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Tired and angry, Peter Parker sits at the edge of his bed staring at the blank screen of his phone. It had been a long day. A very very long day. A day so long it bleeds into the next, and the next, and the next, until that long day turns into a long week and the week turns into a month.
It was safe to say that Peter was done. He just wanted to wrap himself in his duvet and wait for this shit show of a year to be over. Peter desperately needs it to be over. After being trapped in an illusion cast by mysterio for God only knows how long a robot took his place left Peter with a very low tolerance for anything else life wanted to throw his way.
He doesn’t even know what hurts more, the fact that his friend killed him multiple times, or the fact that nobody in Peter's life even noticed he was gone. A heavy sigh leaves his chest as he flops back down onto his bed. Let's see...eenie, meanie, miney...mhmm...the friend killing him multiple times has to take the cake. It's one thing for the people in his life not to notice. The robot was pretty convincing afterall.
But for deadpool, and yes, he is just deadpool now, to kill him not once but twice, is the arsenic poison atop Peter's shit cake of a life. It was getting better. Which just makes this already awful situation so much worse. Peter was doing good. He's no longer struggling to make rent or afford food thanks to doc ock possesing him...which is a weird thing to be greatful for but Dr. Octavious could have absolutely fucked him in the worst ways possible instead of gift-wrapping Peter a highly successful company.
So...Peter will take his blessings where he can thanks. Weird circumstances and all.
But–But even besides that...Peter made a friend. Already something he hadn't thought possible anymore. The closest person he has left to a friend is Anna Maria. And don't get Peter wrong, Anna is great–but...Peter pays her to be around. He and Johnny haven't spoken in...Peter honestly can't remember.
Maybe he should text him. Just to catch up. It'd be nice to hear from an egotistical prick that hasn't tried to kill him. Yet anyway. Who knows. Anything can happen. Dreams, Nightmares, whatever your waking mind or subconscious can conjure can happen. As long as that fantasy involves torturing Peter Parker. Those seem to be the majority of wishes that get fulfilled by whatever malevolent force runs the universe.
Peter scrunches his eyes closed as another sigh pushes its way through his lungs. Another Peter Parker Pity Party. That seems to be the way things are going. Should he buy a cake for it or just eat whatever tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream is sitting in his freezer?
Freezer it is. Going outside where things can hurt him physically or emotionally is a no go right now. Though, a lot of good staying in his apartment did. Still left him with a bullet in his head. The floorboards have definitely seen better days.
Actually...no they haven't. These floorboards have had the displeasure of blood, tears, and whatever fluids Johnny got on them when Peter asked him to house sit. Never again. But that does remind him–Peter groans as he sits up from his bed, keeping the duvet wrapped around him with one hand while his left picks up his phone.
His finger hits the power button as his lock screen greets him in a blistering ray of light. Peter's eyes screw shut and his lips pull into a grimace as the mocking brilliance of his screen glares at him. Eyes finally adjusted, Peter's corneas twitch towards the clock near the top of his screen before catching on his lock screen photo.
A wounded noise rises from the back of his throat. He–he forgot that's what he changed his lockscreen too. A picture of him and wa–deadpool...a picture of him and deadpool stares back at him.
Arms slung happily around each other as their smiles shine through their masks. Leather crinkles near the corners of Deadpool's mouth as his animated white lenses bend half crescents that shouldn't be possible for the material but happens anyway because Deadpool looks at the impossible and laughs.
Peter used to think that was a good thing. He's not so sure anymore. Afterall, he thought Deadpool killing him was impossible, and that motherfucker did it twice. Just one big, cruel joke. Worse though, is the smiling picture of him. Body completely relaxed as deadpools arm wraps around his shoulder and his side presses against Wade's.
A fool. The person in that photograph was a naive fool that had believed someone he was friends with would have believed him and taken his word for something. Because that's worked so well historically speaking.
God, what is it with him and being friends with assholes who don't listen to a word ge says? Maybe he's cursed. That would make sense. So much sense. Maybe even dollars. A soft, sad chuckle bubbles from his mouth as tears continue their lazy journey down his cheeks.
So dumb. Both the joke and him. Last time, him not being able to convince someone led to his girlfriend dying. Images of Gwen's broken body burn through his brain as he desperately scrubs at his face. This time it ended up with him dead. Twice.
Which is utterly ridiculous. Once might have left Peter a little dumbfounded but twice? Twice? Who in the fuck did he screw over in a past life for him to be killed by his friend twice? Steal candy from a baby? Club a baby seal? Become president of the United States? What? Peter genuinely wants to know.
Katy Perry's Hot and Cold blares from Peter's phone speaker, startling him. Shit! That's Wade's ringtone. Fuck he can't deal with him right now. How does he make it stop? Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck! Shit! What is he going to—Crack!
Well...that solved that problem. And created an entirely new one. Goodbye R2, you were a good android that survived Rhino bulldozing him while it was in his pocket.
Despondently gazing at the broken pieces of his phone. Is the sim card salvageable at least?
No. Of course not. God why?
Ice Cream time. Definitely ice Cream time. In fact, if ice Cream isn't in his mouth in the next five seconds Peter is going to commit great acts of violence upon whatever unfortunate wrench happens to be committing crime tonight.
Weary limbs drag him towards hjs freezer, blanket still wrapped tightly around his body.
Wonderful. Ice cream. Unfortunately, Peter had been trying to cut down on his ice cream consumption so it's his least favorite flavor. Milk and cookies. Great. Whatever. He'll power through it.
Next step is tv. Something mindless that he doesn't have to think about. Sitcoms. Maybe friends? Actually, home improvement with Tim Allen is probably better. Johnny used to put it on because it annoyed Pete. Unluckily for Johnny, the show grew on him. So really it was just something Johnny put on to listen to Peter complain about the Osha violations on the film set and the shitty power tools.
Peter needs something like that right now. Happier times. Especially after that shitty letter deadpool left him. It’s sitting on his dresser with the stupid plush it came with. His first instinct was to toss it. Garbage. It’s what Deadpool did with him. Shot him and left him on his apartment floor like garbage. But Peter thought that they’d serve better as a reminder.
Tim Allen’s voice filters through his tv stereo, caveman noises and snipes at his co-host shaking Peter from his thoughts. Walking over to the couch he plops down, ice cream in hand and his comforter pulled tightly around him. Messy brown hair barely peeking out from where the blanket covers his head.
“Home improvement, nice.” Wade says from behind the couch.
“Jesus Christ!” Peter yelps as he leaps up from his couch, just narrowly managing to deny the instinctual urge to grasp the ceiling.
“Yes indeedy! Well…marvel Jesus. But what’s the difference really? One saved the world of our sins and I saved Marvel’s horrible phase four. Really went downhill after infinity wars trust me.”
“What?” Peter smartly replies, hand clutching his rapidly beating heart. His spidey sense didn’t go off. God isn’t that just the most ironic thing ever? The person who killed him twice doesn’t set off his Spidey sense. Peter’s just god’s favorite clown isn’t he?
“Oh! My bad. Usually all these fics center around the movie Deadpool, you know, Ryan Reynolds? The person every straight guy claims is the hottest person alive? I’m more of a Henry Calvill or Hugh Jackman myself. Though, Andrew Garfrield or Donald Glover are handsome too. Honestly a lot of men are. But that’s not the point. Your getting side tracked Parker–”
“I didn’t even–” Peter starts indignantly before a finger is pushed against his lips,
“Uh bu bup, not important doe eyes. I know I kinda killed you but I–wow! What’s up with you bambi? You got that freshly broken-up with look going on. Please don’t tell me I killed you and because you were dead you missed a very important dinner with your partner resulting in them being done with your shit and leaving. That would suck. I’m so sorry if that’s true. To be fair there was a lot of evidenc–I’m shutting up now.”
Peter laughs sadly, “No, no. Nothing like that. Just…personal shit.”
“Like, shark week personal or shitty life situations? Besides the obvious I mean.”
Shark week? What? Oh, “No, I’m cis. Shitty life situations...including the obvious.”
“My condolences. Both for you being cis and for the shitty life situations. Trans people need more good role models in media.”
“Didn’t you kill me because you thought I was evil?”
“Yes, but–” Deadpool raises his hands, “ –that was before I saw your soul! Your soul is like–weirdly untaint. Pure as holy water.”
Peter doesn’t feel like much of a saint, especially when it’s taking everything in him not to toss this motherfucker out the window. “What do you want?”
“I was gonna ask where spiderman was so that I could apologize in person, but I feel like this is a bit more important at the moment.”
“I don’t think spiderman wants to talk to you, and frankly I don’t either.”
“Which is totally understandable! But…I–I just feel bad, y’know?”
The deadpan look Peter shoots him is a clear sign that he does not know.
“If it isn’t the consequences of your actions. You kill a man, twice, despite the word of his friend and employee promising they weren’t someone to worry about and now neither one of them wants to talk to you. Just–just leave Deadpool. Please? I can’t…not today. Probably not for a while.”
“Yeah, yeah. Um…is there someone I could call for you?”
Peter blinks dumbly at Wade, who at some point had migrated to sitting on the end of the couch furthest from Peter.
“What?”
“I don’t think Spidey would appreciate me leaving his bestie boss in this state without someone to talk to. Unless you're crying over him. Did he break up with you because being his boyfriend/boss was too dangerous and this is his way of keeping you safe.”
Peter actually laughs, full belly, shoulders shaking, tears in his eyes. “No! No! I wouldn’t date that asshole if you paid me! Sorry to crush your dreams of a steamy workplace romance but he’s just not my type.”
“Oh thank god. I mean, I don’t understand why spidey isn’t your type, he’s the whole package deal. But I’m sort of glad too. It's a lot harder to fantasize about someone knowing that you accidentally tore up their romantic relationship.”
Peter didn’t need to know that. He could have lived without this conversation happening.
“Anyways, do you have someone I should call?”
…Johnny would hang up if deadpool called, so would Anna Maria, in fact everyone would. “No.” Peter replied, legs curling up to hide his face behind his knees.
“...Want to tell daddy Deadpool about it? I’m a good listener, I promise.”
Peter laughs bitterly, “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Alright I’m not great at listening, it’s my least powerful skill, but you can still yap at me if you’d like. Won’t tell a soul, scouts honor!”
“You were never a scout Deadpool.”
“How do you know? I am an untapped well of surprises.”
Peter raises an eyebrow.
“Ya got me. But I still won’t blab, promise.”
“You're not gonna leave until I talk about it.”
“Nope! Not till you're in a better state than I found you. Like that show that helps hoarders clean up their houses.”
“Fine. Someone I thought was a friend hurt me. Physically and emotionally. I’m more pissed about the emotional part if I’m honest but whatever. He took me out for a great night and when I got home he–” killed me. But Peter can’t say that, “beat the shit out of me.” Close enough. At least, close as Peter wants to get.
“Yikes. That doesn’t sound good.”
Peter snorts, “What’s worse is that the bastard left me a–” Peter can’t say a letter because Deadpool isn’t dumb and he’s pretty sure Wade went through his mail, “text message saying it was a mistake. It pissed me off so much I broke my phone.”
“He sounds like an asshole.”
“He is.”
Deadpool is silent for a bit.
“If you ever need someone to disappear, I kinda owe you one.”
Peter huffs,“Two and no thank you. He’s an asshole, but he was still my friend.”
“How’d he explain it? Did the douche bag at least have a good excuse?”
“No. He got the information second hand from an unreliable source and swung first and asked questions later.”
“Sounds like an idiot.”
Another laugh bubbles up from his chest, “Yeah, yeah he’s that too.”
“You wanna complain about him? I’m great at bitching, it’s one of my many talents.”
“Yeah,” and maybe Peter is being petty by telling Deadpool all his complaints about him to his face while he doesn’t know who Peter is, but Peter doesn’t care, “Yeah I would. He’s a douchebag that constantly gets me into more trouble than I was in originally and he always wants me to bail him out. He’s a two-faced bastard that can either be the funniest, nicest person ever or the biggest Prick you’d ever have the misfortune of knowing. He leaps before he looks and can’t deal with the consequences of the fall. But the biggest thing I hate about him is the fact that I can’t hate him. Because I think of him, and for every shitty thing he’s done to me, I can think of something good too. I hate that I can’t hate him. And I hate that I believed him when he told me he wanted to get better.”
“...Sounds like you really liked him.”
Peter is silent for a moment. “I was starting to.” And it feels like an admission.
“I was stupid to have.”
“No. You weren’t stupid, you were hopeful.”
Peter scowls, rubbing the tears gathering in his eyes, “What’s the difference?”
“Besides the spelling? Hope is usually based on something, stupidity is just a blind belief. Not your fault what you based it on wasn’t up to par. It happens sometimes.”
“Why’d I even like him?” Peter grumbles.
“I don’t know. Tell me.”
“What?” Peter asks.
“Tell me what you saw in him that made you like him.”
Peter exhales heavily, eyes rolling up, “He was determined. He seemed to really want to do better. He was a goofball, always cracking jokes. We both used comedy to cope. I thought he was sincere, but what do I know? He wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable, even if he thought it could be used against him because he trusted that I wouldn’t use it against him. And I trusted him, until he broke it. He wasn’t afraid to be himself, even when other people didn’t like him for it.”
Deadpool whistles, “So you had it bad then?”
Peter’s lips twist into a wry smile, “He’s married. To like–royalty.”
“Shit on a stick! Damn! You really know how to pick ‘em. Talk about the douchebag among douchebags. You sure you don’t want him bumped?”
“I’m sure,” Peter says, tiredly amused.
“Is there anything I can do? Like–I can kidnap a friend of yours and bring them here if you’d like? I’m decent at kidnappings well adultnappings anyway.”
“Yeah Deadpool, there is something you can do.”
“Name it brown eyes. Anything you want and I’ll get it. A shoulder to cry on, a dick to ride on, anything. The Dick thing was a joke, you're emotionally vulnerable right now and that makes me uncomfortable so I’m coping with humor. Just so you don’t think I’m even more of an asshole than you already do. ”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
Deadpool shifts uncomfortably, “So what can I do for you?”
“You can leave.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course Mr. Parker. Have a good night. Um, I’ll leave a burner here in case you need to call someone, just…ignore all the pre-existing contacts. Unless you wanna end up talking to Dr. Doom about your feelings.”
Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “You have Doctor Doom’s number? Why?”
“To annoy him.” Deadpool chirps, halfway out the window.
“Right, well, goodnight Deadpool.”
“You too Petey.” Deadpool says, fully climbing out of the window and leaving.
Peter can faintly hear Deadpool muttering as he walks down the fire escape stairs,
“God I wish this was a fluff fic. All the other deadpools get at least a little fluff with their angst. Deadpool and Wolverine wasn’t enough angst with fluff, no matter what the writer thinks.”