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“—a few days the boil was even larger. “Look at it now,” Ruth said. “It hurts and it’s ugly.” “We’ll have the doctor look at it,” her mother said. “Maybe it’s infected.” But the doctor could not see Ruth until the next day. That night Ruth took a hot bath. As she soaked herself, the boil burst. Out poured a swarm of—“
“Nope nope nope—stop please, Karen!” Peter exclaims, suppressing a shudder as he hooks a left around a skyscraper. Even the brown fall coat May had insisted he wear tonight as he swung to the tower wasn’t enough to keep him from shivering from all the creeps. “I know I asked you to pick out a book of scary short stories for patrol tonight, but this is way way too much.”
“There are only twelve words left.”
“Don’t care, too scary.”
Karen pauses for a moment. “According to Scholastic’s website, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark is appropriate for grade levels four to six. Midtown records indicate that you are in grade—“
“Are you seriously shaming me for being afraid right now, K?”
“I would never shame you, Peter.”
“Aw, thanks Kare-bear,” Peter replies fondly, only to cock his head when his super-hearing picks up on the sound of a scuffle a few blocks away. It’s Halloween, and he’s supposed to head straight to the tower penthouse for a spooky movie night with Ned, MJ and Tony—but it’s not like he can just ignore crime happening right under his nose either.
“There is no need to thank me. It is my programming which inhibits me and nothing more. If you’d rather, we can always try to finish Where the Red Fern Grows for the seventh time. Previous attempts suggest you will not make it to the end without crying. But it remains statistically possible, if not probable.”
“Wow, really?“ Peter scoffs, changing trajectories as he heads toward in the direction of what he can clearly tell now is an attempted burglary.“Y’know, I think I liked you better before we decided to add that two-and-a-quarter percent of FRIDAY’s code.”
“That’s unfortunate. I find the upgrade to be quite freeing.”
“I couldn’t tell,” Peter grumbles. “Okay, enough banter. Time to focus.”
He webs into an alley just in time to see a woman wearing an exceptionally on-point Castiel-from- Supernatural costume fall to the ground on her butt, her trench coat the only thing keeping her from getting soaked in a puddle.
“You asshole!” she screeches at the thief in front of her, who is wearing an all-too-stereotypical black sweatpants outfit and matching cold weather mask combo. He’s holding her purse in his hands, and turns around to book it out of the alley just in time for Peter to hit him with a web net right around the legs.
“That’s right, bad dude. Spider-Man doesn’t take holidays off, even fun ones that include candy,” he says to the man as he lands.
The guy drops the purse, Peter gracefully catching it with one hand before it hits the dirty pavement as he uses the other to help the guy’s target to her feet. He’s barely aware of the thief muttering to himself as he scrambles at his coat pockets, instead focusing on the woman who smiles gratefully at him.
“Thanks, Spidey,” she says with no small amount of sincerity, before pulling out her cellphone.
“You got this, or you want me to wait?” Peter asks her.
“Nah, I think I can call the cops and keep an eye on him at the same time,” Castiel replies as she glances over at the criminal with disdain, who Peter sees is still going through his pockets—probably searching for a knife to cut the webs. Too bad for him a mere pocket knife won’t even come close to slicing through his formula, Peter thinks with a smirk.
“Hey, bug,” the criminal says suddenly, having stilled—one of his hands in a shallow pants pocket. “Come over here for a sec. I dare ya.”
Peter can tell just from the outline of the pocket that whatever the guy is hiding is too small to be a gun, and he sighs, walking the short distance over and kneeling down right in the guy’s face. “Dude, give it up. I have way too fast of reflexes for you to even come close to stabbing me no matter how fast you— hey! What the–”
Peter cuts himself off as he abruptly scrambles backward, having just gotten sprayed with a faceful of some liquid substance. The criminal is still holding out the tiny canister, finger poised over the little metal trigger.
“You’re in trouble now,” the man sneers. “Bought that shit off Fisk.”
“Yeah, whatever man,” Peter says. “Tell the Boss Man he’s gonna have to try harder than that. None of it even got past through my mask.”
Yet even as he says it, he feels a weird tickle in the back of his throat—wondering if perhaps Tony’s addition of a mini-respirator following the incident with Scorpion and Rhino wasn’t entirely foolproof. It seems he’s right, as he feels himself start to get a little dizzy, listing slightly to the side before straightening himself.
“You okay, Spidey?” Castiel asks him, putting a hand over her phone receiver, and Peter gives her what he hopes is an encouraging smile, only to belatedly realize he’s still wearing the mask and she can’t see it anyway.
“Yep, all good, just gonna—get going,” he says, giving her a wobbly salute. “Gotta go—stop more crime, and… stuff.”
Before she can reply he’s webbing back up into the air, turning the corner of the alley and heading in the direction of the tower once more.
Yet even as he swings blocks away his vision starts to get a little more blurry, the streetlights ahead growing distorted.
“Are you alright Peter? You seem slightly disoriented.”
“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine, Karen,” he says, then for good measure, adds, “Do not call Tony, no matter what, okay?”
“I’m afraid I have no choice but to alert Mr. Stark if–”
“My vitals are fine,” Peter interrupts. “Maybe my heart’s a bit fast but otherwise they’re fine. I can tell.”
“Your assessment is correct,” Karen replies after a beat, but Peter can hear a small amount of hesitation—even rebellion—in her voice. Damn that FRIDAY upgrade, he thinks, only for the thought to drop as he nearly misses the side of the building he aims at—the web barely catching on the corner.
The angle sends him far to the right, and he immediately tries to course-correct but the next web misses entirely—Peter nearly scraping the side of the next tower as he maneuvers himself around a random corner to avoid what would have likely been a painful meet-and-greet with a brick wall.
His vision has gone completely warped now, Peter only barely recognizing he’s hurtling down a residential street—vaguely making out cheesy Halloween decorations on various apartment balconies as he whips past them. He can feel more than just his vision going fuzzy now, thoughts foggy and tongue heavy as he says, “Karen, can you get me b’ck t’ the tower pl’se?”
“Peter, you should–”
“Not callin’ T’ny,” Peter interjects, blinking once, then again. God, he’s started to feel really tired. “I c’n get there j’s–”
“Peter, watch out!”
Peter opens his eyes just in time for his hip to clip a fire escape—fingers just missing the web he was grabbing the end of—which sends him whipping through the air.
He stumbles head over heels across the next balcony—taking out a decorative straw scarecrow along the way—only to get wrapped up in a string of lights made up of tiny purple bats. This time when he goes over the edge of the railing his momentum doesn’t carry him across but rather in a downward arc, toward a fire escape two stories below.
Peter has just enough time to make out that something is on the landing he’s heading straight for—tiny gray blobs of some sort—before he lands face-first, head cracking against something made of what feels like cheap styrofoam—a piece of it snagging on his mask—just as he feels something viciously stab into his stomach. A pained oof of surprise escapes him as he rolls, the pain in his gut stinging with every toss and turn.
He finally comes to a standstill on the far side of the escape, back up against the lowest railing rung.
“Ouchie,” he mutters. His last thought is how annoyed May will be if he tore up his one intact fall coat, before everything goes dark.
Peter is used to waking up in weird places.
It was a habit from being a kid and having the capacity to fall asleep anywhere, thrown offguard constantly from falling asleep at Ben and May’s only to wake up back in his own bed with his mom and dad. This hasn’t changed even years later, especially since in one memorable stress-induced nightmare - Peter woke up upside down, perched on the ceiling like a vampire, only waking up because of May’s terrified shriek.
He’s not perched on a ceiling this time around but it’s not any less disorienting when he blinks an eye open and sees two yellow eyes staring at him.
“What the fuck ?” Peter rasps out just as the creature - a black cat, somewhere in the recesses of his mind provides - hisses at him, batting at his face as Peter backs up from it, the world around him warping in and out of focus as he tries to make sense of where he is.
He… doesn’t know. He’s sure he’d been in the city but the first thing his eyes land on are something that looks like a headstone. Peter blinks a few times in confusion at reading the names on them - Emma Goner and Al B. Bach - only to frown at how nonsensical the words look to him.
"That's weird," he slurs, only to move his tongue around in his mouth in confusion for how heavy it feels. Has it always been that heavy? Since when? Peter groans as his head lolls to the other side, the cat from before now staring at him.
"What are y'u looking at?" Peter mumbles, the cat just sitting on its haunches as Peter blinks a few times only to belatedly recognize that he's seeing the cat completely unaided.
"K'ren?" Peter asks, moving his hand to his face only to frown when his gloved hand reaches his unmasked face - grabbing at his cheek as he gasps. "Oh no."
The cat beside him meows, Peter scowling at it before saying, "D'd you take my mask?"
The cat, being a cat, doesn't respond but there's a sense of danger in the back of his neck that crawls down his spine, causing him to shiver. May had been insistent that he wear a coat over the suit tonight which was objectively ridiculous but now he was kind of thankful for it, considering it feels like the temperature's dropped fifteen degrees in however long he's been knocked out.
Peter's not sure how long exactly it's been but he was already running late, haphazardly grabbing around him for his mask. He doesn't find it but his hands land on something hard and smooth, groggily looking over to it and seeing a carved pumpkin.
If Peter was confused before, he's especially so now - wondering just how far he fell if he's now in a cemetery and surrounded by pumpkins as he stares at it.
"It's the Great Pumpkin," he mutters to himself, thinking of how Tony wouldn’t hesitate to start the movie without him if he didn't get his butt into gear and towards the Tower. Seeing no other option, Peter quickly punches a neck hole through the bottom and shoves the hollow pumpkin over his head, regret and some embarrassment blossoming in his chest that he couldn't find his mask.
He hisses as he moves himself to stand, a burning in his stomach that confusingly feels ice cold as he shivers. Probably a small injury of some kind, but there was no time to check it out—if he waited around any longer, he'd risk missing the movie all together.
Peter fiddles with his webshooters once more before the cat beside him meows again.
"Yeah, I'm leaving. I'm leaving," Peter replies, sending a web out and wincing as it propels him forward - using the Tower as his compass as he swings.
Tony sits in his office in the penthouse, working on some SI paperwork for Pepper to kill the time while he waits for Peter to arrive.
The kid was supposed to get there at 7pm sharp to help Tony set up for the little party he was hosting for the teen, May and his friends, complete with silly decorations procured from the Target down the street and breaded hotdog mummies for snacks. The kid was already over fifteen minutes late, but Tony wasn’t too concerned. He’d been in Peter’s life long enough now to know that if he was coming over via Spider-Man, he would probably get sidetracked once if not more often—never able to ignore anyone who might need his help.
One of the perils of mentoring a young vigilante: they often kept you waiting.
With a smirk at the thought of Peter rushing through downtown, Tony pauses at his task, taking a sip of cocoa from his War Machine mug. He closes his eyes in delight at the tasty liquid warmth only to wiggle his toes in his orange Halloween-themed fuzzy socks—a homemade gift last year from Happy, who enjoyed nothing more than zenning out with various sewing projects during his Downton Abbey binges—before getting back to work.
“Boss, Mr. Parker has arrived,” FRIDAY announces just a few minutes later.
“Excellent,” Tony replies, not even looking up. “Tell the spiderling I’ll be out in just a minute, Fri.”
He smiles as he flips to the last page, relieved that Peter is safe. Yes, the kid was often late, but that never stopped Tony from worrying just a little bit for him every time.
Tony sighs with contentment, almost done with his task. It might be Halloween—a holiday known for its craziness—but up here, in Tony’s corner of the world, for once all was surprisingly–
CRASH! THUNK! BANG!
Tony jumps, turning around in his chair to look at his closed office door. He nearly activates his gauntlet only to hear the distinct sound of a certain teenager groaning as he ambles down the hallway—either in mild pain, embarrassment or both, Tony isn’t sure.
“Pete?” he asks to thin air, knowing that even through the door Peter would easily be able to hear him.
There’s no reply but he can now discern the pads of the kid’s feet coming closer, his brow scrunching when there’s a thump against the other side of the door—as if the kid had stumbled into it.
“Ow—fuck!” Peter yelps just as the knob turns and the door is flung wide open.
Tony’s jaw drops.
It’s Peter alright, but the kid is clearly injured—Tony seeing a puncture wound in the kid’s midsection between the open zipper of the jacket over his suit. His gaze follows the blood trail down to where a small puddle is already forming at the teen’s feet.
The kid must mistake why Tony looks so aghast, as after only a few seconds he merely shrugs. “I lost my mask.”
And yeah, the kid is wearing an entire actual damn pumpkin on his head—and Tony definitely wants to know the story there eventually—but that is the last thing on his mind right now.
He stands up, starting to stride forward. “We’ll get to the jack-o’-lantern impression soon enough, but Pete—what happened? You’re hurt.”
The kid takes a step, only to stumble forward just in time for Tony to catch him by the shoulders.
“‘M fine,” Peter slurs—his go-to phrase no matter what the injury.
“No, you’re not,” Tony firmly says—his go-to response to Peter’s favorite bald-faced lie.
They stare at each other for a few moments—or well, Peter stares at Tony while Tony stares into the dark empty eyes of a half-wilted, frankly sad-looking gourd—before the pumpkinhead nods forlornly, resigned now to its fate.
“No, ‘m not,” Peter agrees right before he passes out against Tony’s chest—the man barely managing not to fall flat on his butt as they both go down to the floor.
Terrified now, Tony checks the kid’s pulse. Only once he’s satisfied with what he finds does he indulge in a low groan, bemoaning his past self’s stupidity for ever deciding to take this disaster child under his mentoring wing.
“Fuck me,” he grumbles as he fondly pats the back of the pumpkinhead with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.
So much for a fun, stress-free holiday.
The next time Peter wakes up, he's just as disoriented and still a little sore - groaning a few times before a cool hand he'd know anywhere cups his face, thumb gently grazing over his eyebrow.
"May?" Peter croaks out before his eyes flutter, blinking a few times to bring his vision back into focus as he hears her exasperated sigh.
"One job, Pete. Just the one," she says, Peter hearing the humor in her voice as he catches her smile. "Make it to Tony's in one piece."
"Wha--" Peter says he goes to sit up, only to wince slightly as he does. May's hand moves from his face to his shoulder, gently pushing him back on what Peter now recognizes as one of Tony's couches as she laughs.
"Easy there, tiger," he hears a familiar voice say, head whipping around a little too fast only for his cheeks to warm when he sees MJ walk in, Ned and Tony following not far behind. "Stark just finished stitching you up."
MJ turns to Tony who Peter can see is holding a tray full of popcorn, gummy candy, chocolate and what look like mini hotdog mummies and asks, "What took you so long? Aren’t you supposed to be an expert at all of this?"
"Can't rush perfection," Tony says casually as Peter looks down, moving his shirt to see the gauze wrapped around his midsection.
"What happened?" Peter asks nobody in particular, Ned coming from behind MJ to sit on the couch opposite Peter as he says, "You got stabbed by a fake cemetery fence post, dude.”
"Yeah dude ," Tony grumbles as MJ comes to sit next to Ned, May laughing at him as he sets the tray full of food down and says, "Had to look up the baby monitor footage to get the full story, which speaking of—how you managed to find the one fire escape full of cheap Halloween decorations that would actually impale you is beyond me."
Peter blinks at that, fuzzy memories of seeing a black cat, pumpkins and weird names swirling around in his head as May sits up from beside him, eyeing Tony's snacks.
"Where's the Red Vines?"
"This is a strictly Twizzlers household, May. We've talked about this," Tony says with a huff, Peter feeling a little disoriented still but holding back a smirk as he says, "I think I lost my mask."
"Only you would be more worried about a missing mask than the fact that you got skewered by cheap plastic," Tony says with a sigh, running a hand over his face as both Ned and MJ snicker. “Though I will have to refine that respirator for the next one. Some of the spray got through, which seems to be what disoriented you.”
“Ethyl chloride?” Peter asks.
“Seems likely,” Tony answers seriously, sharing a long look with May.
"Parker Luck strikes again," MJ deadpans and the tension breaks, Peter's ears burning when he glances to her and sees the smile on her face - trying and failing to sit up again as he winces.
"I told you it was real," he says, MJ's smile causing his stomach to do little flip flops only for the butterflies to turn to regret when Tony chimes in, "You bet it's real. Nearly ruined my bat-themed fuzzy socks with the amount of blood that was coming out of you.”
Peter's eyebrows furrow, looking to May who just shakes her head as she moves past Tony.
"Was I really bleeding so--"
" Gushing , Pete. It was like a scene out of The Shining ," Tony says with a wink, Peter inwardly groaning at how obnoxious he was being - no doubt for MJ's benefit whose eyes light up as Ned makes a face.
"Gross,” Ned mutters just as MJ says, "Awesome."
The two of them playfully roll their eyes at each other, laughing among themselves until MJ quickly turns to Peter.
"I mean, not awesome ‘cause you were stabbed. ‘Cause that's really bad--"
"Yeah, no I know that's not what you meant. You like--"
"Blood," she says, Peter smiling fondly at her and MJ smiling back until Tony clears his throat - the two of them looking back to him as Ned laughs to himself.
"If you two are done, we have a movie to watch," Tony says, clapping his hands together just as the elevator doors ding.
"Am I too late?" Pepper says as she walks in, her heels clacking against the floor as May walks up to her.
"Just in time. Maybe you'll have a better idea of where I can get some Red Vines around here."
"I do, actually," Pepper says as Tony scoffs again, following after them as Peter just shakes his head and turns to Ned and MJ.
“Am I dreaming right now or are Iron Man and May arguing about Red Vines and Twizzlers?” Ned asks as MJ smirks.
“My readers are gonna love this,” MJ says as Peter groans, Ned laughing even harder as Peter says, “Which part? Me wearing a pumpkin or Mr. Stark arguing about candy?”
“Both. But someone did say my stories were getting a little unrealistic,” MJ says, Peter grimacing as he gently repositions himself on the couch. He’s still thinking of how to verbalize that for as simultaneously flattered and mortified as he is that MJ writes fanfic about Spider-Man, he’s not sure if he wants this immortalized forever as Ned chimes in with, “If you don’t write it, I will.”
Peter looks at him in betrayal, scoffing as Ned and MJ share a fist bump.
“ Ned , come on man. You’re supposed to be on my side,” he says with a groan, Ned shrugging as he says, “MJ made a good point. Fanfic is fun. I feel very creative.”
“And you never fail in giving me story ideas, so,” Michelle says with a shrug, Ned beaming at her as he nods in affirmation.
Peter just closed his eyes and groans as he lays his head back down on the couch, hearing Tony, Pepper and May make their way back into the room—May holding a bag of Red Vines trumphantly—as he says, “That plastic fence post should’ve taken me out.”
“Not funny,” Tony says as the rest of them laugh, Peter blinking one eye open as he says, “Kinda is.”
“You better watch it, or I’ll make you wear the pumpkin again,” Tony threatens. “It’ll be like the Cone of Shame, but for Spider-Man.”
Peter rolls his eyes, scowling. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I? Is that a fact?” Tony says with a raised eyebrow, only to disappear down the hallway.
Peter slowly turns to May. “You won’t actually let him make me wear it again, will you?”
“Hm, I don’t know. It was honestly kind of adorable, at least once you were cleaned up a bit,” May teases, patting his cheek and taking another bite of her licorice. Before he can protest she says to the group, “Alright, time for the movie!”
Peter closes his eyes and groans.