The Fourth Time

He found himself leaning against the cracked concrete of the alley, the night air smelling of rain and diesel, while Wade’s body—half-spider, half-mercenary, wholly ruined—lay in a pool of something that was both neon-green and unmistakably blood. The fourth time he’d watched the guy he loved flatten himself for a reason that didn’t involve his own ego was a number he could count on one hand, and it was a number that made his stomach churn with a mixture of dread and irritation.

Peter’s mind ran through the checklist as if it were a line of code. Airway—clear. Breathing—irregular, shallow. Circulation—he could see the pulse flickering like a faulty light bulb under Wade’s ribcage. He tapped the back of his wrist, feeling the familiar weight of his web-shooter, the soft click of the safety release, the cool hiss of the web fluid as he spun a quick, precise net to cover Wade’s torso. “Stay with me, Wade,” he said, his voice flat, the words an automatic protocol more than a promise.

Wade groaned, a sound that was half a laugh and half a choking gasp. “Well, I always wanted a dramatic entrance,” he rasped, his eyes flickering open, the mask slipping down just enough to reveal that his scarred cheek was a map of fresh lacerations. “Guess I’m just a one-man fireworks show now.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. He could see the way the green tendrils of Wade’s regenerative aura pulsed erratically, a frantic glow that looked like a busted fluorescent light trying to stay on. “You could have, you know, not done that,” he muttered, the words slipping out like a sigh he was trying to swallow. “You could have let the bullets hit the wall, or the trash can, or—”

“—the guy who was actually trying to get away from me?” Wade cut in, his humor jagged as broken glass. “I’m a hero, not a wallflower. Besides, if I’m going to die, I might as well go out in style. And with a little help from my favorite web-slinger.” He tried to smile, but the effort left his mouth trembling, a red line crawling across his lips.

Peter’s gloved hand brushed a stray strand of black hair from Wade’s forehead, the touch sending a jolt of cold through him that was not from the night air. “You think this is a joke, Wade? This is the fourth time you’ve turned your own body into a demolition site just because you can’t stand the idea of me getting hurt.” He lifted the web net and adjusted it, the fibers tightening around Wade’s torso with clinical precision. “Your healing factor isn’t a free pass. It’s not a warranty. It’s a liability.”

Wade chuckled, the sound rasping against the rain-slick bricks. “You always knew how to make a girl feel special, Pete.” He winced as another surge of green light flared across his chest, the regenerative process kicking in, stitching flesh with an eerie, almost eager glow. “I’m getting a new set of ribs. Maybe a fresh pair of lungs. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to the digital readout on his suit’s HUD, the numbers scrolling: heart rate 78, blood loss 12%, regenerative activity 63%. He could see the tiny red icons pulsing like a frantic heart monitor. “Fine isn’t a word you get to use for me,” he said, voice sharper than he intended. “You’re a walking, talking, laughing demolition zone. You walk into a fight, you bring the whole building down, and then you expect me to clean up the mess without ever asking if I’m okay.”

Wade’s grin faltered, the humor slipping, the mask of irreverence cracking just enough for something raw to leak through. “I—” he started, his voice catching, then he let out a short, broken laugh. “I’m sorry, Pete. I didn’t mean—”

Peter stopped the web net’s tightening and knelt, his movements deliberate, each motion measured as if he were performing a delicate surgery instead of a rescue. He pressed his fingers against Wade’s wound, feeling the heat of the regenerative energy beneath the surface. The sensation was both comforting and infuriating. “You think I’m angry because you’re a selfish bastard who loves the spotlight? No. I’m angry because I have to be the one who watches you get ripped apart and then patched up, over and over, while I keep pretending it’s okay.”

The rain intensified, a steady drumming on the metal rooftops above, as if the city itself were echoing his thoughts. Wade’s eyes glistened with a mixture of tears and the green glow, the mask slipping further, revealing a line of fresh scar tissue that pulsed like a tiny river. “Peter,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm, “I don’t—”

Peter’s breath caught. He had rehearsed this conversation in his head a thousand times, each scenario ending with a neat resolution, a clever retort, a joke that would defuse the tension. But here, in the cold, damp alley, with Wade’s body trembling and his own heart hammering in his chest, the jokes fell flat. He felt a weight settle in his ribs that no web could hold up.

He placed a hand over Wade’s, the contact sending a shock of heat through his own palm. The regenerative aura flared brighter for a heartbeat, then settled into a steady glow. “You’re a mess, Wade,” he said, the words softening, “and I love you for that. But love isn’t a punch-line. It’s a promise that I’m not going to watch you die because you think you’re invincible.”

Wade’s laugh was gone, replaced by a hoarse gasp. “You— you’re not… you’re not mad at me?” He tried to smile again, the effort making his jaw ache. “Because I— I keep doing this, and I don’t… I don’t think about the cost.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, not with anger but with a weary resolve. “The cost is you, Wade. It’s every broken bone, every scar, every night I spend patching you up and pretending the world isn’t ending because you walked into it again. It’s the moments I lose, the time I could be… I could be a normal guy. I could have a job, a life, a future that doesn’t involve a guy in a mask who can’t stay alive for more than a few minutes after he’s shot.”

Wade’s mask fell completely now, his face exposed to the rain, the green aura flickering like a dying ember. “I don’t want you to… I don’t want to be the reason you give up everything else.” He pressed a trembling finger to his own scar, as if to feel the pain he inflicted on Peter. “I’m sorry, Peter. I… I’m sorry for being a… a walking disaster.”

Peter’s mouth opened, a half-smile forming despite the tension. “You’re a disaster, Wade. A beautiful, chaotic disaster. And I’m tired of being the only one who knows how to clean up after you.” He pressed a small, precise device from his belt, a portable med-kit, and began to administer a dose of nanites that would accelerate the healing, the tiny machines buzzing like insects in the rain. “You’re going to heal. You always do. But I’m going to start holding you accountable for not turning every fight into a demolition derby.”

Wade’s eyes widened, a spark of mischief returning even as pain laced his voice. “And what if I can’t help it? What if my body just… wants to be a fireworks display?”

Peter’s gaze softened, the anger melting into something that felt like exhaustion mixed with a fierce protectiveness. “Then I’ll be the one to set off the fuse and make sure you don’t blow up the whole city.” He tightened the web net just enough to hold Wade steady, the fibers humming with the regenerative energy. “But you have to promise me something, Wade. Promise me you’ll try, even if it’s just a little, not to go full-on self-destruct every time we step into a fight.”

Wade lifted his head, the green aura dimming to a gentle pulse, his breath shallow but steady. “I promise… I’ll try,” he said, his voice cracked but sincere. “At least until the next time a villain decides to shoot us both in the chest. Then… then we’ll figure it out together.”

Peter stared at the rain, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement, and felt a strange, uncharacteristic warmth spread through his chest. He had been angry, he had been precise, he had been a mess of jokes and sarcasm. But in that moment, beneath the chaotic glow of Wade’s healing, there was a quiet truth that settled like dust on an old bookshelf: loving someone who treated their own body as expendable was a cost he was willing to pay, even if it meant cleaning up the mess for the fourth time.

He exhaled, the breath forming a thin vapor in the cold night, and let a small, genuine laugh escape his lips. “You’re impossible,” he said, the words a mixture of exasperation and affection. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”