They would patrol together. Still go out every night, watch the streets, apprehend the occasional bad guy, and now and then one of the more advanced baddies made a run for something or other.
Peter would shoot pictures of Spider-Man, now with his sidekick Deadpool, and sell them.
"Why?" Deadpool asked as they waited out a viciously cold and stormy shower underneath a low overhang on a roof top.
"Pays the bills."
He snorted. "Barely, I'd say."
Because Peter was struggling. He was still interviewing for a full-time job that paid above minimum wage in a lab. So far, no luck. Either labs were looking for cheap help, refusing to pay more than absolutely necessary to keep someone for longer than a month or two to finish a project, or they were asking for work experience rivalling Peter's actual age, while the candidate still had to be under thirty.
Spider-Man shrugged. "Gotta make a living anyway I can."
They sat very close together, Spidey in his crouched position, a warm, welcome weight next to Deadpool. Deadpool in turn was leaning a little into the lithe body, humming softly to himself, watching the rain. People below were hurrying through the shower, some with umbrellas, most using newspapers or their bags to attempt to keep dry.
Lost cause.
Spidey shivered a little and Deadpool cocked his head.
He didn't say anything.
His protective instinct was clamoring at him to keep Peter warm, but he knew he would get more than a verbal whack on the nose.
Still, it was hard to hold his tongue.
But he did.
Good Deadpool.
SDSDSD
Somehow they migrated back to Peter's place anyway, both sopping wet. Spider-Man's costume, already skin-tight, was now truly molded to his body, showing all those nicely defined muscles.
Spidey disappeared in the bedroom for a while, coming out in fluffy sweats and towel-tousled hair, glasses firmly on his nose.
Wade felt something in him stir with a vengeance.
He wanted this.
So, so badly.
He clamped down on the all too human desire… no, not human. Never human. It was his preternatural side and it was hungering. Dangerous. Lethal to everything it touched. It would destroy this forever, twist and mangle Peter into something he wasn't and never wanted to be.
"You might want to dry off."
Deadpool caught the towel out of reflex.
Yes, he was soaked through. He was cold, but didn't really mind. He was leaving a puddle where he stood and, well, oops.
"I'll go. Think I left the lights on or the stove burning or something. Might have a cat to feed."
"Wade. Don't."
There was no heat behind the words. Never an order or a command. Just a request. A voice so soft and low, so intimate in his own ears, it touched the broken parts and made them shiver.
Peter had offered once more. It was clearly an offer and the chimera wanted it, whining low and needy in the back of Deadpool's mind. For once it didn't try to grab onto the flimsy connection, bite and claw at it. It was slinking around the anchor, nosing at it, wanting to curl closer.
It seemed an almost tame reaction that had Deadpool thrown and unsure.
Looking into the open face, seeing the seriousness, the acceptance, the very need Wade felt himself reflected back at him…
"I think I've got some stuff that might fit you," Peter continued as if he was oblivious to the inner chaotic turmoil. "You can wait out the weather. We can have leftover take-out? Watch TV?"
So tempting. Like baby boy was tempting. Like he was perfection wrapped in beauty, topped with an enticing cherry surrounded by deliciously sweet, whipped cream.
This was the apple and the apple pie all in one. A la mode, too. Big glob of delicious vanilla ice cream, though Deadpool somehow doubted Peter was vanilla. Nope. Never vanilla.
It was his downfall. Not his first sin, really not very original either, but it felt like it.
He should leave.
Staying only made it so much worse each time, but Wade wanted that pain, preferred it to the numbness of before.
Peter just shrugged and walked over to the couch, plopping down. Deadpool had no idea when he consciously decided to go into the bedroom, strip off the soaked costume. He grabbed some of Peter's clothes that were baggy enough to hide inside.
His eyes fell on his scarred hands, then he glanced into the mirror.
Brown eyes, a silver ring surrounding the irises, gazed back. The only ever outward sign of his preternatural side. Now on full display as the chimera pushed forward, scrabbling at the door of its cage to be let out and take what had been presented to him.
Weasel had described his condition in all kinds of creative ways. Wade tended to agree. Weasel was also one of the few people he had been himself with, without the mask.
Because he had seen the way others treated him when he sat in a booth at the bar, drinking, eating, his face for them to see. He could see their revulsion and pity, the questions in their minds.
Deadpool drew up the large hood, letting it fall as far into his face as he could, then pulled the sleeves down as far as they would go. He would have preferred gloves. And his mask.
SDSDSD
Peter didn't really do more than look up, like a glance, when Wade exited the bedroom, dressed in layers and hiding within the borrowed clothes. There was hardly anything to see, the hoodie functioning almost like his Deadpool mask, and he kept his head down.
Food was on the table, microwaved leftover Chinese, Thai and some Mexican. It was an odd mix of half- eaten rice with beef or chicken, burritos, one taco, half a pizza, and some garlic bread he had managed not to turn into a soggy mess.
Deadpool hesitated for a long second, then settled down on the couch, scooting a little away into a corner and cradling the burrito in his hands.
Hands that were hidden inside the too long sweater.
"You get the sleeves greasy, you wash it," Peter only remarked.
The other man stilled, then, after another long second, pushed his hands out of the safety net that was the hoodie.
Scarred hands, looking like covered in uneven burns that had healed badly, interlaced with white lines and some still reddish slashes. There wasn't a good patch to be seen, but they looked hardly like Peter wanted to bring up his dinner again. There were no open, weeping sores, no tumors, no bleeding cracks, just… bad skin.
He had actually seen worse.
He had fought against super-villains who had looked like something the cat had brought up again.
This… this wasn't stomach-turning. This was far from the horror Wade always made it seem.
Peter grabbed the remote and switched on the TV, zapping through it until he settled on a rerun.
Wade started to eat, face in shadows, angling himself in a way that insured Peter couldn't catch a glimpse. He had seen the lower half of his face countless times, covered in taco or pizza sauce. He had seen him eat.
Still, Peter never turned to stare, just keeping his own body relaxed.
Wade started to mirror it after a while.
SDSDSD
This was how Casual Fridays started.
Not always on a Friday and casual was open for interpretation, but it meant masks off and no costumes.
Deadpool always wore a basecap, pulled deeply into his face, with a big hood covering the rest of his head, or just a vastly oversized hoodie, his face in shadows.
But he more readily showed his bare hands.
Peter counted it as a win.
He didn't try to peek, respected the boundaries, and the low lighting Deadpool chose for those get-togethers. He stayed out of immediate reach and kept himself turned at an angle that didn't allow much peeking anyway.
SDSDSD
The mellow feeling between them was growing, both comfortable in their skins.
For Wade, being comfortable in that skin was a new sensation.
For the chimera, the skin was changing, becoming less oppressive. It started to flex claws that had been dull and blunt, now sharp and gleaming. And behind it, wing-like shadows spanned the vortex it resided in.
It stretched languidly, unfolding to its full size, all sinewy power and grace.
Deadpool could feel the changes, could almost touch a part of him that had been undead for so long.
It felt good.
Insanely good.
SDSDSD
Peter never verbally offered again, but he made sure that Wade knew it was still on the table.
When Deadpool stopped sitting as far away on the couch as was humanly possible, when he let himself relax into side-to-side contact, especially with lights off and only the TV shedding any kind of illumination, Peter saw it as a next big step.
The hood was still pulled down low, but it was a win.
SDSDSD
Sometimes he wished he could talk to someone about this. Whatever this was. It might help to get an opinion from someone with an outside view. It might help to just talk.
But there was no one.
Hawkeye, or any of the Avengers, wasn't on his list for heart to heart talks. Aunt May had no clue about Spider-Man, about Peter's secret life and everything connected to it, and she had no idea her nephew was getting close to a preternatural. A preternatural who might just be able to bond, and that person was Peter Parker, who was willing to be the chimera's anchor. MJ, while a friend who knew who Peter was, wasn't high on the list either. Peter wanted to keep her out of his hero life as much as possible.
So, there was no one.
He was on his own and so far, he thought he was handling matters as best as possible, in his very humble opinion. Wade was taking small steps in accepting that Peter really wanted to be close to him, wanted to get to know Wade Wilson, not just Deadpool.
And he wanted him to understand that he accepted the chimera. Wasn't afraid of it.
Never really had been.
Peter briefly wondered if there was a self-help guide out there tackling that specific problem, but he doubted it. Not even the trashiest of boulevard magazines could come up with their crazy-ass connection, let alone a chimera to start with.
SDSDSD
When he saw him inspect the web shooters, fascination and pure interest on his masked features, Peter had to laugh a little.
"You made these?" Deadpool asked, sounding intrigued.
"Yeah. My first shooters were cobbled together from a watch and bicycle parts."
Deadpool gave a soft whistle. "And you made the sticky stuff."
Peter nodded. "A variation of a so-called bio cable. Ten times stronger than steel."
"Smart little spider." Deadpool peered at the tiny nozzles. "That's how you vary the web designs."
"Kinda. Lots of trial and error. I changed a lot over the years. I still keep developing stuff."
"Smart," the other man repeated, voice soft. "So very, very smart."
Peter took the web shooters from him, slender fingers brushing along Deadpool's. He felt the uneven skin, just for a moment, but that wasn't what had him fight the goose bumps.
He wasn't a teenage girl and hormones, while there, didn't rage through him unchecked. He was reacting on an almost abstract level, one connected to the preternatural in the other man, and it was flaring now and then.
"Oscorp would sue the last penny off my broke ass if they knew how I… borrowed from them to make these. Stole a few of their ideas here or there."
Wade chuckled. "Peanuts for them, baby boy."
Peter shrugged and fiddled with the web shooters.
"You are very talented, Petey. A self-made hero."
"Like you?" he teased.
"I'm still in training," Deadpool answered with an audible smirk. "Learning from the best."
SDSDSD
Deadpool still marveled at the whole situation. At Peter, being so relaxed around him, so accepting. That he wanted to touch him. Not as Spider-Man and Deadpool touching; as Peter caressing Wade's skin and enjoying warm, human contact.
He didn't need to force himself onto the other man; Spider-Man let him.
Voluntarily.
It boggled the mind.
He had tried to discuss it with Weasel, but the other man had waved him off.
"TMI, dude. I don't want to know about your sex life any more now than I did before! Leave me out of the perv."
But there was no perving. It was weird and strange and he was unaccustomed to it, but while he still enjoyed the sights, still made crude jokes about assets and more, he privately thought of other things.
While wanking in bed or the shower.
Repeatedly.
Deadpool was simply glad he had a healing factor or he might just develop carpal tunnel or, worse, his dick would spontaneously combust or fall off.
He loved his little spider.
Deadpool was pretty sure of that.
SDSDSD
They patrolled together every chance they had, kicking alien ass when the Avengers couldn't contain their latest dimensional problem and some of the things escaped, running rampant.
Deadpool got to shoot them for their troubles of trying to invade New York City.
He was a very happy camper.
SDSDSD
It had been Liberty Island, of all places, where the latest Portal Incident ™ had taken place.
Lady Liberty had survived, with just a few scratches and one massive burn mark near her right foot.
The alien invaders were smoking husks.
Deadpool sat on an overturned alien… chariot, for lack of a better description. He looked like fried chicken, all charred and flaking leather, humming the Indiana Jones theme to himself. There were a few holes in the suit, but nothing too bad, and the skin underneath was covered by soot. He was moving his head in rhythm to the theme song, wiping off blood and grime from the katanas.
Peter joined him, hopping easily up onto the alien machine. He was exhausted, his own costume singed and featuring burn holes. His skin was reddened, but nothing really bad. Nothing that blistered or oozed.
Deadpool… well, there might be just that underneath all the charred bits sticking to him. It was always hard to tell with the color scheme and the leather armor over the spandex.
They didn't talk, just shared closeness, and Deadpool seemed to relax a little more than he usually would himself allow to in such situations.
"Spider-Man."
He looked up at his name. Iron Man stood in front of him, face plate up. There was a bruise on Tony's cheek, the armor featuring dents where dents shouldn't really be.
"Deadpool," Tony added, though he sounded like he didn't want to even acknowledge the other man was here.
The mercenary inspected his damaged glove, then wriggled his fingers happily at him. "Man of Steel. Whoops. Copyrights and product placement! My bad, Tin Can."
Tony ignored the words, looking at Peter instead. "You did good."
Despite being ignored, Deadpool visibly beamed. "Do we win a prize for most shot down aliens? I got fifteen of them at least. Do triples with one bullet count as doubles? I was down to three bullets and I really made them count. Not that bullets can count, but it counted." He winked exaggeratedly.
Tony rolled his eyes. "No."
"Aw, shucks. Should've read the fine print. You always stiff me out of my prizes."
Peter couldn't contain an amused smile underneath his mask.
"SHIELD will have a clean-up crew here ASAP," Captain America announced as he joined the group. "The EMP blast has taken out a wide radius. Police and emergency response units are having a hard time getting through. The Quinjet is unaffected. The EMP shield held."
Cap nodded at Tony, then gave Wade a frown as the merc continued to list his kills, doing crazy ass calculations on how much alien hides would go for these days to compensate for time and money spent on this.
Deadpool ignored the look. "Save it, Pops. You called us, remember? And you said anything goes. That means any force necessary."
"We asked Spider-Man," Iron Man snarled.
"Spider-Man. Deadpool." Deadpool shrugged. "We got almost the same costume. Just look at us. Twins! Where my sensei goes, this padawan does."
"Slight mix-up," Spider-Man murmured.
"Whu-at? No way!" Deadpool turned back to the two Avengers. "So… bonus?"
"We don't pay for your help."
"You always say that and then Fury pulls out the big bag of money and I come skipping."
Deadpool sighed and pulled out a decidedly charred piece of paper from one of his many pouches. He had a pen in his other. Peter wondered how those pouches worked anyway.
"Overtime. Travel expenses. Loss of income due to emergency response to Spangled Ass's call. Dry cleaning. Just look at my suit!" he gestured dramatically. "Getting blood out is almost impossible without special products. And those costs. We also got ammo, blood, sweat and tears. Then there's two of us, so twice the costs. I get full compensation since I've finished my hero training, which Spidey can attest to. So…?"
"Not paying," Tony ground out, looking a little closer to shooting the merc than a mere five minutes ago.
Peter just watched the exchange, trying not to let his amusement show. He figured he wouldn't intervene. The Avengers called, asked them to help. Technically they asked Spider-Man, but Deadpool was truly the bonus. He had tagged along and his fire power and fighting abilities had helped. So Tony had to deal with the mercenary on his own. Peter wouldn't step in.
"Do we get at an invite to the after show party?" Deadpool wheedled. "Puleeeeeaze?"
"There is no partying."
He snorted. "Right. That's what they always say when I ask, then there's a roaring orgy going on and no one invited me!"
Iron Man's face plate snapped down and he fired up the repulsors. "Hawkeye will fly you back," he growled. "Cap? Need a lift?"
"I'm waiting for SHIELD."
Deadpool raised a hand, looking excited like a little kid seeing his hero. "Me, me, me!" he cried.
"In your dreams." Iron Man lifted off.
Deadpool switched from Indiana Jones to the Imperial March as Cap walked off.
"He's pissed," he stage-whispered at Spider-Man.
"What gave it away?"
"He's usually such a charming persona." He batted at a persistently smoking piece of leather. "All American goodness and so on. The chocolatey core of the fluffy muffin."
Peter leaned a little against him, just a moment, sharing closeness in a wide-open space. It was risky, but they were alone. The media helicopters were unable to fly due to the EMP blast and the Avengers weren't really paying them any attention.
It stopped the humming and Deadpool gazed at him, suddenly focused and quiet.
"You did good, Wade," Peter told him. "Thanks for tagging along."
"Wouldn't let you have all the fun, Spidey," he replied, humor in the low voice. "I get to shoot stuff. Deadpool happy."
"You're so easy," he teased.
"And don't you know it."
SDSDSD
Hawkeye flew them back to the city with the Quinjet, dropping them off on a roof top of their choice.
His expression was a mixture of curiosity and reluctance to ask. In the end he didn't ask.
Peter had never been more glad.
Right now, talking about him and Wade wasn't on top of the agenda. Especially to an Avenger.
SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD
Deadpool made breakfast on weekends when Peter didn't have to work.
So domestic.
The pancakes were amazing.
The frilly apron was just a little too much, but Deadpool made I work. Somehow. Yes, he was wearing the mask and only showed his mouth and nose when they were eating, but it worked.
One step at a time, Peter mused as he chewed on the most incredible blueberry pancakes he had ever tasted.
"Secret recipe," Deadpool whispered as he leaned close, waggling his eyebrows. "If you're a good boy, I might tell you."
Peter grinned and pushed the masked face out of his personal space. "Dream on."
"You are part of each of them, Spideybabe."
Deadpool went back to flipping pancakes, humming to himself. Peter just enjoyed a breakfast that left him full and warm.
That feeling deep inside his chest, that mellow warmth, hummed with pleasure.
SDSDSD
They had started a kind of living arrangement that was part roommates, part best friends, and part something that couldn't be put into words.
They worked perfectly well together, cleaning up the streets.
Sometimes they ran into the Avengers without having been asked to assist and Deadpool was his annoying, mouthy self while Peter just face-palmed and finally pulled him away. He ignored the various looks he received, though Hawkeye simply grinned now.
Deadpool was trying to change.
He really was.
He didn't kill. He rarely took any missions or assignments, and when he did, he swore on his soullessness that it was for SHIELD and had contained no killing.
Peter didn't ask in what kind of condition his enemies had been left after the fight, but he was strangely proud of the effort.
tbc...