darkest before the dawn

August 2nd, 2016

3:01 PM

Honestly, screw this life.

Peter’s leg feels like it was dragged against a cheese grater. His healing factor, for whatever reason, wasn’t able to heal the gashes, so he had to stitch them up this morning. Which wasn’t a big deal, he’s had to do this before when he gets stabbed and the knife is dirty, so it gets infected. The healing factor focuses on the most harmful thing and heals it, so that must mean it’s fighting off an infection. Easily dealt with.

Not so easily dealt with is the thirteen-year-old building a lego set in front of the TV and occasionally looking up at Peter with a look of curiosity and amazement in his eyes. 

Gods curse you, Edward Leeds. How dare you make him develop another emotional attachment to another human being. 

Though, Ned promises to not say a word to Aunt May, who’s going to get back later this afternoon, and he promises that he’ll keep his end of the bargain and listen to Peter when he’s investigating. It might not end horribly. It might not end in a dumpster fire. Would you look at that, Peter Benjamin Jonathan Parker is actually being optimistic for once.

Peter’s healing while Ned builds the lego set. He changed out of the boxers into some Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and put his binder on. Ned wisely didn’t remark on anything, just turned on a soap opera and watched tearfully as drama unfolded. Ned cried. Peter thought it was funny. Ned said that Peter was like Michelle in that regard and he should meet her. Peter informed him that he wasn’t in the mental headspace for more than one friend.

Ned beamed when Peter said that he was his friend.

Peter’s been fiddling with the sonic wave thing, or the shocker, as Ned put it. There had been a tracker in it and Peter quickly disposed of it, slipping it into his pocket. His heart had raced at the thought of being tracked back to the apartment, but since no one had come, he allowed himself to relax. He had told Ned about the arms dealers and the thing. Ned had asked if he thought the thing could be an alien, and Peter shrugged. Could be. That could explain literally everything. 

But there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was off.

Ned yawned. “Hey, Peter?”

Peter squinted his eyes at the shocker. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever-like, met a vigilante? ‘Cuz you used to live in Manhattan and I was wondering if you-”

Peter knocks a finger on the side of the shocker. “No. I saw Daredevil once, but it was from a distance. I took a picture though.”

Ned squeals and Peter smiles, just a little bit.

Then the soap opera featuring a demonic possession cuts off and breaks to a news report. There’s a brown-haired newscaster on the screen and there’s live footage of a hospital on fire and Peter recognizes that hospital because he’s been to that hospital and May used to work at that hospital.

The bottom headline reads ATTACK AT METRO GEN.

And there’s that nagging feeling again, this time accompanied by a rise of dread. 

Peter whirls to Ned, who’s staring at the television with wide eyes. “Go home.”

Ned looks at him wildly. “Peter-”

“Go home,” Peter repeats, grabbing his suit and putting it on without regard for the person in front of him. Who cares if Ned sees his Star Wars underwear? People could be dying. “I’ll call you.”

Ned splutters. “You-you don't have my number!”

Peter waves his cheap flip-phone. “Put your contact in here. I’ll call you when I come back.” 

“Come back? Peter, wait-”

Peter’s really lucky that his window faces a brick wall. He opens it and looks back at Ned, securing his mask over his face, grabbing his backpack. “I have to go, Ned. I’ll see you later.”

Peter leaps, and crawls up the roof. As soon as he’s far enough away from his apartment, he’s slinging a web and swinging away, leaving his home and heading back toward Hell’s Kitchen. 

Again.

❁

Metro Gen is a pretty unlucky hospital.

It is in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, so….

However, even with everything Metro Gen has ever dealt with, being on fire and having many, many people screaming about a large, red figure with giant teeth attacking people is probably a first for them.

Peter breaks a window when he comes in, scaring the shit out of two nurses and a doctor hiding in the room. “Hey, hey! It’s okay; I’m not gonna hurt you.”

One nurse, the one carrying the large metal pipe, backs away slowly as Peter holds his hands up. The other two are hiding in the corner.“You gotta stop it. I-It ate-”

“Where is it?” Peter asks, heart sinking at the nurse’s words.

The nurse is shaking. “I don’t know-I-”

“All right,” Peter moves smoothly to the door, opening it a small smidge. The sound of screaming and alarms reaches his ears. But there’s no sound of the thing. “Follow me.”

The nurses and doctor hesitate, and Peter has to tell them. “The place is on fire; if it doesn’t find you, the smoke will.”

That seems to convince them and the four of them move out of the small room. There’s a stairwell that Peter knows leads straight to the exit and he tells them to go. The nurses try, but the door’s locked by some weird, reddish-silvery liquid.

It looks similar to how his webbing works. 

Peter kicks the door open, waving the nurses and doctor through. “Go!”

The other two hurry through the door as the nurse that was carrying the steel pipe studies him warily. Her name tag reads Hernandez.  Peter nods at her, then turns and runs through the dark hallways. The nurse hurries as she runs down the stairwell.

Peter knew that thing was going to be trouble.

Peter checks all the rooms, finding patients hiding with doctors and nurses. They can’t get out; all the doors are locked shut with the same reddish-silvery liquid. Peter kicks open all the ones he can find, telling the people to get the hell out of there. They listen, but there's so many people who are injured and not enough people to help.

There’s so many bodies-

Desperately trying to keep his breakfast down, Peter runs through the halls, listening for the sound of that strange, horrible heartbeat he first heard at the docks. The red lights flash in his eyes and the sound of sirens blaring make it nearly impossible to concentrate. But he tries, he tries because he needs to find this thing-

Ba-bum. Ba-ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-ba-bum.

Upstairs. ICU.

Peter swings up the stairs, barging into the door and slamming it open, much to the relief of the mom with two kids desperately trying to get the doors open. They rush downstairs as Peter races to the ICU, feet sliding against the linoleum floor. He runs straight into the door and-

And is immediately yanked back and down by a very scary lady and another scary lady and a man with pretty awesome facial hair.

Peter crouches down. They stare at him. Peter waves awkwardly. “Hi.”

“Nice costume,” the man remarks and the scary lady who looks like a doctor whacks him. 

“Stephen,” she scolds and Peter shrugs. So does Stephen. Other scary lady looks him up and down.

“You a vigilante?” She asks and Peter nods. She huffs. “You know why this thing’s attacking?”

“No, ma’am. I saw it last night, but it didn’t stick around to talk.” Peter peeks his head around. “Where is it?”

Scary Nurse Lady raises her hands helplessly. “I have no clue. Just appeared out of nowhere.”

“It’s taunting us,” Stephen explains, “Anytime any one of us tries to escape…………”

Stephen gestures to a limp form that Peter can just make out in the red lights. A sick feeling emerges in Peter’s stomach. “Oh, crap.”

Scary Doctor Lady’s injured, a broken wrist. “Yeah, ‘oh crap.’ Don’t you usually deal with this?”

Peter shrinks in on himself. “Honestly ma’am, I’ve only been doing this for a few months.”

Scary Nurse Lady squints at him. “Spider-Man.”

Peter nods. 

Stephen snorts. Scary Doctor Lady whacks him again. “Ouch! Christine, c’mon!”

Christine wraps her wrist in a splint. “Claire, do you know him?”

Claire shakes her head. “No. Heard of him. Friend’s been going off about him. Actin’ like a fangirl.”

Christine looks at him, eyes piercing through Peter’s soul. Like she can see everything he’s ever done and weighing his soul for his actions. “Hm.”

Peter does not like that.

For the first time, Peter realizes that the blaring alarms aren’t working in the ICU. The four of them are talking in whispers, barely audible. Peter closes his eyes, trying to make out any heartbeats. He can hear Stephen go, “What the fuck is he doing?” before Claire and Christine shush him. He concentrates, listening for any sign of life. Any other people who survived that thing and are hiding.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum

Ba-bum. Ba-bum

Ba-ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-ba-bum.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

Peter opens his eyes and leans forward. “Fourteen other people. Two are severely injured and five are injured. One is a kid and three are elderly. The thing’s in the roof. It’s pacing.”

The three of them stare at him, Christine and Stephen in complete shock and Claire with a dawning sort of-

Familiarity? Like she’s seen this before?

“That’s terrifying,” Stephen tells him.

Peter ignores him and pulls the shocker thing out of the worn and threadbare backpack that he uses specifically for Spider-Man. Claire gapes at him. “The fuck?”

Peter gives it to her. “The last time I saw it, this stopped it. Just press the button and it does this shockwave thing. It hates it.”

Claire takes it, staring at Peter with wide eyes. “And what are you planning on doing?”

“Distraction,” Peter cracks his fingers, and prepares to jump, “When I attack, I need you three to get everyone out. The door nearest is open. Get out and don’t look back.”

Stephen looks at him strangely. “And how old are you?”

Peter points a finger at him. “That’s a stupid question.”

Then he looks up, catches a glimpse of red and black. “One.”

Christine tenses, hand on her wrist.

“Two.” 

Stephen balls his fist up, crouching to his feet.

“Three.”

Claire looks focused, hand clenched around the shocker. She doesn't even look surprised or scared. Just focused.

And then Peter jumps, leaping as high as he possibly can.

He smiles at the thing with razor sharp teeth and abyss black eyes. “Hi. Remember me?”

The thing roars.

And Peter punches it as hard as he possibly can. 

The thing flies backward, slamming into the hard wall, sending a resounding BOOM throughout the ICU clinic. Peter leaps after it, fists clenched. He can make out the people below scurrying through the door. Stephen is helping an elderly man to the stairwell. Christine is carrying a kid with a broken leg and a bloody face. Claire is helping another nurse carry a man with claw marks on his chest, her gaze frantically switching between the fight above her and the people she’s helping.

Gotta keep it focused, can’t let it hurt anyone else-

This thing can fight.

Motherfucker.

Peter’s stronger. For some reason, Peter is stronger than the thing. His punches kick that thing at least five feet away from him. It’s strong too, but it doesn’t have what Peter has in strength. But strength doesn’t matter if Peter can’t land a single hit. 

Peter webs a stretcher and swings it up and toward the thing. It distracts for a moment, which is all Peter needs to land another hit, slamming his fist into its head, flipping and kicking the thing another five feet back.

Peter lands on a roof rafter. The thing stumbles back, claws digging into the sides of the wall. It’s so big, Peter’s barely half its size. His thigh is screaming in protest and he’s pretty sure he snapped the stitches. His binder constricts around his ribs as Peter’s lungs heave. But he doesn’t feel it, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Almost everyone’s out, almost everyone’s out of the hospital, he’s just gotta keep its attention for a little bit longer. Just got to make sure it can’t hurt anyone else, just until someone gets here that might have an idea for what to do.

Peter crouches down, fingers poised to shoot his web shooters. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask. Is the head-eating thing a food thing or an asserting dominance thing? ‘Cuz if it’s a food thing, you need some help, and if it’s an asserting dominance thing, may I please introduce you to the act of pissing on-”

The thing roars and it shoots this reddish-silvery liquid at him and Peter swears and tries to dodge, but it sticks to him, cutting through his suit like a hot knife. Peter chokes back a yelp, because it feels like being sliced with a knife, and the knife is red-hot so it’s not exactly the nicest feeling in the world. Also the knife is stuck to you, and you can’t get it off, so it constantly feels like you’re being cut and burned constantly everytime you move.

What the hell can this thing do?

Peter stumbles back, ripping the webbing off his suit, some pieces of fabric coming with it. His left side feels like it’s on fire, and it’s all the thing needs to get an upper-hand. It lunges at him and Peter’s forced to go back to defense, dodging and leaping out of the way, avoiding those talon-like fingers. Admittedly, Peter isn’t really much of a fighter. He knows how to throw a punch, but he’s not the Black Widow. Or really any of the Avengers. 

He is really bad at fighting.

Everyone’s out of the ICU and it’s just Peter and the thing clashing around in the cavernous room. Peter hopes that Metro Gen doesn’t plan to sue Peter for property damage. He has no money. The thing might, though. Peter opens his mouth to ask, but he’s instead met with a fist to the face that knocks him back and down onto the floor.

“Shit,” Peter’s going to have a hard time explaining that to May. He can feel blood spilling out of a cut in his cheek and his head throbs. “Dude. What is your problem?”

The thing is pacing back and forth on the rafters. It’s footsteps are heavy, and they creak the boards it walks on. Peter’s not expecting an answer, so he’s very surprised to hear it open its mouth and talk.

It sounds like broken bones and nails on chalkboards and screaming and Peter wants to curl up in a ball and hide when it talks. “Nothing you would understand.”

“Try me,” Peter challenges it, getting to his feet. “You just murdered a dozen people. Maybe more. Why?”

The thing laughs, and it’s so much worse than its voice. It jumps off the roof and slams down on the floor, cracking it around its feet. “Oh, little hero. You don’t understand how the world works.”

Oh my God. Is this a villain dialogue?

Peter readies his fists, feet in position. His teeth grate at the thing’s condescension. “I think I understand enough.”

The thing snorts. “Clearly.”

And then it attacks.

And Peter learns exactly what glass tearing through skin feels like as he’s thrown into a glass window, the thing leaping after him and tossing him against a wall. Peter tries to get to his feet, tries to get his bearings, but the thing is too fast for him. Its strange webbing hits Peter’s shoulder, his leg, his side. It gets into the small cuts on his body, burning and twisting stabbing pain arcing through his nerves. He’s leaning against a wall, and it throws him again and Peter can feel his ribs go crack. 

Peter’s on the ground, gasping for breath. His shoulder’s dislocated. His ribs are broken. His ankle is jammed. It feels like he tore a muscle. His stitches are snapped. There’s glass embedded in his body and the strange webbing liquid is in the cuts. He’s probably got a concussion and his face is going to fucked up tomorrow.

If he gets home tomorrow.

But everyone’s safe and that’s what matters.

Not the thing that looks straight out of a horror movie salivating with that horrid tongue of its as it walks closer to Peter’s limp body. Not the fact Peter can’t get up, and this is the second time that this has happened and it hasn’t even been 24 hours yet. 

Or the fact that Claire, Scary Nurse Lady, just ran back into the ICU room and pointed the weapon at the thing.

Peter wants to yell. She has to go, it will kill her. It won’t hesitate. But all he can get out is a small, “ Wait.”

The thing freezes. It recognizes the weapon. It moves toward her, probably going to shoot that webbing at her, but Claire is too quick for it and she fires the weapon.

Sending the thing flying backwards, howling in pain. Hands over its eyes, it keeps making this horrible screeching noise and it almost-

It almost sounds human.

Not thinking about that, Peter rises to his feet. Claire’s shot had hit Peter, but it didn’t have the effect on him that it did the other night. For whatever reason.

He has to move fast.

The thing is raging, and it makes a bone-chilling scream and begins to race toward Claire, who swears and starts to charge up the weapon again. It’s nearly to her when Peter tackles it, flipping and kicking it toward the windows. It hits the windows and snarls. It’s about ready to charge when Claire fires the weapon again.

It leaps out of the window.

Peter rushes over as fast as he can, hand over his injuries. He peers out of the window, straining his listening as far as it can go.

There’s nothing. Just sirens and frantic people.

It’s gone.

Peter turns back toward Claire, who’s still got the weapon charged up. “It’s gone.”

Claire swears. “Shit. Any idea where it could go?”

Peter shakes his head and stumbles toward her. Claire immediately puts the shocker down and comes to his side. “Hey, hey. You’re busted up to shit. You need medical attention.”

Peter shakes his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have to go. Thank you, though.”

Claire refuses to let go of him. “Oh, hell no. I can tell you’ve got a dislocated shoulder and you’re bleeding all over the place. You’re going to let me help you or so help me god.”

Peter has to go; May’s gonna be home soon and she’ll ask questions if he’s not there. “Ma’am-”

“Let me reset your shoulder,” Claire compromises. She’s taller than him. Everyone’s taller than him. “Okay?”

Peter agrees, but it’s only because resetting shoulders by yourself sucks. “Okay.”

Claire holds his arm up and aligns it with the socket. “This might hurt.”

“Now.”

Claire pops it back into place and Peter chokes back another yelp. He backs away from Claire and grabs the shocker off the floor, putting it back in it’s bag. “Is everyone okay?”

Claire watches him, hands on her hips. “Yeah. Everyone’s okay. Came back here as soon as I could. Figured you could use that thing.”

Peter straightens up, webbing the still-bleeding cuts up. “Okay. Thank you.”

He’s about ready to jump out of the window when Claire says something. “Hey, I know people. They could help you. They kinda work with stuff like this.”

Peter turns around and he can see the bodies littered on the floor just behind Claire. There’s blood on the floor and he can’t look at it. His memories are layering on top of each other and he’s barely keeping it together. “Thank you, ma’am. But nobody else should get hurt.”

Peter leaps out of the window, sending the nurse forward with a startled shout, and he falls and rises, a poem on his lips.