Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

This chapter chewed me up, spit me out, stole my dog, committed tax-fraud in my name, and ran me over with a cement truck.

There's a line Wade isn't supposed to cross. A thin fragile line that he keeps to one side of at all times, promising himself he wouldn't tramp over it without the full approval of the person on the other side.

It continues to amaze him just how easily he breaks those promises.

He hasn't yet, but he's pacing the roof, pulling at hair he doesn't have, because he's this close to breaking into the Daily Bugle and embezzling Spider-Man's address from their employee records.

He'd cut himself from his web and fell 700 feet (only barely catching himself on the edge of the building and scaling back up) and was now stuck toying the line between friendship and utter-betrayal-of-trust. Wade supposed he already breached the "utter betrayal of trust" part while (lightly) stalking Spider-Man, but this was a whole nother level.

Fuck, he wants to shoot something. Nothing unfrazzles his nerves better than the delicious belch of a gun. But there's nothing to shoot except the building or himself, so he alternates between wringing his hands and compulsively checking his weapons.

This is bad, one of the unhelpful voices in his head chirps. A no good, very fucked up situation you've found yourself in, Wilson. You never fail to impress.

"Shut up," Wade hisses, but they're not wrong.

Somewhere out there, probably slamming into buildings and colliding with billboards, was a Spider-Man high off his rocker on a drug they knew nothing about. Ponytail said it was Acid, but Wade wasn't so sure. He's done plenty of LSD's—way back when he was pretty and they worked on him—and whatever is in Spider-Man's system seems...different.

It's affecting him longer than either of them thought it would, for one. Spider-Man's metabolism isn't as good as Wade's, but it's still impressive by human standards, and it takes a lot to bring him down. Whatever's in this Dorothy stuff is no joke.

And for two, Spider-Man left in a hurry. He was frantic and embarrassed, and as far as Wade is concerned, this was his first experience with LSD's, so he could be spiraling into a bad trip for all he knew. Wade knew from experience how bad those can be. Depending on the drug (and how strong it is) you can hallucinate some pretty messed up shit. It can sabotage emotions and make you feel paranoid, too. Make you feel things you don't want to feel. Spider-Man is already a wound-up ball of anxiety, it wouldn't take much to stir him into a tizzy. Add super powers to the mix, and well...

"You were supposed to be watching him," Wade snarls at himself, counting the bullets in his glock. "He's probably out there fighting a bench or something."

Well, knowing Spider-Man, he's probably heading home. Somewhere familiar and safe. But Wade can't dig up his address because that's crossing a line. You know, that pretty little line he was talking about earlier. He already felt (sort of) bad about watching Spider-Man at work, he'd feel like an absolute creep watching his home too. It's not normal to spy on your best pals, or so Cable says.

Wade's stomach rolls. He can't risk his friendship with Spider-Man. It took too much time and effort. The slow up-hill climb from I-hate-and-can-barely-tolerate-you to patrol-partners-with-weekly-fast-food-hangouts. Spider-Man might forgive him for stalking his job, but following him home? Peeping on his private life that he was so careful to keep under wraps? Yeah, Wade may as well throw himself off the Brooklyn Bridge now.

Buuut, if Spider-Man is having a bad-trip, he can end up lashing out. He can do a lot of destruction with those powers of his, to himself and others, and he'd never forgive himself if he hurt an innocent bystander.