Peter Parker sat on the top of the Stark Building, his legs dangling over the edge, looking out into the night sky. His mask was tightly clenched in his fist, taken off after it had become too wet from his tears to wear any longer. Usually he'd be worried about someone seeing him without his mask on but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Who gives a shit? He asked himself. He knew Stark already knew his 'secret' identity, and the rest of the team probably did too, especially since hiding it hadn't really been a priority for him lately but they still insisted on continuing the facade of it being a secret.
He felt goosebumps form, the cold breeze even worse at the top of the tower. he considered retreating into the guaranteed warmth of the building below, but the idea of facing the team was far too much for him to bear. The sight of concern on their faces felt suffocating, their 'comforting' words even worse. He knew they just wanted to help, but they didn't understand, no matter how much they insisted that they did. Their offers of help were useless, because in the end there was nothing they could do. Wade wasn't coming back.
Wade was never coming back.
He remembered the first time they kissed, both on a high of adrenaline after a successful mission to bust a human trafficking ring. The plan had gone perfectly, months of all night stake outs and gathering information leading up to it. They arranged to meet on the rooftop of Wade's apartment after Peter delivered the evidence to the police. But when he saw Wade standing on the roof, waiting for him, he was overcome with elation. Before Wade could manage one word, Peter dove at him, swiftly pulling up his and Wades's masks to reveal their mouths, pressing his lips against Wade's, his body pressing into the embrace.
For once, Wade was speechless.
They progressed into a serious relationship quickly, moving in and working together. Peter started ignoring calls from Stark, quickly becoming distant from his already minimal friends while Wade was taking on less and less jobs in order for them to stay together. They were both obsessed with each other, entirely consumed in a world with only each other in it, only needing each other.
It didn't take long for their relationship to turn toxic, the initial high wearing off.
Wade started accepting mercenary jobs again, not caring who he was targeting, taking on bigger and more risky hits to make up for the all the time he spent with Peter. In turn Peter became more obsessive with going on patrol to distract himself from the thoughts of who Wade could be killing, both becoming more and more distant from each other.
They started going through a constant cycle of arguing, fighting and making up. Wash, rinse, repeat, neither one willing to acknowledge the only alternative, the choice that both of them knew that one of them would eventually have to make. When Peter kissed him he no longer tasted like home, but of shame and second hand vodka. At night their movements became robotic, as if following a worn out routine, both too scared to leave, to do what had to be done.
But it still hurt when Wade finally had enough, refusing to take off his mask the whole time, his usually expressive face blank and devoid of emotion. Peter held in his tears until after he left, not wanting to let Wade see him so weak.
It had been 3 months since then, each day becoming harder to manage rather than easier. Everyone told him that 'time heals all' and he just needed to wait it out, but he feels as if he can't wait any longer. Wade never replies to his calls, his phone number now disconnected. He tracked down his number for 'clients' once, but as soon as he mumbled out a hesitant 'hello?' there was a sharp intake on breath before call disconnected. He tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail.
He couldn't bring himself to try again since then.
He looked over the edge of the building, considering letting himself lean forward until he would fall.
But he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Fuck this he thought to himself as he abruptly stood up, pulling his now dry mask over his head. He suddenly jumped off the building, letting himself free fall for a few seconds before shooting out a web to swing himself across the city, looking for someone to save, someone to beat up, someone to distract himself with.
He supposed it didn't really matter why he was patrolling, as long as he didn't have to think of anything. He could just let his instincts take over, the feeling of his fists smacking into flesh soothing him in a probably unhealthy way. At this point he couldn't bring himself to care. At this point being Spider-man was the only point to his life, without it, he was just weak Peter.
Without him, he was nothing.