It took Peter a week to come to the decision. A fateful, irrevocable decision that would probably change his life, but maybe Deadpool's, too.

Peter had spent a day in the library, researching preternaturals like Deadpool, and it had left him reeling. The Avengers probably had a more complete file and maybe Hawkeye would give it to him, but he was reluctant to approach him or them with the request.

He didn't need it, he decided. He didn't need outsiders barging into the fragile thing he had with Deadpool, probably destroying everything.

Knowing what Weapon X had done to him, to his preternatural side, without remorse... it had Peter want to hurt someone. Kill someone.

Everything Wade had gone through had been horrifying. So very wrong all across the ethical board. But breaking a bond on purpose to make him their slave?

Horrific was a too soft word for it.

And still… he was trying. So hard. So badly. Wanted to be better, wanted to be like his personal hero…

Peter knew there was so much more involved than just hero worship. It was something coming from deep inside, latching onto the younger man in a way that shouldn't be possible, and it left Peter shaking a little.

Deadpool wasn't just a fangirlish addition to the crazy that was New York on a good day. He wasn't pretending.

I ground him, Peter repeated to himself over and over. The chimera.

It was an artificial construct; made in a lab, put together from smaller pieces and existing through sheer willpower and determination.

But it had instincts.

It was hellishly protective.

Deadpool had saved his life, had sown up a rather bad shot wound, and he had kept Peter's secret intact.

All Hawkeye had ever told him led to the belief that Deadpool was a cold, calculating and emotionless mercenary, looking out only for himself and killing people for money. He would have nothing to gain from partnering up with Spider-Man or saving his ass.

But he had.

Peter knew something was happening between them, had been feeling the pull for a while now.

So he had made a decision.

The ultimate trust exercise.

He had already laid his life in Deadpool's lethal hands.

The man was a preternatural creature and he was deadly; very, very deadly. He had seen him fight, had admired the style and strength, the smooth moves that were truly supernatural. Deadpool was a force to be reckoned with.

Peter trusted an assassin with his life, yes.

Now… with the rest of him.

SDSDSD

Revealing his identity was a big step, the biggest he could take in any relationship.

It had killed Gwen… her father… Harry…

It had endangered so many more. Like MJ.

And before all that, it had taken his uncle, had destroyed his only family.

Then there was Deadpool, the man who couldn't die and who was very well able to take care of himself. Deadpool was immortal. He could come back from even the worst of injuries.

He was safe.

He is safe, Peter thought. In every single way.

SDSDSD

Peter removed the mask and looked into the white eyes of Deadpool's own mask, meeting the gaze head-on. It was amazing how animated it was, the whites widening, the whole expression reflecting shock and disbelief. He had always marveled at how the other man was doing it, that a twitch of an eyebrow, a widening of the eyes, a frown, and so much more was reflected on the cover.

"Hello. My name is Peter Parker," he said evenly. "I'm twenty-two years old. My birthday is tomorrow. In an hour, actually. I'll be twenty-three then."

Deadpool was silent, one hand twitching as if to reach for the bare face, then it fell to his side, close to the ever-present guns. Fingers tapped over the metal, restless, nervous…

"I freelance as a photographer for the Daily Bugle. I've got a part-time job at a research lab. And I'm Spider-Man."

Peter took a step forward.

"I'm human. I was bitten by a radioactive spider at Oscorp when I was fifteen and became what you see. A mutant."

Deadpool stood stock still, the twitch gone from his hand. Normally his spider sense would be ringing loudly, but Peter didn't hear a single blip. The man in front of him was radiating danger, but it wasn't directed at Peter.

"You know my name already," Deadpool whispered, voice harsher than normal, almost painfully grating like he was speaking through clenched teeth. "You know I'm a preternatural. You know where I came from and what happened to me. Wish I could say I was bitten by a radioactive Shar-Pei, but this is just shoddy patchwork and big, fat bad luck."

Peter watched ever miniscule movement the other man made, though there was hardly any.

"I know," he confirmed. "And I trust you."

Yes, there was a flinch. Not just a twitch.

"You have proven that. You saved me, Deadpool. Many times. You talked yourself into my life."

There was a tiny head tilt.

"You never stop talking. Unless you… calm down. There have been some very calm moments," Peter added softly.

He took another step forward.

"You showed me your face, baby boy."

"You could have found out already. You are good at your job."

"The best," came the immediate correction.

"The best," Peter agreed.

Another step forward.

"And I was at your mercy, unconscious, after I got shot."

"You trust me with your face," Deadpool murmured, slowly shaking his head.

"I've trusted you with my life already."

"Not the same."

"Maybe. For me, my life is worth a lot. My identity… I know it's safe with you."

Deadpool seemed to tremble a little.

Peter was now so close, he could feel the other man's body heat. He was always so much warmer.

"You could have taken a look under the mask. It's a valuable secret. There are some very bad people out there who would want to know. I have enemies. They'd love to know who I really am, about my family and friends. You could give them that. I trust you not to sell me out, Deadpool. I trust you with everything."

The other man shuddered.

"I'm safe with you."

"You are not," was the derisive mutter. "I'm not safe. I'm broken… and what's left is a mess. Dangerous. It kills. It loves to kill. It's my job and I love my job. I'm good at it. The best," Deadpool kept going on. "I'm not safe and never will be!"

Peter looked into the white eyes. "You said I ground you. You seek me out. You like to be around me. You spend free time with me, even if there's nothing to gain. I can feel there's… something. It's leaning toward me. I can't really describe it, because I'm human and not super or preter. I'm a mutant. My senses are different from yours. Trust in your instincts, Wade. I trust in mine."

And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the mask.

SDSDSD

Deadpool felt something inside of him shatter and then reform itself. It was a brief, harsh pain that turned into a burst of yeswantneedplease!

The brief moment, that strange kiss, had his mind go blank, reboot, then crash again. Alarms were shrilling through him. Abandon shop, this is not a daffodil! All hands on deck and what's our vector, Victor?

The panic surged, then the tsunami collapsed in on itself as there was nothing to back it up.

The chimera, the nightmare, was silent. It was a stunned coil of darkness, blinking owlishly, completely flabbergasted. For the first time in its life, the surreal and horrible creature resembled more of a confused kitten than the monster it was.

Spidey… had kissed him.

He looked into the brown eyes, older than the twenty-two, soon twenty-three, years of age Peter had revealed to him.

"You are insane," he breathed. "And that's my territory," he added, mind sparking briefly. "I staked a claim there. You're poaching. This is plagiarism!"

Peter smiled softly. "If I'm insane then we fit perfectly together, don't you think?"

The smile was amazing. The whole face was… stunningly amazing and surreal. Beautiful. So young and beautiful.

So very much not what Deadpool was.

Something whispered through him, warm and needy, wanting this man and wanting what he offered.

All of it.

Forever.

Wade Wilson wanted to be able to anchor himself again, to choose Spider-Man, Peter Parker, and feel that connection, have a balance to his crazy.

But he couldn't.

And again, the sensation racing through his shattered soul, was like before.

Meeting Vanessa Carlysle, trusting his instincts, trusting her, handing over his self… because they had made him do it. They had twisted his very soul on a molecular level to do their bidding. They had destroyed Wade Wilson and reformed every part into the shape they had wanted.

Peter's touch drew him out of the impending spiral into the past, the vortex that held nothing but pain and blinding memories of having her die in front of him.

He had known Vanessa for a very short time, had reacted to her in his altered state, and it had felt like a lifetime had been taken from him.

Instincts.

He still had them and they had served him well.

Now those instincts were painting a new picture, one that included Spider-Man, had included Spider-Man for so long now. The young man with the perfect skin, the beautiful face, the dark eyes, the tousled bedhead hair…

He wanted.

Wade Wilson… Deadpool… the chimera… they all wanted, clamoring to take and claim and give up what he no longer had… It was a dark storm rising inside his fractured mind, overtaking his last rational thought, and a growl left his lips. He startled himself with the primal sound.

He grabbed Peter's wrists and pushed the younger man against the wall, leaning in close, feeling the steady rumbles in his chest. It was like a vice around his heart, his lungs, everything. It was constricting, pulling ever tighter, trying to suffocate him as it tried to get free.

There was no fear in those amazing eyes.

"You have no idea what I am!" he whispered.

"I do. And I want this, Wade. As fast or as slow as you want it."

"I can't! I'm broken! It doesn't change!"

"Maybe it has and you didn't notice."

"This can't!" he snapped. "It won't ever heal because it's ashes and blackened bones! It's incapable of…" He groaned. "It can't," he repeated desperately.

Spider-Man would be able to easily shake off the grip he had on him, but he wasn't even trying. He just looked at the mercenary, waiting.

Waiting…

For…

The curl of wantneedplease!

Wade let his head drop against the slender shoulder, feeling a renewed tremor. He was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

"You are crazy, baby boy."

There was a hand resting on his neck. When had he let go of Peter's wrists? The hand squeezed it gently.

Lips brushed over his temple. Covered temple.

"Crazy," he repeated.

Peter hummed softly.

The hand on his neck was still resting heavily there, warm and strong, forming a connection that was growing stronger by the minute.

"Do you want me?"

Wade groaned and shook his head against that nice, strong shoulder, feeling that nice, strong hand on his neck.

"Do I want you? Do I want you?! I want you so badly… I want to grab that ass and never let go. I want to push you down and have my wicked way with you. So, so wicked. Been touching myself thinking of your spandex-clad body. I want everything. And it's all bad. It's amazingly bad. So bad, bad, bad…"

The hand squeezed gently, interrupting his flow of words.

He inhaled sharply, Peter's scent heady and heavy, enveloping him. He felt that grounding sensation, that fragile anchor that had calmed him so many countless times before.

Deadpool raised his head.

Peter was smiling.

"This is bad," he murmured again.

"I think it feels good."

Another squeeze.

Deadpool dared to wrap an arm around the slender waist. "Too good."

"Calmer?"

He shivered. Yes, calmer. So much calmer and clearer. Peter was his balance, his anchor…

Maybe it was possible.

After such a long time.

Maybe something had healed, recovered, reset. Maybe… he could have this, make it his.

Mine, came the purr through the chaos in his head.

It sounded sinister, hungry, like the beast it was. There would be no controlling what he might do it he let go, let himself fall. Hellhounds didn't take, didn't hurt, didn't bite into the soul of the person they chose. But Wade had died and that part was long gone now. The chimera had no such safe guards.

Mine.

He balked. His defenses started to flare into existence as his mind presented him with what he truly was, what was underneath the suit, what broke mirrors and had people change to the other side of the road. It told him that the ugly was also inside him, would touch this beautiful person and tear him apart.

The chimera wouldn't stop.

It would only take.

No one could handle that. Nothing in this crazy world had been born to bond to a chimera, because a chimera wasn't natural.

"You don't want this, baby boy," he ground out. "Getting bound to this… this… You don't know what's underneath this sexy getup!" he suddenly snapped and pulled back abruptly.

Peter let his hand slide from its resting place on his neck and Deadpool mourned it while simultaneously calling himself a fool.

"Do you know what they did to me?!" he hissed, gesturing at his face, his whole body. "Do you know what this looks like? Your nightmare, Spideyboy! You wouldn't touch this with a ten foot pole! You wouldn't want to catch any of this! And I can't promise not to ravage that perfect body of yours if you give yourself to me! The chimera is viciously territorial when it comes to a mate."

"So are we normal humans. Especially this one."

Strong fingers flexed. Deadpool felt his preternatural traits rise, snarling softly at the words. He wanted this and then again he couldn't let himself have it.

Once burned… or in his case, head shot and bye-bye Wade.

"I know you have a skin condition."

He snorted disdainfully. Yeah, right. Skin condition. The lab heads from Weapon X had been convinced they had failed when the healing factor had turned him into this monster. He had seen the horror and disgust in their eyes, the pity.

"I know of the scars. I've seen part of your face."

"Seen a part, seen all? Think again! It's everywhere, baby boy. And I mean everywhere! You don't want to touch this. You don't want to fuck with it either. You don't want the night terror touch your very soul! Because that's what you're offering, do you understand? Your soul! To this! It's just as ugly, just as twisted as my shell!"

Peter approached him again, so very open and accepting, so very patient.

Oh, Deadpool wanted. So much. So very, very much.

Bad Deadpool.

Now, now, now, clamored in his head. Not really a voice. Just… instinct. So very much pushing forward and overruling everything else.

Bond.

Not just grounding himself for the moments they shared, but giving him true balance and purpose.

Everything he had had for moment.

Before Vanessa had been killed.

"I can't lose this again," he blurted, fingers clenching into the fabric of his mask as he sank to his knees. "No bullet to the brain can erase that hole again! It happened once. It was enough. It created this. I can't!"

Peter knelt down in front of him. "I'm not Vanessa."

Deadpool pushed his fists against his eyes, feeling those nightmarish memories rise unbidden. His mess of a mind twisted them into something even worse and he felt like throwing up.

Peter touched him, calming the uproar of darkness. It was so easy to let himself fall…

He wanted… wanted and needed… craved…

Not Vanessa.

But he would destroy this. There was no proof he could really bond, that this sensation was more than wishful thinking on his part. The chimera wasn't real. This couldn't be real.

This was him about to destroy purity and goodness.

And Peter pressed his lips against the mask again.

SDSDSD

Deadpool bolted.

Fled.

Scrammed.

His mind short-circuited, drowning in the deafening roars of the chimera, sounding like a million screams from a million voices.

The flight reaction was automatic. He had reached the end of the rope, emotional and whatnot, and he pulled the emergency stop.

His already chaotic mind erupted into a cacophony of sounds and Deadpool did the only thing he could, aside from shooting himself in the head: he jumped over the wall, dropping several stories, crashing through a skylight.

And he was gone.

SDSDSD

Peter didn't follow.

His expression reflected sadness and longing, and deep down inside something warm and gooey curled up, waiting.

He wasn't desperate, he wasn't ready to scream out his frustration. Actually, he had kind of expected this.

Deadpool was a complex man with a terrible past and more demons than he could count. It had to be hell inside his head sometimes; a hell Peter had been able to ease.

"Well, damn, that went well," he muttered and pulled on the mask again.

He needed more patience.

And he had it.

Peter was serious about all of this, about the anchor bond, about the connection to Deadpool. He felt the blossoming little buds inside him, could clearly make out the vortex at the other end. He looked at it and felt no fear.

It looked back and it was terrified.

tbc...