The small town of Stillwater had gathered in full force for Wade Wilson's funeral. It was a surprisingly somber affair, considering the deceased was known more for his outrageous antics than for anything resembling decorum. But there was something about Wade—his brash charm, his occasional streaks of uncharacteristic kindness—that had endeared him to the townsfolk.

The church was packed with mourners dressed in black, their voices hushed as they shared stories about Wade's exploits.

"He saved my dog from a pack of coyotes once," said one man.

"I heard he single-handedly fixed the roof on Mrs. Grady's barn," whispered another.

Peter Parker sat in the back pew, fidgeting awkwardly with his tie. He'd gotten the call a few days ago—a town elder had found his number in Wade's phone, listed under the very flattering name,Spider-Bae.

"We thought you'd want to know," the man had said. "We're holding a service. It's the least we can do for someone like Wade."

Peter didn't have the heart to tell them the truth.

Now, as he watched the pastor speak about Wade's "heroic sacrifices," Peter tried not to laugh. The man in question was undoubtedly lying in the closed casket up front, perfectly alive and waiting for the right moment to make his dramatic reentry.

The problem wasn't that Wade had died. The problem was that Wadedidn't stay dead.

When the service ended and the crowd began to disperse, Peter lingered near the casket. He exchanged polite condolences with a few townsfolk, nodded solemnly at the pastor, and finally, when the room was empty, approached the elder who had called him.

"Do you mind if I have a moment alone?" Peter asked, keeping his voice low and respectful.

The elder nodded, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Of course. Take your time."

As the door creaked shut behind him, Peter let out a long sigh and turned to the casket.

"Alright, Wade," he muttered, stepping closer. "Cut the act. I know you're not dead."

The casket lid creaked open slightly, and a familiar voice drawled, "Yeah, no shit."

Peter groaned, crossing his arms as Wade pushed the lid fully open and sat up. He was wearing a surprisingly well-fitted suit, though his mask was still in place.

"Nice funeral, huh?" Wade said, grinning beneath his mask. "Very touching. Did you cry? Be honest."

"No, I didn't cry," Peter snapped, though his irritation was softened by relief. "What iswrongwith you? Why would you let them think you were dead?"

Wade shrugged. "Eh, I figured they'd appreciate the drama. Plus, it's not like I asked to get shot in the middle of Main Street. That part was a bit inconvenient."

Peter rubbed his temples. "You could've justtoldthem you were fine."

"And ruin their chance to throw me a funeral?" Wade said, climbing out of the casket with an exaggerated stretch. "Nah. They worked hard on this. I'm not heartless, Petey."

Peter stared at him. "You faked staying dead so they could feel better about losing you?"

"Pretty much," Wade said, brushing nonexistent dust off his suit. "See? I'm a giver."

Peter sighed, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Wade said, giving him finger guns.

Peter leaned against the edge of the casket, watching as Wade casually grabbed a cookie from a nearby refreshments table.

"So what's the plan now?" Peter asked. "You can't just walk out of here. People will freak out if they see you alive."

"Relax," Wade said, waving the cookie for emphasis. "I've got it covered. I'll sneak out, lay low for a while, and then 'miraculously' reappear a few towns over. Classic resurrection shtick. Works every time."

Peter frowned. "You're not worried about what they'll think when they find out?"

"Not really," Wade said, biting into the cookie. "These people are tough. They'll bounce back."

"That's not the point," Peter said, exasperated. "They care about you, Wade. You could at least try to explain—"

"Explain what?" Wade interrupted, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. "That I can't die? That I'm some freak of nature who bounces back from bullet holes and broken bones? They wouldn't understand."

Peter hesitated. He hadn't expected Wade to get serious.

"They'd think I'm a monster," Wade continued, his voice quieter now. "And I'm not ruining the one nice thing they have to say about me."

Peter softened, stepping closer. "You're not a monster, Wade. You're just... complicated."

Wade snorted. "Complicated. That's one way to put it."

Peter sighed. "Look, I get it. You don't want to scare them. But you can't keep pretending to be something you're not. It's exhausting."

Wade looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right," Peter said, smirking.

"Don't push it, Spidey," Wade said, but there was a hint of gratitude in his voice.

They spent the next few minutes devising a plan. Wade would slip out of town under cover of night, leaving behind a note explaining his "miraculous survival" without getting into the messy details.

"Alright," Wade said, adjusting his suit one last time. "Time to disappear. Again."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Try not to make a habit of it."

Wade grinned. "No promises."

As he climbed out the back window of the church, Peter couldn't help but call after him.

"Hey, Wade."

Wade turned, tilting his head. "Yeah?"

Peter hesitated, then smiled. "Be careful."

Wade gave him a two-finger salute. "Always am, sweetheart."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Peter alone in the quiet church.

The townsfolk were surprised but overjoyed when they found Wade's note the next morning. Stories of his miraculous survival spread quickly, adding to the legend of Wade Wilson.

Peter, meanwhile, returned to his usual life, though he couldn't shake the memory of their conversation. For all his jokes and bravado, Wade had shown a vulnerability that Peter hadn't seen before—a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

And despite the chaos Wade always brought with him, Peter found himself looking forward to the next time their paths would cross.

Because with Wade Wilson, life was never boring.