Peter Parker wasn't used to assignments like this.

As an angel, he'd always taken pride in his work, watching over the innocent, the kind-hearted, the downtrodden. But Wade Wilson? He was... different.

"Different" was putting it mildly. Wade was chaos incarnate—a mercenary with a reckless streak, a sharp tongue, and a seemingly endless appetite for trouble. Yet, there was a light in him, faint and buried under layers of snark and self-loathing, that Heaven deemed worth protecting.

So Peter had been assigned to watch over him.

From the start, it was clear Wade was no ordinary charge. Most humans were oblivious to their guardian angels, but Wade seemed... aware. He didn't see Peter outright—at least, not at first—but hefelthim.

And that made things complicated.

Peter's first weeks as Wade's guardian were exhausting. Wade's lifestyle was a nonstop carousel of danger, sarcasm, and questionable decision-making. He jumped into bar fights, took high-risk jobs, and taunted people twice his size without a second thought.

Peter intervened when he could, steering Wade's bullets away from vital organs, whispering subtle warnings to keep him from walking into ambushes.

"Thanks, whoever-you-are," Wade muttered one night after narrowly dodging an explosion. "But if you're going to stick around, you could at least buy me dinner first."

Peter froze, wings tucked tightly against his back, invisible to human eyes. Wade couldn't see him, could he?

"I mean it," Wade continued, staring at the empty alley. "I've had this weird vibe lately, like someone's watching me. If you're a ghost, blink twice. If you're a guardian angel, uh... keep doing your thing, I guess?"

Peter bit back a smile, his resolve softening. Wade was ridiculous. But he was also... endearing.

The months passed, and Peter's feelings grew more complicated. Watching Wade was supposed to be a duty—a selfless act of protection. But Peter found himself lingering longer than necessary, drawn to Wade's humor and resilience.

For all his bravado, Wade had a quiet sadness about him. Peter saw it in the way he stared at the stars on sleepless nights, in the way he patched up his wounds alone without complaint. Wade wore his pain like armor, but Peter could see the cracks beneath.

One night, Wade sat on a rooftop, nursing a bottle of cheap whiskey.

"Alright, mystery protector," he said, tilting his head toward the sky. "I don't know why you're wasting your time on me. I'm a mess. I know it, you know it, the universe knows it. So what's the deal?"

Peter hovered nearby, silent and invisible, his chest tightening at Wade's words.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," Wade continued. "I appreciate not dying every five minutes. But you gotta have better people to watch over, right? Like, I dunno, orphans or kittens or something. Not... me."

Peter wanted to reach out, to tell Wade he was worth protecting, worth loving, but the rules were clear. Angels couldn't reveal themselves.

So instead, Peter did what he could: he made Wade's bottle lighter, as if encouraging him to drink less. Wade noticed and chuckled softly.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't drown my sorrows. Message received."

The first time Wadereallysaw Peter was an accident.

It happened during a firefight. Wade had bitten off more than he could chew with a gang of mercenaries, and Peter had been working overtime, deflecting bullets and keeping Wade from being overwhelmed.

But in the chaos, Peter slipped. A stray bullet grazed Wade's side, and in that instant, Peter panicked.

Wings flaring, Peter rushed to Wade's side, placing a hand on the wound. His touch glowed faintly, the injury sealing itself in seconds.

Wade blinked, staring at Peter with wide eyes. "Uh... are you real, or did I lose too much blood?"

Peter froze. His ethereal form flickered, half-visible in the dim light. "You're not supposed to see me."

"Okay, so youarereal," Wade said, grinning despite the situation. "And you're hot. Great news all around."

Peter groaned, stepping back as his invisibility returned. "Forget you saw me."

"Not a chance, Angel Cakes," Wade called as Peter disappeared.

After that night, Wade became insufferable.

"Hey, Angel!" Wade yelled during a car chase, leaning out the window as Peter subtly redirected a truck to avoid hitting him. "I know you're there! Can't fool me!"

Peter resisted the urge to facepalm.

Wade's awareness didn't stop him from taking risks. If anything, he doubled down, trusting Peter to keep him safe.

"You know you're making my job harder, right?" Peter muttered one evening after Wade narrowly avoided a grenade.

"Aw, come on," Wade said, leaning against a wall. "You love it. Admit it, Angie. Can I call you Angie? Too late, I'm calling you Angie."

Peter sighed. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you're still here," Wade said with a grin.

Peter didn't respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

One night, Wade sat on the same rooftop as before, staring at the stars.

"Hey, Angie," he said softly. "If you're there—and I know you are—thanks. For everything."

Peter perched on the edge of the building, invisible but closer than usual.

"Sometimes I wonder why you bother," Wade continued, his voice unusually serious. "But I'm glad you do. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't even know you."

Peter's chest ached. He wanted so badly to reveal himself, to tell Wade he wasn't alone.

Instead, he let a gentle breeze ruffle Wade's hair, a silent gesture of comfort.

Wade smiled. "Yeah, I feel you. Thanks, Angie."

One day, Wade found himself cornered by a group of supernatural hunters who thought he was harboring demonic energy.

"You've got the wrong guy!" Wade said, dodging a magical bolt.

Peter, watching from above, knew he couldn't stay hidden.

Wings spread wide, Peter descended, a radiant figure of light and power. The hunters froze, their weapons lowering.

"He's under my protection," Peter said firmly, his voice resonating with authority.

Wade stared at him, awe and affection mingling on his face. "Damn, Angel. You could've warned me you were this cool."

Peter shot him a look. "Not the time, Wade."

The hunters backed off, muttering apologies before disappearing into the shadows.

As the light around Peter dimmed, Wade stepped closer.

"So," Wade said, smirking. "We're officially on a first-name basis now?"

Peter sighed, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

"So... you wanna grab tacos? Or is that against angel rules? Wade asked.

Peter hesitated, then nodded. "Tacos sound good."

As they walked into the night, Peter couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, breaking a few rules was worth it.