Living With Secrets

"Wilson..."

Wade Wilson liked his name, despite where he had gotten it from. He liked the double W initials, he liked that Wonder Woman and he shared initials. He liked the way it rolled off the tongue. He liked that it was easy, but unique. He'd never met another Wade in his life.

Wade Wilson liked his name despite where he got it.

Being an orphan meant he had a lot of missing blanks to fill. He had no way of knowing what his parents looked like, let alone what their names were. He liked to imagine his father was an office worker somewhere, with light eyes and light hair and a sharp suit. He liked to imagine that his mother was beautiful, working at a local school, caring for kids when they scraped their knees. He liked to think they were loving and kind, despite knowing they probably weren't.

Wade had only ever known his name was Wade. No last name. The orphanage he was at had never bothered to give him a last name.

Wilson had been the boy in the cell across from the blond at The Doc's lab. The two of them had talked to one another at night, when everyone else was gone or asleep. The two of them were friends.

Wade remembered that day so clearly. He remembered being told that the treatment was working, that he was going to have a few days off. He remembered watching Wilson get dragged out of the cell across from him. He remembered when the boy came back without his right arm, a piece of haphazardly connected metal capping the stub that remained. Wade remembered waiting for Wilson to wake up, talking the smaller boy through the pain, reaching his hand out as far as he could, pretending the two boys were close enough to touch.

He remembered when Wilson told him the Doc only did it because he was bored. Because Wade was working out so well, he needed a new project.

He remembered the night of the fire, waking up in the midst of flame, his stupid body waking up even when he should have been dead long ago, watching the flames engulf his friend's body. He remembered screaming, crying, trying to go back for his friend, the heat of the fire forcing him away. He remembered running into someone as he ran from the inferno, someone with a badge and a heavy utility belt.

"Wha- name, boy?" Wade didn't hear the cops full sentence, his ears were ringing.

"Wade," he mumbled, his eyes flicking around, but never really focusing.

Wilson, Wilson, Wilson, was the only thought in his head. His friend, his first friend was dead.

"Wh- e yo- from?" Wade finally found the face of the cop, blinking away soot and tears.

"Wilson. Wilson." Wade muttered the name under his breath, unable to process the cop's questions.

The statement had been filed under that name, then. Wade Wilson.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Peter," Wade started, only for his friend to cut him off.

"Where's my goddamn leg, Wade?" Peter's voice reached a yell, and he stared at Wade, fury in his eyes. Wade was silent, unsure of how to continue.

"Where is my goddamn fucking leg?" Peter's voice echoed through the hall and Wade flinched back slightly. "Fucking... FUCK!" The teen slammed his hands back on the wall behind him. Where his left leg had once been, there was now a stump, ending just under his knee.

Peter looked away, the fury in his eyes fading just as quickly as it had come. None of this was Wade's fault, and Peter knew that, but he couldn't understand the what had happened to him. His mind was still catching up to his body, and his anger had been born of fear more than anything else. Sobs rolled up the boys throat, and there was no stopping his tears and heaving gasps of breath.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Wade said slowly. "I'm so sorry. The Doc, he took it. I cleaned it as best I could, but I'm not a doctor." Peter continued crying, his mind barely registering his friend's words.

Wade got up, moving towards the first aid kit. They were already dangerously low on iodine, but they had plenty of gauze left.

"We're running out of iodine," Wade stated, more to himself than to Peter. He already knew his friend wasn't listening anyways. "I'll probably clean out your wounds tomorrow with water, if we get some, and skip the iodine just in case something else happens. The Doc likes to keep us alive, so we'll probably get water either tonight, tomorrow, or the morning after. He never goes longer than 2 days without water."

Part of Wade didn't care that he was back under the Doc's control. Part of him was expecting it, had been expecting it for years. He was the ultimate prize for any mad scientist. A test subject that couldn't be killed. An indestructible toy.

Wade peered out of the cell, his eyes straining against the dark of the hall. There was a moment of silence between the two teens.

"How do you know so much about Doc Ock?" Peter's question caught Wade off guard. As far as he knew, Peter was still crying.

"O-oh," Wade stumbled. "I spent 7 years in his labs. I started to really know him."

Peter's red and watery eyes widened in surprise. "I knew you'd spent time in his labs, I didn't know it was that long."

Wade nodded, not trusting his voice to hold steady. He refused to cry, this wasn't about him. If anyone had a right to be upset right now, it was Peter. There was another pause.

"Did you ever see anyone else lose a leg?"

Wade's breath hitched. There was a moment he pushed Wilson out of his head, after years of nightmares and guilt and pain. The wave of memories that came flooding back nearly took Wade off his feet, and even though he had been fighting against his tears, he couldn't stop them from rolling down his cheeks.

"Wade, I-" Peter cut himself off as he struggled in vain to get up. He used his hands to pull himself up, leaning back against the wall. He wasn't going to be able to walk. "Wade, I can't get over- over there, Wade, are you okay?"

Wade turned around, and Peter was able to see his friend's pain fully.

"Wade," the brunet murmured.

"I never saw someone get their leg taken, Peter," Wade whispered. "I only ever saw someone who had their arm cut off. The Doc said he did it 'cause he was bored. He did it just before the fire. He did it because of me." Wade's words were punctuated by deep breaths and heaving tears, and the end of his sentences were completely washed away by sobs.

"Wilson," Wade cried. "His name was Wilson, I could only say his name when I ran from the fire, I carry his name!"

Peter was silent, unable to do anything, but desperate to do so.

"Wade, I-" Wade cut him off.

"We need to get out of here. Tonight. He's bored if he's taking body parts, we need to get you out of here."

The two wiped their eyes, each one putting on the brave faces of heroes rather than the scared and broken faces of two tortured children. They'd been in this position enough to know what came next. They fought and scrapped and kept their tears tucked away until they were back home.

"We're going to get out, Wade. I promise, I'll get you out of here." Peter promised. He wanted to do nothing more than pull the taller teen into his arms, make him feel better, but he couldn't.

Wade snapped out of his sorrowful trance, shaking his eyes into focus. He walked over to where Peter was leaning and hooked his arm behind his friend. "Come on, Pete, let's go."