Mercy

“I’m sensing some hostility here, kid.” 

Peter, who had been previously pacing back and forth across Matt’s living room, stopped in his tracks to glare at Wade. The man had made himself at home on the kitchen counter again, swinging his legs like a child, his heels thumping against the cupboard doors.  

“I’m just trying to tell you that this is a terrible idea!” 

The sun had risen bitterly on the cold Monday morning, condemning Peter to his fate of his first day in high school. Matt had used his “connections”, as he had called them, to get Peter onto the test to get into Midtown, and two days later they received a small white letter in the mail, printed with his name in neat lettering, that held his demise. Instantly, Peter had been doubtful – he had no previous experience with any social situations as intense as a school environment, so who even knew what his reaction would be, given his... history. All of which he tried to justify to Matt, who he believed to be the more reasonable of the pair. Of course, the lawyer wasn’t aware of quite the extent he had been kept away from society, with Peter crafting his lie about his mother and aunt further to cover his excuses, but Matt had still shrugged, stating that it would be “good for him.” 

Bullshit.  

“I can literally give you a million reasons why this is going to go to shit as soon as I step through those doors,” Peter stated, crossing his arms defiantly, while Matt raised his eyebrows, tightening his tie.  

“Okay, go on then,” the boy gaped for a second, searching for words, unfortunately coming up short.  

“Peter, you’ll be fine! You’re just being a dramatic bitch.” Matt smirked – he knew he had won this time.  

“Hey!” 

Wade cut in, “He’s not wrong though.” 

Defeated, Peter plopped himself down onto the worn leather couch, flinging an arm over his eyes. Matt silently made his way over, sitting down beside him and gently guided his arm away. His red glasses were again hung on the front pocket of his shirt, as they usually were before he left the apartment, and the man did his best – bless his poor little soul – to make eye-contact. His brown eyes were unfocused, and rested just above Peter’s head, but the boy appreciated the effort nonetheless. 

“Kid,” he began, “It’s not that bad, I swear.” Peter snorted, “No, I’m serious. All you have to do it get in there, make some decent friends and survive the actual learning aspect, and then you’re golden.” 

“And try not to attract the assholes.” Wade added, rather unhelpfully. 

Peter sighed, relishing in the feeling of air flowing in and out of his lungs, knowing that in that building, the air would be thick with cologne, hormones and bitterness. He suppressed a shudder at the mere thought of it.  

Reluctantly, he stood, squaring his shoulders as if he were preparing to go to war – it felt like he was – and took a steadying breath, “Okay, I’m ready.” 

“I am so not ready.”  

Despite Peter being a solid twenty minutes early, the Midtown building was already swarmed with students, scurrying through the huge steel gates at the entrance with papers and textbooks overflowing in their arms. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be weighed down by dark bags, faces gaunt with exhaustion, and yet they still greeted their friends with way too much enthusiasm for 7 AM on a Monday. To be perfectly honest, Peter was a little bit in awe of them. He sure as hell wouldn’t have been anywhere close to consciousness if not for Wade, who had shaken him awake so violently, Peter had nearly thrown hands, right then and there in Matt’s living room.  

Peter’s body was alight with nerves as he wove his way through the clumps of students congregating at the doors. His arms were hugged tight around his middle to avoid any unnecessary contact with others, and his dark eyes darted towards any noise that rose above the regular hum of teenage chatter. He didn’t think that he was in any danger here, per say, but it never hurt to be cautious.  

Head down, Peter made his way towards the office, observing the majority of the student body lean against their lockers, joking with friends, putting away backpacks and notebooks in preparation for homeroom (which Peter had only just read about online the day before). He was desperate to remain anonymous, to stay out of the way, but of course, fate decided to be a bitch. 

His eyes were down, watching the tiles as he walked, which is of course why he didn’t see the human wall rounding the corner.  

“Hey, watch where you’re going dumbass!” The guy’s whiny, offended voice complimented the sneer on his face as he looked down at Peter. The boy was only slightly taller than him, but with Peter already reeling from the sudden contact with another human being, he had never felt so small. 

“Listen man, I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Peter prayed his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt but with the smirk widening on the guy’s face, Peter knew it did. 

“Aww, you gonna cry? Want me to call your mommy?” The guy’s voice was high and teasing, and his friends laughed obnoxiously from behind him as Peter stepped back slightly, surprised – he had only seen a couple of movies in his time, and he didn’t realise the classic American high school bully was actually a real thing.  

It was just his luck that he would fail at Wade’s only piece of advice: avoid the assholes. 

“Whatever dude, I just need to get to the office.” Peter forced out, stepping sideways to get around the kid, but a hand shot out and gripped his shoulder. Tight. 

“Do you know who I am? I’m Flash-fucking-Thompson, you should show me some respect!” 

Peter froze, all awareness directed to the point of contact that the bully – Flash – had with his shoulder. His skin seemed to burn under the weight of the hand.  

Peter moved by instinct, his arm gliding up and hitting Flash’s arm, batting away the hand from his shoulder. He stepped back as Flash gaped at him, looking between his own hand and Peter.  

“Let’s just leave it shall we?” Peter negotiated, hands up in a placating gesture. He really couldn’t afford to get into a fight fifteen minutes into his first day – Matt would have his head.  

Flash, failing to reply, simply looked at him. Peter could see the thinly concealed anger in his eyes, but as he glanced around, Peter realised they had attracted the attention of quite a few people, and so Flash stepped back, regarding him with a scoff. 

“I’ll find you later, new kid.” 

And then he was gone. Peter was left to stare at the spot the group had been standing in in bewilderment – he didn’t think that would actually work! Smothering his glee slightly, Peter schooled his expression into neutrality, picking up his pace again towards what he hoped would be the office.  

The administration office was rather dull, in theme with the rest of the school, with its beige-white walls and dirty carpet. There was a flickering light in the corner that Peter avoided looking at, and as the door clicked shut, blocking out the murmur of the hallway, the sound of keyboards filled the small space. 

“Uh, hello? I’m here to get my timetable?” Peter’s voice was small, and the lady looked up at him with bored, grey eyes. The way her straw blonde hair was pulled back from her face looked painful, and it instilled an almost permanent grimace onto her face.  

She sighed, “Name?” 

“Peter Parker.” 

There was clicking for a couple of seconds, then the whir of the printer next to the lady’s computer. 

“Here,” she held out the still-warm paper as if it were diseased, and as he took it, she snatched her hand back like he would bite her if she didn’t, “Your guide will be here in a minute anyway, so just wait here.” 

“Oh, I get a guide? I think I'll be fine-” 

“Parker, was it?” he nodded, “Please just shut up.” 

The clicking resumed, only interrupted by the occasional barking cough coming from the lady. Other than that, the office was silent. There were green, plastic-looking seats in the corner, so Peter decided he would make himself comfortable in one, until the door of the office swung open.  

It was the girl from Jonathon’s diner. 

“You’re Peter, right?” she said, not smiling, but her face didn’t show any malice either. 

“Yeah, and you’re Michelle?” she gave him a weird look, so he rushed to explain, “We met at the diner a couple of nights ago, y’know, Jonathon Carter’s diner?” 

Michelle tilted her head as though she was thinking about it, but Peter could see the recognition in her eyes. Either way, he let her pretend, and she eventually nodded, not saying another word, only gesturing for him to follow her.  

They re-entered the hallway as the bell rang, and Michelle silently held out a hand. He assumed she wanted to see his timetable, and handed it over without complaint. She scanned it with focused dark eyes, and handed it back within seconds.  

“You basically have the same classes as me and Ned,” she stated, joining the flow of students making their way towards their first period of the day, “Just follow us and you’ll have no problems, we generally stay away from most people.” 

Peter followed her with a small smile, “Uh, thanks I guess.” 

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic.” Michelle shot back over her shoulder sarcastically. 

“Sorry, usually I just keep to myself.” 

Michelle halted in the middle of the hallway, turning around to face him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he tried not to flinch back, “Believe me Peter, you’re not gonna get anywhere on your own in this place.” 

Trying not to seem too rude, he shrugged her hand off, and plastered an (entirely fake) grin on his face, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

Michelle’s stony exterior cracked slightly as she gave him a small smile back, “No problem.” 

To be perfectly honest, school wasn’t terrible. Sure, it had all of the things Peter expected of it – bullies, a permanent stench of sweat, and a particularly bad colour scheme – but all in all, it was bearable.  

Of course, Michelle and Ned made it so much better. They tried their best to include him in conversations, despite his reluctance, and every once in a while, one of them would shoot him an encouraging smile, which Peter was entirely grateful for. The fact of the matter was, he just wasn’t a social person: he had been hidden away from society for the majority of his life, only leaving the base for missions or training, so Peter didn’t really think he could be blamed for a tiny bit of social anxiety, right? He hoped not.  

He once again trailed behind Michelle, and this time Ned too, as they made their way to the last class of the day – chemistry. According to Ned, the teacher, Mr Harrington, was decent, but had a tendency to go off on tangents about his divorce or lack of social life outside of his job. Michelle had backed him up, so Peter wasn’t dreading the class too much.  

“Right kids, time for some learning!” The man at the front of the classroom, presumably Harrington, hollered. 

Great – he was that kind of teacher. 

Growing up, Peter hadn’t experienced what normal people would call learning. He was told things and if he didn’t know it when they asked him next, he would get two days in isolation if he was lucky. While it sounded horrific to most, Peter couldn’t lie – it worked. Although, it meant that his first day of school was quite the culture shock. 

The classroom was mostly full of students already, with the trio some of the last to arrive. That was another thing Peter hated about high school – arriving in class only to have at least twenty pairs of eyes stare into his soul as he made his way to his seat with Ned and Michelle at the back of the classroom. 

Peter shuddered slightly. The idea of being perceived made his skin crawl.  

“Okay, before we get started, I’ve been informed that we have a new student in the room,” Harrington’s eyes searched the back row, “Peter! I know you’ve probably done this a thousand times already today, but just in case, would you like to come and introduce yourself?” 

“Not really,” Peter muttered under his breath. He heard a snicker to his left, but the teacher didn’t seem to hear, so he smiled slightly at the man. Somehow, he had managed to get out of introducing himself in all of his classes so far, but the look Harrington was giving him made it clear he wasn’t asking.  

“Sure.” Peter finally replied, louder, and Harrington beamed.  

His chair scraped against the tiles of the chemistry lab as he stood, and he noted with pride the way the teacher winced at the sound. Good. Peter wanted to make him suffer for forcing him to look like a complete idiot in front of everyone.  

“Uh, hi, I’m Peter.” Voice small, he gave a slight wave to the expectant faces of the class. They stared back blankly. He made as if to go back to his seat, but Harrington, the bastard, spoke up. 

“Is that it? Why don’t you tell us a fun fact about yourself?” 

Peter cringed internally – is this what high school was? Sharing “fun facts” to peers that couldn’t give two shits about him? 

He sighed, wracking his brain for a fact that wouldn’t immediately traumatise the entire class, “Um, I can speak...” he trailed off, counting on his fingers, “About seven languages.” 

The teacher adjusted his glasses and huffed, “Oh, that is- uh- quite a few languages young man.” 

“Uh, yeah I suppose,” he shrugged, “Comes in handy I guess.” 

The teacher nodded nonchalantly, but his eyes seemed to burn with curiosity. He didn’t ask though, so Peter didn’t supply any answer, hurrying back to his seat, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.  

“Now that’s over with,” Harrington clapped his hands, surprisingly enthusiastic, “Let’s learn some chemistry!” 

The class itself was pretty dull – fortunately, Peter had learned the topic only a couple months before he left HYDRA, so he understood enough to allow himself to stare out of the grimy windows at the city beyond.  

It felt strange really, he had only been in New York for a short while, and as time crawled by, agonisingly slow as he waited for the penny to drop, for HYDRA to find him, the city became more and more familiar to him. Sometimes, he would find himself gazing at the skyscrapers that stretched into the clouds – specifically the one with the weird ‘A’ symbol on the side of it – and feel a flutter of... something in his chest, like some kind of memory was there, but each time he allowed himself to reach for it, it would dance out of his grip.  

It was nothing less than frustrating, but Peter was sure that he had never been to New York before, so there were certainly no memories to be reaching for.  

The more he thought about it, the less sure he was, and that scared him.  

A lot.