It was five o'clock on a chilly winter afternoon, three hours before Sister Margaret's opened, when Peter planted his hands on the table and asked,

"Okay, so hypothetically, if you found out your dead mom wasn't really your mom and your actual mom is out there but no one's seen her in like fourteen years, but you have the chance to meet her would you take it? Hypothetically."

Beer dribbled from Wade's unmasked lips and back into the pint and Weasel took one long look at him before raising his hands over his head and walking over to the other side of the empty bar.

"Aren't you a little young to be having a family crisis that could potentially alter your development into a healthy, functioning adult?"

"Uh." Peter sipped at the Arnold Palmer drink that started to pop up in the mini-fridge in the 'break room', which was nothing more than a desktop set-up, a broken coffee machine, and a couch that looked like it was bought off a retirement home. "Yes?"

"Fuck. Alright, let Mama Wade impart his unbiased nuggets of wisdom—"

Weasel groaned from his spot tweezing bullets out of one of the pool tables. "Your last nugget of 'wisdom' was explaining how burritos were just squishy tacos—"

"You walked away from this conversation, you keep your nose out of my asshole!" Wade shouted. He flashed a grin back at Peter, the scarred skin on the exposed half of his face stretching in a way that looked like it hurt. "Okay, picture it. Sicily, 1922."

"These goddamn Golden Girls references in my goddamn bar—"

"BEA ARTHUR IS A GEM AND ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE HAS AN AGENDA. As I was saying, this is what you do, right?"

"Hypothetically," Peter reminded him.

"Yeah. Sure. Hypothetically. Drink your drink, Super-Boy. Hydration is important." Wade clapped his gloved hands together. "So you tell your actual mom to meet you at a cafe that serves cheesecake and crepes. The cheesecakes are a must, but the crepes? Croissants are a good substitute, but if you can't find any, store bought is fine. Then you talk about your feelings and once you tell her she wasn't there on your sweet sixteenth, she'll be burdened with the knowledge she missed such a milestone in your young, young life that she'll feel so bad that she'll go on a whole monologue on why she left, if she's staying, and fill you with empty promises." He looked at Peter's hands. "Why aren't you writing any of this down? Do you need a pen?"

Peter popped a nacho chip in his mouth from the plate they shared. He's not as good of a cook as Granny, but dang did this fake cheese taste like heaven. "I think I can remember the important parts, but can we swap the sweet sixteenth out for something else? Like, I don't know, my first day of school?"

"Not as big of an impact. Why? Was your sixteenth birthday a tragedy? Did you end up at the hospital? Oh! Oh! Oh! You drank until you blacked out and somehow ended up on the roof of your ex's house in nothing but a gatorade yellow speedo and ended up cuddling the keg stand you stole from that bastard Gavin?!"

"No, it's just—I won't have my sixteenth birthday until August."

And the beer kinda... waterfalled out of Wade's mouth. Again. All over the table and his pants, and Peter dragged the nachos to safety because he worked really hard on those and he wasn't going to waste it by making it into mouth beer nacho soup.

"You hired—" The pint slammed down so hard a spider crack shot up to the lip of the glass and Wade reached for the gun at his waist mid-lunge at Weasel— "A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD TO WORK AT SISTER FUCKING MARGARET'S?!"

He took two gaping strides at the man crouched behind a pool table when Peter jumped on his back and tackled him onto the grimy floor.

"Wait, d-don't kill Mr. Weasel!"

"I'm gonna kill him so fucking hard!"

Peter hooked his arm around Wade's neck to keep him pinned face down on the unpolished wood, but a gloved hand snapped around the scrunch of his hood and tossed him to the side as the latter jumped back onto his feet. Undeterred, the teen aimed the web shooters at each of Wade's hands and pulled to jerk him back onto the floor.

Or, that would have been the plan had he remembered Wade was still Deadpool, and Deadpool was also enhanced.

Wade wrenched his arms forward and Peter sputtered as he surged towards the back of that brown leather jacket. The pinprick that jolts up his spine to fizzle at the base of his head was the only warning he had to duck the elbow aimed for his forehead and used the limb as leverage to flip and kick the side of his head with the soles of his sneakers.

The man stumbled into a cluster of chairs and once Peter landed, six different apologies were already garbled in his mouth.

"Oh my god Wade I'm so so so sorry I just reacted holy cannoli are you okay—WHOA!"

A blur of dark and red turned into a flurry of precise kicks and swift punches, all of which Peter dodged with twists and jumps and ducks and when he tried to look through the blank white eyes of the Deadpool mask, he saw nothing. Wade caught his foot with the aim of slamming him against one of the tables but Peter, with every intent not to get another deduction for damages from his paycheck, webbed the ceiling, flung himself up, and used Wade's added weight on his leg to swing it up and down as hard as he could, loosening the grip and sending the body crashing onto the floor.

The wood floor shattered around him.

"I'm sorry, Wade! I'm sorry, Mr. Weasel!" Peter cried. He flipped back down and braced himself in a fighting stance as Wade grunted and picked himself back up. Weasel peeked up from the end of the pool table Peter landed on, glasses askew.

Wade didn't attack again. Instead, he hummed and tilted his head as he took in the scene of a teenager standing on a table and was inexplicably reminded of instances where tiny dogs stood on tall counter-tops.

"Stagger your feet when you're ready to fight. None of that wide-apart in a line bullshit unless you wanna get pushed over and your lunch money taken," he said. His mask eyes grew comically wide. "Oh. My. Gee. You're young enough to have your head dunked in a toilet. Do you have a bully that takes your lunch money?!"

Peter threw his hands up. "What the frick?! You can't just attack me then act like it didn't happen!"

"I'm not acting like it didn't happen. You were there, Weasel was being a bitch, I got thrown into the ceiling." He sighed fondly. "I remember it like it was yesterday." He pointed at Peter's feet. "Stagger."

"I—"

"STAGGER."

"OKAY."

It continued in this vein until Converse footprints were all over the green of the pool table, but Peter's legs were staggered with his left leading, both feet were angled slightly to the side, knees were slightly bent. And once he was all shuffled about to Wade's satisfaction, the man went back to his beer.

"And that is how you should align your bottom half when in a fight. Keep yourself moving and never stand flat-footed unless you wanna trip over yourself or give the other guy a chance to stuff his knife in your tummy." He munched on a chip. "Actually, you know what? Fork over your phone."

"Wh—You tried to punch me! Like ten times!" Peter exclaimed. He jumped off the table, "uh, Mr. Weasel I'll clean that up I swear. And I'll fix your door, double swear," and stomped back over to his stool. "What the heck, man? I thought we were cool!"

"We are! We're taco buddies!"

"Then why'd you try to kill me for trying to stop you from killing Mr. Weasel?!"

"Okay, one, I would've never actually hit you. Give me some credit. Two, Wease was supposed to have the job listing under some code mumbo-wumbo where fifteen year olds can't find it even on the far reaches of the second Google search page."

"What kind of dumbass do you think I am?" Weasel scoffed as he walked back behind the bar, dutifully staying just out of Wade's reach. "Of course I coded the job. It's only supposed to pop up for assholes like us." He pointed accusingly right between Peter's eyes. "He's who you should be yelling at. I don't know what the fuck he did but he was the first one to answer the listing and managed to find the damn door only knowing what street we're on."

Two heads swiveled towards the teen and he shrunk slightly at the scrutiny. "I-I really needed a job, so I made a program that gave me daily updates on employers who had as little requirements as possible. Where else could I find a job that paid this good for a high schooler?"

"A program you made on your own?" Weasel prodded. Peter managed one nod before his boss was leaning over the table, eyes wide behind their frames. "Ferret, are you a baby genius? What code did you use? How did you set it up? How did you make it so you could bypass my security—"

Wade pushed his face away. "Save that nerd shit for later, Spock. What I wanna know is how you got in here and how the lurkers out front even let you in."

"When I was out in the suit I heard someone complain about the Hellhouse having 'stupid f-ing graffiti' on the door. The next day, I just walked around looking for graffitied doors," he answered. Weasel dropped his head. "Then I found one with some shady people hanging around—Brielle and Camden, by the way, the ones who eat the bones in their wings—and I didn't want any trouble, so I broke into your back door and made it look like I came through the front."

"You broke my back door?!"

"I fixed it before I left!" Peter defended. "You only had a few dead bolts and I can lift, like, at least ten tons so it wasn't hard to break. Plus, Granny Sal showed me where the tool box was!"

"You can lift ten tons?!"

"Are we just gonna ignore the fact that Brielle and Camden eat the bones in their chicken wings?" Wade questioned. "Because while I'm thoroughly disturbed, I'm now thoroughly intrigued and feel the need to inform you I'm only censoring myself because we're in the presence of my taco buddy." He threw his head back and downed the rest of his beer before making grabby hands in Peter's direction. "Hey. Phone. Phone. Phone. Phone. Ph—"

An old android smacked into his palm already unlocked. Wade only cooed at the background picture of Spider-Man posing for a selfie before he typed away to the sound of Peter trying to explain his apparently many transgressions to a Weasel that grew more incredulous by the second.

"—changed your keypad to tase anyone that gets it wrong more than three times."

"Is that why I found Kaia passed out in the alleyway when I took out the trash last week? Goddammit. I thought his liver finally threw in the chips. Turns out it was the dish boy all along."

"Aaaaaaaaand done," Wade chirped. He tossed back the phone that Peter caught without even looking. "Now your contacts have been updated to the highest quality and includes names that are one hundred percent not incriminating!"

Peter looked down at his screen.

New Contact: trunk body

New Contact: Not A Superpower

New Contact: PoolDead

Wade leaned in and whispered. "That last contact's me." He stuffed a handful of now-cold nachos into his mouth. "Text me what days you're not saving the world or studying for a test so we can figure out how to make your form not trash."

"W-What do you mean?"

The red mask couldn't hide the raised eyebrow he knows the mercenary was giving him. "Ferret, lemme be real for a sec. Your fighting stance was ass, your defensive is like swiss cheese, your offensive doesn't even exist, that stagger thing is still giving me a headache—"

"Okay, I got it. I don't know how to fight, brag about it," Peter snapped, cheeks red in embarrassment. "Are you going to keep making fun of me or can I start to clean up all this mess?"

"Yeah, you don't know how to fight for shit," Wade said, and that burn of shame sunk deeper and clung. "That's why I'm gonna teach you."

Peter paused.

A year ago Tony Stark came to his apartment, lied to his Aunt, and brought him to Germany all within the span of three days to fight a group of superheroes that severely outclassed him. He'd been explained to, briefly, vaguely, about the Accords that blew up on his twitter feed that bore hashtags like #TeamCap and #TeamIronMan. He fought for Tony Stark because Tony Stark was his hero that could do no wrong, that he could trust because he could always count on him to make the right call after sending that nuke into space after the Chitauri Invasion, who only had the best intentions with Ultron, who tried to fight for what he thought was right.

Tony Stark saw him on YouTube, pulled his identity out of thin air, and brought a fourteen year old him into a fight that sent him back to New York knowing maybe less than what he went in with. He never got a real explanation.

He knew that if it wasn't for that spider bite or those webs, he could've been ended by The Winter Soldier or The Falcon or Captain America. Without his enhancements, he had no other skills to defend himself.

Mr. Stark would have known that too. Maybe he thought a multi-million dollar suit could make up for that.

Then the radio silence. Then the Vulture. Then getting the suit taken away. Then the building. Then Coney Island. Then getting the suit back. Then the radio silence.

"You... want to teach me?"

Peter tried not to sound too hopeful. Not when he realized his heroes didn't have time for the little guy.

"You're my taco buddy," Wade said like it answered the question. In some odd way... it might've. "I don't care if you're fifteen or Spider-Man, no buddy of mine is gonna get his ass kicked that easy!"

Peter doesn't know why he felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but he covered it with a laugh and reached for the rest of his drink. "Didn't I beat you, though?"

"Irrelevant." Wade waved his empty pint at Weasel. "Heard that? Ferret's under my metaphorical pigeon wing now. A Florida pigeon wing. A crusty Florida pigeon wing."

Nobody had helped him since he became Spider-Man. May would always be a pillar of support and Ned would always be his Guy in the Chair, but they didn't get what it meant to be thrown into the Hudson or to fall out of a burning plane or having a building collapse on them with no—

"Peter," he announced before his throat had the chance to clog up. The adults slowly turned to him, Weasel in horror and Wade in ever-growing anticipation. "My name's Peter. Peter Parker."

His boss' knees almost gave out. "You did not just tell me your real name. Please for the love of God tell me you did not."

But Wade flashed the widest grin and stuck his hand out, knocking aside the nachos. "Wade Winston Wilson, at your service!" he beamed. "Nice to meet you, Peter Parker!"

"Don't fucking repeat it! God, fucking—Pete—Ferret! Ferret, goddammit! The pool table isn't gonna clean itself and at least put a damn board over the hole in the floor—"

::

Me: i'm sorry to bother u but my friend put ur # in my phone [6:01pm]

Me: do you kno Wade? [6:01pm]

trunk body: Mr. Pool! Yes, I am a taxi driver that drives Mr. Pool anywhere in New York should he need a ride. You name it, I can take you there! Any friend of Mr. Pool is a friend of mine! Your friend, Dopinder. [6:09pm]

Me: oh cool! [6:10pm]

Contact Name Change: trunk body to taxi guy

Me: they call me Ferret where i work [6:11pm]

taxi guy: A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr./Ms. Ferret! Your friend, Dopinder. [6:15pm]

Me: Mr. Ferret's fine??? i guess??? but u can just call me Ferret [6:17pm]

Me: weird question but why did Wade name u "trunk body" [6:19pm]

taxi guy: That was because he heard my cousin Bandhu yelling when I had tied him up and locked him in the trunk of my taxi. It had surprised Mr. Pool, but he said he was proud of my choice of direction! Your friend, Dopinder. [6:20pm]

Me: congrats? [6:24pm]

taxi guy: Thank you very much, Mr. Ferret! Please feel free to contact me whenever you need a ride! :) Your friend, Dopinder. [6:29pm]

Contact Name Change: taxi guy to trunk body

::

Me: i'm so sorry if i'm bothering u but Wade put ur # in my phone? [6:45pm]

Not A Superpower: Im not a prostitute, Im not looking for a hook up, Im not interested [7:00pm]

Not A Superpower: tell wade hes a dick and if you dont block my number right now I will personally come find you and slit your throat and leave your body in the gutters and Im not responsible to who gets to have their fun with your corpse [7:01pm]

Me: um [7:03pm]

Me: my name is Ferret? [7:03pm]

Me: i'll delete ur # if u want me to i swear [7:03pm]

Me: pls don't kill me [7:03pm]

Not A Superpower: wait from weasels bar? [7:06pm]

Me: yea! [7:06pm]

Not A Superpower: no youre fine. shouldve started with your name [7:07pm]

Not A Superpower: its domino [7:07pm]

Contact Name Change: Not A Superpower to Ms. Domino

Me: hi Ms. Domino! [7:09pm]

Ms. Domino: hi ferret [7:13pm]

Ms. Domino: what did that chode put as my name [7:13pm]

Me: Not A Superpower [7:14pm]

Ms. Domino: tell him ill admit its not a superpower the day I dont get a 21 in blackjack [7:16pm]

Me: sure! [7:17pm]

Me: u get that lucky? [7:17pm]

Ms. Domino: its a superpower [7:18pm]

Ms. Domino: seriously though if he gave you my number not as a joke then its probably just as an emergency contact. if you dont make friends at the hellhouse you dont get too far in the job. youre a good kid ferret. hit me up if youre in any trouble [7:21pm]

Me: thank u so much Ms. Domino!!!!!!!!!!!! [7:22pm]

Ms. Domino: see you at the bar later [7:25pm]

Me: i'll make sure ur wings come out xtra charred!!! [7:26pm]

Ms. Domino: :') [7:31pm]

::

"Your boss found out that you're Spider-Man?!" Ned whisper yelled. Peter's eyes don't stray from the TV as his fingers flew over his best friend's Switch joycons with every intent to finally beat that Super Mario Maker course they'd been stuck on for two hours. At least it was Saturday and they had all day to do it. "That's insane! What did he do? Was he mad? Was he surprised? Ohmigod he didn't fire you, did he?!"

"That was the first thing I asked and he said I was fine as long as I didn't scare him next time." Mario got decked in the face with a green shell and he flopped back against the couch to hand over the controllers. "I think he's okay with it? Once he put all the heaviest things he could find at the bar and told me to carry it and I did."

"And then?"

"And then he made me a quesadilla and called me mini-Hulk for the rest of the night."

"Dude," Ned gaped. "Your boss is awesome."

"I think he's really cool," Peter grinned. Weasel nearly had an aneurysm the other night after learning his real name, but he still didn't treat him any differently. Weasel was Weasel, same lame jokes and nicknames and being his boss. "I guess he's also really good with tech and grilled me on how I found the job."

"Right, at the House." Ned's excitement faltered. He turned, a soft frown on his face. "Hey, are you sure it's okay for you to be working there? I know your boss could be pretty nice and all, but... it's still the House. The place you won't even tell me the real name of 'cause you're scared I'll get stabbed or something."

"I-I'm not scared you'll get stabbed!"

"Come on, dude, you know what I mean. I'm just worried. You already have a lot on your plate with school, with Spider-Man, with your mom... If this place really isn't good for you..."

"It's fine, I promise," Peter insisted. He nudged Ned in the side when that didn't get a smile out of him. "If anything happens you'll be one of the first ones to know."

He held out his hand. After a beat, Ned took it and they did their handshake.

"Fine," he sighed. He looked back at the TV. "But keep me updated, okay?"

"Yeah, man. Don't worry."

Ned eyed him one last time before he restarted the level and Peter pulled out his phone.

Me: it's peter [5:04pm]

Me: i can meet up tomorrow if that's cool [5:04pm]

PoolDead: yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasaaaaaah [5:11pm]

PoolDead: TACO BUDDIES 4 LYFE!!!!! [5:12pm]

Contact Name Change: PoolDead to taco buddy