Chapter Text
It was against his better judgement that Peter agreed to team up with the Avengers.
It’s always against his better judgement, but the cash they give him for helping is always too enticing. That money could pay for a month’s rent, or stock his fridge for the next ten weeks. It could cover the cost of repairing damage to his laptop, or mending his suit, or taking Aunt May out for a nice dinner.
So now he’s here, in the damp, tick-infested forests of upstate New York. Along with him, The Avengers have also enlisted the help of Deadpool, and they all approach a massive but dilapidated log cabin nestled inside a clearing of trees in the woods.
According to Avengers intel, there’s a man living in this log cabin who is creating technology that mimics certain mutant abilities. Of course, this poses a massive danger to the city, and Tony requested as much help as he could get, because nobody knew how big the threat was.
Scott Lang was out of town, Cage was laying low, and everyone else refused to work short notice about a situation they weren’t well-informed about. Which left Peter and Wade as the stragglers.
The two men have a sort of… compatibility that is entirely unfounded, and thoroughly surprising to Peter. Deadpool has an astonishing modicum of respect for Spider-Man. They have a shared knowledge of obscure references, and their banter comes unnervingly easy to Peter. After a while, Peter even started tolerating him.
Falcon and Stark are circling the air nearby, Nat and Clint are taking the front, Steve and Rhodey are moving in from the back, and Peter and Wade are approaching from the left side of the sizeable cabin, the only side with a window.
“Alright, team…” Steve’s confident voice says clearly in their ear pieces. Peter scrunches his nose and ducks his head uncomfortably; his senses aren’t used to noise like that. “We have no idea how many people are inside. We could be outnumbered. So we’ve got to be quiet.”
“Tell that to Wade.” Peter says lowly.
Wade, beside him, stops his humming petulantly. “Webs, it’s not my fault you don’t know The Brady Bunch theme song. We could be having a duet right now.”
“Spider-Man is right, Wade. Be quieter.” Tony says, which Peter relishes, because Tony hardly ever audibly admits someone is right.
Wade quietly mocks this, elbowing Peter in the ribs. Peter elbows him back. “Don’t be a baby.”
“Oh, really, Web-Head? Wanna go there? How old are you, even?” Wade hisses, and Peter grits his teeth and rolls his eyes. “I’m twenty, Old Man.”
Wade sucks in a breath and clutches his heart in mock offense.
In a muffled voice, clearly speaking to Natasha, Clint mumbles, “Who thought it was a good idea to pair two-thirds of Team Red together? We know they need Daredevil to balance them out.”
There’s the sound of someone clearing their voice through the comm, and then Tony mutters, “That was my bad.”
Before their bickering can be resolved, loud gunfire rings out, echoing somewhere nearby. Windows shatter and thunderous booms resonate under their feet. Wade instantly has a hand clamped on Peter’s neck, shoving him into a crouched position.
“Everybody, either get inside or hide. Whatever’s safer until this calms down.” Tony says briskly through their comms.
With the gunfire ringing louder, Peter moves to slip into the cabin through the nearby window, but his Spidey Senses send a sharp tingle through his spine and he and Wade scramble under the elevated porch of the cabin. In mere seconds, another boom goes off, right where they had been standing.
Wade shoves him further under the cabin’s porch until they’re both in the center, and then it’s… eerily muted. The sound of gunshots and shells hitting the ground is lessened, and they can hear the ricocheting bullets hit the wood of the deck. Wood splinters sprinkle like confetti down on them, making Wade chuff and sneeze under his mask. Peter scrunched his face up distastefully and swatted wood chips away.
“Stay in there!” Tony yells through their ear pieces, and they can hear the faint echo of gun shots through the mic and in the distance.
“What!” Peter hisses. “Tony, you asked us to come here! This isn't -”
“That is an order, son.” Captain America stays sternly, and Peter groans. How could he argue with the personification of bravery and unity?
“Ah, geez. The geriatric is making us stay?” Wade asks. “If it were Tony, I would have disregarded him. But Cap?” Wade blows out a resigned breath, shaking his head.
Peter splutters, looking at Wade in the dark. Wade is always the first to question authority. He should've known the mercenary had a crush on Steve Rogers.
“But we are hours outside the city! Do you just want us to stay here?” Peter asks, breathing heavily. Wade is humming, and seems entirely at ease about all of this.
“Spider-Man…” Tony says with great effort, and he hears more gunfire, “this guy wants to take mutants and mutates to experiment on them for his technology. He will torture you both, and he does want both of you.”
Peter hesitates, a chill traveling up his spine. Before he can try and respond, Tony continues. “I will not be held accountable for the deaths of two vigilantes that aren't in the Avengers. I will not have you hurt, kid.”
Peter falters, mouth opening. “I - Tony, I didn't -”
“So stay put.” Tony orders, and then the mic clicks off pointedly on Tony’s end.
It's quiet for several moments, and the only sounds are the heavy breathing between them and the muffled raucous inside the cabin.
“So. How’s your day been goin’?” Wade asks causally, and it's almost comical.
Peter scoffs and turns to him in the dark, light prying in through the thin uneven slats created by the wooden planks of the porch.
Even though Peter and Wade have grown… accustomed to each other, it doesn’t mean that Peter necessarily enjoys being pressed against him for an indeterminable amount of time.
Wade is curled so his body is curved into a sort of C shape, and Peter is curled up beside him, facing his chest. It isn't fun.
The air is hot and polluted with tiny specks of dust and wood flakes, and both men are wedged very close together. Peter would be lying if he said he were a fan of tight spaces. They startle him; his instincts crave wide, open, high-up areas.
He needs to be able to breathe and move and jump and swing and see.
But this? This is the exact opposite. His senses are already infinitely heightened because of his abilities as Spider-Man, and this situation is only causing him more distress.
“Was that a trick question, Wade?” Peters asks in what he hopes is an airy tone, but it sounds more breathless than anything.
Wade takes a moment, and Peter can feel his eyes scanning him. If he notices anything off, he doesn't mention it.
“No, that's not a trick question! We’re stuck here, might as well have a chat.” He says amiably, shrugging.
Except there’s no room to shrug, so his shoulder knocks Peter in the chin a bit. Peter grits his teeth and inclines his head to be more level with Wade’s neck, which only helps a little.
“Here, I'll start!” Wade says a bit awkwardly. He takes a breath, seeming to think. “My day started with me waking up at noon, taking a nice warm shower, and then getting called here!” He finishes brightly, to which Peter can only sigh.
“What about you, Spidey? How’d your day start off?” Wade asks, and his words tapered into something muffled and muted in Peter’s ears.
Peter has trouble answering. His breath is coming out in puffs and the space is tight and dark and each inhalation of muggy air is making him panic more. The more he tries to squirm, the more he realizes there’s really no point because he can’t magically create more room under here.
An occasional yell or thud or gunshot goes off somewhere above them, which only reminds Peter how much he desperately wants to get out from under this porch - not only because he wants to help, but because he feels too trapped here.
All the while, Wade is watching curiously, brows visibly furrowed even under the half-rolled mask.
“I - I really don’t -” Peter tries, face flush.
“Webs, what did you do today? C’mon, kid, tell me.” His voice is calmer than Peter was expecting, and soft and soothing and relaxed.
“I, uh, I dunno, nothing much, really.” He swallows thickly, sucking in a big breath and wriggling until he has a bit of space by his head. That helps. He managed to wrench his arms down until they cross protectively over his belly, which gives him some room to breathe. He can handle this.
“I woke up at eight, took a freezing cold shower because my apartment’s heating pipes are unreliable at best. Then I ate a cheap deli sandwich for breakfast, studied, and came here. Nothing too extravagant.” He huffs.
A particularly loud crash resounds somewhere close above them, and Wade throws an arm over Peter’s head before removing it seconds later after the crash subsides. Moss and wood chips rain down on them as the porch settles again.
“No matter how many times you tell me, I'm still surprised you're not, like, rich.” Wade gawks. “You're Spider-Man.”
Peter manages a laugh. “You and me both.”
“You should join the mercenary business! You'll be loaded by the end of the month.” Wade says excitedly.
At this, Peter brings a screeching halt to the conversation, rolling his eyes and pressing his palms flat against the porch, pushing. The wood creaks, and Peter realizes he can't break themselves out without drawing attention.
“I can't be in here anymore. This is so counterproductive. They brought us here to help, and now they're changing their minds because it got too dangerous? What did they think this would be?” Peter shakes his head breathlessly.
“I hear ya, Handsome. I really do. Stark turned his ear bud off - nobody’s stopping us from shimmying out from under this porch.” Wade says relaxedly, with absolutely no care in the world.
He's ready to ignore Wade's entire dialogue, but pauses. He's right. He can't just lay here while there's a fight going on.
“That's the smartest thing I've heard all day.” Peter announces, and he rolls over onto his belly with great effort.
“You're making me blush.” Wade says smoothly, but follows Peter in rolling over.
They begin the slow task of army-crawling on their forearms and toes out from under the porch.
It feels like ages, until,
“Ow!” Wade yowls. “Webs, I just got a fuckin’ splinter on my ass!”
Peter winces at this statement. “Why would you tell me that.” He deadpans, grunting with effort as they work their bodies slowly out of the porch.
“Will you help me take it out, at least?” Wade asks.
“Deadpool, I will kick your ass so damn hard.” He warns.
“Hm.” Wade ponders. “No, see, I think that would make the splinter worse, actually -”
Suddenly, the porch creaks above them, and several thick panels of wood peel away, revealing a very confused Iron Man.
“Ah, the cavalry.” Wade announces, pulling Peter and himself up to their feet.
The rest of the Avengers are close by, all with varying degrees of injury. Captain America has a middle-aged man over one shoulder, the man’s wrists and ankles bound in metal cuffs. There are fumes coming out of the cabin and several bullet holes and gaping spots in the cabin’s exterior.
Peter narrows his eyes but nods slightly, immediately brushing the wood chips off his suit now that the situation has apparently been covered. Wade, although covered in a dusting of wood and debris, doesn't seem to care.
“Thank you for obeying orders. This man would've killed you to examine your body’s abilities.” Steve says bluntly, face stern but relieved.
“Uh. Sure. Anytime. I love being not-dead.” He says brightly, and Wade chuckles under his breath.
Minutes later, Tony calls SHIELD personnel to clean up the mess of the cabin and to destroy any technology the man was working on.
Albeit tired, everyone is in higher spirits walking back through the woods to civilization again.
As it somehow always ends up happening, Wade and Peter bring up the back of the group, trailing behind Clint and Natasha.
Wade kicks up dirt and leaves crinkle under his boots as they walk back, humming The Brady Bunch theme song again. Peter, too tired to argue, stays quiet and light on his toes.
Minutes pass with only the distant murmur of conversation from the rest of the Avengers, until Wade speaks.
“See, I didn't know Spider-Man was claustrophobic.” He observes airily.
Peter’s chest feels momentarily tight and he takes a breath, cheeks flushed. “I'm not claustrophobic, Wade.” He insists.
“I just wanted to get out and help.” Peter trails off.
Wade raises his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sure, Webs. Don't worry ‘bout it.” He assures.
“Don't make stupid statements.” Peter murmurs, head down.
At least half an hour passes, and the trees are getting thinner and more spaced out. The dirt trail becomes more prominent, and the occasional footprint is spotted. The sun is shining clearly through the trees now without the dense forests smothering the light. They're near the clearing and the end of the woods now.
“Uh.” Peter begins before clearing his voice awkwardly. It's a question that's been nagging at the back of his mind since their last brief conversation, and he has to ask.
“You're basically immortal. You can't die. You didn't need to worry about being killed. Why did you stay with me under the porch?” Peter asks.
Neither man looks at each other, but Peter can tell Wade heard. He opens his mouth, shuts it with a small grin.
“Don't ask stupid questions.” Wade answers wryly.
Fair point, Peter thinks begrudgingly.