Disillusioned

The morning after the Stark Christmas party dawned bright and beautiful. No one in the Boyd house noticed. Peter woke briefly to find himself on the couch covered in a blanket and quickly checked out again. Later he woke to Erica in sweats kicking him awake and announcing a trip to get the nastiest, greasiest most hangover worthy food available.

Normally Peter’s metabolism would stop hangovers however he’d managed to consume upwards of six bottles of vodka the night before and even a super body would suffer from the lack of food and water. Also the full night of social interactions had exhausted him more than he’d expected.

One hangover worthy lunch later and Peter found himself dropped home, crawling into bed and writing the weekend off.

He fell asleep with a smile on his lips. He'd taken time off of patrolling which would usually make him feel guilty for neglecting Spider-Man duties but he found the emotions weren't as sharp as they once might have been.

—-

Peter decided to take the train into work at eight Monday morning; it was a nice day and he’d be able to call his Aunt and catch up while he walked the last couple of blocks from the train station. Luckily he’d been up for an hour already and had downed enough coffee to make up for the weekend without.

He would have thought he’d regret his decision to take the train once he saw the crowds again but for some reason it just amused him today.

After getting out of the station and onto the street he shot a quick text to Wade: You do realise you’re really weird right?

He made the call to his aunt instead of waiting on the reply.

“Good morning Peter,” she answered happily. She was alway cheerful when he called her and he made a mental note to call more often. “How was the big party?”

He ecstatically fell into a retelling of everything he could remember from the Friday night. They laugh together and chat about the drunken antics.

“So how was your weekend Aunt May?” Peter asked as he stopped to get a coffee.

“Well honestly I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted. “I’m so tired and my old bones are aching but a headache kept me up last night so I finished some knitting. I’ve got a lovely scarf done for you just in time for Christmas.”

Peter chuckled at that. He had more scarves than any one man could use in a lifetime but his Aunt kept making them and he always kept them.

The subject quickly turned to the man Peter had been speaking to the night after the party. He’d mention him briefly to Aunt May but now he told her everything; happy to have a second opinion on their interactions.

“He's right I don’t think everything’s black and white,” she teased him gently. “He sounds like an interesting boy; just be as honest as you can with him. Then you’ll know if he’s worth the trouble.”

“Aunt May!” Peter exclaimed face lighting up red. “I want to know if he’s a good guy or a bad guy not date him!”

“Of course silly me,” she replied before going quiet for a moment. “You know I’m just so tired I’m falling asleep.”

“Then sleep Aunt May,” Peter smiled the small private smile that made his heart clench in fondness. “We can talk later.”

She muttered a drowsy “goodbye” and disconnected.

—-

Peter quickly realised how much had changed after a single night of relaxing with friends. Coming into the lab it was like he was seeing it for the first time. Erica was there glaring down at a cup of coffee when he walked in. She nudged the one beside her with a glance to him and he picked it up taking a tentative sip. Perfect like always; he'd never appreciated it enough to notice.

He glanced down at the writing on the side of his cup before risking a look over at the blonde woman.

“Hey Erica?” He received a grunt and raised eyebrow in reply. “Is this my cup?” Another grunt. “How long have I used this cup?”

She was saved from having to answer when Vernon pressed a cupcake into her hand and smirked at Peter tossing him one.

“About two years now,” the other man replied cheerily. “I actually can’t remember when I stopped waiting for you to notice.”

Peter glanced down at the mug again and read the elegantly printed writing: This mug belongs to Peter Parker; man of frumpy grandad jumpers, horrible taste in music, banjo playing, opera singing, closet Mohawk loving actual grandmother. If found please send help: we think he might be an experiment gone wrong and has been de-aged!

He stared at it for a moment before the reality sunk in.

“I take my mug to meetings! You always make me coffee before I go see the boss!” Peter glared accusingly at Erica.

She pointed a finger gun at him and sipped her very plainly decorated cup of coffee.

“But... but why hasn’t anyone told me!” Peter stared aghast at Vernon who shrugged.

“Well I think everyone in the betting pool had under a year so technically I think everyone forgot about it waiting for you to notice.”

“A betting pool?” He slumped against a nearby desk.
“I know I haven’t been the most observant and I’m not the most-“ he struggled a moment for a description. “-present person but that’s just ridiculous! I’m a scientist! I’m supposed to notice things!”

“You’re are great scientist,” Erica finally spoke. “There’s nothing wrong with your work observation skills. It’s just everything that isn’t work you don’t seem to register.”

She shrugged like it was nothing but Peter felt awful.

“Yeah,” he started clearing he suddenly tight throat. “I think that’s something I’ve had a problem with for quite a few years now but now that I know I think I’ll get better.”

“Um, Peter?” Vernon squeezed the other scientists shoulder gently. “Are you ok?”

He raised a shoulder helplessly.

“I think I might not have been and I never noticed. But I’m not always like that anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he clapped his shoulder. “We’re your friends either way.”

—-

Later that morning, there was a completely astonishing visitor to the lab. Peter hit the ‘save’ icon for all his active work before swinging away from his computer to see what had caused the whole section to stop in their tracks.

Nick Fury stood in the middle of the room, perfectly lit by the halogen glow from the testing bench. He waited with the serene face of one who is completely content to wait for his attention. Which he knows is coming from everyone around him.

The scientist slowly got to his feet and eased forward; he knew the reason Fury never sent anyone to spy on Spider-Man was because he had tracked down to the super spy and introduced himself years ago. Fury had promised to keep his secret identity a secret, only to be compromised in absolute necessity. Apparently absolute necessity came packaged with Peter’s immediate boss, Dina, as well as Tony Stark and Natasha Romanov. Dina’s usual unshakeable reserve had taken something of a knock: her groomed thumbnail grazed the lapel edge of her sharply tailored grey suit. Tony and Tasha were playing for cool and failing epically. They were as transparently curious as a couple of toddlers in a petting zoo.

“Mr. Parker, we need to talk,” The spy’s face was perfectly impassive as he subtly tilted his head back towards the door. “Come with us please.”

“Yes of course,” Peter agreed easily. It seemed as if whatever game they were now playing, the man wasn't interested in outing him as Spider-Man.

Peter glanced at Erica and Vern, eyebrows flicking skyward for an instant, and followed Fury, Stark and Natasha out of the lab, leaving Dina behind with the other two. Fury strode ahead of the three Avengers along the sterile corridor to the elevator. Parker wished that Fury would give him some kind of signal, a nod, a look, a wink. The corner of Peter’s mouth curled as he wondered: how do you know if a one-eyed man is winking or blinking? They all stayed silent as they rode the elevator to the top floor. The blast shield doors whispered open to Stark’s personal labs, Dr. Banner’s lab, and the Avengers’ unofficial headquarters.

The cavernous room was heavily fortified, lit like a DJ’s nightmare, and fully stocked with weapons and Avengers. Peter felt a surge of something almost like panic, until he rationalised that the only thing he had to feel guilty about was his association with Wade and even that was brief at best; nothing incriminating.

Fury lead him to the far side of the room to a sleek navy couch that curved around a low table and faced a full wall smart screen. His movements were a measured, lethal dance across the area. He motioned Peter to take a seat as he stood in front of the puzzled scientist.

“You're treating me like a threat?” he stated, knowing it wasn't really a question.

“Yes.”

“Why? I haven't done a single thing to break our agreement Nick, and you bloody well know it,” Peter leant into the couch and raised defiant eyes to the spy's single one. “What are we doing here?”

“It's not something you've done, Mr. Parker. I am afraid of what you are going to do,” Fury sat on the edge of the table, angling forward and lifting his head to gaze at the young scientist sitting in front of him. “You are not restrained. You may leave at any time. However, for your own safety and that of everyone else I ask that you remain here.”

Peter glanced around the room at the group of people standing by the doorway: Tony and Nat had been joined by Rogers, Clint, Sam and Dr. Banner. None of the faces gave away anything, except baffled mistrust. They obviously had no idea why he was there or who he truly was.

Peter turned back to the man in front of him, unease prickling across his skin.

“Your Aunt is dead. There was...”

Silence bloomed like ink in swirling water. Perhaps sound was no longer allowed in the world.

Images flickered in an insane Rorschach on the smart screen. Fury’s lips were moving, but there was no sound.

Faces crowded, seemingly disembodied, concern, shock, sympathy registered on each one.

Surely, there should be tears?
Questions?
How? Why? What will happen to me?

Surely, something other than this feeling of being blasted through, hollowed, vanished, imploded, a nothing-man, a gone thing, a howling icy wilderness.

Noise returned, a static hiss, an old radio mistuned and heard from far away.

“Cat, and…sister…worried…EMS…on the floor, she was still…her phone…body…Coroner…

“Peter. She suffered a massive aneurysm. Can you hear me? She went almost instantly. The doctor says she didn’t suffer. She was talking to you moments before, Peter”

Peter turned his head, as if trying to capture the sense of the faraway radio.

This thing. That thing. When, what, how. Why.

Military precision in relaying the facts. A field report of a battle fought and lost over a distant mountain range.

There was no one to blame, no bad guys to fight and no last goodbye.