For the first fifteen years of his life, Peter lived with his Aunt and Uncle in the district reigned by Tombstone. He went to school there, he stayed out of trouble. He was a good citizen and never did anything to risk his or his family's safety. And then, one night, his uncle was murdered. Just like that.

Before he was of legal age, Peter became an adult. He left his Aunt and moved to Kingpin's district, where his friend Matt helped him find a place to stay. Peter intended to keep a low profile until he became eighteen, and then he wanted to do something. He wanted to help the resistance. Matt told him repeatedly they wouldn't accept a kid like him, and that he would personally make sure the Avengers knew exactly how young he was.

So he waited patiently. He trained. He learned. On his eighteenth birthday, he opened the door intending to go straight to Matt and demand he'd take Peter with him. When Peter opened the door that night, he had no idea that what he found behind them would change his entire life.

"Help me." That was all the man on his doorstep said before losing consciousness.

This was what Peter knew about the man: he had a burning fever, his whole body was covered in ugly scars (even his face), he was fucking heavy. What Peter didn't know, was everything else - who was he, where did he come from, why did he come to Peter, was it intentional or just a coincidence, what happened to him, who gave him those scars. The questions were running through Peter's head with the speed of light, as he pressed a cold piece of cloth to the man's forehead.

Peter didn't tell anyone about him, not even Matt. He asked Frank to get him some meds, because he knew that the ex-cop wouldn't ask any questions. The man in his bed was running a fever for the next two days, and when he suddenly regained consciousness, Peter nearly got a heart attack. He grabbed Peter's writs, panting for breath, his blue eyes filled with terror, piercing into Peter's.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, you're safe, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," Peter said, taking the man's hand in his and stroking his forehead. "I'm Peter. What's your name?"

"Wade," he croaked, closing his eyes and swallowing. "Where am I?"

"I'm pretty sure not where you wanted to be… You're in Kingpin's district. You showed up on my doorstep and passed out. Great first impression, by the way, color me swooned."

Wade smiled crookedly and coughed nastily. Peter grabbed a glass of water from the stack of books that served as a nightstand and helped Wade take a sip.

"Thank you. I, uh, I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I was definitely lucky. Someone else would have probably left me on the street. You must be lonely."

Peter snorted. "You wanna look for my seven cats now?"

"Oh I would definitely be more interested in taking care of that loneliness myself but if you have cats…" Wade drawled, trying to look at Peter seductively and only managing to look pained.

Peter's eyes widened and he could feel himself blush furiously like a goddamned schoolgirl anyway, so he cleared his throat and reached out for Wade's compress to change it. Wade's grabbed his wrist and that's when Peter saw it. A big X tattooed on the inside of Wade's wrist.

"You're a slave," Peter gasped.

Wade dropped Peter's hand and covered his own wrist in shame. "You just noticed? That's pretty slow. And stupid. What are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing! Nothing, I swear, I just… Is that why- I mean, your face? The scars? Did your… owner did this to you?"

"Yeah, no. Taskmaster bought me after the military funded me this glamorous makeover."

Peter gulped in the mix of terror and pity. He wanted to cry over Wade's fate, over all the horrors he must have gone through, but the more pragmatic part of his mind screamed at him to run. Get away as fast and as far as possible. He whined and dropped his head into his hands before glaring at Wade in accusation. "Taskmaster? You're Taskmaster's property? I'm a dead man. I'm dead. Oh God, I just turned eighteen, I don't wanna die!"

"Oh, good, you're legal then," Wade only chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Peter wanted to kill him with his bare hands. "Legal? LEGAL?! Oh, that's just perfect, wonderful! Wade! I'll be the only legal thing you will be doing! Don't you realize how serious this is?! Taskmaster is worse than Kingpin and Tombstone combined! He's going to find you and he's going to kill me and why the hell are you grinning about, you crazy bastard?!"

"Because you said you're the only legal thing I will be doing."

Peter gaped. Then blinked. Then gaped some more. "No I didn't."

"Yes, you did," Wade said with a filthy grin that somehow made Peter's pants seem too tight for comfort. He scoffed and gave Wade a pill to swallow.

"Well, then I didn't mean it like that. Now shut up and stop grinning or your face will stuck that way. Sleep now. You're still weak. I'm taking you to the Avengers tomorrow. We can't deal with this on our own. Don't even think about arguing, at this point even me and my feeble arms can take you down."

"I like your arms," Wade mumbled sleepily. "Thanks, Petey. You know, for…"

"Saving your life?" Peter supplied with a humble chuckle.

"No, dumbass," Wade laughed, turning over and rubbing his face on the pillow. "For letting me do you later."

With his bare hands.