"This is a terrible idea," Tony had said.

Wade repeats it in his head, not because he wants to, but because Tony Stark has a nasty habit of popping up where he isn't wanted: during commercials, while scrolling through social media, and even in Wade's go-to porn sites. As a general rule, he prefers not to take into account the opinions of highbrow braggarts, much less Anthony Edward Stark. There's already so much going on in his head, scrapping together an ounce of brain power to listen as he's intellectually insulted is a waste of energy.

But this time it's sticking.

"This is a terrible idea."

Wade grips the steering wheel tightly, unsuccessful in his attempt to drive away Stark's pessimism. It's nice leather, this steering wheel. Expensive. Very grippable. Stark has lavish taste, but he also has a penchant for quality, which is one thing Wade will give him points for.

But just the one.

He glances at Peter, who's hunched over in the passenger seat, leaning against the door and watching the bare trees zip by as he half-heartedly sucks on a cheese stick.

"This is a terrible idea," Tony had said.

"I know," Peter had mumbled back, voice muffled behind his Spider-Man mask. He looked exhausted sitting in Tony's plush leather chair, fingers locked together and shoulders hunched, as happy as a child called into the principal's office. Wade supposed that made him the adult, which was new. The outline must really be suffering if this was the direction they were taking.

Their meeting with Tony felt like mere hours ago, but in reality, it has been a whole day. Wade would give Stark this, he works fast. No sooner had they outlined their plan, revised bits and pieces, and got Tony to agree to keep SHIELD in the dark, did he send them home to pack up with a promise that a car would be waiting for them by morning.

Everything else would be taken care of.

Wade tries to hum along with the iconic styling of Dolly Parton, but even her catch "9-5" can't keep his attention. That's a big load to put on Dolly's shoulders anyway, when nothing short of snorting pixie sticks could grab his brain by the horns.

"It's really not THAT bad of a plan." Wade had tried to defend himself. This was his plan, after all, and he was a little offended they were picking on it so soon after its conception. "I mean, it's better than anything you two came up with, so can the hate, would you?"

Tony rubbed his forehead, grimacing like he was experiencing the worse migraine of his life, and glanced at the two of them with an unhappy frown. His eyes zeroed in on how close they were; the way Peter's body was turned ever-so-slightly in Wade's direction, and the way Wade kept the armrest of his chair pressed against Peter's. He squinted, eyebrows furrowing like they were a difficult equation he couldn't solve.

He gestured between them with a finger. "So, it's just going to be you two, then? No one else?"

"That's the plan," Wade said, leaning back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Spidey's too worried about other people getting hurt, which isn't a problem for yours truly," he jerked his thumb towards himself. "Since there ain't nothing on this planet that's getting rid of me for long. I'm the best one for the job."

"I don't know, I can think of a few more qualified options."

Wade sat up. "Who? Logan? Fine, go ahead and call him, but he doesn't have the same gentle touch that I do."

"I trust Wade," Peter said, staring at the floor. "No one else. He can handle me."

Handle him, like a dog being too ruly. A menace that needed to be managed. Wade frowned, but he'd correct the phrasing later when Peter didn't look like he wanted to throw himself out a window or crawl under the desk and die.

Tony hummed, tugging on his goatee. "I have a private lodge up near Bayswater," he said slowly and Peter's head snapped up.

"You don't-"

"I sure as fuck do."

"We had somewhere in mind."

"Well, my idea is better," Tony said, twirling a pen between his fingers and leaning back in his chair. "It's out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and it's on private property. Much better than renting a cabin in the boonies and HOPING no one catches you off guard." He gave Peter a pointed look.

Peter's anxious fingers stopped, and Wade imagined the flinch behind his mask. A low blow, but no one said heroes played fair.

"You just want to keep an eye on us," Peter accused, voice hardening.

"And so what if I do? I'm not going to let you frolic out in the countryside and play spider, hoping you have it under control. What do you think is going to happen when I wake up and see a headline that you mummified five people?"

"This doesn't concern you."

"It did the minute I carried you back to my tower after YOU eradicated an entire group of people."

Wade put a hand between them to cut off the building argument before it escalated. Not that he wasn't enjoying it; he'd love to watch Peter strangle Tony, and judging by how hard he was clutching the chair arms, Peter probably would love to do it too.

"To be fair," Wade said, "those guys had it coming."

Maybe not the best thing to say. Tony's jaw set and he made an exaggerated 'SEE?' motion, as if Wade was example enough. Which was stupid, because apparently, Wade was the only one holding a brain cell this entire conversation—sharing a room with Tony Stark and Peter Parker, that should never be the case. Then again, these two seemed to cancel each other's brains out just by breathing the same air. It's hilarious.

"Fine, we'll use your fancy cabin in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere," Wade said, and Peter shot him a betrayed look. Wade motioned for him to stand down. "We'll use your cabin, but you're not peeping tomming us either. No cameras, no AI's in the ceiling, and no one there but us. I don't want you perving on me while I'm in the shower."

"I want him," Tony pointed at Peter, "to talk to a professional of mine every few days, at least. And I want consistent updates on his progress."

Peter's face pinched like he was sucking on a lemon. "How about you stop talking about me like I'm a fucking child," he growled. "You're not my handler, and I don't have to update you on shit."

"Yeah, tell that to Shield when it inevitably gets out that Spider-Man goes animal planet on anyone that makes him mad. Then, you'll be assigned an ACTUAL handler who's going to follow you wherever you go."

"Yeah, if Shield doesn't lock him up first, right?" Wade said, eyes boring into Tony.

Tony looked away.

"It's not going to come to that," Peter insisted.

"As far as I'm concerned, it already has," Tony said, crossing his arms stubbornly, not to be moved.

Wade glances at Peter again and then looks away. He skips the song. And then the next song. And the next. Glances at Peter. Grips the steering wheel.

"You're fidgeting," Peter says.

"No, I'm not," Wade said, fidgeting.

"You keep looking at me."

"Is that a crime?"

Peter turns to look at him, expression dull. "You're nervous."

"No, I'm not. You hungry?" Wade nods at a sign on the side of the road. "Bitty's Berry Diner is coming up."

Peter shakes his head, turning back to the window. "No. It's probably best that we don't stop."

"Making random stops is the best part about road trips. Are you really going to pass up the best berry waffles in the world?"

Peter scoffed. "Any restaurant claiming to have the best of anything doesn't have enough credibility to stand on its own two feet and should go out of business."

"Wow, I bet you're fun at parties." Wade rolls his eyes. "Fine, no stopping, but only cause you'd bum everyone out."

Peter huffs dryly and Wade skips the song. He glances at Peter again, skips another song, and forces himself to look at the road. The meeting with Tony didn't go...great, but at least they had a plan. If Wade is being honest, he's relieved they'll be so remote. He had a few places out in the boonies he was going to take Peter, but Tony's cabin is guaranteed to be private and a thousand times more comfortable. It'll be stocked with all the necessary food by the time they got there, enough to last at least a month, and it'll be heated and have its own security system. That's one less thing Wade needs to worry about.

It's a better deal, all things considered, even if it pinches Peter in all the wrong ways.

"This is just his way to keep his nose in something it doesn't belong," he had ranted on their way back to his apartment. "He's physically incapable of leaving anything alone. He always has to have control. This is why I never wanted to join the Avengers. They don't know how to mind their own damn business."

"I don't know," Wade shrugged. "Stark's got major control issues, but it's way better than my plan to drag you to the Canadian wilds and squat in a shack."

"I think I prefer the shack."

"Well, as the person keeping an eye on you, I don't want to follow you around in a forest in the middle of winter without industrial heating."

Peter snorted dryly. "Believe me, Wade, if it's cold outside, I won't be going anywhere. That I can guarantee."

Ominous. Wade is looking forward to these next few weeks more and more. He wishes he can say the same for Peter, but Peter doesn't even try to hide how unhappy he is with the whole situation. On some level, Wade can't blame him. He didn't like being carted around and watched under a microscope either. He's had his fair share of leashes over the years, and several people who thought they could handle him. To say he doesn't like being "handled" is an understatement.

Wade refuses to be someone else's handler. He isn't cut out for that kind of work and it hits too close to home, anyway. Besides, he has different things in mind than simply telling Peter what he can or can't do.

"This is a terrible idea," Tony repeats in his head.

"Shut up," Wade grumbles.

Peter just sighs.

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

Wade whistles, impressed, as they roll to a stop in front of a large, grandiose log cabin. Peter peers out of the window with begrudging admiration that he tries to pass off as disgust.

It's a two-story building, meaning it's a shack compared to what Tony Stark is used to. It's deep in the woods, surrounded by tall trees, with a circle of perfectly pruned hedges lining the perimeter of the house. Wade is especially excited about the wrap-around patio strung with lights that are going to look so pretty as soon as the sun goes down.

Peter stares impassively at the extravagant chalet before heading around the car to grab the luggage; Wade loops their arms together before he can get far and drags him to the house instead.

"Come on!" he says, "Let's go explore."

"But our bags-"

"Will be there when we get back. Come on, I want to check out Iron Man's digs."

It's luxurious in every sense of the word. Even Tony Stark's tiny getaways are larger than every apartment Wade has ever owned combined. The couches are prime leather, the tables dark oak, and the walls a polished wooden gold-brown, all accented with rustic black-and-red plaid—the ideal color scheme if you ask Wade. It's tastefully decorated with an antler chandelier and a stone-built, wood-burning fireplace that doesn't like it's there for just the aesthetic; there had to be central heating throughout the cabin, seeing how pleasant and warm it already is inside, but Wade still intends on putting that fireplace to use.

The kitchen is right next to the main living area; the cupboards are dark maroon, the island and countertops pristine granite, and all the appliances look new. Electric sconces dot the walls and an expensive-looking candelabra sits on the fireplace mantel.

Everything smells of pine and lemon-scented cleaner.

He whistled again, low and impressed, strolling into the living area with his hands on his hips.

Peter's shoulders are up to his ears and his face is stuck somewhere between a glower and a grimace. This cabin probably costs more than his entire apartment building. He shambles into the living room and picks up a note left for them on the table.

You break it, you buy it—Tony Stark

"Great," Peter grumbles.

"Ah, he can unclench his buttcheeks," Wade says, reading over Peter's shoulder. "Come on, let's check out the love-nests."

"The what?"

"The bedrooms," Wade rolls his eyes. "Get with it, Petey."

Peter huffs and rolls his eyes back, but follows Wade up the staircase. The Master bedroom is large and spacious, with a king-sized bed and two-large windows on both sides. The floor is dark wood with a plush white carpet at the foot of the bed, the ideal texture for curling your toes in. One door leads out to the wrap-around deck, and another is connected to a large bathroom with a tub big enough to fit three grown people. The lights are soft and warm, giving the entire room a pleasant glow.

Wade jumps belly-first onto the bed and sinks several inches into it, rubbing his face into the soft fur blankets and velvety pillows. "Dibs," he sighs lovingly.

Peter just shrugs.

The second bedroom is smaller but no less lavish. This bed has curtains that pull around it, hiding it from the rest of the room, and an animal skin rug right next to it. There are a few windows that let natural sunlight in and a connecting bathroom colored in soft cremes and accented in dark browns.

"You like this one?" Wade asks, but Peter only shrugs again.

The third bedroom is the smallest out of the three, with only one window and dark wood that makes the room feel darker than it is, only lightened by a few well-placed sconces. The floor is a soft carpet and the room compact, but cozy. Peter stops in the middle, spinning slowly to take it all in, before tossing his backpack on the bed.

"This one," he says.

Wade looks around the room. "You sure? There are bigger ones."

Peter nods, confident. "I like this one."

"Alright, but don't come crying to me when you decide you want a big ol' bed like mine."

Peter snorts, lips twitching upward. "I'll try to resist."

They head downstairs to the last level, the basement, which is cut into two rooms. The first is open and spacious, filling the space with a foosball table, a pool table, a well-stocked mini-fridge, and a few old antique arcade games. The second room is a home theater with all the fixings: low lights, surround sound, plush seats, and even a popcorn maker.

Yes, this will do nicely.

"Now that I know this is here, Stark can't stop me from coming back," Wade says, grinning broadly. "I think I'll set this up as one of my safe houses. No one would ever suspect it."

Peter stops by one of the arcade games, looking it over thoughtfully, before heading back to the stairs. "I'm getting our bags."

"Nuh-uh!" Wade cries, scrambling up the side of the stairs to block Peter halfway up. Peter plants his hands on his hips, escape attempt foiled. "You," Wade points at him, "go upstairs and take a shower. Make yourself presentable and get all dolled up."

Peter tilts his head and squints. "Why am I getting all dolled up?"

"That defeats the purpose of a surprise," Wade says, bopping his nose before racing up the stairs two steps at a time so he can herd Peter back up to the rooms, promising to drop his duffel bag off before he gets out of the bathroom. When the shower is running and he's positive Peter isn't going to climb out a window, Wade bounds outside to retrieve their bags and dumps them in the house.

True to Stark's word, the kitchen is stocked with just about anything Wade would need. The freezer is bursting with raw meat from several different animals and the fridge is filled with every kind of protein-based food in existence. If Spider-Peter came out to play, he would be well nourished and not without his webs, that's for sure.

If all goes well, Peter will be using a lot of his webbing while they're here—how you want to interpret that is up to you! ;)

"Well, let's get to it," Wade announces, digging through his bag and tying a frilly pink apron around his waist, and got to work.

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

He hears Peter's footsteps on the wooden floors upstairs before he sees him.

"Don't take another step!" Wade yells and Peter halts.

"Why?" He asks from atop the stairs.

"This is a spiders-only zone," Wade says, pointing in the general direction of Peter's voice, "nothing but wall-crawling or web-slinging from here on out. It's the rules."

"When did we establish that rule?" Peter huffs.

"No talk-backs. Now get down here, the food is getting cold."

Peter grumbles incomprehensibly, but obeys, walking sideways on the wall with his hands on his hips, giving gravity the middle finger. He'd gotten as dolled up as he knew how, donning a pair of old slacks, a white button-up, and the same pair of sneakers he's been wearing all day. He'd combed his hair, but it curled as it dried, ruining the slick back style he was going for—being upside down didn't help either. He hangs from the bottom of the 2nd-floor banister, arms crossed until he sees Wade, and his eyes widen.

"When did you have time to put on that?" He asks, pointing.

Wade preens, twirling to show off the rest of his leather pencil skirt and tugging coyly on his fancy red shirt, the neck a steep V that showed off more skin than he was usually comfortable with. But tonight is special.

"You like?" He asks, popping his 6-inch stilettos.

"You're already tall enough. I don't know why you wear those." It wasn't judgmental; in fact, Peter was blushing, tugging on his collar as his eyes skittered away from Wade.

"They make my legs look good," Wade says, dragging a hand up his thigh.

Peter swallows.

He looks down at his own outfit and fruitlessly tries to straighten out a few wrinkles in his shirt. "I feel like I should've packed something a little classier now."

"Oh pish posh," Wade waves his concern aside and finishes buttoning up his shirt, smoothing out the collar once he's done. Even suspended from the banister as he is, it's easy to reach him, especially in these heels. At this angle, Peter is level to Wade's collarbone and Wade grins inwardly when he gapes.

"Come on," Wade says, once Peter is properly presentable, and saunters to the table. "I didn't wrestle on these nylons for nothing. No walking. You know the rules."

Peter drops into his seat using his webbing and Wade scoots it in for him, despite Peter's protest.

"Can't I at least tuck in your seat for you?"

"That's sweet, but no," Wade coos, grabbing two already prepared plates from the counter. "I'm the one taking care of you, which I know is going to give you a hernia, but that's a risk I'm willing to take."

When he turns back to Peter, Peter's eyes are soft and his smile gentle. His eyes slant to the side, and he gently rubs his neck. "That's all you've been doing these last few days." He mumbles, more to himself than Wade.

Wade ignores the sad undercurrent of his tone.

"Bon appetite," he says, stopping in front of Peter and intentionally holding the plate out for him to grab, looking directly into his eyes. "For you."

Peter stiffens, taken aback. His wide eyes flicker between Wade and the plate, and his ears pink, a subtle tremor zipping up his spine, making him straighten. His head cocks as his eyes roam over the spiced steak, steaming potatoes, and flavored asparagus. A few seconds later he carefully, reverently, accepts the plate, looking back into Wade's eyes even as another barely contained wiggle clambers through his body. Wade grins, not bothering to hide his pleasure, before taking his seat.

Ears still tinged pink, Peter cuts into the steak as he looks around the room, taking in the candelabrum flickering warmly in the middle of the table, the sparkling wine glasses next to his plate, and the soft classical music floating through the air.

"How did you get all of this set up so quickly?"

Wade shrugs, delicately cutting his steak into bite-sized pieces. "I'm more than just a muscle stud in a leather suit. I've got many hidden talents, thank you very much." He takes a bite before pouring Peter a generous glass of wine and intentionally holding it out to him again.

This time, Peter can't quite hold back the wiggle and very nearly spills his drink on the pristine white tablecloth—HA! Tony would hate that. He gives the wine a cursory once-over, examining it with his spidery little brain, and took a quick, eager sip, eyes darkening.

When he cut into his steak, red juices seep out of the meat, puddling on the plate; the smell of blood reaches even Wade's nose. "I've heard of rare steak, but this thing is literally crawling off my plate."

"Don't like it?"

Peter licks his lips, fingers tightening around his cutlery. "I didn't say that. I'm just...it smells good, I just don't eat steak very often, much less when it's still mooing at me."

"The moo gives it flavor," Wade gestures to it, "give it a try."

Peter cuts off a sizeable chunk and examines it skeptically, before taking it into his mouth; a pleasant look crosses his face and he chews enthusiastically, cutting off another piece. "I didn't know you knew how to cook."

"I'm just chock-full of surprise," Wade winks.

They eat in silence for a few minutes; Peter is halfway through his steak before he asks, "So why is it so," he gestures around the room with his fork, "fancy? What's the occasion?"

"Does there need to be an occasion?" Wade asks, sipping his wine.

Peter shrugs. "I mean, there usually is. Don't tell me I forgot an anniversary already," he smiles, mischief glinting in his eyes.

Wade smirks back. "Close, but not quite." He takes another sip of wine. "It's our date."

Peter blinks, cocking his head. "Our what?"

"Our date. I asked you out on a date, and you said yes, but then the whole, you know, thing happened and we totally missed it. Sooo, I thought we could do a redo here." Wade shrugs again, toying with his asparagus. "Figured we could do it now while I have you all to myself." He looks up through his false eyelashes and a pleasant warmth spreads throughout his chest as Peter's face darkens to a deeper red and he coughs into his fist, looking away.

"I-uh," he says, but can't seem to find the right words; a smile tugs on his lips. A bashful, damn-near shy thing that Wade's never really seen on him before. "This is...nice. Really nice. Yeah, I'm...I'm happy to do a do-over."

A weight in Wade's chest lifts; a heaviness that he hadn't really noticed nesting in his chest cavity until it was gone. A worry that Peter would find this weird, or have second-thoughts, and back out. Wade nearly wiggles himself, and then thinks about it, and does wiggle, mimicking what Peter had done. Of course, Peter's eyes snag onto it, sharp as a hawk, and his eyes darken a little more. His chest puffs, as if boosted with confidence, and takes another bite of steak with more enthusiasm.

He responds well to Wade reciprocating his own mannerisms, and it squeezes Wade's heart, making it flutter. He tucks the mental note in his brain, to be used later.

Peter finishes his plate and before he can utter a word, Wade is already up and refilling it; holding it out to him again. Peter accepts it quicker this time, though he still examines it briefly. Wade's not sure he even notices when he does it.

"Thank you," he says.

"Someone's gotta put some meat on your bones," Wade says. "Your pantry was atrocious. Atrocious, I tell you."

"I don't have a pantry."

"Exactly my point."

Peter rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but his face is bright with amusement. "So, where did you learn how to cook?"

"Oh, when you have all the time in the world, it's hard not to develop a few hobbies. It keeps the ol' brain distracted, anyway," Wade says, waving at his head. "Gotta fill the endless stretch of time somehow, right?"

"I have a few ideas how you can fill the time," Peter said, leaning forward with his head in his hand, smirking wolfishly.

"I'm glad you noticed the joke I completely set up for you. I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Peter laughs and it's like hearing sweet bells chiming on a warm summer day. He's been so gloomy the entire ride up here, and for the first time since setting foot in the cabin, his shoulders are relaxed and the crease between his brow had all but disappeared. With a little more time, he may even soften the occasional clench of his jaw and stop rubbing his index finger in the center of his palm, searching for the trigger plate that's usually there.

Wade finishes the night simply: with ice cream.

Nothing fancy, which is perfectly fine with Peter as he heartily digs into a pint of cookies-and-creme, looking so content Wade feels bad for what he has planned these next few weeks. A pinch under his rubs that he tugs on, trying to smooth it out. This is for Peter's benefit. It needs to be done.

When they're both finished, Wade claps his hands once and announces, "Bedtime." Peter, the gentleman that he is, offers his arm from where he stands on the wall, and Wade accepts it graciously, though the angle is awkward. Their giggles fill the empty spaces of the cabin as Wade walks him to his room.

Peter stops by his door, rubbing his neck shyly. "Dinner was great. It was a good first date. Ten out of ten. I didn't realize how much I'd like rare steak."

"I had a hunch," Wade teases. "After watching you scarf down so many of those raw shakes, a girl can't help but wonder."

Peter's cheeks redden at the reminder and he quickly barrels on, changing the subject. "Well, maybe we can do this again sometime."

Wade raises one of the eyebrows he'd meticulously penciled in.

"Not the feeding me shakes thing," Peter corrects with a huff.

"Hey, I won't judge. It's okay to have weird tastes, baby boy. If you're into it, we can give it a try."

"No, not the shake thing. The date thing. We should do it again sometime."

Wade plants a hand on his cocked hips. "I think you just like seeing me in a skirt."

Peter smiles and the sincerity catches on Wade like an exposed nail, ripping skin. "And what if I do?"

Wade smooths out his skirt. "I'd say you're a good sweet-talker." He tugs on his shirt, suddenly aware of just how much skin is showing. He'd been feeling great when he put it on—lovely and alluring, all things he never was, but his pock-marked skin draws shadows in the dim light, reminding him that nothing about him is sensual or smooth. He smooths out his skirt again, more tightly, and makes to step back, but Peter catches his hand, still smiling that gentle smile that made Wade's heart all goopy.

"You look really pretty."

Wade's chest expands like an over-blown balloon, one needle away from exploding, and he releases the building emotions by chuckling and shoving at Peter. "You are a sweet-talker. I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones I like."

"Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to be doing the wining and dining over here."

Peter shrugs, smiling coyly. "We just did the wining and dining."

"Yeah, yeah, smart-ass. Go to sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow. And I'm talking hung like a horse big. You'll be gagging by the end of it."

"Promises, promises," Peter snickers, but his humor slants to the side and his index fingers rubs subconsciously against his palm again. "You said you're going to help me control my spider side. You still not going to tell me how?"

"It'd be easier if you didn't know that part. Just throw a little trust my way."

Peter takes a small breath, uncertainty creeping into the creases of his face, but when he inhales, some of it smooths out. He nods. "Yeah. Okay. I guess."

Wade snorts. "Your confidence is inspiring." He turns to walk away, but Peter catches his shoulder, drawing him back in. Wade is just about to ask if he wants a warm glass of milk and a bedtime story when Peter's lips are suddenly on his. It's strange kissing upside down; Wade's wondered what it would be like since 2002, but Cable never wanted to recreate it with him—the asshole. But he's glad he waited this long to pop his Spider-Man-Upside-Down-Kiss cherry with the real thing. It just wouldn't be the same with anyone else. The way Peter holds the back of his neck, keeping him at the right angle. The odd, yet gentle press of his lips.

"Seriously, thank you," Peter says when they separate. "You've," the words catch and he clears his throat, eyes flickering from the ceiling and Wade. "You didn't have to help me like this. You could've just walked away—I wouldn't have blamed you if you did. I'm still not sure why you didn't, but...thank you."

Wade traces the curve of Peter's jaw with his thumb. The pinch under his ribs gets tighter, but he forces himself to smile.

This is for Peter's own benefit.

"You're trying to schmooze me into putting out on the first date, but I'm classy; I won't give it so easily. But keep talking dirty like that, and I might have to do something about it." He pushes against Peter's chest and this time Peter goes, retreating to his room. He gives him a final smile that squeezes Wade's heart before closing the door.

"And no floors!" Wade reminds him.

"Alright, alright."

Wade shakes his head and walks down the hall, as if to go to his own room, but lingers by the stair banister, watching Peter's door until the light underneath it goes out. He waits a little longer, just to make sure Peter is asleep, before uncrossing his arms. He detours to his room to get out of his fancy clothes, exchanging them for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and then heads to the basement.

He regards the arcade games and pool table with his hands on his hips, surveying the room.

"Well," he says, holding up a wrench. "Let's get started."

He spends the rest of the night disassembling the room, preparing for the days to come. 

A/N 

Spider facts for this chapter:

-Spider's like classical music. They'll avoid loud music, like rock and heavy-metal, but are drawn more to classical music and are content building their webs nearby.

-Spiders can smell blood, and there is even one spider (Evarcha culicivora) that goes into a feeding frenzy when it smells blood. It explains a little why Peter went so feral when he attacked his kidnappers, but in small doses, like a raw steak, it just kind of makes him hungry.

-Speaking of raw streak, Wade's experimenting with just how raw Peter will go with meat while in his regular head-space. So far, Peter is pretty good about it.

-You guys probably already picked up on what Wade is doing, but he's leaning into Peter's courting mannerisms to fully court him the spider way, while digging up new information about Peter as he does. It's going to be fun.

-This is more of my own personal Peter headcanon than a spider-fact, but Peter rubs his index finger against his palm because that's usually where the trigger-plate of his web-shooters are. It's a coping mechanism he does when he's feeling uncertain or guarded; a subconscious desire to get away as fast as possible. Of course, Wade being the intelligent and observant guy that he is, picks up on it.