Chapter's a bit on the short side, but here it is! Things are finally starting to change between them.

Chapter summary: Wade takes care of Peter, and Peter feels like a jerk.

Chapter Eight: Starved

The next time Peter woke up, he felt like a truck had hit him. Which, surprisingly, was actually an improvement from before. He cracked his eyes open and groaned quietly as sensations flooded over him. He was stiff in every joint in his body and he was housing a building migraine. His stomach felt like someone had used it as an excavation site that had dug a mile downward, hollowing out every last crevice. This was what a completely empty stomach felt like, and he was briefly grateful that this was only one of a few handfuls of times where he'd felt this way.

"Did anyone get the license plate of that Winnebago?" he asked, and the vibration of his voice caused his head to throb harder. He brought his hands up to cover his face, his thumbs rubbing along his temples in a slow, circular motion. He'd never been drunk before but if this is what a hangover felt like, he never want to touch alcohol even once in his life.

"You sound like you're feeling better," he heard someone say.

Right. Deadpool. That would also explain why it seemed like there was a television on in the background playing some infomercial about kitchen knives. (Especially since Peter didn't even have a TV, much less a place he could plug it into in his dinky apartment. It only had two outlets.) The arachnid-powered vigilante winced. Sound was bad. Sound was very bad. It sucked horribly. It sucked so much that it felt like an icepick was trying to carve out his eye-sockets.

"Kill me now," he whispered, and thankfully talking hurt less when it didn't rumble his vocal-chords. He pretty immediately regretted his choice of words, though, since he was in the presence of a deadly, had-been-super-pissed-off-at-him mercenary. But he didn't feel his spider sense go off even slightly.

"Nah, too much effort. How'm I gonna explain that to your folks? Yeah, sorry Spider-parents, Baby Boy jokingly - it is joking, right?" he asked, but he didn't pause for an answer - "begged for death and I took him up on it, my bad."

"I appreciate the concern," Peter whispered. "But could you stop talking so loud?"

Deadpool sucked in a muffled breath. "Sorry," he hissed. "You need pain killers?"

Peter debated it, but his body would require so much to have any effect, and he didn't have anything in his stomach to buffer them eating away at his organs. Plus, he was starving and probably dehydrated beyond belief, which would cause the normally workable number of meds to overdose his system. Taking care of his needs was the best way to start going after the pain.

"Just food and water," he finally answered.

"Yeah, cool, I got your back on that," Deadpool replied, before Peter heard him scramble to get to his feet. Even his footsteps on carpet were so loud to Peter that he prayed for temporary deafness with every step. "I went to get groceries while you were out," Deadpool continued, raising his whisper volume just barely, even though it wasn't necessary - Peter really should tell him he had extremely sensitive ears. "Got a bunch of water bottles and stuff, and fruits and veggies? Got microwavable dinners and white rice and some more bread for startin' you off." As he was talking, he obviously opened the freezer and pulled out a boxed meal. It sounded like he shoulder-bumped the door closed. Peter flinched.

"I'm not really sure what you like, but I stuffed the shit out of the fridge and the pantry. I think that's a pantry - er. It didn't have any shelves, so it might be a broom closet? Why would anyone keep dirty brooms and dustpans right next to the food?"

Peter, once again in his life, wished that Wade was less chatty, especially when he was nervous.

At least it sounded like he was trying to shut the microwave door gently. He shuffled something around and then padded quietly back into the room and dropped down, doing a good job of not jostling the couch Peter was effectively stranded on. "The rice should be done in a few minutes. Here's some bread to soak up the acid."

Peter felt the texture of crust bump against one of his hands, and he took the proffered food with his eyes closed. He tore up the slices and stuffed them into his mouth, one at a time, making sure to break it down as much as he could before swallowing. "Thanks," he said.

"No prob, Bob," Wade replied, but he sounded… a little sad?

Peter swallowed his second piece of bread. He had spent the last week plus being absolutely terrified that Wade was going to sell him out. That he was going to hurt Aunt May. That he was going to blackmail Peter. Meanwhile Wade had been hurt the entire time, thinking Peter hated him. Which, really, hadn't been too far off the mark. Peter remembered Wade telling him that he'd actually had high hopes for once. That for once someone hadn't been an asshole to him. But then it turned out to be Spider-Man, who was an asshole to him. Peter felt even more nauseous at the thought that he'd only seen the Merc as human before he knew Wade Wilson was Wade Winston Wilson a.k.a. Deadpool. He'd only had thoughts about how shitty Deadpool was going to be to him, never once thinking about how his instant reaction could have upset Wade. Before he knew they were the same person, he'd cared for Wade's feelings. He'd assumed Wade had feelings. But the second he knew they really were the same person, Wade no longer had feelings or personal problems he worked through in his daily life.

And what had Deadpool done when Spider-Man, running on nothing but fumes, passed out on him? He'd taken the hero somewhere safe. He took care of him. He didn't bring up how shitty Spider-Man really had been.

Peter felt like he was a genuinely horrible person then.

"Obviously not right now," he started, and tilted his head a little so that Wade knew he was specifically being talked to. "But we need to talk."

Dead silence followed. Peter couldn't even hear Wade breathe.

"We, uh, we really don't? We already talked?"

Peter sighed, irritation dripping into the action. "No. No we didn't."

Wade still wasn't breathing.

"It's not going to be a bad one. Really. I… I need to apologize."

Wade's body was suddenly working again - or, at least, he sucked in a gasp. This time he didn't turn Peter down.

The microwave beeped, and Wade jumped up to get the food, probably using it as an excuse to let the conversation end there, since trying to stop the sound was useless now. Peter flinched again and knew that he deserved that stab of pain.

"Shit, I didn't even get you a water," he heard Wade mutter, clearly forgetting he was supposed to be whispering. He came back with what sounded like an armful, and the plastic squeaked as it rubbed against itself. Yup. Peter deserved that pain, too.

"Here's the first one," Wade said, and his voice was quiet again. Peter felt the cold bottle press against his forehead, and he immediately sighed with relief. Oh, God, that felt amazing. He was more thirsty than he was hurting, though, so he took the bottle and uncapped it. He only tilted his head forward so the water wouldn't splash down his front, and he greedily gulped the entire thing down. Once he pulled away from the mouth of it, he inhaled some much-needed air.

"Jesus, Baby Boy," he heard Wade say under his breath, probably to himself. Peter felt another cold bottle press into his hand, but instead of opening it, he held it to his forehead again. He sighed in relief.

"Thank you," Peter repeated for the umpteenth time. He felt shittier and shittier as he relived their date once again in his mind, this time in a different light. He wasn't looking at Deadpool as the villain he had to protect himself and his family from. He only saw the anxious, self-deprecating Wade he'd agreed to go on a date with. He remembered telling the older man that he was thankful for Wade being himself. How lost Wade had looked in response. How he said no one had told him that before. How Peter said that they were missing out.

God, Deadpool was so much better than Peter ever gave him credit for. Still fucked up beyond belief, but definitely capable of kindness. And considering no one had gone after him, he could only assume that Wade hadn't told anyone who he was. No, it seemed he hadn't been plotting against him when he'd left the coffee shop. He'd left because Peter, who had said decent, respectful things to him, turned out to be a total dickbag who laughed about Deadpool behind his back. He'd left hurt and probably feeling the same way Peter had about his identity being spread out without his consent. They both had accidentally outed themselves, neither of them willing at all; but now they had to deal with the aftermath. Once you hit the bottom there was only the option to stay there or go back up. Maybe they could swim towards the surface together.

Peter drifted off to sleep once he had a stomach full of warmth, his now-empty bowl tipped over on the carpet with the spoon lying nearby. Two more empty water-bottles had joined the first one, and a room-temperature one was left leaning against his left temple. He actually dreamed this time.

He dreamed about Wade.