The Changes from Before

Peter found the bar.

And it looked just as shitty as it did during the day.

Except now there were bundles of dangerous-looking people pouring in and out of the doors for a smoke break, the guns on their waists, ankles and in their grip, not at all even attempted at being concealed. 

Warning sign number 1.

Peter is still standing on the curb at the corner of the bar, looking at the guy next to him who had just gotten thrown through a slab of cardboard, a poor understudy for what should've been a window. A new addition to Sister Margaret's that he hadn't noticed before. From the strips of board flying in the wind, he could spot remnants of window pane that had been bore down and stripped of anything that could put them to actual use. Peter sighed, the poor sucker next to him groaned and then puked a little bit. 

Warning sign number 2.

By rule of "third times the charm", he was good to go. It didn't make sense with that saying but hey, when did the things Peter did on 2 hours of sleep and a week's worth of fretting ever make sense?

It took long enough to find the place, working his way through the maze that was the streets at this time of night. Spiderman was one thing, but Peter wasn't usually hitting up the town on the evenings he had off (and jeez did the city look different at sub-swinging level). So between that and the threatening looks he got that caused him to pick up the pace more than a few times, he'd taken one too many wrong turns. So here he finally was. An hour and a half later.

Only 9:30 and if the drunk guy on the pavement next to him was anything to go by, things at the bar were already in full swing. 

So much for a peaceful school night.

Peter's plainly been warned not to be caught dead in the presence of Weasel's patrons (at risk of grounding for till college), but desperate times call for desperate measures and Peter just wants to go to bed. And that's the way the events to come were going to go if he had anything to do with it. Phone. Home. Bed. In that order only.

With his head held not nearly as high as he would have liked it to be, Peter rushed by the people outside the door refusing to look at them. He could feel gazes fall on him, but no one stopped him. Either too drunk or uncaring about who Peter was and whether he was as young as most people said he looked. Peter guessed with the average clientele for the other "business" Weasel ran, no one found it strange for different variations of the average Joe travelling through. 

...If he thought things had looked like a crime scene before, it was like he had walked in on an active one the second he was through the door. Weapons tossed haphazardly on tables close to hands gripping their drinks, a darts game getting more aggressive by the second and people playing snooker smoking something that was definitely not tobacco. The lack of cops in the area had seemed like a weird coincidence as Peter walked but looking around he got the feeling the NYPD were just practicing basic survival skills.

Chumps. Too bad he's never had those.

Time seemed to stop slightly as Peter walked further through the dim entryway and into the barely brighter light of the bar. People started to turn their heads, chatter and arguments slowed down. It took roughly 30 seconds for several pairs of eyes in New York's most dangerous dive to be staring at him.

Peter scanned the room and found no Weasel or Wade tonight, which was relatively bad practice as one of them owned the bar. A couple of people staring at him ended up making eye contact with him as if waiting for him to do something. He could guess the desired reaction would be for him to run out and never look back, but not today. Today, Peter was a man on a mission. A man with no phone. And by god, was he going to commit.

Peter stood in between the bar and the door feeling like the prettiest girl in the death pit.

Thankfully, a commotion on the other side of the room sent the looks flying and the silence that filled the area around Peter was filled with a cheer as a man got flipped onto the pool table in a style that looked all too trained. If that's how they treated their regulars, he didn't want to stay here long enough to find out their policy on newcomers.

"Kid?" Peter doesn't think he's ever been happier to see such confused anger directed at him. With a hasty sigh of relief, Peter bulldozed his way past the drunks to his spot at the bar where Weasel was half-waiting-half-guffawing at the notion of Peter being here. The usual stain-coloured rag in his grip dripped as his hand flexed with barely contained agitation.  

"What the fuck are you doing here, kid."

"I lost my phone." The words were short and curt as he jumped onto his usual stool, one of the blessed few that looked like it wouldn't topple under a flick, leaning forward so Weasel could hear him over the laughter and clanging behind them.

"Okay... I'm like a lobster out of a rich dude's tank here. That's not a valid reason for me or any other sane person to accept, do you hear me?." Peter knew that even without his enhanced hearing, the man was on the verge of yelling and starting to draw some very unwanted attention. Thankfully, he regained some composure when wandering eyes met his, hunching closer to huddle the conversation in a bit. Flashes of May with the same expression doubled over in Peter's mind for a split second as his brow drew downwards in an upset frown of its own. "You're like a 9-year-old's Go Preteen Go figurine, I have no idea what to do with you. Mainly because I distinctly remember telling you to be 5 miles out of this place whenever it's open."

Guilt started to claw into the corner of Peter's mind. He had technically gone out against their advice, and his sleep-deprived brain had come to the conclusion that the excuse he had was good enough. Going over it now, Peter started to become more unsure. "...But I lost my phone."

The dumbfounded expression smothered Weasel's face. "Without swearing I have no reasonable response-" The sentence, which would have most definitely ended in Peter getting chewed out, halted to a stop with a cooing voice from Peter's side.

"Every single one of my toes on my left foot is shaped as a slightly shorter than average pinky finger."

"Hi Wade."

Classic Wade.

"That's nowhere close to what we were talking about." It's amazing how the corner of his lips seemed to fall impossibly lower.

"Gotta make an entrance to every new convo. As the greats often say, go big or go home." He said as he slid into the open spot next to Peter; literally sliding. The man was suspiciously greasy with clumps of something to be seen in the crevices of his suit.

"Please go home. Both of you." The rag in his grip was discarded on the still-dirty counter top in favour of an accusatory finger being pointed in their joint direction.

Peter interjected before the conversation could go back to Weasel's scolding, hoping his mercenary pal in teaching was nowhere near as angry as the bar owner. "Where did you come from? I didn't hear you coming."

"Of course, you didn't snookums, I tend to glide more as a concept than a person. And Wease's boudoir, the wind was drying me out so I lotioned up."

"I don't own lotion."

"I know that now, you filthy boy. I improvised. Also, you're out of Vaseline.

"I- I don't even care anymore. Just get the kid out of my bar before I burst a vein."

"Woah woah woah there hubby. Isn't it about time he found out about the family business? And it's obvious why he's here! He accepts!"

30 seconds in and he's ready to sleep for a lifetime. The comment made Peter's face fall "What? No! No, I said I'd think about it! And I'm not going to make a choice like that in one night. That's crazy."

"I make most of my choices in one night."

"More like t-minus 4 seconds." Weasel spurred on.

"Sometimes I don't even have to think. My body just starts moving and the old noggin catches up a few business days later."

"Ok. That's enough of that." Turning back to Peter, he shifted his arms so they were gripping the tabletop beneath him in a discontent huff. "Seriously what the hell do you want? Your numero uno goal right now should be to leave immediately. I can't focus on doing what I need to if you are drawing attention from the- whatever you would call this sorry lot."

"Patrons?" Peter tried to amicably offer.

"Menaces and Criminals." Weasel realigned himself so he could shout the words over Peter and into the crowd. Whatever effect it would have conventionally had worked in reverse as another cheer broke out from the nearest booth. "No, but seriously kid, it's best to leave. You don't want to associate with these people."

"Our people, Wease. Be one with the crowd. But he's right, we're factually trash."

Weasel didn't give Wade a second before continuing, his brow getting more furrowed and his voice getting louder no longer caring if the conversation was heard under the assumption it would soon be over. "Look, kid. Grab what you want and go, I need to check something in the back for someone but I'll be back in five. If you're not gone by then I'm letting Deadpool take you home, and trust me, no one wants to deal with that can of worms."

"We can braid each other's hair in the back of the taxi. See if we can find any extra strands in the seat gaps, courtesy of possible kidnapping victims." A wet, vaseliney chuckle blew from Wade's lips. "That cheeky Dopinder."

"I thought he was the taxi driver?"

"He is."

"Five. Minutes." Weasel backed away, v signing from his eyes to the two children sitting at his bar.

"Soooooo, now the old bird's gone, what you need young one? Sage Advice? Prescription drugs? I got a lot of both." Wade hastily threw the man on the stool next to Peter onto his feet, patting his shoulders and shoving a crisp bill in his collar. Any perturbation the man had was swiftly quelled when he saw the number on the bill, turning and strolling to the seat at the other end of the counter.

"I lost my phone here. I kinda need it for-" Calling Tony Stark's head of security, texting a gun for hire, chore updates from Aunt May- "important stuff."

"Oh, do you? I got my high score on Snake on my one and I'd be a wreck if I parted ways with it. Why I keep my main phone at home and my handy little burner on me the rest of the time." He pulled the two-inch electronic from seemingly nowhere only to flip it up and down in his hand before throwing it at Peter's face.

It was going slow enough that he hardly blinked as he snatched it before the phone made contact with his snout.

"Take it. I haven't used it as a job contact yet and it's already got my home number on it. I'm half sure you're buddy buddy with your family enough to punch their numbers in by heart."

"I mean yeah but are you sure? I can stick around till closing and look for my phone then if it's inconvenient now. I don't really mind."

"On a school night? Over my slightly dead body. And if it was in here, the things long gone. I hate to say it but it was about time, mini-me. That monstrosity was out of fashion about 2 centuries ago, and I'm 67% sure I saw a clip of the walls of Jericho falling on there."

"It was new when I got it. And it worked fine!" He knew he was getting pouty, but he and that phone went through a lot together. Upgrade after upgrade, he's edited that phone part by part after every drop, forced tumble in the corridor and Spidery fight. It's not like he had money for a new one anyway, he really needed it back. Especially with Happy's number on there. Call him a product of the modern age but he hadn't thought to memorise the mans number before now, and he was hesitant to ask for it this time round.

That's if Happy even noticed the lack of voicemail entries.

If he would even be upset at their absence.

"As most things are. It may have been a okay for past you, but think of you in the future! Onwards and upwards I say! Just take the burner for now, you'll see your playmates tomorrow anyways so tell them your new digits then." How nice. He thought Peter had enough friends to use plurals. "I'll buy you a new one another day."

"Really Wade, I'm fine I just need to look."

"Up-hup-hup. It's gone. It ain't gonna be here but I'll search for you if it means those darling locks hit the hay quicker. Now come on. I'll call Dopinder and drop you home so it's sweet beddy byes, hot milk and tuckins for you kiddo. When you wake up it'll be like Christmas, with an instant Wade mail express of a lovely untraceable brick phone under your pillow." Wade sprung from his seat picking Peter up by his scruff and gently placing him on the ground, already walking with his arm around his shoulders.

Peter couldn't help the grin breaking out across his face. This. This is what he needed. Mindless chatter and support, and when someone as tired as Peter is, you lean into the affection where you get it. "I think you're getting the holidays confused Wade."

"When every night ends with hot cocoa and the expectation of someone breaking in through the chimney it blends."

"Wade?" They were out of the bar now, walking down the road to the usual pickup stop in the cold.
 
"Yes, Peter?"

"Thank you." He enjoyed the warmth as he leaned a little further into Wade's armpit. His touch-deprived mind supplied the word 'hug' but even Peter knew it was a poor excuse of one. Wade seemed to freeze a bit under the foreign pressure, and the usually expressive mask fell blank. After what seemed like too long Wade silently rubbed Pete's shoulder. Not a second later a taxi swerved round the corner and pulled up in front of the two.

"Save it for when I deserve it. Now andale, andale!"

-------

"He needs a gun, Wease. Everyone a mile near this place needs one." The bar has long since been closed. At this time of night, the sun was closer to the east than it was to the west yet the world still slept. Except, of course, two slightly drunk friends in a nowhere pub.

"Then why drag him into it? I don't know how exactly you "train" him for whatever reason, but from what you asked for it makes me feel sick even thinking about what that kid goes through."

"He needs it-"

"Hey! I'm not saying he doesn't. His reasons are his own. But why did you have to get involved? I've left it since it's you Wade, but I don't have it in me to ignore it forever. I'm a piece of shit but I'm not into beating up kids."

"I know! And he's getting better every day, now if the kid would just give in for that extra oomph it'd be smooth sailing. He just hasn't realised he's too adjusted to the peddle boat lifestyle when he's an HSC Francisco."

Weasel looked away. Advice could only go so far when Wade was dedicated, whether it be self-imposed destruction or trying to fit a whole ass body into a paper shredder, he'd find his own way. "He's not you. He could walk away from it all."

"Sorry, sugar. That was the first thing I tried to break down on him. Kid's got some overpowering gusto."

The spot where the kid had been was gapingly empty. Peter seemed to fit perfectly in the disarray of a show that Weasel ran, and that's what irked him. A patch of clean in this dirty place. Weasel didn't want to see him get blemished.

"This is your territory, Wade. But don't expect me to ever do you a favour if you get him killed."

"Awww, he's weaseled into Weasel's heart." Not being able to refute, Weasel just turned away to check the till. Over the months he couldn't help but feel close to the youth. And whatever he felt, he knew Deadpool felt tenfold, the sucker. "Don't worry so much. It's because I don't want to see that kid dead that I'm putting him through his own seven circles of hell. He can handle it. I know he can." 

The lights above them flickered as the wind beat down on the already broken cardboard slab/window, spitting rain onto the floor.

"Is it bad if I say I'll deal with that tomorrow?"

"Probably for the best. Cleanest I've ever seen the floor." The usual glare was targeted towards Wade at the comment, more tired than it had been before the kid started hanging around these parts.

"Night's over. Lock up for me while you're loitering on my property." Wease stationed himself in the doorway to the back taking one last look to Wade before sighing. "Do what you think you have to. I guess I'll see the both of you soon enough." He stepped through the threshold and did a 180 as a thought caught him on the way out. "Oh, and tell the kid I'm sorry about the phone but it was his own doing. Can't trust these guys with a toothpick let alone a mobile." With that, he turned and left leaving the bar empty save for Wade.  

Silence filled the space as he threw the last of the drink he'd been nursing for the last hour back. With the bar closed he'd have to go to the nearest bodega to grab some more. Or steal some from blind Al and blame it on leprechauns again. Everyone knows you can't feel guilty if you're getting drunk.

Wade took a familiar phone out of his inner pocket and spun it between his fingers. This thing really is outdated.

It's fine. The one Wade's gonna get Peter will be world's better. More durable. High speed. Unhackable. The latter being the most important feature.

Peter was too trusting. When Wade told him he did his homework on Peter he wasn't lying. Even if he hadn't it would have been obvious. The high-tech suit, stopping sessions to check his phone, giving reports during Wade's long toilet breaks (the curse of looking good in a leather body suit). Not to mention the strange timing of a previously non-existent internship being granted to the kid in the same week he went off the grid for four days. 

And Wade means off-grid. No calls, no cameras catching him, nada. Wade didn't know the facts, but when did he ever? And a hunch like this was of Notre Dame level, no questioning needed.

He could read in between the lines.

It was a temporary measure, he could admit. But a temporary one was better than nothing and he hated the feeling of Peter being under someone's thumb.

Wade dropped the phone and with a hop and a twirl and a drop it shattered under his boot.

Like hell was he going to let someone else poach his kid.

-------

"So?"

Foggy was standing in the open doorway less than pleased at the whole predicament as he dripped from head to toe.

He swerved into the clutter where his all too smug partner was waiting for him behind the main reception desk. "Suspicious activity is done and scouted. Something's up with that kid. Congra~ts, you were right. Let's move on quickly from stalking children, please and thank you."

"Not so fast."

"Oh my gooood, what more could you want?"

"What did you see? Specifics. Please and thank you."

"Fine. It was just average teenage rebelling. He was out until late walking around. I lost him like 5 times, by the way, I hope you are grateful for your best friend's valiant efforts. Anyways, he ended up going into some bar."

"And?"

"I was in there for two seconds before I was shook down. I'm 20 bucks poorer and up way past my bedtime."

"I'll compensate. Carry on."

"Well I was only in there for a second, but he was talking to the guy at the till. Couldn't hear what they were saying over the racket but the dude seemed royally pissed that the kid was there. Seemed like he knew him, y'know."

"Mmm."

"Is that a good 'mmmm' or a bad 'mmmm'" Foggy continued to dry off his hair with a towel that had a suspicious amount of it's own fuzz.

"Just your run-of-the-mill one."

"Well go on and share then, because I for one am dying to know what you have in store for this kid. You're obviously invested enough to practically push me out the door the second I come back in after picking up our dinner."

"It can be heated up. Cold shawarma isn't the end of the world, Foggy."

"I detest and rebuke that statement." Foggy threw the towel and stomped over to the mini-fridge. After flinging open the door he seemed a little more pleased to see his delayed meal waiting for him to heat it. "Whatever this kid is doing, if he needs help, he'll reach out on his own. It might sound tough on him, but it's a tough world. And you said you met his aunt? Seems like you'll bump into him soon enough." Foggy leant down into the mini fridge they only kept on when they had the food to store in it, burrowing into the back of it for that one specific pot of Fattoush salad.

"Of course I will. He'll be coming into the office."

"Okay I thought I knew most of your freaky blind person powers, but seeing the future was not on the bingo sheet last I checked. Just let this play out Matt. You don't need to save every down-on-their-luck kid you coincidentally meet."

A lighthearted scoff was earned from Matt's spot behind the heaps of paperwork he was desperately trying to work through, the silence seeped into the atmosphere alongside Foggy's rustling. "I offered him an internship."

Snorts "Yeah, and I gave him my credit card."

"If he accepts, I plan to have him start in the coming week."

"You're not being serious are you?"

"You said it yourself, paperwork kills."

-------

"And this is the card?"

"The one and only."

It was the free period before Advanced Algebra. There were probably better places to talk about this than in the middle of the study hall, but Peter's thoughts were still whirling from the day before, and the sooner he could get someone's opinion on at least one of his problems the better. He was able to think clearer thanks to the sleep but fatigues fatigue. The card itself had been harder to find than he thought though, trying to remember where he had placed the darn thing all those weeks ago.
Although scouring through all his drawers before he had to leave for school only made him look more like his usual frazzled self. Nothing to see here. Definitely not a stress ball of a human being that's been up all night chatting to mercenaries and lawyers, existential crisising his way into internships.

Guess there could be positives to a weird as hell night.

"And... they'll only want you do... y'know."

Peter waved his hands softly in front of him, trying to urge Ned to continue. "...I know what?"

"Legal stuff."

Oh.

Guess someone told him about the decathlon incident.

Very tactful.

He felt his face grow red. "Well, it is a law firm." Peter spat out with a little more heat than he'd meant to. He was just frustrated, and he knew none of that was his best friend's fault. And with the kicked puppy look that emanated from Ned's wide eyes, he knew it doubly so. "Sorry man. I'm just- I'm guessing someone told you about yesterday."

A curt nod was met as Ned's eyes reverted to affectionate worry. If Peter was awake enough to look a second longer he'd notice the paired surprise in his slack-jawed expression. They never lost their tempers with each other.

Peter bit his lip until he could feel the cracked edges of it strain. "You know it's not true right?"

"Of course dude! We had this conversation ages ago, and I believe you! I'm still... worried other things are going on, but I wouldn't think that's happening." He rushed through the last chunk hoping not to irritate his friend more.

"I don't know why anyone would. Kids get cabs all the time if their parents can't pick 'em up. What's up with people focusing on my business." He sighed. 

"You just have more eyes on you because of Flash. And, I don't know. It seems like this has gotten to you more than usual."

Peter's eyebrows cinched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ned leveled his gaze, a blatant Are you serious? etching across his expression. "Be so real, man. No one's seen you flip like that before. The only reason why I know about it is because Michelle texted me. Let me emphasise that for you. Michelle Jones was worried. They might be cruel, but people can sense when something's up."

Peter knew he was right. The way he handled it was way less than satisfactory. He couldn't stop himself from bolting out of there after seeing their faces. They were looking at him like they were in a zoo. Peter could handle intrigue, but the pity in their eyes made him shiver and he lost it. 

He's walked away from situations before but he's never so clearly run from them. The idea of facing the team on Thursday laid a pit in his stomach that he tried to expel to the back of his mind.

One thing at a time.

One day at a time

"I guess man. Just- What do you think of the job offer?"

"I think take it. Honestly, you need it dude. The other "internship" might not give you the opportunities you need when the time comes. I'm sorry but I don't see Tony Stark writing out a reference for you, and even if he did no one would believe it. It's early but everyone here is getting something for later on." Ned twisted back to his work in front of him. A review sheet of the Algebra lesson ahead of them as a light topic

"It's not even a career I want though."

"Like I said, it's something. And I doubt photocopying and coffee runs will be as career-inducing as you think. It's just the basic stuff bro, give you a chance to take it easy. Do some normal teen stuff like the rest of us."

"Pff. I do loads of "normal" teen stuff. I can whoop your ass at Donkey Kong can't I?"

"Only on my off days."

"And I'm guessing these off days are whenever I'm at your house?"

"What can I say? I'm such a gracious host all my energy goes into it."

"Sure thing man, whatever you say."

"It is whatever I say. And now I say call that number as soon as school is out to grab up the internship before they find another high schooler for it."

"Yes sir-" The bell rang out in the study hall and people began to shuffle around, some throwing their stuff into backpacks and some saying goodbye to friends and settling in for a double free. "Ready to go?"

"Yup!"

Conversation went by easily for the two as they headed to class together for the first time that week. Stress emanated off Peter and dissipated as they drew closer to Maths room 32. It was times like this when Peter was truly grateful for Ned, even if they don't see eye to eye on how he trains, he knows his guy in the chair has his back. Be it city destroying dilemmas or playing Wii.

The rest of the day flowed by with the decision made, a weight was off Peter's chest. Sure, it was technically the least of his problems, but it was a situation solved nonetheless! A second wind took over Peter and he took on the day with new fervour. 

The final bell rang and Peter couldn't wait a second longer to dial Mr Murdock.