Chapter Text
The day started like many of its recent predecessors: quietly.
The streets near his apartment remained barren and devoid of any semblance of life.
Even the old dog that he’d gotten in the habit of feeding was missing. He prayed that that was a sign that at least his little companion found a good family who could take care of him, in all the ways that Peter himself couldn’t.
He debated if he should visit MJ’s cafe again; maybe to get a hot chocolate, or the new smoothies that her cafe had introduced.
Years ago, when Mr. Stark was—
He cut that thought off before it could reach its inevitable end. (A fruitless endeavor; he’d long since learned that the end always came, anyways. Delaying only ever did so much.)
Whenever he would visit the Avengers Compound for his and Mr.Stark’s ‘lab days’, Peter had always seen him with a specific green kale smoothie in hand — the shade so vibrant it was almost alien-looking.
He’d always asked his mentor why he drank such bitter drinks, when he had the option to get literally anything else. He was a billionaire, after all; Peter was pretty sure he could afford to shell out the $12 for a milkshake. (Peter himself couldn’t, of course; at least not frequently. Inflation combined with NYC prices these days was a no-go.) Mr. Stark had always replied, “Kid, let me tell you something. Bitterness? It makes you realise that the life you live is real. The truth is bitter. Sometimes, even love is bitter.” He would get a certain faraway look in his eyes while he spoke. “Point is, if you don’t have bitterness in life, life would be a dream. And not a fun one like Paradise. Have you ever seen ‘The Truman Show’, Pete?”
And then he would look at Peter, and wait patiently for him to answer. That was Peter’s cue to nod energetically, and Tony would continue. “It's very dystopian, isn’t it? Here’s one of those bitter truths: negativity grounds you. Like yin and yang. You know yin and yang, right?”
In return, Peter would teasingly say something like, “Oh yeah! Like the religious symbols?” At that, Mr. Stark would threaten to ban him from the lab, all while muttering about the “uneducated youth” these days. Although they both knew full well he’d never actually do it.
Peter was torn out of his reverie when his spidey sense alerted him of a presence — familiar, and… not. It wasn’t threatening or dangerous, he could tell that much, but it still put him on edge.
Was someone stalking him? Did somebody know about his identity as Spider-Man? Why was it vaguely familiar? Why couldn’t he immediately place the association?
He decided to continue walking and see if the feeling would go away on its own. Running from his problems, as per usual. No surprises there.
He exited his apartment, moving slowly to the next block. He could still feel whatever — or whoever — following him.
He decided to switch routes, moving towards the cafe MJ worked at. Familiar territory put him at ease, even though he knew her shift should be over by now — so neither she nor Ned should be there. If whatever was following him decided to start a fight, neither MJ nor Ned would be caught in the crossfire.
Before he could really reconcile a solid plan of action, his senses calmed. Whatever – whoever — was following him had stopped. Did they leave? That seemed the most likely, but he decided it was best to remain wary, just in case.
His senses kicked back into gear, just as a dark silhouette passed in front of him. It slipped by so quickly he wasn't able to see its face. Did it even have a face? His spider-sense hardly had time to buzz a warning with the speed at which it was there and then gone.
Looking down, Peter realized that the figure had dropped something as they slipped by. He knelt down, peering at it, and saw that it was a piece of paper, folded in half — not much bigger than the size of two of his fingers.
He eyed it warily. Was this some sort of trap? An accident? He dismissed the latter option almost as soon as he’d considered it — this was all too coincidental to be accidental.
With only another brief moment of hesitation, he reached out and plucked it up off the ground, before slowly unfolding it.
It read:
[Move straight ahead and take the third right. There’s a warehouse at the end of the street. Meet me there.]
Well, that was cryptic. And unhelpful.
Should he follow whoever this person was? Were they dangerous?
Peter only considered the options for a few short seconds (nobody had ever accused him of much self-preservation).
It seemed like there was only one way to find out.