Chapter Text
It took Peter most of the morning to find it. Funny how different things looked in the day when you weren’t running for your life from a psychopath. But here it was. The two-story office building sat dark, gray, and lifeless—or at least, that was what he hoped. It didn’t feel lifeless, it felt finished with him. His spider-sense was quiet, but his shoulders stayed tight, causing the gun wound to ping. The place looked like an oversized box with cracked, broken, and boarded-up windows lining the sides. It might have been a nice place to work once, but now weeds and cracks covered the parking lot, along with a shallow hole about the length of his foot that he knew was only a few nights old.
Peter ran his foot along the hole, his shoulder twitched as the memory of how hobgoblin’s glider felt in his hands. How light it weighed, how slick the violet metal was in his hands as he slammed it into the pavement, over and over. The impacts reverberating through the metal of the glider.
Sucking in a breath he tried to focus on the leather sole of his spider-suit running over the broken edges of the hole. The impact crater was deeper than he remembered. Peter’s stomach churned, not able to push out the memories of that night. The last time he was here, he was fighting to break free from Hobgoblin, who’d captured him and kept him in a box for half a week. A week, the word echoed in his mind, making his stomach roll.
The bullet wound on his shoulder twinged with a jolt of pain. His lips tightened into a line as he waited for it to pass. The flash of pain brought Aunt May’s words from that morning back to him: “Peter, no Spider-Man stuff, promise me. You're still recovering.”
He hadn’t promised. Not really, just stayed silent, avoiding her gaze, as his aunt in her pink scrubs climbed into her old Toyota Corolla, staring at him with those hazel eyes that always seemed to read his mind.
Mary Jane had been standing next to him, backpack resting against her aunt’s car, she’d been over to see him before she had to go back to school. She rested her head against his shoulder, sending sparks running through his body in a way that his spider-sense couldn’t. He’d reached out for her hand but hesitated before she grabbed his, wrapping her fingers around him. As he breathed, he smelled the fruity, floral scent of her perfume—the smell of her. The memory made his chest tighten.
“Hey tiger, be careful today,” Mary Jane said, looking at him with those green eyes as she brushed a strand of long, straight red hair back behind an ear. “I know you’re going out as him. Just promise me nothing too dangerous,” she said with a smile that would have gotten him to promise anything.
Her aunt had called, breaking the moment. Leaning in, Mary Jane’s lips brushed against his jawline before she turned, red hair whipping across his face as she ran over to where her aunt waited.
“I’ll call you today, okay?” she yelled, getting into the car.
“Mary Jane, let that poor boy rest today,” he overheard Mary Jane’s Aunt Anna chiding. Mary Jane just rolled her eyes, shooting Peter one last smile and blowing him a kiss before her aunt drove off, giving Peter a wave.
The image was still burned into his mind as he bent down in the empty lot, looking for some clue. He didn’t know what kind of clue, but he guessed that was what Scooby and the gang would do—and if it was good enough for a cartoon dog, well, it was probably good enough for a teen dressed as a spider.
Purple paint chips still lined the hole. He glanced around looking for the glider he had smashed until it looked like a boomerang, but it was gone. He guessed it would be, but seeing it gone still made his heart beat faster.
He ran his fingers over the hole, hoping something would stand out, and tried to think up a Scooby Doo quip, but just kept trying not to let the feeling of that night back in. He looked up at the office building. Square, old, abandoned, and repulsing him like the negative end of a magnet.
He swallowed.
“It’s empty. Just an old building…” he muttered, His shoulder flared, sharp enough to steal his breath. He reached up placing a hand on the gun wound. It was mostly heal. Or that was what he told aunt May and Mary jane. He tried to take a step, but his feet still felt like they were cement. “Come on, I have to do this… he’s still out there.”
His mind flashed with images. Hobgoblin zooming off to the F.E.A.S.T. shelter, carpet-bombing the center with his pumpkin bombs. Blasting a hole in his school, flying off with a struggling Mary Jane—all because of him.
The images had played in his head over and over again last night as he lay in his room looking at the ceiling. He tried to tell himself that Hobgoblin never took his mask off, and even if he did, how would he know him from any other brown-haired, skinny teen? But it didn’t stop the images playing in his head or the feeling that he couldn’t take that chance.
He thought about Mary Jane, the feeling of her slender, soft fingers wrapping around his as she rested her head on his shoulder. When she wasn’t around, it all felt like a dream. He couldn’t let anything happen to her or to Aunt May.
Taking a breath, he forced his legs to move toward the dark office building, hands clenched into fists.
He had to do this.
And today was his only day. Tuesday night he had stumbled home. Wednesday, Mary Jane had skipped school to spend the day with him while he recovered. Thursday—yesterday—Anna had made Mary Jane go back to school, but Aunt May had stayed home one more day to make sure he was alright. Today was the first day with everyone gone, and on Monday it was back to school. After that it just left nights after school to try and find him.
The thought of coming back here in the dark, made goosebumps run up his arms. No, now was better. Looking up, he saw the broken window he had used to get out. Jumping up, he landed on the textured wall of the building, clinging to it like an oversized spider.
Closing his eyes and taking a breath, his hand tightened on the brick.
He didn’t climb yet.