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not-close-to-straight · 3 years

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Lost (Spideypool)

(Guess which story this is a sequel to??)

The archeological dig site was more impressive than the kid thought it would, though still no where near the level of comfort of the high rise penthouse apartment he’d left behind in Manhattan.

It didn’t seem possible for there to be so much mud in one damn place, and he groaned as his bright white sneakers sank into the ooze and stuck. The sun was bright, there was at least a billion mosquitos in the air, it was hot and humid and everything smelled like the nearby river and the stink of research assistants gone too long with out a shower.

It was terrible.

Despite the well constructed living quarters, clearly labeled kitchen facilities, ventilated artifact collection sites and what looked like impressively modern shower rooms towards the tree line, the dig was still... rustic....if rustic was the right word to describe the actual complete opposite of what he’d hoped his summer plans would include.

From Peter: Remind me again how digging for pottery is going to help me build character? Just because Grandpa Howard made you do this doesn’t mean I should have to. There was nothing wrong with my plans to go to Cancun, alright? I would have brushed up on my Spanish, spent all summer swimming... how is playing in the mud better?

From Dad: Buck up, Kiddo. I survived and so will you

From Peter: You survived because Pops literally carried you out of here on his back after you messed up your designer suit

From Dad: I resent that. Ask your Pops about the slingshot grenades. Pretty sure I saved his giant ass.

“Christ.” Peter put his phone away and dragged both hands through his hair. “Could’a gone to Cancun. Could definitely not be here getting malaria cos my Dad’s met and fell in love in some psycho turn of events.”

“Hey!” a sharp whistle from the runway, and Peter tried his best to turn in the thick mud to see what the person wanted. “You just gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get that perky ass in gear and unload these boxes? I got places to be!”

“Oh I don’t--” Peter shook his head quickly. “I don’t work here--”

“If you’re standing here, you work here.” The guy was wearing fatigues in the same sort of pattern that Uncle Bucky’s employees wore, but Peter was less focused on that and more focused on how the guy was balancing a heavy box on each shoulder, biceps straining around the weight and big hands splayed wide to keep his grip.

...wow.

“Hey!” another sharp whistle and Peter jumped. “Stop staring at my guns and go get a box! I’ve got half an hour to get this shit refueled and gone again, let’s go sweet cheeks!”

“Yeah, I don’t really haul boxes?” Peter hesitated. “I don’t know if you know who I am but my Dad’s sort of own this place and I’m just here to learn a little bit.”

“Uh huh, why don’t you start by learning some manual labor.” Up close the guy was even bigger, but Peter’s attention was caught by the faint lines of scars up and down the soldier’s arms and criss crossing up his neck. “You’re Stark’s boy?”

“Stark-Rogers.” Peter corrected immediately. “Yes, and how did you--”

--he stopped when the ground shifted beneath their feet and a low rumble came from the hills behind the camp.

“What the hell was that?” he asked slowly. “There’s hardly ever recorded seismic activity on this side of the continent, everything earthquake related stays towards the coast on the Pacific.”

“Yeah, you’re Stark’s kid alright. All big eyes and quoting facts nobody needs to know.” the soldier looked Peter over again, something unreadable glimmering in his hazel eyes. “What you just felt is the result of unregulated mining attempts in the hills out here. They’re blasting down deep trying to find something valuable and it’s upsetting the stability of the entire region.”

“The dig site--”

“--is sinking as the ground gets more unstable.” he confirmed. “That’s why we’re rushing trying to save everything. Buck tells me they’ve been working this place for thirty years now and still haven’t collected it all, but they’re running out of time.”

“My Dad’s sent me to a sinking archeological dig site to die of malaria and earthquakes?!” Peter shouted. “What the fuck!? What are we supposed to do?!”

“Take ten to twenty percent off the top there, bud.” came the dry answer. “We’re supposed to load and unload these planes just as fast as we can manage before the mountain over there collapses in on itself and buries us under a few hundred tons of mud and rocks and washes this all out to the river. Get to work.”

“I--”

“Get to work.”

“Fine.” Peter swallowed, unstuck his no longer bright white shoes from the mud and followed the guy back to the plane. “I’m Peter by the way. Peter Stark-Rogers.”

“Wade Wilson. “ the soldier grunted. “I work for the Bronco’s unit. Security, assassinations and now apparently babysitting.”

“Babysitting?”

“Your ‘Uncle Bucky’ reassigned me from a cushy job overseas and planted my ass here to make sure nothing happened to his nephew.” Wade tossed Peter a duffel bag that weighed almost as much as he did. “I’ve been here a month waiting for you to show up. Everyone’s gettin’ real restless with the mining going on and the risk of losing everything they’ve dug up. There’s been a few attacks on the mining camps, some retaliation-- nobody’s happy about the situation and me and a few others have been trying to keep the peace.”

The ground rumbled again and the muscle in Wade’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together. “A month ago I felt one of those a week, now it’s multiple times a day. It’s not good.”

“Are we--” Peter held the bag tight and wet his lips anxiously. “Are we safe?”

“Safe enough.” Wade nodded. “Your Dad’s been fully funding this place for years now, he wouldn’t send you out here if there was any real danger. Don’t worry about it, kid. At least not yet.”

“I’m not a kid, I’m twenty two.”

“Fuckin’ Mazel Tov, bro.”

Peter narrowed his eyes but followed Wade back towards the camp, huffing and puffing as he lugged the huge bag, eyes wide as he tried to take in everything about the archeological dig that had brought his parents together.

Our love was never buried too deep to find. His Pops liked to say, all smooshy and smarmy and gross as he rubbed at the gold ring Tony still wore every day. Maybe you get out there and find an adventure of your own, son. Build some character, get some sun, come home a changed man.

“A changed man.” Peter grumbled when he stepped in something that was most likely not mud judging by the baleful look a nearby horse gave him. “Gonna get lost out here in the goddamn jungle, got a goddamn mine trying to collapse and wash everything down the mountain into the water, got a goddamn soldier calling himself my babysitter--ooph!”

Unexpectedly running into Wade was like unexpectedly running into a brick wall and Peter stumbled backwards and splatted right into the muck.

“Damn it!” he shouted and Wade-- damn him-- definitely cracked a grin before kneeling down in the mud too. “What are you doing? Help me up!”

“Listen here, kid.” Rough fingers grasped Peter’s jaw and he went very very still. “My job is too look out for you, but I’ve got a whole camp full of people to look out for too. If you’re gonna fuss and complain all summer, why don’t you take that cute ass of yours and sit it right back on the plane, cos I don’t have time for this shit.”

“I-- I--”

“If you feel like settling down and doing some good, then get up off the ground and get back to work.” Peter might have imagined the brush of a thumb over his cheek, but he definitely didn’t imagine the way Wade’s gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered. “And if you’re gonna stay, maybe you wear real shoes not pretty city shoes and real pants not whatever this jegging shit is making your legs look all distracting.”

“....are my legs distracting you?” Peter breathed and Wade’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Cos I brought shorts if those would be less distracting.”

“Pretty sure you’d be distracting even in a nun outfit.” The soldier jerked away and stood abruptly. “Get up and get going, honey bunches. We’ve got a lot to do before I even give you a tour of the camp and introduce you to the researchers. Back to the plane for more gear, c’mon.”

“Sure, sure.” Peter scrambled to his feet and made a half hearted attempt to wipe the dirt from his clothes. “So. Wade. Why did you call my Uncle Bucky the Bronco?”

“Oh ho ho that is not a conversation we are having, small fry. Absolute not. Move past the question.”

“But--”

“Move past the question!”

#spideypool #stony

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