red in his cheeks egged Deadpool on any further.