Title: Be My Yoko Ono (pt.3)
Fandom & Pairing: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Rating: R (language, erring on the side of caution)
Warnings/notes: Very generically canon for Amazing Spider-Man and Deadpool. I apologise in advance if I contradict canon accidentally etc.
The title is from the song by the Barenaked Ladies.
Massive special thanks to idontlikegravy for beta duty and being generally awesome. ♥
Disclaimer: Make Mine Marvel's.
Summary/excerpt: Peter took a long breath and wished for some kind of handy executive stress toy he could repeatedly smash against a hard surface. Preferably one that strongly resembled Deadpool's head.
When Peter carefully opened the door (only using one hand sucked. And great, now he was thinking about masturbation jokes. Wa- Deadpool's juvenile brand of humour really was infectious), at 7am that morning a multitude of possible unusual and strange sights flitted past his mind's eye. Strangely enough, not one of them was of an older, clearly blind woman who jarred her foot in the door before Peter had the chance to react appropriately.
'You'd better be Peter Parker,' she scowled underneath large tinted glasses, 'because I've knocked on every other damn door in this place and they all said you were the feeb with the weird noises going on every other night.'
'Uh, yes, that'd be me,' Peter frowned. 'Can I help you ma'am with-'
'Her white cane flew upward and Peter narrowly avoided being soundly whacked in a particularly delicate area.
'Whoa there cowboy!' Peter stepped back and watched as the cane rose again as the surprisingly violent old lady attempted to aim for a higher target. 'What the heck is it with me and the visually impaired?' He attempted to shut the door, but she had already pushed through into the room, glowering.
'Don't you dare call me ma'am again,' said the irritable very-probably-crazy-lady as she violently gesticulated with her cane. 'My name is Blind Alfred to you, kiddo, and you can throw me out or call the police or whatever right after you hear me out. Not a moment before, got that?'
Peter blinked and weighed up his options. Granted, she might be some kind of ninja stealth granny assassin sent there to kick his ass, but then there was also the strong possibility she might just be a very upset (possibly a bit loopy) person who just needed to talk. 'I got it.' he said and closed the door, cautiously leading her to his couch.
Peter Parker had learned never to underestimate an older woman who had a point to make, and he was pretty sure he could forcibly remove her should the need arise. He took a long thoughtful look at his guest who perched herself at the edge of her seat, then promptly sat beside her.
'Would you mind telling me why you're here?' he asked as reasonably as possible, absently rubbing a finger over the bandages he'd awkwardly managed to wrap around his healing wrist. Patrol was not going to be a barrel of laughs tonight.
Blind Al shifted on the couch and rubbed a calloused thumb over the top of her cane, unknowingly matching his movements.
'Wade,' she stated, and Peter's heart sunk. 'You need to do something about him. Now. Yesterday would have been better.' Her jaw tightened. 'I am not giving up on that stupid, selfish jackass after all this time. Not when you've got so close to making him less terrible.'
There was a very long pause whilst Peter attempted to gather his thoughts. He decided to start with something innocuous.
'How do you know Wade?'
'I'm his part-time lap dancer and bingo partner' she snapped. 'What does it matter? He's a friend, alright? He dropped by, told me what happened, and he probably left out a whole heap of detail-'
'Like snapping my wrist like a Kit-Kat?.'
Al's expression softened for a moment. 'He really does like you then.' She sighed and continued, 'But you boys need to go kiss and make up somethin' fierce because otherwise...' Her voice trailed off.
Peter suddenly realised his fingers were digging into the arms of the couch hard enough to leave gouges in the fabric. 'Because what?' He's dangerous, upset, he could do anything. Anything. And it would be on Peter's conscience regardless.
'Because I think we really might lose him.' She tapped a finger against her forehead. 'Not that he's ever been there before, but he's really been trying.' Her gaze seemed to find Peter's face. 'For you.' She scowled again, but there was no real anger in it. 'You crazy couple of fruits.'
Peter swallowed, fervently attempting to ignore the last comment. 'You can't really be telling me this is the worst fight he's ever got into before? He's not exactly some delicate flower, Mrs...um, Alfred.'
'Of course not! Have you been listening to a word I've been saying?' Al sighed dramatically and shook her head, murmuring to herself. 'He's going to be so p-o'd when he finds out I did this, so I gotta make sure I'm going to get something out of this trip, understand?' She rapped her fingers over her knee and muttered something incomprehensible about a damned aquarium trip.
'He'll hurt you?' Instantly concerned, Peter's train of thought derailed. Would Wade actually...? How could anyone harm an elderly blind lady, even if she was so incredibly... feisty?
Al barked out a sharp laugh. 'Don't be ridiculous. We're much more creative than that.' She waved a hand dismissively. 'This isn't about me 'n Wade. I'm just a pal, and you're clearly his unobtainable crush of the decade, so You. Go. Fix. Him.' She jabbed a finger on each word.
Crush? Peter was crush material? Not just Spider-Man, but genial niceguy Peter Parker? And Wade... Wade wanted- ? Okay, so maybe he had more than an inkling, but these things were difficult to tell when it came to someone like Deadpool whose idea of a romantic night out and casual carnage only differed when it came to affixing a carnation to his grenades.
Peter was going to need a moment to process all this. 'Well...Thank you for the visit, ' he began.
Al reached out a fumbling hand and touched Peter's arm. 'Look, I'm sorry I was a bit... well, you understand, right? I'm not exactly used to dealing with actual reasonable people who don't leave live frogs in your underwear drawer just because they wanted to see the expression on your face.' As if sensing Peter's own horrified expression she continued, 'He got the Ex Lax in his cereal so we broke even. But you really have helped, kid. Given him – God I can't believe I'm saying it – hope? And I'm sick of things getting better then suddenly learning about his heart got drop-kicked with steel-capped boots again.' She slowly manoeuvred her way to the door. 'Too many people have let him down. Think you could actually break that cycle?'
'I'll give him a call.'
'Good, because I really can't stand it when he starts bitching like a fourteen year old girl who's been dumped at Prom.'
Al nodded firmly and Peter made sure she left the building safely before returning to his room and staring at the phone. He didn't want to dwell too long on the fact that he'd just been emotionally blackmailed by a little old lady he didn't even know into apologising for something that wasn't his fault. Because therein would lie sanity, clearly.
'So, no pressure then.' He picked up a phonebook and flipped to the small advert featured under Waste Management advertisements. 'I figured I was due a reminder about responsibility around now anyway.' And dialled.
It was a damn lucky thing that Peter had a crush too.
'Wade-' Peter began, and the line dropped dead.
He sighed. So this was how it was going to be?
He dialled again.
Peter dialled again. And again. And again. On the eighth try, and after a torrent of abusive and anatomically incorrect suggestions, Peter finally got a sentence in, pride firmly lodged in his gut.
'I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, okay?'
There was a long pause.
'How did you get this number?'
Peter sighed. 'You put an ad in the business section of the phonebook, Wade.' His was the only one there. Of course. Who else would have been dumb enough or ballsy enough to so something like that?, Peter wondered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But seriously though, who on Earth didn't use Google nowadays? '”Establishment provocateur” ring any bells?'
'Oh yeah, I forgot about those.!Pretty sweet moniker I know, but I thought I got rid of them after that One World Church– Hey! I'm still mad at you!'
Peter took a long breath and wished for some kind of handy executive stress toy he could repeatedly smash against a hard surface. Preferably one that strongly resembled Deadpool's head. 'I'm not exactly dedicating a shrine to you either, you know. Have you any idea how difficult it is do shoot webbing when your hand is dangling by an actual thread?'
'I liked this conversation better when you were apologising. Get back to that part. Possibly through the use of some kind of delightfully quirky Down With Love style split screen phonecall effect.'
'I'm not going to apologise for wanting to see you properly. I just wanted,' Peter's face suddenly became alarmingly pink, 'I just wanted to get to know you a little better.' He let a note of disappointment creep into his voice. 'But if you're not comfortable with that then I guess we can just go back to how things were before. I just thought we could be close. I mean not like-' Peter frowned. This was the longest he'd talked to Wade before without being interrupted. 'Are you still there?'
'You're not talking a lot. It's kinda weirding me out man,' Peter confessed, shifting awkwardly on his seat.
Peter bit back a smart reply. 'What're you thinking about?' Now there was a question for the ages.
'Chicken feet and those little cups you get in Chinese take-out with the sauce. Why don't they do little bottles? And why I should trust you because you're probably going to run off [and find someone better] or die all nobly and be resurrected and then lose all chemistry with me, or somethin' like that.'
'You really don't know me that well, do you?' Peter smiled. 'I don't give up. I thought you didn't too.'
Wade's voice was painfully brittle. 'Yeah, funny thing about that whole having hope in stuff gig? Crashed and burned a long time ago, big ole' flames, train-wrecks, high octane explosions, the whole Michael Bay shebang. So I'm sticking with what I know. Don't take what you can't afford to keep.'
'Everyone should be able to afford hope.' Peter's voice softened whilst the echoes of an old conversation reverberated in Wade's mind for an all too fleeting moment. [Stupid Nate. Stupid re-hash of crap I should've forgotten about six times over by now. Stupid stupid remembering brain!]
'Sweet pogo hoppin' Jesus, Pete,' Wade suddenly sounded unspeakably tired, 'You're too damn young for all this.'
'And gifted and white, but what're you gonna do about it?' Peter attempted a cheeky smile he hoped the other man would somehow sense. 'Aww, c'mon dude, you're not going to make me say it, are you?' Please don't make me say it. There could be Feelings afterwards. Awkwardness.
Peter grit his jaw for a moment. Why was he doing this again? Wade was driving him crazy, had previously thrown him off a bridge, shot at him and now stole his best pop culture quips all the time. He was basically a terrible person. A terrible person who Peter knew wanted to be more. A person Peter knew in his gut did actually have the capacity to be more. A person who despite everything made him smile and felt strangely comfortable with. A person he could maybe-. He swallowed hard. Was it suddenly getting really hot in here or what?
'I believe in you, okay?' Peter blurted out. 'There, I said it, and I meant it, and you don't get to hold this over my head forever because then you really will be the most unbearable person on the planet.'
There was another long pause. This was starting to feel like some kind of medieval torture. Death by slow drip of conversation, dredged out over what felt like eons.
'You're just saying that because you think I'm gonna go off at the deep end and napalm a puppy orphanage or something.'
Peter shook his head, then remembered he was on the phone. 'Believe me, I'd rather see you try so I could use the excuse to go pummel some sense into you. This is my least favourite option.' He scratched his nose. 'I need you to trust me on this one, Wade. I need you not to suck, and I need you to know that I'm just as dumb as you are because I'm simply refusing to give up on this. So yeah, you might be able to sing all the theme songs to every sitcom from the '80's but I can tell you each episode number and airing date of all four Star Trek series-'
'Dude, Enterprise does not count. Seriously.'
Wade make a reluctant noise of agreement.
'And,' Peter continued, 'I can and will share them with you on repeat until you agree to get your ass over here and we can talk properly. Don't make me do the Rules of Acquisition too.' He wasn't a fanboy, he just had a really good memory. Honest.
'Fine,' Wade huffed, and slammed down the phone.
It was stupid and foolish and probably nuts of him, but Peter still couldn't wipe the smile from his face for the next hour.
Minutes, then hours drifted past, and Peter managed a half-hearted patrol during the day as his 'accident' gave him an excuse to take a day off his civilian work. He didn't know when to expect Wade – the man had a personal teleporter and was notoriously unpredictable – so he decided to get on with things as normally as possible. And absolutely not wait around like some doe-eyed kid with a first crush.
When he heard knocking at his door, Peter steeled himself for another wrathful pensioner (Wade wasn't exactly the type to knock), but to his surprise it was only the pizza delivery guy.
Wait a minute, he hadn't ordered pizza.
'Howdy do good fellow! Freshly baked in your local finest house 'o carbs and melted cheesy goodness,' announced the delivery guy, barging through the door, dropping three large boxes onto the nearest table. All courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood-'
'Deadpool?!' Peter exclaimed as he noticed the familiar logo adorning Wade's belt.
'Well see that does sound kinda catchy, now you say it. You don't have it TM'd or anything do you?'
'There was a queue at the patent's office.' Peter barely managed to reduce his grin to a more socially acceptable level than full-on manic. He cocked his head and glanced at the very unremarkable looking figure before him, taking a few seconds to put the pieces together. Of course. Holographic projector. Very clever little bit of tech, but it made his senses feel like they were plugged into all the wrong sockets. 'Nice makeup.' He just couldn't stop himself from those little bantering jibes. It was bad enough with Johnny Storm, but Wade just seemed to bring out the very worst in him. 'Your mom do it for you?'
'Aww, you jealous of the boys with the better toys, Spidey?' Wade countered in as light a tone as possible before switching the projection off to reveal himself wearing just a tee-shirt and jeans. [Well there you go. Let the puking commence. Or ever worse, pity.] He stared at Peter defiantly, making sure their eyes locked.
Peter finally allowed himself a proper smile and grabbed the nearest box to him, gaze unwavering.
[He's smiling? Like this is all normal and he's not even reacting, and he's smiling?! Why is he smiling at me like that?]
'Because maybe I'm glad to see you, dummy.' Peter grabbed a slice and yelped as his fingers were attacked by melted cheese with a slightly lower core temperature than of molten lava. 'You said that last part out loud, by the way,' he added as he took a hasty bite.
'And that's it?'
Peter wiped a greasy finger on his jeans. 'Oh right – thanks for the pizza. Exactly what I needed. Although three super topped extra larges is maybe a little ambitious?'
[He doesn't even have the decency to act like he's pretending to not flinch or look all thoughtful and sad or anything? \Man, what a cop-out! Stupid accepting hippie-lovin' bunny strokin' open-minded freak. I don't know if he's even worth getting a second entry in that kink fantasy list which totally does not exist.]
'You look disappointed,' Peter remarked as he searched the nearest cupboard for refreshments, holding back a small wince as his hand banged against the fridge door.
Wade frowned as Peter offered him a bottle. 'Nah, I just...' He stared at Peter's healing wrist and felt something approximating the sensation of a cheese-grater rubbing against his heart. Oh yes, that would probably be guilt. 'How's the hand?' Nearly all healed up good as new, right? Nothing that's going to stop you joining the football team, or winning the State Final in cheerleading and ruin your life or anything? 'Cause I saw a Lifetime movie about this crippled kid once, and I think it really helped me out understanding my sensitivity issues.'
Peter chewed on the remnants of his first slice and reached for another. 'Is this your version of an apology?'
'I'll be fine.'
[Fuckity fuck with a maraschino cherry on top. Pete was fine, and still acting like this was all okay, and clearly something Very Bad (with capitals!) must be about to happen right now. Because, no-one this perfect is going to be giving me the time of day for this long. Maybe it's an hallucination? Yeah, that must be it! I mean, it's not like the one with him in the wedding dress and the backing singers from West Side Story, but sometimes I guess I'm just not that imaginative.]
'...and then I was thinking we could wrestle naked in the chocolate pudding with Miss Marvel, and-'
Peter smirked. 'I wondered when you'd start tuning-in.'
'You are so childish,' Wade scowled, shoving a large piece of pizza into his mouth and chewing with enthusiastic vigour.
His companion's smile only grew bigger. 'You're welcome.'
It was getting so late by the time Wade got up to leave that Peter made dismissive gestures and offered the use of his couch for the rest of the night – er morning.
Wade hesitated for a microsecond before tossing his boots off and throwing himself across the length of the couch, Peter still sprawled in the middle.
'Oof! Hey, y'know there are sprays you can buy for getting rid of that Limburger feet stink.' Peter said, half-heartedly attempting to dislodge a long, heavy, and really rather shapely, considering everything, denim-clad leg from his lap.
'Bite my delightfully toned tushie, Spidey. I'm tired now and you just happened to be in my way.'
Peter offered a lacklustre pout. 'My legs will go numb.'
'And the award for lamest possible injury every sustained in the history of Marvel goes to... Wait for it, the judges are still making their decision over you or that one time when one of the X-Chicks [Now wasn't that the name of that swingin' club in Bangkok with those hot stubbly girls?] got an earring caught in their hair. Oooh, it's a close call. One final vote turns the tables! Congratulations, Petey – you're officially the most adorably pathetic guy in the 616!'
The cushion hit Wade's head with a surprisingly large amount of force.
'Do you only stop talking when you're asleep?'
'Apparently I provide a very insightful Director's Commentary on the really good dreams,' Wade said as he tucked the cushion under his head and closed his eyes.
\Peter slouched down a little and tried to rest his hands without looking like he was attempting to feel Wade up. He tried several positions and eventually gave in and let them rest over a warm, firm thigh. Just how does he stay in shape after eating nothing but junk? Does that healing factor fight off the flab too?
He glanced over at Wade and took the opportunity to study his sleeping features. Did it hurt? was his primary concern. From the bits and pieces of Wade's history he'd managed to cobble together (“Army. Merc. Cancer. Phenomenal cosmic powers. Here,” which Peter maintained did not constitute a life story), he strongly suspected that it probably did. Not pretty, was his second thought. Never going to be pretty, he knew that. But that was okay with him. That was just Wade.
It wasn't the scars on the outside he was concerned about.