Work Text
Pete woke to a throbbing headache, a sensation he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with. He had quit booze in recent years, but the symptoms of a hangover were easily recognizable. Until he opened his eyes and realized that his headache may not be due to a hangover.“Is this some sorta dream?” He murmured to himself.While bodily aches and nausea are common in one recovering from alcohol, a technicolor scene is typically not. Neither are anthropomorphic animals in adorable outfits.“How the £☆¢κ did I get here.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was raining. It was always raining. It was a dark night. It was always dark, and in the absence of justice, isn’t every day truly just a night? On this normal night in the big apple, SpiderNoir had a mission, like always. Dark day and dark night out, it was the same monotony. A monochrome dame would approach him in the bar, or in his office. She’d cry about something. He’d agree to help her. He’d punch a few nazis, shoot a few others. Swing away with the broad in his arm, get a honey cooler from the doll, rinse and repeat.
This night, he was sneaking into the lab and warehouse of some nogoodniks who had kidnapped today’s twist’s father, a famous physicist. He had just gotten into a prison-like room with a cot and some blueprints. Pete made his way over to the cot, pulling off the blanket and slinging the man under his shoulder.
“Stay silent. Your daughter sent me, I’m getting you out of here.”
This set off a flurry of French curses.
“The dame didn’t warn me her pops couldn’t understand me.” Pete grit his teeth, an action no one could see. He proceeded to web the man’s mouth shut. It was the Frank’s own damn fault.
Pete exited the room, evading notice from any guards that he hadn’t managed to cool.
It was no easy feat, the hallways were long, narrow, and surprisingly well lit. He maneuvered around unseen and unheard, quite an accomplishment with the full-grown man over his shoulder. Finally, they got to the main lab. Once Pete got past this very large, very sciencey room, he’d be home free and go through the final motions. Rinse and repeat.
But this world is rough and unforgiving. As harsh as the black and whites it was clad in. This cruel world would not let him be free. Never free from pain and loss. Pete rounded a corner and was greeted with a bat to the face.
When he awoke, the very dame who had hired him for the job stood in a lab coat.
“Nice to see you, gumshoe.”
“Can’t say the same. You see, this is quite a pill.” Pete shifted his weight and felt the firm hold of rope.
“Indeed. Did you look into the man I claimed was my father? Jacques Deveaux. Quite unknown, even in his field. Yet, this man is a genius. He is the one who cracked the code of dimensional transference. Of course, only in theory. That’s where you come in.” The femme fatale grinned maliciously. “You’re quite the nuisance. Villains are paying big bucks to be rid of you. Might as well get some dimensional research done with it. Two birds, as they say.”
The woman flipped a lever, cueing a cacophony of buzzing and whirring. Metal sheets surrounded Pete.
“What is this, some sort of Chicago overcoat?” Noir remarked.
“You’ll find out soon enough, P.I.” The lady stopped in the doorframe of an observation room. “
Au revoir
.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Peter Porker was having a normal day. Well, normal enough for a spider-turned-pig-reporter-and-superhero. It was the weekend, and he was going for a walk. He had spent the whole week working overtime to get his latest story out, and he deserved a hot dog.
“Does this count as cannibalism?” He said to a nonexistent audience.
He reasoned that in a universe where everyone was animals, the food was probably all vegan. Probably. Wasn’t his moral quandary.
Porker was sitting on a park bench when it became apparent that his weekend plans of absolutely nothing were foiled. One moment, the sidewalk next to him was just that: a sidewalk. The next, there was a dark wolf lying there in detective gear. Odd, for sure, but Porker needed to focus on his hot dog right now.
After three bites, the hot dog had been entirely consumed.
“You’d think that’d be more filling, but it’s most definitely not.” Porker said to himself.
The wolf was still lying on the ground. Peter sighed to himself. He’d have to check that out as the friendly neighborhood superhero. He trotted (get it, trotted?) over to the semi-conscious canis lupus. Upon closer inspection, the wolf had a mask and sunglasses. A mask and sunglasses that were far too familiar.
“P.I., is that you?” He nudged the lone wolf (ooh, he would have to use that one later) with his foot. Hoove. Whatever.
“Porker?”
“In the flesh. Or cell. Animation, you know how it is.”
“Anim-what?”
Porker sighed. “You know you’re alive in the beginnings of the animation industry and do you know anything about it? No. This relationship feels one sided, rubberhose.”
“Still don’t have the word on animation.”
“Cartoons, dark and handsome. Like what I am. Except for you, in black and white.”
“Oh.” Pete tilted his head. “I got shot in a theater playing one of them Betty Boops once?”
“O-kay!” Porker took a breath. “Why don’t we go to my apartment so you’re not lying on the sidewalk in Central Pork.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Pete raised himself onto his elbows.
He collapsed onto his back. “I can’t get up.”
“Someone did a real big number on ya, huh.” The pig observed.
“Just get me off the ground, trotter.”
“You do realize that if you can’t even get up there is no way you’re going to be able to swing around.” Porker smiled. “You know, I think I have a solution for our problem.”
“It better not be what I think you’re thinking.”
“This is exactly what I thought you were thinking and I hate it.”
Noir held on for dear life as Peter swung through New York City. It wasn’t that Noir was afraid of heights. He’d swung around New York for years, being in the sky was more like home than the ground ever was. The ground was like reality. Hard. Crushing. Harsh. The spaces in between skyscrapers was the closest to freedom-- no, to heaven-- he knew he would ever get.
That being said, the feeling of swinging around is vastly different than the feeling of being swung around. Especially when you’re being swung around by a pig a head shorter than you-- wait, he should be way shorter-- and you’re recovering from dimensional travel. He had never thrown up in his mask, and he really would rather not find out the details of that sensation.
“Are we close?” He shouted over the rushing air.
“Almost there, calm your snout.” The masked pig answered. Before swinging around the city, he had changed into the SpiderHam ensemble, which was fairly simple to do in this universe. He spun around and was clad in the classic red outfit.
They landed on the roof of Porker’s building. Noir immediately stepped away from his pig counterpart, and then leaned back into him after almost falling over.
During the three seconds where Pete had separated from Porker, the pig somehow was back in his civilian outfit.
“How do you do that?”
“Cartoon physics. You should try it sometime!”
For now, Noir settled for just removing his mask. It was the only article of clothing that separated his civilian clothes from his “work” ones. He noticed that the shape was significantly different than usual. Pete decided it was just his head being all jumbled.
They both headed down to Porker’s apartment, Pete leaning on the smaller.
It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that Pete realized the gravity of his situation.
“For the love of God, please don’t tell me that’s our reflection.”
“Have something against clean elevator doors?”
“Am I a £☆¢κ!🗲9 dog?” Noir said shortly.
“A wolf, actually. Canis lupus.”
“This day can’t--” Noir started, prompting Porker to web the other’s mouth.
Noir scrambled at the webbing on his face, muffled noises escaping.
“Listen. This world is a comedic-timing-based-universe. If you say something like ‘Boy, could this get any yadda yadda yadda,’ it gets yadda yadda yadda. Got it?”
Noir managed to rip off the web, and through gritted teeth answered. “Capiche.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Pete had to admit, the pig’s apartment seemed nice. Small, but New York has always tightly confined those who weren’t incredibly well-off. He wiped his boots on the mat at the entrance, and put up his hat and coat, carefully removing his gloves and putting them in the overcoat pocket. He couldn’t remember the last time he had removed his coat and hat outside of his own apartment and office. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. His overcoat was heavy, after all.
Porker assumed that there was no physical man under the coat and hat. And he supposed that
technically
there wasn’t one now, either. To be fair, cartoon physics would have Noir unwrapped (Is that an innuendo?) to reveal nothing underneath. Porker was glad this wasn’t the case. Now that they weren’t swinging through the city, he took a good look at Noir.
Dark black fur, a few gray spots around the ears. Porker was glad that in his anthropomorphic animal universe, they didn’t have weird, wig-like hair. That would’ve totally ruined all of Noir’s charm. Well, not all. Scars traced his face, still visible even with the face of fur. Very dark and handsome.
Yeah, Noir was handsome. Attractive. Visually appealing. And Porker was most definitely
not
having a crisis about it. Why would he? Can’t a pig appreciate how very attractive his friend, who has been turned into a wolf, is? Can’t he admire the friend’s silver eyes, shining as they caught the light. The added effect of the wire-frame glasses that he had just put on was not missed by Porker. His ears, which were just too 🎵@3🗲 adorable. How his black vest showed off the shape of his torso.
Snap out of it pig, he’s from the 1930s. Certified homophobia and toxic masculinity times, if he understood human timelines correctly. His perfect cartoon land was fine with gay couples and the like. He wondered if Noir knew that people were mostly chill with gay people in modern times. He figured it’d be better not to ask. Not relevant to his story, he mused to himself.
“What big ears you have.” Porker joked, as if to explain why he had stared for so long.
“The better to hear you with, my dear.” Noir said instinctively.
Porker’s eyes widened. “Was that a joke? Did Mr. Gruff’n’Tough make a joke?”
“What, can I not quote Little Red Riding Hood in peace?”
“And I thought you were all ice and pain in there.”
Porker turned around and gestured to his apartment. “Well, mi casa es tu casa, as they say.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Do what you like. I’m going to turn on the television.”
Pete had heard of televisions before, he knew that they were like smaller movie theaters. He hadn’t seen one in his universe before, he vaguely remembered seeing one in Miles’ universe’s May’s living room. He wondered if they had any relation to the giant moving billboards in Miles’ Time Square.
Porker’s television was very cubic, with two spindly legs and zigzagged antennae. The glass filled with an image of the news. (
SpiderHam Seen With a WolfSpider- Friends, Enemies, or Lovers?
) The moving picture flipped to some sort of movie starring uncanny-valley semi-realistic humans. The people looked like nightmarish photo collages.
“Why do the humans look like… that?”
Porker shrugged. “Beats me. This is just how we portray you fleshy weirdos.”
“I believe pigs also have flesh.”
“I’m not sure whether I am a cartoon or a living creature, much less if I possess flesh.”
“Noted.”
Pete strolled over to the collection of movies stacked up on a shelf, and began reading the titles out loud to himself.
“
The Dogfather, The Little Humanlegs, Sapientopia--
”
“Oh that’s what’s on TV right now.” Porker mentioned.
“So… you own this moving picture, but you’re still watching it on the television.”
“I- uh- guh- It’s- What do you know, anyways?” The pig huffed.
Noir noted that pointing this out confused and upset Porker.
One pizza later, they were settling down for the night. Porker had lent Pete an oversized sleep shirt. Well, oversized for Porker. Not that Pete was much larger than Porker in his current state, but big enough that the shirt fit almost tightly around his torso, with no extra room to hide his comically large, patterned boxers. (Spades, what kind of detective wears spades?)
“I was not wearing these earlier.” Noir remarked.
Porker shrugged. “Cartoon laws decree that all mens’ underwear is absurdly large and patterned. Mine has bacon on it.” Porker held back the urge to gesture towards his undergarments, slightly visible under another one of his sleep shirts.
“Isn’t that-”
“It’s really best not to question it.”
And so Noir took the couch and Porker slept in his own bed.
Porker would not have been so generous as to label what he spent most of his night doing as ‘sleeping’. He would label it more accurately as ‘thinking weird thoughts about the human-turned-wolf in his living room’.
Here were some of his thoughts, in summary.
Can cartoon animals have abs? Because if they can, Noir definitely has them.
How does a ‘
Margaritaville, but, like, for Animals
’ shirt look attractive on anybody?
How long can he get away with carrying Noir through New York City?
Wait, why was New York City not called New Pork City?
What’s gonna happen when Noir gets home?
Would Noir think a wolf whistle was funny, or just disrespectful?
Porker tossed and turned, but eventually fell into a rhythmic, vaguely obnoxious cartoon snore. A whole Hhonck-Shzhu, if you will. Noir could easily hear the noise through the wall. Not that a soundproof barrier would have done much good, his head was racing with its own thoughts.
Who was that dame that sent him through?
Was Porker hitting on him, or just joking?
Did Pete mind that Porker was hitting on him?
Porker was a guy! And also a cartoon pig.
What was the modern world like about gay people? What about this cartoon world?
How would one ask about the affairs of homosexual politics in a cartoon universe?
Would he be stuck as a wolf forever?
Would that be all that bad?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Noir hadn’t been in Porker’s universe for even a day. Why was he wanting to jump ship on his own universe? Without him, his New York City would be thrown into chaos, a darkness unknown and all-encompassing. Justice would fall. On the other hand-
No. Was he so desperate to abandon his universe at the drop of a hat? Just because this one wasn’t the epitome of misery. Some vibrant colors that dazzled him still, that there were so many and how beautiful they looked all together, God, he wanted to learn the name of every color. Some odd, maybe flirtatious words from a cartoon pig. He barely knew this place. At least his world was familiar. The devil he knew.
Yet, it wasn’t just because he was here. He remembered his initial travel to another dimension. The colors overwhelmed him at first, but he had since learned to appreciate them. He always kept his Rubix cube on him. He hoped it was still in his overcoat pocket where he left it. He was too lost in thought in the moment to go check. He met Peni-- a sweet gal-- and Ham first. Ham had answered him about every question about every color he saw, albeit semi-begrudgingly. He recalled the pain when he glitched. Like he was being torn apart, from the inside and out. Like someone had injected supernovas and black holes into his veins. He didn’t even have the words to describe it, the terms ‘supernova’ and ‘black hole’ being loaned from the future. He hadn’t glitched his entire time in Porker’s universe. Certainly odd. It amused him, and even gave him the smallest glint of pride, that a scientist in his era had developed a more safe technology than a futuristic realm.To his knowledge.
Ham had been welcoming thus far. Noir was far, far out of his comfort zone, in a universe completely different from his own. He had no choice but to trust Porker. While in most circumstances, this would put Pete completely on edge, with Porker it only put him mostly on edge. He knew the pig better than the other spiders, at least. There was a solid day and a half before encountering Peni and heading to that May’s home where it was just Ham and Noir. The only way to describe their day and a half together was odd. And the subsequent several days in that SpiderMan’s underground lair, trading backstories and playing cards. (Ham always had some on him for some reason.) He spared more graphic details from the teen, feeling a sense of protectiveness over the girl. He too had lost his parents at a young age.
Porker heard the details. One of the nights in the lair, Noir had awoken, screaming.
“Jeez, dark and handsome, what’s wrong?”
Pete hadn’t meant to overshare about the death of his parents, and later, his uncle and aunt. All of the blood, black and viscous. The life fading from each of their eyes. The too-loud shot of the gun, over and over and over again. But the man, in a tired and delirious state, sobbed to the creature. How he couldn’t save them. How the dark liquid had seeped into his clothes, prompting a darker clothing choice.
A grown man, being comforted by a cartoon pig.
“Listen, Peter. We all lose people. The best we can do is continue our lives and make them proud of what we’re doing. To help others in any way we can. And you’re a pretty big force in supporting justice, gumshoe. Your family would be proud.”
Pete was grateful that they had insisted that Peni sleep in house.
Did Porker remember that encounter? It was possible that the pig had said it in a similarly delirious state of wisdom. It was quite late when it occurred, after all.
Pete decided it may be better if Ham didn’t remember him sobbing into his tiny chest.
Porker did remember. He would never bring it up with the P.I. It was a state of serious emotional turmoil late at night, one he himself was familiar with.
Didn’t think a cartoon pig could experience symptoms of depression and anxiety and desperately mask it in confidence and humor?
Think again, mother£☆¢🇰er.
Emotional intimacy was certainly not Porker’s strong suit, not that it came up often. His only two- friends? Companions? Were an irradiated pig that allowed him to call her aunt, and Mary Crane, who he had ceased any sort of romantic advances towards. After a late night talk muddled with wine, he had revealed to her that he just wasn’t attracted to women. Which, pro tip, is not the best way to keep ladies around. She understood, and was very polite about the whole matter. But that was nearly a year ago and was the last conversation about his emotions he had had with anyone, late night or not.
Saving the world everyday is stressful. The pig new he had a ton of issues, but he could hardly talk to anyone about it. Hard to pop into a shrink’s office and go “Hey, I’m SpiderHam, I have horrible self-doubt and loathing that stems from my upbringing and loss of loved ones!”
He was alone. No one in his universe could understand the fears that came with carrying the fate of the city, and maybe the world, on their back. The terror that one day, he’d slip up, and everything would be destroyed, and it would all be his fault. That the only two people he had left in this universe would die, leaving him utterly alone. That he could never see the other spiders again, the only trace of familiarity, of someone who understood the burden, the “great responsibility” their uncles had told them about.
No one
here
could understand that.
Well, maybe now one person could, he noted to himself.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Pete didn’t remember drifting off to sleep, only waking up to a clattering noise. He jumped up and hugged the wall, following it to the kitchen-- not a particularly large distance in the small apartment. He reached for the gun he always kept on him, but felt only the fabric of his boxers. He looked down.
Oh. He was wearing only his underwear and a t-shirt advertising some dining establishment. Pete remembered the events of the day previous.
He heard a grunt from the kitchen and saw Porker exit the room.
“Woah, big bad, you alright? Your snout’s all--” The pig scrunched his own nose. “And your ears are--” He drew two diagonal lines, going up in opposite directions away from him, and curves going down, the same length as the lines.
Noir blinked audibly, his expression changing back to normal. “I thought someone was intruding. How did you do that?”
“Cartoon physics.” Porker shrugged. “I was just about to ask if you wanted a bagel.”
“I’m not hungry.” Pete answered quickly.
“C’mon, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” The pig turned, as if speaking to an audience. Pete decided it was better not to ask.
Porker turned around, telling the man-turned-wolf that he was going to get him a bagel anyways. At this moment, he noticed the small, curly tail on the pig. (He was just looking at Porker in general, no place specific. Or so he told himself.)
“You have a tail.” He said eloquently.
“Yeah. I’m a pig. You have one too, you know.” He took a perfect bite out a bagel.
Noir turned his head and saw a length of fine, black fur. Maybe a few gray hairs. He turned, trying to grab it. He turned again, trying to grab it. He turned again, trying to grab it.
After a few more rotations, he got a hold on his tail. He turned to Porker and smiled proudly. The pig held a hand to his face, trying not to laugh. Pete felt the pressure of his grip, and let go sheepishly. Stupid. He had seen the tail (His own tail!) and went bananas.
Porker noticed the red embarrassment on Pete’s face. “Black and white, it’s okay. You’re an animal. It happens. In fact, I’m about to go
ham
on this bagel.” Porker went at the bagel at a disturbing pace, much more food than actually present flinging from the bagel.
“Tah-dah!” Ham gave jazz hands.
Pete recoiled. “I especially don’t want a bagel now.”
“What about a drink?”
Noir wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or put off by Porker’s doting. Still, he was thirsty.
“I’ll have one baby.”
Ham went red. He heard a ‘ba-thump, ba-thump’ that he hoped the P.I. wouldn’t pick up on. “One what?”
“Baby.”
“What?” Porker turned around, sure that Pete had seen his face.
“
Milk
.” Noir said exasperatedly.
Porker took a deep breath, and turned back around slowly.
“Is this one of your weird, old-timey words?” He said, trying to keep-- Anger? Disappointment?-- out of his voice.
“I suppose. What’s the story?”
“You absolutely cannot hit me with two slang terms in one sitting. I won’t allow it.”
“What does ‘baby’ mean to you?” Pete asked.
“It’s, uh, something you call someone you’re attracted to.” Porker prayed that the detective’s unfamiliarity with color would keep him safe.
“Oh. Like muffin?” Pete said. “Or tomato?” Porker felt like he looked like a tomato, but Noir went on. “Or pip?” He didn’t know the cause of the darker hue on the pig’s face, but he did know that he liked it. “Or baby?”
“Why would there be two words with incredibly different meanings that are one letter different?” Ham scowled as he opened the fridge.
Pete shrugged. “Beats me.”
Porker poured a glass of milk. “I washed your shirt. You can change in my room, if you’d like.”
“Where are we going?” Noir inquired as the pair walked down the busy street.
“Well, it’s the weekend. Typically, I’d walk around until someone created trouble. With you here, though, we’ll have to meet up with my aunt.”
They arrived at the small house, not even on the steps leading up to home before the door swung open and Porker was tackled.
“Petey!” A pig, older than Ham, exclaimed. Noir guessed this was Porker’s Aunt May.
“And who are you, sweetie?” May said as she saw the wolf.
“I’m… Pete.” he responded awkwardly. The Aunt May in Miles’ universe just called him Noir, or ‘The dark detective guy with the pig’.
“Oh? Are you one of Peter’s friends from the dimensional convergence?” She asked.
Noir blinked. “Yes, actually.”
“You don’t have to be a detective to be able to piece things together, dearie.”
Pete caught Porker smiling proudly at his adoptive aunt.
“Well, come on in!” She went to the door, but Noir stepped in between, holding the door for the two pigs.
“Sorry, ma’am. Ladies first.” He said.
May chuckled to herself, and once she entered her home, she pulled her nephew aside.
“He’s a keeper.”
“Aunt May-- he’s-- we’re--” May gave Porker a look. “Yes ma’am.” The two went back into the living room.
“So what can I do you for?” May asked.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Now, if you don’t mind…” May grabbed a stethoscope.
Pete hadn’t been to the doctor since the Depression began, much less gotten a check up. He felt his tail tuck between his legs. Porker noticed this action and grabbed the wolf’s paw, circling one of Pete’s knuckles with his thumb.
After several, very scientific “tests” that consisted of May excitedly checking Noir’s heartbeat, looking into his mouth, checking his ears and fangs, and petting him on the head, May pulled out a blueprint.
“Was… any of that necessary?” Pete asked.
“Necessary for my scientific curiosity! It’s not every day that someone from another universe is sitting in your laboratory.” She gestured vaguely to her
basement
lab.
“Fair enough.”
She set the blueprint down, unravelling it. The paper showed a large device fitted with a colander that an illustrated pig was wearing, along with many light bulbs and valves.The drawing of the inside of the machine was more absurd, with three bananas, a hamster on a wheel, and a device that looked like an hourglass with bolts and gears on the sides. The last item had a large arrow pointing to it, labelled ‘VERY IMPORTANT’.
“Are there any ethical dilemmas concerning the hamster?” Noir asked, focusing on what he felt was the easiest question.
“Oh, that’s just Jeffrey. He’s well paid, trust me.” May reassured.
“With that out of the way,” May continued. “I can wrangle together all of the sprockets and such needed for the machine, other than this Quantum Timekeep.” She pointed at the VERY IMPORTANT device.
“And how can we get it?” Ham spoke up.
“Well, it’s one of a kind. I created a blueprint for it years ago, but it was bought by that Wilson Fisk man.”
“Kingpig.” Ham narrowed his eyes.
Noir made a note to himself that there seemed to be an odd majority of pigs in this universe and decided to just keep it to himself.
“Infiltration then?” Pete proposed.
The two heroes-- not that Noir would ever describe himself as a hero-- stood across town from a looming tower. A bird flew into the side of it, falling to its own classic cartoon bit death.
“Don’t worry. It’s never as tall as it seems.” Porker smiled at Pete before spinning into his spidersuit. Noir reached for the mask and goggles in his coat pocket.
“You can spin into your disguise, too, gumshoe.”
“It’s just the mask and goggles.”
Ham pouted. “C’mon, do it for me.”
The wolf sighed, and spun around for Porker. The ends of his coat flew out behind him, and an odd sense of childlike glee burst in his chest. It had been a long time since his chest had been hit with such a feeling of wonder or joy. He laughed, stumbling as he stopped, bracing himself on what he realized was his-- friend. Huh.
“Look at you, you’re a natural, dark and handsome.” Noir swore he saw a heart or two floating above the pig’s head.
“Why do you call me that?”
Ham began a very obvious nervous sweat. “No reason.” Then, very quickly, “Well. You’re black and white-- and kinda edgy-- hence the the dark. And I find you quite… Handsome.” He blushed, certain that even the suit couldn’t hide his red face.”
“Why, thank you.” He responded.
The swing over to the tower gave the two some height, making the scaling of the tower easy, all things considered. They made it to the top floor when Porker hit his face.
“$#!7.”
Pete raised an eyebrow at this, invisible under the mask, but audible. (Thanks cartoon physics.)
“The blueprint is gonna be in the vault. Which is going to be underground.”
Noir held back a question on how Ham knew this. Cartoon physics, he reasoned. Cartoon physics.
They made their way to the rooftop entrance, and began the long trip down the stairs.
The descent was surprisingly quick, even with Pete’s huffing and puffing. Foolishly, he commented.
“I’m surprised that neither of us have fallen, with our speed and the number of steps.” As he said this, he and Porker each slipped on their own banana peels, tumbling down the last four or five stories. They landed with a ‘THUNK’ and birds whizzing around their heads.
“What did I tell you about the comedic timing?” Ham groaned.
A large vault door stood above the pair.
“Allow me” Porker pulled a stethoscope out of nowhere and placed the end of it to the door, stretching his arm impossibly far to turn the giant handle. In a few seconds, the vault opened. A blueprint sat on a pedestal in the center of the vault.
Noir tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “This looks suspicious.”
“It always does.” Ham said cheerfully and snatched the blueprint.
“SpiderHam, how wonderful it is to see you. Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” A ginormous figure took up the entrance of the vault.
“Kingpig… WolfSpider. WolfSpider… Kingpig.” Ham said, recalling the glimpse of news he had seen the day before.
“Nice to meet you.” Kingpig said.
“I don’t have time for this booshwash.” Noir returned.
And with that, Kingpig’s cronies charged in.
Ham was aces at fighting, Noir thought to himself as he webbed and swung a man to the pig. He bopped and boffed, swinging his signature hammer and smashing his enemies into pancakes. He even threw a mean knuckle sandwich. Noir got lost in the flurry of punches and swings and ‘thwips’. The corners of his mouth rose watching Porker, an inkling of something vaguely familiar, that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time emerged.
Then he was grabbed by his collar.
“Hey, pig!” Kingpig shouted at Porker. “I got your little friend!”
“Hey he’s not little!” A pause. “In, like, a muscled and tall way!” Ham shouted back.
Noir kicked at the giant, unable to claw him without ripping his gloves. (Hey, they were nice gloves.)
Kingpig started to exit the vault, about to call for backup. Ham began to panic. Thoughts rushed through his mind of cartoon goofs that Noir wouldn’t understand or could actually be harmed by. He didn’t want his wolf to be tied up to a train track and monolouged at.
Noir, in comparison, was much calmer.
“Hey, Kingpig!”
He hoped this would work.
“Don’t look up!”
An anvil flattened the middle of the large pig’s face, prompting him to let go of Noir. He grabbed Ham and ran out of the basement, then the lobby, and swung away to safety. Porker was grinning, a trail of hearts floating behind him as he held onto Pete.
“Alright.” Aunt May placed the colander on Pete’s head, flattening his ears. “This machine will use your quantum energy and sync it with your dimension’s, along with a lot more fancy and scientific terms you won’t understand. It should allow you to return to your universe.” She noticed the look Noir was giving her nephew. It tugged at her heart strings.
“I’ll give you a few minutes alone.”
Pete removed his mask, temporarily displacing the colander.
“Guess this is it, huh.”
Porker removed his own mask. “Until next time.”
“Hey, trotter…” Pete said.
He was not one for impulse. He was very much one for suppressing emotions and never talking to anyone about them. Contrasting emotions filled him. He wanted to puke. He wanted to tell Porker that he loved him, but he couldn’t. He could, when he said goodbye to all of the spiders. What made this different?
He knew.
He stayed silent.
“Goodbye for now. I…” Pete started. He choked up. He wanted to say something more, but he couldn’t.
Ham still smiled. “See ya round, dark and handsome.” He hugged Pete.
Pete’s eyes went wide, and he settled into the touch. It was nice.
Aunt May sighed upstairs and gave the pair a few more minutes.
“Start running, Jeffrey!” Aunt May called. “You’re going to want to stand back, Petey.”
Porker stepped away from Pete.
“FIRE!” She flipped a large lever.
A series of onomatopoeias later, and a colander clattered to the floor.
Nothing. No sound. Just darkness. The nothingness tore at his soul. His parents’ graves, his aunt’s old home, the bar where he ordered egg creams. Gone. He screamed. Nothing could be heard. His vocal cords strained, trying to get anything out at all. He grabbed at the top of his head, trying to claw and feel something, anything. Furry ears faded in and out of existence.
He blinked, and he was back in May’s lab. Porker’s Aunt May.
“Pete? Pete? Are you there?” Porker held his body.
“It’s gone. It’s all gone.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Porker let Pete sleep in his bed. It was more Noir’s style, being darker and more isolated than the main room of the apartment. He gave Noir space to grieve a universe lost. Before and after his shift at the Daily Beagle, he checked in with Pete. He’d knock-- more as a warning, he always walked in after five seconds of no response-- and sit with the wolf. Noir didn’t seem like the feelings type, so he talked. About before the accident, those he had lost, his $#!77% coworkers, his patrols, and his Aunt May. He’d sit there for hours, talking about his day, with no response. Then, he’d put a glass of water on the nightstand, next to Pete’s glasses, and go sleep on his couch.
“I’m worried about him.” Ham stared into his tea cup. “He rarely leaves bed. I don’t think he’s eaten in three days.”
“Grief does that to people.” May exhaled. “He has the weight of the loss of an entire dimension on his back. The weight, the grief, it starves the body in attempt to starve the soul of emotion.”
“I just want him to speak to me. Laugh. At least crack a smile. I miss him.” A tear fell into the teacup. “I miss him so much.”
May embraced her nephew.
“You’re doing the right thing, you know.” She said softly. “Your Uncle Ben got all quiet when his happy ran out. You have to give him space, but don’t let him slip away, alright?”
A “Yes, ma’am,” was muffled by the hug.
They stood there for a while, taking in the other’s presence.
Pete’s days blurred together. After the disappearance of his universe, he woke up in Porker’s bed. The chivalrous part of him wanted to go back to the couch and allow the pig to sleep in his own bed. He couldn’t move. He wanted to, and he could toss and turn and toss and turn and toss and turn and stare at the ceiling, but he couldn’t get up. A voice in his head told him he was being greedy. He had been playing around in a dimension of happiness where he didn’t belong. He had been acting like he deserved the brightness all around him.
He didn’t deserve anything.
Not the colorful cube.
Not the bed.
Not the kind little pig who talked to him about his day.
Certainly not him.
Nor love.
“Aunt May?”
“Mhm?”
“I think I love him.”
“I know, sweetie, I know.”
Love. Love was pink. Love was the carefully positioned pig on the bed. Love was his company, talking about menial things that meant the world to Pete. They came from a fellow that meant the world to Pete. Hah. Like that would ever happen. Past-humanity exempt, he caused pain wherever he went. His mother and father. His aunt and uncle. Hell, just because a universe had had him in it, it had ceased to exist. How could anyone feel safe around him? He had killed. He had killed real people, not Nazis, because of mistakes. Because he faltered on a case. Because he hadn’t caught a crook in time.
He stared at the ceiling.
This was all he did.
Looked into the ceiling and sunk into his pain.
Other than when Porker would come and talk.
The pain didn’t go away, or even lessen, when Porker came in, but it distracted him from it. It allowed him to not be alone with his thoughts, to focus on something else, for the blur of time he had company.
“Petey, can you give this to him?” May pressed a box, of thin, white cardboard, into Ham’s hands. Porker nodded.
“I’ll visit you tomorrow and tell you if anything’s changed, okay?” He called as he left.
Most of the time, after visiting his aunt, he would enjoy the walk back home in cool air, giving himself a breather after a hard day of reporting and fighting crime. But the time it took to walk home was time he could spend talking to Noir.
Ham entered his apartment quietly, the box in hand. He made his way over to the bedroom and knocked on the door. (One. Two. Three. Four. Five.) Then he slowly opened the door.
“Hi, dark and handsome.” Porker said, the corner of his mouth upturned in an attempt a smile.
No response, as usual.
“Aunt May gave me this box for you. I’m gonna open it, okay?”
Noir nodded.
Ham carefully pried it open, revealing an arrangement of 16 round chocolates, in four neat rows of four. An exclamation mark appeared above his head as his eyes widened.
“Oh! These were Ben’s favorite, Aunt May gets them for my birthday.” He plucked one out, extending his arm to Pete. “C’mon. If you don’t have one, May’ll get mad.” He smiled in earnest.
Noir, never one to be rude, took the chocolate. He took a small bite, savoring the sweet as it melted on his tongue. He lit up.
“My-- my parents and I, when I was young, we’d get nice chocolates. Long before the Depression hit, of course.” He took another bite. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had one.”
You’d think he’d given Porker the moon, the way the pig grinned, completely genuine.
“You should see the store in person. It has a giant pot of liquid chocolate, and…”
Those first few words out of Noir in days led to several hours of chatter and an empty box of chocolate.
“It’s getting pretty late, big bad. I’m gonna hit the sack.” Ham said, getting up.
Just as his hand met the knob, Noir spoke up.
“Wait-- Peter.”
Porker turned around. Had Pete ever called him that, ever? (Maybe-- no? Wait, he’s saying something...)
“I--” He paused. “Please don’t leave me alone tonight.”
“Of course.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Pete was in that incredibly drowsy state that bridged sleep and awake. His eyes remained shut, leaving him to discern his surroundings purely through his other sense. The sheets felt tight, with a heavy duvet giving a comforting weight. He sighed, shifting his knees up closer to his body, rubbing up against the warm body next to him. He huddled closer to the mass. He quietly revelled in these early mornings near Porker. After the chocolates and talk of last week, they spent nights cuddling.
It was nice.
Really nice.
Even when he jolted up in bed, gasping for breath from the night terrors that plagued his sleep even more since the demise of his dimension, Ham would show nothing but understanding. Whispered reassurances in a room lit only by a sliver of moonlight.
These nights so close together, Porker’s kindness, they rekindled something in Noir. Even in his sadness, he recognized the spark. He hadn’t felt it in a long time. A feeling he had buried deeper than the rest, hidden under a scar from the last time he felt it.
An alarm clock jumped from the bedside table and rung out loudly, breaking the peace.
Ham groaned. “I have to go, zebra.”
“Zebra?” Noir mused. “That’s a new one.”
The pig sat up and stretched. “‘Cuz you’re all black and white.”
“Mhm,” He hummed, too sleepy to retort.
Ham entered the bathroom, and after what sounded like 3 seconds of shower and singing, emerged fully clothed and sparkling. Noir hadn’t the energy to ask the first time, and certainly wasn’t going to ask a question that could be answered with ‘Cartoon Physics’ again.
“Hey, Pete, I put a change of clothes in the bathroom with a towel if you wanna shower and get out of the
Margaritaville
etc. shirt.”
“Got it, doll.”
(Doll? Since when did they get so domestic?)
Pete didn’t think he minded.
Porker exited the apartment, and gave an exaggerated sigh of relief as the door shut behind him. Even with the wolf’s detective skills, Ham had hoped that Noir had lost track of time and didn’t know that today was one of his days off. He had some errands to run.
Noir turned the knob. The rhythmic beat of the water reminded him of the rain that seemed to follow him in his dimension. His heart sunk.
He’d be doing fine, then one thing would set him off…
He took a deep breath. (What was it that Ham told him? Recovery isn’t linear. Yeah.)
“Can I help you?”
“Yes! Do you happen to have a record of some oldies? Like Original era music?”
“Only if you’re into serenades by old jazz stars.”
“That is exactly the very specific thing I need.”
After drying off from his shower, Noir had a problem. He looked like a giant ball of fuzz. He shook himself out. Somehow that worked. He turned to the clothes on the counter. It was just his sweater and pants. He felt the fabric in his hands (paws?). It was of a universe that no longer existed. So was he. He pulled the sweater over his head. He felt exhausted from the shower. He lied back down in the bed and closed his eyes.
Ham entered his humble abode, stepping carefully. If he tiptoed, the noise could alert Pete. He set down a few bags and opened his (their?) bedroom door a crack. Some ‘Z’s floated above the bed. Closing the door with a soft click, the pig made his way to the kitchen. He had work to do.
Noir woke up to the familiar sounds of Porker bustling around the apartment. He turned over, noticing a smell he vaguely recognized, from his times passing through Little Italy. He sat up and carefully swung his legs off the bed. After what felt like two hours but was likely only five minutes, he got out of bed. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the bedroom, walking into the kitchen.
There, he saw Ham, in a chef’s outfit, standing on a particularly tall stepping-stool over a pot on a stove. He stirred the mixture in the pot, staring intensely into the concoction.
“I don’t remember the countertop being that high up.” Noir commented.
Porker jumped slightly, pulled out of his trance. “It’s typically not. The height is a direct result of how comedic it would be.”
“Cartoon physics?”
“Cartoon physics.”
“Are you making spaghetti bolognese?”
“I would have just said spaghetti. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Porker smiled nervously.
Noir hummed in response.
“It’s almost done. It just needs to simmer for a bit.” Ham said, jumping down from the stool. He then cycloned into a nice brown sweater. He dramatically extended his hand to Pete.
“Shall we, dark and handsome?”
Noir raised his eyebrows and took the pig’s hand. Porker lead the wolf into the living room, where the couch was pushed to the side. Ham reached into his pocket and pulled out a nicely set table with a classic red checker pattern. He proceeded to produce a phonograph and a record that he slid across his arms before it rolled onto the machine. The needle dropped and the music immediately started playing.
Some corner of Pete’s brain recognized the song, he must have heard it playing at some bar or club. It was slow, the crooner singing about spending time with some doll. It choked him up. He knew it wasn’t truly of his universe, but the familiar tune of jazz panged at his heart in a nostalgic way.
Ham hesitantly tapped his shoulder. “Do you want me to turn it off?”
“No. Keep it on, please.”
Porker nodded.
“When I was younger, my Aunt and I would dance to the jazz on the radio.” Noir tapped the rhythm of the current track. “I was never good at leading, I always stepped on her feet.”
Ham cleared his throat. “Would-- would you like to dance?”
Pete side-eyed the pig. He had danced with men before, what could go wrong?
“I’d be happy to.”
The two swayed in Porker’s living room. Noir was impressed at Porker’s ability to lead, granted his short stature. The two had started at a stiff shuffle, close, but far apart from each other. As the record continued to play, the two drifted closer.
“I don’t think we’re leaving much room for Jesus.” Ham laughed softly.
“It’s quite alright. I’m Jewish anyhow.”
Ham laughed loudly, head bumping against Noir’s chest.
“You’re something else, Pete.”
The larger of the two blushed.
He was not one for impulse. He was very much one for suppressing emotions and never talking to anyone about them. He was not one for impulse. He was very much one for suppressing emotions and never talking to anyone about them. He was not one for impulse. He was very much one for suppressing emotions and never talking to anyone about them. He was not one for impulse.
So he didn’t know why he did what he did next.
“Porker.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Steam shot out of Ham’s ears. A shrill whistle sounded off. His face was red.
“I-- Uh-- I’m-- Love--” He took a deep breath.
“I love you, too.”
Pete chuckled. “What a pair we are.”
“Sure are, dark and handsome.” Porker paused. “Oh $#!7, is the pasta overcooked?”
“You better check.” Pete smiled.
As the pig scrambled off to the kitchen, Noir got ahold of the record cover. The cardboard felt soft in his hands. He ran a finger over it.
Something familiar, but completely new. The borders were colorful, but in the center was a black-and-white photograph of an elephant, trunk extended like a trumpet. It echoed some vinyl he had seen, perhaps, a long time ago. Or maybe he was projecting.
“The spaghetti’s okay.” Porker distributed the pasta and sauce, ever the image of domesticity.
Something familiar, but completely new.