Chapter 4
1:22AM. Crown Heights. Brooklyn.
The neighbourhood was generally quiet. Cars passed by every few minutes. A few blocks away, a gang of teenagers were spray-painting tags in an alley, and a few feet away a homeless man was warming his hands over a trashcan fire. From a high building, the Spider-man surveyed the area lazily. He considered going to another neighbourhood to find some action, or something. Tell the truth, he was bored. And tired. Glassy-eyed under his mask, he watched over the few blocks in his line of sight. He checked his phone, only to find his now-usual spam of texts from his now-flatmate Wade, asking or ranting about this or that. They'd been living in the same place for less than a week, and he was already being constantly bombarded with nonsensical texts, rarely pertaining to anything to do with the apartment. Mostly just irrelevant details. Like he was looking for an excuse to text Peter, which given how he'd presented himself so far, came as no surprise. The most recent one had been from 7:10PM, reading: "Looked in your room saw u weren't home. stole some socks from ur dresser. Hope u don't mind mine r all dirty. Texting to let u know I'm going out and prob wont be back till late. love u a bit. WW" Peter despised Wade's poor use of punctuation. Grammar too. The guy was actually growing on him, now they'd actually gotten to know each other a bit better. He wondered if Wade coming onto him would ever be mutual, and to be perfectly honest, wasn't repulsed by the idea. The guy had a certain weird charm. Mostly, the thought just went ignored. Despite the terrible grammar and general lack of filter, he was a pretty nice guy. Not that Peter would really know, they were still in pretty early stages of friendship. But he saw good in Wade. He wasn't really sure if Wade saw good in Wade, but there was hope yet.
Spider-man stood up and stretched, gearing to go find a neighbourhood with some crime to stop. Or at least something to do. He shot a web across the street, and started swinging west towards Manhattan. After twenty minutes travel he glanced down at the traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge, he silently thanked that spider bite six years ago. Getting from Brooklyn to Manhattan in under a half an hour was an unheard-of miracle among New Yorkers. Webbing sure beats driving. The few stray people out at this hour looked up and pointed as he swept past building after building looking for conflict to split up. Finally, swinging swiftly down from the rooftops, the Spider-man sat in the canopy of a large tree on the edge of Central Park. After re-adjusting a few branches higher for the best possible vantage point, he started lookout again. After a few minutes of finally catching his breath, and two drunk girls on the sidewalk trying to take pictures of him, he heard a familiar voice from the ground. "Yoo-hoo? Spider-nerd?"
Peter sighed. "What is it?" He half-turned his head lazily. The leaves around him rustled.
"Thought you might like some company!" Deadpool shouted from the ground.
"… I brought Mexican food!" He held up a brown paper bag.
2:25AM. Central Park. Manhattan.
Spider-man and Deadpool sat on a park bench, eating Mexican food and generally, actually, getting along. It seemed like Deadpool had actually made effort to not seem like a full-tilt psychopath. They talked about strange criminals and things they'd seen 'on-the-job', but obviously nothing about their lives when the sun was up. Somehow, the flirting was minimal today. Some conflicting emotions arose in Peter's mind, and he wondered why he felt a little disappointed. He despised being flirted with, by anyone, not just the merc. He did kind of enjoy Deadpool's antics every once in a while, but generally they just left him feeling weird. Felt a lot weirder actually realizing he enjoys the company and romantic advances of a murderer with no morality. But that was a matter to deal with back home when they weren't sitting right next to each other. It was pitch dark outside, so neither of them had worries about half-lifting up masks to eat. There was some orange-y light from a street lamp a few yards away, but not enough to cast anything but shadow on their faces. The food had been mostly finished, and they were snacking on scraps. Somehow Deadpool managed to scoff down a whopping eleven chimichangas in a matter of about fifteen minutes. After a few minutes of silence, having come about from awkward laughter trailing off, Peter realized they'd both kept their masks up to just talk to each other. The cool breeze of early November on his bare face actually felt nice in contrast to the warmth of the suit. He still could only just see shadows and no real features of Deadpool's face, and he knew the merc couldn't really see him either.
"You know, every time we go on these little play-dates it feels more and more date-like." Deadpool interjected the silence.
Normally, Peter would roll his eyes at the remark, but he couldn't really disagree.
"Do you have to do this every time?" Peter emphasized.
"Why do you do that?" He furthered, "Why do you do this? You know I don't see you that way. I don't actually even know you, not really. If you're joking about the whole thing, which you obviously are-"
"What made you think I was joking?" The merc interrupted.
"Because you joke about everything. Everything is a joke to you, it's like, the majority of who you are as a person. You flirt with everyone like it's nothing."
"… I don't flirt with everyone, and I'm slightly offended you'd assume so. Your ass is special, webs. Physically and metaphorically."
Peter's temper grew irritated. "I told you how I feel about those comments, man. No, you do, man, like everything is just one big fucking joke to you, isn't it? Do your friends just- put up with you like I do? Do you even have friends?" Peter's voice raised slightly. "Man, I worry about you. You know that? I don't ever understand why you are the way you are. You keep me up at night wondering, 'Hey, I really hope deadpool isn't going to go and strap a bomb to his chest to see if he can survive being blown up and take some innocent bystanders with him'. It's like you don't have any conscience whatsoever. You ignore everyone who doesn't agree with you. You ignore it like they're not even there. Like I'm not even there. Passing it off like a joke when people actually care about you is a pretty fucking shitty way to keep yourself distant." Peter was talking faster and louder now, and his voice was starting to crack. He felt bad, but damn this felt good. He knew he needed to let this out, but things were starting to come out that he really didn't want to come out. The other man stayed quiet for a minute, much to spider-man's surprise. He had completely expected an immediate retaliation, either joking or defensive, but never once had it crossed his mind that the merc might actually listen to him.
"You care.. About me?" Deadpool hesitated. There was a tone in his voice he hadn't heard before. He actually sounded one hundred percent serious.
"You kinda gave me no choice, dude. I've seen you do messed up stuff. Really messed up stuff. And you follow me around every night like some pathetic, annoying puppy. It's human nature I'd take at least a little concern to your general wellbeing." Peter laughed awkwardly, trying quickly to cover up the genuine sentiment he hadn't meant to let slip out.
"I'm, uh- I'm ..sorry?" He sounded wary of not sounding sarcastic. Not surprising he wouldn't be used to apologies. Usually when Deadpool offended someone he'd just put a katana through their gut. "Fine. I'll stop being creepy and leave you alone. I'll go back to the weird, sad, little hole I crawled out of." He actually sounded sincere, even though it was in defensive, guilt-tripping kind of way, the sentiment was there.
"Truth is, it's all just a coping mechanism. I am sorry." The merc stated.
"I, I-uh. I appreciate it. Thanks. Really. You don't have to leave me alone. Just check in, okay? Let me know you haven't gone full-tilt psycho every once in a while."
"Will do, sweethe- Webs."
Peter smiled a half-smile and pulled out his phone. Still those pointless texts from Wade. He hadn't actually saved his number yet, he wanted to wait until next monday to see if the guy actually came through with rent money. "Ooooooh, who's that? Clingy uber driver? Weird aunt?" Deadpool leaned over, trying to get a look at the messages. Peter quickly put his phone back away and said shortly, "Nobody, just my roommate. ..Weird guy." His last word was interrupted when he turned back to see that the other man's face was way closer to his than he thought. They both hung in the awkward air around them. Suddenly that air felt really thin. They stood still for a strange moment, breathing shakily and quitely. This was... This was really awkward. He could just barely make out some of the merc's features, but really just general shapes. No detail. He had kind of thin looking lips. What the hell? He was suddenly very aware and very uncomfortable with the fact he was staring. Peter was entirely frozen as the other man slowly leaned a little more inward. The open eyes on Deadpool's mask were freaking him out. Was he being stared at under the mask? That's just weird. Did he- was he doing Peter thought he was doing? No way. Not in a million years. As their faces grew closer, they were almost touching noses. He felt human nature taking over as he started to lean in, wary with half-closed eyes. Panicked realizing what was happening as the merc was just about to close in on him, Spider-man swiftly put his hand up and shot a web directly into an overhead tree. In a split second, he was sitting ten feet above Deadpool, his heart pounding out of his skull. Quickly, he pulled his mask back down the lower half of his face and shot a web a few yards away and started swinging through the trees, trying desperately to get away from Deadpool and whatever the fuck it was that almost just happened. "NOT COOL, SPIDEY!" He heard a yell from behind him. Peter was in a state of complete shock and denial. He had to stop letting this guy encourage him into goofing off on patrol. This was becoming a problem. He felt like his heart was going to slip out his throat. He was sweating. He was not supposed to be anything but professional and calm, then waltzes in this walking disaster to try and distract him from his job. Too many thoughts and emotions to process right now. That'll be a deal for Peter, not Spider-man. He spent the rest of the night feeling generally mortified.
6:58AM. Apartment. Manhattan.
Spider-man swiftly crawled through his own bedroom window, shut it, and changed his clothes. He spent a few minutes in the bathroom staring in the mirror at his fresh black eye. (crime fighting isn't a fun hobby.) Peter Parker fell asleep the minute he hit the mattress.
7:09AM. Apartment. Manhattan.
Wade Wilson stood in the elevator whistling, a duffel bag containing a blood-soaked red suit in his hand. He unlocked the front door, peeked in Peter's room to ensure he was sound asleep, stowed the duffel bag back in his closet, and collapsed into bed.