Author's Note: Since I literally cannot handle the thought of poor Peter Parker losing another father-figure kind of person, no matter how much of a douche he ended up being, here's my Spiderman: Far From Home AU. So, uh, I started this the day after I watched Far from Home and literally just now finished (which, yikes) so obviously everything post that movie is false in this AU. Also, ignore the bit with Fury actually being a skrull. That stresses me out and makes the premise of this fic fail. Anyways, read, review, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel Cinematic Universe stuff.
PPPPPP
Somehow, impossibly, Mysterio survived.
And somehow, impossibly, the very first thing Peter felt at the news was an overwhelming, powerful, sweeping feeling of relief. Of course, that feeling quickly fueled one of the strongest rages he'd ever felt (he'd been too young to be angry at the crash that caused his parents' deaths. The only other times he'd been this mad, a robber had just shot Ben and Thanos's stupid idiocy had killed Tony). Why was it fair that Mysterio was the one who lived? Why couldn't it have been his parents? Or Ben? Or Tony? Why was it that the one who lived was also the one who broke his heart, betrayed him?
Then again, he was Peter Benjamin Parker. Luck was never really on his side, was it?
When Fury told him where Mysterio (never Quentin Beck, not anymore) was being held, Peter had a single, momentary urge to go see him.
How crazy was that? There was no way he would go see Mysterio. The man deserved to never see anyone ever again. He was an awful person. Peter wasn't going to give him the chance to manipulate him again. Peter was better than that now, less gullible, less trusting. He would never ever give Mysterio the chance to hurt him or the people he loved. Never.
That didn't stop him from tentatively suggesting to Happy that maybe Peter should go and see Mysterio. Happy's response had been immediate, loud, and negative. He was never letting Peter near that monster again. He was never going to let Peter get hurt that way again. (Peter loved that May was happy, no matter how weird it was to see the two of them dating, but Peter couldn't quite bring himself to fully invest himself in Happy, not after so much disappointment, so much loss).
So, although it made him feel guilty, Peter went above Happy's head. He called Nick Fury. It kind of scared him, honestly, because Nick Fury was really, really scary and also less likely to do anything Peter asked, but he had to try. If only to get his conscience to shut up about the idea.
Fury was coldly disinterested in anything Peter had to say about the matter, quickly shutting down everything he said, pushing argument after argument out of the way like Peter's words meant nothing. At the end of the phone call, though, Fury had quietly admitted that he thought Peter was a good kid and that he should just move on from the situation. It satiated Peter's crippling disappointment, but it also gave him a passion. Who was Fury to tell Peter to move on? Who was he to decide how Peter should move on? Maybe talking to Mysterio would help him. Maybe facing the man who put him through so much, who hurt a part of his soul that he'd thought had died with Tony, would help him move on.
Peter went to the one person who would always be on his side.
May, uh, wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea at first either. There was a lot of screaming from her, too. But she cut the freak out pretty short, giving him a chance to interject and explain his reasoning. What little there was to explain, anyways. Truth be told, Peter didn't really understand why he wanted to see Mysterio so bad. There was a lot of unanswered questions, a lot of betrayal simmering in the back of Peter's mind. (There was also an itch to see if Mysterio was okay, but Peter didn't entirely know how to communicate that without sounding crazy. He thought that maybe May understood regardless).
In the end, May gave her permission for the little field trip and helped him organize his thoughts in order to better convince Fury to let him see Mysterio. She told him that this was something that he needed to do on his own. He needed to ask for the permission and convince Fury, but she'd help him with the set up.
It didn't go well.
Neither did the second time. Or the third time. Or the fourth.
Peter was pretty sure it only worked on the fifth attempt because Fury didn't want to listen to Peter talking to him anymore. Which, hey, vaguely insulting but convenient so Peter didn't really have any room to complain. Besides, now he got what he wanted, right?
Right…
Even as Peter stood in front of the room that held Mysterio, deep in some prison that he probably wasn't supposed to know about with security measures that made breaking into Fort Knox sound like child's play, he wasn't sure if this was what he wanted. It must have been what he wanted since he spent so much trying to get in, but… standing there? It didn't feel like it. Peter had to ball his hands into fists and try to push past the anxiety rising in his chest at the thought of what was behind those doors. He didn't want to see Mysterio. He couldn't leave without seeing Mysterio. The thoughts were conflicting and hurt his heart. Why couldn't he just make up his mind about the whole thing?
Peter shook his head. He could make up his mind. And the answer was easy. He'd fought a lot of people to get to where he was, so he was going to go in. No matter what his stupid brain had to say about it.
Decision made, Peter opened the door.
He made eye contact with Mysterio and immediately wanted to turn around and leave again. Mysterio looked awful. His skin was sallow and his eyes had bags under them. It made something clench in Peter's heart even as a sort of icy rage washed through his veins. What was he doing? Why did he think this was a good idea?
Breathing in deeply, Peter mechanically stepped forward and sat in the chair set out for him. It didn't matter if this was a good idea or not. It was happening and he'd committed and that was that.
Bracing himself, Peter tried to think of something to say, tried to let his thoughts calm and settle before he opened his mouth. Mysterio didn't give him the chance as he snapped, "Come to gloat?"
Under the table, Peter clenched his fists until his knuckles creaked, trying to keep his breathing under control, "No. I just – I wanted answers. I wanted to know why you did all the things you did."
Mysterio rolled his tired eyes, "You know why I did it. Stark stole from me – from me. He belittled me by claiming credit for my invention and naming it some idiotic name. He stole from others, too! I wasn't the only one! And I'm betting I didn't find even half the disgruntled employees Stark left in his wake. I-,"
Peter cut him off, "Mr. Stark is dead! If he's the one you were mad at, then you should have taken it up with him! But he's dead and you hurt innocent people who had nothing to do with your issues with Mr. Stark!"
"Innocents?" Mysterio sneered, "They put that man on a pedestal. They act like him offing himself was some great thing. I can't go two feet without seeing a picture of him. And you? Are you calling yourself an innocent? You almost killed me, you know. How would you have felt then? How would your fans have felt then? The next Tony Stark, going around killing heroes."
"You're not a hero," Peter seethed, skin crawling the same way it did every time someone said that Spiderman was the next Tony Stark. He wasn't. Even if he were anywhere near Mr. Stark's level of intelligence and skill, there was no way he could replace him. Mr. Stark was charismatic and kind and so creative. Peter wasn't there. He didn't think he'd ever be there. Plus, it wasn't like he even dealt with the same stuff. Sure, he helped with Thanos but otherwise? He was the friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Not an Avenger.
"Oh?" Mysterio asked, leaning back in his chair. He looked sinister, eyes cold and mouth drawn in a tight smirk. Peter wondered how he could have possibly trusted this man. He wondered how stupid it must have made him that he was tricked so easily. Mysterio's smirk widened, "No comment on the other things? What would you have done if I'd died, Peter?"
"Why would I do anything? You don't matter to me," Peter said, trying to convince himself it was true.
Mysterio threw his head back and laughed, "You think I didn't have a contingency plan for that? What better way to destroy the new Tony Stark than to accuse him of killing a hero and blasting his identity across the world?"
"Don't call me that," Peter said automatically. Then the rest of Mysterio's words caught up to him and he paled, "You wouldn't. You couldn't."
"Please," Mysterio rolled his eyes, "I already have the film. It was very dramatic. Heart-wrenching. I can't imagine your reputation would have ever recovered."
"I'm not doing this for some sort of reputation. I'm just trying to save people," Peter argued. He wondered why he was engaging with Mysterio. He could tell the man was just trying to egg him on. He should leave. He should just get up and walk away and never think about this horrible, hateful man ever again. Instead, his traitorous mouth opened and said, "How have you been?"
Mysterio's mouth snapped shut from where it had been open, probably about to say something scathing. He blinked at Peter for a moment, clearly thrown. After a second, his smirk crept back onto his face, small and uncertain, "Is that their angle? Fury thought that throwing a kid at me would get me to open up about my stashes? He must know that I have no problems hurting kids. You won't get me to trust you."
Peter sighed, tired and done with the conversation but unwilling to leave yet, "There's no angle. I just wanted to ask if you were alright."
"Just peachy," Mysterio grinned, "And how are you, Peter? Still desperate enough for a father figure to come visit a criminal?"
The words rocked into Peter's mind, betrayal lancing through him again. What was he expecting? He knew that Mysterio was evil. He knew that the man had no problem digging where it hurt and just otherwise being a bad person. Why had Peter come here? Why had he opened himself up to more hurt? Because he was stupid.
Without another word, Peter got up and walked out of the cell.
PPPPPP
May was cautious about it. She waited until they were both sat at the table with their Thai food spread out around them. She waited until Peter's shoulders had relaxed down from around his ears and until his hands stopped shaking. She waited until he'd smiled tremulously at her before asking, "How did your visit with that man go?"
Peter's shoulders flew right back up around his ears again and he ducked his head into his food. May sighed and rested her hand on his forearm for a moment, "Oh, Peter."
"It wasn't -," Peter cut himself off, not entirely certain what he was going to say.
May grimaced at him, taking a bite of her noodles before saying, "Have you thought more about going to see someone?"
"May…," Peter started.
May cut him off, "I know, I know. Your secret identity. But, Peter, if you asked Fury, I'm sure he could find you a counselor that could keep a secret. I bet you're not the first person in his employ to need someone to talk to."
"And we can definitely afford a super secret important therapist person who works for assassins and secret agents," Peter muttered under his breath.
May clearly heard him because she breathed in deep for a moment, nostrils flaring. After a second, she let the air out and gave him a slightly strained smile, "Happy has said that he would be willing to pay."
"Happy!" Peter cried, throwing down his chopsticks, "You've been talking about this with Happy?"
"He's my boyfriend and I'm worried about my kid, of course I talked to him! Besides, he's worried about you, too. You're important to him," May said, softening her voice towards the end.
Peter scowled, "I'm important to him because I'm the 'next Tony Stark.' He doesn't care about me."
"You know that's not true," May scolded, "He thinks you're a great kid."
"Really? Then where was he when I was investigating the Vulture? Where was he when I was trying to tell someone about my patrols? I only matter to him now because Mr. Stark is dead!" Peter shouted. He felt guilty immediately afterwards, shoulders curling in towards his ears. He shouldn't be shouting at May. He knew that she just wanted to help. And he wanted help, too! He wanted to stop feeling like his limbs were crumbling to dust and he wanted to stop being afraid that roofs would crash down over him, and he wanted to stop being so scared that one day he'd lose May the way he's lost everyone else. But they couldn't afford it and he hated pity. Peter didn't want Happy giving them their money because he pitied them or because he needed Peter to be a better Tony Stark.
May reached out and put a hand over Peter's. For a long moment, they just sat there like that, May waiting for Peter to calm down and un-tense. When Peter's shoulders had finally unwound, May spoke quietly and softly, eyes intense, "Peter. I love you. I larb you even," she paused to smile at him, and Peter smiled back tremulously, "So please know that everything I ever do is for your benefit. I want to help you. I want you to be happy and to be living your best life. Your work as Spiderman scares me. I'll be honest about that. But I know that it makes you happy – happier than I think you've been in a long time. But it hurts you too. And not just physically. It hurts your heart. I can help you patch up your wounds and hold ice to your bruises. I can't do anything other than just be here for your mental wounds. It kills me that I can't help you with this. But I want to. And if that means letting Happy pay for you to get therapy, then that's that. Ah, ah, ah! I'm not done! It doesn't matter what Happy's motivations are, okay? This is between you and me. Trust me to trust him, okay?"
Peter's eyes welled with tears, and he ducked his head. He tried a couple times to think of an answer but all he could manage was, "I promise I'll think about it. Seriously this time." After a second, he tacked on, "I larb you too."
May smiled at him, patting his hand once before moving back to her food, "Thank you. That's all I ask. We'll talk about it again in a week, okay? Alright, that conversation is over now. Let's go back to the original. How did your visit with Mysterio go?"
Peter grimaced. This conversation topic wasn't much better than the therapy one. Still, he knew May wouldn't let it go, so he sighed and pushed his food around, "Not good. He's very angry with Mr. Stark. He thinks other people are just as much to blame because they care about Mr. Stark. He – I tried to ask how he was doing but he just lashed out."
May pursed her lips, "You want to see him again."
"I don't know why," Peter said miserably, "I know it's not good for me. But… he seemed so genuine sometimes, when we were talking. I don't – I don't think he's a monster, not really. I think he was hurt, and he surrounded himself with other people who were hurt, and they just fed off each other's anger. But I also know that he hurt a lot of people. I don't know."
"I think," May started slowly, looking down at her food, "that caring about your enemies is a good thing. The Vulture showed me that villains aren't always as cut and dry as they seemed before. He had a family – a sweet little girl and a lovely wife. He wanted to provide for them, and he felt he had been wronged. He needed help and no one gave it to him. That Wanda Maximoff was the same, wasn't she? She worked against the Avengers at one point because she had gone through a lot of tragedy, but she came back and did good things. As long as you make sure they aren't hurting people, I don't see anything wrong with it."
"Are you saying I should help him?" Peter asked incredulously.
May smiled at him, "I'm saying that the world is unfair, and you have decided to work to make a little fairer. But is it really fair if you're only helping the good guys?"
Peter jabbed his chopstick into his noodles, "It doesn't seem fair to help someone who hurt so many people. Isn't it fair if he suffers for his crimes?"
"Is suffering ever a good, fair, right thing?" May countered.
Peter grimaced at her, "You think I should go back and keep meeting him, try to help."
May shrugged, "Well, I think I should come back with you next time to make sure nothing too bad is going on, but, well, yeah. I think if you think he can be helped, then you should help him. You're a Parker. And Parker's don't shy away from tough jobs, right? Someone needs help and you're in a position to do it."
Peter sighed but nodded. She was right, after all. Mysterio needed help and Peter could provide it. What more did he need to know?
And that's how it went.
Between him and May, they managed to bully Fury into allowing regular meetings with Mysterio. May only came the first time which was nerve-wracking for Peter who never wanted her near the nastier parts of his Spiderman job. It ended up being hilarious because apparently even Mysterio wasn't immune to May's aggressive mothering technique. She'd also threatened him into keeping his nasty comments to a minimum. It was kind of awesome.
Every Friday afternoon after school, Happy would drive Peter straight to the prison where Mysterio was being kept and Peter would try to talk to Mysterio about anything or everything. He was careful to leave out names and any information that might get his friends or his girlfriend hurt, but otherwise? Fair game.
Mostly, Mysterio sat in stony silence until he found an opportunity to sneak in a snide comment. Every once in a great while, Peter would manage to drag him into an engineering conversation. Mysterio was smart. Like, crazy smart. Peter could see how he managed to do all the things he did, even with all the people he had to work with. He was a bit of a wordsmith, too. Definitely more than Peter at least.
Mysterio liked wordplay and using big, SAT type words. Peter was pretty sure he just did it to feel important but who was he to judge? If that was the worst thing he was doing, then Peter was content.
Overall, it kind of ended up being fun. Mysterio was kind of like Peter's intelligent diary which was kind of weird but still helpful. He felt bad about it at first, but his therapist said that having any sort of journal was better than having none. And both Peter and his therapist knew that Peter didn't have the time, energy, or patience to keep a regular journal. He was distantly aware that his therapist had access to the video of those meetings, but his therapist never brought it up, so he didn't mention it and tried not to think about it.
On this Friday, Peter slammed into his chair and swung his backpack over the back of it, turning to face Mysterio with a smile on his face. It faltered a little at the steely glare that Mysterio was giving him, but Peter rallied quickly, "Hey! How are you doing?"
"Why do you keep doing this?" Mysterio demanded.
Peter blinked. Normally it took a lot longer to get Mysterio to start talking. He responded slowly, "Doing what?"
"This! Coming to see me every week! Nattering on about your little life. What are you getting out of this? You haven't asked me to make anything. You haven't tried to manipulate me. What are you doing?" Mysterio shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see one of the guards shifting slightly in response to the angry tone.
Peter figured honesty was the best policy and answered, "I'm trying to help you. I think you could be happier if you were given a chance. I think you wouldn't be so hateful and hurtful if you had someone around who wasn't as negative as all those other people you were working with."
"Ah, I see," Mysterio sneered, "Your hero complex is kicking in again. Well, little hero, have you helped me enough? When will you realize that I can't be helped? When will you see that you've spent all this time 'helping' me while other people are killed and hurt and you did nothing. Is this really about you helping me? Or is this about you looking for any excuse to avoid your responsibilities? You're-,"
"Enough!" Peter shouted, resisting the urge to fly to his feet only because he knew the guards could get a little twitchy. They were really nice, and Peter was on first name basis with all of them but, still, twitchy.
Breathing in slowly, Peter tried to relax back into his seat, trying to get his scattered thoughts back together under Mysterio's steely gaze. Once he felt more stable, Peter lifted his eyes to meet Mysterio's, "I am seventeen years old, Mysterio." Peter took another deep breath, then said something he'd been avoiding, "Quentin. I'm seventeen. I want to help people and I have the ability to help people but if I destroy myself trying to do that, then I'm not helping anyone. I'm not here to avoid my supposed responsibility but even if I was, then that's okay. I can't take everyone's struggles onto my shoulders. I'm not that strong. I never will be. But if I take care of myself, I can help a lot of people. It's hard to live with that. I'll watch the news and see that someone was killed in a mugging while I was working on homework and the guilt is almost overwhelming but I have to recognize that what criminals do is not my fault and I have to remind myself that I still save a lot of people, even if I don't save all of them."
For a long moment, there was silence in the room. Neither Peter or Myst- Quentin spoke, although they kept their eyes on each other. Just as Peter was about to call it quits over an hour before he normally headed out, Quentin's eyes flickered to the table. Without looking at Peter, he chuckled wryly, "I don't understand you, Peter. I thought, surely, one of these times you'd show your true colors. Something would happen or you'd lose patience, and you'd finally do what you came here to do. But you didn't. Instead, you come here week after week and just – talk to me. You ask how I am and you ignore the fact that I'm purposefully cruel. I don't get it."
Peter felt frustration crawling up his spine but refused to give into it, "I've told you already why I'm here. I want to help you. There's no hidden agenda. I'm a simple person."
"No one is that good," Quentin sneered.
Peter rolled his eyes, "Obviously I'm not good all the time. I skip school and sometimes I get so mad at criminals that I can barely see straight. But, in this, I'm trying to be good. I want to help you."
"Why?" Quentin challenged, "What could you be getting out of it?"
"Why do I need to be getting something out of it?" Peter cried, throwing his hands in the air.
Quentin snarled, "Why would you be wasting this much time if you weren't getting something from it?"
"I'm getting justice?" Peter tried, "Does that make you feel better? I'm getting the satisfaction of doing the right thing. That's all I need. That's all I ever needed. My family and the ability to do the right thing."
"Get out," Quentin said quietly, the fire of the argument fading from his eyes. Peter tilted his head to the side, sure that he heard wrong, but Quentin ignored the motion, whispering angrily, "Get. Out."
Shoulders up around his ears, Peter got out.
PPPPPP
One of the only things Ned and Peter had really fought about was Peter going to see Mysterio. He thought Peter was crazy for purposefully putting himself through that. Even months after starting therapy, Peter still couldn't quite come up with the words to explain it. At the end of the fight, they had just decided to agree to disagree and table the argument for another (for never).
Still, that didn't stop Ned from pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes when he saw Peter stalk into the apartment, eyes glossy and red-rimmed. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Peter slid into the Spiderman suit, already feeling stronger and more secure in himself with the suit wrapped around his limbs.
Finally, Ned broke the silence, "I know we agreed to not talk about it, but…"
"Then let's not talk about it," Peter interrupted.
"Hey," Ned said, reaching out so his fingertips brushed along Peter's arm, "Don't take this out on me, okay? I'm not looking for a fight. I just – want to know what happened today. Can you tell me?"
Peter took a shuddering breath, back to Ned. After a moment, he slumped and turned around, curling into the arm of the couch furthest from Ned. He tucked his chin into his collarbone and said, "I don't understand how he can't realize that I want to help him. Even after all this time, he thinks that I'm still trying to hurt him. He has to know that I'm not like that. And I can't imagine he's that jaded from whatever went down between him and Mr. Stark."
Ned waited for a moment to see if Peter would continue before he asked, "Did he bring that up today? Because, well, if he brought it up, then he might actually be ready to start accepting it. May said that he normally doesn't talk about anything at all."
Peter couldn't even find the energy within himself to be mad that Ned and May were talking about him behind his back. He knew they were doing it because they loved him. Tucking his chin further into his collarbone, Peter promised, "I'm giving him one more chance. If he – if he won't accept that I'm trying to help next time, then I'm going to leave."
"Maybe," Ned nervously licked his lips then continued, "Maybe two more times. Just to be sure."
Lifting his face, Peter stared at Ned incredulously, "Are you serious? You're super against me talking to him!"
"Well," Ned blustered, "At first, yeah. But – I don't know. It almost seems to be helping you? And maybe that's wishful thinking and it's just that these visits are corresponding with your therapist visits. But either way, it's not hurting you the way I thought it would. And, well, May and I were talking, and she said all this stuff about great power and great responsibility that was pretty cool. I don't know. I just think that two more visits wouldn't hurt."
After a moment, Peter leaned forward and hugged Ned, just taking the moment to soak in the presence of his best friend. He whispered into Ned's shoulder, "Thanks, man."
"Anytime, man," Ned responded.
PPPPPP
Peter went into the next meeting with Myst- with Quentin – with determined cheer. He wasn't going to let one session mess him up. He was helping, whether Quentin wanted to admit it or not. Quentin was looking less tired and less hollow with each session, and he made more commentary that wasn't cruel. Peter was getting somewhere. He just needed to keep trying.
Quentin met him with a glare, causing Peter's cheer to falter immediately. Shaking his head, Peter tried to gather the cheer back to him, plopping down in the chair and asking cheerfully, "How are you?"
"Why are you back?" Quentin demanded.
"You didn't ban me from coming back," Peter pointed out petulantly.
"I hadn't realized that was an option," Quentin sneered.
Peter barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, clinging to the tatters of his cheerful attitude, "If you tell the guards that I can't visit you, then I'll stop visiting you." He said it like a dare. He stared Quentin down, daring him to tell the guards that Peter had to leave. Quentin didn't say anything.
Peter squared his shoulders and tried to get into the groove of his usual routine. He started in on his usual daily antics, a few Spiderman stories and a few school stories. Quentin didn't engage once. It wasn't exactly unusual, but it had been a while since he'd been that silent. Peter tried to not let it get to him.
He left that evening feeling empty and uncomfortable.
He arrived next Friday with very little hope that he would be allowed in. He smiled tremulously at the guards, "Hey, I'm here to see Mysterio!"
"We know, kid," One of the guards laughed, causing Peter's cheeks to heat up. The guard glanced over her paperwork, ensuring that Peter went through all the important checks. Peter's foot jiggled nervously as he waited. Was Quentin going to let him in? The guard looked up, smile on her face, "Just through that door like usual. He's waiting for you."
Breath whooshing out of him, Peter sped through the door like Quentin would change his mind about seeing him at any moment. Once he got through the door, however, Peter slowed down, creeping into the room and settling into the chair carefully. He'd promised himself that this was his last day if Quentin didn't show any signs of wanting to be helped. And if it was his last day… he wanted it to be a good one.
He opened his mouth to ask his usual startup question, only to be interrupted by Quentin taking in a big breath. Peter stared at him with wide eyes as Quentin squared his shoulders, looked determinedly at Peter, and asked, "How are you?"
Peter's smile was bright enough to charge a thousand solar panels. He chirped, "Good! How are you?"
Quentin didn't respond verbally, but he still shrugged. Peter considered it a win.
PPPPPP
From there, things started getting better rapidly. Quentin almost always started off their conversations even if he still didn't talk much. His acerbic comments had decreased exponentially, almost down to zero. It was – it was nice. It felt less like Quentin was a diary and more like… more like he was a friend. Maybe friend wasn't the right word, but it was the best one that Peter could come up with. He was afraid to put those thoughts fully into words, afraid to ever admit that to anyone other than himself.
He'd been burned enough by this particular man to know better than to make that mistake again.
But, as the days went on, it got harder and harder to avoid the term, to avoid thinking about what their relationship was. It was different than it had been before, less unbalanced. This time, it wasn't an older mentor helping a younger, unsure, stressed mentee. This time, it was two people who'd been betrayed and were too afraid to reach out that last little bit. This time, Peter knew that Quentin wasn't the lauded hero from another world and Quentin knew that Peter wasn't the dumb kid who didn't want all that responsibility.
One day, Quentin took over the conversation from the start, "What do you think about people calling you the next Tony Stark?"
Peter felt a chill run through him at the words. He hated hearing that. He hated that people were giving him more responsibilities and expecting him to show up to more formal events. He hadn't told people his identity. He hadn't told people his age. He was terrified at the idea of people finding out who he was. But he was even more afraid that giving people his hours of availability would tell them that he was a student. So, he didn't tell anyone what hours he was available and he switched between skipping school and flaking on events. It was stressful and awful and every day in the news, he heard J. Jonas Jameson ranting about how unreliable Spiderman was and how he must be a villain if he refused to unmask himself. He had to listen to a lot of different news stations talk about all the ways Peter was failing to live up to Mr. Stark's reputation.
Taking in a shuddering breath, Peter shrugged anxiously, eyes trained on the table between them, "I hate it. I'm nothing like Mr. Stark. I'll never live up to his legacy. I'm just – I'm just me. When people say I'm going to be the next Mr. Stark, they're just putting me up against something I will always fail against."
"Not always," Quentin said quietly, meeting Peter's startled gaze, "Stark would never do something like this. He would never patrol the streets to the wee hours of the morning with a test the next day, just to make sure that more people are helped. I'm not looking to get into an argument with you about Stark. I'm stating facts. The Avengers were never for the people – they were for the world."
Peter stared at him, unbearably touched. He ducked his head to make sure that Quentin couldn't see the tears building in his eyes. Once he blinked them away, he said quietly, "Thanks, Quentin."
Quentin stared at him, eyes softer than Peter had seen since he revealed himself for the villain he was, "We need people like the Avengers. You're right, you can't take everything onto your shoulders alone. But we need people like you, more. What use is saving the world if there's no people left to live in it? You – you saved me. You could have left me to die. You could have just killed me. Instead you let me live and you spent all this time helping me. I can never repay that."
"You don't have to," Peter rushed to assure him, "You never have to repay kindness. That's the point."
"Right," Quentin chuckled. He glanced down at his hands, something unfathomable in his eyes, "Right."
PPPPPP
Peter returned home to a host of SHIELD agents. Quentin Beck had escaped jail. They wanted to know if Peter had helped him.
Peter wanted to feel betrayed. He wanted to feel angry again. He wanted to feel sad or mad or confused.
He just felt empty.
PPPPPP
It was almost two months before Peter saw Mysterio again. They met on the rooftop of one of the highest skyscrapers. It was one of Peter's favorite places to reflect. As he saw Mysterio touch down on the roof and start cautiously walking towards him, Peter wondered if Mysterio had gotten lucky or if he'd been watching him. He found that he didn't particularly care.
As Mysterio settled on the ledge next to Peter, he thought that he should probably tell Fury that there was a Mysterio sighting, that he was, in fact, sitting right next to the man. Instead, Peter stayed still, eyes trained on the encroaching sunrise.
Mysterio hesitated a few moments before finally speaking, "How are you?"
Peter let out a shuddering breath, chin dropping onto his chest, pathetically grateful for the mask covering his misty eyes, "Not good. How are you?"
Mysterio side-stepped the question, instead responding with another question of his own, "Are you allowed to be out this late? I thought you had a strict bedtime."
"I'm eighteen now," Peter said quietly, "And it's the weekend."
"Yeah, I suppose so," Mysterio responded just as quietly.
"I heard you're a proper regular villain now," Peter intoned, feeling a bit of himself crumble with the words.
Mysterio hung his head, letting out a big breath of air, "It's not your fault."
"Never said it was," Peter defended, hating himself for the little bit of weight those words lifted from his shoulders.
Mysterio huffed out a quiet laugh, "I think you forget, Peter, that I know you better than most others. You might have been trying to help me and you might have been careful about not giving away information on your friends and family, but you certainly told me a lot about yourself."
"Is that a threat?" Peter asked tiredly.
"No," Mysterio sighed, "Not a threat. Just – I don't know. Just letting you know. I don't – I don't want to fight you, but I recognize that setting up shop in New York is asking for trouble. I don't want to be a monster. I thought, once, that I had to be the monster in order to take down the memory of another monster, but you taught me better than that. I don't entirely know what I'm doing. I know I'm too bitter and angry to ever be a good guy but I promise I'll try to not be too bad, okay?"
"What does that even mean?" Peter demanded, finally turning to face Mysterio.
Mysterio grinned, "It means that I promise to never kill someone. It means that I promise to avoid hurting people as much as I can. I have a list. I'm going to take some people down. I'm probably going to laugh maniacally while I do it. But I'll try to minimize damage. And I'll try to stick to people who are bad. Maybe it's not your definition of bad. Maybe you'll even think they're good people. But I'll try. For you."
"For me?" Peter laughed humorously, "Why should I trust that? After you keep betraying me?"
"I understand why you helped me," Mysterio changed the subject, looking over the horizon, "I think I do, at least. I want to help you. I know I'd be bad at it, though. I know that helping people and doing the right thing went down the drain when Stark stole my ideas. I can't do what you did. I'm not patient enough or good enough. But I can make things a little easier for you. If – if you can still bear to talk to me, I can try to plan my heists around your tests. I can be here if you need someone to talk to. But I won't change. I can't."
Peter joined Mysterio in staring out over the cityscape, watching the sun rise. He was tired. He was sick of getting his heart trampled on. He never wanted to trust someone again.
But… but Mysterio still needed help. And, honestly, Peter needed help too. And who would Spiderman be without hope?
One more time. Peter would do this one more time. Voice shaking just the slightest bit, Peter said, "Okay."
Author's Note: I was actually expecting this to be a lot happier than it ended up? Like, it was supposed to be a cute fic that ended in Peter having another father figure who did good with him but it ended up really sad, actually. My fault for trying to write fic after failing a test, haha. Anyways, thanks for reading!
