Turns out, Peter's way of handling a spider episode is to grab the biggest blanket he owns, curl into the fetal position, and eat dry ramen from the packet.

This is, of course, only after arriving at his apartment 30 minutes earlier. As soon as he'd set foot on the heat-sucking wood floor, he marched into the bathroom, threw open the toilet to throw up, and spent the next 10 minutes furiously brushing his teeth. Wade hung back, deciding back in the cab that he was going to watch and see what Peter's routine was.

So far, he wasn't impressed. He followed from a distance as Peter stormed out of the bathroom, tearing off the tattered remains of his Spider-Man costume, and yanking on a pair of wrinkled shorts and a shirt. He then rummaged through his cupboard until he found an old Ramen Noodle packet and stalked to the bedroom.

Which is where they are now. Wade sat on the end of the bed with his chin in his hand, listening to Peter munch away under the blanket, and decides this is very sad and pathetic indeed. Not that he's one to judge in that department. Sad and pathetic are his general motif.

He was just expecting a lot more routine and fewer crumbs.

So what do we do now?

"I don't know," Wade says. "I don't think he wants to talk about it."

We've got to talk at least a little bit, right? Healthy communication and all that jazz. I mean, we're the type of degenerate to be okay with a few skeletons in the closet, but Stark's aluminum undies were so far up his ass he was choking on them. Do you really think he isn't going to peep about this?

"I don't know," Wade repeats. "He said he won't, but I wouldn't be surprised if he does. After we worked so hard to cover it up too." He scowls, hunching his shoulders. "I cashed in a favor for nothing."

Stark should reimburse us. It's only fair.

"Try telling him that. I think he'd rather chew through his own arm than owe us anything. Besides, he probably thinks we owe him."

Ha! I'd like to see him collect!

"I'm not worried about us," Wade says, looking at the blanket. "Stark is more likely to cash from him, and I don't think Petey has the backbone to refuse after all that."

"You know I can hear you, right?" Peter grumbles.

"I was counting on it. Now that I've got your attention, you wanna rejoin the land of the living?

The blanket moves up and down. "No..."

"Like I said, no backbone."

Peter's head pops out from under the blanket, hair mussed and glaring. "I don't owe Tony shit. I didn't ask him to take me to his stupid tower."

"No, you didn't" Wade agrees, eyes hard. "But I did."

Peter's drown deepens and he pulls the blanket tighter around himself. "I didn't ask you to do that either."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have much of a choice, mi araña. I had to stash you somewhere while I cleaned up that mess."

Peter recoils, tearing his eyes from Wade. His jaw sets tight as he chews on his words, but can't meet Wade's eyes when he asks, "How did you do it?"

If was only a matter of time before this came up, but that doesn't make Wade any more eager to talk about it. He rolls his eyes, stretching out the knot that had settled deep into his back. "Called in a favor. They took care of everything. No traces, no evidence, no bodies. No one will know what happened."

Peter doesn't look as relieved as he should be. Wade's a little miffed he's not as relieved as he should be. He was holding onto that favor for a long time, saving it for a special occasion. You can never be too stingy when it comes to favors from a government-sanctioned division.

It's might've been from the lack of food, but Wade is tired of stretching himself thin. He spent the last two days holed up in a dark medical room with no one to hold a sustainable conversation with. He spent the last 72 hours babysitting Spider-Peter so he didn't bleed himself dry or freak out and attack someone. Now that they're back in Peter's apartment, yeah, his patience is at its end and maybe he wants a little appreciation. A pat on the back and a hearty thanks.

He nudges Peter with his foot. "This is the part where you go 'thank you Deadpool, you're my hero. How can I ever repay your kindness?'"

Peter's face darkens and he jerks his knee away, migrating to the other end of the bed. So, that's a no to the pat on the back, and hearty thanks. Wade crosses his arms and spits, "You're in a way more pissy mood than you should be."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Peter snaps back.

"It means," Wade rises to his feet, "that you got away scot-free. No one knows you marred your super-important morals. No one but Tony, and if we kiss his ass long enough, he'll probably sweep it under the rug too. You should be happy. Or relieved. Or, I don't know, grateful. I've been hanging onto that favor for a while. It's not every day you have an agent from Damage Control in your pocket."

"You didn't have to!" Peter's face flushes, and he sits forward, clutching the bed sheets like he's holding himself back. "God, do you even hear yourself? There's nothing to be happy about right now. I didn't get away 'scot-free.' This is so far from being swept under the rug. The fact that this needs to be swept under the rug is the problem!"

Wade throws his hands in the air. "We're the only ones who know! I'm not gonna snitch. I don't know about Stark, but he's covered up more than one scandal before."

"I'll know!" Peter shouts, shooting to his feet and jabbing a finger at himself. "I'll know what I did! This is just a scandal. The fact that it was covered up at all is just...I-I'm..." whatever he's trying to say lodges in his throat, and instead of prying it out, Peter runs a hand through his hair and steps back, glaring at the ceiling.

"You're what?" Wade eggs on. "What's the problem here?"

"The problem is, that unlike you, I actually have something of a moral compass about these things. The problem is, unlike you, I actually care!"

"Oh, I don't care?" Wade snarls, striding forward. "If I didn't care, then why did I just spend the last two days locked in a room with your stupid spider ass making sure you didn't hurt yourself? If I didn't care, why did I spend the last week helping you pull off your crusty, molty skin? Huh? I may not have a righteous stick up my ass, but last I checked, people who 'don't care' don't do shit like that."

Bringing up his previous molt doe nothing to sway Peter to his point. In fact, Peter's cheeks flush a deep embarrassed red, and he stands chest to chest with Wade, the air burning between them.

"You didn't have to stay," he hisses. "You could've let whenever you wanted."

"It didn't look like that from where I was standing."

"I didn't ask for you to get involved. I didn't ask for any of this. You were the one who chased me down."

"BECAUSE YOUR ARM SKIN WAS COMING OFF!" Wade explodes. "What the fuck did you expect me to do? Oh, yeah, I'm sure he's fine! I'll just go home and make a pizza pocket and not worry about the fact that you haven't been seen for days!"

"I have a process!"

"A process that no one knows anything about!"

"Because it's none of their business!"

"Well, it's my business now, whether you like it or not. And after babysitting you for the last two days, there are questions I want answered."

Yeah, you tell him! The voices cheer. Wade high-fives the air.

"Oh really," Peter challenges. "Who says I'm going to tell you anything."

"Because you owe me," Wade jabs his finger into Peter's chest. "I've been piecing things together, but I want a full answer. Why did that ethyl stuff knock you on your ass? What happened those other two times?"

Peter averts his eyes. "What other two times."

Wade wags a furious finger at him. "Oh, don't you even try it. I invented the oblivious side-step, you're not getting past me."

Peter bares his teeth. "Why do you even care?"

"Why wouldn't I care? Do I need to reiterate that I spent the last two days preventing you from biting people? I think I deserve an explanation, so start talking."

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"The hell you don't," Wade seizes Peter's arm when he tries to walk away, and Peter whirls around, hissing, nose curling, and baring his fangs. Wade's grip only tightens. "If you wanted to bite me you would've done it days ago. Not that I'm not curious, so go ahead. Do it as many times as you want."

Peter's fangs shoot back into his gums with annoyed fervor. "Why are you so fucking annoying all the time?"

Wade shrugs, just as spitefully. "It's a trademark of mine."

Peter yanks his arm free, shoving past him and out of the room. "Just leave me alone."

Wade follows at his heels. "Right, the last time I left you alone you got kidnapped."

"Shove it up your ass!"

"Only if you watch me." He follows Peter into the kitchen. He doesn't know how thin these walls are, so he's trying not to say anything too incriminating, but they probably sound sketchy as hell anyway. Hopefully, no one calls the police.

When Peter notices him following, he snaps, "Leave me alone. It's none of your business."

"You keep saying that and I don't think you understand what I did for you. I backed you, Peter. I supported you, and I didn't tell Stark anything because I trusted that you had a handle on this. But now that we're here, I'm not so sure anymore."

Peter growls deep in his throat and furiously tries cleaning his makeshift living room in an effort to ignore Wade's presence, but it's still clean from Wade's last cleaning spree, so he migrates to the kitchen to scour through the cupboards. His movements slow the more he opens, surprise fluttering across his face when he sees each one fully stocked. His shoulders sag when he opens the fridge finding the same.

He leans against the fridge with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes, the fight trickling out of him bit by bit.

"You really did take care of me," he whispers to himself. A solemn statement that rolls through his body, settling in the space between them. He sighs again, thumping his head a few times against the fridge. "Fine. I guess I do owe you an explanation."

He heads to the couch at a snail's pace and collapses on it. Wade sits next to him and picks at the fraying textile material.

"So...when was the first time you went spider-crazy?".

And then Peter tells a story.

A story about a young bullied boy who'd gotten power and decided to use it for gain instead of good. About how he got caught up in costumed wrestling, earning big bucks and the moniker "The Amazing Spider-Man." How the very costume he wore wasn't designed to put children at ease or soothe scared victims like it so often did. It was designed to make him look wide-eyed and easy pickings. To lower his opponent's guard, make them think of it as an easy win, so he can go in for the winning punch.

And it was great for a while.

Sure, his grades dropped and he wasn't hanging out with his friends anymore. His uncle and aunt were worried sick about him. But for the first time in his life, he felt powerful. And one day, that power went to his head.

The establishment was robbed.

He could've done something. Anything. It would've been as simple as sticking his foot out. But he didn't, because he didn't care. It was beneath him. He only cared for himself and the two people who raised him, and as far as he was concerned, anyone else could burn. He was on top of the world.

But that same night, he walked home to police cars outside his house, just in time to see them wheel out a body bag. All at once his entire world was falling apart, and for all his newfound strength, he didn't have the power to pick up the pieces. He was spiraling. Crumbling. Turning back into the weak kid he's been his entire life.

He didn't know what to do with himself until he overheard chatter between two cops. Something about trapping the killer in a warehouse, and all of the sudden his emotions narrowed into a single, razor-thin focus. Everything around him faded to black and sensations and voices became his guide. For the first time, his fangs popped out from his gums and his senses heightened beyond what he thought they could. Something dark and angry coiled inside him, spreading like poison.

It took him less than 10 minutes to find the warehouse. It took him less than 1 to track down the murderer.

And, oh how he wanted to sink his fangs into that man and tear him apart piece by piece. He almost did. If things played out a little differently, if he didn't take a breath the second he did, there would've been nothing left of that man. But he did take a breath and the man's scent filled his lungs. The sounds this murderer made, his movements, his whimpers of fear and pain, were familiar.

When this stupid boy realized who he had trapped, it snapped him back to himself, reeling into the harsh reality that the man who murdered his uncle was the one he let go at the wrestling house.

"I could've killed him," Peter says, waving a hand like it was the simplest thing. It probably would've been. "If I hadn't realized who he was in time, I would've pumped him with so much venom there'd be nothing left. But...knowing that I could've stopped all of it if I had just..." he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his hands between his legs and shaking his head. "It's like...once I realize what I did, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was so...disgusted with myself."

Wade's hand hovers over Peter's shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but he's not sure what to say. He's not good at this part. At comforting. This pain is bone-deep, he can see it in every tired, shadowed line of Peter's face. Nothing he could say was going to make it better. Not with a wound so old.

Still, Peter grabs Wade's hand and squeezes it, like he understands Wade's offer of support.

"You know," he says, smiling bitterly. "I learned something else that night too. I learned how easy it is to kill." He looks at Wade and there's weight behind his eyes. "And it scares me. Nothing like that should be easy. Killing, murdering, should be so much harder than it is, and the fact that it's not..." he lets it taper, following the tail end of the implication between his feet.

"Is that why you're kind of, you know...funky about the whole killing thing?" Wade asks.

Peter smiles wanly, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe not entirely, but it's a big factor. It just shouldn't be easy to take someone's life. It...it was easy for that man to kill Uncle Ben, and it shouldn't have been. All it took was one bullet, and..."

"You don't have to go into it," Wade says, knocking their shoulders together. "I get it. Sort of. In your way, I get it. It explains a few things."

Normally, Peter might've asked what those things were, but instead, he leans into Wade's side, resting his head against his shoulder. He seems especially clingy after these episodes, Wade notes.

"Thanks. I guess."

Wade doesn't want to nag but he's so good at it. "What about the second time?"

"The second time..." Peter pauses, wringing his hands together. Wade nudges them and Peter accepts the invitation, intertwining their fingers again. "The second time was when Gwen died. She was my...she was very important to me. Goblin, he..." Peter takes a loaded breath, "he was the big bad at the time. He found out it was me under the mask and grabbed Gwen. Took her to the Brooklyn Bridge to get me to chase him. I tried to stop him, but..."

When Peter can't go on, Wade squeezes his hand encouragingly. Peter squeezes back, a bit too hard, but continues. "He threw her off the bridge. I tried to grab her, and - and I did. I caught her with a web, but...but the velocity of the fall. The sudden stop. It snapped her..." Peter squeezes Wade's hand so tightly that the bones creak and grind. Instead of letting go, Wade tucks Peter closer to his body.

"It's okay," Wade says. "I get the picture. Crystal clear and all that."

Peter wipes his eyes, staring at the stained carpet miserably. "I lied when I told Tony I know how to handle this," he confesses. "I don't know what I'm doing, Wade. Each time I've dropped, I didn't know it was happening until I was snapping back out of it. When Gwen died, when I held her body in my arms, and she was...something just came over me. It's like the world goes dark and muddy and I all I can hear are these sounds, vibrations, and smells. And it's like I can see everything around me, but I'm blind at the same time. I can't control myself when I'm like that. I went after Goblin. I wanted to kill him. I was going to. I had him on the ropes."

"I'm assuming, based on context, you didn't go through with it?"

"Not from lack of trying," Peter grunts. "He brought up his son. Goblin did. I know his son. We were friends. Boyfriends, kind of, at one point. And it's like...hearing Harry's name, remembering, helped snap me out of it. I didn't kill Norman. I couldn't do that to Harry. I couldn't be the reason he lost his father." He wipes his nose on his shirt bitterly. "Not that it mattered in the end. Goblin hit himself with his own glider. Harry still blamed me, and, well..." Peter's shoulders fall. In that one instance, he seemed to age 30 years, exhaustion hanging from him in tatters.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Wade," he murmurs. "I've only had episodes like these a few times and I don't know how to stop them when they start. I don't like how I...what I become when..." he drops his head in his hands. "Maybe Tony should lock me up in the tower. Or - or maybe I can go there occasionally to check-in or something. He wasn't wrong for how he was acting. He has a point."

"Hey now,' Wade chides, easing Peter back up. "I'm not about to let you go waltzing into the arms of another man. Secondly, I think you and Iron-Butt are forgetting one big, very crucial detail here. Like, I'm talking enormous."

Peter's eyebrows scrunch together and he sits up for the sole purpose of looking at Wade like he's bonkers. That's okay, Wade is intimately familiar with those looks.

"What?"

"Come on, Petey, it's obvious. You were protecting yourself."

Peter wrinkles his nose. "I don't think you heard me right, let me start over-"

"Oh, I heard you plenty. The way you were going on about it makes it sound like you went on a killing spree for shits and giggles. That's not what I've been hearing."

"Then what have you been hearing?"

Wade bops Peter gently on the nose. "Every time you drop into spiderspace, it's because you're either protecting yourself or experiencing a lot of shit you don't know how to handle. Now, I'm no therapist, I want to get that on the table right now. Dr. Wade does not have a degree in the mental goodness of the mind, and I'm the last person you want to go to for advice. But, a LOT of doctors with degrees for mental goodness have poked me with sticks. The whole Shield psychology department, in fact, and while I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention, a few things stuck. Like, for example, that every time you've lashed out, it's because you were experiencing trauma." Wade waves his hands around the word "trauma" for added effect.

Peter is still looking at him like he's still banana bonkers.

"Think about it. The first time you dropped was when you found out your uncle died. He was like your dad, right? So I'm assuming your other folks weren't in the picture."

Peter's shoulders creep to his ears and he shrivels in on himself. "They died when I was younger."

"Coolio. Erm, not coolio that they died, but coolio that you're adding to my point. You already lost one ma and pa, and then you lose a third. I'm not saying therapy is a cure-all thing—no therapist wants to touch me with a nine-foot pole—but I'm guessing you never got therapy after losing your parents."

"We - we never had the money," Peter admits, picking at a string on his shirt. "I think they talked about it, but they couldn't afford it."

"See! Unresolved trauma. Old trauma meets new trauma, and your little baby brain couldn't handle it. So, it did the only thing it could at that moment. It gave up control."

"Control of what?"

"I don't know, your inner spider? Survival instinct? I'm just spit-balling here."

"But that doesn't even-"

"Same thing with your girl," Wade barrels on. "She died suddenly. Abruptly. You cared about her. One minute she was there and the next, she's gone. Poof."

"This is really not making me feel better," Peter says glumly.

Wade waves a hand. "Gimme a minute. Losing her was sudden and maybe you just didn't know how to handle it. Or you didn't want to handle it. So your other side took over."

"You're making this sound like a real Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing."

"And how about a few days ago?" Wade says. "Same thing."

Peter gets up, folding his arms across his chest like he's barricading himself from Wade's reasoning. "But I didn't lose anyone this time," he snaps. "It was just me. I didn't have to-"

Wade follows him up, planting two hands on his shoulders and turning him around so they're face-to-face. "Were they hurting you?"

A wall slams into place and Peter levels a glare at Wade's chest, unable to make the journey farther up. His cheeks tinge red and his lips press into a line so thin his words wobble on it like a tightrope. "I'm Spider-Man. I can handle a little pain."

"That's a yes, then."

He doesn't answer.

"They hurt you," Wade reiterates, needing Peter to understand. "They were trying to do you harm. They strung you up, beat you, and you couldn't get away." Peter flinches, each word hitting him like a punch, and he takes a shaky breath that rattles his lungs. Wade softens, touching the bruise that still lingered on his jaw. Most of the injuries were doing better, becoming faded paint that would weather away in just a few more days, but Wade was there when it was fresh. Peter's swollen, bloodied face. The way he limped and struggled to breathe. The way he collapsed into Wade from exhaustion. Wade swallows. "I don't know everything they did to you, but they did it with the intention of inflicting pain and making you feel powerless. Did it work?"

Slowly, as if it were causing him insurmountable amounts of pain, Peter nods.

"See? You didn't go crazy because you're a monster, Petey. Or because you're a bad person. I, for one, think you're a great person. Maybe too much of a goodie-goodie sometimes. You were protecting yourself the only way you knew how, and it's their fault for pushing you to that point."

Peter leans his face away from Wade's touch. His voice fills the pocket of space between them and it's so fragile all it takes is a breath for it to break. "I should've done better. I should've controlled it better. I can't kill people because I'm angry."

Wade smiles sadly. "Were you angry? Or were you scared?"

Peter swallows hard, eyes becoming glossy. He leans away, intending on putting distance between them, but Wade wraps his arms around him and pulls him in instead. It was the right move because Peter melts into him, clutching the back of Wade's shirt like a lifeline.

"I...I was scared," he admits, and it's so soft. So vulnerable.

And then he starts to cry.

<><><>LINE BREAK<><><>

Thirty minutes later, they lay curled up on the couch, watching a random cartoon neither of them is paying attention to. Wade has his arms wrapped around Peter, their legs tangled at the end of the couch, and runs his hands through Peter's messy mound of hair. Peter lays against his chest, staring in the middle distance with his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"What if I can't stop myself from dropping again?" he mumbles, breaking the silence.

"Then don't stop it."

That, of course, isn't the answer he wants. "I can't risk doing something like this again, Wade."

"Maybe you need to stop trying to repress and control it, and start trying to understand it."

Peter makes a face and twists around so they're chest to chest.

I don't think I want to understand it. I tried to eat people," he says in a whisper like it's a secret of the most dastardly kind. "Like, not even in a joking 'ha ha' way. I was going to eat them. That's not something I want to reconcile with."

"You're not as big and scary as you think you are in spider mode."

Peter glowers.

"Okay, that's a fib," Wade admits. "You're plenty scary. That's what makes it hot. But you're not always scary or mean. Sometimes you're very sweet."

"I think you're forgetting the part where I attacked you and almost ripped out your throat."

Wade shrugs. "I was stomping into your personal bubble and you were really on edge. You had a reason. I think you're forgetting the part where you built us a big spider nest to get cozy in."

Peter's ears tinge pink but he stubbornly holds eye contact. "That's different."

"I don't think it is. You were so sweet and worried about me. It was adorable."

"I'm pretty sure I kicked you at one point."

"Yeah, but that's because I touched your web. You also latched onto me and cuddled me, and listened to me, and let me feed you."

Peter's lips flatten at the reminder of the meat shakes. "That was one time. Who says it's going to stay like that."

Wade taps Peter's forehead. "I think we need to check for a concussion because you're forgetting a lot of details."

Peter swats his hand away. "My memory is perfectly intact."

"Then what about what happened that night?"

"What night?"

Wade twists them around so he's on top of Peter, straddling his hips. "Pizza. Kissing. Spinnerets. Before shit hit the fan. Ringing a bell?"

He may as well be sitting on Peter's chest with the breath that escapes Peter's lips. He looks suddenly breathless as his hands settle on Wade's thighs. "Oh. That night."

"Now you're getting it." Wade curls his fingers around Peter's wrists and drags them from his legs, up, up, up until they're pinned above Peter's head in mimicry of that night. Except, this time, there's no cracking skin or tight joints. Just smooth flexibility that alludes to Peter's side job on the street, flipping, twisting, and moving the way only the most accomplished acrobats can achieve.

Wade's heart beats in cool, focused excitement as he presses his thumb to the underside of Peter's wrist, just below the slit. Peter's chest hitches, like Wade tied a string to his sternum and yanked, and his eyes get noticeably blacker.

Wade smiles a shit-eating grin. "You also broke your dick."

It breaks the magic of the moment, but it's worth it to see the annoyed scowl that makes Peter crinkle his nose. "I did not break my dick."

"And I'm eternally grateful. I'm very eager to get acquainted with Peter Jr." He rubs circles around the white vein leading to the spinnerets opening, and Peter's eyebrows curl up, mouthing parting slightly as his eyes flutter.

"N-not that I don't like where this is going," he gasps, squirming in Wade's grip—but notably staying put—" but what does this have to do with anything?"

Wade leans down and presses his forehead to Peters, staring into those darkened eyes. Their breaths mingle in the small space separating their lips. "Do you know your eyes go black whenever we do this?"

His eyes aren't completely black yet, but they're dilating. Getting bigger and bigger, like a shark tasting blood in the water. Peter looks away, but his eyes flutter back quickly when they have nowhere else to go.

"A little," he admits. "MJ, one of my exes, mentioned it a couple of times. It's one of the reasons we broke up."

Wade cocks his head. "She end it?"

"No. I did. I didn't want to hurt her."

"And yet," Wade presses more of his weight onto Peter, leaning into his body. Peter's ribs are still tender, but he'll be fine. He's a strong lil spider, he can take it. "You're more than happy to do it with me. I'm feeling a little special."

"I didn't think it was going to happen with you," Peter says. "It didn't with Felicia, so I thought-" he cuts off with a groan as Wade finally presses the pad of his thumb to the slit and applies pressure.

"So, I'm still a special boy?"

"Th-the specialest," Peter gasps.

He says it with such easy agreement, with such adoration, Wade flushes with the affirmation, heart fluttering like a goddamn fairy. If his hands were free, he'd clap them and shout "I do believe in fairies!" just to ensure its survival.

Instead, he applies more pressure and watches Peter squirm. In his ministrations, a dot of webbing emerges from the slit. Smirking, he touches it with his finger and releases Peter's wrist, pulling the strand out with him, wrapping it around his finger as he went. It's soft and thin, a silvery white color that twinkles wetly in the low light. He sticks his fingers together and then apart, watching the webbing stretch between them, clinging to his skin. Peter watches with hooded eyes, breathing heavily and low.

"Sticky," Wade says knowingly. "Wonder what else is sticky." His eyes travel to Peter's groin, which is already displaying signs of interest. Wade rolls his hips, grinding his own budding erection against Peter's, and to his delight, a series of flustered clicks slip from Peter's throat.

Much to his chagrin, that's also what snaps Peter out of it. His eyes widen and he pulls his wrist down. Wade can't combat his spider strength, even if he wanted to, so he lets go.

"Wait," Peter says, sitting up. "We can do this. Not like this, Wade."

"Like what?"

"Like - like this," he gestures to his eyes, which were slowly returning to normal. "I can't do that to you."

Wade firmly tilts Peter's chin up with his hand, making sure he meets his eyes. "What are you so scared of?"

Peter opens his mouth, a smartass retort on his tongue, but his expression crumples and he leans into Wade's touch, holding it there as if worried Wade would let go. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"You don't know what."

"Yes, I do."

"I don't know that."

"Well," Wade's thumb travels upward, brushing against Peter's lips, feeling his soft breath against his skin, "then I'm just going to have to convince you." He pushes his finger into Peter's mouth, curling upward to seek out the pinpricks where Peter's fangs are sheathed. Peter moans softly when Wade presses on the area and curls a hand around his wrist. "You wouldn't hurt me like this," Wade continues. "You're good to me. Such a sweet little spider."

He applies more pressure, forcing Peter's head backward, and baring his throat. The cords of his neck flex hypnotically and Wade can't help but wrap his other hand around his throat, feeling for Peter's pulse. "You'd never bite me if I didn't want it, huh?"

Peter's eyes shoot open and Wade shushes him. "I'm not saying you have to bite me. I'm just saying that in certain circumstances, I may not be opposed to it."

That does things to Peter. His eyes glint with dark promise and his grip on Wade's wrist tightens in anticipation. His fangs unsheathe against Wade's fingers, just a little prick, and Wade would confess his faith to the American judicial system before he admitted just how much that made his pulse race.

Sadly, it lasts only a few seconds before Peter snaps out of it again and extracts Wade's fingers.

"Wade, I can't. I don't want to do that to you."

"It didn't look that way a second ago."

"I don't want to want to do that to you. It's...it's..."

Wade sits back on his haunches, folding his arms. "It's what?"

"It makes me feel...gross. Like I'm..." Peter shakes his head, unable to find the words, and leans as far away as he can with Wade straddling him. "I don't like how it makes me feel. I don't like who I am when it happens. I - I don't get to decide."

Wade hums, stroking his chin. This runs deeper than Peter's aversion to his spider side. This is a matter of control. Of humanity. Of losing that humanity to something he can't control. Which is a shame, because that means he doesn't see what Wade sees. He doesn't see the beauty in it. The gentleness and trust he puts in Wade's hands.

All Peter sees is a mindless, raging monster that hurt people when he got upset. A mindless, raging monster he's been holding back, caging so deeply inside that it's only ever been able to explode to the surface.

But it's not a ticking time bomb. Wade has brought it safely to the surface with the smallest exchanges and the littlest of touches. It wants contact so much it's starving, putting itself in Wade's hands like a puppy eager to be held and petted.

"I think," Wade says slowly, a smile growing on his face, "I have an idea to get Tony off our back and solve our little spider problem." Peter quirks an eyebrow in interest and Wade tacks on, "You're not going to like it, but hear me out."

Peter hears him out and he doesn't like it. It takes a lot of discussions, and a lot more convincing, but in the end, he agrees.

He calls Tony and sets up a meeting.