Peter held onto the ornate gold railings that spun along the length of the stairway and peered up though the gaps and what he could see of the second floor; walkways stretched from all the corners and middle points to meet at the center and wound down the gilded, spiraling stairs he was on now. Everything gleamed in polished metals and smooth stone encapsulating high vaulted ceilings and spaces that felt like there should always be a hundred more people around because how else were they supposed to fill it?

"Forgive me if you wished to participate in training," Thor apologized. His stance finally began to unwind when they escaped into the library and with each step, Peter cataloged the change from heir-to-the-throne to demi-god-lost-in-the-middle-of-Queens. One step higher and another chip in his armor crumbled at their feet—another step and Peter knew that he'd get nowhere if he ever forgot that people were always more than their fronts.

Not that it was totally a bad thing to have his impressions when he first met someone as long as he was willing to cast them aside when he was proven wrong, and Sister Margaret's hammered that into him pretty early if not pretty immediately. Like when he first met Weasel his boss acted the same with him as he would with everyone else at the bar: paranoid, blunt, kind of suspicious. And in Wade's words, all glued together with the vibe of a twitchy drug dealer who overcharged rich kids for shitty weed.

So, a sort of person who May wouldn't be too sure about him hanging around. And Peter thought so too at the start, but that was until the two of them started talking about old video games and how you main Little Mac in Smash Bros, Mr. Weasel? No wonder Wade makes fun of you all the ti—hey! You can't throw rags at me this is employee abuse—

Peter's eyes trailed down the railing and raked over the grand shelves and the millions of books neatly tucked in each and every row. Weasel was an unshakeable foundation in the business, and it sucked for everyone who didn't believe that to learn the hard way. That one guy, Kairo Green, might've attacked the bar way back when, but that was the ballsy-est move new blood to New York could've taken if he wanted to stake his own claim in the city. The bar had contacts with everyone, everywhere, and because of the emphasis on general neutrality and serving as the home base for bigger names like Deadpool and Domino, it was practically untouchable unless someone wanted to deal with the fallout.

This was also the same place where Ms. Granny was in the middle of teaching him how to make her famous fried catfish, the same place he was going to meet Wade later this week before they'd walked to a midnight screening of Gattaca at this old theater nearby because apparently no self-respecting sci-fi lover wouldn't have seen this movie, and it was the same place that was across from where him and Neena were going to try these new bacon-wrapped chili cheese dogs that promised the best chili this end of the street. Well, he'd have to see about that one, Mx. Hot Dog Connoisseur.

It was also the same place he met Mom for the first time.

But... yeah. Don't judge a book by the reviews on a blog. A lot of people don't know what the hell they were talking about.

"It sounds fun, but it was probably for the best." Peter glanced around and strained his ears for a moment before he leaned forward and pitched his voice quieter. "Uh, you know how Mom's not really from around here?"

Thor bobbed his head. "Of course."

Peter continued to stare at him. Thor paused on the third to last step to the second floor and stared back for a handful of breaths before he visibly reached his own understanding.

"Oh." His head tilted consideringly, strands of blond hair loosening from their braids. "Well. It is not something unexpected to be passed down to you. Is... Do you hold concern for your ability to change natures?"

"I mean, it's not like it's a huge problem?" As unsure as he sounded, actually going blue wasn't the highest on his list of concerns. He already had his go around with his hundreds of trials and hundreds of errors when getting down to the creaks and crevices of his spider powers and getting a handle on his Jotunn side was just as hard, but not so different. Of course, there was still that deal with Mom and their internalized space racism which was, well, yikes, but he guessed it wasn't hurting anyone to have most of his focus on trying not to accidentally give Wade frostbite whenever they went out on assignments together. "I can go back and forth pretty easily now, but I'm still learning about the things I can actually do."

The second floor was flush with hard-backed chairs twisted to be reminiscent of twining tree trunks, carefully carved golden leaves fluttering along the wood. Peter could see Mom in one of those chairs, engrossed in turning pages as an endless pile of books scattered around them.

flutter

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of brushing feathers.

"Either way," he continued when he saw nothing but gold trimmings and the firelight that made them glow, "it's been really useful. The Elsa jokes are getting kind of old, though, and even Wade's changed my ringtone in his phone to Let It Go because he's the worst."

Thor blinked down at him, uncomprehending.

"Oh, Midgardian movie reference. My bad."

"Movies! I have yet to engage in the experience, though you must introduce me to your favorites on my future visits."

"I'll make a list for us when I get back," he grinned. "I love Star Wars and I'll probably make you watch the original trilogy with me one day, but I don't know how sick of space you are since," he gestured vaguely around him, "you know."

"Star Wars?" Thor repeated. "Your realm has made a movie about the interstellar wars that took place in the Shi'ar Galaxy two hundred million lightyears off the Cyrane Om'lr System?"

... He didn't know how he felt about hearing that sentence twice.

"Uh, this one's not real. I don't think." His brows furrowed. "Do you know what a Death Star is?"

"If I were to make an inference, I imagine it would be quite a fatal astral body."

"Yeah, then the movie's just a movie." Probably. "Just a cornerstone of the sci-fi genre."

Peter knew him stopping by came on a whim that wasn't his own, but he couldn't help but admit that he was glad he had a chance to visit Asgard. Even if he was only here an hour it would be more than enough because at the end of the day, Heimdall was right. No matter how much Mom hated this place and how apparent that Mom wasn't originally from this realm, this had been their home once upon a time. Humans and Asgardians seemed to have the same stickling rules about familial traditions; the importance of ancestry, repeating the stories of where one comes from, wanting blood passed on and spilling blood in the name of it.

Mom never brought up ever going back to Asgard, and unless Thor was king, the only time they might ever get the chance to would be in shackles.

"Here we are," Thor said, snapping Peter out of his head as he took in the line of shelves they stopped at. There was a sorting system notched on the sides in thick, rigid lettering, and Peter followed curiously when the demi-god stepped up to the first rows of books.

Actually, that wasn't quite right.

A lot of what filled the shelves were books of course, but there were also dark bricks, metal sheets, glowing orbs on stabilizing mounts, spherical objects that could fit in the palm of his hand with holographic texts in an assortment of languages in slow orbit around the surface like rings on a planet. His eyes widened as he was handed one of the spheres and, while cradling it in his hands like it was a precious egg to be hatched, a clearish panel the size of a thumb was pushed to activate a hard light display of an open text book.

"I see that my judgment was correct in that you would enjoy some of our technological volumes," explained Thor. "We did not stay in that library in Queens long enough to explore it, but in my cursory observations I did not see anything like these." He reached up to swipe on the interface like he was turning the projection pages like it was physically floating at their eye line. Peter hoped he wasn't drooling. "Of course, this is not the only type of scientific text at your disposal. We have handwritten manuscripts and printed publications from throughout the nine realms, digitized blocks from the Andromeda Galaxy with many of them from the Nova Empire, and I do believe we have detailed observations of the three suns of Indigarr somewhere in—"

"Wait, sorry." Peter forced himself to look up from his inspection of the activation panel on the sphere. "This whole section is for science?"

Thor beamed at him, almost as bright as the stars that looked out at him from just outside that golden dome. "Yes! I brought you here first because I thought it would capture the height of your interest." He gestured down the row. "What do you think?"

"What do I think? Dude, this is one of the coolest things I've ever seen! I mean, the golden dome was cool too and the rainbow bridge was awesome and the palace is also, like, really, really cool but you've got a collection of scientific information crossing galaxies. Even NASA could only dream of having access to things like this! And sure, there's been strides in advancement that's increased alongside the discovery of the extraterrestrial, at least in regards to Earth—Midgard—and with new research and developments of—"

(He talked as if his interests themselves brought air into his lungs, a brilliant mind with a mouth that could barely keep up. He looked the happiest in all the realm surrounded by knowledge.)

((He looked just like his mother.))

"—er, I mean. It's all so cool," he ended, a pink tint to his cheeks that turned a piece of Thor's heart to jelly. "Do you have any dictionaries for other languages, though? I'm pretty much limited to what's spoken on Midgard and it'd be awesome to do a deep dive into this stuff. And learning other languages? Also a crazy cool plus." One of his fingers came up to flip a page on the display. So, so cool. "If not that's totally fine, I could spend days just figuring out how this device works, because hard light? Wow."

"Oh of course, how remiss of me to forget." Thor turned back towards the stairs. "Please, peruse this selection to your heart's content. I will find some translation tomes in common languages to bring back home with you—ones I believe your mother would not be in possession of."

And off he went back down the stairs, blond hair disappearing down the winding railing.

Peter turned back towards the shelves as he rolled the sphere along the length of his hand. No matter how he turned it and no matter how he adhered any of the sides to his skin, the display remained clear and glitch-free and he had to focus on keeping himself from practically vibrating in place. Alien tech. In his hands.

Sci-fi as a whole had drastically changed with the invasion in 2012 and because of it, a new resurgence of all things extraterrestrial hit the top of the mainstream with a running start and was only bolstered by the Avengers' residency and the rise of heroes and vigilantes and opposing forces all over the globe. The world had changed in that moment at a scale and speed comparable to an apocalyptic disaster, and if it was for the better or for the worst, he still didn't kno—

hum.

Peter straightened.

He looked over his right shoulder. No one.

Then his left. Nothing.

So he shut his eyes and let the weight of the sphere ground himself through the center of his hands.

At the beginning, he thought his spidey-sense was an end-all-be-all alert that flashed anywhere from being stared at in a crowd to a bullet sailing towards his head. Regardless of the level of danger, as long as it was a danger, he'd know about it. And the longer Spider-Man made his mark on the city by throwing himself off buildings and swinging over busy streets like a Halloween-themed acrobat, his sense narrowed and refined, and the difference between a look and a bullet came down to the way his nerves ate at his skin; prickles like syringes probably wouldn't end in a brawl, stomach-swooping spikes became common in the thick of his fights. Since starting at Sister Margaret's, he thought he got most of everything there and in between down to a studied science.

But then in the middle of a library outside his own solar system, his spidey-sense told him something new.

The humming that started up between his ears ballooned so large and so quick it could've cracked his skull, fuzzing out his vision at first frequency and making him stumble and catch his balance on the shelves. He turned a split second after that, one finger hovering over the web release on his right wrist and his other hand held ready to grip the dagger belted along his lower back, easily hidden under the folds of his oversized hoodie.

"Your senses are keen," an old voice noted. Weathered, rough, it carried itself in a tone that demanded respect. Or at least, an acknowledgement that it deserved as much. "It is a trait one is content to see in those still young with much to learn."

How convenient for him to get cornered when the one person set to look after him had disappeared to a completely different part of the library, but at least it told him that there was a slim chance this meeting was a coincidence.

Peter's insides dipped ominously as he braced himself before turning around.

The stranger loomed tall in gold-plated armor, more salt than pepper hair brushed to lay against the backs of his shoulders as the pure white of his beard framed the hard angles of his face. There was controlled power in the way he stood, calm and level and a cut of gold fit over the divot of his right eye. He didn't look at Peter like he was lesser, necessarily, but he felt small in the wake of this other demi-god, an indiscernible pressure weighing him down like his muscles were osmium.

This was a King.

One that Mom wanted to keep him realms away from.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Peter said. He fought the urge to dip his gaze—never take your eyes off the enemy—but his voice did soften under his nerves. "I'm sorry, I'm—I'm not familiar with Asgardian customs. I hope any missteps I make won't be taken as a sign of disrespect."

Odin considered him.

"Peter Parker," he intoned. "It is in my belief that those who address new surroundings with care and consideration uphold the honor of their character. You are young yet, as my initial greeting has already mentioned, but most of all you are a guest of Thor's. If he has judged you fair and just and has allowed you within the walls of our home, then you are a welcome guest despite the unsureties you have divulged."

A line of sweat streaked down the back of his neck. He hoped it didn't freeze against his skin.

"Thank you. Sir. Your Majesty," he amended quickly. His hand dropped from its hover over his lower back as his other came to meet it in a loose clasp behind his hips. His fingers wrapped around the band of one of his shooters.

Odin's heavy gaze moved away from him, taking a passive interest in the shelves they stood next to.

"Are you interested in the sciences?"

"Yeah, I love it. I'm probably going to get my PhD in biochemistry, er, one of the highest certifications in the field."

"Then I wish you well and wish you luck." His eye turns back to the boy. "It is to my understanding that your intelligence is not the only thing you should carry with pride."

So either the palace had ears or gossip churned out quicker than sausages out of a meat grinder, though Peter had a feeling that it was both. Odin was too old and too smart for the walls not to have at least a couple sets of eyes, and he could've been watched since his first step onto royal grounds.

"Thor respects you as a warrior," said the King. Peter didn't even pretend to look surprised that the god heard his son being embarrassing on the training grounds. "It is unfortunate that it could not be displayed in honorable combat between comrades."

"That's okay!" Peter mustered up a smile. "We can spar any time if they come to visit Midgard! At least then I'd have all my gear with me. I mean, I would've brought everything with me if I knew I was coming to visit but uh, last minute planning really gets you sometimes." He spotted the orb he dropped to utilize both is webshooters and his dagger and quickly picked it back up to set it neatly on the shelf. "Not that I'm not grateful for the offer, but the palace is beautiful and the library's amazing. I could spend weeks in here." He blinked. "I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome either! Uh, thank you so much for letting me stay overnight, sir. Your Majesty."

Something close to amusement flitted across the hard lines of the Allfather's face. Peter wondered how close the genetic make-up must be between humans and alien demi-gods; were they around when Sahelanthropus tchadensis became the first hominin of the chimpanzee-human divergence? Did they look at Earth in the times of prehistoric religion, documenting the history of the species before they discovered a system of writing or record collecting? Or maybe did the alien gods bear this form to be easier understood, two legs, two arms, a head to hold high, and a mouth to speak. Of course there was magic to make up for the things that science still couldn't quite understand, but maybe he could do a little side-research when he got back to New York. His own genome might be whacked out because of Oscorp's mutation, but he could probably take a look at his DNA, cross out the spidery parts on the map and run a comparison between his blood, Mom's, and one of the full humans at the bar. Maybe Mr. Weasel if he asked nicely enough.

"You are too kind, even in my company," said the King. "I imagine one so young could not be capable of such, but you are quite the eccentricity."

"No offense, Your Majesty," he replied as he tried for a more joking, confident grin, "but you have no idea what I'm capable of."

(Odin stuttered his breath.)

((His child looks at him, black hair frazzled, green eyes cut with a thousand years of burning hatred. "You have no idea what I am capable of!"))

"Allfather!" Thor's blond head reappeared around the bend of the stairs with a thick tome bound in brown leather tucked under one arm. A slight crease sat between his brows but he was otherwise unworried, easily striding up to the two and throwing his free arm over Peter's shoulders. "Have you come to greet our guest?"

Odin looked between them for a beat, and Peter only just managed to push back against the urge to hunch his shoulders and press himself into his uncle's side like he was a little kid. "... Yes," he answered eventually, turning his gaze to the prince. "You know as well as I that it is the rare occasion a Midgardian graces the palace with their presence and my curiosity has outweighed my patience." He glanced back at the boy, eyeing him from the scuffed whites of his shoes to the bunched up hood behind his neck. "Your attendance at the banquet is expected."

"Ye-Yes, Your Majesty."

"Your manner of dress, of course, will adhere to tonight's affair."

"I will see to his wardrobe myself, Allfather, you need not worry," Thor smiled. Odin nodded once and turned slightly to make his leave.

But he paused once more to level one last look at Peter, his blue eyes as icy and deep at the immensity of space. "It has been... enlightening to meet you, Peter Parker," he said. "Asgard welcomes you into her care, however short your visit may be."

As he left, Peter swore he heard another flutter of feathers in the distance.

::

"I do not believe that my father suspects anything amiss," Thor murmured as they slipped out of the library. Peter held a small stack of texts to his chest as one of the hard light spheres sat in his hoodie pocket. He didn't think there was a stamp system in place for borrowing books here, but he'd make sure to get these returned in tip-top shape. He probably couldn't afford it otherwise. "He may have his misgivings, but paranoia is as useful a tool as any. Only worry should he take direct actions against you." He looked at his nephew with a deeper crinkle in his brow. "Did he say anything of note?"

"Not really." Peter pretended to scratch his lower back, and when his fingers traced over the outline of his dagger and made sure it was still in place, he tucked his arm back under the books. "Him and Lady Sif have been calling me a scholar and I guess that's true, and then he said it was 'unfortunate' that I didn't fight on the training grounds."

Every time they passed a servant—it was like there were hundreds of them—they would pause to bow before continuing on their way. Thor acknowledged them with a brief nod, and even then the attention was starting to make Peter's hands tacky. He didn't need his spidey-sense to feel the lingering eyes and any gaze he managed to catch was another anxious zing down the back of his neck. But he still smiled, and every time he got a ducked head or a surprised blink in response.

Oh man. He hoped he wasn't ruining his first impression.

"Warriors are revered. To be noble, strong, and true is to be the pride of Asgard," Thor said. "Midgard has come forth with notable ones of their own in recent times, and they are quite intriguing." He leaned forward and lowered his voice, a curious flash in his eyes like something just occurred to him. "Do you wield seiðr?"

"Nah. I mean, you saw me get whammied when Mr. Heimdall beamed us up. Not only don't I have it, but I'm also super sensitive to it."

"How unfortunate, though you are already quite incredible with the skills you already possess. Seiðr requires many, many moons to master to its utmost function, and very few can adorn it well. In most of my previous battles, there had been one user that I trusted with the entirety of my being, and he—" he faltered— "he was there for me." His voice softened, a soft exhale to all his enthusiastic bearing. "Through the best and the worst."

Peter knew his mother loved him with all their heart. He didn't have to question something that was a veritable fact, but he knew how much hate stayed buried in their heart. Not to get all philosophical or anything, but it might be one of the most defining things about them. And that sucked, because Peter also knew they were so much more than that. He got it, though—Mom had always been the "other one," falling short to their brother and the steel gaze of their father. Mom was bitter, ambitious, cruel, and there wasn't an excuse for it he knew, he knew, he knew, alright? To that insistent voice in his head, to the angel on his shoulder dressed like Spider-Man when he still dressed a red hoodie over a blue sweatsuit.

It wasn't an excuse. But he liked to think he could understand them a little better now.

"Do you miss him?" Peter asked like he hadn't been a witness to Thor's grief in a near-empty library.

Thor set his eyes on him, a soft, electric sky blue. "Not as much anymore," he said. He tousled brown hair and grasped the back of Peter's neck to pull him into a side-hug. "Now! Shall we find you proper attire for the banquet?"

"I'm guessing it's not like a suit and tie kinda deal?"

"Akin to what is worn at Stark's gatherings? No, nothing as lavish. We will find you a tunic, dark trousers, armor to highlight your status on Midgard, though something lighter in nature to compliment your fighting technique. We have platings of numerous metals from around the cosmos..."

Peter allowed the demi-god's rumbling explanations wash over him as he relaxed into his side. The arm across his shoulders grounded him to the palace floors and he had to hope his hair wouldn't get caught in the armored buckle that fastened to the red cape trailing behind them.

It was... nice.

(For the first time in a long time, his eyes didn't well up at a reminder of Ben.)

flutter

This time Peter snapped up his gaze without moving his head and zeroed in at the ceiling. In the distance, cleverly hidden behind the swirls of another golden decoration, he met the beady black eyes of a raven the size of his neighbor's shih tzu.

It tilted its head. Peter forced the shakiness out of the smile he returned.

... What were the chances that didn't mean anything?

::

"To the great General Ullr, may he live and triumph for many more battles to come!"

Cups raised up high all throughout the banquet hall.

"Skål!" Echoed the resounding cheer, and Peter brought his own back down to take a small sip of the dark amber liquid.

He immediately spit it out.

Thor howled with laughter and clapped him on the back. "Not quite like the spirits on Midgard, aye, lad?"

"This would peel my boss like a banana," Peter coughed, "and he takes tequila shots every day."

Thor laughed again and accepted the drink when the teen handed it over. "There are fruit wines and sweet meads more suitable for your tastes."

"Thanks, man," Peter answered as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand and kept his arm held out to keep any liquor from dripping onto the very nice and very expensive clothes he borrowed. Woven leather wrapped around his forearms and biceps, oil tanned leather thick enough to save his own hide from getting cut by any blade. His tunic was deep blue, sleeveless and durable and a couple shades darker than the type of blue he was slowly getting used to looking at on his skin. A thin bronze plate curved down from one shoulder, turning up to crescent from the bottom of his sternum and ending at the top of his other shoulder. It matched the plates layered down the outside of his thighs like scales, and he wished he could wear his dagger proudly with the rest of it. He didn't know if it was actually crafted here on Asgard, but if the hissing snakes weren't going to get recognized by the host of Asgardian Royalty he would eat his boot—so underneath the tunic it stayed, tucked in the right side of his waistband and never soaking up any of his body warmth.

But, he was glad that despite the clothes having been made of material for kings, it was far from the flashiest thing at the banquet.

He trailed after Thor through the booming attendees and it was kind of funny how similar it was to navigating a busy Manhattan street. Crowded, lively, a little sweaty

"Famished?" Thor questioned as they came up to five long tables stretched full of dish after dish. "Because I implore you to feast until you are close to bursting!"

Near the end of one of the tables, Volstagg waved at them with the raised meat leg he was halfway to tearing through. His thick red beard was already littered with scraps.

"You must try the boar roast!" He exclaimed. "After that, the venison, slow cooked until the flesh heaps off the bone and oh, the sausages are smoked to perfection!"

Peter grinned. "I'll make sure to try one of everything."

"That's a good head on your shoulders there, lad!"

Thor shook his head with a chuckle as Peter picked up a plate and started perusing through the first food table.

"Rumors speak of how when he was but a bairn, the only mode of pacifying his wailing was a maw full of mutton." Thor muttered out the corner of his mouth. Peter snickered and bit into a sweet glazed carrot to stifle the rest of his laughter. "But his sense of good is as large as his stomach—he is an unfailing ally."

"Who, Volstagg or the sheep?"

Sif strode towards them with the same presence and grace of a high-ranking warrior of the Asgardian forces but with a much softer appearance than when Peter met her just a few hours ago. Polished silver armor still shone on her torso, but now it acted like a corset to her flowy burgundy gown that swept the floor around her sandals.

"Volstagg, though the sheep is a near second," Thor said as he plucked what looked like a mini meat pie.

"You look super pretty, Lady Sif," Peter smiled. He stacked a couple of smoked fish atop his slices of braised red meat. "I like the ornaments in your hair! They really compliment your eyes."

Sif touched a light hand against the braids on the side of her head where gold slivers threaded the strands. "Oh. Thank you, Peter. You are very sweet." She leveled her prince with an unamused look. "You could take notes on how to be pleasantly agreeable from him."

Thor leaned into her personal bubble with the widest grin he could muster. "Why, Sif! Do my eyes deceive? In front of me is an incredibly beautiful lady of the sword with hair that tides like an umber Élivágar river—"

She laughed and pushed his face away. "Cease your drivel, you absolute boor. There is a young warrior in your presence and he is not to be influenced by your nonsense."

Peter stacked a handful of meatballs on top of his smoked fish.

"I wish I had come here for a chat amongst friends, but I am afraid I am here for a higher purpose." Sif jerked her head toward the end of the hall where General Ullr and those under his command had gathered, trading loud stories of the warrior of honor and throwing back drinks like water to a hiker who underestimated the desert sun. "You have yet to greet Ullr and join the heart of the festivities. As the crown prince it is your duty—"

"By the norns, the banquet is still in its infancy!"

"It is your duty," Sif repeated, "to act as host with the reigns passed to you, as both the Allfather and the Queen Mother have taken a step back to observe how you conduct yourself when it will not be you who is the first to drink yourself into a sea of mead."

Thor's jaw tightened as he glanced down at his boots. Yeah, Peter knew that face pretty well. The I-know-you're-right-but-I-don't-want-you-to-be face was one he owned a lot growing up with May. It must suck a hundred times more when the-thing-someone-else-was-right-about dealt with kingly things, though.

"I am not here often enough for such duties."

"It is because you are not here often enough that drives Your Majesties to demand the most of you." Sif crossed her arms. "Do you sincerely believe that your increasing journeys off Asgard would make you less of an heir to the throne?"

Peter stuffed one of the meatballs into his mouth and moved down the table. Yikes. Politics. The North American ones were already a bitch to untangle and just because he wasn't old enough to vote didn't mean he shouldn't stay active and informed, as May and MJ made sure to remind him on occasion.

But space politics?

He met Volstagg's eye and the demi-god tipped his head towards the argument before making a cutting motion at his neck. Peter placed a warm roll at the very top of his meat tower and threw back a thumb's up.

No thanks. That was a whole other can of alien worms.

"I am also meant to accompany Peter for the ni—"

Peter raised the serving fork-thing meant to serve the breaded meat patties and used them to point accusingly. "Whoa dude, using me to bail on your job? Not cool."

Thor frowned. "I would never stoop to such levels."

"Yeah—but—I—I mean. I'm a last minute guest that you had to run around and accommodate. And while I'm extremely grateful, I know you still have a lot of important things to do and you shouldn't let my being here get away of that." He lifted his plate and the mountain of food on it. "Besides, I think I'll be eating for a while. I already told Volstagg I'd try one of everything."

"An endeavor you will not regret!" Volstagg exclaimed, ripping a bite off his fifth roasted leg. And yet the crease in Thor's brow grew deeper as he considered the teenager who looked every part of the Asgardian he was meant to be. Loki would kill him if anything happened. Flay him, strip his muscle from the bone and run a rampage that would make the invasion of New York City a child's learning game. Could he leave Peter alone? His comrades would treat him with nothing short of respect and Father would not try anything, would he? No, why would he, but if he had no qualms of condemning his second child to the dungeons beneath the palace, what would he do should he know that Peter is—

"He will be fine," Sif said as she flicked a drop of mead off one of the plates of his armor. "He is a smart, delightful lad. It is not his doom to be unattended for the night."

Thor looked at the raised brow of one of his oldest friend's, Peter's face still round with traces of baby fat, Volstagg at the end eating like this meal would be his last, and he heaved a sigh. He raised a hand to run it through his golden hair, but stopped short when he remembered it was done up in a bun he didn't want to mess up so early into the night.

His hand dropped. He sighed again.

"If anything is wrong, come find me immediately."

Peter bobbed his head. "Yeah, for sure!"

Thor stared at him for a few beats longer before sighing a third time and turning to Sif. "Should any harm befall him—"

"Please," Sif scoffed, "who would come to harm him in the palace?"

::

Rönnbär berries had always been in her favor. Bright orange-red baubles clustered like swollen pockets of disease, their raw taste quite bitter, fervently unpalatable, and no matter if they fermented into wine, distilled into spirits, pressed into jams, they would always retain a sharp edge of bitterness just there at the back of the tongue.

Frigga slipped her wine on a secluded balcony outside the celebration, the rönnbär selection set out just for her. She heard the variant grown on Midgard was poison in its freshest form. Next time Thor absconded to Earth—it would be soon, she knew, her son could barely be kept in the realm longer than a fortnight before he was off with his Midgardian team—she may ask him to bring some back.

She set her chalice down atop the golden balustrade and watched twinkling firelight spread out across the darkened land. Moonbeams skittered across the ever-turbulent waters of the Asgard sea as the nebulas loomed close by, ribbons of color cutting through the backdrop of the star-dotted sky.

A glass door opened and shut behind her and a young servant stood at her side with a tray of spiced cookies lightly drizzled with blåbär berry honey.

"Thank you, Kvistr," she smiled, and the young man bowed his head as he set the dish onto the balustrade and held the empty tray to his person. "Tell me your thoughts."

"I do not believe he is here with malicious intent, Your Majesty. Though it would not be as if His Highness would bring such a threat into your home."

"Of course."

Kvistr nodded. "He was in the company of Sir Volstagg and was quite impressive in keeping up with his intake. He had six full plates before halting and continuing to engage in affable banter."

So the boy was not human. At least, not entirely. Frigga had only been on Midgard as many times as she could count on one hand and that was far before they had the inventions and machinery Thor came to describe after his involvement in world-shaping battles. Though her knowledge of Midgardians was rather minimal, she could infer that six full plates was far out of the ordinary for one of his stature.

"He was then offered a selection of drinks and refused all those that would inebriate. Of all the drinks he sampled, he chose the mix of äpple and rönnbär."

A small, surprised smile flitted briefly across her face.

"When Sir Volstagg was pulled away by his comrades from his foot soldier days, he settled for another small plate of food before striking up conversations with servants who minded the food tables."

"I see. Did he pry for anything specific? Bribe for information?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. He asked for the names of the prepared dishes and told them that all of it tasted 'awesome and out of this world.' Then apologized for the joke." Kvistr's own small smile nudged its way onto his face. "The only major inquiry of him was if he would be able to bring back the fruits that made his drink back to Midgard."

"Nothing from Iðunn's garden?"

"No, Your Majesty. We informed him of the orchards outside the palace and he stated that should he have another chance to visit, he would want to go out and see them."

Listening to it all had begun to frenzy a restless energy in her nerves.

"Bring him here," she directed as the chalice of wine returned to her hand. "And tell him nothing."

Kvistr bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."

Frigga watched him slip off into the hall, the brief opening of the door allowing streams of laughter and light-hearted talk to pour through before it shut once more, leaving her in hushed and moonlight.

Peter Parker, the boy who favored rönnbär berries.

It would be best that Odin did not have it in his mind to kill him.