Wade had known this day would come. Ever since Peter had been diagnosed, on what had probably been the worst day of his life, he had known they would come. It seemed inevitable really.
Wade had thought he had escaped, but of course he hadn't. They had found him again. They were relentless that way.
Wade accepted that. They, like the cancer bubbling it's way through Peter's body were governed by forces he could never hope to control. Weapon X was back in his life. Not for him this time, but for his baby boy.
He saw how they learned down at him, faux grins plastered across their faces, showing too much teeth behind their thin lips. He saw the temptation in Peter's eyes.
His baby was scared, just as he had been. It seemed a cruel coincidence that Peter was journeying down his exact same path. Like him, Peter had no chance. He had been given a month, tops. There was nothing the doctors could do, and Peter had given up around week three.
It was now week five.
He didn't even talk to Wade anymore. Everyone blamed it on Peter's condition, saying he was too tired to keep up with Wade's endless prattle, but Wade knew differently.
Peter was just too done with life to care. He spent his days curled up, waiting to die. Wade knew exactly how that felt, he knew the pain his little spider was going through. After all, he had lived through it himself.
And like himself, Peter wanted it to end. Like him, Peter wanted to take the easy way out. Weapon X was offering a quick fix. Wade had told him numerous times what he had gone through, the tortures he had endured, how they had made him wish for death each and every day with every fiber of his being, but Peter never listened. All he ever saw was Wade, living and breathing and healthy, and he wanted that too. Wade knew Peter thought he could survive whatever weapon X had in store, and truth be told, he probably could. His healing factor may not have been as strong as Wade's, but it was nothing to laugh at.
But while there was a chance that Peter might survive it physically, he knew the Peter that would return to him would never be his Peter. Weapon X had made Wade cold and no matter how much Peter may have warmed up his heart, he was always twitching to fight, to hurt, to kill.
Peter was soft, malleable. He was a pure and untainted soul and Wade knew that Weapon X would break him. Where Peter saw salvation bright and desirable, Wade could see only darkness and despair. His baby had no chance. None.
He wouldn't let what had happened to him happen to his baby boy.
Peter looked up in wonder at the tears sliding their way down Wade's face. He broke his handshake with agent Smith to reach up, a herculean effort for him, and brush the tears away.
Wade kept that image in his mind, of Peter looking so innocent and showing more emotion towards him than he had at all in these past few weeks. He did his best to commit to memory the soft brush of Peter's skin warm against his scars.
It seemed strange how sweet of a moment could be forever marred by something so bitter. The cruel irony of the situation was not lost on Wade. He only wished someone had been there for him when he had been in this exact same situation all those tumultuous years ago.
He knew the stinging of his eyes was nothing compared to the way his blade sliced across Peter's throat, but he liked to think that he shared in Peter's pain, at least for a brief ephemeral moment. He hunched over Peter, cradling his fragile head in his rough hands, allowing the tears to fall freely now and watched as they tried their vain and futile effort to wash away the blood that was oozing it's way across Peter's neck and onto Wade's hands.
He stayed like that for a long while. He hugged his baby limp to his chest even long after Peter had stopped trying to breathe. He stayed frozen, even as the heat left Peter's body. At some point, Agent Smith left. Wade knew he had gone only by his footsteps, his leaking eyes had made him blind.
Wade cried until his eyes ran dry and all that he could manage were gasping hiccups.
Eventually Wade's breathing returned to a normal, if raspy, rhythm and he pulled back to look at Peter one last time. It may have been his imagination, or simply revulsion at himself for what he had just done, but Wade could've sworn that hidden among Peter's now waxy features, he caught just the barest brush of contentment hiding itself in the upturned corners of Peter's death grimace.