Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/11618955. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Spider-Man_-_All_Media_Types, Spider-Man:_Homecoming_(2017), Deadpool_- All_Media_Types, Deadpool_(2016), Deadpool_(Comics), Marvel_Cinematic Universe, Marvel, The_Avengers_(Marvel)_-_All_Media_Types Relationship: Peter_Parker/Wade_Wilson Character: Peter_Parker, Wade_Wilson, Gwen_Stacy, Flash_Thompson, Tony_Stark, May Parker_(Spider-Man), Michelle_(Spider-Man:_Homecoming), Ned_Leeds, Natasha_Romanov_(Marvel) Additional Tags: Underage_-_Freeform, I_know_the_warnings_say_it's_underage_people_are still_gonna_freak_out_so_here's_the_tag, Age_Difference, High_School, Secret_Identities, I_have_no_idea_where_the_plot_is_going_so_it's probably_going_to_be_a_train_wreck, Peter_Parker_Needs_a_Hug, Wade_Wilson Needs_A_Hug, Writing_Wade_is_hard_so_I'm_sorry_if_I_suck, Deadpool_thinks boxes, POV, I_take_free_advise_so_please_help_me_make_sense_of_this, Breaking_4th_wall, more_tags_as_i_write, Stark!dad, Nat_is_great, Aunt May_is_also_great Stats: Published: 2017-07-26 Updated: 2017-08-19 Chapters: 10/? Words: 10594 ****** HOW TO SURVIVE HIGH SCHOOL AND GET THE GI- MURDEROUS MERCENARY: A GUIDE BY PETER PARKER ****** by kattegatsun Summary Peter has a plan. Or at least he had a plan until one obnoxious red- spandex-loving mercenary walks into his school meaning well and making everything go to shit. OR I watched Spider-Man: Homecoming and I can't stop obsessing over this ship so I started writing this barely having a vague idea about where it's all going and now I'm stressed out, pls help! UPDATES This is no longer the huge trainwreck I expected it to be. I now have a half-decent plot and storyline, so if that was bothering you before, let it stop you no more! ***** Step 1: Keep your head down low until Weapon X decides to kidnap you for illegal experiments ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes PETER Objectively, high school is hell. Subjectively, trying to make it through with barely enough money to make the ends meet, barely enough hours of sleep to function and barely tolerable super senses while juggling a secret identity and frankly unrealistic expectations isn’t a piece of cake either. On the bright side I have a plan. I have a system. I have an organized chaos situation going on. Or at least I did, until it went to hell like all things tend to do. I swear it’s not my fault though. It started off as one of those slow days, with grey groggy morning after an all-nighter patrol, because my plan still heavily depends on impressing Mr. Stark, and so I walk into my second class with my head low and my hood up, resolved to keep under the radar even as my classmates stumble and crowd around the teacher’s desk. My first thought: Mr. Smith – yeah, seriously – must’ve scribbled something obscure and vaguely paranoid on the board again. But that’s old news, the man was weird, and mildly unnerving and kinda obsessed with mutants and mutates if you pay enough attention to read between the lines. It’s only after the bell rings and the crowd reluctantly dissipates do I realize that the slight tingling at the back of my neck is probably not from the lack of sleep… “Hello kiddos,” a vaguely familiar voice booms brightly from the front of the class, “Now, I’ll be taking over Mr. Smith’s – I mean that’s just lazy, but hey, as long as they buy it, right?” My head shoots up from my phone so fast I nearly give myself a whiplash. “You can call me Mister,” there’s a telltale sound of a marker scribbling over the board and a telltale glint of red spandex, and unless I knocked out in the middle of the previous class and ended up in an awfully unlikely nightmare this is bad. As in baaad bad! “Deadpool,” I choke out automatically, before thinking better of it. “Ooh, a fan!” He turns excitedly, throwing a red marker over his shoulder and clapping his hands, “Hard to resist this charm, I know! Don’t be shy, pretty boy, tell Mr. Pool your name – am I the only one getting major teacher kink vibes in here?” “I’m not your fan, you perv!” I blurt indignantly again realizing a little too late that I’m not in my spidey suit or otherwise equipped to talk back to murderous mercenaries. “Oh,” Deadpool even despite his mask manages to look momentarily defeated. Momentarily is the key word, because the next thing he says is: “I might give you a detention for that, but for now, your teacher asked me to take over this class for him – though technically, he gurgled chocking on his blood, but I figured that’s what he meant anyway! So who of you kiddos in here is a mutant or mutate important enough to attract Weapon X’s attention? Because, as far as I know, sending people to pretend being teachers is not usually their style.” My heart sinks. “Was it you, fanboy?” He stage whispers, “Please let it be you, because if it’s not you this whole buildup is shit and I’m just wasting my time with a bunch of twelve year olds.” “As if,” Flash huffs out, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Flash,” Gwen shoots at him automatically, and my racing heart stops for a second. “This whole high school drama is so giving me PTSD,” Deadpool grunts, almost to himself. Don’t you say, I think. But before I could contribute to this parody of a conversation again my spidey sense kicks in for real now, the usual shiver of a warning running down my spine, and I’m up on my feet before I know what I’m doing. “Deadpool,” I growl, more than a little annoyed about the surreality of the entire thing, “Duck.” “If you wanna see me on all fours, Baby Boy, all you gotta do is ask,” he croons, because of course he would waste time just to piss me off some more! Why the hell not? “Duck,” I yell, and the exact moment the word leaves my mouth several things happen at once. The glass in a window by the teacher’s desk shatters, the doors to a cupboard by the door, conveniently blocked with a katana, clatter and Deadpool finally drops down from his chair with a bullet hole in his shoulder. I land on my palms and knees halfway through the room, feeling them burn from the shards of glass scattered all around. Next thing the room erupts in absolute havoc. So much for staying under the radar, huh? “Get down,” I shout again, over Gwen’s startled yelp and Flash’s panicked ‘what-the-fuck-what-the-fuck-what-the-actual-fuck’. “I knew it,” Deadpool sighs happily, his narrowed eyes meeting mine and his red suit saturating with blood. Chapter End Notes Well, this was fun and mildly uncomfortable to write. Hope you enjoy! If you do, please leave kudos and comments because I'm addicted to immediate validation and get depressed way too easily ;) If you hate it, you're also welcome to drop me a line because why not be self- righteous on the internet? Okay, this is getting passive-aggressive (probably because I'm channeling my inner Deadpool) so I better stop while I'm ahead. Thanks for reading! ***** Step 2: If in doubt, redecorate ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes [White Box] {Yellow box}   WADE   I know what you’re thinking: the title to this glorious work of fiction clearly said ‘A GUIDE BY PETER PARKER’ so why are we getting this asshole’s POV? And the answer to your question is: I have no fucking clue! What the hell did you expect? On a good day, I’m a fictional character that all of you demented weirdos use to indulge your sociopathic sense of humor because your empathy is bumming you out. On a bad day? Well, I’m glad you asked, because on a bad day I find myself lying on a pile of broken glass with a bullet hole in my shoulder, down to one katana and a dozen bullets tops in the middle of a classroom having an impromptu staring contest with frankly illegal doe-eyed boys with smart mouths and cute asses – I have no idea why I used plural there, it’s clearly a singular occasion type of thing specifically constructed for your entertainment. I know, right! “Oh shit,” the boy-wonder stutters, his eyes immediately leaving mine in favor of a closet where I locked that Weapon X dude, because even I’m not stupid enough to leave a bleeding man for the angsty younglings to see. {He looks stressed out. Maybe we should ask him out for tacos, because who stresses out when they’ve got tacos!} That’s actually not a bad idea, I think… [Of course he looks stressed out! People are shooting at his school and the dead guy in the closet is trying to get out.] “There’s nothing wrong with trying to get out of the closet,” I mutter defensively. “What?” The fanboy yelps. “Wasn’t talking to you, kid,” I roll my eyes, “But if you wan’t free advice, I guess it’s not my worst!” “Okay, you’re crazy.” He sighs defeatedly, raising his scratched palms up in a defensive little motion. {Cute!} Before I can respond though, his eyes shoot to the closet again, that now rocks back and forth to a familiar soundtrack of shouts, gunshots and cracking hinges. “Deadpool,” he calls with a note of urgency, apparently ignoring the fact that I’m crazy in favor of immediate survival, “That closet won’t hold for much longer!” “Right,” I nod. [Less small talk more action please!] “Right,” I grunt again, finally pushing off the floor as the pain explodes through my half-healed shoulder, “Out of the way, kids, it’s time to redecorate!” The fanboy lets out another indignant sound he seems to have a range variety of and shuffles closer to the exit. He ducks twice, closely avoiding bullets and shards. {I wish we were that lucky!} [You don’t have to be lucky, you can literally recover from a headshot.] {Well, our wardrobe choices wouldn’t be limited to one color for one…} “Can you shut the fuck up for once,” I growl, grabbing the side of the closet and pushiing, “I’m trying to get shit done here!” [It’s not rocket science, big guy, you’re just turning over furniture.] I roll my eyes, making a final effort before the closet finally tumbles down on it’s doors and stops shaking. “That’s what I call Feng Shui!” I dust my palm, taking in the scene. “Yeah, because your yin-yang wasn’t perfect to begin with or anything,” the boy-wonder scoffs, resting his head against the wall and pulling his knees to his chest. [What a mouth!] {I think we’re in love…} [He’s still illegal, but hey, you go around killing people so what’s another check mark in a list?] There’s crackling through the intercom, and then: “Um, oh God- I hope you can hear me, this is principal Morita speaking – um – the school is under attack, but – um – the police is on their way. Stay away from the widows and try to find cover – I think – I repeat: stay away from the windows, the help is on the way…” There’s another sound, high and whistly and the transmission cuts off. “Great, the more the merrier,” I hum, patting my gun tenderly, “Besides, I’m a sucker for uniform!” “Oh no,” the fanboy shakes his head frantically, “Too many guns, too much noise, so not good!” And then he cracks open the door into the hall and crawls through the crack on hands and knees leaving me with a melting heart and a view of a perky youthful butt that I’d like to have tattooed on the insides of my eyelids if I wasn’t worried about never getting sleep anymore. And then he sticks his head in again and grows: “Deadpool, come!”   And I do, because I don't need to be told those kinds of things twice.   {Good Deadpool!}   Chapter End Notes Updating (probably too soon) again because I'm so excited about the feedback so please leave me more comments because I'm a sucker for validation and you guys are too nice, seriously! And I'm really curious about your thoughts and opinions. Also, I fixed the first chapter a bit because I was clearly too thrilled to notice that I messed up the tense halfway through the chapter (I usually write in Present Tense First Person POV and I tried for past, but it clearly didn't work out that well :/ Anyway! Thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy! ***** Step 3: Go big or go home (preferably the latter) ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes PETER So here’s a thing, Deadpool and I don’t really see eye to eye very often. See, I don’t condone violence, which sounds a bit counter productive considering I spend half my time in a skin-tight suit that leaves very little to the imagination chasing criminals around Queens, but at the end of the day – I put bad guys in jail. Deadpool puts them six feet under. So the very idea of people with guns in his relative proximity is giving me anxiety, not to mention good people that are actually doing their job. So, it might sound like drawing even more of his attention to my persona is stupid (and I might even agree with you), but in the grand scheme of things – what other options do I have? And that’s why after making sure that Mr. Smith won’t get out of his closet and kill half of the people in my class, I sneak out into the hall expecting Deadpool to follow. Which, of course, he doesn’t! “Deadpool,” I hiss exasperatedly, having to stick my head back into the classroom, “Come!” “That’s what she said,” he drawls in a suspiciously chirpy voice strolling out without a care in the world. I roll my eyes. And then get up from the floor, dusting off my palms, still covered in blood even though the cuts have already began to heal. “Real classy,” I mutter, “Want standing ovations?” “That would be nice, but I accept all kinds of worship,” he shrugs happily, again making me wish so badly I was wearing the spidey suit right now. For one, it would be so much easier to web his mouth shut and drag him away without having to bargain, beg and plead. But also, the last couple times we ran into each other in town he seemed to behave, well, as much as Deadpool can possibly behave, ass jokes aside. At least the chaos and panic give us a chance to slip away mostly unnoticed. “Okay,” I huff out, trying to give him a hard look without projecting how utterly surreal and uncomfortable this is, “This is going to sound really bad and I don’t exactly know why you would even listen to me but… Okay, here goes nothing – I need you to follow my lead and do exactly as I tell you to, no questions asked.” There’s a pause hanging heavy in the air as Deadpool squints down at me, seeming deep in thought. “You know how to treat a guy, don’t you Baby Boy?” He purrs finally in what I assume is his deep and sexy voice; it makes the tips of my ears burn, “There’s a couple things I’d like to establish first though: my safeword is ‘Safeword’ and you can’t play with my unicorn without an EXPLICIT permission, okay?” It’s hard to interpret via the movements of his mask, but I assume he wiggles his brows suggestively for effect. My head feels like it’s splitting in half. It takes way too much effort to stop latching onto tiniest details of his suit, the scratches in fabric, stitches, tiniest wrinkles all the while pushing to the background the shouts and the noise, and the panic. My fingers won’t stop twitching, automatically reaching for my web-shooters, so I do the second best thing instead and clasp them around Dedpool’s spandex-wrapped wrist and tug, putting most of my focus on measuring my strength. “Yeah, whatever,” I shrug and start walking. Deadpool resists for maybe a second before following. “Sooo,” He drawls, sounding too carefree for me to assume for even a second that he’s not suspicious OR ready to maim me in a blink of an eye, “What’s such a bright ray of sunshine doing in a shit-hole like this?” “I – I’m…” I stutter, then stop and spin around, “Here’s the deal: I’m going to get you out of here and there’s that! I’m not interested in becoming fast friends or whatever!” “Not exactly what I had in mind either,” Deadpool booms cheerfully and that’s the moment – you know, one those times when you stop and realize that you’re screwed and it’s only going to go downhill from there. Which it does. In approximately two and a half seconds, because that’s when I’m hit with another warning and left with just enough time to shoo Deadpool into the changing rooms and shut the door behind us. He looks around, taking in the lockers and the shower stalls, and whistles softly under his breath. “You know, I once watched a porn that started just like that!” “Of course you did,” I sigh and then stop breathing altogether, because there’s measured quiet steps outside the door and low rough whispers just loud enough to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Chapter End Notes Soo, another chapter is up! Three chapters in three days, is she crazy? Yeah, probably. More like I spend too much time thinking about these idiots instead of actually fixing my life, but you're welcome : D Seriously though, thanks for the amazing response, you guys are the best! Hope you enjoy this one, too. Leave me comments because they give me life (and motivation to write more, I'm evil, I know ;) ***** Step 4: Put a name to it ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes WADE Okay, before me move any further, let’s get something straight – [Oh, so there’s going to be at least one straight thing in this whole shit show after all.] {The readers are going to SO hate you for it, you know right?} Forget it! Bottom line – I love kicking ass. It’s perfectly natural when you have as much bottled up rage and insecurities as I do. You know it, you play em video games or angrily bang your useless ex at three a.m. on a Wednesday after spending the night drinking with your more successful co-workers. Luckily for me, I can be my own video game. So while the pretty boy over there is freaking out a little bit less than I expected him to, I’m savoring the best part of my day. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, honey buns?” I hum under my breath counting the footsteps and the voices: one, a heavy guy with big guns, probably military; two, whispers, likely into his earpiece, probably the one in command; three, a woman, soft steps, lightweight; four… [No, because you’re clearly a psycho and he’s a beautiful cinnamon roll sent from heaven to mess with you.] {He still didn’t run off screaming though, so that’s a good sign, right?} [The only reason he didn’t, is because that’d be counterproductive to the plot…] “I – I really doubt that I do,” the fanboy interrupts the boxes’ driving-me- crazy-marathon in a frantic whisper. “Well, I’m thinking that it’s time to make some chimi-fucking-changas,” I growl, “Come to daddy you motherfucke-” He slaps both palms over my mouth. {See! He’s not freaked out by us, he’s touching us! He could touch us in all kinds of places, we should tell him!} [Sure, go ahead and scar him for life, why don’t you – ] “No ‘come to daddy’!” The boy-wonder hisses, those starry eyes hard like that morning wood I get after binge-watching Wolverine movies all night. “Nau cum te dadey?” I narrow my eyes, trying to talk through his hands. “No,” he declares, letting his hands slip off. “But – ” “No,” he argues, louder than he probably should all things considered, “You can’t kill anyone at my school!” {That’s adorable.} “I’m pretty sure I can kill anyone at your school,” I drawl, crossing my arms over my chest, a little offended by the implication. “Well,” he chokes out, his frown deepening, “Yeah, technically you could, but I’m not letting you!” “Wait a minute there, sweetie pie,” I turn my head a fraction, hoping that maybe with a right angle I could wrap my mind around it, “So you’re saying that those assholes out there get to try and kill me, but I don’t get to try and kill them? The ‘try’ part was just for literary purposes by the way, it doesn’t take a genius to shoot some shitbags.” “Well, I can’t exactly talk them out of it, but trust me, if I could,” He sounds weirdly defeated for a second there, like he would actually go out and try to small talk a bunch of Weapon X assholes out of turning the word into their own fucked up freak show. [Oh, you’re in for a major surprise there, big boy…] {Shit, he doesn’t know yet! I keep forgetting.} I shake my head trying to get the boxes to shut up and actually make sense of something for once, but things just refuse to line up, so I… “Who the fuck are you, kid?” He looks absolutely shellshocked. For a second there, I half expect him to turn and run out the door, all armed bad guys be damned. And then he opens his mouth, closes it, and opens again. I raise my eyebrows. “I – I’m nobody,” he stutters earnestly, “I – I’m Parker! I mean Peter! Parker. Peter Parker.” {Well, that’s a lie if I ever heard one.} “You’re a terrible liar, Petey-Pie,” I sigh, raising my gun up to scratch my temple, “But it’s nice to put a name to that fabulous ass.” His hands shoot up once more, and I think he’s going to try and shut me again, or maybe punch me for good measure. Instead he wraps my wrist in both of his hands, and pulls with surprising strength, forcing me to lower the gun. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re completely freaking insane?” “Sure,” I bark out a laugh, “The boxes won’t shut up about it!” [And look at you actually listening to us for once!] {I think that was sarcasm…} “Oookay,” he drones, with an odd mix of panic and humor on his face. And then the door bursts into pieces, showering us in splinters. Chapter End Notes Okay, another chapter! Hope you like it, I live for your comments and I'm planning to update every day this week so give me some support! Also, I've put together a playlist for this ship/fic and I was wondering if any of you beautiful weirdos would be intrerested in it. If so, let me know where I should set it up, like 8tracks or whatever you kids listen to these days ***** Step 5: Watch out for the fashion police ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes PETER I think there might actually be something wrong with the universe. That’s gotta be it! Because I honestly have no better explanation as to why when the door bursts open for the people who want to kill us (in a best case scenario), I’m almost laughing about something that Deadpool said. “Oh, hello there,” he turns his head towards them slowly, “Are you the new members of the Benign International Testimonial Christian Hotness Evalutaion Society? Because I didn’t see you on my to-do list!” I think if I could actually move, I would punch him in the face right there. “What?” A big guy, in a bulletproof vest with what looks like small machine guns in each hand grunts dumbly, and I want to punch him too for good measure. “Stop engaging with subjects, you moron,” the other guy, with some kind of a riffle and an earpiece orders him, stepping to the front. “But I,” the first one huffs out, “What the fuck’s that even supposed to mean?” “It means BITCHES,” I sigh, too far gone to even think how absurd it is that I’m actually explaining Deadpool’s obscure insults to the people who would shoot at a high school full of kids, “Jeez, didn’t anyone bother to explain the concept of abbreviations to you people? I mean, I know you guys are busy kidnaping people and experimenting on people, and whatever else you do to people, but your standards are seriously slipping, you know?” “Petey-Pie, I know it’s early into our relationship and we don’t know each other too well – like, I’m wearing a mask and you’re pretending that you don’t have a self-righteous scientific bondage kink – so I don’t mean to freak you out, but will you marry me?” I feel my heart stop, wait a second and then launch itself into my throat. “What?” I wheeze. “What?” Deadpool echoes. “Just say ‘when’, boss,” the big guy rumbles. My head is pounding with ‘does-he-know-does-he-know-does-he-know’ and nothing still makes sense, but there’s one thing more urgent that my internal crisis – a shiver of a warning piercing through my spine. So before the guy in charge gives his permission to turn us into bullet cookies, I grab Deadpool’s arm and pull him behind a locker. A second later it becomes a locker sieve. “Can I try and kill them now?” Deadpool grows, his freshly healed shoulder and thigh bleeding again. “No,” I snap, “Just – Follow my lead!” Slowly and as quietly as possible I lead him down the row of lockers and around it, to the shower stalls. Just before the big guy with angry guns peeks around the corner I cram the both of us into a stall, wedged between Deadpool’s wide frame and a tiled wall. “You kids waste no time anymore, huh?” He hums cheerily into the top of my head, “That’s okay, cupcake, I’d shower with you any day.” I try to sigh and fail for the lack of space. “Now’s probably not the best time,” I mutter into his collarbone, “On my cue. Wait for it… Now!” The moment the word leaves my lips, Deadpool explodes out of the stall, guns blazing and movements so fast I barely catch them. The guy in charge shoots twice, but both times he moves out of the way with shrill staged screams and lands answering blows. In a matter of seconds Deadpool has a gun to the guy’s head, his finger heavy on the trigger. “Tell them to get in line, because uncle Pool is on his way,” He says quietly, and there’s an edge to his voice that erases all traces of his usual careless humor and sends a chill through the nape of my neck, “Oh wait, you won’t get a chance. Don’t worry though, I’ll send a postcard.” “No,” I shake my head violently, willing him desperately to listen to me to - listen-just-this-once-just-listen-to-me! And then he pauses, meets my eye in barely a glance, flips his gun and knocks the guy out with a handle, and I let out the biggest breath, even despite the sickening crack still ringing in the air. Relief floods my body in a tide, I waste just a second, just a blink, and then my head explodes. The gunshots rock my body even though the bullets hit Deadpool instead, three in the chest and one in the side of his face, leaving a neat round hole in his mask. “Ouchie,” he complains, just before his head meets the floor, leaving a cobweb of cracks in the tile. Slowly, defeatedly I raise my head and meet the big guy’s narrowed eyes, a sneer on his face and a gun in each of his meaty palms. “Don’t be a hero kid,” he reasons, “Nobody needs another hero round here, especially not a dead one.” Frantically, I measure my options. I’ve seen Deadpool heal fatal wounds before, even grow out severed limbs, but this? Could he even recover from a bullet to the head? Probably not fast enough, anyway... I make up my mind. “Tough luck, buddy,” I shrug and push myself out of the stall in a jump powerful enough to land on top of the lockers. “The fuck?” The big guy curses and spins around in alarm, but he’s too slow; easily I flick open one of the doors to meet his face. “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt,” I shake my head, “You alright, man?” “Come down and I’ll show you, little brat!” He spits. “Okay,” I shrug again and do a smooth back flip landing softly behind the guy. Once more, I’m tempted to use my web shooters, too anxious about Deadpool and too wired from using the full extent of my senses without the Spidey suit, but I’m not sure how much they know already and I sure as hell don’t want to clue them in anymore. The big guy shoots twice, showering me with bullets each time, but I manage to narrowly avoid them all, only one getting close enough to leave a tear in a sleeve of my shirt (to aunt May’s dismay for sure). “What are you, fashion police?” I groan, annoyed and swing around the dude to push him into another locker. I may use a bit more force than I should all things considered, but I’m in a bit of a hurry and a bit of a low patience-wise, so there you have it… The guy sways heavily, his guns falling down as he raises his hands up to his thick head. A second later he joins them on the floor with a sound thud. “And that, kids, is why you should always watch where you’re going,” I muse, stepping over him to check on Deadpool. Chapter End Notes Another one up! Hope you like it, don't forget to leave me comments because I'm having a shity week and your comments make me a bit less depressed ;) ***** Step 6: Play dress-up ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes WADE {It's Raining Men! Hallelujah!} Everything fucking hurts… Ah, shit. {It's Raining Men! Amen…} And that fucking song. Every goddamn time… {I'm gonna go out, I'm gonna let myself get…} “Ugh, can’t you just shut it for once?” I rasp, my voice hoarse and raw around the edges. “Excuse me!” I look up so fast, I nearly give myself a whiplash. And the sight makes my eyes hurt. Petey-Pie is sitting on the floor next to me, my head almost on his lap, his hair all messed up and curly, his eyes bright and worried. [And you just told him to shut it. Well done! If I wasn’t a disembodied voice in your fucked-up head, I’d clap.] {He still haven’t punched us though, so that’s good, right?} I try to tune out the voices, but it’s hard while trying to frantically adjust to the constant ache simmering under my skin and a dull throbbing of healing wounds, while also keeping up appearances for the fanboy’s sake… “You look kinda pale, Cupcake.” I roll myself over with a grunt, “You okay?” “I – Yeah, I’m okay,” He looks sort of startled by the question too, like it’s a bad thing or something, like it somehow means he fucked up… [But we both know who really fucks shit up around here, don’t we, Big Guy?] “I mean, I’m not the one who got shot in the head, man!” Petey sighs, somehow apologetically. And that’s when I remember things – [A job well done, if I ever saw one…] {How come the Pretty Boy is still alive though?} I scramble up gracelessly, mostly trying not to tackle Petey-Pie in the process, and force my eyes to focus on the backdrop of havoc and destruction. “Woah, hold on, dude,” Pete panics a little and rushes to even me out with his surprisingly strong hold, “Should you even be standing, I mean, you were just shot. In the head!” “I’m fine, Baby Boy,” I shake my head, shaking his hands off in the process. {That sucks! Get his hands back on us!} I try ignore the boxes and the cold shiver that runs through me without the warmths of Peter’s touch, and take in the two bodies on the ground somewhat away from us instead. “Where’s the truck?” I narrow my eyes at the bigger body. “The – What truck?” Petey stutters anxiously, fumbling with the sleeves of his hoodie. “The truck that hit that guy while I was out.” “Oh, I…” He hums and looks momentarily guilty, and flushed, “I mean, he ran into a locker? A couple times… A couple of lockers… I guess, the bigger they are the harder they fall, right?” [He’s the worst liar in the world.] {But he looks so adorable all blushy and jumpy!} “That’s what I always say,” I shrug, “Or is it: ‘Hasta la vista, baby!’ No wait, that’s Terminator… Maybe: ‘I’m Batman!’ Doesn’t sound right either, does it Petey-Pie?” “What are you…” He gives me a long boring look, “You know what, never mind. We gotta get out of here.” And then he simply spins around and starts rummaging through the wrecked lockers. I watch him curiously until a flash of an ugly yellow hoodie flies through the air and hits me in the face obscuring my vision. I pull it off and stare at it in distaste. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Pete rolls his eyes, “Or you could just, uh, put it on!” “You know, when I imagined us playing dress-up, this is not exactly what I had in mind,” I deadpan. {Deadpool deadpans. Seriously? Is it just me, or does the author looses their grip!} [And that’s the joke? I give it a two out of ten. Mostly for the effort to pull something out of their ass.] Petey just rolls his eyes again, and then proceeds to scavenge a large sports bag and toss it my way too. “I’m not sure I’ll fit into that,” I muse, “Maybe in parts…” “That’s not for you,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “I want all your weapons to go in there and I’m not making it into an argument.” “Well, someone’s gotta, so I guess that leaves me.” “No,” he shakes his head firmly once, “I know a way out and you won’t be needing those. The bag is just to be safe.” “You know, Cupcake, our ideas of safe don’t seem to be familiar with each other,” I huff out, “Maybe we should introduce them sometime. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a start of a beautiful friendship that grows into something more over the years until they realize one day that they’re not really that different and finally get on with making some Safe babies that actually know what’s up!” “Yeah, whatever.” Pete makes a face. And then he steps closer, stands on tiptoes and pulls the hood over my mask, zipping me up like it’s a fifties AU and he’s a husband I always dreamt about, making me wish this wasn’t the slow burn it turns into. [You know you can only do what he tells you to for so long, before they start judging you.] {Do you honestly think they’ll care as long as it means that Petey-Pie’s gonna dress us! And hopefully undress us, too!} Chapter End Notes First of all, thanks for all your comments to the last chapter!!! You are amazing and I totally lost my shit about it, and I really hope I won't disappoint you awesome noodles! But least me know either way because I really want this to be good now. Oookay, so the new chapter, right? I hope it doesn't suck and I promise you that one of these days they'll get out of the school and stuff, and get on with it, but yeah! Leave me more comments, I can't wait to hear what you think! ***** Step 7: Never ignore Tony Stark ***** PETER Deadpool is okay. I’m carrying his bag of weapons, which turned out to be fuller than I expected, and there’s police sirens blaring all around the school. I half expect to hear Mr. Stark’s suits, but it’s quiet in the air. Everyone’s gonna be okay. Ned will be okay, and Gwen and Michelle, and even Flash. I’m okay, too. We’re okay. And still I can’t stop shaking like it’s my first fight. I blame it on the sensory overload, but still… I almost wish I could put everyone (Deadpool included, oddly enough) in a giant hamster ball and never let them out of my sight. I keep glancing over my shoulder, to make sure Midtown doesn’t explode or maybe that Deadpool is still there, I don’t even know anymore. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, whistling what sounds like Oops! I Did Again under his breath. By the time we cross the parking lot and reach the chainlink fence surrounding school I’ve got that song stuck in my head. I grab onto the metal trying not to hum along. “You need a hand with that?” Deadpool chirps, just as carefree as he usually is again. That’s good. “You’re only offering so that you could get your hands on my ass, aren’t you?” I narrow my eyes at him, but can’t find it in me to put any real bite into the words. “How dare you?” He gasps dramatically, “But IF I did, would you let me?” “Not a chance in the world,” I chuckle and haul myself up. I get over the fence in three smooth movements. I could backflip over it with half the effort, but Deadpool is the last person I’d like to know that. “Do you lift, bro?” He asks suspiciously anyway, but the astonishment in his voice somehow makes it worth it. It’s weird enough to have him like me in a suit, but liking me just as well out of it is a whole different story… “What, do I not look like your typical gym buddy?” I huff out somewhat smugly. “You look like a daddy-kink wet dream, Cupcake. Heavy lifting sounds about as far out of your expertise as jerking off to a stuffed unicorn out mine,” He drawls, “Which is equally ironic, too.” “And I now I can never unsee that…” “You’re welcome.” “Just get over the fence already!” I throw my hands in the air, unwisely waving around Deadpool’s weapons bag on my fingertips. “I don’t know, I’m really on the fence about it,” he croons. I turn on my heels and start walking away. A second later a sound thud informs me that he’s no longer on the fence about it. “I like tacos, 90’s pop songs and long walks on the beach,” he declares, catching up with me, “But I also like it when a guy is in charge of the first date.” I snicker again. “I’m not taking you out to eat,” I inform him, “And this not my first idea of a date, man. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be grounded for the rest of my life after this…” And as if on cue, my phone starts buzzing insistently in my pocket right that moment. I try to check the caller as inconspicuously as possible. Aunt May. For a moment I’m equally tempted to pick up or let it continue ringing, but then I can’t really talk to her with Deadpool listening in, so I figure if I decline she’ll at least know I’m alive. “Sorry, Baby Boy, but you don’t exactly hit me like a type that walks around looking for trouble,” Deadpool muses. “Actually, I don’t usually have a problem finding it,” I shrug. My phone buzzes again, this time with a call from Mr. Happy. “Even so, you’re at least seventy presents less freaked out than you should be and at least forty presents less shocked than I’d expect a twelve-year-old kid to be in this kind of mess. You’re also at least an eleven out of ten – would do any day, but that’s a whole different problem. Like, my square root has it’s head in the game, you know?” I flick Mr. Happy’s face off my screen, too, feeling a surge of mild appreciation for the theoretical dick jokes. “First of all, I’m not twelve. Second of all, I’ve been more mature than you even when I WAS twelve!” “I wonder if that would put us on the same level in the eyes of the law, then…” He ponders, almost like he momentarily forgot that I’m standing right here. “Don’t be a creep, that’s bad for your karma,” I roll my eyes at him, “And this is not a date, it’s a…” I trail off, for the first time realizing that between Deadpool chatting my head off and my phone going berserk, I lead him to the alley behind Mr. Delmar’s shop where I usually leave my stuff when I go patrolling after school. I mean it’s not THAT bad, right? I could find a different place to change, it’s not like there’s a shortage of alleys in Queens, and he didn’t exactly see Spider Man here before… I think. And then my phone vibrates again and when I peek at the screen there’s a face I can’t exactly swipe away. At least if I don’t want this alley to turn into Mr. Stark’s suits exhibition. “Look, man,” I stare up at Deadpool panicking slightly, “I gotta go, okay? Try to stay away from schools and all that… Like, it was fun and all, but… See you, I guess! Maybe not…” I walk away without waiting for his reply. “Hey, Peter!” He calls out and I jump what feels like five feet. I hope not really. “Ye – Yeah? What is it, man?” “You’ve got my toys. Not that I’m not the sharing type –” “Right! Right,” I march back to him and drop the bag in his hands. “See you, Cupcake!” He purrs, “It was a blast.” And then he bends over and lands a kiss on the top of my head. I feel my ears get very warm and then I’m out of the alley, and Mr. Stark is calling me for the third time and I finally click ‘answer’. “Ye– Hello, Mr. Stark,” I start in a false voice, “Um, how have you been?” “I don’t know what you’ve done,” he sounds pretty pissed through the line noise, “But Mr. Happy is waiting in a car at your place and unless you get in that car in three minutes I’m sending a suit to get you.” “Um, yeah… That – There’s… I’m on my way.” The call cuts off. I groan at my shitty-shitty luck and pick up the pace. ***** Step 8: Always be up for the Tin Man shenanigans ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes WADE Petey-Pie runs out of the alley looking mildly greenish, like he’s about to projectile vomit all over the place, and fumbles with his phone on the go. [You do realize it’s weird that he’s more freaked out over whoever’s calling him than people actually pointing guns at his face.] {It feels kinda sad… Why does it feel sad?} I know, but all I end up doing is stare after his retreating back (and gorgeous ass), unpacking my toys. {We should follow him, just to make sure he’s safe.} [You’ve gotta follow him.] “Are the two of you actually agreeing with each other right now?” I grunt out loud, too shocked to care. [We are you, Big Guy. It shouldn’t even be such rare an occasion.] I think about it for a second. {It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do…} True that, I think, and before I even made up my mind, my feet start moving so I pretty much just play along. It’s easy enough to get to the rooftop via the fire escape, and not that hard to pinpoint the Pretty Boy down on the street, winding his way through the current of people in something between a power walk and a run for his life. He doesn’t make it too far, taking a swift turn after a couple of blocks and coming to a skidding stop next to a small apartment building that have seen better days. There he takes a moment to breathe and look around. [He’s not walking in.] He’s not, and that doesn’t make sense until a glistening black SUV pulls up next to him. Petey-Pie stares at it like he’s about to projectile vomit all over it too, and then the driver steps out, a wide dude, stocky and angular, not too kind on the eyes. {Do you think Petey is a working boy?} I try to shake the thought off, though to be fair it wouldn’t make a precedent on my part. Pete doesn’t act like a working boy though, he seems defensive as they argue for a bit and I wish I wasn’t this far out of earshot. Then finally, reluctantly he gets in the car, glancing over his shoulder as he does. [Looks familiar, Big Guy?] {Oh my pink fluffy thongs! He’s being kidnapped isn’t he? It’s Weapon X! It’s gotta be!} [And you’re just standing there like a…] I’m on the move again, running along the road until I catch up with the SUV winding into traffic, and then I jump. It’s not my favorite thing in the world, the feeling of panicky weightlessness followed by the searing pain of torn flesh and broken bones as my body comes into impact with engine-warmed metal. Still, it already begins to heal and I try to make the best of the dramatic entrance, striking a pose on the hood of the SUV and waving at the bulky guy behind the wheel. He looks satisfyingly traumatized. Petey on the back seat looks like an angel. A very shell-shocked angel, with those big brown eyes round like platters and his jaw loose. “Hey there, Cupcake! Small world, right?” [I don’t think he can hear you, Big Guy.] No, I don’t think so either, especially as the driver turns to him and very distinctly pronounciates a: “What the fuck is this?” I can’t hear a thing. And then Petey runs out of the car and I hear him clear as day when he yells: “What the hell are you doing?” “Saving you, clearly,” I slide off the SUV suppressing the urge to grab him and just go already. “From what?” He demands, just as furious. {Something doesn’t feel right here…} “From being kidnapped by Weapon X,” I explain patiently. “Wha – Did you follow me or something?” “Uh-huh,” I nod enthusiastically now as he finally begins to catch up. “What on Earth is wrong with you?” Pete groans rubbing his forehead. [Great many things.] I roll my eyes at both of them. Right when I’m about to answer though, a car from behind us in traffic beeps, drowning my words. Peter glances over his shoulder at the SUV. The driver guy rolls down his window, holds his phone away from his face for a second and tells us both to get in the car. Peter does, shoulders hunched and lips pressed in a tight line. Eventually, I figure that if he’s going to stay I’ll be better off watching his back, so I follow. Pete spends the ride with his head in his hands as far away from me as the car would allow. [Clever boy.] We pull over at this new thing Tony Stark have built, all glass and metal, and sour-faced suits. Petey-Pie opens his door. “Who are we here for, you say?” I whistle softly, looking around the place. “I didn’t,” grumbles Pete. The driver only gives us a grim look. And then we walk inside. ‘Welcome back, Happy. Welcome back, Peter. Who’s your friend?’ A smooth female voice seems to sound from every direction, though I can’t see any speakers around the cool sleek foyer. “Hey, Friday.” Peter nods distractedly at nothing in particular. “Tell him we’ll be up in a minute,” The big guy – Happy, apparently, though he doesn’t look very much so – shoots in a clipped voice. “You can call me Wade,” I raise my voice, spinning around to try and determine where the voice comes from, “Though I prefer, Daddy, if you’ve been good!” “It’s nice to meet you, Wade. I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y. And Mr. Stark limits my capacity for below-the-belt jokes when Peter is around.” That gets a laugh out of me. Pete groans, grabs my wrist and pulls. I don’t resist anymore. Oddly enough, he doesn’t let go even as we enter the elevator and the doors slide shut. [Maybe he doesn’t realize he’s doing that.] {Maybe he likes to touch us! Maybe he wants to touch us some more!} On the second thought, maybe not, because as soon as the doors open his hand slips away and he sprints out of the elevator. I follow a few paces behind taking in the cool expensive penthouse. “Mr. Stark, I can explain,” I hear Peter exhale in a rush, “I mean – Sort of, I’m not sure about the people…” My eyes snap to where he’s looking so fast I get splotches of black in my vision. And surely enough, there he sits the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, rubbing the bridge of his nose and nursing a glass of what looks like whiskey. {It’s our day after all!} “Ooooh-Emmm-Geee,” I squeal clapping my cheeks, “Is this the real Tin Man or am I in one of those dreams? Petey-Pie, quick, pinch my ass! Mr. Man I’m your biggest fan!” Stark's hand lowers very slowly, just as his eyes move up. Pete takes a very slow very deep breath and doesn’t move. “I'm sorry, who's this mentally adolescent joker, again?” He rasps lowly narrowing his eyes. “Excuse me?” I gasp, “Joker is a psychopathic villain! I’m… just psychopathic. And I guess this is the point where you go all ‘Stay away from me and my son’. [A hole you dug for yourself. As per tradition. So ancient it should be a national holiday at this point.] I glance at Petey, somewhat wistfully. And this time he does meet my eye. “I’m not his… Never mind,” the big T blows out a breath and takes a sip from his glass, “Peter?” To his credit, fanboy almost doesn’t jump. “Um,” he stutters, “This is – ah – he’s Deadpool…” “Deadpool?” Tin Man echoes glumly. “Yeah,” Pete runs a hand through his hair and then goes back to fumbling anxiously with his sleeves, “He’s a super – I mean he’s still on the fence about the whole ‘hero’ thing, but…” The little shit! Makes me bark out a laugh though. “Okay, we don’t have time for this,” Stark cuts him off getting up, all business, “Can somebody get him off the premises, Friday?” “As you wish, boss,” the pleasant voice sound again from everywhere and nowhere in particular. “He doesn’t,” another pleasant female voice interrupts, but this time I’m able to pinpoint the source of it, “I thought I heard something annoying… It’s good to see you, Wade.” “Holy unicorn on a tricycle,” I mutter under my breath craning my neck, “It’s Leather Buns in the flesh! Who else you hiding in here, Spare Parts? That vegetative thingy from the Guardians of the Galaxy? Doctor Strange? Spider- Man?” Petey makes a strange gurgling noise at the back of his throat. I stare at him for a bit to make sure he doesn’t choke himself. [You’re oblivious and all, but I bet you’re giving him so much stress right now.] Chapter End Notes Okay, this one's a bit longer, but then we've got some actual progress here! I'm so worried about getting everyone right >_< Did you get who the 'Leather Buns' is??? And other stuff too, let me know what you think in general, kay? Kay. ***** Step 9: Develop your invisibility powers ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes PETER My head won’t stop spinning. “Holy unicorn on a tricycle! It’s Leather Buns in the flesh,” Deadpool (whose name is Wade, apparently, which fits him perfectly somehow) gasps happily, just as Natasha steps inside the room her arms crossed over her chest and a knowing smirk playing on her lips, “Who else you hiding in here, Spare Parts? That vegetative thingy from the Guardians of the Galaxy? Doctor Strange? Spider- Man?” I think I’m having a minor heart attack. De- Wade stares at me to the insistent beat of does-he-know-does-he-know-does- he-know in my head. “Remind me how many times I’ve killed you now?” Natasha purrs, easily brushing off the rest of Deadpool’s remark. “Three and a half!” He readily replies. “And a half?” She raises an eyebrow, “That’s not exactly how death works, as far as I know.” “Well, I’m only counting headshots for a full-fledged kill, Mother Russia!” Wade argues mirroring Natasha’s position. “I shot you through the carotid artery!” Natasha rolls her eyes, “That would hardly count as half a kill even where I’m from.” “Remind me how you two know each other exactly?” I echo faintly, the idea of being on the bad side of her skills making me gulp. “I was hired to take her down once or twice,” Deadpool shrugs. “Or four times,” Natasha grins, and when I stare, she winks at me for good measure. I feel distinctly disconnected from reality just then. But hey, as long as it takes attention away from Spider-Man! “Lovely,” Mr. Stark finally cuts in, looking just as distinctly unimpressed, “Now why don’t you two take this Walk to Remember someplace else, while I deal with the actual problem.” He gestures in my general direction and I gulp again. “Mr. Stark, I – ” “Chill your spare parts, Big T,” Wade interrupts me mid-word, dropping backwards onto a wide leather sofa across from Mr. Stark, “I’m willing to bet money that what I’m about to say will blow your tops off because – you know! - copyrights and franchise stuff, and all that nonsense… Ready? Here we go: it was Weapon X.” A heavy kind of silence hangs over the room after he stops talking. “Okay, schizophrenic blabbering aside,” Mr. Stark speaks up first, “What’s Weapon X? Friday?” “Why would Weapon X risk an attack on Midtown in the middle of the day?” Natasha mutters, almost to herself, momentarily losing all her playfulness, “What do they know?” “Well, that could be my fault,” Deadpool seems to scrunch up his face behind the mask. “From what I could find, Weapon X is the government human enhancing program. It was established in the seventies, closed in the nineties. Most government data regarding it is classified.” “Yeah-yeah, I get it, it’s shady,” Mr. Stark waves Friday off, “Why am I only hearing this now?” “As I said: Hydra, aliens, gods… Copyrights?” Wade muses. I’m trying to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. God, right now I’d give so much to just become invisible, and not constantly expect Mr. Stark to come to his senses and try to shield me from the actual important stuff like he usually does… True, I did learn my lesson before – guys like me are best looking out for the little guy – but this! This concerns me. Shit, I don’t even know if my friends are alive, this is something I should be allowed in on. “Does he ever make sense to you?” Mr. Stark point a finger at me, his brows furrowed. “Like, half the time,” I wave my fingers vaguely in the air, keeping my voice low. “Seriously?” Wade murmurs skeptically, “That’s like half the time more than most people.” “Does he look like most people to you?” Natasha huffs out, so indignant you would think I’m her personal accomplishment or something… “Oh, I’d tell you all about it, Mean Bean, but I’m not sure we’re done with the PG-13 portion of this nonsense,” He whistles, and I kinda want to become invisible again, but for all kinds of different reasons now. “As a ONE-TIME favor I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what I think I heard just now,” Mr. Stark deadpans. “How was school your fault?” I butt in, mostly searching for something – anything – to stir the conversations to a safer course before the nukes get launched, “Exactly, I mean.” “Funny that you asked,” Deadpool scratches the back of his mask, “It’s kind of a long story, now that I think about it. Starts with Weapon X torturing my problematic ass, and not in a fun way! Ends with me making it my life’s mission to make their job a living hell… Wow, would you look at that, I guess it’s not that long after all!” “So you traced them back to Peter’s school?” Natasha drawls, her voice adopting that hard edge again. “You got it, Tough Guns! I wonder who they’ve been putting out so hard for, though… Sneaky-tricky is not usually their style.” Is he even serious? I mean, there’s a fat chance he’s just messing with me, but then it somehow doesn’t seem like it… “We’ll figure that out,” Mr. Stark throws in with an air of finality to the statement, “And by ‘we’ I mean me. Friday?” “Working on it,” a cool soothing voice rings through the air. “You,” Mr. Stark turns to me finally, with that particular frown I didn’t see him give to anyone else, “Will have to lay low for a while though. Now give me your phone.” “What?” I yelp, hating how my voice would go all small and shrill every time he does that, “But, you can’t take away my phone! Aunt May is probably going crazy! And.. and I don’t even know if my friends are alive –” “I called aunt May,” He makes a face and a gesture with his open hand, “She knows you’re safe.” “But – ” “There was no casualties in the Middletown High School attack,” Friday cuts me off next, “Three attackers are currently in custody, I’m working on transferring them to the Avengers headquarters.” I sigh so hard it shakes my entire body. And then it hits me – three. Deadpool and I took out two, and somehow I doubt it was the police who caught the third... “Come on, we don’t have time for this,” Mr. Stark interrupts my thoughts impatiently. My shoulders sag, but I obediently fish my destroyed phone out of the pocket of my jeans and pass it over. “Friday,” He calls out, walking over to his desk where he discards my cellphone, “Back up Peter’s device onto a safe one. Make it an untraceable line.” “It’s done,” She responds almost immediately. “Pick it up on you way out. Can you take him to one of your sefehouses?” This last sentence he addressed to Natasha. “Sure,” She shrugs like it’s nothing and my heart sinks for what feels like one time too many. “I can’t go to a safehouse!” I announce, if somewhat unconvinced, “Not after what happened!” “You can and you will,” Mr. Stark mutters without even looking at me. “No! I gotta go see aunt May. I gotta make sure everyone’s safe. You can’t put me on lockdown now that…” I trail off suddenly remembering about Deadpool, uncharacteristically quiet, glued to his spot on the sofa. “I’m keeping an eye on your apartment. She’ll be safe. And she’ll be safer if you’re not there in case,” Mr. Stark trails off too, scowling. “I know,” I press on, begging with my eyes for him to understand, “I’ll go wherever you want me to in the morning. Tonight I’m going home.” “Is it just me, or does everyone go out of their way to be difficult in this place,” He throws his hands in the air glancing at Natasha for support. “Kid’s got a point,” She reasons. “Are you- Fine! But if anything happens it’s on you,” He points an accusing finger at her, then takes it across the room to land on me, “Both of you.”   Chapter End Notes Okay! Sorry for the delay, but it's finally up! Also, updates, thanks to a bunch of your comments (you know who I'm talking about) and the best readers in the world! I now have a pretty solid idea about where the story is going and how it will all end, and the plot in general so thank you sooooo much! What do you think about badass-mama!Nat, it kinda happened and I kinda love it. Let me know how you feel about this chapter and as always thanks for reading! ***** Step 10: Take care of your own ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes PETER My life officially is a mess. I leave the Avengers Headquarters feeling even more jittery than before, and both Natasha and Wade seem to sense that, because for once they leave me alone in favor of chatting animatedly with each other (that is if you ignore the various looks of sympathy and concern they shoot my way every once in a while). I lean my whole body against the elevator’ glass wall and manage to mostly tune them out. Now that Mr. Stark is taken care of – not that that went particularly well or anything – I feel kinda nauseous about facing May… Shit, I feel like such an asshole! As if after everything, I didn’t screw up enough having her find out I’m Spiderman… As if it wasn’t bad enough that she’s been waiting up every night to make sure I returned from my patrols in one piece… School was supposed to be her worry-free time. And now I fucked that up too… “You need a ride, Red Disaster?” Natasha’s voice interrupts my beating up session. We’re out of the building now, the light spilling through the tall windows of the lobby illuminating the street. I must’ve followed them out on autopilot. “I called myself a taxi,” Deadpool responds, waving around something small and pink, “But the offer earns you back those couple points you lost for the carotid artery!” “Is that a Hello Kitty phone?” I mutter in slight awe, not even realizing I’m saying the words out loud until they leave my mouth. “Yeah!” Wade booms happily, “I’ve got a matching wallet too! Hold on, that reminds me – Give me your phone for a sec.” I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him. “Is that a quote of the day, or something?” “Don’t you trust me, Cupcake?” He grabs his chest in an exaggerated display of hurt. I stare at him skeptically for a long moment and finally settle for a shrug. “I guess I do.” My voice sounds dull even to my own ears, and I fail to pay attention to Deadpool, busy unlocking the new phone for him, but the silence imitating from him in a strange current catches my attention sooner rather than later. I raise my head. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Deadpool of all people is having a stroke or something. His hand still lingers weakly around his chest and his mask looks even more blank than usual. “Are you breathing?” I ask carefully, “I’m not too good with CPR so you better be breathing.” Wade doesn’t respond. Or move. Natasha smirks that knowing smirk of hers. “Should we be worried?” I drawl quietly, leaning a bit towards her. “I’m sure he’ll be back in a sec.” “If you want to give me a mouth to mouth all you gotta do is ask, Petey-Pie.” Wade declares suddenly, though his voice still sounds off somehow. I wonder what I did wrong there… “See,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Let’s start with a phone,” I offer it to him slowly, careful not to trigger any more episodes. Wade grabs it and immediately switches his attention to tapping the screen. Then he proceeds to take a selfie, making a peace sign. A second later the phone is back in my palm and I stare at the screen with undoubtedly stupid look on my face. “Call me if you need a hand with hardware again,” He croons, “If you know what I mean.” I think he winks, but it’s hard to tell with the mask on. “I know you’re pretty much indestructible, but I’m gonna hurt you so bad if you screw him over,” Natasha chimes in, sounding too nonchalant for me to doubt that she means every single word. “What? I mean big guns! Weapon X! All that.” I look down to the screen of my phone again, it says ‘Daddy’ on the contact, Deadpool’s mask barely discernible in a dim grainy picture, but it makes me snicker anyway. The drive home almost knocks me out. Happy shakes me awake, leaning over the front seat, his face in a usual frown. “Wha – ” I scramble awkwardly in a confined space, “What happened?” “We’re here,” he grumbles, “Go home kid.” “Oh,” I sink back into my seat for a second, the whole blast of the past day’s events exploding in my head again, “Right.” I drag my feet up the stairs. And feel like even more of an asshole for it, knowing that aunt May won’t stop going haywire until she sees my face. Still, I can’t help but dread the moment. Surely enough, she’s there when I open the door, pacing around the tiny living- room area to a background of evening news, her hair tangled and her shoulders tense. God, she has the worst luck with Parker men… “Aunt May,” I call out softly, surprised she didn’t teleport over here the moment I opened the door. Her head snaps up so quick I’m worried she’s gonna give herself a whiplash. Her eyes look swollen, her makeup smudged… Her chin quivers. I’m such an asshole. As quickly as possible without freaking her out with Spiderman stuff, I cross the living room and crowd her in a clumsy hug. “I’m sorry,” I say, or at least try to say – it comes out in a whisper, “I’m so sorry! I’m fine, everybody’s fine… I’m sorry, about all of it okay?” For a while she just sobs in my shoulder and I resist punching myself in the face. After a long while she calms down a bit, but doesn’t let me go. “Was it about Spiderman?” She whispers back, her voice hoarse and foreign. It’s always like that when she finds the courage to ask. Spiderman as opposed to Peter, Spiderman as opposed to me… I guess it helps her to compartmentalize. “I’m not sure,” is all I can offer, “I should’ve called you back. I should’ve picked up the phone! It shouldn’t have happened, it won’t happen again, I promise.” I guess I should get better at compartmentalizing too… “Tony called me,” She offers hollowly, “He told me you were okay.” “Did it help?” I wonder just as dejectedly. “Better than nothing…” We stand like that a little longer, hugging awkwardly, then May pulls away, holds my face in her outstretched hands, her own face suddenly hard. “I’m not going to ask you to stop, because I know you won’t and because I wan’t you to know that I’ll be here for you no matter what happens, but if you scare me this way again, I swear to god.” “I can’t stop,” I sigh meekly, feeling the remains of energy drain my body, “But I’ll be better than that.” May nods and pulls me to the sofa, letting me crash with my head on her lap and her hands running through my hair like when I was eight and school sucked really bad (less than now, but I lacked perspective). We sink into an exhausted kind of silence. After a while she speaks up, her voice finally soft and steady, familiar. “Who’s Deadpool?” That startles me a bit. “Why?” “They talked about him on TV,” May explains patiently, “Said he could be responsible for the attack.” “What? No, he’s not,” I blurt too quickly, propping myself up on one elbow to look up at her, “At least not anymore than I am…” I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but it does, and I want aunt May to understand at least. “Do you,” she begins and trails off, “Does he know Spiderman?” I take a deep breath. “Kinda,” I admit, “He doesn’t have the best reputation, but he’s not bad… Just… chaotic, I guess.” May seems to think about it for a long time. “Chaos is just a form of order that we don’t understand,” She says thoughtfully in the end, in a way that makes me think it could be a quote, “And it takes bravery to understand difficult things. It also takes a bit of stupidity to try to.” “All the things I can get behind…” We end up staying late, mostly sharing the same space and comfort of knowing the other is safe, but it’s still a week night. I wander into my room dragging my feet and wish May good night. She answers in slurred monosyllables. I let my body fall backwards on the bed and just stay still for a second. Some brief spark of movement in the window makes me tense up for a moment, but my spidey sense is quiet so I figure it’s either the meaning Mr. Stark’s ‘keeping an eye on the apartment’ or my exhausted brain pulling tricks. Finally, I fumble for my phone. When I unlock it, there’s still Deadpool’s contact open. Again, it gets a weak smirk out of me. Sighing, I click away and text back Ned. He’s left about a million texts. Chapter End Notes Okay, first of all, this chapter was supposed to go up yesterday, so I'm sorry for the delay! I'm sinking into the depths of my depression and I'm having that thing when everything that used to bring me joy doesn't and I start despising it for no reason, so I kinda avoided writing until I felt better, because I really like this this and want it to happen! Right, done with complaining! Next thing, there are people reading this who are against NSFW underage shenanigans and you know it's coming because I have no moral boundaries and am going to hell, so I wanted to ask how you guys feel about me giving warnings before the chapters that include Explicit sexy stuff or do you think that would count as a spoiler? Anyway!!! Let me know what you think about the story so far. I know it's a second chapter in Peter's POV in a row, and there's going to be a third one because it's all happening around him and there's no way to show this stuff from Wade's perspective, but there's probably going to be multiple chapters in his POV ahead, so I hope you don't mind! As always, thanks for reading and I love you all to bits! Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!