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Peter’s toes kicked up bits of asphalt as he peeled off to the right. A sharp alert had zinged down his spine, temporarily singeing his thoughts and pushing him to move on instinct. He tackled himself in an inelegant roll that nearly threw him into a wall, but his ankle was shot, and staying on his feet was his last worry.
Peter whirled his head around in time to see Wade’s face very nearly being cut in half by the electrically charged arch of the whip. The leather of his mask was burned to shreds, and the fleshy wound that appeared on scarred skin under its power melted and cauterized his nose until bone poked hauntingly under and started to blacken.
"Hey, sparks!" Peter called over the horrifying guttural noises of Wade frying. He clicked his web shooters, fibers of a web solidifying and sticking to the rubber tires stacked at the end of the alleyway. Deadzone tore his comically crazed eyes from Wade's jolting corpse to look back up at Peter, and the split moment of distraction gave Peter the chance to pull the tire, hard, at the back of his head.
If Deadzone wasn't fast enough to combat both Peter and Wade's own enhanced reflexes and quickness, Peter would have used a bit more finesse and care in his attack. But he was desperate to save Wade from the painful shock—if he was even still breathing enough to feel it—so the tires struck his head and snapped it forward, then the others pummeled him into the ground.
Peter waited to be sure he really didn't seem to be moving any longer, before hobbling to his feet to stalk up to him. He'd made the mistake of underestimating Deadzone far too early in the fight, and his ankle had been brutally burned through several layers of skin. Ouch. Feeling ligaments and tendons scalded was a sensation he didn't want to relive.
He carefully webbed Deadzone to force him to sit up and shoved a tire over his head, trapping his arms at his side. It wasn't a perfect insulator by any means, but the man was human enough that he couldn't break out of it, and it would keep some of his roaming sparks off the NYPD's hands when Peter called it in.
Peter turned his attention to Wade, what remained of his face marred and smoking. The feeling of ' I'm going to be sick ' rushed up to meet him. The sight was something out of a horror film, but Peter could stomach it to get Wade somewhere more comfortable to heal. He was so tired , the lense over his right eye was shattered and he could smell the disgusting scent of cooked flesh in close proximity, but it was an easy task, and he could pass out afterwards.
He found a phone booth to call 911 and gave the operator approximate locations of the alley— the one with the black lightning strikes leading right up to it, you can't miss it— then picked his way back to scoop up Wade's electrified corpse to find them both a pleasant looking rooftop to lay out on.
Peter stumbled a few times on the way up, and it was a wonder he didn't send Wade's body flying when he landed in such a sloppy descent. After some hobbled navigating, he got Wade on his back and the charred pieces of his mask set aside. He'd never seen fabric heal into Wade's wounds, but he didn't want to risk it. Ripping leather out of newly formed cheeks sounded awful. Peter had had too many foreign objects grown into wounds that he had to dig out later to risk it.
His own exhaustion started to curdle in his stomach. Crawling into his decade old mattress to lick his wounds sounded perfect right then, but that meant Wade would wake up alone, without a mask, after being brutally murdered. Peter had a lot of conflicting feelings towards the recovering mercenary, but no one deserved that kind of awful reawakening.
He dropped to sit on the opposite end of the roof, leaning his back against a warm metal front of an air duct. After some adjustments, he got his mask up to his nose and tucked his head in the crook of his arm, making himself into a contorted shape that let him rest somewhat comfortably. Peter set a timer for 20 minutes on his phone, hoping Wade would be back alive at the end of his power nap, so he could drag himself home before he really passed out on the roof. He let the screen rest against his knee, his head slumping, the seconds ticking away on the clock, to squeeze out every inch of rest he could get.
***
“ I hear the secrets that you keep...when you’re talking in your sleep. ”
Peter let out an audible groan, curving closer in on himself. Someone was singing. High and obnoxiously chipper. Peter wasn’t a morning person, and being woken up by the all too familiar voice humming in his ear ignited his annoyance. He swung a hand out and brushed leather through his glove, Wade’s chest heaving with a laugh that interrupted his song.
“Gooo oood morning sleepy Spidey!” Wade reached out to pat the mask piled on top of Peter’s hair. “As flattered as I am that you waited around for lil’ ol’ me to grow my mess of a face back, it’s pretty ugly out here, and smells like it’s gonna start raining any second. So scurry on back to your batcave before you get soaked.”
Peter smacked away his hand, breathing out a sigh against his knee. He flipped his phone up, and the timer was reset to 0.00 minutes.He must have bumped the screen when he was asleep. He’d been out for over an hour. Ugh , he so didn’t feel like being awake.
A week of finals, baddies running rampant through downtown after a recent mass break-out at Ryker’s, and the general verbal lashings he got from his lab manager thanks to the head being absent on maternity leave had left him droopy with exhaustion and ready to keel over. Even his brief sleep was restless. It took him quite some time to drag his head up to look at the man crouched at his side.
Wade’s skin had healed over his face and jaw, his map of scars covering the bloody mess of scorched cheek bones that had stared him back before. Peter had never seen him fully without his mask. It struck him how nicely his face was structured, with a killer jawline. His gaze ascended across his nose, and then to stormy blue eyes that Peter watched widen a fraction when they made contact with his single brown one looking out through his shattered lense.
The world shifted around them, falling out from under their feet and leaving them to float in orbit. The lights glittered like blazing stars. The darkness spread its comforting embrace through Peter's suit until all he could feel was warmth. Nothing would ever matter, he realized, because he would never feel alone again. Even out in the depths of space and the unending expanse of the universe, Peter would feel safe. He would always feel home.
Because , Peter thought, as his eyes flitted with realization, and a spark of insanity stung his chest, Wade was his soulmate.
***
Wade had lost interest in— and even dreaded the idea of— meeting his soulmate pretty early in life.
There was no scientific proof they even existed. Rich goofs all over the world lied about meeting their soulmate the second their lifeless eyes crossed paths. Actors sold movie rights. Religious freaks held their kids hostage until they convinced their parents they'd finally met the one that could sully them all hours of the night.
And how did all these cases end? Divorce. The bloody, tear filled kind. No hate sex either, which was half the appeal. Wade wasn't going to fall victim to that sack of bullnads when he could date some of the sexiest people in the galaxy with the lowest standards. He'd been with succubi, aliens with more holes than he could count, and an occasional desperate mutant that needed to feel wanted by someone for a day. Even humans could stomach his scars if they were on the brink of death.
What fucked up destiny-creator thought sticking the Good, Hot, One in a Million Perfection Spidey,with a beautiful eye and probably a beautiful face, with Wade would be a funny joke?
Wade understood the second their eye(s) made contact for what had to have been the first time in their 3 year friendship. Nothing in the world changed as much as Wade felt himself change. It was an instant attachment that he couldn't put into words. But he knew . Spidey was his soulmate. Which meant, unfortunately, Wade was also his soulmate.
The silence that followed was loud, punctuated only by Spider-Man's terrified gasp. Wade couldn't react, only gawk, as his soulmate leapt to his feet and backed away with a sharp limp in horror.
"Wow, uh," Spidey stammered.
Wade imagined Spidey had to throw up. After all, Wade's mask had been burnt to pieces and his disgusting display of a mug was in full view. Spidey probably regretted ever giving him the time of day or pretending to like him all that time. Things would have been better if they never ever knew about each other. Spidey could have a beautiful life with a beautiful wife and beautiful fucking kids that had his doe eye(s) and the sweetest smile Wade had ever seen.
"Did you—" Spidey began, nearly tripping on himself to scramble up the air conditioning unit he'd been asleep against.
Wade knew he should lie. They could pretend it wasn't real. After all, Spidey had never shown him his face. They'd never have to make eye contact again. It was a fluke of nature. An accident. "Yeah." He spoke before his stupid ass brain could catch up. Fuck, he hated that thing. "But it doesn't—"
"I gotta go." Spidey stepped back and nearly fell. It was rare to see him trip or stumble. He could definitely tell he was fucked if he was this stuttery. "Sorry, Wade, I-"
Then he was off. Spidey had flung himself off the roof, somehow rolling his mask back over his red cheeks and chin, and took off on his web somewhere in the city where Wade couldn't eat him alive or whatever monsters that looked like him did.
***
Peter stared up at his ceiling, his stomach a dark pit of regret, and his chest aching with the worst loneliness he'd felt since Ben died.
He'd found his soulmate. He was supposed to be happy about it. And maybe some part of him was ….but Wade didn't know his face, his name, his job, his hopes and dreams, his regrets and failures, or even what color his hair was. Sure, Wade had been pretty open about himself in every way except for showing off his face to Peter. The most Peter ever saw was a hand or a chin, or the mangled mess of burnt flesh he'd treated two days ago. They'd never gotten in the realm of Peter having to reveal his own identity, and things had seemed fine that way. Peter planned to tell Wade at some point, of course. Wade was his friend, and to a degree Peterbreally trusted him, but he hadn't felt ready to take that step yet. He'd been waiting for some cosmic sign that it would be okay.
This was probably it, and it was terrifying him.
How bad could Wade be, really? If they were soulmates, they were meant for each other for a reason. Peter wouldn't be connected to someone that would hurt him or his friends or Aunt May. In his heart, he knew Wade would die multiple gruesome deaths before ever giving out his secret. Unfortunately, even knowing how trustworthy Wade was, Peter felt like he was going to have a heart attack every time the thought even popped up.
Peter had ignored Wade for 2 days. It was pretty easy, considering Wade hadn't been on patrol anywhere near Peter's normal route. Wade was avoiding him, too. He was sure of that much. Usually his burner would be blowing up with kitten videos and photos of tourists in embarrassing situations. Maybe Wade didn't want Peter as his soulmate either. Maybe the flirting and the groping and the hugs and the hand holding were really just big jokes like Peter had taken them. Yeah, Peter liked the attention sometimes when Wade made him feel...well, wanted , and he joked back in ways that weren't entirely platonic, but he had never planned to act on that.
Peter sighed and scrubbed his face. He'd been working on building the confidence to find Wade for hours. To at least apologize for running off, and maybe they could talk about what might change now that they were….
Intended.
His face burned, and Peter rolled onto his stomach and kicked his feet against the mattress to combat the flurry of butterflies knocking his organs around.
He wanted to talk to someone about this, but MJ and Harry were going steady and he was worried he'd come across as jealous flaunting his possibly destined partner in their faces. Aunt May was out of the question. He never planned for May and Wade to know about one another. The only other friends he had were the superheroes that didn't trust Wade and, well...Wade.
Peter grabbed his pillow to shove in his face, badgering himself mentally to get up. He knew where Wade lived. He could hover around the area. Maybe they'd bump into each other. He didn't even have to see him. It could just be a spontaneous coincidence if they ended up on the same roof. But Wade wouldn't find him here, so he might as well try.
He ended up in street clothes with his suit tucked underneath, the sleeves pushed up so they wouldn't peek out from under his jacket. Peter didn't really want to be a bright red and blue beacon flying through downtown when his appearance near Wade's neighborhood was supposed to be as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't like Wade knew his face, so what was the harm?
Peter jumped down the steps leading out of his apartment building onto a street that smelled of warm urine and garbage, turning down the sidewalk to find his train.
A buzz of anxiety had started low in his throat as soon as he got outside, and built with each step he took. He'd gotten two blocks when he realized it was growing stronger, and he became aware of eyes on the back of his neck. He glanced in the window of a passing building, pretending to check his hair, to get a good look at those around him. No one seemed to really be paying him attention in his immediate vicinity, but there was definitely someone there. Someone following him.
Peter's chest constricted with alertness, and he sped up his steps just a bit, not wanting to be caught in public if he had to defend himself.
The stroll to the subway was tense, but quiet. Peter tried not to let on that he knew there was someone nearby, as to avoid startling them into acting. He descended the steps as casually as possible, ducking into a particularly populated crowd and squeezing through. He could tell he hadn't lost them, wherever they were, even when he took a turn towards the public bathrooms. Trapping himself in a tiny room with someone wasn't his best move, but it was the only place he could turn into Spidey in a moment if he needed to.
He shoved the swinging door open into the musty emptiness, flattening himself against the adjacent wall. He trained his ears, picking up on nearly silent footsteps approaching. It was someone trained, maybe an assassin. Their steps tapered off outside, hesitating, and Peter took advantage. He pushed his fist out the door, grabbed hold of the first piece of fabric he could get on the body— wow this guy was big— and drug him inside the bathroom to shove against the wall. His forearm dug up to pin the man by the neck into the tile, and the assassin was surprisingly pliant, if not a little stunned by Peter's attack. He was dressed in a huge grey hoodie that shadowed his face, forcing Peter to slightly tip his head to see under it.
Those blue eyes surrounded by scar lines gazed back at him, underlined by a guilty smirk, and Peter wanted to shout at him. But first, he staggered back in realized fear, his breath catching in his chest. How?
"How?" Peter demanded, his heart beating rapidly in his chest now. His breath was tight and he nearly choked on the burst of panic.
"Hey, hey, hey," Wade held up placating hands of surrender. "Okay, I know this looks bad—"
"This is bad." Peter glared, glancing around them to be sure no one was in any of the stalls.
"That might be true." Wade admitted with a teensy bit of humor, shifting ashamedly where he stood. "And I'm sure this face of horrors is the last thing you want to see right now."
"Wade," Peter growled, his fingers clenching into fists. "Why?"
"Look, Pete," A pang of anxiety slapped Peter dizzy at hearing his own name come out of the mercenary's mouth. "Petey Pie, Princess Pete, Peteroni," Wade looked nervous now. Incredibly nervous. Maybe he had been the entire time, Peter just hadn't realized. His eyes shifted off to the side. He was having trouble deflecting his anger. "I know I shouldn't have."
"You're right." Peter said dangerously. His knuckles felt numb with how tightly he squeezed them. "So why did you break that trust?"
"Because we're soulmates—" Something on Peter's face must have made Wade shut up, because he snapped his lips closed before he could finish the word. "You already know I'm a shit bag. A shit bag that wanted to make sure you were safe." Wade rocked on his feet like a petulant child. "And if you were never going to talk to me again—totally understandable, by the way, I wouldn't wanna be with me either—"
"Wait," Peter threaded his fingers in his hair, his eyes squeezing shut in pained focus. Wade talked too much. His head was hurting. "Okay, first of all, I know it was awful of me to run."
"Again, Pumpkin Patch, I get it."
"BUT that's not permission to...to stalk me."
Wade blinked at him silently.
"And why," Peter continued, his face now burning with stress and upset. "Would I suddenly be less safe than I've been the past 9 years of my life?"
Wade hummed at this, a nervous edge to it. "Dunno." He admitted, and let out a staggered breath. "But that night you left, I just… felt more aware of how dangerous the world was." Wade winced. "And the only thing I could think about was keeping you safe."
Peter's eyes dropped to the ground.
"So I followed you home yesterday," Wade continued at Peter's lack of response. "When you were distracted. I knew it wasn't good, but then I couldn't tear myself away. I sat outside all night, and then saw you leaving today all determined and had a feeling you might be needing back up."
"How do you know my name?" Peter asked in exasperation.
"Oh," Wade grinned at him with those bright white teeth. "I broke into the leasing office."
Peter wanted to throttle him, and scream, and laugh because of course Wade would be able to find out who he was so much easier than the rest of the world. He trusted Wade enough that he barely set off his spidey sense anymore.
It all felt like too much. He didn't know where to go from there.
"So now that I've caught up with you," Wade mused to break the silence, readjusting his hoodie where it had been crumpled under Peter's force. "Where are we going on this fine evening?"
Peter looked up at him through narrowed eyes. "I was on my way to find you." He grumbled. "To apologize."
"Oh." Wade blinked. "What for?"
Peter threw his hands up. "Okay, great. Glad we got this solved." He pushed the door open to the subway bathroom, emerging out into the dank hallway again. "Go home, dude. I'm going back to my apartment."
"Aww, Petey," Wade was at his side in a second. "Can't I see your bedroom? Since we're soul—"
"Don't."
"Heartmates?" He returned cheekily. "Is that better?"
Peter's eyes leveled on Wade. It did feel a little less jarring to call the mercenary something so ridiculous versus the harsh reality that they were…
"Fine, Heartmates." Peter rubbed his forehead. "And, no, you don't get to see my bedroom."
Wade just hummed in response, and Peter had the feeling he was going to ignore anything Peter said anyways.
***
Peter stared across the room at Wade, who was sprawled out on his bed and pointing out his favorite of Peter's pictures that were hung on his wall. He sat in his computer chair, tense with annoyance and caution, wondering how the hell he had been talked into letting Wade up into his apartment.
"What are you trying to do?" Peter interrupted Wade's tirade on pseudo art science with the straightforward question, his eyebrows knit.
"Discuss monotone color theory. Were you even listening?" Wade scolded.
"Finding me, trying to protect me," Peter's arms tightened on his chest and he sank in his seat. "And now this."
Wade fell silent, something Peter wasn't used to. It always meant something was very wrong in his thoughts that usually resulted in violence.
"I don't expect you to want me," Wade murmured. "In fact, I would very much discourage putting the health of that tight booty in my hands, as much as I want to squeeze it." His bulk shifted, making Peter's tiny twin bed groan under his weight. "But just because you have your life to live and love to give doesn't mean I can just sit by knowing Spider-Man is my sou—heartmate and all the bad guys in New York want him dead."
Peter's teeth worried his bottom lip as he struggled to fathom an answer. "It's not that I'm... against the idea of us being heartmates." He said cautiously. "But you kill people sometimes."
Wade gave an agreeing nod. "Yep, just stab the kiddy-nappers right in the gullet."
"I don't know how I'm supposed to be okay with that."
Wade thought about it as well, sitting up. "Wouldn't expect you to, baby boy."
"You've been better about it, though." Peter started to mumble, and Wade stiffened across from him.
"Nope, I'm still the mass murdering asshole you've always known and hated."
"I don 't hate you. Believe me, Wade, this would be way easier if I did. Or maybe it would be worse, because this would be devastating."
Wade fell silent again.
"You're actually one of my best friends." Peter huffed. "So it kind of makes sense." He dropped his head back in irritation. "Is it unfair for me to tell you that I'd give this a chance, but you absolutely have to stop killing first?"
Wade didn't respond, so Peter lifted his head to see him statue-like atop his mattress. "Wade?"
"Jesus fucking dammit." Wade cursed, battering the sides of his head with his hands, making Peter jump in shock out of his chair. "No, no, no, no, Webs, you're supposed to like someone better. "
Peter looked affronted. "First of all, don't decide that for me. Secondly, you could be better—"
"No!" Wade pointed an accusatory finger across at Peter as he hopped to his feet as well. He was taller than Peter, and much wider. Without his suit, he made Peter feel pretty small. "Putting curls and a bow on horse shit doesn't change the fact that it's a steaming, fly-infested heap of dung."
"I—" Peter blinked in confusion. "What?"
"I am a pile of poo." Wade slapped his chest to emphasize his title of honor. "Remember when I found out who you were without asking? And all those nights I spent trying to get you to let me suck that little pecker of yours? And don't even get me started on the impure thoughts I have every day."
Peter’s lips opened and then shut again, at a loss for words.
"So you need to turn me down nice and proper, right fucking now, so I can lick my wounds and spend my whole life dedicated to you without a worry of hurting my soulmate . Don't give me even a slight chance because, you just watch honey badger, I'll jump those bones so fast and never let go."
Peter's eyes widened at the declaration. Huh. Wade was insecure. Probably as insecure about this as Peter was. Maybe more.
"I don't wanna turn you down." Peter frowned.
Wade slapped his face and nose dived into Peter's pillow. "Even your shampoo smells fucking amazing." He cursed, muffled, into the fluffy fabric.
Despite himself, Peter snorted, and broke out into a stupid laugh he tried to cover. Wade peeked over the edge of the pillow, looking suspicious.
"DP," Peter said through his broken giggles, trying to clear his expression. "Just shut up." He rubbed his face, getting himself under control through the ridiculousness of it all. He calmed enough to sit back down in the chair, his toe digging into the carpet to turn it back and forth anxiously. "Okay, we're… in this situation for a reason, right?" He asked as he rubbed his arm, nervous goosebumps rising on his skin. "Even if we might not feel perfect right now doesn't mean we won't be eventually."
Wade continued to eye him from his huddle, but he finally spoke into his sleeve. "I just have to change."
"Yeah, maybe." Peter agreed, biting his lip. "We don't have to like force anything, right? But you stalking me at least eases some of the secrets between us."
"Well when you say it like that, I almost don't feel bad for doing it." Wade grinned as he sat up.
"That wasn't forgiveness." Peter said pointedly. "You're still on...probation."
"Probation?"
"Probation." Peter nodded.
"With you as my PO I'll always be on my best behavior." Wade winked. "Cavity search? Make sure I have nothing of interest on my person?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "I don't think you're understanding the concept. But we'll work up to it."
***
The movie had long been forgotten, and it was playing for so long that Peter wasn't even sure who half of the characters on screen were anymore. It served as little more than background noise, buzzing away on the big screen in Wade's apartment.
They'd been talking for hours about pretty much everything. The nice part about Wade having found out Peter's identity 9 months ago was that he could express every specific issue he'd had to keep guarded to avoid exposing who he was. Wade was an active listener as well; he memorized which teachers Peter just couldn't stand and recoiled at their name, or jogged Peter's memory when he couldn't remember the name of that really good coffee shop he found. After patrols Peter often ended up at Wade's place, crashed out on his couch and complaining about new injuries. Wade never seemed to mind, even when blood dribbled onto the cushions.
"I don't get it," Peter said through half laughter, his feet outstretched to rest on Wade's thigh and his head perched on the arm of his couch. He'd been narrating an annoying run-in with his lab partner that afternoon, and even Wade was snickering along with him. "He's just so—"
A warm weight settled on Peter's ankle through his suit. He glanced down his leg spotting Wade's big hand spread out over it. His thumb rubbed a small arch over his ankle bone, and at Peter's halt in conversation, Wade himself stiffened.
"Right, sorry—"
Peter breathed out when his lips pressed against the hot, waiting mouth of Wade, making him swallow back whatever apology he was going to make. It took a second of prompting for Wade to sink his fingers in Peter's hair at the back of his head and drag him in closer, bending his head back until his neck ached. Peter didn't notice the discomfort much.
He'd been wanting to do this for a while.
When they drew back, Peter was out of breath. The kiss hadn't been especially long, but his chest was fluttery and there was no room for his lungs to expand.
Wade gazed down at him, looking perplexed. Then his lips spread into a grin. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Peter answered. He didn't even know what conversation they were having, but it somehow made so much sense. "We're heartmates, after all."