Mild talk of death, cause it's Wade, but he's fine I swear. 

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Spiderman

Stupid.

Stupid. Fuck. Stupid stupid stupid.

He took every shot. He always took every shot.

"If we work together you should know something Babyboy, I've lost someone to stray bullets before and I won't let it happen again. I don't care how heroic you are, You can die, I can't. So I take the bullets around here, every single one."

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should. Stupid fucking-" Peter moaned, pained under the weight of several deep cuts, grazes, and the literal dead weight of his closest friend slung over his shoulder.

10. Peter counted 10 rounds shot in his direction, all taken by Wade. The last four were what did him in. Normally through and through bullet wounds barely phased the immortal but that many and the last handful directly to the brain matter was, in his words an "inconvenience". Peter doesn't handle death well, no matter how many times he witnesses Wade's little dirt naps. He especially doesn't handle bullet-to-the-head-deaths well.

The first time it'd happened he'd been completely overcome with flashbacks of Ben's death. Grieving anew over Wade's corpse till he snapped back, panicked over why Spiderman was sobbing when he knew Deadpool couldn't die. Something extremely similar happened when they found themself in a fight with Sandman in some construction yard, Wade fell and snapped his neck before Peter could catch him. When he came back Peter opened up about Gwen's death for the first time. Wade in turn told Peter about Vanessa, this conversation led to Wade telling Peter he would take every shot pointed his way to avoid something like that ever happening again.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Peter hissed, toppling himself and Wade's body through the open window of his apartment. During the winter they met up to eat in doors so Peter wouldn't freeze to death on patrol. They left the window unlocked for when Pool got back.

His back hit the floor, he cradled Wade's head to his chest to protect him from the fall, lying there for a moment trying to catch his breath staring up into the dark. "Come on Wade. Time to come back now." One, no, many two of his ribs were definitely broken and dangerously close to puncturing his lung.

Spitefully, Peter hoped whatever death dream Wade was having was a bad one. He'd told him before that when he dies via head injury they always get wacky and weird. Moments later the thought turned to bile he had to swallow back down guiltily, he didn't really want that for Wade. He knows from previous experience when the death dreams are bad Wade wakes up jumpy and in a dark, kill everything headspace. The kind that would have sent his spider-senses ballistic if Wade could still set them off, instead it just left Peter feeling gutturally useless as to how to help Wade recover.

Thoughtlessly he ran one hand down the back of Wade's head and neck, over and over again in a manner he hoped was soothing. It was clear this was a bad one as Wade's body got colder, becoming stiff.

Not all the bullets had gone clean through, Peter shifted the weight to get a better look at the man's chest then back. "Damnit Wade. I'm not a doctor! I'm a fucking scientist."

Peter complained at length as he pushed the corpse off him, getting up to find the first aid kit and get to work on removing the shell casing before Wade could heal around them. If anyone asked he really was mad at Wade. In fact if Wade woke up right this second Peter would regale him on just how stupid his stupidest plans are. Except Peter's heart hammered heavily in his chest and ears. The quips he made into silent dead air served the express purpose of keeping him grounded in the moment. An unyielding reminder that Wade wasn't Ben or Gwen he was fucking Deadpool.

With the last bullet removed Peter checked his work, knowing from practice that Wade's skin sticking back together faster was a good sign. That meant all he could do now was wait, sitting over the corpse of his dead friend, fingers twitching in desperation for something else to do to occupy his spiraling mind, and wait.

Something.

Looking around Wade's apartment was in its regular state of disorganized organized chaos. Weapons, clothes, and empty food containers or drink cups littered the floor and counter spaces. Peter supposed he could move Wade to the couch, knowing it would help keep the man's back from feeling too stiff. One half assed cleaning job later and Peter had cleared space and dragged his friend up off the floor. Folding limp arms over his chest.

"Any day now dude." He drawled, devoid of the massive and numerous emotions looming threateningly over his head. His own wounds throbbed persistently as overexertion and exhaustion pounding on his doorstep, the only thing keeping his legs under him was the current of rising adrenaline and anxiety caused by the dead man.

Peter lifted Wade's head and shoulders, making room for himself on the couch to sit down, hoping his own healing abilities could kick in and do their damn job already. He brought his legs up, wrapped his arms around Wade's shoulders, curling in on the man in a tight hold.

Behind closed eyelids he forced himself to replay the fight, determined to not let something like this happen again. They teamed up on one of Wade's jobs, which was not something they did normally but his mark was buying and selling alien tech and weapons which was something Peter constantly kept an eye out for. Everything was working out just fine, they'd taken out a majority of the grunt men and fought their way into the bunker/base of operations. Things only went sideways when Peter shot Wade's mark in the face with webbing. Effectively blinding an extremely trigger happy man who started shooting in all directions. Peter shouted something, he couldn't even remember what it was or why- but it gave the guy somewhere to aim. Peter's spider-senses told him. He was already moving before the bullets even left the barrel, but Wade still dove between him and the gun, taking every round.

Peter was already moving, Wade didn't need to die. Damnit.

"Wade." He spoke into the empty air, coming out in a pathetic whine.

It was all his fault, all of it. It was fine when he had bad luck as a kid, he broke things around the house or people near him tripped on their shoe laces, but a superhero with bad luck got people killed.

Exhibit A, he thought dryly, squeezing Wade's shoulders.

Deadpool's whole body jolted in place, the whites of his mask widening as his eyes underneath shot open. Quickly taking in his surroundings and where he was, Peter's muscles loosened. "Welcome back."

"Webs," Wade's voice was hoarse, recovering from death took its toll on his whole body. Regardless Wade eased back, doing his best to bask in the glow of getting to lay in the Amazing Spiderman's lap without calling attention to it. He didn't have to, Peter was too busy breathing fresh air again.

"Hey. Hey. Hey Babyboy, no tears. You know I always bounce right back." With one hand Wade reached up to swipe at Peter's chin, he'd pushed his mask up breath earlier. He wasn't normally a crier. Tears pooled in his eyes when he was overwhelmed or upset but rarely did he actually cry. This time he had been so focused on Wade that he didn't even notice them.

"Shit sorry-" Peter shrugged away, furiously scrubbing away evidence of his emotional melt down with the heel of his hand across his cheek.

Wade cooed, swatting away Peter's hands. In a motion that had him half sitting up in an effort to better face Peter, Wade caged the younger man's face in his hands. "Look at me, Webs, I'm right here. I came back cause I always come back." Determination seeped into his tone, the one that dropped his normally animated gleeful voice into low gravel filled calm. "I will never leave you. No matter what happens. Trust me, before meeting you, I've tried."

"I hate when you do that."

"Rather it be me than you sweetheart."

Peter grabbed onto Wade's wrist with one hand, planting the other on Wade's chest right over his heart, feeling the strength of its recently healed beat. "Don't die for me again. I hate when you do that."

"I can't make that promise to you, because I won't see you die, but Spidey I will promise to always come back to you, just give me a few minutes."

They stayed like that, breathing in time with one another, inches apart. Peter forced his heart beat down and down again, Wade steadied his breathing because he knew Peter was mimicking him. It wasn't something they ever talked about before, but Wade was deeply familiar with the signs of a panic attack and that Peter got them sometimes. Peter was fine really, this wasn't even a bad one, he was just crashing from the adrenaline high after tonight.

"It was a long one." Peter broke the silence, glad the tears stopped and his voice was strong. He could go back to normal, they would go back to normal and not talk it outside of nights like this. "Welcome back Pool."

"Good to be back Spidey." Wade smiled, delighted, "Tacos?" 

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See, I said it was fine didn't I?