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Something is off with Wade.
Peter doesn't know what and he doesn't know why, but there's something festering beneath the surface.
It's not that Wade is acting weird—though maybe he's zoning out more than usual—it's more like there's something hollowing out in him. His laugh, the way he talks- Peter's pretty sure John Jameson isn't like this when he comes home from space.
"I want you to kill me" doesn't brush off as a joke anymore after Wade repeats it and refuses to clearly state that it's not a true statement of his feelings. And what is Peter doing about this feeling of wrongness?
"I think I took you being in space for granted."
Peter is Peter. A little sarcastic, a little mean, but never serious. He can't handle the responsibility of being anything else.
"Unfortunately," Wade replied, "I totaled the fuck out of my spaceship coming back, so I'm grounded for the time being."
Peter brought his legs up to his chest, ankles crossed, and his fingers intertwined in front of them. He stared, almost unblinking. Everything else fell away from his vision outside of Wade.
"You could have stayed up there," Peter continued because he couldn't stop himself once he started, "in the vacuum. Sort of undead. Maybe you'd crash back down to earth in a few hundred years."
They're on a narrow ledge that isn't made to be sat on. Wade has his legs on either side so he could face Peter even if it didn't seem that comfortable, but he was leaning his weight onto his hands in front of him to, presumably, make it better.
"Like an angel," Wade said. "The nicest angel they have."
"I didn't ask for one."
"No, but aren't those the best gifts?"
There's something insidious between them. Their conversation rotting as it settled. The jokes and jabs don't hit the same.
At this point, someone might ask "are you okay?" It's a good part of the conversation to do so, once a level of comfort has been established.
Peter doesn't ask. He lets the moment pass them by and Wade is already on a new topic saying:
"We should have a feast. Didn't you miss our shared nacho dinners?"
"I can eat nachos without you."
"I would never! Who are you eating nachos with in an attempt to replace me?"
"Myself, Wade." Peter let his knees fall to either side of him. "There's no one quite like you."
"Oh," Wade brought his hands to his face in mock embarrassment, "you're just saying that to make me blush."
"Are you okay?" Peter should ask.
He has to, there's no way to get around it. He can't go this whole conversation ignoring the insincerity. What type of friend would that make him?
Still, he doesn't. And again, Wade moved the moment along.
"By the way," he said, "I totally brought you back a souvenir but it blew up with my ship."
If Peter was a better friend, he could do it. The minute he realized that something was wrong, he would've stopped the situation from ever going further without properly addressing the elephant in the room. He would've doubled down until that big, ugly mass of things called feelings was untangled.
"And I'm leaving tonight, 8 or 9," Wade continued, "so let's make this day count."
"Where are you going?"
Wade put his hand to his chest.
"Oh Canada, my Canada, I've got a date with our favorite Wolvie."
"Oh."
Peter shifted again, turning in his seat so that his legs dangled over the ledge. He started tapping his heel against the wall, staring hard at the rhythmic movement.
"Don't be jealous, I'll tell him you said hi."
"Good, I was worried about that."
From the corner of his eye, Peter saw Wade turn too.
It was weird how distant he was, physically. Wade always encroached on Peter's space, always shifted closer each time he changed position, but they were sitting a hand away from each other.
And it felt empty. Lonely. Like Wade never really came back from space at all.
Peter could pretend like he had barely noticed Wade being gone. It's always been who he was, doing things alone. And the days bled into each other already, it was hard to tell how much time had really passed. But Peter knew. Despite what he wanted to say, the whole time he felt it. Saw it. That sudden disappearance from his side. The creeping want in the back of his head for it to come back.
He should ask now, that infernal question of "are you okay?"
"Did you eat a lemon?" Wade asked.
"What?"
Peter snapped his head to look at Wade, who had his head tilted to see him better.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I hate you," Peter wanted to reply. That's not fair, he can't ask him that. Not when Wade's the one who's not okay, not when Peter was working his way up to asking that same exact question.
"Are you okay?" Peter repeated back instead, now that it's infinitely easier.
It's deflection, it's snark, it's plausible deniability.
"Nuh uh," Wade rebutted, "I asked first."
Peter hesitated, having to face the intricacies of relationships he so dutifully avoided. He ended up with:
"I'm okay if you're okay."
"Then I'm okay."
"Are you?"
This was his chance. And Peter was petty. He was going to poke and prod now until he got what he wanted because Wade had the audacity to beat him to the punch.
This probably wasn't going to help anyone. Wade could gain more comfort talking to himself than Peter could ever provide.
"Do you love me?" Wade asked abruptly.
"What?"
"I mean, you love me, right?" Peter didn't answer right away, so Wade filled the space himself with: "And I don't mean you have to confess anything, I just need to know that, as my friend, you love me, yes?"
And would you kill me? Peter heard underneath that from before.
This went deeper than just a simple reassurance.
"Wade," Peter started and he knew that's not how he should start, "why do you ask?"
"Why don't you answer, it's rude."
"Of course I like you."
"You like me?" Wade parroted. "Like, as in you care about me?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I know these are hard for you, but it's a yes or no question."
"No– I mean, it's not hard. Yes. I care about you."
This time Wade paused. Peter didn't think it worked. Wade didn't gain whatever it was he wanted from that question. Probably because Peter didn't provide anything other than empty words.
He wasn't good at this. Peter knows he's hard to read. His actions spoke louder than his words, but sometimes his words meant more than he could ever show.
It's what happens when you're never really one person at any given time.
"You ever want someone that you can't be with?" Wade asked, less suddenly than last time, but again, before Peter could answer he went on: "I mean, really can't be with. No matter how hard you both might try, you're just not meant to be. Someone far, far away. Someone you just can't have because you're… you."
For a moment Peter is worried this is a conversation about him, and he doesn't like how that feels. A sort of stomach dropping feeling of the impending. A peek behind the curtain when the wind blows.
It's worse than the Spider-Sense because it is slow and soaking unlike the fast and sharp precognition.
Peter ignored the feeling.
"There's a relationship with someone I can only have– that I only had because of circumstances that no longer exist and will never exist again"—and that only Wolverine knew about no less—"so yes, Wade, I know what it's like to love someone unattainable."
Wade pulled a gun out from its holster. They both stared down at it in his hands.
"Peter shot me," Wade said simply. "A while back. Put a bullet through my heart.* It was lodged there for a bit, that bullet. Not anymore."
Peter kept staring at the gun. Maybe for a moment too long.
"Of course," Wade continued, "I didn't die like most other people. You have to aim for the brain at least. I guess he spared me the feeling of her slipping through my fingers."
It dawned on him, then, that this conversation was about death, of course. Not just that, but about her. For some reason, that brought him no relief. Peter had this sense of entitlement to Wade the same way Wade felt some type of exclusivity to Spider-Man.
"You actually want to die," Peter asked, finally peeling his eyes away from the gun and to Wade's face, "don't you?"
"I want to be with someone who loves me."
He could say it, he could argue "I love you, Wade. You can stay with me."
But he won't. He can't even ask if Wade's okay.
He can't do this right now at all actually.
He has three unread emails from the Fantastic Four. His Spider-Sense is gone. He can't save anyone—he got shot through the stomach the other day. Marla Jameson is dead and it's his fault.
And Wade wasn't there for any of it. And Peter can't be here for any of this.
"And that's Death," Peter said instead.
"She waits for me on the other side. Always."
Peter doesn't do that. He doesn't move from New York, so of course he and Wade run back into each other, but Peter doesn't meet him. He makes Wade come to him.
There is a brick wall between them, and Peter is building it. For every brick he adds, Wade takes one away and Peter relies on Wade doing that.
The problem with the two of them is that they don't actually have any love to give each other. Wade thinks he does, but then here he was showing what he truly yearned for. Death was her, everyone else was just someone to fill the space.
And Peter can't fault Wade for that. He's the same way, it was just Peter didn't kid himself into thinking it was possible to fill that hole with something or someone else. It's just a part of you that's missing and will always be missing.
"Could you love someone you know can't love you?" Peter asked.
He didn't know why exactly he asked, he just wanted to know.
Wade isn't smarter than him, but for some reason Peter asked him questions like an authority—sure Wade was older but neither of them put any weight on it. Peter can say this habit was scientific curiosity, but it was more.
"Love isn't reciprocal," Wade replied. "That's why it hurts. Sometimes you love someone so much more than they love you. And you just have to eat the difference."
Because Peter knew these things. It's not new information, but he still wanted to hear it from Wade. He still wanted to feel like there's something to be educated about and learn. He liked the way Wade spoke, strangely enough. Peter asked questions like it could show how much Wade mattered to him.
If he could just say that, say anything, maybe they'd be better off. But Peter can't.
Or rather, he won't.
"I think it's part of what's so hard about being friends with someone in a toxic relationship," Wade continued. "It's not that you're annoyed with them staying, it's that it hurts. It hurts to see someone you love hurt, doesn't it? It hurts to pour love and attention into someone who turns around and gives more of it to someone you know doesn't deserve it. And you can blame that other person all you want, but at the end of the day what hurts the most is that they simply have something you don't. And one day, you will fall in love with the toxic one and it will hurt. The infatuation will shrivel up in the hell that burns cold of your relationship, but, for some reason, it'll leave behind the love and you'll hurt even more. And when it hurts, you will gnash your teeth and stand your ground because you know love isn't reciprocal or unconditional, it's constant forgiveness. So you will forgive and you will work for it back until the moment you realize that everyone around you is also hurt. And this person you're contorting to love maybe, just maybe, isn't right."
Wade put the gun back in place.
"But you tell yourself that if they can hate you," he muttered, "if they can kill you, that has to mean they care."
Something is off with Wade. Peter's pretty sure he's going to die.
*See part 10! ↺