Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything about this was too slow for Nova’s taste. Spiderman’s communicator was scrambled, leaving ghost signals all over New York. The one location they knew that Doc Ock had been was underwater, not to mention exploded, so that was a bust. They’ve resorted to scouring the sewers, as that was the only other thing that the team could think of. That’s where they found the Octobot, as Spiderman had called them, slowly making its way… somewhere. At, like, the slowest speed possible. Seriously, this was stupid as hell, and they must look ridiculous, shuffling after this beefed-up hexbug. 

By the time they get to the lab, it can’t have been more than two and a half hours, but it felt like an eternity. Regardless, it was too late. There was a small electrical fire in the corner, and no one to be found. 

“Fan out and search the place.” Nova orders, firmly ignoring the pounding in his heart. The Octobot that they had been following walked up to a counter and then sparked, falling still. Nova’s not really a robot guy, but even he knows that that’s not good. He flies to the far wall, discovering that the source of the fire is a mechanical suit, leaking oil and a strange, dark red fluid. 

Blood , Nova recognizes. That’s blood.  

He turns around slowly, afraid of what he’s going to see. 

There’s a body. Wearing a white shirt, green pants, pink button up. 

Same outfit Peter was wearing today , a part of his mind whispers, but that can’t be right. That can't be right. 

Nova takes off his helmet, hoping that the scene before him would change, but the gore remained and Peter’s dead body stays limp on the ground. Nova feels the bile rise in his throat, and he turns away, running face first into Power Man’s chest. 

“Why’d you take your helmet off?” he asked, before glancing further into the corner. “Oh god. That’s not– is it?”

Nova dry heaved as an answer, pushing past Luke, away from the body. The room feels too small, the walls spin around him in a dizzying show of vertigo that leaves Nova to collapse on the ground, his eyes shut and hands clamped to his ears. There’s a ringing, somewhere, and Nova feels a hand on his back, feels someone hand him back his helmet and he slips it on gratefully, focusing on the cool metal on his face. 

He coughs, standing back up on shaky legs. “We have to report this.” 

Iron Fist rises from the ground as well. “I’ll call in. We should move.”

White Tiger ran over, stopping cold. “Shit. Who’s gonna tell Aunt May?”

Danny should feel sad.

Mostly, he just feels numb.

They have a ceremony, just the team. The official funeral, Peter Parker's funeral, will be tomorrow, but the four of them gather together around an old mask and the whole thing feels so stupid, and none of it feels remotley real. Danny's been to a few funerals since his stay at K’un-Lun. He's watched sorcerers he called his friends perish in battles, and he's gone to every ceremony. Danny's stuck going through the motions of grief, silently performing rites and building back up the hollow pieces of himself where Peter had once resided. 

He knows the others expect him to say something profound, but for this, he has no words. All he has to say is stolen eulogies he had ripped off the internet. Danny feels bad about that for no more than two seconds, before he realizes that Peter probably would've loved it. 

"There is no pain as great as the memory of joy in present grief." Danny says, and he can almost picture Peter's laughter. Peter always thought his advice was useless, anyways. 

Sam stood up from the conference table, leaving the area to go sit in the corner up near the front. He grabs his helmet on the way, sliding it on to hide most of his face. "Fury called me in for a meeting, earlier." Sam spoke for the first time in the meeting. "He-- that asshole wants me to take Webhead's place. As if."

"As the leader?" Ava asked. 

"Peter." Luke said sullenly. "His name was Peter . I'm not gonna deal with your rivalry anymore when he's not around to defend himself, buckethead ." Luke spat out the last word like it was an insult before turning heel and walking out of the room.

Ava turned towards Sam. "Did you accept?" 

"Fuck no," Sam spat. "Threw it back in the old man's face." he's quiet for a second before he adds, "I don't think he's going to give me a choice."

Danny should probably give some advice, here. It's what most people know him for. Luke had called him surprisingly optimistic and Peter had called him a fortune cookie and everyone had been shocked to find out there's more to him, but Danny had just been trying to find his own place on the team, because Nova had the energy and Power Man had the strength and Spider Man had the quips and White Tiger had the skill and so really, what was he doing here? 

I earned the Iron Fist , Danny had said to the dream version of Shou-Lao. The part of himself that had questioned the choice had been bested that day, but now it felt as though it grew stronger by the hour. Even with all of his training, Danny hadn't been enough to save Peter. None of it mattered, in the end. Nothing really felt like it mattered anymore.

Danny is so sick of losing people. 

It's a closed casket funeral. Given the scene that the team had uncovered, that was understandable, but something about it made him pause. Most likely Fury's training (don't believe what you can't see with your own eyes, and all that) but it's frustrating to know that he won't be able to properly honor Peter's life in the ways he best knew how. 

White sand in a small glass bottle. Smooth stones, shaped by the ocean into a perfect circle. Peter's birthstone, peridot, a substitute for the gem sewn into the robes of every sorcerer. Danny gathered everything on top of the grave, placing the gem in the middle. He added four stones, one in each cardinal direction, before eventually pouring the sand in a smooth, practiced circle around the five objects. A balanced harmony surrounding Peter's soul. It was all he had time for, so Danny left it at that, stepping away from the headstone as another teen walked closer. Danny vaguely remembered him as the boy that Peter would spend quite a lot of time with. Harry Osborn. Venom.

"You're Danny, right? I'm Harry. He-- He would mention you sometimes. Always had nice things to say." Harry told him. 

"I've heard a lot about you as well." Danny responds, trying to be comforting, or something. Peter would know what to say, but now his absence feels like a vacuum, sucking all light and energy towards it, messing with Danny's internal alignments and leaving him to feel all sorts of awful ways.

"If you ever wanna hang out sometime…?" Harry offered.

Danny smiles, the expression feeling fake and hollow. "Thank you." he says, and he tries his best to mean it. 

Nova had been the one to find the body, but Danny found the security footage. He got to watch in grainy detail as the bot lunged closer and closer to Peter, no suit or web shooters to defend himself. He watched as the bot launched one of its arms out at Peter, a blade attached to the end, and he didn't exactly miss the exact way and angle the blade pinned Peter up against the wall, chopping off the head with one quick swoop. 

Iron Fist hadn't mentioned the video to the others, yet. There was no need to, really, because he had already delivered it to Shield and Nova was already so upset. Danny had been the one that Director Fury asked to relay the situation in the lab. Iron Fist was used to having to be the calm one in any scenario, but hey, maybe that was the thing he could be useful at. 

White Tiger had the skill, Power Man the strength. Nova the energy.

Iron Fist, for the way he could calmly say, There's a lot of blood, sir. A body, most likely Spiderman, out of his suit and missing the head. Sending you a video now, sir.

The moment looped inside of his head, only calmed by the sounds of white sand pouring in smooth, practiced circles. After all, Danny had plenty of opportunities to perform that particular mourning ritual. Even the team tries to talk about it, Ava pulling him aside with a faux interested, "did you learn that from K’un-Lun?"

He had brushed her off, and she hadn't tried to ask again. 

Danny had gathered the team, and they had left for the Sorcerer’s house, the miserable weather reflecting the mood of the group. Sam had tried to ask questions, but Danny’s expected cryptic words allowed him to fly under the radar and get them all entry to the house. 

"Spiderman's dead?" Sorcerer Strange frowned. "That's a shame. He was a fine warrior. His alignment with the universe showed great promise.”

Danny bowed his head in agreement. “I was hoping to honor his life properly. I was not able to do so at the funeral.” 

“Of course,” Sorcerer Strange agreed. “You may use anything you wish.”

With a flash, Danny finds himself and the others in a library of sorts, with everything he needs surrounding him. He hesitates for a moment before also grabbing a yellow rose, the petals of which were rich and full. No one else was fully versed in Sorcerer funeral rites, and so they didn’t need to know the meaning behind the gesture.

Under the team’s watchful eye, the ingredients were combined. Some were burned, some attached to ropes or sticks of wood instead. It keeps his hands busy as he thinks of the man lost, as he replays the scene over and over in his head of the different ways that the day could have gone. No one else says anything, feeling the sacred energy in the air as Danny works. Normally, only those trained as a sorcerer were allowed to see this ritual, but this was a special case. 

“Life will live on,” Danny whispers, laying the wrapped stick in the flames. “For Peter.” 

“For Peter,” Sam adds. Ava and Luke repeat the phrase. 

Danny leans back from the fire, his knees groaning. “As long as the flames burn, we honor the life lost. Who wants to go first?”

“Do you guys remember when he lost Captain America’s shield?” Sam said, his voice soft. “He did the best when we were fighting him.”

“That day in the classroom, when he told us who Venom was.” Luke spoke up. “I don’t think he trusted us, then, but I’m pretty sure that it’s when he started to.”

Ava huffed. “I made a joke, once, while fighting. He paused to give me a thumbs up.” 

The fire burned brighter, and the faintly sweet scent of flowers rose above the burning wood. 

The first funeral of this kind that Danny attended was on his way to K’un-Lun. One of his guides was caught off guard by a wolf, and was far away enough from the camp that his cries for help went unheard. They had no ingredients for a funeral fire, and the ground was too hard to dig a grave. Danny was young, no more than fifteen, and all he could do was watch as the other guides lowered the body over the side of the mountain, as they scoured their food supplies and the brush around camp for substitutes. Any flame they managed to light was quickly snuffed out by the wind, and the items wouldn’t stay together. Danny had watched as the deceased’s brother tried, over and over, to pour out a smooth circle of white sand around a stone buried in the snow, only for it to get whipped away in the cold winter breeze. 

He had promised himself, then, that he wouldn’t lose anyone else. Beating Shou-Lao hadn’t stopped the dangers, however, and against his best efforts, sorcerers around him continued to perish.

Seems that the loss has found him in this new position as well. 

There’s something wrong with Sam. 

Danny listens numbly as Ava explains her plan, and he speaks when they look at him, and he performs his part to perfection. He watches as Sam breaks down, finding the true sadness behind his anger, and it feels like he’s watching it from behind a television screen. He feels like he's still deep in meditation, despite being awake. It's a weird feeling, to watch time change from a molasses drip to that's much like a raindrop. 

When everything felt too much, he would take his headphones, and listen to his playlist the whole way through. It's two and a half hours long, and so Danny spends his time in little chunks, dispersing sentences of the lessons he'd learned from K'un-Lun to his team, knowing that they're not listening but feeling apathetic all the same. 

Danny has performed the funeral rites. He's mourned, done all the things required. The others are still dealing with it, but he's fine. Even if some days, his hands would not stop shaking, and his head would fill with buzzing static until he felt like he would burst. All he needed to do was realign his energy. Then, maybe, he would stop feeling as though he could shatter any second.

Chapter Text

Lab reports came back positive. That body was him.

Spiderman– Peter Parker was dead.

“The bug was slow,” Nova reports, his voice detached. “Probably a diversion, but we didn’t have any other choice but to follow. It led us to an underground lab, where we found Spiderman.”

Coulson nodded. “Understood. Peter was a… bright kid. May will be informed tonight, I suggest you be there.” Nova stood up from the table, turning to leave, but Coulson called out. “Director Fury wants to speak with you, Nova. We’re not quite done yet.”

The doors slid open, and the man himself walked in the room. “Nova,” Fury’s cold voice greeted. “Take a seat.”

Once they were all gathered around the table, Nova snapped, “What is this about? I already gave the report.”

“Analytical data suggests that you were the person most listened to on the team besides Spiderman.” Fury says. “You’re quick to take charge in his absence, and your plans, although not as smooth, tend to work out for the better.”

“Most likely due to inexperience.” Coulson cuts in. “I think that, with proper training, you could be a great leader for this team.”

The implications of what they were saying hit Nova in the face. He scoffed, which turned into a chuckle, which led to him outright laughing in Fury’s face. I’m so gonna pay for this later, Nova thinks, but that doesn’t matter because right now, the notion that he could ever replace Peter, that he could do a quarter of what Spiderman managed to do every day, was the funniest thing that Nova had ever heard. 

He tells Fury as much, and leaves the room, ignoring the two men inside. Replace Peter Parker. As if. 

Sam leaves the helicarrier, giving no thought as to where he goes until he starts to recognize the area around him as the neighborhood where May Parker lives. He scowls and flies off, heading back into the cheaper part of New York, where there’s one asshole that Sam can have a screaming match with and not feel bad about it later. 

He lands with a crash outside of his old house, not caring about the people inside, the ones that are probably too doped up to question a flying kid. He takes off his helmet, disconnecting from the Nova Corp, and walks inside. The place was as terrible as he remembered it being, with trash littering the floor, crunching with every step he took. Beer bottles lined every windowsill, and Sam stops for a second to pry a window open. It flew up to the top with a cloud of dust, allowing in some fresh air. He hadn’t seen the car in the drive, so his dad was most likely out, telling ladies down at the bar all about his fake time with the fake army. 

His room also looks the same, except now with a thick layer of dust coating everything. His bass guitar was still hanging on the wall, and ran a finger over it, smiling faintly. Sam strips out of his costume, throwing on some clothes that were still lingering in his closet. Everything he owned had gotten destroyed with the helicarrier, but he hadn’t taken a lot with him when he had left this house. He had panicked, and didn’t know what to prioritize, just driven by the burning need to get out of this place, and now he was back. 

The first time, Sam had been homeless for a week before Shield found him. 

Now, he’s homeless again, and he’s made his way back here. Danny would say something about the circle of life or some shit, but Sam just thinks that it’s pathetic. 

Sam is good at being angry. 

So, when the nightmares shake him awake and images of Peter swirl around his head and he finds a new mold spot in his closet, he does what he knows best, and he gets angry. Angry at Octavious, for killing Peter. Mad at the team, because they hadn’t gotten there in time. Mad at Fury, for hiring Peter in the first place. Angry at himself, because when everything mattered the most, he hadn’t been good enough. He gets mad at his father, too, and that’s familiar, a constant in this world that now feels so messed up without Peter. 

That night, his father comes home, and isn’t happy to see him, but Sam had been expecting that. They scream at each other and stomp around for a little bit, before a raccoon jumps through the open window, and they spend the next half hour catching it while also screaming at each other. It’s a miracle that Sam doesn’t reveal his secret identity, just to rub it in his father’s face. 

Look at me, Sam wants to scream. I’m ten times the man you are. The Nova Corp actually wants me. I’m helpful. I’m useful. I’m better than you!

After the raccoon is dealt with, and the window firmly shut, Sam straightens his spine and walks out of the room, not bothering to say goodnight. He stops by the kitchen, on his way up the stairs, and grimaces at the bare fridge. He’ll have to go shopping, if he wants to eat anything besides dubious green beans. There’s no shortage of beer cans, though, and he takes one before heading up to his room. Sam’s found that stitches are easier to do on yourself when you're just a tad buzzed. 

The house feels suffocating, and so Nova slips on his suit, leaving through his bedroom window. 

Sam stays quiet at the funeral, and he can feel Ava’s eyes tracking him as he slowly shuffled around. Last night, after the team memorial, Nova had picked a fight with a thief, and had paid the price for it. He deserved the pain, though. Needed the reminder of how fragile he really was. He was nothing without the helmet and access to Nova Corp, and it would do him good to remember that.

So he’ll stay quiet, because there’s nothing he has to say. Danny and Luke are talking to that Osborn kid, and Ava, who seemed to be looking for something, is by May. Sam feels out of place, and he knows that he must look like it, too. The casket up at the front of the room feels like a taunt, and Sam rubs the sleeves of his suit jacket, wishing he could leave without being rude. 

“You smell like cigarettes,” Ava frowns, stepping into his view. 

“Oh.” Sam blinks. “Sorry.”

“Are you okay? No, that’s a stupid question. Don’t answer that. Why did you move back in with your dad?"

Sam chewed on his answer for a minute before saying with a tight smile, "Fuck off, Ava." 

She scoffed with indignation as he walked away, but she quickly stepped into his path. "Seriously. I've seen what that place does to you, Sam. Why would you willingly go back?" 

"I'm serious too. It's none of your business. Stop pretending to care." 

"What makes you think that I'm pretending?" 

Sam frowned. “Just stop. Stop being nice to me. I don’t deserve it, not when Peter is dead because I wasn’t good enough.”

He stepped to the side and walked out the doors. This time, Ava didn’t try to follow. 

Nova spends hours out on the streets, only returning to the house when he feels dead on his feet, when he’s weak enough to accept that he’s still human and needs to sleep. He doesn’t go to school. Ava keeps trying to call him, but she gets put firmly in the ‘Deal with never’ category. He hadn’t meant to say that, at the funeral. Why did she even care so much? It’s not like the team wasn’t thinking about it. If he hadn’t lost sight of Peter during the battle, then this never would have happened. It’s a wonder that Fury even wants Nova on the team, when all he’s good at is getting his friends killed. 

Director Fury puts them on bereavement leave, so Sam doesn’t have to deal with the leadership thing, yet. It also means that he’s not technically allowed to fight anyone, but that’s stupid.

He starts stalking the streets of Queens, mostly because he didn’t have anything better to do, partly because he knows that Peter won’t be there to help anymore. Nova might not be able to pick fights with civilians, but Sam Alexander is.

And if they leave marks, bruises that show up hours later, well. It’s just another reminder that Sam won’t ever be good enough.

He doesn’t make it to the store, and he doesn’t want to eat the food at his house, so he finds himself at May’s place. It’s the first time he’s tried to come here in two days. Last time he saw May was at the funeral, and every time he sees the team they try to put on their whole ‘concerned’ act, so Sam’s been avoiding them as well. But it’s cold outside, and he’s hungry, damnit, and so he walks up to the door and rings the doorbell before he can psych himself out. 

Danny answers, and the two stare at each other for a moment, with Danny’s eyes tracing the bruises on his face, the ones that Sam knew he didn’t cover up well enough. Eventually Danny steps aside, and Sam hurries in. He takes off his shoes and coat as Danny locks the door behind him, still just staring at him with a puzzled look. 

“Who is it?” Luke calls as he comes into the room, stopping when he sees Sam. “Oh.”

The awkward energy in the air multiplies, and Sam speaks, trying to break the tension. “Where’s Mrs. Parker?”

“In the kitchen,” Danny tells him, and Sam shoots Danny a quick smile before heading off in that direction.

Ava is in there too, which is just fantastic. They both glance up at Sam, and May smiles, setting down her spatula. “Sam, honey, hello. I’d hug you, but my hands are covered in raw meat.”

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Parker,” Sam says. 

Ava coughs, and quickly turns to rise off her hands in the sink. “You know what? I remembered that I actually have a lot of homework, so I’m going to go do that now. Sam, dice this apple for me?” She turned away, exiting from the kitchen so fast that Sam wouldn’t have had time to argue if he wanted to.

She’s avoiding me, Sam realizes, a sinking feeling in his gut. Which is fine. He’d be avoiding him too. 

Sam picks up the knife and starts dicing. 

“How have you been?” May asks gently, rocking the pan back and forth over the heat. 

“Alright. It’s been nice being around my father again.” Sam lies.

May hums. “I’d like to meet him someday, if that’s alright with you.” 

“I don’t think you two would get along.” he says quickly. He never wanted May to meet that scumbag if he could help it. “Done with the apple, where do you want it?” 

“Right into that bowl over there, thanks.” May points at a blue bowl, and Sam pours the apple in, combining it with the raw meat. “I know it seems a bit unconventional, but the end result is worth it. Peter–” May cuts herself off, falling silent. 

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen is the bacon frying on the pan. May takes a deep breath, forcing a smile back on her face. “Sam, dear, could you get out the cauliflower patties? Should be on the second shelf from the top.” 

He nods, and pulls them out of the fridge, grabbing another pan from the cabinet as well before handing them both to May. He takes over the bacon as she rinses her hands. They work well together, and Sam realizes that he’s missed this, this easy connection with someone else, as they both silently prepare this meal. 

It also reminds him that he hasn’t eaten in over a day and a half. 

Damnit, Sam is trying, okay? 

Ava makes sure of that. Since cornering him after that dinner, she had made it clear that he had to try, for her and the team. He got it now, not answering his comm was a safety hazard. If they needed him, and he was too busy sulking to come help, then anything that happened would be his fault. His team– and it truly was his team, now– made sure that he knew it.

So, fine. He'll answer his goddamn communicator, and when the time comes, he will lead this team. 

Sam owes it to Peter to at least try. 

They get into another screaming match that night. Jesse is drunk off his ass, bringing back painful nostalgia. Before, Sam would do his best to talk his father down, convince him to sleep. Now, Sam thinks, fuck that, and shouts right back. It ends only when he slams his bedroom door. 

He dug his nails into his palm, and tried to breathe. His arm stung like a bitch, which was to be expected. Limbs probably aren’t meant to bend that way, which means he broke it. Not great. 

The punks were walking away, and normally Sam would chase after them, but he had just enough common sense right now to know that was a terrible idea. His communicator was on his broken arm, which was a stroke of luck, and he half deliriously dialed Ava. 

She picks up almost immediately, and Sam greets her with a little wave. 

Turns out, casts are really itchy. 

May checks him out of the hospital, and he feeds her the same lie he told the doctors about tripping on a curb while on his skateboard. She hums, but Sam gets the feeling that she doesn’t quite believe him. 

When they get back to the house, Ava is furious, and she pulls him aside when May goes back to sleep. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she says plainly. “If you keep doing this, you are going to die.” 

“Can we not do this tonight?” Sam asks tiredly. 

“We are so doing this tonight. Or we can do it tomorrow with the whole team. I don’t know how you worked it into your head that you were responsible for Peter, but I’m really fucking serious, Sam, I will not lose someone else!” her voice crescendoed to a shriek. 

Ava never swore, not unless she was, in her words, really fucking serious. 

“Okay,” he says.

Ava, who had probably expected more of a fight, frowned. “This isn’t a light agreement. You’ve got to agree to stop this lone wolf thing you’re trying to do and actually let us help you.”

Sam sighs, too tired to argue. “Okay. Fine.”

“Okay,” Ava repates. A small smile works its way onto her face. “Okay.”

He was too tired to fully think about what he had just agreed to, but even now, high on pain meds and half asleep, it felt like a step in the right direction.