Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been 6 weeks since his new, loud, neighbor moved in, and Peter has managed to avoid running into him too much since their first awkward meeting, where he accidentally knocked the guy over and ended up sprawled on top of him on the floor of the hallway. Not today, though. Today, a rough hand on his shoulder is startling him, and blue-gray eyes stare into his soul. He hadn't even heard the guy come into the laundry room.

“What the fuck happened to you?” The guy’s voice is serious in a way that makes Peter's hair stand on end.

“I- what?” Peter stutters out, looking up at him. The hood pulled over his head covers some of his face, but Peter can see a mess of scars covering him. It's familiar in a way; Peter could probably figure it out if he could focus, but the guy's hand is still on his shoulder, and the way he's looming over him makes Peter's knees a little weak. He looks down at the floor and tries to put some space between them.

“Your eye Bambi,” his hand releases his shoulder but comes up to hook two fingers under Peter's chin, gently turning his face to look at him. “Who did this? And don't say you fell there's ring designs in the bruise.” he frowns at Peter, a strange expression with no eyebrows, his eyes flicking between Peter's black eye and the cut only a few inches from where his fingers had touched him. His skin still tingles with the ghost of the touch and Peter is struck by how handsome this guy is. The sharp jawline and the intensity of his eyes actually complement his scars in a way that makes Peter itch to touch him.

Peter flushes and snaps his mouth shut, the lie he was about to tell dying on his lips. “Uh- who are you?” Is the best he can manage as he pulls away, stepping as far away from the guy as he can. His back bumps into the washer he had been leaning on. He's definitely not comfortable with this much touching from a guy he doesn't know the name of, especially with how his body is reacting to just being near the guy. No one has casually touched him like this in a long time- if ever.

“Oh, I'm Wade! Nice to meet you,” Wade sticks his hands out and shakes them jazz style. “Again.” He adds with a grin.

“Peter,” he mumbles and hears his laundry timer ding. Saved by the bell. “That's mine, and as weird as this was…” he tries to smile at the guy but just manages to lift the sides of his mouth before he basically sprints away.

“This isn't over, Baby Boy, black and blue are not your colors,” Wade calls after him as he rushes up the stairs to his apartment. He hopes this guy isn't going to be a problem.

*********

He was definitely a problem, but it takes two weeks before Peter realizes how big of a problem. It starts with seeing Wade around a lot more than he used to. The other guy strikes up conversations in the hallways every time he catches sight of even one of Peter's curls. He even runs into the guy in public a few times and gets dragged along with Wade for whatever food truck he is out to get. He always pays for Peter or buys him something if he doesn’t order, so he can’t even be annoyed. If there interactions weren't so close to home he would accuse the guy of stalking him, but the paranoid part of his brain brings it up on more than one occasion.

Peter is sitting on his couch enjoying a few quiet moments before patrol and after his classes when the situation escalates. At first, it was a simple shave-and-a-hair-cut knock, but before Peter could reach the door, it turned into something that rivaled the NYPD.

“OKAY! Okay!” Peter yells as he yanks the door open. “Where's your warrant!” Frowning he blocks the entrance with his body, leaning one hand on the frame and the other continues to hold the door. Not that he's expecting the actual cops, but this isn't the best neighborhood so he wouldn't be all that surprised.

In all his excitement, Wade almost punches him in the face, not realizing the door has been opened.

“Oops, sorry, Peety-pie!” He quickly pulls his hand back but shoulders past Peter into the apartment. Wade turns in a slow circle, surveying the place before his focus lands back on a very flustered Peter, who is still standing in the doorway.

“Sure, come in!” Peter grumbles and shuts the door. “Am I going to need a lawyer?”

Wade laughs a rough-sounding surprised laugh that makes something flutter in Peter's stomach. “A lawyer? Kinky!”

“Well, with the way you cop-knocked me, I'm expecting to be read my rights here soon,” Peter says simply. He plops down onto the couch, crosses his arms, and looks pointedly at the other man.

“Oh,” he at least looks kind of guilty before a wicked smile crosses his face. “Sorry to disappoint Handsome, but I can cuff you if you want! Have you been a bad boy?” He practically purrs the last part, and Peter feels his face turn bright red.

“What do you want, Wade?” His voice is higher than it should be, and he wants to kick himself. Or Wade.

“Was hoping to catch your worser half,” Wade says, like that explains anything, and throws himself down next to Peter.

“My what?” Peter stands, not wanting to be that close to the guy. He's a bigger guy, but if he needs to get him out of here, Peter is sure his super strength will make it easy. Thankfully, his Spidey Senses aren't telling him this guy is a threat, at least not right now.

“Your girl or guy—I don't judge!” The other man smiles wickedly at him. "I want a chat with the person responsible for your pretty face being all marked up.” Suddenly, this interaction makes sense somehow. Great, his neighbor was a regular white knight.

“Woah! One that would totally make things worse, don't you know, domestic violence 101?” Peter protests. “Two, I live alone, and three, I'm single.”

Wade doesn't say anything, and his face doesn't give away if he believes Peter. This leaves him scrambling to come up with a lie convincing enough for someone who noticed the ring dents in the bruises from across the room.

“I was mugged, Wade okay, jeez!” Peter throws up his hands like he's exasperated, hoping it sells it. Wade just blinks at him, not saying anything. The silence stretches on for a few minutes. It makes Peter feel like his skin is crawling. The other man seems to be waiting for something.

“Listen again, as weird as this has been, I have,” Peter hesitates, “work. So you've got to leave. Bye, Wade!” He crosses the apartment and opens the door, looking pointedly at the man on his couch, and waves his hand towards the hallway.

“Peter, I-”

“Am leaving! Yes, I know. Good night!” Peter's false, cheery voice finally gets Wade off his couch. Muttering to himself as he walks out.

“I'll be back.” Is all Peter hears as he shuts the door. He's not sure if that's a threat or a promise. Either way, it sends adrenaline running through his system. Just in time for patrol.

Quickly pulling on his mask and shedding his clothes over his suit for emergencies, he makes his way out the window. Double checking for nosey neighbors (Wade) and random pedestrians before swinging his way across the city. He likes to start as far away from home as he comfortably can to avoid anyone finding out where he lives.

It's a quiet night, and he ends up spending more time swinging from building to building for fun than fighting crime, which he does not complain about. There are a few fights with some people lucky enough to land a couple hits, but nothing more than common criminals.

Around 2 am, he's thinking about going home when his Spidey Senses come to life, and a scream pierces the cool night air. If not for the warning and his enhanced hearing, he would have missed it. He catapults into action, swinging at speeds that make the buildings blur, and the sounds fade to a white noise rather than the city clamor. Finally, he comes to a stop outside an ally where a young woman is trying to scratch out the eyes of a much larger man.

“HEY!” His voice booms as it echoes off the ally walls, and the man freezes long enough for the woman to run away shrieking.

“Asshole.” The man growls at him.

“I aim to please.” Peter is quick to web the man to the wall, but he fails to notice the second man who had hidden when Peter arrived.

He comes around the dumpster wielding a large knife. He doesn't necessarily surprise Peter, but the size of the knife does, and he gets a deep gash down his forearm for his trouble. They grapple for a moment, and then he takes that guy down just as quickly once he figures out what exactly he's dealing with.

After that, Peter decides it's a good time to call it and stitch up his arm and suit. He really wishes he made enough money to invest in stronger materials, but the ones that let him move how he needs to and still stick to things are way out of his budget. It takes him 20 minutes to make his way back, the cut-up arm useless for holding his weight making the journey twice as long as it should have. Meaning by the time he makes it home he is angry and more tired than necessary.

A little fuzzy because of the blood loss, he crashes through his window hard enough to shake a framed poster off the wall in a terrible clatter of heavy wood and glass that shatters across the entire floor of his studio. He bites off a yell and lays there momentarily before struggling to his feet, slipping a little on the slick hardwood. Unfortunately, the glass makes the bloody tracks across his floor look less gruesome. Not that anyone would see it before he cleaned it up.

He strips out of his suit and stashes it under the floor, a paranoid habit he developed while living with May. Even a dirty suit is put out of sight until he can clean and mend it. He smears the blood on the floor a little with his hands to hide the location in case of stains, he's been lucky this far but he hasn't been sloppy either no need to start.

Before he can make it to the bathroom and clean the blood off his body, the hair on his neck stands up, and his front door is kicked open with a hard enough bang that it puts a hole in the wall with the handle. Peter crouches down and, using the cover of his coffee table, watches as a large, familiar, man breaks into his apartment.

“Peter!” Wade yells, sounding furious. He looks ready for a fight, legs spread wide and arms bouncing slightly at his sides, the muscles in both sets of appendages bulging threateningly. Yet, the Spidey Senses settle. He’s not a threat to Peter.

“What the fuck!” Peter yells back, standing quickly and grabbing his hidden baseball bat. He wields it at Wade threateningly but winces when the movement pulls at the wound.

“What the fuck!” Wade echoes, voice much softer and eyes wide in horror as he watches blood drip from Peter's arm onto the floor. He starts towards Peter, but when he raises the bat in his direction again, Wade freezes with his hands up.

“I- uh- fell into the picture frame,” Peter pales and points at the smashed poster near the blood puddle. But the image is all wrong, and Peter can see that Wade knows that, too. There's blood on his window sill, and it's smeared all over the floor like someone had been rolling in it. Not enough of it is on the actual glass. On top of it all, Peter was naked except for a pair of boxers that also had blood on them.

“Do you want to try that again, or do you really think I'm that stupid, Princess.” Wade's voice is cold, but it's the nickname that makes Peter wince.

“Not a princess.” Peter can't help but say he coughs to recover after Wade starts looking at him weirdly. “Really, Wade, I just-”

“Fine, don't tell me. I'm sure the bastard is still here,” Wade interrupts as he pushes past Peter, not roughly but definitely forcefully.

“Go ahead. You won't find anyone else.” Peter sighs and shuts his mangled door. “I'm going to shower. You can wait on the couch. In payment for my door, you're going to help me stitch this.” He doesn't leave room for argument. Finally he manages to get to the shower, hoping for just five minutes to himself.

It's a chore to do his hair one-handed, but he manages and finally scrubs off all the blood. It takes longer than he'd like, even with the cut on his arm starting to heal a little, so it stops bleeding. He won't clean the wound in here to make sure it's actually clean.

He rinses the soap off his body quickly and dries off even quicker. He stands in front of the mirror in a clean pair of sweats and suddenly remembers that if Wade helps him stitch up his arm, he might see his spinnerets, which would be catastrophic. Quickly and as quietly as possible, he rummages through his shitty non-emergency first aid kit for some gauze and medical tape. It's not perfect, but it will do. He covers both wrists with heavy gauze and tapes them a few times before feeling secure. He also puts a piece over the gash to avoid getting anything else in it before he can clean it.

When he leaves the bathroom, Wade is sitting on his couch where he told him to be, but he is fiddling with the Rubix cube Peter had in his bedside table. Fucking breaking in, snooping, asshole.

“Dude,” Peter sighs. He's too tired to be angry. “Seriously?” Wade just twists the cube aggressively without saying anything. Peter ignores him and pulls his heavy-duty medical kit from the kitchen. He shrugs when Wade glares at the kit.

“I'm clumsy, and I like to cook,” it's a flimsy lie; his cupboards are bare, and the single pot he does have has probably only ever had ramen in it. Wade doesn't buy it, Peter tries and fails to care about that.

“What can I do?” Is not the question Peter expects Wade to ask. His mind goes blank for a second, and he just stares at the other man.

“Sorry, uh—just hold the light for me, please.” Peter hands him an LED flashlight and starts setting up a sterile area. Muscle memory kicks in, making the whole setup take less than five minutes. Wade says nothing the entire time, just watching Peter work and occasionally helping him when the blood starts to drip again, all the movement making it reopen.

When he finally settles down to do the stitches, Wade takes one look at his surgical-grade materials and frowns. “What-”

Peter interrupts him, “Nope, you broke in. Which we will get to.” He looks at Wade pointedly. The other man holds his gaze unblinking.

“I'm going to stitch up my arm. You are going to hold the light,” Peter continues. “Then you answer my questions.”

They glare at each other for a long time before Wade sighs and holds up the flashlight with a fake smile tight on his scarred face. Peter grimaces and puts on gloves. Cleaning the wound and stitching himself up is a slow and painful process that Peter never enjoys having to go through, but he is good at it. Perfect straight and even stitches from his elbow down 5 inches, just an inch or two short of cutting into his spinnerets. Weird to feel lucky about a 5 inch slice in your arm, but life as Spider-Man will never be normal.

Peter frowns as he works, but otherwise, his face doesn't give away how much this really does hurt. He's thankful he only has to do a few, and his healing factor will have this gone in a few days—maybe a week if he doesn't sleep or eat enough. Wade holds the light, and Peter wonders why he doesn't have a mount for it. This has been the easiest round of stitches he's done. Being able to see properly seems to do a lot.

“Okay,” he says as he finishes applying the bandage. “Why did you break my door? I would have answered you.” He wouldn't have, but Wade doesn't need to know that. Any other time, Peter probably would. He's not sure if they're friends, but the big guy is starting to grow on him. Maybe it's just nice to have someone looking out for him again. After May died two years ago, Peter kind of dropped off the earth and stopped talking to his friends. It's not like he could go out and see them. MJ and Ned both moved across the country for work years ago. He wishes he could blame the time difference.

“There was a loud crash and yelling,” Wade’s eyes are intense, and Peter can feel them running over his body. Looking for more signs of violence.

“So you break down my door?” Peter is failing to see Wade's logic.

“Listen, Bambi,” Wade stands and starts pacing in front of the couch, the broken glass crunching under his boots as he walks. “You walk around here looking like that and don't expect me to worry?” He gestures aggressively to the fading bruises on his face and the fresh stitches before spinning away like looking at Peter hurts. He throws his hands up and stalks toward the kitchen.

“I'm fine!” Peter throws his head onto the back of the couch in exasperation. “See, I'm totally handling it myself!” He kicks the coffee table lightly, making the medical supplies rattle. Wade does not look impressed.

“Well, Mr. I-like-to-cook, your kitchen is empty, so what takeout do you like?” Wade made it through his kitchen and is looking in his very empty fridge.

“Uh Wade, it's late, you don't ha-” he starts to protest.

“Mexican it is!” Wade says over him. “Tacos or enchiladas?”

“Tacos. A lot of them if you're buying.” Peter tosses the used materials into a trash bag with one sweep of his arm. Settling back on the couch, he flicks through the channels.

“How often do you do this?” Wade suddenly asks, as if he can't help himself.

“Every night,” the dry sarcasm in his voice is hopefully enough to hide how true that statement is. Wade winces.

“Why?”

“Why what, Wade?” Peter snaps the TV off in a huff, glaring at his unwanted guest. “Why stitch it myself? Why get hurt? Why what!”

“Why not get help?” Peter can tell he doesn't mean ‘go to a hospital.’

“You wouldn't understand.” How would Peter ever begin to explain why he can't just ‘get help’ or whatever Wade means by that.

“I think I would if you told me about it.” Wade makes his way back to the couch, standing a few feet from Peter. His face looks almost heartbroken.

“I-” want to, is what he wishes he could say. “Can't” is what comes out. “I don't know you.”

“Let's change that.” The large man flops down next to him, the old couch protests at the sudden weight.

“Why?” He can't help it. He can't understand why this random guy is so worried about a few bruises and a small (huge) cut.

“Why not?” Is all Wade says, and with that, they settle in to wait for their tacos. Wade stays another hour and a half before Peter kicks him out to get some sleep. For once, he manages to pass out the second his head hits the pillow.

After that, Wade is a regular fixture in his apartment. After he paid to get Peter's door fixed, he helped himself to an extra key. At first, Peter is worried about what that could mean for his secret identity, but Wade seems pretty good at understanding that if the door is deadbolted, Peter isn't up for company. Plus, he brings food every time he stops by. What is a poor college student to say to free food other than enthusiastic yes? Peter never asks about the scars, and Wade seems content not to ask too many questions about Peter's constant need for long sleeves or bracelets that cover his wrists. He does, however, not let the black eye or any new bruises go, not even when the bruises are only a memory. He asks to see Peter’s stitches exactly once, and Peter tells him in no uncertain terms that it was not happening, which he actually respects.

Patrol stays consistent with bank robbers, carjackers, and muggers. A few would-be rapists stopped easily enough with webs from a distance. He’s not necessarily avoiding close combat for Wade, but it is a lot easier to avoid any issues if he has no bruises to hide or more cuts to stitch up. He also has to be much quieter when he comes and goes now, worrying about Wade breaking through the door again if the floor so much as creaks. He dropped a textbook last week, and Wade came through his door with a gun. It would worry him if it wasn’t loaded with BB pellets. At least with the key, his door stayed intact.

Then there’s Deadpool's return to the city Peter also has to deal with. He’s always trying to figure out what to think of Deadpool. He’s too unpredictable for Peter’s liking, even after however long of being a notorious killer and mercenary, he one day at random decided to switch to rubber bullets and ‘light’ maiming, as the ex-merc puts it. Don’t get him twisted. Peter is thrilled that Deadpool has stopped killing people, but he is annoying when they run into each other. The former killer declared that they're Super-besties since he’s a ‘hero’ now. To Peter, this means having another loudmouth that haunts the places he frequents. He’s starting to wonder how he keeps attracting idiots with no boundaries and a penchant for nicknames because he can barely handle his neighbor. He didn’t need Deadpool as well.

The first six or so weeks he’s back in New York, he follows Spider-Man around like a lost puppy. He's not sure what distracts the other man in the weeks that follow, but he enjoys the peace and quiet on the slow patrol nights—ones that would have otherwise been filled with Deadpool's constant babble and three-sided conversations that never seemed to include Peter, ones that mostly seemed to be about his attractive neighbor and how to approach him. He still sees him, of course, but it’s easier to doge him if he wants to.

The limited contact lasts several months until the other mutant tracks him down. Peter is sitting on the roof of an abandoned building enjoying leftovers from one of Wade’s visits when a voice in his ear startles him up the nearby wall.

“Oh-Em-Gee! Spidey, you have freckles!” Deadpool gasps dramatically and laughs when Peter has trouble unsticking from the side of the building. He frowns as he rips the mask back into place.

“What do you want, Deadpool?” The voice modulator in his suit drops his voice a few octaves, making him sound more annoyed than he is. Mostly, he’s confused by how close Deadpool got without setting off his Spidey Sense, which only happens with people he’s known for a while and in far more personal settings. His neighbor only recently started not setting them off; maybe he was so focused on his thoughts of Wade that he missed the tingle that signaled Deadpool's approach. It's been known to occasionally happen when he’s distracted.

“Just need advice from my Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman and my most Super-est bestie!” Deadpool spreads his arms like he's going to hug him, but instead, he spins in a circle before finally looking back at Peter.

“Okay?” Peter hopes this is not another question about where the best strip club in town is because Deadpool always wants Peter to go with him when he asks that.

“If someone you know is in a violent relationship, how do you get them help?” Very rarely has Peter heard Deadpool’s voice this serious, it makes him nervous. “Cause I’d usually kill the guy, but since I’m not doing that…” he trails off, not looking at Peter.

He takes a moment before answering, but when he does, he can tell it’s not what Deadpool is hoping for: “You trust them to come to you when they need it.” He sighs and leans on the wall he had stuck to in surprise.

“They won’t. He won’t even tell me the truth about it.” Deadpool kicks the roof in frustration and flings himself backward. His head bangs roughly a few times before he sits up and repeats the action. Peter winces but doesn’t intervene. He knows the feeling. MJ was in a brief fling that got rough with her. She didn’t tell him about it until she had to get a restraining order on the guy. It drove him crazy for months that she hadn’t come to him for help. Eventually, he realized she was embarrassed she had let someone like that into her life. He never brought up the situation again but always made sure she knew he would never judge her for something someone else had done.

“Just let him know you are there for him,” Peter hopes Deadpool is actually listening. “Make sure he knows he’s got a place to go if he needs to.” Deadpool sits up when he says this, his body language more relaxed than it has been but still tense.

“Like give him a key to my place?” he sounds unsure.

“Maybe tell him your door is always open first,” Peter says patiently. “You might scare him with a key. Plus, if the guy he’s with is controlling, a new key could put him in danger.”

“Thanks, Spidey. That’s something, at least.” Before Peter can say anything else, Deadpool pulls a device out of his pocket and blinks out of existence on the roof with a flip of a switch. Peter almost questions if that really happened before his tired brain reminds him that teleportation devices exist. He leaves his now cold tacos on the roof and swings back out onto patrol, hoping the quiet night continues. Around 5 in the morning, he is close enough to home and tired enough to rationalize ending his patrol, but when he does his first cursory swing by his apartment, he sees the lights are on and Wade’s unmistakable figure pacing around his living room. He looks like he's yelling at someone but unless he brought a friend over to Peter’s house, there’s no one there for him to be yelling at. The thought of him yelling at himself reminds Peter of Deadpool so much that it distracts him from the fact that he can’t go home. He thanks past him for having the foresight to leave a change of clothes webbed to a building a few blocks away from his place. They were initially for if MJ or Ned had been there, but he had never needed them until now.

A backpack with a pair of running shorts and a tank top is right where he left it over two years ago. The top of the bag is just enough unwebbed for Peter to exchange the clothes for his suit, leaving it looking untouched and still secure for when he comes back to re-do the swap. He’s kind of pissed he has to walk home, but it’s better than putting Wade in danger. He also has to bandage his spinnerets again, and that always makes him feel closterphobic.

When he finally makes it home, jogging the last three blocks to work up enough sweat to sell the lie of an early morning run, Wade is sitting on his couch, looking expectantly at the door. He definitely heard Peter coming up the stairs.

“Oh, hey!” Peter says, as if he didn’t know Wade was there. “You bring breakfast or something?” He smiles and bats his eyelashes a little. He’s not sure why, but it always seems to distract Wade.

“No, Freckles. I came by to talk, and here you are just now coming home?” Wade sounds like Aunt May when she caught him the first few times he went on patrol. “Nice walk of shame fit, by the way. Shows off the assets.” He winks before frowning at Peter, which sends such a mixed message that Peter forgets to respond. His eyes rake over Peter's body in a way that leaves heat in its path, pausing on his thighs and wrists before slowly dragging up to meet Peter's eyes again.

“Don’t worry, Baby Boy. We didn’t say we’re exclusive yet, but those injuries are a problem Sugar.”

“I f-”

“Fell, yeah, sure. But I see them on you almost every time we hang out. Which has been every day for months, Peter.” He interrupts him, the fire from the first night in his voice again. Peter can’t help but hide his hands behind his back. “Come to think of it, if it’s not bandages, it’s bracelets. So what? Peter? This guy got you so broken down that now you hurt yourself, too? Don’t think I don’t see the bruise on your thigh. God, is that a fucking hand print.” Wade suddenly steps forward, and all the tension in the room snaps making Peter’s senses scream at him. He can’t help it. He flinches hard, stumbling backward out the door he hadn’t closed yet. Tripping on his welcome mat and slamming painfully down onto his tailbone. Parker Luck ensures he also bangs his head on the railing of the nearby stairs.

“Fuck!” Peter mumbles as he rubs his head. Looking up, he sees Wade frozen with one foot off the ground, which is exactly how he was when Peter started to fall. “There is no guy!” He slams the palms of his hands into the floor in frustration.

“Okaaayyy, I guess maybe you did fall. What the fuck Peter.” Wade huffs out a surprised laugh. It sounds more like a cough, but Peter will take what he can get with how close this guy is to figuring out he’s Spiderman. If he keeps paying this close attention, Peter might have to move. Wade seems like the type to follow him, too. Peter throws his hand out and waits for Wade to pull him to his feet. It doesn’t take long for him to get the hint and haul him up. Pulling him all the way in for a bone-crushing hug. He fights it at first but then relents. Wade smells oddly of gunpowder and pineapple. It’s kind of nice.

“Can we at least go inside, please?” He mumbles into Wade’s shoulder. The other man does not hesitate before picking up Peter into a bridal carry. He would protest, but his fall seems to have distracted Wade from thinking he’s not only in an abusive relationship but self-harming.

“Yes, but we’re going to my place!” Wade declares, shutting Peter's door and walking him down the stairs to the unit directly below Peter’s. Explains how he can hear so much from his place.

Peter sputters, “I need a shower. Wade. I could have come down after! Now I have to take the stairs again!” He swats the larger man's chest lightly but doesn’t attempt to stop him. Wade grips him tighter anyway and kicks open his door.

“Use mine. Clean towels are under the sink. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.” Wade dumps him onto the couch unceremoniously and walks into a room nearby, shutting the door behind him. He returns quickly with a sweatshirt and a pair of basketball shorts. “Here, bathrooms that one.” He points to another door on the other side of the apartment.

“Thanks,” Peter says awkwardly, then walks to the bathroom. “Why are you-”

“You’re my friend Peter. Just shower.” He sounds tired and doesn’t turn back to look at him. Peter showers quickly and reapplies the bandages just in case the larger sweatshirt sleeves ride up his arms. Unsure, he hesitates at the door, double-checking that the shorts cover his bruised thigh. He hadn’t realized one of the fights had resulted in something like that and is surprised he hadn’t noticed when he changed out of the suit.

“Wade!” He calls into the apartment when he doesn’t see the older man at first.

“Right here, sweetheart!” Wade pokes his head up from the couch, a sandwich in his hand raised in question.

“Absolutely! What episode are we on?” Peter hops the back of the couch swiftly and snags the sandwich. They’ve been marathoning the TV show Bones for a while.

“Season 3, episode 15, I think we’re going to get some answers!” Wade says, smiling at him. The fight they were having forgotten for now. Peter tries very hard to stay awake while they watch, but after he finishes his sandwich and leans back against Wade’s comfortable couch, he can’t help but fall asleep. At some point, he thinks Wade might try to wake him, but he’s not sure and quickly falls back asleep.

Eventually, almost 8 hours later, he wakes up to Wade gripping his shoulders and murmuring softly to him.

“Peter! Shhh! I’m here. You’re okay, shhh,” Wade’s breath tickles his ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Peter thrashes wildly, breath coming in ragged gasps as the nightmare he was having slowly undoes its claws from his mind. Leaving him sweaty and clinging to Wade like a lifeline.

“Who’s Gwen?” Wade asks after a long time of them just breathing together. Embarrassed, Peter pulls away from him, sits up, and looks at his hands in his lap.

“A friend who died… My fault.” Peter whispers. “Don’t ask again.”

“You’re always welcome here, Peter.” Wade grips his shoulders tighter as he says it, his face leaning in, inches from Peter’s.

“Thanks, Wade.” Peter pushes him away and stands. “Listen, I’ve gotta go to work soon. Sorry, I crashed so hard—I didn’t sleep last night.” He doesn’t wait for a response. As close to running as he can, he flees Wade’s apartment and hopes they can forget that happened. There are many reasons Peter no longer sleeps in the same room as someone, but the nightmares are the biggest.

After two days, Peter realizes he hasn’t seen Wade since he left that night, and he feels guilty about how that went and even guiltier when he notices he doesn't have his number to get in touch. On the third day, he realizes that he misses Wade in a way that feels like how people describe quitting cigarettes. By the end of the first week, Peter feels like he’s being stabbed every time he opens his apartment door and sees it empty. The end of week two comes with the understanding that these feelings are more than ‘I miss my friend’ feelings. He spends three days freaking out about that before finding the resolve to knock on Wade’s door and tell him he needs him in his life. Wade doesn’t answer, and Peter spends three more days moping about it.

Eventually, three agonizingly Wade-less weeks pass, and Peter finally sees him one night on his way home from class. He catches Wade as he’s walking out of his apartment and has to turn around on the stairs to make sure it is him.

“WADE!” Peter yells excitedly, steps coming faster to catch up to his friend. All he wants to do is wrap Wade up in a hug and beg him to come home with him. He doesn’t.

“Oh hey, Peter?” Wade looks around warily at the empty apartment hallways as if he were expecting Peter to be calling for someone else. “Everything okay?”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, but otherwise, sure,” Peter laughs as if it’s not a big deal that he missed Wade—not a big deal at all. He has not been literally pacing up the walls and ceiling about it or anything.

“Yeah,” Wade chuckles. I was out of town for work, and I just got back last night.” Peter feels awkward. Flashes of trying to talk to his childhood crushes come to him, and he has to shake his head to focus.

“Oh, cool.” Peter tries not to feel embarrassed by his awkward declaration. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow? Together, I mean.” He doesn’t mean to sound so hopeful, but he stands by it.

“I’m sorry, Beautiful, rain-check? For work?” Wade smiles at him, and Peter's heart skips a little.

“Yeah,” he sounds disappointed even to his own ears. “Here, let me give you my number. About time anyway.” He takes Wade’s phone and adds himself to his contacts, snapping a stupid picture to go along with the contact card. “There, just text me about it,” Peter says, leaving before he can make it more weird. Wade doesn’t call out to him as he walks off, and he pretends that doesn’t bother him.

That night, on patrol, he runs into Deadpool again for the first time in almost a month. He helps Peter with a bank robbery and then sticks around to finish the rest of the night. It comes in handy to have an extra set of eyes and hands. Even if those extra sets inflict more harm than Peter thinks is necessary. By the end of the night, Peter is exhausted and wishes he could just go home and watch Bones with Wade. He didn’t even get to finish the last episode they watched together.

“Okay there, Webs?” Deadpool calls to him as he watches him stutter step and has to catch himself with a well-timed web. Peter flushes hot under his mask and is thankful Deadpool can’t see it.

“Yeah, sorry,” Peter runs a hand over his mask, a habit from growing out his hair. “Just dealing with some pretty heavy feelings for a friend.” Wincing, Peter realizes what he said. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I must be more tired than I thought.” Peter rambles on as Deadpool stares at him in what has to be shock.

“Awwww, Spider-Baby has a crush!” The leather-clad man shrieks girlishly and grabs Peter’s hand. “Spill girl!”

“Um,” Peter pulls his hand away. “Well, he’s my friend, and I guess I realized that with him being gone recently, I might have missed him in more than a friend way.” The blush on his face burns hotter, and he can’t understand what possessed him to talk to Deadpool about this, of all people.

“My dear buggy friend, I’m going to need you to elaborate on this friend more, or a guy is going to think it’s him.” The spot above Deadpool’s eyes where his eyebrows should be under the mask wiggles suggestively at him.

“One, arachnid.” He gestures his hand in a skittery motion. “Two, you’re hilarious. Not you.” Peter huffs as Deadpool laughs.

“Glad you can appreciate my humor, bug boy,” Deadpool pats him on the shoulder but suddenly straightens and stops laughing. “Just tell him how you feel, Spidey. The worst he can say is no. And then I’m back in the running to woo you!”

Peter turns and swings away without another word and can hear Deadpool cackling to himself in the distance. How hard could it actually be to tell Wade how he feels? The only real issue would still be hiding Spider-Man from what would be not just a random stranger in his building turned friend; it would be hiding it from his boyfriend. Could he do that? Is Wade the kind of guy that could handle the secrets? 100% Not a chance. Ever. But could he handle the truth? Maybe, and that could be good enough for Peter.

Several days go by with no sighting or texts from Wade, and Peter is just about to kick his door down for a change when he gets a call from an unknown number. Hope sings in his chest as he answers it.

“Peter Parker,” he sounds breathless like a schoolgirl, and he hates it.

“Wade Wilson,” a gruff voice replies, Peter can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Hi…” he has no clue what to say.

“It just occurred to me that I didn’t give you my number,” he laughs, and Peter feels the urge to say something that will make him do that again. “So now you have it.” A beep signals the end of the phone call, and Peter is left staring at his blank phone screen in confusion. That is until he hears a key scraping in his lock, and the door pops open, Wade looks almost embarrassed.

“Sorry, needed to see your pretty smile,” Peter burns hot, staring dumbly at Wade not knowing where to go from here. Wade frowns for a second before crossing the room and sweeping Peter up into a hug. “Missed you.” He hums into Peter’s hair.

“Missed you too,” Peter laughs and snuggles in closer, enjoying the extreme warmth and comfort the other man always brings him.

After that, they fall back into their easy rhythm of seeing each other every day and sharing meals whenever they can. Peter is even convinced to let Wade stay the night a few times. Not that Peter sleeps those nights; he pretends to until he knows Wade is sleeping, then plays Stardew Valley until daybreak. Well, he tries to, but mostly, he ends up watching his friend sleep like a creeper while he figures out how to say, ‘I think I’m falling in love with you. Also, I’m Spider-man.’ Which does nothing to help him actually figure out what to do or say.

Patrol picks up as the weather warms up, providing a decent distraction, except for the days Deadpool finds him and pesters him about his crush. Those days are consumed with thoughts of how it would feel to get home after patrol and curl up in Wade’s strong arms. Maybe if he slept nestled in them, he wouldn’t have nightmares anymore. On nights he does sleep, the nightmares are violent and terrible. Wade takes Gwen’s place as she falls over and over again. They both die in his arms on the worst nights, just one of them on the better ones.

Eventually, some low-level supervillain breaks out of jail, and Peter spends weeks tracking him through the city. With classes over for the summer and work slow as well, he ends up only seeing Deadpool during that time. Wade still calls and texts every day, but it’s only enough to keep Peter going from day to day and not provide any relief to his socially starved system. Plus, he’s running out of excuses to not see him. His effort is rewarded one night after eight hours of patrolling quiet streets. He finally sees the villain he’s been tracking.

Peter is exhausted and hoping to catch the guy by surprise, but at the last second, a large mechanical tentacle thrashes out and stabs Peter in the shoulder. Bright white pain cuts out his vision momentarily. He only regains his coherency as he’s slammed into a brick wall. The fight is long and painful. Peter takes two more stabs from the tentacle before Deadpool shows up and together they are able to rip it from its base on the man's back. Once the machine is taken care of, the guy is pretty easy to subdue. He’s no match for Peter’s strength or speed, relying too heavily on his tech to take care of his issues. The blood loss doesn’t help the situation, but the fight is thankfully over before the sun starts to rise again.

He webs up the villain with one hand and leaving him for Deadpool to handle starts his swing home, not bothering with the usual detour. The blood he’s losing would lead a trail right to him anyway, and he’s not sure he has time to backtrack and go around. He also doesn’t swing by the apartment and check if Wade is in there first. Last he knew, a work thing had come up, and Wade was leaving again for a few days. He tries not to think about how nice it would be to have Wade’s help with this as he pries open his window. Bloody hands slip on the wood and glass, making it harder than his blood-loss-slow brain has patience for. He ends up splintering some of the wood frame in his attempt to get a better grip. That is a problem for the Peter who is not actively bleeding out, aka tomorrow Peter.

Finally getting the window open, he shoves his body through the opening and tries not to scream in pain as the wounds in his leg catch on the frame. His vision swims with spots of back dots and flashes of bright white. He might be losing consciousness, and that would be very bad for him in this state. He needs to get up. Tearing at his mask, he rips it over his face and throws it across the room. Another wounded sound breaks free as the momentum makes pain shatter through his shoulder, then he hears his door open and before he can protest there is someone in his apartment. Someone who is calling out to Peter just as his head thumps down onto his floor, vision dimming and going black as a sharp ringing cuts out his hearing.

Hopefully, Wade doesn’t watch me die, is the last thought that runs through Peter’s head before he blacks out.

He wakes up slowly, a weird numbing sensation thrumming through him, not enough to dull the pain but enough to make his brain slow and foggy, it quickly fades as he regains consciousness. The smell of antiseptic and gunpowder is the first thing he notices. The second thing he notices is there are bandages all over his body, and he can’t move his leg without feeling like his bones are separating from his flesh. His eyes spring open to see Wade staring back at him with apprehension and possibly some anger.

“Wade!” Peter tries to sit up but a new wave of pain in his shoulder has him groaning and locking his muscles. “God, you weren’t supposed to find out like this.” Peter can’t look at the other man. What if he’s disgusted by what Peter does in his free time? What if he can never see Wade again after this?

“Webs,” Wade’s voice suddenly sounds familiar for a different reason. “There’s something you should know.” Finally, Peter looks at Wade; he really looks at him. The bright red leather suit that Peter has seen so many times is being worn by a man he should have recognized months ago.

“You—You’re—Oh my god,” Peter’s voice is quiet, but he feels like he’s screaming. “DEADPOOL?” The last part does come out as a shriek, which Wade laughs loudly at.

“And to think I was all conflicted that the pretty boy next door was being abused, and here it is that he’s just Spider-man. My favorite person is my favorite hero.” Wade keeps laughing. “Maybe I did die this time.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Peter snaps at him. “Listen, I know we have a lot to talk about, but can we maybe just cuddle for a bit?” He’s not hopeful the other man will take him up on it and is very pleasantly surprised when Wade shuffles him over and lays down next to him. They slide together in a more comfortable position, and Peter feels genuine peace.

“Where are we?” Peter asks after a moment, realizing they are not in their apartment building. Looking around, he sees lots of medical equipment and some heavy-grade weaponry—definitely not a hospital.

“One of my safe houses, Bambi,” Wade’s face flushes for almost a full second. “I thought we had been compromised. Or that the blood would eventually compromise us.”

Peter laughs and lays his head down on the ex-mercs chest, humming to himself and not bothering to fight the sleep pulling him under. He knows he’s safe here. He trusts Wade.

Chapter Text

Peter swings across the tops of the buildings at blinding speed. The sounds of buildings being destroyed lead his way, the feeling of dread and anguish rising in him. The Spidey Sense makes it ten-fold.

“Peter!” Wade’s voice sounds distorted, and Peter can't quite tell where it's coming from. Another dagger of fear shoots through him. Flashes of Wade covered in blood and losing limbs go through his head.

He lands on a roof that looks the highest in the area, looking wildly over each edge, but he can't see Wade anywhere.

“You're too late, Spider-man!” The voice is distorted, too, and Peter can't remember who he's even fighting. He just knows Wade is in danger.

Peter finally spots Wade as he's falling from a window of the neighboring building. His face contorts in terror as his hands grab at nothing. The open air does nothing to slow his fall, and Peter is forced to watch as he plummets toward the ground.

Muscle memory sends him into action too late to matter. He watches his webbing race Wade to the ground moments before impact, catching enough to pull with all of Wade's weight, but only for a second before the impact reverberates through the threads. Peter feels the crack of each of Wade’s bones through his entire forearm as his organic webs catch each vibration. He feels sick, adrenaline the only thing keeping him standing.

“PETER!” Wade's voice is suddenly crystal clear, and he opens his eyes to find a terrified-looking Wade inches from his face.

Peter stops thrashing against his hold instantly and sobs in relief to see Wade alive. Scared just like the dream, but alive. Beautiful and right here in front of him. Alive.

He can't help it. He leans forward and kisses the scarred lips he's been thinking about for who knows how long. They're so much softer than he ever expected. He tastes like blood and faintly syrup. He does not kiss Peter back and Peter pulls away quickly.

“I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that!” Peter doesn't shove Wade off of him, but he pulls his hands up forcefully enough to knock Wade off balance and send him toppling over onto the bed.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I should leave. I'm totally fine to leave. I just need t-”

“Peter!” Wade cuts off his rambling with a hand gently on his lips as well. The contact sends tingles through Peter's whole face, and he blushes crimson. “I’d love to see where that was going, Sweetcheeks, but you’re hurting and not in the fun way.”

“There’s a fun way?” Peter blurts out, blinking at Wade, confused.

“You’re killing me, Baby Boy,” Wade shifts, resting his back against the pillows, and pulls Peter in gently, letting him use his chest as a pillow. It's very similar to how they slept last night, but closer somehow. “You told me not to ask about Gwen again, so I won’t, but you were screaming for me after a while so I’d love an answer on that.”

Peter doesn’t mean to pull away so quickly, a shot of pain in his shoulder keeps him from totally leaving Wade’s grasp, but he is more on the bed than Wade now. He doesn’t say anything, but he pulls Peter back against him. They sit like that for a long time, long enough for Peter’s brain to go fuzzy at the edges again as sleep creeps up.

“You can sleep, Peter,” Wade murmurs, “I’ve got you.” That reminds Peter why they’re sitting in silence, and he becomes rigid. This time, he manages to sit up slowly to look at Wade. He feels like he owes him a lot of explanations.

“My name is Peter Parker,” He starts with the simplest answers first. “I was bitten as a teenager by a radioactive spider, and since then, I've watched almost everyone I love die horribly or because of me. You take their places in my nightmares.” He tries to look at Wade the whole time, but he ends up not being able to stand the look of pain crossing over the other’s face as he gives him just a glance into his head.

“Okay,” Wade reaches a hand out to slowly draw circles on the back of Peter’s hand with his thumb. “Why me?” Peter wishes he had asked any other question. He knows they need to talk about everything, especially now that he’s kissed him, but god, he does not want to. What if he bares his heart and soul, and Wade rejects him? He didn’t know the stakes were possibly losing both his civilian best friend and his patrol buddy. He’s not sure he’s strong enough to lose him now.

“I- Wade, I-” Peter grips Wade’s hand too hard, his super strength bleeding through. “Shit, sorry. I-”

“Peter Parker, do you like-like me?” Wade’s girly shriek is so like the day on the roof when Peter told Deadpool about his crush on Wade it almost makes Peter smile. “OH-EM-GEE Petey-Pie, am I the friend you missed as more than a friend?”

He can’t look at Wade. His face is too hot, and he’s too scared that Wade is going to start laughing at him. Or kick him out, never to see him again. A hand on his cheek guides him to look at his friend. He is the only person who knows all of Peter, and he’s looking at him like he’s the answer to life.

“Now that you know it’s me?” Wade’s voice sounds both hopeful and sad, exactly how Peter feels. For the first time, Peter realizes that maybe, just maybe, his feelings are not as one-sided as he initially thought.

“Nothing changes. Wade? Deadpool?” Peter leans toward him, heart racing and goosebumps skating across his arms as tension rises between them. “You’re still you.”

“You really don’t have a boyfriend?” It might have sounded like a joke if the other man wasn’t suddenly as breathless as Peter. “No one I need to kill for marking up that pretty face?” Wade leans in as well, and their foreheads touch.

“Not even a plant waiting up for me,” Peter's head is spinning, and he’s considering kissing Wade to see if that will get the oxygen in the room to start working again.

“Just me?” Wade inches imperceptibly closer, sharing the too-thin air as their lips almost brush.

“No man but you,” Peter whispers against Wade’s lips, and then they kiss for real this time. A kiss full of passion and unspoken words of possible love but definite adoration and respect. Fire sparks in Peter’s chest, making its home deep in his soul.

They kiss like that for a long time, Wade being overly gentle with Peter but still passionate in a way that makes Peter feel like he’s never been kissed before. Nothing compares to the way Wade seems to know every button to push, which makes Peter’s head swim in the most addictive way—only breaking apart when Peter becomes light-headed due to the lack of oxygen.

“Woah,” he whispers against Wade’s lips. Smiles form on both their faces as they revel in being able to finally do that.

“Woah is right, Baby Boy!” Wade huffs a laugh, “I’ve been dying to do that for years!” He grins at Peter goofily.

“Years?”

“Ever since I saw that beautiful spandex ass on the front page of the Bugle calling you a menace!” He grabs a handful of the ass in question to illustrate his point.

“Wade!” Peter yelps in mock outrage but does nothing to actually remove his hand. Wade grins wolfishly at him.

“Oooo, if you weren’t injured…” Wade trails off, caught up in a world of his own fantasies.

“One, take me out on a date first. Two, I guess it’s a good thing I heal fast.” Peter says flatly but his smile gives away that he’s not actually annoyed.

“Ya know, I should have figured it out sooner,” Wade says. “No one lists things the way you do, Bambi.”

Peter just tilts his head at the other man, not catching what he means. “Whatever, I’m serious about that date ‘Pool.” He tests the merc's nickname on his civilian tongue, unsure of the feeling of it.

“It’s the right voice. Who knew your seduction voice is your Spidey voice,” Wade chuckles, “But it sounds wrong somehow without the mask, Sweetpea.”

“Yeah, it felt wrong too.” They both laugh at that before settling into an uncomfortable silence. Peter can hear the clock in the other room ticking each second away as he waits for Wade to say something- anything, about the kiss. Or him basically asking Wade out on a date. Eventually, he can’t take it anymore.

“Not to be That Guy but you did say you’ve been waiting for this for years. I kind of expected you to be shoving me out the door by now for an impromptu date…” he doesn’t trail off. It’s more like his voice just fades into the background as Wade’s face falls, and he looks conflicted.

“You don’t want this,” Wade has no emotion in his voice and gestures to his general self. “Maybe a try it kind of thing. I guess the scars don’t seem to bother you at all. Ribbed for your pleasure and all that.” Wade waves his hand dismissivly and Peter winces at the mention of just giving Wade ‘a try’. The thought makes him almost sick if he’s honest with himself.

“Wade. Please, please don’t say that. You are my best friend,” Wade grimaces. “Don’t look at me like that. I think I fucking love you, asshole!” Peter shoves Wade’s shoulder harder than he means to, but then freezes relizing what he said. He hides his burning face in his hands and wills the universe to blink him out of existence.

“You what?” Wade asks as he reaches out to run his hands soothingly through Peter’s hair. Like he does after particularly bad patrol, of course, in those moments, Wade had thought he was comforting Peter after he had had an argument with a partner. Peter sighs and leans into the comfort, silently begging the larger man to never stop touching him.

“I think I could maybe be in love with you,” Peter rushes out, afraid he will lose his nerve if he doesn’t say it all now. “I’ve been trying for so long to work up the courage to tell you that. And that I’m Spider-man, but only because I know you could never live with that kind of secret, and I trust you never to tell anyone.”

“Peter, I’m a bad person, not unlike the people you fight every day.” Wade pulls away, and Peter feels colder—some of that fire from before fizzling at the loss of contact.

“You are nothing like them!” Peter objects and snatches Wade’s hand back, holding it with both hands and gently playing with his scarred fingers. “You care about strangers in the hallways with black eyes and stupid college kids stitching themselves up without thinking of any reason to give as why he’s so hurt.”

Wade opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, so Peter places one of his hands over the man's mouth, effectively silencing him.

“You carry the same idiot back to your apartment, let him shower and make sure he feels safe.” Peter continues, “You do all of those things without being asked. You are a good person, Wade. I really think I love you.”

“You keep saying think,” Wade mumbles behind the hand still over his mouth.

“I’m doing my best not to freak either of us out, okay!” Peter frowns and gives Wade use of his mouth back.

“Fine, fine, Baby Boy,” Wade looks at him with a fondness that makes Peter crack apart a little. “I think I might love you too.” Peter’s heart stops for a second, and he wonders if he did die on the floor last night, and this is the universe’s gift for something he must have gotten right.

“I- Really?” Peter dares to hope. Dares to maybe, possibly, love?

Peter surges forward and kisses him. His leg and shoulder scream a little in protest but the reward is too worth it for Peter to care. He may never care about pain again if Wade will just repeat those three words.

For some reason, as they kiss, Peter’s brain reminds him that saliva has slight pain-numbing properties, and he wonders if Wade’s mutation makes his stronger because he feels high off kissing him. The pain isn’t gone, but it’s not enough to distract from how fantastic kissing Wade feels. The scars on his lips and face felt terrific before, but now? Now Wade’s hands are pressing him impossibly close and tugging through his hair.

He understands what Wade meant before about good pain, the sparks zinging across his scalp with each pull, make each gentle pass through his hair even better. When he has to break away for air, instead of stopping like last time, Wade just shifts them both so he can kiss and lick down Peter’s neck—nipping him slightly as he passes Peter’s pulse point. Eliciting a breathy groan from the curly-haired man.

Wade hums against the spot, pressing a few slow kisses before pulling away. “I’m getting carried away. You need food. What do you want? We have a full kitchen, and I make a fantastic spread!” He winks.

“Waffles?” Peter asks, hopefully, but a part of him also hopes Wade won’t have anything to make them so they can go back to what they were doing.

“Long as you’re up for all the sides and fixin’s too, Pretty Boy,” Wade stands and stretches as he walks out of the room. Peter watches as his biceps and shoulders bulge under a fitted tshirt he had put on at some point in the night even though the last thing Peter had seen him in was the suit.

“Wait- how long did I sleep?” Peter calls out.

“We’ll talk about that after breakfast, Darling!” Is the response he gets.

Breakfast is uneventful except for the fact that Wade won’t tell him what day it is or even what the time is. Peter is starting to get really worried by the time they finish and Wade drags him back into the bedroom to lie down.

“Please, Wade,” Peter grabs his arm and looks determinedly into the eyes of the man he cares for. “What happened?” Wade pales slightly and shuffles Peter into a seated position on the edge of the bed, taking his own spot in a chair that is sitting nearby.

“You were in no position to fight that guy alone.” Peter knew the lecture was coming, but he had hoped he would feel better when it did. “I don’t know how you made it home.”

Wade grabs a hand with his and squeezes like he’s trying to convince himself Peter really is sitting there. “There was so much blood; you just kept getting up and fighting, and he just kept ripping you apart, Peter.” Wade’s voice is uncharacteristically rough around the edges. The intensity of his emotions pouring over.

“I was fi-”

“It’s been three days.” Wade isn’t looking at him. Peter feels cold all over. “I didn’t know- I called Stark, but that was no better than calling a mechanic for dental work. If it wasn’t for Banner? I don’t know.”

“Three days?” Peter doesn’t even sound like himself.

“I thought you were dead when I opened that door.” The statment hangs in the air around them. Wade really lets Peter sit with the fact he almost died on his shitty apartment floor because he chose not to ask for help. Worse, when he knew he was beaten, he kept going alone.

“I won’t-”

“You’re damn right you won’t. No more lone spider shit Peter. I’m there every time from now on.” His voice is firm, but Peter doesn’t feel like he’s being scolded. He says it like a promise. The dream is still fresh in Peter’s mind, screaming at him to never let Wade out of his sight anyway.

“Okay,” the answer is easier than breathing. It’s simple to say yes to him, knowing Wade can protect him and he can protect Wade makes him feel lighter than he has since he realized almost a decade ago that being Spider-man can and will get the people he loves hurt.

“No, Peter, I’m serious. I can’t just sit by and-” Wade blinks at him for a second. “Wait. Did you say okay? Like no fighting, no sassing. Simple, okay?”

“Yes, Wade. I said okay.” Peter smiles at him. “Simple. I want you there too. Okay.”

“Oh- good.” All the fight leaves Wade at Peter’s agreement.

They settle in for a long conversation about what Peter missed in the three days of being unconscious. With his head back on Wade’s chest, he listens to the other man tell him how Dr. Banner had been helpful with medicating and adjusting for Peter’s metabolism. Wade had cleaned both their apartments twice while the medical teams worked because he needed something to do. Peter’s college had called, but Wade had been able to convince them of Peter’s totally valid medical reasons for not being there. Even if with his healing factor, being honest wasn’t entirely an option.

Wade doesn’t question why no friends or family came looking for him in that time, but he does tell him that he thrashed and screamed through the second day of his coma. That had set him back in his healing when he ripped his stitches out and shattered the lights above him with rouge shots of webbing. That explains the excessive bandaging Peter remembers from one of the times he woke up. He had been right in thinking that was last night but wrong in thinking the night on the floor and the night finding out Deadpool is his crush were the same. Missing three days isn’t something Peter does often, but he can’t say this is the first time. He doubts it will be the last time, either.

The conversation made him more tired than he would like to admit, and as much as he wants to just lie in Wade’s arms and drift off again the threat of having another nightmare and hurting him is too much. Peter is trying to think of a good way to get Wade to let him leave alone when suddenly a hand tilts his face up and holds him locked in place, staring into Wade’s white-blue eyes. Wade’s thumb brushes softly at the corner of his eye and drags back towards his temple.

“I don’t do the let you suffer alone thing, so just stay here, my tired love, and sleep.” Wade touches their foreheads together again. “I won’t let anything happen, Peter. Trust me.”

He wants to say no, he so terrified of hurting Wade, but he’s so tired. “Okay.”

They settle in for a long night, and yes, Peter does have nightmares, but every time they get too bad for him to handle, Wade is there. Hands on his face or in his hair, talking him down from the cliff’s edge. Reminding him that no matter what his brain tells him will happen, Wade and him together can make it through.

Chapter Text

No matter how fast Peter heals, it’s never fast enough for him, and this time, Wade won’t let him out on patrol until all of the stitches have been out for at least 24 hours. Peter pretends he hates it, but it’s been so long since someone took care of him like this that he doesn’t argue much and has a hard time remembering why he’s supposed to be upset in the first place. They get weirdly domestic fast. Peter tries and fails not to let it get to him.

Wade still patrols, and Peter takes that time to sleep, still not trusting himself enough to hold it together enough not to hurt Wade in a fit of panic while they sleep. He knows it’s stupid, and Wade tells him as much when he points out that, eventually, they’ll be patrolling together again. Peter reminds him at those times that they don’t live together, and at some point, Peter does have to leave the safe house. A funny look crosses Wade’s face, and he changes the subject quickly every time. But Peter still can’t escape that nagging feeling that he will seriously hurt the other man one of these days, and if he’s honest with himself? He doesn’t think he can recover from doing that.

Not to mention, he has no clue where he stands with the merc relationship wise. They don’t do anything more than kiss and cuddle, which is more than before, but neither of them has said ‘boyfriend’ yet. Peter tries not to worry about what that means or what happens when he has to leave, but the sleepless nights just give him time to watch Wade sleep inches from him and wonder what it would be like if he could trust himself with the person he might love. It’s like a landmine between them, leaving room to wonder if Wade will get bored of him when this is over. He can’t even admit to himself what these feelings are. How can he expect Wade to understand them?

It’s been officially a week and a half to the day when Peter finally decides he needs to go home and sleep in his own bed. He gathers his things while Wade is patrolling but waits to make sure the other man knows where he’s going and that nothing is wrong. Even if he’s not healed, he can take care of himself.

He tries to wait patiently on the couch but ends up pacing the entire room, including the ceiling and walls. He has to jump down when Wade gets back. Picking up his bag, he turns to greet the other man, but the angry body language stops his sentence.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Deadpool’s voice is almost cold, leaving his mask on, so his face is almost unreadable to Peter. Peter shifts his weight back and forth and swings the bag higher on his shoulder.

“Going home?” Peter is confused. They’ve talked this to death already. Peter just wants to sleep. Plus, it’s not like he would be that far away. Wade is his downstairs neighbor.

“I told you, Peter. I’m there every time. I don’t do the let you suffer alone thing. That means nightmares, too.” He crosses his leather-clad arms, and even through the mask, Peter can see the frown. “I’ve been patient, but the talk of going back alone is ending right now.”

“So we just skip the going on dates part and move in? We’re not Uhauling Wade.” Peter crosses his arms. He’s never lived with anyone other than May. Honestly, the thought terrifies him. How is he going to sleep if Wade is always there? “I could really hurt you, Wade.”

“I REGENERATE!” Wade yells, and Peter flinches slightly, not expecting it. And yeah, Peter doesn’t have a great argument against that, so he just glares at him.

“What is this really about? You keep talking about dates and how you think you might feel, but you’re not listening when I tell you that I’m IN this. No matter what.” He crosses the room as he says that, pulling his mask off and grabbing Peter into a bone-crushing hug.

“How am I supposed to know if this is real?” Peter shouts, pushing him away. “How am I supposed to know you’re not just going to find me boring in a few weeks or months? How am I supposed to know that you can handle dating Spider-man, not just plain boring Peter Parker, who you thought might be interesting but turns out I’m too tired half the time to do anything other than pass out the second I get home? I don’t even know if we ARE dating!”

“What about me, huh, Peter?” Wade laughs humorlessly. “When are you going to wake up and realize the guy who you care about is a monster? A hideous, cold-blooded killing monster.”

“Shut UP! You are not listening to me!” He pushes his hands against Wade’s chest in frustration.

“Yeah, that makes two of us not listening then so we’re even.” It’s a standoff from which neither is willing to back down. They glare at each other until Peter’s leg and shoulder begin to ach, and he has to relent.

There’s silence as he throws himself down onto the couch. His plans to leave are clearly on hold for the moment. All the frustration drains out of him and is replaced by a bone-weary feeling of being alone. Why doesn’t Wade understand he would rather die of sleep exhaustion than wake up to find out he had hurt the other man in any way, shape, or form?

“What are we doing?” Peter isn’t sure what he means when he asks, but he asks anyway.

“Tonight? Or in general?” Wade joins him on the couch, tossing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him tightly to his body. The smell of leather and gunpowder somehow comforting Peter enough to settle the hum of anxiety in his veins.

“Both?” Peter sounds miserable even to his own ears.

“Tonight, I’m making you homemade curry, and then we can look at two bedrooms in the area.” He says it like it’s the only fact in the universe. They will have dinner and then find a place to live together. Like he wasn’t ignoring the question Peter didn’t ask, when he said he wasn’t sure what their relationship is anymore.

“But-” He tries to object.

“Butts are for sitting, Bug Boy,” Wade frowns at him but then grins. “I’m serious, Peter. I can’t lose you, and the only way I know how to do that is to keep you with me. Okay, no sharing a bed right now. I won’t die from that.”

“Are you s-”

“Yes, I’m sure Peter. Maybe the most sure I’ve been in my whole life. Now that I know what you are actually dealing with? I’d never forgive myself for missing even a papercut.”

“I’ll think about it,” Peter sighs but leans into the cuddles. He wants it so bad he can almost see the place they would get, but he’s so scared. No one- not a single person in his life- was safe when he was living near them. Yeah, Deadpool doesn’t really have to worry about Peter’s villains causing him too many problems, but how can Peter allow him to sleep next to him when, even in a coma, he hurts himself and breaks the room he’s in?

A few days pass and Peter only grows increasingly anxious to return to patrol and his own space. With the growing anxiety comes heightened spidey senses that make sleep impossible during the day. Leaving only a few precious hours of Wade’s patrol time to catch any sleep, but with so little sleep, if the nightmares don’t wake him, Wade does. Coaxing him with a gentle voice to leave the nightmare monsters behind and rejoin him in reality. In reality, Peter is exhausted.

One day, he waits until Deadpool has been out for about an hour, then pulls out the rest of his stitches. The worst ones were the ones on his back that had started to heal over, making Peter have to dig them out a little to remove them. After that, Peter does some low-grade exercises and pretends his entire body doesn’t scream in pain with only the first pull-up.

He pushes himself farther than he should on everything, especially on the treadmill he found in a storage room, but with nothing to do but pace the ceiling and drive himself crazy. Working out until he throws up seems like a great idea.

He doesn’t throw up, but when he does collapse onto the couch after several hours, he is sweaty and delirious. With both his mind and body finally the same amount of exhausted, Peter falls asleep.

He doesn’t remember the dreams he has, but he will never forget the feeling of Wade’s chest caving under his hands as he shoves him off of him. The bone that should never splinter and should certainly never crumble turns to sand in his fist, the soft bits that were probably Wade’s heart and lungs squish horrifyingly between his fingers. For a moment, he waits for this part of the nightmare to end. It’s usually when he gets to wake up, the real Wade’s voice in his ear. Except he is awake, there’s still blood on his hands, and if Wade had a voice, it would not be gentle or sweet.

Now, Peter does vomit. He sobs and throws up long enough to hear Wade’s new lungs start choking on the old ones. He doesn’t stay any longer, though. With blood-soaked clothes and hands, he runs.

It’s late, but even in the city that never sleeps, there are enough dark alleys and empty streets for Peter to make it to his apartment building unnoticed. He doesn’t go to his apartment. There isn’t really a reason for it, except maybe he isn’t ready to face where he almost died. Instead, he crawls up the side of the building and shoves open a window he is only guessing leads to the right one. He is rewarded with the smell of gunpowder and leather, which is stale from Wade’s absence, but it’s enough for Peter. He curls up in Wade’s bed and sobs. He doesn’t know for how long.

He hears Wade’s thick Deadpool boots on the stairs outside pass by after a while. Peter knows he should call out to his friend. He even sits up and wipes his eyes, squares his shoulders, and opens his mouth to shout, but his voice fails him, and he crumples down into his own lap with silent tears.

What is there to even say? How can he possibly apologize for crushing his chest? Panic freezes his lungs, and a coughing fit leads him to the bathroom. Unfortunately, he trips on one of the many scattered belongings on the floor. Peter falls with a loud crash and a very un-Spider-manly scream.

Wade is there before he can even figure out what he had fallen on, his bare face full of worry. Wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist, he hauls him to a standing position. He doesn’t stop there. He just bends slightly and lifts Peter over his shoulder.

“What are-”

“Shut up.” Wade is pissed, rightfully so, but if he’s pissed, Peter wonders why he would search him out. They get a few feet from Wade’s front door when he pauses, Peter braces for being literally kicked out. At least they hadn’t been dating yet. He’s not getting broken up with.

“Wait. Why are you here?” Wade drops him back onto his feet and searches his teary eyes for something. “You know I regenerate, right? Why are you crying?” A hand comes up and almost touches Peter’s face, but Wade hesitates, and all Peter gets is the ghost of a touch.

“I-” A wounded sound breaks from Peter’s chest. He fights off another with a few deep breaths and tries again. “I’m so sorry, I know that’s not en- I’m sorry.” The broken sounds cut him off again, so he hangs his head in defeat and covers his mouth with his hands to muffle them.

“Peter, why my apartment?” Wade’s voice is soft again, like the last time Peter was here.

“You said it was safe here?” He’s so unsure, and his voice is so small. He’s never sounded so hopeless.

“Do you want to stay?” Wade pauses, “Or do you really want to go home?”

“I need to sleep. I can’t let that happen again,” it hurts to say the next part. “Thank you for everything. Goodbye.” He doesn’t look at Wade, just turns to leave.

“Peter Fucking Parker, that is not what I asked.” Wade is suddenly in front of him, blocking the exit. “What do you want?”

“I want to stay okay!” Peter doesn’t want to yell, but he can’t seem to help it. “But I KILLED you, Wade. D-E-A-D. Not alive. I held what I think was your heart in my hands. I can’t stay.”

“Baby Boy, you already have my heart, but if you wanted it that bad, I can always just cut it out for you. Less messy that way.” Wade tries to joke, but Peter does not find it funny. “Okay, confession time, let’s sit for this.” With that, he drags the curly-haired man to an over-stuffed couch with several stab marks running through it, exposing wood and stuffing underneath.

“No, I need to-.” Peter is pushed to sit on the couch, and Wade joins him, hands firmly grasped in Peter’s he smiles his ‘I didn’t think this would bother you’ smile, and Peter feels like he’s going to throw up again.

“So the first night of your coma, you were burning through the pain meds like a junkie on a bender before rehab, so you were screaming and thrashing in your sleep. So I tried to wake you or just do something, and you- well, you squashed my head like a grape. Not that that wasn’t totally hot, but I know you’re not into that stuff.” It comes out in a rush, a wave of words that Peter’s brain barely understands, and it stuns him in a way that makes his body numb.

“What? No, please, no.” Peter’s ears are ringing, and he suddenly feels the temperature in the room plummet even though he’s sweating like it's 90ºF. Tears drip off his chin and land on his fingers where they show between Wade’s. He grips the other man like he might turn to ash and float away in the wind. “No.” This is his actual worst nightmare that has come to life. He really is a danger to those around him.

“I didn’t say anything when you didn’t remember, but cards on the table it wasn’t a problem then and the heart thing isn’t either.” He sounds far away, and Peter is trying so hard to listen, but the ringing is getting louder, and it’s so hard to breathe. “Hey, Peter, look at me.”

There’s a hand on Peter’s face, and there’s something wet on it, and Peter’s brain screams blood and pain. He flinches, crying out. Time stops and also runs too fast. One second, he’s sitting on the couch being held by Wade, and the next, he’s being pinned to the floor. The cool wood feels good against the hot skin on his face, even as the pain of being slammed into the floor catches up to him. His ears are still ringing, and a sharp pain cuts down his cheek not pressed to the floor. Vaguely the memory of scratching at his own face surfaces.

“Sorry! Sorry, Petey, but you’re hurting yourself.” Wade murmurs into his ear. Peter’s body continues to fight Wade for a moment until his brain catches up, and his whole body stills. He still can't breathe, and his heart is going to slam through his rib cage at any moment.

“Shhh, shhhh, I'm here. You're okay.”

“Why wouldn't you tell me?” Peter sobs when he finds his voice again. “I would have never put you in danger like that.”

“Please tell me why you're so scared of this. You fight criminals literally every day. The hospital has a special protocol for Spider-related injuries, and it's not just ice packs and bandaids. And once again, for the audience and you: I. Regenerate. Cannot die. Worse than a cockroach.” Wade does not let him up off the floor. His hands are pinned behind his back as gently as possible, but still not getting out without probably having to hurt Wade again. Not that Peter really felt like getting up anyway.

“It's different with you!” Peter mumbles to the floor.

“You and I wrestle all the time. You've broken several of my bones and laughed.” Wade's confused, and Peter can't blame him.

“Spider-Man does those things.” He's ashamed to admit how much he blames the violence on the mask. But he has to draw a line somewhere, right? And Peter Parker does not hurt people—especially the ones he loves.

He is too tired to panic any further about that revelation, so he digs his face harder into the floor and waits for Wade to respond, which takes a long time.

“Okay, I can work with that.” Then he lets Peter off the floor. Peter just chooses to lay there and continue trying to breathe through the revelation that he's killed Wade twice now with no control over the matter.

“Work with what Wade? I'm moving out of this building as soon as I can. I can't risk you coming in while I'm sleeping like that ever again.” Peter says to the floor.

“I'll follow you, and you know it.” Wade sounds scared. “I-”

“No!” Peter pushes himself into a seated position facing Wade. “You will stay away from Peter Parker and maybe Spider-man too for a while.” Peter's heart is shattering, but he can't do this if he can't control himself. He's thankful Wade is capable of being okay, but if he wasn't- that's too much for Peter to think about.

“Where would you go? How do you know leaving won't just make you a danger to someone else?” Wade makes too much sense for Peter's liking, so he just looks at the walls and the floor, anywhere but at Wade. “Run away if that's what you really want. I won't look for you if you say so, but Peter I, I should… I think you should stay.”

Peter would bet anything there was more to that statement and the fact that Deadpool, of all people, is holding back. That scares Peter.

“What were you going to say?” The edge to Peter's voice is back, the hairs on the back of his neck raise in a way they haven't around Wade or Deadpool in months. “Wade?”

He isn't looking at Peter. The small knife concealed in his suit is in his hands, twirling between his fingers. An action Peter recognizes from years of patrol, Wade is nervous. That’s enough to unset Peter’s resolve.

“Actually, you know what? Never mind. Goodbye, Wade. Again, I'm so sorry.” Peter stands then, eyes firmly on the door. He's not going to lose his nerve this time.

“You said you love me,” Wade screams it like it's on fire in his throat—horse and terrified. Peter freezes only a few steps away, turning to face him again, his mind running a million miles a minute, trying to figure out when he had said that.

“Okay, you said you might love me- which we both know means you’re either too closeted or too scared to admit to yourself that you do love me, and well, I love you too, but if you’re just going to keep running from me like, like I’m some sort of problem I will let you go, but honestly I love you so I want you to stay-”

“Wade! You love me?” Peter finally gathers enough of his wit to stop the tirade of sound coming from his friend. Boyfriend? Hearing Wade’s interpretation of their conversion a few weeks ago makes Peter question everything he had doubted up to this point. Was Wade right? Had they really already said I love you?

“Do you not love me?” It was probably a joke. Wade even says it like it is one, but the look in his eyes betrays that he’s terrified Peter will say he doesn’t.

“I do, I love you.” If Peter wasn’t sure before, he is now, just based on the fact he said yes without thinking about it. His mouth moved, and he realized that it was true all at the same time. He was suddenly relieved and terrified all at once. This could be a disaster.

“I love you, Peter Parker, and it scares me when you cut me out like this.” Wade doesn’t move towards him but sways like he wants to. Hands sheathing his knife and gripping onto his own belt like he needs it to keep them off of Peter.

“Can I have a hug?” Peter’s emotions at war leave him torn open, worse than the physical tearing he received weeks ago.

“Not yet,” Wade at least sounds pained as well. “I need to say this angry, and if I hug you, I won’t be angry anymore.” His voice dips, and the anger bleeds through again. Peter’s stomach sinks, and he’s afraid this is over before he knew it had started—typical Parker Luck.

“Peter Parker. I told you over and over again. I’m not letting you do this alone. Also, it's not yet confirmed that the Big Bads haven’t red-flagged this place. You left a Red Brick Road right to your front window, Baby. You are not healed, and don’t bullshit me, Parker, I know it. You took forever to get here, even if I went to the wrong place first.” Peter doesn’t object. Wade is right. Peter wanted to hear that Wade was committed so badly but refused to trust what he saw the other man do for him. It wasn’t Deadpool’s patrol times or routes that Wade had been keeping up on these past few weeks.

“I’m-”

“And I’m not done. I watched you fucking Die. Not ‘oh, I’ll be back just a sec, Honey’ kind of die either. Peter. You do not come back after something like that. I said it before and will say it a million more times. Knowing now what you go through, I’m never not going to be five seconds behind every one of your swings. If not faster.” Now, he smiles and reaches for Peter. Who gladly rushes in towards the embrace. It’s rough but in a tender way that lovers being reunited embrace. A way that shows the universe, not even it can tear them from each other's arms.

“I love you.” Is said by both of them too many times to count before they finally stumble back into Wade's room, the stale scent mixing with the fresh in a way that makes Peter’s head spin in a good way for the first time in who knows how long. He almost feels drunk when they crash down onto the bed. Wade landing heavily but comfortably on top of him, knees slotted perfectly between his own, like they were made for each other.

Wade leans up and looks deeply into Peter’s eyes. If he is looking for an answer to something, he seems to find it because he just shakes his head and smiles at Peter. It’s a soft smile. It promises a long time of devotion and love. Peter hopes his returning smile is filled with the same level of emotion because he feels every drop of it.

“We have so much more to talk about Spider-Babe, but right now? I’ve been dreaming of having you in this bed for years. So right now, I will make some of those dreams come true.” Then he leans in to kiss Peter. It’s not their first or even close to it, but it’s filled with that same liquid fire as before. Lighting every nerve on fire, Peter sinks into the feeling and hopes he’s never stupid enough to run from it again.