Double Dipping

In an empty, wobbling subway car, Deadpool snagged a seat. The perpetual screeching of metal was unsettling. 

Hearing it before he saw it, steps and the weight shifting on thick metal. Deadpool’s eyes met with a familiar figure in red and blue spandex using the subway car as his playground, hanging on the ceiling, twisting on poles, and leaping through the aisle. There was music, but it was muffled by the clang and tear of rumbling metal. An excitement rippled, viewing the show that seemed just for him.

When the music ended its swell, Spidey moved past the vacant seats towards Deadpool, looking directly at him and prompting him to review his surroundings. Confronted with wide, emotionless white eyes looking directly at him, Deadpool did not know how to respond to the silent expectation. However, the smooth navigation of Spidey’s body language gave him an idea that made him coil up with shyness.

A hand outstretched to Deadpool, turned so he could rest his hands in the palm facing toward him. When he reached, he saw a card tipped between slender fingers. Deadpool hesitated, reviewing the card, an upside-down building on fire. It filled him with uncertainty and fear, lingering on the image intensely. The vision on the card persisted even when his eyes flickered open, staying just long enough for his bedroom to morph into view.

These freakin’ cards.

~~~~~~~~~~

Early in the morning, the subway was the best route to get to the other side of the city today, even if it put Deadpool on edge after last night’s summoning. 

The subway car was packed, bodies pressed against each other, ebbing with the propulsion of speed and turns. Deadpool’s suit stuck out in the sea of civilian commuters, though most did not pay him much attention. Over the tops of heads, his eyes caught with a pair staring directly at him, different from the occasional gawking.

Squinting, he determined “dweeb,” who quickly looked away after being caught. Deadpool noted brushed brown locks, which were slightly overgrown and threatening to curl, and piecing together a map of freckles under returning curious hazel eyes. 

Is that…Petey?

The eyes shifted awkwardly, knowing he had been recognized. Peter made a shyly sweet smile that was so addictive, like having champagne on a Saturday morning. A refreshment that melted away all the worries of anything that came before it.

Clang, clang, clang went the trolley
Ding, ding, ding went the bell
Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings
From the moment I saw him, I fell

When those eyes looked up at Deadpool, they moved away again just as quickly. That is when Deadpool noticed the woman beside him tugging at his shirt and saying something. Peter responded briefly, fixing his collar, before making eye contact again, attempting to be subtle, controlling the fear of being witnessed. Even from across the subway car, the slight in confidence was alluring. Stimulus around Deadpool seemed to fade away. Just the two of them, locking then looking away again, carrying Deadpool to a confusing vision of what was real and what he had imagined. 

The day was bright, the air was sweet
The smell of honeysuckle charmed me off my feet
I had to sing but couldn't squeak
In fact, I felt so good I couldn't even speak

A new set of eyes took Deadpool out of his trance. The woman looked at Peter and then in the direction he was looking. She began to stare at Deadpool, too. That is when he felt the train slow. 

When the doors opened, bodies vacated the small openings, and the pair made their way with the flood. Peter was gone, replaced by new passengers who paid no mind to the swirl of emotions brewing inside Deadpool. It felt real. Was it real? Would he wake up in a few seconds? Was he making this happen? Familiar emotions, marking imprints of new territory, the confusion of belonging somewhere he had never been, yet it had been here the whole time. All of it painful and passive, hitting Deadpool and sweeping him away, but when he heard the next stop come up, it was the smallest of efforts to get him out of the metal can that contributed to his dementia.  

~~~~~~~~~~

Boooooring!

Following this guy around all day is bogus. Why are we doing this again?

To find the Macguffin dufus.

We just called ourselves ‘dufus,’ hurhur.

“Shut it, you two,” Deadpool whispered. “Very important mission here.” He emphasized, not minding the worrisome glances from the stout man he was hired to protect. It had been a while since he had taken a mercenary job or even been inside Oscorp Tower. Walking down a long and winding hallway, one of many duplicates, he was sure, shunning Osborn's lack of aptitude for aesthetics. Looking out the window, he could view the city's sprawl from here. Views from this high up made him feel so small and vulnerable, almost as much as suckering to these same windows from the outside. 

Meeting after meeting. Oh wow, a tour around another big room that was so uninteresting. Every time the men in suits and lab coats opened their mouths, Deadpool was one small step from taking a nap or sucking on his gun like a lollipop. He could probably die from boredom now, and it would be a blessing. 

It was one of these travelings between room to lab when he spotted a terrible haircut approaching. The lousy hair was tall and in a nice suit that cost too much money, the heir. Deadpool eyed him, attempting not to seem too obvious, but the young man was distracted by the other who was walking with him. The spawn of Osborn was smiling, gesturing, and speaking words, too far away to hear. Deadpool recognized the other youthful face immediately, and he could not help but look at the constellation of freckles under thick eyebrows and sweeping hair he had seen earlier. Those beautiful features smiled charmingly with a lowered nod before looking up to see them hold uncertainly, returning the eye contact Deadpool could not believe was walking past him here. 

When those eyes he adored migrated to him, they crossed paths as if in slow motion, taking forever as their eyes locked amid outside agendas competing for attention. It felt like thunder erupting as they walked closer and closer. If it were not for the autopilot of Deadpool having walked right behind his ward for as long as he had, he might have walked straight into Peter and scooped him up.

The thrill of seeing Peter made Deadpool feel that much more lonely. Just before he passed, Peter’s eyes lowered, shaking Deadpool to his core, but just as Peter had done, he continued to pass without a sign as they went their separate ways.

Deadpool did not look back and was sure Peter did not either. They did not need to know why each other were here today. A reminder as to the secrets they both kept to themselves.

It took Deadpool a moment to find himself again. However, he remembered why he was here, and it seemed so insignificant now. When his ward pardoned to go to the restroom, he followed. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, and it gave him purpose for today.

“Do you have to follow me even here?” The businessman asked, frustrated.

“That’s what you hired me for, right? What if there was an assassin in there? What kind of bodyguard would I be?” Deadpool defended sarcastically.

“Stay here,” the businessman ordered, walking promptly through the restroom door. Deadpool obeyed for about eleven, twelve, thirteen, yeah, thirteen seconds was good before entering the potty room. 

Whistling jauntly, Deadpool checked the row of empty stalls before finding the occupied one. With a swift kick, the door bounced back at him, hoping he bruised the shit master’s knees real good. Twirling a gun in his fingers, Deadpool aimed, swinging the door open again. This time, a little slower for effect. He must have looked so cool when the little bitch saw him holding the gun sideways like a real OG. If his ward was not shitting, he certainly was now, and Wade could smell it. Good thing Mr. Poopers was already over a toilet. 

“Code. Gimme the code.” Deadpool ordered, making a grabbing gesture with his hand.

“Huh, w-wha?” The businessman blubbered. 

Even though Deadpool did not want to inhale the air of the stall further, he took another step to press the gun to the man’s forehead, “Say ‘What’ again, motha fucker! Say it!” Deadpool threatened. He always wanted to do that.

“P-pocket! Pocket!” Deadpool reached for the man’s slacks, “B-b-breast pocket!” The man squealed, too scared to move.

“Oh, my favorite one!” Deadpool commented. “Well, maybe my second favorite.” He fiddled with the small enclosure in the man’s jacket before finding a piece of paper with strings of random letters and numbers printed out. “Now that was easy. You were so cooperative.” A little double tap of the glock to the man’s cheek. “I’ll make this next part easy for you.”

“Anything! Anything!”

“Your shoes’ been untied all day, and it’s been really bothering me. Fix it.” Deadpool commanded, waving his gun toward the businessman’s feet. When the man looked down, trembling, Deadpool pressed the gun to the man's temple and pulled the trigger. 

The man slumped over the porcelain throne, reverberating sounds of air and eliminations filling the empty, echoing room. 

Deadpool took that as a sign to leave, holstering his weapon and reviewing the codes again to commit them to memory. It’s so hard! He looked around the restroom, eyeing walls and ceilings before coming across a vent above one of the stalls towards the back. 

At times like these, he wished he had been the one bitten by a radioactive spider. Deadpool’s shoulders squeezed toward his neck as he shimmied through the tight space. 

Deadpool found navigating the maze of metal in the low light more difficult than anticipated. It smelled weird and gave him an eerie feeling. He was trapped. Thinking some parasitic alien was just around the corner to gobble him up. Sending shivers up his spine, Deadpool imagined a baby alien spawn bursting forth from his diaphragm. It would be excruciating, messy. Or maybe a little sexy? Hey, I won’t yuck your yum. However, as Deadpool shuffled, a surge of uncertainty froze him, as he made out two wide glowing eyes staring back at him. 

The gulp of air Deadpool swallowed hung in his throat as the shadowed body skittered toward him. Swiftly outstretching his hands before his face, Deadpool shut his eyes and proclaimed to a higher power.

“OH MY GOD!”

“Shhhhhh! Sh-sh-sh-”

Waiting for the monster to drill its tiny second mouth and make him a xenomorph baby daddy, it never came. Peeking an eye in front of him, the little light through the slats revealed a friend instead. 

Making exasperating, relieved sighs, Deadpool rested his forehead on the bottom of the cooling vent. “Definitely not sexy.”

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Spider-Man asked. Even from this eerie angle, seeing Spider-Man sent shivers through Deadpool, forgiving and forgetting, falling for merely the sight of him again and again. 

“You literally scared the shit out of me.” Deadpool expressed frightened, surprisingly haughty. When Spider-Man did not respond, he continued, “You know how the story goes, sugar plum, the evil bad guy makes evil weapon and us good guys, well,” Deadpool made a sound like he was loading a gun, “We take care of bidness.”

“And what is this ‘bidness’, exactly?” Spider-Man questioned, suspicious.

“Ohhh, so you dunno?” Spider-Man stared for an uncomfortable amount of time, waiting for Deadpool to continue. “Ya know I’m really pulling the weight of this ‘team’ here, Spidey.”

“Just. Tell. Me.”

“Ozborn was commissioned to make a weapon, a bomb. It could take out like three city blocks-”

“A bomb?!”

“Shhhhhh- little bug.” Deadpool pressed a finger to Spider-Man’s mask where his mouth would be. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh-no. No, you don't.”

“C’mon, Webs. Don’t you trust me?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

Deadpool sighed. “Listen,” he started, “I got this. Do me a favor and find a way to clear the upper levels, make sure no one gets in my way. Or hurt! That’s important, too. I’ll take care of the rest, okay?” Spider-Man stared at Deadpool, not letting up on the eyes that did not fill him with conviction. “Okay?” Deadpool repeated, his tone becoming stern. Spider-Man shifted, taken aback by the sudden sternness. 

After an extended moment of pondering came a swift exhale, “Don’t make me regret this.”

~~~~~

Office space after office space. Deadpool’s knees were killing him. 

Never thought I’d say that!  

Getting old.

Nuh-uh!

Crackles and pops taunted Deadpool as he slid evermore exhaustingly in the ventilation shaft, traversing floor after floor- alright, alright, we get it, I’m at the tippy top in a secret laboratory uwu

If anything, Deadpool was impressed by the swift removal of staff when the evacuation alarm blared. Dropping with preternatural lightness, Deadpool carefully stepped through the vacant room lined with unmanned panels and various technological components littering around what could only be assumed to be the bomb. Smaller than he thought it would be, only up to his waist. He peered down at the device, doing quick laps around it, bending at odd angles, and proding each nook and cranny, investigating how he was supposed to operate it. 

A finger sunk into a depression and automatically slid back a small screen, revealing an obnoxiously large timer counting down in bold red numbers, giving him just under two minutes. Some people would think that is not enough time to comprehend and de-escalate the dangerous situation. Still, Deadpool exhaled with a confident huff, sneering at the code he had acquired and entering it into the mechanism with one hand, exuberantly pressing ‘ENTER’ on the keypad speedily before the tone of rejection drained all of his enthusiasm. He frowned as the numbers continued to count down, re-entering the code only for the error to reappear. That was when the panic set in. 

Deadpool attempted the code several more times before ditching it altogether and entering anything he could think of. “123456”, “000000”, “PASSWORD”. They were all no use and the more he failed, the more shallow his breaths became. With a quick exhale, he gleaned at the mechanism, cocking his head before ripping a panel and tossing it aside, forcing his fingers through gears and wires. As he felt around the weapon, something about the design began to feel familiar as if he had felt something like it before. Smirking nervously, he hoped he had just enough time to finish the job-

“Deadpool!” Spider-Man’s voice called. Deadpool looked over his shoulder to see his teammate, body tense and activated with adrenaline. “Do you have it?!”

“Just a little more,” Deadpool insisted, wriggling his fingers for the switch that would save the day. He knew he could do it. Between the blaring alarms, he could hear Spider-Man approach, inspecting the machine.

“We’re running out of time.” Spider-Man determined, his voice shaken as he pressed a few buttons. When the clacking had stopped, Deadpool felt a hand roughly pull at his shoulder. Deadpool shook the hand away, irritated. ”We need to go. Now.”

“I got this,” Deadpool said, remaining resolute in completing the mission. Deadpool continued to loosen screws and pull at wires, getting closer to cease the impending catastrophe. Spider-Man moved across the room to the main door, shut with two large sheets of metal that he peeled open with barely a hint of trouble. As the timer continued to count, thirty seconds came and left.

“Wade. I mean it, we need to go!” Spider-Man ordered frightfully.

“I can do this!” Deadpool replied, agitated. Tinkering quicker, he was close.

Fifteen seconds.

“Now, Wade!”

A relief washed over Deadpool, feeling what he was hoping for. When his fingers fidgeted over the switch, he was torn away from the weapon and pulled toward Spider-Man. A terror set over Wade. It was too late. There was no way to stop what was coming now. Single digits flashed on the timer. By instinct, Deadpool grabbed Spider-Man, picked him up, and threw him down the hallway away from the lab, praying the distance would be enough to reduce the impending damage. A serenity washed over Deadpool as he waited in the chaos of the last few seconds to take him away, closing his eyes and focusing on disconnecting from his body. At least he would briefly visit his particularly Skeletor lover. It was something to look forward to, he supposed. 

He heard the blast, felt its heat. The rope of webbing to his back was not quick enough for him to escape the force of the explosion, knocking the air out of Deadpool as a searing pain melted leather into his flesh. The pain in Deadpool’s body was brief and shocking, but as it left, his mind became diluted and empty, ceasing to process, and comforting darkness expanded endlessly, overtaking him.

~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~ ~

Everything flickered. Oranges and reds. He could tell there was heat and that there should be pain, but his body did not feel it. He had felt this hollow feeling a thousand times over, waiting for another inevitable displacement of time. A shape of torn reds and blues filled his clouded vision, leaning over him. Seeing him was comforting, even though the hands that hovered over his body analyzed him, shaking, too scared to touch. 

Touch me, it’s okay. 

The hands lingering over him did not know where to start. 

“No-no-nonono-” The voice above him was stricken with panic. 

Baby, Deadpool could feel the fear pouring from Spider-Man, worried for him. So sweet. Deadpool attempted to speak, but only bloody coughing from his lungs splattered the inside of his mask.

“Wade-Wade!” Spider-Man was calling for him, desperately pleading. Deadpool sensed the force within him thin. This would be brief, but he could do it, as if he had a choice. He looked at Spidey through a blurred haze. “Don’t leave me. Don’t die. Don’t die.”

The begging was like a love song, making Deadpool’s heart beat just a moment longer. With all this attention, Deadpool felt he should die more often if he received this kind of treatment. Spider-Man removed his mask, displaying frazzled locks sticking in directions this way and that. Brown eyes, dark in the light of this hellish place they were in. Those eyes he loved were puffy and red from the pressure and tears that flowed freely. His brows and mouth contorted in a grimace of dread. He could see-

“P-Peter?” Deadpool finally croaked. Seeing him like this was disorienting. Why was he so upset? He would come back soon. The sudden strike of pain made the inevitable void welcoming, necessary, just until he was better. Spider-Man just needed to wait for him.

“I’m here, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Peter declared.

“I’ll…be right back.” Deadpool comforted Peter’s senseless worry.

Tears fell without caution from Peter, who gripped Deadpool’s hand, squeezing tight. Deadpool did not want it to end, but if he had to go, this would not have been the worst way. The transition was always alone. Violent. Having Peter by his side made it easier, Calming Deadpool. It made him want to return that much sooner, knowing he had something to look forward to.

Peter choked on his breaths as he wept, knowing this was out of his control.

“I’ll wait,” Peter said, a swift determination overriding the fear. “I’ll wait for you to come back to me. No matter how long it takes. I’ll be here, holding on.” Peter leaned toward Deadpool, pressing lips to his with a wet, sniffling kiss. Even as faded as Deadpool was, the sensation bewitched him.

Peter,

The flushed cheek and wet eyelashes were disappearing, quickly enveloped by darkness. And for a little while, there was nothing, not even peace.

~~~~~ ~~~~~

The visions never made sense. He did not even know they were happening until he was about to return. Swirls of lights and fractured images that were once memories, hallucinations. His mind seeking comfort.

Peter,

Pressure at his lips.

Peter,

Air struggling to pass before choking, then suddenly a gasp for life.

“Pe…ter,” Deadpool whispered through a strained throat, riding the satisfaction of finally being able to get it out. His eyes flew open, stung by the light and blue of the midday sky.

“Wade?!” His name was called by that familiar voice.

As Deadpool came to, his chest strained, feeling hands clasped over his diaphragm tightly. His body was sore, not fully healed. He felt scorching pain everywhere, the feeling of his body morphing back into the form it knew it to be. Deadpool’s eyes peered up at his teammate, formed from his vision or vice versa. He was just here. It had been just like this, yet separated by time, a repeat. Deadpool began to question how long had he been here. Or had been out? By the state of his body, not that long. Regardless, he was greeted by a welcoming sight.

Spider-Man had lifted his mask just past his nose, and Deadpool clung to the view of Spider-Man above him, witnessing him over him again like this, but it was not the same. It made his head hurt. The stinging of his seared flesh struck him, not quite finished repairing. Moments before his regeneration came to him slowly. A frustration boiled, preparing him for a barrage of disappointment.

“F-fuck. You.” Deadpool spat through his clogged throat. It was all he could manage for the moment.

Spider-Man’s body language changed, stiffening shoulders and leaning back from Deadpool, defensive. 

“Fuck me? Fuck you, Wade!” Spider-Man said in a raised voice. Deadpool felt a harsh tap to his nose that altered the back of his head to the hard, crunchy ground he lay upon. Spider-Man kneeled over Deadpool, grabbing Deadpool’s suit by his collar and pulling him up close to his half-masked face, seeing the fabric had disintegrated some. “You can’t do shit like this anymore! Your life is not forfeit! For any reason!”

“I could have done it.” A moment to catch his breath, “But you didn’t let me. You didn’t believe that I could.” Disappointed, another so-called rescue proved Spider-Man’s lack of confidence in Deadpool. He wanted to hurt him now, too.

“Hear this, asshole, I don’t care if you regrow your whole fucking body, okay? You can’t just let yourself die- kill yourself. Hell, sacrifice yourself, or whatever! How many times do I have to tell you? That’s not an option. No more of it. No more dying.” Spider-Man’s grip on Deadpool laxed slightly. His strength wilting somberly as his voice lowered an octave. “I can’t… I can’t see you…die anymore.”

Deadpool was becoming more coherent as the scolding went on.

“It’s for the greater responsibility or whatever, right? It’s for you. What you would want me to do. That’s my power, and I’ll use it how I want.”

“Don’t you put that on me! I won’t accept you blaming me for your actions!”

Deadpool was tired of this argument. It wasn’t an argument, it was a fact, but Spider-Man was not ready to accept it. With an exhausted sigh and roll of his eyes, Deadpool shifted gears with a smirk, ”Did you kiss me?” He asked, changing the subject and licking his lips, savoring the taste of ash and open wounds. 

“For fuck’s sake, I was trying to save your life.” Spider-Man shoved Deadpool away, letting go of the suit.

“Don’t be a turd. Save me again, will you? Can’t seem to help yourself.” Deadpool suggested, obscenely wiggling his tongue at the face and mouth that was also caked with soot.

With that, Spider-Man turned to leap off the building, leaving Deadpool with the last word. 

Again, he was alone, apparently abandoned on some rooftop. Deadpool was tired, and even when he could move, he decided not to. The smokey exterior of Oscorp Tower was the only thing of interest. Its destruction representative of what he saw for himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wade was used to reprimands and silent treatments by now. When Spider-Man was mad at him, so was Wade at himself, and it was pure torture. 

The push and pull of coming back, sentimental treatments, being abandoned, then doing it all over again. It was not knowing where to find him or the pervasive avoidance, but not knowing if this time would be the last. Anything would be better than the torment Wade felt brewing inside of him. Anything would be better, to be rebuked, to apologize, or even submit to being the kind of man Spider-Man wanted him to be. But when Wade’s emotions got in the way, the quick nature of pride sealed his fate.

Stupid, stupid,

Tipping the bottle, a small trickle of whiskey passed Wade’s lips. Casually tossing it to the side, the shatter echoed in the alleyway. He had lost count of the bottles he had mixed the tranquilizer into, and tonight, the concoction buzzed in his brain, inciting an excess of would-be good ideas to rein in his isolation. 

Stumbling through the dark streets of Manhatten, Wade tripped over curbs and uneven pavement before meeting the concrete more than once. He heard a group of youths laugh at him and he joined in their humor of him. Feeling the Earth wobble under his feet, Wade stood back up before proclaiming they should stay in school. His feet continued to take one step in front of the other, and before he knew it, the neighborhood looked familiar. In the fullness of his heart, he knew this place was calling to him.

The small old door of the apartment building was easy to jostle open, or maybe he broke it? Bah! 

This floor? Wade ran through memories of all the nights he had stood outside this building, wishing he could go inside, pointing his finger in the air, thinking of which window meant which door. Let’s see, hmmm, this much high and that many across... Giving up, banging his fist on doors that would not open seemed quicker. Gotta be here somewhere~ 

“Petey!” Wade howled. “Peeeeetey!” It became a mantra as if repeating the name would summon him.

He heard a door creak open and a “Shuddup!” before being slammed closed.

“Petey, baby, where are ya?” What if Peter was not home? Or had he not liked Wade this whole time? Or was he too embarrassed by him? Wade chuckled. He knew he was long past embarrassment, merely wanting to fall in the arms of the man who enjoyed him as he was.

“Wade?” Hearing his name called from the level above tipsied Wade’s feet to the stairwell.

Wade leaned over the railing, admittedly precariously, to view the person he was looking for. “Babe, aw, man, am I s’happy to see ya.” It did not matter the furrow of the brows and half-open eyes that were meeting him from the upper level.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Peter asked, greatly annoyed. 

“I wanted to see you, honeybuns! And look, you're here, wow, wanna hang out? Man, it’sogood to see ya.” Wade yelled happily, outstretching his arms and angling them towards Peter who quickly stepped down to his floor Wade grabbed him greedily once in reach. “Mmhmm, sweet thing, sweet cheeks!”

“I’m calling the police!” An older person’s voice threatened through a cracked door.

“Please don’t do that! I got it from here.” Peter assured the occupant awkwardly, looking Wade over in a quick inspection. Wade leaned hard into Peter, who was rigid and taken aback, taking Peter’s face in both of his hands and kissing him hard and sloppily. Peter pulled back, disgusted. “You’re drunk?” Peter asked, baffled.

“Been tryin’! Do ya know how many moola it takes to get a little tipsy for a guy like me? I’m like,” Wade counted incoherently with his fingers and whispered the numbers silently. “This many, I had.” He said with a wide grin.

“Alright,” Peter deflected, holding Wade up as he led him to his floor, step by step.

“Notta new record, but Imma gettin' there.”

“Be quiet, will ya?” Peter huffed. “Tell me all about it when we’re inside, 'kay?”

Leaning on Peter was warm and sturdy, Wade was content, allowing his weight to be supported, lifting his feet over each step only to stumble, and hit the staircase harshly with a thud. Peter cursed under his breath as he picked Wade up and rushed him up the stairs.

“Missed you.” A kiss Peter partially avoided. “How you doin’?” Wade nuzzled his cheek and nose between the small of Peter’s neck and shoulder. A shiver rippled through him, and he inhaled. Sweaty, like he had not showered for a while. A full-bodied scent of what Peter produced. Familiar, like a place he wanted to return back to. Like home. “Mmm, shmell good,” Wade confessed. He felt the air pressure around him change, the outside world's lights faded away, and he knew they were alone. This was it, his chance to show Peter how much he cared for him. Prove to Peter he could be invested in him fully without anyone or anything holding him back. He would make Peter so happy and ride off into the sunset. He was ready for Peter to impart what an ordinary life could be like without trying to be loved and just feeling it happen to him.

Whatever it took for Peter to want him. Tonight, first to fill the empty void, crushing his spirit.

Fix me. He meant to say.

“Lemme touches you,” Wade insisted instead, hearing the door of the dark apartment studio close behind them, holding Peter into a rough caress. Running a hand along a defined back, passing and gripping the narrow waist, and squeezing soft buttocks that squished between his fingers. “I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya..” 

Peter exerted a force that surprised Wade at how successfully he could disconnect from his hold. “S-stop it, what’re you doing?” He whispered, increasingly agitated. Stumbling back into the tiny room Peter called an apartment, Wade shuffled to a small bed, squeaking and dipping threateningly from his weight. It felt like a cot, reminding Wade of days in barracks that lacked detail or substance. 

“This is so embarrassing,” Peter continued, “I live here. You can’t just come here and wreck everything.” 

Thinking about that time frustrated him. Why could he remember something so long ago? He tried to reason with himself that it did not matter or if it was real. Wade was tired of the unreliability of his memory, tapping on his head to shake out the thought. Peter let out an exasperated sound, 

“I have to get up for work in two hours. I really needed some sleep tonight.” Peter scowled at Wade. He could see how pissed Peter was. Disrupting Beauty’s sleep seemed like a much better idea when it was just a thought. “Today- yesterday, sucked. Bad. I don’t want to be around you right now.” It felt like a continuation of the beratement that Wade probably deserved.

Wade held his head down. He did not want to face Peter’s wrath, but taking it was better than roaming the streets with only his thoughts and regrets keeping him company. Peering down at his hand on the thin mattress, the sinking feeling of rejection began to set in when he saw it, be it very disintegrated, but he knew what it was, the substance that was proof of his recent presence. 

Picking up the webbing, Wade rolled the sticky compound between his fingers. His eyes looked up, alert and perceiving the room around him now for the first tme. He inspected the desk across the room to see components and tiny cartridges scattered about, slivers of red and blue fabric, and white materials next to a sewing machine, absent pieces having fallen to the floor. Peter had followed Wade’s eyes toward the items, going up to shove fragments of material in drawers quickly and standing in front of the laptop on a second table covered in old take-out boxes and sticky notes. The disappointment bottling in Wade spiked into a rage and mingled with the breaking of his heart.

“I-it’s not what it looks like,” Peter insisted, his anxiety evidently beginning to flare by his tone. Of course, when Wade felt ready to give himself away and finally built up the courage, his opportunity was taken away as soon as he realized it was here.

“I knew it.” Wade thrust his hand with the webbing toward Peter, confirming his deep-seated suspicions. He was suddenly disgusted, sitting on this bed, stumbling away. “You fuckin’ him? Hm? Gotta have some kinda freak to get your kicks? That why you don’t want me now? Already got fucked!” It was killing Wade to think that the two people he sought after the most were finding happiness without him. Thoughts of them together, having pillow talk, laughing, and making fun of him. Having everything Wade had only ever dreamed about.

“What? What?! No! No, it’s not like that.” Peter’s voice was high-pitched and defensive. “Could you just calm down for a second?”

A burst of anger ruled Wade. Confronting Peter to bring him down was building Wade up. 

“I get it. I’m not the kinda guy you take home to Mama. I’m not good, could never be like him. I’m bottom-tier, rotten banana,”

“Shhh, please,”

“And yeah, I’ve made mistakes, bad ones. I’ve hurt people, killed people. I’m a fuckin’ murderer.” The face of a young boy came to mind. He did not want to do it. He did not want to do it. He wished he had not. “I've done terrible things… I’m a bad guy, and I don’t deserve the goodness of this world. You. I don’t deserve you. But, fuck, do I want you.” Wade slouched pleadingly to Peter, holding his hands out as if Peter would impart some grace onto him, even if he had to throw all of his dignity away for it. “So please… Try to love me. I’ll do anything. Please. Please…”

Peter stood in front of him, frozen in shock, “Wade,” He released a constricted sigh, “I-” Wade could not bear to hear what Peter would respond with if it were anything less than what he wanted to hear. After his last word, he wished he had just vaporized into the nether. Scooping Peter into an embrace, this time without molestation, only a desperate attempt to be seen. Feel it, too, please. I want you to feel it too, “I- I, uh,”

“Give me a chance. Give me a chance to make you happy. To be someone worthy of everything that you’ve given me. I want to be that for somebody, for you, Pete.”

Silence of an extended moment passed, and a pat of Peter’s hand on Wade’s shoulders vibrated acknowledgment awkwardly as the body in his arms relaxed in the pleading hold. “I know.” Wade felt his eyes whelming against his will. “I know you feel… This is so messed up. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you.” Peter returned the hold in his somber grip. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I just didn’t want my whole life to be all the things we could have been. I want to be everything- do everything with you too, but I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m fucking it all up.”

The words were out of time and a mess of thoughts, but through it all, it made Wade feel like he had a heart worth for Peter to break. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

“It’s not that easy,” Peter whispered, veiled in solace.

“Then, let’s make it easy.” Wade returned in a matching tone. All he wanted was to feel this moment, to feel Peter break a little for him, too, and to break Spider-Man by proxy. He thought hearing Peter pained would make him feel better, but he only hurt himself even more. Wade relaxed as the devastation filling him vacated, replaced by a basic need for affirmation, fully wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist and one at the base of his neck where Wade tangled fingers in thick, messy locks. He rubbed his cheek along Peter's, who sank further in Wade’s arms. With a bit of breath near Wade’s ear, 

“All I… really want to say is,” Peter started, but lost the words and could not manage to finish.

“I don’t want to share you. I want you to want me. For as long as you will have me.” Wade sadly requested, pressing his lips firmly to Peter’s, who returned them melancholically. Wade did not care for any more words. All that mattered was that he was the person in front of Peter, being held by him, chosen in this moment. Whatever weakness in Peter allowed it, Wade would not question it any further. Even with his faults and betrayals, Wade wanted to take up, if only a small piece of Peter’s life.

The concoction was already wearing off. But the hands feeling Wade’s biceps were enough to distract him from lonely regrets and rejections. Peter gently pushed Wade backward, meeting the bed with the back of his knees and lowering with Peter. The air was cold, but they cultivated a heat of their own. Not entirely squeezing but secure in the returned embrace, filling in all the empty spaces of limbs, fitting into them just so. He felt Peter’s thighs tighten around his, encouraging Wade to lie down on the bed with him. Bundling in each other, Wade nuzzled in Peter’s shoulder, hairs coming from the back of his neck and tickling his nose, nuzzling past the warm cheek. After getting lost in grandiose fictions, he could finally feel his body relaxing, satisfied with the imperfect happiness of the moment, lulling him to close his eyes and steady his breaths in sync with the expansions of Peter’s chest, mumbling incoherent words and phrases in the found peace.

“Hush," Peter whispered tenderly, and with a mumble, "Sleep now,”.