Chapter Text
Wade wasn’t easy to find. Peter had gotten to know him in a controlled environment, when they were working as partners. He didn’t know Wade’s life out in the streets; didn’t know where he stayed or what he did in his free time. All he could say for certain was that Wade wasn’t at Peter’s house, and he wasn’t at the hotel they’d stayed at together, so Peter brought out the key ring Wade had left him in that paper sack and started going down the list of bolt-holes.
The places ranged from penthouse apartments to abandoned warehouses to hotel basements to restaurant attics. Some of them were exceptionally small, fitting at most a cot and a first aid kit, and some were so large Peter didn’t know what to do with them, but they were all empty and held that musty smell that starts to accumulate in places that are locked up for too long without being used.
It took him days but he ran through all of them, using every key on the ring, and feeling that same spark of home at every door, followed by a resigned sweep of dejection when all he found was unused stocks of non-perishable food and first aid equipment.
In the mean while, when he wasn’t Wade-hunting, he also spent a good portion of his time getting back in the swing of things, pardon the pun. Putting on the suit again, every night, made him feel, more than anything, like his life was really his again. Finally he had control of his life, and he had the means to live the way he wanted. He’d found a pretty reputable lawyer in Hell’s Kitchen who was helping him deal with suddenly being rich and owning stuff and just dealing with money management in general. He had plans to re-apply to NYU for the spring semester. Altogether he had a pretty tight rein on his life, but none of that felt nearly as empowering or satisfying as merely donning the same suit he’d worn off and on since he was fifteen and a spider had spun down and bit him on the neck, changing his life forever. The suit was as much a home to him as the house Aunt May and Uncle Ben had raised him in.
The sweetest surprises were the quiet welcome-backs the other heroes in the city had given him when he’d resurfaced. Nothing over the top, no demands of explanation, but when he saw another hero around the city, when they teamed up against a baddie (which was bound to happen in a city this tight) they gave a ‘hello’ where before there had been nothing, and sometimes a pat on the back, and more often than not a casual offer that if something ever happened (the “again” was implied) he could contact them. Iron Man had talked to him personally about going to him if he ever needed anything, and Black Widow had given him a phone number, literally just scrawled it on a scrap of paper and shoved it in his hand. Sue Storm had come up to him and hugged him, and a long talk he’d had with Daredevil had ended with the man, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, recommending a lawyer he trusted, if Spidey was ever in legal trouble. It was the same lawyer he’d ended up contacting.
The warmth and generosity was...overwhelming. And kind.
Peter was sure that Wade hadn’t said anything to any of them. Besides that Deadpool had kind of a bad reputation and probably wouldn’t be listened too with any seriousness, Peter also trusted that Wade wouldn’t go around spilling his secrets. And that made it even more special, because that meant that these people had noticed his absence and actually cared about him.
Maybe he had more friends than he thought.
But none of that, the kindness and sense of safety, none of it helped him in his search for Wade. Which was patently ridiculous, because the man was vulgar, loudmouthed, and had a reputation the size of Montana. Shouldn’t finding him be easy?
But it was in fact not easy. It was majorly fucking difficult.
It was actually by complete accident that Peter stumbled upon Wade while he was out in the early morning, dressed in his civvies, going to get overpriced coffee that he still half didn’t believe he could afford, between an all-night baddie patrol and a daytime snooze.
He had his coffee in hand, walking out of the cafe, past a narrow alley, and just happened to glance over into the alley for just a second, and saw a be-hoodied man pop out of a dumpster, paper bag of goodies raised over his head protectively.
Peter froze in his tracks, eyes widening. It was barely light out yet, the sky a blue-tinged grey that still felt like a sleepy, soft time where no one should yet be awake, despite the hoards of people streaming around him, making their early-morning commutes to work and school. Peter squinted at the figure in the dumpster, a figure that still had yet to notice him, and considered the possibility that he was mistaken, that this broad-shouldered man, dressed in a red and blue hoodie with distinctively familiar webbing down the back, with hands that seemed as familiar to Peter as the web shooters he had at that moment wrapped around each wrist, wasn’t Wade. It could be anyone, he told himself. Any broad-shouldered dude wearing a non-trademarked Spiderman hoodie could be digging around in this dumpster right now, it didn’t necessarily need to be Wade. Peter had only known the man, what? A week? He couldn’t possibly believe that he’d be able to recognize Wade based on just his shoulder to waist ratio and general dumpster-diving etiquette.
But then the man turned around, presumably to jump back out of the dumpster, and paused at the sight of Peter, eyes growing wide in the middle of his scarred and very familiar face. It was Wade.
Obviously, a tiny part of his mind gloated. And Peter cheered with it, because it was Wade.
“Peter,” Wade said, high and surprised, and jerked forward half a step before remembering himself and jolting to a stop. The bag he’d held over his head he quickly dropped back into the dumpster behind him, not moving any other part of his body. “What are you doing around this side of town? Getting a cappuccino frappe mocha delight, no doubt. The coffee here at the place just around the corner is to die for. But not really. I mean, I guess, really really, for me. I’ve literally died there before but it was totally worth it for that sweet, sweet...well, bitter, bitter coffee. But enough of me rambling on, what about you? How are you liking being the richest prostitute in New York?” The rambling was slightly manic, with a definite edge to Wade’s voice, but his question was genuine. He really wanted to know how Peter was doing and desired for Peter’s answer to be positive.
Peter grinned at him. “I think I’m liking it quite a bit.”
Wade laughed in absolute joy. “Good to hear it, Petey-pie! Buy anything fun yet? A Jacuzzi? A jet plane? The Michigan Wolverines?” He gave a sly little eyebrow wiggle. “They’re the only sports thing I care about.”
Peter shrugged. “I bought some stuff for the house. Paid for a few repairs Aunt May,” he swallowed, “that we could never afford before. I’ll probably spend a good chunk of it on college when the semester starts.”
“Ohhhh!” Wade squealed, clasping his hands together beneath his chin. “Going back? How exciting! Who knew you were an education in the making?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “What about you? What have you been up to?” Peter eyed the dumpster Wade was standing in. “Besides questing for breakfast in unusual places. Not that I’m one to talk. Dumpster diving used to be my favorite pastime.”
Wade shrugged. “Not much, Petey. Little dumpster-diving here, a little dine-and-dash there. Been wandering the bridges in my spare time. Found some really gnarly jumping spots, but I haven’t had a chance to test ‘em out yet.”
A little nugget of unease dropped into Peter’s stomach. “Not on yourself, hopefully,” Peter said, in faux levity.
Wade shrugged, but he hadn’t dropped his smile, and it still looked real. He still looked at least passingly happy. “Well you never know when you need a suicide spot, though I haven’t really been thinking about it for me for a long minute. And of course I could always dump a different body there, good jump place for me or whoever, but I’ve been trying to take a step back on the murder deal,” he held a hand out to Peter, “as we’ve discussed. But it's a nice place to just hang out or curl up and fall asleep until some dickhead cop come by and tries to get you for napping in public, like jesus, fuck! Let a guy sleep where he can!”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed half-heartedly, “it's hard to find a place to sleep out on the streets where no one will disturb you or call the cops on you. I found roofs were pretty safe places.”
Wade snapped a finger at Peter. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Wade asked. “Roofs! That’d be perfect. Normal folk don’t go up there in the middle of the night. I could sleep there all night and no one would notice.”
“Hey, Wade?” Peter asked, a sinking suspicion turning his stomach sour.
“Yeah?”
“Why have you been sleeping on the streets?”
Wade blinked. “Well I don’t have enough money for a hotel room, right now. I gave you all the money I had. But don’t worry about me. My next job’ll get me back on my feet, no problem.”
Peter winced. “All of your money? Why would you do that?”
Wade shrugged. “I told you when I first hired you. Other people weren’t taking the job for less so I raised the price.”
“To all the money you had?” Peter shook his head in exasperation. “No offense, but that’s kinda stupid.”
“You come here, to my dumpster, and insult me?” Wade asked in counterfeit rage.
“Wade,” Peter snapped, “I didn’t want to land you in the same position I was in! Let me give you some back.” Peter began digging in his pocket for his wallet, as if he was carrying a few hundred thousand dollars around in cash.
“No,” Wade said, slowly, but definitely. “I told you what I’d be giving you up front, and I paid you what I said I would. I’m not taking anything back. A promise is a promise. And payment is payment.”
Peter grimaced, but he brought his hand out of his pocket. “But that doesn’t mean you should be sleeping the streets. You have all those bolt-holes around the city! Why don’t you spend your nights in one of them? There are enough of them. You could sleep in a different one each night.”
“I gave you the keys,” Wade said dismissively.
“Yeah,” Peter said, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t—wait. Don’t tell me you don’t have any copies. Don’t tell me you didn’t make any copies before giving me that key ring.”
Wade shrugged. “Alright. I won’t tell you.”
Peter groaned. “Wade. I didn’t want to take everything from you. At least let me give you those keys back.”
“They’re yours now,” Wade insisted. “I gave them to you. They’re yours.”
Peter threw his hands up in exasperation, only remembering too late that he was still holding a cup of coffee when it flew out of his hand and went sailing over his head and across the street behind him. Wade snorted in laughter.
“Wade,” Peter said, worry and exhaustion working its way into his voice, “I’m not going to let you sacrifice things for me. Not now that I’m better able to take care of myself. Let me do something for you. You’ve given me so much.”
“Not enough,” Wade muttered, and crossed his hands across his chest.
“Enough of that,” Peter said. “You literally gave me a fortune, gave me back my home, and gave me enough places to stay safe in the city that I literally don’t know what to do with myself. And I don’t even know why. You went above and beyond for me. You paid me what you promised, but then gave me so much more, and I guess it makes sense since I’m Spiderman and everything, but—”
“It’s not because you’re Spiderman,” Wade interrupted.
Peter paused and looked once more up at Wade. “Than what is it? Why does it matter that I keep the safe houses or the money?”
“Because,” Wade started loudly, but then seemed to lose his nerve and wiped a hand down his face. “Because you mean something to me.”
“Spiderman me? Or me me?”
“You you,” Wade said. He moved forward again, and ran into the edge of the dumpster. He looked at it, looked down at Peter a few feet away, and levered himself over the edge of the dumpster, landing on his feet, but within arms distance of Peter. “That week I spent with you was the happiest I’ve been in—hah! I don’t even know. Decades? Eons? I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so happy.”
Peter could feel the soft smile forming on his face before he realized consciously he was doing it. “That week with you made me happy too.”
Wade rolled his eyes, but he did it with a smile. “Yeah, I imagine staying in a swank hotel after kicking it on the streets probably made for a euphoric week.”
Peter reached out and cuffed Wade gently on the side of the head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean yeah, sleeping in a real bed and eating real food was a goddamn luxury, but I meant that spending my time with you, getting to know you, that was the absolute best.”
Wade’s eyes were huge in wonder. “Really? I mean, I was probably the first person you’d hung out with for any length of time in a while, it was—”
“Wade,” Peter said, “it was because I liked spending time with you.” He blushed a little, but kept on talking. “Getting to know you, chatting and hanging out, it was amazing. I’ve never felt so—so connected to someone before. I love talking to you and spending time with you. And—and—” Peter swallowed thickly, felt as his face kept getting hotter and hotter, but couldn’t stand the thought of saying nothing. “And I know it was fake. The kissing and the hugging and the dates, I know it was all for a con job against Hydra, and I would have done anything to help take down Hydra, but I didn’t have to work hard to pretend to enjoy that stuff. I liked all of it, I liked the details of pretending to be you husband, Wade, and I think I like you. Like-like you.”
Wade was openly gaping, but it didn’t look like he was capable of forming any words yet.
“You don’t have to like me back,” Peter said, and pressed a hand against the warm flush of his cheek. He couldn’t look Wade in the eye and said, “I know it’s unlikely that you have similarly romantic emotions towards me, but I’ve been trying to find you so I could let you know that I do like you, just in case you might like me back. And then maybe I could take you on a date. It’d be only fair after all the dates you’ve taken me on, no matter how fake they were.”
“They weren’t,” Wade croaked, and Peter’s head jerked up.
“What do you mean?” Peter asked, suddenly breathless, and filled with the same hope he’d been pushing down and down and down since the first hint of love for Wade had bubbled up in his heart.
“Fake,” Wade said roughly, and swallowed. When he spoke again his voice wasn’t as broken. “They weren’t fake. I mean, it was for a purpose, I wasn’t lying about the fake spouse thing, or Hydra, obviously. I don’t want you thinking that at all.” His voice raised in panic and Peter was quick to dissuade Wade from that thought.
“I didn’t think you meant it that way.”
“Ok,” Wade breathed out. “But I never thought of them as fake. They might have been for a reason, but I really did like you,” his own cheeks started to heat up, giving off a soft pink glow, as he added, “too.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, you were great, and I wanted to buy you dinner, and buy you things, and give you all the homes in the city that I’d hoarded for years because they kept me safe, because suddenly keeping you safe seemed way more important than keeping me safe. Peter, I…” and there his courage seemed to fail him. He reached up and tugged at the hood of his hoodie self-consciously, dragging it lower over his head.
“Oh,” Peter breathed out. “Well, in that case, will you go on a date with me?”
Wade’s hands dropped again to his sides, in surprise. “Really? Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Peter agreed. “I’ve already been married to you, I think a date shouldn’t be any more difficult than that.”
Wade guffawed, and watching Wade come over with laughter, any hint of self-consciousness or self-pity draining from his body, leaving him loose and happy, it was like watching the sun rise.
“A coffee date?” Wade asked, after his mirth subsided.
Peter looked at his empty hand, the one that had been clutching his cup of joe before he’d accidentally and unceremoniously thrown it across the street. “I haven’t had such great luck with coffee recently.”
Wade laughed again. “See this is why I like you, Pete. You’re like a comedian I don’t gotta pay to see.”
“You just like me for my humor?” Peter asked melodramatically. “How dare you! I want a divorce.”
“You won’t divorce me. I’m a catch!”
“You’re right,” Peter said. “People are all over, trying to steal you from me. But I won’t let them.”
Wade grinned. “So, a date?”
“A date,” Peter agreed.
“When?” Wade asked.
“Are you busy right now?” Peter asked, tripping over his own tongue and swallowing past a small lump of excitement that threatened to incapacitate his ability to act restrained. He was about ready to burst. Could Wade see how excited he was? He tried to tone it down, but it was impossible based on the untamable euphoria thrumming just beneath his skin in a tightly wound tremor he could feel but not see.
Wade sniffed at the sleeve of his hoodie and wrinkled his nose. “I think if we’re gonna go out I should probably clean up a little first. I smell like the dumpster I’ve been swimming in, and I’m trying to make a good impression.”
“I already know you,” Peter pointed out.
“I didn’t say a good first impression,” Wade said. “Listen Pete. I like you. And I wanna not smell like a dumpster for you.”
Peter bit his lip to hold back a smile. “Ok.”
“Now I just gotta find the closest McDonalds.”
“Wash up in the sink?”
Wade nodded. “Wash up in the sink.”
Peter grimaced. “Come back to my place. You can wash up in a shower and change into some clean clothes. I think I’ve got some that’ll fit you, if all of yours could do with a run through the wash.”
Wade waved his hands back and forth in front of him. “I couldn’t!”
But this was one thing Peter would put his foot down for. “You fed me, clothed me, took care of me, and befriended me. It’s my turn. Come home with me. Heck, stay as long as you’d like. But I’m not leaving you out on the streets. Not when I have the means to help you, dating or not.”
Wade made a face. “Won’t that be kinda weird? Me staying in your house. While we’re dating? I mean, a week of fake-spousing, and then a month of nothing doesn’t really lay the groundwork for moving in together. That’s not exactly normal.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “And when exactly have we ever been normal?”
Wade pondered that for a moment, and then his face lit up. “Never! Huh, alright, and you sure it won’t be weird?”
“We’ve already lived together. Only this time it’ll be better because we know we like each other, and we won’t have to pretend to be people we’re not, or practice pretending to be people that we’re not. It seems like the best possible circumstance.”
Wade grinned, ear to ear. “I think I want to kiss you.”
Peter stepped forward, closer than was merely friendly, until their chests were practically touching and they both had to tilt their heads to keep from bumping chins. “Well what’s stopping you?”
Wade gulped, his pupils dilating. “The dumpster smell? The two weeks without a good washing up? My generally gross face or murderous past?”
“Oh my god, Wade,” Peter said quietly, pressing even closer, “stop trying to scare me off and kiss me.”
Wade chuckled. “As you wish,” he said, and lowered his face the scant centimeters needed to reach Peter’s lips.
It was delightful, and in that moment Peter sent out a wish to the universe, or to whatever star was listening, that he could be this happy, with Wade, forever.