It began awkwardly.

"I'm not homeless?" Wade frowned as he slowly took the offered scone from the young man.

The stranger's face paled and his expression glazed over as his frazzled college brain scrambled for an appropriate response. 

"I live in the apartment upstairs," Wade added to fill the awkward silence, unintentionally grinding the guy's mortification further. "I'm just waiting for my DoorDash because last time the chick walked off with the goods."

He could see the wheels and cogs turning in the young man's head as he tried to think but Wade was running out of things to say before this turned into a one-sided conversation he didn't really want to have. "You sure you're in any shape to be handing out food so Willy-Nilly?" He asked as he glanced him over, reaching out to peel a piece of masking tape off of the man's chest that had .50 cents written out in sharpie.

[I hate it when people write cents like that, having a point before the cent amount means it's half a dollar, no need to write cents after it. Choose one or the other. Dollars with a zero and decimal or cents, not both please.]

"Oh, well- I just..." the man giggled nervously before he scrubbed at his face, pulling at his skin so that his eyelids pulled away from his eyeballs and threatened to let them pop out of his head for a mere point two seconds.

(That was mentally scaring.)

The fifty-cent sweater was nice. It looked like some kind of wool knit. It was black with white snowflake patterns and looked casual with his well-loved jeans and abused backpack. His hair was brown, fluffy, and clean.

(And his eyes are bloodshot and big...)

His eyes were green....

[concerningly dark bags hang below those dusty green irises]

"I'm sorry.  You just looked like you needed something. Sorry about your DoorDash lady... you don't look homeless, I'm sorry. Did I say that, how did you know I was thinking that?" The young man asked, clearly distraught. "Don't worry about the scone, you can keep it."

(Bitch, as if I would ever consider giving it back.)

(Lick it, claim it as ours.)

[Would you shut up?]

"Your eyes gave it away. Most people look at ugly fucks like me and just assume I'm a ptsd ridden maniac with no home or way of getting a job." He shrugged. "It's not a first."

"That's...." The strange shook their head "again, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Thanks for the snack..." he offered the masking tape back from the end of his finger and looked away, taking a bite from the treat. It was blueberry, sweet and equally boring.

(Scones are like British people.)

Wade perked up a bit when he noticed a car pull up outside the laundry mat, internally thrilled when he saw a full cup carrier in her hand full of his nitros. A treat he'd ordered from the credit he was given by DD after the whole 'they stole all my fucking cat supplies' scandal. He didn't even have to go all Karen on Mr. Jimmy who handled the call.

(But we were ready! Oh we were ready to go Karen HAM on his ass for that weasel stealing Nubbin's supplies!)

He raised his hand the flag the woman down so she wouldn't go all the way up to his door.

"Name?" She asked as she wandered over. She looked dreadfully tired too. So much so that she didn't even glance his face over twice when she noticed the scars.

"Wilson." He said, reaching to take the carrier from her when she nodded.

"Have a nice night you two." She said before turning away.

"Your name's Wilson?" The stranger's green eyes sparkled with some sort of genuine curiosity.

Wade had almost it forgotten the guy was there, the aroma of the coffee quite tempting. "Uh, yeah. It's my last name. I'm Wade." He said awkwardly.

[he looks sad. You should give him one of those]

Wade wasn't sure the kid needed caffeine at this hour. "Do you have a name?"

"Peter." The young man sighed and glanced away, all sparkle gone from his eyes. "Sorry, have a nice night."

[give him one, fuck the time of day!]

"Want one before you go?" He offered the kids cup. He didn't give Peter time to say anything, turning to head inside as soon as the drink was secured in the others hands.

"Thank you! I'll see you around?"

Wade just waved in response as he climbed up the stairs and locked his door behind him.

(Poor poor little puppy boy)

That was not the last he saw of Peter.

The second time he ran into him it was in the laundry. He was sitting, playing Mr. Love Queen's Choice while he was waiting for his machine to finish (as one does) when a sharp intake of break caught his attention. He looked up and none other than the green-eyed Peter was there to greet him. Well, not literally greet him. He wasn't even facing his way.

He watched the young man for a minute, staring silently while the guy pressed the start button only to fiddle with the settings knob and try again when the machine didn't start. Peter turned his attention to the mechanism, pushing the lever in to try and figure out what he'd done wrong, clearly in denial over the fact that his quarters had just been eaten.

[he seems pretty stressed. You should check it out.]

(But Lucien is confessing his feelings... who cares? We are in a date with a fictional man)

[maybe a real man wouldn't hurt.]

(With this face? Are you daft?)

Wade sighed and locked his phone. He pulled out his earbuds and got up to walk over to the familiar face. "Everything alright?"

Peter tensed, glancing over with a shameful look. He recognized him quickly and the tension left his shoulders but he still avoided his gaze. For once Wade didn't feel like it was because he was hideous.

"Hi," Peter said quietly. Laughing nervously for a moment. It must have been a moment needed to compose himself because when he looked over at Wade again an expressive mask had been put on to hide the anxiety that had been pouring off the kid moments ago.

"Guess you didn't know this is the quarter eater, huh?" Wade toed the washing machine. It was dented from years of angry patrons kicking out their frustration on the thing. Naturally, the machine was built like a tank and about twenty years older than Wade so the dents weren't a huge deterrent unless you took a good look at the scuff marks left behind from the soles of
Peoples shoes. "Someone must have ripped off the note I left on it last week."

"Oh." Peter said quietly, staring at the agitator surrounded by his clothes in dismay.

"Here, just throw everything into that one next to mine." Wade pointed a few machines down. "People don't use the ones next to me in case they have to run into me while unloading."

Peter blinked hard at him, thrown off by the confession he was mentally unprepared for.

[his expressions are cute. I like expressive people.]

"Oh- Uh. Well, I didn't... I only brought enough change for what I needed to get done." Peter mumbled, glancing at the machine he was using. He looked innocent and fairly calm, but Wade could feel the violent desire to rattle the machine to death radiating off of Peter's shoulders.

(Probably spent too many quarters at the dollar tree buying his laundry soap. My god look at the size of that thing.)

Wade stared at the ten-ounce bottle of tide.  There were only eight ounces in a cup.

[check him over for a tennis ball. He probably uses that instead of dryer sheets...]

(That's not funny)

[I wasn't trying to be funny. I'm just saying that's what I've gathered since pealing that masking tape price tag off of this guys shirt last time.]

"I'll lend you some quarters if you want to come chat?" Wade offered, figuring the illusion that he was borrowing Peter money AND forcing him to sit and talk with him, the kid wouldn't feel as bad about the disguised charity.

"Oh, you don't-"

Wade needed to interrupt before they went down the whole polite arguing route. He didn't want to waste time doing that. "I stole a roll off of the wild seven year old living down the street. It's fine."

Peter made that stunned expression again, continuing to stare off into the middle ground even a second after Wade had moved on to put quarters in the machine Peter was going to use.

The young man hurried to gather his clothes into his basket before scurrying after. "Thank you." He said shamefully while his fingers fiddled with the cap of his detergent after setting the basket down on the running machine next to the empty one.

"It's fine. It happens to everyone." Wade shrugged, glancing at Peter's basket, a gasp involuntarily escaping him when he noticed the vibrant red and blue. "Woah, do you cosplay?"

Peter's head snapped over to his clothes and he quickly snatched the red webbed arm sleeve sticking out of his mass of clothes. "I don't really want to talk about that in public." He said awkwardly.

"Are you going to wash that with everything else?" Wade frowned, eyeing the other various light and dark colors mixed into the basket.

"Nothing's ever bled before. It'll be fine. Thanks though. If you want to sit down that's okay, I can handle this part." Peter offered a small smile before he opened his soap to pour in some detergent, being very conservative with his portion.

[now we have to wait until his laundry is done and dry to hear Lucien's sweet soft voice, damnit]

(Are you seriously complaining about that stupid game? Lucien is literally the obvious villain in that story. What is wrong with you, falling for the creepy guy?)

[Kiro's too sweet and bright. It hurts to like him. He's like an actual baby so it feels uncomfortably illegal to like him.]

(At least you care, but there's also a generic gentleman who's unconditionally kind, and an asshat that is as caring as he is mean. Why not choose between those two?)

[No.]

Wade sighed. He needed to stop playing that game... but it was actually interesting, not just your typical dating game. It wasn't even lewd. It was just entertaining.

Peter came and sat with him once his laundry was situated...

and he did again the following Sunday, and again the next, and each week Wade learned more and more about the shy guy. He also noticed that Peter always had the same clothes in his basket, eluding Wade to the idea he only had a weeks worth of clothes if he wore some outfits twice. The guy also talked a bit more frantically when his stomach began to growl loudly which happened a concerning number of times they'd sat down together. But he was a pretty chatty person once he got comfortable.  And to top it off, save for the occasional observant stare, Peter didn't make Wade feel like killing himself over his appearance.

It had maybe been two months of this pattern before Wade said something. Peter was chatting wildly about human history and mythos against the few stories Thor had retold when Wade interrupted his nervous talking.

"Want to go out to eat when your load is done? I want to go get Asian but I hate having leftovers."

[The fuck is wrong with you? We LOVE leftovers. The fried rice, the Alaskan Roll, the lo mein, the-]

(So Peter will go out to eat with us and take home some fucking food, you twit! Doesn't his growling stomach bother the fuck out if you? It makes me angry!)

[I don't care. That's a Peter problem.]

(Are you serious?)

[He's probably tired of Asian food anyways, eating all that Ramen lol]

Wade didn't always feel in touch with his voices but in that moment he certainly felt like teaming up to murder the one.

"Oh, I didn't bring anything to go out with. I don't like to carry more on me than I know I need." Peter laughed nervously, splaying his hands out innocently.

"It's my treat. I just have a craving but I don't want to throw the food away. Normal I make it myself but I'm feeling lazy tonight." Wade offered a small smile of reassurance.

Please just say yes.

Peter stared at him for a conflicted moment. He wanted to say no, but his hunger said yes. Even so, his moral was pulling him away from the temptation. So Wade continued.

"It's alright if you don't want to. I wouldn't want to stare at this face while I'm trying to eat either." He laughed much to Peter's expressed horror.

"What no! Of course, I'd like to eat with you. I just don't feel comfortable taking a free meal is all and- and I just don't know how I'll pay you back for all these things."

"Pay me back? For what, your quarters?" Wade frowned.

"And for talking to me, and the coffee, and the candy you shared with me last week. You also let me log into your Tappytoons and then I accidentally bought that episode, remember?" Peter stressed, breaking eye contact to stare at his hands.

Wade raised a brow. "As I recall it, us talking is your repayment for the quarters. The coffee was just me being neighborly. And that candy? My god, Peter I don't understand how you are that candy. I gave you some to try so we could bond over how disgusting it was."

Peter gasped "disgusting? Wade those were Trolli gummy eggs. Who doesn't like them? They're sour and sweet and they have a fun texture!"

"No." Wade shook his head in refusal. "You are those at your own risk. That wasn't my problem. As for the tappytoons, I recall it as you doing me a favor by spending the points for the next episode because I forgot it had updated the day before. I have boughten four seasons of the comic, I was obviously going to buy that episode." He sighed. "Do you not like Asian? If you don't that's okay."

"I like Asian." Peter said before he could lie his way out of the outing and he realized that based on the defeated look he sent out the window.

"Great, then when your stuff is done I can run it upstairs so no one fucks around with it and we'll go to my favorite place."

"But Wade."

"I can call it a date. And then it'll be my gentlemanly duty to pay for the date I invited you on. Platonically." He added when Peter sent him a worried look.

There was a very long beat of silence as Peter stared at him with overly busy eyes.

"Please?" Wade tried.

Peter continued to be unmoved until he FINALLY blinked. "You said platonically?"

[Was that disappointment?]

(Confusion, you twit.)

"Yeah." Wade said slowly.

"Kay." Peter looked down at his hands before he nodded "okay."

[....... So that was a tiny bit cute. Did you see his little look? He's so small and nervous]

(Mhmm...)

Wade smiled. "Cool."

Wade stared in awe as he watched Peter eat. They had gone through two platers of all you could eat sushi- granted one had been vegan, two orders of soba, an order of Goyza, three bowls of complimentary white rice, and Peter was still inhaling whatever was set in front of him, happy as could be, feet swinging, occasionally twinging off of the table leg when he forgot himself.

(Is he.... Packing it away like a squirrel? Trying to fatten up before his next long break of no food?)

[are we being finessed by one of those weird YouTubers that break world records with food consumption? The hell is this?]

Wade sipped on his drink, mulling over the wonder in front of him. Peter looked like he was a hundred and fifty pounds when soaking wet. Maybe. So where, why, and how could he put this much food into his body?

"How old are you again?" Maybe he was actually a growing child.

Peter glanced up from his steamed vegetables "Twenty three, why?" He asked curiously before crunching into his veggies.

"I just... was curious." He didn't want to seem like he was judging Peter. Which He wasn't, obviously.

"Making sure you didn't take jailbait out on a date?" Peter mused, clearly talking out loud based on the way his face turned beat red a second after the words left his mouth "I- I didn't say that."

"You did actually." Wade chuckled and glanced down at his plate to poke at a stray bean sprout. When he glanced back up Peter had shrunk back into his booth to sulk while nursing his drink.

"Oh, give yourself a break. It was funny." Wade hummed and leaned back to give the waitress room as she took his own glass to bring him a refill of craft.

"Was it? It was kind of inappropriate." Peter muttered

"So is asking another's age." Wade shrugged.

"And eating with chopsticks when your company is cognitively impaired when it comes to their use." Peter sent a distasteful look at the chop sticks he'd given up on, casting wade's own utensils an unamused look.

"I thought you didn't order anything alcoholic?" Wade raised a brow.

"I didn't!"

"Hm, well you're relaxed for once. It's nice."

(His voice has dropped an entire octave between sitting down and now. He has a nice voice when he's high strung I guess, but it's really nice now.)

Wade agreed.

Peter hummed and shrugged. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine." Wade answered, happily taking his drink when it was brought back to him. "Far too old for you," he said before taking a sip.

[not to mention ugly...]

"Six years isn't bad. Maybe not recommended, but not bad." Peter sighed before relaxing and putting his cup back down on the table. "Is this really a platonic date?"

Wade paused, eyeing Peter for a confused moment. "That's what it started as." He answered carefully. "Why?"

"Just checking." Peter shrugged.

[I'm kind of disappointed.]

(He's too young. He was an actual kindergartner when we were in 6th grade)

Wade didn't recall there being a 'we' when he was twelve, but whatever. The voice had a point. Peter was teetering on a fine line of legal adult and adult. Wade wasn't looking for a partner anyways.

"Do you want to order a box of side noodles to go or are you still hungry?" Wade asked when he noticed Peter wasn't fixated on his plate anymore. He actually looked a little sleepy, his eyes half lidded as he snuggled back into his sweater.

"I'm ready to go."

Wade nodded and asked for the bill the next time their waitress came by, just slipping her his card so Peter wouldn't have a chance to peer at the bill he'd wracked up.

[not that we're offended. But holy fuck can he eat.]

"How many of those did you drink?" Peter asked while they waited for her to come back.

Wade glanced up at his eyes and followed his gaze over to his almost empty glass. "I don't know, why?"

"You seem completely sober."

"I am sober." Wade hummed before he shoved his card and the receipt into his wallet just as their waitress wandered back along with a paper bag full of extras Wade had ordered as take out when he had the chance.

"Interesting." Peter frowned, staring at the glass thoughtfully but he didn't say anything more about it.

Ten minutes later they were waking back towards the laundry mat, bag in hand, their waitress $100 richer, and Peter toddling along drowsily at Wade's side.  "So, can I ask about your cosplay since we're not in a public area?" Wade asked when the silence had gotten a little too quiet after a minute of walking at a leisurely pace.

"What about it?" Peter side eyed him, tone defensive to say the least. 

"It's Spider-Man right? The one I've seen at least."

"Yeah." Peter sighed and looked down at the sidewalk. "Why?"

"I think it's cool. The skill needed to make a hero cosplay that doesn't look like trash. Especially when spandex is at play." Wade said, kicking a rock as they walked.

Peter hummed "do you know from experience?" He asked, eyeing Wade with a lighter curiosity this time.

Wade thought back to the dozen costume attempts he'd gone through before landing on the base foundation of what he wore now. "You could say that. I understand the complexities of fabric quality and avoiding a too skin-tight look."

Peter nodded approvingly. "It's stupid that impossible outfits are what look the best." He sighed.

"Not to mention masks. Masks are terrible in every sense."

"There's a fine line between a robbers mask and face suit that's hard to balance on." Peter agreed. "Who do you cosplay?"

"Oh.... Well I have had a few over the years." Wade said. "I'll admit to Captain America."

"You have the body for classic heroes."

"Thanks. You have the right look for Spider-Man. He's kind of spindly isn't he?"

Peter scoffed "did you just call me spindly?"

Wade backpedaled "no. Not you, you're not spindly like a spider. You're lanky. Much better looking than any Spider-Man."

Wade smiled when Peter rolled his eyes and began a rant about body types and how strength isn't constituted by size.

Time passed. They didn't always go out, but Wade managed to start dragging Peter up to his apartment for a meal on laundry nights, and eventually, that turned into random invites to play games and eventually listening to a Mistwatch DnD group while playing smash bros or some other form of entertainment became their usual Friday, Sunday obviously still dedicated to Laundry. Wade never worked his Friday or Sunday. He refused. It became apart of his contracts. It was in his paper trail.

He had to locked up his things as Peter became more confident and welcomed in his space. All his firearms stashed away, his suits hidden among actual cosplays, his swords always put away on their respective racks.

Wade was happy. He'd never had a stable stretch last this long, and he hoped it wouldn't end. The boxes were always entertained with Peter, he always felt welcome around him. He anchored Wade to the present and didn't give him a reason to slip into himself.

Eventually, Fridays and a Sundays turned Peter randomly being summoned to dinner- something Peter never said no to. Eventually, that turned into Peter weaseling his way into Wade's space whenever it pleased him and fit his schedule and that was fine by Wade.

He was worried though. Peter was always busy at night and for the most part free in the early evenings. But more than once Wade would nudge him and draw out a sharp breath of pain from Peter, and some nights he could see bruises creeping up from where Peter couldn't quite keep them covered.

And then one night Peter stumbled in coughing up blood, eyes black and blood seeping through his shirt from deep gashes on his back.

Wade was horrified.

"We need to bring you to the hospital, Peter. What are you doing here?" Wade demanded, picking Peter up off of his kitchen floor, a shiver running down his spine at the sight of the blood running down Peter's arms, leaving behind speared hand prints from where he caught himself after falling.

"Bathroom. Please." Peter rasped, stumbling that way without giving Wade the option of dragging him outside.

"What the hell happened to you?" Wade demanded, pulling Peter's camera bag off of him when the brunette leaned on the side of the tub and proceeded to vomit up blood.

The Mercenary needed a second to move away and compose himself before he turned to help. Peter. What was happening wasn't something he hadn't seen before, but it was horrendous to see it happening to someone like Peter.

It was a horrendous night. Peter tried to talk, gargling half sentences before he'd hack up more blood, vile, and foam. "Just don't let me... choke. I'll be...okay....No hospital....Please no."

Wade wasn't stupid enough to listen. He'd tried to force Peter out of the apartment, to get him somewhere that could help him, but suddenly that old rant about strength and size had become very reliving when Wade found himself unable to pull Peter away from the tub much less out of the bathroom altogether. Even in his state, Peter had enough sense to get ahold of Wade's phone before it had ever occurred to him to call 911.

So Wade sat there and beat Peter's back or shoved the contents lodged in his throat out of him for the better part of an hour. When Peter finally relaxed and stopped vomiting, Wade cut away his disgusting shirt to reveal the pattern of cuts in Peter's back.

He stared, the cut in hash marks very purposeful and gorey. He wasn't sure if he should start on Peter's injuries or cleaning the tub so he could haul Peter and his mess into a bath.

"I don't feel good," Peter muttered quietly.

"You just threw up two- maybe three pints of blood and you think you need to say you don't feel good? The actual fuck is wrong with you Peter?" Wade snapped angrily, but his words went in one ear and out the other as Peter stared blankly at the tub faucet, eyes unfocused as he rested.

Wade took a deep breath, trying to shove down the anxious energy trying to crawl up out of his chest. "Peter, you need to go to a doctor. I can't just let you sit here after that. Why won't you go to the hospital?"

"Mutant. Imma be okay." Peter slurred.

[..... a high metabolism would explain the appetite]

Wade grabbed a washcloth and wet it down before pulling Peter back to wipe his face off. Before he pulled him back to sit against the tub and the wall so Wade had some room to clean the bloody froth out of the tub. "I'm going to draw you a bath, and you're going to sit in it and let me clean your wounds, and then you're going to get the rest of that crap off of you," Wade informed as he began drawing the water, turning to Peter. "Okay."

Peter met his eyes and hummed but the moment of communication only lasted a moment before Peter closed his eyes and fell asleep right there.

(It's okay. If we stay calm we can take care of him. He'll be fine. Clean him up. Dress him, tuck him into bed.)

[and then fuck up whoever did this!]

(And then go through his things to piece together what we can, and ask questions in the morning.)

"ReeEOWW"

Wade glanced back to see Nubbins paws swiping under the bathroom door, his cries of concern Now impossible to ignore.

"Nubs, it's fine," Wade called back before he turned his attention back to Peter. He moved him out of the way so he could lean on the tub. A few minutes later he was gently shaking Peter awake.

"Hmm?" Peter opened his eyes and glanced over at the door "Nub Nubs" he singsonged before nodding off again before Nubbins had a chance to body slam the bathroom door.

"Peter you need to wake up so you can clean this crap off of you," Wade said, gently tapping Peter's face before he started pulling off his Flannel layer.

"Mhm." Peter hummed, opening his eyes to watch Wade blankly.

"It would be nice if you helped."

Peter reached down to sluggishly pull off a sock before he sighed and closed his eyes again.

"Oh for the love of god, Peter," Wade grumbled before he turned on the bath and started stripping him the rest of the way, struggling to get his tight pants off before lifting him into the tub with his boxers serving as a sacrificial swimsuit.

He washed him, getting the grime and vile off of him before draining the tub and rinsing him off with the handheld shower head. Once Peter was suds free he dried him off after dropping him up on the counter, taking the time to wrap a towel around his waist and fold down the edges so it wouldn't fall before pulling off the boxers and throwing the soaking things in the tub. He went and laid him on his bed and found a pail and set it within reach of Peter before going back to collect Peter's clothes and a roll of quarters, leaving him for a few minutes to run down and put the clothes in the wash before running back up.

[I like living right above the laundromat.]

"Shut up," Wade muttered as he looked around for where he'd thrown the contents of Peter's pockets and the Camera he'd stumbled in with.

He went through Peter's wallet first, finding a dollar forty seven, his ID, an HT loyalty card, and a few other random business cards. He paused and glanced back at the Hot Topic card. It felt out of place in Peter's wallet... that and they were rare. It must have been his aunts or something.

(He's never come here with a camera before. You should look at that.)

Wade reached over to his own wallet and neatly stuffed what cash he had into Peters, figuring three bills wasn't enough for Peter to notice right away. He tucked two of the hundreds in the security spots and left the third next to the dollar bill.

He reached for the DSLR, powering it on and waiting a second or two before its screen turned a deep navy as its lenses stared into its cap.

(This is probably the nicest thing we've ever seen him hold.)

[I dunno. The loyalty card is quite the snatch]

(Save for his cosplay, or what little of it we've seen.)

"Hm." Wade acknowledged the comments but didn't add anything as he pressed the button to get to the gallery, pausing when he was faced with a very nice shot of Spider-Man. It almost looked real if Wade was being honest. He glanced at the time stamp. It was taken a few hours ago, a little less than two hours before Peter came stumbling in.

(Funny he didn't have his costume with him.)

Peter might have stopped at home, but that didn't explain why he as vomiting blood. Or the gashes on his back.

Wade went through the photos, seeing going through them, impressed with the quality of each one, pausing to stare when a second figure came into one of the photos. The shot was less clear like the camera was jostled during the pose.

[I didn't think people cosplayed bad guys....]

"People don't." Wade agreed quietly, glancing at the time stamp. It was from a week ago. Cosplaying villains was as horrendous as publicly wearing a swastika. Not that wearing a swastika in private is appropriate either.... The point being- if you wore a villains cosplay, you were supporting their ideology. It was something you just didn't do. It was also why no one cosplayed Wade for example. Be abuse no one knew his ideology and just knew he was casually dangerous. 

(Wait)

Wade paused his scrolling through the photos.

(That one, we've seen that before. Last week on the paper the old man was reading. Peter looked about ready to get in a scuffle with him over some snide comments about his favorite hero)

Wade stared at the action shot of Spider-Man webbing something off screen, posing in one of Spider-Man's weird crouched.

[wow, his web photoshop is pretty sweet. It looks real.]

Wade glanced at the webbing and paused. "Editing work shouldn't be in the raw files."

(Do you think Peter had the money for adobe photoshop anyways? It's expensive.)

"Or the computer to run the programs," Wade muttered. "This was a photo used but the bugle, wasn't it?"

(Pretty sure)

[So he's in kaboots with Spider-Man? He's selling his image to a slanderous source and the web slinger decided to get back at him?]

Wade sighed and set the camera aside to reach for his phone, doing a quick search for Peter Parker, pausing when article after article of Peter's artwork came up.

(A starving artist.... Maybe he poses in place of Spider-Man to keep scraps on the table.)

[or he got caught up in some shit screwing around near a battle site like a dumbass.]

Wade nodded. He wished Peter was smarter than that, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibilities. He put everything away and went back to look at Peter, moving Nubbins off of Peter's chest so he could roll him over and check on the wounds he'd cleaned. They were clean, so the weapon wasn't serrated. He could already see they were beginning to scab over.

"The fuck were you doing?" Wade muttered, rolling him over again so he wasn't playing on the wounds before he picked up his fluff ball and hauled her out of the room so she wouldn't get her cat fluff in the wounds.

"Owwww" she complained as she was carted off, staring longingly at the door that was closed. As soon as he set her down she ran to it to scratch at it, begging for Peter to come out or to be let in.

"You have to wait for him to wake up." Wade scorned her quietly. "We both do..."

Peter didn't wake up until noon the next day. He timidly came creeping out into the living room where Wade was waiting.

"Have you slept?" Peter asked quietly. He'd since put on a random shirt Wade recognized from the basket of laundry he hadn't folded.

[...as if we do fold it]

"I'm fine," Wade said. "How are you?"

Peter glanced down, staring at a candy dish full of mint life savers Wade had set out when he pieced it together Peter loved them. "Fine." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, clearly waiting for some kind of scorn.

"That's good...."

"I'm sorry."

"I know,"Wade answered. "Who did it?"

Peter stared blankly into space for a moment before sighing. "I don't know. It was an accident."

"How was it An accident if you don't know who did it?" Wade asked.

Peter shrugged and a silence fell between them. Eventually, Peter was the one who broke it. "You don't care I'm a mutant?"

Wade sighed "no, I don't care that you're a mutant. Why should that matter?"

"Well, a lot of people hate them for one," Peter muttered.

"Well, I don't. I hate a few individuals but that's my problem. I'm one too, but the ability to heal doesn't give you an excuse to march into dangers way. What's wrong with you?"

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,' I don't know what you want me to say," Peter said. "I'm sorry, I won't come back here if something happens."

"No- see you should come here if something happens. But those things shouldn't be happening. And what are your affiliations with Spider-guy?"

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked coldly- trying to poorly hide from the question.

"You have loads of him in your camera. You take his picture for news outlets. First of all- how are you getting so close? And second- did he do this? Are you playing a dangerous game by selling him to people who are happy to slander his image?" Wade asked, watching the expressions shift across Peter's face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb Peter. I'm ugly, but I'm not stupid."

"Don't say that!" Peter glared at him. "None of this matters. I'm fine. I just want to go home." He looked down at his hands with a frowned and sunk back into where he was sitting.

"Peter, whatever he's doing- or has done, it needs to stop."

"It was one time," Peter argued.

"One time? Your camera says otherwise. The fact you are always busy at night says otherwise. Everyone knows the Spider's patrol hours are late. Unless you're a worker of the night, I think it's pretty obvious what it is you do."

"Yeah?" Peter crossed his arms. "Well, maybe I am your common day whore. I have the face and the body. Everyone has money to spend on a twink." He glared at Wade angrily.

[I think you struck a nerve....]

Peter's hands were clenched to the point his knuckles were white. He was stiff and shoulders were pulled up defensively.

[If he were a stripper.... Or prostitute, wouldn't he be making bank? Normally that get tips upwards of a few hundred a night if not thousands on a good night.]

(That's assuming you're at a legal club that doesn't do extras or trafficking.)

"Peter. Will you please explain?" Wade sighed tiredly. He didn't know what was going on, but it wasn't good. Peter was hurt. This wasn't a first, he assumed. Peter needed help. Spider-man was to blame as far as Wade was concerned.

"I can't disclose that information," Peter said after a moment's pause.

"Why not? Is he a client? Who's paying you to keep your mouth shut?" Wade asked tensely.

(.... No one's paying him)

[we could just ask him to move in?]

(No.)

"No one, Wade." Peter sighed heavily.

"Okay." He crossed his arms "who's threatening you? Are you under contract? Is it a relationship? Moral code? What's going on?"

"No, it's none of those things. It's just something I can't explain, okay?"

"Then I'm assuming it's Spider-Man. And in that case, I'm going to take care of the problem."

Peter rolled his eyes. "For fucks sake, Wade. Who do you think you are? What could you possibly do to Spider-man? You're just some guy- he's a hero who defies death and gravity every day of his life."

"I really wish you'd tell me the truth." He sighed and moved away to go find something to do. He decided that filling Nubbin's food bowl was. Good start. And washing her water bowl was a good follow-up.

"I can't. Maybe one day." Peter muttered quietly enough that Wade was certain he wasn't supposed to hear it.

[and maybe that can be the day we also announce we're a contractable killer. He's not the only one with secrets.]

But Peter was the only one being abused here.

Nubbins yowled when Wade made a move for the canned food. She wagged her tail happily like a dog and twirled around his ankles as he pulled out a third bowl for her.

(I think we need to separate him from his problem.)

So did wade

"Hey, don't do that, please and thank you." Wade nudged Nubbins away with his boot when she reached up to try and sink her claws into the black leather on his outer thigh. While he laced up his other boot.

"Ow!" She objected before violently head butting his calf with a loud purr.

"If you don't put  a hole  in my brand new suit before I leave the place, I'll bring you home a treat." He promised when she sat down in front of him to stare up innocently.

She blinked slowly up at him.

He scratched her under the chin before standing up. He pulled on the harness of his swords and pulled on the mask before stepping out of the fire escape. He couldn't risk Peter accidentally catching him on his way out the front door at all.... Granted he could just say he was off to a cosplay thing. Not that it mattered, Peter hadn't been back in a few days and he figured he wouldn't see him again until their game night anyways. Peter hadn't been radio silent but he'd clearly been awkwardly avoiding Wade. That was fine, tonight he'd decided he was going to do some investigating on this Spider twat that was clearly a source of some kind of abuse, one way or another.

It took forever despite Wade putting hours into trailing and marking the Spider's paths and crime routes. Granted the guy seemed randomly drawn to where ever danger was, but still. He eventually tracked the guy down and managed to get on top of the building he was perched on.

Wade silently pulled out a katana as he approached the stranger. He was close enough to smell winter green mint when he was stopped in his tracks.

"Don't." The masked man muttered, his words commanding despite being quiet. He sounded tired.

Wade hesitated before he lowered his sword. He didn't know Spider-Man well. He was a dynamic persona, and not having access to his eyes made Wade's job harder.

"How did you know I was here?" Wade asked finally. The spider still hadn't turned to look at him. He was just fiddling with a plastic wrapper while staring out at the street.

"Magic."

[....]

"I guess the rumor you can sense shit is true. That's a convenient gift." Wade noted, moving to take a seat next to the bug, tense and ready to slice him open if he moved. Spidey looked equally tense.

"You're that mercenary... I've heard you're batshit crazy."

"Pretty dangerous thing to say to someone who might be batshit. They tend to not like being called out." Wade clicked his tongue. The conversation was tense. Very tense and it wasn't because of the batshit one. Spidey was flighty.

"So you're not?"

"I didn't say that. But I know I am. And I know why I am. Right now I'm managing quite well." Wade hummed, proud of himself. He hadn't gotten to tell anyone yet. He wouldn't dare tell Peter for obvious reasons. He didn't want him to know he wasn't anything more than quirky.

[life would be so much easier if we didn't need the constant reminder that we are a product of entertainment and entertainment only and constant victims of voyeurs...]

(In writing, we're given moments of solitude in time skips. Our life continues on without being recorded. We're allowed to pretend we're alive...)

Wade shoved the thoughts away, already feeling his mood dropping.

"Sounds pleasant.... So why are you here?" Spidey asked lowly.

"Oh, you know. Just tracing down a lead. Some guy's little friend got the snot beat out of him and poisoned and now it's my problem. So... what's your relationship with the photographer?" Wade asked, flexing his grip on his sword.

"Kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We both got hit that night. It wasn't something personal if that's what you're thinking."

"And how do you know what I'm thinking? It makes you sound guilty." Wade hummed. He wanted to hurt him. He hurt Peter, as a hero he was there to keep people out of harms way. Peter needs protection.

"Yeah? Well, let's just say it was brought to my attention by a friend." Spidey scoffed.

"You should be far more concerned about this than you are," Wade warned lowly.

"You haven't given me a reason to be concerned."

Wade moved, the hand holding his free katana swinging at the spider as he grabbed a dagger with his free hand and aimed for the guy's throat.

The spider moved with speed that Wade would never be able to muster. He caught the metal of his sword with his fingers alone, adhering himself to the blade and stopping it a foot away from him, his other hand easily catching Wade's wrist easily and grinding his bones.

The mercenary winced, grip loosening on his dagger.

(Hand to hand isn't an option. Our only option is going to be a bullet if it comes to it.)

That was fine by Wade. It wouldn't matter, as long as Peter never pieces together who he was.

"Still not impressed," Spider-Man muttered, twisting Wade's dagger-wielding wrist until he dropped the small weapon before he took Wades's sword altogether and violently stabbed it into the cement.

Wade stared in dismay. He'd never be getting that blade back.

[not without some demolition at least...]

"What would impress you?" Wade asked.

"Nothing." The man behind the wide eyed mask growled before he stood and stepped away, standing tall over Wade as he remained sitting.

"You can't catch a bullet."

"No, but I'm very good at dodging them. So aim for the head and leave me alone. Peter Parker is fine. He isn't in danger by my hand, so fuck off." And with that, the webslinger walked off the building and flew off somewhere else to brood.

[I recall the media depicting him as sweet and kind of dorky.]

(And other heroes report that he's talkative and annoying.)

"He was talking to a Mercenary. Not Captain America, of course, he's Going to be less than friendly." Wade muttered and picked up his knife before he stood and approached his sword to tug on it hopefully only to sigh when it refused to budge out of the rock. He twanged it sadly, watching it vibrate.

[Good thing we didn't bring the killing blades with]

"Yeah..."

(I wonder what he even does all night. It's not like crime rates are high with eight bazillion heroes patrolling the city every night.)

"He probably covers domestic shit, drug deals, theft, and lost kittens with the occasional animal-themed psychotic. Doesn't matter, his mulling over something. He wasn't perky, and he's known for hiding his potential on the offensive. He was being pretty clear there."

[mid-life crisis?]

(Some kind of distress. Enough to knock down his persona and casual tactic.... Maybe he's reacting to what happened to Peter too? He knew his name, exactly who you were talking about.)

Wade curled his lip distastefully. He hoped not. The bug was intimately concerned in that scenario. Wade didn't like it...

Wade went home. He didn't have the answers we wanted, mostly new questions.

"Hey," Peter said quietly as he walked in, toeing off his shoes when Nubbins pranced over to say hello.

Wade glanced over, frowning at the sound of Peter's voice. He sounded worn. "Hey." Peter was wearing the same shirt that Wade had first met him in. It always reminded him about that masking tape. "You okay?"

"Just tired," Peter admitted and stole a lifesaver from one of the several stashes Wade had scattered around the home. He watched the brunette glance around before collapsing on the couch and popping the mint into his mouth.

"Need to talk about it?" Wade asked slowly.

"No. I just want a nap.... But I don't want to miss out on our Friday."

"Then we can just watch a movie then. No need to keep you up, you can take a nap if you want. We can put on the hobbit or something." Wade said, coming over to offer Peter a big sub he'd picked up half an hour before he arrived.

"You give me too much." Peter admired quietly as he looked down at the food that had been set in his lap. "I'll never pay you back... I want to. But I can't."

"You being here is more than enough. Just having you around has done more for my own health than you could understand." Wade said slowly, glancing away. "I want to take care of you in return."

He'd never had this conversation with Peter when he was sober...Either of them sober.

Peter stared down at the wrapped sandwich. "I'm sorry."

Wade waited. He wanted to know why Peter was upset. "Why?" He promoted.

"I dragged you into something you have no business being a part of. I should have never come here. I was just scared, but that wasn't an excuse to freak you out. I'm sorry."

"You say that like it would have been easier for you to go through that alone," Wade said nervously. He set down the sports drink he was about to hand to Peter because the kid needed his electrolytes.

"Yeah. I know." Peter looked up at him like HE was the one not thinking straight.

"No," Wade said sternly, using every ounce of his self-control to put a lid on top of the simmering emotions that were quickly heading toward the boiling point.

(Don't let yourself pressurize) the box sang nervously. If it could be imagined the logical
one was trying to squirm away from the controlled anger.

"No." Wade continued. "If something like that happens, you either come here, or you get for dumb fucking ass to the hospital. I will pay for your care, you need to watch yourself because-"

"I can't just have some guy I met at the laundry footing my hospital bills!" Peter snapped

"So that's what I am? You, the guy who could hardly sit still with nerves when we first met, can feel comfortable stealing food off of my plate and recovering in my bed and I'm still just Some Guy from the Laundry Mat!?" Wade glared at him angrily, clenching his teeth as Peters's eyes widened.

"That's not what I meant! You should know that Wade. I know what you're doing, I'm just your charity case. You feed me and your excuse is that I'm a friend and that's all that matters. But you're keeping me alive like some sugar daddy and I'm not even repaying you somehow!" Peter was starting to cry now. He stood, gesturing with his hand only one was holding his sub. It looked funny but Wade didn't have the energy for amusement. "I still haven't been able to scrape up enough to lay back for the ducking load of laundry that started this all!" Tears streamed down Peter's face and his eyes jumped out at Wade, his irises contrasting sharply to Peter's reddening face. Even in distress, they were pretty to look at.

"How many times do I have to tally you you don't need to pay me-"

"And even that time you took me out, I tried to feel out our situation. I was willing to offer repayment but you didn't bite. So I e just been waiting for you to push me away and it's getting really hard to think about because you're giving and giving and giving and I can't return anything. It makes me feel so terrible Wade, and you're not just some guy. You're my friend and that's why I feel so shitty about all of this. I'm using you." Peter insisted. He'd since set the food down on the coffee table. "I don't know how I'm going to continue surviving in this shitty place where I choose between living and eating. And I can't stand the thought of taking advantage of you. I'm an adult, I should be taking care of myself, yet I can't!"

Wade frowned, his anger dissipating as Peter sat back down and held his head in his hands so Wade couldn't see him.

"Why don't you get a roommate? We-"

"I can't get a roommate," Peter said quickly. "You wouldn't understand."

"Are you an escort or is it because of Spider-Man?" Wade asked.

Peter stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wade rolled his eyes fucking Spider-Man. "So what are your rates then?" He'd give Peter the benefit of doubt before he jumped to conclusions, just in case.

"I- what? No, stop." Peter stumbled over himself and shook his head.

"Okay. Then it's Spider-Man. Are you his affiliate? Do you have a deal for those pictures? Is he your boyfriend?"

"No, none of that stuff." Peter objected.

"Then What?" Wade demanded only for Peter to quickly clam up.

"Can we please drop this Wade? I don't understand why you care. It's not important. I had one accident. One fuck up. That's it. It's not going to happen again."

"But it isn't one time! You come in all the time limping or flinching and bruised. Too much for it to be  basic self-injury."

"Wade..."

"No. No, you can't 'Wade' me. You're the one getting hurt. I can't just let that slide."

"But why does it matter so much? For the love of god-

"Why does it matter so much!" Wade snapped "because I fucking care about you, doesn't everyone? Doesn't everyone else stop and wonder about you? Your parents? Siblings? Friends?" He clenched his jaw and glared at Peter.

The brunette resigned, refusing to look at him and he stood his ground. "No one cares, Wade." He muttered.

Wade let the statement hang in the air between them, letting its stark meaning flitter to the ground and disperse around them.

"I care," Wade said after the tension and silence had stayed still for far too long.

Peter stared down at the ground, refusing to look up at him as he curled in on himself, his arms crossed into his chest, shoulders hunched while his lip quivered.

"I don't want you to care," Peter said, the first word strong but the end of the sentence came out as a sob.

Of all the things that they could have in common, why did this feeling have to be one of them?

"But I do care," Wade said quietly as he slowly closed the distance between them. He hesitated before he reached out and pulled Peter against his chest.

"You can't." Peter insisted in between gasps for air. "Everyone else-

Wade waited, squeezing Peter tighter.

"They died because they cared."

Wade looked up at the ceiling, staring at the offensive ceiling textured as he willed himself it to cry. "Is it because of Spider-man?"

It took a long time for Peter to respond. But when he finally did he wrapped his arms around Wade in return, face buried in his chest while he nodded in silent confirmation.

"It's okay," Wade promised softly, rubbing Peter's back, trying to console him.

"It's going to be okay." He said, he could feel Peters's tears seeping into the fabric of his shirt.

Arachnids couldn't outrun bullets after all.

A/N
Helooo Spideypoolers.

It's been 6 years hasnt it?

Unedited and typed on a apple screen as always