Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Chapter 6: Dial Tone

"I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to be."

"Ah, come on, where else do I have to go? Just tell me what you need and I'll get it in a jiffy. Are you hungry? I went shopping. Bought some saltines and toast. And honey. Have you ever tried crackers with honey? It's pretty good and super easy on the tum-tum, and I'll stop talking now," he says, noticing the growing wince on Peter's face.

"No, thank you," Peter says. "Maybe later. M'not hungry right now. But thank you."

"Hakuna matata, Spidey-babe. No worries."

They drift into a companionable silence only broken up by the occasional thumping from a tenant in the floor above (who Wade is this closer to duct-taping to their ceiling if they don't pipe down.) Occasionally, Peter takes a deep, deep breath and violently moves or cracks an area of his exoskeleton, and peels it away piece by piece. All Wade can do is watch and scoop up the pieces so they're not in the way.

Spiders, bugs, and snakes made molting look so different. All they did was wiggle and writhe their way out of their shell. But Peter's not a bug or a reptile. He's still human, despite being part spider, and that comes with its own set of rules, apparently. Humanity does have a habit of constantly screwing the pooch.

One of the biggest roadblocks Peter has is his back. The area he can't reach, which is where Wade comes in. Just touching Peter's skin brings tears of pain to the man's eyes, and inflicting that kind of pain on him makes Wade feel icky.

He loves inflicting pain. He can inflict a lot of pain. With swords, guns, explosives, or just his own bare hands. But that's to people who deserves it. Peter doesn't, and every gasp or hiss that comes from his lips makes Wade's heart pinch.

Pulling out the pieces isn't a picnic either. Wade has to dig his fingers underneath the hardened plates, touch the sensitive skin tissue underneath, and pry it off by hand. Peter, for his part, tries his best not to scream by biting his blanket, but Wade is still happy to retreat to his corner when he finishes.

He's not sure how much time passes, but eventually, Peter's eyes grow heavy and his breathing slows until he's sleeping like the loggiest log to ever log. Good. Sleep is natures remedy and all that. Still, Wade stays put a while longer, concerned that the smallest movement would rouse him, before finally tip-toeing out. The most Peter does is twitch, eyes fluttering behind their lids, but molting must've taken a lot out of him because he doesn't stir.

Outside, Wade puts dinner away. It's well into night by now, and it doesn't look like Peter's waking up anytime soon. He nibbles on a cracker, sips some water, and tidies up the kitchen.

Honestly, this has got to be the quietest he's ever been in his life. Hell, it's the quietest the voices have been in a long time. As much as they hem and haw about being here, they're still as attached to Spider-Man as Wade is, even if they don't always show it.

It's the most relaxed Wade's been in a while too, and if not for the fact that he'd spent hours pulling his friends' skin off, it would be a darn good day.

Once finished, he returns to the bedroom. Peter hadn't moved at all. Wade grabs a blanket and gets comfortable on the floor. Sleep doesn't come quickly, so he passes the time watching Peter. A large chunk of the dry skin on his cheek is gone, and the mark it leaves behind is evident, even in the shadows of the room. Wade wants to touch it. To skim his fingers across fresh skin and watch Peter's eyes flutter.

He squeezes the blanket and turns over instead. He really needs to get his impulses under control.

Sleep finds him eventually and he lulls off to the word of REM, listening to the sound of Peter's breathing.