Variant Strain

- - -

Peter's escape almost hadn't happened. He'd switched to Ed Whelan's form once more and tried the biometric lock. After a tense moment the small screen had flashed, "Bellevue Hub in Lockdown. Red Protocol in Effect. Please follow security measures in effect."

He stared at those words, the adrenaline high from his victory over the two hunters running down, transforming itself to jumpiness and keyed up apprehension. So he was stuck. He eyed the doors speculatively. He massed about half a ton more now than he did a few minutes ago. Or rather he would if he did the red haze mass shifting trick once more. Lightening himself only seemed to chew through a couple pounds of biomass a second, but pulling his entire mass out of whatever never-never realm it had been stashed in chewed through over fifty pounds or so every time.

He tried to work out how much momentum he could bring to bear on those doors and knew that it would be more than enough to punch through the steel. On the other hand, he didn't actually have concrete data on how well his fist would fare if slammed into hardened steel at his maximum possible velocity. After the fight he'd just barely survived, he didn't really want to find out, scientific curiosity be damned.

He did want to give the Thunderbolts the impression that the Hunters had escaped. Force them to comb the city. Make them turn up the other enclaves or hives of infected out in Manhattan. Except he couldn't do that stuck at the door.

It made sense that the place would be in lockdown, though. The entire point of having the Thunderbolts was to keep the Hydra infection from spreading. Why did he think he'd be able to just waltz out the front door after they showed up?

He wondered if they would realize he was trying to exit through this door? The lock was obviously connected to some central database. It could make note that Ed Whelan was trying to make a run for it. Again.

That thought brought new urgency to things.

Jessica had managed to rip apart and throw a door of comparable construction, but Peter wasn't sure how he measured up against her in the straight strength department. He flexed his fingers and considered the claws. They could penetrate concrete easily. He did the numbers in his head and decided that it might be worthwhile to attempt to cut his way out when the screen next to the door flashed to something different.

ULTRON> Lockout Override.

Peter stared for a long moment, but he heard the latch click open. He looked up and realized that the surveillance camera was definitely trained on him. It seemed to notice his gaze and the red light on it's underside that indicated it was working. Flashed.

If he'd been of a particular turn of mind, he'd almost swear the camera had just winked at him.

Peter shook his head and ran into the door. The second set of doors of the airlock arrangement clicked open as well as soon as the first set locked shut.

The small screen above the keypad was also flashing the ULTRON> Lockout Override.

One more question, but he didn't have time to consider it now. He ran for the elevator and stabbed the button, impatient to be on his way.

He switched forms again as he made his way out of the hospital. He could just barely make out the grey light of dawn creeping into the city. He wasn't following anything anymore. He could take a swifter direct line route. He just hoped it would be swift enough.

Light was coming. More cars were on the streets now. The darkness that hid him before wouldn't last much longer, but he didn't really have time to worry about it now. It was close to a straight line shot north up First Avenue then back onto the Queensboro bridge. He ran flat out.

He flared heat over and over, the red haze flickering around him to keep his body light til the apex of each stride, letting him cover almost the length of a block with each step. He skidded onto the bridge and ran even faster.

Halfway across the bridge, his phone rang and he answered, without stopping.

"Where are you?" MJ's voice came, tight and worried.

"Almost back. Maybe ten minutes." He panted as he passed cars.

"Are you on the train?" Her voice came back, the tone curious.

"Nope." He replied, "Running."

"Well, that's what I told your Aunt you're doing."

"She's up already?" He almost stumbled.

"I told her you were going out for a jog. She looked skeptical." Her voice held a mild note of amusement, despite the tension.

"... uh, yeah. She would." Peter agreed.

"Just make sure to look like you're wearing sweats or something when you come back just so it looks right, okay?"

"Okay." He nodded, despite her not being able to see him.

"Did you find anything?"

"I'll tell you later." He replied tightly.

- - -

Peter had made it home with the sun already casting long morning shadows. He'd switched to sweats a little after he entered the Forest Hills neighborhood and slowed to a jog the rest of the distance to the house.

Just as well that the run back had been the cool down he'd needed to get his shaking back under control. He was covered in sweat and still looked a little wild-eyed by the time he stepped into the house.

Aunt May had popped her head out of the kitchen and stared at him as though seeing him for the first time and wasn't sure what she was seeing. Her expression had been pensive and drawn. That nervous tension hadn't gone away and she was tighter wound than ever. Some of it seemed to sag out of her on seeing him. "A jog?" She asked incredulously.

Peter smiled weakly, doing his best to keep the exhaustion out of it, sweat was dripping down the sides of his face. "I just... I couldn't sleep. Maybe... I don't know... see if I could sweat it out. Or something."

"Two days in a row now you've actually gone outside." She said, faint amusement coloring her tone. Peter could almost see the other thought rise into place behind her eyes. Two days since Uncle Ben died.

He hurriedly closed the door behind him and stepped in to kiss her cheek. "I'll go clean up, okay?"

She tried to smile, but it was little more than a slight drawing up at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes stayed sad and distant. "Yes, please." Then she seemed to force a little more amusement into her tone, some of it even made it into her eyes this time. "You reek of teenager."

He grinned and ducked his head. His eyes flicked up to the top of the stairs. His sense of smell had told him she was there. MJ looked down at him, her expression concerned and curious.

She tilted her head at him in a silent, "Well?"

Peter held a hand up and tried his best to urge with his eyes, "Later."

He ducked into the bathroom, switched himself to nudity and tried to scrub himself raw under the hot water.

He'd run along his own back-trail. Doubling back along the path he'd followed as closely as he could. He'd done his best to... not smell like himself, but he had no clue if it were even possible to disguise whatever scent he put out that alerted the Trackers to him.

He hoped they wouldn't find him. The Thunderbolts had been efficient in their disposal of the two Hunters. Peter had managed it, but it had been a massive struggle for him and he'd been hurt in the process. A lot. Granted all of those injuries had been healed-- after a full meal-- but they had nearly killed him.

The Bellevue Hive had terrified him. Jessica Drew had aroused and terrified him. Not even Anna Watson had inspired quite that level of... raw, aching hungry need in him. Nothing ever had. His rational mind had wanted to take a vacation and just let his instincts take over. Nothing had ever felt like that. It scared the hell out of him almost as much as the thought of dying.

The Hunters had only wanted to tear him apart. She had been set to turn his brain to mush. And she'd expected him to just obey. Something about that worried him even more.

He didn't know if coming back was the right thing to do. The smart thing to do would have been to lay low and hide. Find as deep and dark a hole as he could find and close it up behind him to keep them from finding him.

Logically, that's what he should have done. Or made a break for it. He could've easily made it to New Jersey in the time it had taken to run back to Queens. They'd never find him in Jersey.

He turned the water back up to full blast.

Except he'd come right back to the people he cared about. Possibly leading them to him.

But he had to. Aunt May wouldn't have... he didn't think she could stand the thought of losing him too.

But at least she'd be alive, His voice retorted in his head. We've got no guarantees with the Infected or with the Thunderbolts.

Another even more chilling thought caught up to him. What if he'd brought the infection back with him? He shook his head at that. No... he could smell the Hydra even when it was inert. There hadn't been a trace of that on him... unless it was something else. Something more exotic that he couldn't detect... it was probably too late to run himself through decontamination.

He switched to entirely cold water and let it beat on him. He had to clear his head. He needed... he needed to be there for Aunt May right now. To say goodbye to Uncle Ben. Then afterwards, there would be more time to think and plan out his next step. Hydra had been all over Manhattan. He had no clue if the Thunderbolts could even stop Jessica if she set her mind to it. The doors he'd gone through wouldn't stop her.

But they were the experts, right? They could take her. They had guns and rocket propelled grenades and high explosives. He was just a kid. It wasn't his job to stop her. He rested his head wearily against the side of the shower, letting the cold scour his thoughts. It wasn't his burden. It wasn't his responsibility.

- - -

It had been a lovely service.

The mortician had done his best, but they hadn't quite managed to make Uncle Ben look asleep. Peter looked and he could tell, undeniably that it was his corpse. If his enhanced sense of smell didn't tell him so, the complete lack of heartbeat would have been a dead giveaway. It was more than that, though. Ben Parker had been an animated man. He'd had a grin always at the ready on his lips, and there would usually be some wicked or off-color comment ready to fire. Seeing him there so quiet, so... grim-faced... the mortician had done his best, Peter had to keep telling himself, but there had simply been no way to capture the essence of the man in repose, no matter how much make up you used.

Peter had stayed with Aunt May through the whole thing. He was trying to be strong. He was doing his best to concentrate on the here and now and not worry about what had happened the night before or what was going to happen in the near future.

He was reasonably sure he'd pulled it off.

Fellow mourners, friends of Ben from his antiquing business and people from around the neighborhood, old family friends they hadn't seen in years. Everyone of these had given their condolences and mouthed platitudes and countless rounds of 'if you need anything just let us know'.

If Peter heard that last one again anytime soon he was going to scream.

The only one Peter had really wanted to speak to had been George Stacy, but there had been too many people and the best Peter had managed was a handshake and a quiet, "We should talk, sir."

The older man had nodded, but had to step away as another couple came up to offer their sympathy.

After they'd lowered the coffin and the dirt had been symbolically thrown in, Aunt May had needed to hurry away with Anna to compose herself. She'd managed to hold on to her self-control through the service, but she hadn't been able to keep from losing it when the coffin had gone in.

Peter couldn't remember when he'd last seen his Aunt cry. He felt lost just watching her. She'd always seemed to have everything so... together. Poised, composed, confident... he didn't see any of that now. Just a woman who'd lost the man she loved.

The other attendees had begun drifting away then. He imagined everyone to be in a hurry as they drifted away briskly. Almost like they were afraid that 'dead' was something communicable. Then again it was a graveyard. He didn't think anyone ever really got comfortable in one.

MJ moved next to him and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze, before letting go hurriedly. Almost as though she were embarrassed by the gesture. "Hi." She murmured.

"Hey." He replied, looking away, then towards her. He hadn't really paid attention, but she'd done something arcane thing involving make up and had somehow smoothed away the color from her bruises. The scabbed over cut on the side of her lip was still there, but she'd done something else that had brightened the color of her lips just subtly that had made the cut seem smaller. She was no Jessica, but Peter thought she looked gorgeous. If nothing else, he was fairly sure her appeal at least wasn't being artificially bolstered by some sort of drug-like pheromones.

Okay, she still smelled nice, but... he lost the thread of what he was thinking as he contemplated her eyes and it took him a moment to realize she had asked him a question. It sounded like she'd been asking more than one. "You spaced out there. Are you alright?"

He nodded and sighed. "Long night."

She stood next to him, somehow contriving to seem as though she just happened to be standing there purely by coincidence without actually seeming like she was specifically with him. Peter wasn't entirely sure if that had been intentional or not. He still felt too worn out to really care. She murmured, "For someone who can control how he looks, you look kind of terrible."

His jaw clenched slightly, but he forced himself to relax once more. "Yeah. It... it was bad." He ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I almost--"

Whatever else he meant to say, was forgotten when an tightly controlled male voice snarled from behind them. "There you are. Time to come home."

Peter caught the flickers of expression across MJ's face as she heard the voice. Fear. Revulsion. Fury. Stark, naked terror. All of these flitted across her face for the barest instants before her expression settled to something completely neutral. She chewed on her lower lip for just a moment before she turned and faced the man who had come up behind them.

He was about 5'10". He had dark brown hair that was slicked back and thinning at front, giving him a prominent forehead that he'd taken no measures to disguise. As though he was going to brazen through male pattern baldness. His eyes were small and furious, but the rest of his face seemed to be set in a smooth emotionless mask. He had a neatly trimmed mustache. He wore a suit in a dark charcoal grey. Not quite cheap, but it was off-the-rack and didn't seem to fit his muscular form well. The man was built like an high-school football player who'd let himself go, but was still powerfully built. The man smelled strongly of whiskey. Peter hardly had need of enhanced senses to catch the distillery reek hanging around the man lik a haze. He could barely make out the man's own scent through the cloud of alcohol fumes.

Idly he wondered what would happen if he lit a match next to the man. Would he, perhaps, catch fire?

Peter frowned slightly. There was something familiar to the cast of his features, but Peter couldn't quite tell what it was.

"What are you doing here?" She asked in a polite, neutral tone. But Peter could hear the quaver in her voice. The man glowered at her and she flinched back.

"I'm here to pick you up, stupid." He said bluntly. Despite the alcohol obviously soaking the man down, he seemed almost normal. Belligerent, obviously, but he wasn't swaying or slurring. That said he was used to walking around pickled to the gills. "Where's that slag, Anna?"

MJ flinched again. Her eyes flicked to Peter then back to the man, but she said nothing.

The man shrugged, "Doesn't matter. Come on. You've wasted enough of my time already." He reached out for MJ.

She shrank away from him. She took a step back and Peter stepped between them without another thought. "I don't think she wants to go with you." He said firmly. This guy probably would have completely terrified him a few days ago. Not that it would have mattered. His reaction would've been the same. He couldn't abide bullies. He likely would've been quivering in terror and his voice would have been far less sure then, but he liked to think that he still would have put himself between this man and MJ.

The man's eyes blazed with fury but the rest of his face stayed bland and unassuming. "What the hell? Is Anna teaching you how to be like her, you little whore? Found somebody to open your legs for so he can play hero? Is that it?"

Peter caught a glimpse of MJ in his peripheral vision and she'd gone pale. She was biting down on her lower lip so hard that he expected she must've been tasting blood. He realized she was biting down on a scream. That made the sudden shove from the man to his shoulder that sent him sprawling onto his ass a complete surprise. If Peter needed a way to be sure that his additional mass wasn't giving him more weight, this made that abundantly clear.

"If you were going to find someone to do that for you, stupid." The man snarled, "You should've gotten someone who wasn't a wimp." He turned his blazing eyes down at Peter, "I bet you're one of Anna's cast-offs aren't you? You look a little young, but I bet she's had you already."

He blinked up at the man. A few mental gears slipped slightly at the thought of Anna having slept with someone his age, but the logical side managed to slap it down before anything truly stupid escaped his mouth.

Cletus's voice rose up in his head, Yeah. I don't think I like this jackass. Other thoughts crowded in close. Wordless, hungry thoughts. Cutting, ripping, tearing and biting thoughts.

Peter raised himself up to sitting position and the man snarled again. "Stay down, asshole. The little whore isn't worth it." He turned his face towards MJ. "I should know." He took another step towards MJ and she backed away once more, but there was a grave marked behind her and she bumped into it, eliciting a small whimper.

"I'll give you something to cry about." The man said, beginning to draw one hand back.

Peter surged to his feet, putting himself between the man and MJ once more. "I think you're done. Leave."

The bland mask on the man's face cracked revealing surprise. That gave way to fury. Peter noted absently that whoever this was... and he had a pretty good idea already who it was... wasn't used to people defying him. He also had a clear response to it happening.

The fist he'd drawn back to strike MJ reoriented and the man took a swing at Peter. This time he wasn't taken unaware. His initial thought had been to simply duck out of the way of the punch, but reflexes and muscle memory not his own rose up suddenly and his hand came up to grasp the man's wrist loosely and pull him off balance at the same time as the dodge. The man tripped over his own feet and sprawled face first at the ground in front of Peter, stunned.

Peter moved to MJ who was trembling and he said gently. "Go find Aunt May and Anna. I'll make sure he doesn't hurt you."

Her eyes, wide and terrified behind the blank mask stared up at him. She didn't move. She was barely breathing. Her pupils were tiny pinpoints.

The man bellowed and rose up. He clenched his fists and took up a boxer's stance. Peter had no idea how to judge such things, but impressions rose up that the man looked like he was a fighter. He knew what he was doing. The man was strong, fast and vicious.

A part of him murmured, the voice unfamiliar, But not enough. He's only human, after all.

"Oh, you think you're hard? Huh? Know a couple of tricks and you think you're some kind of hardass? Is that why she thinks you can keep her from me?" A series of alternating hard jabs shot towards Peter and his newly acquired reflexes kicked in, weaving him around them. He didn't dare move too far out of the way, or the man would hit MJ.

He was faster than Peter anticipated and he was still getting used to the reflexes, which he realized had been acquired by a man larger than he was. His smaller form and shorter limbs messed him up just enough for a single hard blow to take him in the stomach.

It forced the breath out of him explosively and it had hurt. He almost felt like throwing up for a moment, but it had passed almost as soon as the spike of pain had hit. He could feel the flesh under his suit rippling and shifting. It probably would have completely taken him out before. Now... it was barely a twinge. He'd reflexively closed his hands around his stomach and bent over. If anything the pain had already passed before he'd finished the movement.

Why the hell are you playing around? Cletus's annoyed voice whispered. An image of his hand blurring to claws rose up and he had to stop long enough to shake himself free from that.

It was tempting. One swipe and it would be done. They were already in a cemetery anyway. What was one more body? Or he could take care of the evidence. It would be so easy. Right?

As Peter forced his own instincts down, the man mistook his expression for one of pain. He stopped long enough to gloat. "She's MINE! You're little ass! You asked for this!" Then he swung another punch at Peter's head that probably would've knocked out most people.

Peter could hear the voices clamoring in his head... or there were shouts coming from the distance. He wasn't certain which. His heartbeat was starting to thunder in his ears once more and his vision turning to the red haze. He fought it down and moved.

He turned, shifting his head out of the way of the blow and swept his leg out as part of the motion, pulling the man's legs out from under him in an almost gentle movement. The temptation to slam his foot into the side of the man's knee and simply dislocate the joint had been strong. The temptation to simply tear him open had been even stronger. With claw and talon and teeth and tendril, but he kept it down.

The man was down with his face on the ground once more, one arm trapped underneath him. This time Peter didn't give him an opportunity to get back up.

Peter dropped down, slamming his knee into the small of the man's back, driving what little breath he still had out of him. Peter reached his hands out, perfectly normal, human hands that felt too small for the work they were being put to, but they would serve more adequately than claws.

He took the man's free arm and twisted it up behind his back. Holding him there and keeping him from getting any leverage. Making it impossible for him to make any move without Peter being able to dislocate his shoulder with the slightest bit of additional pressure. His other hand tangled into the man's thinning hair and pulled his head back sharply, exposing his throat and eliciting a pained, confused cry from the man.

He leaned in just to one side of the man's head. He was sure the man could see his face in his peripheral vision. Peter spoke into his ear, his eyes flaring red.

"Hello," He kept his voice soft, but a bit of Cletus' drawl crept into it lending his words a relaxed, casual air that was completely at odds with the hold he had the man in. "I'm guessing you must be MJ's dad."

The man's face was turning red with the strain of the position Peter had him in. He made a wordless snarl of fury, but the color seemed to drain when he finally noticed the red glow in Peter's eyes.

"Right now, I am trying very, very hard to keep from doing y'all some permanent damage." Peter drawled out, "I would probably feel bad about it, but part of me is going to enjoy doing it. Gonna enjoy feeling you break into pieces under my fingers."

MJ's father... if that was who the man was... saw the sincerity and the hunger in Peter's eyes and swallowed nervously. Peter's fingers dug deeper into the man's scalp. "If you lay a hand on her again... if I so much as hear you looked at her wrong, I am just gonna have to accept that you don't like being able to walk. Or eat solid food. And I will have to oblige you your desires. Are we clear?"

The man's eyes bulged and Peter caught just a hint of fear beneath the impotent fury.

He liked it. A sick disgust clenched his stomach. He would have stopped then and there, but without meaning to, he added, "Are we clear, boy?" Cletus's voice whispered out of Peter's mouth.

The shouting had finally arrived.

Peter rose to his feet, taking an extra moment to dig his knee in deeper into the man's back and giving his hair a lingering jerk just before he stepped away.

Anna was holding MJ and trying to pull her away. MJ's expression seemed blank and worryingly empty, but when Peter looked more closely, her eyes blazed furiously. They weren't turned on her father though. They were on Peter.

Aunt May was there as well, her expression was strange and strained. She looked at Peter, as though not sure what she was seeing. He looked away from that and focused on the other people, but within a moment, she had closed in and began looking him over. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Aunt May." Peter replied tiredly.

"Where did you learn to--?" She began to ask.

He replied with a small humorless grin, still not taking his eyes off the man. "Discovery Channel. Who says you can't learn anything from TV?"

A few of the other mourners had drifted back. Rubberneckers and the curious were staring.

The man, stared at Peter warily, keeping his distance. He looked around at the rest of the people and said hurriedly, "You all saw that, right? He assaulted me! You all saw it!" He called out, hair in disarray, eyes wild.

Everyone else shuffled uncomfortably, but then George Stacy stepped forward, clucking his tongue, "Is that what happened?" He asked slowly. That close, even unenhanced senses could catch the alcohol fumes surrounding the man.

Glad for what seemed like a helpful soul the man agreed viciously. "Yes. Yes, he did. My name's Brian Watson. The nasty little bastard's trying to turn my daughter, Mary Jane, against me."

"Sound serious." George said with a nod and he drew his suit coat back, revealing the badge clipped to his belt. He glanced over to Anna Watson, then to MJ and there was a bit of silent communication there that went over Peter's adrenaline hyped senses. "My name's Detective George Stacy."

"Yes it is, Detective." The man's hateful eyes glittered triumphantly.

"I think you should come down to the station with me and we can talk about this some more." George continued in an unperturbed, unhurried voice as he moved over to the man.

"Of course," Brian replied, "I'll be happy to press charges against the vicious little animal."

George nodded and moved behind Brian, snapping a pair of handcuffs over his wrists before the man had even realized what had happened. He snarled over his shoulder in surprise, "Wha--?"

George Stacy's voice was amused and more than a little disdainful. "Everybody saw you try to hit Peter. Then everybody saw you get your ass kicked. You smell like a brewery. Even if Mr. Parker declines to press assault charges on you, you're looking at drunk and disorderly at least."

"You can't do this to me! I'll have your badge! Do you know who I am?!" Brian ranted as George gave him a hard shove and began leading him away.

George replied with a smirk. "You're a drunk asshole who tried to beat up a sixteen year old kid and failed miserably. You have the right to remain silent."

He looked over his shoulder at the Watsons and the Parkers. "I'll take care of this. I can come by later this afternoon to take your statement."

Aunt May gave him a grateful nod, then went back to fussing over the unharmed Peter who could only stare tiredly as Brian was dragged off and George rattled off the man's Miranda rights to him by memory.

A fight that hadn't ended in him eating someone.

A first.

Yay.

He'd managed to keep control and... and... he caught MJ's eyes and there had been a brief flash. An expression of ugly, hateful fury twisting the sweetness out of her face, just for a fraction of a second.

He saw her lips twitch and although no one else heard it, Peter caught it clear as day. The question hit him harder than the blow he'd taken from Brian Watson.

"Why didn't you kill him?"

He shuddered.

- - -