“great. perfect. nice. fuck this.” spideypool!!
Peter was more exhausted than he had been in weeks. He had been so good about sleep lately–he had even made a schedule to keep himself from having another falling-asleep-during-an-acid-lab incident–but this week had decided to be a serious dick to him.
So he found it perfectly understandable to skip his last class of the day (which was advanced mechanical engineering, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t catch up later) in favor of going home and napping. Because he had almost used his phone as a coffee stirrer an hour ago, and that seemed to make it clear the coffee wouldn’t really cover only having six hours of sleep in the past two nights combined.
Peter yawned for about the millionth time that day and scrubbed a hand over his face as he walked up to his apartment door. He started to lazily pat at his pockets for his keys with his other hand–and came up empty.
He frowned and patted himself down again. No jingle. No pointy key-ends. Frowning harder, he dropped his backpack and started to paw through it, even though he rarely kept his keys anywhere but his pockets (they’d been stolen from his backpack once and he still wasn’t over it). Unsurprisingly and unfortunately, he came up with nothing.
Peter briefly felt the urge to cry. All he wanted was a nap. He thought back through his day. He didn’t take them out when he was in the coffee shop–he didn’t even sit down. From what he could recall, he didn’t take them out in class either (because why would he?). Which left him with one, horribly stupid option–they were still sitting on his kitchen counter.
Inside his apartment. Because he was an idiot.
“Great. Perfect. Nice. Fuck this.” he snapped at the door.
Despite being a functional adult who could deal with this problem in a rational way, Peter was very tired. So he did a rather petty thing and kicked his door, hard.
Crying was seeming like an increasingly appealing option. Peter’s landlord already didn’t like him. He didn’t need to give him another reason to think he was a bad tenant (which, to be fair, he was, because with his superhero agenda–and his superhero friends–his apartment had been through a lot) by saying he’d lost his keys…again.
Peter sighed and sat down, leaning against his door and throwing his backpack next to him. He honestly didn’t think he had the energy to suit up and climb up to his window. He wasn’t even sure he would be able to find his window.
But he still needed to get in his apartment. Maybe he could magically learn how to pick locks without any effort. Or he could see if any of his neighbors would pick his lock for him–
Wait. I know someone who can pick locks.
Peter was both suddenly grateful and suddenly dreading what he knew he had to do. He sighed very hard and pulled out his phone and for the first time EVER dialed a number he never thought he would need to.
After two rings, he got an answer.
“Deadpool speaking.” Wade’s voice growled at him.
“Wade? It’s–Spider-man.” Peter awkwardly finished, almost just saying ‘Peter’.
The change in Wade’s tone was instant. “Yo, Spidey!” he screeched.
Peter winced and immediately regretted his decision. “Hi, Wade. I need a favor.”
“…Is it a murder-y favor? Because I’ve been trying not to do that so much and–”
“It’s not a job, Wade. I’m locked out of my apartment and I need you to pick my lock.”
There was a pause, and Peter swears he heard a snicker. “Did you web your keys to the wall or something?” Wade joked, then started to poorly cover up a laugh.
“I’m hanging up.” Peter snapped, and started to.
“Wait, wait!” Wade shouted, and Peter didn’t hang up. “I’ll help you, Spidey. Can you text me the address?”
“Yeah. Please show up before I have to sleep in my hallway.” Peter requested, then hung up. He typed out his address and sent it to Wade, who responded with a thumbs-up emoji, a winking-tongue-face emoji that Peter never understood, and informed him he’d be there in fifteen minutes.
Peter sighed and pulled out his Spider-man mask from his backpack. He really didn’t want to put it on, but Wade didn’t know his identity and Peter didn’t really think trusting him with it was a good idea.
Then again, he had just given him his address. That was almost worse, in a way. Wade was unarguably the most unstable man he knew, and he was coming over to pick Peter’s lock for him.
Peter briefly wondered if this was how he was destined to die. Not by some super-villain, but by letting a crazy person know his address.
I’m literally letting an axe-murderer into my house. Oh my god, this is how I die.
Peter was still busy imaging scenarios of Wade brutally murdering him when Wade showed up and raised an eyebrow at Peter’s sad scene. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, which was surprising, though he still had both his mask and gloves on.
“Spidey?” he asked, then it clicked why Wade was looking at him funny.
Peter had forgotten to ever put his mask on.
“Uh, yeah. Hi, Wade.”
Wade suddenly slapped a hand over his eyes. “You forgot your mask.”
Peter sighed. “I guess I did. But I also gave you my address, so I figured if you were gonna murder me I couldn’t stop you.”
“Never mind. I’m tired. Please break into my apartment so I can sleep.” Peter said, gesturing at the door handle by his head.
Wade chuckled and walked over. He knelt down next to Peter and started to work on the lock with a bunch of tools that looked like torture devices. “So, not that I’m complaining, but why did you call me for this? You’ve never even used my number before.”
“Long story short, my landlord hates me already and everyone else would never let me live down leaving my keys in my apartment and not realizing it until now.”
“That’s fair.” Wade shrugged, then the door made a click and Wade turned the handle, and to Peter’s sleepy amazement, it opened. “Ta-da. All better.”
Peter gaped at how fast Wade had done that. After a second of chuckling at him, Wade offered him a hand. Peter took it and was heaved to his feet. He grabbed his backpack and entered, expecting Wade to follow.
But he didn’t. Wade stayed in the doorway, rocking back and forth on his feet.
Peter turned back and looked at him. He looked like a lost puppy. Well, a lost puppy who was trying to see as much as he possibly could from a doorway. Peter sighed. “Just come in.”
Wade giggled and ran in, immediately going everywhere. “I’m in Spider-man’s apartment!”
Peter slowly followed him, eventually ended up in his bedroom, where Wade was fiddling with things on his desk. “Don’t break anything.” he ordered, then promptly collapsed onto his bed face-down.
After a moment, he felt a weight on the other side of the bed. “Aw, is Spidey sleepy?” Wade cooed.
“Fuck off.” Peter snapped, and Wade laughed.
“That’s fair. I like your apartment, by the way. Tasteful.”
Peter snorted. “Does it accurately show off my college student budget?”
“Impeccably.” Wade said, flopping down on the bed next to him. “Dude, how old is this mattress?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it witnessed JFK’s murder, to be honest.”
Wade laughed, then they fell into silence. Peter was honestly half-asleep before Wade broke the silence again, and even then he didn’t really wake up. “Should I go?”
“Hmm?” Peter asked, turning to look at him.
“Should I leave? You seem about two seconds away from hibernation.”
Peter shrugged. “Probably. I’m gonna sleep for about fifty hours now.”
Wade smiled at him and sat up. “That’s fair. See you on your next patrol?”
“Considering you know where I live, I don’t think I can stop you from showing up to all of them.”
“Probably not. Sleep well, Spidey.”
Peter just hummed an answer and snuggled deeper into his pillow, listening to Wade’s footsteps get fainter–then get louder again.
Wade poked his head back into Peter’s room. “For the record, I like your face.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Go home, Wade.”
“It’s a nice face. Excellent face. That hair is killer. Do you condition?”
“Right, right. I’m going. Call me if you need a number for an actual locksmith, baby boy.” Wade chuckled, then left for real.
Peter threw his cover onto himself, rolled over into the spot Wade had made surprisingly warm in his short time there, and slept better than he had in what felt like years.