[Peter's totally neck-deep in all kinds of messed up mental space, which is probably weird to Wade, because he's supposed to be the 'sane one'. But yanno, sometimes you just get a little messed up from weird sleeping schedules and psychosis-inducing dream wandering, you know? Case in point, he's probably already noticed Peter's been kinda off lately. Waking up to blearily answer calls isn't super uncommon, but... it's been more and more frequent. As has been his ability to zone out into different dimensions in his head.
He's just. Not all there. He knows, they know, we all know. Or maybe he doesn't know, because any time it's brought up, there's a resounding 'oh yeah, sorry, I've been overworking myself a little'. Admonishments haven't really settled in just yet.
Wade's probably having a pleasant dream about Dolly Parton and him going on a shopping spree or something when Peter crawls in through the window, too quiet, too good on his feet. He kicks off his jeans and drags off his shirt and undershirt and crawls into the sheets with little fanfare.
Arms slide around Wade, and a cheek ends up on a bicep, one foot hooking an ankle, a snore on the man's lips as he drifts off again. It feels — off. Feels really off. Maybe just too warm. New York City's always hot at this time of year, and his apartments are notoriously bad at cooling themselves.
[ Awake, future Wade will definitely have to delve over how he severely needs locks on his windows in the future. But that's a problem for fully alert future Wade. This is asleep, comfy Wade who was not expecting Vanessa to crawl into bed with him for some reason. But when she does, it's all wrong. It wakes him up enough to mumble a "hey baby" in the sleepiest soft tone and shift so he can pull her closer against him and rest her head on his chest like it normally -- His hand slides down a back that is far too muscular to be Ness'.
Bye, Dolly Parton.
Wade wasn't aware bodies could drop bursts of adrenaline while mostly asleep, but now he's wide awake and trying to figure out who is invading his bed and personal space. He doesn't exactly move, or try to untangle himself from his home-invader. Instead he turns to look at the familiar mop of hair. And oh. Okay... Uhhh.
He moves the arm that he'd been feeling up that muscular lower back with so that he can rub slow soothing circles into the middle of his back. He's probably lucky Wade realised he was not with Vanessa before some cutesy butt touches.
He keeps his voice low, soft and quiet. He doesn't particularly want to get punched in the face in his own bed. ] Baby boy? You okay? [ God, there is so much skin and he's wrapped around him like a goddamn octopus. Pineapples. Donald Trump. The Patriarchy. Lawn flamingos. Cows... Okay, okay. ] Sugarplum, snugglebug, Bambi?
[He sniffs in response, because his nose has been kinda weird — must've been some fight with the sandman. Ha. Hahaha... Hnnm. He just curls in further, the voice that whispers to him sounding weirdly muddled, and after a couple of the odd little nicknames, Peter lifts his head up to stare blearily — at Wade, but also not at Wade. It doesn't really seem right, anyway.
Mary Jane? Yeah, it's red hair, concerned eyes, the slightest frown. It's her. But they were broke up, weren't they...? Sure, they're on much better terms now — he even cooked for her, had a diner date — but they weren't... he thought...
God, his head feels weird. Why's he remembering sand-worms and talking spiders?
Maybe Scorpion got him good and he just hadn't shaken it off.]
Mmm... Those're new nicknames. 'Tiger' getting too old now...?
[He lays his head back down, arm sliding around Wade's torso again.]
[ ... Uh. UH. Okay, so he's... awake? A very avid sleep-talker and walker? He's... Never called Peter Tiger, as far as he can remember, maybe he has offhandedly. Keeping track of every nickname is a tough job that Wade refuses to do. ] Tiger? [ The circular patterns he's rubbing into Peter's back are more out of nerves and thought than anything else now. At least he's got him talking.
Something is wrong, and Wade fears the moment Peter realises that he's going to be mad at him. Being rough with him is something Wade doesn't want to do though. He's not going to pry him off and toss him out of his bed. ]
Did something happen?
Hey, look at me again. [ He reaches his other hand out to try to tilt Peter's face and eyes up toward him, looking for signs of a concussion or some kind of injury. ] I'm gonna be real honest here, you're confusing the hell out of me right now.
[ Should he toss him out of bed? Is Peter going to be angrier at that or at not being tossed out of bed? ]
[Peter grumbles in annoyance, eyes not even opening as Wade mildly manhandled his face. His nose seems redder than usual — eyes seem more exhausted — but he's not overly hot or pale, not discolored in any way or injured. Of course, Wade hasn't seen the discarded shirt with the dry bloody patch on the front, courtesy of a nosebleed. He's been having them a lot.
Must have to do with the sand he keeps coughing and sneezing.
There's a raw edge to his voice, like he's... well. Coughed sand before.]
C'mon, MJ, I'm tired.
[Eyes peel open again, and he grabs Wade's hand, kissing the knuckle.]
[ Wade's dark eyes travel over his face, once, twice, three times. Any tell-tale sign of something super awry other than allergies and sleepless nights is lacking. The town must be up to some kind of fuckery, surely. When something weird happens, it's always the town being a total hellhole. Kidnap your best friend? The town. Crawl into bed with them while they're asleep? The town. Maybe next time he'll try to kill him. That'll be fun.
MJ. The pretty redhead back home.
Ah.
That makes sense and both stings an enormous amount for some reason.
Sure. Sure. Cool.
He's still asleep.
He pulls his hand back, maybe a little more roughly than he really needed to, feeling weirdly dirty for letting any of this happen. ] I'm not tired anymore, Peter, you can have the bed. [ Better plan, throw himself out of bed. Peter can't get mad at all at that. ]
[Peter's weary face pulls into something more startled and hurt, and if he had been sleep-walking then, perhaps he's not anymore, because he looks more alert. Right? Right. Now should be the part where he realizes he's not in an apartment in New York City, and that he's totally hijacked his best friend's bed in nothing but his underwear.
But instead he just sits up in the bed and looks worried, like he'd effectively self-detonated a relationship that isn't actually happening right now. He reaches out to put a hand on Wade's shoulder.]
Sorry, is it — too soon? Did I do something wrong? Dih... uh — ach! [He ducks his head and sneezes, and a fine layer of desert sand sprays out of his mouth and nose, leaving little grains of the stuff between them and clinging to arm hairs. Nothing more uncomfortable than sand in your bed, right? Right. Something about the sneeze seems to actually ease his concerns, but he rambles anwyay:] Okay, okay, I see why now. It's cool, I'll take the couch.
[He starts sliding out of the bed haphazardly, a drop of blood rolling down his upper lip from one sore nostril, rambling like he's genuinely worried he's messed up whatever dynamic they currently have going here, him and this Totally-Not-Wade.]
Besides, the air conditioning works better in here.
New York's not known for it's great apartment AC, y'know?
Eurgh! [ Wade stills, not at all liking the sudden amount of sand or sneeze material in his vicinity. His hand is suddenly reaching out and snagging onto Peter, not letting him flee the bed. Wow, MJ sure did get strong, huh? ]
You are the cutest that I've ever seen, but you're not supposed to be Mr. Sandman. Why are you sneezing sand? [ He's not touching that 'too soon' topic with a ten foot pole. ] You didn't do anything wrong. [ Okay, that's a highly debatable statement. Breaking into someone's house in the middle of the night, getting in your underwear and crawling into bed with them... well, those aren't generally accepted things. But Wade's nowhere near being mad about any of it, hell, Peter's put up with worse from him. Maybe it's stupid that he's more worried Peter's going to be mad at him. ] You're bleeding? Your nose.
[ Wade's suddenly sitting up and tipping Peter's chin up so his head is back. Wow, yeah, there are a lot of muscles showing off tonight. Wade's not sure if he's even ever seen this much of Peter... Right, right, stop staring!!! It's all really distracting, okay? So sue him.
He snags far too many Kleenex from his nightstand and holds them out to Peter. Peter would probably bitch at him for at least an hour about that if he were in his right mind, luckily he seems to have some weird... sand infection? ] Hey, just blow your nose and I'll brush this sand out and you can lay back down. Wanna tell me what really happened?
[Oh yeah, wow, super strong. But Peter's as strong as a newborn puppy when it comes to anything he does in MJ's presence, so he just lets Wade manhandle with even more patience than usual. He looks at him (her) with utmost reverence, like he (she) could punch him in the head and he'd just let it happen (he would).]
... Yeah, I haven't seen Mr. Sandman around lately, so...
[He sinks back into the pillow, pressing a handful of kleenex into his face and feeling weird.]
... You're gonna think I'm nuts, but... you remember, um. The night May died? The Devil's Breath thing? I'd fallen asleep and I was... I was in this other place. This town, called Deerington, and...
I don't know. Stuff happened. A lot of stuff, and then I got out.
[ Wade listens to him talk as he works on brushing the grains of sand Peter sneezed into his bed out of his bed. Wade pauses when Peter asks him to tell him he's crazy. That would be a serious case of pot calling the kettle a sportscar. Besides, Peter's the more sane one here, usually... This is just something weird happening. Something to do with the monthly deer PMS. ]
I don't think you're crazy. I've seen crazy and you're not it. "Stuff happened" isn't really an explanation, especially not one that explains why you've got sand in places sand should never be. This one time I went to the beach and -- you know what, nevermind. It's a story for another time.
[ When he's brushed his hands over the bed enough times that it doesn't feel like there are any or all that many grains left, he stops and watches Peter. He looks way unsure of whether or not he should be there or if he should get out of his bed and talk to him from across the room or what. He settles for staying in the bed with him, for now. ]
How'd you get out? You said a lot of stuff happened and then you got out. [ Maybe he can squeeze some clues out of him as to what the actual fuck is wrong. ] Is it why your nose is bleeding and you're so tired?
I don't... Uuuuh. Actually, maybe it's... the sandworms? I was in a desert in some weird dream world, but that was forever ago. Anyway, we helped Sodder, and everyone's out. They're good. [He looks at Wade with a mild smile.] I totally made some friends, and I was a teacher for a little while? And god, I wouldn't know where to start.
[He seems unsure about reaching out now, because apparently he did something to deserve awkward distance. Not that he's disputing it. He probably did something stupid.
After a moment, he makes a face — the kind someone makes when they're trying to be funny in that brutally honest way.]
Oh, I totally figured out I'm maybe 5% gay, too. Remember when you said I was at least 10%, in P.E. Class? Way back when? Well maybe you are always right.
He rubs a hand over his face, the bloodied kleenex discarded.]
No, no no, something's not... God, there's something wrong with me. Nothing I'm explaining makes any sense, does it? Shit. Uh. I've just been through so many levels — dreams inside dreams and I'm just confused. [He pulls a hand away, looking earnestly at Wade.] ... You're not really her, are you? I'm just in that weird dream world with the memories again? [He looks around, uneased.] Where's the dreamcatcher?
...5% gay? [ This sounds like something he shouldn't be hearing, but his brain is already jumping to a million conclusions. The first kneejerk oh em gee thought gets shoved down by about a million others that tell him that it's definitely not about him, Peter must have met someone else. It's stupid that he's jealous, Peter's allowed to come to that conclusion on his own. He's allowed to feel uncomfortable sharing that with his best friend who his on him. Shit. Does he make Peter that uncomfortable that he doesn't feel like he can trust Wade with his sexuality?
There's a thought that makes his stomach roil.
Wait! Catch up, you complete troglodyte! Wade shakes his head a bit, in answer and to try to get the thoughts away. ] Hey, calm down. I know that's the last thing you wanna hear when you're confused and probably scared. But it's what you need to hear, I think.
[ Do not make him pretend to be your ex girlfriend to calm you down, Peter. Don't make him do that, his brain is already on fire enough.
He offers Peter a soft, somewhat unsure smile. ] You don't need a dreamcatcher and you don't need to worry. [ Wade's probably the scariest thing in the house... Well, aside from Agatha. ] I promise to bodily throw myself in front of any sandworm, sandman or suspicious looking desert before it can even think of getting you while you rest.
[ Bad ideas for 500, Alex... He reaches out to grab one of Peter's hands and give it a gentle squeeze. Please don't punch a man in his own bed... ]
... It just feels so real. I guess I'm losing track of what's normal Deerington and — y'know, the other one. Crap. I can't believe I thought I was... Well, I guess I just have to work harder, trying to get everyone out of here...
[Okay. Okay! So he's in the dream world, with some version of MJ. That all makes much more sense for what's going on here, with the face that looks like hers and the New York skyline out the window. Something's off in the touch and feel of the hand that grips his, but he can't place it at all. He just grips Wade's back kindly. The other moves to cup Wade's (MJ's) cheek.]
How do you know what to say, even in a made-up dream world?
[He frowns, looking a little sad.
Like a man who definitely didn't want to be an ex, even though he's accepted the role fully.]
[ No he definitely does not lean into that hand on his face and the immediately hate himself for it. He needs to get out of this situation, he needs to put Peter to bed and go linger at the other side of the house for the rest of the night angsting about all of this. Instead of doing any of that, he's here leaning into a touch that wasn't meant for him like some sad lovesick puppy. ]
Because I'm a lot smarter than you look?
[ Right, stop joking with him and put him to be-- Yeah, that one hurts, a lot, like an ice-pick right to the chest. This isn't his business, he shouldn't be in this situation. This town is so fucked up. He's gonna end up in a destroy the entire house and not sleep for a week fit again. Even with how tired he is. He can just feel the thoughts already gearing up to fuck him up.
He wants to say something, anything to get that look of Peter's face. But he can't say anything. Nothing that really counts in getting him back together with his ex. His ex that he's definitely still ass over elbow for. It's not like he can judge him, if Vanessa strolled through the door one day he'd be at her beck and call. Some people you don't stop loving. ]
Anyone who has eyes knows that's not true. [ He saw how they were looking at each other in Peter's memory. This gal of his back home, she'd be bonkers not to still be into him even a little. ] You should sleep, you're tired.
[Peter smiles a little, hopeful, even if he knows this is just some dream-version who would probably say anything his mind truly wanted to hear. You know how that goes, right? Either your dreams are little piranhas that live to hurt you, or they're there to let you live things that could never possibly be. Like when he'd woken up from helping May in the kitchen, only to realize she was still as gone as the day before.]
... Sleep does sound nice. Thanks.
[Peter leans in sharply with a hand still on Wade's jawline, a clear gesture: he's going to kiss the dream girl, same as he's always done when he's got her in his head, because he's missed it. But then he stops, inches from Wade's face, the weary look in half-lidded eyes fading into one —
[ Wade hates himself, he really does. He probably hates himself more than Francis, than his father, than his mother, than any of the people he's ever killed ever did. He hates himself even more because the moment Peter leaned in Wade found himself unable to push him away, or even pull away. Fuck, he'd even closed his eyes expecting what was coming next.
It wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him. He should stop him. He's not all there right now. Wade's done some stupid shit he regretted while he was drunk, high, or just plain having a mental breakdown.
... Wade? It has his eyes snapping open and a breath he'd been holding onto escaping him as a sigh. Was it of relief or upset? Don't ask him, he doesn't know. He sounds like he's been punched in the gut when he answers, and his eyes keep dancing between Peter's and his lips, like he can't decide where he should be looking. ] Welcome back, Petey-Pie. [ He goes oddly silent, which probably isn't a good sign, worse than the nervous rambling. Wade Wilson doesn't really do silence very well.
[Peter drops his hand, a bit slow on the uptake, really. Where there's panic, there's confusion, and he looks down at Wade's lack of clothes, and then at his own — and the realization of what stupid shit he'd done is set into motion. He pulls back and wraps the blanket around his middle more securely, not looking at Wade as his face turns every shade of pink and red.
He sounds genuinely mortified. Probably not the best reaction in the world, but he feels like the biggest mistake in all of existence right now.]
Oh shit. Oh godda— I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm such a fucking creep, I didn't know — I'm sorry, Wade, oh my god. [Spoken like a man who wants to throw himself out of a window; he shed down to his underwear and crawled into someone's bed while they were sleeping, and put them through that bullshit, and he told the person he cared about all that while imagining his ex.] I swear, I wouldn't have, I didn't — I'd never do anything —
[Sputtering, he nearly trips off the side of the bed to collect his clothes.]
I'm all messed up from the dream traveling; I've been off, and I didn't think I was here. This was supposed to be New York, and — and there's something wrong with me.
[... Hey, Peter hates himself, too.
They've got so much in common, right now.]
cw: vague-ish past molestation mentions sorry what do you expect from a surpremely nervous wade
Shit and fucking. Wow. Listen to you. [ He still sounds strained, nothing like his typical conversational tone. ] Don't sweat it. And I'm not worried about you robbing me of my purity. Pretty sure you'd have to fight my dead step-dad, uncle and at least two scoutmasters for that one.
[ That was said like it was meant to be a joke, but it just has him feeling worse, and Peter doesn't seem to find it too funny. ] Aanywho...
[ Does he point out how in the wrong he was that he was gonna let Peter kiss him? No, that's way too scary at the moment.
Wade watches him, trying to keep the fact that he feels just as nauseated as he had when he first started the nanite medicine to himself. He offers up a smile that looks surprisingly convincing. But it fades when he watches Peter almost trip. ]
Yeah, that's what worries me. Are you going to be okay? You kinda seem like you tried to snort a desert and you thought I was your ex. [ A bit of a pause. ] It's a bit late for your modesty but I can pretend I never saw anything if it makes you feel better. [ He definitely cannot. ] You can still crash on the couch or in my bed and I can crash on the couch. [ If you go home he's gonna have to offer to walk you home and he really really really doesn't want to do that... ]
[Peter yanks his pants on urgently before sitting on the edge of the bed and scrubbing his hands through his hair until his face settles in them. Well, never has he wanted to get hit by a train and carted away to Jersey so bad in his life, thanks. And no, Wade, he really doesn't feel remotely set at ease.]
Stop, Wade, just... stop talking.
[He sits with his face in his hands for another dread-inducing moment, before moving to collect his button up and undershirt. Another sneeze rocks him, and bloody sand marks his palm before he wipes it off on his pants. Something's seriously off. He knows it, knows his brain has been wired wrong for the last week.
Maybe he's been a little scared straight by the whole dream confusion issue.
Not that he's too sure what it is, exactly.]
This is my fault. I'm sorry I did this to you, I'm... I'd never have done something this fucked-up on purpose. I should go. [He drags on his shirt as he goes, feeling like he's effectively ruined any odds he had at actually being honest and — wow, is this how Wade felt after the pollen incident? Cool. Coolcoolcool. He looks back at Wade, looking probably more wounded than he figures he has any right to be.] I need to just go. I'll — I'll see you. Sorry.
[Oh hey, he's pacing out the room to leave the house.
Which is just another reason to be mad at himself, but he's really just the worst, so.]
[ Wade does stop talking, looking more hurt by the fact that Peter told him to stop talking than anything else Peter's done so far. Tired dark eyes follow each of Peter's movements.
Ever feel like you're being watched?
Being quiet means he has to process, has to listen to the thoughts flooding through his brain. None of them are pleasant. None of them say this is okay. None of them say that Peter isn't going to hate him. None of them tell him he's not going to be alone in this stupid place. Sad Clown Syndrome O'Clock. He almost gets distracted thinking to himself as Peter gets dressed again, but then he's talking again, and Wade snaps out of it. Before Wade can get a word in, Peter's leaving the room.
Wade stumbles, foot getting caught in a blanket and almost eating wood floor. This feels wrong, and bad, and not okay. He let a stupid crush get in the way of being a good friend and now Peter's going to hate him.
Yes, those are the footsteps of a panicked and barefoot mercenary trying to catch Peter before he's out the front door. ] Those nuns from Hell are still roaming around.
[ More things Wade needs to stress about, of course... ]
[More things to stress about, yeah. Yes, absolutely. Because when Wade skids to a stop at the front door, he'll find it left slightly cracked in Peter's haste to leave — and there's an eerie silence that follows; there's not a soul outside in the humid summer night air, if Wade decides to wander out to look out for wherever Peter had headed.
... The guy might as well have been a ghost with how easily (frantically) he'd slipped away.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action; cw: bed-sharing panic, sleepwalking, hallucinations, etccccc weeee
He's just. Not all there. He knows, they know, we all know. Or maybe he doesn't know, because any time it's brought up, there's a resounding 'oh yeah, sorry, I've been overworking myself a little'. Admonishments haven't really settled in just yet.
Wade's probably having a pleasant dream about Dolly Parton and him going on a shopping spree or something when Peter crawls in through the window, too quiet, too good on his feet. He kicks off his jeans and drags off his shirt and undershirt and crawls into the sheets with little fanfare.
Arms slide around Wade, and a cheek ends up on a bicep, one foot hooking an ankle, a snore on the man's lips as he drifts off again. It feels — off. Feels really off. Maybe just too warm. New York City's always hot at this time of year, and his apartments are notoriously bad at cooling themselves.
...
Oh well. It's comfortable enough.]
jear desus
Bye, Dolly Parton.
Wade wasn't aware bodies could drop bursts of adrenaline while mostly asleep, but now he's wide awake and trying to figure out who is invading his bed and personal space. He doesn't exactly move, or try to untangle himself from his home-invader. Instead he turns to look at the familiar mop of hair. And oh. Okay... Uhhh.
He moves the arm that he'd been feeling up that muscular lower back with so that he can rub slow soothing circles into the middle of his back. He's probably lucky Wade realised he was not with Vanessa before some cutesy butt touches.
He keeps his voice low, soft and quiet. He doesn't particularly want to get punched in the face in his own bed. ] Baby boy? You okay? [ God, there is so much skin and he's wrapped around him like a goddamn octopus. Pineapples. Donald Trump. The Patriarchy. Lawn flamingos. Cows... Okay, okay. ] Sugarplum, snugglebug, Bambi?
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Mary Jane? Yeah, it's red hair, concerned eyes, the slightest frown. It's her. But they were broke up, weren't they...? Sure, they're on much better terms now — he even cooked for her, had a diner date — but they weren't... he thought...
God, his head feels weird. Why's he remembering sand-worms and talking spiders?
Maybe Scorpion got him good and he just hadn't shaken it off.]
Mmm... Those're new nicknames. 'Tiger' getting too old now...?
[He lays his head back down, arm sliding around Wade's torso again.]
M'fine. Jus' tired.
no subject
Something is wrong, and Wade fears the moment Peter realises that he's going to be mad at him. Being rough with him is something Wade doesn't want to do though. He's not going to pry him off and toss him out of his bed. ]
Did something happen?
Hey, look at me again. [ He reaches his other hand out to try to tilt Peter's face and eyes up toward him, looking for signs of a concussion or some kind of injury. ] I'm gonna be real honest here, you're confusing the hell out of me right now.
[ Should he toss him out of bed? Is Peter going to be angrier at that or at not being tossed out of bed? ]
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[Peter grumbles in annoyance, eyes not even opening as Wade mildly manhandled his face. His nose seems redder than usual — eyes seem more exhausted — but he's not overly hot or pale, not discolored in any way or injured. Of course, Wade hasn't seen the discarded shirt with the dry bloody patch on the front, courtesy of a nosebleed. He's been having them a lot.
Must have to do with the sand he keeps coughing and sneezing.
There's a raw edge to his voice, like he's... well. Coughed sand before.]
C'mon, MJ, I'm tired.
[Eyes peel open again, and he grabs Wade's hand, kissing the knuckle.]
... I'm good, promise. Nothing sleep can't fix.
no subject
MJ. The pretty redhead back home.
Ah.
That makes sense and both stings an enormous amount for some reason.
Sure. Sure. Cool.
He's still asleep.
He pulls his hand back, maybe a little more roughly than he really needed to, feeling weirdly dirty for letting any of this happen. ] I'm not tired anymore, Peter, you can have the bed. [ Better plan, throw himself out of bed. Peter can't get mad at all at that. ]
no subject
But instead he just sits up in the bed and looks worried, like he'd effectively self-detonated a relationship that isn't actually happening right now. He reaches out to put a hand on Wade's shoulder.]
Sorry, is it — too soon? Did I do something wrong? Dih... uh — ach! [He ducks his head and sneezes, and a fine layer of desert sand sprays out of his mouth and nose, leaving little grains of the stuff between them and clinging to arm hairs. Nothing more uncomfortable than sand in your bed, right? Right. Something about the sneeze seems to actually ease his concerns, but he rambles anwyay:] Okay, okay, I see why now. It's cool, I'll take the couch.
[He starts sliding out of the bed haphazardly, a drop of blood rolling down his upper lip from one sore nostril, rambling like he's genuinely worried he's messed up whatever dynamic they currently have going here, him and this Totally-Not-Wade.]
Besides, the air conditioning works better in here.
New York's not known for it's great apartment AC, y'know?
no subject
You are the cutest that I've ever seen, but you're not supposed to be Mr. Sandman. Why are you sneezing sand? [ He's not touching that 'too soon' topic with a ten foot pole. ] You didn't do anything wrong. [ Okay, that's a highly debatable statement. Breaking into someone's house in the middle of the night, getting in your underwear and crawling into bed with them... well, those aren't generally accepted things. But Wade's nowhere near being mad about any of it, hell, Peter's put up with worse from him. Maybe it's stupid that he's more worried Peter's going to be mad at him. ] You're bleeding? Your nose.
[ Wade's suddenly sitting up and tipping Peter's chin up so his head is back. Wow, yeah, there are a lot of muscles showing off tonight. Wade's not sure if he's even ever seen this much of Peter... Right, right, stop staring!!! It's all really distracting, okay? So sue him.
He snags far too many Kleenex from his nightstand and holds them out to Peter. Peter would probably bitch at him for at least an hour about that if he were in his right mind, luckily he seems to have some weird... sand infection? ] Hey, just blow your nose and I'll brush this sand out and you can lay back down. Wanna tell me what really happened?
no subject
... Yeah, I haven't seen Mr. Sandman around lately, so...
[He sinks back into the pillow, pressing a handful of kleenex into his face and feeling weird.]
... You're gonna think I'm nuts, but... you remember, um. The night May died? The Devil's Breath thing? I'd fallen asleep and I was... I was in this other place. This town, called Deerington, and...
I don't know. Stuff happened. A lot of stuff, and then I got out.
It's crazy, right? Just tell me I'm crazy.
no subject
I don't think you're crazy. I've seen crazy and you're not it. "Stuff happened" isn't really an explanation, especially not one that explains why you've got sand in places sand should never be. This one time I went to the beach and -- you know what, nevermind. It's a story for another time.
[ When he's brushed his hands over the bed enough times that it doesn't feel like there are any or all that many grains left, he stops and watches Peter. He looks way unsure of whether or not he should be there or if he should get out of his bed and talk to him from across the room or what. He settles for staying in the bed with him, for now. ]
How'd you get out? You said a lot of stuff happened and then you got out. [ Maybe he can squeeze some clues out of him as to what the actual fuck is wrong. ] Is it why your nose is bleeding and you're so tired?
1/2
I don't... Uuuuh. Actually, maybe it's... the sandworms? I was in a desert in some weird dream world, but that was forever ago. Anyway, we helped Sodder, and everyone's out. They're good. [He looks at Wade with a mild smile.] I totally made some friends, and I was a teacher for a little while? And god, I wouldn't know where to start.
[He seems unsure about reaching out now, because apparently he did something to deserve awkward distance. Not that he's disputing it. He probably did something stupid.
After a moment, he makes a face — the kind someone makes when they're trying to be funny in that brutally honest way.]
Oh, I totally figured out I'm maybe 5% gay, too. Remember when you said I was at least 10%, in P.E. Class? Way back when? Well maybe you are always right.
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He rubs a hand over his face, the bloodied kleenex discarded.]
No, no no, something's not... God, there's something wrong with me. Nothing I'm explaining makes any sense, does it? Shit. Uh. I've just been through so many levels — dreams inside dreams and I'm just confused. [He pulls a hand away, looking earnestly at Wade.] ... You're not really her, are you? I'm just in that weird dream world with the memories again? [He looks around, uneased.] Where's the dreamcatcher?
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There's a thought that makes his stomach roil.
Wait! Catch up, you complete troglodyte! Wade shakes his head a bit, in answer and to try to get the thoughts away. ] Hey, calm down. I know that's the last thing you wanna hear when you're confused and probably scared. But it's what you need to hear, I think.
[ Do not make him pretend to be your ex girlfriend to calm you down, Peter. Don't make him do that, his brain is already on fire enough.
He offers Peter a soft, somewhat unsure smile. ] You don't need a dreamcatcher and you don't need to worry. [ Wade's probably the scariest thing in the house... Well, aside from Agatha. ] I promise to bodily throw myself in front of any sandworm, sandman or suspicious looking desert before it can even think of getting you while you rest.
[ Bad ideas for 500, Alex... He reaches out to grab one of Peter's hands and give it a gentle squeeze. Please don't punch a man in his own bed... ]
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... It just feels so real. I guess I'm losing track of what's normal Deerington and — y'know, the other one. Crap. I can't believe I thought I was... Well, I guess I just have to work harder, trying to get everyone out of here...
[Okay. Okay! So he's in the dream world, with some version of MJ. That all makes much more sense for what's going on here, with the face that looks like hers and the New York skyline out the window. Something's off in the touch and feel of the hand that grips his, but he can't place it at all. He just grips Wade's back kindly. The other moves to cup Wade's (MJ's) cheek.]
How do you know what to say, even in a made-up dream world?
[He frowns, looking a little sad.
Like a man who definitely didn't want to be an ex, even though he's accepted the role fully.]
... Man, I really blew it with you, huh.
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Because I'm a lot smarter than you look?
[ Right, stop joking with him and put him to be-- Yeah, that one hurts, a lot, like an ice-pick right to the chest. This isn't his business, he shouldn't be in this situation. This town is so fucked up. He's gonna end up in a destroy the entire house and not sleep for a week fit again. Even with how tired he is. He can just feel the thoughts already gearing up to fuck him up.
He wants to say something, anything to get that look of Peter's face. But he can't say anything. Nothing that really counts in getting him back together with his ex. His ex that he's definitely still ass over elbow for. It's not like he can judge him, if Vanessa strolled through the door one day he'd be at her beck and call. Some people you don't stop loving. ]
Anyone who has eyes knows that's not true. [ He saw how they were looking at each other in Peter's memory. This gal of his back home, she'd be bonkers not to still be into him even a little. ] You should sleep, you're tired.
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... Sleep does sound nice. Thanks.
[Peter leans in sharply with a hand still on Wade's jawline, a clear gesture: he's going to kiss the dream girl, same as he's always done when he's got her in his head, because he's missed it. But then he stops, inches from Wade's face, the weary look in half-lidded eyes fading into one —
Of stunned panic.
Everything in his head grinds to a painful stop.]
... Wade?
hey fuck u
It wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him, it wasn't meant for him. He should stop him. He's not all there right now. Wade's done some stupid shit he regretted while he was drunk, high, or just plain having a mental breakdown.
... Wade? It has his eyes snapping open and a breath he'd been holding onto escaping him as a sigh. Was it of relief or upset? Don't ask him, he doesn't know. He sounds like he's been punched in the gut when he answers, and his eyes keep dancing between Peter's and his lips, like he can't decide where he should be looking. ] Welcome back, Petey-Pie. [ He goes oddly silent, which probably isn't a good sign, worse than the nervous rambling. Wade Wilson doesn't really do silence very well.
Peter is going to hate him. ]
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He sounds genuinely mortified. Probably not the best reaction in the world, but he feels like the biggest mistake in all of existence right now.]
Oh shit. Oh godda— I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm such a fucking creep, I didn't know — I'm sorry, Wade, oh my god. [Spoken like a man who wants to throw himself out of a window; he shed down to his underwear and crawled into someone's bed while they were sleeping, and put them through that bullshit, and he told the person he cared about all that while imagining his ex.] I swear, I wouldn't have, I didn't — I'd never do anything —
[Sputtering, he nearly trips off the side of the bed to collect his clothes.]
I'm all messed up from the dream traveling; I've been off, and I didn't think I was here. This was supposed to be New York, and — and there's something wrong with me.
[... Hey, Peter hates himself, too.
They've got so much in common, right now.]
cw: vague-ish past molestation mentions sorry what do you expect from a surpremely nervous wade
[ That was said like it was meant to be a joke, but it just has him feeling worse, and Peter doesn't seem to find it too funny. ] Aanywho...
[ Does he point out how in the wrong he was that he was gonna let Peter kiss him? No, that's way too scary at the moment.
Wade watches him, trying to keep the fact that he feels just as nauseated as he had when he first started the nanite medicine to himself. He offers up a smile that looks surprisingly convincing. But it fades when he watches Peter almost trip. ]
Yeah, that's what worries me. Are you going to be okay? You kinda seem like you tried to snort a desert and you thought I was your ex. [ A bit of a pause. ] It's a bit late for your modesty but I can pretend I never saw anything if it makes you feel better. [ He definitely cannot. ] You can still crash on the couch or in my bed and I can crash on the couch. [ If you go home he's gonna have to offer to walk you home and he really really really doesn't want to do that... ]
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Stop, Wade, just... stop talking.
[He sits with his face in his hands for another dread-inducing moment, before moving to collect his button up and undershirt. Another sneeze rocks him, and bloody sand marks his palm before he wipes it off on his pants. Something's seriously off. He knows it, knows his brain has been wired wrong for the last week.
Maybe he's been a little scared straight by the whole dream confusion issue.
Not that he's too sure what it is, exactly.]
This is my fault. I'm sorry I did this to you, I'm... I'd never have done something this fucked-up on purpose. I should go. [He drags on his shirt as he goes, feeling like he's effectively ruined any odds he had at actually being honest and — wow, is this how Wade felt after the pollen incident? Cool. Coolcoolcool. He looks back at Wade, looking probably more wounded than he figures he has any right to be.] I need to just go. I'll — I'll see you. Sorry.
[Oh hey, he's pacing out the room to leave the house.
Which is just another reason to be mad at himself, but he's really just the worst, so.]
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Ever feel like you're being watched?
Being quiet means he has to process, has to listen to the thoughts flooding through his brain. None of them are pleasant. None of them say this is okay. None of them say that Peter isn't going to hate him. None of them tell him he's not going to be alone in this stupid place. Sad Clown Syndrome O'Clock. He almost gets distracted thinking to himself as Peter gets dressed again, but then he's talking again, and Wade snaps out of it. Before Wade can get a word in, Peter's leaving the room.
Wade stumbles, foot getting caught in a blanket and almost eating wood floor. This feels wrong, and bad, and not okay. He let a stupid crush get in the way of being a good friend and now Peter's going to hate him.
Yes, those are the footsteps of a panicked and barefoot mercenary trying to catch Peter before he's out the front door. ] Those nuns from Hell are still roaming around.
[ More things Wade needs to stress about, of course... ]
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... The guy might as well have been a ghost with how easily (frantically) he'd slipped away.]