Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider

Chapter 3: Cracks in the Foundation

It takes a minute for Spider-Man to answer. "Gym. I didn't like gym."

Wade raises a hairless brow. "Really? You? Mr. Tarzan? Alright, fine, it's going to feel like a very long gym class, with scary demons coaches and gremlin jocks. But it's not as long as it feels, alright. See, it's only been," he glances at his My Little Pony watch, "five minutes. Probably felt like a whole hour, huh? You're going to be just fine. Just hang in there, buddy."

And hang in there, Spider-Man does. Or at least he tries. As soon as Wade finishes the would-be living room, with the scarce cleaning supplies on hand, he joins Spider-Man on the couch for a break, sitting on the opposite end so the other man see's him and knows he isn't alone. Ten minutes later Spider-Man jumps off the cushion like Mephisto poked his ass with a pitchfork, perching on the top of the couch, clutching the frame with his hands as his breathing sky-rockets.

"Get away," he wheezes, tearing strips of polyester off as he shoots a web at a corner of the room. There's a hysteric slip in his voice. "Go the fuck away! I swear to god, if you don't-"

"Whoa, whoa, easy slugger," Wade jumps up, placing himself between Spider-Man and whatever figmentation is picking a fight. "Look at me, Spidey. Yeah, right here. Right in my big dumb mask. Some people say it looks like a really fucked up panda, so look into my stupid panda mask, full Po the Dragon Warrior shit. Listen to me."

It's hard to tell if Spider-Man is looking at him, but he isn't shooting the wall, or Wade, so he assumes he's not being ignored.

"Alright, breathe with me, Webs. Five seconds inhale. Eight seconds exhale. Okay. Inhale," Wade breathes deeply. "Exhale." He lets it back out. "Inhale...exhale..." he keeps it up, urging Spider-Man to mimic him until they're breathing in sync.

"Yeah, Colossus taught me that little trick. It's nice, isn't it? Getting all that oxygen in the brain. Delicious." Wade rambles, coaxing him back on the couch. The back is, unfortunately, mangled in the process. Wade keeps up a steady stream of, "It's okay," and "You're safe" until Spider-Man looks less like he wants to rip apart the furniture and more like he wants to hide in a box. Sadly, there are no boxes Wade can offer as optimal hidey-holes from the big bad monsters.

As Spider-Man sinks back in his designated corner, Wade's eyes drift to the web he'd shot at the wall, curious about what demons were playing peek-a-boo with New York's boy-scout.

Heh, actually, despite Spider-Man's pesky no-killing rule, he isn't much of a boy-scout. He's relayed enough stories that involved good old-fashioned B&E, stealing evidence from police precincts and crime scenes, general vigilantism, and the odd bit of arson to be considered a boy-scout. Hell, he'd even stolen an ambulance once!

But he has a shining moral compass, and his day-to-day life is as normal as any other citizens, so what skeletons were hiding in his closet? What lurked in the recesses of his mind, turning up now to haunt him? Wade can only guess, but whatever it is, it makes him itch to grab his katana's and bury them in something warm and fleshy.

Instead, he buries his fingers in Spider-Man's shoulders, rubbing down his upper arms until Spider-Man's shaking isn't at seizure levels. Wade doesn't return to his spot on the couch and goes back to making this warehouse more live-able. The section he dares call a kitchen is an atrocity, and he doesn't even want to check the port-a-potty.

"Should've just brought him to the apartment," Wade grumbles, scrubbing one of the few pans he'd stashed away, almost impressed with the amount of grease that comes off. "Was just another thirty-minute drive...so much better than this dump...he's gonna hate it when his brain is back to normal...fucking disgusting...a landfill would've been less of a health hazard..."