Next chapter will be out Monday. Sorry you're having to wait on me!
CHAPTER WARNING: If throwing up squicks you out, proceed to the first paragraph with caution.

Chapter summary: Peter loses his lunch and Wade, too. He makes a call.

Chapter Six: Removal

Peter dropped his phone and immediately stood up, face pale a sheet of copy-paper. He looked around wildly for a bathroom and bolted for it. He wasn't the type who threw up easily, but right now, everything he'd just put into his stomach was forcibly coming back up. He didn't even get to lock the door behind him before he was bent over the toilet, losing the bits of sandwich that hadn't even been broken down by his stomach acid - which burned like all hell because it hadn't had the time to be diluted.

His brain had flatlined completely, and was taking its sweet time booting back up. There were over twenty-million people living in New York, and Deadpool had been the one to match him. Even though Peter had taken precautions and made sure in every way he possibly could that it wasn't Deadpool, it was still Deadpool. The man was married - what the fuck was he doing on a dating app? Did his partner know? Had they broken up? Was Deadpool cheating? Why had Peter fucking said yes at all when he saw the name Wade Wilson?

He sucked in air like it was going out of style and set his cheek against the rim of the toilet seat. The porcelain was cool against his now-fevered face, and it helped him feel like maybe he wasn't about to give in to another round of hurling up his internal organs.

What the actual fuck should he do? He couldn't just stay cooped up in the bathroom the entire rest of the day. He shakily stood up and pressed down on the lock with his thumb, the soft click sounding impossibly loud to his overstimulated senses. He could hear movement outside, could hear the barista asking if 'he' was okay. He heard footsteps and then the bell ring from the door opening. Then there was only silence. Had… had Wade…?

Peter made his way over to the sink and stared at his reflection. He looked terrible. He turned the knobs and cupped his hands under the flow before sloshing it up onto his face. He repeated the process, but this time the water went in his mouth, and he gargled it and then spit it back out. He grabbed some toilet paper, blew his nose (which was runny from snot and bile), and flushed it along with his former stomach contents. He went back to the sink. Shit. Shit. How had he not noticed that it was Wade's voice that was so familiar before? Was he really that dumb? Sure it was usually muffled slightly by a mask, and he usually sounded arrogant and loud, not withdrawn and mopey… but still. Red flags were cropping up everywhere as he remembered how his morning had gone. How could he have been so stupid?

Peter ran his hands under the water again, and raked them up over his face and into his hair. He had to leave this cramped room eventually, and it didn't sound like Deadpool was out there anymore. Why had he run off, when he'd seemed to be having a good enough time with their date? Peter felt himself grow faint again. What if Deadpool knew Peter was Spider-Man? He patted his back pocket for his phone before he realized, with a sickening stutter of his heart, that he'd left it out there with the game still up and running. He ripped open the door (then winced when he heard the metal hinges squeal), and looked for his mobile. A panicked thought that maybe Deadpool had stolen it crossed his mind, and that would make sense as to why he'd left so abruptly.

But it was sitting on the table neatly, put there with purpose.

Peter felt numbness wash over him, from head to toe right then. The woman at the counter frowned in his direction and asked if he was okay. Peter nodded on reflex.

"Your friend left," she said, looking like she had no idea what to say, like she was somehow butting into their private business. "I didn't see which way he went, though…"

Peter sunk into the couch cushions, his eyes never leaving his screen. His screenname was there, plain as day, at the bottom left corner just under his experience bar. The first time he and Deadpool had met after the app came out, Peter had, as Spider-Man, taken over Deadpool's Gym. As much as he wanted to say differently, Deadpool wasn't an idiot. He could have easily put two and two together. Or three and three. How obvious had Peter been, exactly? He was wearing tight jeans, his arms were showing… he'd fit the body-type of the vigilante hero, and Deadpool had made it more than clear that he'd been eyeballing him nearly every single time they found each other. Spider-Man was on team Instinct, and Deadpool would have seen that, along with YoItsSpidey after he'd wrecked the other man's Gym.

He reached out a trembling hand and picked up his phone, still unable to tear his gaze from it. When he had dropped it, Wade must've picked it up for him and seen everything… He knew Spider-Man's face. He knew his name is Peter Parker. He knew the general area of where he lived. He knew his age, his sexual preferences, and he knew his secret identity. Peter felt like he might just throw up again.

He thought about how Deadpool had often sucked up to him while they were in costume, but how much money would it take for him to sell Peter's name? A quick Google search would tell that most photos of Spider-Man that the Bugle printed came from him. His name and face would be all it took to find out his phone number, his address, where he attended school, his previous address that was where his aunt still lived, his aunt's name, the police report and obituary of his uncle… oh, God. He only noticed as he was getting up that Wade had completely abandoned his coffee. Peter did the same, leaving the last few bites of his food as well, before he jogged out the door. The second he was outside he spun around, looking frantically for the lumbering man in a dark hoodie. He didn't see anyone who even kind of fit that description.

"Wade!" he shouted, but there was no response (save a few people telling him to shut up and pushing past him). Peter looked across the street, looked for anywhere he could get into to sneak up to a rooftop so he would have a better vantage point. He snuck between the coffeeshop and the bookstore next to it, barely able to squeeze past the trash cans at the mouth. He threw a look down the slim alleyway to check to make sure no one was looking before he started climbing the wall. Once he reached the roof, he pulled himself up onto it and ran to the edge that overlooked the street.

He didn't see Wade anywhere. He didn't have his web-shooters or his costume with him, so there was absolutely no way for him to scour the area to find a known criminal in disguise who currently wanted to stay hidden in the crowd.

Peter's knees gave out and he fell. His brain lagged behind for several seconds before he even realized that he couldn't stand up. His legs were tingly and sensitive, and he was shaking like a leaf in a storm. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud that he could barely hear the chatter down below, and his breathing was sharp and painful, burning like he'd inhaled fresh embers. His vision was starting to blacken at the edges, and it looked like he was peeking out at the world through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars.

A panic attack. He was having a panic attack.

Knowing that didn't stop any of it, but at least he was conscious enough of himself to take note of it at all. It felt like forever that he was up there cooking in the heat on the scalding roof, curled in on himself, unable to catch his breath or calm himself down. Finally, though, he felt his muscles untense, felt like his thoughts were attempting to swim through a thick bale of cotton, and like he had just run a fifty-mile marathon. For a few more minutes he laid there, trying to get control over his body again. He felt like his movements were delayed, and he wasn't entirely sure he was actually upright and sitting for several more moments. He was still trembling, but it was definitely manageable now. All his body wanted to do was fall asleep, but he knew he couldn't do that. Not yet.

He palmed around for his phone until he found it lying a foot away from him. It must have fallen out of his pants. He stared at it, trying to remember what he had been about to do.

Aunt May.

He dialed her number (after typing it wrong multiple times in a row) and held the speaker to his ear. It rang six times before she picked up.

"Hello?"

Just hearing her voice calmed him slightly.

"Hey Aunt May," he said, and he huffed at himself in annoyance at how he'd slurred his words out.

"Peter?" she asked, sounding bewildered. "Oh, honey, what happened?"

There was no way she wouldn't know something was up just from his greeting. "I'm okay. It's just really hot."

"Peter, you need to get inside! You sound like you're about to collapse!"

He laughed, but even that sounded weak. "I'm in the shade right now," he lied. "I just… got a really bad feeling. If you see anyone weird hanging around, call me immediately. Please?"

He knew she was frowning then. "Did something happen?" she asked warily. He took in a deep breath and laid down on the baking concrete. He closed his eyes to the sunlight. Why did May have to be so smart?

"Just… remember when I used to come home late and worry you?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she said.

"Someone… someone from back then. It's just someone from back then. Please call me if you see anyone?" Even though the better advice would be to call the police, he knew the police couldn't take out a guy like Deadpool. Spider-Man could, though. Or, at least, he had a much better shot at it.

Aunt May was speechless for a long time before she said, "I will." He heard her switch what ear she was holding the phone to. "Peter, please be safe. If anything happens to you…"

"I'll be fine, I promise." He hoped he could keep that.

"You're sure about this?"

No. "Positive."

She paused. "Alright."

"Love you, Aunt May," he said.

"You know I love you, too, Peter. So, so much."

"Yeah," he said, and then they both just sat in silence, neither wanting to hang up. Peter finally pulled his phone away and tapped the red 'end call' button. He felt his stomach knot up, like that was the last time he was ever going to hear that from her again.

If Deadpool even touched one hair on her head… Well, he was definitely going to fit the name Deadpool a lot better, Peter was going to make sure of it.