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Afterwards, Peter will wake up in the Osborns’ guest bedroom believing he had a nightmare.For a few brief, blissful moments, it will be not unlike any other morning where he wakes up at Harry’s after staying too late for homework or video games. Such an occurrence happens infrequently, as both Harry and Mr. Osborn can call a driver to take Peter home at any hour. He will know where he is and will have respite before memories like sunbeams pierce through the fog of his mind bringing the events of the days prior into terrible, cruel clarity.Peter is in class when the school’s secretary announced over the intercom, “Peter Parker, please come to the Principal’s office. Bring your belongings.” Jeers and snickers erupt in the classroom, Peter exchanging a baffled look with Ned and Harry before shoving his books into his bag.“Blow up the chemistry labs again, Parker?” asks Cindy.“No,” says Peter, a touch too defensively, but that only happened once when he experimenting with the web fluid formula. “I haven’t done anything.”“Go on, Peter, you’re holding up the class,” chides the teacher.“Sorry, Ms. Cobbwell,” he mumbles, hunching his shoulders as he ducks out of the classroom.Admittedly, there are a lot of reasons for Peter to be called to the Principal’s office: frequent tardiness, missing homework, tests to make-up, make-up tests to make-up… Spider-Man really hasn’t been good for his school work.Peter isn’t worried yet.That changes when he steps into the front office. The school nurse, Ms. Arrow, and the principal’s assistant, Kelly Cox, are standing by the Principal’s office door, faces distressed and solemn. Upon seeing him, Kelly raises her hands over her mouth, eyes tearing up, and Peter knows.“What happened?” Peter asks, world rushing around him to a narrow point. He knows. He knows.“Mr. Parker,” says Principal Morita in his doorway. “Your aunt’s been in an accident.”Ms. Arrow crosses the room to pull Peter into a hug.“She was in a car accident,” he hears, over the din of white noise. “She’s in the hospital. Kelly here will drive you.”They guide him to the parking lot and into Kelly’s car.“Don’t worry, Peter,” says Principal Morita, “everything will be alright.”He’s wrong, of course.Very wrong.…Kelly remains at his side until she doesn’t, and then he’s alone in the hard, plastic chair of the ICU’s waiting room.Time passes. His phone rings.
Ned.
He rejects the call without a second’s thought.Ned calls a few more times. Messages more than a dozen times.Peter opens his messages, fingers hovering over the keypads, and fails to know what to say.The screen goes black before he can decide, and he takes the sign for what it is. He puts his phone away.“Peter Parker?”Peter looks up. It’s the nurse. Or doctor. He can’t remember.She opens her mouth, and words come out. He hears them, he knows he does, because his world crashes around him for a reason.“I’m so sorry,” she says, sitting next to him. Her hands are folded on top of her crossed legs, which is all Peter can see from how he’s bent over in his chair. “Is there anyone we can call? Any family? Friends?”“What happened to the guy that hit her?” he asks. If he made it and Aunt May didn’t…The doctor just looks so sad. “He overdosed behind the wheel. He didn’t make it either.”Oh.An aching, cavernous emptiness is all he can feel; Peter wraps his arms around himself to hold it in.He shakes his head, and then thinks, Ned, and Ned’s threadbare clothes, and secondhand books, and the tiny apartment he, his mom, and his aunt all live in.They couldn’t take him. They would if he asked, but they can’t afford another kid. Peter can’t ask them.He could stay with them tonight, though. Peter opens his mouth, to tell the doctor that, when he hears, “Peter!”The familiar but unexpected voice jolts Peter, and he doesn’t hide his shock as he watches Norman Osborn stride down the hallway to him. The doctor, also startled, stands up with a “Mr. Osborn!” as he pulls Peter up by the arm out of his chair and into a hug.“I heard what happened,” Mr. Osborn says. “Terrible accident, absolutely terrible.” He pulls away, leaving his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter doesn’t speak; the show of affection and comfort is almost too much for him, and he doesn’t want to burst into sobs in front of Harry’s dad. “Have you heard…?”The doctor, still standing nearby, clears her throat. “Yes, sir. His aunt didn’t make it.”“Oh, no,” says Mr. Osborn, and Peter can’t keep it together, he starts crying with big, gasping sobs.Mr. Osborn rubs his shoulder, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it into Peter’s hands. Peter takes it, gratefully, realizing only after he’s gotten his tears and snot all over it that it’s embroidered with Mr. Osborn’s initials.“I’m sorry, Mr. Osborn, but how do you know this boy?” she asks. He doesn’t know what to do with the handkerchief now. Peter’s pretty sure he can’t just throw it out. He can’t hand it back to Mr. Osborn.Does he… put it in his pocket? It’s wet.“He’s one of my son’s school friends,” he says. Making a decision, Peter shoves the handkerchief into his pants pocket. “Has it been decided where he will go for tonight?”“Um, we were just discussing that…”“Well, discuss no more. He’ll be coming home with us,” he says.“Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t just let him go with you--”“Yes, yes, I’ll deal with whatever paperwork needs to be filled out. Let’s make it quick, shall we? The boy just lost his only family, after all.”A horrible, embarrassing noise comes out of Peter’s throat at that. Mr. Osborn’s hand grips his shoulder tight.“Of--of course. Please, come with me.”…Mr. Osborn creates a flurry of activity around him wherever he goes, people moving around him to get him the paperwork to take Peter home with him. He tells Peter to sit down, orders a nurse to get him some water, and by the time Peter’s done with the drink, he’s back.“All taken care of,” says Mr. Osborn with a smile. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. You must be feeling terrible.”“Can I see her?” Peter says. Croaks, more like, with how rusty and rough his voice sounds after crying. “I--I want to see her.”Mr. Osborn’s smile fades. “I’m sorry, Peter. But that’s not a good idea.”“Why not?” he asks, voice breaking.“The doctor didn’t recommend viewing,” he answers, and Peter breaks down all over again.Somehow, he gets inside Mr. Osborn’s car, and he cries into his tailored, fancy suit that probably costs more than Peter’s tuition all the way to the Osborn residence.The driver opens the door, and Peter spills out, standing in front of the large, intimidatingly impressive doors that has its own security and everything.“Come along, Peter,” says Mr. Osborn, coming up next to Peter and guiding him forward with an arm around his shoulder.It’s not something that Mr. Osborn has done before, but Peter appreciates the comfort. It’s hard to feel completely alone in the world when he’s in a walking in a one-armed hug.“Mr. Osborn,” greets one of the security guards.“Where’s Harry?” asks Peter.“Asleep, I would hope. It’s 3 AM in the morning, Peter,” says Mr. Osborn.Three in the morning… he left school just during third period. He was at the hospital for more than twelve hours.They were operating on Aunt May for so long.And she still didn’t make it.“How did you know…?” begins Peter.“Harry told me that you were called out of class and no one saw you later. I gave Jim--ah, Principal Morita, that is--a call to find out what had happened. I’m quite glad I did. Imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t been there to pick you up?”Peter would have gone to Ned’s for the night. And then… he doesn’t know. “Thank you,” he says.“Oh, think nothing of it. It’s the least I could do for a friend of Harry’s. We have plenty of room after all, and it’s not like I can’t afford it,” he answers easily. They step into the elevator which moves so quickly that Peter’s ears pop. He’s so congested, it’s rather painful.He hasn’t swung around the city sick yet, if he can even get sick now. Peter wonders if this would happen if he did.When they come to a stop, Norman waves him inside. “Come in, Peter, make yourself at home. You can have the room you’ve stayed in before. Do you remember where it is?”Peter nods. He doesn’t.Mr. Osborn either knew he didn’t or didn’t care about his response because he walks him to the bedroom anyway. “Try to get some sleep,” he says. “We’ll talk in the morning.”And then he smiles, claps his hand on Peter’s shoulder again, and leaves down the darkness of the hallway. Alone, Peter goes into the bedroom and closes the door.The room is immaculate, as is the rest of the Osborn residence. Peter doesn’t know how much their cleaners cost, and he doesn’t think he wants to.He stares at the bed, at the room, at the bathroom, and thinks, I need my toothbrush. And he’s breaking down again, and this time he’s got the privacy and comfort to collapse.So he does.…Later, he finds a new toothbrush, still in plastic, on the bathroom counter.…Peter wakes up late, eyes sore and crusty. Nauseated and achy, he realizes he’s super late for school.No. His aunt just died. No one would expect him at school. He has to figure out what’s going to happen. He should call one of the other rabbis at May’s synagogue. They would know what to do. What the process is. What… what Peter needs to do…Once May is buried, Peter can sit shiva. He wants nothing more than to hole himself away for seven days of mourning, to do nothing more than wallow in his grief and misery.But Aunt May needs to be buried first.He should get up.He doesn’t get up.Peter lies in bed, still fully clothed, until a knock on the door startles him.“Peter?” calls out Mr. Osborn. He’s still here? wonders Peter. “Are you awake? There’s food, if you’d like.”The mention of food nauseates Peter. He doesn’t say anything. Mr. Osborn doesn’t call out again.Peter stares out into the room, watching the light from the window change the shadows in the room for some time.Aunt May needs to be buried, he thinks. It’s already been a day. He’s wasted so much time.Aunt May needs to be buried , he repeats to himself, as he pulls himself out of bed. I have to bury her. Then he can mourn.He gets up, and walks to the door. His clothes stick to him in uncomfortable ways. He needs to go home and get some fresh clothes.Well. Mr. Osborn’s been nice, but Peter’s got to figure out what’s going to happen to him. There’s three more years until he’s eighteen and can live on his own.Maybe I can stay here , hopes Peter. They’ve got so much space, they won’t even notice me if I’m quiet.He’s been here a few times, to hang out with Harry and to work on their lab project, but the layout confuses him every time. After going around in circles for a bit, Peter walks into the kitchen where, to his great surprise, Mr. Osborn is sitting with a mug of coffee and a laptop.“Ah, Peter,” he says. “Here, come eat. You must be starving.”Peter shrugs. “Not really.”Mr. Osborn smiles. “Eat anyway.”Peter sits down, and Mr. Osborn calls out to his cook. “Julie! Bring some breakfast out for Peter, would you?”

Soon a steaming plate of eggs and toast is placed in front of him. “Thanks,” Peter remembers to mumble at the last second.The smell is delicious, and Peter’s hungry, but his stomach revolts at the thought. He picks up the toast and nibbles at it.The toast tastes like nothing. Eating the toast takes too long, swallowing is difficult, and he just wants to put it down.When there’s just the crust left, he puts it down. As he does, he notices that Mr. Osborn is watching him.“Peter,” he says chidingly. “You should really try to eat more.”“I’m not hungry,” Peter says.Mr. Osborn sighs. “Very well. Let’s talk logistics, then.”“I need the funeral to happen. Soon. Tomorrow, if possible,” says Peter. “I… I need to call the synagogue.”Mr. Osborn frowns. “Peter, you can wait a couple days before dealing with that--”“No,” Peter says. Realizing that he’s interrupted Mr. Osborn, he swallows painfully around the lump in his throat. “Sorry. But, for Jewish funerals, we try to have them as soon as possible. So then we can start the mourning process. I can’t… I can’t mourn until we’ve had the funeral.”“Ah, right. Your Aunt May was a rabbi,” Mr. Osborn says. The past tense makes Peter wants to vomit. He’s quite glad that all he’s eaten was a bit of toast. “Very well. But don’t worry about it, Peter. I’ll make sure the arrangements are made.”Suddenly, tears well up in Peter’s eyes. No, please. “Thank you.”“You’re welcome.” He smiles again. “I confirmed your absence with Principal Morita, of course.”Peter nods. “Thank you.”“Do you have any family you can call?” Mr. Osborn asks. “Any relatives you can ask to stay with?”Shaking his head, he answers, “No. No, sir, I don’t. Aunt May is--was my only family left.”People at the synagogue always said that they’re all one big family, but somehow, Peter doesn’t think that would extend to actually taking him in. Aunt May had some friends there, one of the other rabbis--Rabbi Hassan. She might help him. Somehow. Maybe she knows some Jewish foster families who could take him in.God, a foster family.Because Peter’s all alone now.“Don’t worry about a thing, Peter,” says Mr. Osborn, smiling again. “I’ll take care of things.”Relieved, Peter believes him.…After breakfast, Peter goes back to the bedroom, where he crawls into bed. He is there for five minutes or days before someone knocks on the door.“Mr. Parker?” says an unfamiliar voice. “We’ve brought you your things from your house. May we come in?”“Yeah,” says Peter, and three men come in, two of them carrying boxes. “What’s…?”“Mr. Osborn requested we pick up some of your clothes from your residence,” says one of them. In a stupor, Peter watches them assimilate the items into the room in a flurry he can’t quite keep up with. The third steps forward and presents to him with a suit covered in plastic.“For the funeral,” he says. “Please be ready and dressed in an hour,” and he leaves Peter alone.The suit is nice, fits well, and probably costs more than Peter has ever touched. It is brand new and immaculate.Mourners aren’t supposed to look immaculate. He searches through the clothes that was just delivered, and the suit is the only new item there. No ribbon.Well, whatever. He shrugs off the jacket and carefully tears the lapel on the right side.Pulling the jacket back on, he exits the room and wonders towards one of the entrances for the residence, hoping he’ll run into… well, anyone, really. He finds Mr. Osborn and Harry waiting in the parlor, both in their own black suits. Upon seeing him, Harry stops leaning against the wall. “Hey, Pete,” he says. “I’m, uh. I’m sorry about your aunt.”Throat tight, Peter says, “Thanks, Harry.”Mr. Osborn frowns at him. “You didn’t shower?”Peter shrugs. He hadn’t, no.“Is that a tear in your jacket?” Mr. Osborn demands, walking forward to examine the fabric himself. “Jesus Christ. Take that off, Pete, I’m sure something of Harry’s will fit you--”“No,” says Peter. “I did that.”Visibly annoyed, Mr. Osborn asks, “What?”“It’s a tear for mourning a parent. A keriah,” Peter answers. “It’s a Jewish mourning thing.”“Oh,” says Mr. Osborn. He smiles. “Of course. Do what you need to."“Sorry,” says Peter, wanting to rid himself of Mr. Osborn’s disapproval. “I should have asked--”“No, no, it’s alright. If it’s part of your people’s ways, then you must do it,” he says. “I’ve got a car waiting downstairs that will take us to the funeral. Are you ready, Pete?”No. “Yes.”…The burial service is at the cemetery, and nearly everyone is there. Peter knew he would cry at the funeral, but knowing that people were there for him and Aunt May evokes an outpouring of relieved tears.“Pete,” says Rabbi Hassan, as she pulls him into a hug. “Thank God. I worried when I didn’t hear from you.”“I’m fine. Mr. Osborn let me stay at his place,” says Peter. “Harry and I are friends at school, so…”“Yes, that was very kind of Mr. Osborn. I was surprised to get a call from him personally,” she says, pulling him into the crowd. “I didn’t know you were friends with Harry Osborn?”Peter shrugs. “Yeah. We’re lab partners. I’ve been over to his house a few times.”“Ned isn’t your lab partner?” asks Hassan.Oh, crap. He never messaged Ned back. “No, no--they were assigned, and I--shoot,” he says, fumbling with his pockets for his phone. “I haven’t--I need to give Ned a call--”Her hand grabs his arm. “Don’t worry, Petey. I called him,” she nods her head to the side, and Peter follows the line until he sees--“Ned!” he says. “Ned!”“Peter!” Ned says, running over to him. He gives Peter a tight hug. “Holy shit, dude, don’t do that! You left class, didn’t respond to any of my messages, and then I hear your aunt’s dead--!”“Edward. Show some respect,” says Ned’s mother, Tala. She wears a stiff, black dress that Peter has only seen once before when Ned’s father passed away. “Peter, we’re so sorry for your loss. Where have you been staying? Not alone at your house, I hope.”“No, I--Mr. Osborn’s been letting me stay with him and Harry,” Peter says.Her forehead creases with confusion. “He has? Why?”“He’s just being nice,” says Peter. “I’m friends with Harry.”“Peter, I called you a bazillion times yesterday,” Ned says. “Why didn’t you answer?”“I wasn’t feeling up to it,” says Peter. “I--I’m sorry.”“Hey, it’s alright,” says Ned. “I was just worried about you, dude. You left and didn’t come back and there were all sorts of rumors.”“Well, they can shut up now. It’s just my aunt who’s dead , after all,” says Peter, bitter. “Nothing juicy about that, is there.”“Peter!” exclaims Min-Ji. “Don’t speak about your aunt like that!”Peter ducks his head down while mumbling, “Sorry, sorry.”“Peter!” he hears, and he turns to other members of the shul and lets himself get lost in the fog of mourning and the never ending stream of condolences. He nears the casket at some point and sees that it’s closed as is the norm with Jewish tradition, but he remembers Norman’s words. They don’t recommend viewing… he remembers, and tries not to think what his beautiful aunt must look like in there. Alone, in the dark, for the rest of eternity.He stands there until someone takes him by the shoulders and guides him into a seat, and Rabbi Hassan leads them into the mourner’s kaddish. Peter barely remembers to say amen at the appropriate places.Rabbi Hassan led his uncle’s funeral too. She had said to May that she shouldn’t have to be the one to do it.That was only a year ago. In the span of just a year, Peter has lost his parents all over again.Rabbi Hassan stops talking. Peter stews for a moment in confusion when she leaves the stage to push a lever.Then the coffin begins to lower into the ground, and he’s no longer confused.Time passes at an excruciating pace during the descent. Peter thinks it will never reach the bottom, that he will be trapped in this moment forever, that maybe this really is a horribly nightmare, and he’ll wake up in his bed.The coffin hits the bottom of the hole with a dull thud. Peter wonders with a jolt that almost forces him to his feet that in Jewish tradition, family members are expected to throw the first dirt onto the casket.Does he go up? Are people really expecting Peter to go up all alone to throw the symbolic dirt onto the casket of what was his last remaining family?Peter doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to go up there. He doesn’t want to be reminded that his family is all gone and buried, and there’s no one left in the world who will call him family now.He doesn’t want to bury his only family.Rabbi Hassan appears before him. “Come on, Pete,” she says, holding out her hand.Oh, thank god. He won’t have to go up alone. Peter takes her hand, and they walk up to the grave together.It’s right next to Ben’s grave. And just a few feet away, his parents.He only did this last year.“Would you like me to do it with you?” murmurs Rabbi Hassan. They’re at the hole.He nods. They both get a couple of shovels. Peter shovels up some dirt and throws it into the hole.
Thud.
Rabbi Hassan shovels up some dirt and throws it into the hole.
Thud.
And they return the shovels and in the silence of the service, Peter returns to his seat while the workers fill up the rest of the grave.And that’s it.Aunt May is gone and buried.“Peter? Peter.”Harry’s shaking his shoulder. “Come on. The service is over. We’re heading to the synagogue.”Peter shakes his head and doesn’t get up.“Peter?” Harry repeats. “Ned, can you--?”“Peter, it’s time to go,” says Ned now, “There’s a reception at the synagogue.”“I want to go home,” says Peter. “Just let me go home.”“Can you even go home?” asks Harry. “Oh, shit--I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”“Thanks a lot,” Ned says. “Peter, I’m sure you can go if you want, but don’t you want to go to the reception?”Peter shakes his head again. “No, I’ve--I’ve done this too many times, I just want to go home.”“It’s okay, Peter,” says Mr. Osborn. “We can leave. Let’s go.”Peter gets up, and leaves the cemetery with Mr. Osborn’s hand tight on his shoulder like a tether to the world.…Peter wakes up in the Osborns’ guest bedroom believing he had a nightmare.He did not have a nightmare, but he is now sitting shiva. Staying in bed for as long as he wants is perfectly acceptable.He’ll get up when people come by to sit shiva with him.…Peter dozes in and out and only gets up when he feels gross enough to need a shower and so hungry that he feels nauseated.Last time, after Ben died, he and May laid in bed together while crying and watching bad movies. They got up to eat and shower when their friends came over, and there was almost always someone knocking on their door, with roast or chocolates or salad. Some people even volunteered to help tidy up the house so they wouldn't have to.Why did he have to do this again? Why them?How is he supposed to get through this without May?Clean for the first time since he got the news, he leaves the guest bedroom. Stepping out the door, he’s surprised by the lack of noise. He expected… he expected people to be there. Mourners from his shul to sit shiva with him.He thought people would be there.The quiet of the apartment instills a nervous foreboding in Peter. It’s too still. There is no group of mourners waiting for Peter to join them.He can’t tell if anyone is around at all, the air is so still.Panicking, Peter races around the needlessly huge residence--seriously, who needs this much space--trying to find anybody because he can’t really be alone while sitting shiva----and comes to halt in the dining room, where Mr. Osborn sits with a cup of coffee and his laptop.“Peter?” he asks. “What’s wrong? Why were you running?”“Oh, uh,” says Peter. “Um. Sorry, I was just--” He looks around. Only Mr. Osborn is in the room. “Where’s Harry?”“He’s at school, of course.”“Oh. Right.” He clears his throat. Mr. Osborn waits, waving a hand for him to continue. “Where is--I mean, where is everyone else?”Mr. Osborn raises his brow. “Everyone else?”“Yeah, it’s--” He clears his throat again. He hopes he doesn’t start crying. “People are supposed to come mourn with you. During shiva.”“Are they?” asks Mr. Osborn. Face surprised and mildly polite, in no way reflecting the panic thrumming through Peter. “No one’s been by.”“Are you sure? Maybe--maybe they don’t know where I’m staying, I can call Rabbi Hassan--” His words choke off as Mr. Osborn’s expression morphs to pity.“I told Rabbi Hassan that you’re staying here,” he tells Peter gently.“But--but then they should be here,” protests Peter. Mr. Osborn’s pity does not end, and Peter can’t stand to look at him. He fixates on Mr. Osborn’s hands, which are resting intertwined on the table. “They should be sitting shiva with me so I’m not--” all alone, he doesn’t finish. Voicing it is too hard. His throat tightens and his eyes grow hot, and he thinks, Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.“Pete,” says Mr. Osborn, pushing his laptop closed. “No one’s come by.”“Oh,” says Peter. “That’s--oh.”No one has been by to sit shiva with him. To mourn with him. That’s… that’s…A wave a dizziness makes him sway. Mr. Osborn stands up.

“Peter? Are you alright?”He shakes his head.Mr. Osborn pushes him into a chair. “Here, have some water.”Hand shaking, Peter puts the glass to his lips and drinks. It tastes sour, initially, but he realizes that he hasn’t brushed his teeth in a while. Naturally, while sitting in front of his friend’s father and the CEO of a major biotech corporation, he spills water on his shirt.“There, that’s better,” says Mr. Osborn. “You should also eat. I’ll have something brought out for you.”“They’re supposed to be here,” says Peter. “They’re--they’re supposed to be here for me.”“We’re here for you, Peter,” says Mr. Osborn. He rubs his hand on Peter’s shoulder, not stopping even when tears begin to fall onto the table. “Me and Harry. We’ll help you through this. It’ll be alright.”No. Nothing will ever be alright again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Seven days pass too quickly and too slowly. Peter stays at the Osborns’ because no one suggests otherwise, and he can’t stand the idea of returning to an empty house alone.Harry still has school, but he awkwardly knocks on Peter’s door afterwards and asks if he wants to play a video game or watch a movie. After that first couple mornings, Mr. Osborn comes and goes, but he swings by Peter’s room to make sure he’s eaten.And while he doesn’t comment if Peter hasn’t showered, his nose scrunches up in disgust, which is more than enough to get Peter to hop in the shower. So he eats and bathes regularly during the week.Despite Mr. Osborn’s offer to sit shiva with him, neither one of the Osborns know what sitting shiva is supposed to be like. He still spends the majority of his time alone. He still is too grateful for any company at all to tell them so.Their absence allows him to easily sneak out as Spider-Man during either night or day. If he has nothing else, he has Spider-Man. Peter can do some good in the world as long as he has Spider-Man.Going out as Spider-Man is a short reprieve; initially, his anger at the drunk driver fuels him into hitting harder and faster, but it wanes into grief that numbs him and only slows him down.So after seven days, Peter gets up for school.He finds Harry waiting in the parlor, playing a game on his phone. Harry looks up as Peter enters the room, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, hey, Peter. How are you…” He trails off. “You could probably stay out of school for another week. No one’s expecting you back.”The last thing Peter wants to do is more time with his thoughts. “I want to go to school.”Harry gives him a look like he’s crazy but shrugs. “Whatever, man.” Peter flinches, and so does Harry. He grips his phone tightly and is holding it against his chest. “Sorry, Peter. This is--I’m really sorry, dude.”“I know,” says Peter, voice too hoarse. He can’t cry before school. “It… yeah.”“Dad’s going to let you stay here,” says Harry. “I know he’s been working on it.”“I--” There are no words for how that makes Peter feels. Not quite surprised but relieved all the same. “Thanks.”Harry smiles at him a bit weakly, stares at him a bit too long, before returning to his phone game.When the driver comes up to collect the two of them, Peter remains quiet on the ride to school.…School is hell. Too many stares, too many whispers, following Peter through the hallways until he either wants to punch something or run away.By the time lunch rolls around, Peter gives into the temptation to put on his suit, and swing far, far away from school and his life.…By the time he returns to OsCorp’s tower, the streetlights are on, and Peter belatedly realizes that he might be in trouble. It’s unlikely though--who’s going to bust him for cutting class? Or being out too late? Even if the school knew he was staying with the Osborns, Peter can’t imagine shy and quiet Kelly Cox calling Mr. Osborn to let him know.And, even if all of that did happen, why would Mr. Osborn care? Peter’s not his kid, and Mr. Osborn is a busy, busy man.So it is to Peter’s greatest surprise to find Mr. Osborn sitting in the parlor. “Ah, Peter! So kind of you to join me. Here, sit, sit.”The jovial welcome unpleasantly jars Peter’s expectations. He sits down without complaint.Mr. Osborn frowns at him, and reaches out to his face. “What happened here?” “I, uh… it was a pigeon,” says Peter. He tenses as fingers carefully prod a bruise on his cheek. An uncomfortable sensation prickles along his skin, and his cheek burns where Mr. Osborn’s fingers touched it.Mr. Osborn blinks as he leans back into his chair. “A pigeon.”“Flew right into my face,” Peter tells him. He can’t tell if Mr. Osborn believes him.“Well, then,” he says, bewildered. “Perhaps this rogue pigeon wouldn’t have had the opportunity to attack you if you hadn’t cut class?”Peter flinches. “I dunno, pigeons seem to have it out for me.”“Peter,” chastises Mr. Osborn.“I’m sorry,” he says, and he is. “It... just got all too much for me at school,” he tells Mr. Osborn honestly. “Everyone was staring and whispering, and I couldn’t take it.”“So you skipped school,” says Mr. Osborn, much more coolly than Peter expected, “and spent the next nine hours… where?”Peter squirms a bit on the couch. “Just around.” When Mr. Osborn’s expectant silence doesn’t end, he elaborates with, “Nowhere in particular, just… walked around the city.”“I see.” His tone makes Peter look down. Aunt May’s hours had kept her from keeping track of Peter’s late night activities. His gut clenches anxiously. Mr. Osborn seems calm, but… “Well, Peter. I’m sure you realize that your behavior today was unacceptable.”Peter tries to say, “Yeah,” but finds that he can’t speak. Which is stupid. It’s just Mr. Osborn. There’s no reason for him to be freaking out like this. He nods instead.“Going forward, you will be back here right after your school obligations end, and you most certainly will not cut class. I don’t want to get another call from Jim regarding your behavior at school. Is that clear?”“I--yeah,” says Peter, stunned.The quiet extends long enough that Peter looks up to Mr. Osborn staring at him. When their eyes meet, Mr. Osborn smiles faintly. “Good. Glad we cleared that up.” He stands up. “There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry, but then go to bed.”He leaves, and Peter is left alone in the large parlor. Mr. Osborn’s departure left no time to question or argue the rules he just put into place. Anger bubbles in Peter’s gut, and he clenches his hands into the fabric of his pants.Stupid. He shouldn’t have assumed he could stay out as late as he did with Aunt May and have no one noticed. Mr. Osborn has some of the best security in the world, only second to Stark Industries and SHIELD. He’d have to avoid not only the technological security measures, but also anyone who could report back to Mr. Osborn.He could do it. Peter certainly wasn’t going to stop being Spider-Man. He’d just have be sneakier about it.It’d be good practice.He gets up and walks to his room. Peter wants to hit something or cry, and he’s leaning towards the former.Harry is waiting by his room, and Peter slows down in the hallway when he spots him.“Hey, Pete,” whispers Harry.“Hey,” says Peter as he opens the door. “Wanna come in?”Harry follows him inside. “Dude, where have you been? Dad was freaking out.”Peter shrugs. “Just out. Did a lot of walking.” Biting his lips, he adds, “Is he like that a lot?”Harry shakes his head. “No. I’ve never seen him that worried before.”A warm feeling blossoms in Peter’s chest, when the implication hits and the look on Harry’s face tells him everything he needs to know. Peter turns his eyes away from Harry.The silence is unbearable. Peter shifts, “So, uh... did you want anything?”Harry says, “Oh, uh. Your friend cornered me at school. Told me to tell you to call him back, asshole.”Peter’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call him back.”“Cool.” Harry hesitates. “I guess I’ll go.”“Do you wanna--wanna play some video games before bed?” Video games were normal for Peter. And Harry, even if they weren’t close friends, was taking Peter’s sudden invasion of his home with aplomb.“Yeah,” says Harry, looking relieved, “sure.”…Mr. Osborn keeps to his word. Either he or his driver calls Peter if he doesn’t show up right after school. Oftentimes, it’s Mr. Osborn.“Please, call me Norman,” says Mr. Osborn, one afternoon with a smile. “You are living with us, after all. This is your home now.”The attention Norman pays to his schedule prevents him from going out as Spider-Man except for after he goes to bed, when he can sneak out in costume. Initially, Peter was too scared of potential surveillance cameras and security measures spotting his comings and goings. It wasn’t until he managed to hack into the Osborn’s personal servers to view the buildings security details that he felt comfortable sneaking out.He makes it work over the next several weeks. Peter tries not to resent the attention too much; Harry hides his jealousy as well as he can, but it’s obvious all the same. Norman favors Peter over Harry, excitedly pulling him down into his personal lab to discuss his company’s current scientific pursuits.Peter won’t lie and say that it isn’t incredible. Norman is a genius. They spend hours talking about the strides OsCorp is making towards prosthetics and assistive medical devices. He asks for Peter’s thoughts and listens. Peter suggests a way for them to increase the efficiency of the power in one of the prosthetics, and Norman squeezes his shoulder and tells him he’s brilliant.It’s the first time since Aunt May’s funeral that Peter feels like smiling.Norman smiles back, hand still on Peter’s shoulder. “I think you ought to present this, Peter. OsCorp has demos planned with stakeholders and the public in a month. We’ll have you included in it.”“Really?” exclaims Peter, voice embarrassingly high. “A month? But I could--I could do more than this--”Norman’s laughter cuts him off. “How about I’ll key you into the lab so you can work on the prosthetic after school?” Peter trips over his words, trying to express to Norman how grateful he would be with that idea. “Oh, don’t thank me, Pete! A mind like yours needs practice to hone it properly. We already know,” he says, patting Peter on the head, “how much trouble you can get yourself into.”Peter flushes, face hot. He stammers a protest, but Norman is walking away, talking about access codes and schedules and planning before he can even finish his sentence.…Peter works feverishly in the following month, conducting as many upgrades as he can think of to the prosthetic arm--and he can think of a lot.For the first week, he spends so much time in the lab that he doesn’t have time to go out as Spider-Man, but he realizes that the timing is too suspicious and leaves him antsy and jittery. After he almost rips a door off its hinges at school when he’s not paying attention, he makes a point to leave enough time in the night to go out for patrol.One night, as he’s leaving Norman’s lab, he finds Harry waiting for him. “Oh, hey, Harry.”Harry scowls. “Where’s my dad?”“Uh…” says Peter. “I don’t know?”He frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Wasn’t he in there with you?” He walks forward, pushing past Peter to see inside the lab. “Dad! Dad?”“He’s not here,” says Peter, “I just use the access code to get in.”“He gave you the code?”“Uh… yeah?” answers Peter. The surprise on Harry’s face quickly turns to anger.“He’s never given me the access code,” says Harry. “I’m not even allowed in his lab!”“O-Oh…” he says because that thought never occurred to him. “That’s weird.”“No, it’s not. Dad likes you more than me,” says Harry, simply stated as fact while Peter’s mouth drops open in shock. It would be funny, if there was even the slightest indication that Harry wasn’t completely serious.“That can’t be true,” says Peter. “I’m sure Norman just--” He can’t think of an explanation for why Norman wouldn’t give his own son access to his home lab that isn’t that he doesn’t want to.“Yeah,” Harry scoffs, after a few seconds of Peter’s silence. “Exactly. Dad took you in because he’d much rather have you as a son than me.”“Harry, don’t--I’m sure your dad loves you,” Peter protests weakly. He can’t imagine--he just can’t imagine having a parent who didn’t love him.“Loves me less than his projects. And his company,” Harry says. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”“Wait, Harry--” but what else is there to say? Harry leaves the room, not paying him any mind. Peter isn’t brave enough to knock on his bedroom door. He goes to his own bed, reviewing all of the time he’s spent with Norman and when he’s seen him involve himself with Harry.He falls asleep still trying think of some.…After that, Peter throws himself into his project, well aware that the deadline is encroaching ever closer. He and Harry stop playing video games sometimes together after school; Peter’s too busy anyway. The presentation is going to be at the conference hall at OsCorp. Peter’s will be one of many, of course, but attendance at the conference will be in the thousands. The hall itself has a capacity of hundreds. The idea of speaking in front of a crowd like that terrifies him.But it’s his work. Norman is giving him technology and opportunities Peter only dreamed about getting his hands on before. There’s so much he can do now, that he couldn’t just by sneaking into his school’s lab after hours.Fine-tuning the functions of the arm, as well as making a presentation within the time allotted to him, sucks up his free time. Which suits Peter just fine--the idea of hanging out with Ned like everything’s normal tastes sour in his mouth. He wants to hang out with Ned more beyond class and lunches, he can’t find himself caring about legos or movies or video games.Norman’s early curfew gives Peter a handy excuse to leave right after school or decathlon meets. Despite his initial shock, the rule has come in very handy. Peter can just go straight back to the Osborn’s and hole himself up in the lab. No one can bother him there or ask him how he’s doing. Even when Norman infrequently stops by he only ever asks about his work. It’s refreshing.And when he’s working on his projects, Peter isn’t thinking about May. The only other time that happens is when he’s swinging around the city and fighting, so he works until he can’t anymore, then he goes out until he’s about to drop.And he keeps on like that, until the presentation.Peter has stared down guns, knives, blunt instruments of numerous types, and his knees shake as he stands on the podium to give his presentation.They shake so hard Peter worries it’s visible. But he gets going, his voice gets stronger and he stands taller and his knees don’t shake. His rehearsals help, words falling out of his mouth by rout, though the details are lost in his memory.He gets through it. Peter thinks he even did well. The audience applauds, and he shakily walks off the stage to where Norman stands.“Well done, my boy!” says Norman, clapping him on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug. “That was fantastic, Peter,” he says as steps away to hold Peter at arm’s length. “I had high expectations for you, but that was even better than I hoped!”Peter smiles so wide he think it’ll crack his face in half. “I’m so glad,” he says, “I was so nervous.”“Yes, but you quickly gained confidence,” Norman says. They walk down the steps at the side of the stage, and Peter finds himself shaking hands with young, dark-haired man in glasses dressed sharply in a blue suit.“That was remarkable,” the man says. “And you’re only in high school?”“Peter attends school with my son,” says Norman. “I have no doubt that he’ll be the leading scientific mind of his generation.”“Oh, of course,” says the man, “Mr. Osborn, have you had a chance to look over my employer’s proposal?”“I have, yes,” says Norman. “I’d be happy to discuss it with him soon, James, if you would kindly set up a meeting with my assistant.”The man smiles, and Peter hears him agree before he’s distracted shaking hands with another audience member who asks him about his work.“Dr. Cho,” says the Asian woman who asks him how he determined which receptors needed to be rerouted during the Q&A. She hands him a card. “Stark Industries would be ecstatic to help a mind like yours develop. Prosthetics and bionics is our fastest developing department.”“O-oh, thank you,” Peter says, “but I like working with Mr. Osborn.”“Peter! Come meet Dr. Vemulakonda,” says Norman, pulling Peter away. “Rajiv does exciting work with genetics. He and Dr. Connors have been discussing a joint trial, in fact.”“Oh! You co-authored a paper with Dr. Connors recently!” exclaims Peter. “Can I--can I ask you some questions about it?”Hours pass while Peter talks to some of the greatest scientific minds ever and by the time the demo ends he’s beyond exhausted. Peter crawls into the car after Norman and sprawls out on his seat, closing his eyes.He dozes off during the ride, woken up when the car comes to a complete stop in front of their building. Peter lets himself out of the car and follows Norman into the building, where security greets them with a “Mr. Osborn” and a nod.“A rousing success, I would say,” says Norman as the elevator takes them all the way up to their apartment. When the elevator dings softly and the doors open, Norman walks them forward with a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “This calls for celebration, I say. How about a drink, Pete?”“What?” asks Peter, startled.“How about a drink?” says Norman, enunciated clearly and smiling. Already pouring a drink. “It wouldn’t do not to celebrate at all, would it?” He hands Peter a cold glass. Peter stares at it while Norman fixes himself a drink. He sits next to Peter, smiles again, and says, “Cheers,” clinking their glasses and taking a sip.Peter follows suit.It tastes bad. Peter coughs and tries not to.Norman chuckles. “It’s an acquired taste. You’ll get used to it.”“My aunt said that too,” Peter blurts. “She sometimes let me have a sip of her wine during Passover. I always hated it.” He stares at his glass, unable to meet Norman’s eyes when he feels like crying. “I miss her.”“Well,” says Norman, “you have me now.”“I--” Peter says, looking up, a cold prickle going down his spine that was entirely unrelated to his spidey sense at Norman’s tone. “What?”“I said, you have me now. Your aunt’s dead, and you never would have flourished with her like you will with me.”The words stab like knives into Peter’s chest, and he gasps, trying not to cry. Norman’s face is hard and cold, unmoved by Peter’s reaction to his words, and the longer he stares the greater his desire to flee.Peter doesn’t move. He can’t move. Terror keeps him frozen in place, so Norman doesn’t need to grip his shoulder painfully tight to keep him in place as he presses forward, but he does so anyway.Norman’s lips are against his, and everything about it hurts, his skin burning and his teeth aching and his thoughts racing as he remembers every touch the past several weeks every moment that rubbed him the wrong way every minute of attention Norman gave him all because Norman wanted this.Peter thinks he’s going to be sick.“Now, don’t do anything stupid, Pete,” says Norman, after he’s pulled back. His hand is still on his shoulder, no longer tight but still painful. “Not only will no one believe you, but you’ll throw away your whole future. And you have so much promise, Pete. You could be amazing, if only you let me help you.”Peter swallows. It’s hard to breathe.“Do you understand, Pete?” Norman asks. It’s not a question. It’s a reminder.Peter’s lost his parents twice over. And with May, his only connection to Judaism, gone, even his shul abandoned him. Like everyone did.He has no one. No one. He could run, and then what? Peter needs to go to school. He needs money. He needs a place to live.The Osborn residence was just becoming home.He thinks of his conversation with Dr. Cho and Dr. Vemulakonda, both of their cards sitting in Peter’s wallet along with many others’. He thinks of the nerve-wrecking excitement of presenting his scientific findings. And, easily, he envisions himself working in the field of bionics to help humanity for his entire career.All of that, gone in an instant without Norman.It won’t be that bad , Peter tells himself. He doesn’t say anything, but Norman must see his acceptance on his face, for he repeats, “Do you understand?”“Yes, Mr. Osborn,” he says, mouth dry. “I understand.”He chuckles. “I knew you were a smart one, Pete,” and leans over him again. Peter closes his eyes in the attempt to make it better, but only ends up fixating on Osborn’s hot breath on his face and fingers digging into his chin--“Dad!”--and Harry is there, pushing them apart. “Dad, what are you doing?”Peter catches himself from falling back onto the couch, staring at Harry’s back. “WHAT--” yells Harry, voice rising in volume as he pushes his father’s chest, “--ARE YOU DOING?”“Harry,” Osborn grits out, “this is not the time--”“--why were you kissing Peter--!”“--go to your room and stay there--”“--not until you explain what you were doing--”“--be quiet--”“--he’s my age, Dad, I knew you were disappointed in me but I never thought it was because you wanted a son you could FUCK!”“BE QUIET!” Osborn roars, picking Harry up by the shirt and throwing him across the room.Harry hits a bookshelf with a horrible crack that Peter will hear in his nightmares.“Harry!” he shouts, his limbs finally responding to his desire to move to go check on Harry.There is blood on the floor under Harry, but he ignores it to kneel beside him. Peter puts his fingers on Harry’s neck and feels nothing.“Is he okay?” Osborn calls out, still standing by the couch.Breath coming faster, Peter leans down to listen to Harry’s chest in a desperate attempt to hear his heartbeat.Shakily, Peter says, “There’s no pulse.”Osborn steps back. “No… no, I… I didn’t mean to…”A drop falls onto Harry’s neck, and Peter realizes that he’s crying. He wipes his face roughly with his sleeve, and sniffles. Harry’s eyes gaze blankly up to the ceiling, and Peter can’t stand it. He closes them, and it’s the worst thing he’s ever had to do.Hand shaking, he digs his fingers into Harry’s shirt, as if it would somehow bring him back to life. He should stopped Harry. He should have separated him from his father. He should have caught him. If only he wasn’t sitting uselessly on the couch, unable to act. His uncle would be so disappointed in him. His aunt would be so disappointed in him.
This is all my fault.
“This is all your fault.”Moments drag by as Peter fails to process that those words were spoken out loud, and were not his thoughts. “What?”“This is your fault,” repeats Osborn, standing straight and still and so, so angry. “Harry only interfered because it was you. You should have left him alone.”Peter sits back, unsure what is happening. “But I--”“If you hadn’t caused so much trouble,” continues Osborn, voice rising, “we wouldn’t have been here in the first place! Here I am, offering you a home, a future, and meaning and you hem and haw over it like a dullard!”Peter gaps at Osborn wordlessly, scrambling back away on the floor and Osborn walks forward.“Of course, an urchin like you wouldn’t know gratitude if it slapped you in the face! You and that aunt of yours would have been happy to squander that intelligence of yours!” Osborn pauses as he reaches Harry. His face softens for just a moment, before contorting into rage. “After everything I’ve done for you! You’re just like your aunt! She hated me the moment I walked into her office and refused my offer to take you on as an intern! That fucking, ungrateful bitch!”Osborn pushes a glass cabinet display case out of his way. It falls, shattering on impact. “You Parkers and your fucking righteousness!” He picks up a lamp and throws it out Peter who flinches out of the way even though it misses by a mile. “YOUR AUNT SHOULD HAVE AGREED WHEN SHE HAD THE CHANCE!”The icy, freezing horror Peter feels is wiped out by a burning realization so terrible that it makes him feel ill. “Did you kill Aunt May?”“I got you away from her,” says Osborn, denying nothing. “I gave you an opportunity, Pete. I saw your potential. Your aunt wanted you to go work for some,” he waves his hands, “non-profit. She said that she didn’t think you could do good at OsCorp.” Lips curling, Osborn spits, “That dumb bitch.”“You killed Aunt May,” Peter says softly.Osborn takes in a deep breath.“Get up. You look ridiculous on the floor,” he says, smoothing out the front of his suit. “Go to your room. I’ll tell you when you can come out again.”Peter doesn’t move. “You killed Aunt May.”Osborn sneers. “Oh, and what? You haven’t been enjoying all the luxuries you’ve been receiving? Access to my lab? Working on your own projects? Because you certainly have lapped up everything I’ve given you without pause. Every scrap of attention, every word about OsCorp’s developments. You certainly got over your aunt’s death pretty quick, didn’t you?”The words are meant to cut, but Peter can barely hear him. His entire body is shaking, and he can’t feel his limbs. “You did. You killed my aunt.” And Peter had no one to grieve with. No one to grieve with because-- “You didn’t let my shul sit shiva with me.”“No, of course I didn’t, you idiot,” says Osborn. “I went through all that trouble, didn’t I? Why the hell would I arrange for something as banal as murder if I was just going to let one of those clucking hens snatch you up? It’d be so much trouble to get you away from one of them, too.”“But they wanted to,” says Peter. “They wanted to and--and you didn’t let them. You made me grieve all by myself.”“Here’s what’s going to happen next, Pete,” says Osborn. “You’re going to go to your room. You’re going to stay there until I’ve taken care of everything out here. Then we’re going to go over the rules because clearly you need strict instructions and oversight.”“No,” says Peter, now standing. “No, I’ll--I’ll tell them what you did, and--”“And what?” demands Osborn. “No one will believe the word of a fifteen-year-old kid. Not against a man like me.”“Rabbi Hassan would,” Peter says, certain.“Well, Pete,” says Norman, in sarcastic surprise, “after what happened to your aunt, I didn’t think you would so recklessly throw more lives away.”Peter screams and leaps.They fall to the floor, and Peter doesn’t think as he pounds his fists against Osborn’s face, again and again and again and again. Osborn’s face becomes a bloody mess and there are wet drips of blood and tears on Peter’s when his hands reach up and grab Peter’s wrists with enough strength to break them.He screams again, this time in pain, as he’s thrown off.Peter hasn’t broken a bone since before he became Spider-Man, and the implications of that don’t set in until Osborn stands back up, jaw hanging down, broken, and face so bloody as to make his individual features indiscernible.With horror, Peter watches Osborn grab his own jaw and shove it back into place. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blood from his face, revealing that the damage Peter did to him is already gone.“You really think I haven’t been working on my own projects, Pete?” says Osborn, smiling and smiling and smiling. “Maybe you’re not that smart, after all.”Peter scrambles away, guts coiling in disgust and terror, and his spidey sense firmly telling him to flee.With Osborn’s blood on his fists and Harry’s on his knees, he does.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Peter runs. The Osborn residence takes up an entire floor at the top of the building, and windows that take up the entire walls illuminate the rooms as Peter runs to where he knows there aren’t cameras, but he doesn’t have his webslingers and Osborn is following him--!He crashes into the door for the stairs, hurriedly pulling it open and slamming it shut. Peter turns the lock until it breaks, and then he leaps over the railing and drops down the stairs.A loud crash echoes above him. Peter doesn’t look back.He crashes into the stairway’s exit, dashing through the first floor of the building. People scream around him, and a few of the security guards attempt to grab him, but Peter barely has to look to dodge away from them.Peter runs out of the building. He runs out into the street to the alleyway across the way, the blare of cars honking and traffic coming to a screeching halt behind him.He runs until cacophony behind him is no longer audible among New York City’s buzz of activity. At that point, he crawls up a building until he’s at the roof.There, he collapses. He sobs until he passes out.…Peter wakes with a jolt, rolling out of the way before a broom smacks into the place he was just in.“You can’t sleep here!” says a stocky, old woman as she lifts the broom again.“Sorry, I’m sorry,” says Peter, as he backs away holding his hands up.“Go! Go! Or I’ll call the cops!” Her eyes flick downward, and Peter becomes extremely conscious of the fact that his white sleeves are blood stained. As are his pants, but those are black at least. The woman’s fingers tighten on her broom. “Try anything and I swear--”“I’m going, I’m going!” Peter cries out, running to the fire escape and jumping down it. He scrambles out of the alleyway, stopping and doubling back to avoid a busy street.Sniffling, he rips off pieces of his sleeves until there’s no blood visible. He picks a bit at his knees, but there’s nothing to be done about those until he finds his backpack. Peter’s still in Midtown, so he’s not far from where he left it, but that also means that he’s not far from Norman Osborn.Peter needs his backpack. Once he has his backpack, he’ll have his suit, his webslingers, and his tools. And a fresh change of clothes, thank God.Most importantly, he’ll have Spider-Man.…There are so many cops around the Osborn residence. Peter avoids them by staying up high and in secluded areas until he finally, mercifully, gets to his backpack.He unzips it, just a little bit, to make sure his suit is in there.The red and blue fabric peaks out, and Peter releases a shaky breath.He changes quickly, shoving his bloody clothes into the backpack even though Peter would give anything to be able to burn them. Slipping on his mask and securing his hold on his backpack, Peter shoots out a web and swings away from Norman Osborn.It feels like running away.I’ll be back, he swears to himself, for Aunt May. For Harry. I won’t let Norman get away with this.A wave of illness hits and he lands, unstable, on a rooftop.He murdered Aunt May, he thinks.He killed Aunt May. He killed her because of Peter.Peter wraps his arms around himself, kneeling on the hard surface of the roof, trying to hold himself together. His chest feels like an open, gaping wound, a great big nothing inside of him. Just like after Uncle Ben. Just like when he first got the news about Aunt in that hospital.Norman killed Aunt May because of Peter. He killed Harry because of Peter.Uncle Ben died too because of Peter.It was all Peter’s fault. They would all be alive if it weren’t for Peter.He sobs. Tears splash on the ground beneath him, and Peter curls in on himself.Oh, god, Harry’s dead. Harry’s dead.Harry was his friend! He was only fifteen! He’s never going to study English in college or play that new Zelda game he was looking forward to or even smile again--Peter rips off his mask as he retches. He squeezes his eyes shut and all he can feel is Norman’s hot breath on his face. He retches again. He rubs his eyes, hard enough to hurt, and all he can see is Harry’s blank eyes staring up from his broken body. His skin crawls with the memory sensations of Norman’s hands on him, feeling so, so small.He punches into the floor beneath him, his knuckles easily leaving indentations in the concrete of the roof.What’s the point of having power, he thinks, if he can’t save anyone? If someone like Norman can make him feel so powerless and helpless without lifting a finger?Gasping and moving away from his own sick, he wonders about Norman’s superstrength and accelerated healing. A wave a calm washes over him; this, analyzing an opponent's powers and weaknesses, this is something he can do. Has done this before.Spider-Man can deal with Norman as just an everyday superpowered villain. That’s much easier than the alternative. Think of Norman as just another villain. Spider-Man deals with men like him all the time. To Spider-Man, he’s no different from any of the other schmucks who get some powers and abuse them.But he needs to hide first.…Peter’s first thought is to go to his shul, where he knows every nook and cranny and every face is familiar and the doors are always locked and guarded by security and Rabbi Hassan would help him like he was her own son.But Norman would kill her, just like he killed Aunt May and Harry.Peter can’t endanger her and the shul like that. He can’t bring a threat like that to them.He swallows hard and crouches down, mask pulled down over his face once again. He should really avoid Queens in general. Just stay as far away as possible. Staying in Manhattan might be dumb, but not for Spider-Man.Norman won’t be able to find him if he’s not Peter Parker anymore.But… but he needs a place to sleep. Food to eat. Somewhere to get clean. People are going to notice if he smells. The thought makes his chest feel tight and the skin on his arms itch from dried blood.The synagogue works with some homeless shelters. Aunt May volunteered at one of them once in a while. What was it called? It was in Chinatown. It was too close for comfort, but now that he remembered Harry’s blood was still on his skin, he desperately needs to wash it off. Scrub his skin until he can’t feel it anymore.He thinks of Norman’s mouth against his, and Peter bites his own lip hard enough to replace the sensation. It feels good despite the pain or because of it, so he does it again.FEAST! That was it. Run by Mr. Li. Aunt May was busy with her responsibilities as a Rabbi, but Peter can remember her liking Mr. Li and his organization. Peter went there a couple of times a few years ago to volunteer with Aunt May. Now that he’s thinking of it, he vaguely recalls Mr. Li’s face.Not that Peter can ask Mr. Li for help. Or ask anyone for help. Norman would kill them. If Peter’s going to go anywhere, he can’t be seen.So he won’t be seen....Knowing the general neighborhood FEAST is in makes it easy enough for Peter to pick it out. He lands near a small vegetable garden on the roof, and once he makes sure no one else was there, he changes into the spare set of clothes he had in his bag.Peter hesitates before he shoves the ruined dress shirt and pants into the backpack. He needs to get rid of them, wants to toss them or burn them or throw them into the Hudson, but he can’t risk his clothes being found with Harry’s blood on them.Swallowing down a sudden rise of bile that comes up at the thought, Peter shoulders the backpack and pulls his hoodie up. He takes a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, but Peter can’t tell if he’s panicking or if all the emotion has been sucked out of him at this point.He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. Peter just knows that he wants to get clean. There were bathrooms with shower stalls on the first floor, he thinks. Aunt May said Mr. Li believes that hygiene is one of the most important things that they can do to help the homeless. Illnesses and health aside, hygiene helps preserve dignity and mobility in public spaces.It’s late, and FEAST is quiet but not inactive. Peter walks down the hallway on the second floor that is illuminated by small lights. The auditorium downstairs is dark, and Peter can see the shapes of people in the small cots provided by the shelter.He tiptoes down the stairs, ignoring the odd person lingering in the halls and avoiding eye contact. It takes nearly a full loop around the building, but he finds the Men’s showers and ducks inside.The restroom isn’t empty, but there are stalls. Peter doesn’t take off his clothes until he’s safely inside of one, and throws his bag and clothes over the wall.He crosses his arms over his chest while he stands out of the water spray, waiting for it to warm up. It takes a few minutes and it never gets quite hot enough.It’ll have to do. He steps into the water spray and lets it run on his face for quite a long time.By the time he gets out of the shower, Peter has scrubbed his face and arms so hard that they’re pink. He puts on his slightly damp clothes in the stall and makes sure his hood obfuscates his face as much as possible before he exits.That wasn’t so bad , he thinks. This will work. The rumbling of the laundry room reminds Peter of the blood-stained clothes in his backpack. He hesitates, but he doesn’t want to linger longer than he has to.He also thinks the kitchen, but his stomach rebels even at the thought of food. So instead, Peter heads back up to the roof. Once he finds a hidden spot on a roof somewhere, he can rest. Rest, and figure out what else he’s going to do.One step at a time , his Aunt May used to tell him whenever he got overwhelmed before back when his only problems were schoolwork.Peter will take one step at a time.He finds a secluded, covered spot on a building not too far from FEAST that is pretty inaccessible to anyone who can’t fly or websling. The cover should prevent people who can fly from spotting him.Staring at the floor, gray slate tiles speckled white with bird poop, Peter finds as clean a spot he can to lie down. The best he can do is only some white spots. They’re dry, at least. Peter tries to ignore the smell and the grime under him.The dust makes his throat scratchy, and roof beneath him is hard and cold. He curls into his hoodie more. At least no one can see him like this. At least he’s alone now.Peter hiccups, squeezing his eyes shut as tears leak out of his eyes.He’s alone now.…Peter doesn’t remember falling asleep. His eyes tender and hot when he wakes up, and he scrubs at his face with his sleeve to get rid of the gritty feeling on his skin.He sits on the roof with his arms curled around his knees, looking out at New York City, as he realizes that Peter Parker’s life is over. His parents died years ago and left him behind, his uncle and aunt got killed because of him, and Harry was murdered by his own father trying to protect Peter.Rabbi Hassan and Ned would try to help if Peter asked, but Norman would kill them. He would just--kill them, like they were nothing.Peter can’t let that happen. He won’t. He’ll never see either of them again if it means they’ll get to live.And he won’t be able to see them. Norman has money and resources. He’ll be watching them, waiting for Peter to ask them for help. He’d threaten them if Peter ever shows up again. Norman already has. He’ll do it again to keep Peter in line. Norman might threaten them regardless. How does Peter stop him? How does he protect them?Pressing his face into his knees, Peter considers. Threatening Rabbi Hassan and Ned won’t do any good if Peter isn’t around for the threat. There wouldn't be any point to it. Norman had a point to everything he did from the very beginning.He breathes. Norman’s looking for Peter Parker. He can’t be allowed to find him for Rabbi Hassan’s and Ned’s sake.So he won’t be Peter Parker anymore. He uncurls from his position and changes into his Spider-man outfit. It’s a bright, sunny school day, but Spider-Man doesn’t have class. Spider-Man can patrol at any time of the day.…Spider-Man avoids Midtown, focusing on his regular territory of Queens. He’s tired and sore from sleeping on a hard roof, so the highlights of his patrol is that he rescues a cat from a tree and helps a woman carry her groceries.It’s not much, but it helps. It’s helping.What doesn’t help is the news, which has Norman’s, Harry’s, and Peter’s faces splashed all over, with headlines readingHARRY OSBORN MURDERED BY CLASSMATE and MANHUNT CONTINUES FOR PETER PARKER, SUSPECT IN HARRY OSBORN MURDER .Peter lingers on the roof by an newspaper stand, where the news is playing on a small TV. He can listen easily, even while out of sight.“... I opened my home to him,” says Norman Osborn’s voice, which makes Peter’s chest tighten in unease. “ My son’s classmate, a bright boy by all accounts, who just lost his only family. I was trying to do a good thing, to help him. And now my son is dead. Peter Parker killed him. I only tried to help him, and this is how he repays me?”Peter shakes with rage as the radio host’s voice pops back in with “ If anyone has any information on the whereabouts of Peter Parker, please call the police tip line, at--” He swings out of there. He finds some men following a girl and makes them stop.It doesn’t make him feel better, but it’s all he has.When night falls and Peter can only think of the hunger pains in his stomach, he returns to his roof and to FEAST. His first stop is the kitchens, eating what he can find right there. It’s not enough; ever since the spider bite, the amount of food he needs to eat felt like it doubled. But he can’t take that much food from the shelter. Other people need that food too.Stomach still making demands but no longer painful, Peter leaves the kitchen. He’ll figure something out. He’ll have to.He then heads to the laundry and showers. There are little travel packs of toiletries in the hallway, and Peter takes one with some guilt, but his need for a toothbrush is stronger. He hasn’t brushed his teeth since the morning before his presentation, and his mouth feels disgusting. He has to wait for his laundry to finish, so he uses a spare blanket in lieu of a hood to keep his face obscured.And done. Peter dons his warm, clean hoodie fresh from the dryer, and finds comfort in the smell. He pulls the hood up, and hesitates over the blanket. It’s scratchy and thin, but it’s cold at night, especially high up on the roof.“Peter?” says a voice as Peter indecisively clutches the blanket to him. He spins around, pulling the fabric tighter to his chest and hunching over.Oh no. It’s Mr. Li.Mr. Li, who definitely recognizes him.Mr. Li walks towards him, and Peter backs into the small laundry room. Which is a stupid idea, there’s nowhere else for him to go from there. “Peter, it is you,” he says, “what are you doing here? The news says you’re wanted for murder!”“I didn’t think you’d be here,” says Peter weakly. “It’s late.”Mr. Li frowns. “There was some work left to do,” and Peter notices that he’s missing his suit jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up. He might have been putting together toiletry packets like Peter grabbed. “Peter, what’s happened?”“Please, I--I shouldn’t have come here.” If Mr. Li saw him, others might have too. The last thing Peter wants is to bring down Norman’s wrath onto FEAST. “You can’t tell anyone that you saw me.”“They’re saying you killed someone, Peter,” Mr. Li repeats, staring at him hard, his eyes demanding the truth. “I knew your aunt well enough to know she wouldn’t have wanted that.”“I didn’t kill him! Mr. Osborn did!” Peter cries. To his frustration, tears fall down his cheeks. “Mr. Osborn, he--” Peter can’t say it. Doesn’t even know what to say. “I had to run. I had to. And now he’s blaming me for it.”He hesitates to say more. Mr. Li would probably care that Norman had Aunt May killed, but what would he do with that information? It would give him some warning, maybe, about how dangerous Norman is, but Peter can’t prove it. Mr. Li wouldn’t be able to prove it either, and if he tried, it would only put him in danger.Or he wouldn’t believe Peter and call the cops. And then Peter would end up right back under Norman’s control.He swallows. “Please, Mr. Li, I--please believe me. Mr. Osborn can’t know I was here. I just needed to shower and wash my clothes, and then I was going to leave, I swear.”“I won’t tell anyone you were here, Peter,” says Mr. Li. “I owe your aunt that much. Do you have a place to stay?”Peter hesitates but nods. Mr. Li eyes narrow, clearly catching the lie. He purses his lips. Sighing, he says, “Okay, wait. Come with me.”He leads him to his office. It’s large with a nice L-shaped desk in the center, a comfortable couch in the corner, windows around the room, and a picture on the wall of a man and a woman who looked related to Mr. Li in an ornate frame. Peter tenses when the door shuts, but tells himself,It’s just Mr. Li, you know him. He knew Norman Osborn too. Aunt May liked him. Mr. Li closes the window blinds of his office. “Would you like some tea?” Peter shrugs, and M. Li turns on his hot water boiler.“Sit down, Peter. You must be exhausted,” Mr. Li’s eyes glance over him, frowning. “Peter, what happened?”“I didn’t do it,” Peter says immediately and stops there. Overwhelming shame rises up, preventing him from going further.The boiler switches off automatically, and Mr. Li pours them both some tea. When he hands Peter a mug, he just holds it to enjoy the warmth and breathes in the steam. It’s chamomile.“I believe you, Peter,” says Mr. Li with his own mug in front of him. “I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.”His eyes well up, and he can’t stop the tears from coming. Once they start, Peter’s horrified to find himself full-blown sobbing. Mr. Li gets up, and there’s a box of tissues in front of him and a trash bin next to him. Peter mumbles his gratitude.It takes some time and many tissues before Peter can speak again. “Harry and Norman fought,” he says with great effort, “and… Norman got mad, and he…”“I see,” Mr. Li says mercifully when Peter can’t continue. He smiles at Peter. “Don’t worry, Peter. You’re safe here.” He opens a drawer in his desk, and pulls out a key ring. Peter watches uncomprehending as finagles with it until he gets a couple off, and hands them to Peter. “This is the key to the back door,” he explains, “and this is the key to my office. I keep the door locked whenever I’m not here, and I’m not here a lot. Feel free to use the couch whenever you need, okay?”Peter is speechless.“Mr. Li, this is--I can’t--the cops are looking for me,” protests Peter weakly. “And Norman is--he’s dangerous, he’ll hurt you if he finds out that you’re helping me.”“I’m well aware that Norman Osborn is a dangerous man,” says Mr. Li, serious and solemn and Peter thinks briefly that he really does know what a monster Norman is. “But that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” says Mr. Li. Face grim, he leans forward on the desk. “That’s why I’m giving you keys. Try to be discreet. I can’t in good conscious leave you on the streets, but I serve a lot of people here.”Peter can do discreet, especially with keys. “I can do that.”Mr. Li holds his gaze for a moment and nods. “Here, I have some blankets in the closet. Let’s get you set up, alright? I won’t be in tomorrow, so just be sure to clean up and lock the door when you leave. And--”“--be discreet,” Peter finishes for him. “I got it.” He sniffles, and the sound is much louder than he would like. “I can’t--I don’t know how to thank you.”“I wish I could offer you more.”“No, this is--this is already too much,” Peter tells him.Mr. Li smiles at him. “I need to get back home. I told my wife I’d be back… oh, fifteen minutes ago. But I’ll check on you next time I’m here, okay?” As Peter nods, he adds, “Stay safe, Peter.”He leaves and locks the door behind him. Peter sits down on the couch and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He should be on the roof of a building, freezing on the hard ground, but instead he has a place inside to sleep. He even has keys. He can keep sleeping on a couch instead of outside.Just a few nights ago, he had a bed and his own bathroom. It never occurred to him that he would be so grateful for a couch.Just a few months ago, he had family who loved him and tried to protect him. He never imagined so much would change so quickly.Feeling tears sting his eyes again, he turns off the light of the office, and settles under the blanket on the couch to sleep.He’s warm and comfortable and exhausted. Despite himself, sleep comes easily.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Peter wakes up slowly, trapped in a nightmare that layers over reality for several moments after he’s opened his eyes. He sits up and shakes his head to shed the memory of the dream, in which he had been in the limo with Norman as he’d crash into Aunt May. Peter can still feel his own screams in his throat. He could feel his fists against Norman’s chest, immovable and inhuman. He swallows, kicking off the blankets to get some water. His stomach growls, and the water he drinks momentarily tricks it. Peter dresses in the light coming through the blinds, through which he peeks through to see if it’s safe to sneak out. A murmur of activity floats through the building, as people go about their day. From across the auditorium, a few people are gathered in front of a television displaying the current news. Peter shouldn’t stop; he needs whatever food he can grab, and he won’t feel safe until he’s got his mask on. It’s the Avengers, and on the screen is Captain America and Tony Stark on some talk show, talking and laughing and looking so heroic and cool. Cooler than Peter ever hope to be.And more heroic. Heroes have to save people, after all. He shakes his head and pulls his eyes away from the screen. Peter makes his way downstairs, grabs a bit of food, and leaves. The food isn’t enough. His stomach growls miserably even afterwards, queasy and unsettled from the lack of food over the past day. Aunt May always had so much food around, enough to feed a kid with superpowers and anyone who happened to stop by. No one leaves a Jewish home hungry. Peter would need to find another way to get food. He can’t take it away from others who need it more, but he can’t be Spider-Man if he’s starving. He’ll figure it out. He’ll have to.…He holds out for a couple more days before he ends up dumpster diving. When he decides on that course of action, Peter takes off his suit. No one needs to see Spider-Man getting food out of the trash. The couch in Mr. Li’s office is a godsend. FEAST becomes the only thing making him feel human. Peter can’t talk to anyone there, not with a manhunt searching him throughout the city, but the peace of a hot shower and freshly laundered clothes is an irreplaceable haven. Mr. Li really isn’t often in his office, and when he is, he’s busy. The first time Peter wakes up in the middle of the night to Mr. Li entering the office, he panics. He shouts, “No! Stay away from me!” and throws a pillow at Mr. Li as hard as he can, which is quite hard, but it’s still a pillow. “Holy shit, Peter! That’s quite an arm you’ve got!” Mr. Li says, after he’s closed the door. “Sorry for waking you, but something’s come up, and I’ve got to do some work.”Peter’s face burns. His shouts, and what he’d shouted--Mr. Li could put two and two together. He has to know what Norman almost did to him. What he wanted to do. Mr. Li’s face shows nothing but genuine contrition for waking him up, but Peter wonders if he’s imagining the keen contemplation in his eyes. Peter knows Mr. Li is sharp. He knows.“I’ll get out of your hair,” says Peter, getting up. Mr. Li waves him down. “Oh, no need! I can work while you’re taking a nap,” says Mr. Li with a smile.But Peter can’t fall asleep with Mr. Li present. He tries. Every scratch of the pen on paper as Mr. Li takes down a note, or click of the keyboard makes Peter painfully aware of his presence in the room. Peter doesn’t think he can make himself sleep with someone in the room. The very idea that Mr. Li could do anything while Peter sleeps…“Oh, Peter, you don’t have to go,” says Mr. Li, as he gets up and starts cleaning up the couch. “No, I’m done sleeping anyway,” says Peter, with as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “And there are things I should be doing.”“Oh?” asks Mr. Li, raising his eyebrows. “What sort of things?” “Uh, ” says Peter, scrambling. He fumbles with the blankets. “Stuff.”“Stuff,” Mr. Li repeats. “Is this stuff legal?”Peter’s face burns. He should lie. “Not strictly,” he says because Mr. Li offered him kindness when he had no reason to. He can’t bring himself to lie while standing in the middle of Mr. Li’s office, right after taking advantage of his offer of a place to sleep.Mr. Li puts down his pen, expression serious. “Peter,” he begins. He opens his mouth to continue then appears to reconsider. He sighs. “Peter, I’m not going to judge you for doing what you need to to survive… but be careful. Don’t get in over your head.” Peter laughs, strung out far too thin. “Mr. Li, the most powerful man in the city is after me. I’m already way in over my head.”“Peter,” says Mr. Li, but Peter shoves the blankets back into the cupboard and shoulders his bag. “Bye, Mr. Li,” he says, hand on the doorknob, “I’ll see you around.”…Spider-Man’s usual heroic activities include helping people find their lost pets, walking people who need assistance across the street, and rescuing people from fires. He also tries to stop violent crime, when someone’s being threatened with a weapon or a woman is being followed or harassed. Small-time things, but they matter to the people he helps. He’s not a hero like Captain America or Iron Man. And that’s okay. Peter makes a difference anyway. But they don’t make him popular. While Peter doesn’t know why the Daily Bugle has it out for him, he knows why the cops don’t like him. He stops them from hurting people, interfering in their stupid shows of power and violent bullying. Peter hates bullies. And people who hurt other people for no reason. It had taken him a while to notice, when he first started out as Spider-Man. When he first went on patrols, he went after robbers and burglars, chased after speeding cars, and saved people at gun point. And he still does all of those. But he began to notice more and more that when someone cried for help, they needed help from the police themselves. The cops would push around homeless people. Black people. Latino people. People who weren’t doing anything but existing. They’d wave their guns around, and Peter wouldn’t wait to see if they were going to shoot. And, well. The cops started calling Spider-Man dangerous, too. A suped-up criminal that was out of control and taking the law into his own hands. And because they were saying it, more news outlets started reporting it. And then politicians had to condemn him and promise action…It didn’t help that most people assumed he was a mutant. He’s not--but Peter doesn’t have an explanation for why the spider bite affected him the way it did. The mutations of the spiders hadn’t had that effect on any of the mice the OsCorp study used as test subjects. The spiders were genetically altered and spliced in with the DNA of other specimens, but nothing had gotten spider powers from a bite.It was actually Dr. Connors’ research. Peter didn’t get a chance to talk to him at the conference, but Dr. Vemulakonda was starting a joint study with him on the regenerative capabilities of lizards. Because the manipulation of spider DNA was so successful, they were hoping to carry some of the regenerative capability into humans…It had been amazing to speak to Dr. Vemulakonda about his research. And then…For all that Peter is Spider-Man, Norman must have known he had Peter caught good. Patrolling more means that Spider-Man has a lot more time to protect people. But now he doesn’t have Peter Parker’s life to crawl back to; he doesn’t have Aunt May’s love and warmth to come home to; he doesn’t have school to distract himself with; he doesn’t have Ned to be his friend, when a patrol goes bad or Flash bullies him too much. He’s stuck as Spider-Man all the time.Except for his brief time at FEAST. Peter avoids everyone, and his only interaction comes from Mr. Li, whenever he’s in his office. They don’t talk much, because Mr. Li is a busy person, and the conversation is always about how Peter is doing and his health and if he’s had enough to eat, but it’s usually the only real conversation Peter has had for days. Snarking at his enemies isn’t the same. He wishes he could go to shul. It’s hard to do good when everyone hates you. Rabbi Hassan would make him feel better. Aunt May would have told him, “You don’t have to finish the work, but that doesn’t free any of us from the responsibility of it. Do as much good as we can, even if it’s hard. Especially if it’s hard. Because we must, and if we do it together, the burden will be lighter.”Peter hears Aunt May’s voice as surely as if she was still with him, standing in Mr. Li’s darkened and cold office. He sits up, tears choking up his throat. “But what do I do now, Aunt May?” he whispers into the room. “I don’t have anyone to share my burden with.”There is, of course, no answer. …Peter wakes up slowly, jerking up when he hears the quiet tapping of a keyboard. “Good morning, Peter,” says Mr. Li. “I wanted to let you get as much sleep as you could. I hope I didn’t wake you.”Peter shakes his head. “No, uh--you didn’t, actually?” Mr. Li smiles a little. “Good, good. Here, it’s not much, but I brought up some food from the kitchen. Have at it.”It’s a couple of protein bars, a banana, and cold toast with peanut butter. Peter hesitates only for a moment before scarfing it up, saving only the protein bars for later. It doesn’t really make a dent in the emptiness in his stomach. He’s always hungry nowadays. “So, Peter,” begins Mr. Li. “I’ve been thinking.”The tone of his voice doesn’t promise good things. Peter pauses and stares at him in alarm..“No need to look so worried,” says Mr. Li, smiling a bit. “I’ve just been… thinking about your situation here. While I’m happy to help you, of course, this isn’t a long-term solution.”Oh, god. He’s kicking Peter out onto the streets. His breathing picks up. Where would he get any food? How could he be Spider-Man if he smelled of old sweat, trash, blood, and body odor? “Peter, calm down,” says Mr. Li. “We need to consider your options. The press has moved onto other stories by now, and there’s less pressure on the cops to find you. Osborn’s still pushing it, but less people are paying attention to him. So--you need to decide what you want to do from here.”“Do?” he repeats.“Yes,” Mr. Li nods. “You can’t sleep on my couch forever. Eventually someone’s going to notice. And there are other options.”“Other options?” he repeats, feeling slow and dumb. “Like what?”Mr. Li stares at him for several long moments. His spidey sense prickles, the first time it has ever around Mr. Li. Peter tries not to show his alarm, but he thinks he does anyway when Mr. Li stands up and walks around the desk to him. “Don’t touch me!” Peter cries out, before he can reconsider.Mr. Li stops. He stops what he was doing, which was pulling the chair next to Peter to an angle which he could sit on to face him. “What?” says Mr. Li, shock evident on his face.Peter’s face feels hot, and he thinks he might be sick. “Never mind, I thought--I thought--never mind.”A wave of comprehension flitters across Mr. Li’s face. It’s excruciating to watch, so Peter squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head down to his knees. Mr. Li sits down across from him, and doesn’t touch him. “Peter,” Mr. Li says and waits. Peter opens his eyes and looks up. Mr. Li’s hands are in plain sight and away from him, and his gaze is steady and burning. “How would you like an opportunity to get revenge on Osborn?”“... What?”“Revenge, Peter. I’m offering you a chance to get revenge.”Peter blinks at him. “But how?”“You’re not the only one who’s been wronged by Norman Osborn,” says Mr. Li. “Do you want revenge, Peter?”“... I do,” Peter says. He’s never hated anyone this much before. Mr. Li leans back. “I know others. We’ve been making plans, and I think you could help us with those plans, Peter.”The prickle of his spidey sense is uncomfortable. “What kind of plans? Who are you talking about? How long has this been going on?”“I can only tell you if I can trust you,” says Mr. Li. “Can I trust you, Pete? Do you want my help?”A burden shared, Peter thinks as he says, “Yes,” even when he realizes--there is no one else he can turn to. What would Mr. Li do if he said no? Peter has no options here, and he doesn’t even know what Mr. Li is offering. Or what he’s asking for. He tries not to let this show on his face. Peter thinks he succeeded, because Mr. Li smiles and nods. “Excellent!” he exclaims, the edges of him softer than they were just a moment ago. More like the Mr. Li that Peter is familiar with. “I can bring you to meet my people tonight, then. Can you be back here tonight at 2am?”Peter nods, unable to trust himself to speak. Unable to trust Mr. Li. …The day passes by with agonizing slowness. Peter’s not sure what to expect, but he can’t imagine anything good. Lacking any other options, he spends the day busting some Chitauri weapons deals. The weapons are far more dangerous for Peter than ordinary guns, but it’s worth the risk to get them off the street. If one hit from them can disintegrate concrete, Peter doesn’t ever want to see what it’ll do to a person. By the time it gets dark, the bubbling anxiety in Peter’s gut worsens and he’s exhausted. In hindsight, swinging around all day as Spider-Man before Mr. Li’s mysterious introduction to whoever he’s working with may not have been his best plan. It didn’t even make him feel better. Mr. Li is waiting for him in his office already at 1am, and Peter gives himself a moment to take a deep breath before knocking on his office door. Mr. Li opens the door and smiles at him. It looks genuine. But so did Norman’s. “Peter! Come in. Give me a few minutes to wrap up, and then we’ll get going, okay?”Peter nods and sits on the couch. Mr. Li takes about a half hour before he’s finished, but when he is, he shuts off his computer and stands up. His keys clank as he scoops them up. “Alright, ready to go. Thanks for waiting, Peter.” Peter smiles. It feels strained and unnatural, but he’s not sure if Mr. Li notices. He’s up and moving anyway, so it seems unlikely. “No problem. I know you’re busy.”FEAST has only minimal lighting at night. Enough for people who are awake to do what they need, but prioritizing the people in the shelter who need to sleep. There are signs everywhere asking that people respect quiet hours. And they do, for the most part--there’s always a quiet murmur present in the building. Peter managed to keep quiet while Mr. Li was finishing up his work, but silence on their way to Mr. Li’s car combined with his stewing nervousness makes him want to crawl out of his skin. So he blurts out, “Where are we going?”Mr. Li chuckles. “Be patient, Peter. We’ll be there soon enough.”They get into Mr. Li’s car, which is older than Peter would have guessed. It’s at least a decade old and has a few dings in it from city driving. The car’s well cared for and clean, but it doesn’t stand out as the car of a philanthroper like Mr. Li by FEAST. The inside doesn’t even have that stale, old-car smell of dust and old spills. Just the faint smell of coffee and some cleaner. Peter looks around the car to see what he can glean from it, but Mr. Li clears his throat. “Seatbelt, please.”“Oh, yeah! Sorry!” Peter hasn’t been in a car for the past couple months. It’s weird being in one, and he doesn’t like how a seatbelt would stop him from reacting quickly if something does happen. They head south, to Chinatown. Given how tight-lipped Mr. Li’s been, Peter’s surprised he doesn’t have to wear a blindfold on the way there. The drive is quiet. Peter’s itching to say anything because silence is not his modus operandi, but he doesn’t want to annoy Mr. Li. He suspects that would be a very, very, very bad idea. Peter isn’t surprised when Mr. Li pulls up to a warehouse where two men with machine guns are discreetly standing guard. He tenses, ready to spring into action, but they open the warehouse’s doors immediately for Mr. Li. He drives the car into the warehouse in a smooth, practiced motion and cuts the light. The door shuts behind them. There are a few other cars parked in what clearly is the designated garage for this warehouse. What stands out most about the cars in the building is that none of them stand out. Not a single one seems new. Mr. Li walks next to him, his hand lightly resting on his back to guide him forward. Peter tenses at the touch, but Mr. Li doesn’t seem to notice and his mouth feels as if glued together.They enter through a door leading further into the warehouse, and Peter stops despite himself. From the outside, nothing appeared amiss about the building. It looked just like an empty warehouse should. Well, Peter supposes, gazing at busy room filled with men operating some kind of secret chemical lab, it’s not really a secret criminal organization if it’s not a secret. Peter walks forward towards the lab set up in the middle of the room--what are they making? Meth? MDMA? Many of the men in the warehouse were wearing blue and white, Chinese, demonic masks. The men by the--and there aren’t any other words for it--secret lab are wearing full medical gear and masks. At least they’re taking precautions, but what are they making?“What do you think, Peter?”Peter jerks. He’d forgotten that Mr. Li was there. That he wasn’t sneaking about on the ceiling. “I--it’s a good set up,” he says, hesitant and nervous. He feels vulnerable, out in the open like this. No one’s paying them any attention, which seems a bit odd to Peter. None of the secret operations Peter had ever crashed before were this welcoming. “But I can’t tell what they’re making.”“It’s a work in progress,” says Mr. Li, which is no answer at all. Peter bites his bottom lip, casts one last look at the components on the table, and drops it. He knows where this base is, now. He can come back later when he’s more prepared. “What is all of this?” asks Peter. “Mr. Li?” “These are my Demons.” Mr. Li’s voice changes, takes on an edge Peter hadn’t ever heard from him before. “This is my operation.”Mr. Li walks up to his side, and places a firm hand on his shoulder. Peter doesn’t flinch, too horrified by this giant bombshell Mr. Li just dumped on him. He waves a hand to gesture to the rest of the warehouse. “Currently, Wilson Fisk holds Hell’s Kitchen and much of Manhattan,” Mr. Li goes on, oblivious to the roiling horror in Peter’s gut. “Fisk is volatile and violent. Once he’s out of the way, we’ll be able to solidify our power in New York.”Peter swallows. “We?”“Fisk and Norman Osborn are working together,” says Mr. Li. “You’ve got a dangerous enemy, Peter. And I want to help you. It’s been killing me that you’ve been sleeping on my couch and on the streets when I could do more to help you.” The worst thing is, Mr. Li seems sincere. He takes a deep breath, face determined and righteous. “So let me help you. Join us--we’ll keep you safe. And soon, when the time is right, you’ll have your revenge on Norman Osborn.”Mr. Li holds out his hand. Peter stares. If he says no… could he even say no? Would Mr. Li let him leave?No, Peter thinks. I don’t think he will. Kingpins weren’t generally known for letting people walk away alive. And Peter hasn’t seen or heard anything about these Demons. For a gang to be that under the radar, they’re keeping their members close or dead, with no inbetween. “Yes,” says Peter, grasping Mr. Li’s hand firmly. Maybe too firmly out of nerves. He tries to keep his grip normal. “Yes, I--I want revenge, Mr. Li. I want it so much,” he says. Nothing he says is a lie. He desperately wants revenge on Norman. He won’t be getting it from the Demons, but he needs to know what they’re up to. What Mr. Li is up to. Heart pounding, Mr. Li shows him to a small, back room that’s set up as a private bedroom. “You can rest easy here,” says Mr. Li, with a pleased, gentle smile. “You’ll be safe. No one here will hurt you. There’s a kitchen in the building that’s fully stocked, and you can help yourself.” Pitifully, Peter’s stomach growls at the thought of food. He nods. “Thanks, Mr. Li. I--I really appreciate it.”Mr. Li shows him up to the kitchen, and then leaves for the night to go home to his wife. Peter heads down to the room that’s his new bedroom after eating his fill for the first time in months. The door as a deadbolt, which Peter locks with relief. Once secured, he lets himself lie down in the bed.He can hear some sounds still in the warehouse, and light shines through the crack under the door. The room has a window, too, like a little office or meeting room would. The window has blinds, which are pulled down and shut. Slated light filters through the room, allowing him to see the cracks in the ceiling. It takes him a long time to fall asleep.Mr. Li never said what he wanted from Peter. ...Peter wakes up still tired, but he can’t sleep any more, so he gets up. He tentatively walks out of his room, and finds the warehouse slightly less busy than it was the night before. No one looks in his direction which is both a relief and confusing. The last thing he wants is to end up in a fist fight with Mr. Li’s guys without his suit on, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He goes upstairs to the kitchen to get food, since no one tells him not to. After, he stands by the railing looking down at the lab operations, considering what to do. Why did Mr. Li bring him here? What did he want from Peter?Would he even be allowed to leave?Only one way to find out, and Mr. Li isn’t here. No better time. He walks down the stairs, heart beating hard in his chest and trying not to show it. He heads straight to the door that he and Mr. Li entered through last night, and makes it as far as pushing the door open when a hand grabs his shoulder. Peter jumps, whipping around to see one of masked men. “Where do you think you’re going?” the man demands. “Oh, uh,” Peter doesn’t need to lie or fake here. He could probably take on the guys here, but that’s just a probably. And then Mr. Li would know he’s Spider-Man. “I just thought--going on a walk? Should I not?”The man is quiet behind the mask, and then sighs. “You’re the kid that Osborn is gunning for, yeah? Think Mr. Li wanted you to stay put.”“Oh--oh, uh, okay,” Peter stammers. The henchman is acting pretty civil, but he’s not letting Peter leave. Licking his chapped lips, Peter says, “I just… don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”After another long pause, the henchman says, “You ever clean a gun before?”…Peter tries not to be alarmed by how many guns there are in the warehouse. He fails, but he still gets taught by a few of the helpful henchmen who never introduce themselves how to do some practical and helpful grunt work around the warehouse. A couple of the henchmen, who seem to have kids or know how to interact around them at least, even teach him how to quickly assemble and disassemble a few of the different guns. It was the most interesting thing he’s learned since that horrible night with the Osborns, and the thanks and clap on the shoulder he received makes Peter realize how long it’s been since he’s heard a kind word.By the end of the day, Peter is pleasantly exhausted. And while he still can’t leave, he has a better idea of how many guys Mr. Li has at this warehouse, and how many come and go during the day. He tries not to be obvious about it, but his gaze keeps trailing over to the makeshift laboratory and the scientists working on a mystery drug. Whatever it is, it’s red, and Peter doesn’t think it’s good.He can’t watch long enough to see their exact procedure, but he thinks they’re altering it every time. Experimenting to perfect to molecular structure? Maybe it’s not doing what they what yet. What do they want?What does Mr. Li want?Peter can see some of the labelled ingredients that they use in the lab. While he’s not familiar with almost half of them, the ones he can see make him fear that Mr. Li is making some sort of poison. Speaking of Mr. Li, it takes a few days before he shows up again, well past a point where Peter is getting cabin fever. He’s not as careful as he should be as he rushes over to Mr. Li. A few of the henchmen flinch for their weapons, but Peter ignores them. Mr. Li lifts his hand to stay his men. “Peter! How have you been?” he asks, like they’re seeing each other around FEAST when Aunt May was still alive. “I think I’m losing my mind in here,” he says immediately. “I can’t stay here all the time. I need to go out.”Mr. Li considers him. “Come with me, Peter,” which does nothing to soothe Peter’s fears. He follows Mr. Li, who takes him into a room that doubles as an office and for storage on the second floor. And then they’re alone, and Peter can only think of Norman’s hands and mouth. “I’m sorry for not speaking with you earlier,” says Mr. Li, his back to Peter as he moves some items in the room around. “I can’t come here every night. I trust that my men took good care of you?”A question. Peter nods, not trusting himself to talk. Mr. Li doesn’t look at him for a response, however, continuing on as if the answer was obvious. “I’m pleased to hear that you’ve been keeping yourself busy. God knows what a bored teenager would do in here,” he says, flashing a warm smile at Peter, who shakily returns it. The muscles in his face hurt. “Idle hands and all that. But I wanted to speak to you about something.” Leaning against some boxes, Mr. Li provides Peter his full attention. He is, at least for now, a safe distance away. It’s not much reassurance, but it’s enough for Peter to breathe. “Oh?”“Yes, about your… abilities,” he says, and Peter can’t stop himself from reacting on his panic. “What? But how did you--” Peter says, before he can think to deny it. If Mr. Li knows he’s Spider-Man--how does Mr. Li know that he’s Spider-Man?“I figured you had super strength the first time you slept in my office,” says Mr. Li. “You threw that pillow at me, remember? If it wasn’t a pillow, it could have done some damage. And you had to have escaped from Osborn somehow, which I was curious about after you told me what happened. Norman Osborn is powerful, greedy, clever man. How did you, a teenaged boy, escape? If you were a mutant, with super strength…” Peter stares, his panic and fear subsiding for disbelief. Mr. Li doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man. He just thinks he has super strength. A mutant with super strength. “Y-yeah,” says Peter. “It’s never… I don’t like to advertise it…”“Of course not,” says Mr. Li, nodding sympathetically. “A smart decision, really. For all that we praise superheroes like the Avengers, society at large has little tolerance for mutations. People aren’t fond of the idea that anyone can have power and fight back.”Fight back against what? Peter thinks. “So you’re--you won’t tell anyone?”“No, but I think it’d be useful to train you in some kind of martial arts,” says Mr. Li. “It’d be safer for everyone for you to understand what you’re capable of. And it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”Mr. Li’s face is so, so kind, but his words echo Norman’s screams about Peter squandering his intelligence.But Mr. Li doesn’t move from the boxes he’s leaning against. Biles rises in his throat, and Peter nods. “Excellent. I’ll ask a couple of my men to give you some hand to hand combat training. And I know don’t want to be stuck in here, but my contacts with the police told me that they’re bringing the FBI in to search for you. So I don’t believe it’s wise to wander around.”Peter asks before he can think better of it. “Am I allowed to leave?”Mr. Li looks genuinely surprised. “Of course you are. But if you get caught, or lead the police or Osborn back here, I’ll have to wash my hands of you. Do you understand?”His breath catches, hands going clammy. His spidey sense ratchets up immensely, and Peter can barely think through the threat. “And I don’t mean to suggest that you stay stuck in here for the foreseeable future,” Mr. Li goes on. “Just until we’ve gotten you up to snuff! It’ll be temporary.”Unable to know what his face is doing, Peter only says, “Yeah. Of course.” Mr. Li frowns at him. His spidey sense would probably prickle, if it wasn’t still blaring DEFCON-1 alarms. “I am trying to help you, Peter. I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s best for you to lie low for a while. Your aunt wouldn’t have wanted you to throw your life away, would she?”Peter wants to punch him for daring to bring up Aunt May. What would he know about what she would have wanted? She definitely wouldn’t have wanted Peter to join some underground crime ring. “No. She wouldn’t.”“Then we’re on the same page,” says Mr. Li agreeably. Peter considers attacking him, just knocking him out right now as he crosses the room, giving Peter a friendly clap on the shoulder before opening the door for him. But he doesn’t. He’s too angry and misses his chance. The door is open and the warehouse is full of people. Peter can’t. Not right now. He barely notices being guided to a couple of the masked henchmen, and Mr. Li’s orders for them to train him up. He barely notices Mr. Li leave. He barely notices one of the henchmen yelling at him until they smack him across the face. “What, are you stupid?” the man yells. “Pay attention!” And he leaps at Peter, fists up. Peter ducks, but a kick he doesn’t see coming gets him right on his sternum, and he falls, coughing. “Get up,” the man demands. Peter gets up.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Mr. Li’s men aren’t as strong as Peter is, but after the fifth consecutive time that he gets his ass beat, it’s clear that being stronger isn’t enough to win.“You need to learn some technique,” says the henchman, who tells him to call him Mark. He smells like blood. “Let’s see… you’re small and agile, so most people would assume that you’d use Brazilian jiu-jitsu or Wing Chun--but it’d give you an edge to surprise them with strength kickboxing. Ideally they’ll be surprised as you’re knocking them out with one hit. Though,” he says, more to himself than Peter, “we should probably teach you some krav maga anyway… we’ll see how fast you learn.” Peter gets up from where he was left on the floor, feeling bruises all over already. He nods to Mark’s statement, but Mark isn’t asking for his approval. “Alright, kid, I’ll get some others to help, since it’ll be whoever’s around at the time. Just, uh, keep cleaning guns and help around the warehouse, alright?” Peter nods again. He wants to get to whatever the scientists are cooking up in their makeshift lab, but no one’s going to allow a fifteen year old near that. He’s hoping it’s just meth or something, but it doesn’t look like any meth lab he’s busted… it’s a basic set-up, first of all.Mark pushes a gun into his lap and leaves him to clean it. So clean it Peter does.“...so what if it works in a petri dish. Lots of things work in petri dishes. Does it work in humans?” Peter stops cleaning the gun, staring blankly at it. His eyes dart to the people across the room at the makeshift lab. The two men talking have taken off their safety goggles and face masks, and are working off their gloves. Peter’s never tested the extent of his senses. Never thought to test it. He keeps cleaning the gun, listening intently.“We’d need human subjects for that,” says the other man. “I’ll have to put in a request to Mr. Li. And for a proper lab with a quarantine section… we can’t risk the disease spreading before we’re ready.” A chill goes up Peter’s spine. So they’re definitely not developing something nice and simple, like meth. “I bet we could pick up a few people from that shelter Mr. Li runs. No one would miss them,” and Peter can’t breathe.There’s a noise like creaking bones. “We let Mr. Li decide who becomes our subjects. This is too important to fuck up now. Do you understand that?”Peter hears an inhale, but not the words, a hand touches his shoulder and he startles. “Whoa, chill out, kid,” says Mark behind the blue and white mask. “Have you been working on that one gun this entire time? Stop zoning out and move on already.” He plucks the gun out of Peter’s hands, disapproval and annoyance clear.“Y-Yes, sir,” says Peter, picking up a new gun. Mark lingers, watching him clean a couple of guns before leaving again. Peter doesn’t breathe easy, because he can’t relax here. He’s trapped with people making a biological weapon, who want to test it on the homeless and the helpless. Peter ended up here by accident, but he’s got to stop them.He will stop them. He’ll stop Mr. Li, too. He has to.…When Peter’s hand to hand is deemed sufficient, they give him a white and blue demon mask, welcome him to the Demons, and take him out on jobs.On one hand, Peter is going to lose his mind cooped up in a warehouse all the time. And Norman Osborn would never expect Peter to hide among a gang. On the other hand, he’s helping a gang. The jobs are not what he expects. He’s brought out to a warehouse to ostensibly help but he’s treated like some luggage until he hears one of the men say, “Ask Li’s pet mutant,” which makes Peter freeze. It’s too quiet for a normal person to hear, but being called a mutant is never a good thing, and he can only be referring to Peter--One of the men who is much closer to Peter calls out, “Hey, kid, can you lift this?” He points to one of the large containers they’re meant to be moving. “Dunno,” says Peter, spiral abruptly cutting off. He can lift things. He can lift the hell out of things. He’s never tested the limits to his superstrength. He could catch speeding cars and buses, though, so he should be able to handle this. “Let’s find out.” He leans down to heft the container up and then he does. The men around him cheer. Peter grins to himself behind his mask and starts the careful slog to the truck. Each footstep is careful so as not to step on anything breakable. He can handle the weight, and so can the concrete, but nothing else can. The men mill about to watch until one of them gives some sharp orders in Mandarin. Putonghua, Mark called it in the warehouse. Peter doesn’t know any Mandarin, but some of the words were starting to make sense. When he’s able to sneak off unsupervised, he’ll need to get a English-Mandarin dictionary. Or at least a phrasebook. Or maybe Mr. Li would be willing to get him one? He’s encouraged Peter to help and learn in the warehouse, with the exception of the lab, so he might just encourage him in this too. When the last container is loaded into the truck, Peter watches as a couple of men he doesn’t know shut them with industrial locks. He wonders what’s in the containers and how many people will be hurt from them. Guilt and shame writhe like eels in his gut until he feels nauseated. “Good job, kid,” says the man who gave the other orders during the mission. He claps Peter on the shoulder. Peter flinches before he realizes he’s doing so. Norman clapped his shoulder too, and he wasn’t expecting the reminder.The man sees the flinch and scoffs. “Word of advice, kid--don’t show weakness.” He walks away, assuming Peter will follow dutifully. Peter doesn’t have to though. None of Mr. Li’s men are looking at him. He could just stay where he’s standing, and they may not even notice he’s missing. He could disappear into the city and stop being Peter Parker entirely and exist only as Spiderman. But he doesn’t know what Mr. Li is planning. He doesn’t know what the bio-weapon he’s making will do, just that it’ll be bad. If he leaves now, he might lose his chance to stop him.Mr. Li’s men are getting further away. Peter runs after them to catch up. …It doesn’t take long until Peter starts to get bored in the warehouse. He doesn’t complain about it because the idea of complaining about being bored to a bunch of gang members seems like a bad idea. He doesn’t hide it nearly as well as he thinks, however.“Jesus, Peter,” says Mr. Li, right when he arrives one night. It’s well past midnight. Mr. Li is married, Peter knows. Does his spouse know about his night job? “Can you sit still for a moment?” No, because Peter feels like he’s crawling out of his skin. Mr. Li is a gang leader, so he tries. Preoccupies himself with cleaning guns, but it doesn’t stop the itch in his muscles. Mr. Li steps away to speak to his people who work at the lab set-up. They speak in quick Mandarin. There are some words he can pick out, mostly relating to scientific names regarding CRISPR and genomes. Peter gets so focused on understanding the conversation around him, he doesn’t notice Mr. Li walking back to him. “Peter, why don’t you go out on a couple errands for me? It looks like you could use some time outside.” “Oh! Sure!” says Peter. “Uh, what are the errands?” “Just some deliveries!” says Mr. Li, as cheerful as he is in FEAST. “Small items, nothing too important, but it’ll be faster than waiting for a truck to go out. And wear your mask. People have gotten bored despite Osborn’s insistence of pursuing you, but there’s no need to fan the flames.” That’s fine for Peter. He also doesn’t want Norman to find him. The deliveries are mostly drugs. There’s no labels, just a backpack and verbal instructions of who is expecting what. The addresses are other warehouses, each filled with more of Mr. Li’s men. It’s disconcerting to Peter, to walk into hideouts instead of climbing into them as Spiderman. He doesn’t think he makes for a very good goon. He avoids main streets, taking alleyways or rooftops to bypass them entirely. Since he’s making good time, he lets himself stop outside a person’s window while they listen to the news. “Tony Stark, the Iron Man and former CEO of Stark Industries, has reduced his wealth significantly by donating billions of it to charity! He is no longer on the list of America’s billionaires, instead just a millionaire.”“My father came to this country and got lucky with military contracts,” came Tony Stark’s voice. “I just inherited it. I don’t need that much money. I never thought about it before, but now I couldn’t live with myself if I sat on all that wealth.”
“In addition to charity, Tony Stark has given all of Stark Industry employees raises across the board--for example, we’re receiving reports that janitorial staff are now being paid as high as 200k!”

“Can you imagine that? The janitor making 200 big ones?” 
There’s laughter. 
“CEO Pepper Potts was not available for interview, but she released a statement to the NY Times to say that, and I quote, ‘this was a long time coming.’”
“Who needs 200,000 to mop the floors?” came the second speaker. There’s more laughter, including from the person in the apartment. Peter hopes that their janitors go on strike, and takes off.He wishes he could get a laptop or even a phone to look up what Norman is up to. A library would do, but it’s after hours, not to mention he doesn’t have the time to spare. Regardless, he finishes the errands and heads back to ‘his’ warehouse. Peter does feel better after getting out. He tries to commit the other warehouse locations to memory, so he can explore them as Spiderman when he can sneak out. Taking too long now makes him nervous. Mr. Li didn’t give him a time limit, but Peter really doesn’t want to find out if there is one either. Mr. Li is still there when he gets back which surprises him. “Good job, Peter! You made excellent time, too,” he smiles at him. Peter smiles back reflexively, but he’s still wearing the demon mask, so Mr. Li can’t even see it. “Pete, walk with me,” says Mr. Li, waving him forward and then walking towards an empty office of the building. A sick jolt of fear strikes Peter, but he hesitates only for a moment. Mr. Li is a criminal who’s creating bioweapons to do who knows how much damage, but. But he hasn’t touched Peter yet. Peter can go into a room alone with him. It was fine before, and it will be fine this time too. Mr. Li closes the door behind them, and leans back against a dusty worktable that’s drilled into the floor. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you earlier, but hadn’t gotten a chance. How have you been doing? Everyone treating you alright?”Surprised, Peter says, “Oh, uh--yeah. I’ve learned a lot about fighting and uh. You know. Guns and stuff.” “Guns and stuff,” repeats Mr. Li, smiling. Peter flushes, mortified. “I--I mean, you know, sometimes one of the guys will teach me a bit about their weapon of choice but most of it is about guns and there’s a lot of them, so--”Mr. Li laughs. “No, it’s fine, Peter! I know what you mean. My men have told me that your hand to hand is improving. You’ve been learning strength kickboxing from Pablo, right?”The man teaching Peter kickboxing never introduced himself before running him through the wringer. “I think so. He told me just to call him Teach.” “That sounds like Pablo,” says Mr. Li fondly. “Excellent. No one would peg you as a bruiser, so it’ll give you an edge.” Peter swallows. “Mr. Li, can… can I ask you a question?”“Of course, Peter.” “What are you making in the lab?” ask Peter, heart racing. He can’t read Mr. Li’s expression, facial lines unchanging from pleasant and professional character it’s had the entire time Peter’s known him. He always thought that it was because Mr. Li was a good man. But a good man wouldn’t be running an underground gang, trafficking drugs, and making bioweapons. The countenance Mr. Li presents to the world is false, and Peter can’t see what’s underneath. It’s terrifying. Mr. Li has never set off his spidey sense either. Peter doesn’t know how his spidey sense works, exactly, but he hopes it means Mr. Li doesn’t want to hurt him. Not yet, anyway. “Oh, Peter,” says Mr. Li. “Don’t worry about that.” “Well, I--I wasn’t worried, I was wondering--I could help?” Peter suggests, nervous enough to be shaking. “I’m--I’m really good in lab--I mean I was. And I--I want to help you, Mr. Li.” He wants to go on, about his gratitude to Mr. Li for taking him in, but he sees the look on his face and stops. His smile has gotten wider. It’s not a nice expression. “Thank you, Peter,” says Mr. Li. “Well, you’re no scientist, but there’s always work to be done. I’m sure they could use your help with something. I’ll talk to them, and they’ll let you know.” Peter’s shoulders relax. “Thank you, sir.” “Thank you, Peter,” says Mr. Li.Peter walks out unsettled and feeling sick to his stomach. He grabs something to eat from the mess corner of the building and retreats to his tiny room to eat. The bed is too hard, and the vents are too loud. He’s woken in the middle of the day by a loud banging on the door. “Kid! Get up! We’re moving to a new location,” says a man with a strong Jersey accent. Peter’s heard this man before but never spoke to him directly. He gets up and opens the door. The man has moved on. The warehouse is a flurry of hushed and rushed activity. Crates of weapons are being loaded into trucks, documents shredded or hauled into bags, and the lab materials carefully packages away and carried into cars. Peter zeroes in. He has nothing to his name except his clothes that he can shove into a backpack which takes all of a second. Which frees him up to help the others. And why not offer to help the scientists pack up the lab? “Hey, uh, excuse me,” he says nervously, but trying not to appear nervous. It doesn’t work, and Peter can only hope they believe it’s jitters from the abrupt relocation. “Do you need any help? I know how to back fragile glass stuff, I helped my aunt pack a ton of ceramics last year for--”One of the shady scientists shoves some newspaper and empty test tubes into his arms. “Pack all of the supplies, don’t touch anything that has anything in it, don’t let anything break, this shit is expensive to replace.” Peter jerks his head to show he understood. He quickly and diligently packages the delicate lab equipment, watching the others out of the corner of his eye, but no one pays him any attention. He’s Mr. Li’s pet mutant. He’s just a dumb kid who got in way over his head. It would piss Peter off if it wasn’t dawning upon him how incredibly important that they underestimate him. Without breaking his rhythm of packing, he swipes a stack of important-looking documents from the lab table and shoves them into his bag. Peter waits for someone to question him, or call him out, but no one notices. He lets out a shaky breath of relief and keeps working. They’re out of the warehouse in under an hour. Peter finds Teach and rides with him in a truck to the new warehouse, and asks on the way why the move was necessary. Teach grunts in return. “It’s not, but Li wants to keep our presence hidden, so we move every couple of weeks. You’ll get used to it. Doesn’t normally take this long.” “Oh,” says Peter. He’s never heard of the Demons as either a civilian or Spiderman. “That’s pretty smart.” “It’s worked so far,” says Teach. “Hey, do you know how to drive?” “Oh, uh, no.” “It’s easy. Here,” he says, pulling the truck over. “Switch seats with me.” “Wait, what--wait--” says Peter, voice rising. Teach gets out of the cockpit, strides over the passenger side and opens the door, pushing Peter into the driver’s seat. “It’s easy, and you pick up on things quick,” says Teach. “Now, shift the gear from parked to drive--”…Five blocks down and approximately twenty minutes later, Teach says, “No. Fuck this. You’re never driving again. Get the fuck out of there, I’m taking over.” Peter is banished to shotgun with no small amount of relief. Driving is terrible, and he’s a New York City kid through and through. The subway (and webslinging) is good enough for him. …Their new base isn’t a warehouse. It’s a hospital basement. Masks off, scrubs on, orders Mr. Li through a text to Teach. Peter doesn’t have a phone yet. He’s not sure why, but having a phone would make him trackable which Peter would like to avoid, so he hasn’t asked.Teach takes off his mask and pulls some scrubs out of a bag. He hands Peter a plain hoodie. “Put this on, take off the mask. You’re not getting scrubs. You can’t be seen, so you’ll have to stick to the basement. Sorry, kid.” Peter shrugs. “It’s fine.” He’s too distracted by the fact that they’re going to be working in a hospital, and the gut-clenching dread of what that means for Mr. Li’s bioweapon. He wonders how Mr. Li got access to a hospital, but remembers Aunt May talking a couple years ago about FEAST’s plan to open a free clinic for the homeless. Nothing good can come from the man developing a biological weapon running a clinic. Nothing. Peter has to read the documents he nicked and act as soon as possible. Before Mr. Li can hurt anyone. They drive into the large hospital garage, and a security guard posted by an area marked off as restricted waves them through. They descend to a lower level devoid of cars and with room for their trucks to park. Peter helps Teach unload the truck, and then darts over to assist anyone who needs it. A couple hours pass in this manner, and Peter is so busy and in the zone that he has no idea how to react when one of the gang members sneers at him when he offers his help. “Fuck off, kid.” “But I can--” says Peter, already moving forward to grab the biggest of the crates, to show that he can help, when alarm sears suddenly through his mind. He doesn’t react fast enough, and the man backhands him hard across the cheek. “I said, fuck off, you stupid little shit,” the man says. Someone laughs by the cockpit of the truck. “Consider this a warning. I’ll cut you into pieces and dump them in the Hudson if you piss me off again, no matter what the boss says.” “Sorry, I’m--sorry,” Peter says, shocked and backing away. He turns and runs to the other side of the garage. Laughter carries behind him. Somehow, after the past few weeks, he’d forgotten how dangerous all of these people are. Just because some of them treat him nicely doesn’t make any of them good people. He knows they hurt people, even if it’s not around him. Mr. Li is making a biological weapon, for fuck’s sake!He feels like an idiot. Keeping to the shadows, he leaves the garage into the rest of the sub-garage floor. The fluorescent lights cast a pale, cool light onto the hallways. And they’re loud; Peter wonders if they’re loud enough for normal people to hear, too. His senses improved after the spider bite, but it’s hard to gauge by how much. He thinks he would have been able to hear these lights pre-bite. Mr. Li isn’t around, and no one’s watching him. Peter scopes out some of the rooms, most of them either empty supply closets or patient rooms. The cold seeps into the white and beige tiles, and the air is stale from lack of windows. The building hums with a running fan; maybe it’s not working very well? He switches trajectory and looks for the building’s utilities room. None of the doors are labelled, so Peter follows the noise. It takes a few tries going back and forth, but he manages to find a locked door, behind which is noisier than the rest of the rooms. Peter checks for observers, and breaks the lock with a sharp twist. In the utilities room is the hot water heaters and the operating theater for the HVAC system. Perfect. He starts investigating and once he has an idea of the problem, he starts to work on it. He gets fairly absorbed in the work--he jumps when the door opens. “What the hell? Kid, what are you doing?” “Fixing the ventilation in here, it sucks,” says Peter. “Gimme a few, I’m almost done.” “... okay, sure.” The henchman leaves. It takes Peter only a couple of minutes to finish up, not a few, so that’s a win for the day. And he’s alone in the room. He needs to find out where he’s supposed to sleep, but he can’t hear any footsteps coming towards him, so now is as good a time as any to look over the documents he swiped. Peter stays by the operating theater with his backpack open, so he can shove the papers back in and have an explanation for what he’s doing. The documents detail some progress of the lab experiments, limited to petri dishes and animal experimentation, primarily with rats. The drug in question is GR-27, and Peter’s horror grows as he reads the results of the experiments. Cells attacking each other in petri dishes, autoimmune responses in the animal trials, aerosol transmission making it highly contagious. And all of the rats exposed to the drug died within a week. There are some diagrams as well. Suggests of how to modify the drug to make it more ‘effective,’ which in this case, make it more lethal for humans. Peter finishes reading, hands shaking slightly. He carefully hides the documents back in his backpack. They’re in a hospital. A hospital. And Mr. Li has a lethal, highly contagious, virus. Peter has to stop him, and he has to do it before he can hurt anyone.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A small supply closet becomes his room. Peter chooses the room because it’s out of the way, and he doesn’t intend to be around much longer anyway. The basement of the hospital is large and confusing to navigate, and Peter gets lost only three times before he finds the new lab. It’s actually a real lab, this time. Peter swallows a lump in his throat when he sees it. Mr. Li is really intending to ramp up testing of the GR-27.“Fuck off, kid,” says one of the scientists. Doctors, Peter realizes. They’re doctors, working for Mr. Li, to develop a biological weapon. But why?No. It doesn’t matter why. The action is what matters, not the intent. Aunt May told him that many times in shul and at home. “Hey!” snaps the doctor, grabbing Peter’s wrist tightly and dragging him away from the room. “What are you, stupid? You’re not allowed here!” “Sorry,” says Peter, as he ducks out of the doctor’s grip. Okay. So he’ll have to sneak in. He can do sneaky. He wanders around the basement, ostensibly to see if anyone needs his help with anything, but really to get a feel for the layout and exit routes. The warehouse was always pretty active, and there’s no reason why that wouldn’t remain true for a hospital. He won’t get a second shot at this. He’ll need a safe way to dispose of the virus, although heat usually works. Are there other locations with the drug? Where do they keep information on how to create it? Peter will have to destroy all of those, or this will mean nothing. No time like the present. Everything is still chaotic and no one knows where he’s picked to sleep yet. He can sneak away as Spiderman for a little bit. His costume is getting ratty, but it still makes him feel better to put on. Leaping to the ceiling is as close as Peter has gotten to feeling at home in months. The fluorescents are bright, but many of the light bulbs need to be changed. And luckily for Peter, most people don’t look up. As he leaves, he swipes a burner phone from one of the henchmen. He swings a neighborhood away before he perches on top a building. His thumb hesitates over the keypad for only a moment before dialing a number he knows by heart and can only hope is answered.“Hello?” Peter sighs in relief. “I thought you didn’t answer numbers you didn’t know.” “Peter? Holy shit--holy fuck, holy fuck, Peter--Peter!”“Hi, Ned,” he says, feeling warm and happy and like he could cry. Ned sounds like he’s already there. “Dude! What the hell happened, your aunt was in that accident, and you wouldn’t talk to me and you were staying with Harry Osborn, I didn’t even know you guys were friends, and now everyone’s saying you killed him!”“I didn’t,” Peter breathes. “Ned, I swear I didn’t.” “I know,” says Ned, quiet but with a hysterical edge. It’s late; Ned’s mom and aunt would be in bed by now. “But you wouldn’t talk to me! And everyone else thinks you did kill Harry! I didn’t even know if you were alive or if I’d ever hear from you again!” “I’m sorry, Ned,” says Peter. “I was a shitty friend and--”“No, your aunt had just died, it’s not your fault--”“I should have called you--”“I know, I wish you had too, but I know why you didn’t--”Peter’s throat is tight. He rubs at his eyes through the mask. “I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to think about it.”“Yeah,” Ned says softly. “I know.” “I’m sorry,” says Peter, and he can’t hold back his sobs now. “I’m sorry too,” says Ned, crying as well. When their sobs quiet, Ned says, “Wait, you shouldn’t be calling me! You’re wanted for murder? Don’t say where you are, don’t hint at a location, and ditch the phone afterwards!” “It’s a burner phone,” says Peter. “I’m gonna destroy it after. But I need some help, Ned. And you can’t tell anyone about this because--” Norman Osborn might kill Ned if he found out. “Of course I’ll help,” says Ned. “I’m your Guy in the Chair. What do you need?”“Norman Osborn killed his son,” says Peter instead. Ned hadn’t asked, but he must be dying to know. And he needs to be warned; maybe he won’t want to have anything to do with Peter once he knows. “He killed Harry and he killed May too. He was trying to--” Peter can’t say it. No sound comes out from his throat. “He was trying to get to me,” he finishes weakly. “It’s dangerous to be in touch with me. If Norman finds out, he’ll try to kill you.” Ned is quiet for a long moment. “That’s fucked up.” “Yeah. Just so--so you know what you’re getting into. I understand if--” “I’m in,” says Ned. Peter is too choked up to say anything. “Tell me what you need me to do.”“Thanks, Ned,” whispers Peter. He clears his throat. “Okay, so--I found a gang that’s making a biological weapon.” “Holy fucking shit. How bad?”“Highly contagious and lethal,” says Peter. “They’re about to start testing it on humans. They’re in a hospital. I need to destroy the virus and all physical documents of how it’s made, and I need you to destroy any electronic copies.” “So I get to nuke a computer server! Awesome.” Feeling better than he has in months, they come up with a plan.…Peter breaks into Mr. Li’s office as if he’s done it hundreds of times.In order to prevent Mr. Li from releasing GR-27 onto the populace, he can’t miss a single document about it. There must be clues as to where Mr. Li has his people hole up, and the only place Peter can think of that he might keep that information is at his office at FEAST or at his home. The office is his first stop. He enters FEAST through the roof as Spiderman. Peter considers changing out of costume for this, but even asides from the fact that he’s still wanted for murder, the last thing he wants is for Mr. Li to suspect Peter’s turning against him.“If I were secretly a gang leader trying to unleash a biological weapon onto the world,” Peter muses to himself, after he’s checked for bugs and cameras. “Where would I hide my nefarious plans?”A secret lair, obviously. Peter will need one of those at some point, he thinks, once he burned his bridge with Mr. Li and the Inner Demons. He should keep an eye out for good Spider Lairs. Focus, he thinks, and looks around the room. The desk drawers turn up nothing, but Peter didn’t expect Mr. Li to be that careless. The computer is password protected, which he calls Ned to get him started on. Hopefully Mr. Li moonlights as a gang leader in the office and his computer will lead to the rest of the computers. If Ned got a way in on the computers, they could spy on Mr. Li’s operation and make sure they have all of the locations, too. Nothing else sticks out in the office, except for Mr. Li’s shrine to his parents. Peter’s never learned what happened to his parents, but he feels a twist of something looking at their smiling faces with a baby Mr. Li. Pushing it aside, he checks out the shrine. It’s attached to the wall and has some kind of mechanism in it, so Peter’s pretty sure he’s on the right track. It only takes a couple seconds to crack it, and behind it is Mr. Li’s lair. Pretty small and disappointing for a lair, if Peter has to be honest. And not nearly enough flair. Peter would have added some webs in the corners for the spooky factor. Maybe a fake skull or two. He gets to the desk across the room, as well as a map, which is what he came here for, when--
UP!
--he leaps up to the ceiling. Good thing, too, because the crackle and flash of electricity on the floor is a trap he definitely didn’t want to get caught in. Peter takes a shaky breath in, heart pounding and adrenaline making his stomach queasy. He diffuses the trap by disconnecting the fuse boxes easily enough. Then he scours the rest of the room to make sure he gets anything else of note. There are locations noted on the map, but Peter can’t be sure if they refer to bases or something else at a glance. There’s also a folder labelled DEVIL’S BREATH that he picks up and flips through. Devil’s Breath rapidly reveals itself to be the colloquial name for GR-27. Peter scrunches his nose up in distaste because Devil’s Breath? Pretentious and arrogant in just two words. Peter can’t take anything without alerting Mr. Li that someone had been here, but he also needs to destroy all physical copies about GR-27. He weighs the pros and cons, and he swipes both the map and the folder. After all, he can cover his tracks.The fuse boxes are convenient, all told. He rearranges the wiring just so, and hooks the fuse boxes back up, and ta da, small electrical fire. Peter waits a minute for it to get big enough to destroy the table before he pulls the fire alarm to set off the sprinklers. Not that Mr. Li’s secret evil lair is connected to the sprinkler system, as it turns out. Before Peter can track down a fire extinguisher to prevent all of FEAST burning down, the door of the office slams open. Peter zips over to a vent, rips it open, and tucks himself inside, pulling it closed behind him. Mr. Li, soaking wet, rushes in with a fire extinguisher and takes care of the fire. “Goddammit,” Peter hears him swear under his breath. “Mr. Li!” calls from the office. It’s far enough away that it may be from behind the office door. “Mr. Li! We’re supposed to evacuate!” “Just grabbing my laptop!” he calls back. Mr. Li gives the room a look over, expression inscrutable. He drops the fire extinguisher and closes the shrine door behind him. Peter tracks his footsteps; they do stop by the computer, but there’s a pause at his desk that makes Peter hope that whatever Ned is doing to the computer systems isn’t showing on the screen.Peter releases a slow, controlled breath out. He wriggles around until he’s facing the other way, checks that the documents are securely in his backpack, and heads out. ...“I’ve got the locations,” says Ned when Peter calls him on the way back. “We got this. When are we pulling the trigger?” Peter winces a bit at the idiom. “Not yet. I need to destroy all physical copies. We should do that all at once, and I should get back before anyone misses me.” Swinging from building to building feels natural, like he was born to do it. “I need a secret lair. What do you think of Spider Cave?”“Awesome as hell, and points for the Batman reference. What about the Spider’s Web for logical consistency?”“I could leave a bunch of webs around,” he muses. “Tweak the formula a bit. Or use my own.” Technically, Peter does produce his own webs that come out of his wrists. But they take a lot of energy to produce so he’s always starving after he uses them, and their tensile strength changes based on what he eats. Creating web fluid based on his own webs was a lot easier, although he’ll need supplies to make more soon. “Yeah, you should use your ass webs,” says Ned, audibly grinning. “They don’t come out of my ass!”Ned laughs, and Peter does too. God, he missed Ned.“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on the computers then, let you know if anything comes up. Is this number good?” It’s a stolen burner phone. Peter shouldn’t keep it for too long, but for now… “Yeah, this works. I’ll have to ditch the phone once we do this, and it may take me a while to get back in touch. Just so you know.” “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” says Ned, voice tight. “You’ll be careful, right?” He’s a block from the hospital. He needs to go and sneak in. “Yeah, Ned. I’ll be careful.” “Okay. Talk to you soon.” “You too,” says Peter, and hangs up. He misses Ned as soon as he does, but he feels infinitely better having his Guy In The Chair supporting him. He wishes he could be with Ned again, lying on the floor of his room, eating junk food and putting together robotics and legos and everything in between together. But Peter’s wanted for murder, and he can’t let Norman do to Ned what he did to Harry.Pocketing the burner phone, Peter sneaks back into the warehouse. It’s much calmer now, and knowing Mr. Li isn’t present eases some of his tension. He hears laughter down the hall, and Peter decides to go make an appearance so no one gets suspicious. He enters into what is likely meant to be a cafeteria, large and spacious. The men have set it up similarly to the warehouse, guns and ammon neatly organized on one side, crates of materials and drugs stacked together in a pile, and food supplies further away. At least they’re using the room somewhat for its intended purposes, Peter supposes. The only thing missing is the lab, but they have their own room now. Peter wonders how well guarded it is now… “Look, it’s Mr. Li’s pet mutant!” says one of the men. “Do a trick, freak!” There’s a wave of laughter in the room. Peter hunches his shoulders and makes his way to grab some food to take with him.One of the larger men step in front of him. Peter tries to duck around, but he holds out an arm to stop him. “I said, do a trick, freak.” Peter takes a breath. “I just want to get some food,” he says and ducks to the left to avoid a punch. “Don’t backtalk to me!” says the man, and he goes for another punch, and doesn’t stop. Peter’s too busy thinking about how fast is too fast to move in front of Mr. Li’s men because superstrength is one thing, superspeed might be enough for someone to connect the dots, so one of the hits land hard in his gut.Peter grunts, and backpedals away to make some space between him and the guy attacking him for no reason. “What the hell, man?” He doesn’t answer. He just swings again. Peter can’t fight without making this bigger. So he runs. Jeers and laughter follow him, but nothing else does. He heads back to the supply closet he claimed earlier and try to sleep, though his stomach aches in protest. Footsteps echo down the hall. Someone decided to follow him after all. Peter tenses and turns around, but it’s just Teach. Teach barrels right into him and pushes him into the supply closet, closing the door. It’s dark enough that Teach can’t see the panic that overtakes Peter; when he does flip on the light, Peter remembers that he’s wearing his demon mask anyway. “What the fuck was that?” demands Teach. “Did I spend all that time training you for nothing?”“I--I didn’t want to hurt anyone--”“What are you, a little bitch? You’re gonna roll over and show your belly? They won’t stop,” spits Teach. “They’ll get worse unless you show them you can’t be messed with. And that pussyass shit, ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’ isn’t going to fly long here. The boss likes you, kid, but if you keep that up, he’ll kill you himself.” Peter’s stomach growls audibly, cutting through Teach’s words. He laughs. “Or you’ll starve! If you don’t deal with this now, you won’t be able to eat.” He grabs Peter by the collar and says, “Now get back out there and teach them a lesson.” Teach drags him down the hall back to the cafeteria doors and enters without him. It takes a couple minutes for Peter to unfreeze, his stomach painful from the lack of food. He’s supposed to--what, beat up the other gang members? That’s exactly what Teach said. And more importantly, Peter said he didn’t want to hurt anyone while he is literally part of a gang. Peter squeezes his eyes shut. Stupid. Teach won’t forget about that. He might even tell Mr. Li because however much he likes Peter isn’t more than his loyalty to his boss. If Peter backs down and slinks away right now, Teach won’t trust him in the future. If Teach doesn’t trust him, Mr. Li won’t trust him. He can’t raise suspicion right now, he can’t. Peter slams the cafeteria door open. He marches towards the self-serving food stand and doesn’t flinch when the man from earlier gets in his way. And when he shoots a fist out at Peter, he’s ready for it.Grabbing the man’s arm, flipping him, and throwing him hard into the ground is easy. It’s so, so easy. The man makes a noise between a whine and a groan, and doesn’t get up. Peter begins to worry that he threw him too hard, and resists the urge to check. He looks up to the other people in the room, and tries to think of something to say, anything to say, to challenge them, to make them leave him alone--The man on the ground tries to move one of his arms and makes a muffled scream. Peter’s shoulders tense. He threw him too hard. The silence drags on and the moment for words have passed. No one steps forward to bother him and all chatter has quieted. Peter turns around and walks towards the food. As he does, a couple of people come forward and check over the man he just injured. He grabs a couple of sandwiches, and exits the room as fast as he can without running.Peter goes back to his room and eats. It all takes like cardboard, and he has nightmares when he tries to sleep. But he’s not so hungry that his stomach hurts at least.The next day, Peter seeks out Teach. “What happened to the guy I threw yesterday?”Teach turns to him, and even through a mask, Peter feels his disapproval? “Who fucking cares? He had it coming.” “Please, sir, I just want to know. How badly was he hurt?”“For fuck’s sake,” says Teach. “He’s fine, you broke one of his collarbones. Whiny bitch can’t take what he deals out, is all. He needed to learn his place. You did good, and now none of these shits are going to mess with you.” Quickly, he claps Peter on the shoulder. “You did well. I’m glad that all the time I’ve spent training you hasn’t been for jack shit.”Peter breathes out a shaky, steady breath of relief. He hadn’t meant to break a collarbone. He’ll have to be more careful in the future. “Thank you, sir.” …Peter sends Ned the locations and information he got from Mr. Li’s secret room, and Ned sends him addresses, security measures, and ways in. During his nights he runs errands and does heavy-lifting jobs for Teach and Mr. Li. No one bothers him. In fact, no one talks to him anymore except Teach, and Mr. Li whenever he’s around, but that’s becoming few and far between. It makes Peter nervous. While possible that Mr. Li could be busy for his legitimate businesses, he can’t outrule the possibility that he’s getting ready for something big. But, true to his word, Mr. Li does tell his doctors that Peter is handy with science and a willing assistant. He’s not called on often by the lab, but he gets inside. There’s no vents in the room, and the door is heavy and secure. They don’t need masks and a decontamination room yet, but they will soon. But he gets a card key so the doctors don’t have to stop what they’re doing to let him in every time. Peter couldn’t ask for a better opportunity. They pick a random night. Peter waits until there’s no heartbeats of anyone in the lab, walks in, collects every piece of paper, and burns them. He breaks everything in the lab for good measure. The fire grows big enough to set off the alarm and sprinklers, but the damage is done. Peter leaves before anyone can investigate. He takes his backpack from his room, packed primarily with food and his Spiderman costume, and leaves. He changes before he starts swinging, but at the second hideout, he changes back into his Demon outfit, mask and all. It may as well serve some purpose. He walks in like he knows where he’s going, and no one stops him. For all they know, Peter could be there on a delivery or sending an important message. Peter hits a snag when the card key doesn’t work for the lab in the second hideout. He ducks into a small closet, checks for cameras, and changes into his Spiderman costume. Then he webs the door and rips it off. He webs up the doctors before they can scream for help, dragging them to the closet to hide them. Peter destroys everything physical in the lab and checks with Ned to make sure everything is going well on his end. yup, Ned texts, mission: stop mr li is a go!!!!1!!Peter smiles a bit, trying not to think about how he won’t be able to talk to Ned for a while after this. At the third base, everyone is a lot more alert. Peter doesn’t bother trying to walk in as a Demon. He instead sneaks in through vents and ceilings as Spiderman. He gets to the hallway outside the lab when Ned calls. “I can’t talk,” Peter whispers. “Yeah, that’s fine, just… I think something is happening at FEAST? Something weird is happening and there’s been a ton of 911 calls, but no one seems that sure what’s happening--”“Shit,” says Peter, kicking the lab door down and webbing up the doctors. He drags them out to the hallway, before setting the lab on fire. He runs and zips around the room, throwing every document into the fire before he leaves. Some Demons are running his way, and Peter jumps onto the ceiling to dodge bullets. He doesn’t have time for this; he shoots a web at their feet to stop them in their tracks, and jumps over them. Peter heads to FEAST and prays that he isn’t too late.