Heimdall obeyed the orders of the Realms. Heimdall obeyed the orders of Odin. It had always been those two in that succession, and no other had he deigned to extend his services. Of course there had been the occasional talks with the Queen Mother, the allowances he'd made when Thor had been brash, and the times Loki's craft and cunning had been convincing one way or the other. Yet at the end of the day, he was The Protector. The Gatekeeper.

The Watcher of Worlds.

Golden eyes smoothed over to Earth's surface—a realm which had been garnering more and more of his interest in these long stretches of moments. Thor's banishment. Loki's attack. The birthplace of the Avengers.

"I know I am in no place to ask this of you."

Humans were interesting beings. They always seemed to make the most of their time despite having some of the shortest lifespans in the galaxies and reached towards the stars even when their fragile bodies had never been made for it. Jane Foster was a truly impressive one to meet and since then, he passed the turns of the universe by watching that blue green planet and the ones that made it so alive.

He tilted his head.

Well. He supposed that wasn't quite the truth.

"You know Odin. You know... that I cannot take this risk. I will not bet his life on a whim."

He honed in on the sight of a boy with brown hair as he meandered out of that human tavern—a bar, he recalled—where the child spent the nights laboring for those less inclined to principled standing. That bar was no place for a boy, especially not this boy in particular.

But, he seemed to enjoy it there and suffered no ill-treatment. The employer treated him with respect and the patrons, though they were rowdy and loud and had blood forever stained on their hands, never trained a weapon towards him. So perhaps there was room for a babe of fifteen winters there after all.

"Will you watch over him where I cannot, Heimdall? Will you make sure he grows up to be every bit of his father?" A quiet pause. "And every bit of Mary, as well?"

"Not you, my prince?"

Heimdall obeyed the orders of the Realms. Heimdall obeyed the orders of Odin. It had always been those two in that succession, and no other had he deigned to extend his services.

Loki turns and laughs, and Heimdall doesn't need to see his face to know that there isn't a smile on his lips or a spark in his eyes.

But once, he'd been asked a favor.

"He would be happy if he grew up to be nothing like me."

And despite everything, it was this one favor he'd always kept.

::

Peter's back slammed against the blue cushion mats and he wheezed.

"Need a break?" Wade skipped over with a third of a foil-wrapped burrito in one hand. He'd donned his full red tactical suit and his mask was scrunched all the way up to his nose as he ate. "We've been going like, three hours? Not a lot for our mega-stamina, but you look like you cannon-balled into a kiddie pool except there's no kiddie pool."

"Just say I'm sweaty," Peter coughed as he rolled onto his side.

"You're sweaty."

"Thanks."

There was an old gym a few blocks down from Sister Margaret's. Old punk belted out from the busted speakers overhead and the peeling white brick walls were slathered in ancient boxing paraphernalia. Wood floors, punching bags, a boxing ring, and lots of open space—"The Gym By the Alley" absolutely had to be a cover shop for the mafia or something.

Peter said exactly that. Wade laughed but didn't confirm nor deny.

They'd walked in looking like the oddest pair: a high schooler with a stupid science pun on his shirt and a shifty looking dude with a hood over his head and a black duffel over his shoulder. They did get a few looks on their way over from their meeting place at the bar, but the second they stepped past the creaky metal door the couple people that were already in the building hadn't cast a single look in their direction.

And honestly, the gym looked pretty cool on the inside. Old-school, for the most part. Peter didn't even know what exactly they'd be doing until Wade changed into his suit and started dragging those blue gymnastics mats into the boxing ring and told him to change into his work out clothes, stand in the center, and fight.

And Peter had been ignorant enough to think that this would be easy.

Because it turned out that one Wade Winston Wilson had been part of the military and Special Forces before taking up a Gold Card residency and had absolutely been holding back when they fought at the bar. Top of his unit, expert in hand to hand combat, a soldier dishonorably discharged because he wouldn't complete the mission that would have killed a little girl he once passed on the street.

Peter exhaled and pulled himself back to his feet. He swayed and leaned against the ropes for support, blindly reaching for his water bottle and slightly denting the metal when he tipped it into his mouth and nothing came out.

"Whyyyyyy," he whined and slumped back down onto the mats. Wade snorted and tossed him an opened gatorade bottle from across the ring. Peter snatched it lazily out of the air and downed it in one gulp.

"Goddamn, I have more," Wade said as he gestured at the duffel. Unzipped, at least ten orange caps peeked out for them to see. "Is this another Super-Boy thing? Like, increased metabolism and all that jazz?"

"Yeah, actually." The teen peered out the ring to see pretty much everyone else had cleared out for the night. "I have to eat over triple the normal caloric intake of a normal adult male. You don't?"

"Nah, I just like food."

"Mood."

Peter splayed face down near the edge of the raised platform and grabbed his phone.

8:46 pm

[4 Unread Messages]

May: Let me know when you're on your way home or if you'll be swinging around. ;) My shift tonight that won't end until 5 am. I'll have Wednesday and Thursday off this week! [6:32pm]

Guy in the Chair: dude loook at tihs vid [7:14pm]

Guy in the Chair: ur a meme!!!!!!! [7:14pm]

Mj: hey loser, we're adding more practices starting next sem. We need to get ready for finals, will update in the group chat when everythings finalized [7:50pm]

He threw his phone onto his bag and kept his face planted on the mat.

It smelled like a McDonald's Play Place.

"My angst-dar is bleeping from all the way over here," Wade said as he topped off his burrito and balled up the foil. "Kobe!" Missed the trash can. "Okay, more like Derek Fisher. But I digress." He dug through the duffel bag and brought out a whole six pack of gatorades and another burrito, all of which he took with him when he plopped down next to the kid's prone form. "Hey, drink all of this and eat some din din. We're going until you can land consistent punches and you can't do that if you're passed out. I mean, I can, but you aren't there yet."

"Dude, are you seriously mom-ing me right now?" Peter's muffled voice questioned incredulously.

"Mama Wade takes his job very seriously," the man nodded solemnly.

"Are you even old enough to be my mom?"

"I'm in my early thirty-nines."

"Dang."

"I birthed you when I was twenty-four."

"I get it—"

"Which means nine months before that I got jiggy with—"

"WADE!"

Peter punched his side and sat up to drink the light blue gatorades Wade gave him. "Um, thanks for this. Really. I could've just gotten water from the fountain outside," he smiled. "I'll get us tacos next time we meet."

"Petey, you're only allowed to buy us food once you have a stable job that isn't Wease's shithole. 'Til then, I'm grub control."

"But—"

"Ah-ba-ba!"

"W—"

"Nope!" Wade clapped his hands over his ears. "Lalalalalalalalalalalala—"

Peter rolled his eyes and drained the bottle before reaching for the slightly warm burrito.

When he first met Wade, it'd been at the bar. Where else could it have been?

It was his second week on the job and he was in the middle of washing some dishes when the door slams open and a voice he'd never heard before yelled, "Back again, fuckers!"

"Weren't you in China?"

"Look at this K-pop star going international."

"You still come here, hotshot? Thought you would've run for president after you whole 'this-is-the-story-about-how-I-got-justice'—"

"Fuck off, Frank! You're gonna make him tell it again!"

Peter washes the rest of the dishes and dries them off before setting them next to Granny Sal and picking up the plates stacked with steaming snacks.

When he steps out onto the floor, he sees a superhero in red at the bar. Well, probably not a superhero if he's at Sister Margaret's, but maybe a vigilante? Nah, even vigilantes steer clear of this place. But what type of merc dressed up in a legit suit like that?

He delivers the food with a grin and a nod before slinking all the way back to the bar where Mr. Weasel's filling a shot glass with whipped cream.

"Please stop making me make blowjobs."

"I will never stop making you make blowjobs," the Red Suit says. He turns his head at Peter's approach, and the latter can clearly see the black material around the white eyes of the mask. "Holy shit, you hiring out of daycares now?"

"Kindergartens, actually," Peter remarks dryly. Red Suit snorts and looks at his boss. "Need me to send that out to someone?"

"Nah, I'll get one of the girls to do it," Weasel waves off, jerking his chin at one of the two women on the floor tonight. The waitresses never stayed long and usually had stints at the bar that lasted a few weeks at most, or the ones that came back stayed a month before disappearing to who knows where. Sometimes they'd have three of them out all at once, but most times Weasel made sure to schedule them to come in the days Peter didn't have a shift. "The blonde one. She's been looking to shank someone for days and this dipshit's blowjob is gonna start the first fight of the night."

"Oh, uh." Peter blinks. "Sounds festive." Weasel drags the shot across the bar and he glances back at the Red Suit. He's pushing his pint back and forth and humming some off tune, but makes no motion to push up his mask to take a drink. Weird.

Regardless, he sticks his hand out. Better to make nice with everyone instead of getting them to aim their guns at his head. "I'm Ferret, by the way. Mr. Weasel's new dish boy."

Red Suit sputters out a laugh. "'Mr. Weasel'? I bet the fucker gets off on that." But the stranger takes his hand anyway, and Peter notes the worn leather of the combat gloves that meet his fingers. "Deadpool's my stage name. Once I got called Douchepool, sometimes I'll get called The Jabbering Butt-Plug, but honestly I think Captain Delicious Pants is the way to go." Okay? "But you can call me Wade!"

He'd found out Wade was an enhanced after that—turned into what he was from some "crazy British shitstick" named after dish soap, or at least that was what Mr. Weasel told him, and was one of the best mercs out there despite "never shutting the hell up and giving his clients brain ulcers".

But most importantly, he found out that Wade was a regular and Mr. Weasel's best friend, even if his boss wouldn't admit it.

"Alright, what's eating those big brains of yours?"

Peter took a bite of his burrito. Chicken, bell pepper, onion, tomato, cheese, beans leaking out the side, amazing. This was super greasy and definitely not something he should be eating all the time, but damn did Wade know the best restaurants in the city. "What do you mean?"

Wade only stared at him at this point. It was a little unnerving to stare through those mask eyes that weren't supposed to express as much emotion as they actually did, but Peter knew he didn't have to give an answer if he didn't want to. Wade wasn't May who constantly worries and made sure to hug him whenever he was there and when she left; Wade wasn't Ned who thought Spider-Man was simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him and didn't understand why sometimes getting stabbed on patrol was better than sitting on buildings, staring at nothing, doing nothing.

Wade wasn't Tony Stark, who hadn't talked to him since offering him a place on the Avengers.

Wade was Deadpool, and they both were mercenaries who killed for money. Peter knew they shouldn't be taco buddies who see each other at one of the seediest bars in the state, but here they were at some mafia-controlled gym in a boxing ring that probably hadn't been repaired in over ten years.

But...

"... I-Is it cool for me to unload a bunch of stuff right now?"

"Hold on, lemme put on my listening ears." The man actually made a motion of digging into one of his pockets, pulling out something non-existent, and stuffing it onto both sides of his head. He then scooched forward and held his knees against his chest like a kid at story time. "I'm ready!"

"It's just... I think I've been a little stressed lately? I don't know, man. I don't think it's a Spider-Man thing because I've been doing it for over a year at this point, and the upgraded suit is really awesome, but sometimes I think about how it's StarkTech and none of it's really me. Like, come on, I'm supposed to be taking care of a multi-million dollar suit when I begged Mr. Weasel for this job because I want to help pay rent? It feels kinda wrong to have it and I know it can be taken away at anytime. But I'm really thankful for it. AIs and heaters are a lot better than the sweatshirt and pants I got by with before, I just wish..." He shrugged. "But that's fine. I'm pretty sure it's my mom I keep thinking about. I've always been Richard and Mary's kid and all of a sudden I'm not? My aunt says my mom loved me and she had to leave or else my grandfather would've killed me. And, like, I want to meet her but it's been fourteen years. What if she doesn't want to see me? I don't want to bother her if she's been doing okay, and if she already has another family by now, doesn't that make me 'the other kid'? I don't want to disappoint her like that." He sighed and took another bite of his burrito. "I'm s-sorry. This is all kinda stupid, huh?"

Peter looked up. Wade's half-masked face had gone decidedly blank and the silence could be called unsettling.

"We," Wade started, "are going to get so much ice cream. After you finish eating your burbur and drinking your gatorades, we are walking all the way to the nearest bodega to get some cookies n' cream, rocky road, peanut butter cup—you know what? We're gonna get ape shit. We're getting some mint chocolate chip, hit that toothpaste tang."

"O-Okay?"

"Okay!" Wade kicked his feet out and laid back against the sunken blue mats. "Keep talking if you feel like it, Super-Boy. Mama Wade's here to listen."

The smile that pulled at his lips came first came as a laugh at Wade's ridiculousness. Seriously, what's with this guy? He could be anywhere else instead of hanging out with some punk fifteen year old who couldn't get his life together for shizz.

Burrito beans dripped onto his hand. It only made him smile wider.

He got home around eleven that night. Half the fridge got filled with the tubs of ice cream he couldn't finish and he dumped his sweat-soaked clothes into the washing machine.

Me to Guy in the Chair: it's a curse [11:14pm]

Me to Mj: aye aye captain!!!!! [11:14pm]

Me to May: just got home, boss had extra ice cream and made me take a bunch back [11:14pm]

::

taco buddy: it's not stupid, petey [12:27am]

::

May: That's dangerous. How will I ever stop myself? [1:03am]

May: Is that why you got back so late? [1:04am]

Me: nah [1:06am]

Me: i was out with a friend [1:06am]

::

Peter tapped his pencil against his chemistry homework. It wasn't anything near as complicated as the web formulas that he was constantly developing, so really he should've been done with this packet already. They'd gotten it today and it wasn't due until the end of the week, but the quicker he finished longer assignments like that the easier it would be to manage his time between his job at Sister Margaret's and hanging out with Ned and being Spider-Man and training with Wade and spending time with May when she wanted to get dinner together and studying for decathlon—

He stopped tapping. When did I get so busy?

He sighed and threw his arms behind his head as he leaned back, a sudden fatigue winding around his muscles and filling his veins with lead. Sleep came in bouts at night and he was lucky to get four or five hours before his eyes snapped open and he rolled onto his stomach, awake. Anxious. But what did he have to be anxious about?

His Spider-Man suit was hung in the back of his closet, the mask tucked away in the space above the clothes rack. Maybe even heavier than his veins was the guilt crystallizing in his chest. He'd been going out less and less in the suit, too.

A frown tugged the corners of his mouth. Not his suit—the StarkTech suit.

Peter sighed even louder and opened one of his desk drawers to root around for some of the snacks he kept stashed away. Dried fruit, saltine crackers, trail mix, granola bars. But his fingers skim against carved wood and he only barely restrained himself from snatching his hand back out.

Right. That.

He bit the inside of his cheek and pulled the box out. A perfect circle just a bit bigger than his palm with engravings he'd been able to memorize with how much he stared at it ever since it was handed over to him.

A simple gold latch at the bottom of the tree kept the box shut. He didn't know how May had been able to keep it around this whole time without giving in to the urge to open it to get maybe some sort of clue as to where Lora had disappeared off to all those years ago.

Was he really going to do this? Fifteen years he'd lived just fine without her, right? After Richard died, after Mary died, after Ben died... he didn't know what else there was he could do. May had already gone through so much and now there was someone named Lora he had to think about?

But, he knew loving them probably wasn't the issue.

It was the chance of losing someone else that was eating him from the inside.

But then again... what would he be losing if he didn't take this opportunity to try?

Peter pressed a thumb against the latch.

Something cold flashed against his skin. Brief, something he would've missed if he wasn't so laser-focused on the task. But then the gold brightens a touch before it dimmed back to its normal color and the latch flipped open without him moving his finger.

What the heck was that. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. What the flippity hecking heck was that.

His spidey sense was quiet. It was enough for him to push open the cover.

A raw green stone cut into the size of a nickel with thin gold wire wound around the center. Attached to the top was a simple gold chain and was set against some black satin cushion.

A small folded note lay underneath it.

If you wish to meet me, wear the necklace and I will find you.

If you do not, I understand. The world deserves you more than I ever will.

Forever Yours,

L. O.