Grim pleasure. That's what Wade usually felt when he stood over the bodies of sickos and perverts, freshly hacked and dead, no longer able to hurt anyone. But staring down at Peter's body, at the grotesque smattering of brain matter and skull on the floor, all he felt was a sickness in his stomach.

He came back up here to talk to Spider-Man. To drag him downstairs and show him what he'd uncovered, not allowing him to focus on the blood or the gore, but the sheer simple fact that this was all Parker's doing. The only lecture of morality he was going to endure, was the one about Spider-Man looking into the people he worked with to make sure they weren't two-timing monsters.

What he wasn't expecting was Peter Parker standing in the doorway, staring at Wade wide-eyed and startled. He heard his name. "Wade?"

But he was seeing red.

His brain flashed with the poor man they'd been experimenting on. The way he couldn't talk right, but judging by the way he looked at Wade's gun, he wanted his pain to end. So, Wade ended his pain, and then ended the lives of everyone single person in that lab.

Seeing Peter, his rage reignited, so overwhelming and strong that he pulled the trigger before Parker had a chance to utter another word out of those damn lips.

This made things harder to explain to Spider-Man.

Wade stared at Peter. He wanted to pump an entire load of bullets into his body. Wanted to kick and beat it even now, after death. He wanted to stroke his face tenderly. Wanted to cover him in a blanket to make it look like he was only sleeping.

He felt gross. He let those hands touch him. He let that mouth pleasure him. He pleasured Peter Parker, himself. And yet some part of him still cared .

Used. That was the word that popped into his head. He felt used. Manipulated. Of course, Parker was a bad guy, Wade had gotten caught up in his own doubts and it blinded him from the truth.

You'd think he'd learn his lesson.

Dropping the gun in disgust, he stepped over Peter's body. Spider-Man might still be here, but it was unlikely since he hadn't come running the moment he heard a gunshot. Peters room was empty. Wade wondered when Peter showed up. Was it just after he left to investigate? Did he see Spider-Man in his bed, butt-ass naked and connect the dots?

He wondered what they talked about. If Spidey told him who he had a romp in the sheets with, or if Peter guessed it himself.

Wade should tell Spider-Man about this before the media got their hands on it. A death like this would not go unannounced, and would be plastered across every screen within a few hours. His Avengers card might be revoked for a while, if not permanently. He'll have to play that one by ear.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, but there was a text on screen from Spider-Man already.

Babi Boi: Hey wade i saw that tou left pretty ealry this morning

Babi Boi: I hope everytiing is omay

Babi Boi: Okay

Babi Boi: Would tou be willjing to come by parker industries tonight? i really need to talk to you

Babi Boi: like

Babi Boi: a lot

Wade sighed. This was not going to be a good conversation. Regardless of whether or not Spider-Man accepted that Peter was as much a villain as the costumed freaks he fought, their friendship probably wasn't going to survive this.

He typed out: yeh we need 2 talk. ASAP. Come by PI industies rn something happened to ur boss

May as well get him over here as quick as possible. With his heart at his feet, Wade sent the message, already feeling a thousand times heavier.

What he wasn't expecting was to hear a DING of in the other room.

His head snapped up.

Was that a message DING? That sounded like a message DING.

Was Spider-Man still here ? He never left without his phone.

Panic settled in. And then Wade reasoned that Peter Parker was a slimeball and Spider-Man would appreciate knowing that his boss was experimenting on people illegally and cruelly.

Okay, but what if Spider-Man was in on the whole thing?

Wade shook his head hard, not even considering the thought. "No. Webs isn't like that. Spider-Man would never do that."

He held that belief in a headlock and refused to let it go until it stopped struggling. This was non-negotiable.

I'm just saying, he's known the guy for how long? He had to know something was going on.

"Spidey?" Wade called, ignoring the voice and peering out of the room. "Don't go in there, you're not going to like it!"

Might be too late bucko. He's probably standing over Parker's body with his jaw on the floor.

Wade ran through the hallway and had his hands up, ready to explain as he turned the corner, but...the room was empty. All there was, was Peter Parker's cooling corpse on the tiled floor.

Wade looked left and right. Squinted.

He typed in his phone: Spidey r u here?

He followed the ensuing DING ! Across the room, to a phone that had fallen not far from Peter's body. The screen was cracked, but Wade's message was there.

The world stopped turning. His lungs froze. His stomach dropped.

Why does Peter have Spider-Man's phone?

Maybe – maybe he was texting someone on it? Maybe he took it from Spider-Man?

He looked frantically around the room again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Spider-Man, anything, even if it was a fist aimed for his face. But it was empty. It was all EMPTY. All except for...

"Spidey?" Wade yelled, a note of hysteria creeping into his tone. " Spider-Man?"

His eyes went back down to Peter, and snapped away. They went back; his stomach sank.

There's no way...do you think?

" No," Wade shook his head so hard it would've snapped a lesser man's neck, " No, it's not - he can't be – he...Spider-Man, get your ass out here RIGHT NOW! I'm – I'm not joking! I killed your boss, you need to come out here and kick my ass right now!"

He ran to the bedroom, looking for an open window, or a hatch that would imply that Spider-Man left. But all the windows were still closed. There were no secret exits. Nothing was disturbed. Everything was as messy and cluttered as when he first stepped inside.

"SPIDER-MAN, YOU FUCKER!" Wade tore the blankets off the bed, like he might be hiding underneath. "THE ONE TIME YOUR NOT HERE TO GET ALL WEEPY AND LIMP-DICKED ABOUT ME KILLING SOMEONE, HUH? I'LL – I'LL KILL EVERYONE IN THIS BUILDING IF YOU DON'T SHOW YOURSELF! I'LL DO IT - I'LL –" he froze, feeling as though he might throw up. A pair of large white eyes stared at him from the floor, discarded like someone had dropped it there.

Wade picked up Spider-Man's mask with numb fingers.

Spider-Man could've left in his civvies. This doesn't mean anything.

"Yeah," Wade tried to agree, but his voice was light and fragile. He took a deep breath, and then continue taking deep breathes, chest heaving to retain air but unable to. "Yeah, this – this doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything ."

We just spent the entire night bumping uglies with Spidey. There has to be something we can identify him with!

Yeah! See if their nips are the same! Maybe he still has those hickeys? FUCK - doesn't he have a healing factor too? Go, go go! Move your ass!

Wade ran back into the main room, knocking over expensive vases and nearly stumbling over his own feet in his rush. Cold sweat clung to his skin, making him itchy, but he was gripping Spider-Man's mask too close to his chest to scratch. He skid to his knees besides Peters' body. There was blood all over the floor, puddled around his head, and Parker's eyes were glazed and unseeing. Wade's hands shook and faltered, hovering over that lifeless chest, unsure where to begin.

With a gentleness of touching spun glass, he tilted Peters head to the side to get a look at his neck. He'd sucked a group of hickeys into Spider-Man's skin, but it was hard to see. There were blemishes on Peter's skin. Dark spots. But they were faint.

Still, even those faint blemishes made his heart beat with dread. He sucked in a deep breathe. "Please don't...you - you can't do this. Come on Parker, just be a gross, disgusting stain of a human being. Don't pull this bullshit on me, okay? Please – please don't do this. Please don't," Wade unbuttoned Peter's shirt, and found what he was looking for.

All air escaped his lungs and didn't come back. The voices became a clamorous uproar in his head. A kicked hornets nest filling his brain with buzzing and noise and a swarm too large to perceive. A sob kicked him so brutally in the chest he doubled over.

There's a scar on his chest. A nasty looking thing. Spidey said it was from a gunshot wound he got when he first started out as a rookie vigilante. He told Wade the story, last night, as Wade kissed it gently, as if to take it away and add it to his own collection. Wade followed that scar down to his sternum, where there was another one, that he said he got from Scorpion.

There was another on his ribs. Stab wound.

A large patch on his shoulder. Road burn, from being dragged behind cars and slammed into buildings.

Tiny, white scars on his side barely visible. From getting thrown through glass windows.

Wade couldn't see. He didn't realize it was tears until he slammed his hands against his head, trying to push back the voices, and then dragged them down his face. Blood smeared across his skin. Peter's blood. SPIDER-MAN'S blood.

Spider-Man was here. He'd been here the whole time.

Wade's chest heaved.

YOU DID THIS! YOU KILLED SPIDER-MAN! KILLER!

Spider-Man never left.

He felt as though he was breaking in half.

YOU MURDERED HIM!

MURDERER!

SPIDER-MAN IS DEAD

AND IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF YOU

He couldn't stop himself. He turned over and threw up.