Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Chapter 6: Dial Tone

Wade takes another breath. "Alright," he says. "New game plan." He turns back to Peter's door, doesn't knock, but pushes his fingers against the wood and whispers, "Pete, I'm going to the store. I'll be back in an hour."

He doesn't get a clarifying grunt, but he doesn't need one. Confident that Peter heard him, he tip-toed to the living room and grabs his shoes. Easing the front door open and then closing it with barely a click, though the hinges squeak awfully. He doesn't stop tip-toeing until he's downstairs, just to be safe.

Once outside, Wade debates whether or not he should swing by his apartment to grab his mask. Maybe stop by Weasels and see if he has any new information. But he scraps both ideas. There's a small corner market in walking distance of Peter's building, and Wade has his wallet on him. He told Peter he'd only be gone an hour, and even then, he wants to get back as soon as possible.

He'll dawdle in the store, pick a fight with a granny over soup, and then get back. Peter's going to need something easy on his stomach. Like a smoothie so he doesn't have to chew, like the grandpa he secretly is.

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Wade takes as much time as he can stomach at the store. Actually, he's quite proud of himself for staying as long as he does, to the point that one of the employees starts following him around on account of his shady disposition. Wade flips her off, chuckling at her aghast expression, and rolls his cart to the check-out lane. He spares no expense, grabbing enough to feed Peter for the next few days at least.

He double-bag everything because, in his excitment, he hadn't anticipated on having to carry all of this with him. One of these days he's going to drag Peter here and force him to buy two weeks of food, at least. If not for his own sake, then for Wade's. Just because he can go days without eating and not blink an eye doesn't mean it's healthy.

With bags loaded on each arm, Wade heads back. People give him a large birth, mostly because of the bags and not so much his scars, which is a nice change. This is New York, they see weirder things every day. What was one guy covered in scar tissue and pus?

It's only when he gets back to Peter's apartment does he encounter his second problem: getting the groceries inside without raining hell on Peter's sense. Plastic bags were louder than any alarm, horn, or creaking floorboard. Wade stands in front of the apartment door, contemplating his options.

Which aren't a lot.

Slowly, he lowers the bags to the floor, wincing as the sound fills the hallway, but once his arms are free, he eases the door open, whispering, "Peter, I'm back," so Peter knows it's him. "Brace yourself, noise incoming." He unloads the bags out in the hall and hauls in the groceries as quickly and as quietly as possible. Once that's done, he throws the bags into the dumpster behind the building.

This is a lot of work for one person. The voices complain. Is it even worth it? We can buy nookie with half the effort.

"We're not here for nookie," Wade reminds it, getting a weird look from one of the tenants standing outside their door, smoking a joint. Wade waves cheerily at them.

"I'm back again," he says, returning to Peter's apartment. "Holler if I'm too loud. I'm gonna make you something to eat."

A faint grunt from the bedroom that Wade takes as confirmation,

Saltine crackers are easily digestible, so he'd gotten a few boxes. He'd also bought honey, bananas, rice, bread, and a handful of harder-to-digest options for later. Saltines and toast are probably best for now. The cracker sleeve is a nightmare to peel open, and he has to watch the toaster like a hawk 6o catch it before it pops. On both fronts, he succeeds, and feels rather proud of himself until he hears a small whine. He puts down the toast he was meticulously buttering, worried that Peter picked up the scraping.