Chapter 7
Peter arrived home expecting a nice, please afternoon. He was even considering stopping by aunt May's in an hour. Or visiting MJ to catch up. He'd been let out of work early and it as literally half past noon.
He did not expect to hear screams of pain from behind his door. He did not expect to come home and calm Wade down after said screams of pain. He did not expect to be doing what he is now.
At the moment, he is fashioning a makeshift box-chair thing so that Wade can sit upright. It's a very crude design, a particularly large box with a trash bag inside of it. His mind is already making a better design which he hopes to create at Stark's lab tommorrow.
The living room is eerily silent. Peter knows that Wade has a reputation which revolves solely around his mouth and the ability to never close it. He also knows Wade's a mercenary, but he doesn't care. He's determined to make Wade's healing process comfortable and as not lonely as he can.
Peter pushes the box into the living room and carefully puts Wade in it, wincing silently at the quiet hiss of pain Wade makes when he'said lifted up. Peter knows that at this current stage, Wade isn't to heavy for him even without his proportionate strentgh, so he doesn't bother to look like he's struggling.
Wade sits there for a few seconds, and he looks visibly less tense. Like a lot of the pain has been lifted, though not all of it. Peter smiles warmly and sits down on the couch next to Wade, reaching for the remote when Wade's voice filters into his ears.
"Why are you doing this?" Wade asks. His voice is missing it's usual cheery mania, and it sounds dangerous. Peter feels the hairs on the back of his head stand on end. Not spider sense, just a bit unerving. Spider sense felt a little different. It was a jolt or a tingle in his brain which usually resulted in all his hairs going on end like a cat, and goosebumps to for in a similar fashion, though how severe the reaction was, was entirely dependant on how dangers the situation was. Peter always tries to keep a hat on outside because of it.
"What do you mean?" Peter responds. He turns his head to face Wade, though Wade can't do the same. The skinless head stares at the blank TV screen with an intense expression that makes Peter shiver just a little.
"You said you researched me," Wade says lowly, and Peter wonders if Wade could hurt him even without the body, "You know what I am- what I do."
"You mean you being a mercanary?" Peter responds, his tone slightly light despite the tension that has suddenly hit the air. "That doesn't bother me. It doesn't affect my decision, either. I don't think anyone should wake up and regenerate, alone and in a dumpster. You could have been anyone, and I still would have taken you home with me."
"Do you have a fucking death wish?" Wade asks, voice harsh. Peter doesn't wince, letting his voice match.
"I'm not afraid of you, Wade." Peter says. His voice just as harsh, maybe a little colder.
"Well you fucking should be. I could kill you and I wouldn't fucling blink." Wade retorts, his voice is more of a growl, now. Peter stands up to go in front of Wade. He makes eye contact and leans in just a little closer.
"I'm not fucking scared of you. I'm not going to be scared of you. You could kill me, your right. But you're a fucking mecenary. You kill for money. I don't care if you enjoy it or what, Wade. I know a few facts that I've managed to figure out just by looking you up. I know that you do have a moral code, however questionable it is. I know you kill for money, but I know you'll only kill bad people for money. I know you won't kill or hurt kids and I know for fucking certain, Wade, that you won't kill me because it's against all three." Peter's eyes are challenging. He's only a little mad. Wade's looking for a fight. For fear. He may even be looking for control. He wants something that'll prove Peter is bad and that Pisses Peter off just the slightest because Peter is a lot of awful things, but he's not so petty as to kick a half regenerated Wade out for nothing. Peter's even a little offended.
"Your not a kid," Wade says, a fact. Peter narrows his eyes before a small smile filters into his face.
"You're right, I'm not. But you call me kid." Peter says, hands losing their angry place on his hips to relax. Wade chuckles, low, menacing, a little self deprecating, but it makes the tension disspipate.
"Kid, you don't know shit." Wade remarks, and Peter smirks.
"Whatever you say," Peter responds, moving to plop down on the couch. There's a few seconds if silence as Peter searches for the remote.
"We watchin' Princess Bride again, Peter Sweetey?" Wade pipes up as Peter turns on the TV with his super mind jedi powers. Otherwise known as a remote. Peter grins.
"Hell yeah,"
"Swoon!"
~
Peter is lightly dozing on the couch, eyes and consciousness swimming in and out as he lazily half-mumbles out a vaguely correct version of one of the lines in the movie. He knows it by heart, but what's coming out of his mouth is a basic summary of the lines.
"And the prince said as you wish because he really meant I love you and the princess didn't know.." Peter groggily sits up, trying to stay awake. He scratches his chest and stretches, yawning. Peter checks the time. They've rewatched the movie like, twice now. This is the third time. He figues if he does his Spider-Manning early he can pass out earlier.
Wade's already asleep, so he leaves a note just in case and slips out with his duffel bag. His eyes keep. Closing involuntarily, but that's probably because he's had three hours of sleep in three or maybe four days. His stomach grumbles angrily angrily him for only eating sandwiches and small lunches. It painfully reminds him of how he's started skipping lunches now because he prefers doing science. He hasn't actually eaten in two days, which is unhealthy for his Spider-Man metabolism. Peter doesn't mind. He's sure his body can last.
~
Peter arrives home sporting a black eye and serious bruising all over his side. He's pretty sure there's no internal injury, but his sides bruised and his other one has various small scratches all over that sting when chaffed, so he when he arrives home he forgets Wade's exists in favor of stumbling into the living room. He drops his bag and sort of crash lands on the ground in from of the tv. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, grumbling and but wanting to sleep.
He makes sure not to mention how he's just been in a fight with Doc Oc. His Spider-Man life is not something he wants to tell anyone, much less a Merc who can't stop talking. No matter how meant that is to say, it's the truth. He take another moment to rest before he forces himself to stand and shakily remove his shirt to inspect the level of damage that's been inflicted.
"What the fuck happened to you, Baby Boy? Did you get mugged or some shit?" Wade pipes up, having been awakened by Peter's stumbling entrance. Peter startles and looks up at Wade with mild annoyance.
"Some shit sounds right," Peter states, lowly hissing as he realized he has a fucking bullet wound in his side, which Wade can't really see. It's a low graze, nothing awful, but half the bullets still in him. "Shit," Peter hisses, realizes that maybe the bullet wound is a little worse than he thought, as he watches his hands get covered in a red sticky sunstance. "Shit," Peter repeats.
"You need some bandages Baby Boy," Wade pipes in rather unhelpfully. He can't see the bullet wound, nor the obscene amount of blood on Peter's hands, so Peter can't really blame him. The adrenaline is wearing off, now, and Peter looks around for first aid kit. He'd long ago moved one into every room. Peter snatches it off the top of the tv, before stumbling and landing on the ground. How much blood had he lost to this?
"Shit," Peter repeats as he fumbles in the kit for what he needs, "Shit. This is the third time this has happened why can't I avoid this, shit." Peter finds the stuff and his eyes begin to cross involuntarily. He's this stuff keep deprived to deal. Wade still can't really see the bullet wound.
"Wade?" Peter calls from his place on the floor outside of Wade's view. His voice is shaky.
"Yeah, baby boy? What's your ass needing? Can't really help because I have no hands but I can try-"
"How do you deal with a bullet wound? I don't- I don't think it came out of me this time," Peter says, voice rather small. There's no exit wound. He can feel himself panicking and he's trying to breathe. He's never had to take a bullet out of him before.
"Shit, Petey, here, you gotta find like, tweezers." Wade begins.
The process is very slow. Peter doesn't scream, but he does grit his teeth and hiss and maybe even cry, but Wade talks him through it. Peter's whole body is shaking by the time it's done and no he stumbles back onto the couch. He doesn't have painkillers, but he does have sleep deprivation, so he passes out the moment his head hits the couch.