late update. im not feeling so well these days haha... anyway.
tbh i sort of stop planning out what needs to happen here. i have a general idea, but on another more real level, i go completely off the rails
enjoy or dont
i might be projecting a bit onto peter. tbh that doesn't really go away. it only gets worse.
When faced with how far he had come and the reality—perhaps—of why, Peter was bewildered. What sort of ambition, he wondered, what sort of rock—?
He didn't know the people driving the car.
YOU SURE MOVE FAST, New York chuckled mockingly, WHEN YOU GET TO THINKING ABOUT IT, LITTLE SPIDER
(There was an undercurrent of something cautious there perhaps. Maybe it was terror.)
.
The evidence didn't quite add up. He was missing something. Something... the size of two whole days of deleted footage. Quite so.
Or maybe not. Tony leaned back into his seat with a heavy sigh and a half-assed glance towards the clock. Honestly, he didn't have a sense for what had the kid so... startled. Scared? He wasn't even sure of that much, and now he was tasked with finding Peter and calming him down? It was all a bit much.
Which—to and unsuspecting audience—might be interpreted as a general obligation and a cautious monitoring of the situation. To the more discerning few, one might discover the rather manic fear coursing its way through Tony at the developing situation.
Where was the kid? More importantly: Why?
He'd fist investigated the idea that Peter was being blackmailed. Or something. That maybe he'd been afraid they'd find out and risk revealing... something. There had to be a third party in this somewhere. But for all intents and purposes, that just didn't quite add up. Peter knew he could turn to Tony (right?). And he knew for sure that no one knew Spider-Man's real identity. Tony'd done enough burying to cover that up, at least. God. He'd do anything for that kid. If he could only find him.
He didn't understand today's youth, maybe. (The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.)
He didn't understand people in general.
"Let's go over this again," Tony huffed loudly, leaning towards a panel of screens once more.
FRIDAY's mechanical tone gentled the information in response. "All recordings in the suit have been deleted both twelve days ago and four days ago. It is most likely that whatever event sparked this change in his behavior began at the earliest date and was exacerbated on the latter. Scans of news reports and CCTV show little in reference as to what might have occurred."
"So nothing."
"Correct, Boss."
Tony slammed his hand down on the table, reluctant to admit his anger yet entirely unable to stop it. It was... frustrating the lack of answer—a thousand questions seemingly without reason and one terribly missing child. "Keep looking," he grunted, running a hand over his exhausted face as though that might clear up the issue. It didn't.
"Yes, Boss."
If the kid didn't have a secret identity to uphold, Tony would have just let the police handle this. (He didn't trust anyone with Peter. It was his job to protect the kid—how did he fuck this one up so bad? He's always ruining everything—)
This wasn't the time for self-debasement. Whatever was going on was bigger than him. Probably.
Maybe he should call in help. He thought about it, at least, but thinking about even involving someone else in the realm of... superhero-ing, let's say, ran the risk of exposing Peter's identity. (The thought of something so complex and ugly drew up a strange feeling of spidery rage. He pushed it back down.)
He wondered how May was doing and figured worse than himself. It was rather selfish.
.
They pulled over for gas maybe one hour later, running into the stop to grab snacks and drinks. The woman offered to buy Peter something, but he just shrugged. Something else had grabbed his attention.
There's a red payphone lit up under a street light, even though it's the middle of the day. The sight of it makes his chest ache. Peter's not really thinking when he walks towards it and plugs Aunt May's number in mechanically. It rings for a minute.
There's a voice from the other side of the line.
.
May was, admittedly, doing worse than Tony. Peter was actual flesh and blood. Somehow that made a difference. (It didn't, not at all.) She'd taken work off. She never took work off. Living in Queens was hard work for a single income family. Living anywhere was hard for a single income family. (Having Stark around seemed like a cheat. She tried to ignore it.)
And Peter was gone. She was alone.
Maybe she was angry. She was. Angry at Peter for leaving. It was a selfish concept, but all she felt was this strange rage. She knew on some level something must have happened (he looked so afraid), but she didn't feel like that justified running away.
She just wanted Peter to come home. What she was feeling was love.
(She kept going back to the notebook. Sobbing over it with ugly, choked gasps, thinking: what are you looking for? Then more sedately: what is any of us looking for?)
Her phone was ringing. She didn't want to pick up, but if Tony was calling with information, she wanted to know then. She wants Peter now. May picked it up, "Yes?" like she's demanding an answer to a question no one asked.
The other end is silent for a moment. She thinks she hears breathing.
"Hello? Is this about Peter?" She tried again.
The person on the other end of the line sucks in a breath, and May understands.
"Peter?"
.
He couldn't say anything. Shouldn't have called in the first place. New York was on the phone.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING? It shouted GET OUT, GET OUT!
"...Peter, is that you? Sweetie, please."
THEY CAN TRACK YOU DOWN. THEY'RE GOING TO KILL YOU. GET OUT GET OUT
"Sweetie, please. Come home. Please. We can... we can fix this. Whatever this is."
New York was all but screaming. It sounded unholy and afraid. GET OUT GET OUT!
Peter sucked in a breath. "Aunt May. I'm sorry."
NO YOU'RE NOT! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?
He heard a sob from the other line. "Peter. Peter. It's okay. I forgive you—just come home—"
Then Peter wanted to cry, too. He didn't want to be forgiven.
YOU DON'T CARE AT ALL! New York accused. YOU'RE LEADING THEM STRAIGHT HERE! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?
This wasn't what he wanted to hear. He wasn't sure what he had wanted. (This wasn't it, after all. He wanted to be accused. He wanted this to be... bigger.)
The gas station door snapped open and closed with a ding, and Peter jerked alert. He slammed the phone down just before he heard his driver call, "Kid? Where in the hell—? We're heading back out."
"Here!" He shouted back, turning away from the payphone. "I'm here!"
They were waiting for him by the car, so he did a small jump into the backseat. He was eager to move on, feeling antsy after the call. Feeling evil, or something. (Feeling small.)
"Where'd all that energy come from?" The girl laughed slightly, filing into the car herself.
The man just sighed. "I don't know. Let's not get too excited. We still have an hour to go."
Peter shook his head (they weren't even looking). "An hour isn't long enough."
(He got them moving pretty quickly after that, the humming car pulling out of the station with a practiced ease. Peter wished it would move a little faster. When they were turning a corner, Peter caught a last glimpse of the payphone. It's apple red cord was calling in his final judgement.)
New York made a choking sound but didn't say a thing of worth.
.
Tony got the call himself just a minute after.
May was in hysterics, sobbing over the phone that Peter had called. When she collected herself, May was all business. "Can you track him? I have the number still."
"Yes." There was real confidence in his voice now. Some certainty was good when dealing with a vanished Peter. At least the kid was safe. For now. He typed away on the keyboard for maybe a minute when FRIDAY piped up helpfully that they had found footage of Peter at a gas station, making the call. He pulled it up immediately.
Tony's brow scrunched up as he looked over the footage. "It looks like he's travelling with some people."
"With people? Oh my god..." May sounded grossly hushed, "You don't think... you don't think he's been kidnapped? Or.. Or blackmailed? Oh my god..."
He wants to say Yes, which is maybe an odd inclination, because at the very least there is direction in this. Motivation. Cause. If Peter had been kidnapped this whole issue would be easier to understand. Motives would be clear. There would be tangible leads to follow. He's done that before. It would be easy...It really isn't, though, and Tony didn't have the faintest idea about the kid. (Maybe he didn't know Peter at all, and the idea stung.) "I'll look into it." Is what he actually said, "Just give me time. I'll get him back to you, May. Promise."
"...Thank you." And she says it like she doesn't believe it. Tony doesn't either.
(YOU'LL NEVER FIND—)
They talked for a while, then Tony hung up. He had work to do, and sleep to ignore. And Peter to find.
"FRIDAY? Track that car down for me. And pull up that CCTV footage from twelve days ago. I want to see if something stands out now."
"On it, Boss."
(Peter is an enigma, Tony thinks wrongfully. Sometimes he thinks the answer is as plain as day, and Peter isn't really gone at all. He thinks maybe Peter's got it all figured out. He thinks maybe the kid's too young to be doing this on his own. That maybe things have been blown a bit out of proportion.
Then he just thinks about his kid. The absence is a sorrow Tony is only distantly familiar with.)
This kid would be the death of him.
(What he was feeling was love, bitter, dark, and impolite.)
.
"I made a mistake calling May." Peter says later. "Please. What should I do?"
New York did not respond to his question, so Peter left his nameless ambition behind. He tried to fill the void with confidence but found only the impression of his city on his spidery little soul. It was almost funny. Peter had always thought it had been the other way around. Then he found his ambition was in the spider's eyes—apple, pure, and wide.
(In that moment, Peter saw the spider a rock and thought it looked awfully changeable.)
"What was that, kid?" The man calls, sounding distracted and distant from the driver's seat.
Peter's eyes go wide, his spine stiffens. It feels like something is changing. "Nothing!"
(And he thought—New York is all the world, and all the world's a web—but the words tasted odd and immature on his tongue.)
IT'S GOT YOU STUCK, New York commented, dry and cracked and sad, BIG SPIDER'S GONNA EAT YOU WHOLE
