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Peter opened his eyes, meeting the sight of red brick.
He sat straight up, the blanket falling off of him. He was sleeping in a corner, wedged beside a pole and the wall of a building. His shopping bag worth of things sat beside him, the red stitches unraveling.
He noticed immeaditely that it had gotten colder. Significantly colder. His dinky blanket did nothing against the below freezing temperatures. Tony wouldn't be happy; the rule was that Peter could stay out on his own until it got actually cold, and then he had to stay with Tony until winter ended. But it wasn't that cold yet— it was probably only like, 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Peter just needed to warm up a bit inside somewhere, then he could go back to sleep.
Once he'd sufficently shoved all his belongings into his farmers market bag, he stood up, setting off into the open street. Ten days before Christmas and the first day off for highschool winter break meant that the street was still bustling at 8pm. Crowds of people filtered through the sidewalks, all hurrying off in various directions; some carried gifts, some walked with loved ones, some seemed to be running to get to certain stores. Peter stood near for a few moments, watching the people of Manhattan pass him. He eventually slipped into the crowd, joining the flowing tide. No specific place called out to him as he walked, and he settled with wandering with the flow of people until somewhere did.
Eventually, after a few minutes of walking, his eyes settled on a supermarket. It wasn't a chain— at least, if it was, it must've been a pretty small one—but it was quite vast. The white walls looked like snow, sprinkled against the brick buildings around it. Large windows showcased the aisles of product, ranging from food to batteries.
Peter decided to cut through the people, pushing open the store's doors with the jingle of a bell. The heaters eased his body, providing him the warmth he didn't have in his previous spot. The only thing he missed about sleeping in the penthouse was the warm bed he got to sleep in. (but that wasn't worth the imprisonment of being stuck inside).
There weren't too many shoppers inside— probably only thirty or so. Christmas lights and paper snowflakes lined the popcorn ceiling, a "Merry Christmas" sign greeting Peter on the way in. Peter had no plans to buy anything, despite the amount of cash he had in his pocket from his scavenging, so he started to aimlessly wander around.
Listening to the conversations of people and looking at products eventually grew boring, and Peter started toward the exit. Maybe he'd wander some more, maybe he'd sleep— although, he hadn't slept in a few nights, so the former was far more likely.
A distict, silent scream stopped him from stepping forward. His hair stood on end, and a sense of clarity possessed his mind. His spider-sense was telling him that something was wrong. He swung his head around, scanning for threats. The shoppers still walked around as usual, oblivious to the danger they may be in. The music still played, soft enough to barely be heard over the chatter.
Peter saw the figure in the window, but all he could do was hide behind a shelf before the man rushed through the door.
"EVERYONE ON THE GROUND, NOW!" With his face obscured and a gun in hand, the man commanded the attention of the room. "PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND SIT THE FUCK DOWN!"
Peter's foresight had let him go undetected by the robber, who continued to yell the same commands to the fearful civillians. He wished more than anything that he had his suit, but, in his own idocy, he'd left the bag in the men's bathroom, which had a locked entrance. But his web shooters rested firmly on his wrists, and that was a blessing in itself.
"THIS IS A ROBBERY!" The man yelled again, furthering into the room with a confident stance.
The footsteps of more people rushed in, some kind of backup to help the main attacker. Peter stole a glance, quickly studying the group. They all seemed to be male, with their faces obscured by masks and scarves. All of the carried guns, but some were smaller than others. There were about five of them, but the sound of the back door clicking open seemed to mean that they may be even more.
With guns raised, they started taking hostages. Bounding them with rope, pointing guns at their heads, dragging them away— it was a classic hostage situation. Peter might've been able to take them all in that moment, but it would end up getting civilians shot, and that wasn't something Peter was willing to risk. Stealth would be his ally— if he could get somewhere out of sight, he could slowly take them out without alerting the others. Within a second, Peter locked eyes on a janitorial closet half an aisle away from him. Slowly but surely, he started to scooch himself to the end of the aisle. A gap, probably about ten feet or so, sat between the last shelf and the door, risking Peter's cover.
"PLEASE— I HAVE A FAM—" He heard a woman beg, hearing her try to run away.
Peter ran to the door as quietly as possible, his shuffling feet hidden by the struggle of the woman. He got eyes on her– she was doing surprisingly well against the attackers, nearing the exit. They’d fired a shot but clearly it hadn’t hit her. Right before Peter clicked the door shut, he saw her make a break for the front doors.
The room was small, packed with janitorial equipment with one dingy light illuminating it all. Peter, thinking quickly, webbed the door shut in a way to make it seem merely locked; there would be no reason for the robbers to waste time breaking into a locked closet, granting Peter a safe place to hide out.
He didn’t plan to let them steal anything, and he certainly didn’t intend to let anyone get hurt, but an ambush would be his best chance. So he sat there for a few minutes, waiting patiently for the sound to die out. He heard as the hostages were taken to a room deeper in the store, heard the robbers threaten them and give eachother orders. But eventually, the room went quiet, fully devoid of life. He had a plan, one that unfortunately required him to slip his shoes off and venture forward in just his socks.
The door creaked open loudy, bellowing through the room as if it were trying to get him caught. Instead of stepping out, He grabbed the top of the doorframe and pulled himself up, then swung backwards and used his momentum to swing himself back into the room, slowing down his movement just in time for his feet to hit the ceiling silently. His silver necklace hung down as he suspended himself from his feet, and his feet slid slightly against the popcorn tiles when he swung his torso up.
Fully engaged in an upside-down army crawl, he crept his way away from the door. Progress was slow but precise, ensuring that he wouldn’t get caught. Swatting a paper snowflake out of his way, Peter got eyes on an opening that led to more of the store. Locked on his target, he made his way closer, watching for threats as he went. Instead of a threat, he noticed two very specific items on a shelf: A can of hairspray and a sparkwheel lighter. The propane in the hairspray would light ablaze if he held the lighter close enough. Although Peter wasn’t the ‘brutally-burn-the-enemies-face-off’ type, he still took the risk to web it up to him, just in case he felt the need to light something– or someone– on fire.
Further into the grocery store, Peter discovered a few of the robbers. His vantage point allowed him to see most of the room, locating all four of the lackeys wandering around. Although, even he couldn’t see them, he’d hear their insistent chatter;
“Why are you taking the fucking cans???"
"It's a robbery, aren't we supposed to be stealing stuff?"
"Not the fucking cans!! We're here for the tech, nothing else."
"That doesn't mean I can't also take the cans!!"
"Did your mother drop you on your head as a baby, or were you born like this?"
"When I'm with your mom tonight, I'll have to ask her— in between the moaning."
"I'll fucking kill you, jackass."
BANG. A gunshot.
Peter looked around, expecting the barrel of a weapon to be pointed at his skull. But the bullet wasn't fired at him— it wasn't even near him.
"What the fuck are you doing??"
"There was a rat." A new, more grizzly piped up from somewhere Peter couldn't see.
"So you shot it??" The man sounded as shocked as Peter was.
Peter was baffled. Who wastes a bullet shooting a rat in New York City? Esspiecially in somewhere you were robbing.
They were all acting like children. It sort of made sense— who robs a grocery store like its a bank? It carried some jewlery and electronics, that's it. Normally you go in then out, not take hostages. And in the middle of Manhattan, someone had surely called the cops already. They were idiots. Machine gun weiling idiots.
When one of them slipped off into a back room, Peter took it as his chance. He crawled closer, his socks granting him quiet footsteps. Reaching the door, he quietly let his upper body fall, hanging from the soles of his feet. His hands grabbed the top of the doorframe, and he slipped down, keeping himself in the air in a chin up position. Muscles beginning to burn, Peter curled underneath the top of the doorframe, entering the room.
It was a storage room, packed full of excess stock. Tall shelves lined the light blue walls, illuminated by dingy flourescant lights. The man tore through the aisles, knocking products down carelessly with the top of his crowbar. Some of the things he smashed were expensive— why would he be so reckless? Wasn't that what they were there for?
Peter ignored his wondering, closely following the man's erratic path. Eventually he reached a desk, stopping to pull all the drawers open. It was Peter's chance.
"What the fuck—" The robber barely got a chance to yell as Peter webbed his gun into the air.
Decending, Peter landed on his shoulders, covering his mouth with one hand and his eyes with the other. It was important that the robber didn't get a chance to see Peter's face, but blinding him also made the fight easier. Peter decided that the best way to knock him out would be to slam his head against the table. It worked a little too well.
"Oh shit—" Peter muttered as the man cruppled to the ground after the impact, his body going fully limp.
After double checking that he wasn't dead, Peter bound his arms and legs tightly with webs, then stuck him to the wall. One down, three to go.
Peter, now weilding a machine gun, decided to snoop around the backroom some more before returning to the other room. Drawn to the desk, he filed through the drawers. Most of the wooden drawers had a mix of junk and tooks in them, but something stuck out to him in the very bottom one; there was a small, golden key hidden beneath some rags. Not only did it seem like a strange place to keep a store key, it also seemed to be made of real gold. Something, perhaps his spider-sense, told Peter to pocket the key.
The key in tow, Peter cautiously enter another room, leading back into the grocery store. Immeaditely, he froze. A man with a gray beard was standing 20 feet ahead of him, his back facing Peter. In a panic, Peter dropped to his knees, ducking under a display of canned goods. But the noise his fall had made drew the attention of the attacker.
Peter barely a moment to think before he'd be face to face with someone who was very likely to shoot him in the face. Fight, run, or hide?
In the moment, Peter chose fight.
The man's blood splattered on the tiled floor. Peter had hit his chest hard, and sent him spiraling to the ground. He wasn't dead, but he certaintly wasn't getting up. Before darting away, Peter shot enough webs to hold the idiot down. He quickly climbed up the wall, kicking one of the popcorn ceiling tiles out and entering the ceiling cavity.
In the safe, dark space, Peter relaxed. He probably hadn't made enough noise to attract the others. But if the man got up, he'd surely tell his friends about Peter. The shaft provided him some safety, but he couldn't stay forever.
Suddenly, his phone rang. He hit answer in a panic, trying to silence the stupid device as quick as humanly possible.
"Peter?!?!" Tony Stark's voice screamed the through the line.
"Mr. Stark i'm kind of in a situation right now—"
"Yeah, a hostage situation." Tony remarked, scoffing. "What the hell are you doing kid? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"I didn't come here on purpose." Peter whispered.
"Well you sure as hell didn't leave, did you?" Tony's voice sounded angry, but Peter could read into the emotions hidden in it's tone.
"There are hostages, Mr. Stark, and there's a good chance they'll die if I don't help them." Peter explained, moving the ceiling tile back into place. "The guys in here are idiots, but they're trigger happy, and they have machine guns. They have probably thirty hostages bundled up somewhere, and at least four guys who are ready to shoot."
Tony paused for a moment, thinking.
"The police are outside. They're trying to reason with them, but they don't seem to want to cooperate." Tony sighed. "They've already killed one hostage."
Peter's heart sank. They've already killed one hostage. One innocent person murdered because of another's selfish intentions. One innocent person who died young and afraid, simply to make a point. Any guilt Peter had over hurting the last two guys evaporated in a second.
"I've taken care of two of them. I know there are two others milling around, but I don't know where yet. They don't know i'm here." Peter couldn't help but grin at the last part.
"Atta boy." Peter could tell Tony was smiling too. "One guy is up in the front, talking to the cops. You got your suit?"
"No, but I have my web shooters."
"Better than nothing." Tony paused, the gears turning in his head. "I'm not sure what they could be looking for in the store, but I doubt its just the stock. Try to take care of the rest of them without getting any more hostages killed, and see if you can find what they're really looking for. But I swear to god webs, if you get yourself hurt, I'll kill you.
Peter scanned the crawl space with his eyes. It was so dark that if Peter's hands weren't on the tile he used to get up, he wouldn't know how to escape. Being only a few feet tall, the space clearly hadn't been touched in a long time. Whatever secret was hidden among the walls wasn't in the ceiling, and it couldn't be in the small grocery store, so it seemed like there was only one option: A basement.
"I'll look to see if something is underneath the building, and I'll take out the other guy while I'm at it." Peter shifted the tile, revealing the light of the room below him. "And I'll be careful, Mr. Stark. I always am."
"You, in fact, are not." Tony scoffed. "I actually think you are the least careful person I've ever met. After myself, of course."
"I'm hanging up now."
Peter clicked the line off before giving his mentor a chance to reply.
Slipping out of the ceiling, Peter made less of an effort to be quiet. He could take whoever remained; now that he knew they didn't care about killing innocents, Peter cared less about "accidently" hurting them. His main concern was keeping the hostages safe, but if the hypothetical basement had something important in it, it was worth finding it.
Looking around, Peter didn't see any other doors in the room. The only two led to the backroom and the first room, where he knew one of the dickheads was toying with the hostages was. But the other hostages were somewhere— But where?
"Tony?"
The man had picked up the phone the second Peter called.
"What's wrong?"
"Is there any way you could pull up a blueprint of the store?" Peter was whispering, looking around for somewhere to stand while he waited.
"Give me a second."
While Tony worked, Peter decided to scale one of the shelves. He crawled to the top, crouching in the corner. He always liked to be high up, like a spider in its web.
"I have one pulled up— Whatd'you need it for?"
"Is there a basement? Or some kind of weird side room?"
"Define weird."
"Like, a room that doesn't have a door?"
Tony paused, making a low humming noise.
"…Yes, actually. Looks like a whole section got sealed up with drywall. But there is a way to get into it, through the bathroom." Looks like there was another option.
That's where they took the hostages. But why would you need to hide hostages?
"I can't access the bathroom. I bet that's where the hostages are being held." Peter looked up. "If I get back into the ceiling, I might be able to get to the other rooms…"
"Just don't hurt yourself—"
"Mr. Stark!! I'm not five years old!" Peter blushed. "I will be fine. Gosh."
Peter let out a quiet groan as he latched onto the ceiling once again, his muscles burning with hatred. He pulled himself up with less ease than before, entering the darkness of the crawlspace. The tile remained unmoved as Peter began to crawl forward, relying on his intuition as he made his way through the cave. Without a light, navigating was hard, but he had a general sense of what direction he needed to go in.
Eventually, after crawling about 25 paces, Peter decided to very quietly shift the tile beneath his hands, forcing his breath to go deathly silent. As he peeked through the hole, a man beneath him, bound tightly with rope, made eye contact. A hostage. Peter was right— this is where they were keeping the hostages. The man maintatined eye contact, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Peter gestured downward with his eyes, begging the man to stop staring at him in fear of his cover being blown. The man caught on quick, tilting his head back down toward the ground, his confusion still visible. Right before Peter slid the tile back, he caught a glimpse of the attacker, standing guard at the door with a pistol in hand.
Okay, what do you know? Peter's own voice played in his head, sorting his thoughts into managable information. The hostages are all in the room, or at least close to it. There's only one perp guarding the whole room, and he's facing the door. No one is expecting someone to come from the ceiling. You still have the element of surprise.
Peter could solo the guy if need be. It wouldn't be too hard— he seemed to be a holding a small pistol, which wouldn't have more than 10 bullets before needing to be reloaded. But Peter wasn't worried that he would get shot, he was worried that the man would shoot someone else.
10 bullets in a mag. Could be less. Peter quickly started to unravel the threads into a plan. The man who shot the rat earlier must've had a handgun, not a machine gun. It must be the same guy who's in the room. He's trigger happy. He's careless.
That gave Peter an oppourtunity.
Peter slinked over to where he assumed the corner of the room was. Shifting the tile just enough that he could see the light of the room, he dropped a small piece of debris through the hole.
BANG!
The man shot at it. Peter smiled. One bullet down.
Peter continued like that— dropping pieces of debris, making noise, or just plain pulling things down with his webs. And each time, the perp played his part— two bullets, then three, then four, and five, and all the way to nine. It seemed like the man had begun to enjoy it, even. And, of course, he wasn't reloading in between his frivalous shots.
Peter couldn't help but smile as he slowly drained the mag. It was such a silly plan, but it was working so well. He was playing with the man like a cat with a laser pointer.
Peter neared the center of the room. He didn't need to shift a tile that time; the singular, flimsy ceiling light had gaps in the sides. Peter didn't grab a piece of debris to throw that time. He instead readied his weapon and web shooters before hitting the light hard, making it swing. Just like the obedient animal he was, the man shot at the light, not only emptying his gun, but also plunging the room into darkness.
C-Crrrackk! The tile ripped apart as Peter kicked it, sending him flying into the room below. In the pitch black, Peter couldn't see where the man was. But the man couldn't see him either, and Peter had a spider-sense to rely on.
He launched forward, brandishing his stolen machine gun like a club. He bludgeoned the man, hard enough to knock him unconcious. Hidden by darkness, Peter kicked the door down, hitting it clean off its hinges. When he turned back, he could just barely see the hostages' silouhettes. He needed to cut them free.
"I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" Peter said softly as he neared them. "Just please stay still."
He grabbed the nearest person by their shoulders, kneeling behind them. After uselessly fumbling around for where the rope was located, he remebered something; the lighter he'd grabbed earlier. He flicked it on, illuminating the small area around him. He moved it around slowly. Eventually, he found where the civilian was restrained; behind the back and around their mouth. Peter started to untie the knot keeping the gag in place, holding the lighter in his mouth as he worked. Once he finally got it off, the woman started to pant, hyperventilating. Peter gave her a comforting rub on the shoulder.
"There's… A… Pocket Knife… In my… My pocket…" She muttered between gasps.
"Okay. Thank you." Peter mumbled through the lighter, reaching into her left pocket.
His hands grasped the closed knife. Upon pulling it out and unseething it, he began to cut at the ropes binding her arms. It was a slow process, but after some whittling, he finally cut through the fiber. Her hands fell to her sides, clearly in pain from being stuck in the same position for so long. Peter moved to her left side, waiting a few moments before speaking.
"I need to go do something else, okay? Can you cut the ropes of the other people in here in the meantime? It won't be for long, the police will be in here soon." He asked softly, keeping a hand on her shoulder.
She nodded slowly, taking the knife from Peter with shaking hands.
"Thank you." He reached down to squeeze her free hand before standing.
Lighter in hand, Peter lit his path toward the door. On his way, he webbed the man to the floor. It was best to cover his back in case he took long enough with the last perp for the others to wake. But Peter didn't plan on dilly-dallying— he refused to let the man shoot another civilian.
Walking out of the room, he realized that he was in the men's bathroom. His things sat in a tote bag in one of the stalls, locked away where he had forgotten it. From beyond the door, he heard yelling.
"I have no intrest in reasoning with you pigs!" A voice screamed. "If any one of you makes a singular move toward me, I'm shooting her square in the fuckin' temple."
Behind the voice was a woman's desperate cries, and the sound of sirens. It filled Peter with an anger, and the desire to attack.
Instead of grabbing his suit, he decided to do the quicker option— attack. But, of course, he wasn't stupid enough to just run at the guy. Like before, ambush was his best tactic. Quickly, he fired a text off to Tony.
He's the only one left. Grab the hostage when I attack him.
He threw his phone to the side after hitting send. It didn't matter what Tony said; Peter just needed to trust that he understood.
No one noticed the sound of the door opening. There was far too much going on for anyone to pay attention to what Peter was doing. Well, everyone except one person. As Peter did a forward roll behind an aisle, the eyes of the Iron Man suit locked with Peter's. Somehow, Peter could see Tony's worried expression even on the emotionless face plate.
Undetected, Peter crawled to the very edge of the aisle, hiding underneath the rows of food. Strangly, Peter started to feel a sense of calm as he neared the moment of attack.
The last thing he needed was a distraction. Since his target was preoccupided talking to the police, Peter had a moment to engineer something. He needed something big, loud, and disorientating. He needed the guy to run over, and then, preferrably, be disorientated in some way. Long enough for Tony to secure the hostage.
Something in his pocket scraped against the ground quietly. The hairspray. Looking at the items beside him, Peter started to concoct a plan. Hairspray, specifically the propane, would light ablaze if given the chance. A normal molotov cocktail wouldn't be that effective with the hard metal can; the explosion would be smaller, and it would be more debris flying than fire. But Peter didn't need something to burn, he needed a distratction. The glitter was the final touch to make it extra surprising— when a bomb rolls at you, you don't usually expect the main debris to be red and green glitter.
After making his molotov glitter bomb, Peter leaned around the back corner. He needed to make sure his gift was seen. Or heard.
The small bell he added was fuctional. The bright red bow wasn't, but no present is complete without a bow.
It was quite comical watching the can roll out, jingling as it went. It seemed to be the last thing anyone expected, including the cops. For a moment, it was starkly quiet. Then came a dismissive chuckle, and the heaving footsteps of the man. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see Tony readying his suit.
The man walked all the way up to the present, even picking it up. He studied it with his dark, grim eyes, never looking to the side to see Peter. He also never looked at the steadily burning wick. Not until it went—
B-O-O-O-O-O-O-M!
The bomb did exactly what it was supposed to, sending metal debris and glitter into the air, the blast making a loud and slightly jingly noise. Just as planned, the man was shocked, stumbling backward.
Peter lunged forward like a monkey. The full weight of his body collided with the man, rocketing him to the ground. Peter pinned him down, hitting the gun from his hands. Stronger than he looked, the man gave Peter a solid push, knocking him off balence. Despite Peter's vicious hold, the man wriggled away, reaching toward the machine gun with an intent to kill. Before he could get his dirty hands on it, a metal— rather, a titanium-gold alloy foot crushed it.
When the man looked up, he was greeted by nothing but cold blue flame of a repulsor.
"Yippe-ki-yay, motherfucker." Tony quipped. "I'd suggest you surrender, scrooge."
Once again, Peter just couldn't help but smile.
Peter slipped out of the exterior bathroom window, tote bag in tow. As much as he wanted to check on the hostages, he needed to preserve the sanctity of the his secret identidy. It was too suspicious for him to be seen after everything he'd done, so he decided to slip out a back entrance instead. It was darker than earlier, leaving him to hide in the shadows of the nearby buildings as he climbed to a rooftop.
On the top of the building, Peter heard the low hum of repulsors from behind him. He spun around to see the Iron Man suit landed.
"Hi Mr. Stark." Peter greeted him joyfully.
"Hello John McClane." Tony stepped out of the suit. "I didn't realize you had become a reckless teenage boy."
"I was not being reckless."
"You pounced on Ubel Mann." Tony said the name as if he was an avenger.
"He was some idiot with a machine gun, big whoop."
"I don't understand how someone can be so smart and so utterly moronic at the same time." Tony sighed, walking up to Peter and looking him in the face. "Ubel Mann is the legal name of that guy who thinks he's Krampus."
Oh. 'Krampus' was the allias of a guy who'd been terrorizing the city all december. He had somewhat superhuman strength and speed, and had a nasty habit of sneaking off after terrorizing people he deemed as "bad", which seemed to be all civilians.
"Why was he robbing a grocery store?" Peter asked.
"Well, it looks like they were run by some kind of weapons dealer— FRIDAY said she dectected some heavy weaponary in some locked area." Tony explained, sighing. "But who the hell knows, that guy is insane."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
"I've got to find somewher to sleep." Peter finally declared.
"Oh, you know what's so funny, I already have a spot for you!" Tony's voice was thick with sarcasm. "The tower. Where you are supposed to be."
Peter let out a loud, dramatic groan.
"I'm fine out here!"
"Not up for debate, webs." Tony forcefully lifted Peter off his seat, much to his dismay. "This is officially the start of winter, and time for spidey to go inside."
"Mr. Stark!" Peter exclaimed.
"This is not up for debate."
"This is so dumb…" Peter mumbled, but it was very clear that there was no barganing with his menteor.
At least he'd get to sleep in a warm bed.