Chapter Text
-Peter-
Peter honestly hadn't meant to torture himself so thoroughly with his constant guilt and worries about his patent Parker luck racking up a body count. It was really just coincidence that all of his loved ones happened to reside in the same location, an off-the-beaten-path cemetery, which just also happened to be between his apartment and the Daily Bugle. Peter started doing his self-pronounced "rounds" starting with his most recent loss, despite telling himself living without Aunt May had been getting easier, he still had to kneel to keep from swaying when he was face to face with the tombstone. Suspicious knee stains from the light blanket of snow on his too well-worn jeans be damned, he was grieving, a process that never seemed to stop so long as Peter had any attachments.
He greeted his aunt and uncle so quietly that the falling snow flakes might have been louder, but Peter didn't really think they would mind. He went on to tell them what he usually did, that they were missed, what he was up to, that it was hard, and that he hoped they could be proud of what was left of him. He left out the fact that he still hadn't graduated, set behind by financially necessary gap years and part-time schooling. He liked to think they wouldn't be disappointed in him, but more importantly if they were hearing him, he didn't want them to keep worrying about him like they had for as long as they'd been responsible for him.
Taking in the wilted flowers on the shared plot, Peter took a mental note that he'd have to sacrifice something in his nightmare of a budget to afford new flowers. Selfishly he hoped the flowers on Gwen and his parents' plots were still hanging on.
He made the trek over to Gwen's plot, his knees burned from their exposure to the wet cold now that he stood, and his heart found itself a resting spot in his stomach, incapacitated by the feeling of being eaten away by stomach acid. He ignored the bile in his throat as he apologized to Gwen for the too many-eth time. At least he found himself able to be more honest with her, using her resting place as his own personal therapist. He hoped somewhere she was calling him an idiot, too in his own head to see his way through his probably self-made problems. He even updated her on her friends' lives, what he could gleam based on his very limited glimpses into their lives based on his infrequent social media check-in's.
He ignored the voice in his head screaming at him about how she was only gone because of him, he knew being Spiderman killed her, he knew he couldn't take it back. He knew there were other people he could still help, so long as he kept putting on the mask. No matter the pain, no matter the exhaustion, he couldn't make up for her death, but he could save others.
Leaving her grave behind was always the hardest.
He didn't really remember his parents all too well, so he talked about math and science, even doing his homework with them in an unusual twisted version of a typical childhood experience. He had been looking at their research now that he was educated enough on the subject to understand it and hoped he had something to share that they wouldn't have found obvious. He even liked to talk about their writing styles, how he could tell who was writing which passage based off of nothing but the poetry of the way thoughts were scrawled and connections drawn.
Peter let out a deep sigh, letting the vice grip of grief ease up on his heart, shoulders releasing a small bit of tension. Before realizing the low buzzing at the back of his skull wasn't a tension head ache at all, his 6th sense was rumbling with light but persistent caution.
Pretending like the only thing that was wrong was his chronic grief he looked around subtly like he was just watching the snow fall. Finding nothing out of the ordinary only made him feel more anxious; nonetheless, he needed to get home. Unclenching his fists, he just hoped the feeling would dissipate before he got too close to his apartment, he had labs to write up that he'd already put off for too long. Deciding to stay on a path with more foot traffic meant taking the long way back, but Peter really didn't need to be running into trouble out from under the mask. Making a stop at a coffee shop, to justify his change in routine was a strategic move and not giving in to the desperate need for caffeine that he usually had to ignore for the sake of his wallet. Hoping that his spidey-senses would let up by the time his far too expensive for mostly foam coffee was ready proved to be asking for too much as he continued his commute. Warming his hands on his cup, he noted the tingling had sharpened. He had already gathered that he was being pursued, seeing as the feeling had lasted this long, but if it had gone on for all this time, it wasn't likely he was going to be attacked in public. He could only reason that whoever was tailing him unseen had gotten closer. Thinking about his own experiences with tailing Peter thought it was likely he'd been followed from a higher vantage point, then when he was guaranteed to be still for a while, like in line for a coffee, his stalker had moved to the ground. Resistng the urge to roll his eyes at himself he ignored the growing clenching of his stomach as he rounded on his apartment.
He made his way up the covered steps briskly, unlocking the door with a practised efficiency that was impressive considering how old and faulty the locking mechanism was. The persistent buzzing of his senses relaxed as he closed the glass-paned doors and rounded a corner, out of sight from the street. Letting out a rattling breath, Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, displeased with the fact that if his stalker didn't know where he lived before they definitely did now.
Biting into the knuckle of his thumb, he couldn't help but hope that Peter hadn't just inherited a Spiderman problem. On autopilot Peter found himself pushing up his door without consciously going up the stairs that groaned with ever shift of weight. He only got the door a few inches open before he heard a voice ring out.
"Hey Honey! Welc-" Peter slammed the door shut.
He stared at the number on the door, this was most definitely his apartment which meant- fuck. Pulling out his phone and just barely getting 9-1-1 dialled, he spun away from the door and took one step before a hand was wrapped around his phone hand and an arm was wrapped around his middle. He was letting out an undignified grunt, or yelp, or really any word other than squeak which was unfortunately the apt description for the noise that escaped him. Before he could get a decent grip on the arm around his waist, he was pulled back into his apartment and up against the inside of his door. He spun around and his eyes widened at the sight of Deadpool, his masked identity's patrol partner/self-declared BFF. Before he could think to say anything stupid that might give said identity away, a heavy hand was pressing him into the door.
"Peter, Peter. You don't text, you don't call." Pool drawls out, eyes snapping to the phone he'd stolen from Peter's hand at the mention of texting, he tossed it over his shoulder. Placing his newly freed hand against the door next to Peter's head, he was forced just to watch his third most expensive possession soar through the air. He made a small noise of protest, like a dying animal.
He knew Deadpool wouldn't hurt Peter Parker, Pool was off his whole killing kick and he didn't much like the idea of hurting people living in poverty. It was almost enough to put Peter at ease, but he wasn't Spiderman right now, which meant he shouldn't know that. Pool grabbed Peter by his cheeks, looming over him imposingly, "Don't worry about that, I aimed for the bed, your phone is fine," Deadpool paused voice lowering in volume and tone, "you on the other hand, well that's still undecided. Understood?"
Peter nodded, stilted due to the hand holding his face, doing his best scared shitless impression all the while holding heavy eye to mask contact. Pool put his hand back against the door, getting way more into Peter's space as his other hand went out of Peter's field of vision, but he didn't need to see it to recognize the clunk of the door being locked.
"Good boy, Petey-pie," Deadpool whispered, "making eye contact and I didn't even have to ask." A gloved hand stroked Peter's face before patting him on the cheek, and leading Peter away from the door as he sputtered. He was shoved into the only chair he owned, which creaked at the abuse.
"Well, almost a good boy." Deadpool pulled out a knife and toyed with its freshly sharpened edge.
"See, cause good boys don't stalk people, do they, Petey?" Pool straddled his knees, one hand for leverage on the back of the chair, the other swiping over Peter's cheek with the dull side of the blade.
"Stalking? You broke into-" Wade shushed him with the blade gently pressed to his lips.
"Now now, Peter, I'm not going to give you too much of a hard time, watching you visit everyone you've ever cared about in a cemetery really kinda killed my pain-inflicting boner." The shock of the whole situation started to make way for honest-to-God anger Peter hadn't felt without the mask on in a while.
Then again, the whole maskless situation, and the cold presence of the knife on his lips kept him from voicing his anger. That didn't keep him from glaring, though. Pool only laughed in response, whispering feisty appreciatively under his breath.
"Here's the thing sugar lips," the pressure from the knife on Peter's mouth increased when Deadpool said the nickname. Peter's one-way glaring match only rose in intensity.
"I haven't heard from our little mutual crush in a while," Peter vaguely remembered meaning to replace the lost charger for his shitty burner phone. "Which usually wouldn't be such a big deal, but you see no one's seen him swinging around for weeks," Midterms had been kicking Peter's ass, along with Jameson, who wasn't happy about using older photos of Spiderman, instead of catching him 'red-handed'. "And well I'm running out of avenues to track him down." Peter could hear the strain and actual worry in Deadpool's tone that someone who hadn't spent countless nights sharing food and quips on rooftops wouldn't even begin to pick up on. His glare softened to a medium simmer.
"Now I know about you and Spidey-cakes and your little arrangement, where he doesn't mind that you take your little stalker pictures of him-" Pool looked almost dazed for a second, "Which rude, I'm way more ripped, that's what you like about him, right? Oh," his voice got lower again, "and I'm way more deserving of all the bad press." Peter felt his bottom lip split, pulling a slight gasp from him as blood trickled down his chin.
The blood seemed to snap Deadpool out of whatever had taken over his mood, he clipped the knife to his belt and wiped the blood from open lips. Peter grabbed at Pool's wrist instinctively, a small un-Spiderman-like whimper escaping him.
Deadpool's eyes found Peter's again, "Sorry Petey, honest mistake." Pool hummed wiping his lightly bloodied hand on Peter's jeans; at least they were dark enough it would be hard to notice.
Biting his bloodied lip into his mouth to suck away the blood, trying to minimize the bleeding, Peter practically whispered, "I don't know anything, I swear." He looked down, never the good liar but, also to break the eye contact Pool was making with his lips.
Deadpool grabbed his face again, wrenching his head back slightly painfully so Peter had to look down his cheeks to see his captor. With his neck exposed, Peter felt the now familiar cool metal of Pool's knife tap against his throat.
Peter flinched, liking the idea of a knife mishap against his throat even less than against his face.
Deadpool hummed, "Too much Pete?" Pool drawled slow and quiet, Peter's grip on the other man's wrist had tightened.
Peter tried to nod, despite the grasp on his face and the knife dangerously close to breaking skin. Pool hummed again, the knife disappeared but Deadpool's hand was back quickly fixed on his throat instead this time. The pressure was minimal but Peter knew it wasn't going to be long before he started to feel the burn in his lungs. Peter tried to protest but his groan only came out as a breathy rumble.
"I'd tell you I'm sorry kid, but I'm not. See, I've got this thing where I really don't like being lied to, especially when it pertains to the well-being of the hottest spider themed hero in the multiverse." After a beat, he added. "And I'm including all five feet and seven inches of black widow." Peter had to resist the urge to laugh, but he couldn't completely keep the amused smile from appearing at the corners of his eyes.
The grip on Peter's throat constricted until he couldn't take a breath, he gasped uselessly eyes wide. He grabbed Deadpool's wrist with both hands, clawing desperately for the ability to keep his strength at believable broke-ass-nerd levels.
"Do you find this funny? Because I can make this interrogation a lot less pleasant." Peter shook his head desperately, eyes wide as his extra sense went haywire.
The grip loosened, and Peter choked as he overestimated the amount of air his lungs were ready to take in. A thumb wiped away a tear Peter hadn't noticed slipping free.
"This doesn't have to be hard Peter," Deadpool whispered, as he wrenched Peter's hands from his arm. Gathering his wrists in one crushing hand, "just tell me what you know." Peter was shaking his head, throat not prepared for speech.
"That's really too bad, Spidey really won't approve of us doing this the hard way." Peter's breath hitched as adamantium cuffs were affixed to his wrists, and he was pulled out of his seat.
Physically and otherwise out of it, he fell into Pool's chest, "Wait, wait, wait!" he pleaded voice rough.
These cuffs wouldn’t even give Spider-strength a chance to get a run for its money, sending a new wave of panic through Pool's captive.
He was deposited back into his seat, Deadpool remained standing this time, arms crossed like a disapproving parent. "We ready to talk?" Peter groaned, desperate and unsure how to maneuver his way out of this situation.
"I don't know! I swear I don't know anything, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I can't help you!" Peter was officially getting overwhelmed by the screeching of his spidey-sense.
He once again found himself being ripped from his seat, by his shirt collar this time. He made a desperate sound as he fell, finding his full weight supported by a single arm as he stumbled forward, before the world spun and he was being pulled into Deadpool's centre.
"Okay, hard way it is." Peter decided to hit fuck it and slammed back an elbow into Deadpool's ribs before slipping out of his grip, making a mad dash for the phone on his bed. That's probably what a civilian would do, right?
He fell onto his stomach, reach shortened by his cuffed hands, he fumbled with the device before a hand dragged him back by the ankle. A hand landed on the device before Peter could even type in his full stupidly long password, maybe cyber security wasn't that important after all. He cursed as Pool threw the phone back out of his reach, he made a defeated noise, cursing as Wade held his hands in place via chains. Leaning up against Peters back as he squirmed, ankles fallen open to accommodate Deadpool's less than wanted presence. Deadpool hummed again, and Peter could practically feel his gaze on his ass, "Tempting really, but I like my participants a lot more willing, not trying to catch a non-con tag," Pool spoke right into Peter's ear as he larger man weighed down on him, "you feel me?" Deadpool rumbled.
Peter's exhale was more akin to choking when Deadpool finally leaned off of him. And then he did choke when he was hoisted up by the back of his collar. He found himself being shushed and his arms pinned to his chest as his back hit Deadpool's chest once again.
"You're not going to cause me any more trouble are you now, Parker?" Peter shook his head more than a little frantic.
"I appreciate the enthusiasm, but it really isn't up to you, doll." Deadpool muttered, as he fiddled with the pockets of his utility belt.
Peter didn't even have the time to use his Spiderman insider knowledge to figure out what Deadpool was doing before a sharp heat was blooming in his neck, as Pool depressed the plunger of a needle into his neck. Peter's head swam as he needed increasing support from Deadpool to stay upright. His breaths became shallower as his thoughts got harder to grasp and sound came into his head like it was under bathwater with the tap still running.
"This doesn't usually take so long." Were the last words Peter heard, although he was distantly conscious of Deadpool looking at the syringe with an accusatory glare.