Chapter Three
One day after the disintegration
Peter was the first one awake out of the entire group of heroes. He woke slowly, groggily, with the morning light kissing his face. It was only then that he realized there was no sun, just a blanket of light in the morning.
Spider-Man also wasn't hungry, but his wounds didn't seem to be healing, either. It was a strange state of limbo, he realized, and there didn't seem to be a way out.
He glanced over at Deadpool, who was snoring softly, still in their leather suit. The changing dynamic of the group was stressful, and the grief still clung to his back, stubbornly, but at least Peter could trust the anti-hero.
Woah, where did that thought come from? Spider-Man shook his head, confused. It wasn't like he couldn't trust T'challa, or Bucky, or Dr. Strange... even if they did speak so condescendingly to him sometimes, and they didn't seem to care if he was okay...
Peter supposed it was only logical that he latched onto Wade so easily. Logical.
Spider-Man looked back at the sleeping mercenary. They were leaned in towards Peter, and their chest rose and fell, the sight calming Peter again. He sighed and buried his head in the anti-hero's chest. His eyes fluttered shut, and he was asleep.