Wade loves playing games.

This might come as a surprise to you, but he's great at strategy. If it involved breaking down an enemy's defenses and squeezing out every last one of their weaknesses, he was the merc for the job. Not a lot of people believed that about him, or maybe they just never looked close enough to tell. To them, he was a bumbling, trigger-happy lunatic who happened to take bullets like a champ. That's what made him dangerous, right? That he could just keep coming back over and over and over again.

Partly true, but they were wrong. Wade was killing people long before he got healing powers wrapped in a pretty silver bow. And he'd kept himself alive, something his targets couldn't say.

But that was their mistake, wasn't it. It would've been annoying if he didn't rely on it. He savored the moment those dumbasses realized they made a crucial mistake.

"1...2...3," he counted slowly as he climbed the final step of the basement and entered the main lobby of the building. It was similarly built like the one he and Peter lived in. It was easy to imagine a dead plant on the front desk, and replace the smell of dust and grime with an old musty carpet.

"4...5...6..."

The elevator was out of order, which made sense. This building was not well kept and looked like it had been abandoned for years. But someone had made a habit of walking the same route. A grimy path had been worn into the carpet, trodden from one face-snatching fatherfucker who walked this hallway multiple times a day. He followed it to the stairwell door.

"7...8..."

He swung it open, stomping into the narrow chasm of space, and let it slam shut behind him. The sound that followed was loud and echoed throughout the stairwell. Subtly wasn't one of his concerns. He wanted Chameleon to know he was coming. It made the game more fun. It'll make the payoff sweeter. It'll give him so much more satisfaction in the long run.

He didn't even have to wait long.

Somewhere above, there was a scuffle, like someone had tripped, and a moment later he was answered by another echoing door. Wade twisted the knife in his hands, rolling its hilts around his fingers eagerly as he grinned.

"9...10...ready or not, here I come."

Chameleon was not good at hide and seek. Wade supposed he would be a lot better if he had a crowd he could disappear into. But he wasn't in his element, he was locked inside this building with Wade, and he made the terrible mistake of pissing him off. Really, he brought this on himself. He was the one that brought Wade here, he was the one who meddled in his life, he was the one who thought he could get away with it, and honestly, that was just bad strategizing on his part.

It helped that he didn't know Wade was free yet.

Surprise! I found you! And my reward? All I want you to do is hold this knife in your chest for me. Thanks, you're a doll! Mwah! Mwah!

He started up the stairs slowly, but the higher he climbed the more riled he felt, until he was running, taking 3 steps at a time. It was hard to pick up where the sound started and where it stopped in an echoey place like this, but he didn't think it was far off. Most of his injuries were healed up by now, save for a few minor aches and pains. But even if he was bloody, broken, and in pieces on the floor, he would be crawling up these steps with the knife clenched between his teeth.

It took him a minute or two to find the door, and he knew it was the right one because the doorknob was dented. His grip on the knife got tighter. The urge to stab and keep stabbing was a revving engine in his limbs. He felt like one of those wind-up toys, but instead of walking or talking it was extreme violence.

"Knock, knock," he grunted and kicked the door open, stepping inside to meet his prey.

What he sees makes him pause, but only for a second. Honestly, it makes his blood boil even more.

Chameleon had to know that Wade was coming after him. He wasn't subtle about the noise he was making, and who else in this building would be out for blood? He didn't have to know for long, it was a simple equation to put together. And now, here he was trying to play on Wade's sympathies. Trying to weasel his way under his skin and prick at his heart. No amount of physical pain would stop Wade, but seeing Peter staring at him like this, wide-eyed and shaking, was like getting his heart ripped in half.

Chameleon replaced Peter's hoodie with a pair of rumpled pajamas. The healthy glow of his face was replaced with pale, sweaty skin that looked clammy to touch. This Peter had bags under his eyes and limp, ragged hair. His hands and feet were bound with a pair of thick black cuffs, and the skin around his wrists and ankles were rubbed raw. There was a gash on his arm that left trails of red blood running down his skin. His eyes and cheeks were sunken too, and in the faint light of the corridor, he looked frail. Sickly. Not at all like the Peter he left behind when he took that job.

But hadn't Chameleon already done this? Pretended to be Peter to get the upper hand on him? He'd stuffed himself in a corner in that gutted building, pretended to be cold and unconscious, and when Wade got close enough, he shot him in the head. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The guy probably had a knife stuffed inside his pajama pants and was going to stab him in the neck the moment he turned his back.

Not-Peter looks surprised to see him. A moment of vulnerability that flashes across his face like a ray of sunlight streaking over a moving car. And then those sickly, bruised eyes are glaring at him, and every muscle in his body goes rigid.

"You tried this on me already," he snarled. His voice is raspy and raw and his arms and legs shake as he falls into a braced stance, "I'm not falling for the same trick twice."

Damn, Chameleon was good. Wade had to give him kudo's for technique and craft, he really knows how to get into the head of his character. Wade would've been impressed if it didn't give his heart an aggressive, violent, and not-at-all-friendly noogie. He wasn't a fan of emotional pain. Only his truly closest archenemies were allowed to break him down to the human-incarnate of the Great Depression, and Chameleon hadn't whined and dined him enough to reach that level of their relationship.

Not-Peter lunged and that's how Wade knows this can't be the real deal.

Real Peter is fast. Super-fast. Incredibly fast. Not as fast as Quicksilver, or any of those handy dandy speedsters, but he's fast . Even with a head cold he would've been able to punch Wade 5 times before he even moved. Peter was agile and quick on his feet, constantly moving and jumping around the walls like a red-and-blue bouncy ball. This Peter is slow. His punch, while still fairly quick, is nothing compared to the speeds of the real Peter. Wade dodges it easily, tucking and rolling to the side with the knife poised in hand.

"I have to agree," Wade said, "These tricks are getting pretty old. Try something new before your audience gets bored of the same ol' shtick. Newsflash , anyone can commit identity theft."

Not Peter stumbled when his fist didn't meet his target, but he recovered and managed to stay on his feet. His skin was looking a little flush now, like even this much effort was wiping him out. Wade didn't like seeing Peter like this almost as much as he didn't like seeing a gun in his hand. He told himself not to think about it too much. Chameleon was just trying to get under his skin. That's how he lost the last battle, and despite what people thought, Wade learned from his mistakes.

Panting hard, Not Peter swung at him again, "I'll admit, your impressions are getting better. You almost sound like – AH !" he stumbled, holding his freshly bleeding arm. He hadn't been quick enough to block Wade's swipe with the knife, and blood ran down his forearm in a steady stream.

Wade grinned, flipping the knife through his fingers with expert finesse, "Thanks. Now hold still. Or better yet, make it a little fun for me and run. Scream. If you beg, I might even let it go by faster. But not much. I want to take this nice and slow and sweet, darling ."

Not-Peter bent over himself, arm pressed deep into his stomach, but when he looked up at Wade, something dark was staring back. A type of anger that Wade only ever saw in Peter's body language when they were taking down human traffickers or abusers.

"You-" he said, and his voice is so strangled and tight it breaks off. It takes a couple seconds before he can say between gritted teeth, "You sick freak ," He lunged at Wade again, harder this time. It was strange and awkward with the handcuffs, but even with them on he was surprisingly nimble. Enough to be a pain in the ass at least.

Wade dodged by a hair and slashed him across the thigh. He didn't need to do any stabbing yet, he could slash and cut and make him bleed before putting steel inside flesh for real.

"Ooooh, are we going pre-relationship? I remember those days. I was called a sick freak a lot back then."

Not-Peter grunted, but ignored the pain and turned, throwing another two-fisted punch, but once again, Wade was quicker.

"You're disgusting," he shouted, "You make me fucking sick," a hand wrapped around the handle of a door, and with one aggressive tug he yanked it right off its hinges and hurled it at Wade. It made him stumble to his knees, but the throw was still strong.

Yelping, Wade rolled to the side, hitting the wall. This wasn't the most spacious place to fight, shame they weren't down in the lobby, or even inside one of these apartments. But that was a minor thought as he stared at the splintered door, wide eyed.

Wait a second...

"What happened to all that bullshit about wanting to protect me," Not-Peter was yelling, voice getting shrill and dry, and it was painful to hear. He stumbled and pulled himself back to his feet, hobbled a step, and found another door, which he also ripped off its hinges. He threw it as well and this time it did hit Wade, and sent him careening down the hall in a broken mess of wood.

"How is this helping me? How isn't this fucking torture? What do you want from me? Why – why do you keep doing this."

Not-Peter faltered, and then tripped, barely catching himself on his wrists. His entire body was trembling now. "Why...why won't you leave me alone? Why-" his voice cracked and broke off. He sounded broken.

Wade, meanwhile, shoved pieces of the door off his body. How strong was Chameleon supposed to be? He couldn't pull doors off their hinges, could he? It had to be a trick. A ruse. He untightened the screws on the doors to make it easier.

All of them? A little voice in his head piped up. On every floor?

Unease churned in his gut. He found his knife where it had fallen from his grip and walked towards Not Peter carefully. His hackles were raised, but he hesitated this time. There was something off about this. Not off in the way Not-Peter usually was. But differently. Like Wade was missing a crucial piece to a puzzle.

"You're really stupid if you think I'm going to fall for this," he said as he approached, even as doubt hung from his back like a too-hot coat.

Not-Peter sniffled, not bothering to look up at him. "What do you want me to do?" he whispered, "What's the point in all of this? Are you trying to get me to hate him? To not trust him anymore? Is that what this is about?"

Wade didn't answer. He didn't know what to say.

Anger rose in Peter like a swelling tide, flushing his skin red, but his head remained bowed, like he was too tired to lift it, "IS THAT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? COME ON, SAY SOMETHING! YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN SO FUCKING CHATTY BEFORE." But he wasn't looking for any answer, nor was he going to give Wade the opportunity to look for one.

Wade was close enough now that Not-Peter pushed himself off the floor, and slammed into him, shoving them both to the ground.

The position was awkward, especially with Not-Peter's bound ankles and wrists, but he managed to get to his knees, and brought down his fists like they were clubs. It hurt about as much as clubs did. Too hard and too brutal to belong to a normal person. Wade knew super strength when it was beating bruises into his skin.

And Chameleon didn't have super strength.

He's rarely seen Peter let go like this. All his anger bubbling and spilling over. There was something animalistic about it, like a cornered beast on its last leg, doing whatever it could to keep itself alive. Not Peter was furious and tired and hurting, mindless with the urgency to get away. But Not Peter wasn't Not Peter. He was Peter. Real Peter. The realization came to Wade slowly, hindered by whispers of doubt and paranoia that clung to his brain like sticky cobwebs.

He wasn't sure. He didn't want to be fooled again. He didn't want to wake up tied down, looking up at the face of someone he loved as they shoved a gun at him.

Before Possible-Peter could hit him again Wade grabbed his wrist, maneuvered his leg, and flipped them over with the smooth expertise of a man with his skillset. He pushed Possible-Peter face-down on the floor and swung one arm around his neck in a chokehold position, but didn't apply pressure. Not yet.

"Peter," Wade said in his ear, "If this is really you, you've got to give me something right now. Anything. A sign, or a signal, or – or a hint that this is really you, because so help me if this is another trick I'm going to lose my fucking mind, and we both know I can't afford what little of that I have left."

"Get the hell off me," Possible-Peter snarled, bucking up and trying to loosen his grip, but the action is pitiful and useless.

Wade's mind raced for different possibilities. He needed something only they would know. Something Chameleon couldn't possibly figure out or bullshit his way out of. He leaned down and whispered into Peter's ear, "Code White."

Possible-Peter froze. His entire body hardened, and Wade would've been convinced that he'd turned to ice if not for the hitch in his chest and the way his eyes widened. A silence fell over them, settling like a heavy blanket.

"How do you know about that?" Peter whispered. His voice broke. Something hopeless and resigned molded the lines of his face, as if this was the final straw. His face darkened, watery eyes clamping shut and his lips twisted violently, "How the fuck do you know about that?"

That proved it. This was Peter. The real him. There was no way Chameleon would know about Code White, they've only ever mentioned it once before, and it was before Chameleon started his surveillance. They haven't said it since then either, so there's no way he could've overheard it. The relief Wade felt made his body sag.

"Peter-" was all he got out before Peter struck,

"HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT?" He screamed, shoving his elbow backward, slamming it into Wade. The cavity of Wade's chest was immediately crushed, his ribs snapped, and pain exploded in his lungs like someone had shoved a live grenade down his throat. As Wade gasped for breath. Peter twisted and threw him off, and he hit the far wall.

Wade's vision swam in and out, chest heaving in broken, jerking pants as blood and pain welled in his throat. Lack of oxygen made his brain fuzzy; he couldn't take in enough without his chest screaming in agony. Across from him, Peter was on his knees, glaring at Wade with such hatred it dove straight into his heart and twisted to the point of tearing. His arm was still bleeding.

I did that , Wade thought, and the shame hurt almost as much as his collapsed lung.

This is exactly what Chameleon wanted. He wanted Wade to hurt Peter, and it worked . Loathing flooded Wade's body, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of self hatred and remorse.

"Peter-" he tried again, but talking was hard and all that came out was broken syllables.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Peter screamed, and he's crying. Tears ran down his face, and his chin wobbled, and he looked so hurt and anguished. His bound arms pressed into his chest and he bent over himself, as if Wade had thrust that knife into his heart.

Wade could see paranoia hanging off him like chains, pain and uncertainty covering him like a veil. His chest heaved as he tried to get himself under control, but he was at the end of his rope. He couldn't take it anymore.

"It was on Christmas Eve," Wade rasped, pulling himself into a sitting position. "We were sitting opposite of the Rockefeller Center. We were drinking hot chocolate and I was trying to convince you to go ice-skating with me. I - I said that as a Canadian, it was my divine mission to teach poor saps like you how to ice skate, and you told me you already knew how."

Peter's chest hadn't stopped heaving, but he was silent.

"The lights were pretty, and the giant-ass tree they decorated sparkled on the ice, and you cuddled up to me. You wrapped your arms around me and put your head on my shoulder, and said that you were freezing your ass off, but when I asked if you wanted to leave, you wrapped your arms around me tighter. Like you were going to web me down if I moved. It started snowing, and it was all so pretty that I said I want us to have a winter wedding. And without missing a beat, you said you'd prefer something in spring or summer."

Carefully, Wade pulled himself from his position and crept closer to Peter, hands open so it was clear he didn't have a weapon on him. "We've never talked about marriage before, but it felt so natural we didn't even hesitate. But it was...scary too. We talked about it, whether or not we were ready for that step; if we wanted to get married at all," he stopped next to Peter, who was looking down at the floor.

"We decided that we weren't ready for that yet, but maybe in time...maybe we could...we decided to call it Code White, in case we ever wanted to bring it up again. But we haven't yet. I've wanted to a couple of times, but I...yeah. There's no way Chameleon can know about it. It was just the two of us on that rooftop, all alone. No one else."

Peter looked up at him slowly, and it breaks Wade's heart that there's still skepticism there. What had Chameleon done to break his trust so completely?

"What were the colors of the candy canes lining the rink?" he finally croaked.

"Red and white, except for one candy cane that was spray-painted rainbow. It had a sign attached to it that said, 'Be Merry and Gay .' Which I read as 'be married and gay,' which led to the whole...you know, Code White thing."

"What were we wearing?"

"I was wearing my ultra-big, fur-lined winter coat, and you were the dum-dum who wore a regular jacket, and you had to snuggle up in mine because you got cold."

"What were we drinking?"

Wade smiled softly, "Trick questions? We started drinking the seasonal hot chocolate shit they were selling near the rink, but you forgot you couldn't have peppermint because your spiderness is a killjoy, and you dropped it over the edge when you took a sip."

When Peter looked up at Wade there was tenderness in his eyes. Hope. A sliver of desperation. "Wade?"

"It's me, Peter."

Peter collapsed in Wade's arms. Wade couldn't tell if he was shaking from the cold, or if he was crying, but it didn't matter. He was feeling a little choked up himself. Either way it was time they got out of there. Peter's clothes were damp with sweat, and when Wade put a hand to his forehead, it was hot to the touch. Far too hot to be healthy, even by their superhuman standards.

"Damn, you kinda got the hots for me, dontcha."

Peter chuckled wryly, but it's weak, and watery, and buried in Wade's shoulder, "I don't think this is the kind of hots you want."

"We could make it sexy. I could rub some ointment on your chest. Give you a little kiss and steal the germ away."

Peter sighed, relaxing on Wade's shoulder, and said in a wrecked whisper, "I just want to go home."

"Then let's go home, baby boy. Can you stand?"

Peter nodded, but when hefted to his feet, he immediately sagged into Wade's side, like all his energy had drained through the soles of his feet. Up close he looked worse. Pale, gaunt face, bags under his eyes so dark they look like bruises, sunken cheeks. In Wade's arms he looked fragile, and he's seen Peter throw trucks over his head, take bullets like a champ, and get thrown through entire buildings and walk it off. It was strange seeing him like this. So small and broken.

It tore at Wade like angry beasts were digging their teeth into his flesh and shaking their heads, ripping him apart. He never wanted to see Peter like this. Ever .

He bent and scooped Peter up, carrying him bridal style. Wade's wounds were all closed up by now, so it was no trouble for him. Naturally, Peter thumped his hand against Wade's chest a few times in protest, and the words "I can walk," were a raspy whisper on his tongue, but he didn't fight past that. Which meant he truly was exhausted.

"Let's go home," Wade said, but like everything in this damn universe, it took a turn for the worse.

The door to the stairwell was open, and when they turned, Chameleon was standing there, face overshadowed and looking none too pleased. He was wearing Wade's face, probably looking for Peter with the intent of catching him off guard, and Wade bared his teeth at the thought. Peter's spider sense must still be online too because he looked up, and when he saw the copycat his hands gripped Wade's shirt so tightly the fabric ripped. If possible, his face got paler, and if Wade didn't know any better, he'd say Peter looked almost afraid.

"Oh good, you're both in the same place," Chameleon said, "Makes it easier for me then."

Wade hefted Peter, curling around him protectively. He looked down at the man in his arms, but Peter's eyes were glued to Chameleon, as if afraid to look away even for a second.

"Okay stunt double," he said, as calm and collected as he could because Peter already looked spooked as it was, "here's how this is going to go. I don't make offers like this very often, but you've caught me in a mood, so I'm going to extend it to you, and if you know what's good for you, you'll take it and make both of our lives easier. I'm going to walk out that door, with my little shivering bundle of nerves over here, and we are going to leave . In exchange, I'm not going to hunt you down and turn all your nifty little insides into gross, bloody outsides, and make you chew on your own intestines. This is a one time offer, and I promise you're never going to catch me feeling so generous ever again."

" Please ," Chameleon drawled and from the hoodie pocket he produced the gun that Wade had become so intimately aware of in the last few days. "We both know you won't let me out of this alive."

Wade's grin could've scared off a pack of sharks, " Oh , you got me. I'm a liar, liar, pants on fire."

Chameleon fingers tighten around the gun's hilt, but he doesn't pull the trigger. Not yet. He's frustrated though, Wade can see it in the tense lines of his shoulders, in the way his jaw was clenched so tightly, and the way the space between his eyes creased in agitation.

"Why'd you have to get out?" He said, rough with irritation, "Everything was going according to plan. Just another few days and we could've been out of here. You couldn't have just waited ."

Wade opened his mouth to say some very unkind, very unflattering things, but Peter fidgets, and he realizes Chameleon isn't talking to him. He's talking to Peter .

"Told you I didn't want to go with you," Peter croaked, and Wade's surprised he's talking at all. He looked a hop, skip, and a blink away from unconsciousness.

"But you'll go with him ," Chameleon demanded, jabbing the gun at Wade, "Look what he did to you," he gestured to the bleeding cut. "He doesn't deserve you."

"And you do?"

The question catches Chameleon off guard, and he shuffled in his stance, suddenly defensive. "I could give you a good life. I can take you away from this responsibility hanging off your shoulders. I can make you happy ."

"No you can't," Peter rasped, and he lays his head against Wade's shoulder, reaffirming that he's there, and solid, and real , "You never could."

"You heard the man," Wade said, "He doesn't want to go with you, and he doesn't want your freaky-deaky brand of help. He made his choice."

Chameleon's eyes snap up to Wade, like he'd forgotten he was there, and that tension and frustration hardens into anger. "Then it looks like I have to make my choice too," he said, and aimed the gun.

Wade turns, curling around Peter as the first shot goes off, and the bullet tears through his shoulder, going through all those lovely muscles and tendons, and rendering his arm useless. Peter dropped, but he managed to catch himself, and roll with the fall. Getting back to his feet, on the other hand, wasn't as easy, and he lay on the floor for a beat, arms trembling to bear his weight as he sat up.

Wade didn't give Chameleon the chance to land a hit and rolled to the side as the second shot was squeezed off. A bullet whizzed past his head.

He was going for head shots again. Predictable, but it was one of the few ways to successfully incapacitate Wade for a period of time. He could die, the problem was keeping him dead. But unlike any other time in his life, he couldn't afford taking a bullet in the brain and losing Peter all over again.

Farther down the hall, the knife gleams into the low light where he'd dropped it prior. His eyes darted to Peter, and then back at Chameleon. He didn't want Peter to think he was leaving, but it would only be for a moment, and besides, Wade preferred having a weapon in hand. Charging head-on was an option, but it was only a good option if he wanted his head off .

His hand wrapped around the doorknob Peter wrenched from the door earlier and chucked it at Chameleon as hard as he could. The next shot takes off a chunk of his ear, but the aim is off thanks to the brass knob, and Wade uses the opportunity to sprint down the hall, skid across the floor, and grab the knife. He's rolling back up on his knees in seconds and aiming for Chameleon's head.

For a split second they make eye contact. Chameleon had changed his appearance in the brief window that Wade had his back turned; he's wearing Peter's face again. Peter's happy, smiling, healthy face, and seeing it only gives Wade the briefest of hesitation, but it's enough. His eyes darted down to the real Peter and Wade's heart stops.

The world stops moving.

" NO !" He threw the knife, but everything was in slow motion. Chameleon's aim dropped, and the next shot was deafening. The knife sunk deep into the meat of Chameleon's shoulders, but Wade's eyes are on Peter. He sees the way Peter's body tenses and his head as it turns to find the source of danger. The way he starts to move out of the way, but he's still too weak and tired. He isn't fast enough. The bullet hits its mark.

"Peter!" Wade screamed, and he lurched to his feet.

It only takes a few seconds to get there, but it feels like an eternity. He stopped next to the other man, skittering on his knees and giving himself a rug burn that goes unnoticed. Peter is hunched over himself, clutching his shoulder as blood seeped between his fingers, staining his shirt in deep red pools that get wider and wider the longer he stares.

"Fuck," Wade hissed, " Dammit ." At least it looked like the bullet passed straight through, Chameleon was close enough to shoot him point blank. Wade tore off the feeble remains of the utility belt still wrapped around his waist and strapped it around Peter's arm to cut off blood circulation, but it didn't look like it would hold for long.

A gasp and grunt of pain drew his attention to Chameleon, who was slumped against the wall, hand around the knife embedded in his shoulder. It's startling to see a mirror of Peter across from him, also clutching a shoulder wound with a fade screwed up in pain that's similar to the man beside him. Some second dimension shit that doesn't sit well with him.

Glaring, Chameleon stumbled up, going for the doorway.

"No you don't," Wade growled, shooting to his feet, but he didn't pursue. His eyes wander back to Peter, who's grunting, chest heaving, and bleeding, and in need of medical attention, not an empty hallway as Wade chases an over-enthusiastic cosplayer. He glanced back at Chameleon who was already making his way up the stairs, and muttered a frustrated, " Fuck."

It couldn't end with Chameleon getting away. Not again. Not like this. Not after everything he did.

But...

Peter was his priority.

Watching Chameleon go made Wade want to scream and hit something, and break something else, and maybe twist something over and over and over again until it broke too. He wanted to cause pain, and hurt, and destruction. To make someone feel as much hopelessness as he was feeling right now. His fingers were itching for it.

Instead, he curled them around Peter, cradling his neck and adjusting his body so he can breathe easier.

"Peter, can you hear me?"

Peter's eyes are blurry and unfocused.

" Peter ?"

They land on Wade, but they don't recognize him. They're flitting, and confused, and his breathing is getting erratic m, which isn't a good sign. He's reached a point beyond understanding. He was in shock, and his body was shutting down. He needed help now.

"This is going to hurt, baby," Wade said, sliding his hands under Peter's legs and back, "I'm sorry, but it's gotta be done." He lifted Peter, and the other man shouted as his shoulder was jostled and moved. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," Wade whispered, and pressed a kiss to his head in apology as well.

He continued his litany of apologies as they descended the stairs.

The snow was coming down, barely lighter than the last Wade saw. He paused long enough to take off whatever scraps of a shirt he had left and covered up any bare skin Peter had showing. He's careful to keep him tucked close to his body, giving Peter any heat he can provide.

The longer he goes without medical attention, the more unresponsive he starts to get.

"It's okay now, Peter," Wade whispered into his hair, the other man's head pressed against his chest as they embarked into the storm. "I've got you now. Just stay awake for me, okay. Just for a little longer. I've got you."

And they finally meet up again! First time in this entire series! Chameleon weaseled his way out. But is this the last we see of him? O.o