Chapter 15
The days kept drifting by. Oliver spent more mornings in the training room. Bucky had been right, it helped and he was getting stronger. He had done a lot of reading the next few mornings after they had talked. He hadn’t gotten the chance to tell Bucky he had been right the first time. Oliver had been right, but he had seen the comments on the YouTube video of his trial. How many of those people rioting for his death had seen the guy in person? Had they seen the guilt and the fear in his eyes? Had they seen the videos of his torture? Oliver settled for a description in some blog post. Even that had been too much. He wanted to defend him, he wanted to write the perspective of every other outsider. He wanted to explore the rest of the shit he didn’t know about his new country. He wanted a lot of things. Most of all, at least for this moment, he really just wanted to hang out with someone. Do some stupid fun shit, and make himself forget about all of his countless problems for a couple of hours. Oliver was getting really lonely and with Bucky now kind of avoiding him and everyone else keeping a respectful distance, he didn’t really know how to begin to remedy that.
The medicine came in the form of Peter in the kitchen on a Friday evening before Oliver had gotten up. He had finally decided to put in the effort of eating something and Peter was just— sitting there. Tony was cooking something on the stove with maximum concentration while Peter was sitting on a bar stool talking about something with a lot of passion and hand gestures. He walked over and leaned on the counter.
Peter looked over at him, a little shocked. “Hey! I was just going to knock on your door. You got anything to do tonight?”
Oliver looked at him with a slightly cocked eyebrow. “What do you think, boy genius?”
His eyes widened a bit and he swallowed. “Right, sorry. My friends, they go to my school, are demanding to meet you.”
“You told your friends about me?”
“Oh no, nothing bad or detailed or anything but yeah. Is that okay?”
Oliver wasn’t sure. “Of course, that's fine.” Tony made a frustrated sound accompanied by the scraping of something in the pan he was using. “And sure, for your friends, are you guys like doing anything or—?”
“Well, we were all planning on sleeping at MJ’s house but you don’t have to if you're not into that.” A sleepover, fuck, a sleepover. It had been so long since Oliver had been at a sleepover. The nightmares were avoidable. He could just stay up, no biggie. It didn’t matter what would come up, this was an event. An event with friends. Given, they weren’t his friends but kill him if he wasn’t going to try and make them his friends.
“No, no, I’m perfectly fine with that.” He forced his lips to curl up into a smile. “Excited, even.” He tipped himself off the bar stool. He couldn’t go meeting new people looking like this. Unbrushed teeth and he was sure he smelled. “I’ll go get a bag.” He turned to leave and then turned back. “When are we leaving?”
Peter was smiling at him. It was a tender smile. His heart melted a little bit in its gaze. “Whenever you’re ready.” He said. Oliver’s lips formed a tight smile as he turned to leave, but not tight as in fake, tight as in if it weren’t, he’d squeal.
He hummed while he showered and dressed. Some tune he couldn’t quite name but used to be familiar. Something he used to know all the words to.
When he started packing though, he noticed Tony’s voice from the kitchen. “Alright Pete, I followed your instructions to a T and I still think it’s shit.” He felt him put a plate down on the countertop, the buzzing sending waves all the way to his room. Tony’s buzzing felt strange, different. Oliver stopped packing for a moment, closing his eyes and feeling it, trying to figure out what the difference was. It was— more rushed, anxious.
Peter picked up the fork and ate it anyway. “Definitely still a little overcooked and could also use a little less soy sauce, but overall, much better than last time.” He said it with a positive note. This wasn’t criticism, it was teaching.
Oliver grabbed his overnight bag and opened the door. He didn’t have any other bag to put things in. Just the one he kept in his closet. It felt a bit like leaving again. Being left. He tried not to think about it too much. It was just a bag.
Turns out Tony was making chicken fried rice. It actually looked pretty good. He tried to make them let that Happy (Happy?) drive them but Peter, and eventually Oliver, insisted on taking the subway. He gave them his card instead and told them to not buy too many snacks.
Peter gave the rundown on his friends on the way there. “Okay, so MJ seems cold and she’ll probably make fun of you a little bit, but that’s just the way she shows affection. Also it's her dads place.” Oliver nodded, he felt like he should be taking notes. “Ned is much more obviously affectionate, he likes Star Wars a lot and I’ve known him for like, forever.”
“So,” He wasn’t quite sure how to ask the question. “How much did you actually tell them about me?” He looked down at his feet. The subway made him really dizzy. He wished there was an empty seat.
Peter took a breath. “Well, they already knew about the kidnapping, and they already knew someone else was there. They don’t know any of the actual specifics of the uh— you know— damage.” The torture. “But they know it happened. I mostly talked about my feelings relating to it anyway. So you’ll just be putting a name and a face to the person.” That was— it was alright. It wasn’t as detailed as he had first thought. He didn’t want to meet another person who had watched it all happen. “This is our stop.” Oliver looked up and followed the flow of people out of the station.
The apartment hall had the nastiest brown wallpaper Oliver had ever seen. The outside had been nice, all brick and metal, but so far, the wallpaper and the scent of cigarettes were a little overpowering. Not to mention the buzzing. Maybe the walls had been thicker in Tony’s place? Maybe that made a difference. Whatever it was, here was different. Oliver could feel so many people doing so many things at the same time. It was a little overwhelming. Like a band room warming up. Different instruments playing different things at the same time.
Peter knocked on the door. A nonchalant, thin, black girl with a grey button-up on and dark curly hair opened it. “Hey.”
A chubby brown guy with straight black hair wearing a red jacket peeked around her, his eyes widening in recognition when he saw Peter. He squeezed past her and threw himself at him. “Brooooooooooo!” He stopped before collision and they did this complex handshake.
“You guys are losers.” The girl said she was smirking. She said it with affection.
They all turned to Oliver. “Oliver, MJ, Ned,” Peter said after a moment, referring to the applicable. Oliver gave a small wave. Mj pushed herself off the doorway and signalled for everyone to follow her. Oliver closed the door behind them.
“Mind taking your shoes off?” MJ was looking at him when he turned around.
“Oh, yeah sorry, not used to taking them off at Tony’s” He smiled before kneeling to slip off his shoes.
“Tony? Is that your dad or—?” Ned cocked his head. Oliver flashed his eyes up at Peter and raised an eyebrow. He really didn’t tell them much about him huh?
“Tony’s my uh— uncle.” Yeah. Uncle. That's probably fine, right?
“You live with your uncle?” Ned and Peter gave her a look.
“I live with Lola.” He shifted to look at Oliver. “My grandma.” He nodded.
“Touché. You got any allergies, Oliver?” He shook his head.
“Your dad actually got snacks this time?!” Peter caught up to her pace.
“Nah, he's still on this one crazy diet. He isn’t gonna be here tonight by the way. If he’s lucky he won’t be home till tomorrow.” She frowned.
“Another date?” She made a sound that mimicked a yes.
“I can go get snacks if we need some. My —my uncle gave me money.” They all walked into a room, probably MJ’s room. Oliver forgot about snacks immediately. “Did you do all this?” His eyes pressed him against the walls, admiring the art plastered all over it. It was a cluttered room, with books piled up higher than the bookshelves, and a laundry basket overflowing in the corner. It looks like she cleaned just before they came and it still smelled like dust, but in a good way. Out her window a fire escape overlooked an alleyway, The art was mostly people, primarily charcoal and pencil but some watercolour and acrylic too. They all seemed upset.
“Yeah, uh, you like it?” She hobbled over beside him.
“Uh-huh. You’ve got great proportions and how did you get so good at the wrinkles? I can never figure out how to draw them?” He was looking particularly at a charcoal portrait of an old man. He looked— sad was one word for it. “I swear I’ve seen something similar to this before, with a guy holding his dead son?”
MJ looked shocked, her eyes sparking with energy. “Ivan the Terrible and his son Ivan? That's what it's based on! You know it?”
“I know it. It's got such visceral emotion.” They just looked at each other for a second.
“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” Peter whispered to Ned.
“Nope.” MJ rolled her eyes at them.
“So, you all go to the same school right?” Peter and Ned sat on the bed and MJ leaned back into the desk chair. “You all math and science geniuses or do I have a chance at passing too?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot Mr— your uncle is enrolling you there in September. Mj’s all into art and literature and she suuuuuucks at math.”
Mj held up two middle fingers to Peter. “As long as you’ve got something you’ll be fine. Flash is proof you don’t have to be smart to pass.”
“Yeah, your mom’s just gotta be rich.” Ned laughed at his own comment.
“Who’s Flash?” They all paused and looked at him. Was he supposed to know? Was this some big celebrity or something? God, he should really look more into American news.
Ned was the first to speak up. “He's an asshole.” He said it so matter of factly, it was easy to believe him.
“Yeah, hot tip for our school, stay away from Flash and all his friends. They’re the assholes with power in the school. I’m sure they’re all secretly fucked up but until they go to therapy, they’ll make that your problem.”
Oliver sighed, he didn’t really want another Jackson in his life with everything that had changed. “I know the type. Anyone else I should be worried about?”
“There’s a bunch of teachers' pets who’ll try to get you in trouble for LITERALLY ANYTHING.”
“MJ, you were vandalizing the bathroom,” Peter said, deadpan
“And? The high kids were chill.”
“Oh yeah,” Ned added. “There's a bunch of kids that get high in every bathroom all the time. They make it smell a lot but they’re all really nice.”
“Yeah, those guys are great. One time Flash was being a dick and they all ganged up on him and kicked him out of the bathroom.” Peter smiled at the memory. How much was Flash a dick to him? It seemed a little concerning.
The conversation fizzled out. They all sat there together for a bit longer. “So— you guys wanna watch a movie or something?” Mj finally interrupted Oliver's wall scanning.
“But the snaaaaacks.” Ned mocked sadness as he flopped on the bed.
“I can go get some. If you guys pick out something to watch?” He wanted to make himself useful and he needed some air. Without anyone talking he started focusing too much on everyone else in the building again.
“You know where you’re going?” Peter’s eyes asked if he wanted company.
“I’ve got maps.” he waved his phone. “Any requests?”
They went around naming chip flavours and sour candy. It was dark when Oliver actually left, and chilly. How long had he been there already? Whatever, he hadn't even noticed, that was a good sign. Maybe it had taken them longer to get there than he thought. Mj’s dad must’ve had a good date.
The convenience store bell rang when he entered, It wasn’t as empty as he thought it’d be. Still, two drunk old ladies in the corner looking at ice cream and a tired-looking teenager nursing an energy drink and their phone at the register. Back home, well, back where he used to live places weren’t even open this late. He grabbed a basket and started filling it with various junk. The lights buzzed above him, he could hear someone humming outside. The two ladies were giggling about something dirty, he didn’t let himself eavesdrop out of self-preservation. The bell on the door jingled as it opened. Oliver looked up. A white guy in a hoodie with sunglasses and a bandana over his mouth walked in. He was buzzing a little stronger than everyone else. It made him nervous. Oliver knelt down, pretending to look at some candy at the bottom of the shelf.
He has a gun. Two bangs shot into the roof. Oliver covered his ears and fell to the ground. Everything started buzzing. Buzzing hard. He could feel the fear roll off the two old ladies and the teenager as they ducked behind the counter.
“Alright folks, hand over your phones and wallets huh?” The guy sounded excited— sounded like he was smiling. Oliver peaked out from behind the shelf. The robber was pointing the gun at the kid behind the counter. They were shaking. They were trying to open the register. “PHONE. NOW.” He yelled, grabbing the kid's shirt and pressing his gun against his forehead. “You don’t want this to get messy do you?” His voice mocked sympathy. He was mocking the kid. The kid with a gun to their head. They fished their phone out of their pocket and slid it across the counter to the man. He smashed it with the bottom of the gun and pushed the kid back.
He whipped around, aiming now at the old ladies. They huddled closer into the corner. His finger was on the trigger as he walked closer, slowly. He opened his palm towards them. “Phones.”
“Please, I don’t have a—” The man shot the glass of the fridge behind them. They shrieked as the glass shattered. “I swear. I don’t have a phone.” The lady grabbed both of the purses, turning them upside down. The contents spilled on the floor.
The man kicked the garbage that landed at his feet and nodded. The old ladies waited in anticipation. They were buzzing so rapidly, the particles speeding up and bouncing off each other. They were afraid. They were all afraid.
His arm reeled back. Oliver jumped up and shouted out in protest as his fist made contact with the lady's face who emptied their bags. She cried out and fell to the ground holding herself. Her friend cradled her.
The man turned to Oliver. Fuck. He wasn’t even sure if he knew he was in there. He walked towards him. Oliver backed up, pressing himself against the front window as the man approached.
“That was pretty ballsy kid. You got a problem with me huh?” His gun was at his hip. His finger was still on the trigger. “Answer me, kid.” He was a step away from him. Too close. Too close. “Got a problem with me asserting my dominance here?”
Asserting his fucking dominance? What the fuck? He just hit an old lady and that was Asserting his dominance? Fuck. He was enjoying this, He was doing this not because he needed the money, but because he loved the taste of everyone else’s fear. And it was working. If the buzzing in the air hadn't been enough of a hint, the silence and lack of movement would definitely tell the story of fear. No. He wouldn’t— he couldn’t let him get that.
Rage sparked in Oliver’s chest. “You’re dominance? You want to dominate some poor old lady?” The man buzzed louder. The ladies buzzed louder. The cashier buzzed louder.
He laughed and then suddenly his hand shot out, squeezing around Oliver’s throat. He didn’t squeeze hard. “You wanna fucking replace them then?” He held the gun up, pressing it against Oliver’s forehead. It was cold. It felt good. “You wanna get shot, kid?” He let himself smirk. That ticked him off. He took the gun off his forehead and swung it, hitting Oliver across the face, hard. It stung, leaving a throbbing in his head, but Oliver grabbed the gun. He pulled it hard, flinging it in the other direction. It landed on the other side of the shelf, sliding across the tile. The robber looked into Oliver’s eyes for a moment. “You little fucking shit.” He hit him in the face again, his fist hitting the same spot. He smirked as a response. The man buzzed louder. They all buzzed louder. He grabbed him by the throat again and wound up this time. Oliver tried to bring his hands up but it still hit. A sickly crunch came from his nose and blood spilled over his lips. His eyes watered. Fuck this. Oliver swung at the guy over the arm holding his throat. He dodged. Fuck he dodged.
“Alright kid clearly no one's ever taught you a fucking lesson.” He let go of his neck and kicked him in the stomach. Hard. Oliver flew back into the window shattering it, leaving him to fall through. The glass pierced his back, little pieces all over drawing blood and burning. He yelped, covering his eyes as the rest of the glass landed on him. He landed on the broken glass. A large piece pierced his shoulder.
Oliver sat up. The buzzing was going crazy now. With the pain. He felt the power starting to build in his head and was desperately trying to keep it down. He reached over his shoulder, feeling the piece of glass stuck in it. He looked back at the man. He was buzzing. The ladies in the corner were buzzing. The cashier was buzzing. A guy in the alleyway was buzzing. The electricity in the entire block was buzzing. It was all messy, all screaming for his attention at the same time. He launched himself at the man. He stumbled. Oliver swung, hitting the man in the face and knocking off his stupid sunglasses. It stung his knuckles, the pressure built. He swung again and again, the man was backing up dodging and getting hit and trying to get away. He turned, pushing a shelf down and making for the door. Oliver kicked it out of his way and grabbed the man's hood. He made a choking sound, falling with his head. He kicked him, keeping him on the floor before climbing on top of him. Who gave this guy the right? The fucking audacity to get off on threatening these people. Oliver hit him again. Who told him that he was allowed that kind of power? He hit him again. All the buzzing screamed for his attention. The pressure in his head built and he pushed it down more. He was angry. He kept hitting the man. He was bleeding. God, it felt good. All the buzzing overlapped, losing its meaning. A thousand-man band all playing different songs at the same time. There was blood on his hands. He wasn’t sure if it was just the man’s. He wasn’t sure if his hands hurt. He was sitting on him and hitting him over and over and over again. The pressure in his head built more and a popping sounded as all the cameras burst in the store. There was so much buzzing still. So much pressure. So much going on. It was too much. It was too much. He kept hitting and hitting. The man wasn’t moving anymore. But he was still awake he was still awake he was still. He yanked the piece of glass out of his shoulder, stopping the blood with the pressure in his head. He yanked the man's head back by his hair and pressed the sharp part against the man's throat.
No.
Oliver looked into his eyes. The fear. He couldn’t feel it. Not with all the buzzing screaming at him—. He couldn’t feel it. But he could see it. The glass indented his skin. Oliver leaned in close to his ear. He could hear the man's heavy breathing.
“Can you feel it?” he whispered. “Can you feel the fear? Who made you think this was fun hmm? Who made you think this meant power? You don’t deserve the kind of power that makes someone feel fear like this. You deserve nothing.”
Oliver got off the man, dropping the piece of glass. The pressure in his head went away and he felt his shoulder get warmer. He closed his eyes and swayed for a moment. It was all so quiet but. But he could feel everything. He could feel a baby crying two blocks away and he could feel a sink overflowing down the street and he could feel a thousand honking horns and a million different lights and—. Himself. He couldn’t feel himself. They were all screaming at him. All begging for his attention and he couldn’t. He didn’t have it all. He opened his eyes. The ladies in the corner were staring at him. The teenager was staring at him. The man was breathing heavily on the ground, covered in both of their blood. Oliver was shaking. He needed the buzzing to stop. He needed it all to shut the fuck up or he was going to go insane. He needed something.
He walked over to the scattered snacks on the ground, picking up a bag of chips. The buzzing. He tossed it on the counter, waited a beat, and then added cigarettes and a lighter to the purchase. The buzzing. It was something. The buzzing. Maybe it would do something. The buzzing. The twenty people out for a smoke right now seemed to like it.
“It's on the house.” The cashier's voice shook.
The door jingled as he left. The buzzing. Spiderman was standing there. The buzzing. He was just staring. The buzzing. Oliver ignored him and sat on the curb. The buzzing. He clicked the lighter to life and brought it to the cigarette in his mouth. He coughed. The buzzing didn’t go away. But it smoothed out. Went from a million different instruments all playing a different song to a billion instruments all playing one song. It was a shit song but they weren’t all calling for his attention. They were one, rather than a million. He brought the cigarette to his lips again. He didn't cough.
“Are you— okay?” Spiderman was standing next to him.
“I think.” He paused, blinking the tears out of his eyes. “I think I could’ve killed him.” He looked up at the masked figure. Guilt spread through his lungs. He was right. He could've killed him. He was going to kill him. “Did I just do a terrible thing?”
He stood there for another second before sitting on the curb next to him. “I mean. I mean you stopped the robbery, right? That guy was doing something bad and you stopped him?” He didn’t sound too sure. Why would he be sure? His hands, and the man's face, were covered in blood.
“But I could've killed him.” He tried to take some deep breaths to not cry. It worked. Barely.
“Yeah, but you didn’t”
“Yeah, but I beat the shit out of him. What if he was just trying to feed his family? Feed himself?” There are so many semi-justifiable reasons Oliver could think of to rob a convenience store. Fuck. He was probably wrong about the guy enjoying it. He was probably desperate and he had —.
“It was still illegal.”
“That doesn’t really justify getting the shit beat out of him. The law doesn’t always tell you what's right. You of all people should know that.”
“Yeah.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Oliver felt the cashier call 911.
“Sometimes, you have to hurt people to hurt fewer people. Hurt guilty people to help innocent ones.” He was right. Of course, he was right. That's why there were vigilantes and superheroes and the military and why cops, although they abused it, were given weapons. But who was he to judge who deserved that kind of punishment?
“I still feel bad about it though.”
“You never stop feeling bad about it.” Oliver looked at him, he was looking off into the distance. Is this what it was like? Being a hero? No, it had to feel good when people thanked him when he saw the people he saved. What about the people Oliver saved? What about those old ladies and that teenager? What would’ve happened to them if he hadn’t been there? Or if he didn’t get enhanced. He couldn’t throw a punch like that before. Maybe it was obvious that this guy deserved it. Maybe it wasn’t about him deserving it, maybe it was about stopping him. Maybe it was a lesson, a reminder of what fear tasted like. Oliver felt the cops two blocks away, he should probably go.
Spiderman perked up. “Hey, the uh cops—”
Oliver pushed himself off the ground, calming the buzzing again with another inhale. “Yeah, I know.” Spiderman got up too. Maybe, maybe he should use this. Use the pressure in his head and his enhanced body, to help more. Like Spiderman. “See you around.” he started walking.
“Yeah. See you around.” Oliver didn’t watch him swing away. The sirens echoed in the distance.