quipsandthwips | Deerington Inbox

I did something pretty fucking shitty

fuck
I've done a lot of shitty things
I should be apologizing to you

I think there's something wrong with me
more than usual
that's not how I wanted to apologize

Can I come over?
you can punch my face in and tell me to get lost for good in person

[There's perhaps an expected dead silence that follows. Wade probably figures there was a chance, and the chance is here, rearing its ugly head as nothing comes through for hours. Really, though, it's not Peter angry enough to ignore him; it's Peter leaned against the wall beside the bathroom door, curled up and trying to block out the sounds of May's voice occasionally drifting through the wall.

The living room's a mess. There's a hole punched through a wall, and the table he'd bought not that long ago is overturned and cracked in half. A couple of mugs and plates have met a grizzly fate and are scattered all over the floor like foot shrapnel waiting to happen.

Really, it's not until a Betty off-handedly tells Wade that she heard the sound of something quite violent happening in that house as she was going for a walk next to it, that it sounded like some sort of dispute happened inside, that he'd get any inkling that things weren't quite right.

So... as it turns out, Peter can have bad enough days that a tantrum feels like the only logical solution to everything bottled up inside him. It's of course followed up with crying, but only the most graceful of crying (and by graceful, he means looking like a kid who dropped his ice-cream on the ground and in full hysterics, cool).

He keeps his hands pressed over his ears and stays that way, though he can still hear her voice trickling through, picking up a clamped finger and slithering into his ear like worms in mud. "Peter, let me out," she pleads. "How could you do this to me? Peter, something must be wrong — let me help you. You're not well. Didn't you want me to come back?"

All the ugly feelings just keep seeping back in, from the night she'd stopped breathing.]

[ Hearing Susan tell him about what she'd heard at Peter's house had been enough to send him on his way over to the guy's house invitation be damned. If someone had hurt him while Wade was away hating himself, well, he's not sure what he'd do, but it'd be terrible.

Wade doesn't shake the rocks or knock before he pulls Peter's front door open. What he finds in the living room is enough to have him ignoring anything that crunches under his boots as he rushes to locate Peter, or a body, or a ghost. When he does find Peter, the fear and trepidation he'd been stewing in slams into him tenfold; what he sees is a scary sight.

He rushes to Peter, immediately rushing to put himself at eye-level. His hands find Peter's cheeks to tilt his head this way and that, looking for injury, even if the touch is unwanted. Quick enough, he withdraws his hands when he's deemed there to be nothing head trauma-y.

It isn't until he hears a female's voice from behind the door that things start to click into place. The weight of what he'd done to the other Peter's aunt feels like it's trying to drag him out to sea, so it's not hard to assume who is behind that door. It's not hard to guess what she wants either. His suit feels claustrophobic at the though. ]

Peter? I know I'm the last person you want to see, but what's going on?

[ He has a sinking feeling that he already knows. The same thing the kiddo had been dealing with. Except that one hasn't grown hard-headed enough to try to deal with something like this completely on his own. ]

[Peter Parker doesn't carry wounds the way people should. Wade could probably make out the scabbed over space on his shoulder if he pulls at his collar a little where May had stabbed him. There's blood on the ceiling, strangely enough, though the scabbed cut on his foot is probably the cause of it. That's the fun about being Spider-Man, right? Everything heals so fast. Too bad it doesn't make up for the horrible things happening, like your aunt getting sick because you had the gall to be born and work as a scientist in her vicinity.

He slowly looks up, eyes red and face splotchy, hands still over his ears.

The fingers there slide away.]

It was me. It was my fault... She died because I couldn't save her. I had to choose. I had to choose her or everyone else, and it killed her. [He blinks up at Wade, as if suddenly coming to his senses and recognizing who he's talking to. Maybe being isolated with the soft, sweet voice of your dead mother figure does things to you. Makes you all sorts of fucked up.] ... You left me behind. You asshole. You can't just... do that. Leave the orbit when I need you.

[He'd been so angry at him, he could've knocked his head off. He never would've, of course. Never, not in a million years. It didn't help that the anger was mostly flat-lined by panic and desperation and uncertainty in what the fuck he's even doing. May's voice drifts, making it hard for him to think: "Peter... Peter, honey... You know I love you very much."

Thump thump, hands on the door, knocking.

"Just open the door... And we can have a nice Thanksgiving... like before."]

[ Everything that tumbles out of Peter's mouth tugs at Wade's heart-strings. Even being called an asshole makes his stomach feel like it's full of butterflies, it's nerves of course. He didn't eat any butterflies. He opens his mouth about to say something, he's not even sure what, but he closes it when he sees Peter's attention back on the door.

That just won't do.

His hands move back up to Peter's cheeks, thumbs swiping over tear stains, and turns his face back towards his own. Forcing Peter's attention on him. He can understand why he's distracted, she's incessant. ] I always come back, don't I?

[ He leans forward, letting his forehead rest against Peter's, trying to invade his senses. Wade had been scared and angry and hurt. Mostly with himself. The words he'd spoken hadn't been untrue, but they'd been far less pleasant than he'd like to admit. ] I'm sorry. I didn't know you did. [ Had he known this shit was going on, he wouldn't have left Peter alone at all. But after telling him such horrible things, he was pretty sure they both needed some breathing room. ] That thing in there? She's not your aunt. That's not May.

[ He pulls back slightly to watch Peter. ] She hurt you?

[ It's depressing, how this place feeds on fears and insecurities. Wade has never wanted to strangle a place more. ]

People don't always come back, when they go.

[It's a quiet mutter, but then Wade's forehead is pressed against his, and he doesn't seem to have any fight in him against that kind of weapon. His head hangs low on his neck, expression crestfallen.]

I know. I know she's not. But I can't... [Do anything to her, can't bring himself to do what he'd done to those zombies — what feels like forever ago. His hand slides to rest over his shoulder where she'd buried the knife deep, where people like Clara and Shiro helped ease the suffering and mend it. Now it's just a scabbed over reminder, tender and a little swollen but unnaturally swift in its healing.] Just — here. And...

[He moves the hand to the side, down, until it rests over the space his heart's thumping.

He laughs at how stupid his thought is, but says it anyway—]

... Maybe here, too.

[ A quiet sigh escapes him, and he pulls his mask off to reveal tired brown eyes and a serious case of mask hair.

His gaze follows Peter's hand from his shoulder to his chest. ] I know you can't. It's not what you do. You don't hurt people. I think it's one of the reasons I love you. [ OH NO, is that a terribly timed L word drop? It's fine, he's scurrying on past it because it apparently startled him more than it could possibly startle Peter. Did that come out of his mouth? Shit. Shit fuck. His evil undead aunt is right behind the door there and he's doing this now???? He could have waited for sometime romantic, like New Years. ]

That thing in there is no different than any other Monster Of The Week this place has hurled your way. The only difference is it's playing dirtier than usual and using her face and voice. Kind of like when Samsung came up with Bixby, we all knew it was a Siri rip-off. What kind of name is Bixby? And why does my phone ALWAYS think I'm saying it?

[ He's apparently ZOOMING ON BY IT. IF HE DOESN'T BRING ATTENTION TO IT IT'S NOT A THING, RIGHT? He'd really rather be in the room with the evil aunt right now. Wow, where is his mouth to brain filter, he's usually so much better with that, despite what everyone thinks. ]

[Peter just stares at him through the whole rant; what the guy's thinking, it's hard to say, but by the time Wade's near the end of his long-winded reply, Peter's moving slowly to wrap his arms around him and press his cheek to the hill of Wade's shoulder, fingertips shaking where they rest against the lines of Wade's shoulder blades.]

... I love you, too.

[Unlike Wade Wilson, Peter Parker has never been one to shy away from the L-word.

Poor Wade.

Peter's still mad. Still disappointed and furious and hurt by the fight, by what happened to Clara, even though she's the kind of person to just wave it off like it's letting bygones be bygones. But his anger hardly nullifies how much he cares about someone. Especially this much. It's really annoying, huh? Really a pain in the ass. And he just — he needs him right now. He needs this. Because he's been sitting with May's voice next to him for hours, despite people trying to pull him away from this townhouse.

Silence falls over him for a moment. Then:]

I don't know what to do.

[ Wade doesn't expect Peter to lean against him and wrap him in an embrace that he wasn't even aware he needed. He sure as fuck doesn't expect to hear the words back, especially after he was pretty sure they were vocally at least five football fields away at this point.

His own arms move to wrap around Peter. He has so many things to apologise for but if Peter wants a hug, he'll give him a million.

He wants to say it again, just to hear Peter say it back. But he's an adult and there are more important things at the moment. ]

Yeah, you do. [ Wade says it a bit grimly, like he's already been spoiled on this particular bad-end story. Wade knows Peter's smart enough to realise the solution to his problem is sitting in front of him. He guessss he should start on his apology world tour. ]

[When he looks at Wade directly, Peter's brow pinches, grief lines drawing at his lips and eyes before he fervently shakes his head.]

No. No. I'm not gonna — you don't have to do that.

You shouldn't have to do that. You don't have to be just some... some execution dispenser, Wade. I can figure something> out. [He hesitates, glancing at the door, his own miserable thoughts brewing in his head.] I — I can do it. If I just... close my eyes... don't look. I could do it.

[He's maybe unraveling a little, looking sick at the thought.]

[ Without thinking about how they'd just got over one of the worst fights they've ever had, including the slapfighting in the dome, Wade can't help but reach out and try to offer some comfort.

His palm cups the side of Peter's face and directs him to look back at the face in front of him. ]

It's okay. [ And despite the fact that it probably shouldn't be; with any other person this probably wouldn't be okay, he seems to mean it. Or at least say it with the conviction that it is. ]

It's what I do. I'll make sure she doesn't feel a thing. [ The offer feels a bit like cheating. Like he already knows a bit how Peter's feeling under all of this.

Maybe if he hates him for it, he deserves it. ]

[Peter looks back at him, eyes swimming with emotion and frustrated tears; MJ always did say his eyes were the easiest to read. He knows he wouldn't be able to do it, or at least he knows if he did it, there'd be — something new and ugly that's ruined him. But... even still...

He doesn't pull Wade's hands away from his face; he just looks back at him apologetically, distressed, lost.

But relenting to Wade's words.

And maybe that's the part that makes him look so utterly distraught.]

... I'm sorry that I failed you, too.

[ Wade's whole face scrunches up for a minute in deep thought, trying to follow Peter's train of thought. When he can't figure it out he just offers him a reassuring smile. ]

You haven't failed anybody, definitely not me.

[ He can't figure out what Peter was trying to do for him exactly, but if Peter feels he hasn't achieved it, he figures its his own fault, not Peter's. ]

Game plan, you re-hydrate in the kitchen and I'll deal with that thing. [ He's not going to call it a her, or Aunt May, because it's not. That only would serve to hurt Peter more, and he doesn't deserve that. ] Then we meet back up in the living room and you decide if you want to spend the night here or at my place and we can drown our sorrows in booze or ice cream. Or ice cream booze... You can't freeze booze, how do you make ice cream booze? [ He shakes the thought out of his head. ]

[An A for effort, Wade Wilson. Peter feels like his lips are weighted and heavy, and he can't bring himself to smile back. It's hard to be — himself, right now. It was so much easier to joke and act stupid when it was just him in the line of fire. Spider-Man can handle that kind of thing. What Spider-Man can't handle is re-losing the last person left in his family again, just a year after the first time.

He stares for a moment, looking wretched, and his voice cracks when he replies:]

... Actually, as long as there's a lot more water than alcohol in it, it could freeze.

[Think Light, Wade.

He stands up slowly, looking down at their feet like he can't bring himself to look anywhere else. He squeezes Wade's forearms, soft, while his stomach twists and turns. Because she's still talking — still speaking in that muffled, sweet voice. "Just talk to me, Peter... You know you can always talk to me. Are you in trouble again? Do you need money? You remember what I said about giving in to that Parker pride..."

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, as if he's gathering his willpower, and lets Wade's arms go, moving to walk away from the hall. And when Wade decides to cut away the web that pins the door shut, he'll find May Parker in there — standing prim and polite, a large slab of a broken mirror in her hand. Peter's blood is smeared on her white pants, on her arms.

She'll smile kindly at Wade, eyes glazed over. "Ah... You must be Wade. I always wondered if he would bring a boy home someday — such a handsome one at that."]

[ The thought of watered down alcohol ice cream is enough to get him to look disgusted at the thought. But then they're standing, and Peter's looking downright miserable about the whole situation.

He watches Peter go, waiting until he doesn't hear Peter's presence anymore to actually slice through the webbing with his good knife.

He's greeted almost immediately after he pulls the door closed behind him, knife still in his hand. He keeps his voice low and quiet, but not too quiet for her to hear him. He's trying to spare Peter from wanting to eavesdrop. Does he have Spider-Hearing? Is that a thing? ... Do Spiders hear? ] Yeah, the internet told me my celebrity look-alike is Ryan Reynolds. Personally, I see more Chris Hemsworth, but what can ya do?

[ He taps the side of his knife against his outer thigh, trying to figure out how to tackle this whole situation. The last time he'd just gone for it, noise be damned. This time, Peter's still in the house, not hiding up on the tippy top of the buildings roof.

He could just give himself a kill shot and bounce it to her. Assuming this is one of the spooks that things bounce to. His attention lingers on the piece of mirror, then it travels over all the blood on her. ]

I imagine, if you were smart enough to play the waiting game long enough to get him to trust you enough to let his guard down; you're smart enough to understand why I'm in here and he's not.

["Oh," she starts, as soft and kind as she's ever sounded, "I know why. Because my Peter, he's a good boy. He tries his best to help as many people as he can..."

... She doesn't move forward, just studies the jagged piece of mirror for a moment. "He told me a little bit about you. When I first woke up. He said you both had been in a terrible fight — that you wouldn't be visiting."

A pause, and she smiles up at him.

"I'm glad he was wrong. You came right when he needed someone..." She sighs, looking disappointed, running a cold, gray finger over the glass. Shakes her head and looks wistful. "Ah... Just... a few inches over, and I would have gotten his artery, I think. It's a shame — you know how you get with age. Your aim just isn't what it used to be."]

Edited 2019-12-29 08:26 (UTC)

[ Wade keeps watching her for a moment longer. Her words have his fingers clenching around the hilt of the knife, but all he does is offer her a smile. It's a smile that's more menacing than anything, more like he's baring his teeth in some show of aggression than anything friendly. ]

Yeah, that's the right play, piss me off. Please, do go on. I really love having Mexican standoffs in my boyfriend's bathroom. But I have an hour long back massage to give and you probably think you're going to make it through me to the door.

[ He stares at the simulacrum in front of him for a second longer and then he lunges for her, not to stab her, but instead crowd her against the bathroom wall, mirror piece be damned. He doesn't care what she does to him, he heals. But she's certainly not going to heal from a knife jammed up into her brain-stem. ]

I'll be the first to admit, I'm not the bring home to mom -- aunt and uncle type. I just get so stabby and don't know what to do with myself. Imagine Adam Sandler -- but worse. Also, funny.

[The thing with May's face looks unbothered by suddenly being against the wall with a knife near, and in fact, she just holds the mirror fragment patiently at her side. She knows. She knows he'll just bounce it, or heal. She knows it won't matter.

"Bless you. You're not as bad as you seem, are you? A little on the scruffy side, maybe... You just don't understand what I'm trying to do for him." Patient, proper, blood-splattered. Her dead eyes look right into his. "Can't you see, he's suffering? He should be with us. With his family. Can't you see how lonely he is?"

She opens her mouth, and maybe this is a mistake on Wade's part —

She screams, a terrified, blood-curdling sound, one that doesn't match the flatness of her expression. One that echoes through the house, stains the walls with its reverb.

"Peter, help me! He's going to hurt me—!"]

[ That reaction pulls a look of utter loathing from Wade, and before he can really even think about stopping, he tosses his knife to the ground behind him, causing it to slide and hit the door with a loud thump.

One of his hands clamps over her mouth to silence any more annoying sounds from her and his other yanks her against him, into a hug.

Yeah, we've all seen how well Wade forcing hugs on baddies goes.

It goes about as well as this one, since he moves his hand from her mouth and shoves her face against the front of his suit, muffling any other screams, and holds it there with a hand at the back of her head. All of it's firm pressure, nothing in an attempt to hurt her, like she'd claimed. He'd promised, after all.

His free hand yanks one of his DEs from its holster and presses it against the back of her skull, under where his other hand keeps her still.

What a nightmare, to be surrounded by Wade Wilson when you die. Maybe it's what she deserves, he sure thinks so.

The gunshot is unmistakably loud in the small room and it makes his ears ring. It was something he was trying to spare Peter from hearing, but with her wailing like a goddamn banshee, it didn't really matter, did it?

He doesn't let her body hit the floor, he scoops her up into a fireman's hold after re-holstering Shooty. The knife has to be slid out of the way of the door by a combat boot, but when he manages that and to get the door open, he speaks. ]

Pete, I'm gonna be right back.

[ He sure as hell isn't going to leave her dead body in his house. For the time being she'll have to settle for outside until he can cart her off. So he does head out the back door, trying to avoid Peter in the process.

When he does come back inside, he feels even more tired than he had seconds ago.

He wants to cry. But that hurts too much, so instead he goes back to the bathroom to clean any blood he'd gotten on him off and to retrieve his knife. ]

You know, if you'd wanted a new table you could have just asked.

[ He doesn't know where Peter's hiding, so he'll just conversate loud enough the whole house can hear him. ]

I don't mind donating my paychecks to the Peter Parker Need Furniture Fund. All they're going into right now is the ass implant fund and the boob job fund.

[This is... definitely one of the worst nights of his life. Not many are gonna top it, he's pretty sure. Ben's death. May's first death. That's — probably about it, right now. He would take a slow, painful Erasure Virus or getting mauled any day. Would handle Clara's ghosts or struggle a knife out of Wade's hands before having to listen to his mom screaming frantically for his help before she was shot dead just a walk away from him. He presses the side of his palms against his ears, curls fingers around the back of his skull, and tucks his head against his knees.

It's not very dignified, his reaction. But it's hard not to feel that visceral reliving of the first time he lost her. And now, with it, that sense of dread and failure, knowing he couldn't have handled it himself; that he had to have Wade come in and feel like he had to fill the role. He'd jolted at the sound of what had to be a bullet entering his aunt's head.

(That wasn't May, she'd never hurt you.)

The living room's still a mess from his breaking things, still scattered with debris. And as Wade talks, Peter has to admit, only a handful of words even register. He'd broken a — ah, right, his table. He'd broken a lot of things. Wade could point and laugh and call him a massive hypocrite now, after he'd lectured Wade for smashing up his own home.

Tears plip-plop, make a little sad, irregular sound on the wooden floor below him; they leak down into his eyebrows, slip off the slight slope of his forehead. He sits on the ceiling of the empty second bedroom because he's not sure where else to put himself. He just wishes he could get May's plea for help out of his head. And fine, fine, he's not that tough; he's not that strong; the only real response Wade gets — a response that isn't actually a response — is a muffled, distant sob.]

[ By the time Wade hunts down where the sob comes from, his hands are itching to pull his mask back over his face and hide away behind it. It's stupid how the thing has become a safety blanket to hide his anxiety and anguish behind. He knows Peter wouldn't like that, however. So his mask stays off his face for now.

He stops at the doorway, not entering the room, but looking in and up at Peter. He fingers the wood base of the doorway, uncomfortably. He feels just like a kid again, when he was little and couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong, only that the adults were mad at him.

Except he knows exactly what he's done wrong.

He'd hurt Peter. He'd hurt Clara. And now he's killed Peter's auntmom.]

Do you want me to leave?

[ He doesn't want to, but if Peter never wants to look at him again... well, they might as well figure that out now. ]

I don't mind staying, but if you're gonna hate me or don't want me here we should address it now. I'm not cut out for the role of Roseanne Conner.

Don't.

[He says it quickly, cutting off any potential rambling that might come after. It's a waterlogged sound, that word, and he tries to wipe the wetness on his face off on a sleeve. There's a long moment where nothing's said, because he can't speak further, but... eventually, he manages to let his quivering, taut jaw relax enough.]

... Please don't leave me alone here.

[He breathes in, holds his breath.]

Where'd... where'd you put her?

[He shouldn't ask, because it wasn't her — but in some horrible way, it felt like her.

That's maybe one of the worst parts of all.]

[ Wade's felt heartbreak before, plenty of times. But it's never enough to prepare himself for when it happens again. And boy, does his heart hurt at Peter's plea.

He stays quiet for a moment trying to process before he realises he should probably say something. He nods his head dumbly and then manages to find his voice. ]

Okay, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be gum on your shoe until you want to scrape me off.

[ He hesitates at the question, not really sure if they should keep talking about it, for Peter's sake. Wade finally steps into the room and stays put only a step inside. ]

Outside in the yard, I have a spot in the woods - diggable soil, no foot traffic.

[ And company.

He just didn't want to leave Peter alone after that. ]

I'll deal with it when you finally get one of those terrible dehydration crying headaches and need to sleep it off. Usually I only get those after watching the Notebook or Click. Wait, Up too.

[Peter looks unsure for a moment, frowning, but... eventually, inevitably, he flips to hang by his palms from the ceiling — a wince in his face as he pulls the mangled, healing muscle in his shoulder — and drops onto his feet. And then he stands there in the middle of the empty, dark bedroom, despondent. Burying May, huh? That's a thought. Diggable soil, no foot traffic. A resting place.

... He hasn't buried her back home.

Looking exhausted, his brow wrinkles and his lips thin.]

I can help bury her.

It'll be my job back home, and it'll be my job here.

Then — then whatever else can happen. But she needs to be buried.

[He moves to start toward the door, carried almost mindlessly by his feet in some kind of dazed way.]

[ Even upset as hell, he makes that look cool. ]

No. [ Wade says it so quickly and firmly, there's clearly something wrong behind the thought. He moves in front of Peter, his hand coming to Peter's chest to stop him. He knows Peter can overpower him, even in this injured and rattled state, but it doesn't stop him from making himself an obstacle. ]

Regina George in there wasn't your aunt. And don't think I missed the fact that you're hurt. You don't need to be burying anyone.

[ Neither reason are lies, even if his main reason for not wanting Peter to help is to keep him in the dark about what happened to the other Aunt May zombie he'd met. The disturbed ground where he'd buried her would be unmistakable to anyone who saw it. ]

Besides, I get the sense you're not that practiced in disposing bodies. [ Not that Wade is either, there are usually people you call for that, but he's disposed of a few bodies in his time. ]

Sometime after their fight and him killin Jr's may

nothing technically :')

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there was so much pain i need to put a lil light at the end of the tunnel ok

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wowie i hate this

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cw: MURDER????

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