A/N: Thanks for reading, following, and reviewing! Releases will likely be sporadic moving forward. I've hit a bit of writer's block for this story.
If you like my writing style, check out my new story: The Journey Home
Jean left after we finished eating, after exchanging numbers and a final promise that I would call if I ever needed help. It was nice to meet someone that seemed so…caring. She didn't appear to have any alternative motivations for checking up on me. It was a pleasant change of pace compared to the last few weeks.
Although with her gone, I was alone once more. The shadows stretched out endlessly throughout the damaged rooms, the poor lighting adding to their jagged shapes. Each creak of the house caused panic to set in. I had made enemies. I had seen death. I needed something to take my mind off of it all.
Metal clashing against metal filled the room as I tried to open the panel.
"Come on fucking little bitch." I muttered as I stepped back to inspect the metal slate once more.
Various scuffs, scratches, and dents marred the panel and surrounding wall. A stark reminder of my failures up to that point. Whoever built this contraption was good, really good.
I had tried everything now. I first tried tossing trash on the floor, hoping the spider would come to collect it. When that didn't work, I turned to more physical approaches.
I was missing something. I was sure of it. Why would only half the room be covered by robots? Was there something they were created to protect?
I turned around, scanning the rest of the room. It was pretty scarce. The bed sat on the far side of the room, with a small table on each side.
The right wall contained a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, only half-filled with books. Aside from that were the doors to the walk-in closet on the other side.
The closet that was within half of the room protected by the spiders.
"I swear to god if this is it .." I mumbled, walking over to the French doors and throwing them open.
It was just clothes. My dads carefully pressed and hung dress shirts, pants, and shoes on the right. My mother's more varied but equally tasteful variety of shirts, dresses, and accessories on the left.
This was my first time here, but it was as I suspected. Expensive, organized, and so far void of any answers.
I started digging through some of the boxes placed on the floor of my mom's side. Most were filled with seasonal clothes and shoes until I came across a small cardboard box shoved behind the others.
Inside was what appeared to be a cleaning rag. I pulled out the fabric, finding that instead of rags, it was a stained, torn light-blue dress fit for a child.
"Why would she have this?" I said, turning the dress around. The back had a tear, surrounded by a dark black stain. It was old, but this was blood.
I placed the dress carefully back into the box and set the box back exactly as I had found it.
I know I wanted answers, but did my mom kill a child? Then why would she keep the evidence?
Fantastic, well, I can add that to my existing pile of mysteries I was working on. If she happened to come back, it was better she didn't know I found that.
I turned towards my dad's side of the room. It was the same, with boxes of seasonal clothes below. However, I finally found something in the far back corner of the closet hidden behind even more boxes of various sizes. A safe, built into the floor. It was already open and emptied. With the security in place, it must have been my parents who emptied it.
I still searched through it, analyzing every corner of the cold, metallic interior. My fingers brushed up against an engraving on the right side. Upon closer inspection, it was a name. Alchemax. It was a company I was familiar with. They had their hand in everything, from consumer goods to military equipment. The fact that they made safes as well wasn't much of a surprise.
I stood back up with a sigh and searched everything else in the closet. There was nothing. No company papers or old name tags. So all I had was the frightening blood-stained dress, a metallic spider that was ignoring me, and a company name that, most likely, was not associated with my parents. Great. Fucking great.
Back in the room, I went to the bookshelf next. The shelves were covered in a thin layer of dust, indicating that my parents had not touched any of these books for a while. Every book on there was related to Biology, Chemistry, and frighteningly a small corner of books was dedicated to eugenics. Okay, what the hell did my parents do for their job?
The picture being painted was not a good one.
Well, with nothing else to go off of, I adjusted my search. I needed a computer. Thanks to the break-in, I no longer had a working one. This left me with either going to buy one or heading over to the library. If only I had a better cell phone. Mine was shit. It could barely make outgoing calls, much less access the internet.
I had one more option. One that would require an uncomfortable conversation first. Gwen. At a minimum, she might already have a computer I could use, but her dad was also on the police force. He might have information that I could gain access to.
Gwen picked up the call on the third ring. "Oliver! Where are you?" She all but shouted through the phone. She was breathing heavily as if she had just finished running.
"At home. Why? What's wrong?!" I replied quickly, leaving out the formalities.
"Just stay there! We're on our way." She replied, voice coming out broken between heavy breaths.
"We?" I questioned. Who would she be with?
"Yeah, I'm with Peter. He's in bad shape, Oliver. Really bad." I paused, trying to make sense of the situation.
"Be prepared." She hung up.
"Fuck, I can't catch a break." I mumbled, rushing up the stairs. I hoped a few of my items were still around and sterile enough to use. I found a few good needles and an old unopened monofilament thread. I also found some isopropyl alcohol which I grabbed as well.
I rushed downstairs and into the kitchen, rummaging around for a pot. Finding one in the back of a cabinet, I placed some alcohol in the pot along with the needles and thread. Hopefully, that would be good enough.
I didn't have much else I could use, so all I could do was sit and wait as the silence stretched ever onward. The calm before the proverbial storm.
It was half an hour before they arrived and upon seeing them, I knew I was getting wrapped up in another shit situation.
Gwen was supporting Peter as they both stumbled through the door. They were covered in soot and debris, while Gwen had several small cuts across her face, Peter was in much worse shape.
A trail of blood was being left behind him as Gwen carefully placed him on the couch. Peter grunted out thanks.
"You really should have taken him to a hospital." I said, bending down to take a look at the injury. It was a fairly deep cut across his stomach, but not life-threatening. He had gotten lucky.
"No shit." She said, her voice shaking. "You called and I panicked. This seemed like the better option at the time."
She was exhausted, with streaks free of soot and debris running down her cheeks. She had been crying.
I thought it better to shut up for now and get to work.
A pained shout echoed through the house. "Sorry, I should have given a warning," I said, as I finished pouring out the last of the alcohol on the wound. The alcohol mixed with the blood leaving another red puddle on the floor.
"It's fine," Peter said through clenched teeth. "Thanks for helping."
"Don't go thanking me just yet. This is going to get much worse." I chuckled holding up the needle.
I was quick and efficient with stitches at this point and was done quickly. The work had become almost meditative for me at this point. Stretch the skin up, insert the needle, and pull forward carefully. Back and forth, on and on. For how bad the wound looked initially, it was already healing fast. I doubted he would need the stitches for long. Very odd.
"Well, you should survive." I said, standing up and admiring my handiwork. They were some damn fine stitches. Each one perfectly spaced. The scar, if there was one, would be minimal.
"Thanks, Oliver," Peter said, lowering his shirt once more, which didn't do much as it was in tatters.
"You're welcome. Feel free to stay here for the night. I have a shower upstairs and can grab you an extra shirt. I should have a few around here." I started to get up to grab the clothes when Gwen grabbed my arm stopping me in my tracks.
"We aren't done here, Oliver." She said, forcing me to sit down next to her. The scowl plastered across her face said a lot already.
Although I sat down, now wasn't the time to talk. They both needed to rest and get cleaned up. "Now isn't the time, Gwen. You both have been through a lot. You need to rest. Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning."
"No!" She was forceful in her response, glancing over at Peter who was already standing once more. "I don't want to ask more of you now, Oliver, but we need your help." She glanced at Peter, who nodded back. "First, you should know that Peter is Spider-Man."
I was shocked, more so that they would tell me than by the revelation itself. "Why tell me that? Isn't that, you know, a secret identity issue? The more people you tell the more likely it can come back to bite you in the ass."
"Because I trust you and we don't have many other options right now." Her response was surprising. I didn't think I had done too much to be trustworthy. "There's a new villain in town. One we are going to need help with."
"I'm not a hero, Gwen," I said, shaking my head.
"You don't have to be a hero to do the right thing." Peter cut in.
I looked over towards him, unsure how to respond to that. It was so grossly optimistic. "I'm also not much of a fighter." I said, standing up and beginning to pace the room. I did not want to get caught up in more superhero bullshit.
"I saw you in that forest, Oliver. You can hold your own." He responded, arms folded now.
"There's a reason for that." I said, pointing at him. "And that was far from holding my own. I just escaped and ran."
"What about the robot?" I hadn't realized Peter had seen that. Shit.
"There were circumstances I can't recreate that helped me with that. I'm not close to being that competent."
"At least," Gwen said, standing up to look me straight in the eyes, "let us explain the situation. You can decide what to do after that."
"Fine," I replied, "So what is the new bad guy on the block?"
