Disclaimer: I do not own the MCU or any of its associated characters/concepts, including the characters and some of the events featured in this story.
After the End of FFH.
Before the Mid-Credits Scene.
Peter stretched with everything he had, trying desperately to force his left hand up and under his leg to grasp the target.
Things weren't going so hot.
"Come on, come on," he hissed, feeling the burn in his hamstrings and lower back, courtesy of the extremely inconvenient position he found himself in. He steeled himself, took in as deep of a breath as his situation allowed, and then made one last, desperate lunge to get his hand to where it needed to be.
For a second, it almost seemed like he had made it—
But his body proved incapable of handling the stress any longer, and he collapsed, breath whooshing out, hand crushed under his own body weight, pride wounded beyond words.
Ned burst out laughing from Peter's bed, seeming to forget that had had gone out on the second round and that this was technically Peter's—what, tenth?
"Duuude. I had no idea Spiderman would be so bad at Twister!"
Peter sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees, rotating his wrist to ease out the throbbing. He tried to frown at Ned, but even he had to admit in his shame that it was pretty funny. He could scale walls with just his hands and feet, throw cars a good twelve feet like it was nothing, and swing hundreds of feet in the air on pseudo-spider's web. But rope him into a game of Twister and something—be it his (ripped) muscles or just a sad lack of true flexibility—and he would fall within the first ten spins.
They'd tried it about four times just tonight.
Peter turned to MJ, who was perched on his desk chair, spinner in hand, looking profoundly bored with the whole ordeal.
He grinned at her.
"Hey, it wasn't that bad."
Ned snickered behind him again, but MJ just shook her head sorrowfully.
"Both of you are wimps."
Peter blinked at her and then swung his head back around to get Ned's take on the matter. His friend's eyebrows were drawn together, and he shrugged in total perplexion at his Peter's querying gaze.
Peter gave up and stood. He stretched his arms above his head with an unexpected yawn and tried his best not to let his friends see how the action got caught in his lower back—he'd been straining more than he let on to maintain that pose earlier.
He should have known MJ would have picked up on it, though. She let out a sardonic laugh.
"Yeah, OK, pretty boy. My turn to show you how it's done."
Peter's mind got stuck for a moment on the 'pretty boy' part, but when he realized she was serious, he accepted the thrusted spinner with raised eyebrows.
"Wait, really? I've never seen you play a game like this. Are you sure…are you sure…"
Her look made him shut his mouth. He swallowed and tried again, Ned looking on in a kind of morbid fascination.
"I mean, aren't you too tall for this game? It can be really hard to get into some of those positions, and—"
MJ held up a hand, consternation on her face.
"'More of your conversation would infect my brain,'" she said, such authority in her voice that Peter couldn't help but get the impression that she was quoting something. He blinked.
"Uh…"
"'Coriolanus', Act Two, Scene One. Shakespeare."
Peter looked once more at Ned for help, but Ned had donned a familiar awestruck expression that told the whole story. He never failed to be amazed at the things that came out of MJ's mouth.
Although I guess it's the same way with me, Peter thought.
Resigning himself to a quiet and humbled state for the next few minutes, Peter straddled the chair and faced MJ, who was standing looking at him with a very intense, very intimidating expression on her face.
Peter flicked the spinner, deciding that it was pretty warm in here and that the sound of the little plastic hand rumbling around and around on the cardboard circle was far too loud and he should fix that somehow—
He cleared his throat.
"Right foot yellow."
MJ's foot went down on the concerned circle like she was a tyrant laying down the law. And as far as Peter was concerned at this moment in time, that was exactly what she was.
She lasted nearly fifty spins before calmly and with great control she simply decided to stop playing. She unfolded herself and stood up in front of her audience of two, and Peter struggled to keep himself from staring too creepily because jeez she looked like the most graceful, most beautiful girl he had ever seen and the way her hair had slipped from her ponytail and had drifted lazily across one side of her face was—
"You two dweebs get the picture?" she asked, trademark smirk in place.
Ned nodded in wholehearted agreement. Peter forced his expression to drop a few degrees on the awe-spectrum and swallowed. Again.
"Yeah. You did…great, MJ."
Wow, he actually controlled his voice pretty well maybe she didn't notice that he was staring or that—
Surprisingly, MJ was the one who broke eye contact first. She turned her eyes away quickly, seeming vulnerable in a way he had rarely seen.
"Thanks. I used to take gymnastics when I was little."
Ned snorted.
"I'm usually not one to, like, be impressed by a child's game—"
Peter shot Ned a look. They both knew better than that.
"—But I just wanna say that you are officially the Twister champion now."
Peter laughed, and, to his surprise, so did MJ.
"Both of you are living a pretty lame life if you get this excited over a game of Twister."
Peter shrugged and grinned at Ned. As long as he had these two by his side, he found that he really didn't care if his life was that lame. A night in, contorting himself and pulling muscles trying to prove his flexibility prowess, was infinitely better, he decided, than a night out getting beat up by bad guys.
MJ left not long after the last Twister game.
May came in to tell them that it was almost nine o' clock and they better get to sleep because there was school tomorrow.
For once, it seemed, that had been one of the furthest things from Peter's mind tonight.
Peter offered to see MJ out, and they had stood awkwardly on the stop for a minute, tripping over goodbyes and "see you laters" until finally MJ had just rolled her eyes and leaned forward and given him a light kiss.
On the mouth.
Again.
Peter had almost begun to believe that what had happened on the bridge in London had never really happened at all, that maybe it had been the aftereffects of…of…the illusions and stuff.
But now that it happened again? Peter smiled like an idiot the whole time he walked back to his room, where Ned was waiting with Peter's mask pulled taut over his head.
"How do I look?" he asked.
Peter looked at Ned and laughed, his fingers still a little bit trembly, his heart still beating a little fast, his face still feeling like it was on fire in the best way possible.
In fact, he was so jittery that he didn't even mind that he was looking at his mask, still smoky-gray here and there and with a few unofficial ventilation slits sliced into various places.
"Great, Ned," he muttered hoarsely, sprawling out on the rumpled Twister mat, trying not to think about how MJ had just been touching the thing and maybe if he tried hard enough he could still smell a little bit of her light perfume in the room—
Ned ripped the mask off and leaned down excitedly to look at him. His eyes were bright with mischief and no small amount of raw curiosity.
"Did you…?"
Peter closed his eyes, grin returning. Ned sighed happily, as if his silence were the best answer he could have ever hoped for (and maybe it was).
"You two are seriously the most romantic couple ever."
Peter laughed and opened his eyes again.
"Seriously, Ned? We spend most of our time trying not to be so awkward that we burst into flames…well, at least I do. I don't think that's the right definition of 'romantic.'"
Ned got that wise look he had started wearing more and more on matters like this since they had gone to Europe.
"Come on, Peter. You know it is. And when people love each other as much as you do, then your passion will always drown out the embarrassment. Plus, kissing probably—"
"Ned!"
His friend threw up his hands in conciliation and flopped backwards onto the bed.
"Just saying. Spiderman could probably have all the ladies he wants, but you chose MJ, and I think that's adorable."
Peter's smile faded just a little bit, and he groaned. He folded his hand over his stomach and stared up at his familiar ceiling in all its peeling glory.
"Please don't ever use the word 'adorable' again…"
Peter heard the creak of the mattress as his friend sat up again, and he could feel his gaze as he looked back down on him. Peter knew what was coming next.
"So, why aren't you being Spiderman anymore?"
Peter didn't really want to look at Ned while he answered. In fact, he didn't really want to answer at all.
"I am still being Spiderman," he said, more defensively than he had intended. He wasn't lying, of course, but he wasn't completely telling the truth, either.
"Really? Then your guy-in-the-chair hasn't gotten a single call since we've been back from Europe. You know that's, like, an entire two weeks, right?"
Peter knew Ned didn't really feel that offended by that fact, but he felt a prick of guilt nevertheless, and he sat up so he could actually face his friend.
"I only go out once a week now, anyway," he admitted. "Just to clean up a few robberies or something. Enough so that people see me and I can do some good—check out the old haunts and stuff—but not enough that I'm getting beat up three nights a week and can't keep my eyes open during Mrs. Carrie's class in the morning."
Peter paused, bit his lip. The whole thing had kind of spilled out before he could stop it, and, now, looking at Ned's concerned face, he regretted saying anything about being beat up—or about Mrs. Carrie's class. They both hated English class, truly.
After a moment, Ned sighed and picked the Spiderman mask back up. He fingered it on his lap before looking back at Peter.
"Do you still think about Mysterio sometimes?"
Peter closed his eyes, and immediately a flood of snapshot images shuddered across the surface of his eyelids. He saw again the burning city, the zombie Iron Man clawing the dirt up as he rose from the grave of Anthony Howard Stark, the still face of Quentin Beck pressed against the glass-littered ground.
And, unbidden, he saw, too, the battlefield in New York, the dying and the burning across the blackened earth, the funeral at Tony's cabin—
Peter snapped his eyes open, aware that it had been a little too long since Ned had asked the question.
"Yeah, I do. Sometimes."
There was a pause. Ned knew he had more to say, and like the aggravatingly amazing friend he was, he waited to hear it.
"Just like before Europe," he began slowly. "I just want a break from being the superhero, you know? After…after everybody came back and I found out that May had been left behind, I just needed to be Peter for a while. Not Spiderman."
Ned nodded in encouragement and set aside the mask once more, though his fingers lingered on it for a second, as if he were more hesitant to let Spiderman take a breather than he cared to admit. How could Peter blame him? Spiderman was cool. He was an excitement for Ned, a novelty and something to wonder at because, hey, it was his best friend in that suit, fighting crime and doing cool flips and stuff.
But Ned never saw the bruises or the cuts, the memories of being in space and trying give himself first aid after a knife gashed his arm or his leg or his stomach. And Peter didn't want him to have to. That was the ugly side of Spiderman.
Was it selfish to want to lay that part of the job down for just a moment, to collect his thoughts, to be a normal teenager for a while?
"The truth is, Ned, I'm looking forward to graduating. I'm looking forward to pulling all-nighters with my best friend."
Peter felt his face heat up.
"And I'm looking forward to spending time with MJ."
He bulled through the lump in his throat and the unspoken part of it all, the part that kept nagging at him even when he wasn't anywhere near the suit. The voices that told him he was going to mess up, just like he always did, that someone else was going to die because of him, that Mr. Stark would be ashamed of him. That Uncle Ben would be ashamed. That even with his suit he could never live up to what everyone needed him to be.
"If I'm being completely honest, sometimes that's all that gets me to put on the suit on Saturdays anyway: the thought of MJ and me, laughing, hanging out. The thought of you and me, building stuff and geeking out over junk. It's just so much—"
At that moment, May poked her head inside the doorframe and smiled softly at the two boys. There were circles around her eyes, telling of her late day at work, but she looked extraordinarily peaceful when she spoke.
"Psst. Boys. Make sure you turn off the lights when you get ready to go to bed. And don't stay up too late; first day of school after Spring Break tomorrow."
Peter turned his head and grinned at her.
"OK, May. Love you."
May smiled and blew him a kiss.
"I love you, too, Pete."
Ned waved a hand at her, a smile of his own in place.
"Goodnight, Ms. Parker. Thanks again for letting me stay over…it's been a while."
May waggled her fingers at him.
"You, too, Ned. Sleep tight."
Once she left, Peter sat up and looked at Ned. There was a kind of pleading in his voice when he spoke again, as if he needed to convince Ned of…what?
"And then there's the thought of May. She's been through so much, Ned. She went five years without me, without anyone. I just want to be there for her, make sure she isn't worrying about me more than she has to. She deserves a break, too."
Ned nodded, averting his eyes considerately at the tears that were welling up in Peter's. Peter swiped the wetness away and sniffed. He tried out a watery smile.
"And I promise I don't plan on being gone forever. Just long enough."
There was a pause before Ned grinned.
"Cool. I was worried I'd have to start looking for another employer."
Peter laughed, and the ache in his chest didn't feel as bad as it had before.
A few hours later, with Ned's snoring in his ears, Peter laid awake and stared at the ceiling some more.
Conjured up from their conversation earlier, he kept seeing Beck and Mr. Stark and the battlefield. He tried pushing the images away with thoughts of the future—of where he would go to college, of the friends he'd make, of the tech he'd develop—but all that did was exacerbate the loneliness. It made missing his…mentor that much worse. It made his life as Spiderman seem so much more unnecessary and dangerous and more of a harmful thing to everyone than a good thing to anybody.
It wasn't until he turned his thoughts to MJ that things started to get better.
He pictured her smile, rare but made that much prettier by its rarity—
He heard her voice, a mixture of teasing and hope and humor—
He felt the smoothness of her hand and the gentle squeeze of her fingers as she said goodnight, a promise that they'd see each other tomorrow and that tomorrow would be all right—
He let those hopes fill him up and then turned his thoughts to the future, knowing that in their light things would seem so much more hopeful.
He forced himself to remember the good times with Ben and with Mr. Stark, with Ned and May. And finally, finally after a few minutes of this, a peaceful smile stole across his face.
Peter turned over on his side, the air mattress rustling with the movement, and spotted the mask across the room. He closed his eyes, and its image vanished, leaving not even an afterimage in its wake.
And being just Peter Parker in that moment, no webs attached, was OK with him.
EDIT (5/29/20): I said this in the first version of this story but didn't put it up on this, so I just thought I'd mention it: this is a slightly altered version of the events in the MCU. In my baby AU, May was NOT snapped away when Peter was. Also, if she ends up coming into the story at a later date (which she may...somehow), Shuri was not snapped either and became Queen of Wakanda in T'Challa's absence. But that's a different story (sort of). ;D
Author's Note: So, yeah. I took down the story you previously had on here and I'm replacing it. The fact is, the previous Of Roosters and Spiders you read will be no more. I'm rewriting the entire thing. I'm going to make Peter a little more true to character and I'm, hopefully, going to be writing better quality content. HOWEVER, the basic plot will still be the same. Peter and May are STILL going to be going to the Barton farm, but the order of things, the events in between, and the like will be different. They will be new. It will be like reading a new and better story. It will be more fun, less angsty (for now :D), hopefully more inspired, and hopefully more regular.
Anyway. I hope you enjoy this brand new introduction and the promise of better things to come. You guys are honestly just amazing, and the views and the follows and reviews (and reading all of your awesome stories) have brought me back from the brink of literary extinction. I WANT TO WRITE NOW AND MAKE ALL THE FEELS COME TO LIFE!
Ahem. Yes. Please do leave a review and tell me what you think, if you like this better, if you want more, and PLEASE any ideas of things you want to see in the future (anything can happen, just saying).
Special thanks to everyone who has read this, to everyone who has bookmarked or followed this, and especially to shewritesit18 (seriously, your encouragement and the whole vibe you somehow give off through the Internet is contagious and it means a lot coming from such a talented writer), bettybeetle, and I.D.'s Fantasy (I had no idea this was in the wrong category originally, so thank you!).