Gold

                                    

                                          
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.