Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Chapter 3: Cracks in the Foundation

And shit hole it is. It's been a while since his last visit and the state he left the warehouse in isn't earning him brownie points from the rodents who'd taken up residency in his absence. The consequence of his neglect is apparent from the fine layer of dust, mold, and half-eaten takeout cartons that long since died under unnatural causes.

Wade slaps dust off the couch as best he can, finds a moth-eaten blanket more or less suitable for use, and sits Spider-Man on the couch with it wrapped around his shoulders. He'll find something more comfortable and less grimy later.

Spider-Man huddles into the couch corner, curling into a tight ball that would've been nigh impossible without his flexibility. Wade gets to work making the place more acceptable to live in. Or sit in. Or breath in. Really, he may as well be cleaning a bio-hazard.

"This is what you get for not hiring that fucking mid," he grumbles, loading his arms with old plastic bags, containers, and empty bottles, shoving them into a garbage bag. "It's not enough to buy the outfit, you gotta commit."

Once the bag is full to bursting, he ties it up and sets it aside to burn later. The two-seater couch is stained with food and only a little blood, so it's a far cry better than some of the other furniture he's owned. At least, he doesn't think he blew his brains out in that one.

That honor was saved for the mangled armchair decomposing five feet away. And the old port-a-potty he'd stuffed in a corner of the room. He'll steer Spider-Man clear of that.

Thank Death Spider-Man doesn't have any open wounds. Just being in proximity of the "kitchen" will garner an infection. Wade casts a worried glance at Spider-Man, who hadn't budged from his position. He'd curled the blanket tight around himself, so only the top of his head was visible, reminding Wade of a child hiding from the monster in their closet. Wade frowns, fretting with the lip of a moldy container.

Hopefully, this spiral won't last long and they can go somewhere less revolting. That isn't a health-hazard if you breathe in too deeply. In the meantime, he finds another garbage bag and fills it with everything in sight.

"It's gonna be okay, Webs," Wade says, and the lump underneath the blanket flinches. "It's 2:03, so it's only been a little over an hour. Knowing your healing factor, as shitty as it is, it shouldn't take much longer."

The muffled noise he gets in response doesn't sound reassured.

Wade keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he does the house-cleaning. He knows from personal experience that a bad trip without someone there to ground you makes it so much worse. It's easy to disassociate from reality, so every 15 minutes he tells him the time too.

"It's only been fifteen minutes," Wade soothes when a pair of gloved hands start strangling their blanket.

"It's feels so much longer," Spider-Man whispers, muscles bunched so tightly Wade stops being the perfect housemaid to lean over and gently squeeze his shoulders, soft enough not to startle him. He follows the same pattern he'd done back at the dumpster, rubbing Spider-Man's shoulders slow and gentle. Spider-Man immediately relaxes into the touch, leaning into it the way a frightened pet might, seeking comfort. Wade is more than happy to provide.

Good thing he picked up that little trick. He doubts he would've been able to get Spider-Man to calm down so quickly without it. He switches from massaging his shoulders to rubbing down his arms, slow and firm, to convey as much "safe" as possible.

"I know," he says. "Feels like high school math all over again."

"I liked math."

Wade snorts, rolling his eyes. "You would. I'm not even surprised. There was nothing normal about you before you got your powers, huh? Liked math, what kind of freak likes math? Fine, what subjects didn't you like?"