Do, a Deer
“So you’re saying. That Peter--Ham--” Noir heard the voice, faint as anything. Miles.
“I’m telling you! He’s totally into--mmf!” Wade said, before something (probably a hand) cut him off.
“Wade. Stop. They’re gonna wake up any second now.” PB said. That was PB, voice barely audible. “We at least need to whisper.”
Noir roused from slumber slowly, warm and limp on the bed. The covers felt heavy, too heavy, too warm. He was just feeling warm, in general, and still sleepy. In fact, he could probably fall back asleep if he stopped thinking for even a second.
The bed stirred beneath him. No. Someone stirred beneath him.
So out there, he could hear Miles, and Wade, and PB, and Gwen was in the hammock, and Peni had taken the top bunk. He had to be next to… oh. Oh, hand of god.
He pulled his eyes open in a flash, sleep still blurring his vision. Peter was less than an inch from his face, fast asleep, dark brown hair splayed out across the pillow. His eyes were shut, and his breath fell even from his lips. The light from the window beside him streamed over in slats. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Had the guy rolled over onto him when they were asleep?
Noir tried to pull away, and found that he was on his stomach, pressed into the pillow. No. It wasn’t Peter who had rolled over.
Noir was the one who’d fallen over in his sleep. His dreams were vague, frayed at the edges, but he could almost remember reaching out for something. Only it was someone. Crikes. He’d cuddled the guy.
And now, if he wasn’t REALLY still and quiet, everyone would know he was awake. And they’d know he knew that they knew that he was nestling up to a Looney Tunes side-gag like an alley cat to a passed-out drunk.
“Don’t wake them. Or me. I need a hundred more hours of sleep.” A creak, as Gwen rolled over in her hammock behind him.
“Amen, sister,” Wade said. “But, really. I think that maybe Peter likes--”
Noir didn’t hear the rest, because, in a burst of adrenaline he’d never experienced before, he’d untangled himself and jumped to his feet, dusting himself off (despite the lack of dust on his person). PB scooted out of the way and stared up at him, one eyebrow raised, as Noir crossed his arms and leaned back against the bed, trying to seem casual.
Oh, they were all looking at him. Yep. Peepers at full capacity.
“Mornin’,” he said.
“Oh, hey! You’re up.” Miles said, trying to seem casual. He leaned conspicuously over to try to peek at Porker, still snuffling on the bed. Noir coughed and pulled his suit out from where he stored it under the bed, keeping his head high.
“I’ll get dressed first. See you in a second.”
He took quick strides toward the bathroom, back stiff, the exact posture a criminal with diamonds in his pockets would take when the cops arrived.
“Cooold,” muttered Peter, from the bed. Noir paused, mid-step, and contemplated taking a quick dive out of the window.
Noir’s face was hot. He regretted wanting to ever feel emotions in his life. Wade began whistling something behind him, something with a teasing lilt to it. A swatting sound--PB, probably--and Wade cursed and shut up, snickering.
The detective started to say something, thought better of it, and dove into the bathroom to change out of the purloined pajamas.
The bathroom was cramped, designed for a single-bedroom apartment, and, thank god, pretty soundproof. The faucet covered the sound of Noir groaning into his hands, his skin ashy (it was probably the gray) in the futuristic “fluorescent” lighting. A Spider-Man toothbrush sat on the counter. Miles. Good kid.
And that kid almost definitely knew that he’d just been snuggling Ham. Great. Hotcakes. Absolutely--
What was he doing? Noir made eye contact with himself in the bathroom mirror, eyes sparking with irritation and confusion. Peter Porker was a goddamn cartoon guy who TECHNICALLY wasn’t even human. And Noir, himself, was into dames. He knew that. He’d loved MJ, when she’d still look his direction without a hundred regrets in her eyes, and he’d loved every dame and doll he’d held against a wall or a bed, at least for a second.
And yet he’d also loved the way the light caught the eyes of that jazz pianist at Rickaby’s, and the man who’d lent him his coat when his own had been stolen in a crowded bar, and that guy who he’d made eye contact with while walking in the street, soft and lined in lamplight, before the man had shut his bedroom window and gone back in, to a wife, to a family.
There were two types of people, if everyone he’d listened to told the truth: normal people, women doing their best to support their men during the business slump, men who went home and kissed their flames on the forehead and made up pet names like Sugar and Darlin’. And then there were the few (him, like him) who wanted something else, something faster or better or just different.
He’d seen the future. It was inevitable that someday, it was going to be alright and dandy for two men or two women to walk down the street arm-in-arm. But not where he lived. Where he lived it was black as pitch in the shadows and if you wanted a partner, you’d better plan on keeping them forever, no matter if they yelled or hit you.
Noir pulled himself back from the brink and made eye contact with himself in the mirror again. His face had no expression.
He’d been clutching the faucet without thinking. Running the hot tap. His fingertips were numb, just slightly singed by the metallic heat. He pressed them, relishing the sting, and started to change in the movements he’d practiced, while in his head, he was still in bed, with Peter, looking at all of the colors that made up his “brown” hair.
It was so much more than brown. It was red and brown and even black toward the middle.
Noir took a breath in, and a breath out.
In the future, queer people could find their place. He was glad of that.
But he had to go home to the one where that jazz pianist was clapped in bracelets and taken away by the police for meeting a guy backstage. It, like everything else in his life, wasn’t fair.
So he did what he always did: accepted it, and put it out of his head.
---
“This is the TARDIS,” Wade said, waving to indicate the pod and sliding along the edge.
“MurderCoffin.” Peter corrected, leaning against the wall and thumping it with a fist. Wade rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry with his tongue as PB and Miles entered the pod, feet padding on the metallic floor.
“I say we just call it the Pod. Keep it simple, people,” Gwen said. Peni, who’d woken up latest and brightest, was already fiddling with the screen, peering at it, hands blurring with rapid motion lines.
“Crazy. Who knew a cartoon cat could make something this tech-y?” Miles said. Wade watched, amused, as the boy poked the wall with a ginger foot. “It’s cool.”
“No, it isn’t.” Peter said. Miles looked guilty and put his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, slung over his suit in stark contrast to the sleek black fabric. Wade had to admit that he was… kinda jealous of the kid’s look. Man, that whole spray-paint thing was cool. Maybe he’d commission the guy before he and PB hitched a pod ride back to their own universe from the Hub.
Speaking of which, the guy still looked down. Like, really down. Down in a way that no man who had just recently crushed six other people at Uno should look. Wade fondly remembered the time he’d beaten Juggernaut in Uno. It was probably his greatest achievement, and Peanut Butter Parker had been kind enough to come over and get him some soup while the eighteen shattered bones courtesy of Jugs un-powderized.
“Just glad to be able to help someone,” PB had joked. He’d looked tired, then, spreading a blanket over, weighed down by his marital issues and something Wade wished he could place. The mercenary found himself wishing he’d actually bothered to talk to the guy, to do something other that joke and distract him. Poor Spidey needed a therapist. And, speaking of Spider-Men who needed therapists…
Noir entered the pod last, and gave Peni a wan smile. He crossed to a corner and stood stiff, almost blending into the shadows on the wall. Yeesh. The man was dripping angst like a Sham-Wow towel dropped into an inkwell. An inkwell infused with pure depression.
The retro Spidey yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes and muttered to himself. Wade’s eyes snapped to Peter Porker, and it was as he’d guessed: the ex-cartoon pig was looking at his friend with hesitation, and possibly longing.
Make your move, you funky little man, Wade thought. The pod lurched forward, and he fell with it, whooping. Miles yelped and tried to web himself to the wall; Gwen shielded him as they hit the wall with a unified yelp. Peter fell against the wall closest to Noir, just a few feet away, and asked something Wade couldn’t hear.
“Mind turning up the volume on their convo, author?” Wade shouted at the ceiling.
“WHAT?” Peni asked. SP//dr’s dome was shining against the wall, rolling side to side in a dizzying arc. How the tech whiz managed to keep her candy down, Wade would never guess.
No reply came from the so-called “omnipotent being” Wade knew for a fact was chowing down on Slim Jims at this very moment, ignoring his question. He sighed and sank into the wall, peering at the grayscale man and his cartoon friend talking, muffled and slow. Dammit! Wade DEMANDED that he be included in their heart-to-heart.
A hand thumped across his chest. He turned to see PB, slumped against the wall, trying to shift his arm off. Wade wiggled his eyebrows.
“Pulling a Noir on me, huh?” he asked.
PB snort-laughed (god that was cute) and rolled himself onto his back. “Shut up. And don’t bring that up again.”
“They can’t hear us. It’s REALLY LOUD IN HERE!” Wade called. Peter B nodded and scrunched his face against the force of the travel.
“Hey, Peni! What’s the next universe on the agenda?” Miles shouted. He tried to push himself up on one arm and failed with an “oof.”
“IT LOOKS LIKE A NORMAL UNIVERSE!” Peni called. She was trying to read the screen through SP//dr’s dome, double-fisting two lollipops. “When we get there, there’ll be a 20-minute cooldown time, and then we can go to the next ‘verse! It’ll be fast!”
“This feels so science-fictiony! ADVENTURE!” Wade cheered. PB gave him a smile that made him feel like he’d been stabbed in the dopamine-producing part of the brain. Shit. He really liked this guy. Like, as-much-as-Cable liked this guy. Why couldn’t he get with the Chris Pine Spider-Man? No, he had to blush like a schoolgirl about Spidey-Mickey-D’s.
“We’re slowing down!” Gwen called. She was right; they were speeding like a comet, sure, but it felt less like a NASA g-force test and more like a carnival ride. The pod touched after a few more moments of shrill beeps and flashing neon-green that illuminated every Spider in a villainous glow.
Wade gritted his teeth, but the impact had lessened. The Pod skidded more than it crashed, and they came to a stop with only a soft screech over concrete. A cat yowled from outside. They were probably in an alleyway.
Every Spider slumped to the ground. Wade hopped to his feet and extended a hand to PB, as SP//dr righted itself and Miles laid on the floor, dizzied.
“Okay. So should we just stay here for 20 minutes? Because that seems like the option that’ll be least likely to get us killed.” Gwen said, readjusting her mask.
“Good call, kid. We oughta just wait for the cooldown and high-tail it past each universe.”
“Whaaat?” Wade asked, pouting. “There’s a whole other universe out there!”
“I don’t want to get lost in it,” PB said. Damn his occasional reasonability. Wade turned to Peni, Ham, and Miles, and found them equally as unsympathetic. He huffed.
“Fiiine. Whatever. I’ll just sit here for twenty WHOLE minutes--”
“That’s not that long.” Gwen deadpanned.
“--doing NOTHING. Just sitting here, in the dark, whining.”
“Oh, please, don’t do that.” Peni cringed. Wade glared.
“We could play Uno…” PB began.
“I have a Monopoly board.” Peter said, producing a Monopoly board from nowhere. Tune logic. Right.
“Oh, no. I don’t want to be cleaned out. You know what? I’ll meet you guys back here. I’m out,” Wade flashed a peace sign and opened the pod door, blinking in the sunlight as it strained through an alleyway.
“What? WADE!” PB began, before Wade slammed the door and stepped out into the street. He could hear distant music, and a whole lot of singing. Man, it was loud. He bounced on his toes, and didn’t look back as he heard the Pod door open, and the Spideys call after him.
“Wade, you idiot--” PB caught up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Wade waved him away and sniffed like a pompous Frenchman, continuing on.
“Don’t talk to me. You don’t have any sense of adventure.” Wade said. PB rolled his eyes.
“Look, pal,” Ham was on Wade’s left, gesticulating. “I get it. It’s boring there. But come on! I need to get to the Hub and GET MY NORMAL BODY BACK. Can we just play it safe?”
“Nope! Guess you don’t have any sense of adventure, either, man.”
“I’m a pi--oh. Right. See! I need my LIFE back!” Peter said. Wade felt only slight guilt before he pushed it away, hands on his hips. The other spider-people were watching, dubious.
“I’m going to check out that singing, guys. There’s nothing on god’s green earth you can do to stop me.” Wade strutted forward, ears open. There was a silence behind him, a collective sigh, and then a muttering: Wade caught the words “dumbass” and “how long?” in the quiet conversation.
A pattering behind him, and the Spideys had caught up once more. “Okay. TWENTY minutes, got it? Then we’re out.” Peter said.
“Sounds good! Glad to see someone with a sense of y’know.” Wade smiled. He felt a strange tickle in his throat for a moment, and decided to ignore it. He turned out of the alley and saw a group in the middle of the park, dancing. Flash mob? Didn’t those go out of style in, like, 2013?
“Weird,” Gwen commented, peering. “Maybe it’s an outdoor musical performance?”
A pedestrian walked by, singing to himself. It was some quiet, familiar song, the kind that would play in a commercial involving kids. “What a Wonderful World.” Wade watched, fascinated, as the man performed a perfect heel pivot in the middle of the street and did a backflip. Miles clapped politely, but the guy ignored him and moved on.
“Everyone’s singin’.” Noir said.
He was right: every pedestrian, young or old, mothers pushing baby strollers and men in business suits with apple watches and phones pressed to their ears, kids with tall-stacked ice-cream cones.
All of them were singing, all different songs, all with perfect pitch. Some performed random dance moves while doing their normal routines; others did fully choreographed dance numbers, with props, and other things found in the bowels of theater back-stages.
“Oh, my god. The universe is one giant musical.” PB’s lip curled back, and he put his hands over his ears.
“Oh, my god. This universe is one giant musical!” Wade repeated, absolutely ecstatic. The tickle at the back of his throat grew stronger. Again, he decided to ignore it. It would prove to be a mistake.