Work Text:
It was getting colder.
Snow had yet to grace New York City, but the chilled concrete iced his bruised palms through his tattered suit. Peter rolled up his mask and harshly exhaled. Condensation made smoky shapes around his mouth before blending into the night sky.
The sunset began to peak up at the far horizon, battling the darkness above. Morning already? What day was it?
His eyelids were heavy and threatened to shut. In retaliation, Peter dug his palms harder into the rough concrete with a hiss. His eyes fluttered open but his body begged for rest. Instead, Peter scanned his surroundings before resigning and climbing down the complex and through his window.
The apartment was pathetic, but it was what he could manage. The various bits of furniture were put together by himself from parts he came across either for concerningly cheap or from dumpsters around his area.
His battered mattress never looked so appealing, but Peter sighed wearily and turned towards his bathroom. Adverse to the mirror, he cranked the shower knob while keeping his head down. Peter slowly peeled off his suit, exposing his damaged skin. Cuts and bruises were littered about his pale torso—they should’ve healed by now.
Peter took a preparatory breath before stepping into cold water. Already shivering from the late New England fall weather, he braced himself against the shower wall. At least it kept him awake.
After throwing on yesterday’s outfit, he finally let himself fold onto his bed. Sleep loomed upon him, and he was tempted to let it win. But after glancing at the time displayed on his burner, Peter pushed himself up and threw on his nicest—albiet rather ragged—coat.
His whole body was sore and in desperate need of a break. That never stopped him.
—//—
Fortunately, it wasn’t a busy day at the bodega. He got off his shift a bit earlier—courtesy of his uncaring manager—but he didn’t know what to do. Matt had been subtly encouraging him to make some friends his age, however he had always brushed it off. The sun had been setting much earlier so he had an hour or two before the sky would darken. With hesitation, Peter walked towards the subway with his hands buried in pockets.
His stomach growled, reminding him of his ever-present hunger. Cafés and restaurants were scattered throughout his peripheral, but with rent due soon, Peter kept his head down.
He didn’t have to wait long before getting on, and then off at Hell’s Kitchen.
—//—
Matt’s office wasn’t a far walk, but Peter decided to find a bench to wait on. He laid his bag on his lap, and coddled it like a soft pillow despite its rough exterior. The work day was to end soon, so Peter made comfort on the chill bench. His eyes drooped and he couldn’t stifle a loud yawn.
The sun was setting and he was sitting alone in Hell’s kitchen. It would be stupid to-
His eyes softly fell shut, and his breathing softened. Like that, the world went dark.
—//—
“...Peter? Peter?”
Peter gasped awake once he felt a hand shake him. He pushed his bag aside and threw his body and fists up in a sloppy fighting stance. A hazy figure easily shoved his arm down.
“Peter,” a man—Matt—huffed, “What happened, bud?”
“Matt,” Peter rasped in response. He rubbed his eyes and observed their surroundings—it was already night.
The older man waited for an explanation.
“We were going to patrol together tonight,” he whispered instead.
“Peter… you’re tired. Sit this one out,” Matt directed.
Peter huffed: “When has that ever worked?”
Matt pursed his lips but gave a short nod.
“My apartment. Your suit’s in your bag?” He questioned, extending his arm subtly.
Peter nodded before taking Matt’s elbow.
They quickly caught a cab, and he shot Wade a quick text.
—//—
Peter was immediately hit with the familiar scent of Matt’s apartment. The second thing he noticed was that it was warm. Hot, even. His fingers twitched with a burning sensation after being numb for so long. He quickly shrugged off his coat and hung it next to Matt’s.
The older man disappeared into his room, and Peter took it as his cue to take his bag to the bathroom and change. He trudged towards the bathroom, threw down his bag, and took a harsh breath before stripping his last layer of protection from the cold. He slowly unveiled his suit from his bag, blood stains and holes scattered throughout it. Great. He never got to wash it or sew it back. Instead of making moves to pull it on, Peter sat on the cold tile in his boxers, face blank.
“Is there a problem?” Matt prompted suddenly, making him jump. Where did he come from? He ignored how his spidey sense seemed to have failed him.
Matt was already clad in his own suit, and leaned against the open door frame of the bathroom. Even though he was blind, Peter couldn’t help but attempt to cover his mostly-naked frame with the tattered fabric.
“Kinda. My suit… I never got to wash and fix it.”
Matt smirked at his predicament and let out an irritating and unhelpful laugh.
“Guess you can’t patrol now.”
Peter shot him a pointed look. Out of spite, he stuck his legs in his suit and pulled it on despite its holes. Thankfully, it wasn’t in too bad of shape. When he crouched down to zip up his bag, Matt swiftly joined him on the tiled floor and rested his hand on the teen’s shoulder.
“Peter, I’m serious. Sit this one out. You’re too tired. You’ll just be a-”
Peter pushed Matt off of him roughly. He ignored how his knees felt like buckling when he attempted to stand up, and instead cried, “I’m fine.”
Without looking back at Matt, he stormed towards his fire escape and crawled up to the roof, discreetly. Without a second to rest, a booming voice announced, “Spidey!”
Peter attempted to stifle a sigh. Afterall, he was the one to call Wade. But now, he was simply too tired to handle the energetic man. Matt joined them on the roof and dryly greeted Wade.
“Hey Wade,” he finally gutted out, irritated by the man for seemingly no reason.
“Who pissed in your socks, baby boy?” Wade remarked. Peter huffed.
Before either Matt or Wade could comment on his demeanor, they heard a cry for help not too far away. Immediately, the three vigilantees leaped off Matt’s roof, with Peter lagging behind. By the time he arrived on the scene, Matt was already mid-fight with two goons. His vision was blurred, but he attempted to analyze the situation—where was the victim?
He didn’t have the time to finish assessing the fight before a boom rang in his ears—a gunshot. Matt dodged the bullet and a third armed man made himself visible. Peter stalked towards him and threw his fists up, then swung his leg in an attempt to disarm him. Before it could leave the ground, a blunt knee pummeled his side—fuck, a fourth one. Geez, how many were there?
Although it normally wouldn’t have impacted him this much, Peter fell to the ground and clutched his side in agony. With attention now on him, the gunman sidestepped and aimed his firearm at him. Before he could dodge, the man pulled the trigger and—bang! Peter embraced himself in anticipation of white hot pain but there was nothing. Instead, Wade laid in front of him, gushing with blood. Shit! With crimson spewing down his side, he sprang up and swiftly disarmed the gunman with a quick kick, then knocked him out with another blow. Although their current threat was neutralized, a couple more men approached from the side.
Peter heard Matt yell, “Deadpool, get yourself and Spider-Man the fuck out of here!”
Before he could resist, Wade swept him into his arms and parkoured up onto an adjacent roof.
“Wad- DP- are you-”
Wade shushed him and signalled to the already regenerating wound. They sat in silence—well, silence excluding Peter’s heavy breaths—for a while until Daredevil flung himself onto the roof. His frustration was on clear display, even with his mask on.
“Spidey, what was that?!” Matt shouted, towering over Peter, “You risked everyone—shit, you got Deadpool shot—just because you were too stubborn to not act like a-”
Peter’s eyes glistened with salty tears, threatening to fall. Matt took a shaky breath to try calming himself down. With a sigh, he asked, “any injuries?”
His side throbbed, but Peter stayed silent.
Wade quipped at Matt, “nothing that won’t heal, baby.”
Matt growled and turned away to compose himself.
“Bring him back to my apartment,” Matt ordered dryly, before racing back.
“I should go home–”
“Spider-Man,” Matt gritted, not willing to take any noncompliance.
—//—
They arrived at Matt’s place a couple minutes after him. Peter fell onto the couch with a sigh and Wade followed behind him, crouching down by his legs on the carpet.
“Take your suit off,” Wade ordered. Peter reluctantly slid off the upper portion of his suit and let the fabric lay on his hips. A booming bruise decorated his side in various colors.
“It’s bad,” Wade described to Matt, who was lurking nearby, brooding in his suit, “but it should’ve healed by now.”
Peter heard a faint call elsewhere in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt quickly took off, murmuring, “I’ll be back.”
Wade turned to Peter and gave him a soft look that made him sick.
“Have you been eating enough, Pete?” He asked, rubbing his knees gently, “when was the last time you’ve slept?”
Peter mumbled, “I- I don’t know.”
Wade sighed, “you should’ve sat out today.”
“I- yeah.”
Wade got up and sat beside him on the couch. Peter let his head rest on the other man. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
—//—
Peter woke up with a gasp. He immediately noticed two things: it was pitch dark, and there was a warm form next to him. He leaned into the body—it was Matt. Remembering how frustrated he was with him earlier, Peter winced and slowly withdrew from the bed. He slid out of the sheets and let the cold air hit him with a wince. Then, he slowly stalked towards the bathroom, using his hands to feel around in the darkness. Peter quietly flicked on the bathroom light and turned on the sink to splash his face with ice cold water. He looked up at his reflection—wow, he looked like shit.
Peter let himself get lost in his pitiful reflection until he heard someone clear their throat beside him. He looked towards Matt. The man’s clothes were disheveled and his hair was a mess.
“I woke you up,” Peter stated carefully, not sure if Matt was mad at him, “sorry.”
Matt said nothing. He sighed and pulled Peter close, drawing him into an unexpected hug. He wanted to resist, but Matt’s warmth was too comforting. The bruise on his torso cried at the touch, but Peter stayed silent. He let the older man pull him into bed and back under the sheets. Peter hated being coddled by Matt or Wade, but he was tired. He let Matt snake a hand around him and spoon him until his eyes soon shut.
—//—
When Peter woke up, the bed was empty. Although his senses were hazy, he heard murmuring from the kitchen. Peter pushed himself up and towards the bathroom, where he had his own designated brush. Once emerging, he walked towards Wade and Matt, who were softly conversing. Didn’t Matt have work? He must’ve slept for so long the man had returned.
Wade waved to Peter and he returned an awkward grin. At the sound of his growling stomach, Matt threw him a protein shake. Peter murmured a “thank you” and popped open the lid, chugging it down. God, he was hungry. Wade chucked at his appetite.
“Come sit down, Petey, that’s only the appetizer.”
Peter let himself smile. He hoped they wouldn’t mention last night. He sat down by an empty plate and watched Wade poorly flip pancakes on the stove. Wade shoveled 3 pancakes onto his plate before returning to the stove. He quickly devoured them, and not bothering with syrup or any toppings
“Peter, why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?” Matt asked plainly, his voice half disappointed and half concerned.
Peter stuttered, “I- uh…”
Before he could manage a response, Matt softly lectured, “You have to make sure you’re energized if you want to patrol. You're a risk to everyone, not just yourself, when you go out on no sleep or food.”
Peter let out a shaky breath, “yeah… sorry… it’s just… it’s just been a long week.”
Wade came over, offering another 3 pancakes. He swiftly turned off the stove and sat down across from Peter.
“Petey, you know you can always ask us for help, right?”
Peter nodded weakly.
Changing the topic, Matt asked, “is your side feeling better?”
He gently pressed his bruise and assessed, “yeah. Sleeping it off helped,” Peter looked at Wade and continued, “sorry that I got you shot.”
Wade reached towards him and ruffled his hair.
“It’s okay, bud.”