Peter ran along the street, jumping over a large puddle of water as he veered into the alleyway. He continued on with an almost – dare he say – skip in his step. Because today was a good day. In fact, Peter couldn't remember being as happy in the last twenty-one months as he was today. For today he had not only found a bag full of fresh buns in the dumpster that would keep him fed for almost a week (he was certain someone was getting in big trouble right about now for accidentally throwing them out), but he had met Joe again at the Daily Bugle, and the older man had said he'd take a look later at some of Peter's pictures; maybe even show him the dark room if some of them were good.
Peter had learned to make a point of always expecting the worst from people; to hope or trust that someone would actually live up to what they said they would do, only ever proved to be all the more painful when they inevitably let him down.
But Joe had – so far – proven to be the opposite. When he claimed to like Peter and said he wanted to help him out, he actually stuck to that claim – even over an entire month later.
They hadn't had the time to actually go into the dark room, but with a full stomach and a promise of good things to come, Peter couldn't help the seed of hope that had begun to sprout inside him. Maybe life would get at little bit better after all, as for once things were finally looking up.
Coming to a secluded and forgotten little alleyway, Peter tightened his hood around his face and started climbing up a particularly tall dumpster. Reaching the top, he heaved the lid open, immediately covering his nose with his shirt. The hot, pungent aroma hit him like a punch to the face, and he waited a few seconds before slowly crawling inside, looking for anything that could qualify as somewhat safely edible.
It had been just over two and a half months since the incident with May, and one month since seeing Ned. It had taken some time, but he had done his best to get over it and move on, now all the more determined never to go near them again. It had been like ripping open a wound and digging his finger inside; it wasn't something Peter wanted to repeat again.
Which was why he was going to put all of his focus on Joe and the camera. If he did his best to gain a foothold in the Daily Bugle and with Jameson, then all he had to do was wait until he turned eighteen and then he could finally come out of hiding and get a proper job, and maybe even an apartment, and after that… well, after that who knew what could happen. The possibilities were endless. And the thought had never made Peter want to smile more.
He grabbed a few things from amongst the trash and stuffed them in his bag. Closing the dumpster's lid he crawled back down, the bag of buns held between his teeth as he held onto the pack with his arm. He made it to the ground with barely a sound and, hiking the bag onto his back, proceeded to make his way out of the alley and onto the street.
He walked for an hour, heading back to the attic as quickly as he could. He knew from experience that if he didn't get his stash of food hidden away before other members of the street population saw, he wouldn't have any stash of food left.
As Peter drew closer to one of the endless food stands, he slowly began to recognise the man that was in the process of paying for his food. A smile drew onto Peter's face as he realised who it was.
"Julian!"
Julian turned, looking round. His eyes landed on Peter, and confused brows gave way into a small smile.
"Oh, hey Pete," he said. He took the hot dog from the vendor and with a quick thanks, moved back to the side of the street. He gave Peter a nod. "How's it going?"
"Good," Peter answered, unable to keep the grin from his face. He motioned to the food on his back. "I don't think I'll have to visit you any time soon."
Julian smiled. "That's good to hear." He took a bite of his hotdog. "'oo 'ook aw'fly 'appy," he said through a mouthful of food.
"Yeah," Peter said, "I think… I think I am." It had been a long time since Peter had been able to say he was truly happy; but for today – for now – he was.
Julian swallowed, his smile growing warm. "That's good to hear. So you think you're finally gonna get off the streets? You must be eighteen by now, right?" So Julian had guessed the reason why Peter had so far stayed where he was; if his accent didn't give it away that he he was a true New Yorker, his knowledge did.
"W-well, I don't –," Peter stuttered, trying to find the right words. It was too far away yet to actually hope for things like that. "I don't know about that. But maybe… maybe eventually, I could –."
A cold whisper ran up the back of his neck, and Peter froze. He frowned, swallowed, and tried once more. "I think maybe one day I'd like to –."
The shiver against his neck came again, and Peter's fingers twitched.
He looked around, trying to find the source of the disturbance. His eyes scanned over the endless parade of people, cars, and animals, but nothing was wrong. At least not with them.
"...ete… eter… Peter!"
Peter's attention snapped back to Julian, who was giving him an odd look. "You spacin' out on me, kid?"
Peter dug his fingers into his bag, pulling it tighter against his back. "I'm sorry Julian," he said, "But I've got to go."
Without waiting for a response, Peter skirted around Julian and disappeared into the sea of people. He walked as fast as he could, deftly making his way around the chaos until finally he managed to dash into an alleyway.
He spotted a dumpster and ran over to it, crouching on the other side away from view. He tucked his arms around himself and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the chill to pass, waiting for his spidey-senses to calm.
He did this whenever this happened, whenever something particularly bad was going on and his senses insisted on telling him. He would always avoid looking at the headlines the following days; he didn't want to know what had occurred. He didn't want to know who had been attacked, who had been hurt, who had died. He didn't want to do any of this anymore. He just wanted to be left alone.
The growl of an engine rumbled through Peter's ears and he looked up. Something suddenly whizzed in and out of Peter's vision from above the building, and he blinked. If possible, the hairs on the back of his neck stood even taller, and his whole body began to tingle with the full awareness that something was wrong. The weight pressed in on him so greatly, that he almost found it hard to breathe.
Peter stared into the sky. Whatever the source of the unease was, it was coming from up there.
With a quick glance round, Peter suddenly scurried around the side of the dumpster and quickly made his way up the side of the wall. When he reached the top he swung himself over the side, crouching low before peeking back up over the terrace's edge.
He hadn't felt anything like this since Before. The last time his spidey-senses had gone off so strongly was when Seftis….
But it couldn't be. He'd made a deal. He'd made the trade, he'd signed the contract – it couldn't be him. Why, after all this time, would he –
His spidey-sense flashed again and Peter's eyes suddenly snapped to a dark figure in the middle of the sky. It was coming towards him, getting bigger and bigger every second, flying faster and faster and –
A loud cackle suddenly rang in his ears as the thing – it wasn't Seftis, he knew that for sure now – flew past. As it did, something caught the edge of Peter's vision, and it was coming straight towards him.
Instinct took over and for a brief moment time slowed down, and in the last second Peter jumped out of its way.
The explosion that followed knocked him off his feet and sent him careening over the opposite end of the building's edge.
He could feel himself falling, the wind rushing past his face as he fell, faster and faster and –
Reaching out his arms, Peter slammed his hands against the side of the building; he fell a few more stories, his palms and fingers tearing against the concrete, desperately trying to make purchase, until finally they held and he skidded to a halt.
Peter remained still for a moment, his eyes wide and chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.
Screams and shouts suddenly reached his ears, and Peter looked behind him. His heart caught in his chest as he saw dozens of people standing in the streets, some stopping their cars in the middle of the road, their eyes wide with shock and fear and disbelief; they were all looking up, pointing to the sky. Pointing towards him.
For a moment Peter's heart began to race even faster, thinking they were looking at him, but he quickly realised that their eyes were turned above him, their fingers pointing just a bit higher –
Another loud cackle rumbled through the air, and a second later something went whizzing over top of him. Peter ducked, spinning his body around until his back was against the windows. He followed the – the thing as it disappeared into the distance, becoming nothing more than a speck, before it began making a large turn and headed back towards him once more.
In the few seconds that he had, Peter spun himself back around and scrambled, crawling up and around the building until he was safe from view on the other side. He heaved himself onto the top of the roof, landing on the cement with a thud.
The screams and shouts intensified as the creature drew closer. Peter quickly surveyed the rooftop, taking in the blown-out hold and partial roof collapse. He swung his head back round, just in time to see a flash of dark-green coming straight towards him. Before he could even blink they collided, and he was once more sent flying across the rooftop, where he crashed against the ridge.
The creature gave him no time to recover, as in the next second Peter found himself being grabbed by the front of his sweater and lifted high into the air.
Peter struggled in its grip, kicking and hitting the thing as best he could, trying to wrestle his shirt back from its grasp. It was when his feet suddenly touched what felt like the ground that Peter looked down, realising with surprise that it wasn't the creature itself that was flying, but whatever it was standing on.
Without warning Peter was let go, and he was falling to the ground.
He landed on the rooftop once more, crashing with enough force that his body left a deep dent in the cement. It was a fall that would have killed any other man, and even for Peter it left him momentarily stunned.
The creature flew back down towards him and Peter's head snapped up, getting a proper look at it for the first time.
Its face looked to be made of metal – a mask, Peter thought – one that was twisted in a permanent, manic smile, its large yellow eyes seemingly staring directly back into his own.
"Why hello there little spider," it – he – said, coming to a stop above him. "So I've found you at last."
Peter's eyes grew wide and his heart froze in his chest, everything around him shattering into silence until all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.
The creature – the man? – suddenly swung out to hit him and Peter ducked, missing the blow by inches. Twisting back round, Peter scrambled and ran, trying to get off the roof as fast as he could.
The creature, though, didn't let him leave his sight. He merely tutted, the hover-board he was standing on easily following after him.
"Now, now, don't be like that. Just come over here with me and we can sit down for a nice, long chat."
Peter could feel the creature's hand reaching towards him, moments away from grabbing his neck. At the last second he turned, ducking out of the thing's grip and dashing over to the other side of the building. Without a second thought, he jumped over the edge.
Peter slid down the side of the building on his fingers, listening as the wails of sirens began to draw closer – the police were on their way – the creature's laugh clashing through the air.
"You can't run away from me!"
Just as he was nearing the bottom Peter heard a click, followed by the twists and snaps of gears and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but it was too late. The explosion that followed threw Peter off of the building and sent him flying into the alley bellow.
Peter could feel himself falling through the air for a brief moment, before his body suddenly and abruptly smashed into the pavement.
For a moment, everything was silent; all he could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, fighting off the white stars that were suddenly encompassing his vision.
Shit, but did that hurt. Even falling back onto the rooftop hadn't hurt as much as this.
Something was grabbing the front of his shirt and he was once more lifted back into the air, his back pressed against the creature's body as an arm wrapped around his neck. He tried to orient himself, to gain a hold on what was going on, but everything was happening too fast, too quickly, he couldn't –
An instinct that Peter hadn't felt in ages suddenly flowed through his veins, and before he knew what he was doing he was snapping his head back as fast and hard as he could.
The grip that had been holding onto him disappeared and for what felt like the millionth time, Peter was falling. But then, instead of colliding with the ground, something suddenly grabbed hold of his arm and he jerked to a stop. In the next moment he was being lowered to the ground.
Peter looked up and his racing heart momentarily froze, suddenly wishing that he hadn't.
Iron Man. The familiar red and gold suit shone bright, the silver eyes of the metal mask looking down at him. When Peter's feet touched the rooftop he was let go, and Iron Man flew off.
Peter's eyes were wide and chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, watching as the superhero chased after the creature into the sky.
The two fought back and forth for a number of minutes, explosions going off as the green maniac threw grenades and as Iron Man returned the fire with shots of his blasters. Men and women were shouting and screaming beneath them, as the fight remained dangerously close to the ground and surrounding buildings.
A missed shot flew towards Peter and he scrambled back, barely managing to dodge out of the way before it hit the back of the roof. Pieces of cement went flying into the air, raining down on Peter's head and he raised his arms, attempting to shield himself; just then there was a particularly loud explosion, followed by a crash. Peter looked up just in time to see Iron Man being thrown into the ground, with such force that his suit became wedged into the pavement.
Peter expected the creature to try and finish Iron Man off – or at least get in a few more hits while he was down – but instead it turned from the fight and started heading back towards him.
Peter instinctively began crawling backwards, trying to get away from the advancing creature as fast as he could. It was completely useless, though, as seconds later the yellow eyes were once more staring back into his own.
"Now, now, little spider. There's no use in running anymore. How about we go and have a nice little chat?" The creature raised his hand and grabbed Peter's head, holding it painfully tight between his metal fingers. Peter flinched back and threw his arms in front of his face, expecting to be hit, but nothing came. Instead, the creature only spoke one word: "Sleep."
A grey mist began shooting out of its metal arms and engulfed Peter's face, leaving him spluttering and gasping in a cloud of suffocating air.
As Peter fought for breath, he suddenly heard the sound of blasters charging up.
"Hey Greeny, how about you pick on someone your own size?"
Then, just like that, the blaster went off and the creature was blown away, Iron Man quickly chasing after it.
Peter fell forward, grabbing hold of his neck and continuing to cough, trying to wrench away the mist that felt as though it had attached itself to his lungs. Peter could hear the sounds of continued fighting behind him, but all he could see was the blood-splattered and dirt-covered cement beneath him.
His spidey-senses went off and Peter could sense the creature's hover-craft coming up behind him, the roar of the engine hitting his ears a second later. Iron Man's voice shouted in the distance.
"Why the hell are you so adamant on going after this guy? Don't you have anything better to do with your time than killing innocent civilians?"
The creature ignored the questions and instead threw his arm. A second later there was another explosion, followed by more screams.
Peter looked up and saw Iron Man just as he was turning around to the scene on the street below, likely looking for any falling buildings or people in danger. A second later Peter heard another click, followed by turning of gears. Looking up, he could see the green creature's hand held behind its back, a blinking grenade held in his fingers.
Peter's head shot back to Iron Man, who was still looking away.
Without a second thought, Peter reached up and shoved his hand into the side of the engine, tearing his fingers through the wires and metal.
There was a loud bang and sparks flew, fire igniting across the metal edge. More bangs followed in quick succession, and the hover-craft was sent flying through the air behind him.
Peter could hear the creature's shouts of anger and alarm as he shot away. He turned round, watching as the creature fought to regain control of the hover-craft, jerking up and down and this way and that, before disappearing into the distance.
A few moments passed and Peter could only stare.
A second later the sound of engines filled Peter's ears and he listened as they came to a stop, followed immediately by metal clunking onto the rooftop.
Peter twisted round, pushing himself against his arms. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his eyes wide and breath catching in his throat as he looked up at the great Iron Man.
At Tony Stark.
He had never wished to be as far from where he was than he did now.
"Hey kid, are you all right?"
Peter had known that Tony didn't remember him anymore. He knew that as much as he knew that everyone else didn't remember him; as he knew Aunt May, Ned, and MJ didn't remember him. He knew that as he knew that the sky was blue and the grass was green.
And yet, somehow, he still felt as though he couldn't breathe.
"… ey kid, I'm talking to you. Are you all right? Did Greeny hurt you at all? Do you need me to get you to the hospital?"
Peter fought against the frozen muscles in his legs, and slowly edged himself back.
Iron Man's mask folded back into the suit as he stepped forward, leaving Tony Stark's face staring back into his own. He was wearing an expression so familiar to Peter, that it left his lungs feeling as though the air had been sucked away.
"Yes, I know," Tony said, an air of exasperation across his face, "it's me, it's Tony Stark – also known as the Great Iron Man. Though there was that one guy who called me the Invincible Iron Man, once. I have to say, that has a pretty nice ring to it."
Tony came to a stop in front of Peter, holding out his hand. "You don't have to be afraid of me, kid. How about I take you to the hospital? They'll make sure Greeny there didn't leave any lasting damage. You look all right to me, but might be nice to get someone with a bunch of letters behind their name to be sure, right?"
It was the same Tony that Peter had come to know over the two years he had been with him; the same Tony that spoke so much you could barely get a word in edgewise, if at all. The one who made so many assumptions on everything you were doing and all that was going on, that you almost didn't need to do anything at all. The only reason Peter had never been bothered by any of it was because he had a tongue and wit that could could match Tony's own.
But that was then. And this was now. And right now, he desperately wanted to run. To get as far away from Tony Stark and that deranged, green creature as he could.
A wave of exhaustion pressed at his temples, and Peter suddenly wanted nothing more than to be curled on his mattress against the corner of the wall in his attic, with nothing around him but silence.
Peter watched as the nonchalant look on Tony's face began to fade, replaced with slightly furrowed brows and a small frown. Crouching down, Tony held out his hand. "Come on kid," he said. "At least let me get you down from here. You don't have to worry about Greeny – that last hit I gave him obviously messed with his hover-board; he's probably off crashing into a courthouse somewhere. I doubt we'll be seeing him any time soon."
Peter was hooped, and he knew it. If he denied Tony and told him to leave, he would – at least in Tony's eyes – be left stranded on a rooftop from which he shouldn't have any way to get down. But if he accepted his help, if he got near him, if he got too close….
In the end, Tony made the decision for him.
"Sorry kid," Tony said with a sigh, "but I'm a busy guy and I've got more than one place I need to be right now, so we're just gonna go for a little ride, and…."
Tony picked Peter up, engaged his thrusters and flew down to the ground, setting him on the sidewalk. "There."
Peter, who'd barely had time to realise what was happening, could only blink and swallow, unsure if he should talk, if he should say thank you, or say anything, or –
"My scanners say you have no exceptional injuries, weirdly enough. If you can, though, you should get checked out just to be sure."
Tony's mask suddenly snapped back on, and he held his palms to the ground. "Try not to get caught in the middle of another fight with a deranged green-man, all right kid? See ya."
And with that, Tony was gone.
Peter watched as he flew away, disappearing into the sky.
He could hear the sounds of people all around him, gasping and pointing as Tony flew away, talking rapidly to each other in excited voices at the unexpected appearance of Iron Man.
Peter felt someone's hand about to touch his shoulder and he snapped round, staring at the stranger with wide eyes. He could see the man's lips moving, but he could barely make out his voice.
"Hey… ki… re… all ...ight?"
Peter didn't want to be there. He wanted to be far, far away from where he was. He wanted to run as fast as he could until there was no one else around him, run until he was completely by himself, until everyone else had been left behind.
So he did.
He didn't watch where he was going, he let his body move completely by rote. He swerved in and out of alleys, dodging dumpsters and avoiding people without even a blink of an eye. People shouted but he didn't hear them; he ran and ran and ran until finally, he came to a stop.
He was in an enclosure, a small alcove of an alleyway. He was completely surrounded by buildings on all sides, save for the small, narrow gap in an upper corner that he had crawled through.
Peter was sucking in breaths as his heart raced a mile a minute, doing everything he could to keep himself from having a full-blown panic attack. He wasn't paying attention to anything around him, only focusing on the pain in his head as his hands pulled at his hair, whispering nonsense words to himself, walking in circles over and over and over again as he fought to keep himself together, as he fought to keep himself from breaking down completely.
That creature knew who he was. That creature knew who Spider-Man was. Except he shouldn't. He shouldn't know a single thing about him – he shouldn't know a single thing about the forgotten red and blue, web-swinging vigilante. He wasn't supposed to remember. No one remembered, everyone had forgotten, so then why had – why had this guy –
He squeezed his eyes shut.
God, he was tired.
It was like the time After all over again. It was like he was back there, in those days and weeks and months after It happened, when he was realising the reality that he was now it, when he was realising what danger he was now in, what danger he was to others, that he couldn't just go to May or Ned or Tony or anyone else because if he did that they would be in danger; if he tried to talk to them they would get hurt, if he tried to convince them of who he was and what had happened they would die, and he couldn't – he couldn't let that happen, he couldn't do that to them, to his friends, to his family, to millions of innocent people who had nothing to do with this and why – why couldn't he just get his heart rate to slow down and stop beating faster and faster and faster until he couldn't even breathe, and –
Peter sucked in a gasp of breath, his eyes snapping back open as he realised that his heart beat wasn't slowing down, and that he felt at any moment he would pass out, or –
Without warning, Peter was suddenly leaning over and puking onto the ground. He struggled to keep himself upright, but it suddenly felt like every muscle in his body had been cut, and he could no longer hold himself up. He collapsed, just barely missing the sick that lay beside him.
Peter gasped, sucking in air as fast as he could. Was this a panic attack? It sort of felt like it, from the few in his life that he'd had. After his parents had died, after his dog had died, after Ben had died, after It….
Except… except why couldn't he get himself back under control? And he never puked during a panic attack, that had never happened before… and his vision kept going dark, spots kept dancing in and out of his eyes, and there was a loud ringing in his ears, and –
Peter suddenly felt completely, and inexplicably exhausted, as though he had just run a thousand mile race on no sleep. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep himself awake, because he didn't know what was happening and he didn't like not knowing what was happening, especially after all that had happened. Now he needed to always know what was happening, he needed to be in control because if he wasn't then no one else would be, and… and…
Peter turned, falling onto his back and staring into the sky through half-lidded eyes, still trying to catch his breath, still trying to keep awake, because he wasn't safe here – whatever was going on, this wasn't a safe place for it to happen. He needed to be back in his attic, he needed to be back on his mattress, surrounded by four walls and a bed above him, with Aunt May in the kitchen cooking food and Uncle Ben setting up a game of Monopoly, and….
God, he was tired. Why was he so tired? It was the middle of the day, it was nowhere near bedtime, so why –
An image suddenly flashed through Peter's mind, of when he and the Goblin were on the rooftop, and he had him by the throat and was grabbing his head and then some sort of mist came out, and –
Shit.
He'd completely forgotten about it. Everything had happened so fast, and then Tony was there, and –
Another wave of exhaustion fell over him, and Peter was finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. The last thing he saw was the Goblin's grinning mouth and his maniacal, horrible yellow eyes flashing before him, before everything finally went black.