Disclaimer: "Underoos!" *thwip*
Hey everyone. ;) Sorry for taking another 4 billion years to update, but I have been quite distracted lately. You know, new little brother, preparing for Haiti trip, Daredevil season 2 (my friends and I low-key binge-watched the whole thing in one day...no joke :O), prom coming up...oh yeah, and that thing where the new Captain America Civil War trailer came out and my PRECIOUS BABY FINALLY FREAKING SHOWED HIS BEAUTIFUL FACE AT THE END HOLY ACTUAL FRICK-FRACK-PATTY-WACK PEOPLE I'M STILL HYPED ABOUT IT! FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY SPIDEY IS IN MCU WHERE HE BELOOONGS AAAHHHH AND WITH AN ACTOR THAT'S AMAZING AND ACTUALLY A TEENAGER AAAAAHH AND WITH THAT BEAUTIFUL PERFECT SPIDEY SUIT AAAAAHHH MY POOR HEART CAN'T TAKE IITTTTGFYJFTYFTU
*ehem* anyhoo, basically all my geek dreams have come true. I hope some of you out there share my excitement on the matter, especially since you're reading this xover story. I have no idea how I am going to survive until May. But it's currently 1 am on a school night and I need to shut up now, so yeah. Here's a chapter. Yay.
Chapter 19
When Peter finally awoke, it was slow, untroubled. Not the heart-pounding, cold-sweating, terror-filled wakeup he was used to. His eyelids lifted lazily, squinting a bit in the bright light, and he stirred to life with a quiet moan. His body felt achy, probably from all the back-to-back beatings he'd taken throughout the night, but not nearly as much as one would expect. According to the sun, it appeared to be early in the afternoon.
Slowly, Peter sat upright, sluggish in the wake of heavy, dreamless sleep. He couldn't remember a time he had slept more soundly since...well, ever. It was amazing, rejuvenating. He felt ready to take on whatever other curveballs the day might pitch his way.
His eyes drifted down to the floor, where a bundle of red fabric sat at his feet. It took him a second to realize it was his Spider-Man costume, the old one, which he'd been wearing beneath the black suit all this time. It looked like it had been torn apart. Minus the missing mask and the glove on the other side of the room, the entirety of the stretchy spandex was scattered before him like trash across the carpet. He didn't remember taking it off. Had he done so in his sleep? He glanced down at himself distractedly, and was surprised to discover that he was stripped down to nothing but his tidy-whiteys. The symbiote was gone.
Peter hopped to his feet, startled. He glanced around, kicked up the red costume, shoved the pillows off the couch. W-where did it go? he thought, growing panicked. He dug between the cushions, but again found himself empty-handed. What happened to you? His breathing had grown rapid, hands jittery, and he turned back to the rest of the room, eyes darting desperately every which way.
Then, like a snake, Peter felt something lash out from behind and seize him by the ankle. With a yelp of surprise, he tripped forward and dropped to the floor, scrambling away before quickly rolling on to his back. His heart was hammering inside his chest, breathing sharp and ragged, and he stared down at his foot in terror.
Curled around his shin was what appeared to be a shadowy, clawed hand. Peter just about had a heart attack, wondering if it was the nightmares afflicting him yet again or something else entirely, until the black appendage began to morph—expanding and convulsing and spreading over his skin. As more of the creature slithered from under the couch, Peter sighed with incredible relief.
"Oh gosh, it's just you," he laughed nervously, voice still shaking a little. "You seriously freaked me out for a minute there."
With sudden tenacity, the symbiote sprawled across his flesh, enveloping his whole body in the dark film in a matter of seconds. The sensation was energizing, exhilarating, like a shot of adrenaline to the bloodstream. He stared down at his sharply defined figure, rolling and flexing his muscles contentedly.
"Huh. This sure beats having to worm myself in and out of those red and blue long-johns a million times a day. Suddenly the black and brooding style is starting to grow on me. Got anymore tricks up your sleeve?"
In response, the black suit receded off his head, feet, and hands. Then, to his disbelief, the ebony material shifted to brown and white, like the skin of a chameleon. In moments, the symbiote had transformed from the black Spider-Man costume into a pair of casual cargo shorts and a blank T-shirt, leaving him dressed as the inconspicuous, everyday Peter Parker would be. He stood in shock, blinking, then laughed.
"Holy whoa, man! Ha! A secret-identified hero could get used to this! I can switch from Spidey to street clothes in seconds now! Hell, Aunt May won't even have to shop for me anymore!"
He gave the shirt and pants a tug. Amazing! They felt just like cotton, even mimicked the material's elasticity. He couldn't hide how impressed he was. This—this thing, this creature he had meshed with: it had been right. Its usage was limitless, invaluable. He wondered what it could possibly be made of, what kind of mutated DNA it had that granted it such versatile abilities. It was fortunate its power was in his hands, under his control, and not available to a person with more hostile intentions.
After stretching the shirt comfortably over his frame, Peter stooped down and gathered up the tattered remains of the old costume into his arms. He walked to the closet across the room and kicked open the door.
"Guess I won't be needing this ol' thing anymore," he said, and dumped the shredded fabric into the corner. It was kind of sad, seeing the costume he had sewn himself after first becoming Spider-Man abandoned in a crumpled heap like yesterday's newspaper, but it was of no use to him now. Between the two, there was no contest. The sentiment and nostalgia attached to the well-worn suit no longer outweighed the benefits this upgrade provided him. Plus, it was tore to shreds. It was high time for Spidey to start sporting a different trend. Guess I gotta start convincing the public that black is the new red and blue, he thought amusedly. Then he switched off the light and shut the closet door, a sense of revival gripping him.
A low moan to his left gave him a sudden start. He glanced towards the noise in surprise, and slow movement beneath the covers of the bed caught his eye. Oh gosh—he had forgotten she was there! With haste, Peter hurried across the room to her side.
"Wanda?" he whispered carefully, kneeling next to the bed. Her eyelids were scrunched shut tightly as if she was having a nightmare, and her hair was a mess of scraggly copper-brown. But at the sound of her name, her eyes hesitantly slitted open. She took a while to focus her murky vision, blinking hazily. But when the familiar face finally materialized before her, she slowly lifted her head off the pillow.
"Peter...?" she murmured back sleepily, and he sighed with relief.
"Thank God. I wasn't sure...I thought you might be conked out for good, after all that."
She stared at him in a daze a few moments longer, then gazed around the room, growing noticeably more panicked as she gingerly sat upright and kneaded at her temples. "Where...where am I?"
"Don't worry. You're safe. I got you out of that hellhole and brought you to my place. Well, er, my floor, anyway. Avengers Tower."
"Avengers?" she repeated venomously, releasing her forehead. "This...is their base? Why would you bring me here?"
"Fisk can't reach you here, and you needed a place to rest. I just...I wanted to take you somewhere I could protect you."
She huffed irately, brow creased. "Those bastards. I cannot stay here." With careless movements, Wanda whipped the blankets off her body and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. But as she leaned forward, a wave of nausea washed over her, and she stopped abruptly with a groan.
"Hey, hey, relax, okay?" Peter insisted nervously. Though she looked better than she had last night, her skin was still pale and marred with wounds only just beginning to heal. He could see splotches of red dotted across the sheets, and when he pressed his hand against her chest, he could feel feverish heat radiating off her neck. "Just take it slow. No need to rush anything. They're not even here anyway."
"Part of me wishes they were, so I could rip Tony Stark's heart out of his throat."
He sighed exasperatedly. "Don't say stuff like that. I thought we were through with this. I saved you from Hydra, so murdering my friends in return would just be rude. Didn't you ever go to cotillion?"
"I am grateful to you, Peter," she stated, voice steely, "but I still have my mission. And at this point, my brother...I do not know where he is, or what Fisk might have done to him. I have not heard from him since he was sent to California, and I imprisoned for treachery." Her eyes were glazed with pain and weariness. "I...I have to complete our mission, I have to carry out our vengeance. For my parents' sake, and for his."
Spider-Man studied her tired, hollow face sadly. "I don't think you want this. Not everything has to be carved in stone. The mistakes that were made—those happened a long time ago. Things have changed, and you can still choose forgiveness over revenge."
Hesitantly, Wanda lifted her gaze to meet his. Gentle red light flickered around her irises, which were rimmed with bloodshot veins indicative of exhaustion. He knew she was tired of this—chasing this hateful dream, which had only resulted in she and her brother suffering more than they already had. Killing Iron Man and the rest of his team was not going to solve their problems; it would destroy what little remained of their humanity. No, they needed to move on from this peacefully, and start working toward rebuilding their lives for the better. With her powers, though obtained in a rather unorthodox manner, Wanda could seriously help people. It was time for them to turn over a new leaf, and he was certain Wanda Maximoff knew that. Yet after holding his gaze a few moments longer, the reckless anger suddenly returned to her eyes.
"No, it is too late," she snapped helplessly. "We have sacrificed too much to get this far. I would be damned if I got all this way only to grant mercy to those who destroyed my family and my home. I am going to kill them. I have to kill them. And you...you will not stop me."
Despite her malicious intentions, Peter was empathetic more than anything. He knew what it was like to hunger for vengeance, especially after what had happened to his uncle. But he had learned that that act was a one-way route to self destruction, a suicidal sacrifice of one's morality and soul, a sinister act of the heart that could never be truly reconciled. He couldn't let Wanda do that to herself or his friends, but preaching that fact to her was obviously not going to change her mind. She had to come to that realization on her own—that, or force Spider-Man to be her enemy. He didn't believe either of them wanted that.
Sighing despondently, Peter walked across the room and reached underneath the coffee table by the couch. "I will stop you if I have to. I don't want to have to, because I consider you my friend. But they're my friends too, despite all their mistakes, and you're not going to hurt them." His hand bumped the small medical kit, and after dragging it out and standing up, Peter marched back to her bedside. "But all that crap doesn't matter right now. Right now, you're the one that's hurt, and I'm going to take care of you."
He heard her scoff crossly, but he pretended not to notice. He grabbed a bundle of bandages and gauze from the box, along with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. When he pulled Wanda's jacket off and began inspecting her for injuries, she just sat there with a look of misery on her face.
"You have lots of little cuts and burns," he noted, dabbing some alcohol on to a cloth. "I'll just clean them off a bit so they don't get infected, maybe bandage the deeper ones, and we'll go from there, okay?"
He took her dejected silence as a "yes", and proceeded to dress her wounds. Slices, gashes, bruises, burns, everything that marred her pale skin. She didn't react much besides the occasional wince. Peter tried to joke through it the whole time to distract she and himself from the ugly pain, but even that didn't stir a response from her. Many minutes later, after flattening one last bandage against a scratch on her forehead, he decided she was acceptably mummified and stepped back to admire his work.
"There yah go. All done. You might look a little patchy—more so than Nick Fury, heh—but it should do well enough. Feel any better?"
She was quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor. "You...missed a spot."
He looked her up and down. "Oh, I did? Where at?"
After a hesitant pause, she slowly turned around and pointed to her back. "There, in the middle."
He stepped forward to roll up her shirt, but realized he didn't need to. The fabric with ripped almost all the way across in one clean tear. He took the material in his hands, and it was warm and wet to the touch. With caution he tore it open a bit more so he could reach the injury better, but held back a small gasp when it came into full view. A deep, raw gash, carved across her back in a sickeningly jagged line. Blood was dripping from it steadily, though it wasn't that easy to tell how bad it was because of the black dress she had on. The wound was much too deep just to slap a bandage over, and the fact that it was still bleeding after an entire night was very alarming. His fingers hovered above the damaged flesh, and he licked at his lips nervously.
"Oh. Uh, okay. Right. I'll—I'll take care of it."
"Is it bad?" she asked quietly. "It hurts a lot."
"N-no, it's fine," he replied quickly, shaking his head. "Well, er, I dunno. I mean, I think it's a bit worse than your other ones, but not too much. It just...it might need stitches is all."
"Stitches?" she repeated warily, then huffed. "Great. Go ahead and get it over with, then."
"Me?" he exclaimed with a start, then sobered up when she stared at him funny. "I mean, uh, if you're sure."
"You said it needed them, and I do not want to lose any more blood." She grabbed a needle and thread from the medical kit and handed them to him pointedly. "Do it."
He blinked for a second, silent, until finally accepting the instruments from her with skittish uncertainty. She faced away from him with her palms flat against the bed, waiting. Peter swallowed dryly.
"Alright," he murmured, and dragged a chair beside the bed. He mopped off the surrounding skin, doing his best to sterilize the wound beforehand, then placed the towel on the nightstand. He exhaled slowly, cleaned the suture materials, then found himself sitting there in a daze, eyes locked on the open flesh.
"I am ready," Wanda said levelly after releasing a breath. "Go ahead."
Peter's jaw was clenched tight. "Okey-dokey, then. S-sit still, okay?" He reached forwards, needle set between his fingers, but stopped with the tip sitting just above her skin. His hands had started to shake. He couldn't make them stop. Sweat was slipping down his face.
"Peter?" Wanda stated, glancing over her shoulder. "Did you not hear me? Why haven't you begun?"
"I'm...I'm sorry," he stammered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Just...taking a minute, preparing myself. A little shaky, that's all."
Her curious gaze traced over his face. "You have never done this before."
Peter chuckled pitifully, running the back of his hand across his forehead. "That obvious, huh?"
"Yes. And your thoughts." For some reason, a slight amusement had crept into her expression. "It is okay. You can do it. Just take your time."
"Now I think you're starting to trust me a little too much," he laughed meekly. "I feel like I'm just going to end up hurting you more than you already are."
"You won't. I know you won't, because I need your help. You always manage to do things right when someone needs you."
Gingerly, Peter lifted his eyes to hers. He expected to see some sort of fearful or sarcastic innuendo in her face, but none showed. Her expression was soft and authentic. It was a genuine and surprising compliment. After studying her a moment longer, Peter's gaze shifted back to the deep gash scarred across her spine, and he sighed definitively.
"I seriously hope you're right, Wanda," he scoffed, then sat upright sharply. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Whew. Okay. I can do this. I can do this. Hold still."
She giggled quietly and turned away from him. Without allowing himself any longer to think about, Peter leaned forward and stuck the needle through the skin where the wound started, near the upper left of her back. Immediately he felt a tremor jolt through her and heard her hiss in pain, which scared him stiff for a second. But then he remembered how Matthew and Claire had helped him when he was injured, how they had forcibly sewed him back together despite how much it hurt, because they knew in the end it was their only way to help him. He had to have that strength and courage here and now if he wanted to help his friend. Or, at least, he had to try to mimic it, for both of their sakes.
And so he continued. He stabbed the needle through the other side of flesh, dragged the thread through, pulled it tight, then repeated. His stomach was turning, his hands were shivering, but he refused to let himself stop. Stab, drag, pull, repeat. Tiny beads of blood were bubbling up from where the needle entered. Wanda was whimpering through her teeth. His clammy fingers were dripping with red. Stab, drag, pull, repeat. Stab, drag, pull, repeat. Dammit Parker, come on! You can do this.
It took him twenty minutes in total. The end product was a long, ugly line of spiky black zipped across her back—definitely not a professional-grade job, but apparently enough to stop the bleeding. He wondered how the doctors from the movies always made this look so easy. Although his hands were still a shaky mess, Peter managed to wet a rag with disinfectant and press it against the wound a few more times before securing a large bandage on top by wrapping gauze all the way around her torso. When that was finished, Wanda dropped her shirt back over herself, clearly in a lot more pain than she was trying to let on, and Peter fell back into his chair, panting quietly.
"Done. Oh, thank God," he breathed, rubbing at his eyes. "Please, please promise you won't ever get that hurt again. 'Cause I don't ever want to do that...ever again."
She managed a laugh, stretching her arms out tentatively. "I really hope I don't, because that was probably worst stitch job I have ever received. You are worse than my brother. I thought it would never end."
He winced, stung. "I—I'm sorry, I just...I tried to warn you. Sometimes, with all this doctoring stuff, I just—I'm a freaking lightweight, and I—"
"You are fine, Peter," she said with a snort. "You did fine, I'm sure. Thank you."
He chuckled and wiped his hands off on the rag. "So, feeling better now? Want some aspirin or something?"
"I am fine, honestly," she replied, grimacing a bit as she turned back to face him. "But I really should leave now, before Fisk sends men here to kill me, or your wretched friends return. This is not the most discreet of hiding places, after all."
"No, just rest," he insisted. "Please. I'll keep you safe from Fisk. And as for my team, I doubt they'll show up here any time soon. They're probably busy tracking down your boss as we speak, or doing some other important thing without me, so it's very unlikely that they'll be coming back today."
Then, as if just to spite him, the sound of spinning rotors suddenly met his ears. Peter turned towards the windows and immediately felt his jaw drop. A sharp, intimidating airship was nearing the tower. Peter recognized it as the Avengers' personal Quinjet. As it drew closer, the engines on either wing angled forwards then down, slowing the aircraft's approach until it was hovering just above the balcony. Whirring steadily, the ship descended on to the landing dock, and the rotors spun to a sluggish stop. Wanda's eyes grew wide.
"Who is that?" she asked fearfully. "Are they Fisk's?"
"Uh," Peter stammered, watching the door of the Quinjet drop open and the familiar figures begin to sprawl out. "No. Not exactly. Evidently my quantitative reasoning skills suck."
Her eyes fell upon the flashy weapons and gaudy attire, and fire flared around her pupils. "It is them," she hissed. Instantly, Wanda dropped off the bed and began marching forwards, but Peter seized her by the arm.
"Stop! What are you doing? They don't know who you are!"
"Exactly. I will strike them now while their guard is down, before they discover my trespasses and kill me first."
"No!" he exclaimed, yanking her back and grabbing her by the shoulders. "Absolutely none of that is happening right now! I'll explain everything. I'll do whatever I can. Just let me handle this, and you stay behind me. You're not going to hurt them, and they're not going to hurt you. Got it?"
She exhaled lividly, hands balled at her sides, but by then the doors were being opened behind them. Six figures entered the room, and Peter spun around stiffly.
"Oh, uh, hey guys. What's happening?"
Steve Rogers, who stood at the front of the crowd, stopped abruptly. "Peter? What are you doing here?"
Peter shrugged sheepishly. "I mean, I own a floor of this building, don't I? Unless you've decided to just make it official and kick me off the Avengers."
"No, that's not what I...I mean, I thought you were still at your aunt's house, resting. I told you you should stay there, so I wasn't expecting you to be—" His soft expression dissolved suddenly, replaced by a rigid surprise. "Hey. Who's that?"
Wanda mouthed something bitterly under her breath, and Peter gripped her wrist tighter. "Oh, this is...Wanda. I think I mentioned her to you before, if you paid any attention at all to what I was saying."
Steve raised his eyebrows. "Wanda? As in, the freaky little witch lady? As in, the girl you said was trying to kill all of us?"
"You told them about me?" Wanda hissed, red energy ghosting around her fingers. "I thought I could trust you, Peter."
"I wasn't going to let the fact that a magical, raging, murder-lady was on the hunt for my teammates go unannounced. Cut me some slack here."
"It does not matter. I don't want them all anymore." Her eyes burned maliciously. "Just one. Give me Stark."
"No, Wanda!" he yelled helplessly. "Please. I can't let you kill any of them."
Stinging guilt suddenly flashed across her face, and for a second he felt her reading his mind. Then Stark gave an offended huff.
"Oh my gosh. You too?" he groused, crossing his arms over his glowing chest. "The haters just keep on multiplying, don't they? First the speedy, Sonic-the-hedgehog-looking bastard, and now Ms. Salem herself. Are you two in cahoots or something?"
Jarred, Wanda's fiery eyes went wide. "My brother? He—he is alive?" She wrenched away from Peter violently and extended her hand. "W-what have you done with him?"
Tendrils of energy sparked from her fingers. Tony frowned surprisedly, and Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Wait. The Pietro Maximoff guy is your brother? Just how many enhanced people did Hydra create?"
"Where is he?" she screamed, coiling her fingers into rigid semicircles, but Peter held her back. "Tell me!"
After staring down the furious girl a few moments longer, Steve slowly turned around to face Clint, and gave him a small nod. He offered him a puzzled look, eyes switching between he and Wanda, then sighed and walked back on to the balcony. He vanished into the Quinjet, gone for a minute at most, then reappeared with a man slung over his shoulder. He entered the room and laid the man on the floor in front of her, and Wanda gasped.
"Pietro!" she cried, breaking from Peter and sprinting forwards. She dropped to the ground beside him, lifting up his body and cradling his head. He was limp and silent. "Oh, my brother, my brother! What have they done? What have they done to you?"
"Calm down, Miss," Cap said carefully. "We picked him up in California, when he and a bunch of other Hydra-friendly were attacking Pym Tech. He put up a fight, so we've kept him sedated, but it should be wearing off soon. He's perfectly fine."
Wanda hugged him fiercely, tears gathering in her eyes. "Oh Pietro, my brother. I am here now. You are safe. I am so sorry..."
Peter watched the two siblings with sympathy pricking at his heart, pleased that Wanda was distracted enough for the time being to not kill his friends, then lifted his gaze to Steve. "Why was he in the Quinjet with you guys?"
"We were planning to transfer him to a different holding facility, since he practically destroyed the first one we placed him in. Guy's awfully persistent, I'll give him that." He turned to Natasha. "Keep an eye on them in case they try anything funny. We'll deal with that in a bit." She nodded curtly, trailing the pair as Wanda carried her brother to the bed using her witchy powers, and Peter cleared his throat.
"So, uh, what are you guys doing here? I thought you were all tied up with muckraking bad guys and talking about how crazy I am behind my back."
Tony scoffed amusedly. "We are, actually. Not with the gossip thing, but we've been working on finding this 'Fisk' character you keep bringing up. Hydra seems to have gone dark since the California attacks, and all of the men we managed to capture bit down on cyanide pills hidden in their teeth before we could probe for information on their boss. Well, all besides speed-butt over there, but he would zip his way out of all his restraints before we could even get around to asking. So overall, today hasn't been all that productive. Not even Jarvis can dig up any deets on ol' Fisky. Are you still absolutely sure this guy is for real?"
Peter chuckled mockingly. "Uh, yeah, pretty sure. While you guys were off chasing wild geese, I paid a visit to Fisk's secret underground base. You know, the one beneath the Hudson that all of Hydra's profits, weapons, and men funnel in and out of? Oh, to be informed."
"What?" Steve exclaimed, blinking in astonishment. "Are you serious? A facility, underground? How—how did you find it? How'd you even know a base was there?"
Peter bit the side of his cheek. "Well, uh...I sorta met someone who works for them. She helped me find it, break inside, and get Wanda out. Fisk was holding Wanda hostage and torturing her because she was protecting me, keeping my identity a secret and all. I just wanted to help her escape, but ended up discovering their entire evil headquarters in the process. Did you know they still require their henchmen to wear those awful uniforms? I felt like a itchy, sweaty pickle skulking around in that thing."
"You mean, she helped you?" Natasha asked, motioning towards Wanda with her head, who was busy petting her brother's wispy white hair. "I thought this one hated the Avengers. Why would she try to protect you?"
"I guess I made a good first impression. But she still kinda hates all the rest of you, if that wasn't clear."
"I think that is the least of our worries," Thor interrupted sharply. "We have located our enemy's base, yes? We should go there now, and vanquish them entirely."
"Agreed," Clint concurred. "So where'd you say the entrance was to super-secret Nazi land?"
"You can't just go barging in and blow up the place," Peter said crossly. "It's underwater, underground. Plus, they're holding prisoners down there. Young girls, kids, loads of them. Stolen off the street or from their families. That facility is the base of their human trafficking ring, and if they see you coming, they're going to use them as hostages, and some of them might get hurt. Saving those people takes priority over beating up bad guys. Alright?"
Tony chuckled. "Demanding little arachnid, isn't he?"
"Well, I've got to impose my will around here somehow, since clearly by saying 'we should go now' you all mean 'everyone but Spidey should go now', correct?"
Captain America shook his head slowly. "I don't understand, Peter. I thought you were...with that mind sickness, I thought you'd still be—"
"Psychotic?" he finished coldly. "Useless, untrustworthy, capricious, insane? Go on, pick one; these are some SAT-level suggestions I'm dishing out here. Or did you have your own special way of phrasing it in mind?"
"Are you telling me you're better now? Or did you go breaking into this underground base while still seeing things?"
There was genuine concern in his voice, which Peter wasn't expecting. He held Steve's worried gaze for a moment, quickly taking notice of the others' as well, and felt his bitter front crumple away, replaced by a poignant guilt. His eyes fell to the floor, and he sighed quietly. "No, I didn't. I think I'm better now. Maybe. It hasn't happened since I got the sym—er, well, for a while now, so I think I'm okay." It struck him suddenly that his Avenger friends knew nothing of his spiffy new suit, along with the mysterious powers it gave him. Nobody did. It would be weird—trying to explain to them how he was wearing a living creature, how it was made of his own DNA, and how it was an invaluable asset, especially when Steve knew about the haunting dreams Peter had had involving a similar black slime monster. He doubted they would believe his theory that the suit was repressing the nightmares from his mind—though that's kind of what it felt like. He thought that he'd have to ask Wanda to try and fix his little tick somehow, but that no longer seemed necessary. The symbiote had taken care of it. Although, in a way, he could still feel the nightmares' presence: the paranoia, the anxiety, the fear, whispering in the back of his skull, like a lost memory clawing to be revived. But since he had accepted the suit, those ailments had yet to escape from the tiny prison they seemed to be caged in inside his head. He couldn't deny how unbelievably relieving it was to be free of that constant, crippling terror. And yet, no matter how much better he felt now, with the symbiote guarding his thoughts, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was still off inside him. There was something there: strange, almost unsettling, that just didn't seem right. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what, though. He eventually concluded that he might never be back to his old self, and that he may just have to live with this peculiar sense of uncertainty always lingering over him. Oh well, better that than being a miserable nutcase.
But it was then that Peter realized he probably shouldn't tell them. In reality, he probably shouldn't tell anyone. The symbiote was a strange and powerful entity, something even he barely understood, and it would probably scare them. He didn't need any more confusion warring between himself and the Avengers than there already was. Plus, it was fairly plausible that they might try to take the symbiote away from him, especially a certain pair of mad scientists he knew, and he did not want that to happen. Snapped back to reality, Peter noticed Steve had narrowed his eyes, and he added, "I know I haven't been very reliable lately, and that I haven't been all that honest about it. But I promise I'm telling the truth this time. I really don't think those nightmare-vision thingies are going to be a problem anymore."
Captain America's scowl softened a little, though there was still a tinge of suspicion in his eyes. Before he could respond, however, Tony shrugged.
"Well, whatever you decide to do, I've got something I think you should see first." The billionaire dug around in his pockets for a moment before retrieving a bundle of crumpled photographs. He handed them to Peter, who gave him a curious look before accepting them warily. After thumbing through a couple in the stack, he frowned.
"What's all this?" Peter inquired, running his finger along the crinkled edges. The pictures looked freshly printed, just poorly handled.
"If it's what I'm thinking, I guess you could say all efforts on our part weren't a total bust after all. A buddy of mine—lives on the outskirts of the city—emailed me those pics this morning, saying that his warehouse was attacked. Lately, he's been helping me with all my imports: metals, alloys, oils, compounds. Basically, any raw elements I need for my projects go through him first. But right after my new shipment of goodies arrived late yesterday night, my buddy woke up to find his depository half-destroyed and completely empty! The poor soul had been robbed, and all my stuff was taken. And according to those photos, it doesn't look like your typical panty-hoes and potato-sack housebreak."
The images were of said depository, which looked as if the roof had been torn through like tissue paper. Windows were shattered, tables were overturned, and the walls were decorated with deep gashes and dark indents. Peter flipped through a few more of the photos interestedly, until one in particular made him freeze. It was a picture snapped of the floor, where a carton of oil had been spilled. And just to the right of the spill, on a contextually clean spot of concrete, was a single giant stain. It looked like a stamp with a circle in the middle and three long triangles fanning out from the center. A footprint, he realized, and it hit him suddenly what it reminded him of. A chilly morning, a gag-worthy haircut, and the sound of four metal limbs pounding the earth, snaking around his body, thirsting for blood.
"Doctor Octopus," he breathed, staring at the image blankly. "That's his...oh no."
"Doctor who?" Tony said curiously. "You mean Octavius, right? I was thinking the same thing. He was part of that evil boy band that attacked the city while we were gone; the guy with the freaky arms. I thought that pattern looked familiar."
"It's him. It's definitely him. I didn't think..." He flipped through a few more pictures distraughtly, until finishing off the deck. "The Sinister Six must still be out there somewhere, or whatever's left of them. And if he's stealing resources, then they must have an objective in mind. My assumption is nothing good."
"You think they're still working for Hydra?" Steve asked, arms crossed over his broad chest. Peter stared out the window nervously.
"I dunno. But that...that doesn't matter. These guys are seriously dangerous, and if they're planning to attack the city again, I've got to try and find them, and stop them before they can hurt anyone else." He was restless suddenly; he needed to go now, he needed to get out ahead of this. For the first time in the extent of this entire stupid drama, Spider-Man had the leverage over his enemies. Before now, Wilson Fisk, Hydra, and the Sinister Six had always been one step ahead of him, always beat him to the punch, but not this time. He couldn't lose to them this time. He wouldn't allow it.
"What's your buddy's address?" Peter asked, handing the pictures back to Tony. "I need to pay him a visit, see if I can dig up any more clues. Maybe I can find out where Octy and the squad are hiding before things get bloody."
Stark narrowed his eyes. "Seems a little...ambitious. Going after them so early, by yourself. Why don't you let one of us tag along, huh? In case you weren't aware, Spidey, we're all on the same team here. Situationally, and literally."
Peter scoffed quietly. "Sure, sure, whatever you say. As much as I appreciate all of your desperate attempts to sweep recent history under the rug, I'm not in the mood to go in circles here. Because, in a sense, you're right. But in any case, I need you guys to do something else for me." He swallowed rigidly, struck with a sudden sobriety. "Those people I mentioned before—the ones held prisoner in the underground base? I want you guys to get inside, find them, and break them out. They're being treated like animals in cages down there—neglected ones at that. They need to be rescued, or they'll all either end up dead or in the hands of some fat cat pervert, which is probably worse." He regarded them all with a sweep of his gaze, eyes pleading. "Please. That's where I need your guys' help the most."
They looked surprised, startled almost, at the desperation in his voice. And he meant it; Peter was smart enough by now to know that he couldn't take down Wilson Fisk and all of Hydra on his own. His pride wasn't going to stand in the way of that—not when innocent lives hung in the balance. After a moment in thought, Clint set his bow against his shoulder.
"Don't worry, webs. We'll take care of them, alright? And while we're at it, maybe we can finally meet this Fisk fellow, and I can jam an arrow firmly up his Nazi-kissing ass."
Noticing the quirky grin pulled up at the corners of his lips, Peter chuckled lightly. "Alright. Thanks. Just...try to do that without killing him. So far, there are only two entrances I know of: an abandoned pier site, just south of the Hudson River Greenway, beneath this weird little lighthouse at the end of one of the docks, and an elevator-thing concealed inside what looked to me like a sewage runoff, somewhere west of Riverside Boulevard. I suggest gunning for the latter, because that'll lead you to directly where the kids are being held."
"Good," Natasha remarked. "I think the majority of us prefer taking the elevator over the stairs anyway."
"We'll map out a plan of attack," Steve said resolutely, "and let you know when we're ready to strike. If you were able to break inside and get away with one of their advanced, I'd imagine their security will be upped by the time we make our move. We'll need to be precise about it."
Peter nodded. "Gotcha. And I'll—I'll let you guys know, if I find any info on the Sinister Six." It wasn't exactly a cure-all to the skepticism still tangible between them, but at least it was a start. At least they were all working together again. Now that the freaky visions and wild accusations were behind them, perhaps there was a chance they could all find their way back to trusting each other again.
"Pietro!"
Wanda's cry startled them from their nit-picky conversation, and they all turned around. The young woman was bent over her brother with her hand against his back. To everyone's shock, he was sitting up now, blinking groggily.
"W...Wanda?" he yawned, rubbing at his eyes. His hair was a mess of stringy, whitish-blonde tangles, and his movements were sluggish, confused. He shook his head, focusing his blurry vision, then reached up and touched his sister's face. "You...you are here?"
"Yes, brother. I am here. We are together again." Her voice was choked with emotion, and she wrapped him in a fierce hug. "That is all that matters now."
After a moment of astonishment, he hugged her back, eyes still wide with disbelief. "I thought...I thought for sure after they captured me, that I would never—" Then he regathered himself, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm just...I am so relieved to see you again."
The twins embraced each other a short while longer, two halves finally reunited, until Pietro's icy blue eyes fluttered open once again. His gaze traced across the odd room they were in, the bed he was set upon, until finally falling on the group of people observing the scene from a distance. His brow slowly knit together, and he released his sister.
"Wanda...?" he murmured, voice growing shaky. "Are we...are those...?"
"It is alright, Pietro," she insisted softly. "You are safe here."
Pietro stared at his sister like she was a stranger. "Safe? In this tower, with the Avengers? Have you gone crazy, Wanda? Those are the bastards that captured me, held me prisoner, injected me with sleeping drugs! And our parents—"
"Fisk has done worse to us and you know it. At least we are away from him, free. I would rather be here with them than back there with that demon."
"Worse than murdering our whole family right before our eyes?" he hissed, throwing the blankets off himself. In that moment, he zipped to his feet in less than a millisecond, moving at a speed Peter didn't know was possible. "No. You are wrong. They have more than hurt us, Wanda; they have destroyed us! Our lives, our family, our home, everything! Don't you remember why we came here, why we chose to work under that fat asshole in the first place? They are the true demons, and it's time we sent them back to the pits of hell they came from!"
Then he flew at them—a streak, a shadow, a blur, barely even visible in the split-second it took him to traverse the room. His spidey sense had hardly even begun to flicker by the time he was upon them, fist flying towards Peter's face. He gasped with a mixture of shock and fear.
But it didn't strike him. Hardly an inch from his chin, Pietro's whole body had come to a staggering halt, and they all sat stunned. Shaking, eyes wide, Pietro stood frozen in disbelief.
"W-Wanda?" he stammered, breathing harshly. "What are you...?"
She had stopped him. His body was enveloped in a cocoon of red energy, which barely managed to keep his incredibly fast figure still. The magical beam flowed from Wanda's fingers to Pietro's form, and she was shivering with effort.
"Stop it, Pietro," she told him strenuously. "It is over."
Straining, he managed to look at her over his shoulder. His eyes were desolate with disbelief.
"What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?"
"I'm sorry, brother," she said ashamedly, "but I cannot let you kill them. Not anymore."
"Are you kidding me? We have to finish this! We have to finish what we started! Nothing is over until they are dead!"
"And then what?" she countered. "What happens after they are dead? Will our parents be resurrected? Will our home return to us? Will we be able to move on with whatever pathetic lives we have left to live, once the Avengers are gone? No, Pietro! Nothing will change, and nothing will be fixed. All that we will cause is more suffering and mourning. I cannot do this anymore, Pietro. We...we have to let go."
"You expect me to forgive them?" he spat lividly. "You expect me to just forget everything they put us through, to let them get away with all they have done? You are insane, Wanda! Who will mourn the loss of these bastards, when all they ever do is create suffering and death?"
Her eyes suddenly shifted to Peter. "Their families, the people they have saved," she said softly, "and the people they won't be able to save if they are gone."
With a quick jerk, Pietro tore free from her grasp, then sped up to her side, hands curled into fists.
"Have you been brainwashed? You are a disgrace, sister!" He shook her violently by the shoulders, and she grimaced. "The Wanda I knew would never say that!"
Wincing beneath his hold, she stared up at him solemnly. "The Wanda you knew would have died if Spider-Man had not rescued me."
Pietro scoffed in disgust, throwing Peter a sideways scowl. "So now you think you are in debt to his whole team, then? Well, screw Spider-Man and all the rest of them! Let's just destroy the real snake: Tony Stark."
A spark of red suddenly flashed in her eyes, and he watched her vengeful gaze lock on Tony's face. Her expression was savage, and the sound of hands curling around guns and breaths growing sharp met Peter's ears. For a terrifying moment, Peter thought an all-out brawl was about to ensue over the life of their genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Then, once more, her vision switched to Peter's startled, pleading eyes. Slowly, the hateful passion dissipated, and her face went downcast.
"No. Not even him."
"What!? Why the hell not?"
"Because Peter sees him as a friend. And killing him would make Peter feel like he was losing a part of his family. I cannot make someone I care for feel that same awful pain as we felt, Pietro. And I will not let you do that to him either."
A silence blanketed the room for a moment. Peter was shocked at her words; he hadn't at all expected it would be Wanda who would end up petitioning Pietro to not kill the Avengers. He had no idea he could instigate such a revolutionary change of heart. He watched speechlessly as her brother's furious glare melted a little at her words, and his grip on her shoulders softened. Slowly his eyes drifted over to Peter, taking in his startled face for a while, then back on to Wanda. His forehead was wrinkled deeply.
"Is this...love, my sister?"
Immediately, Wanda's gentle expression dropped, and her cheeks flushed with color. "W-what?" she stuttered, blinking rapidly. "N-no! That is not what I—I mean, I was only explaining how he—" She glanced at Peter out of the corner of her eye, then pushed a hair out of her face embarrassedly. "I care for him, yes. But not—not as you imply. And anyway, he already has a, um...a girlfriend."
It seemed to Peter like he was watching the present drama unfolding before him from behind a television screen, as he had felt relatively detached until this point. Meeting Wanda's bashful gaze for only an instant, he, too, felt himself blush a little, and became aware of the many eyes trained on him perplexedly. Pietro studied her closely, almost amusedly, even, before scoffing under his breath. "I cannot believe it. So you're telling me you want us to give up on everything we have done to get here, everything we have sacrificed, just because you have grown fond of some boy you barely know? Is that seriously what you are suggesting here?"
"No, Pietro," she insisted, regathering herself quickly. "I want us, for once in our lives, to do the right thing. To choose to honor our parents with our lives, instead of throwing them away in vain attempt to avenge them. I don't want rage to fuel every one of my actions anymore. I just want to be free to use what I have for good from now on, instead of exploiting it for my own selfish desires." She laid her hand against her brother's cheek. "I want us to have purpose, Pietro. And doing this—it will shatter it. So please, brother, for my sake—let us be done with this. Let us be free from this torturous existence, before it destroys us both."
Pietro held her desperate gaze, brow still furrowed in frustration. There was so much warring inside his mind, so much anger clawing to be let loose. He was famished for revenge, and she understood it. But it was a draining hunger, one she knew now could never be satisfied. She wondered if he would ever find it in his heart to understand her pleas. Then, swallowing painfully, he took her hand from his cheek and held it gently, surveying her face a moment longer before releasing a strenuous sigh.
"Come on. We are going."
Without waiting for a response from his stunned sister, Pietro scooped her into his arms and held her close to his body. He turned to face the group across the room, all of which were still watching, intrigued. Natasha, however, raised his finger into the air.
"Um, as touching as all this has been, we can't exactly allow you two to just leave—"
"Do not talk to me, not a single one of you," he snapped viciously. "I still hate all of your guts, and want to see them painting the floor for what you have done." His eyes locked on Tony. "Especially you, ass-face. I promise this is not the last you will see me. But then again, maybe it will be. Because I will return, and I can guarantee: you will not see it coming." Then he smirked at Natasha. "Oh, and you say we cannot leave? Well, sweetheart, just try and stop me."
In a streak of silver, the man and his sister went zipping down the stairs, gone before any of them could even blink. They were past all ninety-two floors, out the doors, and three blocks away in less than a minute, and Peter quickly understood why he had been such a difficult prisoner to contain. Damn. Hella fast indeed.
A pang suddenly struck him when he realized that Wanda was gone, and that he hadn't been able to say goodbye. He hoped they would be alright, what with Fisk's men still likely perusing the city in search of them, but readily concluded that they would be. He seriously doubted many could match the power those two had when operating together.
"Alright, that was weird."
"Yes, very."
"Couple of enigmas, those two."
"I dunno which one's freakier: Elphaba or Speedy Gonzales."
"Should we send somebody after them? Kid did kinda threaten us, after all."
After a moment in thought, Steve shook his head. "Nah, let them go. We've got bigger issues to worry about."
At his words, Peter perked up. "Yeah. Speaking of, I think I'll head home now. Gwen will probably be pissed since I told her I'd hurry back, but I gotta face her wrath sooner or later. I'll start my sinister scavenger hunt bright and early tomorrow morning."
"Alright. We'll start working out our plan as well. See yah soon, Peter."
Peter nodded curtly, then noticed Tony was smirking at him.
"Thanks for winning over that little witchy's heart, by the way. I thought I was going to have to sear a hole through both of their Sokovian faces, but Spidey clearly had it covered with your irresistible, boyish charm. Are you sure Gwen's not going to be pissed over the fact that she may have some competition?"
Peter felt his ears go red. "N-no, it's not like that, honestly. It's just—we both saved each other. We're friends, that's all, and I guess my goody-two-webs-ness has finally started rubbing off on her. I just hope it sticks, and that her brother catches on, before you wake up with your head literally shoved up your ass."
At that Tony grimaced. "Yeesh. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Spidey." He turned and lifted his watch to his mouth, mumbling something to Jarvis about "upping security measures by 110%".
Grinning sheepishly, Peter opened the door to the balcony. "Yeah, you have fun with that. Later, peeps." Then, without thinking it through, Peter willed his costume to life, and in an instant the symbiote transformed from innocuous street clothes back to its original black color. The dark matter spread across his arms, legs, and face, until Peter was fully adorned in the sleek, sable Spider-Man suit. It wasn't until he noticed Bruce Banner gawking at him that he realized his mistake.
"What on Earth?" Bruce stammered, stepping towards him and adjusting his glasses. "Did I just—did your clothes just turn into that costume?"
"Oh. Uh..."
"Whoa, Spidey!" Clint exclaimed excitedly. "Those are some killer new threads, kid. Since when did you switch from the Fourth-of-July theme to going all dark and edgy?"
"I...um..."
"That isn't one of the suits I made you," Tony noted, appearing both impressed and confused as he looked him up and down. "Where the hell did you get that thing? And how the hell—did he say your regular clothes transformed into that costume?"
Peter swallowed nervously. "Well, I..." he faltered, noticing the shocked expression plastered across Steve's face. Then he shook his head and stepped through the doorway. "It's nothing fancy. I'll just—I'll tell you about it later. I gotta go now."
Not wanting to be questioned further, Spider-Man shut the door behind himself and sprinted across the balcony. With a hop and a flip, Spider-Man leapt off the tower and out of sight, abandoning all the Avengers who were left inside, blinking perplexedly.
It was dark by the time he departed. The sky was a body of starless waves, brushed and swirled with deep, mysterious colors. And he, a mere speck in its consuming wake, was nothing more than a drop in an endlessly expansive ocean.
Spider-Man soared above his city a boy gripped with anxiety, unable to appreciate the dazzling sights glaring at him from every angle. He feared what diabolical schemes the Sinister Six had planned for his home, and the suffering that would result because of it. He feared his inability to defeat them again, and to protect the people he loved.
Then, with a start, Peter felt the suit suddenly stir against his flesh, as if reminding him of its presence. The symbiote, he thought, enriched by the feeling of it enveloping his body, gilding his skin. That's right. Maybe I don't have to worry about being outclassed anymore. Maybe, with the suit at my command, I'll have the power to overcome anything those bozos throw my way...
Then his phone started to ring. This was odd, for he thought he remembered having left it on the counter of his floor in Avengers Tower. Nonetheless, it was buzzing, though he couldn't possibly imagine where it was being stored inside the skin-tight suit. He patted at his body confusedly until his hand brushed his waist, where he'd normally store his phone behind his other costume's utility belt. Instantaneously, something hard bumped his finger, and he looked down to see his cellphone materializing out of the black ooze, as if it were being stored without taking up any space. Puzzled, but also very much impressed, Peter answered the call with a swipe of his thumb and held it up to his ear.
"Uh, hello?" he said hesitantly, buoying on a bio-cable with his free hand.
Hey, bro! the familiar voice replied, overflowing with its usual enthusiasm that Peter couldn't help but smile at. It's your ol' pal Eddie Brock from the Bugle! We haven't talked in awhile.
"Hey, Eddie! Ha, it's good to hear from you, man. But it hasn't been too long, has it?"
Are you kidding me? I haven't heard a peep from you since we got paid for that kick-butt article about sparky-sparky boom man! That was, what, four days ago? Three at the least. I've been having to deal with Jolly Jonah here all by myself! Where have you been, bro?
Peter laughed skittishly. "Well, uh, I've just been busy is all. Scrambling all over the place, doing this and that. Haven't really had much time for freelance photography lately, and all the stuff I've managed to shoot has been crap." See, that wasn't a total lie, right?
Eddie snorted. Well, it's been a beat-down around here without you, bud. But I guess I've had better luck than you shutterbug-wise, 'cause Jameson let me borrow a retired employee's old camera yesterday, and I think I've got the story of the century here that's gonna end with another much-needed cash out!
Spider-Man blinked in surprise. "Really? Wow, that's—that's awesome, bro! Wish I could be there to help you with it. What's it about?"
Eddie scoffed loudly. Don't worry, bro. You'll know soon enough. Guaranteed, by the end of this week, every paper in town will have my article smacked across the kisser, front page baby. You can read all about it then, while this guy's raking in the green.
Peter chuckled under his breath. "Alright. I'm sure it'll be awesome. Again, I...I'm sorry I haven't been there, having your back and all. I'll try to get with it as soon as possible. Don't you dare rim Jameson's coffee mug with Nair until I'm back, okay?"
Eddie busted out laughing for a solid minute before finally responding. You got it, bro. See you soon!
"Yeah. See yah."
Click.
As Spider-Man swung above the city, and as the symbiote engulfed his phone again, seeming to make it vanish magically, like the inside somehow mimicked the physics of the Tardis or something, he wondered when exactly he would be able to fulfill his promise to his loyal friend. If, that is, with all that he had left to conquer, he would ever be able to at all.
Ya'll, I wish I had recorded my reaction to the trailer. I screamed like a freak and proceeded to watch it around 16 more times. Then my friend and I watched marvel movies all day to quell our marvel withdrawals. Do I have issues? Maybe. Are they unhealthy? Probably. Do I care? NO! I'll try to get the next chapter out quicker this time, but no promises. At least now that I'm finally done with basketball (finished 2nd in state baby whoop) I have more time. So yeah, see ya'll laters...review maybe? ;D