Work Text:
Peter had been dreaming of swinging through the city years before he had been bitten by the spider. No, perhaps dreaming was the wrong word.
They were always nightmares.
“Petey-pie,” His mother brushed a damp curl off his forehead. He whimpered, hiding his face into her chest, fingers clutching at her night dress.
“Shh, momma’s got you.”
“’m scared,” Peter whispered. “I don’ wanna die.”
“You’re not going to die, honey,” His mom promised, making gentle soothing noises as she stroked his head. Peter felt his eyes brimming with tears.
“But – but, the monsters,” Peter cried out, desperate, “They’re gonna get me, mom! I – I can’t –”
His mom hushed him, and Peter quietened, hiccups escaping his throat. “Listen to me, Petey.”
Peter watched on intently.
“No one – no monster – is ever going to get you. You know why?”
Peter chewed on his lip. “No, why?”
His mother tilted his chin up, looking straight down at Peter who had wrapped himself around her. “Because I’ll protect you, silly. You’ll always be safe with me.”
“Really?” Peter asked.
“Really.” His mom promised.
Peter looked down, thinking. His chest was still heaving slightly from the sobs, and exhaustion was slowly creeping on him. “Okay,” he whispered.
He could feel his mom smiling above him. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?”
Peter nodded slowly. “Could you – could you stay with me? Until I go to sleep?”
“Of course.” His mom shuffled to lay down on her side next to Peter, who slung an arm across her chest and squeezed tight. “Thank you,” he breathed out.
His mom wrapped an arm around him and squeezed him back. Peter smiled. He knew he would be safe from the monsters when he had his mom with him.
.
.
.
.
.
The nightmares came back, as they always did. Uncle Ben and Aunt May didn’t know what to make of them. Peter’s therapist said it was just a remnant of his ‘trauma’, and that like most things, all he needed was time.
Time.
There was never enough time.
Uncle Ben looked up from his paper, he was sitting by the table eating his morning cereal. Peter guessed that his shift was at a later start today, May must already be at the hospital.
His uncle visibly winced when he caught sight of Peter, almost appearing to age a few years before his eyes. He sighed, long and deep.
“Another night?”
Peter nodded wordlessly, pulling the seat out from beside Ben. He looked ahead, watching the rain as it pitter-pattered against the window. His head was heavy, sunken in fog, everything around him moving in slow motion.
He felt his uncle shift beside him. “We’ll need to leave in the next ten minutes if we’re to get to school on time.”
Peter’s mouth moved of its own volition, as if controlled by someone else. It was like he was floating in the room, staring down at his body and Uncle Ben as the scene played through. “I don’t want to go in.”
“Peter.”
His head slowly rolled to the side, eyes staring blankly at his uncle’s upset face. He blinked.
“Pete… I… you’ve skipped school twice already this week. I can’t let you miss another day. Your principal – Mr Morita – called your aunt and I yesterday,” Uncle Ben grimaced, “Pete, your scholarship… you need to keep up your attendance, you understand? Or…”
His uncle trailed off, but Peter understood.
“I know,” he said quietly, the words feeling strange on his tongue. “I know… I just…” I just can’t stop thinking about flying. Falling. This overwhelming sense of sadness, of grief.
But who am I grieving?
“Your parents,” Uncle Ben began, and Peter startled, brought out of his thoughts. “Your parents wouldn’t want this for you, Peter. They’d want you to live your life, to be happy – and I’m not saying to forget about – to forget about them,” Uncle Ben choked, sorrow deep in his eyes, “but Pete, you can’t live like this.”
My parents… Peter thought. He was sad over their deaths, wasn’t he? Of course he was… but he had only been young when they passed. Their faces, the memories… they sifted through his fingers like sand falling through an hourglass. He remembered his mother singing him to sleep, her fingers in his hair, his father had been a doctor, always in a lab coat and talking to him about chemicals and science –
No. His father had been a scientist, not a doctor.
Why had he been so sure…?
“Pete, what do you say?” His uncle broke in, and Peter blinked, focussing back on the present. “Shall we go?”
He nodded, his mind still distracted. “Sure,” he mumbled, standing as if on autopilot, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“Great,” His uncle’s face relaxed with relief, Peter hadn’t noticed how tense he had become. “I’ll grab the keys.”
.
.
.
.
There was pain ////
It was - it was a l l o v e r
help
“ - his temperature – ”
A screech - - his ears were blistering –
“ – hospital – ”
am I on fire?
is… is this hell?
A moan – his mouth was like sandpaper –
“ – three days – ”
his legs – arms – chest – everywhere ached
had he been hit by a bus
?
or
something else?
this
is
where
i
die
right?
“PETER - - - - - - -”
he could taste blood in his mouth
his tongue pressed over his teeth – they weren’t sharp ??? ?? ? ? ? ?
why weren’t they sharp?
(why would they be sharp?)
his fingers, by his side, twitching
He woke up after four days. He had a six pack, a crying aunt, and an intense hunger.
They went to McDonalds. Peter devoured six burgers on the spot.
But why… why when the hunger pangs hit, the ache deep in his abdomen… why had he thought about human fle–
.
.
.
The webs came about naturally, with the whole spider schtick. They would be a great way of moving around the city and detaining criminals non-lethally. He worked on the formula for over a month, a month of constant testing, trial runs, and excuses to Aunt May as to where he had been.
Definitely not stuck to the lab desk at school after trying version 3.17.c on one unfortunate evening.
(It helped that she was more distracted after Uncle Ben’s passing.
She didn’t even notice how Peter was handling it.
Or rather, not handling it.
There must be something wrong with him.
It wasn’t that he was too lost in grief –
But rather that he didn’t feel any.
He kept that to himself.)
(He didn’t have any left in him.)
There was a warehouse near the docks that didn’t have many visitors, apart from the occasional homeless person passing through. It was the new testing site for Spider-Man, and every night he could slip away he would sling himself across the roof, climb up the walls and lift the old machinery just to see how much he could.
It turned out to be a lot.
On the first night out of the warehouse, when he ventured out to fight some actual crime, he had almost seriously injured someone. He’d underestimated the amount of power he could generate, and nearly ripped the would-be-mugger’s right arm out of his socket.
He led with his webs first, after that. He kept his distance, prowling over the roof-tops, jumping the gaps and tumbling between the sky-rises, spinning webs around the city and tying up criminals from afar.
With the new strength, stickiness, and general other enhanced senses came a few more abilities that would be difficult for the average onlooker to notice just from watching him. He had an inbuilt warning signal – a spidey sense. It was basically anxiety on steroids. He followed it on reflex, jumping out the way of a knife before his eyes could even register that there was one there. His fighting skills – while somewhat developed were awkward, as though he was used to fighting in a different body. Without his warning sense he wouldn't have made it past the first week.
There were also some senses that just came natural with spiders. When he crawled across ceilings, upside down, there was no vertigo or disorientation. It was as if he was right-side-up – hell, he could flip himself upside down and dangle like a bat for hours, and it would be as comfortable for him as if he were lying in bed.
There was a slight chill to the air tonight, clouds parting across the sky to let the light of the full-moon bathe the city in an other-worldly glow. Peter stuck onto the skyscraper by the tips of his fingers, gazing down to the bright yellow lights twisting through the city on the streets below. While everything else that followed the bite had been incredible – this was when Peter was in his element. He relaxed his grip on the wall and let himself drop. It came as natural to him as breathing. The pull of the earth tugged at his chest, the thrill of his heart jumping into his throat as his body fell –
Then on instinct, he shot out a web to one of the corporate buildings that towered over Manhattan, using his momentum and inertia to swing up and around it blindly, letting himself shoot up skywards, enjoying the thrill as the air pushed and protested against him and gravity struggled to reclaim him. He grinned, teeth wide across his face, allowing the natural movement of the jump to let himself fall back over himself in a flip before he plunged down to earth – sending off another web at the last second on the downswing, feet almost grazing the traffic below.
A car honked at him, Peter didn’t have a care.
He soared over the streets, throwing his wrists in front of his body and pressing down tightly, two white strands shooting forwards to grab onto the buildings on either side. With a heave of his shoulders, he yanked himself forwards and flew parallel to the ground, only the sheer speed of his movement stopping any descent and keeping him level as he tore over the traffic below.
The flat face of a building rushed up before him, but Peter was ready – as he neared and passed the attachment point of his webs, he let them go and immediately sent two more sky high, pulling himself up. He sailed up against the building, catching himself in the reflection of the windowed surface, the light of the city throwing odd patterns and shadows. For a second, it looked almost as though he was wearing a dark cloak over his suit, before the light changed and it was just him again.
Peter let himself collide with the side of the building when he finally lost his momentum, fingers finding an easy purchase and he crawled the rest of his way up to the top. He stood tall and proud on the ledge, looking out over the city. From here, he could see all around him – New York, in her prime. A rush of exhilaration tingled down his spine. This was what he was made for.
.
.
“Peter – oh my god – what do we do?”
Peter pushed himself up, sluggish.
“I dunno… wai’ for it to ‘team o’er, I guess?”
“What?” Ned almost cried, “Peter – you’ve – you’ve been shot, you need a hospital – an actual doctor – ”
“No hospitals,” Peter growled, then groaned as the movement made it worse. The pain shot up through his right side, burning a hole in his flank.
“Shit.” He breathed out, voice slightly raspy. He leant his head back onto the cool surface of Ned’s gaming desk. “Ned.”
“Yes?” Ned’s eyes were wide. He was frightened. Peter frowned.
“Ned… is the bullet out?”
“What?”
“Ned,” Peter said harshly, demanding the boy’s attention. “The bullet… fuck…” Peter’s breaths became more haggard, “Ned… I need you…”
“Peter,” the boy almost whimpered. “Please, I need to call 911, or – or tell my mom – ”
Peter shook himself, pushing away the threats of sleep from his mind. Focus.
“No – Ned – lis’en to me. You’ll be okay, ‘romise.”
Ned nodded tearfully.
Peter sighed. “Alrigh’. Fuck. Do you ‘ave any tweezers?”
Ned shook his head, “No – but my sister…?”
“Grab ‘em,” Peter ordered, sighing as Ned quickly scampered off to retrieve them.
“Good,” he forced out when Ned came back, clutching his prize. “Now, use ‘em… in the hole… get the bullet.”
Dear Maria, he was exhausted.
Ned looked anguished.
“Ned, please.”
The boy’s lip wobbled. “Okay – I’ll just – ”
“OH SHIT !”
“I’m sorry!” Ned squeaked, “Are you okay?”
Peter chuckled warily, “Yeah, yeah… don’ stop.”
Ned bit his lip, pressing his tweezers into the wound once more. Peter ground his teeth together, unable to stop a slow moan creep out from his throat. His side was blazing.
A scratch of metal on metal.
“There!” Ned yelled triumphantly, pulling the bullet out with audible relief as Peter almost whited out from the pain.
“Great… good job, Ned.” He praised the other boy, who preened in response.
“Now… bandage…”
“Oh, yeah,” the other boy answered, looking around frantically.
“Good…” Peter breathed out… fuck… he couldn’t hold on much longer…
“Okay, I think this one should work…Peter? Peter!”
He drifted away.
.
And the one time he remembered.
He wasn’t even that big.
Barely even a three-metre.
He scrunched his eyes. No, barely three metres.
They had described him as this giant purple man, bigger than the hulk and twice as brutal. Peter looked at him… and only felt confusion.
“That’s it?”
Next to him, the aliens they had just met glanced at him uneasily. Peter ignored their annoyance; they were here with one job. One mission.
He could hear the alien and the wizard talking below.
“ – was beautiful.”
He just had to wait for the signal, hopefully it wasn’t ‘underoos’ this time.
“Titan was like most planets, too many mouths – ”
What?
What… was that?
“He isn’t a Titan…” Peter said aloud, surprising himself.
The man waiting next to him, the other, bigger Peter sent him a glare.
“Shut it!”
Peter frowned. There was a throbbing between his eyes, and he furrowed his brow in thought. Something wasn’t right.
“That… Thanos isn’t a titan.”
The other Peter let out an incredulous laugh.
“No shit, Titan’s the planet, dumbass.”
Peter knew that… right? Then why… why was he getting confused? Why couldn’t he think –
“No… but… Titan.” There was something there. The pressure in his head increased. It was right there; he was so close to touching something –
The alien lady started to speak. “I’m sensing that you are confused – ”
Peter put his head in between his hands. What was going on… this didn’t make sense…?
Peter was startled by a loud noise, almost losing his footing as the ground shook and tearing his eyes up just in time to see Iron Man pushing a heap of metal and machinery onto Thanos’s head.
“That’s the signal!” Yelled the other Peter, “Go, go!”
Peter stumbled to a jumping position, before he threw himself into the action, pushing all other thoughts to the side. The world spun and he tumbled over Thanos, shooting webs and swinging past the giant with a practiced grace, back in his element. The wizard – Dr Strange, he really should remember to call him that – opened up those weird orange spluttering portals, and Peter weaved through in and out of them, adjusting quickly to the changes in scene and soaring over the alien, over the unguarded spot on the back of its neck –
over its nape
Peter hesitated, and then Thanos struck his hand against Peter’s throat, the giant fingers wrapping and squeezing and driving him into the ground –
“Insect – ” he hissed, and Peter could feel the blood pounding in his head, he could hear it in his ears –
I’m not an insect. He thought spitefully, on reflex.
Spiders, he spat back, are arach –
And the world slowed to a stop.
He wasn’t a spider either, though, was he?
Another voice roared in his head, as familiar as his own and yet not his own –
I’m
A
Monster
!
There was a beat of silence, and then the world accelerated. Peter wrestled himself up from the ground, ripping free from the grip around his neck and swinging at Thanos with a bloodlust that burned brightly in his being, the alien taking a step back as Peter’s fist exploded across its head –
A foot to Peter’s chest had him careening backwards, bouncing across the dirt landscape. His eyes narrowed. He leapt forwards, tension strumming across his skin, sparking off him like he was a wound up coil – but a ship got there first and Thanos went sprawling back –
There, another alien, blue and part machine –
Peter didn’t care, he rushed forwards, prey in his sights and he was locked onto Thanos, hopping over debris and broken parts of ship, leaning with his full weight forwards and intent on slamming into the alien –
Before seeing that the others had already got there first, holding the giant in restraints and trying to trap him according to the plan.
Oh. The plan – the gauntlet.
The mission.
He had almost forgotten.
Scowling, he shot a web out at the last second to instead fly around the alien instead of straight through him, tying the purple giant up quickly and ending his arc to land by the gauntlet. Not hesitating, he threw his hands around it, heaving, willing the metal to bend underneath his fingertips, eyes blazing behind his mask. A roar erupted from his throat, sounding inhuman to even his own ears and he pulled –
There was a tightness in his muscles, he could feel the fibres strain and threaten to rip apart – come on, come on –
There!
It was slipping –
Then Thanos woke from his daze and threw them off. Peter landed on his back, hands still burning from the touch of the glove, muscles flexed as if it was still in his hands. He had had it! It was right there –
Peter looked on in horror.
What happened?
There was an unearthly sound, a rumble from above was all the warning he received before the sky exploded with fire and rubble. Thanos had thrown a moon at them. Peter was already in the air before his thoughts caught up to him, leaping, webs flying to anchor themselves to the falling debris, flitting between and through the aerial minefield as he searched for the others –
He span in the air with a finesse that one only learns in the corps, reacting to incoming obstacles on instinct alone and trusting in his gear to hold him through –
He grabbed the soldiers, seeing the flash of the lady’s green cloak and pulling her towards him, before scouring for the rest.
With the blue guy safely recovered, he lowered him and the alien lady safely to the ground.
Did everyone make it out…?
There was a flash of light from up ahead, and the other Peter flew over his head, gun blazing. Peter turned and almost dragged his exhausted comrades forwards to the battleground after him, their exhausted breaths heavy in his ears but Peter struggled to focus on it. His head, which had been slowly throbbing this whole time, now felt like it was going to split open. He gritted his teeth, running forward onto the scene just in time to see a blue cloud envelop Thanos before dissipating, leaving nothing behind.
He was gone.
The mission was a failure.
Across the stone slabs, Mr Stark was lying down, his nano-suit nearly depleted and blood and dirt caked all over his face. Peter pulled him up with a firm grasp, eyes wandering down the man’s side.
There was blood.
It looked like Mr Stark had tried his best to patch it up with the bots, but the wound seemed deep and Peter had seen many men die from less.
(When had he…?)
He met his mentor’s gaze, his own nano-helmet retreating.
“Will you live?” he asked, almost in monotone.
(He thought of Uncle Ben, lying in an alley with a bullet in his heart. Of his parents, buried in the ground – closed casket. Imagined the snapped spine of his mother, the cold and mangled bodies of his friends –
There was no grief left in him.)
Mr Stark’s eyes widened. “I –”
“Something’s happening.” The alien lady interrupted. Her antennae were quivering as if in fear. There was an unholy tension to the air – what was wrong? Peter frowned.
Then the wind blew and she collapsed into dust.
There wasn’t even time to think before the blue guy, the other one Peter had saved, surrendered to the wind as well, tiny fragments of matter twisting through the air in his wake.
This was the part where he should do something, when his friends were dying he should act – a spasm of energy burst through him, as if his skin was too tight for his body and he wanted to leap out and –
There was nothing to do. There was nothing he could do.
He almost missed when the other Peter disappeared to the dust, too. He think he had said something but the words didn’t carry across.
Instead, he felt his gaze drag to the wizard, who was staring at Mr Stark with too much knowledge in his eyes. Peter frowned – he was just like – he looked just like the commander.
“There was no other way.”
A strategy.
Of course.
Peter felt relieved for a second. A greater good. That… he could work with that.
(It was happening again.)
The wizard then left them, too.
The ache that had been building in his head, where it had previously felt like fire, was now ice.
“Mr Stark,” he said hollowly. The older man turned to Peter, his face falling as he saw something in Peter’s expression that he didn’t like.
“No – ”
“Mr Stark,” Peter repeated urgently, feeling the sands of time howl against his skin. “You must fight this.”
“What – Peter – ”
He could feel an acidic pain creep along his muscles, bubbling and burning under skin. His eyes began to water, but he ignored it.
“There’s not much time – but Mr Stark, you must – ” He implored the man – he himself collapse on himself, his legs giving way beneath him and he fell back onto the dirt below. Mr Stark poured over him, frantic, hands scrambling to grasp onto his shoulders. Peter gasped, tears slipping down his face, unbidden. He stared straight at the man, begging him with his eyes, conscious of the war he was leaving behind –
(and the one he was going to)
“You must give your heart, Mr Sta – ”
.
.
.
.
.
.
He woke with a gasp.
Flashes of the battle washed over him, the barren planet, the man crying in his arms –
A girl was leaning over him, her red scarf falling into his face. There was grass rustling in a breeze around his head.
“Huh,” He stared up, squinting against the bright light filtering through the canopy of a tree above. “Mikasa?”
Who… was Mikasa?
The girl looked at him oddly. “Let’s head back.”
Head back… where… where was he?
The tree… the green in the corner of his eye… he was in a field?
It was peaceful.
Why was it peaceful?
“What am I doing here?” He whispered.
Mikasa stood up. “You’re so out of it. Were you sound asleep?”
No… that wasn’t right. He hadn’t been asleep, he’d been –
what?
What had he been doing?
“No,” he replied. “It’s just, I feel like I had a really long dream.”
His head… those images… what had he been seeing?
“What was it about?” He asked out loud, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t remember…”
Mikasa picked up her bundle of firewood, before turning to him, worried. “Eren, why are you crying?”
Eren…?
He raised his hands, brushing against his eyes with his fingertips.
They were wet.
I…
I can’t remember.
.
.
.
.
.