Once he was in the suit, Peter pulled open the grate carefully. As he slid his front half in, a piece of torn suit caught on the corner. Grumbling, he detached himself.
"Is this even mendable? I need a sewing machine." He continued to mumble as he crawled down the vent, the shuffling of his clothes echoing endlessly. "'Hey, May, can I have a sewing machine for my birthday. Why? No reason. I just woke up feeling a little feminist today.'" He looked up the vent, squinting. His lenses began to twitch, and he swatted his goggles. "No. Stop that." They righted themselves after a bit of focusing, and he began to climb upwards, listening for any gusts. "Maybe I'll be lucky today. Maybe it's the wind demon Sabbath and we can all go home and finish our smoothies and watch Survivor like a big happy fam-" a distinctive gust moved above him. "...ily." He climbed up, quicker this time, when the hot wind slapped down on him. He struggled for purchase against the vent as it pushed him down.
"Let's- let's all calm-" The hot gust hit him like a kick to the face and his head hit the side of the vent. "HEY!" He swatted at the air. "That's a foul! Yellow card, yellow-" Another hit him, harder, and his nose felt punched. "Red card! That's it!" He cast a web, doing his best to push up past the force. His suit was rippling with the force of the wind. "No knocking me down, no sir!" A gust slapped his wrists. "Ma'am! That's good too!" The wind seemed to grumble with displeasure (can wind do that? It's been a crazy week) and whoosh up the vent. Peter took a moment to make sure he was sure it had moved away then began his mad scramble after it. "I'm gunna get you!" He ran into a junction, and after a moment's pause, leapt to his right. "Heeere's Johnny!" He felt his body pass through a hot gust and slid around, scrambling above the vent and peering down. His right lens had started to twitch as he zoned in on the scene below him.
The man walked around the room. Brown hair, flecked with grey, and a green tracksuit. He tossed a towel over his shoulder, cleaning up his space of gauze and chalk and bottles of alcohol. Peter almost left for the next vent when he heard the crunch of plastic and moments later, the man gagging, and immediately, he leapt in the room.
"This is NOT COOL!" He ran to the phone again, but it was already smashed in. "Oh. So you're intelligent." He looked at the man. "Sir? Do you have a cell phone? We gotta call 911." The man staggered back onto a reclined examination table, and Peter reached into his pocket, "so so sorry, sir," to pull out a Starkphone X. "Woah, this is so cool man-" The next moment, the phone was shattered in his hands and he dropped it. "That wasn't me!" The man was grabbing at the table, choking and waving a hand wildly. Peter held his hands up. "Hey, let's all calm down, maybe I can…" His gaze hit the freezer. Jackpot. "Just a moment hang tight sir I've got an idea!" He jerked open the door, grabbing a ton of ice packs and running back, pressing them to the man's neck. The wind howled. "Haha! Deposition!" The more he pressed, the more the air thrashed, trying to move the packs away while limiting contact. As the man regained his eyesight, a hand swung at Peter's face, who barely ducked out of the way. "Wait, wrong bad guy, sir!" Another hand swung, grabbing Peter's suit in a fist and shoving him back. The ice packs fell to the floor and the wind curled around the man instantly, constricting it with such force his skin began to purple in front of Peter's eyes. His eyes popped and he curled his lips, pointing a crooked finger at Peter in accusation before it fell, slack, at his side. His eyes rolled back and Peter scrambled forward, trying to lie him down properly on the ground, moving him to his back. "Sir? Sir! Nonono," he touched his face. "Aww crap, have a pulse?" The man's heart didn't care about Peter's begging and refused to pump. His vision was going blurry. 911 wasn't coming and Peter had failed again when he was so close. He sat back, trying to breathe as the panic set in again, grabbing at the mask on his face. In three, out five, in three- the gust pushed him back as he sat against the cabinets on the opposite walls and he jerked back to reality, kicking at the air. "You know you are the most annoying wind I have ever breathed! I should- I should- he looked at the open fridge, scrambling to it again. The door slammed on his hand as he tried to reach into it and he yelped, but forced it open, yanking open a drawer, desperate-
He clawed out a block of dry ice and held it in the middle of the hot air. He grimaced as he held it up; some of the cold was seeping through the tears of his gloves, burning lines into his hands, but the gas was faring much worse as it condensed into a visible form. Peter grimaced, squinting as the air formed into a shadow of a body, writhing in the cold steam. As the body gained more form, the block shrunk, until it was only a nugget in his palm. Cursing, Peter tried to grab more from the ice, but the minute the nugget let out its last breath of steam, sliding its form from his hand, the shadow dissipated, flying to the vent in a wild gust that shook bottles from the cabinets, crashing onto the ground around Peter. Glass glinted around him and liquids seeped into the floor, releasing a multitude of pungent smells. He struggled to his feet, feeling the familiar overstimulation that a snuff of gasoline gives him. He staggered to the side, accidentally stepping on a small piece of glass. He leapt onto the wall with a yelp, his gaze slowly moving to the team physician, who was still on the floor.
The team physician who laid on the floor, with no pulse, and no CPR. Peter struggled to breathe as the dropped down next to him.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I should've- should've-" he tried to start CPR, but he was shaking horribly. Was he working on a dead man? Nobody is coming, nobody is… Peter choked on a sob, trying to… His eyes slid up to a defibrillator mounted on the wall, and he scrambled to grab it, pulling it out of the orange casing and carrying it over.
"Uh…" He pulled it open, looking at the wires and handheld pieces with confusion. A recorded voice broke the silence.
"Ah-!" He backed up a little.
"STAY CALM. FOLLOW THESE VOICE INSTRUCTIONS. MAKE SURE 911 IS CALLED NOW." It sounded like an authoritative principal. That, Peter could relate to.
"See, I can't give Spidey's number to 911, so-"
"BEGIN BY EXPOSING PATIENT'S BARE CHEST AND TORSO. REMOVE OR CUT CLOTHING IF NEEDED." Peter nodded, pulling up the green tracksuit jacket and white cotton shirt.
"WHEN PATIENT'S CHEST AND TORSO ARE EXPOSED, REMOVE SQUARE FOIL PACKAGE FROM AED. REMOVE FOIL PACKAGE. SEPARATE BLUE FROM WHITE BY PULLING AT TABBED CORNER. FIRMLY PLACE THE PAD ON THE PATIENT EXACTLY AS ILLUSTRATED-" Peter glanced at the AED to cross-reference "-THEN PLACE THE SECOND PAD ON THE OPPOSITE LOCATION EXACTLY AS ILLUSTRATED." Peter scrambled to get it on.
"Slow down-"
"DO NOT TOUCH PATIENT. ANALYZING HEARTBEAT." Peter held up his hands for the machine to see- wait a second, it-
"SHOCK WILL BE DELIVERED IN 3, 2-" Peter covered his ears and watched on with wide eyes, "-1." The man's body shook with the electricity and Peter gagged.
"Sorrysorry-"
"IT IS NOW SAFE TO TOUCH THE PATIENT." Peter nodded numbly, then perked up.
"Oh, right!" He put his hands on his chest to continue CPR. "Uh, uh, uh, uh, staying alive, staying alive..."
The door was thrown open. Peter looked up.
"Aw, crap- careful, glass on the floor-" Elastigirl stretched her leg over and stepped right next to him. "Oh, that's right."
"DO NOT TOUCH PATIENT." Peter's hands flew off his chest like he was burnt. A boy suddenly appeared at the door and piped up,
"He sure doesn't look like he's killing him. What's that?" He pointed at the AED. Elastigirl turned angrily.
"I told you to wait outside, Dash," She grabbed Peter by the neck, lifting him up like a snake. Peter was in so much shock it took him a second to remember to try and twist away.
"Well if you'd just call 911 I would say my job is done here-" Her arm stretched out, handing him over to Mr. Incredible, who held him like a particularly slippery bar of soap. Peter tried to slip out of his arms, but his grip tightened so much that Peter started to gasp.
"Can you- wheeze- let up?" Between the glass in his foot and the worry that this man might actually die for real this time, he had lost a lot of his fighting energy, but he had a feeling the fatigue wouldn't stick.
"No," the man grumbled, heading down the hall with him as the boy ran laps around his feet.
"So this is the Spider Robber? His costume is lame."
"I prefer homemade," Peter rasped. When he caught sight of a policeman approaching down the hall, that missing energy came back full force and he started to kick. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me I swear, the wind!"
Mr. Incredible grunted. "The wind?"
"Yes! And I almost had her this time, if-" He kicked back with his injured foot, hitting Mr. Incredibles knee before howling. "Ooooohhhh shi-"
"Hesaidabadword!" The boy squeaked. Violet came down the hall in full family costume, holding a baby who was slobbering on his fist.
"Are we going home soon?" She had to adjust her grip on the baby when he tried to scale her body.
"Yeah, in a minute, once we-"
"So if anyone is a teensy bit concerned, there is glass in my foot," Peter hissed, "and it hurts and you're about to hand me over to the police and I'm a little bit mad about that, understandably, it's been a SUPER long day, so if you don't mind, Mr. Incredible, Sir, if you'd set me down and let me get the mean gas lady, I actually have an idea how to stop all this and-"
"Alright, show's over." Mr. Incredible held him as the policeman reached to cuff his hands. Instinctually, Peter kicked both feet out at him and screeched a very colorful word when his foot made contact. The policeman flew into the wall behind him and Peter tilted his wrists, shooting out webs, but Violet brought up a shield, stopping the webbing, which slid to the floor pitifully.
"Hey Violet, do me a favor and stop messing up my attempts at escape, please?" Peter groaned. The girl's mouth dropped.
"He knows my name!"
Peter's eyes widened at the mistake.
"No I don't! Wild guess! Purple shields, those words are synonyms, ehem, you know, so-" Violet was approaching him, finger held up threateningly.
"Who are you?"
"Uh… funny story… Spider-Man?" She reached for his mask, but he bit down on the fabric, speaking through his teeth.
"Dash very rude a' you!" She pulled harder and he tilted his head back, but she yanked it off and gasped. He still had it held it in his teeth so that it was hanging from his mouth.
"Penis Parker?!"
His face went beet red.
"Now hold on a second," Mr. Incredible began with his best adult-in-control voice.
"YOU SAID PENIS!" Dash squealed with laughter, pointing at Violet and kicking his legs.
Peter looked at Violet with begging eyes, still holding the mask in his mouth. "Pleathe, pleathe, but the math' ba' on." He looked towards the door in panic, waiting for an officer to come in and-
When he felt the fabric slip back on his face, his head fell forward limply in relief. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"Let me get this straight. You know each other? How old is this dude?" Mr. Incredible shook him like a stuffed animal, anticipating him to flop over dead at any moment.
"Sixteen?" Violet guessed.
"In two months," Peter mumbled. "Please don't hand me over to the police, Mr. Incredible, I didn't suffocate the guy, you've gotta believe me!"
Mr. Incredible seemed to ignore everything he said. "How do you know her identity?"
Peter turned his head slowly. "Dude, that mask barely covers a third of your face. You're not hiding anything."
"PE-NIS!," Dash wheezed with laughter still. "Your name is-"
"No! No! It's not." Ambulance personnel ran down the hallway past them with a stretcher. Elastigirl came out of the room following it as the doctors shouted to each other about vitals and heart rate.
"You've got him?"
Mr. Incredible sighed. "Honey, we can't hand him over to the police."
"Well, why not? We've found him repeatedly at the scene, he's avoided arrest-"
"He's a minor." Mr. Incredible's voice echoed defeat.
"And his name is PEN-" Violet's hand slapped over Dash's mouth.
"Peter!" She shouted instead before Dash wrestled out of her grip.
"It's called a secret identity for a reason," Peter mumbled.
"Minors can still commit crimes," Elastigirl insisted.
"Dude, I'm supposed to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. I don't strangle people, I swear," Peter felt like a broken record pleading his innocence.
"We need to ask him questions in private," Mr. Incredible insisted. "The police aren't good handling Supers his age. We could be creating a far greater monster by handing him over."
Elastigirl shook her head. "Then what?" She looked at Peter's mask. His lenses were twitching again and he rubbed where his nose must be on his shoulder.
"Hi?" He doesn't handle awkward staring too well.
"Alright. Let's take him." She nodded her head down another hall. "Get him restrained in the Incredibile."
"Thanks, Elastigirl. And I'm really flattered that you think I need restraining. No hard feelings!" He called over Mr. Incredible's shoulder.
"Kid, you run your mouth too much," He admonished, placing him in the backseat. Metal clicked around his legs, ankles, neck, and midsection.
"If we got in a crash, I'm pretty sure I'd die, and that's on you." Dash zipped into the seat beside him.
"I call sitting by Penis!" He cheered, clicking in his seatbelt and looked up at Peter, who did his best to shrink into a small ball.
"Peter," he insisted. Violet had moved into the car with the baby, setting him in a car seat that buckled itself.
"Uh, but Violet called you Penis. Why would she call you Penis? Peni-"
"Can we stop saying Pe- that word!" Mr. Incredible shook his head in the front seat.
"Word? You mean Penis?" Dash shot the rearview mirror a shining grin.
"If you say it one more time, no candy for a week."
Dash's face dropped.
"I take it back I take it back I take it-"
"Yes!" Mr. Incredible took a very deep breath. "Yes… I know." Elastigirl slid into the passenger's seat and the car revved up, to Peter's relief.
"Wait! I left my backpack in the alley!" He cleared his throat. "I mean. If it's fine that we bring it."
"Why do you need your backpack? Is there a bomb in it?" Dash moved his face closer to Peter's suspiciously.
"No… I've got… homework," Peter mumbled. Elastigirl sighed, reaching her arm out the window, which returned with a backpack in hand.
"This one?"
Peter nodded as Elastigirl opened it up. "I promise there aren't any bombs." Elastigirl hummed, searching through it.
"Looks clean," she decided, setting it by her feet.
Violet rolled her eyes. "He's really not what you'd call a 'dangerous character,'" she slurred, moving her fingers in air quotations. "Flash shoved him into wet paint today."
Mr. Incredible's brow furrowed. "He definitely could've dodged that."
"I'm still here." Dash had started to poke his side. Peter had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling. "Hee- hey, stop that."
"Dash, no poking the restrained Spiderboy." Elastigirl was checking something on her phone, and her other hand stretched into the backseat to grab Dash's hand. Dash couldn't help splitting into a grin.
"Ac-tually, his name is Pe-"
Mr. Incredible cleared his throat loudly. "-ter."
After some typical family banter, they'd finally pulled into the driveway of a very, very large house. Peter would've pinched himself if his hands weren't secured down.
"Woah."