Wow, would you look at that, an update! Sorry it's been so long, but this chapter really just . . . IDK, man, but it took way too long to finish. Hope you all like it!


It was the first Sunday of a new month and Peter was feeling nervous. Along with everything that happened yesterday, he now had to somehow ask Tony about helping Venom without actually talking about Venom. He was pretty sure that what he was asking wouldn't be too big a deal, considering phenylethylamine pills already existed, just not at the dosages he was sure Venom would need, but there was still the issue of actually asking.

This made the car ride with Happy awkward, because he was much too busy worrying about what to do that any conversation was essentially impossible. Because of this, Peter felt guiltily happy when they finally got to the Avengers Compound, waving an awkward goodbye before heading inside.

After Tony sold Stark (Avengers) Tower, they'd had to relocate their twice a month meetings, which wasn't too bad except for the longer drive. They were supposed to be times to touch base and offer input on improvements for the Spider-Suit, but eventually just morphed into glorified hang-out sessions where they talked about science, and, occasionally non-science, stuff.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter calls out, looking into the labs as he walked through the halls.

"In here," Tony says from somewhere ahead of him.

Peter hurries forward and walks into the lab, seeing Tony staring at a hologram in front of him.

"What'cha working on?" he asks, pulling up a chair.

"Nothing," Tony says, swiping the image away. "Just looking at some suit specs."

"Oh, cool."

"Not really, I was just bored. So, how's school going?"

"Really good actually, I passed my biology test, but my English grade is slipping a bit, so I'm gonna have to—"

"Whoa, kid, I didn't ask for your whole life story."

"Heh, sorry about that. Uh, like I said, it's all good."

"Great, great. So, what'cha got to talk about? Like I said, I'm bored, so make it good."

"Oh. Well, I've got this . . ." Nuisance. "Friend. And, they need, um . . ." Therapy and a cease and desist order. "Some special pills to help with a . . ." Murder problem. "Chemical deficiency."

"O-kay," Tony says slowly. "And you're telling me this because . . ?"

"Uh . . . they can't get these pills anymore because . . . they can't afford them."

Tony sighs. "Do ya want me to buy them for your 'friend'? Who are they, by the way, and what are these pills?"

"Oh, it's just someone from school, you've never met them. And it's phenylethylamine pills. And, no, I don't need you to buy them, I just need help making them."

Tony raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And why, pray tell, do you need to make them"

"Well, they have a really severe deficiency, so the regular pills won't work because they need more than what's in 'em. And they're also really broke."

Tony sighs again. "Well, I haven't messed with chemistry in a while, so why not. Variety is the spice of life."

"Really?" Peter asks, disbelievingly.

"Did you - want - me to say no?" Tony asks haltingly.

"What? No, sorry. Uh, how about we get started on this."

"Okay. First question, about how much of this phena-what's it chemical do we need?"

"Um, according to them, about the amount one or two people produce naturally."

"Really? How severely deficient are they?"

"A lot, apparently. So, how soon can we get this done?"

"Well, I don't technically have the materials to make it today, so we'll mostly just be speculating right now. I can order the stuff we'll need, and you can come in again later this week. If you're free, that is."

"I should be available."

"That's good. Now, back to speculation."

. . .

It had been a nice Tuesday so far, and Eddie and Venom were looking forward to enjoying the remainder of their day, having finished all their work. Mary was lounging on the chair next to them, watching Netflix and scrolling through her phone.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon broken by a loud knock at the door.

"Ugh," Mary groans. "You expecting anyone?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Probably just some salesman," she mutters.

There's another knock.

They glance at each other.

"Not it!" they say at the same time.

"You are both children."

"Am not," Eddie mutters, standing up. "I'll get it," he says, walking over and looking through the peephole. "Ah, crap."

"Why is the Spider—"

"Shh," Eddie says, opening the door and stepping outside. "What are you doing here?" he hisses, closing the door and facing Peter.

"Delivering these," he says, holding up a pill bottle. "You could be a little more grateful."

"You can't be here. How do you even know where I live anyway?"

"That's not important," he says sheepishly. "Look, I got the pills, and I left you instructions on the bottle. If you have any questions, just call me. They're still in the experimental stage, so be careful."

"We will," Eddie says, taking the pills. "And no more house calls. Mary can't know about you."

"Okay, fine. See ya later," he says, walking away.

"Yeah, see ya later. And, Peter?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Eddie opens the door and goes back inside, slipping the pills in his pocket.

"Who was it?"

"You were right, just some salesman. I dealt with him."

"My knight in shining PJ's," Mary deadpans.

"Anything for you," he says, taking an exaggerated bow before walking into the kitchen.

Do you think the Spiderling's pills will work?

"Won't know until we try," Eddie says, getting a glass of water and walking to the bathroom. "Okay, let's get a look at these so-called 'instructions."

On the side were a few handwritten, bulleted guidelines written in sharpie.

"He needs to clean up his writing," Eddie mutters, squinting. "I feel like I got this from an actual doctor."

After almost a minute of squinting, deliberation, and unnecessary input on Venom's part, he makes out what the list says:

Don't take more than four a day. (Seriously, I don't know what might happen)

Take at least one or two a day, with food, more if needed. (We're trying to find the proper dosage)

Keep track of how many you take and when you take them. (Preferably written somewhere, try the note app on your phone)

Do NOT let anyone else take these

Talk with Venom and treat the pills as though they are food, taking one when you're hungry. (ONLY when you're hungry)

"Well, he certainly didn't really leave anything out."

"It would seem so. Can we try them now?"

"Sure, we just need to get a snack 'cause we have to take it with food."

"I think we still have some pretzels left."

"That'll do. I just hope this stuff works."

. . .

Wade: can we go on patrol today?

Peter: sure, what time?

Wade: 6:45

Peter: see u there

"Hey, Eddie! Are you finished packing yet?"

He glances at the mostly empty boxes and suitcase in front of him. "Uh, well, it's coming along," he says, wincing.

"Help me with the kitchen when you're done," Mary says, walking out of her room.

"Um," Eddie starts, getting off the couch. "Actually, me and Venom need to go out tonight."

She turns and gives them a dubious look. "Uh-huh. This wouldn't be to get out of packing, would it?"

"What? No, of course not."

Mary raises an eyebrow. "Fine, whatever. But you're helping me with the dishes when you get back," she says, going into the living room and dramatically collapsing on the couch.

"No problem," Eddie says, walking out of the apartment.

. . .

The Daily Bugle had, over the last couple weeks, become their unofficial official meeting place for whenever they all went out on patrol. It was mostly an accident, but if asked, Peter would claim it was on purpose all along. If you asked what purpose, however, he'd cleverly redirect the question with something like, "Oh, look at that cool bird," and hope you'd forget what it was you asked in the first place.

Regardless, it was nice to have a set place, because it really made everything easier. As long as everyone showed up on time, at least.

Peter taps his foot impatiently, glancing at the clock in the top left corner of his screen. "Karen, how late do you think they'll be this time?"

"At least two more minutes."

"I say five."

"Let's compromise and go with three."

"You're too lenient."

"You're too cynical."

"I have every right, they're supervillains."

"Anti-heroes."

Peter gasps in mock offence. "Did Ned teach you that?"

"Maybe."

"Never letting you two talk again," he mutters, sitting down.

About three minutes later, they show up.

"Told you," Karen says, almost smugly.

Peter ignores her and puts his hands on his hips. "What took you guys so long?"

"Traffic," Wade says confidently.

"Yeah, traffic."

"Neither of you have cars."

Deadpool opens his mouth to says something, but pauses. "Yeah, well . . . neither do you."

"I wasn't the one making up excuses. You both need to start showing up on time."

"We're only a few minutes late."

"You were the one who called this in the first place."

"I don't have a watch."

"They're not all that expensive."

"Are you two going to stay here and bicker, or are we going on patrol?"

Peter pauses. "We'll talk about this later," he promises.

"Fine by me."

. . .

Venom had a really good sense of smell. And hearing. And, well, just better senses in general (including common sense, but Eddie refuses to believe it). It's all a part of being a Superior Being, at least when compared to humans, with their cute limited vision and general obliviousness.

Enhanced senses are also great when you're out fighting crime.

For example, when they hear the shout of some poor lady saying that her purse has just been snatched.

"Follow me," Venom says, quickly changing direction and heading toward Central Park.

They soon locate someone quickly biking away, the woman's purse clutched against their handlebars. Ignoring the loose crowd of people between them and the thief, Venom barrels right through, tackling the cyclist when they catch up.

Peter appears a few seconds later, followed by Deadpool and Venom proudly holds up the guy they just caught.

"Look what we found," they say, grinning.

Peter's eye-lens-things squint, and Venom gets the impression he's upset at them.

"What the heck was that!" he exclaims, definitely mad at them.

"I'll just go return this," Deadpool says quietly, picking up the stolen purse and running off to where the thief had been fleeing from.

"Did you really just say 'heck'?"

"I—well, yeah. But that's not the point, what do you think you're doing."

"Stopping crime," Venom says, lowering the terrified cyclist to the ground.

Peter webs his wrists together and glares at Venom. "Yeah, I know. I meant what you did there," he says, gesturing to the crowd of people Venom had barreled through, some lying on the ground, dazed.

"It was faster."

"It was faster, really? You look—you look me in the eye and tell me you can't easily outrun some guy on a bicycle."

"We cannot," they say, seemingly serious.

Peter stares at them for a few seconds. "Okay, you're good, but I know you're lying. You totally can."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps nothing!"

"Oh, you guys are still fighting," Wade says, walking up to them. "I'll just—" he carefully steps around them and helps the attempted thief up before walking over to the officer taking the woman's statement a few yards away.

Peter sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm not 100% sure why you both do this, and frankly I'm not sure I wanna know, but if you're gonna be helping me, you have to follow the rules."

"There's no rule against running through crowds."

"Fine, rule 5, civilians are top priority. Which means running around whatever crowds of people happen to be between you and the bad guys."

"No one got hurt," Venom mutters.

"This time. Just, be careful, okay? It shouldn't be that hard."

"You are no fun," they say, sounding more humorous than bitter.

"Yeah, I've heard it all before. 'That Peter, what a buzzkill, trying to keep everyone safe all the time, he sucks'."

"Peter?" Deadpool says, walking back up to them.

Peter takes in a sharp breath and Venom hides their mouth behind their hand, trying to stifle their chuckles.

"Shit," Peter says under his breath.

"Whoa, kid, you don't gotta worry about anything, I'm not the kinda guy to go 'round revealing secret identities. That's just rude."

"Thanks," Peter mutters, and Venom bursts out laughing.

"No problem. Anyways, do you guys wanna go back to my apartment? I got some leftover food I need to get through before it goes bad and I could use some help."

It's a bit desperate, a little pleading, but Peter gets the feeling that Wade had been lonely, or having a bad day and that's why he called the patrol.

"Sure," Peter says, mostly against his and Tony's and May's will. If he was being honest, it was partly because he felt bad for Wade. The other part was mostly just because, hey, why not. He was hungry, and if something happened (not that he was really expecting anything) he was pretty sure he'd be fine.

"We will go too," Venom declares. "Of course, you do," they say, mostly under their breath, and probably to Eddie. "Eddie says yes too."

"Great! Follow me."

They start headed to Wade's apartment and, not for the first time, Peter wonders just how much hanging out with those two had affected him.

. . .

"Well, here we are," Wade says, opening the door. "Make yourself at home, I'll go get the food."

Peter and Eddie walk inside, looking around the room. It was messy, but in a neat kinda way. Everything had its place, and if that place happened to be the floor, then well, that's where it was. They both noticed the various weapons strewn about. Peter didn't even want to think about how many were being improperly stored, guns without the safety on and knives unsheathed.

(None of them were, of course. Wade was a professional, not some weekend amateur)

"Nice place," Peter says, sitting on the couch. He wasn't really lying either. There was a sort of charm wrapped up with the messiness and underlying smell of takeout. Although he could probably be better with his garbage, Peter notes, seeing the various pieces of trash strewn about. You want ants, 'cause that's how you get ants.

"Yeah, sorry about the mess. I wasn't really expecting company. You guys want it cold, or should I heat it up in the microwave?"

"Depends," Eddie says. "What do you got?"

"Uh, some Chinese, orange chicken and rice. Few slices of pizza, cheese and pineapple and olive. And, uh, Thai food."

"Did you say pineapple and olive?" Peter asks.

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're one of those people who gets all up in arms about pineapple on pizza, because I really don't wanna hear all that again."

"No, no, I was just making sure I heard you correctly. It's . . . an odd combination."

"Yeah, well, I got cheese too if you don't wanna try it."

"I want to try it."

"Sweet. I'll just throw everything in the microwave, this stuff's never really good cold anyway."

Peter pauses, and glances over at the kitchen, where Wade was carefully piling the leftover food into the microwave.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" he asks, getting off the couch and walking over.

"Uh, heating everything up."

"At the same time?"

Wade glances at the microwave. "No . . ."

"You're gonna burn the place down!" he exclaims, nudging Wade away and taking everything out.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Wade mutters, backing up.

Peter turns and stares at him. "I—y'know what, out. Out of the kitchen." He makes a shooing motion with his hands and Wade gives him a puzzled look (that Peter didn't see because of the mask, but he had the distinct feeling that's the face Wade made) and walks into his living room.

Eddie glances at him and pulls his legs up so his knees were bent, and Wade sits in the empty space on the couch.

"I think I just got kicked out of my kitchen by a twelve-year-old," he says, almost confusedly.

"Sixteen," Peter says tiredly, with the kind of resignation of someone who'd had the same thing happen to them many times before.

"It's my kitchen, you know."

"Not if you use it irresponsibly."

"Did you just claim ownership of my kitchen?"

Peter pauses. "Temporarily."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause that makes it better," he mutters, slumping into the couch.

"Don't worry about it," Eddie says. "He's got a tendency to control things, you get used to it."

"It's not like I don't know how to use a microwave, I've heat up takeout before."

"Not all at once though," Eddie points out. "Mary almost killed us after Venom convinced me to try because they were just so hungry they couldn't wait."

"You are the one who was so easily persuaded."

"It was your idea in the first place."

"It was both your faults," Peter says, setting the timer on the microwave. He glances around the small kitchen. If there was one thing that May had drilled into him, it was that a clean kitchen is the best kitchen. And looking around Wade's, he was surprised he didn't see any cockroaches. Not that it was really bad, but there were crumbs everywhere and it doesn't take much for cockroaches to appear.

Maybe if he could . . . "Hey, Wade?"

"What?"

"Do you have any paper towels?"

"Uh . . . no. But there should be some napkins in one of the cupboards."

Peter starts looking and soon finds what he's looking for, in the form of takeout napkins more-or-less neatly kept in stacks.

"Oh." Well, they would certainly work. He carefully takes out two napkins and starts sweeping the crumbs with one onto the other.

When he's done, he carefully folds it up and puts it in the trash can he'd noticed by the fridge. A picture catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he turns to look at it.

It showed Deadpool and a few other people standing in front of a large house. Peter only recognized two of the people, Wade, of course, and Dopinder.

His mind drifts to a conversation they'd had about two weeks ago. Deadpool had mentioned two of his friends, Negasonic and Yukio. He was guessing they were the two girls about his age, since he had mentioned they were teenagers. Glancing over at Eddie, Venom, and Deadpool, who were idly chatting, he wonders if he should ask about the other people in the photo.

Briefly interrupted by the timer dinging, he hurries over and takes the food out and puts the rest in.

After a few more seconds of deliberation, curiosity wins and he takes the picture off the fridge, grabs the food, and walks over.

Eddie and Wade gratefully grab the offered takeout, and Peter nudges Eddies legs off the couch so he could sit down.

Wade notices the picture in his hand and asks, "Why do you have that?"

"I wanted to ask you who was in it. That's you, obviously," he says, pointing at the at the mini grinning Deadpool. "And that's Dopinder," he moves his finger to the smiling man on Wade's right. "And I'm guessing that's Negasonic and Yukio," he points to the two girls on his left.

"How do you know about them?"

"You mentioned them to me a couple weeks ago, after I got shot."

"I did?" he says quietly, mostly to himself.

"Yep."

Eddie pauses from eating and points at the two on the far left. "Who're they?"

"That's Cable and Colossus. Cable's the one scowling and being all anti-social, and Colossus is the grinning metal guy. Those other two on the right are Russel and Domino."

"Cool," Eddie says, nodding. "So, are they who you hang out with when you're not with us?"

Wade pauses, his face unreadable because of the mask. "Well, I wouldn't put it like that exactly, but kinda, yeah. Though we haven't talked in . . . oh, a little under a month. At least me and Colossus haven't, the others are better at keeping in touch."

"Did something happen?" Peter asks, genuinely curious.

Wade shifts uncomfortably. "Oh, nothing too big. Just another . . ." He says the last few words so quietly even Peter and Eddie's superior hearing couldn't catch it.

"Another what?"

Wade gestures vaguely. "Rehash of an old argument. 'Deadpool, you shouldn't kill people'." he mocks with a bad Russian accent. "Got the whole speech twice in a day, that's gotta be a record. Kicked me outta the mansion and said to not come back until I'd learned some manners, or something like that."

"Have you?" Peter asks hesitantly.

"You've seen me when I eat. Pfft, manners, never heard of 'em."

"You know what I mean," he says, nudging Wade with his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. I suppose I can reluctantly say that you might be a somewhat good influence on me."

"Wow," Peter deadpans. "I feel so accomplished."

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. You can't expect me to give up my awesomely cool anti-hero identity so easily. Gimme some time to adjust."

Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Whatever," Peter says, shaking his head. "But, hey. If you ever need someone to put in a good word for you with this Colossus guy, just ask." He elbows Eddie.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. No problem, just ask."

"Oh, you guys are the best," Wade says, reaching out and wrapping them in an awkward hug.

"Obviously," Venom says, in the haughty tone of someone who did in fact believe they were a joy to be around (regardless whether or not it was true).

The timer on the microwave beeps and Peter disentangles himself and walks over to the kitchen to get his food. "Well, I can say one thing," he says, sitting back down. "Out of the two of you, Wade did a much better job today." He glares at Venom. "Seeing as he didn't barrel through a crowd of civilians."

Venom sneers back and makes a vaguely threatening hissing noise.

"I always knew I was the better student," Wade says triumphantly.

Eddie glances at him and raises an eyebrow. " 'Student'?"

"Apprentice, pupil, whatever."

"Yep, gold star," Peter says, grinning.

Wade smiles right back and Eddie rolls his eyes.


Whew, that was, what, almost 3,000 words? Damn, I hope you guys don't get used to this, 2,000 words is difficult enough. Thanks for reading!