I don't know why you came along
At such a perfect time
But if I let you hang around
I'm bound to lose my mind
"Your heart is as black as night", Melody Gardot
Playing superhero can get a guy killed.
Superhero: a word Peter attributed to anyone who, despite all odds, dared to stand up against evil and injustice. Evil and injustice being a wide spectrum, naturally. From the little things; like people cutting in line and bring loud kids to the cinema, to the bigger things, like murdering old men in cold blood.
Uncle Ben was a hero. It got him killed. And Uncle Ben's death had laid the foundation for the hesitancy Peter continuously felt at becoming a vigilante.
Up until now, Peter had done nothing particularly meaningful as Spider-Man. He'd done wrestling for a quick buck; gathered a nice fan base, but the pay was lousy for the work and drama it came with.
He tried to forget that he originally first attempted joining the Fantastic Four's group, until learning they didn't get paid. That was embarrassing – both them not getting paid and his blunder at assuming they did. They must be loaded to be able to do what they did without any financial worries. It seemed as though all super-heroes were trust fund babies, multi-millionaire entrepreneurs or some other occupation that left them with no money troubles.
And this is why Peter did not think of himself as a super-hero. He wasn't doing shit for free. Not now and preferably never.
He might consider it if he won the lottery. With his infamous Parker luck though, that would not be happening in this life time and definitely not in the next. That good old Parker luck. The kind that gets you killed over chocolate milk.
Despite all attempts at avoiding any sort of heroic label, his quest for revenge had earned him a vigilante reputation. A biased one at that, he only reprimanded scum who looked like that guy and the police and tabloids had noticed.
There was much speculation surrounding Spider-Man and his motives but rumours and gossip were useless; they could never be confirmed. Spider-Man would never talk. Other than the photos provided by some lucky young college kid, the public knew very little.
In his weeks of depression - with self-reflection as an unfortunate side-effect- Peter had thought about Uncle Ben's death enough times to start to wonder: how many times had he ignored bad behaviour, but had not been the one to suffer the consequences? How many others had lost their 'Uncle Bens due to his selfishness?
How any 'Uncle Bens' had died because they wanted to play hero? How long before Aunt May was left alone?
He wouldn't play hero because he couldn't play hero.
He couldn't.
But a flame of empathy had been lit inside Peter and it nagged and licked at his insides perpetually, asking him to look at the bigger picture- bigger than Aunt May's potential desolate fate. Bigger than his materialism, or rather realism- money made life easier. It was a fact. Easier meant better. Aunt May deserved better. He deserved better.
Still, for now, he'd only be Spider-Man when the hunger for vengeance came back. And it came regularly, every 3 months. Like clockwork.
Hopefully the batteries in the clock would run out soon.
Peter stepped into the house, with a hand rubbing against his side- his left side, to be exact. He'd crashed into cement earlier in the night; no real excuse other than clumsiness and bad aim. Even Spider-Man had his off days and they were happening regularly now. Juggling two lives proved more challenging than Peter anticipated and he was often left perpetually exhausted. Not to mention he'd need to find a job soon too…a real one.
Grabbing a carton of juice from the fridge, he strolled to his room while calling out to Aunt May, and received no reply, leading him to assume she had turned in early for the night. Better for him. It meant no 21 questions about where he'd been and if he was doing drugs and if he cared about his future. The usual she-bang.
He paused outside his door, Spidey senses humming ever so lightly, alerting him of something, or someone in his room. He snuck a peek; mentally armed with possible quips for any occasion and ready for anything – be it burglar or surprise—
Loki?
He managed to sneak a decent enough peek at the intruder to establish an identity. Indeed, it was only Loki, the God of Mischief.
Only. Heh. Not every teen could say they had God visit their bedroom. Well, except for Mary although Peter wasn't sure she counted.
Peter had met Loki early in his time as Spider-Man. He'd helped the God with some weird voodoo mumbo jumbo that Peter knew nothing about at the time, and still remained whole fully unapologetically ignorant about. Magic stuff. Magic wasn't his thing but hey, it won him a favour from Loki and the man was strong enough for him to value that favour.
But owing a favour to Peter didn't mean Loki could show up uninvited whenever he felt like it. Such a level of intimacy had definitely not been established during their previous encounter. Peter guessed he had given the man the wrong impression.
Peter eyed the God. New attire, lots of leather, which Peter personally felt to be highly impractical and inflexible, and a distinct lack of gold armour.
Damn. Peter had liked that gold helmet.
He didn't bother giving too much thought as to how the God found him or his identity out – he was a God after all. It was almost expected. Peter liked and valued his privacy, but knew it was pointless to throw a fit over the inevitable. Good thing Loki was on his side.
"Oh, it's you. Again. A pleasant surprise—maybe an unpleasant, well, it depends on what this is about—this is very inconvenient time by the way, do you need something?" He rushed through words while removing his back-pack and tossing it to his bed. His web shooters will still attached to his wrist should the dodgy God try anything. It was better to be prepared.
The man turned to face Peter fully, with apathetic green eyes giving him a once over, from head to toe; a scrutinizing gaze that left Peter feeling self-conscious. It was his first time seeing Loki's full face undecorated. The man was no doubt attractive; classic good looks most photographers were dying to shoot. No homo.
"I am a God – address me as such. " Loki took a step forward; an inviting gesture although it seemed it would not be taken as such. "I expected you to be older. You are but a boy."
"You know I hate to disappoint…God? God." Peter spoke with an inflection reminiscent of a valley girl but the other didn't seem particularly amused. Or perhaps he didn't get the reference.
"Watch your tone. I am here on personal errands of sorts, human. You'd be wise not to mention this to anyone lest you wish unfortunate circumstances to befall upon certain loved ones." Loki spoke clear and concise; Peter got the message, loud and clear: do not fuck with me, kiddo. Or your aunt goes dead.
Peter's nodded. The threats had already begun; puzzling, as they'd previously parted ways on good terms too. What crawled up Loki's ass? He figured the God was perhaps in a bad mood; he even addressed Peter as 'human' rather than by his name. Even 'mortal flesh bag' was better than 'human'.
Human. Peter didn't like this. He didn't like Loki here, in his house, in his room. But he would deal with it, for now.
"No need to throw threats around if you need a few honorifics. Sir Loki. Roger that. I'm Peter without the mask, Spider-man with the mask; they are not interchangeable and I don't need honorifics—although if you wanna throw a few in…" He cleared his throat loudly, hoping his sense of humour could warm the atmosphere—
No such luck, it seemed.
"So, personal errands. Wanna elaborate?" Peter tossed his juice carton onto his bed and crossed his arms. If he'd tried sipping that now, Loki would no doubt freak out about 'disrespect'. Even without the trade-mark horned helmet, the God of Mischief was intimidating. His presence alone seemed to dominate the room.
Loki said nothing. The man's eyes roamed to the photo Peter had stuck up on his wall: Uncle Ben's killer. It remained there, as a reminder for past mistakes and a catalyst for his nightly runs. The image had burned itself into the back of his eyelids by now.
"You are troubled, are you not?" The man strolled toward the image and tore it off in a quick motion. Holding it up to face Peter, he asked: "And this is the root of all your troubles. Such an average mortal man ails you? I expected more from the so called Man of Spiders."
"What? You hear that through the godly grapevine?" Peter scoffed but reminded himself to watch his tongue. "Did you come here to make fun of me? Cause that's pretty low even for you."
"If you will not speak then perhaps I shall acquaint myself with one who is familiar with your personal affairs?"
Peter sighed. "I didn't mean any disrespect, your lord and highness. I'm having a rough day, a rough week and rough everything." He side-stepped towards his bed, body facing Loki and eyes never straying. Something was wrong here but Peter wasn't entirely sure what it was.
The boy was mouthy, as Loki had anticipated, but easily tameable. He was but a child, and Loki had known this before-hand. Feigning ignorance was a necessary move.
"Now, tell me, what has this lowly human done to capture your time and interest? While the rest of the city goes untouched, save for accidently, by your…mighty gloved hand of justice." A mocking smirk accompanied the last word but lacked belligerence to be truly scornful.
"Real funny. Do you wanna sit? It's a long story." Peter shuffled over to the bed and began fixing it up, scooting sheets and pillows to their correct spots. His juice carton lay forgotten, settling itself in the large crease between pillow and sheets.
"Had I felt the desire to sit I would have done so."
"Yeah, the whole 'Mi casa es su casa' is—is the right approach, definitely…" Peter muttered as he awkwardly segued from tidying the bed into sitting on it.
Once settled and ready, Peter cleared his throat. "Killed…He hilled my uncle. A while ago." Peter's eyes were fixated upon Loki's clothing as he spoke, only meeting Loki's gaze once or twice. The memories of that night prickled at his vision and illogically, Peter worried Loki would see what had transpired should he hold the God's gaze for too long. He didn't want Loki to see he had allowed the man to escape, and that he was to blame for idly standing by; his silence and passivity bought with chocolate milk. Fucking chocolate milk.
Oh, but Loki saw.
"Most…unfortunate." Loki said as he moved towards the door, passed Peter, to close it. A light hand did the trick and the movement seemed to have startled the boy, if only a little. They were alone now, in a closed space. Creating a sense of isolation was important.
He turned once again to Peter, squinting his eyes in contemplation and with a half nod, said: "I will give you a gift. It is not the favour I owe you, but entirely separate. If you wish, I will aid you in finding this man…" he brought his arms behind him and let them rest, one hand still holding the photo.
"…and you may finally have your much-desired justice."
"Are you pulling my leg?" Peter asked, wide-eyed and every bit suspicious. God of Mischief offering to do something altruistic? Not happening.
"I've read enough to grasp the intention behind your…nightly extracurricular activities." Loki laid the photo on the bed, nearby Peter in full view. "I know enough of the call of vengeance to know it cannot be so easily ignored."
"No more cat and mouse games." Loki continued, tilting his head slightly, black locks barely moving. He did not smile but softened his gaze considerably.
Cat and mouse. Should that not be 'Spider and Mouse'? Did spiders consume mice? If not, then this boy would be the first. Loki would ensure that meal, and he would ensure the desire for such a meal never subsided.
"Don't jerk me around, Loki."
"I offer you a gift. It'd be wise to speak with caution for a gift can quickly become a curse."
Peter snapped. "You come into my home, uninvited, and pretend we're buddy buddy? Offering me gifts that supposedly come with no compensation on your end? Oh yeah, all while threatening me and my family."
Loki sneered. "Ah yes, it must be hard to imagine one would show kindness to one such as yourself."
"Stop being scary so I can stop kissing your ass." Shit.
"Would you prefer to trade in your favour?"
"Why are you here? Really?"
"As I've previously stated: personal errands. I stopped by to greet and old friend, and after having found them in peril, I have decided to offer help."
Loki was messing with them; tricking him, this was some hilarious prank and poor Peter- always the butt of jokes, always the victim. He was done with life mocking him whenever it had the chance.
A cold hand on Peter's shoulder broke his concentration; a cold so deep it penetrated his clothing as if it he wore none. "It gets better. You may have my word on that."
Peter focused on the intrusive hand, stealing one or two looks at its owner.
It gets better.
"There is a time when you must accept help. It is not shameful to do so." Before Peter could reply, Loki removed the hand. "Now, will that be a yes? A no and I will leave you be."
Maybe Loki wasn't all bad, Peter thought. It seemed the God was unaccustomed to interacting like a normal person, or with normal people. Peter couldn't hold it against him, and perhaps accepting help wouldn't be a bad thing…
"I…" Peter chose his next words much more cautiously then his previous ones."… did not mean to offend you, Sir, not at all. I will gladly gladly accept your offer, but I just don't want this to turn into a scene from Caesar, with me lying on the floor bleeding, grasping 'Et too, Loki'.' I'm just taking necessary precautions to...every day possible Greek betrayals and—I—I have trust issues, you don't really wanna hear about those—"
Peter shuffled to his left, putting more distance between himself and Loki.
"-very boring, standard cliché. Soo…"
The boy's demeanour had changed. He was nervous, reluctant but wanted to say yes, desperately, and was making excuses on why he could not. Loki smiled internally. Physical contact always did wonders when it came to manipulation.
"The connection between one accepting help and gaining a wound hold distinct differences." The boy was wary, with good reason, and it confirmed to Loki that he was not entirely foolish despite how easily he had indeed accepted the 'gift'.
Peter was desperate enough to agree. He'd worked with Loki before and maybe he'd been a little too sensitive earlier. He was stressed after all…
"Any fine print? Rules? "
"You are to accompany me. I would like to see you deal with your demons, first hand."
"So you like to watch huh? Knew you were into that."
"There is an implication there that I am not oblivious to."
Peter shrugged and suddenly became aware of how naked his face was. Both of them, bare-faced. It was an odd observation but Peter liked it none the less. Maybe being able to talk to someone about this, a little human- or God- interaction had done some good.
Maybe.
"So uh, when?"
"Tomorrow night."
Peter watched as Loki went to stand by the window, in the same position Peter had found him. "I trust you will be ready when I return."
"Yep." Peter sad with a small wave. He'd be ready.
"It will get better, Peter."
And with those last words, Loki was gone.
It gets better.
It will get better.
As if he could really trust the God of Mischief but still—
Those words were nice.
A/N: I'm probably going to edit and re-edit this a million times before I'm entirely happy with it. Hoping I can dish out a chapter a week. SIGH. also, Spidey/Peter is a mix of Andrew Garfield's and comic!Peter. just a heads up.