Chill The Fuck Out, Spidey
Oh, shit. Okay.
You probably should just let the kid go, but you automatically grab for him anyway. It doesn't really matter; Dave may not be a speedster like the elder Strider was, but he's fast as fuck anyway. You don't even get near touching him before the door to the bathroom slams shut and locks.
Peter opens his mouth, and you smack him upside the head again. It's a hell of a lot harder to soften the blow enough to not actually hurt him this time; you're fucking pissed. Not pissed enough to forget to keep your voice low, though.
"Did I fucking stutter, Parker? I told you he was fucked up, I fucking told you not to push him, and what do you do? What do you fucking do?"
(You probably could be handling this better. Or in any way that didn't involve you looming over him so he can't stand up without pushing you out of the way. Maybe you should let him stand up.)
(Nah. Let him wonder if you're going to use the swords strapped to your back. Let him be scared for one fucking minute, even though it's never going to match up to how it feels to be thirteen and have a god damn world made of fragile illusory safety and constant fucking pain collapse around you.)
(Wow, Wade, project much? Also stop fucking thinking in parentheses, you dick.)
Peter, having apparently decided that he might as well do something, raises one hand in what you're going to guess would be an attempt to push you away. It goes absolutely nowhere, because you grab his wrist and bear down until he winces.
"He didn't panic until you came in, Wade," he points out, and the implication is almost enough to flip your anger back into shame. Because yeah, it'd make sense for Dave to be afraid of you; he knows exactly who you are and what you're capable of.
But.
"Right, because you didn't have him shouting loud enough for me to hear him ten feet away and out-fucking-side!" And not in a good way. Like, the kid could do with letting out some frustration on something, but from what you caught of the tail end of Peter's talk with him, all Spidey managed to do is add some more frustration to what was already there. "What the fuck did you say to him?"
"Wade—"
"What the fuck did you say!"
"—back off, okay?"
"How about no?" But you let go of his wrist when he twists away, and you let him push you a step back, just enough that he can stand up and take a step to the side so you can't shove him back down and trap him again. Not that you'd do that. "I'm this close to throwing you the fuck out, Parker."
He looks over at you and rolls his eyes. "Well, your fingers are touching. And you can't even use the 'oh, they're not touching, I'm wearing gloves' thing because you're, you know. Not."
Oh, yeah. You ditched your ripped-up gloves in a trash can in the mall cafeteria, and haven't acquired another pair because the only leather gloves you could find were fingerless. Not that it really matters, because— "You're dodging the question. Are you dodging the fucking question?"
"Yeah, now you know how the rest of us feel when we have to deal with you doing it." Peter folds his arms, watching you as you splutter through at least five possible responses and give up on all of them, opting instead to glare at him. "Huh. I can't believe it. I got you to shut the fuck up."
"Out."
"What?"
"Get the fuck out." You don't stop glaring at him, but you do point at the door. "I am not being the only fucking serious one here."
You can almost see the shift as he realizes that you are, in fact, being serious. That he's not going to be able to trade jabs back and forth and end up taking Dave back with him to somebody safe and normal and suitable to take care of kids. That no, you really didn't tell him you wanted help just so you could pass this kid off, you're seriously trying to go undercover enough to stay out of trouble at least long enough to get the kid to Lalonde.
Maybe longer. Somehow, you don't know if you trust this woman, and you're not leaving Dave with anyone unless you know he'll be safe with them.
"Okay," Peter says, after that thirty-second period of recalibration, raising his hands in surrender and letting himself collapse back down to sit on the bed again, "you're serious. I'm serious, we're all serious, can you turn down the murder factor a little?"
"Did I say anything about murdering you yet?"
"Not yet, no, but you look like you're getting there."
"That'd be because I am."
Peter just states at you for a moment. Then he sighs, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "I asked the kid if you kidnapped him."
...huh. You're not really sure why that'd set him off this badly, but okay.
"Also if he thought you fucked up on who you were trying to murder."
"Why the fuck would you ask him that!"
"It's a valid question with you!"
He has a point. But. "I didn't fuck up. Lalonde hired me to kill Strider and take Dave up to New York, and I did one and I'm working on the other. Trying to work on the other like you would want me to, actually. As in legally. Shocking, I know."
"Wade, you killed a man."
"He deserved it, so it's self defense."
"...that's really not how that works."
"I don't fucking care. You didn't see this shit, Peter; you would have done the exact same thing I did." Hm. Well. "Okay, maybe not the exact thing. Killed him with web instead of a sword."
"How would I even—" Peter cuts himself off, shaking his head. "Never mind, I don't want to know."
"He had a fucking sword. He was going to use it on his own fucking kid. You know that Dave knows how to use blades, right? Because that fucking piece of shit made him learn how to?"
"Wade—"
"The fucker had the fridge rigged to spill swords everywhere if you opened it, do you fucking understand that? And I'm telling you, the kid's gotten caught by it before, he knew how to handle a stab wound—"
"Wade."
"—he's a fucking kid! Like who the fuck does that to a kid, who the fuck lets somebody do that to their—"
"Wade!"
"What!" You know exactly what. You're totally monologuing and you're not even kind of sorry. Distressed and vaguely furious, yes; sorry, no.
"You did the right thing." He shrugs, raises his hands up like he's weighing the things you could've done and the things you didn't, and drops them to the bed again. "Happy? You killed the right guy."
"Not sure why you telling me what I already fucking know would would make me happy, but okay."
"Are you happy enough to stop pacing."
"Not really, no." But you do stop, anyway, stepping over to lean back against the counter and frown at him. Why the hell did you think taking the mask off was a good idea, exactly? "What about you? Satisfied I'm not going to do unspeakable things to the kid?"
It's a joke, and Peter snorts out a laugh in answer to it. "You? Really? That kid's probably the safest he's ever been."
"Yeah, well, that's not saying much. Are you planning on babysitting us all the way to New York, or are you going to let me have the car and try to deal with this myself?"
"I dunno." He tilts his head, considering you with that ridiculous thoughtful look that you usually see when he's trying to figure out if your innuendo is accidental or purposeful. "Do you want me to leave?"
"Kind of, yes. That would be nice." Sorry, but Spidey's doing the exact opposite of a good job at helping the kid get through shit.
"Can you actually handle this by yourself?"
"You do know he's not literally a baby, right? Thirteen is like, almost at the point where you can let them be free range and just step in when they're about to get themselves killed."
Peter is looking at you like he knows exactly what percentage of what you just said is pure bullshitting to avoid answering the question. Guess you have to actually answer the question.
"Yes, I can fucking handle it. No dumping him anywhere, no traumatizing him worse than his bastard parent already did, make sure he eats—"
"Okay, okay, I believe you, calm down." Peter rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, grabbing the collar of the hoodie you stole from a car in the parking lot and pulling until you give up and lean down. He could just kiss your cheek instead of your forehead, but no. "You better call me."
"Yeah, yeah." Damn, having the mask off means you have to make an effort to not grin like a dumbass at him. "Thanks for the backup, Spidey."
"You owe me one, Wade."
"So now we're counting? What about the time I—"
The door shuts behind him.
"...you dick."