Chapter Text
Something was wrong.
A feeling of unease. A shifting live wire of energy coursing through his body underneath his skin. Hands grasping at anything as if it could steady them. The silence loud, ringing in his ears, nearly drowning everything else out. The darkness was all encompassing but with no safety or comfort to it. It was endless and void.
Well except for the eyes.
Eyes that peered into his soul, searching.
Searching? Searching for what?
Poking and prodding with its gaze, leaving him bare and open.
Just as he could bear eternity no more it ceased. Seemed to nod to itself and appeared to step back into the surrounding darkness.
But feeling still lingered. Deep in his bones. His chest heavy with an unknown weight.
Something was still wrong.
・・・・
The first thing he noticed was the sound of distant humming but at the same time close as it was all he could focus on before it became too much. The second was of a light weight pressed down against his body up to his chest but as he focused on it it too became too much too so he drifted. Letting the darkness take hold to escape to anywhere but this feeling.
Knocking.
“Peter! It’s time to get up. You already slept through your first alarm!”
Groaning Peter rolled over, shoving his face further into his pillow in an attempt to put the world on mute. Unsuccessful and dreading the noise Peter rolled out of bed after a few minutes and with eyes half lidded he stumbled his way through getting ready for the day. Grabbing some clothes from the mountain atop his bean bag he sniffed them and shrugged to himself when the odor of it didn’t smell dirty but didn’t exactly smell like detergent. Pulling them on and grabbing a pair of sneakers he set out to prepare his backpack for the day.
Textbooks, check.
Pencil case, check.
Notebook and workbooks, check.
Noise canceling headphones and phone, check.
Hand sticking to backpack full of stuff, check.
Wait what??
Throwing his head back with a groan, shoulders slumped, he glared at the appendage and the bag stuck to it. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered frustrated. With his free hand he grabbed the strap of the backpack and gently as his could focusing all his attention on this one action he tugged it.
Nothing. Still stuck.
Another tug resulted in the same outcome.
He sighed, glancing at the ceiling. With a bit more strength he tugged it again.
“Peter?” Called May again.
“I’m up, I swear!” Peter responded trying to keep the frustration from his voice but failed as he heard May mention under her breath his mom being the same in regards to being a “morning person.”
Peter sighed through his nose and focused again. Focused on his breathing and attempted to drown everything else out. In four, out six. In four, out six. In four out six. He drew his attention to his body, the tightness of his chest, the churning of his stomach, the ache of his head in his forehead, the sides and back of his head, and the tremble in his hands. In four, out six. In four, out six. In four, out six.
As Peter accessed each part of his body he let it seep out with his breath, letting it drain out him like May had taught him. Sure his head still hurt and his stomach was a mess but his chest felt lighter and his hands still shook.
He pulled the strap of his backpack with one final tug, letting one final breath escape him as he felt his hand pulled away from the fabric.
Thank goodness.
Setting the bag on the floor he grabbed his sneakers from where he had put them and sat on his bed. He pulled them on, tying before getting up and walking towards his bedroom door grabbing his bag as he did.
As he pulled the door open he was greeted with the smell of May’s cooking. It was like coming home. It softened him, allowing his shoulder to droop at the smell of it. The harsh lines of his baby face smoothening. HIs eyes drooped at it all making him yearn for his bed.
Walking over to the kitchen, he set his bag on one of three chairs at the table and began rummaging through the cupboard for his stash of high calorie snacks.
Ever since Peter had gone on that field trip and gotten bitten which had resulted in a nasty cold, everything had changed. Constantly being hungry so having to up his calorie intake and having to hide it from May. Thankfully continuously having an emergency stash of food and snacks in his room had helped his increased metabolism. The constant sensory overloads were unpleasant but noise canceling headphones helped partially block out the noise. Sensory toys helped him stay grounded. But constantly having to be aware of everything in the last six months since this had all happened got old fast. That didn’t go to say that he wasn’t used to it or whatever but constantly having to hold back up his strength when being bullied or picked on. But the thought of May’s disappointed look and Uncle Ben’s final words made him hesitant and rethink.
“Good morning sunshine!” May exclaimed cheerfully as she wrapped an arm around him and gave him a squeeze.
“Morning,” Came Peter’s groggy and deep response.
Peter and May danced around each as they both went through their morning routine, something they had done everyday since Uncle Ben had died, the simplicity of it had its own elegance. But it wasn’t exactly the same. Back then they had been open with each about pretty much everything. Now though Peter was keeping a pretty big secret, one that he felt incredibly guilty for. Maybe one day he would tell her and let her in but right now everything was still so new and Peter didn’t want to end up hurting her by accident.
With great power comes great responsibility.
Thank you Uncle Ben, I understand what you mean now.
After shoveling enough food in mouth that May had to tell him to slow down at least twice, Peter walked over to the front door and grabbed his hoodie pulling it on and then proceeded to grab his backpack. With a hug and kiss on the cheek from May (one which she heavily exaggerated like he was a little kid again). He said his goodbyes and he was out the door on his way to school.
Even through this normalcy he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. With each step he took it seemed to grow and grow. But nothing was out of place when Peter glanced around. They were the same streets he walked down every week, the same homeless people he walked passed, the same shops and shopkeepers. Even a New York rat or two dragging some sort of trash along.
A terrified scream broke the normalcy. He jumped at least two feet in the air.
It was guttural and primal in its reverberation as it echoed down an alley that he was about to pass.
He frantically glanced around wondering if anyone else had heard it but there was no one on the street.
This is New York. Where did everyone go?
As he took notice of this Peter became aware of just how quiet it was. An impossibility in of its own.
Another scream tore down the alleyway like a banshee out of hell.
Someone had to help.
The feeling of something wrong churned his stomach as he took his first step towards danger. His already rapidly beating heart rate picked up further now pounding in his ears and head.
Everything in his body told him no but he couldn’t stand by and let someone get hurt. That’s not what Spider-Man does. That’s not the sort of hero he wanted to be.
He was halfway down the alley when something in the air changed completely. His vision seemed to go out briefly before a multitude of colors attacked his field of vision. His hearing came and went as everything was too loud and fluctuated around him. His stomach performed somersaults as he fell head over feet into the abyss. Air rushed past him but at the same time it seemed stagnant. He was sure he was screaming but Peter couldn’t hear it over everything else.
But that wasn’t all. It was the all encompassing sharp pain that almost did him in.
Before nothing but ringing in his ears and the cold hard ground beneath.
“What,” he croaked aloud, pulling his head up from where it lay. He could feel the vibrations of his voice but he could not hear it as the ringing was all confining. The pain was gone though but the phantom of it had him trembling. With shaking hands he pushed himself up and glanced around.
It looked like a normal street only it was night and there was no one around.
Gunfire.
Flinching harshly Peter fell back to ground rough, hissing as he scraped his chin on the asphalt in the fall. Peeking back up a single figure jumped from the top a nearby building. Petter gasped reflexively, pulling himself to his feet, pain forgotten. The figure descended using the front of the building to drop down to the ground. It was when they were firmly planted on the ground did Peter notice what the person was wearing.
This person was wearing what looked like a burlap sack over their head that was poorly stitched together with a witch’s hat atop it. Straw like hair haphazardly poked out from beneath it. Glowing red eyes peering into the night below the brim of the hat. A nose hung from their neck. A trench coat adorned his shoulders, the ends of the long coat tattered as the blew in the wing. Black fingerless gloves were worn, gasping a scythe. What looked to be canisters of something hung from his belt.
Taking a step back at this figure's appearance instantly drew their attention to Peter. Red eyes focused on him. Eyes that seemed to peer into his soul, an instinctual shudder racked through his body unable to move as those eyes seemed to pin Peter into place.
“Stop right there Scarecrow!” exclaimed a second figure from the top of the building that this “Scarecrow” had descended from. Parkouring from the building a black and blue figure closely followed by a much smaller green, yellow and red figure. But before the two could get any closer the first of them took off at a mad dash towards Peter.
Yelping, Peter stumbled and turned trying to get away from Scarecrow but phantom pain coursed through him knocking him down to a knee. A harsh and vise-like grip yanked him back to his feet and with a tug Peter back was pressed against the front of the man’s much taller stature. An arm was slung around his neck in a tight grip. With wide gleaming beneath the street lights he was forced to focus on the two figures steadily making their way toward the but with a yell to stop from Peter’s captor they froze in the steps.
The taller of the two wore black and blue, the blue of his Kevlar suit adoring his chest in spread winged bird design, other parts of the snaked down his arms to his hands which he held up in a pacifying manner. He had fluffy black hair and a blue mask with white lenses hid his eyes from view. His build was muscular with wide shoulders and thick strong legs. He was nothing to scoff at. He reminded Peter of gymnastic athletes that he saw around his local rec center. Not that they looked like they could fight like this man could. But something about him though seemed almost familiar like a far off memory.
The second was much smaller (a child??), wielding a sword. Was that a katana? He was dressed in red, green and yellow. His gloves green like his mask with the same white out lenses. His cape was black on the outside with yellow on the inside and at his waist was a utility belt. His torso was red with a ‘R’ on one side of his chest which should have probably meant something to Peter but he had never seen the two heroes before. He sure hoped they were heroes cause this Scarecrow was totally holding him hostage.
Before the two assumed heroes could manage to say something to pacify the assumed criminal or villain, Scarecrow spoke, “I’ll gas him if you take one step further! Just let me go and he won’t get a taste of my untested new toxin!” His cackle shook Peter to his core as he could feel the vibrations of it resonating through him. “His young mind won’t be able to take such a concentrated dose!”
Shit shit shit shit!!
“Uh Mr. Scarecrow please don’t,” Peter didn’t know how he had the courage but the words bubbled out of him. The younger of two heroes seemed to glare at him in suspicion as he seemed to focus more on Peter. The older one also seemed surprised and concerned as he spoke.
“Shud up kid!” Scarecrow yelled, Peter flinched at the tone expecting a hit to come but he only tightened his grip on Peter.
A near silenced impact could be heard from behind Peter and Scarecrow was silent enough that Scarecrow couldn't hear it but Peter did. “You don’t want to do that, Crane just let the kid go.” Scarecrow or Crane jumped slightly at heavily modulated voice shifting toward the new individual. Peter got a glimpse of a red helmet covering their head and a brown leather jacket over a similar kevlar looking suit but the accents were red instead of blue like the other.
“Step back!” Crane shouted, grabbing something at his waist and holding something into Peter’s face. Wide eyed Peter stared at the heroes helplessly. Should I do something? I need to get away from this guy but I don’t know what’s in that canister.
Stupid Parker luck for getting in a situation like this.
Two more near silent impacts, one sounding much larger than the other.
“Crane let him go. You’ll end up killing with such a concentrated dose” came another voice.
Crane turned Peter with him towards the new heroes. Peter let out an inaudible gasp as he looked at the large of the two. He was not only physically imposing just by his size but also by his mere presence. He wore entirely all black with what looked to the image of a bat across his chest. He was wide and tall and very well built. He looked like what people would describe a Tank in DnD. He had a mask that covered his entire head but left the lower part of his face out. His lips and white lensed eyes were narrowed into a fierce glare.
Slightly to his left was a much shorter and leaner figure he wore red and black and yellow with what looked to be two belt like things “X’ed over his chest. He wore a black mask covering his eyes with the same whitened out eyes as the others. In his hand he held what appeared to be a bo staff like from those old karate movies. HIs eyes seemed to dart around Peter’s face scrutinizing him.
“Crane-” the dark figure began in gravel and deep voice.
“Well fuck it,” Crane muttered underneath his breath before pushing something on the canister. White gas sprayed in face and he attempted to shield his face but it shot up his nose and he instinctively breathed it in.
Crane released Peter and Peter dropped to his knees but not before he punched the man in the stomach hard but he still held back some of his strength. No matter what this guy had done to him, he didn’t deserve Peter’s full strength. Peter’s world around him seemed to shift, his breath coming out rapidly, his heart pounding in his head. He gripped his ears as noises from everything around him seemed to amplify a thousand fold, yells and fighting could be heard around. His eyes began to water, tears streaming down his cold face. Something reached out and touched him only for him to swing at them but he didn’t make contact. Darkness surrounded him and it terrified him. Pressure around his eyes made him realize he had closed them but when he opened them he nearly screamed.
“No no no no no,” he muttered desperately beneath his breath, the very words seeming to be snatched from his very core. “Please no, no don’t go,” Scrambled a foot in two in front of where they lay.
This couldn’t be real.
Three prone figures lay against the asphalt. Two that were merely distant memories only seen in pictures and glimpses from his childhood but now were lying there with vacant eyes staring at Peter, their eyes clouded. Blood trickled from their eyes in gruesome tears, blood ran from their ears and noses. His mother's brown hair was a mess of curls, her pale skin even paler than usual with no life to it. One side of her lips was curved up in what almost appeared to smile like the one she wore when she was living. A secret smile that she only seemed to share with Peter.
Peter wailed loudly, the sound ripping at his inside as it tore itself from his chest. Shadows seemed to dance gleefully around the bodies and Peter but for now they seemed to leave them alone.
The second prone form seemed to almost be shielding his mother from harm at her back, his head resting against hers over her shoulder. Black familiar fluffy black hair mixing with the brown of hers.
“No Momma, Papa please no!” he cried out in the night. His field of vision darkened around the edges.
Blue eyes so filled with life before were now dead and lifelessly white. They used to hold a hint of mischief and dad puns for days that would make his mother groan as she heard each one but still made her laugh at the particularly horrible ones.
This can’t be happening. This is real.
Searching frantically through his memory Peter came up empty. He had never seen the bodies of his parents. Uncle Ben was the one to identify their bodies.
Uncle Ben.
The words seemed to spur him on to look at the third body.
“N-No please no p-please please please not again!”
Darkness filled his vision, making him jump. He had closed his eyes again.
A sway back forth motion accompanied in the abyss. But the shadows behind his eyes seemed to taunt him grinning cruelly at him. Everything seemed to slow, except from his breath, gasping breaths were pulled into his lungs barely filling. Colorful spots dance behind his eyes. Distantly he could hear someone yelling something but when some briefly brushed up against him he weakly pushed them away.
A quiet and calming voice spoke down near his level a few feet away.
Breath.
Already Peter began shaking his head side from side.
No he couldn’t. He couldn’t not with Ben lying right there.
“It’s all my fault,” Peter whispered helplessly.
Your fault.
His mind seemed to grasp onto the words gleefully.
It’s your fault he’s dead. Your fault, your fault your parents never came home. Your fault May will never see and hold her husband again. It’s your fault Ben got shot.
It should have been you.
Peter gasped at the words ringing through his ears.
It should have been you. It should have been you. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU.
“Breath!” a familiar voice yelled, drawing Peter out enough to look up.
Through his quickly blackening vision kneeling between the three bodies was his dad, his papa.
“Dad?”
And then everything went dark.