Peter? Are you there?
I had no idea how to meditate.
I had no idea if any of the thousands of tropes and mantras we'd come up with in my old world could or even would work here. Mind realms, mind worlds, mindscapes, occlumency, pseudo-telepathy, studying my Chakras, the whole lot. If I was anywhere near a telepath, I'd probably be that annoying idiot randomly blasting out random music on a Bluetooth speaker in the library by complete accident (somehow) (also, probably a bad analogy). I knew that Wanda was likely either a telepath or was likely (for now) limited to messing with brain activity, but it wasn't going to help me anyway.
This was (probably) working so far - but I had no way of knowing for sure. It was still my last hope.
I tried everything for the past two days. Everything. That time-stop effect was novel at first, but now I felt the closest thing to genuine hate for it.
Friday night, I snuck out at midnight, intent to make for the Sanctum. I didn't even make it past a block before whoever it was shot a pair of webs backwards to stop Peter's body dead on the spot, whirl around, swing back home, and infiltrate my room so quietly and effectively I had to admit to feeling a modicum of awe in the midst of my storm of annoyance.
Saturday, I hung out with May, then invited Ned to the crib and watched him struggle on The Witcher before ultimately rage quitting because the specters at Crow's Perch absolutely mobbed him and spammed that unblockable teleport attack of theirs (not before I told him to save - turned out he couldn't, because the game didn't allow him, and there was a checkpoint where he'd have to start going over to the botchling all over again, which made him bust a gut cursing) and moving us on to Mass Effect 2 (my man!) and Prototype 2 - of which he was a lot more critical than I was, but he kept it because - surprise, surprise - Peter actually liked it. Unpopular opinion: I didn't give a damn about Mercer making that heel turn, because that thing wasn't Mercer, it had virtually nothing left of Mercer in it but his appearance - instead, it was Zeus. Looking at the game that way made me like it a lot more, especially since gameplay-wise it was a better game on nearly every level. I had so many good memories of causing chaos with the ever-angry James Heller...
(I cursed Activision once more, for the utter waste that was putting Radical in the ground and stopping whatever production of Prototype 3 that could've happened. Arkham Knight and Spider-Man were living proofs that they could definitely make a superhero game work if they just put in the effort, dammit. If only Microsoft or Embracer Group could acquire the IP or something...)
Then, I went out to patrol, and randomly made my way towards Greenwich. Did it work? Nope. I was frog-marched back home and made to punch myself in the gut and live with the consequences. Not that I couldn't have guessed that before, but the general outcome of a gut punch + superhuman strength = PAIN.
So, screw all this, I decided after I finally caught my breath after an unspecified, unspecifiable time, and opened a Twitter account.
I tried looking up Tony Stark's account - verified - or any one of the Avengers, and instead Peter's fingers typed Elon Musk. Or Bill Nye the Science Guy. Or Khloe Kardashian. Or Shaq - who for some reason had just accidentally solved the world's question about how big his dick was (which he'd since deleted and apologized for, but the damage had been done - and yes, it was certainly sizeable and I had no idea why I needed to know that or why he took a picture of his dong in the first place) and Twitter was in the middle of freaking out and sharing screenshots. Or Payne Stewart. Or Fran Tarkenton. Or Victor Frankenstein. Or Amy Winehouse (why?!) Or even Lightning McQueen (how the hell did he have a verified account?!).
I promptly deleted Twitter, same as the old life. Did not need that crap in my life then, nor now.
Google did not help. The internet did not help.
Whoever the shithead controlling Peter's body was actually bloody Googled 'PAWG ass PMV compilation X Videos' right as May was opening the front fucking door and almost tossed her the phone. The budding Spidey-Sense, of course, was not happy about that at all, but ultimately, I managed to convince her I was joking around, then went to Peter's room, got up to the roof, and proceeded to gather my dignity in one place, throw it over said roof, and have an absolute screaming meltdown.
I got the hint. I also mentally threw every expletive I could think of at them.
I also figured, yeah, chances were that it wasn't Peter, because yes, confirmed, while MCU Peter (at least) did look up porn, there was no way he'd willingly toss his phone in the middle of that incredibly specific search at Aunt May of all people, even if it was to screw me over. But humans did not make for rational creatures. I kept hoping that Peter was in there somewhere.
Sunday? I decided to explore New York, and told May I was going to explore the shit out of New York. I started It was awesome... when I wasn't being randomly frog-marched away from some places, even ones I didn't know had someone that could help me. While I was in Manhattan, I tried Greenwich one more time, and jogged to the docks instead, where the bastard made to throw me into the water, probably knowing very well that I was basically John Marston or Altaïr or Tony Vercetti in that I couldn't fucking swim.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" a vaguely familiar, British-accented voice yelled, and a strong arm caught me before I was jumped. With a shock, I realized I had control over Peter's body again and ducked back from the water. I turned to see my rescuer and... Kit Harington?! And the lady next to him... seemed vaguely familiar.
"Hey. Are you alright?" he asked. "Gave us a bit of a fright there."
"I... I'm fine." I had no idea whether to freak out over nearly dying just now or ask myself what was going on. Was it just Kit Harington or was he actually -
"I'm Dane," he introduced himself and oh shit. So, future stuff.
"Sersi," the lady introduced herself. "What's yours?"
"P-Peter," I stammered. "Peter Parker."
If Kit was actually cast into the MCU - more than likely, as some sort of heavy hitter - then I should know his name. Dane should've rung familiar to me. Sersi, too, should've rung some bell, at least. It didn't. I was so unprepared for everything...
"It's okay, Peter, you hear?" he encouraged. "You're stronger than this."
"You don't know that," I answered reflexively, and then frowned away and softly clicked my tongue. Dammit. I was applying premeditated responses to a conversation I'd had before, long before I mastered the art of looking okay despite not being. It was too late to have this damned conversation now.
"You hesitated," he pointed out. "Before you tried - and you hesitated again. That's why I got to you on time. You hesitated, Peter Parker - which means somewhere here -" he pointed towards Peter's heart - "you're still fighting. Fighting for your life. Hey, you would you like to hear a poem?"
I blinked at the non-sequitur, noticing Sersi looking away and covering her mouth as if to hide a laugh. "Uh. W-well, sure."
"It's alright, to make a mistake," Kit - Dane - quoted. "Your painting is real, it's not fake.
"Look at your painting, don't be crying,
begin again, keep on trying.
Your painting is never fully complete,
Enjoy the process, make sure it's sweet."
They both let me think on it.
"Which one's that?" I asked, frowning as if that'd keep the tears back.
"Paint Your Life. Huda Peerzada. It's really surprising what you find on the internet," he told me. "You can do this, Peter. You hear? Paint your life. Everything's in your hands - what happens now is absolutely up to you."
"Yeah." I wished I could tell him it just wasn't what he thought it was.
"Here," the lady spoke up, looking up from her phone. "Do you have a phone?"
"Yeah?"
"Take this number," she offered. "I just looked it up."
"Is it the...?" Dane asked.
"The local helpline? It is," Sersi nodded.
"Perfect."
It was the helpline for the American Foundation of Suicide Prevention. What a laugh.
"You're stronger than you know, Peter Parker. Okay?" she said, after encouraging me to copy the number. I nodded ironically. "You don't have to do this again."
I looked at them both. "Thank you."
"Oh no, it was nothing," Dane smiled. "We're happy to help."
Not gonna lie, that whole encounter had me howling with laughter all the way home. I laughed more than enough to shed tears of incalculable amusement and wrath.
So, now, my last hope. Talk to whoever had control of Peter's body.
I had no idea if it was working. My problem was I couldn't stop thinking - and I had no idea if absolute silence would be conducive to my efforts at meditation or not, so I looked around for the ambient sounds of a waterfall, streamed it, plugged my earphones on, and I had no idea how long I'd been sitting there. Even when I was trying to be quiet, the best I could offer myself was music in my head. Still Corners, The Trip.
Peter? I called out in my thoughts. Peter Benjamin Parker, if you're there, I need you to listen to me. Can you hear me? If you can, please do me a favor and take your body back. I never wanted it, alright? My life's been and done. I was dead - I'm supposed to be dead. My time's done. You have a whole life ahead of you and I want you to live it. So stop it with this tetching around you're doing and live your life already! Take your body - take your life back! I don't want it! I don't need to live! Peter? Peter?!
I tried not to sigh - my voice, my real voice, was all that went on in this head.
If you're not Peter... whoever the hell you are, I don't know who you are, how you got me here, or what you want, but I gotta know... fine, I'm here. Congratulations, you have made a major scientific breakthrough - transference of consciousnesses, huh? How'd you get there? What's your endgame? Huh? Is this for your entertainment? Are you entertained right now? Why me? Is this one of those times where the audience just has to know what a day in the life of the unlucky is like? Because look, I love Peter Parker, no matter the universe - even this one where he just makes the dumbest decisions possible all the time, alright? He doesn't deserve to be a giant cosmic chew toy like he always is. He especially doesn't deserve whatever the fuck this is. Put him back. Put him back, damn you. Give him back to this universe - put him back in his fucking body!
An hour of this, my phone told me, and I got nothing but a red face.
I sighed, went to bed, and Googled the Avengers.
...Then I sat up in surprise. I Googled the Avengers?!
Yes, the site told me silently as it loaded up my search results and the body didn't just spontaneously close the tab or throw the phone off the window or something.
"Oh my god," I whispered. So this guy had limits? Or had they given up? Or were they sleeping?
I was about to move on out of the browser when that picture caught my eye. I never knew they'd taken a team picture before, but...
I frowned, taking a closer look at the picture. There was an extra addition, surprisingly in a sleek suit and tie while everyone else was in their costumes, a very John Wick feel to him. Something about his face rung familiar to me, and I wrestled my memories for answers. He had been in the MCU before... I accessed Peter's memories too, trying to cross-reference what he knew with what I knew.
Then it clicked.
"Wait, that face... is that...?"
My eyes widened. I'd only ever seen this guy in the one movie - and he wasn't even any major character. It made no sense for him to be an Avenger. "How did this happen?"
I opened another tab, grumbling at the phone's reluctance to do so (I made a note to download Opera Mini, at least for faster, albeit restrained browsing), and looked up the face. I didn't know his hero name - the picture offered no captions, because this was information everyone was supposed to know. "No, wait - I know it. But it's... different." I frowned. "Why Celldweller? That's stupid. Also kinda edgy. Didn't Klayton have a problem with that?"
I looked it up. He didn't. In fact, he said it practically made him immortal, which... what?
A flash came to my head with the answer. "Tony Stark." I chuckled. "Yeah, that makes sense. Could only be him. I bet he called him that in front of the media once, they ran with it, and he gave up on correcting everyone."
Like the in-joke about Steve Rogers and his desire for upstanding language, even despite having fought in World War II.
I looked it up, ensuring to specify it was the Avenger - and boy, the results were surprising. I browsed through Wikipedia for what little intel they had on the man.
"How is this possible? How did they meet?"
The details were too vague, but apparently, he had a close friendship with Natasha and Clint. So, how did they meet? Why did they meet? I couldn't know - and I suspected Budapest had something to do with it, given the vagueness around the details of that mess - but anything was speculation and couldn't be entirely true. I'd probably have some way to know soon.
"Oh, man..." I trembled. "Oh, man... this is... this could go incredibly wrong. This could screw me over really badly... of all the Parker Luck...!"
Then time stopped, the bastard assumed direct control, closed the tab, and put the phone away. Why then? Were they sleeping on the job? Or was this a discreet effort to pass on a little intel so I wouldn't freak out upon seeing 'Celldweller' and potentially force them to do all the work or ruin everything?
No, that wasn't the important question.
I rolled onto my back and thought about the ramifications.
"The question is..." I whispered.
Whose side would he be on?
In other news, they'd drafted and announced the Sokovia Accords recently. Ross had probably done his "You thirty megaton nukes better wise up and do what we say or you retire" speech a bit ago. Fucking Thaddeus Ross, man. That guy made my fists itch every time I thought about him.
"It's ridiculous!" Flash exploded. "There's obviously a huge agenda behind this. The fact that now the UN wants to deploy the Avengers on their own time, after they discuss if the Avengers will be even necessary? That's gotta be the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"
"We don't have a lot of the details yet, though," Cindy argued. "There might be some good here. The Avengers do need to be kept in check."
"I can't believe... I'm saying this," Abe said, in between wringing his jersey onto a bucket - he'd been on the wrong end of a water balloon that wasn't even meant for him not ten minutes ago, "but Flash has a point. Keep the Avengers in check, sure, but... using the UN to do it? The UN? They couldn't find their own butt with both hands."
Flash appeared to be unsure whether to flip the bird at him or thank him.
"It's not going to be the UN running this," Cindy stressed, "it'll be a panel appointed by the UN, headed by the Secretary of State."
"After how many weeks or months of tumultuous discussion?" Sally asked, hanging out with her kouhai for a change while we waited for her fellow sophomores and seniors to show up. "Not gonna lie, it's a little shady. What happens if they deploy the Avengers where they're not needed and screw things up? Or if the Avengers need to go somewhere based on actionable intel but the panel says no and then dooms everyone as a result? It's not like the New York Incident started quietly. Would they just let another Loki run everywhere behind the scenes and then only deploy the Avengers after going 'oops, they just destroyed Moscow, go get that bread'? I think they would."
"Exactly!" Flash agreed vehemently. "This is what I'm saying, Cindy! How do you trust these guys?"
"A hundred and seventeen countries agreed to this, Flash," Cindy pointed out. "A hundred and seventeen, and you think the Avengers are just gonna go, 'Oh no, it's cool, we got this.'"
"That is as close to unanimous as unanimous gets," Abe nodded. "They really want this to happen."
"It shouldn't!" Flash sputtered. "That shit is unfair!"
"Language, Mr. Thompson!" Mr. Harrington chastised absently from his impromptu desk.
"That's not how these things work," MJ spoke up. "The world - politics, really - doesn't revolve around fairness."
I sighed and went back to putting the finishing touches on my Algebra homework. I used to hate Math, purely because I sucked at it, but looking at it from Peter's perspective - the guy was so goddamn smart, man - really made me start to see what everyone else did in it. That being said, Peter's grades went through a minor dent some weeks ago because of me, but I was getting better and better all the time. Like having a built-in tutor whose brain I had on tap 24 hours of the day, seven days of the week. And they were still talking about this stupid thing, hoo boy.
"They're just asking nicely right now. If they don't agree to this and go out again, Flash, it'll get done to them," Cindy argued. "I don't care who you are - you're not going to stand up against the weight of a whole hundred and seventeen countries."
"Is that the argument you'll keep using?"
"Don't take this personally, but it's the argument I'll keep using as long as you have nothing to counter it. Because you don't and you know it."
"All of you?" Flash turned to everyone with a frown. "These are the guys that saved our lives. I was there in Manhattan when those Chitauri came knocking. The Hulk saved me. They can call him a dumb brute all they want, but he's the one that stopped me and James from dying and told us to run. We can't just... throw that gratitude away."
"I don't think anyone's asking you to," I spoke up, absolutely done with this inane argument. "But there's nothing we can do."
"There is something we can do, Parker!" he snarled. "What's the use of social media, then?"
"Flash, just let it go," I sighed. "Fine, say maybe you get a thousand or two people to agree with doing away with the Accords. Some #weareNOTinAccord or something. What about the other ninety-six thousand who don't agree? Who'll just bury you in a sea of dissident echo chambers? Then what? These guys are exercising their will in the best possible time. The wounds of Lagos are fresh. Everyone will be looking at the Avengers through those lens. Not New York. Not saving the President, taking down The Mandarin, or stopping the Abomination in Harlem. They'll look at Richards' Bay, Sokovia, Lagos, and they'll ask themselves, 'Are we next?' And the UN will be all too happy to keep them as -"
"They won't screw up like that, Puny Parker -"
"They don't know that!" I roared, rising violently to reinforce my words, startling him to silence. Peter Parker never raised his voice against anyone. I wasn't Peter Parker. "You don't know that! The Avengers don't know that! Nobody knows that! That's the point!" I beat those words into his head, walking closer to his desk. "That's the uncertainty they're weaponizing! That's the reality! The Avengers have zero arguments against this, as far as we know. They had their high ground. They lost it. So they'll do what the UN says now, backed by a hundred and seventeen countries and the weight of overwhelmingly negative public opinion, or they will retire and be done with all of this. That's all there is, Flash."
Flash glared at me. "You sound really eager to see them put in their place, Parker. That's that inferiority complex of yours, huh? Were you always -"
"I hate this," I interrupted him again. "I hate this more than you could possibly imagine, dude. But there is nothing. No hope. No answers. No aliens. No hashtags Nothing. Nothing we could do about this. So if we could please wait for the time they have anything to give us - like the literal rulebook they just announced - and if we could kindly table this discussion until we have something we can chew on, and do the things we can actually do, like Decathlon practice, because everyone is here now -" as if on cue - thank you enhanced senses - everyone walked in, led by Josh, "then that would be greatly appreciated."
"Don't get me wrong," I concluded softly, "I appreciate that they saved your life. They saved mine too. But times change, Flash. Times have changed. We can't do anything. Not yet. Save your energy for when you can. If they can play this smart, the Avengers can come out on top. Someday. This is just the opening move. Things are gonna get worse, but the endgame is a long way away. They'll win - wait for it."
Silence. Even Mr. Harrington had no idea what to say. Peter Parker raising his voice at all, let alone to my extent, was very uncharacteristic.
"Screw off," Flash growled, deciding it would be best to ignore him. I didn't give him a second glance either, and went back to my desk.
As Josh passed on his greetings and delegated Liz to drilling with us, as per usual, I hoped Flash would at least try to think about it realistically.
No one knew just how worse things were going to get. No one.
"Peter," Mr. Harrington stopped me after practice. "What happened earlier... are you okay?"
I sighed. This is going to be a long year...
I didn't want to not make the best of whatever the situation was. Whoever had the ability to read my intentions and bodyjack me at the worst possible time clearly had no interest in establishing communication, so what choice did I have? I'd have to do Spider-Man things.
One thing I would give whoever that was, though - the motherfucker was a pro at web-slinging, more so than even Peter Parker at this age. There was a difference in all our methods. My own moves were somewhat uncertain, ineffective because I was always caught up in the sheer adrenaline and fear. Peter, at this age, was mostly the same, but he was more experienced, better acquainted with the experience. This guy? It felt like they'd been doing it for years. Even with the weaker web fluid and younger body, there was a chasm between their level of skill and mine.
While I was irritated about the entire situation, that there was indeed what appeared to be a ROB that took a much more active interest in my activities than most would, I did learn a few tricks once I calmed down and tried to look at that clusterfuck from a more objective point of view. I figured out how to web-zip properly, for example, though I would note that while the 2018 game exaggerated the effect, it was still a cool and useful move to employ, especially in a combat situation or any other where I needed to divert my momentum. I learned how to time my mid-air jumps to get a lot more distance out of the swing, how to ascend and descend using pure web-badassery more quickly and effectively, the basics of anchor points, and proper wallrunning. Sadly, I didn't exactly just master them immediately, so it was something I had to keep practicing. I got the hang of it two weeks in, and now that I was genuinely getting used to the idea of throwing myself all over the sky, it was new and exciting.
I did employ a lot of flips and tricks, though. I couldn't not do it. Besides, it was good exercise, and even better practice. I was really getting up to speed. I had to be productive.
It was a very productive month.
Trainin' montage time!
I worked on a lot of things.
First of all, Web-Fluid 1.81.
I had to make the improvements eventually.
The base was actually already really good, but Peter and I did wonder if I could add any extra kick to the synthetic silk, then see how much PSI we could add to the CO2 canisters increase its range without breaking the web-shooters or our wrists. We would need - and for an improved button cell battery, did need - materials that weren't available at the Robotics lab, so that would be problematic...
May helped out on that front. After two weeks, she started enjoying the whole thing of her teenage nephew being a superhero. She always told me to be careful, but she let me do my thing for the most part.
At the end of the day, we made some small improvements. I increased the web's tensile strength by another 0.46 gigapascals, and the web would also last even longer before breaking down and dusting due to prolonged exposure to the air - tests I'd conducted over a weekend revealed it would last for at least another thirty minutes - not much, but it was a very good start. We also kicked up the PSI by another 50 - I had to take it slow, the material was just too delicate and the balance was the tricky part - so now the web shot out even faster and farther, but I'd most likely have to look for new materials for the CO2 chambers to help the shooters handle even more pressure. I also realized that a side benefit of the pressure upgrade netted me a weakened version of Impact Webs if used just right. It would be handy for restraining people, specifically a certain pair I had in mind...
There was still a significant problem I'd potentially have to deal with later, pertaining to that fight. I was still thinking up plans, but it would be a trick, especially when I had no access to the Ancient One. How would I deal with 'Celldweller'? What were his abilities in the MCU? Apparently, he did strategy, travel, was the best stealth expert in the team - better than even the Black Widow, which made no sense and also frightened the piss out of me - and was handy in a fight, but that was the all of it. Nothing extremely specific about his abilities - a very private guy, sadly in the public eye, sort of like Batman in the Justice League.
Ned? We gamed. We threw around useless Star Wars theories. We did Decathlon and Robotics and school. We (he) wondered what the next chapter in the sequel trilogy would be like. He still couldn't understand why I loved Prototype 2 so much, and always made it a point to dole out his every very valid reasons for why he strongly opined that James Heller and the entire game was a piece of dogshit.
He was very pro-Zeus, I'd give him that much.
I also found an old watch, but sadly not its companion. I was going to do some work with it when the time was right...
I also was in the middle of looking up some other jumpsuits for a frankly better version of the homemade suit. I liked the look of the Alpha Industries NASA jumpsuit, but wanted to poke around for other options. (Yeah, I'd come back to it later. I still had questions - and more than likely, I'd be making my own version. Spandex? It was snug, but... no.)
I also decided to conduct tests on Peter's strength. While I knew his lifting power went a long way, I needed to get a very good handle on how hard I could hit someone without killing them. I found an abandoned warehouse all the way in Manhattan, and punched a wall as hard as I could without breaking my hand. That would be wildly inconvenient.
I winced and whistled in amazement and just a tad bit of fear at the result - and not for my sore hand. I wasn't exercising the proper technique, which was why I tried not to hit it hard enough to crack Peter's knuckles, but still managed to crack the wall.
"... Thank God I didn't find out the same way Otto did."
I would absolutely stick to webs and bitch-slapping people unconscious until I had lessons in martial arts. I did not need a jaw barely hanging onto skin and sinew on my conscience, thank you very much. The image alone gave me vivid nightmares.
But no, that made a lot of sense. A lot of people didn't know or think it, but Peter was actually pretty shit at fighting. Yeah, his best argument was the strength just recently demonstrated, plus the webs - the webs were great help - but his technique was awfully lacking. It didn't matter when he was going up against street-level thugs, which was what he mostly did, but anyone closer to his own level of strength required a lot more technique than the usual.
...So you could see why he struggled with the likes of, say, Tombstone or the Green Goblin when he managed to ground the latter. Sure, Lonnie's best asset was his enhanced physical abilities and insanely tough skin, but he was still vulnerable to concussions and any blows that hurt his insides - and as a chemist, Peter could likely come up with counters to whatever chemicals enhanced him if he could draw blood from him, sample it, and come up with a counter. That wasn't an easy weak point to poke, though - in fact, it was very difficult to match blows with him in the first place, despite that Spider-Man likely could pack a bigger punch than him.
Why?
Because he was an experienced fighter - and not just the constrained stuff in the ring, he was a street fighter. He'd been doing that sort of shit from youth. He'd been down and dirty for decades.
The best way to beat him? Whittle him down with pure technique, cheat like a motherfucker (this was the important part) - and of course, weaken his enhanced strength with a poison that would affect his specific physiology for the best results, because otherwise it'd be a battle of attrition and I felt he'd take that one all day.
Green Goblin required a tad more because he was that much of a crazy bastard and probably would take a rocket punch from Iron Man with his trademark raucous laughter. He needed something special - ground the glider, stronger webs to pin him, then a jaw-shattering punch. If he was still intact, then perhaps a mid to high-caliber gun to the face would do the most good. Thankfully, Norman Osborn didn't seem to exist - I checked, Oscorp didn't exist, whether as a megacorp, a budding corp, or even as an AIM-style thinktank - I also looked up Harry and Normie just to be sure there wasn't some Thor Ragnarok fuckery where Harry was the dad and Norman was the son or some crap - and a Google search gave me a ton of inconclusive results, so I had zero worries on that front. No, knowing my luck, I would be making a very different archenemy.
Hopefully it wasn't Celldweller. The idea that the MCU could go the direction of the Secret Wars - that was just a theory, but the existence of the Skrull themselves kind of made that a highly credible one - just made my danger senses itch. Celldweller though? I did not need that kind of daily paranoia in my life, thanks.
There was danger on the horizon, getting closer all the time - but that was the best month I'd had in a long time.
Interlude: Civil War
"I don't suppose you have any idea where they are?" Ross demanded, staring at me. I offered him nothing, but of course Edward spoke up.
"We will," he said. "GSG-9's got the borders covered. Recon's flying 24/7. They'll get a hit. We'll handle it."
"You don't get it, Stark. It's not yours to handle."
"Then why ask us?" I interrupted before he could grate me even more with his voice.
"Because, Smerdyakov, they were your teammates." Ross stared at me. "Nothing?"
"Not a thing," Edward answered for me, feigning indifference.
"That's why it's clear you can't be objective. I'm putting Special Ops on this."
"What happens when the shooting starts?" Alianova inquired. "What, do you kill Steve Rogers?"
"If we're provoked," Ross answered. "Barnes would've been eliminated in Romania if it wasn't for Rogers. There are dead people who would be alive now. Feel free to check my math."
I did not bother to disguise my contemptuous snort. Before Ross could say anything, Edward came to my rescue again. "All due respect, you're not going to solve this with boys in bullets, Ross. You gotta let us bring them in."
"How would that end any differently from the last time?"
"Because this time, I won't be wearing loafers and a silk shirt." Ah, so he was finally dragging himself out of retirement. "72 hours, guaranteed."
"36 hours," Ross said flatly. "Barnes. Rogers. Wilson." He left, but not without giving me a lingering glare.
"Thank you, sir." Edward sighed, slumping. "My left arm is numb, is that normal?"
"Only when fighting the Winter Soldier," I offered sarcastically.
"Or when your friend Distants is being unusually difficult, even for him."
Did this guy know every single Celldweller track, or was he looking them up just to find nicknames for me?
"I heard somewhere the numb arm's a prelude to a heart attack. I don't think that's normal. I think I'm gonna keel over - which, when I think about it - is better than all this shit."
I decided to stand my ground - this moment had truly set it in stone for me. "I won't apologize for this, Edward."
He sighed again - he'd been doing that a lot recently. "Yeah, yeah, pride's precious and all that."
Alianova gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "You alright?"
"Always." he smiled grimly. "36 hours. Jeez."
"Not a very good timeline," I said.
"No kidding."
"We're seriously understaffed," Alianova pointed out.
"Oh, yeah. It'd be great if we had a Hulk right about now. Any shot?"
"No. You really think he'd be on our side?"
"Not on your life, Alianova," I sneered.
Edward, too, was in agreement. "No."
"I have an idea," she offered.
"Me too. Where's yours?"
"Downstairs. Where's yours?"
Edward smiled. "Give me 14 hours. Switchback? Any buns in the oven?"
"No." My voice was firm, final. "I'm done."
They were only stunned for a moment.
"You're retiring?" Alianova asked, showing a hint of worry. I wasn't sure if it was for me, or for the situation I was putting them in.
"You should, too. When you're done."
"That's not an option, Blackstar," Edward sighed, slumping even more. "Not for us."
"It isn't an option for you," I told them, "but it is for me. They won't find me. You won't find me."
"Dammit, Dima, could you at least hold off for thirty-six hours?"
"No." I turned my back on them, and walked for the door. "Take my advice, Anthony. Retire. Before he has your souls, too. He'll fail in the end, anyway. Just like with Bruce. No call for us to suffer this bullshit until then."
"Didn't you sign?" Alianova asked.
"They thought I did."
I left them both.
No more. The Avengers were done.
The day always started out the same.
Alarm, ablutions, breakfast and banter with May, school.
"Peter Parker," Mr. Long called, returning my Algebra test paper. An A for this one, nice. I smiled as he gave me a nod of satisfaction. "Good work as usual. Keep it up."
"Yessir." I turned to Ned, two columns to my left, and saw him giving me an enquiring look. I grinned and pumped my fists, and he gave me two thumbs up.
I also decided to design a Spider-Bot in Robotics club. I wasn't going to do anything with it, per se, it was just a fun draft - but someday I'd want to have me some snarky little shits telling me how much of a failure I was for the fun of it. Nothing in the world like sassy AI.
"It looks like shit," Tiny McKeever commented bluntly.
"Wha-" I spluttered. "It's just a basic - why would you even - thank you for the sudden and unnecessary feedback, dude."
"I'm just saying. Do you know how expensive it'll be to get the screen alone? And those legs - why so elaborate? It doesn't need stylized legs to look like a spider. Just give it eight normal legs. How is this even remotely practical? Where are the arms? How's it gonna carry things? Why not just go with a standard face?"
"So you're saying it's shit because it's expensive?"
"That's what you got out of everything I said?"
Later on, I decided to hit the dumpsters. New Yorkers threw away the funniest things.
I grunted, combing through bits and bobs for any extra useful items. When I found the exact thing I was looking for, I let out a joyful laugh. The second watch! It would totally come in handy. I stuffed it in my bag, picked up the old DVD player, and left the scene.
I got a number five from Del's on the way home, got chased out just because I said hi to his niece, and made my way home. The smushed pickles just did everything for this sandwich, good God. I couldn't stop humming in sheer bliss.
... And that was when I saw the purple R8 parked just opposite my apartment building.
I hummed, for an entirely different reason this time. Looks like it's time.
"... Why would he paint the car purple?"
Notes:
Edit: Added scene to speed things up.
And that's that!
This little divergence is completely, 100% in keeping with MCU canon. I didn't bring anyone from the comics that hasn't already been here already. I'll let you chew on that - but I doubt it'll be too hard to figure out who this is, based on the way-too-obvious hints I dropped. Also did the little cameo for funsies.
Check on your friends, guys. Make sure they're alright. We've lost too many legends these days.
Lemme know what you think, and if not in the reviews, I'll see you next Monday.
