Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sound of his flesh ripping open doesn't register at first.

Kicking back at the thing that just tore a hole in his side, Peter tries again to get his webs to stick to its wet, pink, meaty skin. It doesn't work this time either, so he flips back, retreats to safety, and the movement sends a sick wave of pain through him. With half his mind, he quickly slaps some webbing around the wound, holding it closed with impromptu butterfly stitches, and launches back at the monster.

From somewhere to his left, Wade fires off another round of shots. "This thing is like a cannibal's wet dream.” He says. “Do you think if we fried it up, it would taste more like chicken, or pork?"

"Food is the last thing on my mind right now, Wade." Peter zips past him, swinging in a full arc around the monster, looking for a weak spot. Or in this case, a dry spot on its skin where Peter can attach a line of web and start taking down this hulking amalgamation of raw meat and teeth before it contaminates the entirety of Manhattan with salmonella.

"Let's do a little science experiment, shall we? I know how you love those." Wade's voice calls out on the other side of the monster, seconds before a barrage of grenades sounds out. Peter lands on the face of a building as the monster flops to the ground, motionless. Wade waves at him over the body and Peter raises his hand to wave back just as the meat puddle jolts in a shocking blur of pink and white, and snaps Wade in half.

"Wade!" Peter launches off of the brick wall and swings a powerful kick against the monster, sending it sliding back a few feet before it can devour Wade's limp body.

"M'alright darlin',” Wade rasps. “That was just a not-so-friendly reminder that I haven't seen my chiropractor in a while."

Peter has to scramble back when the monster lunges at him next, and bumps right into a damaged blue minivan—likely crushed earlier in the monster's rampage before he and Deadpool showed up to intervene—and picks it right up. He tosses it at the thing to distract it long enough for Peter to kneel at Wade's side and make sure he's okay.

"Want me to move you out of here? To a safer place, so you can heal?" He asks, already taking hold of Wade’s body.

"Nah, I think my arms are still working. I can take shots at it from here." He says against Peter's shoulder as Peter does the very least he can do by propping him up against the side of a building, instead of leaving him half-paralyzed in the middle of the street.

"I'll be honest, I can't get a good grip on this guy.” Peter says to him. “It’s so...slimy. But it’s also kind of slow, unless you get right up next to it.”

“Learned that lesson the hard way.” Wade mumbles.

“If you have any suggestions for how to take it down, I’m all ears.”

"Well, my grenades took it down for a second or two. I'd say pure violence might be our best bet."

Peter grimaces, but he has to admit that Wade is probably right. This thing has already destroyed two blocks of downtown Manhattan, and most of the big-name Avengers are currently in Florida dealing with a sentient lizard outbreak. It’s just him and Deadpool here, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirms that the monster has nearly finished devouring the crumpled minivan Peter gave him as a snack, so he has to think fast.

"Oh, Webs, you're bleeding." Wade's fingers find the fraying edge of fabric just under Peter’s ribs.

"It's fine." Peter curls away and slaps on another messy layer of webbing without looking at the wound. Standing up, he slips one of Wade's katanas out of its sheath. "Gonna borrow this, if you don't mind."

"You know you're the only man I share my toys with." Wade grins at him.

"I'll try not to get it too dirty."

"You kiddin'? The dirtier the better."

"Well, in that case," Testing the weight of the katana in his hand, Peter sets off in a sprint towards the monster. He gets right up in its range just as it lets out a rumbling belch, and manages to swipe a large gash in its...side? It's belly? More importantly, does this thing even have a mouth to belch from?

It loses some stray teeth in the exchange, but otherwise it doesn't seem to notice Peter's attempts at hacking it into minced meat. Instead it starts looking for something new to absorb and Peter, being the closest thing to it, must look tasty enough. It wastes no time lunging at Peter, completely ignoring the blade he drives into its back, and proceeds to wrap Peter’s leg in a pink cocoon of meat and sharp teeth and pain.

With a yelp, Peter tries to cut off the whole appendage—the monster's, not his—and with Wade's bullets providing support, he manages to get free before the meat sock succeeds in crushing his entire leg.

Stumbling back, his leg light up with pain and black dots dance across his vision, but without the ability to stick his webs to the monster's damp skin or remain close enough to punch it down, he feels useless. Wade's bullets aren't doing much damage, either, from the looks of it.

All he has is Wade’s katana. Backing up even further, he starts wrapping a long line of webbing around its hilt, and aims it like a spear at the monster’s belly. He may not have the best aim, but he does have super strength, and the monster’s large body proves to be an easy target. The katana sinks deep into its meaty flesh, nearly disappearing completely into the pink mass. Hauling it back by the web string, Peter pierces it again, and again, and again. Wade cheers him on from a distance, but with the stinging pain in his leg and side, Peter’s entire concentration narrows to the target in front of him.

Eventually, the monster learns that it doesn’t have a chance of getting to Peter from this distance. So it rolls over to an abandoned city bus, and Peter doesn't need his spider senses to know that he needs to get the hell out of the way when it hooks its teeth into the bus and hauls it over its head. With a scary amount of accuracy for something that has no eyes, it hurls the bus straight at Peter.

And Peter knows he needs to move, he needed to start moving five seconds ago, but the blood loss from his wound finally catches up to him and he gracelessly drops to his knees in the middle of the street. Raising the katana above his head, Peter squeezes his eyes shut, and braces for impact.

A deafening screech of metal cuts through the darkness. And then, nothing. Slowly, Peter cracks one eye open to see one half of the belly of the bus laid out beside him. He spots the other half rolling to a stop behind him, and blinks in disbelief.

"Okay, wow. Can't believe that actually worked." He says to himself. But he doesn't have time to question the physics of what just happened, because the monster is rearing up for another attack, bulging up into the sky above him, condensing into a column of stinking meat that definitely doesn't smell like chicken or pork.

Peter tries to get to his feet and fight through the wave of lightheadedness that threatens to drag him back to the concrete. Keeping the katana close at hand, Peter creeps into the interior of the bus for cover, and watches the monster grow even taller through the smudged windows.

At some point, he realizes that maybe being trapped in a metal tube when this thing comes down isn't the smartest idea he’s ever had. But it's too late now, and when the monster starts to tip towards him, Peter can only hope that the bus is strong enough not to crumple like a tin can under its weight. But just as it starts to fall, the column suddenly splits right down the middle from top to bottom—a clean cut. Each slab of meat falls heavily to the ground, crushing thousands of dollars worth of property in the process, and at the base of the split stands Wade with his other katana raised high above his head, howling in victory.

Uncurling from his crouched position in the bus, Peter tries to get out to see if the monster is really, truly dead, but somewhere in the process of moving across a distance of ten feet, he blacks out. His body hits the ground and the next thing he’s aware of is a pair of large hands in leather gloves touching him.

"Hey there, big bug,” Wade’s rough voice reaches him from a distance, as Peter struggles to blink the world into focus. “Don't go collapsing on me like that." His tone is soft, a stark contrast from the usual sound of his voice, and his hands are gentle when they lift him from the concrete. Peter's head lolls against Wade’s shoulder and he tries to say something in reply, but all he can manage is a wordless grunt.

"I've got you." Wade says, shifting him into a more comfortable hold, and starts carrying him away from the scene.

"Did we get it?" Peter finally manages to say, and tries to see over Wade’s shoulder without moving his head too much.

"We got it. The thing hasn't so much as twitched in the last thirty seconds."

Peter shuts his eyes. "That doesn't sound very convincing."

"It's not getting up again, sweetcheeks. And even if it does, you're in no condition to keep fighting. I'm getting you out of here."

"But—"

"Nuh uh. No 'but's. But I will say that it was super cool to watch you use my katana as a harpoon. I’ll definitely be jotting that down as the highlight of my week."

Wade keeps walking, and eventually Peter stops struggling against his big arms and lets himself go lax in his hold. Keeping his eyes open becomes his biggest struggle, and every step Wade takes jostles the cut in his side. Without the fight to distract him, the pain becomes mind numbing.

All the while, Wade goes on about the coolest parts of the fight until he runs out of things to talk about, and starts rambling about a dream he had last night involving Peter, a tropical beach, and sunblock. Peter is content to listen to the sound of his voice and concentrate on his breathing instead of acknowledging the pain. At some point, he falls asleep or passes because the next thing he knows, he's slowly blinking awake in a dark room that smells like old food and antiseptic.

After a few seconds of stale panic, he recognizes the feeling of Wade's faux fur rug beneath him, and the ratty but incredibly comfortable couch behind him. In front of him, Wade's enormous TV blinks through commercials on mute as Wade uses its light to clean Peter's wounds. Peter watches him work for a minute before asking the obvious.

"Why're we doing this in the dark?"

"Light bulb went out a few days ago. Haven't replaced it yet."

"Why not bring me to the kitchen? Or the bathroom?"

"Didn't wanna risk tripping over something and hurting you more. Here, drink this. You need sugar. I'll get some steak cooking as soon as you're all patched up."

Wade shoves a juice box against his masked lips and Peter accepts it, taking it with one hand and rolling up the bottom of his mask with the other.

Peter takes a small sip (it's apple) and quietly says thank you. It's an understatement, but really, Peter doesn't know what else to do. He's patched himself up at Wade's place before, but this is the first time Wade has had to do it for him, and Peter doesn't know how to react or what to do with himself. He feels weak and vulnerable and jittery, despite his absolute lack of energy. The room is stuffy, it's early July and it feels like Wade hasn't cracked open a window in three weeks. He’s sweating under his suit and he knows the heat is only partly to blame.

"Not a problem, Webs.” Wade pats his knee, the uninjured one, and tilts his head. “I know a thing or two about first aid."

Peter returns to his juice box to give his mouth something to do besides spew a whole mess of feelings he doesn’t want to confront right now. He watches Wade's bare hands as he tediously disinfects each of the cuts on Peter's leg and gently covers them up with an assortment of superhero themed band aids. "The gash in your side was pretty deep, by the way. I stitched it up, but you're gonna have to be careful for a few days. Wouldn't want you to burst open and bleed out when I'm not around."

"Yes, Doctor."

Wade fixes him with a serious look. "I think I'd look better in a nurse's outfit."

Peter huffs out a laugh and lets his head drop to the couch cushion behind him. "Nurses don't even wear uniforms like that. Why do we insist on making sexy outfits out of stereotypes?"

"Uh, I think you answered your own question there. Because it's sexy. What other reason do you need?"

"Fair point."

Wade works for a few more minutes in silence. Or, Wade's equivalent of silence, which consists of occasional mumbling about seemingly random thoughts. But he doesn't address Peter directly, so Peter relaxes into the cushion and watches the television lights flicker across the ceiling. When he's finished, Wade asks Peter if there are any more injuries that he missed.

"Don't think so," He mumbles sleepily. "Thanks, again."

Shuffling to his feet, Wade pats the top of head and quietly says, "Don't mention it, Spiderman."

His heavy footsteps retreat to the kitchen to throw away the bloodied cotton swabs and bandaid wrappers. He stubs his foot on something on his way there and hisses out a curse, knocking over some things in the process. Peter watches the TV without really seeing what's on it. He plays with the fur rug and listens to Wade clank around in the kitchen as he presumably cooks steak.

Once his healing factor kicks in enough for him to feel confident standing up, Peter makes his way to the bathroom. He locks the door before twisting on the tap and sliding his mask and gloves off to wash his hands and drench his face with cold water. Wade's towel vaguely smells like toothpaste when he presses it against his face, and once he feels more like himself, Peter finally takes a peek at the wound in his side. It's hard to miss, with how perfectly framed it is by the tear in his suit. And despite how nasty and red it looks, it's clean, and the stitches are neat and careful. Twisting his fingers in the fraying threads above the cut, he has to admit that Wade did a better job than Peter probably would have.

It’s that thought that brings up a new wave of feelings, and he has to spend another minute with his hands pressed against his face until he feels in control of himself again. Tugging his gloves and mask back on, he exits the bathroom and slinks his way over to the kitchen.

It turns out he was right about the steak, but Wade also has a large saucepan of mixed vegetables sauteeing on the stove, and the whole room smells like heaven. Leaning against the wall at the entrance of the kitchen, Peter bends one leg up to fiddle with the tears in his thigh. Then he brings up his other leg to fully perch himself on the wall, because his nerves are still buzzing under his skin, and crunching himself into something smaller always calms him down.

Wade notices him when he turns around to grab something out of the fridge.

"I'll be honest with you, if you were a real spider right now, I would not use the paper and cup method to take you outside. I have enough bug problems as it is."

"Keeping a spider around could actually help, you know. By eating some of the bugs."

"I am not about to become an orphanage for displaced spiders. You are the only eight legged creature allowed in this home."

"I don't have eight legs."

"Sometimes you do. You should wear that suit more often, you know. The one with the extra legs? It's really intimidating."

"Intimidation isn't usually my style. I'm supposed to be friendly, remember?"

"You say that as you're perched menacingly on my wall."

Peter smoothly drops to the floor. "Sorry."

"No, no, by all means, hang from the ceiling if you want. Mi casa su casa, and all that."

But the smell of whatever Wade is cooking pulls him further into the kitchen. Standing at Wade's shoulder, he has to admit that it looks really good. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can sit your pretty ass at the table and have some patience, young man."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Can I at least set the table?"

Wade points over his shoulder at the cupboards by the sink. "If you insist."

It turns out that Wade doesn't have a whole lot of dishes, and the ones that he does have are mismatched and chipped in several places. But he finds enough for both of them to use and clears the loose packaging and questionable weapons from the table before sitting down crossed legged on his chair to wait. When Wade finally turns off the stove, Peter's mouth waters at the sight of him bringing the food closer. With a flourish, he fills Peter's plate with a large slab of steak and a generous helping of bronzed vegetables. He slams down a carton of orange juice on the middle of the table before taking his seat with a wide grin.

"Wade, this looks amazing."

"I have many talents. And you know what they say, the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Bone apple teeth!" He starts scarfing down his own serving before Peter has a chance to reply, so he picks up his fork and quickly cleans his whole plate.

Afterwards, Wade casually drops an invitation to stay a while longer and play some games. Peter still doesn’t feel keen on swinging home just yet, and it’s only half past seven, so he sinks into Wade’s couch and accepts the controller and soda that gets lobbed at his head.

This is more familiar to him, hanging out and playing weird multiplayer games with Wade after a tiring day of fighting crime. No bareskin contact, no weird admissions of his feelings, no panicked moments of waking up in a place that isn't his room. Just the simplicity of button mashing and the occasional manly scream of terror because apparently the video game on the menu tonight is some old, foreign horror.

But not even the thrill of simulated violence can keep Peter awake for long. Without realizing it, and definitely without planning on it, he falls asleep right there on Wade's couch. He sleeps like the dead and doesn't wake up until the crack of dawn, where he finds himself curled up against the back of the couch, covered in a soft blanket that smells like pizza and gunpowder.

Jolting upright, the first thing he checks is his mask. His fingers snap up to the edge of it where it's still rolled halfway up his face from when Wade busted out some snacks after they beat one of the bosses. But one side of it has ridden up over his ear, freeing a large chunk of his curls. Peter quickly fixes the mask and tucks it deep into his collar, cursing himself for consistently forgetting to get a haircut, and for falling asleep here in the first place.

After folding the blanket into a neat square, Peter picks up a few empty soda cans from the rug and lines them up on the coffee table. The rest of the apartment is silent, which means Wade must still be sleeping.

Peter starts pacing, careful to stay quiet but unable to keep himself in one place. He's stayed late at Wade's place before, sometimes their patrols stretch way into the night and he never really has a good reason to say no to Wade’s invitations to come over afterwards. But he's never fallen asleep like that.

It bothers Peter. It bothers him a lot.

It's not that he doesn't trust Wade. In fact he’s come to trust him quite a lot, especially when you compare it to how Peter felt about him when they first met. But Peter is supposed to have more control than this. Peter is careful. And as close as he and Wade have become over the years, Peter still hasn't shared his identity with him. The mere thought of sharing his identity with anyone at this point in his life makes his stomach churn with an old, cold panic.

It seizes him, bringing up a whole slew of bad memories and lingering hurts, and Peter really just wants to go home now.

He's standing at the window in the kitchen and he's flipping up the latches before he knows it. The window slides open without too much of a struggle and only a little bit of noise. But as soon as he swings a leg over the windowsill, he hears Wade's footsteps shuffling down the hall, and he freezes.

Wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, a tight tank top, and a fuzzy pair of slippers, Wade arrives in the kitchen with sleep in his eyes and a yawn in his chest. When he sees Peter, he straightens up a bit and scratches at his bare cheek.

"Mornin', Webs."

"...Morning."

Wade's face crinkles as he lets out another loud yawn and shuffles over to his coffeemaker. "Going home early to beat the rush hour traffic?"

"Um."

Wade looks at him.

"Want some coffee before you go?"

"No. I'd uh, better head out."

"Okay Mr. Morning Person. Swing safely, and remember what I said about the stitches." He throws a firm point at Peter before turning to the fridge to root around for a carton of milk.

Peter looks out at the street below and hooks another leg through the window. He looks back at Wade.

"I'll see you again soon?" He doesn't mean for it to come out like a question but it does and Peter feels his fingers start to get sticky with nerves. Wade twists open the carton and takes a big swig.

"Is water wet? Of course you'll see me again soon. We're besties."

Peter jerks out a nod and slips the rest of the way out the window. He doesn't want to open his stitches by swinging, so he climbs down the face of the building and makes his way on foot to his nearest cache of spare clothes, fuming at himself with every step he takes.

He makes a promise to himself right then and there that falling asleep at Wade's house is something he can't allow to happen ever again. He trusts Wade to not check under his mask while he’s asleep or unconscious or otherwise compromised, but that's exactly where the problem lies. Because the more comfortable Peter gets with Wade, the more opportunities he gives himself to slip up and say or do something that will negate all the effort he's put into keeping himself distant, to keeping up the barrier between the lives of Peter Parker and Spiderman. He's learned the hard way about the consequences of letting that barrier slip, and he has no intentions of lowering it ever again. Not for as long as he lives.

So why does he feel so guilty for running off like that? And why does seeing Wade be comfortable enough around Peter to take off his mask simultaneously make his stomach flip, and fill him with a bitter irritation when he can't do the same? Honestly, the answer is obvious. But to give name to it is to make it real, and Peter isn't about to jeopardize the control he's maintained ever since he promised himself to never tell another living soul about his secret identity.

So he fumes, mostly at himself, and joins the morning bustle of foot traffic on the streets of New York. He sheds the skin of Spiderman, and becomes just another guy in a sea of thousands, haggard and tired and maybe more than a little sullen.

No different from anyone else around him. No different at all.

-

If Peter avoids Wade's area of the city for the next week on patrol, he doesn't admit it to himself. He throws himself into his duties completely, going out earlier each day and staying out later every night, pushing his body to the limit to make sure he has no room for thoughts about secret identities or friendships or gentle fingers on his torn skin.

It gets to the point where the NYPD starts turning away some of the petty criminals he brings in because it's ‘Too many, Spiderman' and ‘We don't have the resources to process the tenth carjacker you brought in here in just the last hour, Spiderman.' But Peter ignores the complaints. He pushes onward, swinging from one end of the city to the other, hunting for trouble in every dark and twisted crevice. And if his punches start to get a little more aggressive by the end of day eight, well, it serves the criminals right for trying to break the law in his city.

With a quick zip around the corner of a convenience store, Peter lands in a pile of broken glass as the security alarm coming from inside blares down the entire street. He jumps through the broken window and doesn't bother to say anything as he webs the gun away from the robber, who lets out a confused swear before he catches sight of Peter. For half a second he contemplates his choices, and ultimately decides to bolt towards the back of the store.

After making sure that the cashier is unharmed, Peter launches after the Robber. He bursts out the employee exit just as the robber dips behind a dark corner. In a few long strides, Peter catches up and sends a solid kick to the man's back. He buckles to his knees and hits the pavement with a painful roll. From the ground, he raises his hands to guard his face and glares up at Peter.

"What the fuck, man?" He grinds out.

"I should be asking you that. A 7/11 robbery? Really? What is this, baby's first felony?"

"What? Did you want me to do something worse? Just needed a few quick bucks. Fuck." The man spits to the side and clumsily rises to his feet. "Not trying to kill anyone, or anything. God, that hurts." He rubs his shoulder and Peter tenses in case he decides to take off again.

"First Degree Robbery is a minimum of five years in prison, pal. Is that what a quick buck is worth to you?"

The robber rubs the side of his face, and takes half a step back. Peter must be more tired than he realizes, because the man easily pulls out another gun from his waistband and points it at Peter's chest.

"I'm not going back to jail." He growls, and Peter snaps out of it. He's standing close enough to grab the arm holding the gun, so he does just that. In one smooth motion he twists the man’s wrist and the gun clatters to the ground. Peter keeps twisting until the man drops back down to his knees with a yelp. He’s just about to web the man’s wrists together when a sharp, screaming pain at the base of his neck startles him into a defensive crouch.

The man goes running, scooping up his gun before taking off at breakneck speed. But Peter is more concerned with following his spider senses in the opposite direction, and manages to step out of the alleyway just in time to save an old woman from being crushed by a random flying trafficlight.

"Whoa. Weather report didn't say anything about it raining steel today." He leans the pole against a building and smiles at the woman, but instead of reacting to his joke, or thanking him for saving her life, the old woman points a shaky hand over Peter's shoulder. He tries to mentally prepare himself for whatever he's about to see, but even when he turns around, his eyes don't know exactly what he's looking at: A shapeless blob about ten stories tall, with dozens of long slimy arms protruding out of its slimy green skin.

Peter pushes his arms behind him, urging the old woman to evacuate, but she's already moving, along with the hundreds of other people nearby who have a pair of eyes to see with, and a mouth to scream with. And scream, they do.

The sound grows a little dimmer when he scrambles up the side of the nearest building to get a better vantage point on the monster, but their terrified cries still grate on him. This is a crowded street, which means evacuation is going to be slow, and Peter needs to start moving fast.

He manages to get out a web just in time to catch a car from crushing a group of innocent civilians, but the monster just picks up another one and lobs it further down the street. Peter stops this one, too, but decides that this isn't enough. He needs to get the monster's attention so that the civilians can have a chance to get away unharmed. His feet hit the pavement and he scoops up the broken traffic light, opting to swing it against the monster like a baseball bat. It doesn't seem to do any damage, but a handful of its long arms stretch towards Peter, so he takes that as a good sign.

Just like with the meat monster he and Wade fought before, he finds out very quickly that his webs are once again useless against this thing's wet, slimy skin. He doesn't have the time to be frustrated about it though, so he sticks to what he does know. He builds a web.

Swinging low and fast, Peter gets to work weaving a giant network of webs between the buildings around them, effectively creating a giant safety net to catch any further projectiles the monster tries to use, as well as to prevent the monster from advancing any further down the block.

He works hard and fast, and very narrowly manages to avoid getting hit a few times. But the plan works, and the streets finally start to clear out, so Peter drops back down to ground level to catch his breath and plan his next move.

From behind him, he hears a loud drawn-out whistle and zips around, confused, to see none-other-than Wade himself wandering over with his hands on his holsters.

"Gotta say, this is definitely one of your best webs. Beautiful work. Absolutely stunning. Ten out of ten. Picasso could never."

"Wade." Peter says in the place of an actual response.

Wade sidles right up into his personal space and pokes him in the chest. "Why didn't you call me? I coulda been here a lot sooner to help you out. Not that you need it, but you know, my place is only a block away. The sweet sounds of destruction brought me here, instead of the sweet sound of your voice."

"Didn't have time." Peter takes another look at the nearby buildings and realizes that Wade is right, this is all taking place eerily close to Wade's apartment, the very thing Peter had been trying to avoid for the past week.

With a sigh he turns back to the monster, which is currently trying but failing to force its way through Peter's web cage. "I'm glad you're here." He says, because it's the truth. "I've got this guy trapped, but I could really use your firepower to help take it down."

"Oh ho, don't have to ask me twice! I love it when you tell me to get messy." Wade spins his handguns free and immediately starts double-firing. Peter bounces back, away from the noise and back to his webs.

Unfortunately, Wade's bullets don't seem to bother it much at all, but its gooey skin does seem slow to regenerate the wounds. So after a few minutes, Wade slaps his guns back into their places and digs out a grenade launcher from—well, Peter doesn't question it.

Instead he busies himself with helping the last few civilians get out of the top floors of the nearby buildings while Wade blasts hole after hole through the monster, painting the streets green with pungent goop and stray appendages. The thing keeps moving though, twitching even as it's blown to bits.

After he's cleared the last floor, Peter lands back down next to Wade and kicks away a stay glob that was trying to grab his leg.

"How is it still alive?"

"No clue, but I'm almost out of grenades."

Another glob that had been slowly dripping down the pole of a crosswalk sign suddenly launches itself at Peter. Reflexively he dodges out of its way and creeps closer to Wade to protect his back.

"I think that chunk over there is the original. If I take it down—" Wade sets his grenade launcher against the display window of a Sephora and slides out both his katanas simultaneously. "Maybe they'll all come down!"

In an impressive display of muscle and power, Wade charges at the thing and hacks it down to obliteration, mindless to the slimy arms that grab and tear at him. He cuts it to bits, reduces it to a sad pile of sludge on the concrete. Barely breathing hard, he whips the goo from his blades and casts out a look at the rest of the street. One after another, every other leftover chunk of the monster falls limp, dropping to the ground like deadweight. At the resulting stillness, Wade twirls around, blades outstretched, and laughs.

"Wow, I was actually right! Who would have thought!"

Peter pokes the nearest puddle of goop with his toes. "Looks like it." He says, but the base of his neck still tingles with a low level of unease.

A second later, a loud pop from Wade's direction startles him, and he whips around to see the entire street erupting in green slime as each lifeless chunk of the monster explodes. The puddle next to Peter bursts, too, effectively drenching him in its mystery substance.

"Okay, ew."

"You just had to get the last word in?!" Wade shouts at the ground at his feet. He too is dripping with his own helping of green sludge, but thankfully that seems to finally be the end of the monster. The street is a disastrous mess, but no one was hurt today, so Peter considers it a victory.

Grumbling, Wade comes back to collect his grenade launcher, swinging it up over his shoulder. "Just had this suit cleaned."

"Same." Peter deadpans. Wade gives him a once-over.

"Wanna use my shower?"

Peter thinks about it. He really thinks about it. And he comes to the conclusion that swinging all the way back to his place when Wade's apartment is right there would be downright miserable. Not to mention impractical, and after a whole week of not seeing Wade, he can't keep pretending like he hasn't missed him.

"Okay, sure. That sounds amazing right now."

Wade makes a sound of agreement and starts walking. Peter trails a step or two behind him, trying hard to not think about what happened the last time Peter was over at Wade's apartment.

"Where'd this slime goblin even come from?" Wade asks over his shoulder.

"No clue. I was dealing with a store robber when all of a sudden I saw the Booger from Hell trying to squash an old lady with a traffic light."

"Seems kind of similar to the Mystery Meat Man from a few days ago, doncha think?"

Peter looks at him. He hadn't made the connection, but... "Maybe? You think they're related?"

"Similar size, similar single-minded behavior and lust for destruction...But who knows! Could be a coincidence. Not like there's ever any shortage of weird interdimensional aliens who come crawling to New York to spread the gospel of death and demolition."

"No, I think you're onto something. But where could they be coming from?"

"Our nightmares? If this isn't the end of them, I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

Peter rubs his arms in an attempt to scrub off some of the slime, but only succeeds in having it clump to his hands instead. He nearly cries in relief when they finally make it up the stairs to Wade's little apartment.

"You go first, I'll just throw my suit in the sink." Wade is already stripping, tossing his weapons to the side and slingshotting his mask into the kitchen, so Peter doesn't bother to argue, and makes a beeline for the shower. As soon as he locks the door he throws his mask on the counter and sheds the suit in a wet pile on the tile floor.

The shower takes a while to heat up, not unlike the one in Peter's own apartment, so he doesn't complain. Wade's body wash smells like a tropical getaway and when the hot water finally kicks in, his exhaustion comes with it, washing over him until he feels heavy and sore and thoroughly wiped out. He stands under the pelting water for a few minutes, just relishing the feeling of being warm and clean, before he remembers where he is. Shutting off the water, Peter realizes that he doesn't have a change of clothes to wear, and he forgot to ask Wade for a towel.

Sliding the curtains to one side, he wonders if he'll have to use the little hand towel to dry himself off, when he spots a lush bath towel balanced precariously on the bathroom counter, topped off with a neatly folded pile of Wade's clothes.

Peter is certain that neither of those things were in the room before, because his suit is also missing, which means Wade had to have come in here while Peter was in the shower. And for some reason, he doesn't feel as angry as he should at the fact that Wade picked the lock and stood less than five feet away from him while Peter was completely naked.

It's his own fault for not hearing him. And for not having his spider senses go off, Which is its own issue that Peter doesn't have the energy to get into right now.

When he picks up the hoodie he finds that it has a spiderman logo on it, which—of course is something that Wade proudly owns if the faded color is anything to go by. The sweat pants are too big for him, but they have a drawstring, and they're surprisingly soft.

Thankfully, Wade left Peter his own underwear in the pile, likely because they didn't get too wet from the impromptu slime bath. Peter refuses to think about how Wade probably had to touch the fabric with his fingers to figure out if they were wet or not, and quickly slips them on.

Under the sweatpants he finds his phone, and an extra pile of accessories made up of a black neck gaiter, a very large pair of sunglasses, and a baseball cap that says 'I <3 Canada'. It takes him a moment to realize he hadn't even thought about his mask until now. Pressing his hands against his eyes, Peter lets out a big sigh. His chest feels tight, and he's more than a little overwhelmed at Wade's foresight.

He can't tell if the sunglasses are dark enough to hide everything, but at this point, Peter almost doesn't care. He knows he can't show Wade his face, but maybe he can give him this. A small hint of himself, barely anything at all, but something nonetheless.

He shuffles out of the bathroom feeling a little ridiculous in his getup, but he's comfortable and clean and happy to see Wade again. It's a little warm under his generously modest outfit, but Wade's AC is better than Peter's, so it's not too bad.

Rounding a corner, he nearly bumps into Wade at his washing machine, wearing nothing but his own pair of loose sweatpants. He starts asking Peter about his favorite scent of detergent but he immediately falls quiet when he looks up and sees him. Wade blinks owlishly at him and stays silent for a full eight seconds, which is probably a new record for him, before he turns back to the washing machine and slams it shut, looking a little flushed.

"Uh, Webs?" He says without looking at him. "Is this, like, okay? I know your identity is a big deal and all—and I respect that—which is why I tried to find some clothes that would help keep you covered while your suit is in the wash but maybe I should have given you something else? Like my batman cosplay? Do you want me to lend you one of my spare masks? Should I run down to the costume store and get you a tacky imitation of the spideysuit? Or I could wear a blindfold until the laundry is done—"

Peter lightly puts his hand on Wade's bicep to get his attention. "No, you don't have to do any of that. This is perfect. Thank you."

"You're perfect." Wade whispers, and Peter has to look away because, wow, they're standing really close and technically both of them are out of their suits and Peter's bare hand is touching Wade's bare arm which is surprisingly warm and the scars are a lot smoother than Peter thought they'd be, and—

Peter gives his shoulder a single pat and takes a step back. "Are we getting pizza tonight, or what?"

"I will never in my life say no to pizza."

"I can go ahead and order some while you're in the shower." Peter fishes out his phone and heads to the living room. "What're you in the mood for?"

"Hawaiian?"

"Is that a question?"

"That depends, will you stop being my friend if I say I like fruit on my pizza?"

"Nope, this friendship is beyond the point where it can be broken by pizza preferences, Wade. Even if it is questionable."

"The friendship? Or the pizza?"

Peter thinks about it. "Both, I guess."

"Hawaiian it is, then."

"Got it." Peter flops onto the couch and quickly orders for both of them, entering Wade's address by memory. While Wade is in the shower he flips on the TV and idly scrolls through Netflix. Slumping further into the couch, he readjusts the neck gaiter higher up his face and checks that his hair isn't poking out from under his hat. He rolls up the bottom of the sweatpants and plays with the sleeves of Wade's hoodie until he hears the shower shut off.

He comes out of the bathroom whistling, and takes his seat next to Peter, kicking his legs up onto the coffee table while carefully avoiding old soda cans and weapon parts. He's wearing a tanktop this time and the same pair of sweatpants. Peter hands him the remote.

"Anything good?"

"They've got Hannibal now."

Wade chuckles. "Of course you like Hannibal."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing! It's just funny, you know, the stressed socially awkward do-gooder falls in love with a handsome smooth-talking foreigner with a penchant for violence?" Wade gestures between the two of them. "Sounds kind of familiar, don't you think?"

"I think our friendship is a lot healthier than theirs."

"Still sexy, though."

"Plus, you don't kill people anymore. If I were to fall in love with you, it would have to stay that way."

"I know, I know. Wait, what?"

"And you're not that foreign."

"I wasn't born here! I had to get a green card! That's pretty damn foreign!"

"Okay, big guy."

"And you have to admit, I'm handsome, in a weird but charming kind of way." Wade pauses for him to argue, but Peter just smiles under the scarf.

"True." He says, and swipes the remote back. He presses play on Hannibal before Wade can pull him into another argument and kicks his feet up besides him on the coffee table. Wade grumbles to himself at first, but eventually he starts nudging Peter whenever Will Graham says something that reminds him of Peter. When the pizza comes, Peter gets the door, ignoring the weird looks he gets from the delivery guy. While Wade Ooh's and Aah's at his family-sized Hawaiian, Peter hesitates with his hand on the fabric over his nose. Wade's seen the bottom half of his face before, plenty of times, but this time it's different. This time his ears and hair will show.

The sun went down about an hour ago, and it's dark in the room because Wade still hasn't replaced the ceiling light bulb, but Peter still has to yank down his hat as far as it will go before he pulls down the gaiter and bends over his own pizza box.

Thankfully, Wade doesn't look in his direction a single time. Peter scarfs down an absurd amount of calories while grotesque scenes of violence flash across the TV screen. Between episodes, Wade gets up and tosses their suits in the dryer. Peter sleepily tosses his box onto the coffee table and brings his feet up onto the couch. Fingering the loose fabric bunched around his neck, he decides not to pull it back up yet, and leans his head back against the cushions to let his eyes fall closed for a minute.

When he opens them again, the world is sideways and colored with dawn's blue light. Peter squeezes his eyes shut again and whispers a swear to himself.

After coming to terms with his current reality, he brings up a hand to check his sunglasses, which are still on his face, but they're bent out of shape and his ear hurts where it was crushed up against the plastic all night. He pulls them off and sits up, pushing the blanket away from his body.

A familiar bundle of red and dark blue sits on the armrest waiting for him, with a brightly colored sticky note that reads: "Hey sleepyhead, hope you like the smell of lavender linen :)"

Wearily, Peter exchanges the baseball cap for his mask and takes a deep breath.

He really has to stop falling asleep like this. It's not like him to be so careless, and it isn't fair to Wade to keep using his couch without even asking.

Slipping his suit off the couch, he takes it to the bathroom and puts it on, leaving Wade's clothes folded on the counter in the same way that he left them for Peter. Afterwards he stands in the kitchen and eyes the window. His fingers touch the glass. The sun lights up the top row of windows on the other side of the street. He flips the lock, and flips it back. He walks back to the living room, and starts tidying up.

Luckily, it doesn't take long for Wade to shuffle out of his bedroom in a pink robe and Hello Kitty slippers. Peter gives him a small wave with his hand that isn't full of empty soda cans.

"Mornin'." He says.

"Good morning, Wade."

"What're you doing?"

Peter shrugs. "Cleaning up? Half of these cans are mine."

Wade shakes his head. "Good morals, good manners, good looks, is there a single bad bone in you, Webs?"

"Well, my back is starting to hurt now that I'm getting older."

With a laugh, Wade shuffles off into the kitchen. "Want some breakfast before you go?"

Peter follows him and dumps his cans in the recycling bin under the sink. He casts another look out the window and crosses his arms across his chest. "Sure." He says, before he can think of an excuse to say no. Wade throws him a crooked smile over his shoulder and, well, if Peter's heart skips a beat, he blames it on last night's choice of dinner, and absolutely nothing else. Nothing else at all.

-

But when it all comes down to it, Wade can't die.

And if he can't die, then Peter's argument for keeping his identity a secret from him starts to fall apart at the seams. Because if he can't die, what harm can it possibly do to tell him? To give back to Wade in equal parts what he has offered to Peter?

Because at the end of the day, the root of the problem lies in Peter's long history of loved ones being used as ransom by his enemies. Which is what ultimately led to his vow of solitude, because there's only so much loss a man can take before he snaps. And as far as Peter is concerned, it's better to be alone than to endanger those who mean the world to him, better to protect them from afar than to drag them into harm's way.

But right now Peter has to ask himself—if Wade can't die, then where is the danger?

They've been associates for years now, albeit on rocky terms, but no one has ever had the sense to go after Deadpool in an attempt to hurt Spiderman. Would that change if they became more than associates? If Peter willingly painted a target on Wade's back by offering up his identity? Would Wade even be okay with that?

Actually...yes, he probably would. Which again begs the question—where is the danger?

Peter sighs against the back of Wade's neck, and pulls him a little closer. He slides his hand up to the top left of his chest, waiting for the moment when his heart kicks back into gear.

He's got his back against the roof access door of a hotel, with Wade sprawled out in front of him, and the moon glowing in the sky above them. And right now, Wade is dead, shot in the head by a pistol belonging to a particularly brave arsonist. He's been dead for the past twenty minutes, completely unresponsive in the time it took for Peter to apprehend the arsonist and carry Wade's body away from prying eyes and questioning, disapproving law enforcement.

Pressing his lips to the back of Wade's head, he breathes in the scent of blood and leather and latex. He shuts his eyes and part of him wonders if this is finally the one time Wade doesn't come back, if there's a limit to how many times he can regenerate from certain death, and be just the same as he was before.

He wonders if he'll ever hear Wade's voice again. He wonders if he'll have to be all alone again. He wonders if he even has it in him to survive being alone again.

The night is too quiet, too cold, and far too dark at that moment. Wade's body stopped being warm long before Peter managed to get his hands on him, and there hasn't been so much as a twitch in his stiff body ever since. Peter wonders if he'll have to sit here forever, waiting for a heartbeat that will never beat again.

But the thing that makes Wade different from all the others is that he can't die. And that much is still true tonight, at the very least, as he jerks up, gasping, clutching at Peter's hands around his waist.

Wide eyed, he turns to stare at Peter. "Wh—Oh Fuck. That son of a bitch really got me? Did he get away? Shit, I'm sorry, Webs, I didn't think he would actually do it. I'm sorry."

Peter looks at his mask, barely an inch away from his own. "It's okay," He says, voice flat. "I got him. Everything's fine."

Wade tilts his head, and seems to realize the position that they're currently in, with Wade's back leaning against Peter's chest. But he makes no attempt to move, and neither does Peter. In fact, Peter pulls his arms just a little tighter around Wade, wanting to encourage his returning warmth.

Wade drums his fingers against the back of Peter's hands and says, "You don't sound okay, Spidey."

Peter drops his chin to Wade's shoulder, and lowers his voice. "I was just thinking about what would happen if you didn't come back, one of these days."

"What? But I always come back. Even when I don't want to. It’s pretty much like a curse."

"I know." He says. "It was just a hypothetical, I guess."

"...Does that mean you'd miss me if I went and stayed dead?" He asks as if he doesn't believe something like that could ever possibly be true. Peter lifts his chin and knocks his head against Wade's.

"That's exactly what it means, Wade."

"Oh. Really? Like, seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Why?"

Peter opens his mouth, and then shuts it. He wants to say 'You mean the world to me', but he can't do it. Not here, not like this. It would open the floodgates, and Peter is still desperately trying to hold on to his vow, his barrier, despite how cracked and weathered he now sees it’s become. It shakes under his fingers, but he's been holding on for so long that he just can't let go.

"Because we're besties." He offers instead, and Wade accepts the answer, like Peter hoped he would. He relaxes in Peter's hold, and Peter in turn tenses up.

To give name to something is to make it real...right? But this nameless thing that's been growing on the other side of the barrier is threatening to break through, with or without Peter's help, and suddenly faced with the immensity of it, Peter freezes up.

There's nowhere to run, and nothing to fight but himself.

And then Wade says, "I love you too, Webs." and the barrier chips. Through the cracks Peter blinks against a light so bright it threatens to blind him. He shuts his eyes against it, but he can't ignore the tremors in his fingers, or the way it echoes in his chest, settling in his bones so deeply he can no longer deny what it is.

He breathes deep, and tries to replace the feeling with the rough texture of Wade's suit, the sturdy feeling of his core, and the heat he radiates. He breathes in the smell of Wade—blood and gunpowder—and clings to it with everything he has left.

And he watches, shellshocked, as the barrier crumbles.

-

"I'm Peter Parker. My name is Peter Parker. Hi Wade, I'm Peter. I'm thirty two and I work as a photographer, science journalist, and a physics tutor. I also teach biochem on Wednesdays. Technically, we've met before, when you thought I was Spiderman's boss..."

With a groan, Peter hangs his head and thumps it against his bathroom mirror. "This is so stupid. I can't be doing this. This is the worst idea you've ever had, Peter. Get a grip."

But his thoughts drift back to a few nights before, when Peter had nearly spilled everything. It would have been so easy to tell him right then and there on that hotel rooftop, while it all swirled on the tip of his tongue, to get it all out in the open before he had a chance to regret it. Before he had a chance to overthink it. Like he's doing now, days later, rehearsing his lines in front of the mirror like he's practicing for a job interview.

"Forget it." He tells himself. "I don't have to tell him right now. I'll just...wait for the right opportunity. There's no rush. Right? Right."

In a sheer test of willpower, Peter leaves the bathroom. He picks up his phone to check the time, and knows he should start his patrol soon, but the thought of running into Wade while he feels like such a mess isn't exactly putting a pep in his step.

"...Would it be too awful if I just send it in a text?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, the phone rings, and Peter jumps. His phone flies through the air and Peter dives after it, because there is absolutely no way he can afford a new phone right now, and catches it with his fingertips right before it can hit the ground. He briefly registers Wade's name on the screen before he swipes to answer.

"Hey." Peter says from his bedroom floor.

"Webs. Webster. Webby Baby. You busy?"

"Um, not at this exact moment. What's up?"

"You know that little taco joint across the block from my place? With the cute vintage booths and the five-foot-tall cowboy boot statue you can take family photos with? Yeah, turns out, it's going out of business. I know, un-fucking-believable. Best god damn quesadillas on the East Coast. But to make a long, sad tear jerking story very short, they can't afford the rent anymore.

"So I bought out their entire menu. Which, you know, won't keep them from going out of business because they've already ended their lease, but at least it'll help ‘em stay afloat for a little bit longer. And anyway, I've got a huge stomach and an even bigger appetite, but I can't eat all this by myself without going into a food coma or making my stomach burst-which isn't a fun feeling in case you were wondering-so I'm calling to ask if you wanna come down here and help me clean a few plates?"

Peter twists to prop his feet up against the wall. "Okay. Just lemme get dressed, and I can be there in ten minutes."

"Ooh, what're you wearing?" Wade asks in a low, teasing voice and Peter laughs, despite feeling his ears heat up.

"A towel."

"...Just a towel?"

"Yup."

"No mask?"

"Nope. I just got out of the shower when you called."

Silence stretches out for so long that Peter has to check if the call dropped.

"Wade?" He asks, once he sees that it hasn't.

"Sorry webs, wasn't expecting to get a serious answer to that. Still processing."

"Okay, well, you did ask." Peter mumbles, and rolls to his feet. The towel falls and Peter kicks it in the direction of his laundry basket.

"Uh huh."

Peter digs his suit out from the back of his closet and puts his phone on speaker so that he can use both his hands to squeeze into the spandex. Ambient noise from the restaurant comes out over the call and Peter's stomach growls in anticipation. It takes him a minute to find where he tossed his mask last night but once it's on, he scoops up his phone and cracks open his window.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Amazing, thank you for asking."

"Good. I'm changed. See you in a few?"

"What—Hold on for just a sweet second, did you just get naked while you were on the phone with me? Better warn an old man like me before you try and get me all hot and bothered. Not to mention I'm in public—"

"Ten minutes, Wade." He hangs up and stuffs the phone into his suit. The alleyway outside his room is dark and narrow and Peter wastes no time in skittering up the wall to the rooftop. As soon as his feet hit the top, he takes off in a sprint until he reaches the edge, and swings into the heart of the city.

-

"I think I ate enough to keep me full for three days straight."

Sprawled out beside him, Wade can only manage a vague grunt in reply. Peter looks over at him to see him swiping through his phone, checking over the photos of him and Peter posing with the giant cowboy boot.

"Ooh, send me that one."

"Yeah? What about this one?"

"That's good too. Just send me a couple of your faves."

Wade's finger pauses mid-swipe and he sends Peter a withered look. "But they're all my favorites."

"Okay fine, send them all."

Wade turns back to his phone and a few seconds later Peter feels a string of vibrations in his pocket. Rolling to his feet, Peter walks to the edge of the rooftop. His toes hang just over the side of a thirty-story drop.

"I don't know how I'm gonna patrol after this. I totally have a food baby right now." Peter slaps his stomach and hears Wade laugh behind him.

"I've got food twins. Third trimester."

"I can't believe we actually managed to eat everything."

"I knew you were the right man for the job. You're the only motherfucker who can keep up with me, Webs."

"When you ordered dessert, I nearly tapped out."

"But you didn't!"

"And I don't regret it. Yet."

"Always hurts coming out more than it does going in."

"Wise words."

A commotion in the streets below catches Peter's attention. They're too high up for him to hear anything, but that definitely looks like the makings of a panicked crowd. He can't see what they're fleeing from, but his danger senses start to kick up a steady pressure even from way up here.

"Wade, we've got work to do."

"I think I'll just take a nap, actually."

"Wade." The noise from the streets finally rises up to them as screams of terror meld into one large wail of panic.

"Okay, that sounds serious." Wade rolls onto his feet and Peter backs away from the edge to let Wade latch onto his back.

"Hold on tight." With a running jump, Peter has them swinging towards the source of the danger as fast as he can. He takes them down to the top of a corner store gas station near the commotion to try to get a view of what's happening.

"Oh my god I think I'm gonna throw up." Wade whines in his ear.

"Don't even think about it. Or at least get off of me before you do."

After delicately detaching himself from Peter, Wade crouches down and partially lifts his mask to take a few deep breaths. Peter leaves him to his torture and keeps his eyes on the epicenter of the crowd. It doesn't take long to spot the menace of the day — a sentient glob of mangled ice about the size of a postal truck. From what Peter can see, it has arms and legs and it isn't afraid to use them to smash shop windows and throw things at fleeing civilians. Peter catches a bus stop cover with his webs before it can hit a family of tourists, and puts his hands on his hips.

"Looks like we've got another monster on our hands. This one's smaller than the others, but it's got legs." He spares a quick glance at Wade to see him still hunched over, but a fresh wave of screams from the crowd puts his legs into motion. "Join me when you're ready!"

Peter still isn't entirely sure that these monsters are all connected, but it puts him on edge because he can't disprove it either. And he has yet to find out what their motivation is, besides causing major property damage.

With a solid kick to the thing's head, the ice monster loses its balance and falls across the hood of an abandoned Porsche. It leaves a large dent in the frame, but stands back up as if nothing happened. Peter approaches it with an air of caution.

"I think you're out of season, buddy. Did you miss the memo? It's summer." Peter shoots out a net of webbing around the monster's stubby feet and is both relieved and surprised when it actually sticks. "I can set you up with a flight to the North Pole if you promise to be good."

But the monster doesn't seem too impressed with Peter's offer, because it slams its fists down against the pavement, creating a pair of massive potholes that will no doubt be a headache for the city to fix, and lets out a deafening growl. Peter doesn't know how it makes that noise without a visible mouth, but it churns his stomach.

"So is that a yes, or a no?"

He gets his reply in the form of responding howls further down the street. A few howls turn into a dozen ear-piercing growls, and then Peter can't tell which direction they're even coming from. Whipping his head around, he bears witness to a small army of ice-monsters crawling out of the storm drains, crunching through the grates in disfigured shapes before forming themselves into hulking humanoid ice-beasts like the one throwing a tantrum in front of Peter.

He also sees Wade bounding over to his side, guns in hand.

"I'm regretting the desert now." Peter tells him while attempting to web down all the incoming reinforcements. Wade's gunshots ring out behind him as he gets to work on his half.

"Speak for yourself! My sugar rush just kicked in and I'm ready to kick ass!"

"Well, I’m glad one of us is in peak condition." Biting down on a fresh surge of nausea and unease, Peter takes off into the air, swinging from monster to monster, webbing each of them down in the hopes that they'll melt in the summer heat before his webs disintegrate. He doesn't really have a better plan yet, but immobilizing them is a good enough start.

Following the panicked sounds of people in distress, he traps about a dozen or so to the pavement before he swings back to Wade, checking the side-streets for any who may have wandered off from the main street.

The sound of rapid gunfire and explosives greet him well before he catches sight of Wade. But when he finally rounds the final corner and drops beside him, he finds Wade with his arm elbow-deep inside one of the icemen. He pulls out and runs back just seconds before the thing explodes in a cloud of massive, glittering chunks of ice.

Wade yells out a cheer of accomplishment at the sight, and Peter aims a kick at the nearest stray chunk to check for signs of life, but it just rolls to the sidewalk and makes no indication of reanimating.

"This seems a little too easy compared to the last guys we fought." Peter says.

"I'm not complaining. Any day that I get to blow shit up is a good day to me!" He jogs off towards the next mound of struggling ice and webbing, and a few loud, messy explosions later, there's nothing left but a mist in the air and a few curious onlookers.

"Well, that takes care of that!" Wade claps the dust off his hands and poses near one of the bigger ice shards, but Peter doesn't feel like his work is finished. His attention keeps getting drawn back to the storm drains, which are still coated in thick frost residue. So after a moment of contemplation, Peter walks to the nearest manhole cover and props it open.

"Oh, no. No no no no, we are not going down there." Wade crosses his arms and gives Peter an incredulous look. Peter looks down into the hole and back up at Wade.

"We need to know where these things are coming from."

"The sewers, obviously!"

"Sure, but why?"

"That sounds like a question for another day, another time."

"No. We saw them come out of here today, so the best time to check it out would be right now."

"But nothing good ever goes down in the sewers! They don't even make good levels in video games!"

"All the better reason for us to go check it out. Look, you don't have to come with. I'm capable of handling it from here." Peter starts climbing down the rusty ladder without hearing another word. There's no time to waste, and if Wade doesn't want to come along, it’s none of his concern.

Having Wade around to help him is great and all, but Peter has worked on his own for years. He can handle this. Whatever...this is.

It's dark in the tunnel when his feet hit the bottom. He listens in the darkness for a moment, keeping his ears open for any sign of disturbance. But all that he hears is the sound of running water, and the clang of Wade's boots at the top of the ladder.

The tunnel lights up red when Peter turns on his suit's light. Small chips of ice glitter on the narrow maintenance path to either side of him.

Wade grumbles about his displeasure the entire way down the ladder. He doesn't stop when he reaches Peter, either. So Peter steps into his personal space to pull his attention. "Look, I'm not happy to be down here either, big guy, but I need to know what's going on here. If I can stop any potential danger from crawling out of here in the future, I will. It's not enough to just show up when the evil science-experiment monsters are already terrorizing the streets. I have to get to the bottom of this."

Only after Wade gives him a nod does Peter step back.

"I get it, Webs. Just tell me how you want me to help, and I'll do it."

"First off, stop complaining."

"Yes, sir." Wade throws up a mock salute and Peter turns away to look down both ways of the tunnel, trying to decide which direction to go, but they look identical as far as Peter can see.

"Do you want to split up?" He asks.

Wade pats his shoulder and leans close. "Not after you just called me 'big guy'."

"Did you listen to anything else I just said?" Peter crosses his arms, but not before taking note of that.

"I listen to everything you say. That part just stuck out to me because I like the way you say it." He says as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "Plus, we don't even know what we're looking for. Do we?"

"No. But if we follow the ice shards we might find something?"

"Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, my spidery friend."

Peter ultimately picks a direction at random and starts walking along the maintenance ledge. Thankfully, the ice shards leave a nice easy trail for them to follow deeper into the sewer system. Peter tries very hard to not focus on the smell, or to look in the channel of water to his left. Behind him, Wade has to crouch down against the curved tunnel walls to keep his balance.

"Don't know if I would have asked you out on a taco date today if I knew we would end up in the bowels of New York Freakin' City afterwards." Wade grumbles after a few minutes, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

"At least we have each other."

"Normally, that would comfort me. But what happens if this thing floods while we're down here?"

"I don't think that's going to happen with it being the middle of July and all. It's not supposed to rain for like another month."

"Okay, well, what if there's giant sewer rats? What if they're in the water right now beside us just waiting for the right time to strike?"

"Pretty sure they would have attacked us by now. Hold on, what's this?"

"Don't tell me it's a rat, Webs, don't do this to me."

"No, it's...a door? Does this look like a normal maintenance door to you?"

"I can't lean over you to take a look without falling into the rat water."

"You can get a good look if we move up a bit further. C'mere."

A bright motion light turns on as they step into a smooth crevice in the wall. It lights up a wide, square metal door. Wade takes one look at it and crosses his arms over his chest. "Oh, this screams secret laboratory, all right."

"You think?"

"Look how new it looks. Sticks out like a sore thumb in these old tunnels, and that is definitely a security pad. I hope we didn't trigger any alarms with the light."

"Better move fast, then. Do we try the keypad or should I kick this sucker open?"

"I've got it. Been breaking into things since I knew how to walk." Wade digs something out of his many pouches and hunches over the keypad. Peter turns off his suit light and after a minute or two of strange noises, the door clicks and Wade gives it an experimental nudge.

"I wish you weren't so nonchalant about your many crimes." Peter says.

"The law is subjective."

"It's interpretive based on context and how good your lawyer is. There's not much to interpret when you confess like that." He says, but Wade just shrugs and pushes the door open the rest of the way.

"Don't tell me you've never trespassed or broken into places in your never ending pursuit for justice. What would you have done to get past this door if I didn't decide to come along?"

This time it's Peter's turn to shrug. "I did offer to kick it open."

"I love it when you talk dirty like that." Wade's tone sends a flash of thoughts through Peter's head that he really doesn't have the time to deal with right now. He distracts himself by paying attention to the room they walk into. The walls are plain gray concrete and the floor is made up of large stone tiles. It's completely empty, there isn't even another door besides the one they came in from. Only a small, dim light hangs from the ceiling.

"Okay. Definitely secret lab vibes. Or a really big, empty storage closet?" Peter ventures.

"What are your spidey senses telling us?"

"Nothing, it's just an empty room."

"It's never just an empty room."

"Well, I'm not seeing anything. At all."

"Do your spidey senses have an echolocation setting?"

"I—No."

"Laaame."

"Do you have anything else in your belt of wonders that could help us out here?"

"Nope."

"Lame."

Peter stands up from his inspection of the where the floor meets the wall and finds Wade leaning against the wall next to him. Peter swings his hands out to either side. "Well, I guess this was a bust."

"Can't catch 'em all."

"But I really thought this would lead us somewhere."

"We'll get 'em next time, Webhead." Wade rubs the top of Peter's head and starts making his way back to the big door.

Peter kicks his feet and reluctantly follows. "Sorry for dragging you into the sewers for no reason."

"I followed you of my own free will." Wade says, and turns around. "I would follow you wherever you go, don't ever forget that."

Peter stops himself right before he bumps into him. Wade's voice is sincere, and Peter catches himself on the eyes of his mask. His next word bursts out of his mouth before he can even think about it.

"Why?"

Wade shrugs and shifts back a little. "I can't just stand by and watch you walk into something dangerous alone. Not if I can do something about it."

"I'm capable of handling myself." Peter's tone shifts down. "I don't need to be protected."

"Trust me, Webs, I know." Wade raises his hands, placating. "You're super smart and super brave. Which are just a few of the reasons why you're my favorite superhero. And it's no secret that you're a hundred times stronger than me, so I know you might think I'm useless, but if I found out something bad had happened to you when I knew I could help you and chose not to? I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I actually don't think I could physically stop myself from trying to intervene."

Peter drops his shoulders and tries to let go of his tension. He flexes his fingers against his palms and takes a deep breath. "You're not useless, Wade. I'm sorry. It's just that...I hate being made to feel weak for choosing to work on my own, you know? I might have issues getting along with other heroes, but at least I know what I'm doing when I'm on my own. If I didn't, I wouldn't have made it this far."

"I getcha. Loud and clear. I won’t bring it up again."

"No, it's fine. It's not a big deal."

"You wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't."

"...I guess." Peter concedes, and tries to change the topic. "It really has been nice to have you around lately, by the way."

At that, Wade lights up. "You really mean that?"

"I do. You're like, the best partner I've had in awhile."

Clutching his hands over his heart, Wade sucks in a large gasp. "I'm your partner?"

"You've become a pretty good friend, too."

"Okay, stop talking, this is getting to be too much for me to handle. No, actually, keep going. No, ugh—come here."

Wade dives in for a hug and Peter has to take a step back to catch his weight. As a result, his foot meets a slight depression in the floor and that's when his senses finally decide to go haywire. But it's too late to move out of the way because Wade has Peter in a death grip and he has no idea which direction the danger will even come from.

He finds out quickly enough when a tall metal casket drops out of the ceiling, trapping both him and Wade in its narrow, pitch-black containment. Once the sound of its weight hitting the floor stops echoing against Peter's eardrums, Wade lets go of him.

Peter retracts his arms too, but there isn't much room for him to back away. He can just barely get an inch of space between them if he presses his back against the wall behind him.

"What the fuck? Who turned out the lights?" Wade asks.

Peter shuts his eyes and tries to swallow the edge of panic that already threatens to rise from within. "I think I stepped on a trap."

"Oh, great. No, this is perfect. It means there has to be something to this place, afterall. Unless of course...this trap is meant for the sewer rats."

Peter starts pressing his fingers against the walls, trying to feel for hinges or cracks, but all he feels is cold, smooth metal. "Can you check the ceiling? For a hatch? Or something?"

"Already on it." Wade's fist pounds on the ceiling but it doesn't give. It sounds thick and solid. "I think we're stuck in here, Webs."

"Don't say that. There's gotta be a way out."

"I'm looking but I'm not finding. What if we try tipping it over?"

"I think I heard bolts latching as soon as it hit the ground."

They try it anyway by leaning all their weight to one side, but it doesn't budge, and their arms keep bumping into each other in this space that definitely wasn't meant to hold two men captive at the same time. Especially when one of them is as large as Wade.

Peter's irritation starts to rise exponentially. And even though the metal is shockingly cold against his back, he feels his skin start to heat up.

"Here, maybe if I—" Bracing himself with his hands stuck to the metal, Peter manages to get his legs up high enough to plant his feet against the wall to either side of Wade's torso. He starts pushing to try and force the walls apart, but the angle of his legs spread to either side of Wade's waist doesn't give him enough leverage. He lets out a groan in frustration and tries in vain to kick at the wall.

Wade's hands drop down from the ceiling to Peter's shoulders. "Whoa." He says.

"That didn't work like I hoped it would." Peter says between his teeth.

"As much as I love seeing you be the cool and freakishly flexible spider that you are, if you don't unwrap your legs from me ASAP, you're gonna get something else to start working and then it's gonna get really awkward in here. Not that it isn't already awkward, but I don't think you want—"

"Sorry—" Peter tries to lower his legs back to the floor, but it turns out to be a lot more difficult than it was to get them up. He's worked up a sweat by the time he finally straightens out.

Then Wade's arms drop even lower to grip his hips and Peter nearly yelps, but all Wade does is shove him against the wall as far away from him as possible.

"Arms were falling asleep," He explains. "Also, I really need you to keep your crotch away from mine. Wow. Never thought I'd ever hear those words come out of my mouth. This day just keeps getting weirder, huh?"

"Uh huh," Peter says, distracted, because Wade's hands are really big, and really strong, and he's practically being pinned against the wall by them, which, apparently, is something that Peter's lizard brain is very interested in because—as if this situation couldn't possibly get any worse—Peter feels his blood rush between his legs and then there really is no more space left between them.

"Hey, Webs?"

"Yeah?" Even to his own ears, Peter's voice sounds strained.

"Is that what I think it is?"

But Peter is too mortified to give an answer. He wonders if it's not too late to wake up, because surely this has to all be a dream.

"Look, I get it. Who wouldn't get a little excited at the thought of being trapped in a metal death box with Yours Truly? But I'm just a little confused because usually I'm the one who gets a hardon in sticky situations like this—"

"Wade—" Peter chokes out.

"And I have to admit I was getting pretty close myself, but I was trying really hard to keep my thoughts in check, and—"

"Wade, please let go of me."

"Oh." Wade releases his hips and places his hands against the wall beside Peter's arms. "Yup. Sorry."

But his actions only serve to release Peter closer into Wade's space and suddenly it is way too hot in there and Peter is getting lightheaded and when he feels Wade stir in retaliation at the contact, a startled noise escapes his throat. He feels Wade try to move back but there is nowhere for him to go, so he just ends up brushing against Peter, and this time it's Peter's turn to grab at Wade's hips.

"Stop moving. Please."

"Yeah. Anything for you, Webs." His voice comes out hushed and maybe a little breathless and Peter bites back another groan because, wow, that really isn't helping his current situation. At all.

"Okay. Okay. Uhh...think."

"I'm trying very hard to not have any thoughts right now, actually."

"This is beyond ridiculous. I'm going to try to push the walls apart again. Please stay still."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Wade asks.

"Not right now." Peter quickly curls his legs back up and shoves them against the wall. Fueled by his frustration, he puts all of his strength into it and pushes as hard as he can. After a long, tense moment, he feels the metal at his back start to bend. Gritting his teeth, he pushes even harder, and after a few more seconds he hears the pop of screws being forced out of their sockets and a small sliver of light slips through the widening crack in the seams.

Briefly he catches a glimpse of his lower half glued to Wade just before the last screws jut free and the wall behind Wade bursts open. Immediately Wade steps back with a loud exhale of relief.

Peter drops to his haunches and grinds his hands against his forehead. The physical exertion of that helped bring his blood back to more important parts of his body, but the embarrassment isn't so quick to leave. Graciously, Wade says nothing about what just happened and instead Peter hears him pace around the room.

"Don't step on another trap." Peter manages to say.

The pacing stops. He hears Wade start to say something, but a noise at the far side of the room grabs the attention from both of them. Peter springs to his feet and aims his wrists at the back of the room where the wall slides apart to reveal a man wearing a lab coat.

A plain white mask covers his face, with narrow slits for his eyes. He takes a look at them both and visibly deflates.

"What are you two doing here? Where are the Avengers?" He asks in a quiet voice. Peter looks at Wade and back at the masked man, who has his hands clasped behind his back. Long gray hair hangs to either side of his head and Peter can't quite read his nametag through the strands.

"Technically, we were both Avengers at some point." Wade points out.

Peter takes a step closer to Wade and doesn't lower his wrists. "More importantly, what's with the mask?"

"What's with yours?" He asks.

Peter blinks. "We're superheroes? Hi, nice to meet you, I'm Spiderman?"

"I'm Deadpool! But you can call me your worst nightmare, because I'll fuck you up."

Mr. Labcoat sniffs in disdain and holds his hands out to either side. Surgical gloves cover his skin there too. "I am...The Splicer."

"Who?" Peter asks, at the same time that Wade says, "That's totally a supervillain name if I've ever heard one."

"Laugh all you want. Soon you will know my significance. My power. My intelligence—"

Peter cuts him off. "Are you the one who's behind the weird monsters that have been terrorizing the city for the past few weeks?"

"They are not monsters, you cretin. They are my beautiful creations, my perfect soldiers, capable of power unfathomable to your small brains!"

Wade bumps his elbow into Peter's side. "Get a load of this guy. Are we socking him, or what?"

"We're socking him, all right." He shoots out a string of web at the same time that Wade pulls out his gun and fires a warning shot. The...Splicer shrieks and falls onto a panel in the wall that triggers the door to start closing. Peter tries to reach him before it shuts, but super speed was never one of his superpowers, and the door shuts right in his face.

Wade offers to blow it open with his explosives, but Peter stops him before he causes the entire sewer to collapse.

"I don't think this is the last we'll see of him." Peter says. "Now that we know this place exists, and that it's definitely the source of the monsters we've been dealing with, we can stake it out. Maybe there's another entrance somewhere."

"Does that mean we have more sewer crawling adventures in our near future...?"

"No, actually. I can send some spider-drones down here to do the work for us."

"Wow, you've really upgraded your tech since the 70s."

"In any case, we crushed all of his minions today. That should give us at least a few days to gather more info before he unveils his next creation, going by his pattern so far."

"Yeah, yeah, espionage and stakeouts, sounds sexy, can we get out of these sewers now?" Wade points a thumb over his shoulder and when Peter catches sight of the busted metal casket, he tries not to trip over his own feet.

"Way ahead of you." He says.

The city glows with a soft blue light when they finally climb back out onto the street. The half-melted remains of the ice monsters have been pushed onto the sidewalks by road crews, where already morning commuters and joggers have to begrudgingly navigate around them on their way to their normal civilian lives. Peter slips into an alleyway to avoid their pre-caffeinated wrath and turns to watch Wade lingering a few feet back.

"Well it was a pleasure to fight by your side again today, Webs. Didn't expect to get acquainted with the little spider downstairs—"

"Good grief—"

"But I think it was a great bonding experience for both of us."

"If you want to call it that."

Wade takes a few steps closer and leans his hand against the brick by Peter's head. "Are we going to talk about it? Or are we going to pretend like our dicks didn't just have a jousting contest, and act like it never happened? I just want to be on the same page."

Peter presses his fingers into the side of his nose and resists his immediate instinct to flee. He looks at Wade's arm, his muscles, his proximity. He gulps. "Rain check?"

Wade thinks about it, but ultimately decides on, "No. I wanna hear you make a choice."

Peter thumps his head back. He sighs. He knows he can slip away if he really wants to. He can take Wade's offer and go on pretending like it never happened. He can deny it to himself, like he always has. He can build another layer of safety around himself and not only would Wade let him do it, he would actually help him build it.

"Okay. It happened." Peter says, quietly. "We don't have to pretend like it didn't."

He opens his eyes when he hears Wade take a step back. "Okay." He says, and Peter waits for more, he waits for the obvious questions, or a relentless spiel of taunting, but Wade only looks at him. And Peter wants so badly to step back into his space, but he keeps his feet in place and his hands firmly stuck to the brick wall at his back.

When Wade turns to leave the alley, Peter tenses. "Hey Wade?” He calls out. “I want you to know that I meant what I said in the sewers. I like fighting by your side."

Wade pauses and Peter watches his silhouette in the faint blue light. After a while, he nods, and turns his head to say, "I know, Webs. The feeling's mutual. I'll see you around."

And then he's gone, merged with the city streets, out of sight but not out of mind. Slowly Peter twists against the brick and starts climbing. He makes it home in a daze, moving on autopilot. Briefly he catches glimpses of the sun glittering between buildings.

After finally slipping through his window, Peter strips and digs his phone out of the suit to check the time to decide if he can squeeze in a few hours of sleep before he has to show up for work. The screen lights up with the messages Wade had sent him earlier and he takes a minute to scroll through the photos of them at the taco diner. The very last message is a string of smiling emojis that, judging by the time stamp, were sent only a few minutes ago. Peter taps back a sleepy emoji and tosses the phone onto his bed before finally crawling into the shower.

-

As soon as Peter gets home from his Friday tutoring session he tosses his shirt across the living room and kicks his AC until it works. After dunking his head under the cold tap water in his kitchen for a few minutes, he drips his way to the bedroom and digs out his laptop to review the footage from the spider-drones he set loose last night.

He plays each recording at ten times speed and balances the laptop on his arm, carrying it to the kitchen to grab a drink. He gets a nice breeze from the AC there, so he sits himself right down on the kitchen tile and tries to give his full attention to the footage without his mind wandering like it has for the past three days since his and Wade's bonding experience.

He makes it five minutes into the footage before his mind slips, dripping down like the sweat on his back.

Setting down his empty soda can, his hand wanders to his phone and his eyes flick to the screen to find it low on battery and completely devoid of Wade's texts. Which normally wouldn't have been cause for distress, it's not like they text each other every day, but Wade hasn't said anything to him since the incident and Peter really doesn't want to have to be the one to say something first.

Because the more he thinks about it, the more he finds cause to be bothered by Wade's reserved behavior when they parted ways. Wade—the perpetual innuendo and chronic flirt—had nothing to say about Peter's...reaction to being stuck in a metal death trap with him.

At first Peter thought it was out of respect for his dignity, but dignity isn't exactly a word in Deadpool's dictionary. So if it isn't that, then what is it? The negative possibilities his mind cooks up don't sit well in Peter's stomach, but they don't entirely make sense either, not when someone like Wade is involved. So for three whole days Peter has been driving his thoughts in circles and he's had enough.

A part of him expects Wade to ignore his phone call, so when he hears Wade's voice on the other end, it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. He blinks at his laptop and tries to sound casual when he says, "Hey, I have a bunch of footage from the drones and was wondering if you want to help me go through some of it? We could get dinner too, and maybe patrol together when the sun goes down?"

Something metallic clinks on the other end of the call. It takes Peter a minute to recognize it as the sound of a gun being reloaded.

"Aw, you know I'm always down to spend some quality time with you, Webs. I'm just finishing a little job out here near the bay. Shouldn't take too much longer if you wanna head over to my place early. I always leave my bedroom window unlocked, just for you."

Three gunshots fire off and Peter lifts the phone from his ear just in time to hear the distant screams of whoever Wade just shot.

"I'm just going to assume from the screaming that you're not killing anyone, right?"

"No killing." He confirms. "Just some light maiming. Dem's da rules, gotta keep my man happy!" The last word is overlapped by the sound of bone breaking. Peter winces and hopes it isn't Wade's.

"Sorry for calling in the middle of work—"

"It's never a bad time to hear your voice, baby, but I'm definitely gonna need both hands for this next part. I'll grab some grub on my way home, I've been dying to try out this new spaghetti place nearby, I think you're gonna love it."

"Sounds great, Wade. Try not to get too hurt, okay?"

But Wade just laughs and hangs up.

Peter blows out a puff of air and shuts his laptop. His fingers find the scar on his side that Wade stitched up a few weeks ago. Trailing its edges with his thumb, he tries to muster the courage to actually get up and go see Wade. Peter wants to see him, but his nerves kick up a storm because Peter hasn't been able to stop thinking about what happened three days ago, about how it felt to have Wade pressed up against him like that. To feel him...aroused, in response to Peter's own body. Even now, the memory sends a wave of heat through him.

Peter was the one who said they didn't need to pretend like it didn't happen, but does that mean he's allowed to bring it up and say "Hey, you know that time when we totally got hard for each other? Would you mind telling me how that made you feel? And do you want to do it again?"

Pulling his hands through his hair, Peter rolls to his feet and slips on his suit before he can chicken out. He tells himself that reviewing the footage is his top priority, and having a second pair of eyes will help him get through it twice as fast. And he will not, under any circumstances, bring up the incident. Unless Wade brings it up first. In which case—Peter's toes curl at the thought.

Perched on his windowsill, he wonders if this is a bad idea, or a very, very bad idea.

-

It was a terrible idea.

For one thing, Wade's apartment is just as hot as Peter's, but here he can't even sit around naked or lock himself in the bathroom for a long, lukewarm bath.

The spaghetti that Wade brought was, in fact, incredible, but Peter wasn't able enjoy it as much as he would have liked to because he's almost ninety percent sure that Wade is choosing to physically distance himself as far away from Peter as he possibly can in the confines his small apartment will allow him. Even now, with Peter perched on one end of the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees, Wade has chosen to sit at the kitchen table and watch his half of the footage from there. Even though the footage is playing on his TV. Which, by any standard, would be much easier to see from the couch.

Peter throws a casual glance over his shoulder to see Wade methodically cleaning his gun parts which he has laid out all over the kitchen table, along with his leftovers. And that's another weird thing, because Peter has always known Wade to finish his food.

Then there's the matter of his suit, which he hasn't taken off since coming home in a flurry of words and excess energy. At first, that had given Peter the impression that everything was going to be alright, that Wade was going to act no different than before and Peter had nothing to worry about, that he hadn't accidentally ruined their friendship by going and getting aroused at the worst possible time.

But as the night progressed it became clear that despite his regular speech and friendly demeanor, Wade's physical distance from Peter was a big red flag. And the fact that he hasn't taken off his suit, and even rolled his mask back down over his chin after he was done eating, is just the icing on the cake. Because Peter knows that Wade doesn't mind showing him his skin. He knows that Peter is one of the few people Wade genuinely feels comfortable with in his casual clothes, because it wasn't always that way. It was a slow, gradual buildup of mutual trust that allowed Wade to finally take off his suit, mask and all, and just exist.

To see him now in his full suit, still spattered in blood, while Peter knows damn well how sweaty and uncomfortable he must be under there, makes him feel almost sick.

Carefully, Peter shuts his laptop and stands up. Wade's mask follows his progression from the couch to the other side of the kitchen table. "Did you find anything?" He asks.

Peter sinks into the chair and rests his fists on the table, carefully avoiding the various weapon parts strewn about. "No."

"How many drones did you send out?"

"Two dozen."

"How much ground did they cover?"

"About a quarter of the main lines. I don't think we'll need to check the smaller lines because we're looking for a reasonable access point. But if there's nothing in this batch of footage, it'll take a few more days to search the rest of the system."

"Don't stress your pretty little head about it, Webs, I can smell your angst all the way from here. We'll catch this guy."

"Pretty sure that's just my sweat."

"I can see the forehead creases through your mask."

"Look, I know we'll catch him. I'm not really worried yet. But I am kind of worried...about you. Are you okay?"

Shifting in his chair, Wade begins assembling his handguns without taking his eyes off of Peter. "Who, moi? I'm more than okay, I'm the hottest strip of man-meat to have come out of Canada in the last century. Yes, that was a bacon joke, and yes you may laugh."

Peter tries not to laugh, but he does crack a smile. "Good one, but that's not what I meant."

Wade looks down at his hands. "I know what you meant, and I'm avoiding the question."

"I just—Will you please tell me if it's something I did? So that I can try to fix it?"

Wade’s hands go still and after a moment he sets down the parts he was holding. "Whatever gave you that idea, Spidey? It's like practically impossible for you to do something that would make me upset."

Peter blinks at him and shrugs. "I thought maybe—our little bonding experience from a few days ago might have...put you off? Or something."

"Heavens no! A little heated action between two bros every now and then doesn't scare me, Webs, I'm not straight. I thought you knew that."

"I do."

"Okay, so, I was just trying to give you some space in case you were grossed out by what happened. I saw how tense you were the entire time during, and afterward."

Peter flexes his hands against the wood and turns them face-down. "I wasn't grossed out."

"Oh, sure, and water isn't wet."

"Well-No, don't get me sidetracked. I wasn't grossed out, Wade. A little embarrassed, yes, but definitely not grossed out." Peter leans across the table to make sure he's in Wade's line of sight. "I thought I was the one who grossed you out."

Wade copies his movement, almost as if as a challenge. "You could never do anything that would gross me out. Like, ever. May I remind you who you're talking to, exactly? Gross is pretty much my middle name. Along with Gore, gunpowder, and gorgeous."

Peter stares at a bloodstain on Wade's chest and feels a tendril of relief roll through him. "Okay, so...does that mean we're good?"

"I don't know, Spidey, are you sure you're not bothered by me being into dudes?" He leans even closer and lightly digs his finger into Peter's shoulder. Peter doesn't shy away, but his stomach does do a kickflip at having Wade's face so close to his own.

"No. Wade, I'm not—" Peter swallows and feels his heart rate kick up. "I'm not straight either." He chokes out.

Wade doesn't move for a full ten seconds after those words come out of Peter's mouth. Then he leans back and looks around the room as if it's the first time he's ever seen it. When his eyes land on Peter again, he shakes his head. "So when you show up at pride every year it's because—"

"I belong there? Yeah. It's not something I'm super open about, but yeah. I swing both ways." Peter wriggles his wrists in emphasis and Wade barks out an unexpected laugh. Then he reaches up and finally takes off his mask. His smile is crooked and he looks tired when he rubs his gloved fingers against his eyes, but his shoulders noticeably droop in the absence of tension.

Tossing his mask to the table, Wade holds out a fist to Peter. "Bi bros?"

Peter taps the fist with his own and can't keep the smile out of his voice when he says "Bi bros."

With a big sigh of relief, Wade spins to his feet and throws out his arms. "Who would have thought that talking about your feelings could feel so good? Not me, that's for sure! What do you say we slam through the rest of this footage and get back out on the streets? I'm itching to get out there and knock some heads in!"

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I'm sure we could go without the bashing of heads."

"Not even as a treat? To celebrate this momentous occasion?"

"Definitely not. And I'd really rather not make a big deal out of this."

Wade's hands come down on his shoulders and his brows furrow together in a rare show of seriousness. "Your secret is safe with me."

Peter hooks his fingers over Wade's arms and holds them for a moment. He feels the strength of them, the weight of them, the incredible shape of them, and he doesn't want to let go. Looking into Wade's pale eyes, he says, "I know, Wade. That's why I trust you."

Wade's face softens before he ducks his head and moves back. Peter's fingers stick to his arms for a brief second before he remembers to let go. But Wade doesn't seem to notice, because he simply throws himself over the back of his couch and starts talking about how he wishes he could have lived the rest of his life without knowing the intimate ins and outs of New York's sewer system. Helplessly, Peter follows him, and if his leg touches Wade's for the rest of the evening, Wade doesn't mention it. But he doesn't move away, either, and Peter counts that as a step in the right direction for both of them.

-

"So you're telling me the reason why you've had your head stuck in the clouds for the past week is because...you have a crush? And, what, she's not texting you back or something?" Peter's coworker chugs the rest of her coffee before starting a fresh brew in the company pot. Peter taps his pen against the break room table and fidgets with his own cup.

"No. Yes. Sort of. See, I was under the impression that the crush was mutual. This person flirts with me all the time, and I thought that after I made it clear that I was ...single," He says in lieu of outing himself twice in one week. "That we could move forward and take the next step in our relationship. But this person hasn't shown any interest since then, and I think even the amount of flirting may have decreased. So I've been thinking, what if I've been misreading the signals? What if it's been one-sided this whole time?"

His coworker, Jane from Editorial, turns to look at him. "It's possible. Have you ever told this person that you're interested in a relationship?"

"What? No." At the look Jane gives him, Peter says. "Look, it's complicated."

"Always is. But how is she supposed to know it's okay to pursue you if she doesn't even know you're interested in the first place? Also, lots of girls are afraid to make the first move, even in this day and age."

Peter snaps his fingers and swings to his feet. "So you're telling me I need to start dropping hints."

"I'm telling you to just tell her how you feel, man, but sure." Jane rolls her eyes and turns back to the coffee pot. "Do it your way. Let me know how it works out."

Downing the rest of his lukewarm coffee, Peter tosses his cardboard cup in the recycle bin and says thank you to Jane on his way out the room. Slipping his phone out of his pocket he texts Wade to ask if he's free that night. His phone buzzes a few minutes later and when he reads Wade's response, he finds it even more difficult to focus on his work until he clocks out and practically jogs out of the building to get suited up.

-

"Ladies first," Wade says before hopping up onto the bottom rung of a shady-looking scaffolding ladder. Peter gives it a wary look as it creaks under Wade's weight and gingerly follows after him. As they climb, Wade gives Peter the rundown of why they're scaling the construction site of a half-built skyscraper in Queens at 9PM on a Wednesday.

"Been seeing some shady shit go down in these parts lately. With all the construction it's easy to blend in as one of the workers, except when you're here after hours and the only work you do is the illegal kind."

"What kind of shady stuff?"

"Product movement. Don't know what kind, I just know it comes and goes in big unmarked vans and the guys don't even talk during the exchanges. Didn't really want to roll in and cause a bloodbath before I knew what was going on. My agent tells me that's not good for PR." He pauses on the ladder above Peter and turns his head down to say, "You're my agent, btw."

"Uh huh." Peter looks down at the dark sight below them and wonders how Wade even found out about the activity in this place. "Have you noticed a schedule that these guys operate on?"

"Can't say I've done a full stakeout, but I wanted you to at least know about this place in case you wanted to do your own nerd research."

"How thoughtful," Peter crawls up to the last level and perches on the edge next to Wade. "I'm touched."

Wade swings his legs over the side and brushes his shoulder against Peter's. "Don't say I never did anything for ya."

At this point in his life, Peter is no stranger to heights. He'd even go as far as to say that he's more familiar with views of New York City from the perspective of rooftops and webslinging than down on the streets. He's seen his fair share of breathtaking skylines and skyscraper sunrises but it's not every day that he gets to experience it with someone else.

"This never gets old." He says.

"What's that?"

Peter shifts on his haunches and grips the ledge of the platform with his fingers. "Being so high up. Looking down over the city from a height few people will ever get the chance to experience. Soaking up the quiet night, free from the never ending bustle of life below. Everything is so rushed down there. So complicated. But when you get up this high, everything starts to look so simple. Looking out from a highrise window will never compare to sitting out in the open air like this, feeling the wind, and knowing that at any point I can take a leap and fly off into the night where no one else can reach me. Like I don't have any limits."

When Wade doesn't say anything, Peter chances a look at him. It's dark, but he can still make out the white eyes of his mask.

"It sure is beautiful." He whispers, looking right at Peter.

Peter fidgets with the ledge and leans just a little bit closer to Wade. "It's nice being able to experience it with someone else, too."

"Hey now, what happened to being a lone-spider?"

Peter laughs and shrugs. Riding on a wave of courage he says, "Maybe it's time for a change."

Wade tilts his head and Peter can feel the concentration radiating off of him. "You want to start working with other people?"

"Not just anyone. You and I have been working together for...a while now. And it's nice. Really nice. I already told you that I like having you around, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that I hope this partnership lasts. If I never had to be alone again, I'd be happy if it was because of you."

Wade's eyebrows slowly move up and Peter hears his fingers tap against the platform. "Whoa." He says. "That totally just sounded like a confession."

"Well..."

"Guess I should take you up dangerous construction sites more often if that means I get to see this side of you."

"Maybe." He agrees.

"Like, that was romance-movie-worthy. Which reminds me, if you could choose any actor to play you in a movie about Spiderman, who would it be? This question totally isn't about me wanting to have a face to picture when I think about you—Nevermind. I'll go first. My ideal actor would probably be..." He trails off a list of names that Peter has never heard of. Peter listens to him, but the buzzing under his skin is so much louder, and eventually his fingers find the edge of his mask. He digs his fingers into the collar of his shirt and holds them there against his neck.

Just take it off, he tells himself. Take if off and tell him, already.

He manages to roll it up to the bottom of his chin before he's interrupted by a flash of light below. A set of red reverse lights carefully trail into the base of the skeleton building. The unmarked van, as Wade described, parks in a tucked away area between piles of equipment and turns off its engine.

Wade leans over the edge of the platform to get a better look and Peter's arm darts out to hold him back. He tucks his mask back into his collar with his other hand.

"Don't fall." He says.

Wade clutches his arm as he leans even further over the side. "Y'know, I didn't really think about how hard it would be to eavesdrop from all the way up here."

Peter squints into the darkness, trying to get a read on the license plate. "Then why did you lead us up so high?"

"The view, duh! Plus, you didn't stop me. You're the one who's supposed to have common sense here, remember?"

With a sigh, Peter starts planning the quickest and quietest way to get them down within hearing range. Even though Wade said the exchanges take place without a word, it would still be nice to at least see what's going on from a more reasonable distance.

He runs his fingers around his collar one more time, checking to make sure the fabric sits smooth and tight against his skin. His pulse hammers against his fingers and he tells himself that this probably wasn't the right time, anyway. Surely he'll have another chance in the future.

Until then, there is work to do. So Peter grabs hold of Wade, and begins their descent.

-

He's skimming through the new spider-drone footage on his phone during his commute home from his Thursday lecture when he spots what appears to be another entrance to Splicer's underground facility. Or, whatever it is. The footage is grainy in the low light of the unlit tunnel, but if he squints, it sort of looks similar to the door they found previously. He takes a screenshot of it to send to Wade and receives a poop emoji in reply.

He swipes the call button and is glad when Wade picks up right away.

"So today's the big day, huh? Time for part two of our exciting sewer adventures?"

"Yeah, I think it's worth checking out. Especially since there hasn't been any new sign of Splicer's creatures. Now might be the best time to check things out, while he's laying low." Peter curls himself against the door of the crowded subway car in an attempt to garner some privacy. He's sure that everyone has heard weirder stuff on the subway on a daily basis, but that doesn't stop him from feeling weird about having this conversation in public as Peter Parker.

"Laying low, or working on something bigger and meaner than ever."

"That's definitely a possibility. So can I count on you to join me on this adventure?"

Wade lets out a loud, drawn out groan. "Yeah, yeah, I'm ready to get down and dirty." He grumbles. "I still remember our fight with the giant meat puppet, Spidey. He hurt you. Badly. If Splicer really is behind these creatures, he has to pay for that."

Peter bites his lip and cups his mouth over his phone. "I'm not the only person who got injured because of those creatures. Don't forget about that. We're doing this to keep the whole city safe, not to get revenge."

Peter swears he can hear Wade roll his eyes through the phone. "I know, but you're my top priority, and he made you bleed. There's gonna be consequences for that. No one gets to hurt you like that and get away with it."

"We're not killing him." Peter says on impulse. The business man to Peter's left makes eye contact with him in the reflection of the doors for a brief second. But instead of looking alarmed, he just looks bored and tired. Typical New Yorker.

"I don't have to kill someone to make them regret the day they were born."

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Fine. But please promise me you'll let me try to talk to him first? That's assuming we even find him tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you do your thing. But if he even thinks about trying something, things are gonna get bloody." He says, lowly. "Very bloody."

"I hear you."

"So what time do you wanna meet up?"

Peter checks his watch. "As soon as possible? I'm on the subway right now, but I can meet you on your rooftop in about thirty minutes?"

"Sounds good, Webs."

"Great, see you soon, Wade."

Wade makes a kissing noise into the call and hangs up. Peter stares at his phone screen and digs his other hand through his hair. After a moment, he pulls up his contact list and scrolls to a name he hasn't talked to in a very long time. After another minute of hesitation, he swipes the call button and fully expects to be sent to voicemail. But the call goes through, and a familiar voice says his name as a question. Well, not his name, but—

"Spider?"

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. "Cat, I need your help."

"Well, hello to you too. Long time no talk, which makes this more than a little interesting. What's the big emergency?" Felicia Hardy asks.

"Look, I've never been great at flirting—"

"Understatement of the century. If you're trying to come on to me, I'm hanging up."

"I'm not, I promise." He insists. The train slides to a stop and Peter steps out to merge into the crowd. He presses the phone closer to his ear to hear Felicia above the noise.

"Jeez, you don't have to say it like that. You did like me, once."

"There's someone else, Cat. Someone...actually kind of special. Not to say that you weren't special—" He hurries to add, "But I think this is more than that. And I really don't want to mess this up, but I have no idea how to get this person's attention. I'm not usually the one to make the first move."

"I know." Felicia deadpans.

"So I figured, who'd be a better person to ask for advice than you?"

"...Well, I have to say you came to the right gal. But who's this lucky someone? Who's got you all twisted up like this?"

Peter huffs out a breath. "I'm not ready...to say it yet. But they're a friend of mine, a good friend. And I want to be more than friends."

"Ooh, spicy."

"Yeah, I want it to be spicy."

Felicia laughs at that. "Wow, you're actually serious about this person, aren't you? You've got your serious voice on."

"...Yeah." He admits. "So, do you have any advice, or do I need to resort to google?"

"Oh my god. Body language. You're insufferable, but you've got a rockin' bod when you're in the suit. Use it to your advantage."

"The suit?"

"Oh, does this person know you as Spiderman? Or...?"

"They only know me as that." He says. "For now."

"Perfect! Now, I'm not going to tell you to act sexy, because I think you're too awkward to pull it off—especially when you're nervous. So doing that might hurt your chances more than help. But, you know, make an effort. Put your assets on display. Sneak in some light touches. Get up close and personal. But don't overdo it. Subtlety is key in the art of allure."

"Don't overdo it." Peter repeats to himself.

"And when all else fails, you can always just tell them how you feel. Honesty has its own charm. Especially coming from you."

"...Right. Thank you, Cat."

"Anytime, Spider. And if it works out, you have to tell me who it is. As payment for my services."

Peter mumbles a noncommittal agreement and hangs up. The noise of the crowd comes rushing back to him and Peter picks up his pace. His nerves fuel his adrenaline and by the time he reaches street level, he's practically running. People on the streets don't even give him a second glance as his jog turns into a full on sprint. His skin hums and despite his uncertainty, he feels light on his feet at the possibilities. He feels untouchable. He feels limitless.

Assets, huh?

-

Peter arrives on Wade's rooftop five minutes late. He silently scales his way up from the back, but somehow Wade still hears him approach. He turns from where he's perched over the ledge and starts to rise to his feet, but comes to a full stop when he sees Peter in full.

"Whoa." He says. "Hey. That you, Webs?"

"It's me." Peter steps down from the AC unit to the lower part of the rooftop, and lets Wade get a closer look at him. He tries his best to strand straight and tall, without coming off as stiff and nervous.

"Okay. Um, I'm just gonna go ahead and ask—what's with the getup? Not that I'm complaining, but...is there a reason for it? Because if I'm remembering this right, the last time you wore that suit, you were pretty mad at me." Wade finishes standing up but he keeps a wary distance, holding his hands up in front of him, defensive.

Peter stretches his arms behind his head and shrugs. "No reason. Just felt like doing something different today."

Wade gives him another full once over and lowers his hands. "Is this the start of your midlife crisis?"

Peter laughs. "Pretty sure I already went through that about five years ago." He walks closer and places his hand on Wade's shoulder. The fabric of his suit is completely black and non-reflective, and his fingers end in thick, sharp claws. Wade squints at him, and Peter moves to stand at the edge of the roof. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah..." He says, distracted. "I'm ready to go. Speaking of going, I can go all night, in case you were wondering. My regen doesn't quit when I enter the bedroom."

"Good to know," Peter says, after a beat. "I'll be sure to remember that."

"Wha?" Wade leans in close, nearly pressing his forehead against Peter's. "Did I hear that right? Are you sure you're Webs? My Webs? Are you really the Spiderman that I know and love, or are you one of his clones?"

"Not a clone, I promise." Don't overdo it, he reminds himself. "If you're ready, grab on. Let's see if we can find Splicer tonight and get some answers."

Wade's suspicion doesn't fade from his mask, but he grabs onto Peter anyway, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him. Together they swing off into the city. The breeze helps keep them from baking under the late evening sun, but Peter is still relieved to slip into the cold underground when they arrive at their destination — a nondescript manhole in the middle of a rundown street in Brooklyn.

"This is the nearest access point." He says, gently setting aside the manhole cover and starting the climb. "Shouldn't be too far of a walk from here to the door."

Wade joins him at the bottom a minute later, complaining significantly less than last time. But after giving a quick look in either direction, he freezes up.

"Spidey? Where did you go? I can't see—"

"Right here." Peter says from beside him.

"Oh, Christ, did you go invisible? Is this where I find out you were a ghost all along? Or just a figment of my imagination?"

"No, this suit was made for blending in with the dark." Peter thinks about his next words, but ultimately says them anyway before he can decide if it's a bad idea or not. "I don't have a light with this suit, so...do you want to hold my hand?"

"Yes." Wade says in a rush. "I mean, is this a general question, or specific only to this very moment? Because I've always wanted to hold your hand."

Instead of answering that, Peter reaches out and grabs Wade's hand. Immediately his fingers grip tightly around Peter's. In response Peter gives him a light squeeze. "Come on."

"Oh wow. I feel like I can do anything right now." Wade says, in awe. "Let the sewer rats come, I'll take them all down, easy. As long as you're holding my hand."

Peter gives his hand a tug. "Won't it be kind of difficult to take them down one-handed? And blind?"

"I said what I said."

"Fair enough."

After adjusting the lenses in his masks to show infrared, Peter leads them down the dark and damp tunnel. Altogether, the walk is only about twenty meters to the door his drone picked up. When they arrive, Wade starts trying to get through the lock without letting go of Peter's hand. Peter has to uncurl Wade's fingers one by one to get him to let go, but he stays close and lays his hand over Wade's back while he works.

It clicks open the same way as the other door, and when he slides it open and lets his eyes roll over the dimly lit room, he's hit with an odd sense of displacement. Like when you're dreaming, and the setting takes an abrupt and seemingly random turn.

He feels like he's Peter Parker, the civilian, waking up from a nap in his biology lab at the university, alone after everyone else has gone, with only the glow from the equipment to keep him company after the motion-sensor overhead lights have gone out. The effect is only multiplied when his entry into the room activates the overhead lights here, illuminating a large, pristine lab station. He recognizes most of the equipment—a DNA sequencer here, an NMR spectrometer there. He knows these instruments well enough to operate them, and the only difference that makes this lab stand out from any other is the large metal rack on the back wall containing dozens upon dozens of strangely-colored glass jars.

Peter's feet take him there automatically and he tries not to look too hard at the amalgamations floating in each liquid-filled jar. "Guess this confirms the evil scientist theory."

"I don’t like the look of this, Webs." Wade says from beside him, voice low.

"Me neither." Peter looks back at the equipment and the DNA charts lining the walls. All of it leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and again he has to try and shake off the feeling that this is all a dream. "Let's keep moving. See what else we can find."

A hallway at the back of the room leads to several empty, bigger rooms that seem like barren living quarters, each containing a bare bed and an observation window. Wade keeps his head forward but Peter feels the tension practically rolling off of him.

Without a word Peter offers his hand to Wade again and he takes it. He seems to physically relax a little after that, but Peter knows his thoughts won't be so easy to soothe. He presses onward.

Ever since they stepped foot through the first door, an underlying pressure started thrumming at the base of his neck. It grows more incessant the deeper they go, and Peter hones in on it, following it down a myriad of corridors and additional labs, right to the very source, wincing at the throbbing discomfort.

"There's something on the other side of this door." Peter whispers.

"Something dangerous?"

"By the feel of it? Most likely."

"Got it." Wade lets go of his hand in favor of pulling out his guns. Peter makes no comment and tries the door handle. It swings open with a push and the two of them step into an operation room with Splicer in the very center of it, bent over a large gray shape laid out on a wide operation table.

He looks up at the sound of the door closing and slowly sets down his tools. His dull white mask is already on his face, and when he speaks, he almost sounds bored. "You two again? Why is it always you two? Where are the Avengers?"

Peter tries to make sense of the thing on the table, but his brain doesn't know what he's looking at. "They're busy." He says.

"Yeah, what gives?" Wade cocks his gun beside him. "We're way cooler than those losers. We're mutants." He growls. "And we don't like the look of this place, Doctor. It's in desperate need of redecorating. With a sledge hammer. In fact, while we're at it, why don't I redecorate your face with my fists?"

"Not yet." Peter takes a step forward. Splicer watches him, unbothered by the gun being pointed at him. "I want to hear him talk. You mentioned the Avengers last time, too. Why is that?"

"I work for them." Splicer says, holding out his hands. "They just don't know it yet."

Wade makes a noise beside him. "Buddy, from experience, it is not a good idea to entertain your weirdass delusions. That's how you end up in a home, or as a supervillain. Which," He gestures with his gun. "Case in point."

"A supervillain?" Splicer finally looks at Wade. "You're mistaken. But I wouldn't expect people like you to understand. If the Avengers were here, they would see my value."

"Value as what?" Peter asks, incredulous. "Their resident Frankenstein?"

"Their resident bioengineer. I have dedicated my entire life to this work. To studying the secrets locked in the smallest parts of ourselves, our DNA—"

"Here comes the monologue." Peter mumbles.

"You're the one who wanted him to talk." Wade whispers back.

"My name is Gene—"

"Gene Splicer?" Peter blurts. "Oh, brother."

"—and my only wish is to be an Avenger."

"Come again?"

"But my body couldn't take it. My own DNA held me back from reaching my potential." A strain of bitterness creeps into his otherwise quiet voice. "Which is why I have decided to instead create the perfect Avenger, starting from scratch, by writing the perfect genetic code."

Wade takes a step forward and bounces the gun in his hand. "You know, I really can't stand people like you."

"I have done nothing wrong." Splicer cooly insists. "The creatures you fought before were all tests. There's bound to be kinks and instabilities in the early stages of an experiment, that's how you learn and improve. All in the name of science, of creating the perfect hero."

"Your creatures hurt people. They hurt my friend Spiderman."

Splicer shrugs. "He's still alive, is he not?"

"How are we meant to believe what you say when your creatures only know how to destroy?" Peter asks. "How is that supposed to be a prototype for a...a hero?"

"I had to test their resilience. It wouldn't do any good for me to make a weak protector, now would it?"

"Webs, I don't know about you, but I've heard enough. Can I blast this guy now?"

Peter looks at his gun, and back at Splicer. "One more question. Why build your lab in the sewers, of all places?"

Splicer looks down at his tools on the other side of the gray thing, and clinks around for a moment with his hands out of sight. "It's not ideal, but it gives me privacy. As well as an endless supply of DNA samples, for testing."

Peter blinks at him. "You're using-human excrement from the sewers for your science experiments? That's like, unethical. On so many levels. Not to mention disgusting, and probably illegal."

"I knew you wouldn't understand." Splicer shakes his head, but he doesn't look up from his instruments. "Which is why I must get rid of you, now. I can't have you two getting in the way of my plans."

In one smooth motion, Splicer injects something into the blob, and then things start to get interesting. The base of Peter's neck screams at him as the blob ripples,, and heaves, as if sucking in a deep breath for the very first time.

Wade fires a shot at Splicer without batting an eye, but the blob surges up to deflect the bullet. Peter backs up against the wall as the thing rolls to the floor, shudders, and stands up on two stubby feet.

"Well, it's no sewer rat. But somehow I think this is worse."

"Is that a goddamn giant salamander? Why is it a salamander, of all things?" Wade tries to fire at it a few more times, but it deflects each bullet, sending them into the walls instead. Peter narrowly dodges a bullet that almost hits his thigh and after that, Wade switches to his katanas.

Meanwhile Peter tries to get around to Splicer by crawling on the ceiling, but the salamander sees him and surges up with its globulous torso and smacks him down with a powerful arm that it miraculously grew out of nowhere. Peter hits the wall—hard—and rolls to his feet, arms outstretched, and tries to web the thing down. But his webs slide right off of its slimy skin, much to Peter's frustration.

"Not again." He growls.

"You good, Webs?"

"Fine."

Peter notices that Wade's katanas aren't much use here, either. The salamander just fuses its skin back together whenever his blades pass through it. Beyond that, the Splicer merely stands and observes the fight, so Peter ignores him for now in favor of focusing on the salamander.

He lunges onto the thing's back and attempts to shred his claws through the back of its neck, but its skin hardens a fraction of a second before each swipe, turning to solid metal that screeches against Peter's claws. Clenching his fists, he tries to punch it instead, but it launches itself into a roll, effectively body slamming Peter against the floor, knocking the wind out of him.

While Peter scrambles to regain his footing, it rears up on him and—oh, wow—

"Since when do salamanders have shark teeth?" He wheezes, just before it clamps down on his forearm.

"Spiderman!" Wade calls out to him from somewhere nearby, but Peter can't see much beyond the white-hot flash of pain in his arm. His suit blocks the teeth from piercing his flesh, but the strength of the salamander's jaw clamping down on him still threatens to snap his bones in half. Peter punches its head to try and get free, but only succeeds in rattling his own arm with each impact. Erring on the edge of desperation, Peter locks his legs around the thing's sides and rolls them over. Then he slams its head against the hard metal floor with the full brunt of his strength, gritting his teeth through the pain, until it finally eases up and Peter reels back, back, back into a corner for safety.

Wade steps in front of him, crowding close, shielding him, and addresses the Splicer.

"So this is your idea of a hero?" He snarls. "This fucking thing?"

"Am I wrong?" Splicer asks, quietly. "How is it any different from you two? Vicious, strong, adaptable, willing to do anything as long as it believes itself to be the righteous one..."

"Heroes save people." Wade spits back. "Heroes help those in need, they protect those who cannot protect themselves and work themselves to the bone to keep the streets safe. Spiderman is a hero, the best goddamn hero there is. You and your army of failed science experiments will never be anything like him!"

"No, we will be better. We will be undefeatable."

Peter sees Wade replace one of his katanas with a gun. The Salamander creeps around the middle of the room, keeping an eye on him while Peter tries to stay awake through the pain.

"When have you ever helped out someone in need?" Wade demands. "Give me one good example, one good reason not to shoot you through the fucking eyes right now."

The Splicer shakes his head. "In order to help others, I must become strong first. I've already explained this, please try to keep up."

"Wrong fucking answer, buddy." Wade pulls the trigger. The gunshot goes off, but the salamander smacks the bullet away midair. It lands in the wall somewhere near Peter's shoulder.

"I must thank you for the data you contributed by defeating the prototypes." Says Splicer. "It allowed me to make my strongest creation yet. This time, you will not make it out of here alive."

"Wrong again. Heroes don't kill people. That's like, rule number one in the hero handbook." He throws his katana like a spear through the air and again the salamander deflects it. It clanks against the ground and Wade clenches his bare fist. "I would know that, because I really don't feel like being a hero right now."

"Wade—"

"I'm sorry, Webs, but I really. Don't. Like this guy."

"Me neither. But we can't resort—"

"To his level. I know. I get it. That's why you're the only real hero in this room, baby." Wade grips his remaining katana in his right hand and walks forward. With some effort, Peter pushes himself up the wall to stand up straight.

But instead of going for Splicer, Wade resumes his assault on the salamander, swinging his katana with no mercy, or any regard for his own safety. The katana hardly even slows down the salamander for half a second, but Wade doesn't give up. He moves with a silent anger, a practiced, murderous rage.

Peter takes his chance to shoot a web toward Splicer, but the salamander's tail intercepts it, and keeps swinging until it hits Peter, knocking him off his feet. Another gunshot goes off and Peter twists to see Wade trying to empty a mag down the salamander's throat. This seems to be the final straw for the salamander, because it simply bites off Wade's arm at the elbow and smacks him so hard he hits the other side of the room. And he doesn't give up there, either, because he lunges at Wade's limp body, and Peter's aching limbs move without thinking.

He picks up the operation table with one arm and brings it down on the salamander's back. There's an awful crack of metal as the table snaps in half, and the salamander scrambles away to a corner of the room. From there it raises its tail at him as a threat. In reply Peter picks up one broken half of the table and hurls it at the salamander, and while it's distracted with deflecting that, he leaps at Splicer, tackling him.

Splicer hits the ground with a grunt and immediately tries to get away. Peter manages to get one full swipe of his claws across Splicer's chest before he's knocked away by salamander's tail once more. It hits him straight across the face, and his neck twists painfully at the impact. It takes him a while to reorient himself, but the sound of Splicer groaning in pain fills him with a cold sense of satisfaction, and he finds the strength to stand up one more time.

Stumbling back against the wall, Splicer clutches at his white lab coat, and breathes heavily. "I see," He pants. "I think this calls for adjustments to my design. Yes. Faster reflexes are in order."

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to let you leave this room." Peter says.

But Splicer merely laughs and shuffles against the wall to the back door. Peter takes a step toward him, claws flexed, but Splicer digs a scalpel out of his pocket and in a flash he throws it at Wade's lifeless body. Peter webs it against the wall without thinking, and in that time, Splicer gets the door open and the salamander slithers in front of him, protecting him.

"Yes. I must thank you again...Spiderman. It's a shame you didn't leave any blood behind, I would love to get a good look at your DNA. But I'm sure we'll meet again, yes?"

"This is a dark path you've chosen, Splicer. And it won't end well for you."

"Science isn't always easy, or pretty. Just because I'm willing to get my hands a little dirty for the betterment of this city, that makes me a bad person?"

"Your science is unethical, and your creations hurt people."

Splicer lets go of his lab coat and shows Peter his bloody hand. "And you don't hurt people?"

Peter flexes his hands. He looks at Wade. He clenches his teeth. "I choose the road where the least amount of people get hurt. Always. If that means putting an end to you, I'll do it."

"Yes, you've been saying that. But next time, I will be even stronger. Are you prepared for that?" Splicer stretches out his arms and tilts his head with a little bow. "Until next time, Spiderman."

The door slides shut and the room goes quiet. Peter considers brute forcing his way through the door and following Splicer, but he doesn't want to leave Wade alone down here. So he begins the task of carefully securing Wade to his back with a liberal amount of webbing. As he does it, he tries not to look too closely at the extent of the damage done to Wade's body. But one particular nasty-looking blow to his head explains why he hasn't woken up yet. Even after Peter has backtracked through the lab, and exited the sewers, Wade still hasn't woken up. So Peter starts the trek back to Wade's apartment, trying to stay out of sight while also trying not to jostle Wade too much. Not that it really matters with him being out cold like this, but Peter can't bring himself to treat him carelessly. Not when he can help it.

Luckily, Wade's bedroom window turns out to actually be unlocked. Peter eases them both inside and sidesteps the mess on Wade's bedroom floor until he reaches the bathroom. Sitting on the side of the tub, he slowly untangles the webbing and eases Wade into the tub.

Crouching next to him, Peter grips his knees and lets himself finally assess the extent of the wounds. Most of them seem internal, broken bones and blunt force trauma, except for the missing arm. Which by now has stopped bleeding, thankfully, but Peter still wishes there was something else he could do to help him.

But he knows there's nothing left to do but wait, so he turns around and scoots down until he can rest his head on the edge of the tub. From there, he watches Wade's arm slowly start to grow back.

Before it finishes healing completely, it twitches, and Wade sucks in a pained breath.

"Where—"

"Your place." Peter mumbles. "Splicer ran away after I injured him."

"Oh. You did? Fuck. Wish I could've seen that."

"We'll see him again. He made that very clear."

Wade nudges Peter's shoulder with the end of his half-formed arm. "Are you okay? You got beat up pretty bad back there."

Peter twists to rest his arm on the tub. His fingers lightly brush against the new flesh of Wade's inner elbow, careful not to scratch him with his claws. "I'll heal."

Wade lets out a soft gasp. Peter looks up at his mask.

"Webs, one of your lenses is broken."

Peter lowers his eyes briefly. Red jagged glass lines the bottom of where his right lens should be. "I know."

"I can see most of your eye."

"That's okay."

"Is it?"

"Yup."

"Are you sure? Do you want me to cover my eyes? It's a little too late for that, but I can do it anyway. Just say the word."

Peter shakes his head. The blood on Wade's suit is beginning to turn rust-brown and it reminds Peter of the way his own suit looked that night when Wade carried him to safety and stitched him up on his living room floor. "Wade, as long as it's you who sees me like this, I don't mind."

"...Really?"

Peter shifts his arm so he can tap his knuckles against Wade's chest. "Yes. I trust you." The words come easy and Peter wonders if tonight his throat will allow his name to finally slip out into the open. While he chews on the shape of it in his mouth, Wade shifts in the tub to be closer to Peter.

"This feels really intimate." He says from only inches away.

"Yeah. It does." Peter wants to move closer, but from this distance, he's having a hard time concentrating on Wade. The fluorescent lights in the bathroom aren't doing him any favors, either. With a sigh, Peter screws his eyes shut and draws back a little. "I think I have a concussion."

Wade grunts in agreement. "Your pupil does look kind of dilated. You have really pretty eyes, by the way. Or, eye. Singular."

Peter huffs out a laugh. "Speak for yourself."

"Are you calling me pretty, Spiderman?"

"What if I am?"

"I'd say you really do have a concussion."

"Hey, now. Don't insult my taste like that."

"Your what?"

"My taste? In men?"

Wade's brain audibly comes to a screeching halt. He leans back in the tub and sits very, very still for a full minute.

"Webs...I'm going to be perfectly upfront with you. What the hell are you talking about?"

"What do you mean?" Peter shifts, knowing exactly what he means.

But is he ready for this? Are they really going to have this conversation right now, right here on Wade's bathroom floor? With the smell of blood in the air and enough injuries on both their bodies to take out a regular human?

"I mean, have you been...flirting with me?" He asks, and then it's all on the table, laid out as clear as day and with nowhere else to look.

Peter honestly considers turning back. He really, really does. He pictures himself walking away from this, crawling back through Wade's window and swinging home through the night to his familiar, lonely apartment, where he would strip the name and skin of Spiderman and fall into his bed and struggle to get any sleep, despite his exhaustion. He pictures the rest of his life and sees himself perched on New York's highest heights, like an out-of-place gargoyle, a man all alone in his city of millions. He feels the ache of it, heavy and cold in his chest. It feels familiar. It feels like safety. It feels like the smartest choice.

Instead, Peter says, "What if I have been?"

Carefully, Wade inches himself back into Peter's space. "No, I really need you to give me a clear answer here, Webs. Because I am very confused right now and it won't do either of us any favors if I start jumping to conclusions. Especially when they're in my favor, and totally one-sided."

Peter swallows. He feels off-balance, and lightheaded, and this really isn't going how he hoped it would. But it's too late to back out now, he's made his choice. And at the very least, Wade deserves to hear the truth straight to his face.

"Okay. Yes. I have been flirting with you."

The words bounce around the small room for a moment while Wade looks at him as if he's grown a second head. "Why?" He finally asks, voice small.

"What do you mean 'why'? Why do you flirt with me, Wade?"

"What kind of silly question is that? I do it because I can't help it, I don't have a brain-to-mouth filter, as you may have noticed. It's one of my many charms. And I've had a crush on you since, like, forever ago. Which, I thought you were cool with because we're like, best buds, the bestest of buds, the bestiest of buds that have ever budded, which is something I'm totally fine with because that's already more than I ever dreamed of having with you. But if you're going to make fun of me—"

"I'm not. I wouldn't make fun of you, Wade."

"But, see, this is where I'm confused, because if you're not joking, then that means you're serious. And if you're serious, then..."

"Yeah," Peter breathes. "It means I have feelings for you."

Wade lifts his uninjured hand and carefully grips Peter's bicep. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind Peter of just how jacked Wade is. "What kind of feelings?"

"The kind that make you want to flirt with someone." He says, feeling like the world has flipped on its head in the past thirty seconds. "I like you, Wade. A lot."

"What kind of 'like'?"

Peter bites down on his bottom lip. He looks at a cracked, dirty tile behind Wade's head. "Remember when we got stuck in that metal trap together?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean—"

"It does. To me, it does. It means a lot." Peter sucks in a shaky breath and rests his fingers on the junction of Wade's shoulder and neck. Wade's grip on his bicep flexes, but he doesn't let go. "And, beyond that, I think you're a really great guy. Not everyone sees it, but I do. It took me a while to get here, but I'm really glad I did. I...It's like you said, I can't help the way I feel about you."

"Spidey..." Wade says, like a question and a warning all at once. But Peter doesn't feel any danger. He feels tense, like he’s coiled at the edge of a rooftop, half a second away from leaping into nothingness, entirely at the mercy of gravity. But even though Peter can’t see the bottom from here, he feels ready. He feels a rush of excitement, a gut-wrenching dose of adrenaline, and he takes the jump head-on. He pushes his mask up over his nose and he doesn’t stop there. He pulls it all the way off and tosses it over his shoulder, and can’t hold down the wobbly grin that rises to overtake his face.

"It's Peter. You can call me Peter."

Wade’s hand comes up to touch his face, bewildered, but it stops just short of making contact. “Peter Parker?” He asks. “The Peter Parker?”

“Surprise?” Peter tries, but Wade shakes his head, and removes himself from Peter’s space, drawing back as far as he can go, and Peter’s smile drops.

“I shot you.” Wade says, simply. “I killed Peter Parker. Not once, but twice. Tell me that really happened. Tell me I'm not just making that up.”

Peter folds his hands on the edge of the tub and carefully says, “That did happen. But that was a while ago. And I thought we moved past that?”

“I didn’t know that was you, Webs. I thought Parker was just your stuck-up boss.” Wade rubs at his temple and refuses to look at Peter. That was you? I...how...how the fuck are you okay with that?”

“You were the one who brought me back.” Peter says. “Twice. And it did take me a long time to forgive you. But no matter how much I wanted to believe that you were wrong, that you were just another source of trouble, someone dangerous that I had to stay away from at all costs, you kept proving me wrong, Wade. Honestly, I’ll even go so far as to say that you have better values than some of the supposed 'good guys' I’ve met.”

“...I’m only good because of you.” He says through a frown. “You’re the reason I changed my life around for the better. If I hadn’t brought you back, if you were dead forever because of me, I would’ve stayed as the old me. The me that nobody liked, not even I liked myself. That’s how much you mean to me, Webs. I can’t believe I—"

Peter decides to take a chance, and reaches out across the tub to touch Wade’s shoulder once more. Wade’s hand, the freshly grown one, comes up to hold his wrist. But he doesn’t remove Peter’s hand, he just holds it in place, feeling his pulse with his thumb.

"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Peter says. "But I'm right here. We’re both here, together. That's proof enough that I forgive you, right?"

“But…”

“I forgive you.”

“Peter…”

“And I like the person you are today, Wade. I like you a lot.”

“Parker....” He says again, before finally lifting his head. “I’ll take your secret to the grave, Parker. I’ll never tell a soul, you got that?”

After Peter nods, Wade lets go of his wrist and leans forward. His bare fingers brush the skin under his eye, and Peter involuntarily leans into the touch. His own hand finds Wade’s forearm and this time it’s his turn to hold on.

“You’re not disappointed? That it’s me?” He asks, quietly. Wade curls his fingers under Peter’s chin and lifts it until Peter meets his gaze again.

“Are you kidding me? I’m crazy about you for who you are, silly, not what you look like. Yeah I’ve been attracted to you for like, ever, but there’s more to it than that. So much more. And finding out that you’ve been this hot this whole time has my head spinning, even though you kind of look like shit right now.”

“I—what?”

“You look exhausted and you’re covered in fresh bruises.” He says, but his tone is fond and his thumb brushes up the side of Peter’s chin to rest beside the corner of his mouth. Peter gulps and suddenly all he wants is to crawl into the tub with Wade and get his hands all over him. He’s certain that Wade must feel and see the way his face heats up at the thought. And at that moment, all of his bravado fades. He feels exposed, he is exposed, and he feels utterly at Wade’s disposal.

But Wade doesn’t let him go. His thumb slides over to his bottom lip, and Peter closes his eyes. He moves his lips to kiss Wade’s thumb and Wade makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Can I kiss you?” Peter asks, his voice a mere whisper.

“Me?” Wade whispers back, surprised, despite everything they just said to one another.

Peter cracks his eyes open and shifts his hand to the side of Wade’s neck. He thumbs at his collar, but makes no move to remove Wade’s mask. “I don’t see anyone else in the room.” He smiles, nervous.

Wade lets out a shaky breath, but his thumb is still playing with the corner of Peter’s mouth. “I just...you really want that? You want me?”

“More than anything.” Peter says, and he means it.

Wade ducks his head, but he moves his still-gloved hand to his neck and grips the bottom of his mask. “Are you sure?” He asks. “If you change your mind when you see me, I won’t be too upset. Just say the word, and we can pretend that none of this ever happened.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that. And I’ve seen you before, Wade. Plenty of times. I wanted you then, and I want you now. But, if you don’t want to kiss—”

“I want.” He says, quickly. “Want you so bad. I’ve dreamed about this for years.”

“Well, I’m the real thing.” Peter says with a smile in his voice. “So come and get me.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Wade rips off the mask like a bandaid. His eyes are wide and his face is tight with nerves. Peter runs his knuckles under Wade’s jaw and can’t help but break out in the goofiest grin at the mere sight of him, at being able to see him without the barrier of his lenses. His chest feels so full it threatens to spill out of his eyes. “Hey,” Peter says, wetly, and Wade crumbles. He buries his forehead against Peter’s and shuts his eyes tight. He whispers Peter's name and Peter tilts his chin until he feels the first brush of contact against his lips. "I'm here." He says.

"Is this real?" Wade asks. Peter opens his eyes a fraction to look down at the nearness of their bodies.

"It feels pretty real to me."

"Yeah? Fuck."

"Wade." Peter brushes his lips against Wade's one more time and this time he finally presses back, nudging a kiss so soft and sweet against Peter's mouth it makes his toes curl and his heart pound against his ribs.

Wade takes his time learning the shape of Peter's lips. He lingers and draws out each kiss as if he’ll never have the opportunity to have this ever again. He curls his fingers in Peter’s hair, drawing him closer, and Peter melts against him. He wants to push it further, wants to press back on Wade’s shoulders and climb into his lap, but the aches all throughout his body remind him exactly why that’s a bad idea. So he matches Wade’s pace, savouring his slow, gentle touch.

It's Peter who eventually leans back and sleepily presses a kiss to Wade's jaw. "Mind if I spend the night?" He asks, but at the sight of Wade's expression, Peter quickly elaborates. "I can take the couch."

"You don't have to take the couch, I have a king sized bed that I'm willing to share. And I do have some self control, you know." His fingers play with the curls at the base of Peter’s neck. "But if you really want the couch..."

"No, the bed sounds lovely. Not that your couch isn't nice. But a bed with you in it sounds even nicer."

Wade scoots back, as much as he can in the tub, and squeezes Peter's hands.

"Peter Parker." He says.

"Yes, Wade?"

But Wade just smiles at him. A shy, private smile that makes Peter want to kiss him all over again. "I'm going to wash the blood off of me, now. You're welcome to make yourself comfortable in the meantime. Or...realize that you've made a mistake and crawl out the window while I'm in here. We don't ever have to talk about this again if you don't want to, pinky promise."

"I don't know about you, but nothing about that felt like a mistake." Peter assures him.

Wade’s smile turns into a toothy grin and he shakes his head. "You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep messing with my heart like this, Webs. There’s only so much I can take. I'm fragile.”

“Well, it's a good thing you can’t die, then." Peter bends down to press a light kiss to his knuckles. "Because I'm pretty sure this is only the beginning.”

-

Peter wakes up feeling like he just got the best sleep of his life. The sheets are smooth and cool against the early morning summer heat, and the pillow he's got his arms and legs wrapped around is just the right size. He doesn't remember where he is until he gives the pillow a nuzzle and cracks open one eye. At the first flash of skin, Peter's other eye snaps fully awake and he shifts back just enough to see Wade's bare chest laid out between his arms. His legs, he can assume, are tightly coiled around one of Wade's thighs.

He lays there and stares at him for a good minute, replaying the events of last night in his mind while simultaneously admiring the shape and fullness of Wade's pecs. He acknowledges that his face had just been using them as a pillow and tries (but fails) to not feel too pleased by that. He wonders if he should detangle himself now, and if it would even be possible without waking up Wade in the process. He agonizes over this for a few minutes before Wade lets out a deep sigh and blearily opens his eyes just enough to squint at him.

"I can hear you panicking all the way from here." He mumbles, voice deep and hoarse from sleep. "Is the regret kicking in? Do you want a cup of coffee before you dip and I never get to see you again?"

Peter stops his subtle squirming that apparently wasn't subtle at all and blinks up at Wade. "No. I just...is this okay? I should've warned you that I can be pretty clingy in my sleep."

"Well, lucky for you, I happen to like clingy. You can climb me like a tree anytime you want, Webs."

Peter runs an experimental hand down the side of Wade's back to his waist. "Really?"

Wade's chest shakes with a laugh. "Wow. Okay. You like that. Noted, in bold and underlined. And yes, really." His hand drops down to rest on Peter's hip and Peter remembers how close their crotches are, and how both of them are naked except for their underwear, because Peter had fallen asleep as soon as he stripped out of his suit and Wade didn't bring a change of clothes with him before taking his shower.

Currently Wade's thumb is rubbing little circles against his waist. Even with his myriad of scars, brash sense of humor, and long history of violence, Wade looks gentle in the soft morning light. He looks open, vulnerable, and inviting.

Slowly, Peter dips down and plants a firm kiss to his lips. And this time Wade doesn't stop him when it tips over into more heated waters. As soon as Peter deepens the kiss, Wade presses Peter's shoulders into the sheets so he can roll on top of him, engulfing Peter in his muscles and skin and solid weight. He drags his fingers through Peter's hair and gets messy with his tongue in Peter's mouth.

It feels like heaven.

"God, you're a dream, Peter." Wade sighs against his lips. "Am I dreaming? Can you pinch me?"

Peter obliges, and Wade huffs out a laugh, but then his brows knit together and he draws back to sit on his legs, avoiding Peter's eyes.

"What is it?" Peter reaches out until he finds Wade's hands, and gives them a squeeze.

Wade plays with Peter's fingers while he chews over his words. "I don't think you know how long I've wanted this." He says, carefully. "Wanted to touch you, feel you. I'm having a hard time believing all this is real."

"But I'm right here. I'm touching you back."

"I know. It's just. You mean so much to me. You know that, right?"

"I do."

"And I don't want to mess this up."

"Neither do I."

"But the thing is, I'm really good at messing things up. Relationships, not so much."

"I can't say I've ever been good at them either."

"What? You? I would’ve thought you'd have admirers dropping at your feet every other day. Both in and out of the suit."

"Not really. Once people get to know me, they usually don't stick around. And the ones that do... I'm not really interested. I want you, Wade. I want to try this out.”

The tension doesn't leave Wade's face, but he does finally flick his eyes up to meet Peter's.

"Can I ask you something?" Peter says, tapping his thumbs against the sides of Wade's hands. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted this when I first told you that I liked men?"

Wade gives him a wry smile. "Come on, Webs. You used to hate my guts. I never would have made the connection that you wanted this. Plus, anyone with eyes can see that I clearly don't deserve you."

"Yes you do." Peter shifts to prop himself up on his elbows. "I'm not some holy saint. I've made mistakes and done bad things just the same as anyone else. And you are so much more than your past, Wade. Every day, you're trying to be better. I've seen you change. I know you, and I want to be with you."

Pushing himself up the rest of the way, Peter takes a chance to cup his hands around Wade's face and press a light kiss to his cheek. Wade leans into it and nuzzles his face against Peter's with a sigh.

"D'you know that you're my favorite superhero?" Wade says against Peter's neck.

"Well, you're my favorite person."

"...Wow, and I thought I was the sappy one."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything from me yet."

"I've seen you practically naked, actually."

"Well, if you take me to the shower, you might be able to see the rest of me."

Wade's arms tighten around him and Peter feels the shape of his grin against his skin. "You're gonna be the death of me, Peter."

"I thought you couldn't die."

"You might be the one thing that actually has what it takes to make me keel over. Death by happiness. Can't say I've had the opportunity to try that one, yet."

"Let's hope not. I like you better when you're alive."

"You might be the only motherfucker who would say that to me, you know that?"

Peter pulls back just enough to look Wade in the eyes. "It's the truth." His fingers brush down the side of Wade's head, over the bumps and scar tissue, down to his neck, where his pulse beats steady and strong.

His fingers remember all too well what it feels like to touch skin and find it cold, to be unable to find a pulse no matter how deeply he presses his fingers. It's something he felt with Uncle Ben. And Gwen Stacy. But he's felt it with Wade, too, and Wade always comes back. He comes back as every bit of himself—loud, obnoxiously funny, yet incredibly kind and dedicated. Each and every time.

"What's got your thoughts all in a twist now, Webhead?"

Peter cracks a smile, and lets his hands drop. "Just...thinking about how I'm pretty sure I'm running late for work right now."

"How late? Do you have time for a bit of shower fun?" Wade's hands run up Peter's sides and Peter considers it. Technically, he can submit his work from home now, but he's not sure if Jameson is aware of that new policy, or even cares, and he doesn't really want to get an earful either way. But Wade's hands are warm and imploring and Peter hasn't felt something like this in a very long time. So he shuffles to the edge of the bed and pulls Wade behind him by their joined hands.

"Maybe just a little bit of fun." He relents.

A little bit turns into a lot, and Peter is definitely late by the time he rushes into work, hair messy and socks mismatched, but at the end of the day Jane from Editorial pats him on the back, and Peter thinks that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

-

Peter is in the middle of a lecture on Enzyme Regulation when he feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. It distracts him for a second, only because the vibration is accompanied by a similar prickling at the back of his neck. He's about to ignore it and click to the next slide of his powerpoint when he overhears a group of students at the front row of the classroom, huddled over someone's phone and looking more than just a little concerned.

"That's pretty close." One of them says.

"Think we'll need to evacuate?"

"We're probably safer indoors..."

"I'm not sure about that. This just happened inside a building."

"If we need to get out, I'm sure they would've issued a warning by now."

By now half the class has pulled out their phones and started their own hushed conversations. Peter walks over to the front row and crosses his arms. His backside buzzes with another call, and he's starting to develop a pressure headache.

"What's the problem?" Peter asks.

The owner of the phone on the desk swoops it up and holds it out for Peter to see a live news video playing. "There's a killer monster on the loose just a few blocks away."

The headline at the bottom of the screen matches almost exactly what he just said. The newscaster looks stressed and underpaid and she's saying something about an unconfirmed death count.

"The Avengers will take care of it." Someone says from the back of the class.

"That's right." Peter says. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

But Peter's phone buzzes a third time, so he finally pulls it out to see two missed calls from Wade and a text message with just a bunch of poo emojis.

Then a girl sitting directly in front of him says, "Um...holy shit, did someone just die on the official news feed?"

"Let me see."

The girl turns her phone and Peter is met with shaky helicopter footage of a busy street downtown. Just before the feed cuts back to the wide-eyed newscaster, he catches sight of a long, gray mass that looks very much to be the Salamander.

Taking a step back, he runs his hands through his hair. "Okay," He says, and calmly walks back to his desk. In no particular hurry, he packs away his notes and laptop and looks up at the full lecture hall. "Class is dismissed." He tells them. "I'll send out an email with a few selected essays on today's topics, and we'll review them next week before moving forward. Thank you. And please stay safe."

He tries to make it to the door without looking like he's about to bolt, but at the sound of shocked whispers and backpacks haphazardly shuffling, he's not sure he manages it. But once he's through the door, he quietly books it around the corner and up the fire escape stairwell. At the top, he ducks between two AC units and strips down to his suit, shoving his clothes into his bag without any regard for how wrinkled they will be at the end of the day. He leaves the bag out of sight on top of one of the units and dials Wade before taking off.

He answers the phone with the street name, a rushed jumble of words about broken glass and screaming, and finishes off his rant with, "It's the Salamander."

Peter starts picking up speed. "I know. I'm on my way, ETA three minutes."

"People are hurt, there's blood everywhere, don't know the specifics, just got here myself. Thankfully, the tasteful red color of my suit caught the Salamander's attention like it's some kind of mad bull. I'm not getting much damage in on 'em but at least people are starting to evac."

Peter curls his body, making himself as small as possible to catch better speed as he whips above the busy noontime streets. "Any sign of Splicer?" He asks.

There's the sound of a struggle over the phone, and Wade makes a frustrated noise. "Haven't seen the guy. What makes you think he'd show up this time?"

"If people are dead, he's got some answering to do."

"I'm with you on that one, but we have to take down this thing first. And just FYI, he's about three times bigger than he was before."

"Oh, great."

"But it's no biggie, I'm sure we can take him down. We always take 'em down."

"There's always a way." Peter affirms, and hangs up. He touches down a second later, coming to a rolling stop a few feet away from Wade on the sidewalk outside of a busted Starbucks. A quick peek inside confirms the bloodbath, and Peter wants to go inside to check for survivors, but the Salamander's giant grotesque body blocks the entrance, and it winds up on him as soon as Peter's feet hit the ground.

He jumps out of the way as it's toothy mouth comes within inches of biting his head off, and spins a kick into its side with his momentum. His foot hits the hard metal of its skin with a dull clang and Peter hops away, foot throbbing.

"Wow, I almost forgot how annoying you are. Not only are you ugly, but you're a real pain in the foot, too."

"Got a face only a mother could love. Which is impressive, because not even my mother could love my face." Wade steps in front of Peter when the Salamander rears up for another attempt, and knocks it back with a firm kick to its throat. "But I've got a lover who doesn't run away screaming when he sees me, so at least I’ve got that going for me."

Backing up, Peter tests his weight on his foot and internally cheers when it doesn't appear to be broken. "Can confirm," He says. "His boyfriend is pretty fond of his looks."

Wade gasps and lodges his katana into the roof of the salamander's mouth before rounding on Peter. "You're my boyfriend?" He asks, awe-struck, and Peter has to crack a smile, despite the situation.

"Well, yes? I think so?" He says, but then his smile drops. "Unless you don't want—"

"I want." Wade asserts. "I want very much."

"Okay, then. Yes. We're boyfriends."

Wade makes as if to step closer to him, but the Salamander—still with a katana pierced through its mouth—rears back in a panicked frenzy and knocks the back of its head against the Starbucks sign on the face of the building, snapping it in half. Peter webs one half of it to the brick wall before it can crush Wade, but he can't stop the Salamander's tail from swiping Wade off his feet as it scuttles through the window and away from them.

Wade hits the ground with a pained groan and Peter bounds over to help him to his feet. "We need to pursue it. Are you okay?" He asks, at the same time as a loud blood-curdling inhuman howl comes out from the coffee establishment. Wade clings to Peter and narrows his eyes.

"That doesn't sound very inviting."

"Maybe we can trap it inside, there's only so many places it can go."

"It sounds and looks like a horror movie in there." Wade reminds him, as if Peter hasn't noticed.

"Yeah, and it's our job to make sure the Salamander doesn't hurt anyone else." Peter starts walking towards the howling and Wade, still wrapped around Peter's left arm, has no choice but to follow.

The bottoms of their feet crunch over broken glass and slippery blood as they step through the shattered doorway. Peter tries to check over the injured bodies, but the mangled state of them doesn't give him much hope for survivors. Wade picks through the food items in the broken display counter and blows glass shards off of a blueberry scone before taking a big bite.

"Why Starbucks, of all places?" He asks with his masked rolled up, mouth full.

Peter stops checking on the bodies and moves to the back of the shop, peering into the backroom. "Better here than a local place, I guess."

"Yeah, who gets Starbucks in New York?"

"I just meant that they could afford the repairs."

"Oh. That too."

"I hear it, just around the corner. What's our plan?"

"We kill it?"

"...How?

Wade comes over to lean against the door frame by Peter and dangles a grenade in his fingers. Peter narrows his eyes at it.

"You want to set that off in a Starbucks?"

Wade smiles at him sweetly, with scone crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth, and bats his eyes at Peter. "Fuck capitalism?"

With a shake of his head Peter sighs and says, "If this place wasn't already trashed, I'd say no."

"So that's a yes?"

Peter crosses his arms and taps his fingers against his bicep. "This thing's skin turns to metal when something touches it, right? But you managed to get your sword stuck in its mouth. Which means its insides are soft. If we can get the grenade in its mouth, maybe we can blow it up from the inside out?"

"Say no more, your wish is my command." Wade gives him a little mock bow in the narrow space and stalks off down the corridor. Peter takes the ceiling route, trying to peer through shelves stacked full with boxes and supplies for a glimpse of the Salamander. The sound of its pained breathing lures them to the very back of the building, where they find it perched on the manager's desk, dripping drool from its open mouth onto a cheap looking keyboard and scattered office papers.

"Hey there big guy, hubby just gave me the green light to get lethal. I'm sure you know what that means after seeing what you did to the civs here. So how about you show me that pretty mouth of yours and let me give you a snack?"

The salamander twists on the desk, knocking over a row of file cabinets with its tail in the process, and hisses.

"A little uncharacteristic for an amphibian, don't you think?" Peter skitters across the ceiling to get out of its range and starts spinning a web cage around the desk.

Wade keeps its attention by taking shots into the salamander's mouth and rolling out of the way when it tries to decapitate him with its teeth. It may be bigger now than it was in Splicer's lab, but that only makes it easier to avoid, and easier to trap. Wade slips through the columns of Peter's webbing just as he finishes laying down a secure perimeter. The salamander tries to give chase, but only manages to meet the resistance of Peter's webs head-on.

It starts repeatedly throwing itself against the webs in frustration, so Peter starts moving in, throwing down line after line of sticky, silk web, narrowing the cage until the entire room is covered in his creation, and the salamander can barely move at all.

Satisfied, Peter drops down next to Wade and puts his hands on his hips.

"Time for fireworks?" Wade pulls out his grenade and bounces it in his hand. The salamander hisses in its confinement, panicking at its lack of movement. Peter almost feels sorry for it, until he catches the sour scent of blood curdling in the other room, baking in the heat coming in from the shattered windows.

Peter takes a few steps back and prepares to cover his ears. "Let's end this."

Wade doesn't need to be told twice. He snaps the pin off and underhands it straight into the salamander's wide mouth. The sound still rattles Peter's head when it goes off, and the whole room shakes under his feet. When he opens his eyes, his ears are ringing, and Wade is hunched over him.

When he stands up, the room is a mess. The webbing helped contain most of the explosion, but smaller shards of metal and gray goo still paint the floor and shelves and ceiling, and a heavy cloud of dust dims the small space. But it worked. The salamander is no longer anything more than a clean-up nightmare.

"Oh, fuck. That hurts." Wade stiffly straightens his back and Peter steps around him to see his entire back peppered in metal shrapnel. Peter inhales through his teeth at the sight. "Did we get him?" Wade asks as he turns around, voice strained.

"I think so. Do you want some help with that?"

"If you would be so kind."

Peter finishes getting out most of the big chunks when there's a sound at the other end of the room, and he turns to see the employee bathroom slowly creaking open. A small group of people, some wearing green aprons, and others clutching cardboard coffee cups, spill out with their eyes wide and faces pale. Peter waves at them. "The bad guy's been taken care of. It's safe to come out now, just watch your step."

The person at the front of the group, a collage aged woman with a tight bun on her head, gapes at him. "Spiderman?"

"The one and only. And my good friend Deadpool." Peter pokes a thumb at Wade, who wiggles his retrieved katana in greeting.

"We're more than friends." He says. "We're the bestest of friends."

"I—" The woman looks at Deadpool for a second before focusing back on Peter. "We tried to get as many people into the bathroom as we could when...the thing came in, and started..." Her face quickly turns green and Peter steps up to squeeze her shoulder. Another man in a green apron with bleach blond hair wrings his fingers beside her and stares blankly at Peter's intricate web trap.

"You did the right thing." He says to them both. "You acted quickly, and got people to safety. You saved lives today."

The woman blinks up at him and very slowly nods. The man looks at his feet, eyes glassy.

"Are any of you hurt?" He asks the group, some of which have pulled out their phones to take pictures of the trashed room, and Spiderman and Deadpool. He receives a varied chorus of answers and decides to start ushering them out through the back door, avoiding the front room altogether. Wade holds the door open until the last of them have poured out to the alleyway. Peter is the last one out, but the first one to notice a man in a white lab coat standing a few yards away.

The white of Splicer's mask glows dully in the low light as he looks up to stare at Peter. Fists clenched, Peter shuffles to the front of the group. "Get back, everyone." He says.

"Well shit, he actually showed up." Wade brandishes his still drawn katana and takes his place next to Peter. "If you're here to pick up your pet from doggy daycare, you're too late. We blew it to bits. I'd say 'good luck picking up the pieces', but you're not leaving here in one piece yourself."

Splicer looks at him without a word, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. There isn't much room in the alley for the civilians to take cover, but Peter hears them shuffle back as far as possible. After a deep breath, he takes a step forward.

"Deadpool's right. We took down the Salamander, but not before it took a few casualties. Your little pets didn't kill before, so what changed?"

Splicer's gloved hands pick at the ends of his gray hair. "Yes. I saw." He says, quietly.

"So are you gonna explain yourself, or are we gonna skip to the part where we beat your ass?" Wade swings out his arms, impatient. "Either way, you're going down."

"I needed him to be strong." Splicer says, but he doesn't sound convinced. His head swivels between Peter and Wade, but Peter isn't sure he's seeing either of them. "The strongest. Stronger than you two."

"It didn't work. Webs and I are the best." Wade says. "We could've told you that without getting to this point."

"Innocents are dead because of you, Splicer." Peter says, narrowing his eyes. Splicer drops his hands and looks at the graffitied brick wall of Starbucks, where just on the other side lay about a dozen or so bodies.

There's a shuffle and a whisper behind them before one of the civilians speaks up. "Wait, this is the guy responsible for that monster?" He asks.

Splicer's head snaps to the source of the voice. "He's not a monster—"

"No, he's not, because he's dead." Wade speaks over him. "Which is what you would have been five minutes ago if Webs wasn't here to hold me back."

In the corner of Peter's eye, he sees Wade fidget with the holster of his gun, but Splicer's attention is fixated on Peter now.

"Spiderman." He says. "You were in such bad shape last time. I thought for sure this time I would take you down."

"You never stood a chance. When 'Pool and I are on the same team, we're practically unstoppable. But this is the last time we'll be teaching you that lesson, because you're going behind bars, Gene."

Splicer lets out a hollow chuckle. "Prison? I'm going to end up in prison? After all the work I put in to creating the perfect hero...you're going to lock me up with the people I despise the most?"

"You're a murderer." Peter states. "And your experiments are highly illegal. Let's not forget that."

Splicer stands up just a little straighter. His voice, although still quiet, takes on a hard edge. "The world needs me. The Avengers need me."

"Again with the Avengers. Why's he gotta keep bringing them up?" Wade grumbles."News flash, asshole, you're not cool enough to get on their radar."

Splicer huffs out another dry chuckle. "So if I'm on your radar, doesn't that mean you're below them?"

"Uh, no. Someone's gotta take care of the small fry. Doing that doesn't make you inferior. Spiderman is the people's hero. He helps everyone, no matter now big or small the situation is. And I think that makes him a much better hero than all the iron-suited billionaires who only leave their penthouses at the threat of something as big as an alien invasion. This guy still helps old ladies cross the street. When have you ever helped anyone?"

"I'm working on it. That's the whole point of this, remember? I can't help anyone if I'm powerless."

"Murdering innocents is the wrong way to go about gaining power. Just a friendly tip from your not-so-friendly neighborhood ex-mercenary."

"If you really want to be a hero," Peter says, carefully. "You can start by making amends for your crimes. It's not too late to change your life around, but you have to be willing to make the change."

Splicer hands flex, and his shoulders inch just a little higher. "You're asking me to give myself up?"

"Yes, Gene. This doesn't have to get violent." Peter holds his hands up, palms out, placating. But it doesn't seem to work on Splicer.

"Those are my only options? Surrender, or get beat up?"

"I think he's finally catching on, Webs."

Splicer looks between the two of them and shakes his head. Then he yanks off his surgical gloves, one by one. He throws them onto the dirty alley floor, two blue lumps against stained concrete gray. His bare hands, when he holds them up for all to see, are wrinkly and paper-thin.

"You wouldn't believe it from the way I look," He says, tense, and maybe even a little irritated, "But I'm only twenty five years old."

"So you have a wicked skin condition, too? Get in line." Wade sneers.

"It's more than just my skin. My entire body is aging at an accelerated rate. At first, it was me who was supposed to be the perfect hero. I made a serum that would make me strong, and fast, and fearless." His voice strains, raising in volume. But when he looks back down at his own hands, his shoulders sag, and he curls in on himself. "But as you can see, my body didn't react well to the formula. At any rate, I likely won't live much longer out here, much less in prison."

"Oh boo hoo, sob stories don't work on me, and I still don't like you." Wade waves his katana at Splicer, and Peter puffs out a sigh, because he agrees with Wade. He drops his hands and angles his wrists outward, ready to shoot.

"Same." Peter says. "I'm sorry that happened to you, but it kind of sounds like preemptive karma if you ask me. And I'm still going to have to take you in."

Very slowly, Splicer's hands drop to his sides. Then he takes a step back. "Yes, of course. There's no way you can let me go after what I've done. Yes...I understand. Which is why I'll be taking my leave now."

He isn't far from the mouth of the alleyway when he starts booking it, and he slips around the corner before Peter can hit him with a webstring. Peter instantly takes off after him at a full sprint. There's only so far an old man can run, and he quickly spots him darting past the police line that has already started moving bodies out of the Starbucks.

"Gene!" Peter calls out to him, and tries again to stick him with a web, but Splicer dodges it at the last second and ducks into another alley. Peter sprints after him, and once he rounds the corner, he pounces. They land on the pavement in a mess of limbs, and before he knows it, there's a sharp sting in Peter's side. Splicer yanks the scalpel free and goes for another stab but before he can land it, a loud gunshot rings out, and Splicer drops the blade. After a moment, he collapses on top of Peter. Over his shoulder, he sees Wade, gun raised, eyes mean.

For a long, painful second, Peter thinks Splicer is dead, and he can't pull his thoughts in order long enough to form a single sentence. But then Splicer groans, and Peter rolls him to the side to see the gunshot wound in his leg. Desperate and disoriented, Splicer tries to scramble away on his hands, but this time Peter takes his chance to web him down.

"You're not going anywhere." He says, clutching at his side as he shuffles to his feet, unsteady.

At some point during the struggle, Splicer's mask must have been knocked off because it lays on the ground just a few feet away. Face down, Splicer struggles against the webs, but stops when he hears Wade's heavy boots come closer.

Wade detours to check on Peter first, tugging at his fingers until Peter shows him the wound. At the sight of it, Wade clicks his tongue and says "We're gonna get you patched up, good as new. But first," He gives Peter's hip a squeeze before crouching down beside Splicer.

"You should've jumped with joy when Spiderman offered to go easy on you if you cooperated." He says, before sticking his finger into the bullet wound. Splicer chokes on a pained, raspy howl and Peter grimaces despite himself. "Spiderman always sees the good in people. Even the people who least deserve it. And maybe with his help you could have lived out the rest of your days in a nursing home instead of a max sec prison. But then you had to go and stab him."

"Wade," Peter steps forward and presses his fingers into Wade's shoulder. After a second, Wade removes his finger from the wound and wipes the blood off on Splicer's pants.

"It's over, Gene." Peter says. "There's blood on your hands and you know it. Literally. My blood is on your hand right now, because you stabbed me. But your pet also wiped out nearly an entire Starbucks on one of the busiest streets in the city. Those deaths are on you as well, and no matter how you look at it, you're going to be locked up for a long, long time."

Splicer turns his face, and through the long gray hairs draping over his face, Peter sees parts of his saggy, wrinkly skin. But the eye that stares at him is shockingly bright and clear. It digs right through Peter, down to the base of his neck, and sets off a cold-spreading prickle through the rest of his body. In an even, quiet tone, he says, "Alright. Even I know failure when I see it. Today, I failed. But I will be seeing you again, Spiderman. You and your little sidekick."

Peter tilts his head in an attempt to ease the tension in his neck. "First of all, he's not my sidekick, he's my partner. Second of all, that's what they all say. Why don't you pick something more original? Like, 'Sorry, Spiderman, I'm guilty on all charges, take me away!' No one has ever said that. You could be the first!"

"There is nothing about me that is little." Wade adds. "I think you need your eyes checked, old man."

But Splicer doesn't say another word. Wade helps Peter get him to his feet, and he's leading Splicer to the mouth of the alley with his hands webbed behind his back, out towards the line of police cars, when Splicer trips. Before Peter can regain a grip on him, he stumbles away, suddenly dripping wet, and his hands are free.

"What—" Confused, Peter tries to web him again, but it just slides off of his glistening body. Splicer's skin shimmers under a slimey blue film, and he's grinning from ear to ear.

"It's good to moisturize, but I think you've overdone it." Wade says, already taking heavy steps towards Splicer, backing him against the alley wall. Splicer limps backward and doesn't stop grinning.

"I'm not going to give up. Do you hear me? The serum had some unfortunate side effects, but it still worked! I'm going to get even stronger, and when I come back, you'll be begging to have me working on your side!"

"For some reason, I doubt that." Wade says, and moves to grab him. But Splicer ducks and takes off again. Peter is ready for it, but he still can't seem to catch up to him, always lagging just out of reach.

"Gene!" He shouts. "You don't have to keep going down this path!"

But Splicer ignores him, and pushes down the street in a blur, dodging past people and cars without any regard for his safety. He keeps running all the way to the end of the street, to the very edge of the city where concrete meets the Hudson River. He hops up onto the railing and spins around just as Peter finally catches up.

Panting, Peter doubles over, wincing at the pain in his side. "You don't have to do this." He wheezes. "There's always another way."

"Yes, and I have to find my own way, Spiderman. My own path in this world. I can't do that if I'm rotting in a cell."

"You have to take responsibility for your actions, Gene. You're the reason those people died today!"

"I didn't mean to do it." He says, swaying on the railing. His pant leg is soaked in blood, and his wet hands squeak against the metal railing where he grips it tightly. His large bright eyes blink at him wetly through his long gray curtain of hair. "I'll redeem myself. In my own way. I'll show you that I still have what it takes to be a hero."

"A hero doesn't run from his mistakes." Peter bites out.

"Then I guess I still have a lot to learn. Until next time, Spiderman." Splicer stands up on the railing, and with a spin, he leaps into the water. Peter rushes to the edge, gripping the bloody and wet railing, trying to catch one last glimpse of Gene. But the waves bury him, drowning him from sight, and all is quiet.

A few yards behind him, cars honk aggressively as Wade crosses the street and finally jogs down the steps to where Peter is.

"Where is he?" He asks, out of breath.

"Jumped."

"...Into the river?"

"Yeah."

"What the fuck?" Wade leans over beside him, searching the waves. "Huh. Guess we finally know why he set up shop in the sewers. You think he can breathe underwater?"

Peter closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. "Maybe?"

"Do you think we'll see him again?"

"Probably."

Wade is silent for a minute. Peter assumes he's making his own theories about the extent of Splicer's mutations, but then he says, "Hey, are you mad at me?"

Peter blinks and waits for his vision to stop swimming before he even begins to process Wade's question.

"What? For what?"

"Shooting Splicer."

Peter shakes his head, not understanding the connection, but then he thinks about it. Logically, he should probably be upset. The bullet wasn't necessary, Splicer wasn't that much of a threat on his own. Not at that point, at any rate. And Peter is capable of handling the occasional stabbing or two. But...

"No, I'm not mad at you. I get why you did it. Could've done without poking the wound afterward, that was a little excessive. And gross. But...I get it."

Wade lifts his head up just enough to see Peter's mask. His shoulders are hunched, but Peter sees his fingers relax their deathgrip on his biceps. "He's gotten you hurt so many times already, and when I saw him on top of you, I just...I saw red."

Peter takes a step to the side so that he can lean his weight against Wade's shoulder, partly to ease his own dizziness and partly to reassure him. "You could have killed him, but you didn't. That's what's important."

"Yeah?" He asks, quietly.

"Yeah. And...It's not like I haven't done something similar before."

A pack of kids on skateboards choose that moment to pass by them, blasting loud music. Wade watches them over his shoulder until the noise fades, and then narrows his eyes at Peter. "What do you mean?"

Peter pushes out a big breath and leans just a little more of his weight onto Wade. "In the sewers, when we fought the Salamander the first time and it knocked you out, I pounced on Splicer. Cut up his chest with my claws. I didn't think about it, I just did it." Peter gives him a small shrug and looks down at the gray-blue water. "I know you'll always heal, but I don't like seeing you get hurt, either."

Wade uncrosses his arms and Peter hears him try and fail to say something before finally landing on, "You did that? For me? And I didn't even get to see it?"

A laugh bubbles out of Peter and the sudden movement reminds him of the hole in his side, and when he looks down to check on it, he finds that it's still bleeding. Wade notices his sharp intake of breath and crowds closer to check on the wound.

"We need to get you home." He says with both his hands gripping Peter's waist. Peter looks up at him and swallows.

"Your place or mine?" He asks, and Wade retracts his hands, eyes wide. He replaces them after a moment of contemplation, gentler this time, and fixes Peter with a stern look.

"Why do you always do this to me when you're injured?"

"The hazards of being a superhero, I guess. But this isn't even that bad. It's just a scratch."

"You need stitches. Again."

"Well, good thing I know a guy who's good with his hands."

Wade audibly inhales through his nose and after another minute, his expression melts. With a groan, he buries his face in Peter's neck.

"Peter," He says, lowly, intimately, and Peter's fingers hook on the front of his utility belt. Wade draws back to fix him with another warning look, but Peter closes the gap to give him a kiss through their masks, right out there in the open under a bright noontime sun.

"My place is closer." He says against the shape of Wade's mouth through two layers of fabric. Wade's hands flex against his waist and drop to his hips before pulling back all together.

"Do you have a medkit at your place?" He asks, reasonably. Peter leans his head back and slowly slides his fingers along the rim of Wade's belt.

"Of course."

"Okay. Your place it is, then." He says, voice clipped. "But no funny business until you're all patched up. Got it?" He pulls Peter's fingers from his belt and holds them at bay. With a grin, Peter entwines their fingers and nudges him back towards the steps.

"Got it." He says, and lets go of Wade in favor of offering his back as a ride, but Wade protests.

"How about your ride on my back this time?"

"Wade, you weigh practically nothing to me. It'll be fine."

"But you're bleeding."

"And we'll get there much faster with my webs." Peter shakes his wrists, and Wade gives in, grumbling all the while.

With Wade clinging tightly to his back, Peter tries not to think about the last time he had someone over at his place. Was it Felicia Hardy? Or Johnny Storm? Both were a long time ago, and neither of them remember his name or face anymore. The thought of them brings up an old, persistent ache from the pit of his belly. An ache that Peter has never been able to escape, an ache that Peter has made peace with, relenting to carry it with him for the rest of his life.

But then Wade whoops in his ear after a particularly big swing, and somehow the tension in his chest eases enough for him to be able to breathe again.

By the time he lowers Wade through his window, he's feeling more than just a little lightheaded. After following him in, Peter clicks on the A/C unit sitting in the other window and eases himself onto his bed. He shucks his mask and gloves and watches Wade poke around the haphazard piles of books on his desk.

"Cozy." He says.

"Medkit's under the bathroom sink." Peter rubs at his eyes and tries to will the room to stop spinning. Wade's heavy footsteps creak across his floor and Peter listens to him shuffle around in the bathroom. When the kit lands on his bed a minute or so later, he startles awake and blinks up at Wade.

"You're gonna get blood on your sheets." He says, brows knitted with concern. His face is bare, Peter notices, seeing his mask bunched in his bare fists.

"Won't be the first time." Peter says, but he sits up anyway.

"Are you taking that off or keeping it on?" Wade waves a finger at Peter's suit and takes a seat on the bed beside him. The mattress dips under his weight and Peter has to catch himself from falling into Wade's lap.

"I thought you said no funny business?"

"Peter, please." He says, exasperated. "I just want to get you stitched and bandaged before you put your tongue in my mouth. Now, is it a one piece, or...?"

Peter answers him by detaching the suit at his waist and carefully pulling the top half over his head. He tosses it to the ground before laying back down. Wade sets a hand on Peter's lower stomach and blinks down at him.

"Okay, what the hell. That was seriously one of the hottest things I've ever seen."

Peter stretches his arm across the bed to play with Wade's belt again, and closes his eyes. "I'm in so much pain."

"Oh, now you want to take your stab wound seriously? After you finally get me into your bed?" Wade teases, but Peter hears him open the medkit and lay out his supplies.

"The adrenaline has worn off and I really want some tylenol."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got you. Nurse Wilson is gonna take good care of you."

Wade's hands are gentle, but practiced. He gets Peter all patched up in record time and even bends down to smack a kiss on Peter's forehead once he's all finished. Peter doesn't sit up, but he does watch Wade clean up and carry the kit out of his bedroom. He comes back a few minutes later with a glass of water and a bottle of tylenol.

"Not gonna lie, I sort of thought your place would be...neater." He says, and hands Peter the goods. "Does it always look like a tornado blew through here?"

Peter gives him a look and props himself on an elbow to chug the water and painkillers. Wade raises his hands and sits back down on the bed. "Not that I'm in any place to judge the cleanliness of one's home. But I guess this explains why you never complained about the interior design of my apartment."

"I work a lot. And when I'm not working, I'm Spiderman. Don't exactly have the time to keep this place clean. As long as I know where everything is, I'm happy."

Wade nods gravely, and sets the empty cup on the nightstand for him. "Wise words."

There's a beat of silence, then, where Wade is leaning over Peter and Peter's leg is pressed up against Wade's thigh and the only noise in the room is the sound of the A/C unit working its heart out. But just as Peter shifts his chin up, and Wade tilts his head to accommodate, lowering his lids and hovering just out of reach, Peter's stomach lets out an awfully loud growl.

Wade's shiteating grin turns into a bark of laughter and Peter sighs in frustration when he leans away, too far away, and digs out his phone. "Okay, I'm making an executive decision." He says. "We're getting pizza. Right now. Extra large with stuffed crust and all the toppings you want."

Peter groans into his hands, but the thought of having food right now makes his mouth water and his stomach clench in anticipation. So he relents, joining Wade in huddling over his phone to pick their orders. After Peter enters his address, Wade stands up and wanders over to the street-facing window. He's still wearing most of his suit and all of his gear and Peter, even shirtless, is still sweating.

"You can take off your suit, if you want." He says, carefully. "I don't have any clothes that would fit you, but...it's just us here. And my apartment doesn't get much cooler than this, even with the A/C."

Wade taps his fingers against the windowpane and shifts his weight. "You just want to get me out of my pants."

Peter shrugs and stands up. "That, too." He makes his way over to his dresser and fishes out a pair of shorts. After a moment of hesitation, he sheds the rest of his suit and slides the shorts up his legs, and when he turns around Wade is watching him, face blank. Peter leans back against the dresser and watches him in turn.

"You can keep it on if you want. I just want you to be comfortable."

Wade looks away. "I know." He says. And then, again, quieter, "I know. That's what makes you so great, you know that? You genuinely care about me. Which probably makes you just as much of a nutcase as I am." He laughs a little at that, but Peter can hear the nerves in his voice. The uncertainty.

"I have had people tell me I should see a psych. On more than one occasion. But it's kind of hard to do that when you have to keep half of your life a secret from them."

"You really don't tell anyone? That you're Spiderman?"

This time it's Peter's turn to look at the floor. A list of names shifts on the tip of his tongue. Names of old friends and lovers alike, some still living and some he'll never see again. "Once upon a time, there were a few people who knew. But... those people kept getting hurt. Because of me. And one day I was given the chance to make them all forget my face, and my name, and I took it. After that, I promised myself I'd never tell anyone about my identity ever again."

"But you told me?" Wade asks, incredulous.

Peter grips the wood of the dresser behind him and convinces himself to meet Wade's gaze again. "It wasn't easy. Took me a few tries to finally do it. But I don't regret it."

Wade shakes his head, face pinched, but after a while he takes a deep breath and straightens his back. "Okay," He says. "I'll undress. Just...give me a minute?"

Pushing his weight off from the dresser, Peter waves a hand towards the door. "Do you want me to go in the other room?"

Wade wrings his fingers and gives him a small nod. "If you don't mind?"

"Of course. Join me on the couch when you're ready?"

"Mm hmm." He mumbles, picking at his sleeve. But as soon as Peter makes a move for the door he looks up and says, "Thank you, Peter."

The words are followed by a smile, all scarred and raw at the same time. Without thinking about it, Peter returns the gesture. It comes easily, even though the sight of his mask laying on his bed should be raising every alarm in his head. He feels at ease. He feels light on his feet, and unbalanced, but in a good way. Like that floating feeling he gets in his whole body at the height of a webswing, during that split second before gravity kicks back in to drag him down to Earth.

It takes a full seven minutes for Wade to leave the bedroom, during which Peter aimlessly scrolls through Netflix and wonders if Wade will change his mind and escape through his bedroom window. But eventually he hears Wade creak across the floor and throw himself over the back of the couch. His bare leg brushes against Peter's shoulder where he's sitting on the floor and Peter rolls his head until it presses into Wade's knee.

"Can I look?" He asks, as Wade's fingers card through his hair.

"Feast your eyes." Wade says, tense, but when Peter turns to see him wearing nothing but his underwear, he offers Peter a small smile and Peter has no choice but to grin right back at him, all teeth and eye wrinkles and honesty.

It doesn't take much longer for the delivery person to arrive, and when Peter returns from the door with a pizza in each of his hands, Wade is relaxed enough to join Peter on the floor. He even goes so far as to pat the space between his legs and say, "C'mere."

Peter raises an eyebrow, but takes the offered seat. After a few slices and half an episode of Hannibal, Wade flips down the lid of his box and slides his hands around to Peter's front, encouraging him to lay back against Wade's chest. In a matter of seconds, Peter starts to sweat from the skin on skin contact in the already stuffy room. But he doesn't pull away, opting instead to lean his head back against Wade's broad shoulder.

Peter thinks that's the end of it, that Wade is content to cuddle and laze around and feed each other pizza crusts for the rest of the day, and he even starts nodding off to the sound of another one of Mads Mikkelsen's gentle monologues, when Wade's hands start to wander.

At first, he only plays with the waistband of Peter's shorts, slipping his fingers just below the band to play with the curls of hair on his lower belly. When they start to inch even lower, Peter cracks his eyes open and spreads his hands over Wade's bare thighs.

"Thought you said this was a bad idea." Peter mumbles, shifting his knees apart.

"Just try not to move too much." Wade says. "I wanna make you feel good." His other hand comes up his chest to hold him closer, just firmly enough to keep him still. "Can't keep my hands off you, after all." Laying his head back against Wade's shoulder, Peter can't help the movement in his hips when Wade starts to rub him over the fabric of his underwear.

"'M not complaining."

"I see that." His lips brush against Peter's outstretched neck and when he starts to suck on a spot below his ear, Peter's jaw falls open and a low noise spills out of his throat. Wade's arm around his waist gives him another squeeze, and Peter tries to shove down his waistband until Wade takes the hint and helps him free. When his warm hand finally wraps around him, Peter's bones turn to jelly, and he feels entirely at Wade's mercy.

"Wade..." He breathes, and Wade responds with another wet kiss to his neck.

"I've got you. Gonna take good care of you." He mutters against his skin, and Peter's hands come up to latch on to the arm around his waist.

In all honesty, it doesn't take long for him to reach the edge. Wade is relentless in his ministrations, working his whole body and cooing in his ear all the while, and when Peter finally spills over, the noise that comes out of his mouth is downright filthy. Wade peppers compliments against the side of his head and massages his hips until Peter comes down, chest heaving.

Once he starts to feel a little more like a human again, Peter shifts ever so slightly against the obvious hardon pressing against his lower back. But Wade's hands tighten against his hips, pinning him in place.

Peter opens his eyes and turns to blink at Wade. "Hey," He says. "Do you want to...go all the way?"

Wade's eyes are dark when they meet Peter's, and Peter doesn't even think about it when he stretches up to nudge a kiss against Wade's lips. The angle isn't the best, but Peter just wants to feel Wade, wants to be as close to him as possible. He wants to wrap his arms around Wade's neck and press him down against the couch and coax his own string of noises from Wade's mouth. But the hands around Peter's hips prevent him from moving, and Wade shifts to press a messy kiss against Peter's brow.

"I, uh. I'm really close." He admits. "And I kind of really want to come on your back? If that's okay? You have the sexiest backside I have ever seen. I mean, everything about you is sexy, but wow. Hate to see you leave but love to watch you go, you know?"

"Okay," Peter chuckles. "Should I just lay down on the couch?"

Wade blinks at him, eyes wide, as if he hadn't expected Peter to actually agree. So Peter nudges his hands until Wade lets go of him, and stands up. He tucks himself away before flopping onto the couch belly-down. But Wade only looks at him as if he's the most precious thing he's ever seen, so Peter leans over to plant a kiss on his shoulder.

"Are you coming, or what?" He teases, and Wade finally shifts into motion.

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. Me, coming. Name a better duo."

The couch creaks under his added weight as he kneels to either side of Peter's legs, and Peter crosses his arms to make a pillow for his head. After a moment of silent, almost reverent contemplation, Wade's hands slide up Peter's back, and then dip all the way down to the base of his spine. Then he slips his fingers under the bottoms of his shorts and starts to knead his ass.

Peter arches the angle of his back a little in encouragement, and hears Wade audibly inhale.

"Can I take these off?" He asks, voice thick, one hand hooked in the waistband of Peter's underwear.

"Mhmm." Peter says against his arm, but Wade only slides them halfway down his thighs. Then his weight shifts, inching further up Peter's thighs until Peter feels the length of him slide up along his crack. Peter's mouth falls open at the feeling and he buries his head in the cushion to hide the burning of his face.

"God, you're so hot." Wade says, before he nudges his cock lower, down between Peter's thighs to rub right up against his underside. Peter's eyebrows shoot straight up at that, and he's sure he'd be rock hard right now from that alone if he hadn't come already.

The couch creaks again when Wade sets both his arms on the armrest above Peter's head, and he starts fucking Peter's thighs with slow, rolling motions. Peter shuts his eyes and tries to give more of his body over to Wade, pushing his hips back against Wade's motions while trying to match his speed.

"You're incredible, Webs." One of Wade's hands moves back down to grip the small of his waist, and he picks up speed, humping him nice and deep and it makes Peter crave the real thing, makes him want to feel Wade inside him, moving just like that and maybe even deeper. But it doesn't take much longer before Wade pulls out and stutters against the bare skin of his ass, and then there's hot come on his lower back, and Wade is sucking a new mark into Peter's shoulderblade.

Eventually Wade's weight comes down until he's flush against Peter's back, and Peter is content to lay there and listen to his mumbles of affection. Part of him wants to roll over and lazily makeout with Wade until the sun sets, but the other part of him is extremely sweaty and thirsty. So after a minute or two or three of Wade marking his back in hickeys, Peter says, "I think I need a shower." and presses against Wade until he sits up and lets Peter get to his feet.

"Looking for some company?" Wade asks with his hand still trailing after Peter's waist, and Peter knows he can't deny him. Leaning down, he pulls Wade into a hot kiss, and if his hands linger a little too long behind Wade's neck, he doesn't hear any complaints.

-

New York - The city that never sleeps.

With a yawn, Peter crouches down on the roof of Central Park Tower and sticks his hands over the edge, feeling the tension of his weight in his arms as he holds himself above the fall. The city sprawls out below him, everbright and everalive. He's way too high up to be able to see any trouble from here, but he hasn't technically started his patrol yet.

Right now, it's just him and the city. For all anyone knows, he could just be another part of the architecture. Stock still and silent, a tiny silhouette against the starless night sky. Closing his eyes, he can almost block out the faded jumble of noise from below, the noise of millions of lives intermingling, lives that he has sworn to protect for as long as he has the ability to, for as long as he is Spiderman.

Millions of people live and die on these streets. Peter knows he can't save everyone. He's almost made peace with that. After all these years, he's learned a lesson or two, after all. But that doesn't mean he doesn't still have a duty to each and every one of them. A duty to protect, and to do everything in his power to keep these streets safe for everyone who walks them.

The quiet stretches out, long and far, but it doesn't last forever. Behind him, the metal roof access door creaks open and a pair of footsteps make their way over to him. Black boots stop at the edge of his peripheral, standing on the ledge beside him, toes sticking out over open air.

"If you fall, I won't be able to catch you." Wade says.

Peter turns his head to look at Wade's boots, and then up the rest of Wade's body. "I wouldn't worry about that."

"No, of course not. You can handle yourself." He says, with no small amount of fondness. "So, Spiderman, are you ready to take on your city?"

Peter looks back down at the lights. The same lights that seem to get a little brighter every year, and maybe even a little more colorful. The same lights that he's seen thousands of times before, on nights just like this one, when the world feels infinite and Peter is just a spec in the wind. A spider lost in a sea of lights, alone and imperfect, holding on by a thread and ultimately just doing what he can to survive.

But he isn't lost, not really. He knows these streets better than most people, and he isn't alone, either. Not anymore. Not for a while, now.

So he says, "Our city." Like a promise. Like a reminder. Like a vow.

Wade's voice, when he responds, is quiet and cautious. But Peter still hears the shape of his smile underneath it all, warm and familiar. "Yeah?"

Peter leans back from the edge. In one smooth motion he uncurls, and retakes the silhouette of a man, standing tall and strong and proud. And because Wade's hand is right there next to him, Peter reaches out and takes it, linking their fingers together in a way that makes him feel on top of the world. "As long as you're with me," He says, "Yeah."

Wade squeezes Peter's hand. A strong gust of wind passes through them, but Wade is a solid shape in the night beside him. An anchor and a beacon all at once.

"I'm with you as long as you'll have me, Webs. There's no one else for me but you."

Peter ducks his head and toes at the abrupt edge of the roof. "Pretty bold of you to say that in a city as big as this, don't you think?"

"But there's only one of you." He insists. "There will always only be you, Peter."

"Me and you, Wade." Peter looks back up at Wade's mask, so similar to his own in its design and yet so different. "Spiderman and Deadpool against the world."

Ambient light from below casts a gentle underglow on Wade's mask that lights up his wide, honest grin. "Oh, I like the sound of that. I like it a lot. That's way better than Spiderman versus Deadpool."

"Agreed." Peter laughs. "Life is way better when we're on the same team."

"You can say that again. Now how about we go show this city how cool and badass we are when we work together?"

"Oh my, Wade Wilson, are you asking me out on a date?"

"Well, if fighting crime is your idea of a good date..."

"I could think of a few other things that I'd like to do with you. But sure, I'm willing to see where this goes."

"May I remind you, Peter Parker, that you were the one who first asked me if I wanted to officially go on patrol with you? And I just about shit myself with excitement? And I was too distracted by our budding, tentative friendship and all the feelings that came with it, that I was of practically no use to you at all, whatsoever, for the entire night, and even caused a few robbers to get away from us, but you still let me tag along the next day? And the day after that?"

Peter bites his lip, and tries but fails to suppress a smile. "Good times."

"Uh huh." Wade crosses his arms and nods his head toward the door he came from. "So are we taking the stairs down, or—?"

"Hop on." Peter rolls his shoulders and lifts out his arms to let Wade climb on to his back. He gets comfortable without any trouble, a big improvement from the first couple of times Peter let him hold on like this. And after only a short running start, Peter launches them off of the tower and into the night, diving through the wind and plummeting for a handful of seconds before Peter catches them with a web to swing them back up into the air, soaring and free.

Undeterred by the wind rushing past Peter's ears, Wade grips him tight and presses his lips against his head to say, "I love how stupidly strong you are."

And Peter just laughs, feeling lighter than he's ever been.

///