"You can run away from yourself so often, and so much, just because the broken pieces of you cut your feet too deeply if you stay around for too long. But then what if someone were to come along and pick up those pieces for you? Then you wouldn't have to run away from yourself anymore. You could stop running. If someone sees you as something worth staying with— maybe you'll stay with yourself, too."
― C. JoyBell C.
Chapter 8: In Darkness Shroud We Start the Show
His breath caught in his throat once he saw the chaotic mess of blaring lights, crying groups of people, and shattered glass in front of the building he'd vacated only a few hours ago.
"What… is going on?" Peter breathed. The scene before him was obviously not a result of the usual robberies he'd come to expect, but something far more serious. As the scanner had reported, it seemed as though every police officer in the NYPD was present. Some were managing the crowd or taking statements from traumatized witnesses, others directing traffic away from the area while allowing a firetruck and ambulance through, and a few were aiming their guns at the mess that was the Avengers Tower, as if hoping to catch some twitch of movement that would give them an excuse to start firing. Although, in Peter's opinion, more bullets certainly wouldn't help the situation.
It looked as though there had been a shootout in the reception lobby; the glass doors and windows that composed the front of the building on the first floor had been completely destroyed, with shards littering the bodies that laid prone on the outside sidewalk and the interior.
Peter shuddered when he noticed that several of the bodies were in police uniforms.
He knew, from experience, that once a skirmish resulted in the deaths of one or more cops, the predominant focus of the rest of the force shifted from 'get civilians to safety and subdue the immediate threat' to 'get civilians to safety and avenge our comrades—fathers, husbands, mothers, wives, friends—by capturing the immediate threat at all costs'. While Peter understood where they were coming from and probably would react, had reacted, in the same way, that didn't change the fact that the whole situation had just complicated itself further. With the police acting unusually aggressive and searching for a reason to engage, there was a higher chance that whatever was going on would escalate and end with a bigger stack of bodies than it needed to.
What a mess. Well, this is the Avengers Tower, so the people responsible are probably after something relating to the Avengers. And why aren't they here dealing with this? They go all over the world to solve problems, so something this close to home should be an easy- oh. Tony said they had a mission. The Avengers left for a mission. In England. Hours ago. Well, maybe not actually England, but somewhere overseas and far away enough for them to be too late to help. So, the Avengers go MIA and then someone breaks into their base a few hours later? The timing is too perfect… too planned.
"Holy mother of—is that Spida-Man? What on Lord's Earth do ya think you're doin' up—get down from there and put your hands where I can see 'em!"
Jolted from his thoughts, Peter looked down and saw that the car he'd hitched a ride from had parked a fair distance outside of the alleyway. The policeman who'd been in the passenger seat, the younger one who didn't strike Peter as a huge superhero fan based on the conversation he'd overheard, was now staring up at him, swinging a set of metal handcuffs around his thumb.
After quickly glancing back and forth to check if anyone else had taken up a spot on the wall he was sticking to, Peter glanced back at the cop, raising both hands innocently. "Who, me?"
The glare he received was less than amused. "Do ya see anyone else with a poorly craft'd spida in the center of their chest?"
"You want to arrest me for my lacking fashion sense? And here I thought red and blue spandex was in. Captain America is going to be so disappointed."
"Heh, nah. Try public endangerment, vandalism, murder, resistin' arrest, assault of a—"
"Christ, Bill, what are doing back here? We've got a serious situation out here—well." The driver from before paused in his efforts to collect his distracted partner once he caught sight of the vigilante standing horizontal with two feet firmly on the wall and knees bent. Peter tensed in preparation to spring from the wall because, unlike the other cop who didn't look like he could be more than a year out of the academy, this man had the presence of a seasoned veteran who knew how to use the issued gun at his hip to protect his city. However, he just took his cap off, ran a hand through his silvering blond hair, and offered a nod as he put it back on. "Sir. Glad to have you back. We could really use some help here."
"Andy, don' converse with the fugitive. Under the regulations of New York State law, we're authorized to take ya into custody and—"
"Thanks. It's a pleasure to be back. Though, I certainly could have picked a less, uh, eventful day, huh? And call me Spider-Man, not sir," Peter responded, genuinely glad to have at least some support in the law enforcement. He was also interested in how red, or now purple, the younger cop's—Bill's—face could get.
"You don't know the half of it. All day we've been getting more than the usual number of calls about drunken robberies, failed car thefts, attempted muggings, attempted rapes, unprovoked attacks—even for us, it's been crazy. Everyone is run ragged, and now we have this to deal with. No idea what's gotten into people these past few days, honestly."
Peter frowned. He had been patrolling around the city for a good portion of the evening, and even though he'd been preoccupied by the thrill of being Spider-Man again, his senses should have picked up at least a few of the crimes Andy was recounting to him. But they'd been eerily silent the whole night. And the crimes he mentioned—unsuccessful, but still requiring attention and manpower—sounded more like distractions than anything else. If there was no real intent for success, and therefore no real danger for anyone, then Peter's senses would have stayed dormant. A lot of forethought went into today, but to accomplish what? What is the end goal here?
"Speaking of, have you heard anything about what exactly is going on at Stark In—the Avengers Tower?" Peter asked. The police scanner hadn't been very descriptive, but maybe Andy had heard something from the other officers before he came to get his partner.
"Afraid not. Nobody seems to have any idea who this group is or what they want, though it's obvious they're willing to use lethal force to get it. They've got hostages; no one has exited the building alive since the perps entered, so anybody who was already in there is either captured, hiding, or dead. As far as I know there haven't been any demands issued. If you want more specifics, you'll have to go to the higher ups. They're probably preparing for the SWAT team's arrival, or the FBI, or the goddamn Army—whoever the hell is supposed to be dealing with this."
"Huh." Peter swallowed, weighing the risks and benefits of actually asking for information versus jumping into the fray blind like he used to. "Think they'll have any donuts? I could go for some calories right about now."
"That is an offensive and derogatory stereotype," the older man intoned. Then he smirked. "But yeah, probably. Hope you like glazed. It's the chief's favorite."
"Andy, don' banter with the fugitive!" growled the other officer, who, Peter realized, had been trying to read him the Miranda warning while he'd been speaking with Andy.
"That's enough from you, boy," his partner commanded. "Spider-Man was cleared of all charges against him months ago after he saved the city for the second time. You have no reason to arrest him, and even if you did we have a far bigger problem on our hands. Now, put those cuffs away and come with me. We've been ordered to assist with crowd control."
Bill made a move as if to protest, but another warning look had him spitting out a reluctant "fine" before making his way out of the alley and back into the chaos.
With a weary sigh, Andy turned back to Peter and gave a final nod. "You need anything else, just ask. Most of us don't share the same views as that kid."
"Thanks, I appreciate the offer. I only hope I can help out with this." Once the officer also left to join his partner, Peter flopped back against the wall and let out a breath. "Well, I guess I should …what? Nope, no more indecisiveness, Peter. Man up. Spider up. Whatever. I'll figure out what's going on and put myself to use in any way that I can, just as I've always done. For Uncle Ben. For Commissioner Stacy. For Gwen." Letting out a deep breath, Peter nodded to himself and pushed off from his perch. "All right; let's do this."
His leap sent Peter soaring over Andy's cruiser and onto another one parked on the other side of the street. Ignoring the startled gasps from the officers around him and the excited uproar starting in the crowd surrounding the quarantined area, Peter began jumping from car to car until he landed on one of the vans making up the perimeter of a cleared space several hundred yards in front of the tower where the police officers and officials had set up a base of operations.
Most of the people in the circle scattered away from Spider-Man's sudden arrival, only a woman in her mid-forties remaining stationary in the clearing left by her companions' departure. The leader identified, Peter sprung up and onto the ground a healthy margin away from the woman, just in case she was trigger-happy like another red-head he knew. Instead, she surprised him by showing no outward signs of shock at his abrupt, and admittedly ill-planned, appearance and launched straight into a brief introduction.
"Spider-Man, I'm assuming? Not a copycat?" The woman didn't wait for the unresponsive Peter to collect his wits. "Based on those jumps and athleticism, I'm desperate enough to run with the assumption you're not some idiot looking to get killed for fifteen minutes in the murky spotlight. I'm Officer Wells, acting Police Commissioner since Officer Bratton is currently… out of commission. Have you just arrived? What do you know?"
"Sort of," Peter responded, finally caught up to the officer's impressive cognitive speed, "and not much. Bad guys, hostages, little info. Anything you can add will increase how much I can help out."
"I'm not sure we can add much more to that list. We haven't encountered these guys before, so we're treading in unfamiliar territory as far as what to expect," Officer Wells once again started off without a hitch. "At the moment, we've decided to treat this like any other hostage situation until we learn otherwise. About ten to fifteen perps are estimated, with no obvious ringleader. They are using automatic machine guns, so hopefully none of them are superpowered like the guys the Avengers usually deal with. We've been informed that the team won't be able to make it back here for at least another three hours, so our main objectives are minimizing casualties and stalling for time. This is their home turf, so the Avengers should be able to end this quickly once they arrive."
"But they aren't here," Peter swiftly objected. "And they won't be for at least three hours! That will be plenty of time for the goons to accomplish whatever it is they're out for and kill off anyone left before making an escape. You may have this place surrounded, but there is no telling what these guys are capable of."
The officer's lips thinned and whitened at the rebuttal, but she nodded nonetheless. "I know. But we have no way to contact anyone in the building. As of yet, we haven't managed to hack into the video surveillance and phone service has been disconnected. Stark included a unique way for our specialists to break into his security in case anything like this ever happened, but even that pathway has been blocked. These guys work quickly and have at least one computer expert among them. Right now we are trying to—"
"Officer Wells!" The excited yell broke the two from their conversation, and Peter realized that while they'd been in their own world, the rest of the people around them were carrying on in their duties. A young man was gesturing wildly at a wide arrange of computer monitors precariously balanced inside a van's trunk. "I think we finally got something! They're faint, but we've picked up some radio signals coming from the inside. If we could just decode them, we can—wait, what's going on. Crap, crap—no, no, nonononono."
"Jensen, what's going on?" Officer Wells barked, stalking over to the panicking man. Peter followed her lead and leaped onto the roof of the van so he could stick his head down and take a closer look at the screens. However, as soon as he landed, Peter jerked back and tumbled off onto the side of the van as a deafening burst of static from the speakers he had landed next to sent shards of piercing fire through his ears and into his brain. Once the pain died down after a few moments and everyone in the area was silent and tightly wound, a voice came from the speakers.
"Hellooooo. Is this thing working? Well of course it is; I'm the one who installed it. Hehe!"
Peter flinched at the words; the voice was just wrong. With the combined deranged tone and underlying hardness to the childish dialect and giggle that clearly belonged to a fully grown man, Peter almost wished for the crackling of the static to return.
"So, I was thinking that you people would be thinking, 'gee, what's going on?' And then I thought 'well, I know what's going on, so maybe I should tell them!' I'm very gracious that way. But you guys disappointed me. I leave you plenty of time to make a move, call in reinforcements, do something, but no. You sit. And you wait. Like professionals. I hired some professionals before, too. They were useless, too. You've failed to accomplish your mission, too. They failed to accomplish their mission, too. I killed them, too. Oh, I may have skipped a step there. Oops."
"Definitely the leader," Peter confirmed quietly to himself as he observed the effect the disembodied voice was having on the gathered officers and pedestrians from his view standing on the van's side middle window. The simple speech pattern coupled with the increasingly morbid subject matter was disturbing a lot of the staff and the crowd, which was probably the intended purpose; although, Officer Wells and other senior members of the force looked like they were just masking anger. Whoever was delivering this message obviously knew what he was doing, and everything in Peter was telling him that this was a guy to watch out for, the most likely orchestrator.
"So, anyways, I just wanted to warn all of you. About the darkness. It's coming. Today. The truth will be told; blood will be spilt; they all will fall. See ya!" The connection went dead.
"Well… damn," Officer Wells broke the silence that had gone on for a solid minute. "All right everyone, back to your stations." Like a well-oiled machine turned back on, the crowd began their uproar again, the police officers resumed calling for order, and Wells turned and made her way back to the group she'd been speaking with before Spider-Man made his entrance.
"Hold on," Peter sputtered, swinging himself off of the van by the side mirror and diving in front of the retreating officer. "'Back to your stations'? Are you not planning on taking any action? We just got a death threat directly from the perps. An invitation to go in and stop them from spreading their 'darkness'."
"That was nothing more than an appeal to fear, and taking measure to analyze or otherwise acknowledge it would be giving them what they want," she replied dully, barely glancing at the squatting figure as she stepped around him.
"But—"
"The police can't be seen giving into terrorism or threats in such an uncertain scenario, no matter our personal feelings on the matter. Anyone acting outside the law, however…" with one final, pointed glance at Spider-Man, Officer Wells began barking orders to the scurrying mass around her.
"I see how it is. Why do they always leave the heavy lifting up to the guy in spandex?" Peter closed his eyes briefly as he concluded that, with the Avengers gone, someone was going to have to figure out what was really going on and stop it. Though his job in the company only dealt with surface appointments and scheduling, Peter knew there was a lot of dangerous technology and information about topics far more important than the superheroes in the building, stuff that could crash the economy on a global scale or bring about World War III in the wrong hands. The police were doing their part to control the chaos in the area surrounding the building, but they were limited with the actions they could take against the actual threat by protocol and a general lack of knowledge concerning the situation. But Spider-Man, and his trusty sidekick Viral, had no such restrictions.
I'm not ready. I'm not prepared: emotionally, mentally, and possibly physically. But that doesn't matter, because this is my friends' home being invaded, my city being threatened, and I need to protect them.
"Sir, it appears someone has entered the premises."
Fingers paused over the keyboard, then resumed even swifter, as if to make up for the momentary lapse.
"Police?"
"No, Sir. It's a hero, Sir. The one that's been missing, Sir."
"Ah." He smiled. "Gather a few men and give him a hero's welcome. Just be sure not to disturb me."
"Right away, Sir."
"So we've narrowed down the most likely possibilities to the combat training room, the communal cafeteria, and the storage unit for aircrafts."
Yep. The interior schematics of Stark Industries show these to be the top three places that can be easily defended and will hold the entire faculty. If the hostages are being kept together, then this is where they should be. Unless they've been separated. Then the list extends exponentially.
"We'll worry about that after Plan A. The cafeteria is on the fourth floor, so we'll begin there and make our way up. For now, focus on getting through the block restricting you from fully accessing the rest of Tony's database and shutting down JARVIS. If we can get him back online, problem solved."
Yes. I will try to find Uncle JARVIS. Viral out.
With his new conviction, Peter had wasted no time in making a dash for the front doors between a battalion of officers that made no move to stop or otherwise acknowledge him. Once he avoided the bodies, broken glass, and urge to hurl, he made his way into the lobby and was greeted with an eerie soundlessness that was entirely out of place in the normally bustling building.
Convening at the reception desk in search of a sense of normalcy, Peter and Viral began to develop a game plan to take out the perps, preferably one by one, and find the hostages, preferably all together.
Plan A made and Viral working on Plan B, Peter pocketed his phone and walked over to the elevator. Bracing himself, Peter pulled apart the doors, which offered surprisingly little resistance, and jumped up into the empty shaft. Climbing up the wall and counting the doors so he'd know when to get off on the fourth floor, Peter kept his eyes focused in front of him, and consequently wasn't looking up. This, coupled with the sleek design of the Stark elevators that prioritized efficiency and silence, left only Peter's spider sense to keep him from going splat under the cart the was suddenly above him.
A startled "eep" accompanied Peter's acquaintance with the space between the steel beam tracks as he shoved himself to safety, allowing the cart to fly harmlessly down. Several hard heartbeats later, a scream of shattering glass and chafing concrete loosened Peter's airways enough for him to let out a breath and stick his head out, this time looking up first. He was met with the sight of two shapes shifting out of view dozens of stories above him.
"All right, Viral," Peter gritted out between clenched teeth to his silent companion. "There's been a change in plans." These guys likely belonged to the criminal group, so tracking them down would lead him to the rest faster than randomly searching.
With swift limbs, Peter bounded up the walls and crawled out of the open doors he'd seen the men vanish through, only dimly noting he had long passed the fourth floor. Once more, he was just in time to see them escape left around a corner at the end of the hallway.
The two men led Peter on a long chase, running down corridors, up stair wells, through offices and labs, always managing to stay just ahead of him, until even with his impressive knowledge of the building's layout he wasn't entirely sure where they were headed. Finally, he ducked into a room he'd seen the men's shadows enter, and was surprised when he saw the two standing facing the entrance, steadily gazing at the hero. Peter then took in the rest of the room and realized the men had brought six friends armed with assorted knives and swords. Of course, it had been a trap.
The room they were in was an auditorium repurposed as a training room for the Avengers and the SHIELD operatives who could stand Tony. The walls were lined with weights and exercise equipment, but the center of the room was cleared for sparing. Peter had come in here often to read Natasha, Clint, and occasionally Steve their daily schedules while inconspicuously admiring and analyzing their movements.
One of the men Peter had been following, a bulky fellow who would look more in place at a Soviet gulag, and not as a prisoner, was the first to speak. "Welcome."
Peter suddenly became too busy to ponder the greeting because he was dodging a volley of throwing knives and leaping back to avoid the blades of three men who rushed at him; one coming from the front and one on either side. A quick check confirmed that a strategical retreat wasn't possible as the doors behind him had closed and locked themselves, and then Peter was immersed in the fight.
It was hard to describe the feeling of fighting again after so long of a hiatus, but one thing was for certain; it was as exhilarating and it was painful. His sense were screaming at him from every direction, and Peter allowed them to guide his movements as his body flipped and swiveled to avoid projectiles while his eyes carefully tracked the men in front of him, ensuring their swords passed him by harmlessly.
Not until several minutes of defense had gone by did Peter spot an opening. When the five men had run out of knives to throw, they resorted to the guns they have strapped to their backs, firing in a row periodically as to not hit their own men. They were all moving in tandem, a well-practiced unit that spoke of many years of experience together. However, once Peter recognized the pattern, he began to work out an attack of his own.
The two men at his sides would bring their swords down at the same time, and then the second and fourth men in the row behind would shoot at Peter's chest; he instinctually bent back to avoid the bullets and used both arms to block the incoming blades. Then the man in front of him would bring his weapon down and the first and fifth shooters on the edges would go for Peter's sides once the other two swordsmen got out of the way; Peter had to twist his torso to one side to avoid a bullet and the sword, then spring up in time to avoid the second bullet. Then the middle gunman would take his shot once the man in front of Peter ducked.
The cycle continued three times before he caught on, exhausting Peter and leaving him bleeding as the last bullet grazed his side and his slowing movements allowed the middle sword to leave a shallow cut down his chest. If he wanted to survive, he needed to stop playing their game.
The next time the sequences started itself and the two swords came down on him, rather than bending down Peter launched himself into the air and kicked out both legs in a mid-air splits while raising his arms to avoid the bullets, kicking the swordsmen's face and causing them to drop their weapons.
"Patented Spidey karate kick!"
The third man chopped down at Peter as he had expected, so he closed his legs and caught the down coming sword with his thighs and twisted, forcing the handle out of the man's grip. Bringing his knees up to his chest, Peter grabbed the sword and then kicked his legs back together, springing himself forwards and pushing the man backwards off his feet. Peter landed in time to avoid the final three shots, threw the sword down so its tip embedded into the ground before him and raised both of his hands up.
"Goal! And Spider-Man takes home the win. The crowd cheers… Alright, fine, no cheering."
However, even with their routine destroyed, the men didn't show any signs of panic; instead, they abandoned their weapons and came at Peter all at once. And it quickly became apparent that none of them were amateurs at hand-to-hand combat.
When Peter blocked one fist coming for his head, three more found his solar plexus, hip, and shoulder. His spidey senses were useless at such close range with eight opponents, and he could feel himself turning black and blue as more hands and feet than he could keep track of pounded on his body with more strength than a regular human could muster. He felt close to passing out when a familiar "bing" caused most of the men to pause in sober surprise. It was Viral signaling to Peter that he had found something.
"Uh, do you think we could call five?"
Without waiting for an answer, Peter jumped up onto one of the men's shoulders, powered mostly by adrenaline, and was about to spring away when the man caught his ankle and, with an angered roar, swung Peter around and chucked him into the ceiling. Through the ceiling, actually. Through several ceilings, to be precise.
Peter groaned as he felt himself break through metal and plaster multiple time over until his momentum slowed and he only bashed onto the roof instead of through it and fell to the floor, weakly pulling himself to the side so he didn't fall back down the holes he had made the first time around.
"What—oh, those inept insects! I recruit the best of the best, so they say, engineered to be unbeatable, and they still can't follow a single order I give them? Is it me? No, of course not. Weeks of planning, almost ruined…"
Slowly raising his head, Peter glanced around the room he ended up in. It was Tony's office, the original one in the exact center of the building that Peter had only entered once to deliver coffee before being shooed out. Tony's large desk had been cleared of its usual clutter and a single laptop had taken its place. Seated at the desk was a thin man with greasy rumpled hair, one who had the look of a computer programmer that spent most of his time behind a screen.
A high pitched beeping sound began to spike into Peter's head, and he clutched it as an excited voice rose up.
"Keylogger, I think we've finally found it! The tracker shows its right here in this room, right over there…" the voice trailed off. Peter looked over to see another man pointing at him with greedy eyes. A man that struck Peter as familiar. Suddenly, it connected in Peter's mind.
The man was the one who tried to rob him at the front desk earlier that day before being carted off. The same man who had shot Katy two weeks ago and said that phrase from Viral's database: the truth will be told; blood will be spilt; they all will fall. The same phrase the ringleader had said before over the speakers.
It's all connected, but how? I've no idea, but I have to get out of here; I have to get Viral out of here. Then we can regroup and—
"Yoo-hoo." Peter glanced up and realized, to his dismay, that the programmer, Keylogger as the other man had called him, had made his way over to Peter during his inattention. "Thanks for the delivery service. Good night."
A metal boot came down on Peter's head, and with no strength left he slipped into unconsciousness.
~X Hours Later ~
When Peter awoke, the first sensory information he could decipher in his foggy mind informed him that soon he wouldn't be alone anymore. There were dozens of people moving up from lower floors, but the most pressing concern were those rapidly coming down towards him. They were sounds he could recognize; Natasha's breathing, Steve's accelerated heartbeat and Tony's metallic clanking were all audible to his overly sensitive hearing. But, Peter noted, running a hand over his masked face, he was not someone they would recognize as a friend immediately. He'd never had a run-in with the Avengers as Spider-Man before, and his brief entanglements with SHIELD never ended well, so they probably wouldn't trust him.
With pained movements, Peter forced himself to stand despite the soreness present all over his body. Just as he had steadied himself, the Avengers team minus a Hulk came crashing in through the open door, a few widening the entrance since they didn't all fit but came in at the same time anyway.
"Watch the walls!"
"Quiet, Iron Man," Back Widow ordered. She eyed the battered hero standing in the middle of the wrecked office. All presence of the two men that had occupied it was gone, leaving Peter momentarily worried they would jump to a wrong conclusion. "Spider-Man, inactive since the disturbance at the Oscorp power plant nearly five months ago. Reports stated you were seen conversing with police during the hostage situation. Police have neither confirmed nor denied this yet." She turned to her team. "They are searching the area now for civilians; the perpetrators have vacated the building through means we are currently unaware of." Black Widow approached Peter. "Please come with us so we can sort out what happened here."
"And whose paying for these repairs," Tony added darkly, his robotic head turning from side to side as he took in the remains of his most secure haven. "I'll take credit or blood."
"Indeed, comrade. Our home had been invaded and pillaged in a coward's manner while we were engaged in battle elsewhere. We will see the villains found and punished," Thor agreed.
Before anyone one else could chime in, everything went dark. The underlying hum of New York City that Peter had become accustom to hearing all his life suddenly cut off, leaving an eerie silence that weighed down the blanket of black and made it suffocating. The only light by which they could see was the beginning brilliance of the rising sun through the glass wall behind Tony's desk, casting dancing shadows over their shocked faces. A moment later, the lights went on, but Peter could tell something was still off.
Natasha nodded her head, and Peter found it disturbingly easy to hear the voice in her earpiece.
"All power has gone out in New York City. The only exception is Avenger's Tower—your arc reactor is holding up, Stark. We've lost contact with most off our operatives near your team, and with no other electronic signals moving around in this area, we're going to be easy to spot and hack, so we're cutting off communication here. We'll send someone over to your location soon." The line went dead.
Steve, in his full Captain America garb, turned to Black Widow and Tony "What's happening?"
But Spider-Man was the one to answer, a shudder working through him as he recalled Keylogger's words over the speakers. "Darkness."
Black Widow raised a pointed red eyebrow at Spider-Man. "You seem to be frequently present during city-wide blackouts."
A thought struck Peter, and he was bursting out of the office's huge window and casting his webbing before any of the Avengers could react. One name dominated Peter's mind as he hurried above the streets, weaving his way through buildings: Aunt May.
When he arrived in front of his house, Peter wasted no time in climbing up the stairs and opening the front door. His heart stopped in his chest when he saw his aunt laying on the ground at the foot of the stairs.
"Aunt May! Are you alright? Here, let me help you stand." Rushing over, Peter gently squatted down and placed his aunt's arm over his bruised shoulders, assisting her into the living room.
His aunt glanced up at him as he helped her sit down on the couch, all the while whispering apologies and worries, and let out a chuckle. Peter squinted in confusion and concern.
"Silly boy, you've cut it close a few times, but you have never forgotten to change first." He stared at her blankly. "You're still in your mask and tights, Peter."
Peter blinked and then looked down in horror. Sure enough, red and blue spandex was still clinging uncomfortably to his injured body.
"I-I-I can expl—I really can't but—"
"Oh, hush, Peter, no need to work yourself up. I've always known."
Peter leaned back, and then hesitantly brushed his hand over his aunt's cheek. "You have?"
"Well, maybe not at first," Aunt May admitted. "But when you started coming home so hurt with no reason, and that Spider-Man fellow was always on the news, and then the Commissioner died, and that sweet girl—the look in your eyes, Peter, the guilt—it was obvious." She pulled off Peter's mask and gently put her hands on his purpling cheeks, making sure he was facing her. "I've been so proud, Peter. I've let you think I don't know, don't worry, but I've been so proud of you all this time, especially when you knew it was too much and you had to stop. Limits are an important thing, Peter. You've got to respect them."
"I know, Aunt May," Peter breathed, staring at the woman who had raised him, who'd protected him even when he didn't know he needed it, in a new light.
"Good." She lightly patted his cheek and then returned her hands to her lap. "I'm fine here, just tripped down the last step when the lights went out and got startled a bit. But I think there are people who need you now more than I do. Need Spider-Man."
Peter nodded and got up. As he did, he thought, people who need me. I was thinking something similar before I was knocked out. I needed to get out of there, I had to get—Viral. Oh God, Viral! Peter's hands flew to his belt, but his phone wasn't there. Viral was gone.
"I've got to go," he rushed out to his aunt, getting up and sprinting out the front door, just remembering to grab and put back on his mask before crossing the threshold.
"Peter?!"
On his return trip to Stark Industries, Peter's mind was just as turbulent as the first time, but now he didn't swing through silence and darkness. The city was panicking. Pockets of light flashed under him, whether they were fires or mobile flashlights he couldn't tell, and screams and pleas to a deity and crying floated up to him as he raced back to the last place he'd seen his partner. He only slowed down to a halt once he landed in front of his destination, staled by the sight before of him.
Nick Fury stood in front of the decimated Stark Industries, silhouetted by the entire Avengers team behind him.
"Spider-Man. We need to talk."
End Author's Note: Just a side note: I fully believe that in a real hostage situation police would be more effective, but for plot purposes I made them somewhat more inept then they would have been in reality (disclaimer: A Crashing Catalyst isn't reality).
This fic will probably either be twelve or sixteen chapters, not counting any interludes, depending on how many more stanzas I write. So far we've got:
From the sky he came,
And in this bed he now lies,
As chaos tries to take over,
It shall not end with a gentle sigh.
Heroes of the old do gather,
Here to fight a mighty foe,
But all is not as it seems;
In darkness shroud we start the show.