Old Ends
The next two days either went by slow or fast.
In the moment, he could feel each and every agonizing second tick by. He could hear it too, thanks to his stupid powers.
A curse and a blessing.
But on the other end, Friday had suddenly arrived and he was bouncing on his toes in Tony’s lab.
His eyes would flutter to the clock every ten minutes and he’d bit his lip.
On any normal day, Peter would be joyful to spend this much time with Tony.
It had only taken a year and a half to get to a place where he was visiting weekly.
But now?
His nerves and excitement were mixing to create an odd bundle of energy emitting from the boy.
Tony noticed it immediately.
He didn’t say anything. But he noticed.
That is, until Peter almost spills a pint of liquid nylon on himself.
Which might sting just a little.
“Woah, steady hands there Pete.” Tony takes a fluid and rests it on top of his note pad labeled ‘Web Fluid: Version 4.02.’
“I’ve got this here, how ‘bout you tinker with the jet streams of Mark 88? The thrust capacity could use some adjusting.”
Peter nods and silently moves to Tony’s previous station.
Not quite knowing where to start, he moves aside a pair of, what he assumes is, bolt croppers and grabs a set of pliers.
”That worried, huh?” Tony’s voice asks, unprompted. Peter’s head tilts in mild confusion.
”You’re uncharacteristically quiet- and that’s never a good sign. I’m guessing... cold feet?”
”W- uh, no. No, I’m not backing out. It’s my first date.”
“Really? What about that Liz girl?”
”I don’t count abandoning her at homecoming to have a Coney Island Showdown with her dad a date.”
The entire hoco-fiasco is one of the only times Tony himself has admitted his wrong. Taking the suit was... harsh.
And dangerous, considering he knew Peter wasn’t going to stop web-slinging. All he did was take away protection.
Not his best call.
“Ah, well, you’re going to have a million of dates, so don’t harp on this one too much.”
”No offense, Mr. Stark, but that’s horrible advice.”
Tony chokes on his own cough. “Okay, stud. What plans do you got?”
”Dinner then movie-“ a gasp breaks his sentence he clips his hand. “Ouch!” He sucks on his finger and leans against the tables, facing Tony.
”It’s the classic ‘this-is-my-first-date-and-I’m-playing-it-safe’ ploy. She seems up to it.”
“Where are you going?”
”Applebee’s.”
Tony nearly choked on his cough. Okay, no way is that going to fly.
”Please tell me that wasn’t your idea.”
”No, no, ‘course not. Most of this was MJ, I’m pretty sure she had the night planned before she asked me.”
”Good, no intern of mine chooses to take his first date to Applebee’s.”
”Yeah,” Peter thought about what to say next, choosing his words very carefully. He turns away from Tony, back to his work to maybe relieve some of the tension.
”But, going out means that Spider-Man can’t patrol tonight.”
Tony hums in reply.
”And, you know- well... you don’t actually know because these days anything could happen, but-“
He sighs. Get to the point, kid.
Peter took the hint.
“I might bring the suit. Leave it in the car or, maybe, should I wear it-“
Tony scoffs. ”Under your clothes? No, Peter.”
”But what if somet-“
”If anything were to go wrong...” He seems to ponder his words for a moment before deciding, “I’m sure Iron Man can take a few minutes out of his day to deal with it.”
Peter almost zaps himself. Dropping the pliers, he cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
”If it means that you and your girl can have a somewhat normal evening, then sure.”
”She’s not-“ Tony waves him off with his hand. His mouth quivers to a close, clearly wanting to finish his thought.
Tony doesn’t let him.
“You’re a what? Junior?”
”Sophomore.”
”Teenager is the main word. Bud,” Tony slaps a hand on his shoulder.
”Take it from the guy who told a terrorist his home address: Keep Spidey and Parker separate. If it comes down to you needing bring out the webs, I’m sure you can hold your own. But Pete-“
Tony holds a gaze with Peter’s eyes for a moment. Neither one of them imagined the conversation turning sentimental.
Then again, this is his first date.
And it’s not like he has anyone else willing to teach him this.
“The world is weird, and doesn’t hand out normal days by the hour. It’s okay to take a slice of it for yourself every now and then. Believe me, it’s not selfish.”
And, of course, Tony had to throw in the quick:
”You can even take the Audi if you want.”
Peter chokes on air.
Trips over himself.
Any godawful, embarrassing act he can do to express his complete bafflement at Tony’s offer, he does.
With flying colors.
”W-what? Are you kidding me?”
”Yeah, it’s like a twisted variation for the phrase ‘dress to impress’.”
”You’re not joking.”
”Not joking,” Tony confirms.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but I don’t- I can’t. That car costs more than my apartment. Than me. I can’t-“
“Calm down, kid. I’m not giving you keys to the castle. You’re borrowing it for the night and I expect it back by noon tomorrow, alright?
Then, Peter gives Tony one of the most bone-crushing embraces he’s ever had.
And he’s been hugged by Captain America himself.
Tony returns the gesture with a couple light pats Peter’s back.
It’s not that he doesn’t like the kid enough to give him a hug. He’s, simply put, not comfortable with that kind of affection.
Ask Pepper.
(Or literally anyone he’s ever grown to love).
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh my god, this is the coolest day ever! Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
The kid pulls away and Tony conjures a small smile.
”Don’t mention it.”
—-
6:45. Oh god, if he’s late: he is never going to hear the end of it.
He would have been on time, had he not forgotten MJ’s flower.
Now, with it resting on top of the console of Tony ‘Freaking’ Stark’s Audi, his brain could finally switch gears to the date he has in fifteen minutes.
Okay, okay, okay, it’ll take what? Five minutes to change clothes?
Ten minutes to get to Applebee’s. Five if I drive really fast. Would running be better? Traffic can be a nightmare. Or...
His mind drifts off to his suit again.
No. Mr. Stark gave you strict orders to not mix Spider-Man and Peter Parker.
His building once again gives him that uncomfortable tingle on the hairs of his neck. The nagging gets more and more irritating as he furthers up floors in the elevator.
He could almost see the thick air filter into the small compartment as soon as the doors opened.
The smell was putrid. Rancid. His’s eyes almost fill with the overwhelming stench that had been infecting his apartment for the past couple of days.
It didn’t take a genius to tell him that something was off.
His senses were warning him too.
The danger sirens echo in his head as he nears his front door.
The knob is smashed in, leaving a suspicious hand-sized hole in the frame.
Even weirder are claw marks along the edges.
But the door was left slightly ajar.
All he could think was, May!
Except he didn’t have time to take even the smallest step before being tackled to the floor.
His instincts willed himself to throw the perpetrator off of him, but he was strong.
Very strong.
And as soon as Peter got a look of his face, he determined the strength of the mystery man to be almost animalistic.
His eyes spewing black daggers into Peters.
The corners of his lips pulled back into a big, crooked smile.
Drool from the man’s excessive breathing drips down onto Peter’s nose and chin.
”Aw, gross,” and Peter nails him in the crotch, sending the other to the ground.
Dumbass.
Clambering to his feet, he makes a beeline to his door.
To his dismay, crazy-guy recovers fast and scratches a clean perfect cut from his shoulder down to his waist.
Peter thanks the earth he walks on that his backpack is still on.
My web-shooters would be really handy right about now, he snides.
He flips, takes a few steps on the ceiling, and lands on crazy-guy’s shoulders.
He gets in a few good hits before his offender’s claws are sinked into his sides.
He’s slammed into the ground, a small crater forming around his landing.
He’s hoisted back into the air before he can breathe. Crazy-guy’s nails poke holes into his shirt as he rams him into the wall.
Peter chokes for a minute; and yet, he manages whatever strength he’s got a drives both his legs into the man’s gut.
He’s off balance for a second, to Peter’s advantage. He delivers the strongest punch he can muster to his temple.
His fist burns red.
Crazy-guys collapses to he knees, the fur armor on his shoulders slightly ruffled.
For someone so menacing, the fight was easy.
And, judging by the claws, he assumes the man is responsible for the markings on his door.
Peter faces his apartment, panic settling in his stomach.
If he touched her-
His thoughts stop at the sound of a maniacal cackle.
The hairs on his arm flared at the noise in an painful realization.
His sense never hurt.
But as his mind blurred and ears rung with the blast of multiple bullets, Peter was completely disoriented.
He was sound of mind enough to dodge two of the shots, but couldn’t stop the third one from lodging itself into his chest.
Maybe a forth one hit him.
He couldn’t tell.
He brain registers hitting the ground, not the fall, his backpack providing little to no cushion.
A new pair of sharp green eyes hovered over him.
Peter blinks twice, because the man looks exactly like him.
Every single detail, down to the crooked nose and wild left-eyebrow is painted over the man’s face as if it were a mirror.
Aside from the eyes.
“This one’s special, Sergei.” Peter shivers because the voice matches his too.
It's like a twisted scene out of Mission Impossible.
Except the villain was winning and Tom Cruise was nowhere in sight.
”Keeping him alive might be the better option.“ He nods, like he’s agreeing with himself. “Change of plans. We’re taking him with us.”
”How does that get us-.“ the other man, ‘Sergei’ apparently, pipes in. His voice his matches the carnivorous exterior, laced with a thick Russian accent.
”What would you do if I said that this kid could not only help us get back at Stark, but also make a pretty penny along the way.”
”And the gas?”
Mask-man smiles, coyly.
The smell.
It can’t be.
”Let’s call it assurance.”
Sergei grunts. A set of hands carry Peter by the inside of his knees and arms.
Peter struggles, but Sergei is wildly strong. He feels the hope drain out of him...
until AC/DC starts playing on his phone.
Mr. Stark.
The men look expectantly at Peter, who smuggles his fingers into his pocket and answers the call.
”Help!”
”Get the damn phone,” Sergei demands.
Mask-man yanks Peter’s hand out of his pocket. His finger hovers over the red phone.
He jerks his head, and Sergei moves, mark-man following close behind.
They were running.
Where to? He has no idea.
“Kid? Kid, are you okay?”
“Tony!” Peter’s voice rang.
Not his voice. His fake voice. Mask-man’s voice.
Peter himself screams “Help!”
“Pete, what’s going on?”
”The smell!”
The cry, again, didn’t actually come form him. Peter didn’t know if he had it in him anymore to yell.
“It- it’s gas. There’s a-“
A explosion blasts behind him, sending the three to the ground. Outside? When did they get outside?
Does that mean...
No.
It couldn’t.
”Kid? Kid? Pete, come’on. Answer me.”
Come on, Mr. Stark. Find me. Find May.
Mask-man ends the call and Sergei picks him back up.
The blood dripping down his shirt became less prominent. His eyes drooped shut, allowing orange sparks to dance behind his eyelids.
---
To say Michelle was out of her comfort-zone was an understatement.
A big one.
Originally, she planned on dressing causal and comfortable. But everything felt wrong.
Jeans turned to shorts. One thing lead to another and now she's wearing a dress.
Michelle never hated dresses. Maybe it wasn't her preference. And maybe she didn't have many of them. Yet, for some odd reason, she felt an eggplant Sunday dress was necessary for this occasion, although it's not the fanciest of restaurants. Peter better be in a tuxedo or something, 'cause I feel like a clown.
Not showing up at seven o'clock was suspect. But, then again, it's Peter Benjamin Parker. She could count the times he's been punctual on one hand.
She chooses not to take it to heart. Is she going to berate him about being late when he shows up? Totally. As a heads up, she shoots him a text:
it's 7:01 parker
disappointed but not surprised
Ten minutes made her nervous. Call her overbearing, but being ten minutes late to a first date isn't a good sign. Or impression.
And she looks like a loser, sitting alone in a table for two. Getting stood up at Applebee's is a new kind of low for Michelle.
we're going to miss the movie
peter?
if i don't see you by 7:20, i'm going home
The news gets to her before then. At 7:13, to be exact.
The noise around the bar grew and dining hubbub simmered down.
Michelle follows the point of focus to a T.V. that was showing Mets baseball. It changes to the news.
For Michelle, it showed an eerily familiar apartment building swarming in flames.
"-authorities are currently arriving to the scene. The blast radius has been currently confirmed to have hit the third and fourth floor and is spreading at an alarming rate-"
The caption gave her no peace of mind.
-COMPLEX IN FOREST HILLS, QUEENS EXPLODES. CAUSE OF EXPLOSION UNKNOWN...
Having been to his apartment, she knows his room is on the fourth floor.
She knows his room is gone.
MJ doesn't usually pray. But she does to every God she can think of.
Please. Please, let them be okay.
She scrambles for her phone and tries to call Peter. No answer. May. No answer.
Peter again. No answer.
Could he still be with Tony? No, he would've left.
She's never wanted contact with the billionaire more.
Her fingers are wet. And shaking harder than ever. Holy shit! She's crying.
How did she not notice before? She's supposed to be the observant one.
peter. i'm going to kill you if you don't respond
please
were you there?
tell me you're okay
No reply.
Her heart plummeted.
She sends him a final text and, once her sandals were off, she sprints.
And never has she ever run so fast.
i'm coming