Chapter Text
“Peter, I know it’s been a minute and I know you’re doing the college thing, but give me a call ASAP. It’s Spiderman-related.”
Peter stared at the phone in his hand, exhausted. White noise buzzed in the back of his head. His eyes hurt, his back hurt, his shoulders hurt. And he knew exactly why Mr. Stark was calling. He just didn’t know if he had the emotional or physical capacity to do what he was going to ask.
Spiderman was on hiatus while Peter Parker completed his Master’s in Material Science and Engineering at Cornell. He’d made a few exciting appearances over the summer and winter breaks for the last year and a half, but this year? Ha ha, no. Fuck no. Fuck that. Peter needed to spend his valuable time regretting every decision he’d ever made which led him to try to get a Master’s like a fucking moron.
He dropped the phone on his face.
It was Fate speaking. Punishing him for his hubris.
He groaned out loud in the darkness of his room.
The guy in the apartment above him was playing something with a heavy base.
Peter needed sleep. He needed sleep, and then he needed about a pint of coffee, and then he needed to update the journal’s website, and after all that was done he would call Mr. Stark back for sure.
He threw the phone into the laundry hamper and rolled over with enormous effort.
“Kid, I know you got that last message, which is why I know that you know that you can’t avoid this. Call me back. Now.”
Peter dropped his head against his desk and groaned out loud.
He had homework, Mr. Stark. And group work, and lab work, and work-work, and the all-important task of cultivating self-loathing.
It was a busy fucking schedule, Mr. Stark. Where exactly was a 4 hour car ride and Spiderman supposed to fit into that?
He took his head off the table and took some deep, steady breaths. In. 1. 2. 3. Out. 1. 2. 3. Priorities. He needed to study because he had an assessment for semi-conductors tomorrow. It was at 8 ‘o clock in the morning. He could not afford to fail that test. He could not. After that, he would call Mr. Stark.
“Peter if you don’t call me back, I will take the suit and fly my old-ass over there. I will hack every computer you own. I will call every one of your professors. Call. Me. Now.”
It took five minutes of deep breathing before Peter was willing to relinquish the fantasy of finding the nearest lake and hurling his phone into it. His calendar told him he had to TA in fifteen minutes.
He dialed while deep breathing.
“Thank Jesus, he lives,” Mr. Stark answered.
“I. Am. Very. Very. Busy,” Peter gritted out, as calmly and clearly as he could. He gave himself points for not crying. Honestly, he deserved like a million points for not crying every day he didn’t. On the days he did, he deserved partial credit.
“Doing what? Homework? C’mon kid, you’re smarter than that, you don’t need homework.”
Peter heroically tamped down the fantasies of phone-throwing again.
“I can’t,” He said with finality, knowing that Mr. Stark would know exactly which question he was answering.
“Peter, I’m not asking you to do this as Tony Stark.”
“I can’t. I’ll say it one more time. I can’t.”
“This is New York, Peter. This is your home.”
“And this is my life, Mr. Stark. My future. If I could, you know I’d be there. I’ve gone back every time you’ve asked. Every time they’ve needed me. But I can’t anymore. Not right now; I have to do what’s right for me. And getting the living shit beaten out of me weeks before finals is not right for me.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“This is what’s right for Spiderman.”
Peter laughed. And laughed and laughed.
“Peter, you know what I mean. Spiderman protects New York City—”
“Spiderman protected New York City,” Peter corrected, “And Spiderman will continue to protect New York City, once Spiderman gets his goddamn diploma. Don’t call me again.”
He hung up fucking furious.
“Peter, listen. I talked to Pepper and Rhodey and they think I approached this in the wrong way, and I think they’re totally right, but—”
Peter deleted the message.
TS: Peter, call me.
TS: Answer your phone.
TS: Answer your phone.
TS: Answer your phone.
TS: Answer your phone.
TS: Answer your phone.
TS: GODDAMNIT KID I AINT FUCKING AROUND ANY MORE.
TS: Fuck, sorry that was uncalled for.
TS: Peter. Please.
PP: I am busy. Leave me the fuck alone. Put out an Avengers Assemble if you want a hero so bad.
AA: AVENGERS ASSEMBLE. ALL AVAILABLE BODIES TO LOCATION 4.
CAP: Currently occupied.
BLW: Currently occupied x2. Our ETA 2 hrs min
FAL: Currently occupied x3
HKY: Man I am litakhrkgaeh
HKY: asdkfhsdfeel
HKY: asdopo l,;.;l.;.;.;.;l.;
HKY: asdiuaweiwoeljllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
WNS: the fuck are you barton you aren’t in my sights
WNS: Nvm found him. ETA 45 min need a medic
ATM: Otw
SCW: On the way
HLK: I’m in Ottawa; is this an actual emergency
IRM: Like a Level 7. Sending Quinjet
HLK: get fucked. Hulk only comes out for 11
Peter slammed his head into the counter. Then did it again to make sure that he was still capable of feeling. He looked up to find everyone in the lab staring at him, horrified. He blearily singled out the other lab instructor.
“Chanda?”
She stood on her tip toes to see him above the crowd of students at the second lab station.
“Yes, Peter?”
“I have to leave early. Can you take over?”
“Yeah, I got that feeling. I’ve got it. I hope everything is alright.”
He got about a yard away from the lab door before breaking into a sprint down the hallway. He leapt down the stairwell. The walls were faster than the actual stairs and he only scared the shit out of like four people, so he decided not to be bothered about it. He hit the first floor and shot through the double doors and across campus, bag thumping against his back as he went.
PP: On the way
Here’s what happened.
Around the start of the new year, there was a domestic terrorist attack in NYC. It was contained, it was dealt with, there were only 2 deaths in what could have been hundreds.
The problem was that it was biological.
The ass-wipe who caused the event, some Columbia reject, had made a mixture which sent peoples’ bodies into overdrive and ramped up levels of aggression. Again. Not surprising, not uncommon. Only two deaths. Certainly not an Avengers-level threat.
If Spiderman had been in the city, it probably would have been a Spiderman-level threat. Since Spiderman was not in the city, it was an X-men level threat.
Like intelligent, capable mutants, they handled it. From what Peter had heard, even Deadpool had gotten involved. That was great, he hadn’t heard from Wade in ages.
But of course, things could never be that easy. The drug was biological and hundreds if not thousands of people had been exposed to it. Most people went to local pharmacies and urgent cares and hospitals to get a vaccine or a cure, depending on the level of exposure. But some people, usually those pre-disposed to aggression or violence, really really liked the new drug. It made them more daring. It made them feel invincible. It made getting away with petty crime a lot easier and it made some people eager to up the ante.
Petty crime rates were through the roof. As petty crime rates rose, so did violent crime rates. The number of shootings increased, as did stabbings and physical assaults.
It was getting to the point where people were scared to walk out by themselves in broad daylight, much less at night.
These were Spiderman-level problems. This was what Peter was known for. This was what Daredevil was known for. This was what the increasing population of young, enhanced heros/vigilantes were becoming known for.
And Peter thought the young folks (and boy was it weird to be thinking of them as young folks) and the new folks were doing a great job for their lack of resources and expertise. All they needed was a little more coordination and a lot more experience before they’d really get shit done on the scale they seemed to want to. Peter was willing to give them the time to figure this out; he didn’t have too much choice in the matter anyways. It had been one thing for him to run around the city like a maniac when he was doing his undergrad at CUNY, but now he just couldn’t spend all his time commuting from Ithaca to NYC.
Luckily, there were a few Spiderman copycats, as well as a handful of Daredevil copycats, and Peter probably shouldn’t have been flattered, but he was. It made his hiatuses a lot less evident and it was kind of nice to be recognized as such an influential super in the community that people wanted to mimic him.
It was sweet.
It was stupid as fuck.
But it was sweet.
Despite all these efforts, shit didn’t seem to be slowing down at all. If anything it was ramping up. Peter had carefully ignored the news for the last few months, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Aunt May told him that she was tired and working extra shifts because the hospital was receiving more and more victims. He couldn’t ignore Ned texting him to say that he’d been mugged on his way home from Columbia; he was fine, but he’d been a little scared and he told Peter he missed him.
Where the fuck was Double D? Even though he didn’t watch or read it as a rule, Peter had to read little bits of news for the journal he worked for; every Daredevil sighted had a different suit and none of them looked like Double D’s. They weren’t tall enough or skinny enough or violent enough to be The Double D, either. People in Hell’s Kitchen seemed to know this; many suspected that Daredevil had left their community; a few people were quoted as saying that they didn’t blame him after all the shit that went down with the most recent DA. She’d apparently set her phasers to kill on him and had chased him out of town.
Peter didn’t know about that. Double D loved nothing more than to sit in the middle of a shitstorm of his own making. He’d never back down from a fight.
It was more likely he was dead.
The thought made his diaphragm squirm.
He tried to forget it on the bus ride home. He texted Aunt May to ask if he could spend the night in his old room. She was ecstatic to see him.
Peter got to the city and headed straight for the meeting point. He arrived at Location 4 a good four hours after everyone else. Only Barton and Barnes were there when he got there, and that was because Barton had a concussion and Barnes was charged with waking him up every twenty minutes.
Barnes looked about as exhausted as Peter felt. He was covered in grease paint and his Kevlar was scraped to hell. When he noticed Peter, he waved tiredly, but didn’t say anything.
“I feel that,” Peter told him empathetically. Barnes huffed out a laugh and nodded before returning to something on his phone.
“Well, look who decided to turn up,” Mr. Stark announced when Peter made it to the conference room. Dr. Banner and Sam Wilson were in there with him. Mr. Wilson was wearing the stars and stripes which meant Rogers-Cap was probably off undercover with the Black Widow. Either that or Rogers-Cap was on the cusp of having finally had enough and was training Mr. Wilson to take over for him.
Peter wondered who would take up his mantle one day.
He didn’t grace Mr. Stark with a response.
“Threat-level?” he said, more of a statement than a question. Mr. Wilson smiled at him.
“Damn, Pete. Look at you. Tall as hell.”
His smile was infectious, and he was the first person to indicate any pleasure in seeing Peter, so Peter gave him a tired smile in return.
“Just doing my job, Captain America, sir,” he said. It worked and made Mr. Wilson laugh.
Mr. Stark was not amused. Dr. Banner was giving him a very serious look which Peter knew by this point meant ‘do not say what you want to say.’ Amazing how a few years away from home taught you how to read peoples’ faces.
He wiped the smile off to show Mr. Stark that he was not happy to be there.
“I’m here,” he said with a gesture, “Exactly as you asked. So. Threat-level?”
“Yeah, and it only took 82 phone calls and an Avengers Assemble,” Mr. Stark said flatly.
Peter squashed the burning in his throat. He didn’t have to defend himself; he was an adult. He had a life outside being a superhero. He got to make his own choices now, and for the first and probably only time in his life, he was going to put himself first. He tilted a defiant chin up at Mr. Stark. Mr. Wilson didn’t bother hiding his grin.
“I’m here,” Peter reiterated, “Five hours away from home on short notice while I could be earning my degree. Tell me what’s going on, so I can book my five-hour trip back to school on short notice so that I can go back to earning my degree.”
“He’s gotten sassy,” Mr. Wilson noted approvingly. Mr. Stark clenched his jaw.
“I wouldn’t call you back to the city for something if it wasn’t important,” Mr. Stark said.
“No, you’d call me 82 times even after I said I was busy,” Peter countered.
“And lo and behold, not so busy now.”
“I left lab for this and I’m missing two more sections if this takes until Sunday. I had to reschedule my shifts at work, move my group’s meeting to Tuesday, and hand over all my shit to the other website mod and editing assistants. I can assure you, Mr. Stark, I continue to be very busy.”
“Tough, kiddo. There’s been eighty shootings this month and even more assaults. Things are escalating; people are organizing. We need Spiderman’s support in finding out who is leading these groups.”
Peter narrowed eyes and cocked out a hip.
“Is there a reason the combined skills of the entire Avengers team are inadequate for this?” he asked.
“We don’t have the same kind of profile you do,” Mr. Wilson said. “People know that Spiderman looks out for the little guy. If Iron Man and Scarlet Witch started running around helping grandmas cross the street, people are going to know something is up and they’re gonna push back harder than before.”
Peter considered this. It wasn’t an unfair assessment.
“We just need you to do your thing for a little while, Pete,” Mr. Wilson said, “Re-establish your legitimacy. The lookalikes are cute, but they don’t know what they’re doing. A few of them are even getting hurt trying to do what you do.”
Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Wilson.
Peter looked at Mr. Stark.
“Why now? I literally graduate in summer. I’m moving back here in summer.”
“They’re organizing now, but they aren’t all on board,” Mr. Wilson said. “We need to get a handle on the situation before they start consolidating and making systems.”
Peter appreciated what Mr. Wilson was doing, but he wanted an answer from Mr. Stark.
“I’m not trying to interfere in your life, Peter,” Mr. Stark finally said, “We just need your help, you’re the one with the right skills and reputation for this. I’m--” He looked like he’d found a bit of grit in his teeth, “I’m sorry for dragging you all this way; I should have told you this over the phone to begin with.”
Bingo! That was the right answer. Thank you and good night.
He let the tension out of his shoulders and shrugged them lightly so Mr. Stark knew he wasn’t mad.
“Yeah, that would have been better; I could have made up a better excuse and gotten more time off, but I guess it can’t be helped. I’ll hit the ground this weekend and see what I can do, but—“ he pointed a fierce finger at the three of them, “I need time to study and write and I need access to the major scientific journals and lab space.”
“Consider it done,” Mr. Stark said, “Now go find us some bad guys.”
Peter liked to think of himself as a man of his word, so he went out in the suit as soon as he got his shit settled at Aunt May’s house. Well, as soon as she had stopped fawning over him and lecturing him about how skinny he was. He escaped by promising they’d go to breakfast when he got in that morning and he set off for the usual haunts.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
The snippets of news he’s allowed himself to read were depressing, but not half as depressing as setting foot into his once, reasonably crime-ridden city and finding it absolutely crawling with shitheads.
Cockroaches, he decided.
They weren’t especially smart about it, that’s not how the drug worked, so Peter spent a merry several hours knocking out and tying down jerk after jerk after jerk. He got a warm welcome on the whole (he took one handbag to the gut and a few baseball bats/tire irons to the shoulder, but it was New York, that was kind of to be expected). People seemed to recognize that he was the real deal pretty quickly.
“Honey, where on earth have you been,” one of the older ladies he used to run into on a semi-regular basis declared.
“Uh, honestly? Grad school.”
She looked him up and down and patted his shoulder proudly.
“That’s a good boy, you go and get your education.”
It was nice to be back.
After dickhead #13, Peter ran into another Spiderman. Spidergirl? Spiderwoman? He didn’t even know. She was real scrappy. He happened to alight on the rooftop she was watching the streets from.
She was up in a flash as soon as he’d gotten up to both feet. She held herself like someone who’d practiced martial arts.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, as though he was the one copying her.
That was cute.
Her suit was definitely made out of spandex, it was even shiny. Thankfully, it looked like she’d added some bits of leather to it to help with the grip. Judging by the weird way she was breathing, she hadn’t quite figured out which fabric to use over the lower face. Her eyes were extra shiny; like plastic, like googles. She couldn’t be older than the undergrads in his lab. Mr. Wilson said that they were going to be taking care of the copycat situation, so technically she wasn’t his problem, which was perfect. He had enough problems without having to play who’s-who with a copycat.
He’d run two perps straight into the alley on the right-hand side of the building; they were trying to climb the chain link fence which separated the mouth of the alley from the main road. He didn’t have time to play.
He jumped off the building and landed loud enough behind them to shock them into looking back.
He waved at their wide eyes.
“Wow, you’re heavy,” Peter groaned as he dragged the two squirming bodies towards the other side of the alley where the police would very soon be arriving.
“How’d you do that?”
His whole body jumped. He hadn’t heard her approach over the unconscious whining of the guys in his hands. Do not engage, he told himself, remembering how he used to deal with Wade. Aw, Wade. He wondered how he was doing.
He leaned both of his perps up against the brick, wrapped up nice and neat in webbing. He added a little extra so they couldn’t wriggle away if they woke up before the cops got there.
“Hey, you deaf?” the Spiderman asked.
Rude. Had he been that rude when he was younger? He remembered Double D firmly ignoring him until he said ‘may I’ instead of ‘can I,’ that one time, just because he could. God, what an asshole. He missed those idiots.
“Hey,” she said, louder this time.
He looked up for a good place to perch while he found the next target.
“HEY.”
“What?” he finally snapped.
She looked like she hadn’t planned that far.
“Uh, how did you--?” she trailed off.
“Magic,” he told her. He took a step back to jump up onto the wall, but when he tried to, he didn’t move.
“The hell?”
He looked down to find that she’d spider-monkey-ed onto his torso.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He tried to shake her off. That didn’t work. He tried prying instead. Bitch had a fucking grip. He employed the good ole ‘drop and crawl,’ which surprised her enough that it broke her grip. He leapt up and launched himself at the wall and caught hold of it.
“No way!” he heard her call. “Wait! Wait! You’re the real thing!”
“Go home,” he told her, hauling himself up over the edge of the roof. He was a good three stories up. He nearly had a heart attack when he turned around because there she fucking was.
How?
What?
Was she--?
No. Couldn’t be.
“You’re the real thing!” she said again.
No fucking way.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You’re Spiderman,” she said, “The real Spiderman.”
“And you’re Spiderman, the unreal Spiderman,” he told her.
“Wow, you sound a lot younger than I thought you’d be,” she said.
Peter had the distinct and uncomfortable impression that he was in the presence of a fan. He had never in his life prepared for this. The closest he’d ever gotten was Ned, and Ned got a pass because he was contractually obligated to be Peter’s biggest fan. Aunt May had appointed him as such in her place when Peter had turned 18. She cited high blood pressure as the reason for her stepping down, and benevolently didn’t mention that Peter was the one who caused it.
“I am hideously old,” he assured her. He needed to get the hell out of Dodge. He started scanning for a new perch.
“Wait, how did you do that thing?” she asked. Peter was consistently amazed at the opaque questions people around his students’ age asked. He resisted the urge to make her re-ask the question in a more specific way. It was a close thing, though.
“Magic,” he told her.
“Are you a mutant?” she asked, “Oh my god, are you an actual spider under there? Is this your human—”
Peter could take it no longer.
“NO. No. No. I’m just. I’m Spiderman. Just Spiderman. I climb the walls, shoot the web, fight the bad guys; don’t you watch Youtube?”
“Of course I watch Youtube.” She sounded like she was getting frustrated.
She reached up and went to yank off her cowl. Peter caught her hand just in time.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he told her, “First rule about being Spiderman, we do not take off the mask.”
She lit up.
“What’s the second rule?”
“The second rule is that we leave Spiderman alone to fight crime and we go home and sleep and never fight bad guys again.”
The Spiderman was unimpressed. Peter could see a pout through spandex a mile away. He didn’t have time for this. He crossed the roof and spied a new roost. The Spidey Sense decided to make an appearance and tickled the nape of his neck. He whipped his head back just in time to see the copycat following him.
Oh, hell no.
“Oh, hell no,” he told her, “No. You are not following me.”
“I can help,” she declared.
“I’m sure you can, but tonight is about efficiency, not effectiveness,” Peter told her. He shot out a web to the new roost and leapt off the building, pulling hard to bring throw himself up.
He glanced back and saw that she was watching his back. He shot up another web to boost himself higher and climbed until he was positive he was out of sight.
This was going to be harder than he expected.