Chapter Text
Peter Parker knew, in theory, that the repercussions of erasing himself would be lonely. He just thought after four years he’d get used to it. Maybe it was his teenage bravado and the never ending optimism that kept him going for the first year. Mr. Stark would wake up from his coma. He'd explain everything to MJ and Ned when the time is right. He could get his life and loved ones back.
But the right time never came.
It didn’t make it hurt any less when he got a glimpse of his former life. Mr. Stark’s billboard still played in Times Square. An ode to the man that had almost died for the universe, dubbing him the Guardian of the Universe. Personally, Peter thought it was an embarrassing nickname and bordering trademark lawsuit territory if the Guardians of the Galaxy heard about it but that’s what the Starks pay all those lawyers for.
Dangling from a crane, his fingertips barely sticking to the metal, he let his body sway with the wind. Cars honked despite the late hour, shoes scuffled against the pavement and couples yelled somewhere down below. The last few patrols had been quiet. It gave Peter too much time in his head. Between swinging through Manhattan, past the Avengers Tower, and dinky petty crime, the minor buzz of frustration had grown into a colony of fire ants living just beneath his skin. Tonight, he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of being near the Tower so he stuck around Queens stopping bike thieves and plucking cats from trees.
It was the shattering of glass that started him out of his brooding, his fingertips slipping from the metal. Wind whistled in his ears as he fell and swung between buildings trying to find where it came from until he spotted the culprits ransacking an ATM.
How gauche.
One of the windows had been broken and the shards dug into his palms as he crawled in via the ceiling. “Again with the Avengers masks?” Peter snarked, dropping down in front of the three criminals and startling them. “You know, I’m hurt.” He dodged a punch, using his webs to pull the man in Captain America’s mask to the ground. “Criminals never choose a Spider-Man disguise. Why?”
His spine tingled, forcing him to duck as “Iron Man” swung a bat at him. Whirling around, he struck out and hit the man directly in the throat. “I don’t think Mr. Stark would appreciate you committing crimes with his likeness. He’s not fond of cheap imitations.” Peter hauled him to the ceiling and webbed him there.
“What, you tight with the old man?” the guy croaked, wriggling in his bonds.
“Mhm, regular movie nights and sleepovers.”
“Yeah? What’s his favourite movie?”
“Thumbelina.” Peter’s spider sense vibrated again, jumping back as “Hulk” came at him with a knife. The blade nicked his suit, ripping a hole in it. He bit back a groan. Spandex was not easy to repair. “You’ve lost some muscles Mr. Hulk, sir.” Shooting a web at the ceiling, he yanked himself up and swung towards the last robber—his feet extended, planting them directly into not-Hulk’s chest. The kick sent the man flying but Peter caught him with another web and launched him into Fake Captain America who managed to detangle himself and had started to rise. The men groaned, blood leaking from their noses. Peter stuck them to the floor, sirens growing louder. “Next time, can one of you dress like me? I mean c’mon. Mr. Stark gets an ice cream flavour, Captain America gets action figures, even Hulk got limited edition boxing gloves which I know Dr. Banner cringed over.”
“You’re too mouthy,” said the man on the ceiling.
“Says the dude dressed as Iron Man.” Peter shot a web at the criminal’s mouth and flinched at the wail of a siren a few blocks away. “That’s my cue. Remember kids if you’re going to do crime, dress like me and I’ll go easier on you!”
“No you won’t.”
“No, I won’t. Make better choices!” Peter scurried out and up the wall, getting as far from the bank before the police car squealed to a stop. Chilly night patrols like this one always made him miss Karen a little extra. He longed for the companionship and connection to his former life she brought. But he couldn’t risk the questions that would come up if he continued to wear Stark Industries tech.
Whether Tony remembered making the suit for Spider-Man or not, Peter had severed all ties.
“Okay, Spider-Man,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together. “That was a nice warm-up. Let's go hunting.” Closing his eyes, he listened to the rumblings in the city. A dog barked in the distance somewhere to his left and something rummaged through dumpsters behind him. Climbing higher, Peter scanned the skyline hoping to find something that would make him useful. Little old ladies weren’t getting groceries at this hour and people were all tucked in their beds without realizing their beloved pet wasn't in their usual spot.
So, Peter was truly banking on something big. Anything to chase away the pit that was growing in his chest. The rumbling of a construction site across the East River caught his attention. Dust flitted into the night sky as a chunk of concrete crumbled from the building’s frame and sent a thrill of excitement down his spine overtaking his tingling spider sense as he swung towards the commotion.
The Rhino was terrorizing 49th street. Cars were thrown haphazardly, sides of buildings were demolished, and the newly built frame of a construction site lurched. Peter clung to the swaying building, the metal beams cold against his already frozen fingers. “Do you have a permit for this?” he shouted over the rumbling of rubble. The Rhino’s head snapped up, his glare locking onto Peter. He said nothing, just roared and charged. Peter swore, clumsily jumping from his spot and onto a dust-laddled roof. The Rhino crashed into the support Peter had just jumped from, tearing through another part of the building frame.
“I’ve missed our chats, buddy.” Peter said, attaching a web to a wall directly across from him. “It’s nice to know you’re interested in my life. Can I get your opinion on something?” He jumped from the roof and landed a kick to the Rhino’s face as he swung by. “There should be more Spider-Man merch, don’t you think?”
“Talk too much,” the man grunted, his thick skin dotted with blood.
“That’s the second time someone’s said that to me tonight.” Peter shot a web out, bringing a heavy metal beam down onto the Rhino. “Is that a no on the merchandise?” The man shook the beam off and swiped at Peter, knocking him off balance and sent him rolling through the construction materials. Pipes and drywall clattered to the ground around him.
“I’d buy a Spider-Man punching bag,” a voice behind him chimed in. Mac Gargan stood a few feet away, his tail poised above his head. Glancing between the two criminals, Peter rolled into a crouch and carefully positioned himself so he could see both men. If the building frame wasn’t unstable before, it was certainly unstable now based on the loud creaking coming from the metal supports with each gust of wind.
“I thought you were a solo circus act,” Peter grunted as he narrowly dodged the stinger. “Careful with that thing, you could poke an eye out.” His spider sense blared, the ground shaking in time with the Rhino’s steps. He was a split second too slow and the Rhino plowed into his side, crushing ribs and launching him upwards. Twisting in the air, Peter grabbed the stinger before it could nick him and pulled it to his chest, dragging Mac off his feet. Readjusting his grip, Peter yanked it to the side and sent Mac into a pile of plywood. Splintered wood flew as the Scorpion smashed through it and Peter panted as he caught himself on a brick wall, his back smarting from how hard he hit it.
Below him, the Rhino had spotted where Peter had landed and charged at him. Swearing and wrapping an arm around his broken ribs, Peter jumped over him and webbed the man’s shoulders to try and stop him from plowing into the apartment building. It didn’t work, it only tugged Peter from the air and slammed him into the pavement. Digging his heels in he readjusted his grip and pulled harder, finally knocking the Rhino off-balance and sent him skidding.
He twitched at the buzzing in his neck, twisting and dodging Mac’s stinger. Flipping over him, Peter grabbed Mac’s shoulders as he went and threw him into the ground just as a crackle of electricity clapped through the air. “Do you guys have a group chat or something? Did I accidentally share my location with you?” Peter panted, jolting away from Mac as Electro leapt over debris.
A metal support tumbled from the sky, crashing into the ground near them with a bang. Peter’s head snapped up as his spider sense blared and he spotted the damaged building beginning to tip like a Jenga tower. He tried to leap towards it, he could web it together until someone came to properly fix it, but Mac took his distraction and jabbed at him at the last moment. Peter squeaked and attempted to dodge the stinger but only managed to redirect it away from vital organs as it drove him into a brick wall. The sharp tip scraped a long gash across his arm. “Not good,” he mumbled, his fingers struggling to find purchase against the wall and fighting against the metal stinger. Mac gripped Peter’s shoulders and slammed him against the bricks.
The building continued to waver and crumble around them as Peter blinked the dizziness out of his eyes. “Make this specially for me?” he slurred at Mac, sluggishly punching at the man. The Scorpion raised his stinger again but paused before striking Peter, dropping him while swearing and completely abandoned him in favour of a commotion somewhere to Peter’s right. He couldn’t think, everything was just a bit soupy and Peter thanked his reflexes for redirecting the stinger. Mac was out for blood tonight based on how nauseous that stinger made him.
“You okay, Queens?” Peter was definitely going to throw up. Steve Rogers stood there fending off the Rhino. He wasn’t even in his traditional get-up. Just jeans and a leather jacket. There was a blur of commotion as more people joined him. He should’ve never wished for more excitement. Giving the man a thumbs up, Peter slowly crawled up the wall and left the others to finish what he started. He couldn’t be around them, not today.
The world tilted as he swung away from the fight and away from whoever joined Steve until he landed unceremoniously across a gravel rooftop a few blocks away. The familiar nickname from Steve sent a sharp spike of pain through Peter’s heart as he lay gasping and waited for the world to stop moving. Four years hadn’t been enough time to soothe the ache he felt whenever he ran into his former family, but it was enough time for him to grow accustomed to it. He grew around it, as shriveled and small that growth had made him. At least they were safe.
Somewhere in an apartment below him, he could hear the sniffling of a child—probably hiding from the destruction that surrounded them—fiddling with something plastic, pulling a string. “I can do this all day,” a tinny robotic voice said. Great. Of course Captain America’s action figure was judging him. “The only way to be cool is to follow the rules!” The toy went off again. Peter groaned, it was like he was back in high school.
His body screamed when he sat up, the cut on his arm was still bleeding freely and whatever toxin Mac loaded into it this time continued to course through his body, churning his stomach. He needed to get home and collapse into his bed, wanting nothing more than to sleep off that fight.
Peter jumped down into a dank alley filled with trash. Crinkling his nose at the smell, he stumbled towards the street; his head pounding with each step and goosebumps spread when a strong gust hit him. Papers fluttered around his feet. Dirtied newspapers and coupons stuck to his shins. Jumping backwards at the rats that scampered around him, Peter peeled the disgusting papers off of him until one caught his eye.
It was a simple missing persons flyer.
HAVE YOU SEEN ME? was splashed across the top accompanied by one photo.
A photo of Peter Parker.