Spider-Man.

I'm in Spider-Man's body. No matter how many times he repeats it in his head, Wade can't wrap his mind around it. When he said he wanted to be inside Spider-Man, this isn't what he meant. But it explains the strange sudden clarity of the world, why he can hear a whispered argument between two siblings in the apartment above him, and why things keep attaching to him.

In the stunned silence that follows his brain being blown, the mask finally unsticks from his fingers and lands on the floor with a soft whomp . Slowly, Wade turned, gazing at the room through a new lens. The newspaper clippings pinned to the corkboard were of Spider-Man's rogue gallery and all the gadgets were spider-esque in design. A closer examination of the desk revealed screwdrivers, wiring, chemical equations, and doohickeys being created. The two bracelets sitting on the edge of the desk were, in fact, not bracelets, and with a jolt of excitement, Wade realized they were Spider-Man's web-shooters.

Spidey never let him get close enough to get a good look at them and always had them hidden underneath his suit. Giddy, Wade slid them onto his wrist, grinning as they clipped snugly into place, and stuck out his arms, pressing his middle and index finger into the pressure plate.

"Go web, go!"

Nothing happens.

He tries again, pushing harder. " Fly web!"

Still nothing.

"Really?"

He finally got his fingers on Spidey's tech and it's busted! Well...he might've had something to do with that, actually.

"GodDAMMIT, Deadpool!" Spider-Man had hissed the night before, clutching his wrist to keep the pieces of his web-shooter together. "I told you to go left and draw her fire!"

"Right, I must've been absent the day you were made the BOSS of me." Wade had snapped back, firing off several rounds as beams of purple light shot past them like bullets. " Do you KNOW how long it takes to regrow an arm? You go left and draw her fire. Let's see how you like it!"

"I CAN'T even if I wanted to!" Spider-Man said, shaking his wrist furiously. The arm of his suit was charred from a mystic bolt that had skimmed it, and the skin underneath was tinged red. He was holding his busted web-shooter together, something about not wanting the webbing to leak out, shoulders hunched in a clear sign of seething rage.

Wade rubbed the faded pink mark on his arm. It was already almost healed, the sting a faint sensation in the back of his mind. He didn't know why Spidey was whining so much. It wasn't even a scratch compared to the constant stabbing pain Wade endured every day. Besides, it was healing fine. Scowling, he tossed the memory aside and picked up the fallen laptop, which was filled to the brim with strings of coding he didn't understand.

"Mr. Mc-Smarty pants." He sighed and dropped the laptop, doing a final spin of the room.

So, this is Spider-Man's base.

It's not very impressive.

But maybe he spoke too soon. A sensation flitters over Wade's brain. A strange, tingling feeling starts at the base of his skull and spreads across his head, directing him towards the barely standing door. Outside, the floorboards creaked as someone approached the apartment.

Don't move , the tingle seems to whisper. Someone is nearby.

They're not dangerous. Wade doesn't know how he knows they're not dangerous, he just does. But their appearance is razor-sharp to his senses, pressing against his brain like a physical hand keeping his attention honed on them. His whole body goes...silent. Still. Waiting as the newcomer drew closer and closer until they stopped at the door.

The newcomer - a woman by the sound of it - makes a surprised sound, probably noticing that the door is barely hanging on by its hinges. She mutters unkindly under her breath, knocks carefully, and says in a very annoyed tone, "Parker? Parker, you in there?"

Wade pressed his lips together, willing her to go away. She isn't dangerous. He knows that to the core of his being, but she still puts a spike of anxiety in his stomach. The woman knocks one more time, grumbles some more, and slides a piece of paper under the door. He listened as she walked away, and once she was out of earshot and the tingling had died down, Wade released the breath he was holding and tiptoed to the paper.

It's an envelope. A bill. With red, bolded letters that say: URGENT- FINAL NOTICE and a stamp that read: PAST DUE. It's delivered to Peter Parker.

"Oh, that's me," Wade realized, eyes widening. "Him. Us?" He examined the name, rubbing his chin. "Peter, huh? I was expecting something like Brad. Or Eisenhower. That's kind of disappointing." He turned the envelope over. "Rents due, Petey. You should probably get on that."

For someone preaching about responsibility, Spidey sure didn't handle his bills very well. Not that Wade was one to chuck stones, or whatever that saying was. He's been committing tax evasion ever since...well, ever since he started raking in money. He earned that money through his blood, sweat, tears, and gratuitous violence. There's no WAY he's giving any of it to a government-especially the American government. There are several IRS agents out for his blood.

The music outside turns up to combat the news report and a baby the floor above wails. Typical. The first time his brain is actually quiet and crying babies ruin it.

Wade froze, eyes becoming saucers. "It's...quiet." He said. "It's quiet ." Not really, not when there are a dozen other sounds bombarding him through the walls. But his head. His brain. The air where the boxes normally popped up is...empty. Blissfully empty . A laugh burst out of Wade's chest like a popping bubble. He threaded his fingers through his hair (HAIR! He's still not over that), tugging as the silence soaks into his brain tissue.

No one else is cluttering his brain. No unwanted voices clamoring and falling over each other to be heard, giving unwanted opinions. It's just him.

A manic smile broke over his face. "I can get used to this."

A sharp buzzing erupts to his left, and Wade cringes at the sound, delight momentarily soured. He dug through the clutter to pinpoint the noise, finding a phone hidden underneath a blanket.

JJJerkface the caller ID says.

Fun. Wade answers the phone. "Yeah?"

"Don't YEAH me, Parker. You were supposed to be in the office over an hour ago! Where are those pictures of that magic thingy-ma-bopper you were supposed to send in last night? How do you expect me to print a morning edition without pictures?! We're going to have to push it to the evening edition. Or, if you really want to send me back to the hospital, TOMORROW's paper. And by then the Globe will have their crummy hands on the story. Do you KNOW what that'll do to my health, Parker? Well? Do you?"

"Uh...yeah. Sure. Wouldn't want that. Definitely not at all. Uh, pictures for...?"

"Why do I even have you on the payroll? A child could do your job. Get those photos to Betty in the next ten minutes or you can consider yourself OFF the payroll. You can be the Globe's pain in the ass."

Without waiting for Wade to respond, Jerkface ended the call. "He sounds delightful," Wade chirped and tossed the phone on the bed. "Now, how about breakfast?"

He was used to the deep ache of hunger pains he's felt ever since waking up. Having a healing factor like his meant he needed to eat an army's worth of food just to keep his stomach satiated. Outside weapons, sex toys, and Wolverine action figures, it's where a majority of his money went.

Spider-Man had an okay healing factor. Good compared to the losers who didn't have one, but it didn't hold a candle to Wades'. Still, Wade's seen him eat enough food to feed 10 grown adults, so he supposed it made sense.

"Alright, Petey Pie," He flung the fridge open. "What've you got to work with?"

Peter Pie had little to work with. Wade surveyed the meager stockpile of food with an unimpressed purse of his lips. A loaf of bread with only 3 pieces left inside (two of them were the end pieces, bleh ), a bottle of ranch, a handful of tortillas, and a liter of expired milk.

"Oh Spidey," Wade sighed in disappointment. "Behind on your rent AND groceries. How am I supposed to feed this growing body?"

He shut the door, putting a bit too much strength into it because the fridge rocks back into the wall. A second later, the tenet next door banged against the wall. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Wade yelled back and ransacked the two cupboards above the stove, which comprised a few cans of soup, some boxed meals, an almost empty bag of cereal, and a single cup.

His stomach grumbled again, louder. There weren't enough ingredients to make one of the boxed meals. Or any meal, really. Not even a snack. This calls for a little improvisation.

Wade's masterpiece became a tortilla slathered in ranch, rolled into a taco. Not the best cuisine he's had, but not the worst either. He stuffed half of it into his mouth, dripping ranch down his chin, and gingerly sat on the remains of the bed to pick through Peter-Man's phone.

Which was password protected.

"Of course," he grumbled, ranch-taco hanging out of his mouth. The lock screen was an old picture. Wade recognized his new face (Spider-Man's face) among a group of five other people. He was younger, more youthful, and not so weighed down with stress lines and eye bags. He was a cutie. On his left was a tall, lanky red-headed boy covered in freckles with the worst haircut Wade's ever seen in his life. Next to him, was a large, beefy guy with blond hair, wearing a football jersey, with his arm slung over the tall red-heads shoulder. On Peter's right was a pretty blond girl, wearing a pencil skirt, a sleeveless sweater, and a simple black headband. She had one arm swung over Peter-Man's shoulder, and the other slung over the shoulder of another girl with long, gorgeous red hair and a brilliant smile. Redhead had her arms wrapped around the blondies waist.

"Must be nice to have friends," Wade sighed. His eyes landed on the date and time and he choked on his ranch-taco.

It's Thursday? Already???

"Oh fuuuuuck."

A/N

If your wondering why Wade's spider-sense went off when the woman came around, it's because she's truly not a physical threat, but she's still a threat to Peter's mental health. She's his landlord. She causes him unbridled amount of stress whenever she comes snooping around for money, and Peter's spider-sense picks up on that.