"Oh my god why does he have a knife."

Peter covered his mouth as he snorted and stepped through the swinging kitchen doors, crossing the short hall towards the break room to dump his stuff on the couch. He draped his jacket and scarf on the closest armrest and rested his backpack against the throw pillow with the giraffe print. After he snagged a can of Arnold Palmer from the mini-fridge and tucked the dagger under his arm, he backtracked into the main room where Weasel's got a spread of bullets on the counter and Wade was standing with a full tan trench coat over his Deadpool suit.

"Oh wow, you really weren't kidding about that."

"There are three things I don't kid about: my undying love for our Lord and Savior Bea Arthur, Mexican food that soothes the rumblies in my tumblies, and taking care of my wittle weapons." Wade grabbed each side of the coat and flung it open like he was flashing people in public. On the right were neat rows of sheaths and holders, and filling up the space to the left were holsters and belts.

"You look like you got run out of a BDSM club for being too freaky," Weasel said.

"You don't know me."

"Unfortunately, I do."

"Unfortunately, you're right."

Peter sipped his drink right as Wade 360'd on one toe to point at him dramatically in a flurry of weighed down trench coat.

"But first, I need to know who the hell thought it was a good idea to give you, a tater tot, a fully functional knife that I'm pretty sure you won't even use because you've got a big no-no against stabbing." A gloved finger waggled. "So who's our culprit? Krampus? San-tee Claws? Dasher? Dancer? Prancer? Vixen? Comet? Cu—"

"My mom," Peter cut in dryly. He slipped the dagger from its t-shirt bundle and handed it over. "She thinks it'll be a good idea if I learn how to use it."

"That's one bumpin' blade, yeesh." Wade held it up to the light and twirled it around his hand. The metal gleamed almost eerily and the detail of each snake made them look alive, like they'd slither right off the hilt. He dug around his trench coat. "And speaking of that respectable woman who may or may not jingle my bells the way Batman smells—"

Peter's face screwed up in faint disgust. Weasel suffered a terrible premonition of every single cheesy pick up line he knew the asshole was going to use every time Crazy Bread showed up at the bar.

"—does the enhancement run in the family? 'Cause both my sore tushes and my fragile maiden heart thinks that getting thrown into that pool table wasn't one of those everyday things." He paused. "Is it weird that I would be totally fine if she stepped on me?"

Peter held the can up to his lips for a few seconds before slowly setting it down. "Okay, one, that's my mom, so gross."

"Not my fault she's a MILF."

"GRO-SS," he groaned. "I'm going to forget you ever said that. And for the second thing, her enhancement's kind of different? I mean, the only reason why I'm so spidery is because I got bit by a radioactive spider on a field trip. Or, more genetically engineered than radioactive if you want to get technical."

Weasel smacked a box of cartridges on the counter and looked up in honest to god disbelief as if his life wasn't already so goddamn weird. "You're telling me that the mom you literally met like two weeks ago is enhanced in a completely unrelated event. And. You got your powers from a bug."

"Arachnid."

"... What the fuck." He shook his head and whipped out his phone. "You know what? I'm actually going to go and process this like any normal barely-functioning adult. Ferret, run maintenance on the Gold Card machine and make sure all the stashed guns are loaded, I'm picking something up." He headed straight for the back way through the kitchen, but turned and squinted when his hand landed on the swinging doors. "Also you're in charge."

He walked through.

Wade cupped his hands around his mouth and screeched, "BUT MOM, PETER'S ALWAYS IN CHARGE!"

"STOP SAYING HIS NAME IN MY FUCKING BAR, CHRIST."

And when the back door shut with the usual aggravation, Peter swiveled on his stool. "One day Mr. Weasel's going to go bald from stress and he's going to be so mad at you."

"That motherfucker's gonna have a full head of hair on his deathbed just to spite me and Pantene," Wade countered. He placed the dagger in a black leather sheath that had belts and buckles of military grade nylon adorning the sides and slid it over. "It'll be best if you horizontal carry that sucker on the back of your hip. It's long so you won't be able to get a lot of quick jabbies, but it's still good for close combat." The other side of the trench coat flapped open and he plucked a gun holster out of its row and tossed it next to the sheath. "And this. Because definitely."

Peter scratched the back of his head. "For what? I don't have a gun."

He jerked forward when he was tugged by the wrist and something dropped into his open hand.

"The Para-Ordnance P14.45 Limited Semi-Automatic Pistol I used when I started up in this biz but before I became Mr. Never Die." Then, Wade's voice evened out, dropped in tone, became something so unnervingly serious that for the first time since meeting him, Peter was afraid. "Dom says you're a natural."

No.

"Nope, nope, nope, no way Jose—"

He shoved the gun back. Wade leapt back.

"Dude!"

"No take-backs!"

"I'm serious!"

"Hi Serious, I'm the Pool Boy, complete with a skimmer net and the best set of abs on the East Coast."

Peter scowled and emptied the gun before tossing it on the table and refusing to feel bad for the offended hey! that accompanied it. "I don't care if I've got a talent for shooting or-or if I'm a wizard with guns! I'll shoot them at Ms. June's range, I'll inventory them for Mr. Weasel, I'll load the bullets in all the stashes, but I'm not going to have my own gun, okay?! Spider-Man doesn't shoot people! Peter Parker doesn't shoot people!"

His voice cracked and suddenly he was in the alley by that bodega.

His shoulders dropped. "What would Ben think?"

Wade said nothing for a long while, crossing his arms over his chest and looking utterly ridiculous in the trench coat he knew he only bought because a lot of people would inherently hate it. He walked back within arm's reach and let a heavy hand fall onto one of Peter's shoulders.

The teen flinched slightly and looked up.

The Deadpool mask was always on and he'd never seen his whole face, but it was always expressive. He could tell if there was a smile or a frown and when the cloth darkened with blood or tears from watching Disney movies, but now it was... blank. Empty. Intimidating.

It was quiet at Sister Margaret's, and it never was when Wade's around.

"I know you've heard us say over and over again that you're a good kid, but we say it 'cause you are."

"Wade, I—"

"Listen to me."

Peter's mouth snapped shut.

"You're good," Wade repeated firmly. "You're fifteen, smart, enhanced, and got this whole life ahead of you. But somehow, some fucking way, you ended up in this bar with a bunch of mercs whose job is to drop body after body for a fat check." He picked up the gun. "You aren't on our level. You don't go around here drinking away your guilt or go unloading a whole mag into someone's chest just 'cause you felt a little more pissed off that day, so you know what Wease and I are gonna do 'bout that? We're gonna be selfish sons of bitches when we drag you down with us—just enough to keep you alive." The gun was back in Peter's hand and this time, he didn't refuse. "Because if you died—"

"It'd be on your conscience?" Peter guessed, a bitter taste at the back of his tongue when he remembered the way Tony Stark looked at him like he was nothing more than the spider that bit him.

Wade cocked his head. "What? No, it'd fucking suck because as much as I love putting bullets into slimy bastards, the last thing I need is to go to another friend's funeral."

Peter looked down at the gun, at black grips and a silver body. There were scratches on the barrel and a Hello Kitty sticker near the trigger, and his fingers around it tightened when the weight on his shoulders grew heavier.

Just last year he was fourteen year old Puny Penis Parker with crooked glasses and suffered from the pitying looks from those who knew he couldn't remember his parents. Last year, he was scrawny and clumsy and had an inhaler on his nightstand just in case the asthma he hadn't had since he was seven decided to come crawling back.

Last year, he had Ben's blood on his hands.

Today he was fifteen, enhanced, half-alien, and an assistant at a mercenary dispatch center.

"You can't save everyone," Wade told him. Peter raised his head again. "And there's gonna be more than enough times when no one's gonna be around to save you but yourself."

T e n t o n c o n c r e t e.

"... Yeah." Peter sighed and gathered everything up in his arms. "Yeah. Thank you for all of this. Really." He shuffled his feet. "Um, how much do I owe you for all of...?"

"Zilch."

"Aw man, come on, not this again."

"I don't know what to tell you, Wubbzy, but you won't spend a single cent in my presence until you're legally allowed to vote." Wade climbed over the bar and helped himself to some of the fancy gin hidden all the way in the back row of bottles. "Fuck, where the hell are the clean glasses?!"

"Drying in the kitchen or broken in the dumpster. I'm pretty sure Mr. Weasel went to get our monthly glassware delivery. You know, from that place next to the junkyard he gets those good discounts on?" He caught the holster between his fingers when it started to slide. "Hold up, let me just put these away."

Peter hopped off his seat and hurried to the back room to put all his things in his backpack. The holster got stuffed into the biggest pocket and the dagger and sheath followed, but right when all that was left in his hands were the gun and the clip, he paused.

There were a lot of stories about kids with guns. Some of the ones younger than him find them in their parents' unlocked safes and some of the ones his age and older bring them to school in the morning and force a lockdown by lunch. But some stories aren't all bad, like the ones where kids aim in supervised ranges or go on family hunting trips in the forest.

He hadn't heard any stories about kids with guns around mercenaries, though, and knew it was bad to hope for at least one so he would know what to do.

"But I'm here," he whispered to himself. "And if I don't want to be in front of a gun, I have to learn how to be behind it."

Peter loaded the clip into his pistol, flipped on the safety, and tucked it into the holster before securing it on the inner waistband on the side of his pants.

"I'm sorry, Ben. But this is one of my responsibilities now."

He tugged his shirt over the gun and let his flannel curtain over it, loose enough so it didn't look bulky, and headed back out.

"Did you fi—Wade, stop drinking the grenadine!"

::

Loki stood outside an apartment door in a three-piece maroon suit and a black shirt buttoned up all the way to the base of her neck. Simple gold circles shone on her earlobes and her dark hair pulled back in a neat, simple bun without a single strand out of place. Her heels were sensible, stiletto, black, and she gripped the bottle of wine in her hands as she drew in another deep breath in the handful of minutes she'd been standing there.

It wasn't too late in the evening and Peter had gone in early to work to 'hang out,' as he tended to do on nights he didn't go out as Spider-Man. Weasel lived above the establishment, she recalled being told, and Wade was an urchin that plagued the bar whenever he wasn't on assignment. She was going to see her son next on what he called New Year's Eve where he would be working at what would be dubbed a "full house," so she told him she would be there as a patron perhaps around eleven.

He also mentioned that May would be off on New Year's Day and that he wished he could spend it with both of them, leading Loki to her current predicament.

She knocked.

A few beats passed, and the door opened.

"Yes...?"

May Parker's hands shot up to her mouth in surprise, glasses on the bridge of her nose and brown hair slightly frizzy as it pooled over her shoulder. The sleeves of her baggy gray sweater slipped down to her elbows.

"Lora?" she questioned, hushed and hesitant.

"Hello, May." Loki offered a small, sad smile. "My apologies for arriving unannounced, but I had no other means of contact and believed that I owe you this overdue visit. I rather hope this is not a bad time?"

May floundered for a moment and stared like the woman in the doorway was a ghost, but eventually shuffled to the side and pulled the door open wider. "No, not at all! Please, come in! It's... It's—It's just..."

Loki stepped into the apartment, instantly engulfed by the homey atmosphere that warmed her from the outdoor chill. The walls of the living room were pale yellow with a mismatch of neutral couches and chairs to decorate the space. It was quaint and comfortable, nothing like the horrid amalgamation that was Wade's bulletproof apartment. Her own residence on the other side of Queens could be considered a dark one with black painted walls and deep brown leather seating, and everything from the pillars to the throne in the Royal Palace of Valaskjalf was cold and mighty and suffocating. But here?

She cast another cursory glance around the apartment. Here was filled with softness and love, a better place to have been raised than the palace, perhaps.

"Shall I set this here?" she asks, gesturing to an empty counter space in the kitchen with the bottle. May, both hyper-focused and far-away in her gaze, blinked before she hurried to close the front door and followed.

"Oh, yes, that's fine, let me just—" She mindlessly opened up one of the top cabinets and pulled out a pair of wine glasses, one with the white block print of you're doing a grape job! and the other with wine not? in cursive. "Wine. Yeah, I can do wine," she mumbled to herself before she turned back around, armed with cheesy glassware.

And Jesus, Lora was just as scary as she remembered. She wasn't in all black which helps a bit, but she was still tall and clean-cut and all sharp edges even when she smiled politely as she uncorked the bottle and poured before they migrated to the couch. Lora sat on one of the cushions with this unparalleled elegance as she crossed one leg over the other, and May felt sort of small in her leggings and mismatched fuzzy socks.

"How have you been?" Loki questioned, and May jolted like she never considered a conversation. "Are you still a nurse? With an obstetrics specialty, if I recall."

May blinked. That was... actually really nice of her to remember? To be fair, she never got to know Lora personally, especially since she'd never even known her last name, and any time she'd gone to visit Peter when his mother was still around, her focus had always been on him, his well-being, his happiness. On the off occasion, though, she'd been kinder towards Richard. Almost warm.

"Still in that department twenty years and counting. The job gets tough sometimes, but I love it," May nodded. "What about you? Have you been back in New York long?"

"Only since November, and have been situating myself since then." Loki frowned, her nails painted as dark as the wine in her glass. "I must extend my condolences to you. For Richard, Mary, Ben. Should I have known, I would have made attempts to make myself less absent." Watching the myriad of emotions that must have been flooding the other woman's face, she clarified. "Peter informed me."

May took a very long draw of her drink. "So I'm guessing the box you left him had some form of contact information, right?"

"Of a sort," Loki allowed. "I would not have been able to respond as promptly had he decided to meet me before. I had still been entangled in numerous affairs, you see." Her fingers clasped around the stem of her glass. "I know it does not excuse my actions."

"And it doesn't. It really doesn't, it—" May breathed in deep through her nose. "Lora, you've been gone for fourteen years. All that time you never checked in or called or anything!" No news, no number, no word. Just a box with a note she found with Richard's things after the crash. "I know you gave Peter the choice whether or not he wanted to see you, and I waited until he was old enough to make such a big decision on his own, but at the very least you could've asked him."

"It was never my intention to burden you with—"

"He's not a burden."

"A wrong turn of phrase," Loki amended as she held up one of her hands in a peaceful gesture. "I simply meant that I could have never expected the responsibility of child-rearing would fall to you and Ben. Though for what it is worth," some of her cold expression thawed, "he is a wonderful boy. I imagine you're proud."

"Of course I'm proud." Loki was pleased to see her conviction was genuine. "I love him, and I know he'll be doing amazing things." Not that he hadn't already done some pretty amazing things, like getting Honor Roll every single year he'd been in school, and being Spider-Man. "But why now? I know you said you had, um, affairs to take care of and it looked like you were in some trouble back then, but..."

While Peter was open and bared his heart on his sleeve so boldly it almost threatened the point to naivety, Mary was wary. She was older, suspicious, with every right of a parent who raised a child neither her's nor her own blood. But Loki knew she needed to do what she did best with almost-truths and not-quite-lies of a tale spun to appease, and who better to convince the unknowing than herself? Lora Olstad was Loren Fjeld who were both still Loki Friggason, and building their pasts was nothing if she skimmed close to what she'd seen on her previous jaunts to Midgard.

"I come from old money," Loki started, and May straightened slightly with piqued interest. "There are unbending rules to follow, a wealth of practices in my studies, and principles I was meant to set the model for. My brother was favored for his strength and leadership, and I instead took after our mother; book works, language, strategy. Court, if you will." She tilted her hand to swirl her wine. "But even with such differences, the man who dares call himself my Father promised us both the highest honor: his place. His throne." Never mine. Always for Thor. "We were molded to the image of Kings and Queens."

And May was back to being intimidated. A background like that explained a lot of it—all the gold jewelry, the tailored suits, the prim and poise. With Lora came power and with that sort of power, old money might as well be the shiniest kind.

"So when you disappeared..."

"It was once more due to suspicion. The time I spent with Peter was time I spent away from home, and the longer I spent away from home, the more my lack of presence was noted. The time I left him in Richard and Mary's care were the times I could not risk absconding from the company of family." Green eyes shadowed. Odin's punishments were never known to be kind. "It was nearing the end of Peter's first year that I could no longer come to New York due to such scrutiny, so I did what I believed to be best." She huffed quietly. "I gave him up."

May absolutely cursed her goddamn sympathy. "And now?" she asked. "Are you out of it?"

"I suppose. They do think me dead, after all," Loki hummed and took a sip of her wine. May let that settle nicely in her brain before she muttered a small oh and drinking about half of her own glass. "Yet again I must repeat, though there was nothing I could do to distance myself from my home to care for Peter, it is no excuse. To him or to you." She exhaled. "Fourteen years is a long time. I'm sorry."

And May didn't know if she could forgive Lora because she didn't know which part of it all she was supposed to forgive.

She might not have ever thought she'd take in Peter all those years ago, but she wouldn't trade him for anyone else in the world. Kids weren't something she or Ben really thought about as much as they adored their nephew when they visited or how many countless mothers and babies she'd seen at her job. But Peter was... Peter was easy. He'd only ever been prone to babble or bouts of clumsiness, stuck his nose in comic books and children's encyclopedias and old radios he was allowed to take apart, and came with all the challenges raising kids came with, but she loved him so much—she couldn't imagine what life would've been like if Ben hadn't gotten that call from CPS on just another typical morning at the Parker residence.

"You don't need to apologize to me, just Peter. He's still... I'm always going to look at him like he's my own." When the admission didn't seem to make the other woman upset, she pushed on. "But he's the one who chose to reach out to you."

"He was."

"Then it's all up to him if he wants you in his life or not, but I know how he is." She smiled and looked down at her drink. "He wasn't mad about any of it, huh? He was just happy enough to get to know you now."

Loki thought about her son's big brown eyes and thousand starshine smile. Peter knew not about Odin aside from the possible threat of death against himself, but he knew about the attack and the Chitauri and still chose to reach out and forgive.

Her boy... Over a thousand years alive, yet she hasn't an inkling of what she was going to do.

"And I have been content enough at being graced with another chance."

"He's got such a big heart," May sighed. "And that's what scares me sometimes."

Because when something finally came along to break that big heart of his, it was going to devastate him. He was too young to remember Richard and Mary, but when Ben... but with what happened with Bed he'd seen with his own two eyes, and when she ran to the hospital because she'd been asked to identify her husband's body, he'd been sitting in the waiting room with dried blood on his jeans and his eyes red and puffy from the tears that wouldn't stop streaming down his face.

"I cannot fathom the thing that will bring him down, but I assure you that I will do whatever necessary to protect him from it." Seidr flowed through her veins with a wave of her fingers, too far deep past her skin for May to see. "I will not disappear again. Should I ever, know they would have needed to beat me bloody and shackle me defiant for me to have gone."

Loki smiled a beautiful smile. May returned it shakily, but true.

Lora was... a lot. Always had been in the past and looked like she will be from here on out, but she cared so much about Peter, so all personality quirks aside, this was something May could deal with.

Except, she didn't want this to be something she just "dealt" with. Peter's mom was back and she was here to stay, and they're going to see each other a lot more often from now on. And, well, Lora wasn't all bad.

Couldn't be all bad, if she came back.

So May made her decision and opened her heart like she did all those years ago when she took the hand of a confused, sniffling little boy.

"I'll keep that in mind." May shifted on the couch to make herself more comfortable. "So, Lora, we didn't get to know each other that well back when Peter was a baby. What else have you been up to?"

And Loki, minutely surprised that she wasn't going to get graciously kicked out after saying everything that needed to be said, held out her glass when May offered the bottle to refill it as those sharp edges of hers started to soften up.

The clock struck ten at night.

While Peter was at a bar weaving through the room and laughing at an argument sprung up at the table with the wobbly chair legs, Loki sat on a well-worn couch as she made her first human friend on Earth.