Peter Parker prided himself on being able to keep his cool. Supervillains, alien invasions, last-minute term papers—he could handle them all without breaking a sweat. But this?

This was...weird.

"You're telling me you've got Death following you around," Peter said, trying to keep his voice steady as he perched on a rooftop with Wade Wilson. "Like... grim reaper. Scythe and all."

Wade, dressed in his usual red-and-black suit, leaned casually against a vent, twirling one of his katanas. "Notagrim reaper, Reaper. Big D. Lady Death. She's hot, by the way. Real Goth Queen vibes."

Peter blinked, his brain scrambling to process this. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Wade gestured dramatically, his free hand flailing like a theater kid mid-monologue. "I mean, come on. Think about it. I'm Deadpool. She's Death. It's a match made in macabre heaven."

"That...doesn't explain anything," Peter muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Fine, fine," Wade said, sheathing his katana. "I'll give you the short version. I can't die, right? Healing factor, yadda yadda. Death and I? We've got shows up sometimes to hang out. No biggie."

Peter frowned. "But why does she show uphere?"

Wade shrugged. "Maybe she likes the company. Maybe she likes my face. Maybe she's stalking me." He paused, tapping his chin. "I should really ask her."

Before Peter could respond, a cold breeze swept across the rooftop, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Speak of the devil," Wade said, grinning.

Peter turned, and his heart nearly stopped.

Standing at the edge of the rooftop was a woman cloaked in black, her presence radiating an eerie, otherworldly aura. Her face was pale, her eyes deep hollows that glowed faintly with silver light. A scythe rested against her shoulder, its blade gleaming like moonlight.

"Wade," she said, her voice soft but resonant, like the echo of a distant bell.

"Deathy!" Wade exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "Looking gorgeous as always."

Death ignored the compliment, her gaze shifting to Peter. "Who's your friend?"

Peter gulped. "Uh...hi. I'm Spider-Man."

Death tilted her head, studying him. "Interesting."

"Hey!" Wade interrupted, stepping between them. "Eyes off the wall-crawler, babe. He's strictly platonic."

Death sighed. "I'm not here to flirt, Wade."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You flirt with her?"

"Who doesn't?" Wade replied, sounding genuinely confused.

Death rolled her eyes. "I need to speak with you," she said to Wade, her tone sharp. "Privately."

"Aw, come on, Deathy. Can't Spidey stay? He's like my emotional support spider."

Peter's jaw dropped. "I'mwhat?"

Death ignored them both, turning and walking toward the rooftop's edge. "Follow me," she said, her cloak billowing as she disappeared into the shadows.

Wade gave Peter a thumbs-up. "Be right back!"

Peter sighed, slumping against the vent as Wade followed Death into the darkness.

Peter stayed on the rooftop, trying to make sense of what he'd just witnessed. He'd fought alongside Wade before—enough to know the guy was unpredictable, reckless, and borderline insane. But this? This was a new level of weird.

Death. Actual, literal Death.

Peter rubbed his temples. "Why am I even surprised? This is Wade we're talking about."

A faint sound behind him made Peter jump. He spun around, half-expecting another otherworldly figure, but it was just Wade, strolling back with his usual swagger.

"Miss me, Spidey?" Wade asked, plopping down beside him.

Peter folded his arms. "What was that about?"

Wade leaned back, crossing his legs. "Just Death stuff. You wouldn't understand."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

Wade hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. She's worried about me. Says I've been 'pushing my luck' too much lately." He made air quotes with his fingers. "As if I could ever run out of luck. I'm basically made of it."

Peter frowned. "Pushing your luck how?"

"You know. The usual." Wade waved a hand vaguely. "Jumping off buildings. Charging into gunfire. Playing Russian roulette with actual Russians."

Peter groaned. "Wade..."

"What?" Wade said, grinning. "It's not like I can die. That's the whole point!"

Peter shook his head. "You're impossible."

"And you're adorable," Wade shot back, poking Peter's arm.

As the weeks went by, Peter couldn't shake the unease he felt whenever he was around Wade. It wasn't just the chaos Wade brought into his life—it was the constant presence of Death, hovering like a shadow.

She didn't always appear, but Peter could feel her. Sometimes it was a chill in the air, sometimes a faint whisper at the edge of his hearing. She was always watching, always waiting.

It creeped him out.

"You're distracted," Wade said one night as they sat on a rooftop, eating takeout.

Peter looked up from his lo mein. "What?"

"You've been weird lately," Wade said, pointing a chopstick at him. "Spit it out."

Peter hesitated. "It's...her," he said finally.

"Deathy?" Wade said, grinning. "Aw, come on, Spidey. She's harmless. Mostly."

"She'sDeath,Wade," Peter said, exasperated. "She's literally the opposite of harmless!"

Wade shrugged. "Yeah, but she's not here for you. She's here for me."

"That doesn't make it better," Peter muttered, rubbing his temples.

Wade leaned closer, his tone softening. "Look, I get it. She's spooky. But she's not the bad guy here. She's just...doing her job."

Peter frowned. "And her job is following you around?"

"Pretty much," Wade said, popping a dumpling into his mouth.

Peter stared at him. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Wade paused, his grin fading slightly. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But she's...familiar. Comforting, in a weird way. Like a reminder that no matter how messed up things get, there's always an end. A reset button."

Peter didn't know what to say to that.

It happened during a mission gone wrong.

Peter and Wade were fighting a group of mercenaries in an abandoned warehouse when Wade, as usual, threw himself into the fray without a second thought.

"Wade, be careful!" Peter shouted, webbing a thug to the wall.

"Careful is my middle name!" Wade yelled back, deflecting a barrage of bullets with his katanas.

Peter groaned. "No, it's not!"

In the chaos, Peter's spider-sense flared. He turned just in time to see a mercenary aiming a grenade launcher at Wade.

"Wade!" Peter shouted, leaping toward him.

The explosion rocked the warehouse, sending Peter sprawling. When the dust cleared, he saw Wade lying motionless on the ground.

"No," Peter whispered, running to his side.

Death was already there.

She knelt beside Wade, her pale hand resting on his shoulder. Her eyes met Peter's, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

"He'll be fine," she said softly.

Peter stared at her. "You...you're not taking him?"

She smiled faintly. "Not today."

As Wade stirred, groaning, Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"See?" Wade muttered, cracking one eye open. "Told you I can't die."

Peter rolled his eyes, but his relief was palpable.

Peter still wasn't entirely comfortable with Death's presence, but he began to understand Wade's perspective. She wasn't just a harbinger of the end—she was a reminder of the fragility of life, and the importance of living every moment to the fullest.

And as long as Wade was around to crack jokes and cause chaos, Peter figured he could handle a little weirdness.

Even if that weirdness came with a scythe.