Chapter Text
Peter stares at his reflection above the sink with flickering resolve, the smell is making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. The suit is starting to stick to his skin and he does not want it sticking to him right now. His suit is covered in blood, pieces of flesh, brain tissue, and a whole lot of bone splinters. It has to come off.
Over his head...
Dear God.
Tentatively he grabs the hem of the top and starts pulling. He tries and fails to suppress the full-body shiver as he feels - and hears - the "goo" slosh around with the motion and- OhmyGod ohmyGod he can feel it dripping down his back! Holding his breath and inching his eyes closed, he coaxes the fabric off his arms but then it gets stuck at his nose. He gives a distressed whine and pulls harder. It comes off with a pop and he throws the top away with more force than what´s really necessary before turning back to the sink. It takes a few seconds of fumbling to find the handle and twist it, as his eyes are currently covered in man-parts and being promptly shut. As soon as the water´s running he starts violently washing his face, ripping the rest of his suit off as soon as he can see again, and then leaves the room, quickly.
Ten minutes later Peter has cleaned himself and the bathroom from any dead parts and put his still very non-clean suit in an old paint jar from the basement. Yup, totally ignoring this problem for now.
*
Gwen is going through his overstuffed closet with fierce determination. Peter sits on his bed, not daring to come between Gwen and her mission.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that closet are supposed to be messy?" Peter comments. "If you have a neat closet then anyone random Joe can find your secrets in it. ´Cause it's, you know, sorted."
Gwen shoots him a look over her shoulder and he puts his hands up in mock surrender. She turns back to her task at hand and Peter deems it safe to continue.
"I mean, not that I have any secret bigger than my red and blue one, that you don't know of, but still."
"So you're saying that you have secrets that I don't know of?"
"...uhmm"
"Uh-huh. Anyway, your closet is 'nough of a train wreck right now for not even you to find your secrets."
"Exactly, it's a perfect defense against snoopers." He puts emphasis on the last word and pulls a you-know-what-I-mean face at Gwen when she turns to glare at him again. He sees her lips quirk up in a smile before she turns away again.
"You know, this would be over much sooner if you would just help me."
"Alright, alright," he laughs, "what do you need?"
"A box to put all your junk in, and a bag to put all the actual junk in."
Peter squawks. "There is nothing to throw away in there!"
"I just found half a pop-tart in here," Gwen says pointedly.
Persuaded, Peter gets up to bring a box from the basement and moves the trash can next to Gwen on his way. He sees her put the pop-tart in it with a disgusted face before leaving the room.
He hasn't even gotten to the stairs when he hears it.
"Oh God!" Followed by a choked, gagging sound.
Slowly Peter walks back to his room, tentatively peeking around the threshold. He's hit with an eye-watering bad smell and urgently looks for the source.
In Gwen's lap is an opened paint jar with something inside.
Crap.
He draws a breath to explain himself and immediately regrets it as he starts coughing.
"Oh God, it smells like old cheese vinegar and Flash's armpits!" He wheezes out through the coughing fit. Tears are streaming down his face and Gwen - and the insulting jar - are but a blur in front of him.
"It smells like rotten meat and mold!" Gwen shouts out hoarsely. (Trust Gwen to be able to pinpoint even the random smells of Peter's room.) "What the hell is this?!"
"Deadpool?" he answers meekly and tries a toothy smile that immediately falls 'cause holy fuck he can taste it in his mouth, sticking to his pallet.
"What is th-! Peter, is this your Spider-suit?" She stares at him incredulously as it dawns on her - or at least, he thinks she is staring. God, his eyes are pouring.
"I don't know- I, just- can we...?" He gestures panicky at the rest of the house an doesn't bother waiting for an answer before turning around and heading straight for the front door. He hears Gwen's footsteps thundering down the stairs soon after him.
Once outside he leans heavily on the porch fence and gulps down air like a man drowning. Sweet, fresh air. He swears he hears angels singing in the back of his head. After a few more grateful breaths, he dares a peak at Gwen next to him. She's breathing heavily with tears and make-up running down her cheeks from her still watery eyes. She's staring at him with equal amount outrage and confusion, although a bit more confusion he thinks- Oh no, nevermind.
"Okay okay", he starts, knowing what's about to come. "There was a bad guy with a bomb and he kind of threw it at me-" Cough! "-and Deadpool caught it but then it blew up and- and he blew up, and..." he falters, thinking the rest is self explanatory.
Apparently it isn't.
"And what, you just left it like that?"
"What-!" he bursts out, somewhat insulted. "It was a rough day. And I had to clean the bathroom after just taking it off! I was traumatized, alright?" He flaps his arms wildly in the door's direction, hoping to prove his point further, but his efforts as Gwen is currently dry heaving over the railing.
"Oh my God. Is this why you haven't been patrolling this week?" she asks after recovering.
"I'm working on a new suit. It just takes some time to get it done."
Peter sees determination steel his girlfriend's eyes and... She can't-
"Peter", her tone is iron-clad.
He shakes his head in disbelief.
"You have to wash it-"
"No. No way. I am not washing it. I am not touching it. Let´s just throw it away and- I-I'll just not patrol until I have a new one." Even before he finishes talking he realizes the flaw in his plan. He's already ditched the Avenger's assembly twice this week and adamantly refused to turn on his police radio. His new suit isn't even halfway done and he knows he won't be able to stop himself from helping if anything happens.
And this is New York.
Gwen's face softens. "Peter," she says gently, coaxing him to look at her. At her stupidly cute blonde hair and hairband. At her face that is still so beautiful with tears and make-up smeared over it, and her gorgeous, blue eyes that are so much wiser, smarter, kinder than his could ever be.
"You can't just leave it in your closet forever. And, let's face it, even if you were to throw it out you'd have the entire street wondering what Aunt May could have cooked that would end up smelling like that." She smiles and he looks away with a quiet laugh. "And even if you can't wear it afterwards, at least it won't smell like that." She makes a disgusted face and he gives a genuine laugh this time, leaning over to kiss her.
"I love you", he says softly, looking at her blue eyes with mascara lines down her cheeks, thicker lines of mascara collected in the creases of her eyes. She smiles at him and it makes his heart swell.
"I love you too", she whispers and kisses him again. When she pulls away, she opens her eyes slowly and says, "but not enough to help you clean."
Peter groans and slumps over the railing and Gwen laughs.