"You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. 

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on."

-Mary Oliver

"And then the whole place was full—It was like an all-you-can-eat arachnid buffet." Wade shivered dramatically. "Spidey thinks the guy is trying to run tests on spiders, and by full extension of course, him."

"Wow." Weasel leaned back, removing his hands from where they had been pressed against the counter. He continued looking at Wade with wide eyes. "What happened next?"

"He just bugged out! Pun intended. Left pretty quick. He's probably hanging out with family, or something. 'Cuz you know. Happy holidays."

That was one way of putting it. Wade can't remember the last time he saw anybody that tense. The way Spidey's voice had gone hushed, balancing on a tightrope of nerves as it tried not to falter.

("I've never... I've never seen anybody this hellbent on whatever this is. I've had someone who wanted my blood. I've—I've had people who've wanted me dead, even, but—"

The way the vigilante stood across Wade was so peculiar because it was as if the earth shook for him. He wanted to leave so desperately, Wade could feel it.

"I'm not being treated like an animal. No, I'm being treated like a test subject. That's way worse, Deadpool.")

Weasel adjusted his glasses and shook his head. "I can't believe that guy wants to kill Spider-Man. Did he ever tell you why?"

"Nope," Wade took a swig from his beer. "The guy just said a lot of cryptic shit and then fired me, basically. Then the drama queen broke into Oscorp, because—I don't even know, he's compensating for something? Maybe he's got a little guy downstairs, and by little guy, I mean small penis."

"I know what you meant, idiot."

Wade hummed and set the beer down on the counter with a clink.

"So, what is he like?"

He looked up.

"Spider-Man," Weasel continued coolly. "Is he like... Cool? Is he lame like you? Or is he scary as fuck like Cable? Did he take off his mask?"

Wade stopped. "Son of a chucklefuck, do you have a crush on Spider-Man? I've got some bad news, he doesn't like mercs. Like, at all."

"Eh." Weasel shrugged. "I'm just saying. Spider-Man would treat me right."

"You're so disgusting. I work with that guy."

"Yeah, whatever." Weasel cleared his throat. "Listen, you can hang out here a little while longer, but I'm closing shop pretty soon."

Wade quirked an eyebrow upwards. "You've got plans for Thanksgiving? Really?"

"Yeah, it's a whole thing," Weasel rolled his eyes. "Family reunion or whatever. My brother's psycho boyfriend is still in lock-up though, so it'll probably be boring. Point is, you can't stay here and drink yourself to death again, so—"

"Can I come?" Wade blurted. "I'm great at family reunions. Grandmas love me."

Weasel paused and looked at him with something of mixed pity and regret. He pushed his glasses up on his nose again and recentered his expression into a casual sympathy. "Sorry, man. Not this year."

The hope Wade had swirled down the drain of his ribs. He quickly waved Weasel off, distancing himself back from the counter. He took another swig from his drink."Hey, don't worry about it! I wasn't gonna stay here much longer anyways. I've got stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Pshhh. Yeah," Wade grinned. He absolutely did not have stuff. "I've got somewhere to go after this. I just wanted a drink before I left."

"Stuff," Weasel repeated, narrowing his eyes. He continued staring as if he were rolling the information over in his head, and then made a face of indifference. "Alright, sure. What stuff? Spidey stuff?"

That works.

Wade nodded, the smile dropping from his face. "Yeah. You guessed it. Real serious business with the ol' red and blue tights, he said—"

("You know," Spider-Man cleared his throat, sitting cross-legged on the couch and keeping his head down. He seemed to be focused on the laptop; but Wade knew better by the tone of his voice. That quiet tone of a certain brand of reassurance, one that's so naturally practiced it almost sounds fake.

"You could always spend some time volunteering at a charity shelter for the holidays. I know some great places if you ever want to give up the 'lethal' part of your 'lethal protector' identity.")

The sentence broke off as a new concept took refuge in his head.

Logically, he knew that he didn't have to be at F.E.A.S.T. even a minute more now that he was working with Spider-Man. They had established a sort of trust baseline, especially after Wade saved the masked hero's life. (The one thing he wasn't expecting was Spidey to crawl in through his fucking apartment window two days later, but hey, it was a lazy Saturday anyways.)

Considering the only reason he had signed up for the charity was to sniff the place out, there really was no reason for him to go back to it...

Then he remembered the warmth of the place. How it clouded the inside of him like a thick fog and soothed the very marrow of his bones. The safety to it, the past sorrows and kindness in everyone's eyes, the mutual understanding and support.

There was a resounding clarity that came with the fondness of remembering it all—As long as he went without the mask, he could almost pretend to be a presence that somebody enjoyed. And there was something about that sentiment that had the walls chip down even the slightest bit.

He let out a quiet breath. Slow. Careful. Cautious.

"—I got a place to go," Wade said with an anxious smile. He stood up and put down a bill on the counter. "Have fun at dinner, Weas."

Weasel huffed a laugh, looking at him with a sort of bewilderment. "And you have fun on your date."

Wade flipped him off as he left.

Of course, having a thought was vastly different than being in public and believing it full-heartedly. Wade had his maroon hoodie pulled far over his face and he still avoided eye contact the whole way there; but there was more enthusiasm in his step on the way through Chinatown's sidewalks than there had been in a long time.

There was a lot going through his head. Mainly, the thought-provoking possibility that he could get to F.E.A.S.T. and Peter Parker could be nowhere in sight. It was a holiday, after all. Would Wade still have the bravery to walk in the doors?

"Call me Rachel Platten, because this is my fight song," Wade muttered to himself.

The building was the same as Wade first saw it, adjourned with banners that gave notice to several of the events taking place. It was about mid-day, so people were walking in and out more regularly than before.

Wade took a deep breath in through the nose. "Maximum effort."

He gathered up all his bravery and no-shit-taken attitude and stepped up the front stairs, then walked in without giving any second to doubt himself or his place for being there.

To his surprise, Peter was the first thing that he saw when he stepped through the entrance. Wade could only see him from behind, because Peter was apparently skilled in camera work and was currently taking photos of a group of smiling patrons.

Wade stepped forward like a skittish cat, looking around the place with a strong hesitation. He looked around the place for any new trace of disgust or remorse, anything that would hint to him being unwelcome, and then quickly took his place beside Peter.

Peter turned to look at him before Wade even opened his mouth, and whatever Wade was going to say, it fell useless to the sight of him.

He looked terrible.

Darker circles, and exhaustion in every blink. It didn't look like the type of sleep exhaustion caused by guilt, which Wade's seen before. It's missing the wide shifty eyes. This just looked like someone who had seen something beyond any kind of comprehension. Peter looked haunted.

And then he put on the nicest smile Wade's ever seen and tilted his head to the side. "Wade! It's so great to see you."

"Yeah," Wade trailed off, matching a smile similar to his. "So great to see you too. Did you by chance have a horror movie marathon last night like me?"

Peter laughed quietly and shook his head. "I wish. No, I just didn't get a lot of sleep. My, uh, my apartment is really loud. I need my radiator fixed, I think, it's way noisier than usual."

Total lie. Wade nodded anyway. "Especially with winter coming up, right?"

"Right." Peter lowered his camera and held it in his hands. "It really is great to see you, though. I wasn't expecting to see you on Thanksgiving, but—It's a nice surprise!"

"I didn't know if you were gonna be here either. For all I know, you worked at a Cracker Barrel or something, counting the amount of time people need to stop and go to the shitter."

Peter scrunched his nose up and stifled the smallest laugh. "Close enough. I work for the Bugle."

Wade groaned, tossing his head back. The movement caused the hood to fall, but he made no attempt to pull it back up. "That's just disappointing, Petey! Come onnnn."

"I know, I know," Peter grinned. "It pays, though. Anyways, I come here about every Thanksgiving. I think I told you, but my aunt helps run the place, so it's sort of a tradition to help out during the holidays."

"Well, that's very sweet of you." Wade then gestured down at the camera. "So, are the photos for the Bugle?

"Oh! Uh, no. I just take photos for the website sometimes. I also just... It's kind of like a family photo?" Peter shrugged. "I know a lot of the people here, so it's nice to take photos to remember them. With their permission, of course."

He was a goofy thing, stumbling and moving his head around as he talked. Wade couldn't tell if the animation was from pure exhaustion or if Peter was just like that, but either way it was sort of adorable.

Wade smiled and nodded. "Right."

"So, what are you planning on helping with?" Peter asked.

Wade hesitated. How was he supposed to explain the fact that coming here was a last minute decision in the first place? He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do here. "Ah, you know, just helping out..."

"...How about you help with food preparation?" Peter suggested. He smiled and gestured for Wade to follow him—and what else was he supposed to do with that? Wade staggered forward with an exuberant nod.

"Oliver and May are both working in there. They kicked me out," Peter laughed as he walked to the kitchen. "One too many burnt turkeys, I suppose."

"No kidding," Wade smiled. "Hey, at the end of the day there ain't nothing wrong with some poptarts. Or Mexican food! Can anything really beat a good taco?"

"Very true!" Peter turned the corner. "There's this really good place on the corner of the block that has great enchiladas, have you heard of it?"

Sheeesh. He knew local Mexican food places?

If the way to a man's heart really was through his stomach, then Wade was fucking starving. That's probably creepy. The point was: Peter Parker was impressing Wade more with every word he said, and Wade had been in this situation before, he knew it'll only be so long until he's absolutely smitten.

"Yeah, I—"

"Peter!"

Wade spun around to the voice, taking a step back from Peter instinctually.

In the kitchen, the woman, May, had her sleeves rolled up as she diced through some carrots. She had her makeup done nice, her hair pulled back with a large clip, and an apron to shield the food from her lavender button up shirt.

"Peter, come on in," May said, waving him into the room.

Beside her, someone with short straightened hair stood with their own matching apron. They looked up and waved hello to Wade. (He waved back, because his mom raised him to be polite, thank you very much.)

Peter strided into the room and stood next to May, and that's when everything clicked into place. They were family. May must have been the aunt that Peter was talking about.

"You must be Wade," May spoke up kindly.

He startled from his spot in the doorway and nodded, stepping forward. "That's me. Gee, am I popular, right? Maybe I should've introduced my name as Glinda."

His heartbeat was louder in his ears than they were before, and Wade was painfully aware of the fact that May was looking at him, and so was the other person in the kitchen—Oliver? And Peter. Three people, three new people, were all looking directly at his face.

So instead of saying anything more, he just... Waited.

May was giving him such a specific expression, one that he had no idea how to read but it intrigued him nonetheless. It isn't in the realm of disgust, nowhere even near it. If Wade were to guess, she looked as if something very profound were about to happen, and she was the only one who could see it.

"I'm May," she introduced. "I have to say, I was very excited to meet you. Peter told me all about how you would be a great help."

Wade opened his mouth, then subsequently closed it. He replaced whatever response he had with a smile. "That's..."

He cleared his throat. "Hey, I'm no hero. My great help is pretty limited. I can chop stuff really well, though."

"You can cut up the potatoes!" The other person chimed in. "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Oliver. But yeah, May's gonna make her famous mashed potatoes. I washed them, but they need to be cut up before they're boiled."

"I can do that," Wade gave them a thumbs-up. He took a breath, rolled up his sleeves, and put on one of the aprons hanging by the door. "Alright. Potatoes."

"They're really good," Peter said with exuberance.

Wade smiled. "Can't wait to try them, then."

He washed his hands before he took a cutting board, a knife, and the large rack of potatoes sitting on the counter. "So do I just cut them into chunks?"

May nodded. "Yes, dear, that would be perfect."

Wade looked up at her with slight awe.

"Hey, Wade, would you mind if I took a picture of you guys cooking?" Peter asked, his hand lingering on the camera hung around his neck.

Wade blinked. "Oh. Well, if you insist. Make sure you get my good side, alright, Parker?"

Peter smiled and raised his camera. "No problem."

He clicked the photo—Wade heard the snap of the shutter as it went. It's then he realized the light smile never left his face.

"That's a keeper," Peter said, looking down at the small screen of his camera. He glanced up. "I'm gonna go take some other photos around the place. Let me know if you need my help."

"We definitely won't," Oliver teased. "There's a reason I only let you wash the fruits and vegetables."

Peter smiled and left the kitchen.

"Crazy boy," May said fondly, moving the diced carrots into a large bowl. "You know, Wade, I think he really likes you. I hope I'm not too forward, but I think you two are natural friends."

"Aw, shucks," Wade shrugged. "Yeah, Peter's nice. I only met him a few days ago, but..." He nodded. "I can tell a good guy."

"He's got a heart like his uncle's." May then frowned. "Which is why I worry."

"Yeah, today he came in looking so exhausted," Oliver added with a frown of their own. "And he came in super early last week too. I didn't want to ask, but I hope he's okay."

Wade nodded quietly, looking down at the potatoes as he carefully cut them into sizable pieces.

May cleared her throat. "Anyways. While the turkey is in the oven, let's get started on the cranberries. Wade, they're already washed, so you can work on boiling them. Oliver, you can–"

For the next two hours, the three of them, including some other volunteers that came and went through the kitchen, worked hard to cook the largest serving size's worth of some gravy-turkey thing, a large vat of mashed potatoes that were quite literally the best thing Wade's ever had, cranberry sauce, and they sliced two large pumpkin pies.

Wade was overwhelmed, to say the least. It was an outpour of the most joy he had felt in a long time. May was great company; she told stories as they all worked to set out the food on the counter in the other room where the fold-out tables were. 

Wade learned all about how Peter's first time cooking a turkey ended in a kitchen full of black smoke. (And his second time. And his third.) He learned family recipes. He learned that May has only been running the place for the last 4 years, despite working here for over a decade. He learned they started doing holidays at F.E.A.S.T. after her husband passed away several years back.

Him and Oliver worked on helping people get their plates (if they asked for it) as they started to enter the cafeteria, and it wasn't long at all until the room was full of people chattering amongst themselves and eating their food.

Wade didn't really know how he fit in with all of this, yet. He didn't know people enough to sit at their tables, and people who knew each other seemed to group together. May was sitting across Peter, and he's pretty sure Oliver left to go be their family.

Being the awkward person standing in the corner of the room and holding a plate, there were a handful of people that would glance up at him with distrust, or suspicion. Somewhere Wade knew that they weren't staring at his skin, but they were still staring at him, and he still needed somewhere to sit.

His heart was starting to race again and he was starting to feel as shifty as all the people looking up at him. It'd been so long since he'd had a panic attack, and today had been so nice– Which meant it was time for a reckless Wade thing.

He took his plate and sat next to Peter at his table. "Hope this seat wasn't taken."

"Of course not," May said, giving him a bright smile. "You'll always have a seat here."

Peter nodded in agreement. He was soft-spoken, like the tiredness from his appearance was coming back in waves and was finally wearing down on how he moved and spoke. "Yeah, you guys did a great job. Everything tastes really good."

"Well, I can't take all the credit," Wade waved him off dramatically. "May and Oliver are the real MVPs."

May laughed softly. "Oh, hush. We all worked hard. You're a natural in the kitchen, Oliver thought so too."

Wade smiled slightly. He looked back over at Peter, who had gone quiet—The smile fell.

Peter had an expression of concern, his eyebrows furrowed deeply and his eyes empty. He didn't look like he was in the present, but rather contemplating something that was worrying to him. He chewed his food robotically, and twirled the fork in his hand, all the while staring blankly downwards. It was like Wade could see the gears turning.

"Hey, are you okay?" Wade whispered.

Peter widened his eyes and looked up, nodding quickly. "What? Yeah. I'm okay."

May sighed and put her fork down. Wade thought she looked sad with the way her eyes became gentler, but she didn't frown. It was like she refused to.

"I think I'm gonna go check on some things," Peter said, standing up. He smiled tiredly. "Thank you for the food, again. I'm very grateful for it. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He kissed May on the head before he left the cafeteria, and as he left was when May's mouth finally downturned. She looked down at her own plate with something akin to the most slow, painful heartbreak.

Wade didn't know the full story. He knew there were huge chunks he was missing, and he knew a lot of it wasn't his business. It wasn't his place to ask or press on wounds that weren't his. But it hurt to see either Parker in such a state of distress, because he also knew they didn't deserve any of it.

Then May looked up to him, tilted her chin just slightly and held in her pain. She had such strength in the way she took a breath, and she sighed again. "Wade, can you..."

She paused. Wade was quiet.

She thought about her words for a moment, then began again. "If I go up there, I don't think he would talk to me. I think he's afraid to worry me. I know you don't know each other well, but I— Can you just check in on him?"

Wade recognized desperation when he heard it, as thinly-laced as it may be. He hesitated. "If you think it'll help? I don't want to intrude or anything."

"I trust you."

Wade slowly nodded. "Do you know where he went?"

"He likes to go up to the roof," May said, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. "The fresh air... I also personally think it grounds him to know where he is physically in all of this."

Wade stood up from the table and left through the same exit Peter walked out of. He looked for the stairs, made his way up, and then found the doorway to the rooftop. What is he doing? WHY DID HE AGREE TO THIS?

Wade wasn't the type to have the monologues and the lengthy speeches on advice. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't Colossus, he wasn't even freakin' Spider-Man. He was practically going to be talking out of his ass, and now even May was counting on him.

He steps out on the roof and as she predicted, Peter was sitting at the edge and shivering from the cold of the late afternoon. The shadow of building fell over his figure, giving him the impression of a tortured soul shaking in the dark— and maybe that's what he was.

Wade didn't even need to say anything to announce himself before Peter turned to look at him with surprise.

"Wade, what are you doing out here?" Peter's teeth chattered.

"Just wanted to check on you," Wade shrugged casually. He walked forward and sat beside him. "Hah! It's kind of like when we met, except in reverse. That's funny."

Peter huffed a quiet laugh. The action blew a visible fog into the sky.

Wade took one more look at Peter shivering, watching him try to hug himself for warmth, and rolled his eyes. He raised his arms and pulled off his maroon hoodie and handed it over to Peter. "Take it. You look like you're auditioning for a Target winter sales advertisement."

"Are you sure?" Peter hesitated. His teeth were still very obviously, LOUDLY, clattering against each other. "Won't you be cold?

Wade shook his head. "I don't really get cold, I'm like a space heater. I just wear the jacket for appearances. Because, you know."

Wade looked pointedly down at his own bare arms, and the many scars that littered them. But he was telling the truth—He really didn't get cold. Apparently that's what happens when your body is constantly healing itself from cancer cells. Who knew?

Peter took the jacket from him with shaking hands and pulled it over himself. He bundled it closer to himself and sighed with the littlest bit of relief. "Thanks."

Wade hummed. He looked over at the cityline, and then took a sneaking glance at Peter. He still looked so far away, even while sitting right beside him. The description of him looking "haunted" seemed to come back even stronger now, which gave him an idea.

"...Wanna know what my greatest fear is?" Wade spoke up.

Peter frowned at the subject, but looked back at him with the kind of consideration that came with someone who didn't know where something was going but wanted to take it seriously anyways. "Sure."

"Immortality." Wade smiled. His chest ached. "It terrifies me. Keeps me up at night, sometimes. The thought of... seeing everything you know just chip away, just one slow day at a time."

(Nightmares of an abandoned city. Nightmares of a world on fire. Nightmares of being the only one left.)

Peter didn't say anything, but he was listening intently.

"What about you?" Wade asked. "What kinda shit keeps you up at night, Petey-Pie?"

Peter looked away. He stared at the city, and Wade saw the flash in his eyes that told him he hit a target. Like breathing, Peter raised his hand and scratched incessantly at something behind his ear. Like he was trying to get rid of something. Like he wanted something gone.

And, wasn't that curious?

"What's that?" Wade asked, gesturing up to Peter's ear.

Peter quickly blinked and pulled his hand away from where he had been scratching. He threw on a smile and lifted his short hair up to reveal the discoloured skin, white and healed over in a little mark. "Ah, nothing. It's just a scar."

Wade narrowed his eyes. The pieces were slowly starting to connect, things fitting into place one at a time. Whatever Peter was worrying about–It connected directly to that scar, and that scar was connected to something he was afraid of. Wasn't Peter the one to say that scars were just stories to tell?

"What's wrong with scars?" Wade teased lightly.

Peter paused, and the look on his face was if he wanted to say something incredibly personal, something closer to his heart than to the scar on the back of his ear. There was longing in his eyes, a desperation almost, something frantic and needy—But it's shoved away with such speed and precision that Wade has to blink.

The easy smile returned to his face. He shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. It's just collagen and replaced fibrous tissue."

"Right..." Wade knew he was lying, but in his experience, there was usually a good reason for it, and Wade wasn't here to push his boundaries any further. He softened his expression and relaxed his shoulders to make himself smaller. "It's no biggie, then?"

Peter nodded gratefully. "No biggie."

"Welp," Wade clapped his hands and stood up. "I should get going. You can keep the, uh, the jacket. It looks better on you anyways."

"Okay," Peter said. He gave him a much realer smile, one that was softer and met his eyes. "Thanks for coming today."

"'Course. I'll see you around." Wade gave a thumbs-up.

"Oh! Wait," Peter scrambled up from the ledge and took his phone out of his pocket. "I promised I'd get your number. You know, for F.E.A.S.T. stuff, and like—Yeah. Just in case we need to contact each other or something."

Wade blinked with surprise and found himself nodding before he even spoke. "Uh. Yeah, that's— Sure." He took the phone and entered his contact, then grinned cheesily. "Feel free to call me whenever you wanna binge movies. I've still got the other half of my horror movie collection to go through."

"Sounds good to me," Peter laughed. "Bye, Wade. Have a nice night."

"You too, Pete."

Wade left the rooftop, and a moment later heard the chime of a new text message. He smiled to himself.

"As lord and savior Taylor Swift says," Wade murmured to himself, "it's nice to have a friend."

once again some lovely art from this chapter, by lakka-arts on tumblr<3<3