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New York could get really cold during the winter. This time, Peter felt like the city had outdone itself. When the temperature started to plummet two weeks ago, he was silently begging for the snow to hit too.
Snow meant a soft blanket of glistering white to cover up all the ugly in the city, acting as a quick-working antidote to the seasonal depression. It meant transportation becoming a hassle with the chaos that was traffic and the deep snowbanks that used to be the sidewalks, which hit your fellow citizens and criminals alike. This in turn pulled down the crime rates considerably and gave Peter a much needed break.
But no snow fell. Instead the cold seemed to cling to the buildings as the wind pulled every trace of warmth from you as you went outside.
Peter hadn’t been very good at the thermoregulation thing since the bite and his suit was mostly made out of spandex. It was easy to say he wasn’t very well adapted for the cold. And cold it was.
Perched on the windowsill of a window five stories up, in a rare place where the air stood still, Peter showed his hands in his armpits and looked down. The dark was just starting to fall and the street was busy beneath him. A distant siren cut through the evening but his spider sense remained calm so he figured the police had it handled.
He was losing feeling in his toes and was fighting to regain it in his fingers. Peter shot a glance at the clear sky above him, sending out a wish for clouds. Then his senses spiked.
Urgent! Run! Scared!
He flicked out his arm and fired a web at the building across from him, his movements stiffer than usual. When he soared through the air he tried to ignore how it seemingly went straight through him.
The tingle led Peter to an alley two blocks down the street, finding a woman being cornered by two thugs in big puffer jackets. He dropped down silently behind them.
“Just hand it over already!” Puffer jacket nr 1 said, waving a pocketknife at the girl. The motion did unfortunately go unnoticed since her gaze had locked on Peter. “Hello?!” More waving.
His buddy must be smarter because he actually threw a look behind him then looked forward again and visibly froze.
“Well well,” Peter chastised. “Can’t say it’s fancy seeing you here. It’s way too cold for petty muggings today.” The two puffer jackets spun around.
“Spider man!” Puffer jacket nr 2 shrieked. Peter sighed heavily.
“Man, mind the hyphen,” Peter urged. The girl took advantage of the puffer jackets looking away to book it out of the alley. Puffer jacket nr 1 looked after her.
“Wait, don’t you dare-” He started to move, but Peter was faster, shooting a web that caught his left arm and pinned it to the wall behind him. Peter shook his head with the most disappointed mannerism he could muster.
“Have no one ever taught you any manners. Not chasing after girls in creepy alleys is like step number one.” Puffer jacket nr 2 raised his hands and started to back away slowly.
“We don’t mean you no harm,” he said. Peter quirked an eyebrow even though they couldn’t see it.
“Then don’t go around robbing people,” he deadpanned and then fired off another web, sticking Puffer jacket nr 2 to the wall as well. Peter fished out his burner phone from a pocket and left an anonymous tip to the police (still signed Spider-man of course) about the thugs.
“The web is slightly harder to get off in this lovely weather so that leaves you guys plenty of time to consider your questionable life choices!” he shouted over his shoulder and then fired off a web, pulling himself into the air.
Peter traveled a few blocks before the biting wind became too much and he found another window sill to settle down on. There was a scratching at the back of his throat that wouldn’t leave. He dreamed of going home to his shitty apartment and heat up a pot of instant noodles on the stove, even if the pack he had bought hadn’t tasted much the last few days. The warmth would be a blessing nonetheless.
Then the next spike of his senses came; he ignored the delay before his body reacted. It was sending him signals he didn’t want to listen to. Spider-man couldn’t get sick. He had streets to patrol and people to save.
>>>:<<<
Three days later Fred stomped his feet at the cold asphalt and blew a breath of hot air in his cupped hands. The alley around him was silent and empty except him and a few trashcans, but he couldn’t quite beat down the stress anyways. They should be out by now.
He peeked through the window into the electronics store on the other side of the frosty glass. He could see the lightbeam from the flashlight wobble around the register.
“Come on,” he whispered to them. It felt like an eternity before the light started to move toward him.
The door to the shop flew open seconds later and Amy exited first with a big duffel bag and an even bigger grin on her face. Jackson was on her heels, the grumpy dude sporting a much more serious expression.
“That was almost too easy,” Amy told him.
“Don’t jinx it,” Fred shot back. Jackson just rolled his eyes at the other two.
“But we got some good stuff! Just wait until you see,” She insisted.
“Let's just get out of here,” Jackson sighed. Fred was about to agree when a slight movement in his peripheral made him stop and turn around. Barely visible in the shadows of the alley, posed on the railing of one of the landings on a fire escape, a figure was watching them.
“I’m so doing a haul later- What?” Fred had gripped Amy’s arm, hard. The figure moved. Slow measured movements as it crawled forward. It paused as two big, white lenses caught in a sliver of light spilling out of a window.
“What is that,” Amy’s voice suddenly sounded small. The figure angled its head and every inch of Fred’s body screamed at him to run, but he remained rooted in the ground.
Then the creature dropped from the fireescape and fell three stories before landing in a crouch that cracked the ground underneath it. Fred heard a whimper. It might have come from himself.
The three burglars stared in horror as the man-shaped figure stood up and walked forward slowly, emerging from the shadows. Then they collectively took a relieved breath when it came into the range of a streetlight and they recognized the red and blue suit.
“Fuck man, you scared me!” Amy exclaimed. “You're just Spider man! I thought that was some sort of gremlin from hell.” She gave a shaky laugh. Fred tried to join in as a new form of fear started to leak in, the fear of being caught. Of consequences and jail.
“Yeah! You busted my friend a few days ago. The police had to cut open his jacket to get him off that damn wall,” Fred tried. He hadn’t actually talked to Liam himself, but his sister had filled him in on all the details. Apparently he had been devastated over his newly bought puffer jacket.
Fred waited for Spider man to respond. He had never personally encountered the vigilante before, but he had seen plenty of videos of his usual banter. But no reply came, Spider man only angled his head.
“What, no funny remarks about that?” Amy asked. “No puns? Have you lost your touch?” Her laugh echoed hollow in his ears. Spider man still didn’t answer.
“No jokes at all?” He tried. Silence.
“Not even a comment about the weather?” Silence.
“Spider man?” Nothing.
Something was deeply, concerningly wrong here. Fred started to regret the decisions that led him here. Hell, he regretted every decision he had ever made.
“We… how about we just leave this here and we call it even,” came Amy’s shaky voice. Fred heard the duffel bag drop to the ground beside him. Spider man took one step forward.
“Fuck this, I didn’t sign up for that!” Jackson suddenly shouted, scrambling away from them. Fred just looked at his friend take off. Then he watched his friend go down hard as something shot past him and struck Jackson’s legs. Webbing.
Definitely shaking, Fred turned back to face Spider man. The vigilante angled an already raised arm towards him.
“Please no. I… I’m sorry,” he got out. Then something shot out of Spider man’s wrist, heading straight for Fred’s head. He was sure that he was finished when it hit his beanie, throwing his head back with the momentum. His feet slipped on the icy ground and the next he knew he was sprawled out on the asphalt.
The air left Fred’s lungs and then it felt like a falling boulder tried to get the last out. When he tried to raise a hand it wouldn't budge. He managed to angle his head and spotted something white covering most of his chest and arms. He was doomed.
“Please no,” Amy practically sobbed beside him. Another twhipp and she went down as well.
Fred angled his head and saw how Spider man crouched down and started to crawl towards them. His limbs moved further than what should be possible. Fred could only stare in horror as he approached.
This was it. He was going to die.
But Spiderman stopped at the dropped duffel bag and pulled open the zipper, peering inside. He made a sound, somewhere between someone clearing their throat and growling. Fred squeezed his eyes shut and started praying.
He heard some more shuffling and then a door opening. He didn’t dare open his eyes. Amy’s shaky cries echoed in the alley. Then one more thwip cut through the night, making her suddenly stop.
They stayed there for what felt like an eternity. Fred could feel his tears freeze on his cheeks, probably freezing his eyes shut, but he didn’t care. His body was still waiting for Spiderman to strike.
When a sired closed in and the red and blue lights pushed through his closed eyelids he sagged in relief. He couldn’t get to jail soon enough.
>>>:<<<
Peter closed the door to his apartment and leaned against the sturdy wood. He had never been so cold before. His whole body was aching and it felt like someone had pushed a burning rod down his throat.
He tried to say something but only a wheezing cracked noise escaped, so he gave up letting his head hang in defeat.
When he gathered enough strength to stop leaning on the door he beelined toward the kettle and flicked the switch up to start it. The whirring sound of it heating up filled the small room.
Peter pulled off his suit and then slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Then another pair of pants, a pair of shorts, three socks, two t-shirts and a hoodie. The water finished boiling and he filled one chipped cup and then a bright pink heating pad. His stiff fingers fumbled with the cheap earl grey tea he had picked up but finally he managed to get a bag in the cup. He brought both the cup and the pad over to the bed and curled up under the sheets and four blankets he had stacked.
Patrol today had been weird. He should have expected it when he woke up without his voice that morning, after all, half of spider-mans persona was his quips and puns. But he had not quite been ready for how terrified everyone he encountered had been. He was still the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman. Wasn’t he?
Peter eyed the radiator under the window sceptically. It gave off lukewarm on the best of days. Then his eyes flicked up to the window. His apartment was in line with the streetlights outside and from this position he could see one of them clearly swaying in the wind.
Usually that meant that it was impossible to get the room dark - most likely the reason Peter could afford this apartment - but right now it also meant he could see the small white particles swirling around underneath it.
It was snowing.
Maybe it was okay for him to take a break then. The relief of the thought lulled him into sleep, the sheets slowly warming around his scolding body. He could call in sick to work tomorrow.
>>>:<<<
When the snow storm finally hit New York it hit hard. It eased Peter's mind to see the snow stack up outside his window when he finally let his body rest.
It seemed as every ache and start of sickness Peter had pushed down over the years took the opportunity and dragged him further under. After a short phone call to the Bugle, informing them he would be out for a while, he spent most of the first days sleeping.
It was hunger that pulled him out of it rather than actually feeling better. It seemed like not even sickness could be a hindrance for Peter’s appetite. His wobbly legs , however, only carried him the distance from his bed to the toilet and back, so on the fourth day he caved and called Matt.
The man came by with two grocery bags and Peter cried at the sight. Matt also promised to keep an eye on Queens for him when he was out. ‘Take your time to get well’ and all that. Peter was more grateful than he could describe so he just hugged the man - despite Matt's attempts to escape, too bad Peter was sticky - and sent him a very long message consisting only of heart emojis. Matt left him on read but Peter figured he got the message nonetheless.
On the sixth day Peter was starting to feel good enough to get bored. He spent most of his time reading up on published papers he had missed and tinkering with any bits and pieces within reach.
The seventh day he decided to work from home, finishing up some articles he had been working on for a while. He had been part of the editing team for a few years now, outside of still submitting photos of Spiderman and the whole gallery of superheroes and villains the city had to offer and had quite recently been given the trust to start writing his own articles.
It was another few more days before he felt confident to leave the apartment again and a whole two weeks had passed before he picked up the mask. By then the snow had melted and a much warmer breeze swept through the city. Not warm, but manageable.
He gave himself one more day off work. How his colleagues would come to resent him for that.
>>>:<<<
Natalie sceptically eyed the stack of papers in front of her. Usually she enjoyed working on physical paper. It was kinder to her eyes and there was something very satisfying about highlight errors with a red marker.
The downside, except the obvious environmental reasons, was watching the tower of paper grow higher and higher as the days passed. Parker had been sick for - she checked her calendar - two weeks now. There had to be an increase in the workload they usually shared, no way he was that efficient.
With a deep sip of her coffee, Natalie pulled the top sheet from the stack. The headline of the article draft read ‘Osborn industries announces new research branch’. It sounded more interesting than the last one put in the ‘edited’ pile which mostly had listed an unusual amount of sightings of Daredevil in Queens.
She started reading, flipping the red marker between her fingers as she did so. Slowly the clicking of keyboards and hushed chatter around her filtered out. Then a deafening BOOOM erupted to her left.
An explosion shook the office and ripped the outer wall to shreds. Parts of drywall and concrete shot through the air, followed by the ice-cold winter air and Natalie's whole stack of paper.
She threw herself off her chair with a shriek, scrambling to fit in the crevice under her desk. Thank Thor for the stupid cubicle walls that went all the way to the floor. Something brushed against her foot and Natalie let out a terrified sob before turning that way and noticing that Mark, her colleague, had taken shelter under her desk too.
“What the hell, get out of here! You’re too big!” Natalie hissed to him. It wasn’t an insult to his physique, but rather a jab at her small desk. He just stared at her like she was crazy and then crawled further in. Just to prove her point Mark managed to shove her hard enough for her to tip over and land halfway outside of the desk.
Crushed pieces of concrete covered the floor, making it feel more like a gravel walkway than wood paneling. It made her hands hurt as she pushed herself up and an ice cold wind made her breath turn white in front of her.
From this position Natalie had a free line of sight toward the man standing in the gaping hole in the wall. For a short moment the glowing lights at the man’s hands made her think it was Iron Man. Then she noticed the lack of armor and the wrong facial features. That and the electricity that cracked over the man’s knuckles instead of neat circles of light.
“I’m here to talk to whoever is in charge of this fucking paper!” The man shouted. The panicked cries of Natalie's colleagues died out. For a moment all that could be heard was the wind soaring around the building. Then a door on the other side of the office flew open. The etched brass sign stating ‘Editor in chief’ flew off and joined the mess on the floor as Jameson marched out.
“What in the world is going on here!” He demanded to know, already with a red blush creeping up his neck. That was never a good sign.
The intruder pulled a wrinkly piece of paper, Natalie recognized it as a front page from the Bugle but he waved it around too much for her to determine which issue it was.
“I wan’t to know what the fuck happened to Peter Parker!” The intruder hollered. The silence that spread this time was different. Much more confused.
“You… what?” Jameson asked.
“He would never do this to me!” The man continued to shout. “I do the hit of the year, real cool spot, not even Spider Man shows up to stop me! And this!” He finally holds the paper still. A blurry dark picture took up most of the front page but it was still hard to see what it was actually off. You could kind of make out two light dots in the far right. “This is what you publish! I am going to kill this ‘anonymous pedestrian’ photographer”.
“You broke the wall because of a bad picture?” Jameson asks with disbelief clear in his voice.
“It’s not just a bad picture,” the intruder disagreed with a slight mania in his voice. He brought up one sparkling hand inching it closer to the paper. A beam of electricity curved just beyond the guy’s iron clad knuckles, setting the paper aflame. Burning pieces floated to the floor as he walked forward.
“You have no idea how hard I have worked to be taken seriously on the street. To show them that I belong in the big leagues. And when I manage the perfect hit, without that freaking spider, they still laugh me out the bar!” His voice rose with every sentence. “Where is Peter Parker? That picture of Doc Orc from a few months ago, the one with the cab? The barista fucking framed it!”
Natalie did not know what bar he was talking about, but apparently it meant a big deal for the criminal network of this city. Maybe she could write an article about it.
Another part of the wall crumbled off the building. Right, focus.
“He’s out sick,” Jameson huffed. “Should have been back already, he’s been out of sick day’s for ages. Should be happy I haven’t fired him yet.” And man was that the wrong thing to say. Natalie felt like face palming but didn’t dare draw any attention to herself, especially when the intruder marched right up to Jameson and grabbed him by his shirt.
“That idiot photographer is the only good thing about your rotten paper. If you fire him I will burn this building to the ground! He has one more picture to take.” The electric gauntlet came close enough to Jameson’s face to singe half of his mustache.
Jameson managed a stammering response of gibberish. The intruder let him fall to the ground with an unimpressed look then turned back to the hole in the wall.
“Tell Parker to be at West 47th Street next Friday or I’ll be back! And give him a god damn raise if he gets a good shot.” He climbs over a fallen block to reach the fractured wall. “The names Shocker, for the headline,” he finishes with a salute and then jumps straight into the snow storm outside.
Natalie stared at the towering sky scrapers outside for a whole minute before she remembered that she could move. People around her was starting to get up as well. Some were bleeding from small cuts and all were covered in a layer of dust. None of them spoke.
After another minute of choked silence Natalie couldn’t take it anymore.
“Did that guy just tell us he was robbing a place next week and then namedrop himself before jumping out of a building?”
No one seemed to have a good answer. Then the new secretary - Betty, Natalie thought her name was - cleared her throat.
“Who’s going to tell Peter?”
>>>:<<<
The tradition of taco-thursdays had started a year ago and happened every other week. There was no requirement of it actually taking place on a Thursday though, so when Peter received a text from Wade one Friday afternoon, they made a deal to meet up later that night. The occurrence of a taco Thursday mostly relied on when Wade was in town, which varied a lot.
There were some rules however. The first was obviously tacos from their favorite place on Austin street. They had a rolling schedule of who was to bring the tacos and this time it was Peter’s turn. The second was no cutlery allowed, and yes deadpools , knives and catanas counted as cutlery. You had to fight to keep the food in the bread to earn it. The third was no fighting during taco night. The fourth meant this included any superhero fights as well. Wade had yet to forgive Peter for when he left their taco-thursday one time to fight an alien invasion. The fifth rule was that hot sauce was a requirement. The sixth and most important rule was that no one under any circumstances was allowed to mention the pigeon incident.
Sometimes Matt would join them, even though he would constantly complain about how loudly Wade chewed. Wade would in turn berate the man for violating the holy taco-thursday rules for not having hot sauce on his taco.
Matt had however chosen to decline this night. He was either too engrossed in a case or taking some much needed rest after covering both Hell’s kitchen and Queens for the two weeks Peter had been out sick. Peter was hoping for the second option but secretly knew better.
He was sitting at the top of a building not far from the taco place with a plastic take-out bag in his lap and dangled his legs over the edge. The warmth from the food simmered through his suit and the smell was heavenly.
“Hello there, itsy bitsy!” Wade yelled as he landed on the roof.
“General Kenobi,” Peter whispered under his breath, then added a bit louder, “You're late.”
“Ahh, a mercenary is never late, nor is he early!” Wade proclaimed, sitting down beside Peter. “And I was very busy with sneaking up on you.” Peter rolled his eyes.
“You were not, I could hear you bellowing ‘Holding out for a hero’ on your way here. The whole song. Twice.” Wade just shrugged and pulled out a container of hot sauce from his pocket.
“Peace offering,” he quipped. Peter accepted it as such and took out the tacos. He pulled up his mask to eat. They had known each other's identities for a while now, but you never knew who else were watching.
“So, where have ya been? Haven’t seen you for a month,” Peter asked in between bites.
“Ah, you know me catching some people making some money, I could definitely fulfill my role as your sugar daddy now,” Wade said with a wink. He had taken off his mask completely to eat.
“Thanks I’ll pass,” Peter laughed. Wade had stepped down with his flirting once Peter had confessed his age, but every once in a while he would make such comments. Peter was pretty sure it was just an inside joke by now.
“I almost would have needed it though,” Peter confessed after finishing off his second taco. “Was out sick for like two weeks and my boss almost fired me, but then the Shocker of all people broke into the Bugle and threatened them for better pictures. Got me a raise instead.”
“Yeah Pete, bad guys can appreciate good art too! Good for him,” Wade nodded along to his statement.
“Natalie even told me there was this bar where they hang up some of the pictures of bad guys that the Beugle post,” Peter laughed. Wade stopped mid bite and turned around to face him. Then he finished shewing with intense eye contact that made Peter glad he hadn’t removed his whole mask.
“You’r telling me there is there is a shady villain bar sporting photos of the baddies of the town!?” He shrieked. Peter lowered his taco.
“Erhm, yes? And it seems I took most of the pictures?” he offered. Wade actually put his half finished taco down and Peter stared at it in shock. Some of the hot sauce even spilled out on the roof.
“We have to go there!” Wade shouted.
“What-” Peter began.
“I need my picture in that bar!” Wade started to wave with his hands in a very excited manner.
“We don’t even know-” Peter tried again.
“You have taken some cool pictures of me! Maybe the one with the explosion in the background, or the one at the crane. Or the one with the hot dogs! Hmm maybe not terrifying enough… Oh the one with that mean old lady with the bat might do! But that just makes her seem cooler and we can’t have that…”
“Wade.”
“Do you have any printed out? I bet you have, I have seen your walls, they are covered in photos!”
“Wade.”
“Do you have the one where I planted the glitter bomb in DD’s apartment? That one is epic!”
“Deadpool!”
“What?” Wade actually looked at him with a shocked face.
“I don’t know where the pub is and it’s not like Spider-Man can just show up?” Peter tried, desperate to stop this train.
“Why not? Just go as Peter.” Wade answered like it was obvious.
“Why would Peter go to a shady criminal bar?” Peter had to ask.
“Have you met any of them as Peter before? They won’t know who you are.” Peter hated to admit that he had a point. “And plus, no one will be looking at you, they will all be admiring my framed and signed wonderful picture of me jumping out of a burning tree with a kitten and a helpless lady in my arms!”
“That has not happened,” Peter supplied.
“The night is still young!” Wade punched the air and Peter let out a deep sigh.
“Let’s just swing by my apartment first.”
>>>:<<<
Two hours later they stood in a dark alley facing the biggest bouncer Peter had ever laid his eyes on. Not literally, he could have been the Hulk’s secret brother. The green door behind him looked small in comparison and not even his pants were long enough for him.
It had taken a few minutes to reach his apartment and then one hour for Wade to decide on a picture. Twenty minutes were spent on a phone call to one of Wade’s contacts to find out where the bar was - apparently it was called the Gallery - but the call had mostly been Wade and the other person gossipping about some mutual friend Debra who had just cut bangs and dyed their hair. Their speculations as to why had only gotten wilder and wilder. Wade had also taken a detour on the way here to get the picture framed.
The bouncer gave Peter a dismissing glance and then eyed Wade sceptically. Peter traded his suit for baggy jeans and a blue hoodie but Wade was in full red regalia.
“Sugarplum!” Wade, or Peter supposed he was more Deadpool now, stated firmly.
“Excuse me?” The bouncer asked.
“The password,” Deadpool explained.
“We don’t have a password,” the bouncer retorted.
“Well you should, and it should be Sugarplum!” Deadpool put a hand on his hip.
“Can’t we just go in?” Peter asked. “You can give them business advice on the way out.” He was nervous and missed a mask to hide behind. He never did stuff like this as Peter. This was much more in Spider-man's area.
After a final once over look at Deadpool, the bouncer stepped aside.
“Weapons in the first side room and if you make trouble inside, you're out,” he informed them in a monotone voice. Deadpool skipped past him, pulling his katanas in a smooth motion.
“Here it goes,” Peter muttered and followed.
The bar was surprisingly cosy. An assortment of mismatched furniture and lighting made up most of the room with everything from bean bag chairs to a wooden throne next to an IKEA lamp. The overall lighting was soft, pulling the focus to the far end wall where a gallery of photos were lit up by spotlights. The wall was slightly curved and continued on to a bar with a mix of liquor and even more frames. A jazz song played on a raspy stereo and Peter's ears tried to listen in on every conversation at once in the packed room.
Almost every sitting place was occupied, rocking chair and stools alike. As he glanced around, Peter noticed with increasing horror that he recognized a lot of the people in the room. And not in a good way. More like in a I punched you in the face last month or put you in jail kind of way.
Max Dillon, or electro, was sipping on a beer in one corner. The scorpion was playing some card games at a big table in the middle and Boomerang was just leaving the bar with his hands full with drinks. In other words, Peter was fucked.
He quickly turned towards Deadpool to ask him to leave just to stare at a wooden wall with a photo of some guy holding a comically large gun and doing a thumbs up. Peter whipped around and spotted Deadpool halfway to the bar with his framed picture in a firm grip over his head.
“Shit.” Peter whispered and then followed. He elbowed his way to the front to see the picture laid out on the polished wooden bar in between Deadpool's outstretched arms.
“So what is one to do to get their photo up on the wall?” Deadpool shouted at the bartender, a woman in her mid twenties with long purple hair. She leveled an unimpressed look at Deadpool as she wiped off a glass and slid it into its place over her head.
“Dean decides which pictures go up on the wall.” She scrunched her nose at him. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” The guy next to Deadpool burst out laughing.
“That means get lost, ya weirdo,” the man slurred. Deadpool fisted one of his hands and Peter quickly grabbed his arm and started to pull him in the direction the woman had pointed.
They ended up in front of a small booth that looked like it had been pulled out of a completely different bar with leather seats and red sides. A poker game was laid out on a cracked table and around it sat a group that looked like a boy band having a reunion after 50 years apart.
“Hello gentlemen, I would like to submit my picture for the wall,” Deadpool stated and proudly held out his frame. The group blatantly ignored him. “Hello?”
“Gradpa is busy, you should come back later,” a high pitched voice told them from the side. Peter looked over at a small child with black hair and a green shirt four sizes too big.
“And when will he be un-bussy?” Deadpool asked and Peter face palmed, earning an elbow in his side. “Stop judging my vocabulary!”
“Like hell I will, just be glad I don’t judge your table manners like DD does,” Peter chided. That earned him an affectionate arm around his shoulders.
“And that is why I love you!” Deadpool announced.
“What are you supposed to be? The sock man?” The kid spoke up again and Peter couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.
“The what?!” Deadpool exclaimed. “And you're one to talk, seeing as you walked around in, what was it he called it? Underoos?” Peter ducked away from another jab.
“Pool not here,” he whispered, suddenly very aware again by the company that surrounded them.
“Don’t worry Pete, no one is listening!” Deadpool said, completely missing the interested stare from the kid.
“Can I see your picture?” The kid asked.
“Why of course!” Deadpool said in a chirper voice and offered up the photo. The kid ceremoniously accepted it and looked it over for far longer than Peter had expected.
“It’s good,” he finally said.
“Of course it is! It’s off me, and my buddy here took it,” Deadpool proudly stated. The kid looked over at Peter, visibly reevaluating him.
“You’re a photographer? Most of the pictures here are from the papers and by Peter Parker,” the kid said his name like it meant something. In the way people on the streets said Spider-man. Peter didn’t know what to do with that.
“Well actually-” Deadpool began but was cut off when someone bumped into hims from behind.
“Fuck, watch it Jackson!” A female voice sounded over the chatter of the bar. A sour looking dude wobbled on the spot and managed to empty half his drink over Deadpool’s chest and Peter gave up on the idea of exiting the bar in one piece.
“Well that wasn’t very nice,” Deadpool told the guy, his voice entering a dangerous territory.
“Get out of ma way,” the guy just said, a slight slur behind the words. A short girl poked her head forward behind her much taller friend.
“Shit sorry, he started drinking way too early,” she apologised. Peter’s brows furrowed, she seemed oddly familiar.
“Move,” the guy reached out and bumped Deadpool in the shoulder with the pint in his hand. Deadpool's own bump back was only delayed by the hand that tried to grab a gun that was no longer there.
“You move,” he deadpanned.
“Great argument pool!” Peter cut in. The girl gave him a weird face. “Go for his intelligence next, if you can find it.” He guessed he deserved the fist that came flying his way.
Peter easily side stepped it as Deadpool shouted “No you don’t!” and launched himself at the guy. They went down in a mess of fists and shouts.
A crowd started to form and a prickle of his neck made Peter look up over the shouting people to spot the bouncer making his way towards them.
Incoming.
Peter looked back and saw Deadpool getting a grip on the other man and began to throw him, only the kid was sitting right in the trajectory. Peter launched himself forward and got hold of the oversized shirt just in time to drag the kid out of harm’s way.
“Pool, bouncer heading for you!” Peter warned, clutching the kid close. Deadpool looked up at him and cracked his knuckles.
“The more the merrier,” he stated and faced the bouncer. Sadly, the bouncer’s size didn’t give him enough advantage over someone like Wade, and he soon lay on the floor too. Deadpool finished with a salute to the crowd, missing when the first guy got up again. Peter was about to intervene when the kid grabbed his arm. He looked down and missed when Deadpool got airborne and smashed into the poker table.
The bar suddenly got very quiet.
“Ouch,” came a quiet voice from the shards of the table. “Hello gentlemen, are you free now to look at my photo?” Deadpool asked. Five shocked elderly men stared down at him, none of them offering an answer. Then-
“Peter Parker?” A familiar voice said to Peters left. Peter closed his eyes and muttered a curse before turning to the man.
“Otto,” he greeted a pained smile forming on his face. Dr Octopus himself sat in a plush armchair with a glass of scotch in one hand. Thankfully none of his tentacles were currently in view.
“Peter Parker?” The kid whispered beneath him. Peter noticed more than a few that looked at him and then turned to the walls. Then a new kind of chaos erupted.
“It’s him!”
“That kid? No way!”
“Wait, that's the gut that took my picture?!”
“Omg can he take mine too?”
“Dude, the one of Electro with the power lines is sick!”
“Do you think he can sign it?”
“How do you book a photoshoot?”
“Can you take my picture?”
“Can you take one without spiderman in the frame?”
“You made me look fat!”
“How much is a first page photo?”
“I have this heist planned…”
“Fred shut up, you're not worthy of the wall.”
“Can we book a shooting?”
“The gun kind or the camera kind?”
“Are you free Wednesday?”
The free space that had formed during the fight started to disappear as the crowd closed in. Peter started to back up, not having the faintest idea of what was happening. He at least tried to push the kid to the side so he wouldn’t get trampled.
“Can you sign this?” And suddenly there is a piece of paper in his hand. He looks down at a picture of a man sprinting out of a bank with a gun blasting and a black duffle bag in hand. “It’s the second picture you took of me, the first was totally lame.”
“What why?” Peter stammered.
“Well it kind of was when I got arrested, but I’m out now!”
“Dude,” was all Peter could say.
“Can you take mine again?” A woman got up in his face. “You got my bad side before!”
“You have a good side?” Peter asked before he could stop himself. Her face fell before someone janked her back. A familiar, leather clad face came into view.
“Howdy!” Deadpool cheered before turning around and started pushing people back. “Back off people, give the man some space! We have important business going on here!”
“He has an appointment with me!” the kid materialised again and shouted. Peter's jaw fell open when the crowd actually backed off.
“Why don’t you sit down, Peter?” Otto asked and Peter flinched, realising he had backed into the man’s table. He looked around to make some sense of this absurd situation but finally gave up and sat down on a spinning office chair. Deadpool found a pink rocking horse and the kid found an ordinary wooden chair. Most likely the only one in the room.
“What in the world is going on?” Peter questioned.
“Your photography skills have earned you quite the reputation since Dean here started setting up your photos on the walls,” Otto so kindly explained.
“Wait a minute, you’re Dean?” Deadpool shouted and spun around to face the kid. The wood in his rocking horse cracked with the movement. The kid just nodded, not letting his eyes off Peter.
“You didn’t say that you’re Peter Parker.” The kid - Dean - said.
“You didn’t say you were Dean,” Peter shot back with a smile to soften his words. The kid nodded, seemingly accepting that.
“I can look at your photo again.” Deadpool muttered something about connections and hard work but gave away the photo. Peter noticed that the frame had cracked, but the picture seemed intact.
“Well that is a good photo,” Otto supplied. Peter gave him a hesitant smile, put off by the compliment. Their interactions were usually not this friendly.
“Thanks.” And he was pretty satisfied with the photo. Deadpool was perched on the top of a building, one foot resting on his other knee, doing a salute with a gun in hand. A metal rod poked out of his shoulder, reflecting the setting sun and a small pillar of smoke lifted from the gun towards the pink sky. He had shown up like that to one of their taco-thursdays and Peter was glad he had brought his camera.
The metal rod had also been deemed cutlery and removed before the dinner.
“You can set up your photo.” Dean decided but went on when Deadpool started to cheer. “But only if I can have a picture of you too.” That was directed at Peter.
Deadpool rocked his horse forward towards Peter before he could answer.
“Do not dare say no,” he threatened and Peter reluctantly agreed.
“We could take a group photo,” he suggested and that was how he ended up in a photo on the wall of a very shady bar beloved by a criminal clientele, with Deadpool, Dr Octopus, Dean, Dean’s grandpa (the owner of the pub) and Shocker (who elbowed his way into the frame last minute).
They went back two weeks later to show Matt who insisted on hearing someone confirming its existence, since he couldn’t well, see it himself, and by then it had been framed in a golden frame and hung in the center over the bar.
Peter liked Dean, who was thrilled to spend time with his idol, and they bonded over the Star wars franchise during their visit. Before they left, Peter promised to return to help him with his maths homework.
His day to day life didn’t change drastically, but he did earn a few extra bucks on the side for the occasional photoshoot. He also received an alarming amount of tips of robberies and other heists that actually made his work as Spider-man a bit tricky. It wasn’t like he could act on them all without being suspicious.
Peter also noticed that he came across far less problems on the streets when he walked around as Peter. Word had gotten out that there were some pretty scary characters that did not want their favorite photographer to get harmed.
In the end he mostly enjoyed showing Deadpool the new pictures he had taken over taco-thursday and discussing the latest hairstyle of his friend Debra. The amount of tacos had doubled since the increase in his budget from all the photoshoots.