Chapter 3
Peter didn't really know what to do.
Right now, all he could think about was how much he wished that Wade had put a gun to his head and shot him. Because the platinum blond son of a bitch who was staring at him with a smile as he sat in a cafe.
"...no fuckin' way!" Skip Westcott grinned maniacally as recognition flashed in his stupid, stupid eyes. Peter clenched and unclenched his hands under the table. "Is that you, Einstein? Gosh, you're all grown up, aren't you?"
Peter wanted to shrivel up and die. Especially because of who he sat across from.
"So, you two know each other?" Matt Murdock, AKA the Daredevil, questioned. Peter shrank into himself even more knowing that Matt could hear how his heart was pounding against his chest, desperately trying to break out and get away.
"Yeah, we're childhood friends, ain't we, Einstein?" The name made Peter feel like vomiting. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. But he was rooted in place as he nodded weakly.
"It's...good...to see you...Skip." Peter choked out. It seemed that Peter's heart had given up on breaking through his chest and was now instead trying to crawl up his throat and out of his mouth.
"I prefer the name Steven now." Skip grinned, but that sleazy bastard's smile had never looked so disgusting before. "Makes me sound all mature and shit, eh?"
He would always be Skip to Peter. Always.
"Well, sorry for the holdup! What can I get you pals today?" Skip questioned, pulling out a notebook.
His hands looked the same. Peter remembered how those hands felt.
He was going to vomit.
Matt, as always, sensed Peter's discomfort.
"I think we're going to have to take a quick raincheck on that. I haven't decided, personally," His tone was jovial, but something a little darker was underlying there. Skip shrugged.
"Alright. I'll be back in a bit. Nice meeting you again, though, Einstein. Can't believe it's already been, what...15 years?" Skip shrugged and walked away.
True. It had been 15 years since Skip Westcott fucked up Peter Parker for life. Since Skip said, "Let's conduct a little experiment, Einstein." Since Peter said, "No, Skip, I don't want to!" Fifteen years since Peter started flinching when he was touched. Since he started hiding in the bathroom every time Skip came around, until he was able to get rid of Skip as his babysitter.
Peter's hands trembled. He knew Matt could sense it, even without his sight. Matt was incredible like that, never letting his blindness be a hindrance to his life.
"Are you alright?" Matt asked, tone softening. God damn it if Peter didn't melt a little bit. Matt Murdock was yet another on the long list of parental figures that Peter had latched onto in his life, but the red vigilante had yet to pass away or leave Peter.
Peter wanted to respond. He wanted to tell Matt he was fine, even though he very much wasn't. He wanted to say, of course. He was always okay.
Instead, Peter stood up and headed straight for the restroom. He pushed open the door to the men's restroom and he vomited straight into the toilet in the first stall.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Peter washed his face. He knew Matt was waiting outside the door, thanks to his own enhanced senses.
Nothing felt like it made sense. Peter found himself standing outside of the cafe with Matt even though they had just been standing in front of the restroom. What?
And then they were somewhere else. Where were they? This wasn't right. Everything was off, and broken, and fucked up, and Peter was fucked up, and he couldn't breathe--
"Hey, there, kid," Matt's hand was hovering over Peter's shoulder. He hadn't seen Matt Murdock being unsure of himself in years. "Are you back with me now?"
Peter nodded, then shook his head. The confusion was all too much. Everything was too much.
"Let's just sit here and catch our breath, right?" Matt offered. Peter didn't reply.
It was a long while before Peter could breathe again. Matt had unknowingly helped him out by specifically using the phrasing 'catch our breath'. It reminded Peter of his Aunt May.
She was all calm smiles and happy words. She was morality and sunshine incarnate, unless you incited her wrath, in which case she became darkness incarnate.
"Sorry." Peter scrubbed at his eyes, taking in a deep breath of smoke-smelling air before sighing. "Sorry."
"It's never a problem, kid," Matt laughed. "You and that guy got history, huh?"
"Matt." Peter abruptly changed the tone of the conversation. "How long can it be after a crime for you to press charges?"
Matt paused.
"...depends on the crime."
"Sexual assault?" Peter's voice cracked saying it.
Peter could hear Matt's heartbeat speed up.
"Five years, in New York." Matt's voice was almost reluctant.
Peter's head fell into his hands.
"Fuck. I shouldn't have mentioned it. Never mind."
"However..." Matt's tone dropped into the 'dangerously angry' category. "In the case of a couple o' vigilantes, I'd say the statute of limitations on any crime is nonexistent. So if you ever want that son of a bitch beaten to shit, just let me know, kid."
Peter laughed wetly.
"Thanks, Matt."
"I know you probably won't talk to me about this, because I'm me." Matt snorted. He was probably rolling his eyes under those red glasses of his. "But if you've got someone you can talk to, you probably should."
There was no one Peter could talk to about this. Absolutely the fuck not.
But then a thought occurred to him.
"Hey, Matt," He spoke up again as the two brushed themselves off and got to walking back to Peter's apartment. "What if I met a mercenary who went on a date with me instead of killing me and I kinda do like him and trust him for some godforsaken reason--do you think I could trust him with something like this?"
"I think if he says it's okay you could absolutely trust Deadpool with this." Matt shrugged nonchalantly as Peter stared accusingly at him. "What? There's no other mercenary who would ever do that. It's alright, I approve. Wade is a good guy under all that...murder and dead skin."
Peter laughed.
Maybe, just maybe, he could tell Deadpool a little part of why he was so fucked up?