Whenever his parents asked about Daredevil and Deadpool, how they were treating him and how his learning was coming along, he said it was all good.
He mostly told them stories about Matt, (because he was Matt now, not Mr. Murdock,) and they seemed comfortable with that. Neither of them came out and said it, but Deadpool made them uncomfortable. And he couldn't really blame them. Deadpool made a lot of people uncomfortable.
Most assassins did.
Matt was a great teacher. He huffed and snarled and grumbled his way through Miles' lessons, sure, but he'd seen him do the same thing with Foggy and Karen. He'd seen him launch at the Punisher and hammer fists into his ribs while simultaneously providing him with information he knew Frank needed. Like, sure, it probably wasn't healthy, but Matt's relationships worked for him, and that wasn't really Miles' business.
Matt taught him. He trained him hard. They wanted him smarter, better, faster than Peter had been. There was always an underlying thrum of tension when they told him an old story, like they were betraying their dead friend by telling Miles the information. Miles always told them they didn't need to tell him if they didn't want to, but Matt would shake his head slowly and heave a sigh and just plow on.
After the first couple of weeks, Miles stopped protesting.
He needed to learn, and if this is what it took, then this was what it was gonna take.
With Matt, came Foggy. And Foggy was better than all of them. Combined. None of them could compare to the great gentleness of Foggy Nelson. None.
Foggy didn't have any vigilante experience, but he had a lot of life experience. He was a great listener. He heard Miles' out and gave him an objectively fair solution before comforting him. Foggy was awesome, and it was nice to have an adult who pretty much knew how to conquer any life situation. It was even better to hide behind him when Matt was in one of his moods.
And then there was Wade.
Even now, months into this team, Miles had no idea what to do or what to say around Wade. He was hot and cold all at once. One minute he'd be badgering Miles about school or art and the next he wouldn't speak at all. At first, Miles thought he might be triggering him or something, but after a few pointed questions at Matt he figured that wasn't the case.
Instead, he went to Foggy.
He could give Foggy all of his questions and have him ask Matt instead. Because Matt would give Foggy a straight fucking answer, for one. Another bonus was that Foggy never made you feel stupid for asking questions. He made you feel good about yourself. He made sure you left comforted and reassured.
Foggy was really the angel to Matt's devil.
When Miles told them as much, Foggy laughed while Matt cooed. Then they were cooing at each other and making disgusting old man noises and Miles had to bail out. Too much. They were steadily determined to out-embarrass each other and Miles would have no part of it.
No, thank you. No, sir.
But he still didn't have any answer on what to do about Wade.
Because he wanted Wade to like him, or at least respect him. Like, a little bit, at least. He wanted a relationship with Wade like he had with Matt. Some kind of strange brother-mentorship that kept him safe on the streets.
(Matt would tell him there was no safety in their chosen path in life. There was only mental illness, serious injury, and death. It wasn't an if, for them. It was a when.)
Which like, not his finest moment.
But Miles knew what he'd meant. Miles was around because Peter wasn't.
And well-adjusted folks didn't become vigilantes.
He gave up on asking Matt, after that. Instead, he went to his mom.
He found her in the kitchen after she was home from her shift at the hospital. Wrapped his long, skinny arms around her middle from behind and pressed his cheek against her back, eyes closed. He had to slouch to fit his skin against the scratchy fabric of her uniform, but it still made him feel small.
"Baby, what is it?" Rio asked, and he felt her hand smooth over his hair as she turned in his arms to face him. Her arms settled around his shoulders, and for a moment, he just let himself be held. Rio hummed low in her throat. She knew what this was, and waited it out.
When Miles pulled back, he was pouting.
"I don't think Wade likes me," he explained as she smiled, waving a hand for him to sit. Her braid swung with her movement as she turned back to her pot on the stove.
"He took time out of his night to ride the subway with me, mijo, because you asked him to. I don't think it's nearly as bad as you're building it up in your head to be."
And like. Yeah.
That was fair.
Miles had sent one text and Wade had canceled two jobs last night to guard his mama.
But like, did that really count? Did that really mean someone liked you, or was he just doing it because Matt had made him? Or Foggy had made him. Or maybe Jessica-
"Honey."
Rio was in front of him now, and he blinked, focusing on her.
"Have you- I don't know- tried talking to Wade about this?"
Hah.
Talking. To Deadpool. About feelings.
Hahahaha.
"Miles."
Okay, okay.
But he wasn't gonna like it.
It was like Matt sensed the incoming storm. He had an aversion to feelings, he claimed, and bailed over the edge of the roof the minute Wade touched down.
"Bye, darling!"
Matt hauled himself back up, just for a second, to sneer in Wade's direction before he was gone again, with Wade whistling after him.
"So, kiddo. Where you wanna hit tonight? Run the streets? Head down to the docks? The world is our oyster-"
"Can we talk?"
There was the unnatural stillness in Wade's shoulders, before he was straightening and strutting towards the edge.
"On second thought, I got a job tonight. Sorry, kid. People to kill, money to make. You know how it is!"
"Wade. Please."
Miles pulled off the mask in one smooth motion, directing the full blast of his huge eyes and disappointed face in Wade's direction. He had turned, just enough to catch sight of Miles' expression, and sagged.
"You sure you don't wanna just shoot me instead? Stab? I got all the bells and whistles." But he was making his way back over to him, turning and throwing himself down to the concrete of the roof and turning the mask towards him. "Shoot, kid."
"Well, I just... I want to... make sure that this okay. I mean... running with you and Matt. You've taught me a lot and if you'd like me to make my own way or somethin'..."
"It's not that, kid," Wade heaved a sigh, and patted the cold stone beside him. "C'mere, Miles."
Miles sat.
He heard Wade sit up beside him. Listened to the sound of thick leather rolling up. And he turned to face him and look Wade in the eyes.
And froze.
Because Wade was.
He was.
"I know it ain't pretty."
That was a fucking understatement if Miles had ever heard one. He'd heard from the others that Wade looked different. That his mutation made him basically immortal, which was what was keeping him from dying from Stage 4 cancer. But this? This he'd had no idea about. Not from Matt, not from Jessica, not from all the Peters he'd been talking to recently. But he didn't look away.
He didn't flinch, because his mama had raised him right. He kept his eyes on Wade's, because his daddy had taught him respect for all beings.
"It's not that bad," Miles lied to Wade's face, because at the end of the day he was still a fourteen year old kid who was woefully unequipped with any sort of brain to mouth filter.
Wade laughed in his face.
"Yeah, it is, Miles. You can say it. I've seen myself in some cracked mirrors- shit's fucked up, yo," he was smirking as he tossed his mask to the ground beside him and dragged a gloved hand over his skin.
"Is this... why..." Miles began slowly, but wasn't sure how to continue the question. It didn't matter, because Wade was already shaking his head.
"No, this ain't why I've been avoiding you. This was just- it was time for you to see it. I made a promise on my girl's headstone that I'd start trying with the people who were in my corner. Red, Domino, Cable. You." He leaned back on the heels of his hands, sighing as he turned and looked out over the city. His expression was sober, the lights of passing cars bringing his scarred skin in and out of focus. "Truth is, kid? I'm pissed."
Miles tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorr-" he began, but again he didn't get to finish. Wade held a hand up, silencing him, before he dropped it again. He didn't seem totally willing to elaborate, but working with Matt had taught him one thing above all.
When in doubt, wait it out.
"I'm pissed at Peter, kid."
And whoa.
That was not the direction Miles had been expecting this conversation to go at all.
"Pete was sixteen when he started running with me. Seventeen when he took off the mask and pulled Red into the fold. Eighteen and older for a lot of his near death bullshit experiences. He chose this, yeah? He put on that mask and decided he was gonna go out and get shot at every night because he believed in- I don't know. The good of humanity or some shit. Red thinks the same thing, just in a different way. People deserve second chances, or everyone's forgiven under God or what the hell ever is up his Catholic ass."
Miles brought his knees to his chest, resting his chin against them as he watched Wade with big, owl eyes.
"And yeah, you got bit by the spider, too. But that ain't mean shit, Miles, because you are a fucking fourteen year old kid, and Peter shouldn't have asked you to do this." Wade's voice was fierce, the thinly veiled anger simmering beneath the surface. Miles swallowed again, for an entirely different reason.
How do you tell a dead guy you're pissed at him?
How do you tell someone who gave their life for the greater good that you have a bone to pick with him?
How do you tell a dead best friend that he fucked up?
And how do you carry that anger without crippling guilt, too?
You didn't.
"Peter had a team he could have asked for help. He had me, and Red, and who the hell knows who else but he had options. Instead, he went after Fisk alone and got himself killed, but not before putting the fate of a whole city on the shoulders of a fourteen year old kid. And that wasn't fair to you, Miles, you hear me?" The weight of Wade's eyes pinned him in place, burning in his intensity. "That wasn't fair."
He felt the leather of Wade's glove on his cheek before he felt the tears.
"Oh, honey."
If you had asked Miles how he'd thought this night would go down, sobbing in Wade Wilson's arms would have been last on his last. On the back of the paper. Maybe even written in the margins.
Wade was big and his hand rubbed gentle circles on Miles' back as he sobbed against his shoulder, trapped in the heat of his upset and the sting of salty tears rubbed into leather and skin. Because he was right. Miles had been so, so scared. Had been scared ever since he'd been running down that Brooklyn street, frantically trying to call his uncle. His dead uncle who was buried six feet under because he had picked the wrong side. He'd picked Fisk's side and stood on the opposite line against his nephew and had nearly killed him.
All because a good man buried in rubble had given Miles a flash drive and made him promise him the world. You can't say no to that kind of thing.
You just can't.
"I'm mad at him, Miles, and it sucks because he's dead and he should be the one here, teaching you and comforting you and telling you that everything's gonna be okay. It shouldn't be me. I'm so fucked up, baby boy, but I'm not gonna let what happened to Peter happen to you, okay?"
And.
Okay.
Okay, Wade.
It was another fifteen minutes before Miles had cried himself out and drew back, exhaustion seeping into every fiber of his being. Why was crying so exhausting. He blinked blearily up at Wade as Wade pressed Miles' mask back into his hands and dropped a big hand on his shoulder.
"Go home tonight, kid. We'll pick this up tomorrow, and we can talk some more. I ain't gonna be perfect. And I ain't gonna be Red and I will never be like Peter would have been for you, but I can let this anger go. I can let it go for you, Miles, because you deserve that from me." He squeezed, and Miles nodded, dragging his mask back over his face.
Wade gave him one last thing, a pinch on the cheek.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Spidey," he winked, before he picked up his mask, and just like Matt, he was gone.
Yeah, he thought.
Yeah, Wade. I'll see you tomorrow.