Double Dipping

Opening his eyes slowly, Wade was disoriented, seeing a bright blue sky to his left and the crisp sway of long, healthy grass to his right. The shine of the sun’s rays pained his eyes. Standing, a gentle breeze made him shiver before overlooking an endless summer of a welcoming, clean beach meeting clear water. 

Grit under his feet formed between his toes. Peering down at bare legs and small, tight trunks, light-colored sand cushioned at his heels. Just as he became accustomed to this place, a rush chilled him, detecting a bushel of red hair with a streak of white joyfully running in front of him in a small swim set. Mid-step, time seemed to slow when she turned to him, blowing a kiss with plump lips and continuing toward the beach. Looking past her, Wade could see more people on the beach. Most of them he recognized, and others he knew he would one day. 

With a strained smile, his legs were heavy as he tried to move and join them. Before he could evaluate his condition, more steps whisked through the grass, watching a pair of carefree teens join the group ahead. Seeing them joyful made him want to be, too, but a part of him did not truly feel it. Taking a rigid step, Wade was thrown off equilibrium by the cold sting of metal knocking into him. The tall man with a metal arm continued to walk ahead, giving an acknowledging nod. 

With a weighted pace, Wade chased the promise of being part of a collective. He was in love with the feeling of finding what he was looking for, or so he thought. He could not help but peer at the crowd, expecting to spot the only person he secretly hoped for. Wade knew he would stick out if only he could-

Wade’s body tensed, stopping him in his tracks. It was a fever to find Peter on the shore without his suit or mask, without a care in the world. He was with a team he did not recognize aside from Nico, flipping colorful buckets and emptying sand into a pillared tower. Holding a tongue to his upper lip, Peter concentrated his fingers to correct its delicate position. That was when eyes caught him, too.

Peter froze the same as Wade had. Standing up, Peter looked at Wade. Speaking into him the same way Wade felt. Uncertainty flooded his nerves. Should he move closer to him? What would he say? What if they didn’t? Would that be the end of it?

With each step forward, his body went in the opposite direction. The sun's high transitioned, burning into fiery colors, prompting the chill of its disappearance to set in. Before his eyes, the land became barren and desolate as the sky was dark and the atmosphere grey with nowhere in sight. Wade held his arms close to his chest, concealing the ridged numbness of his fingers at his chest. He could not tell which was worse, the tremendous shakes of his body or being lost.

He did not mean to be. After all, summer was over. He felt the wetness freeze him, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. Even in heavy-duty boots, he could not feel his toes. Wade’s nose was so cold it gave him a headache. Unable to see ahead of him, the city's neon lights were like a maze in the darkness. He was slow against the flow of pedestrians that disappeared in the shadow beyond the points Wade could see. Peter walked next to Wade at the same speed, making him stand out. Peter looked down at his phone, slowing his pace. Wade reached back to bring him back before stopping himself. Wanting him back, but something inside him said he shouldn’t. 

As if under some endless spell, Wade watched it happen again and again, replaying the event to see if he could say or do anything to make a different outcome. Restarting just before Peter slipped into the void. The fear of losing him heightened with each trial as much as the first time.

Then, a part of him left as he watched Peter disappear behind him, letting it happen. It happened so quickly and he felt weaker for it. Wade could not channel the moment back. Devastated, he moved onward, passing through a thinning crowd, hoping to find whatever he was looking for in the night ahead, knowing it would never give him what he wanted. 

Dehydrated and disoriented, Wade struggled to move his body, stiff with cold. Once he opened his eyes, he was met with a thin mist from his breath. The motion of his chest reminded him he was alive. In the brief awareness of his state, the debilitating reflections of Peter continued without hesitation. Even in sleep, Wade could not feel relief.

Escape was nowhere in sight. 

Noise. Noise. All in Wade’s head was the noise of picking apart every word and interaction with Peter. He could not make sense of it, Wade booted up a mindless game to distract himself from paranoid ruminating. This guy is going to make me lose it, for real. Not a moment passed before a knock at the door disrupted his dissociation.

Wade approached the door suspicious, and opened it, he found Peter with a skittish smile and a slim bouquet held tight to his chest. As Peter inhaled to speak, Wade closed the door with a force that shook the walls. With an irritated sniff, he went back to slouching on the couch.

Yeouch…

I dunno, maybe we should hear him out.

No!

Grabbing the controller, Wade began a new match, only to be distracted by a shadow at the window. His eye caught an annoyingly large Spider spread with all limbs sticking to the edges and holding a stained brown bag dripping grease. Wade sat frozen with an irked frown as fingers messaged ‘sry’ in the frost of the window.

Unbelievable.

Approaching the window, Wade looked at Spider-Man with radiating displeasure. After a moment, Wade opened the window, shivering from the bitter air and took the bag. 

“It’s your favorite, just how you like,” Spider-Man began, “Carne asada, with extra sour cream and extra chili that I’m pretty sure is about a 250,000 on the Scoville level. One regular, one deep fried, for variety.” 

Taking the crispy chimichanga from its foiled wrapping, Wade took a bite. The tingle at his lips was delightful, unfortunately, soured by the hopeful demeanor of its deliverer. In a quick motion, he let go of the bag with the remaining burrito, and they watched it splat on the pavement below. When Spider-Man looked back at Wade, he did not let up on his eye contact as he took another bite from the chimichanga and let that one fall to its demise as well. Even without the expression from Spider-Man’s mask, Wade knew he had struck him, and with that closed the window with a snap. 

Going back to his couch, Wade was proud of his resilience yet disturbed to see Spider-Man still staring at him pathetically through the window. In a huff, Wade grabbed the sheet on his bed and a roll of duct tape to block the view inside of his apartment. With the last strap of tape, he could still hear protests from the other side. Finally, at peace, Wade plopped on the sofa and resumed his match.

Was all that really necessary? Did that make you feel better?

It’s not about feeling better. It’s about getting even.

I dunno if you can get even with this one.

The thing is, me, if I move past this, and could I? Maybe. But that would require for one of us to eat shit. And I’ll tell ya somethin’. It ain’t gonna be me.

Noted.

No matter how often Wade heard a rapping at his door, each one was as difficult to ignore as the first. He just wished for Peter to stop. The sound of feet shuffling behind his door was driving him mad. Sometimes, hearing them pause, then resume, sometimes down the hall, sometimes right at his door. Occasionally, Wade would tiptoe to his door to listen to the weight on him passing and then return. Leaning on the door, Peter felt so close behind the thin barrier separating them. Another pause at his door. He could feel the creek of a leaning matching his.

Softly, Wade heard, “I didn’t want it to be like this. I don’t wanna fight.” 

Wade turned around and slunk to the floor, still leaning his back against the door, bringing a knee to his chest, stretching the skin at his face, and attempting to massage the weakness away that tempted him to respond.

“I’m an asshole.” Peter continued, “You know, I know it. I’m an asshole. I did you wrong, and I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. So, I’m gonna go and leave you alone for a bit.” Deadpool wanted nothing more, yet the thought still terrified him. “I still want to talk this out. I just wish you’d answer the damn phone.”

No, no. Don’t feel bad for him.

I kind of feel bad for him.

The desperation in Peter’s voice devastated him, holding hands to his mouth to stop him from giving Peter what he wanted. The sound of footsteps dissipating for the last time came with a whelming sadness Wade could no longer hold back.

As the days passed, they blended, one after another, and Peter had kept his promise.

The solitude was deafening.

Wade lay helpless, existing in one spot, then another, until he navigated for some biological need to feed or eliminate, or just to feel release the stiffness of his muscles. Everything was so pointless. 

This place he resided, he despised it now. The places inside of it and what they reminded him of. He could not help but think of both of them in the kitchen consuming takeout that was always too hot for Peter’s sensibilities. Even with tears in his eyes, he would never admit it. A lift at the corner of Wade’s mouth. How they used to canoodle on the couch while Peter worked. Knowing now that same body he cherished and had loved in that same spot. If Wade inhaled deep enough, he could smell him. Raptured in agony, Wade shuddered. Even alone, he was humiliated. Replaying the events again and again. 

He must have caused it somehow. Why else could Peter have lied to him like this? How could he not have noticed? Knowing now, the signs had been apparent. So caught in his fantasies of sharing his life, all his inadequacies, his body, and bliss. Wade missed the mundane conversations of back-and-forth, Peter’s touch, but every time he recalled a moment, a heavy melancholy weighed him down, festering a rage that left him debilitated. Another lifeless day.

What he would not give to return to the person he was before, living in a cheap, unsatisfying dream when all he could do was fall in love again and again. Think only of Spider-Man doing anything, betraying the person he loved for him. Who he thought would do the same for him. With only the thought, he was shattered. 

Full to the brim with him.

The wounds inside him created no time. Dreary and grey as the winter, falling to a bottom that was never-ending. Rolling to his other side, Wade miscalculated and hit the cold floor with a thud. Letting out a groan, he could not be bothered other than to stare at the imperfections of the ceiling. Between shivers, Wade heard the subtle clucks investigate around him. In a slow motion, he grabbed a handful of oats from his sweat pocket and scattered it to the floor before returning to the staring contact with the ceiling.

All Wade wanted was to answer the incessant texts and missed calls. Yet each act of avoidance was another injury for them both. Another reminder of what had been done to him. All the times Spider-Man had done the same thing to him. A fury of how cruel Spider-Man had been. In every harsh word, every indignation they shared. 

How could he have not known? The thought was driving him mad. The voices hounded him before he could conjure a complete thought. Making him unsure if a part of him wanted it this way or if he was truly the fool he knew himself to be. Kissing those lips, holding those hands, caught in those eyes that pulled him in. A laugh that sounded like God. To never have let that beautiful creature become the purpose for his heart to beat. A grimace as he clenched his chest. Wade begged to an unknown force to start over, to make all of it disappear so none of it ever happened. In Wade’s avoidance, all he could do was think about Peter, want him, the feeling of him. 

The walls around his apartment were closing in, sinking further into what he could not change. His breaths quickened as tears built and left. Holding tight across his mouth in desperation as the pain within expelled. 

The idea of leaving beyond this confinement of melancholy was terrifying. Needing Spider-Man too much yet was petrified of everything he was and had portrayed himself to be. If loving him could hurt this much, hating him had been far worse.

The presence of death was in every corner of every moment, haunting him without time, losing himself to it.

Wade felt pathetic, knowing he was. It was a familiar and agonizing feeling he had worked so hard to avoid. He did not know how to move or exist for the first time in a long time. There was no joy in anything to look forward to, only his flawed and broken self to glance in passing reflections. He was sorry for himself, blamed himself, though with each aggravation, a boiling anger festered. He was determined to torture Spider-Man to make him feel the same.

The creep of ideation was suffocating, bringing him closer to the state that taunted him on an endless repeat. Icy vapors passed his lips, becoming a corpse that still cherished Peter so much that he would let Peter kill him like this again and again.

Peeking at his phone, amidst double digits of missed calls and messages, an unfamiliar number. A job. 

It did not matter how nefarious it was or for how much. Wade did not know what to do with himself, a desperate powerlessness that made him feel dangerous. He wanted nothing more than to be taken out of his misery, one way or another. Regardless, he knew no matter how much money he made, as always, he would still be a broken soul by the end.

~~~~~~~~~~

The stench of the metro station was a welcome change. 

Standing at the line upon the ground, he had done it a thousand times. Taking a step, passing the warning color, he observed the rust and use of the trails. Confliction arose within him of whether it was a good or bad thing that he could not hear the train coming yet. A disturbance interrupted his contemplation.

“I’ve been calling you.” A tentative voice above him began.

“I know,” Deadpool said, more defeated and less aggravated than he intended.

“C’mon, this is crazy. You gotta give me a chance to explain.” Spider-Man asked. 

“No, I don’t,” Deadpool stated, defiant. His heart raced, turning a cold shoulder, unable to look at him. “You had every Goddamned chance to tell me, well, anything! But you didn’t. You played me for a fool. Congratulations.”

“Oh, Wade. I never meant to-” Spider-Man said, exasperated.

“Just because I needed... You lied. To me! So many times, I can’t even count or when it even started. You’re sick, and that’s saying something coming from me. Oh no, I’m not your punching bag, meal ticket, or whatever. Not anymore. You won’t be getting any pity from me.”

“That’s not true,” Spider-Man said with a raised voice. “You just don’t understand. You’re not innocent in all this either, you know.”

Deadpool whipped his neck to Spider-Man, the white eyes of his mask wide and targeted. “Say what now?”

A commuter waiting next to Deadpool eyed the two questionably. “Is that guy harassing you?” The woman asked, inciting a defensive posture as she put a hand to her hip and noisily shook her bag.

Spider-Man made a disgruntled gasp, his neck cocked, offended. “Harassing?”

“Never mind him,” Deadpool assured bitterly, waving a hand absently and regaining his composure. “He’s not worth it. A pest.”

“Wow, rude,” Spider-Man responded, agitated.

“Hey!” The commuter woman exclaimed, pointing to Spider-Man with a finger and gathering the attention of those on the platform. “The Spider-Freak is molesting this gimp.”

“Alright, all that’s definitely not what’s happening, ma’am.” Spider-Man began to defend, holding his hands in front of his chest as more commuters hurled dirty looks and began hurling insults. Deadpool glared up at him without remorse as a partially eaten hotdog was thrown unceremoniously toward Spider-Man, splattering him with mustard and onions. “Not again!” He complained, wiping it from his lens.

“Get it through that thick skull. I am done with you, and you’ll leave me alone if you know what’s good for you.” Deadpool was unsatisfied but relieved stepping into the newly arrived subway car. As the doors closed, he crossed his arms at the scene of Spider-Man avoiding a stream of vegetables and cheap plastic objects from the small disgruntled crowd, scowling as the motion carried him away from the scene.

Walking past modern skyscrapers, Deadpool knew he was in the right neighborhood. Carefully observing the addresses, he sulked to find Spider-Man waiting at a street sign.

“That wasn’t nice,” Spider-Man confronted with a light smearing of condiment on his suit. 

Deadpool merely looked at him with hands on his hips. He used his hand to rub where his mouth would be with only his middle finger. “Huh, it wasn’t, wasn’t it?”

“This is getting out of hand.” Spider-Man declared with restrained frustration.

“Tell me about it!” Deadpool retorted sarcastically.

Just then a swift man in heavy winter clothing rushed past Deadpool, knocking him slightly. Spider-Man sighed.

“Run. Why do they always have to run?” Spider-Man grumbled.

“You tend to have that effect on people.” Deadpool scorned before chasing after the man. As he steadily closed the gap, a thwip of webbing stuck to the man’s coat, pulling him back to propel him back to Deadpool. With precision, Deadpool readied his fist to strike the man with enhanced force that knocked him to the ground. 

Deadpool grabbed a small luxury handbag from the thief's hands, inspecting its craftsmanship of pebbled leather and gold accents. He threw the metal strap over his shoulder to see how it felt and, with a hand fancily securing it, walked past Spider-Man with unconcerned conviction to meet a woman wobbling in heels further down the sidewalk.

“Still hate you.” Deadpool declared.

The bite of winter nipped all around Deadpool, the chill alerting him to repairs to the suit he needed to mend in the leather. 

It was muscle memory setting up the bipod after kicking away snow from the rooftop's edge, stabilizing the sniper rifle in the correct right position for when his target came into view. Twisting the scope to find its sweet spot, Deadpool heard the crunch of footsteps behind him, an irritable pain rushing quickly to his temple.

“Do you listen?” Deadpool said, agitated, hearing the tick of the scope once more to get the optimal clarity. Satisfied with his setup, Deadpool turned to the man who had humiliated and used him, leaving him with an unholy affliction. Grinding his teeth, he looked over Spider-Man. He had worshiped that red and blue uniform a thousand times over, those static eyes that always pierced right through him. It was terrifying how the image still held a power over him. 

Deadpool’s breath quickened, a throbbing in his neck as he clenched his fists, unable to listen to any words Spider-Man attempted to conjure. His idolization was as broken as his trust. A storm raged inside him, not knowing which part of Spider-Man or any of it had been real. Destroyed being with or without him, Deadpool narrowed his vision to him and charged.

The strike to Spider-Man left an ache at his knuckles, frustrated in watching him stumble back slightly, holding a hand to the side of his mask. 

“I guess I deserve that,” Spider-Man said, smoothly straightening his posture. His effortless recovery ignited a fire within Deadpool that he attempted to release with repeated strikes that burned his fists and ignited him more with every lack of reaction. 

“You don’t deserve shit! UhhRAH!” Deadpool yelled gutterly, enraging him further, delivering another shameful strike to Spider-Man with enough force to make him lose balance and trip over his feet to land pathetically on the ground. The form that seemed so foreign to him now stayed on the ground briefly, silent, the tension in Spider-Man’s shoulders and red gloves clenched then released. The worst insult was knowing Spider-Man allowed Deadpool to treat him this way. “I hate you so fucking much!” 

“I know,” Spider-Man agreed, sullen. Deadpool glared at him, heaving and wild, not knowing what else he was willing to do hearing that voice, fighting fire with flames. “I… I…” A sigh, “I kept the truth from you. I shouldn’t have. I wanted- was trying to protect you but-

“You’re the one who is going to need protecting!”

“You deserve to know what happened,” Spider-Man said, a strain in his throat.

“Too late. I already know you’re a selfish dickweed.” Deadpool rejected.

“Back then, I didn’t know what was happening. Some evil witch, she took some dark hold of people, powerful people, to bring on the apocalypse, magic or whatever, the usual.” Spider-Man grabbed his mask from the back of his head, removing it. Deadpool could not bear to look at his face, glimpsing at the bruised eye and bloody nose he had inflicted. “And you were one of them. She had her claws in you before I even knew what was happening. I couldn’t,” A sharp exhale, “I couldn’t reach you. It was out of your control. I know it was. And God, were you a terror. A perfect undying solider.”

Spider-Man gave a short, painful chuckle before a somber look cast over him again. “She took you from me. That’s when The Suns approached me. To stop you, probably more so to convince me to take you down, as if I would. But I joined them to find a way to get you back. I tried anything and everything over and over again, but it was futile. No amount of reasoning, no serum or magic, but, of course, it wasn’t that easy. Nothing is ever easy for us.” 

Deadpool ground his teeth through a long pause.

“It would be a win-win for them, and we were feeling the pressure of being overwhelmed and outnumbered. We were desperate. I was desperate. I was weak, and that’s when he came to me.” Peter turned away slightly, rubbing fingers to his temple in a silent resolve. “I made a deal. It was the only option, and I couldn’t refuse, at the time.”

“What did you do?” Deadpool asked, acutely listening to every word.

“If I signed the contract, the bastard would release you from the dark hold right then and there. I couldn’t pass the chance. I signed it so quickly-”

“You what?”

“Now, don’t look at me like that.” Peter defended, accusatory. “You’ve made your own dealings.”

“I’ll look at you any way I want!” Deadpool argued. “What deal? Who? Don’t tell me,”

“It worked, Wade! The corruption was gone, and you were you again. You’ve no idea how hard it was. No clue. The awful things she made you do… It was finally over. Kind of.”

Deadpool waited as Peter hesitated. “Spit it out.” He urged impatiently.

“A clause,” Peter shook his head. “After it was all said and done, he said If you died again, just one more time, all the time I erm, had eh, feelings for you, you’d lose them.”

“What does that even mean?” Deadpool questioned with a frantic pitch to his voice.

“Your memories, that’s why they're so inconsistent. Everything we had while we were together would be gone.”

Deadpool’s head spun, trying to comprehend what Peter was trying to explain. “I don’t understand. I have memories of you, those never went away up until-” A pain in Wade’s head throbbed trying to recall.

“Dammit, Wade, I’m trying to tell you. We were together. And he knew that you were the most- an important person in my life, to the mission, and he used my weakness for you to torture me, weaken The Suns or something, I don’t know.” Peter gestured with his arms angrily. “It was a risk, and for a while, it seemed like it would all work out, as long as you didn’t get hurt too bad. As long as I could keep you alive.”

“This, all this bullshit. It’s your fault.” Deadpool said, exasperated, pointed.

“I saved you!” Peter defended. “All I had to do was make sure you didn’t die, not once. I knew I could do that, and it was working. And when it was all over, we went back to the city, everything was back to normal. The way it was always supposed to be.” Peter’s expression wavered in softness. “It was the best year we ever had. For the first time, there was nothing getting in the way. We were finally on the same page, day to day. But looking back, we were just living on borrowed time.”

“It was so stupid. I spent that whole time making sure you were safe, but I made a mistake, and you got hurt, bad.” Peter paused. “I wish it had been me. It should have been me. I knew you’d come back, but I knew it would be different. We both did. The only difference is that I would remember us, and for you, it’d be as if none of it ever happened.” 

“I lost you all over again. The Wade who was all in, who was so obsessed with me, for just being me, all of me, your heart became mine. I lost the person I came to be because of you. I couldn’t bear being around you anymore. Hearing you talk like you weren’t a piece of me that was ripped away. I grieved for you, what we had, and you- you- The whole thing drove me mad, more than mad. Even though you were still here, physically… I knew you were suffering, I did, and you needed me, but I just couldn’t. It was all too much.”

“The fuck is this?” Deadpool accused with a raised voice. “I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t you get it?” Peter pointed aggressively to Deadpool. “I did this for you! I waited for you! Even though you weren’t coming back. I didn’t plan any of this, it just happened. So when the chance came to start over, I took it. I’d do anything for you. I would and did. I- I love you!”

With a chill running up Deadpool’s spine. “You don’t do what you did to someone you love.”

“I was doing what was right. I just wanted everything back the way it was. I didn’t know how to start over or if I could, but I couldn’t stand living this life without you. Please understand. I did this all for you. Please say you understand.”

“So what, we’re just going to skirt around the fact that it’s your selfish fuck up that I lost, what a year? Years? Of anyone I knew or cared about or probably don’t even know that I knew them. Of Ellie, and being a dad to her.” Shaking his head. “Son of a bitch, you took that from me. No, no, you didn’t do this for me. That was for you. You knew I’d do anything, be anything for you, and you used me. In any and every way you could, you used me. Again and again, you knew how much I was tearing myself apart over you, and all you did was blame me like it was my fault. The things we did, that you said to me.” Deadpool struggled to find air in short, hectic breaths.

He did not know how much more of Peter he could take. He hated how Peter was looking at him, as if he knew him so well. More than he knew himself. A part of Deadpool did not want to believe this explanation, in that look Peter was giving him, another part wanted to comfort him. It was an ache in his heart that reminded him how he had loved the lies that had satisfied both their needs, whether he knew it or not. Now, all he could do was cry over tainted memories.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said low, chocking on the words. 

“You took advantage of me.” Deadpool grabbed the back of his head as if his brain would shoot out if he were to let go. “I can’t even- who are you? I don’t know which of you I hate more.”

Not trusting his mind or the words coming from Peter, Deadpool’s hand moved quickly to his holster, surprised at how easy it was to point the pistol toward him. His steadiness matched that of Peter holding his ground.

Borrowed time.

“This isn’t real, this isn’t happening.” Deadpool pleaded to himself, unhinged. Keeping his finger to the side, Deadpool disengaged the safety.

The person I became, because of you.

“You’re not going to hurt me. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. That’s not you anymore.”

I love you.

A fury coursed through Deadpool, the shaking in his hand reverberating to the pistol. A guttural yell erupted from him, angling the pistol to the gray sky, pulling the trigger, and releasing shot after shot. When nothing but clicks sounded, he threw the gun toward Peter, who caught it easily with a hand. He inspected it for a moment before dropping it to the ground. 

“You don’t know what it’s been like!” Deadpool yelled, unable to hide the frantic pitch of his voice. “Just get away from me!” He continued, watching as anguish flushed under Peter’s eyes.

“You’re right. None of this is okay and it’s all my doing, but Wade, I-”

“Now! Get away from me now !” Deadpool commanded harshly, too consumed to face him anymore.

Peter continued to look at Deadpool for a moment, holding his head slightly and turning away, a quick swipe at his face before pulling the mask back on. Deadpool walked back to his rifle, positioned himself on his stomach, needlessly fidgeting with adjustments as the snowy crunch of footsteps dissipated.

Discontent overwhelmed him. Seeing Peter in that suit, thinking they were the same person, it was still incomprehensible. Deadpool huffed, reviewing his setup. Sure, this was an easy job that paid. He should be grateful for the work when a sudden exhaustion let his hands move from the rifle to holding his face between them. Frowning deeply, Deadpool breathed through a long ache coming directly from his soul. 

As soon as he let it out, a defiance fueled his motivation. Settling into his position and aligned the shot.

~~~~~~~~~~

Running leathered fingers over his perspiring glass, the ice in Deadpool’s drink shifted. Caught in the habit of drowning his woes with dark liquor in an even darker bar. 

The smell of sweat and smoke with a hint of blood and gunpowder, this was his second home, though it was not the one he wanted to be. Weasel swiping the rag haphazardly, more so spreading grime than cleaning it.

“Do you always have to look so miserable?” Weasel asked with annoyed apathy.

“It’s the latest trend. Looks like you’re doing a great job at it yourself.”

“I thought you’d stink less with a ziplock of a suit. Think you got a puncture or something. It’s like,” A dramatic whiff “Essence, of the taint of a mangy dog. Not just any mutt, one of those little ones that used to be owned by an old lady with the chunky necklaces from uptown, bows and paw softeners and the like. The old hag probably died, and so they just tossed the rat to the street. Being pampered and all, the pooch never had to fend for itself, and now the city is slowly eating it alive, through it’s rotten taint.”

“Did I miss the memo on where this was going?”

“You’ve been sitting here long enough. You gotta give me time to come up with more material.”

The chatter filtered into an alerting silence, prompting Deadpool to peak over his shoulder to detect the cause, only to sigh profoundly and stare back at his drink menacingly. Bringing his phone to his fingers, Deadpool typed at it, hearing the screech of metal on concrete of the stool next to him fill with the weight of a known body. 

“Look who’s wandered into the neighborhood. Guess we just let anybody in here now?” Weasel proclaimed annoyed from behind the counter.

“Keep your panties on, would ya?” Spider-Man insisted, hunched and casual.

The room was tense for the next move, but only the sensation Deadpool concentrated on was the empty silence between them. 

“I’m sorry,” Spider-Man stated again. “I know it’s not enough”

“It’s not.” Deadpool agreed.

“I keep wishing there was something- If I could turn it all back, I’d do it different.”

“Technically,” Deadpool swigged the rest of his drink. “You did, and then you didn’t.”

A pause.

“You have every right to be pissed at me. I’m not denying that,” Spider-Man began again. “I just want,” A sigh, “I don’t want to fight anymore. Can we start over?”

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Deadpool turned to Spider-Man, a heartbreaking slouch of his shoulders. The hesitation was excruciating. A special hurt struck Deadpool when Spider-Man turned back to the bar counter, absently rubbing the tips of his fingers together. 

“I’d like to think I would have,” Spider-Man replied.

A familiar oval circle of light appeared at the corner of the room. Deadpool stood from his seat, prepared to depart. “That’s not good enough for me anymore.”

A sense of finality pierced Deadpool as he approached the light. He paused briefly and wished something could turn his pain into something else, something Spider-Man could say to change his condition. But there was not one, and none came. He stepped through the portal with his head hung in defeat, not knowing if he would speak to Spider-Man again or if he wanted to.