baby boy

The lights of the city skyline slowly flickered, sparking up until every skyscraper had radiated against the soft sunset. Swinging his legs off a building’s edge, moments where he could quieten the noise around him grew seldom. Peter knew that the next few weeks to come were going to be difficult, and all he could do to prepare was to brace himself.

The school year was coming to an end. With one month until graduation, Peter was stretching himself scarily thin. Between managing the streets of Queens, applying to colleges, interning at Stark Enterprises, not to mention, his pre-existing lack of taking care of himself, it was crazy that he hadn’t physically dropped dead yet.

It’s not like he, or the people of Queens, could really afford that.

The following minutes had been completely calm; absolutely no dangerous voices, arguments or even road rage. His spidey-senses haven’t felt this secure in, well, ever. If Peter stayed there for a couple more minutes, he could probably fall asleep right there and then.

“Hey baby boy! Long time no see.” A loud voice blared out behind him. There goes so much for peace and quiet. The rattle of metal and guns break the silence.

Turning his body to face the mercenary did make him realise how long it’s been. It felt like Queens had non-stop crime for the past two weeks, or maybe the combined five hours of sleep the entire week had done something to Peter’s memory. The two of them had grown surprisingly close through chatting on rooftops several nights a week and occasionally grabbing midnight snacks. He felt a twinge of guilt for ditching him without notice.

“Hi Pool.” Peter replied softly, facing away. His shoulders naturally slumped forward, and his hands had found their previous place holding his head up. He usually has the energy to joke around, and bicker, but right now he wants to nap for a minute or two.

“Woah there, are ya feeling alright?” Deadpool’s tone growing gentler. An unspoken appreciation hangs in the air. It was somewhat amusing watching the larger man attempt to comfort him. Maybe even a little endearing, but he shakes this thought off, blaming it on the sleep deprivation.

“Just a little tired.” he answered truthfully. Memories of the places Deadpool brought him to eat with, start to rise up. They often rotated between the

“Sweetcheeks I don’t reckon you’re in any shape to be kicking anyone’s butt tonight. Look at you, your eyes are barely staying open while I’m talking!” Deadpool’s telling him off in a manner that would challenge Mr Stark’s, muscly arms folded over his huge, strong chest. Wait, Peter’s staring.

Sudden fingers snap in his face.

“Hellooooo. Earth to Spidey.” A low voice sings out.

“Sorry, sorry. Erm. Would you wanna go eat something right now?” Peter asks meekly, bringing his legs up to his chest. He can’t really remember the last full meal he ate.

“You don’t have to ask me twice! Course baby boy. You look super dead, I'm gonna give you a piggyback ride.” Deadpool replied excitedly.

Wait. What?

“Wait wh-” and before Peter can even voice the thoughts that ran through his mind, Deadpool lifts him up and grabs the bottom of his thighs to secure Peter so he doesn’t fall off. There’s nothing he can do except wrap his arms around the man’s neck and squeeze his head into the crook of Deadpool’s neck.

“Tryna kill me back there baby boy?” The larger man chuckles, his deep voice reverberating through his firm, leather covered chest.

Peter doesn’t say anything in return as they dash through the quiet streets of Queens.

…

They arrived at a neon green sign lighting up the numbers 24/7. Peter releases himself from Deadpools grip, setting his feet firmly on the ground. The warmth from the kitchen radiates through the outside air, starkly contrasting the chill of the nightime. Deadpool, unsurprisingly, is friends with the owner, so no one bats an eye when two of New York’s most famous superheroes, (vigilante and mercenary) walk through the retro diner doors.

The two of them sit down at the closest booth and Deadpool orders for the both of them, “Seven of the double cheeseburgers (...) four of the large fries, some waffles, a strawberry milkshake with extra syrup. What drink do ya want Spidey?” He peaks his eyes up from behind the large menu.

“Hm? Oh, water please.”

“And water. Thank you sweetheart.” Deadpool grins. They hand the menus back to the waitress who’s still struggling to write down all the food.

Peter’s stomach embarrassingly grumbles when the waitress comes back with their drinks. The two of them are the only customers in the entire restaurant, but the smell of their order being made in the kitchen is enough to turn Peter ravenous.

Five minutes pass by quickly as Deadpool passionately recounts the events that occurred during the last couple of nights, specifically the different ways he had killed people recently. Thankfully he ends his slight excessively loud talk before the waitress comes back with a tray full of burgers and fries.

Peter shoves fries down his throat like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. Deadpool watches him endearingly, organising their burgers. He decides to give Peter an extra burger, resulting in a total of five burgers for him to finish.

“When was the last time you ate? Your body is to die for, I mean it, I would kill for that bubble butt of yours, but really, I think you should be putting on some weight. I felt like I was carrying nothing. No offence in any way” Deadpool questions the younger.

Peter chuckles at his rambling.

“It’s ok Wade, and uh, I dunno I think I just forget to eat a lot of the time.” A second passes and Peter continues dipping the fries in ketchup.

“WHAT. Spidey that’s unacceptable, you spend like every night running around the entirety of New York“ He replies with visible concern. His eyes are wide with a furrowed brow, the hands holding his own burger going still.

“I know sorry. It’s just, school, work, this, I don’t really have time to squeeze in for myself. Don’t you feel that too?” Peter whines softly, attempting to deflect the topic of conversation away.

“Ok I have a proposition. How about you give me your number and whenever. Wait no. I’ll just ask you whenever I’m free if you wanna go eat.”

“Deadpool, no. You don’t have to do this for me, I can’t waste your time like this.” Peter replies, feeling like a deer caught in a headlight. It felt like recently, the only people that he cared about, had grown to worry about him. It was probably unnerving and burdensome to be friends with Peter.

“Spidey, I know I don’t say this a lot but, I do care about you. I need to know you’re taking care of yourself and I can tell that you’re not, I wanna help you.” The sense of maturity coming from Wade’s mouth shocks him a little.

Peter’s thankful for his mask because he can feel his face warm up. His sense of guilt however, makes him avert his gaze and fidget with his straw and the increasingly interesting ice-cubes in his glass of water. He wants to say no, that he can take care of himself, and all he has to do is wait this out. It wouldn’t hurt to hang out with Deadpool though, and by the looks of it, he’s pulling his best attempt at puppy dog eyes at Peter.

“Ok” Peter utters out, chewing the corner of his lip. His heart is racing at the thought of it, but he can worry about it another time.

“YIPPEE!” and before he knows it, Deadpool’s standing on top of his seat, close to breaking out in a dance? Before the man can begin to celebrate, Peter remembers something.

“Wait, I don't have my phone with me right now.” he wants to kick himself, especially after all of the effort Deadpool just put into this idea.

Deadpool looks deep in thought and pulls a pen out from one of his pockets. Without saying anything, he offers Peter the pen and pulls one of his own red leather gloves off. The dim lighting illuminates the ragged long scars trailing from his fingers to his wrist.

Peter looks up at the taller man with a slight confusion.

“Write your number on my palm! Baby boy, have you never seen a rom-com before?” Deadpool fake sighs, moving his free hand to rest on his hip sassily.

His face grows even warmer. With a quick nod, he pulls Deadpool’s hand into his own and scribbles his number on. Deadpool’s hands could probably cover Peter’s entire hand with ease. Stopping himself from staring even longer, he returns the mercenary’s pen while uttering a ‘thank you’.

Giggling to himself, Deadpool pulls out a flip phone from one of his pockets.

“Wait. Why? I could’ve just entered my number in for you.” Peter asks confusedly.

“Aw Spidey, there’s no fun in that. Whaddya want your contact name to be? Hah, joking, you already know what I’m gonna write.” Deadpool smiles up at Peter and down at his phone.

Funnily enough, Peter does.

Peter attempts to offer to pay for the both of them, secretly hoping he doesn’t have to since there’s probably less than $10 to his name, to which Deadpool waves off.

“Don’t you worry my little Spiderling. Daddy’s got it.”

Peter blushes furiously, but mentally reminds himself to pay for the next time.

“I’ll text you soon, Spidey. Goodnight, don’t let the bedbugs bite!” Deadpool chuckles, and runs off into the night.

Peter wraps his arms around his torso and smiles softly to himself. He was able to sleep soundly that night for the first time in weeks.