There's a rule in plasma donation. If you don't feel good, you don't come in for your appointment. It was a safe and obvious rule that kept the facility sterile. But Wade wasn't sick... he just felt like shit because he was getting better, so he got to go anyways.

However, if it weren't for Peter and Dr. Kaisen's request, he'd have stayed home to sit in a puddle of self-pity. His entire body ached, not unlike it did when he was having a flare-up. And he supposed that might just be the pain of fighting cancer. For real this time.

Today the bitch was working the tech station and rightfully so he offered her his middle finger for the blood prick. She turned away without offering him a small tissue. Technically it was probably against protocol, but normally he didn't bleed. But things weren't normal anymore so he had to cup his hand to catch the droplet of blood that bubbled from the small wound until she looked over and noticed that he was bleeding and promptly supplied him with a tissue.

"No friend today?"

He looked up at her, surprised she was talking to him. Normally she wasn't the friendly conversation type. "He should be coming. Must be running late if he's not already here." He cast a look back toward the line, heart falling a bit as he didn't see any familiar brown hair. Peter wasn't going to get in a donation chair within the next half hour at this point. Assuming he appeared immediately at the back of the line, which he didn't.

He was accepted after taking his weight and pointed toward his section. He sat there for about fifteen minutes before a tech came over to begin setting up his pump which took another five minutes and eventually started the process of sterilizing his arm for the needle. with such ample time, he was hoping that Peter would scurry in and balk at the line he'd have to wait in, but he didn't. An hour later and two donation pouches that were unique to Wade's treatment, Peter still hadn't shown. His first instinct was to call, but he was going to be late for his doctor's appointment due to how long the chair session had been and settled for a quick text while he walked to his next destination, worry gnawing at him. Peter was a full-grown adult and he had no business to bother him but he was worried. This was out of character and he knew Peter couldn't really get by without his donation money.

He stared at his phone, hoping he'd see Peter's read receipt but he wasn't granted the relief before he reached his appointment office and went through the process of signing in and waiting for Dr. Kaisen to enter the exam room he'd been led into.

Was Peter sick?

Maybe he had an emergency meeting with a client?

Maybe Spider-Man was off making a scene somewhere? He'd made one the night before. Maybe Peter had been there getting photographs and just needed the rest? It had been a late-night tousel that created quite a bit of havoc. Enough to wake Wade from his sleep.

There was a gentle knock at the door and he looked up to see his doctor entering the room, staring at his clipboard while reaching for a pen in the chest pocket of his white coat. "Hello Wade, how are- oh wow, look at you!" Kaisen's face shifted into a smile when he turned to make eye contact with him.

For a moment the greeting pushed away his worries and Wade couldn't help but smile at the praise. "Aren't I a handsome boy?"

"Well I'm not going to say you weren't handsome before," Kaisen scoffed as he sat down on the rolly stool at the desktop computer in the corner.

"I was ugly, not blind." He raised an eyebrow at the man. There was an actual brow to raise, not just raised scars and bare skin.

The man raised his hands, pleading the fifth with a smile before turning to his keyboard to begin typing. "Your skin has cleared up quite a bit. We can do some imaging to see how you look internally and do a body exam if you're comfortable documenting your progress. The cancer has visibly receded from your skin. The masses are half the size they might be and it looks like they cover a margin of what is visible. Your hair is growing in too, are you a brunette? It looks dark."

"Blonde, I just haven't gotten much sun exposure yet." He said, raising a hand to run his hand through his hair. "It darkens with age though, maybe I'm brown now."

"Dark blonde is still blonde," Kaisen said, reading his sentence before continuing on with his description of their initial checkup. "But you better keep yourself out of the sun. The last thing You need is to stress yourself or your body out with a burned scalp. Trust me, you won't sleep well."

"I suppose." he smiled softy. "I just don't want to cover it up."

"You'll have enough growth in a couple of weeks if this progress keeps up. And you only need to protect yourself while outside. wear a hood so you don't have to take off and carry a hat around," Kaisen suggested before he turned around to give Wade his full attention once again. "Now, you look great. But how do you feel?"

He sighed heavily, his stomach rolling at the question, offering to demonstrate for the man. Thankfully he was able to subside his nausa for the time being. "Like shit."

"Like you're dying?"

He shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. But it's tolerable enough that I can function. Mostly."

Kaisen nodded. "Good, that means Stratimpirum is working for you."

He nodded and waited for a beat, but Kaisen just stared back at him. "And is it going to get better or am I just going to be pretty and miserable instead of ugly and miserable?"

"There's no guarantee, but so far you are taking to this treatment exactly how I had hoped you would. You are going to have good and bad days, just like you did before. But right now you're transitioning from a state of complete override to seeking equilibrium. While your body figures out where it can function while identifying and treating your cancer cells, it's going to be miserable. It could take a few months, maybe a year or two. We won't know until we see little variation in how you look, feel, and how your cancer is presenting itself while functioning with your healing factor. But once we get there, we should be able to add cancer treatment to get rid of it once and for all."

"I'll have to go through chemo?" He'd thought that this might be a one-and-done thing with the drug he was on.

"We could stop once you stabilize." Kaisen nodded slowly. "But I think that if your healing factor is under control, it could help treat your cancer. Right now it can't differentiate between you and the corrupted DNA making up the cancer cells that have traveled all over your body. Not completely at least. Your immune system is killing your cancer, proven by the improvement of your state. But If we want to ensure that this can't repeat itself, we need to treat the root of both separate problems. It would give you some peace of mind to become diagnosed as cancer-free, and reigning in your healing factor will allow you to live a normal, risk-filled, mortal life without risking your body having a freakout if your immune system can't differentiate between you and cancer."

He nodded and looked down at the ground. His chest squeezed and he had to blink tears away from his eyes.

"I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear, I just want to go forward with what I think will be best for you in the long run. I know you were hoping for a more simple answer and given your medical history-"

"No," he looked up and shook his head with a smile. "I just never dreamed that I'd be having this conversation. We're talking about cancer treatment. The possibility that I might one day be cancer-free."

Kaisen stared at him for a moment before he reflected his smile. "I see. That makes me very happy for you, Wade," he said softly. "I feel honored to be able to help you and I will do everything in my power to try and give you a semi-normal life back."

He laughed softly and nodded. He believed him. How could he not? He didn't want to get his hopes up too high, but things were going so well.

"Now, let's talk about pain management."

***

By the end of his appointment Wade was reeducated about pain management and other various genetic topics he otherwise wouldn't have any business knowing. He was a pain infliction after all. Generally, though he'd admit his business was rolling to a slow halt. He wasn't sure what to do about that. He could go out and get a random job but he knew he'd go stir crazy with that. He hadn't been the best with money in the past, but it was hard when you had three different people fighting for one mind. He felt... present again and control wasn't something out of his grasp. He just needed to start in the planning part of that to figure out how he was going to make ends meet.

Not that he was in a bad situation. He had a few grand in his floorboards to hold him over a month with rent but would he take small jobs that were safer but more frequent or risk his newfound pending mortality with high-paying gigs?

He honestly didn't like it, but he almost wanted to for the former. He'd lose some reputation, bending down to pick up menial jobs but... he liked being alive like this. It hurt but it was nice to know there was an impending end.

And his head was so quiet. Not a whisper from the boxes. They were gone. And so was the crawling sensation that he was being watched every living moment of his life.

He wished he could talk to someone about this. But he was hated in the hero community... talking to Peter could be detrimental to their relationship if it got out who he was...

Speaking of, he still hadn't seen or heard from Peter.

He pulled out his phone and glanced through his contacts before he brought his phone up to his ear while his phone hummed with the call tone.

It rang and rang and rang. Eventually, he was sent to Peter's voicemail. He hung up with a frown and glanced down at the time, going back to their texts and contemplating a message. He stood there and bit his lip. What excuses did he have to bother him?

Food was always an excuse. And that, maybe Peter just slept through his arm and his phone was in Do Not Disturb because he was up late catching those Spidey shots. Everything was probably fine and he'd be thrilled to wake up and groggily open the door to a meal.

He nodded to himself. Yes. That was a good idea. And if there was anything wrong he could fix it.

He thought about the door Peter seemed to avoid and the way he'd been so weird when he'd taken him out not long ago. That had been strange. What if something had happened? What if he had some kind of death-eater mutant neighbor?

He shook his head to dispel the thought. He needed to decide what it was they were eating. He was feeling like carbs. And Peter always wanted carbs. Should he do breakfast food then? Nah, too messy. Maybe burgers.

He gasped, snapping his fingers as an idea came to him.

Five guys and Cajun fries.

* * *

He didn't think to look at where the potatoes were from for the day, he did have half a mind to order an Uber after ordering and the universe was on his side because his ride arrived just as his number was called and a big brown paper bag smelling like heaven was shoved into his paws.

He rolled it up tight and hurried away to the black sedan waiting for him and used his arms to try and insulate the food a little bit.  He kept tapping at his phone screen as they drove, hoping Peter would call back, but he didn't.

It was also about the time the car was slowing down to stop outside Peter's building that Wade realized he'd forgotten to warn Peter he was coming. He sentd a half-assed 'I'm coming' before unbuckling his seatbelt and hurrying inside to protect the food from the fresh drizzle. He could hear a downpour coming but it was too far off for him to worry about as the entry door shut behind him. He reached over to the intercom system and buzzed Peter's apartment, stepping aside for a woman who was coming out. They exchanged polite smiles and his heart skipped when her eyes met his and didn't jump around his face at his scars before eventually meeting his eyes. No, she looked him in the eye and moved on.

He smiled, grabbing the door before it could completely close. His happiness settled in his stomach, overlaid with worry as he skipped up the steps toward Peter's floor and made his way down the hall to Peter's door.

He knocked and waited. Eventually knocking twice more before he tried the handle. It was locked.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Peter again, and waited until voicemail again. He hummed and dialed again, glanced down the hall when someone stepped out and locked their door, casting him a momentary glance before heading for the stairs with an empty fabric shopping bag over their shoulder.

"What the hell?" He muttered and hung up when Peter's voicemail decided itself again. He sent a text asking him if he was alright before he shoved his phone in his pocket and traded it for his wallet. He didn't carry change, he normally dumped that into tip jars or left it for someone else. Instead, he kept a lock pick set in his little coin pouch... because he needed to get into locked shit more often than he needed 38 cents.

He took out his picks and tucked his wallet away, glancing up and down the hall before turning toward the door.

He hoped Peter wasn't home. Or if he was, that something was wrong because he wasn't sure he'd be able to convince Peter the door was left unlocked if it came to that.

This was a bad idea. The impulse was something he was used to but the nerves and questioning of his actions was something a tad bit new for him.

Clarity and reflection was fantastic. And if Peter did get angry with him, at least he knew what was coming. He wouldn't get blindsided by it. Which made him feel stupid that he'd ever really been surprised by other's reactions to his actions but what could he do? He obviously had a problem. And now he was doing his best to fix it.

The door opened with a few jiggles of the pick as he prayed the lock pins up. With little required finesse he was able to unlock the door and let himself in, locking it behind him... Just in case he needed a second to stall Peter in case the guy was coming back and he needed to climb through a window.

He glanced down, stepping over a creaky board right in front of Peter's door, and looked around. It was late morning but the shadow cast onto Peter's apartment by the neighboring building wasn't giving him much light to work with. Despite the shady environment, his attention was drawn to the dark staining on the window sill, wall, and floor at the window directly across from him.

His chest tightened and he stepped toward the dried stains, hoping it was just... something but he knew he'd be wrong. He knew it was blood, he could see the pattern of someone who'd been using a hand to hold a wound and drag themselves around. There was a fairly clear handprint and evidence that there was enough blood that the person covered had slipped in while maneuvering into the apartment.

Had Peter been hurt and dropped off my Spider-Man here?

"Peter?" He called out, following the trail into the bedroom and toward the bathroom, pushed the door open before coming to a halt when faced with a gory scene.

"Peter?"