When he woke it was five in the morning and the bed was cold. His heart stuttered in his chest when he realized it, worried he'd chased Peter off with his advance. But he could have sworn he'd woken to the feeling of Peter pressed against him, hand holding his pressed to his bare chest. The sensation was so clear, the memory crisp despite the half wake state he'd been in.

Was it worse if it had all been a dream, or a reality?

He sat up and noticed a new water cup had been brought to the bedside table. Peter was wandering around maybe? Hopefully not investigating anything too thoroughly while unsupervised.

He got up and tiptoed toward the kitchen. The hall was empty, the closet door shut, the bathroom door was open and dark. He looked into the living room andnsaw nothing and peered toward the kitchen with a frown. Empty.

He glanced to the door, and it was still locked. He went back to the linen closet where his suit looked untouched. A seclnd gander at the empty living room made a frustrated sigh escape his lips.

The fucking window was cracked enough for fingers to slip in . . .

And where did the screen go?

"Peter," he objected and marched to the bedroom to grab his phone and sent the arachnid a text only for the opposite bedside table to vibrate.

He let his head hang back and sighed loudly. Why did Peter leave? If he had gone any further than the rooftop, the guy was an idiot. And he could leave him alone our there. He could be attacked at any moment.

He turned back to the door and stopped in the hall at the closet, pausing as he reached for the handle. Did he go as Pool to speed up the search and possibly drive Peter off, or go as Wade?

Fuck, he couldn't waste his time pondering things that didn't matter. He marched toward the window and opened it all the way so he could stick his head out and check to make sure that Peter wasn't sitting on the wall or something stupid like that before he decided to incriminate himself.

The brick walls around his window were barren, but he did notice that there was a foot-sized scape taken out of the grime on the building. How did buildings get dirty anyway? It rained all the time, surely the acid rain would cleanse the dirt off the bricks? He leaned back in and shut the window part of the way before he crossed the apartment to grab what he'd been trying to hide earlier.

This was going to blow up in his face. He was confident in that. But with Peter's luck, the guy would probably get ambushed while out for some night air. At least if it were Deadpool who pushed him around, he could keep anyone who didn't feel like they had a death wish at bay.

He left a note for Peter saying he was out looking for him to cover his tracks and was careful about leaving, checking every shadow before he stepped into the artifical light of the street, making sure Peter wasn't hiding somewhere to watch him walking out of the building. And from there he decided to climb the neighboring building and maybe find Peter that way. He couldn't have gone far, determined or not. The painkillers were good, but they knocked the arachnid out quickly and hard. Theoretically, he was either drowsy or hurting from that dose he took only a few hoirs ago.

He climbed one story at a time, marching past a window that was open, the sounds of someone either getting screwed or beaten, floated towards him. Whichever it was it didn't sound right so he kept walking and took note that if he heard someone scream for help, that window might be worthy of investigation. Deep down he hoped they were just bad at sex or watching a terrible movie.

He sighed loudly once he got to the top of the building, taking a moment to scan the area before looking back toward his building. There was little in the way of sunlight in the sky yet and the streetlights were casting reflections of light on the faces of the buildings across the street which made it hard to look at the shadows.

A dog barked, the sound echoing through an alleyway as he stared into the darkness, squinting to focus on the shapes of his building's roof, eyeing something that looked vaguely human-sized if a person was crouching. And Spider-Man was known for hating his knees. He was always sitting on his toes like a deer or horse. All dainty-like, a contrast to his assholeiness. Wade was probably going to have to pretend like Peter acting like a jerk didn't hurt his feelings. Wouldn't he?

No matter, he'd been doing that with normal people the last several years.

But he cared about what Peter said, so he was a little scared that the words exchanged here might be taken to heart, even if he knew better. Spider-Man would be speaking to Deadpool, not Wade. Peter and Wade were not their counterparts. They both had personas to maintain after all.

"Lookin' for something?"

He flinched, clenching his hands close to his chest before he had time to control his body's reaction. He quickly cast a glare over his shoulder, silently releived. "You trying to make me piss myself?" he stepped around, catching sight of Peter now that he stood with the light of the street behind him.

"Do you have a weak bladder?" Peter sneered back at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, looking at them made him feel bad.

"Maybe I do. And If you're going to make fun of me for it, that would be ableist of you," he tilted his head in challenge, looking Peter over while he was sent a visible disdainful stare he always imagined was hiding under Spider-Man's mask. It made Peter look so different. His Peter was such a sweet little thing, and here he was just . . . well, he looked like he could be dangerous. Like Wade was treading close to an animal whose tail was already lashing.

Peter wasn't wearing his suit. He was wearing his sweatpants and a black sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over his hair. He was couched down, leaning against the raised edge of the roof, all of his weight resting on his good leg. He could bend the limb though, that was a good development.

"Shut up."

"Unless you've got a piss kink." Wade continued as Peter's eyes narrowed. "Not really my thing, but I'm always open to try something once. I used to say all things but learned the hard way that I really shouldn't give anything a free one-time go-around. You know?" By now, the hero's expression was a genuine scowl of disgust, lips curled back just enough for the sharp points of those new teef to be visible. They were very white. He supposed that made sense considering how new they were, but he'd never noticed until now.

He smiled at the spider. "Careful Pumpkin-Eater, you don't have a mask on. I can see everything."

Peter's expression wavered the slightest. He'd struck a nerve that gave Peter pause before his face fell back to a more neutral disapproval.

"Why do you insist on bothering me?" Peter asked, voice lower than he ever usually carried it.

"I might have walked clear on by if you hadn't drawn my attention to you. I don't think you want to be alone." He looked to his side and stepped over to take a seat on the ledge Peter was leaning on, a safe ten feet away. "How's the leg?"

"What leg?"

"The one that nearly got blown off durning your last flaming public argument, silly," he answered sweetly. "I see it's still attached, that's good. They are quite the bugger to grow back," He pressed his lips together as he paused. He didn't really talk to Peter like this in civilian life, maybe that would draw him away from recognizing his voice. For now. Really, he was one shower thought away from Peter realizing the regenerative anti-hero was his regenerative friend who had a surprisingly similar canter to his chatter. Maybe he should change it up? No, Spidey would likely wonder what the hell was wrong with him and pay more attention if he changed his voice now. He should have thought of that before he started talking. He just didn't think he'd need to talk so soon.

"Why are you here, Deadpool?"

"Lookin' for something," he sang back and leaned forward, leather gloves sliding on the cement as he settled but he quickly pulled back again as the edge of the wall brushed against the edge of his infusion site, tugging at it in a way that moved it just enough to make the giant yellow "EW EW EW NO DON'T DO THAT" warning lights go off in his mind. He adjusted ever so slightly and proceeded with what he was doing, watching Peter's eyes flick down toward his abdomen before meeting his again. Fuck, he noticed.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" he challenged, but he could see Peter was ready to move, he needed to defuse to avoid putting the arachnid in a poised position. He didn't feel like getting the snot knocked out of him and he didn't think Peter had any business being out here to begin with. "Oh, wait. Did you mean that?" He vaguely gestured south of his body. "That's my raging hard cock."

"You weren't hard four seconds ago," Peter's expression and tone were even as he stared Wade down, muscles tensing.

"Don't believe me? I'm fast, here I'll show you," He said cheerily. What was he going to do? Did he need to flex some lower "muscles" to make this believable? Peter would freak out if he was bluffing, but he couldn't just not... what did he think about? He joked about this tactic all the time but had never actually done it. What did he think about? Even if he couldn't get all the way there, a twitch would be better than nothing, right? Maybe even more polite than what he was implying, which would be bonus points. Maybe.

Peter. He'd woken up to him experimentally pressed back against him, grinding his hips slowly, his hand pressing Wade's against his chest. He remembered the feeling of Peter's heartbeat pulsing underneath his hand.

He began to lift himself. He wasn't really getting anywhere noticeably, maybe he'd get away with this and still have a sliver of dignity left over by the end, unlikely but then he just needed to make sure Peter never discovered his alias and life would go on and Deadpool would vanish from existence... Peter's last interactions with Deadpool would be 'oh my god are you fucking hard? You're an actual predator,'

"Wait!" Peter raised a hand. "I don't want to know,"

"You sure?" He raised a brow. Oh thank Jesus, he thought he was in trouble. If Peter changed his mind at this point it would be Wade's turn to bail or mediate.

"Good because I have nothing to show you," he relaxed back into place.

"Then why were you in pain?" Peter challenged, adjusting his position so he could jump if he needed to. Wade had to control his eye roll.

Lie.

"I don't know about you and your sinew tight spandex, but I like to wear a road rash abrasion resistant road worthy leather ensemble, and with that comes zippers. A few of them. And when I'm in a rush, sometimes I forget to make sure the zipper lining is in place. Can you imagine what a zipper does to flesh when you're moving around?"

Peter hummed, unconvinced but no longer In position to pounce. He looked tired, and like he was about to nod off actually.

"I think you should upgrade. Sure, it's a bit restrictive, but given how often you're flung into buildings, I think-" he cut himself off as Peter's eyes began to droop.

Well geez, he knew he wasn't that boring.

"Peter?" He dropped the high charasmatic tone and sat up as the arachnid began to lean forward, eyes fluttering. "Hey, what's going on?" He stood and quickly moved toward Peter, managing to slip his hand under Peter's chest just before the man's face hit the ground.

"Hey, what is wrong with you?" He demanded, pulling Peter up to look at his face. He was awarded a small grunt but nothing more before the hero went completely limp. No bones in his body kind of limp. Wade leaned in to listen to his pulse.

It was slow. Not unusually slow for someone athletic but slow for someone who was up and talking a minute ago. He leaned him up and pulled his phone out, using his flashlight while he gently dragged Peter's upper eye lid up, giving himself enough light to get a look at his pupils.

They were constricted. They should be completely blown out if anything. "Hey, are you going to be with me soon?" He asked softly, gently tapping the Burnettes face, but the arachnid didn't so much as twitch.

He looked around and pulled Peter's drawstring hood tight to cover his face. His long bangs spiked out the hoodie in a way that would have been cute under other circumstances. He pulled the young man up and over his shoulder and turned to make the trek back down the fire escape. It was a long walk and he had to listen to Round Two of the horrible sex track. He crossed the street and made his way slowly down the building and quickly got Peter back home. He entered his kitchen and shifted the arachnid's weight, walking through and passed the living room to head for the bedroom. But he paused.

He looked over at the coffee table, to the bottle sitting there, shifted two inches ahead of where it should have been.

He realized with disheartened dread that he was going to have to count those. He looked over at Peter as a new growing sense of concern began to bloom.

Was this a first offense?

He forced himself to move on, brining Peter to bed and taking his shoes and sweatshirt off before stealing them along with the artist's bag to go hide them in a room to make a second escape more difficult. He pulled off his own mask then, ripping the velcro on his gloves to pull them off as well as he made his way back to his coffee table. He sat down on the edge of the couch and tipped the contents of the bottle into his cupped hand.

He started the month with 30 doses to be taken as needed and he had a calendar to mark each day he used one or more. He should have sixteen and a half doses left.

He counted by twos. And then he set them aside as he counted. But then he started pouring them back into the bottle as he counted to make sure he wasn't misscounting.

Fifteen.

He wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed. He was concerned.

Was Peter in that much pain? He knew he was hurting, but he was still moving around, pain or no. Was it because Wade had tried to give him two? Did Peter feel euphoric? Surely not? He'd passed out almost immediately after he'd taken them.

What about this time? Theoreticly, the first pill wasn't even through Peter's system yet.

He capped the lid and reached down to remove his boots, stuffing a glove in each shoe before walking them quietly to the small closet before stripping the rest of the way down and then turning to find his clothes from bed.

He turned back and grabbed the pill bottle and put it in the fridge behind a few yogurts and tried to shove the entire situation from his mind.

He just wanted to help Peter get better. That's all. He wouldn't allow him to take a dive for the worst. He couldn't allow that.

Peter would be fine.