Powers!
Without hesitation, Peter shoved Aunt May back into the living room. "Run!"
Peter scuttled right after her only to feel something wrap around his legs. Then, a sharp tug. Peter crashed, slamming his chin hard on the floor and his jaw rattled in pain. Another jerk and he was dragged, away from his aunt.
Hands roughly flipped him, banging his head hard. Dazed by the sudden throbbing pain, Peter blinked up and saw Powers looming over him, grinning ear to ear. "Where you running off to, Itsy Bitsy?" the man jeered. "Don't ya wanna catch up a bit? You know… have that good, old fashion class reunion?"
Peter squirmed, frantically tugging at the binds around his leg. Powers chuckled, overjoyed at watching his captured prey struggle. "Oh man," he said, pulling something that resembled a yo-yo out from his satchel, "this is too awesome! Can you believe it, Jackie? Here we are, wearing sheriff badges, with orders to kick the crap out of the little prince."
Another figure stepped out from behind Powers. Peter recognized him instantly. It was the guy from the library. He was with Bullseye, encouraging the man to take out Peter's eye with a pencil. He strutted into the apartment, eyeing the idyllic apartment. His dark tuft of hair was haphazardly styled and the jagged scar running down his face twisted into a cruel sneer.
Jack-O's eyes lit up, like tiny sparks of fire when he spotted Peter tangled on the floor. "It only happened in my dreams," he muttered as he gave a hard kick to Peter's side. "But—boy! I'm sure glad to be living out one of my dreams."
They both cackled in glee, enjoying their dominance over Peter.
"You remember, Jackie, don't cha boy?" Powers mockingly asked Peter. "Like me, he's missed hanging out with you."
They laughed again, but their laughter was cut short by a panicked scream.
"Peter!"
All eyes flipped up to May Parker, standing in the middle of the small entrance between the foyer and living room. Her face was blanched, but eyes wide with terror at the two men standing over her nephew.
Powers jerked his head at Jack-O and ordered, "Handle the girl."
Jack-O's devilish grin grew wider as he passed Peter, heading right to Aunt May.
Peter freaked. He abandoned the rope around his legs and fired a web right at Jack-O's feet. It stuck and landed. Jack-O tripped and crashed into the wall, startled by the sudden restraint.
Powers cursed. "His shooters!"
Peter whipped around and fired a round at Powers. The man jumped and dodge, moving out of webbing's mark, which gave Peter the advantage to undo the binds. Freed, Peter leapt to his feet right Jack-O burned away the webbing around his foot. The man's hands were flaring up, sizzling as he turned to face Peter.
Powers cried from the kitchen. "Finish him!" he shouted. "I'll go after her."
Jack-O's face grew redder and redder until it burst into flames, resembling a jack-o-lantern. Peter was momentarily startled by the sudden inferno, but with Aunt May's life in danger, Peter surged into a fighting frenzy.
He remembered his training. The boxing and martial arts. The strategic strategies to fight in close combat. Peter recalled them all as he planted a fist right into Jack-O's stomach. The flaming head gagged out smoke, but he didn't go down. It only made the flames coming from his head burn hotter.
Jack-O struck out, fist punching through the air right to Peter's head. But, Peter was quicker. He easily dodged it, swiping to the right and counter-attacking it with a strong blow right in the crook of Jack-O's elbow. The hit sent Jack-O spiraling, losing control of his limbs and giving Peter the opening to slam his fist twice into Jack-O's back, incapacity him.
Then, Peter heard a terrible cry from the living room. His lungs went cold. "May!"
He charged, sprinting into the living room to find Powers taunting his aunt with his homemade gadgets, firing little sparks at her feet, legs, arms and face. May was doing her best to avoid them, throwing things at him, but it only delighted the maniacal man.
Blood pounding in his ears, Peter launched himself over the couch and coffee table right into Powers. He slammed into him, knocking both of them down into a tumbling wreck. The sound of a loud crash was heard underneath him as he and Powers rolled along the floor. Both had each other's hands, wrestling and warring for the upper hand.
At that moment, Peter had no strategy. Nothing. All he thought about was keeping Powers away from his aunt. And punching a dent into the man's face for threatening her.
Peter added more pressure, turning Powers' wrist at an awkward angle to the point the man's bones creaked. Powers gritted his teeth as he restrained as much as he could. But the determined look remained in the man's eyes. The look of pure hatred and anger. Probably mirroring Peter's own.
Then, Powers eyes flinched and a sting of warning alerted Peter something was about to happen. His reaction was delayed and a nasty fireball slammed into his back, throwing him off Powers and colliding into a wall with a sickening thud.
Oh, that hurt. God—was that his flesh? Was that nauseating smell his burnt flesh? Peter bore the pain and stomached the smell as he scurried up in time to watch Powers and Jack-O band together to confront him. Both eyeing him like a prized dinner.
Peter took a deep breath. Game on.
They both attacked. Jack-O shot out a fireball to which Peter dodged and he fired off another web at the man's hands. His fiery fist burned through easily and he stormed up, head still alight like a flaming pumpkin, came punching right at Peter's face. Peter twisted away, high-kicking Jack-O in the side that tossed him out of the living room like a rag doll.
Powers' maniacal laughter was heard before seen when he tossed a handful of what appeared to be bouncing balls at Peter. The all shot off, exploding like fire snaps. The fire nipped at his clothes, sizzling holes right through to his skin. Peter patted it out into smoke before he met Powers face-to-face.
A flash of yellow flew at his face, smacking it hard against his skull in a sickening crack. Peter spun, tripping over his legs and collapsed. Head spinning, Peter slowly got back up in time for Powers to hurl his wound yo-yo back at his head.
Peter fell back down, spitting out blood on his aunt's rug.
"No!" screamed a voice that blurred within the noise in his head.
He heard hurried footsteps, followed by something being thrown into the air and… missing. It shattered on impact against the wall, raining debris over Peter's legs.
Another object was thrown and this time, it seemed to hit its target. Peter heard an intense growl from above.
"You little bitch!"
Peter's eyes widened. May! He scrambled to his feet, blood dribbling from his mouth as he watched Powers wind up his yo-yo to hit an unprotected May.
"NO!" Peter plowed right into Powers' side, sending them sideways once more. They flipped over onto the couch, knocking the contents on the side-table right off. Peter landed on the floor, Powers on top of him.
Powers rough hands clasped around Peter's neck, thumbs digging right into his throat. Peter's lungs burned in desperation. He couldn't breathe! He couldn't… he hacked and coughed, trying to force airflow, but Powers only pressed tighter and his grin widened.
Peter grabbed the man's wrists and yanked Powers' hands off his neck. He tucked in his knees and kicked out. Powers flew across the room, crash landing into May's desk and rolling right off, knocking down her laptop, pencil cup and papers in a gigantic flutter.
Sucking in a deep breath, Peter crouched into position. He glanced over to his aunt. "Get out of here!" he shouted at his aunt, before he lunged right after Powers in hopes to give her the needed distraction to run.
Powers was ready. He tossed another ball and it exploded, smoke filling the space in-between them. Vision distorted, Peter blindly tried to punch Powers, but all he got was air.
Powers didn't. His yo-yo weapon hit Peter square in the chest. It exploded, knocking Peter right off his feet. He landed awkwardly on his arm. No crunching sounds of broken bones, but it was most likely severely bruised. His ears rung and pain that struck his spine, spread up the rest of his back to every other nerve in his body. Everything ached. Nothing was spared.
He rose to get up, scrambling back to his legs when he got hit again. This time by a powered fist. "You piece of shit!" Powers growled, punching Peter in the face. "You little pest! Why can't you just die like any other bug!?"
The repeated blows winded Peter. Hit after hit, it was like a constant rumble of his bones creaking, nearly breaking from the repetition. His mouth pooled with blood, sloshing around over his tongue and teeth. He raised his hands up to protect his face, but Powers snatched them.
"How does it feel to be the bottom of the barrel, now?" sneered Powers.
Peter didn't answer, too busy trying to keep himself afloat. He moaned, head lulling to the side and blood drooling over his busted, swollen lips. God—he was tired. Dead tired.
Powers throttled him for a response, but a shadow came over both of them and a bowl slammed on Powers' head.
It didn't do much damage. It forced Powers to let go of Peter, who collapsed on his back, groaning as his head banged against the hard surface of the floor.
Then, Peter's blood ran cold when Powers spoke. "Imma gonna kill you, bitch."
Peter lifted his eyes up. May was backing away, swallowing her nerves down as she boldly faced Powers. If there was one thing he knew about his aunt was she never backed down. She was as brave as her husband. That frightened Peter the most.
May went to hit Powers, but her strength was not match against his. He caught her, spun her around so that her arm was twisted behind her back, and then, with a cruel laugh, he rammed her head into the wall.
Peter's heart shattered as he watched Aunt May's head crack against the plaster. She went limp, eyes rolled away and disappearing behind the skull as she collapsed over the broken pieces of their memories.
She was still. So still.
"No… no," Peter croaked as his energy revitalized him, surging within him. He sprung up, climbing over the broken table and the debris to get to his aunt. "No, no, no…"
But he never got to his aunt. A hand latched onto the collar of his shirt and flung him across the room. He flew overhead, landing hard and rolling right into the kitchen. The crash landing knocked all the wind out of him. Momentarily stunned, Peter twitched, his muscles trying to accommodate to what his screaming mind wanted them to do. But, it hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to do anything other than lay still and hope it all ends.
Of course, it didn't. Something seared right into his leg. Peter screamed in agony, jerking his leg away from the source of its torture.
Jack-O apparently recovered. He now loomed large over Peter as Powers came up to join them. Both wearing matching glares.
Powers stomped over, snatching a fistful of Peter's shirt and throwing him into the kitchen cabinets. Peter's back stung on impact, the knobs on each cabinet drilled right into his tissues in the most uncomfortable manner. He slid down, almost falling onto the stove that was alight and the forgotten kettle squeaked out a faint, feasible whistling sound. Not yet hot, but getting there.
Peter turned to avoid hitting it, hoping to simply fall to the floor when Power returned, snaring another fistful of his shirt and shoving him up against the cabinets. Then, a hand went to his throat and squeezed.
Peter heaved, coughing and choking as he clawed at Powers' tightening grip. Yet, everything thing he did, received a slap across the face, burning a print on the side of his cheek. His throat continued to close and his breaths grew more and more shallow. Hard and difficult. Lungs expanding as wide as possible. Almost bursting.
Powers smirked at the struggle. "I'm going to enjoy every second of this," he uttered, staring directing into Peter's eyes. "Watching the life fade from your eyes by my own hands."
"Boss wants him alive, Powers," Jack-O called behind him.
There was an immediate aggravation at the reminder. Powers pouted, but his grip only loosened a millimeter. The windpipes still pressed severely close, air barely coming through to Peter's lungs. Black dots were polka-doting his vision as Powers soured.
"Spoilsport," Powers remarked to Jack-O.
Jack-O only shrugged. "Torture him all you want, but gotta keep him alive, pal." The man then pulled a comm device from his own satchel and started talking. "This is Operative Six. Little Prince is secured."
Peter heard static and then a croaky voice. "Cuff him and sit tight. Sending unit in."
Jack-O put away the comm. "You heard 'em, Powers," he said, digging through his satchel again and pulling out a pair of thick handcuffs. "Cuff him, so that we can—"
"GET AWAY FROM MY KID, BASTARDS!"
Jack-O whipped his head around in time to see Aunt May fly right at him. In her hands was her prized Tiffany lamp, the one she loved and Ben purchased for her thirty-fifth birthday. She always had it on whenever she read or worked at his desk. It was her most prized possession and treasured it even more after Ben passed away. But now, she used it as a weapon, slamming the pretty lamp into Jack-O's neck. The colored glass shattered and Peter watched Jack-O collapse on the spot with jagged mosaic pieces protruding from the side of his neck.
May's surprise attacked left Powers and Peter stunned. Peter never felt more proud to be related to her. It revitalized the fight within him. With Powers incapacitated by the sheer surprise, Peter took the chance to free himself. He lifted his leg and slammed his foot down on Powers's knee. Powers let out a howl as he partially collapsed from the lack of support. The madman's hands slipped from Peter's neck to his injured knee, freeing Peter from his grasp. But, Powers wasn't down though. Not like Jack-O.
Peter snared the whistling kettle and slugged it against Powers' face. Twice.
The steaming, hot water poured right onto Powers' skin and a horrible stench invaded. Powers screamed in full-blown terror, staggering backwards with his hands over his face.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Powers cursed, hiding behind his covered hands. "My face!"
Peter didn't care. He grabbed his aunt's hand and bolted down the corridor, dragging her with him as they raced to his old bedroom. Peter nearly threw his aunt inside before he closed the door, locked it and started to shove boxes up against the door.
May stood frantic behind him. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god! What's going on? Who are those guys" she asked. "Peter—how do they know you?"
"Long story," he replied, pointing to the back of his room. "Go to the window!"
It was their best chance to escape. Once Powers and Jack-O recover, and the unit arrives, they would be sitting ducks, trapped and at their mercy. There was only one way out of this situation and Peter was going to do it.
May, however, looked horrified. "The window? Peter—that's a seven story drop! We can't climb out the window," she exclaimed. "We'll die!"
"No, we won't," Peter said, hopping over boxes and thrusting the window open. The humid air swarmed inside the tiny bedroom. "We'll be fine."
"Peter—"
"May! We don't have time to argue," Peter shouted. "Trust me! Okay, just… trust me!"
May was taken aback by Peter's forcefulness. She swallowed whatever her argument was going to be and hurried to the window, looking out with doubt and fear.
Peter, however, stayed calm as he climbed out on the ledge. "Climb on my back."
"Climb on your… Peter! That's crazy! You can't—"
A burst of loud commotion interrupted them. The unit arrived at the scene. Now, there was no more time.
"Aunt May, get on my back right now!" Peter ordered. "I'll explain everything to you later, but right now… get on my back and hold tight!"
May did as told. She climbed onto her nephew's back, her body tensed and rigid. Not at all relaxed or trusting. He didn't blame her. She thought tonight she would be relaxing on the couch, drinking tea only to discover her nephew was alive, two crazed individual beating them up and their apartment entirely wrecked. And now, they were dangling over the window sill, looking over a seven-story drop. Certain death for all humans.
Not for them.
The bedroom door banged. The wood groan in retaliation of the brute force trying to smash through the door. It sounded like a battling ram. They were desperate to get into the room.
Time was up then. Peter had to go through with this. He checked his best options and spied the perfect rooftop for a safe landing. He shot out a line of webbing, hooking it against street light pole.
Secured, Peter wrapped the webbing around his wrist. "Hold right, Aunt May," he warned her. "And best to close your eyes."
"Peter, what are you dooooo—"
May screamed when Peter pushed off. They swung down, going fast towards the pavement before Peter tugged up, narrowing missing the street as he swung them both up into the air. He flicked his wrist again, shooting another strand of webbing to another light pole as they turned, coming up on the landing strip Peter marked.
Meanwhile, May's terrified screams rang in his ear. She didn't close her eyes and her grip around Peter's waist squeezed even tighter than a snake coiling around prey. It sent his stomach right up and Peter thought he may vomit from the pressure, but everything stayed inside when they landed on the dark rooftop.
May's screaming stopped, but she didn't unwrap her arms from him. She stayed in that tight grip, too petrified to even utter a word.
"May? May?" Peter called as he managed to unfasten her arms from him to get a good look at her.
She was stiff, arms at her side, dust and smoke lightened her clothes and skin. But, what scared him the most was the blood splattered on her clothes and a purple bruise forming right above her eyebrows, swelling the skin to form a monstrous lump growing out of her forehead.
Claws scratched away at his heart, making him bleed as he stared at his injured aunt. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to get hurt. She wasn't supposed to be forced out of her home, fighting for her life against armed men intent on killing him. He ruined her. Peter knew that and he wished he never stepped out of the Tower. If only to spare her from this mess.
"Are you okay?" He knew she wasn't, but what else could he say?
May blinked. Her mouth flapping like a fish out of water, trying to speak. Her voice trembled, knees wobbling from all the adrenaline pumping in her. Her breaths were so shallow, quick and fast as if trying to keep up with her racing heart.
Then, with round eyes looking at him through her cracked spectacles, she choked. "Y-You jumped. You... flew!"
"I swung," Peter corrected. "But that's neither here or there. We need to get off this roof. Need to find a place to hide."
Peter hurried to the ridge, checking the sides of the buildings for an easy escape down. He found a fire escape, leading down to the alleyway between the two buildings. "Over here," he gestured his aunt to come. "Start climbing."
They quickly descended down a series of metal ladders until they reached the asphalt. Certain they couldn't be seen, Peter went to explain. "We need to find a safe place to hide," he told her. "Somewhere he can't find us."
"He? Who's he?" May asked, her voice almost shrilled. "You mean Stark?"
"I mean anyone who might come after us," Peter clarified. "They won't stop. Especially now."
May dug her fingers into his scalp, eyes pinched closed in distress. "What the hell is going on?" she asked. "How did you do that? How—w-what is happening? Peter? Peter?"
She looked confused. Scared and confused. Her eyes were focused on him, waiting desperately to be told something other than the horrible truth sinking both of them into this nightmare. Peter wished he could brush it aside. Say it was an honest mistake. Or that it was all a dream, but he couldn't.
He never planned to tell his aunt about Spider-man. She already lost so much and to know her only child was risking his life… it would break her heart.
But there was nothing he could do about it anymore. The attack, the lies and the witness of him using his abilities to get them to safety all needed an explanation before May fell into a fit of hysteria.
Peter took a deep breath. "I'm… I'm S-Spider-man…"
He let his words fade in that single breath and braced himself as he watched his aunt. May froze, eyes wide again.
This is it, he thought. This is the moment that will kill her.
The moment felt very brief and very long all the same. Peter never seen his aunt so terrified. All pale and spooked, like a ghost and she didn't he budge or breathe. Peter was afraid. Not for himself, but for her. Did he kill his aunt with such revelation?
He suddenly wanted to take it all back. Manipulate it into a joke. A gotcha! moment. But, even he struggled to speak and he wanted to cry. Everything happened so fast. Too fast and now, he wanted to cry.
Peter blinked back the tears as he watched May look away from him. She sucked in several deep breaths to control an oncoming outburst of… something. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. It all crossed her face like fluttering shadows.
She rolled in her lips. "H-How? When?" she uttered. "I-I… how?"
Peter's voice wavered. "A s-spider bite," he answered, swallowing. "It just happened and I… I wanted to tell you, but so many things happened. And with Ben, I-I… I didn't want to worry you. I swear I was careful! Very careful! I don't even know how they found out, but May, please! I didn't mean to hurt you. Seriously, I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Not to you. Definitely not you."
His gasped for breath, feeling his barriers crumbled. Tears welled, desperate for comfort and fearing rejection.
But then May moved, tottering up to him as the fear melted into anguish. Peter stood still as May cupped his face. Her large, brown eyes studying him with a brokenness deigned for him.
"Hey—hey, it's okay," May murmured, carding back his hair form his forehead. "You're all right. I'm not mad, Peter. I'm not mad. Okay? We'll get through this, okay? Like we always do."
Then, to Peter's greatest relief, she pulled him in for a hug. Peter sagged in her arms, dropping his head on her shoulder and hugging her back.
"Is that why you were gone?" May asked. "Is that why they attacked us? Because of your… powers?"
"Yes," Peter replied, regretful that his alt-persona brought trouble into their home. "I'm so sorry, Aunt May. I didn't want this to happen at all. I just wanted to come home… a-and see you! I really missed you and I'm sorry for everything. I don't—"
His aunt hushed him, pulling back to look at him straight in the face. "You stop that now," she ordered. "It's not your fault. Okay? You didn't ask to be given super powers. So, you stop that thinking this instant. Understood?"
Peter nodded, sucking in a breath to calm his nerves.
"Good," May said, affirmed. "Now—we need to get to a hospital. Your head is bleeding." She gently touched his forehead, to which Peter winced at the slight sting. "And then we need to call the cops. Tell them everything."
"No!" Peter shouted, shaking his head so fast that the roof spun. "No hospitals. No cops!"
May was taken aback. "Peter! You were kidnapped! We just got attacked in our home! We need to let the authorities know!"
That was a bad idea. If he remembered anything from the Compound, it was that the authorities were on the government's side. Calling them to their attention would only result in Peter being taken away from his aunt.
"No, we can't trust them."
"But Peter—you're bleeding! You could get an infection."
"I heal fast," Peter said before shifting his weight on his feet. "One of my powers."
May blinked, sharply inhaling. "You're going to have to tell me more about all of this."
"I will. I promise, but right now, we need to get off the streets," Peter said, nervous for being outside this long. They needed to find shelter. Somewhere no one could find them. "Do you know anyone nearby? Someone you can trust?"
"No—no, I don't," May responded, stressed in her thoughts. "What about Ned? He doesn't live far."
Peter shook his head. "That'll be the first place he looks."
Mr. Stark knew about Ned. Peter told him a lot about his friend from Queens. Peter wouldn't doubt Mr. Stark sent men to stalk Ned and his home. Going to him wasn't option.
May let out a stern breath. "This is his fault, isn't it?"
It would be easy to say yes, but Peter wasn't sure. More like he didn't want to be sure. "I don't know."
"Well, I do. I definitely blame him," she snapped and then paused for a second. "He didn't hurt you, did he? I mean… there wasn't any—"
She left her sentence to linger in the air, hoping Peter understood the underlying message of her unspoken words. He did.
"No! No—he didn't hurt me," Peter assured her. "No mad science experiments, I promise! I'm okay, May. Really."
"… okay," May said, uncertain, but then frowned deeply. "Going to punch him in his big-headed, smug face if I ever see him."
Her comment drew out a chuckle from Peter. He could picture his aunt punching Mr. Stark in the face. After all, he just witnessed her stab Jack-O in the neck with a lamp. He wouldn't doubt his aunt's ferocity ever again.
May snapped her fingers. "I have a colleague who lives in Elmhurst," she remembered. "If we can take a taxi—wait. I don't have money on me. Do you? No? That's okay. It's not too far of a walk. She's nice. She'll let us stay the night."
Peter hoped so as she was their only option at the moment. The next part, however, wasn't going to be easy. The neighborhood was probably already on full alert and shut-down by agents. All of them hunting for him. It wasn't going to be easy to sneak out Forest Hills. It would have been easier if they did have money to take a cab, but luck was never really a thing for them.
"Okay. Let's go," said Peter, hopeful in this plan, "and once we get there, I'll tell you everything."
"You better."
They headed to the street, getting closer to the mouth when it became barricade by a big presence that filled in the gaps. Peter skirted to a stop, surprised by the sudden appearance of a man.
Then, the man spoke. "Peter."
Happy Hogan.
Peter instantly backtracked, grabbed his aunt to pull behind him. Instead, his aunt shoved Peter behind her, spreading her arms out wide to block any trace of him from Happy. Peter tried to get around her, but May refused to budge from her stance in front of him.
He heard her growl. "Don't you take another step," May warned, "or I will kick your ass!"
Her fierce declaration surprised Happy, who looked befuddled by the statement and slightly afraid. "Uhhh... okay, um... not sure who you are, but I need to speak to Peter."
Peter could see Happy trying to crane his neck to look around Aunt May. But, Aunt May reached over to the litter pit and yanked out the closest thing. It was a broken umbrella, but she wielded it like a sword, pointing the sharp end at Happy's face.
"You're not talking to anyone, but me, pal," May's tone was sharp and low. Made more threatening by the hardened expression in her face and the blood splatter on her clothes.
Happy realized she was serious. "Look, I'm unarmed," he said, displaying his empty hands. "See? Nothing. I just want to talk. We can do that, right?"
May didn't look convinced, but Peter knew Happy. He wouldn't hurt them. He acted all tough and gruff, but harmless overall. He would only put up a fight if necessary and right now, he was calling a truce. Or whatever.
Peter put his hand on Aunt May's arm. "It's okay," he said, stepping out from behind her, despite her protest. "What do you want Happy?"
Happy looked relieved to see Peter, but still eyed Aunt May nervously. "What are you doing?" he said, sounding disappointed. "Running off like that. After Tony told you to stay put. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking of home. I was thinking about my family."
Happy glanced back to his aunt, eyebrows bunched together. "This your cousin?"
"Aunt," May corrected.
Happy's eyes widened just a bit before they blinked in confusion. "Okay... okay," he muttered, eyes closed for a brief second to regain composure. "All right, so um… nice to meet you. Can you put the umbrella thing down?"
May only raised it a little higher.
"Fine," Happy grunted, moving his eyes passed the umbrella and back to Peter. "Kid—what are you planning to do? Huh? Did you even think this through?"
Not fully, Peter admitted to himself. He didn't necessarily come with a plan. He came to only see his aunt. Not to fight for his life, flee with his aunt and be hunted down like an animal. If he knew any of that would happen, he would have come up with a better plan than standing in an alleyway like a fool.
Happy took his silence as a negative. "Jesus, kid… I know your smart, but this was dumb! Did you really think you could just go back to your old life? You can't just run off playing Spider-man."
"I wasn't running off to play Spider-man!" Peter said, fist clenched. "I wanted to go home! And you guys weren't letting me. You wouldn't let me go!"
"Did you even think to ask first before jumping out of a hundred story building?" Happy said. "Tony would have made arrangements if you had asked."
Peter shook his head. Maybe he once thought Mr. Stark would do just that for him. But the longer the night became, the more Peter realized how wrong he was. Doubt took hold, ripping up his world like old wallpaper coming down. It stripped him emotionally bare. He didn't know what to believe as everything suddenly had double-meanings and hidden truths.
But, at the moment, Peter knew he couldn't trust Mr. Stark. Or Happy. Or anyone other than his aunt.
"What's your plan now, Peter?" questioned Happy. "What are you and your aunt going to do next? Because, I can tell you right now, it won't be good if I don't bring you back."
The umbrella thrusted toward Happy. "Don't you threaten my kid," May thundered.
Happy raised his hands up again. "I'm not threatening him. He already knows the truth," he said, flickering his gaze to Peter. "You can keep running, kid, but eventually you'll be caught. Is that what you want? Running like a fugitive from the law? Dragging your aunt along?"
No, Peter didn't want that. But, he couldn't go back either. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Not according to the law," Happy said, although with less venom than before. It almost sounded like sympathy. "I get that you're confused and scared, but running won't make the problems go away. You're a good kid, Peter. Smart too. You know this won't end well. They won't stop looking and you won't stop running. Is that how you want it to be for the rest of your life?
"Come back to the Tower," Happy insisted. "You can talk to Tony. You guys can work something out. Okay? If you come with me now, you won't get in trouble. Yeah?"
Peter thought. He was in a tough situation. Happy was right in that he and Aunt May would always be on the run. From either the United Nations or maybe even Mr. Stark. In either case, running was all they had. They had no resources. No money. No shelter. Not even another pair of clothes to change out. They were helplessly at a disadvantaged against Mr. Stark, with his small army and technology.
If Peter beat Happy, got passed him and managed to reach Aunt May's colleague's house, there was no way they could survive for long on what they have. Even if they got money, a car or anything else to help, it would be useless against the conglomerate of Mr. Stark's resources. And if they weren't afraid to send Powers and Jack-O after him—after his family—then they would send someone much worse. Like someone from Shadow Company. Maybe Bullseye? Deadpool even. Anyone who wouldn't hesitate to kill him and his aunt. Because Peter was certain they wouldn't try to capture him alive after tonight.
Dread rotted his insides upon knowing there was really no choice. If Peter wanted to keep Aunt May safe, then he only had one choice to accept.
May, on the other hand, hadn't yet come to that realization. "Talk to Stark? Like he gives a damn about us," she spat. "He didn't seem to care that I thought my kid was dead."
"That wasn't him—" Happy tried to defend, but May wasn't hearing him.
"If you actually believe that we would trust that asshole, then your head is too far up his ass," May scorned, which her foul language promptly sent Happy reeling. "Stark isn't going near my kid. Never again. Over my dead body. You can tell him that after we beat the crap out of you."
Happy was dumbfounded, or maybe even terrified of his aunt. He kind of leaned away from her, eyes squinting at her as if to decide if she truly was a ferocious opponent that he needed to worry about.
Meanwhile, Peter stood beside his aunt. He looked at her bruised face, the blood splatter and the cracked glasses and knew it was the right thing to do. Peter would do whatever he had to do to protect May. After Ben's death, he promised he would forever keep her safe. And, he could not back out of that promise. He loved her too much to let her suffer more.
"May?"
She wasn't listening. Too busy arguing for him. Defending him from Happy.
He had to speak louder. "May!"
May stopped talking and looked down. Her angry eyes softened on him, rounding with worry and concern.
His next words were going to hurt. "He's right."
"What are you talking about?" May questioned.
"Happy—he's right. We can't keep this up. I can't… I can't put you in danger."
"I can take care of myself just fine."
But all Peter saw was Powers grabbing his aunt's head before he slammed it into the wall. He watched her body fall and saw the ugly bruising that covered half her face. Not only that, but Powers wasn't the most dangerous person out there. Peter resided in a Compound full of super-powered individuals. Some of them a lot worse than Powers.
His eyes hurt as he shook his head. "I can't risk it. I can't let you get hurt because of me," he said, his hand raising up. "I'm sorry."
"Peter, what are you—"
Peter hated himself. He really did.
He fired a gob of web at his aunt's hand. The velocity speed of his web smacking into his aunt's hand, threw her off balance. She scuttled backwards, falling against the building side as the web made contact. It trapped her hand and; therefore, trapped her as well.
May yanked and tugged at the webbing to release her. It didn't budge. Peter's creation was meant to last and be almost unbreakable until it dissolved. She was secured, unable to interfere.
Peter swallowed, eyes brimming in remorse. "I'm sorry."
May whirled back to him. "Peter! Peter—no!" she shouted, stretching her free hand to him. "Get me out of this right now. Don't—don't go with that man!"
"I have to," Peter's voice tore, sounding brittle as he whispered. "I'm sorry, Aunt May, but I gotta protect you."
He backed away, slowly stepping from his aunt and toward Happy. His back was to the man, eyes lingering on his aunt one last time.
He paused, gasping for breath. "I love you."
"Peter! Peter… no," May jerked at her trapped hand again, the other stretching out as far as she could humanly go, fingers wide spread in a desperate attempt to grab him.
Peter felt a breath of air against his skin.
"Peter! Don't!" May desperately protested. "Peter... Peter!"
Peter turned, his back now facing his aunt and his eyes forward on Happy. The man looked stunned. His eyes kept shifting from his aunt to him as Peter came to his surrender. He was shaking, his throat tight and eyes clogged with grief.
But, he didn't cry. He sniveled and kept wiping his nose with his sleeve, but he didn't cry as he listened to his aunt call out to him, begging him to not leave her.
Happy clasped a hand on his shoulder, leading Peter out of the alleyway. "You did the right thing, kid," he said to him. "I know that was hard for you, but you did the right thing."
Did he? He heard his aunt's pleas for him to come back, fear walloping against his whole body. Everything felt cold. His skin. His lips. His own mind and heart. He didn't even remember walking to the car or being seated inside the car. He sank into the cushion, ears ringing loud with his aunt's pleas and cries echoing through his whole body.
He squished his eyes closed, doing his best to tune it out, but all he heard was her. She was crying. Sobbing. He could hear it through her heaving breaths between her tears and shouts for him.
Peter scrunched almost into a ball, wishing the ache craving into his heart would go away. Or stab him to death. Either was acceptable.
Happy was on the phone. He confirmed something and then hung up before he revved the engine alive. The doors locked. Peter was trapped. Jailed inside the car and transported away.
Peter shut his eyes. "Drive, Happy," he begged, unable to bear the sounds of his aunt calling him back. "Please, drive."
Happy turned the gears and the car moved along down the street. As they drove, Peter listened to his aunt's cries fade away into the back of his head. Until it all went silence and the city life took over, covering up her existence.
And it shattered Peter.
The drive was quiet. Not that Peter wanted to talk. His mind was loud enough for more noises to combat him. May's screams, pleas and her cries to get him to come back sent chills straight to his heart. He could still feel the air between them when May reached her hand out, trying to stop him from going with Happy, from leaving her.
His head hurt. As did his chest. His whole body convulsed in a horrific scream, but no sound came out. It was trapped. All the pain was trapped within him.
"You okay there?"
Peter flickered his eyes to the front of the car, where Happy glanced at him from the mirror. Happy looked at him, pity embedded in those normally blasé gaze. "You did the right thing, kid," he said. "Tony is going to see that."
Tony. Mr. Stark. That's where Peter was heading. Back to the Tower.
Happy kept talking. "You won't get in any big trouble for this, okay? You came back. Willingly too. I told Tony that," he rambled on. "You'll be okay."
Peter finally parted his lips. "I'm worried about my aunt."
"You aunt? She'll be fine."
The image of May stuck to the building, her hand outstretched, reaching for him. "She's—"
"She's going to be fine, Peter," Happy reiterated. "No harm will come to her. I promise."
Happy rarely promised him anything nor did he ever care to help him out unless Mr. Stark told him to. So, it gave Peter minor comfort to know Happy cared. Just enough to subside some of the ache wreaking havoc on his heart.
They entered Manhattan. Peter looked at the skyline with a grim recognition. Happy slowed with traffic, coming up to a stoplight. Happy rummaged through his jacket before he pulled out a small packet of tissues. He handed them back to Peter. "Your head is bleeding," he pointed to the area where Peter's head throbbed.
Peter accepted the tissues and pressed a bundle to his wound, plugging up the blood. "Hey, Happy?"
"Yeah?"
"How did you find me?" he asked, wondering how the man found him so quickly in that alleyway.
Happy's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "Oh, well, your tracker," he answered. "It told me where to find you."
Peter jerked up, remembering that he had a tracker inside him. Somewhere in his body was a tracking device implanted into him after he jumped the fence. He'd forgotten all about it. It was never used against him, so it became a distant memory until it almost vanished completely from his mind. That was, until tonight and Peter felt his skin crawling at the violation.
The light changed and Happy continued driving, and the silence returned. When they arrived at the Tower, the bleeding had stopped. But, the blood crusted along his wound and it was still smeared down his dirtied cheeks. He didn't look like the presentable person he was when he arrived at the Tower the first time.
Happy drove down to the indoor garage. No need to draw attention, Peter assumed. Parked, Peter stiffly got out of the car, throwing his bloody tissues into a nearby bin and followed Happy's directions. They rode the elevator up and got off at an unknown floor. It wasn't the penthouse. It wasn't any of Stark Industries offices. It was somewhere new.
Happy grabbed the doors and ushered Peter inside the room. There, waiting in the center, was Tony Stark.
Mr. Stark had on his gala attire on, but it was loose. His jacket was off, hung over one of the sofa chairs, and his bow tie gone. Eyebrows pinched in a downward slant, Mr. Stark's cold glare zeroed on him. Arms were crossed and mouth in a thin line, Mr. Stark waited for Peter and Happy to approach. Almost like he was the judge and Peter, the criminal, with his flimsy lawyer trying to lead him up to the stand.
Peter realized they weren't the only ones in the room. Simon was there and another, an individual Peter never met. They were both dressed in the same, dark bland attire. Simon gave him a hard glare as Peter walked, but the man said nothing. Simon's face unflinchingly like stone. Blank and emotionless.
Peter looked away from Simon as he walked up to Mr. Stark. They both stared at each other. Peter with wide eyes and impassive expression and Mr. Stark with a cutting glare that warranted everyone to be on their toes.
Peter stopped. He waited. A tiny spark fluttering within him, hoping that all of it was a misunderstanding. An accident. Something to be easily forgiven and fixed. But deep down, Peter knew he needed to detach himself from that withering hope.
He checked the room again. He hoped Pepper was in the room. Someone comforting and compassionate. Someone who would be able to relate his need for his aunt. But she wasn't in the room with them. Just him, Mr. Stark, Happy , Simon and Simon's colleague.
Mr. Stark stared him down, the corners of his mouth dangerously twitching. The man inhaled, deep, through his nostrils before he spoke. "Enjoy your night out?" he asked, flippant as always. "Heard you went to a killer house party."
Peter let a stream of frustrated breath at the man's poor joke. Seeing Mr. Stark, standing nonchalantly in front of him, made Peter brim with irritation. He wanted to wipe to almost throttle the man, but he kept his hands at his sides.
Iron Man's glare lingered a little longer, but not only that, there was a faint disappointment ingrained into the man's expression. Almost like it was Peter who caused all this drama and not Mr. Stark. That this whole mess was Peter's fault.
"Hap here told me that you didn't put up any resistance," Mr. Stark continued on. "Although, my other sources tell me a different story. Two operatives—one severely injured and the other dead. Congrats by the way on that. Didn't know you had it in you."
Peter's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped. "You sent them?"
"You ran off!" Mr. Stark huffed in reminder. "I did what I would have done with any rogue."
"So you sent Powers after me?" Peter fumed, his heart burning up quickly. "After everything that man did to me and you sent him! To kill me!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Mr. Stark dismissively waved. "They had orders to not kill you."
"But torture was fine? Attacking and beating me and my aunt was perfectly reasonable."
"You betrayed me!" spat Mr. Stark, a new verge of angry boiling behind those dark eyes. "You ran off at first opportunity." Mr. Stark dropped and shook his head, wiping a hand down his face. "I told you to stay put. All you had to do was stay inside the Tower. That was all you had to do, Peter. Just stay put for a few hours until I got back."
"Like a dog?" Peter pouted, sullen at the demeaning message.
Mr. Stark obnoxiously rolled his eyes. "No—like a good boy," he quipped in return. "What? You think I enjoyed the idea of sending those guys after you? Sending anyone after you? News flash, kid, I didn't. But you didn't give me a whole lot of choices. I picked the quickest way to fix this blundering mess you made. And sure, it didn't go down as I would have liked, but then again, I didn't have this scheduled in my calendar."
"And like I did?" Peter countered. "I didn't have plans to run off. Hell—I didn't even have plans to stay in Queens! I just wanted to see my aunt. Make sure she was okay. Then I discover all of your lies and that you sent Powers and Jack-O to kill me!"
"Capture you," Mr. Stark sternly corrected, but that didn't matter to Peter. Because that's not what happened.
Happy stepped in, trying to make breathing room for the both of them. "Okay… why don't we take a breather here," he said. "It's nothing that can't be fixed, right? Peter came back. On his own, so we can start moving forward from here and—"
"I didn't come back to make penance," Peter spoke up, finding Happy's attempt of intervention ridiculous and utterly pointless. He looked back to Mr. Stark. "I only came back to drop off the knife you left in my back. Figured you'll need it for another backstabbing."
Peter was smug, while Mr. Stark looked sour at the remark.
"You little shit," Mr. Stark reproached, eyes ablaze, forgetting Happy entirely. "I gave you everything! I protected you! Let you into my home and took you under my wing, and this is how you repay me? Throwing everything back at my face and running off?"
Mr. Stark was towering him and his face dark red. Peter's feet rooted to the floor, heart pounding. This was worse than the incident in the workshop. Mr. Stark's anger boiled and brewed under the steaming temptation to blow. His hands were clenched as he stared down at Peter with fire in his eyes.
"I kept you from being sent to the hole," Mr. Stark seethed in argument. "Everyone else knew you would be a handful, but I thought you were worth the effort. I believed in you when no one else did.
"I trusted you, Pete," Mr. Stark's voice went deathly quiet. "I trusted and believed in you. I did everything in my power to make you safe and comfortable because I cared about you."
Peter rolled his eyes and muttered three words underneath his breath.
Mr. Stark started. "Excuse me?"
"I said... you don't care," Peter repeated, chin up and eyes defiant on Mr. Stark. "All you care about is being right. That the great Tony Stark can do no wrong. You don't care about me. You only care about being right in this fight with Captain America."
"You ungrateful—"
"What? Did I hit your ego too hard?" Peter challenged, getting riled up the more he spoke as the puzzle pieces all started to click together. "That's what this is all about. I remember from our first meeting. You needed soldiers for an army.
"You looked at me and saw an asset. Someone young enough to be enthralled by your… your… stardom! Fame! Whatever all this is!" Peter madly gestured at Mr. Stark's messy, but still glamorous appearance. "You manipulated me into becoming your hidden ace against Captain America. All the training and encouragement to get stronger and better… that was just in preparation to fight against him, wasn't it?"
Mr. Stark rapidly shook his head. "You're twisting my words—"
"Like you twisted everything to me?" Peter shot back. "Telling me that you were working hard on getting the Accords amended so I could go back to my aunt? Telling me that my aunt was fine when she clearly wasn't? Telling me I was special and I was going to a great hero one day? What other lies did you tell me, Mr. Stark?
"Better yet—let me ask you this question: were you ever planning to let me go home?" Peter accusingly inquired. "Were you really working on finding a way around the Accords or was all that bullshit?"
Mr. Stark sealed lips answered his question. The man never had any intentions of setting Peter free. Peter was meant to be his prisoner for the rest of his life.
Peter's heart hung itself as the dark realization took hold. People said the truth hurt and it certainly did. Far more than Peter thought it ever could. That tinniest spark of hope fluttered and died, nothing but faint wisps of smoke.
Peter quietly scolded himself for every trusting the man. To ever believing in him and to even think the man cared for him in a way Peter was beginning to care for him.
"Okay, well then... that's it. I'm done," Peter announced, sounding hoarse as he spoke. "I'm done with... with all of this." He gestured to everything. To Mr. Stark, to Happy, to the whole freakin' Tower! He was just done. "I don't want to be any part of this."
Mr. Stark shook his head. "You're not done with anything."
"Yes I am!" Peter argued, furious at Mr. Stark's light dismissal. "You don't own me! You don't have any say in what I do… you're not my dad!"
Mr. Stark's face burned, his eyes like brimstone as straightened up, imposing over Peter's stature. "And what exactly are you planning to do, Peter?" he cockily asked, miffed at the boy's resistance. "Go back to Queens? Go back to being Spider-man? Because that won't happen. Not under the Accords. You can't just quit and go back to your old life. That's long gone!"
Most definitely, Peter thought as he remembered his shambled apartment with Aunt May. All in fire and smoke and in ruins. "Well, I'm not staying here," he said. "I don't want to have anything to do with you!"
"Too bad, kiddo. Without me, you would be in the hole!"
"Then I would rather be there!" Peter shouted back, unafraid. He really wasn't. After everything that happened tonight, Peter never felt braver than before. "I would rather be in the hole than spend another minute with you!"
"That's what you want? Fine!" Mr. Stark whirled around, and snapped at someone behind Peter. "Send him to the hole."
Peter knew he should have been afraid when two pairs of hands grabbed his shoulders and arms. He knew he should have felt a little bit of terror when Happy's face paled. And again when Happy tried to intervene.
"Tony—"
Mr. Stark wouldn't hear of it. Peter didn't care. He would rather go to the hole than stay with Mr. Stark any longer. He let the men jostle him around, escorting him back to the doors he came from, determined to not even look back, to not even throw a fit. He was going to walk willingly. Let Mr. Stark be aware that Iron Man no longer had control over him. Peter kept his head held high to show he was assertive in his decision.
"Happy?" Peter heard Mr. Stark address his security/chauffeur. "Find the aunt. Bring her here."
Fear engulfed Peter instantly. "No!"
He whirled back around, right back to Mr. Stark. Rage build up and Peter lunged at the man, only to be somewhat subdue by the Simon and the other guard. "You leave her alone! You... don't you fucking touch her! Don't—" he lashed out, trying to shove the men off him. "Get off me!"
Mr. Stark hardly even looked in his direction. Almost like it was a normal occurrence to have a teenager be dragged off, screaming and fighting. The man didn't care. Then again, he never did and Peter was never going to change the Mr. Stark's mind.
Simon and his colleague struggled, grunting as they restrained Peter with their combined strength. Yet, it wasn't enough. Peter kept moving forward. Inch by inch, Peter persevered onward, unaware the shock rippling along Simon's face.
"Hold him!" Simon snapped at the other guard.
The other guard gritted. "I'm trying!" he snapped. "He's freakishly strong!"
Peter wrestled and kicked, wanting nothing more than to stop Mr. Stark. Stop him from going after his aunt. Stop him from hurting her. Stop him from taking the last of his family away. "Leave her alone! She's done nothing to you!"
Mr. Stark peek over his shoulder a bit, remained unbothered. He simply turned away. Wasn't even listening or watching anymore. His back was turned, hands in his pockets as he considered something else to occupy him mind rather than the boy wrestling with the guards in an attempt to attack him.
Peter turned to Happy. The man was rooted to the floor, troubled by the turn of events and recent order. He was Peter's last hope. His promise was all Peter had to spare his aunt. "Happy!" he beseeched, to which the man jerked his head to Peter. "You promised! Y-You promised she wouldn't—"
His spidey-sense whirled in warning right as a pinprick hit right in his neck. Pressure followed. A cool wave came over him before things became sluggish—his body, mind and words. Everything slowed.
The tracking device. It must have drugged him.
"Hap...py... pleaseeeee," Peter's begging words slurred. "Hhhaap..."
The guards' resistance eased up. Or maybe he was just giving up. He wasn't quite sure.
Peter lifted his heavy eyes up, but he only saw a smear of fuzzy colored outlines. He let out his last, final plea. "Y-you... promised..."
There was nothing after that. The show ended. Peter did his final bow. There was no applause. The curtain closed.