Silver Webs in a Starlit City
Summary
He was twelve when his family's perfect picture cracked down the middle. His father and older brother were lost to the sea in a storm that could have been—should have been avoided. His twin sister couldn't handle the distance and escaped from their home as often as she could. His mother lost herself in her grief—becoming a ghost that wandered the mansion hallways, pale and wane.
He had no one to tell him that everything was going to be alright.
He lost a part of himself to the tumultuous sea—the part that believed, the part that hoped, the part so inflated with light that the silver lining was ever-present. And now, at seventeen—almost eighteen—his brother returns home a changed man from an island of horrors. And, he cannot say that he remains unchanged either, especially when he is bitten by a radioactive spider.
Now, Peter Queen has to find a way to tame his newfound abilities while trying to reconnect with the shell of his brother and their broken family. Though, there are secrets at the very root of his family that threaten to destroy what remains until it is unrecognizable.
Prologue
Toying with the led pencil between his fingers, he leaned backwards in his chair—the standard school chair balancing itself on the back legs—as he contemplated the literature assignment on his desk. The problem was an easy one, requiring only a few short sentences, but Peter could feel his mind wandering—the white paper with black print blurring in front of him momentarily as his thoughts cycled lazily through his plans for the day. It had been a rather long Tuesday morning and one that was cushioned unhelpfully by a blisteringly hot and humid summer heat wave.
With his mind occupied with wandering thoughts, he glanced around the Literature Hall they were in—the private academy he attended had rather large, grandiose classrooms that emphasized their supporters, checks written quickly and thoughtlessly by the parents as though they were paying for a piece of candy at check-out instead of dumping thousands into a private institution. Peter could see the late-spring sunlight filtering unchecked through the tall, single-paned windows that were framed by medium wood bookshelves filled with textbooks from all course levels.
Wooden desks of the same color seated two at a desk and were set in front of the silver-framed smart-board that the literature teacher had frozen the last screen of a standardized slideshow she had spent the first hour lecturing them on. It had their homework written in red font, larger than the rest, and their assignments to turn in by the end of class. There were also the due dates for the next assignments and the final exam—including the study hours available after school.
Peter ran his fingers through his hair, facing forming a grimace as he felt the sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead. When he first entered the hall early that morning—it had been a bit cooler, the air-conditioner at least doing something, but the teacher had opted to open the windows that could open and turn off the AC. He rather wished that she hadn't, but there were some that seemed appreciative of the late-spring, early-summer air wafting in along with the strips of golden sunlight.
He leaned forward, letting the front legs of his chair land on the floor with a small, unnoticeable thud. "One of these days you are going to fall over and I'm going to laugh—extensively." His best friend remarked, one hand propped on the desktop with his chin resting on his hand as he cast a sideways glance at Peter.
"I'm offended." Peter rolled his eyes in response as he clicked his pencil and scribbled a quick answer on the paper—mind half on the topic of correcting the paragraph and rewriting it appropriately. He would have preferred to type it on his laptop, but the old-class woman had barely been fond of using the smart-board, much less going through submissions on her laptop. "Probably too offended to go with you to see the new Star Wars movie." He continued, erasing a quick mistake, and rewriting the word.
Ned scoffed. "I feel like that would be you depriving yourself of an awesome movie." He pointed out, his things already gathered in his bookbag and the bag resting on his desk. The old item was incredibly used with holes covered by gray duct tape that seemed a strange touch on the black and gray bag of darker colors than the tape.
Peter folded his arms across his chest once he finished with the literature assignment—waiting a moment before he would get up to deposit on the pile on the teacher's desk. The woman herself was seated behind the desk, already sorting through papers, and grading them with a red pen. "Or depriving you of a bunch of movie-theater style popcorn and VIP seats." Peter countered.
His best friend looked like he was considering it. "Oh, right, I forgot the only reason that I put up with you." Ned mused to himself, and Peter flicked him on the forehead in retaliation. "See, friendship abuse." Ned continued, dramatically rubbing his forehead.
Glancing around the room pointedly, Peter resumed looking at his friend. "I don't think anyone cares, Ned. Sorry." He offered, beginning to pack up his things when he noticed the time on his watch. It was a silver, old thing that seemed to be the only expensive thing Peter wore on a daily basis—having been something he had located when the time had come to go through his father's things. A small part of him remembered that his father had sometimes loaned the same watch to give to his older brother for formal events.
Though, he remembered little of what his father looked like nor the tone of his voice. "Bystanders." Ned muttered contritely. "And, that apology had to be the most insincere one I've heard." He continued, his voice dragging Peter from his recollection, and he glanced away from the silver Rolex.
"Right." Peter drawled sarcastically. "Anyways, are you coming to the clinic after school with me? Or do you have plans?" He queried, pushing the paper, in-class-activity assignment to the corner of his desk as he shoved his things into his messenger bag, ignoring the way some of the papers crinkled up in protest. Peter zipped his bag closed and tugged his phone out from a front pocket, checking his notifications bar—most alerts for his email and the box slowly filling with the pile of college emails that hadn't quite stopped, even after Peter had selected.
Ned rolled his eyes as he grabbed Peter's paper and brought it to the front desk, before returning and Peter shrugged. He would have done it, eventually—if he remembered. "Yeah. Are we going to make a pit-stop at Big Belly Burger?" Ned questioned. Peter slung his bag over one shoulder, unlocking his phone to check that he had actually sent a message to his driver to tell the man that he wouldn't be needing a ride home.
Peter normally did so and faced little consequence for it—because his mother was too busy with managing the company and planning company events to note if her son was actually using the car to travel from place to place. He doubted that she even knew that he didn't take the car when he went to volunteer at Rebecca's Clinic—a free clinic in the Glades that offered pro-bono treatment. Initially, Peter had been slightly anxious to volunteer there, knowing that his name and face were well-known throughout the city, but he had found himself settling into a rhythm there and found that it was fun once the initial-reporters had lost interest.
That was one part Peter loathed—the virtual strangers who held his life under the spotlight and glanced around for flaws. The first time he had seen an article on himself alone, had been when he was twelve and he had wanted to scream at the reports that it was none of their business. He hadn't, though, and instead resorted to burning the copy of the newspaper he had gotten as a channel for his irritation.
"Of course." Peter answered, peering over Ned's shoulder nosily as his best friend pulled up an article on his phone. It was one about an engineering scholarship that they both had been interested in, though Peter hadn't applied because he didn't need the money and he didn't want to take something like that from his friend. Ned had been refreshing on the page continuously, having it pulled up on his browser for at least a month as he waited for them to announce the winner.
He had also been going through his emails like crazy at least three times a day. Peter really hoped that Ned got the scholarship—his best friend more-than-deserved it and knew more about the topic than anyone Peter knew, he even privately wished that Ned had applied for an internship at his family's company over the summer but knew that Ned was too stubborn. "Great. I'm starving." Ned remarked happily.
Peter arched an eyebrow. "Didn't you eat at lunch?" He questioned. Every other week they shared a lunch period, but this week had not fallen under that and so Peter had spent his lunch hour in the library finishing up a lab report and doing a bit of research on recent physics articles.
"No." Ned crossed his arms, glancing away from Peter briefly. "Eugene decided to steal my lunch, again." His lip curled around the name and Peter resisted the urge to send a death glare at the self-titled Flash that was on the other side of the classroom chatting it up with a ditzy cheerleader. Granted, Peter knew that it might be mean to assume, but the girl was twirling a strand of hair around finger as she giggled loudly at whatever Eugene was saying, their closeness making Peter gag when he spotted them earlier.
He would have preferred to never see that, as he would be requiring bleach for his brain immediately afterward to get that disturbing image out of his head. "He's such a dick." Peter murmured with some level of irritation. Ned and he had always been targeted by Eugene from the first time he had met him three years ago when Peter transferred from his old private school. "I'm sorry, Ned. I wish I had been there." He wished that he could have skipped out on World History but knew his grade in that class was in desperate need of him actively showing up to class.
Ned shrugged. "Why? So, he could overfeed himself with your food too?" He countered, "Besides, we're going to Big Belly Burger, that is leagues better than anything school has ever served up and not costing more than a penthouse suite." Ned remarked.
Peter chuckled, "I'm not sure most of the student body would share that opinion."
"Their loss." Ned retorted without missing a beat. Peter nodded his agreement as the bell loudly announced the end-of-the-day. He breathed a sigh of relief—knowing that there would be just one more day to get through and then Saturday and he could finally go see the new Star Wars movie he had been dying to see but hadn't because Peter preferred having his weekends free to go out instead of procrastinating too much on his schoolwork. That didn't mean he wasn't a procrastinator, just not an extreme one.
They waited until most of the class had elbowed their way into the hallway before following suit, Peter looping against student-body traffic to get to his locker with Ned tailing behind him. He found his locker in an emptying corridor and began spinning the combination number, before pulling the blue door open. "You've got to be kidding me." Peter muttered as he stared dumbfounded at the mess of his locker.
Granted, his locker had always been a mess—Peter was resolutely not the most organized person in the world and would not be claiming awards any time soon for that—but this mess involved hair gel. Someone with a superiority complex had dumped hair gel all over his things through the grills in the locker door. "Well—that's disgusting." Ned remarked, picking up a notebook between two fingers.
"Agreed." Peter nodded with a resigned sigh. The silver lining was that he hadn't been using his locker much recently and had only looped around so he could get his literature textbook since homework had been assigned using it tonight. "Three guesses as to who did it." He left the locker door open to head down the hallway and push open the door to the men's bathroom, grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser. Thank God that the janitor had replaced the roll that morning, otherwise Peter would have had to walk around the school in search of a janitor or take his chances in the girl's bathroom.
Ned was removing things and putting them on the floor—the pack of sticky-notes Peter had gotten completely unusable and left in a forming pile of things that would need to be re-bought. "I don't even need two guesses to know." Ned responded once Peter returned with his hands full of paper towel. He leaned back on his heels as Peter began to wipe down his things, "I'm going to send a quick text to MJ and tell her we'll be late." Ned pulled out his phone from his pocket.
Peter nodded, pursing his lips. "Tell her we'll make it up to her with some Big Belly Burger." He told Ned off-handedly and his best friend nodded. He glanced up, hoping that maybe a teacher would come by and offer them some help, but knowing that since it was Thursday—most teachers would be in the library if they stayed behind to help with some tutoring and that the library was on the other side of the campus, the side they had just traveled from.
"Can't say this is how I expected we'd spend the afternoon." Ned remarked, googling up the quickest way to clean hair gel from paper-material.
Michelle Jones was busy putting a band-aid on a little boy when Ned and Peter finally arrived with Big Belly Bags in tow and Peter with a new set of items to replace what had been unsalvageable—they had had to stop at guidance to replace some of his textbooks while the rest of it remained open-ended as Peter would be transferring his notes over. It left him with a busy Sunday—much to his irritation, but Ned had offered to help him out by loaning him copies of his own notes and coming over.
Both made their way over to some lockers set aside for volunteers and staff and put their things in a locker they shared with MJ, before washing their hands and switching into their scrubs. Peter headed over to the woman in charge, "Hey May, sorry we're late—we ran into a bit of a problem on the way." Peter apologized sheepishly to the woman. May, affectionally nick-named Aunt May when Peter knew he wasn't in trouble, was the woman who ran the volunteer program.
She raised her eyebrows at them, arms crossed and her long brown hair swept up into a messy bun. The clinical mask she normally wore over her mouth and nose was lowered as she took a temporary break in the lull of excitement in the clinic. "Do I want to know?" She queried rhetorically, trading a glance with the woman behind the counter.
"Not really." Peter answered quickly.
Ned answered at the same time, "Some kid in our school dumped hair gel all over Peter's things." He informed bluntly while Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced up at May and saw her eyes narrowed and a frown on her lips. She looked as though she wanted to take some of the medicinal scalpels and remind people why they should not touch her adoptive nephew. "It was a mess, though, he's getting a new locker." Ned wrinkled his nose, pulling a pair of latex gloves over his hands.
"Yeah, I'm taking bets on how long it'll be before Flash does something stupid to that locker too." Peter remarked, grabbing some gloves for himself and a paper mask from the box on the reception desk, leaning over the higher-raised area. He grabbed one for Ned too and slid a quick, surveying glance to the clinic entrance.
May was frowning when Peter looked back towards her. "I can't see why you don't just kick his ass, Peter." May remarked, she lifted one hand from her arm-cross to gesture around them. "I mean, I normally don't condone or suggest violence, but this kid has not been able to leave you alone in all of the time I've known you. I'd say it's past time he got some comeuppance for it." She continued, idly checking the supplies they had up front, making sure they had enough bandages and medicine.
Peter shrugged, "He's the son of one of the board members that work in my family's company." Peter replied. The board member had always seemed nice to Peter, which was why he couldn't understand why he was always on the receiving end of Eugene's spite. That seemed like some touchy family issues that Peter would not be getting involved with.
"I don't care who he is. Doesn't mean he shouldn't have his ass kicked." May shook her head, accepting a clipboard from one of the other volunteers as she checked out what one of the patients came in for and the treatment they had received. Peter was about to respond, something bleak and nonchalant but was stopped by MJ approaching. She walked over to them after handing her own clipboard over and slung an arm over both Ned's and Peter's shoulders and he could smell the lavender scent that always seemed to cling to her.
Peter offered her a grin. "Hey MJ. Sorry for ditching you for so long." He grabbed a medium-sized cup off the counter and offered it to her.
She grinned, accepting the cup, and lowering her mask to take a sip. "You're forgiven since you both got me my favorite." She continued to grin that small smile as she put the strawberry milkshake on the counter. "So, what kept you two so long?" Arching an eyebrow, she glanced back and forth from Ned to Peter.
He waved a dismissive hand. "Same old, same old, the Flash decided to pull another prank today." Peter shrugged when her expression became slightly concerned, brown eyes warming slightly with the expression. Peter and MJ had been friends for almost as long as he had been friends with Ned—having started volunteering at the clinic at the same time. He hadn't been sure what to make of the curly-haired girl, but she had made him genuinely laugh with her snarky comments and sarcastic grins.
"I still say you should kick his ass." MJ remarked dryly. Peter rolled his eyes but chose not to comment as a woman entered the clinic supporting a little girl who had tears in her wide, green eyes. Peter headed over to offer some help, gently taking the little girl's other hand and helping her to a bed. He was aware of Aunt May following him to get the story from the mom while Peter wiped away the tears of the little girl and began to look at her ankle. "You know, you could give me his name." MJ spoke softly as she helped someone on the cot next to where Peter was.
Peter tossed her a glance. "MJ, he's a six-foot-something football quarterback." He pointed out dryly. He returned his attention to the little girl. "Hey, sweetheart, mind telling me what adventure you were on that did this?" Peter queried as he gently turned the little girl's ankle between his fingers, taking in the slight swelling and discoloration.
The girl sniffled. "I was on the swing." She told him, voice wobbling. He got the picture, then, on the swing she must have felt like she was flying and jumped off to land funny on her ankle when playing in the park. "It hurts." She whined.
"I can imagine." Peter soothed, "But, it'll be all better soon." He continued, wheeling over to grab an ice-pack from the fridge. "Just some ice and elevation and you'll be ready to get right back on the swing and play with your friends." Peter assured, gently putting it on her ankle and checking over her hands. They were slightly scraped, and he knew they would need to be washed and then he could get some of the children's band-aids to put on them.
Cases like this were more his preference—he didn't like any child being injured, but he felt good when he interacted with them and helped cheer them up. He also preferred it to the bruised teenagers his age who wouldn't give more to the fingerprint shape Peter could find in the purple-blue-yellow markings. He also preferred them in place of the drunken men who wandered in or the results of mugging and other unspeakable acts. Volunteering at the clinic did give him a sense of purpose, but he had had his eyes opened to how cruel some aspects of life could be.
Peter kept a sympathetic look on his face. "I'm so sorry, how silly of me, what's your name, sweetheart?" He queried, making an exaggerated face at himself and the little girl let out a small wisp of a giggle.
"It's Emily." She answered. Her large eyes watered as Peter took a soft cloth that he covered with solution to gently clean her hands and pull a few pebbles off. "Do you have Rapunzel band-aids?" Emily asked, looking eager and Peter grinned, finished with his cleaning, and rolled over to a drawer to pull out a half-empty box of the band-aids from the Tangled movie.
"Of course, what kind of clinic would we be if we didn't have the greatest band-aids of all time." Peter continued, he searched through the box. "Who's your favorite character? We've got Pascal, Rapunzel, Flynn, and Max." He listed off, pulling out the separate band-aids in the correct size. The box was an assortment of mis-matched sizes, and it took a moment to locate the right size while also glancing at the red scabs.
Emily looked at them thoughtfully. "Pascal." She giggled as Peter nodded and began to open the band-aid carefully and took her right hand gently. "He's the best." She declared, seeming completely unbothered as Peter continued to check her over for any other injures he missed.
Peter hummed thoughtfully. "I don't know." He dragged out the o sound, "I think that Maximus might be the best." He countered and she pouted, folding her tiny arms across her chest in a stubborn manner. Her mother wandered back over, seeing that Peter was done and kissed the top of her daughter's forehead. "She'll need to keep some ice on her ankle to help with the swelling and keep it elevated." Peter informed the mom, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm sure Aunt May can give you some more instruction if you want." He stood up.
"She's adorable." MJ commented as she made her way over to Peter once the mother had thanked him profusely and Peter had waved it off, shooting Emily a grin and telling her to be careful next time.
Peter gave her a side-ways glance. "Yeah." He answered, "So, do you want to meet up with Ned and I to watch the new Star Wars—it's gonna be fun, VIP seats and movie-theater-style popcorn." He offered, changing the subject. There were some volunteers that gave him looks when he finished up with the kids, which Peter did not heavily appreciate, especially the few that came over to flirt—something Peter did not know how to react to.
MJ tapped her chin thoughtfully. "And spend the entire time watching you and Ned geek out over Luke Skywalker—I think I'll pass." She took another sip of her milkshake before putting it behind the counter and out-of-sight.
"You're turning down VIP seats, you know." Peter reminded her.
She shrugged, giving pause. "How good are the VIP seats?" She asked, "Like, on a scale from one to ten?" MJ continued.
Peter tapped his chin thoughtfully, "I'd say they're about an eleven." He answered seriously and she cracked a small grin. He held his hands up in surrender, "I'm not exaggerating, you might fall asleep before Ned, and I start to 'geek out.'" He lifted both hands, two fingers lowering to quote the words from her.
MJ tilted her head to the side, "Then, what's the point of me going?" She leaned with her back against the counter as Peter rested his forearms on it and kept his head turned to meet her gaze.
"Free food?" Peter offered and she laughed.
"Alright, fine, you win, Queen." MJ shook her head, noticeably fighting a smile as she did so. "So, what time are you two going on Saturday?" She asked. Peter did not have an answer for her and turned to look around for Ned, spotting him restocking one of the areas with fresh band-aids and such as they waited for the lull to pass. Before the evening was out, they would definitely have some sort of adventure—though Peter would have preferred the lulls, because it did suck to see people hurting like they were.
"Ned, hey." Peter called to him, raising his voice as Ned glanced over to him. "What time are we going to the movies Saturday?" He asked.
Ned raised both eyebrows and Peter knew that his best friend would later tease him about MJ and inviting her along, but he had gotten used to the teasing. MJ and he were really good friends and Peter liked being around her—she just made him feel at ease in his own skin without even realizing it. "I was thinking sometime after five. You know, we're never fully awake before noon on a weekend." Ned pointed out and Peter conceded his point.
He glanced back to MJ; eyebrows raised. "Sometime after five work for you?" Peter queried and she nodded with a grin. Whatever response she had been about to make was cut off by the loud entrance of a man with messily-styled dark hair and a trademark, exuberant grin on his face. "Oh god, Tommy, it's not even ten minutes after five." Peter muttered as he watched Tommy Merlyn enter and immediately make a bee-line towards him and MJ by the front-desk.
"Hey Petey." Tommy greeted, pulling Peter into a headlock, and ruffling his hair. Peter scowled at him, but it was unserious as he flicked him on the head. Peter infrequently saw Tommy around the clinic, but they were not always interacting with one another as Peter could find it somewhat painful to be around his older brother's best friend and he knew that the sentiment could be mirrored by Tommy—though the man did not seem too incredibly bothered by it today.
"Hey Tommy." Peter returned the greeting. "So, what did you get yourself in to?" He eyed Tommy for a moment, scanning him for some injury—upon finding none, he returned to peering closely at Tommy's face.
Tommy held his hands up in surrender. "Why do you always assume I got myself into something?" He asked rhetorically. "Could it be that I just wanted to pop by and check on little Petey?" Tommy, wanting to embody a jerk momentarily, resting an elbow on Peter's head, standing on tip-toes di as he answered.
Peter rolled his eyes skyward. "You have a way of making messes, Tommy." He answered, not even dignifying the latter question with a response as he pinched Tommy until the man dropped his arm, rubbing it dramatically. "So, if you're not here because you beat yourself up somehow—then why are you here?" He crossed his arms and cut Tommy off of his initial answer. "And you better not say that you are here to call me little Petey." Peter warned.
"I don't know, Petey. I think that would be a fantastic reason to drop by." MJ chipped in and Peter closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Please, don't let Tommy feed MJ ways to torment him, please—he'll do his homework the moment he gets it next week if that doesn't happen.
Tommy's eyes lit up as he laid eyes on MJ. He had noticed Michelle when he came in, but it seemed he had forgotten she was there in favor of teasing Peter. "Oh, Petey, is this your girlfriend?" Tommy teased, grin threatening to split his face open.
Peter did not have to be looking into a mirror to know that his face was pinkening. A burning in his neck reminded him of that plenty, "Uh—no—we're just friends." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing quickly at MJ. She seemed overly amused by his plight and offered him no help, arching an eyebrow at his look.
Tommy winked at MJ. "Right? Friends." He dragged the latter word out emphatically.
He exhaled, "Should I ask about Laurel, then Tom-tom?" Peter countered, grinning when it was Tommy's turn to look momentarily wrong-footed. Though, the look did not linger visibly on Tommy, as he crossed his arms and shot Peter a look informing him that he shouldn't ask. "So, are you here to volunteer?" Peter queried curiously, gesturing around them.
The other man shook his head, "Maybe some other time." Something lingered in his gaze when he glanced around the clinic and Peter was reminded of the fact once more that this clinic belonged to Tommy's father and had been something his mother had started out of kindness. It was something Peter could relate to, wanting to distance oneself from the physical remnants and reminders of what was lost—why he had been unable to even go near his older brother's room and had spent the first few months following sleeping in a different wing of the mansion.
"Then, you are here solely for pestering?" Peter's voice made it sound like a question, but it was truly just seeking confirmation of something he had always figured out. "I would think you'd be wanting to spend your Thursday evening elsewhere." He mused, wondering why exactly Tommy was hiding out here instead of spending his time doing what he normally did. Granted, Peter did not keep himself too well-informed on Tommy Merlyn's whereabouts, but he did not think a clinic was the man's scene on a Thursday night.
Tommy shook his head. "Nah. You're my favorite person to pester, Petey." He slung an arm over Peter's shoulder. "Right next to May. Hi Aunt May!" He called loudly, waving at the woman across the room. Aunt May took one look at him and then pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, muttering under her breath. "She loves me." Tommy declared.
Peter snorted. "Right and all of those curse words she just muttered come from a place of love." He countered. He glanced back towards the entrance and detangled himself when he saw a man slightly older than him limp in. Peter immediately helped him to a bed as May hurriedly walked over. They traded a glance over the injured man's head and Peter slid his gaze once over to Tommy—there wasn't a hint of humor in Tommy's gaze as they locked eyes and Peter pursed his lips before refocusing on their patient.
Sighing as he leaned back into the car seat and shut his eyes, Peter waited a moment as the car engine shut off in the driveway of the mansion. Tommy had left soon after the man had arrived, citing that he was just dropping by momentarily before going to a party, and a police report had been filed though Peter doubted it would result in much of anything. Too much of the same thing happened each night without fail, but Peter could not tear himself away from the scene.
He liked helping people—liked patching them up and trying to make them smile in the face of the darkness in their lives. That didn't mean that it wasn't sometimes hard to watch people stumble in like that. Peter had treated at least several more cases before Ned, MJ, and he had left—Peter once more insisting that the two take a ride with him, but both refusing. "You alright, back there, Pete?" His driver asked, turning himself to look at Peter after unbuckling himself.
Peter glanced at him, "Yeah. I'm fine Uncle Ben." He answered, rubbing his shoulder. "It was just a long night." He grabbed his bag from the other side of three-seater backseat and opened his door to leave. With some level of exhaustion settling deep in his bones, he glanced at the front doors of the mansion. The walkway was warmly lit with the two, lantern-esque lights sandwiching the front doors illuminated and lights on the roof overhang that Peter stepped under.
"Of course." Uncle Ben slid into step beside Peter, taking the bag without even asking from Peter's hands. He wrinkled his eyebrows as he opened them and noticed the paper towels. He arched an eyebrow when he glanced back to Peter. "Mind explaining this one to me, Pete?" His driver queried.
The youth shrugged. "It's a new fad, didn't you know?" Peter answered with a sarcastic grin. Uncle Ben did not look impressed by his response and pinned him with a look that made Peter wilt after a few seconds. "Fine, just a practical joke from Eugene Thompson—nothing to worry about." He answered, pursing his lips as Uncle Ben sighed and opened the door to the right.
He knew that his driver knew that Eugene Thompson was resolutely not a friend of Peter's and that his practical jokes were mean-spirited pranks, but Peter hadn't wanted to tell his mother or step-father about it because he knew they would try to fix it and it would just make it worse. "Peter, there you are." Mother greeted, striding in from the small dining area that they used for private occasions. "You missed dinner." She frowned after releasing him from a quick hug.
Peter offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I was busy at the clinic." He answered and she frowned. He knew that the coming argument of her not liking that he spent his time there after school and on the weekends was about to start and did not look forward to listening to it. "Anyways, did you leave anything leftover?" Peter questioned before she could open her mouth and voice the thoughts shining through her eyes.
She nodded. "Of course. Raisa made plenty of fettucine alfredo." Mother re-entered the small dining area—which really wasn't incredibly small, seating at least ten people comfortably. "Raisa, could you make Peter up a plate?" She asked and the woman nodded quickly before heading to the kitchens. "I really wish that you wouldn't go there, Peter." Mother spoke quietly, "Though I know I can't talk you out of it." She continued before Peter could open his mouth to say that he liked it there.
He grinned, about to thank her, before Thea entered the room from the living area. She was dressed in some shorts and a stylish sweater—having long-changed out of her school uniform. "Hey Thea." Peter greeted, stepping forward to take the plate from Raisa and thanking her before heading into the living area. He knew from his mother's frown that she did not like him eating dinner in the living room past 11 at night, but she didn't comment on it. In truth, he was surprised to see her home so early, but then remembered that she was because there had been a free-up of time in the office with Walter overseas at a conference.
"Hey Pete—where have you been?" Thea draped herself across the armchair, resting her head on one arm and slinging her legs over the other. She was browsing disinterestedly through her phone—doubtlessly doing some online shopping.
Peter glanced towards his twin sister; lips pursed. He knew that she didn't ever try to remember where he was but was more asking since they were in the same room. They had been close growing up—but that had changed and know the figure that used to be as familiar to him as his own face in the mirror had changed from the sister he remembered. "I was at the clinic." Peter answered with a shrug as he leaned over to get the remote—careful to not spill dinner on the cashmere sofa—and turned the flatscreen on.
Thea lowered her phone to look over at him. "You're always at the clinic." She declared.
"I don't see how that's a bad thing." Peter arched an eyebrow at her.
She sat up, "It is when you don't live a little." Thea countered, tilting her head to one side. Peter thought of commenting that there was such thing as living too vicariously but bit his tongue—knowing they would never see eye-to-eye on that and there was little use arguing about it. "So, what are you doing this weekend?" She asked.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Going to see a movie on Saturday and then Sunday I've got to deal with the remains of a friend's practical joke." Peter maintained the story of him and Eugene being friends—an idea that was truly laughable if anyone he told it to ever truly saw how Eugene treated him. Uncle Ben had believed him initially, until he spotted Eugene and two of his lacky-friends pushing Peter around. To say he had been livid was an understatement.
Thea arched an interested brow. "Same friend who is always pulling practical jokes? He must be fun—you should let me meet him." She continued, disregarding her phone entirely. Peter inwardly cringed at the thought of his sister and the jock who tormented him. For one thing, he had a feeling if Thea knew the extent of it, she would be very upset and try to do something to Eugene or get their mother involved and he didn't really find himself warming up to the idea of them making it worse.
Besides, he could handle it. "You're not dating one of my friends." Peter spoke flatly. He changed the channel a few times, skipping through the news channels before he spotted a headline that flashed just before Peter changed the channel. His heart leapt to his throat and a hot-and-cold feeling tingled along his face, his hands turning slack on the remote as he stared unseeingly at the television screen that showed a comedy central ad for South Park. His mind felt frozen, and he could hear his heartbeat rushing inside of his ears.
"—te? Pete? Peter!" Thea's voice was suddenly right next to him, and he ripped his wide-eyes from the screen to look at her. She looked confused and concerned and he got the feeling that she had been looking at him when he had seen that damnable headline flash across the screen and had moved from the armchair to the cushion to his right. "Hey. What's wrong? You just froze." She was speaking and Peter found himself becoming speechless—mouth moving gormlessly.
His grip tightened on the remote and he whipped his head to the television, changing the channel immediately back—it went back a few times before he found it. "Oh my god." The words slipped from his lips as the headline metaphorically slapped him upside the head.
Thea gasped. "Oh my god." She breathed a second after he did. "Oh my god! Mom! Mom!" She screamed, voice raw and he was aware of their mom's thundering footsteps as she entered and he could hear her drop to the floor, her own shock a reflection of theirs. Peter could not tear his eyes away from the screen, the woman speaking on it with blonde, perfectly styled hair fresh from the salon speaking exuberantly to the camera.
"—this just in, an inside source from a hospital in Northern China that billionaire-son of the multi-billion-dollar company based in Starling City, Queen Consolidated, has been discovered alive on an island off the North-China Sea. I repeat, Oliver Queen has been discovered alive—" The anchor continued on, an image appearing in the corner to show a man with a rather straggly beard but was unquestionably Oliver Queen in the eyes and other features. An Oliver with longer hair and a beard, but Oliver Queen.
Peter could not breathe, his entire body buzzing. He was aware of Moira Queen breaking away from the room on the phone, and his own phone buzzing loudly on the armrest of the sofa, but he could not completely keep himself focused on those things.
Oliver Queen, Peter Queen's big brother, was alive.
And everything in his world had just flipped upside down.
...alright, so I did recently read a story about this kind of crossover but I wanted to make my own personal spin on it and go around at it. To be completely transparent, I have not read all of the Spiderman comics and the last time I watched the movie with Tom Holland (who I am envisioning for this Peter Queen) was when the Spiderman: Far from Home came out and it irked my soul at the end. For arrow, I have only watched the first and second season and then moved to a bit of Flash because I'm a sucker for brotherly friendships and relationships. I'm going to try to make this as Arrow canonical as I possibly can with some elements of Spiderman villains-but this story is mainly going to focus on the lab with the radioactive spider for Peter in the first installment, I'm thinking that there will be two, but again, this is very much so up in the air for the moment.
Furthermore, the story will remain being told from Peter's perspective. So, some of the things that we see happening in Arrow won't be seen happening here. Also, when I am picturing this in my head-the characters I am using are pictured with the actors from the MCU Spiderman. Also, another note is that Peter Queen will be a bit of a darker character than we might be used to-he is in Starling City after all, but hopefully he will retain his witty demeanor and have some of his commentary. And, should I continue this, which I probably will, between college and such, this story will address some heavier topics, just to forewarn you. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you guys next time.