6
Bruce’s research had been worse than bad. It was damning. It more or less proved that Peter’s current condition would only be in decline.
How was May Parker supposed to handle that? How was Tony supposed to handle that? They’d just gotten the boy back! Peter had barely been home for a full day. He’d barely gotten to shower and relax for a little while before Bruce had discovered the heartwrenching evidence of advanced physical decay in his cells.
Peter shrugged. “I mean, I don’t really feel hungry.”
“Seriously? Like, at all?”
“Not really.”
“I just miss the city, I guess. I can’t exactly go out as Spider-Man at the moment, seeing as everyone thinks I’ve disappeared.”
“Everyone thinks Peter Parker has disappeared, too.”
Tony hadn’t meant to say it. Peter didn’t need to be reminded of everyone else he’d left behind. But it was too late now, and the boy looked as if he were beginning to spiral.
“I c-completely forgot. Ned, MJ. I didn’t tell either of them I was back.”
“I don’t...I don’t remember. Anything.” Anything but falling. Dizziness. Something cold encasing his feet, something heavy on his throat-
Peter took a deep breath. “Yeah, nothing.”
Wilson Fisk was an organized man.
His workspace was tidy, his closet color-coordinated, his home dustless. Never would there be a trace of his fingerprints on any of the materials in his warehouses. His suits? Impeccably steamed and dry-cleaned frequently. Never a wrinkle or speck of blood to be found. His home? Absolutely no evidence that he is the leader of New York’s most influential drug depot, or that he’s got the personal phone numbers of some of the most dangerous crime lords on the planet.
That was the life Fisk had created for himself. Snow-white suits, marble countertops, more money than he could ever hope to spend. A lovely woman at his side.
Vanessa completed the circuit. A goddess among mortals, in Wilson’s eyes. He’d never met anyone who moved with such elegance, had a voice practically made of silk. Her passion for her craft was awe-inspiring. Thanks to her, Wilson’s life was full of art, his once white penthouse walls now full of color, his once dull life now rosy red like her lipstick, soft green like her favorite gown.
Not only was Vanessa his perfect life partner, she was the perfect business partner as well. She wasn’t blind to the sort of business she was helping conduct; she simply acted as if it were no different than the art trading and collecting she’d done for years. She analyzed numbers, solved problems, coordinated transactions. Chose the perfect display pieces for the spaces she was trying to fill, got rid of the ones that weren’t working or that were getting in the way. Appreciated the rare ones, knew their value and contributions to society. About a year ago, there had been one particular red and blue piece in Wilson’s metaphorical gallery that had set her on edge.
“This Spider-Man figure,” Vanessa had said to Wilson one evening, watching the New York skyline outside the penthouse windows, “I don’t like him.”
Wilson scoffed. His glass of scotch was much more potent than Vanessa’s wine, and he was already four servings in, not to mention he’d been drinking it on an empty stomach. The day had been busy. He hadn’t eaten dinner yet.
Vanessa had only sipped at her drink. She swirled the contents in a hypnotizing circle, bare feet out of her heels and tucked beneath her on the sofa. If Wilson were any less inebriated, he may have been worried about her spilling the bright red liquid on his white area rug. A beautiful piece, imported from an interior designer in Dubai.
“Nobody likes him, darling. Not even the police. He’s a bit of a nuisance.” Wilson loosened his tie at the neck, relaxing more and more by the second. Calm evenings like this with Vanessa were few and far in between. He planned on actually enjoying the time they had together.
Vanessa seemed to have no such plans. “He’s getting too close.” Wilson watched as her carefully manicured hand gently set her wine glass on the coffee table. She stood from the sofa and walked slowly back and forth across the room. “Several of the scouts have seen him lurking near our warehouses. One of your men mentioned him poking around the Hell’s Kitchen location. He’s going very far out of his way to keep an eye on us.”
Fisk hoped that particular rumor wasn’t true. He had enough to worry about in Manhattan with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen constantly up his ass. “I thought Spider-Man was more into low-level crime and helping kittens out of trees. Why is he suddenly so interested in large operations?”
Vanessa’s lips pursed. Wilson noticed she was wearing a new lipstick color, something a few shades lighter than her usual. It looked wonderful with her eyes. “I’m not sure. That’s why I’m a bit worried. There have been rumors that he has connections to the Avengers. That could be dangerous for us.”
Us. Fisk loved the way she said us, like it was a promise. An unbreakable bond. “We’re a bit below the Avengers’ pay grade, don’t you think? They seem to care more about aliens and their own hide than they do everyday crime.”
“Wilson, I don’t think you’re listening to me. Spider-Man is onto us. There are too many variables with him involved. He needs to be taken out of the equation.”
“Taken out of the equation?” Wilson was taken aback. Vanessa had given the kill-order before; the action in itself was old news. But she usually discussed her reasoning with him a bit more before making such a decision. “Spider-Man isn’t like the others. He’s rather high profile. His disappearance would be noticed.”
“So we cover it up.”
“This won’t be our usual ‘dispose of the body, and do it well’ sort of deal, darling. This has to be complete. No trace we were involved. No inclination that he’d ever been looking into us. As much as half of New York hates Spider-Man, the other half of the city loves him and will notice his absence.”
“You worry too much, Wilson.”
This was where Wilson Fisk and Vanessa Marianna differed. Wilson was a man driven by logic, always making the smart choice and not necessarily the fun one. Vanessa, while not totally lacking a sense of reason, was heavily influenced by passion and whims of fancy. This particular whim of fancy was too risky. Too many things could go wrong.
“This isn’t the sort of job I could just pass to one of my men. I’m not even sure all of them would be willing to do it.”
Vanessa smiled sweetly. That lipstick color really did look wonderful against her fair skin.
She stood on the balls of her feet, stretching to bring those tinted lips toward Wilson’s ear. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. The warm hand she had on his cheek sharply contrasted her icy tone. “That’s why you’ll kill Spider-Man yourself.”
When Tony walked into the penthouse kitchen the next morning, Peter was leaned over the dining table, a mug of steaming coffee in hand.
The kid looked...Worse for wear, to put it simply. The bruises on his neck hadn’t faded in the slightest; if anything, they seemed to be a more vibrant purple when compared to the pallor of his skin. There were dark rings under his eyes. His hair was an absolute mess, all matted to one side from rubbing against a pillow all night like he couldn’t get comfortable.
“Not sleeping in today?” Tony asked as he walked into the room, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. Maybe he should have slept in. After all, the sun was just beginning to rise outside the living room’s wall of windows, dispelling the previous evening’s darkness and painting the penthouse in shades of pink and orange.
Peter shook his head, then raised his mug to his lips. Despite the fact that steam was still rising in tendrils from the mug, he took a large swig as if the temperature didn’t bother him and placed his now-empty cup back on the table. “No. Not sleeping at all, apparently.”
Tony noticed he was drinking his coffee black. That in itself was odd; in the past, Tony had made fun of Peter notoriously for adding too much cream and sugar to his morning pick-me-up. Stark had never seen someone’s coffee go completely white with cinnamon roll-flavored creamer before he met Peter. His affinity for sweets was one of his defining characteristics.
“Seriously? You didn’t sleep at all? You looked absolutely wiped last night.” Tony was pleasantly surprised to find that there was still-warm coffee left in the pot and hurriedly poured himself some. “I think rest would do you some good.”
“Not for a lack of trying, Mr. Stark.” Peter went silent for a moment, eyes trained on his empty mug. “I’ve been back for a whole day. From wherever I was.”
Tony tried sipping his coffee and promptly burnt the hell out of his tongue. Peter patiently waited for him to finish letting out a nasty string of expletives before continuing. “I know that doesn’t seem like that long, considering how long I was gone, but don’t you think maybe it’s time to tell my friends? The authorities?”
Tony, in a moment of mental weakness, actually laughed. He really didn’t mean for it to slip out, but how could he not chuckle at the idea? “You want to tell the authorities?”
“Well, yeah. A bunch of people think I’m missing, don’t they? I think my friends deserve to know I still exist.” I still exist. Not, I’m still alive.
“You’re filed as a missing minor, yes. But do you not remember what happened yesterday? Our little run-in with the boys in blue after dinner?”
“Sure I do. What does that have to do with anything?”
“That cashier.”
“The one I killed.”
Peter said killed with pursed lips. Like the whole event was flooding back to him and he was trying not to break down suddenly and completely.
“We don’t know that. You don’t know that. But that’s not my point. When they were questioning us, I, uh…” At the time, Tony’s lie had seemed reasonable. But now, actually talking it out with Peter, Tony recognized an incoming emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time; embarrassment. Whether it was over the lie itself or his tactlessness, he didn’t know. His cheeks heated up and he refused to make eye contact with Parker as he said, “I told them you were my illegitimate son, remember? If we go and tell them you’re Peter Parker, they’ll connect the dots and realize several things. One, that we gave a fake name when giving a witness statement, and two, that I’ve been harboring a missing child for a full day. It won’t turn out well for anyone.”
Tony hated how utterly defeated Peter looked. “Could I at least go home for a while? Spend some time in the apartment?” He quickly surveyed his clothes. He had gone to bed in the band t-shirt and sweatpants Tony had given him upon his return to the tower. “Not that I don’t like it here! I do! The penthouse is really nice, and you’ve been so nice, and-“
“But you miss the comforts of home,” Tony finished for him. “I get it, kid. I do.” Stark did get it, the need to be in his own element. As long as Peter has been visiting the tower, Tony noticed that he never fully warmed up to it. It was probably a combination of things; the expensive furniture, the security personnel everywhere, the fact that they were at the top of a skyscraper in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Manhattan. Tony lived for the leather couches and skyline views, but he could understand that not everyone felt at ease in such an environment. “We should probably talk to your aunt.”
Peter nodded, then stood from the table with his hand loosely wrapped around his coffee mug. “Can we wait a while before waking her? She was up pretty late last night. With all of the excitement from the last 24 hours I think she needs the rest.”
“Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”
A moment of silence. “Can we take the train?”
“You wanna take the train? All the way to Queens? That’s a long ride.”
“It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to be.”
“Aren’t you worried about someone you know seeing you?”
Peter shrugged. “It’s Saturday. Anyone that might recognize me doesn’t have a morning or evening commute today. Should be fine.”
Tony had waited too long; his coffee was cold. He’d never been one for microwaved anything, so he dumped the mug’s contents down the sink and began pouring himself a new cup. “I just don’t think this is the sort of situation when should be is enough- shit!”
Peter pushed Tony away from the sink so quickly that neither of them had time to catch the coffee pot before it shattered against the kitchen floor.
“Kid! What the hell was that?”
Peter didn’t respond. Probably because he was spilling the contents of his stomach into Tony’s sink.
Tony moved to stand behind Peter, even going as far as to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he took careful care to avert his eyes. His own stomach twinged in sympathy.
Once he was done, Tony swiped a paper towel off the roll and handed it over. Peter quickly ran it over his lips and switched the sink on. “That’s the only thing I’ve eaten since dinner yesterday, and I couldn’t even keep it down.”
Tony scoffed. “I’m not sure I’d consider a cup of coffee food.” Peter wasn’t lying; Tony hadn’t seen him eat since dinner yesterday. The dinner he hacked onto the sidewalk almost directly after consuming it.
“Pete, have you actually been hungry since yesterday? Like, genuinely stomach-rumble hungry?”
Peter walked away from the sink to sit back down in his chair at the kitchen table. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his arms. His eyes slid shut, and if Tony didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the kid was asleep. “Not really. Haven’t been thirsty either. I only went for the coffee out of habit.”
Tony couldn’t stop himself before a confused “Really?” slipped out of his mouth.
Peter opened an eye and peered in Tony’s direction. “Should we be concerned about that? The fact that I don’t need food?”
“You’ve usually got the metabolism of an elephant. I definitely don’t think this is a good thing.”
“What’s not a good thing?”
Peter hopped up so quickly that Tony thought he was running to the sink to puke again. Turns out that it wasn’t a vomit scare; it was an Aunt May scare. She’d just walked out of the hallway and and was making her way to the coffeemaker.
Peter looked like a deer in the headlights. Tony was going to have to take over this time. “Petey boy here is running out of clean clothes and refuses to let me buy him new ones. Wants to make a trip to Queens later today to grab some things from home.”
May looked a little confused when she saw the coffeemaker with no pot, then frowned when she realized it was in a dozen pieces on the floor in front of the sink. “Home? Today? Peter, are you sure you’re ready for that?”
Tony didn’t mean to sound creepy, especially because Pepper can pretty much read his thoughts and would know if he was being creepy, but May looked good. Much better than she had in the last year. Even though Peter said she went to bed late, she was moving and talking and glowing like she’d slept for days. The dark circles Tony had seen deepening in hue beneath her eyes had faded drastically. The sun had just barely made its way above the horizon and May looked like she couldn’t have cared less. Maybe your son basically coming back from the dead had medicinal properties.
“I mean, I don’t know. But I think I’m gonna have to at some point. Better now than later, right?”
May didn’t look so sure. “Peter, honey, I want you home more than anything. God, I’ve wanted you back in that apartment for months. I’m just afraid we’re taking big steps in a short amount of time. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“If anything, shouldn’t it have the opposite effect? It’s home, May. Why would it overwhelm me?”
Getting home overwhelmed Peter.
Happy was “out of the office” for the day, and Mr.Stark refused to let anyone else drive him, so their only option was one of his several over-the-top sports cars.
When Tony walked Peter and May down to the basement garage, he stood in front of his line of luxury vehicles like he’d just solved world peace.
“Pick your poison,” he said with a grin, sweeping his hand down the row.
May cleared her throat. “I think these may be a little flashy for us, Tony.”
May was...Not wrong. There were nice cars all over New York, but Peter’s neighborhood didn’t have near as many as Mr.Stark’s. If they were trying to not attract attention to themselves, a Bentley wasn’t the way to go.
Tony looked like he had no idea what May was talking about. “Even the G-Wagon? It’s last year’s model!”
Peter offered a small smile. “Mr.Stark, while the cars are very nice, May’s right. Don’t we want to keep a low profile?”
May nodded along like she knew the full extent of the situation. Like friends and acquaintances were the only people Peter was trying to avoid for the time being. She had no idea that the police thought he was Tony’s son, or that he may have killed a man (he knew he killed a man). The more Peter thought about the situation the more ridiculous it sounded. The police could easily check a city registry and realize Peter Stark didn’t exist. They could use face identification software and realize that he was not, in fact, Peter Stark, but Peter Parker, a missing minor. They would think Stark had taken him hostage or was hiding him from the authorities (which he was definitely doing). Hell, they might even realize Peter’s sorta-kinda dead and his heart beats about five times a minute and that he can physically pull darkness out of people but the people die when he pulls the darkness-
“Maybe we should just take the subway.”
Tony looked like May had just slapped him across the face. “You’re kidding, right?” He looked to Peter. “This is a joke?”
Peter shrugged. “It’s our best option. Might be an hour-long train ride, but it would definitely be low profile.”
“No way. We’re not taking the subway.”
“What do you expect us to do, Stark?” May asked. “Drop a helicopter on top of the apartment building and climb in through a window?”
Tony snapped his fingers like a helicopter was the solution to all of his problems. “I can make that work.”
“We’re not taking a helicopter, Tony. Train it is.”
The familiarity of the subway was comforting. The hustle and bustle of the crowd entering and exiting, the sounds of shoes on grimy tile and the train screeching to a stop. Those random blasts of hot, putrid subway air that blew through the tunnels. Not entirely pleasant, but familiar.
Even in jeans and a t-shirt, a very drastic wardrobe change for Tony Stark, he looked completely out of his element. His hands were shoved in his pockets, a pair of Ray-Bans carefully perched on his nose. He peered at the sign above the train platform while they waited. “How do we know this is the right train?”
“Mr.Stark, you have a genius-level IQ and can’t read individual letters?”
“I can read the sign, smartass. But are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“Ye of little faith. I take this train at least once a week on the days Happy doesn’t drive me to the tower. It’s the right one.” Or, he used to take this train once a week. He hadn’t been on any train in a year. He was too busy chilling at the bottom of the Hudson River. If that’s really where he’d been the entire time.
It was a hard concept to process, his own (temporary) demise. What had he done to end up where he did. To end up how he did, cold and pale and with a necklace of bruises? He’d tried looking into reflective surfaces as little as possible within the last day. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of was how someone had actually managed to pin him, metaphorically and physically. He’d been caught, restrained, potentially killed. Whether or not his current condition was death or life was lost on him. He was up and walking, though, so he had no complaints. As long as no one took his blood pressure, he seemed alive enough for the time being. Except for that silly little inability to eat or drink anything and his sudden lack of need for sleep or rest of any sort. Other than that, he was golden.
May tugged on Peter’s sleeve to alert him of the train’s arrival, and the three of them shoved their way into the train car. Luckily it was an odd time of day and there was enough room for the entire group to sit side by side. Peter was very aware of the summer heat baking everyone in the subway car, but not because he himself was feeling it. The woman near the front let out a deep sigh and tied her hair up so it would be off of her neck. The man by the door was in a suit and tie and sweating profusely. Peter watched as he loosened his tie and slipped his jacket off. The man must have felt him staring. They made accidental eye contact and Peter quickly looked away.
And, if Peter wasn’t mistaken, he could feel May and Tony’s body heat whenever the train rattled and their arms grazed his. They were so warm. Peter, in contrast, felt no discomfort despite the shitty subway air conditioning. He seemed to have no reaction toward or preference of temperature.
By the time he finally jumped out of his own head he realized that Mr.Stark had fallen asleep, and May had popped her headphones in and was scrolling through news articles on her phone. Peter hadn’t thought to bring anything to entertain himself and he had no idea where his phone had ended up when he went missing, so his only real option was to try and grab a nap before they reached their destination.
He knew he wouldn’t be falling asleep any time soon, but tilted his head back and shut his eyes regardless. Maybe if he feigned sleep hard enough he could trick himself into actually dozing off.
Just maybe.
Fisk’s men found Spider-Man in Hell’s Kitchen, just like Vanessa said they would. He’d taken an interest in that particular location for some reason. It was Wilson’s biggest operation hub within New York City. Either Spider-Man had been watching Fisk long enough to put those pieces together, or he sat down for a lovely dinner with Daredevil two or three times a week and came all the way from Queens to do so.
It hadn’t been easy catching him off guard. Honestly, Wilson figured Spider-Man’s capture was a complete accident. His men were skilled, some of the best available, but Spider-Man was powered and had fought people much more intimidating than some random guys with guns.
The random guys with guns had been enough, though. Wilson watched the whole ordeal from inside the warehouse, thanks to a rather expensive security system set up outside. He was able to witness Spider-Man get the living hell beat out of him in 4kHD. Quite an experience.
Once Spider-Man had been brought inside, restrained...He looked much smaller in person. Still lean, agile, but smaller. Hell, the man didn’t look like he broke 5 foot 10. His attitude had made up for it, though. Even as he was being restrained with metal wristlets and tranquilizers, he wouldn’t stop running his damn mouth.
“You know I can pop out of these, right?” He shook his wrists within their steel cuffs. “Nice try, though. Valiant effort, men. Really.” The second he was brought into the warehouse, Fisk’s men had shoved him into a metal chair and injected him with a very, very high-dosed sedative. It had been several minutes since then and he showed no signs of fatigue.
“Then why don’t you?” Fisk heard one of his men ask. “Go ahead. Try. Even if you do manage to bust out, we’ll blow you to pieces before you get anywhere.”
Fisk watched the computer monitor as several of his men stepped forward and trained their weapons on their captive.
Spider-Man chuckled like he was calm as ever, but there was unease in his tone. Fisk had spent years identifying nervous men, men with something to lose. The hyper-straightness of Spider-Man’s posture as he sat in the chair wasn’t poise or confidence- it was fright. The way he kept opening and closing his hands like he was grabbing something; a nervous tick. He knew he was running out of options.
Spider-Man craned his neck to look around the dark warehouse. “Nice little place you’ve got here. Very homey.” He wiggled in his seat. “This chair is ridiculously comfortable. You know, I think I saw something exactly like this at the Criminal Home Furnishings sale. Almost bought it myself, but took some measurements and realized it wouldn’t fit in my torture chamber back home. A shame, really. It would have matched my knife display so well-“
“Shut the hell up!” The man who’d threatened Spider-Man before stepped forward and launched the butt of his gun directly at the middle of Spidey’s face. Spidey saw the move coming and quickly threw himself sideways. The sound of the gun slamming into the metal headrest of the chair echoed throughout the room.
“You know, I’m flattered, but my auntie taught me to never let anyone gun-punch me until the second date. We’re just getting to know one another, Random Henchman #1. We need to take things slow.”
Spider-Man showed no signs of slowing down. “Give him another dose,” Wilson said into the com. “If that doesn’t work…”
Wilson needed an alternate plan. A way to make Spider-Man compliant. But what did the public know about him, really? What were his personal weaknesses? His flaws? Aside from Daredevil Spider-Man was one of the more private heroes in the city. On the off-chance someone managed to get an interview out of him, he didn’t talk about himself or his life. Spider-Man was an enigma. Nobody knew his name, his face.
Nobody knew his name or his face.
Spider-Man was never without his mask. He was notoriously careful about keeping every aspect of himself as private as possible. “Go for the mask. He won’t make it easy.”
“Yes sir,” his lead man replied into his mic. He whistled to another warehouse worker. “Another dose! Make it a fat one! We gotta knock this son of a bitch down a notch!”
Spider-Man reared his head back a little like he was shocked. “Whoa, okay, yeah, no thanks. I’m alright. But thank you for the generous offer! Sleep is always nice-“
The henchman came at him with another needle. Fisk was getting curious- as the man approached, Spidey was sitting statue-still, just staring forward with with the unsettling white eye slits of his mask.
Something wasn’t right. He was too calm-
“Get back! He’s going to-“
Fisk didn’t even get to finish shouting his warning before his man with the syringe was webbed to the far wall of the warehouse.
Spider-Man was laughing now, full-on belly laughs that shook him in his seat. He pulled a knee in toward his chest and clapped his hands together as he guffawed. This in itself was a concerning sight because only a few moments prior, Spider-Man had been pinned down by both ankles and wrists with steel bands. “This is fun! I haven’t gotten any good target practice in a while. Thanks for volunteering! Who’s next?”
Ten men stormed forward, several with guns aimed and already firing off rounds. None hit the superhero, though, as he shot a web into the warehouse rafters and disappeared from sight.
The speed with which Wilson threw his fist through the viewing monitor almost startled him. Sparks flew from mangled glass and torn wiring and a fuzzy, colorful mess of pixels fizzed on the other computer screens. Wilson calmly removed his hand from within the monitor and shook out his wrist. “I guess Vanessa was right. If I want anything done properly, I’ll have to do it myself.”
May gently tapped Peter’s shoulder when they had to switch trains, and then again when they finally arrived in Queens. Mr.Stark acted like he’d been personally wronged when Peter kicked him in the shin and woke him from his nap. “I need the sleep, Peter. I didn’t get my morning cup of coffee. You know, because the pitcher shattered and the coffee spilled all over the floor-“
Peter coughed. “Yeah. I get it. Sorry. But it’s time to get off.”
“Right.”
As the three of them made their way down the sidewalk and toward Peter’s building, a twinge of iciness sparked in the back of his neck and made its way down his spine. Spidey Sense. He hadn’t felt it since coming out of the river. It wasn’t terribly strong this time; just a chill, no ringing in his ears or sirens in his head. But it was definitely there. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and spun in a slow circle, trying to identify the source of the danger.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A few people were looking at him with frowns because he was stationary in the middle of a busy walkway, but otherwise nothing was out of place.
Until he noticed the man from the subway leaning against the side of a building a few meters away. The one in the suit. He had his jacket slung over his shoulder as if he were feigning nonchalance, a lit cigarette between his lips. His eyes were trained directly on Peter.
“Pete? What’s wrong, buddy?” Mr.Stark and May had both stopped when Peter did, concerned looks on their faces.
The man kept staring, looking Peter in the eye with zero remorse or fear.
Of course he wouldn’t fear me, Peter reminded himself, right now I’m pale as death and look like a random, scrawny, sixteen year old kid.
There was something familiar about the man in the suit. He wasn’t just fearless; that look behind his wide eyes and loose smile was the picture of satisfaction. He’d definitely just done something he was proud of. Peter could identify that grin anywhere. It was a popular look among many of the criminals he’d ended up catching just after they robbed a bank or set something on fire.
The light coolness of Peter’s Spidey Sense immediately turned to ice pick-like pain in the back of his skull.
“Shut the hell up!”
Peter stumbled on the sidewalk. May caught him by the wrist. “Peter! Is something wrong?”
“Another dose! Make it a fat one! We gotta knock this son of a bitch down a notch!”
Blues and greens and reds a particularly large splotch of white danced in front of Peter’s eyes. The bruises around his neck pulsed in rhythm with his thudding heart.
“I’m-I’m okay-“ Peter pitched forward again. May and Mr.Stark barely grabbed him before his face made contact with the asphalt.
“This is not what ‘okay’ looks like, kiddo.”
It took Peter several seconds to right himself. “Was just dizzy for a second. I’m sorry. I’m fine.”
The man was already gone by the time Peter could focus enough to check for him. The alarm in his head stopped chirping, but there was still a cold uncertainty seeping into his bones. It wasn’t his Spidey Sense; this was just good ol’ fight or flight. “Let’s just get to the apartment,” he said breathlessly.
“No no no no no no! Seriously? Today of all days?”
Ned Leeds had been digging through his backpack for almost five minutes and still couldn’t find his apartment key. He could have sworn he grabbed it off the hook this morning, but it wasn’t clipped to the hook in the front pocket where it always is-
He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead before it ran into his eyes. Most of the apartments in the building had their own AC units, but the hallways relied on central air. That central air was broken today, of course, and the hallway was quickly turning into a sauna.
Ned had stayed the night on MJ’s couch, a setup that had become increasingly popular over the last year. Ever since their three-person friend group had suddenly shrunk to two.
Her parents had decided they wanted to go to the grocery and had asked him to leave before they did. “It’s not that we don’t trust you,” MJ’s mom said, “because we do. I’d just feel like an irresponsible mother if I let Michelle stay home alone with a boy…”
Ned completely understood. He wasn’t offended. He just didn’t look forward to going home; he never did. Because every time he went home, he had to look across the hall and see the door to the apartment he knew held Peter’s room, a room that had been sitting empty for ages now.
Peter went missing last June. So did Spider-Man. He stayed missing.
He missed their entire junior year of high school. A few months into the year, all of Peter’s teachers stopped saying his name during roll call.
Ned’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a message from his mom in response to the panicked “I forgot my key again” text he’d sent moments earlier.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, your father and I are out running errands. We didn’t think you’d be home until later. Maybe go ask May Parker if you can hang out there for a while? Until we’re back, at least?”
He’d been in the apartment since Peter went missing, but only a handful of times. Just to check in. To bring over whatever casserole his mother had made May this month. Him and May actually sat down and talked about Peter, once, but both of them were so emotionally raw afterward that it deterred them from ever doing it again. Now they just awkwardly (and sort of sadly) danced around one another, only exchanging short greetings when they ran into each other in the hall or got stuck in the elevator together.
Ned’s hair was sticking to his forehead. The heat of the hallway was quickly becoming unbearable.
“This is ridiculous.” The sleeves of his polo rolled and his backpack hanging precariously off of one shoulder, Ned stood with a grunt and took the few steps required to reach May’s front door.
The elevator down the hall dinged open and three people stepped out. “Jesus, have these people heard of central air? This hallway feels like the devil’s-”
“Yeah, Tony, we get it. It’s hot.”
A kind tone underlined with a bit of attitude. That was May Parker walking down the hall. But the other two people, who were they?
“Hi, Aunt May!” Ned waved and started walking in May’s direction.
If Ned wasn’t mistaken, May looked concerned for a moment. The look was gone in seconds, though, and was replaced with a kind smile. “Hi, Ned. How’ve you been?”
“I’m alright, thanks. I was wondering if maybe I could hang out with you for a few minutes? I’m locked out of my apartment and my parents aren’t home and it’s miserably hot in the hall-“
The two other people with May were slowly moving back toward the elevator. Ned was pretending not to notice, but it was hard when one of them was obviously Tony freaking Stark, and Tong freaking Stark had his hand firmly clasped around the bicep of someone who looked suspiciously young to be hanging out with two adults. His hood was pulled over his forehead and his face was angled toward the floor, but there was no doubt that he was nowhere close in age to May or Stark.
“I’m really sorry Ned, but now isn’t the best time."
The person under the hood cleared their throat and tugged on the cuffs of their sweatshirt. Ned’s heart dropped a bit; the way their fingers curled around the fabric was painfully close to what Peter used to do when he was nervous. Sometimes, if he wasn’t being careful, Peter would tear little holes in his sleeves from all of the fidgeting. It got even worse directly after the spider bite. He was still learning to control his strength and would always tug just a tad too hard. Ned once watched him unravel a sweater sleeve all the way up to his elbow. It was hysterical.
“R-right. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You’re never a bother, sweetie. Ever.”
He definitely felt like one. May was never one to turn down any of Peter’s friends, especially him. She always talked about how she liked Peter being around someone so well-rounded. May’s approval was, honestly, a small source of his pride. Being so quickly rebuffed by her was shocking.
The hooded figure leaned past Tony Stark and tugged on May’s sleeve. They were angled so Ned couldn’t see their lips moving, but they must have said something that agitated May.
“This really isn’t the best time.”
May stopped and the person spoke again.
“Seriously, I don’t think-”
They spoke once more, and May apparently hit her limit.
“Peter, that’s enough.”
Ned’s stomach dropped to his toes. Stark looked like he was about to have an aneurysm right there in the middle of the hallway.
May’s eyes were as wide as tea saucers. “I just messed up, didn’t I?”
“Get in the apartment. Now. You come too, Fred.”
“It’s Ned…”
Stark pulled Ned and Peter, apparently, toward the Parkers’ door and waited impatiently while May dug through her purse for her keys. The second the door was open Stark threw everyone over the threshold and locked it behind him.
“Might as well lose the hood, kid.”
Ned’s sense of reality wavered the second the hood came down. There he was. Peter.
Peter was missing. Probably dead.
Apparently not. He’s standing on the doormat in his own apartment.
Ned was in Peter’s apartment.
And Peter was there too.
Alive.
Was he, though?
Was this just another one of the dreams? The dreams where Ned comes back from school, from the library, from the park, and Peter’s suddenly home? He’s home and alive and warm and okay and has that ridiculous, lopsided smile on his face?
Peter was smiling. Maybe it was a smile. It almost looked like a grimace when you paired it with the pallor of his skin and the darkness beneath his eyes. The way his hoodie hung off of his shoulders. Although, maybe that was purely because of the hoodie’s size and not Peter’s weight. Ned had never seen that particular sweatshirt before; plain black and sort of expensive-looking. It must have been a loan from Stark.
Oh my god. Peter’s alive and standing in his apartment and he’s wearing Tony Stark’s clothes.
Before he could stop himself, Ned stepped forward and grasped Peter’s shoulder. Gave it a good squeeze. Just to see if it was really him and not some sick hologram of his previously-missing-and-thought-to-be-dead best friend. Neither person spoke. Peter looked like he was a second away from bursting into tears, and Ned wasn’t far behind.
“It’s really you?” Ned asked quietly.
Peter nodded. “It’s really me.”
Ned didn’t think he’d ever hugged someone so tight. If Peter didn’t have his powers, Ned would have come close to bruising some ribs.
“Where have you been, you stupid web-slinging idiot?”
Ned could feel the rumble in Peter’s chest when he laughed. “I missed you too, man.”