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The hospital walls were closing in and for a moment, one brief and terrifying moment, Peter felt as if he couldn't breathe. Wade was in the hospital. He was in the hospital because of him. In all the time he had known Wade, from when they first met to when they started dating and beyond, the man had never been hurt. No matter how dangerous the situation was, or how violent the person he was sent to kill was, he always seemed to come out unscathed. And now, after one stupid mission with him, he'd been scarred for life.

Steve and Tony had rushed to their son's side as soon as he had returned – Fury had told them about the accident during the ride back to base. Their hands fluttered shakily over his body as they searched out wounds, and their voices questioned him frantically, desperate to find out whether he was alright – but Peter couldn't hear them. Not really. His ears had been ringing since the bomb had exploded, and he couldn't move his eyes away from the stretcher that took his boyfriend far away from him.

It had seemed like hours he had waited outside for what seemed like days, not knowing what was going on, only that "there was still hope" – the least hopeful statement Peter was sure he had ever heard. Fury had pulled some strings to let him enter the special unit that he probably wouldn't have been allowed to enter otherwise. Steve had objected, not sure whether his son was ready to see such a thing, but Tony had held him back, told his husband that Peter needed to see it, whether he was ready or not.

So now he sat, at the bedside of his boyfriend, lost in a drug-induced slumber, and just took in everything: the rise and fall of his bandaged chest that proved he was still alive; the rolling of his eyes behind closed lids that showed he was still in there, somewhere; the gauze that protected the right half of his face, hiding the evidence that he was a hero.

It's my fault, Peter thought bitterly, all my fault…

Shaky hands reached out to grasp the upturned hand on the bed. He just needed the contact, the urge to just make sure he was really there becoming too much. The fingers twitched slightly, as if trying to curl around his and it was then that Peter allowed the tears to fall.

Wade was scarred, the burns permanently imbedded into the tanned skin. The gauze was to be removed that day, ten days after the incident, but it wasn't until long after visiting times were over that Peter had gathered up enough courage to actually visit the man. He was still awake, as the teenager had expected he would be, and Wade turned towards him, a vulnerable look in the wide brown eyes that started out at him in the darkness of the room.

"Peter…" he murmured, "What…what are you doing here?"

His throat was dry and his tongue was heavy but he forced a reply. "I-I…I needed to see you."

Wade's bitter laugh pierced the room like a knife and Peter flinched. "No…no, you really don't," he replied, shaking his head.

Peter took a hesitant step closer and the erratic beating of his heart stalled for a moment when the older man recoiled away from him.

"Don't come any closer!" Wade ordered, his voice rising, "You…you don't need to see me like this Peter. I-I'm…I'm not…"

"…Not what?"

"…I'm ugly Peter, the scars made me ugly. I can't…you shouldn't…you deserve someone better than me, someone perfect," he explained, determination and defeat settled into his voice.

Peter took another small step forward and almost released a sigh of relief when Wade didn't move away again. "You can't tell me what I want," he spoke softly, "I love you, you know that, a-and you could never be ugly…god, this is my fault, I'm so sorry, I should never have…"

"No, not your fault, Peter, never your fault," Wade interrupted, his voice insistent, "You were trying to help – there were children in that building and you tried to help…When I heard about the bomb, god, I was so scared. You were still in there, I couldn't lose you Peter. I just couldn't…Don't say you're sorry, because I would do it again and again every time…"

Tears blurred his vision and Peter reached out blindly for the other man. "Wade…" he practically begged.

There was a moment of uncertainty, before one hand reached out to him, trembling slightly, and Peter latched onto it like it was a life force. A sob caught in his throat and he pressed himself against the limb, just needing the contact. He nuzzled the palm against his cheeks and closed his eyes at the pleasured feeling of those calloused fingers brushing along his temple, into his hair.

Wade kept his head down, scars faced away, but Peter needed to see them. He couldn't explain it; not really, it was just this want that was increasing in pressure in the pit of his stomach, which caused his hand to reach out as if to gently encourage the revelation. Wade flinched away slightly, as if he was trying to hide the instinctive reaction, the show of weakness, but Peter persisted.

Then, Wade looked at him.

The burns trailed from his hairline, reaching ever so slightly over the bridge of his nose and split his lips into two dimensions, before disappearing down his neck, beyond the collar of his shirt, and Peter knew it continued across his chest and arm and just a little of his thigh. The light from the street lamp outside cast through the window and highlighted the worst of the scarring, creating this grotesque image of sickness. Anybody else probably would have baulked at the sight, at the contrast that was portrayed across his handsome face, but Peter couldn't. He wanted to, god did he want to. He wanted to retreat, and weep out apologises until Wade could finally forgive him, but he didn't, because Wade was looking at him with resignation and hopefulness in his gaze. Normally, he would be able to hide it, but not today, no, he was completely exposed and the teen didn't have it in himself to cause anymore pain that he already had.

With his free hand, he reached out to run his fingers over the marks before finally cupping his cheek. The words spilled out of him before he even realised what he was saying. "…Not ugly, never ugly…god, Wade, you're so beautiful, will always be beautiful…I love you, I love you so much…" He shuffled closer.

"…I love you too, Pretty Petey," he muttered in return, closing the last of the space between them so their lips could press together.

Wade wore a mask. It had been specially made by S.H.I.E.L.D, at his request, and now he never took it off – unless he was with Peter, because he didn't feel like he should hide around the teenager. Things were different between them. Their relationship was closer than it was before, both reluctant to be out of each other's presence, which is what brought on Wade's temporary suspension from work because, really, Fury couldn't have an agent that wasn't 300% focused on the mission at hand. This free time meant that the man had practically built a nest in Peter's bedroom so they didn't have to spend any extended amount of time a part. Steve and Tony had kept quiet about it, unusually so, to the point where Peter had mentioned to Wade that maybe they were going senile but he knew his parents well enough that to know that wasn't the case.

It was nearly a month after Wade had been practically living with them, before both dads' managed to get Wade alone. They caught him as he made to walk up the stairs, waving him over.

"Cap, Stark," he nodded his head in greeting towards him.

"Wade, listen, um, we want to talk to you…about the, uh, incident…" Steve started unsurely.

"The incident?" he repeated, his face expressionless, "Um, okay, what about it?"

"We, um…I guess we wanted to say...that we…" Tony sighed heavily, "Look, I'm not good at this sort of things – and I still don't like the fact you're dating my son but-"

"We wanted to say thank you," Steve quickly interjected.

"Yeah, for saving him," the billionaire added with a sharp nod, "I…We wouldn't know what to do if he had…"

"Trust me, I wouldn't know what to do either," Wade admitted quietly.

"God, well, uh, off you got then," Tony shooed him away, "Uh, just, um, use protection and keep the noise down…"

"You got it, Stark," the assassin winked and saluted at his boyfriend's parents, before leaving the room and bounding up the stairs, two steps at the time.

"What took you so long?" Peter questioned with a large smile, happily pulling the other man towards him. His hands easily removed the mask and throwing it into a corner of the room.

Wade grinned, moving so that he was lying on top of the smaller frame. His hand was interlocked in his messy brown hair, tugging playfully. He nipped at his bottom lip. "Your parents wanted to talk to me," he announced loudly.

Peter stilled. "What?" he questioned, panic filtering into his voice, "Why?"

"I think they like me," Wade commented, purposely avoiding the real topic of conversation, "They practically gave me their blessing!"

Peter arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, their blessing to fuck you," the assassin trailed off into a whisper, his voice growing huskier as he rocked his hips downward.

"Then you better get on with it," the teenager whispered, shifting his hips so he could wrap his legs around his lover's waist, locking his ankles together.

"Hmm, with pleasure…"