Part One
It has been five days and twenty hours since Spider-Man had revealed his secret identity to Deadpool. Wade had tried to play it cool but his mind had gone into over drive and he'd had to stab himself in the leg just so he could process the information.
Spider-Man -his idol, his bro, his partner in crime fighting awesomeness, his BFF 5eva, his fine AF Jiminey Cricket in spandex- was a tiny precious cinnamon roll. (Okay, so not literally tiny, but come on. Most people were small compared with the (semi-Ex) Merc. Other than Wolverine. Or the Hulk. Or- You get the point. Moving on.)
The information had just been too much for Wade. It was still too much for him, honestly.
That free pass list he'd made when he and Shiklah had been married? Yeah. Let's just say Spidey was no longer number five.
And that was... new. Sure, he'd joked about wanting to bump uglies with him (on several occasions) and everyone from the Avengers to the X-Men knew he had a man crush on Spider-Man, but this... This is different. Almost... uncomfortable.
Wade had just been happy that Spider-Man... Peter... finally trusted him enough to let him in. Most super heroes like their privacy but Wade doesn't know many people half as guarded as the younger man and to be counted as one of those privileged few to know the man behind the mask is important. It's Sacred.
He doesn't want to mess that up and Peter has enough on his plate as it is. Between college, trying to prove himself to the Avengers, and (if Wade is being honest with himself) babysitting Deadpool... Peter doesn't have time to deal with Wade's school girl crush. Besides, it's probably just a side effect of all that pathetic hero worshipping Deadpool has done for the last few years mixed with the fact that apparently Peter looks like a mother lumpin' Greek God underneath that mask. There is no way around it; Peter is fucking gorgeous. So. It is totally normal to feel this way.
And this feeling will probably totally fade with time.
[The fact that it's almost been a week and I'm still avoiding him is irrelevant. Or the fact that I keep checking my phone juuust in case he texts me. Or how about the fact that I'm wearing my Spidey hoodie because I fucking miss hanging out with him. Platonically. As friends. Haha. Ha.]
A young man pauses in front of him, posed to hop on his skateboard, but he stops and glances at Wade. It is Peter Parker and suddenly all the blood in his body had gone rushing to his head and there is a powerful pounding in his ears.
[OH SWEET FUCK THE SPIDEY HOODIE.]
Wade sits, frozen in awkward embarrassment. But then Peter smiles and Wade catches himself mirroring that smile, only Wade's eyes are still wide and he is pretty sure, since he has made the super decision to not wear his mask today, that he looks like a serial killer.
"Yo! Nice hoodie!" Peter shouts, raising his coffee before continuing on his way.
Wade mutters a strangled, "thanks," feeling completely out of his element, and looks down, pulling the hood closer to him.
A moment later, his phone vibrates. It's a text from Peter.
Sorry I couldn't hangout for a sec but I've got class. Want to catch up tonight? Your place *pizza emoji* *hotdog emoji*
Wade exhales a breath he doesn't even know he'd been holding.
Sure thang Webz
Peter texts back Workaholics_ and Wade's heart stutters painfully. This is what he's always wanted- to be Peter's friend, to have Peter proud of him and want to go out of his way just to spend time with him- he isn't going to fuck this up. Other than Ellie, Peter is all he has- this is it; you can count his whole world on one hand. He isn't going to ruin this.
[Oh! I should send him a spider joke.]
"No!" he hisses out loud, "that's idiotic." He sends one anyway.
What do you call an undercover arachnid?
Oh my god Wade it is too early for this is Peter's automatic response. Which is quickly followed with just tell me the punch line so we can both move on with our lives.
A spy-der!
*eyeroll emoji* see ya tonight you dork
"I've never seen it," Peter speaks as he groans and stretches out on Wade's couch. He's changed into civvies (Wade still can't believe Peter is this comfortable around him now) and splays out on the worn furniture, boneless and completely at ease. A hint of a dark happy trail peaks out between his shirt and sweatpants and Wade looks away before mind can run away with his thoughts.
[I want to blow you so badly. Make you feel so good-] Oh, fuck. He holds his breath, but thankfully he hadn't said that out loud.
"You pullin' my mostly regenerated leg here, Petey?" he asks incredulously, trying to stay on topic. "You only broke a pinky toe," Peter mutters with a snort. Wade ignores Peter's comment and widens his eyes so much you can see it through his mask. "We gotta fix this, man. We're watching Community. It's almost as funny as Golden Girls and if Ryan Reynolds is busy Jole McHale can play me in the movie. No, he can't. He's not built like me. Have you seen these muscles? Wade shrugs and continues, "Yeah, but that jawline, though."
Peter rolls his eyes but he laughs and it's a light and playful sound. Wade's stomach flutters; he loves that he can make Peter this happy. He honestly can't always tell when he's spoken out loud and when it's just in his head but Peter never makes him feel bad and for some reason, he can usually keep up with Wade's convoluted monologues. (When he isn't actively tuning him out, of course. But Wade can't hold that against him. He wishes he could tune himself out most of the time.) So. Wade is just happy Peter doesn't seem to be bothered by his behavior. And in fact, sometimes he even finds him funny -genuinely funny. Like, right now, for example.
Encouraged by this fact, he continues.
"Come to think of it, Alison Brie woulda made a great Spidey-Girl. Nothing better than a good gender-bend PWP. She's got those damn Bambi peepers like you," Wade chuckles. "You got flippin' puppies and angels swimmin' in those big brown eyes, baby boy."
Peter's cheeks and ears have gone red and he levels Wade with a dead pan stare. "Oh my god, Wade. Stop waxing poetic about my face and just turn on the TV."
"But I haven't even started on your face, Petey. Shall I compare thee to a sum- OW."
Peter slugs Wade in the bicep but before he can pull away Wade has grabbed his arm and put him in a head lock, giving him an affectionate noogie. Wade has figured out that he can usually get away with a noogie for a few seconds longer than a hug. And anyway, noogies are harmless and bromances are hot this season.
"No. Don't fuck this up," he hisses, suddenly staring off into middle space.
"You ok, Wade?" Peter pulls away from him, but rests a hand so close to his knee Wade can feel the heat from his fingers.
[Do. Not. Fuck this up.]
"Can I crash on your couch?" Peter asks with a yawn as he tosses his video game controller on the coffee table.
Thankfully Wade is in the kitchen when Peter says this so the younger man doesn't see him freeze up like a statue for a moment. He tries to recover quickly and scrambles to think of something to say before it gets awkward.
[I should tell him he doesn't have to make up excuses to get in my pants.]
"No, don't say that you idiot!"
"Pool?" Peter appears at the doorway. "I can head home if-"
"Nah man, mi casa es su casa. You can crash here whenevsies, yo! Heck, I can even get you a key and you can move in! Scoot over Beyoncé and Jay-Z! Step aside Captain America and Iron Man! There is a new power couple in town!"
Peter shakes his head but he's smiling. "I'm gonna grab a blanket then," he says.
[Peter knows where the blankets are kept. Scratch that. I'm pretty sure the only reason the blankets actually have a designated home now in this thing called a "linen closet" is because Peter had put them there. He's thoughtful like that. Thoughtful and adorbs and sexy as hell.]
"I'll be right there to tuck you in, honey!" Wade jokes around a weird lump in his throat.
The next morning Wade wakes up to the smell of... pancakes. He must really still be dreaming. Or hallucinating. Sometimes that happens. But... as far as figments of imagination go, this is a pretty nice one.
"Wade, you up?" Peter calls from his doorway.
Wade cracks an eye open and is amazed by how refreshed he feels. This is still something he's getting used to, but Wade always sleeps better when Peter is nearby. Not that it's something he gets to do often, but they've had enough over night missions and all-nighters for Wade to notice. Trying to not follow that train of thought so early in the day, he blinks and sits up, hands rushing up out of habit to make sure his mask is firmly in place before turning to face Peter fully.
Peter's standing there in the same clothes he fell asleep in and Wade sighs dramatically. Not a fantasy, then. There would have been much less clothing involved. "Oh, cruel world," he mumbles with a pout.
"Get up and eat or I'm never cooking for you again!" Peter snaps but there's nothing but fond annoyance in his voice.
They eat in companionable silence. Peter's a great cook, and these pancakes are almost as good as his own. (Almost.)
This is something Wade is still trying to get used to as well, seeing Peter without his mask. Wade's still not ready to show the younger man more than what he has to in order to eat. He's not sure he'll ever be ready to show Peter his face to be honest but he's not sure why. It's not as if Peter's never seen him, anyway. He's just never seen him... Up close. During the day. But he'd shown all of his exes; what makes Peter so different?
Wade really needed to think about something else right now. He's about to grab a few more pancakes when a polite, masculine voice speaks to him over his comm receiver.
"Deadpool. This is Captain Rogers."
[Aw no way! Pancakes with Petey and a call from the Cap!]
"You're needed at Stark Tower. 0900 hours."
Wade glances at his Sailor Moon watch. It's 8:32.
"Sure thing, mon capitaine! Just gimme a sec to finish up breakfast, the wife went all out this morning!" Peter gives a long-suffering sigh and Wade winks at him."We'll be there in-"
"No, Deadpool. Just you. Last minute mission." There's a pause. "I'm sorry," Steve says softly.
Ah. One of those missions, then.
"10-4," he says tightly.
"Wha's up?" Peter asks.
"Oh, nothing much, Mom and Dad are fighting and she just needs to blow some steam with her best gal pal, Deadpool! We'll probably get facials and watch 50 Shades of Grey, wish you could come but it's grownups only! You'll understand when you're a parent," he finishes with a stage-whisper.
Wade disappears into the bedroom and a moment later, Deadpool comes out, every weapon he owns strapped to his body.
Peter looks so at home in his kitchen and for a moment Wade wishes he didn't have to go. For a moment he wishes they were just two normal friends (he tries to not ask for more, not even in his thoughts when he can help it) enjoying a normal morning together.
Instead, he's 98% percent certain his day is going to be full of pain and probably also death (his own, naturally. Deadpool hasn't un-alived someone in months if it couldn't be helped and the Avengers don't tend to call him unless the chances of survival are low). But, it's for the greater good. He's making a difference. And Spider-Man... Peter, is proud of him. So, it's worth it.
It's always worth it.
"Be safe, Wade," Peter says quietly.
Wade grins and gives a mock-serious salute. "I'll see you in another life. When we are both cats!" he says before jumping out his window.
The night Wade Wilson met Peter Parker
Spider-Man sits down next to Deadpool. They're at their usually spot, the roof above Wade's (current) apartment. It's a Friday night- probably very early Saturday morning by this point, but he's glad for it. Because Spidey always sticks around a little longer when he doesn't have a class or lab the next day, and while Wade may not have graduated from, well, anything, he knows Saturdays are for sleeping in and catching up on homework. If you're a cute nerd like Spidey, anyway.
"I want to tell you who I am," Spider-Man says suddenly.
Deadpool is NOT expecting this and nearly chokes on his hotdog.
"Whoa, straight to fourth base!" Deadpool says, mouth full of food be damned. "You sure Spidey? I mean, I know how important your privacy is and, uh, you don't need to like, prove anything to me! I trust you, totally 1010%. Plus. Like. The super-bro-code and all that-," Deadpool sputters, voice high and tight, but Spider-Man cuts him off.
"Wade. We're friends. I just want to tell you who I am," he says and takes a deep breath. "Okay?"
[OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYG-]
Wade, the (ex) Merc with the Mouth, is suddenly at a loss for words. He just gives a small nod, not quite looking at Spider-Man.
Without preamble, the mask comes off.
"Hi," Spider-Man says. "'I'm, uh, Peter Parker. It's nice to meet you, Wade."
Wade glances out of the corner of his eyes and sees a mess of brown hair and before he can help himself, he's whipped around to face the younger man fully.
"Face of a wood nymph, body of Ryan Gosling," Wade mutters, slack jaw.
Spider-Man, no, Peter, laughs. "Are you seriously quoting The Great British Baking Show right now?"
"I'll stop quoting Caitlin Barth when she stops deliverin' straight gold, yo."
Ther's another pause in the conversation and they just regard each other. It's weird, in a really good way, to be able to finally look Spider-Man in the eye. For a moment Wade panics and thinks Peter is going to ask him to take his mask off and, as if he can read his mind, Peter says, "You don't have to take off your mask. I mean. I've seen your face before, you know? So you don't have anything to worry about. Not that you should think you have to worry! I just- I mean. I want you to be comfortable, and we're friends, and friends should be able to be comfortable around each other so whenever you feel like you can, like whenever you want to, you can totally take your mask off. But only if you want to!" Peter takes a deep breath. "I'm going to shut up now," he gives a breathy, nervous laugh.
Wade can't think of anything to say, but that's fine because apparently Peter isn't actually done talking. "I just want you to know I trust you," he says quietly, but firmly. "You're my best friend." And at that, Peter looks away, picking at an invisible speck on his costume.