Chapter Text
“—See, that’s the thing, Shen. Scars heal.
—No, they don’t. Wounds heal.
—Oh, yeah. What do scars do? They fade, I guess.”—Kung Fu Panda 2
✧ ✧ ✧
Ned was walking down the hall of the school when he heard it—a bit of shuffling around from the direction of the chemistry lab.
It was late enough for him to know the school was supposed to be almost entirely empty. The janitor was still around, and Cindy and Sally were still bickering back and forth about their last Decathlon question, but otherwise he was pretty sure the place was empty and hollow. It was afternoon—verging on evening. Why would anyone linger around?
With a self-conscious look over his shoulder, he made his way toward the door of the lab. The closer he got, the more certain he was that there was someone inside. He heard footsteps, quiet muttering, the clinking sound of someone stirring substances in a beaker, maybe. There was no light streaming from the small crack between the door and its frame, which made him think maybe stepping closer when he was by himself wasn’t the smartest thing to do.
Gripping the handle of the door with one hand and the strap of his backpack with the other, Ned braced himself, then flung the door open and stared into the room at the scene that was revealed to him.
The classroom was lit up by the light shining through the windows lining the far wall, the curtains pulled aside. One of the windows was open, letting in a soft breeze. There were half-erased equations on the whiteboard and a few torn-up papers on the floor that had shoeprints on them after getting trampled. From the shelves of a glass cabinet, taxidermy mounts stared at Ned.
Just like the masked figure that was frozen next to one of the desks, hand held halfway between the guy’s body and a beaker filled with some kind of white substance. The mask was red with reflective lenses over the eyes—ones that were seemingly staring straight into Ned’s soul. The figure had a worn backpack at his feet and other than the mask he was wearing street clothes. Granted, they looked like they were literally taken straight from a dumpster, but they were more normal than the mask. They also looked skimpy and too thin for the colder weather, but what did Ned know?
Ned’s lips parted in surprise, his hand squeezing the handle of the door more tightly. His eyes grew wide open as he stared at the figure that must have broken into the school, his heart beating erratically in his chest as his mind started racing, coming up with plans to call his parents, a teacher, the principal, the government. Maybe the military, he wasn’t sure.
And then the stillness snapped. The masked guy moved too quickly for Ned’s brain to comprehend it all properly. One moment he was still standing there, looking back at Ned like a deer caught in the headlights, and the next moment he was running toward the window with his backpack slung over one shoulder, the beaker falling off the table with a push and shattering against the ground, the substance inside soaking the floor.
“Wait—” Ned managed to choke out through the lump in his throat, but it was already too late.
Without looking back, the masked figure hopped out the open window and ducked out of sight.
Ned blinked owlishly at the window once, then sprinted toward it and leaned forward to squint outside. The sun was beginning to set so it was getting darker, but he could still clearly see there was no stain on the ground or a mangled body. The guy just… vanished. He was gone without a trace.
Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. There was still that white stuff on the floor and the shards of broken glass that crunched under Ned’s shoes as he approached the area cautiously, bent down and poked it tentatively with the stir rod the dude must have used before. It looked like nothing Ned had ever seen, some kind of liquid that seemed to slowly solidify and become more spongy and elastic the longer he stared at it.
And the more Ned observed this thing, the more he realized it did remind him of something. Albeit, what he had in mind had a firmer shape and was usually only seen from afar or in YouTube videos. He’s never seen it in the flesh, but he was certain this thing reminded him of… well, the webs that Spider-Man guy tended to use all the time.
He dropped the stir rod and hastily pulled out his phone. He opened a new tab and searched Spider-Man up. The screen instantly presented him with blurry photos and videos of the vigilante, taken by pedestrians, most likely. The moment he saw the red mask on his screen his fingers turned numb and he nearly dropped his phone.
That was him. The one who’d jumped out the classroom window was Spider-Man. Spider-Man with only his mask on, without his spandex suit. Spider-Man who was… making himself more webs? Well, apparently they weren’t organic then—one question answered, Ned supposed. But a bazillion more were swirling around his brain, making his head spin.
He exited the tab and let his finger hover over the phone app. He was supposed to call the police, right? Report a break in? Tell someone that there had been a shifty figure at the school, that someone had broken into Midtown to use its chem lab. That was the right thing to do, especially with all the warnings the police kept on spouting about Spider-Man and how dangerous he was.
Without second guessing himself too much, Ned turned off his phone’s screen, put it away and straightened up fully, his eyes blinking ahead unseeingly.
His gaze drifted toward the open window without his consent, as if waiting for the vigilante to return. Nothing happened. He was just standing there, alone, staring. The substance at his feet was soaking the soles of his shoes but it didn’t appear to cause any damage so Ned wasn’t in a hurry to get away from it.
Licking his lips, he hunched his shoulders, laced his fingers around the straps of his backpack tightly and resolutely walked out of the classroom and back out to the hallway.
“No one’s gonna believe me, anyway,” he muttered to himself as he walked toward the exit, only sending one last look over his shoulder.
✧ ✧ ✧
If anyone looked up at that moment, they would have seen a masked person in a dingy T-shirt and a pair of tattered jeans swinging down the streets while cursing at the wind that took his words and swallowed them up before any pedestrian could hear them. They’d be baffled for a moment, then realize this was probably Queen’s vigilante, Spider-Man, without his usual red and blue suit.
No one bothered looking up, though. Everyone was busy with their own things so a person swinging up high could go unnoticed for a while. It would have made Peter feel better, considering he wasn’t even wearing his suit, but all he could feel was frustration. At himself. For getting caught because of his ridiculously glitching powers. It didn’t matter that no one was looking at him because to him it felt like the entire world had its eyes on him.
That had been Ned Leeds. He was pretty sure of that. He could still vaguely remember going to Midtown with the guy, before his world collapsed all around him. Ned and he never really got close to each other. He was pretty sure they had a maximum of six conversations, all of them mainly about schoolwork. He didn’t know anything about the guy except that he attended Midtown and was a part of the school’s robotics club.
And now Peter also knew that he would be the reason why Spider-Man would be left without the power to synthesize any more web fluid. Ned’s probably already called the cops or one of his teachers to report the break in. They’d figure out it was Spider-Man. It’d never be safe for him to sneak into Midtown again from now on, and tomorrow’s newspapers would probably slander him for breaking and entering a school to steal from children.
God, why did his powers have to short-circuit right when he needed them? Why would his spider-sense take a backseat when Peter was trying to keep out of sight inside a school? It should have warned him of a person approaching the room. It should have picked up on the danger. His senses should have noticed the pattering footsteps and quiet breaths of another person in the hallway.
But he hasn’t eaten properly in almost a week, so could he really fault his powers? He knew they weren’t going to serve him properly when he wasn’t giving his body what it required to sustain itself, but he was hoping maybe things wouldn’t get that bad. Maybe… maybe his powers would still function just enough to get him out of tight spots. Which they were doing, of course, just… not well enough. He was still seen. By Ned Leeds.
Ugh!
His feet stumbled a little when he landed on a rooftop, skidding to a halt before leaning his hands on his thighs and taking in deep breaths. He wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to… to turn back time. To an hour ago, so Ned wouldn’t catch him. To half a year ago, so Gwen would still be alive and he’d be able to prevent her death. To several months before that, so he’d be able to save May… or maybe just to say a proper good-bye.
Instead, he just stood there and willed his stinging eyes to stay dry underneath his mask. Frustration welled up in him as he shut them tightly and stifled a scream. This really just happened. He just lost his most easily-accessed lab. Without it, how was he supposed to synthesize his webs? How was he supposed to keep being Spider-Man without that?
He could go to Mr. Osborn, he assumed. The man always offered Peter to use Oscorp labs to work on what he needed for his Spider-Man gig. But one look at Mr. Osborn was enough to let Peter know he would demand to also know the formula for the webbing, and Peter wasn’t ready to share that. It was his own creation, one of the only things that were still only his. He couldn’t pass it on to someone who’d probably use it to enlarge his company.
Then again, what other choice did he have?
“Damn it,” he muttered to himself. “Seriously, Leeds, five more minutes. You couldn’t have passed by the chem lab five minutes later?”
Peter took one more moment, then he straightened up, unzipped his bag with a little too much force so that his zipper nearly disconnected, and pulled out his Spider-Man suit. He frowned down at it as he prepared himself to switch to it so swing properly around the city. Better no one saw him in his civilian clothes, no matter how generic they were. Besides, the suit was slightly warmer than his current clothes, which would be nice.
He started tugging off his shirt when his eyes landed on a tall building in his line of sight. It was getting darker all around him, but the building twinkled in the evening, especially its top and the circled, glowing letter adorning it. Avengers Tower, Peter thought sourly.
His last encounter with the Avengers hadn’t been the friendliest. It mostly consisted of him swinging erratically around the city in order to shake them off his tail and them chasing after him while trying to capture him for the government. They weren’t exactly on the best of terms, he knew. Not when the people at the top didn’t want Spider-Man around. Not when they couldn’t control him, more like.
Captain America’s shield had left bruises on Peter’s abdomen, Black Widow’s bites had made Peter’s skin prickle for an entire day afterward, Hawkeye’s arrow had grazed his side, Iron Man’s repulsor had nearly melded Peter’s suit into his body. That entire thing was a mess that Peter wasn’t all that eager to repeat, especially because fighting the Avengers felt profoundly wrong.
They were his heroes. He grew up adoring them. He’d been an Iron Man fan when he was a kid, and then the Avengers formed to save New York from that invasion and Peter could still remember bouncing on the sofa with Uncle Ben laughing while making sure he wouldn’t topple over in his excitement. The news had shown blurry and shaky footage of the fight and Peter had been glued to the screen, terrified and exhilarated.
And now these same people were chasing him, seeing him as an enemy instead of an ally or at least a harmless vigilante. Which was so unfair because nobody saw the government sending Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to collect Daredevil and bring him in for questioning. Or Deadpool. Although that may have had something to do with the guy being insane and basically already viewed as trouble that everyone had to keep a lookout for.
His hand absently came up to brush against his side, where he knew there used to be a blue mark on his skin from Cap’s shield slamming into him. His eyes kept on eyeing Avengers Tower, the fabric of his shirt slipping through his fingers as a thought numbly popped up in his head.
The Avengers basically owed him, right? They were going after him as if he was a villain and not a fellow enhanced—er—helper. They demanded answers, tests, information. Things Peter would have considered giving them had they approached him in a more civilized manner instead of attacking him immediately. They went about it the wrong way, so… every bit of damage caused by them was completely on them.
He couldn’t really ask for their medical help, obviously. But maybe he could… borrow some stuff. If he could get into Avengers Tower without getting caught and use the materials inside to make the web fluid he could no longer work on at Midtown…
It would certainly be less of a pain than asking Mr. Osborn for help.
And if he would get caught… well, he was already on the Avengers’ radar. Would it really change much? At least then they’d have a reason to hunt him down ruthlessly. And who was he to deny them of a proper reason when it was oh so convenient?
Okay, it was probably brash and stupid. He was most likely only doing it out of sheer spite and for all the wrong reasons. But nobody said Peter couldn’t have his moments of utter stupidity and lack of judgement, okay? He was allowed to do reckless things every once in a while, especially when success would be so sweet.
Moving resolutely, Peter shoved his Spider-Man costume and mask back into his backpack before zipping it shut and leaving it hidden at the corner of the roof. With a mixture of excitement, trepidation and anticipation bubbling inside of him, he determinedly turned to face Avengers Tower again with a small smile.
✧ ✧ ✧
Peter tossed the improvised signal disruptor in his hand and gave it one last contemplative look. He was crammed in a vent inside Avengers Tower, a little bit of light assisting him, slipping through the vent cover and its flaps. There wasn’t much light, granted, seeing as the lab below him was unoccupied right now.
This was probably a stupid idea. He could already feel his later regret building up inside his body. He knew sneaking into Avengers Tower would probably be his most imbecilic idea yet. This was more reckless and suicidal than fighting most criminals in this city. This whole tower was run by the smartest AI ever created—by Tony Stark. This was insane.
But Peter glanced down and saw the cabinet of materials in the lab and his resolve solidified as he braced himself. This had to be done. He needed more web fluid, and for that he needed to, unfortunately, steal. Stealing from the Avengers was just a bonus—plus, seeing a proper lab with his own two eyes would be the greatest thing in Peter’s life, he was sure of it.
He checked his cracked phone screen quickly. The first signal disruptor would stop working soon. Granted, its only purpose was to make sure Stark’s AI didn’t notice him crawling through his ventilation system, which seemed to be working. So he knew the makeshift invention worked, but he also knew its life expectancy wasn’t very high. He’d have a mere several minutes to get in, make his web fluid and sneak back out. This had to be precise and hurried if he didn’t want Iron Man to come bursting in with his repulsor aimed at his chest.
Taking in a deep breath, Peter activated the second disruptor. It wasn’t pretty—just a bunch of scrap metal and parts he could find in the trash. Still, it would give him some time—as long as he didn’t step right in the AI’s line of sight.
“Don’t fail me now, spider-sense,” he muttered to himself before he opened the grille and slipped down to the floor carefully, mindfully evading the spots in the room where his sixth sense was warning him of cameras.
Putting the disruptor on one of the desks, Peter looked up and smiled in awe.
Messy desks littered with pieces of tech and random inventions, machines standing in the corners, quiet for now, tons of tools and materials to work with lining the tables and cabinets all over the room. There were holographic displays that were left unattended, still open on blueprints Peter nearly drooled over as he forced himself to tear his eyes away before he lost himself in his wonder.
Tony Stark’s lab. He was inside Tony Stark’s lab.
This was the greatest, most terrifying day of his life.
He regretfully shook himself and jumped into action. He had no idea where everything was so he needed to make this thing quickly if he wanted to succeed. He opened cabinet doors, acquired an empty beaker and started mixing things together while keeping an eye on the clock. If he messed up the formula, it could get really messy, then Stark would find this mess—either with Peter in it or not—and know exactly what was happening. Which would be bad.
All the while, he made sure to keep out of the cameras’ range. He managed to cancel out some of the AI’s sensors, sure, but not all of them. And with the cameras still being turned on, Peter knew he had to be incredibly agile to avoid being seen and spotted by FRIDAY because then he’d have Stark on him, too. This was all very risky. Probably too risky.
Was it wrong of Peter to find this exhilarating?
Peter mixed everything together, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. He kept on glancing over his shoulder toward the door to make sure nobody was sneaking up on him again. One time a day was enough, in his opinion. He didn’t feel like being jumped by Iron Man as well. But no one was coming, the lab remained relatively dark and quiet and Peter just kept on working alone against the clock.
Another glance toward his phone let him know he had about a minute before the disruptor stopped working.
Turning back to the beaker, he frowned in concentration and stirred it some more before deciding it was ready. He gulped, opened up one of his web canisters and started carefully pouring in some of the web fluid. Once it was full to the brim, Peter put it back in place and contemplated testing it out by shooting a web. But the idea of FRIDAY spotting it and letting Stark know dissuaded him quickly. He’d test it out later, once he was out of this lab.
Quickly filling up all of the other empty canisters he had, Peter emptied the beaker, sweat gathering on his forehead as he kept on glancing between his creation and the ticking clock. He had to hurry, he didn’t have time. He was nearly done—
His spider-sense spiked at once.
“Unauthorized person detected,” a female voice resonated around him.
Peter’s heart skipped a beat. The disruptor ran out of juice, then. The AI’s sensors were back to full capacity, clearly detecting him even without her cameras. He cursed under his breath and tipped a beaker just a tad bit more to empty the last of it into the web canister. Once he was done, he put the beaker back on the table and looked around in a panic.
He could jump out the window—he had his webs to catch him, after all—but he figured letting Stark know the presence in his lab had been Spider-Man would be a stupid thing to do. It would just make him want to come after him even more. No, there was a reason Peter showed up without his costume on. While Spider-Man was a public menace, Peter Parker was a nobody, a ghost, someone you’d look right through in a crowd. Which was exactly what he needed after breaking into one of the most high-tech companies in the world.
Out the vents it was, then. This time the AI would be able to follow him, of course, but at least he’d be able to get out of there. He knew which way to go, and the moment he’d get out of the tower, he’d be able to swing away without Stark ever knowing where he’d gone.
He carefully maneuvered around the cameras, making his way back to the vent grille. The moment he was underneath it, his spider-sense warned him again, making the back of his head itch relentlessly. Without thinking about it too hard, he jumped onto the ceiling, sticking to it with his fingertips and feet, and not a moment too late.
The door slid open, the lights turning on immediately to welcome in a bewildered-looking Tony Stark. The man had some marinera sauce smeared around his mouth, so he was probably alerted to Peter’s presence while eating dinner. His eyes scanned the room quickly, bemused and on edge.
Peter held his breath as he cautiously moved forward, crawling into the vent without making a sound. He was counting on people’s lack of reason to look upward while searching for intruders. Most people couldn’t cling to walls or ceilings, after all. Peter was special like that. Stark’s lack of a reaction let him know he really was slipping away without being spotted.
“FRI, where are they? You got eyes on the intruder?” he said.
“My cameras didn’t catch anything, boss, but there’s someone in the ventilation system above the room. I don’t have surveillance there.”
“Wait, in the vents? Barton, if this is you, I’m going to ban you from ever setting foot in my tower, you piece of—why is there a piece of junk on my desk, FRIDAY?”
Peter was just about to turn tail and run before Stark decided to somehow climb into the vents himself, but the sound of the words made his blood freeze in his veins as he sent a look through the vent flaps and into the lab below. He didn’t need to search long—his eyes immediately locked on the machine left on one of the desks, which Stark was now approaching and eyeing warily.
He forgot to pick up his signal disruptor!
“This is a low-level si—”
“Signal disruptor,” Stark cut her off. A crease formed on his face as he picked it up for inspection. “Which was clearly made very poorly, mind you. What is this—a microwave inverter? Ho-ho-ho, a phone battery. Don’t tell me this piece of garbage managed to interfere with your signal, FRIDAY. I’ll never be able to live it down.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“Well, shit.”
Peter smirked and crawled away silently.
✧ ✧ ✧
“Come on, man, let me outta here!”
“Dude, I’m dialing here.”
“That’s my phone, you jerk!”
“Yeah, yeah, can you just be quiet for five seconds? I’m on the phone.”
“I don’t give a—”
Peter webbed up the man’s mouth and put a gloved finger to his lips. “Shush. You’re being rude. Yes, um, hello? Hi, yes, I just webbed up this dude who was trying to steal from Domino’s across the street. He has a gun and everything. Yeah, yup, ah-huh.”
The webbed guy and Peter listened as the woman on the phone basically cursed Peter up and down while also obviously dispatching cops over and warning them about Spider-Man’s involvement in the situation. The thug’s inability to speak didn’t quite disguise his obvious disdain and slight bafflement at the sound of the woman insulting Peter when he was the one who’d stopped the robbery.
Peter himself just hummed and let her go on politely. His stomach churned pitifully, yearning for food, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the phone call. He could see some people staring at him through the window of the Domino’s shop across the street. One teenager was filming him with his phone so Peter waved at him friendly. It made the kid’s smile brighten. The owner of the place was also looking at Peter and the thug, his shoulders now slumped down with relief.
“Sure, sure, yeah, scum. I know. Wow, you have a very creative mind, ma’am. Listen, I’ve gotta go. Sorry, I know this is the highlight of your day and everything, but I have so many other people who are just waiting to curse the day I was born, you can’t hog me all to yourself. So I’m just gonna—yes, I know, I know, you think I’m the worst. What was that about my grandma? I’ll have you know Spider Granny was a lovely lady. Yeah, all right, I’ll just… bye.”
He hung up, the woman still cussing him out on the other end of the line.
Putting the phone back in the thug’s pants pocket, Peter lightly said, “She says the police will be here soon. Very sweet lady, she was.”
The guy stared at him like Peter was suffering from brain damage.
“And on this tone, I’m gonna bid you farewell, good sir. Maybe take a good look at your life, make better choices in the future. ‘Cause, gotta say, stealing money from a pizza place is kind of pathetic. Not the best option out there. Could’ve maybe scored a job there before you tried to rob the place, you know.”
He swung away before the thug could try to speak through the webs blocking his mouth. And, more importantly, he left before the police arrived. The last thing he needed was for more officers to point their guns at him rather than the literal criminal. He got shot once. It wasn’t as fun as it sounded.
Ignoring the chill in the air, Peter quickly made his way toward a newsstand he was familiar with. The vendor there was named Dylan Moore. Peter dropped by his stand so many times, the guy barely batted an eye at his frequent appearances anymore. He never had anything against Spidey, at least, unlike more than half the city, the police force, the army, the government, the freaking Avengers…
Anyway, Moore was a nice change of pace. Although he was probably more than a little sick of having Spidey drop in on him on a daily basis this week. And Peter couldn’t really explain why he was checking the news so many times like that without admitting to him that he’d broken into a high school and a famous tech company, both of which he figured would appear on the news sooner rather than later.
He landed on a lamp post above the newsstand, then used a web to lower himself upside down toward the bored Moore who was sitting and scrolling through his phone absently.
“Hey, sir!” Peter said chirpily.
Moore startled and fumbled with his phone before it clattered to the ground. He sent Peter an annoyed look before bending down to pick the device back up. The moment he straightened up, he pointed at Peter and said with deadly seriousness: “I’m starting to understand why Jameson calls you a menace.”
“And here I thought you might actually be on my side,” said Peter in mock offense. He craned his head to read the headlines of the newspapers. “Anything interesting reported lately?”
“Not much has changed, no,” said Moore wryly. “Are you expecting another alien invasion soon or something? Is there a supervillain we’re not aware of yet?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Besides, the big leagues can deal with the major stuff, they don’t need me for that. I’m actually one hundred percent sure the Avengers would rather let the aliens take me with them back to their home turf than let me join the fight against them. You may have missed it, but we’re not on the best of terms.”
Moore scratched his beard. “You don’t say.”
“I know, it’s tragic. Who wouldn’t want to work with me, right? I’m a delight.”
“Sure, man. You do realize it’s a red flag when the world’s heroes are viewing you as a threat, right?”
Peter huffed. “What do they know? They nearly nuked New York.”
Moore conceded with a shrug.
“So there’s nothing new? Nothing, say, about little ol’ me?” pressed Peter.
The man shook his head and turned back to his phone. “Says you’re as much of a pest as you were last week and the week before that. Jameson blames you for that bomb in the subway, too.”
“That was Doom!” exclaimed Peter in exasperation. “I swear, that picklepuss will blame me for the ice age if he could somehow spin that story. Next week you’ll be reading about me starting world war three or something. But hey, at least I’ll be famous, I guess.”
The moment was interrupted by the sound of Peter’s phone ringing. The song Gone, Gone, Gone started playing, drawing Moore’s curious gaze away from his screen and toward Peter, who reached into a pocket in his suit to pull out his phone and grimace at the ID of the caller. Which wasn’t really a surprise because only one person ever really called him. No one else had his number.
“Er… hang on.” He climbed back up to crouch on the lamp post, then accepted the call and said, “Heya, Mr. Osborn!”
“Peter, I need to talk to you. Come to Oscorp.”
Peter glanced down and noticed Moore still watching him from below with raised eyebrows and his head tipped slightly to the side.
“Um… like, right this second? ‘Cause I was planning on continuing my patrol a little bit before—”
“Yes, now,” said Mr. Osborn.
Cringing and stifling a sigh, Peter forced his voice to remain light as he said, “Sure thing. I’ll be there in five, sir.”
“The boss summons you?” said Moore the moment Peter ended the call.
“He’s not my boss. Spider-Man doesn’t have a boss. I’m a free-spirited vigilante, thank you very much.”
“Could’ve fooled me, dude.”
Not having any type of reply, Peter just shot out a web and swung out of there in the direction of Oscorp.