Peter Parker pulled his mask tighter around his face, more out of habit than necessity. The streets of New York were unrecognizable, a twisted graveyard of abandoned cars, shattered glass, and crumbling buildings. Every shadow seemed to move, and every sound—distant groans, the scrape of metal against pavement—set his nerves on edge.

It had been six weeks since the zombie virus swept through the city, turning bustling crowds into ravenous hordes. In the chaos, Peter had lost contact with everyone: Aunt May, his friends, the Avengers, and... Wade.

The thought of Wade Wilson stirred something complicated in Peter's chest. Wade was reckless, irritating, and impossible to predict, but he was also loyal, brave, and—despite his reputation—surprisingly compassionate. They'd fought side by side countless times, and in the back of his mind, Peter always assumed they'd face whatever came next together. But when the virus hit, everything had gone to hell so quickly that there hadn't been time to find anyone, let alone Wade.

Peter didn't know if Wade was alive—or if he was one of them now.

He shook the thought away, gripping the edge of the rooftop he'd perched on. Dwelling on what might have happened wouldn't help. He had a simple goal: survive. He'd learned quickly that being Spider-Man didn't make him invincible. The infected didn't care about webs or agility; they were relentless, swarming with single-minded hunger.

A noise below snapped Peter out of his thoughts. He froze, listening. It was faint but unmistakable—the shuffle of feet, the guttural moans of the undead. Peering over the edge, he spotted a small group of infected stumbling down the street. They hadn't noticed him yet, but the sight still sent a chill through him. He tightened his grip on his web-shooters, ready to move if they came closer.

Then he heard it: a voice cutting through the stillness, sharp and familiar.

"Alright, you shambling sacks of stupid, who wants a katana to the face? Come on, don't be shy!"

Peter's heart skipped a beat. He knew that voice.

He looked down the street and saw him: Wade Wilson, Deadpool, standing in the middle of the road with his signature katanas drawn. His red-and-black suit was torn in places, stained with blood and grime, but there was no mistaking him. Wade moved like he always did, with exaggerated flair and zero fear, taunting the infected as they closed in.

Peter didn't think. He leapt from the rooftop, firing a web to swing down and land a few feet behind Wade. The mercenary hadn't noticed him yet, too busy decapitating one zombie with a precise slash before spinning to impale another.

"Wade!" Peter shouted, his voice cracking with relief.

Wade froze mid-swing, turning slowly. His eyes widened behind his mask, and for a moment, Peter thought he might be imagining the sheer joy in Wade's expression.

"Spidey?" Wade's voice was incredulous, but before Peter could respond, Wade broke into a run. He crashed into Peter, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug that smelled faintly of blood and sweat.

"You're alive!" Wade exclaimed, holding Peter at arm's length to inspect him. "You're not a zombie! You're not missing any limbs! You're not—oh my God, I've missed you so much!"

Peter blinked, momentarily overwhelmed. "I—I'm fine, Wade. Areyouokay? What are you even doing out here?"

"Looking for you, duh," Wade said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you have any idea how boring the apocalypse is without you? I've been talking to myself for weeks."

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Wade spun around, slicing through an approaching zombie with practiced ease. "Hold that thought, Spidey. Gotta finish the welcoming party."

Peter snapped into action, firing webs to pin a pair of zombies to a nearby car. He followed up with a well-placed kick, sending another stumbling backward. Wade, meanwhile, fought like a whirlwind, his katanas cutting through the horde with deadly precision. Within minutes, the street was silent again, the last of the infected lying motionless on the pavement.

"Now, where were we?" Wade said, sheathing his swords with a flourish. "Oh, 're alive!"

Peter smiled despite himself. "Yeah. I could say the same about you."

"Of course I'm alive," Wade said, puffing out his chest. "Zombie apocalypse or not, Deadpool doesn't die. Well, Ido, but I get better. Perks of the healing factor."

Peter shook his head, the reality of the moment finally sinking in. Wade was here, alive and unharmed. In a world that had taken so much from him, it felt like a small miracle.

"Where've you been?" Peter asked, leaning against a car. "I thought you might've—"

"Gone full Romero?" Wade finished, tapping his temple. "Not a chance. I've been looking for you, Spidey. Figured if anyone could survive this mess, it'd be you. Took me a while, though. Zombies aren't great conversationalists, and all my leads were dead ends—literally."

Peter frowned. "You've been looking for me this whole time?"

"Of course," Wade said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "You think I'd let my favorite wall-crawler face the apocalypse alone? Not a chance."

Peter's chest tightened. He wasn't used to people going out of their way for him, let alone someone like Wade. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I—I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Wade said, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders. "Just promise me we'll stick together from now on. Team Spider-Pool, taking on the zombie hordes and looking damn good while doing it."

Peter chuckled, the weight on his shoulders feeling a little lighter. "Alright, Wade. We're a team."

"Damn right we are," Wade said, pulling Peter into another quick hug. "Now, let's get out of here before more of those undead jerks show up. I know a place nearby—might even have snacks."

Peter nodded, falling into step beside Wade as they made their way down the street. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel alone. The world was still broken, the streets still crawling with danger, but as long as Wade was by his side, Peter felt like maybe—just maybe—they had a chance.

And for now, that was enough.