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deniigi · 5 years

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Promt or not? Dfv! Matt and wade maybe hanging out with Tats? Like he’s like their peter but definitely older and definitely more chill at the face of ‘immediate danger handling situations’. Wuld they ever go out for drinks? Or just ‘hang’ (Part 1)

Aw yeah, IniPeter getting drunk with the dream team. I’m here for iit.

–

This Peter was very. Hmm. Wade wouldn’tgo as far as to say he was tall. Kid was bopping around 5’9”, looking for allthe world like he was physically incapable of not fidgeting. He kept tapping atthe edge of Red’s glass like he was a blind dog, telling him to drink up.

Red did not want to drink up.

Red did not want to drink tobegin with. He was weirded out by this kid who called Pete ‘Funsize’ and who wentaround telling him to chill the fuck out at every turn. Little Pete seemed tolike him well enough. Kept asking him questions about the future, to which thisguy—Tats, Peter called him—repeated the same line of ‘it’s my future, not yours. I don’t know who you even are’ ad nauseam.

If he was not a future Peter,then who was he? He looked exactlylike the munchkin. If the munchkin woken up one day and decided to go getinked. If the munchkin had grown two or three inches, gone to the gym, andexclusively done squats for two years. If the munchkin’s tiny baby stubble evermade it out of the ‘sad and patchy’ territory.

Basically, eyes, ears, nose,lips, face—he was fucking Peter, yeah?

It was just a matter of figuringout which one.

“How old are you?” Red asked theinterloper.

“Old enough to know you got shittaste in whiskey. Christ, man. Love yourself.”

Red hated Tats-Peter.

Wade kind of loved him.

“It’s scotch.”

“Scotch, whiskey, piss—they’reall the same in the end.”

Wade kind of really loved him.

“If that’s your logic, just godrink piss,” Red said over the top of his tumbler.

“I will,” Tats said, then reachedacross the table, neat as you like, and nabbed, then threw back one of Wade’s shotsof tequila.

He choked, coughed, and swore.Red’s eyebrows, which had settled happily as far down on his face as they couldgo, lifted slightly at the sputtering.

“You’re an idiot,” he saidcalmly. Tats spun on him with cheerful finger guns.

“That’s my name, don’t wear itout.”

“What the fuck happened to you? You’resuch a sweet kid,” Red sighed.

Tats dropped the guns.

“I told you,” he said. “I’m notFunsize. We are two completely different Peters. He needs a hamster wheel orsomething to run in and I amSpiderman.”

“You sound like a moron.”

“That’s because I am a moron. Although, you know, my Redcalls me brilliant at least twice a year.”

“Oh, now you have a Red,” Reddrawled.

“Yeah. I do. And he’s like—well,he’s five thousand miles away right now—BUT. He’s chill. And knows when he isin the presence of greatness.”

“He sounds like a fuckhead likeyou.”

“WOW.”

Wade was keeping him.

“What’s your gimmick, then?” heasked the kid so as to distract both him and Red from the beginning of theirfeud. “You some kind of robo-Spidey from an alternate universe or what?”

“No, I’m just the one with thetats,” Tats said.

“Right, but what else you got goingon?” Wade pressed. “Gotta have something going on here, otherwise how do weknow you for real ain’t our kid?”

A pause.

Tats threw back his whole drink.

“Kay,” he said, thus fortified, “Idunno shit about your kid, but me? I’m anxiety Spidey. I’m Stark-underling Spidey:Lab Manager Peter B. Parker, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I downed aplane when I was fifteen years old, refused to join the Avengers, ran into myWade who tried to hunt me. Ran intomy Red who tried to break all my fuckin’ fingers—charmed both of them right outof their pretty little heads, and ten years later, we’ve got a fuckin’ zoo ofcopy-cat Spideys and copy-cat Daredevils and me? I’m the one who assembled it. Basically,don’t take this the wrong way, but your boy? He’s a little too soft to be me. WhenI was that age I had some fucking problemsand he’s all, I dunno, well-adjusted?”

“What kind of problems?” Wade wouldpoke this bear. Why not?

“Uuuuuuuuh, let’s see—got suspendeda couple of times for fighting.”

Oho. Now that was what Wade wastalking about.

“You trash ‘em?” he asked.

“Pft. Did I trash ‘em—course Ifucking trashed ‘em, who the fuck do I look like?”

Aw, yeah. Delinquent Peter. They haddelinquent Peter right in front of them. Beautiful. The Lord giveth.

“Did you cry afterwards, though?”Red, professional school fight starter and ender, asked. “It don’t count if youcry afterwards.”

“I mean, it counts if that’s theonly thing between you and getting your ass expelled and scholarship revoked,”Tats pointed out. “Also counts if you have an undiagnosed anxiety disorder andcrying is your puberty body’s first response to fury.”

“That ain’t what I asked,” Redsaid.

“Your scale is arbitrary, hypermasculine,and violent. It suits you,” Tats shot back without missing a beat.

A beat of silence.

“Alright,” Red said, picking uphis glass, “You can stay. For now.”

“Eeeeey!”

Wade gave the guy another shot sohe’d have something to cheers with.

“To violence,” he said.

“To violence,” the other twoagreed.

Down the hatch.

#fic #dumpster fires verse #inimitable verse #cannot emphasize enough that Tats and DFV Peter are not the same person!!#I know they are similar but Tats is much closer to Dreamcoats Peter in terms of youthful experience #he is baby chaos coddled and coached by uncle hysteria and uncle manic #ficlet

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