New Room
Peter woke up in an unfamiliar room, the first thing he smelled was sweat, moldy food, and beer. He scrunched his nose which made him realize he still wore his mask. With a groan he moved to his back wincing when his stitches pulled. The events of last night played in his head. He was in Deadpool's apartment, "fuck." He shot up quickly regretting it. He was in Deadpool's apartment! And he was still alive? Still masked? He took that as a good sign and rested back against the headboard until the throbbing subsided. He really had to pee.
With a yawn he slowly got up. Once the door was open he could hear someone singing off key in what he guessed was the living room. He stopped in a filthy looking bathroom, really what the hell was wrong with Deadpool how could he live like this? Peter made a mental note to bleach his gloves the next time he did laundry. He also cursed himself for not wearing a STP. When he was done he went to the kitchen, finding it in no better state then the bathroom. The merc was at the stove cooking what looked like pancakes.
He cleared his throat loudly gaining the taller man's attention. "Good morning Spiderlad! Sleep well?"
"Uh yeah, thanks," he cleared his throat. "Do you know the time?"
"Nine? Ten? Somewhere around there," he said flipping a pancake onto an extremely big pile. "Breakfast?"
"Sure," Peter agreed pulling out a chair. He all but screeched when a giant roach ran out from under the table. He webbed it to the floor as he leapt on the chair.
"Whoa! Could you set up a few of those around the house? My own personal spider traps! Aha! Traps!"
"Deadpool," Peter growled. "This place is a mess! Don't tell me you sleep here." When the merc remained quiet, the younger made a disgusted noise. "Don't you know how to clean?!"
"I clean Bea and Arthur all the time," he defended.
"Not what I meant," the younger muttered peering under the table. He took a seat only when he was sure there were no roaches around. "I can't let you live like this. As your friend I'm declaring this an intervention. Deadpool, clean your freaking house."
Deadpool set two plates down, each piled high with pancakes. "For someone who almost died your awful naggy."
Peter grumbled lifting up his mask to eat. He took off his gloves and tucked them into the waistband of his pants. "Have you seen your bathroom?"
"Yes? I do still defecate."
"I'm eating."
The merc laughed, "You brought it up!"
"I'm not gonna get some kind of diseases from eating these am I?"
Deadpool made an offended sound, "you don't deserve my pancakes." He started to slide the plate over to his side when Peter started.
"Wait! I'm sorry, please. Not the pancakes." Deadpool laughed again. This time Peter noticed his mask was pulled up. He wasn't hiding his chin either. Peter was quick to turn away from the scarred skin, hoping that the merc wouldn't go back to covering himself. He picked up a pancake, seeing as there weren't any utensils except for a broken plastic fork. As soon as he took his first bite he was melting into his chair. "Wow. These are..."
"Orgasmic? I know."
"Not what I was gonna say," Peter muttered hoping the mask still hid the blush in his cheeks. Peter ate three pancakes when Deadpool was halfway through his stack. Really, how the hell did this guy eat so much? "Did you find out who those people were?"
"Nope. I have a few ideas but I don't know who they are for sure. I know a few people who might be able to tell us but it'll take a while."
"Right," Peter brought a hand down to the bullet whole in his suit. He had been taking the medication Dr. Banner created. They wanted to give him a few doses before preforming any kind of surgery. It stunted his healing factor that much he knew. It wasn't by much but enough to make him feel the wound. He was still groggy from bloodless but Peter was a pro with sleep preservation at this point. He would have to stay off the medication until the wound healed. Something he already knew but was still depressed about.
"Spiderdude? You okay?"
Peter blinked, looking up from his pancakes to the older man. "Yeah."
"The stitches okay?"
"Yeah," he picked up another pancake. "Thanks by the way. For stitching me up." He didn't want to think about the way he acted. He was just scared that Deadpool would see his skin and somehow piece it together. That he was wearing a binder. That his packer was just a cup in his suit. He panicked.
"No problem. You gonna finish those?"
-*-
After eating and once again demanding that Deadpool buy some cleaning supplies Peter made his way back home. He was to move slowly and he swung lower then usual but he made it home without tearing the stitches. He fumbled inside the window to find himself in a mess of what used to be his apartment. All the drawers of his dresser were thrown around the room. His clothes were scattered, his closet too. His backpack was turned inside out. His mattress was shoved up against a wall, the box spring cut open.
Peter stared at the mess for a full minute before running to the turned over box near the closet. His camera bag was open, camera inside but all his memory cards were gone. The safety box inside was left alone as well. He torn around the floor next. In desperate search of his laptop but it was no where to be seen. His phone, however, was still in the pocket of his previously worn jeans. He picked it up, finding a dozen missed calls from a few of the avengers.
He dialed Bruce, resting the phone between his shoulder and ear and he did his best to restore his room. He looking for the next thing he wanted. The black medical case that held all his syringes and medicine. "Peter!"
"Hey Bruce, sorry I didn't have my phone. What's up?"
"The tower was attacked last night. Are you okay?"
"Whoa wait what? The tower was attacked?"
"A couple of masked people made it in, only one made it out. They were trying to get into the lab."
Peter's stomach clenched in unease, "someone came to my apartment too."
"Are you okay," Bruce repeated.
The young hero sighed, "I was hurt last night when I was patrolling. Some guys in masks and armor attacked me and Deadpool outside of town."
"What happened?"
"I don't even know. Deadpool got us out of there but...I was shot. It isn't bad! He stitched the wound. But I'm gonna need to stay off the new medication. Speaking of." He spun in a circle still not seeing it. "They took my meds."
"Both of them?"
"Yeah, and my laptop. My camera's SD cards. I don't know how to feel about this Bruce they came in looking for specifics. I mean if this was a robbery they would take my camera too right? And my phone? The safety box?"
"There's defiantly something going on. You should come over to the town, Tony's been worried."
Just then he hear muffled shouts, he stacked his school books onto the kitchen counter. "Peter!" He winced yanking the phone from his ear. "Where are you! Doesn't matter! Come to the tower!"
"Hey Tony," Peter greeted with a smirk. "I'm gonna need a minute to get my stuff back in order."
"What happened?" Peter explained with as little detail as possible already knowing how Tony could get. "You can't stay there anymore. Bring anything you need. We'll get a room set up for you here."
"Thanks Tony but I couldn't-"
"They were in your home Peter. It's not safe for you to stay there anymore."
Peter looked around the loft. Sure it wasn't much but it was his room. It was his first room, one he bought on his own. With a sigh he agreed. They said goodbye and Peter began getting his stuff together. He used an old briefcase his Aunt May gave to him when he left. He packed in all his gear and anything else he found necessary. He filled his backpack with what he needed for class tomorrow deciding to come back and get the rest when he could. When he was done he left the room, going to lock the door but realizing it was broken. He keep his hood up with his senses on high alert as he went to the tower. No one was following him, at least that he could tell.
He took the familiar route, trying to remember the train ride and walk not sure if he would ever be coming back this way again. He was greeted by Natasha and Clint at the Stark Tower entrance. Each of them looking around, making sure no one had followed him. He was grateful in a little embarrassed that they were there to look out for him. They went straight up to the penthouse. Peter had only been here a couple of times. Each time he was taken back by the grandness of it. Of course it was amazing. It was Tony Stark's building.
"Peter," said man sighed walking over to him. Peter gripped his backpack strap and smiled.
"Hi guys. Thanks for letting me stay here."
"Of course," Tony said patting his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired. Honestly," he chuckled nervously scratching the back of his neck. "Been a long night."
"I'd like to see the wound, when your ready," Bruce commented.
Peter nodded, "okay. Can I set these down somewhere?"
"This way," Tony led him to his new room. It was set up like the others, a closet, dresser, large bed, and a wall of windows giving a beautiful view of the city. There was even a desk, complete with a new laptop.
"Tony-" Peter started, placing his bags down by the desk.
"Strictly for school work," Tony defended. "Can't have you slacking."
"Thank you," Peter murmured feeling a bit overwhelmed.
"Just take it easy kid. We'll have dinner set up later." Tony left after that, letting the younger man process everything. Peter gazed out the window. He was thankful for the amazing new room but it wasn't his style. He was getting used to the stained paper thin walls and peeling wooden floors. He was getting used to the view of the apartment bricks. The sound of his neighbors moving around had worked with grounding him after a long day.
Now there was silence. He could feel the stream of cool air coming from the vent. The floors were made of some kind of aluminum. Maybe marble? The walls were a light tan, lights hanging on the wall between the bed glowing a soft yellowish light. Circular wholes in the ceiling shining the same color. There were a pair of double doors and another leading to what he guessed was a bathroom. He went to it, flicking on the light to find that yes, it was. And it was about the size of his loft. At least he didn't have to worry about warm water or the power going out.
He went back to the room and sat on the bed. He bounced slightly and okay maybe it wasn't so bad. He flopped back with a groan. Defiantly not all bad. He winced when the movement pulled on his stitches. Deciding to get them checked before getting anymore comfortable he left the room. Nerves were still tight in his gut. There were still a few avengers hanging around and he was extremely intimidated by them. He'd only been Spiderman for a few years now, longer then the Avengers formed, but he knew they were still doing their own thing before they joined forces. Sitting inside the main room was Natasha and Clint, talking quietly on the couch. Standing in the kitchen across the room was none other than Steve Rogers. Peter had to force a deep breath before stepping forward.
"Hey Pete," Clint greeted loudly gaining Captain America's attention.
"Peter," Steve greeted with a brilliant white smile.
"H-Hi Mr. Rogers," he stuttered feeling his face erupt into flames.
"I told you, it's Steve," his smile softened as he patted Peter's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," the younger admitted. "But I'm hanging in there."
"I heard your apartment was ransacked."
"Uh yeah, yeah. Someone broke in and took a few things but it wasn't so bad." He was quickly becoming even more flustered because this was CAPTIAN AMERICA.
"You were wounded?"
"Just a bullet wound, Deadpool was there, he helped me out."
"So you are teaming up with that nut job," Clint asked now leaning over the arm of the couch.
"Just a couple times a week," Peter replied timidly.
"You know he's a mercenary. He kills people for money," Natasha said in her usually monotone.
"He's actually given that up. Or trying. He's still working it out. But he's doing really well!" Peter was trying to give his new friend the most credit he could. They had gotten close since Deadpool started bringing him lunch. And their team ups. Before he realized it he became good friends with the merc. It made him feel even worse for lying to Deadpool but as time went on he found it harder and harder to admit the truth.
"That doesn't seem safe Peter," Steve said in disapproval.
"That isn't safe," Natasha corrected.
"He's been really good though. If it weren't for him I wouldn't have been able to escape last night," his voice slowly got quieter. Thinking about last night had him almost trembling. If he had been alone he had no doubt things would have been worse. He had never been put in such a helpless situation. He had started spiraling into a panic attack until Deadpool started talking. Each time he head that deep voice he was brought back. "He saved my life."
"Don't tell me you guys are friends," Clint groaned.
Peter blushed again, "so what if I am?"
"He's a mercenary."
Obviously he wasn't going to change their mind. "Okay well I'm going to go see Bruce now. It was nice seeing you guys. Guess I'll see you later? Now that I'm living here..." He was still in a small amount of shock. He knew he'd be more at ease in the lab.
"Good evening Mr. Parker," Jarvis greeted when he stepped into the elevator.
"Hey Jarvis," he grinned happy with the familiar voice. "To the lab please."
"Right away sir." Peter almost preened. Jarvis was always so respectful of him and his requested pronouns. It felt better that he didn't have to face anyone either. He didn't have to see a confuse face. Jarvis had become one of his best friends. Sad? Kind of. But Peter didn't care.
"Hey Peter," Bruce greeted working on something at his station. "Want to get on the medical bed?"
"Do I have to," he mumbled looking at the table in distaste. It gave an x-ray of everything he didn't want to see.
"Just to make sure nothing's seriously injured," Bruce gave him a sympathetic look. "Only for a few seconds." Peter nodded and got onto the table, closing his eyes as the machine scanned his body. "Oh no."
"What," Peter asked sitting up.
"It's...It's the medicine it slowed down the process more then I anticipated. You're still bleeding out. You're blood's coagulating but it's moving too slow. I don't know how you're still awake."
"Me either," Peter muttered starting at the floor.
"It'll get you set up with a blood bag," Bruce left to the storage room. Peter wandered to the station, checking his data. There was nothing wrong inside him, the bullet wound just missed his uterus. It was cut, but just barely.
"Hey Bruce," the younger asked pulling up his condition. "Do you think...we could do the surgery?"
There was a shuffle, it almost sounded like something fell. "What," Bruce squawked.
"The hysterectomy. Do you think we could do it? You know before the meds leave my system. I mean the process is slowed it's what we wanted right?"
"Peter it's extremely dangerous." They had talked about it a few times, the removal of any of his organs were the highest risk. They'd suggested starting out with something like his top surgery but as Peter stared at his organs all he wanted was for them to disappear.
"But it could work," he persisted.
"It could...or it could do more damage. What we know is that you'll keep bleeding. If you keeping bleeding with a missing organ Peter it'll be fatal."
"Well what if we cauterize the major arteries," he tried again.
"Peter," Bruce said slowly putting the bag down. The younger just kept giving him a hopeful look. So with a sigh Bruce went to his computer. "I'll ask some doctors. I'll see what we can do."
Peter gave an enthusiastic smile, "thanks Doc!"