THINGS ARE FINALLY MOVING FORWARD. FEELINGS WILL START SPRINGING UP LIKE DAISIES. ...Eventually.

Also, I just wanna say, thank you guys so, so much for the reviews and favorites. Seriously, I'm still astounded about all of this, and rolling around gleefully on the floor. I hope I can give you all everything you're hoping for!

Chapter summary: Peter and Deadpool have yet another talk, but things actually appear to be looking up for their relationship.

Chapter Eleven: The Second Talk

The tapping on the window had more of a reaction than Peter had meant it to. Deadpool, after letting out an impressive shout and then several long seconds of staring and a quick rub over his eyes, eventually came and unlatched the window.

"Hey," Peter said a little awkwardly, waving at the Merc as he clung to the bricks upside-down.

Deadpool tilted his head a little, like he was trying to see him right-side-up. "Oh, uh. Hey. You come back for the food?" he asked, and then began picking a few ramen noodles off of his suit. Peter had the decency to feel a little bad about that, since the mercenary had been eating them before being startled. The water had probably still been boiling hot, which would explain why he'd let out a string of words that would have Aunt May rolling up a newspaper to whack him with.

"No? And sorry," Peter replied, gesturing to the mess of still-too-hot, spicy shrimp broth. He could actually smell it from there. He was so tired of cup ramen. "I actually just wanted to stop by."

Deadpool fell into another fit of ogling him again and then shook his head, muttering, "Yeah, I don't know, either." He turned and waved his hand inward, gesturing for Spider-Man to come in through the window. "Wasn't… really expecting to see you again so soon."

Peter crawled his way inside, jumped down into the slightly damp carpet, and shut the window, locking it on reflex behind him. "Yeah, well…" Peter shrugged. He tugged the curtain closed without asking, and then, once he was sure no one could peep on them, pulled his mask off. "I wanted to check on you."

Deadpool's exposed mouth turned into an unreadable line. "Oh," he said. His words were plain and dry. Then he shrugged and pinched off one of the two tiny shrimp rations they put in the instant noodles and popped it past his lips. "I'm fine, so you're free to go do other shit." Peter's right eyebrow lifted a little as he watched Deadpool wander over into the kitchen area of the surprisingly large apartment and start opening the cupboards, rooting through them and pulling seemingly random things out. "I'm just a plain ol' hair-trigger kinda guy, you know," he went on, and then grabbed a plastic shopping bag out of a larger… bag of bags. Good to know other superhumans had that habit. He began tossing the food into it. "So you don't gotta worry your pretty little head none about Wade Wilson, I bounce back from death like a fuckin' pong ball, nothing really phases me anymore." He tied off the bag and started walking back towards Peter. "So anyway, here's your takeout box, go kick some ass out there, buddy."

Peter looked down at the miscellaneous goodie-bag that seemed to have both canned vegetables and free-range fruit, which mean one of those two things was going to end up with some nasty bruises. "I'm… really not here for food." Even though he could kind of understand why Wade constantly pushed him away, it was no less frustrating. Especially after so much time of him following Spider-Man around and borderline flirting with him. More than borderline. He had mentioned Peter's ass-to-waist ratio at least seven times before things got… really weird between them.

"We didn't really leave on a good note. I wanted to… apologize for snapping and try to understand what went wrong."

Deadpool paused, cocked his head, then started cleaning out his covered ear with a gloved pinky finger. "Say that again?"

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. He knew he didn't need to repeat himself, Wade was just doing… what he did. The bag tore open and the previously contained food spilled out everywhere, two apples making a break for the front door. Peter jumped and spread his feet to avoid getting his toes smashed. They both looked to the plastic shreds still in the arachnid's hands, and he sighed for a second time. He let his hands drop to his sides and balled up the now useless bag.

"I genuinely want to know why the conversation turned sour, so that the same thing doesn't happen again. You have reasons for acting the way you do, and I want to understand them."

"The fuck kind of convoluted…" Wade smacked the side of his head like there was a fly that landed. "You wouldn't be doing this if I didn't know what your face looks like. I already said I'm not gonna rat you out, so let's just go back to how things were."

Peter felt the frustration turn into annoyance. He refused to back down or turn aggressive. "There's more to it than just that," he replied, but what was he supposed really to say to make Deadpool understand?

"I'm sure there is-" Deadpool started, but Peter cut him off.

"I don't want to go back to how things were."

Dead silence followed. An angry driver slammed on their car horn in the street below for three seconds too long.

Wade let out a heavy exhale and his shoulders went slack. "Spidey…" He rubbed his palms over his eyes, this time like they hurt instead of like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You're really springing this on me."

Peter let a long blink overcome him to steady himself before turned his head away, eyeing what appeared to be blood spatter on the wall. He really hoped it was somehow just marinara sauce. "I know. And I can go if you want me to. I just don't have any other way of contacting you besides physically dropping by." The more he looked around the place, the more it seemed like… Well, yes, obviously Wade was lazy, but it looked disturbingly like the depression clutter that Peter had gotten after certain… lows in his life. Forks and bowls were just left on the carpet where they got set down after being used, trash didn't get picked up if it missed the bin, and it looked like the only cleaning attempt made was to find the remote on the couch-side table.

Why was he only noticing any of this now? Was it only because he'd gotten invested? Because it really seemed like Deadpool didn't bother to hide anything save for behind verbal manic subject hopping.

Wade bent down and picked up one of the cans of soup that had rolled against the couch, the kind with an easy pop top, and peeled it open. Then he moved backward and plopped down on said furniture and reached down, picking up the fork he'd most likely just been eating ramen with. He stabbed a potato and shoved it in his mouth. "You can come sit if you're really not just gonna take my freely given easy-out." He sounded tired. Peter was, too.

He sat down on the other cushion, but didn't push himself against the armrest like he had last time. Peter wondered if Deadpool's costume ever hurt him after wearing it too long. They both fell into another quiet and both watched the Spanish soap opera on the television with varying degrees of interest. The young adult was busy trying to think of how to start their conversation, when Wade snorted and folded his legs over one another. "These people are so dense. I swear to God, Soraya shoots or stabs someone every other episode. Everybody's always shocked by it, too, like she's never done this before." He was apparently done fishing out the solid bits in his meal and tipped the can back like he was drinking a soda.

Peter felt like he'd seen the character before. Maybe he'd seen her while he was staying home from school sick before. He aunt tended to leave the TV on low volume for background noise. "I have absolutely no idea what's going on," he admitted. He was a bit ashamed of how little Spanish he remembered since the forced two years of it for high school. He recognized almost every word, but just couldn't think of what they meant for the life of him.

Wade leaned back against the couch and tossed the can, fork inside of it, over the side and back onto the floor with a clatter. The Merc cast a look at Peter. "Te juzga en Español," he muttered, and then pulled his mask down to cover his mouth.

Peter had no idea what that meant, but he didn't ask.

They eventually fell into a pretty casual conversation after that, and Peter wound up sitting cross-legged with a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats. Deadpool was still enjoyable to be around, impending awkward conversation in the future or no. Finally, after turning the channel to some bizarre cartoon Peter had never seen in his life, the air around Wade seemed to get fidgety again.

"I'm sorry I judged you and assumed you're gonna become a mad scientist," he murmured.

Peter finished chewing the bite of cereal before replying, "I can guarantee you I'm not." He scooped up another spoonful. "But… is there a reason you jumped to that conclusion?"

Wade shrugged and didn't make eye contact. "Don't much like doctors," he said. He was rubbing his hands together, now hunched over and shifty. ...Well, Peter was kind of right about that much, then. "So is there anything else you wanna talk about, or was that it?"

Peter was getting pretty good at seeing exactly where their conversations started going towards the big shut-down. "I like hanging out with you," he admitted. He tapped his finger against his the bowl a few times and pursed his lips. Then he ran his tongue over them. "Would it… be okay to do this again?" he asked. When he heard no response, he looked, and Wade was staring at him like he had said something monumentally crazy.

"You mean like... you wanna be actual super-bros?" His tone sounded weird.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Peter's lips. "Yeah. So; super-bros?" he asked, and he held up his hand in a fist towards Deadpool. It was left hanging long enough that Peter faltered and he started to drop it, before Wade fist-bumped him.

Peter knew that he couldn't afford the time he spent with Deadpool, but he'd done it anyway. He felt like several thousand pounds were lifted from his shoulders now. He felt… happy. He'd stayed longer than he should've, but… it was… really nice to hang out. He hadn't had proper time for making friendly connections in a long time, between taking way too many classes and being a superhero when he should be sleeping. Wade was… definitely something else. But he had a lot of damage, just like so many other people in the world did, and Peter was slowly learning about it. He finished putting away the food that Wade had practically begged him to take with him, and Peter had finally accepted it after some fussing. He didn't want to admit how much he actually needed it, and he was incredibly grateful for it.

And now he needed to work on his homework, and probably forgo sleep to do it. He felt exhaustion setting in again just thinking about it, but he still wasn't going to let himself regret today. Wade had assumed Peter was only doing this begrudgingly, being nice to him because otherwise Wade would sell his name and face. And if not that, that he was just turning his hero complex (boy did those words taste bad) towards Wade, who he just saw as someone to fix. That wasn't what this was about, though. Sure, the last thing Peter wanted was for anyone to need help and him just blow it off… but it wasn't about giving help. It was about being there for someone he was growing fond of, regardless of the circumstances of that feeling.

He opened his laptop and glared at the word document. He really wasn't feeling up to forcing out nine and a half more pages along with a paper for the class from this morning about what exactly he was hoping to accomplish in this field. It was just busywork, but he needed to get it out of the way.

Instead, he looked at his phone, and turned on the screen. Wade's number stared back at him. He wasn't sure if now was too soon to get in contact with the other man, but he opened messenger and, after debating with himself, sent a picture that he'd found probably too funny with the afterthought that Wade might enjoy it, too. He got an immediate text back with a picture of Dickbutt.

He wasn't really sure how things went full-circle back around to this, but he and Wade had agreed that they should to go on another Pokémon Date, maybe actually take out a few gyms in the area this time. Peter let him know that he was free Sunday.

He wound up not finishing either assignment that night, but he got to sleep around three in the morning with a full stomach and a dull buzz of excitement about their plans.