7
7
It dawned at Peter at once why there was a never-ending buzz of his spider-sense, why there was an unsettling atmosphere Beck always carried about him, why the treatment Peter had been receiving over the past couple of weeks had been so terrible. It all came together in one frightful moment as he stared at Beck in the threshold of his doorway with, green smoke curling around his fist.
“You’re Mysterio,” The words fell out of Peter’s mouth before he could stop them.
The realization pushed his heart into his throat. His nerves caught fire.
He thought about his first encounter with the villain, a quick battle on the top of a bank building. All Mysterio had wielded at Peter were blasts of green energy and Peter easily bested him in the match. Overall Mysterio hadn’t posed much of a threat. But now Peter’s view on the matter completely flipped. Mysterio meant Beck and Beck meant danger.
“I was hoping to do some grand reveal,” Beck said, taking a step closer to Peter, “But when you went to Stark’s yesterday I realized I’d have to cut my performance short.”
His voice was eerily calm, unphased. A sick, arrogant smile conjured up on his face.
“You’re a smart kid, Peter,” He said, “but you’re also incredibly stupid. You never figured me out, but I pinned you for Spider-Man within the first weekend you were here. You aren’t very subtle at sneaking out at night to do your little vigilante expeditions.”
He let out a laugh.
“The stars couldn’t have aligned more perfectly for me.”
He took another step closer.
Peter felt like he’d sunk down into the floor. His brain couldn’t function enough to command his legs to move, to take a step back. Mentally, he was racing for a plan of action, but physically his body refused to comply.
“When I first ran into you, in costume of course, you actually had me worried,” – another laugh – “But when I connected the dots, realized you were trapped in my own household, I thought I’d take the chance to experiment around – see how miserable you could get. And it turned out that I had the power to crumple you without even laying a finger on you.”
Not entirely true, Peter thought, the memory of Beck striking him flashing through his mind.
“With you so depleted and tired, constrained here,” Beck gestured to the barred windows, taking another step forward, “I’ve had New York to myself. I’ve stayed down low enough that the Avengers don’t find me a big enough threat and with the neighborhood crime-fighter out of the way, I’ve been unstoppable.”
Peter couldn’t listen to the monologue anymore. He felt sick to his stomach and his spider-sense was urging him to kick into action.
Beck was mid-way through taking another step, about to close the gap between him and Peter when Peter’s brain finally got communications working the rest of his body. He slid a foot behind him to give some space to build momentum before running into a kick that hit Beck squarely in the chest. The force of the movement was enough to send Beck back through the doorway. He hit the wall of the hallway, and the aftershock of the hard impact buckled his legs, sending him to the floor.
Peter jumped forward and quickly slammed the door, locking it as if it could buy him time against an enhanced individual. Then he went back to his desk and with fumbling hands and slipped on the old web-shooters just as Beck came crashing through the door, shoulder first.
“I’m not cleaning that up,” Peter said, flight or fight mode activating stupid quips to pop up in his brain.
He shot two webs at Beck and flung him across the small bedroom and into his closet doors. With a path now cleared, Peter escaped out of the room. He rounded into the living room and stood dumbly for a moment in the mouth of the hallway, breathing hard, trying to decide what to do next. It was the epitome of fight or flight – he could leave out the front door and runaway from the terror currently trying to wrangle itself out of a collapsed closet or he could stay and take him on. He knew he needed to stay. He needed to put an end to Beck’s crimes.
He centered himself between the kitchen and the living room, facing the hallway in anticipation for Beck. He had no suit for protection, no Karen to help guide him in what was most likely going to be an uneven fight and he was exhausted from a week’s worth of no sleep and minimal meals. But he readied himself as best he could.
Beck emerged from the hall, looking completely pissed off.
“Unfortunately, Pete,” He said, “I’m a little tired of having you around.”
Peter wanted to roll his eyes at the line, but instead he spent the action shooting a web at a lamp on a standing table and smashing it against Beck’s head. The man grimaced at the impact, little shards of glass trickling to the ground, but otherwise was unphased. In response, he directed a burst of green energy at Peter who narrowly dodged out of the way, diving into the kitchen.
Beck was right behind him, two more cloudy beams of smoke firing at Peter. He dropped to the ground as one slammed into the cabinets, broken cups raining down on him, as the other flew into the oven, shattering its glass front.
He rolled over onto his back as Beck towered over him. Looking past Beck’s head, he saw an iron rack holding pots and pans and he quickly webbed it up, pulling it from where it was secured to the ceiling and down onto Beck.
The move gave him enough time to get back onto his feet and deliver a swift kick at Beck’s ankles. The action sent the man to the ground. He went in for another kick, hoping to collide his foot with Beck’s temple and send the man unconscious but Beck managed to catch his leg, pulling Peter down while rising up.
Peter’s head smacked onto the kitchen tile, dizzying him for a split second.
“You are such a nuisance,” Beck said, as the green smoke around his hands started to dissipate.
Peter’s face twisted in confusion, wondering why Beck was backing off. He didn’t waste time to cook up theories. Instead he grabbed onto the kitchen island and pulled himself onto his feet.
“You’re certainly making this little quarrel boring,” Beck, stepping away from Peter.
Clearly, he had some plan in mind, but Peter didn’t have time to care. He surged forward hoping to land a punch, but Beck moved out of the swing’s trajectory with ease.
“As much as I’d like to get this over with,” He said in a tone that made it sound like he was striking up casual conversation, “I’d also like to have some fun.”
Peter ignored him, taking another swing but suddenly Beck was gone. Peter’s punch hit nothing. Not even the kitchen wall because the kitchen was suddenly slipping away. The scene around him was melting into blackness.
“What the fuck,” Peter muttered to himself, already feeling overworked and certainly too tired to deal with whatever shit was happening around him.
“I don’t usually perform my illusions in my fights,” Beck’s voice came from behind him. He turned on his heel and swung again at the empty space. “Word of them would make me more alarming to the Avengers or SHIELD. But I don’t see why I can’t use them right now.”
Peter looked around the dark, vacant space he now found himself him. His brain was still processing what Beck had just said, when three Beck’s suddenly appeared before him.
“Pretty neat, huh?” They all said simultaneously as if they’d just performed a casual party trick, shrugging their shoulders in unison.
Peter flicked webs at two of them, both turning into wavering images that disappeared as the webbing hit them. He jumped at the remaining Beck, but that Beck also disappeared and instead Peter found himself suddenly falling off the edge of a building. The change was jarring and he struggled to take it in. He couldn’t feel himself dropping through the air, but he could hear it and see it. The word ‘illusion’ kept ringing in his ears, but he couldn’t convince himself that what he was seeing wasn’t real.
He spun around as the windows of skyrises flew past him and he launched a web, hoping for it to attach to the side of a building but no webbing left his web shooters. The half empty cases of webbing had finally run out. His fall ended when he felt his back collide with the top of a car. He could hear the metal denting around his body and a pain shot up his back. He rebounded off the car, rolling from its roof to the ground, face meeting the road. A gross crack told him he had snapped his nose. He groaned in pain, squeezing his eyes shut, and rolled over onto his back. The feeling of rugged asphalt beneath him slipped away, replaced by hardwood floors. He hurriedly jumped to his feet, breathing gone haywire, as he looked around. There was no longer a sky he had plummeted from or skyscrapers lining a street.
He was in his bedroom in the apartment, but it looked undisturbed, as if no fight had taken place. Sunlight was streaming in through the window. There were no bars trapping him inside. Things oddly felt light. It was promising enough that he almost put the fight he was currently in out of mind. Ben’s suitcase was wide open on his bed. Inside there were neatly folded clothes, a passport on top of them. May’s glasses were missing.
The bedroom door suddenly creaked, and Peter swung around to face whoever was coming through it, assuming Beck would be charging through it. But instead May and Ben pushed through.
“No,” The word tumbled out of Peter’s mouth, barely loud enough to be heard.
His limbs suddenly felt hollowed out. He almost couldn’t stand.
They both smiled at him in a way that wrenched his heart. He stumbled backwards, disbelieving the sight in front of him.
Illusions, he had to remind himself. But the worried, soft expression on May’s face, the one making her cheeks rise and lifting up her round glasses slightly, was too alluring to keep the idea of illusions and Beck in mind. Ben’s tousled brown hair, and the wrinkles in his shirt which he always refused to iron, were too real, too detailed not to believe.
Peter felt like gasping for air as he was being torn to pieces, part of him trying to focus reality while another half of him longed to buy into what he was seeing.
And then Beck was suddenly emerging behind May and Ben in full Mysterio garb, opaque bowl head and all.
“They seem like nice people,” Beck’s voice came not from the figure of Mysterio, but from somewhere else in the room. “Such a shame what happened.”
The words pierced through Peter, but he tried to ignore their context and instead focus on their origin.
“Such a shame you haven’t been able to find people like them since.”
The room started to flicker, the walls blinking in and out like a hologram. And then suddenly, it was another room. It was Peter’s old bedroom, the one he had with May and Ben. Then the room switched again. It was the room he stayed in under the care of his first foster parents. And then it changed back into his room at the apartment. His surrounding kept switching from room to room. Each shift of imagery started to become faster and faster. His room at May and Ben’s house, his first foster family’s place, the room at Beck and Caroline’s. They began to blur together as the pace continued to quicken.
Peter was now standing in a moving room. The four walls around him, the floor and ceiling, were constantly changing at a speed beyond comprehension. Peter’s senses were getting overloaded.
He wanted to see May and Ben again but at the same time he wanted the illusion to stop. He wanted it all to be gone. For Beck to be gone.
“Poor Peter Parker can’t seem to find a home,” Beck’s voice came again, words vicious and biting.
Out of seemingly thin air, something struck Peter in the leg causing a pain to shoot up through his spine. He stumbled a few steps, recovering from the shock of having received a kick from Beck with no Beck in sight.
“I’m sure Caroline will be relieved to have you out of our hair,” Beck said.
Peter focused more on the voice this time. It was in front of him, but he registered it too late, and a fist collided with his stomach. He doubled over, legs trembling as they tried to support his aching figure.
“Sorry we couldn’t have been more gracious hosts,” Beck spoke again.
The voice was behind him this time.
“But I’ve got big plans and right now you’re the biggest thorn in my side.”
“Stop!” Peter shouted, reaching behind him right as Beck revealed himself.
He was directly behind Peter, mid-way through trying to lock an arm around Peter’s neck to choke him out. Peter grabbed Beck’s arms and threw him over his shoulder. Beck flung into the ground with surprising force. Peter hadn’t realized he’d mustered all his strength into that one move. The illusions ceased the moment Beck’s head hit the flickering floor.
With the illusions gone, Peter discovered they were still in the kitchen. Beck was below him, unconscious on the floor from the impact.
Peter let out a shaky breath. He cautiously nudged Beck with his foot. The man didn’t move except for the rise and fall of his chest.
Slowly, Peter backed away from him. He checked his faulty web shooters to make sure them running out of webbing had actually been real. They were indeed empty which meant he couldn’t secure Beck to the floor and make sure he wouldn’t get back up when he came too. But at this point Peter was too exhausted to care.
He limped out of the kitchen, pain shooting up his leg from where it has been struck. He crossed into the living room and slumped against the back of the couch, making sure from his position on the floor he had a straight, clear view of Beck through the kitchen opening.
He was too frightened to let Beck out of his sight. He didn’t trust going back into his bedroom to get his phone in the fear that the room around him might fade away again and he’d be submerged in a flurry of illusion.
So he leaned against the couch, eyes on Beck, and tried to catch his breath as his body ached.
*
Tony didn’t care if it was going to end up being an overreaction as he kicked down Peter’s apartment door fully suited up.
The minute he’d figured everything out, he had put on the armor and contacted SHIELD. Friday had sent an alert to the NYPD putting out warrants for Beck and Caroline. Members of SHIELD replied to Tony’s outreach by letting him know they sent agents to Caroline’s work to intercept her and bring her into custody for questioning. The same was supposed to be done for Beck but when agents arrived at his office, he was missing. His boss claimed that he had unexpectedly left work early, claiming family emergency.
Tony had already been planning to race to Peter’s apartment, but the info that Beck was gone made him get there in double-time.
Overreaction or not, he put his foot through the front door and marched right in.
“Peter?” He called out, helmet retracting.
The place was small. A narrow entryway lead from the front door into the living room. As walked through it, he saw Peter pressed up against the back of the couch, looking slumped and beaten.
“Kid?” Tony asked, wanting to run straight to him. But he restrained himself, alert for any danger.
“Stop,” Peter said.
It wasn’t the greeting Tony had expected, but immediately he stopped in his tracks. Peter looked freaked out by Tony’s presence. He straightened up from his position on the floor and stared at Tony with wide-eyes.
“Are – are you really here?” He asked.
Tony tilted his head slightly.
“Of course I’m here,” He said, taking a cautious step towards the kid trying to figure out what was wrong and where the hell Beck was.
“Wait!” Peter shouted, pushing himself back and away from Tony. “Say something only you and I would know.”
“What?” Tony asked, alarmed by the request.
His heart was pumping in overdrive and he wanted to throw all caution to the wind and go straight to the kid, but he kept himself levelheaded but locking into his usual mission-mode. It was the kind of mindset he would lock into when doing Avengers work, one that was never allowed to be clouded by too many emotions.
“Just do it,” Peter said.
There was a grim expression on his face that twisted knots in Tony’s stomach.
“Okay, okay,” He said, voice soft.
He wracked his brain for something that he knew the kid could trust.
“For your birthday you wanted magic webs, but I thought and still think, that’s a ridiculous idea,” He said.
The kid instantly sunk back against the couch with relief. He let out a deep breath, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back.
“Oh thank God,” He quietly muttered, before shakily pushing himself up onto his feet and in a frazzled tone adding, “You know, magic webs would’ve really come in handy today.”
Tony started moving to Peter but paused halfway there when he caught a glimpse into the kitchen. He couldn’t truly take in the scene. He couldn’t take in the broken glass scattered across the kitchen tiles, or the destruction of cabinets and appliances, any of the wreckage of the fight that had taken place. All he could process was that Beck was crumpled on the kitchen floor directly across from where Peter was standing by the couch. He quickly put himself between them, stepping in front of Peter to aim a repulsor at Beck.
From behind, Peter weakly latched a hand onto the Iron Man armor. Tony could feel the meek weight tug on his shoulder.
“He’s out,” Peter breathed, always willing to defend the terrible no matter how terrible they are, “He’s unconscious – don’t worry.”
“It’s set to stun,” Tony said before firing a blast at the man for good measure.
He waited for Friday to confirm Peter’s claim before lowering his arms and turning to Peter.
“Fri, give me a status on the kid,” He said, gently placing metal hands on Peter’s shoulders as he scanned the kid down with his own eyes, too impatient to wait for Friday’s analysis.
“Fractured tailbone, broken nose, laceration on forehead that will require stitches, but other than that nothing vital, boss,” Friday said, and with her words came a shock of relief that switched Tony out of mission-mode.
He retracted the suit and without hesitation pulled Peter into a hug. Peter melted in the embrace, wrapping his arms around Tony, reveling in the warm feeling of security that came with the gesture. His eyes felt misty as the exhaustion finally hit bone deep and the trauma of the day burrowed down with it.
“You’re okay,” Tony said as if hearing Peter’s thoughts. “You’re okay.”
He held him for a moment longer, before putting Peter an arm’s length away so he could look the kid over one more time.
“I wanted to tell you, Mr. Stark,” Peter said without thinking. His mind was foggy with all sorts of thoughts and they just started leaving his mouth absentmindedly. “I wanted to tell you that things were really shitty here. But, I don’t know, something just held me back. I guess I was scared. And I also tried to tell myself things weren’t that bad. But then it all took a really unexpected turn.” He couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. He wanted to unload everything right now.
“It’s okay kid,” Tony said. “I’m sorry I didn’t figure everything out sooner.”
Sirens could be heard outside, getting closer the apartment building.
“How did you even know to come?” Peter asked.
He had a hand wrapped around Tony’s arm, afraid that if he let go, Tony would disappear and just be another illusion.
“Had a hunch things were off,” Tony said, “So when you left I did some research I should’ve done ages ago and all the pieces fell into place. That dumbass had a piece of his real name in his alias name so no matter what, he was close to being found out anyways.”
Tony wanted to say so much more. He wanted to apologize explicitly for not having been able to help Peter sooner. He wanted to apologize for letting Peter get stuck with a foster family in the first place. He wanted to better express the amount of love he had for the kid.
Instead he settled on, “Let’s get you home.”
Peter latched on to the word home like it was a lifeline. It pumped relief through his veins and gave him a little piece of hope to hold onto that things were going to be okay.
*
Tony’s rescue ended up feeling like the eye of the storm. Things grew hectic again as SHILED came on the scene and detained Beck. At the compound, Peter had to sit down with an agent and give an account of Beck’s abilities. He also had to recount the events that had just taken place, in detail, so SHIELD had an idea of what Beck could do once he was awake.
Reliving what had happened only hours ago was difficult, especially when Tony’s eyes were on him the whole time as he talked through the illusions with the agent. He couldn’t push away feelings of embarrassment and unplaced guilt as he remembered seeing May and Ben and the words Beck had said to him. He just wanted everything to do with the apartment and Mysterio to be over.
It wasn’t until the next day that things settled down. The storm finally passed.
Tony made breakfast even though Peter felt too sick to eat, still shaken by yesterday’s events. Peter spent most of the day resting, swaddled up in his bed. Sleep didn’t come easily, the faces of May and Ben were burned on the back of his eyelids, but he managed to doze off eventually.
Around 7 ‘o clock in the evening, Tony decided to try again to get him to eat.
Two knocks rapped on Peter’s bedroom door before it pushed open and Tony stepped inside holding a bowl of soup.
Peter sat up and crossed his legs and Tony perched on the edge of the bed.
“I know you’re probably going to say you still aren’t hungry, but I also know you’re lying so here,” He said, holding the bowl out to Peter.
Peter gave him half a smile before taking it from him.
“How are you holding up?” Tony asked, watching Peter absently stir the soup with a spoon rather than eat it.
“I think I’m doing okay,” Peter said, genuinely unsure. “It’s kind of the first time I’ve ever dealt with something like this.”
“I think we might need to invest in some therapy for you,” Tony said.
His tone was joking but the offer was serious. He was already mentally thumbing through contact cards of possible psychiatrists for superheroes.
There was a moment of silence. Peter was staring intently into the bowl, too busy thinking to eat. Tony kept sweeping his eyes over the kid as if he were fresh out of battle – trying to find a way to fix whatever was hurting Peter.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, eyes suddenly on Tony.
“Yeah?”
“What’s next?” He said.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s going to happen next?” Peter said, “Or I guess I mean where am I going to go next since my foster parents ended up being criminals.”
Tony was taken aback by the question because he hadn’t considered Peter going anywhere. He hadn’t even thought about the topic plaguing Peter’s mind because in his own mind the logical answer was that Peter was going to stay here. There was no way he was going to let Peter get thrown into another shit show.
A few seconds passed as Tony crafted a response. The moment felt parallel to the one he’d had with Peter the other night. That sense of responsibility came flooding in and he knew he needed to treat this moment with care.
“I didn’t even think to ask you this because I just assumed it would make sense to you like it does for me,” Tony said, “But do you want to live here?”
Peter perked up at that, his distant and perplexed expression suddenly becoming one of surprise.
“You practically already do. You’ve got a room and everything,” Tony added, looking around the space, taking in the designs and furniture he’d picked out specifically for Peter.
Peter still didn’t stay anything. He just kept looking at Tony with disbelief. He heard everything Tony had said but the words were still piecing together in his head to get to a point where he could glean meaning off of them. Of course it made sense to Peter, like it did for Tony, for him to stay here. But the idea still felt unreal. It still felt like a wish lost on some birthday candles.
“I care about you a hell of a lot, kid. I’d love to have you here. But you don’t have to if it’s too overwhelming. We have all the time in the world to figure things out –“
“Of course I want to stay with you,” Peter interrupted, absolutely beaming as the realization struck him.
“Good, because there was no way I was letting you go back in the foster care system.” Tony laughed.
Epilogue – 3 Weeks Later
Peter and Tony were sat in a tiny office. Sun was coming in through a large windowpane to their left, but blinds paled the light as it filtered through. Plants were meticulously placed around the area and books were stacked around as well.
A woman sat across from them in a chair behind a mahogany desk. In front of her were clean stacks of papers and beige file folders. Her computer was tilted towards them so they could peek at the screen if needed.
“Okay,” She said with a smile as she slid a thin pile of papers between the surrounding stacks, “this is the last of it.”
“Piece of cake,” Tony said, aiming the words at Peter more than anyone else in the room.
Rhodey was standing somewhere behind them tapping his foot to pass the time. He volunteered to be a witness for the signing. Happy was stuck on a bench outside the room, waiting anxiously although there was nothing to worry about. But Peter could understand the inexplicable sense of worry Happy had uncharacteristically been showing today. His own heart was beating a thousand miles per hour and he could tell, despite Tony’s front, that the man was also zapped by shaking nerves.
Afterall, what was happening today was a big deal.
Peter watched intently as Tony flicked through the papers like an Olympic professional trained in notary work, initialing where needed. There was a sudden swell of excitement and nausea in Peter as Tony flipped to the final page. It felt like someone had pulled a wire taught in Peter’s chest and snipping it in two was either going to calm him or crumple him.
He listened to the pen in Tony’s hand as it softly scratched the paper, a flourishing signature from the Tony Stark to legally bind the adoption of one Peter Parker.
The second the pen was set down and Tony leaned back in his chair, a sense of relief washed through Peter. It was a sensation somehow even stronger that when he saw Tony bust down the door in the apartment. A tension in his body he didn’t realize he’d been holding since May and Been died was finally relieved.
He looked at Tony with a beaming grin on his face.
The woman took the documents, glanced them over, and then said:
“Congratulations!”
“Guess you’re stuck with me permanently, kid,” Tony joked once they finished giving thanks and bidding goodbye with the woman.
Peter let out a small laugh, still trying to shake off some disbelief.
“Better hope its not a mistake,” Rhodey said, flashing Peter a bright smile.
Happy joined them as the made their way out of the building, looking just as joyful as the rest of the bunch.
“No turning back,” He said to Peter.
“Stop making me sound so terrible,” Tony said as fished in his pockets for his sunglasses, looking superficially annoyed.
Happy went to go fetch the car and Rhodey parted ways with the three, offering one more congratulations before heading down the street for his own vehicle.
Peter checked his phone as he and Tony waited at the curb for Happy to pull up. It was blowing up with ecstatic messages from Ned. Each one was a congratulating freak out about the fact that Peter was now the legal child of Tony Stark. Peter just chuckled at the all caps texts before tucking his phone back in his pocket.
He looked over at Tony who was fidgeting with his watch.
“That felt way longer that it actually was,” Tony said, tossing a glance to Peter.
He exposed his nerves by letting out a sigh of relief. He’d been just as nervous as Peter for the adoption.
“Agreed,” Peter said, thinking about how time had slowed down with those last couple pages of paperwork.
Nothing else needed to be said after that. Tony just pulled Peter into his side and ruffled his hair a little as they waited for Happy. Peter soaked up the moment. He listened to the sounds of the busy street, people walking and chatting, cars honking. He felt warm with Tony’s arm over his shoulders and felt relief too, being content with where he was. Somehow his wish had come true and he was finally going to earn some stability in his mostly unstable life.