Final chapter here we GO!

Peter didn't burst awake like they did in the movies.

His eyes didn't fly open, nor did he spring up in bed, gasping for breath as life surges through him. Clarity didn't give him a perfect picture of what happened, or an idea of what he should do next.

He woke up as if he were asleep. Slow, groggy, and dazed.

The sound of people talking was the first thing to register; far off voices that he couldn't make out. His eyes cracked open next, blinking gunk out of his eyes as his vision cleared. For a few seconds he stares up at the ceiling, trying to sort out the sharp ache in his head that he can't quite place. He gets the flash of a gun going off. A BANG. A blood-soaked face snarling at him, pocketed with scars and lined with rage.

That has him lurching upward, post-adrenaline hitting him too late, telling him to move and get out of there . Which is a bad idea. The moment he's two inches off the pillow, his headache erupts into banging drums and he doubles over, grabbing his head.

"Easy," a voice said. "Give it a few minutes. You're not completely healed yet."

It was a woman's voice, smooth and sultry in a way that draws the ear. It's faintly familiar but he can't place that either. He blinks between his fingers, watching as she turns to someone else, talking. He's too busy nursing his headache to listen to what she's saying.

Only, it wasn't just a headache, was it? Headaches were when you stared at your screen for too long, or didn't drink anything all day. This was brain trauma. Something deep in the tissues of his mind, his skull, because he'd gotten shot. In the head. By a gun . Held by someone he knew.

It takes a few more minutes before he can lift his head. He recognizes this place as the master bedroom. The one he was supposed to live in. The one he avoided going into at all costs. It looked bare and tasteless, given that he'd thrown away everything inside, unable to look at the furniture, notes, and clothes without falling into a panic attack. Otto Octavius had left a scar in his mind, a taint everywhere he touched. This room had been ripe with the man's essence after he'd gotten his body back, from the wardrobe to the décor. Even stripping it down couldn't get rid of the stench.

So, he'd taken one of the guest bedrooms.

Being back in here makes his skin crawl and he shudders. He focuses on the woman to distract himself from the tightness in his chest. She's wearing black satin, accented by purple lace and gold highlights. She's beautiful in a way that doesn't seem quite human, emphasized by the streaks of purple down her eyes and the circlet framed by ebony black hair. She's standing next to the bed, staring over Peter, talking to someone across from her.

Peter follows her gaze and the memory of the gun and bloodied sneer flashes across him again. Deadpool is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and listening intently to what the woman is saying, nodding when appropriate, but staying quiet. For a moment, Peter thinks Wade doesn't even realize he's awake. But the man's neck is so tight it barely moves, the veins almost visible beneath the spandex, and Peter realizes it's because he's doing everything in his power not to look at him .

"What happened?" His voice has a rock-salt rasp to it that burns coming out of his throat, and kills the conversation between his two overseers.

He knew what happened...sort of. He knew he was shot by Wade; he didn't know why .

The woman raised an eyebrow at Wade and gestured to Peter, "Your mistake has been undone, but you've still got a mess to clean up. I'll leave the two of you to it. I'll see you later tonight about those favors."

"Thanks, Shiklah," Wade murmured. He still wasn't looking at Peter.

That was Shiklah? Wade's wife ? Oh.

Oh fuck.

It was very important that they talk ASAP, but as Shiklah left the room, so did every desire to speak. Peter stared at Wade, feeling hollowed out and dry, though unnerved with how stoic the Deadpool mask was. It's usually so animated, conveying emotions that shouldn't be possible through fabric. But it's blank and expressionless now.

While Peter stares at him, Wade stares at the far wall, hands clenched around the arms he has crossed over his chest.

"Wade?" Peter rasps, and the word hover in the air like a tangible cloud. "What happened?"

Wade doesn't respond.

" Wade," Peter repeats – or more accurately, snaps - anger bursting through him like a rogue flame. "What happened? "

"Why didn't you tell me you were Spider-Man?!" Wade demanded, bolting up from the wall, arms splayed out, already on the defense.

Peter recoiled, anger sizzling. "You know?"

"Yeah, I know!" Wade exploded, "You don't shoot a fella in the head and find out secrets about him that make you bring him back from the dead for nothing ! Why didn't you TELL me? We've been snogging and giving handjobs, and blowjobs, and all the jobs this whole fucking time and you never said ANYTHING! I don't know what you think of me, Peter , but I don't appreciate being toyed with!"

"I was going to tell you today," Peter snapped back, hackles rising. "I-" he stopped short, eyes widening, "Wait, what time is it?" he scrambled for the alarm clock by the nightstand, head pounding. "8 PM? How long have I been dead? How am I -" his breath left him. "I was...I was dead. Holy shit, I was DEAD!"

"Yes, we established that part," Wade said, rolling his hand as if to keep the conversation going. Maybe a bit too briskly.

"You don't fucking understand," Peter gasped, grabbing his head, "I was dead . I've - I've got to call Aunt May. MJ. Anna Maria. I need to let them know I'm alive." He dropped the alarm clock, searching for a phone.

Wade grabs his shoulder before he can get out of bed. Peter shrugs him off. But Wade's hand returns insistently and shoves him back down.

"You're not done healing."

"Yeah, and who's fault is that!" Peter snarled, yanking himself out of Wade's grip. It makes him woozy and he stumbles as he gets to his feet. But the anger coursing through his veins keeps him upright, and burns white-hot. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you - I didn't fucking do anything!"

"Oh, you didn't do anything?" Wade bared his teeth, "Oh really , Peter. Because after what I saw in your basement, it looks like you were doing a whole lot of things that should qualify you for the worst treatment in hell. Or, you were bankrolling it I guess, but if you don't think that makes you as bad as the person holding the knife, you've got another thing coming!"

Peter faced twisted violently into a scowl. "Do you ever make sense ? I don't know what you're talking about. I showed you everything in the building!"

"Yeah, well, in light of recent information, I have reason to believe that was all a pile of dogshit!"

"Argh!" Peter strangled the air, "You are so infuriating! What information could you possibly have that justifies shooting me in the face ?"

"Oh, I don't know, human experimentation, maybe? Is that bad enough to warrant a face-shot in your books?!"

Peter recoiled, as if he'd been slapped. "That's not...what are you talking about?"

Wade whipped out a knife deadly quick, stalking closer. He radiated anger, a black cloud that enveloped him and spread around the room, darkening the shadows. "Don't even try to play dumb." He snarled, "I saw everything . The lab. Your lackeys. The experiment. They all knew you by name. They were in your building. They had YOUR logo on their backs!"

It could be the accusations being thrown at him, or the knife getting closer and closer to his face, but every nerve in Peter's body stood on end. Not to be tricked again, his spider-sense was a steady hum over his skull.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated between gritted teeth, struggling to keep himself calm. His head throbbed, and he resisted the urge to rub it. His eye twitched, instead. "There is no lab. I would never experiment on people. I don't know what you're talking about , Wade."

Wade paused. Peter was still having a hard time reading his mask, but he knew Wade's body language enough to know that he was considering Peter's words and probably reading his body language, tone, and expression to judge if he was telling the truth. He was reading Peter like a bunch of runes on the wall, and it made Peter itch. He wanted to turn away, or cover himself. Better yet, he wanted his mask. His webshooters. He wanted to level the playing field.

Finally, Wade grabbed Peter by the arm – Peter flinched - and hauled him up where he'd been leaning against the bed, "Come on then, Spidey."

He pulled Peter to the door, and Peter let him. His body stiffened like plywood, and his spider-sense jumped, but he allowed it. Wade's grip was hard, but Peter's been held harder by stronger people. He's been pinned down by bigger.

He was still in the clothes he'd been wearing this morning. His shoulders and back were stiff and stained red from the puddle of blood he'd been laying in; his hair crusty and clumped from dried blood as well, especially at the back of his head.

Numbly, Peter felt around the area with his free hand. It was sensitive, and the clumps of dried blood and...and brain matter were thick there. He thought he could even feel a few shards of skull. He swallowed, recognizing the spot the bullet had gone through. It had broken through his skull, through his brain, and out the other side.

He'd been dead.

He was gone. He couldn't remember everything that happened after he died. There was a light. A voice. Colors and sounds. Like a dream slipping through his fingers.

Peter shuddered. The pit in his stomach widened, black and bottomless, yet full of the realization that if not for Wade also bringing him back, he would be...gone.

Aunt May. Mary Jane. Anna Marie. Harry. Johnny. All the people he knew, loved, and worked with. He'd never be able to see them again. They would never see HIM.

The sudden urge to throw up overwhelmed him and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard to fight it back. The skin Wade was gripping suddenly felt crawling of ants and he yanked his arm away.

"I can walk myself," he spoke.

Wade's look at him, eyes hovering near the area Peter's fingers had been, before looking away. The elevator ride down to the sub-levels feels like forever, and the air builds a charge between them that Peter doesn't recognize right away.

Usually, it was a riled, tense charge that sizzled between them - ever since they first met. Like a fight might break out at any minute. But as they got to know each other, those charges changed into something different. More electric and tingly, with the promise of something more if they were just willing to go that extra step.

Now...the charge was less of a charge and more of a barrier. Two separate walls built between the both of them.

Peter felt a lot of things around Wade. Anger. Annoyance. Frustration. Happiness. Laughter. Interest. Arousal. Lust.

But this was a new one: Vulnerability.

He didn't feel safe anymore. Which was a wild concept to think that he felt safe with Wade before. But now that he thought about it, his spider-sense had stopped buzzing around Wade whenever he showed up. He'd stopped feeling so tense, and had become relaxed. Hell, he'd started to enjoy the other man's company and sought him out.

But now...

Now Peter wanted nothing more than to put an entire city's distance between them.

The memory of Wade's rage, blood splattered across his face and clothes, as he leveled that gun at his head. It haunted him every time he blinked. He's never seen Wade that angry towards him. That bloodthirst.

When they exited the elevator, Peter automatically put as much distance between them as possible. Wade might not have noticed, because he didn't say anything, but Peter doubted it.

He was uncharacteristically quiet, aside from the occasional mumble under his breath that Peter didn't bother trying to listen to. He was probably just talking to the voices. Always the voices.

Down here, in the lower halls, Wade's trail of blood remained. It flecked the walls and ceiling, trailing on the linoleum floors and getting more widespread the farther they go. Peter's dawning horror pushed his fear to the side.

He stumbled ahead of Wade and flung the doors open to one of their large sub-level labs. It was supposed to be undergoing maintenance for the next week.

The scene inside was a bloodbath.

Bodies strewn all over the floor. Intestines, guts, and brain matter all over everything. Blood soaking in splotches, and puddles, and flecks. Peter's stomach turned, the smell of copper so heavy in the air he could taste it on his tongue.

"What did you do?"

Deadpool snarled, turning away from him like Peter might be diseased. "I gave them what they deserved . I'm sorry if my conscience isn't as FORGIVING as yours. Some of us don't let sickos like them go with a slap on the wrist and a hope that they'll magically get better under this country's trash legal system."

Normally, Peter would've snapped back in his defense. He wasn't one to forgive people who preyed on other people. It wasn't in his nature.

But this time, he didn't say anything. He couldn't . This wasn't the first time he's seen gore or acts of violence, nor would it be the last. But just the fact that this was in his own building , right under his nose, sat heavy on his shoulders.He swallowed back bile and stepped over a body that looked as though something had been shoved into their eyes, and then their throat.

His gaze went to the contraption in the middle of the room, the cuffs around it were bloodied, and there were tubes scattered on the floor. Next to it was a body covered with a scientist's coat. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was. He closed his eyes.

"I put him out of his misery," Wade said, behind him. "They'd already cut off his arms and legs, he was breathing through tubes and in pain. He didn't need to ask me to kill him, I could see it in his eyes...so I did." He said it like it was a challenge. Like he was waiting for Peter to say something. Call him disgusting for not trying to keep the victim alive. Call him a degenerate for all the lives he took in this room.

Peter doesn't say anything.

He stands in the middle of this gore and torture and feels lacerated . Wade may as well have cut every inch of skin on his body. Hell, he may as well just stick that gun in his mouth and pull the trigger again.

"I didn't know about this," Peter said, and he's struggling to keep his voice level. His fists tighten, knuckles whitening. "I didn't know about any of this."

"How could you not know?" Wade shouted. "This is your own building. It's got your fucking name on the front door."

I know," Peter said, and his voice is low. Dangerous. "But I didn't know about this. I...I would never do anything like this ."

"You better not be lying to me," Wade warned, and Peter can feel his heat on his neck, "I brought you back because...because you're Spider-Man and I've seen the good things you've done. I've seen the people you help, and the morals you stick to, and if you were Spider-Man you couldn't do something as twisted as this. But...but I've been fooled before, and I swear if you're pulling my leg, if this is all just another manipulation to cover your ass, I'm not going to kill you as mercifully as a gunshot. I have connections, and I can get you the worst experience in hell that you can even imagine. So do NOT fucking lie to me."

Peter whirled around, jaw so tight a lessermans teeth would've cracked. He grabbed Wade by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward to snarl in his face,"I didn't do this. I didn't know about any of this!"

Wade stared at him. The knife he had in hand lowered, but that didn't mean it couldn't be used. Peter kept his eyes fixed on Wade's, daring him to accuse him of this again. Daring him to look him in the eye and tell him he would bankroll something so...twisted and evil.

Finally, Wade crumples. When his voice comes back, it's lost its anger and steel, cracking like it's made of brittle clay. "You have to. You have to know about this. You have to be bad because...because if you're not, that means...that means I shot-" his voice fumbles, unable to finish. "I killed...it means I killed my hero...for no reason ."

A part of Peter is a volcano, spewing anger and hate, and emotions too hot to bury in his core. But Wade Wilson has touched a part of him too. Something tender and cool, and it simmers him down enough to delicately tip Wade forward. He doesn't know what he's trying to do. Give the man reassurance that he's alive? Or someone to lean on?

Wade takes it and wraps himself around Peter, burying his head in Peter's shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me you were Spider-Man?" He whispers, brokenly. "This whole time, I could've just..."

Peter's guilt wraps around his throat and he holds Wade just as tightly. "I'm...I'm sorry," he says. "I know I should've, but I...I wasn't sure if..." he shakes his head. "It doesn't even matter. I should've told you the moment those witches summoned me in that circle. The moment you said you had suspicions about Peter Parker. I'm...I'm sorry, Wade. I'm sorry ."

"You're sorry? I shot you in the fucking head."

"Yeah, well...maybe you wouldn't have if I told you the truth."

Wade shook his head, but pried himself off, sniffing under his mask. He takes a step back from Peter, as if to distance himself. "I believe that you didn't know about any of this," he gestured around the room, "But that doesn't mean it didn't happen. If you didn't do this, then who did?"

"I don't know," Peter said, running a hand through his hair, getting his fingers tangled in the dried clumps. "But I'm going to figure it out. Whoever's been using my company, my NAME to hurt people, I'm going to..." he didn't know what he was going to do yet, all he knew was that it would be enough to justify every rotten accusation the Bugle and every other news outlet has thrown his way..

He took a deep breath, and straightened. "I need to call my aunt. Let her know that I'm alive. And then I need to call Anna Marie so she knows I'm okay too."

"No need," Wade said, "No one even knows you were dead."

Peter's head snapped towards him, "What?"

"Yeah, the alarms never sounded. No cops were called, and no one ever found your body. You're in the clear."

Peter's face twisted in confusion. "No, that's not right. Anna Marie would know. She...she calls me every morning to make sure I'm not trying to get out of work. If I wasn't answering the phone she'd come into my apartment herself and drag me out by my ears."

Wade frowned, "Well, she didn't this time. You were completely undisturbed when I brought the wife by to check on things. Not even a peep."

They both knew there was something off about that. Something very very off.

"Something is going on," Peter decided. "Who did you say put that target on my back?"

"It was just a client. They came through my sources and had reliable information. But I don't know their name, or face."

"Well, we're going to figure it out."

Wade coughed, looking down at his shoes, "You sure you want a wild card like me on your team? I...if I had known from the start that you were Spider-Man, I wouldn't've..."

"I should have told you sooner," Peter repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was going to tell you today, but it shouldn't have taken me so long."

"Thought I was going insane, you know," Wade admitted with a dry chuckle, "Well, more so than usual. With Parker shoving his mouth on my dick, and then you last night-"

"Okay, okay," Peter put a hand up to stop the conversation. "I know. I was just...I didn't know how to bring it up. I wasn't sure I wanted to. With how upset you were with being heartmates with Peter, I just...didn't think you'd like knowing we were the same person. But then you started reciprocating, and when you kissed me that first night, I thought maybe..."

Wade blew out a breath, "Wow, we are a pair. Classic us, ammirite. Shiklah's gonna have a field day with this one."

Peter's eyes widened, "Oh fuck, your wife-"

"I probably will once this is all over, yes."

"She's not going to kill me is she? Spider-Man was on your free pass list, right? I saw that, I wasn't just making it up."

Wade laughed, though it lacked it's normal luster, slapping a hand on Peter's shoulders. Peter didn't mean to flinch away, and he felt bad immediately when Wade retracted his hand. "Spider-Man was on my list. But Peter Parker wasn't, and I'm pretty sure we've had sex at least two times before you even saw my list, so..."

Peter dropped his head in his hands, "Would you believe me if I said I completely forgot you were married those two times?"

"Ha, maybe. But don't get your hair messed over it. We have an open relationship. As a succubus, she can fuck whoever she wants - and she does fuck whoever she wants. And she's fine with me fucking whoever I want, so long as we still get to fuck each other and be married and all that junk. Which reminds me, once this is all over, she's inviting you over for a threesome. I think she REALLY wants to fuck you."

Peter waved his hands quickly, cutting the conversation off in its tracks, "Okay, wow - hold on. Just...that is a lot to lay on me all at once-"

"Ha, just wait until she gets between your legs, she can REALLY lay it on ya."

"WADE! Focus. Someone is trying to frame me, or manipulate you into killing me or, something . And I'd like to focus on that, please."

"Right, alright, just keep your mind open."

What they didn't want to talk about was the fact that this...relationship of theirs might not even go any further. Wade is barely able to look Peter in the eyes, especially now that he knows Peter wasn't involved in any of this. And Peter has to suppress a flinch everytime Wade's hand skimmed his gun, or got a little too close.

Tension still hung between them. A direction that could go two ways. Either, after all of this, they would try again, the right way, and maybe on more official terms. Or, they would fall apart, unable to keep up this act of bravado and humor, and go their separate ways.

Wade reached into his pouch and pulled out Spider-Man's mask, handing it to Peter.

"Kept a hold of this," he muttered. "You know...just in case."

Peter accepted it, staring at those wide lenses. He rubbed his thumb along the web pattern, mind churning. His head was starting to feel better. The ache not so sharp.

"After all of this is done, do you want to have dinner with me?"

Wade finally looked him in the eye, and through the white of his mask, was a deep sense of melancholy. A regret buried so deeply inside, it radiated outward like an invisible force.

"Sure," Wade said, softly. "It's a date." 

And there you have it folks! I'm sorry if the ending felt rushed. I could've kept going until they found Patient Zero, and figured out why this was happening, and fully explore their healing arc together, but if I didn't cut it off now, it was going to be another 10,000 words and I CANNOT.

In the original comics, Shiklah brought Peter back the first time so Wade could shoot him again. She wasn't able to pull the same trick twice, thus Wade had to kill himself to go in after him. In this case, Wade didn't need to, because he didn't shoot Peter again.

So, it ends here! But it was a fun ride! This is for Snek, my beloved! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.