Peter Parker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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newyorknative2016-06-17 02:25 am
spideyguy) wrote in newyorknative2016-06-17 02:25 am
Entry tags:
The way you make me feel, you really turn me on
WADE
Well that was...unexpected. It wasn't even a gender neutral name, like Sam. That's got to be a guy.
...so maybe the afternoon turned into more of a revelation for Peter than he might have thought, but hey. Whoever Wade was, Peter's bound to love him, quite literally.
The thing about soulmates was, the bond strengthened with time. When the name appeared, that's when the real countdown began. Then, the universe started pulling you together, until the endgame - a meeting, face to face, and the touch of bare skin on skin. When that happened, the name, inked on your wrist? It turned gold. That's how you knew it was the right person (although, obviously, you knew beforehand. Usually. Probably?)
It was said some soulmates could even watch each other's dreams. That was just a myth, however, an urban legend. That's not to say a soulmate connection wasn't extraordinarily strong, though; the majority of couples could, in fact, feel each other on a physical level. Feel each other's pain, specifically, or catch a cold when their soulmate did.
Peter started feeling the twinges freshman year of high school. A pain in his side, just a dull ache. His jaw, occasionally. It was so infrequent, it had been hard to diagnose it as an echo of his soulmate's pain.
Peter wondered if Wade was having as much trouble at school as Peter was. Maybe they had a different brand of Locker Knocker wherever Wade was.
And so it goes. Peter was bitten. Uncle Ben died. He started his quest for revenge. The bond grew stronger. I'm sorry, Peter thought, spitting out blood in an alleyway, fresh from his last fight. I'll try not to get hit again. It said something that he was more willing to try for the sake of his mystery Wade's pain than his own.
The night against Connors was bad. Slashed his chest clean open, in addition to the bullet wound in his thigh. Gwen cleaned him up as best she could - god, what did he ever do to deserve a friend like her? - but all Peter could think about was Wade. I'm sure he'll understand when you meet him, Peter. He's probably just worried, I mean, imagine if you felt him get shot in the leg.
Unfortunately, the next time they shared pain, it was much, much worse than a bullet.
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So when the name appeared on his wrist, he wasn't as excited as most people would be. Wade had been sitting on a park bench, taking up all the damn room because he was at that age where you were just naturally an asshole. A weird itch on his wrist prompted him to look down and lo and behold, a name.
Peter
So his soulmate was male? Not that that bothered Wade in the slightest. When he was in elementary school, it wasn't abnormal for him to get crushes on basically anybody. From what his mom said, his first kiss was with a boy at his daycare that he had become best friends with. It was his last day and his mom said he was a mess because he was just so upset about not getting to see Robert every day. So he dramatically kissed him goodbye and that was that. Wade didn't remember any of it, but his mom always got a goofy grin on her face when she talked about how cute it was that he was so upset.
But did he immediately have an attachment to some letters scribbled onto his wrist? Nah. Or at least he told himself that.
Even though he fought it, he still caught himself sitting up at night thinking about what his soulmate was like. What was his favorite color? Did he cut his spaghetti or did he twirl it? Did he even like spaghetti?
He would get in fights because of his inability to shut up and afterward as he sat with an ice pack on his jaw he wondered, did Peter feel this too? For a moment there would be guilt, but then he would force it aside. He didn't need a name on his wrist. He didn't need anyone. Everyone left in the end.
When he left home to join the Special Forces because fighting was the only thing he was good at, he refused to think about his soulmate. All through the training, all through the missions, even when he put a bullet through someone's head. Because what was the point? But then he did think about that god damn name on his wrist. How would Peter feel if he knew that his soulmate was a killer? That was when he questioned what he was doing with his life.
Of course, he was dishonorably discharged. Refusing to kill a child was frowned upon apparently. Wade always talked back and it pissed his Lieutenant off anyway. So it was better this way. But now he couldn't find a job. So what did he pick up? Mercenary work. Oh boy. If there was one thing in his life he was good at, it was killing people. And that was what he did.
Occasionally he would feel various aches and pains over his body and he just knew it wasn't his. That was the first time he felt helpless at his inability to protect Peter. It had never crossed his mind before, but now his thoughts were racing and all he could think of was he he wasn't there. Just what was he getting up to? Maybe he was like Wade. Maybe he wouldn't be ashamed of the blood on Wade's hands.
Wade had finally gotten used to all the random pains from his soulmate. In his mind, at least he knew Peter was a tough motherfucker. But then it happened. It was on a pretty normal night. He had just finished a job and was at home celebrating by watching a Golden Girls marathon and then he felt the pain in his chest and a horrifically sharp pain in his thigh. It was like someone had socked him right in the sternum and then stabbed him. All the breath left his lungs and he kicked his beer right off the table. The area burned bad and all he could think was, Please, Peter. Please be okay. I promise I'll find you. Just don't fucking die. He fell asleep that night clutching his wrist, Peter's name pressed to his heart.
And of course just as he let himself realize that he wanted Peter in his life, he got the diagnosis. After getting up in the middle of the night to pee, he was hit with a wave of dizziness and passed out next to the toilet. His roommate, Weasel, found him and took him to the ER. It was the big C. Cancer. He had it everywhere. His x-ray was lit up like a Christmas tree and all he could think about was how he would have to break that promise to Peter. Maybe it was better this way.
That was when he was approached by the man with the card. It was their chance. Anything not to break his promise.
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Peter woke up screaming, that first, awful night. Aunt May had rushed in with a baseball bat and fear in her eyes but - there was no attacker to be seen. Just Peter, seizing against the bed. He didn't have the restraints Wade had to stop him. May had held him, and cried, and when it didn't get any better - when the pain just kept coming - they called 911.
There wasn't much to be done, for Peter. It was a soulbond, not something that could be treated. Hell, even if painkillers did work on his spider metabolism, it wouldn't have done any good. This wasn't his pain - this wasn't even the full effect - Peter was just getting an echo, a shadow, of Wade's real pain. It made him sick to his stomach if he thought about it too long.
The police opened an investigation, which, while unusual, was the only thing they could hope to do. They searched hospitals and military records, for any 'Wade's' that might be MIA. The torture - Peter knew that's what it was, how could it be anything else? - was evident, so they searched for any 'missing persons' reports as well. Nothing. It certainly didn't help that all Peter had was a first name.
The drowning was the worst. Peter didn't think there was anything more terrifying than drowning on a completely dry hospital bed. Aunt May had to be escorted from the room, she was so upset. When it finally wound down, when Peter could catch his breath - meaning either Wade had passed out or had finally been permitted air - he curled into a ball, wrist inches from his face, breath tickling his skin. Just hold on, Wade, please.
He held on. Sometimes, when Peter wasn't feeling terribly charitable, he wished Wade didn't. Then it would end, for both of them; and surely, Wade was in even worse shape than Peter.
Three months. Peter finished Junior year in his hospital bed, with Gwen bringing him the work, hastily finishing it between bouts of pain. The worst part was, there was nothing he could do - nothing but share Wade's pain, and know that he was still there, that his heart was still beating.
It got worse.
Mid-July, Peter was suffocating. Nothing new. Except this time, it wasn't just an hour - he spent a whole two days, dizzy and gasping for air. Halfway through those two days? It felt like his skin was on fucking fire. Whatever Wade was going through, it had been kicked up a notch and a half. Then came the fight; to Peter's dismay, it was almost like this had heightened their connection. He could feel the punches, the searing heat against his thighs, and then - another scream, ripped from his throat. Something pierced his heart.
Wade was dead. It was finally over, but Peter felt no relief.
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See, Wade came into this thing with a pretty high pain tolerance already. He was Special Forces, the shit they put them through was rough. But Weapon X made the Special Forces look like a teacup ride at the carnival and sunny day. The torture was horrific. He was electrocuted, beaten and drowned over and over again. If you could think of it, they most likely did it to him. Brought close to death over and over until he couldn't remember how long he had even been in this hell hole. All to try to bring out that mutation. But what terrified him was the thought that his soulmate was handling the same thing. His Peter had to have felt some of it and he hated himself. It would've been better to just die. To save Peter from enduring this pain.
It only intensified his hatred of Francis. Oh yeah. He found out that fucker's name.
"How tough can he be with a name like Francis?"
"See here's the problem with round-the-clock torture, it's that you can't really step it up from there."
"Is that what you think?"
They put him in that fucking chamber. Stole all the air from him until he was almost dead, but just enough for him to survive. That was when the mutation finally happened. It triggered and it hurt like hell. Wade had screamed himself hoarse and part of him was begging for death. He just wanted it all to fucking end. Then Peter's name echoed in his thoughts. He looked down at his wrist. The name wasn't even legible anymore. The sores on his skin had ate that name right up and at that realization, something lit up inside him.
He was going to fucking kill Francis.
Headbutting Angel Dust felt amazing, but the best part was that she was a fucking idiot that went around with a match sticking out of her mouth. A match near a machine that was hooked up to oxygen tanks.
The lab was up in flames and the only solace he got was that those poor souls caught in the flames were finally getting rest.
Wade wasn't Wade anymore. All he knew was this burning anger deep inside him. Anger that there were people in this world that were allowed to take someone's free will and fucking torture them for their own means. Anger that his soulmate was unfortunate enough to have his name on his wrist and had to endure the same horrors that he had. Anger that no matter how hard he punched that fucker Francis' face he just kept smiling.
But then it was over. A pain in his chest sharp enough to stun him and then a soundless scream on his lips as blood filled his lungs and poured out of his mouth. He clawed at his chest, feeling the metal that protruded through it with every screaming fiber of his being, but no matter how he much he clawed, it wouldn't go away. The panic set in. This was it. He was going to fucking die and Francis was still alive. His vision dimmed as he gasped desperately, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle. Then the world started to blur and all he could think in a jumble was, Peter. I'm sorry. I failed you. I broke it. I'm so sorry. Peter, please. I love you. Why didn't I--
And then everything went dark.
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When he was finally released, cleared to go home, Gwen brought him two things - a bouquet of flowers and a bracelet. He'd stared at her, uncomprehending, but she just took his hand and made him carry her up to the top of the Queens bridge.
They scattered the flowers. Gwen took Peter's arm, clasped the bracelet over his wrist - blocking out Wade's name, which hadn't faded from his skin yet, and probably wouldn't for some time - and Peter cried, unable to hold himself up any longer.
Life moved on, whether Peter wanted it to or not. The world kept turning, and Peter kept breathing, even when his other half did not. Spiderman returned, perhaps a bit too early, at the tail-end of June. This time, it was less of a patrol and more of a hunt for trouble. He did it too much, became careless with himself - there was no one who had to feel his pain, anymore. Sometimes, in a way, Peter felt like the pain made him closer to Wade, rest his soul. It had been the only thing they'd ever had, so as fucked up as it was...Peter wasn't exactly wrong.
Sometimes, he thought he felt phantom pain, from Wade. But that was probably just wishful thinking.
Norman Osborn died. Harry asked for his help and Peter - he can't, he can't do it, for fear of making Harry's suffering worse. Another person he can't save, and it's infuriating, that everyone in his life has this cloud over their heads.
But then there's the clocktower. Gwen's falling. Peter can catch her. He always caught her.
Gwen's head hit the floor with a resounding crack, and Peter is undone once again.
This pain - this is agony. This is worse, at least for Peter, than feeling Wade's pain for three months. It's the loss that breaks the camels' back - his parents, Uncle Ben, his freaking soulmate - but Gwen? The best friend he didn't deserve, who was the closest thing to a soulmate Peter was ever going to have - she was gone, it was his fault and he just...
His chest ached, about to split open, and he just clutched her body, sobbing. For everyone he'd lost - what would he even have left, when the smoke cleared? Harry - Harry was gone too, replaced by the psychosis of the serum. Another name to add to the list.
Surely this is how he'd die. Surely God wouldn't make him live with such emotional pain.
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He woke up buried under ash and debris. The first desperate gasp of air into his lungs felt like he had swallowed needles. And the first thought to pop into his head was Peter. He looked at his wrist. There were scars now instead of sores, mangling the perfect script. It was something warped now, but still legible and that was all that mattered to him. He wondered if Peter was okay. Were they even connected anymore? There was no way after something like that. The thought of his experiences traumatizing his soulmate were almost too much for him to handle. Especially if it ripped apart the one thing that had kept him going.
Wade Wilson was supposed to be dead. Yet here he was, still breathing and he was going to fucking eviscerate Francis.
That became his whole life. His need for revenge fueled him.
Weasel helped him come up with the name Deadpool. It was terrible and perfect at the same time. When he got the complete suit together, he knew this was who he was meant to be. Each motherfucker he killed, the closer he got to Francis. The closer he got to Francis, the angrier he became. Francis took everything from him and Deadpool was going to make him pay ten fold.
When he wasn't out hunting down Francis' goons in order to find the fucker, he was wallowing in misery at home. The only upside to this whole thing was that Peter no longer had to be bound to a piece of shit like himself. The first time he saw that face reflected in his bathroom mirror, he shattered it with his fist and punching until his hand went numb from all the glass embedded in it. Things were better this way. Now his outside reflected his inside. Perfect. Deadpool always knew he was a monster.
That was what destroyed him. Not only was he tortured, but he was ruined. Signs of mental illness were always there throughout his life, but it was something he could control. This he couldn't control. It no longer bothered him when he murdered someone and his morals were officially questionable. I mean, they always were a little, but no there was absolutely no doubt.
He found himself disassociating more often than not. Especially after seeing the horror that was his face. So when he was home, he started to wear his Deadpool mask. And by that point, he was Deadpool. Wade Wilson died in that warehouse and he would remain dead. It was better that way. Peter didn't need someone like Deadpool in his life.
It was like his mind and body were trying to torture him. He was still feeling that phantom pain off and on and with a higher frequency than in the past. Was it all in his head? Oh, definitely. It always was. Or at least that's what he told himself.
Things were going swell, he was getting closer to finding Francis so he could ruin that fucker's life just like he'd ruined Deadpool's. Then out of nowhere one night, it was that phantom pain again. Suddenly it amped to eleven and Deadpool just knew. It felt like his heart was going to explode. "Peter."
The pain almost broke him all over again. His soulmate was in more pain than Wade had ever felt him in before and that was terrifying. He spent the night curled up on his bathroom floor, horrified at the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that took him over. The bond was still there.
That evening was the first time he shot himself to make the voices stop. I'm sorry, Peter. I should have stayed dead.
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There wasn't anything to be done, and depression set in like a rot. He hung up the cowl, spending his days, for the most part, next to Gwen's headstone or in his room. What's worse, he was starting to feel pain again, pain that wasn't his, and it sent him spiraling, more often than not. Wade was gone and here Peter was, imagining pain, aching for something he'd never have.
He wondered if Gwen's soulmate, James, felt the same way Peter did. He'd never know what happened to her, the same way Peter would never know about Wade. The helpless lack of closure just made it worse.
There was only so long Peter could stay away from Spiderman, though; the thought of more people dying, people he could have saved? Absolutely unbearable. So he put on the mask and went back to work, quips masking the lack of a real smile underneath. He was perhaps a little harsher than he'd been before, which didn't exactly make him friends with the rest of the superhero community, but then, Peter had never been friends with them before. He didn't need help.
And then he met Deadpool.
Daredevil was the one to warn him. One of the only vigilantes he talked to, because the best way to talk to Daredevil was with silence. Some new guy on the block, keep your distance. Not a vigilante, but a mercenary. Word is he's friendly, so he'll smile when he kills you. Total nutcase.
Peter had thanked him for the heads up. He wasn't too worried, though. He didn't really fear death, anymore. In fact, the only thing keeping him going was his aunt. If that made him a little more reckless - well, he didn't have Gwen to stop him, nor Wade to fight for.
Their introduction comes in the way of a bullet that almost hits Peter while he's swinging. He squawks and nearly falls out of the sky, coming to a stumbling landing on a rooftop. "What the fuck?"
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His hunt for Francis wasn't as rage-fueled as before either. It was like his batteries were running low. All he wanted to do was find Peter and make sure he was okay. But at the same time, he never wanted to find him because then Peter would know what a fucked up mental case he had for a soulmate.
And then he met Spiderman. Now, Wade knew Spiderman. He was a huge fan of the guy since he saw him on the news. There were figurines of the hero on the mantle at his apartment. Spiderman always strove to do good and seemed like he was such an awesome guy. So color him surprised when he saw the masked hero gliding through the air. His finger may have... slipped for a moment. No worries, he was a good shot! No spiders were harmed in the making of this tag.
"Wow! Nice landing! The Amazing Spiderman! Can I get your autograph? Here, I'll bend over. Just sign my ass cheek real quick," Deadpool bent over right in front of him and pulled a sharpie out from one of his pouches. He held it out toward the other man expectantly, ass still pointed in his direction.
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Wade, at least, knew Peter was still out there, and one day, they'd meet. Peter...certainly wasn't expecting it, thinking Wade dead. Sometimes he tried to imagine it - was he kidnapped? Taken as a POW? The idea of his faceless soulmate, sitting in the bottom of a trench with Peter's name on his wrist was too much, sometimes.
"Would you watch where you point that thing?" Peter shot a glob of webbing, aiming for Deadpool's hand, the one holding the gun. "I'm swinging here, I mean christ above - "
"Uh, thanks but no thanks." Peter put a hand in front of his face to shield from view of Wade's ass. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
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"Name's Deadpool. I'm probably your biggest fan, just sayin'." He stood back up, putting the sharpie back into his pouch. All he wanted was an autograph. Jeez. "But now that I have you here. I was thinking... since I was in town and you were in town... maybe you could tell me if you've heard of someone named Ajax? Yes, like the dish soap." Wouldn't that be funny? Spidey probably had better connections than he did, so it didn't hurt to ask. Now that he had him here. In the flesh. The news didn't do justice to that ass because daaaaaayum. Emphasis on the yum.
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"Uh huh. President of my fan club, Mr. Pool?" Peter put his hands on his hips, staring at Wade scrutinizingly. What was with everybody and copying his red motif? I mean sure, he didn't own the color, but like, he was here first. Street rules. "...no, I can't say I have. Why?"
It's Peter's way of figuring out if Wade has a hit on someone, or if it's something Peter should be looking into, for the safety of the populace.
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"Mr. Pool. You make me sound like a pool cleaning service. Though I wouldn't mind being someone's pool boy..." Wade crossed his arms as he shifted from one foot to the other. It was pretty hard for him to stay in one place. "Oh no reason. Just a psychopath that tortures people in need of a bullet to the head." Fucking Francis. Rage simmered below the surface just thinking about him. It was sad that Spiderman didn't have any clues for him to go off of, but Deadpool was positive that he was getting closer to the source.
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"It's New York. You really think I have a pool for you to clean?" Try a different pick up, line, buddy.
Now that - that got Peter's attention. He straightened up, eyeing Wade. "Psychopath? What do you mean? What's he done?"
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"Way to crush a girl's dreams!" Spidey shot him down quicker than... well, quicker than he literally shot him down a moment ago.
Maybe if he could get Spiderman interested in Francis it'd be easier to take the bastard down. Oh man! He was starting to get excited at the thought of a team up. They could fight bad guys together. Best friends forever. "Oh, I don't know. Injected normal people with a serum that tries to force mutations by repeatedly torturing them until they either die or mutate? And then after, turn them into mindless mutated slaves?"
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"And you think he's here, in New York?" Peter was all business, suddenly, worry rising as Wade described the guy he was looking for. That did not sound like an upstanding citizen. "Wait, he's making mutants? You can i>do that?"
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"Yeah, Spidey. They can." I found that out the hard way. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. "The guy's a real piece of work. That's why I'm trying to find him. I think it's time for him to take a little dirt nap."
Wade started to pace back and forth, unable to stand still any longer. "My current trail led me here. Whether he's actually here or not... I got no clue. That's why I was hoping you might be able to help." Spiderman was the beacon of hope for all and nobody else was really lining up to help him. So that was who came to mind when he realized that he might need some help at some point and that was why he shot Spidey out of the sky. But also because he just really wanted that autograph.
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"I can. I know this city inside and out." Knows where to look, who to ask. Deadpool came to the right guy. "But I'm going to need to know all the details. And I don't kill."
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"I'm not asking you to kill." Because Wade wanted to be the one to put the bullet in Francis' head anyway. "Superbro team up! I can't wait. Hold on." He took out a package of post-its and a pen from one of his pouches. Yes, he carried post-its. Wade scribbled an address onto the paper and held it out to the other man. "Meet me here tomorrow at eight. I'll wear the fancy dress, you bring the wine. See ya later, snookums!"
Yay! Spidey was actual going to help him. He felt like he was on the right path. As soon as Francis was taken care of, he was going to find Peter. Whatever it took. Deadpool skipped off to the edge of the building, gave Spiderman a two finger and leapt off. There may have been a crunching noise when he hit the ground, but it was just a fracture. It'd be fixed in minutes.
That night he fell asleep wondering why he got butterflies when Spiderman was close and how the other man looked underneath the mask. But still his thumb brushed over the mangled script on his wrist.
Deadpool showed up outside the warehouse, blending into the shadows of the alley. All that Deadpool knew was that this was where a lot of the supplies needed to make the serum was coming from and there was a guy pretty high up on the Weapon X program train overseeing stuff. He wanted to interrogate that man.
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That's not to say Peter won't go after this 'Ajax' on his own, anyway, which was a really dumb idea, but hey - this is Peter, when has he ever had a lick of sense? Still, he took the paper, glancing at the address. "Is that your way of saying I'm going to need to be drunk for this?"
Peter winced, hearing the crunch in all it's high-def, superhuman hearing glory. That didn't sound good at all.
Peter didn't allow himself the luxury of wondering what it was about Deadpool that seemed so...he wasn't going to think about it. Nope. He didn't even let himself look at the name anymore. Gwen was right; he didn't want to watch it fade away.
Peter was perched up high, surveying the area. Definitely some shady dealings going on around here. Peter didn't like the look of this place one damn bit.
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That was when he spotted Spiderman up above him. His knight in shining spandex.
"You showed up for our date! I thought you were going to leave me hangin' like everybody else." Deadpool wasn't even trying to conceal his voice. Which probably wasn't smart of him, but eh. This was Deadpool. "So... you just wanna crash in there like the koolaid man and start kicking ass? Ohhh yeah~"
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Maybe some people didn't have to worry about bullets, and maybe Peter was a little more reckless than usual, but still, he'd rather not die.
"Let's figure out how many guys are in here first, okay? Is your Ajax in there, you think?"
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"There are around twenty armed normal goons patrolling the goods. The rest are just people forced to pack the supplies up." Deadpool only planned on taking out the goons. He may be a little morally confusing, but he didn't kill innocents. Actually, he wasn't going to kill anyone tonight because that was their deal. Which sucked, but what could you do. He needed Spidey's help. "I highly doubt Francis is actually in there though. But one of his big goons is overseeing all this bullshit going on in here and he probably has a link to Francis' location. This is mostly a supply house. It's like the Home Depot of mutant making." Yes, he switched to Francis instead of Ajax because fuck that douchebag.
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"...twenty, damn." Peter gave a low whistle, but nodded. They could do it, wouldn't be too bad. And yes, no killing! Thank you. "Wait, Francis? His name is Ajax Francis? That's so unfortunate."
"Information gathering. We could go for stealth, you know." Maybe climb in an office window on the upper level and just make off with the big guy. Then sic the police on this place.
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"His alias is Ajax. That's why I gave you that first. I figured you'd be more likely to hear that than Francis. His real name. And lemme tell ya. He's not exactly a fan of it." And Deadpool would like to remind that fucker of it over and over and over.
"Smart thinking. Less bang bang! More sneaky sneaky." Deadpool was used to just busting down doors. It's not like he needed to be careful or anything. What was the worst that could happen? But then the name on his wrist popped into his head and he got pensive. He wondered if the bond was too weak for him to feel all the deaths that Deadpool had gone through. He hoped so. Maybe he should've been more careful. Spidey's idea was better.
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"Right." Wade's tone told Peter all he needed to know about that. There was clearly history there.
"Yeah. You climb?" Peter would carry him, but something told him Deadpool would make him regret it if he did. "I hear heartbeats on the other side of the building, so the roof is probably our best bet."
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Oh, there was definitely a gasp of excitement. "Oh I don't know if I can do it. I might need a Spider-back ride." He could've made it up there in no time but now he was just being a menace. "The roof it is then."
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