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“I know,” he says, and because it's all he really can say, he says it again. “I know.”
It's true, at least. True as it can be. Nobody can ever really know how someone else is feeling, blah blah whatever. He's heard it all before, but he's been through this. He can empathise. Which is why Wade knows that no matter how much he wants to, there's really nothing he can do, no way to help. And he does want to, he really fucking wants to, because somehow he was lucky enough to weasel his way into calling Spider-Man his friend without getting clocked in the jaw, the most meaningful relationship he's had since.. well, in a long time, fucked up though it may be (then again, it just wouldn’t be a relationship with Deadpool if it wasn’t kinda fucked up). Seeing him this way feels like a cleaver to the chest, and he can't even do anything. He feels as useless as everyone says he is.
It fucking sucks.
Spidey’s-- Peter, feels weird using an alias when he's seeing him so raw. Peter’s fist crashes through a wall, and Wade isn't sure if the sound he hears him make is because his hand just pummeled through a layer of brick and mortar, or something more internal. His hand goes from hovering over Peter’s back to settling between his shoulder blades, the other gently easing his fist from the wall. The skin is torn like the fabric of the suit, pink and tacky red around the knuckles, but nothing seems broken. Perks of super strength, he guesses.
“Hey hey hey,” he says, voice soft but stern, and Peter turns to look at him, chest heaving. “Don't go doin’ that, Spidey. Buildings are expensive. And you don't grow back like I do.”
Finally, Peter seems to remember that Wade is there, looks down to where he quickly lets go of his wrist and flexes his hand. There's still this angry, hollow energy shaking through him and pouring off in waves, but he seems to have at least sort of collected himself, compacted it all into a manageable thrum that he can speak through. Wade hates it.
“You don't have to--” he starts, but from the way his jaw clenches when he pauses to swallow, it seems like his voice isn't as steady as he'd hoped. “I should go. I should-- this is, is dangerous. Can't let people see Spider-Man like..” he clenches his fists and looks away, evening his breathing into long, deeps breaths.
No one should have to feel like this, he thinks, but losing someone is never easy. Peter makes like he's about to web away to spiral down the rabbit hole of self-destruction in the privacy of anywhere but here, but Wade is rubbing soft, soothing circles across his back, and he likes to think that that's what makes him stay. “What you should do is not be alone right now. Trust me, been down that road and it doesn't lead anywhere fun.” It's really a testament to how fucked up he knows this whole thing to be that he tamps down a quip on the tip of his tongue about how fun alone time can be if you know how to set the mood. “I uh, I mean it doesn’t have to be with me , just, y’know, someone. One of your gal Spidey-buds, super pals, whatever you guys call your little boy band.” he rushes to add, because as great as hanging with Spidey is, as awesome as it would be to feel sort of needed for once, like someone actually trusted him, he’s not an idiot. He knows that he’s maybe not the most, uh, desirable person to have around in those touchy feely moments. It’s not that he can’t control his mouth, it’s just that he usually.. doesn’t. Doesn’t want to. But for Spidey, that might be a different story.The silence stretches on long enough that normally, he would’ve made some incredibly awesome and heroic (yeah, okay) exit by now, but he’s not leaving here without knowing that Pete isn’t going to do something stupid.
“Don’t-- you don’t have to go,” the kid says, finally, through a long sigh. “I just.. I dunno. I don’t know, I don’t f--” he cuts himself off, and Wade can see where a little more red seeps out from his already healing skin when he clenches his fist hard enough that it should hurt, mumbles ‘I know’ at him like it’s a reflex, and kind of wants to punch himself in the face for it. God that must be getting annoying. “Roof, I guess? Like it better up there sometimes.”
“Sure. Roof.” He nods, because he gets it. Up that high, where the breeze blows past and you can almost breathe the clean air over the thick scent that is New York City, where you can squash people like ants under your thumb but they still walk away unscathed, where it feels like you’re the only one for miles and maybe the world stops just for you, just for a while, nothing feels quite as real. Like reality is prowling the streets, weaving through the world around it, just waiting for you to come back down so it can crash over you again like a tidal wave lunging at a castle in the sand. But as long as you’re up there, you’re removed from it all, watching other people have to deal with the world, and nothing you say or think or do has to leave that patch of pebbled concrete.
“Race ya?” Pete says, and he’s probably just hoping for a way to burn off all that conflicting energy, but it’s the closest Wade has seen him to normal all day, so he can’t help but smile.
“Race ya.”
Things already feel better as they’re sitting on the edge, panting, Wade’s shoulder nudging Peter’s while he whines about cheating. It’s easier to breathe, the air is cool and biting through his suit in the way that he loves, and Peter seems to have pulled himself out of whatever dark pit he’d sunk into. For now, at least. It comes in waves, but if you’re lucky, the tide gets lower as time goes on. He’s taken off his mask and run his hands over his face, burying his fingers in his hair.
“This is just so fucked up,” he groans, but it sounds like it’s more to himself than to Wade.
For once in his life, Wade pauses before he speaks, not wanting to ruin whatever moment Pete is having. “You wanna talk about it?” He’s met with this incredulous look, like it’s so unheard of that he would want to talk about feelings . Which, okay, yeah, it is. But they’re not his feelings, it’s not for his own benefit, it’s for Peter , and for that, he would do anything. “Hey! I can be a good listener! See, look, I’ll even.. no talking! I won’t ruin anything!” He zips his lips, locks ‘em up, throws away the key, giving Spidey a big thumbs up and a grin. He actually gets a little laugh for that one, and he feels his heart flutter, warmth creeping from his chest to fill his veins because he made him laugh , he was useful , , and somehow that smile is even more gorgeous than all the other times he’s seen it when it feels like such a victory.
“I just,” Peter starts, looking down over the city and wrapping his fingers around the edge of the building, swinging his feet lazily in the open air, and it hits Wade, seeing him like this, that even a kid in his early twenties is so impossibly young . “We’re-- we were-- still so close, you know? We talk every day and we make stupid jokes and we hang out and she.. she’s the only one who knows about-” he gestures to himself, the suit- “all this. The only who isn’t in the same boat at least. And now I can’t. I just can’t! I can’t do any of it. I can’t call her and tell her the stupid little things I know will make her laugh, I can’t drop by with a pizza and make fun of crappy movies until we’re laughing so hard we can’t breathe, I can’t pick on her for the way she rubs her nose when she’s embarrassed even though she knows I think it’s fucking adorable. I--”
His voice cracks and he looks away again, and Wade catches a glimpse of the divots in the concrete where his fingers press against the ledge. “And it’s my fault. I can’t see her again, nobody can see her again, and it’s all my fault. I killed her, and there’s so much else I should’ve done--”
“Hey hey woah woah woah.” Fuck his vow of silence, it was bound to be broken sooner or later anyway, and he’s not about to let Peter keep thinking like that. Not if he can help it. “You did what you could, Petey. You tried to save her, and that’s all you can do, y’know? Just try.”
“I should’ve tried harder . I should’ve kept a better eye out for her. hould’ve never gotten her involved in the first place. Never let her get involved, I mean. If it wasn’t for me--”
“If it wasn’t for you, she probably wouldn’t have been as happy as she was right? Look, I may not have known this girl or whatever, but I do know..” This wasn’t supposed to be about his feelings goddammit, but here he is, gripping his gun tight through the holster, hoping maybe it will break before his voice does. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you-- uh, someone you really care about. And what it’s like to think it’s your fault, and that if you’d done something just a little bit different maybe they’d still be around, y’know? Fuck.. The point is, you can’t keep blaming yourself. Sometimes life shoves you the shit end of the stick and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”
Peter is silent again for a moment, but Wade can feel his eyes on him. He won’t look, though. Whatever look is gracing that pretty face right now, he’s not sure he can handle it. “I never really thought..” His voice is quieter than before, steadier, but barely above a whisper. “You.. lost someone close? What was her-- his? I don’t-- um.. what was their name?”
Wade wants to laugh, because if that isn’t the understatement of the century, but all he manages to do is shrug his shoulders a little. She wasn’t just someone . She was everyone. Everything.
“Nessa,” he says, quietly. “Vanessa.” Thinking about her again is hard enough (not that he doesn’t think about her all the damn time, but at least he’s to the point where she isn’t constantly at the forefront of his mind, like an obituary stapled to his forehead), but saying her name feels like acid on his tongue, rolling down his throat and hollowing him from the inside out. "Let's just say I.. I fucked up, no surprise there, except this time, it.. Shit. One person ever meant a damn thing to me back then, and she got, uh.. well, it didn't end well for her. For either of us."
“You.. you wanna talk about it?” The effort is cute, and the kid sounds sheepish, but god.
He actually does laugh this time, flat and breathy, and it feels like all the air has been punched from his lungs. “I know it’s unheard of, but for once, I’m gonna have to give that a hard pass, baby boy. Uh, thanks, though?” he hurriedly tacks on at the end. Because he appreciates the effort, it’s sweet, and he never thought he’d turn down talking , and to Peter of all people, but, well. Turns out not all his wounds heal, and that’s really not what Pete needs to hear right now. Not with how fresh and raw and open his still is, too soon to even begin to leave its scar.
They’re quiet for a while, so uncharacteristic of both of them, too drained and angry and unsure of what to even say to push the words out. The far edge of the city is starting to glow with that first ray of light, just over the horizon, when Wade breaks the silence.
“Go home kid.” Peter startles at the sound, like he’d almost forgotten where he is, that he isn’t alone. “Get some sleep, and try to stop fucking blaming yourself, alright? You’ll feel better if you just sleep for, like, three days straight. Call me after your coma and I can bring over some pizza and beer and wreck your ass at Mario Kart.”
The kid almost laughs at that, and finally turns towards him. “Thanks, Wade,” he says, and before Wade can really process what’s happening, Peter is rolling his mask up to rest on his cheekbones, and then he’s kissing him, and it is what it is. Surprising, soft, shaking with whatever confused emotions are fighting in them both. But it’s good, and Wade thinks he can feel it when his heart beats again. “I mean it.” And then Peter and his lips are gone.
He hadn’t exactly expected to spend his night trying to comfort Spider-Man and being haunted by his ghosts, definitely not to do such a shit job and feel so fucking low about it. ..Okay, maybe that part isn’t quite as true. Still, nothing is resolved, and if there’s a place underneath rock bottom, Wade is pretty sure he’s found it. But sometimes, that’s just how things go. There is no magic wand, no fairy godmother that can come in and make things right. Like he told Pete, sometimes you’re dealt a shit hand, and nothing can change it but time. So he’ll do what he does best, and roll with it.