Chapter Text
"Wade...I didn't make you mad, did I?" Peter murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Not like before..."
He should've seen it, long before it blew up. Literally, in this case.
A car bomb in Laos killed fourteen people, eight of whom were innocent bystanders in a gang turf war.
That 'Pool'd been hired to even out.
Well, he evened it out. And made international news for it. Although he managed to keep his name or likeness out of the circulation, every super knew who it was, including his less-than-three-months roomie.
To say Peter was angry was the understatement of the century. Wade came home, acting like it was a normal job (which Peter already had an issue with), and lied when Peter confronted him. Their screaming match got so bad the cops were called, which resulted in Stark calling, and Cap showing up to make sure things didn't get out of hand. Well, they did--Wade ended up in a losing fist fight with Cap, and stormed out.
Went completely off grid for a month.
First week, Peter was still so angry he didn't bother trying to reach him, but after that, it was a frantic obsession. Nothing worked. Stark even reached out to the black market contacts he kept in his back pocket, and even they hadn't seen him. Whether they were telling the truth or not didn't matter; Wade didn't want anything to do with them, or with Peter.
And then 34 days later, Peter came home lugging a fifty pound suitcase filled with half a dozen binders of paperwork that needed to be scanned, and found Wade sitting in the living room, eating a bowl of cereal, watching Hannah Montana. Undercutting the seismic joy he felt at finally seeing him again was a raw, primal, bordering-murderous rage that sent Peter right back out the door, slamming it shut so hard the wood split down the middle.
He stayed at Ned's house for a few days, then at MJ's, but he missed his bed, and his tv, and his fucking idiotic roommate who was a goddamn mercenary even though he'd told Peter months ago that, at worst, he was only taking grey-area jobs, not anything directly combative.
After crashing on the lab couch for nearly a week, Stark tossed a notarized dossier on his desk and told him to go home. Peter read it and burst into tears. It was an affidavit signed by Wade, giving Stark full power to arrest him and throw him in jail if he ever took another job like Laos.
Wade wouldn't even do debriefings if Stark was running them; giving him the prison card was a bigger peace offering to Peter than anything he could've imagined.
He literally tore his shirt off to get into his suit and webbed home faster than he had in years, stumbling into the apartment, winded and panting for breath, to find Wade on the couch, scrolling Netflix.
"Hey," Peter murmured as he hung his backpack on the hook by the door.
"Hey," Wade replied, not turning.
Peter made his way to this kitchen, slipping off his mask and about to ask about the affidavit, when he saw the entire length of their countertops covered in chocolate covered strawberries. He turned his head to one side, the other, then realized.
He stuck web to the ceiling and climbed a few feet high, hung upside down, and read:
Sorry Baby Boy
Warmth filled his chest, flushed his cheeks, brought new tears to his eyes.
Fuck, he loved that asshole so much.
He climbed down, loaded up half the strawberries in a baking bowl, and flopped onto the couch next to Wade, handing him the bowl as he laid his head on Wade's shoulder.
"Whatcha watchin'?" he asked, reaching over and grabbing a strawberry.
Peter didn't need to look to know that Wade was smiling–he could feel it in the relax of his shoulders and the way he flipped the remote around in his fingers like a fidget spinner.
"It's a sphincter-tight race between British Bake Off and Golden Girls," Wade said.
Peter bit it another strawberry. "Why not both?"
He could see Wade's smile this time.
"Gonna stay the night, then?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "I live here, dickwad–yes, I'm staying." He tossed the top of his strawberry back into the bowl, making a show of searching for another. "What about you?" He took a bite, swallowed, tossed the next piece. "...You staying?"
Wade's warm arm wrapped around his shoulders. He took his own strawberry, bit the leaves off, tossed them in the bowl.
"Yeah, I'm staying," he said. "Long as you want me here."
Peter stole the remote and clicked on Bake Off.
"Good. Don't fucking leave again."
Wade made a dramatic sigh. "GEEZE. Fine."
Three hours later, Wade'd fallen asleep against Peter's shoulder, and he didn't have the heart or desire to move. So he just kissed his temple, tugged the blanket off the back of the couch to cover them, and slept as peacefully as he had in years.
~~~
Peter hadn't even changed out of his suit to start packing his room–the rain finally letting up enough to leave a puddle on the street outside their apartment so deep, he slipped in it and caked the bottom half of his legs in mud. Icing on the shit cake.
He'd turned his phone off, too. Logan had only tried to call him once, but both Stark and Rogers were hitting him up every five minutes, threatening ridiculous measures if he didn't answer. No doubt, Logan ratted him out.
Fucking weasel, he thought as he tossed a stack of books into an open box.
He shook his head. That wasn't fair.
But it also meant he had a half hour, maybe, to get his shit and get out before they showed up to mediate, or whatever the hell version of adopted parenting they chose.
Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his swollen eyes burned.
Damn them and their being father figures that he really did love, just did not want to deal with tonight.
He'd just started emptying out his dresser drawers when the apartment door opened and closed.
Shit.
SHIT.
He ran to his closed door and pressed his ear to it.
Not enough footsteps yet to tell who it was.
Was it 'Pool? Or did he give Logan his key?
Thump, thump, thump.
Deadpool, in his stupidly heavy combat boots.
Spidey slid to the floor, suddenly unable to move, listening to him walk–down the hallway, to the kitchen, the den.
Why was he here?
He knew Wade's limits–had seen them tested, and violated, many times by others. There were still people 'Pool refused to even name, let alone speak to.
His stomach dropped at the thought that he might be on that list now, too.
More footsteps, this time across the den, back down the hallway, stopping outside his door.
"I know you're in there, Peter. I'll be waiting out here when you're ready to talk."
His jaw dropped.
What happened in the hour since Wade left the rooftop? Had Logan spoken to him?
He swallowed, ran his hands through the damp tangles of his hair, glanced down at the muck of his suit, and half-considered changing, but stopped. 'Pool'd seen him in far worse states, and vice versa, and after seeing Wade break his fingers bloody over and over again, Peter thought it only fair to just come out, as is.
He inhaled, held his breath, exhaled as he turned his knob. 'Pool was back in the den, sitting in the far seat, closest to the now-open window, letting the damp night air in. Spidey hesitated at the end of the hall, gasping when he saw Wade's hands bandaged. He rushed forward, stopping short of grabbing them.
"Did they not heal?!"
"No, they did...Peanut wouldn't let me go home until he bandaged 'em. Didn't want to just leave it up to my anti-cancer, I guess."
Peter reached for them, and Wade pulled back.
"Told him it was fine, but he insisted," he muttered, running his fingers over the folds of wrapped gauze.
Spidey sat back on his heels, watching 'Pool, eyes on the floor, on Peter's hands, on his own, and drowned in the affection he had for this man.
He had to be mature about this. He couldn't run away again.
"He's a good man, Wade," Peter said, forcing his voice to steady. He'd never meant anything more in his life, and wanted Wade to hear it. "I'm glad you found him. I'm..." He paused, tears constricting the back of his throat like salt. "I'm really happy for both of you."
He crawled forward, resting his hands on Wade's knees, forcing himself to look into 'Pool's masked eyes, knowing he'd never get him to take it off.
"That's why I need to go, Wade. Let you two have this life together. But..." He shut his eyes, inhaled. "I shouldn't have told you with a text. I'm sorry. You deserve more than that."
You deserve more than me.
Deadpool shoved him back and stood, pounding across the room, when his text tone, SpongeBob's laugh, went off. He stopped, pulled out his phone, and read it.
Spidey dragged himself to stand with the arm of the couch and wiped his shaking hand across his nose.
"I'm gonna go finish packing."
He'd made it halfway across when 'Pool reread his text, looked at him again, and took off his mask, letting it fall to the floor.
"Baby Boy..." he murmured.
"What?" Peter asked, suddenly terrified of whatever he read.
And then Wade smiled.
"Do you love me?"
Peter sputtered, looking for words or excuses that wouldn't come, and ignored the tears spilling down his cheeks as he focused on the floor.
Wade, his smile now sultry, smoldering, stalked forward, now a foot from Peter, now an inch, now so close his body heat enveloped Spidey's cold limbs like the warmth of a fire in winter.
"You love me," Wade said as he brought his hand forward, stopping as Peter inhaled a shaking breath, but still couldn't help but lean toward him.
He ran his thumb across Peter's lower lip and said, "You, Peter Benjamin Parker, the best, kindest, sweetest, hottest, most amazing man and only worthwhile hero in this entire goddamn city...you fucking love me."
Peter's eyes swam as he curled into Wade's palm.
"You remember my middle name?" he murmured.
Wade took a last step, crowding them against the wall, cupping his cheeks in his warm, scarred hands as he brought their chests and hips together.
"Oh, Webs," Wade said, a tear dripping from his eyes, a joyful laugh surrounding his words. "I remember everything about you."
He rolled his hips and Peter moaned like it was punched out of him.
"Wade...please..."
He leaned forward, his hot breath on Peter's face like a sauna he wanted to curl in and never leave. Their lips touched, but not in a kiss–they stayed there, still, sharing breaths, their waists rising and falling with that breath, their erections against each other like nagging points on this line they were about to cross.
"I love you, too, Baby Boy," Wade whispered, drawing his arm around the small of Peter's back. "I don't know what I'd do without you, and I never wanna find out."
They kissed–finally, truly, drawing their lips across each other slowly, like they would fade away if they stopped.
Until Peter stopped, pressing back against Wade's arm, panting for breath.
"Wade...I can't–I can't do this–"
He tore out of his hold and tripped, landing on his ass, head spinning as Wade ran over to him, but Peter swatted him away.
"You're with Logan, Wade–how can you–how can I–?"
He teetered on his trembling knees as he stood and pushed past him, going to his room and slamming his door, blocking it with his desk chair. Wade followed and pounded on the door as Peter pulled on his mask.
"PETER! Goddammit, Webs, open the fucking door! We need to talk—Spidey, please–!"
But Peter ignored him, opening his window and web-slinging to the building across the street and out into the city.
~~~
He only made it a few blocks before losing all stamina and collapsing on the roof of an empty office building, the glass panels reflecting the starlight and moon rays above him. It was beautiful...breathtaking.
The only good part of this terrible day.
His lips tingled in memory.
Well, not the only good part.
Spidey’s suit alert chirped, and the eyes of his mask lit up.
Shit. The update Stark installed actually worked. No more forgotten cell phone excuses.
He read the caller ID and felt a knot tighten his stomach like a clenched fist.
He pressed the sensor on his temple.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?" Logan's gruff voice asked.
He was tempted to hang up, but gave into his desire, and his guilt. He gave him the address and Logan made him promise he wouldn't move.
Spidey didn't answer at first, until Logan cleared his throat and said, "Peter, I'm not hanging up until you answer me."
He fought the desire to ask if Wade was coming, and said, "I promise."
The twenty minutes passed like twenty seconds when Logan, in his blue and yellow suit, lock pick in hand, pushed the roof door opened and closed. Spidey, stuck by his hands and feet to the glass paneled side, would've laughed if he felt better.
Logan walked to the roof ledge and sat, dangling his feet over the side.
"Hey."
Spidey sniffled, tucking his chin into the crossed arms over his knees.
"...Hey."
Logan nodded behind him.
"Care to have this conversation on solid ground?"
Spidey shook his head, until Logan gave him a half-smile, and a confident, self-assured flick of his hand toward him.
"C'mon, Webs."
Peter's insides lurched. Fucking hell.
He waited a minute out of spite, though Wolverine knew he was coming; he'd already stood up and walked toward the middle of the roof, far from the edge. Probably a habit picked up from dating Wade.
The thought scattered the butterflies tingling his gut as he followed Wolverine to a ventilation vent crowned in curling steam. Felt ominous, somehow.
Or maybe not. Going by the look of concern and undeniable affection (that even Peter couldn't deny) on Logan's unmasked face, an unexpected hope bloomed in Peter's chest.
A blossom that sprouted thorns as soon as it grew.
His words came out harder than he meant, but might as well get it over with.
"What do you want, Logan?"
Wolverine pressed his lips together and ducked his head.
"'Pool told me..."
Fury and grief twisted Spidey's insides like barbed wire.
"Of fucking course he did. Because he wants to announce to the world that he cheated on you, and that I helped him."
"That's not fair, Webs–you're putting words in his mouth."
Peter spun on his heel and started screaming in his face.
"NOTHING is fair, Logan. You know that better than anyone. Nothing is fucking fair, or deserved, or true, except for you two. I've never seen something so right in my entire life, and it's not FUCKING FAIR!"
His voice broke as he screamed around tears into his gloved hands.
"I can't be selfish. I can't cost people I love their lives again. I can't do this...I can't get in the way of what you two have."
Tears dripped through his mask until he ripped it off and threw it away from him.
Wolverine picked it up, slipped it into his pocket, and walked back with slow, measured steps, and opened his arms.
"Come here, Peter."
He all but flew against Logan's chest, sobbing into the yellow and blue nylon like he'd never cried before, and kept repeating, "I don't know what to do. I can't live with myself like this and I just don't know what to do."
Footsteps behind him set off Spidey's sense and he turned his head.
There was Deadpool, a few feet away, head tilted, shoulders slumped, bare hands hanging at his sides.
Peter's knees gave out; Logan caught him, Wade right behind, as they held him close and lowered him to the ground.
Deadpool reached up and pulled off his mask.
"Somethin' you wanna share with the class, Baby Boy?" Wade murmured after a long few minutes, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of his breath in Peter's hair easing him into an unexpected calm.
"I think you know already," he murmured.
"Peter," Logan murmured, scooting forward and drawing Peter back into his lap, his arms wrapping around him. "Can I be blunt?"
"Like you've ever asked before," Wade laughed, and Logan flipped him off, making Peter chuckle.
Logan took a breath, held it, exhaled with a long gaze at Wade, who smiled. "What you're wanting...it's not..."
Peter tensed at his words, until Logan pressed his lips to Peter's temple.
"Webs...all you have to do is ask," he murmured.
Peter lifted his head, brushing against the stubble on Logan's chin.
"–What?" he whispered.
"Spidey," Wade said, thumb stroking the inside of Peter's wrist. "Logan and I are poly."
A lightbulb went off in Peter's mind, and all the cockroaches terrorizing him for weeks vanished.
Of course they were poly.
OF FUCKING COURSE THEY WERE.
He'd known them for years, but had never put it together. It all made so much sense now.
They weren't leading him on, or torturing him. They were inviting him in–or trying to, at least.
"We'd never force you, or guilt you, or assume anything," Logan said. "But..."
He hesitated, voice catching. Wade squeezed his arm.
"But we'd be lying if we didn't say you were the best damn thing in our lives since we got our heads out of our asses and got together. And we'd do anything to keep you, and if I lose you, I don't know what I'd do and please, Baby Boy, please don't leave me, I need you and I love you, please–" Wade blurted out at double speed.
Peter smiled, taking Wade's cheeks in his hands, and drawing him closer.
"Wade..." He turned to look over his shoulder. "Logan..."
He exhaled a shaky breath, joy stinging his eyes.
"Kiss me."