The Long Way Home - TheSecretSaucy - Parahumans Series (2024)

It had all been going so well.

Peter Three-no, wait, PeterTwomanaged to cure Sandman and get him to calm down inside Lady Liberty’s crown, he himself, being Peter One, had cured Dr. Connors, and it seemed like Peter Three had fixed Electro. Not to mention, Doctor Octavius wanted to go home willingly, andhelpedthem!

Even Dr. Strange had showed up. It was all going right. They could still fix this.

Thenhecame back.

It all happened so fast.

Norman grabbed the box. Tried to fly away, but Octavius caught him with one of his tentacles. Strange did the rest with the whip, pulled the box back in, but…

He’d put a bomb in it.

MJ was falling.

He’d done this so many times. Straight dive down, swing back around the side of the statue, but it didn’t work out that way. Norman hit him hard, knocked the air out of his lungs.

Thank God for Peter Three. He barely saw him catch her.

He almost lost her too.

This needed to stop a long time ago.

Pulling himself onto the edge of the glider, Peter slammed his forearm into the front bumper of the machine again, and again, and again, until he exposed the bomb rack. Wrenching the metal panel free, he grabbed a bomb, armed it, and looked Norman in the eye. In the goggles, more like, but he knew he could see Peter’s face.

You better hope this kills you.

He slammed the bomb into the engine intake.

Boom.

The landing was the worst part. They sailed almost straight down, Peter holding onto the glider for dear life and Norman still strapped in or magnetized or however he stayed on the thing as they hit the base of the statue, slamming Peter’s armored back into the concrete. They skipped, then slammed into the dirt around the site, dragging Peter through the dirt and gravel before hitting an embankment that sent them both flying through the air head over heels.

It felt like forever before he hit metal. Liberty’s shield. A memorial for the Captain, now that he was gone. Or at least, that Steve Rogers was gone. He’d seen the news about theNewCaptain America.

He would have been a big help here. But at the end, once again, it was just Peter. Beat down, busted up, broken Peter, struggling to his feet and facing down the bad guy one-on-one. It’d happened before. It’d probably happen again.

Norman was crazy. Too crazy for his own good. Whatever kind old man was in there had been murdered by the same psycho that murdered Aunt May. Uncle Ben had always told him never to raise a hand in anger, but this was past the point where his anger factored into the equation. He wasn’t angry. He was beyond angry, he wasfurious.

And he knew what he had to do to stop Norman from hurting himself, or anyone else.

Maybe Peter Three had the right idea after all.

Maybe he needed to stop pulling his punches.

He pulled himself up to his knees just in time to see MJ and Ned embracing out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t been seeing things. Peter Three got her. He did it.

“MJ!” he shouted, trying to get her attention. She turned, slightly out of sight. Still, she heard him.

“Peter!”

“MJ!” he repeated as she came over the edge of the balustrade.

“Peter, hey!” she replied, leaning over to get a better look at him as Ned pulled up beside her.

“Are you okay!?” he shouted back, looking for injuries. At this distance, he couldn’t really tell.

“We’re okay!”

A weight that he didn’t realize was on his chest came off the moment the words left her mouth. He wanted to say something else, tell her something, but whatever he said got lost in the ringing between his ears.

The Tingle.

The creaking of metal across from him.

Norman was getting up.

So this was how it had to be, then.

Okay.

Whatever joy he had at seeing MJ alright faded as he readied himself, planting a hand on the metal plating to steady his stance and launch himself at Norman the moment he went on the attack. This guy was strong, stronger than he looked. But Peter was faster, he had his webs, he had the Tingle. Stuff this guy couldn’t do.

And this time, he knew what he was up against. No bombs this time, no glider. Just a fistfight.

He could win a fistfight. No, hehadto. Aunt May didn’t… she didn’t die for nothing.

This is how it had to be.

By now, Norman, or whatever was left of him, had stood up, tossing his goggles into the shallow water at the lip of the shield, a deranged grin on his face as he approached with painfully slow steps.

“Poor Peter,” he crooned, “too weak…”

His smile faded, as if the old Norman had come back.

“... to send me home to die.”

He nodded thoughtfully, before looking back at Peter. It took all he had not to show Norman weakness, to maintain the ironclad glare he’d fixed the man with. If he cracked, Norman could use that.

“No,” Peter replied through grit teeth. “I just wanna kill you myself.”

The grin was back as Norman squared his shoulders at him, looking down with the rising sun at his back, along with the… purple cracks in the sky. That was new. It didn’t matter. This would all be over soon anyway.

“Attaboy,” Norman growled.

Peter’d had enough of this crap.

He charged forward with all his might, firing two web shots at Norman that were dodged with little effort, as was his follow-up right hook. Norman ducked under his arm, but the second he took to capitalize was all Peter needed to regain the upper hand, wrenching himself around so fast he felt it in his already aching back. He fired a web onto Norman’s right foot, drawing the deranged doctor’s gaze to his trapped appendage before he looked back up at Peter, knowing exactly what was coming next.

He took the punch clean on the jaw, crumpled like a rag doll, face slamming onto the edge of the shield.

That felt good.

Peter leapt into the air, co*cking his fist back again with the intent of putting this to bed now, before it got any worse for either of them. Unfortunately, Norman was conscious enough to move out of the way, and all Peter had to show for his effort was a particularly sore right hand and a sizable dent in the shield floor.

A blade was unsheathed.

Peter turned his head at the sound, his hair falling over his forehead and dripping sweat near his eyes as Norman postured at him, wrist-blade extended. He let out a shrill, breathy whistle. It seemed he was impressed.

Well, if that was impressive, Peter had a lot more in the tank.

He charged back in, cartwheeling over the low sweep Norman attempted with his blade, then ducked under the follow up backswing before twisting back around to deliver a liver shot that caused Norman to hunch again. He recovered quickly, with two swipes Peter barely got out of the way of. An off-hand punch caught Peter in his own head, snapping him back to reality and stinging his cheek as he took the momentum and fired off another punch of his own. Norman stepped back and out of the way, lowering said off-hand near to his thigh. Peter webbed them together, reducing Norman’s mobility and giving him the upper hand once again. He ducked a wild swipe from Norman to deliver another gut shot, but this one didn’t seem to land flush, judging by the cut Peter got across his left forearm for his trouble.

The pain only made him angrier.

He let out a frustrated grunt before swinging again, catching Norman right on the chin and sending him stumbling back with the smile wiped clean off his face. He recovered quickly enough, roaring at Peter as he stumbled in with another telegraphed swing that hit nothing but air. Now fully tired of this crap, Peter punched the blade gauntlet clean off, before delivering another body blow that stunned Norman, hunching him over just in time to catch the uppercut that sent him stargazing. Undeterred, Peter webbed him just above the nose and pulled him into a high knee strike that sent him right back again. He lowered his hands and webbed Norman near the chest with both arms, pulling him over so that Peter could somersault over him and whip Norman overhead, slamming him into the shield with a resoundingclang.

Norman groaned in pain, shifting slightly as he tried to collect himself.

He wasn’t gonna be fighting back.

Peter grabbed him by the hair, and pulled him up.

Right hand.

Right hand.

Left hand.

Left hand.

Left hand.

Every punch made the pain crawl a bit farther back in Peter’s mind. The anger took care of it for him. Made him focused. It felt right. Only fair. He took May out of this world, after all the good she put into it. What was the harm in making him wait for it?

Right hand.

Right hand.

Left hand.

Uppercut.

Right hand after right hand after right hand after right hand why wouldn’t he justdie already surely his neck would have snapped like a twig by now-

He slumped over.

Peter pulled him back up.

Punch after punch after punch. Uppercut. He fell again. Peter paused to catch his breath, looked down at the man that used to be Norman Osborne. The man who killed him. The man who killed his Aunt May.

If his hands weren’t gonna do it…

He looked over his shoulder at the glider. The same one that had punched a clean hole through Aunt May’s stomach.

…that’d do.

He leaned down slowly, ignoring the shaking in his hands as he grabbed the device, picking it up like a bludgeon as he turned back to ‘Norman’. He shuffled forward, watching Norman struggle to crawl towards him, a bewildered look in his eyes. A last-ditch effort to deceive, maybe. Fool Peter once, shame on you. Not gonna get fooled again.

With all his might, he swung-

And hit a gloved pair of hands.

Kneeling in front of him, straining against the force he’d swung down with, was Peter Two.

The first thought that crossed his mind was ‘get the f*ck out the way’, followed quickly by ‘oh god I almost killed Peter’followed by ‘goddammit I almost killed Norman get out of the way GET OUT OF THE f*ckING WAY’.

He let out a howl of pain, of frustration, of all the emotions he’d barely been able to bottle up long enough to see this plan through.

He committed.

He pushed again.

Either he’d get out the way, or Peter would just go through him. After all, according to Octavius, Peter Two was just gonna kill Norman back in his own universe anyway. If anything, he should be thanking him for taking the burden off his shoulders. He was stopping him from doing whatever else he planned to do, hurting whoever else he was going to hurt.

Peter Two looked at him with tired blue eyes and a tightly-drawn lip.

‘Don’t’.The look said, no, itpleaded. ‘Don’t’.

He’d killed the guy who killed his Uncle Ben, so why not kill the guy who killed Peter’s Aunt May? How was he supposed to judge him? What made him…

Something clicked inside Peter. A dawning realization.

Every day, this Peter lived with the guilt of killing a man.

Peter could barely sleep at night after what happened to Beck.
And he didn’t murder Beck in cold blood.

Would Aunt May be happy to know that Peter stabbed a man to death? One she’d tried to help? A mentally ill man who couldn’t control his actions?

WouldPeterbe happy to know he did that?

He didn’t know.

That terrified him.

Just seconds ago he’d been so sure, and now he wasn’t.

His grip on the glider never wavered, but he stopped pushing. Slowly, Peter Two stopped pushing too. He threw the glider down behind himself, stared at it for a moment.

He was done.

He’d leave this problem to the Peter it started with.

He could see the relief in Peter Two’s eyes as he let out an exhausted sigh.

The Tingle told Peter what was happening before his eyes did.There was the sound of a blade hitting meat, and Peter Two’s eyes went wide. He fell hard, looking down in shock at the wound in his torso as Norman knelt behind him, a blood-stained blade attached to the opposite wrist of the one he’d been fighting with prior.

Norman stood up, smiling again. Peter didn’t say a word. He could barely hear what the man was saying over the Tingle, over the ringing in his ears.

His mouth moved, but he only heard a few words near the very end. The ringing stopped. Every other sound in the world stopped.

“-you’re the one who killed her.”

…

…

…

The ringing came back.

He threw his hand up just in time to catch the antidote. Norman- no, not Norman.The thing that controlled Normanwas laughing.

He wouldn’t be laughing much longer.

With force he didn’t even know he had left to give, Peter swung the syringe with all his might into Norman’s neck, and pushed down the plunger.

“They’re here because of you.”

Strange had explained the situation well enough. The cracks in the sky were from the Multiverse splitting apart. When Peter had asked Strange to modify the spell so many times, he’d made a slip-up while he was distracted. Instead of people forgetting he was Spider-Man, it somehow brought in everyone who knew he was Spider-Man from alternate timelines. They’d already established that a while ago.

The question was what he’d do about it.

So many options ran through his mind. Tormented him. Pushed him one way then pulled him another. None of them felt like the right answer.

He just said the first one that came to mind.

“Well, what if I was gone?”

Strange’s features contorted as he strained to hold the entire multiverse together.

“What?”

“If you sent me away, would they follow me?”

“Yes, that would be the most likely outcome.” Strange replied.

“What if you sent me somewhere in the multiverse?”

“Peter, they’d just follow you wherever you go. That’s not going to work, they’d just follow you through-”

“No, I mean send me somewhere. Anywhere that isn’t here. When you send everyone else home, send me somewhere else. Somewhere I can hide out and not be Spider-Man. If there's no Spider-Man for them to find, they won't find me before you do, right? And that'll give you time to fix... whatever I messed up here."

Strange’s expression barely changed, but he locked eyes with Peter, staring holes right through him.

“If I do that, I won’t be able to find you. Not now, not anytime soon, maybe not even ever,” he said. He almost sounded sad. “You may never see any of us again.”

“I know,” Peter replied. “But will it work?”

Strange relaxed for a moment, looking at Peter with something that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t annoyance or frustration, like the last few times they’d talked. This was something else.

It almost seemed like he was impressed.

“It’ll work.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Strange looked down and away from him for a moment, taking a deep breath before managing to meet Peter’s gaze again.

“You’d best be saying your goodbyes, then.”

He didn’t have to tell Peter twice.

“T-thank you.”

With that, he was already on his way down, firing a web at Lady Liberty’s head to slow his descent, landing on the shield in front of Peters Two and Three, the latter holding the former up as they slowly walked towards him.

“You guys gonna be okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Peter Three replied. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

“I’ve had worse,” Peter Two replied with a pained grin. “What about you?”

“I, uh… I gotta go. But I just wanted to stop and—” The words got away from him again. “Before I go I— You guys— I just wanted to—”

“Peter,” Peter Two interrupted him. “It’s fine. It’s what we do.” Peter Three nodded his agreement, and, in the spirit of Peter Solidarity, Peter One did the same.

“Y-yeah, it’s what we do. Anyway, I gotta—I gotta find Ned and MJ, and, uh…”

He was moving towards them without even thinking about it, throwing his arms around his strange, but wonderful friends and pulling them into a probably too-tight embrace, considering they’d all been put through the wringer. That being said, they hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he muttered into their shoulders. “Thank you thank you thank you thank youthank you-”

He wrenched himself away before he could get lost in the moment. Not enough time. He needed to talk to Ned and MJ before it was too late.

“I, uh…”

Well, what was he supposed to say? ‘See you later? When I’m never going to be in the same universe as you again, let alone in the universe we just shared together?’

“See you later,” he said, like a freaking idiot.

“You too,” Peter Three replied, in typical Peter fashion regardless of universe.

“Keep safe,” Peter Two said, with a weak wave. With that handled, Peter turned and ran towards his friends before taking a flying leap towards the balustrade. Despite the adrenaline rush of the fight, he was still feeling almost… numb. The gravity of what was happening was weighing down on him in earnest now. He might never see any of them again. Strange, Happy, Pepper, Ned,MJ, all gone. Well, they weren’t gonna be gone, they’d be fine, but he was gonna be gone. Maybe even forever. He doubted it’d be forever, but then again, Strange wasn’t the type of guy to lie, maybe it would be forever.

Maybe it would be forever.

But as long as everyone made it out okay, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he was gone.

He’d been gone before. Five years, actually. They all had been.

What was five more, maybe?

A really longf*ckingtime.

Still, this is what he had to do, and as he approached his two dearest friends, he had to steel himself. He’d run through the conversation in his head before, in case the Avengers ever called on him to do some life-threatening stunt after Tony had gotten his help with the whole Captain America thing, but no matter how many times he rehearsed this shtick he always ended up fumbling it, so maybe it’d be best if he just spoke from the heart.

He landed right in front of Ned and MJ as they came to meet him, words already spilling out of their mouths as they met in the middle.

“God, you’re okay-” MJ started.

“Oh sh*t, oh sh*t, dude-” Ned continued.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Peter said, as they all slowed down, breathed, took it in. He practically fell into them, wrapping his arms around their necks and pulling them in close for what was probably the last time in… a long time. Maybe ever. “I’m okay,” he said, even though that knowledge made him beyond not okay.

As they parted, he realized MJ had a cut right on her brow.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “we’re okay,” as if she wasn’t busted open.

“No, no, you’re bleeding-” he started, reaching out to her, only to have his hands caught and pressed to her cheeks. Their eyes met again, and something started burning behind Peter’s eyelids that he couldn’t pass off as the dirt from the construction site.

“I’m okay,I’m okay,” she assured him.

“Are you sure?”

“I am, I’m okay, I promise.”

Well, that was good enough for him, he guessed.

“I promise,” she repeated, offering him an awkward smile that was somehow even brighter than the sun shining on her face. He couldn’t help but smile back like the dumb kid he was before looking over at Ned. Ned just seemed happy to be alive, looking between them with a weary smile of his own.

“We should probably go, right?” MJ asked, bringing him crashing back to reality in the worst way possible. He was going to have to tell them.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, you need to go.”

“Nah,we,” Ned replied. “I think we’ve all had one hell of a day.”

“I can’t go with you,” Peter reiterated. “I’m sorry.”

Ned and MJ looked at him, then at each other, then at him again. Ned just looked confused, but MJ… MJ almost lookedinsulted.

“What do you mean you can’t go with us?”

“They’re here because of me,” he continued. “If I stay, then they’ll come through and we won’t be able to stop it. Strange is gonna send me into the multiverse-”

“The hell he is!” MJ protested loudly, taking a step away from him.

“Nah, nah, there’s another way, dude, maybe if-” Ned started, only for Peter to turn to him and shake his head.

“Ned, if I stay here, you guys are in danger. The whole universe is in danger because of me, and this is the only way to make sure you guys are safe.”

“There has to be another way!” MJ continued, slamming her fists into her hips. “You can’t just leave now! We need to go to Strange and get him to do some kind of spell to just… I don’t know, undo the spell he already did-”

“That won’t work,” Peter said. “We tried that already.”

MJ didn’t have a response for that. Neither did Ned. Peter didn’t really have anything to follow that up with, either. None of them knew what to say, how to break the silence. Either Peter was the first one to try, or he was the first one to manage it.

“I-I-I’m sorry.”

“Come back,” MJ stated firmly, a catch in her voice as tears slipped from the corner of her eyes. Come to think of it, Peter just realized he was crying too. Ned, not him. Peter wasn’t crying.

Oh, no, wait, yeah, he was crying. That’s what that burning was.

“Whenever you figure out whatever the f*ck you have to go away for, you come back,” she continued.

“We’ll be waiting, man, so you better hurry up,” Ned added, wiping a few tears aside with his coat sleeve.

“I-I will,” Peter replied. “I will, as soon as I can. But that might be a while. It might not-”

“Don’t,” MJ cut him off. “Don’t tell me that. You’re coming back. Promise us that. Promise me.”

He really didn’t like making promises he couldn’t keep, and something told him this one was gonna be a real pain. Then again, love could be pretty painful, as the past couple of years had taught him. Nothing really new there.

He couldn’t guarantee he’d be back, but he would try. He had to try.

“Yeah, I promise.”

He found a hand extended to him. Ned’s. Their old handshake felt like routine, but the hug at the end felt like it was far, far shorter than usual.

“You better hurry up,” Ned managed to choke out.

“I will. I’ll come find you, okay?”

“Okay…”

With one last squeeze, Parker parted from his best friend for what was probably the last time. He then turned to look at MJ, into the wind and the morning sun. A little breeze came by and blew her ponytail out and past her shoulder. There was a little bit of blood smeared across her eyebrow and a bruise on her collarbone, and she had probably never looked prettier than that in all the time he’d known her.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but the lips quickly pressed to his made sure those words never made it to their destination. He should have enjoyed it more, but something about it felt bitter. Tasted like ash in his mouth, knowing this might be the last.

When they parted for air, he remembered what he was going to say.

“I lo-”

“Stop.”

He stopped.

“Tell me when you get back,” she demanded, a short, barely-subdued sob punctuating it. “Okay?”

He nodded back. “O-okay.”

She leaned back in and pressed a final kiss to his forehead, and his arms reflexively wrapped around her. It took everything he had to honor that request, but man, it was way harder than it had any right to be.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” he said.

“Not soon enough, you asshole,” she replied.

They both chuckled bitterly at that one as he let her go, and she stepped back. The space between them couldn’t have been more than a foot, and it couldn’t have felt bigger. The words left unsaid, that she’d insisted remain unsaid until he returned, if ever.

What if he never did? The look she gave him made it clear that she was thinking the same thing, but if she was going to commit, then so was he.

He certainly wasn’t going to waste five years, that much was for sure.

“I’ll see you guys around,” he managed, the words barely coming out in a breath.

“Yeah. See you later,” MJ replied.

“Soon,” Ned amended. “Soon.”

“Y-yeah.”

Before he could lose his nerve, Peter turned back to Lady Liberty and began his ascent to the top. He’d gone up the thing twice today, and he knew well it wasn’t a long trip, but this one felt like a mile long march, if only because of what he was leaving behind him.

He had to come back. Whenever this all blew over, he’d find a way. He promised.

He landed just short of Strange, who was clearly still struggling to hold it together, a vein bulging in his forehead as he opened his eyes to look at Peter.

“You ready to do this, Peter?” he asked.

“Yeah…. Yeah, I’m ready, Doctor Str-”

“Stephen,” he said, exasperated. “It’s Stephen.”

“I’m ready, Stephen.”

Stra-Stephennodded.

“When I sort things out here, patch up the holes?” Strange said, “I’ll come for you. It may be a long time before I find you, but I promise you, you’re coming home. Until then… just don’t get into anymore multiversal crises, yeah?”

“I’ll try Doc- Stephen.”

Stephen gave him a wan smile, and flicked his wrist at something over Peter’s shoulder. “This portal enters the Multiverse through one of those fissures in reality, but I don’t know where it leads. It’s not a fun trip, but you’re gonna have to make it. Just don’t talk to anything in there, don’t squirm too much, and try to maybe avoid the guys that came here to kill you, got it?”

“Y-yeah, I got it.”

“You got this, kid. Good luck.”

That was probably the nicest thing Stephen had ever said to him.

“So much for MIT, right?” Peter asked with a light chuckle. He hoped it’d lighten the mood a little, and judging by the sharp exhale and strained smirk on Stephen’s face, it’d landed somewhat.

“Just go, Peter. We’ll come find you”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. Peter turned around, looking at the portal Stephen had created, and what lied on the other end.

Nothing. A great, big, purple and white nothing.

He took one deep breath, then two, then one more for good measure.

He closed his eyes.

And then, he launched.

Summary:

Peter, stranded on a new Earth, thankfully runs into a friendly face.

Stephen hadn’t been lying. This ridesucked.

It had taken everything in Peter not to vomit the moment he started tumbling through the Multiverse, but, well, here he was, mouth and eyes shut so tight you’d have thought he’d stapled them that way. It felt like one of those zero-G rides, if they removed every single safety precaution from them and just threw you straight at the ground.

He tried to keep his thoughts under control. They drifted back to MJ, again and again. He already regretted this plan, but this was what he had to do. Didn’t make it hurt any less.

He hoped he ended up somewhere safe, and could wait this out for a little while until Stephen got everything sorted out. He hoped against hope for the best case scenario, knowing that it might take a while for the ‘best case’ to make itself evident.

He stopped tumbling so fast, slowing down enough that he felt compelled to open his eyes.

The purple and white was more blue now. It was kind of awesome, in its own way. Like falling through the sea.

He started to see shapes and scenes in the blue, distant cities or people passing by, unidentifiable, nothing more than shadows. At least once, he swore he saw the outline of the Empire State Building, but it wasn’t like he could stop to check in his current state. At least he was still slowing down. It meant the journey was almost over.

It really didn’t take that much longer to arrive… wherever he’d arrived at. He found himself landing on his feet, moreso falling onto them as if he’d been standing up the entire time he was hurtling through the multiverse. His armored feet landed on slightly-wet concrete, and from the smell, he was in some kind of city, and it’d just rained.

A cursory glance showed him he was in a back alley. Not a New York back alley, way too clean for that, no. This was more like, he wasn’t sure, a Memphis back alley or something. Then again, he only went to Memphis once, with Uncle Ben, and he didn’t remember going into back alleys that often, but-

Okay, focus.

Peter gave his head a small shake as he checked to see if anyone was watching him. Nothing visible. His suit was pretty torn up right now, and if there were multiversal people-things looking for him out there, it’d probably be best if he went as close to incognito as he could. Thank god he wore actual clothes under the suit. He began to strip down, pulling the suit off to reveal the plain, long sleeve shirt he usually wore and a pair of windbreaker pants.

Problem. He had no idea where he was and if he’d remember where he put the suit in a few hours.

Come to think of it, the way this suit worked, he could have just disassembled it with the nanotech. Why did he take it off?

Dammit, he was really out of his head right now.

It didn’t take long to get back into the suit, finding out quickly that the nanotech was too damaged to be used in its original function. It was basically just a nanite-weave skinsuit now, with no real technological edge. HUD was down, AI was down, he couldn’t even shift mass. He’d need a new suit.

As if he needed to be Spider-Man any time soon.

With a deep, rattling sigh, Peter Parker left Spider-Man behind in the alley, and stepped onto the rain-soaked streets of… wherever the heck he was.

It was pretty hard to tell what time it was, due to how cloudy everything still was. He walked for a ways, looking into the front of buildings and stores until he finally saw a clock in the front window of a clothing store. 4:30 PM. Apparently, the store was more of a tourist shop, which would probably help Peter a lot in finding out where the heck he was, so he dipped inside.

The place looked… strange. There were a few things for ‘Brockton Bay’, which he assumed was the place he found himself in, but a lot of things had, like… comic book characters or something? Some kind of characters on the shirt. They looked like the superheroes he’d see in Uncle Ben’s comic collection, stuff from the mid-to-late eighties and early nineties, before Peter was even born. Some of it was actually pretty cool, like one shirt with a knight’s helmet and a sword behind it, or another one with a robot dragon on it.

Peter palmed his back pocket and realized he still had his wallet. He wondered if cash worked the same in the multiverse. He still had a little bit from the other day, before everything went topsy-turvy. He pulled it out and opened it, flipping past his ID and cards to look at the billfold.

Well, apparently he had sixty-five bucks. And a twenty-five dollar Waffle House gift card with the receipt attached. Neat.

A cool shirt was a problem for future Peter. For now, he needed to find out where he was, so he shuffled his way to the front desk, where a guy about his age, utterly disinterested in existence, was looking at his phone.

“Um, hey,” Peter spoke up, failing to draw the guy’s attention away from his phone. “Buddy?”

Nada. The guy just kept flipping through.

“Hey, buddy?”

Still nothing.

“Hey!”

The guy practically flew out of his skin, his phone clattering to the ground with a sharp gasp as he snapped to look at Peter.

“Oh, I’m so- sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Peter apologized, looking away from the guy to try and make the situation a little less awkward.

The guy blinked slowly, then shook his head. “Sorry, sir, wasn’t paying attention. Can I help…” he trailed off, regarding Peter’s face with a puzzled expression. That was a bit troubling. Please, please, please, don’t be a universe whose Peter Parker looks exactly like him.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Oh, I-I-I’m great!” Peter replied, a bit too enthusiastically. Dammit, now he seemed VERY not okay.

“You sure? You’re a little busted up, man.”

Oh. That. Yeah, he kinda was just fighting for his life about ten or fifteen minutes ago.

“I, uh, wasn’t looking where I was going earlier. Tripped and hit my head, I-I’m fine, uh, thanks.”

The guy paused, clearly not buying it, but he gave up with a look of ‘not my problem’ and a rehearsed customer service smile.

“Okay, then. Can I help you with something?”

“You got a map of town? I’m, uh, I’m a little lost.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

The guy dug around behind the counter for a minute before pulling out a very kitschy map of Brockton Bay, or at least its downtown area. He pointed to a symbol that match the sign on the store. “You’re right here, near the boardwalk. From here, the Docks are a straight shot east on the boardwalk, and the Protectorate offices are a few streets down towards town center. Where are you trying to go?”

“Uh-err, nowhere in particular, I-I just wanted to know where I was at.”

“In that case,” the guy said, sliding the map over to Peter. “You’ll need it more than I probably do anyway. I can just get another one out of the print room. On the house. Watch your step out there, though.”

Peter was about to try and make some kind of quippy comment, then he remembered he was supposed to be the guy who tripped and fell on the sidewalk, which, even with The Tingle and everything else, was probably something he’d do anyway. So, he rolled with it.

“Yeah, no walking and reading,” he replied with a chuckle. “Thanks, buddy.”

“No problem, man. Need anything else?”

“No, no, I think I’m alright.”

“Have a good one,” they said simultaneously.

“Okay, that was weird,” Peter said, pointing at the cashier.

“Oh, yeah, that was really weird,” he agreed. "Take it easy, man."

"You too," Peter replied with an awkward smile as he made tracks, lest he make things even more awkward. Now with a map in hand… he still had no idea where to go. sixty-five bucks wouldn’t buy him a hotel room in the cheapest town in America nowadays… unless this universe had way cheaper rates, but something told him that wasn’t a great idea to bet on.

He took out his phone and lowered the map. No signal, as to be expected. Evidently, multiversal 5G was not a thing. Not that he’d expected it to be, but there was probably at leastonemultiverse out there that had TMobile, right?

Putting his phone back, he looked at the map again. He really had no idea where to go.

Judging by his phone, he’d been walking for about two hours now. He knew he wouldn’t be able to afford a hotel room now that he’d stopped by a food stand and bought a ramen bowl, but dammit, he was really hungry and had just saved his home universe, he deserved a break.

He’d found a little spot near a warehouse to sit down and eat, climbing on top of a few rusted-over storage containers to get a better look at the area he was in. The ‘Rig’, which was apparently some kind of oil rig…thing…place… was visible on the coast from where he sat. There weren’t many workers around, and the few that were there seemed to be doing light work, which made sense. According to a guy he passed on the street, it was a Saturday. Below him, two men walked by, one a middle-aged man dressed semi-formal with khaki slacks and a plaid button-up, the other a portly guy in a greasy work shirt and cargo pants, with long dreadlocks and a thick beard.

“-so I’ll need to pick up a couple of extra shifts this week, Dan.”

“Son of a bitch, Fiq, that’s the second time this month.”

“I know, I know. I don’t know why they’re doing this. The landlord paid ‘em their dues already, dunno what’s going on. Leslie thinks someone in the apartment crossed them, and they’re trying to intimidate him into handing them over..”

“That makes sense, but it doesn’t make it any less of a sh*t situation for you. I’ll give Marlon a couple of days off, he’s been asking for paternity anyway.”

“Appreciate you, Dan.”

“It’s no problem, really. How soon are you guys gonna be able to get out of there?”

“I dunno, man. I was born and raised here, I don’t really want to leave it behind, but Tori wants to move back with her folks in Boston.”

“You don’t like that idea?”

“Brockton Bay’s a little more intimate, if you get my drift. sh*t happens here, I know, but not the level of sh*t that happens other places.”

“Can’t be worse than here, Fiq. If it’s a better area of Boston, I fully support you leaving, and I’ll help you however I can. I’ve got connections to the union over there.”

“I’d appreciate it if it comes to that, but I’m hoping with the work I’m doing here, and her gunning for a job at the school, maybe we’ll be able to afford to move uptown, away from the ABB.”

“That works, too. Evaluations are coming up. I’ll see if I can’t put in a good word for you with the rest of management and maybe bump you up to a supervisor position. You know Scottie’s retiring after Christmas, right?”

“Man, really? I’ll miss that guy.”

“Yeah, I will too, but the work’s hard on him now. He deserves a rest.”

“On that, we can agree. Ah, sh*t, it’s about that time. I’ll wrap up the inventory and head on out.”

“Yeah, I better go back to the office, I’ve still got some crap to deal with from City Hall. There’s talk of a workplace insurance overhaul coming down the pipe, and the union wants in on the ground floor.”

“I bet. Take it easy, boss.”

“You too, Fiq.”

With that, there was the sound of feet on gravel, and Peter saw out of the corner of his eye the man walking back towards the big building at the center of this yard. Must be the offices.

“That ramen from Musashi’s, young man?” ‘Fiq’ asked, startling Peter into nearly dropping the box in his hands, and leaving him to fish his chopsticks out of it. He debated not responding, seeing if it was just a trick of his imagination, but Fiq put a quick stop to that.

“I saw you spidermonkey your ass on up there. Technically that’s illegal, but I’ll be honest, we don’t give a sh*t. This is the smoking area anyway.”

That would make sense, considering the chairs that were inside the bottom two containers, the small table, and the trash can. Maybe Peter should have thought about that instead of just assuming that meant it was cool to just… climb up and take a sit.

“I know you can hear me, son.”

“Yeah, it’s from Musashi’s,” Peter replied.

“Chicken?”

“Y-yeah.”

“That’s some good stuff right there. Come on down, I just wanna talk to you, and if security sees you up there they’ll boot you off the property.”

As convincing an argument as any. Peter stood up, closing the boxed lunch and hopping down to the second container, then down again to the gravel, making a show of landing a bit awkwardly to avoid giving away his enhanced sense of balance and control.

“How much of that conversation you heard? It doesn’t matter to me at all, nothing I’m afraid of saying to anyone else.”

“Most of it, yeah,” Peter replied.

“Well, then, you know I’m Fiq, or at least to my friends,” Fiq replied. “I’d like to say I’m a friendly fellow. What’s your name, young man?”

Peter instinctively went to say ‘Peter Parker’ but remembered the predicament he was in. Peter Parker was a wanted man in the multiverse right now. If he said his name, would it be, like, a King in Yellow thing where if he said his name, the universe would fall apart? He wasn’t sure, Strange didn’t say anything like that, but then again, they were both kind of emotional or in a hurry, so maybe he forgot?

“Ben,” Peter said, the first name that came to mind. A surname was a bit harder, and the only thing that came to mind was something close to home. “Ben Peters.”

God, that was horrible. What a terrible name. Any second now, some multiversal entity was gonna come and eat him or make him explode or whatever it is they were gonna do. Thankfully, Fiq did none of those things.

“Well, Ben, it’s nice to meet you,” Fiq replied with a warm smile that fit his chubby, fatherly features pretty well. If his beard was a bit more gray, Peter could see him as a mall Santa or something. “You look a little rough up. You’re busted up on your forehead, plus your arm..”

Peter looked down at his sleeve, and evidently Goblin’s blade was sharp enough to cut through the suit entirely, judging by the thin, angry red line on his forearm and the three-inch long gash in the sleeve. Looking at it made it burn. Guess he’d just sort of pushed past it in the moment.

“I, uh, wasn’t watching where I was going. Ran into a wall like an idiot.”

Well, Fiq didn’t buy that at all.

“You were jumped?”

“No, no, no, I didn’t get jumped,” Peter assured him. “Should I be worried about getting jumped?”

“Ben, you don’t have to act tough in front of me. The ABB’s been acting stupider than usual lately, but I’m sure you heard that part of the conversation too.”

“ABB?”

Fiq raised an eyebrow. “Ben, are you local?”

“Nah, not local,” Peter replied, figuring there was no harm in lying about that. “I’m from Queens.”

“What the hell are you doing in Brockton Bay, then?”

Peter debated in his mind for a moment how best to approach this lie, eventually deciding that details were the enemy. “I… had to leave home. It’s complicated, but I ended up here without really knowing where ‘here’ was.”

“And you got a Brockton Bay welcome when you came in, didn’t you?”
This was starting to get a little frustrating, but Peter held his tongue. The guy clearly had an idea in his head, and he wasn’t going to argue with a guy who had otherwise been really friendly to him.

“I know a knife wound when I see it, kid. I’ve seen some things.”

Peter shrugged, not giving a verbal confirmation one way or the other. It was technically a knife wound, when you really thought about it.

“You have anywhere to stay? It isn’t safe on the streets, especially nowadays.”

“I, uh… no, I don’t.”

“I got a couch. Me and my wife would love to have you over for dinner and a fresh change of clothes. You got anything with you? Bindle stick, or a bag, or something?”

“No, sir, not really,” he replied. “This is all I have.”

“Hang on a sec, lemme let get on the horn.” With that, Fiq pulled a walkie off his belt, and Peter noticed the earpiece he had on for the first time. He was heavily-tattooed on his ear and neck, with the most prominent marking being a red and black ‘Tori’ placed in a similarly-colored heart just above his collar. “Hey, Dan, I found a homeless kid chilling by the break area, gonna go buy him a change of clothes and get him a nice dinner. You mind having Scottie finish up inventory? Ah, Scottie, that’s my man! Appreciate you, bro, I’ll bring you something tomorrow.”

With that, he turned his attention back to Peter. “I am officially off the clock. Let’s get, my car’s on the other side of the office.

It wasn’t a long walk to get there. Fiq drove a sedan, one that Peter had never seen before on his Earth. He recognized the brand logo, though…

“That’s an Oldsmobile?” Peter asked, trying not to act too surprised.

“2009 Oldsmobile Cutlass,” he replied. “Heavilyused, but I cleaned her up nice.”

“Cool, cool.” Uncle Ben had a 1990 Oldsmobile, back in the day, but Peter was pretty sure they stopped making those on his Earth. He hopped into the passenger seat of a car that smelled pretty strongly of cigarette smoke and cherry-scented air freshener. He evidently made some kind of face, because Fiq got a kick out of it, chuckling as he started up the car.

“I quit the habit a little too late, unfortunately,” he explained. “This thing’s gonna stink until I run it into the Bay!”

Peter laughed along as they pulled out of the lot and onto the street. Traffic was starting to come along, now that it was getting to the end of the day. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too long. Fiq dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number as he made a sharp left turn somewhere where he, most definitely, wasnotsupposed to.

“Hey, baby, I’m off early. Found a young man with nowhere to go and nothing to do, so I figured we’d show him a bit of Brockton Bay hospitality. You started on dinner yet, or nah?”

Peter noted that, the way they’d turned, traffic was bumper to bumper.

“Yeah, the meatballs. I’m gonna try and stop on the way and get him a fresh change of clothes, but this traffic’s nuts. Oh, sh*t, there’s a wreck? Dammit, I’m gonna be a while then. Love you too. Bye now.”

They ended up being a little while, about forty minutes due to a wreck just down the road and no real easy way to turn around and get to a change of clothes. At least clothing sizes fit across the multiverse, something Peter could be thankful for as he held a pair of jeans and his old, torn long-sleeve shirt, a plain black long-sleeve in its place, despite Fiq’s insistence he could get any shirt he liked, within reason. Fiq lived in some tenement housing further into town, but, as he explained it, still in the ‘Docks’ area. He explained to Peter that it wasn’t a place you needed to be wandering around alone at night unless you knew the area, or you were affiliated. He’d started warning Peter about two of the major gangs in the area as they came down the road Fiq lived on. Apparently, the two big problems around here were something like the Yakuza, and… literal Nazis. Just straight up, literal Nazis. Cap would be fuming right now.

“So you don’t have much to worry about with the 88, since you’re a nice-looking young white man and all. If they come at you cross-eyed, swalllow your pride, say ‘white power’, and move on with your life, I won’t judge you. Their turf’s usually quiet, but I wouldn’t go there, myself, so that’s my advice to you. The ABB, though? They’re the kind of crazy that’ll just run up on you and run your sh*t. They run the racket on this end of town, so if you see a stickup or a shakedown or anything going sideways, just keep your head down and act like you don’t see it. It f*cking sucks, but it’s how it is. Cops hardly give a sh*t anymore with capes running around, and the capes can’t be f*cked to stop low-level street crime. Imagine Armsmaster coming to stop a gas station shakedown, right?”

He’d said a few things about ‘capes’ and a few names thus far, which piqued Peter’s curiosity. Now that his rant seemed over, he felt it might be wise to ask.

“What’s a ‘cape’, like, a superhero or something?”

Fiq grinned, shaking his head. “Man, you arereallynot local. What do they call ‘em where you’re from?”

“Uh, superheroes.”

Fiq laughed again, the same rich, old-man belly laugh he’d belted out earlier. “You’re a funny guy, Ben, my wife’s gonna love you. Yeah, they’re superheroes. See, Brockton has a lot of superpowered folks running around. Some of the biggest names in the country are our next door neighbors, so Brockton Bay kinda got their runoff in terms of capes. Guys like Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Dauntless are some of the top of the top. If we ever get attacked by a supervillain or something, we’d be in good hands, but street crime isn’t their thing. New Wave used to be on top of that sh*t, but they’ve kind of quieted down lately.”

Peter nodded along as if he understood where he was going with this beyond ‘a lot of super-people in Brockton Bay.’ It was certainly interesting. Peter knew he wasn’t the only superhuman on his Earth, he literally was part of a team of them for a little while, and that wasn’t even getting into fighting with a whole lot of them against Thanos’ entire army. The way this guy talked, though, made it sound like there were superheroes all over the country.

“So you have a lot of superheroes… and a crime problem?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds,” Fiq replied. “Too busy looking for fights with other superheroes to get down with the community, you know? Like, they do sometimes, there’s outreach and sh*t, and there’s some of the younger capes in the school system from what I’ve read on the internet, but like… it’s not the same. New Wave, that was the right idea. They didn’t hide who they were, they were members of the community just like us. Still are, I guess, but they’re practically Diet Protectorate now.”

“I gotcha,” Peter said, still having not quite got it yet, but feeling like it was proper and polite to act like he did.

Fiq nodded, turning his attention back to the road and the now-visible housing block. “Almost there, my man. Sorry it took so long, apparently an ambulance sideswiped somebody back on Ninth and Crusoe. Turned around just to have to turn around again.”

“Hey, as long as we make it,” Peter replied. “Mr. Fiq, I really appreciate-”

“Every time one of you call me ‘Mister Fiq’ I get another gray hair. It’s just Fiq, Ben.”

“Thank you, Fiq. Really, I know it’s asking a lot of you guys, but I promise I won’t stick around long.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You got nowhere to go and the social services in Brockton are ass. How old are you, Ben?”

“Going on eighteen in August, sir.”

“Sir me again and you’re walking the rest of the way.”

Peter chuckled. “It’s not even that far.”

“Hence why I said it. I’m guessing you dropped out of school before you left Queens, then.” His smile had faded as he continued to speak, and his tone grew more somber.

“Yeah.” For a given matter of speaking, he wasn’t exactly in school anymore. “Pretty much.”

“You thinking of going back, or getting a GED?”

“Maybe, I dunno. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do,” Peter replied, in one of the few entirely transparent and honest answers he gave today. “I just… I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t have a lot left back there, but there are people who care about me. People that I care about. People that want to help. I just…”

Fiq looked back at him with a sagely nod. “I get you, son, I get you. Sometimes, life takes us down paths we aren’t really prepared for. I dropped out of high school too, right here in the Bay. Got involved with a bad crowd and figured I didn’t need The Man telling me what to do. Ended up going to prison for a few years to learn why that was a bad idea. Ended up getting my GED while I was inside, and Dan up at the Docks gave me a job. I know what it’s like being on a hard road, Ben. The important thing, though, is that you’re still driving. All four tires on the road, and you got gas in the tank. As long as you can keep driving, keep driving. And don’t be afraid to stop and get gas, you know? Lean on people.”

He shifted in his seat slightly as he pumped the accelerator, moving the car forward another few feet in the traffic jam. “There were people inside who helped me, and people outside too, just Iike I’m trying to help you now. I’m paying forward the kindness given to me. Jumping off people who stall out on the side of the road, if you’re still following the metaphor.”

“Yeah, I think I get it, yeah.”

“I knew you were a smart kid. My wife, Tori, she’s a teacher. She’ll love you. Hopefully dinner’ll be close to ready and you can get a hot meal and a hot bath. Neither of us work tomorrow, so feel free to hang around. We’ll see if we can get something sorted out for you for Monday- I got work, and Tori’s interviewing at Winslow High that morning. You planning on staying in Brockton for a while?”

“I dunno,” Peter repeated. “I never really thought I’d end up here.”

“Come with me to work on Monday. I’ll see if I can get you some work with Dan. Get some money to save in case you wanna head back to Queens or go through courses to get your GED. It’s a little late to enroll you in school, sadly, so…”

“What day is it, by the way?” Peter asked, realizing he’d never quite caught it.

“March 25th,” he replied.

Oh, so he’d moved back in time a little bit… maybe. He was driving a 2009 car, so it was at least 2009 or 2010. Considering the other cars all looked similarly a bit older than what he was used to, it definitely wasn’t 2024.

“Cool, cool.”

The rest of the ride was relatively quiet, with a rapper Peter couldn’t identify and the low hum of the car’s engine and those passing by the only thing breaking the silence. About five minutes on, and they were in the parking lot. The first thing that caught Peter’s eye was a group of four men at the front of the housing block. One of them was an older guy with a receding hairline, and a bit of a stoop to his back. The other three, all asian, had pretty garish tattoos and clothes that were all some form of green, red, and/or black.

“Speak of the devil,” Fiq muttered. “ABB.”

“What are they doing here?” Peter asked.

“They’ve been shaking down the landlord for a couple of days now, trying to get him to spill something. He already paid them his monthly protection, so my neighbor thinks they’re trying to find someone in the block, but we don’t know who. Nobody new has moved in in a while, and the only Asian family we know in there is already affiliated. Ben, don’t say nothing to them, don’t do anything dumb, just walk past and mind your business. Any of them the guys that jumped you?”

“I can’t really tell,” he lied. “Don’t know.”

“Well, if they try again, I carry. I don’t like violence, but I’m not afraid to defend myself or others. Come on, let’s go.”

With that, he killed the engine, and stepped out of the vehicle, his face morphing from one of disgust to complete and utter disinterest as he began to walk to the front of the building. Peter stepped out after him, shirt and jeans in hand as he tried to resist the urge to look at the gangsters harassing the landlord. They seemed pretty angry, and one of them was saying something to the other in… well, it wasn’t Tagalog, and that was the only Asian-adjacent language Peter knew anything about, and even that was just from meeting Ned’s lola once or twice.

“You keep wasting my time, old man, and we’re gonna have a problem!” one of them, a skinnier guy with long, greasy hair, said, towering over the landlord, who remained unmoved. “I come up here every day and hear someone say that Asuka walked into this block. You calling me a liar?”

“I’m telling you, there’s no girl named Asuka on my property,” the landlord replied. “I don’t know who is telling you that, but you can ask Zhao. I’m not in the business of getting involved in your business.”

“You’re interfering in my business right now by making me come here and try to cut through your bullsh*t!” Grease Guy shouted back, shoving the landlord away a few steps. “This is the last time I’m gonna ask nice. I’ve knocked on your door three times. Next time, we kick it in, so unless I see my girl when I come by here, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Fiq and Peter almost made it past them when The Tingle started going off.

“Hey,gweilo!”

f*ck.

“Keep walking,” Fiq whispered, and Peter was about to, but the Tingle was getting louder. He turned just in time to find Greasy reaching out to grab him by the shoulder. Instead, he ended up getting a really awkward graze across Peter’s neck before getting a fistfull of shirt and shoving him into the wall. Instinct demanded Peter kick the guy through the next room’s dining room, but something told him that, with two other thugs right there and the fact that they basically owned this building in all but name… that wouldn’t work out well for Fiq. He bit his tongue, and held his hands.

“Hey, yo, leave the kid alone-” Fiq started.

“Shut the f*ck up,” Grease replied without even looking at him. “I’m getting real tired of having to ask every motherf*cker who walks in this building, but I sure as hell know I haven’t seen you before. There’s a pretty little thing in that apartment that belongs to the ABB. Little shorter than you, no tit*, wide hips, and a bad attitude. Name’s Asuka Yamanaka. You seen her? Heard of her?”

“Dude, I don’t live here,” Peter replied.

“Don’t f*ck with me, white boy, because I’m about done f*cking around!” The grip on his shirt tightened, and a fist was co*cked back. Really telegraphed. Peter could avoid it easily, but he didn’t have to, because Fiq did the work for him.

“I picked that man off the street, he doesn’t know nothing,” Fiq said. “He’s a transient, now lay off. We haven’t seen nobody, and if we did, we wouldn’t be hiding it from you, cause we aren’t trying to get shot!”

“You getting an attitude with me, man?” Greasy asked.

“I’m not getting an attitude, I’m telling you how the f*ck it is, dude! You don’t think Zhao would be hiding one of your girls from you, helives here! Is he the one who told you?”

“Shouldn’t matter to you if you ain’t got nothing to hide.”

“Trust me, ain’t no one here stupid enough to hide the bitch from you.”

“Look, look, look,” Peter said, trying his best to act the part of a confused, distressed homeless guy. “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want any trouble. If I see anyone, I’ll let you know, just don’t shoot anybody or anything, jeez.”

There was a pause in the action where both men looked at each other, then at Peter.

“I’ll be back soon,gweilo. Better have that bitch when I come back.”

With that, he shoved Peter back into the wall and walked away, motioning for his boys to follow him. “I’m not gonna wait much longer!” he shouted over his shoulder, and then, they were gone, around the corner. After a few more moments of collecting themselves, he looked at Fiq, and Fiq looked at him.

“That went bad,” Peter said, letting out a shaky exhale. “You know what he’s talking about?”

“Girl’s one of their ‘collectors’, turns tricks on the corner right by here,” Fiq explained. “I don’t doubt she’s either here or in the next block over around the corner, and that guy’s not gonna come in knocking on doors. For our sake, I hope she’s over there.”

Peter swallowed a lump in his throat at that. The Spider-Man in him wanted to go in and rescue ‘Asuka’, beat the sh*t out of those guys, and get back into the swing of things, but… he was out of his element. There was someone taking him into their home, risking their safety to stick up for him. He couldn’t jeopardize them, at least not directly. For now, he just had to sit and let it happen. Hopefully, things didn’t turn for the worse before he figured something out.

“So, uh…” he said, more to shake himself out of his thoughts than anything else.

“Yeah,” Fiq agreed to words not even said. “Let’s get inside.”

Summary:

With great power comes great responsibility, and when Peter sees a person in need, he just can't help himself.

Thankfully, there were no more incidents in the tenements themselves, and a quick trip up a couple of flights of stairs led Peter to the third floor room where Fiq and his wife were staying. They’d barely had time to reach the door and knock before she answered the door. Tori was a smaller woman, with red streaks dyed into long, black hair, round glasses, and a general geeky look about her, along with a nice, wide smile. She was quick to get them both in, and it wasn’t long before she was trying to talk to Peter in between checking on the not-quite prepared dinner.

She was a sweet lady, and Fiq was a nice guy. They clearly cared a lot not just about each other, but about other people. Peter saw pictures scattered around the living room of the two, when Fiq was younger and Tori was thinner, the two posing with a soccer team in one, another with her in a graduate’s uniform, holding a diploma. Some of them were with friends and family, others were just by themselves, almost always smiling at each other or laughing at something instead of looking dead-eyed at the camera like a lot of people did.

Peter enjoyed photography as an every-once-in-a-while kind of thing, so he could appreciate a good photo. Especially ones with heart in them like these did.

The strange thing to him was that the couple had no children, but, hey, maybe they just didn’t have time for kids? Wasn’t his place to judge. It’s not like he was super into the idea of the nuclear family. He didn’t really see himself having kids at all.

A part of his mind that he really didn’t want to rise up posited a world where it was him and MJ in those pictures, and he started to feel sick.

“Ben?” Fiq asked, rousing Peter from his trance-like focus.

“Huh? Yeah, what’s up, Fiq?” he asked.

“You alright, man? You’ve been quiet since you came in.”

“Just, uh, thinking. Sorry. Don’t mean to upset you guys, or be weird about anything, or impose, or anything like that.”

“Sweetheart, you're not imposing on anybody. You’re not the first person we’ve welcomed into our home, and unless God starts working a lot of miracles real fast, you probably won’t be the last,” Tori replied. “Fiq told me you’re thinking about getting your GED?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If you need any help with academics, let me know. I teach high-school maths if there’s anything you need help with, so I’d be glad to give you a hand with any exams or the like.”

Peter smiled, and nodded back at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Tori.”

“It’s no problem at all. If you need to take a shower or anything, feel free. I knew you’d be late, but I thought it’d take longer, and trust me, I learned the hard way that you can’t rush perfection.”

She gave a hearty chuckle at that as Fiq stepped away from her and walked around the kitchen counter towards Peter.

“I gotta make a call to Dan and talk to him about some stuff. You think you’ll be sticking around long enough to work?”

Peter wasn’t really sure. He doubted Strange would be coming back for him next week or anything, but if that’s how it went down, well, he’d never see any of these people again, so what did it matter?

That was… a terrible way of looking at this, holy crap. Peter wanted to slap himself.

Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to have money coming in, and he knew he could work. Especially now, with his powers, manual labor wouldn’t be too bad. He’d just have to take it a bit slow to make sure no one got any wild ideas that he might be a superhero in disguise or anything.

“Yeah, probably for a little while,” Peter agreed. “You said we’re going Monday, right?”

“Yessir, I was gonna let Dan know so he can set aside some time to interview you.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No thing, buddy, no thing at all. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he stepped into the hall on the other side of the kitchenette from them, and Peter was left alone with the sounds of his thoughts, and a rapidly-approaching dinner. His hands found his phone again, going through familiar motions to get to the photo gallery, one of the few things he could use with no cell service.

There were pictures of him and MJ, mostly, followed closely by ones of them and Ned, Peter and Ned, and a good few of Aunt May too. Happier times. Peters and MJs and Neds and Mays who didn’t know what was coming next, who were just happy to be there in the now. Some photos from the trip, some from before, nothing really from after, save for the one live video he’d sent to Jameson’s show.

‘Yeah, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man could REALLY use some more help,’he thought, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his predicament. He felt sore all over, now that adrenaline and nerves had long ago faded to remind him just how much he’d put his body through over the last day and night. He was also starting to get kind of hungry, now that he could smell the food being made.

He closed his eyes, letting out a deep, shuddering exhale as he tried to banish thoughts of home from his mind just for a little while, turning off the phone and putting it back in his pocket.

She would wait for him to come back, he knew that. And he would come back, as soon as he could. He just really, really hoped Doctor-STEPHENfigured it out soon.

“Almost done, Ben,” Tori called out from behind him.

“Thank you, Mrs. Tori.”

Fiq was a few more minutes before he came back in, his hair tied up and with a fresh shirt that read… something Peter could barely read about class.

“Alright, Ben, we got you a job…interview. Most likely a job, too, but definitely an interview,” he said, as he approached Peter with a fist extended outward and another one of his bright smiles. Peter smiled back, and returned the gesture, which Fiq followed up by making an exaggerated ‘explosion’ with his hand. He really was giving off mall Santa / embarrassing dad vibes, and Peter certainly didn’t mind. He’d had less friendly first encounters with multiverse people. So far, Fiq had yet to try and bomb him, hit him with metal tentacles, or electrocute him to death. Solid start.

“That is… amazing,” Peter said, nodding enthusiastically. “Thanks, man, really. I can’t thank you enough for all the help. Really means a lot.”

“Like I said,” Tori replied, “we’ve done this before. Last young lady that came by-”

“Tori.”

It clicked in Peter’s head instantly.

“She’s still in the complex, isn’t she?” he asked, lowering his voice out of instinct. It wasn’t like anyone was listening in… but theyhadmentioned there was a guy affiliated with the gang living in this block. Couldn’t hurt to be safe.

“Yeah,” Fiq replied, defeated. “Zhao doesn’t know yet, because we’ve been moving her from room to room every night, real early. We had her when she first came in, then she went down the hall, now she’s… where she’s at now. There’s another girl with her, says she’s got a plan to get them out soon, but I don’t know if they’re gonna have time.”

“Do you know where they are right now?”

“Ben, you don’t wanna get involved in this,” Fiq warned him, with Tori looking over from behind him with equal concern.

“You guys are already involved as it is, and I’m here now, so why not?” he asked.

Fiq didn’t have an immediate answer, his brow furrowing with thought as he looked back at his wife, who nodded sadly. With a long, drawn-out sigh, Fiq turned back to him.

“The other girl’s a parahuman. Ex-Empire 88. I don’t like nazi motherf*ckers very much, but this kid… she wants to do right. I can tell from the way she talked to us, the way she talks to Asuka. She wants to get her out, but Asuka still has family in the Bay. Family that she can’t account for.”

“They’ve probably already gotten her family,” Tori continued, a deep sadness in her voice. “She doesn’t know, the poor thing, or maybe she’s in denial, but the ABB don’t take betrayal lightly.”

“She’s just… she’s notthatimportant, is she? Just a… you know…” Peter couldn’t find a really nice way to word ‘prostitute’, so he instead chose the fine art of the silent implication.

“She’s property. At least to them,” Fiq replied. “She stopped being Asuka the human a long time ago, now she’s Asuka the piece of meat for them to toss at every lowlife in town until one gets fed up and strangles her to death, or she OD’s, or offs herself. I watched that poor girl try to sleep. Emphasis on try. She couldn’t sleep with me in the house because she was afraid I was gonnarapeher, Ben. I ended up staying with the neighbor.”

“The poor baby was up all night even then,” Tori continued. “Sarah said she was convinced they were going to come kick down the door as soon as she fell asleep and take her back. I’m shocked she was able to calm her down, but eventually, Asuka managed to get a few hours. Sarah, though… she just stayed awake the whole time. Never so much as looked tired.”

“As long as those two stay in the Bay, they’re in danger,” Fiq picked up where she left off. “If they stay here, the ABB will never stop looking for Asuka. If they move over, they’re in Empire 88 territory, and Sarah’s a ‘race traitor’ now, so you already know what they’re gonna do to her. Their best bet is to leave town, but no one here is willing to risk driving them out. I would, but… I’ve already made an enemy of the ABB. They don’t like me very much, and they sure as hell would try and run me down the moment they even suspected I had those kids in my car.”

“Why does the ABB have a problem with you?” Peter asked.

“Because I’m here for my f*cking community, Ben, that’s why. I watch too many young boys and girls get dragged into the f*cking gangs and kill each other. I see girls not even old enough to vote turning tricks on the next corner over. I see boys young enough to be my sons shooting each other. It makes me sick, and my momma evidently didn’t whup me hard enough to make me a quiet man, because I mouth off when I get sick of this crap.”

Fiq’s voice had started to quaver as he kept talking, and Tori approached him to put an arm around his shoulder.

“I’ve seen good kids like you and Asuka chewed up and spit out by these streets, and none of those damn Protectorate capes do sh*t about it,” Fiq finished bitterly. “It’s just Brockton Bay type sh*t.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Peter replied, with conviction that surprised even himself. “You’re a good guy, Fiq, trying to help them however you can. Same for everyone else here. Maybe it’s time someone helped you guys out.”

He debated what he was going to say next, but before he could get into the meat of it… well, the meat started burning. Fiq recognized it an instant after Peter, and turned around.

“sh*t, Tori, the meatballs!”

“Oh, God, look at us,” Tori moaned, turning off the stovetop with a resigned laugh.

The domesticity of it clashed with the intense discussion they’d just had. Fiq was clearly deeply invested in Brockton Bay. He mentioned to Dan that he grew up here, that this was home, just like Queens was for Peter. He wouldn’t leave it behind, and he wouldn’t leave the people behind either. Even without powers, Fiq was helping homeless people, letting them into his home, protecting them from gangs, apparently…

He was just as much a hero as any ‘cape’.

“Uh, sorry, Fiq, can I tell you something?” he said, mustering up all his courage. He had the power to intervene. He was a superhero, too.

“With great power, there must also come great responsibility.”

He didn’t have to be Peter Parker. He didn’t have to be Spider-Man. Ben Peters could be a hero, too.

As Tori salvaged the meal, Fiq turned around to look at him with a sad look in his eye. “You’re good, Ben, you’re good. What’s going on?”

Peter took a deep breath.

“I’m a cape, too.”

Fiq didn’t say anything, didn’t even move. Tori, who was putting the pot with the meatballs and sauce on the kitchen counter, also stopped and turned to look at Peter, though her expression had turned almost ghastly.

“Ben,” Fiq started, “don’t say-”

Peter jumped up to the ceiling, lifting his arm and pressing the pads of his fingers to it. As expected, he held firm, hanging by his fingertips with his feet dangling a few inches off the floor.

“Don’t say what, Fiq?”

Fiq looked back at Tori, then back at Peter again, and let out a low whistle.

“Well, this just got more complicated.”

The meatballs weren’t Aunt May good, but they were pretty good. Peter wouldn’t complain about a free meal at a time like this. He just wished the meal was under more pleasant circ*mstances.

He also wished he hadn't thought about Aunt May's cooking.

Fiq had given him a thorough interrogation, hitting him with a battery of questions that felt an hour long as they ate, prying at every corner of Peter’s background and powers. He’d tried to avoid anything that might identify him as Spider-Man, so he used vague terms. He had ‘net guns’ on his wrists instead of web launchers, he had ‘enhanced reflexes’ and ‘heightened reflexes’ instead of The Tingle, and he had super-strength to boot. Fiq had seemed a bit confused, at first, asking Peter if he was a ‘Tinker’ or a ‘Breaker’ or a ‘Striker’, which Peter…triedto answer.

“Sorry if this isn’t helping,” he said as he finished the last few bites of his meal.

“No, no, no, it’s clear as day you’re not lying. So, you triggered as a result of poisoning from a spider-”

“I guess that’s pretty accurate.”

“-and you gained super-strength, super senses, and super reflexes. Oh, and you can climb up walls and sh*t, too.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, mainly because that was almost exactly what it was. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

“I see, I see…” Fiq muttered. “Well, unfortunately, you’re not a Mover or anything that would help us sneak Sarah and Asuka out of the building, but you’re strong, you move quick, and you can get the jump on the thugs if you hang out on the ceiling or something.”

“Yeah, exactly. I’m good at the whole sneaking around thing, too, done it a few times now. I’m a lot more agile than I was before… you know, I got bit.”

“Interesting…” Fiq murmured, drawing a concerned glance from Tori. “I think I might have an idea.”

“Rafiq, we’ve talked about this-” Tori protested weakly.

“I know, we have, and I stand with you, Tori,” Fiq assured her. “But this isn’t just me. It’s Ben. And Ben sounds like he’s been at this for a minute, even if the details are a little… vague.”

“If I could tell you more, I would,” Peter said. “I’m really sorry.”

“You told me everything I need to know to trust you with this. You finished eating?”

Peter pushed his plate aside gently as he stood up from the table, then grabbed it to head towards the sink.

“Nah, you leave that right there. We’ve got someone you need to meet.”

Peter turned around, a bit of the Tingle prickling at the back of his neck, though not enough to really say ‘trouble RIGHT NOW.’ It was gone quickly. “Okay,” he replied, “sure, sure.”

“Come on. They’re up a floor.”

With that, Fiq also stood up, leaning down to give Tori a kiss on the cheek before motioning for Peter to follow him. He set a brisk pace, and Peter was quick to follow, striding purposefully down the carpeted hall towards the dark, dimly-lit stairs at the end of the block. It was a pretty long walk, and the stairs weren’t a short trip either, which was sorta good in a way. It meant they’d have more time to prepare if they believed the ABB to be breaking in. Still, they were awfully tall for a tenement block.

“They’re staying with my friend, Leslie, right now,” Fiq whispered, trying to avoid echoing in the empty stairwell.

“Got it,” Peter replied, matching his volume. “It’s two of them, then?”

“Yeah.” Fiq nodded. “Sarah’s cagey. Don’t do anything dumb.”

With that, they were at the third floor access, and Fiq was opening the door into the hall, and immediately turned to his left.

“You know, when you’re looking for something specific, you usually assume it’s gonna be far away from you, right?”

Peter had never heard that before. “Uh… not really.”

“Well, in my experience, the first place they look is always gonna be somewhere where they think you’re hiding sh*t. And who would hide a refugee in one of the easiest-accessible rooms in the building, right?” Fiq asked. “Albeit one near the top. Perfect balance of ‘not too obvious’ but ‘not so suspicious.’”

With that, he knocked on the door in a rhythm. Two knocks, then two more knocks, then three knocks, then one. It didn’t take long for the door to open, revealing a ginger man with a thick beard and hair that likely hadn’t seen a razor since Peter was born.

“What up, Leslie?”

“Fiq,” Leslie replied, glowering at Peter. “Another stray?”

“One that’s gonna help us out. He’s a cape.”

Leslie’s expression instantly brightened, though he wasn’t exactly a friendly-looking guy even when he was happy. He had deep lines in his face, and a few scars to boot. “Well, sh*t, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. What's your name, kid?”

“Just call me Ben.”

“I meant your cape name, but whatever, Ben works. What can you do, Ben?”

“He can walk on walls, and he has super strength, reflexes, and hearing,” Fiq explained for him, coincidentally ensuring that Peter didn’t need to risk letting too much on. “Could probably win a one on one fight against any of Wei’s goons, and I doubt Oni Lee or Lung is gonna show up over a missing prostitute.”

“Good… good…” Leslie murmured, opening the door the rest of the way. “Come on, Zhao’s been out of the building all day, so we’re still good here.”

“Cool, cool.”

With that, Leslie stepped out of the door. Fiq held his arm out in front of Peter, stepping into the doorway first.

“I’m a familiar face,” he said, and Peter felt no need to argue with that. He had no idea what kind of superpowers this girl had, but something told him that rocking up to another superhuman unannounced when they were paranoid about being attacked by gangsters was… not thebestidea in the world. He’d had a few worse ones, for sure, but he wasn’t about to try and test his luck again today.

He followed Fiq past the living room of the establishment and into a small hallway.

“The corner suites are nicer, got a shower in the master bedroom, Fiq explained. Thing is, with all the rooms in these tenements, every room has a window. Risk of being spotted. One exception.”

With that, he turned and knocked twice, then twice, then once on the door to his right.

There was a sudden sound of shock from the other side of the door and the rustling of… something, before Peter heard something loudly grind against the edge of the door and send Fiq a few startled steps back as the door swung open. From inside what Peter assumed was the bathroom, from the peek of a mirror he got, a long, pale arm extended outwards, the skin at its wrist broken to expose an ugly, yellow-white and jagged bone…blade…thing?

“sh*t, Marrow, it’s just me.”

“Oh,” came a raspy, feminine voice. “Hey, Fiq.”

“O-ohayo,” came a meek, quiet greeting from within the bathroom.

Fiq looked at Peter, offering him a nervous smile as the blade retracted from in front of his face and back into the arm with a… really gross sound. He had to admit, he threw up a little. Wrenching his eyes shut and containing his revulsion, he opened them to see a bare leg, only covered by a pair of very,verysmall bicycle shorts, stepping out from behind the door, covered in what looked like skin-covered spikes. The arm that followed was similarly bedecked, heavily tattooed, both on her arm and on her side.. The girl herself, ‘Sarah’, was only a little bit shorter than Peter, her hair cut short, highlighted with orange, and swept to the side. Immediately, she followed Fiq’s gaze and raised a spiny arm at Peter.

“P-please don’t do that again-” Peter started.

“Who the f*ck is he?” Sarah asked.

“He’s Ben, he’s another parahuman. Cape from Queens.”

Sarah digested that information for a moment, eyeing Peter like a cut of meat, arm still outstretched. “That right, Benny?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah. That’s pretty much the gist of it,” he replied. “Ben Peters. Nice to meet you.”

“Marrow. Feeling’s not really mutual.”

With that, she lowered her arm, and turned back to look at Fiq. Now that he looked at her more closely, he could make out her tattoos. Some of them were… less than flattering, but made sense considering what Fiq said about her history. One in particular sat apart from the others, though- an omega turned sideways.

“Why did you bring another cape into this?” she asked.

“Because we can’t hide you forever, S-Marrow. Wei and his boys are damn sure you’re either here or in the next block, and we both know he isn’t gonna ask nicely next time.”

“I can deal with anyone they send after us,” Sarah replied. “We’ll leave when Asuka finds out about her family.”

“Sarah… I understand her pain, but we both know good and well—”

“You don’t know anything. You act like you do, but you don’t,” she replied. “We’re not leaving Brockton until we know for sure.”

“Well, you can’t stay here much longer, because he will check every room, and peoplewillget hurt.”

“What if they never get that far?” Peter asked, drawing both of their attention back onto him.

“Ben-” Fiq started, only to be cut off by a raised finger from Sarah. “First of all, what the hell are you doing in Brockton Bay.”

“I didn’t come here by choice, if that’s what you’re asking,” Peter replied. “I had to leave Queens. Bad situation. Fiq found me on the street, took me in. I heard you needed help.”

“So, he’s just going around telling everyone and his mama what’s going on, then?”

“It slipped out. He got jumped by the ABB before I found him. How you think he got that cut on his head?”

Sarah examined him head-to-foot, nodding quietly. “So you wanna get payback on Wei?”

“I want to help you guys get out of here,” Peter said.

“Well I told you, we’re not leaving until we find Asuka’s family.”

“I’ll help you. Tonight, we get you out of here, then I’ll help you find her family.”

“Awfully kind for a stranger,” she noted, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“You’ve got a bunch of strangers helping you right now, what’s one more?” he retorted. That seemed to cow her a bit, and Sarah shook her head with a resigned sigh.

“Even if we leave here, these streets aren’t safe for her. ABB has stool pigeons all over the Docks. We’d need to have a place to hide.”

“And it probably wouldn’t be smart to come back here.”

“We’re already gonna pay for what’s been done up to now,” Fiq said, an angry tremble to his voice. “And if you come back here after, it’s gonna be even worse for you, but especially us. I told you that just hiding in the bathroom and running when the coast looked clear wouldn’t help the situation, especially not now.”

Sarah looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up at Fiq. “Thought you were fine with helping us out.”

“Doing the right thing doesn’t always mean the right thing gets done back,” he replied. “I knew what I was getting into. Most everybody in this block does. Doesn’t mean it’s not gonna hurt when Wei and his boys start door-knocking. Staying down and keeping quiet might not help with the mood he’s in.”

“Well, what if we did something about it?” Peter asked. “Sa-”

She glared at him.

“Uh, sorry, Marrow. Your powers, they’re…that bone thing?”

She extended one of her bone-blade things, and Peter retched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smirk.

“Oh,come on, now!” Fiq protested.

“Some help, huh?”

“T-the noise is gross,” Peter replied weakly, collecting himself. “Just, really gross.”

“This noise?” she asked coyly, retracting the blade again. This time, Peter was ready for it, and though he cringed, he managed to avoid losing his lunch.

“Y-y-yeah, that noise. Anyway, yeah, that’s your power?”

“Got it under my skin, too. Had it as long as I can remember,” she replied, brushing aside some of her hair and accentuating smaller spines on her forehead, brow, and cheeks. “Can push it out. Blades, armor, can even shoot the spines off like bullets. Doesn’t even hurt. Thicker than usual bone, too. Takes a lot more to break it. That’s not even getting into the healing factor. You think I just walk around with holes in my skin?”

“Well, hey, that’s great,” Peter said, “that means you can take a hit. My suit’s a bit banged up, but I can probably take a solid shot or two. Not that I’ll need to, I don’t think, it’s nice to have.”

“You got a power besides looking pretty, Benny?”

Oh, right. He probably should have went with that.

“I, uh, I have super reflexes. Super strength. Super senses. And I can climb walls. Nothing really special.”

Got it. Very nice, nondescript power set that doesn’t tip her off that she's talking to Spider-Man. She didn’t seem too alarmed by the description, rolling her eyes at it, even.

“Boring, but it works,” she muttered. “So you’re suggesting we fight Kung Fu Hustle and his posse?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

She looked at Fiq, who nodded, before speaking again.

“They’re probably coming back soon. Maybe even tonight. He won’t have any capes with him, especially since as far as he knows, it’s just Asuka. They don’t know you bailed her out.”

“Well, if you’d asked me a few months ago, I wouldn’t have thought I’d be bailing her out either.”

“Life has a funny way of changing your perspective, don’t it?”

“You really gonna give me a life lesson right now, Fiq?”

“Considering you don’t learn anything, I’m starting to wonder why I try,” he replied, no malice in his voice or his grin. Sarah smiled back, then looked at Peter.

“Alright, Benny. So, we beat the sh*t out of Wei and his gang. Then what?”

“Then we ask him where Asuka’s family is. See if he knows anything, or anyone who might know anything. Then, we leave ‘em for the cops.”

“The cops,” Sarah repeated incredulously, still smiling. If anything, she was smiling even more. “Thecops? Brockton Bay Police Department?”

“Yeah, the cops.” Peter didn’t get why she seemed so surprised. Fiq, too, seemed to be trying to hold his smile in.

“That’d be a PRT problem, since a parahuman runs the gang,” Fiq explained, managing to beat back his smile. “And good luck getting them to do anything.”

“They will. I’m a convincing guy.”

“Well, I don’t know about convincing, but you are most certainly anundyingoptimist, Benny, I’ll give you that,” Sarah said, walking up to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. As she did, a young woman he could only assume was Asuka peeked out from behind the doorframe, looking at him with fearful, doe-like eyes.

“Here’s what I’m thinking, Benny,” Sarah spoke lowly, slowly, in a way that made it clear she wasn’t going to listen to whatever he said after this. “I’m thinking, your way sounds alright there at the start, but you kinda lost the plot at the beginning. Here’s what I’m thinking. I think we act like good citizens, and do some community service, huh?”

Peter tried to take a step back. Sarah followed him.

“I wasn’t talking tomyself, Benjamin.”

“I’m not gonna kill anybody,” Peter said, catching her implication pretty quickly. “I get that you’re mad, but that’s only gonna make things worse. Retaliation and all.”

“Oh, I disagree, but you?Youdon’t have to kill anybody. I’m not even gonna kill all of ‘em, myself. See, here’s something you goody two-shoes guys don’t get.”

She moved her hand down from his shoulder to poke him in the chest, right above his heart. “This? This gets in the way in situations like that. They aren’t using it. So why should I? Thesepeople, if you can call them that… we speak the same language, them and I. And I think it’s high time we had a conversation.”

Her smile was now practically a rictus grin, and Peter realized a few of her teeth were… not supposed to be that sharp. “So, Benny, this is what’s gonna happen. If we’re doing this, you and me, we’re gonna talk to Wei. Everyone else he brings? Well, we’re gonna have that conversation. And if I win the argument… I don’t think it’d be polite of you to interrupt, would it?”

Peter didn’t reply, instead standing in silent disapproval of Sarah’s plan. Killing these people would just cause Fiq, Tori, Leslie, and the other tenement residents more trouble in the long run.

“And don’t call anybody, either. It won’t be me you answer to if you do,” she finished.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Peter asked.

“I told you Sarah wasn’t proud of who she used to be-”

“Rafiq,” she hissed at him, spines extending from the shoulder closest to him.

“Sarah, he already knows your name and he’s going to help you. He’s not Empire, look at him. He isn’t hard like that. Let me finish so he can understandwhybringing the PRT in on this is a bad idea.”

Sarah’s expression softened, and she retracted her spines, giving Fiq one last smoldering glare before looking back at the startled Asuka, offering her quiet assurances in what Peter was pretty sure was Japanese.

“Marrow is a name she picked for herself. She used to be Scrimshaw, a heavy-hitter for the Empire. She hurt people. Good people, some of ‘em. And she’s been in and out of the system already. If she goes back… well, she most likely isn’t gonna come back. She wants to do right, but the PRT doesn’t see it that way. They don’t care about Marrow or Sarah, they care about Scrimshaw. And they want her put away somewhere where she can’t hurt anyone else.”

“I killed a PRT rat,” she confessed, half under her breath. “Informant within the ABB.”

Peter assumed that wasn’t the end of thegood personthing, but he wouldn’t dig further down there. “Asuka used to be with the ABB,” he said. “Why save her?”

“She wasn’twiththe ABB, Benny, she was a f*cking prostitute,” she spat, and Asuka ducked back into the bathroom. “She wasn’t pushing product on our streets, she wasn’t fighting our guys and girls, and she most certainly wasn’t doing anything of her own free f*cking will. The only crime she ever committed was having a nice ass and not having the powers I do to defend herself from people who want a piece of it.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “And I wanted out of the life anyway. I can’t even remember anything much more than working for the 8-8. One day I’m in this weird city that I can’t f*cking place, then I somehow found my way here. This life is all I’ve known, and I don’t f*cking get it. I don’t remember being a f*cking kid, for Christ’s sake, I don’t even know how old I am.”

She looked back at the bathroom. “Asuka’s not some subhuman piece of meat. She’s a person. She has her own hopes and dreams away from this garbage city, and if I can help her get her family and get out of here, it—”

She then turned back to Peter, and wrenched her eyes shut for a second, before looking at him again. There was steel in those dark brown eyes now, a hard edge that made them almost look black in the dim light of the apartment.

“Nothingwill make up for the sh*t I’ve done. I’m not stupid, I’ve hurt people, and not all of them were affiliated. But she’ll be able to get away from this life.Wewill.. And maybe then I’ll be able to sleep for the first time since I woke up from whatever nightmare started all this.”

Peter had stood silently, listening. It was only right. Fiq hadn’t been lying about these two going through a lot, and if anything, his conviction was only strengthened by what he heard and saw. They’d been put through the wringer, and they’d had enough. Sure, the bit about Marrow being, you know, a murderer… that didn’t sit right with him. But something about her story seemed strange to Peter. The lack of memory, the fact that she was currently sheltering a person affiliated with a gang she was opposed to, who was also… you know, not white, which would be a little weird if Sarah was still a card-carrying, swastika-wearing (at least outside of tattoos he assumed she hadn’t gotten to remove yet), flag-waving Nazi.

“You’ve been through it, huh?” he asked, quietly.

“No sh*t, I’ve been through it, Benny.”

“I’ve been having a bad time of it too. Not the same, I know, but enough of one that I’m gonna help you out in yours. Just try and lay off the killing unless there’s no other option, please.”

Sarah looked at him with that same cold, steely gaze.

“I’m not gonna promise you anything,” she stated coldly.

“Just try,” he pleaded. “I just need you to try.”

“I’lltry.”

Peter nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll help however I can.” Then, he turned his attention to Fiq. “So… how are we doing this?”

Summary:

No matter what universe, no matter what name, Peter Parker will answer the call. For better or worse.

They didn’t wait nearly as long as Peter thought they’d have to before Wei and his gang showed up. The sun had barely gone down behind the city skyline, a dull orange glow bathing the tenement block in the last light of day, and from within the shadows of the buildings nearby came a group of what had to be twenty guys. Most of them were armed with melee weapons—bats, crowbars, tire irons, clubs, knives, one guy had asword— but at least half a dozen of them had guns. One of which, held by Wei, was a pretty mean-looking shotgun.

Peter was standing watch in the entryway of the tenements, right before the doors to the office and the central stairwell. As far as he remembered, Sarah was hiding behind the door, waiting for his signal to come out and join the fight, though Peter was hoping it wouldn’t come to him needing her help.

He made a mental note of all the points he could swing off of, before realizing using his webs would probably be a terrible idea if he wanted to keep his identity concealed. Would be weird if some guy with super strength, reflexes, and senses JUST SO HAPPENED to shoot webbing out of his wrists, just like that other dude we’re chasing across the universe.

As if the mask he had half-pulled up around his face didn’t do that too. Well, he needed to disguise his features somehow, and man, it had not been easy. Even with the nanotech as badly damaged as it was, and no cradle to repair it with, it’s no easy task to tear apart bulletproof weave into something you can wear as a mask. Then again, super-strength is pretty useful for that, he supposed. Super-strength, and a now-broken pair of scissors. He had a nice little web-themed neck gaiter to show for it, now, concealing the front of his face from-

“What’s up,gweilo!? Or should I say Ben?”

sh*t.

Wei seemed in high spirits, waving his gun around, finger on the trigger, with such reckless abandon that Peter was morbidly curious if he’d end up shooting one of his own guys. It was enough to keep him watching.

“You think we didn’t hear your little conversation? ABB runs this town, white boy, and that means we got ears everywhere to make sure none of you start getting wild ideas about skipping rent!”

Peter shrugged. “I guess that means you were listening to me, then?” he called across the parking lot.

“That little bug in the air vent was the stupidest idea Zhao ever had, but the one time we needed it to work, it did! Isn’t that a bitch?” Wei slammed the gun into place, aimed at the hip, far too hard to be safe. He was trying to look tough, trying to play down that there was a ‘cape’ involved now. None of his buddies seemed to be volunteering to step up to him first. “Go run along now, Benny boy, and we’ll let you leave our territory unmolested, so long as you don’t show your spooky ass again.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well we’re just gonna have to kill you, then.”

Sword Guy stepped up next to him, seeming pretty self assured as he drew it from its scabbard and pointed it at him. The others didn’t make any more moves towards him, just sort of milled about, waiting for him to act.

“I guess we can’t talk about this, then? No compromise? No ‘you leave Asuka alone, I won’t beat you all up and leave you for the PRT’ deal?”

“There’s twenty-two men in this street, Ben, mybrothers. There’s only one of you.”

Ah, yeah, he only had Fiq’s room bugged, it seemed. That was good! Every once in a while, you got a thug who was dumb, but smart about it. Thankfully, this guy had no such burden of intelligence. The burden of consciousness, however, seemed to be pretty heavy.

Maybe he needed to take a load off.

“See, buddy, I don’t know how much you heard, but youmightwanna walk away now,” Peter warned him, stepping aside from the door. “I really, really want you to hear me out here. Because if you don’t know what I’m talking about, then all you need to know is if that one of you tries to kill me, things are gonna get really, really bad!”

That was as close to a signal as he could give her without outright saying something.

“You’re talkin’ awful loud for a man standing in front of a firing squad, Ben!”

Wei racked the action of his shotgun.

“I’m starting to wonder if you can back it up.”

Peter kicked off of the wall he was standing against, and began slowly walking forward.

“Last chance, Wei,” he said. “Don’t make me do something you’re gonna regret, dude!”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Wei replied, self-satisfied. “Hey, Yoh!”

A man with a handgun, most likely ‘Yoh’, looked to him for instruction. He looked like he could be Peter’s age. Maybe even younger.

“Put a bullet through that window…there,” Wei replied, pointing his shotgun towards the window to Fiq’s apartment.

“Don’t pull that trigger, Yoh, or something really bad is gonna happen to you!” Peter warned him.

Yoh, unsurprisingly, hesitated to pull the trigger, though he was aiming just fine. Peter felt the Tingle, looked around to see a couple of more guns pointed at him, including Wei’s.

So that’s how this was gonna be.

He heard the door swing open behind him slamming into the wall, and watched as the aim shifted away from him. Someone shouted something in a language Peter didn’t understand. One word stuck out to him in the jumble, though.

‘Scrimshaw’. Like it was a curse.

Peter turned his head to find a suit of bone standing in the doorway, a five-foot-five or so wall of yellow-white armor, with even Sarah’seyelidscovered. Spikes punched out from almost every part of it, with only little patches of skin around the joints to ensure that she could move properly.

The Tingle came again, and Peter leaned to the left just as Wei fired his shotgun, the pellets grazing harmlessly past Peter and into the wall, a couple of strays hitting Sarah with small puffs of dust on impact.

Peter turned around just in time to dodge the next shot, this one from Yoh. He lowered himself to the ground as it whizzed overhead, before launching himself at Wei full force, arms outstretched to collar him in midair. Unfortunately, Sword Guy thought it’d be a good idea to get involved, shoving him out the way and raising his sword like he was going to stab Peter, or something. Again, Tingle. This was not surprising in the slightest. He’d already course corrected by the time Sword Guy was ready, cartwheeling past him and landing behind his back with a chipper whistle.

“Something something folded ten-thousand times.”

The guy let out a roar of frustration and threw a heavy, backhanded swing at Peter’s head with the sword, one that was easily dodged with a quick duck, followed by a liver shot that doubled the man over, and a left hook that sent him crashing to the concrete. It didn’t exactly work on Norman, but it worked fine on Sword Guy.

Good to know he still had the touch.

Even if he didn’t have the Tingle, he would have been able to hear the guy screaming behind him, and Peter turned just in time to catch the baseball bat being swung at his head one-handed, giving the poor guy a sympathetic quirk of the eyebrow before yanking the bat out of his hand and throwing a quick jab that, apparently, broke his nose. Bat Man stumbled back, crying out in pain, and Peter was now keenly aware that multiple people had figured out he was a problem. Sarah, however, seemed to be a bigger problem, as only five guys seemed intent on dealing with Peter.

It really wasn’t fair.

Peter whipped around and raised his arm just in time to catch what appeared to be a training sword made of wood against his forearm, the blow stinging a bit and causing him to let out an involuntary hiss as the wood splintering against his arm, though because of the suit underneath, nothing really got through. The guy looked at his now half-broken sword with intense regret, before Peter pulled him in by the shoulder and tossed him overhead, hearing the man let out a frightened yell that implied he’d been sent on quite the ride. Peter had held back, of course… though the sound of a body hitting metal and an immediate car alarm made him wonder if he maybe should have held back a little more. In front of him, Sarah seemed to… not really be trying.

Trying not to kill anyone, that was. She was batting people aside with bone-covered, spiky limbs. One guy tried to jump on her back and stick his fingers into her eyes only to go wide-eyed when he realized just how bad an idea that was through a very painful experience. Peter tried not to dwell on that, instead focusing on the two of his four remaining guys who weren’t currently running for the hills at full speed.

That, and the Tingle. Peter dove to the side as another shotgun blast rang out, his eyes immediately moving to the shot and finding Wei perched behind the same car his buddy had ended up motionless on top of, caving in the roof from the impact. Jesus, Peter really needed to dial it back.

The Tingle again. Peter rolled out of the way out of a swing from asledgehammerthat dinged harmlessly against the concrete behind him, co*cking his legs back and waiting for the guy to turn and go for another swing. The moment he did, Peter fired off a double-legged kick to the guy’s chin that sent him toppling over like a tree. He nipped up quickly from there, catching a tire iron swing meant for his head with his off hand and throwing the weapon to the ground before looking at his would-be assailant.

“Really, dude?” he asked the guy, a short, fat fella. “Really?”

The guy shook his head.

“Didn’t think so. Go on, bye!”

Well, he didn’t need to be told twice. Little big fella ran for the hills like his life depended on it as Peter turned his attention back to the throng, which was rapidly dispersing from in front of Sarah as she pulled her arm-blade out of a guy’s leg, stomping forward with a now-uncovered face, spewing vulgarity at them in a wave of taunting that would make a sailor turn pale. One of the brave idiots stupid enough to remain in her path was Yoh, who was currently fumbling with his magazine and trying to reload as she skulked towards him, a deer in the headlights. And this car was not going to brake for him.

Peter acted quickly, forgoing Wei for the moment and launching himself across the lot at Yoh, who had finally managed to load his gun and take aim at Sarah before Peter arrived.

“Pull, you little sh*t! PULL!” Sarah shouted at him, armor peeling from underneath her skin as she closed her eyes to create a near-uniform wall of bone on her face as the first bullet bounced harmlessly off her forehead, chipping a bit of the bone off, but nothing else. “PULL!” she shouted again, swinging her arms down to reveal her arm blades.

Yoh didn’t get a chance to oblige her. Peter was on him quick, grabbing his wrist and twisting until the gun came loose, then swinging the guy to the ground so that he landed hard enough on his back to really reconsider his life choices while he tried to get his hands on the air that had just been knocked out of his lungs.

“Hey, Yoh, I know I’m a complete stranger and I just body-slammed you,” Peter said quietly, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s chest, “but I’m gonna give you some advice, one guy to another, you really,reallyshould consider choosing another career path. Like, go to school, graduate, maybe go to college or learn a trade, you know, stuff like that, or else I might not be around to save you from the lady with the scary bone swords next time, yeah? Just do better, okay? I’m not mad at you, you’re just learning.”

Yoh didn’t respond, managing a frantic gasp for air in lieu of a reply.

“Good talk, buddy.”

With that, Peter stood up, and turned in the direction Wei had been. Sure enough, buddy was missing, most likely running for the hills.

“Wei’s hoofing it, I bet,” he informed Sarah, turning to look at her. She lookedfurious, retracting the armor plating to reveal a raw, red-skinned face slick with… something. Man, this power wasreallygross. Her face, contorted with rage, only made it worse.

“I bet, in-f*cking-deed. Come on, we can’t let him get away,” she ordered, taking off through the lot. Peter knew it’d be faster to swing, but he couldn’t really pull that off without outing himself, so he settled for running across the roofs of the cars. He started with a leap, landing on top of Fiq’s car and rolling forward on impact to avoid doing any damage, then bouncing off the hood and into the bed of a nearby truck, which buckled under the weight, but didn’t break.

It also put him at the perfect angle to see Wei shimmying down in the backseat of a car that, evidently, had been left unlocked.

“Found him!” he shouted, and Wei instantly perked up. Unfortunately for him, so did Sarah. She took off like a bat out of hell, her spikes and blades now protruding through her shirt around her upper chest area, her arms, even on her thighs. It seemed like she’d lost all control of them. “Marrow, not the car, not the car-!”

Unfortunately, she did hit the car, slamming into it with one side hard enough to punch holes in the door on the inside. She pried it open from there with almost childlike ease, one of her spikes busting the window open and allowing her to pull the lock. Wei’s terrified screaming was practically deafening, even over the car alarm.

He was pretty sure she knew not to kill him, but something told him he needed to be there to be sure, so he made another flying leap anyway, figuring that if this poor car-owner was gonna have to file for an ‘Act of God’, he might as well add to the damage. He landed on top of the car hard enough to leave two foot-sized dents in the roof, leaning over Sarah, who had pulled Wei off the ground. A large, wet spot sat on the concrete where he’d been.

“Oh, jeez, man,” Peter muttered.

“Yeah, you go and piss yourself now that you find a bitch that can fight back, huh, Wei?” Sarah asked, slamming him into the side of the car with both hands and drawing another terrified howl from the ganger. “YOU HEARD WHAT I ASKED YOU!”

“I-I-I dunno! I dunno, she doesn’t even work my corner! I-I-I don’t know her people!” Wei screamed, making himself as small as he possibly could in his one-size two big tank top and windbreaker pants.

“You know I’m not about to take that sh*t!”

“Wei, the fact that you might know something is the only reason you maybe get to walk away from this,” Peter said, interjecting himself before it could get any worse. “Listen, buddy. You have two options. Marrow, here, she doesn’t like people like you. You hurt her friend, and I had to convince her not to kill anybody out here. Marrow, did you kill any of these guys?”

“As much as Ireallywanted to, no. They’ll live. Guy with the Glock might not walk again, but if you play stupid games—”

“So yeah, she’s kind of pent up right now. See, I’m a nice guy. I don’t kill people, I certainly am not a Nazi, and I’m not in a gang, either. I just want to do the right thing, you know? So here’s what I’m thinking. Either she flies off the handle and mutilates you because you keep wasting her time, and I’m only able to stop her after she’s probably maimed you for the rest of your life… or, hear me out, hear me out—you tell us where Asuka’s family is, orsomeone who might know, and I’ll make sure you make it to jail in one piece.”

Part of that was a lie. He could, and would, restrain Sarah if she went in for the kill. He had his web-shooter primed. He’d be willing to risk it if it meant keeping the body count at ‘zero’ this time. If Sarah was serious about changing her ways, then killing people wasn’t going to cut it.

“You’re f*ckin’ teaming up with an Eight-Ball and you’re telling me you’re not a f*cking racist!?” Wei asked.

“That wasn’t the f*ckingpoint, Wei!” Sarah growled, pressing a spiked forearm against Wei’s neck and drawing yet another frantic cry as he started to squirm. “Up, up, up! Don’t move, now, don’t want you tocut yourselfnow, do we?”

“Okay, okay, okay, you crazy bitch, f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck! Okay, okay, she doesn’t work my corner. She-she-she works for Junior, he-he keeps his merch over at the old S&B tools just past the upper east dockyard! He’s got about thirty or forty guys, I think, and I don’t know how many producers! That’s all I know!”

“Are yousure?” Sarah asked. “If I get there and find out you’re lying, you better leave Lung averygood resignation letter and be out of town before I even step out of that warehouse.”

“I swear, I swear, I swear on my grandmother’s grave-”

“Your grandma would be f*cking ashamed of you, you pathetic f*ck!”

With that, Sarah pulled her forearm away, letting Wei’s wobbly legs give out and lay him out next to the car, tears streaking his face as he fell to the asphalt.

“See, now you get three free meals a day while you think about what you’re gonna do with your life when you get out in a few years,” Peter said, trying his best to put a positive spin on his earlier declaration. “Good behavior, of course.”

Wei didn’t have much to say to that, he just kept crying, so instead Peter got to watch Sarah kick him in the side of the head hard enough to knock him out.

“Jesus, Sarah!” He protested.

“I don’t hit as hard as you, I didn’t kill him!” Sarah replied, throwing her hands up.

“Dude, stillsuperunnecessary.”

“It was super f*cking necessary, he was gonna shoot into people’s rooms!”

“He was gonna make someone else do it, don’t give him that much credit, but the point stands!”

“Look, I did what you said. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Where did you stab that guy in the leg earlier?” He asked. “I saw you do it. What part of his leg did you hit?”

“Around his thigh.”

Upper thigh. Femoral artery. OhGod.Peter was off like a shot from a gun, looking among the guys still on the ground. All of them were breathing, at least. Even the ones Sarah took out were only bleeding in ways that seemed a little less concerning—cut faces, knocked into cars, hit with spike shards in the gut or the side of the face… but that one guy holding his thigh could be bleeding to death, and neither of them would have known it if he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He found the guy, thankfully not in shock or dying, trying to limp away. He was bleeding, but the color and amount of blood made it clear his femoral artery hadn’t been severed. Phew. Crisis averted.

“Buddy, you’re not gonna get away from me at that pace.”

The guy stopped hobbling and let out a frustrated groan.

“Look, man, I got paid to be here.”

“I know, it’s not fair. Just stay down, please.”

The guy let out another groan and sat down, letting out an agonized moan as his leg evidently got tweaked on the way down.

“Thank you. I, uh, I’m gonna go call an ambulance.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the guy grunted as he laid back against the concrete with a defeated look.

With that, he turned back to Sarah, who seemed focused on Wei, still lying on the ground in a puddle of tears and… well, pee. Man, even if he was a scumbag, Peter felt a little bad. There was something on Sarah’s face he couldn’t place as she watched him, idly swinging one of her arms before taking a look at Peter, quirking a brow.

“You didn’t kill him, but just so you know, you came really freakin’ close.”

“Use your big boy words, Mysterious Stranger.”

Peter sighed in frustration, looking at her with the best Tony Stark glare he could muster now that Tony was gone. “I’m gonna find a phone-”

“I have one at Leslie’s place,” she said. “Multiple, actually. Disposable Roundphones. Pieces of sh*t, but I got them in case me and Asuka ever got separated. You can have one. Why do you need it?”

“These people need medical attention.”

“And what about me and Asuka, huh?”

“I don’t know. Just hang out somewhere else for a bit. We’ll take care of Asuka, and I’ll text you when—”

Sarah was approaching him now. “Nah, that’s not how this works… what’s your f*cking cape name, anyway?”

“Sp-” Peter cut himself off, pretending to cough and drawing an irate glare from Sarah as he tried to come up with a better name. He read comics when he was a kid, and this was an alternate world, so maybe no one else was using them? Wouldn’t have to worry about copyright now… oh, yeah, there was that one guy, throwing disks, kicking people in the face, jumping really far…

“Ricochet,” he corrected himself. “Ricochet’s the, uh, cape name.”

The glare receded, and was replaced with a thin-lipped smirk. “Makes sense. You jump around enough.”

With that, Peter managed to smile back, though it felt forced. Mainly because it was. This whole exchange… it gnawed at him.

“We do need to talk about what happens next, though,” he said, quietly.

“What about it? We’re going after Junior after the ambulances clear out, right?” she asked.

“We need to rest before we even think of that,” he replied.

“Youneed to rest. I don’t sleep. Can’t.”

“That’s not how that works-”

“Rico, I genuinely can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to for as long as I remember. I don’t feel rested. I don’t get tired. I justam.”

“Cool, that’s not me. Just… just chill out somewhere for a bit. I’m going back inside to think,” Peter rubbed his temples, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. “Please. You don’t want to get caught up with the PRT before this even starts, right?”

Sarah let out a short, frustrated huff. “Right… I won’t go far. ABB probably isn’t going to roll again tonight after what we just did to them. Go make the call. But grab the blue phone that’s in my go bag. If Asuka asks you, just tell her I said it’s okay. Exactly those words.”

“Right… good luck. Talk to you soon, okay?”

“Got it.” With that, Sarah turned and began to walk away. She made it about a foot before she stopped, and spoke up again. “Hey.”

He looked back and saw her glancing over her shoulder, unable to look him in the eye. “Take care of her. Please.”

“Don’t even have to ask,” Peter replied with a smile underneath his mask, waving at her. She waved back, and with that, the two went their separate ways, at least for now.

Going into the tenement block, Peter was a bit worried at the number of new holes in the wall, but thankfully, it seemed no one was badly hurt. People were thronged in the halls, checking on each other, making sure kids were okay or that elderly family members weren’t having episodes. The old owner that Wei had been threatening was standing near the front of the group, and turned to look at Peter as soon as the door shut.

“You’re a goddamn hero, kid,” he rasped, with a ‘three packs a day’ voice that sounded like something from an anti-smoking ad.

“T-thank you, but I’m just doing my job.”

“After they started muscling in on this building a year ago, there wasn’t anything I could do. I’m old and grey now. Vietnam was a long time ago. But you went out there and took care of business. So don’t tell me this was ‘your job’, because that ‘job’ belongs to the cops and the capes, and they haven’t done that since New Wave got their nose bloodied by Empire 88. Maybe those kids’ll think twice before running this corner again. Thank you, son.”

The man offered a shaky hand to Peter, who took it gently in his own as the man tightened his grip and gave it a vigorous shake.

“Everyone’s okay, I think. ‘Cept for Zhao.”

“Zhao, that was their inside guy, right? What happened to him?” Peter asked.

“He wanted to join in as soon as the shooting started,” the old man explained. “Leslie… disabused him of that notion.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Oh, yeah, surprisingly. Leslie’s a nut, so that’s as much a shock to me as anyone, but I guess we’re all in a generous mood today.”

“-and don’t you come back unless you’re gonna pay rent, you spooky motherf*cker!” came a shout from the stairwell as a big, broad Asian guy tumbled into the wall, followed quickly by a very pissed off Leslie.

“That’s Zhao?” Peter asked.

“That’s Zhao,” the old man replied. Leslie had picked up Zhao by the collar, slugging him in the face once, twice, three times, before hurling him down the stairs so hard that it was a miracle he didn’t land on his head. His left arm wasn’t so lucky, catching one of the steps awkwardly and bending back in a way it was very much not supposed to.

“Hey, wait, wait, wait, stop stop stop-!” Peter started, moving towards the guy at the same time a pissed-off tenant did, who seemed more than delighted to stomp on Zhao’s clearly broken arm while shouting all manner of Spanish obscenities at him and throwing one of her flip flops in his face. It was almost comedic in how pointlessly cruel it was.

“Stop!” he repeated himself, interjecting before the lady could hit him in the arm again, or throw another shoe, or anyone else could get a similar idea. For what it’s worth, the crowd stopped. “He’s had enough. All of them have. Did anyone call EMS?”

“I did!” A guy back down the hallway shouted.

“Okay, cool! So it’s done. These guys are going to hospital, then they’re headed to prison. They’re not gonna bother you again.”

Someone else in the back let out a loud wolf whistle, and another few people cheered.

“You guys are really brave, doing what you did for those girls. They won’t forget that. So, uh, keep on keeping on. You did awesome,” he finished, offering them two thumbs up.

“We’re not the ones who went out there and made those ABB punks kiss concrete!” A woman shouted from down the hallway, drawing another cheer.

“If it weren’t for you they’d have probably shot up the whole complex,” the guy who called EMS added.

“Teach ‘em to try and intimidate us! These are OUR STREETS!” another man shouted.

“What do we call you, kid?” Leslie asked as he came down the stairs next to Peter, surprisingly avoiding another shot at Zhao, though he did step on his shoulder and press down on it enough to probably put pressure on that bad arm, which made Peter wince.

“I, err, I’m Ricochet. But it’s really not important.”

“Au contraire, Ricochet, what you did wasveryimportant,” Leslie replied. “You punched those thugs in the mouth and gave them something to think about. That’s something that hasn’t been done for us in a long time.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing, just watching Leslie’s eyes as he looked at the crowd.

“I think we all owe Ricochet here a round of applause!”

The hallway practically erupted in praise at that point, and Peter couldn’t help but turn a little red at that. “Guys, no-”

“Let’s f*ckin’ go, Ricochet!”

“Hell yeah!”

A few people were chanting ‘his’ name by now, and that was starting to get a little excessive, so Peter tried to evacuate as gently as he could.

“Mr. Leslie, I gotta check on Asuka. Marrow had to go before PRT showed up.”

“I gotcha, Ricochet. Come on, let’s get on.”

The cheering only died down a little by the time he was headed up the stairs, Leslie bounding up the stairs far more quickly than Fiq had. He was a younger guy, from the way he talked and the way he carried himself. If it weren’t for the beard, Peter would have assumed he was closer to his age. It felt like far less of a trip to get up to his room than the last time, and when they turned the corner and stepped in, they found Asuka seated by the window, holding her hands over her mouth with a look of profound relief.

“Hey, girlie. They did it,” Leslie said gently, walking over to her and offering her a hand. She took it timidly, allowing herself to be pulled up as she regarded Peter with an awestruck look.

“T-thank you,” she said, her voice trembling and heavily-accented. English definitely wasn’t her first language, and unfortunately, all Peter really knew was from the anime Ned and MJ watched sometimes.

“No prob, any time,” he replied, pulling his mask down to offer her a smile, which was nervously returned. “Uh… Sarah… told me you have a phone?”

Asuka nodded.

“I need the blue one,” he explained.

“I speak some English,” she said, managing to get a little bit of confidence, and a small chuckle as Peter probably sounded like an idiot with how slow he was talking.

“Oh, sh- I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you did or not, I only heard you speaking Japanese earlier-” Peter stammered, drawing another chuckle, this one a bit louder, from Asuka.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “Come on.”

She motioned for him to follow her back to the bathroom, opening the door and shimmying into the cramped space, where a few shards of Marrow’s bone lay on the floor, including some fashioned into a necklace. Also on the floor was a pink kids’ backpack, which Asuka quickly opened and dug through for a minute before handing Peter a…

Phone?

It was shaped like an oval. A smartphone, shaped like an oval.

“Uh, how am I supposed to hold this thing?” he asked.

“Um…” Asuka started, struggling to find a word. She pulled another one out of the back, and held it up by the long ends, shaking it a little for emphasis. “This way.” Peter followed the motion, including the little shake, which made her laugh again. Still, it feltslightlymore comfortable that way.

“Okay…” he muttered as he fat-fingered around the phone for a power button, eventually finding it and turning it on. It had a very circular motif, including on the UI, and a quick swipe revealed the entire app suite was arranged in a ‘clock’ shape, rotated like a wheel to select an app.

Really cool concept, really bad execution.

He found the messenger one, and opened it up to find a list of contacts already made. Marrow. ‘Kusama’, ‘Yakker’, ‘Big Red’, ‘Old Head’, a few other weird nicknames, or at least that’s what he assumed they were.

“Kusama,” Asuka explained, pointing to herself. “Painter. Fiq is Old Head. Less Lee is Big Red. Yakker is Mr. Colter.”

“Mr. Colter… is that the building owner?” Peter guessed.

“Yes,” Asuka replied.

“Thank you, Asuka.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a smile. “Is Sarah okay?”

“She’s alright. She’s just going away until the ambulances and / or the police back off,” Peter explained. “She’ll be back tonight.”

“Okay. Good. I was worried when I heard guns.”

“Trust me, she doesn’t need to worry about getting shot,” Peter said, shaking his head. “You’ve seen her powers?”

“A little. She’s strong.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“She saved my life. She’s a good person. I wish… I wish she thought so.”

“I think she’s trying,” Peter agreed. At least, he somewhat did. He’d been around for the whole Hydra thing, even if he hadn’t known it was going on at the time and heard about it after the fact. He knew, at least on his Earth, there were still remnants of Nazism, be it through them or through prison gangs or just small groups of bad people. Not on the scale of having literal Nazi supervillains, though, at least not anymore. Sarah was one of those bad guys at some point, but…

Something changed, even if it was something only as small as saving someone’s life instead of taking it based on the color of her skin. Maybe that meant there was hope that more could change. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. But Peter was currently less than 24 hours removed from being kicked out of his home universe in order to save it from destruction. He’d helped fight a genocidal alien invasion, stopped a megalomaniac who claimed to be from another universe and unmasked him in front of the entire world, and beat up an illegal arms dealer and bank robber or two.

He felt like he could be a little wishful.

He shot a text to Sarah. ‘With Asuka. We’re okay. You?’

He hit send, and waited for a few moments. The reply came fast, barely even showing a ‘typing’ indicator before the message went through.

“f*ck.”

Very characteristic of what he’d known of Sarah so far.

“Glad u guys r ok,”came the follow-up.“Gonna hide out in alleys. Let me know when they’re gone.”

“Can do. Be safe.”

“You too. Both of you.”

A pause, then another message.

“Thank u Ben.”

He hammered out the reply.

“Anytime.”

With that , Peter turned off the phone, and looked at Asuka, who seemed enraptured with the device, typing out replies with lightning speed. Satisfied that she’d be fine there, he turned back to look at Leslie, who was politely waiting at the start of the hall, looking out the window as sirens slowly grew louder and closer.

“Looks like someone’s here to clean up your mess, Ben,” he noted.

“Looks like it. Anyone… dead down there, you think?”

“Doesn’t look like it. They’re throwing Zhao out there right now. They didn’t beat him any worse than they already had. Surprised they listened to you.”

“I’m glad. I… I don’t do that kind of thing. Killing people.”

“I don’t see why you draw the line with those scumbags,” Leslie replied. “I get it. Capes have a lot of power. You can do terrible things with that power, but you can do good things too. And I get that you guys, or some of you, anyway, wanna do the right thing. But these guys? They don’t care. They’ll press-gang teenagers into prostitution and drug running. They’ll send them to die in turf wars with the 88. The 88’s worse, in my mind, but they’re all dogs to me. Tearing each other to pieces and taking a bite out of society every step of the way.”

“Not all of them are bad people,” Peter replied, drawing a curious look from Leslie.

“You think Pretty Sarah out there is all sunshine and daisies because she swept Asuka off her feet and whisked her away on a unicorn, or something?” he asked lowly.

Peter stepped out of the bathroom, knowing this wasn’t a conversation he wanted Asuka to overhear. He approached Leslie cautiously, stepping to the other side of the man so he could see the ambulances pulled up to the side of the road. Two armored vans, marked ‘PRT’, were between them, with uniformed men talking amongst each other as they questioned a few of the gang members.

“I don’t know what she’s done, other than killed people.”

“You know how Empire 88 initiates a pledge, Ben? They get their laces red.”

“What’s that mean?” Peter asked, despite having a very good idea.

“They find someone who made the gang mad. Someone who showed a bit too much spine, usually someone of color. Then the pledge kills them. Gets the blood.”

“So that they’re culpable, too,” Peter added somberly.

“Yeah. They’re in it together. AndScrimshaw’s been in it a long time.”

Peter remembered that name from when one of the gangers shouted it. “Scrimshaw?” he asked.

“Sarah used to be an enforcer for the 88, going back about four years now. I’m something of a cape… let’s call it an aficionado. I’ve seen the sh*t she’s gotten up to. She killed a rogue, you know? Young guy, trying to clean up the streets, just like you were. His name was Luis Guerrera. Called him ‘Bromentum,’ terrible name by the way. The longer he kept moving, the harder he was to stop. They found him with a bone-blade stuck through the back of his head. Coroner said from the impact velocity and the angle she’d punched him through the mouth when he was charging. It didn’t kill him instantly.”

Peter cringed at the mental imagery.

“She’s just as bad as the rest of them, no matter what she’s planning on doing with Asuka. I don’t blame you for helping her, you didn’t know. But she needs to face justice for what she’s done. One good deed doesn’t cancel out all the bad.”

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded. “You’re right. It doesn’t. But she’s trying to do the right thing now. And I’m gonna help her do it.”

“And then what?” Leslie asked, an accusation. Peter sighed, not sure of what ‘then what’ would be himself.

“And then… then we address that stuff. Right now, Asuka and her family are the priority. What happens to Sarah comes after.”

Leslie stared out the window again, his expression stoic, unreadable. He seemed deep in thought.

“You’re a good kid, Ben,” he said quietly. “And I hope to God this city doesn’t change you.”

Summary:

Danny is happy to help his community and coworkers, but he wishes he could do more to help his daughter.

Danny had a weekend routine, one that work sometimes interrupted, but he always found himself able to recover quickly. After a long day at the docks, he usually came home to find Taylor either studying, or nose-deep in a book. He enjoyed spending time with her when he could, but at the same time, he wished she’d get out of the house for something besides her run. Maybe bring Emma back by once in a while, or make some new friends—though, considering the situation at Winslow, it seemed unlikely she really had any opportunity to make friends, not through any fault of her own. He could feel his blood pressure kick up at the thought.

Sadly, it seemed she didn't enjoy their time together. It wasn’t her fault. Danny didn’t really enjoy the same things she did, as far as he knew what she still enjoyed. Still… it was one of the few things he had left of Annette: family dinners, however quiet, and precious time with loved ones. It was all he could hope for, with the world the way it was now.

And, as he was quick to find out, the world was getting worse in ways very close to home.

As always, he’d turned on the news now that their meal was done. Taylor had gone to take a shower, leaving him on the couch, alone, to witness the ABB apparently trying toraid Fiq’s tenement complex.

“We’ve just received reports that an armed conflict between the Azn Bad Boys and two parahumans occurred just outside of the Oceanside View residential area within the hour,”

The camera cut to two images, one of which was somewhat familiar to Danny, the other not so much. The former was an image of a short-haired young woman, covered in protruding spines and standing under a lamp post near the corner of Bermuda and 9th. The girl from that ‘Bromentum’ incident, if he remembered the name right. To her right was an image from in front of the complex, of another person jumping through the air, at a level normal people most definitely couldn’t jump. He wore a red neck-gaiter in lieu of a mask, a black shirt, and windbreaker pants, and had short hair, but other than that, he was an altogether unassuming-looking guy. He could have passed for a common street thug.

“One of said parahumans was identified as ‘Scrimshaw’, a member of Empire-88 charged with multiple counts of murder, including the death of the Rhode Island based-cape ‘Bromentum’, whose death was captured live on film a year ago. This is the first confirmed sighting of Scrimshaw in over seven months, though authorities and residents alike could not locate her after the altercation ended. This other cape, however, is a mystery. Residents, who wished to remain anonymous, identified him as ‘Ricochet’, and heralded him as a hero.”

Daniel already had his work phone out and Fiq dialed by the time she’d finished her statement. It didn’t take long for the man to pick up.

“Yo, Dan.”

He sounded completely and utterly unperturbed by the fact that there was a gang fight just outside his house.

“Fiq, are you at your place?”

“That I am, sir, that I am.”

“So I’m assuming you witnessed acapefight in the parking lot, then?”

“Hoo, boy, did I witness it. You should’ve seen this sh*t, Danny.”

“Eleven arrests were made following the altercation, with charges including drug trafficking, human trafficking, and racketeering-”

“I’m seeing this sh*t right now, Fiq. Are you and Tori alright? What about the young man with you?”

“Oh, we’re fine, Dan, no need to worry. Young man didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he did alright. As for us, well… I think we are gonna have to go to Boston.”

“How soon?”

“Soon. But I really, really need you to do me a favor, Dan. It’s about that young man.”

Danny felt a chill down his spine at the sudden sobriety in Fiq’s tone. He hadn’t exactly been his jovial self when the call started, but this boded far worse than a simple ‘I have to go.’

“That boy has no one and nothing waiting for him. He needs help, bad. I’m not asking you to take him in, but maybe there’s some way to put him up at the office.”

“I’ll try and figure something out with someone, but I can’t guarantee anything. I know the union works with some of the tenement owners, so I'll talk to them.”

“He needs to be employed to get union coverage.”

“Then he’s hired. The interview tomorrow will just be a formality. Can you get him up here, or do I need to pick him up?”

“You should pick him up. And don’t bring him back here.”

“Fiq, what the hell is going on?”

“We’re leaving this coming week, as soon as we’re packed up and our affairs are settled. He’s staying with Leslie tonight, but after that, it’s up in the air.”

“Fiq, are you in trouble with the law again?” Danny asked, though he hoped against hope that wasn’t the case. He’d hired Fiq, against company recommendation, in spite of his criminal record. He used to run with a gang in Boston, but he’d had an exemplary rehabilitation, according to the correctional facility he’d been at, and from what Danny knew of him, he’d proven to be both a reliable employee, and a good friend. “Just tell me what’s going on, so I can know what to tell my people in Boston.”

“Gang sh*t. I got on the ABB’s bad side with all this cape sh*t going on over here.”

“Oh, Christ’s sakes, Fiq, what did you do?”

“There’s another kid in the blocks right now. She’s a… she’s one of their girls. She ran away, and ended up here. They tried to do horrible sh*t to her, Dan. I couldn’t turn her away.”

“... damn.”

“Damn is right. She’s got help, thankfully, and she’ll be leaving the block probably before we do. I just need to know Ben is accounted for.”

“I’ll make sure he gets set up right. And if he ends up being a bum, I’ll blame you.”

“This kid is solid gold, Dan. Reminds me of someone I know, in a way.”

Danny chuckled at that. “No use in brown-nosing when you’re about to be out of work.”

“Pays to be nice to the right people. You and Taylor take care, Dan. You’ve been good to me. If you’re ever in Boston, you give me a shout and we’ll make sure you’ve got a hot meal and good company.”

“I wish you and Tori all the best. If you guys need help packing, I can stop by before the interview.”

“That won’t be necessary. We don’t keep much that we don’t need. You just take care of Ben for me.”

His insistence on Ben’s well-being was touching, but somewhat strange. He had just met the boy today, and yet he spoke of him so highly. This kid must be something special, to get such a ringing endorsem*nt from Fiq. Those didn’t come often. Danny had hired a few people off of Fiq’s recommendation, most of whom were people similarly down on their luck. Most of them, though not quite all, were still working the docks to this day, and all of them were solid guys. A couple of them had even risen up the ranks before Fiq did, filling positions thanks to their experience. Ben would definitely not be an exception, if he turned out good… the thing was, Fiq rarely gave such glowing recommendations. He would always temper Danny’s expectations with the reality of the situation. Some were ex-cons, some were in recovery, but all of them turned out alright.

Maybe Ben was just a particularly inspiring charity case. No matter. Danny Hebert was a man of his word.

“I will, but you two take care of yourselves, first and foremost. Worst case scenario, I can put the kid up in a hotel for a couple of nights with the PTO fund.”

“Knew I could count on you, Dan. Thank you again, for everything.”

“It’s not a problem, Fiq.”

“Love you, brother. Hold it down.”

“You too, Fiq. Be well. Call me if you need anything.”

The line went dead after that, and Danny returned the phone to his pocket with a quiet huff. He’d just learned he was about to lose one of his most consistent workers, and now he had an apparent surge in gang activity to worry about. The ABB claimed the Docks as their turf, and even though they butted heads with the Protectorate on occasion, it wasn’t nearly enough to make business completely safe. He had some guys in his employ he was almost certain were moving product for them through the yard, but sadly, he couldn’t do anything about it without concrete evidence.

It just wasn’t right.

He heard footsteps coming down the hall again, and turned to find Taylor, fresh out the shower, hair toweled up to dry and dressed in sleep shorts and a black tank.

“Hey, Taylor.”

“Hey, Dad,” she replied, devoid of any identifiable emotion.

“I’ve got a snap interview tomorrow morning. Kind of a spur of the moment thing. You have any plans?”

“I have some homework to finish,” she replied. “I can cook breakfast if you’ll be in a rush.”

“That’d be wonderful, Taylor, thank you.”

“Yeah.”

There was a stiltedness to their conversations now. A myriad of things left completely unsaid, things he couldn’t quite reach. It nagged at him in the late hours of the night, taunting him from the side of the bed that used to belong to Annette. Yet, at the same time, he was her father, and as much as that should mean that she trusted him with these sorts of things, it was clear he’d misstepped somewhere. Maybe it was after Annette died. Maybe it was after he took the promotion. Maybe it was after thef*cking school boardwouldn’t help him get to the bottom of who in the ever-lovingf*cklocked his daughter in a goddamn locker, making him feel just about as powerless as he must have looked to her. He didn’t know, and he desperately wanted to, but he had yet to find the words to bridge that gap. But she walled herself in. She refused to tell him. The Taylor Hebert that walked out of that psych ward was still his baby girl, but she wasn’t the same.

He would find them, eventually. And he would be ready when she found the words, too. They’d build that bridge, and they’d meet in the middle. Then, they could cross it together. The way it should be between a parent and their child.

At least, that’s what he hoped.

“I appreciate the help, really,” he said, an attempt at maybe chipping away at that awkwardness. “You don’t have to go through that effort.”

“Nice thing to do,” she replied, her tone hardly shifting away from its usual quiet, respectful, yet dour tone.

“It really is. You’re very thoughtful.”

“Thank you.”

The fridge closed, and she stepped back with her water in hand. “What time do you think you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know. I need to help this guy find housing. He’s from out of state, so it’ll probably be… a little longer than usual. Not a full work day, though. Maybe one or two o’clock.”

“Alright. Good night, Dad.”

“Turning in already?”

“No,” she replied, cranking her neck slightly. “I’m just not coming out again, I don’t think. Tired.”

“I gotcha, I gotcha. Well, then, sleep well. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

He waited for her to maybe approach him and offer a hug, but no such offer was ever made. After a short, awkward pause, she walked away, headed for her room. A few moments later, and the door shut with a bit more force than usual. Something was nagging at her. She would always get quiet when there was something gnawing at her mind.

Danny sighed, long and weary, and adjusted his glasses as he pondered what he had left to do. The background check wouldn’t be in until the business week, but if this kid needed housing, he couldn’t afford to wait. He could pay to rush it, maybe, but that was a risk if he ended up having a bad record.

Looking back at the news report, it seemed to have completed its coverage of the attack at Oceanside, and instead had moved on to some kind of report about Armsmaster. The cape news never really interested him. He turned it off, and stood up, ready to head to the computer and start emailing his contacts in Boston. Fiq was gonna need some steady work ready for him when he got there, and it was the least he could do to help out.

Summary:

Being a superhero doesn't keep you paid or a roof over your head, at least not in Peter's situation. He's gonna need some help.

Leslie had a shotgun, Peter noted as he tried to go back to sleep. The man was laid on his couch, knocked out, a sawed-off pump-action laying on the floor right next to the couch in case of a possible home invasion. At least, that’s what Peter assumed it was there for. He wasn’t planning on going into tomorrow with any new holes in him.

He hadn’t rested well thus far. His hearing was slightly better than the average person’s, though not to the extent of some of his other enhanced traits. It was good enough to hear the things Asuka was whispering into her phone in the dead of night, fearful inquiries and whispered confessions followed by warm, barely-suppressed laughter.

He knew what ‘I love you’ in Japanese was, now, at least. He heard her explaining it to Sarah. Evidently, the two were romantically involved, which surprised him. How long had they been on the run? Had Sarah fallen for her, which led to them running, or was it a Stockholm Syndrome / rescue romance type of deal going on, where Asuka was only saying these things because she was scared that if she didn’t put out, Sarah would leave her to die? He hoped that wasn’t the case. Didn’t think it was, at least the ‘Sarah abandoning her’ part. She seemed to genuinely care for Asuka, though whether her feelings extended into the romantic wasn’t his place to question.

It got him thinking about his own feelings though.

The person he wanted to share them with.

The person haunting his dreams.

He remembered Peter 3 talking about how he lost his MJ—no. Her name was Gwen. The haunted look in his eyes as he said it. He wondered how MJ felt now, knowing he might not ever come back. He hadn’t said it. But he knew Stephen would tell her the truth, because he knew she would go straight to Stephen and ask him. And she wouldn’t stop looking. Neither would Ned.

He’d dreamed of her. Right in his reach. Just feet away, calling out to him. All he had to do was just reach out.

But every time he did, she just got further away. The light fading from her eyes, the smile gone from her features.

The harder he pushed, the farther he reached… the farther she got. Until he could barely see her.

He was alone, in a black, empty void.

And it laughed at him.

‘Look what you’ve done, Peter,’it whispered in his ear.

‘IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT,’it screamed.

He woke up holding back tears. And he couldn’t fall back asleep.

Like Sarah before him, Leslie had put him up in the bathroom. He’d gone and gotten takeout from a place called ‘Fugly Bob’s’ after the smoke cleared from the fight. Two burgers. Asuka ate like someone had been starving her for years, to the point that she’d almost started digging into Peter’s fries before she recoiled in fear and shame.

He’d let her have the fries. Didn’t even have to ask.

Leslie had been quiet and cagey, mostly spending time on his computer throughout the day. Peter hadn’t meant to spy on him, but he’d caught glimpses of a website. ‘Parahumans Online’’. Not much else about it stuck out to him. It seemed kind of like Reddit or something, but he wasn’t sure. It at least had a chatroom function and a forum. The computer’s UI was also just about as weird as his phone’s, with more circle-themed imagery and menus. Weird. He’d never seen an OS like that before.

Peter was currently laid up on a stack of dry towels and bedsheets in the bathtub, a rather uncomfortable position to be in. On the floor beside him, Asuka seemed to finally be asleep, phone still in her hands. He could hear someone snoring down the hall. Probably Leslie.

He slowly sat up, thankful that the towels kept him from hitting the porcelain bottom of the tub and waking up… probably everyone in the apartment. Thankfully, with great power came a mean sneaky walk, apparently, as Peter, found himself able to nimbly navigate around Asuka and into the hall without so much as a creak in the floorboards. A quick glance found Leslie still fast asleep, his position shifted only slightly during the night. Clearly, he was used to sleeping with a gun.

Peter quietly snuck his way to the door, and turned the lock and deadbolt. There was a lightclickwith the latter, but nobody stirred. The true test of faith was going to be opening the door. When he was a kid trying to sneak into Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s pantry after… after things happened…it seemed like his bedroom door could wake the entire county with how loud it squeaked. Hopefully this guy’s hinges had a bit of grease left on them.

Unfortunately, they did not.

The door squeaked and creaked as he opened it, causing Peter to wince and snap back to look at Leslie. Thankfully, the man hadn’t even moved. He evidently slept like the dead.

Peter snuck out of the room, turning the lock as he did, and hoping that if Leslie did somehow wake up, he wouldn't freak out about the deadbolt.

He would normally have climbed up the side of the building from the window, but he couldn't risk that. Not with how things were now.

There were other ways to get up to the roof, anyway.

Making his way up the stairs past the top floor, he found himself at a roof access ladder on a sliding rail. The fact that the ladder was locked in place bothered him little. The jump up was effortless, and Peter pulled his way up to the access hatch with ease. It didn't give very easily, but with his strength, it wasn't as much effort as it might have taken someone else.

He clambered onto the roof and found himself looking at a large building with the letters 'PRT' visible in the skyline. A few other big ones, banks, offices, stuff like that, dotted the view, but for the most part, everything in front of him was low-income housing, mom and pop joints, and a singular gas station.

It was kinda like Albany. Maybe. Was that a good comparison? He hadn't been to Albany in a while.

Finding a ledge to lean on, Peter took out his new, very round, very cumbersome phone, and started thumbing through the menus. What kind of phone couldn't be used one-handed? Who made this thing?

He managed to wheel through to the messenger and shoot Sarah a text.

'Can't sleep. You up?'

About ten seconds passed before he got a reply

"told u i cant sleep. At all."

"Like, literally?"

"literally. did she wake u up?"

"No I was already awake. Got time to talk?"

"sure. Ill call u."

It didn’t take long for the phone to start ringing after that. Thankfully, it was less ponderous to hold the phone than it was to type with it, though definitely awkward- Peter ended up holding it sideways in his hand up to his ear.

“Hey, Sarah.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Benny. I know she doesn’t sleep well.”

“Actually, she’s sleeping fine. It’s me who can’t.”

“Oh.”

There was a short pause. Peter didn’t expect her to ask if he was okay. Didn’t seem high on her list of priorities. He just figured she’d have more to say than ‘oh’.

“You okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“I am the Neo-Nazi of the sewer, do you come seeking wisdom?”

Peter chuffed at that, nearly dropping the phone. “Yo-you’re in the sewer?”

“Nah, I’m shaking my bony white ass in the middle of the street for a few dollars like the cheap hussy I am,”she replied sarcastically.“I’m kind of conspicuous, Benny.”

“I mean, I get that, but I was hoping you could find, like, another person you knew or something.”

“Oh, sure, lemme just go to my ‘friends’ in Empire-88. ‘Hey guys, I’ve seen the error of my ways, I’m back now!’ Something something, secure a future for white children or whatever the f*ck.”

“Touche, touche… sorry.”

“Nah, Benny, you’re good.”

Another pause.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”she asked.

“Talk about what?”

“What’s keeping you up so late? I figured that’s what you called about when you said it.”

“Oh, uh… sorry. Didn’t wanna bother you, just wanted to check in.”

“Benny, we’re both really f*cking bothered right now. There’s no harm in talking. I know you said you wanted to circle back about the Junior thing, but we both know that’s not why you’re calling now.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You’ve got it worse than me, though, I-I don’t want to make it seem like I don’t care or anything.”

“You literally risked your life for Asuka. Shut that sh*t up.”

Peter sighed. He guessed this was how she showed her gratitude. Intense, fiery, but good-hearted, at least in his mind. “I. I don’t really know what to say.” Truth be told, he didn’t know if he should say anything at all. The weight of everything that had happened in the past few days had come crashing down on him in the dead of night, and now, he couldn’t sleep. If he spilled the beans, he risked a multiversal catastrophe… but he had to let this out somehow.

“I just… I feel like I don’t really belong here. I left a lot of things behind in Queens. Things I can’t get back,” he explained. “And I can’t… I can’t go back to the person I was then, you know?”

“I get it. Change is a pretty terrifying thing. Especially so in some cases.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine how it feels for you to be… in your situation.”

“Oh, you know, I just have to live with blood on my hands for the rest of my natural days, no biggie.”

“Is that what this thing with Asuka is? Trying to wipe that blood off?”

“No. Nothing can do that. Asuka is just… she’s…”

Sarah sighed.

“I need to know that I did something right, Ben.”

“You’re doing right, right now.”

“And I’ve been doing wrong for the past three years. It’s gonna catch up to me, sooner rather than later. Either the PRT puts me in the Birdcage, or someone I pissed off in the ABB or, god forbid, the 88, comes and kills me. I just need to leave one good thing in the world for all the good I took out of it.”

“The Birdcage?” Peter repeated.

“Ben, you can’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Birdcage.”

“I…”

Yet another pause.

“Ben. I’ve told you all about the skeletons in my closet. Open yours. You’re not really from Queens, are you?”

“I am from Queens,” Peter said, quietly.

“The accent sounds right, but there’s no way you don’t know about the Birdcage unless… sh*t. Ben, I’m gonna ask you a couple more questions. Hang with me here.”

“O-okay, sure, hit me.”

“Endbringers. You know what those are? Leviathan, Ziz, Behemoth?”

“...no.”

A sharp inhale at the other end, and something he couldn’t quite pick up afterward. Finally, Sarah spoke again.“Did you know what the Protectorate was before you got The Rant from Fiq?”

“No.”

“Do you know who Scion is?”

“Uh, I think that’s a guy from a video game my friend p-used to play. Used to.”

“Who played John Bender in the Breakfast Club?”

Oh, that was a softball, if there ever was one. That was one of Aunt May’s favorite movies. “Judd Nelson,” he replied confidently.

“... Ben, I think I figured you out. You aren’t lying. You are from Queens, I think. Just not ours.”

He knew he shouldn’t have answered those questions, but at the same time, being able to get the load off his chest was the biggest relief he’d had since he’d come back from, apparently, the dead.

“... what gave it away?”

“It was Nicholas Cage, here. That, and the fact that you don’t know what Scion, the Protectorate, or the Endbringers are.”

“To be fair, Endbringer just sounds like, I dunno, generic doomsday prophecy number five.”

“... I wish, buddy. Tell me about your Earth, Ben. You from Aleph, or somewhere else?”

“I don’t think so,” Peter replied. “The Multiverse is a really new thing where I’m from. Also, I think we might be ahead of you in time. What year is it?”

“2011.”

“Yeah, I’m from 2024.”

Sarah let out a low whistle.“And you don’t have Endbringers or anything. Guess that bodes well for you guys. Anything interesting?”

“Um, half the population of the universe got wiped out by a crazy alien warlord.”

“Okay, you’re just pulling my leg now.”

“I’m not. I died.”

“I’m sorry, youwhat?”

“Yeah, half of all life in the universe got turned into dust. I was gone for five years.”

“God… how are you alive, then?”

“Really long story that I don’t think you wanna hear. We kinda just… undid it.”

“Fair enough, Jesus Christ. You mind turning this sewer water into wine for me? I’m getting a little thirsty.”

“That’s disgusting,” he replied through a half-chuckle. She was laughing, too.

“You’re a card, Benny, you really are,”she said, a bit of joy in a usually joyless voice. They both laughed for a little while, and Peter found himself liking her laugh. It was rough, course, but also open and genuine. A rare lowering of seemingly ironclad (or rather, bone-clad) defenses.“A good guy, too. I, uh… I never did thank you for bailing me out.”

“You did, you texted me right after everything went down.”

“No, that’s not enough. What you did for me and Asuka… you gave us a fighting chance. I would have been able to take those thugs, sure. But I would have killed them. That’d invite more retaliation on people who didn’t deserve it. I would have more blood on my hands. So thank you. I…”

She took a deep breath, letting it out in a shuddering exhale. Peter waited for her to finish what she was saying, but he ended up waiting a good bit. It had to be at least ten seconds of uneasy, tense quiet. Just when they’d finally broken down her walls a bit, they were back up.
He then realized the only reason the walls had been patched up was so that they wouldn’t fall in on the door.

“Do you want to know what the Birdcage is, Ben?”

“Sure.”

“Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. We call it the Birdcage. It’s the most secure prison in the world, at least that I can name. There’s no exit. One way in and out, and the elevator only goes one way. Supposedly the shaft is completely depressurized, so nothing can survive trying to climb up there. I heard a rumor once that it exists in a pocket dimension, so that even if you did survive that, there’s still no way out. Designed specifically to house parahumans. Ones that are too dangerous to be re-released into society. Ones like me.”

Peter didn’t say anything, he just listened. Marrow hadn’t really gotten into the details of her past with him, just that she’d done bad things and been part of a hate group. The Bromentum thing was a step towards piecing it all together, but something told him there was more to it.

“I bought into the whole mythos, Peter, I did. That I was different from them. That I was special because I had something they didn’t. I may be an ugly, spiked-up abortion of God’s intelligent design, but at least I waswhite.And that meant I didn’t need to worry about what ‘the others’ thought of me. If they wanted to interfere in things outside their sphere, well, actions had consequences, you know?”

He kept letting her talk.

“Joachim Gonzales. He was forty-two, had two kids. He owned a tienda on the corner of Imperial and Lomas. We wanted the property, he wouldn’t leave. We offered him money, he refused. I was sent to ‘convince’ him. In front of his kids.”

Peter’s blood ran cold. He knew where this was going, and he didn’t like it.

“I killed him, Ben. Went too far. Right in front of his family. Punched two holes in his chest the size of golf balls and ripped him open on the way out. I’d tell you I felt guilty about it, or that I didn’t feel anything. But I did. I was proud of myself.”

“Sarah-”

“I was elated. I genuinely believed that I was a f*cking Aryan goddess or some equally stupid bullsh*t. I felt powerful. I felt in control. It didn’t matter who I was before, the stuff I couldn’t remember. That power, that control, that was all that mattered. I was free, and the whole time I’d been lost, purposeless, I’d just KNOWN it was because of those f*cking ‘subhumans’.”

Peter was too stunned to say anything. He wasn’t sure if there was even anything he could say. There was no relating to this, no connection he could find between his pain and her pain, and the pain she’d inflicted on others. She took his silence as an invitation, it seemed.

“I kept on doing what I was doing. I didn’t kill any more bystanders after that. It made a whole mess, and Kaiser hates messes, so I was kept on a tight leash. Sent to particularly problematic people to get them to comply,or else, or sicced on the ABB whenever they got too close to our turf. It felt even better doing them. They were ruining neighborhoods, polluting MY streets in a way I could tangibly see, could recognize. One of those kids was your age, I think. Maybe mine, I dunno how old I am. I’ve always assumed somewhere in my twenties, but the spikes make it kinda hard to tell.”

“I never thought twice. I never hesitated, never even so much as blinked. Same way you probably take out your garbage. Eventually, a cape came by to stop me. He had this stupid f*cking name. Bromentum.”

“Leslie told me.” It was the only words Peter could think of.

“That motherf*cker. He told Asuka too. I think Bromentum was trying to get some clout by bringing in a dangerous villain or something. He came up from f*cking Nowhere, Rhode Island, no action out there. He was a f*cking idiot, barely knew how to use his power, he just ran at me again and again and again. Broke walls, knocked cars flying, probably did more property damage than I’ve ever done. He spouted some stupid catchphrase or something a couple of times, but then he said… something. I can’t remember what he said. All I remember is seeing red.”

“He tried to slow down to keep himself from hitting a car with a family in it. I saw an opportunity. Bounced off the car and shot my blade out of my arm. He ran right into it, went right through his mouth and out through the back of his neck. He survived, somehow. At least for a little while. I watched him. Listened to the sounds he was making as he choked on his own blood. I think I realized then he probably wasn’t any older than me. Maybe a little younger, actually.”

“Did you feel anything then?” Peter asked, his voice much colder than Sarah would have liked, judging by the eerie silence on the other end. It was the longest of many such awkward silences between them, but this one hadweight. Like he’d physically struck her in the gut and knocked the air out of her lungs. When she spoke again, her voice was unusually quiet.

“...not until he died. When he stopped choking. I remember feeling like I’d just woken up from a really long dream. And I looked down at this dead kid in the middle of the street, at the people who’d been watching us fight, at the family screaming in fear in their van that I’d kicked a hole in the hood of so I could get a good angle. It was a mixed-race couple. Black guy, white girl, little boy in the back. The man was helping his wife climb over the back seat so she’d be out of my line of fire. He was trying to turn the van around. And for some reason, the way he looked at me, like I was the f*cking Devil. I used to be proud of that. But all I felt was guilt. Shame. I asked myself why this happened? Then I started asking why I did what I did to those ABB kids. Then I started asking about Joachim. And by that point...”

“I left the 88 not long after. Disappeared, about seven months ago. I hid in sewers just like this one. Only came out in hoodies and other nondescript sh*t to eat and occasionally buy a cheap, dirty motel room to hide in. That’s when I heard they were looking for me. The PRT. I killed a f*cking Protectorate-affiliated cape. Bromentum’s mom used to be a big time cape in the Richmond Protectorate.”

“So that’s why you didn’t want me calling the PRT,” Peter said. “They’re gonna put you in the Birdcage.”

“Yeah. I guess it’s selfish of me to say that’s not how I want my story to end. I want to make sure Asuka and her family get out of Brockton Bay, start over somewhere new. Somewhere safe. Preferably with as little Endbringer activity as possible.”She attempted to fetch up a small laugh at that last statement. It fell utterly flat.“And… I want to be there, too. I’m finally free, in some small way. I don’t have others leading me around on a leash, I don’t have f*cking blinders on, and even if I don’t know who I really am besides ‘Sarah, the girl whose bones wouldn’t stay inside,’ I'm better off than I was before. But-”

“You don’t deserve it. That’s what you think, anyway,” Peter finished for her. “Right?”

“... do you think I deserve it?”

Peter felt like he’d been punched, now. That was a question he wasn’t quite ready to interrogate. Did she? Did she deserve to live a peaceful life, after the violent ends she’d dealt to others? At least two of whom were innocent people, one of whom died trying to stop her?

He heard a strange noise on the other end.

“Sarah?” he asked.

“Y-yeah, Ben. I’m still here.”

“Oh. You broke up for a second.”

“Yeah, that happens when…when you’re in a sewer.”

“I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“If the only way to save Asuka involved letting the PRT put you in the Birdcage, would you do it?”

The answer came without a second’s hesitation.

“Yes.”

He thought maybe that might be the start of an answer to her question.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? After the job interview, I’ll call you. Come back here, grab Asuka, and meet me at the dockyard Fiq works at. Do you know the one?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’ll see you then, okay? Take care.”

“Alright. You too. Bye.”

She hung up quickly. Peter didn’t feel much better than he had when he started the call.

He then realized he’d locked himself out of Leslie’s room.

With a frustrated sigh, he stepped over the ledge of the building, and grabbed a firm hold of the wall.

Peter woke up in the tub to the sound of his phone ringing.

“Good morning,” Asuka greeted him as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with one hand, and dug for the phone with the other. She seemed in good spirits.

“Hey, Asuka,” he half-yawned. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good. Sarah talked to you last night. She seemed…”

She struggled with the words for a moment as Peter looked at the phone to see Fiq’s number. Right, he had that interview today. Judging by the time, he probably should have been there already.

“Peaceful,” Asuka finally finished.

“Good, good,” Peter replied, offering her a drowsy smile. “I gotta take this.” With that, he answered the phone, pulling it up to his ear. “Hey, Fiq.”

“What’s good, Ben?”

“I, uh, just woke up. Rough night. How are you?”

“I… I’m alright, Ben, I’m alright. I figured you were sleeping in after your hard work yesterday. I got someone here to talk to you. Hold on just a second.”

There was a sound of the phone changing hands.

“Ben Peters, correct?”came the voice of the other man from the docks. ‘Dan’, if Peter remembered right.

“Yeah, this is Ben.”

“Hi, Ben, my name is Danny Hebert. I’m Fiq’s boss. He spoke to me yesterday about interviewing you this morning, but it seems like you had a bit of a rough day.”

“I, uh, I did,” Peter replied. “You mean the whole thing with the ABB.”

“Yes, that incident. After you got jumped that same day, no less. Well, hopefully your luck is going to turn around. Come on down to the front of the building, I’m gonna take you for a drive while we talk, and after that I’d like to host you for dinner. Consider it a signing bonus.”

“Signing bonus?” Peter repeated. “Mister Hebert, I thought this was an interview?”

“We’ll talk about that on the ride,”Danny replied.“For now, you just get down here.”

“R-right, I’m on my way, thank you, sir.”

“Not a problem, Ben. See you in a few minutes.”

He hung up, and scrambled his way out of the tub, nearly tripping over Asuka. “Sorry!” he called back as he stumbled into the hall.

“Good luck,” she replied with a thin-lipped smile. He waved back at her before turning back down the hall, nearly running into Leslie, who was looking at him with a co*cked eyebrow.

“Thanks for letting me stay the night, Leslie.”

“Next time you sneak out in the middle of the night, wake me up. Doesn’t bother me any.”

Peter gave him an awkward grin and wave before stepping out of the door. Well, hehadtried to be sneaky about it. He practically sprinted down the stairs, clearing the distance in record time before coming to the front of the building, where Mr. Colter was smoking a cigar in the front doorway, looking out at a bright, sunny day. He looked over his shoulder at Peter, and offered him a wave.

“You ever need anything, son, you give me a holler, hear?” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Colter,” Peter replied with a nod. A trembling hand reached out to him, and as firmly as he could without worrying about hurting the old man, Peter took it and gave it a shake. It seemed to pass the old veteran’s muster, as he stepped aside to let him through and into the parking lot. The blood had been washed away by a light drizzle overnight, it seemed, and the damaged cars were towed, apparently free of charge due to the nature of the situation. ‘Cape insurance’ was a thing here, he’d learned. Good to know for future crime-fighting shenanigans.

Out near the edge of the parking lot, Fiq was talking animatedly with Danny. Peter hadn’t gotten a great look at the guy at the yard, but he reminded him a lot of Doctor Banner. A sorta depressive type with a friendly, harmless look about him… okay, that part was a lie. Dr. Banner was like, ten feet tall, green, and jacked beyond belief. But his demeanor reminded him of how Dr. Banner acted when they talked for a little bit after the battle against Thanos was over.

Fiq saw Peter quickly, and waved him over. “Yo, Ben!”

“Hey, Fiq!”

He jogged over to the two men, quickly shaking hands with Danny. When he grabbed Fiq’s hand, however, he was pulled into a pretty firm man-hug, with a hearty slap on the back for good measure.

“What’s going on, young man, you feeling okay?”

“Great, great,” Peter replied. “Thank you again for everything, Fiq.”

“Any time, my man, any time.” With that, he looked at Danny, jerking his head towards Ben. “I’m telling you, Dan, this kid’s a good one. He’ll do right by you.”

“I’m certain of it,” Danny agreed with a placid, almost lifeless smile. He seemed almost… distracted. “Are you going to be here when we’re done?”

“Probably not. Got some business to take care of, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Fiq then turned back to Peter, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t work too hard, now, Ben!”

“I-I’ll try not to,” Peter replied with a smile. Fiq pulled him back into another hug, though this time, Peter could feel his beard scratching against his ear, his face turned in towards him.

“Try to stay off your cell phone around him,” Fiq whispered. Peter figured good interview etiquette was to avoid goofing off on your phone in the middle of an interview, but hey, maybe Fiq figured he never had a job before, or that he hadn’t been able to hold one down. Peter wasn’t gonna assume. Fiq pulled back, as if he hadn’t said anything, and gave him another firm pat on the shoulders. “Good luck to you, son.”

“You too, Fiq, I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll call you tonight before Danny cuts you loose.”

With that, Fiq walked away, leaving Danny and Peter alone with what he assumed was Danny’s car. It was nicer than Fiq’s, though not particularly fancy. A solid white Toyota sedan, no dents or scratches, but plenty of dirt and dust around the running boards.

“Hop in. This late, the traffic shouldn’t be too bad,” Danny said. Peter was quick to oblige, sliding into the passenger seat and fastening his seatbelt as Danny turned on the car. The AC blasted him in the face pretty hard, causing him to shut his eyes.

“Sorry,” Danny said, turning down the knob. “My daughter likes it cold.”

“Oh, it’s fine. You have a daughter?”

“Yep. She’s about halfway through high school now.”

Peter didn’t quite know how to segue from that, so he settled for the ever-safe, old reliable “Cool.”

“Very much so, if the AC is anything to go by.”

Peter chuckled a bit at that one. Danny didn’t. He still seemed a bit… cagey as they pulled out of the lot and onto the street. He looked at the clock on the radio, and found it to be 11:19. Much later than he’d thought it was when he woke up. He supposed he really needed sleep after everything that had happened, lately. He wasn’t quite rested, but a few hours didn’t hurt anything, for sure.

“So, Ben,” Danny started as they pulled up to that light that had given Fiq so much grief yesterday afternoon.

“Sir?”

“That’s not your real name, is it?” Danny asked, giving him a concerned look from behind his glasses.

If Peter had felt cold with the AC, the chill in his veins now had frozen him solid.

Summary:

"Ben Peters" gets adjusted to what looks to be the start of a new life on Earth Bet, and meets a suspicious young character

Summary:

Far be it from Peter to get too involved in other people's family business, but the Heberts are WEIRD. Thankfully, they're the nice kind of weird.

Summary:

A morally conflicted ex-white supremacist and a kid from the next universe over get to gangbusting? What could go wrong? A whole lot.

He hadn’t stayed long after the phone call. By then, Taylor had eaten what he assumed was her fill (which was to say, she barely ate anything) and had already teamed up with Danny to completely clear the table. It was as if he’d never been there.

“So where’s this hotel, Danny?” Peter asked as he came around the corner from the living room and into the kitchen.

“Right on the boardwalk, across the street from the North Ferry Station,” Danny explained as he wiped his hands off on a hand towel. “Your room is bought and paid for for the next week, which should be how long it takes for the paperwork to go through. Since you signed the union paperwork, and ‘to the best of your knowledge’ everything is correct, they’ll reimburse me for the costs.”

“That’s awesome, I’d really hate to inconvenience you.”

“Believe me, it’s not much of an inconvenience either way. You’ll earn it back, I’m sure.” With that, Danny brushed his hands off one last time and turned his full attention to Peter. “I assume you asking means you’re about ready to go?”

“Just about,” he replied. “Unless there’s something else you guys need.”

“I think all your paperwork is done,” Danny stated, now looking at Taylor, who had already dried off and was currently looking at Peter like a disinterested mom at the zoo. Her awkwardness and tension didn’t surprise him. Between the implications about her mom, and the little bit that Alexander had mentioned about her school situation, he doubted she had many friends. Maybe that was why Danny brought him around? To try and coax her out of her shell. It wasn’t like he went to school here or anything, anyway, so… no risk of that.

Peter approached her as casually as he could, and extended a hand to her. She seemed a bit surprised at the gesture, but he insisted, thrusting it out a little farther.

“It was really nice to meet you, Taylor. I appreciate you guys having me over. Means the most.”

Taylor regarded said hand, then the boy attached to it, like he’d just walked up to her buck naked, but she recovered quickly, offering another thin-lipped and not very convincing smile (which he would heretofore refer to as a Taylor Smile, based on how often she did it). Nevertheless, she took his hand.

“Nice to meet you too,” she replied. “You should be thanking my dad, if anything.”

“I think if he thanked me anymore his tongue might go numb,” Danny said. “Come on, Ben, let’s get on the road.”

With that, they were off. Peter didn’t have to move very fast to catch up with Danny. The hotel was a little ways away, leaving them with a few minutes to talk on the ride over about the painfully awkward dinner.

“I apologize if Taylor was a bit…guarded, Ben,” Danny broke the ice. “She’s been through a lot in the past few years. We both have, but her… her moreso.”

Well, that much was obvious.

“It’s no problem, Danny. She was really nice,” he replied, leaving out all the awkward staring that almost felt like she was sizing him up. Oh, yeah, and the Tingle going off the freakin’ charts, too, that wasn’t very fun. The Tingle barely ever flagged anything as harmless as a mosquito bite or a fruit fly. Why the heck would it start going off like crazy now? “So she’s into cape stuff?”

“Yeah, she always had a peripheral interest in it, but lately, she seems obsessed with it,” Danny explained. “I don’t know what brought it on. Escapism, maybe. You’re young, you probably had similar thoughts when you were a young teen.”

Oh, if only if Danny knew.

“Yeah, sometimes it feels nice to just… think about if you could change the world for the better,” Peter replied. “I know sometimes I wish I could do more, but, you know, I’m just a kid from Montréal.”

Danny nodded knowingly. “I guess you are. It’s good that you were able to get her to talk, at least.”

Peter sat back in his seat and watched as the crowded, dingy buildings of the docks districts gave way to equally rustic, if a bit better kept ones on the coast. Danny hadn’t spared too much expense, it seemed. This wasn’t the Monte Carlo or anything, but it was a good shout better than anything he figured he’d have gotten on his own dime.

“This is nice,” he noted.

“Yeah,” Danny replied. “The Boardwalk isn’t too bad, compared to the rest of town. It’s a tourist trap, so the gangs mostly stay out, aside from a few street hustlers. Just mind your business and don’t follow anyone into a dark alley, and you’ll probably be fine.”

“I don’t make a habit of following people into dark alleys,” Peter lied as easily as he breathed.

“I figured you were smarter than that, but saying it helps me sleep at night.” Danny adjusted his glasses, looking over his shoulder and into the rearview mirror. “There’s a few places to eat around here, and if you take a bus from in front of the hotel, you’ll be able to run up to the Lord Street Market. They’ve got plenty of stuff to do and to eat there, if you ever get bored of just sitting in your room all day.”

“Got it, thanks.”

“And here.”

Danny took one hand off the wheel to dig his wallet out of his pocket and place it on the dash.

“Just so I remember.”

Peter wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his wallet, but he found out quickly. The hotel was only another five minutes down the road, and before Peter could so much as unbuckle his seatbelt, Danny had grabbed his wallet and started thumbing through the bills inside.

“Mr. Danny-” Peter started, realizing what was going on.

“I thought I told you it’s just Danny?” Danny replied cheekily, pulling out four hundred dollar bills. “That should cover food for the next week, and a couple of new changes of clothes. Make sure you buy at least one pair of cargo pants and a decent, breathable undershirt. I’ll have your uniform top and some steel-toe boots for you at the docks. Meet Alexander up there tomorrow morning, and he’ll orient you. I’ll be paying you cash every Thursday until your paperwork goes through and you can set up a bank account.”

He handed the money to Peter, who took it like it was the most beautiful, fragile china in the world. He didn’t really know what to say. Three complete strangers in an entirely different universe were going out of their ways to help him, someone who couldn’t even tell a straight story about where he was from. All without asking anything in return. In Fiq and Leslie’s case, sure, he fought the ABB, but Fiq was willing to help him anyway. He hadn’t done anything for Danny.

“I really don’t know what to say,” Peter vocalized his thoughts. “I, uh… wow… Danny, I really…”

Peter took a deep breath, composing himself and putting on his best ‘serious face.’

“What do I owe you?” he asked.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Danny said. “Ben. I know you’re not telling me the whole truth of what you are and where you’ve come from. Fiq knows, too. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you needed help, and we had the power and the means to help you.”

The fact that Danny so casually mentioned his disbelief disconcerted Peter, but the older man made no effort to even guess as to the truth. Instead, he continued talking as he parked the car on the sidewalk.

“My wife told me once that she felt a moral obligation to do more than just the bare minimum. She always stood by that statement. Back when Lustrum wasn’t off the deep-end yet, or when her students were bringing their home lives into the classroom with them, it didn’t matter. She would help anyone she could, and wouldn’t ask for anything back..”

Something shifted in Danny’s expression. Evidently, the topic of his wife was still a rather raw one.

“If things were different, and she was here, and I wasn’t, she’d have done the same for you,” Danny finished. “So no. All you owe me is to try and do what good you can with what you can, however that might be. Pass it along.”

Peter nodded thoughtfully, the message resonating with one that landed a lot closer to home for him.

“Your wife seems like an amazing lady,” he said, quietly.

“She was,” Danny replied, closing his wallet and putting it back in his pocket, but not before Peter caught a glimpse of a folded picture in one of the clear pockets. “Do you need anything else or have any questions before I head out?”

“Actually, uh, just one. In case I go out to that market place and forget, what’s the address for this place?”

“8185 Palisade Court,” Danny replied. “Right across from the ferry station. If you’re on the bus, it’s the last stop on the blue line, just walk across the street from the ferry station and cut through the boardwalk, and you’ll end up here.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Danny handed him a piece of paper, folded up. “The proof of reservation’s right here. Room 303, on the right corner facing the boardwalk. It’s under your name.”

“Got it. I’ll see you tomorrow, Danny.”

“See you then, Ben. Take care, rest well. The next bus comes by in about fifteen minutes if you wanna go to the mall. They stop running at ten.”

With that, the two bid each other goodbye, and Peter stepped out of the car, immediately fishing for his phone to text Sarah the address.

‘8185 Palisade Court room 303. I’ll meet you outside. Text when you get here.”

The response was immediate.

‘K. Red says that’s abt 15 minutes. C u then Benny.’

Well, that meant he had fifteen minutes to clean up a little and get ready.

By the time he’d checked in, gotten a quick shower to clean himself off, and changed back into everything, he’d heard his phone buzz on the bathroom counter twice, and realized very quickly he at the very least needed a new shirt. Alas, no time for now. Maybe tomorrow morning, if he didn’t… well, die.

He probably wouldn’t die, but still, he really wished he had a bit of time to just be Peter—or rather, Ben—for a few minutes. Even Spider-Man got mornings off for the most part.

He also really needed a different costume, because this ‘black shirt, blue jeans, mask’ thing he had going on wasn’t going to work when that black shirt and blue jeans were one of his two changes of clothes for both personal and… ‘recreational’ use.

He managed to make it out of the hotel at the twenty-two minute mark, and found Sarah and Leslie impatiently waiting for him next to the door, the former anxiously tapping her foot, covered head to toe in clothes that bristled and stretched a bit from her spikes, while Leslie was carrying a rather large backpack.

“You’re late,” Leslie noted.

“Cut me some slack, this outfit’s hard to change into,” Peter replied, pulling on his collar a bit to illustrate his point. “You guys gonna come in and talk, or—”

“Behind the hotel, come on,” Sarah ordered, and motioned for him to follow her. She led him and Leslie to an old, beat-up pickup truck in the service parking lot of the building, facing the opposite street and shaded by a metal stairwell. She pulled Peter into the shadows by the scruff of his neck, and Leslie followed.

“So I guess we’re doing it, then?” Peter said.

“Yeah,” Sarah said. “We’re doing it.”

“It’s the best time,” Leslie said. “I got contacts online, some of whom know people who are affiliated with the ABB. Junior’s got big company tonight, which means he’s definitely gonna be on site and very,very muchdistracted.”

“Who’s the big company?” Peter asked.

“Some out of state transplant. Possibly parahuman,” Leslie replied. “That’s all the intel I could glean, even the guys that actually have people in the ABB aren’t saying anything, so you know it’s bad.”

“Parahuman or not, there’s two of us and one of them. The ABB’s thugs shouldn’t be any trouble,” Sarah continued. “You’re fast enough to dodge bullets, I’m tough enough to walk through them. We just have to worry about catching Junior, and if it’s an out of state transplant, it’s not Oni Lee or Lung.”

“Who are they?”

“Lung’s the leader of the gang, and he’s a tough son of a bitch, even by parahuman standards,” Leslie explained. “If he were involved, we wouldn’t be doing this. Only reason the ABB is even still standing is because no one f*cks with Lung. Oni Lee’s not as bad, but still just as much a pain in the ass. He’s Lung’s top lieutenant and main enforcer. We don’t think it’s either of them. My people would have been honest about that much.”

Peter took a slow, deep breath. “In case those two are actually there, what are their powers?” He’d managed to pick up that parahuman was their way of saying superhuman, wasn’t particularly hard, so it never hurt to have extra intel.

“Oni Lee uses a form of teleportation that leaves clone afterimages behind him that act independently for a few seconds. He can tussle with Purity, one of E88’s heaviest hitters, and walk out unscathed,” Leslie explained. “Not someone to f*ck with.”

“Lung’s just a big f*cking dragon,” Sarah picked up where he left off. “Or at least, he starts acting like one the longer a fight goes. We can’t take him, not head on just the two of us. If we see him, we scram.”

“What about Oni Lee?” Peter asked.

“That would require one of us getting the jump on him. If he can’t see us coming, he can’t teleport before we hit him. f*ck him up that way.”

“And when we’ve found Junior and gotten what we need, we’re just leaving?” Peter asked.

“You can call Johnny Law when we’ve started making tracks,” Sarah replied. “I’d rather just kill every f*cker in that building, but something tells me you’re gonna object to that plan.”

“So would the Protectorate,” Leslie replied. “Even if you two are technically rogues, and the ABB doesn’t exactly play by the rules, it’s not at the point where the good guys are gonna take off their gloves. Killing a bunch of Lung’s guys is only gonna make him escalate, and this city isn’t gonna be able to handle him escalating without a lot of good people dying. Non-lethal if you can, Sarah.”

“I told both of you, I’dtry.Anything after that, I can’t promise you,” Sarah replied.

“So, to recap. Find Junior, find out what happened to Asuka’s family, whatever happens after that happens,” Peter said. “When we leave, we let the cops know and leave it to them to bust it up. If we see Lung, run. Right?”

“Yep, that’s our best play,” Leslie said. “I can drive you guys down there, get us set up somewhere nice and quiet just off-site where you can sneak in. They’ll be having their meeting later tonight, so if there’s anything you need to do beforehand, let me know.”

“I might need another change of clothes,” Peter said, remembering his earlier train of thought. “I wore these same clothes when I met Wei and when I first ran into the ABB. Maybe something a little less… obviously the same guy?”

“Good thinking. I’ll drive you somewhere and you can get some gang-busting duds,” Leslie agreed. “Speaking of.”

The man dug through the back pocket of his pants, his shirt shifting to reveal a pistol on his hip as he did, and some kind of military tattoo right above it. While Peter was busy observing those two things, Leslie had pulled what looked like a half-face mask out of his pocket.

“Here. The weird criss-cross thing is distinctive, it’ll give you away. Unless you want it to give you away, I guess.”

The less he had that connected him to Spider-Man, the better.

“Sure, I’ll take it,” Peter replied, taking the mask and pulling it down around his neck. It covered up the remnants of the Spider-Man costume nicely.

Come to think of it… why was he still wearing this thing if he was worried about getting caught? Oh,God, what if his shirt got cut open and someone saw it?

“I, uh, let me do something in my room right quick, and I’ll be ready to go,” he stammered, running back around to the front of the hotel as fast as he could without doing anything blatantly superhuman.

Having put his costume under the bed and a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, Peter had felt confident when he and Leslie left to do a bit of clothing shopping that he wouldn’t be found out.

His newly-acquired getup, which, surprisingly, Leslie helped cover, would probably help with that. Leslie had him change in the back of the truck at the hotel, and Peter was pleased with how utterly generic and un-spiderly he looked. The ski-mask was complemented with a pair of black ski goggles that were a bit tight on his head, but also were apparently sun-resistant, which Leslie said would likely come in handy at some point. Over a new white shirt, he had a heavy black leather jacket, thick enough to take a bit of effort to stab through, and on top of that, one of the things Leslie had put in his bag was a bulletproof vest.

“It only takes one guy getting lucky,” he’d told him when he offered it to him. “I’m pretty sure youcandodge bullets, but it never hurts to have insurance, and these stupid punks won’t aim for the head. If they do manage to, they’ll miss.”

The rest of the outfit was similarly dark. Black shirt, black jeans, black boots, and a pair of fingerless black gloves. Leslie had been told about his ability to stick to things, so he figured it would be easier if he didn’t have to cover his fingers. Peter was about to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but he figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides—Ben Peters didn’t exist. He didn’t need to worry about being printed.

Marrow, it turns out, already had a ‘costume.’ She’d thrown off the hoodie in the back of the car, revealing what looked like a sports bra made of some kind of ebony material, almost like bone, over a layer of neoprene. She had shorts with a similar design. Other than that, her entire body was uncovered, spikes and spines on full display.

They were ready.

By the time they’d gotten outfitted and suited up, it was about eight-thirty, and Leslie said it would take them a little while to get to the warehouse. It was near a ‘boat graveyard’, apparently, so they were out of the city proper.

The warehouse itself was one of the few that still had lights on. There weren’t many, and you couldn’t really see anything going on through the windows, but that was easily fixable if they were able to get to the roof.

“We need to get up there if we’re gonna see anything,” Peter said, pointing to the roof as Leslie killed the engine on the truck and pulled his pistol from his waistband.

“How amIgonna get up there, is the question?” Sarah asked, incredulous. “You can just walk up the wall, apparently, but I’m stuck looking for a roof access unless you want everyone to know I’m in there. We don’t have a way to coordinate long-distance, either.”

“Maybe some kind of signal?”

“What kind of signal?”

“If you hear shooting or something, I don’t know.”

“Rico, has anyone ever told you that you’re a tacticalf*ckinggenius?”

“Once or twice.”

Sarah made a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh. Leslie didn’t say anything, instead focusing on the warehouse.

“I reckon they’ll be in there all night. You have time to take it slow,” he said. “There’s almost certainly a roof access on the side of the building. Marrow, you use that. Ricochet, you can just go straight up the wall. Worst case, you meet her and show her a way up.”

“That’s a good idea,” Peter agreed. “What do you think?” He turned his attention to Sarah, who was looking particularly interested at the bed of the truck.

“I think it’d be better if I go in through the front door. I can take it. You can find Junior first, maybe get him out of there while I’ve got their attention,” she suggested.

“That’s a big risk for you if my intel’s wrong,” Leslie said.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take if it means I get to…”

She trailed off, looking up at Peter. He doubted she could see past his goggles, but something told him she knew he was giving her the best ‘worried parent’ look an 18 year old could muster for someone that was probably a good few years older than him.

“I don’t want to risk you getting hurt. Asuka’s waiting on you, you know?” Peter said. “I’ll go first, find a way to the roof, you follow me, alright?”

“Fine,” she replied. “What about their guys outside?”

“It’s getting late,” Peter said with a grin beneath his mask. “I think they should get some sleep.”

Sarah smiled back at him. It was a pretty smile, if it weren’t for the mostly spikey teeth, and even then, he could kinda see the appeal. Maybe after today, she and Asuka would have some reasons to smile. He looked at the front of the car, where Leslie looked at him expectantly, pistol in hand.

“Don’t be afraid to run if it gets ugly,” Peter said.

Leslie pulled up his sleeve to show some sort of flag, one that Peter didn’t recognize.

“These colors don’t run,” he said, before pulling his sleeve back up. “You two be careful. If you need to bug out, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Peter replied, knocking on the back window of the truck. “We’ll be back soon.”

Leslie nodded, and with that, they were off to the races.

Peter hopped onto the top of the truck, then onto the derelict, barely-kept service road he’d parked off of, running across badly-maintained asphalt with quiet ease borne as a result of his powers. Marrow, by contrast, had much heavier footsteps, and a harder time keeping up, but if she was going to wait for him to scout out a path, he didn’t need to worry about her falling too far behind.

The warehouse was well-guarded, but not as much as some other places Peter had been. Then again, he hadn’t been to a lot of places where he had to worry about, like, serious armed security, so on a scale of one to ten based on his previous experience, this was probably a strong seven. There was a solid handful of guys walking around, talking, smoking cigarettes, and every one of them had a gun.

This would be a lot simpler with webs. Ah, well.

Once he heard Sarah coming up behind him, he motioned for her to stop, and turned around.

“So yeah, there’s a bunch of guys down there,” he whispered. “Probably, like… half a dozen on this side of the building. Probably more on the others. We should circle the building and see if we can find roof access.”

“Good plan,” she whispered back. “Lead the way.”

Staying low, Peter did so, circling to the right side of the building behind an out-of-use bus stop, judging by how badly rusted over the seat was. A quick glance showed there was a truck-loading dock on that side of the building, with a few guys standing guard by the door. The good news was that there was a roof access ladder right there. Bad news, that’s where the guys were hanging out.

“Three guys by that ladder,” he said, looking back at Sarah. “I’m not sure how to get them to move.”

“Wouldn’t be possible to take them down quietly, would it?” she asked.

Truth be told, if he used his webs, he could just pull them up to the roof and incapacitate them. They weren’t paying so much attention to each other that they’d notice their buddy flying straight up before it was too late. Besides… they never look up.

“We’d have to distract them,” he said, banishing the thought for now. He couldn’t risk it… could he?

“I can try,” Sarah offered. “I have the range. We’d just have to get over the fence.”

Right, there was the fence to worry about.

“Can you jump over the barbed wire?” she asked him.

“Yeah. You can climb over it?”

“I’m made of bone. That won’t hurt me at all.”

Cocooning herself in her spiky makeshift armor, she offered him a smirk. He simply nodded in reply, preparing a running start as he looked for a safe place to land. He found one in a loading truck parked parallel to the building, a few yards away from the group by the door, and another few to the left.

“You see that truck over there?” he asked, pointing to it. “Meet me behind it.”

“Got it.”

“Alright, see you there.”

With that, Peter took off, co*cking back and vaulting over the fence with practiced ease, turning himself in midair to land facing Sarah, who had started after him at a bit of a slower pace, especially with all that armor weighing her down. She clambered gracelessly up the fence, digging her bone-covered hands into the wire and pulling it apart so she could lay her body across it, then wriggle herself over to land on her feet, a bit of barbed wire still coiled around her back and waist. A little bit of blood leaked off her forearm, drawing a concerned gaze from Peter as she sloughed off the wire, an annoyed look on her features as she rubbed her arm.

“Did you get cut?” he asked. “I thought you had, like, a healing factor?”

“I do,” she replied. “My bones tear through the skin sometimes, but the skin almost always heals back. Problem is, when I armor up, I can’t armor my joints. If I did, they’d lock in place. It’s the same reason I can’t armor my internal organs. So, I get a little cut that bleeds for a couple of seconds. Could be worse, though.”

Peter couldn’t imagine how that felt to deal with. “So why don’t you bleed when your power works?”

“The skin calcifies. That’s why it looks like a bone, but it’s not actually a bone. The only bones that come out of my body are the spikes and the blades, but the armor is just my skin. If you broke it, it’d bleed.”

“Oh, yeah, because bone marrow.”

“Yeah. And it takes bone longer to heal than skin, so if something were to break the bone, I’d be in a bit of trouble. A cut on my joints like that, though, or on my skin if I’m not armored up? That’s nothing. It’ll bleed for a few seconds, then I’ll be fine.”

She showed her arm to Peter. What he assumed to be the laceration on her elbow, judging by the blood smeared around it, didn’t exist anymore.

“...cool,” he whispered lowly.

“Yeah, pretty cool.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder and not-so-subtly redirected his attention to the warehouse. “So. What now?”

“There’s still those three guys. You said you had a distraction?”

“I can shoot off some spikes at the wall, make some racket to draw some of their attention. Unless they’re stupid, though, that won’t fool all of them.”

“Let’s see how stupid they are, then.”

“Say we get one of them. What about the other two?”

He thought about it long and hard. He was Ricochet now, he didn’t really look like Spider-Man, and so far, no one had said anything about him looking like Peter Parker. Come to think of it, would the spell even work if the person didn’t know who Peter Parker was? The whole point of it was to make people forget that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, but as far as he’d seen, there was no reason to believe Peter Parker existed on this Earth.

There was achance. If he kept things vague, if he didn’t use the Peter Parker or Spider-Man identities… maybe he could just be a Great Value Spider-Man?

“I’m about to do something a little stupid,” he said. “Get their attention.”

“Got it.”

Sarah lifted her arm, closing one eye and biting on her lower lip as she lined up a shot above and to the right of the group by the door. With that wet, gross sound Peter justadoredhearing, a shard of bone went flying out of her arm, hitting the wall with a dullbangand causing all three men to look at it. After a short conversation, only one of them went to look.

“That guy’s yours,” he said. “I got the other two.”

“Okay, sure,” Sarah replied, “but what’s the stupid-”

She didn’t finish before Peter climbed up the side of the truck, taking a running start to launch himself off of it. At the trajectory he was on, he would pass over both guys before landing on the roof, so he adjusted in mid-air to try and land as close to the edge as possible. The two guys had evidently seen him hop onto the semi trailer, but were still too busy trying to see what was going on to really do anything about it.

The moment he landed, he took a single step back, preparing himself for what came next, visualizing it in his mind's eye. A short, preparatory breath, and he was off, launching himself off the side of the building and firing a web-line off each hand, hitting both of his targets directly in the face as they finally seemed to realize he’d just flown over their heads. Predictably, they dropped their guns and tried to pull the webbing off. Big mistake.

Peter yanked on the lines, pulling both men towards him and jumping into the air to deliver a flying roundhouse kick to the guy on his right, sending the man tumbling head over heels before landing on the concrete with a loud groan of pain, hands once clutching his face now wrapped firmly around his head. Guy number two heard the impact and turned in the direction of it, only to catch a liver shot that sent him crumpling down to his knees, and a stomp that flattened him out on his stomach.

“Stay down and be quiet,” he said, as if the two guys would say anything with their faces covered in webs. Feeling the Tingle, he turned around to find guy number three having turned to face him, gun in hand. Sarah was too far away to do anything, so she’d raised an arm to spike him.

Peter couldn’t let her risk it. He fired off another web, pulling the gun clean out of the guy’s hand and sending it sailing towards him. It took almost no effort for Peter to catch it, co*cking the gun the moment he did and sending an unfired round ringing on the concrete. He trained the gun right on the guy’s head.

“Get down.”

The guy threw his hands up.

“Get.Down.” Peter ordered.

The guy still wasn’t getting down, so Sarah took the initiative herself, whispering something harshly into his ear and slamming him down onto the concrete, arm blade perilously close to his face. The guy nodded enthusiastically, placing his arms behind his back.

“Do that weird sh*t you just did,” she hissed, and Peter complied, firing a web onto the guy’s face and, by extension, causing the guy to panic, trying to take it off with his fingers. Unfortunately for him, that wouldn’t work. The stuff stayed pretty adhesive for a few hours.

The threat dealt with, Peter pulled the magazine out of the gun, and co*cked the gun again to send the last bullet off onto the concrete, before tossing the gun back in the direction of the truck. He then proceeded to kick the gun one of the guys had dropped near his feet in the same direction, before turning, grabbing the final gun, and completing the trifecta by tomahawking it over the fence.

The job done, Sarah strode over to him purposefully, giving the guy she’d taken down a firm kick to the jaw to knock him clean out.

“So, what the f*ck was that?” she asked. “Rico, have you been holding out on me?”

“They’re, uh…” he fumbled, trying to think of a way to say ‘web shooter’ without saying ‘web shooter’. “Adhesive… net…guns.”

“Adhesive net guns,” she repeated, incredulous. “So on top of all this sh*t, you’re a Tinker?”

“Like, do I tinker with stuff? Yeah, I had to work on this we-uh, net flu-err, this net weave for a while, but… I mean, there’s nothing special about it, anyone could do—”

“Could you do that sh*t before you got your powers?”

“No, I made these myself,” he replied. “No powers involved. It’s just a chemical formula, it’s, um… shoot, what was it again—”

“We don’t have time for that,” Sarah whispered forcefully. “Whatever it was, it was cool, and you should totally do that again later, but we need to get up on the roof.”

Right, right. The roof. Peter motioned to the ladder. “Ladies first.”

“What a charming gentleman you are, Rico,” she replied, rolling her eyes, but managing a toothy grin as she did so. She ran up to the ladder, hopping onto the lowest rung and pulling herself up with a grunt of exertion. Peter had no such trouble—it was as simple as getting a running start and taking a few steps before grabbing onto the ledge and pulling himself up.

“That’ssounfair,” he could hear her mutter behind him.

“Hey, I had to get bit by a radioactive spider to do that, and I don’t know if you’ve ever gotten radiation poisoning before, but Iwould notrecommend it.”

“What a weird f*cking way to get your powers.” She then proceeded to do an absolutely terrible impression of him. “ ‘Oh, I-I-I got bit by a radioactive spider’. Where the hell were you, Three Mile Island?”

“I don’t know, it was a science experiment in school, alright? The guy running them was super-weird, had this obsession with—look, aren’t we supposed to be focusing on finding Junior?”

Sarah had pulled herself up the ladder by now, brushing some rust and flaked paint off her hands before striding across the roof. “Yeah,” she replied. “Let’s go.”

Peter followed her, suppressing a smile of his own. As much as he would like to have a minute to breathe, when the adrenaline was flowing and the blood was pumping, there was nothing quite like being Spider-Man. Or rather, in his case, Ricochet. He looked up at the sky, just to be safe. No purple fissures, no crazy guys falling from the air screaming ‘SPIDERMAN,’ nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe they just had to know he was Spider-ManandPeter Parker, not just one or the other. That wouldn’t be so hard to hide from people. Besides, with his webs, he could take the kid gloves off. Not that he was powerless without them, but he was a hell of a lot more mobile, and he could do a lot more from farther away.

There was another access ladder to get to the very top of the building, and more to humor Sarah than anything, Peter took his climb a little slower this time. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath at the ugly look he got from her as one of her spikes got caught on a safety rung. They made it up otherwise without incident, finding themselves a few feet away from a skylight that hung over the main storage floor of the warehouse.

It was… not a good look.

There were people patrolling the building, guys armed in a similar fashion to the ones Peter and Sarah had subdued outside, but also other men and women, all Asian, some emaciated and bruised, others… Well, the best way Peter could describe them was pretty, but in the way that made it clear that being pretty was not a good thing.

All the way at the bottom floor of the warehouse, though, a few men stood with two very,veryscantily-clad women between them, holding them firmly by the arms, as in front of them, another man, bulky and well-built, stood next to someone wearing what Peter could only describe as a military-grade bomb squad outfit. Whoever they were, they were covered with armor, with only a curtain of long, straight black hair exposed. Their face was covered with some kind of gas mask, and the chest-plate of their black and red armor was criss-crossed by what looked like some kind of wires

“That must be our out-of-towner,” Sarah whispered.

“I need to get a closer look,” Peter replied. “I can’t hear what they’re talking about all the way up here. Stay up here. If it gets ugly, would you be able to jump down to the second floor without breaking anything?”

“Yeah, I’d be fine. Go.”

Peter nodded, stepping off of the lip of the skylight and landing with a lightthudon the metal rafter below it. The lights hung low off the beam, so he was completely shrouded. Enough so that he felt confident enough to lean off the side of the beam and try to listen in on the conversation.

“-is an embarrassment. I know Lung is displeased,” the big man rumbled, with a voice that sounded like he’d gargled rocks, glass, and cigarette ash. “I have asked you all to keep a firm hand on the merchandise, and now, one of my producers is in custody. One of my most unreliable producers, as well, which you all know bodes even worse for our organization. Wei Zhulao is not the kind of man to keep his mouth shut.”

“I have gathered you here today because you find yourselves in a similar situation to Mr. Zhulao. You are underperforming. In at least one of your cases, I have reason to believe you are trying to skim off the top at Lung’s expense. This will not be allowed to continue.”

He motioned to the person next to him.

“This is Bakuda, a new member of our family. She, as well as all of us, knows how Lung rewards those who bite his generous guiding hand. However, rather than force you to face swift justice at his hands… she has proposed… an alternative. One that requires some testing. You see, I have had Miss Tomie and Miss Hathai here be…attended toby Miss Bakuda before you arrived. She would like to demonstrate a new… let us call it a compliance incentive for our merchandise. Miss Tomie, would you step towards Miss Bakuda, if you please?”

Peter leaned slightly over the edge to get a better look at the terrified woman as she was examined by this ‘Bakuda’, their expression unreadable between this angle and the gas mask.

“Turn around.” came a heavily-filtered, genderless voice. Bakuda evidently had more than just a gas filter in that mask.

“Does she meet your standards, gentlemen?” the big man asked.

Peter heard one of the men reply, and while he didn’t understand the first word, he heard ‘Junior-sama’. That big guy was Junior, then.

“Good, Kensuke, good. Rodtang, do you have an objection?”

“No, sir.”

“And you, Ratnasari?”

“She is quite satisfactory, sir.”

“Excellent. Unfortunately, she does not meet my standards, nor does Miss Hathai. Both of these women have attempted to reject our kindness to them. We have offered them wealth, comfort, and safety, in exchange for honest work, and they spit on our faces. And yet, they go unpunished. This is the same situation that led to Wei taking matters with one of his women into his own hands. An action that led to his arrest and the possible compromising of our operations in this field.”

Junior took a step away from Tomie.

“This cannot be allowed to continue. However… we have ways of ensuring such incidents do not happen again. Tomie!”

The woman shot up ramrod straight.

“You may go. I will allow you five seconds. One.”

The woman didn’t move.

“Two.”

She still didn’t move.

“Three.”

“Come on,” Peter muttered, realizing what was going on and watching the way her legs began to quake. “Don’t-”

“Four!”

He could see the woman’s breathing hitch as Junior took purposeful steps towards her, a powerful stride from a powerful frame. Peter readied himself to launch off the balcony and pull Junior after him… but he didn’t have to.

Junior placed a gentle pair of hands on Tomie’s shoulders, before… pulling her into a hug? Junior wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close, and placed a kiss to the top of her head. The woman didn’t relax at all.

“You understand your place, now. There is no need for further correction. Go, now. I will call for you when I need you. Do you understand?”

The woman nodded, replying with some other form of address Peter didn’t really recognize. If he was gonna keep running into these guys, he needed to learn some Chinese and Japanese.

“You may go.”

She complied, quickly shuffling off towards the man she had been standing by, ‘Kensuke.’

“Wait.”

She stopped on a dime.

“Good. You and Kensuke come forward. Stand with me. I wish to show you something.”

Kensuke took Tomie’s hand, and pulled her forward. She dutifully followed, the fear still present in her trembling frame as she stood between Kensuke and Junior.

“Bakuda. If you may demonstrate to them the price of further failures, I would be indebted to you.”

“Oh, I’d behappy to.”

The boom that followed was so sudden, so forceful, it nearly knocked Peter off his perch just from the shock. It was like a grenade had gone off, and a quick look down at the floor made it look like one had too. The third man, Ratnasari, lay on the floor, half of his head a pulpy red mess.

He got off easy compared to Hathai.

Her entire head was gone. What was left of her upper body matched the red sheer lace dress she’d been wearing when she was still alive. Most of it was smeared over the floor.

Bakuda seemed to have enjoyed that, the way she was laughing at it. Peter wrenched his eyes shut, trying to get the image out of his head, but it stayed there, burned into his retinas, refusing to leave. He felt like he was gonna be sick.

That wasn’t normal.

There was the kind of jerks, thugs, and street-level scum he dealt with on a daily basis back in New York.

This was on another level entirely.

Once again, not even days after inadvertently nearly causing the multiverse to collapse in on itself, Peter found himself out of his depth.

Rodtang got off better than the other guy. He was currently holding his right ear, which had been pretty badly mangled, and whining like a wounded animal as Junior stepped over to him.

“Perhaps that will be a lesson to you, Rodtang! You cannot keep your dogs on a leash, so now, we have put a leash on them for you! Now, walk them! Or else there will be far harsher consequences for all of us!”

Peter looked up at the skylight to see Sarah standing over the lip of the skylight, her figure bathed in a dull orange glow from the reflecting light from the concrete floor of the building.

If looks could kill, everyone in this building would be flayed alive. Peter frantically pulled his mask down, mouthing as clearly as he could to her. ‘Don’t. Don’t do it. Don’t.’

Sarah grit her teeth, eyes nearly blown out as she stared holes right through Peter, almost daring him to come up there and give her a reason to.

‘I’m going down,’ he continued. ‘Stay up here. Please. Trust me.’

She didn’t trust him. He could see it in her eyes. But she wasn’t moving. That was as good as he was going to get. He looked around, trying to get a good angle to approach Junior, but he couldn’t just jump in on this ‘Bakuda’ lady without running into the problem that she might just blow more people up.

This was going to have to be quiet.

Summary:

Peter picks a fight with a cape for the first time, and boy, did he pick one.

This was not going according to plan. Rarely did anything Peter did ever go fully according to plan, but this particular instance stuck out in his mind as the entire plan was going to pot the moment he initiated it. About the only things that went right so far were getting to the place, and finding Junior.

Already, there were two more dead bodies on the floor than were acceptable to him. And there was nothing he could do about it.

How many more of these working girls had bombs in their heads? Asuka didn’t, if she left before this, but who else could be on the street, a single misstep or perceived slight away from being obliterated by a bomb that no one else could see? What if there were civilians around? What if these people were with their families?

The plan had to be modified.

Bakuda was going down.

He dropped from the steel rafter he’d been perched on, landing a bit louder than he would have liked on the catwalk below, enough that he drew the attention of a guy walking across. With practiced ease, he launched himself over the side, grabbing onto the bottom of the metal grating and crawling his way across. The metal creaked softly under his grip, and it became very apparent a fair bit of it was rusted over.

He could see Junior and Bakuda walking and talking, and though the initial words were indecipherable to him, they quickly—and, it seemed, to Junior’s agitation—switched to English.

“Your Mandarin needs work,” he grunted.

“Or you could just speak English,”Bakuda replied.“Just a thought.”

“A wise man does not open his coat in public and flash his wealth. So it is with me. I would rather my business conversations be…discreet.”

“You want control.”

“You’re reaching, Bakuda.”

“Am I?”

The guy Peter had been trying to avoid had passed him a bit ago now, leaving him time to consider his options. There was a roof above what appeared to be an office within the warehouse, one that Bakuda and Junior were walking towards. It wouldn’t take much effort to get over there, if he was careful.

Positioning himself to where he hung off the bottom of the catwalk with one hand, he slowly swung himself back and forth, bracing himself for an awkward, likely uncomfortable landing. With a few more dry runs, he threw himself forward, catching a glimpse of what was happening on the ground floor as he did so. There were plenty of guys with guns, most of whom seemed occupied watching doors and windows. Ones that weren’t near him.

He landed much more gracefully this time around, rolling to a stop with only a short thud that was hidden by the din of the guards chatting amongst themselves and some sort of equipment. One guy was walking around in a hazmat suit. Maybe they were making drugs or something here?

Peter moved to the far wall, at the edge of the roof of the office, and pressed his back to it, shrouding himself in shadow as he listened to what was left of Bakuda and Junior’s conversation.

“-know that Lung will not approve of this.”

“He will, when the scales fall off his eyes. Fear is the most powerful motivator, and no bitch who knows there’s a bomb in their f*cking head is going to try and make a run for it, or rat you out to the law. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“What if they do? What if they find a sympathetic surgeon, or the PRT?”

“You really don’t know how Tinkers work, do you? The bombs are my design. Only I know how to disarm them. Try to take them out? Even if you manage to avoid permanently maiming the poor bitches… if you so much as touch the thing wrong…boom.”

“Do you realize the target this puts on my back? Onourbacks?”

“There won’t be a target, because I guarantee after that little show, no one’s gonna step out of line. And when Lung approves of the plan, then I can expand to the rest of our operation… maybe even you, if you keep talking so loud.”

Peter heard Junior suck in a sharp inhale, before slamming the door to the offices shut.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, so he fished it out, turning himself so that the light from the phone would be hidden.

“Wtf is going on down there?”

Sarah.

“Bakuda put bombs in the girls. If they’re tampered with they'll explode”

“Jfc”

“She said she's the only one who can defuse them.”

“unlikely”

“Still not worth the risk. Can you hold on?”

“wheres junior?”

“In an office below me. Waiting for Bakuda to go away so I can grab him.”

“U feel like being a hero 2day Benny?”

“What?”

“Got a plan.”

Man, he did not like where this was going.

“Plan?”

“We r gonna get these girls out of here.”

Okay, never mind, he liked where this was going. Same brain. Definitely same brain.

The clear and present danger was Bakuda. Guys with guns were a problem for your everyday bystander, but for Spider—um,Ricochet—it would hardly be a problem. He dodged bullets like nobody’s business. Now, Bakuda, she seemed like the problem. She was apparently a parahuman, and her powers had something to do with the bombs she created, meaing that all of these girls that were currently one misstep away from being blown to kingdom come only had one way out of this mess. That way out was through Bakuda.

“What if Junior gets away?”

“He won’t. U nab Bakuda. 1ce the shooting starts, i’m there.”

“Got it. Be safe.”

“U 2.”

Peter placed the phone back in his jacket pocket, and lowered himself to all fours in an effort to conceal his frame from view. He crept up to the edge of the office carefully, looking out over the floor from a wide angle that gave him a hell of a lot more information than the skylight. The guys with guns, and Bakuda, were all there, but it was clear there were other operations going on here. Prostitution, drug trade, contracted muscle… the ABB had a pretty cozy operation, here, and he doubted judging based on their size that this was their only game in town.

If they pulled this off, this gang might not survive the crackdown that followed,especiallywith the whole bomb thing. Even if the PRT were as useless as Fiq made them sound, surely a mountain of evidence this tall would be easy to prosecute?

He’d have to trust the good guys to do good guy things, he supposed. And speaking of good guys doing things, it was time for him to get to doing. He had a good angle on Bakuda from up here, the balcony he had jumped down here being positioned just perfectly for him to web and use as a fulcrum to launch himself like a torpedo at the mad bomber, ideally hitting her hard enough that, while stunned, he could web her hands to the floor and her mouth shut to ensure there wasn’t any way she could detonate the bombs.

What he hadn’t remembered, or if he had, he’d filed it so far in the back of his mind it didn’t come back, was how old this warehouse was. Rusty steel girders were normal, but a rusty balcony with faulty couplings was a bit less common. The Tingle warned him what was going to happen before he even realized it himself. One minute, he had attached a web line to the balcony and begun his swing, the next, the weight and momentum of a whole guy yanking on it sent the balcony free of its mounts, and Peter flying across the room and directly in front, and a good bit above, Bakuda.

Problem two. Bakuda heard the balcony creaking under his weight and immediately started looking up. Clearly, someone had taught her the secret. Either that, or there were a bunch of other superheroes who had been trying this trick already.

‘Way to cramp my style, jerks.’

Thinking fast, he fired another web into the rafters above, latching onto a more solid surface to try and recover his swing. The sudden shift ended with him planting both boots directly into Bakuda’s chest, sending her flying backwards a solid couple of yards and drawing a frightened shout from one of the goons who saw the attack.

Well, so much for the element of surprise.

The good news was, since there were guns involved, he had a bit of an edge, so long as he was on the ball. The first signs of trouble came from his right, but a quick turn-and-weave to the left made sure he was out of the line of fire. Two web shots, one for each of the gunmen that had just missed him, sent both men’s guns flying across the room. Two follow-up shots left them neutralized with a face full of web, and Peter to deal with the one that thought he was slick trying to sneak up behind him with a…

Peter whipped around and threw a hand up to catch the… baseball bat. It was a guy with a bat. Peter pushed the bat back into the guy’s face hard enough to break his nose on impact, sending the guy sprawling to the floor.

More guys were drawing a bead on him, or at least, that was what the Tingle told him. There was also some screaming from a bit farther away, which could only mean that Sarah heard the gunfire and decided to get to work. That just meant he’d have to work faster. Turning to the next threat, he fired off a web line at a guy who was drawing a bead on him from the half-collapsed balcony, pulling him halfway over before firing another shot to stick him to the edge of it. He then ducked an incoming shot from the direction of the first two shooters, sliding to the right towards the office and grabbing the baseball bat as he did so, chucking it full-speed at the shooter, who took it to the jaw and crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

Over him, Peter could see that most of the gunmen were turning their attention away from him and towards the walking wall of bone that had dropped from the ceiling, and had evidently already knocked two guys out of commission. Sarah wasn’t swinging her arm blades around, instead knocking guys to the ground with bone-covered limbs and absorbing shots as best she could. She wastrying, at least.

Peter’s attention was brought back to the Tingle. This time, though, it wasloud.Much louder than normal.

And coming from right at his feet.

A quick glance revealed the grenade that had rolled up to him.

Realizing there was still a guy on the ground near him, everything that happened to Peter in the next few seconds felt like it happened in a few minutes. There were people all round the room, so there was no real safe place to get rid of the thing, especially not even knowing what kind of grenade it was.

The only real option was up.

A quick toss into the air followed by an underhand web shot sent it careening towards the ceiling, where it detonated… in an odd fashion. There was an explosion, then a strange shimmering in the air, a bubble of… something? The longer Peter looked at it, the worse the Tingle got.

He needed to stay away from whatever that was.

Another grenade went sailing right past his head, bouncing back off the wall towards him. This time, he dove to the side, webbing the grenade and preparing to swing it back towards Bakuda, only for it to release some kind of gas that caused his web to just… disintegrate. Another thing he was going to have to stay away from. Bakuda took off running into the rapidly-expanding toxic cloud she’d created, leaving Peter to circle on the edge of the expanding fog before sprinting after her.

The good thing about the whole spider situation was that not only was he much stronger than the average person… he was a decent bit faster.

Another grenade flew past him, this one getting webbed to the ceiling and detonating with some kind of ashy powder that covered his goggles and mask. It came off the goggles fine, at least, leaving him an opening to try and fire a web off at Bakuda, who had turned to see how close he was. She barely managed to duck the shot, pulling another explosive off her belt and pulling the pin. She twisted the top of it for a few seconds, then tossed it at him, a series of loud bangs heralded by showers of sparks following its path towards him.

Amultiple explosive grenade.Well, let it never be said these guys were particularly creative. The explosions were timed, and while he wasn’t sure what was causing the sparking, be it fragmentation or a flammable material in the grenade itself, he wasn’t going to put himself in a position to find out. A quick web shot sent it flying across the room in the opposite direction before detonating again, shredding the webbing, but it’d been knocked far enough off course that Peter could avoid any damage.

By now, Bakuda had ducked into a side hallway. Peter hit a running slide around the corner just in time to see the mad bomber readying two more grenades, one of them billowing smoke and the other unidentifiable. Undeterred, Peter ran directly into the path of the smoke grenade as she threw it, jumping up at the last second to avoid whatever it was setting off the Tingle on the floor. An explosion sent a sharp pain into his back, but not anything that felt life-threatening. More like… a bunch of little needle pricks. Pausing for a moment, he ran a hand across his upper back, feeling something sharp prick through his glove as he passed over.

Whatever. He could worry about that later. It barely even hurt at this point. Crawling across the ceiling as fast as he could manage, he saw Bakuda book it for a nearby door, planting another device, most likely a mine, on the floor as she kicked it open. Peter saw a red, blinking light on the top of it, and smiled beside himself. For someone who apparently specialized in explosives, Bakuda was really bad at making the obvious thing very,veryobvious. He fired off a web to cover up what he assumed was the motion trigger for the device.

Of course, the motion sensor was much more sensitive than Peter probably would have given it credit for. It detonated with enough force to punch a hole in the wall, and the shockwave hit so hard that it actually shook Peter off the ceiling, causing him to land back first on the floor and push whatever those sharp things were further into his back.Nowit was starting to hurt.

He’d been through worse, though. Compared to being erased from existence, this was chump change. Pushing himself up to his feet, Peter made for the hole in the door, the Tingle going off the moment he crossed the threshold of the detonation. He tucked and rolled forward, a bullet flying harmlessly over his head as he stopped himself at a kneel and turned to look at Bakuda, who had drawn a gun in her left hand and a knife in her right. It seemed that she’d opted to go for a more expedient solution, now that her belt looked pretty empty.

“Really? No more bombs?” Peter asked glibly. “We’re already going to guns?”

A single web shot sent the gun careening into the wall, though Bakuda had seen him webbing her grenades enough to know to let the gun go before impact and leave her hand free. Undeterred, she charged in with the knife in an icepick grip, her other hand digging into a pouch on her belt far to small to hold a bomb.

“Come on,” Peter said as he dodged the telegraphed swing and grabbed her arm at the elbow. “At least tell me you’ve got a flashbang or something. Or maybe another gas bomb, since, you know, you have a mask and I don’t. You were doing so well, there!”

Flipping the arm over his shoulder, Peter tossed the armored woman over his back with ease, sending her crashing to the concrete. The knife fell out of her hand and onto the concrete, leaving Peter to web that hand to the ground before standing over Bakuda, legs on either side of her torso.

“Now, tell me how to—”

“I think,”Bakuda grunted, looking to her unrestricted left hand,“I think it’s my turn to talk.”

Peter followed her gaze to her other hand, which appeared to be holding some kind of device. A detonator for the bombs in the girls’ heads, no doubt. Acting fast, he webbed that hand to the floor, too, which drew a…

Was Bakudalaughing?

“Wow, you fell for it, you dumb f*ck! I mean, I figured you would, but come on!”

“You gonna start making sense?”

“You move a muscle before I say my peace and I blow every slu*t in that warehouse to kingdom come,”Bakuda stated.“Do you really think I’d put the detonator somewhere where you could grab it?”

“I mean, you literally have a detonator in your hand, but let’s pretend you’re not just bluffing to try and get me to hear you out. Where would you put a detonator?”

“You think I’m gonna just tell you, you Nazi prick? Nah, I’ll leave you in suspense, so shut up—”

Okay, that was one bridge too far. “I am NOT a—”

“I said shut up or the bitches GET IT, whitey!”

Peter didn’t respond. The iron in her voice, audible even through the filter, made him unsure that she was bluffing.

“I’ve got the detonator on me, and all it takes is one littletwitchand I light up every whor* in that building like f*cking Scanners, so here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna get this gunky sh*t off my arms, and you’re gonna let me walk. Because if you don’t, something very bad is going to happen to me, but somethingeven worseis gonna happen toyou, and believe me, those dead whor*s are gonna be the least of your worries.”

“Try me.”

“You don’t wanna get on Lung’s bad side, boy. It’ll be bad enough if he sent me or Oni Lee after you, but you just f*cked up a very f*cking profitable operation. You let me go, and I’ll make sure it’s just your friends that get the rap for it. If you’re smart, you get to walk away.”

“I don’t really have any friends here,” Peter replied, solemnly. “Aside from the one currently busting up your operation inside. And, uh, I don’t know if me showing up here in the first place after earlier tipped you off, but I’m not exactly afraid of ticking off your boss.”

“If you knew what you were doing, you would be.”

“Look, I’m not even here for you,” Peter stated. “I’m here to ask that Junior guy a question. You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe we can help each other out? You give me information, I give you a one-time-only get out of jail free card?”

As he spoke, he looked Bakuda up and down, trying to discern where the detonator might be. It had to be something on her body, or, much to his mask-disguised disgust,insideher body if she was particularly movie-villain-ish. The bombs weren’t voice-activated, as the girl from earlier had blown up after Bakuda had finished talking. It wasn’t something she had to press by hand, either.

She said all she needed was a twitch. What could that mean? The gunfire in the building was starting to die down. He couldn’t trust Sarah to play along with his act and keep the working girls alive, which meant he was going to need to figure this out fast.

“What the hell do you need that dumb f*ck for?”

“I’m looking for someone’s family. She used to be one of yours. I’m getting her out of here, but she’s looking for someone, first.”

“Oh, boy, so youareconnected to the runaway roach and her fascist bull-dyke girlfriend. Sure, I’d be happy to tell you how they got paid a visit about… a week ago, I think it was? I wasn’t there, but oh, believe you me, Wei would not shut thef*ckup about what he did to that whor*’s old lady—”

Peter felt his jaw clench. Somewhere, in the back of his mind. He knew this was a possibility. The fact was, not every ‘bad guy’ was pure evil. Not every guy trying to rob a bank just wanted a quick buck. Some of them were desperate, some of them were mentally unstable, others were just looking to add some kind of significance to their lives.

Then, there were sickos. Sickos like these people. People that put bombs in other people’s heads and executed your family when you tried to leave.

“ —so I’m not surprised you two idiots decided to come start sh*t with us. So, the way that I see it, we’re even! You f*ck up our entire operation after we killed two old f*cks who probably wouldn’t see 2020. So, how about your end of the deal, kid? I’m starting to get a little bit…twitchy…”

She’d need a simple interface to detonate the bombs, something that couldn’t be activated by mistake. That meant eye-tracking in her goggles was out of the question. Morse Code was an option, but, again, that would require either obvious movements or a lot of rapid eye movement that was very much visible behind her goggles, movements that Peter would have been able to see. If it was verbal, surely she wouldn’t have wasted time talking to him, especially when he couldn’t cover her mouth.

Maybe it was a combination? Maybe that’s why she needed him to release her?

… or maybe she wasn’t bluffing. Maybe she didn’t need her hands at all.

It all clicked at once.

“Yeah,” he replied. “A deal’s a deal.”

She didn’t know how strong the adhesive was. Even for him, it’d take some effort to move. He bent down as if he was going to try and do so, pulling at the web a couple of times to sell the deception. Thankfully, she didn’t turn to look at what he was doing, instead taking the opportunity to silently revel in her ‘victory’.

By the time she noticed the fist flying at her face, there was no way she was going to stop it. Considering she was wearing armor, Peter felt little need to hold back. Of course, he did just a little, but he still hit her with enough force to snap her head to the side and leave her limp and motionless, still webbed to the concrete. Her goggles had cracked from the sheer force of his fist, the red light over her eyes giving way to a dull, transparent black.

“Gotta admit, though,” he muttered as he turned around, looking at Bakuda’s boots, “that’s a pretty creative way of doing it.”

Taking off her left boot and sock first, he found what looked like some kind of ring around her second and third toes, a small wire running across the bridge of her knuckles. Probably wasn’t a good idea to try and cut that, he knew for a fact the movies weren’t exactly honest about how bomb defusal worked. Instead, he grabbed each of them with two fingers, delicately pulling them off before placing them in one of the pockets of his jacket.

As he went to check the other boot, he noticed the gunfire had stopped. Sarah had most likely finished clearing out the rest of the warehouse, which meant the worst had passed. He could focus on assessing the damage and getting her out of here before getting the authorities involved.

There was a matching detonator on her other foot. Solid backup plan. He took it off just as gingerly as he did the other one, taking the first set of detonators out of his pocket and looking over them.

“Found something interesting, Rico?” Sarah asked from behind him, causing him to jolt slightly and turn around, the detonators swinging like a pendulum in his hand as he did so.

“I, uh, found the detonators,” he replied. “Wired to her toes.”

“And here I thought you were just a weirdo with a foot fetish. Nice catch.”

Sarah’s top was soaked in blood, and there was a nasty looking cut over her forehead, though it seemed to be healing pretty well. The spikes on her left and right shoulder were much shorter than they’d been when she walked out, and her arm blades were nowhere to be seen. Overall, she seemed to have taken the brunt of the fighting, but it was clear she wasn’t too bothered.

“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?” Peter asked.

“No, Mister Probation Officer Ricochet, I didn’t kill any of those dumb kids,” she replied, though her tone of voice made it clear she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. He didn’t doubt she was telling the truth inthat statement, mind… it’s just that the person they came for couldn’t be classified as a ‘dumb kid’.

“What about Junior?” he asked.

Sarah didn’t immediately respond.

“Marrow, where’s Junior?”

“He’s not gonna hurt any of these girls anymore, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied coldly.
Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach. “You didn’t—”

“No, I didn’t. But I made sure he’s not gonna get away before we have a conversation. Was more worried about you.”

Well, the concern was touching, but that didn’t sound good. Peter turned back to look at the still-unconscious Bakuda, then back at Sarah, pulling his goggles up and his mask down as he did so.

“Did he tell you anything?”

“Not a word. Pretended he didn’t speak English, even after I gave him some…incentive.” Sarah motioned to her arm with that last word, regarding Peter with a frown. “He’s a tough nut. Would love to know where Lung found him.”

Peter took a deep breath, steeling himself. “This Bakuda lady knew something. Told me.”

“And?”

The look on Peter’s face must have told Sarah the story. Her expression fell, and her fists clenched.

“How?”

“I didn’t really pay attention to the details. She just said Wei did something to her mom, and was bragging about it.”

“You should have let me kill him.”

“What would that have changed?”

“It would have been the closest thing to justice Asuka’s gotten.”

“And it’d have made them come down on Fiq, Leslie, and everyone else who’s helped you even harder. Just like it would have if you killed anyone here today.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Sarah huffed and looked away from him, back towards the warehouse. “They’re all alive. Some of ‘em are unconscious, some are bleeding, but I did it your f*cking way. So, what now?”

What now, indeed? What happened to Asuka’s family was the last piece of the puzzle. Now, that was done, which left Peter with nothing to do but make sure they got out of town… and that the issue with Sarah was addressed. She herself admitted that she’d done terrible things, but… man. If people like Bakuda were the ones who ended up in the Birdcage…

Did Sarah really deserve that?

Maybe she did. Maybe Peter had only seen the side of her that was trying to do good. But, then again, maybe she could do more good on the outside than in. He didn’t know. Probably couldn’t. The weight of the dilemma bore down on him like a speeding train, and he was going to have to stand on one side of the tracks or the other, and soon.

“Asuka’s gonna take it hard, but… at least she can have closure,” Peter said. “Then you can get her out of here.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sarah agreed, turning back towards him and crossing her arms. “I gotta find us a way out of town that doesn’t draw attention. A bus, maybe. If the boats still ran around here, we could maybe stow away somewhere, but I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon.”

“You’re not going with Fiq?”

“You’re right about one thing. I’ve already put him in enough danger. Whatever we do, we do it on our own.”

Peter sighed, looking up at the cloudy night sky. It was a nice evening. Cool, but not too cold. Maybe it’d rain later. Not that he’d need the help sleeping, but the sound of the rain did wonders.

“What about you?” Sarah asked. “You’re not from our Earth. Are you gonna try and go home?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t particularly ready for this conversation, but… well, Sarah had figured it out. There was no point in lying. “Someone over there is looking for me.”

“How’d you find your way here in the first place?”

“I, uh…” Peter tried to find the least ‘Spider-Man’ way of explaining his situation. “I ran into trouble with some people. Bad…people. It got out of hand, and I tried to fix it, and I only ended up making it worse. To fix it, I kinda… I had to leave my home universe. You know, ‘you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here’ and all that. I didn’t pick this world to come to, it just… sorta happened.”

“Those bad guys were parahumans?” Sarah asked. “Or whatever you call them where you’re from?”

“We just call them the bad guys, criminals, whatever they happen to be,” Peter said. “Heck, the whole ‘superhero’ thing is kind of a… weird situation. Like, they exist, but people don’t really call us superhumans all the time. I think the first time I really heard the word thrown around to refer to people like us was… maybe 2012? 2013? We had a team called the Avengers, kind of like your Protectorate, from what I understand.”

“Just one team?” Sarah seemed incredulous.

“Yeah. There was Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Black Widow, The Hulk, Hawkeye… a couple of other people here and there. Heck, even I was on the team for a little while, if you can believe that. Well, I guess I was kind of an honorary member, since I was an intern for Iron Man for a little while, but—” He trailed off, realizing he was definitely going into ‘TMI’ territory.

Peter looked up at the sky again. No purple cracks or anything. He’d been worried when his mind got away from him and started sharing about the Avengers, but so far, so good.

“You don’t have Endbringers,” Sarah noted, “so who did you fight?”

“Besides the giant alien guy I told you about?”

“That was a real thing?”

“Yep.”

“So… you died.”

“I guess I kinda did. It was more like I disappeared for one moment, then the next I was back, but apparently, five years had passed for everyone else.”

“Okay, okay,” Sarah muttered, waving her arms in a ‘whatever’ sort of way, “that’s… still a lot, but okay. What else?”

“Me personally, I fought a bunch of guys using his army’s technology that they got from the aftermath of the fighting. Then I fought another guy who used to work for Iron Man, who I also kinda sorta worked for or with or alongside or —our relationship was kinda weird, it was like, half-mentor, half-financier kind of thing—”

Sarah smirked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“That, uh, that guy was pretending to be a superhero. I caught him in the lie, and he… well, he died. I tried to save him, but it didn’t work out that way. So… he exposed my secret identity. That’s when everything went wrong, and I had to leave.”

“Is Ben Peters your real name?”

Peter debated if it was a really good idea to get into that. Then again…

“I don’t think I can tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Because the people who came after me only showed up when I tried to…okay, you’re not gonna believe this either.”

“Try me.”

“I know a wizard.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Had to have at least been about a minute, maybe even two. Sarah was looking at him like he’d grown a third eye, and Peter was looking back at her like someone who had just grown a third eye and was currently very confused about it.

“Benny.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re f*cking weird,” she said with a grin. A real grin. Like, ear to ear, sh*t-eating grin. It was almost cute, and very much infectious.

Before he could reply beyond a smile of his own, his phone started to ring. A quick dig through his pants pocket found that it was Leslie calling. On the other end, the man seemed pretty agitated.

“Are you two quite done over there?”he asked.

“Yeah, we got the bad guys and the info we were looking for,” Peter replied. “Why, what’s up?”

“Evidently someone in there liked what you two were doing, because you’ve got PRT on the way now, and it’s almost a guaran-damn-tee they’ve got capes. Sarah needs to bail out, NOW.”

“Okay, okay, we’re going.” Leslie hung up in lieu of a reply, leaving Peter to tell Sarah what was going on. “PRT’s on the way. We need to get you out of here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she replied, her smile replaced by the same hard-nosed look she had most of the time. “Let’s roll.”

She took off running in the direction of the truck, and Peter quickly followed suit. While he was most definitely the faster of the two, he slowed down a bit to make sure he didn’t leave her behind as they made for the same fence they’d climbed over to get in. He waited to leap over until he was a bit closer this time, flipping over the fence and landing at a crouch behind it just as Sarah took a flying leap of her own into the side of it, bone-covered arms scrabbling at the barbed wire for purpose.

“You know, Benny,” she grunted as she pulled herself through the wire. “For a guy from a universe full of aliens and wizards? I don’t think you’re half bad.”

“Thanks,” Peter replied with a chuckle.

She managed to force herself over, landing on her feet and starting to free herself from the tangled-up wires. Considering they were in a hurry, Peter rushed over to try and help, trying his best to avoid grabbing the sharp edges except to pull them away from her so she could wriggle her way out.

It took a solid minute, but before they could get back on the run, he found himself with hard, bony armor pressed against his chest, and coarse, ragged red-brown hair tickling at his chin.

Sarah was hugging him.

Just as he’d found himself with a second to process this revelation, she pulled away, offering him another smile and a firm pat on the shoulder.

“I guess it’s good for me that you got sent to mine,” she said.

Summary:

Gallant is having a very interesting night on patrol.

The call had gone out late, at just shy of 8:50 PM: ABB activity at a warehouse close to the Boat Graveyard. Parahumans involved.

Including the new guy.

Dean had heard about the new guy, though at the time he hadn’t thought much of it. Scrimshaw being back on the streets wasn’t even something he was particularly freaked out about. She mostly stuck to street fights with the ABB, and if civilians did get in the crossfire, they had procedures in place for her. Dean would get her mad, Missy would make some space between them, and Aegis or Clockblocker would make the takedown. Nice, simple, and clean.

They hadn’t gotten any ideas about the new guy yet. Hence why, instead of just Wards, Armsmaster was along for the ride. It was the two of them and the PRT team lead, whose badge identified him as ‘E. Stevens’, plus his team. Two more teams had been dispatched in separate armored vans. The last time they’d tried to pin Scrimshaw down, she’d learned, hit one of their containment foam canisters so hard it burst, and ended up trapping the operator. They’d brought extra hands in case that happened again.

Apparently, that guy was also Stevens.

The ride was quiet, as most such rides were until near the end. There was a little bit of scuttlebutt between a pair of the PRT guys about Ricochet, with the majority of the discussion being around whether he was Empire or not. Dean, personally, wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the kind of guy to act on instinct, and usually measured his steps before taking action, something that had gotten him a stamp of approval from Miss Militia during a recent evaluation.

Not that he was really looking forward to leading the team. Despite what many within the Protectorate assumed about him, Dean wasn’t big on the idea of taking over the Wards. He could lead if he had to, and the ability to read your team’s emotional state and… maybe do alittle bitof nudging if the need arose was certainly useful. That being said, most of his experience in that field was mostly making sure that whenever Carlos wasn’t around to give orders, and there wasn’t anybody else, he could hold the team together.

That was different from actively doing it on a daily basis. His dad seemed to think he was being groomed for the position as well, and advised him to some extent, but Charles Stansfeld was more used to business meetings than an active combat situation. Just because he bought the powers didn’t mean he knew anything about using them.

Sometimes, Dean resented him for that. The whole ‘buying his powers’ thing, that was. Powers in a bottle let him do a lot of good, but he was never one for backroom dealings or cutthroat tactics. It felt like cheating, after what others had gone through. Others like Victoria.

‘Focus, Dean, you’re on the clock.’

“So, this ABB creep,” one of the agents started. Watts. Dean could see some tension from him. Anxiety. A little fear. “We know who it is?”

“Intel suggests that Bakuda made her way to the Bay without us getting a heads up. The bomb Tinker from Cornell. According to our caller, she was engaged in combat with the other new out-of-towner on scene, Ricochet,” Stevens replied.

“The Empire 88 guy?”

“Told you already,” Stevens stated, “we have no confirmation he’s 88 affiliated. Scrimshaw doesn’t appear to be acting in her normal pattern of behavior, and she’s been deep in ABB territory for both of these hits. This isn’t a turf war, this is something else. We also only have two confirmed fatalities on scene. Doesn’t fit her usual M.O.”

“What about Bakuda?”

“Status unknown. No reports of ABB coming to check in, either, so we have time to sweep and clean. Evidently, the situation's stable enough that a civilian was able to nab a phone off some grunt.”

Dean was surprised that the situation had calmed to that extent. He’d been briefed on the whole Cornell thing by Armsmaster. Bakuda didn’t exactly seem like a chump, and only two fatalities? In a live-fire situation with a bomb tinker? Either someone could nullify her power, or she was out of the fight early. With Scrimshaw, it was very much a possibility she was one of the two fatalities… though it was definitely odd that there weren’t more.

Some more time passed, with very little idle conversation. Eventually, once the driver informed them they were three minutes out, Armsmaster stood up.

“Anyone here multilingual?” he asked.

“Korean, Japanese, and a little Cantonese,” Stevens replied.

“Mandarin and Cantonese, boss,” another man replied.

“My translator can cover most of it,” Armsmaster stated, looking over the group. “Gallant and I will take point in case Bakuda, Scrimshaw, and / or Ricochet are still on scene. Stevens, you and Fujita will be with us. The others will split off with Bravo and Cherry to sweep the area for active combatants and civilians. EMT is still a ways out, so triage the wounded and apply first aid as you’re able. We’ll call your teams for backup if necessary. Understood?”

“You got it,” Stevens replied, standing up. “You heard the man, team, let’s keep this sh*t simple. Don’t act dumb, and watch your corners. It’s possible Bakuda has the place wired up to blow, so check doors, floors, ceilings, anywhere you even think an IED could be. Cherry has an explosives specialist on board, he’ll lead the interior sweep.”

Dean stood up along with the rest of the PRT guys. The back of the van had two one-way bulletproof visors on either side, and from the side of the vehicle, he could see the bow of the ship looming over a small embankment off the road. They were getting close to the Lord's Port proper.

“Minus one minute til on-site.” the driver called back. “I’ve got minimal activity outside the warehouse. Foot mobiles. Got a hole the size of a truck blown out the side.”

“That’d be Bakuda,” Stevens replied.

“Front gates open, we’re good to go.”

“Alright, alright, alright.” Stevens turned back to Armsmaster, nodding to the armored cape, who returned with a slight nod of his own. Armsmaster then turned his attention to Dean.

“Behind me.”

“On it,” Dean replied.

The vehicle lurched slightly as a fence passed by the visor.

“Let’s move.”

With that, Armsmaster was kicking open the doors, halberd already swinging off his shoulder as he surveyed the area around the armored van. Dean followed quickly, hopping out of the back and taking in the lay of the land with his visor. Kid Win had installed a rudimentary, but functional HUD in the helmet. Partially to show off, but also because Gallant needed to be able to focus on his targets in a hot zone. It made it easier to determine what person needed what emotional ‘support’. It even came with a rudimentary IFF to make that easy. Armed targets or known hostile parahumans were red, unidentifiable and civilians were white, and PRT or Protectorate capes were blue.

The first thing he saw was a whole lot of white, with one particularly notable ping of red in the dead center of his vision, right by the hole in the side of the warehouse.

“Armsmaster, I’ve got something,” Dean stated, taking off towards the downed figure. He could hear Armsmaster’s heavier armor behind him, clanking against the concrete. While Dean’s armor was geared more towards supporting himself, and allowing him to keep up with the other Wards a bit better, Armsmaster had far less limiters on his. He moved faster than Dean by a pretty serious margin, halberd over the neck of the downed individual, who stirred slightly at the sudden movement.

“I’ve got Bakuda,” he stated over comms. “She’s been incapacitated with some sort of flexible netting. I’ll cut it, then we foam her and bring her in for interrogation.”

“Got it,” Stevens replied.

Dean came to a halt near Armsmaster, who had noticed something else, and nodded his head towards the ground.

“Gallant, there’s some kind of device on the ground over there, under that netting. Can you identify it? Net's obscuring my scanners.”

Dean walked over to the little spot of netting in question, and yanked at it. It was definitely strong, and it stuck to his armor pretty well. Enough that it was a bit of an effort to pull his fingers free of it. Still, he’d stretched it enough that he could look through some of the gaps to see the two pairs of ring-like devices beneath them, covered in wires.

“Looks like some kind of rings, strung up with wires.”

“Detonators for explosive devices, most likely,” Armsmaster replied. Dean watched as he raised his halberd, the blade retracting before igniting in light blue flame. Plasma. He stabbed it into the webbing above one of Bakuda’s arms, slicing it free, before taking a step away and turning so that his halberd never left her neck. “Ready foam, Stevens.”

Stevens and Fujita already had their guns on Bakuda, who just seemed to realize what was happening.

“f*ck!” she shouted, through a dull, tinny filter in her mask. The blade at her neck retracted, replaced with two prongs that sparked with electricity. Said prongs immediately pushed into her neck, sending her into a fit of convulsions before leaving her lying still again. The plasma blade cut her other arm free, and Armsmaster stepped off of her and towards Dean.

“Foam out!” Stevens barked, and soon, Bakuda was trapped in a layer of containment foam, still unconscious from the tazing. Comms were buzzing with reports from the other PRT guys in the building as Armsmaster stepped over to Dean, cutting away the edge of the netting on the opposite side of his hand, allowing him to pull it free and grab the detonators. Armsmaster extended a hand, and Dean passed them over.

“This is Bravo-One, I’ve got two guys with some kind of netting covering their faces. Breathing’s not obstructed, and they’re conscious. Can’t pull ‘em free, requesting solvent on the east side of the building.”

“This is Cherry-One, we’re sweeping the interior now, we’ve got multiple detonated explosives inside the building. Multiple injured with bone fragments and spikes, others covered in netting.”

“This netting must be something of Ricochet’s,” Dean said. “Surprised he didn’t use it at the Oceanside.”

“Might not have had his gear on him. His outfit looked improvised,” Armsmaster replied, his visor fixed on the detonators. “This building may have security footage, we can get more details from that. Let’s sweep the building. On me.”

“On it.”

With that, they were off again, through the hole in the wall and into the warehouse, where a carpet of caltrops lay across the floor. They were no danger to two guys in power armor. It seemed like Bakuda had run through this hallway, trying to slow her pursuer down. As they continued, they came across a few frightened civilians and a couple of out-of-commission gangsters before advancing onto the main floor of the warehouse. A few guys lay on the floor, webbed up, while others had been spiked and lacerated, though apparently non-lethally, judging by the fact that most of them were either moving or being tended to. One particularly well-dressed guy was being tended to by two PRT operators, both legs bristling with spines and bone spurs. His face was a pale mask as he tried to talk to one of the agents.

Dean’s gaze traveled the rest of the floor, then stopped at the sight of two very disturbed agents, and the sight that had drawn that emotion from them.

Two dead bodies. One with most of his head missing, the other with a goodhalf her torso.

“Holy…” he muttered under his breath. One of the PRT agents looking at the bodies held his hand up to his helmet, nodding quickly. As he turned to look back in their direction, Dean was able to determine who he was.

“All teams, this is Cherry-One, be advised, I’ve got an emergency contact from HQ,”Cherry-One interrupted his train of thought.“We have active bombs in the building.”

“Where?” Armsmaster asked.

“Armsmaster, report from an off-site cape is that there are bombsinside the civilians’ heads.”

Armsmaster began to storm towards Cherry-One, placing his halberd on his back as he did so. Dean followed after him, trying to avert his gaze from the mess in front of him as much as he could.

“Say again, Cherry-One? Where’d this intel come from?”

“According to HQ, Ricochet contacted law enforcement via mobile phone and informed them just now,” Cherry-One replied. “They traced his call to somewhere in the Docks district, but weren’t able to get a concrete location.”

“Damn,” Armsmaster grunted. “Scrimshaw?”

“Plenty of evidence, but no trail. She’s in the wind, likely with Ricochet. It’s possible they have a collaborator, there’s no way he would have called now while moving that fast if he was foot-mobile.”

“Either that,” Cherry-Two next to him suggested, “or he’s a Mover.”

“Showed no signs beyond an impressive horizontal leap,” Armsmaster stated. “Keep sweeping. Gallant, round up any civilians you can find and calm them down, make sure they don’t do anything that might accidentally detonate the explosive devices. I’ll call in and see if we can get surgery berths prepped at the General while I see if I can find a way to defuse these explosives.”

“You got it,” Dean replied. He had his work cut out for him, it seemed, but luckily, this kind of thing was his specialty. Keep everybody calm, cool, and collected. He could do that.

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Summary:

Peter goes to work, and Taylor does too.

Peter got to the hotel at about 10, and he slept like the dead. He’d barely even had the foresight to set an alarm, but thank God he did, because he had somewhere tobe.

The alarm went off at 6:00, and he didn’t remember Danny giving him a specific time to be at the docks, which meant he needed to be on the road ASAP. Still, he probably had enough time to hop in the shower and get cleaned up, so he did. It feltdivine, especially after last night. There were still bright red pinpricks from where the spikes from one of Bakuda’s grenades had hit him in the back. He still ached a bit, and his legs in particular were pretty sore from all the jumping around, but he felt good enough to work, so he’d work.

As he showered, he’d managed to figure out a way to get the news up on his phone, and sure enough, he’d found himself on the morning brief on the front page of YouTube. As the hot water streamed down his body, he let yesterday’s problems go down the drain with them.

“Another surprising development in the recent resurfacing of Empire-88 affiliated parahuman ‘Scrimshaw’, as she was connected to a late-night raid on an ABB human trafficking operation at a warehouse in the Lord’s Port district. Along with another new arrival to the Brockton Bay cape scene in the mysterious ‘Ricochet’, she reportedly cut her way through the operation and rescued the captives within. Said captives referred to the former Empire-88 enforcer as ‘a hero’ and an ‘avenging spirit’. Also on the scene, confirmed to now be in Protectorate custody, was the Cornell University Bomber, Bakuda. Reports from the PRT suggest that Bakuda arrived in Brockton Bay recently as a recruit for the ABB. There were two fatalities at the scene, one civilian, and one ABB member, both of whom were reportedly killed in a bomb detonation. We reached out to the Brockton Bay Protectorate for questions this morning. PRT ENE Director Piggot had this to say.”

A gruff, deep-voiced woman spoke up.“We have very few details on the motivations and movements of Scrimshaw and Ricochet, but the Protectorate and the PRT are committed to making sure this gang warfare does not spill onto the streets of Brockton Bay. Bakuda is in custody and awaiting transportation for trial for the Cornell University hostage crisis, as well as the two murders committed at the Lord’s Port Authority Warehouse last night. Any further attempts at human trafficking, racketeering, or other operations in our city by the ABB, Empire-88, or any other rogue elements are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

Back to the anchor, now.“The recent reemergence of Scrimshaw, along with her new partner, have raised many questions after the pair’s defense of the Oceanside View housing block this past weekend. Investigations into both have turned up very little new information. We’ll have more on this story as it develops.”

He probably stayed in the shower a little bit longer than he should have, but it didn’t matter much. He felt fresh for the first time in a long time, and considering the situation he was in, that was something to be happy about.

He got dressed in one of the new shirts he’d bought at the mall, his black undershirt from the night before having unfortunately been caked in ash from one of Bakuda’s bombs that just wouldn’t come out, leaving it mostly white like the mask he’d worn with it. Somehow, he’d managed to get it out of the jacket, but everything from his mask down to his pants’ upper thighs was coated in the stuff.

He still had the spare jeans, so they’d do. Besides, he was gonna be working on the docks all day. White t-shirt and jeans seemed mostly work-appropriate.

It was 6:30 by the time he was done, and he wanted to try and get to work by 7. Thankfully, it wasn’t far from where he was supposed to meet Alexander to his hotel—according to his phone’s GPS, it was a ten minute drive. There happened to be a little donut shop right next door to the hotel, so he got a couple of powdered donuts to eat while he waited at the stop on the corner.

The bus didn’t take long. By the time the ride was over, it was 6:50. He was early. Walking up to the front office only took another couple of minutes. A couple of guys and girls were smoking near the porch, none of whom Peter recognized. One of the ladies looked at him, someone probably not that much older than him, broad and butch. She nodded at him, and he nodded back as he stepped past them and into the office, where he found an older woman sitting at the desk.

“How you doin’, young man?” she asked.

“Good, good. I’m here to see Alexander? Ben Peters.”

“Ah, right, he told me he was waitin’ on a new hire. Hold on a moment.” The lady reached over her desk to a phone, punched in a few numbers, and waited for a moment. “Alex? Yes, Mr. Peters is at the front office waiting for you. Alright, I’ll let him know. Bye, now.”

With that, she hung up, and turned back to Peter. “Five minutes, dear. I’ll note your time.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“You can just call me Layla.”

“Thanks, Miss Layla,” he corrected himself with a smile. She smiled back, and returned to her work. Seeing no reason to stay inside, Peter stepped back out, walking past the small huddle and standing at the end of the entrance ramp, waiting for Alexander to show up. It took him a few more than five minutes, more like eight, but he came. He didn’t have a hat on, this time, revealing a short-cropped mohawk that was starting to go gray at the ends, matching his beard. He had a thin jacket over his left arm, which he immediately shoved into Peter’s hands the moment he got the chance, along with a hazard vest.

“Uniform. Vest goes on top.”

“R-right, thanks,” Peter replied, quickly putting the two articles on. “How are you doing, Alexander?”

“Fine. Ready to work?”

“Yeah, good to go.”

“Let’s get on it, then, hop in the truck.”

Peter did as he was told, wriggling his way past the toolboxes and assorted papers and pieces in the front to squeeze into the passenger seat. Alexander didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry, which surprised Peter. He figured from how the guy acted he’d want to be rid of him as soon as possible.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Peter asked.

“Not much,” Alex replied somberly. “Our one shipment for the day doesn’t come until after you’re gone, but Danny told you to come in the morning, so here you are. Gonna introduce you to my crew, then we’re gonna familiarize you with dockside procedure. Tomorrow morning, you’re gonna help with offloading. You know how to drive, right?”

“Yeah, I can drive.”

“Good to know, just in case. I’m thinking of having you train as inventory control. Wouldn’t require you to get any licenses or special equipment training, and you said you have some IT experience?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Well, you’d be working with computers and a clipboard all day, so you’re in luck. That was Fiq’s old wheelhouse, and the other day shift guy we have, Paulie, is retiring in the winter, so training you up would be a big f*cking help.”

Man, it was really gonna suck if he had to leave before they could find someone else to fill that spot. Maybe he’d let Danny in on things, since apparently being from another Earth wasn’t that weird. How would Peter broach that subject, though? ‘Hey, Danny, really appreciate all the help! By the way, I could disappear any day now because I got called back to my home universe, I’ll find my way back here and give you your money back whenever I figure out what’s next?’

That was a ways away, most likely. Peter might as well get used to fitting in while he could. At least it seemed like he wouldn’t need to do any more Ricochet-ing for a little while. He could lie low, keep his head down for a bit until Strange came looking for him. He hoped that’d be soon. Because if not… if he had to wait too long, the lying low part would get complicated.

It was about five minutes to get to the staging area Alexander and his crew were assigned to, and upon arrival, the man was all go, no slow. Peter followed him as he was whirled around the station, being introduced to other hands who were prepping for a long night shift, ending with an older man, Paulie, who Peter recognized both from Alexander’s statements and the call Fiq had made when they first met.

“You must be one of Fiq’s,” Paulie noted with a smoker’s rasp.

“I guess so,” Peter replied with a grin.

“Paulie McMahon,” he introduced himself, offering Peter a trembling hand. His grip was pretty firm in spite of that, and he looked at Peter with a sort of new respect after they’d shaken hands.

“Gotta respect a young man who comes into town and is ready to bust his ass on day one,” Paulie stated. “What’s Alexander got you on?”

“Ben’s gonna be training to replace you for when you retire,” Alexander stated. “He should have everything down pat by the beginning of next month, then by November he’ll have enough experience that Danny can afford to put some new blood under him, if he works out.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Paulie agreed. “I’ll teach you the best I can, son. Bear with me, I’m getting a little long in the tooth.”

“Totally fine, Mr. Paulie,” Peter replied. “Just tell me what I need to know.”

“Sure thing, sure thing. Alex, you gonna need him at a specific time?”

“After lunch,” Alexander replied.

“Perfect, perfect…” Paulie muttered, before clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder and pulling him alongside. “Come on, we got a lot to cover.”

By the time lunch had come around, Peter had learned a whole lot about inventory control, and not all of it was stuff Paulie had been telling him verbally. The program they used did a lot of the hard work for him. It was mostly inspection and logging, matching manifests to containers and contacting companies, all of which was handled through a central hub on the computers themselves. Apparently, some of the work could be done on handhelds, which was how Paulie preferred to do it. Of course, some stuff, like end of shift, had to be done on the computer, but it was at least easy to pick up on.

Lunch seemed to be a sort of communal thing. There were places to eat around, according to Alexander, but usually some crews would cook stuff and bring it up for their guys. Paulie, in particular, enjoyed making food for the guys, and today was no exception. Pork chops, rice and gravy, apparently.

Peter wouldn’t be caught dead complaining about free food.

Rather than wait in the building, he went over to the break area where he’d first met Fiq, sitting in the empty container that was evidently the smoke area, judging by the smell. It wasn’t particularly appetizing, but no one else was around, which meant he could have some peace and quiet.

Peace and quiet he wanted to use to talk to someone. To test something. And partially, to get a lot of stuff off his chest.

As he picked away at the last remnants of his meal, he dialed a number he hadn’t really had the chance to call since getting this phone. The answer was almost immediate.

“This is Fiq, who is it?”

“It’s me, Fiq.”

“Ben, my boy… or should I be calling you Ricochet, now?”

“Fiq, I’m atwork,” Peter hissed.

“I’m just joshing with you, man. I’ve been watching the news. I’m proud of you, doing the right thing. I’m glad you found your way down here.“

Peter sighed.

“Actually… that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Pardon?”

“I, uh… there’s some stuff I haven’t told you. I talked to Sarah about it the other night, and I figured if anyone deserved to know, it’s you. Besides, it’s not like you knowing really hurts anything.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, Ben, you can tell me anything.”

“My name’s not Ben. It’s…”

He looked over his shoulder, then across the way.

“My name’s Peter.”

He stood up, and looked outside. It was a gray, cloudy day. It might storm later. No purple cracks in the air.

“Not surprised you used an alias. Dan thought you might be using one.”

“I’m from Queens, just… not the Queens you know, if that makes any sense. Sarah said that you guys, uh… you know about this kind of thing.”

“Peter, you scold me for calling you by your cape name while you’re at work and now you’re spilling your life story to me?”

“I just… I wanted to talk to someone. It’s… it’s a lot of stuff on my mind, Fiq.”

There was a pause. When Fiq spoke again, he wasn’t as bombastic as he usually was. He was quiet and thoughtful. Gentle, even.

“Yeah, the way you talked, I was starting to think you weren’t from around these parts, in more ways than one. You’re from another Earth, then. Aleph?”

“I don’t know if that’s what you’d call it. We have… superheroes and stuff too. Not ‘capes’ or ‘parahumans’, but superheroes. We just call them that. There’s, uh… I don’t really have the time to explain it all.”

“Don’t need to. Talk to me about whatever you want. How you got here, maybe?”

“I, uh… I wasn’t lying about the people after me. They were other people from… other worlds. Other worlds with mes in them. But not likeme,me. Other versions of me.”

“Ain’t that something? Maybe there’s another version of me out there.”

“Maybe. But, uh, yeah. The other versions of me and their bad guys got pulled in because I… I wanted people to forget my superhero identity. Or, uh, my real identity. Not the people I loved and the people who deserved to know, like my family, or my friend, or my girlfriend, but like… just everyone else.”

“So you got unmasked.And somehow, that led to… alternate versions of you from other Earths?”

“Something like that, yeah. We helped them get back where they were supposed to go, but… I had to undo what I did to bring them in the first place. I had to… be sent away.”

“... you just wanna go home, huh, Peter?”

He really did, Peter thought to himself, his eyes burning a bit at the thought. He really,reallywanted to go home.

“Yeah.”

“Well, Peter, I’ll tell you what. I want you to go home, too. It sounds like you’ve got people over there waiting for you. But for what it’s worth, what you did here? It did some f*cking good, man. Because you ended up here, Asuka is getting a second chance at life. Sarah too, maybe, if she wants to take it. That’s not just me and Leslie and the rest of the neighborhood, that wasyou. And those girls at the warehouse? That wasyou. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” he replied, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“No, you didn’t—”

“I did,” he repeated, with conviction. “I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while people got hurt. While people died. I can’t just turn a blind eye to it because this isn’t my Earth.”

“You are a brave young man, I hope you know that.”

“I’m just doing what I can.”

“The world would be better if more people did what they could, Peter.”

Another pause. Peter took the opportunity to snap out of his funk, even if momentarily, to check his surroundings. No one had come looking for him.

“I’m guessing there’s no easy way to get home,”Fiq interrupted his train of thought, returning him back to the call.

“No. There’s someone looking for me, but… even he doesn’t know where I went. It could be a while.”

“What are you gonna do while you wait?”

“I dunno. Just… try to live life, I guess. Be normal for a change. We did a lot of good this weekend. Maybe… I can take a breather. Just a little one. Keep doing what I can, when I can. Then figure out what’s next.”

“What about the whole… cape thing?”

“Like I said… I dunno. I’ll just keep doing what I can.”

“There’s nothing anyone else can ask of you, after what you’ve done. You made the streets of Brockton Bay a little bit safer. Look, Peter, if you ever need anything, you call me, alright?”

Peter could feel the Tingle creeping in at the edge of his mind. He needed to wrap this up.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.”

“Alright. You take care of yourself now, Peter. I’ll call you again once we’re in Boston.”

“You too, Fiq. Thanks again, for everything. Bye.”

“Keep it easy.”

With that, he hung up, and pretended like he’d been sitting down and eating. Just as he’d gotten another forkful of rice, Alexander came walking into the container, his hat back on his head.

“How do you feel, Ben?” he asked.

“Good, good,” Peter replied. “I think I’m getting everything okay so far.”

“Good to hear. I was thinking that would be a better use of you than having to license you to run equipment… since, you know, that’ll take even more time than getting your papers already will.”

The older man leaned against the side of the container, fishing a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lighting up, before giving Peter a look.

“You smoke?”

“No, sir.”

“Good, you’re too young for that sh*t, anyway. Danny said you’re not even twenty yet, that right?”

“That’s right,” Peter replied. “I turn nineteen in August.”

“Hot damn. Hell of a thing you went through so young,” he muttered, his gaze falling intently on Peter. “What was it that happened to you again? Danny said it was… sh*t, Endbringers, if I remember right.”

“Yeah. Behemoth hit Montreal. I was there,” Peter replied, realizing what was going on almost immediately. Apparently, Danny and Alexander were good friends. It made sense he’d let him in on the lie.

Alexander smiled. It was an unnatural look on him, like someone had tried to paint two faces together at the top and bottom. He clearly didn’t smile often.

“That’s right, that’s right,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder in the other direction. “Maybe work on picking up an accent. You’re a New Yorker. I can tell.”

“Really?” Peter asked.

“I worked for the Port Authority for a few years, before I came down to this sh*thole,” he replied. “From there, originally, if you can believe it. Brooklyn.”

“Queens,” Peter replied, smirking at the memory of an exchange not too dissimilar from this one. He really hoped Cap was doing okay, wherever he was.

“Woulda guessed, eventually,” he muttered. “Lot of people around here will recognize it too. We’re not a nosy bunch, too busy trying to make bread to dig into other people’s business. Still, it never hurts to have your story straight.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Peter agreed. “Still… nice to be honest, you know? It’s a lot to keep up.”

“I hear that. Don’t go telling Kurt nothing, he gets loud when he’s drinking. I’m a teetotaler, and Danny’s moderate, but Kurt’ll blab the whole damn thing, which is why we have him on a ‘need to know’ basis.”

Well, that was great. Now one of his biggest secrets was in the hands of a guy who apparently couldn’t hold his liquor. “What did you tell him?” Peter asked.

“Just that you’re on the run from some mean motherf*ckers. sh*t he knows not to repeat in polite company, or I’ll beat his ass. His wife’s more of a loudmouth than him, but I doubt he’s told her yet. Sometimes you gotta know a secret to keep a secret, if you catch my drift.”

Peter didn’t really catch the drift, but he pretended that he did. “I gotcha. Anyway… how much longer is our break? Do we get an hour?”

“You get an hour. Most of the operators work doubles so they get two, but you’re working half days, especially this early on. Feel free to relax a little longer, Danny just wants me checking in on you every once in a while.”

“Well, that’s nice of him.”

“It’s a favor for a friend, of course he’s gonna be nice,” Alexander replied. “See you in about 40, Ben.”

“See ya,” Peter replied with a wave. Alexander turned back with a short tip of the cap, walking back towards a new group that had formed around the door to the office, one that included Kurt, from the look of it. He was talking animatedly with the others about something—definitely not him, if Alexander was telling the truth.

Turning back to his meal, he regarded the half-finished plate with the slightest bit of anticipation. These pork chops? Actually pretty good.

There was something about eating in the bathroom that made food taste worse than it reasonably should.

Taylor had taken to holing up in a stall in the girls’ bathroom for a little while now, since January, really. It wasn’t fun, but then again, school was never really fun anyway. It wasn’t like she was going to go out there andsocializeor some crazy stuff like that. That just meant putting a target on her back for the Trio and their hangers-on. Even if occasionally, Greg made an effort to talk to her, he would always scramble when they showed up.

Eating lunch alone in the bathroom was the safer option, aside from having to sit in the girls’ bathroom for an hour.

An hour was way too long for lunch.

She had mulled over dropping out and pursuing a GED again after seeing Ben. He seemed to be in good shape and doing well for himself, but she wouldn’t exactly be able to get her dad on board with the idea. Most likely wouldn’t get a job at the docks, either. She wasn’t built for that kind of work.

Computers, maybe? She wasn’t exactly a genius, but she had an interest.

She sighed, the half-eaten sandwich in her hand forgotten as she mulled over what she could do in this situation. That was to say, nothing at the moment. Just sit there in silence, eat her damn lunch, and sketch a few more things or write a few more things in her notebook.

It was a risk bringing it to school with her. If the Trio found out, a vicious, no-holds-barred mockery would be thebestoption. In the worst case, they’d know her secret. The secret she’d hidden from everyone she could, even the PRT who came to her bedside at the hospital.

The secrets that were currently crawling through the walls around her.

She thought about it sometimes. Going full Carrie on them, co*ckroaches and ants pouring out of cracks in the caulk and the corners, into their bags, into their clothes, biting and stinging at whatever they could reach. It made her feel sick every time those thoughts wormed their way into her head. She didn’t want to be that person. What kind of hero would she be, if she couldn’t even trust herself to use her power for the right reasons?

Taylor took another bite of her sandwich. Ham and cheddar. Simple. She wasn’t a particularly picky person, but more toppings and condiments meant spending more time and money on it, and early in the morning on a school day, it was hard for her to really get motivated enough to put together enough to eat. Just getting her books and such together was a task in itself.

Speaking of books…

Placing her bookbag on the back of the toilet she’d become intimately familiar with since making this her premier dining destination, she fished out the notebook from within, listening to make sure no one else was in the room that could find her out. Satisfied in her privacy, she opened the notebook to the latest page.

It was another costume design. She’d finally completed the majority of the costume’s base layer the night before, but the armored panels made from chitin and shell weren’t even close to complete. That would be at least another week. The name was also still very much a work in progress, with every ‘good idea’ either belonging to someone else or turning out to not be very good when she ran it through her head.

If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end up with something stupid, like ‘Creeper’ or ‘Buzz’ or something the like. Something terrible.

The door to the bathroom opened, and two very familiar voices came into the bathroom.

Madison and Sophia.

sh*t.

Taylor closed the notebook as quietly as she could, turning it and placing it back in her bag. Perhaps foolishly, she held her breath to avoid giving away her position. The stall next to her opened and closed, and any moment now, Taylor was expecting the other girl to come beating down her door… but she never came. There was a bit of idle chatter between the two about classwork, a cute boy that seemed interested in Madison, some digs at that boy’s choice of friend group, and other teenage accoutrement.

Madison didn’t mess around in the stall long, and after she washed her hands, she was out of the door.

Sophia, though, lingered.

Taylor could vaguely see her athletic outline through the crack in the stall door. It was like she sensed something off, like she had just realized something, but couldn’t put her finger on what.

Her eyes passed right over Taylor’s.

Taylor didn’t dare move.

Sophia stepped out of the room, shutting the door, and Taylor let out a deep, shaky exhale. All that, and she still had thirty minutes left on her lunch.

Why, oh, why, did someone think an hour lunch was a good idea?

Going back to her private dining, Taylor nibbled away at the sandwich in a vain attempt to ease the pit in her stomach that had formed as a result of two-thirds of the Trio nearly ruining her day. The other part of her focus went back to her notebook as she fished it out of the bag. She’d been debating colors for the suit, particularly for when the armor came along. She doubted spider silk and chitin would make for a pretty, heroic color palette, but she also didn’t particularly intend on ‘pretty’. White and blue had been an aesthetic she dabbled with initially, with orange and black as another alternative that caught her fancy. The latter, however, would almost certainly pigeonhole her into something like ‘Monarch’ or ‘Tigermoth’. Not terrible names, but she would rather choose one for herself, if she had the option.

Black and grey was the option that remained the largest in her mind, however. She had no illusions about how her power would stack up to othernormalhumans, let alone parahumans. She didn’t really have the strength or size to defend herself in a slugfest, besides the cans of mace she bought, and she didn’t have the training to win a straight fight either. Her best option, in her mind, was to strike from the shadows. To use her bugs, venom and stingers and whatever else she could to discombobulate and distract long enough for her to get away. A darker costume would help her blend into the shadows, stand out less, bring the focus on the bugs rather than the person controlling them.

It would also have the side effect of looking pretty sleek, considering chitin and spider silk aren’t exactly the most aesthetically pleasing construction materials. Hopefully more comfortable than spandex or leather, at least.

She had read an interview with a cape who said long hair under a mask wasn’t fun, so she’d decided on something that would leave her hair in the wind. A drastic haircut would make her a bigger target here at school, and would give her Dad reason to worry at home. She’d picked out a pair of goggles she thought would fit the aesthetic while also serving a protective purpose. She would need to find a way to work her glasses, or some sort of corrective lenses, into the attire, but that was something she had time to interrogate closer to completion. The mask was probably the last thing she’d finish.

All she needed to do now was put the finishing touches on the costume over the next week or two. Hopefully, everything would come together nicely. She’s been working on this for over two months now, and had very little other than a half-finished costume to show for it.

But then again, this wasn’t something you could rush. Once you got into this… you were in it for the long haul. Most capes who ‘retired’ were retired by death, disfigurement, health issues, or… ‘convincing’, in some fringe cases. If she was going to choose to be a hero, it wasn’t going to be a phase she could just step out of whenever it started getting uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be fair.

She just needed to be ready for when the time came. Hopefully, she would be.

Summary:

Peter just kicked the wrong hornet's nest.

Summary:

Peter's in for the fight of his life, and learns that not every story gets a happy ending. Victoria's there, too.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Notes:

Arc 1 crossposted, Arc 2 on the way.

Summary:

Victoria manages to rescue Brockton Bay's newest cape, but Peter's not happy with the situation.

Ricochet was very much still alive, and very much not on board with being ‘rescued’.

It had taken Dean actively hitting him with an emotional co*cktail to get him to juststoplong enough to consent to being carried back to the Dallon house, and even then, it took some doing. This guy was just about as strong as Victoria was, and while she hadn’t been going all out in trying to get him to comply, if it weren’t for Dean, she probably would have had to.

All the more impressive considering he had been blown tohellby Oni Lee just minutes before.

Still, eventually, with a bit of encouragement, he relented, mostly because Dean could use his power to make someone apathetic enough to not resist. As much as she didn’t like forcing someone against their will, it was what had to be done in this circ*mstance. That didn’t mean the trip home was easy—between Dean and Ricochet, her airspeed was significantly reduced. What would normally take two or three minutes took closer to five.

There were no incidents, no hangers on, and no press on the way back or at the Dallon house, which meant she had managed to get off on this one scot-free. Just as well, because Dean had made the call while they were in the air, and from what it sounded like, she was going to catch hell from Amy for making her fix another one of ‘her problems’.

Dean, being as he had his hands free, was the one who took point on the door. He knocked twice, but before he could knock again, the door swung open.

It wasn’t Amy.

“Oh, uh… hey, Dad!” Victoria greeted her father, with an awkward wave. Mark Dallon, for his part, looked as tired as he always did, weary eyes darting between Dean, herself, and Ricochet with something halfway between confusion and sleep deprivation. Evidently, today was one of the bad days. Victoria hoped she hadn’t made it worse. “I thought you and Mom were going out?”

“Sarah thought it’d be better to have a ‘girl’s night out’,” Mark replied. “They’re downtown at Fratello’s, I think.”

“You didn’t go out with Uncle Neil?”

“No, rough day,” Mark replied, looking at Ricochet now. “Not as rough as that guy, apparently. That’s that new cape from the news, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Vicky replied. “I’m… guessing that Amy told you what’s up.”

“That she did. What happened?”

“Oni Lee.”

Mark’s expression darkened and he opened the door the rest of the way with a weary exhale. “Come in. I gave Amy some spare bed sheets so he doesn’t bleed all over the house. Your mother will be home in about an hour.”

Lovely, this was probably going to be an entire Dallon family discussion. Dean stepped away from the door, letting Vicky take point and bring Ricochet in.

“Amy’s room?” she asked.

“Yep,” Mark replied. “We’ll talk when he’s fixed up.”

That didn’t sound very promising. Still, Vicky supposed she could live with a bit of a ‘talking to’. She’d already gotten one from Dean about how she’d basically just ‘nyeh-nyeh’d’ the entire Protectorate by taking the local not-sure-if-he’s-a-Nazi-but-leaning-yes cape away before they could question him. If anything, she figured she was doing Ricochet a favor. Her family was friendly enough with the Protectorate to know that Armsmaster could be a bit…tetchywith new arrivals on the scene, and after an incident like the one they’d just had, he would probably be more terse than usual.

Plus, Vicky was a bit selfish. She wanted to hear it from the guy first, because frankly, she still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with this guy.

The floor had been covered in towels and other things that could stand to be bled on, which was lovely, because Vicky’s best leather jacket was currently soaked through with blood, and her top was probably ruined too. Amy was standing in the hall outside her room, dressed casually and bedecked with the most scathing frown Victoria had seen on her in a while.

“I guess we’re getting a visit from the PRT in a few minutes?” Amy asked, folding her arms.

“Nobody saw me, it’s fine!” Victoria said. “Everything’s fine.”

“‘Nobody saw me’, she says, as her face is plastered all over the news.”

“I told you this would backfire, Vicky,” Dean chided her gently.

“Oh, you weren’t complaining when we were flying in to save the day!” she protested.

“I wasn’t gonna let the guydieor anything, but I think we should have waited and explained the situation.”

“We can explain the situation when we have all the facts, and I think Ricochet will be more welcome to that idea when he’s no longer the consistency of a piece of burnt toast,” Vicky replied, stepping into Amy’s room. The floor was shielded with a few beach towels and rain parkas, and her bed had been covered with an off-white bedsheet that probably hadn’t seen use in a decade, the pillows discarded on the floor to give full access. She all but tossed Ricochet onto it, the barely-conscious cape looking at her, his eyes unfocused and hazy as they drifted between the other people in the room. Dean had really done a number on him.

“Looks more like bacon to me,” Amy muttered.

“Amy,” Dean glared.

“Look, I’m not the one bringing a guy who sprung about twenty different leaks intoyourbedroom at 8:15 and getting blood all over your floor. So, what exactly happened?”

“Oni Lee suicide-bombed him,” Victoria said. “Frag grenades. He was tough enough to keep walking, but he’s in bad shape. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Yep,” Amy agreed, looking over Ricochet from top to bottom. She placed a hand on his chest, brow furrowed in concentration as her power got to work. “All of his ribs are completely pulverized, surprised he doesn’t have a punctured lung. Internal damage to his stomach, intestines, liver, and spine. His C1 is fractured, too, he’s lucky he isn’t paralyzed. Probably at least concussed, but I’m not touching that.”

“He’s gonna make it?” Dean asked.

“Of course he is. He’d make it without me.”

Victoria was taken aback by that. “Huh?”

“He’s already starting to heal. There’s no way he’d have survived point blank grenade detonations without some kind of shrapnel to the heart and lungs, and even if by some miracle nothing hit them, his internal organs would have been liquefied by the concussive force. His organs are damaged, but intact. Lungs are showing signs of scarring already. Bones have returned to something resembling their proper place, but haven’t mended yet. The only thing really out of the ordinary is the… well, the stuff left over from when Oni Lee went nuclear. Almost like chalk, but it’s easy to drain.”

“Guy’s a tank,” Dean said. “I’d imagine it’d take a while for him to heal from this, though.”

“Ooh, yeah. The major problems are smoke inhalation and blood loss, but if I seal him up and do some tissue repair, he should be up and moving again in a few minutes,” Amy explained. “It looks worse than it is, and he can walk off anything that didn’t hit his vitals.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Victoria said. “I need to ask him some questions, anyway.”

“As per usual,” Amy replied with a huff. Removing her hand from Ricochet’s chest, she moved to the ruined remains of his mask. “If I’m gonna start fixing the lacerations I’ll need to take this off—”

Ricochet’s right arm shot up so fast that Victoria barely even registered it.

“sh*t!” Amy hissed, recoiling back. Victoria was in ‘punch mode’ out of reflex, about to leap onto the bed and cave Ricochet right through it. Lucky for him, he started talking fast.

“W-what’re you doin’?” he mumbled, before a frightened Amy slapped her other arm over his wrist, sending him listlessly back onto the bed, unconscious. Amy ripped her arm away from him and took a few steps back, frantically wiping the blood off her sleeve.

“Ames, what thef*ck?” Victoria sputtered.

“He just jumped up and grabbed my arm. What was I supposed to do?” Amy fired back. In spite of her outburst, Victoria couldn’t find anything wrong with what Amy did from a logical standpoint. It just felt unnecessary. She highly doubted Ricochet would have done anything, especially not in his state. And even if he’d tried, he wouldn’t have been conscious long enough to regret it, either via Amy or via one of Victoria’s fists.

“Maybe it’s something to do with his precog power,” Dean said, ever the peacemaker. “He seems able to notice when he’s being observed. Maybe that applies even when he’s incapacitated?”

“Hell of a nifty power for a masked Nazi, huh?” Amy grumbled, managing to peel the remainder of the mask off and appearing utterly disinterested in the skin still stuck to it. Enough time in the burn ward, Vicky supposed, and this stuff doesn’t phase you anymore. Despite being unconscious, Ricochet was able to turn his head away from her with alarming alacrity, which drew a suspicious glance from Amy.

“We don’t know he’s Empire 88, Amy. In fact, we suspect the opposite,” Dean explained.

“He’s running around with the psycho who tried to gouge out my dad’s eyes and you’re trying to play devil’s advocate?”

“Amy, Scrimshaw hasn’t…hadn’tkilled anyone after resurfacing. This guy was around the entire time. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You shouldn’t dismiss it either.”

“I was going to question him,” Victoria huffed, her already limited well of patience drained near to dry, “before youknocked him into a coma.”

“He’s not in a coma, I can wake him up any time I want,” Amy said.

“I wouldappreciateit a lot if you did, sis!” Victoria’s voice oozed with enough ‘cheer’ to make an Immaculata schoolgirl envious. Amy gave her an unamused side-eye before looking back down at Ricochet.

“Do you want me here for the whole ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine or no?” she asked, quietly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Victoria asked.

“I dunno. I just feel like this is a you thing, and you’d rather keep it that way.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s a me thing, but why would I tell you to kick rocks? You’re the only person that I trust to help him right now… and probably the only person who can.”

“As always when you bring your latest victim to me to fix up. At least you didn’t put this one through the concrete.”

“Ames, it’s not like that—” Victoria started, once again realizing that they were getting intoitagain. Amy really did do a lot for Brockton Bay. Hell, for more than Brockton Bay. She couldn’t help but respect that. What she didn’t respect was when Amy got on her case when Victoria was just doing herjob. People got hurt, sure, but at this point she had no hope for Brockton Bay to learn by anything other than a good punch to the face. If Amy could fix its broken jaw, so much the better.

“Just help us out,” Dean interrupted. “Please.”

There was a long pause, with Amy looking at them like they’d grown new heads and then down at Ricochet. Finally, she sighed, running her hands through the tangled nest of her curly hair.

“Alright, alright,” she said. “Give me a second.”

Peter didn’t remember going out, but he came to in bed, still being stared at by the three strangers. A lot of stuff was still foggy in his memory. After the grenade vest went off, he’d blacked out for a second, but he’d been able to stand back up. He’d been hit by a speeding train before — an explosion was nothing new. Then somebody had picked him up and started flying. That was where things started getting cloudy.

He hadn’t expected to be as torn up as he was, especially after surviving one of the Goblin’s bombs. But then again, he’d been wearing his suit then.

Images that he would have done anything not to revisit forced themselves back into his head. Burned into the forefront of his mind where no amount of sleep or distraction oranythingwould get rid of them. It felt hard to breathe and it wasn’t all because of the internal injuries.

“Hey, Ricochet.”

Peter’s focus snapped to the sound of a young woman’s voice, and immediately placed it as the girl from the warehouse. Turning his head sent a lightning bolt of pain from the back of his head down his spine, but he managed to push through it to look at her. She was taller than anyone else in the room save for the blonde guy next to her and even then, it wasn’t by much. Her black leather jacket was slick with what he could only assume was his blood and a little of it had stained her long, platinum blonde hair.

“Hang on,” a mousy, freckle-faced girl standing next to the bed said, and everything started to come back together. She’d been here earlier, trying to take his mask off. He’d grabbed her arm to try and stop her, then… nothing.

His face felt cold. That means she’d gotten the mask off.

Dammit.

Then again, nobody seemed to recognize him on this Earth, so maybe it didn’t matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. In the meantime, though, he felt…strange. When Freckles had touched him the first time and the Tingle had woken him up, he felt almost warm, but in a bad way. Like somethingalivewas moving inside him. Now, he felt that same creeping feeling again, but he could identify what it was.

She was healing him.

The split in his lip was completely closed now and his arms no longer burned against the cold air. He could breathe freely and when he tried to speak up, it didn’t feel like he’d had his throat scrubbed with steel wool.

“Where am I?” he said.

“You’re at my place,” Blondie replied. “Glory Girl, but you can call me Vicky if you feel like it.”

She motioned to the guy next to her, then to Freckles. “This is my boyfriend, Dean, and my sister, Amy. You might have heard of her before. Panacea.”

“Can’t say it rings a bell,” Peter said, and Amy—or Panacea—visibly relaxed. Vicky, for her part, seemed surprised.

“That’s interesting,” Dean muttered, folding his arms.

“You feeling any better, Ricochet?” Vicky said.

“A little… whatever she did, it worked,” he said, his gaze falling on Amy “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” she replied tersely.

When he turned back to look at Vicky, he realized that his neck wasn’t hurting anymore either. Amy was really good at her job. “Where’s Oni Lee?”

“I figured that’d be the first thing you’d ask. He got away,” Vicky said and Peter felt liquid heat running through his veins. If he wasn’t still groggy from his little unsanctioned nap, he’d be leaping out of the window by now. “I don’t think he was expecting you to survive the explosion. Then again, I don’t think any of us did. You’re a pretty tough cookie.”

“Been hit harder by a lot worse,” he grunted as he attempted to sit up. Amy wasn’t having that, though, and pushed him back down onto the bed. In reality, if he wanted to get up, he could just force his way past her. Something told him, however, that might be a terrible idea. The Tingle was only just now starting to let up after she’d taken the liberty of uncovering his face.

“I can believe it.” Vicky folded her arms, her smile fading. “So, I hope you don’t mind me asking you some questions, since you kinda just showed up in our city and started kicking ass and taking names out of the blue.”

“What kind of questions?”

“The kind regarding where you came from and what you were doing running around with a psychopath,” Amy said. “Preferably starting with the latter, since it’s pretty relevant.”

“A psychopath?” Peter repeated before realizing who she was talking about. As much as it stung, from what it sounded like Sarah would have agreed with that description. “Right. She was in a bad spot, her and someone else. She wanted to try and do something good for a change. I was in the neighborhood, didn’t have anything better to do, so I helped her out.”

“Oh, yeah,Scrimshawwanted to turn over a new leaf-” Amy started with a roll of her eyes. If his blood had been running hot before, it was boiling now.

“Her name was Sarah,” he stated, “and shedid.”

Dean seemed taken aback, but Vicky remained unmoved as she gave her sister a look that was met with a hard frown. There was some sort of unspoken conversation between them, with Amy’s incredulous face growing more and more sour as Vicky remained placid. The moment broke when Amy whipped her gaze away, turning her attention to the window or a particularly interesting spot of paint on the wall, Peter wasn’t sure which and he was starting to chafe at her attitude.

“What was Sarah trying to do?” Dean asked.

“She met a girl, Asuka. ABB had her family kidnapped, and were selling her on a street corner. Sarah… took exception to that, I guess. Don’t know all the details, but I met them when I had dinner with the guy who took me in.”

“Took you in?” Vicky said. “So you aren’t a local. Where’d you come from?”

“Montreal,” Peter said with a practiced clip.

“You have a New York accent,” Dean noted flatly.

“I knew that cover story wasn’t gonna last long,” Peter mumbled, closing his eyes to take a deep breath. On the one hand, he was lucky Danny had given him any ideas, but on the other, man, he really could have used something a bit easier. “I am from New York, yeah… look. I’d say you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but so far, everyone else has, so, screw it. I’m from another Earth.”

“You seriously think we’re gonna buy that?” Amy scoffed. “It’s not like people just walk over from Earth Aleph on their daily commute.”

“I don’t think he’s lying,” Dean said.

“What’s your Earth like, then?” Vicky said.‘Oh, here we go again.’Peter was frustrated, but then again, he could use this opportunity to get some stuff off his chest with a captive audience. It’d be nice to vent a little bit.

“Well, let’s see,” Peter started, “First off, aliens are real. One of them erased half of life from existence, then we—we being a team of superheroes called the Avengers—undid it and brought them back. Gods are real too, one of my buddies is Thor, like, Thor the god of Thunder. I know you probably don’t believe that, so I’m going to double down now and tell you that the entire reason I’m here is because my secret identity got compromised by a bad guy, so I went to a wizard that I met in the Avengers who said he’d cast a spell to make people forget my secret identity, only I messed it up and then a bunch of people from the Multiverse came in and tried to hunt me down, but we stopped them with some help from the me’s from an alternate dimension. Then, when we started getting ready to send the bad guys back, the sky kind of exploded and a bunch of other Multiverse guys came looking for me, and the wizard said the only way to fix it was to send me away to another universe.”

Peter motioned to the bloody bed. “And that’s how I got here.”

Vicky just looked at him, her expression unchanged. Dean looked like Peter had just slapped him in the face, eyes wide and posture stiff. Amy, meanwhile, initially didn’t react at all.

Until she started chuckling.

“How many times did you rehearse that?” she squeaked out between giggles.

“I’ve only kind of told two people and one of them’sdead,” Peter spat, more venom than he’d intended leaking into the last word and Amy flinched. “Sorry if it wasn’t polished.”

“Hey, take it easy,” Dean said, something forming in his hand. “We’re just trying to figure out how to help you.”

“A good start would be pointing me in the direction Oni Lee is in,” Peter said, using the opportunity presented by Amy backing away to sit up. She made no effort to stop him, this time.

“Ricochet, I don’t know if you know this, but your clothes are currently halfway burnt off your body,” Vicky said. “You got hit with what amounts to a bomb maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago at the most. Oni Lee knows what you can do and what you can survive now. You’re not going to beat him in a straight fight.”

“You don’t know what I can do.”

“I know you can’t force Oni Lee to fight fair,” she retorted. “And even if you do, you’ve already pissed off the ABB. They sent Oni Lee to kill you or intimidate you into leaving the city, and the moment you’re back up and swinging around, he’s going to be coming back for round two.”

“I’m four-and-oh on rematches,” Peter said, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction before the reality of what it cost him to get those wins, up to and including 5 years of hislife. What little happiness he’d gotten from that little fact was quickly replaced with dread.

“The point is, you need help,” Dean said. “We’re willing to help you or get you to people who can. If you tell the Protectorate what’s going on, they could likely find some way to get you set up and out of the line of fire until you figure out how to get home.”

“Or if you insist on going after Oni Lee again, you have backup. You just so happened to end up in New Wave’s house,” Vicky said. “Between me and my parents, we’ve fought Oni Lee before. Never took him down for the count, but maybe between us and you, we could even the odds.”

“I’m not putting anyone else in danger.” Peter had already lost one friend. He wasn’t going to put strangers’ deaths on his conscience too.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Vicky beamed as she turned to look at Dean. “He thinks I’m asking, isn’t that cute?”

“Vicky,” Dean moaned, putting his head in his hands. “I’m already in enough hot water as it is.”

“And once we get this settled, I’ll smooth things over! Or did you forget that we’re on a first name basis with the Protectorate?”

“Everyone on God’s green Earth knows your first name, Vicky.”

“What do you mean, you’re in hot water?” Peter asked, shifting to the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said. “I’m more concerned about you getting hurt again, especially if it’s not Oni Lee you run into.”

“In the past few months I dealt with an army of drones led by a guy who actively wanted to kill me, got hit by a train, had my secret identity exposed to the entire world, got jumped by a bunch of bad guys from alternate universes—”

The words flew out before Peter even thought about them or realized they were in his mind, but he had the presence of mind to restrain himself from going further. Instead, he took a deep breath, and looked at Dean.

“I’m not afraid of Oni Lee,” he said. “There isn’t anything he can do to me that someone else hasn’t already tried.”

Turning to Vicky, he pressed on. “This is something I have to, and am going to, do on my own.”

“No,” she said firmly, “you’renot.I told you, I’m not asking. I get that you’re mad. I get that you wanna get even. So let’s get even, but let’s make sure you don’t get yourself killed in the process. You think that’d make Sc—Sarahhappy? Knowing that the one person helping her out ended up dead, too?”

Peter was well aware of that possibility, but he also was aware that no problem he ever faced as Spider-Man got solved by bringing other people into it. In fact, dragging people into his problems had just recently gotten Aunt May killed. Now, Aunt May wasn’t superhuman, but the point still stood. Sarah had been superhuman and because Peter didn’t pull back, didn’t get them to leave when they could have, that was on his hands now. And nothing was going to get that off of his mind. Just like every other person who got hurt or died on his watch, even people who might not have been the best people.

“Besides, Oni Lee doesn’t just hang out on the street waiting for someone to pick a fight with him,” she said. “If you really want him to come out that bad, you’ve gotta kick the hornet’s nest a little. You’re new in town, you don’t know where the ABB runs their operations or where they run them from. You got lucky with that warehouse. Two heads are better than one, and I know people in the know. Between you and me, we could do enough damage to get Lung mad enough to send Oni Lee back in.”

“Or get Lung himself to come out,” Dean said.

“And then we get the Protectorate involved and kill two birds with one stone,” Vicky preened.

“Or, you could get the Protectorate involvednow, and cut out the middleman.”

“I doubt they’d help,” Peter said, recalling the conversation he’d had with Fiq. “They don’t seem too concerned with stuff on the street.”

“Where’d you hear that from?” Dean asked.

“I heard it from someone I trust,” Peter said, not wanting to throw Fiq under the bus. “Plus, I’ve done the superhero team thing already. I’m more of a ‘solo’ guy.”

“Lung’s not a guy you go up against ‘solo’.” Dean folded his arms. “I don’t blame you for being mad, wanting to get even. I understand, I’m not even trying to stop you. But I want you to consider that you have no backup, now. Scrim—Sarah, is dead. I don’t know if you know any other capes that we don’t know about besides the ones from your Earth, but they’re not here to help you right now. Victoria is. So is the Protectorate. And I don’t know what you’ve heard about us, but we’re serious about dealing with the ABB. We’ve just… we’ve got our hands full, between them and the Empire.”

“So there’s more than just two gangs in town.”

“Couple of two-bits here and there, too,” Amy said. “Uber and Leet have been running around doing a load of nothing, but they’re scaring people while they’re doing it. Coil’s another one, but he’s not particularly active lately, same with the Undersiders. There’s that gang of drug dealers out of Archer’s Bridge, too… they kind of exist.”

“Sounds like youdohave your hands full,” Peter said. “Too full to help me, at least.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I’m not changing my mind, at least right now,” Peter said, the fog in his head finally starting to clear up. “I get it, I don’t know what’s going on where we are now, or what I’m up against. You’re right about that much. But I’ve been through worse.Wayworse. Worse than you can ever imagine.”

Peter forced himself off the bed, trying to ignore the fact that half of his clothes were still there. His pants, at least, remained mostly intact from the upper thighs on up, but his shirt and jacket were a lost cause. His skin still felt raw, still warm where Amy had healed it, but he supposed that was just what came with getting a new layer of skin put on.

“I’m not putting anyone else in danger if I can help it. But from where we stand now, I guess you’re gonna argue with me until I concede, right?”

“Correct,” Vicky said, lips in a smug grin.

Peter sighed. “You point me where we need to go, then.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Dean and Amy both looked at each other knowingly, then back at Peter.

“If you ever change your mind, I’ll get you in contact with some people I know,” Dean said, his speech slow, calculated. Like he was choosing his words carefully. “They might be able to help you out.”

“If you get hurt, Vicky’s probably gonna drag you back here for me to fix,” Amy added. “Next time, please don’t get blood all over my room. I’d really appreciate it.”

Peter offered her an awkward smile, and a shrug of the shoulders. “I’ll try not to bleed on your floor again.” After a moment’s pause, he took a step towards the door… only to realize something very important.

“I, uh… my spare clothes are at the hotel,” he said bashfully.

“The hotel? You’re posted up somewhere?” Vicky said.

“Long story, I got a job here a couple of days ago, and I got some money to buy clothes and food. I kinda just remembered I have work in the morning, too.”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a bit faster than the taxi service.” Vicky flicked her hair to one side and for a moment, she reminded him of Betty Brant from Midtown. If Betty Brant worked out and could fly, more like, but there was a resemblance there. He remembered Ned having a crush on Betty. He hoped Ned was doing okay without him. That MJ was alright and taking care of herselfandnot harassing Dr. Strange, ‘I mean Stephen’, he corrected himself, too much.

Re-railing his train of thought, Peter weighed out the situation as he saw it. After losing one friend, he’d gained a few more. People willing to help him get Oni Lee and put him away for good, which was more than could be said when he first met the guy. That being said, more and more people were running into him, forming connections, poking holes in his story to the point where now, everyone in this room knew everything important about him besides ‘radioactive spider’ and his names, both in and out of the suit.

The smart thing to do would be to lay low, pretend that he’d gotten got by Oni Lee, and live a peaceful life working for Danny until Stephen inevitably came back for him, even if that took a while.

Unfortunately, just because Peter was smart didn’t mean he always picked the smart decision. Besides, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. What kind of person would he be if he turned back now? After everything he’d seen and heard.

Again and again, a mantra that had kept him going when the whole world seemed to be collapsing around him, even when he thought he’d lost everything he had left to lose.

He had the power.

He had the responsibility.

And if that meant he had to fight the ABB with his hands tied behind his back, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But he didn’t have to. Here were three people offering to help him… or rather, two people offering and one person being half-willingly press-ganged into it, but it still stood that he had more allies walking out of this house than he did walking into it.

Evidently, there were more problems in Brockton Bay than just the ones he’d run into. This wasn’t New York as he knew it, where there was always street-level thuggery, but nothing your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man or Luke Cage or Daredevil could handle.

This wasn’t his home, not by a long shot. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it a better place.

Summary:

After another loss, Peter tries to cope. Danny wants to help, in his own way.

Peter had been fine when he left Vicky’s house. He’d been fine when they were flying over to the hotel. He’d been fine when she dropped him off on the roof and they’d even had a laugh about the fact that he could just climb back in through his window, which was almost certainly still open (it was). He was fine when he climbed into said window under cover of darkness.

He took one step into the room.

He took two.

By the time he’d taken the third step it was taking everything he had not to break down in tears and start screaming into the floor.

Peter was resilient. He had to be. His parents died when he was young and according to the therapist he’d had after Uncle Ben died, people in those kinds of situations tended to have issues with their emotional growth. It was something he hadn’t really understood until… well, Uncle Ben. There were moments when Peter realized that he barely remembered his parents, having come to Ben and May before he was five years old, but losing Ben only made it more clear to him that he’d lost two fathers. According to Aunt May, he had always been an emotional kid. Kind, compassionate, always sharing his toys with his friends and even with kids he wasn’t even friends with. And even as life threw everything it had at him, he’d like to think he never lost that kindness.

Yet life kept on throwing stuff at him.

He’d always wanted to be a superhero. Seeing Iron Man in the flesh way back only made the desire stronger. He wanted to be anAvenger, one of the Good Guys™, and everything else was secondary in his childish fantasy. And then one day, reality hit him again. Uncle Ben died over twenty dollars and twenty-seven cents.

Twenty dollars andtwenty-sevencents.

The spider biting him hurt and he was sick in the toilet for almost ten minutes, but the powers that spider gave him made sure that as long as he was still kicking, there wouldn’t be any more Uncle Bens getting murdered over twenty dollars. And he tried. He tried really hard, and he did a lot of good! Even when it got hard, even when it got inconvenient, even when it cost him friendships or a chance at a normal life.

And when he finally got the call to do the right thing on the biggest stage, he’d done it. He’d put it all on the line: first for Tony, then for the entire universe.

And then he died.

Sometimes, Peter would feel himself being erased from existence in the middle of the night when he was trying to sleep. He never told a soul about that. Never told them about seeing Tony in his nightmares, either, but evidently Beck was very good at reading people.

Oh, yeah, that wasn’t even getting into the past few months. Peter found himself directly responsible for someone’s death (even if the person in question wasn’t a good guy at all) but the fact was that Quentin Beck was still very much dead and had very much ruined Peter’s life in the process.

And then he got Aunt May killed on top of all of that. What happened with his parents was distant, so far removed that it didn’t really count except in some abstract way because all he knew was Ben and May. He’d been akid. Ben’s death was a senseless act of violence he had no control over, so it wassad, but he couldn’t blame himself because that was the way of the world. Life, even as good as he had it once upon a time, was unfair. But May died because of him. Becausehewanted to be Spider-Man and Peter Parker without any of the consequences that entailed.

And now, here he was, on a brand new Earth doing the same thing again, except this time he didn’t have to be Spider-Man or Peter Parker, and it only took him about a week to get someone killed.

Peter didn’t know if Sarah was a good person. Personally, he had strong opinions on Nazis. He knew about HYDRA — everyone did, nowadays. But Sarah had one thing going for her that no other Nazi he’d ever heard of outside of the odd historical story did.

Sarahwantedto be better. She wanted to change. She wanted to do good. And she had that opportunity ripped away from her, andthat just wasn’tf*ckingfair.

None of this was f*cking fair.

He had been resilient for so long and the walls were cracking. It started when Quentin outed him to the world, got worse when Aunt May died right in front of him, and now they just kept getting deeper. Bigger. Eventually, they’d get wide enough and far enough down to the foundation and what then?

Would he stop fighting back?

Or would he stop pulling his punches?

The thought terrified him more than anything else.

Peter pawed at the bloody rags draped around his shoulders before he fell onto the bed bonelessly, staring at the TV that he’d only just realized he left on. The Breakfast Club was still on the screen, or at least the on-demand infocard for it was. He had the presence of mind to ball the filthy clothes up and throw them in a trash can, making a mental note to dispose of them somewhere outside the hotel. The TV continued to playDon’t You (Forget About Me)in the background and he couldn’t bring himself to care; he didn’t have the strength of arm or the presence of mind to switch it to anything else. A phone pinged, likely with a news update or something like that, almost certainly about the explosion in the warehouse. That was the last thing he wanted to look at right now.

That’s not my phone, Peter’s thoughts were muddled, but the unfamiliar ding suddenly brought his eyes to focus. He didn’t have his own phone right now.

Wait.The Roundphone.

Oh, God,Asuka. And Leslie, too? Did they know? Did they think he was dead?

Peter dreaded the thought of even speaking to them. But what else could he do, leave them hanging? Peter fumbled through his pockets, eventually finding the damn thing in what was left of his pants and when he fished it out he found it cracked and chipped all over… but it held a charge and the touch screen still worked. He fished around, trying to read the contacts until he found Leslie’s, and punched it in.

Every ring felt like an eternity.

“Ben, is that you?”Leslie finally answered, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He sounded rough, but no rougher than expected from a guy who got stabbed.

“It’s me, Leslie,” he replied. “You okay?”

“I’ve been through worse.”Leslie grunted, a light shuffling as he spoke hinting at the pain he still felt.“Asuka’s still with me. We drove in the opposite direction of Oni Lee for a bit, then we heard people talking about an explosion on the radio. Did you get him?”

“It’s the opposite,” Peter said. “He got me. Had three of his clones walk up to me with vests full of grenades while I was distracted by… he got me good. Luckily, some girl named Victoria helped me out. Her sister fixed me up, and I… I’m at the hotel.”

“You’ve got some luck, running into Glory Girl and Panacea.”Leslie managed a halting, gruff laugh. It sounded bitter and joyless.“Asuka’s worried sick about you. She wanted to come back ASAP. Worried about you.”

There was a long pause between them. Somehow, Peter knew that Leslie knew and just wasn’t ready to ask. Maybe Asuka was with him.

“Is she with you right now?” he murmured.

“She passed out. Adrenaline dump, I guess. You’ve got bad news.”

“I’m sorry, Leslie.”

“Don’t apologize to me for trying your damnedest, kid. I’ll tell her. You’ve done enough for her already.”

“Not enough to make a difference.”

“She can still get out of here, if we hurry. I’m nighting out with a friend of mine outside of ABB territory, then we’ll head out first thing in the morning. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“I’ll tell her. Just… give me time to get over there.”

“She’s asleep, Ben. I think she’ll be out for a while. And from what it sounds like, you should be too. Come by tomorrow— ”

“It’d be better to get it out of the way so you two can get out of here.” The guilt weighed heavy on Peter’s shoulders. Telling Asuka himself wouldn’t ease the burden, but it would at least allow her to put her grief and anger in the proper places. The properpeople. And it would make sure there was nothing tying her to this city. Nothing left to keep her from leaving before Oni Lee came back and finished what he started and put her in danger again.

“Ben. Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“How long will you be?”

“A little while. My costume didn’t make it through the fight.”

“I’d imagine not. Text me when you get close. I’ll wake her up.”

“I’m really sorry, man,” Peter said, and he meant it. Fiq, Leslie, Sarah, and Asuka had all paid some kind of price for his ‘help’ in this matter and there was nothing he could do about it now but actively make it worse so that Asuka would leave town. He wished there was some other way, that he’d been able to do something… but he couldn’t. He was way too late, way too short.

“I told you. Don’t be. I’m sorry you got dragged into this sh*t. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” he said, and the line went dead.

Peter took a deep breath in as he forced himself to get up from the bed and get changed. Idly, he wondered where he’d puthisphone. He probably left it in his suit. He’d look later, maybe.

He had to take the bus. Web-swinging out of costume or running on top of buildings was just asking for trouble and if he tried to be stealthy about the latter, he’d end up spending more time crawling down the side of one building and jumping onto the next one than he would actually moving from Point A to Point B.

Thankfully, the bus didn’t stop running for another… he checked his phone. He had thirty minutes to deliver the news and get back on a bus. Knowing his luck, that wouldn’t work out. Maybe if he waited until a little later, he’d be able to do some swinging while everyone in town was nice and asleep. After all, it was the middle of the week. No reason to be out stupid late.

Leslie was staying downtown. The area was much nicer than the places Peter had already been in Brockton Bay, looking more like downtown Manhattan than the rickety dockside areas he’d been haunting lately. It’d be easy to get lost here, but luckily the address sent to him on the phone wasn’t far from a bus stop.

Nobody paid much attention to him as he got on, rode, and got off.At least some things never change between universes. Nobody paid attention to him walking down the street, and the only thing the security asked him at the entrance to the apartment complex was what he was doing out this late at night. He told him the name Leslie told him to, and he was let in without incident.

It didn’t take long to find Apartment 534. It was the top floor of the building closest to the street, the door dimly lit by dying fluorescent tubes. He knocked three times before leaning into the door.

“It’s Ben,” he said. He could hear footsteps on the other side of the door, but there was a long enough delay that he felt like he needed to repeat himself. “It’s Ben,” he said a bit louder, and this time the door swung open to reveal a bedraggled, middle-aged Asian guy. He had a beard that almost matched Leslie’s and an air about him of a guy who’d seen some scary stuff. He didn’t say a word to Peter, just held the door open.

Peter stepped inside and heard frantic, broken English coming from a back room as well as Leslie trying to get a word in here and there. He walked towards the sound, through a dark hallway, the lights turning off behind him. The only lights in the entire apartment came from the same room the voices were coming from, a subdued yellow-white light creeping through the cracks of the second door on his left. He knocked again and this time the door opened immediately, a shirtless Leslie greeting him.

Frankly, he lookedterrible. His face was already sharp and shallow, aside from the thick beard, but he looked paler than he had before and the jagged line of stitches on his left hip weren’t doing him any favors in the ‘health’ department, either. He was heavily tattooed from the collarbone on down, including at least one tattoo on his right pec that Peter recognized as the US Marines emblem. He figured the guy was ex-military from how he looked and carried himself.

Asuka, somehow, looked even worse.

Leslie mentioned that she had been asleep, but upon seeing her, Peter didn’t think she’d managed to catch a single wink. Her eyes were ringed with smeared mascara and angry red skin and she held herself low and hunched, as if she were trying to hide from the world. She managed to look up at him once the door opened and Peter wasn’t sure what to do when their eyes met. Should he smile? Should he frown? Should he start crying, too? Should he even keep looking at her?

“Ben!” she said, clear relief in her voice as she awkwardly found her feet and rushed into the doorway to throw her arms around him and pull him into a tight hug.Boy, this isn’t making things any easier. How do I even do this?. Reflex demanded he return the gesture, but it was an entirely conscious desire to pull her in as tight as he could without hurting her, the smaller woman burying her face in his chest and letting out a few quiet, shuddering breaths.

“Hey,” he said, quietly. “It’s me. It’s me.”

‘It’s me. As if I’m the person she wants to see right now.’

Every second that passed was a second that Peter didn’t have to unleash the horrible truth, but unfortunately, that time was finite. He counted fifteen seconds of embracing before she pulled away, looking up at him expectantly.

“Where is”—she said, losing the words a moment before starting once more with a hiccup—“I-Is she…”

It was on the tip of his tongue, but Peter wasn’t sure how he should say it. There were no words good enough to suit the situation. What was he supposed to say? Would ‘I’m sorry?’ do anything besides ease his own conscience? Should he lie and say it was over and done with quick, even though it very much didn’t look the part? What was he supposed to do?

Apparently, he didn’t need to do anything. While he was mulling over what to say, she’d just… stared at him, eyes growing wider and wider as she put together the words he couldn’t say.

Everything that happened next wasfuzzy. She pulled away from him, just out of arm’s length, and suddenly everything just…exploded. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life, like someone stabbing him in the head with a red-hot, jagged piece of metal. The Tingle was going absolutely haywire, completely divorced from any sense of direction or distance, just unbearablyloudandpainful.His knees went weak, quivering as he took a couple of steps back and pressed his hands to the sides of his head in a futile attempt to stop the pain.

Time stuttered, and Peter saw a different image before him every time he blinked. Asuka stood in front of him and then she was curled in on herself on the corner of the bed, hands gripped against the side of her head in a mirror of his own. He blinked again and she was staring at the floor, there in the room butnot really, not anymore. Another blink, and Peter was inside himself again. Pain gone, he straightened up and felt his spinepopin five places, muscles he didn’t even know were clenched finally relaxed. He turned to find Leslie looking at him with an unhealthy amount of concern.

“You all good there, Ben?”

“J-just a headache, I’m fine,” he said, turning back to Asuka. He took a couple of unsteady steps towards her, sitting on the edge of the bed she’d all but fallen onto, and placing a hand over hers. She remained unmoved.

“You were standing there for about five minutes.”

Well, that was… had it really been five minutes?

“You probably need to go,” Leslie said. “You look like sh*t.”

“But—”

“I’ll worry about her. You get some rest. You’ve done more than enough.”

Peter had caught the last bus back and hit the hotel just short of 10 PM. He barely remembered getting to his room and he certainly didn’t remember falling asleep.

He was too tired to dream and he slept through his alarm. By the time he woke up, it was 9 AM and he was almost certainly late for work. He cheated a bit by using the window,again, to crawl onto the roof and jump into the back alley before making a run for the bus stop. If nothing else, it cut a few minutes out of his trip.

He still ended up late. Alexander seemed a bit upset when he arrived, but he didn’t ask any questions and whatever mood his tardiness had put the older man in passed after only a few seconds of eye contact.

He’d linked up with Paulie again and picked up where they left off yesterday. Peter spent a little bit of time doing hands-on the day before, but today was much more involved. It wasn’t anything particularly difficult, considering the level of technology involved. It was a lot easier than having to hand-log everything at F.E.A.S.T., for sure.

He met a few other guys, too, most of whom were pretty friendly! There was one younger guy not far from Peter’s age, named Geary, and Peter had struck up idle conversation with him over lunch, trying to keep his mind off of the previous day’s events. Unfortunately Geary had brought it up, as had a few people throughout the day. Brockton Bay wasn’t nearly as big as NYC, so the news seemed to travel further and faster than home, which didn’t help Peter’s nerves. Common sentiment was that it was bad luck that Oni Lee didn’t die, but opinions on Scrimshaw were more mixed. Some of the dockworkers were unusually sympathetic, considering the circ*mstances. To the point where two other guys Peter had met, Thierry and Morgan, actually got a bit heated about it.

He didn’t really listen to their conversation. Once Sarah got mentioned at all, he’d pretty much just tuned it out. She wasn’t exactly a saint, he would never argue that point, but nobody else knew what he knew. Every regret she’d had about the life she’d led up to yesterday she took to the grave. Only four people would ever know she’d tried to do the right thing. A few more, maybe, if the Dallons and Dean believed him.

The whole matter of Victoria still tumbled around in the back of his head, too. He didn’t plan on asking her for help, even if someone who could fly wouldn’t actually hold him back. Part of it was force of habit; he didn’t go out of his way to team up with people unless it was necessary, especially back in New York. Sure, Tony helped him that one time and Peter Two and Three were a HUGE help with the whole extra-dimensional invasion. But when it came to street gangs and bad guys like Vulture or Quentin, he’d ended up facing them down on his own.

Oni Lee was a different beast entirely. He wasn’t Thanos, but he wasn’t Vulture, either. He had actual powers. Alotof bad guys around here had powers. And they weren’t shy about using them, crowd of civilians or not.

He couldn’t risk someone else getting killed because he made a mistake, wasn’t fast enough, or wasn’t keeping a close enough eye on them. He wouldn’t put himself through that again.

The work day had trudged along after that, slowly but surely, and Peter found himself nearing the end of the shift just as tired and beaten down as he’d been at the start. Still, he’d done an alright job. The boat had been started during the night and by now, it was nearly completely unloaded. Paulie said that the rest of it would be done on the night shift and that he was free to go, so Peter trudged out ready to make his escape.

Instead of Alex’s truck waiting for him, though, it was Danny’s car.‘I knew being late would bite me.’

Peter walked up to the pickup as nonchalantly as he could manage and forced a smile onto his face as he leaned down to the driver’s side window. “Hey, Danny.”

The window rolled down and Danny returned it with an awkward smile of his own. “Hi, Ben. Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”

Peter worked his way around to the passenger side to hop in and Danny made a point of looking around before closing the window and discarding his own fake smile, instead looking at Peter with a look of deep concern.

“What happened?”

“I’m sorry?” Peter said, feigning confusion.

“You were late and Alexander told me you looked like you’d rubbed elbows with death. Paulie said the same thing around lunch. Neither of them were exaggerating too much.”

Peter turned to look in the rearview mirror and found there were still dark rings around his eyes, and small pinpricks of red around his irises. He was squinting and although he partially blamed that on the sun, another part of him realized that his eyes very much didn’t want to stay open.

“I didn’t get a lot of sleep, but I didn’t think it was that bad,” he lied.

“Regardless, I wanted to make sure you were okay and taken care of. Besides, I know it must have been uncomfortable not having human contact for a day or two outside of work. Figured we could have you over for dinner again, since I’m cooking extra for tomorrow’s lunch anyhow. Pork roast.”

“Danny, I don’t wanna impose—” Peter said.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to impose,” Danny replied. “You’ll get another hot meal and some conversation and then you can rest up for tomorrow. I’m putting on my boss hat for this one, understood?”

He gave Peter a look that brokered little argument, despite the fact that Danny was very much not an imposing man. The older man might have been taller, but if he were so inclined, Peter could snap him like a toothpick. Yet he seemed far bigger with this current, almost fatherly demeanor. That was a good word for it. All these guys seemed to be really tight-knit, almost like a family.

Come to think of it, he needed to buy a new costume for when he went back out, so a free meal would definitely give him some extra spending money…

“Alright,” Peter said, forcing another smile and hoping it looked genuine. “Understood.”

Summary:

Another dinner at the Hebert house. Taylor and Peter are FINE. Trust me!

Taylor learned months ago that letting her guard down would only get her hurt. Unfortunately, a lesson she was becoming painfully and repeatedly acquainted with was that even with your guard up, you weren’t out of the woods.

The liquid paper in her hair was all but dry by now and the thought of having to possibly get it sheared off made her want to scream. It wasn’t much, thankfully, as an absurd amount of the stuff would have made it obvious that it wasn’t just ‘Hebert being a klutz’ or whatever excuse they could use to dance around it if Taylor dared to bring it to staff’s attention. It was enough for the ends of her hair to stick together andcrunchunder her fingers, though. A quick glance online in her computer class told her that it’d come out with shampoo, but that didn’t make it any less fun having her hair basically glued together.

Madison hadn’t thought of that. It would be a lot harder to hide, and a lot harder to deal with, if it were actual glue.

The bus ride was the same as always. The walk home was the same as always. The only thing different when she walked in was that there was another person in the living room who didn’t belong there.

It was Ben again.

And Ben lookedterrible.

It looked like he hadn’t slept in days. At first glance, he looked normal. The bump on his head was gone, pristine, no scar or anything, but hiseyeslooked bloodshot , bleary, and not quite right. Her dad was cooking in the kitchen (she recalled him mentioning pork roast in the morning), leaving Ben to stare at the wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Until she walked in. At her footsteps, his attention turned fully to her. He managed a weak smile and wave.

“Hey, Taylor,” he said, sounding just as tired as he looked.

The smile quickly faded as his eyes roamed up and down Taylor, eventually settling around her face. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” she replied, with a bit more bite than she normally would have used, but now was not a particularly good time to be Taylor Hebert. She had better things to do, like deal with the liquid paper in her hair, than commiserate about her scholastic woes with her dad’s pity project. “Thanks for asking.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, she strode past him and up the stairs.. As she walked away, she could hear her dad calling back a greeting to her that went unreturned. Closer, but quieter, she swore she heard a weak 'sorry' from the living room.

A part of her felt a bit of guilt at her curtness, but the reality of the situation was that she had just spent the entire day with her hair soaked in White-Out. She didn’t have the patience to be questioned right now, especially by a stranger. Worse, if he broached the subject, that meant that her dad was almost certain to notice. Which meant she needed time to collect herself and re-center, time that a shower would most definitely give her. She grabbed a pair of gym pants and a t-shirt out of her room, in no mood to put on anything nicer.

Taylor skulked her way to the bathroom and stripped like her clothes were on fire, turning the shower up so high that sweat immediately dotted her brow. She flinched when the water scalded her skin, but soon the pain dulled from painful to almost therapeutic, especially as the paper bonds in her hair came loose and sloughed off down the drain.

Once the creeping, icky feeling of liquid paper dry against her scalp dripped away, she could dwell on the other things she’d discovered, her curiosity getting the better of her. She’d mostly stuck to Canada for her research since Ben had claimed to be from Montreal. From what she’d read, most of the younger capes in the city had been killed and she hadn’t even narrowed the search based on her summation of his powers. He had some kind of enhanced senses and reflexes, but out of all of the capes she could find based there, only one had a powerset even resembling his: Star Saber.

The cape in question was also very, very dead. And a woman. It was sad to read about, as she was well liked.

Parahumans Online,PHOto most of the users, was mostly community-curated, so she wasn’t expecting perfect information. But she’d been hoping for more concrete information than that. There were a few rumors of Canadian capes migrating south, like Stingray (though he was an American who had transferred up there, supposedly due to liking Narwhal’s leadership style), Exblade, Shadowcat, Boreal, and Cold North, but she highly doubted any of them would want for work with the Protectorate. Even villains like Shaft—’Jesus, what a terrible name’— Caliber and Black Watch weren’t keeping a low profile, and no other active villains listed on the PHO that were as young as Ben.

The shower’s heat finally permeated through her hair, Taylor dug her nails through her scalp and rooted out the last of the liquid paper by force of shampoo and iron will, sighing as she picked the last bit of little torment free. Her head ached and not all of it was from how hard she’d just been scratching at it. Little scraps of adhesive slid on the basin before swirling past her feet and Taylor just stared, watching them go down the drain.

‘How many more times am I going to have to do this?’

A few tears joined the hot water streaming down her face. Not tears of pain, nor sadness, nor grief. She wasfrustrated, she wastired, and the water was stinging her eyes anyway. With a deep breath, Taylor ran fingers through wet curls and pulled her hair back before she turned the water off. The warmth and humid air helped as she tried to center herself again.

She was home. She was safe. Not happy, not comfortable, and not content, far from any of those things, but she was safe.

Even if therewasa stranger in her house. In her defense, he did seem… harmless.

Mostly.

Maybe she’d been a bit too harsh. She felt a bit better now that all of the gunk was out of her hair, so maybe she could stand to try and be abitfriendlier. If only for her dad’s sake.

Drying herself off, she did what she could to muster her hair into something presentable without having to wrap it up before giving up entirely and wrangling her increasingly frizzy curls into a ponytail. Once dressed, she opened the door and silently mourned the loss of her impromptu sauna before grabbing her fogged glasses and wiping them off as she made her way down the stairs. As she put them back on and re-focused her vision, she found Ben still laid out on the couch. From this angle, it almost looked like he was sleeping.

Still feeling a bit repentant about being short with him, she took a hard right and walked down the hall and into the kitchen, where she found her dad looking back at her with his usual ‘beaten dog’ gaze.

“How was school?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “Just tiring.”

“Good… good. Glad to hear it.” He said as he turned back to the stovetop, lowering the eye a couple of notches. “Ben isn’t well. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I figured a little company and a hot meal might help him out a little bit. Sorry for putting it on you on short notice.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” she said. “He’s pretty much knocked out, anyhow.”

“We’ll wake him up when dinner’s ready, then. If you have anything else you want to do before dinner, feel free. It’ll be another five or ten minutes.”

Therewassomething else Taylor wanted to do, though she doubted it would take five or ten minutes. Regardless, she’d take the opening. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Taylor walked back down the hall, intentionally waiting until her dad had fully turned his attention back to meal prep before ducking into the basem*nt. She gingerly crept down the stairs, looking towards the coal chute; it was as she’d left it the afternoon before, unmolested. A few careful steps and a turned screw later, and she could confirm her gym bag was in the same condition.

The costume was almost done at this point. The main issue was getting paints and dyes without arousing suspicion, but Taylor could alwaysliberatepaint during art class and dye was easy enough to come by at a store if the need arose. She was on track to push through April and the start of May putting the finishing touches on her costume, then once school was out… showtime.

Patience was key. If she got co*cky, or if she rushed it, or if she got sloppy, theleastsevere price she’d pay was her dad finding out about her powers. Thankfully, she had a good cover for her trips to the basem*nt for the rest of this week. Her art project sat on the table where herotherproject usually rested in the afternoons, the paint drying over the course of the day. It was a miniature landscape of one of the hillsides near Brockton Bay, with toothpick trees and plastic rivers and other odds and ends. It was a bit more involved than a painting or anything so rote, but it provided a perfect excuse to come back and put a bunch of dyes in the basem*nt.

If only she could decide whether she wanted to go with the black and orange or not so she could get rid of the stuff or keep it.

‘Come to think of it, Tigermoth is a stupid name.’

Letting out a sigh, Taylor closed the coal chute and screwed it back shut before heading back upstairs. It sounded like her dad was still in the kitchen, so she opened the door, quietly stepped out, and wiped a few errant beads of sweat off her brow before turning to look. Sure enough, he was hunched over the sink, cleaning a thermostat.

She shut the door, leaving the hero she hoped she could be in the dark until she needed to escape again.

Just in time, too. Dinner smelled like it was close to being done and her stomach grumbled against her will.If nothing else, it’ll make up for no lunch.

Her eyes were drawn to the couch again where Ben had crashed, his feet awkwardly hanging off the armrest while the rest of his body stayed mostly straight. As she walked closer, Taylor noticed that while Ben was sleeping, he didn’t look like he wasresting. His eyes twitched beneath closed lids and his face was a tight-lipped grimace..

I should wake him.The thought popped into her mind, but before her feet made to take her to the couch and prod him on the shoulder, Taylor immediately quashed the errant sympathy and opted to wander into the kitchen and plant herself at the table. All the better to pretend that her relationship with her dad was semi-functional.

She was only at the table for a minute before her Dad started trying to talk to her, his focus shifting from dinner and back to her.

“How was school?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “Just finished up my art project.”

“That’s good,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Thought it wasn’t due until next week.”

“I like to be ahead.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

The silence that engulfed father and daughter whenever the veneer of ‘family’ started to crack had once again taken center stage and Taylor struggled to think of something to say to pretend to engage. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated when she noticed her dad in the same boat, waffling over the nearly-finished meal and looking between it and her as if the roast would bless him with some kind of new wisdom in how to talk to her.

No dice.

“Looks good,” she said, for lack of anything more substantial.

“I think this is the best one I’ve made in a while,” he said, managing a thin-lipped, mirthless smile. “I appreciate you putting up with this whole Ben situation, by the way. I know it’s strange having someone else in the house so often, but… I’m afraid he has nowhere else to go.”

“It’s your house.” Taylor shrugged, looking back towards the conked-out stranger on the couch. “As long as he doesn’t go barging into my room, I think I can live with it.”

“Ourhouse. He’s a nice young man. Works hard. Sharp as a tack, too. I think you’d like him if you got to know him.”

Well, if her dad was trying to get her to make friends with the friendly parahuman hobo, Taylor supposed she had nothing better to do than to entertain the premise. “I like your work friends, mostly.”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell. You don’t really spend much time with them when they’re around.”

“They’reyourfriends, Dad.”

“True…” He paused a moment, thinking of a continuation of their line of conversation before he fell back on the subject of Ben. “He’s closer to your age than he is to me or the other guys. Maybe you could find something to talk about whenever he comes by.”

“The last thing a high school dropout would want to hear about is high school.”

Her dad turned his full attention to Taylor, surprise in his eyes and a smile on his face. “You were listening.”

“You were right here and I was on the couch,” Taylor said. “I overheard some things. Enough to know that you’re not lying about him being in a rough place. I don’t know if we have much common ground, considering.”

“I just think that it’d be good for the both of you, Taylor. He doesn’t have… anyone, really. If you were listening to that conversation, he never mentioned any family that was still living.” Her Dad sighed, running fingers through thinning hair. “Aside from the guys at the docks, he doesn’t really talk to anyone but me, especially now that Fiq is moving back to Boston.”

‘So I guess that means I should be his new best friend.’Taylor brushed some errant curls out of her face and turned her attention away from his plaintive gaze. Honestly, she didn’tdislike the guy. He seemed friendly.Unusuallyfriendly, although she assumed part of that was due to being the daughter of the guy providing for all of his basic needs.

The look her dad gave her made it clear that he wanted to press the issue, although she knew well by now that he wouldn’t. The fear of pushing their boundaries too far made sure neither of them ever really pressed an issue. It never made the tension go away, though. That much was always consistent.

Indeed, that very same tension had sucked all of the wind out of this conversation and it died a slow, painful death as Taylor turned her attention to the dinner table and her dad turned back to the meal.

“It’s almost ready,” he said quietly. “You can wake up Ben and start setting the table.”

The smell of roasted meat was the first thing Peter noticed when he woke up, followed closely by the sensation of someone staring at him. That someone being Taylor Hebert.

Taylor looked a little better than she did earlier, if not much happier. Though his memory was foggy, he could remembersomethingtacky and gray stuck in her hair, but he couldn’t see anything in there now.

“H-hey,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes to clear the sleepiness away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pass out here.”

He didn’t quite hear her reply as she opted to start talking over him, but he was able to get the word ‘ready’ out of it. Seeing her turn on her heel and walk away was enough for him to decide it was time to get up.

He moved to follow as she walked into the kitchen, sitting up and taking a few measured steps off the couch to make sure he had his footing. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to pass out, Peter made his way towards the kitchen, where Danny had just finished setting out the plates.

“Feeling better, Ben?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Well, you look better, for sure. Hungry?”

Peter nodded his agreement, shuffling over to the table and collapsing into his seat. Taylor had already taken a seat across from him while Danny sat at the far end. At first glance, it was easy to tell that Danny and Taylor were related, sharing the same lanky frame and slouch against the kitchen table. But there was something unnatural about the way they never made eye contact and Peter wondered if something had happened while he was asleep. They just keptlookingat each other out of the corners of their eyes, then at him, but never saying anything.

Peter decided that he might as well be the one to break the ice.

“This is really good!” he said, throwing on his best ‘made for TV’ smile and drawing both of the Heberts’ full attention back to him. He felt absolutelytinyunder their combined gaze but he stood his ground, trying to think of a way to continue this line of conversation.‘Think, Peter, think!’

Of course, the plate of steaming hot food was the lowest-hanging fruit of conversation.

“Seriously, this is awesome,” Peter said, making a show out of taking a full bite. “Is that, uh, coriander?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he immediately cursed himself when he realized that he didn’t know what the hell coriander was supposed to taste like beyond it being something Aunt May put in her homemade curry.

“No,” Danny said, brow furrowed. The room shrank once more as the silence reigned, and Peter tried to think of something else to say. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one getting tired of the awkward silence. Danny cleared his throat to speak, but Peter beat him to the punch..

“Sichuan pepper!” Peter said, Ned’slola’s spice cabinet springing to mind.
.
A pause. Danny looked at Taylor. Taylor looked at Danny. Both looked at Peter.

“What in God’s name is a Sichuan pepper?” Danny said.

“It’s, like, Chinese pepper. My friend’slola, his grandma, uses it in a chicken dish I like.”

“I have never heard of that in my life.”

“I’ve heard of Sichuansauce,” Taylor said.

“Yeah, like, that’s what they put in it!” Peter said. He hadzeroidea if that was what they put in the Szechuan sauce in McDonald’s, but he rolled with it anyway. The tension was broken, so he’d keep going. “Uh, cayenne?”

“You’re getting warmer,” Danny said with a grin.

Peter rubbed his hands together, making an exaggerated showing of smelling the dish before pointing an accusatory finger at Danny. “It’s paprika!”

It most definitely wasn’t paprika, but this was about beingdumb, not right.

Taylor put a hand over her face, shaking her head softly at his display. He wasn’t going to be discouraged, especially since Danny couldn’t look him in the eye either.

“Do you even season your food?” Taylor said.

“I’m from New York, of course I don’t!”

Danny just about died on the spot, his face completely red and having propped himself up on his elbow and covered his mouth, though Peter could hear a barely-subdued wheeze from the man. Taylor pretended to be interested in something on the floor, but Peter saw the corner of her lips creep slightly upward. That counted as a smile! He was breaking the ice, he was on a roll.

“That’s what everyone says, anyway,” Peter said, having a bit of a chuckle himself.

“Jesus, you and Alex are going to get along like a house on fire,” Danny said, rubbing his chin with a smile. “I know the guys have probably tried to sell you on Fugly Bob’s, they always do that when an out-of-towner steps on the pad.”

“Oh, yeah, I had it the other day,” Peter replied. “I’ve had worse… not greasier, though. Glad I waited untilafterwork.”

“It’s a local landmark and all that. People make it sound like it’s the only restaurant in town,” Taylor said. “Too expensive for me to really enjoy it.”

“You’re not the one paying,” Danny jibed.

“I might one day, is my point.”

“Yeah, uh, it was a littlerichfor my blood, in more ways than one,” Peter said. “The fries were great though. The, uh, the seasoned ones.”

“I thought you didn’t like seasoning?” Taylor asked, and it dawned on Peter thatjust mighthave been a joke. He’d absolutely take that one. He laughed; not so enthusiastic that it sounded fake, but definitely a little more than the joke probably warranted. Danny got a kick out of it too, judging by his laughter.

Well, food seemed to get them talking, but that line of conversation just made him hungrier. They ate some more, not really saying much for a minute or two as they absorbed the much lighter atmosphere than the one he’d woken up to. Eventually, however, they were just going to descend into that awkward silence again, and Peter wasn’t about to deal with that again. He was tired and exhausted and beaten down enough for everyone at this table. Kindness is something you do, after all, and he could do something here.

“So, how was your day?” he said, looking at Taylor. That wasn’t the right question to ask, as that slight hint of a smile she’d shown earlier evaporated.
“Fine. Just school,” she said placidly.

“Do you do, like, extracurriculars and stuff?”

“No,” Taylor said. “Not much time or interest.”

“That’s totally fair, yeah,” Peter said, and the look in Taylor’s eyes told him that this was not going anywhere. He’d leave it alone. “I never was really big on school outside of the decathlon. Like, I made good grades, but it was just”—he shrugged, brushing hair out of his eyes—”I felt like I could be doing more with my time, you know?”

Getting superpowers and being the neighborhood’s most proactive crime watch tended to take a pretty big bite out of your study time. Stopping a mugging was more important than a grade on the math pop quiz.

Peter counted himself lucky that he tested so when it mattered.

“I can understand that, I guess,” Taylor said with a nod.

“There’s always GED programs,” Danny said. “Have you asked about testing out?”

“No,” Peter said, “but I’ve thought about it.”

“Brockton University’s a good school, maybe give them a call over the summer break and get a lay of the land, it’s an option.”

Taylor wasn’t as uneasy as she was when school was first brought up, but she was still quiet. Rather than keep pushing a subject she wasn’t comfortable with, Peter took the opportunity to take another bite while he considered others.

He was never a social butterfly and at Midtown, he was only really popular at first because he was the smart kid. He was on the best academic decathlon team in the state and also sat on the bench for the debate team, so it wasn’t like he didn’t haveanyfriends, but he mostly ran in…nerd circles. He never minded that, even if other kids were pretty rough with him, especially before the spider bite. Between that and the work he’d started doing to build off his powers, he got…bigger. The people that used to pick on him had better things to do after that, which was fine by him. Peter thought Taylor was on a similar trajectory, with her interest in superhero stuff leaning on the geekier side. Unlike him, there wasn’t a radioactive spider crawling around every corner of every universe.

Or maybe there was and he was going to run into this Earth’s Peter Parker some day.Oh man, I hope not. Peter wasn’t sure how many more multiversal shenanigans he could stand.

“So, do you like Brockton, besides the whole getting jumped thing?”

Taylor’s voice jolted him from his thoughts.I should probably answer that.

“It’s, uh, it’s nice so far!” He said. “At least the places I’ve been, anyway.”

“Such as?” Taylor asked, leaning forward and Peter noticed she was paying a lot more attention.Maybe she has a hobby in town or something?

“I, uh, usually just work or hang out at the hotel,” he said, choosing to ignore his ABB-related misadventures. “I went to the Lord’s Street Market the other day when I went to get a bite.”

“Have you been by the Oceanside yet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Peter started, before he noticed an odd gleam in Taylor’s eye. She was paying attention.Closeattention. Did she suspect something? Was she in the crowds when Oni Lee attacked? How—whywould she ask that question? “I, uh,” he stammered, trying to collect himself.

“I don’t know if you’ve met Fiq from the docks, Taylor,” Danny said, cool and composed, “but he used to live down there. He took Peter in when he first showed up in town. Introduced us, in fact.”

“Oh,” Taylor said, slumping back into her chair. “I didn’t know that.”

Holysh*t,Danny with the save. Peter slowed his breathing down as much as he could, feeling the heavythud-thud-thudin his ears die away as he tried to think of a casual way tonotpass out from stress.

“I’ve gone to the mall a couple of times,” he said, figuring the mall was the best way to not out himself, “but I haven’t really walked around. Same with the Boardwalk. When I first came into town, though, there was this gift shop or something, they sold cape merch. They were really nice guys. Gave me a map of the city and everything.”

“Masque Market, I know the place,” Taylor replied, still regarding him with an odd gaze. Danny, evidently, noticed it.

“Taylor, what was that store you and Emma used to go to down there?” he said. “You two used to go down there almost every weekend—”

Taylor’s fork dropped to her plate with a terrible clatter.

The room felt very small.

“I’m full,” she mumbled, standing up from her chair and grabbing her plate. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Taylor, you’ve still got half a—” Danny said, confusion in his eyes as Taylor dashed over to the sink and dropped her plate, the silverware clinking and squeaking as it scraped and she was off into the hall so fast it made Peter’s head spin. Danny hissed a ‘dammit’ under his breath that Peter probably would have missed if it wasn’t for the heavy silence that had followed Taylor’s wake.

Danny sighed, giving Peter a tired look. “I’ll go get her, just give me a minute.”

“No, uh, it’s fine, I should probably—”

“No, youshouldn’t. She’s got a lot going on lately.”

With that, Danny walked off, and Peter found himself alone with his thoughts. He’d missed something… or maybe he hadn’t missed it at all. Though his pre-nap memory was foggy, he remembered trying to talk to Taylor when she got home and her being in a terrible mood. She’d seemed hurt. Worn out. Angry, maybe. But when he asked her if she was alright, well… nothing came of it. Hetried.

He wasn’t sure if he was doing any good by… hanging around, no matter the problem. He joined Danny as the older man strode up the stairs.

“Taylor!” he called out.

“I’m fine,”she said, a hard edge in her voice. Danny stopped at the top of the stairs as soon as she spoke, and while Peter couldn’t see his face, he could see one hand clenched over the banister and the other running through his hair.

Yeah, this is a ‘Danny and Taylor’ problem, not a ‘Peter can fix this’ problem.

“I’m sorry, I’m just gonna go,” he said, and Danny balefully turned back to him.

“No,I’msorry, clearly this is just a bad day,” he said, trundling back down the stairs.

“No, I totally get it, I just think I made it worse,” Peter said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Danny looked as if he was going to protest, but gave up before arguing the point. “Alright. Tomorrow, sounds good.”

Summary:

You don't have to be Spider-Man to clean up the neighborhood. At least, that's what Peter thinks.

The bus ride back to the hotel was long, quiet, and miserable.

The past two days had been hell and the only consolation for Peter was that it was still better than what he’d had before, if only just. It wasn’t like he was alone in a cold, unfamiliar universe where his only ‘friends’ were in mortal danger just by their association with him, and the bad guys did not have a single iota of hesitation in jumping to the extremes that most of his everyday, street-level thugs didn’t dare.

Oh, wait. That’s exactly where I am.

The next day, Peter wastired.He’d slept like the dead, but he hadn’t rested. Gradually, he woke up as he worked, physical exhaustion taking a back seat to emotional exhaustion. For the past couple of weeks he’d had everything life could throw at him, thrown at him.

Again.

And again. And again, with barely a break in between. He’d lost friends, family, colleagues, his secret identity, his life as he knew it,everything.

He had no way of getting back home except sitting on his ass and waiting. All while his world and the world he was currently in were getting worse. The latter more so than the former. As bad as Thanos was, home was, well…home. This world was like home, but off somehow. The air off the ocean tasted the same and the light pollution made the streets feel like Queens at times, but the people were the biggest difference. People were a little more frightened, a little colder, and a little meaner than even the hardiest New Yorkers ever could be.

The more he thought about it, the angrier it made him. And when he woke up before his shift, he wasstillangry. Peter went through the day angry, ate his lunch angry, finished his shift angry, and the whole way back to the hotel, a fury simmered just beneath the surface, bubbling andhot.The second he hit the time clock, he’d come to a decision — he was going to do something about it. At one point, Danny had tried to flag him down, but Peter had more important things to worry about than the weird family nonsense from last night.

The first thing he did was grab the Roundphone.Well, what’s left of it.The side of the ridiculous thing was dented to hell and back andsomethingunidentifiable coated one of the camera lenses, but it was made of sterner stuff than he thought because it still powered on like a champ. He punched in Leslie’s number so hard that one of the buttons stayed stuck afterwards and waited for the other man to pick up. It didn’t take long.

“Ben? You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied. “I’m gonna find Oni Lee.”

“...and then what?”

“Then I’m gonna kick his head in and hand him over to the PRT.”

“You do realize that he whupped yourasslast time, Ben.”

“I don’t fall for the same trick twice.”

“Look, even if that’s true, Oni Lee doesn’t make a habit of just walking around town whistling Dixie. He’s covert. He’s a problem solver. He and Lung don’t come out unless the sh*t is going down and they probably assume after killing Sc-

that the matter between the four of you is settled business. Frankly, if it weren’t for you getting bailed out by Glory Girl and Panacea, I’d assume they’d think you dead, too. The point is, if you want Oni Lee’s attention — which in my humble opinion, you don’t — you’ve gotta make some racket again.”

“So I need to hit the ABB where it hurts.” Peter said.

“Exactly. You already threw a massive wrench in their human trafficking operations and got a lot of eyeballs on you, but the Boyz have a few more fingers in a few more pies throughout town. They’re not as dug in as the Empire, but they’re pretty entrenched in the drug market.”

“Maybe the streets could do with some cleaning up then. Happen to know of any spots in desperate need of a good wash?”

“Ben, I have told you once, twice, and will tell you once again. You do this, itwillbackfire. Not ‘might’, not ‘could’,will.There is going to be a fire under your ass no matter how this goes. You piss Lung off enough, he might skip the whole ‘Oni Lee’ thing and come handle the problem himself and Lung’s no pushover. Even if Oni Lee comes knocking and you manage to beat him, all that’s gonna do is make Lung mad enough to come after you himself.”

“Saves me the time of going to look for him.”

“You don’t fight Lung. No one fights Lung, no one can,”Leslie let out a long, tired sigh.“Je-sus Christ, Ben. You’re either suicidally brave, suicidally stupid, or just plain suicidal and I’m not sure I wanna know which. The ABB mostly runs their corners at night. Way I see it, that swing thing you were doing when you chased after Oni Lee will get you around town pretty quick. Find some corners, bust their guys up, and restrain them for Johnny Law. You move fast enough, you can do a hell of a lot of damage in one night.”

“Where should I start?”

“ABB all but owns the docks. Move away from the Boardwalk and the ‘tourist’ spots and they’ve got it just about locked down. I don’t know where they run their drug ops, but if you manage to find out, I wouldn’t go after it tonight. I’m pretty sure that both their heavy-hitters are traveling together after the whole Bakuda incident, just to ensure there’s no further attempts at picking them off. I imagine Empire 88’s salivating at the damage you two did, too, so the border turf’s a no go.”

“Yeah, I’m not trying to please the Nazis, Leslie. Enough people think I’m lined up with them because of what happened with Sarah.” The memory of his short-time friend left a bitter taste in Peter’s mouth, knowing that the rest of the world assumed that she’d never changed at all.

“For what it’s worth, kid, I don’t believe that sh*t and nobody around here believes that sh*t, either. The people on the street who saw you going out of your way to try and rescue the people Oni Lee was trying to hurt to slow you down? Doubt they believe that. And if you play your cards right and you stick to this thing here long-term, I don’t think anyone will have any reason to believe that sh*t. Just… don’t get yourself killed over this. Sometimes, bad things just happen in the Bay. Nothing you can do.”

Peter rankled at that. “Yeah, well maybe that’s why bad things keep happening. Because you think that way.” The line went quiet for long enough that he was about to say something, but when Leslie spoke again, he sounded almost as tired as Peter felt.

“Hope you keep that same energy, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

With that, the line went dead and Peter was left alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t a stranger to anger, far from it. As chipper as he tried to be, he had his moments. When he was younger, it was when the other kids would pick on Ned for his weight, his glasses, or whatever the topic of the day was. As Peter got older and got his powers, it was the way people just thought they could get away with treating other people like garbage, by taking from people who already were just scraping by. But the angriest he’d ever gotten was…

When everything happened. And Peter didn’t know what to do. He just wanted to put a permanent end to the problem he’d caused, much too late to prevent it from hurting people who weren’t supposed to get hurt.

And here he was again. He was putting an end to a problem, one that he’d inadvertently caused by getting his nose into business he shouldn’t have been in, buthad tobecause nobody else was going to help. They suffered the consequences and now he was left holding the bag, but this time, he knew exactly what to do.

Despite knowing, it only made Peter that much angrier.

He’d been pulling his punches since he cornered his first purse-snatcher in a back alley.

He’d pulled his punches against anything and everything short of Thanos.

Tonight, andonlytonight… he’d let off the reins a little bit. Someone had to teach these people that this wasn’t their neighborhood anymore since those two showings hadn’t been enough to do it.

He couldn’t be Spider-Man. The risk was too great. He couldn’t go through what he’d already been through, not again.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t belikeSpider-Man.

He’d taken his time prepping to go out. The phone, damaged as it was, still had internet access and he was able to look at a map of Brockton Bay that had been marked by online contributors about local “hotspots” to avoid. It didn’t give him anything concrete he could look at, like the old police scanner he kept hidden in his closet back home, but it narrowed down neighborhoods to start looking.

He didn’t have a costume after the Oni Lee incident, but he still had the torn up remains of his Spider-Man mask and a few clothes that fit well enough; a pair of cargo pants and his black tee shirt were fine for tonight’s act. It wasn’t as if he planned to stay out in the open very long, anyway.

He had a goal in mind.

The map around the docks was pockmarked by tiny x’s in red and green, indicating they were under the nominal control of the ABB, but there were also angry red hotspots where the drug running, prostitution, and extortion rackets were most active. He also had details on their usual M.O. and even their gang colors, meaning he’d be able to identify movers on the street.

At ten, he’d get off the boardwalk and start moving, looking for activity. If he saw something interesting, he’d stick around to make sure he wasn’t just making an assumption with no evidence. If he found something he could act on, he’d act on it.

Nine-fifty-seven, now.

Peter slowly pushed open the window of the hotel room, peeking out onto the street below. It was busy even at this hour, but he knew it’d die down soon. People were finally turning in—the honest ones, anyway.

He had gotten a couple of texts from Leslie, the latter of which he’d just ignored outright after reading the first. It was an attempt at dissuading him from his current course of action and no doubt the second would be more of the same. As if Peter needed to be told to stop. New York never slept and as long as there were people hurting people in its streets, he needed to be there, doing the right thing.

Brockton Bay was more of the same, just with shorter buildings. He’d figured out a way beyond that problem, anyhow. Web-swinging wasn’t the only way he had to get around, after all.

Nine-fifty-nine.

Peter took a few deep breaths to steady himself.In and out. In, and out. One step back from the window, then another. One, then another.

This wasn’t going to be easy, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. He’d helped beat Thanos. He beat the Vulture. He beat Beck. He beat the Goblin.

He could take a bunch of gang-bangers who didn’t even know who he was, no problem.

Ten.

Peter took off through the window, grabbing the upper lip and swinging onto the wall, grabbing the handle with a string of web and swinging it shut.

Showtime.

The buildings near the Boardwalk were much closer together than the ones in the interior of the docks, which meant that web-swinging wasn’t as essential. He was able to scale to the roof of the hotel with ease and it was just a matter of jumping to the next roof, then the one after that from there on. It was barely any effort and a lot more covert than swinging. If the bad guys saw him coming, that might cause trouble. This was the most discreet route until he got deeper into their territory.

Once the gaps in the buildings got wider, he had to get a bit creative. He used webs to slingshot himself onto walls and climb up without making an uncontrolled jump that might send him crashing through a window, and kept on running. It was a bit less ostentatious than swinging through busy streets on his way to his first objective: the outer edge of ABB territory. That was as likely a spot to find trouble as any.

It took him longer to reach his destination by his current strategy than it would have by web-swinging, but it was still faster than taking the streets. Ten minutes after he started, he was at his destination. There was a tall building right before the invisible line at the far edge of the territory, so that would be his perch from which to cast his net. Firing a web to the top of it, he took off, running up the wall and using the webline for that last bit of leverage to jump atop and take a look around.

The night sky was a little smoky and very much cloudy, hardly a star visible in the sky. The only real light was a small sliver of the moon peeking through the clouds and the city itself, casting a dull halo over the docks.

Peter looked down at the street level, searching for reds and greens. Waiting, waiting, waiting…

Eventually, he found three of them. A short-haired girl and two guys, all of whom were rather excitedly jawing to each other. One of them, the girl, was holding a gun.

Time to go to work.

Turns out, they’d decided to shake down a corner store for… he assumed it was protection money, as the clerk was Asian. Peter had jumped over to the roof of the store while they stepped inside, and hung over the side to look through the windows where the shadows concealed him from easy view. They were speaking in languages that he didn’t understand, but the tone was clear: this could get ugly.

He switched positions, scrambling around the side of the roof to the front door with a leap and landing gracefully.. By now, money was being passed over the counter to one of the guys, who was loading it into a bookbag.

Peter opened the door of the store and all eyes turned to him.

And so did the gun.

“Back outside!” the girl shouted as she racked the action of the pistol, sending an unspent bullet rattling off the counter. Clearly, she thought that was intimidating.

Peter shot a web at her hand and sent the gun flying behind the counter.

“Nah,” he said playfully, smiling beside himself at the wide eyes of the three would-be robbers. One of the guys, a taller, burlier one, pulled out a knife.

Well, if you didn’t learn one way, there was always the other.

A few streets down, a guy was pushing product; or at least, that’s what Peter assumed he was selling to people out of the back of his car in a dark alley. He hung from the back-most building, concealing himself just above a low-hanging light as he watched goods exchange hands a few times just to be sure he was on the right track.

He was pretty sure that this guy wasn’t selling girl scout cookies.

Peter dropped into the alley below, creeping towards his mark as he finished up another transaction before moving to the back of his car. Somehow, he noticed Peter and one of his hands went to slam the trunk shut while the other went into his pocket. He got a web to both for his trouble.

“Woah, buddy! Is that a gun in your waistband, or are you just really happy to see me?” he said.

“f*ck you, motherf*cker!” the man shouted back at him. “You ain’t got sh*t!”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right, I don’t have anything!” Peter said, as he strolled over to the back of the car and wrenched it open with one hand to reveal what had to be almost ten-thousand dollars worth of drugs. “You do! Thanks for being honest, man, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re gonna get it for this, you motherf*cker!”

“Dude, language, people are trying to sleep out here.” Peter dug into his pocket and dug out the Roundphone, dialing 911.

“911, what is your emergency?”a male dispatcher said mechanically.

“Hey, uh, this is Ricochet, the guy from the news. I found a bunch of funny stuff in this guy here’s car. Like, meth and cocaine kind of funny stuff,” he said, shooting a glance at the very much pissed off dealer.

“...I’m sorry, who is this again?”

“Ricochet.”

“...okay, what’s your location, Ricochet?”

“I’m in the alley next to the coin laundromat on 22nd, by the pho place. I’m by a green Saturn with, uh…” Peter lowered the phone and looked back at the dealer. “What’s your name, buddy?”

“f*ck you,pig!” he bellowed, and Peter recoiled.

“Yikes, that’s what the last guy said, too,” Peter muttered, picking the phone back up. “Anyways, he’s here waiting for you, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Copy, we’ll send—wait, Ricochet, can you stand by—”

“No can do, I’m really busy!” Peter said, and hung up before heading on to the next one.

You know, there’s nothing funnier than seeing a mugger freak out when his buddy disappears, he mused. Peter couldn’t help but find a little joy in the confusion such antics caused, hoisting unlucky suckers head over heels up into roof awnings and ceilings while their buddies just looked around.

Unfortunately, the warehouse was not a fluke—people looked up WAY more often here. As such, when he Spider-napped one guy, the other two took five seconds to figure it out and start aiming towards the ceiling.

Not that they were going to hit him. Another ten seconds and he hadthreeguys hanging off the edge of this roof by their ankles.

“—oh, and bring a ladder, these guys arereallyhigh up,” Peter said, pacing across the roof as he continued talking to the dispatcher. “What’s your name again? I didn’t catch it.”

“I, uh… Kyle.”

“Kyle, buddy, can I just say that you’re doing anawesomejob tonight? Like, wow. How many times have we talked tonight?”

“About five so far.”

“Man, that’s crazy, I feel like we’ve got a really good rapport going on right now. Look, I gotta go, but can you stick around for another hour or two, I’m gonna need you to keep an ear open. Also, drink some coffee, you soundreallytired, man. Self-care is the best care, man.”

“Ricochet, I have the PRT asking for your location, so if you could just stay—”

“Bye!”

“ —you said you have his CAR?”

“I mean, he tried to drive away from me!” Peter said from the top of the van, now thoroughly webbed down, twirling the keys around on his fingers. “He’s got his hands webbed to the steering wheel now, so, uh, maybe bring a tow truck until the webbing dissolves? It’ll be about two hours unless you have some industrial-grade solvent, and Ireallywouldn’t recommend pouring that stuff on his hands, so I’d suggest just leaving him in there for some quiet time.’

“Alright, I’ve reported the location, stand by.”

“You know I’m not just gonna ‘stand by’, Kyle, I told you already!”

“I have to make the request. Talk to you in a few minutes.”

“See, now you get it!”

“Now, let’s think about what led us to this point, okay?” Peter asked, slapping the baseball bat out of the thug’s hand before he could finish his swing. “I mean, let’sreallyconsider how we got here, cause like, I get that there’s a lot of stuff that goes into affiliating with a gang. Like, not just the whole, you know, ‘dang, it feels good to be a gangsta’ thing. I totally get it, maybe you were press-ganged into it or it’s income your family needs or stuff like that. I can understand that even if I don’t agree… but like,dude!”

He ducked a panicked punch before delivering a jab of his own to the guy’s liver that sent the goon doubling over in pain.

“You realize you’re taking these girls’ free will and agency away from them and sending them into situations where they’re likely to be physically abused orworse? Like, come on, dude, surely you have a sister, or a girlfriend, or at least a mom or something. How would you feel if it was one of them?”

The guy was groaning in pain in lieu of answering his question, so Peter just sighed and webbed his hands to his torso where he was holding his aching side, then webbed his feet together.

“You’ve got time to think about it now, man, just…be better. Like, you can break the cycle, man, I believe in you. Maybe pick up a hobby in prison?”

“Ricochet, I am once again asking that you at least remain on the line so you can speak to the proper authorities.”

“I mean, Kyle, you’re a cop.”

“This officially left Brockton Bay PD’s jurisdiction the moment you got involved. I’m speaking off the record to you right now—youneedto talk to them. This is a lot bigger than just beating up some street crooks. You are putting yourself in serious danger.”

“I know.”

“Then you should know not to treat this like a game.”

“You’re right. It’s not a game, but I can do this on my own. Talk to you at the next one, buddy.”

Peter hung up again, looking at the results of his handiwork. He’d laid a few more guys out, but not before one of them had managed to make a phone call to… someone. It was more than likely, now, that word of his one man crime-fighting spree had reached Oni Lee. Good. That was the intended goal. The problem would come with finding him, and while it would make sense to wait near these guys and see if his man took the bait, that would also mean possibly being here when the Brockton PD or PRT showed up, and that wasn’t something he wanted to deal with.

He’d made quite a few stops this fine evening. Nine, to be exact. Three drug busts, two shakedowns, a pimp, another guy trafficking product, a mugging, and one of Wei’s guys from before talking sh*t about how he was the one who killed Marrow.Thatguy got away with a broken jaw for his trouble before getting strung up from a light pole with his friends.

Maybe it was time for a break.

Peter sat on the edge of the roof to make his latest call, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sirens or flashing lights that meant ‘get out of dodge now’. He didn’t have anything to hide from the cops or the PRT, but… he really didn’t want anyone getting caught in the crossfire tonight. His goal was to hit Oni Lee. Right now, all he was doing was cleaning up the street in an attempt to draw him out. Ideally, he could get it all done in one night, but realistically, he could only do so much in that time. Besides that, the only people still left in Oni Lee’s reach were him, Leslie, and Victoria. Of those three, two were superhumans and the other was hiding somewhere outside of ABB territory. Peter wasn’t afraid of being put in the line of fire.

He just didn’t want anyone else getting hurt. Too many people already had.

Peter looked at his busted-up Roundphone, noting a few missed calls from a number he didn’t recognize, but he ignored them.Probably Officer Kyle or the PRT. He let out a soft, tired sigh, and put the phone back in his pants pocket.

It’d been a good night whether Oni Lee came out or not. He just really wished he could do more. Still night-light left for that, though.

Back to it.

Peter stood up, cracking his neck and looking down at the light-pole where his handiwork hung one last time with a grin he couldn’t stop. Yeah, he could definitely do some more—

…what the hell is that?

A vibrant streak of blue hurtled down the road towards him, weaving between traffic so fast it was if every car on the road had come to a dead stop. A slight Tingle prickled at the back of his mind—whatever this was, it wasn’tdangerous…

But it was coming afterhim..

Before Peter could so much as think to move, the light reached the bottom of the building before surging up the wall until it came to a stop in front of him, materializing into the shape of—

Huh.

A woman stood in front of him, clad in a black and blue body suit, arms folded as she gave him a quick once-over from behind a blue visor. Said visor had clamps attached to a band at the back in the shape of a stylized ‘B’ with an arrow running through the middle, hiding her eyes and almost all of her face, save for a thin-lipped frown and a shock of brown hair, gelled up and cut short.

“Busy night, Ricochet?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, taking a cautionary step back in spite of the seeming lack of malicious intent. “Who are you?”

“A friend. Hell, you could almost call me a fan, after tonight. Name’s Battery. Someone I know, let’s call them a ‘coworker’,” she chuckled, “said you tried to take on Oni Lee the other day, and now here you are busting up the ABB the moment they think they can come back out on the street. You gotta be worn out after all the work you’ve put in over the past couple of days, huh?”

Peter nodded slowly. He’d already gleaned from what he assumed was a slip of the tongue that Dean and Victoria were somehow involved in the Protectorate.. “It’s, uh… it’s a lot.”

“I bet. Look, my boss wanted me to come get a hold of you before you got in too deep into something you might regret.” Her expression softened and her posture relaxed. “I know what happened to you at that warehouse. You know what Oni Lee is capable of when you piss him and his boss off and now you’re doing it again. That’s the kind of bull-headed stubbornness I think this city needs sometimes. We’re just worried that you’re gonna get yourself killed trying to get back at him for your partner.”

Oh, great.Peter knew where this was going.

“So you’re with the Protectorate?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Yep,” she said.

“So you think I’m one of the Nazis, then?”

Battery smirked. “f*ckno, what kind of idiot would think that? Sure, you’re knocking the crap out of a bunch of Asians, but you’re in the dead center of ABB turf. You haven’t been seen in the recent skirmishes downtown and you handed us Bakuda on a silver platter after going out of your way to rescue a bunch of bomb-rigged prostitutes. Not to mention the brouhaha with Scrimshaw’s reappearance, but that’s not your problem, that’s ours.”

“Point is, there’s no conducive proof you’re Empire 88, and anyone who assumes so isn’t operating with all the facts.” She shrugged, a sigh on her lips. “I think if you come with me tonight and we have a sit down at HQ, you’ll talk to my boss, we’ll get that mess cleared up, and see about getting you sorted out and settled into the Bay. I know you’re not from around here just from hearing you talk. You’re a New Yorker, right? You’ve got an accent.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, seeing no reason to attempt a deception that had yet to fool anyone for longer than a few conversations. “Queens.”

“Sparta,” she replied.Jersey, huh?Awfully nice of her to be so forthcoming, considering she hid her identity behind a mask.

“Wait, why are you here making a pitch all of a sudden?” Peter said, bewildered.

Battery’s friendly demeanor dropped as she shifted on her feet, hesitant for a moment.. She finally sighed, rubbing the back of her head before pulling a roll of paper out of a case on her belt.

“Look. You saw something you weren’t supposed to see,” she said. “And just because I trust you doesn’t mean the chief does. There’s gotta be accountability on all sides for people like us, Ricochet. You saw what one of my people looks like under the mask, so… you know. I don’t think you’re 88, they don’t think you’re 88, you’renot88, but we have to cover our asses. This person’s a kid.”

“Dean,” Peter said, the pieces suddenly fitting together. “Dean’s a cape, isn’t he?”

Battery bit her lip, eyes lost in thought for a moment before deciding to speak.“Yeah, Dean’s a cape. Good job, sleuth. Good guy, just like you and me. Which is why I, in particular, wanna make sure you understand what happens if the wrong people find out who he is.”

“I get it,” Peter said. “I’m in the same situation.”

Battery didn’t say anything, but her body language made it clear she was interested.

“The best thing about this place is that no one knows who I am,” Peter said. “What I’ve had to go through, what I’ve done. So don’t worry, his secret’s safe with me.”

“I can’t take your word on it, Ricochet,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Peter snapped, pent-up frustration starting to boil over. “Yeah, you don’t think I’m a Nazi, but because Sarah did some messed up stuff, that means you can’t trust me, right?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that,” Battery started, only for Peter to cut her off.

“No, you didn’t, but you don’t have to. I get it. So, if you just needed me to sign some papers, why do you want me to go with you to ‘HQ’?”

“I was just putting the option out on the table,” Battery said, pulling a pen out of the pocket she’d pulled the paper from. “I just need you to sign an NDA, but the reality is if you do this on your own, you’re gonna get hurt, or end up like your partner. I know Glory Girl reached out to you and so did Dean. I’m just doing my part to let you know you aren’t alone out here.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Peter said, clenching his fists. “Iamalone. And that’s the safest way for me to be. Because when I bring other people into my problems, people get hurt. People die. People Icareabout.”

“Kid, I can’t claim to know what’s happened to you,” Battery said, “there’s nothing about you out there. Nothing accurate, anyway. But you need to know that I’ve seen stuff like this before. I’ve read reports, heard stories. I don’t want to see what’s left of you on an incident report when you’re out here trying to clean up my streets, yeah?”

She handed him the paper and pen.

“I’m not asking you to join the Protectorate, it’s more complicated than that anyway. A lot more signatures, for starters. I’m not even asking you to talk to us. I’m asking you to talk tome. And if you can’t talk to me, talk to Glory Girl. Talk tosomebody. It’s a hard life we’ve got, but it’s a lot easier if you have people you can rely on.”

There was something in that last sentence, something about her tone, that felt strange to Peter, but he was too frustrated to unpack it. After giving the document a cursory glance and finding, no, he wasn’t selling his immortal soul or personhood to a shady government agency or anything of the like, he signed it. Then, he tossed it at Battery, who caught it nonchalantly.

“Now, can I get back to it, or are you gonna hover over my shoulder to make sure I’m actually a good guy?” Peter asked. Battery’s suit was starting to glow brighter and brighter with every passing second, illuminating the sullen expression on her face. Still, she persisted, going into another case on her belt and taking out a card with what appeared to be an electrical sigil and a phone number on it, placing it in the palm of his still outstretched hand.

“I’d love to know what the f*ck happened to you, Ricochet,” she said. “Be careful. These are mean streets.”

And with a sound like thunder, she was gone.

Time to go back to work.

Summary:

Till death, however slow, do you part.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Notes:

Babes you're clearly not happy get a divorce.

Summary:

Victoria does not take being brushed off lightly, and Peter's planned pursuits for the evening are knocked awry... but hey, at least he got some more clothes!

When Peter fell asleep, it was to a Brockton Bay that was a little better than the one that morning.

After Battery had gotten a hold of him, he’d figured he was getting close to the point of ‘too much’. He wasn’t worried about getting into a fight with Oni Lee or Lung—in fact, he was sort of counting on it— he was willing to accept that it would take time that he didn’t have to sit around and wait for them to get the big news. He’d made a few more busts, given Kyle a couple more gray hairs, and then turned in for the night.

He didn’t even make it to the shower. The moment he brushed the side of his bed, Peter collapsed out cold and he slept like the dead. No dreams or half-coherent memories, just… peaceful sleep for a change.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a text from Danny.‘Today’s shipment got rerouted to the Port of Boston. Take the day off. Rest well. -DH.’

'Well, that was nice of him.'

With work not an issue, Peter was able to take his morning slow. He was a little sore; last night was the most consistent night of crimefighting he’d had since he ended up on this Earth, but a hot shower helped with that. He pulled up the news and kept an ear out for word of his exploits.

He had to wait a little while, but he got what he needed.

“More breaking news on the case of Brockton Bay’s newest vigilante—the mysterious cape known as Ricochet was reportedly responsible for twenty-six separate gang-related arrests last night across the Docks district. Last seen a few days ago at the scene of a warehouse explosion, Ricochet appears to be continuing his one-cape crusade. Efforts by both BBNN and the PRT to make contact with this new cape have yet to bear fruit, but the residents of the city have their own opinions on their neighborhood’s newest defender.”

Peter recognized the shopkeeper’s voice, followed by a very unemotive translator.

“I came to this country to live an honest life, and for months now I’ve been bullied and harassed by thugs. Last night was the first time anyone did something about it. My family and I owe him a great debt.”

A woman who Peter remembered from Oceanside was speaking now.“I respect the Protectorate, I really do. But it’s nice to have someone who’s actuallyinthe community doing something about the crime problem, because you see every day they’re making busts and hitting the gangs. Like… he did a week’s worth of work in one night.”

A new voice Peterdefinitelyrecognized chimed in next.“It’s nice to have someone looking out for the guys on the street,”Leslie said, still sounding a little out of it.“Showing these punks we don’t have to tolerate their foolishness any longer.”

The newscaster picked back up.“We’ll continue to follow this story as it develops further. Coming up, a new development surrounding the Boston Protectorate’s lightning rod of controversy, Bastion—”

Peter didn’t care what was going on in Boston at the moment. Today was probably going to be the day where things got ugly.Veryugly.

And he had to be ready for that.

Realizing his room hadn’t been cleaned since he’d got it, Peter pulled on his cleanest set of clothes and took the do-not-disturb sign off the door before heading out. He had enough money for his needs, or at least he thought so. Through the screen of his cracked roundphone, he was able to look around and plot his journey for the day. The thing was, when he backed out of Danny’s text and glanced at his contacts, there was a number that hadn’t been there before.

Vicky.

Evidently, Victoria had gotten a hold of his phone before he left. That felt like a breach of privacy, but in her defense, she’d also bailed him out of a life or death situation and seemed genuinely concerned about his well-being. He’d give her a pass for going through his phone.It’s not like she’s stalking me or something.

He debated calling, but looking at the time and day, he figured that she probably had school or something. Unless superheroes around here just… didn’t go to school, but he doubted that was a thing. If he had to trudge through Midtown, he’d no doubt that was a multiversal constant.

Instead, Peter hopped on the bus and headed for his first destination—the mall, again. He needed a new ‘costume’, considering that literally every single article of clothing he’d put together for the first one had gotten blown to smithereens. That clothing store he’d gotten the original from had some pretty decent prices. He also needed some sports tape for his wrists since he was going to be going hand to hand, another mask and set of goggles—

Peter’s stomach growled loudly enough that an old woman in a shawl glanced over with concern.

Breakfast is probably a good idea while I’m at it.

By the time he’d gotten to the mall, it wasn’t open yet. With twenty minutes to kill, Peter opted to pull out his phone and find ways to entertain himself. Out of curiosity, he looked up some of the names he’d heard Battery talking about. Battery herself was apparently a cape from New York who had moved to Brockton a few years back and wasverypopular with the locals, while Glory Girl was part of some team called ‘New Wave’, which tracked with what she’d told him. He hadn’t known anything else about the group, but it was…like, asuper-family. Weird.

Avengers on top, though. Totally. Did Brockton Bay have a Hulk? Or Thor? No? 'Yeah, that’s right.'

Idly, he wondered if any of the other Avengers knew he was missing. He hoped they weren’t piling on Stephen too much. MJ and Ned were probably giving him enough grief.

The mall unlocked it’s doors not long after his impromptu reading session and he was able to start his shopping spree. Some of the stores, including the clothing place, weren’t open yet, so breakfast was the first order of business. Peter found a coffee shop not far from the entrance and got his usual, trying not to dwell on happier memories that said usual brought him, and sat down at the seat closest to the door with a beignet in one hand and his coffee in the other.

'It’s not the same'. Nothing ever could be the same as dingy old Peter Pan. This place was…

Well, Cafe Con Quistador was a catchy name, if nothing else. The coffee was more burned, caffeinated water and the beignet was hours old and barely warm, but it tasted okay. It was cheap, and the barista looked like she’d had a rough morning so far. He didn’t feel like making it any worse by complaining, instead leaving a five dollar tip on the counter before he’d even taken a sip of the bitter, grind-filled coffee. Better to do something nice and suffer a little, in his mind. Instead of torturing himself with the drink, he chose to watch the other patrons trickle in. A cop came in and talked to the girl for a bit, then a young couple, the man animated and grinning ear to ear and the woman just sort of nodding along with a placid smile. Another girl, blonde with striking green eyes, side-eyed the couple while she placed her order, then stalked out as quickly as she came in.

People watching wasn’t as fun as Uncle Ben had made it seem. Sometimes, when Peter was younger, they’d sit on the balcony of his and Aunt May’s apartment late at night and just watch the people walking by, wonder about their lives, and catch tiny pieces of bigger conversations. It was a happy memory and Peter needed a few more of those, so he tried to keep the streak going. He’d heard somewhere that positive thoughts led to a positive mindset, and he really neededsomethingto be positive about today.

Sure, this place wasn’t Peter Pan, but it had a similar dingy-but-cozy atmosphere. Not really ‘corporate’ like a Starbucks or a Dunkin Donuts, but…homey. Someone had put love into this place a long ago, even if they weren’t doing it right now. He remembered the early weekend mornings when the biggest problems he had to worry about, besides the occasional would-be bank robber or drug dealer, was what topic he’d choose for his English essay and what the heck he was gonna do for lunch.

Okay, that was misleading. He was still Spider-Man and all that entailed, but things were… simpler, for the most part. Not as heavy.

'Alright, yeah, coffee break over.'

He’d killed… fifteen minutes and had another forty-five to go. Peter milled around the first floor of the mall, seeing what was open and what wasn’t, looking for something to occupy his time. There was a small, rickety arcade, but judging from the lack of light, it wasn't open yet anyway. A few kiosks here and there, most of them unmanned but a couple hawking jewelry and custom-made T-shirts. Peter eventually passed one that had some kind of advertisem*nt for a cape-based TV show premiering in a few weeks, with a guy dressed in a militarized version of a gladiator’s outfit on the front, among others. It looked interesting, although he was less into the business of watching superhero stuff than he was… you know. Doing it.

More milling about and browsing eventually ended with him buying one of the graphic t-shirts, figuring it’d be better than just wearing the same two shirts every day. It reminded him of one he saw in a gift shop once, solid black with white text: “Brockton Bay: where the weak are killed and eaten.”

Peter was pretty sure there were a lot of cities with that T-shirt from his travels, but it was still pretty catchy, and imagined he blended in a little better with it.

Eventually, stores started opening. He made change and spent a few minutes looking around the arcade and puttering with games he’d never seen before. There was a Mortal Kombat cabinet, too, the original one, but what stuck out as weird to him was the fact that some character named Ermac was in the game. He’d played a cabinet back in New York with Ned a few times, but he’d never seen that character before.Cool. He wasted another ten minutes puttering around with it, lamenting that Ned wasn’t here to enjoy it with him. Peter was never really good at video games, but being around Ned had a way of giving you gamer culture osmosis that stuck pretty hard. That, and even if Peter could never really find a reason to sit down and play a video game on his own, playing with his friend was way more fun.

'I hope Ned’s okay.' MJ was always in the back of his mind, haunting him, but Ned was his best friend. He was probably worried sick just as much as she was.

The game didn’t feel very interesting anymore. Thankfully, the time he killed gave him enough time to go through his shopping rounds. He didn’t waste time; the first order of business was to go by the fitness center and find some sports tape. He found a ‘buy one, get one free’ special on rolls of boxing tape, so he got two sets in black and called it a day. With that done, he went to the clothing store he’d visited the day before, grabbing two pairs of pants; a pair of solid black jeans, and some navy blue sweatpants. Peter also found a pretty good bargain on a navy windbreaker with a white line crossing the shoulders and down the sleeves, which matched the sweatpants for uniformity’s sake.

The haul came out to just under 150 dollars, so he moved on to the final pieces of his costume. Thankfully, it was a different person working the counter at the sports store, so it didn’t looksupersuspicious. Peter bought a smaller pair of goggles this time and a sports mask that somewhat matched the windbreaker and sweats, all serving a different idea of how the piecemeal costume should look. Funny enough, it almost looked like Ricochet’s comic book outfit.

All he needed were some metal disks and an R on his chest and it’d be pretty accurate.Ned would be proud.

'Can’t think about him right now, I don’t have time for that

When he got back to the hotel, Peter set the obnoxious little Roundphone to charge, laid on the edge of the bed so he could keep it plugged in, and started browsing. He vaguely remembered the ‘Parahumans Online’ thing from Leslie’s house and all the information he’d gotten on Battery was from that site as well. Maybe they’d have something for Oni Lee there. He was pretty sure he understood the guy’s powers by now, but a little bit of intel never hurt anyone.

He’d started his wiki crawl there, reading the entry on Oni Lee and finding startlingly little information. The first thing that stuck out to him was the very,verybold warning at the top of the page that said he was extremely violent and to never approach him. Very good advice, except Peter already knew that first part from painful experience. There was no real history for him, either. He just sort of showed up one day alongside Lung, part and parcel. The section on his powers wasn’t particularly robust, either, just a repeat of the information Peter already knew. He could clone himself and teleport away from his clone while the clone acted autonomously for a few seconds. It had a header saying that the section was incomplete, but Peter didn’t really have anything to add. Overall, it just felt like he’d wasted his time.

Whatdidinterest him was a section on conflicts where he’d been confirmed to be involved, which gave a pretty interesting list of names that might tell him something about the ballpark he was in skillswise. Clearly, he’d drawn Peter into a place where he’d had an advantage in the first fight, but if there was someone out there who’d beat him, maybe he could learn something from that. A handful of names made out the list… including his own. The full list seemed to be in order of most recent, and thusly went:

Ricochet, Scrimshaw, Purity, Glory Girl, Flashbang, Othala / Victor, Krieg, Velocity, Assault.

Funny enough, his own name had a hyperlink. Tapping the link, Peter found himself looking at a grainy cell-phone photo of him swinging across town, hastily snapped during his initial chase with Oni Lee. Speaking of, if he thought Oni Lee’s information was scarce, his was almost nonexistent.

“Ricochet IVis an unaffiliated cape active in Brockton Bay. For the other capes with the same alias, see the

.”

“Powers: Ricochet appears to have an acute danger sense that allows him to dodge attacks, as well as superhuman strength, speed, and durability. He also possesses ‘net’ weaponry of possible Tinker origin, which can restrain targets as well as being used in a similar fashion to a tether or grappling hook.”

“Recent events:This section is a stub. You can help by

it.”

The ‘History’ tab had a little more information, which Peter found interesting, if only for an outside perspective.

“Ricochet first appeared in a skirmish against the Azn Bad Boyz, a local gang of Brockton Bay, defending a housing tenement from an assault by armed gang members alongside Empire-88 affiliated cape

. He would later appear at a warehouse used in human trafficking operations by the gang—”

Well, first of all, if he’d known he would be Ricochet numberfour, he would have picked a different name, likeProdigyorStinger. Second of all, he was pleasantly surprised there was so little about him. If anyone got the same ideas, they wouldn’t have much to work with.

But something about the article irked him. He searched through the formatting until he found an ‘edit’ button, scrolling down to the ‘Recent Events’ section and adding a single word.

“ —formerlyEmpire-88 affiliated—”

He then clicked on the article that led to Sarah’s information and started editing there too. Or at least he tried to.

“This page has been edit-locked as a result of recent events. You mustlog into edit this page. All edits must be approved by a moderator.”

Oh,boy, forum moderation. 'Some things never change.'

Peter decided to try and make an account and immediately ran into the problem of not having an email, so he ended up having to make one. All in all, he wasted about fifteen minutes making new accounts and emails, just so he could type the word ‘formerly’ again. Satisfied in that accomplishment and feeling that he’d gathered just about all he could from internet trawling—which was to say, nothing new—he closed the browser and debated what to do next.

Ah, sweet freedom! And Friday approached.

Victoria didn’t get the ‘half day’ privileges that Wards got, at least not normally, but she’d gotten out early today anyway. Her final period was just testing and she managed to knock it out quick enough that Mr. Enlow just motioned for her to go.

'Just as well. I need to talk to Dean about tonight.'

After the initial incident with Ricochet at the warehouse, she had a knock on the door from the Protectorate the very next morning. Well, not a literal one, unless you counted her text tone as a door knock. Armsmaster wanted to speak to her, having already given Dean what she could only assume was athoroughdressing down. All things considered, though, he was pretty calm. Mostly just‘blah blah blah can’t have you putting Dean’s identity at risk when facing local villains.’Which was a fair point, but Dean had agreed. And what was Oni Lee going to do besides skulk in the corner until Ricochet found him again?

That was actually therealreason he’d wanted to talk to her. Battery had volunteered to try and make contact with him, but Armsmaster figured that should he refuse, New Wave might have an easier time reaching him.Diet Protectorate, indeed.He’d also offered a pretty hefty cash stipend, and as much as she didn’t want to force Ricochet into anything, Victoria knew a good deal when she saw one and the payment was just for keeping him out of trouble and not necessarily for forcing him to sign on with the Protectorate. The fear was that any retaliation he took might wake a far bigger dragon than Oni Lee, and Victoria knew firsthand that Lung wasn’t someone you took on alone… New Wavetogetherhadn’t been able to beat him. Ricochet wouldn’t stand a chance and the collateral damage he’d cause trying could be catastrophic.

She’d agreed to the deal. It was something she would have even if there wasn’t an incentive, especially when the news came over the Dallon household police stingers that Ricochet had gone on a one-man-army spree across the Docks. She’d been quick to go looking for him, but relented after she saw Battery making her own move.

The last thing she wanted was to step on Armsmaster’s toes twice in a week.

Tonight, she’d make her own play. She had a good idea of Ricochet’s patterns, now, and she could tell a few things about the man beneath the mask. Foremost among them, he had a great sense of personal responsibility for the death of Scrimshaw, which meant that he likely wouldn’t give up on Oni Lee without averygood reason. Victoria spent some time mulling the whole situation over during class, trying to zero in on a reason she could give, eventually coming up with one she believed he’d be satisfied with.

There were still a few lingering doubts about his allegiances. Not in the Protectorate or New Wave, naturally. She read through the PHO wiki, trolled the boards, and it was still a pretty open question whether Scrimshaw had been turning over a new leaf or not. That question consequently colored most of the public perception about Ricochet. Whether he was just a Nazi with good PR or a genuinely good guy was still a matter of debate.

Victoria intended to kill two birds with one stone tonight. She would prove to everyone,includingher ever-wary sister, that Ricochet was above board. And with a little luck, she’d turn his destructive energy on the Empire 88 for a night. Maybe even lure Lung into a false sense of security. Get him to have Oni Lee try again instead of handling the matter himself.

She just hoped the idea would work. Despite his power and brutish reputation, Lung was no fool.

The rest of her day was pretty uneventful in the leadup to her genius master plan. She met Dean after school as planned for an early dinner; she had a craving for Italian food and he wasn’t in the mood to dispute, so Fratello’s it was. Besides, she knew one of the servers from her college courses, and she always made sure to sit Victoria near the back corners of the restaurant where she could speak with her family and friends more…privately.Infosec was key, after all. She wasn’t extremely hungry and neither was Dean, so they decided to split an order ofsaltimbocca marsalaand call it an afternoon.

“So, you’re going in alone?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” she said, as she polished off the last bite and savored it for as long as she could. “We’re just going into Empire territory and bloodying some noses, taking a load off of Battery’s back since she and Dauntless are running routes in the Docks now in case he wakes up Lung. If we’re lucky this stunt convinces Lung he can have Oni Lee try for double instead of thinking he needs to handle it himself.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Then we have an early warning system in the Protectorate and the two of us can link up with them and help execute their protocol… whatever that might be.”

“You’ll definitely know. They moved Miss Militia out of Downtown and onto the docks too. There’s actionable intel that Lung’s looking for Ricochet personally.”

‘Oh sh*t, that’s not good.'

“I guess it’s good I don’t plan on bringing him over that way,” Victoria said with an uneasy smile.

“Don’t get caught out, okay? You’ve got us to rely on, but if Lung reallyismoving, there’s a real risk we’ll have our hands full with him.” Dean leaned over the table, concern in his eyes. “I know you’ve got skin in the game and he seems nice enough. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“The concern is appreciated, Dean, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“I know, I know. But I’m gonna worry about you anyway.”

Victoria made a show of swooning at the display. “My knight in shining armor!”

Dean chuckled, looking down at the table and shaking his head. Composing himself, he gave her the most serious expression he could muster, though his floofy blonde hair and pretty blue eyes made him look about as serious as a golden retriever. “Seriously. If you two run into trouble, back off and call me. We’re on standby and running our own routes in case the big hitters need to focus up on Lung. Where are you two going?”

“You know that little belt downtown where Coil’s been pushing on the edge of Empire territory?” She said. “Where you ran into Othala and Victor last time? I’m thinking over there.”

“Carlos should be out that way. You gonna start a fight if they show up?”

“If they get in the way, absolutely. Between Ricochet and I, we can take them.”

“Are you sure?” Dean pressed. “Yeah, he’s tough, but it’s not like we know what Ricochet’s powers are.”

“Danger sense,” Victoria raised a hand and started counting off on her fingers. “Some ability to sense being perceived, strength, speed, durability, reflexes, and that net thingy. The guy could win a punch-out with Victoreasyunless Othala gave him powers. And even then, I could keep her off him while he does his thing.”

“And Krieg? Hummel? Other guys who’ve been spotted over there lately?”

“Hummel’s a D-lister and Krieg… well, we can handle Krieg. If more than two show up, then yeah. We’ll wait for backup.”

Dean sighed. “If you’re sure. I just don’t want him to get hurt and have you with that on your conscience.”

“He won’t get hurt with me watching out for him, and if he does, Amy’s on standby. She knows I’m going out.”

“Does sheapprove?”

Victoria frowned. “Take a wild guess.”

Dean sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Try not to put too much pressure on her, please. She does enough of that herself.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… we can’t guarantee anything with the kind of trouble we get into, you know?” Painful experience to backed up that statement. What happened to Auntie wasn’t something Victoria couldforget.

“I know,” he said, offering her a playful smile. “But if your pretty face gets messed up I’ll lose interestrealfast.”

Victoria leaned back, a hand to her forehead as she preened with faux-outrage . “Gasp! Dean Stansfield, youmonster! I thought you liked me for my winning personality!”

“What can I say? I am a shallow man of low class and culture,” Dean said with a lazy smirk, leaning back in his seat and flagging down the waitress with credit card in hand. “I’ll take the bill.”

“Such a dapper gentleman,” she crooned.

When the bill was paid up and the leftovers packed in a box (she told Dean to keep them, as she didn’t think she’d be home for dinner tonight anyway), they left Fratello’s with full bellies. And, at least in Victoria’s case, eased minds.

“So, besides keeping an eye on the mean streets of Brockton Bay, what’s going on with you tonight?” she said.

“Dad wants to talkbusiness.” Dean sounded far from enthused. “He’s thinking about expansion. Not far, just into the neighboring towns.”

“Well, that’d be good for you, right?”

“If I decided to keep up with the business, yeah. Unfortunately, since I’m the only kid… yeah. Pressure’s on me.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, as long as I’m around I’ve got your back regardless of whether you’re a well-to-do businessman or not,” she assured him.

And she meant it. They had their little spats and this was probably the third or fourth ‘on’ in their on-and-off relationship, but at this point Victoria was certain that she and Dean would be part of each other’s lives in some capacity for alongtime. Be that as friends, colleagues, or something more, she’d support him regardless.

Dean leaned over and rewarded her unconditional support with a peck on the cheek and she felt rejuvenated, ready to take on whatever the Empire 88 could throw at her.

Day gave way to night, and Victoria had all but finished suiting up for her littleevening outing, nestling her tiara atop her head and straightening out her dress as she looked herself over in the mirror. She hadn’t been out capeing in a couple of days, so this little adventure would serve a two-fold purpose—a much-needed release for her frustration and helping a (possible) friend in need.

She wasn’t going to be running up on any pushovers tonight, that was for sure. Krieg, in her estimation, was Kaiser’s most competent lieutenant. Hookwolf wasn’t particularly smart and prone to jumping into a fight feet first, though thanks to the nature of his power, he could get away with it. Purity was smarter than either of them in choosing when to engage, though she claimed to be ‘out of the game’, but Krieg made up for it by knowing better than both of his compatriots when and how to tuck his tail and run.

Hence why it was so handy her powers made him ignore that instinct.

Krieg was cool and collected, but flaring up the emotional field around her served to make him lose his head and act more aggressively. When she was ready for him, it paid dividends. She’d just need to make sure Ricochet knew what they were getting into in the event it became relevant, which led her to wonder how her power might affect him.

Maybe it’d do her good to share, just in case.

Satisfied with her preparation, she stepped out of her house and took flight, making a bee line for the hotel she knew Ricochet stayed in. Her hunch was that about now, he’d be getting restless. Maybe not on the street just yet, but given how late he started last night, he’d be eager to start throwing punches again.

‘I can relate to that.’

Victoria arrived on the roof of his hotel about an hour before he’d taken to the streets last night. If she had to wait the whole hour, she would, but doubted it would come to that. As she waited for him, she shot Dean a text.

‘Here. Waiting on Ricochet.’

The reply was slow to come, as no doubt Dean was already starting up his patrol route.

‘Copy. Be careful. <3’

‘Always am except when I’m not XO’

‘I let Carlos know what ur doing just in case. Call him if u need.’

‘Got it. Glhf! Love u!’

‘U 2. Call when ur done.’

Victoria put her phone back in her pocket, internally praising herself for having the foresight to actually make a costume thathadpockets, and went back to waiting. Phone in hand, she had fifty-two minutes before he last hit the streets.

And just as she suspected, not even thirty minutes had ticked by before he emerged.

She’d occupied herself checking in with Amy and Crystal, the latter of whom was on ‘neighborhood watch’ herself, which had very diverted her attention from the situation at hand until the window below her opened. Thank God he was on the top floor, or else he might have gotten the jump on her. Putting her phone away, she conjured up the spirit of her dear mother and put on the best‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’expression she could muster as a taped-up hand grabbed the balustrade just beneath her.

Ricochet had gotten a new costume. Navy blue was actually a better fit for him than black, now that she had a good eye on him. His old gear made him look bulky,heavy, but the new look was slick and lean. It was more aerodynamic, which fit his powers a lot better.

‘But it’s still kind of… tacky.She was pretty sure Eric and this guy were around the same size and Eric had gone throughplentyof ‘trial run’ outfits. She could probably nab a few for Ricochet and see what he thought.

She shook the errant thoughts away. ‘Talk now, fashion later.’

Time to act disappointed.

As Ricochet’s goggled head peered over onto the roof, Victoria folded her arms and gave him that stern ‘Carol Dallon special’, co*cking an eyebrow and waiting for him to say something. His new goggles concealed his eyes and the sleek sports mask he’d put on in lieu of his previous balaclava did a good job of hiding his facial expressions, but the tone of his voice made it clear that he had been caught off guard.

“Oh-uh-um, haaa…” he stammered, looking back over his shoulder, then back at her. “Hi, Victoria.”

“We’re gonna have atalk,Ricochet,” she said sternly, and her partner in crime(fighting) sagged.

Summary:

Dr. Strange is having a bit of trouble with the whole 'finding Spider-Man' thing, and now the feds are getting involved.

Stephen Strange was the Sorcerer Supreme. Or at least he had been before his little vanishing act.

It washisplan that brought the Avengers together beyond the bounds of space, time, and reality, defied death and destruction on a universal scale, and tipped the balance of power in this universe forever. It washisactions that prevented a multiversal incursion that would have eradicated this timeline after he’d fought so hard to save it.

He was once the Sorcerer Supreme and yet here he was, fearfully and furtively searching for a lost boy as if his life depended on it.

He’d promised the kid that he’d find him.

He intended to keep his word.

It had taken some convincing to get the multiversal hitchhikers to go back home after Peter was sent away. Doctor Octavius had insisted that he could help find Peter, but Stephen had shut him down and made sure that he’d found a timeline with his Peter where he wasn’t haunted by the voices in his head. Or worse, dying a tragic death that three Peters had fought so hard to prevent.

He was the one who put up the most resistance. The others, even the Goblin, put up a token resistance, but went on. As for Osborn, well…

Osborn didn’t think he deserved to live. He blamed himself for what his evil nature had done. The man wantedpunishment, not mercy. Letting him live, on the other hand, was worse than any punishment Strange could think of; it would give him a chance to enjoy the fruits of Peter’s sacrifices. He’d live many years knowing that not only had he failed to break Spider-Man, he owed his new, better life to him.

It felt fitting. Like what the kid would have wanted. Then again, Stephen had only known the kid for a little while and now it seemed more and more like he wouldn’t get the chance to know him again.

The traditional methods hadn’t worked. MJ, who he now found himself on a ‘first initials’ basis with, had brought him an old Spider-Man costume from his residence when he told her of the location spell, but it gave him nothing. He’d nevertriedtrans-universal spellcasting, but he wasn’t surprised it was a bit more involved.

Over the past few days, he’d been ceaselessly trying everything in the book, and some of the things outside the book, to locate Peter. No dice.

‘There are an infinite amount of universes across the Multiverse. He could be in any one of them, at any time, doing anything. I may never find him.’

That didn’t mean he was going to stop trying.

Unfortunately, even the Sorcerer Supreme needed rest, and as he sat in his study, a cup of tea balanced on the palm of his hand, he looked out the massive skylight of the Sanctum Sanctorum. As the evening sun its reddish-orange rays through the room, he tried to reassure himself that Peter could handle it. That he’d manage until he was found, and hopefully sooner, rather than later. He’d been through the Snap, seen how the world, how people he knew, reacted to him being gone for five entire years. Peter might be gone longer than that.

Alas, Peter wasn’t the only problem he had to deal with. The Ebony Blade had resurfaced, or at least, its ancestral wielders had. A new Black Knight had claimed the blade, unsealing its magicks and almost immediately sending the sorcerer keeping an eye on it running for the Sanctum. Normally, Stephen would intervene personally, but it seemed there were more forces in play than the general populace was aware of—apparently, there was a giant hand just… sitting in the middle of the ocean that no one was talking about yet. No relation, he was sure, weird sh*t just seemed to be the norm now that the doors of the Multiverse had been thrown open and the keys had been cast into the void. There was also the situation with the Hex, which he’dveryquickly stuck his nose into, but Wanda was still clearly traumatized.‘Last thing I need to do is stick my nose in it and escalate the situation. Better to keep observing, for now.’

There was a knock on his study door to jar him out of his thoughts.

“Come in.”

One of the newer initiates, Kai, stepped in as timid as she always was. She’d been there when Peter came looking for his help, and despite the…disturbancehis failed spell had caused, she’d stuck around. He’d probably send her to Kamar-Taj soon. She had aptitude, and she had the desire, but her confidence needed work. Wong would be far better at that whole ‘motivational’ thing than he was, though.

“Something you need?” he asked.

“There’s someone here to see you, Doctor Strange.”

With a sigh of exertion, Stephen rose from his chair, turning around and seeing Kai standing next to Sam Wilson, the new Captain America, as it were. He wasn’t in uniform, and appeared… mostly relaxed. There was a hint of concern on his features, which was unsurprising. No one ever came to Stephen for a casual chat, there was always some request or concern orsomethingto bother the Sorcerer Supreme with. Not like that bothered him. He was a busy man, and preferred to stay busy, especially in times like these.

“Ah, Wilson. Good to see you,” he greeted him. “Congratulations on… the whole Captain thing.”

Sam nodded as Kai stepped back behind him and shut the door. “Yeah, I guess I’m the Captain now.”

“Can’t think of a worthier man to bear the shield.”

Sam smiled. “Of all the people to say that, I think you were at the bottom of my list.”

Stephen shrugged, his cape rippling with the motion. “Look, you came into my house and wiped your feet off at the door, the least I can do is stroke your ego a bit before we get into Avenger talk. I assume that’s what this is. Avenger talk.”

Sam paused, mulling over his words. His eyes wandered between some of the artifacts littering the study, and his hands dove into his pockets. The worry on his face was clearer now.

“Tea?” Stephen asked, snapping his fingers. On command, a second glass of tea appeared on the table next to him, along with a chair for Sam to sit in. The Captain nodded his agreement, and took his seat, though he didn’t go for the tea. He didn’t even touch the cup. He just stared forward at the skylight, still thinking.

Finally, after what felt like half a lifetime, he broke the silence and looked Stephen in the eye.

“You found him yet?”

“No,” Stephen replied somberly. “Not even close. That’s why you’re here?”

“New York’s got other guys on the street, but that kid did a lot for this city,” Sam said, folding his arms. “Did it without hurting anybody, too, unlike Castle.”

“He’s back on the street?”

“Yeah. At this point, they’re not sure the P.D. can touch him. Might become an ‘us’ problem if it escalates too far.”

“I don’t think it will. Once I find the kid, things will stabilize,” Stephen said, with a quirk of his brow. “Besides, he’s not the only one, is he? There’s the, uh… the devil guy.”

“Yeah, there’s a couple of other street-level players, but it’s a lot less concentrated, and they don’t know us. They don’t work with us. I’m not sure some of them would.”

“Perhaps you could approach them about it?”

“That’s part of why I’m in town,” Sam said, finally grabbing a hold of the cup, though he still didn’t drink anything. “That, and to talk with you about this whole thing. Banner’s working with his… cousin, I think, and Scott and Rhodey are doing their own thing, but… is there anything we can do? ThatIcan do?”

The sentiment was noble, Stephen had to admit. In a way it was one he shared, though that same mentality of ‘once an Avenger, always an Avenger’ that had started to form amongst the members of their fellowship was the thing that put himself and Peter in this situation in the first place.

“Captain, unless you’ve been practicing witchcraft in your attic when you’re not out thwarting terrorist plots and saving the world, I don’t think your expertise is going to be much help here,” Strange replied, realizing too late he’d come off a bit too cutting. Indeed, Sam seemed stung, his eyes averted back to the stained glass.

“I appreciate the offer,” he hastily added.

“When you find him, you let me know. We’ll bring him home.”

“It may not be an Avengers-level threat, Captain, I’m sure you have other things to worry about.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “I don’t plan on leaving a man behind, Doctor.”

Stephen gave a thin-lipped smile and a nod. Steve had chosen well.

“Just Stephen is fine,” he said.

“Alright, Just Stephen,” Sam replied with a smile of his own. “Glad we understand each other. I know most of us have gone our separate ways here, recently, but I’ve still got contact with Bruce, Scott, Bucky and Rhodey. You got anybody?”

“Wanda,” Stephen said, shaking his head. “But she’s in no shape for anything resembling an Avengers scenario. She’s still grieving. Needs more time.”

Sam sighed, placing his untouched tea back on the table. “I can imagine. Still, let me know.”

He dug into the pockets of his coat and pulled out a piece of paper. A little bit more digging, and a frustrated grunt followed before Stephen took pity on him and snapped his fingers again, a pen manifesting in said pocket and causing Sam to give him a bewildered look.

“I could’ve found it,” he protested lamely.

“You left it on the counter at the coffee shop.”

“... magic bullsh*t…” Sam muttered under his breath as he wrote his contact information down on the paper, before placing it on the table. “Take care of yourself, Stephen. Things have calmed down a little, but our line of work never stays quiet long.”

“Oh, believe me, things are anything but calm here,” Stephen agreed. “Still, compared to Thanos, it’s practically a holiday vacation.”

There was another knock on the door, drawing Sam’s attention back to it.

“Doctor Strange? There’s someone in the parlor to see you,” Kai said through the door. Her not waiting for an answer was a clear sign that it wasn’t someone he knew, or it was someone he didn’t particularly want to see. Kai had been acquainted with MJ and Ned Leeds already, and she knew the Avengers by faces, so it wasn’t any of them.

“Oh, wonderful,” Stephen muttered, looking at Sam. “Well, since you’re here.”

“I’ll see myself out, Doc, thanks.”

“I’m not rushing you out or anything, Captain-”

“Sam. Just Sam.”

“Just Sam, you’re welcome to stay a minute for tea after this is dealt with.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, fine, I guess I can kick back for a minute once we see what’s going on.”

Stephen motioned for Sam to follow him, and the two made their way out of the study and down the halls to the stairwell. The nice thing about said stairwell was it had a full, unobstructed view of the parlor, meaning Stephen didn’t have to walk all the way down to deal with guests unless he actually felt like doing so.

Considering who the guests were, as he got a good look at three men, their tailored suits, their badges, and the gun holster on one of their hips, these were not people he wanted to go down and talk to.

“Ah, sh*t,” Sam said, his expression falling.

“You know these people?”

“Damage Control.”

The three gentlemen were currently looking around the Sanctum as if they were expecting someone to pick a fight with them. Frankly, depending on what priceless artifacts these inelegant buffoons knocked over, shot, or otherwise tampered with, it was very possible something would. The man with the gun, for his part, seemed mostly focused on him, which was far more acceptable. It wasn’t as if a gun was going to do anything to the Sorcerer Supreme. Strange had seen him somewhere before… somewhere he couldn’t quite place.

“Gentlemen. Can we help you?” Stephen asked, folding his arms as he watched the gazes of the other two men return to him. The one in the front of their trio quickly straightened his coat, and replied, an uncomfortably smug look on his face. Stephen didn’t like this guy already.

“You must be Dr. Stephen Strange, correct?”

“That would be correct,” he replied. “Who might you be?”

The man motioned to himself, first. “Department of Damage Control, Doctor. I’m Agent Cleary, this man—” he motioned to the man with the gun, who looked at Cleary out of the corner of his eyes, “—is Agent Wallis, and the gentleman to my left is Agent Foster. You’ve been quite busy lately, Doctor.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes, leaning over the banister somewhat as he replied, Sam following suit. “As a matter of fact, I have, gentlemen, and I’m afraid I still am quite busy.”

“Oh, I’m sure. What, with that Spider-Man business at Lady Liberty the other day, you must be worn out.”

That got his attention. Stephen had no illusions that something as loud and insane as that incident would make the news. Some cameras had showed up near the end of the proceedings, and no doubt there was security footage from around the statue that would have captured both his and Peter’s exploits that night. He was surprised there wasn’t any questions about thethreeSpider-Men. Then again, the gentlemen had only just arrived. He was sure there would be more questions.

“Why don’t you and Mr. Wilson come down here so we can talk, Doctor?” Wallis asked. He was looking at Stephen a bit too intensely. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who felt some sense of familiarity… perhaps they had, indeed, run into each other before. He couldn’t recall the name or face from anywhere specific, but…

He had bigger fish to fry right now.

“I think myself and theCaptainare fine right where we are, thank you,” Stephen said, hearing Sam let out a firm exhale next to him. “What is it you want to know?”

This situation was far from ideal. There were currently two men with loaded weapons standing in the middle of the parlor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, another man with an attitude that was starting to piss Stephen right off, and he also, of all the people, had Captain goddamnAmerica with him. Not that he was unhappy to see Sam, by no means, but his presence would only give this dithering idiot downstairs more ammunition for his incessant, smug questioning.

Summary:

Every day should be Punch A Nazi Day, and Peter is in the holiday spirit.

Glory Girl’s costume wasverystriking, Peter noted as she floated menacingly above him. Real retro vibes, classic comic book stuff, but tasteful! The little shoulder cape was cool, too.

Also, she was angry at him.

‘I should have figured.’

Peter hadn’t really thought about the fact that Victoria knew where he lived. It’d slipped his mind in the whole mess of that day back at the warehouse, and he’d only just realized he had her phone number. Of course, he didn’t call. This whole Oni Lee situation washisresponsibility, not anyone else’s, but people just seemed intent on getting involved anyway. He kept hoping against hope he could pull it off alone, but it seemed he’d hoped for nothing. They were gonna get involved whether he asked or not.

Beneath his mask, he gave a nervous smile, then mentally kicked himself for smiling when she couldn’t even see his mouth.

“Yeah, I guess wedohave a lot to talk about…” Peter muttered, looking for an out and finding one in his previous train of thought. “That tiara issocute, by the way. Really brings the outfit together.”

Victoria smiled, running a hand through her hair as she looked up at the accessory in question. “That’s really nice of you to say, my mom thought it didn’t really fit with the rest of New Wave’s sort of theme, but I had an idea in mind and it really—” Suddenly, she stopped smiling, and looked back at him with a steely gaze. “Okay, no, no, we’re gonna talk about the serious stuff now.”

Well, he tried.

“What is there to talk about?”

“We could talk about you throwing yourself into a wall until either the wall breaks, or your neck does,” Victoria said, folding her arms. “We could talk about how you have NO idea what you’re up against. We could talk about how you have no backup or support network besides me, and that wouldn’t have mattered if I hadn’t decided to come find you myself tonight. Or, if you’d rather, we can stay on the topic of costumes and talk about how you look like a mall ninja.”

“Hey,” Peter protested weakly, climbing onto the roof and sitting on the edge. “Urban vigilante is the wave, come on.”

“For you, maybe, but that’s really not why I came up here,” Victoria said. “I knew you’d be going out again tonight. Do you realize how much danger you’re in right now, Ricochet? Did it ever occur to you that you might be in over your head?”

“I’ve faced worse than Oni Lee,” he said.

“Right, supposedly you fought an alien warlord, died, and came back to life somehow, I almost forgot.” She clearly didn’t buy the whole story, or maybe she was just annoyed enough that it came out that way, but she wasn’t done. “The only reason the ABB are still around and not contributing to the prison-industrial complex is because Lung swings at a high enough weight class that theentire Brockton Protectorate, New Wave, and every semi-affiliated vigilante in the city is on standby to have achanceof stopping him before he does massive damage to the city. And you were willing to risk fighting him alone?”

“I was looking for Oni Lee. Lung isn’t my concern right now,” Peter said. “Maybe when I’m done with Oni Lee.”

“Oni Lee isn’t on the move right now. Lungis. He’s looking for you, Ricochet. You kicked the hornet's nest, took away his newest toy and a huge chunk of his revenue stream, and now he wants you dead, dead,dead.”Victoria sighed, massaging her temples and allowing herself to drop down the rest of the way onto the roof with a light tap from her boots. “And he’s mad enough that he’s willing to do it himself. The way his powers work, there’s no way you’d stand a chance against him on your own unless you gotverylucky, so just be glad I came and knocked on your roof instead of a ten-foot-tall dragon-man shooting fireballs out of his mouth.”

“I’m sorry, he’swhat?” Peter asked, stuck very firmly on ‘ten-foot-tall dragon-man’.

“Oh, yeah, that got your attention, didn’t it?” Victoria asked with a scowl. “See what I mean? No idea.”

“Look, whether you believe what I’m telling you or not, it’s the truth,” Peter said, “I’ve been through a lot worse things than you know, and that’s just in the past couple of weeks. I can handle myself.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Sorry, it was just our first meeting where you were caught in the dead center of a suicide bombing, really threw me off.”

“You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“No,” Victoria replied with a sarcastic smile. “But neither are you. I know you well enough by now to know that. So, you wanna go out tonight? I can’t stop you. But I can point you in a direction that isn’t going to get you killed, gives you some positive press with the people who are still calling you a Nazi, and a bit of payback for Sarah without putting yourself at risk of getting burned to a crisp.”

She flipped her hair nonchalantly, and tacked on yet another condition. “Also, I’m going with you.”

“You don’t have to—” Peter started, only to be quickly cut off.

“Don’t give me that, Ricochet, you’re getting my help whether you want it or not. Like it or not, you need it.”

She seemed really intent on telling him what he did and didn’t need today. It reminded him of an exchange he’d had with Tony, long ago, but this wasn’t Tony Stark. This was a member of the superhero version of the Winslows telling him how to do something he’d been doing for years now. A girl who, by his estimation, was his age or a little bit younger, who couldn’t possibly have crossed swords with the kinds of things and people he’d run into in his time.

He was annoyed, but he couldn’t bring himself to be mad. If their roles and positions were reversed, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t try doing the same thing.

“You know what?” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Fine. Let’s hear it. What’s your big idea? Which direction are you pointing me in?”

“Well, option one; we go punch some Nazis in the face,” she said, so chipper that he would have never guessed they’d just had an argument. “Empire 88 runs pit fights—people, dogs, stuff like that. An informant gave the police some intel on a rather big one, and they passed it on to New Wave, since it’s Hookwolf running the thing.”

Hookwolf? That’s a dumb name.

“So, what’s Hookwolf’s deal? Is he a guy in a wolf costume with hook hands or something?” Peter asked.

Victoria chuckled, shaking her head. “No, a bit more of a problem than that. He can transform into a literal wolf made of blades, and he’s practically invulnerable in that state.”

Oh.

“You guys have really,reallyweird powers,” Peter said. “Let me guess, on top of all of your powers, you shoot laser beams out of your eyes or something.”

“Nah,” Victoria said. “That’s my cousin, she’s on patrol tonight too.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not joking, you’re gonna meet her, she’s my backup.”

Peter felt like he’d just about heard and seen everything at this point, despite knowing good and darn well he hadn’t. He was almost afraid to ask for any more details, but he persisted anyway. “So, that’s it? We’re going to break up a fight club and fight an invincible wolf-sword-man?”
“That’s one of our options, but there’s also a risk we might run into some other villains if we do that. There’s a pretty rough customer who’s been busting up E-88’s dog-fighting operations, Hellhound. You could probably take her in a fight, but I think you’re doing fine without making three different groups of enemies in a week. Two’s enough.”

“So what’s the other option?”

Victoria folded her arms, and continued. “There’s the pits, and there’s the edge of Empire turf, where they’ve been having some skirmishes with the other gangs. We’d be doing what you’ve been doing with the ABB—going into their turf and gangbusting. Empire 88 isn’t as erratic as Lung, they’ll take a more measured approach to fighting you. Lung’s willing to come to your neighborhood and burn it down if it means getting to fight you head on, but the 88’s more likely to just move in at night and do recon, send people to ask questions and get a feel for where you’re at, or have their gangs start acting in your turf to try and get you to show yourself. Since the only established ‘turf’ you have is the Oceanside complex, which is deep in ABB territory, there’s not much risk of Empire targeting you there, other than maybe a cape, but that risks Lung or Oni Lee coming out to play, and I don’t think they’re ready for that fight.”

Peter thought for a moment, mulling over the options. Truth be told, he was still tired, still ground-down by the events of the past few days. Last night had been good for him, therapeutic almost. A reminder that he still had what it took to be Spider-Man… or, well,notSpider-Man. But something close to it.

He also wasn’t sure who exactly was in charge of Empire-88, but if Lung was such a bad dude, something told him it would behoove him not to make a personal enemy of his Nazi counterpart right off the jump. Then again, he doubted the Nazis would be willing to work together with a gang that had ‘Asian’ in the name just to get rid of him. Theoretically, anyway.

And he really did like being Spider-Man for a night.

“I think ‘if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it’,” Peter replied. “Gangbusting worked pretty well for me before.”

Victoria seemed to like that answer, judging by her bright smile and nod, her hands lowering to her sides. “Sounds good. Empire 88 has more capes than the ABB, so you’ll need to keep your eyes up and your wits about you while you’re out, but together, we’re tough enough to handle anyone they could throw at us. Besides, you already met Dean, and apparently Battery to boot. You know we’ve got backup.”

“How did you know I met Battery?”

“My mom and dad have been working with the Protectorate for years now, and Dean’s my boyfriend. I have my way of finding things out.”

Well, good to know that Victoria had Peter’s number figuratively now, instead of just literally. Great.Justgreat. Still… maybe having a pair of helping hands wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He wouldn’t have been able to stop the Goblin and those other guys if he hadn’t had Peter Two and Three, or Strange, or MJ and Ned. Maybe Victoria was just what he needed at a time like this, even if it was a little hard to admit it.

Besides, she was a hero, too. She could handle herself.

With that in mind, Peter admitted defeat with a smile and a pair of raised hands. “Alright,” he agreed, clapping them together. “Let’s do it.”

Victoria was smiling even wider now, leaning back on her heels and looking skyward. “I’ll lead the way, Ricochet. On me.”

With that, Victoria launched herself skyward, in the direction of what Peter could only assume was their destination. Looking down at his web shooters, he noted that he was getting low. Really low. He’d need to find a place to get it all together, and soon. For now, though… he’d just have to manage.

Brockton Bay was pretty low to the ground, anyway. He’d manage.Hopefully.

With that, he took off running, and leaped off the hotel roof, firing a web onto the apartment block on the other side of the street, and started swinging.

Vicky was faster than Ricochet, she noted, as the swinger did his best to keep up with her. She’d had to slow down quite a bit to keep pace with him, not that she minded, but she had been… a little bit showy about it, currently laying back as if in a beach chair as she flew alongside him, occasionally looking over her shoulder to adjust her course.

“So who exactly do we need to look out for again!?” Ricochet asked, raising his voice to carry over the wind. Combined with his mask, it was alittlehard to hear him, but she made him out mostly okay.

“There’s a few big capes that might be a problem for us, but we’re probably not gonna run into them,” she replied, turning over slightly in case she was a bit hard to hear, herself. It also gave her a better view of where the two were going. “Hookwolf is only really a concern if we went to the pits, same with Cricket and Stormtiger. On our current route, we’re most likely gonna run into Krieg, Victor, Othala, andmaybeCrusader. Crusader and Krieg are the only ones we’re really gonna have to worry about.”

“Give me the low down on all of ‘em,” Ricochet said. Good. He was thorough, too. She could appreciate that in a partner.

“Crusader creates doubles of himself that are favorably Manton-Limited—” Quickly, Victoria realized that if hewasn’ttalking out of his ass about his frankly insane point of origin, he might not know what that meant, so she went to nip that in the bud. “—they aren’t affected by the world around them. Basically, you can’t hurt them, but they can hurt you. Only way to beat him is to get around them and hit him directly, but that shouldn’t be too hard for us. Krieg creates a field around him where he can manipulate kinetic energy. He can send you flying, slow you down, redirect or slow down your attacks, even make it harder for you to move or breathe. Othala can give people temporary powers, just not herself. Flight, strength, regeneration, stuff like that. Victor absorbs the skills and knowledge of the people around him, pretty simple stuff. You usually see those two together. The route I’m taking you on, those four are our most likely problems. If we run into someone else, I can give you the rundown.”

“Sounds good!” Peter replied, swinging back closer to her. That had to be disorienting, crossing those different angles and distances while trying to listen to someone talk.

“You sure you got all that?”

“Positive! Ghost powers, kinetic energy manipulator, temporary superpowers, copycat, right?”

“Good enough,” she replied. “Between the two of us, we can take any of them on alone, and probably Victor and Othala together, so I’m not too worried. Their thugs, though? Won’t stand a chance.”

“Alright, then where are we going?”

Victoria called to mind the police tip they’d received earlier in the day. Like any good group of neo-Nazis, there were a few informants in Empire-88. Ricochet’s recent stunts had done a good job, hell, agreatjob, of disrupting the ABB on a wide scale, and the Empire was looking to take advantage. They’d be moving into ABB territory in about the same area as he’d been a few nights before. Standard gang posturing. It just so happened to work out this way, but in a good way; if Ricochet stayed independent, this would be him establishing his turf, something that made it clear that he wasn’t playing around in Brockton Bay, and that he had friends with a bit of muscle behind him.

Maybe she’d need to talk to her parents about making a pitch of her own.

“You remember where you bloodied the ABB’s nose the other night? Word is, Empire-88 wants to push that territory and take over themselves. It’s mostly just gonna be thugs looking for trouble, probably nothing too serious. Like what you had to deal with at Oceanside, but racist this time.”

“Ah, got it!” Ricochet replied, ceasing one of his swings to run along the side of a brick building, getting some momentum to enter another swing with a running leap. “How much farther till we get to ‘em!?”

“They should be starting to make their way into ABB territory in the next half-hour. We get there first, we case the place out, then we can get the jump on them,” Vicky replied. “Oh, by the way- cape names only while we’re out here, okay? Everyone knows who I am, anyway, but it’s just kind of a thing we do.”

“Sure, sure, got it!”

With that, there wasn’t much further to go until they got to their destination. The informant had said that they were going to meet at a parking garage just on the border of the two territories, a four-floor affair with plenty of privacy and its back to Empire-88 territory if the worst came to pass. Only thing was, a parking garage like that, there were only one or two ways in or out of the building. A nice, big, concrete box for her and her newfound partner to play around in.

This was gonna be fun.

“Alright, so, Ricochet,” she explained, turning herself to a more traditional flying pose, now that things were starting to get serious, and they were getting closer to their objective. “Empire-88 is meeting up to plan their little push for territory here at a parking garage on the corner of Fairweather and McAllister. There’s only two ways in or out, one exit onto each street at the bottom floor. I’m almost certain they’ll have lookouts there, but they probably will be meeting on the upper floors so that people don’t just ‘stumble’ on their little Nazi pow-wow. Seeing as we both can get around pretty easily, I was thinking we could crash their little block party head-on.”

“Works for me!” Ricochet agreed. “So we’ll be going in at once or separately?”

“Depends on how they set up. If they’re all packed in tight, we’ll hit ‘em from different angles, but if they’re spread out we can hit them from the same point and fan out from there. The faster we knock ‘em out, the more of ‘em we can leave laying for when the cops show up.”

By now, Victoria could see their destination, across the railroad tracks a couple of blocks over. There were considerations she’d made herself when she scouted the place out earlier, mostly around Ricochet’s method of locomotion requiring points for him to grapple onto, so she’d singled out a cell phone tower alongside the tracks, situated in such a way that the lights were in front of and below their line of sight, keeping them in the dark. It would also give him a good launching point for his little net/line thing, if he chose to swing around it to give himself enough momentum to launch himself into the garage.

As for her, well… she’d manage her own way.

“See that cell tower over there?” she asked, pointing it out to him. “Let’s post up there, about halfway up. We’ll be able to see anyone who comes in from either entrance and figure out a plan, and you can use it as a fulcrum to swing off of when it’s go time.”

“Looks good to me!” Ricochet replied, adjusting his course as she rocketed ahead of him, the wind whipping through her hair as she pulled a tight turn to circle around the tower. She’d decelerate once she’d gotten behind it, closing the distance and resting herself in such a fashion that she floated between the metal bars bracketing the tower. Ricochet took a few more seconds to arrive, a line of his net-thing hitting a pylon next to her as he swung around and through the bars, grabbing onto the ladder at the center of the tower’s structure one-handed and arresting his momentum without so much as a sound. In all the fracas of the last few days, she’d forgot about the whole wall-climbing, super-grip thing.

Might be a good time to brief him on that, actually.

“So, Ricochet,” she said, lowering her voice now that they were in close contact. He turned his head towards her, goggles meeting her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the low-down on your powers, but you mind running it by me one more time, just so I know what we’re going in there with?”

He nodded. “Strong, fast, tough, net guns, danger sense tingle thing, and I can walk on walls. You?”

'Danger sense tingle thing'. Interesting way of putting it. Victoria brushed it off, along with the errant locks of hair that had spilled from her tiara, which she neatly tucked back in. “I can fly, as you know. I’m just as strong as you, maybe stronger, and tougher for sure. I’ve also got a neat little field I can use to intimidate anyone in close quarters. Made one of these Nazi punks pee his pants one time, shoulda seen the look on his face.”

That got a little chuckle out of Ricochet, who turned to look at the parking garage. “Flying’s not gonna be super useful in there. Not a lot of vertical room, but you’ll at least be faster than them. I’m low on… net material, so I wanna try and keep things quick and simple. I mostly use it to restrain guys or knock their weapons away, so if I see guns, I can handle that. Danger sense usually tells me who’s drawing a bead, and my reactions are quick enough that I can get out of the way or pre-empt it.”

“That’s helpful. I don’t really want a bullet bouncing off of me and cleaning somebody out, you know, minimal collateral damage.” she said, reaching out and leaning an arm on the cell tower, a smug smirk crossing her features. “As you saw earlier, though… I’m faster than you, so I should be okay.”

She swore she heard another chuckle breaking through the sigh that escaped his mask. He turned back to look at her, shaking his head and pointing at her in accusation. “You can actually fly. I swing. Of course you’re faster.”

“I can’t help being perfect, Rico.”

There was a sudden, noticeable shift in Ricochet’s body language, and Victoria didn’t know exactly what that entailed, but she had a feeling in her gut that she’d just made a mistake. A mistake she wasn’t quite sure how to address, but… well, she had to try.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. You just, uh…” He paused, looking down at the ground far below for a moment and letting out a low, deep exhale. “Reminded me of someone.”

Oh. That really didn’t need much elaboration. As much as she was still cagey about the whole ‘Scrimshaw-slash-Marrow’ situation, she couldn’t help but at least feel a little sympathy for how badly it affected Ricochet.

“Sorry, Ricochet.”

“It’s fine. No harm done.”

There was a long, awkward pause after that.

“So, I had a thought, if this goes well,” she said. “You’re pretty much on your own here, other than me, Dean, and Amy. I’m thinking after tonight, I maybe do a bit of PR, work with you on getting you a better costume, and I think I can put you in a good spot.”

“Vic-”

“Cape names, Ricochet.”

“Glory Girl, I don’t need a PR team,” he assured her, still sounding a bit down in the dumps. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No, no, hear me out. I don’t know what your situation is, outside of cape stuff, but I have a feeling it’s not a good one. You said you have a job. Does it pay well? You don’t have a permanent place to stay, I know that much.”

“Haven’t gotten my first paycheck yet. My boss put me up in that hotel until we find an apartment or something,” he replied.

“Well, if we get you some good press, maybe associate you with an established cape group… like the oneI’mpart of, we can see about putting some merchandise out there. Mysterious new good guy cleaning up the Docks? You’d be a hit!”

“Are you seriously asking me about T-shirts right now?”

“It’s a legitimate revenue stream, Ricochet, even the villains are in on it. Some of them, anyway. The ones that aren’t like, Nazis.”

“Really?” Ricochet asked, though before she could confirm, he proceeded to throw her a curveball. “I dunno, I figure, like, you know how people in the middle of New York or Boston drive around with confederate flag bumper stickers and call themselves ‘Western chauvinists’-”

Now it was Victoria’s turn to laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and suppressing it as best she could. “Oh, Jesus, no, Brockton Bay’s not that bad. Most everyone here’s just… apathetic. There’s plenty of assholes, don’t get me wrong, but a lot of Empire-88’s foot soldiers and a good few of their capes are transplants. They’ve got connections to all sorts of hate groups and splinters nation-wide. Not exactly just a local flavor, like the ABB.”

“Gotcha, that makes sense.” Ricochet shook his head, waving her off one-handed. “Still, not sure about the whole ‘merchandise’ thing, but thanks.”

“Just think about it, no pressure. Besides, we’ve got other stuff to worry about. Like getting you an actual costume, for one. Urban vigilante issooo2007,” she teased.

“Hey, 2007 was a good year… probably. I was, like, seven, I don’t really remember. I’m not sure I’d fit in your getup, anyway.”

“Oh,ha-ha. Me and my sister are the weirdos in New Wave, everyone else wears actual, like, classic superhero leotards. You’ll see if we run into my cousin, I told her what we were up to in case we needed an extra hand.”

“That’s the one that shoots lasers out of her eyes?”

“Well, not out of her eyes, but she does shoot lasers,” she replied. Out of all of the New Wave collective, Crystal brought the most firepower to the table in the ranged department. If theydidrun into more trouble than they could handle, as unlikely as that was, adding her to the mix would solve the problem very quickly. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. The informant hadn’t said anything about any capes joining this little push. As far as she had heard, Krieg had okayed it, but hadn’t exactly signed off on going in himself. Smart man, in her opinion. There was a possibility that, if they hadn’t gotten involved, Oni Lee would have, and that would have ended up with bodies in the street.

Speaking of bodies, though… the party was about to start.

“Hey, Ricochet, turn around. A car just pulled into the parking lot.”

Ricochet’s head snapped back to look, and he proceeded to prove the whole ‘sticking to surfaces’ thing wasn’t just a throwaway by adjusting himself so that he was ‘squatting’ against a steel beam, attached only by the soles of his feet and the tips of his fingers.

“Does that… get uncomfortable?” she asked.

“Nah,” he replied. “I saw the car go in, plus another two on the other side of the street, one after the other. Not sure if that’s a coincidence anymore.”

“They’re probably gonna spread it out a bit, to try and look less suspicious,” Victoria said. “Keep an eye on one exit, I’ll keep an eye on the other. McAllister’s the right side, Fairweather’s the one you were just looking at.”

“I’ll keep on watching Fairweather, then.”

“Got it.”

With that, there was silence, only broken by the distant sounds of the odd airplane or particularly rambunctious driver, and their callouts of suspicious-looking cars. The minutes ticked by, one car, then two, then another five minutes before two more came in, and suddenly there were a lot of headlights flashing on the second floor. This was getting to be a seriously big party. Sixteen cars, between the two of them, a couple of which were SUVs, Vans, and pickup trucks with people in the bed.

“Looks like we’re gonna have our hands full,” Ricochet said, peering over his shoulder at her. “You wanna call that cousin of yours, get some extra hands?”

“No sign of any of their parahuman guys,” she said. “If we go in hard and fast, we’ll be fine, but speed is key. We go in, we knock these guys out quick, take the lethal weapons out of the picture, and call in the law. Make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” he agreed. His eyes moved around the tower they were currently perched on, and Victoria had no doubt in her mind that he was planning out exactly how he was going to swing this. She’d seen him in action enough now to know his pattern. Seemingly satisfied with his trajectory, he turned back to look at her. “You ready?”

“You first,” she said with a smirk, “Wouldn’t want you to get too far behind.”

She was pretty sure he was smiling under the mask, after that one.

Summary:

Peter gets his mojo back, and embarrasses a few Nazis in the process.

Okay, first note for Peter—Vicky was faster than him.

Wayfaster.

Like,wayway faster.

Even with the little head start she’d given him to swing into the building, she hit her mark first, rocketing into the parking garage like a white and gold bullet and sending three guys flying into cars and concrete floors within the span of a second. One guy hit the door of a parked car so hard the window shattered, and Peter winced under his mask.

Once he started moving, that was good enough for him. Back to the grind. The Tingle gave him the low-down on where the biggest threats were, and aside from a low, dull roar that seemed… oddly familiar… there wasn’t anything much that stood out. A cursory visual sweep revealed a couple of gunmen that Vicky either hadn’t seen or had left to him, and all that took to deal with were a couple of well placed web shots. Everyone else seemed to be armed for ‘break windows and beat up unlucky bystanders’ duty, with baseball bats, tire irons, boards, hammers, pipes, brass knuckles… hell, one guy had a sledgehammer.

Sledgehammer Guy, in fact, was currently teeing off for a swing at Peter’s head from behind him. With casual ease, he grabbed the head of the hammer and turned the handle hard enough that it smacked its wielder below the jaw, sending him stumbling into Peter’s outstretched foot. Before the man could even hit the concrete, his hands were already being webbed towards the floor. Light work.

Man, the Tingle was actingreallyweird here lately. First the business at the Hebert house, then that MASSIVE spike with Asuka, and now this low, dull roar that wasn’t coming from any specific direction. All he knew was that there was danger,somewhere, and it wasn’t from these thugs.

Whatever. He’d just keep his eyes open. He’d… he’d felt the Snap coming for him before anyone else even started disappearing. He’d know if there was serious danger coming. He had enough problems without worrying about what ‘might be’ right now.

Every few seconds, it seemed, Vicky crossed through his vision, taking down another two or three thugs in the time it took him to get one guy. They’d maybe hit the ground and busted a dozen guys before the rest of the party decided the show was over, and scattered. Some tried to head to the lower floor of the parking garage, others up to the top, and some jumped into their cars and tried to drive off. In particular, a pretty big SUV made the mistake of trying to run over Vicky.

A very serious mistake.

Almost as serious as the massive dent she left in the hood of the vehicle when she punched it so hard the entire engine block crumpled like paper.
Was this supposed to be hard? Peter got the distinct impression from how Vicky talked about it that this was going to be harder.

Another car attempted to drift into him, probably hitting a solid twenty or thirty miles per hour? Definitely not a safe speed to be zooming around a parking garage in. They needed to slow down, and Peter was more than happy to oblige in helping them out. He vaulted over the vehicle as it swung past him, firing two tethers of web and yanking as hard as he could the moment he hit the ground, sending the vehicle lurching over its right side as he cut the tether on his left hand and grabbed both lines in his fists.

“Woah! Not so fast, there, buddy!”

With that, he yanked again, and the car slid back towards him with a shower of sparks where metal met the concrete floor. The driver's side door opened up towards the ceiling, and Peter seized the opportunity, breaking into a sprint and launching himself into the air so that he landed just over the open door, face-to-face with the two would-be Nazis inside. Both younger folks, shaved heads, one a guy, one a girl. Must be fashy date night.

“Aw, I’m sorry, am I ruining you guys’ night? Here, let me get you some good, quality ‘alone time.’”

With that little quip, he fired a series of web blasts that pinned their hands to the dashboard and seats, leaving both people trapped for the time being. With that done, he playfully reached down, locked the door, and slammed it shut, leaving the car to topple aimlessly onto its roof, the frame groaning slightly but otherwise holding up just fine. They’d just be cooling their heels in there until the cops showed up.

The stupid Tingle… now it was getting more acute. This was closer to what happened with Asuka, albeit not nearly as intense. There was still no real location to the threat, other than ‘present’, but it was much more acute than it had been before. Something wasn’t right here.

“Glory Girl?” he called out. “How’re we doing?”

“They’re making a break for it!” she replied as she sailed just past him, an incapacitated thug collared in her left hand. “Those two cars’ll make it pretty much impossible for anyone to drive out, so most everyone else is heading out on foot.”

“Something feels wrong,” he explained. “The Tingle’s going off, but I can’t tell why.”

“That’s your danger-sense, right? Nothing specific, just… it’s there?”

“Yeah, it’s just there.”

“Keep your eyes and ears open, I’ll go round up the guys making a run for the exits. I won’t be long.”

“Got it.”

This still felt too easy, and now it seemed like the universe itself was trying to communicate it to Peter in neon signs. As Vicky took off again, Peter tried to focus, get a better feel for where the feeling was coming from.

Up.

It was coming from above him, he realized. Near the top of the garage, and coming down.Fast. And now, the Tingle was getting much more intense. Not just from the top, no, now it was coming from this floor. Different problem.

The cars.

Specifically, one car, which was currently flying towards him, and the car he’d just turned over. He had time to dodge, but if he did, the one in the air would hit the one he’d just locked the two perps in, and that kind of impact would do serious damage, if not kill them outright.

So, he stuck his arms out, and braced. He’d been hit by a train before. He’d held a boat together with his hands and his webs. A family-size sedan wasn’t going to be enough to stop him.

It was, however, going to hurtpretty bad, and send him back a few feet before he dropped the thing to the side, flexing his hands as they ached slightly from the impact. The Tingle went off again, even more intense… and now he could see where it was coming from.

From where the car had been sent flying, Peter noted two figures slowly striding towards him, with the sound of boot-heels on concrete. One of them was clearly a younger woman, who had a much simpler ‘ye olde comic book’ style outfit with a singular rune over her chest.

The other guy, well… you couldn’t make him a more obvious Nazi without slapping a Swastika on his costume. He wore a fancy greatcoat that billowed over his shoulders, a grey, drab affair with a matching, neatly-pressed outfit with what appeared to be polished combat boots, and a small black mask that only really covered his eyes.

“Uh, hi?” Peter half-asked, offering a nonchalant wave. “That was your guys in that car, just thought you should know!”

“I’m keenly aware,” the man said, with a British accent so mild that Peter wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t faking it. Raising his arm, he motioned for the girl to follow him as he began to stroll towards Peter with a thin-lipped smirk. “Ricochet, is it? You’re quite the popular face, nowadays. First my former associate, then the ABB, and now New Wave… my, my, you work fast.”

Okay, great, the Nazis know him. Perfect. Just what he needed to learn today. Was this the part where they sent him a recruitment pitch? Oh, heknewit, heknewone of them was gonna try this crap with him—

“So uh, just because it’s relevant, I’m Italian on my dad’s side, my best friend is Filipino, my girlfriend is black, and a guy I used to be really good friends with made a living punching Nazis, so… not interested.”

The man looked at the woman, who just seemed more confused than anything. For his part, however, Big Jacket actually chuckled at Peter’s preemptive rebuttal.

“Even if I believed you and I had common cause before, I somehow doubt Miss Dallon would keep you company if we did,” he replied. “This party was planned for you and I, but it seems I was right to prepare for the worst case scenario.”

With that, he turned his head towards the young woman, and lifted his gloved fists, pulling both of them taut one after the other. “Othala. If you would. We’re going to have to cut our plans for the evening a bitshort.”

‘Othala’. Vicky had mentioned that name. She was the one who gave people powers, and sure enough, when she reached over and touched the guy’s shoulder, Peter felt a spike in the Tingle. Yeah, that wasn’t a good sign. So, which one was this guy? He wasn’t Hookwolf, that much was certain, considering he wasn’t a wolf made of hooks…or blades…or whatever. There weren’t any ghosts yet, so he wasn’t Crusader. Was this Krieg? Sturmtiger?

Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“So, before I gift-wrap you and send you to the Brockton Bay PD, could I get your name?” Peter asked, drawing another amused smirk and a hearty chuckle from Big Jacket. He paused to offer a slight bow, before resuming his unflinching stride.

“Krieg, at your service. Let’s make this quick. Miss Dallon and I have unfinished business, and I intend for it to stay that way for a while.”

Well, now he knew. Krieg could manipulate kinetic energy or something, from what Peter remembered, and that gave him an idea of what he could expect. Hitting this guy in the face wasn’t an option, so Peter decided that he’d start by feeling him out. He had no idea what powers Othala gave him, so that complicated things further. He had a suspicion that the guy wouldn’t necessarily need super-strength, though, if his kinetic energy powers worked a certain way.

Only one way to find out.

Peter started his attack in the usual style, launching himself at the two Nazis with a particular focus on Othala. Whatever power she gave Krieg, it wouldn't necessarily last forever, which meant that she’d have to re-apply it. Clearly, she was either being extremely overdramatic, or she actually needed to touch him to get it to work. Wouldn’t be able to touch him if she were all webbed up.

So, with that in mind, he raised his shooters and fired off a couple of webs. As expected, the projectiles slowed, enough that Othala was able to simply step aside as they harmlessly arced to the ground. He felt himself moving slower too, like he was floating through molasses, or fighting the wind. Krieg, for his part, wasn’t slowed down at all. In fact… he’d sped up. The punch he threw was so fast Peter barely even saw it, but oh man, hefelt it.Almost as hard as he felt the concrete wall he was punched into cracking underneath his back and the wave of pain that followed that blurred his vision and stole the breath from his lungs.

O-kay, this isn’t good…

Not something he couldn’t overcome, but man, it was going to be tough. He had no idea how much longer Krieg was going to be this fast. The Tingle fired off again, and through the haze of the impact he saw Krieg moving towards him with the same frightening speed he’d thrown the punch, his foot reared back to punt him in the stomach. The blow didn’t land on Peter, thankfully, as he was able to roll out of the way and under one of the still-parked cars in the lot as Krieg’s foot bounced off the wall. Concrete fragments went flying in every direction from the impact, including a few that shattered the window of the car above him, setting off the alarms.

Car.

Peter had an idea.

Continuing to roll to the other side of the car, Peter scrambled up to his feet and fire off a kick of his own, leaping into the air and drop-kicking the space between the driver’s and driver-side passenger doors of the car, sending it skidding towards Krieg. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Othala looking for something, or someone. Maybe she was trying to keep a lookout for Vicky. Victoria had said she couldn’t give herself powers; maybe she didn't have any herself?

That would have to wait for a moment, but it was prominent in his mind as he bounded out of the way of the car as it was flung right back at him like the world’s most lethal game of Pong. Sensing an opportunity, Peter lunged after Othala, firing a web towards her mid-leap. Incapacitate her, and there’d be no risk of her giving Krieg more powers.

Unfortunately, right as he was about to press down on the trigger to fire, Krieg leapt into action. The Nazi slammed into him full speed, sending both of them flying down the ramp and into the car that Peter had tipped over earlier, drawing a frightened cry from its occupants. More pain, starting from the back this time and shooting all the way up to his neck. He hit way harder than Peter thought he would.

Thankfully, it seemed they were both somewhat stunned by the impact, as both of them were getting up at a similar pace.

“My, my, my… resilient, aren’t we?” Krieg asked as he brushed off the shoulders of his coat, standing up to his full height. He towered over Peter, though he wasn’t particularly big underneath the coat.

“You don’t hit that hard,” Peter replied, just in time to feel the punch aimed at his head and weave out of the way. The follow-up was even faster, but now that he had a gauge for his speed and was looking at the guy head-on, he could match it. He’d bat it aside with his forearm, drawing a frustrated grunt from Krieg as he threw another one-two, both of which Peter was able to avoid, one with a duck, the other with a parry. He’d throw his own punch in return, slowed down as it was by Krieg’s power, but it’d still land. Not as hard as he’d assumed he’d thrown it, but Krieg looked annoyed nonetheless.

Of course, the Nazi tried for a kick to the dick. Peter was able to catch that one, lifting slightly from the impact, but keeping his grip. He’d start to pull on the leg, attempting to throw the guy into the wall or something, but his leg just… slipped out of his grip. How annoying. He had pretty good balance, though, immediately slamming the same foot Peter had just grabbed down to try and stomp on his foot and create some space. Of course, it was easy to avoid. At this point, Peter was starting to wonder if either of them could actually hurt each other.

Maybe he just needed to put some more force behind it.

When Krieg went for another series of punches, Peter backed up, slipping each blow as it came at him and attempting to create some space to swing. Once Krieg went to wind up a particularly big haymaker, he saw his opportunity. He could afford to hold back a little less. This last punch was thrown with much more force than the ones before. The problem was, Krieg had thrown over the shoulder instead of straight down the middle, and it was a bit hard to dodge a punch while you were mid-swing yourself.

Both blows landed simultaneously, Krieg’s punch cracking Peter on the jaw, while his own lit up the Nazi right on the nose. Peter went flying backwards, into the car he’d left overturned at the start of the fight, while Krieg wheeled around, grabbing his face with a howl of pain and frustration.

Peter was able to get up pretty quickly. As he’d said many times since ending up on this Earth, he’d been hit a lot harder by a lot worse. Krieg, for his part, looked like someone who hadn’t been punched in the face too many times before, scowling at Peter from behind his mask and letting out a furious exhale through his now slightly-skewed nose, a small spray of blood accompanying the action.

He’d gotten him. And if he’d gotten him once, he could get him again. Othala was peering out from behind him, and Peter wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have his super speed, but if his punches slowed down? Krieg would be able to touch him. Judging by the look in his eyes, Krieg had realized this too.

Any further thoughts were derailed by a resounding gunshot from outside the building. Then another. Then a third. All three were relatively close by. Definitely not a coincidence.

“We’re leaving!” Krieg barked over his shoulder to Othala, who nodded silently in reply. Peter acted quickly, trying again to catch at least one of them by firing a web from each hand. The one that he fired at Krieg sailed harmlessly past him, while the one that was aimed at Othala justbarelymissed its mark, a result of Krieg closing the distance between them with that super-speed. Peter could only assume that the gunshots were from a friend of theirs, and he’d bet good money they were aimed at Vicky.

By this point, Krieg and Othala had run to the bottom floor of the building, which meant that Peter would have to jump out to get a visual on them, as well as the shooter. So, off he went, sprinting towards an open port and leaping out above the street.

Vicky seemed to be chasing after someone on top of a building, but by the time she got to him, he was already gone, whisked away by Krieg and Othala. They were moving pretty fast down the street, but Peter figured he might be able to keep up with them from the air. Firing off another line, he’d start to swing after them… only to be caught in midair.

“Woah, woah, woah, tiger, easy,” Vicky said, one arm around his torso to keep him in the air next to her. “I think they’ve had enough. We’re not here to bag and tag capes tonight. We got the message across.”

“I almost had Krieg,” Peter protested.

“We’re on the edge of Empire territory. We chase after them, we’re risking him calling backup. We could take those three, but I really don’t feel like fighting the entire Empire 88… nottonight, anyway. Besides, I don’t know if you saw Victor taking pot-shots at me with a sniper rifle, but I’d rather we don’t have rounds flying and hitting an innocent bystander. I can take a bullet, you can dodge them, but there’s no guarantee he doesn’t hit someone who can’t.”

She had a point. The goal hadn’t been to take down the Empire in one night, it had been to make a statement of intent. They’d busted a good two dozen or so of the gang’s goons, broken Krieg’s nose, and sent three of their superhuman heavies running with their tail between their legs. They’d done what they set out to do, and as much as he wanted to go after them, it was too late now.

“We should probably still call the cops and get them on the guys in the garage.”

“Definitely,” Vicky agreed. “You did good tonight, Ricochet. I think we’ve silenced the doubters.”

With that, she lowered them both to the ground, and Peter went into his pockets to pull out the Roundphone. It was even more cracked up than the last time he’d used it, which made sense. He’d just been slammed into concrete and steel, repeatedly. Sure enough, it didn’t turn on.

“Crap,” he muttered, holding down the power button in a likely vain attempt to use that most tried and true of tech strats—’turn it off and on again’.

“Yeah, I didn’t think that thing was gonna last much longer,” Vicky joked behind him.

“Well, it survived a suicide vest full of grenades, so I was starting to think it was like, this universe’s Nokia.”

“We have Nokias here, Ricochet.”

Peter turned around to find Vicky smiling at him, having already pulled her own phone out from a pocket in her costume. She’d seemed incredulous about the whole ‘other universe’ thing before, but Sarah and Fiq seemed to believe him. He figured, while they weren’t doing anything, it couldn't hurt to ask.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“What, about the whole alternate universe thing? I don’t know yet. You don’t really seem to have a reason to lie, and Dean believes you, so that’s a point in your favor. That, and I did a pretty thorough look through PHO, and there’s no villains in your age bracket, from New York, with your power-set, so I have a hard time believing you’re a crook trying to get a fresh start. Some people might think that now, but after tonight, I don’t think it’ll matter..”

She offered a little shrug. “Certainly doesn’t matter to me. You show up in Brockton Bay from out of nowhere and immediately pick a fight with the ABB, kick the door down on their human trafficking operations, fight your heart out to protect the people of a city you know nothing about, and now you’re out here punching Nazis with me. You can be from Mars for all I care. As far as I’m concerned, you’re on the level, alternate universe or not.”

Well, that was about as good as it could get, wasn’t it? Ideally, no more of that ‘maybe a Nazi’ discussion, and a little bit of time to rest and lie low before… before he went after Oni Lee.

Vicky was on the phone now, which gave Peter time to think. Oni Lee was no pushover, but he sort of had an idea of what to expect, this time. Vicky said her family had fought him before. Never taken him down for good, but fought him. Maybe having backup wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all. Vicky was just as fast, if not faster than him, just as tough, and just as strong. He had no idea what all the rest of her family could do, besides Amy, but he could look that up on his own time if he had to, considering there was apparently a superhero wiki-subreddit-thing.

As much as he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his fight, if she was going to insist on helping…

“Alright, they’re on the way,” Victoria said, snapping Peter out of his thoughts and drawing his attention back to her. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Working,” Peter replied. “After work, probably gonna look into going after Oni Lee, again.”

“That’s not the best idea, right now, and I know you’re going to protest that, but hear me out. You’ve been go, go, go ever since the first time you fought him. Take a breather. Even if it’s only just a couple of days. What time do you get off work, tomorrow?”

“I work the morning shift, so like… I dunno, five?”

Vicky nodded at that, looking at her phone again. “And you said you work at the Docks?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come meet you around five, then. There’s some people I want you to meet, and I think if you’re gonna go after Oni Lee, you might appreciate their advice.”

Well, it looked like they were once again on the same wavelength. As much as Peter wanted to turn the offer down, he knew enough about Vicky in the few days they’d known each other to know that she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Alright,” he agreed, “sounds good. So, tomorrow at five, at the Docks.”

“Yep, it’s a date. For now, though, you should probably get back to your apartment. It’s getting a little late, and you don’t wanna miss work, right?”

“No, I guess not.”

Peter looked down at his wrists and pulled his sleeves down to check his web-shooters again. He could barely even see the fluid anymore. If they’d have gone after Krieg and company, he’d have probably run out mid-swing… guess he was going to have to put a hold on super-heroics for a bit, until he could find a place to put together some more materials. He could probably find a hardware store in town, over the weekend.

That could wait. For now, he’d thought of something he probably should say, and turned to look at his partner-in-crime (fighting) as she put her phone back into her pocket.

“Hey, Glory Girl? Thanks for your help tonight. I know I wasn’t really big on it, but—”

“I get it, Ricochet,” she replied with a dismissive wave. “Being independent’s a tough thing, I know. I’ve got my family, but… now that Sarah’s gone, you don’t really have anyone. That’s why I’m helping you out. You don’t need to be alone out here.”

With that said, she turned her eyes to the sky, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Anyway, I told my parents what I was doing, but I shouldprobablyhead back. I still have school to worry about tomorrow.”

“Oh, I know all about that. I was just finishing up high school when I ended up here. Balancing protecting an entire city with finishing homework on time? Not fun.”

“Ha! Tell me about it! See you tomorrow, Ricochet.”

With that, Vicky took flight, leaving Ricochet standing in the midst of a quiet, mostly empty streets, save for the sounds of sirens and a couple of strands of fallen web fluid. Heprobablyhad enough to get back to the hotel. Probably.

Thankfully, the phone was working now, but Peter was pretty much officially out of web fluid. Popping the cartridges out of their casemates, he’d place them inside his jacket pocket, before taking the jacket off and throwing it off to the corner of the room. Just in case the phone didn’t work, he walked over and set the alarm on the bedside table for six, noting that it was only ten past midnight. He’d have an okay night’s sleep, if nothing else.

Stripping down to his boxers and dropping into the bed, he let out an involuntary groan as his back popped, still sore from getting slammed into concrete and cars all night. Still, it was a good pain. It was the kind of ache you got after a hard day’s work, an ache to be proud of.

Once again, he felt like he’d accomplished something. Like he’d made Brockton Bay a little bit safer, and once again, he had backup if he needed it. He could rest. He could take it easy, if only for a couple of days.

After a long night on the beat, sleep came for Peter quickly, and took him to dreams of happier times.

Summary:

Victoria and Peter meet out of costume for the first time, and Peter gets some connections... good or bad? We'll see.

Once again, Peter found himself waking up to a Brockton Bay that felt slightly brighter than the one he’d slept on. He’d done pretty good, from how he felt about things. Punched some Nazis in the face, broke one of their heavy-hitters’ noses, and made a friend in the meantime. A part of him deep down was still unsure of how much he should trust Vicky, considering what happened to his last erstwhile ‘partner’. Unlike Sarah, however, she had an entire family of superhumans backing her up. She might be alright.

A quick shower revealed that, aside from a pretty sizable bruise on his stomach, he was otherwise unharmed. He was more worried he’d have a bruise on his cheek from those nasty punches Krieg handed him. His hair was starting to get a little longer and shaggy, too, especially now that he didn’t have ‘mask hair’ from keeping it pressed under the suit all the time. In all honesty… he didn’t hate it. He wouldn’t necessarily get a haircut just yet. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed to look clean-cut or shaped-up to work at the Docks, so long as he was presentable and showed up to work on time.

Speaking of work…

An uneventful bus ride led him to the Docks, and his workplace. Alexander was already waiting at the door to the front office, his usual baseball cap nowhere to be found and exposing his graying hair.

“Morning, Ben.”

“Morning, Alexander.”

“Punch in, and let’s get to work.”

Peter happily obliged, heading inside and greeting Layla at the desk. She seemed happy to see him, judging by the smile.

“Hello, Mr. Peters.”

“Hi, Miss Layla.”

Pulling an envelope from under her desk and placing it on the table, along with some kind of plastic card, Layla tapped the card with a long, cherry red nail. “Danny wanted to give you last week’s pay now. Your next paycheck’ll be in two weeks, so don’t go spending it all in one place. The card is for you to punch yourself in at the time clock, over by the coffee machine.”

“Okay, thanks Miss Layla.”

“No problem, sweetie. Have a great day!”

Taking the envelope, Peter shoved it into his jacket pocket and swiped the card at the time clock. Since he was there, he went ahead and got a cup of coffee, too. With that little pick-me-up, he felt good to go, and stepped out to meet Alexander again. The older man motioned for him to follow him to the truck.

“Ready for the weekend, Ben?”

“Yeah, ready for a little break."

“Good. You’re gonna learn to love those two days like nothing else, cause it’s boring as sh*t up here all week long. Any plans?”

“Not really, sir. Some shopping for new clothes, meeting some friends, that was about it.”

“Good. You still up in that hotel room that Danny got you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just curious. I know Danny’s been talking to some of the leasing offices for the apartment complexes, looking for a place for you. Oceanside was one of them. The property manager is in the hospital, but his wife was willing to give you a sweetheart rate when Danny told her the sob story.”

Mr. Colter was alive? Peter was almost certain by the blood that the old guy hadn’t made it, but… man. He’d need to run by there and ask, if only to go visit him in the hospital, maybe. He had been kind to Peter, and stuck his neck out for Asuka, too. He deserved some respect.

“That’s good.”

“Sure is. I’m sure you’re familiar, since that’s Fiq’s old place. Imagine if you get his old room.”

“Would be a funny coincidence, for sure.”

Both of them hopped in the truck, and Alexander fired her up, a metal song that Peter wasn’t familiar with playing low on the radio. There wasn’t much more conversation between them on the ride over to the loading area. There was a ship in port, this time— guess they actually got a boat, and by the look of all the containers stacked up, it was going to be a busy day. Hopefully, he’d still be on time to meet Vicky.

“You guys already unloaded, or not yet?” Peter asked.

“Nope. You’re gonna have a trial by fire today. Paulie will be helping you, and I’ll be around if you have any questions. We got a full crew today, so don’t stress yourself out. You got one of the easiest jobs here.”

“Gotcha.”

“Hop out, they’re about to unload the first container.”

With that, Alexander killed the engine, and they made their way over to the processing area together. As he’d said, a container truck was on the way with the first container to unload. A few of the guys were putting out cigarettes or finishing their coffees while they waited, others milled around and talked, but everyone seemed pretty ready to work. It was mostly familiar faces to Peter, with a few new ones here and there. No time to really introduce himself, though.

The first container was dropped, and it was full of pallets wrapped with such thickness that Peter could barely make out what was in them. Thankfully, he didn’t have to do it by eye—the little tool they gave him scanned barcodes on the pallets that told him what they were and where they were going. This one was mostly automotive stuff headed to factories in Massachusetts and New York. Tires, parts, that sort of thing. Once he’d scanned everything to Paulie’s satisfaction, it was time to start moving stuff. Peter wasn’t qualified to run the crane or drive a container truck, so he was just double-checking inventory and such on his device and looking at paperwork from the shipmaster to make sure everything was still on the level.

On and on it went, just like that. Dry and canned foods, building materials, pharmaceuticals, toys, clothes, all kinds of stuff coming through. It was interesting, in a sort of passing way. Peter couldn’t see himself making a career out of this, and it wasn’t necessarily easy work, but it was honest work that kept him busy during the days and got him a bit of spending money. The vast majority of their stuff today was for grocery or department stores, by the look of it. From what Paulie was telling him, it’d still take another day or two to fully offload everything, since the cranes were so slow, and it would be another couple of days before all the trucks had come through and picked up the cargo. All of that wasn’t his problem, though. His job was just to make sure everything showed up and that nothing was amiss.

“Doin’ good, Ben,” Paulie assured him during a lull in the action with a pat on the shoulder. “You got any questions?”

“No sir, I think I understand it so far.”

“Good, good. You let me know if you need anything, we got plenty of time.”

Time, indeed. By the time lunch rolled around, they’d maybe gotten through… a dozen containers? Maybe? All Peter knew was from how many containers he saw on freighters that passed through the Hudson Bay, they weren’t really done. The shipmaster’s papers said there were about… six-hundred.

Jesus.

Ah well, lunch time. Peter would follow Paulie off the yard, where they’d meet a guy driving what looked like a golf cart. Guess they had their own little ‘shuttle’ thing going on.

“This is a small shipment,” Paulie explained as they hopped in the back, and another guy, Vince, took shotgun. “It’s pretty common these days, though. Brockton was a bigger port back to the Nineties, but things have slowed down a lot here over the past twenty years or so. Every once in a blue moon, we get one over two or three-thousand, but generally it’ll hang under or around one-thousand containers on the ship.”

Peter was used to seeing what looked like a lot more going through the Hudson, but it made sense if the place was sort of stagnating.

“So it should only take a couple of days, then?”

“Yeah, if we’re on the ball. A lot of these are actually local shipments this time, so some of the trucks are already here. We’ll be able to start reloading a lot sooner, thanks to that, but it’ll still take a while, and we have to wait for the out-of-towners.”

It didn’t take too terribly long to get back to the office. One of the crane operators, a guy everyone called ‘Dirty Dan’, had made jambalaya, which Peter had never actually had before. It didn’t look super appetizing, but it was actually delicious, and filling to boot. Peter would go back to his usual haunt in the smoking area. It looked a bit crowded, with Kurt, Lacey, and Alexander sitting there, but he figured there was no harm in joining in.

It was a conversation similar to the one he’d had with Alexander and Paulie. Kurt was much more outgoing than Alexander, but it appeared that his friendliness was contagious. Alexander talked a bit more, and Peter got to learn a bit more about his coworkers. Alexander’s wedding anniversary was coming up, and he wanted to talk to his wife about having kids after a long time of telling her he didn’t want any. Kurt and Lacey didn’t have any kids, but seemed to want to encourage him. They asked Peter about his weekend, Kurt asked how his first paycheck was, just general small talk and friendly conversation. Good way to kill an hour.

The rest of the shift went by quickly when he got back. He was starting to get used to the routine. Hours passed almost like minutes as the clock on his device hit four-fifty.

He probably needed to wrap up here, shortly. He was pretty sure Alexander told him he got off at five, but he wanted to make sure.

“Hey, Paulie? We get off at five, right?”

“Yep, all you and I gotta do is make a final check on our intake and hand off our devices to Cameron and Shelly. You in a hurry, son?”

“Nah, I’m just supposed to meet a friend after work, wanted to make sure you didn’t need me to stay a little later.”

“A friend, already? Man, that’s great to hear! I know Kurt’s been talking about inviting you to some of he and Lacy’s little weekend parties to try and get you more acclimated to the Bay, but I think you should spend more time around people your age. Not many younger guys here. A few, but not many.”

“Yeah, I’m excited. It’s nice to get out a bit more.”

“I hear ya, I hear ya… tell you what, go ahead and head back to the front office and head out, I can take care of end-of-shift. Just give me the handheld right quick.”

Peter dug into his jacket and fish out the device, handing it over to Paulie, who placed it next to the computer and gave him a smile in return. He was a nice guy. If Peter was still here when he retired, he might see about getting him a little present, or something. For now, though, he had to worry about Vicky. He had no idea who these people she wanted him to meet were, but he had some suspicions. Namely, that they were also superheroes.

While he made the long walk back to the front office (since the shuttle seemed to not be anywhere close by), he took out his phone and started texting.

‘On my way out. You coming?’

The message had been sent for maybe ten seconds before the response came.

‘On the bus!’

Alright, then. That made things easy. All he’d need to do was punch out and wait at the bus stop.

It didn’t take the bus very long to arrive after Ricochet texted her, which was good, because the last thing Victoria wanted was to leave the poor guy sitting on the Docks for the whole evening. It was supposed to rain, too, and judging by the clouds hanging over Brockton Bay at the moment, it would probably start soon.

Being as she was supposed to be meeting a new Cape in town, she’d thought it prudent to wear a disguise, or at least, not be obviously Victoria Dallon. She’d tied her hair up in a ponytail and put on a baseball cap with Assault’s emblem on it, and otherwise just dressed like your average kid spending the evening out on the town on a Monday afternoon. She didn’t even bother with makeup, an attempt to look even less conspicuous.

So far, it worked. She hadn’t gotten any aside glances from anyone that might make things awkward or possibly draw a connection between Ricochet and his civilian persona. She’d picked a seat at the back of the bus, and would wave him over whenever he boarded. She could only assume he’d be one of the only guys hopping on from the Docks, and she had a rough guesstimate of his age—around hers, maybe a bit older.

The bus stopped about ten yards down from the entrance to the Dockyard, which was open for end of shift. She noted a young man with very similar hair to Ricochet, swept back in something not quite a mullet, but very close. He was wearing one of the dockworker’s waterproof jackets and a hi-vis vest, and he was staring at what looked like a Roundphone.

So, this was Ricochet out of costume. He definitely looked her age, at least in the face, with sharp eyes, tawny hair, and a natural upward curve to his lips. Combined with his athletic build, she could imagine him being a soccer or tennis player at Arcadia. If his whole story was true, she could only speculate as to what kind of person he was outside of cape life before arriving in Brockton Bay. Perhaps, one day, he’d trust her enough to talk about it. She was hopeful, considering he’d agreed to meet her out of costume.

Ricochet hopped onto the bus and immediately began looking for her, and she made a point to meet his eye. She didn’t exactly wear a mask on duty, so he should recognize her, and the way his eyes lit up made it clear that he did. He made his way over to the back of the bus, and took a seat by her, leaving a seat between to not be too conspicuous about everything.

There weren’t many other people on the bus at the moment, but Victoria still felt the need to keep it casual and quiet.

“Got a name, stranger?” she asked.

“Call me Ben,” Ricochet, or rather, Ben replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Ben.” She offered him a smile, one he immediately returned. He had a bright, friendly smile. Seemed like the kind of guy who would sit and talk with a random stranger on the back of the bus.

There was about a thirty minute drive from the Docks to the station nearest her house. Mark had already met Ben, even if Ben didn’t quite remember it, but Carol wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about the newest cape in Brockton Bay. Her opinions had eased somewhat, after the Nazi-punching exercise, but how much of that was because she actually believed Ricochet was above-board, and how much was because she believed Victoria was keeping tabs on him, she couldn’t say just yet. She’d debated waiting until a day that the rest of the family could come by, but that felt… excessive. If he took her up on her offer, and her parents liked him, he’d probably be working with the rest of New Wave on occasion, anyway, at the very least until he’d gotten his revenge on Oni Lee and Lung.

There wasn’t much conversation between them on the ride, mostly because she didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing something compromising, and it seemed Ben was of the same mind. It didn’t help that as they got away from the Docks, the bus got a bit more crowded with people making their commute. Still, the two of them barely got a second glance from anyone they passed. An altogether uneventful ride, with no compromised cape identities and no brawls with Nazis or gangb*ngers.

Now they’d just have to survive a Dallon family dinner.

Okay, okay,maybeshe was blowing it a bit out of proportion. Their dinners went fine, usually. Her Dad was probably already cooking, and if her Mom hadn’t gotten back from work yet, she wouldn’t be far behind them getting there. She had no doubt in her mind that the former would get along with Ben, it was more the latter, and maybe Amy, that she was worried about… definitely more so her Mom. She had a…forcefulpersonality.

“So, uh… who am I meeting?”

“I mentioned my family to you the other day, and I think they could help you out,” Victoria replied.

“You really think so? Last thing I want to do is be a burden on you guys.”

“I doubt it’ll be a problem. Me and my cousins already talked about your situation, and we’re gonna help you regardless, so that’s three of us. I don’t know about my mom, but my dad definitely will want to at least give you intel. Still not sure about my aunt and uncle, but we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.”

Noting their location, Victoria reached up and grabbed one of the support beams on the bus, smiling down at Ben when he started at the sudden movement.

“This is our stop,” she informed him. He followed her off the bus and onto Welsh Avenue, about a block from her house. Now that it was just the two of them, they could talk a bit more freely. “How’re you feeling after last night?”

“Pretty good, honestly. A little sore, but the good kind,” he replied. “You?”

“Just fine. I think Victor was more trying to distract me long enough for Krieg and Othala to escape than actually trying to hurt me. He’s not exactly punching at my weight class on any given day.”

“Yeah, he was… what was his power again?”

“He can sort of ‘take’ your skills from you. Not powers, but general knowledge and talents, he can copy. I can imagine if he copied you he’d get some of your fancy moves, but I can’t really think of anything else.”

“Ah, yeah, gotcha. Well, good thing we roughed ‘em up a bit, right?”

“Yeah. I think you’ve madequitethe statement of intent, lately.”

As they kept walking, Victoria kept questioning him. “This the kind of work you usually did?”

“Eh?” Peter replied with a shrug. “Mostly. I got dragged into a few big things though. Big world-ending alien threat I told you about, plus… there was another big fight over a law that wanted to register all superheroes with the government, and my mentor was sort of leading the effort to register. I helped him out a little bit.”

Man, sounded like a bit of a dustup. It was a bit strange to her that it had been such an issue, though. The Protectorate had its occasional scuffles, true, but never anything to that extent. She could only imagine the clashes of personalities and breakups in communication that would end up escalating to an all out fight like that. Still, it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility, in her mind. She could imagine different departments butting heads, under the right circ*mstances.

“Wow, it sounds like a hot-button issue. Did registration ever happen, or…?”

“It was tough at the time but we all made it right in the end. And no, it didn’t. Some people think that’s a good thing, others don’t, but most heroes are good people, or at least the ones I know. I don’t really think we need the government making sure of that, but I definitely understand the sentiment. I don’t hold it against anybody.”

That would explain his reticence about joining the Protectorate, if nothing else.

“Where were you active? You said New York, you mean the city?”

“Yeah, mostly. Manhattan, Queens, the Bronx, pretty much the whole metro up to the Nassau county line. I ended up in Long Island a few times too.”

“Pretty big wandering area. The New York Protectorate is one of the biggest branches in the US, and you patrolled the city all by yourself?”

“Nah, there were other independent heroes around. Guys like Daredevil, the Punisher, Iron Fist, Luke Cage. I never really met any of them, but I heard plenty. The streets weren’t completely safe, but it was much better than it would have been if we weren’t around.”

‘Punisher’ certainly sounded like aninterestingname for a cape, and ‘Luke Cage’ was either a very cool real name or a really bland alias, no in-between. Still, she couldn’t help but imagine what kind of capes Ben worked alongside (if not literally side by side with).

“What about you? Are there other independent heroes in Brockton Bay, or is it just me and you guys?” Ben asked.

“There’s a couple. Sere and Parian are the biggest ones—Sere is pretty much Protectorate-affiliated, but isn’t part of a specific branch. Don’t be surprised if he ends up joining up with the Brockton or Boston branches sometime soon. Parian’s a rogue, spends most of her time using her powers to make some money working with local businesses. She’s a big fashion person. Might be able to help you with a better costume, if you don’t like what I’m selling.”

“You’re gonna sell me a costume?”

“Well, I’m not gonna make you pay, but Eric takes after his dad. Lot of costumes that don’t fit him anymore, and we have plenty of materials to make new ones or patch up old ones.”

“...you don’t have to make me a costume, Glory Girl.”

“Yes, I do. You need to have something that can take more damage. Not really something that can stop a point-blank Oni Lee bombing, I’m afraid, but it’s the next best thing.”

“...you’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”

“Nope!” Victoria replied, popping the ‘p’.

“Well then, yeah, I guess you’re gonna help me with a costume.”

“Correct! We can talk about that after we eat.”

Ben sighed and shook his head, but he was smiling, so Victoria wasn’t too bothered. She already had a few ideas in her head for costume designs, maybe with some fracture patterns or crisscrossing lines. Color, she wasn’t as sure about. Red and blue was her first instinct, since most of New Wave used a lot of white, but thinking about it more just made her fall out of love with the idea.

Wouldn’t look good on him.

They were pretty much at the house by now, and she could see some smoke coming from the backyard. Her dad must have been grilling, which excited her—Mark Dallon made a mean steak. Second only to when her mom cooked, but she rarely did so these days. Too busy with work, too high-strung, too wired.

“Nice place,” Ben noted.

“Thanks, it’s nice enough. Mom and Dad make alright money being PRT-aligned, but Mom works at a law firm in her spare time.”

“Hm. Cool.”

By now, they’d made it to the door. The garage was closed, so Victoria couldn’t tell if her mom was home yet. She headed to the door first, opening it to the entry hallway. The living room was empty, and the TV wasn’t on. Once the dining room and kitchen were visible, she could see that the table had already been set.

“Mom?” she called out. “Dad?”

No answer. Carol was still on the way home, then. Turning back to Ben, she took off her cap and placed it on the coat rack for the moment, for lack of anywhere better to put it.

“Mom must not be home yet. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my dad.”

Ben didn’t protest, seeming more intent to look around the place, getting a good view of it. He seemed at least a little interested in some of the pictures and decor, old team photos and magazines that had been framed, along with distant relatives. Victoria was so used to it at this point that it hardly drew a passing glance from her.

The door to the patio was open, though the screen door was still closed, letting her see her dad hunched over the grill, his light brown hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He was dressed for the weather, khaki shorts and a plain mint-green t-shirt, his shoes laid out next to the door on the little mini-carpet that Carol hadinsistedthey put their shoes on if they went out into the backyard that day.

“Hey, Dad!”

This time, Mark heard her, turning to look through the screen door. She could tell he’d shaved, his usual thin stubble honed to a fine grain. Some of her friends at school had trouble believing he was her dad and not a cousin or something, but he was just aging very well.

Still gross when a few had his picture as a screen lock though.

“Hey, Vicky. Hey… what can I call you?”

“Ben, sir,” Ben replied, as Vicky opened the door and stepped out into the evening air. The sun was slowly starting to go down, but the usual golden glow of the evening was obstructed by the clouds. It was definitely going to rain.

“Mark Dallon, but Mark’s fine if there’s no capes involved,” he replied, turning away from his grill and offering Ben a handshake. He was smiling, but the look in his eyes was just as tired and vacant as it usually was these days. He must have missed his medication today… Victoria didn’t want to babysit him, but sometimes it just felt like if they didn’t leave him a note or ask, he’d forget it.

She’d have to get on him about it when Ben wasn’t in earshot.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Dallon.” That got a laugh out of Mark, at least, who didn’t let go of Peter’s hand just yet.

“I said ‘Mark’ was fine, don’t act so formal. We’ve both seen each other without our masks at this point.”

“You saw me without my mask?”

“Yep,” Mark continued, turning back to the grill. “When you got Oni Lee’d. I happened to be home when Vicky brought you in for Amy to treat you. You were in pretty rough shape, glad you’re not done working out here. We have a few indy capes in the area, but most of them don’t really get action this deep in the city. You’re doing good work, kid.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, thankyou. I sleep a little easier at night knowing that the ABB got kneecapped a bit.”

Turning to look at Victoria, his smile faded. “Your mother’ll be home soon, Vicky. Steaks should be done shortly, everything else is already in the kitchen. Go ahead and grab Amy, I’ll talk to Ben for a minute.”

“Sure, thanks Dad.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

Victoria went back inside, leaving Ben and Mark to start talking, probably about his recent experiences with the ABB and Empire 88. She highly doubted that he would interrogate Ben too harshly—that was more her mom’s wheelhouse. Up the stairs she went to the little half-floor where her and Amy’s bedrooms, the bathroom, and her mom’s personal office resided. No sign of Amy or even a sound from the direction of her room. She had an idea as to what her sister could be doing right now, and honestly, it annoyed her a bit, but not because she was doing anything wrong.

Walking up to Amy’s door, she’d knock gently, trying not to betoojarring. “Amy?”

No response. She knocked a little harder. “Amy, wake up.”

She could hear rustling and light groaning from inside the room. As expected, she’d fallen asleep, likely tired out by volunteering and classes.

“Mmm?”

“Amy, dinner’s almost ready. Ricochet is here too.”

“...’m comin’, hang on ‘m’minute…”

Victoria didn’t press the issue. As much as she wished Amy would get some more rest and not push herself to her limit, the girl wouldn’t stop as long as she felt like she could help. It was painfully unhealthy, and there was nothing Victoria could do about it.

Talk to her, she walled up. Drop hints, she ignored them. Neither Mark or Carol could get her to listen and the Pelhams didn’t really understand. Crystal sort of, but she was busy with her own life.

Amy didn’t take too long to come out, dressed plainly in gym pants and a white t-shirt that were no doubt thrown on in a half-sleeping haze. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she was clearly still tired, but she’d probably be alright for dinner. It didn’t usually take her long to wake up.

“Morning,” she greeted her sister in an attempt at levity.

“Mornin’,” came the reply. Amy didn’t return the mood.

Victoria’s smile died as quickly as it came to her, though she was able to conceal it admirably by turning around and heading straight for the stairs, Amy’s footsteps trudging behind her. She could hear talking from the kitchen, Ben and her dad’s voices in particular.

“ —takes after her mother, ha!”

“She’s a really nice girl, Mark, she helped me a lot.”

“I knew she would. They’re both like that. Give the shirt off their backs for anyone, and that’s no lie. Anyways, you hungry?”

“If I wasn’t before, I certainly am now.”

More laughter. It seemed like Ben was getting along with him pretty well. That was good. Two Dallons down, two to go… how bad would it be?

Reaching the bottom of the stairs put them in sight of the dining room, and revealed unto them the cornucopia, the Mark Dallon ‘I’m having guests over and I’m functioning’ special. New York Strip, grilled vegetables, mashed potatoes and a garden salad from the fresh market, plus the really good breadrolls you could buy from the fresh market attached to Fratello’s. Ben certainly looked impressed, though his attention quickly turned from the food to her when they reached the bottom of the stairs. He quickly adjusted himself to look at the other Dallon sister though.

“Hey, Amy!” He greeted her warmly, with a bright smile and easy wave.

“Hey,” Amy replied behind her, a little bit less tired-sounding but no more enthused.

“You girls come sit down, your mother’s about to pull up now,” Mark said, and they were more than happy to oblige. With the kind of exercise she was getting with her current patrol routes and recent exploits, she could use some fuel.

Sure enough, the garage door opened as they were going to sit down, and Carol’s SUV audibly pulled in. Trial by fire it was then. Depending on how her day at work went, she’d either be somewhat agreeable, but not very talkative, or a brick wall of frustration and disinterest.

Hopefully Ben wouldn’t have any trouble dealing with that; he seemed like a nice enough fellow.

Nightmare scenario: she and Ben got along amazingly, and Ben joined her fan club. Not impossible. Her mom could lay on the superhero charm when she wanted to, especially when she found someone who was passionate aboutanything.

Much like her friends, she would draw the line if he madeBrandishhis screen lock.

Nightmare scenario indeed.

“Hey, Vicky, can you help me set the table right quick?” he asked.

“Sure,” she agreed.

“I’ll help, too,” Ben offered, being what was being made clear as of late to be his usual nice, helpful self. She really did hope her mom paid more attention to that than the fact that he was friends with an ex-Nazi for a few days, but Victoria didn’t really believe in miracles.

Summary:

Taylor puts the pieces together, and the pieces start to fall apart for Peter

Ben Peters was Ricochet.

It took longer than Taylor would care to admit to put the pieces together, but she had, and in hindsight, it was obvious.Blindinglyso. The man shows up within a couple of days of a new parahuman sighting, gets a job at the same place of employment as one of the people he rescued during that sighting. The ability he had to sense when she was watching him was another interesting parallel to the cape that seemed to be all the local news lately. Similar build, though the jacket made it a little difficult to discern initially. Even the hair looked similar, though that could just be coincidence.

Combined with the initial evidence around Oceanside, though, and his pattern of behavior, she no longer had any doubts.

At least not about Ricochet, anyway.

She’d almost entirely finished her costume by now. It was an ugly, unappealing thing, but spider silk and insect chitin were a lot more durable than satin or leather or vinyl. Just a couple of weeks ago, she’d made one of the legs a bit too long, and the material was so sturdy she’d had to resort to wire cutters to get it off. It had taken almost thirty minutes. It fit a bit better now, but she still had to put on the finishing touches. Still a couple of holes, had to finish the mask, had to find a good pair of boots…

She also still had to decide on a name and a color scheme. She knew she wanted to dye the suit—right now, it was a sort of ugly gray-brown thing that very much looked like it was made by and of bugs. She’d all but abandoned theTigermothconcept at this point, and was pretty much set on a solid color. Gunmetal gray, black, midnight blue, she wasn’t quite sure yet. She just knew that with her powers, a garish color scheme wouldn’t really be much help to her.

She still had to get something to defend herself with. She didn’t think she’d be a good shot with a taser, and she’d seen enough videos on the internet to know tasers and stun guns didn’t always work. It needed to be something small, though. A collapsible baton, maybe? That would work. Would be easy to hook onto a belt, too, though she also knew she wasn’t the strongest girl running around. All her running was good cardio, but she doubted she could one-and-done someone with a baton. She’d need other methods of self-defense… pepper spray, maybe? Some kind of spray would work, and that’d be easy to conceal in the belt too. But what else would she need to carry on that belt? Medical supplies, for sure. Basic stuff. Bandages, disinfectant, maybe a suture kit if she could find the space for it.

All theoreticals, and she hadn’t even finished the costume yet.

It was a learning curve, figuring out how to keep her workers in check. Black widows were fiercely territorial, and with the number she’d lost due to said territorial disputes while she wasn’t directly controlling them, she probably could have been done by now. Combine that with the winter weather, and it was tough going up until recently. At least now, she was making some significant progress…

Her mind circled back to the Ricochet problem. Literally nothing he said about himself to her father could be corroborated by anyone or anything that Taylor could find anywhere. Not just in his ‘claimed’ Canadian homeland, butanywhere. The only other cape named Ricochet was a weapon-based Tinker in Texas who was apparently on his way to the Birdcage. How much of his backstory was a lie? Taylor could only assume now thatallof it was.

But where did that leave Danny? She knew he wasn’t the most ‘tuned in’ on cape stuff, but surely he would have run a background check. Did nothing show up amiss? Was he just that convincing?

Regardless, at the very least, it seemed like Ricochet wasn’t a villain. His targets since arriving in Brockton Bay were the ABB—who attacked him first apparently, judging by the Oceanside business— and Empire 88, which seemed to happen around the time that PHO was starting to believe he was a member of their organization. Considering that he was now apparently seen in the company of Glory Girl, it was pretty clear that he was on the straight and narrow. That being said, that didn’t make a lot of sense with the lie. Where was he really from? What was his real goal in Brockton Bay? Was he just trying to lay low? Trying to start over?

And more importantly, did he know abouther?

Something seemed a bit off during their first meeting. She’d been unsure about him from the beginning, and the way he effortlessly sniped the specific bugs that she was monitoring him through made her uneasy. What kind of cape was he, really? Strong, fast, whatever those net or web things were on his wrists, his ability to cling to surfaces, and then there was that heightened perception. How did that work? He could clearly tell when he was being observed or targeted, but could he tell specifically by who or what? Did he know that she, specifically, was the one controlling the bugs? Would he recognize the feeling if they met in the field and put two and two together?

He was a new variable that she hadn’t been anticipating, and as close as he seemed to be trying to get with her dad, she didn’t trust him to not use her secret identity against her, should he somehow deduce it. Though, that being said, she also had his.

All this running in circles in her head about this guy was frustrating. She had enough problems without worrying about another cape outing her to her dad. It was an unrealistic fear, in all honesty. Masks were far too important for people to go ripping them off willy-nilly, everyone knew that, but Taylor couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenario. Considering everything that was going on in her day to day life, sometimes she just couldn’t help it.

She let out a long, tired sigh, looking over her nearly-finished costume. Just another week or two, and she’d be done… maybe she should go look into that baton. Let Ricochet or Ben Peters or whoever the hell he was worry about himself.

Alright, Peter was starting to feel guilty. He’d been on this version of Earth for just shy of three weeks now, and he was spoiled rotten. He was getting good food on a regular basis, so far only a few criminals had actively tried to harm him, and he’d even managed to clean up Brockton Bay a little bit.

And now he was eating the best steak he’d had since he got to this place. Classic steak, potatoes, and grilled vegetables. Corn, asparagus, sauteed onions and mushrooms, pretty much anything you could ask for with a steak dinner. The fridge was pretty well-stocked, too. Mostly sparkling waters, a few beers, and a bottle of, of all the things, Bombay gin. All in all, it was a pretty nice dinner.

He just wished Mrs. Dallon would stop looking at him like that.

Mark, as he insisted on being called, was a friendly, but tired-looking man. He brushed off Peter’s initial concerns, as he’d evidently made them clear, and explained that he was pretty worn out from patrols. He looked more like Vicky’s older brother or cousin than her dad, and just generally gave off the vibe of the ‘cool dad’ your best friend had growing up who would let you stay up till midnight if you were quiet and didn’t wake up his wife.

Continuing that metaphor, Carol Dallon looked like the wife that the ‘cool dad’ was constantly trying to avoid angering. In opposition to Mark, Carol definitely looked like a mother, in both the sense of ‘mom’ and in the sense of ‘stereotypical harsh catholic nun’. Her hair was kept in a short, curled bob, the same shade of blonde as her daughter’s, and their eyes were the same bright blue. Aside from that, the resemblances were mostly minor. Carol had sharper, more rigid features, and lips that seemed to naturally turn to a slight frown. She wasn’tmeanor anything. In fact, she’d been nothing but polite since walking into the house, she even shook his hand! She just… seemedsternerthan Mark, or any of the other Dallons, really. Peter could tell she was a lawyer.

Peter wasn’t super-philosophical or anything, but it didn’t escape his notice that while Amy, Mark, and Peter had all gone for water, and Vicky had gotten sparkling water, Carol had gone straight for the gin. Not a lot of it, just a single small glass, along with her own sparkling water. Still, she was the only one drinking at the table. He wasn’t sure he was qualified to read into that, but it still didn’t escape his notice.

“So, you’ve acclimated to Brockton Bay?” she asked, breaking up a momentary lapse in conversation. They’d talked a bit about how he was doing at the docks, and how he liked working with Vicky last night, but nothing deeper than that. No offers of joining their super-team or anything about the costume Vicky was talking about.

“It’s… definitely been an adjustment, but I’m doing okay,” he replied. “It’s nice to go back to doing what I do best, y’know?”

“So you were a vigilante before this?”

“Eh… vigilante’s not the right word. I was part of a… Well, my boss used to call it an initiative.”

“Ah, yes, the ‘alternate Earth’ business. Mark and Victoria told me about it after you left the first time.”

Carol took a sip of her gin, not breaking eye contact with Peter the entire time. That felt a little awkward. Like she was sizing him up, or something.

“You mind telling me a bit about it?”

“Nah, I don’t mind. Was there anything specific you wanted to know?”

“That initiative, did it have a name? Tell me about it.”

Peter figured that was coming, as he hadn’t really told Vicky THAT much, other than the Thanos and wizard rant. It made sense that she’d want to know.

“It was called the Avengers,” Peter replied. “It was a group of superheroes, started out small but over the past few years, it’s gotten a lot bigger.”

“Interesting name. Any idea what brought that about?”

“It’s just always been called that, as far as I know.”

“Hm.”

Another sip of gin. Peter took the opportunity to take another bite of his steak, which, to his regret, he’d barely been able to touch as of yet. He normally wasn’ttoobig about dinner etiquette, but considering the company, the house they were in, and the general vibe, he figured he might want to mind his p’s and q’s.

“Were these Avengers a worldwide organization? Local? Where were you based?” she asked.

“The, uh, HQ building was in New York, and a lot of us are—werebased there. I was mostly around the city proper, but some of us had other bases, and there was this organization that was around for a while before it got taken over by Nazi’s called SHIELD that helped out. The initiative did stuff all over the world, though.”

“So you’re NOT new to punching Nazis, then?” Vicky asked playfully.

“I never fought those HYDRA guys,” Peter replied. “That’s what they were called. HYDRA.”

“Ooooh,” Amy deadpanned, “spoooooky~.”

“A bit less on the nose than ‘Empire 88’,” Mark noted. “What else did you deal with? Other capes?”

“A few.” Peter raised a hand and started counting down, recalling all the battles he’d had to go through. “There was this one guy who built, like, wings out of salvaged alien tech and used alien guns, there was another guy who had these drones that could create illusions. Then there was… well, I told Vicky about the alien guy already.”

“Aliens?” Mark repeated, incredulously.

“Yeah, there are aliens in our universe. Some of them are really friendly, others are… you know, evil.”

“Victoria didn’t mention anything about an alien, or aliens. It sounds abitfarfetched,” Carol said. “What exactly happened, there?”

“Well, I wasn’t there for all of it, cause I died—”

“I’m sorry, you said youdied?” Mark started, only for Vicky to interrupt him.

“Dad, let him finish,” she said, before turning her full attention back to Peter. He figured people wouldn’t believe him. The whole thing seemed far-fetched, even to him, and he’dbeen there. If he hadn’t, he would have called people crazy, but he’d grown up in a post-Chitauri Invasion world. It was just something that could happen in his universe. Hell, one of his friends was an alien that was also a Norse God.

“So,” he continued, “basically, my mentor, who was like, one of the leaders of the Avengers, had this vision after the first alien invasion on our planet, or something. I don’t know, he never talked to me about it. He just said that he knew something was coming, according to his friends. Well, this other alien, Thanos, was the bad guy he saw coming. He had this… this idea that the only way to solve overpopulation in the universe was to eradicate half of all life in it, and he needed these special stones called the Infinity Stones to do it. He ended up getting them, and he… you know, erased half of all life in the universe. Including me.”

“So then, how are you here?” Carol asked.

“Well, evidently the Avengers found a way to time travel and get versions of the stones from like, other timelines? They used those to bring everyone back and beat Thanos by using them to erase his entire army from existence. My mentor ended up…dying. But, he did it. Saved the world, and I got to back to New York and try and keep being a hero.”

Another hum of thought from Carol, and another sip of gin. Amy looked at Mark with a ‘get a load of this guy’ kind of glare, Vicky smiled and found something very interesting on the ceiling, and Mark covered his mouth with tented hands, though he at least seemed to be listening.

‘They all think I’m insane.’

“Tell me about your mentor.”

Okay, thank God, subject change.

“His name was Tony. Tony Stark. People called him ‘Iron Man’, he used to be a weapons tech developer, but he got kidnapped by terrorists and nearly killed, so he had to build a special reactor to keep himself alive. He used that as the basis of these, like, high-tech armored suits that he’d use. They had lasers, rockets, jets, onboard AI, all kinds of cool stuff. He made me a suit, too, after we met, and gave me an internship with his company.”

“You certainly seem to be doing fine without the rockets, lasers, AI and jets,” Carol said.

“No, no, not THAT kind of suit, it was like, a higher tech version of my own stuff. Onboard AI, more advanced we-net gun shooters—”

“What were you going to call them?” Carol asked, immediately honing in on his slip-up. “Before ‘net guns?’ I’ve seen the footage, and while they definitely do fire ‘nets’, it’s not just nets. I’d be impressed if you could swing from buildings using a net.”

Well, crap.

“...web shooters. Cause they’re like spider-webs, kinda.”

“Why did you call them something else?”

Peter tried to think of a way to play it off, but Carol seemed locked in on him now.

“Mom, it’s not really that deep,” Vicky protested, attempting to intervene on Peter’s behalf. Surprisingly, she relented.

“I was just curious,” Carol replied, taking another sip of her gin. “Do you mind if I ask if ‘Ricochet’ was always your cape name?”

Peter, at this point, was conflicted. It had been weeks since the events that led him to this version of Earth, and everything that entailed. Surely Strange had gotten the spell under control… right? It only made sense. The whole ‘Ricochet’ thing was a defense mechanism. How long would he need to keep those defenses up?

What if he never got to put them down?

What if he was wrong?

What if he was stuck here fore—

“—alright? Ben?”

Peter was snapped out of his rapidly derailing train of thought by Mark, who was half-leaning over the table, concern etched deep into his gaze. Vicky seemed equally worried, but Carol hadn’t shifted an inch. Even Amy had started paying closer attention to him, now, but Carol just… kept looking at him, almost looking confused. It felt like her eyes were practically peeling his skin off and staringthroughhim. It took everything he had not to look at the table.

“Yeah, I… I’m okay. It’s a long story.”

“Are you sure?” Mark asked.

“I’m positive.”

“I have time for a long story, if you don’t mind sharing,” Carol said, gently pushing the glass of gin to the side. Clearly, she didn’t want any distractions.

“Carol, honey, don’t push it,” Mark warned her, with a knowing look.

“I’m not pushing, Mark. Ben, if you don’t want to talk about this, we don’t have to. I just want to know more about you. The more I know, the more help I can offer, if there is any help I can offer.”

“You know, kids pick cape names that they think are cool when they’re younger. Maybe he’s just embarrassed? Besides, he’s Ricochet now, isn’t he?”

“Mark-”

“It used to be a dumb name, yeah,” Peter interjected, capitalizing on the opportunity. “I was young, and I thought it was cool, and it was… it was not.”

Mark smiled sympathetically, and it dawned on Peter that he’d thrown that layup on purpose. There was a look in his eyes that made it clear he knew something that Carol didn’t, and honestly, Peter wasn’t sure he knew it either. What he did know was that he was thankful for his intervention, and hopefully, that would keep Carol off his back for the rest of the evening.

It kept Carol off his back for the rest of the evening, though Peter still caught her throwing weird looks his way every once in a while. In spite of that, however, things went pretty well. Vicky showed him a rough draft she and her cousin had come up with—it was becoming apparent that she REALLY didn’t like his whole ‘urban vigilante’ aesthetic—and asked for his opinion on it. It was pretty cool, in all honesty (even if it was less ‘art’ and more a collage of images and ideas put together in Photoshop or something). Basic, too. White, black, with a face-mask similar to the ones he’d been wearing. Could use a few more personal touches, but she seemed pretty open to hearing what those were, so… maybe later.

The food was good, the company was pretty good, overall, the evening was turning out pretty good. It was nice to kick back a bit, and honestly, Peter felt like he’d missed out. Being Spider-Man was a full-time job in and of itself, and being Ricochet was shaping up to be more of the same. But just because you had the responsibility to do the right thing, to try and make the world better, didn’t mean you had to forsake everything else to do it. At least, that’s how he felt about it. Trying to keep everything under lock and key and bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders only got him into this whole mess.

Still, it had some perks. Back home, Peter always had MJ and Ned watching his back, but… at a certain point, that was it. Tony was always a ‘hands off’ kind of mentor, and the Avengers only really kept in touch with him when things got REALLY bad, and that didn’t happen often at all. Now, well… he had other superheroes looking out for him, at least. People who understood the pressures he found himself under, if not his… exact situation.

That being said… this… this thing, this hex, this curse, this whatever it was… how long could he keep lying? Eventually he’d slip up. And even if slipping up wasn’t the issue, what if Strange didn’t know where he was? What if hecouldn’tfind him because he wasn’t Peter Parker or Spider-Man anymore?

What if the only way for Strange to find him was to make it obvious where he was in the multiverse?

“Ben, you don’t look so hot.”

Peter turned his attention back to the Dallons. By now, everyone looked a bit worried, even Carol.

“How about you and me step outside?” Mark continued, slowly removing his chair. “Carol, do you mind getting tupperware for him, or something?”

“I got it,” Vicky replied, standing up and heading over to the kitchen cupboards. Behind her, Mark motioned for him to follow, and while Peter was honestly perfectly comfortable sitting in this chair and not moving, he had a feeling that wasn’t a good idea if he wanted to avoid any further confrontation… so, up he went, pushing the chair back under the table behind him and muttering a quick ‘thanks’ to Vicky as he passed by. Mark seemed to be headed back out to the patio, so Peter followed, shutting the door behind him.

By now, the sun was down. As the morning weather report had predicted, it was raining, but thankfully not hard enough to do much of anything. Probably didn’t hurt that the Dallons’ back patio was a covered one. A small lounge couch he’d seen earlier sat on the opposite side from the grill, and Mark had taken one side, motioning Peter to follow him. There was something in his eyes that Peter couldn’t quite possibly place… but he knew he’d seen it somewhere before. A sort oftiredthat normal people didn’t really get. Captain America’s buddy, that ‘Bucky’ guy they were chasing after had it. Tony had it, closer to the end of things. Some of the people that he’d met when he came back who’d lived through the Snap had it. It was just this… empty look. Like something inside them had been stolen, and they couldn’t get it back.

Did he look like that?

“You can sit down if you want, Ben,” Mark assured him, gently. “They’re not gonna interrupt.”

“Something wrong?” Peter asked lamely.

“You tell me, kid. You looked like you saw a ghost, there. I’m not gonna pry too much, but I don’t think you told Carol the whole truth, didn’t you?”

Ah, sh*t.

“I dunno what you mean. When we were talking about the cape name?” Peter asked, another weak attempt at deflection.

“That’s not what you were talking about. I know she can push a littletoo hard. Part of being an attorney. Also, you really should sit down. I’m not interrogating you or anything, but I’m starting to feel a little awkward here.”

The chuckle that Mark offered Peter was so transparently fake that Peter was almost impressed that he even tried it. That being said, it was convincing enough to get him to finally sit down. Mark didn’t immediately resume his line of questioning, instead letting Peter sit in silence for a good ten, fifteen seconds, then continuing with a gentle, quiet question.

“How much of what you told us was true? I’m not calling you a liar, but I have my suspicions about something.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you guys about where I’m from,” Peter replied. “Vicky said I could trust you. She didn’t really believe me either, but she still offered to help me out and watch my back, so…”

“I assume she told you about Earth Aleph, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions, bud? If it’s too heavy, I understand, I just… I know…”

Mark paused, suddenly finding the patio table very interesting. It was clear that he was trying to think of the right words to say in this moment, and Peter suddenly had a very good idea of what compelled the man to talk to him in private. Peter had heard the term used, seen it on billboards and TV commercials after everything went back to ‘normal’, as normal as one could be after five years of half the Earth’s population being erased. He’d been given a primer on it at school, even, during health class.

“You’re fine,” Peter assured him, with an attempt at a smile. “Just, uh… yeah, I’ll try and answer the best I can.”

“Okay, cool…”

Mark took a deep breath, and returned his gaze to Peter. He was leaned forward now, far more casual-looking than he’d been earlier. Almostexhausted, now, although part of that might have been the really dim patio lighting.

“Being a cape wasn’t easy on you, was it. You’re a young guy. Seventeen, eighteen?”

“Eighteen,” Peter replied. “Nineteen in August. I’d be… twenty-two if I hadn’t… you know, died.”

Mark nodded. “If you’re okay with talking about it, how’d you die?”

“I, uh… so, I think I mentioned the alien who erased half of all life in the universe. Well, basically, when he, you know, did it, my…um…dangersense went off and let me know something bad was gonna happen. I started feeling really weak, couldn’t stand up, could barely breathe, then… I just don’t remember anything after that until I got brought back.”

“Wasn’t… violent, or painful or anything?”

“No. Barely hurt at all.”

Mark’s lips drew a thin line, and he let out a sharp exhale through his nose, followed by a muttered ‘Christ’.

“You seeing anyone? A professional, I mean.”

“I wasn’t, no. I… honestly, it didn’t bother me too much. It was more, you know… losing my mentor, the pressures of being Sp-”

Peter stopped himself short of saying it, but this time, there was no easy way out. Mark caught it instantly, but instead of pressing down and forcing Peter to make a decision on the Spider-Man issue, he sidestepped it. He wasn’t exactly sure why Mark did that, but he was grateful for it. As much as he wished he could just be rid of this whole fake identity thing, he wanted to do it on his own terms, when he finally got the willpower to double down on it.

“Why’d you change your cape name?” he asked.

Peter could at least try and explain that part, probably. As far has he knew, this wasn’t one of those things where if you explained the terms of the spell or pact or whatever, that counted as breaking it.

“I, uh… I already knew there was multiple Earths. There’s multiple versions of… me. The superhero that I am, at least. The ones I met are older and have been through different stuff and fight different bad guys, but… basically, where I’m from, my secret identity got revealed by a guy named Mysterio. The drone guy I mentioned at dinner.”

“Unwritten rules are there for a reason… how bad’d it get?”

“People thought I murdered the guy. He… he did die, but I didn’t kill him. Some news guy, though, he really had it out for me. I ended up going to court over it… thankfully, I did pretty well, had a good lawyer. But it made life hard. I couldn’t get into MIT and my friends didn’t either. Our grades were up to standard, it was just, like, in light of all that stuff that was going on.”

“Being outed as a cape can cause a lot of problems," Mark explained, as if Peter didn't already know. Still, he couldn't help but listen. It honestly felt like Mark was more talking for his own sake than for Peter's. "It’s why we started this with our names out there for everyone. Accountability, mostly, but it also makes it easier to do the job… at least, it did for us, at first. Sure, the paparazzi love us, but when you’ve got superpowers you can kind of muscle a few reporters out of the yard when you want some family time, you know?”

Peter didn’t know, but he nodded along anyway. None of the press he got as ‘Peter Parker: Spider-Man’ was very good.

“Is that why you changed your cape name? New identity?” he asked.

“Well… kinda. You’re not gonna believe this.”

“Ben, at this point, I’m willing to hear you out on just about anything.”

“Yeah, but, this is really farfetched. Like, I didn’t even really believe it until I saw it.”

“There’s a guy in Chicago who claims to be a wizard. I mean, we all know it’s an act, but he still wears the robes and everything. Try me.”

Peter started to laugh. He couldn’t help himself, and clearly, that at least unsettled Mark alittlebit.

“Ben, you alright?” he asked.

“I-it’s just… that’s exactly what I was about to say. The wizard thing.”

“You know a wizard?”

“Yeah. Well, he calls himself the Sorcerer Supreme, but he’s basically a wizard. Like, actual magic too. Nothing he does would make sense otherwise. I’ve been in his library, there’s a ton of magic stuff in there.”

Mark nodded, showing no indication as to whether he bought any of this or not. “So, what’s the wizard doing in all this?”

“He used a spell to erase people’s memory of my identity, but I kept trying to get him to like… change it at the last minute. So that, like, my family would still know it was me, my girlfriend and my best friend would still know, stuff like that. That ended up breaking it, and somehow bad guys who fought the other versions of me came after me in my world.”

Mark let out a low whistle, almost sounding impressed. “Sheesh. So, you went underground?”

“I uh… I tried to help them get back to their home universes. It… it backfired. People I cared about got hurt.”

A long pause. Peter had some time to process this already, with everything going on, but he’d had other priorities much of the time. Be it Sarah and Asuka, or Oni Lee, or this ‘cape’ stuff, or Danny… it was still just… hard to even think about it.

“People died.”

“... people close to you?” Mark asked.

“My aunt. She pretty much raised me, after my parents passed.”

Mark let out another long exhale, and reached over to place a hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Ben. My… well, she was basically my sister in law, Jess, she was part of the original New Wave. Her and Carol’s brother. She ended up getting killed by some Nazi punk who was trying to get some street cred. Was all over the national news. We nearly broke up off of it. Haven’t seen Mike since. Kid got out on a plea deal.”

GoodLord.

“Mark, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to bring anything up-” Peter began, only for Mark to tighten his grip on his shoulder.

“No, no, no, don’t apologize. I just… I want you to know that I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. She was pretty much part of the family. The kids loved her, we loved her, and she was a good cape. Better person. Really believed in what we were doing. It’s been tough to let her go, on top of everything else. Doesn’t even feel like it was that long ago, but it’s already been five years.”

Giving his shoulder a firm shake, Mark continued.

“But you just lost yourmom, or the closest you had to it. How long ago was this?”

“I’ve only been on… this Earth for about.. Three weeks?” Peter said. “Month at most.”

“And you’ve been out here fighting Empire 88 and the ABB without taking a break.”

“This city needs help, and I can help. My aunt and uncle used to say that with great power comes great responsibility. I have the power to help, so it’s my responsibility to do it.”

Mark smiled. For the first time today, it seemed like he was actually smiling, and not just ‘trying to’.

“That’s an awfully honorable attitude to have, Ben. You’re a good man. That being said, you don’t have to carry our world on your shoulders, too.”

With that, Mark leaned forward off the couch, the smile disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.

“I, uh… therapy doesn’t really work for me, but maybe it’ll do something for you. Neil tried to give me a number for some guy a few years back, said it helped him and Sarah a lot. Maybe it’ll do you some good. I’ll tell Victoria to send it your way next time you talk.”

Peter felt bad for it, but the first thing that went through his mind was that he didn’t want to deal with therapy right now, on top of everything else he was doing. It felt like he was getting more and more entrenched in this world. Like he was stuck here. Like he’d given up on going home.

Still, Mark would have probably been upset if Peter turned him down outright, so he nodded along.

“I’ll look into it.”

“In the meantime, is anyone from your world looking for you?”

“The wizard, yeah.”

Mark let out a low hum of thought as he stood up, stretching his back with a light ‘pop’. “Did Victoria and Dean get you in touch with the Protectorate?”

“No, but Battery came while I was out the other night to talk to me,” Peter replied. It was hard to forget the woman, considering she was glowing like a neon billboard when she ran up to him. “She offered to talk to me about stuff. Haven’t taken her up on it.”

“I wouldn’t tell you to join up or not right now, but maybe give her a call. The Protectorate might have resources to help you get back in contact with your people… sounds like a long ball if it’s not Aleph, and from what you made it sound like, it’s not, but it’s better than sitting around here and twiddling your thumbs. Plus, I've worked with Battery a few times. Nice girl. Bit of a stickler, but I've met worse.”

With that, Mark started for the door. “It’s getting late. We should probably get you on your way back home. I’ll drive you, don’t want Carol or the kids to get too nosy about this whole thing.”

“I can catch the bus, Mark-”

“The next bus is probably another fifteen or twenty minutes out, and you’re not standing out in the rain in my neighborhood, Ben, now come on.”

Well, once again, Peter found himself in the ‘no argument zone’ with a friendly stranger giving him a ride. This time, though, it was a superhero offering. Variety. Still, itwasbetter than sitting out in the rain. He was tired enough as it was. Thinking about home just wore him out even more than the heroics did. As far-fetched as it was starting to seem, he still hoped that Stephen would find him soon. Until he did, though… maybe he’d take at leastsomeof Mark’s advice.

Digging through his jeans pocket, he pulled out the now folded and worn card that Battery had given him. It did have a contact number on it for a ‘PRT ENE.’

He’d call in the morning. He was off, anyway.

Summary:

Peter runs into a problem-the Asuka situation has just gotten a whole new level of bad. Will he actually lean on others for help, or will he Peter it? Read and find out.

Summary:

Two new capes in Brockton Bay in the span of a month, both on opposite sides of the law. This is gonna be interesting.

Asuka Kawade had never had a particularly easy life.

When…ithappened, her family were some of the last to evacuate from their home in Beppu. Her mother was a painter, her father a salaryman. They thought maybe America, if they somehow survived this, would give them another chance.

Why, oh why, did they end up in such an accursed place?

It had never been particularly easy for them in Brockton Bay. Asuka struggled to learn English, even as her father tried his best to teach her, and considering what had happened, home school was the only real option available to her. Her mother’s vibrant, lovely art took on an ugly, haunted face. Her father was seemingly never home, and when he was, he seemed to never speak. He just… existed. Moved through life as if it were a chore.

Was it morbid that Asuka had assumed he would commit suicide? Perhaps. It was a terrible thing for a child to think. She was only.. How old was she? Days turned to months, turned to years. She barely remembered anything. It’d been how long since she left home… since the ocean swallowed everything.

She looked at the phone Sarah had given her. Today was April 7th, 2011. It had been more than ten years ago. That meant she was…

Her birthday had passed. She was 20, now.

“Tanjōbi omedetō…” she muttered. She’d arrived in Brockton Bay last night. Convinced a man to give her a ride. He asked for no favors, which was… a relief. She was that desperate, but she would rather have not, if given the choice.

So she’d been able to get to work early today.

She remembered the place. The one they’d hidden in. Where that nice boy, Ben, helped them. She wondered if those monsters had come back. She’d read in one of the newspapers that many of them were arrested. Ben was still around, but he was targeting others. Sarah’s former group.

No justice. There would never be justice for what they did. She knew, now. All of it. The bombs… Sarah…

Angry wasn’t the word for how she felt. Enraged was too weak. Furious barely registered. She couldn’t think of a single word in the English language that conveyed the sheer, unrelentinghatethat ate her alive, every passing moment, since she realized what she’d become. What was taken from her.

Ben and Sarah had won her freedom. But that hospital bed, alone, with no one to protect her. No one who even cared if she lived or died. Was that truly freedom?

No.

They’d taken her freedom when they’d taken her dignity. When they’d taken her family. When they’d taken everything from her.

The only thing she knew was that death would be too much of a mercy. They would die knowing that she would be dragged down to their level. That she’d eventually end up locked away, deemed ‘mad’ by people who believed themselves to know better.

A good maiming here or there was good enough.

Her power helped with that. It was… oddly fitting. Her mother had drawn horrors from the deep, monsters that looked like they could have once been men. Memories of the worst day of their lives.

But Asuka could make those monsters real.

The rain left puddles in the concrete of the back alley she’d hidden away in, letting her look upon her reflection. She needed a haircut. She never liked her hair long… not after the way they pulled on it. Her face, gaunt and pale, the sun a distant memory. The jacket that Sarah had given her, holes patched up with various American things that she didn’t quite understand yet, a size too big.

And the mask.

Her power let that which she drew come to life, stronger, so long as she remembered to care for it. It was a stroke of inspiration to draw her mask upon the little thing she’d found. The ‘eyes’ she drew let her see. The mouth she drew let her speak.

She’d done a bit of tinkering. Drawn what she’d… wanted people to see. It didn’t look real- her mother was a far better artist, but it was something. She’d almost laughed the first time she looked at her reflection. Still… better than nothing.

It looked a bit more polished now. Less like a children’s drawing, more like an amateur artist’s quick pencil sketches. So did…

So did she.

She’d tried to draw her, when she saw she could bring things to life with her pencil and paper. To have her back, if only for a moment. To feel safe. It was thanks to that drawing she was able to escape her confines. But it wasn’t her. It would never be her. Sarah was gone, forever. A rare, dim light, strange and awful and wonderful as it was, forever snuffed out by an ever growing darkness.

The closest thing Asuka still had was for all intents and purposes, a paper doll. She looked at it, and it glanced back. It was monochrome, clearly drawn in the same style as her mask, but anyone who had ever seen Sarah would know it was her. The height. The narrow, seeking eyes. The spines. The bones. It was her, no doubt, but it also… wasn’t.

It was just as good in a fight as the original, though. As it turned out, these drawings… It was about imagination. And Asuka had a very active imagination. It required her focus, of course, to get it to do what she wanted it to do. She’d tried leaving it alone at first. That had almost ended badly, with the first man who pulled over to help her. He’d scared her, and he had a pretty sizable tear in the side of his truck to remind him to be kinder to women in need. But it had protected her.Shehad protected her. If nothing else, that was something to be happy with.

It had certainly helped her tonight.

Many of the men she remembered from her… horrific experiences… were currently serving some severe sentences. That didn’t mean their little gang was gone. If anything, they were more active. Asuka had pretended to be a lost little thing, looking for help, protection, guidance maybe. Overheard talk of ‘Undersiders’ and their war with the ABB.

Allies, perhaps. Or maybe that ‘Ben’ boy would help her. More than likely not. Even if he would help her, Asuka felt terrible thinking about him. He was in deep pain, much like her, though he hid it much better. His eyes told a terrible tragedy, one that he’d never disclosed to her, but he’d never needed to. She knew Sarah had spoken to him. That he was… not well. Disturbed, was the word she’d used, then.

That made two of them.

After all, this little art piece she’d left in her wake was certainly ‘disturbed’ for lack of a better word. Nobody had died.

Yet.

But that could change quickly if one of these boys didn’tshut the f*ck up.

She’d tried drawing stitches over his mouth to silence him to no avail. He just said that it hurt. ‘It hurts, it hurts, please stop-’

So, naturally, she got curious. Drew a few more wounds. A cut to the stomach. A deep gash on his arm. A slice all the way around his thigh. A nail in each of his feet.

Now she was wishing she could just erase his damn mouth. She’d gotten curious, and tried. No luck. It seemed that her power was limited to creation, not destruction. So, with that in mind, she did what made the most sense in the moment. She kicked him in the head. Hard. He was a little quieter after that. Still not quiet enough for her liking. Another kick did it, though.

As for the actual piece, well… she’d tried her best.

“I CAME HOME.

- OIWA.”

The second part was inkatakana, meant for the men she was hunting, rather than the first message. The first message was… call it more of an advertisem*nt. According to the boys, they were on the edge of the Undersiders’ territory. So, her plan was simple.

Spread the news.

She’d learned that it wasn’t just her mask that she could speak through, see through… no, drawing a mouth, eyes, ears, onanything, allowed her to see. Allowed her to hear. She just had to concentrate on it. It had been curiosity that had led her to this revelation. Seeing herself through Sarah… through herpower’seyes.

And to think, in merely two days, she’d figured all of this out. How much more was she capable of? She didn’t know. She just knew it wasn’t enough. She knew Oni Lee. She knew Lung. Everyone did, in her part of town.

And if she was going to kill them, she needed backup. And people that hated them almost as much as she did was a good start. Once she finished this piece, she’d go into their neighborhood and… for lack of a better metaphor, she’d open up an exhibition.

“New cape. Definitely a new cape.”

Shawn sighed, the sound bouncing off the inside of his helmet as he took in the scene. This was probably the most eventful patrol he’d had in weeks. First, the new kid Kristina was working with (He hoped it went well. She’d called him to ask for advice before she headed out.), and now this other wackjob. He’d never seen anything quite like this.

It almost looked like… art. Like someone had drawn on the walls of the buildings in this alley, a field of what looked like bones forming a background for… Jesus, what even were half these things?

“Vista, what’s the status on those two?” he asked, turning to the Ward in question, who was still examining the two barely-conscious men lying on the ground. He’d brought her along on this set of rounds when the call came in. Much like Assault, he was on ‘babysitting duty’ for a little while, but he didn’t much mind. While Assault seemed to take Ward patrols as a chance to kick back and take it easy, Dauntless took it as a chance to be a teacher to the next generation. He’d had some mentorship when he became a cape, but he firmly believed it could have been better. That itneededto be better. These kids couldn’t make some of the mistakes he’d made in his time, even if he hadn’troyallyf*cked sh*t up like, say, Bastion.

That being said, it also meant they were exposed to a hell of a lot more danger, and in situations full of unknowns like this one, Shawn was very much of the opinion that he’d rather have Kristina around instead of Missy.

“They’re alive and breathing. It looks like whoever did this… drewwounds on this guy,” she explained, pointing to one of the drawings in question. It was an ugly looking thing, like nails had been driven into his feet, with streaks of monochrome ‘blood’ covering his feet. “I don’t think they’re actually threatening, though. His heart rate is normal, and he’s breathing fine. He’s just in a lot of pain.”

Interesting. So these drawings-

‘Did that skull justlook at me?’

Shawn whipped around to look at the skull in question. Or at least… he thought it was a skull. He’d seen tattoos with a similar design on ABB goons that had been arrested or questioned, a sort of skeletal figure with exaggerated eyes and horns. He wasn’t exactly the expert on this stuff- that was more Dean, or Hana, or Robin’s forte. Whatever it was, though, the art style certainly looked similar to those tattoos.

Probably had some business with the ABB, either looking for work or looking for a fight. Considering Ricochet’s antics, he sincerely hoped it was actually neither, and this was just some kind of freak who’d wander out of town once he or she got sent packing by the best Protectorate unit in the country.

Sure enough, as he stared it down, the eyes moved, although not too noticeably. Someone had been watching him. As much as he wanted to do something about it, however, he didn’t exactly want to knock off the corner of the building.

Shawn picked up a broken piece of concrete from the old, worn alleyway, and tossed it up at the wall. The moment it hit the eye, it blinked.

“Vista, someone’s watching us,” he stated, pulling his shield off his back and backing up towards his charge. “Call in these two, and fast.”

“Okay, got it!”

As she did so, Shawn kept scanning the buildings. At the end of the alley, there was more writing.I REMEMBER. Remember what? Felt like something someone with a grudge would say, so that meant, at the very least, this guy or gal wasn’t afriendof this gang. Whether they were friends of his, though? That was another story entirely.
“They’re coming to pick these guys up and sweep the area, Dauntless,” Vista piped up from behind him. “What should we do?”

“Keep your eyes open. If you see something, say something. Stick close to me, and we’ll wait and see if our new colleague is up for more than just a game of Eye Spy.”

“Okay…”

Looking over his shoulder, Dauntless saw the Ward looking up at the wall, where another one of these skeletal things was staring down at her, one eye wrenched shut, as if it were in pain, the other locked on her. Reflexively, she seemed to be trying to push it away from her with her power, to limited success. Though the alley distorted, and the art stretched, the eyes shifted to follow her. The drawing seemed, if nothing else, discombobulated by the sudden shift, eyes squinting and straining as they tried to remain locked on Missy.

“Vista, step away from the wall,” he ordered, keeping his voice low and level. Last thing she needed to do was panic. Thankfully, Missy had a good head on her shoulders for someone so young. She complied calmly and quietly, nearly bumping into him as he shifted to put himself between the two…things.

“You can come out, now!” he continued, raising his voice to be heard by their mystery observer. “I just wanna talk to you, friend. We don’t have to get violent here.”

A pause. The thing that had been staring at Missy had turned its attention to him, opening and closing its mouth.

Then, itspoke.

“I don’t have business with you. Leave.”

The voice was distinctly feminine, and the accent was equally noticeable. Did one of ABB’s victims trigger? Pressed too hard and with no escape within their own community?

“Well, considering you’ve been staring at me and my partner here for a good few minutes, I’d say we would appear to have business, sir or ma’am, so how about you come out, and we talk about this like reasonable people?”

Whatever, or whoever this thing was, it didn’t respond. Indeed, it didn’t do anything at all. Its eye stopped moving entirely, void of even the small, minute twitches that were noticeable on such a macro scale. Its other eye, once visibly twitching with the effort of keeping it shut, was now entirely still, and its lips remained drawn in a horrendous scowl. Out of curiosity, he turned around. The other one was right where he’d last saw it, completely unmoved and unmoving.

“That was something… Vista, how long until pickup’s here?”

“Not long, they’re on the way.”

“Let’s step out of the alley… just in case.”

It’s pretty rude to come barging into someone’s house in the middle of the night, completely uninvited, with no warning whatsoever, but that seemed to be what was happening tonight.

Theplan, as Lisa understood it, was for the Undersiders to get together and start talking strategy in regards to the ABB, which meant that someone had to draw the short straw and go try and get Rachel to come along. Usually, it was Brian who was able to make her play ball, so she’d left him to do that. Alec hadinsistedon continuing to get some ‘beauty sleep’ before the ‘big day’, so he was laid out on their hideout’s loveseat, splayed out like a spoiled housecat, and that just left Lisa to stare outside and think about what she’d seen earlier.

She’d sort of walked the perimeter, just to make sure nothing was amiss, when she saw…arton the walls of a nearby building. It looked Japanese in its inspiration, an almost minimalistic style. It demanded investigation. That art had not been there this morning, and she had a hard time believing Bitch would let anyone go wandering around in her dogs’ backyard.

So it was that she had gotten Brian’s consent to drag the gang around on a little adventure, and while they didn’t find their artist, she found some things that interested her… namely, the content.

She knew a bit about art. Not as much as some other people, but her power made it a bit easier to get a read on things than for a completely uneducated eye. She was getting a pretty clear picture, looking at this art. All Japanese in theme and style, almost looking like the artist had re-drawn the walls to fit a more Japanese aesthetic… and covered it with eyes.Mokumokuren, her power specified. Eyes that haunted the walls of a dilapidated or abandoned home.

And one of them had looked at her a little too directly.

Needless to say, the Undersiders were a bit on edge when they stumbled upon the wordsFOLLOW MEwritten on the sidewalk, but, you know, in for a penny and all that, and frankly, Lisa was DYING to know who wanted to meet her so badly. If this were an ambush, whoever did this would have jumped them at the very first mural. No, this person wanted to meet them. Most of theyōkaiportrayed were associated with abandonment, death, or curses and hexes. That, and bones. A lot of bones. Aside from themokumokuren, almost all of this artist’s designs made heavy use of bone themes. Agashadokuro, a spirit of the restless dead in the form of a massive skeleton, stared up at them from the sidewalk.

That being said, nothing they’d seen drawn around had really looked at them like that initial first, massive mural. Everything else was smaller, drawn more quickly.. Almostsloppily. Like the artist was drawing with some kind of handicap.

The trail ran cold near an alley about a block down from their HQ, and evidently, whoever they were looking for was close, judging by the fact that the two dogs Rachel brought along started barking fiercely towards the direction of the alley. Seemed they’d found their guy…no, girl. Probably a girl.

“So, who’s taking point on dealing with the Etsy stalker?” Regent asked.

“Tattletale?” Gruealsoasked, in lieu of actually giving an answer. It made sense, though. If this person wanted them dead, they’d be dead already. No, they wanted to talk. Probably either wanted the Undersider’s services for a job, or had other outstanding business with them. Judging by the art, it was absolutely possible that Lung had called in another out of town hitter like Bakuda, but something told Lisa that wasn’t the case. Considering that the new independent cape, Ricochet, had put the brakes on whatever Bakuda was doing within days of her getting to town, he wouldn’t have let Lung get away with getting another big swinger.

No, this was someone uninvolved. Either that, or they were farmoreinvolved than she could have inferred based on what her power gave her. Neither option left her a lot of room for anything but the barest inference. Of course, being as she was ‘the talker’...

“Rachel? Stick by me,” she ordered. Felt dirty to say ‘ordered’, but half the time it felt like that was the only way to get Rachel to agree to do anything. She’d just bitch and growl about it anyway, this just seemed to be the path of least bitching and growling. Sure enough, she heard an annoyed growl, and would probably be hearing some muttered bitching on the way back. Lisa rolled her eyes. Judging by the thwacking of Rachel's heavy duty boots on the pavement behind her, though, she was at least listening.

Lisa wasn't sure what to expect, turning that corner. It could be any number of people, really. Just how many people's lives had the ABB ruined with their whole bombing plot? How many people were threatened at Oceanside? How many people suffered at the hands of the ABB or Empire-88 pretty much every day in Brockton Bay? How could anyone, even Lisa, narrow it down to just one person? It just was too wide of a net to cast. That being said, as she turned the corner and looked into the eyes of someone that she was very certain was dead the last time she checked, that sort of gave her a few ideas.

"Scrimshaw?" Lisa asked. She wasn't entirely familiar with the bone-armored brute from the resident fascists, at least on a personal level. Her reputation preceded her- ABB had eased up significantly when Oni Lee killed her in that warehouse down on the waterfront. Left them wide open for the Undersiders to make a move, around the same time that Ricochet kid did. Yet, despite all that, it seemed very much that Scrimshaw was not dead. At least... not in the traditional sense.

As Rachel behind her tensed and her dogs growled in anticipation, Lisa watched the bones extend from Scrimshaw's arms, except... something didn't look right. There was almost an...artisticedge to her? Like heavy lines, dark lines around her body. Her face looked off, like someone had drawn it from memory. A good memory, don't get Lisa wrong on that, but it wasn't exact, Scrimshaw had a mug that was pretty hard to forget. No, there was a bit less bone. Her hair's colors were more vibrant, almost pink and orange rather than the red Lisa had remembered. All of that, and the fact that her face didn't so much as move when Lisa called out to her. There were none of the little micro-motions or slight shifts in expression that characterized a human being.

Wait a minute…

A drawing. Mystery cape has the power to bring their artistic creations to 'life' in both two- and three-dimensional space. Can also use creations for sensory and haptic feedback. Eyes, ears, mouth, early warning system or scout if used properly. Inexperienced with her power. Makes her drawings too grand and obvious. Doesn’t draw directly on surfaces, projects too large to be done in the time it took to find her. Medium, maybe. Paper? Canvas?

Lisa was very nearly impressed. Rachel, however, was less so. Turning to look at her teammate she could see, even under the mask, Rachel's jaw set in a snarl. Her hand tightened around the leash that kept whichever of her dogs she'd brought along today (she was pretty sure it was Brutus and Angelica). She was going to put them on this mystery artist before Lisa could get to the bottom of this whole mess, and Lisa very much wanted to get to the bottom of it. This was the most interesting thing that'd happened to her all week.

Before Lisa could try and corral her though, someone else made an attempt.

"Call off your dogs. I want to talk. Not fight."

The voice was accented. Native to Japan. An Endbringer refugee in Brockton Bay wouldn't be that out of the question.

"Rachel, let's try and talk to them before we go straight to ripping their head off."

The mask betrayed no change in demeanor, and her hands didn't loosen at all, but Rachel didn't sic them on the artist. That was as good a response as she was going to get, so Lisa turned back to the artistic representation of Scrimshaw, finding a figure standing next to it now.

Feminine -mid-twenties, female, notably underweight. Full-blooded Japanese, accent is coastal Kyushu. Leviathan victim. Didn’t trigger then. More recent.- a bit on the shorter side, wearing some kind of head covering with no openings whatsoever. Instead, she’d drawn on eyes, a mouth, some facial features. It seemed like she could at the very least see through her drawings, if she was going through all that much trouble. It would also explain how she knew they were coming to her, how she was able to set a path. Maybe she could hear through them, too. That would be a bit of a problem, if so, but Lisa didn’t see any drawn-on ears.

“You must be Tattletale, then?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?” Lisa asked, pretending to be flattered.

“Once or twice.” The artist seemed nonplussed. One of the artworks had featured the word ‘Oiwa’ prominently beneath it, almost like a signature. It wasn’t exactly a genius deduction, but…

“You’re Oiwa?”

“Yes,” Oiwa replied. “I’ve been watching you for most of the day.”

“That’s reassuring,” Brian spoke up, having evidently joined them while Lisa was honed in on the art. That meant Alec was here, too. Hopefully he didn’t push any particularly sensitive buttons. There was one button, however, that Lisa herselfreallywanted to push. A very obvious, bone-covered, lovingly hand-drawn button.

“What’s with the Nazi?” she asked.

“Wrong. She’’s not- shewasn’t,” Oiwa insisted, clear and present pain in her words, especially once she corrected herself. “Not anymore.”

“So you and Scrimshaw knew each other?”

“Sarah.”

“Sarah, excuse me. Didn’t know her that well. Were you there when Oni Lee killed her?”

“No. A… friend, helped me leave town. They came after me. To draw them out.”

To drawthemout? Scrimshaw was an obvious answer to who that could be, but Oiwa had a decent command of the English language, so unless Scrimshaw chose not to identify as a woman, that meant there was at least one other person involved in this mess…

Ricochet. He was there, at Oceanside. He’d been seen heading towards the warehouse around the time of the bombing, too. Were Oiwa and Ricochet connected somehow? Had they been a team with Scrimshaw, or… no, that didn’t make much sense. She would have gotten involved in their work if that had been the case, her power seemed at least useful for distractions, or possibly things like barriers, disguises, something that would have been a help to them. Reason to tag along, if nothing else.

New trigger.The answer snapped into Lisa’s mind clear as day. Somehow, this girl was connected to Ricochet and Scrimshaw enough to know the latter by name, but was also a fresh trigger.

One of the prostitutes from the bomb plot, maybe? A relative of a gang member? She’d need a little more to work with.

“Well, Oiwa, I’m assuming ‘they’ is Oni Lee and his friends?” Lisa asked.

“Correct. I understand you are no friend of theirs.”

“You understand correctly,” Brian said, stepping forward, putting himself between Rachel and Oiwa. Smart. Rachel probably wouldn’t try to do anything if they were all in agreement that they should just…talk. A quick glance over Lisa’s shoulder found Alec bringing up the rear, arms folded and scepter tapping against his right forearm as he waited for them to finish talking. Impatient. Almost like he’d have rathered a fight.

“So, what’s with you stalking our territory?” Alec asked, feeling the need to get himself involved in the conversation. “Not a good way to make new friends.”

“Wanted to see. To watch you move. You caught on quickly. No time to really observe. Needed a new plan.”

“So you drew all of this… that quickly?” Lisa asked.

“I was in a hurry. Not my best work.”

“I’m guessing those murals were more ‘involved’ projects?”

“Correct.”

She’d been stalking them all day, apparently. Either that, or she had a way to expedite the process of her artistic creations.

“Mind telling us how you were able to put up big work like that so quickly?”

“I think it is my turn to talk, Tattletale.” Oiwa's ‘eyes’ narrowed, her ‘brow’ furrowed, and her voice took on a bit of edge.Nervous. She wants something. Doesn’t trust me. Especially doesn’t trust me. Thinks I’m trying to manipulate her.

“Easy, now,” Brian warned her. “We wouldn’t want a misunderstanding that ends in someone getting hurt.”

“And by someone, we mean ‘you’,” Alec stated, matter-of-fact. “There’s four of us and… two of you, apparently.”

“I don’t want to fight,” Oiwa insisted, tensing up. “I want totalk!”

“Then let’s talk,” Lisa replied, attempting to take on a kinder, less confrontational tone. It’d put her at ease, ideally. “What is it you want from this? You say you wanna talk. About what?”

It seemed like Lisa’d said the right thing. Oiwa relaxed, if only slightly, fists unclenching and ‘expression’ softening. Her ‘eyes’ flickered between each member of the Undersiders, before finally falling on Lisa.

“I want your help. To help you, maybe. The ABB. You’re fighting them.”

“That we are,” Brian replied. “So… you’re proposing an alliance, then. You back us up, we make sure you’re not retaliated against?”

“Correct.”

Interesting proposition. That Ricochet guy seemed to have New Wave at his back now, so if the ABB tried to fight him again, they’d have an entire cape family beating down their door. Empire-88 was encroaching on their borders, pushing into their turf, moving in on their markets. Lung’s attention had to be divided. The Undersiders could take a huge chunk out of his empire while he was distracted, and best of all, if Oiwa was at the front of it, they wouldn’t likely even be the focus of his ire.

But what did Oiwa want out of this? The answer was obvious. Revenge. Clearly, ‘Sarah’ had tried to turn it around recently, and Oiwa had been one of the benefactors of her sudden change of heart. That kind of rage was useful, were it to be channeled intelligently, and Lisa fully believed that she could do so. It helped that Oiwa had a pretty useful power, from Lisa’s estimation of it. Remote observation, in their line of work, was a pretty nifty thing to have.

Worst case scenario, she’d screw up and get reunited with her Nazi girlfriend in the afterlife. Not that Lisa was actively wishing death on anyone, but it wasn’t hard to see when a deal was heavily weighted one way.

Lisa turned, meeting Brian’s eyes behind his mask. She offered a slight nod. Their new acquaintance was on the level. Now, it was up to the team.

“Any objections to having an extra hand?” Brian asked.

“We were planning on hitting the ABB soon anyway,” Alec said. “Might as well take any help we can get. Don’t ask me to make room for strays, though.”

“Fine by me,” Lisa followed, and now, it was on Rachel. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t offer much in the way of a response aside from a dismissive huff. If she’d had a real problem with it, she’d have spoken up. Just how she operated. It was the closest thing Oiwa could possibly get to a ringing endorsem*nt from her.

That being said, they were all in agreement. Looks like the enemy of their enemy was indeed their friend.

“Well, then, Oiwa,” Brian said, turning to exit the alleyway with a casual wave over the shoulder. “We’ll be in touch. We’re making a move on Oni Lee in the next couple of days. Since you know where we live, meet us there and we’ll discuss the details tomorrow. And don’t do anything stupid.”

Lisa had a hard time believing Oiwa could contain herself from doing something stupid, just from the look of her. She was angry, wired, paranoid. She wanted to lash out at Lung for what she’d been through, and while Lisa didn’t have all the details on that yet, if they spent much more time around each other, she had a feeling she’d figure it out, and it wouldn’t exactly be sunshine and lollipops. Still… not her problem. Not yet, anyway. As long as she didn’t screw up their plans, Lisa could only see a successful partnership ahead of them. They just had to play their cards right.

The Undersiders left the alley, with Lisa bringing up the rear. She turned, and took one last look at Oiwa. The other girl stared back, unflinching, the doll-like drawing behind her mirroring her gaze.

Summary:

Peter once again grapples with the weight of his actions and decisions, and Victoria tries to lighten the load.

Does the mask make the man?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Peter had wanted to have a good night’s sleep when he’d gotten the call from Leslie, but he couldn’t manage a wink. He barely slept the day after, either, or at all this week, and his coworkers noticed, though thankfully his job wasn’tthatphysically demanding (being asuperhumanhelped a lot with that part).

He certainly wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

Vicky found him pretty quickly that first day- it wasn’t much effort to do so, considering she knew where he lived now -and gave him both barrels for hanging up on her in the middle of what had been, in her mind, a very important conversation. An argument ensued and while Peter didn’t doubt their friendship, circ*mstantial as it might be, would survive, he still felt a bit bad about it.

He’d wanted to rely on other people for a change. To ask for help. To reach out for a hand to steady himself with, but then this happened. This was different. Asuka was his responsibility. He’d fought tooth and nail to get her away from Brockton Bay. Sarah haddiedfor it. If something happened to her now that she’d found some godforsaken reason to come back, that’d be on him.

He wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not that he didn’t find her tonight. She most likely hadn’t done something to get herself hurt, or worse, based on the ABB’s behavior. Cautious, but not paranoid. Notpanicked. Now that he knew pretty much everywhere the ABB called home, he was able to thoroughly canvas their territory, to make a night of searching every back alley and dark corner of their stomping grounds in hope of somehow finding Asuka.

That turned into busting a few bad guys trying to make some money to recoup their losses from the warehouse stuff and his previous incursion on their turf, which turned into a couple of phone calls to the Brockton Bay PD, which turned into a whole nother involved mess, and now, well, here he was.

Peter sat atop a building near the western edge of ABB’s territory, having taking the scenic route of ‘running up and across buildings’ due to pretty much being out of web fluid. He’d never seen a place like this on his Earth, and he’d been around quite a bit. Not ‘a place like this’ as in a city like Brockton Bay, but like… the geography.

It kind of threw him off, but he supposed it’d make sense that the geography might vary slightly. Tectonic plates were pretty big, and even a minute shift could do quite a bit to the landscape. That wasn’t even getting into possible history and such. Maybe this town was just never founded on his Earth, and the area it’s in is just coastline and trees.

It was still unfamiliar to him, regardless. That made finding Asuka that much harder. If this were his New York, he’d have found her hours ago, but he still wasn’t sure who was where and where was what and it all just frustrated him.

He wanted to go home, but at the same time, if Strange opened a portal in front of him right now, and said it was time, he wouldn’t be able to leave. He just couldn’t. He’d done the exact thing he’d wanted to avoid from the very beginning. He’d gotten dug in. Sure, he only lived in a hotel room and he didn’t really have any friends that weren’t other superheroes, but he had a job.

He had someone counting on him. He had a life outside of the life he was used to AND the life behind the mask of Spider-Man. Heck, he wasfourpeople now, and he was currently trying to hide three of those people at once. He couldn’t keep this up forever. He’d slip up eventually. And then what?

“You’re coming back. Promise us that. Promise me.”

Peter exhaled softly, shoulders sagging, because it was all he could do. Just… accept that he was stuck here, doing the same things that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

“Knew I’d find you out here.”

Peter startled despite the voice being keenly familiar, and found Victoria glaring daggers at him, feet barely hovering over the roof. No wonder he didn’t hear her coming.

“Hey, Vicky,” he replied, sounding a lot more annoyed and tired than he meant to. She probably couldn’t see it under the mask, but he winced. She was one of the few people here he felt like he could count on, when push came to shove, but that only went so far. It was one thing to have backup fighting someone like Oni Lee or Krieg. It was another thing to trust her with his responsibility. With the mess that he’d unintentionally helped to start.

“So, any luck finding this girl you were looking for?” she asked, clearly still annoyed. She didn’t want to make small talk, but if Peter had to guess she thought that he would try and make a break for it if she went straight to upbraiding him about the whole situation again. She was wrong, though he didn’t blame her for thinking that way. Peter was tired. Even when he told people the truth, they thought he was lying, and nowactuallylying was becoming that much harder.

“No. If she’s out here, she’s not doing anything yet, and it’s getting a bit early to be doing anything crazy, unless she’s just gonna stay up all night.”

“Do you think she would?”

“I don’t know.”

Victoria finally allowed her feet to hit the ground, and walked over to the ledge next to Peter, sitting down beside him and smoothing out her skirt before turning to address what shereallyevidently came here to talk about.

“You’re not gonna budge on this, are you?”

Peter sighed again. “No, Vicky, I’m not. This is my responsibility.”

“You told me that last time, and what did I say? All I wanted was an explanation. Why can’t I help you? This is something we’re trained to deal with. Me, my family, the PRT, the Protectorate capes, it’s one of the things you should know about getting into the job. You certainly don’t know much about it, if what you told me about where you’re from is true.”

“Itis,” he insisted, with a bit of bite this time. Also intentional. He’d been nice and non-confrontational long enough. Maybe this’d be enough to get the point across. “As much as it seems like some people think it’s a joke.”

“I don’t think it’s ajoke, nobody does. Amy and I only laughed about it because it’s just… it’s out there. We don’t really get people making those kinds of claims every day, Ben. But that’s not the point of this conversation, and you and I both know that.”

Peter had half a mind to tell her that his name wasn’t Ben.

“Then what is the point?” he said, instead.

“The point is that you’re not letting me help you. You’ve taken, what, maybe two days off in the entire time you’ve been in Brockton Bay? You’ve been blown up, you’ve been beat up, you’ve apparentlydiedin the past few years, and you’re just going, going, going, going all the time, completely on your own, and refusing any help anyone offers you because ‘ooh, you might get hurt’.”

It was taking everything he had to maintain his composure, but Peter managed it. He’d already spilled his guts out to a few people now, people that were practically strangers. Sarah was dead, Fiq was gone, and Mark was sympathetic enough that he probably didn’t blab to Victoria about it. Peter was tired of repeating himself. He was tired of having to relive the story over and over again every time he talked about it.

“If you, or this person, or your family, or anyone I know outside of the whole cape thing gets hurt,” he explained, in lieu of a more in-depth retelling of his life story up to now, “that’s on me.”

“People get hurt in our line of work all the time, Ricochet. We know the risks. If we weren’t okay with it, we wouldn’t be doing it.”

“What about people like the people in the apartments who helped hide Asuka from the ABB? What about my boss? What about those working girls, or the average people just going about their day? They’re not superhuman.”

“That’s why we’re here, to protect those people. And you’re doing a fine job of that, but you’re also doing it all on your own, and you’re pushing yourself way too hard. Just…”

Victoria was clearly about to go on, but stopped herself. She took one deep breath, composing herself, and when she spoke again, she was far less confrontational, less irritated.

“Will you let me help you look for her? I won’t do anything without letting you know first. I have your contact information, I’ll call you if I see her.”

That seemed like a fair deal. Victoria wanted him to let her help, but she was willing to ensure that he was able to see this through. To take responsibility for what his failures had led to. He could live with that. He’d lived with it before, with Norman. He just… he needed that agency.

“Okay.”

“Good,” she replied, with the slightest of smiles. “You eaten anything today?”

Peter smiled back, rolling his eyes. “Yes,mom, I ate today. I’m not obsessive. I just have a job to do.”

“I know, doesn’t hurt to check. Trust me, you’ll feel it in a fight if you go in on an empty tank.”

“I think that counts as ‘common sense’, Vicky.”

“Something you sometimes seem to lack,Ben.”

They both had a little chuckle at that, but Peter could only think about getting back out there. Asuka probably wasn’t just sitting around waiting for him to find her, which meant that he had to get on the move. He just wished he had more web fluid. He’d found the materials to make the stuff, but it wasn’t just something you could make in your bathroom. No, you needed the proper equipment, the proper tools. He’d mostly made his either in after-school study or with a home chemistry set, before he refined the formula, but now he didn’t have access to any of that.

…Victoriawasstill in school…

“Hey, Vicky?”

“Hm?”

Peter turned to face her more directly, pulling up one of the sleeves on his jacket to reveal the empty web-shooter. “I’m assuming your school has a chemistry lab, does it stay open after hours?”

“Eh, I dunno. I don’t really stay after that much. Cape stuff, y’know. Why do you ask?”

“I need more of my… net stuff. I used pretty much all of what was left of it to meet Battery the other day.”

“Your web stuff, you mean.”

“Okay, look, we’re calling it net stuff-”

Vicky just grinned smugly at him, folding her arms. “You’re awfully insistent on that, now.”

“Look, if I explain why that slip-up happened, can we leave it alone, this is, like, the third or fourth time you’ve asked about it.”

“I’ll just keep asking~!”

Peter mulled over what to do next, if this was really worth it. He’d been saying that he wanted to finally let this go, to try and do something about it, and now he just… he wasn’t sure. How far could he push this thing without risking too much? Would it even signal Strange if he did? Was it even worth doing? It was certainly worth not dancing around the awkwardness of it anymore, and that was nearly enough on its own.

Screw it. It wasn’t like he was going to tell her he was Spider-Man.

“You remember how I said I had an embarrassing cape name, at dinner with your parents?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Peter shook his head. “Wasn’t that it was that embarrassing, just… can’t say it, because of the whole spell thing. It might cause a lot of problems if I do.”

Victoria’s grin faded, replaced with a knitted brow and a confused glance. “What kind of problems?”

“‘People from another universe who want me dead’ problems.”

“You have just the mostinterestinglife, pal-o-mine, but it doesn’t tell me why you called them net guns.”

“My uh… my old name had something to do with spiders.”

Victoria seemed to ruminate on this for a good ten or twenty seconds, perhaps trying to deduce what that name was. He wondered if someone else saying it would cause problems… probably not, right? It wasn’t like he couldn’t just lie and tell her his namewasn’tSpider-Man, what was she going to do? Call him a liar?

“That makes more sense, actually. You don’t really do that much…” she paused for another moment, before continuing, “...ricocheting, you know? But you’ve got the webs, you can jump pretty high, and you can latch onto stuff with your fingertips. That makes more sense.”

“Yeah.”

“Butwasit an embarrassing cape name?”

“I don’t think so. Wasn’t super-creative, but, I dunno. I don’t think we’d have a ‘Glory Girl’ or ‘Panacea’ or ‘Armsmaster’ where I’m from.”

“You said you were part of a cape team, right? What were their names? Tell me about them.”

Peter recalled memories of… that day. The big one. Not the big one that ended up in him dying, but the big one where they set everything right. Where Tony… died. He’d gotten to know everyone, at least a little bit, in the aftermath. There was no big ‘we saved the world’ party, but not everyone left immediately. How could they? They’d just been through the biggest event in world history. They’d just stared down the end of the world, basically. How could they not just… take it in. Process it.

“Well, there was a lot of us at the end, but I mentioned my mentor. Iron Man. He built these really cool suits of armor powered by an arc reactor he designed himself. He shared some of the tech with me, but my last suit got beat up too badly to really use it. I threw it away by Masque Market, it’s probably in a landfill now.”

“Ah, that sucks. I could have helped you try and mend it, maybe.”

“Maybe. Let’s see, there was Captain America, he and Iron Man kind of led the team-”

“Captain America?” Victoria repeated, incredulously.

“Yeah, Captain America. I know, it’s corny, but he was actually super cool. One of the nicest people I’ve ever met. He actually got his powers from like, a super-soldier serum they made in World War Two to fight Hydra, basically our Empire Eighty-Eight”

“Yeah, you mentioned them at dinner.”

“Yeah, well, he ended up giving the shield to another guy everyone called Falcon. He had this cool suit that gave him like, big metal wings. He’s the new Captain America now.”

“The shield?”

“Oh, yeah, that was Captain America’s thing. He fought with this vibranium shield. Don’t know if you guys have Vibranium here, but it’s basically this almost-unbreakable metal that’s super rare and you can only really find in this one African country called Wakanda…”

Victoria hadn’t really known how to deal with Ben, the person.

Ricochet the cape was easy. She knew how to talk to other capes, it was simple. Sure, the personalities could get… eclectic, but when you were talking shop, there were ground rules. Business came first, then banter, then anything else, but above all, the focus was on the work and how you went about it. Ricochet wasn’t the best cape at that kind of talk, but he knew how to take his job seriously, he listened, he had a good tactical mind, and he knew how to deal with people, from what his experiences with Scrimshaw and the whole bomb mess told her.

But Ben was different. Ben was… Ben was alot.

Victoria, at this point, had come to a decision on the whole ‘alternate Earth’ thing. As farfetched as it was, she believed… some of it. While there was still the faintest possibility that he was just making all of this stuff up, it made zero sense to gothisfar for a fantasy unless he was an S-class threat or, like, a heinous criminal, and surely he wouldn’t be smart enough or disciplined enough to give up on whatever horrible things someone like that would have to do in a completely new city whileworking side by side with one of its most prominent heroes(not to pat herself on the back too much).

She’d decided she believed him... at least, tosomeextent. That did not mean, even in the slightest, that she knew how to deal with him. He’d been through alot, and that was just since he got to Earth Bet. She wasn’t sure about everything else that happened. It sounded like he was a pretty active cape back home, and had plenty of trouble on that front, with the whole ‘dying’ thing. He and Dad had talked about it for quite a little while after dinner, or at least she assumed that’s what they were talking about. It’s what he told Mom, anyway. That was all she knew; aside from asking her not to try and question him again about home, Mark had not said another word to her about it, or toanyonein the family. Whatever it was, it stayed between the two of them, only overheard because Victoria happened to be up late the other night.

Dean, however, wasn’t as inclined to keep secrets from her… not that sheblamedher dad for keeping Ben’s confidence, that was the right thing to do. She wouldn’t dare ask him to violate that unless it were an absolute emergency. No, Dean just saw things. As a side effect of his power, he could sort of read the emotions of people, to tell if they were ‘primed’ for him to influence them with his attacks. He couldn’t always make out whatexactemotions he was seeing, but he could see enough to tell her when they talked about him that Ben had been in a lot of pain. Not just physical pain, either.

Victoria wasn’t a therapist. Dean wasn’t. Therapy didn’t really work for her dad, and while her aunt and uncle definitely seemed a lot happier afterwards, she had a feeling that Ben’s pain and problems wouldn’t end until he went home. There was no magic button for that. There was no door she could kick down for him and let him through, and that annoyed her, because she was Glory Girl. It was her job to do that. Shewasthe hero who saved the day, and as much as she hoped she made Ben’s a little bit brighter, she couldn’t fix the real problems going on with him. She couldn’t reallyhelpaside from just being there and being a friend.

So, for now, she was just being a friend, listening to him talk about the capes from his world. She was curious as to what his name had been, now, because the names he’d listed so far were… an interesting mix. You had some really cool ones, like War Machine, Scarlet Witch, and Hawkeye, but you also had sort of basic ones like Iron Man, The Hulk or Falcon. Then you had guys like a doctor whose literal, legal name wasStrange, leading to the pretty cool cape name ‘Doctor Strange’, and…

Ant-Man.

She’d tried not to laugh at Ant-Man. She’d tried really hard, but when he told her that Ant-Man’s power was to getbigger, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Sure, he’d clarified that hecouldget smaller, but Peter also stated plainly that he’d only ever seen him do it, like, once.
“-plus, Scott is really cool!” Peter protested. “I like Scott!”

“No, no, no, I get it,” Victoria assured him through waning laughter, “I get it, he sounds like a cool guy, but… Ant-Man?Ant-Man?For a guy who mostly uses his power to get big?”

“And control ants!”

“How does that even connect? Like, getting bigger and smaller, and then controlling ants on top of that?”

“He says he controls the ants with a combination of his helmet and pheromones, so I don’t really think that’s apowerso much as it's, like, technology. There’s a bunch of, like, scientific stuff that goes into it that I don’t really get yet, but I’ve also only talked to him once or twice when we weren’t fighting each other. Actually, I don’t really know if it’s how it works here, but back where I’m from, a lot of people actually get their powers from science stuff. The only people I know for sure didn’t are Thor and Doctor Strange. Heck, some of our people don’t even have power, like I was saying.”

Peter, indeed, had laid out a LOT of information about his home. When he explained Iron Man’s start in a bit of detail, as he was the guy Peter knew the most about, Victoria wasn’t entirely surprised. The circ*mstances of his mentor getting his powers felt almost like a trigger event, though it didn’tquiteline up like triggers usually did. But some of this other stuff… It sounded far-fetched, but Peter said that he had some stuff on his phone that could probably back it up. She still wasn’t sure if she bought it. Super-soldier serum was something that you could theoretically create through science. While he claimed that Iron Man and War Machine’s abilities weren’t Tinkertech, she could at least find it in the realm of possibility for such a thing to exist even without it. On top of that, it sounded like most of the capes he spoke of either used technology to achieve their powers, or didn't even have any powers at all, like those Hawkeye or Black Widow characters.

But… Norse gods? Magic? There had to be something more reasonable there. There were capes that explained or presented their powers as magic, but there was hard science behind most parahuman studies. But a woman riding a pegasus? A guy claiming to be the Norse God of Thunder who could teleport between dimensions with a hammer that only ‘the worthy’ could lift, which to Peter’s knowledge was only himself and the leader of his cape team? Maybe his Earth wasn’t as well-versed in the nature of parahumans and powers and such as hers, or maybe he just bought into the hype.

What she did know was that he wasn’t making something up whole-cloth. He was too confident. He spoke with too much conviction for this to be a whole-cloth fabrication. She’d have to do a little bit of research, but as insane as this whole thing was, she didn’t at all suspect he was lying.

“Can I ask how you got your powers?” Peter asked, breaking her train of thought. “The guy I first met when I got here sort of mentioned triggers when we talked about my powers, and you’ve talked about them once or twice. First I really like, gotintoit about them was when I found out that Asuka did.”

“So…uh… it’s not really something you ask about, usually,” Vicky began. Personally, she found no issue with talking about her trigger event. In comparison to some people around her, hers was somewhat mundane, less ‘deeply traumatizing and lingering event’ and more ‘man that was the worst day of my life in that moment but I’ve moved past it’.

“That being said,” she continued, “I don’t mind. See, my family were superheroes pretty early on. I don’t think I’ve ever really known a life outside of that bubble. But you aren’t really born with superpowers, here. Is it like that on your Earth?”

“Never met anyone who was born with superpowers, so I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Yeah. So, I sort of had all the perks of having superhero parents, especially because they didn’t really wear masks, that’s sort of New Wave’s thing. We’re open about who we are. It was just… weird. Like, I don’t mind it, but sometimes I wondered if I was only popular because my parents were these cool superheroes. So, I wanted to be one. But, since I didn’t have powers, I had to find another way to stand out and…earnpeople’s respect, you know?”

Ben seemed to be listening intently, which Victoria appreciated. She didn’tlovegoing into detail about this, especially outside of close friends, but he’d been through a lot. He clearly had trust issues, and he clearly didn’t trust her to have his back despite her constant assurances that he could. Maybe opening up a bit about her own stuff would get him to open up in turn.

“Back then, there was this narrative that to trigger, to get powers, you had to excel at something, or achieve something great. That’s not how it works, but you know. I mentioned that triggers are a trauma response. Can you imagine what would happen if some guy thinks, oh, I’ll do something horrible to myself and scar myself for life to try and get powers? God forbid, akidsees Legend or Alexandria on TV and decides they want to be a superhero too, and does something like that.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “that sounds like a bad idea. That said, it also sounds like you’d be putting yourself under a lot of pressure.”

He had no idea how right he was.

“I’m sorry for bringing this up,” he added, and Victoria was a bit confused by why he said that, before realizing that it was probably showing on her face. While she’d decided to talk to him about it, that didn’t make this a fun conversation to have. A fun thing to relive. She could distinctly remember every feeling leading up to it like it had happened yesterday. That looming feeling that she was a failure, adisappointment. It was the worst kind of feeling for a cape kid to have, and it’d very nearly crushed her entirely.

“So… yeah, I wanted to have that achievement, to excel, so I played basketball. I was pretty good, but I wasn’t gonna get to the WNBA or anything. One day, we’re playing another school from, like, upstate, and they were washing us. I was getting my ass kicked pretty bad that day, and I just felt so… embarrassed, you know? Like I was failing even at the most basic stuff. At some point, the other team, this girl knocks me over when I go for a jump shot and starts calling me overrated and talking trash and that was just kind of… it for me, you know? Boom. Just like that.”

Victoria had met some people with much more intense trigger events. Her own mother was probably a shining example. Ben, for his part, just took it in stride. No judgment, no weird looks, he just took it in. When he spoke again, he said something that surprised her.

“So people here get their powers from being hurt? Like, physically and emotionally?”

Victoria prickled a bit at the way it was worded, but it was a surprisingly accurate description.

“Yeah, generally it’s a response to a traumatic experience. Depending on the experience, the powers could be totally different.”

“That sucks,” he said, and elaborated no further. Just ‘that sucks’. A sincere, emphatic ‘that sucks’. Some might take that statement as dismissive, but Victoria was learning how Ben thought, how he worded things. As blase as it might sound, the intention behind the words were genuine.

“Yeah, it sucks,” she agreed. “How about you? How’d you get your powers?”

“I got bit by a radioactive spider on a field trip. Some guy’s lab experiment got out. Did all sorts of weird stuff to my body. I think the weirdest thing was, like I had really bad astigmatism as an older kid so I had to wear these really strong glasses, but like, maybe an hour after I got home from the field trip, I could see perfectly. Went and got checked out, twenty-twenty vision, overnight.”

Bitten by a spider, spider-like powers, spider-themed name. Made a lot more sense than Ricochet. Idly, a few names flew through her head. Venom, Airachnid (you know, since he was swinging around everywhere), Weaver…

Spider-Man.

She had to hold back a chuckle. Evidently, he noticed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she assured him. “That’s… definitely a weird way to get your powers. Was it… bad? Like, were you hospitalized?”

“No,” Peter replied, shrugging. “Just hurt pretty bad, ended up a little sick for the rest of the day, had a nasty bite mark on my hand. That was all. The effects were pretty immediate, though. Funny how the nerdy kid from the debate team got asked to try out for running back on the football team his freshman year, right?”

“I could see it,” Victoria replied, looking him over. He definitely looked like a running back, build wise, at least she thought so.

“Wouldn’t have been fair. Plus, I kinda didn’t want to let people… know that I got powers. Like, did you keep playing basketball after you learned you could fly and throw cars around?”

“Touche, Ben, touche.” As funny as it might have been to do aliteralflying dunk on Samantha Pageant in retaliation for all that sh*t she was talking on the court, it probably would not have been counted as an official score, and she would almost certainly have been ejected for it. The look on her face would have been priceless, though.

Her little look-over had also told her that Ben had relaxed considerably since she first arrived. Despite his insistence to the contrary, it seemed a friend was just what he needed right about now to keep him from working himself half to death. Considering she lived with Amy Dallon, she knew all about overwork. If she couldn’t stop Amy from disregarding the Youth Guard’s guidelines on safe practice and healthy work-life balance, the least she could do wastryand stop Ben from doing the same. Besides, she had something she wanted to give him. She’d taken his ‘personal touches’ under advisem*nt after their costume conversation, and now it made a lot more sense in regards to the one alteration he’d asked for.

‘Can you like, turn the R this way, and put another R turned this way kind of interlocking with it, and then mirror that and put it over the top?’Should have just told her he wanted a damn spider.

“You been out all night?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Probably gonna move to the other side of their territory to scan it—”

“Or, hear me out on this- I’m patrolling tonight. It’s like, 1:30 on a weeknight. I got a good nap after class, so I’ve got another couple of hours in me. Leave that to me. Give me a description of this ‘Asuka’ girl and I’ll keep my eyes open, and I’ll let Dean know too. If either of us see anything, or if we hear anything from our teams, we’ll call you, and if we have to intervene we’ll make sure to let her know you’re coming. In exchange, I bring you home, and I give you the thing I was meaning to give you tomorrow.”

“You were gonna give me something?”

“I finished the costume. It took a bit of doing, especially the mask, but we got it done. I think it looks pretty good, and it should fit you fine, but it might be abittight. We sort of guesstimated your measurements based on your clothing sizes, since you didn’t want to go to our tailor.”

“Look, the less people know my secret identity, the better.”

“You could wear a mask to the tailor, youdork.”

“Look, I’m trying to keep a secret identity, here! You’ve seen me, I’m not photogenic enough to be showing off to everyone like you New Wave guys.”

“I think you’re the prettiest princess in all the land, Ben, don’t put yourself down!”

It was clearly still banter, judging by how Ben was having a good laugh, albeit at his own expense. Victoria was able to relax a bit, knowing that he was willing to trust her on this. She hoped he wouldn’t come to regret that. This Asuka girl sounded like she was inwayover her head, one of the victims from the warehouse or some other ABB operation if she had to guess. She worried that the girl might do something drastic if that were the case. To be violated and used in that fashion… Victoria would want bloody revenge, if it were her. They’d all have to work overtime to find her, but thankfully, she was a parahuman now, not just an ordinary citizen. Hopefully, that would narrow their workload down.

That could wait. For now, she needed to bring him back home. She’d left the bag with his costume on the roof on the way over here, knowing that he’d be out and about and wanting to kill two birds with one stone tonight anyway. Seeing as he was out of web fluid, or rather,net gun fluid, he’d need to hitch a ride. She offered him a hand as she stood up, and a smile with it.

“Ready to get going? I dropped the stuff off at the hotel, did you leave your window open again?”

“No, I just went to the roof. Turns out, the roof access is unlocked,” he replied.

“Hopefully it’s still unlocked when we get there. Come on.”

Ben took the hand she offered him. She doubted, with his powers, that she’d need to hold ontooterribly tight, but she still felt uneasy flying with heavy loads on occasion, especially considering he was one of the heavier loads she’d carried thus far in her hero career that wasn’t to throw a heavy object at a bad guy. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long flight.

Notes:

And with this, you are caught up. I will be crossposting the newest chapter as soon as it's done. Whew.

Summary:

Dress for the job you want, or rather, the job you had.

Also, what day is it?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Notes:

Sorry for the delay on crossposting, had to deal with some other stuff on another site, but rest assured there will be no further delays!

Summary:

Peter's going to make some new allies in his search for Asuka, and Taylor's going to make an important decision.

Still, it wasn’t a particularly fun experience.

What it was, however, was focusing. Under the frankly scalding water, she had time to think. She had time to really think about that notebook. How long had she had that damn thing, and how close was she to executing on her plans when it was destroyed today? Not very. She was taking her time. Taking too much time. Procrastinating. She’d wanted to be prepared, yes, and she was far more prepared than she’d been when the idea first struck her, but how long would it take to get everything back together? How long would it take to make another notebook full of power testing, costume ideas, name ideas. A week, at least. Maybe longer, if she found reasons to delay. There’d always be something more to try, another ‘just to be sure’.

She was standing on a precipice right now, and sooner or later, she’d either walk away, or she’d jump.

Taylor left the shower far cleaner, with a clearer head, and less… fruity , for lack of a better word, than she entered it. Her clothes, however, still looked a mess. She’d wash them later. For now, she had other interests. Grabbing a towel off the rack and wrapping it around and tying it off at the back, she grabbed her soaked clothing and tossed them into the hamper. Then, it was down the stairs to her objective.

She was ready now .

“I just hope you know we want to help. This kind of stuff is a sensitive matter, but it became a Protectorate problem when she seemed to fall in with one of the more elusive local villain units,” he continued.

Mind reader, much?

Summary:

Everything will be alright. Probably. Maybe. Only time will tell if these three are right.

Summary:

Everybody's throwing hands, now.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

The problem was, this wasn’t Lung at full power. Already, he was starting to get a little bit taller, scales forming on the ends of his arms, around his waist, sternum, and the base of his neck. If Ricochet didn’t knock him out, Taylor wasn’t sure exactly what the upper limit of his strength was. She wasn’t necessarily sure where the upper limit of Ricochet’s strength was, either, but Taylor was starting to realize something.

Lung was getting taller. Bigger .

Taylor took one last look at Lung and Ricochet duking it out. Even with his steadily-increasing size, Lung was almost helpless. It was as if Ricochet saw everything he was doing before he did it, could read him like a book. The few blows Lung did land barely seemed to faze him, only temporarily knocking him off balance before he resumed his assault. He could handle himself for a minute.

Taylor made a break for the fire escape. Ideally, nobody’d be looking that way, with the swarm of insects she’d kicked up in the street. Her costume wasn’t exactly designed with grip in mind, but…