Spideypool, Grieving
“You know, it’s okay to cry.”
Peter’s grip falters on the ledge beneath his fingers at the sound of Wade’s voice. He blinks hard behind his mask, isn’t even sure how Wade knew he was crying in the first place without seeing his face. Doesn’t know how he didn’t know Wade was right behind him, or for how long.
“I’m not crying,” Peter snaps.
Wade scoffs. “The break in your voice says otherwise.”
Peter is tense, shoulders drawn up to his ears, the pull of his muscles visible through the thin material of his suit. Wade’s feet shuffle noisily through the gravel scattered across the rooftop, and Peter doesn’t relax, even as Wade hops up on the ledge beside him. His eyes are trained on the cityscape, the air clouded with smoke, tinged murky red with fire and debris.
Even without looking, Peter knows Wade’s watching him.
“You did what you could,” Wade says softly after a moment, softer than Peter’s used to hearing from the merc with a mouth.
“Still wasn’t enough,” Peter mumbles.
Finally, Wade turns his head to look at him. “What are you talking about, baby boy?” he asks, voice laced thick with confusion.
“I couldn’t save everyone.”
Uneasy, Wade shifts beside him. “Were you as fast as you could be?” he asks.
Peter frowns. “Yeah,” he says.
“As strong?” Wade continues.
“Yes, Wade,” Peter snaps. Seconds later though, he deflates.
Peter pulls his legs up under himself and buries his head in his knees, the press of his sharp patellas against his forehead grounding him somehow. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
It catches him off guard when Wade’s hand falls gently onto his shoulder. After a moment, Peter relaxes into it. Relaxes into everything.
“Then you did everything you could,” Wade says. His voice is soft and gentle, and it sends a shiver up Peter’s spine he’s sure the other man can feel beneath the pads of his fingers.
“I know you have this whole ‘with great power’ thing going for you,” Wade continues. “And it’s sweet. It really is. But it’s also bullshit.”
As soon as the words leave Wade’s mouth, Peter groans. “Wade,” he chastises.
“I’m sorry, Petey,” Wade says, not sounding very sorry at all. “But it’s fact o’clock, and this just in, you don’t owe anyone anything. You’re only one man. Even if that man happens to be the amazing spider kind.”
Peter scoffs and shakes his head. Reaching back, he takes his mask in his hand and pulls it from his face, settling it in his lap as he wipes the tears from his cheeks.
This is a new development, sharing his name with Wade. His face. And while there’s still a part of him that thinks it’s a terrible idea, the way his stomach flip-flops when Wade looks into his eyes - really looks - makes that part sound awfully muffled.
“I can’t just change my code, Wade,” Peter protests.
Wade pouts. “Why?” he whines. “Your code makes you miserable.”
“Yeah, well,” Peter chuckles. “My moral compass doesn’t really care about my misery. Believe me, I’ve checked.”
Awkwardly, Peter shifts on the ledge. The uncomfortable feeling of pins and needles fills his right glute, and he angles his body closer to Wade’s to compensate. The proximity means Peter can feel Wade’s body heat, even through the suit, and it makes him shiver.
“You know,” Peter says after a moment. His voice is pitched low and gravelly, and Wade fixes him with a curious look. “Sometimes, I wish I was more like you. ‘Cause I think you might be right. I do care too much.”
A stray tear runs down Peter’s cheek, and immediately, Wade is backpedaling. “Hey, whoa, wait,” he says. “You don’t want to be like me, baby boy. Trust me, alright. You wanna be like you. The world needs more people like you.”
Peter sniffles and wipes at his eyes. “Oh, yeah?” he challenges, bitter and sarcastic.
And usually, Wade would be sarcastic right back, except this time he’s not. “Yeah,” he says instead. “So, it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel whatever it is you need to feel that makes you the kinda selfless, warm-hearted person you are. Because the world does need people like you. And I do, too.”
Peter swallows hard around the lump in his throat, so hard he’s sure Wade can hear, even as he looks Peter so intently in the eyes and says, “or just one person, specifically.”
Chasing Wade’s warmth, Peter presses along his side from shoulder to knee cap and buries his head in the curve of Wade’s neck. He heaves in a ragged breath and lets Wade wrap an arm around him.
“Okay,” Peter agrees, a violent sob finally pushing past his defenses. It’s the first of many, and he curls deeper into Wade’s arms as the tears continue to fall.
Perched at the top of the city, they sit vigil for seven perfect strangers. Peter mourns their loss like friends.
“Yeah,” Wade says, thumb stroking along the small of Peter’s back. “It’s okay.”