SONG RECOMMENDATION: For those of you that want a little extra mood-building, I would recommend listening to Tonight, Tonight, Tonight by Low Roar. I think it's not just the theme for this chapter but my theme for RIPeter.
Jefferson Davis leaned against the doorjamb between the hallway and the living room, looking out at the small pile of vigilantes that he had invited into his home. He never thought he would be doing this a year ago. Hell, he wouldn't have thought he'd do this a few months ago, but here he was, vigilantes in his home, and he was letting them camp out.
The whole of them had crashed almost immediately, from what he could tell. Adrenaline from whatever fight they had gotten in cutting out and leaving them in an exhausted mess of limbs. Miles had agreed to stay in his room after a quick discussion, which he was thankful for. While Jefferson was willing to extend a bit of trust to the group of them after hearing from…Parker and seeing just how badly wounded they all had been, he wasn't quite willing to let them be that close to his family just yet. At least…not without him in the same room.
It had been a long process, really, a shift within him sometime between realizing that Peter Parker had been 26 when he died, and seeing the Kingpin pounding on a too-small figure. The idea that the group before him were all of varying experience and were there to help their Spider-Man, his Spider-Man, had been enough to extend that little bit of trust. Miles' story about what had happened had also added to that trust. That had been a conversation. He idly thought back to Miles' expression as he admitted to going off to the place where he had spent so much time with…with Aaron. He had looked as though Jefferson would bite his head off for breaking the rules, but…how could he when he understood the desire to just be…he shook off the thought, refocusing on the terror Miles' must have felt. Miles had spoken of something coming out of the shadows towards him, and how the other man had just jumped in front of him, taking the hit and flying across the tunnel, and… The look on his face when he said that, when he trailed off and couldn't seem to bring himself to say anything else… Jefferson had scooped him up in his arms, holding his son tightly as he looked about ready to break down.
Jefferson would always be grateful for the other man, but the idea of his son seeing that hurt his heart.
Jefferson resigned himself to a long night, adjusting his posture against the doorjamb so he wasn't quite so rigid. Movement out of the corner of his eye almost made him reach for his gun, but when he whipped his head to the side and saw that Parker, that slightly overweight, older, and highly-experienced Parker stuck to the side of the wall and crouched as low and as unthreatening as possible, both hands held up, he relaxed. Parker watched him closely, his mouth in a tight line, keeping an eye on where Jefferson put his hands, and Jefferson held his own out as well.
Maybe he wasn't the only one having a bit of trouble with trust.
After a momentary stare-down, Jefferson forced his mouth into something of a smile, and butted his head in the direction of the kitchen. Parker gave a fluid shrug and followed his lead, crawling across the wall to the ceiling easily. Jefferson wanted to comment on it, a part of him mildly disturbed at the sight, but Parker wasn't leaving any scuffs or marks on the wall, and it was definitely easier than picking his way through the pile of vigilantes, which Jefferson had to do. When he finally made it through the tangle of limbs and blankets and made it into the kitchen, Parker was waiting for him.
The man was wearing the oddly too-big pajamas the…cartoon pig had conjured out of nowhere after they had all finished being taken care of, and showering, and hadn't the sight of clothes being whipped out of nowhere been an interesting sight. One that would have sent Jefferson seeking out the mental ward if not for the fact that he'd seen entirely different dimensions exploding out from a single point. Pajamas covered in cartoon pigs and spiders didn't seem too out of nowhere, particularly when they looked as solid as they did, even though they were just slightly too big. Peter's collarbone was peeking out which gave the man a slightly fragile look that he didn't expect to see.
It wasn't helped with the way the man kind of stood there, bobbing on his toes, waiting for Jefferson to say something. Kid sent to the principal's office, was his first thought, and that was just odd. Jefferson sighed and waved him over to the table, Parker sitting immediately, though one leg rose up, curled beneath him. It was a very Spider-Man thing to do, a pose that seemed to be common even across dimensions. Jefferson set to making coffee, and Parker gave a brief happy sound, his eyes lighting up.
"That's the good stuff," he whispered, grin wide across his face, and Jefferson found himself grinning back.
"Yeah, well. I need it and…you don't seem like you're about to go to sleep anytime soon." Jefferson shrugged slightly.
"Can't," Parker responded, rolling his shoulders. "Gotta look after 'em." He frowned slightly as he caught how that comment might have come across and held up his hands, backtracking as the coffee brewed. "Not that I think you'll do anything, just…"
"Habit," Jefferson finished.
"Yeah," Peter allowed after a sigh. "It was…a pretty traumatizing night. I'm mostly on the lookout for nightmares. And for…Pete to wake up…" That would explain where he had perched, Jefferson suspected, taking in Parker's body sitting sideways on the chair, ready to move should he hear any sounds of distress. He ran a hand up his neck. "Besides, I think the insomnia's acting up again. I'd rather have an excuse not to sleep than general restlessness."
"I can definitely agree with that," Jefferson huffed out a sigh.
"You see a lot," Parker hummed, rolling those shoulders, more of his collarbone sticking through. It was the sight of that collarbone that made Jefferson realize why the other's build made him so anxious.
Jefferson hadn't been on the scene when their Peter Parker was originally found, but he had been called in for the aftermath. As a Lieutenant it was expected of him to handle a lot of the paperwork and legalities of the running of a police station, and Peter had caused a lot of both.
Jefferson had seen the younger man, not in the middle of a busted collider, but lying on the cold slab of the mortician's table. He had seen those fine bones busted open like matchsticks, those collarbones snapped like twigs, had seen the pulpy remains of what lay beneath with a grim knowledge that if they did bury him it would be closed-casket. It had filled him with a disquiet and a pity he hadn't known what to do with. The idea of dying there alone…would he have even had the knowledge of what had killed him? Would he have seen it coming down to crush him and known he couldn't get out of the way?
The new Spider-Man, their Spider-Man, his Spider-Man coming up and admitting to what he saw, to the fact that it was the Kingpin who had killed him, crushing his chest in with a… God. Jefferson still hadn't gotten over that…
"Yeah," Jefferson finally agreed softly. "You see a lot." Jefferson finally put down two mugs of coffee. After a moment, Parker took the mug in both hands and hung his head over it. "Thank you…for saving Miles," Jefferson finally said. "He told me what happened."
"It's no trouble, really," Parker said lightly, but his expression was serious. "Pete would've done it again in an instant, any of us would have. It just…turned out he was a bit faster. I think it's because of where he comes from…he reacts to light quicker than any of us do. I'm just glad we were in the right place at the right time. Say what you will about the Kingpin, and I'd agree with you, but his hideouts are usually very well hidden. We thought it'd be a good place to meet up before heading out to find your Spider-Man. I'm happy we found your Miles instead."
Jefferson nodded, accepting the explanation, and putting another tick in the box that suggested that they were trustworthy. It soothed his conscious a great deal and he found himself relaxing, idly staring into the black coffee in front of him. He wondered if the other took sugar or milk in it, but the thought was interrupted as Parker cleared his throat.
"You a cop?" Parker asked idly, swirling a finger over the rim of his coffee mug.
"Yeah," Jefferson agreed, rolling his shoulders forward, his posture shifting towards menacing, that momentary relaxation gone. "Why? That a problem?"
Parker held both hands up immediately, "No! Well. Not really?" he huffed out a sigh. "It's not anything to do with you personally, really. Just…the first few run-ins I had weren't so pleasant. Getting shot at is the opposite of fun when you're trying to help, and bullets hurt. It was my first introduction to how cops would treat me as Spider-Man and I wasn't about to tempt fate by jumping in front of them and asking how their day was going."
Parker rolled his own shoulders backwards, slumping back in his chair and it took more out of Jefferson than he wanted to admit when he heard the continued, "I eventually got over that whole paranoia enough to swoop down and ask how their day was, and tell 'em I appreciated what they were doing, but it took a while. Trauma sticks, I guess. It's funny, honestly. I work with a lot of cops when it comes to crisis situations, but I've never sat down and talked to one before."
Jefferson was reeling. "They shot at you?" he asked blankly.
"Well, sure. There was this whole crisis going on and they're trying to hold back the Goblin, and then I come swinging in out of nowhere…it makes sense that there would be some initial paranoia. Admittedly it took me a while to realize that, but…"
"They shouldn't have shot at you," Jefferson interrupted, leaning forward, not sure why he was getting so worked up, but desperate to impart that knowledge. "That's not proper protocol, especially not without giving warning."
"Yeah, well, you know how it is," Parker responded with a shrug, not looking as though he was bothered in the least. That made Jefferson even more anxious. "New bad guy comes up and you start to panic a little, and then the next thing you know everything is a threat. I don't blame them anymore, but…"
Jefferson didn't notice the way Parker trailed off. He didn't notice the way that Parker shifted so he was looking at him fully, his head tilting slightly in concern. Jefferson was too busy thinking about his own Peter Parker.
Did he get shot at? Did Peter come down, fresh-faced and ready to help, only to get a bullet for his trouble? Did a fifteen-year-old, a high-schooler, a kid, come down in front of a group of cops who in their panic started firing at anything that even remotely looked like a threat? God… And how the hell could they think that the kid in his… He closed his eyes as the answer beat in his own soul, a snag that had caught him up for as long as there had been a Spider-Man, listening to Parker give a soft curse as he tried a sip of his coffee and it was still too hot.
"Why do you wear a mask?" Jefferson asked softly, the question slipping out before he could stop it. Parker stilled across from him, and when Jefferson finally opened his eyes, he found the man still stubbornly trying to drink his coffee, wide brown eyes focused on him, surprised alarm in their depths. Jefferson immediately felt as though he had overstepped somewhere and raised his hands up. "You don't have to tell me if…"
"No, no," Parker responded, waving his hand as he put his mug down. "You're the one letting a bunch of strangers into your house, you're giving us a lot of trust here and I…appreciate it. A lot. Really, so like…I don't mind answering questions?" There was a slight question in his voice, but it wasn't so much a refusal to answer as it was…something Jefferson couldn't quite identify. He didn't know the other man well. He didn't know the other man at all. He hoped this would help. "So…why a mask." Parker leaned back in his chair, sighing, his fingers crossing over his stomach as he thought.
"You know I was fifteen when I got bitten, yeah?" Parker finally started, waiting for a confirmation. "Right, right. So. I was fifteen, suddenly gained powers, and had no idea what I was going to do with said powers. Initially I tried a few…things. That. Didn't pan out, but. Eventually something happened that was a bit of a wake-up call. My um…my Uncle Ben died, is that the same in your universe?" Parker asked, and Jefferson found himself nodding. "Right. So, um. He died, and I realized that with my power, with what I could do… If I had just been there, I could have… I could have saved him. And I made the further realization that I couldn't have just saved him. I could…I could save so many more people. These abilities that I had, if I didn't use them to help people then like, what was the point of them?" Jefferson watched him quietly as Parker leaned forward across the table as he spoke, hands gesticulating, and he had a sudden realization that the other man was nervous. "With powers like these…if you don't help, then…isn't it your fault when something that you could have stopped happens?"
Jefferson felt his heart lurch at the thought of that logic. Of a small fifteen-year-old kid staring at his dead uncle and thinking it was his fault. Of seeing a car-crash or a mugging and thinking my fault, my fault. Responsibility, the word came into his mind unbidden and he found his fingers curling into fists by his sides. His Responsibility. God.
"So, I came to the realization that I wanted to help people, but then I hit a few other realizations at the same time," Parker was saying, and Jefferson tuned back in. "If I was going to help people, then I'd probably make enemies. If I made enemies…what if they came after my family? I was just fifteen, you know? I didn't…the last thing I wanted was to bring my family into it, and the idea of other people realizing I was fifteen? And what would I do if they decided that they wanted to…" he waved his hand then, "experiment on me or something, right?" Jefferson's heart lurched. "I mean, I have all these weird funky powers, what if they decided that it was…" he trailed off. "Anyway, yeah. I think that explains my fifteen-year-old self's thought process pretty well." He looked vaguely proud of himself, and Jefferson looked at his coffee.
Responsibility and guilt and protection. A scared fifteen-year-old with pain in his heart and a desire to do better. Jefferson felt a headache blooming in his temples, a realization beating in his heart that maybe…
Jefferson's thoughts were interrupted when he noticed the way Parker suddenly straightened, his focus on the living room, Jefferson's head immediately whipping over to look at what had caught his attention. At the sight of his wife hovering over the odd black-and-white Spider-Man she had helped earlier Jefferson immediately stood up, worried. Seeing the way Parker snapped forward faster than he gave the other man credit for, Jefferson immediately followed him.
"Back, back," Parker whispered with enough force in the words that Rio listened, her eyes wide, but there was heat in the back of her eyes, too, and Jefferson knew that there was a rant to possibly come. "You shouldn't be standing over him…"
"Come to the kitchen," Jefferson added, waving her to him, to them, and after a moment of hesitation, looking back at the form on the couch, she walked forward.
"Why are you even up?" Jefferson asked when she finally entered the kitchen with them, "I thought you were sleeping, you had…" Rio ignored him.
Rio walked over and immediately pointed her finger directly under Parker's chin, her eyes aflame. "No jodas, Parker. He's my patient, and I'm going to look him over, no matter what you say," she whisper-shouted in a way that Jefferson had only ever heard from her, and the word she used then surprised Jefferson and made Parker boggle at her. "I had to go to sleep because I was running for a little over twenty-four hours, but I couldn't just leave him. I shouldn't have been asleep, I…I shouldn't have trusted Peni's read-out so completely. I should have checked his head."
"Hey, hey, I don't mind you looking him over, or the fact that you're worried about him, I just…" Parker took a breath. "Look, the last time someone was hovering over him like that he freaked out and punched them through a wall," Jefferson watched as Rio's eyes widened, and recognized that his own were as well. "It was Ham, so he was fine…but I don't think you'd be as fine. He's got some…seriously messed-up PTSD. His universe is actually based in the 1930s, New York, you know? The Great Depression? I know that sounds weird, but…you're talking to a dead guy right now, technically, so I'm sure that can't be that weird. I'm pretty sure he mentioned living in Hooverville at some point. He's a good guy, but he's really jumpy and I don't want you getting hurt."
That mollified Rio. It mollified him, now that Jefferson thought about it, and he looked back to the figure lying on the couch that he couldn't see.
Hooverville. Great Depression, 1930.
Shit. What was his life.
"That might explain some things," Rio mumbled softly, her head lowered slightly, frowning.
"What do you mean?" Parker asked.
"He's radically underweight, Parker," Rio responded, a frown tugging at her mouth. "If he's not careful his body is going to start eating muscle-tissue in order to feed itself. He's just under 5'11", and if Peni's readings were accurate he doesn't have an ounce of fat on him. He's got those shoulders now, but if he's not careful…." She rubbed at her forehead, her eyes closed. "Not to mention the old breaks, and the burns and the… I don't know how he's still in one piece? Did either of you look?"
Jefferson wouldn't admit to himself that he hadn't. Hadn't wanted to look at another Peter Parker lying on the ground bleeding out from three scratches that started at his hip and ended at his… Blood and more blood and no. Not now. Jefferson took a deep breath, putting the thoughts aside, and finally walked over to that couch. Parker was following him he noticed, either facing his own demons like Jefferson was, or idle curiosity. There were so many demons. So many dead Peter Parkers.
Jefferson fought the desire to hiss through his teeth at the sight of the one on the couch, because if he thought Parker had fine bones, the other was worse. The shoulders were thin, if not broad, the collarbones a delicate thing that reminded him of a sick and injured bird. God. He looked like Kingpin could crush him with a finger. Coupled with the complete white of his skin and he looked like death. The only good thing was the lack of red covering him.
His wife was right, Jefferson finally focused on. Scar after scar laid out in a patchwork of pain and raised edges and he had to wonder idly what caused this man to jump out night after night, wearing a mask, and trying to save his city. He wondered if it was the same thing that drove the other.
He wondered if it was the same thing that drove his.
He wondered if it was the same thing that drove him.
Parker gave a thoughtful hum, looking at his counterpart, and wasn't that an odd thought… "Don't miss those days," he huffed under his breath in a way that suggested that being half-starved was practically normal.
Was that just how it was with Parkers? Rio's hand on his shoulder was a sudden but comforting warmth. She always knew when something was upsetting him. He didn't know what he'd do without her. Jefferson processed the comment Parker had made a little more fully and tried not to look at the other man's waist, but he knew he failed when the other crossed his arms over his chest defensively. Jefferson looked away. A soft sound suddenly split the quiet of the living room, and Jefferson stepped in front of Rio, recognizing that the sound was coming from the laid-out Spider on his couch.
It was a soft mumble, inaudible but still there. It made Jefferson's skin prickle for whatever reason. Parker moved in front of him. Jefferson had an urge to shove the smaller man out of the way, protect him somehow, but he had seen those hands catch speeding trucks, and he knew that of the two of them he was far stronger. Parker also knew the one that was waking up, which might make things easier in the long run. Jefferson resigned himself to watching and waiting for the other man to wake up.
"Hey, Pete, hey? Can you hear me?" Parker asked, keeping himself out of hitting range. "Pe~ete," he sing-songed, and at the sound of his voice the other Spiders started stirring. Jefferson watched out of the corner of his eye as Porker awoke with a yawn, flashing pink tongue and white teeth with it, while Gwen pushed herself up with a rough sounding groan. Peni popped up like she was on springs, but at Parker's look she stood down. Apparently, the whole potential to hit things was well-known to the other Spiders. "Hey, you gotta wake up, bud. We gotta check your head."
'Pete' stirred on the couch, and Parker leaned just a little farther into punching range, worrying his lower lip.
"Pete?" he asked and bent back impossibly far as a bone-white fist flashed out and just narrowly missed making Parker bite his tongue. Parker retaliated by launching himself over the back of the couch, calling out "Pete, wake up!" as he did so. Pete thrashed suddenly, jerking his body back, and even through the mask Jefferson could tell that the other man wasn't aware of what was happening. He gave another half-flail, almost falling off the couch and Rio gave a loud, worried,
"Sus puntos, va a abrir sus puntos!"
Parker huffed out something under his breath and moved to straddle the other man's legs, ducking under a few swings and finally managing to grab the flailing hands and press back against him, trying to keep him both on the couch and from hitting anyone in his confusion.
"Pete, wake the hell up!" he called out, trying to keep the other from bucking him off. Miles burst out of his room at the sound of the commotion, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion, pajama shirt sliding off of one shoulder and his body in a ready position.
"Pete, it's okay! You're okay!" Peni yelled out, and the other Spiders immediately began hushing him, calling his name. Still he thrashed, fighting back, and Jefferson winced at the sight of black blooming against the white of those stitches.
"Ah, ahi van. Perfecto," Rio mumbled, and Jefferson flinched.
The calls became a little more frantic, but none of them could get close to the two Spiders, particularly Jefferson and his family because none of them would be able to match the strength on display. They'd be seriously injured, and Pete would probably hate himself. Pete suddenly managed to twist his body in a way that would definitely pull some stitches, and Parker was suddenly underneath him, the two of them having fallen off of the couch with a thump and a brief cry of pain.
The neighbors were gonna hate them in the morning.
"Peter Benjamin Parker, you calm down ahora mismo!" Rio finally belted in her best mother-voice, and immediately, all commotion stopped. Jefferson almost cackled at the sight of both Peter Benjamin Parkers staring at her with wide and slightly goggled eyes, both of them looking extremely guilty, their bodies stiff and straight. Miles also stiffened slightly, but the realization of what name had been calmed out let him loosen almost immediately. Rio gentled almost immediately, ducking down next to him, still mostly out of reach, and Jefferson dropped down next to her in a crouch, ready to move should the other try anything. Jefferson might not really be much of a fight, but he wasn't going to let her do this without backup. "Peter, breathe, you're okay. Look around, what do you see? Come on, what do you see?"
The bleeding Peter looked around, movements jerky in a vaguely spider-like way that made Jefferson a bit uneasy. The others moved a bit like that, too, but there was something about the jerkiness to it… He didn't answer the question verbally, but Jefferson could see the way he made connections and came to some realizations when he finally scrambled off of Parker. Parker sat up immediately, crouching in front of him, trying to make eye-contact, even through the goggles the other was wearing. The others moved into similar positions, all giving him space, but all of them there.
Rio's voice was a constant touch-stone, telling him he was surrounded by friends, that it was okay, that no one blamed him, that he was safe. Jefferson was always impressed by his wife, but this was something else. Pete's hands came up to his chest and his breath began coming down from the frantic panting it had been before, head still jerking around to stare at everyone.
"Fellas," he finally said with an amazed kind of awe, the word breathed out as though it was a prayer. "You…" he paused, swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing, "I'm sorry."
"Nope!" Parker chirped, grinning. "No need, I'm just glad that you're okay."
"And you're going to let me redo your stitches," Rio commanded. "You popped them, you're bleeding. Any chance you'd remove your mask so I can look at your head and make sure Peni's information was correct?"
Pete stared at her for a moment, oddly black blood still blooming across his chest, before his hands curled up before his chest and he shook his head.
Jefferson could tell this was going to be a long night.