I hit such bad writer's block. I'm attempting to struggle through it. Please end my suffering. Sobs.
(But no seriously, life really sucks right now, and I'm having trouble dealing with it.)
Chapter summary: The two dorks begin their second date and talk about other dates.
Chapter Twelve: Gone Fishing
Peter was run absolutely ragged by the time Sunday rolled around. Part of him wanted to just stay in bed the entire day, but he knew he would hate himself over it if he did. He managed to pull himself out from under his blankets (plural, since Fall was finally rolling around), and got dressed. It was less that he didn't care as much about how he looked compared to their initial date, and more that he was just too tired to go through and find something that was clean and kind of matched.
He grabbed the last apple Wade had given him and devoured it slowly as he stared at the wall.
They'd agreed to meet at the same place they had the first time, but Peter was almost too embarrassed to go back to the same coffee shop. He grabbed his phone from the wall charger and headed out, hair brushed as an afterthought (he'd forgotten until he was halfway out the door) and his clothes were clean but wrinkled. His shirt said, "What do you do with a dead chemist? You barium."
Ha ha. So funny.
God, he missed the concept of sleep.
Maybe he could crash at Wade's and get another week or so in. Hey, he could entertain even impossible hopes and dreams, right? Besides, he'd royally fucked his body up to get to that point, and he'd rather never do that ever again. If his bad habits and low income didn't kill him, the stress probably would. He was honestly surprised he didn't have ulcers from that fiasco.
Thankfully the heat wave finally seemed to be over, and it was actually almost pleasant outside - in the shade. He plopped himself down where he'd been sitting the first time they met without masks, and he got out his phone to pass the time. Why was he feeling nervous now, anyway? Everything that could go wrong ran through his head, and he felt anxiety prickle along his gut as he remembered his panic attack on the roof. That wasn't going to happen. They knew each other now, and they'd established that they were going to be super-bros. That definitely meant something.
...What if he'd forgotten to put on deodorant? He did a quick sniff and found he could at least bury that particular worry down. Smelled fine, at least to his own nose. He tested his breath next, even though… would Wade be in range of smelling his breath? They were going to hang out and play Pokémon together, for fwip-sakes, but who knows.
He started to get annoyed after a few minutes of messing around on his phone, because his fingers were too 'sticky' to swipe across the screen correctly and he'd missed every single throw because the ball landed not even halfway to the Pokémon in question. He had trouble controlling his powers when he got too emotional, but apparently sleep deprivation plus generic nerves counted, too. He started flicking his wrist harder with each toss, and he finally just gave up because he was fruitlessly wasting all of his Pokéballs.
"Catch anything good?"
Peter looked up and it took him a second to register what Wade had said - and then he started laughing, feeling his muscles instantly start to loosen up. The effect was incredible. And wasn't that the exact same thing he'd said before when they'd first met? "Who knew you could be smooth," Peter said, and Wade scoffed like he was offended.
"Jeez, Petey, you're a real sweet-talker there yourself," he quipped as Peter started to get up to his feet. Wade was dressed covered from head to toe again, but this time he looked just a little less like he was about to drop from the heat any second.
"Ah, you know me, the notorious Mr. Suave," Peter said, before he glanced at his phone. "Just one Rattata," he added as an answer. That pathetic capture had been just before his overthinking had really gotten to him and he started fumbling his throws.
Wade snickered. "How many Pokéballs you'd lose over that thing?" he asked with a grin. Peter was caught off-guard by how nice it looked to see the other man actually happy. He mirrored the look instinctively.
"Three," he complained, though the tone of his voice was saying he was giving too small a number, and then shoved his phone in his back pocket. They were skinny jeans; good luck getting it to fit anywhere else. They were already walking across the street, passing people who were out enjoying the last day of their weekend and the first bout of not-completely-awful weather in months.
Then Wade seemed to notice he had words on his shirt and squinted at him. "Nice shirt, nerd."
This was something Deadpool hadn't really done much before - playfully insulted him. Peter was going to see it as a good thing, that Wade was finally… seeing that they were both people, and not one of them on a pedestal while the other stared up longingly.
He smiled and his eyes flickered up to the Hawkeye hat. Peter felt his snark engine revving up, like when he was out as Spider-Man and not Peter Parker. "Genuinely nice hat, jerk."
"Real creative insult, twig." Wade's response was almost immediate.
"Oh, and 'nerd' is?" Peter shot back. He made a sweeping motion with his hand going down his body and added, "I'll have you know that I'm pure, lean muscle."
"I only buy that because I know it's true from personal experience," Wade said, and he did take an appreciative once-over that followed the path of Peter's hand. Peter paused, watched Wade look him over, and then had to let his mind readjust its gears. Did being friends with Wade include the probably-flirting like when they were just in costume and acquaintances before? He decided he would worry about the implication of that later.
"Are we going to the same place?" Peter asked, changing the subject away from his body.
Wade turned his head skyward and hummed to himself. "Do you wanna? We could take a vote."
An eyebrow stretched up Peter's forehead. "That's kinda hard with only two of us," he said.
Wade snorted and waved his hand. "You're leaving out my shoulder angel and devil, and they're quite offended."
Peter wondered briefly if that was who Wade talked to. "Well, where do they wanna go?" he asked, and he wasn't quite sure if he was allowed to smile or not. He couldn't help the small one that snuck through. He knew that Wade heard voices, but honestly, if it wasn't actively hurting anyone right now, he didn't see why he shouldn't let Wade interact with them openly, since he tended to do it anyway. He didn't want to encourage anything negative in Wade's life, but he also wanted Wade to be able to trust him, and it would ruin their day and everything they'd built up to this point if he shot down Wade sharing his personal details.
Wade seemed a surprised that he was asked about the opinions of his head-voices, and he wide-eyed looked left and right. "You hear that, boys? Your opinion is required." A beat. "Okay, no, you know what, you don't get a say; your choices suck hairy, unwashed testes." Well. That was certainly an image, and Peter was left thinking about it. Gross. Wade looked back to his left. "Your chance, and don't fuck this one up for us." Another beat. Wade cocked his head a little bit like a spaniel and considered the unheard (at least for everyone but Wade) suggestion. Then he glanced over at Peter. "You wanna eat shitty, cheap, breakfast-all-day kinda food?"
That sounded like it wasn't going to cost a lot of money, so Peter was honestly up for it. "Sure," he said, and the answer was accompanied by a small nod.
"IHOP it is!" Wade hollered with an arm up, but no one paid him any mind, save for quick looks and avoiding the overly-excited man's berth. This was, once again, going to take nearly every penny Peter had left in his wallet, but he hadn't needed to go grocery shopping this week because of what Wade had given him. He lived with a small kitchen that had incredibly limited counter-space, a stove that would probably make aunt May feel faint, and a mini fridge he picked up from a Craigslist ad. It froze everything inside of it, including the milk in the bottom of the door. Because of this, he couldn't get much while shopping that wasn't non-perishable. The care bag he'd been given was a freaking Godsend.
(He was also secretly happy that they weren't going back to that coffee shop so soon after the scene they'd caused, even if he was pretty sure the workers had seen far worse.)
They found an IHOP pretty close by and the line wasn't even horrible. Since it was around lunchtime, there were quite a few groups out and eating, most of them dressed in their church clothes, obviously having just left and had decided to go out to eat before going home. Wade shifted his weight and gave off general signs of being anxious, which made Peter cast him a glance and they made eye contact. Peter smiled a little. Wade stared back and his fidgeting died down to a minimal amount. The arachnid-hybrid wondered if the other man was nervous about being out and about without a mask on, or if he just didn't enjoy being around people. Either option was a sad one, but Peter could understand it to an extent. He obviously couldn't wrap his mind around living with Wade's skin condition, but he himself wasn't the biggest fan of large crowds. There was just too much noise and movement. It messed with his senses and his mind tried to keep up with all over it, sometimes winding up overwhelmed and unable to properly cope.
Once they were seated, each of them taking the opposite side of the booth from the other, the host left them with menus and informed them who their server would be and then darted off again.
It seemed that the change of scenery had taken away their ability to easily fall into conversation, and Peter swallowed, going for his phone again, while Wade tapped the table. "You got the update yet?" the Merc asked, and the brunet glanced up to his dining partner. "You know, the one where you walk with 'em and they give you candy that way?" Wade went on, after having not gotten a response.
Peter's face lit up with recognition, but he shook his head. "I don't have enough space for the update," he admitted and laughed a little at himself.
Wade looked appalled. "Seriously? How much space is even on your phone?" he asked, leaning forward.
Peter passed the device back and forth between his hands and shrugged, waiting for the app to open again. "About eight gigs?" he guessed, and then he pushed up his glasses as a nervous reflex. "I mean, I could just buy an SD card and get more space that way, but," he explained, but he trailed off at the end, leaving it open. But SD cards cost money, money he definitely wouldn't be able to even dream about after this lunch date. "So you got the update, then?" he asked, turning the conversation back to Wade.
The heavily-clothed man leaned back and nodded, pulling up the app on his own mobile. "Yup!" he informed. "Got me a fuckin' fish on a leash," he said with a wide grin and turned his phone so Peter could see it. His partner was a Magikarp named FlipFlop, which made Peter snicker. He could just imagine that poor thing being dragged on a leash behind Wade's game avatar. "I will one day obtain his Angry Rage Noodle evolution and annihilate all Gyms."
"I heard they nerfed Vaporeon," Peter said as he scrolled through his list of caught monsters. "Good thing I evolved mine beforehand. Next to Arcanine, that one's my strongest."
When Peter looked up again, Wade was reorganizing the syrup bottles. He was grinning almost from ear to ear. "I got me a fatass Snorlax," he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. "My beautiful cinnamon roll, my unproblematic fave," he went on, and then finally decided that the condiments were how he wanted them and poured some of the strawberry one on his finger and stuck that in his mouth. "Screw Whitney and her fuckin' Miltank, we're ballin' harder than she ever will."
Peter was once again reminded of his suspicion that Wade just opened his mouth and sound came out unhindered.
"You know the whole trope of like, the idiot and the straight-man bein' bros and it's always hilarious?" Wade said, changing the topic at breakneck speed. Peter nodded while he eyed the menu. "I like that trope, it's really fun. So, uh, thanks for being the straight-guy to my idiot."
When Peter looked up, he saw Wade with his jaw in his hands, looking just off to the side of Peter's neck. That was definitely a lot more sobering than their joking around and light conversation had been. He thought about it for a little bit, about what that meant, and he supposed that they both sort of switched off in that role. Sometimes Peter was the one who said or did something ridiculous and Wade had to reel him back in with common sense, not just vice-versa. Granted, that happened less often, but still. He was about to reply, when Wade cut in again.
"Well, I mean, you're not really a straight man, more like a bi man," he said, and he was amused by his own joke.
Peter couldn't stop the surprised huff and covered his mouth, trying to squash that sound out of existence. "Bi guy,"he rhymed with some mirth of his own.
Wade gasped and then held up his left hand for a high-five, "People-don't-believe-we-exist bros," he whispered excitedly. Peter lifted his hand in response and gave the other man's palm a light clap. Honestly, he wasn't sure exactly where he stood in the labels category, despite how long he'd been looking into them. He just fit under too many, and it got to the point where the list he'd made about himself was spanning more lines than he was comfortable with. So he just didn't bother with it. Labels were fine and good, but they weren't supposed to stress a person out.
"So, have you ever dated anyone in the Super Department?" Wade asked, and his demeanor fit that of a young kid at a sleepover, getting to gossip with friends outside of school. Peter shrugged and rubbed the back of his head with his hand, his eyes meeting the tabletop.
"Well, uh, not really," he admitted. "I don't really date often," he added, and then kinda wished he hadn't. That wasn't a necessary addition of information. "You?" he asked. It only seemed fair to allow Wade a response to the question.
Said man's face fell, but he had it covered up so quickly that Peter wouldn't have been sure it had really been there at all. "Well, shit's complicated. I mean, I've had one-nighters with some of 'em?" His mouth was pulled down at one end as he clearly remembered his own history. "Depends on what you consider dating, I guess?"
Peter pursed his lips and he debated inwardly with himself before he finally blurted it out before he could over-think it. "I heard you were married."
Silence followed between them, and the gentle white noise of chatter in the background rose in volume and sounded much louder suddenly. Wade's entire face was frozen in a look that Peter couldn't translate, and then the other man frowned and looked away. He seemed closed-off and antsy again, and Peter wished he hadn't spoken at all.
"Yeah," Wade grumbled. "Not anymore, though."
Peter was inwardly kicking himself. Damnit, Peter, why must you be like this? "I'm sorry."
Wade shrugged heavily and cleared his throat, rubbed the bottom of his nose with his finger, and did several other gestures that may or may not have held any significant meaning. "Don't be. Didn't work out." Then he laughed, and it sounded almost like a bark. "Yeah, she wasn't even a citizen - and neither am I, come to think -, so it wasn't really even legal? I mean, it was officiated by a real great Captain, but our names were never on some marriage document. It was more a title than anything else."
He had so, so many questions about this, but this wasn't a subject Peter was about to push. Especially not when they were supposed to be having a good time hanging out together. Wade could tell him what all of that meant later. If at all.
"'Sides, I never woulda met civilian-you if we were still goin' steady. And let me be perfectly honest, I thought you were catfishin' me at first with some rando hottie's pic; fully expected to show up and not see anyone there and then get blocked. But you're real. I still can't wrap my fuckin' mind around it."
Peter was left sitting in his seat, staring at Wade for many long seconds. That had never even occurred to him, that people did that. He felt as if he was in mourning for everything that Wade had gone through in the past. But at the same time, he felt his face warm up as the words sunk in. Wade just complimented his looks - called him a hottie. It was different to have someone talk about every muscle in your glutes and thighs, but it was completely different somehow to have them look at your face and tell you it was pleasing to them. He dropped his gaze and rubbed his thumbs along the screen of his phone when he hit an invisible roadblock in his attempt to ground himself.
His fingerpads were too sticky to move again.
