Spidey and Deadpoolio

1

"Today is the day I kick him out." Peter thought, sitting on his couch, waiting for Wade to come barging through the large door. Well... Kinda small. Medium? Who cares, this isn't about doors.

"Yeah... Today is the day..." Peter said to himself. He thought about how much of Wade had actually rubbed off on him.

Three minutes and thirty-three seconds of waiting and Deadpool opens the door with a loud slam. Peter's senses felt that...

The brown haired boy got up.

"Wade, you can't fucking barge in like that everyda-"

"Fucking can it, Peter. I'm not in the mood to hear your bitching for half an hour and ask me to leave again." Deadpool was already in the kitchen downing a beer. His frustration and depression has been getting worse and worse.

Of course, drinking wasn't helping it much either.

"Okay, first off, stop drinking, you're only going to make it worse, and second-"

"Did you not hear me say to shut up?" Deadpool slammed the bottle down, causing Peter to jump.

"Fine." Peter stormed off to his room. "You're just going to get drunk and be a crying mess at my door like you are every night. But you refuse to fucking tell me what's wrong. So fuck off." He mumbled angerly, slamming his bedroom door behind himself once he went in.

Of course, this didn't bother Deadpool... Until his he wasted.

Good Jesus Christ he was drunk. Falling over and everything.

He found himself at Peter's door, his mask off, crying uncontrollably.

"Peterrr... Pleeease I want youu-" Wade hiccupped and sobbed. "I'm alone..." His thoughts were getting worse.

Peter ignored him, now feeling a bit sorry.

Wade hit his head hard on the door, on accident, "Oww! Fuuuck... Peter!" His words were slurring and his hiccups were getting worse.

He now started repeatedly slamming his forehead against the door, causing himself to bleed profusely onto the white carpet.

"I'll tell... I'll tell you what's..." He hiccupped, "What's wrooong..."

Wade hasn't said that. Ever.

Peter got up, went to the door and opened it. That's when Wade hit his head hard on Peter's shins, smearing blood onto the other.

"Fuck, Wade, stop it..." Peter picked him up from the floor. It really ate at Peter when he saw Wade drunk... And honestly, he wasn't really drunk, he was just pretending. Well, hopefully this time he was pretending.

"Peter!" Wade said happily through a few hiccups and sobs. He let the boy drag him onto his bed.

"Tell me what's wrong Wade." Peter commanded. He sat next to Wade.

"I caaan't seem to..." Hiccups, again. "Die." Wade finally got out through a few sobs.

"You... What?"

"Peter, I'm drunk..." Wade rose his arms, covering his face with his hands.

"Okay, Wade. No one likes a crying drunk, now just tell me what's wrong." Playing therapist was hard. Now for a clipboard.

"I'm so dumb... I need-to-diiiie.." Wade tried explaining. "I can't do aaaaanything right..." He rolled off the bed and starting hitting his head against a wall. "Stupid... Stupid..." Hiccups, "Stupid..."

Peter sighed, getting up, then pulled Wade's dead weight back onto his bed.

"You're not stupid, Wade." Peter held him down. (Wade was trying to fight back, but was too weak to.)