Chapter Text
It’s three am and Wade is straddling a roof top double fisting tacos and a baja blast. He sucks noisily out of the almost empty cup before popping up the lid and cracking down on the soft ice and watered down liquid still inside. The tacos are from his favorite local spot, the blast was from Taco Bell because sue him, there are some things corporate food chains can take pride in and the toxic sludge was good. Radioactive. Superhero juice.
Sirens wailed in the distance, lights flashing on the windows. Robbery, murder most foul, parking ticket infraction. Who knew? The city never slept. He had murdered three people today, he was good. He had done enough, not for justice but still, the only fight he wanted to join was seeing how many more tacos he could cram down his throat before his stomach started punching back.
His best guess was probably at least ten more. He was a growing boy, perpetually and eternally growing. He tossed the paper wrappings and cup into the greasy paper bag and leaned off the roof falling a few feet onto the fire escape which swayed under impact. What are landlords being paid for these days? Sorry to the college student schmuck who was paying mothballs and stripper dollars to sleep outside of this death trap.
Wade sighed, inching down a few steps before swinging his leg over the side and falling the last dozen feet, landing with a sick crunch and a burst of pain that only momentarily distracted him from the fact that his beloved church in a storm was closed early. A handwritten note was taped to the drive through window saying that they had experienced a death in the family and that they would be away for the funeral. Wade fished in his pocket for a wad from his last hit and smashed his fist through the window, tossing it in like a grenade into the corner where he hoped it would be semi-visible enough for when they came by next. If he had put it in the tip jar it would have gotten stolen for sure.
The hole in the widow was bloody from where it had cut his skin which was probably going to be a little gross to clean up but hey, no one was going to fuck around with a food truck with a bloody window.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” a voice screamed behind him.
He turned his head to see a gangly figure in a brown hoodie and patched jeans standing like a beanpole in a windstorm. Wade couldn’t see his face underneath the hood but he bet it looked absolutely non-threatening.
“Did you break this window?” Wade asked.
“Are you robbing the only affordable taco truck within ten miles?” The figure said, his anger only outclassed by the sheer and overwhelming misery that underlined it. “I have six dollars for dinner, man. That isn’t going to get me shit anywhere else. You fucking suck.”
“I’m not robbing it,” Wade felt insulted. “I’m investing.”
“What, you broke the window to throw money inside?” The figure took one step toward him, the hem of his jeans trailing miserably in sidewalk water. “I think you’re lying. You’re going to pay for this.”
“I’ll buy you dinner somewhere else, just stop threatening me. It’s breaking my heart.” Wade held both of his hands up in self-defense. “I swear my waterlogged little guy; I’m just paying my dues. They had a family emergency and I eat here three times a week, I need them just as much as you do.” He paused. “I mean, maybe not as much as you.”
“Fuck you.” The figure ripped off his hood revealing the exact type of helpless mugging victim face that Wade had envisioned. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties with a pathetic little patch of stubble attempting to be the studs of a hardly convincing adult. This kid looked like he got carded at a Chucky E Cheese. His glasses were tapped with scotch and he had several spiky piercings jutting out of his soft face in a strange juxtaposition, like a stuffed animal covered in pins. His hair was covered in beanie but several sonic blue spikes poked out of the corners like soccer field grass.
He was very cute, like the boy version of a Raggedy Anne Doll. He looked like the mere suggestion of violence would send him to his bedroom for a heavy session of Bon Iver music.
“I’m packing,” Wade said, not really as a threat just because the kid looked like he probably would get shot faster than he could say “wait – hold on mister.” And he felt that if he was offering him food, he should also inform him of things that this kid would probably figure out post-mortem if another, more bad intentioned dude offered him a hot meal in a virtually empty parking lot.
“I’m hungry,” The boy scowled, his snake bites jutted out with the scowl like tiny metal fists. This kid looked like he would gnaw at a sand bag if given a chance; the steady burn of someone denied the meal they had clearly been dreaming about since they pulled their miserable little body from their bed in the morning. Wade wanted to sponsor him, wanted to take him to the mall and buy him a smoothie.
“Okay. What can I get you? There’s a really good pho place a few blocks down. I feel like a good soup would do you good. You look like someone who needs to constantly be drinking soup, no offense.”
The boy shivered, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of what looked like the second cousin of a Carhartt jacket. “That sounds good,” He mumbled. “Thanks.”
“Anything for my bedraggled little taco lover,” Wade beamed under the mask. “Do you know who I am?”
The boy eyed him warily. “A perv clown? I don’t give a fuck. Buy me soup.”
“A perv clown?” Wade rested both hands at the side of his mouth and gasped. “You would let a perverted clown take you to get pho? You’re the type of kid who looked at the missing person’s section in Walmart as an aspirational goal didn’t you? Where’s your self-preservation instincts cabbage patch?”
“That’s fucked up.” The kid bit his gnawed lip again because he was like a water pipe leaking with tells.
“Yeah,” Wade shrugged. “Your parents did you so dirty.”
“My parents are dead.” The guy snapped back with the practiced ease of someone who had responded to many variations of your momma jokes with the warm reception of a cobra dropped into a preschool.
“Well, dying is pretty fucked up of them. Leaving you to limp soggily through the world.” Wade led him through the dimly lit street, passing by the corner store where he bought all of his cigarettes because the cashier never made him take off his mask to be carded. He stopped a moment to bask in the seedy green glow of the open sign, letting it rejuvenate his body like a model in a tanning booth.
“This doesn’t look like pho.” The joyless boy said.
“Has anyone ever told you to take life by the tits?” Wade snapped. “To smell the gasoline?”
The boy wrinkled his nose. “This place smells like piss.”
“All of New York smells like piss,” Wade said. “The fact that you can still smell it betrays an inner weakness that I can’t imagine carrying around with me.”
“Why do you wear a mask?” The boy said after they had crossed another block in virtual silence. He insisted on walking just a little bit ahead of Wade at all times despite clearly having no idea where he was going.
“I’m wearing an entire cat suit under my clothes actually,” Wade responded.
“Oh so you’re like, one of those guys.”
“Wide category, give me the dewey number.”
“Like….you know,” The boy kicked a beer bottle with surprising force off the curb and into the street where it shattered in a way that was almost musical.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.” Wade was finding himself a little worn down by this interaction, sure, he liked being a good Samaritan as much as the next fucked up dude, it made him feel better and it felt like he was shaving the top off the bad deed debt he started accruing the moment he came out two weeks too early and made his mom have him in the back seat of a rental. This guy was cute, but he was super annoying too and Wade wasn’t really in cuffing season mode yet. Not that this little ratling would give him more than a second glance, Wade knew underneath all the barbs and pre-judgements he was just building a case against the inevitable moment that he pulled his mask up to reveal his stupid fugly face so he could slurp a noodle and this guy would be out faster than a dynamite stick in a wind tunnel.
His face was growing hot under the mask at the scenario; he could feel how bad it was going to be. It was better to play it out before it happened though, a little roleplay before the big disaster always made things easier. Why was it so hard making friends when you looked like what came out of vegan’s dehydrators, like a fucked up little nut cookie.
“You know,” The guy says, voice cracking in a way that reminds Wade of middle school. “The people doing the cops' jobs better than them.”
“Superhero?” Wade suggested. “Fuck no.”
“Oh,” The boy sounded disappointed. “That would have been cool.” He looks ahead of him, brow furrowing. “I think they’re pretty cool. The police fucking suck. Especially in this city. It’s good seeing people trying to help even if it’s not perfect.”
“Superheroes are totes obsessed with me though,” Wade followed up quickly. “Huge fans of my work, always showing up to my workplace like “oh my god, I’ve been following you for weeks. Why don’t you come outside so we can catch up?”
“So, you’re an asshole,” The guy’s voice went flat.
“Supreme asshole,” Wade laid a hand over his heart. “The biggest asshole,” He smacked his backside. “With a big ass to match. Had to, with this dumpy. No chance for me to be a straight shot do-gooder. Didn’t have the childhood for it, had to choose being a shoot ‘em up dude instead.”
“Am I supposed to disagree cause you pseudo-robbed my favorite taco truck presumably to give them an unmentioned sum of money and made up for it by leading me down several blocks with the promise of a dinner I have yet to see?”
“You probably have trouble making friends,” Wade nodded absently. “On account of you being like, a fuckwad.”
“You probably don’t even have friends,” He snapped back, his fair skin flushing a patchy red and aggravating two of the moles on the right side of his face. Cute.
“I have more friends than you have rats in your shitty room under the stairs,” Wade snarked. “In fact, I’m friends with all of your rat roomies and they told me to tell you that they consider you an enemy and that’s why they keep you up all night with their rat raves.”
The boy’s forehead furrowed further. He was going to develop early wrinkles for sure.
“How do you know I have rats?”
“You look like you just learned how to look both ways before crossing the street and you’re dressed like you can’t afford to be embarrassed. It’s not hard to put two and two together. I bet all you know is ramen chicken packet, black mold poisoning, and every sound a broken radiator can make at two am.”
“I’m a biochem student,” The boy surrendered as both a defense and brag. “Also, I’m twenty-four and I’m working on my doctorate”
“Poor, young, AND smart? You’re the future of this country. Not mine though, cause I’m from Canada and we never let people get that rough.” Wade patted the air above the newly minted young man’s back. “That just confirms to me that your house is probably awful.”
“It’s not that bad,” The not so young guy shrugged. “I’ve lived worse.”
Wade nodded sagely. “Haven’t we all?”
They walked in relative silence the last block to the place. Wade wasn’t really hungry but this kid looked like he would start salivating at the hub caps if he didn’t get a little bit of meat in him and like, sue him, he was starting to feel pretty invested. He loved a dynamic, he didn’t really have anywhere to be, and money was just a performance piece at him to this point, he might as well throw a few bucks at the up and coming Forbes under 30 scientist or whatever this little punk was gearing to be.
“What’s your name?” Wade asked suddenly. “I feel like if I’m wining and dining you I should probably call you something.”
“Peter Parker.”
“Peter Piper picked a bunch of pickled peppers,” Wade rattled off. “How many peppers did Peter Piper pick - “
“You’re not funny. I hope you know that mister,” Peter dragged out the last word long and meanly.
“I don’t have a senior discount yet Petey,” Wade sighed, shaking his head. “I might have about six years on you, but don’t think that it doesn’t mean that I know more than you about pretty much everything.”
“Are you working on your doctorate too?”
“No, but I make great bombs.”
They arrive at the pho place, Wade holds up the door for Peter and Peter stares at him like he’s trying to melt him with his watery eyes. They stand there, a minute passes before Wade gestures at the door and takes a step back and watches as Peter gracelessly lunges towards it, pressing his body against it to keep it open and morosely gesturing Wade inside.
“Why aren’t you deeply stewing in some toxic masculinity?” Wade commented dryly. “You’ll let a guy buy you dinner, but heaven forbid I hold the door open. I was just being nice.”
“I like holding it,” Peter mumbled. “It makes me feel nice.”
“Well just so you know, you came across like a douche to me personally.”
They make their way over to an open booth because it’s really kind of a sit yourself down until the staff notices you're there. The menus are already on the table, Wade doesn’t want anything now but he decides he’ll order a number 9 for future him because sometimes even future selves deserve something nice and like, the taco truck is going to be closed indefinitely and that’s a good 97% of his diet.
Peter studies the menu furiously, that little brow furrow back in full force. Wade thinks briefly about reaching out and smoothing it like a wrinkle but then decides that he will not do that because Peter would probably sputter in indignation and wouldn’t know what he wanted when the waiter came and that would be super embarrassing for him.
“Aren’t you going to ask me my name?” Wade rests his head atop his two fists and smiles winningly under the mask which he knows is kind of visible from the outside.
“I assumed you were the type of person who didn’t like giving it out or else you would have introduced yourself to me when I introduced myself to you.”
“You never asked. I really like to be asked. It makes me feel like the other person really cares about getting to know me.”
“I just want to eat,” Peter admitted, not even with a trace of snark in his voice, just a quiet little hunger.
“It’s Wade you bedraggled little newsie,” Wade feels suddenly very fond. “They’ll come around soon, get whatever you want. Buy two things, buy one for tomorrow. Also, the tea here is very good.”
Peter goes back to studying the menu until a server comes over and quietly surveys them. Wade gives him his order, stares coals at Peter until Peter, surprised in a moment of meekness, whispers out his order two times before the server is satisfied that he has it all down and clears their menus and serves them water.
Wade stares at the little red straw, his throat feels like an ox bone in the desert but if he was to quench the thirst he would also have to show Peter what went on underneath the wrappings. He kind of wanted to wait for Peter to get a hot meal in him before he went that far and potentially caused it to come back up again.
“Hey, I’m super ugly. Like, Freddy Kruger’s aborted twin ugly. But I’m also stupid thirsty too and I was hoping to wait to show you my mug later on in the evening when your dinner wasn’t on the line but I really want to drink this water.”
Peter stared at him with a raw strangeness, the hoods under his eyes darker in the artificial light. He looked like a sad zombie but before the rot, like a Hollywood zombie that got shot before he turned ugly. Wade was the ugly zombie of course, probably the one that eats the nice looking one.
“I’m not...I’m not ableist. I swear I’m not going to make fun of you. I’m sorry that you aren’t eating because I thought I was going to be a dick.” Peter cleared his throat like a cat clearing a hairball. “You actually have been. Cool.” He shrugs. “I’m just...really hungry.” He rubs the back of his neck, some of the fiercest hamster in the middle school energy draining off him leaving him looking even younger but also a lot less guarded. “I would never want to make someone feel like that.”
“Neat,” Wade pulled the bottom of his mask up and chugged the water like it was a shot. The ice burned through him and he felt like he was drinking from the last glacier on earth, it was effervescent, spiritual even. He tried not to think about what Peter was thinking, practicing mindfulness and all that. Stay in the moment, drink the water, trying not to deface himself further by being a self bully or whatever.
“You have a nice jawline. I wish I had a jawline.” Peter said, in the most earnest, bizarre way.
“I look like the only hamburger that didn’t cook on the Arizona sidewalk and you’re telling me I have nice bone structure?” Wade eyed him warily. “You think I’m going to rip the pho right from under you and you’re throwing coins into my guitar case to keep me in high spirits or what?”
“I said what I fucking said,” Peter ripped the packaging off his chopsticks and started anxiously tapping them together in a way that was very annoying
“I’m ugly. You shouldn’t say anything.”
“Beauty is subjective,” Peter shrugs. “I don’t like how my face looks either. I look like a fucked up cherub on a church wall but you don’t see me bitching too much about it.”
“You look like a nice looking cherub,” Wade snapped. “Like the cherub that they put in front of the other background cherubs, like cherub 1, representative, spokesperson level cherub.”
“I don’t like looking young. It’s embarrassing. Everyone treats me like a kid and no one believes that I’m almost thirty.”
“That must be really hard,” Wade absently stirred his drink with a red straw.
“It is,” Peter’s voice was tight.
“Yeah, well,” Wade sighed. “I would love that. So, you know, maybe I’m not the person to be talking about that with.”
Peter was quiet until the food was served and then immediately started eating the moment the steaming noodles were set on the table. He inhaled the food in what felt like seconds and then stared at Wade who was working through his third noodle slurp.
“Thank you for the meal.”
“Sure,” Wade shrugged.
“I’m going to go now,” Peter sat up suddenly.
“Okay,” Wade didn’t look up from his noodles, just listened to the bells on the door merrily jingle as Peter left the restaurant.
“Wham, bam, thank you ma’am,” Wade mumbled into the bowl, slurping his final noodle before pushing the bowl away. “Can I get this to go?”