They sat on the hood, bloody bathroom floor and ate. Which was strange in the moment and just as weird reflecting back on. But he didn't throw up so that was a bonus. He managed to scarf down his half pounder before his hands could get too doused in grease.

Wade didn't stare at him which he appreciated. Eating naked with someone on the bathroom floor sounded like it could be romantic in some strange context. But it was very much not romantic in their context but Wade didn't good job of not making it weirder than it already was. But when the time came, they'd finished the food and used up their napkins, the man's blue eyes turned to the gaping wound on Peter's leg and let out a deep sigh.

"Well," he stood and took the bag of trash with him, setting it outside the door to deal with in a few minutes before he turned to wash his hands. "It doesn't look badly infected. That must be the work of your healing factor. But that means it's probably putting most of its energy into maintaining your health, not healing."

He risked a glance at his hip. Wade was probably right.

"Are you sure you won't let me take you to the emergency room? I'll take the bill Peter, I think that's what we need to do."

"No." He said firmly. He wouldn't risk doctors recognizing the wound. It wasn't like there weren't dozens of morons recording his fights. People would talk, they'd pull his record. Even if he faked an identity, they would still know what he looked like. "I know it's what you want. But I'm not asking you to take care of this. You're volunteering your time."

"I know," Wade muttered. "And I'll work with you on that but I just want you to know I think you're fucking stupid."

"This isn't the worst situation I've ever been in," Peter muttered before he could think better of it. He glanced up quickly to meet Wade's frown. "No, I won't be elaborating."

He looked away and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I need help cleaning it. It hurts too much for me to do it alone."

"Right," the man muttered again. "Are you cold? I could get you a shirt? I'm going to need to go out and get some..." the man cast a glance at what remained of Peter's bandaids, "supplies."

"I have one next to my bed if you'll grab that." He pointed, face growing hot. Now the nakedness was getting weird. For Peter. Wade seemed unphased and turned on his heel to go grab the shirt that had been peeled off during a feverish rest. He brought it to him and helped him into it.

"Can I move you somewhere more comfortable?"

He glanced toward the toilet. Did he want to leave the safety of being in a room where he could throw up? He felt fine now, but that didn't mean his body wouldn't settle back into depressive healing mode once Wade and the stress brought on by his presence faded away.

"No." He decided. "Not sure if dinner is going to stick with me forever. But a fresh towel would be nice, Just as a blanket."

The man nodded again and turned toward where Peter had his towels stored in tightly folded rolls. He was handed a green one. After a few years it had lost its fluff. It was something he'd gotten during his graduation party to take to school or when he moved out.

"I'm going to be a while. An hour or two with traffic and just shopping in general, okay? Don't do something stupid while I'm out." Wade warned. His tone was soft but his expression meant business. "And I know you don't want to tell me anything. But you need to give me something. So please think about what you want to share with me when I'm gone. Please."

Peter stared up at him. He didn't need to say anything, but he understood that answers were owed in this type of situation if he was willing to provide. The truth that he'd been given a bad time by someone he was trying not to kill wasn't something he could offer Wade.

"I'll be back. I'm taking your keys so I can lock the door behind me."

"Alright."

He sighed heavily when the front door shut. How did Wade get in here anyway? He always kept the door locked. Windows were another story but he'd have noticed a guy climbing through his window, even in his state.

What was he going to say? He did get in the way. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, he could accuse his job of being the reason. But how did he get home? Was he going to hell Wade that Spidey just gave him a hitch home despite the hero disappearing at the end of the offense? There wasn't an easy answer, but he couldn't tell the truth, that wasn't an option.

This is why he should know better than to make friends. He didn't date for obvious reasons- those being he neither had the emotional or physical time to waste on doting on someone he didn't think he had the availability to love. He didn't have friends for similar reasons but also because of this. Or at least that's what he told himself. Having to kill a few of them puts a damper on one's desire to have people around. That and having people to be victimized was problematic but mostly an excuse. But he was lonely. He didn't have his aunt to spend his free time with. He recognized he needed someone and Wade wasn't just someone, he went out of his way to help. He helped for no reason.

Of all people, this was someone Peter could trust to be his friend. Not someone with the truth, but to have someone who couldn't be broken if something did happen would be . . . amazing. But he couldn't tell the man that.

So what? Be vague and hope Wade didn't press too many questions? That was the same plan he'd had when he'd started asking himself about what he should say.

He should say thank you. That was the first thing he should say to Wade before anything else. He couldn't say thank you enough.

Fucking hell. If he hadn't gotten his uncle killed, he could just kill these assholes and not feel bad about it. He wouldn't feel like he had some responsibility to keep assholes alive. If Ben hadn't told him he needed to be responsible for himself, then he wouldn't be getting hurt. He wouldn't be worrying about his enemies finding family or friends. He had the capacity to make people fear him, he had that strength, that power.

He frowned. Was he using his power responsibly if he was allowing himself and others to be continuously abused by letting dangerous people get taken care of by authorities? Authorities who would eventually fail and rely on him or some other hero to bring that villain back in only for someone else to escape?

Anger made his chest warm and he squeezed his fist.

He was so tired of this. Of the bullshit.

If Spider-Man had the balls to use his full power, Peter Parker wouldn't have to live his life swimming in lies.

He slowly looked toward the blue and red costume that was crumbled in a bloody ball next to the vanity, out of the way and otherwise ignored.

He'd be taken more seriously by those who worked on larger scales.

Jameson would piss himself with joy if the vigilante shifted his tactic.

Peter Parker would be making money. Not just off The Bugle, but other newspapers around town would reach out for the first breaking stories about any unusual behavior.

And if he didn't like the style, there was nothing keeping him from going back to being gentle. He could always pull his punches later.

He'd disappoint a lot of people. Maybe. But he knew he'd be gaining support from other spaces in reaction.

Yeah. He could change his tune.

He could keep a friend.