Mercy

Days passed, and neither Wade nor Matt mentioned what Peter was beginning to call the “refrigerator incident” in his head. Apart from a small smile and an offer for a glass of water when he woke up, after apparently being moved to the couch while he was sleeping, Matt hadn’t even said anything of substance to Peter in the passing days.  

It put him on edge. 

Peter had expected some sort of scolding for leaving the fridge open, or passing out, or for Matt having to stay with him, but nothing ever came. It was unnerving to say the least – he wasn’t used to having no consequences for his actions, and the strange dreams (or nightmares would perhaps be a more fitting description) made Peter almost crave the familiarity of a harsh slap or kick to the ribs. He guessed some things would never change. 

Either way, it had been a tense few days for Peter, but the other occupants of Matt’s apartment seemed to be oblivious: Wade coming and going as he pleased, making small talk with Peter, and Matt sitting with him in less than comfortable silence as Peter stared distractedly, blindly, at the pages of the book he had found coated in dust on the bookshelf in the corner. He had only glanced briefly at the cover, but the faded red leather cover read, “Sun Tzu’s Art of War”. The book being in Matt’s possession was only slightly puzzling, considering his status as a vigilante, but Peter had brushed it off fairly quickly, finding himself engrossed with the battle strategies and advice that he was sure would never be implemented in his own life. He hoped.  

“What you reading kid?” Wade asked one day when Matt was at work, sprawling himself out on the floor at Peter’s feet. He still didn’t understand why the man refused to sit on any form of chair, instead opting to lounge against walls, up on the kitchen counters, or as he was currently, on the floor. 

“Uh, some military strategy book I found,” Peter glanced up as he answered, placing a finger next to the line he was on, “It’s Matt’s.” 

Wade stared at him, “Well, no shit Sherlock. You haven't left the apartment since you got here, so you definitely haven't had time to buy a book.” 

Peter held the open book against his chest defensively, mouth already open to shoot back a retort, but found his mind blank. Wade did have a point after all, he hadn't been outside for about five days. It had barely felt like any time had passed at all.  

“What, is this your way of telling me to leave?” The boy finally huffed in reply, suddenly hyper-aware of his rather abrupt, disruptive presence in Matt and Wade’s lives, not noticing how Wade’s brown eyes softened at his words.  

“No of course not, dipshit, why would we want you to leave?” 

Again, Peter prepared to answer, but no words came out of his mouth, instead remaining stuck in his throat. They wanted him here? The thought itself felt insane to him – his life had always been such an inconvenience to those around him, with agents grumbling about having to train him, or his handler sighing whenever he said something stupid or inappropriate. The idea that he was wanted just seemed ludicrous.  

Lost in his thoughts, Peter only just caught Wade snatching the book out of his clutches, turning his nose up at the contents. The man browsed the pages for a few more seconds before looking up at Peter with pure judgement in his eyes. 

“You’re actually reading this shit?” 

“Hey! It’s a good book, and you made me lose my place,” he grabbed it back off Wade, sitting back into the cushions again, before adding, belatedly, “asshole.” 

Wade just rolled his eyes, slumping back down onto his back with a sigh, “I’m bored.” 

A few silent seconds passed when Peter didn’t respond, pointedly keeping his eyes glued to the pages once again. But while Peter was the legal child in this situation, it didn’t stop Wade from assuming the role, as he reached a hand up and smacked Peter on the leg playfully. Peter didn’t move. Wade pouted, and hit him again, albeit gently, and huffed out a short breath when he was ignored yet again. 

“Let’s do something,” Wade suggested, sitting up abruptly, “We should go out.” 

“Go out where?” Absentmindedly, Peter flipped a page, his eyes still scanning the words. 

“I don’t know, just somewhere.” 

“Wow,” Peter drawled sarcasm dripping from his words, “That’s so helpful.” 

“Fuck off, at least I’m trying to think of something instead of reading like a loser.” 

“Hey! I’m not a-” 

“I’m home!” The front door slammed, and Matt rounded the corner as the pair fell silent, scowling at each other like petulant children, but with mirth shoddily hidden on their expressions. The lawyer tilted his head between the two and sighed, taking his glasses from his nose and hanging them off the front pocket of his shirt. Neither Wade or Peter had spoken a word, and yet Matt seemed to know everything that had just occurred. 

“I heard you two arguing from down the hall.” Matt explained, as if he had read their minds, placing his hands on his hips as though he were about to scold them like an inconvenienced mother, “You’re not exactly quiet – I'm pretty sure someone even with normal hearing would've made a noise complaint.” 

“Wouldn't be the first time, I’m sure.” Peter remarked, poorly hiding the smirk on his face when Matt’s face grew sour, a memory clearly at the front of his mind. The boy could only imagine all the times Matt had received comments from his neighbours, what with him coming and going from his apartment in the middle of the night or the earliest hours of the morning. Being on the top floor of the building, Peter figured the lawyer never bothered to be quiet in his ventures, and that wasn’t even factoring in the hurricane of a person that was Wade Wilson. Peter was almost certain the presence of the mercenary in Matt’s life only doubled the amount of noise.  

“Shut up, child, you know nothing,” Wade cut in, getting up from the floor and stretching out his gangly limbs, almost smacking Peter square in the face. 

“Hey, watch it, prick,” Peter swatted away his arm like a particularly annoying fly, scowling, but fighting back a traitorous grin, “And I’m not a child!” 

“Yeah, sure you’re not, child.” 

“Listen dickhead-” 

“Hey! Calm down, the both of you,” Matt interrupted, effectively silencing the bickering parties, “You’re both children, and the bane of my existence, I swear.” 

Wade muttered something quietly under his breath as he walked over to the lawyer, moving his face closer to Matt’s in what seemed to be a practised motion, before glancing at Peter and aborting the movement, instead punching him lightly in the shoulder, turning to smile brightly at the younger. 

“So, can we go out now?” 

Despite Peter’s grumbling, Wade did honestly know the best places in New York, leading them to a tiny classic diner on the corner from Matt’s apartment, glowing with warm lighting and the chatter of the occupants. The sky’s golden tint was slowly fading to a dusted lilac as the sun dipped below the buildings, so the diner itself was relatively empty. Only two people, presumably friends, speaking lowly in a corner booth, and an elderly man sipping a strong looking coffee sat in the establishment, the counter seemingly deserted.  

The trio strolled in, a little bell chiming as the door swung open, signalling their arrival to the patrons. Matt and Wade greeted them with polite smiles, but Peter kept his eyes on the square tiles – preferably, he wanted to remain unnoticed by the others. It would make it easier to slip away if things went south. Not that they would. Hopefully.  

He avoided the quick looks from his companions, opting to search for the owner of the place, who was in the backroom, judging from the clattering coming from the open doorway behind the counter. A man, who Peter would guess was in his early fifties, with brown hair streaked with silver and kind honey eyes, clambered from the back, steadying himself on the marble counter.  

“Hi!” The man’s enthusiasm was immediate, filling the darkening diner with light that reached every corner. The other occupants seemed unsurprised at his behaviour, only offering a small, knowing smile in his direction. 

“Wade, Matt! It’s good to see you again, it’s been a while,” he chirped, his eyes lighting up as he assessed his customers, “And I see you’ve brought along a new friend.” 

Matt placed a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Peter shuddered almost unnoticeably at the contact.  

“Yes, this is Peter.” 

The man gave him an excited little wave.  

“And Peter, this is Jonathon Carter, he owns this place.” Matt continued, and Peter nodded at the man – Jonathon – as an unintentionally curt greeting. He didn’t seem to mind though, giving him a soft smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling. 

“Nice to meet you Peter,” Jonathon remarked, taking out a notepad and pen from the front pocket of his coffee-stained apron, “What can I get for you today?” 

While Wade and Matt ordered, Peter risked a glance over at the pair still talking in hushed tones in the corner, and noticed the chemistry textbook open between them, notes annotated around the edges of the pages. The boy gestured at the book, frustration lining his features, while the girl glared at him as she shrugged, clearly conveying the message of ‘I don’t care’.  

Shockingly, Peter found himself wanting to go over to the two, maybe help them out with whatever they were struggling with – he had always been pretty decent at chemistry back when he studied it with HYDRA – but there seemed to be a bubble around the friends that, despite the obvious irritation with chemistry, was comfortable, personal, and Peter wasn’t about to be the random guy to waltz in and mess it up.  

So, he turned his attention back to Matt, Wade and Jonathon, who seemed to be engaged in a rather thrilling conversation about the weather. The more he listened, the more Peter realised he underestimated Wade and Matt’s ability to act like normal adults, not just children in adult bodies.  

(He would have to apologise to them later.) 

“Here you go,” Jonathon declared, pushing forward a tray with two coffees and a hot chocolate on it, along with cakes that looked way too sweet for Peter to even think about eating.  

Noticing Peter’s expression, probably one of distaste, Wade leaned down and spoke to him quietly, “We didn’t know what you wanted and you kinda spaced out for a minute, and you don’t have to eat the cake if you don’t want, I’m sure Matt will steal it anyway.” 

Peter nodded slightly, shooting Wade a grateful smile as Matt picked up the tray, bidding Jonathon a good evening and leading them to a table by the window. Car headlights and stars blurred as Peter sat, admiring the way that even though the night crept up the sky like a disease, the city continued its rhythm, the melody of New York never missing a beat. Each footstep was a drum, and the blaring of car horns accompanied the bassline hum of engines, a growl that crawled along the roads.  

Peter watched the world go by with a startling familiarity; hands wrapped tightly around the warm mug that had been handed to him. Steam curled from the liquid sweetness, caressing his face before dissipating into the cool air of the diner. Something about the scene shocked his heart into an unsteady tempo, and it hammered in his ears, a smattering of erratic thumps that invited the first signs of a migraine into his head. Peter yawned, and then almost groaned at the tell-tale throbbing pain that spread from his temple to his jaw.  

Shaking his head, attempting to rid himself of the ache that was more of an inconvenience than anything (migraines had stopped becoming debilitating after he had been forced to run five miles after complaining) Peter finally looked over at Wade and Matt, who had situated themselves opposite him. Concern seemed to radiate off them, but Peter decided to ignore it.  

“So,” he began, his gaze ricocheting between them, “You come here often?” 

Wade seemed to shake off his concerned stupor first, “Yeah, uh, I found this place ages ago, y’know before all,” he gestured to his scarred face, “this.” 

Peter nodded, taking a small sip of his drink. The hot chocolate was smooth, and sweet, but had a hint of coconut. It burned as it went down.  

“I know pretty much everyone who’s a regular here,” Wade continued, waving his hand in the vague direction of the other customers, “The two over there are high-schoolers, Ned and Michelle, and that guy over there,” he pointed subtly at the old man, “Is Ben Parker.” 

Once again, Peter nodded, humming his acknowledgement. 

“He moved to Queens after his wife died. She was from Italy, and they lived there together, but when she passed, he moved back here,” Wade sighed sadly, “I think he’s lonely to be honest – May was always his rock and now she’s gone, he’s got no one.” 

Peter froze. May? 

Surely not.  

Oblivious to Peter’s internal crisis, Wade continued his story, but the boy was no longer listening.  

He had gotten that poor man’s wife killed.  

It was his fault. 

“Peter? What’s going on?” May’s voice was small, weak as she called out from her hiding place in the hall closet. Peter stood at the front door; a sharp, serrated kitchen knife clutched in a pale hand. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his breaths wheezed from uncooperative lungs, but his hands remained steady. Unwavering.  

No more innocent blood would be shed. Not by his hand. Not again.  

He could hear them outside, swarming the street like bugs, guns loaded and ready. Their footsteps were almost silent, save for the small scrape of leather boot against the Italian cobbles.  

Click. 

The guns were readied.  

Peter nudged the blinds ever so slightly to peek out of the window. Clad in all black, agents lined the pavement outside, not a regular civilian in sight. They must have cleared the streets beforehand. In a way it relieved Peter that no others would be harmed because of him, but the gnawing anxiety rooted deep in his stomach at the fact that no one was coming to help made him nauseous.  

He kept a white-knuckled grip on his weapon.  

Wood creaking seemed deafening in the quiet, as Peter heard the closet door inch open.  

“May!” he hissed, “Stay where you are, you’ll be safe in there.” 

It was a futile promise, but he liked to think it brought them both at least a little bit of comfort. The creaking stopped though, so Peter counted it as a win. Even in the closet, there was little hope for both of their survival, and so he wanted to think that if they killed him from the get-go, HYDRA would leave May alone.  

It was wishful thinking. He knew that when the sound resumed.  

Despite Peter’s frantic whispering, May crept forwards, taking his calloused hands in hers and closed her eyes. Peter barely heard the prayer, muttered under her breath, before the gunshots began. They ripped through the wooden door as if it were butter, letting the sunlight trickle through the holes left behind. 

He didn’t even register the pain in his own body, or the blood on his chest, as he lurched to catch May’s body.  

He could hear shouting, but he blocked it out of his mind as he gently lowered them both to the carpeted ground, May’s wheezing breaths grating against his eardrums. She smiled up at him, eyes shining. She murmured her goodbye, soft, a goodbye that said, “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” 

And then she was gone.  

There was so much blood. It stained the carpet, and it sunk into his skin like a tattoo, branded there for the rest of his life. A reminder. A warning.  

May Catello-Parker was dead. And it was his fault. 

She had been a stubborn woman. She had shown that the first time Peter had met her, collapsed on her doorstep, bleeding and half delirious, muttering nonsense in broken Italian. She had dragged him into her kitchen, casted in a warm golden light, and tended to his injuries, all while Peter had weakly pushed her hands away, protesting that he was fine, he would survive. In all actualities he would have, but Peter liked to think that May saved his life that night – perhaps not physically, but more in the sense that Peter was tired of running, Escaping HYDRA had turned out to be more hassle than it was worth, and he was debating just... giving up. It would have been so much easier. 

May had made the decision for him.  

“Giving up is for cowards” she had told him, “And you’re no coward.” 

She had made him her special (slightly burnt) pumpkin alfredo and told him to suck it up. May hadn't known what his situation was, but she had known that giving up was his last resort. 

She was the reason he chose his name.  

To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t quite sure what his real name was, but he had taken the name Parker, not only in memory of May, but also as a subtle fuck you to HYDRA. It gave him an identity that wasn’t theirs, but his own, something crafted from his life outside of his youth.  

The only thing Peter was grateful for now was that he hadn’t told Matt and Wade his surname.  

After Wade finished telling Peter about the regulars of the diner, him and Matt somehow ended up delving into an argument about the planetary status of Pluto which, in Peter’s opinion, was frankly something neither of them seemed to know anything about, judging by the lack of scientific evidence presented by either of them. 

Either way, Peter opted to stay out of it.  

Instead, he peered back over at the two in the corner booth - Ned and Michelle as Wade had called them - still pouring over their chemistry textbook, although they no longer seemed to be arguing about it. From where he was sitting, Peter couldn’t tell what exactly what they were studying, but something in him itched to find out. He had always loved the learning aspect of his training, but his physical abilities often surpassed his academic ones, despite his knack for the sciences, so he had never been given free reign of the subjects. He had only been taught what he needed, and things that contradicted what HYDRA had told him – especially in the miniscule amount of history they taught him – was to be avoided at all costs.  

It was only the nagging fear of judgement that held him back, really. Matt and Wade were still engrossed in their own conversation, and Peter had every chance to go and introduce himself, but he remained seated on the red and white leather of the booth seat, slim fingers wrapped tightly around his mug.  

He was still shaken from his realisation about Ben Parker, who had since finished his coffee and bid Jonathon a good night, before strolling out into the street, the bell on the door giving its happy little chime as he did. Peter wasn’t quite sure what to do about it, and he felt that if he stood then his legs might collapse underneath him completely. He supposed there was nothing to be done. May was dead, and Ben Parker was a lonely man who had to suffer the consequence of that. It wasn’t Peter’s problem.  

(It didn’t stop the overwhelming guilt that flooded his chest.) 

A small snap in front of his face brought him out of his thoughts, and oh, he had been staring intently at the teens over on the other side of the room like an absolute freak, and now Wade and Matt were looking at him expectantly. 

“...What?” 

Wade snorted a bit, before Matt elbowed him and he sobered up.  

“You okay Peter? You looked far away for a second there.” Matt spoke gently, the warm, buzzing lights of the diner casting a golden glow over his features.  

“Yeah, absolutely fantastic!” Peter replied, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm, as the pair in the corner glanced over with furrowed brows.  

Well shit.  

“Uh, sorry!” he called over, giving them a little apologetic, awkward wave. He cringed internally as they gave him strange looks before turning back to their own conversation.  

Matt and Wade looked equally concerned, until Wade’s face lit up with a realisation, before darkening with panic. 

“Wait, I’ve just realised something,” he said, pointing at Peter, “You’re a child.” 

“Seriously Wade? I thought we had this conversation earlier-” 

“No literally, you’re sixteen.” 

“Yeah, and?” Peter questioned, puzzled. 

“You should be in school.” 

Peter’s heart sank. There was no way he would survive an American high school, no way in hell. His apprehension must have shown on his face, because Wade smirked, wide and menacing.  

“God, kid, you’re gonna have one hell of a time. Wait, I have a good idea,” Wade turned around in his seat, facing the Ned and Michelle, “Yo, kids, what school do you go to?” 

“Wade what the fuck!” Peter hissed, but Matt placed a hand on his arm, “You’re condoning this?” he asked him.  

The lawyer simply hushed him as the teens looked up. 

“You know that’s super weird right? Asking two random kids where they go to school?” the girl, Michelle, called back, skepticism lining her face. Peter agreed with her – it was very weird. 

“We go to Midtown,” Ned supplied, and Wade beamed at him, while Michelle glared, “It’s a science school.” 

“Seriously Ned?” Michelle scolded, “Did no one teach you stranger danger?” 

“Nope!” 

“Anyway!” Matt interrupted, nodding at the teens, “Thanks for your help, but I think that’s a bit out of our budget.” 

Ned shook his head, “Nah, you’ll be fine sir, anyone can apply for the scholarship program we have. All you have to do is pass a test.” 

Wade looked over at Peter, who’s head had migrated to his hands during the conversation, and poked his elbow, “Hear that, Pete? You can get into nerd school!” 

“Yippee.” Peter replied, deadpan, eyes burning furious holes into Wade’s. He turned to Matt, his last hope, with pleading eyes, “Matt, seriously, there’s no chance of me getting in so let’s just-” 

Matt silenced him with a wave of his hand, a thoughtful look on his face, “I think it’s worth a shot.” 

“Yes!” Wade pumped his fist, “You’re going to nerd school!”