When Peter and Wade got back to the apartment with a small wardrobe for Wade, some food, and a few blankets and pillows, Peter decided he was going to have to lay down a few ground rules.
"Alright Wade, listen up." Peter sat on one of the chairs with his hands folded over each other as he leaned towards the couch where Wade had plopped himself down.
"You're going to lay down some ground rules?" Wade asked.
"How did you- nevermind, I really don't want to know. Okay, rule number one: I'm not paying for anything for you after now. You want something, you get it yourself. Rule number two: No stealing-"
"Steal? In Gotham? With Batman around? I might be able to heal from everything, but I don't want to get on his bad side, thank you very much." Wade interrupted before Peter could finish his sentence with a scoff.
"What about the car?" Peter blinked, confused.
"I stole that from some guy Metropolis," Wade winked, his hands behind his head as he lay down on couch.
"No killing people either," Peter added, rolling his eyes.
"Why would I kill people if I'm not stealing anything?" Wade smirked.
"Why'd you get the handgun?" Peter frowned, not liking where this was going one bit.
"Like I said, where else am I going to get a handgun with a bat engraved in it?" Wade explained with yet another wink.
"Moving on!" Peter declared, going back to his set of rules. "Rule three, you aren't allowed in my room."
"Not even for pranks?" Wade gave a mock look of hurt.
"Definitely not for pranks," Peter practically growled, becoming ever so much more annoyed.
"Argh, fine!" Wade sighed dramatically.
"Rule four: You have to help clean up the apartment and stuff. Rule five: Try and get yourself a job if at all possible, because you're going to help pay rent. And finally, rule six: I can make any more rules if I need to." Peter crossed his arms.
"Okay, okay, sounds reasonable." Wade nodded along. "Where am I sleeping though?"
"On the couch. I'll talk to the landlord about getting a two-bedroom if you can get a job," Peter spoke with exhaustion in his voice.
"What do you mean 'if' I can get a job?" Wade stated defensively with mock hurt. "Is it because of my face?"
"No, it's because you're so annoying you'll probably get fired your first day." Peter rolled his eyes, going straight for his bedroom.
"Wait! Where am I going to put my clothes?" Wade asked worriedly.
"There's a coat closet by the front door, just take anything of mine and throw it in my room," Peter sighed, closing his door and sitting on his bed with a sigh of relief. He decided to just go to bed.
*The Next Day*
After Peter awoke, he grabbed his phone that had been plugged in and looked slightly surprised to see that he had about three text messages on it. Looking through it, he saw they were all from the same unknown number. He opened it up and read them.
Hi
It's Dick
Grayson
He was confused before he remembered that he'd given him his number at Walmart yesterday. He decided to text him back.
Hi
He was even more surprised with the fact that he'd texted back almost immediately after he'd sent it.
How are you?
He was about to reply when Wade threw open his door and dumped a few coats and shoes into his room and left. "Wade! Shut the door!" Peter complained. "Wade? Wade! Shut the freakin' door!"
"I'm busy!" Was Wade's response from the hallway by the door where he was organizing his personal closet. With a few unkind words and grumbles, Peter got up and closed the door himself before returning to his conversation with Dick.
P: Wade's being annoying, but that's usual. Other than that I'm fine.
D: Who's Wade again?
P: The guy that was with me at Walmart. He's my uncle.
Peter didn't exactly know why he'd put that Wade was his uncle, but it was as good excuse as any. Besides, that way he wouldn't have as much explaining about why he was letting some seemingly random guy crash at his apartment to his landlord.
D: Oh, cool.
P: Not really. He kind of broke into my apartment, raided my fridge, decided I needed more stuff, and now he's crashing on my couch.
D: Wait, what? He broke into your apartment?
P: Yep. He sent a pizza man to tell me he was in town, then a few seconds later he popped in through my window.
D: Interesting
P: Yeah, I guess
D: Does he do that often or...
P: You have no idea
D: Huh. That's kind of...weird, I guess.
Ha! They have no idea that I know they're talking about me!
*Groans* I knew I'd made a mistake letting you into this story...
Can't get rid of me now!
That's the problem you-
*Back to the actual story* (Yes, it's another thing put in by Portal Potato. I insisted because I'm reading this over her shoulder as she writes.)
P: I told him he's not allowed in my room. I have a frying pan just in case though.
D: Haha!
P: Wait, so who were you with at Walmart earlier?
D: My brothers. Jason, Tim, and Damian.
P: Cool.
D: Wait, so how old are you?
P: Oh, I'm 18.
D: Cool. I'm 23, but Jason's 18, and Tim's 14. Damian's only 10 though.
Suddenly, Peter's spidey-sense kicked in. It wasn't something hurling towards him, more a...disturbance. He looked around a few seconds before he realized what it was. There, sitting on the wall, was a huge black spider, only a little smaller than his palm. He squealed, grabbed his phone and ran out of the room screaming "Kill it, kill it!"
"Kill who?" Deadpool asked nonchalantly.
"Not who, what!" Peter hid under the small table in the small space that was his dining room and looked back down at his conversation with Dick.
P: My room has been infiltrated by an arachnid intruder. I'm sending Wade in to kill it.
Hey, author person, what am I supposed to do? Should I just...shoot it?
Nah, just squish the thing with a shoe or something.
Hey, how come Peter's afraid of spiders?
I'll tell you at the end, okay? Now get back to the story already.
(Sorry, Portal can't give an insert right now, she's busy, but I'll right one for her)
D: You're afraid of spiders?
P: We have a long and complicated history.
Peter decided he'd better leave out the whole 'spiders can sense that I've got spider DNA, and a lot of spiders don't like other spiders very well and may try to eat me' part out. All he knew was that he hated spiders, and spiders hated him. So what if he dressed up in a Spiderman costume? They still hated him!
D: Really now?
Peter could practically hear Dick laughing on the other side of the phone. He may not be able to say too much about it all, but he could add something to justify himself.
P: I got bit by a spider once. I got pretty sick, and I even passed out.
D: I guess that makes sense then.
P: Yeah.
"Hey Peter, I killed it!" Wade called from his bedroom. Peter walked back in and looked straight back at the wall and back at Wade.
"Thanks, now get out of my room." Peter watched as he left, leaving the door open once again. He inwardly groaned and closed the door himself before plopping back down on the mattress that rested on the floor.
P: It's all God now, Wade killed it
*good, stupid auto-correct
D: Alright then :)
"Hey Peter, I'm making pancakes for dinner!" Wade called from the kitchen.
"Okay, whatever!" Peter called back, turning back to his phone. He looked back through his previous texts for a moment.
P: Hey, so I just realized that you asked me how I was doing, and then I never asked about you. So, how are you doing?
D: Oh, I'm fine. I kinda sprained my ankle, but I'm okay.
P: You did? How!
D: Tripped
P: Sprained ankles are the worst.
D: I personally think broken bones are worse, but yeah, they're a pain.
P: Oh, right, broken bones are definitely worse.
As Peter and Dick kept talking, he couldn't help but feel a pang of homesickness. He missed talking to Ned. Ned would always text an 'Are you okay?' if he saw a clip about Spiderman doing something dangerous on the news. Of course, Peter'd always reply with 'Yeah,' because, well, he usually was. And even if he wasn't, so long as it wasn't broken or didn't need to be set or something, his healing factor would keep it from being too big of a deal. Of course, it was nothing compared to Wade's, but it was still there.
D: I'll be right back, Jason and Tim are fighting about who knows what, and Bruce isn't home.
P: Bruce?
D: Bruce Wayne?
P: I have no idea who that is.
D: Huh. Just google him.
P: Okay...?
Dick didn't respond, and Peter assumed it was because he'd gone to make the other two stop fighting. He decided to google Bruce Wayne as his newfound friend had suggested. He got tons of pictures and news articles about the man. He read through some of them, finding out that Dick was actually his adoptive son, Tim. Damian was his actual blood son, but nobody knew who his mother was. He hadn't read anything that mentioned Jason, but he figured that Jason was probably adopted too.
He kept looking through different articles, then he decided that if Dick's dad had this many photos, then Dick himself might have a few, and then he could have a picture for his contacts. So, he found one of Dick glaring down at something, probably his younger brother. He added that as the new picture for his contact information.
A little over two hours had passed by and Peter had begun to wonder why Wade hadn't called him in to eat the pancakes he'd said he'd been making. So, he walked over to the door. He could smell the pancakes, so maybe he just hadn't heard him call him in.
As soon as he opened the door, his jaw dropped. Wade was in full costume, apparently preferring that over his regular clothes, flipping pancakes at the stove. Not very jaw-dropping. No, what was jaw-dropping were the piles upon piles of pancakes already made. There were about ten plates laid out with huge piles on each of them.
"What the- Wade!" Peter yelled. The man turned around, still expertly flipping his pancake.
"What? I said I was making pancakes." Wade turned back to the stove.
"Do you even know how many pancakes you have!" Peter stared at the piles in absolute horror.
"237." Wade placed his newest pancake on the pile and added a new bout of batter into the pan. "238,"
"We can't eat all of this!" Peter closed his eyes, hoping that perhaps this was some sort of twisted dream.
"Hey, you're lucky! I once made 372,6844 pancakes at once. Smelled like victory." Wade, or rather Deadpool as he was in costume, wiped a fake tear from his face. As soon as that was said, he grabbed his newest pancake. As he poured the next pancake into the pan, he muttered a "239..."
"Why? Why would you do this?" Peter clutched his head. Wade simply shrugged. Peter's phone dinged right at that second, alerting him that Dick had probably texted him back.
D: Hey, I'm back. Sorry it took so long, I kind of got punched in the face.
P: Ouch. Hey, you wouldn't happen to want any pancakes, would you?
D: Why?
"Hey, D P, drop down, I wanna take a picture!" Peter yelled at the cook, who took off his mask to pose with his pancakes, adding the one he'd been cooking to the pile. Peter rolled his eyes, snapped the picture, careful not to get Wade's costume in it, and sent it to Dick.
D: Holy cow! What?!
P: There's about 240. We need help.
D: Do you think you could transport them here? I've got a butler who I'm sure would love to not have to cook tonight, and three brothers who could help eat that.
P: I think so
D: Great. You've got GPS, right?
P: Yeah
D: Just plug Stately Wayne Manor in and it should show up.
P: K
"Alright, Wade. We're bagging these up and heading to Wayne Manor." Peter announced. He grabbed some Walmart bags and began plopping the pancakes inside them. It took twenty-six to fit all the pancakes inside. Wade was about to walk straight out the door before Peter yelled at him that he needed to change out of his suit first. Wade grabbed his clothes with a huff out of his closet and walked over to the bathroom.
Peter placed the pancakes carefully in the car. Most of them were still intact, save a few dozen. When Wade got back, he was wearing a cat taco galaxy shirt and jeans with a hat.
When they got there close to twenty minutes later, Peter turned to Wade with a stern look on his face. "So help me, if you act like an idiot I'll take that gun from Walmart and shoot you in the face." He threatened, knowing full well Wade would be fine anyways.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Wade rolled his eyes, but a grin popped up on his face. Peter regretted that threat immediately, because he was sure that Wade was going to say something stupid now. As Wade parked the car, they were greeted by an older looking man wearing a suit.
"I assume you are Peter and Wade?" The man asked in a British accent. Peter assumed this was the butler that Dick had mentioned.
"Uh, yeah." Peter nodded, slightly nervous. Peter got out of the car and grabbed some of the pancakes.
"I can help you with some of those if you like," Alfred smiled politely.
"Sure," Peter had about four bags piled on his arms. "By the way, Wade, you're officially banned from making any kind of meal."
"What? I didn't even make that many!" Wade complained, grabbing a few bags himself. The butler grabbed a bunch as well.
As they walked into the house, the butler, who Peter still didn't know the name of, opened the door and lead them straight to the dining room. Peter set his bags of pancakes on the table, as did the other two.
They went back to get the remainder of the bags, and when they were finished, Dick had come to the dining room himself to greet them. "Hey Peter! Wade." He gave a friendly smile.
"Hi." Peter smiled too.
"Oh, this is Alfred by the way," Dick motioned to the butler, who shook hands with each of them.
"Hey Alfred, could you call the others in for dinner please?" Dick asked as he sat down at the table. He invited Peter and Wade to sit on his right. The other three came in, all of them staring at the piles of pancakes and other people that they only vaguely recognized.
"Jason, Tim, Damian, this is Peter and Wade." Dick introduced.
"Wait, aren't you the guy who bought that gun at Walmart yesterday?" Jason looked at Wade, who nodded enthusiastically. The others kind of became a bit tense.
"Don't worry, I made sure he didn't bring any weapons with him." Peter intervened. Of course, he hadn't actually particularly checked, but his spidey-sense would have alerted him had he done so.
"Yeah, yeah," Wade waved the fact off.
"Let's just eat, shall we?" Dick decided. The others nodded in agreement.
A few minutes later, another man wearing a suit walked into the room. Peter instantly recognized him as Bruce Wayne.
"What in the world-?" Bruce stared at the table filled with pancakes questionably. He then turned to Alfred, who pointed to Dick, who pointed to Peter, who pointed to Wade, who was currently eating his fourth pancake. After a second, Bruce realized he didn't know who these two people were. Peter also took notice that he didn't even do a double-take on Wade's face. He glanced at Dick who shrugged. Bruce, deciding he'd better introduce himself, walked over and gave both of them a handshake, polite smile, and stated that his name was Bruce Wayne and that it was a pleasure to meet them.
"So...why so many pancakes?" Bruce looked at them both.
"It was all Wade. I go to my room, and he says that he's going to make pancakes for dinner, and I don't think anything of it. A few hours later, I'm wondering why making a couple of pancakes is taking so long, and just assume that I just didn't hear him call me out to eat them. I walk out to see that." Peter motioned to the pile of pancakes all over the table.
"Oh come on, it's not even my record!" Wade gave a wicked smirk. The one Peter recognized as Jason paled slightly.
"What is your record?" Tim asked, seeming genuinely curious.
"372,844." Wade smirked proudly.
"I am so glad I wasn't around to see that," Peter mentioned.
"...How?" Tim blinked. "How is that physically possible."
"I like to think I defy a lot of things that are said to be physically impossible." Wade smirked. Some of the family snorted in disbelief.
"I, for one, do not believe such a preposterous idea," The youngest one, Damian, spoke out.
"I'm sorry if I offend you with this question, but what exactly happened to your face? You don't have to answer if you don't want to." Bruce asked, genuine curiosity and a need-to-know look sparkling in his eyes.
"Well-" Wade started, but Peter interrupted.
"Don't believe everything he says, he likes making things overly dramatic." Peter warned them.
"As I was saying," Wade smiled, "Well, I was in a huge fire. Everybody else there either got out, or died, except me. I got some pretty bad burns."
"That's...actually the truth. Wow, did not actually expect that." Peter, of course, knew he was still lying, but hey, the Wayne's didn't. At least, he didn't think they did.
Either way, after dinner the two of them drove back with a bunch of leftover pancakes. They wouldn't really need any food for a long while.
"Well, they seemed nice," Wade remarked.
