Acid Rain

They stood on the roof, waiting for DD. He was crouched by the door leading down into his apartment, head tilted slightly to the left. The dying light lit him a-fire, casting a deep shadow behind him.

DP was rocking back and forth on his feet, arms swinging with the motion. He was humming something underneath his breath. Peter thought it was perhaps the Incredibles theme song. No wait, it changed. Dora the Explorer now.

“We good?” Peter asked. They had been waiting for thirty-eight seconds already, for Claire to meet Luke outside the building and convince him to go get dinner for everyone. Peter didn’t even know how long it took to get to the street from Matt’s apartment (he always went in through the window), but surely it couldn’t take too much longer you know?

Matt waited another few seconds before nodding – barely a twitch of the head, but it was enough for Wade and Peter. The sun had set in those few seconds after Peter's question, dipping below the horizon, and chilling Peter to his bones. He shivered violently but kept his arms down by his sides.

Peter wasted no time in clamouring onto Wade’s back, wrapping himself around his shoulders and waist, and resting his chin on his shoulder. He was dressed in Matt's old clothes, sopping wet and dripping, and what was left of his mask, also completely drenched. To keep him cold as possible to avoid the threat of sweating. It wasn’t comfortable. But it would do.

And then they were off.  

Wade followed closely behind Matt, who had already pinpointed the girl’s location by following the smell of his already dissolved webs, until he reached the distinct armpit smell he said was unwashed bodies and rotting flesh. Wade jumped over a gap between buildings, just as a sharp gust of wind whistled through the air, and cut through Peter’s clothes, digging at the muscles and flesh beneath. He shivered violently, but simply squeezed Wade tighter.

He just had to get that little girl safe, and then they would worry about Peter.

They just had to save Dora.

He didn’t know how long it took them to get to wherever it was they were going, but eventually Wade stopped on a roof, and knelt next to a crouching Matt.

Peter slipped off his back slowly but couldn’t even muster a smile at the distinct wet shape on Wade’s back. His web shooters slipped slightly on his wrists, and he toyed with them for a moment. That shouldn’t have happened at all.

He cracked his neck, even as it itched something fierce. Claire had shot him with a deadly amount of morphine, and it was certainly working. Not a speck of pain – just his brain telling him he was rotting, and the physical evidence of his own body working against him.

But it didn't matter.

Matt stood up, extending to his full height, shoulders hunched forward slightly, and head tilted in a way that scream danger, and if Peter didn’t know who Matt was – hadn’t seen him coat hanger himself on a clothesline because he was drunk and wanted to prove he could still parkour like a demon – then perhaps he would have been intimidated.

But it was just Daredevil, who was as much Matt, as Deadpool was Wade, and Peter was Spiderman. Terrifying? Yeah, sure, why not. But not to Peter.

“Ready to go, Besties?” Wade asked. His hands were fidgeting next to his guns.

Peter shrugged one of his shoulders. The movement tugged on the skin beneath his armpits, and he hissed slightly. “Let’s go, before Matt freaks out,” he said just as Wade and Matt turned towards him. Mother hens, honestly.

Wade stepped up onto the ledge and leaned over, balancing on the tips of his toes. Matt stood next to Peter still on the ground. He hovered a hand over his shoulder. It flexed in his black glove, before he clenched it and forced it back down next to his hip.  

“Are you sure you’re good to do this?” he asked.

Peter grinned at him. “Gotta save the world, Double D, one little girl at a time.” He jerked his head towards the DP. “Besides, imagine how much chaos you would miss out on if either of us didn’t rock up?”

“Right,” Matt said dryly, before taking a short, smooth breath, and leaping over the ledge. Peter watched him fall for a second, before his arms shot out and latched onto the fire escape, where he paused for barely a moment, before repeating.

DP and he watched for a moment before DP shrugged. “You only live once, baby boy.” And then he jumped after Matt. Only he missed the fire escape, shot past DD who had paused to watch him, and landed on the dumpster with a loud clang.

He made a barely audible groan, the kind of noise that gets forced out after a particular hard hit.

Peter snorted and started walking down the wall. He reached halfway down and flipped, landing in a crouch next to the Matt, where they both watched as DP rolled off the dumpster. The dent even had his katanas perfectly imprinted.

He finally made it upright, his vertebrae clicking as each one slotted back into place. He shook out his shoulders, gave them both a thumbs up.

“I could have given you a lift,” Peter told him.

Deadpool jabbed his pointed finger into Peter’s forehead. “Leave me alone, orphan.”

Peter slapped his hand away. “You never call Double D an orphan. Why do I get abused for it?”

DP shrugged. “You’re an easy target.” Then he paused, turned to Matt. “Orphan.” He turned back to Peter. “Fairs fair.”

Matt didn’t even twitch. He stood facing the door, hands relaxed by his hips. Peter turned to the door as well. The light of the alleyway shone on the doorframe; but past it, past the ajar door, it was dark.

A sort of darkness that sucks in light – enough to create a physical weight that Peter could feel even in the alleyway. If he concentrated, he could thread out the soft, even breaths of a high, the shallow, quick, barely there of an almost dead-women, and then – there. The rapid, panicked breath of a baby in danger.

“There’s electricity,” Matt murmured. “Lights work.”

And then DP and DD stepped apart. DP bent at the waist and bowed before Peter, gesturing for him to go forward.

“Remember, Spiderman,” Double D muttered under his breath, as Peter stepped past him. “Get the girl, get out.”

“Nothing more, nothing less,” Peter finished for him. He shrugged one of his shoulders. “I got it, Double D. When have I ever not listened to you?”

And then he stepped over the threshold of the doorframe and flipped them both the middle finger before the door swung shut and they were gone. Just out of view anyway. Nothing was ever completely gone for DD.

It took a second for him to realise that his eyes weren’t gonna adjust. There wasn’t any light in the room – none at all. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t really need to see. He just had to like, channel Matt.

Yeah, that should work. He cracked his neck, shoved the sopping wet fabric up into the crook of his elbows. The back of his neck tingled, and his web shooters slipped again, but morphine was morphine, and Claire was a genius, so he jumped to the ceiling, and carefully crept along the roof.

Each drop of water sent a jolt up his spine as it slipped off his body, hitting soft, sleeping flesh below him. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. Only a few more feet and then – there. He was outside the door. He blew out a breath between pursed lips, feeling it hit the only closed door in the entire building.

And if that didn’t confirm it, then the soft, tiny breaths of Dora did.

He pressed his hand to the ceiling, and slowly unfurled his body, clinging to the ceiling by only his fingertips. He let go, but barely a second passed before he hit the roof with a web and began to gently lower himself. He carefully felt around with his feet but there wasn’t anything but floor beneath him, so he dropped down the last few inches.

He cracked his neck again, pressed a hand to the door frame. Double D trusted him enough to not chase after him and do everything himself. He could do this. He waited a moment, then another. There was nothing behind the door. He shoved it open.

It flew backwards, hit the opposite wall with a thud. There was a light on inside, a dull yellow dome on the ceiling. He stepped past the threshold.

Almost against his will he glanced towards the bed, where the woman was before. She was covered in a thick, but ratty blanket, with worn edges and a hole near the bottom left corner. Her eyes were wide open and glassy, her skin grey and pallid. She was dead, he realised with a sort of sick realisation. 

And next to her, cuddled up to her, was Dora. She was lying on her side, with her arms wrapped around the woman’s bicep.

He swallowed thickly. Get the girl, get out.

“Hey Dora,” he said softly. Her eyes, which had been pinched together, suddenly flew open, but otherwise she didn’t move. “Darlin’, we gotta go, okay?”

She sniffed, squeezed her arms tighter. Minutely she shook her head. Her head moved and he froze, staring at the bruises on her jaw. One either side of her chin, like someone had pinched it tightly.

“Dora,” he tried again. He shivered suddenly, cutting into his sentence with its intensity. He cleared his throat. “Come on. We promised to keep each other safe, remember.”

She sniffed again, but this time he saw her eyes flick to him.

Very carefully, making sure to step on the edges of his feet, he made his way around the bed, and knelt next to Dora. Carefully, he pried the blanket away. “Come on Dora.” Her eyes beaded with tears, and she let go of her mum with a soft cry. She twisted in his arms and latched into his neck.

“I can’t wake her up, Spidey,” she whimpered. She smelt of sweat and old clothes and decay.

“I know,” he said softly. Gently. He covered the woman in the blanket, making sure to cover her completely. “I know.” Then, even quieter, so the words were barely making it past his lips before collapsing into silence. “Got her, DD.”

There was a shot of pain up his back, and he spun. The door opposite him, next to the kitchen and the money covered table. Its door handle was opening.

He raced towards the still open door he came through, just in time for the man to bellow Spiderman, and then he latched into the ceiling. In through the front light suddenly came flooding in, and in the seconds between the door opening and his eyes adjusting, DD and DP were already racing through the door.

“What took you so long?” he said, even as the distinct sound of a shotgun being loaded caught his attention and he crawled faster along the ceiling. DD and DP both raced past him, effortlessly jumping over the still bodies on the ground.  

The back of his neck itched, and he dropped to the floor.  

Bang

The ceiling, where he had just been, exploded. Plaster and mould mildew cascaded down him, clinging to the wet clothes.

But then he opened the door, leaping up the wall. There was the distinct sound of fists meeting flesh, and that didn’t stop until he reached the roof, rolling over the edge, and landing on his back with a grunt.

He lay there, for just a second, before he sat upright and scooted around until he could rest against the parapet. Carefully he ran his hands down Dora’s back, and over her head. But she was fine. No hotspots, nothing tender – all in all, physically, she was fine.

At some point the punches began sounding wet, but they kept going.  

Peter shifted slightly, his butt going numb. He crossed his legs to see if it helped. It didn’t. His web shooters slid completely off his wrists, and with every twitch of his muscles his skin burned. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since they left Matt’s apartment, but he could have sworn the morphine was wearing off.

“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

Dora, shifted in his arms. Relaxing, he realised suddenly, so much she slid down his arms and sat down on his ankles, resting her feet in the gap between his legs. Her face was pale, her eyes red rimmed, and the only clean part of her face were the tear tracks.

“Allie,” she said. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her forearm. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no Allie. What on earth could you be sorry for?”

Her face crumpled, and she buried her face in her hands. Gently he tried to comfort her, but she shook him off. Oh god. Little baby. “I hurt mama.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said softly.

She shook with the force of her sobs. “D-d-daddy told me too-oh.”

He flailed for something to say. But he couldn’t find anything. He didn’t know how to do this. He was sixteen. Carefully he sucked in a deep breath. Gotta save the world Parker, one little Allie at a time.

“See this mask,” he said. She had stopped sobbing and between her hands he saw her eyes glance towards his face. Without thinking he ripped it off. Well. Too late to turn back down. He wrung it out next to them. It splattered water everywhere – his Spidey Sense told him it was luckily just water – and he carefully passed it to her.

She took it gingerly. Reverently.

“This mask can only be worn by good people. It's magic, see, otherwise I can’t wear it. And,” he said, stressing this next part. “Only good, nice people can touch it. And I’m giving it to you, okay?”

She nodded seriously. He hoped she wouldn’t remember this in ten years. That she would be happy and healthy and whole, without any black pits in her mind that sucked her down in the middle of the night when she should be sleeping. But little girls were never that lucky.

“You gotta keep it safe, okay Allie?”

She nodded seriously. Then, softly, she said, “Does this make me a hero too?”

I’m too young to be a dad.

That’s what he told himself at least, even as he began to plan out the technicalities of a sixteen-year-old adopting a kid. Matt would help. Vanessa and DP would be endlessly supportive. Aunt May probably wouldn’t want to be a nana so soon, but she would come round.

“Obviously,” he said, in such an aghast tone that she instantly started giggling.

Then she bit her lip, and clutching the mask tightly in her hand, she pressed her left to his cheek. Peter kept perfectly still.

“Go back to normal,” she said, and it was like a weight lifted off his shoulders. His entire body slackened, and his Spidey sense, which hadn’t left him alone since last night disappeared completely. In moments his skin tightened and relaxed, healing itself.

“There,” Allie said, nodding, completely satisfied. “Now you can keep being a hero, too.”

Oh yeah, screw his age, he was becoming a dad.

Now below, he heard DD and DP exit the building. By the sounds of it, Deadpool was busy trying to put the door back into place.

“Spidey,” DD said. “You guys can come back down. Professor X is almost here.”

Peter smiled brightly at Allie. “Ready to go meet Daredevil and Deadpool.”

Allie nodded. “They’re heroes too, right? That means we can fight the back guys together, yeah?”

“Obviously,” he told her. He stood, ripping a strip of cloth from the hem of his jumper, and pressed it around his head. It was weird being sticky, but he was glad for it now, not needing to tie the clothing to keep it in place.

Allie pulled the mask on. It was lopsided, and didn’t fit her properly, but he had never been prouder. He made sure to re-stick his web shooters before he jumped.

Allie squealed the entire way down, and when they landed, she giggled until her mask fell off. Double D smiled at the girl and picked up the mask, making sure to replace it carefully.

Deadpool’s eyes grew comically wide, and he announced he was gonna be a dad.

“Can’t,” Peter told him. “I’ve already called dibs.”

Wade didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, then, Miss Allie. I am gonna be the best uncle you never asked for.”