He wanted to take the pain away... and he supposed he did because about fifteen minutes after Peter stopped crying long enough to take the pill and water, the Burnette was out like a light. A very dead light. Dead enough he could only stir him awake long enough to ask of he wanted to change. And that still landed him a very unconscious response but he promised to make sure Peter at least looked comfortable and went into his bags to pull out a pair of sweats and the first aid kit.

This was a bit invasive, but he knew Peter would feel better in the end. He changed him out of his jeans and checked his dressings before slipping on the loose sweats and went to store the jeans back in the bag.

He thought back to the alleyway, Peter's words, the venom dripping from his mouth and displayed through actions.

When Peter said that the hero wasn't there to save anyone, he'd been serious. And it was as hot as it had been concerning. Terrifying too when he thought about the raw power Peter possessed. Peter had played with his prey.

He wished Peter trusted him more, that he could prove himself somehow... He wanted to be worthy of his trust.

His heart ached as he thought back to the rejection he'd received that lead to this entire situation, his pride curling up in a ball and sitting deep in a pit within his stomach. He wasn't wanted... That had been made clear, but interrupted by the sudden an unexpected identity reveal. Though he supposed that reveal was technically speculation on part of the media at this point.

But maybe Pete was just afriad?

He wasn't hated. He wasn't unwanted. He'd just crossed a threshold that Peter clearly didn't seem fully ready to address. At least not while stressed. And he understood that. That was fair...

And now that Peter had been outed, it would only be a matter of time before Peter discovered Brock's other article. The trail that had led the journalist to the pot of gold.

Maybe it was best not to approach Peter at all. He and Spider-Man didn't have a great relationship. Peter might push him away altogether once he found out who and what he was. Spider-Man was an ass, and generally considered a loving frootloop for not... disposing of his repeat villans.

The right thing to do would be to tell him. To sit down and share his secret, but he didn't want to share his secret. He was afraid of the consequences. And that was reasonable, wasn't it? It's not like Peter was upfront. But it wasn't Peter's fault that the journalist had been outside to begin with, but it was his fault for letting his emotions slip ahead of his logic.

He leaned his chin against Peter's head. The guy had cried for a bit and then shifted right into sleep. Not without taking his painkiller first, so he might be knocked out for a while. Long enough for Wade to make a decision about where he should go with Deadpool. 

He hadn't been Deadpool in a long time... life was just slowing down and becoming enjoyable again. Deadpool was a symbol of how little he had in life, and he simply hadn't wanted to done the identity. His life wasn't so empty anymore.

Peter gave him so much that it hurt. He made him so happy, his heart swelled whenever he thought about him. And it hurt to think about the way he'd been chased out the window and right into Eddie's trap.

Damnit. Why did the guy have to care? No one was going to benefit from knowing who he was. In fact, he was sure his name was publicly available if you looked hard enough. So why the special interest? Wade wasn't uptight about his name like Peter was. He had no reason to protect it in the past. 

But now he did. He had more than just his name to protect. Peter needed protection now more than ever. He couldn't reasonably be Deadpool could he? At least not in the way he had been before. 

But Deadpool had been a lot of things.  A lot of fucked up things that just weren't there anymore. His mind was clear, the voices were gone. His mind and memories were clear, the memories that he was making at least, what survived from before his treatment was as organized as it could be. The thought of working wasn't something fun or distracting anymore. He didn't need to work to keep his mind busy enough to not kill himself.

He was just a man really good with a gun and swords. 

He smiled sadly.

Deadpool had been laid to rest.

***

Peter slept the rest of the evening and hard enough that he moved him from the couch to the bed and turned on the AC. He covered the spider in blankets so he could be sure he wouldn't accidentally freeze the guy out but he could still escape the heat if he wanted.

He wanted to lay next to him, to caress him, to just take care of him. And he was allowed to do the last part but the rest wasn't something he was granted.

He sighed and worked on a meal order, pondering what Peter would have the stomach for and what would be needed given his health circumstances... maybe Peter would be in a salad mood. He could get all the major food groups in him that way, sans grains. If he ordered Panera then the baguette would cover that much... but Peter would probably need two or three of any given meal. And he might just not be in a salad mood. So maybe that wasn't the right choice.

He looked at Peter's relaxed face, smiling to himself as he took in the man's slack expression. Despite his pain, his brows had relaxed, and he was still and quiet. His lips were slightly parted, and his tear stains were still burned into the skin around his eyes.

He could kiss him.

All the stress and bullshit of this entire situation, as crazy as it was, only made Wade admire him more.

He glanced toward the closet outside the bedroom door where his gear was stored. It was dangerous having Peter here. All it would take was Peter looking for a towel and going into the wrong linen closet. Then it would all be over. Just thinking about it made his stomach plummet into his toes. He might have decided that Deadpool wasn't with them anymore, but the man who was once Deadpool still had all the assets, skills and questionable items scattered around.

He could hide everything. At the very least, lock the closet. He needed to decide before Peter woke from his nap. With every second that passed, he risked disaster striking. 

He glanced over when Peter's phone began to buzz in his pocket. He waited for the arachnid to stir, but he didn't, so he pulled out the phone, curiously glancing at who was calling.

It was Mr. Publisher himself. He waited the call out and glanced at the other notifications. There were hundreds. Several were from the paper, Jameson texting Peter and asking to speak and then another saying he wasn't calling to cut ties and that Peter should reach out or come into the office if he'd prefer.

Everything else was email or app notifications, hundreds upon hundreds of followers, and emails notifying about subscribers. There were comments and message requests. The phone was on mute and didn't make a peep as he watched the notification screen dip every ten seconds or so.

He sighed and turned it over, setting it down on the side table. Peter was going to be overwhelmed the second he looked at that. Rightfully, but it wouldn't do anyone any good.

He turned towards Peter again, glancing him over and eyeing the bed, making sure that it was presentable enough before his eyes jumped to the rest of the room, a sense of embarrassment settling in his chest in a way he associated with being a teenager. 

Maybe he should have taken down the golden girls poster... but he also found it at a comic con where he lost a costume competition to a 17 year old girl in a tracksuit claiming the cosplay of Ms. Natasha Romanov. It had been comical, and the poster was art, digitally drawn and printed and bought right from a booth. And he'd been clear-minded enough to march his ass right to Micheal's where he bought a frame, brought it home, mounted it and hung it all without getting sidetracked by mania. That had been a very good day. A clear day. A day he lost a child in a Nike tracksuit and a chunky belt. 

No, he'd keep it. Maybe move it to the living room. If Peter asked about it he'd tell him the story and maybe just leave out the Deadpool part and say he lost to a lame cosplay.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

He believed Peter would care about the story. That's what made him so special. He'd appreciate Wade's memory of the object even if it was a bit odd. His embarrassment was a new and strange feeling, it wasn't like the gut-dropping sensation of realizing what he'd done the day after a frenzy, it was just his body doing normal things. Having normal emotions. Peter made him nervous because he was so close. And that was good. 

His phone beeped to notify him that he'd receive a treatment dose. He was under continuous monitoring now and could even watch his own chart as he was given readings every few minutes. He or the doc could look at the cancer cell count and different information about his immune system at any time with the new monitor and injection pump, inspired by insulin treatmentseHe must have been having a small flareup if he was given a dose at this time of day.

He reached up toward the top of his head and smiled as he ran his fingers over his short hair. In two months he might have enough to really run his fingers through it.

He stood and walked towards his bathroom, shedding his sweatshirt and shorts for something fresh. When he glanced at himself in the mirror it was like looking at a stranger or someone you used to know. As startling as it still was, it was an exciting reunion each time. He knew that person. That man with the blue eyes and the buzzed hair. He was pretty miserable when he knew him but now he was happy. And he was going to keep it that way. Maybe not happy but he'd keep the light of life in his eyes ignited at the very least.

He rubbed his face and it was almost overwhelming how much he could feel. He could feel the catch of his fingerprints on his skin, the small imperfections, the few stray bits of stubble beginning to grow in. It was strange. He loved it. And facial hair? He wasn't sure he even remembered how to take care of it. 

He went back to Peter but not before quietly shoving all his guns and ammo he had easily accessible onto a top shelf Peter couldn't reach without climbing. It wasn't very secure but Peter didn't seem overly snoopy, he was raised polite, and theoretically wouldn't find it. 

He settled in next to Peter with a final sigh. The Deadpool everyone knew was no more, but Wade Wilson was still a man of arms... a Canadian man who leaned heavily into the American dream of gun ownership. And that was fine. It was a free country. So long Peter wasn't set off by weapons that were not being used. Surely his spider-sense wasn't that attuned to danger? He'd find out.

His eyes were heavy and the second he laid back they wanted to fall shut. He wondered if Peter would care, would he push him away that he was so close? No, he'd slide over to the edge if anything. But would he be angry if he slept here?

Maybe sometimes a risk was just worth taking. Besides, if Peter was angry he'd order that food, he would probably get over it so long as he was fed.

He closed his eyes. If he was told to move he'd move. If Peter seemed off tomorrow, he'd stay away. This should be safe...

***

When he opened his eyes again three hours had passed. Thunder growled loudly overhead, likely the culprit behind his sudden wake. It was also unusually dark given the time of day he assumed it was, but his body gave no indication that it cared about such a fickle thing as time.

It hadn't felt like he'd slept a wink.

He turned and flinched when he saw a figure hovering beside him. It took a moment for him to realize it was just Peter sitting straight up in the bed. He was staring ahead, and if it weren't for the faint sound of him breathing, Wade would assume he was a statue. "You good?" He managed to mutter.

"It's here,"

"What?"

Peter's head tilted and he stared off into the darkness, his movements made just visible from the light pollution from the windows. "It's followed me," Peter muttered.

Wade stiffened, sitting up just as Peter turned and slumped back down into the pillows.

The AC growled as it turned on, adding noise to the room that would make it hard to discern any thing else.

"Peter," he said, nudging the brunette, his skin beginning to crawl as he stared Into the darkness where Peter had been staring. What the fuck did he mean it followed him there? What was it?

"Peter!" He hissed quietly but the man didn't even flinch, leaving Wade to quietly face the darkness alone.

If something was there, it could see him and he couldn't see it. They were illuminated by the bed near the window, and the rest of the room as cast in shadow.

Did he get up? Should he check it out? If Peter went back to bed then it wasn't dangerous, right? Then why did he wake up at all? Why did Wade wake up?

Because he felt like he was being watched.

He swallowed and looked around. He couldn't see for shit.

He could just roll over and pretend nothing happened. That was an option.

But if they were jumped in the night it would be his fault...

He whimpered internally and slid out of the covers and slowly approached the shadows, his eyes adjusting slowly as the wall and corner came into view.

He didn't see anything and walked towards the door, goosebumps rising on his skin as he looked around.

There was nothing there.

He rubbed his arms, bringing the cold away before stepping out of the room to investigate, scanning his home before coming back to his bedroom, chilling again as he closed the door and went back to his covers.

He looked over at Peter and back at where he'd stared, a shiver running up his spine as he watched the corner for a few seconds.

There was nothing there.