Chapter Text
Running had always been what Neil knew best.
He never should have stopped. If his mother were still alive and had found out she would’ve beat him as a reminder. Living with Stuart for so long had lulled him into a false sense of safety, even though it was anything but. He had allowed himself to care, to let his guard down. It had led to a building collapsing on him, led to him suffocating not only with its weight but also the weight of his uncle’s death.
It’s about 15 minutes later when Neil gives up hope that anyone is coming to save him or find him. He musters up all of his strength and suppresses the panic that he’s feeling, shoving the cement and rubble trapping him off until he’s free. As soon as he feels like he can breathe again, Neil runs from the site, silent tears staining his cheeks and his uncle’s blood still painting his palms and clothes red.
He only stops when his legs and lungs ache so much they burn, and even then he resumes the journey after a quick rest, using his webs to swing the remainder of the way from Midtown to Queens. The cool night air hitting his face as he moves keeps him from thinking. The blood on his hands is dried and flaking off now.
Even once Neil reaches the quiet streets of Queens, he doesn’t let himself stop. He quickly changes into his suit and webs his duffel bag to a wall behind a dumpster in the alley so it can’t be taken. Taking a deep breath, Neil pulls his mask over his head and swings into the night for patrol.
—
The first time Neil sees him, the other man is nothing more than a silhouette. The only thing that stands out to him is what looks like two katanas strapped against his back. Neil shakes his head, assuming he is hallucinating from lack of sleep and resumes his patrolling.
—
It hadn’t been a hallucination. Neil only realizes this when he sees the other man clearly for the first time, after having seen his silhouette multiple times more.
From where he pauses on a rooftop to quickly glance at the scene, he can finally tell that they are real and that they’re wearing a red and black full body tactical suit. He can see flickers of movement from the other vigilante and the flash of their katanas against the city lights as he shoots a web against a building and swings the last block to reach them. Just in time, too, because the crowd cornering the other vigilante has doubled in the time between Neil distantly hearing the sounds of battle and his arrival.
As Neil lands silently beside the mysterious figure, he sees them move with deadly precision, a dance of blades and bullets cutting through the shadows of the city at night. If it weren’t for his enhanced senses, Neil probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with all of the other vigilante’s movements. The stranger doesn’t acknowledge his arrival.
“Need a hand?” Neil asks. The other vigilante doesn’t respond and just continues fighting, throwing three knives that Neil isn’t able to place where they had come from and successfully hitting the mark twice. Neil knows he can’t focus on that right now.
Instead, he swings straight into action, shooting a web out to grab a gun one of the pursuers has aimed at the stranger’s head. When the individual swears at him, Neil takes care to bind both their wrists and ankles so there can be no counterattack, and he uses their body instead of the wall to catapult himself away.
“Whoops,” he says when the man groans, voice deadpan. “Sorry about that.”
By the time the individual gets their breath back and says something, Neil has fully tuned them out and moved on to their partner. In his peripheral vision, he can see the man in black taking on multiple people at once, his actions powered with a lethal precision. Neil would be lying if he tried to convince himself it wasn’t impressive.
Quickly, the two of them settle into a rhythm that almost feels automatic, as easy as breathing, which surprises Neil. He’s not used to fighting with others; he’s shown up without warning to help The Foxes a few times with battles, but when he did so, he never actually teamed up with any of them.
Using his enhanced hearing and super senses, Neil would identify where the members of the team were, and swing from one block to the next where he assumed he was needed most. The Foxes had tried to rope him into coming to the Tower afterwards, but he had turned them down every time, always making up a plausible excuse.
Lying was entrenched in his blood, after all. Promises of next time and of calling the team at the Tower soon to set up a time to train together and of joining them for a future team dinner so they can get to know each other flow off his tongue easily.
He’s never followed through with any of these promises, of course, and he’s never been able to match the synchronization and ease with which the Foxes have during battle regardless of who they’re partnered up with. Due to the other vigilante’s mask, Neil is unable to tell whether or not they are surprised as well.
“You know,” Neil says, pausing momentarily to focus on getting the two individuals who just tried to sneak up on him from behind to the ground, webbing each of their wrists to each other to ensure they won’t be able to reach for a weapon. “People usually respond when talked to, even if it’s just to talk back. Especially when someone has jumped in to help them like this. So what’s your deal? Cat got your tongue or something?”
When the vigilante once again does not deign him with a reply and continues to fight as if he hasn’t heard anything that Neil has just said to him, Neil sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes behind his mask before focusing back on the task at hand.
Between his own quick work and sharp tongue and the barrage of blades and bullets unleashed by the silent figure, they have successfully stopped all their pursuers within the next 5 minutes. As Neil looks around and takes in the sheer number of people they incapacitated, he has to wonder why there were so many that came after the other vigilante at the same time. He has a feeling it’s not a good idea to ask, though.
He turns to face the stoic and silent figure at his side. “Most people would say thank you after what I just did.” Neil isn’t surprised when he gets no response. “Okay, Mr. Silent and Mysterious, what gives? I don’t bite, you know. Not much, at least. Only when people deserve it.”
Deadpool kicks the legs of one of the people lying on the ground out of the way and begins to walk towards the other end of the alleyway, continuing to ignore Neil as if he hasn’t heard him at all.
“Wait!” Neil shoots a web towards where the vigilante is headed and lands in front of him, forcing the other figure to halt to a stop. “Will you at least tell me who you are?” Neil asks.
“Deadpool,” the other man responds, as if it’s obvious and something Neil should already know, as if the fact and the conversation bore him.
“Oh, I’ve heard about you. The Merc with a Mouth, right?” Deadpool turns to face him fully, which Neil takes both as a sign he’s listening and as confirmation. “Considering your nickname and what I’ve read about you and how talkative you are, I would’ve expected you to be more…” Neil gestures with his hands, at a loss of words.
Deadpool tilts his head slightly. “Oh, I usually am. I just don’t care enough to talk to you,” he responds, his voice a gravelly mixture of amusement and indifference. Neil watches as the other man taps two fingers to his temple in salute. “Better luck next time. I’ll see you around.”
Before Neil has a chance to open his mouth to reply, Deadpool has disappeared, leaving Neil in his wake.
Neil ignores the aches and pains he feels as he swings back to the alley he is calling home this week. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees his backpack is still secured in the corner and that nothing has been taken.
He quickly assembles his makeshift bed, and changes out of his suit in the darkness, rolling his eyes at the I SURVIVED MY TRIP TO NYC shirt he slips over his head. He’d had to steal it from a souvenir shop the other day when he realized his only other white shirt had been stained with blood when his haphazard stitches for a stab wound opened up overnight.
Since Neil can’t afford enough food to keep up with his enhanced metabolism, his rapid healing has slowed down over the past two years; he still heals faster than before he had his powers, but nowhere near as quickly as he used to. His spider-sense still seems to work as it’s supposed to, warning him about impending danger.
Now dressed, Neil checks the watch he wears on his wrist. It had been his Uncle Stuart’s, and is one of the last pieces of him Neil still has. 1:42 AM. Late, but not as late as some of his patrols. He doesn’t have to be at work until 8. When he digs through his backpack, he is able to find five dollars. That should be enough for a couple of meals if he’s smart about it. He gets paid Friday. He’ll be fine; he always is.
He glances up at the sky, but the stars are washed out behind the glare of the city lights. He wonders—not for the first time—if his mother is looking down at him. He hopes not. She’d beat him to hell and back if she saw him sitting around moping like this. After all, this isn't necessarily anything new; there had been times on the run when they were living on the streets. Things could always be worse. This is what he needs to do to keep his identity secret and to keep avoiding the Moriyamas and the Ravens. The more time he spends as Spider-Man, the less likely he is to ever be found by his father or someone from his father's circle as well.
He falls asleep as his head hits the balled up jacket he uses as a pillow, pushing away thoughts of Deadpool, reminding himself it’s unlikely he’ll ever see him again.
—
Neil feels like a ghost in his own life the next week and a half. He steals a newspaper from a bodega each morning to read, patrols for a couple of hours in the morning, goes to work at the coffee shop that he suspects is a front and pretends they aren’t paying him under the table, then goes back out to patrol until late. After his patrols, he'll usually head over to Brooklyn and sit on the bridge for a while, enjoying it when things are empty and quiet. It's peaceful to him, and is probably his favorite haunt. Some days, he goes on a run when he has time to spare.
At the end of each night, when it's time for him to stop putting off the inevitable and try to get some sleep, he takes a different route back to whatever alleyway he’s staying in each time, constantly checking over his shoulder to make sure he isn’t being followed despite knowing his spider-sense would warn him.
It’s monotonous, but it works; he spends more time as Spider-Man than he does as himself. At the coffee shop he works at, they don’t even know his name. He likes that they don’t ask questions, and just put him on the schedule whenever they can. It’s more social interaction than he’d prefer, but it’s the best situation he’s been able to find so far and they with each shift, he gets one beverage and one food item.
On the days he doesn’t work, he patrols most of the day and night, taking minimal breaks. Once he finishes, he has his quiet time at the Brooklyn Bridge before he goes off to sleep for a couple of hours. This is how things have been for a year and a half now. He’s running on fumes, but it’s not anything he isn’t used to. He’s fine; he always is. At least spring has only just begun, which means winter is several months away.
He doesn’t see Deadpool again until the other vigilante silently lands next to Neil on a rooftop he’d just swung up to so he could survey the city. He twitches in an attempt to restrain himself from jumping, and has to blink twice to make sure he isn’t seeing things; his spider-sense hadn’t so much as whispered. Interesting. He doesn’t have time to unpack that right now, though.
Neil opens his mouth to say something. He wants to ask how the vigilante found him, what he’s doing here, why he’s here, but his words seem to be failing him.
What does come out is a jumble. “What—”. Deadpool just watches him silently, his gaze somehow heavy. Neil tries again. “How—”.
“It’s not hard to miss you when you’re wearing that,” Deadpool says, gesturing at Neil’s red and blue suit. He tilts his head in thought. “Looks homemade. You know Spider-Man,” he sounds out the name with extra emphasis, as if it is the first time he is saying it and it is completely foreign, “for someone with such a bright and noticeable suit, you sure seem like someone who doesn’t want to be noticed. Have you considered calling yourself Rabbit-Man instead?”
So he had noticed that he surprised Neil. Great.
“I’m not a rabbit,” he replies, trying to manage his tone so he doesn’t sound overly defensive.
Neil can’t read his expression, but he can feel as Deadpool slowly looks him up and down. “The way you reacted says otherwise,” he says, not giving Neil a chance to respond before he continues. “I think we have something in common.”
“Is it that we’re both vigilantes?” Neil asks, pretending to play dumb.
Deadpool shakes his head. Neil guesses that if he was able to see the other vigilante’s face under the mask, he would see the man rolling his eyes.
“No,” Deadpool drawls. “I think you’re just like me,” he says, leaning towards Neil and enunciating every syllable. “A runaway.”
If Neil wasn’t surviving off of 5 hours of sleep combined over the last 3 days, he probably would be better stealed to hear that word. Under these circumstances, he barely keeps himself from flinching. His stubbornness and unwillingness to let Deadpool know that he has gotten under Neil’s skin is the only thing that keeps him reacting outwardly.
He changes the subject instead of replying. “So Deadpool, huh? Let me guess. Some part of your tragic hero backstory involved you drowning in a pool, right?”
“Not quite, but I’d have no problem drowning you if it would mean you’d shut up,” Deadpool responds, but he doesn’t stop talking to Neil, doesn’t stop engaging with him. “What made you decide on Spider-Man? Are you really into spiders or something? Maybe your tragic backstory involves a bit of spider bestiality.”
Neil rolls his eyes even though he knows the other vigilante can’t see. “I don’t swing that way, or any way, actually. The only type of swinging I do is between buildings across the city.”
Deadpool tilts his head again, seemingly listening to every word. “Interesting. So it’s more like you’re half spider, then.”
His words aren’t posed as a question, but Neil takes it as one. “Close enough. It’s complicated. That’s a story for a different time, though. I should get back to—”. He gestures towards the city beyond them.
“Oh yes, the city awaits you to keep it safe. Can’t let the bad guys have all the fun, right?” Deadpool quips.
“Something like that. With these powers, I have a responsibility.” Deadpool scoffs. “No really,” Neil continues. “When you can do the things that I can but you don’t, when bad things happen to good people, they happen because of you.”
He can’t help but think of his Uncle Stuart, who he hadn’t been able to save, and whose death was all his fault. It was something Stuart used to say to him, and these words especially have stuck with Neil. He isn’t sure what has compelled him to say any of this to the other vigilante, but this is the most honest he has been in the past two years.
“You’re the martyr no one asked for or wanted,” Deadpool deadpans. “Go, rabbit,” he says, waving Neil off. “We’ll do this again sometime soon.”
Neil heads to the edge of the rooftop and only turns back enough to be heard when he yells “Not a rabbit!” in Deadpool’s direction. He shoots out a web to the nearest building immediately afterwards and swings away without looking back.
—
Deadpool is right—they do see each other again soon, much sooner than Neil expects. Five days later, he has an afternoon off of work at the coffee shop, so he ends up spending some time swinging aimlessly around the city. He’ll still go on patrol in Queens that evening as usual, but right now he wants to get away, needs to get away, from being so close to the alley that is his home for the week. His duffel bag is hanging from his side, bouncing off his hip with each swing. It’s annoying and a bit in the way, but he hadn’t wanted to leave it behind.
He makes his way towards Midtown, a safe distance away from Queens. As he gets closer, he can see Fox Tower in the distance. He knows that David Wymack is probably up there fixing up his Iron Man suit or working on one of his many technologies with Kevin Day at his side.
Allison and Renee, also known as the Scarlet Witch and Black Widow, who always insist on him calling them by their real names instead of their superhero ones despite Neil’s reluctance and inability to return the favor, are likely sparring together, unfazed by never hearing from Spider-Man about their offer to train together.
Abby Winfield, who he has heard about but hasn’t yet met, is likely up there preparing for the conference next time the Foxes host a press conference, the kitchen and the dining room for the next time they have a team meal, the medical center for the next time one of them is injured during training or a battle.
He does his best to ignore the black tower known as the Ravens’ Nest looming only several blocks away from the other tower. While the people of New York blindly idolize the Ravens and view them as the best heroes the city has ever had, Neil knows better; he detests them and does everything he can to stay away from them.
The proximity of their headquarters to Fox Tower is part of why he still hasn’t spent time with the team outside of battles. Of course, the main reason is the extreme efforts he must take to keep everyone at arms distance in order to ensure his identity remains uncompromised, however simply the thought of his proximity to Riko and Testuji Moriyama whenever he’s in Midtown is enough to make his skin crawl. He’d rather forget everything they’ve done to him, as impossible as doing so is.
Neil quickly shakes his head to try to clear his mind, the sounds of the city hitting him more clearly afterwards, almost too much with his enhanced senses, but nothing out of the ordinary; he knows how to keep sensory overload at bay now.
At least that’s been the case until a shrill high pitched sound hits him so hard he almost loses hold of his web and falls over, just over a block away from Fox Tower.
His ears are ringing. He feels unfocused and unbalanced. He wonders if his ears are bleeding.
He soon feels a trickle down both sides of his neck, and realizes that he has his answer. Since he can still hear, he assumes that there hasn’t been any permanent damage and doesn’t let himself think too much about it. Neil lands safely once there is a lapse in the sound, ears still ringing, and looks around and realizes he’s surrounded by chaos. Cars sit abandoned in the streets surrounding him
Midtown Manhattan, usually vibrant with the sounds of honking taxis and bustling crowds, was now filled with cars in various states of condition that were abandoned by civilians trying to escape from the high-pitched sounds and metallic pods that litter the surrounding streets as far as Neil can see.
Some of the pods seem to only serve as small-scale explosives that go off intermittently and luckily don’t seem to have caused extensive damage so far, while some others are stationary and emit sound waves that impact various people and other pods differently. These types of pods only seem to react when anyone gets too close, which usually doesn’t happen before they self-destruct or radiate soundwaves. There must be some sort of camera or sensor in each pod that allows whoever is controlling them to respond accordingly before people have a chance to attempt to disarm them.
From those that don’t explode or emit disorienting sound waves, vicious aliens begin to emerge—towering creatures with razor-sharp claws, multiple glowing eyes that seem to survey their surroundings with a cold intelligence, and jagged teeth that drip with venom. Their scaled, armor-like skin pulsates with an eerie, otherworldly energy as they move with predatory precision, responding to any perceived threat with terrifying speed and brutality. Screams and alarms fill the air.
Great, now we need to find whoever or whatever is behind this and somehow also fight these aliens, Neil thinks. As he takes out a couple of the pods closest to him, shooting a web at their centers and pulling until their interior wires fully disconnect, he sees Iron Man and Scarlet Witch alternating between flying around, aiming attacks at the pods from above, and assisting Black Widow on the ground.
Neil moves with urgency, continuing to dismantle the pods in close proximity with swift precision, ripping through wires and dodging attacks from the aliens emerging from the pods that he doesn’t get to in time. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a group of civilians huddled behind an overturned bus to his left. His every step is calculated as he edges towards them, destroying pod after pod on his way.
The civilians watch him with wide eyes, their fear palpable. One of the pods, humming with energy, lurches toward them, its alien occupant seconds from emerging. Neil doesn't hesitate—he shoots a web in that direction, yanking the pod away and slamming it into the ground with a shuddering crash. When nothing emerges from the pod, he turns to the civilians.
“Stay low, stay quiet!” he calls to them, vaulting over the wreckage to intercept another pod that’s edging too close.
“Go! Over there!” He directs a woman and her two children to an alleyway that seems to be outside of the range of the pods. “And stay there until it’s safe!” he calls after the herd of civilians that follow them, not once ceasing his efforts to push the pods further and further away.
The number of pods has tripled, and Neil breathes a sigh of relief as the last few civilians arrive to safety. Just as he rips through another pod’s tangled innards, he thinks he senses movement behind him, but his spider-sense remains silent. Assuming it must be one of the civilians he just directed to evacuate the area, he doesn’t bother turning around.
“I told you to stay over there!” he yells, frustratedly.
Suddenly a loud crash cuts through the rest of the noise, followed by the unmistakable swish of katanas. Neil whips around as soon as he senses the change in air behind him as a result of the movement behind him. Deadpool is there, katanas finishing tearing through a pod that had snuck up on Neil before it can explode, a spray of sparks filling the air.
Neil blinks in surprise as Deadpool, who’s grin is visible beneath his mask briefly, stands in the wreckage, katanas drawn.
“Hey, Spidey. Close one, huh?” Deadpool slices through a pod that appears behind him without turning around. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Deadpool’s voice sounds muted to Neil, but at least he can hear him speaking and the ringing in his ears has lessened in frequency; hopefully his hearing will be restored to normal soon. Right now, he’s struggling to wrap his mind around why Deadpool is here, seemingly helping the Foxes. Now is not the time to ask, though. He continues to stare at him for a moment, speechless, before shaking his head and leaping back into action.
The last time they had teamed up, Deadpool had been the one being outnumbered before Neil had jumped in to help. Just like last time, they team up effortlessly and silently, as if working together is normal for them, a partnership they’re well-versed in. Maybe someday it could be.
Don’t think like that, Neil scolds himself. He can’t let something as pointless as hope distract him, especially when they’re starting to be outnumbered.
“We need to find out what’s controlling them!” Neil yells to be able to be heard over all the noise.
They both spot their destination at the same time: a seemingly abandoned building a couple of blocks in the distance that is surrounded by more pods than anywhere else. It doesn’t seem like anyone else has noticed it yet. It’s a short distance from the most populated blocks, which are where the Foxes are focusing their efforts.
As a unit, Neil and Deadpool finish disabling the remaining robotic pods surrounding them and make their way towards the building as quickly as they can. The closer they get to the building, the more dangerous the pods become, getting directly in their way, exploding, or emitting disruptive sound waves.
Familiar with the different types of pods and the signs that mean they’re about to activate, they are able to dodge these attacks and continue to work to destroy the pods, communicating with each other with glances and occasionally shouting a warning or a comment at one another. Finally, just when Deadpool starts to complain about his katanas nearly being damaged and Neil momentarily blanks on a witty comeback, they break through the remainder of pods that are directly blocking the door.
Neil turns his focus on the door, somehow knowing and trusting that Deadpool will have his back. He isn’t sure how to feel about it; the last people he’d trusted were Stuart and his mother, and they’d both died because of him. He’ll have to unpack that later, though. Using his enhanced strength, he breaks the lock on the warehouse door and wrenches it open. Neil held the door open long enough that Deadpool was able to make his way inside before letting it slam shut, derailing any pods from following them in. That certainly doesn’t stop them from trying, though. As they made their way towards the figure in the middle of the room, they heard loud slamming against the door.
The figure notices them but doesn’t move, hands resting on a machine in front of them. There was nothing else in the room, which didn’t make much sense. If this figure was controlling the pods, why wasn’t there anything or anyone else inside the warehouse there to prevent someone from stopping it? It didn’t feel right. It felt like something the Ravens would orchestrate, letting other people do the work and appearing at the last moment to take credit for saving the day. Neil doesn’t have time to explain this train of thought to Deadpool, though, so he doesn’t voice it.
He ends up being right. With the man unable to fight back without stopping controlling the pods outside, it doesn’t take long for Neil to move him away from the machine. While Neil works on securing his hands and ankles with his webs as the man futilely tries to resist, Deadpool strikes one the machine with one of his knives, burying deep enough to cut some of the wires. He doesn’t bother to take his knife back.
The sound outside of the door is different now. Instead of the sound of the pods hitting the door, Neil can now hear peoples’ voices. He barely suppresses a shiver when he recognizes Riko’s voice. He needs to get out of there before he has to face the Ravens. He hasn’t been frozen for more than a second, but Deadpool somehow notices.
“I still really think you should consider calling yourself Rabbit-Man,” Deadpool says mockingly from behind him.
Neil starts for the back of the building, looking for an alternative exit, and Deadpool follows.
“I’m not running,” he says, even though he clearly is. “I just don’t want anyone to think I’m associated with the Ravens.” His stomach twists when he realizes this is closer to the truth than anything else he has said since Stuart’s death.
Deadpool considers this while Neil forces open the emergency exit door. They step outside into the side alley, still able to hear the Ravens and the crowds of reporters and civilians that have arrived at the scene, but far enough away that Neil is able to breathe a little easier.
“Interesting,” Deadpool finally says. “But they’ll assume that if you aren’t there to tell them otherwise. Or you could go find the Foxes and say you were working with them.”
Neil thought about the Foxes and knew that they’d be looking for him, especially once they arrived at the scene and saw his webs. The thought makes his chest ache. They were heroes, and Neil was just a jumble of lies and dead-ends; he couldn’t face them right now. He can feel Deadpool’s piercing gaze on him, heavy even through his mask, but neither of them speak for a few moments.
“This way,” Deadpool says, breaking the silence and tilting his head to indicate the direction opposite of the crowds.
Neil isn’t exactly sure why, but he follows without hesitating.