(A/N) Hey all, apologies for missing the Thursday update, things just got very hectic towards the end of the week. To make it up to you, there'll be another update tonight, or (more likely), tomorrow morning. Just make sure not to miss this chapter, because Cas really has done a marvellous job with it – will post a reminder in the next update too, just to make sure no one skips this by.
Big thanks to musicalocelot, sailorraven34 and the anonymous Guest for their reviews! Sorry about the delay, but I think you'll all find this chapter well worth the wait!
Enjoy!
Chapter Fifty-One – Thinking Out Loud
Evening, Day Two
Peter Parker of District Eight
Written by abrokencastiel
"Spider venom comes in many forms. It can often take a long while to discover the full effects of a bite. Naturalists have pondered this for years: there are spiders whose bite can cause the place bitten to rot and to die, sometimes more than a year after it was bitten. As to why the spiders do this, the answer is simple. It's because spiders think this is funny, and they don't want you ever to forget them."
– Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys
Long shadows provided the dark-haired boy with some semblance of cover as he checked yet another dumpster for usable material. The lid was missing and the degraded garbage was barely recognizable as old paper products and cans. Another bust.
Peter dropped back to the broken asphalt and grabbed the bag he'd fashioned out of couch upholstery. Sewing skills finally came in handy. The stitches were holding up well so far despite being made using strips of fabric and a couch tack to make the threading holes. The contents clinked together lightly as he shuffled through and pulled out a length of cord he'd taken from a window blind. In moments, he'd fashioned a snare and attached it to the bottom of the dumpster.
"And that makes five traps for five furry dinners." He dusted off his hands as he stood and smiled to himself. He headed for the end of the alley and made mental note of where he'd placed his last snare. As long as one worked, he'd be set for a while in the food department. He'd already found a few cans of food to last until he could check his traps. Water was a problem. He still hadn't found an appropriate source to fill his empty jar and there was only so much moisture in the cans he'd scavenged. The river surrounding the city was dirtier than he dared to risk just yet.
"Hey, Norman." He waved at the sky with both arms. "If you're watching, I could really use some decent water. I'm not picky. Could be a bottle, or a jug, or rain." Peter frowned. Now there's an idea. His eyes ran along the buildings on either side. If he was lucky, there might be some trapped rainwater on a roof somewhere.
The alley ended and Peter stepped into the light of a street. Empty. As usual. He hadn't so much as glimpsed another tribute. A couple small animals, birds, and one faraway deer, but no people. Not since running from the Tesseract. Not since the last time he saw Rogue. He shook the memory away before the screams in his mind could get louder. No time for that.
A still intact storefront gave a ghostly reflection that caught his attention. The boy who stared back at him was odd and not quite himself. Dark hair was plastered oddly to his head, dirt was all over, and even in the grimy reflection he could see the dark circles under his eyes. Looking a little rough there, Pete. He made an attempt to wipe the dirt away, but without water the more ingrained patches refused to budge. His hair was more compliable, poofing a bit after he shook his fingers through it.
He wouldn't be getting the sleep to clear the dark circles for a while. His time in the arena had been filled with finding a safe place to hide, rigging a few traps to keep it safe, and sewing his bag between scavenging for dinner and hiding. Lots of hiding. The few hours of shut eye he had gotten had been filled with nightmares that left him more tired than he'd been.
"Good thing I'm already used to no sleep," he murmured, absently rubbing one eye as he turned away from the glass. "It's overrated, anyway."
Back in Eight, he'd had a habit of working on projects late into the night. More than once Aunt May or Uncle Ben had woken him up from where he'd finally fallen asleep at his desk. It had gotten worse once he'd found his parents' old box. Once he'd gotten to the Capitol, his sleepless nights had only gotten worse.
The lone boy continued walking down the street, his boots crunching on the cracked asphalt. The main road was open and there was little cover, but he was putting off returning to the safer alleys. The sun would be set in a couple of hours and he wanted to soak up as many of the rays as he could. A bird zipped by and turned into an alley, chirping loudly and invitingly. Peter jogged over to where it had disappeared and his eyes lit up when he saw the mostly intact fire-escape.
A dumpster with a lid offered him easy access to the ladder and a last chance for dumpster gold. He propped open the lid and peered into the darkness with little hope of finding anything worthwhile. A sharp piece of metal caught his eye and a broad smile crossed his lips. Dumpster-diving was finally paying off. He cast one last look to either side, then hoisted himself so he could lean over without actually getting into the trash. His fingers stretched to the potential weapon that was just out of reach. He leaned farther, teetering precariously. One finger just managed to wrap around the tip of the metal and he tried to wiggle it loose. The movement dislodged a lump of dark material that rolled to another part of the dumpster where it clanged against the metal side. Peter cringed as the sound echoed loudly. In the shadows down the alley, something rustled in response.
"Hello?" Peter asked. "Whatever you're selling I'm not interested." No response. He reached again for the metal and wiggled more urgently until it came free enough for him to grab.
The scuffling continued as he let himself slide back to the ground quietly. His dark eyes strained to find movement as he advanced. Suddenly, a large rat scurried out from under some rubble and dashed toward a drain gutter. Peter grabbed a brick from the ground and chucked it at the rodent, barely missing as the rat's worm-tail disappeared down the drain.
"Didn't want to eat you anyway," His hands were shaking as he slipped the metal shard under his belt at his hip. Calm down. Breathe. His clenched them into fists, but it didn't help. "Jeez, Pete, if you can't handle a rat, what are you going to do when you actually have to fight someone?"
With his bag securely tied to his belt, he climbed onto the dumpster. It wasn't directly under the fire-escape, but he was close enough to reach it with a good jump. He caught the edge of the escape and swung lightly as he hung. The rusted metal groaned under his weight and a moment passed while he waited to make sure the whole thing wouldn't collapse. Carefully, he hoisted himself up. Nothing shifted beneath him as he stood and bounced a few times on his feet. Satisfied it was stable enough to support him, he began climbing upward.
A few sections had broken, but he traversed the gaps with ease. The boots he'd been provided were surprisingly flexible and didn't hinder his climbing ability as much as he feared they would. The escape ended before reaching the roof but he was able to scale the rest of the way using cracks in the wall. The last of the tension left his body as he stood on the roof. He removed his bag from his belt and moved to the edge closest to the sun before sitting cross-legged on the ledge.
The height made him feel safe. It was a false sense of security, but it was calming all the same. The sun's rays glanced off the broken windows of surrounding buildings beautifully. He could almost forget where he was.
"Peter? Where are we going?" Gwen rushed to keep up with Peter's quick ascent of the fire-escape.
"We're going to miss it if you don't hurry." He jumped on the railing of the escape and turned to take her hand and pulled her up next to him, keeping a hand on her back to steady her. "I'm going to lift you up, okay? Just grab the roof."
"What?!" Gwen didn't get a chance to protest before Peter grabbed her waist and lifted her into the air. She quickly grabbed the ledge and pulled herself up.
Peter hoisted himself up and grabbed Gwen's hand, pulling her to the far edge of the roof.
"Seriously, what are we . . .? Oh." Gwen's mouth hung open and her blue eyes were wide as she stared out at the scene before her. The sun was just setting and the sky was a hundred shades of orange, red, and pink that faded to dark blues and purples. The light reflected off the windows of the factories and made the whole district look like it was glowing. "This is beautiful," she said in a hushed tone.
"Yeah, it is." Peter kept his eyes on Gwen's face, grinning in self-satisfaction at her reaction. The sun lasted only another minute before completely setting under the horizon, leaving the horizon stained a pleasant pink. He waited until it was gone before clearing his throat and unzipping his backpack to remove a container of chocolate chip cookies. "And now for the next surprise. A batch of Aunt May's best."
Gwen gave him a look. "How'd you get chocolate?"
He raised his hands in self-defence. "Uncle Ben got a bonus."
"Did he?" She was not convinced.
"Hey, if you aren't going to eat them, I will."
"Peter! Come back here!"
He laughed and danced out of her reach, munching on a cookie as she chased him around the roof.
Peter opened his eyes with a sigh. Less than six months ago, everything had been so normal. Uncle Ben was still around, he'd finally gotten a shot with the girl of his dreams, and he wasn't in an arena with the constant threat of death hanging over him. It would never be that way again. "I changed my mind," he announced to the sky. "I'll take a batch of cookies instead of water."
He waited patiently for a few moments, but no parachute appeared. No cookies for this rooftop sunset. No Gwen either. He'd tried to avoid thinking of her since arriving at the Capitol. Norman thought it would be helpful to play the young love angle, but Peter had adamantly said no. It was one of the few things he'd refused. If the Capitol did have some vendetta against his family his didn't want it spilling over to her.
A rumble from his stomach reminded him it was dinner time. Peter dug his hand into his bag and grabbed one of the three cans there. His new metal tool easily pried open the lid revealing some sort of meat thing. He sniffed the contents and wrinkled his nose at the strange smell.
"Can't be that bad," he mumbled to himself. The lid easily bent into a scoop and he shovelled an experimental bite into his mouth. A shudder passed through him as the slimy texture touched his tongue, but he forced himself to swallow and resisted the gag reflex. Before he could think better, he scooped the rest of it into his mouth. Definitely not as bad as I thought, but not good either.
A bigger bird cried as it flew across the sky, chased by smaller ones. They slipped between buildings and wound their way around the tallest one before diving toward the glowing blue of the Tesseract. It was still a few dozen blocks away, but his scavenging had brought him closer than he'd intended. No doubt the Careers had set up base camp there to protect all of the supplies that were left after the bloodbath.
The boots worried him. Sneakers were much more his speed. If he couldn't climb or run his chances went from minuscule to non-existent. Peter bounced on the balls of his feet and moved his ankles in circles, trying to judge how much his motion would be limited while Norman went over the plan for the first day yet again. Peter knew it by heart: only go for something from the Tesseract if it was a small risk, find someplace high and hard to get to for shelter, find food, find water, and survive. Simple.
"You're going to be fine," Honey assured at the end of the speech. "Norman has great faith in you." She looked to the older man who nodded in agreement
"Yeah. That makes one of us," Peter mumbled.
"She's right, Peter." Norman stepped up and laid a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. "I see great things in your future."
Peter smiled and rubbed a hand over his neck. For a moment it was silent while Honey absently straightened his hoodie. "Um, I just wanted to say thanks. For your hard work. And tell the others thanks, too. Just in case I don't come back."
Honey pulled him into a tight hug that he readily returned. "You will come back. Pensamientos positivos." His mentor stayed where he was, a small frown on his face.
A speaker gave a warning and Peter pulled back. His friend was wiping away tears from under her over-sized glasses. "One last picture?" He spread out his arms and gave a cocky grin in anticipation of the photo.
The stylist shook her head. "I'll wait until you get back." She gave a small smile and put her hands on her hips. "This grey doesn't suit you. Your victor outfit is much more fitting."
"Can't wait to see it." He stepped up to the launch pad and the clear tube slid down around him. The sound of his breathing was magnified in the container, making him feel more enclosed.
"Godspeed, Spider-Man." Norman's voice was muffled and Peter nodded to show he'd heard.
The platform began to rise and his heart began to race. He cast one last wide-eyed look at Honey and Norman before they disappeared from view.
The sunlight blinded him as his platform emerged from below ground. He squinted and brought an arm up to shield his eyes. The glowing blue of the Tesseract filled his vision, but it didn't hold his attention for long. The surrounding buildings towering over him were more distracting. A city. Something akin to relief filled him. He could work with a city.
He glanced over to see Rogue preparing to run for the Tesseract. Her face was set in grim determination as she tucked her white streak behind one ear. The closest supplies were too far away to make it in and out without running into another tribute, especially when the determined look of the majority of the kids around him were on the supplies. It wasn't worth it.
"Five. Four."
It was creepily quiet between the booming countdowns. Except for the masked kid from One who was singing.
"Three. Two."
He took one last deep breath and time seemed to slow down. His muscles tensed.
"One."
Peter turned and leapt from the platform as the klaxon sounded, dashing for the closest alley. The first sounds of fighting began impossibly fast. He sprinted across an open street to the next alley. Behind him, someone screamed.
Alley after alley passed as he sprinted. His ran until his legs were numb and his breathing was ragged. A chain-link fence blocked his path, but he quickly scaled it without hesitation. He dropped to the other side and allowed himself to collapse to the ground. His hands shook as he tried to catch his breath.
Peter stood and put his hands behind his head, pressing his forearms to his temples. No matter what he did, he could still hear the screams. They echoed through his bones. Crawled through his skin. They made it impossible for him to sleep. A shudder passed through his body and he crouched to the ground.
Rogue was dead. No, Anna was dead. The girl from Eight that he had spent the last few days getting to know. He should have stayed to help her. She was his district partner. That should have meant something. He hadn't even tried to stop her from going to the Tesseract. Instead, he'd run away and saved himself. Even before her face had flashed in the sky he'd known she'd died. She'd probably been one of the screams that wouldn't leave him alone.
Pepper, the blue girl from Ten, T'Challa. All dead before him. This was really happening. Kids and friends were dying. It was only a matter of time before it was his turn. A scream tried to escape, but he held it in. Instead, he sat with his back to the ledge and squeezed his eyes shut, making himself as small as possible. His breathing was short and rapid. His heart was racing. Sweat beaded his forehead as he shook. I'm going to die and it's going to be for nothing. Nothing I've done has helped anyone. Because of me, Uncle Ben got taken. Aunt May is going to be alone. I didn't even try to stop Anna. The thoughts rushed through his mind unhindered along with images of what might have happened to his district partner filled his thoughts. Bloody and terrifying.
After too long, he slowly unfolded from his position. A shaky breath escaped, but he was in control again. Norman would be less than thrilled he'd wasted time. Peter could almost see his mentor yelling at the screen about how caring was for the weak and those too timid to get the job done, or something like that. The image actually gave Peter the hint of a smile. The lanky boy took another deep breath and forced a wider smile on his face. "Back to business."
The sun was almost to the horizon. He had less than an hour of light and he still hadn't done what he climbed onto the roof to do. He retrieved the empty jar from his bag and began searching. A collection of odds and ends near the building's access door offered the best location. Just behind the pile of boxes and tarps, he found a quarter-filled bucket. The water inside was clear and appeared to have run off the tarp that was partially shielding the container.
"Jackpot." Peter grinned and cupped a handful to splash his face and neck. The cool water helped calm him further. A sip from his jar made him realize how thirsty he really was. He allowed a couple more sips before screwing the cap on tight. The water looked about as safe as he could expect to find, but he wanted to boil it once he was back at his hideout just to be sure. He gave one last look over the city before slipping back onto the fire-escape.
How many of us are left? He ticked them off on his fingers as he went through the districts. The Careers were intact. Five's patriotic pair. Chess master Tony, who was probably a wreck after Pepper. The other fiery redhead, Sin. The genius from Six. Mr Grump and his silent-possibly-deadly counterpart. Little Ororo was still alive somehow, hopefully far away from creepy Cletus. Nine's girl and, last but not least, Kate and Kurt.
He ran a hand over his neck and chewed on his lip, pausing on a step momentarily. "Maybe I should have made an alliance." Norman had more than encouraged him to do so. He'd practically ordered Peter to try and join the Careers. That went well. What was it I was supposed to get? Chimi-thingies? His score from personal assessments hadn't helped make him more appealing to potential allies, but he'd wanted to play it safe. No use catching the eyes of the stronger tributes last minute. Though maybe catching himself in his own trap wasn't the best way to impress the Gamemakers. At least I got them to laugh.
The only real hope he had was Norman getting some sponsors on his side. Of course, that mainly hinged on Peter not being completely forgettable next to the more impressive tributes. What he really needed was a good moment in the spotlight.
At the end of the fire-escape, he lowered himself over the edge before dropping to the ground. He rolled forward on impact to a crouching position and froze. An uneasy feeling was in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't just the usual nerves of the arena. Something was very wrong. He stood slowly and calmly walked toward the main road, his knuckles white as he gripped his bag. A nonchalant glance behind revealed nothing, but that didn't make the feeling go away.
The sunlight was quickly dying as he emerged onto the street. With the feeling of dread hanging over him, he wanted to stay in the remaining sun even though the quickest way back was through the alleys. It wasn't safe in the light, but it was flat out dangerous in the dark.
He quickened his pace, deciding faster was better. He took a sharp turn into an alley and went a few steps before looking behind him yet again. It felt like someone was watching him. Following him. Nothing moved, but the feeling persisted.
"My imagination," he said aloud. "Getting paranoid." He laughed nervously as he turned to start walking again. "Paranoid Peter. That nickname would be sure to get me sponsors," he said dryly as he started jogging. Whenever possible, he ran along the better lit main roads on his snaking path to the south. He was going a more direct route than he'd taken earlier and a shortcut through an alley ended with a fence. He did a run up the adjacent wall, pushing off so he could grab the top of the chain link. He swung over, keeping a tight grip on his bag as he flew through the air, and took off at a flat run when his feet hit the other side. It was a race now. He sped down the streets and alleys, vaulting over debris blocking his path. He reached his building as the sun finished setting. Twilight still cast a grey light and the few streetlights that worked allowed him to see enough to get by. The window of the apartment he'd claimed was five stories up. There was no easy way to get there. No fire-escape that just anyone could use. The only option was scaling the wall.
Peter tied his bag around his belt and began his ascent, his hands and feet easily finding the cracks in the wall as he climbed. There were a few spots where he had to swing and jump to make it to the next handhold, but that was what made him confident in his hideout. Only a few tributes would be capable of safely making the climb and if anyone did decide to try, he would most likely hear them coming long before they reached him.
He arrived at the window and slipped through feet first, careful to avoid knocking out the piece of wood that was propping it open while he was entering. The cord under the window he stepped over would have brought down an old bookcase on his head. Peter quickly moved to the other room, avoiding the other blind cord he'd strung across the bottom of the doorway.
"I really need to beef up security in this place," Peter muttered as he unloaded his goods onto a dilapidated table. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling even though logic told him he was safe. Even if someone tried to get him from inside the building, they'd have to get past the minefield of glass he'd lined on the stairs and the heavy couch he'd pushed against the apartment door. I just haven't slept enough. Exhaustion is screwing with me. He rubbed his eyes and took a calming breath, but if anything the feeling seemed to grow stronger.
"The window." He quickly slipped back into the first room. Idiot. Should have closed it when you came in.
Peter froze mid-step. The bookcase was rocking slightly. Oh. Good. I'm not crazy. There really is someone out to kill me. He inched forward with his metal shard at the ready, his eyes darting around the darkening room. If he could just make it to the window, he could slip out and knock out the wood holding it up. A closed window would at least delay whoever had followed him. Slow and steady, Pete. Halfway there.
Suddenly, a large mass dropped onto his back, knocking him to the ground and causing him to drop the metal piece. Peter yelped, immediately trying to reach behind him to no avail. Gritting his teeth, he firmly planted his palms on the ground and pushed himself up. He dropped one shoulder suddenly, offsetting his attacker, and rolled away. "Attacking from behind isn't–" His heart almost stopped when he saw his opponent. "You've gotta be kidding me."
Facing him was a spider the size of a large dog. A very large, eight-legged dog. With venomous fangs.
Peter let out a yell at the same the creature jumped and pushed him back to the ground. Its body was covered in fine, stiff hair that stuck into his hands as he tried to push it away. The multitude of legs churned over him, too many for him to fight off. The eyes were glittering in the light that came through the window. So many eyes. Below them the pincers that reached for him and made a horrible clicking sound.
A leg planted firmly in his right shoulder, cutting him through his hoodie. One hand held back the spider and the other desperately felt for his weapon. The mutt was strong and his arm was already beginning to give out. Finally, he felt the cool of the metal against his fingers.
"Get off!" He swung the shard at the monster's head where it embedded in the area of the eyes. The spider reared back, taking the metal with it. Peter kicked out and the spider tumbled away as he scrambled backwards, desperate to put distance between them in the small apartment.
The mutt rolled upright and scuttled sideways, hissing and clicking angrily. Its legs pulled in close and its body lowered to the ground in preparation to jump again. Peter made a last dash for the window, but the spider knocked him back to the ground yet again. The force of the impact hit his head against the floor and his vision swam as the spider crouched over him. In the seconds it took for him to recover, the fangs found their mark, burying themselves in his neck just above his left shoulder.
He couldn't hold back the scream as a burning sensation spread from the bite. It travelled up his neck and down across his chest, feeling like his skin was blistering. Peter beat at the mutt, but his arms were weak. It was becoming harder to breathe. The fangs worked in his flesh, kneading and pushing the venom into his body. He couldn't scream anymore. He couldn't fight anymore. He couldn't move any more. His vision blurred and he squeezed his eyes shut.
A sense of calm washed over him. The state between consciousness and nothing giving him a moment of clarity despite the pain. Taken out by a spider. Never gonna be able to live this one down. Hope Aunt May isn't too embarrassed. He could feel warm tears on his cheeks. I hope she's not alone.
The darkness took hold and, finally, the screaming in his mind quieted.
Fatalities (In Order)
24: T'Challa, District Eleven Male – Killed by Thor Odinson.
23: Anna Marie Adler, District Eight Female – Killed by Clint Barton.
22: Raven Darkholme, District Ten Female – Killed by James Howlett.
21: Pepper Potts, District Three Female – Killed by Cletus Kasady.
