Mr. Deadpool

by Blue (SocksandFluff)

Summary:

Peter gets ill on a short simple mission and it is Deadpool - of all the people in the world - that has to take up the responsibility of taking care of him before he gets worse.

But of course he gets worse.

Peter is sick, Deadpool has to be an adult. Nobody is happy about this. At least they get to suffer good company.

Chapter 1: Part I

Winter sucked. The cold sucked. Having a cold sucked.

Spider-Man was absolutely miserable, perched atop a four-story apartment complex, peering down into the dark alleyway below.

His hands rubbed over his shoulders as his teeth chattered.

His suit was doing little to keep him warm; though the heater wasn’t broken – Peter was pretty sure he’d be dead if that were the case – it just wasn’t heating him up enough in this freezing air.

Frost clung to the outside of his suit and Peter brushed it off in frustration as he kept watch.

It didn’t help his mood any that the supposed bad guys weren’t showing up when they were supposed to. The moment they did – Peter could get the heck out of there.

“Karen, please turn up the heat,” Peter requested.

Karen replied in her smooth AI voice, “That would be inadvisable, Peter. The temperature that I am outputting is already at the average human body temperature.”

Peter groaned. “Yeah well I’m not an average person – pump it up by a degree or two.”

“- Protocol states-”

“Please Karen,” Peter asked, “I’m asking nicely. Pretty please?”

Karen didn’t reply, but Peter did feel a sudden bubble of heat emanating from the center of his chest. He sighed in relief as that heat traveled all the way down to his fingers and toes.

A plume of steam wafted off of him as he crooned, “Thanks. That’s so much better, Karen.”

“I can only do this for the next few minutes, then I will be forced to go back to the normal highest limits.”

“Okay - okay, that’s fine,” Peter replied. “I can live with that. I suppose I should start moving around a bit more to get my temperature up, hmn?”

“Or you could go home, Peter. You are not at peak performance – your body temperature being ‘too low’ is not the issue, rather it’s the opp-”

“Nah -” Peter waved his hand. “I’m good. Look, Cap asked me to do this, so I gotta do this. Once these guys show, I observe, I intervene if I have to, and then I go home. S’all good.”

“As you say, Peter.”

“Yes. Yes, I do say. Thank you.”

Hopefully, they would be showing up soon, a headache was forming at the edges of his temples, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to stand sitting there doing nothing.

“Wow! Is it true? Am I not the craziest one here anymore?” a voice said from a good few feet behind Peter.

With a shout, Peter stood and whirled on the spot, arms at the ready – fully positioned to fire his webbing. His heart beating in his chest, and despite feeling woozy from standing up too fast, he wondered in a panic who could possibly have stuck on him like that -

- oh.

Peter groaned, and lowered his stance.

Of course.

Deadpool.

Deadpool held his arms up in the air as if he was being held up. “Wow – don’t shoot, Webs.”

“I’m not going to shoot, Mr. Deadpool.”

“Stop calling me that – but seriously,” the mercenary lowered his own hands, “Are you going crazy? You’re talking to yourself, kiddo. That’s sort of my shtick. Unless you got boxes too. Do you have boxes? What colour are they? Mine are -”

Peter cut him off before Deadpool could continue his ramble, “I’m not talking to myself, Mr. Deadpool.” Peter turned around and he squatted back down on the edge of the building and went back to peering down the alley.

“Mr. Deadpool was my father,” was the scandalized reply.

“No he wasn’t,” Peter replied, feeling a chill run back up his spine. Had it been ten minutes already?

“True,” Deadpool considered.

The red-clad mercenary sat down beside Peter, instead of perching himself neatly, his legs dangled over the edge of the building.

“So-” he started, “- Who were you talkin’ to?”

“Karen.”

“Ooh! A girl. Do tell me, Webs! Is she pretty?”

Peter turned his head and gave him a flat look – the apertures of his Spidey-Mask mirroring his expression perfectly. “You know who Karen is.”

“Right. Right. Suit lady. Well – I for one think she’s very pretty. For an AI. Even if she has no body of her own. Is the suit her body? It’s your body so it’s not her body, so she’s really disembodied more than anything but - I digress. I bet if she did have a body - she’d be really pretty.”

“Tell him thank you, Peter.”

Peter snorted. Of course she’d be flattered. “She says thank you.”

“Gasp!” Deadpool said while slapping his hands to his face in shock. “I bet I made her blush! Can she blush?”

Peter shook his head, chuckling, “I dunno, Mr. Deadpool.”

“So what chu’ doing out here?” the mercenary asked, kicking his feet against the brick of the building, his hands folded in his lap.

“A stakeout.”

“Ooh sounds boring – a stakeout for what?”

“Top secret – probably not allowed to tell you about it,” Peter said, continuing to watch the boring dead alleyway.

“I bet Cap asked a favour of you and you couldn’t help but freeze your eight legs out here on this mother-fucking freezing night.”

“I don’t have eight legs,” Peter argued without looking at him. This wasn’t a new subject - it was a favourite of the merc’s.

“I dunno Spiderling, who knows what you’re hiding under the suit? You could have four spider-arms on top,” Deadpool started to explain, working his fingers in the air, “And you sort of… mush them together and pretend they are two normal arms, and like - same with your legs. You know, à la Squidward.”

“I’m not like Squidward,” Peter deadpanned. “Also, you’ve seen me in civilian clothing before? So? You know I have perfectly normal, very human limbs?”

“Damn! That’s right!” Deadpool snapped his fingers. “Peter Parker,” he sang.

Peter groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Please don’t.”

“You’re so adorable in real life, you know that?”

“I am not.”

“You are too! You’re like – a baby. So young. So small. So innocent. So impressionable. I want to adopt you and take you home and raise you up to be a good superhero.”

“Please don’t, Mr. Deadpool – Mr. Stark might kill you.”

“He can try,” Deadpool said wistfully. “You think Cap would break my legs?”

“Most definitely.”

“Aw. I like my legs – new plan. I’ll just be your big bro then. Big Bro Deadpool - worst influence to his little brother since 1991. You were born in 1991, right?”

“Not even close.”

“Where did I get that number from then,” Deadpool trailed off in confusion, speaking to the air. He shrugged. “Oh well.”

“You’re so weird,” Peter commented with a snort, rubbing his arms up and down his shoulders again.

“You cold there PJ’s?”

“Well. Duh,” Peter replied. “It’s freezing out – you said so.”

Deadpool waggled a finger, “Nuh-uh, I said it’s mother-fucking freezing out.”

“Yeah, well – what you said. I’m freezing cold. It doesn’t help that I am pretty sure I’m starting to come down with the dumb flu that’s going around the school. You think smart kids would wash their hands.”

Peter shuddered at the memory of Flash sneezing loudly the other day, not even bothering to cover his mouth. Not to mention, the gross wiping of his nose with the back of his hand and the not-so-sneaky attempt to wipe it on Peter.

Gross.

So gross.

Thank goodness his spider-senses had warned him of that potential disaster.

Peter wanted to gag just thinking about it.

Deadpool’s, “E’scuse me?” brought Peter out of his gross reminiscence.

Peter turned to him. “What?”

“You’re getting sick?”

“I might be-?” Peter replied, confused.

“And you’re out here. In the cold,” Deadpool started slowly.

“Well. Yeah. I have a mission. Also, my suit has a heater, so - it’s seriously fine. Besides, my time surveying is almost up. I’m not supposed to interact unless necessary,” Peter explained gesturing to the door deep down in the dark alley below. “Also not supposed to hang around all night, so-”

Deadpool still was looking at him.

“What? Stop staring at me, it’s creeping me out.”

“Must. Not… Parent…” Deadpool suddenly said, turning away and pressing his knuckles to where is mouth was behind the mask as if biting them.

“What?”

“Must. Not-” Deadpool strained under his voice, “C’mon Wade… resist… being… an… adult.”

“Mr. Deadpool. It’s seriously fine-” Peter coughed.

Deadpool’s neck snapped to face him to him.

Oh no.

Peter held up his hands. “Now look – I haven’t coughed all night and that was the first one-”

Deadpool stood up.

“- And I mean -” Peter continued quicker, “- I probably am wrong about the cold thing? I mean… It’s not like I have a fever or anything.”

“I would disagree with that statement, Peter. You have a fever of 102.3 degrees.”

Peter blinked.

“What really?”

“That’s why you cannot stay warm despite the heat, it is colder in comparison to your current body temperature.”

“… Huh. Really? That high?”

The whites of Deadpool’s mask-eyes were narrowed, his arms were crossed. “Hey, ‘That high,’ what? What did suit-lady say?”

Damn. Right. Deadpool.

“U-uh… nothing?” Peter lamely tried.

“Hey! Suit lady!” Deadpool cupped his hand to his mouth, “I got an ear-bud com-line, you can tell me yourself what you just said to Peter-”

Peter started to protest. “Now hold on.”

Deadpool ignored him. “Is she Bluetooth? I bet she’s Bluetooth. Or some space-age wireless magic Iron Ass dreamed up. Karen!” Deadpool called out to her, “- You can hook in remotely, sugar! The password is RAWKINBOD, all uppercase, all one word.”

“Mr. Deadpool!”

“Connected.”

“Karen!”

Deadpool held up his hand and pressed his finger in his ear. “Uh huh. Uh huh… Got it. Thanks, boo. You sound as pretty as I thought you would.”

Peter groaned, putting his face in his hands.

A large gloved hand grabbed his upper arm. “Come on, kiddo. This is going to hurt me just as much as it is going to hurt you.” The merc paused. “No wait- This isn’t going to hurt you at all. The opposite, actually. The whole point is not hurting. Me, however? Different story.”

“How is it going to hurt you?”

“Cause I gotta act all responsible and junk,” Deadpool whined. “Now get up. You got a fever that’s climbing and you’re gonna probably feel really crap really soon.”

“But the mission,” Peter argued, gesturing to the dark alleyway.

“Fuck the mission. Karen? Sweetheart? AI love of my life? Please tell Cap that Peter is ill and cannot continue the mission at this time? Kay. Thanks.”

“Contacting Captain America.”

“Karen!” Peter hissed. “You can’t take orders from Mr. Deadpool!”

“It was not an order, Peter -” She smoothly replied, “It was a good idea.”

“I love you too, babe,” Deadpool said – Peter was unclear if she had broadcast what she said to Deadpool or Deadpool just assumed what she had said. The mercenary was so crazy that one option was just as likely as the other.

Deadpool pulled Peter up. “Up we go!”

Peter let it happen, and was surprised when he wobbled slightly on his feet. “Huh…”

“Okay – let’s get you home. Or inside. Okay definitely inside – to where it’s warm. Let’s go to the tower. It’s closest to here. I’m pretty sure ‘cause I’m doing this awesome good deed of making sure that you aren’t going to like, die of a cold out here they won’t do anything to me, right?”

Peter let the hand on his shoulder steady him – he was feeling shockingly weak all the sudden.

“I dunno,” Peter said, rubbing his arms again, “Have you killed anybody recently?”

“Nope,” Deadpool cheerfully replied. He then choked on a fake sob, holding his fist to his mouth again. “Oh my god - I’ve been so bored, Peter. So bored.”

Peter snorted before stifling a cough.

“There’s cough number two. Come on,” the hand on his shoulder, for all that Deadpool was a bit unhinged, a bit crazy, and making this seem like a problem, it was a soft gesture as he pulled Peter to his side. “You good? You think you can make it down the stairs so I can take you to the tower?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I think so.”

“Awesome. To be continued in chapter two or whatever,” Deadpool said as he guided Peter to the on-roof door, “– whenever that happens.”

“… what?”

“Nothing.”

Chapter 2: Part II

“Thanks for bringing me here, Mr. Deadpool.”

It was quiet out and both hero and mercenary stood near one of the side entrances of the Avengers tower. Deadpool had escorted Peter there personally upon the discovery that Peter was starting to shown signs of a cold, and insisted upon taking him to the tower himself.

Deadpool was, by his own account, ‘adulting very well’ and being, ‘uncharacteristically responsible’ and, ‘painfully awesome’.

And…?

Peter had to agree - he sort of was.

Though Peter was more privy to the softer side of the mercenary, it wasn’t often that he got to see this side of him.  

“No prob, Pete,” Deadpool said casually, his arm wrapping around Peter’s shoulder to tug him into a firm one-armed hug.  “It’s my job to take care of people.”

“That is literally the most incorrect thing you’ve ever said in your entire life,” Peter said while half-mushed into the man’s chest.

“I mean,” Deadpool corrected hastily, letting go of Peter, “it’s my job to take care of people,” his tone dark for a second before brightening and adding in a loud hoarse whisper, the back of his hand ‘covering’ his mouth, “When I say that, I mean killing people.”

Peter laughed approaching the door.

Without prompting, the door slid open.

It was a perk of the suit and being a sort of not-so-official member of the Avengers.  He didn’t have to ring in a key card or anything. Karen could wirelessly interface and interact with the tower if he needed her to.  

“Thanks Karen.”

“No problem, Peter,” she replied gently, “Peter, might I suggest that you get to bed as soon as possible?  Your temperature has gone up another point oh-seven degrees.”

“Yeah that’s the plan,” Peter started to say, when Deadpool cut him off, standing right beside him, his arms crossed.

“Whew, kid. You’re going downhill fast.”

Peter rose an eyebrow.  “Did Karen broadcast that to you too?”

“Yep,” Deadpool said long and drawn out and with a popped ‘p’.

“Well.  You don’t have to worry about that anymore, because you’ve done your duty.  I’m at the tower.  I’ll be going to bed.  I’ll be good,” Peter explained as he crossed the hallway and stopped in front of an elevator that opened for him.  “Sleeping time for me.”

The elevator in question was one that was solely accessible to anyone with permission to get to the living space of the tower, no one else.   And this ‘living space’ was a sort of common area with attached rooms and suites. Peter had one designated to him to use whenever he wanted.  

It was a sort of home away from home.

“I’ll be okay here, Mr. Deadpool,” Peter assured again at the doubtful look of the mercenary.

“You sure, kiddo?” Deadpool asked, crossing his arms.

“Yeah.”  Peter tugged off his mask with a sigh and pushed away sweaty bangs, “I’ll be good.”

“Oh-em-gee - face reveal!” Deadpool squealed.

Peter gave him a flat look for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. “Dude. You’ve seen my face,” he gestured at it, “More than once.”

“Oh,” the merc deflated. “Right. Right. The whole adorable and wanting to adopt you shtick.”

Peter rolled his eyes.  “Yeah. That.”

Suddenly, and without preamble – as Peter balled the mask of his suit in one hand, Deadpool took a step forward, pulling off one of his gloves and pressing an exposed calloused and scarred hand to Peter’s forehead.

“Sheesh! Karen is right! You’re a fucking furnace!”

Peter bat away the hand. “I’ll be good,” he repeated.

Deadpool looked around them, pulling back on the glove.  “Is anyone here right now?”

Peter shrugged. “Probably not. S’why Cap gave me the ‘stakeout mission’. They’re out of the country - I don’t think any of members are here.  They took the full roster.”

“What about like, auxiliary team people? Like, B-List superheroes. The uncool ones that don’t get movie franchises. Someone who can look after you?”

“First of all - what are you talking about? Second of all - I don’t need someone to look after me. I’ll be good. I just need to sleep.”

“Yeah but maybe you could get, like, a super hot - or super handsome - secretary to like, tend to your burning forehead,” Deadpool said, “Hashtag Goals.”

Peter flushed, “I don’t want that! Also, don’t say ‘hashtag’!  Besides, I doubt the random staff here want to look after me – also, they aren’t exactly allowed in the common area.”

Deadpool’s hands were back on his hips. “…Fuck.”

“What?”

In lieu of an answer, Deadpool just grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him into the elevator.

“What are you doing?” Peter staggered when he was let go, supporting himself with a hand on the elevator wall.

Ugh.

He felt woozy.

Deadpool didn’t respond to him. “Karen, babe? Can you hear me now that the mask is off of Petey-pie-”

“Don’t call me Petey-pie.”

“- If you can, can you take us up to that common area thing-a-ma-jig?”

Peter couldn’t hear her, his mask was off, but she must have replied because Deadpool cheerfully blew a kiss and gave a bright, “Thanks babe~”

Peter groaned, turning to lean against the wall with his back. “What are you doing?”

“What I hate to do the most in the whole world kid,” Deadpool said grimly, looking forward with his hands on his hips.

Peter looked up at him, “Which is…?”

Deadpool looked down at him, his expression serious through the mask. He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Be an adult.”

“… How awful for you.”

Deadpool choked, turning his head away and putting a hand over his mouth. “I know.” He took in a long shuddering breath.  “Thanks for understanding.”

The Elevator doors closed without either of them prompting it to.

“Hello Mr. Parker. Mr. Wilson.”

Deadpool gave a start. “New voice! Who is this sexy dame? Have we met? I’m Wade, by the way. Wade Wilson - but you can call me the man of your dreams.”

Peter put his face in his hands.

“I am FRIDAY, Tony Stark’s personal assistant; as well as the AI in control of this facility. I am aware of who you are, and I am to inform you that you have been given provisional limited clearance to the common area and Mr. Parker’s personal suite.”

“Sweet.” Deadpool nudged Peter with an elbow, “Geddit? Suite? Sweet? Oh come on. Give it to me.”

“Ha ha.”

Peter repressed a real chuckle.

“So tell me, Irish AI - you’re Irish, right? What is with Stark and accented AI? Is it a thing of his?  Like a -” Deadpool suddenly stopped himself. “Scratch that. Nevermind. Forgot I’m around a minor.  Anyway - so like, does the team know I am here and what not? Am I to be eviscerated upon their arrival? Will they be arriving?  Do I have to make a hasty escape out a window?”

“Tony Stark has been made aware of the situation as has Captain Rogers. They were the ones that gave clearance. You are to be strictly monitored. Karen has also vouched for your intentions.”

“Aww!” Deadpool clapped his hands to his cheek. “Karen!  Babe.”

“If you are in need of anything else, you can speak to me or use Karen has a proxy.”

“Guys seriously this is a bit much,” Peter complained. “I’m seriously okay.  I just need to sleep.”

“You have a reported temperature of 103.1 degrees.” Was FRIDAY’s clinical reply.

Deadpool whistled. “Sheesh, Peter.” Peter felt the merc’s hand wrap around his shoulder, “We gotta get you into bed. Any higher than that and it’s like actual-doctor issues and I am not an actual-doctor -”

“I never would have guessed.”

“- I just play one on tv.”

“What.”

A digital bell rung – announcing they had arrived at their floor – and the doors slid open.

“Ha.  Quaint.”

The lights of the common room sprang to life half a second later.

They hadn’t even been on the floor for half a second and Peter was already being dragged by the wrist out of the elevator by the mercenary.

He staggered and Deadpool stopped.

He probably realized he had no idea which way to go.

“Which way to your room, kiddo?”

Called it.

“That way,” Peter pointed.

“Nice. Cool. You just like hold onto me so we can walk there together, okay?”

“I don’t need support. I can support myself just fine.”

“You’re clinging to my arm kid.”

Peter blinked and he looked at his own hands.  Deadpool wasn’t grabbing him, as so much he had both his arms wrapped around one of Deadpool’s, his legs were shaking.

“Um…”

“Yeah. Come on,” Deadpool slipped his hand away from Peter swiftly and tucked his hand against Peter’s back, steadying him.  “This is the downhill part.  I have an idea, how about you save the whole downhill thing for a bed and not for the hallway just twenty-feet from one?”

“I’m not going downhill -” Peter’s legs had another idea.  They buckled.

“- Shit.”

Deadpool’s arm gripped him before he could go face first, and Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around the mercenary’s neck.

With a click of the tongue, Deadpool put his other arm under Peter’s knees and swept Peter up into his arms.

“There we go!”

“Hey!”

This was so embarrassing.

“Sorry kid.  Don’t want you face-planting.”

“Put me down.”

“Sure.   I’ll absolutely do that for you.  Once we’re in a bedroom. With a bed.  You know?  A soft thing with a mattress.   Far better than a floor.

Deadpool marched with Peter in his arms the twenty-or-so feet to the door to Peter’s personal room and the door opened for them.

“Aw man. I wanted to kick it in dramatically.”  Deadpool lamented as he carried Peter through the threshold and straight toward the bed.

Peter was put down onto it with a surprising amount of gentleness.

“Yo. Irish Lady. Wednesday -”

“It is FRIDAY.”

“Right - In all-caps, like FRIDAY? Or is it Friday? Or is it F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

Peter had no idea what he was talking about.

FRIDAY didn’t either, or chose to ignore it. “… What do you require, Mr. Wilson?”

“Tell me if there are like, clothes and shit for the kid around here. I don’t think Webs should be stuck in his suit. Skin-tight and fever do not equal good time. Believe me - I know.”

“There is a closet to the right with some of Mr. Parker’s clothing options.”

“Thanks, boo. I’d totally be into you if Karen and I weren’t in a committed relationship.”

Peter snorted from the bed. “Oh great - you’re going to date my AI, that’s going to be so awkward.”

“So awkward,” Deadpool agreed, opening up a closet. “Could you imagine the children?”

Peter barked a laugh that turned into a light cough, imagining the horror of Deadpool somehow managing to procreate with a formless AI.

Haunting.

Peter watched muzzily from the bed, turning over to watch clothes fly over the mercenary’s shoulders as Deadpool rather sloppily looked for something for Peter to wear.

“Nope,” A sweater hit the floor.

“Nope,” another sweater.

“Double-nope,” another sweater.

Deadpool turned to look at Peter. “Seriously, what’s with all the sweaters, kid?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s winter?”

“… Right,” Deadpool turned back. “Aha! … Aw, that’s so fucking cute.”

“What?” Peter pushed himself partially up to see what Deadpool was crooning at.

Deadpool held up a unicorn shirt. “Look! It’s sparkly - and it has nerd glasses.”

Peter flushed again. “Look… My Aunt got me that and-” he refused to admit it was one of his favourite shirts. It had ‘U Ni Co Rn’ written under the unicorn as elements of the periodic table…

“No no!” Deadpool immediately defended. “ I’m not teasing, I swear! It’s awesome! I want one! Tell me where she got it so I can get it. So cute. Nerd unicorn. Best.” Deadpool approached Peter with the shirt over one arm with a pair of generic black shorts. “Here we go.”

Peter pushed himself into a sitting position and took them. “Thanks.”

“No prob kiddo.”

Peter hit the spider on his suit and the fabric loosened, slipping off of his shoulders.

He looked up and saw Deadpool gaping at him.

Peter instinctively covered his chest. “What?”

“Holy shit that’s awesome. I want my suit to do that! Why can’t my suit do that? That’s not fair!”

Oh.

Peter chuckled a little, relaxing. “That’s a Tony Stark invention for you.”

“That is so un-fucking-fair!  Why do you get to have the cool tech? The hot AI babe in your ear, the cool-ass suit that deflates. The sticky webs? Man.”

Peter snorted.

“How are you feeling right now, Pete?” Deadpool asked as he started to unbuckle the holster for his two katanas and set them down on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Really shaky,” Peter admitted. “Like, a lot worse than before.  Heavy?”

Deadpool hummed as he took off his belt and gun holster dropped it at the end of the bed.

He sat back down on the bed, but this time much closer to Peter. His mask was rolled up to his nose and he pulled off his glove with his teeth.

It wasn’t the first time Peter had seen the bottom of Deadpool’s face, but it was the first time it had been voluntary and not because it had been ripped or cut off because of some attacker or another.

The calloused hand was pressed once more to his forehead.

“I swear you’re warmer since last I checked.  Look, I know healing factors kid, very personally, and believe me when I say we gotta get this fever under control, or your healing factor might make this a heck of a lot worse” Deadpool explained, his voice uncharacteristically calm and adult sounding. “Because that’s what fevers are, they are your body’s way of killing those intruders - your own personal defence force. Yours just happens to be turned up to eleven.”

Peter hummed, subconsciously leaning into the cool feeling of the mercenary’s hand.

“Okay, time to lay down.”

The hand moved away from his sweaty bangs and pushed him back onto the bed.

A light sheet unfurled and draped over him.

“Sleep,” was the soft instruction.

Peter heaved a yawn.  Wow, he was so tired all the sudden. “Mr. Deadpool…?”

“Yeah kid?” the weight left the bed.

“… Your responsibility is showing.”

“GASP!” Deadpool said in fake shock, yanking down his mask before he covered his chest with his arms and hiked up his leg like he was a scandalized woman caught int he middle of changing, “Don’t look!”

Peter snorted as his eyelids started to grow heavy.

The lights went out, and the last thing Peter heard was the sound of a door closing.

— — —

Peter hummed at the feeling of something cold sliding across his face, dragging him away from the heavy feeling of sleep.

What was that?

Ice?

Water…?

Huh?

It took a while, but once Peter was conscious, the first thing he was aware of - was that he felt like crap.

He was weighted down. His body felt like lead.

He ached.

He was so cold and hot at the same time.

So yeah, feeling like crap was pretty accurate.

Peter puffed a breath as he struggled to blink open his eyes.  Had they been laden with lead?

“Sorry,” a voice apologized from above him. “So, so, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby-boy.”

“Mmf… Mr. Deadpool?” Peter asked, reaching a hand up to rub his eyes.

“The one and only,” the cold feeling returned to Peter’s head and he sucked in an uncomfortable breath.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Deadpool hissed. “So sorry. I mean it. Sorry. Shit - I know it feels really bad but like, gotta get that temp down so-”

“Why are you using ice?” Peter grunted, pinching his eyes shut as a bead of freezing water rolling over his forehead and down into his hair.

“Therein lays the real problem, Spidey. I’m not. This is just mildly cool water. You ain’t suppos’ta use ice,” was the soft explanation, “It exacerbates the issue.  Ha… exacerbates…”

Peter held his arm across his eyes and let the feeling of the teeth-chattering cold cloth run across his forehead again.

He swallowed thickly. “What time is it?”

“Bullshit o’clock,” was the reply before the clarification of, “It’s three in the morning.”

“Gross.”

“So gross,” Deadpool agreed solemnly as the cloth brushed against Peter’s face. “Three AM is only acceptable during sleepovers where nobody gets sleep and it’s just all-movies all night long.”

“Totally,” Peter mumbled in agreement.

“Completely, right?”

“Pizza too? Like,” Peter huffed a breath, adjusting himself, “Gotta have copious amounts of pizza…”

“Oh you know it, girl.”

Peter snuffed air in amusement. “Oh good.”

Ugh.  The world was swirling from even behind his eyes.  He felt like his bed was rocking with the waves of a ship.

The cold cloth dabbed his forehead again, soaking his already sweat-damp hair and running down his temples.

The feeling of the cold water was less and less icy and biting, and more comforting as this went on.

“What’s th’ temp?” Peter asked hazily.

“Too high,” was Deadpool’s answer. “Thanks to your oh-so-wonderful healing factor - it’s overdoing it.”

“Mmf.”

Fingers gently wrapped around Peter’s wrist and pulled his arm away from his eyes.

Before he could blink at the light of the room, the cool cloth was placed over them and Peter couldn’t help the sigh of relief.

“Oh yeah - that’s the stuff,” Deadpool chuckled.

“Thanks.”

Peter lay there in silence, feeling the edge of his consciousness dipping away back into sleep when Deadpool spoke again. “Pete? Just before you go back to having dreams of chasing squirrels and barking at cats, just want you to know I tried to get a hold of your incredibly hot Aunt.   I couldn’t get through.”

Peter took a breath, and replied slowly, “She’s… out on a vacation for the week… not in town…”

“Okay. Cool. Do you have her mobile number?”

Peter hummed, sleep was dragging him deeper down.

“Pete?”

Peter shifted, oh. Right. Words.

“Dun’ have her… number on me… S’at the apartment. N’my phone… Or Mr. Stark could have it…”

“That’s good to know.”

Something pat his chest.

“Go to sleep baby-boy.”

“Way ahead of you…”

 

Notes:

Now that both chapters that were up that were written ages ago, I might just work on the third chapter!

I hope you all enjoy, please let me know! Every comment is appreciated and I will try to reply to all of them :)

Notes:

Dadpool being Dadpool? He just cares for this little tiny superhero and the merc can't help by baby him. Poor Peter. I guess he's trying to take the mantle of, 'completely insane older brother who does questionable things but you love him anyway'.

A while back on my tumblr I got a few requests for Deadpool caring for a sick Peter, and this is what spawned of it.

There is already a 'part 2' on my aformentioned tumblr, but it will be loaded up here after I rake through it first.

Then I will work on the third!

Hope you guys enjoyed~ Let me know if you did!