Winter 2013
Peter had redoubled his efforts to catch muggers ever since the colder winds of winter started to sweep the streets of New York City. Keeping active proved to be quite an efficient method to stay warm as the ambient chill just wouldn't leave him alone. Despite his upgrade to a full mask and his long overdue acquisition of a secondhand pair of shoes thin enough to permit his feet to get some traction, the cold was mercilessly ignoring Peter's best attempts, cutting through fabric regardless of how many layers he piled on. At least now he could take comfort in the knowledge that he would be getting chilblains whether or not he was scaling walls in bare socks by 23°F.
It was yet another one of those icy nights Peter had had no choice but to get used to. His favorite sleeping spot wouldn't be warm enough for another couple hours; yet, despite this inconvenience, that bakery he had found in Queens a few months ago was a blessing. Their oven had a heat evacuation system that went through their unused attic, providing the room with a comfortable enough temperature to rest despite the broken window and the freezing cold. It was like a nice fireplace -without the soothing crackling of the logs, the flickering light, the warm blanket over the cosy sofa, the sweet mug of hot chocolate and the fire itself. Before discovering the bakery, Peter would sleep in deserted subway tunnels; but those were dark, humid, and not always safe, whereas the bakery was the total opposite. After a few close encounters down there, Peter decided he wouldn't go back to the tunnels unless he absolutely had to. Not that he couldn't defend himself if it came down to it; but he quickly realized his quality of sleep stepped up from very poor to mediocre after a few nights above ground. The moment the bakers lit their oven couldn't come fast enough.
Until then, Peter would have to keep himself busy. And what better than swinging invisibly in the heights of the city? At this dead hour of the night, he could go as far as allowing himself some thrill with random free falls in between two weblines. It had been a very calm night, and the occasional drop he surprised himself with was the most excitement he expected to encounter at this point. That is why, when his spider-sense went off, he took a few feet dive that was not entirely intentional. Quickly shaking himself, Peter let his instincts guide him to one of those fancy banks. At the sight of it, he knew right off the bat that the adrenaline he got from his web-swinging would amount to next to nothing compared to what was to come.
The main gate of the bank looked like it had been caved in before it was ripped entirely off the wall and thrown to the side, bits of bricks strewn on the ground. It had been a long while since Peter had to face an enhanced individual. The perspective of the fight ahead filled him with a mix of anticipation and excitement. As he landed on the façade of the building, he allowed a small smirk to stretch across his lips. It disappeared just as quickly as it came when he started to crawl down the wall, turning his attention to assessing the situation.
Peter couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary except from the loud bangs coming from inside; no alarm, no police sirens. Either the bank had been broken into very recently and the cops would be here soon, alerted by a silent alarm, or the robbers had found a way to turn it off altogether, which meant Peter was the only one who knew about them. Judging by the state the gate was in, the force might not be enough anyway.
An empty car was parked haphazardly right in front, engine still on. Peter somersaulted to the car's roof and gracefully rejoined the ground in one fluid movement.
"No one ever told you guys this is bad for the environment?" Peter muttered as he opened the driver's door and removed the ignition key.
He threw it high into the air, and with a single well-aimed spurt of web, had it glued on the wall several feet above the ground before it could even start its descend back down. Peter was about to close the door when he considered the steering wheel. He sprayed some webs on the electric cables below it, just to be sure. No matter what happened inside, the robbers wouldn't have an easy get away.
Peter, now facing the gaping entrance, cast a web to each side of it, using them to propel himself onto the ceiling inside. He crawled silently upside down, following the source of the noise. It lead him past the counters and down a set of stairs. Peter stopped right before going through yet another reinforced door that had suffered a fate similar to the entrance gate. Loud voices could be heard from inside the safe. Peter risked a glance.
"Hurry up!" ordered a man near the door.
Everything about him shouted 'cowboy'. From his stance, to his clothing, to… the lasso? Was that a lasso resting on his hip?
"Why don't you come help us, Montana, instead of standing there looking pretty?" replied a second man as he was going through drawer after drawer.
The crook retained Peter's attention for a short while, leaving him perplexed on the side. Just like his partner, he was clearly not dressed for the job. In all his years of experience, Peter had never seen anyone wear a striped suit to rob a bank in the dead of night.
"What do you think I'm doing, Dan? Someone has to stand guard! Now hurry before the police comes!"
"But there's nothing in here!" retorted the last man.
Of the three of them, only he was wearing the more traditional dark garment for the task at hand. However, Ox wasn't any less remarkable; if Peter had to guess, he was ready to bet everything that this man was the one responsible for the demise of the doorways. He was shaped like a mountain, and was probably larger than both the two other guys combined. Yet, judging by his clueless expression, the muscles seemed to be there only to make up for the lack of brain cells.
"You dumb Ox, do you think they just keep air behind an armored door?"
Peter had to bite his tongue hard before he accidentally quipped. He promised himself he would stay under the radar, which meant not getting anyone's attention. He couldn't be seen, and he certainly couldn't be heard. His voice was a dead give away of his apparent age, and he was ready to bet that the rumor would spread like fire, quickly making the mysterious child vigilante the center of all public debates; which Peter could really do without. But these guys weren't making Peter's mission any easier. Just by looking at them, a thousand puns erupted in Peter's mind.
Focusing on keeping silent, Peter sneaked into the room, sticking to the ceiling while the crooks were too busy arguing.
"Why don't you just come and look by yourself for once? He's saying the truth, there's nothing but documents in here," argued Dan.
They were too close to one another to take them down by luring them out the room one by one. Peter would have to fight them head on.
"Then grab those! If they're locked away they must have some va—"
The other guys already had webbing in their eyes when Peter dropped on Montana. The loud "oof" he let out with the shock alerted Dan and Ox about their surprise visitor.
"Whoever you are, you will face the wrath of the Enforcers!" shouted Dan, blindly pointing in Peter's general direction while still trying to remove the webbing with his other hand.
The Enforcers? …Don't reply, don't you dare say a thing, don't even—
Before he could finish that thought, Dan came rushing at Peter, giving up on taking care of his inability to see. He expertly swung fists and feet, missing Peter by only a few inches. It quickly appeared that the man was a martial art master, and it took Peter just a bit more focus to avoid his blows compared to every other crook he had challenged since waking up in the past. Even if Dan was inconvenienced by the webbing, he managed to deflect every hit Peter dealt as soon as he touched him, visibly able to react fast enough to avoid getting armed from the moment he knew where the blow would land. But however good Dan was, Peter's agility was still far superior. Instead of trying to touch the man, Peter opted to let him tire himself out by jumping swiftly all around and intentionally dodging the blows at the last second.
"Stop moving, you eel!" uttered Dan, thwarted about his innumerable missed swings.
It was getting harder and harder not to quip back.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Ox frustratedly gave up on removing the webbing from his face. With an enraged holler, he blindly ran in the fighters direction, estimating their general position with the sound they made. Even though Peter had kept an eye on the big guy, he let out a small surprised squeak despite himself as he jumped out of the way. Luckily for him, the sound was lost in the angered cry Dan hurled when Ox collided with him.
Peter watched the crooks argue from the ceiling as they tried to untangle themselves. The opportunity to catch them both while they were busy was golden; Peter stretched his arm and aimed, ready to capture his foes in his webs.
His spider-sense alerted him just in time for him to see a rope wrap around his ankle and pull. Before he could react, Peter slammed into the ground, the force of the impact emptying his lungs. Breathless and on all fours, he lifted his head and looked behind him, trying to understand what just happened.
Montana was back up on his feet, blocking the entrance and looking at him with hatred, lariat flowing freely in his hand. Peter was sure he had knocked him out.
So much for not being seen.
The guy went from still to moving in the blink of an eye. He whipped his lasso with surprising speed; Peter just barely managed to avoid it with a backflip. The rope whistled as it slashed through the air just inches from him. He made a note to steer clear from the old style weapon, knowing that he didn't have the proper supplies to take care of the type of wounds that were implied by such a sound.
Peter's spider-sense kept humming with insistence. Finally managing to get a trickle of his airflow back, he slowly straightened up and looked behind him.
Ox and Dan, webbing off their face, were staring daggers at him.
"You're just a kid," Dan sneered.
"No one will believe you," Peter countered.
Peter took a fighting stance, beckoning them to come and attack. From the way they were glaring at him, they had no intention of backing down. Good. It would make for a more challenging fight.
"You will regret interfering with us, kid," warned Montana.
Out of nowhere, the lights went off as the buzzing of electricity died down. They were left in pitch black.
"Again?" Ox grunted, probably not happy about not being able to see once more.
Peter was just as surprised as the crooks. However, he recovered quicker, ready to seize the opportunity. Switching to rely entirely on his spider-sense, he aimed a web at where Dan was standing and used it to propel himself on him, punching him square in the face with a right hook. Peter felt another lariat hit coming and jumped over Dan just in time for him to be the receiver of the blow.
After that, chaos ensued.
The Enforcers hit each other more often than not as they tried to get to Peter. They berated him for turning the light off, and rebuked each other for being in the way. Peter used their inability to work as a team against them. He was regularly switching opponents, painting a target on them for the others to aim for. He was pretty sure Ox almost took down Montana at some point.
But despite Peter's agility, he didn't manage to avoid every blow. Lashing pain erupted as the lasso hit him diagonally across his back, followed by a huge, meaty fist that sent him flying into the wall. A bit dazed and hurting all over, Peter tried to get his bearings back.
"He's here!" indicated Dan, still many feet away from Peter.
Peter braced for the blow… but nothing came. The fight went on uninterrupted on the other side of the room; no one seemed to be aware that Peter was not part of it anymore.
"What are you doing? I got him!"
That's when Peter realized a fifth person had joined the party. They were fighting almost completely silently. He had no idea of when they joined them, and even less what side they were on. Nonetheless, Peter gladly welcomed the help. He jumped back into the fight, teaming up with the mysterious helper.
The both of them took quick care of the offenders. From what Peter could hear, the stranger seemed to be no match for Dan. Peter took on Montana, and finally managed to disarm him. The man was rapidly dealt with afterwards. At the sound he made when he fell limp on the ground, Ox charged his adversaries in one last excess of rage, screaming from the top of his lungs. Peter jumped out of the way, giving Ox a premium free way to the safe's reinforced wall. Hitting it head first, at full speed, the giant bulk of a man finally fell unconscious.
Silence returned to the room. Peter enjoyed it for an instant, before turning to where he supposed the stranger was standing to gauge the next step they would take. If they were after the Enforcers' loot, Peter would have to stop them too, despite the help they just provided. But if they happened to be on the good side, maybe Peter could use the pitch black to his advantage and disappear before the stranger even knew about him.
A buzz of his spider-sense, and Peter jumped backward just in time to avoid a blow that would have gotten him in the jaw. This solved his dilemma.
Peter tried to retaliate, but the stranger appeared to be on a whole other level. Super-villain level. It seemed like they knew where Peter was aiming from the moment he started moving, and was able to counter and escape every single blow. Peter was unable to touch them, no matter how hard he tried, just as they couldn't get their hand on him either. Did they have a spider-sense too?
Peter quickly understood that using only his fighting skills wouldn't be enough. He would have to use his environment as well if he was to get to his opponent. But stuck in darkness as he was, there wasn't much he could do. He would have to take the fight outside.
Very little light from the street lit the staircase, but it was enough for Peter to know where he had to go. He shot a web and zipped to his destination, going up the stairs two by two. He was two steps from the ground floor when he tripped and fell. Looking down, he realized his ankles had been locked together with what appeared to be a metal string, a rod at each extremity. Peter hastily tried to unrestrain himself. He could feel the stranger approaching and knew he had very little time left.
But the steps sounded closer and closer, and Peter still wasn't free. He wouldn't be able to get his restriction loose before the individual was on him. He readied himself to shoot another web far ahead in an attempt to buy some more time.
He saw it just before he pressed the web-shooter's trigger: a little red horn reflecting the light dully.
"Daredevil?" Peter realized incredulously.
He had had so few interactions with him in the past that he had not even considered the man could be out fighting as early as 2013.
Hearing his nickname didn't stop Daredevil in his confident approach.
"Wait dude, I'm not with them!"
This time he stopped, slightly tilting his head to the side. This allowed Peter to finally free himself. He jumped to his feet and lifted his hands above his head in a show of goodwill.
"I didn't realize I was in Hell's Kitchen… Wait, are we even in Hell's Kitchen?"
Daredevil ignored his question, asking one of his own instead.
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Same as you, I was trying to stop the robbery. Helping the neighborhood. All that jazz."
Daredevil waited for a bit, considering his answer. Then, seemingly satisfied, he picked up his baton as he walked past a still on edge Peter.
"Children shouldn't be out fighting the adults' war. Get back to your parents, kid," he said, pocketing his batons and walking towards the exit without looking back.
"I'm not a child," Peter replied instantly. He then almost facepalmed. Why did he feel the need to say that?
But to his surprise, Daredevil stopped and cocked his head to the side.
"Come again?"
"I'm— I'm not a child," Peter repeated, a bit more hesitant this time, as he knew full well all the evidence was against him.
But once again, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen did not react as expected.
"You're not lying," he said, bemused, slightly turning towards Peter.
The buzz of his spider-sense, that had been a constant ever since Daredevil had turned his attention to him, finally lowered to a whisper. He was still a danger, but it seemed like he had warmed to him a little.
"Wait, you actually believe me?" Peter asked, skeptically.
"Never said that. But I do believe that you believe what you're saying. Go home, kid. Police will be here soon and it's a school night."
Cutting the conversation short, Daredevil walked out of the bank, leaving behind a dumbfounded Peter.
"It's office night too, you moron," Peter scolded.
He was not sure if that faint noise he heard was a scoff or simply the wind ruffling with the debris Ox left behind.
Hi Mr Stark,
I hope you're keeping warm with this cold weather and that you are drinking lots of sweet hot chocolate :) (not too much coffee though, and definitely not anything else. Except for water, water is fine).
Considering the time of the year, I guess you will soon leave for a ski resort in the French Alps. Or maybe you are there already? Anyways, if you get to read this before you go, if, for some reason, you would find yourself in a situation where you would need to rent skis (I know, crazy), don't choose the red ones. You'll save yourself some major embarrassment. Unless you want to have some fun stories to tell later on?
Have fun,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man
Peter was staring at the computer screen, thinking hard. That programming commission turned out to be more challenging than anticipated. A quick search on the internet had given him somewhat of an answer to his problem, but the thing still wasn't doing what it was supposed to do, and Peter was getting more and more frustrated.
Amongst the few ideas he had thought of to earn money, coding seemed to be one of the most viable ones. He was far from being an expert like Ned, but he had toyed with Karen's code often enough to consider making money out of it a decent option. Computers were relatively easy to access even in his situation; there was plenty of demand online and, best of all, he could trade without being told he was too young to work.
Yet he wouldn't be getting a cent if he didn't complete the damn thing in time. Peter sat back in his chair with a sigh. He needed a break.
Deciding to check his bank account, he looked around, making sure no one was peeking over his shoulder. But as usual, the decrepit cybercafé was almost deserted at this time of the day. Peter really liked this place. It was old, a vestige of an era that hadn't managed to evolve past the hype of its time, a spitting image of its owner. Also, no one ever asked why he wasn't at school.
Turning back to his keyboard, Peter brushed a curl away from his eyes with a groan.
"I should really get a haircut," he muttered.
"Do you want me to schedule an appointment for you?" Karen, the ever benevolent AI, interjected in his earphones.
"Not yet," Peter replied, absentmindedly.
He opened the web page of his online bank and entered his ID. Creating his account had been way easier than anticipated: all he had to do was pass himself off as a certain Karen Reilly, forge a few more documents, and that was it. From then on, getting a credit card, a and a Fiverr account was a piece of cake.
A pleasant surprise awaited him when he logged in: payment from a previous commission had finally been processed. It was not much by any means, but for someone with resources and low needs, it was enough to allow him a few sparse expenses and still have enough to put money aside.
The sight of his newfound wealth finished dissipating the remnant wisps of his will to work. Night had fallen a while ago and Peter had been sitting on that chair for way too many hours. He still had a few days to complete the thing. It wouldn't hurt to come back the following day with fresh eyes now, would it?
Peter stretched, the back of the chair creaking under his weight. Yup, he really needed to go get some exercise.
Later that night, he stopped by an ATM where he withdrew everything he had on his account.
Counting the bills in his hands, Peter set aside a small amount to his growing emergency reserve. To that, he added a few more bucks for the groceries and other goods he couldn't get while dumpster diving.
Peter had met an old homeless veteran a few months ago who had shown him the ropes of proper garbage raiding. Mike talked a lot, didn't ask any question and taught him to look into grocery store dumpsters instead of restaurants'. The amount of unsold edible food thrown out was jaw dropping, and more often than not, it was enough to put together a whole meal. Peter couldn't thank Mike enough. He still sometimes brought him a little something of interest he found, or just stopped by to chat. The streets could get quite lonely.
Last but not least, Peter tossed a twenty dollar bill for the hairdresser into the pile. He slid the thin wad it amounted to into his hoodie's pocket, but stopped midway, his hand not letting go of the money just yet. He thought for a bit, considering his options.
Peter took the money out again and removed the bill. He could go a bit longer with his hair as they were. Now satisfied with the size of his living funds, he put the rest of his withdrawal into an unmarked envelope that he buried deep into his backpack.
The A of the Avenger's Tower was definitely Peter's favorite spot to rest. Even though it was only safe to come late at night, despite the fact that he couldn't stay for too long these days or he would freeze on the spot, it was where he felt the most at peace. He was far from the perpetual chaos of the streets several feet down below and the turmoil of his thoughts. He felt safe in there. He also tried not to focus too much on the creep factor of spying on someone who didn't know anything about him. Tony was not always in his lab, but when he was, watching him toil brought somewhat of a sense of normalcy Peter was in dire need to feel.
That night, after rounds and rounds of an unfruitful patrol, it became all too clear that it was too freezing even for crooks to attend to their shady business. As Peter zipped into the now familiar spot, he was pleasantly surprised to see that the light was on in the lab. Peter softly settled down on his luckwarm resting spot, reveling in his first contact with the closest thing to warmth in hours. The cold had soaked so deep into Peter's bones that, to his greatest delight, the metal felt white hot under his fingers. He pulled a ragged blanket he found a few days ago from his backpack and laid it on top of him. The thing seemed to be impregnated with a permanent stench that wouldn't wash out, but Peter liked to pretend he couldn't smell it. Finally lying down comfortably on his side, Peter peeked into the lab.
The workbench wasn't full of Tony's usual mid-project organized mess. Instead, a single box of letters had been tipped sideways, spilling its content on the table. A jolt of excitement ran through Peter as he recognized it's fan-mail nature in the multicolored envelopes. Tony was sitting sideways from the windows, leaning in his chair, feet propped on the desk next to a glass of whisky. He looked at peace, reading a letter. Peter leaned in, trying to better see if a mail of his was amongst the selection or, even better, if it was in Tony's hand. But after scrutinizing the pile, Peter had to admit he probably wouldn't be able to distinguish one of his letters from most of the others as they were just too bland-looking. Instead of dwelling on a question he couldn't answer, Peter laid back and made do with watching Tony enjoy himself as he went through mail after mail. Sometimes he smiled affectionately, sometimes he outright laughed. Sometimes he frustratedly put letters aside without finishing them. That's when he would take a sip of his glass.
Thick snowflakes were starting their heavy descent when Peter fell asleep.
Karen woke him up some time later, gently reminding him he had better get back to the bakery before he got hypothermia. She was right; the mild heat emanating from the A's strong light wasn't enough to keep him warm anymore. Peter dusted off the layer of snow that had started to pile up on his blanket and put it back in his backpack. As he put his bag on his shoulders, he looked up at the lab. The lights had long been turned off.
Shivering, Peter jumped into the void.
All was silent in the hallways of Midtown High. The night guard had walked this section half an hour ago and wouldn't be back for another couple hours, leaving Peter free to enjoy the warmth of the lab while he tinkered on his new suit. Not that with his limited resources he could do anything as advanced as the first suit Tony gave him; but he could at least make something a bit more practical than a simple hoodie.
Something like a reversible hoodie, for example. One side dark and casual street wear, the other colorful and spider-themed. That way, with a flip of his jacket he could switch from one side of anonymity to the other, without having to leave any of his clothes behind. He couldn't really afford it anymore.
It had taken a while to gather enough money to buy the materials, and even longer to actually sew it all in place. Aunt May had thought it important to teach him a bit of needle work, but there was a huge gap between sewing a hole shut in one's pants and altering an entire piece of clothing. It had taken a lot of trial and error, but he eventually figured it out.
Peter was close to being done. Just a few more stitches. A knot. A swift snip of scissors.
He lifted the result of his hard work, contemplating it. A smile stretched over his face.
A web snatched the mask left on a table nearby, sending it flying through the air. It barely passed the threshold of the door before it closed behind Peter.
Peter admired his handy work in the bathroom mirror, hanging on the stalls opposite of it. If he had to be honest with himself, he looked quite inconspicuous in his dark blue hoodie, brown pants and red pair of Converse. Even the inside of the hood, where his spider-themed red was visible, wasn't shocking; it surprisingly matched well with his shoes. And it was not as if he had planned on going public any time soon anyway, so no one should be able to pick up on what this motif actually stood for. Street side approved.
Switching all his stickiness to his feet, Peter sat up against the stall door to free his hands. The hoodie was removed and flipped in a matter of seconds.
The spider side of the hoodie was quite similar in pattern to his traditional red and blue, with the exception that the colors were a bit darker and desaturated. The red part comprised his entire hood, extended over his shoulders and narrowed down over his chest. From then on it descended to his hips, where it broadened again, forming a shape akin to a belt, thus leaving the sleeves and the sides of his torso to the blue. He opted for an asymmetrical look, tilting his spider logo and positioning it to the side of his chest, closer to his left shoulder than the center. He had attempted to reproduce his web motif, but it turned out to be more messy than anything. He probably shouldn't have gone free hand at it.
There were weird foldings at the seams, over-stretched parts and baggy spots. It was messy, amateurish, and overall far from glorious.
It looked perfect.
Or, it almost did. Peter jumped the gap to the mirror to take a closer look at his face. Studying his traits for the first time in a long while, he still failed to recognize himself. He felt detached to the reflection in the mirror, unable to identify with the boy looking back at him. Peter brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes. Now that he could see it, he had to admit that the trip to the hairdresser was getting more and more necessary. Maybe if he went one day he could dye his hair brown? Or maybe not. He probably couldn't afford it. Lowering his eyes, he saw that his cheekbones were a bit too prominent. Even though he ate a considerable amount of food, it apparently still wasn't enough for his enhanced metabolism. He hadn't really noticed; he had gotten used to the hunger. He made a mental note to try and find yet a bit more food.
Coming to the conclusion that staring at his reflection wouldn't magically grow him back to his adult size, Peter put his mask on and drew his hood over his head. Wide bug-like eyes were looking back at him in the mirror.
Now it was perfect.
Peter checked the time on his phone and decided not to linger. He had places to be.
There was no perfect moment in a day to sneak unnoticed into someone's home. At night when they were asleep was a possibility, but a risky one if they were light sleeper. By day when they were gone seemed safer... until you were caught by the eternally nosy neighbor on the lookout for every last crumb of gossip. When they were absent at night was obviously the best of both worlds; but a financially tight family like the Parkers had rare occasions to spend the evening out in town.
So in the early hours of the morning, when the night was still thick and the neighbors were either groggily busy with their routine or already on the commute seemed as good a time as any.
Peter's spider-sense was silent as he went up the façade of the complex where his family was renting their apartment. The cold was particularly biting that morning, to the point it managed to reach through Peter's gloves to sting his fingertips whenever they came in contact with the walls. Yet, the uncooperating weather barely managed to get Peter's attention, lost as he was in a swirl of thoughts. The familiarity of the layout of the bricks he had climbed countless times left him with a bitter-sweet mix of calm and nostalgia that took over most of his mind. Being here felt just right, yet so wrong at the same time. He felt in his bones that he was exactly where he was supposed to be while his heart told him he was not. He tried to avoid coming too often since the trip always left him with a knotted stomach for a couple of days after. He couldn't wait to finally get back to his friends and family when all of this would be over; but before then, he would make the best out of his time here.
The Parkers were already gone for the day when Peter reached the living room window. He almost unlatched it, his fingers ready to mechanically do the work they had done a thousand times before, when he noticed the light was still on inside. Peter observed for a bit, on the lookout for any sign of life. But as everything remained still, Peter smiled softly. Aunt May was always the last to leave home after Uncle Ben left to drive him to school, and most of the time she did so in a hurry. It was not uncommon for her to forget to turn off the lights or close some cabinet doors. If anything, it would make Peter's errand easier, as he would not have to move around in the dark to pretend he wasn't there.
Peter opened the window and stepped in, eager to finally get away from the cold. He carefully closed the sliding panel behind him to keep the warmth inside, then cast a brief glance at the room, seeing it for the first time in a long while with enough light to make out more than the general shapes of the furniture. He wanted to linger on the smallest details, living proofs of a better time, but did not allow himself to do so. He came here with a purpose in mind, and he would not be swarmed by the overwhelming memories of all the things he didn't have anymore.
Yet, something did grab his attention: the television was still running on the local news channel.
Peter frowned. Despite Aunt May's haste at the start of the day, she rarely left the TV on. He then shrugged, deciding it was one of those mornings, and turned it off to spare their electricity bill. Resolved not to lose any more time, he strolled decidedly towards the kitchen.
It was only when he was halfway through the living room that he heard them. He froze in horror, finally catching up on all the red flags he had willfully ignored up until now.
He was not alone.
From his old room came his own muffled voice... As well as Uncle Ben's. They both were idly chatting, getting ready for their day. He had not sensed them the slightest.
Peter stood rooted on the spot, unable to do anything but listen, drowning in his Uncle's voice.
He was but a closed door away.
A flitting idea crossed Peter's mind. What if he waited here? What if he talked to him? Peter knew it was foolish, yet he couldn't help but consider the thought. He imagined what it would be like to be back home. To not have to live day to day. To be with his loved ones. To know for sure that he had a roof over his head, a comfortable bed to sleep in, fresh food instead of leftovers found in dumpsters. He longed for his aunt's thickest hot chocolate and his uncle's delicious meatloaf, for their traditional table top game afternoons on Sundays, for the evenings spent watching whatever was on TV just for the sake of being with them. He missed the sound of his uncle's terrible snore-punctuated laugh, aftermath of a just as terrible pun. He missed the hugs, the bleary "Good mornings" as Ben dragged himself to the coffee machine, the sound of his slippers when he walked on the tiled floor and the way his keychains peeled when they were turned in the lock, announcing his return after a long day at work. All the while his uncle's voice resounded like a distant dream, Peter imagined waiting here in the living room, telling him everything he had gone through and being allowed back the good times and the comforting arms he thought he had lost forever.
It lasted but a fraction of seconds. When the door knob of his room turned, the fragile picture of memories and what-ifs Peter had constructed crumbled like the house of cards it was.
What was he thinking?
Only his heightened reflexes let him jump in time behind the old club chair in the corner of the room. He crouched there, barely daring to breathe in fear he would be heard. If he was toying with the idea to reveal himself but a moment earlier, he now almost shook with dread. What were his uncle and his past-self still doing here? Peter silently checked his phone, only to confirm that he didn't make a mistake. It was not winter break, and it was already passed the time school started. Was his past-self sick? Did his uncle take a day off to tend to him? …Was he stuck in the apartment with them?
Peter could hear the distinctive sound of Ben crossing the living room to get to the kitchen. He risked an eye on the side to keep watch of the comings and goings of the two other occupants.
"Did you know that the howler monkey is the loudest animal on land?" his past-self excitedly shared from his room. "It can be heard from 3 miles away!"
He didn't sound sick for a dime.
"Really? Then you better not get too close if you don't want to end up deaf," Ben replied, rummaging in the kitchen.
It was just an ordinary sentence. So simple. So Ben. It crushed Peter with such a sudden pang of guilt that he almost choked on a sob. He managed to hold it in, but it rested heavily on his stomach.
"Don't worry, they don't have them at the zoo," small Peter happily piped in, blatantly unaware of the tragedy that would befall his family in just a few years. "I wish they had some though."
Peter hadn't heard his Uncle's voice in years. There had been the videos they tapped and an echo in his memories. An intercom. A closed door. But not Ben himself. Not the definitely alive and caring Ben.
"I'm sure the people living near Central Park would too," his uncle added, malice in his tone.
Past-Peter emerged from his room, giggling, his round glasses too big for his face, a small backpack etched on his shoulders. He was holding a thick bestiary tightly against his chest. The sticker of the local library stood out vividly in bright orange on the edge of the book.
"Imagine you want to sleep at night, and then you hear a loud monkey shout!" He laughed some more, before abruptly stopping. "Do you think we could hear them all the way to the Empire State Building?" he asked, star-struck.
Ben entered Peter's field of view, handing a lunch box to his nephew. He seemed to consider the question.
"I think we could."
Peter couldn't look anymore. He fully retreated behind the chair, silently begging for them to leave already.
Hearing Ben talk of the small nothings in life was difficult enough as it was. But actually seeing him was more than he could take. He thought he was over his uncle's death, thought he had moved on. It was so long ago. But seeing him alive and well reopened all the old wounds that had been haphazardly bandaged by time, sending them oozing with culpability.
He couldn't bear to look at his uncle when he knew he was responsible for his premature death.
The conversation continued undisturbed, Ben and small Peter completely unaware of the torture they were submitting the intruder to. They talked about the school trip ahead and what kind of animals Peter would see. They talked about how Ben thought it was a weird idea to visit the zoo in the dead of winter when it was so cold, to which his nephew replied that he didn't mind, because it meant he could see the snow leopards and the penguins in their element.
The sound of winter jackets ruffling, the click of the light being turned off, the echo of a young laugh in the hallway. The front door finally closed, leaving Peter to brood alone in the dark. Holding himself tightly behind his club chair he waited, not daring to move in case they would come back.
But the silence stretched.
So Peter slowly unfolded himself, exhaling a shaky sigh. His mind was still a mess after the torrent of emotions.
"Well... That went well," he breathed in an attempt to ground himself. "Another show of my incredible ability to put myself in situations I can totally handle. Ten out of ten would do again."
He had to lean on the chair, his legs weaker than anticipated.
"Are you alright?" Karen asked.
Peter barely heard her. His earphones were still plugged to his phone, coiled around it in his pocket. He didn't bother taking it out.
"Yes, of course I am. I'm doing great," he replied sarcastically.
He started pacing, suddenly needing to exteriorize his overflowing emotions.
"They weren't supposed to be here, Karen. I should have been alone. I should have…" Peter trailed off.
He didn't know exactly what he should have done. At a loss, he slowly came to a stop.
The silence reigned supreme in the apartment. It felt empty, lifeless now that his uncle was gone. Even more than in the days after his passing.
For years a part of Peter's mind kept expecting to find Ben napping on the couch or seated at the kitchen table with a newspaper. Kept hoping that his death was just a bad dream, and that when he'd wake up in the morning, Uncle Ben would greet him with a "Hi Pete" like he always did. For years he kept seeing him from the corner of his eyes, only to find nothing when he turned his head. For years he would have given anything to see him just one last time, to be given the chance to talk to him, to say goodbye. To say that he was sorry, that he regretted the last words he told him.
Peter needed to see his uncle. It didn't matter anymore that bare minutes ago he wanted anything but to be near him.
Remembering fragments of the discussion he heard just before, he vaguely recalled a school trip to the zoo. The teachers had exceptionally asked parents to drop off their child later than usual, which was why Ben and his past self were still at home when he got here. It meant they would be on their way to school by now.
Not thinking straight anymore, Peter ran to the window and jumped. He swung to the front of the building just in time to see the car turn around the corner. He followed them from afar, not daring to get too close, but unwilling to turn back either. He watched intently, never losing the vehicle from his line of sight, drawn to it like a moth to the light.
He followed them all the way to the school. From the top of a nearby building, he observed his uncle and his past-self join the other families waiting in the parking lot. Small Peter ran excitedly to Ned, who looked just as fascinated by the bestiary he handed him. Ben stopped to talk with Ned's mom, keeping an eye on the boys with something akin to fatherly pride in his posture.
The bus arrived, the children climbed in and enthusiastically waved their goodbyes to their families. As Ben walked back alone to the car, Peter saw the golden opportunity. The one he had been hoping for ever since that decisive night, yet thought he would never have.
Yet he couldn't bring himself to move. His uncle was getting further and further away with every step he took and Peter could only watch, powerless. He wanted so desperately to go down there, to meet him; but it wasn't the right thing to do.
Morosely, Peter tore himself from the sight of his uncle exiting the parking lot, the turn signal flashing towards the direction of the factory. With a sour mood, Peter backtracked the way he came from and slipped once again unnoticed into his former home. This time he went straight for the kitchen, not letting himself linger anymore. He climbed the counter, opened the high cabinet door, withdrew an unmarked envelope from the bottom of his backpack and emptied its content into the Parker's emergency savings' hiding place.
He was in and out in less than half a minute.
Tony was expecting to find the chief sneaky bastard when the elevator doors opened. He walked in nonchalantly, eyebrows raised quizzically, hands in his pockets. The Avengers floor button was already lit.
"To what do I owe this displeasure?" he greeted, turning around to face the entrance.
The doors closed with a ding, launching the elevator in its smooth ascent.
"Contrary to what you may believe, Stark, the world doesn't revolve around you," Nick Fury replied, keeping looking straight ahead.
"Yet I find you in my elevator."
"I'm not here for you."
"So, no threats I should be aware of? No reptilian invasion or crazed evil genius?"
"Do you need a new ego boost? Has it been too long since the last time you made the headlines? I thought you didn't need to put on that armor of yours for that."
"Ouch."
"That's what you get for putting your nose in my business."
Tony wasn't ready to give up yet. Ever since the Chitauri invasion, he had been monitoring very closely every other potential threat, slowly expanding his own satellite surveillance coverage. He would not let another situation degrade as badly as the Attack on New York did.
"So, am I right to assume you're not here about that weird spike of energy in Europe?"
This time Fury turned to him.
"Listen Stark, I appreciate you keeping an eye out. But. This is my job, not yours. Europe has already been taken care of. What happened over there is nothing for you to worry about."
"It was a very strong spike."
"That you only got wind of months after my teams had been on it. You want some piece of advice? Don't look only for the big signs. Most of the time it's too late when they get to you. What you need is to have a closer look to find the threats before they get out of control. And for that you need people on the ground. You need S.H.I.E.L.D. A one man team and his high-tech toys won't do much for you. The vigilantes of New York are doing more in that regard than what you could potentially hope to achieve locked up in your ivory tower."
Tony was about to argue back when he picked up on an intriguing detail.
"Vigilantes? As in with an 's'?"
Fury was incredulous.
"Are you really that clueless about what's going on on your own doorstep?"
Tony waved the cutting remark aside, irritated.
"I've heard about that Daredevil guy, I just thought he was the only one."
"He's the only one the public knows about," Fury clarified.
"So there are others."
"A few. Some powered ones we know of. There's also been a lot of criminals found stuck in what appears to be giant spider webs recently."
"Wow. Gross."
"I'd say it's an interesting mystery," Fury corrected, a spark in the eye.
The elevator slowed down to a stop, finally reaching the destination floor. The doors opened on an expectantly waiting Romanoff. Her expression didn't waver the slightest at the sight of the cabin occupants. Her stoic attitude still put Tony off, even after months.
Despite the elevator ride being over, Fury didn't seem to be done with Tony. He looked at him intently, not even acknowledging the presence of the agent
"Stark, stop fidgeting like that, you'll give me an ulcer."
Tony froze, suddenly self-conscious. He had not realized he had been doing so.
"I know you'll dig around so I'll be clear straight ahead," Fury carried on. "What happened in Europe was nothing more than a very experimental renewable power plant malfunctioning. Nothing that couldn't be dealt with without the help of an anxious millionaire. But if you really need to keep busy, maybe we could later discuss how we could improve the technology S.H.I.E.L.D. is using. Justin Hammer's satellites are showing their limits as of late."
Fury stepped out, effectively drawing the conversation to an end. He greeted Romanoff with a simple nod, before they both headed without a word towards a private meeting room.
Tony was dumbfounded. He did not walk into that elevator with the expectation to be read like an open book. Then again, considering who he had been talking to, he really shouldn't have been that surprised. And the perspective of securing a big contract for Stark Industries definitely wasn't one he would protest. Especially if it meant he could expand his own intel through it.
Eventually deciding he was satisfied with the outcome of the conversation, he pressed the button to return to his private lab floor.
END CHAPTER NOTES
Hi guys! :) So sorry, once again, for the delay between this chapter and the last ^^'
I had planned for it to ship out a month ago, but life got in the way. I had some good things happen which made my summer break a lot busier than anticipated, and some more difficult ones that required me to take some time for myself, making it hard for me to find moments where I was in a good head space to write.
But now the chapter is out and I'm so happy to finally share it with you all :D I'd like to thank Note and AO3 user Jani_Tomb for their essential input and beta, as well as AO3 user Cbyrno521, the Daredevil expert who beta-ed the first scene and helped me make sure DD was in character.
Also the amazing Note drew a cover for this chapter! You can check it out on the link below :) Please show her some support, the cover looks so good!
twitter link: /noire00123/status/1299230180783935488
And last but not least, thanks to you guys for all the sweet comments! I hope I didn't scare some of you away with my sometimes lengthy answers X_x I wish you all to stay safe, wash your hands regularly and, don't forget, anyone can wear the mask :3