Spider-Bat: New Way Home
Chapter 24: You Can't Always Get What You Want
Doctor Bruce Banner sat on the edge of the Kent's creaky attic bed, staring out of the narrow window at the sprawling Kansas farmland. The first light of dawn stretched across the fields, painting them in hues of gold and amber. The others were downstairs, still asleep or too absorbed in the task of figuring out their next move to notice his silence.
But Bruce wasn't thinking about Lobo, Wolverine, or even the battle from hours ago. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. News had trickled in from the Kent's outdated TV: John Jameson and Reed Richards' team were back on Earth. Their return, heralded by cryptic government statements and sensationalized headlines, set Bruce on edge.
He clenched his hands, feeling the stir of the other guy in the pit of his chest. "Stay calm," he muttered, his breath fogging the window.
He didn't want to do harm to the Kent's farmhouse. But he did need answers.
He stood and pulled on the olive-green jacket Rick had lent him. The attic groaned under his shifting weight as he quietly gathered his few belongings—a frayed satchel, a notebook, and a burner phone. As much as he respected Rick's loyalty, Peter's curiosity, and Alfred's steady guidance, this wasn't his fight. Not yet.
Bruce descended the attic ladder carefully, his footfalls light against the wooden floor. He found Alfred seated by the kitchen window, sipping tea, his posture as upright and composed as ever despite the early hour.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" Alfred's voice was low but carried the weight of certainty. He didn't turn to look at Bruce.
Bruce hesitated. "It's not that I don't care about this... about helping Clark. I do. But this thing with Reed's team—if they're back, then something's happened. Something big. And I need to know what."
Alfred set his teacup down with deliberate precision, his gaze finally meeting Bruce's. "I assume you already have a destination in mind?"
Bruce nodded. "Stark. He's probably been monitoring everything. If anyone knows what really happened to the Discovery crew, it's him."
Alfred studied Bruce for a long moment, then gave a slight nod. "I can't say I blame you. But Bruce..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You've spent the last couple of days running from the world. From yourself. Don't let this be another excuse to disappear."
The words stung, but Bruce didn't argue. He simply adjusted the strap of his satchel and offered Alfred a faint, appreciative smile. "Thanks for understanding."
The rising sun cast long shadows as Bruce stepped outside, the crisp morning air brushing against his face. He could hear Peter stirring upstairs, and Rick's muffled movements down the hall. But there wasn't time for goodbyes. Not now.
He pulled the burner phone from his pocket, scrolling through the sparse contacts until he landed on the one labeled simply: "Stark."
After a moment's hesitation, he pressed the call button.
"Bruce," came Tony Stark's unmistakable voice, sharp and direct, even through the static. "Where have you been? I thought you were dead!."
"Nevermind all that. I need to talk," Bruce said. "About Reed's mission. What happened out there?"
Tony was silent for a beat. "You've got some timing. Where are you?"
"Kansas," Bruce replied.
"Well, pack a bag and head to New York. Trust me, you'll want to hear this in person."
Bruce exhaled slowly. The weight of whatever lay ahead felt heavier than anything he'd carried over the last few days. But for the first time since then, he didn't feel like running.
"I'm on my way."
Moments later, Peter adjusted the straps of his backpack as he stood outside the Kent farmhouse, the mid-morning sun casting a warm glow over the fields. The previous night's tension with Clark had subsided, replaced by a fragile sense of camaraderie. Still, Peter couldn't help but feel like he was in way over his head.
Alfred Pennyworth, ever the composed strategist, emerged from the house with a thermos of tea in hand. He adjusted his overcoat and glanced toward the old pickup truck they'd borrowed from Rick Jones.
"We'd best get moving," Alfred said, his voice crisp but calm. "The Xavier estate isn't exactly a short drive."
"What about Doctor Banner?" Peter asked, curious as to his whereabouts.
"The Doctor won't be joining us. He has his own demons to chase," Alfred replied. "Rick will stay behind and watch out for Clark's family until he returns."
Clark Kent, now dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, stepped out onto the porch, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the worn wooden boards. "You sure about this?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Peter and Alfred. "I've kept my distance from people like... Xavier. Scientists. They've got enough problems without adding me to the mix."
Peter shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, technically, none of us are normal. Spider powers, alien DNA, and..." He glanced at Alfred. "Uh, impeccable butler skills?"
Alfred raised an eyebrow but chose not to dignify the remark with a response.
Clark sighed, stepping off the porch and heading toward the truck. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."
Several hours later, Rick's truck rumbled down the long gravel driveway toward Xavier's Mansion, the grand estate looming ahead like something out of a storybook. Clark sat silently in the passenger seat, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the property for any signs of danger. Peter, crammed in the backseat with his backpack, tapped his foot nervously against the floor.
"This is the place?" Peter asked, craning his neck to take in the sprawling grounds. "It's... fancy. Like, billionaire philanthropist fancy. You sure this guy's not just running some kind of trust fund school?"
"Professor Charles Xavier's reputation precedes him," Alfred said evenly from behind the wheel. "He's known for his philanthropy and for creating a sanctuary for exceptionally gifted children. Whatever his methods, he's been remarkably effective at keeping his work... discreet."
Clark's brow furrowed. "Discreet is good. If anyone's tracking us, they won't expect us here."
The truck pulled to a stop just outside the ornate wrought-iron gates, which creaked open slowly, as though inviting them in. As they drove up the long, tree-lined driveway, the mansion's grandeur became even more apparent—its ivy-covered walls and stately towers a testament to old wealth.
"Guess there's no sign that says 'Welcome, Superheroes,' huh?" Peter muttered.
Alfred chuckled softly. "Subtlety is often the hallmark of the truly powerful, Master Wayne-Parker."
The group climbed out of the truck, Alfred adjusting his coat as Peter and Clark took in their surroundings. Before they could approach the grand oak doors, they swung open, revealing two figures standing in the threshold.
The first was a young man with a mop of brown hair, wearing a red jacket and dark sunglasses. He stood with his arms crossed, his stance radiating an air of authority well beyond his years. Beside him, a striking young woman with white hair and an air of quiet confidence gazed at them with sharp, assessing eyes. She wore a flowing trench coat, and her presence seemed to command attention without her having to say a word.
The young man stepped forward. "State your business," he said flatly, his tone clipped.
Peter glanced at Alfred, then at Clark. "Uh, hi. I'm Peter Wayne, this is Clark Kent, and the guy who looks like he walked out of a Bond movie is Alfred Pennyworth. We're looking for Professor Xavier."
The young man didn't react, his jaw tightening. "The Professor isn't home."
The woman raised an eyebrow, adding in a tone that dripped with skepticism. "And who exactly are you? More of Trask's flunkies?"
Clark's expression darkened. "Trask? We don't work for anyone named Trask."
"Yeah, we're kind of the opposite of flunkies," Peter quipped, though his grin faded when the two young people didn't even crack a smile. "Look, we just need to talk to Professor Xavier. It's important."
The young man—Scott, judging by the name stitched onto his jacket—took a step closer, his arms still crossed. "If the Professor wanted to see you, he'd have told us. Now turn around and leave before this gets ugly."
Peter blinked. "Ugly? Seriously? We're not here to fight you, sunglasses."
Ororo's gaze sharpened, and a faint breeze seemed to pick up around them, rustling the leaves on the trees lining the driveway. "You've been warned. Leave, now."
Clark took a step forward, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the two students. "We're not leaving until we talk to Xavier. We don't want trouble, but we're not going anywhere."
Scott reached for the side of his visor, his body tensing as though preparing for a fight. Ororo's trench coat billowed slightly in the growing wind.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Peter said, holding up his hands. "Everybody calm down! Nobody's here to cause trouble, okay? Look, we're not from... whoever this Trask guy is. We're trying to stop some bad guys, that's all."
Scott and Ororo exchanged a glance, their suspicion unrelenting. Finally, Ororo spoke. "If you're telling the truth, then you should have no problem leaving. The Professor will contact you if he deems it necessary."
Alfred, ever composed, stepped forward, his tone firm yet diplomatic. "Young lady, I assure you, we mean no harm. We've come a very long way, and we won't be leaving without at least a chance to make our case."
Scott's hand lingered near his visor. "I think we're done talking."
Clark squared his shoulders, his voice low and steady. "So are we."
The tension was palpable, the air heavy with unspoken challenges. Peter glanced nervously between the two sides, silently praying this wouldn't end in a fight.
Peter stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Look, we're not trying to pick a fight, okay? Can we just—"
Before he could finish, Scott's jaw tightened, and his hand moved toward the side of his visor. Peter's spider-sense flared in the back of his mind—a sharp, instinctual warning.
"Uh-oh," Peter muttered, diving to the side just as a thin red beam of energy shot from Scott's visor.
The blast zipped past Peter, narrowly missing him, and hurtled toward Alfred, who had frozen in place at the sudden chaos.
"Alfred!" Peter shouted.
Clark moved without hesitation. In the blink of an eye, he stepped between the blast and Alfred, shielding the older man with his broad frame. The beam struck Clark square in the chest, its energy dispersing harmlessly across his shirt.
The moment Clark brushed off Scott's initial blast like it was nothing more than a mosquito bite, the tension in the air snapped like a live wire.
"They're with Trask," Scott growled, his hand darting to his visor. "No one normal shrugs off my blasts like that."
"Trask?" Clark's eyes narrowed as he took a step forward. "I don't even know who that is, but if you fire at me again, we're going to have a problem."
Scott didn't wait for an explanation. He unleashed a much more intense beam of energy, the red blast crackling through the air and striking Clark square in the chest. The force was enough to send him hurtling backward into the courtyard, where he crashed into a fountain, shattering it on impact.
"Okay," Clark said, rising to his feet as water trickled around him. He brushed off the debris and squared his shoulders. "If that's how you want it."
Clark's eyes began to glow an ominous red as twin beams of heat burst forth, streaking toward Scott. Scott dove to the side just in time, the heat vision tearing through one of the mansion's outer walls, leaving a smoldering hole in its wake.
Ororo Munroe leaped into action, her eyes glowing white as she rose into the sky. The wind began to howl, and storm clouds rolled in overhead, blotting out the sun. A bolt of lightning streaked down from the heavens, striking the ground mere inches from Peter, who leaped out of the way with a yelp.
"Okay, this is officially out of control!" Peter shouted as he shot a web toward Ororo, hoping to snare her. The web connected, wrapping around her ankle, but a sudden gust of wind yanked Peter off the ground and sent him spinning.
"Whoa! Not cool!" Peter yelled as he struggled to maintain control, the wind battering him like a leaf caught in a storm.
Clark charged back toward Scott, his heat vision firing in rapid bursts. Scott countered with a continuous blast from his visor, the beams colliding in midair and creating a searing point of impact that crackled with energy. The two forces pushed against each other, neither giving an inch, as the ground beneath them began to tremble and crack from the sheer power being unleashed.
"You're not walking away from this!" Scott shouted, sweat beading on his forehead as he poured more energy into his blast.
Clark gritted his teeth, his boots digging into the ground as he held his ground. "You've got no idea who you're messing with."
Above them, Storm hovered in the air, her voice carrying over the roar of the winds. "Scott! Look at him—he's weakening! The storm's draining his strength!"
Scott's eyes flicked toward Clark, and he noticed it too. The once-dazzling beams of heat vision were flickering and losing intensity as the sun vanished behind the thick clouds.
"Turn it up!" Scott yelled to Ororo. "If he's solar-powered, we can shut him down!"
Ororo raised her hands to the sky, and the storm intensified. Thunder roared, and torrential rain began to pour down, the howling wind growing stronger. Lightning bolts rained down in rapid succession, forcing Peter to leap and dodge like a frantic acrobat.
Peter fired off another web at Ororo, this time aiming for her wrist. "Lady, will you please chill out?!" he shouted. His web connected, but before he could pull, another gust of wind slammed him into the side of the truck.
"Ow!" Peter groaned, sliding to the ground. "I didn't sign up for a weather beatdown!"
Clark stumbled as Scott's blast began to push his heat vision back, the weakening beams no match for the combined effort of the storm and Scott's relentless attack.
"Come on, farm boy," Scott taunted, his voice filled with grim determination. "What's the matter? Not so tough without the sun, are you?"
Clark clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he pushed harder, but his strength was waning. The storm wasn't just cutting off his power source—it was sapping the warmth from his body, chilling him to the bone.
Amidst the chaos, a loud crack echoed through the courtyard. A massive tree, uprooted by the storm, tilted precariously toward the ground. Its branches splintered as it fell, directly in the path of a man now emerging from the shadows.
"ENOUGH!"
The voice cut through the storm and battle like a sharp blade. All eyes turned toward the source: Professor Charles Xavier, seated in his wheelchair, his commanding tone amplified by a telepathic projection that resonated in their minds.
But as the fighters paused, they realized Xavier was in imminent danger. The massive tree branch, torn loose by the storm's winds, was hurtling toward him.
"Professor!" Ororo cried, her eyes wide in panic.
Clark's gaze snapped to the falling branch, and he moved before anyone else could react. A blur of motion, he raced across the courtyard, his hand shooting up just in time to catch the enormous limb mere inches from Xavier's head.
The impact of the branch against Clark's hands sent a jarring force through his body, but he held firm, his feet digging into the ground.
Xavier's calm expression wavered for a moment, his sharp eyes now filled with surprise. "Impressive," he murmured.
Clark carefully lowered the branch to the ground, ensuring it didn't cause any further damage. Straightening, he turned to Xavier, his expression softening. "Are you all right?"
"I am, thanks to you," Xavier replied, his voice steady despite the chaos.
The tension in the courtyard shifted, the storm winds dying down as Ororo descended to the ground. Her glowing eyes returned to their natural hue as her hands lowered to her sides. Scott, still braced for another attack, hesitated as Xavier raised a calming hand.
"Scott, Ororo," Xavier said, his voice firm yet gentle. "Stand down. These men are not our enemies."
"But, Professor—" Scott began, his tone tinged with frustration.
"I've seen their minds," Xavier interrupted, his sharp gaze settling on Clark, Peter, and Alfred. "They did not come here with malice. They came seeking help."
Peter, who had been awkwardly dangling from a webline after narrowly dodging lightning, dropped to the ground with a relieved sigh. "Finally! Someone gets it! We're not the bad guys here."
Ororo glanced at Xavier, then at Clark, who stood with his arms crossed, clearly frustrated but no longer on the offensive. Slowly, she nodded and stepped back.
Scott lowered his hand from his visor but remained wary. "If they're not with Trask, then why are they here?"
Xavier's expression softened, though his gaze remained thoughtful. "That's a question they can answer once we've all calmed down. For now, let us return to the mansion and discuss this as rational beings."
Once inside, the group gathered in Xavier's study, the tension still palpable but less volatile. Xavier sat behind his desk, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos of the courtyard.
Clark leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Peter fiddled with a piece of webbing, trying to avoid Ororo's sharp gaze. Alfred, ever the diplomat, remained composed, observing the room with quiet curiosity.
"You have my gratitude," Xavier said, looking at Clark. "Your quick thinking may have saved my life."
Clark nodded, but remained guarded. "We didn't come here to fight. We came because we need your help."
Xavier steepled his fingers, his expression thoughtful. "Help with what, exactly?"
Peter stepped forward, still fidgeting with his webbing. "We're trying to stop two guys who could make a disaster out of this place. One's a crazy-haired man with claws and a bad attitude, and the other's a... uh, let's just say he's not from around here."
Scott frowned. "A man with claws? What was his name?"
"Wolverine," Peter said simply.
The room fell silent. Xavier's expression darkened slightly, and Ororo exchanged a tense look with Scott.
"I see," Xavier said after a moment. "This is a delicate matter. Wolverine is... complicated."
Clark straightened. "We don't want to hurt anyone. But if we don't stop them, things could get worse. We were hoping you'd know how to find them before they found us."
Xavier nodded slowly, his mind clearly racing. "I may be able to assist. But first, I need to know everything you can tell me about what these two individuals said to you when you faced them."
As the group began to recount their story, the air in the room shifted. The earlier hostility was replaced by a tentative understanding. The storm had passed, but the path ahead was far from clear.