Work Text:
“The hell’s the matter with you?”
Okay, rude.....
-
It’s been a quiet night up until now and, quite frankly, Peter had been enjoying it. He’d logged a lot of lab hours this week, so his schedule is feeling pretty off. Not that he’s complaining, though, alright? He’s not. He definitely loves school. The graduate program for chemical engineering is fascinating - hells yeah! - and challenging - well, yeah, duh - buuuut it’s also time consuming. And he’s got patrol plus some research at Stark Industries ...it’s just a lot some weeks.
Again, not complaining!
After college he’d decided to take time off of school because the coursework and the Spider-Man gig had gotten to be a little too much.
He’d had no semblance of balance back then, even less so than he has now.
Tony Stark had tutted about that but -’sure kid, it’s your call’ - offered him some lower-level lab work in one of his research departments. He’d promised better to come when Peter picked a field and got at least one more degree, so the younger man took a couple years to breathe and live a little. Then he’d reconnected with some old professors at Columbia to get back into the swing of things.
Point is: no, he’s not complaining. Life’s going quite swimmingly right now, in fact.
But he is a little sleepy. It’s not an excuse for an itsy bitsy mistake, but it is a reason.
Not that it was even a mistake at first.
It was just an alley brawl like so many other nights when knuckleheads got big ideas. That’s an everyday sort of thing for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. In his defense, probably anyone would have done the same thing he did if they’d seen what he’d seen.
Picture this: a car, tires squealing, tears off down the street, and left behind in the alley are two men. One has the other boxed-in against the wall with a gun shoved under his chin.
Peter has seen enough variations of this same scenario to know that 98% of the time that the situation is pretty cut-and-dry.
He’s a scientist, okay; he’ll take those odds.
Turns out the supposed victim had a gun, too. So then every-damn-body got webbed up.
“Web now, ask questions later” is his more family-friendly version of Wade’s favorite motto.
And, ya know, he felt alright about one man webbed to the brick of the alley wall and the other man unconscious with his hands bound tightly behind his back. Things had not gone to his initial plan, but it all worked out. You’re welcome, Queens; you’re two goons safer....
And then:
“The hell’s the matter with you?”
Okay, rude.
“Uh, how’s that, now?” Peter spins on his heel and strolls over to Big Man, the initial aggressor who he’d webbed to the wall. “Am I the wanna-be criminal?”
But once he’s close he can see his mistake. The alley is dark, but his eyes are sharp and they know the face before him. It had only been splattered across the news for months.
Frank Castle.
He’d gone and interrupted The Punisher mid-punishment. How hadn’t he spotted that immediately?
Shit.
And, then again ....is this a mistake?
A real mistake? For real?
Because, okay, Frank Castle isn’t out here raping or robbing banks but ...everyone knows he kills people. It’s not a secret. He doesn’t even hide it; he admits it.
“...aw, jeeze, you’re...” Peter’s shoulders slump and he flops his head back to stare up towards the inky sky - why tonight?
He’s in a real conundrum now, isn’t he?
“Yup”
“So he’s....” Peter glances several feet away at the bound man he’d knocked out.
“Yup,” Castle answers again in his gravely voice.
“So they’re...?” he gestures off vaguely at the street to reference the car that had escaped.
“Uh-huh”
“Damn ...well, no, it’s alright,” Peter cheers himself right back up. “I remember the license plate...”
His eyes had seen the plate even as the care had accelerated away. That’s the kind of shit he mentally logs and probably won’t forget for months.
He can’t help it.
“Great. How about you gimme that, and then cut me down so I can be on my way...” the man demanded.
But Peter hesitates.
Because: conundrum.
He has tracked down murderers before, and he hands them all to the cops. On the other hand, Frank only kills bad guys. On yet another hand, one person shouldn’t get to be judge, jury, and executioner, right? Peter has already decided where he lands on this.
But...isn’t Peter playing house with someone who is quite unrepentant about his own killings? But he’s cleaning up his act and...
No. He needs to focus. Frank Castle.
“Right. About that ...I’m not so sure,” Peter’s voice may or may not raise an octave as he shares with the older man.
“Come again?”
“I need to think about this...” Peter glances from Castle to the unconscious man, and then back to The Punisher.
“Think about what?” the man scowls at him. “Hey! Think about what?!” he strains and shouts after Peter, now.
Because Peter is walking away and down the alley to the thick metal door that has been left hanging open. He is confident that neither criminal nor vigilante are going anywhere any time soon, so he can play Detective Spidey for a few minutes. Peter has many scruples here, but he is also well aware of the fact that Castle has a particular code regarding his ... ....well, his skills set.
So he’s curious.
Peter lets himself into an eerily quiet kitchen. It’s small and cramped, and it doesn’t smell quite as delicious as you’d hope a kitchen would. However, Peter doesn’t think that it’s the smell of sour mildew that has the spidey-senses prickling at his neck...
“Yup, dead bodies ...it’s the dead bodies,” he sighs once he leaves the kitchen and enters the small bar.
In the back of his mind, it bothers Peter that he otherwise feels fairly casual about this except to note that he has seen worse. He shoves the numbness aside for now.
Whoever had apparently been tending the bar is slumped on the ground, his throat cut. There’s another man by the front door with a bullet in the back of the head; he’s splayed on the thin carpet.
The drugs behind the bar might’ve had the spidey-senses tingling, too, or the thick stacks of cash on the table ...definitely the spiral notebook full of coded scribbles and various dollar amounts. Peter likes a good thriller now and then, but this shit just feels ominous. The tingling on his neck creeps over the back of his scalp and makes him shudder like he can physically shake the feeling off.
Castle had clearly been onto something here.
“Drugs?” Spider-man guesses aloud when he returns to the fresh air of the alley.
There are only so many things that rake in the kind of money that was under the counter.
“...and whatnot,” the dark man nods.
And whatnot.
“Awesome...” Peter grumbles because it truly had been a nice night until now.
He should have gone to bed early. Definitely.
“Look, are you lettin’ me go or callin’ the cops on me? Or what?”
Peter just blinks at Castle and hopes that the overly-large eyes of his suit will make the man uneasy enough that he’ll hush because he really needs to think. Despite the natural blinking, many people find the disproportion of his eyes un-nerving.
Apparently Marines are immune to this strategy.
“C’mon,” Castle roars and tugs against his binds.
“I’m definitely calling the cops on that guy,” Peter nods to the man on the alley floor, “and on whatever that is,” he points next towards the door he’d come back out through.
The only unknown so far is Frank himself. Spider-man has never specifically hunted-down The Punisher precisely because Peter has warring thoughts on what the other man does. He’d come across him once in an abandoned warehouse, but Peter had been bleeding a bit and limping hard so he’d simply pretended to be temporarily blind. Now, however, he is staring straight at Castle’s face and there is a choice to be made.
A choice he’s too tired to want to fully invest in.
Let him go ...and someone else could die tonight.
Call him in ...and there’s undeniably more crime on the streets.
Let him go ...and who knows when Castle could go completely off the rails.
Call him in ...and the reason some people sleep easier at night is stuck in jail.
Let him go ...and Peter might find himself in a fight. Then he’ll just have to web him up again and definitely call the cops.
Because that’s how Frank Castle gets in and out of situations, isn’t it? With his fists, or with his guns.
Definitely with guns.
And it’s not like he’s scared of Castle. At least... not really. Frank has been fighting for his life since Peter was a scrawny nothing, but he is definitely stronger than the other, decidedly human, man. Peter could handle it ...and yet the Marine is somehow oddly intimidating anyway.
On that note, he moves forward to frisk the other vigilante. Castle aims a kick at his chest and, you know: fair enough. But Peter dodges it and subjects him to the same treatment as the third man in the alley; he flings the leg away and punches Castle in the abdomen. He admittedly takes it better than the other jackass, but he wheezes anyway.
“Shit, kid...”
Kid. What the hell, thanks a lot. Castle gets a half-hearted slap to the cheek for that.
All in all, Frank had two more guns on him, a Ka-Bar, and a switchblade. It’s more than seems reasonable, but also less then Peter had suspected.
“Gonna take me in now, sheriff?” Castle snorts derisively. “Jesus Christ ...like the cops are going to swoop in and make it all okay? Gonna weed out the real problems in the city? Don’t bullshit me; these fucks’ll be right back out on the streets...”
Peter clenches his jaw hard, hard enough that his teeth grind together and make a sound he doesn’t much like. As if Castle needs to tell him all of this. As if he hasn’t had to face this reality countless times and wrestled with what the hell the whole point is.
“I’m not an idiot; I know how it works...”
“Then let me outta here,” Castle strains again with a grunt. “C’mon!”
Peter honestly doesn’t think he can do that in good conscience.
But he isn’t sure he can call him in and be 100% happy either. There is a reason he has chosen to avoid Castle...
He’d considered turning Wade in back when they first started running into each other on the streets, too. In fact he might have done if there hadn’t just been a disturbing exposé in The Bulletin at the time detailing life in The Ice Box, where criminal mutants are so often imprisoned. Deadpool had started working on a whole new leaf ...and the rest is history, right?
At this, Peter realizes he has overlooked the obvious. He knows someone who doesn’t share all of his qualms. Knows him quite well.
Unsure why he’s only just now thinking of this, Peter shuffles further down the alley while he fishes his cellphone from the double-flap pocket at his thigh. If he can get Wade to come and take over here, Wade won’t second-guess letting The Punisher go. Hell, he might give the guy a hug. Then Peter can continue his don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy regarding Frank Castle.
That seems ....still morally grey, but more or less fine. Right? Maybe.
He glances behind himself before dialing as if he thinks someone would see the number he’s calling.
“C’mon, c’mon...please...”
‘Hiiiii, Baby Boy! Heading back? You miss me already?’ Wade teases, for Peter had stopped by earlier for dinner before heading out.
His easy tone instantly makes Peter relax.
“No, I’m still out in the middle of it,” Peter admits and darts a look over his shoulder again. “You busy?”
‘Nah, you need back-up? Gonna bash some skulls in? You can count on me!’
“Yeah, thanks ...I need a favor. No questions asked?” Peter hopes because it’s not like he’s never done very strange favors for Wade.
Wade gets himself in and out of all kinds of shit, not all of which Peter even wants details about.
‘... ...sure,’ Wade chirps after brief hesitation while he thinks. ‘Like right now? How emergent are we talking?’
“Yes, now,” Peter rolls his eyes. “The Punisher is here...” he adds incentive.
There is another short pause, and the silence of it is absolute through the phone.
‘You hurt?’ Wade’s voice is lower.
“No,” Peter rushes to promise. “No, I just need a hand.”
‘You got it. Imma change; send me a location?”
“Thanks”
Judging himself again for not calling sooner, Peter hangs up so he can text Wade where he’s at. Then he heads back towards his new probably-not-ever-buddy.
“Cops comin’, then?” Castle is glaring daggers at him.
“....no. Just a friend.”
“Aw, hell; are you friends with Red?” Frank tugs on his arms anew and throws some real weight into it.
Peter isn’t sure how to answer that because, yes, Deadpool does were a lot of red. However, he’s pretty sure he would have heard if these two had much of a relationship.
“Who’s that?” he plays ignorant and hops up to perch on the same dumpster he’d hid behind earlier to miss bullets.
He cocks his head curiously at Frank.
“...Daredevil,” the Marine rolls his eyes like he’s sick of all the funny names and bullshit.
If that is the case, he might not like who’s coming.
Nevertheless, Peter brightens.
“Oh, yeah, I know him,” and of course Peter has heard about the two clashing in Hells Kitchen a couple years ago. Who hadn’t? “But no. We aren’t, ya know, friends.”
Not really, anyway. They’ve fought side-by-side several times, but it’s generally more of an accident than anything else. A same place, same time sort of thing. Maybe a mutual admiration society, but separate all the same.
That news makes Castle go still, and he narrows his eyes across the alley at Spider-man. He feels that if he were simply here as Peter Parker on the street, he’d be intimidated by the look. Given their positions, however, it’s obvious that it’s mostly just false bravado on Castle’s part.
Frank doesn’t dane to stay still for long, and Peter can admire that. He tugs like hell at his arms and worms about restlessly. Peter is 99% sure he’s not going anywhere, but given the luck he’s having tonight he chances nothing. He keeps an attentive watch while they wait.
Sooner than he expects, Peter hears a pitchy little whistle growing closer to the end of the alley. He stands up where he’s balancing on the lip of the dumpster, and when a tall, thick silhouette comes into view he waves a hand in acknowledgement.
“Spidey? Is that you! Imagine seeing you here!” Deadpool calls dramatically.
“The hell...” Castle is squinting down the alley at this newcomer.
“Looks like you’re having a busy night,” Deadpool nonchalantly kicks the still unconscious, and probably concussed, man who’s tied up on the ground. “And look who’s out of hibernation ...haven’t heard a peep from you lately, Skull-Boy.”
Deadpool leans in curiously once he reaches the bound Punisher.
“Great ...another one...” Frank takes in Deadpool’s costume with distaste.
“Nah ...there’s no one quite like me, Pumpkin,” Wade’s laugh seems light and cheery.
“Yeah, yeah; I know who you are...” and Frank doesn’t look happy about it in any sort of way.
“Spidey,” the mercenary swivels away from the Marine. “Care to explain?”
“Ah-ah,” Spider-man raises a blue-gloved finger and wags it back and forth. “Not the deal.”
“Right,” Deadpool comes to attention and recalls the terms of the favor. “Let me rephrase: what would you like me to do? I assume this isn’t a hit, though I’m not entirely above that...”
Peter tuts and hops lightly to the ground.
“No, nothing like that ...just, uh...hang here?” Peter’s suggestion is admittedly lame. “He’s probably got ...maybe another thirty minutes or so before they disintegrate,” he points at the webs holding Castle. “Or you can work on cutting him out - up to you.”
“M’kay,” Deadpool’s masked face bobs agreeably without further persuasion. “And why aren’t you doing it?”
Peter thinks this once again flies in the face of “no questions asked” but sighs anyway.
“I have reasons ... ...plus, ya know, I made him mad...” and Peter’s gotta to chase-down a car, not fight a decorated veteran.
“Oh,” Deadpool swings his head around once more. “You threatening Spidey now?” his eyes narrow at the trapped man.
“What?” Frank screws up his face. “The hell? No ...you think I’m gonna switch my MO from offing human traffickers to killing Spider-man,” he tutted. “C’mon...”
So is that what these schmucks were up to?
“You did point a gun at me,” Peter defends his assumption that he’d have a fight on his hands if he were to rip Castle free.
He thinks he’s perfectly justified. And he’s tired, dammit. Yes, he’d inadvertently started this, he’ll own that, but he can’t deal with The Punisher right now. It sounds both physically and mentally exhausting.
“Tisk tisk...” Wade shakes his head slowly.
“Aw, get off it - you came flying outta nowhere!” Castle argues, maybe offended.
“He does tend to do that,” Deadpool referees.
Totally should’ve gone to bed early.
“Yeah, yeah ...look, I have a car to find and report. You two have fun!” Peter plants hands on the nearest wall and starts climbing away from the both of them.
“What? Hey! Don’t you call them in!” Castle roars. “I know where they’re going!” he continues to shout, but Spider-man dances too quickly up the wall and disappears over the edge of the roof. “Damn it...”
“Human trafficking, huh?” Deadpool muses, eyeing the man thoughtfully.
Because Wade Wilson knows good work when he sees it, and Frank Castle ...well, he does a fine ass job.
“Mmhmm,” Frank eyes the merc right back in an imperious sort of way.
Deadpool is well known in many circles, and Frank only half-disapproves. The masked man kills for hire, and that leaves a sour taste in Frank’s mouth. He does seem to have a flare for certain sorts of targets, though, and Castle can get behind that. He watches the mercenary stare at him with the blank, white eyes of his mask.
Wade studies him, then glances up where Spider-man had disappeared...then back and forth a few times.
“Ugh,” he shoulders slump. “Can’t do it,” he shakes his head and really is sorry for it. “I’ve got a specific commission tonight,” he decides and leans a shoulder casually on the brick a few feet from The Punisher himself. “Can I ask you something?”
“...I dunno; can I stop you?” is his doubtful retort.
“No,” Deadpool nods happily. “Did you really think you could do this here at night and Webs wouldn’t find you?”
“...call me optimistic.”
“I’ll just call you stupid, thanks,” Deadpool keeps up his light tone. “Now. Riddle me this: do you see Spidey more during the day or at night?”
Castle’s eyes tick a bit narrower at being spoken to like a child, but he still answers.
“...night.”
And this is perfectly true. There are times when Spider-man is out during the daytime, like when there’s a giant (sometimes literally) emergency of if he’s working with The Avengers, but most of his exploits are under the cover of night.
“Bingo! Alex, we have a winner!” Deadpool cheers and pulls one of his tactical knives into view to he can flip open the blade. “So you might want to shakedown your unfriendly pimps during normal working hours,” he taps Frank on the nose with the blade and then begins to work at cutting his left arm free.
“I’m more of a night time guy, myself,” Frank mutters.
“Your choice; hope you like lots of interruptions...”
“The fuck’s he got you on speed dial for, anyway?” Mr. Punisher grumbles.
“Do you always look gift horses in the mouth? Or am I a special case?” Deadpool pauses in what he feels is an extremely altruistic act; he’s never helped anyone else who’s pointed a gun at Spidey...not on purpose, anyway.
Either way, he returns to cutting. He isn’t scared of Frank Castle. In fact, he’ll be downright pleased if the man tries to pick a fight with him.
“I’m just saying ...I know a few things about you, and I know a few things about him...”
“Do you, though?”
Deadpool doesn’t look up from his intricate work. Spider-man may not carry weapons, but his webbing is a damn strong arsenal all its own. Lucky for Frankie, Deadpool’s has had some experience cutting himself out of similar spots. That is, back before he and Spidey had an understanding - *wink!*
“Okay, fine; I don’t know either of you,” Frank concedes to this like a real fuckin’ sport. “But I’ve heard all the rumors...”
“Oh! Oh! What are they saying about me now? Tell me! Go on,” the merc waves his knife in a ‘continue’ fashion before resuming to scrape and slice with the blade.
“Fuck you; you know what they say ...a contract killer,” his tone is a little righteous for Wade’s liking, but he lets it slide because he gets it’s never easy to be caught with your proverbial pants down. “Not a usual friend for Mr. Calls The Cops.”
And then ...well, Wade lets his blade knick Castle’s wrist. Just a bit, nothing serious. Because it’s not like Wade disagrees with what Frank’s really saying, at least not completely. Show him a rapist, and he’ll show you a deadman. Child abuser? Same damn thing. And he won’t feel bad about it. Not even a smidgen. He might even smile while he does it.
What he can’t do is let Frank goddamn Castle shit on ole Spidey like he’s some dumb kid. Peter Parker is a grown man who has reasons for all of his choices, and if he wants to be cleaner than Wade then Wade’s going to damn well make sure he stays that way.
Frank doesn’t know how beholden Peter feels to Officer Stacey, the policeman father of the once-girlfriend who Spider-man couldn’t save. He doesn’t know what happened to Spidey’s Uncle, how he'd had the strength to rip the whole world apart in retaliation but chose a different way instead. Wade hasn’t totally decided yet if Spidey’s way is actually better, but he respects it all the same.
In short, Frank Castle can keep his opinions to his damn self.
“Ah, shit ....thought you were better with blades than that,” Wade knows the other man is eyeing his katanas.
“Wanna see?” he happily offers, pausing his work once more and reaching towards one of the swords.
“Definitely. Not.”
“Suit yourself...”
After another minute or so, Wade has Frank’s hand free.
“Gimme it...”
“Boss. E,” Wade chides but presses his knife handle into the waiting palm anyway. “Have it your way. Draw one drop of blood and suddenly you can’t be trusted...”
Wade leans back against the wall again and watches in bored fashion as Frank starts to hack himself free, now. He doesn’t have Wade’s practiced technique, but he does have tenacity and indignation to fuel him, That’s always worth something.
“Here,” Frank twists the blade and shoves it back at Wade as soon as he’s free.
“Wow, that didn’t sound like a thank you at all....” Wade drawls.
He continues to loom around while The Punisher shakes-off the excess webbing and then gathers up the weapons Spider-man had liberated from him.
“You did your bit,” Frank scoffs. “You can go ahead and get lost, now...”
Wade sighs deeply and unsheathes one of his katanas to tap Frank on the shoulder. The man stiffens and twists his neck around, though he doesn’t turn fully to face the disconcerting weapon.
“You want a thank-you that bad?” he sneers.
“Well, appreciation always tickles me,” Wade does like a pat on the back now and then because he’s fucking human underneath all the nonsense. “But I’m going to need to escort you. This way,” he jerks his chin towards the back of the alley rather than the street.
“Oh come on,” he watches closely as Frank’s fingers twitch. “You know this piece of shit deserves it...”
“Look, you don’t have to convince me,” Wade promises with earnest enthusiasm. “I’m buying what you’re selling, ya know? But Spidey’s definitely calling the cops, and that cockwaffle is gonna need to be alive.”
“...Christ, what’s he got on you?”
“It’s complicated,” Wade smiles gleefully behind his mask because he suspects this guy would never guess the half of it all. “But I’ll make it up to you, huh? You ever got something goin’ on outta the city, call Deadpool,” he jerks the thumb of his free hand at himself. “Cuz I like your style...and, frankly, I’d love to see you in action. Get it? Frankly...”
Frank’s lip curls, and Wade has a hunch he’ll never be getting that call.
“Okay, whatever, be as crunchy as you wanna be ...but you’re still facing the wrong direction...” he doesn’t let up on that point.
The slightly shorter man inhales deeply through his nose and then exhales just as slowly. He does this a couple times, and then his arms fall lax.
“Fuckin’ fine...”
“There’s a good boy...”
The Punisher grunts at this condescension but doesn’t comment. He pauses to cast one last, filthy look over his shoulder at the possible-sex-trafficker, and then he acquiesces. He gives Deadpool an equally dark look as he passes, but he keeps on moving.
“Your boy can really track that car?”
“In his damn sleep ...”
“He’s quick,” Frank nods, seemingly believing this statement.
“I know, it’s fucking annoying sometimes...”
Frank snorts to that.
“If he’d pick up a gun, he’d be a good soldier...”
“Fuck that,” Deadpool’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits.
Frank eyes him curiously for that but then only nods. It’s not like he can argue or question. He’d had his own dark days overseas; everybody knows that these days. And, like he’d said; he’s heard the rumors.
“So, is it true ...that you were in the service?”
“Ah, is that the word on the street?” Deadpool’s voice is calm, but that in itself is a bit of a giveaway.
And his answer is a deflection, not a denial. Frank’s smart enough to note it.
“Special Forces, they say...”
“And what’s the problem? Did you think you were the only trained badass in NYC?” Deadpool snorts derisively. “Oh. Em. Gee. Cocky much?”
“You don’t have to be an asshole about it...”
“Actually, pirate flag, I do. It’s part of my contract,” Deadpool enjoys the confused silence this garners, and then he stops with a flourish when they reach the fork of the alley. “Run along, now.”
He wiggles his gloved fingers off to the East, and Frank scowls at them. He opens his mouth like he wants to gripe some more, but then he just shakes his head and snaps his jaw shut.
“Bye, bye, shnookums...” Wade calls after him. “I hope we meet in another dark alley very soon!“
It surely sounds like a joke, but Wade feels pretty fucking genuine about it. He’d like to see The Punisher at work, either putting down some shitbag of, fuck it, fighting him himself. The guy has a rep, and Wade will test it all day long if the chance arises. He has work just now, though.
And he’s a goddamn professional.
“....it’s been a night,” the dark haired man shakes his head slowly.
Wade gets the impression they aren’t going to be friends any time soon. Frankie’s loss.
He watches the man go, sticking to the shadows along the edge of the alley, and then he slinks back toward the dumpster where Spidey had waited for him. Part of him wishes he could have heckled Castle more, but cops should be here soon if he knows his Spidey.
An even larger part of him wants to pledge allegiance to Frank Castle and join him on his current anti-sex-crimes mission (and maybe all missions because: fuck it). Alas, he’s already on Pete’s side.
Which is fine.
It is.
But he can’t it help that running with The fucking Punisher sounds like a fun ass side quest.
Wade waits around for nearly twenty more minutes until cop cars pull up, lights flashing, to surround the building. Then he’s out of there, beating nearly the same path as Castle had to retreat from the fuzz.
From there, he stops by Sister Margaret’s in order to question Weasel about all the current job orders that are in. Is there anything about suspected sex trafficking? Anybody want a missing person tracked down right now? The bartender/computer nerd/mastermind behind the gold card trade has a few thoughts, but he can’t supply anything immediately actionable.
Wade laments about working with feebs.
Weasel gripes about having friends with freakshow faces.
A good time is had by all.
After that, Wade heads back to his apartment. He’s not exactly clear whether Pete’s still out on the town or not. He could be staking out whatever car he followed, or he might have already called that in, too. Wade suspects that he will get a text by morning to let him know the score. Otherwise, he isn’t worried. Peter had reached out when he needed help, and he could take-on the rest of it. He isn’t new to the streets.
Except when Wade gets home to his bedroom, Spider-man is already there, and he looks awfully young in his sleep, not like a street-fighter at all. Peter is stripped down to white boxer briefs, his suit dropped in a pile on the floor, and he’s stretched out in a rather ungainly way.
Working too hard, Wade thinks.
Peter does that from time to time and has to consciously slow himself down, take a breath, and start again. He keeps multiple balls up in the air, Wade gets that, but he doesn’t need to put so much pressure on himself. That’s the kind of shit that’ll create neurosis, and Wade should fucking know.
Still, he grins at the sight of Peter sprawled on his unmade bed, all lean muscle and soft fucking skin.
Beautiful. Like for reals.
Wade shuffles to his closet and strips his suit to hang up. He himself had gone commando for the night, but the room is chilly so he steps into some sweatpants before crawling onto the bed.
It’s a well known fact- between the two of them, at least - that Peter’s spidey-senses don’t react to Wade anymore. If that isn’t the most intoxicating shit on earth, Wade doesn’t know what is. It means Peter is vulnerable to him, and Peter isn’t even bothered by it. Wade doesn’t think he’ll ever fully understand that, but it’s hot as fuck -hello instant hard-on.
Usually.
Not tonight. Peter’s tired and Wade is happy to settle with being high on the fact that Peter had asked him for help like it was the easiest damn thing in the world and then naturally come here to pass out.
They’re together, sure, but Wade constantly finds himself a little surprised by the consistency of it.
“Hey, baby boy,” Wade greets when the shifting of the bed does rouse Peter.
“Hi,” Peter sighs through his nose and blinks a few times. “Shit,” he starts to sit up but Wade flattens a hand on his shoulder and presses him back before flopping down himself.
“S’matter?”
“Everything went okay?” Peter blinks a few more times to wake himself up.
“Yeah, yeah ...Castle is thwarted but lives to Punish another day. I made sure the cops showed up. The whole shebang,” Wade settles in cozily against the pillows and shifts onto his side to wrap an arm around Peter’s slim waist.
The younger man remains on his back and stares up at the ceiling a little longer.
“You’re not gonna asked how I webbed-up The Punisher without even noticing?” he’s a bit hesitant but resigned all the same.
“Nah, I don’t give a shit. No questions asked, remember?” Wade shrugs the shoulder he’s not resting all of his weight on. “And you didn’t ask about the stuffed panda I needed help stealing back from Weasel.”
“....I’ll tell you about tonight if you tell me about that panda,” Peter feels a little more alert at the reminder of this.
That hadn't exactly been a grueling favor, but Weasel was pissy enough afterwards that he hadn't served Peter drinks until Wade started tossing out casual threats. Curious indeed.
“Not a chance. No questions asked. We both agreed,” Wade kisses his shoulder.
“Yeah ....fine, okay.”
Peter’s tired anyway. It’s been a long frigging week.