Peter returned to Dr. Pym's lab more disoriented than when he arrived in the past, and for entirely different reasons. As before, the Pym-Van Dyne's were quick to ask for details about where he had gone and what had happened, which he gave without much thought. He told them about the city streets, the plaza all kitted out in its holiday best and let them try to parse together where and when he'd gone.
But he kept his time with Quin to himself.
The next major blip landed him in New York. Even before the now-familiar dizziness wore off, Peter knew where he was.
Manhattan was the same lively, sprawling labyrinth of concrete and metal in the past as it was in the present day. Landmarks jumped out at him from the city skyline; the Chrysler Building, the Empire State, huge cranes stacked precariously atop unfinished buildings. Taxi horns honked, people talked loudly, and not far from him there was a Nuts-4-Nuts cart selling honey-roasted peanuts. It smelled incredible, just like always.
Here, Peter knew how to blend in. He stepped away from the curb and into the stream of people, matching his pace to whoever was in front of him. With no destination in mind, Peter wandered and took stock of his surroundings.
It was daytime, which was a first for a jump this big. Cold sunlight shone down on the thriving city from a cloudless sky, doing little to amend the chill in the air. Whenever he was, it was still winter. Salvation Army volunteers rang their little bells beside cash collection buckets, encouraging people to share their wealth.
Everywhere Peter looked, from shop windows to billboards, the Avengers were looking back at him. Their symbols had been sprayed onto buildings, murals painted where advertisements were usually posted. People wore hats and scarves in Iron Man red and Captain America blue, and one little girl he passed had a Hulk mask covering her face.
For the first time, Peter had a good idea of when he was. The Avengers craze had hit the city right after the Battle of New York in 2012, which he remembered because he'd lived through it too. The chaos hadn't reached Queens, admittedly, but the aftershocks of the battle were felt all across the city. And for years to come.
It felt good to get lost in the fast-moving throng. Peter let his feet carry him down busy avenues and around sharp corners, ambivalent to his destination. Here, in a city still recovering from its first Avengers level threat, there was nothing for him to do but exist. Avengers Tower stood tall and proud in the distance, hosting at least a few of its founding members inside. Everything felt safe.
Peter tilted his head back and looked up at the clear blue sky.
Everything used to be so simple. He knew it sounded silly, like he was an old man looking back on decades gone, but that was how he felt. Before his powers, before civil wars and outer space, the world had been easier to understand. The Avengers protected them and so, they the common people were safe. It was just that easy.
No one besides Peter knew what was coming. The wars, the Snap, the five year loss. Sometimes, he had trouble remembering his age. He should be in his early twenties, but he wasn't, but he was. He had fought, died, come back to fight again, and watched the pillars of this new society built atop the Avengers fall.
Which brought his mind all the way back to Quentin Beck.
The last few days had left Peter well and truly sick of the ghost in his head. Whatever scant healing he'd done from his battle with Mysterio was swiftly and brutally undone. Every wound gaped open, fresh and impossible to avoid. He had been agitated and snappish, which he really needed to apologize for when he got back. The Pym-Van Dyne's probably put it down to the stress of what he was going through, but he still felt guilty.
Connecting Quin to Beck was like trying to fit a square into a circle. The man haunting his memories had the same face as Quin, but nothing else in common with him. Finding threads to tie the younger man to the person he'd become consumed Peter and left him with one thought in mind;
He didn't know all that much about Quentin Beck after all.
It had been a jarring realization. Though their partnership had been brief, Peter felt like he knew Beck fairly well at first. Even after his betrayal, it had never occurred to Peter that the man was just as much of a mystery as when he first appeared in Venice. Yet, he was.
All Peter really knew about Quentin Beck was that he had the brains and charisma to pull off a world-wide con so intricate, he would have gotten away with it if not for one lost drone. The life story he had spun for S.H.I.E.L.D could have been another fabrication, or littered with tidbits of the truth. Even now, Peter wasn't sure. He didn't know a damn thing about Beck's life before he'd followed the path of villainy to become Mysterio.
Except that once, he had been Quin, apparently. But then, how had Quin become Beck? They stood on two opposing sides of a spectrum in Peter's mind, with no middle ground between them. If they were truly the same person, what had turned the boy who made him cocoa into the man who walked him in front of that train? What cause could possibly have the end effect of Beck holding a gun to his head and dying right in front of him?
In the end, that was what stopped his thoughts cold every time. Beck, Quin, whoever he had been on the suspension bridge, he was dead. Nothing was to be gained from overthinking his motivations or considering where his promising young life went so wrong. Even if Peter had wanted to change the past, which he didn't, it wasn't like he could somehow save Quin from who he'd become. Beck was dead. His story was over.
Peter sighed.
What a pointless train of thought it was, always going around in circles. None of it mattered anyway, because after two run-ins with Quin, he had exhausted his coincidental meetings. A third time would create a pattern, which would mean something, and the universe couldn't have a sense of humor that sick.
And so naturally, when Peter glanced across the street, he saw Quentin Beck walking out of a high end liquor store.
His life was a comedy of errors.
Quentin wasn't alone. A group of people spilled out of the store after him, knocking his shoulders and nudging him playfully as they gathered together on the sidewalk. Lanyards hung from each of their necks and their ages varied drastically. If Peter had to guess, they were Quentin's coworkers.
Any apprehension Peter felt for running into him a third time disappeared when Quentin laughed. There was more of Beck in him now, in the last few inches he'd grown and the way he carried himself, but his laughter still belonged to Quin. It was loud and genuine, even from afar.
Peter stood rooted to the pavement, watching as Quentin turned on his heel to walk backwards down the street, heavy plastic bags swinging from either hand. He looked lighter now, as though some of his shine had come back as the hollow place inside him filled.
The plan, if there was one at all, which there probably wasn't, had only been to watch as Quentin walked away. Observe from afar without interacting again, it seemed the safest thing to do. But the universe had other plans, because Quentin turned his head and caught sight of Peter across the street.
Their eyes met and Peter saw Quentin's grow wide.
He could run. It wouldn't be hard for him to slip away, he knew the city well enough to disappear long before Quentin reached him. To what end, though? He'd already been spotted.
Quentin pushed the bags of booze into one of his coworker's arms, mouth forming an apology even as he started towards the street.
Peter met him on the corner, but certainly not because he was eager to see him. He didn't feel like prolonging the inevitable, that was all.
"We meet again, Peter." Quentin said, casting his gaze appraisingly over him. "You look... good."
So do you, Peter thought, because he did.
The shadow that hovered over him after his mother's death had lifted. He looked confident and wild, eyes glittering and smile even more mischievous than Peter remembered it. Cheekiness suited the curve of Quentin's mouth far more than whatever imitation of joy had been there before.
More had changed about him than had stayed the same. The stubble was gone, leaving his face clean, and he had cut his hair short. The last of the youthful curves had left his face, now he was all attractive angles and lines. In the span of their meetings, Quin had gone from a teenager to a man.
Peter, on the other hand, hadn't changed.
He looked down at himself, taking inventory of the image he made. There was no excuse or rational explanation for his utterly unchanged appearance. Aside from his clothes, he looked like the same Peter that Quentin had met years ago. ( Because he was, of course, but he couldn't say that. )
"I... can't really explain." he said lamely. "But it's good to see you again."
To his surprise, Quentin tipped his head back and laughed. The giddiness in his laughter was almost visceral, it stuck in Peter's ears and quickened the tempo of his heartbeat.
Quentin's smile was blinding.
"Oh hell, aliens are real- And gods! What's so weird about a kid who doesn't age, eh?"
He clapped a hand on Peter's bicep and squeezed gently, still smiling at him like it really was that easy to explain away. Maybe it was. In 2012, people had learned to quickly accept whatever reality was handed to them, or get lost in the sudden influx of change the world was going through.
Peter's smile must have been as relieved as he felt, because Quentin squeezed his arm again before letting go.
"You sure know how to roll with the punches, Quin." he snorted.
"Gotta adapt to keep up." Quentin shrugged. "World's changing fast."
"Tell me about it."
This kept happening to them, the fond silences where they both just looked at each other and seemed happy doing that. Maybe that meant something. Peter didn't want to think about it.
"It really is good to see you." Peter said. "You look... You look happier."
Quentin ducked his head with a half-laugh that may have been embarrassed.
"Yeah, uh- I may not have been at my best, last you saw me."
"I mean, I get why."
"Look, I'm sorry for-"
"It's okay." Peter interrupted.
The apology could have been for anything; his shift in mood after his mother was mentioned, that he'd walked away, or the fact that he'd kissed Peter before he did.
( Was he really saying that it was okay that Quentin Beck had kissed him? )
"Yeah?" Quentin said.
"Yeah." Peter affirmed. "I'm glad I was there."
A statement which, once he'd said it, was startlingly true. Being vibrated through time and possibly out of existence may be terrifying, and inconvenient, but he was happy to have been there for Quin. He couldn't imagine how it would have been if he were alone, looking around at the plaza his mother had loved without anyone there to lean on.
"Speaking of places you've been, where have you been?" Quentin asked, arching a brow.
Peter fumbled for an answer and landed on a half-truth.
"Here in New York, mainly."
"And we're only running into each other now?"
"I said mainly."
Quentin cocked his head back and narrowed his eyes, amused smile playing around his mouth.
"You're just one mystery after another, aren't you Peter?"
"Would you believe I'm usually pretty straightforward?" Peter laughed. "What about you? What brings you to New York?"
The smile on Quentin's face became a lopsided, wolfish grin. He tugged at his lanyard, holding up the ID card so the company name on the front was visible.
"I," he began proudly. "Landed the job of a lifetime."
Peter read the badge. Then, he read it again to be sure he wasn't seeing things. The train of thought dedicated to Quentin Beck abruptly derailed, careening off in a new direction.
"Stark Industries?"
"Yep." Quentin said, popping the 'p'. "The one and only."
From across the street, someone hollered; "Beck!"
Quentin turned, gesturing to whoever had called for him and missed the stunned look on Peter's face.
Stark Industries.
Quentin Beck had worked for Stark Industries.
And although he hadn't given Peter his job title, it was obvious that Quentin wasn't some low-level paperpusher. No, with his intellect and penchant for augmented reality technology, he would be making waves. Mr. Stark would never let a mind like his go to waste, not when he could be giving him the tools to create something incredible instead.
Which begged a question that Peter hadn't considered before; where had the initial drones Beck was using come from? It wasn't something he'd thought about until now. Suddenly, the question answered itself, because he was immediately sure that the technology had come from Beck himself.
From the get-go, it had been obvious Beck was smart, but this smart? Peter had seen his work in action, gone up against it, and it was as incredible as it was terrifying. Just like this revelation was proving to be.
This could mean so many things, most of which Peter wasn't in a position to properly process. Had Beck worked with Mr. Stark? Had they known each other? They must have, because Beck had known about E.D.I.T.H and its functions. If that was the case, though, when had he gone rogue? Had he been there when Peter started his internship? Had he worked there even when he became Mysterio?
Quentin turned back, his grin blindsiding Peter even though he'd seen it just moments before. There were so many new things to think about and absolutely none of them seemed as important as the fact that Quentin kept smiling at him like he didn't know what else to do when he looked at him.
"Look, Peter, I've gotta jet. There's an office party..."
"Oh, yeah, no, I get it!" Peter said a little too quickly.
"I'd really love to chat more, but-"
"No, no! You're-"
They stopped, then shared a sheepish laugh.
"Hey," Quentin said lowly. "Stick around this time, would you?"
Those words shifted something between them. Peter wasn't sure what it was, or in which direction it had moved, only that it made his chest feel like it was full of birds, beating their wings against his ribs.
"Quin..."
Another call of 'Beck!' echoed from across the street.
"We can meet here tomorrow." Quentin's hand found its way back to Peter's arm, his touch sliding down until he could grip his wrist. "Say, about four? We can get coffee, catch up."
Unspoken words hung in the air.
Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again.
He had never tried to stop a blip before. By all accounts, he wasn't convinced it was even possible. The vibrations causing his jumps seemed to come and go at random without any concern for his input.
Making promises to a dead man in a time long past was the kind of thing Dr. Pym would definitely advise against. Peter knew better.
What he heard himself say was;
"Yeah... Yeah, I'll try, okay?"
Quentin squeezed his wrist. Twice.
"I'll wait for you." he promised.
For a moment, Peter thought he might lean in and kiss him again.
Instead, his hand drifted down, fingertips brushing over Peter's palm before he slipped away. Quentin stepped backwards, smiling at him, before turning and jogging between cars to the other side of the street. His coworkers looked more amused by him than annoyed, once he rejoined them.
He cast another look over his shoulder as they started down the street, his smile softer as he caught Peter's eye one last time.
The birds in Peter's chest had multiplied.
Of course, the universe liked to use Peter's life as a sounding board for all its worst jokes, so he never made it to 4PM the next day. The containment cell in Dr. Pym's lab was beginning to feel less like a safety precaution and more like a detention center. Somewhere he went in between jumps, where all he could do was anticipate what came next.
And because the world truly was just laughing at his expense, the first person Peter saw upon returning to the present day was Nick Fury standing outside the glass cell wall.
Not alone, either. There was a whole team of S.H.I.E.L.D agents in Dr. Pym's lab, making notes on tablets and talking in hand-signals amongst themselves. One particularly bold pair kept trying to co-opt the seats at the observation terminal from Hope and Janet, which wasn't working. Scott, meanwhile, had positioned himself squarely in front of the door to Peter's room.
Dr. Pym seemed to be midway through giving Fury a proper dressing-down when he noticed Peter returning from his jump.
"Oh not you." Peter groaned.
"Me." Fury said, single eye narrowing. "I see your attitude hasn't improved any, Parker."
"Peter!" Scott grinned, clearly relieved.
"You've been gone for two days." Dr. Pym said brusquely. "And you-"
"Imagine my surprise," Fury interrupted. "When I hear that Spiderman hasn't been seen in New York City for almost two damn weeks. And when I try to reach out, what do I find but Dr. Hank Pym. Set up shop right in the middle of Brooklyn."
Peter scowled and so did Hope.
"My father was cleared of all charges, Director Fury. He can operate his lab wherever he wants."
"Not without good reason he can't. Which brings me back to my point; when exactly were you going to inform me that one of the Avengers was temporally challenged?"
"The situation is under control." Janet said, resting a hand on her husband's back. Dr. Pym's jaw was clenched so tight he was all but shaking with anger.
"Oh, is it? Because I've been sitting here for almost forty-eight hours watching you three do jack shit while this kid was getting up to God knows what in another time period!"
"Hey-!" Scott started forward.
"And don't get me started on you, Lang. What are you even doing here?"
"I'm here for Peter."
"If your goons would stop getting in our way we could have learned more during that jump!" Hope snapped. "Do any of them even have clearance to be here?!"
"They go where I say they go, Ms. Van Dyne. Including into labs being run illegally on city-owned property."
"Yeah, so we don't have a parking permit, fine us." Scott retorted. "But barging in here with a bunch of G.I. Joe wannabes is totally unnecessary!"
"S.H.I.E.L.D will now be overseeing this operation." Fury announced, as if Scott hadn't spoken. "And believe me, Dr. Pym, if your lab wasn't uniquely equipped for this situation I'd be taking Parker off your hands entirely."
"Hah!" Dr. Pym barked. "I'd like to see you military jackasses try to understand the intricacies of quantum mechanics! This is my lab, Fury, and Peter Parker is my responsibility. You're not putting a finger on him as long as he's in that unit!"
Several S.H.I.E.L.D agents moved towards the glass door at once, but Scott and Hope were faster. He backed himself up against the door and she keyed a code into a pad, sealing a lock with a definitive beep-whir-click of machinery.
Fury glowered.
"You four have been sitting around letting this kid pop in and out of time like he's got a season pass to Disneyland, and you don't see anything wrong with that? Let me remind you-"
"Would you shut the fuck up?"
Everyone stopped talking and looked at Peter.
"You want to say that again, Parker?" Fury asked, voice dangerous.
"Yeah, I said shut the fuck up." Peter repeated, stepping up to the glass. "It was my call not to contact you. I was the one who said I didn't want to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D and you've got no right to come in here and harass Dr. Pym and his family because I hurt your feelings by not including you."
If looks could kill, Peter would be dead. Fury was glaring murder at him, nostils flared, but he didn't care. He was so angry he was shaking, fists clenched tight enough at his sides that they hurt.
"Do you think this is some rewards program you can opt out of, Parker? You're an Avenger, which makes you not only my problem, but my responsibility. My feelings on the matter are that one of my people is endangering not only his own damn self, but the entire fucking timeline, and doesn't think that's relevant to tell me!"
Something in Peter snapped.
"If I'm "one of your people" and that makes me so important, then what was London?! Or Prague, or Venice?! You don't get to stand there and act like you actually care about me when you put me in the line of fire!"
"You're an Avenger-"
"And I've been to space, yeah, so what?! You want me to believe there really wasn't anyone else in the entire world you could have called?! What about Mr. Scott?!" Peter gestured violently. "Or Ms. Van Dyne?! Or White Wolf, or Falcon, or literally anyone else?! You said it yourself, I wasn't equipped for the mission! But you still forced me to do it, even though I told you I didn't want to and you said you understood! You just went ahead and manipulated stuff to work out the way you wanted!"
Anger tasted like blood on his tongue. He was so tired, so fed up with being treated like a child and expected to act like an adult. Hero one second, fuck up the next, and always at fault.
"You didn't even trust Beck! You knew he was up to something and you still sent me out there with him alone, Fury! Did it ever occur to you to warn me that you didn't trust him? That maybe, as the person actually standing next to him, that might be important for me to know?! No! Of course not! Because I'm just Spiderman and I'm just a kid and yet, when it all went sideways, you made me clean up your mess!"
Peter spun away, abruptly stalking to the far wall, just to burn off some of the feeling building inside him. He felt like he might combust, just go up in flames suddenly and without an ignition point. Everything was too much.
He turned back maybe five seconds later to find the entire lab outside his containment unit in different positions. Scott still hovered by the door, but everyone else had distinctly moved.
"...How long was I gone?" he asked, voice raw at the edges from yelling.
"An hour." Scott replied quietly.
Peter turned away again, this time so no one would see the angry tears pebbling at the corners of his eyes.