Chapter Text
Dishes came flying at him almost faster than he could keep up. At least without revealing his powers, that is. Gabe burst through the swinging door with yet another tub full of dirty plates, glasses and silverware. The thin young man with a wiry strength hefted it onto the crowded bench. Peter sighed. He glanced at the clock. Only 5 minutes till close, thank God. Gabe exited the kitchen, and Peter quickly surveyed the room. He was relieved to find that the head cook, Romeo, was the only one remaining, and he was busy in the walk-in restocking the shelves for tomorrow’s breakfast shift.
Putting his head down, Peter sprang into overdrive. Water splashed and soaked his shirt as he powered through the remaining dishes in record time, stopping to scoop an untouched hotdog and some fries into a to-go bag, then shoving it under the counter for later. He had to be out of here on time tonight. No time to stop and eat. The meeting was at one AM, and he needed to be there first.
Just as he finished stacking the last clean plates onto the shelves, Romeo reappeared from the walk-in and shoved a small wad of bills into Peter’s palm. The guy might be a grumpy, chain-smoking old man with questionable hygiene, but he always paid on time, didn’t mind Peter taking leftovers home (when there were any that were edible, which wasn’t often), but most importantly, he never asked questions.
“Thanks, Romeo. See you tomorrow.” Peter said as he grabbed his to-go bag, shoved it into his backpack, and pushed open the heavy exit door, stepping into the dark alleyway that ran behind the diner.
He checked his phone; thirty minutes to get in position. The frigid night air whipped through his hair as his bicycle sped through the darkened streets.
He’d come across this case by accident, really. Gabe had been off sick, so Peter had bussed that night. As he had been clearing a wad of wet, sticky napkins off a table, his finely attuned hearing picked up on a snippet of hushed conversation from two sketchy-looking guys in the far corner. One was broad, bald-headed and imposing, with a face that looked like it had endured a rather unsuccessful boxing career, maybe in his late thirties. The other was tall and lanky, his eyes were beady and rat-like, and he looked to be in his mid-twenties.
Sketchy-looking guys weren’t exactly few and far between in this neighbourhood, but there was something about these two that had the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand on end, and his senses dial in.
“...so you’re saying they just, what, disappear?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Most of them disappear in one shot. Worst case scenario it might take two.” The man’s mouth turned up at the corners in a slimy smile.
Peter had pulled the bottle of surface spray off the belt of his apron, spraying the table, and then wiping his damp rag over the surface in slow circles, as he feigned a laser focus on the task.
“And there’s nothing left? I don’t wanna be cleaning up messes or leaving DNA behind.” The apparent customer had asked, leaning over the table, his eyes darting around the room.
Peter had kept his head down and started slowly stacking plates into his tray from the next table over.
“That’s what I’m saying. It’s clean, quick and easy. So, your boss want in on this or not, Mike? Cause I got a lot of interest.” The bald man asked impatiently.
“Yeah. He’s interested. He wants to check out the merchandise in person, though.” Mike responded.
“The abandoned Nylex factory over on Richmond. One AM, Thursday.”
With that, the seller had pushed back his chair and slunk from the diner, the bell over the door jingling merrily as he left, like it too was glad to see him go. Mike had left less than a minute later. No tip. Asshole.
Now, as he pedalled the final block toward the factory, his face practically frozen by the cool wind, he searched for a good spot to change and hide his bike. He settled for the dumpsters behind the neighbouring factory. A few short minutes later, he was sitting cross-legged on the roof of the building, mask pulled up to reveal his mouth, as he wolfed down the hotdog and fries from work. His homemade suit was a little scratchy along the seams, and he shifted uncomfortably. The new suit that he was in the process of making was hung over a chair back at his apartment, almost finished, but not quite. He’d taken more care with the seams this time around.
His swinging feet thunked against the side of the building rhythmically as he waited, hearing tuned in to notice any approaching cars. Checking his watch, he sighed. Still five more minutes. Time left alone with his thoughts was like a torturous run through a gamut of razor-beaked homicidal birds these days.
As he surveyed his surroundings, the bare roof, the pot-holed parking lot between abandoned buildings, and the stench of old dumpster wafting up to him, he felt his shoulders sag. This wasn’t how he’d pictured his life as an adult. Working cash jobs to get by because he no longer existed on paper, renting a pay-by-the-month apartment in a skeezy part of town, and trying to find a balance between working and vigilante justice. None of that measured up to the loneliness, though. He’d work a million shitty jobs, live in the most run-down tenement, if he just had May, MJ or Ned back. Or Stark. Or Happy. Hell, even Flash. The mouthful of hotdog he was swallowing suddenly became lodged in his throat as a hard lump formed there. He coughed and spat the food out, his appetite having disappeared. Consoling himself with the knowledge that everyone who was left was safer without him was wearing thin, as the solitude became unbearable.
Peter pushed the thoughts away, needing to focus tonight, not wallow in self-pity. Crumpling up the paper bag, he tossed it toward an open dumpster in the parking lot and watched as it sailed cleanly through the air and landed with a light thunk in the empty bin.
At that moment, he heard the approaching crunch of tires over cracked asphalt and quickly shuffled into position, flat on his belly, peering over the edge of the roof. A black SUV with darkly tinted windows pulled into view, and after a moment, a shiny bald head emerged from the passenger side of the vehicle; the man from the diner the other night. In the brief illumination from the car’s interior light, he could just make out the silhouettes of a driver and another person, maybe two, in the back seat.
The gigantic man who had exited the vehicle performed a quick search of the area, sweeping it with a powerful torch. Peter ducked and held his breath as the light flashed over the edge of the roof, releasing the air from his lungs as it continued panning across the building and disappeared with a click. Risking another glance, he saw the man stuff the torch back into his jacket and stand at attention beside the car. Zeroing in on the man’s hands, he spotted an odd-looking weapon. Shaped like a gun, but with a cylindrical chamber atop it that was glowing with a swirling orange and red light inside.
Tires crunching over gravel alerted him to the buyer’s arrival a full thirty seconds before the black Hummer came into view, pulling up about twenty yards in front of the SUV. The guy from the restaurant, Mike, appeared first, exiting from the passenger side and rushing to open the rear door. A man with perfectly coiffed black hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a tailored black suit stepped out, adjusting his cuffs as he casually strolled to the front of the vehicle.
Lifting his chin to the seller’s man in acknowledgment, he leaned back on the hood and propped one heel up on the grill. Springing into action, the man, whom Peter assumed was a bodyguard, opened the SUV’s rear door for his boss.
As he inched slightly closer to the edge to get a better look at his target, Peter ignored the hard bolt that snagged his suit and poked into his ribs.
If he thought that the man’s bodyguard was gigantic, then the boss was in another ballpark altogether. A hulking bald head sat directly atop a set of shoulders that looked as though they were made from a steel I-beam. The man’s chest was almost as broad as the front of the SUV that he was now standing in front of.
“Mr Rossi.” The giant stated. It wasn’t a question. Peter got the feeling this man was seldom incorrect about anything.
“That’s me,” The other man said with a smirk, “I didn’t catch your name, Mister…?”
The giant smiled, but to Peter it looked more like a shark’s grin. Predatory. Dangerous.
“That won’t be necessary. This is a transaction, no need to share life stories.” Gigantor (as Peter had decided to name him), said quietly. His voice somehow managed to be soft and sharp all at once.
“Whatever you say, champ.” Rossi huffed, and Peter was astonished by his gall. He either had balls of steel, or a completely smooth brain. Which one it was, remained to be seen.
Gigantor’s lips pressed together firmly, and he rolled his head, setting off a chain of cracks and pops.
“So, we gonna look at this merchandise of yours? Seeing as this is a transaction.”
This guy was gonna get himself killed, Peter shook his head.
Gigantor stared the man down for a long moment, unnaturally still, before he finally nodded, “Of course,” he stated and turned to walk to the rear of the SUV. His bodyguard, two steps ahead, had already opened the rear hatch door.
Peter watched as the two men stood looking into the neatly stacked crates in the trunk, illuminated by the car’s interior light. The bodyguard stood to one side, surveying the surroundings.
“So, this do what my guy said it would?” Rossi asked as he handled one of the strange pistols, waving it dangerously as he spoke.
Gigantor took Rossi’s arm and pushed it effortlessly down to hold it in place atop the crates. With a tight smile, eyes shining in that predatory way, his words were quiet and smooth.
“Can’t risk a misfire now, can we? However, I can offer a demonstration.”
“Sure, yeah. A demonstration.” Rossi said through gritted teeth, rubbing his wrist as soon as Gigantor released it.
The bodyguard opened the rear door once more, but this time he pulled out a person with a black hood over their head, wrists cuffed tightly behind their back. Based on the muffled sounds coming from the man, he had been gagged.
Shit. Peter sprang to his feet, about to launch himself from the roof to intervene.
A shot rang out from the side of the Humvee.
Snapping around to look, Peter saw Mike, ducking back behind the vehicle for cover as the driver of the SUV tumbled out of the door and onto the ground, blood pooling quickly around him as he gurgled, then went still. Two more armed men appeared from the Humvee and took cover, as they shot toward Gigantor and his bodyguard.
A strange whip-crack sound accompanied a flash of red light. The light struck the car, leaving a reddish-brown clay-like substance that slowly bled from the site.
At the back of the SUV, Gigantor was grappling with Rossi over one of the pistols. Gigantor quickly got the upper hand and aimed the pistol, narrowly missing as Rossi rolled under the car and scrambled out the other side and into a crouched run back toward his Humvee.
Mike and his friends were still popping out from behind the hood, taking shots at the bodyguard, who was firing back, each flash of red light leaving a hole that more gunk slid from.
Another red blast.
It hit Rossi square in the middle of his back.
He was gone.
Had Peter blinked? Had he missed something?
“Boss?” Mike screeched, his face stunned as he lowered his weapon a fraction.
At that moment, Gigantor rounded the side of the SUV and fired at him.
Another whip-crack.
Another flash of red.
And then Mike was just…gone.
The two other men from Rossi's gang were scrambling now to get back into the Humvee and escape, but Gigantor approached with a speed and agility that seemed at odds with his hulking frame. Two more shots were fired, and both men ceased to exist.
“Holy cow!” Peter breathed as he stood atop the roof, hands fisted on top of his head.
To his horror, Gigantor stopped mid-stride, turning sharply to look directly up at Peter.
“Oh shit!” Peter squeaked, dropping instantly into a crouch and sprinting for the opposite side of the roof.
An engine came to life behind him, car doors slammed, and tires crunched over gravel.
He couldn’t outrun them. No matter how fast he was, he wasn’t going to outrun two madmen in an SUV with weapons that could make people disappear. Then, he spotted it, a tower for the electrical cables that ran through the area. Aiming, he released a web and said a silent prayer. It stuck. High enough up for him to swing his way halfway to the next one. He shot his web again, continuing this way down the road as the sound of the SUV followed him.
The engine grew louder.
Closer.
Not risking a look back, he swung himself to a nearby rooftop, an apartment building, only five floors, but it would do.
Sprinting across the rooftop, he changed course, heading off the industrial access road and back toward the city, where he’d be able to gain some height and lose them.
Launching from the building, he shot his web to a taller building across the street, cursing as a red flash whooshed past his ear.
Flipping mid-air, he swung again, then again, changing course when he could.
But the black blur of the SUV followed him, gaining ground, red light blasting past him, getting closer to a strike each time.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his chest heaving, as he searched in vain for another course, a way out.
Swinging around a corner, he came in a little low this time, just missing a guy on a motorbike.
“Sorry!” He called back as the man looked up, then swerved just in time to avoid being run off the road by the wildly drifting SUV.
Another red blast. He could feel the gust of displaced air this time as it passed perilously close to his arm, and a shower of a sand-like substance rained down on him from the window above that had been hit.
Gunfire rang out.
Peter swung to the top of another building and sprinted across, taking a fraction of a second to assess what was happening below.
The guy on the motorbike was holding a rifle, and he aimed at the SUV again.
Peter shot his web and swung himself from the roof, hurtling across the street to the next building. He almost expected to be shot at again. But it seemed that Gigantor and his demented bodyguard were now preoccupied with the newcomer on the motorbike.
Shit. The man didn’t know what he was up against. Peter needed to get him out of the line of fire before he got himself evaporated.
Keeping the man in sight, he hurried to catch up to him, swinging above the road from one side to the other to keep his momentum going.
Holding a rifle aloft, the man shot again, taking out a tire and sending the SUV careening across the road. The driver corrected at the last moment and kept them from crashing into the bodega on the corner.
Motorbike guy was gaining ground on them when Peter saw Gigantor lean out of the passenger window and fire back at the bike.
The motorbike swerved one way, then the other. Peter couldn’t help but be impressed. The guy was good. But not good enough to stop whatever that weapon was doing to people.
Another shot from the rifle took out the other rear tire, and the SUV screeched down the street, fishtailing, sparks flying from its bare rims as the driver pushed on.
Gigantor emerged again and began firing wildly.
Peter had to get this guy out of here before he got himself, or someone else, killed.
Taking a deep breath, mid swing, he aimed his web and fired.
The back tire of the motorbike seized as the web snared in it.
Another web shot out and hit the man right in the middle of his back, and Peter yanked backward harshly. Instead of flying headfirst over the handlebars, the man was pulled off the bike and into the air, where he dangled a few feet above the sidewalk from the web still attached to Peter’s wrist.
The SUV continued its screeching way down the street as it sped out of sight around a corner.
Damnit. This guy had cost him the only lead he had on this. Righteous anger bubbled up in him. He could try to go after them, still. But he doubted he’d be able to catch up at this point.
“Let me down, asshole.” The man called from below, sounding tired.
Sighing, Peter released the web, and the man fell with a thunk to the concrete. He recovered surprisingly fast. Springing back up to his feet and looking up at Peter.
“Ugh, it is you.” The man removed his helmet to reveal his scowling face.
The Winter Soldier? Holy shit. Peter was too angry to revel in the shock.
“What the hell were you doing? This is my case! I had it under control.” He admonished, not disguising the anger in his voice.
Barnes snorted an unimpressed laugh out of his nose and shook his head with a smirk.
“Sure you did, kid. Had him on the ropes, right?”
“Yeah, I did.” Peter cringed at how obvious the lie was. But the irritation was still bubbling under his skin.
“Okay,” Barnes replied, rolling his eyes. “You’re up way past your bedtime, kid. Time to call it a night and go home.”
“I’m not a kid. And, screw you…” Peter’s heart pounded at the insult, his lessons in manners from Aunt May kicking in and taking over as he added, “Sir.”
Barnes chuckled lightly, and it made Peter bristle even more.
“Look,” He said, hands on hips, as he looked up at Peter once more. “I’m sorry, okay? Let me make it up to you by giving you a ride home. You won’t be catching up to those guys tonight.”
No thanks to you, Peter thought bitterly.
He watched as Barnes retrieved his bike from where it lay in the street, using his vibranium hand to tug sharply at the web stuck in the wheel. Peter was shocked that it came away without too much effort. Was it the vibranium mixed with super-soldier strength that made short work of it, or was it the fact he’d been having to steal his ingredients and couldn’t always get the best quality ones for making his webs? He filed that away to examine later.
Peter sighed. As much as he wanted Barnes to just go away and stay out of his business, it was a pretty long way back to the warehouse and his bike. He couldn’t risk leaving it there. And despite Barnes’ annoying comments, he was actually beyond exhaustion. His shoulders slumped, and he slowly let out the web that was still connecting him to the building, easing himself down toward the ground until he was close enough to safely drop to his feet.
“Fine.” he said tersely, ignoring the way Barnes raised one eyebrow at him. “But this doesn't mean we’re even for you messing up my case.”
Barnes smirked at him and pushed a helmet down over his head without a word. Peter flicked up the visor, scowling heavily.
“Safety first,” Barnes chirped as he mounted the bike, started it up, and waited patiently for Peter to get on behind him.
Peter groaned. This sucked.
“I had to leave my bike at the old Nylex factory. You can take me there.” He said begrudgingly.
“You have a bike?” Barnes swivelled to look at him, brows raised.
A pink flush crept across Peter’s cheeks.
“It’s a…bicycle.” He mumbled, feeling the heat in his face.
Barnes chuckled as the bike launched forward. Peter had to quickly grasp onto his shoulders as they took off back the way they had come.
****
When they pulled into the car park of the factory, the Humvee was still sitting abandoned in the middle of the lot. Barnes killed the bike’s engine and assessed the area, a light frown drawing his features down.
“What happened here?”
Peter sighed and dismounted without answering. This guy had already interfered enough with his case; he didn’t need all the details. But as he raised his arms to remove the helmet, he felt a sharp poke in his ribs and flinched.
“Ow! What the hell, man?”
He yanked the helmet off and shoved it at Barnes. That’s when he noticed it. The blood on the tip of the other man’s finger.
Their eyes locked.
Barnes reached out again, but Peter slapped his hand away.
“Are you…Is that Lycra?” Are you seriously telling me that you’re doing this shit while wearing Lycra?”
He almost sounded angry. Peter placed a self-conscious hand over the blood-soaked tear in his suit, and the wave of anger that had remained at his periphery rose up his throat and spilled out in angry words.
“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly have access to Stark tech anymore. So I do what I have to.” He spat out, then turned and stalked away.
“Hey, kid!” Bucky called after him. Peter didn’t look back. He heard the man mumbling to himself, then the sound of footsteps coming after him. He spun on the next step to face him.
“Just leave me alone, will you? This is my case, my suit, and I don’t need or want your help, okay?” The words sounded far braver than he felt as the super soldier towered over him.
Barnes bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. Then he shook his head, sighing loudly.
“You’re gonna get yourself hurt, or killed. Just…stick to the smaller neighbourhood stuff. My team will take this one.”
Peter was surprised that Barnes knew what he’d been doing. Although he supposed that he still made small headlines here and there, stopping petty crimes. But the shock was overtaken by the irritation once again.
“No way! I found this, I’m handling it. Stay out of my way.”
With that, Peter turned on his heel once more and strode back to the dumpster where he’d left his bike.
“If I run into you on this case again, I’ll take you out of play, kid. It’s for your own safety.” Barnes called after him. Peter ignored it. A moment later, the bike roared to life again, followed by the sound of gravel spraying out from the back wheel as Barnes took off.
****
Even with his softest footfalls, the stairs creaked under him in synchronicity with the swishing of his hoodie and sweats against the spider suit hiding underneath. Muscles aching, and bruises throbbing, he trudged up to the third floor. The building was quiet at this hour; everyone was either asleep or deep into their graveyard shift. Peter jiggled the key in the lock; son of a bitch always stuck. A wave of exhausted frustration stirred in his chest, and the jiggle of the handle turned into a sharp shake. The handle gave way and came off in his grip.
The thunk of his forehead falling forward against the door was loud in the stillness of the hallway. Peter sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. He wasn’t shocked, although he was a little embarrassed, to find his knuckles came away damp with unshed tears. He was twenty for Christ’s sake, too old to be crying over a missed bedtime. Forcing his shoulders back and a deep breath into his lungs, he pushed the door handle back into its socket and tried again.
With a click, the door sprang open to reveal the dark and empty apartment. The silence within was oppressive. Sometimes, when he lay awake at night, the quiet pressed in on him like a heavy shroud, making it hard to breathe. Other times, the sounds of the couple next door came to him through the thin walls, carrying on light conversation, or laughing together - her laughs were soft and melodic, his were loud and hearty. Sometimes, Peter pretended he was in their apartment with them, responding silently to their questions, laughing with them at their jokes, imagining that he wasn’t quite so alone.
The bare bulb in the middle of the room buzzed and cast a wan glow in a tight circle, little more useful than a candle, as he flicked it on. He dumped his backpack next to the door and kicked off his shoes. He stunk from working a double and then chasing bad guys across half the city. Really, he should shower, but his aching feet carried him instead to the drafty bedroom, and he collapsed on top of the covers, face down.
The blissful oblivion of sleep called to him like a siren song, but a more pressing and urgent thought kept it at bay.
The Winter Soldier.
No, he wasn't that anymore. Wasn’t he like, a congressman or something now? Was he still a congressman, though, now that he’d joined up with that New Avengers group? He supposed it didn’t really matter. Because of all the luck, he’d to run into Cap’s best friend in the middle of a case. At least he didn’t seem to bear a grudge for the whole airport incident. Irritation at the interference still rankled at the corner of his mind, but he had to admit to himself that it had been kinda…nice, to have someone he knew from before at his back. Even if that person didn’t know his real identity.
Peter groaned and shuffled himself under the covers. A chill crept in through the gaps around the window in the early morning hours, and even with two layers, he was cold. Damn slumlord never fixed a damn thing in this place. If he had the money to buy the supplies, he’d do it himself, but every spare penny was going towards buying him new identification documents, seeing as one of the apparent side effects of Strange’s spell was that he had disappeared from all official records. He hadn’t known at the time that making the world forget him didn’t mean just in people’s memories, but it meant erasing his identity entirely.
As his body temperature began to rise again, his thoughts turned back to Barnes. He had another thing coming if he thought he could kick Peter off his own case. He’d found it. He was handling it…
Right?
It was times like this he missed Mr. Stark the most. Tony always knew what to do. In some twisted way, Peter was grateful that he was no longer alive, because at least in death he hadn’t been subjected to the spell that made the rest of the world forget him. Even though he was gone, he had never forgotten Peter. Grief hit like a knife to his gut, twisting as he tried to breathe through the sharp, cold sting of it.
Pulling the covers up over his face to trap in the warm air and heat up his frozen face, he exhaled heavily. This would all have to wait until tomorrow; he had another double shift starting in less than six hours, and even with his super-powers, he needed sleep. Plus, when he was sleeping, he could forget how alone he was.