Chapter Text
Peter’s life had finally fallen into a rhythm this year. For the first time in what felt like forever, things were clicking into place. He’d finished his master’s degree (finally), and he had a job lined up as a chemist at Stark Industries starting in the new year. Not that Tony pulled any strings—Peter earned this on his own merit, thank you very much. Besides, Tony still didn’t know Spider-Man’s real identity, and Bruce Banner ran the department anyway.
In the meantime, Peter kept busy. He juggled part-time jobs—pulling shots as a barista at a cozy Manhattan café, despite having moved to Brooklyn nearly two years ago, and assisting his thesis professor with research. He’d realized he didn’t function well unless his schedule was jam-packed. Maybe it was the super senses, maybe it was the ADHD— maybe it’s Maybelline. Whatever it was, Peter needed the organized chaos to survive.
And he’d been killing it as Spider-Man too. Over the years, he’d worked his way up from the “friendly neighborhood” status to a sort of New York pseudo-Avenger. The supers were starting to trust him more and more. He’d helped Natasha take down a major trafficking ring a few weeks back, kept Bucky safe while he disabled a bomb just yesterday, and swung into action when Doombots targeted Tony last month. But despite the bigger missions, Peter never lost sight of his roots. Most of his patrols still kept him close to the ground, with some help from a reformed (ish) Deadpool.
Wade had been around for years, but this past year had been… different. Great, actually. They’d even teamed up with Matt a few times, which was always a blast, but what really surprised Peter was how Wade had become a constant presence in his life. The guy had taken to cooking Peter dinner at least twice a week for the last few months. That was new. And nice. There was just one minor problem: it seemed like nobody else in the superhero world gave a damn about Wade.
Wade had been there, right in the thick of it, during the Winter Soldier and Falcon’s fight with killer robots. But when it came time to regroup or file mission reports, no one bothered to check on Wade. Just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he couldn’t get hurt. Too many times for Peter’s comfort, he’d found Wade in pieces after a mission, while everyone else had moved on like nothing happened. It pissed Peter off to no end.
He’d ranted about it more times than Wade probably wanted to hear. At dinner, during Mario Kart, on rooftops after patrols—hell, even while carrying Wade’s barely conscious body to a safe house. And every single time, Wade brushed it off. Said he was fine with it. Said he didn’t mind as long as they let him keep helping. But Peter wasn’t convinced, so he decided to handle it in his own way—by being petty.
See, the café Peter worked at? It was in a prime spot, right by Avengers Tower. Tourist central, rich-people central, and—of course—superhero central.
Captain America happened to be somewhat of a regular, and his order was as fitting as it was predictable: ‘One large Americano, cream and sugar, please. Oh, and a blueberry muffin.’ Steve would sit in the corner with a StarkPad, furrowing his brow over mission logs or scribbling absently in a sketchbook. Sometimes Bucky tagged along, looking perpetually grumpy, and he’d order the same thing every time: ‘Chocolate mocha, extra shot of espresso, if you’ve got it.’ He’d settle in with a book while Steve worked, and Peter would catch them occasionally glancing at each other over their mugs, Bucky’s ankle tangled around Steve’s under the table. It was sweet, and Peter was happy for them. But a bitterness tugged at him when he thought about how carelessly they treated Wade.
Wade wasn’t a prop. He wasn’t a gimmick. Peter had thought Bucky, of all people, would have some empathy, considering his own history of being treated like a weapon. But even Bucky had his moments of indifference when it came to Wade.
So yeah, it got to him. Some mornings, Peter was snippier than usual. And today? Today was one of those mornings.
It couldn’t have been later than 7 a.m., and the anxiety from the bomb situation yesterday still lingered, gnawing at the back of Peter’s mind. The last thing he expected to see was a very manic Tony Stark walking into the café. It wasn’t often that Tony showed up himself—usually, it was the same jittery intern with, ‘For Anthony Edwards, please!’ ordering Tony’s four-shot peppermint latte. Peter had to admit, if he didn’t know Tony had the best medical team on the East Coast, he’d be worried for the guy’s heart.
“How’s it hangin’, kid?” Tony called out, already drawing attention as the café buzzed with whispers. Phones came out, people snapping pictures of the billionaire in action.
“Good morning, Mr. Stark. Rough night?” Peter had a soft spot for Tony. Spider-Man had talked Tony down from panic attacks mid-battle a few times over the years. For all his bravado, the man genuinely cared about his team.
“You could say that. Picking up the whole team’s order today. Think you can label ’em for me?”
Peter nodded. “Sure thing. Everyone getting their usuals?”
“Yep,” Tony muttered, fiddling with the café’s perpetually broken card reader. “I could fix this in five minutes if you want.”
Peter sighed, already feeling the weight of the day. God, five more hours and then he could go to Wade’s and catch a nap before research. “Honestly? That’d be great. I heard you guys stopped a bombing yesterday. Must’ve been intense.”
Tony’s head snapped up, eyes distant for a beat. “Yeah. The One Armed Wonder and Bird Brain really pulled through. Spider-Kid too... and his boyfriend. We barely made it out in one piece.”
Peter nearly laughed at the irony. Wade definitely didn’t make it out in one piece. In fact, Wade was currently recovering in his apartment, sleeping off what he’d called a “healing hangover” from the shrapnel embedded in his skull and his shattered spine. Not that anyone had bothered to check.
Peter grabbed the cups, scrawling “Frosty” and “Feathers” on them with deliberate pettiness. The Avengers would probably think Tony asked for it, but Peter didn’t care. This shop had plenty of business, superhero endorsements or not.
“I saw Deadpool got hit pretty bad,” Peter ventured, unable to stop himself. He wanted to see if Tony had even noticed.
Tony sighed. “That guy could take a missile to the chest and walk it off. But yeah, he got a little banged up. Spidey took care of it.”
Peter’s temper flared as he started on the espresso. “Just because he can take it doesn’t mean it’s fair to expect him to. He still feels the pain. It's careless to put someone in a position to get hurt just because they can’t die.”
Tony raised a brow, almost amused. “He’s really becoming a fan favorite, huh? Popular with the grad students? Must be all his pop culture references.”
Peter’s jaw tightened, frothing the milk with a vengeance. “Or maybe he’s just helping—a lot. And people are rooting for him because he’s rooting for them.”
Tony put his hands up in mock surrender, flashing that trademark smirk. “Jeepers, kid, don’t get all worked up. You’re right—we should be more mindful of how we treat the people who help us out. Deadpool’s saved me from becoming scrap metal more than once. I’ll keep an eye on him more. Just... please don’t spit in my coffee.”
Peter rolled his eyes, placing each cup in its designated holder. He made sure the names weren’t too glaringly obvious, but let’s face it—he’d gotten a little carried away. He glanced down at the cups: Katniss for Clint, Frosty for Bucky, Feathers for Sam, Grandpa for Steve (who would probably get a kick out of it), Dr. Banner for Bruce (the sweetest guy ever), Ms. Romanoff for Natasha (because, well, she scared the hell out of him), and Tin Man for Tony himself.
Thor was off-world, so he was safe from Peter’s mild act of vengeance—for now. Historically, Thor always checked in on his brethren in arms, making him one of the few who actually seemed to care about Wade’s well-being. It gave Peter some solace that not everyone was so indifferent to Deadpool’s pain.
Peter handed the cup holder over, a little too smug for someone who just scribbled down petty superhero nicknames. “No spit, promise.”
Tony gave a low chuckle. “Thanks kid. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, not a lot of people give me shit and live to tell the tale. But you’re right, everybody matters. There’s a lot of buzz around Deadpool lately, and it’s not just because of his... unique charm.”
Peter’s mood softened slightly. The fact that Tony was acknowledging Wade’s contributions without turning it into a joke meant something. “He’s been pulling his weight more than people give him credit for.”
Tony nodded, taking the coffee carrier with a hint of sincerity in his expression. “We’ll make an Avenger out of him yet.”
Peter froze for a second, trying to picture Wade at an official Avengers meeting. The mental image was concerning—Wade cracking inappropriate jokes while Natasha smirked dangerously, Steve looking quietly appalled, and Clint egging him on. Yeah... it would be a mess. But it would also be something Wade earned, the recognition he deserved.
“Sounds chaotic,” Peter replied with a smirk, but underneath the joke, he meant it. Wade deserved to feel like he belonged. To be seen as more than just comic relief or an unkillable weapon.
Tony winked, already halfway out the door. “I’ll see you around, kid, check your email for onboarding stuff. I’ve been keeping tabs on your research too, good work!”
As the door swung shut behind Tony, Peter let out a breath. Tony really did care a lot more than he let on, and the thought brings a flicker of hope to his heart. The snark, the banter, the little bits of pettiness—they all helped distract him from the anxiety, at least for a moment.
Around 10, after the morning rush, Peter pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over Wade’s contact for a second before he shot a quick text:
Hope you’re feeling better. We should hang out later. Mario Kart rematch? I’m not gonna go easy on you this time.
The response came almost instantly: My head is back to it’s regularly scheduled programming, thanks for checking in Webs <333 But you? Easy? Baby boy, you couldn’t beat me if you had Spidey-Sense in the game.
Peter smiled, shaking his head as the tension finally started to fade. Wade might brush off his own injuries like they were nothing, but Peter wasn’t going to let anyone, including Wade himself, think that meant he didn’t care.
Because he did. More than Wade knew.