Variant Strain

- - -

The Stacy house fit in perfectly in the street that it was in. Neat, manicured little lawn. White washed walls. It wasn't a large house by any means, but it was clearly well-maintained. It struck Peter as almost ironic that such an oasis of calm existed so close to where all the death and mess of the newly established Forest Hills Police Station hive were happening.

The neighborhood actually had a lot of cop families. His own family had lived here once. Right before the house was sold when his parents had died... no. When they'd been declared dead. Not the same thing apparently.

He remembered the house. He'd come over for play dates when he'd been younger. Maybe age eight or so? It still looked pretty much the same. He remembered there had been a plastic playhouse in the back yard then, where he and Gwen had played house. Or more precisely, their game had been called Cops and Mommies. Both of them having had policemen for fathers probably influenced that.

He stood at the front door and contemplated knocking. His hearing could pick out the television inside. There was one heartbeat in the living room. Agitated and nervous. Even if he didn't have the Ultron pop-up on his phone giving him the address, Gwen's scent was distinctive enough to lead him to this door.

He was just going to check in on her. Tell her that her dad was okay. Then he'd be on his way and he'd find someplace quiet where he could read through those documents that Hank Pym had sent him. He took a glance at some of the file names and it was enough to intrigue him.

"Project Rebirth: Alpha Strain Phase One Testing Results"

"Littleville, NY: Beta Strain Trial Results"

"Weapon Plus Protocols: Project Red Guardian/Omega Red"

He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to have any of these. The fact that when he'd tried to open one on the way to the Stacy house, the first lines in it were "Eyes Only: Top Secret Clearance only" pretty much told him everything he needed to know about whether or not he was supposed to have them in the first place. On the other hand, they were supposed to have some more answers to his questions, or at least that was what Hank implied.

He shook his head to clear it and knocked.

He could hear the heartbeat on the other side of the door pick up and begin to move closer to the door. That was definitely Gwen. She paused at the door for a second and he realized she was looking through the peep hole.

The door opened slightly and he noted the chain still keeping it from opening all the day. He saw part of Gwen's pretty face peeking out at him and a worried expression. "Hey, Petey." She shifted her gaze away from him, looking back up the path and to the street. "Where's my dad? I've been trying to call, but it just keeps going to a busy signal."

"Hi, Gwen." Peter replied. "I got caught by the crowd when they panicked and got pulled away. Your dad's still near the Police Station, but he's okay."

She seemed to visibly relax at that. "Do you want to come in for a bit? Maybe get something to drink?"

"I..." He began to say, but she'd already partially re-closed the door and undid the chain, opening the door wide for him.

"Come on." She smiled at him. She had a gorgeous smile. The sort that lit up a room. In this case, it seemed to light up the whole street. Now that his head wasn't swimming in the carrion reek of Hydra he was in a much better position to actually appreciate it. He found himself smiling back and relaxing just a tiny bit. He hadn't seen Gwen in years, but even after all that growing up, her smile was still the same. He caught another whiff of a scent that unnerved him as he stepped into the house.

He glanced over to the hand she'd been using to hold the door open. The one he hadn't been able to see because the door had hidden it. She was holding a shotgun in that hand. A riotgun. Gunpowder and gun oil. Her fingers were wrapped loosely around the pistol grip and her finger resting against the trigger guard. It was pointing up, but he had a feeling that if she'd needed to, she could've quite quickly and smoothly swung that weapon up to her shoulder and gotten a round off.

That sent a chill up his spine.

She noticed his attention on the shotgun as she closed and locked the door once more. She shrugged, still smiling. "Hey, after what I just saw happen, I wanted to make sure I was ready."

Peter swallowed. Well... she always did seem comfortable with hitting him when they were younger. "Wow. Um... looks like you've got a whole lot of ready there."

"Mossberg 590," Gwen said proudly. "Dad insisted that I know how to use it and a couple of other things in case of emergencies."

He nodded grimly. "That's actually a good idea." He paused uncertainly, "Is your mom here?"

Gwen shrugged, her expression mostly neutral, but there was an undercurrent of distaste to it. "She and dad are on a 'trial separation'. She lives in New Jersey now."

Peter winced and tried to cover up his embarrassment over asking the question by looking around. "Uh... nice place."

The living room was neat. The furniture was in earth tones and mostly looked well-lived in, but not shabby. The sofa and easy chairs all bore marks of having been well-used. Nice, but inexpensive and definitely several years old. There was a large flat-screen TV on one end of the room, hanging above a fireplace and was probably the most expensive thing in the room.

The TV was tuned to a news show, and the blank-eyed newsreader was saying something about a terrorist bombing in Queens, but that no one had any details yet.

"I was watching the news to see if they'd tell us anything useful," Gwen said, noting where he was looking. "So far, though... nothing. All that anyone's said is a terrorist bombing."

She sat in one of the easy chairs, inclining her head to the couch for Peter before she settled down and cradled the shotgun in her arms. He was slightly unnerved at how comfortable she seemed to be holding the thing. Gwen looked over to him and frowned slightly, "I think we both know that's not what that was. I don't know what that was, but it sure as hell wasn't a 'bombing'."

"Maybe not." He hedged, unsure how to reply.

"Maybe it's just me being a cop's daughter and just a tiny bit paranoid... but I can't help but notice that you weren't surprised at all when those people started coming out." Gwen said in a carefully neutral tone.

He took a deep breath, not certain what to tell her, but that shotgun, lovingly cradled in her arms, decided things for him. "I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but I figured something was going to." He said tiredly as he sat on the couch, letting himself luxuriate in a chance to sprawl bonelessly on it.

She watched him carefully, noting the very real exhaustion in his tone. "Do you want to tell me?" She asked gently, her tone less guarded than before.

He closed his eyes, his voice sounded hollow to his own ears. "It's some sort of virus, called Hydra. Or that's what I keep being told. It transmits by body fluids, I think. Those infected get... changed. Sometimes it just destroys their minds. Sometimes it puts people to sleep. Mostly it kills... and sometimes... it turns people into monsters." He shuddered.

He startled when he felt the couch shift slightly next to him and Gwen's roses and sweet cream scent settled down next to him and her hand was on his, squeezing it. He looked at her, and her expression was sympathetic and worried.

"How do you know about this?" She asked, her voice softer now.

"The people who killed my Uncle Ben? They're tied into this. I was investigating it." He admitted. It was technically the truth. He didn't need to add in the small detail of how intimately aware he was of how the Hydra virus worked. He gave a small, bitter laugh, "I can't believe his funeral was only this morning."

She squeezed his hand again, "I'm sorry about your Uncle."

Peter sighed and looked away, but he didn't pull away from her hand. It felt good. Soothing. Part of him was cataloging the differences between how MJ's hands felt versus how Gwen's did and that brought a slight flush to his face.

Ain't you a Cassanova? Cletus' voice interjected slyly. Just you be careful. Looks like she knows her way around that shotgun, make no mistake.

He sputtered mentally and flailed about to find something to cover that up. He began talking again, slightly rushed. "The Army... I think it's the Army, anyway, have people who specialize in trying to keep this thing contained. They call themselves the Thunderbolts. They've cordoned off the area and they're probably why no real news of this has gotten out yet. They're blocking transmissions into and out of the area too. Pretty sure that's why you can't get a call in to him. Your dad's with them, so he's pretty much as safe as it's possible to be that close to the Hive."

"Hive?" She asked, confused.

"The Police Station. That's what it's turned into. If it doesn't get cleaned up fast enough... I think it's going to make more monsters." Peter said. He opened his eyes once more and gave her a small smile. "Sorry. It's just... it's been a long couple of days."

"I'll bet," She said, returning his smile. He noted though that the whole time she'd been sitting next to him and holding his hand... she hadn't let go of the shotgun. He could see a thought occur to her and the gentle expression on her face turned thoughtful. "If you got pulled away by the crowd, how do you know my dad is okay?"

He fished his phone out of his pocket. "The Thunderbolts are using software from a company called Oscorp to mess with the cellphone signals. I found a back door into it. Hold on, let me see..." He dialed her father's number.

It rang a few times before George Stacy's voice came through, "Hello, Peter. Did you talk to Gwen?"

"I did one better," Peter said with a small smile and he looked up to Gwen who was staring. "Here." He said, handing the phone to her.

"D-daddy?" Gwen asked into the phone the relief obvious in her tone. Him telling her he was alright was one thing, but there was no substitute for actually hearing his voice.

Peter smiled and looked away. He got up to his feet and walked around the couch a bit, trying his best to not pay attention by focusing on the TV.

He did catch George Stacy's jovial tone as he said, "I'm a little concerned about you having a boy over at the house unsupervised. Keep your shotgun handy, alright sweetie?"

What caught his attention though was the mild blush that came to Gwen's lovely face right before she laughed. Just a teeny bit too hard.

There was a sort of wordless knowledge that chimed in from the back of his mind to the effect of: Well, that's interesting. That he wasn't sure, but may possibly have come from Donna the Tracker.

Peter turned away entirely and watched the news. It was some sort of live feed from his own street. The reporter was obviously trying to get past the cordon. Men in fatigues... probably the marines, denied them access. One was reaching for the camera. The car he'd flipped onto its side was still clearly visible in the background.

The reporter's voice suddenly rose sharply. "Oh god..." In the background, streaming around the car were several dozen people running. It was blurry and it jostled, perhaps to anyone else, it might have looked like a normal crowd of people. Peter on the other hand immediately saw the distorted proportions of the runners. At least one was running on all fours like a Tracker. Some only wore a few tattered remnants of their clothes.

They were swarming up the street. His street. The same street where the Watson house was on. The camera was jostled aside at that point and had obviously fallen to the ground. Gunfire erupted and a few of the running infected staggered back, but they didn't stop. His heart hammered in his chest. Aunt May. MJ. Anna.

Peter swore under his breath and he noticed Gwen had stopped her conversation to stare at the TV screen. The screen blanked out suddenly and was replaced by a 'Please Stand By - We are Experiencing Technical Difficulties' sign. It was a local cable channel that had been broadcasting it, not an affiliate of a major network, which might have explained how they'd gotten as far as they did in the first place.

"What's wrong, Petey?" Gwen's voice was concerned, but the phone was still against her ear.

He grimaced. "That's our neighborhood. I need to go." He was already halfway to the door before Gwen caught his arm.

She gave him a level stare, she was obviously trying to keep her voice level, but the quaver in it was obvious. The shaking of the hand that held him back was even more pronounced. "What do you think you're going to do? You just told me there's an army cordon around that area. There's monsters and sick people in homicidal rages running around. What do you think you're going to do?" Her voice had gotten thick as she spoke.

She would have been right. The sensible thing would have been to stay away. He was just a teenager and he really had no business being in the middle of that mess. On the other hand, Gwen wasn't in possession of all the facts.

Such as the fact that we could probably wipe the floor with those losers if we set our minds to it. Cletus drawled.

He had to go.

Had to.

They were in his territory.

HIS.

Peter tried to sound simply confident, but the worry and anger had lined his spine with ice and roughened his voice. "I like their chances better with me there than by themselves. I know the neighborhood really well. I should be able to sneak in."

"Then what?" Gwen's voice had gone sharp, but softening the edge was the obvious concern and her own fear. She still hadn't let go of his arm. Her hand still shook.

He glanced away and shrugged. "I can help them hold those things off until they can be pushed back or get them out. Something. Better than just sitting here."

"Think, Peter." She snapped. When she spoke again, her voice was pleading. "You're going to get yourself killed if you go there." She inclined her head at the phone and her lips pressed into a thin line. She passed the phone back to him. "My dad wants to talk to you."

"Detective Stacy?" Peter said into the phone.

"Are you sure you're need to do this, son?" George asked with quiet urgency. "You saw the same things I did. Not all the martial arts training in the world is going to be enough against some of those things."

"I have to, sir." He inhaled sharply. His chest felt tight as he admitted out loud a truth that he had realized the moment he'd seen the Runners on their street. "I... Aunt May's all the family I have left."

There was a long pause before George Stacy replied. "Damn. I understand. I wish you wouldn't, but I understand. Damn. Just like your father. Don't do anything stupid." He paused then added, "Stupider."

Peter almost smiled at that. "No, sir."

"Pass me back to Gwen real quick, Peter, then you should be on your way." George said.

Peter passed the phone back to Gwen, whose expression was still concerned and disapproving, as she accepted it. "Yes, dad?"

He didn't even bother avoiding eavesdropping this time. He overheard George Stacy tell his daughter, "Keep your Mosberg with you, sweetie. If it becomes necessary, I'm going to leave it to your discretion to use the panic room, alright?"

"Yes, sir." She said, her voice had gone slightly shaky, but Peter could tell she was fighting hard to keep her fear down. Her heart was hammering.

"I love you, Gwennie. I'll see you soon. Hang tight."

She swallowed. "Love you too, Daddy." She hung up and passed the phone back to Peter.

He nodded gravely and moved to the door, but she caught his arm again. She asked in a shaky tone, "Petey... Do... do you want me to...?" She took a deep breath, forced herself to calm and she held her shotgun up just a bit, drawing his attention back to it. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Peter smiled slightly, but shook his head, "I appreciate the offer, but your dad's going to kill me if you came with me. I think he gets why I have to go... but I'm pretty sure he's not going to want you following me in there."

She gave a small laugh, but the relief in it was palpable. She flashed him a small smile. "Oh. Okay. Um... I'll hold the fort down. If you end up managing to get them past the military cordon, you can bring them here. If that would make things easier for you."

He nodded. "Thanks."

And with that, he stepped out of the door and began running down the street. Hard.

He flared heat and his weight went away to near nothing, his bounding steps covered yards at a time, fast enough to outpace cars. As he ran he tapped MJ's number onto his phone.

Her voice sounded tightly controlled, just on the near edge of panic, through the phone. "Tiger, get over here. We need you."

"I'm on my way," He said, trying his best to be reassuring, but his heart was hammering too hard for his chest once more, threatening to break free. A few infected weren't anything for him to worry about. Not any more. But, MJ, Anna and Aunt May were only human. The false calm in MJ's voice was worrying him. She sounded like she was just about ready to begin screaming. "What's going on?"

"We're on the second floor." She said, her voice rushed, but clearly trying very hard not to show too much fear. "They got in through the windows in the kitchen. We got up here before they got to us and we've got them locked in the dining area, but we're stuck."

"That's not too bad--" He tried to say calmly, but she cut him off.

She made a small squeak. It could've been a scream of terror, but smothered. Forced small. Her voice rose slightly and became a breathless rush, "The Harrisons from across the street just tried to drive past the cordon. The Thunderbolts shot them. They just.. one of the beekeeper guys just shot Mr. Harrison through the windshield. into his head. I just saw them do it. They're not letting anyone out! They--"

"Calm down, MJ. Calm down," Peter said, wracking his brains and trying to take his own advice, "I'll think of something, alright?"

There was silence for a moment, then her voice replied, suddenly ringing with absolute serene confidence. "Yes, Peter. I trust you."

He shuddered a little at that. It almost felt like a stab through the heart. Pure, perfect, child-like trust that he would be there for her.

That he would save her.

No pressure, his own voice drawled in his head.

"Don't Tell Aunt May I'm on my way," He added. He wondered briefly if he was being irrational about keeping it from her, but then simply decided that he didn't want her worrying about the fact that he was about to cross an Army-- or was it Marine?-- cordon around a quarantined area then fight his way past a street of homicidal Hydra infected. She had enough to worry about, right?

"Please hurry, Tiger." She whispered into the phone.

"I'll be there soon." He murmured back and hung up as he began to run up the side of a building. They had the streets blocked off, but no one was really watching the rooftops.

- - -