Chapter Text
Everything was great for Peter Parker now that he was back home in Queens. The most important people in his life all knew about Spider-Man (now that MJ had figured it out), so he didn’t have to worry about keeping secrets from those he loved.
Tony’s arm was healing and he had just been fitted with a metal arm – one to rival Bucky’s – after he nearly died fighting Thanos. Best of all, he didn’t have to worry about Quinten Beck anymore.
He whooped as he swung through the air, enjoying the feeling of MJ clinging to him as he swung from building to building. She had a death grip on him and he could tell she was not enjoying herself.
“OK. You can put me down now. You can put me down now!” MJ shrieked as they approached the library.
“You OK?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m OK. Let’s just…never, never doing that again. I’m never doing that again.”
“OK,” Peter said, slightly disappointed she hadn’t enjoyed swinging through New York as much as he did. “Uh well, I should probably get out of here.”
“Be safe,” MJ said, giving him a peck on the cheek above his mask.
“See you later,” Peter said, shooting a web up and pulling himself to perch on top of a lightpost as he watched his girlfriend — he still couldn’t believe he could call her that — walk away.
His attention was drawn to the large TV screens that seemed to decorate the side of every building, as the anchor announced there was breaking news.
“We come to you now with revelations about last week's attack in New York. An anonymous source provided this video. It shows Quentin Beck, aka, Mysterio, moments before his death. A warning: You may find this video disturbing.”
Peter sucked in a breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. Just seeing Beck’s face made him tremble.
“I managed to send the Elemental back through the dimensional rift, but I don't think I'm gonna make it off this bridge alive” Beck said on the screen. “Spider-Man attacked me for some reason! He has an army of weaponized drones, Stark technology. He's saying he's the only one who's gonna be the new Iron Man, no one else!”
Peter gasped. That wasn’t true. Beck knew that wasn’t true. He could hear people on the ground starting to yell toward him, and someone threw something hard at him, which he narrowly dodged.
“Are you sure you want to commence the drone attack?” E.D.I.T.H.’s computerized voice ask. “There will be significant casualties.”
“Do it. Execute them all,” Peter heard himself say on the screen, though the footage had been edited out of context.
He couldn’t stop staring and he could feel his breath quickening as a panic attack approached.
“This shocking video was released earlier today on the controversial news website, 'TheDailyBugle.net,” the anchor said as the screen cut to show J. Jonah Jameson’s news screen.
“There you have it, folks: Conclusive proof that Spider-Man was responsible for the brutal murder of Mysterio, an inter-dimensional warrior who gave his life to protect our planet, and who will, no doubt, go down in history as the greatest superhero of all time,” Jameson said. “But that's not all, folks. Here's the real blockbuster. Brace yourselves, you might wanna sit down.”
Beck’s face again appeared on the screen. Thoroughly out of breath, he spit out words Peter had not been expecting.
“Spider-Man's real– Spider-Man's real name is– Spider-Man's name is Peter Parker!” Beck shouted.
Peter’s school picture from Midtown appeared on the screen.
“What the fuck?” Peter said, horrified. He clutched his head in panic, barely comprehending what was happening.
“That's right, folks. Peter Parker, a 17- year-old high school delinquent, harboring a homicidal hunger is, in fact, the vile vigilante villain Spider-Man,” Jameson said on the screen.
Bystanders turned to look up at Peter, still frozen on the lamppost, then turned to MJ.
“Are you Spider-Man's girlfriend?” The man asked, stepping into MJ’s personal space.
“Are you Spider-Man's girlfriend?”
People clamored around MJ, closing in on her. Peter jumped down to protect her, to block her from their stares and probing questions.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, please don’t touch her,” Peter said.
“You’re just a kid?” Another bystander said, pushing through the crowd.
“You murdered Mysterio?” A woman asked Peter, then turned to MJ. “You helped him murder Mysterio?”
“No, I—I didn’t,” Peter stammered.
“Come on, Spidey!” The same woman yelled, reaching for Peter’s mask.
Peter swatted her hand away. His identity wasn’t secret anymore, but he had no interest in letting everyone gawk at him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! He hit me! Spider-Man hit me!” The woman yelled, causing the crowd to feed off each other, hollering at Peter and each other. He could see people holding their phones out, recording the entire interaction. “He hit me. Spider-Man hit me!”
Peter panicked. There were too many people, all yelling his name. He grabbed MJ and shot a web up toward the nearest building, flying away just as someone grabbed at his leg and tried to hold him down, thankfully missing and allowing Peter to swing away.
“OK, where are we going to go?” MJ asked, holding onto Peter tightly. Her grip hurt, but Peter ignored it.
“My place? May will know what to do. She’s off this afternoon. She’ll know what to do.”
Peter swung them as quickly as he could back toward his apartment, landing beside his bedroom window and helping MJ through before he scampered in himself, immediately pulled the blinds closed behind them to block out the hovering helicopters.
“Oh God oh God oh God,” Peter repeated, ripping off his mask and clutching his hair with his hands. “Oh my God. Everyone knows. Everyone knows my name. I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”
He pressed the spider logo on the suit, stepping out of it when it loosened around him. That left him only in his boxers, but MJ quickly tossed him a shirt, which he pulled on just as May and Happy walked into the room.
“Peter what the hell is going on?” May demanded, gesturing to the TV in the family room, where Peter could hear his name being said again. “They’re saying you killed Mysterio — I know they didn’t, but why do they think you did? What is going on?”
“I—I don’t know, May. I don’t know what to do. The footage was altered, Beck must have edited the footage or his team edited the footage to make it look like I killed him. I didn’t kill him. I didn’t. I didn’t kill him.”
He heard banging on the door and both May and Happy’s phones going off. It was all too much for his enhanced senses. He wanted to curl up in a ball with his hands over his ears, but he knew he couldn’t. He needed a plan.
“I called Tony already,” Happy said. “He’s on his way over in a suit. He’ll be here soon.”
Peter could only nod. He opened his mouth to speak again, but more banging on the door stopped him. This time it was accompanied by yells.
“Federal agents, open up!”
Peter’s eyes widened and he looked to May and Happy. MJ grabbed his hand.
“Federal agents?” May asked, anger crossing her face. “You stay here.”
Peter crept around the hall so he could peek out at the door to see what was going on, despite May’s order to stay put.
Special Agent Cleary was at the door, with a dozen agents behind him, all with their guns out.
“Department of Damage Control,” Cleary said. “We have a warrant for the arrest of Peter Parker.”
Peter gasped, and Cleary’s eyes immediately flicked to where he was standing. The agents pushed their way into the apartment, ignoring May’s shouting about the fourth amendment and to get their hands off her nephew.
Peter let go of MJ’s hand and stepped into the living room, his hands up. He didn’t want to run. Maybe they could clear this up if they just sat down and talked.
Several agents tackled him to the floor, and he hit his head hard against the doorframe. He yelped in pain and struggled to get away from them, his instincts taking over for a moment.
“He’s resisting, he’s resisting!” One agent yelled.
“What—no! I had my hands up,” Peter protested.
There were too many hands on him and it was overwhelming and terrifying. Despite the need to keep a clear head, all he could think of was being 8 years old again, with unwanted hands all over his body.
He was unsuccessful in forcing the memories away to focus on the present, and he panicked, lashing out at the agents.
“No, no, get off!” He yelped, kicking out at one of the agents. “I don’t want—no!”
MJ, clearly recognizing he was panicking, tried to pull Peter out from under the agents, but one left the group and dragged her away, ignoring her shouted protests.
“MJ! MJ, no! No don’t hurt her!”
Peter was sobbing at this point and he forced his body to go limp. He could fight them and win. But there was no point. They’d just send more agents.
The agents roughly flipped him over onto his stomach, slapping cuffs on his wrist and dragging him up by the arms.
He yelped as he felt the pinch of a needle in his neck, then the room went dark.
The last thing he heard was May screaming his name.