Anthony Stark. No result.
Reed Richards. Deceased.
Henry Pym. No result.
Phineas Mason. Bruce Banner. Vera Rubin. Lisa Randall. Max Modell. Anatoli Burgorski—
Peter spends an hour or so cycling through everyone he could think of on his phone. He has little to work with here; it's nothing but dead-ends, names he's never heard of belonging to people far out of reach and the occasional sparks of hope that are almost immediately choked out by the harsh reality of his circumstances.
What few names he finds that seem like feasible options he commits to memory, but the list of people looking to figure out interdimensional travel isn't very long in this world and the chances of him coming across them any time soon are practically nil. Even if he could find an opportunity, it would have to work around his commitments to school, and no part of him is eager to bite the hand that's keeping him well-fed in any case.
Nothing, he thinks. There's nothing. I can't think of anything else. There's never nothing though, right? There's something—someone out there that can help me. I just need to figure things out. I need to talk to someone. I have to—
Something in him hits the brakes. His eyes go wide, fixed and focused on the ceiling.
His heart beats faster than a normal human's at rest; MJ noticed it in the early days, when he was still adjusting to all the changes. She gave him a hug and could feel it. Like he had just gotten done running a mile, she said. Like it might explode. Burst like a balloon.
Peter hardly pays it any mind, really. Not unless he's fighting or stressed or caught in one of those lucid moments where his whole body feels like a vessel he's not supposed to be in.
But it beats, and beats, and beats like the sound of a train's passage. Chuckety-brum, chuckety-brum.
Vermiculate shapes on the ceiling of his little room shudder and heave like a living, breathing thing.
It's not Spider-Sense but he knows there's something there's something in the walls in the paint on the ceiling
under his skin—
The phone slips from his hands when he's distracted, smashing into his nose and making him flinch. He doesn't even remember putting on his uniform.
Uniform? Uniform! Crap, school!
He staggers out of bed, swings the backpack over his shoulder like a wrecking ball, and speeds out the door.
Then, he comes back through the door, hastily fills Sandwich's water and food bowls and spills a load of kibble all over the floor, then scrambles out of his apartment window.
First period. Language lessons. One-on-one sessions with a man made of stone that Peter learns is the hero named Cementoss, who also had a master's in modern and classical literature and taught the subject at U.A. But at the moment, he was a language tutor, and a slow one at that.
Peter Parker, better known elsewhere as Spider-Man, rubs the sleep from his eyes for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes, slumps his shoulders and pretends to have heard everything the teacher had just said.
It's a superhero school, but it's still a school. He should have expected to be bored out of his skull for most of his time there.
"Are you alright, Parker?" Cementoss asks, looking up from the worksheet they'd been going over together and examining the dreary look on his student's face.
"No, I mean, yeah. I'm fine. Sorry." Peter waves the man off, resting his chin in his hands and trying his damndest to actually read the words on the page. "Just slept a little late last night."
Cementoss smiles inasmuch as a man with a face made of stone can smile and sets down his pen. "You know, it is my first time teaching this kind of material, so please let me know if there is any way I can improve my lessons going forward."
"Don't—you're doing great, Mr. Ishiyama. It's just… I've gone over a lot of this by myself already." Peter leans forward in his seat, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. "You know, with all the free time I've had lately. I guess it's better I try putting what I know to practice than going over it again. Or we could move ahead to writing."
"Right, right. You are definitely further along than I expected you to be. I am sure Mic would have had a better lesson plan outlined—"
"No no, this all works for me, but it's sort of redundant now, I guess," Peter insists, trying to curb any suspicion that he found the teacher in any way unpleasant. "Plus, I bet he would've been blowing my ears out all throughout. I mean, can he turn the volume down or what?"
"True. Very true."
Fourth period. Lunch. Peter stumbles down the halls of U.A. feeling a little lost in himself.
These are different sort of halls from what he's used to. There's no odd chemical smell pouring from the janitor's closet, no ambient sounds of hushed high school blathering he can really make heads or tails of; not a hint of grime to be found on the ceiling panels or gathering in corners by long-dead light fixtures. Peter hadn't expected to be in an educational environment this clean before he reached college, and until then he would just put up with the harrowing halls of Midtown. Under any other circumstances, he might actually find the time to enjoy the change of scenery.
One of the most shocking things to adjust to is the dining experience.
Lunch Rush, reads the largest sign in the food court; the floor is polished such that he can see the reflection of the entire room like a mountain range captured on a lake's surface. Several long tables stand divided and arrayed by chest-high walls decorated with pleasant-smelling plants, and large shafts of natural light stream through the windows and into the cafeteria. Uniformed students of all shapes, sizes and varying degrees of mutagenic modification filter in and out of the exits up the stairs, settling into groups or rocking up to one of the few venues the school had set up.
Definitely a step up from folding chairs and smiley fries, Peter thinks, but still feels more than a bit overwhelmed. Stood stock still in a sea of students, he finds himself dithering between options. His ravenous eyes move between the traditional options and the daily Hungry Hero specials, and the boy almost wants to see if he can sneak in two meals in one. Though he considers that Aunt May wouldn't want him to ruin his eating habits, so he smothers that particular impulse as quick as it comes.
While he's trying to find the most secluded spot to surreptitiously seat himself after grabbing his lunch, a familiar voice cuts through the chatter and catches his attention.
"Yo, Parker!" Kaminari calls from across the way, sat across from the bigger student named Sato and beside the little guy with grapes dotting his scalp—Mineta, if Peter remembers right. He gestures to the unoccupied seat beside Sato, and Peter can't help but wonder if it would be socially acceptable to outright decline as he's wont to do in these predicaments.
Wordlessly, he sidles over to the seat as other students continue their conversation that Peter seems to only catch part of.
"—but I don't really think their stuff's bad, honestly! Just…" Sato trails off, absentmindedly prodding his meal with his chopsticks. "It can be a little corny. But I like it most of the time."
"Corny?" Kaminari scoffs. "It just has soul, man. Which is really lacking from the rest of the industry."
Sato looks affronted. "Oh come on, Deathtoss isn't the only good band."
The comment is met with an eye-roll from Kaminari, which only seems to deepen Sato's mild aggravation. Peter isn't quite sure what to make of it; the hamburger steak on his tray is a little distracting.
Kaminari pops a cashew into his mouth before continuing, speaking as he chews. "I never said that, but they're one of the best ones. Yesterday Pipe Dream was a total masterpiece. It feels really fresh compared to most of NEW TOWN or whatever."
"Maybe it's just that I'm newer to the genre, but it was like, okay."
"Give it another shot! It's the best thing to come out this year by a whole lot; I promise it'll be worth it." The blond nods as if to give credence to his own statement. Then he leans back in his seat, turning to look directly at Peter. "Alright, Parker, now that we've got you—we're pretty interested to hear about our class's foreign student."
"I think that guy Aoyama's from France," Sato adds.
Kaminari furrows his brow, turning to Sato again. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah. I think I overheard him talking to someone else about it in the locker room yesterday, but you could ask him."
"Now I have to. But anyways, Parker, where're you from?"
Peter, with a piece of meat halfway choked down his gullet, chews and swallows a little more aggressively than he intends before he answers, "Oh, New York. The city."
That seems to pique Kaminari's interest, even earning surprised looks from Mineta and Sato. "Like, the city city? Dude, no wonder you wanna be a hero."
"Ah—nowhere important. Just Queens."
"I don't know what that is," Kaminari says, "but it sounds cool."
It could be, on a good day. Peter recalls getting into an altercation with a portly middle-aged man with a thick Italian accent at a burger place in Flushing with Harry, which ended in his friend loudly cursing at the fellow. It all ended with a broken window and the two of them running away before the police got there. Which, some might say, is cool.
"It's one of the four boroughs of the city," Sato says. "I think it's the one that Leaping Critter is from."
Peter blinks. Four?
Kaminari chimes in, asking, "How do ya' know that?"
"I had to research heroes from other countries in middle school for a project."
Where'd the fifth one go?
"Huh. Maybe you and the expert here can trade notes if we've ever got to do a project like that. Bet he's met a couple."
Though Kaminari's sly grin reaches him, Peter's still stuck on the fact that there are only four boroughs. A detail that hadn't come up in his morning search, but a detail he makes a point to look into later. He hadn't considered that it would be advantageous to look into the state of things overseas to map out a game plan.
Unfortunately, the world was quite dense, and the internet came in at a close second. Getting the complete scope of it all would take time, something that he fortunately has an abundance of.
Then Mineta asks, "Oi, Sato—which are the hottest heroes from the States, eh? Maybe Parker knows one of those!"
"—coming through the door, like a normal person!"
For a man of that size, All Might is unbelievably fast.
Not that Peter's sizing him up at all, it just comes as a bit of a shock. Who wouldn't be, what with all the yelling and the announcing his arrival to the class in a way that's quite the inverse of how their homeroom teacher quite literally rolled in. Quick and sudden with his chest puffed out; that eye-catching costume already on for all to behold—and, even this close, Peter still isn't sure how he gets his hair to stand up like that.
The classroom erupts in eager chatter. Kaminari, who Peter did not notice was seated to his immediate left, taps him on the shoulder and whispers, "Hey, that's All Might by the way. Dunno if you've heard of him, but he's like the number one—"
"I have heard."
"Oh, gotcha, sorry."
Truth be told, Peter didn't want to be rude to the guy. Kaminari was just being welcoming, but there is a certain level of geniality that becomes a little cloying to Peter after a while—he just isn't built for it. Though he supposed the small talk was better than whatever that Mineta kid had to say. He swears that if he has to hear about that little weirdo's bosom preferences again, he's going to blow a fuse.
"Glad to see you all in good spirits!" All Might's cape billows with each surprisingly light step into the class. The man stops, stands akimbo before them all and almost looks like a design plastered against the wall behind him; the perfect smile, the practiced and perfect bearing of someone who's done this a million times. He doesn't even stop to introduce himself, Peter notes. "Now, if any of you aren't aware, I'll be teaching Hero Basic Training! In my class, you'll be learning the ins-and-outs and day-to-day struggles and triumphs of career heroism!"
Peter nods in the affirmative, taking it all in like he would any other class. After all that hullabaloo yesterday, Peter's just hopeful that they would have a class that's a bit closer to normal by his standards. Surely they would go over a syllabus of some kind, discuss the forthcoming curriculum, and get to know their teacher a bit better.
"So let's get right to it! Today, we're starting with a bit of… Combat training!"
Peter frowns.
Each of the students were given costumes designed according to request forms they sent prior to the school year's commencement. Peter, however, did not submit any such form, and was not given one to submit in the first place. Instead, whatever committee in charge of providing their costumes seems to have based it on his costume and thrown together something similar, but with a few significant adjustments made.
It isn't all spandex anymore, it's armor. Segmented red pieces of some plastic-adjacent material stuck to a dark blue bodysuit, the arrangement colors more or less matching the pattern of his actual suit. The gloves and boots were strange—bulbous and bulky, with little aesthetic flourishes that seemed to serve no practical purpose. Though they seem to have carved out enough space in the gauntlets for him to insert his web-shooters, at the very least.
To top it off, they gave him a helmet instead of a mask. Retaining largely the same design down to the web-pattern decorating it, the helmet is lightweight and comfortable enough to move his head in that he can't say he has any complaints.
The most arbitrary change to the design was that they seem to have tinted the large lenses a pale yellow. He didn't exactly hate it, but he would definitely like to know why.
When Class 1-A walks out into the Ground Beta street—all cleaned up now, Peter notes—to meet their teacher again, Peter feels something strange bubbling up in his chest.
Anyone else wouldn't think this whole scene was too strange if they had seen and done all he had. By this point, there is absolutely no reason for him to find any of this as distinctly uncomfortable as he does right now. Everyone else seemed comfortable, but he felt like a fool in a stupid costume surrounded by other fools in their own stupid costumes. As though there was someone judging the lot of them for it, watching from a high perch with a wry smile.
Like most things he quietly enjoys, it never feels quite as silly when he's alone.
Why's he wearing outside-undies? Peter thinks, not-so-subtly staring down at Mineta from behind. Is—oh, it's like a bowl. Like a bowl of grapes. Right.
Though he might just be the only one that considers any of this silly to begin with.
So he stands there, alone, stiff as a board, fists clenched and eyes wandering here and there while the people around him socialize. Some of them anyways; he's glad he doesn't stand out as especially quiet in the moment, with so many of them focused on mentally preparing for what comes next.
"Great stuff, everyone! You're all looking positively iconic!" All Might starts, sizing up each student and letting out a curious snort when his eyes land on Midoriya in particular. "I'd stop and praise each one of you for your aesthetic choices, but there's no time to waste! It's time we start our training!"
As it goes: a two-versus-two indoor battle. One will be heroes, the other will be villains. No, Bakugo, you cannot simply blast your opponent into the stratosphere to win, and yes, Aoyama, your cape is magnificent. There's a ticking time-bomb, and the villains are to defend it from the heroes until the allotted time for the round is up.
This seems a little much for a first class, Peter thinks, waiting for the team lots to be drawn along with the rest of them. Plus, I don't know how comfortable I am with having to punch any of these people. I really hope I don't have to punch anyone today. Just not feeling punchy at all. But hey, maybe I can talk to whoever my teammate is. Try and get to know somebody a little better. Might be good for me.
"And for Team C… Parker and Mineta!"
The first round gets Peter wondering if he has any business being here at all.
It's a sight to behold, all that power that Midoriya's packing. From the little Peter's observed, the kid came off as dorky, even a bit squirrely, but behind that timorous exterior is a frightening power and a surprising aptitude for combat, even while almost certainly cracking under all the pressure.
Bakugo just makes him a little uncomfortable.
Peter can't explain it aside from the obvious fact of his general comportment and the stunning reality that he very well could have incinerated the other boy with that blast, but there's something deeply disconcerting about the way he tries to tease that power out of Midoriya throughout their battle. Toying with him. Torturing him.
At the end of it, Midoriya is sent off for medical care—again—and the three students who came out of it relatively unharmed stand before the rest of the class, utterly dejected and all for vastly different reasons.
All Might looks a little uneasy when the unreasonably tall girl in the leotard explains, in excruciating detail, exactly why Iida was the most valuable player in this scenario. That shaky thumbs-up and seemingly forced smile gets Peter wondering if the man's really as confident in his teaching abilities as he is in his posturing.
For the second round, Team C is pitted against Team B. The former consists of the reticent Peter Parker and the diminutive Minoru Mineta. The latter, the icy Shoto Todoroki and the timid Koji Koda. Team C are the villains, and Team B are the heroes. Their battleground is in a different building, given what happened to the last one wouldn't be possible to fix in under an hour and a half. Team C begins on the fifth floor, and Team B begins all the way down on the first.
Peter, joined by Minoru, stops in the room where the fake bomb is hidden and briefly wonders if this will affect his grade. It's a silly thing to ask now, but he cares a fair bit about his GPA, even in another dimension.
They stand beside one another in front of the 'bomb', facing the doorway from which they entered.
"No offense," Mineta says, "but I was really hoping to team up with one of the girls. I can still be super impressive on-screen, but it'd be even better if they were here to see me. This round's a total sausage fest!"
Reminding himself that it would be rude to simply ignore everything his teammate says, Peter responds with a curt nod.
"A perfect opportunity to show the ladies what I'm made of," Mineta sighs, dejected. "At least I didn't have to go up against that Bakugo guy. Seeeerious issues."
These certainly are five minutes of my life. Peter shrugs.
"That Todoroki guy's pretty intense too. I asked if he had an extra pen in English class earlier and he just gave me this weird look." Mineta shivers. "Kinda like you do, but sorta scary. But I bet we can take him—piece of cake, eh?"
Peter shrugs, intentionally a little more dubious; there's a pause, like he's dwelling on the thought before going through with his response .
"You're pretty tough, right? Well, you don't look that tough—no offense—but you got first place yesterday, so that has to count for something." Mineta chuckles nervously, watching as the inscrutable Peter Parker tilts his head side to side as if crunching the numbers on their chances. The little grape-bowl lad's eyes grow wide with the earliest stages of total panic. "Oh come on! Have a little more confidence! Don't be such a kidder, Parker—we got to look good here!" Mineta latches onto Peter's costume with one hand and gives him a light tug.
Now Peter must admit, it is a bit fun to watch the little guy squirm, but he's not a sadist—on purpose, anyways. With a slight chuckle, Peter replies, "We'll do fi—"
Spider-Sense!
"…Parker?"
Coming from—everywhere!
Spider-Man acts quickly and instinctively; one arm wraps around Mineta's head and pulls him in close, eliciting a yelp from the shorter boy, and the other gets to work creating a shield, the dense and wide-spread stream shooting from the nozzle with three quick clicks of his web-shooters. It takes a little more concentration, but he successfully creates exactly what Spider-Sense tells him he needs: a web-tarp.
He takes them both to the ground, grabbing the sticky improvised blanket and draping it over them, trapping them in the dark beneath.
It happens in an instant: a layer of frost coats the webbing and wraps around each tiny thread, accompanied by a loud cracking sound that makes them both flinch. But there they lay, unfrozen but a bit chillier as the webbing's insulating properties do their magic.
Thank God for polystyrene.
"P-Parker? What the h-heck just happened?" Mineta asks, pushing away from Peter and failing to escape the now-frozen tarp they find themselves trapped beneath.
Brushing off a few stray specks of brittle webbing clinging to his costume, the native New Yorker replies, "Dunno. Close eyes please."
With both palms on the ground, he flexibly raises both legs and holds his knees against his chest, the soles of both boots pressed against the web-dome. It takes only a little more force than he expects it to, but the iced over webbing gives away and shatters, releasing them both from the quick bastion of relative warmth that Peter had made for them.
They are greeted with the sight of a frozen room; frost crept up every surface, coating each pipe and crawling up the walls up cold fractal hands. The bomb too had been frozen over, varnished with a transparent layer of ice and patches of hoarfrost. Most notably, however, is the significant temperature drop, already felt from beneath the web-tarp and now intensified by their exposure to the air of the room.
Both students stand and stare at the spectacle around them for a moment. Shocked, terrified, and positively panic-stricken, Mineta says, "No way… If you didn't save us, I would've looked like such an idiot with Yaoyorozu watching! Oh man, can you imagine?! Losing in three seconds on my second day at U.A.! Even with my charm I'd never live it down!"
That was a heckuva lot faster than it has any right being. Maybe I really am out of my league.
"That must have been T-Todoroki, for sure! Man, that is so unf-fair. All I've got is sticky balls and he can do all this! What're my b-balls supposed to do?"
Plan must've been to take us out before we had a chance to fight back. Dirty play. Bet he thinks it worked… Which means they won't be ready for a counterattack.
"S-So unfair! Todoroki's a super-strong monster and I've gotta fight him!? I should've trained harder for this, oh maaaan!"
"We have time," Peter says, breaking Mineta from his frantic babbling. He starts to take steps towards the exit, carrying himself with an unreadable ease and coolness that surprises the shorter of the pair. "Not lost yet, see?"
Still a little frayed at the edges, Mineta nods dumbly in return. "You… You g-got this! I'll stay by and be the last line of defense! Just be sure to stick to my plan and stay in contact!" He finishes with a thumbs-up and a bright, encouraging smile.
Knowing that they did not in fact make a plan, Spider-Man gives him a solemn nod before sprinting out of the room, disappearing into the gloomy maze of rimed windowless hallways.
Bounding down a flight of stairs, the pugnacious Peter Parker moves as quickly as his powerful legs can carry him to intercept his opponents. He bounces off the landing, springing up onto the wall in front of him, and pushes himself with enough force to send him rocketing over yet another flight, touching down so deftly and carefully that his boots against the floor would barely make a sound.
Elsewhere, he is being carefully observed.
Still fast, All Might thinks, eyes glued to the screen just the same as the gathering of students behind him. Doesn't seem to have a plan, really… Moves instinctively—like he's not even thinking about it. But he's still managing to be discreet. Seems to be less comfortable in such a confined space; the limited range of movement might not let him get the most use out of his abilities… I suppose it'll be a test of his adaptability, then.
"M-Mister A-All Might… C-Could you cut the r-round short?" Kirishima asks, the young lad rubbing his arms and shaking, each bated breath causing a plume of steam to burst from his mouth. "I-It's gettin' real chilly in here."
"O-Oui," Aoyama interjects, equally shivery.
Peter Parker… I know this is better than the alternative, but I'm still not too sure. Just where did you learn to move like this, exactly? I don't suppose you'd be honest if I asked upfront—which is why I can't help but be suspicious. Nothing threatening from you just yet, and I know Nezu didn't want me harping on it too much, but…
"G-Guys, I don't think he's p-paying attention…" Ashido says, leaning into the large form of Sato, who had already had to push away Kaminari, in an attempt to steal some warmth.
"What? Oh! No, I certainly am! A most astute combat observation, young Kirishima!" All Might coughs, and then shivers. "Sure is awfully cold, right kids? Ha-ha!"
You know, I wasn't too keen on the design, but this suit's insulation is so much better than my costume. Winter really shrivels up my everything when I'm out for a swing in it.
Spider-Man sprints down another one of the meandering hallways in the building, ears perked and eyes peeled for any signs of life other than himself. He's on the third floor by now, and if he had to hazard a guess he would meet them here. There's no hope of sticking to the walls or ceiling for very long; freezing temperatures tend to mess with his wall-crawling, limiting the length of time he's able to stick to anything. Plus, it makes his fingertips ache.
Before long he's taking another left turn towards where he remembers the next stairway being, and hears footsteps growing closer. Heavy steps, yet rigorously precise; the gait of someone who's trudging towards the certainty of victory.
Another right turn and they're in clear view of one another. Peter skids to a halt, and before he can move to conceal himself, Todoroki's already caught sight of him from across the hall.
So much for an ambush, Peter thinks, straightening up in a futile effort to seem more imposing.
Upon locking eyes with him, Peter—well, Peter can say he's never seen anyone quite like him. One cold, mathematical eye stares into the lenses of his helmet with a sort of withering apathy. Todoroki carries himself oddly; shoulders slumped, arms hung loosely at his sides, but there's confidence there. An ease in his bearing that sends a clear enough message, one that Peter might've caught in their previous classes together had he been paying any attention.
To his surprise, Todoroki speaks first, saying with his sonorous voice, "You must be quick to have moved in time to avoid my first move. That, or you escaped by brute force." He takes another step forward, briefly looking the foreign student up and down before settling on the lenses again. "Regardless of how it was you escaped, I'm going to extend an offer. Get out of the way so I can end this before you make a fool of yourself."
A beat. The material of his gloves creaks and goes tight around his knuckles as his fist clenches with enough pressure to crush steel. Todoroki detects the change in his opponent's comportment, and does not so much as blink; any changes in his expression are imperceptible, if they're there to begin with. He is infuriatingly impenetrable—the very definition of cold and callous.
And Peter thinks, I really thought I wasn't feeling punchy today. Silly me.
Ever defiant, Spider-Man stays in place, squaring his shoulders, taking one careful step forward, almost tenuously. Another step, faster, and Todoroki is already shifting his feet, ready to move. Two more. There's enough distance between them that each has a moment to think, but Peter can close it faster than a hummingbird's wingbeat. Another four and he's starting to run—Peter knows he can't risk another surprise like that at this distance; if Todoroki's first move was an indication, he needed to be careful.
It happens in the space between moments. Todoroki makes the first move once more, shifting his right foot and firing from it a wide trail of frost that bursts into a wave of large, diagonal spears, jutting from the ground like stalagmites in a cave. Speedy as ever, Spider-Man nimbly evades the spiraling spikes by hopping on the wall to his left, skimming across it with his momentum and further clearing the distance between them. Then, he kicks off it, falling towards his classmate with his fist reeled back for a mighty blow.
But Todoroki's no slow-poke. Placing his palm up against the frozen wall, he creates a thick horizontal pillar of ice between them. When Parker throws the punch, the pillar explodes, shattering into thousands of little ice crystals that rain over the cold-hearted prodigy.
All it accomplished was slowing him down, but it was more than enough to give him a moment to sidestep it. Parker's first attack doesn't connect, but his mind is already on the second the moment his feet touch the ground. Faster than Todoroki could've anticipated, Parker delivers a fierce kick to his abdomen and momentarily revels in the surprised look on his face before he's thrown right into the wall.
Now, Todoroki's on the backfoot, in close-range, and right where Peter wants him. While his back's against the wall, Peter fires a webline at his chest, yanking him roughly enough to make him stumble right into his opponent's grasp.
He grips the collar of Todoroki's shirt, pulling him down to eye-level, reeling his other hand back and poised to strike once more, to land that satisfying finishing blow and wipe the smug look off Todoroki's face.
"I warned you," Todoroki says so sharply, daring to look Parker in the eye just as it seems the brief battle is over. But Spider-Sense, as it tends to, tells a different story.
With a small movement of his right hand—barely even a twitch, really—Todoroki makes his next move. Another burst of cold, this time covering the Parker boy's entire body other than half of his mask in densely packed translucent ice. It envelopes him, stretching out into the wall behind him and holding him just as firmly as he had Todoroki in his grasp.
The web still dangling from Todoroki's chest grows brittle and falls to nothing at their feet. By simply unfurling his frosted fingers and pushing his rigid arm away, Todoroki escapes the hold and gives Peter a good, long look.
"I don't imagine you're doing very well under all that," Shoto says, brushing a bit of lingering ice off of his white shirt. "So this may be pointless to say if you aren't paying attention. But I'll say it anyway, as I'm sure the rest of them can hear me… I gave you a fair warning. This time." He turns, stiff and rigid as the ice he creates, and continues his lonely march towards the upper floors. "Just this time."
As Todoroki walks on off, it seems as though All Might would not get a proper chance to see what the Parker boy could do against other students. He isn't disappointed; it's reassuring, in a way, to know that he wouldn't be a substantial threat if the worst was true.
"Take note of his t-technique, s-students!" the teacher sputters out, turning around to face his students rubbing his own arms to generate warmth. Half the class is huddled together, shivering as the cold lingers in the room and frost starts to form on the walls. The other half are trying to play it cool. Young Bakugo, suppressing his shivers as he watches on intently, seems to be the most resilient of them. "A quick dis—dispatch! Todoroki expeditiously immobilized his enemy when engaged, and all without sustaining significant harm and… And… Let's just be glad the fight's over!"
His doctor said to avoid cold climates for a while. Bad for his blood pressure. That Todoroki boy had better freeze young Mineta as fast as possible.
"It's not," says young Bakugo, still glued to the monitor, fierce eyes carrying a strange farrago of emotions. "Look." He bites his lower lip as though stifling a scream. The rest of the class including the teacher turn to him, curious, and then all turn back up at the screen.
A noise from behind—a crack. Peter cannot hear it, but Todoroki's heartbeat picks up at the sound.
A louder crack. Todoroki turns to see it for himself. Parker is moving—inch by inch, yes, but moving while held under all that ice seemed quite impossible for anyone that wasn't obscenely strong or a complete idiot. The thought of Parker fatally harming himself in his attempts to escape crosses Todoroki's mind, but on the forefront is the fact that it seems to be working.
Another crack—it spider-webs across the wall like a lightning bolt.
Slowly, arduously, Parker's half-frozen fist clenches. Todoroki's single visible eye watches, wide and incredulous, as he generates enough force from that position to shatter the ice on his arm with a quick swing of the limb. He's prying himself out of it, and Todoroki's half tempted to turn tail and find the bomb before he has a chance to recover. Considering the other boy's speed, that very well might not work.
So he would stand his ground, reinforce the ice with another stream of cold from his foot. The newly added layers help, but they only delay the inevitable. Aside from being a little unnerving, it's impressive how quickly Parker manages to shrug it off.
His other fist clenches. Todoroki grits his teeth, pushing harder, creating a prison that would be inescapable for most. Then, with one mighty lurch, Peter Parker breaks free. Shattered ice explodes down the hall, falling upon the already icy ground like shards of glass. Todoroki shields his face with the arm coated in false ice, his left side, the part he denies himself the pleasure of employing, and lowers it when the spectacle comes to an end.
And there stands Parker, the foreign kid, the easy win, hunched forward and heaving increasingly heavy breaths.
"Thanks," Parker coughs out, getting himself together faster than Todoroki could have imagined. "All. Warmed. Up."
Though the son of Endeavor could not see Parker's face beneath that helmet, there's something in his voice that says it all. In the awkward way he stumbles with the language, combined with that disconcerting, puckish glee.
There's something that tells him that Parker is smiling.
End.
A/N: Yo! Another month or so, another chapter. Still pacing a bit slower so as to not crowd things n also not get ahead of myself—a lot of the planning is fairly minimal, honestly, but still there. Had fun with this one and will have fun with the next one I hope!
If you had any kind of fun, tell me! Or if you didn't, also tell me!
Also, for future reference because it'll make stuff easier, the story's working on a different time-scale than the manga and already kiiiind of has? Events going forward will happen in sometimes a different order, sometimes the same order but with variable amounts of time in-between, etc.
It's fanfic so I hope ya'll can forgive, but I also didn't want to work too strictly within the confines of the manga given the framing of the fic. Only so much box-checking I can live with. If there's inconsistency anywhere, lemme know. I am exceptionally fallible.
So, that's it for this one. Hope ya'll enjoy the story so far and enjoy your, y'know, lives.
Say, what's your favorite sandwich topping? I'm basic, but I'm a big fan of onions. Slam some onions of any kind on anything at all and I'm game. Crisp, dribbly pickled onions are an upgrade to any dish.
