New directions
"I'm not too sure this is a good idea."
Peter coyly followed Wade into the building, wringing his hands to stop himself from grabbing his criminal counterpart and leaving immediately. This place wasn't giving him good vibes, with its outdated decorations along the walls and a ring in the centre of the room all but falling apart. It looked like a movie set of a gym designed by someone who hasn't been to an actual gym since the 70s.
"I know you said this was the next step, but maybe we could, you know, go in during the day? When it's a little more legal. Or just do something other than breaking in? I mean, I don't think there are any requirements for getting a membership for these things. I saw a nice park a couple blocks back as well. Nothing like a midnight park brawl."
Wade had moved on from the entrance and was making his rounds through the sparse equipment that scattered the edge of the room, picking them up only to throw them down seconds later with a clang.
"Peter," Deadpool paid no mind to the young boy still nervously standing in the doorway and continued to rummage. "lesson number one. No documents; which includes gym memberships. You legally sign up for anything and it can tie me back to you, and then what, you ask? People start asking questions and your surveillance just doped itself up to a new high."
Wade spun on his heel to assure that Peter was still listening and walked from his place in the far corner by the punching bags to the benches adjacent to the boxing ring. Peter's gaze followed him as he did so.
"We need to talk about that by the way. Your conspicuousness. Super duper long story made super duper short; it's shit. Not even firm shit that creeps pay for, it's a number 5 that's liquidy and the kind you can pick chunks of corn out of-" Peter wrinkled his nose as the analogy and for the first time since he entered, his hands halted and fell to his side in disgust. "-and that's not convenient for people like you and me."
"People like us?" Peter restates as his face falls back into a confused neutrality. He bent to the side and let his school bag slump to the ground by the door.
"People with secrets~."
The military-grade black bag had departed from Deadpool's arms and was now seated in front of him on the wooden seating by the boxing ring. It was unzipped, but the contents still remained hidden to Peter due to the dimmed moonlight obscuring most things other than the large apparatus present, blurred out in the corner of his eye.
"Just watch your back and you should be fine. And don't worry, I cleaned up your trail as an anniversary present. I found you quickly, which was a delight for me but will be a terrible thing for you when you catch somebody else's interest. And a kid like you?" He reached in a pulled out a medium length police baton. "You're near impossible to ignore. If the person doing the snoopin is half-smart, at least."
Peter blanched further, body now completely still. He eyed the weapon in Deadpool's hands with well-deserved scepticism."What's that for?" His voice cracked. If the stress from the felony wasn't enough, this sent his blood pressure through the roof.
"Oh this?" Wade twirled it in his hand. He stalked over the ringside seats and climbed into the ring. "This is going to be my teaching assistant. It's so difficult culminating a fine young boy into an independent strong man (like myself). So we're going to have to put this 'learn with patience' thing on halt and hit the gas. I don't think you're going to up and stop your do-gooding while you train under little old me, right?"
He motioned for Peter to come over with a flick of his head. Despite the reticence forming in the pit of Peter's gut, he complied with little demurral.
"Right." He said with a nod in reply. If there was one thing he didn't want to lose because of this arrangement, it was Spiderman. It was the whole reason he accepted in the first place. To be better. He walked to the ring before separating the borders and climbing up to the elevated platform himself.
"So we have to amp up the effort, preferably to the max, 'cause you need all the help you can get as soon as it's on the table. And lucky for you I prepped up a god damn feast of fighting aid and combative interpretive dance. And I'll force it down your throat if you don't take it willingly. Like a begrudging mama bird with an oesophagus full of life-lesson worms."
Peter winced again, rubbing his arm. "This is getting pretty gross. What's your point?"
"It was a beautiful metaphor and my point? How about the fact that there is so much wrong with your... everything. Your stance, your defence, your quips. What the hell was the "they haven't even brought out the cake yet" bullshit you tried to land when we first met. Horrific. Negative twelve out of ten. You're a heckler's wet dream-"
Peter dropped his arm and furrowed his brow-raising his hands to rest lightly on his hips. "JEEZ, I get it. You caught me on a bad day. Sorry I don't have endless witty one-liners after hours of taking punches."
"AHA." Wade threw his arms up in attest."But you could be more aware of the mess that you spit if your cute noggin wasn't so abused. You said it yourself, you take a lot of hits. I know you're strong, but that obviously isn't translating into technique. How could it when you've been flying solo since forever, with no one to guide you with understanding baby smooth hands? You got a hell of a lot of natural talent if you've made this far without winding up in the Hudson, but how much of it was you relying on that fancy yoga suit?"
The rhetorical question left Peter reminiscing on the information he's been aware of for a long time. A piece of information he really didn't like.
"...A lot. I rely on the suit a lot." His head was slightly downturnt in shame. He knew, realistically, that he was okay to feel like this, but it only increased his embarrassment when the futility of his late-night patrols sunk in. All the bruised ribs and broken noses in the world couldn't teach him how to step up and assimilate to a fight. Most of the time he got by on his spider-sense and strength, but if he wanted to fight with the higher up guys he needs more. He'd need to be more.
"Trust me, kid. If Cap wanted to lay you out, he would of."
...Germany was a fluke.
As he'd kindly been reminded time and time again. He wasn't ready for it but was still thrust into the situation. But the issue isn't that he was brought there, it was that Peter wasn't prepared. He ignored it, though. Thought he'd be enough if he just waited. As if it would all just hit him as an epiphany.
And then the vulture happened, and he saw the pattern.
"Well, it's good to know you're at least aware of your weaknesses. Your dependence on that glorified leotard is going to turn into a liability real quick. It's one thing if it's gifted to you later on, but right now it's all you know. If your Twitter fan pages are anything to go off of, you've never been strip bare of the tech for you to take the time and pick up the survival skills by yourself. It's always been a click and a flick, and you're out of the situation whenever it gets unfavourable. It's good for getting by. It's not good for discovering what you can do. Your limits."
Deadpool bent his knees and shifted his left foot into a standard fighting stance. Each of the pair was positioned in their own corner, just from how they had entered the ring. Observing Deadpool's change in bearing, Peter mimicked and dropped low, to how he usually braced himself before an altercation.
"And that's why we're here today."
Deadpool surged forward and swung the baton in his left hand, aiming for Peter's midsection. Peter collapsed to the ground with practised ease and leapt to the right, only to be met with a blunt kick to his shoulder blades that sent him tumbling face-first onto the odious mat beneath them.
"To find your limits."
-------
Everything hurt.
His knees were sore, his shins had five more colours added to the already exuberant selection of bruises on them, and his palms kept on shaking.
And Peter loved it.
He was correct on his assumption from the alleyway when they met. Deadpool was strong. Not quite as strong as Peter by a long mile, but strong enough to take his hits without him holding back. And the last time he went all out was, well, never.
He's never been able to let go. It's always been him hiding broken pencils at the back of the class and slyly reattaching his locker door when no one was looking, blaming it on rusting metal to Ned loud enough so that passer-bys didn't have their amalgamation of Puny Parker shattered if they had taken time out of their day to notice him at all.
But last night was different, and it was a hell of a lot more fun fighting without the fear of killing his sparring partner. No matter what Peter threw Deadpool's way he seemed to already know his next move. It felt unfair, but then again he guesses that's how the people he fights feel when they're not let in on his sixth sense.
The first round had been tough- he barely lasted a few seconds before his face met the ground - and unfortunately, the rounds to follow were just as successful. But that just meant he was finally learning from someone well trained.
Other than getting his vigilante ego severely wounded, he'd say it was a triumphant start to his new career as a mercenary's pupil.
He pulled his backpack up from slipping off his shoulder, straining the stitching that strung across the resilient lining of the bag. He hasn't had to change his backpack for quite some time now, seeing as he's lucked out on hiding places for it when he's on patrol. Without the steady stream of school appliance muggings, he's kept to the same one for the past month by some stroke of luck.
And he knows that deep down Aunt May's grateful that she doesn't have to pay for another one. Any deduction from everyday living and necessities is a good one, after all.
The chill bit into his skin and turned it both on end and numb, his thin jacket today was doing nothing against the icy veil that festooned the air around him, enwrapping him in a constant barrage of bitter sting.
Not that it mattered much. He was almost there anyways.
May had texted him earlier in the day asking for him to meet her somewhere downtown. The address was given but he hadn't the time to properly search it up, only enough to slot it into google maps and realise it didn't have much linked to its location. Unsurprising for a building so deep in Hell's kitchen. Majority of the region was littered with questionable businesses and abandoned nooks, and when paired with its violent guardian and infestation of crime it wasn't exactly a tourist hotspot.
Hell, he wouldn't want to be caught dead here in his patrols. Although that might just be from the vigilantes' unspoken code of respect for each other's turfs. At least he thought there was a code. Maybe there was but he wasn't told about it cause it's so unspoken? Well one way or another he'd never found Daredevil snooping in his crime-fighting business so Peter had no problem reciprocating the favour.
After all, what goes down in Hell's Kitchen tends to stay in Hell's kitchen.
And Peter had enough to deal with already.
He turned another littered corner to be met with a looming church. The arches were minuscule compared to the angular roof and sharp steeple, forcefully placed dead centre of the structure. The windows were compact and small, which seemed to do nothing against mischief makers as some of the panes were strung bare and the accompanying glass shattered on the front gardens. Peter was amazed that it hadn't crumbled to the ground yet. With that being said, it looks like he shouldn't say it at all. A jinx would be enough to blow this place down. And if it by happenstance were too, the only extension to remain would be the dusted sign by the front pavement which read "Clinton Church".
"Peter! Over here!"
He looked up from the sidewalk to see May dangling her arm too and fro from a side door of the barren church, barely in view past the too-large gates ostracizing anything in its way.
"May!" Peter kept his bag balanced to the side with a hitched up shoulder as he hustled over to his Aunt, stumbling past uneven cobble to make it around the gates to her.
"Hey, watch it buddy." She said in a light-whimmed whisp of voice. "I swear, one of these days you're going to have the tumble of your life if you don't be careful. I have no clue how you manage all of your hobbies when you're like this." The brief comment brought on momentary strewn together eyebrows and a concerned glint to May's eyes. Nothing compared to how she held herself and her objections all those months ago.
But for Peter it ushered in a sense of dejection, a kind of despondency that he knew shouldn't hit him as deep as it does whenever this happens. He still wasn't trusted to be safe. He still wasn't trusted period.
"I manage it just fine May, haven't you seen the news recently? I'm like a whippit out there."
"I'm pretty sure I saw a video of you falling into a dumpster last week."
"A fluke. Totally edited. The media's my arch enemy, and deep facing is becoming the world's new crisis- I swear by it."
"Oh really now?" her expression softened and a small smile graced her lips. "I'll be done in 10 minutes and then we can skedaddle. I booked a table at that nice Ukranian place we went to a few weeks back."
Now that Peter got a closer look at her the bags underneath her eyes seemed larger than before, and her movements were sluggish at best. Ultimately, May looked like she needed to sleep for a couple days.
"May, are you sure you don't need any help? I don't mind picking stuff up and moving it if you need a hand. You look like you could use one. Boxes are heavy these days."
"It's fine, we've only got a few more bits to pack up anyways and then we're loading it back onto the van."
"May... Are you sure you needed to do this? You look..."
"Caring? Beautiful?" May cut in, convoying a near forced joyous and upbeat tone.
"...tired."
Her face fell a bit further, smoothing out some of her stress lines. "I know honey, but the laboratory division didn't want to pay a free-standing facility so they rounded up who they could. And hey! It's not the worst deal. I, for one, am getting a nice little bonus 'cause of it. Something extra for our savings."
It was always 'ours' with May. Never 'mine', never 'yours'. Always ours. Peter's chest bloomed with warmth at the sentiment of it.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Okay. I'll be out here if you need me."
"I'll be quick. Promise." May receded backwards into the adjacent hallway before skittering off with rushed purpose.
Peter turned his heel the second his Aunt disappeared behind the corner and strolled to one of the benched by the entrance before placing himself down with a plop. He pulled out his phone and twisted it so it was right ways up. He didn't have much to do other than scroll through social media, the only two people he could text were either studying or busy cleaning up blood donation supplies right behind the wall he was sitting against. Flash was on another pompous skiing holiday with his butler trying to quote-unquote "Find some real babes", while the rest of the decathlon team were doing God knows what other than posting the seemingly compulsory 'studying rn' status update.
Welp, that's as far as his social circle went. It was fun the entire 3 minutes it lasted. Maybe he should just text Ned, or maybe he could try-
"Hello there."
Peter flinched as he looked up from the contact list spanning his phone screen, fingers still hovering over one of his most recently added numbers, and was greeted with a well-dressed man -maybe in his late 20s, early 30s- wearing deeply red-tinted tea shades. Weird. He would usually hear if someones coming. "Hello?"
"Yes, Hello." He reiterated, short and to the point while still somehow remaining soft-spoken. "Would you mind if I sat next to you?"
Peter's gaze lingered over the man as the cogs turned and one dot lead to another before the realisation of the stranger's disposition clicked. "Oh! Yeah, I don't mind. Do you- Do you need help? Or something. I can-" Peter made to sit back up but had his shoulder reassuredly pressed down upon by a calloused hand, redirecting him back to his seat.
"I'll cope just fine, thank you." He sat down swiftly and elegantly, almost as if he stocked the knowledge of where everything was placed that allowed him to bear such evident nonchalance. "When you've been a certain way for a certain time it doesn't really bother you if that's an answer that matches your line of thinking right now. If it isn't it's a good thing to know anyway."
"Uh, thanks. I'll... keep it in mind."
"Sorry for the unprecedented conversation. You can't really scroll on your phone when you're blind."
"Yeah, I guess so. And I don't mind talking! I can talk. If you still want to that is."
A low rumble of a chuckle spilt from the man's throat. "I'd love to talk. The name's Matt, if it makes this conversation any simpler." He extended a hand to Peter's general direction and held it there, to which Peter could not do anything but bashfully accept it.
"Peter."
-------
The boy was asking to be talked to when he passed by. If he was or if he wasn't didn't deal so much of a dilemma. but never the less there was still a begging of specific calibre for an explanation held in everything he did. The way he held himself, or lack thereof.
He stank of blood.
The kid reeked of it, but in a faint way. As if the scent wasn't owned by him, but a friend and he just carried it for them. A sick favour.
It was layered and mingled with sweat and bruising. And his heartbeat.
His heartbeat was dead quiet.
Enough so to send chills through Matt's spine when he realised that someone was there. Their lungs were still rattling with deep breaths, but their heart near ceased.
It's enough to make anyone curious.