Work Text
Peter had almost made it home, backpack weighing on his meagre shoulders, counting dates in his head, and figuring out how to organize a flower delivery - when he saw it.It? Him. Whatever. One could argue that using alleys to get home meant that he was more likely to find a dead body. But even for New York, even for Spiderman, this wasn’t exactly a normal occurrence; even though the streetlights lights had just flickered on, painting him, the body, and the concrete ground in a sickly orange. It made the impossible angle of the neck seem abstract and fake; it made the pool of blood sparkle, a slick stain leaching into the concrete in the darkening alley.The whole scene seemed unreal to him, lurching in front of his eyes, pulling him into the gaze of the dead man. Staring at the unseeing eyes, he simply had to admit that finding a dead body just hadn’t been a part of his plan for the day. Part of him – a large part, if he mustered up the courage to be honest with himself – wanted to just keep on his merry way.In the end, that's the part that won.Not my problem, not my problem, he told himself, backing out of the alley, trying not to look suspicious. The side streets of New York, for once, could be someone else’s problem.It wasn’t that he was without morals. Some might even say that he was a superhero – the thought made him pause, a pained expression flitting across his face – but right now there was too much. Everything was too much. Right now, this could be the straw that broke the camel’s back, and he might not be able to recover.With great power-, his mind started, cutting off the thought as some tears welled up in his eyes.It would be exactly five years since Uncle Ben had died tomorrow, he didn’t need all this. Another body in another alley was not going to be another part of Peter’s tragedy. This guy obviously already had his own, he didn’t need to be let into Peter’s story.His feet paused at the entrance to the alley. What responsibility did he have for this guy?Peter would leave a tip with the police, anonymous, as always, and then continue with his life. It would be fine. He’d order Aunt May flowers and go with her to the graveyard tomorrow. Then he’d stay in his apartment until he felt as though the breaking pieces had, at least temporarily, be taped back together. And then he’d continue with his life. And everything would be ok. Really. It would.He’d told the Avengers he would be gone for a while, and somehow it was arranged that the Fantastic Four would pick up anyone for the next week. He knew this arrangement was selfish. He wasn’t the only one dealing with losses, but right now he couldn’t gather the energy to care. He’d dealt with it, as best as he could. And he’d do the same with this body. He didn’t need to cause himself pain for this guy, he just needed to deal with it.At least, that’s what he told himself, wiping away a stray tear and finally, finally getting one foot to move in front of the other, when the body groaned.Peter stopped, whipping back to face the alley.The body had been dead. Absolutely had been dead. The image was already burned into his mind, ready to be called back at the beck and call of the nightmare he Perter was doubtlessly going to have that night; the blood weeping onto the ground, the neck at an angle that hurt to look at, the eyes milky and unseeing. He’d been dead. It honestly looked like he’d jumped from a building. But now he was moving.“Well shit,” the body said, slowly propping himself up to a sitting position with a painful crunch, “I shoulda guessed that wouldn’t work… fuck off, you know this is gonna suck for a bit.”The slick popping continued, as bones fused back together, and skin started to knit itself into something approaching a complexion. Peter stared, gob smacked, as most of a hand, still dripping blood, raised the man's hood over his head, obscuring most of the emerging face. Whatever the fuck was going on was painful to even look at, but hey, the guy was alive.“Um,” Peter asked, gracious and elegant as ever, “Are you alright.”But it wasn’t really a question. Obviously, this man was far from alright, but fuck if he could think of anything else to say.The body turned to face him. The eyes, now seeing, bright and manic, zeroed in on his face from beneath the shadow of the hoodie.“Peachy keen, you sexy queen,” he said, smiling something awful, “Just gotta wait for everything to get its shit back together. You can just scamper on home now and forget about the guy who just couldn’t fucking die.”He laughed, a gritty, excruciating sound, before curling in on himself.“You’re not alright.” Peter murmured. Again, it wasn’t a question.But the body wasn’t wrong. He was just standing there uselessly. He probably would be more help if he scampered off, leaving the body to sort out it’s post-death. He was usually more useful the less around he was, he knew. He was only a burden, adding trouble to everyone he knew. The man didn’t even want him there! He’d even told Peter that he could leave.But Peter knew what it was like for people to leave.Instead he made a split-second decision, stepping back into the alley. He would play the hero for at least another day. There was a first aid kit in his apartment, or at least a shower.Peter sighed and crouched down, placing himself at the same level as the man, “C’mon, let’s get you some help.”He held his hands up, an innocent, non-threatening gesture, before moving slowly towards him, like one would do with a wounded animal.The man growled, “I’m not fucking going to a hospital. Your healthcare is shit, and I’m not gonna stay with the kooks and the crazies just so you can get some good karma.”Peter slid an arm under his, supporting him and coaxing him up.“I’m not quite as good as a hospital,” He reassured the other man, “but I can fix you up.” They started to slowly move their way towards Peter’s apartment.The orange light faded into longer shadows as they stepped out of the alley together, into something that resembled real life.“I’ll be honest kid, I don’t know if moving someone with a broken spine is in the medical book of best practices,” the man said, seemingly just to say something.“Ah yeah, but neither is chucking yourself off a building,” Peter responded before he could stop himself.The man stopped walking, breathing heavily.The man was shorter than Peter, but most people were. He was also stockier, now that the whole muscles were solid and strong under Peter’s grasp. He felt warm and real to Peter, and with a jolt he realized that this feeling of reality, the surety that what was going on was real, wasn’t something that hadn’t happened in a while.“C’mon,” Peter said, rather than apologizing, “It’s not much further to a shower.”Each step seemed to agonize the other man, who’s bones would occasionally snap into place, or crunch back into something more broken. Yet, the call of the shower, or maybe just some company, was enough motivation that he continued to put one foot in front of the other. He had to be some kind of mutant. While inviting a stranger who should very well be dead to their apartment would be a terrible idea for most people, for Peter it was unlikely to be the most dangerous thing he’d do this week.
If only he’d known.
The man growled and swore the whole way, cursing in increasingly creative combinations in various languages to the soundtrack of realigning viscera. It had the magical effect of making the two blocks seem both like an instant and an eternity. But somehow the two men were standing in front of Peter’s walkup.The strength that came with Spider-man would be useful right about now, to avoid the stairs. He could just carry the other man through the window. But he normally avoided doing anything to gain attention without the spandex. He was more careful with his identity than most superheroes, and he told himself still that this was so his Aunt May wouldn’t worry. He did so much that would break her heart if she knew. So he grit his teeth and attempted to take some more of the man’s weight as they slowly made their way up the flights of stairs.“And y’know what? You’re a fucking sleazebag Peter. You haven’t even bought me dinner,” the man said breezily, forcing Peter out of his pity party with a stream of R-rated rhetoric.“Are you kidding me?” Peter choked, almost dropping the man as he wrenched himself out of his angst just in time to remember he had his nametag on from the lab.“I’m not kidding you! It’s not kosher to take someone up to your apartment before buying them dinner, or even know their name.”The man was pouting. Honest to God pouting.“I- what,” Peter said, attempting to find his tongue, “Fine. Fuck it. After - after I stop you from dying.”“Puh-lease - I stopped dying ages ago. Now I’m just-” here he cut off to groan as another bone snapped wetly into place, “now I’m just death-curious. It’s always a hell of a trip, but the hangovers are fuckin brutal. Never mix death and porn, baby boy, the crossfade is a bitch to get right.”Peter rolled his eyes as they rounded the last set of stairs and started fishing in his pockets to get his keys. Just as his eyes found the shining beacon of his door, his spider sense moved his hand before he could think, smacking away the hand inches away from squeezing his butt.“Why is the man I’m trying to save the most insufferable man in this city,” he said aloud, eyes looking to the ceiling as he leaned the warmed-over corpse against the peeling wallpaper, fumbling with his keys, “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”“They’re like, so dead, kitten. It saves you from all those etiquette lessons. A real lifehack, honestly.”The door swung open, but the man kept talking, “Besides, I didn’t need to be saved, fucking-Francis made sure as shit of that. But hey, a nice shower, a meal maybe, and a new friend - shut up - that I’ll take any day.”“Uh huh.” Peter just nodded as he none-too-gently dropped set the man onto the couch.He went into his bathroom and pulled out his well loved first aid kit, turning on the flickering yellow lights as he went. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked tired and thin, the late nights and early mornings had probably caught up to him a few months ago. Somehow, after finding success and happiness in his undergrad, grad school was getting to him. At least, that what the bruised circles under his eyes said.He pulled on a sweater and walked back into the main room with the first aid kit, ominous red cross face down on the chipped coffee table.“Ok, so what exactly happened?” He asked, sitting himself down on the couch and opening the box to reveal a smorgasbord of bandages and disinfectant.“I was kicking some ass and maybe missed a roof that I thought was there.” The man shrugged, “Falling twenty-two stories doesn’t look pretty on anyone.”“You’re kidding.” Peter said, pulling out some disinfectant wipes and trying to forget that he’d moved someone with a bunch of newly broken bones. You probably shouldn’t move people with broken bones.The man said, “Look, I’m mostly healed anyway, it’s fine.”He pulled up his sleeve, and the gnarled skin looked anything but healthy, but there weren’t any cuts or fresh blood, just layers and layers of scars.The man seemed to hold his breath as Peter looked at the arm.“I’m sure you are,” Peter murmured eventually, grasping the arm and cleaning off the dried blood with a wipe.The man let out a soft sigh as Peter’s fingers wrapped around his forearm, holding him steady as he tried to locate new damage. But the man was right, nothing was fresh and the road rash that should have been there were gone. The skin was a scarred mess underneath the blood, but all of it looked at least older than this afternoon.“So, are all your bones back in place and everything?” Peter finally asked after a moment of confused silence.“I think so yeah, sometimes when I lose things it takes a while to grow back, but fixing is easy,” The man said, taking his arm back.The silence extended as Peter considered this. Really, he was thinking if he wanted to know how exactly someone could have so much experience with losing limbs.He decided he didn’t.“Ok. Um. Grab a shower I guess, I’ll… I’ll food,” He eventually said, at a loss. Inviting the man in to fix him up had seemed like the right thing to do after being prepared to ignore a dead body. But now that he was clearly fine, Peter wasn’t sure what to do.The man moved with slow, painful, but not terminal movements. He started to make his way to the hallway Peter had just walked out of.“Jesus Peter, getting me out of my clothes before dinner or even asking my name,” he quipped again.“Door on the left,” Peter replied, hurriedly finding his tongue, and trying not to think of that solid muscle under the hot water of a shower-The bathroom door clicked shut, and he turned to his kitchen. The small, singular wall wasn’t the most used part of his apartment. He studied his fridge, as though thought could make up for a lack of groceries. Some pasta sauce, some meat, and a bit of cheese, peanut butter, and salsa stared back at him. Tacos, maybe? Probably pasta. He dug around his food cupboard and found that he actually still had a few tortillas left from when MJ had decided to come over for a “Mexican night” last week. They were barely moldy.As he started to nuke the taco meat, he thought about the effort his friends were putting into making sure he was ok. It wasn’t working. Sure, he was still getting the school results that were expected of him. His PI wasn't concerned. He even got invites to Stark Labs for events that were separate from the superhero stuff. But outside of that. He hadn’t seen Aunt May in weeks, and MJ had barely been around, even though god knows she’d been trying. If he wanted the help, he should be able to get it. He was surrounded by people who would listen and help, but-The microwaved beeped.-But recently, the easiest move had seemed to be that he should just start swinging and then let himself fall. Twenty-two stories didn’t look pretty on anyone, but it might just be better than him now.“Damn Petey,” The man said, towel slung low around his hips as he walked back into the room, “I didn’t peg you as the kind to use 3-in-1. No wonder you look rough.”Peter gaped. And ok, sure, a mostly naked man was reason enough for him to gape normally, and this man was fit. If anything would pull someone out of a suicidal thought spiral, it might as well be some calendar worthy muscles. But the man’s scars hadn’t been only on his arm. They covered his whole body, and as Peter finally pulled his eyes up from the towel, his face, which had been covered by the hood, was as gnarled and angry as his arm. If he paused long enough, it was almost as though the scars were moving, evolving and building on top of each other. Altogether, Peter found his stomach had dropped quickly and swooped pleasantly all at once.“I know! Pretty, eh?” The man spread his arms, “But seeing as you didn’t leave me any clothes, and mine are kinda tie-dyed in blood, I figured this was good enough.”“Aw shit. Sorry,” Peter said softly, his fingers scrambling to open the microwave and stop the beeping. Then he ducked into his room, the man following behind him. The man laughed, “Language Petey, your comic is actually for children.”Peter ignored the man and instead opened his ancient chest of drawers. The man was a fair bit bigger than him, but he had to have something that would fit. Sweatpants were pretty flexible size wise, and he was sure he had a sweater somewhere that was too big. As he was bending down to look in the drawer, he felt someone come up behind him.“Y’know,” the man said, his voice low and approaching dangerous, “for someone as pretty as you are, I figured you’d know better than to invite strange men into your apartment.”Peter stood up and looked him dead in the eyes, “I can handle myself just fine.”He shoved the sweats and the hoodie at the man, before stalking out to the main room to put together some tacos. Muttering about some not-dead asshole who thinks he could intimidate him like that.He made about five tacos, comprised only of meat, cheese and salsa. He took two for himself and plated the other three; then he set them beside the now useless first aid kit in front of the couch.He sat down and started to nibble on the first one when the man came out of the bedroom. The pants were a little tight, which Peter figured was just unfair, grey sweatpants being what they were. But the sweater fit fine.“Oh my god, Petey,” The man said, flouncing down onto the couch, tone completely different to two minutes before, “You made me tacos? I told myself to never propose before I had sex with them, but this might break that rule.”Peter didn’t even respond, just gestured vaguely at the plate and tucked his body further into the corner of the couch - furthest away from the other man.“You’re just mad,” The man said around a mouthful of taco, “that the author is Canadian and wrote this whole thing to make this joke, and the one about American healthcare.”“No, I’m mad because you threatened to assault me.” Peter said, decidedly ignoring most of what the man said.“I didn’t threaten shit, honest,” The man said, mouth full, “I said I thought you’d know better, especially being as pretty as you are.”Somehow he’d finished his tacos. Peter let the silence drag on, taking vicious bites of his taco.“So,” He eventually said. “So what?” The man asked, eyeing the final taco on Peter’s plate.“So,” Peter continued, “I got you naked and made you dinner. What’s your name?”The man laughed, “Wade. Wade Wilson, mercenary extraordinaire.”Peter’s eyes widened, “Deadpool?”Wade met Peter’s gaze, as he swiped the other taco, “Oooh. You’ve heard of me - maybe he’s not so innocent - maybe you’re right! You can look after yourself baby boy.”“I-” Peter paused, unsure of how to admit that of course he knew who the dangerous mercenary was. He should have guessed from all the scars. He was on all the lists of people to watch out for. To not engage with, and to call the Avengers or Professor X as soon as found. He’d done none of that. He’d made him dinner. He’d fucked up royally, but really, that was the trend as of late.“No, no, it’s no worries,” Wade said, licking his fingers, “I’m not on the clock right now, and I’m always pleased to meet a fan. Unless, of course,” Here he paused, his voice again turning dangerous as he considered Peter carefully, “Are you one of the people who’s supposed to bring me in?”Peter sighed, struggling to come up with a plan. I might as well just be honest, “I am. But don’t worry, I didn’t drug the tacos or anything. And I can’t be bothered to fight you on this. I’ll just take the slap on the wrists from the Avengers or Professor X and continue with my life.”“Oooh,” here Wade looked genuinely excited, “You’re even one of the good guys! This is so cool. I never get to go places with them. Although, to be honest Petey, your apartment doesn’t look like a swanky super-hero lair.”Peter gave him a look, “I’m a student, not some superhero.”“Mhm, and I’m perfectly sane.” Wade said, grinning, “That’s why the spandex suits are in your room. And here yellow box guessed you were a fetishist. He thought we were going to have a good time but look who’s the idiot this time! Not me.”Peter froze. This wasn’t what he had been expecting. And it hit him in full. Here this man was, inside his house, his identity figured out within an hour. One of the most dangerous contract killers in the world knew his real name and his real job and probably where Aunt May lived by now. He’d fucking left him alone! In his room! With his computer and his files and his fucking suits. He’d fucked up, really fucked up. He should have just ignored the body and stopped even taking the alley home and just left him there, and not made him dinner and flirted with him and gaped at his muscles and let him get under his skin and admired his sweatpant bulge and practically given him his identity and fucked up that badly. What could he even do to fix this? Aunt May needed to be safe, but it wasn’t like he could go back on his word and call Stark or someone now -“Whoa! Hey hey hey. Petey, stay with me.” Wade said, sliding towards him on the couch, “I’m not gonna do shit, I promise.”Peter scrambled back as he looked into the eyes of a well-known assassin, his spider sense ringing with danger. His life was over, and it was out of his hands. Finally, no longer his problem. He felt a weird sense of calm wash over him. Though it didn’t stop the tears, which left fat wet streaks down his cheeks before falling onto the plate still in his lap. It also did nothing to stop the thoughts from spiralling tighter and tighter. Trapping him in constant replays of his idiotic mistakes, interspersed with ways he’d known Deadpool to have taken out people before. Bodies of Wade’s that Peter had found.“Ah shit,” Wade murmured, taking the plate from the dazed student, and setting it on the table, “breathe through it Petey, stay with me. You’re safe, you’re at home. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t know who your family is, I promise. C’mon baby boy, stay with me, work your way through it.”Peter finally took in a ragged breath, the first, he realized, in a while.He blinked a bit and scrubbed at his eyes, as the ringing in his ears lowered a bit.“There you are!” Wade said gently, “Came right back to me, good for you. Here, can I touch ya if I promise the fic rating isn’t for sex things?”Peter didn’t know, but he nodded.Suddenly he was cradled into a chest, warm and comfortable, and a hand running through his floppy hair.A warm voice sounded beside his ear, “I get you, sometimes things are a lot.”“I just-” Peter hated how fragile his voice sounded, “You can’t tell anyone. You can’t get at Aunt May, you can’t get at MJ. I need them to be safe, and I need them to be ok. After Harry, after Gwen, I just need them. They need to be ok.”“I won’t go after them, whoever they are. I won’t go after you,” Wade said, his hand still working through Peter’s hair, “but I gotta ask, kid, are you ok?”Peter tried to move to the side, but Wade’s arm wouldn’t easily budge, matching Peter’s mutant strength. Somehow, he didn’t feel trapped and instead sighed and flopped back onto the older man’s chest.“Mrph.” he said into Wade’s pecs.“Sorry, what?” Wade asked, not even trying to hide his laughter.“No. I’m not. I’m really not,” Once the words started, Peter couldn’t hold them in, “Aunt May needs help right now and I can’t give it. MJ says she wants a relationship but there’s no way I can give her that. I keep fucking up my patrol. I can’t sleep. The only thing I even can do right now is lab work. And even that’s not up to it’s normal quality. Shit. Just, no. No I’m not.”Wade sighed, “I can relate kid. Fuck, can I relate.”The hand continued to work its way through Peter’s hair, in calming circles. The silence weighed down on both of them, repressive in what it didn’t say. Neither quite worked up the courage to break it.“Look,” Wade finally asked, “you feeling a bit better? More stable now that you’ve gotten it out?”Peter nodded, and Wade started to speak. His tone was low and calming, but his words-“Life isn’t very good right now. I wasn’t kicking anyone’s ass, I didn’t fall, I jumped. I figure eventually I’ll hit something that will manage to kill me. But until then, I at least get the pain of getting put back together. Until then, for that bit of time, I at least know I’m real, and that I am living with consequences I chose. It’s no one else’s bullshit, just mine. You weren’t meant to find me, kid. You aren’t meant to carry shit that heavy.”Peter wasn’t sure what to say. They stayed in that heavy silence, life weighing them down until the only real things were just themselves, a haze of his apartment’s shitty yellow lighting, and a saggy couch.“You know Petey,” Wade said after a small eternity, “At least you have some people, y’know? Life is shit for me, and life may be shit for you, but you said you had people. You can probably talk to them. Take some time off, learn to be you again.”Peter sighed, “Twenty-two stories just looks good sometimes.”Wade laughed, it wasn’t unkind, “I know kid. I know.”The hand had found his hair again, soothing circles that made it hard to keep his eyes open. At some point, Peter could’ve sworn he felt lips against his forehead.***Wade sighed. Twenty-two stories looked mighty good. It generally did. But, but maybe that was for later. Right now, Peter needed help more than he did. Aunt May was the main person he’d seemed concerned about. So, Aunt May could probably help. At least, this kid was bright and smart and snarky enough and made tacos, so he’d at least be worth the effort. He kissed his admittedly sweaty forehead before he could stop himself and slide out from under the smaller body. He was very very good at killing, only God and the author knew how he’d be at healing.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mary Jane was running on about three hours of sleep too few. Her eyes were burning as she looked at the spreadsheet on her screen, when her phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. She eyed the pile of paperwork, and her lukewarm coffee, and decided she needed a new one. Technically she was supposed to get two fifteen minute breaks during the day. Not that she’d ever taken them. But she decided today she could use it. Maybe a fancy coffee from that new cafe down the block. It had been rough lately, maybe she could use a treat.
She grabbed her phone, sliding it open as she stood up from her chair and left her cubicle.
“This is MJ,” she said, blinking her way into the sun and fresh air.
As fresh as air in New York got.
“Hi. This is a friend of Peter’s… I’m a bit concerned. Have you heard from him lately?” The voice on the other end caught in her ear weirdly, it was too high and thin.
As a matter of fact, MJ had gotten a text from Peter the day before. He’d postponed their weekly dinner together, yet again.
“Yes, I have. Who is this?” MJ asked, her eyes narrowing as she tried to put a face to the voice. Peter didn’t have many friends and acquaintances. She should have met all of them, or at least been able to put a face to them. Especially a voice strange like this one.
“One of his friends. I’m concerned about him.” The voice on the other end seemed hesitant, but MJ’s blood started to boil.
Who was this? A mysterious voice calling, claiming to know Peter. This was a new sort of prank call and she wasn’t going to have it.
“And,” she asked hotly, “why would that be?”
“He um. He expressed some suicidal intent while we were talking the other day. I thought that someone closer to him should know.”
And then the line went dead, just as she was about to ream out whoever was on the other end. But she was left standing in front of a trendy, instagram-worthy cafe, her thoughts running a mile a minute and her heart in her throat.
She swiped at her face, her contour streaking as she rid her face of stressed, tired tears and opened the door.
On the other side of the city, Wade Wilson stared down at the burner phone, an old Nokia flip. His blood was thrumming in his veins, he prayed he hadn’t fucked up too badly. He tried to pull strength from the indestructible phone model. He was sitting cross legged on a coffee table surrounded by pamphlets about depression and suicide. He’d left Peter’s apartment three days ago. He’d left his phone number, his actual phone number, on a piece of paper taped to the fridge.
He hadn’t heard anything from Peter, nor had he seen any recent news about Spiderman. The silence was deafening.
He’d made himself busy though, learning proper “mental health strategies” and trying to track down the people important to Peter to let them know he was struggling. It was risky. It was probably not what Peter had had in mind when Wade had promised not to go after them, but it was the only thing he could think of.
White box reminded him gently that there was no way to force Peter to get help, and he had to be kind with himself too. It was word for word from the pamphlet by his left knee.
He’d made an executive decision to give it a week, and then he’d check in again. He wasn’t quite half way through. He clenched his fist, splintering the phone. He’d waited for things before and he’d wait for Peter. He wasn’t going to crowd. Peter was his own person and deserved to have some space.
Eyes still a little puffy, MJ stood with her hands on her hips, listening to her phone chirp from the counter. She was calling Peter, after work, without having any alcohol. She was a responsible adult dammit. After she’d collected her wits (and the coffee) earlier, she’d tried to call the number back, to try and figure out what was going on. The number had already been disconnected. But now, she needed to ask Peter what was going on with him. She knew it was the anniversary of Ben’s death. She knew that now probably wasn’t the time to talk about it, but she needed to know.
“Hello?” Peter answered, finally picking up the phone.
MJ let out a breath she didn’t know that she’d been holding.
“Hi Peter, it’s MJ,” She started, unsure where to go from here, “I got a call from a friend of yours today. I was wondering if you were able to get coffee or something sometime soon?”
“Um. I’m a bit busy today, obviously” He replied, “But maybe tomorrow? I’ve taken the week off of work. I needed a break.”
“Yes! Yes of course, tomorrow works. I finish work at 5, I’ll meet you for a coffee then? At that place near your apartment?”
“Yeah. Sounds good… MJ, who called you?” Peter sounded concerned, if slightly suspicious.
“I don’t know” She admitted, looking at the fridge, a picture of her and Peter from undergrad smiling back at her, “They called and said they were worried about you, but wouldn’t give me a name…” There was silence, but she pressed on, “Oh hey, did you want me to bring a casserole over from the Portuguese bakery? I know that May probably doesn’t want to cook today.”
“Yeah, yeah that would be really kind of you. I don’t know when we’ll be back to her place though.”
“I’ll leave it in the fridge, I’ve still got a key.”
The silence was heavier than any MJ had ever felt.
“Thank you. For being around. Thank you.” And Peter hung up.
MJ let out another breath she hadn’t been aware of holding, and grabbed her keys and purse. Slipping on her shoes, she looked into the mirror by her door. She’d redone her makeup twice today, the crying had messed up her contour and winged eyeliner at work. She’d redone it during lunch. Then when she’d gotten home and after she’d properly let out all the stress, which was what she was calling all the crying she’d finally gotten to, she’d put on a much more natural look. For MJ, the process of putting on makeup was meditative. It allowed her to ground herself and take time to methodically work on something. Recently her looks had been getting more and more complicated as she tried to work out the heavy weight that had been sitting on her shoulders the past few months. It wasn’t unusual for her to cry two or three times in a day. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was too much going on, the city bustling around and gosling her, her work moving faster than she could keep up, and the people she cared about were getting more and more distant.
She shook her head as her eyes welled up again, but now wasn’t the time. She took a deep breath to calm herself and left her apartment. The door shut firmly behind her.
Peter opened the door for Aunt May, letting her into the house before he entered. He toed off his shoes, the shadowy weight in his heart heavy, and the warm light in the front hall didn’t help relieve it.
Visiting the graveyard theoretically shouldn’t have taken too long, but New York traffic had been reliable as it always was, and they’d gotten caught in rush hour on their way back. The light outside was long and soon the city would be dark. Peter Hung up his keys and his jacket, and went into the kitchen, opening the fridge to find the casserole, with some drinks and a bag of buns on top of it. Food left there by a friend who cared about him, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen. Now wasn’t the time to feel guilty, but he couldn’t help it.
“May,” He called to his aunt, who had gone up to her bedroom, “MJ dropped off some food for us. it’s a bit later then your normal dinner time but.”
Aunt May popped into the kitchen just after the oven had gotten to temperature. Peter slid the casserole in, and set a timer.
“That was kind of her. She’s a good friend Peter,” Aunt May said kindly, as she moved the drinks and bread to the table from the counter.
“Yeah, she really is. I don’t see her as much as I should.”
“You haven’t seen much of anyone the past few months.” Aunt May fixed him with a knowing look.
Peter swallowed and waded in the silence for a while, “It’s uh, been a rough couple of months honestly May. This week off was really needed. I feel heavy all the time, so I think this will be a chance to chill out, y’know?”
May nodded thoughtfully, “If you need anything Peter, you can ask or talk to me.”
Peter felt the tears prick his eyes. The room was too quiet, and he took a deep breath. Even if he could have asked, he didn’t know what he was asking for. He was saved by the oven timer going off, and he hurried to it, pulling out the casserole and setting it on the table.
They ate in silence.
When Peter left to go home later that night, Aunt May held him in the hug tighter and longer than normal. She seemed smaller than Peter remembered. The journey home wasn’t very long, the metro and walk not even being 40 minutes, but Peter didn’t make it very often. He figured he could make a bit more of an effort, at least for the next little while. It was always good to see Aunt May, and maybe she’d look less worried if she saw him more.
Peter was deep in thought as he went, thinking about the past few days. People had been reaching out to him now in ways he hadn’t had before. Did that mean that he was this bad? Was he this bad at being independent and an actual adult that everyone needed to check up on him? Did he look as close to cracking as he felt? How come, even with all the people reaching out, he wasn’t able to connect? He managed to grab a seat on the subway, and double checked his stop.
Why was the only person he was able to reach out to a mercenary who seemed to not be killing him and his family only because of some grace he seemed to posses. Peter’s mind went to the phone number on his fridge. He hadn’t move it, and was curious what would happen if he called it. Would Wade pick up? Would it be something that would get him into trouble? The man hadn’t seemed stable, constantly muttering to himself, and yet. Peter stepped out of the train onto the platform.
And yet he was the person who seemed to get it, and know what Peter needed. But it wasn’t fair to ask a suicidal man for help with mental health. Peter smiled darkly at the thought as he went up the steps from the subway. He imagined how that conversation would go, something like I know you just tried to kill yourself, but any chances you can teach me mindfulness? Yeah no. That wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to become a burden to yet another person. He was already exhausting both MJ and Aunt May, who weren’t exactly the best and most healthy themselves. Only a year ago things had seemed so much better for all of them. What had happened that had turned things so bad?
Peter stepped into the same orange lit alley as a few days ago. There was no body this time, and he let out just a bit of the weight he’d had. He looked around and started to pull himself up the side of the building. When he got to the top, he perched himself on the edge and looked around. Trying to figure out what Wade had seen before he’d jumped. Trying to figure out what he’d been thinking.
He sat there for a long time before gingerly making his way back down and returning to his apartment.