Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power)
aka Power Plus Ultra
By Scriviner

Part 1:

There were times when he could still see the moment when things changed.

Or at least how he thought the events played out.

In truth, everything had happened so fast and so quietly that he wasn't sure that he hadn't imagined everything that he thought he remembered.

It happened on the field trip.

That much wasn't in dispute.

He'd been excited. The jocks, as usual, had given him shit for being happy, because it was in their very nature to piss on his whole life, but it wasn't just being able to go to Osborn Pharmaceuticals that had piqued his interest. It had been the chance to be out of the classroom.

Away from school.

Away from everything.

He chose to linger close to the end of the line, not wanting to call attention to himself as he simply enjoyed following the student tour group as they had meandered through the facility. He'd considered a career in a place like this. Chemistry, much like everything else academic, had come easy to him. Biochem shouldn't be that hard to pick up, he mused. He had read so far ahead that he imagined he could probably teach better than his teachers could. Maybe.

It was actually an effort to not fall asleep in class most days. He'd already prepared all the assignments for the rest of the year and was simply counting time til graduation happened. He supposed if he pushed for it, he could've asked to skip a year or two. That would get him away from the idiot jocks, but he expected that college would just be more of the same. Only he'd get it worse for being younger than everyone else.

Not worth the hassle or the effort at the end of the day. Not really.

Those had been his thoughts. He had been lost in them. He'd remembered that he'd been thinking those same thoughts when it had happened.

The spider.

He hadn't seen it, but he could just imagine how it had lowered itself on a thread.

Slow and stealthy, despite being a brilliant red and blue.

Someone could have seen it, should have seen it.

In his mind's eye he could swear that he had seen it as a flash of blue and red releasing its thread.

He couldn't have.

No one saw it drop down and land on the girl next to him.

He didn't know her name. Truthfully, he really hadn't bothered to learn the names of any of his classmates beyond the ones who had hassled him. Those he'd taken great care to remember. It was something he'd promised himself for later.

But the girl whom he hadn't known and who, by pure and complete chance, had just been next to him.

And in that moment, a spider – the spider – landed on her.

The girl flinched as she felt it and the movement must've startled the spider in question, which then reacted as a spider is apt to do.

She screamed when it had bitten her and she'd flailed, swiping at the side of her neck where it had landed. She moved gracelessly and heedlessly, panicked either at the pinprick on her neck or from the unnerving sensation of the little beast still squirming beneath her fingers., Moments upon moments, and in that hair's breadth she stumbled… right into him.

That was the moment everything had gone completely wrong.

The moment that had sealed his fate.

She'd gotten tangled up in her own feet. Then into his feet, and they had both gone down, bodies and foreheads smacking before hitting the ground.

Some part of him would have reveled at the thought of actually making contact with any female form, much less a genuinely cute girl at that, but in that moment he'd been too busy being caught completely off-guard and he had panicked when he lost his footing.

That part of him had wondered, Was this what getting swept off your feet is supposed to be like? I don't think I like it.

Some other, smaller part of him, however, had been certain that the entire misfortune had been somehow engineered by the jocks to be some further humiliation, however unlikely it would have been to his rational mind. That the girl had been one of their patsies, bribed with a chance to hang out with the cool kids in exchange for messing with him.

Unlikely. Illogical.

But the bullies' behavior had always struck him as illogical.

But that small part of him was angry and it burned. That fire, that momentary spark of anger and resentment blossomed into something new. Something unexpected.

His hands couldn't find anything to hold on to as he had fallen.

But this new, unexpected thing had reached out and grabbed hold.

The girl gasped. Something that was starting to take hold within her, was abruptly ripped away at the root.

He felt it torn from her and settled within him.

They both screamed.

- - -

Peter jolted awake, a process that shot him upright in a sweeping arc that sent him from entirely horizontal to entirely vertical in a split second.

He clamped down and kept his jaws shut to stop the screaming from his dreams to come out in real life, the muscles of his neck standing out like cords as he smothered his own voice until he felt it die away. He didn't want the cops getting called down on him. Not that it really mattered in this neighborhood; police response time in this part of town was measured in days.

The cardboard boxes he'd had on top of him to keep the snow off and hide him from view had torn apart from frantic awakening. That's annoying, he frowned, what a waste.

Peter had finally gotten them just the right amount of flexibility that they'd draped over him properly without being too stiff in the chilly winter air.

And it was chilly, every breath sending wisps of fog misting around him. He could feel the cold, but it didn't bother or even hurt him. That was perhaps the strangest thing of all to emerge from the incident; most things nowadays couldn't hurt him when he had the power active. Peter had tried many, many things and the few things that did manage to actually leave any damage tended to heal quickly.

I'll bet they'd heal even faster if I used–

Peter shuddered, pushing that thought down. It wasn't something he really wanted to deal with in the wee hours of the morning in a dirty, frozen alley.

Or at any time, really.

Peter scrubbed a gloved hand down his face, letting the rough, scratchy wool scrape across his skin and force out the lingering fatigue. He didn't really need much sleep, not these days. More precisely, he could forgo it for extended periods, but he would still get tired eventually.

Especially if he didn't sustain himself.

The problem was boredom. What good was the ability to stay awake for a week at a time when there wasn't anything to do in the middle of the night? It wasn't like he could go into a bar, not at his age. Hanging out at 24 hour convenience stores usually got him harsh looks from the clerks. The libraries were closed.

Taking a nap seemed like a better way to spend his time than endlessly wandering the streets of Manhattan until the break of dawn. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to be, so this part of New York City was as good as anywhere else.

Or at least anywhere else that was still New York. It's not like I'm going to wander over and squat in Jersey, that's just a bridge too far.

That bridge being the George Washington Bridge.

He made himself laugh a little at that tiny joke.

There wasn't a lot to laugh about either these days, but he did what he could to keep his spirits up.

He had to.

Something strange, a tingle crawled up the back of his neck, and he frowned as his senses narrowed down on what exactly had stirred him from sleep.

It hadn't just been the dream that had woken him up.

The power that kept the cold away and made him strong also had other parts to it. Parts he didn't like to think about, but they were part of the package. That included a particular sense for things. It wasn't quite detecting life per se. It was a sort of sense for things of a predatory nature. He could sense potential prey (for lack of a better term) near him.

He could also sense when someone was trying to prey on him.

Like right now.

Someone was watching him. He could feel their eyes on him even though he couldn't see anyone.

Peter took a deep breath, letting the power sharpen his senses. Although there really wasn't much to smell beyond the alley itself and the sharp, cold tang of a New York Winter, there was something distinctive nearby. Musty and pungent. An unwashed body, but not one that had spent the whole night out in the cold.

It smelled wet. Something from somewhere warmer and more humid than a dinky alley in upper Manhattan.

He looked towards the alley's mouth, the tingle growing into full blown itching as his thoughts raced. The alley itself was a dead end and anyone else would have been trapped.

But he had other options.

Peter called out, "Who's there?", cursing himself mentally as his voice cracked, his already ruddy skin flushing an even brighter shade of red.

So much for being intimidating.

Puberty was humiliatingly cruel.

A hand covered in a ragged, black glove was held up, poking into view at the alley's entrance.

"Friend!" A wheezing, sing-song voice replied. "Caliban is friend!

"Really." Peter's reply was flat and deadpan, but the self-declared Caliban seemed to take that as encouragement.

"Yes, really!" Caliban said, nerves at the edge of his voice as he stepped into view. He was a tall, gangly figure, wearing multiple layers of clothes to ward off the cold. The outermost layer seemed to be a hideously purple velvet suit coat and pants, both of which were badly torn and frayed at the cuffs. His shoes were cherry red boots that, in contrast to the rest of his bedraggled attire, were freshly shined and clearly well maintained. He had on an ugly beanie with an incongruously large pom pom on the top, pulled low on his head and covering his ears. Between that and a black scarf wrapped about his neck, everything bit of him was neatly covered up save his eyes and a narrow strip of skin, but that was enough for Peter to note that there was something odd about him.

Caliban's eyes themselves were protuberant, almost grotesquely large compared to the rest of him and there was barely any pupil, only the tiny black pinprick of an iris in jaundiced yellow sclera. The skin around those eyes was also extremely pale. Not any normal skin tone Peter had ever seen, but a bloodless, chalk white.

"Then what makes you a friend?" Peter asked. He couldn't sense any other presences, but wandering up to someone at ass o'clock in the morning and declaring yourself a friend wasn't exactly something normal people did.

"Caliban knows where it's warm and out of the wind." Caliban said, walking gingerly towards Peter.

"And what would this place cost?" Peter said, unable to keep suspicion out of his voice.

"Nothing!" Caliban declared, eyes crinkling at the corners as if he were smiling beneath the scarf. "That is what makes it a friend's offer."

"Nothing's ever free."

"It is!" The pale man pressed on. "Caliban sees you in his mind's eye. Shining and true. You are like Caliban! Those like us are allowed in!"

"And what is Caliban that we're 'alike'?" Peter said his voice dipping into sarcasm, "Did you figure out I'm Jewish? Or left handed? Mensa member? Which is it?"

Caliban laughed. "No, no. You're one of us, so you can get through the door. Anything more than that needs a willingness to work, but right now, getting inside and out of the cold seems like it might be what you need most. Is Caliban wrong?"

"How do you know I'm 'one of you'?" Peter said with a glare. "What even are you?"

Caliban reached up and untied the scarf, tugging it down to reveal more of his face. The pale, bloodless complexion was consistent through all the revealed skin. His nose was almost non-existent, a tiny, upturned thing that might have been cute on a different face. The rest of his features were gaunt to the point of making his visible face a living skull, with prominent cheekbones and a square jaw stretching his skin to the point of transparency.

"We… are same." Caliban insisted.

"Buddy, I'm not sure if you've looked in the mirror lately, but we're definitely not the same." Peter replied carefully. He'd seen some things in his young life. Odd things to be sure. This wasn't even enough to break into his top five.

Caliban shook his head, "No, no. Caliban is not good at this." He gave Peter a pout, his gaunt face and massive eyes making the expression comical. "Caliban is different from everyone else. You are also different. But same in being different!"

Peter stared at him, still trying to parse those statements.

Caliban tapped the side of his head through the beanie. "Caliban knows when people are different like him. Like others. Sense them in his heart and mind. Like you!"

Peter frowned, mulling over the tall man's words before he fit the pieces together. "You can sense people who are different."

"Yes." Caliban nodded, thinking he was getting through to Peter.

Peter clenched a fist, prompting his knuckles to crack loudly. "I've already had run-ins with others who find 'special' people." His voice had gone harsh and cold. Even colder than the night air. "I've already had to deal with someone like that."

He allowed a bit more of the power to seep into his eyes, causing them to glow red.

Caliban took a step back, frowning slightly. "Not like a bad finding. I told you. I am offering sanctuary. A place for those like us."

"Others?" Peter asked slowly, letting the power settle back down, the glow in his eyes subsiding.

Caliban nodded enthusiastically. "There are others, like Caliban. In a safe place. A warm place."

Peter continued to look at him suspiciously. "That sounds almost too good to be true.

"You know, most people are just happy to be offered a warm place with friends." Caliban sighed.

Peter shrugged. "The cold doesn't bother me that much."

Caliban shook his head, rewrapping himself in the scarf. "Well, Caliban is freezing. You follow if you wish." With that, the gaunt, pale man turned on his heel and walked around the corner and out of sight.

Peter knew, intellectually, that staying in this one particular stinking alley was the better option. The sense of being prey was fading fast as Caliban was no longer focused on him and seemed to have concerned himself more with getting to his so-called 'warm place with friends'.

Peter was aware that following the strange man was a bad idea.

That didn't change the fact that he started walking after him, because sometimes curiosity won out over caution and the possibility of getting jumped by a freaky street gang seemed like a more interesting prospect than another few hours spent trying to get back to sleep in the snow.

Peter all but glided across the snow covered pavement, easily catching up to the other man who had pulled out a Nokia cell phone.; the type of old-fashioned brick of a phone that could take a severe beating and keep going.

In some cases, it could be used to give someone a severe beating and keep working just fine afterwards.

Peter quirked an eyebrow as Caliban held up one gloved finger at him in a universal gesture to 'hold on' as he spoke into the phone. "Yes, Caliban is aware what time it is."

Peter could hear the susurrus of the other voice, too indistinct from the phone's tinny speaker for him to make it out.

"Caliban is not the asshole. You are the asshole." Caliban snorted.

The voice from the other end seemed to complain more, but Caliban shook his head and replied. "Because you are already awake anyway and it is a five mile walk to the nearest entrance."

Caliban rolled his eyes at the reply that Peter couldn't make out. A move which was particularly impressive given the size of his eyes, his tiny pupils looked like marbles rolling inexorably across vast empty chambers. "Yes, Caliban promises that he will not go out again today."

He looked Peter directly in the eyes and tilted his head in a clearly questioning expression. Prominent ridges over his eyes shifted under the beanie, giving the impression of raised brows.

Peter sighed, rolled his own eyes, and nodded.

Caliban grinned under the scarf, his eyes narrowing as gaunt cheeks shifted to accommodate the expression. "It is not just me."

The voice on the other end hissed some more and Caliban nodded. "Yes. He is around five feet in front of me."

"What's–" Peter began to ask, but there was a noise like a bundle of rubber bands stretched taut had suddenly been plucked. A discordant TWANG noise that Peter could feel down to his bones.

Then everything lurched.

Suddenly he was warm and the smell shifted from the biting New York air, to a damp, organic scent. Earthy, but not unpleasantly so, like freshly turned soil. . His vision wavered, but he could still see Caliban blurring in and out of view smiling at him.

"This is the Alley."

- - -

Peter caught his balance after a second and straightened up. They were in some kind of massive, gray, stone tunnel. It was easily a hundred feet wide by Peter's estimate and arched into a rounded ceiling that was lost to the darkness overhead.

What light there was, was being provided by candles and lanterns in a few widely separated places. The walls had all sorts of piping running along it. Nothing obviously labeled, but built flush against the stone. Close to the tunnel walls were makeshift structures. Hovels built from whatever scavenged materials could be gotten at hand off the streets of Manhattan. Wood pallet frames, cardboard, corrugated steel, vinyl siding. It seemed like if it could be acquired on the street, someone here had put it to use. The structures were ramshackle little homes that gave some degree of privacy of the 'better than nothing' variety. Peter could see some strange incongruities like one shack that was apparently mostly draped sheets on a wooden frame, but had an elaborate Victorian styled door with beautifully decorated glass inserts. That was right next to a hovel made of sheetrock whose doorway was only covered up by a beaded curtain.

Beyond the earthy smell that was evident, Peter could pick up a strong scent of bodies and a subtler undertone of accumulated rot and garbage. There was a subtle wind through the area. All the candles flickered in a single direction, pointing to a high likelihood that there was some kind of ventilation to the place that kept the air down here from going stagnant.

Peter was certain this was a 'down'. There was a feel of oppressive weight to the whole structure. Not like being in a building. This had been dug in.

He hadn't relaxed even as he'd taken the place in.

"Where is this?" Peter asked, his voice sharp.

Caliban smiled, tugging his beanie off and unwinding his scarf, revealing a fully bald scalp that confirmed he was the same pale color all the way through. "The Alley, Caliban said. It is still in Manhattan."

Peter looked around and said in a low, awed voice. "Didn't think they had stuff like this in Manhattan."

He stiffened once more as that subtle pressure of being prey weighed down on him and he glanced behind him to see a woman approaching. He guessed she'd come out of one of the structures.
Once upon a time, she had been beautiful. Peter could tell that much. Her features were fine and she moved with a lithe grace, but beauty had been in a long forgotten past. Her hair was a lank mess that had probably been hacked short with a knife. Her left eye had a scar running through it from brow to cheek and seemed to burn with a furious intensity. Her right eye was covered with an eyepatch. Her skin was tanned and leathery, showing a lot of hard living.

She wore a tanktop that had practically been worn down to shreds and whatever decency she had was mostly a function of the leather vest she wore on top of it. Her arms were covered in a fine network of scars. Someone who had seen a lot of fighting. Her pants were a pair of low-rise, denim jeans that were tucked into a pair of heavy leather work boots. To accessorize, she'd worn a pair of studded leather bracelets and what looked like a spiked dog collar. Around her waist a metal chain was looped… leash to the dog collar she was wearing?

Everything about her radiated menace and power. A month ago, Peter would have crossed the street to avoid running into her.

Now, though? He was less than impressed.

Her voice was rough, but fit her. A voice built for snapping out angry commands and angrier war cries.

"Manhattan is built on Manhattan," The woman said. "There's parts of the city that were dug out for use, but later forgotten. The Alley is a Cold War Era bunker that was originally meant to be a place of refuge for New York's elite and powerful. It's connected to the storm sewers and the subways in secret paths all across the four boroughs, so the unwashed masses couldn't get in if they didn't know the secret handshake."

Peter nodded politely. "You'd think more people would know about that kind of thing."

She simply shrugged. "Public records get lost. People forget things... or they can be made to forget. Now we're the only ones who know about it. And most of us only know an entrance or two. No one's mapped out the whole network, but if you know your way around, you can travel all across new York and never see the light of day once."

She gave Peter a smile. Feral. Dangerous. That feeling of prey loomed harder.

"I'm Calisto. I lead those who live down here."

"We are Morlocks!" Caliban declared proudly and Peter noted a long suffering look in Calisto's eye at the words.

"That's what some of us have chosen to call ourselves, yes," Calisto replied.

"The underground dwelling cannibals from H.G. Wells Time Machine novel." Peter pressed.

"It's a name." Calisto said, giving that shrug once more. Studied indifference. She gave Caliban a look. "Bouncer told me you'd called and were bringing someone, so I came to check."

"Yes! Caliban found someone else like us!" Caliban replied, gesturing animatedly towards Peter.

Calisto's eye narrowed thoughtfully. "Is he now?"

Peter held his hands up. "All he told me was that he had a nice, warm place with friends. I didn't know anything else besides that when I followed him."

Calisto replied, her voice carrying conviction, "We're runaways, outcasts -- People with no home and no one to care for them. Hated and hunted because of powers we didn't want or understand. Deformed, despised, deserted. I can tell that you know what that's like. If Caliban found you then you're like us."

"Living down here?" Peter asked skeptically.

"There's a short trial period. See if you fit in," Calisto replied, tone going once more to studied indifference.

"And if I don't?" He pried.

Calisto's grin was feral once more. "Then you go back to where you were before and life goes on."

Caliban waved a hand towards Calisto, "No, no. No need to be like that. He'll fit in fine! Caliban thinks he'll do well."

Calisto eyed Peter, then gave Caliban a glare. "We'll see. Find him a place to bunk down and show him around in the morning. It's late and some of us need to sleep."

"Yes, Calisto! Caliban will show him– uh…" He looked helplessly towards Peter. "What do you wish to be called?"

Peter blinked in surprise, caught flatfooted and unsure how to answer the question. He almost blurted his real name, but caught himself and glanced at first one, then the other. He didn't need to give it. In fact, it would be a bit odd, wouldn't it, given how literary their naming choices had been.

Calisto, the name of a woman from Greek mythology who had been turned into a bear by Zeus.

Caliban, the misshapen creature from the Shakespere play The Tempest.

Morlocks.

Peter wracked his brain for any kind of literary reference he could introduce himself to people with. The first thought that had popped into mind was a book he had loved as a child, but he knew he would be laughed out of the alley if he tried to introduce himself as 'Bambi'. 'Old Yeller' was similarly off the table.

He sighed.

"It's not that difficult a question." Calisto said, amusement clear in her tone.

He was irked by that, but he was trying to fit in. The streets had been lonely. He hadn't ever really been a people person most of his life, but that was largely because people sucked and he'd never had people like him to try and fit in with.

When he'd run away, he hadn't imagined that loneliness would be what would gnaw away at him. The boredom. The isolation.

He wanted to be one of them. He scoffed mentally. He didn't even know what they were or how they would be and he was already trying to fit in with all of them. One of him.

All for One. One for all… hmm.

He blinked as he realized that worked both as a name and would probably be sufficiently literary for this place.

"Dumas." Peter declared finally.

"Dumb ass?" Caliban asked, mispronouncing it badly.

Peter winced, even as Calisto laughed.

"Dumas, then." Calisto greeted him with a degree of formality. "Welcome to the Alley."

- - -

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power)
aka Power Plus Ultra
By Scriviner

PART 2:

Ezekiel stared at him in shock and horror, his gravelly voice cracking as he cried out, "What the hell are you?!"

Peter stirred himself to wakefulness as that dream faded out.

He didn't move.

At least… not this time.

He was definitely still Peter.

Dumas was something for people to call him by.

Maybe if he learned enough to be Dumas properly… he'd stop having Peter's stupid dreams.

He continued to lie on his side and tried to take stock of what he could before he opened his eyes.

Caliban had taken him towards one of the enclosures a bit of a distance away from the central plaza area they had initially appeared in. Caliban had said that this was closer to his home. It was in a less crowded area so there were fewer of the structures built up. There was also a persistent ammonia tang to the air that the breeze wasn't getting rid of. He could also hear the faint, if constant, sound of water flowing.

He wasn't sure what the plumbing arrangements were like in the tunnels, but he imagined that new folks (and possibly people with no sense of smell) were the ones most likely to get a placed where the plumbing was set up. Which made him wonder where that put Caliban on the totem pole.

The faintly damp, smothering warmth of the alley weighed him down still. A very distinct change compared to having the stabbing cold winter air he'd become accustomed to for the last week or so.

Unlike the night when the place had been almost oppressive in its silence, he could hear people now. A lot of them. There was talking and movement all around. The stone tunnel was causing confusing echoes to ripple all around, magnifying the noise.

His sense for prey sharpened once more. Not with him as the target this time… there was something close by that qualified.

He opened his eyes to find that while the night before everything had been lit by dim candles, now there were distant fluorescent lights in the ceiling that illuminated everything. It also probably explained why no one bothered to cover the structures that people lived in. It's not like there was any weather down here. All they really needed the dividers for were privacy.

The little chamber he'd been given was surrounded on three sides by crumbling, plain sheetrock indifferently nailed to a frame of two by fours. He'd been sleeping on a futon on the floor and the only other furnishing the room held was a coffee table made of plywood and metal tubing that at one point had been painted a flat green which was now peeling to reveal badly chipped brown paint underneath.

His eyes narrowed as he saw with his eyes what he'd been sensing. A small child of around six years old squatting on her haunches, staring at him curiously. She was painfully thin. He hesitated to call her scrawny, but it was a word that fit. She was barefoot and wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, both so badly stained that it was impossible to tell what their original color might have been.

Her eyes were blue and curious. Her hair was an odd shade of pale reddish-pink and was only growing out in a few random patches across her scalp. Where the hair wasn't growing seemed to be ugly, barely-healed scars. There were also spurs of bone poking up out of her skull. Where they'd erupted from her skin, seemed to have a ring of scabs and badly inflamed skin. The more Peter looked, the more of the spurs and jags of bone he could see. The spurs were particularly large around her knuckles, elbows and knees. Consequently the wounds and scabs in those areas were worse. He could see scars built up over scars. She was trying to hold still while watching him, but she would reflexively reach over to scratch and pick at one of her scabs, wincing whenever her fingers brushed up against the bone spurs.

"It's rude to stare." She told him gravely.

He stared at her harder. "Yes," He replied with equal gravity, then paused significantly, wondering if she was old enough to know what sarcasm was. "It is."

She nodded at his acknowledgement and asked. "You're new. This room was empty yesterday."

He returned her nod, sitting up and maintaining eye contact with her. "Yeah, I am. I'm… Dumas."

She delicately waved at him, declining to come any closer. "I'm Sarah."

He wondered if she was simply too young to take a pseudonym or it wasn't actually a requirement and he'd just happened to meet with the weirder members of the community?

Peter rose to his feet and so did she. He towered over the small girl and wondered faintly at how she was registering on his… what to call it? Preda-vision? Prey-o-meter? He sighed. She was tiny and weak and that alone was enough to trigger the sense, but there felt like a nuance to the sensation. Something in between hearing and scent and taste that told him in no uncertain terms that she was frail. Injured. The barely scabbed over wounds around the protruding shards of bone and the multitude of scars up and down her arms, scalp and face, were testament to that.

"So what makes you different?" She asked suddenly, staring up at him. She fingered a sharp spur of bone at her cheek. "I keep growing bones where they're not supposed to grow." There was a sullen air to her words. Resentful at what should be a gift twisted to something unfortunate. "It hurts when it's under my skin, pushing it up. But it also hurts when it pokes out like this."

"Sorry," Peter mumbled.

She brightened slightly. "When they get big enough I can pull them out, tho."

"That's… good?" He answered uncertainly.

She paused, smiling now, albeit, the smile was a little wobbly. "Except that hurts too."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say to that and was very subtly scanning the room for a way to exit without hurting the little girl's feelings.

She blinked and asked. "So, what do you do?"

He sighed, trying to smile, but found the expression seemed unfamiliar to his face now. He scratched at his ear, not sure how to answer the question. "I…"

What do you say to that? I'm tough? I'm strong? I can kind of fly? I can consume their–

He stopped that line of thought and simply said the first thing that came to mind.

"... I hurt people." Peter admitted.

Sarah's visibly wilted. "Oh. So you can't help me, I guess?"

Peter stopped to stare at her. If her power was what was hurting her… this uncontrolled… unchecked bone growth… could he perhaps?

"Only if you need me to mess someone else up?" He offered weakly.

She seemed to seriously consider the offer for a few seconds before putting a wobbly smile back on her face. "That's okay. I can't think of anyone who really needs it. Except maybe Hemmingway. He's a jerk."

Peter gave her a smile. "Sorry I couldn't be more help."

Sarah shook her head. "It's not a big deal. Nobody's been able to help, really. I tried hanging around Leech to see if that helped any–"

"Leech?"

"Oh, he's another of the kids! He can make people's powers go away when he's nearby." Sarah chattered. "But all that happened while I was near him was that my bones stopped growing, but it didn't stop hurting."

"I see." Peter sighed. He couldn't help. Stopping further bone growth didn't stop what she did have from hurting. There was nothing he could do for her. He reached down for her for a moment and she flinched slightly, but held her ground. He tapped a fingertip to an unscarred spot on her forehead. "Maybe someday we'll find some help for you." He said gently.

She nodded carefully. "I hope so."

A figure lurched into sight in the doorway. Caliban had changed out of the warmer clothes he'd been wearing the night before and was only wearing the velvet purple suit coat and pants, with no shirt underneath.

He ducked into the area and turned oversized eyes towards the small child. "Sarah? What are you doing here?"

She turned to Caliban and squeaked. "I was just introducing myself to Mr. Dumas!"

Peter chuckled, then muttered. "See, she pronounced it right."

Caliban nodded, as thought he hadn't heard Peter. "Alright, but don't pester him. He's new and I was going to take him around to be introduced to everyone else."

Sarah nodded, then ducked around Caliban's spindly form. "Okay. I'll see you around!" She waved to Peter before stepping out of the area and out of sight.

"She was… nice?" Peter said, his tone intentionally neutral.

Caliban nodded. "She usually follows Calisto around. Caliban guesses she was curious."

"So…" Peter drawled the word out as he tried to find the right words to use. "Are we going to see a lot more like her?"

Caliban's oversized eyes met his. "Oh, yes. Many Morlocks were not fortunate when it came to their powers. Yours doesn't seem to have changed how you look–" He trailed off, seemingly trying to prompt Peter to volunteer more.

He snorted, fighting to keep the memories from rising up. "Believe me, it has its ugly side."

Caliban's mostly cheery disposition cracked for a second as he replied, "Caliban knows about ugly."

Not sure how to respond to that, Peter chose to ignore it. "Is there anything to eat around here?"

Caliban brightened at the prospect of breakfast and he nodded hurriedly. "Yes. They should be serving up breakfast right around now."

He lurched for the door and beckoned Peter to follow.

- - -

The part of the Alley that they had appeared in before was now quite crowded. A line snaked down the length of the Alley towards a set of folding tables that seemed to have food weighing them down. At the tables themselves, there were several people, keeping a close eye on everyone going past to ensure no one got more than their share.

Everyone was dressed in what could be best described as the rags the thriftstores hadn't been able to sell. The close warmth of the Alley also made it so that lighter clothes were fine. Peter almost felt over-dressed in his jeans and t-shirt, layered with a button up shirt and coat combo he had on. The heat didn't bother him any more than the cold did, so he didn't bother taking off any of the layers. He wasn't sure where he could leave them where they wouldn't be stolen and he didn't feel like carrying the clothes around.

He and Caliban waited in line along with the wide array of Morlocks. A lot of them simply looked older or just worn down in some way, but a large number sported some kind of more visible deformity or unusual feature. Ahead of them in the line, were a pair of massive, hulking young men with no shirts on, who had bright green skin and massive blonde sideburns. Further ahead was a skinny, slow moving person with a spikey head and tarry black skin that seemed to have random debris stuck to it. Close to the end of the line a woman who seemed to be a flat, monochrome white except for a rainbow gradient across her hair and face. Here, a child with a noseless, reptilian face. There, a woman wrapped up in gauze bandages covering up weeping sores. Others wore body concealing robes or cloaks that bulged in ways that hinted that the body beneath wasn't entirely human shaped.

On the other end of the spectrum, some were simply dressed oddly rather than sporting any obvious deformations. One man with a white beard, wore a leather skullcap and robe that sported a massively oversized, pointy collar. There were easily a dozen young men and women in punk stylings, right down to massive pompadours and mohawks.

"You are new, so the staring is expected," Caliban had told him quietly. "But do not make a habit of it. Most of us do not like to be reminded of how we look."

Peter flinched reflexively. "Sorry."

Caliban gave him a tight lipped smile. "As Caliban said, it is expected. Others gawk more openly their first time."

Before the awkwardness could get any worse, they reached the food tables and what felt like a wave of faint good cheer seemed to wash over Peter. It almost felt like walking into a sunbeam. A pleasant warmth that scrubbed away harshly at the rough spots of his soul and scoured out any lingering exhaustion and ill-feeling.

Peter glanced over towards Caliban who was also now sporting a wider smile. "Better than coffee sometimes," The pale man said as a completely inadequate explanation.

The person at the first set of tables was a small woman in her late forties. She had a sunny smile that did a great deal to make her plain face far friendlier. She had thick glasses and a bright yellow headscarf, from which wisps of curly, auburn hair that was showing signs of gray peeked out. She wore a brown, ragged and stained apron with a checkered pattern over an old-fashioned green dress that seemed to be in better shape. That feeling of sunlight seemed to be radiating out of her.

In front of her on the table were roughly carved wooden bowls, half-filled with what looked like runny oatmeal. Next to her was a massive steaming pot that the oatmeal came from. The pot reminded Peter of the stainless steel one his uncle used to use to deep fry a turkey with for Thanksgiving.

"Here you go, dear." The woman said, passing one of the bowls to Caliban as he got close to her station.

Caliban smiled at her. "Thank you, Anna Lee."

She returned his smile and reached out to pat his cheek. "You're a good boy, Caliban." Her voice was creaky, but warm. She had an accent that Peter couldn't quite place. It sounded vaguely Queens, vaguely Brooklyn, but with a faint hint of something Slavic. If nothing else, Peter was sure she was a native New Yorker. "And who's this?" She asked, turning her attention to Peter, as she grabbed a new bowl and passed it to him.

"Caliban just brought him in last night." Caliban replied, tone polite and friendly.

"I'm Dumas," Peter said, then after a moment added, "Ma'am."

That earned him an extra sunny smile and that good feeling coming off of her just seemed to intensify. "Oh, you're a good boy as well. You boys enjoy your breakfast."

He felt like he'd just finished all his chores and his aunt was praising him. Like he'd just gotten a full ride scholarship to Harvard.

Like there was still good in the world.

Peter tried to discreetly wipe away the tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes as he followed Caliban to the next table.

Caliban nodded. "She's like that."

"Like what?" Peter growled as he felt the good feelings pass as they moved further away from Anna Lee.

"She makes people feel things. Feel what she's feeling. She's the first person in the line because a lot of us Morlocks need the pick me up in the morning."

"She's always that… cheery?"

Caliban shook his head, his face turning grave. "No. Some days are bad. Bad days, she keeps to the far tunnels, away from everyone so she doesn't make us sad."

The next table was being overseen by a man who had a massively overdeveloped nose and almost no chin. He had a pair of dark sun glasses covering his eyes and loose brown hair peeking out from under the floppy, grimy chef's hat he was wearing. The man seemed to only be wearing a loose poncho and ill-fitting shorts for his under-developed legs. Long feathers grew from his mis-shapen arms. He had a wooden chopping board in front of him and he held a cleaver in overly long, slender fingers, that seemed to be somewhat scaly. Next to him was a large canvas bag that had some sort of round fruit that Peter had never seen before.

There was still half of one of the fruits in front of him that he was in the process of cutting into slices, when Caliban greeted him, "Chicken Wing. Good morning."

Peter had to admit the name fit, if nothing else. The now named Chicken Wing nodded towards Caliban in a jerky, nervous gesture and gestured to the sliced fruit. He eyed Peter for a moment and said in a high, screechy tone. "One slice. Take it."

Caliban took two slices, putting one in his bowl of oatmeal and the other in Peter's.

"Uh, what is this?" Peter asked as they stepped away.

Caliban replied blithely, "Tree-man fruit. It's good. All the nutrients."

"Er… wait, what?"

"Caliban will introduce you to the Tree-man later."

"Sure?"

Further on there was another table with wooden cups and a large water dispenser. "If you're thirsty." Caliban had told Peter.

Peter noticed a small distance behind the tables was Calisto, standing with a few others. She was dressed the same as when he'd seen her last night, possibly with a different shirt, but it was reduced to such a ragged state it was indistinguishable from the one she'd worn the night before. Her arms were crossed as she eyed the distribution of breakfast and made it manifestly clear that any misbehavior would not be tolerated.

Slightly behind her was a man in a sack cloth robe, tied at the waist with a thick hemp rope, looking for all the world like a monk that had lost his way. The robe's hood was up and hid the man's face in deep shadows, but wisps of pale, white hair peeked around the corners of the hood. Peter felt that impression of being considered prey sharpening as he felt the man's eyes sweep over him. He could only vaguely see into the robe, but the man's face did not seem to be quite right. The left half of his face in particular seemed to bulge oddly within the shadows.

Next to her was an immense slab of a man. At least seven feet tall, heavily muscled, bald and with blunt, brutal features. A cruel part of Peter decided that the man would not have looked out of place as the primary actor in a B-rated slasher film. He was dressed in jeans that were too tight for his immense frame, a badly stained T-shirt and what looked like a military surplus fatigue jacket that had the sleeves ripped off. He was wearing what looked like army boots, which, similar to Caliban's, had been polished to a high shine. The other incongruous element to the man's rough hewn appearance was a clearly well-cared for white scarf that had been tied off in a neat overhand knot.

Caliban caught Peter's gaze and said quietly. "The first Morlocks."

"Beg pardon?"

"They are the Morlock founders," Caliban explained, then gave a rueful smile. "Technically Caliban is one of them too, but Caliban is not keen on posturing."

Peter nodded encouragingly, allowing the pale man to keep talking.

"Calisto leads. She lays down the laws and ways that guide us. The big one is Sunder, he helps make sure people behave."

"I can believe it." Peter murmured back. "And what about the one in the robe?"

Caliban's face took on a twist of distaste. "That is Masque, it sounds just like 'mask' but he spells it fancy." He paused as though trying to find the right words before finally shrugging. "He is an asshole."

Peter snorted in amusement at the description. He realized that was possibly the first negative thing he'd heard Caliban say about anyone, which was probably enough to paint this Masque as the blackest of villains and Peter resolved to stay out of his way.

They moved past the press of the crowd, done with retrieving their breakfast as Caliban urged him towards a spot further down the tunnel. The dividers creating homes thinned out in this direction and a mismatched set of makeshift benches, chairs, tables and other furnishings made from bits of old furnishings or repurposed crates and pallets were scattered around the area willy-nilly.

It was a mess, but somehow seemed to come across as homey rather than just dirty. The faint breeze was still present, but now the air carried other scents to it. A sort of floral, citrusy scent that lingered and the persistent earthy smell seemed even more pronounced. The cement underfoot seemed to give way to patches of dirt with grass.

All around, people had taken seats. Some by themselves, others in groups, socializing among themselves. One table had a mound of flesh chanting to itself out of a dozen differently shaped and sized mouths. Here and there, children ran and played, speeding away from where they were eating before looping back to take a few more bites. Peter did notice that not everyone was taking quite a relaxed stance towards eating. A number of the older men and women ate with haste, hunched over their bowls and arms curled protectively around their bowls as though making sure no one could snatch it from them.

Peter had seen people eating like that at the shelters before.

Caliban gestured, pulling Peter's attention away from the other people and towards a table where he put his bowl down.

Caliban took a seat on an overturned crate at the table. Across from it was a semi-reclined lawn chair. Peter shrugged and took that for his own seat.

They tucked into breakfast with Peter slowly drinking the oatmeal down.

It was… fine.

It was a little bland, but Caliban took to it with a relish, taking small, delicate bites from the fruit in between long gulps of the runny oatmeal mush. "It is less watery than usual today!" He praised.

Peter processed that as he slurped the oatmeal thoughtfully. He took a bite of the fruit and that really did go perfectly with the oatmeal. He couldn't quite place what it tasted like. It was faintly pear-like, but had a firm consistency like an apple, but also had a tart sweetness to it like an orange or a tangerine. It made the meal massively better for being part of it.

Peter wrinkled his nose as a scent wafted towards him. Cigarette smoke. It was faint, but cloying. Somewhat worse for not just being regular tobacco, but there was a distinct scent of cloves added to it. Peter looked towards the source of the smell and noticed that Caliban was likewise looking that way too. Others in the area took one glance, then looked away, mostly keeping to themselves, but some waved to her or nodded in acknowledgement.

It was a woman dressed in a way that evoked a 1920's flapper, interpreted by way of a thrift shop. She was a very thin woman in a straight, sleeveless, rose pink dress that came to her knees that had been lovingly, if amateurishly, patched and repaired. Around her waist was a wide, bright pink ribbon tied off into an elaborate knot at her hip as an accent. She had a pair of loose work boots with no laces and thick woolen socks that had bunched up at her ankles. She had elbow-length blue gloves that clashed with her mostly pink ensemble, but seemed to have been chosen to match the little pillbox hat she had on her head that had a veil all around it that concealed the upper half of her face. She had chains of faux pearls looped around her neck. In her hand was a long, black cigarette holder at the end of which was the source of the smell, a hand-rolled cigarette.

Caliban smiled at her and called out in greeting, "Hello, Beautiful Dreamer."

The woman gave a wan smile, bringing the cigarette holder up to her lips and taking a deep drag. Peter noted with fascination that even as she spoke back to him, no smoke seemed to escape from between her lips.

"It's just Dreamer, Caliban." Her voice was low and husky. Roughened by years of smoking, but vaguely sensual still.

"Not to Caliban." The pale man responded with awkward gallantly, earning a small laugh from the woman, but she turned to face Peter and although he couldn't see her eyes through the veil, he could tell they sharpened their focus on him. A faint warning tingle of being seen as prey running down his spine.

"And who is your friend, Caliban? He seems new." Her voice seemed to drop even lower and Caliban gave Peter a small worried glance before he replied.

"This is Dumas." Caliban said carefully. "He is new."

Dreamer's lips curled into a smile. "I see."

Peter swallowed nervously.

"Did you want something, Beautiful Dreamer?" Caliban asked.

"A trade, Caliban. I'm offering a trade." Dreamer said, punctuating the statement with a movement of her cigarette holder.

"Go on?" Caliban asked, tilting his head slightly.

"For an embrace–" She drew the word out. "I'll give you the memory of a much better breakfast than this." She gestured vaguely towards their bowls of oatmeal.

Caliban leered. "Well, that seems cheap at the price–" He spread his gangly arms towards her, which earned a snort of laughter from Dreamer.

"No, Caliban." She jabbed the cigarette holder towards Peter, sending a waft of smoke drifting Peter's way. "Not you. Him."

One of Caliban's hairless brow ridges rose up in his best impression of a quirked eyebrow as he could manage without actual eyebrows.

Peter's eyes widened, "Wait, wait… hold up. What?"

"For a few minutes of cuddling," Dreamer continued, "You'll remember today's breakfast as, let's say… a mushroom and cheese omelet, a T-bone steak, crispy hash browns and a stack of pancakes with maple syrup. Instead of this sad, grueling affair." She made dismissive gestures towards their half-empty bowls.

Caliban glanced towards Peter who still had a poleaxed expression on his face. "It's not a bad deal." He said begrudgingly.

"I'm underaged." Peter replied indignantly.

Dreamer laughed outright. "It would all be platonic, dear Dumas. Nothing inappropriate. My gift is memories, but in order to give them, I have to have had them, do you see? A little bit of time in the arms of a pretty boy like yourself–"

Peter made choking noises.

"-- is something I can offer in trade to others when the time comes." Dreamer continued. "That's worth a steak breakfast, at least, right?"

"Maybe?" Peter said uncertainly.

Dreamer shrugged, as she leaned in closer towards Peter, the scent of cloves and cigarette smoke swirling around her. Pinkish smoke began to leak out around the corners of her lips as she spoke. "Besides, I think I want to remember how you look up close before Masque can get his hands on you."

Caliban made a noise in the back of his throat and shot Dreamer a hard look.

"What does that mean?" Peter asked.

Dreamer's tone had turned wry and bitter. "Before he makes you ugly like the rest of us."

"Why, Dreamer," A gravelly, dramatic voice declared, "What a cruel thing to say."

Peter glanced over his shoulder to find Masque leering menacingly over their small group. At his side, Sunder loomed.

"We talked about this already, Dreamer," Masque said, walking around the table to approach Dreamer who was now cowering back. "You were told not to smoke where people were eating."

Dreamer flinched back, hurriedly pulling the cigarette from the holder, crumpling it in her haste, and letting it drop to the dirty floor. She crushed it underfoot.

"It's gone! It's gone! I just… I just forgot, okay?" Her voice was almost a wail.

Masque clicked his tongue, shaking his cowl covered head. "We told you and told you." He reached a hand out towards her, Peter was close enough to see that his hands were blunt fingered and calloused, with cracked and broken nails. "We're gonna need to make sure you learn your lesson this time."

Peter glanced around. The other people who had been eating in the area were all looking away. Even the children who'd been somewhat boisterous before that moment had gone deathly silent.

Caliban was chewing on his lower lip and seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but there was a tightness around his eyes. A fear towards the man in the robe.

A small man who was bullying someone.

Right in front of him.

Peter was on his feet even before he realized he'd moved. He put a hand to Masque's shoulder to hold him back. "That's enough." He managed in a firm, level tone.

Masque looked over his shoulder at Peter. This close, he could smell him now. It wasn't pleasant. The clove cigarette smoke had reeked less. The robe was unwashed. Masque himself hadn't taken a bath in a while. The shadows of his hood, up close, were now failing to conceal a massive spreading tumor across the left side of the man's face that rendered him hideously ugly.

"The new boy." Masque sneered. He glanced towards Caliban who had also just started to rise to his feet. "You should have told your new friend that a proper Morlock minds their own business."

"I'm making this my business," Peter growled back, the faint red glow rising within his eyes as he let the power fill him.

Caliban held both hands up placatingly, "He is new, Masque. He has not even decided if he will–"

Masque brusquely jerked his shoulder away from Peter's hand, giving the young man a look that would've been ugly even on a less ravaged face. "Oh, no. I think he's decided already."

"She already put the cigarette out." Peter said, trying to sound reasonable, but a gnawing anger was curling around his heart. He shouldn't have been surprised. Bullies existed everywhere. School hadn't been unique. The streets were rife with them. Why not in this sanctuary for those 'different' as well?

"You don't need to do anything else." Peter finished.

Caliban winced speaking at the same time,"There is no need to–"

Masque gestured towards Dreamer who continued to cower back. The hat had slipped off her head, moving the veil enough for Peter to see her eyes, which looked like a set of bulging compound eyes more fitting of an insect. "But there is a need," Masque hissed, "I gave her those eyes the last time she 'forgot' to put her cigarette out before coming around meal times. I was just going to make the rest of her face match."

Peter forced himself to remain still, even as Dreamer hurried to readjust her hat and veil. She clearly wanted to leave, but seemed frozen in place by her own terror.

Masque gestured dramatically, sweeping an arm to take in Peter and Dreamer. Peter could tell that the man was playing up to the audience. "But now, this isn't just about the smoking anymore, boy. You've chosen to disrespect my authority."

Peter glared at him and Masque seemed to take it as a cue to continue. "I speak with the voice of Calisto. You, a whelp who just got here, are trying to dictate things to me?!" His voice rose to a shriek and others seemed to be shuffling in place, uncomfortable, but Peter could clearly see that they were glad it wasn't being directed at them.

"He does not know the ways, Masque." Caliban said, jabbing a pale finger in Peter's direction, trying to put himself between Masque and Peter, while simultaneously staying out Masque's arm's reach. His voice was placating and calm, but held a definite undercurrent of concern. "He needs time to learn."

"That is true. He is new and must learn." Masque said, facing Caliban fully. "So I shall be merciful and let this be an opportunity to learn." He spread his arms out seemingly in a benediction.

"Thank yo–" Caliban began to say, but Masque cut him off, glancing over to Sunder.

"Hurt him." Masque said to the larger man in a deceptively mild voice. "Show him his place, but only do as much as Healer can fix a session or two."

Peter barely had time to register the sensation of attention fully being turned on him and he whirled to face Sunder, who he realized was already in motion.

The larger man was faster than his bulk should've allowed and a fist shot straight for Peter's face faster than he could move out of the way. He reflexively held a hand up and caught the huge, meaty fist in his palm with a thunderous noise.

The tableau held for a second. Peter standing, holding Sunder's fist in his hand. The larger man's expression was even more surprised than that of the bystanders.

"We don't have to do this." Peter said, trying to sound reasonable, but he could feel the strain in his arm and shoulder, a strain that was beginning to spread across his back. He tried to make this seem effortless, but he knew he couldn't keep matching Sunder's strength for long.

To his surprise, Sunder's face broke into a delighted, mean-spirited grin. "You're strong."

"Thanks." Peter replied, through clenched teeth, he could feel the man pushing at him even harder, the pressure mounting.

"Sunder is stronger." The larger man declared and leaned into his fist, putting even more weight and strength behind it.

Peter's arm quivered from the strain as he found himself not just being moved, but the sheer pressure he was being subjected to was shattering the concrete underneath him as he was inexorably pushed back.

Peter growled back. "No, you aren't." His arm was quivering from the strain and he could feel the cement turning to powder around his ankles as he was dragged through the material. He kept his voice as level as he could. "You can stop this now and I don't have to show you how much stronger I am than you."

Sunder laughed.

Caliban fretted.

Dreamer seemed to be sobbing.

All around the bystanders had begun murmuring excitedly.

Masque glanced around, watching the reactions, and finding them not to his liking. He roared, gesturing dramatically once more, "Stop playing with him, Sunder! You heard me! Hurt him!"

Sunder's smile was eager and he met Peter's eyes. "You heard him."

Peter nodded, returning his gaze in full. "I did. I want you to remember that I asked nicely."

Then he let his power loose to reach out through the point of contact. His eyes flared red as his hungry, stolen power reached through where his hand held off Sunder's fist.

He felt it pull.

Peter's eyes flared red and energy rushed into him. He drew a breath and kept breathing in. A golden stream of energy surged out of Sunder's mouth, out of his eyes, drawn into Peter's mouth and nose.

It was indescribable. Delicious. A steak breakfast couldn't compare to this. The feelings of sunshine and good cheer from Anna Lee couldn't compare to this.

He was drinking in a man's life and it was incredible.

As life flowed out of Sunder, he seemed to visibly wither, his immense muscles slowly shrinking in on themselves and a long, rattling moan of anguish came out of him.

Peter knew he could simply keep breathing the man's life in until he was little more than a dead, desiccated husk. He was intimately familiar with how that process went.

It would be simple, even if he had only used it in that way once, a long time ago.

Even as he kept drawing in more and more, Sunder seemed to take forever to run dry. Peter had rendered people unconscious with the drawing in of life after a second or two. Sometimes it was difficult to judge.

He had to have been breathing in for a minute now? Two minutes? He didn't know anymore.

Sunder seemed like he could take it. There were such massive stores of strength and vitality within the man. Peter was sure he could keep going just a bit more and Sunder would be fine after some rest. Maybe. Mostly.

It was intoxicating.

He could feel where he cradled the man's fist in his hand. No longer pushing. If anything Peter was holding him up by that point of contact.

A single point of contact that let something within him– a part that wasn't drinking the man's life in– to reach out to take hold of something within Sunder. He could feel the shape of it. He recognized the sensation of reaching out. He knew it was Sunder's strength. His gift.

He was already drinking the man dry, why not take that away as well? If Peter kept going, it would just be wasted if he didn't claim it as his own.

Sunder was just using his power to bully those weaker than him, anyway.

He didn't deserve it.

He really didn't, Peter insisted to himself.

But does he deserve to die?

Peter stopped breathing in sharply, almost choking on the last golden tendrils of energy as they flowed into his nostrils.

He released the grip he'd taken on the man's power as well, leaving it where it was.

He released his fist from his hand.

Peter let everything go.

Sunder dropped to his knees and looked half-dead.

Peter could feel a massive amount of strength simply surging through his body. He forced the powers back, forced all that strength, all the riotous, rambunctious energy down deep where the hungry power dwelled when he didn't need it and allowed the glow to leave his eyes.

Calisto came into the area at a dead run and thundered, "What the hell is going on here?!"

Peter looked towards Masque, whose expression was apoplectic with rage. He met the robed man's eyes and said with a malicious smirk, "Masque was just showing me my place."

- - -

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 3:

Sunder was heavier than he looked and he already looked hefty to begin with. It didn’t make much of a difference to Peter, though. With the amount of energy he’d pulled from the man, he could probably do a couple of marathons back-to-back while carrying a car on his back before he fully used up what he’d taken.

Carrying Sunder over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes a short distance into the Alley was… well.. Small potatoes. Or a very big potato in this case. A big potato that smelled strongly of cheap, tart aftershave. 

While Sunder wasn’t too heavy for Peter to manhandle, he was unwieldy, easily twice Peter’s size, so balancing him was slightly tricky, but Caliban had been insistent that Peter actually carry him, rather than drag him by his ankle.

“Sunder has already taken many, many blows to the head. I do not think it would be good for him to take any more.” Caliban had said primly as they walked.

“Fine,” Peter sighed. “I honestly wasn’t expecting to have to be the one to carry him, though.”

Caliban shrugged. “You won. You didn’t kill him, so like Callisto said, you get to take him to Healer.”

Peter glanced over at his taller companion. “And if I had killed him?”

Caliban gave another shrug, this time, Peter could see it made him uncomfortable. “Then you would have had to deal with the body. Responsibility is part of being a Morlock. You make a mess, you clean it up.”

Peter looked thoughtful. “Should I have killed him?”

“Please do not. Sunder is–” He stopped for a second groping for the right thing to say. “He is not well. But he is not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Sunder is loyal to a fault.” Caliban said in explanation. “Probably to every possible fault. He is loyal to the Morlocks, but he is most loyal to his friends. Caliban has known him a very long time.”

“Sounds like you’re one of his friends,” Peter said, his tone mildly accusatory.

Caliban gave Peter a wan smile. “Caliban is. Sunder is not a deep thinker. Or much of a thinker at all. He likes a good scrap and he likes to be told what to do. Masque and Callisto like to tell him what to do.”

Peter’s expression darkened, his eyes flashing red in the not-quite dark of the Alley. “Masque seems like he likes to tell a lot of people what to do.” 

Caliban nodded at that.

“Does Callisto just tolerate him or is he supposed to be doing that?”

“Caliban does not know for sure anymore.” He shrugged once more. “Callisto has many ideas about how things are. How people are supposed to be. Sometimes those thoughts do not line up with how things actually are. Sometimes she tells Masque to do things.” 

Peter frowned. “Then why is she in charge.”

“Because no one else wants to be,” Caliban admitted. “Or rather the ones who want to be, run into the rule about Morlock leadership.” Caliban held a finger up. “Very important rule.” 

“Which is?” 

Caliban declared, “If you don’t like how Callisto leads, you challenge her for leadership. Fight to the death with no powers. Whoever survives, leads.”

Peter stopped walking and stared at the pale man. “That’s insane.”

Caliban made a non-commital noise and shrugged once more. “The possibility was raised. But it does prevent most people from trying for her spot.”

“Wait, you guys are the founders of the Morlocks… so she’s always been in charge and that’s a rule she made up.”

“Yes. Correct.”

Peter looked Caliban dead in his massive eyes and declared flatly. “Literally insane.”

“As Caliban said, it is a possibility. Yes.” Caliban murmured, looking away.

“And she’s still in charge? People listen to her?” Peter pressed.

“Other than a very casual stance on violence and murder for conflict resolution, she is not that bad of a leader.”

“Seriously?” Peter stared.

“She protects us. She makes sure people do their tasks. She did not mind that you came to blows with Sunder. As far as she is concerned, since you won, you were in the right. It is over and done with.”

Peter glanced to the unheeding bulk on his shoulder, then over to Caliban, disbelief still plain on his face. 

The pale man smiled faintly. “Still, Caliban is glad you did not kill him.”

They walked deeper into the alley, past where most of the dividers and structures had been clustered and down a much smaller branch corridor that had a wooden board over it as a makeshift sign in white paint, declaring in all capitals: “HOUSE OF HEALER”

The ‘S’ in the word house had been painted backwards for some reason.

Peter glanced up at the sign as they stepped into the slightly darker corridor. This one smelled of candle smoke and beeswax. Dust and paper.

“So I’m taking him to a doctor or something?” He asked.

“To Healer,” Caliban corrected gently.

As they stepped into a larger carved out room, Peter took in that there were about a dozen mismatched beds with threadbare sheets that all possibly had other colors when they’d been new, but had all been bleached to an almost uniform off-white. 

Just to one side of the entrance was a wooden roll-top writing desk against a wall, that had clearly had repairs done to it as the legs didn’t match one another, even though someone had sawed them down so that the whole thing remained level. 

Next to the desk was a battered stand lamp with an adjustable neck. It was currently off, with the warm light in the room being provided by at least a dozen dribbly candles scattered on almost every available surface.

The walls of the room  looked like raw stone, with niches and shelves carved into them. Most of the shelves were haphazardly filled with a profusion of books, but the light was too dim to see the titles from where Peter stood.

There was also what appeared to be a metal fire door embedded into the rock walls without a door frame. On the red, chipped paint of the door, someone had painted in white the word, “SUPPLIES” in the same style as the sign outside the chamber. Both the ‘S’s were backwards. The door had a prominently visible latch that had an oversized padlock threaded through it.

In front of the door stood two people. One was the bearded man who had been in front of them in the breakfast line. The man in the robe with the pointy collar and a skull cap. 

He was arguing quietly with an older woman with a lined, careworn face. She had dark eyes that were lined with crows feet and brown hair peeking out from underneath a knitted blue beanie cap. She wore an ill-fitting brown cardigan with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Underneath that, she had on a green housedress that came to her ankles. On her feet were a pair of battered work boots. 

“It’s not like I’m asking for any of the hard stuff,” She said in a cracked and wheezing voice. “Just some ibuprofen–”

The man’s voice was deep, but had an exasperated air to it. The tone of a conversation that had happened so often it had worn grooves into someone’s soul and they were playing it by rote now. “Plague, we are out. We are down to the children’s dose stuff, which isn’t enough to do you any good and we need to save for the actual children.”

She whined. “Anything? Anything at all? Anything will do. Paracetamol? Naproxen? I just ache so much–”

The older man sighed. “I know, dear. I know. But I have been assured by Callisto that we will have a supply run very soon and she has made it a priority to get us more medication.”  

The woman, Plague, slumped. Her entire demeanor, defeated. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe I can just sleep it off–” She muttered as she walked away, coughing elaborately into her fist as she shuffled past them. She eyed Peter carrying Sunder, then shot Caliban a quick questioning glance which the pale man returned with an elaborate shrug.

Healer watched the woman leave, making sure that she was gone before he threw his hands up in frustration. He gave Caliban a hard look and said. “I swear to you, young man. If that old hypochondriac does not stop annoying me, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

Caliban held both hands up placatingly. “Plague is not trying to be difficult, Healer. You know she isn’t.”

The now named Healer grumbled inaudibly.

“Is she going to be okay?” Peter asked curiously, drawing Healer’s attention to him for the first time.

“Plague?” Healer replied, waving his hand dismissively in the direction of the door. “Oh, yes. She’s fine. Healthy as a horse. Her power is to make other people sick. Unfortunately, it also constantly makes her feel sick, even when she really isn’t. I can’t do much about that.”

Caliban supplied, “Healer has the power to heal people, but it’s mostly for injuries. Also, he can not heal himself, so please do not pick a fight.”

Peter shot Caliban a sour look.

Healer looked worried and shied back slightly. “Is this a concern?”

Peter sighed. “No, it isn’t. I’m going to randomly pick fights.”

Caliban nodded, his expression deadpan as he replied, “Yes. Your behavior did seem quite deliberate.”

That earned him another sour look, that Caliban returned all earnest innocence. 

Peter shook his head and prodded. “So… healing injuries?”

Healer nodded. “Oh, yes. Bruising, burns, and lacerations I can deal with quite handily. Actual diseases, less so, but I can at most give someone’s immune system a bit of a jump start to help with infections. Not much more beyond that.”

“So your power wouldn’t work on her, even if she was actually sick?” 

“Exactly. Consequently, she tends to go through a lot of over the counter medication. She can survive being uncomfortable for a day or two until we get some more supplies in, however.” Healer’s attention focused on Peter further.

“And you are?” 

“Ah. I’m Dumas.” Peter replied.

Healer squinted at him slightly. “Birth name or your mutant name?”

“Does it matter?” Caliban asked.

Healer shrugged and reached out to pat Peter on his unoccupied shoulder. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

In the fleeting moment of contact, Peter felt his power reach out and take hold of Healer’s power, his gift. The power was sending a pulse through his body. Peter could feel the subtle, passing wave of energy trying to map his body out, seeking any injuries or infirmities. 

He knew that if he just tightened his grasp a tiny bit more, he could take the power. That would stop it cold. It would be so easy.

Peter flinched back, breaking off the contact. Healer noticed the flinch, but didn’t seem at all offended and easily segued into a new question. “What does matter is, what did you do to Sunder?”

Peter felt vaguely embarrassed by the older man’s attention, more so for having realized he’d been perhaps a second away from taking the man’s power if he hadn’t pulled back.

Caliban gestured to the closest bed. “You should put him down first so Healer can take a better look.”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” Healer said, watching carefully as Peter laid the larger man down on one of the beds. Unfortunately Sunder was so large that his feet stuck out over the edge of the single bed.

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’ve never really looked at what that power does to people. So I’m not sure if it will count as an injury or not.”

Healer fussed over the larger man in the bed. He pressed a hand to Sunder’s bald scalp and his eyes widened. “Well, that’s certainly interesting. No injuries, obvious or otherwise, but Sunder always was tougher than normal flesh should allow for.”

Caliban glanced at Peter who seemed curious, but still skittish, then towards Healer. “So how is he?”

“Complete exhaustion.” Healer said after a moment’s contemplation. “No actual injuries, it’s just that his metabolic processes are at an abysmally low level. It almost seems like all the energy in his body was squeezed out.”

“That sounds about right?” Peter replied vaguely.

Healer shook his head. “There’s not really much I can do for him besides let him rest. I’ve given him a little bit of energy, but I suspect he’ll be fine soon enough. Probably be ravenous afterwards.” He tapped at his bearded chin as he thought aloud. “I suspect I’ll have to put him on a glucose drip for a while if he’s going to be too unconscious to actually eat.”

Caliban smiled. “Wonderful. We shall have to be on our way. Caliban still has a few more places to show Dumas for his tour.”

“Of course.” Healer gave them a smile, but then snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot, will you be visiting the Cistern?” 

Caliban gave Healer a level look. “That is not her name.”

Healer replied stiffly, “I meant the place, not the person.”

Caliban’s expression softened. “Fine. We are going to see her.”

“Would you please ask her if she’s done with my copy of L’Morte D’Artur?”

“Caliban will ask.”

- - -  

Peter stood just inside a large chamber that at one time was a subway station. The smell of the place was an assault on the senses. There was a mix of scents. Musk, crap, older musty scents that were buried under a ton of other less palatable and indescribable scents. 

The chamber was swimming in the impression of prey and predators . Weak, barely worth pursuing, barely any effort to kill… but quite plentiful.

The rail tracks were still visible towards the far end of the area, but where the tracks should’ve joined with the actual rail lines just ended in bricked up walls. The bricked up walls on both sides had incongruous looking air vents set up dead center on the walls with little paper strips stuck to the vents and fluttering in an obvious breeze bringing fresh air into the area which did very little to keep the smell from becoming overwhelming.

Caliban had led Peter through a set of tunnels coming out of what had looked like an airlock at the end of the Alley and down into a set of tunnels the looked like storm drains, before they crossed over into a very old-fashioned brick Subway station.

A very old wooden sign that they passed declared the station, “Bowling Green”. Someone had added a much newer cardboard sign below it, that had copied the original’s style that had the words “Rat Ranch”

There were at least a dozen Morlocks moving around the area, no two of them looking alike. Some pushed carts covered with tarps that reeked, others were carrying bags of what seemed like garbage that also stank profusely. 

Every visible wall of the old subway station was lined with small chicken wire cages that contained hundreds upon hundreds of large rats. The rats were, contrary to expectation, absolutely quiet. They sat and stared out of their little cages, dead eyed and apathetic. 

The center of the subway station was curtained off and the worst of the smells seemed to be coming from that area. Iron and offal. All around that area was covered in a multitude of small brown stains so ground into the tile floor that it almost seemed like everything would need to be pulled up before it would ever come close to being clean.

Instead of rates, what could be heard instead was some kind of wood wind instrument playing a somber haunting tune. The music slowed and stopped as Peter caught sight of the man, just outside of the curtained area, who had been playing. He was an older man, with iron gray hair and a large beard, but no mustache. He wore overalls with heavy work boots, but over that, he had a tuxedo coat with tails. Over the bib of his overalls, was a stiff, frilly tux shirtfront, complete with a bow tie, that peeked out from under his beard. He also wore a shapeless, bonnet cap that flopped over one side of his head. In his hand was a small flute that didn’t seem like it was large enough to produce the rich sounds Peter had been hearing.

The man gave Caliban a friendly nod in greeting.

Caliban returned the nod and gestured. “This is Piper. Please do not get into a fist fight with him.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Are you going to keep saying that?”

Caliban gave an innocent grin. “It is entirely possible.”

Piper extended a hand towards Peter. He contemplated it for just a moment, before he tentatively accepted and shook hands. The moment of contact was enough for him to reach out and touch the man’s power. Some sort of telepathic ability but with some kind of audible focus. He could feel the shape of it. The weight of it. The ease with which he could claim it.

This time, he let it go, deliberately. Not simply breaking off contact. More like what he had done with Sunder and chosen not to take it.

He gave Piper a smile and glanced around. “So… I’m going to take a wild guess here. Your power lets you control rats with your pipe?”

Piper chuckled, tapping the side of his nose with his pipe as he gave Peter a wink. “Got it in one, kid.” He had a pleasant tenor voice. “It’s any animal, really, but I’ve just had more practice with the rats.”

“Piper is in charge of the Bowling Green Rat Ranch.” Caliban explained. 

“That seems to imply there’s other rat ranches?” Peter asked carefully.

Piper shook his head. “We thought about it, but since the only other rat wrangler we have is Mother Inferior and she wasn’t interested in helping. We ended up just expanding this one place instead of trying to set up other places.”

Peter glanced around. “So the rat ranch is for the meat, I’m guessing?” He asked carefully.

Caliban nodded gravely. “Not a lot of room for cows down here.”

“Cook it up right and you’d never even know,” Piper pointed out with a certain relish. “Between the meat and the eggs, we can do alright for stretches even if we can’t get supplies from up top.” 

Peter frowned. “Eggs? But rats don’t–”

Piper chuckled once more, making dismissive gestures, “Yeah, that’s what I thought too at first.” He inclined his head towards one wall where the rats were all of a distinctive gray-green color. “Notice anything about those rats over there?”

Peter moved closer and squinted at them. Up close the animal smells were overcoming the scents of carrion and blood from behind the curtains. “... these rats have feathers instead of fur.”

Piper nodded cheerfully. “Yep. One of the kids has a power that lets him absorb living things into his body. Ends up with a rat tail sticking out of his elbow kind of deal, or whiskers out his back, or paws up and down his face. That sorta thing. The thing is, when he lets ‘em back out he can kind of mix and match ‘em. It was just kind of a lark at first with him smooshing pigeons and rats into him and seeing how they’d come out merged together, but after a while he got the hang of it and we got the little beasts to breed true.” 

The older man jerked a thumb at the cages the feathered rats were in. “That’s where these fellows came from.”

Peter stared in fascination, noting that the cages for the feathered rats actually did have a set of smaller doors where an egg could slide down a short ramp into a woven straw basket that was half-filled with wood shavings.

“Egg laying rats.” Peter murmured. “Amazing.”

“Normally they would be available scrambled for breakfast,” Caliban explained, before glancing towards Piper, “But we didn’t have any today?”

Piper made a sour face. “We lost a batch of eggs this morning when Glow Worm dropped ‘em on the way to the kitchens. She was supposed to get a talking to from Masque, but as I understand it, breakfast got a bit… rambunctious.” Piper shot Peter a speculative look.

Peter replied defensively. “That wasn’t my fault.”

Piper snorted. “I’m surprised you’ve still got all your arms and legs and the right number of eyes.”

Caliban offered a decidedly neutral statement. “Callisto sorted everything out.” 

Piper shrugged. “If you say so. I don’t care if you’ve got a beef with Masque, but Glow deserves whatever he does to her. She lost us enough eggs to feed everybody til dinner. It was a huge waste. We’re lucky I was able to get the other rats to eat up the spill.”

Peter glanced around the station and nodded slowly. “If you say so.” He kept his voice neutral.

A few more people went into the curtained section, pulling it aside long enough to go in and pull out another tarp covered cart. Peter caught a glimpse into a literal rat slaughterhouse.

There were rows of bookshelves onto which hundreds of rats crowded. Peter could only clearly see the ones closest to the front. At the ends of each shelf, was a rat wearing a makeshift apron, holding very tiny blades. They looked like disposable razors, but in the rat’s forepaws they may as well have been cleavers. 

One at a time rats from the crowd would move closer to present themselves to the apron wearing rats and they would have their throats systematically sliced open, the blood allowed to drain off the side of the bookshelf onto a tarp on the floor. The dead rat would then be disassembled by the aproned rats, separating them into individual parts. 

The flayed rat hides were dumped into an industrial sized drum next to each bookshelf, the offal and innards were sent down a complicated series of plastic hot-wheels tracks that fed from multiple shelves and book shelves into one cart, while the meat slid onto a different, larger cart.

The whole process was efficient. The few seconds that Peter could see past the curtain were enough to give him a complete view of the process from start to gruesome finish.

Peter swallowed bile down as Caliban gave him a sympathetic look and Piper nodded. “Yeah, it takes a bit of getting used to. It was worse when we tried alligators.”

“Alligators?” Peter asked, happy for the distraction as the curtain slid back into place, hiding the rat abattoir from view.

Piper nodded. “We tried farming the gators in the sewers, but their breeding cycles were a mess and it took forever for them to get to a decent size.”

Peter ventured, “And the lack of opposable thumbs probably made it awkward to get them to slaughter each other.”

Piper barked a laugh. “Exactly!”

- - - 

The wind in the tunnel they were in was much stronger than anywhere else they’d visited so far that day. It smelled more of New York above ground, crisp and cold with the tang of Manhattan traffic. Peter was sure he’d been away from it at least twelve hours now, and he could say honestly that he had not missed it.

The tunnel looked almost natural, with the stone having a rough hewn look to it, but Peter couldn’t help but notice that it was almost entirely circular and almost unnaturally straight. All along the walls and floor of the tunnel, were hardy wooden roots buried deep into the stone. They were spaced just enough to give good, solid footing in the tunnel against the howling wind.

Caliban had been grinning as they walked, the rushing air pushing at them roughly and causing their clothes to flutter continuously. It was too loud to be heard if they were to speak, but they only walked through the tunnel for a few hundred yards of distance before Caliban had beckoned Peter to a closed makeshift metal hatch and led them through it.

Caliban easily shouldered the hatch shut once more, cutting off the roar of the wind. He blinked his massive eyes and coughed roughly, the wind had clearly dried him out, before looking towards Peter, “We call that tunnel ‘Pandemonium’.”

“I can see why,” Peter replied, croaking a bit before he swallowed a few times to wet his throat once more.

“Most people do not like using it for obvious reasons, but it runs parallel to a large part of the tunnel system that we occupy, so it is one of the fastest ways to go places,” Caliban explained as they continued walking into the new, much calmer tunnel they were in. 

“Why is it so windy?” Peter asked.

“When we first settled in the tunnels, we had a mining engineer with us. He knew how ventilation worked.” Caliban explained. “We made new tunnels that connected to buildings and subways. The air loops through the tunnels keeps it from getting stale. It stays warm in the winter and cool in the summer.”

“Did the air need to be that fast?” 

“He always claimed it had to be that fast to make sure it would get through the entire tunnel system without any extra fans to help it along.” Caliban grinned. “I think he just got the calculations wrong and didn’t want to admit it.”

“Well, that does explain some things,” Peter admitted in a mutter and realized he was hearing noises further down the tunnel. This offshoot of the Pandemonium tunnel had more of the roots snaking across the ground and seemed to be getting thicker as the walked, making finding his footing tougher. “So where are we going now?”

“The Grove.” Caliban replied. “We used to call it the Solarium, but you’ll see why it’s the Grove now.”

The earthy scents from the Alley, and the citrusy, fruity scents from the dining area were getting stronger. The tunnel itself was growing even wider, until they came into an area that was the most brightly lit place he’d seen since coming here.

Caliban squinted his immense eyes and put a hand over his brow ridges to help shade them. Peter had to squint as well as his eyes adjusted. 

“Our friend who made the ventilation tunnels, also rigged up mirrors to get sunlight down here no matter the time of year.” Caliban’s voice had a distinct pride to it. “Couldn’t quite get it all the way to the Alley, especially not during Winter, but it is good for this place.” 

Peter blinked a few more times to get the glare out of his eyes and he saw that the chamber was larger than he’d thought. The chamber was a rough sphere, around fifty feet in diameter. The walls looked like a reverse disco ball as mismatched, cracked and irregularly shaped mirrors studded every bit of open space. No two mirrors looked alike, but every single one was polished to a high sheen. Almost every single mirror shone with bright sunlight, sending rays of light careening all throughout the space. 

There were a few people flying or climbing up the walls, polishing and repositioning the mirrors as they went. 

In the central area of the chamber was a massive tree that all the roots they’d been walking past connected to. It seemed to fill almost the entire space, with branches weaving all through the chamber. The branches seemed to be densely packed with leaves laying directly on the branches. 

The fruits they’d had for breakfast hung plentifully among the branches. More people, Morlocks all, nimbly climbed and clambered across the tree’s branches, plucking the fruits and storing them in burlap sacks before letting them down by rope where they were gathered into crates to be loaded into push carts and wheelbarrows. 

Where branches had fallen, a few others, mostly children, gathered them up and pulled them over to a work table where several people worked with knives and sandpaper to carve them into the familiar bowls and cups they had used during breakfast.

Deeply nestled within the branches on the central trunk of the tree, Peter was able to pick out a man. The branches snaked out from where his knees and elbows should have been, continuing unbroken from his limbs into the tree itself. His skin seemed to be made of wood and he had on a coat and a set of jeans, both of which had been ripped to shreds at the point where the branches met his body. Despite the hustle and bustle all around, he could hear the man snoring, because the leaves of the tree seemed to rustle in time with his breathing.

Caliban gestured grandly. “This is the Tree-man. Do not pick a fight with him as he is currently sleeping. That would be rude.”

Peter gave the man a level glare. “You are eventually going to get tired of saying that.”

“Perhaps,” Caliban replied with glee, “But today is not that day.” 

Peter took in the entire place. It was breathtaking in its way. A whole community working together, picking the fruits, cleaning, making new cups and bowls, but all of it centered around a man who was also a tree. The part that got to him was this was all under New York. He wasn’t sure where he was exactly, but they’d just been walking distance from what was called the Bowling Green Subway Station, so that would put them somewhere in Lower Manhattan. Somewhere near the financial district.

Peter felt a grin forming on his face at the idea that a man who was also a tree at the center of what was essentially a commune right in the heart of New York’s capitalist capital.

He walked closer, dodging around the people who were working. Many of whom called out greetings or gave Caliban friendly nods. One or two even gave Peter a cautious nod that he chose to return. 

“Is he… okay?” Peter asked after a while.

Caliban held a hand up and waggled it. “As well as any of us can be like that. His gift turns him into a tree when he sleeps. When he’s a tree, he is stuck. Down here at least he is cared for, protected, and not likely to be experimented on compared to how things would have been up top.”

“But stuck asleep.”

Caliban nodded. “It is almost impossible to awaken him when he is like this. Believe me, we tried when he first came down here. When his power first manifested, he would only grow little branches and roots. He’d go over them with pruning shears and snip them off close to his skin. Except he started falling asleep longer and longer, so the roots and branches had more time to grow.”

“He couldn’t keep awake?” Peter asked.

“Oh, he tried. All sorts of things. Making people keep waking him while he was out, coffee. Speed. It kept him awake, but eventually he decided he did not like who he was when he was awake for too long and that sleep would work better.”

“It’s not like he had a choice.” Peter replied bitterly.

“We rarely do.” Caliban acknowledged.

“What happens when he wakes up now?” 

“We try to make him comfortable. His family visits when he’s conscious and lucid. We tried to cut him free in the past, but the branches are too much a part of him now. He claimed it was agonizing. So we do what we can for him.” Caliban replied quietly.

“I suppose it doesn’t hurt that he’s feeding everyone else just by existing.”

“Caliban admits that the Tree-man gets more attention because of that,” Caliban explained. “But even if all he did was exist without giving the Morlocks a key part of their regular diet, we would have cared for him.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart.” Peter snarked.

Caliban gave him a look and a small smile. “We are Morlocks. Not above grounders.”

Peter snorted and dropped to one knee, deliberately putting a hand on one of the larger roots close to the tree.

This time, possibly from the size, possibly from the unfamiliar tree-like physiology, it took Peter’s power several seconds to find the power within the massive body. He took the power in a metaphorical hand and it felt like growth. A power meant to grow, not just itself but others. So eager to grow, that it felt a bit like an over enthusiastic dog tugging at its leash. So enthusiastic to do its thing that it didn’t leave room for anything else. Peter felt its weight and considered it. Would the Tree-man be happier not sleeping as a tree all the time? 

But the man’s entire body was a mess. The root structure that had filled this room and the Pandemonium tunnel were all part of him. Peter wasn’t sure if he could survive like this if his power were removed. Or if he could even be freed from the tree and have the power removed afterwards. If the Tree-man were no longer a Tree-man, what would happen to everyone else his power was feeding then, though? 

Peter was starting to wonder if maybe he hadn’t been happier in blissful ignorance when he didn’t know about powers or the Morlocks. Above ground, there had barely been anyone with any kind of superhuman abilities. There were a few in the public eye. The ones who had started wearing colorful costumes during WWII, a handful of older teams like Front Line during the Cold War and their Russian counterparts. More recently, there were those Avengers and X-men. 

But not random people just walking around on the street.

No wonder I never saw them above ground. 

Peter snorted. 

They were all hiding down here.

“Are you alright?” Caliban asked in a concerned tone and Peter noted that he was now hefting a bag of Tree-man fruit. 

“Just thinking.” Peter replied, rising back to his feet. “Why do you have–?”

Caliban smiled. “We are visiting Nimueh next. And it is a bit past lunch.”

“That explains nothing.”

- - -  

They stepped out of the hatch coming off of Pandemonium into a sharply descending tunnel that was almost entirely dead quiet. Outside of the dry, swift air of the ventilation tunnel, this tunnel was cold and the air felt damp. Peter could smell water. 

The further they walked down the sloped tunnel, the quieter it became. Even the faint rush of wind from the Pandemonium tunnel had become inaudible and the only sounds left were their own breathing and footsteps.

These tunnels were similar to the ventilation tunnels, carved out of the bedrock and not simply part of the old New York tunnel systems that the Morlocks had moved into. This far down and with it so much quieter, he could feel the weight of the city pressing down on him. All the tons of rock above his head. New York itself, its streets and its cars, all weighing upon him in the dark and the velvet silence.

Where the other tunnels had candles or sporadic bare electric bulbs lighting the way, here, there was none of that. Caliban had fiddled with his phone and used it to cast a single beam of light ahead of them, but the rest was simply dark. 

Caliban walked with a somber, silent air and Peter didn’t feel like breaking the silence, even though his patience was growing thin as they walked ever deeper. A small part of himself was entertaining the thought that this was where Caliban dumped the bodies of the Morlocks who didn’t work out. 

Caliban snorted and said quietly. “You are thinking something rude.”

“Are you a telepath?” 

“I do not need to be. You do not have much of a poker face.”

“Fair enough.” Peter replied, then added after a contemplative silence. “I feel like you’re taking me to places you don’t normally take new recruits to. At least not ones who are still trying to decide if they’re going to join.”

Caliban flashed a quick grin. “You say this like you haven’t already decided.”

Peter shot him a sour look. “Seriously though. Are you showing me more stuff than you would to the usual new Morlock?”

“I am.” Caliban admitted.

“Why’s that?”

Caliban shrugged. “You already met Masque. That is about the ugliest thing we Morlocks have. There did not seem to be any point in hiding anything else.”

Peter considered that for a long moment before asking once more, “Where are we going?”

“We are here.” Caliban declared, stopping at a section of tunnel that had leveled out and had the floor, walls and ceiling painted in a red band. Bolted to one wall was a tarnished brass bell, with a rope coming out from beneath it. Caliban took hold of the rope and swung it quickly back and forth, setting the peals from it bouncing all around them.

Peter watched curiously. A few seconds after the silence had descended once more, there was another bell ringing sound, but this was a deeper note. Resonant noise that carried well in the tunnels. 

Caliban hefted the sack of Tree-man Fruits over his shoulder and smiled. “It is safe to come closer now.”

They began to walk and the smell of water came on stronger.

“Safe to come closer to what?” Peter asked after a moment.

“The Cistern.”

“The article implies something particularly important about it?” 

“It is a place where our water gathers. That is important.” Caliban replied primly. “We are tapped somewhat into the storm drains and to the city’s water reclamation. It is all stored down here to make it useable.”

Peter looked at him curiously. “Useable how?”

“As we have been doing with everything else for how we survive down below. Powers.” Caliban gestured, “Nimueh has an unfortunate gift that kills anything that is too close.”

“How close is too close?” Peter asked, his tone worried.

“Around a one hundred yard radius. She can make it more when she tries.”

Peter stared.

Caliban waved him off. “That is what the red line is for. That is the extreme limit of her power if she is standing closest to the tunnel entrance. When we sound the bell, she retreats to the far end of the Cistern chamber and rings the bell she has there.”

“I see.”

“Also, if you do get too close to her, you would feel sick and weak first and there will be plenty of time to crawl away before it kills you.”

“That doesn’t sound as reassuring as you seem to think so.”

“Caliban finds it comforting. But her aura kills smaller things faster than big ones. Very small things easiest of all.”

“You’re having her close to the water to kill off the germs.” Peter realized.

“Yes. She has a small boat there and she paddles all around the water in the morning.” Caliban nodded. “Along with some filtration systems upstream of the water collection, our water here is better than what the city gets.”

“How do people get to the water, though? I can’t imagine they’d have to take this long route every time they needed to pick some up?”

“The Cistern is directly under a well in one of the tunnels closer to the Alley.” Caliban explained. “It is high up enough that it is well outside her range, so all that comes down are buckets on a rope. Sometimes they lower the scrubbed off cups and bowls down so they can be near her too, ensuring they are very clean.”

Peter frowned. “Except she’s stuck down here all the time.”

Caliban nodded. “Unfortunately so.”

“That’s not fair.” Peter finally said.

“Caliban agrees. But we deal with what we are given… and we do what we can to make her more comfortable.” He shook the bag of fruit. “She has a lot in there to keep her occupied. They call down to her from the well room as well, so she’s not entirely on her own.” He gave Peter a level look. “We are doing what we can.”

Peter nodded slowly. Less agreement with what was said and more in acknowledgement. 

Caliban seemed to sense his mood and added, "Also it would be a bad idea to get into a fist fight with her, since you would probably die before you got close enough to throw the first punch."

Peter snorted a laugh. “I’ll try to curb my impulses.”

“See that you do.” Caliban replied with mock gravity.

Peter was about to laugh once more when the feeling of being stalked as prey , though faint, came upon him. He could hear another set of feet clomping along leaving confusing echoes that cut through the oppressive silence.

“Someone’s coming.” Peter said. 

Caliban squinted into the darkness behind them, turning his phone about to light up the tunnel in the other direction. Just outside the range of the light, the bell pealed. Within a few seconds, the deeper bell that was ahead of them tolled its deeper tone and the walking noises came closer. 

“It is a friend,” Caliban hurriedly told Peter. “Friends.”

The light revealed a white cow, speckled with brown spots wearing a woven straw hat that had a band of flowers around it. 

Sitting on the cow’s back, riding it easily, was Sarah, the little girl with the bony protrusions that Peter had woken up to that morning. “Good afternoon, Caliban. Good afternoon Mr. Dumas. Callisto sent me to find you.”

Peter blinked in surprise, first at the cow, then at the little girl. Then he looked towards Caliban. “I thought you said there weren’t any cows down here.” His tone was accusatory.

“Caliban told you there was not a lot of room for cows down here,” The pale man replied primly, “Which is very true.”

Sarah’s voice was faintly petulant as she corrected Peter, “She’s not a cow. This is Mrs. Penn.”

“I… beg your pardon?” Peter asked slowly.

“Mrs. Penn is a part of our community as well, Dumas.” Caliban said, his voice level and absolutely giving nothing away.

Peter nodded then eyed the bovine and wondered if she was some kind of shape shifter. Or this was just some strange, random Morlock joke. There was a twinkle in its big, dark eyes. The tunnel and her hat weren’t making it easy to look in those eyes, but Peter made a go of it.

Maybe she’s getting a kick out of this.

Mrs. Penn sniffed, wet nose twitching a moment before she sneezed, shaking her head and spraying Peter in the face with a fine mist of snot.

Or maybe that’s just a cow.

“She likes you!” Sarah declared, delighted. It was probably the happiest Peter had ever heard the odd, bony girl, so he swallowed his retort, wiped his face with his sleeve, and forced a smile.

“Anyway, why was Callisto looking for us?” Caliban interrupted Sarah’s enthusiasm.

“Oh, not both of you. She just wanted Dumas,” Sarah replied. “Since he took down Sunder, she says he’s gotta take his place in the supply run today.”

Caliban chewed on his lower lip for a second in a definitely concerned sort of way. “I see. I believe you will have to go, Dumas.”

Peter eyed Caliban for a long moment. “You sure?”

Caliban nodded. “I will still be visiting with Nimueh,” He gestured vaguely into the tunnel. “Sarah, I am sure, can lead you back to the Alley.”

Sarah smiled and pet the top of the cow’s floral hat. “Mrs. Penn knows the way. You can follow her.” 

“Lead the way then,” Peter replied, sounding more confident than he actually felt.

- - - 

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 4:

Peter found himself back in the Alley, following a little girl riding a cow. 

Interestingly, no one seemed at all surprised by the cow, with more than a few friendly nods accorded to either Sarah or Mrs. Penn. Mrs. Penn seemed to enjoy the attention and Peter would swear she was nodding back, but she could just as easily have been simply moving her head cause Sarah kept petting her.

Sarah pointed to a slightly taller set of dividers close to the midpoint of the Alley near the plaza area. This place specifically had a set of wooden double doors, that at one point had been lovingly carved with a religious iconography. The doors must have been part of a church at one point, but Peter noted some discoloration and charring around the edges. 

Peter knocked and Callisto’s voice came in from the other side with a loud yell of, “Come in.”

Even before he could open the large doors, Peter felt a tingle of prey settle upon him as an expectant hunter waited just behind them.

Peter stepped into a room that was just as much of a makeshift shack as the rest of the home created with dividers in the alley, but it was larger by far. There was a dirty curtain covering up a tunnel on the opposite wall. The room itself had a hugely ornate wooden desk dominating the space just before the curtain. The desk was just as heavily carved as the doors and looked to have been worked on by the same hand. The desk had a half-dozen wooden bowls and cups stacked up off to one corner. The top of the desk was heavily scratched up and it wasn’t difficult to see why. 

Calisto lounged behind the desk, idly toying with a knife that she twirled around her fingers, but would occasionally toss it into the air to let it land point first into the heavy wood of the desk.

There was no other furniture in the room that Peter could see. At least not real furniture. A few wooden crates scattered haphazardly around that could’ve been used as makeshift seats. A set of shelves on either side of the desk screwed into the rough wooden dividers where a handful of unlit candles were set. 

“Dumas,” She said, the sense of being prey sharpening to a razor’s edge. “Close the door behind you.”

He did as he was told and with the door shut, the noise of the alley dropped off dramatically, leaving them both in a leaden silence. He stood in front of the desk, growing more and more uncomfortable as she eyed him without saying a word.

“You haven’t been here a day yet and you’ve already managed to make an enemy out of Masque.” Callisto finally said, pulling the knife out of the desk and using the point to clean beneath her nails. She seemed to have made it a point to not look at him, but Peter could tell her entire body language spoke of keeping him entirely in her sights. 

“I asked him to ease up.” Peter replied, “Politely, I might add. He decided to send Sunder after me.”

She smirked. “Masque can nurse a grudge like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“That sounds like a him problem,” Peter shot back.

Callisto nodded and Peter could swear he saw approval in her eye. “You don’t back down. And you’re strong enough to back it up. You’ll be a fine Morlock.”

“Thanks,” Peter replied, barely keeping the flush from rising to his face. The possibility of her deciding to throw him out or perhaps even attack him with that knife hadn’t fazed him, but he found himself reduced to stammering and blushing at the merest hint of a compliment.

“Is Masque going to try and make trouble for me, then?” Peter asked carefully.

“Not as such,” Callisto replied absently. “He will do as he’s told. You beat down the champion he set after you. That’s settled. I’ve told him to leave you alone.” 

“You made me stand down and let him run away before I could get my hands on him.” Peter replied, his voice level, but resentment growing rapidly in his heart. “If you really wanted it settled, that would have done it.” 

“I told him it’s over, so it’s over. I’m telling you it’s over, so it’s over for you too.” She shot him a look. “If you provoke him again, that’s on you.

“I can’t promise I won’t step in if I feel like he’s gone too far.” Peter replied mulishly.

Callisto laughed then. Laughed. Peter’s face burned. “He acts on my bidding. Just because you’re strong, doesn’t mean you can do as you please.” Her eye settled on him, challenging. “I lead the Morlocks.”

Peter looked away first. “As you said.” 

She snorted and waved the knife around idly as she spoke. “That said, since you made a mess by knocking Sunder out, I’m having you take his place for a supply run. How strong are you?”

He shrugged. “No clue. I mean… since my powers came in, I’ve never had to lift anything that I couldn’t actually pick up.”

She looked speculative, then beckoned him over. “Lets check real quick then.” She stabbed her knife into the top of the desk. “Pick this up.”

Peter shrugged, coming closer and squatting down at the foot of the desk. He worked his fingers underneath and heaved, but it only caused the front half to rise up, causing it to tilt precariously back on the rear legs. 

Almost faster than Peter could see, Callisto reached out and snatched up the bowls and cups one-handed, preventing them from slipping entirely off the now tilted desk. 

Peter mumbled. “Sorry… I need to get a little closer to the middle to actually–”

Callisto smirked, settling the stack of bowls and cups in her lap, before she’d gone back to picking at her nails with the point of the knife. “No, that’s enough. It looks like you’re lifting with pure muscular strength. No telekinetic assist. No esoteric effects.”

Peter shrugged. “I guess.” 

Callisto jabbed the knife in his direction to punctuate her next question.  “Any strain doing that? The desk as a whole is around five hundred pounds.”

Peter shook his head. “No problem. Actually, if I could rig up some ropes, I can probably carry this one-handed.”

Callisto nodded absently. “I see. Alright, put it down. You’ll do.”

Peter gently let the massive desk sink back down. 

“We have a supply run tonight. You’ll be going with a couple of others, but your main job is going to be part of the muscle. We’re going to be grabbing a lot of stuff so we need a couple of strong backs to do it.” Callisto said.

Peter thought about how she phrased it and the timing and the fact that for the most part only a few Morlocks really could pass for ‘normal’ in terms of general appearance. 

“I’m guessing ‘supply run’ is Morlock-speak for ‘robbery’?” Peter asked slowly.

“If you want to be blunt about it, yes.” Callisto stared him down. “Is that a problem?”

Living on the streets had given Peter’s morals a severe beating. The thought of simply taking what they needed to survive didn’t even remotely faze him. And the Morlocks did need things. He shrugged, trying to affect nonchalance. “No.” 

Callisto flashed a shark-like smirk at him and nodded, approval once more in her expression. “You can meet the ones coming with you after dinner.”

“I do have a question.” Peter said, raising a hand.

“I’ll allow it. Go on?”

“Caliban spoke to someone named Bouncer last night. If you have a teleporter why not just have them–?”

Callisto laughed. “Oh, we’ve had that come up. Bouncer’s teleportation is limited by a combination of distance and weight. The heavier something is, the shorter the distance he can move it. The amount of extra supplies you’re going to be picking up tonight, Bouncer might be able to teleport all of that by a few feet at a time.”

“Oh.”

“And he needs to rest between instances of teleportation.” Callisto shrugged. “So you’ll still need to bring whatever we get by hand. He can be ready to pull you all out in case things go wrong, but I don’t expect that to be a problem. Anything else?”

“No, ma’am.” 

She gave him a dismissive nod and gestured to the double doors behind him with her knife. “On your way, then, Dumas. Don’t disappoint me.”

- - -  

Peter was at a bit of loose ends for a few hours until dinner had gotten served. He wasn’t sure where Caliban was, possibly still in the Cistern. He didn’t know Caliban’s phone number and even if he did, he didn’t have a phone, so that wasn’t much help. 

He’d considered wandering around to find the Well room and see if he could yell down the well to get Caliban or Nimueh’s attention, but in the end, Peter ended up spending his time in the dining area where the grass was coming in. 

He realized that some of the roots burrowing through the dirt in that area were from the Tree-Man and the scent in this spot was due to some connection between the Grove’s ventilation and this one. He sat in silence, watching the Morlocks passing by. Some had errands of their own. Others whiled time away simply sitting, reading, playing board games, or simply doing nothing. Peter noted more supplies, particularly the tarp covered carts from the Rat Ranch were being brought into one of the structures that had a set of Western saloon style double doors. 

After a while the tables were set up once more where the breakfast line had been and a new set of food was brought out in the big, turkey fry sized cooking pots. Peter could smell a heavy savory aroma from the pots. Some kind of stew. Most likely involving rat meat. Peter considered it and he could skip eating. Then again there was no point delaying the inevitable and he lined up for his rat stew.

He had to admit, it smelled very good. He wasn’t sure what was in it, but it had soft chunks of meat floating in a red broth. He smelled tomatoes, basil and some other less identifiable herbs in it, but some of the floating bits of green looked like they might have been Tree-man leaves. There were uneven chunks of soft yellow-white that he guessed could have been potatoes. The water dispensers were out again and there were freshly baked rolls in shallow wooden trays. 

Peter served himself, giving the Morlocks who were manning the food stations friendly nods. Chicken wing was with the rolls this time. Another shabbily dressed Morlock in layers of shirts and jeans, with a very ape-like face, ladled stew into the bowls. 

Peter walked back to the tables and found himself being waved at by someone he’d seen at breakfast. A girl with long hair who seemed to be almost entirely paper white, save for a rainbow gradient that bled from her face and into a band of her hair. 

He tilted his head slightly, as she flashed him a friendly grin and beckoned him over. The other occupants at the table didn’t seem to mind, but were looking at him curiously. 

Two of the occupants at the table were immense, green men, they were both almost, but not quite as tall as Sunder. Neither wore a shirt, and as he got closer, Peter realized that green skin was actually close-cropped bright green fur, with a slight difference in shade, so one of them was a slightly lighter green than the other. They were both barefoot and wore ill-fitting jeans. They sported wild, uncombed manes of greenish blonde hair that included some immense side-burns. 

Also sitting with them was a smaller man. He was squat and built thickly, like a fireplug, but he was dressed in a dark brown suit that was covered in stains. He was wearing a pair of large, dark glasses covering his eyes. Almost his entire face was covered in thick, bristly hair that formed a beard that crawled more than halfway up his cheeks. That same bristly hair continued up to his scalp, leaving only a small bald spot at the top of his head. 

“You’re Dumas, right?” The girl with the rainbow face asked.

Peter nodded, “Yes.”

“I’m Tommy,” She said, touching her chest. She pointed to the smaller man, “That’s Mole.” 

The now named Mole nodded in acknowledgement, but turned his attention fully back to his meal.

She gestured to the two men who Peter was now convinced were twins of some sort. “That’s Bruce,” Then she pointed specifically to the one with the lighter colored fur, “And that’s Humphrey.” 

Bruce grumbled in the cracked and broken voice of a teen-ager, “I wanna be called Brute.”

“And I’m Hump.” His brother affirmed, in an equally high and squeaky voice.

Up closer, discounting their sizes, Peter realized that both boys still had very rounded, baby-ish features. He’d thought they were simply young-looking, but he’d be surprised if they were older than fourteen.

Tommy grinned. “You’re coming with us on the supply run. I’m looking forward to working with you.” 

Brute and Hump both nodded, a little sullenly. Mole seemed to continue to mostly ignore them for his food. 

Peter took a seat and smiled easily at Tommy. “Sure. This is kind of last minute for me, so what exactly is this going to involve?”

He took a sip at his stew while he waited for an answer and found it to be good. Warm and savory. Not at all how he expected rat meat to taste like. 

Tommy shrugged. “Yeah, well that’s where it’s a little dicey. Sunder’s normally in charge of these thi–”

Mole looked up from his bowl, focusing the dark lenses of his sunglasses on Peter. “Since Sunder’s out and the rest of you are a bunch of kids, I’ll take the lead on this supply run.” His voice was a soft bass rumble. It was like a rich, throaty purr of an oversized cat shaped awkwardly into words.

Peter eyed him for a long moment and he caught a twinge of prey in the other man’s demeanor. Someone desperately trying to seem stronger, but knew in his heart that he was weak. 

“Hey, that’s not how it works!” Hump complained.

Brute nodded. “Yeah! Dumas beat Sunder, so he should be in charge!”

Peter raised both hands, noticing the smaller man was beginning to flinch back from the two very large teens’ squeaky indignation. Even Tommy seemed a little agitated. Peter would guess she was older than he was, but certainly not by much. “Hey, hey. I’ve never been on a supply run, so like I said. I don’t know how it works. I don’t mind if Mole is in charge.” He scanned around the table. “You guys have all been on these before, right?”

All of them nodded in turn, Mole a bit more reluctantly, before Peter asked, “So what is the plan?”

Mole looked around the table and Peter could almost feel the surprise radiating off of the smaller man. It was clear he’d just voiced the claim for leadership pro forma. He hadn’t actually meant it. By what he could see from the man’s expression, it didn’t seem he even really wanted it.

Mole looked distinctly uncomfortable and glanced around the table once more. “Uh… well… usually Sunder would just…” He made vague gestures with his hands, that Peter noted were not only extremely hairy, but were tipped with small claws. “Tommy’s on lookout, cause she’s tough to notice–”

Peter glanced towards the girl. She held a hand up, then turned it and Peter realized that it had vanished from view. “I can flatten myself. Like become as thin as a sheet of paper. If i’m against a wall, I kind of look like graffiti. If someone looks at me edge on–”

“They can’t see you. I got it.” Peter nodded in understanding, then looked to Mole once more. “What was Sunder’s part?”

"Sunder usually just kicked the door in. He just had me make things penetrable if he didn't want too much noise."

Peter looked at the man curiously. "Penetrable?"

Mole’s voice took on a bit more animation as he spoke. "Yeah. I can energize things. Make them out of phase for a bit. Lets me make them pass through them.”

He held up his empty wooden bowl, and the empty cup of water he’d been drinking from. They began to glow faintly in his hands and he casually and easily moved them through one another. “And if I want I can disintegrate them."

The glow surrounding the bowl and cup intensified briefly and both items crumbled unto loose sawdust.

Peter was impressed. Mole slapped his hands together to brush the dust off.

“How much can you affect with that?” Peter asked. 

Mole shrugged. “I can affect around a cubic yard of material at a time, I guess? I can keep doing it though.” His voice took on a tinge of pride. “I was part of the team that did the ventilation tunnels.”

“Oh,” Peter nodded. “Caliban showed me those earlier today. Nice work.”

Hump snorted nastily. “Yeah, but it doesn’t affect people or living things. So he can’t actually use it to protect himself with.”

Brute snickered. 

Mole shrunk into himself slightly, but gathered his dignity quickly enough to shoot back at the younger, though much larger boy. “Well, yes. My power doesn’t directly affect living things, but if I energize a wall, even if I can’t energize myself I can pass through it!”

Peter frowned. “Wait. Can you make a wall energized for long enough for several people to pass through without disintegrating it?”

Mole nodded. “Yes. That’s easy.”

Peter covered his face with his hands as he considered that. “If could do that… why did Sunder need to kick doors open?” 

An awkward silence settled on the table for a moment before Hump piped up. “Cause it’s fun kicking doors open!”

Brute made an affirmative noise.

“But this is to get supplies… food and stuff for everyone. Not for fun.” Peter pointed out which caused the two oversized boys to slump.

Tommy smirked, glancing around the table once more before asking, “Okay, Mister Smarty-pants. What do you think I should be doing for the supply run then?”

Peter eyed her for a long second then asked, “When you’re flattened like that, can you pass under doors?”

She seemed to consider it for a moment then nodded. “Yeah. Windows too if the weatherproofing isn’t too good.”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then you probably shouldn’t be a lookout. You should already scout the place out first before we break in to make sure there’s no one there. You can still be on lookout after we’re already in the place.”

Tommy considered that for a moment then glanced towards Mole. There was a silent moment between the two before they both nodded. 

Mole raised a hand. “Since Dumas beat Sunder and actually is better at the planning thing, I think he should be in charge. Votes?”

Peter blinked in confusion, “Wait. What?”

Tommy grinned. “I don’t want the job, so yeah.” 

Hump and Brute simultaneously both gave a thumbs up and made a raucous noise of support.

Mole nodded, “The aye's have it!”

Peter eyed the smaller man suspiciously. “I was told that the Morlocks aren’t a democracy.”

Mole grinned back. “We aren’t. But since Callisto said you’re taking Sunder’s place, I guess that puts you in charge.”

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 5:

Peter had never previously had to consider the actual logistics of getting to a crime. Especially when everyone else on your team was in some way exceptionally conspicuous. 

Brute and Hump, who Peter had taken to calling ‘the Doublemint Twins’ in the privacy of his own head, were exceptionally heavily muscled and tall and… averse… to wearing shirts. Before they’d left, he’d managed to barely convince them both to wear hooded raincoats, which still called attention to them for their height, but at least covered up, their green furry skin was much less obvious. In the dark, and given the fact that the raincoats were themselves green, Peter figured their chances of blending in on the street were better than even.

Mole, for the most part, could mostly pass as normal as well, at least given a bucket hat jammed onto his head to keep his bristly hair from being too obvious and his dark glasses from being too visible. It turned out his eyes were very sensitive to light and he had to wear his sunglasses at night. 

Tommy was ironically the easiest and most difficult. Her build passed for a baseline (if skinny) human and she only needed a hoodie to hide her multi-colored face and hair. If pressed, she could even have caked on a layer of pancake makeup to cover up her pastel rainbow skin color, but they didn’t have the time, nor the makeup, they decided that a hoodie would best option to cover her up enough to go out. The only thing Peter had been concerned about was that her entire ensemble was in white and nothing Peter said could convince her that it was still too conspicuous. 

Peter was still in his original hooded jacket and jeans and could have passed above ground easily, even with the hood down.

The tunnels exiting from the Alley’s North Side Airlock (the one towards the ammonia scented bathrooms rather than the fruity smelling dining area) had given way to a set of storm drains, which in turn led to a roughly carved passage with a fake cement cover that they passed through to reach the maintenance tunnels near the Broadway-Lafayette Station in Lower Manhattan. That confirmed for Peter roughly where they were. Definitely close to the Financial District.

They exited the maintenance tunnels directly into the subway station proper, already past the turnstiles. The group had blended in with the late (but not-too-late crowd) getting onto the B Subway line heading uptown. 

Over their discussion during dinner, Peter had found out that the exit plan had been an abandoned subway line that passed within a few blocks of the place they were going to be stealing from. They could’ve used the line to head directly to the spot, but that would have involved walking half the length of Manhattan. Peter didn’t think Mole could’ve managed. He was already panting just keeping up with them as they got on the subway.

They were still going to need to make that walk on the way back. There was an old subway car on the line that they would be loading their ill-gotten goods on and the main reason why they needed the ‘muscle’ for the whole run was that they would be pushing the car back to the vicinity of the Alley.

They got off at the 86th Street Station and once more, rather than actually exit the station, they ducked into the maintenance tunnels and traced out a route to their destination.

Peter had noted the time when they’d disembarked. It was close to 11 PM. Tommy and Mole had napped on the ride, but the Twins were positively bouncing from excitement. Peter noted that Sunder’s energy from that morning was still nicely settled in his system and he’d had a good night’s sleep the night before so he was still good for a few days. Which was useful because even assuming everything went well, he expected that they were looking at not getting back to the alley until at least 3 AM or so. 

Mole motioned them all into a hidden side tunnel off of a disused area in the 86th Street Station maintenance tunnels. That tunnel connected to the storm drains. Those were open to the weather and had the bite of winter air to them. Wet slush from the snow had made their way in, along with random street debris. Peter was glad this was the worst of what they were dealing with and not walking through the actual sewer tunnels, but he’d gotten the impression that some routes needed to pass through those.

Mole pointed into the dark of the tunnel, now having removed his sunglasses revealing that his eyes were huge, dark, and reflected the light like a cat’s. Tommy and the Twins didn’t seem to be having any trouble navigating in the dark either. 

“We go down that way,” Mole explained, “Around a hundred yards. There’s a grate just barely big enough for even these two.” He gestured vaguely in Hump and Brute’s direction, “It will be right across the street.” 

“But we don’t actually need to use the grate,” Peter pressed.

Mole nodded, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “Yeah. We could probably just come up anywhere on the street.”

“Or in the building itself, right?” Tommy added brightly.

Mole nodded again. “I think the tunnel comes close to the building… or maybe the next building’s basement, if it has one. Although, if we need to, though, I can just dig out a tunnel–”

Peter held a hand up. “Not yet. I don’t want us tunneling this close to the surface.”

“It’ll be quiet, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mole pointed out.

Peter shook his head, “I’m more worried about whatever’s above our heads collapsing down on us. That’s mostly just concrete above our heads and not something more solid, right?”

Mole looked thoughtful. “Oh. Good point.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Or we could if we knew where exactly it was in relation to everything.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I kind of wish we had more time to actually plan this–”

Tommy waved her hand dismissively. “We’re already here.” 

Peter could see Hump and Brute were already grinning and practically vibrating.

“Can we go already, though?” Brute asked. Hump nodded next to him.

Peter sighed. “Wait a minute. I also want to check on the subway car we’re pushing back.”

Hump and Brute traded looks, then asked at the same time, “Why?”

“So we know it’s in good condition and on the tracks. I want to make sure that when we load the stuff on it, we can just leave fast if we have to.” Peter explained as patiently as he could manage.

Hump, pointed down the tunnel in the same direction that Mole had pointed. “It’s down that way too.” 

They started walking and Mole pointed up at a grate the moonlight was filtering in through. “That’s where we’d normally leave by.” 

Peter noted that someone had punched makeshift holes into the cement next to the metal grate allowing for handholds that someone could use to climb up and down with. He frowned as he looked over, then above him. He turned to glance in the direction of their intended destination. 

Peter asked slowly, “So, normally you guys would’ve had to not only come out of the grate, cross the street, break in and then what?”

Hump replied. “We’d all start stuffing everything into the bags and just chuck ‘em into the grate.”

“We’d keep going til we hear the cops come, then run for it.” Brute continued.

Peter frowned. “Where are the bags?”

His four companions exchanged confused looks, and Tommy slapped her hand to her forehead. “Sunder was usually the one bringing the sacks. We just thought you’d–”

Peter heaved a sigh. This was going to be a long night.

“Alright.” Peter took a deep breath. “Mole, you and Tommy scout out our route to the place. Stay together, but stay out of sight and figure out if we can just go in directly without coming out on the street, but also without having to disintegrate anything. But don’t actually go in yet. Got it?” 

Tommy sketched a sloppy salute as Mole ducked his head deferentially.

Peter continued. “Don’t take too long. Just ten to fifteen minutes to look around and plot out a route. Then we can meet up back here, okay?”

“We’ll be back in no time!” Tommy declared brightly, before walking up to a wall and then somehow walking into it, but in a way that turned her into an animated painting on the wall’s surface, her long multi-colored hair streaming out like a banner behind her. Mole walked after her, huffing slightly as he tried to keep up on his shorter legs.

Peter gestured to Hump and Brute. “Guys, show me where the subway car is. We’ll give it a quick once over before we actually head in. Especially if we can find a good, easy way in.”

Brute huffed. “I still say a kick to the door’s a really easy way in.”

Hump made a noise of agreement.

Peter chuckled. “Yes, well, there’s ‘easy’ and then there’s ‘easy’. Let’s not borrow any more trouble than we have to, alright?”

The two nodded and Peter gestured for them to lead on. 

- - - 

The subway car was not in the best shape. This area looked like a maintenance track rather than an actual station. There was a metal split level platform that had one platform at a height that would allow for easy access to the doors and the interior of the car, the second platform high enough to give easy access to the car’s roof. The first platform was high enough that one could comfortably walk underneath it to inspect the car’s undercarriage. 

One set of the doors had been ripped out and the doorway crudely expanded by someone very large and very strong and the adjustments would’ve made it easy for someone Sunder’s size to enter. The twins had no trouble getting in either. Inside, the subway car was a mess. There was only one set of seats against one side of the car, probably enough for a half-dozen people. The rest had been ripped out crudely, leaving holes in the floor where they had been bolted to previously. The carpeting had also been ripped up leaving the bare metal of the car exposed.

The floor itself was littered with a scattering of old groceries, burst open canned food, mice droppings and other less identifiable debris. It was easily several months old and Peter could even see layers to it, indicating no one bothered to clean it out after each use and whoever had been using it hadn’t cared much about making sure they got everything they brought with them. It stank horribly. Peter wrinkled his nose at the mess before going back out.

It was on the tracks at least and there were improvised wooden chocks in front of each wheel to keep it in place. He kicked those off, then walked around to the back and gave it an experimental push, it moved, albeit with a groaning, creaking noise that he did not like.

Hump and Brute watched the whole process quietly and impatiently, obviously mystified at his behavior.

Peter shook his head, then went back towards the mess that had been pushed against the walls of the maintenance track and took note of what was available. He found a hose attached to a pressure washer that looked like it was long enough to go into the car. He turned it on and confirmed that it not only worked, but still had access to water. There were also cans of machine grease among the various spare parts (and chucked out carpeting and seats) in a pile close to the entrance to the track.

Peter pointed back towards the direction of the grate. “Hump, please go and wait for Tommy and Mole. When they get back, bring them here. I don’t think we’ll be quite done before they finish.”

“Finished with what?” Brute asked, looking just as confused as his brother.

“Basic maintenance.” Peter said grimly, grabbing one of the cans of grease and a paintbrush that looked like it had been used at one time as an applicator.

“Why?” Hump’s expression had turned mulish. “It’s on the track and it moves when we push it.” 

“For now.” Peter grumbled back, bending down to get a good look at the wheels and axles of the subway car and noted that yes. They were almost completely dry and caked with dirt. With great deliberation he began greasing the wheels and spoke as he did so. “If we don’t do this though, sooner or later the wheels are going to seize up and we’re going to end up having to drag this along without the benefit of working wheels.”

“Oh yeah, that happened last time,” Brute said, glancing over to Hump who nodded and chimed in. “We were still strong enough to do it!”

“There were sparks.” Brute added.

“Yeah, but keep doing it enough and you’ll wreck the tracks and the car and we won’t be able to use it anymore.” Peter tried to keep his voice patient, but it was a struggle. They were just kids. Big, dumb kids.

Hump shrugged. “There’s more abandoned ones all over the place.” 

Peter straightened up and whirled on the two. Just a pair of dumb kids that don’t really think, but he was in charge of them right now.

He couldn’t help the growl as he spat out, “But this one is ours . We make sure it’s working properly or it is going to fail on us.”

The two boys, both younger than Peter, but far, far taller than him actually cowered back. “Sorry.” They both mumbled.

Peter sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, only to realize he’d just smeared grease on himself. 

The boys, although still cowed, couldn’t help the giggles that escaped.

Peter forced himself to calm down and answered in a level voice. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be testy with you guys, but this is my first felony. I want it to go smoothly.”

Brute and Hump both nodded in time, looking less scared of him now, but still wary. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll go wait for Tommy and Mole, then.” Hump offered.

“Whatcha need me to do, boss?” Brute asked.

“I’m going to still be greasing the wheels for a few minutes. You grab one of the push brooms and shove as much of the crap in the car out the back door that you can.”

Brute wrinkled his nose. “You like Hump more. That’s why you’re not making him do it.”

Peter laughed. “No. He’s going to be right there with you once he gets back unless you finish fast enough.”

Hump laughed nastily, and Brute pouted. 

“But,” Peter continued, “If you do finish fast enough, I’ll let you help me with the power washer.”

Brute brightened up and now Hump scowled.

“Come on, you guys. We still have a robbery to get to, but I’d rather not have to deal with all the smells in this thing all the way back to the Alley.

That seemed to finally settle the boys and they got to their assignments.

It was a few minutes later when Peter caught sight of his reflection in the dirty subway car window. His face was now halfway covered in grease, mostly around his eyes and forehead. His coat and pants were filthy with it as well. Wiping at it just spread it around more and he knew he was going to need a good scrubbing with harsher soap if he wanted that off. At this point, looking like he was wearing a kind of commando face paint wasn’t an entirely bad look, he supposed. He wasn’t even sure why he was going this far. The other Morlocks hadn’t cared about the little details. Peter would probably be far less stressed if he didn’t too. 

Except it did bother him. 

Choosing to ignore the problem and let it fester until it ruined everything didn’t sit well with him.

At all.

He roused himself from his woolgathering to make sure that Brute, who he had instructed on how to use the power washer, was doing his best to clear the muck from off of the floor properly. They were just using the powerful jet of water to shove all the mess out the open back door of the subway car, leaving a load of extremely damp garbage back there, but for now, it would do. Brute had set to the task with a gleeful will.

Hump came back just as Brute was finishing up, Mole and Tommy following behind him. 

Mole didn’t even seem to notice the grease, but Tommy grinned. “You know you might want to use a little less eye shadow. It’s the wrong color for your complexion.”

“Yes, yes. Very funny.” Peter sighed. “Any luck?”

Mole and Tommy exchanged glances. 

“Yes.” Mole replied for them. “Tommy found part of the tunnel wall a bit across from the grate that’s close enough to a corner of the warehouse. It will be around a twenty foot walk up a thirty degree slope through the concrete. You’ll have to hold your breath the whole way, but we can come up inside.”

Tommy nodded then added, “They only have a few surveillance cameras and they’re all pointed at the outside doors.”

Peter frowned. “You checked inside already?”

Mole’s tone turned defensive, “I had to figure out where we’d come up. It’s an empty corner.”

Tommy waved him off. “I know you said not to yet, but you did tell me to scout around too, right? The security office was empty. No one was there that I could see. All the stuff we’re going to want to grab is in there.”

The twins were once again practically vibrating. 

Peter took a deep breath, held it, and looked around him at the four expectant faces surrounding him. He let it out. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

- - -  

Passing through Mole’s energized matter felt like walking through tingly jello. It sort of shifted unevenly around you, but also somehow through you in a very disconcerting way. A few seconds walking up the still solid ‘ramp’ beneath their feet of unaffected matter brought them up into the warehouse.

It was a solidly built brick building with a corrugated sheet metal roof and no actual ceiling. The ventilation was exposed and so were the metal struts. It was all very industrial, but not in an intentional kind of way. More like someone had decided to rip out the drywall and hadn’t bothered to replace it. The longer he looked the more details showed through that this was not a well cared for building. The brick walls were cracked and crumbling. The metalwork looked rusty in spots.

Half the warehouse were floor-to-ceiling metal and particle board shelves heavily loaded with messily arranged, closed boxes. Closer to them were multiple large pallets, some of which had large boxes, others had sacks piled high. 

There were a few small, high windows. They seemed to be dusted with frost, but the glass on some were cracked. They let a trickle of moonlight in, giving a small amount of light to see by, but it left the place dim and uninviting. 

The particular corner they were in had a few thrown together disorganized boxes occupying the nearby space, that didn’t quite look like anything else in the warehouse. 

Peter’s eyes were already adjusted to the dark and he saw the security office that Tommy had mentioned. It was little more than a wooden booth with large windows, a chair and what seemed to be a handful of monitors and an outdated computer screen on a desk. 

Next to the security booth was a larger garage style door next to a regular sized door, which would no doubt lead to a loading bay of some sort. A bit further along that wall was a door for a restroom.

Tommy was right. It was unoccupied. Perhaps the place didn’t have regular security. He wasn’t going to take that for granted. 

“Do you guys know what we’re supposed to take?” Peter asked, realizing belatedly that he hadn’t even asked before.

“Little bit of everything usually.” Mole answered. 

“Except we don’t have the bags, so it’s gonna take longer to carry everything.” Hump said mournfully.

“And we’re gonna keep dropping stuff,” Brute added. “Sunder hated that.” 

Peter shook his head and quickly looked around. “Okay, this is fine.” He glanced down at the open area they were working with and noted the amount of space they had available, then looked to Mole. 

“Can you and Tommy clear this area out a bit more?” He gestured to the haphazardly placed boxes in the open corner. “Open it up a bit. There’s enough room for us to walk in and out of Mole’s little pass-through, but we’ll need a little more room for what I have in mind.”

Mole shrugged. “Sure thing, boss.” 

Tommy looked a little surprised. “Why me, though? If it’s stuff being moved, I’d think you’d want the boys to handle it?”

Peter nodded. “Normally, yes, but these things are light and you just need to shove them out of the way. I’m going to have them already help start gathering stuff. We just need this space cleared out so we can bring it in.”

Tommy glanced towards Mole who was already shouldering lightweight cardboard boxes out of the area Peter had pointed out, and she nodded. “Got it!”

Peter walked over to the various boxes on pallets, noting that they had a wide variety of canned food. The sacks variously contained rice or beans. He nodded to himself. Basic staples. Exactly what they would need. Most of it, however, was fairly close to the best by date. Not really a problem. They’d just have to finish it off sooner. 

Further in, a few more minutes among the shelves found a few boxes of basic over the counter medications. Cough medicines, pain killers. Nothing too strong. Nothing even remotely controlled, but exactly the sort of thing Peter figured Healer would need.

Peter had to wonder what kind of place this was that had this stuff stored like this. If he had to guess, it was some kind of distribution center, but he didn’t think normal groceries would’ve been limited to this kind of cheap and almost expired stuff. That tickled a memory in the back of his mind. 

“Ain’t we grabbing anything yet?” Brute asked, breaking off his train of thought.

Peter forced himself to focus on what they were actually doing. “We will. I just wanted to make sure we’re getting what we need.”

“We ought to hurry. It’s gonna be a bunch of trips just to get enough to make this worthwhile.” Hump grumbled. 

Peter shook his head. “No, this is fine. Brute, go grab the pallet dolly over in that corner.”

“The what?” Brute stared.

Peter pointed. “The yellow thing forklift looking thing with the black handlebars.”

“Got it,” Brute bounded away.

“And me?” 

Peter reached out, grabbing an armful of the medicine boxes. “Grab everything you can on this shelf and that one.”

“And then drop it into Mole’s hole?” Hump grinned, pleased at the rhyme.

Peter shook his head. “No. Put them on top of that particular pile of sacks.”

“Uh… okay?” Hump said dubiously, but did as Peter asked. His longer arms were making the task of piling the boxes up onto them much easier, so they simply settled on Peter grabbing the boxes from the shelves and shoving them at Hump until the huge boy couldn’t even see anymore. 

Brute hurried back, carrying the pallet dolly above his head. “Now what?”

Peter chuckled, but not in a mean spirited way. “First put that down. On the wheels. It’s got wheels, so it’s supposed to roll, just pull it behind you.” 

He led both boys over to the pallet of rice and beans. Peter and Brute helped Hump dump the load of medicines onto the sacks, piling them up so they’d stay in place. Peter then took the pallet dolly from Brute and awkwardly half-maneuvered, half dragged it into place so that it could be slid under the pallet they’d piled high. 

“Uh… wait, so you’re gonna just–” Brute glanced over to Hump, as though asking for confirmation on what he’s seeing. 

“We don’t need to carry anything?” Hump continued.

“You guys will still be carrying more stuff.” Peter gestured towards one set of shelves. “The canned food is over there. Just grab a couple of boxes each.” 

Hump and Brute both nodded eagerly, heading for the shelves to start hurriedly grabbing the heavier boxes.

Peter pulled the pallet dolly behind himself, finding it unwieldy, but not difficult to move. He saw that Mole and Tommy had already sufficiently cleared out the space to allow him to maneuver the dolly into the not quite visible tunnel entrance. 

Mole's already huge eyes widened even further. “Wow. That’s… a lot more than we usually grab.”

Peter grinned. “The boys are getting a couple more things then we can get out of here.” He frowned. “Where’d Tommy go?”

“I’m here!” She called out merrily from behind a stack of the moved boxes. She came back into view, grinning widely. “There’s some weird stuff in here.” 

Peter had to stare. “What… what are you wearing?”

“Reindeer skull.” She said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Well, it really was pretty obvious, looking at her. She had the antlered skull perched on her head, resting a bit on her brow, resting low enough that it hid most of the upper part of her face, showing only a bit of her rainbow colored jaw and lips. It seemed to have been secured in place with a thick strap that went around the back of her head and a second strap that secured it under her chin. 

“Let me choose a different question then,” Peter said, “Why are you wearing that?”

“Cause it looks cool?” She gestured vaguely to the stack of boxes that they had cleared. “There’s a bunch of weird stuff in there. I think it’s bad Halloweeny-Christmas stuff nobody wants. There’s a black goth Santa hat with spikes and a pumpkin mask with an elf hat.”

Peter shook his head. “We’re going to get going. Take it off and we can–”

Tommy pouted at him, managing to somehow look adorable despite having the skull covering half her face. “Oh, come on. It’s cute.”

Peter gave her an irritable glare and she conveyed that she had rolled her eyes without them being actually visible.

“You’re doing great, Dumas. No need to be such a sourpuss.” Tommy giggled.

Peter insisted, “I’m not being a sourpuss. I’m just trying to make sure we can get out of here.” 

He felt like the whole thing had been going well. 

Too well. 

It set his teeth on edge, but he wasn’t sure why.

Brute and Hump trooped up, their arms filled with at least a half dozen large boxes each of canned goods. 

Hump said, “We got it.”

“Nice Skull.” Brute said to Tommy.

“Thank you, Brute,” She said graciously, then she turned to Peter, “See? He understands that it’s cool.” 

“Sure.” Peter sighed.

She sighed back, far more dramatically before finally taking the skull off.

“Here, put it on. Once you’ve had a chance to wear the reindeer skull you will understand its greatness.” Peter didn’t move as she plopped the skull onto his head, adjusting the straps so it would sit properly on his face. 

It was made from some kind of hard plastic. Up close, it didn’t look or feel at all cheaply made, which was a surprise. Weirdest of all was how surprisingly comfortable it was. The eye holes were large enough not to really restrict his field of view all that much. He expected the antlers got caught on stuff, but clearly, someone had paid good money to manufacture a high-end reindeer skull mask. Among other holiday novelties. 

Weird.

Tommy smiled. “Now you really look like a proper Morlock.” 

Brute and Hump both nodded eagerly. Even Mole seemed quite amused. 

Peter shook his head at the byplay and camaraderie, he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips, but ducked his head down so the mask would at least cover it up a little. 

He liked this. 

He’d never had this before. 

“Fine. I’ll wear it.” Peter groused insincerely. “But we should definitely go.”

They would be going back to the Alley shortly.

Back home. Peter’s smile grew wider.

Unfortunately, that moment was when the lights all suddenly came on. Mole screamed, shrill and pained as he scrambled to cover his eyes. Tommy bent over him immediately, trying to help him fish his sunglasses out of his coat, which was made difficult by Mole screaming and thrashing.

A voice came from behind Peter, cocky and brash, screaming. “You aren’t going anywhere but jail! The cops are already on the way, so freeze, scumbags!” 

He whirled around and found a uniformed security guard, holding a revolver on them in an awkward, clearly unfamiliar stance. 

Peter’s eyes flicked around the room, wondering where he’d come from and noticed the open bathroom door. 

That had been closed earlier. He took in the details of guard once more. He was pale, balding and thick in the middle. Half his shirt was untucked and his belt had been done up sloppily. The man’s eyes were dilated. He was breathing hard and fast. The gun in his fist was shaking and there was an expression on his face like he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was looking at. 

Peter felt no sense of being prey to this man. 

This man was the prey . 

An idiot security guard with more bravado than good sense. 

Peter began to move, but it seemed that the man’s eyes finally fully focused on their group. He screamed again, this time, less in bravado, more in panic. “Mutant freaks!”

He began shooting. 

Peter felt something splatter against his cheek and shoulder, thick and red. 

He saw Brute stagger back, dropping the boxes he was carrying and curling in on himself.

Now Hump was screaming as well. 

Peter moved .

- - -

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 6:

Usually, Jess kept her patrols to Queens, but she’d felt like she was getting faster the more she did, so for the past week or so, she’d taken to doing a circuit of Manhattan Island flat out, just to get used to it. It wasn’t quite a direct flight. She did have to try and avoid airplane flight paths. And helipads. She was still trying to figure out how to apply for an FAA transponder.

Even with those problems, she liked seeing Central Park at night from high up. 

She liked nearly everything about being a superhero. 

Unexpectedly, the police scanner she kept handy crackled in her ear. The dispatcher called for units to respond to a break in at a Maria Stark Foundation distribution center on the west side. It didn’t sound like anything the cops might need help with, but she was closer and faster than the nearest cars that might have been able to respond, so she hurriedly pulled her phone out of her belt pouch and used the GPS to figure out where it was in relation to her. 

It took her a minute to find it and manage to just barely and gingerly come down to a soft landing on the building across the street from the warehouse. It didn’t look like anything was wrong. The doors were closed and so were all the windows. Windows, that she noted, were too small for anyone to actually use to break in with. 

She couldn’t really see anything weird going on. 

She pouted, putting her fists to her hips (A pose that she was finding to be really weirdly comfortable). She looked around at the nearby buildings to see if there were any other clues there. Jess thought she saw some kind of purple shadow moving around on the next building over, but it was too dark to make anything out and Jess suspected pigeons.

She sighed and wondered if this wasn’t some kind of false alarm. She was about to lift off and finish up her patrol, when all the lights suddenly blazed to life inside the warehouse, spilling light out of the high windows.

Then she heard the screaming. 

Then the gunshots.

Jess didn’t think, she reacted. She kicked off the edge of the roof and aimed straight for the door. Her brain caught up with her body a fraction of a second before she would’ve plowed through the metal security door. Charging right into a situation where guns were being fired where she had no idea what was going on was a sure fire way to make things worse. 

She was mostly bulletproof. Mostly. Other people weren’t as lucky. She winced and angled downward at the last moment and rather than smashing through the door, she smacked hard into the concrete awkwardly, her momentum sending her rolling on the ground for a bit, but at least this time she didn’t slam into the pavement hard enough to crack it. It didn’t hurt. Her white costume wasn’t even dirty! 

It was just awkward and embarrassing and she was glad no one saw that, but she couldn’t really worry about that now because there was someone shooting a gun!

But she was definitely making progress and she couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at that.

She hurriedly floated herself back to her feet and rushed the rest of the distance to the door. 

Rather than rip through the door, she put her shoulder against it and shoved the way she’d learned that would pop locks open. It would definitely wreck the lock and probably some of the door frame, but she wasn’t spraying bits of door all over the place. 

The gunshots and screaming seemed to have stopped, but something had flashed gold inside the warehouse, visible through the windows. 

She was close enough now to hear individual voices. One voice in particular, called out. “Get going! I’ll catch up!!”

Jess threw the door open.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, the bright internal lighting of the warehouse dazzling her for a moment before the shadows in front of her eyes resolved. 

Two men, one holding the other up by his throat? 

She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. 

The first thing she saw was a face that looked like a skull. It took her a moment to fully realize that it actually was a skull. Some kind of animal skull with a pair of large branching horns… or were those antlers? She wasn’t clear on the distinction, but whatever they were, this guy had them. The black eyeholes burned with glowing red pinpoints.

He wore a gray jacket that seemed inadequate for the winter weather. It was also too tight for him, highlighting his shoulders.His pants were tight black denim. That threw Jess for a second. He didn’t seem to actually be in a costume or uniform. The clothes were almost tight enough to be a costume, but they were still just… street clothes. Perfectly normal. 

Except he had a horned skull head and glowing red eyes. He stood ramrod straight and radiated menace. The limp form of a uniformed security guard dangled helplessly at the end of his outraised right arm. His left hand was balled up in a fist. Jess could hear a strained, metal on metal grinding noise as the man’s knuckles popped.

She winced as she noticed that there was a spatter of red across the left side of his skull-face. More on his sleeve. She was too far to tell if the security guard was breathing or not, but if all that red on him was blood, she didn’t like the man’s chances.

Jess called out, “Put him down!”

The skull head looked in her direction and tilted curiously. 

“Don’t hurt him anymore!” She said sternly.

The man shook his deer skull head dismissively, dropping the guard at his feet. It was a graceless slide down to the ground, almost completely boneless. 

“He’s not hurt,” The man’s voice was deep, but nagged at Jess. Something familiar to it that she couldn’t place. “He’s just unconscious. He’ll be fine after a day or two and a couple of heavy meals.”

Jess glanced at the guard. Now that he wasn’t being held up by his neck, she could see the man was breathing. 

“So, that’s not his blood?” Jess asked, taking a step closer. The man acknowledged her move and took a step back from the guard. 

That earned her a snort. Still dismissive. Now faintly amused. “What, this?” He gestured vaguely to his sleeve, then sniffed. “This was his fault.” 

As Jess kept moving closer, he kept backing away, allowing her to approach. 

She took position next to the guard and dropped to one knee to check on him. Deer-skull was right. The guard did seem to just be unconscious. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing was even, if a little shallow, but otherwise the man didn’t seem to have any injuries. Not even bruising around the neck, which Jess had found out purely by accident that picking people up that way tended to leave bruises.

Up close, she could see powder burns on the guard’s sleeves and the empty holster at his belt. The guard had been the shooter. It bothered her a little that she’d gotten familiar enough with it that she could easily identify gunshot residue.

She glanced up and noticed that Deer-skull had sidled around, trying to get around her so that he could get a direct line to the open door. 

Jess half-floated, half-sprang back to her feet and repositioned herself between him and the door once more. The guard seemed fine, so now she had to figure out what was going on. 

“So, he shot you?” She made a vague gesture towards the red splattered mess on his sleeve and skull face. “Are you okay?”

He opened his left fist, allowing a crushed and still smoking gun to fall to the floor. She could swear he was somehow smirking despite not having visible lips.

“It’s fine.” Deer-skull swiped at his sleeve with his forefinger and scooped up a small dollop of red. “He got me right in the strawberry preserves.” 

He put his finger to where his mouth should have been under the skull and licked it clean. Then his whole body seemed to flinch and he spit off to the side, cursing faintly.

“Uh, are you okay now?” Jess had to blink as she realized that his voice was now much higher than it had been earlier. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Shouldn’t’ve done that. There was some glass–” He trailed off, then straightened up again and coughed into his fist, then dropped his voice once more. “Nothing to worry about.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “In any case, as you can see, he’s fine, I’m fine, so I’ll just be leaving–”

Jess grinned. “I don’t think so.”

“No one’s really hurt and any damage was actually your fault–” Deer-skull gestured towards the door. 

Jess flinched slightly, but stood her ground. “Yeah, but, you still broke into a food bank in the middle of the night. That’s pretty suspicious.”

That seemed to startle him. “This is a food bank?”

She frowned. “You didn’t know?”

He shrugged, seemingly indifferent although his artificially deep voice cracked for a second. “It’s my first time.”

“Your first crime?” Jess pressed.

The burning red pinpoints of light in his skull’s eye sockets seemed to roll. “Fine. Yes. You’ve forced me to admit it. It’s my first crime.”

Jess grinned and cracked her knuckles. “It’s kind of a poor career choice, but since it is your first time, I’ll try to be gentle.”

He held both hands up in front of himself defensively. “Hold on there. That’s going a little fast. Shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first? Maybe tell me your name?”

That fetched her up short as she reran what she’d just said through her head and she blushed slightly. This deer skull faced dork, who had just eaten glass and was pretending to have a deeper voice… was he flirting with her? She sputtered a bit, but rallied as best she could. “Haven’t you heard of me? I’m Jewel.”

“Oh, right! The superheroine, yes. Sorry.” He replied, “I’ve read about you in the paper, but they never have photos.”

That irritated her slightly as she gestured down to the large (admittedly fake) jewel at her belt. “This wasn’t a big enough clue?” She chuckled.

He shrugged. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Only a superhero would be flying around mid-winter wearing just a tube top.”

She fumed. “This isn’t a tube top!”

He looked puzzled for a second. “It’s got no sleeves, no straps–” He held both hands up again. “Look, I’m not an expert on women’s fashions.” 

She gave him a glare.

He gestured vaguely. “It does look nice, though. Shows your shoulders off and everything.” He paused then added. “They’re very nice shoulders if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“It’s a little late to butter me up now.” She sniffed.

He grinned. “Like I said, not an expert on fashions. Women’s or superheroic.”

“Or an expert on crime either, apparently.” She snarked.

“I’m doing my best here.” He seemed offended.

“Yes, well, you managed to get caught, so apparently not good enough.” She grinned and floated off the ground, fists at her hips, doing her best to be intimidating.

From his tone and his body language she could tell he was grinning back. “You haven’t caught me yet.”

“What is your name anyway? I keep calling you Deer-skull in my head, but I’m betting that’s not right.”

He tapped the side of his skull. “This is a reindeer skull, thank you very much. As for a name… call me Dumas.” 

“I’m guessing you’re not planning on surrendering peacefully, Mr. Dumas?” 

“You guessed correctly, Miss Jewel.” He seemed to be getting his full confidence back and made a dramatic flourish. 

“This is on your own head then!” She sprang forward, pulling a fist back to give him a quick knock-out tap. She’d had enough practice with her strength that she could accurately gauge if she was hitting someone hard enough. She was reasonably sure he had at least some degree of enhanced durability, so a bit more than the baseline was going to be needed.

What she hadn’t expected was for him to almost effortlessly slide around her incoming fist, slapping it aside so that her punch missed entirely. She ramped up her speed and strength, going past human baseline and he easily did it again, handily blocking or dodging her blows. She kept increasing the strength she was hitting with and he seemed to be matching her blow for blow, even to the point where his fists were colliding with hers. 

They paused for a moment. His hands and hers tangled up in one another. Although he seemed to be holding his own, she was sure that he hadn’t had any more training as a fighter than she did. Or at least it didn’t seem that way. He was just fast. His reflexes were ridiculous. She hadn’t ever had to fight anyone who came even close to her strength, speed or durability. At least not if you didn’t count the sand guy. 

As she was distracted by her own thoughts, in that brief moment that they were up close to one another, he seemed to take a quick indrawn breath and everything flashed gold and she could feel her strength falling off sharply and he seemed to suddenly overpower her.

She sprang back, moving away from him which seemed to break whatever effect he’d used, and she dropped to a knee, winded, but could feel her strength coming back to her. “What the–?”

Her hurried, panicked movement away from him and whatever that effect was had sent her further into the building. 

That left him with a clear run for the door. “It was really nice meeting you, Miss Jewel, but I’m afraid this is where we part ways.”

He ran for the door and was almost through… until the horns or antlers or whatever on his skull caught on the doorway and he struggled to duck and twist to get them loose.

Despite not being quite up to her full strength yet, Jewel shot forward, confident in her speed at least, especially given his distraction. Caught as he was on the doorway, her arms closed on his waist. She grinned to herself. He wasn’t getting away from her this time.

He jerked his head back, finally freeing his antlers, but for a second, she thought he was trying to headbutt her. Almost entirely by reflex, she arched her back, avoiding the blow, but in the process also pulling him off his feet. He flailed for a second, and she was already fully committed to the move before she even realized she was doing it. 

She fully arched her back, slamming his head and shoulders into the concrete floor with enough force to shatter it. 

Jess belatedly realized what she had done and hurriedly let go, to immediately spring back to her feet. “Oh, God! Are you okay?”

He rolled back to his feet, shakily standing a few feet away from her. He had concrete dust and chunks embedded in his jacket and the skull… which she only just now realized was actually a mask… was not only askew, but had parts of both antlers snapped off. “Did… you… just suplex me?”

“Oh, you’re still in one piece.” Jess gave a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

As he self-consciously straightened his mask and brushed dust off his shoulders, he seemed to turn his full attention on her. “I don’t like how that sounds.”

Jess’s face burned and she almost felt herself wilting slightly under Dumas’s disapproving tone. “I might’ve put my first bad guy through the floor the first time I did that.”

Dumas winced with a full body twitch of sympathetic pain. “Was he okay?”

She waved him off. “Oh, he was fine. He splattered–”

Dumas recoiled. “He what?!”

Her eyes widened. “No, no. Not like that! I mean he was made of sand! He was just a little stunned!”

“Oh. Well, you know, as strong as you are, you really need to be more careful.” He replied.

“Wait, you’re the villain here! You don’t get to lecture me about being careful!” Jewel shot back, annoyed.

“I’m not the one causing all the property damage.” He pointed out calmly. He reached up and fingered the broken sections of the antlers on his mask. “I mean, look at this. You broke my antlers.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

“I guess it's not so bad–” He took her momentary hesitation at his conciliatory tone and dashed past her almost faster than she could see. “-- now they won’t get caught on the door!” 

He threaded past her, past the door and had made it onto the street before she even realized he had moved.

She whirled in place and shot out the door after him. 

She flew for a few seconds before she realized that he had completely vanished. She spun around in mid-air, before catching sight of his footsteps in the snow. They had led out the door, but then stopped after a few yards, right in the middle of the street with no obvious signs of where he’d gone. 

A second look closer to the door showed an extra set of footprints tramping around the immediate vicinity of the doorway, but there didn’t seem to be anyone that she could see.

Was he a teleporter? Could he fly? Did he have an accomplice? Accomplices?

She wasn’t sure. She shot up into the air to see if she could find him again, but she was getting the feeling that he’d gotten away.

- - -  

The discordant TWANG noise was still ringing in Peter’s bones when the dark of New York city streets gave way to the dark of the New York tunnel systems. 

He swooned for a fraction of a second as he adjusted to the disorientation of the sudden teleportation and would have been fine after a moment. Except something smacked into him, causing him to exclaim in surprise and get knocked entirely off his feet.

Still slightly dazed, but not hurt, Peter simply lay on his back trying to get his bearings. He was pretty sure he’d almost made it to the grate and could’ve lost Jewel in the tunnels if he’d had to, but he was suddenly no longer there… but instead here. 

He heard Tommy’s voice yell, “Hold on, Hump! Stop pushing! We hit something on the track!”

Peter sat up, his eyes finally focusing on Tommy’s rainbow gradient face and hair. She was standing in the open doorway at the front of their getaway subway car, smiling down at him. “How’d you get ahead of us?”

“I… I have no idea,” Peter replied, still somewhat dazed. 

Tommy squatted down and reached a hand down to him. “You look like crap.”

“I’m fine.” He replied back, taking her hand and letting her help him back to his feet, stepping into the subway car. 

Tommy called out over her shoulder. “It’s Dumas!”

From the end of the car, Peter heard Hump call back, “Cool! Can I push again?”

“We good? Are you good?” Tommy asked Peter, who nodded. She turned and yelled back. “Yeah! Keep going!”

The train car lurched forward and Peter could hear Hump grumbling quietly from where he was pushing. 

Peter followed Tommy back towards the rear of the car where the seat was. He walked around the large pallet of rice and the multiple boxes of other food and medicine that they’d grabbed piled hastily around it. 

Mole was standing near the seats, holding onto the wall to keep his balance. “Glad to see you’re okay.” The older man greeted Peter. 

“Hey, boss.” Brute groaned from where he was laying down on the seats. 

Peter dropped to one knee, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You doing okay? You got shot–”

“Nah, I’m good.” Brute muttered, one hand still pressed to his midsection. “I feel like I took a nut shot from Sunder, but I’m fine.”

Mole added, “He’s a little bruised. It’s a little tough to see through the fur, but he’s not bleeding or anything.”

Brute gave a thumbs up, his voice strained. “I’m great! Really!” 

Tommy rolled her eyes. “He’s trying to macho it out, but he does seem to be mostly okay.”

“I can take my turn pushing later,” Brute insisted.

“I got this bro!” Hump yelled into the car from where he was pushing. “No problems!”

Peter nodded approvingly, even though the boy couldn’t see him. “Don’t worry, Hump. I’ll take a shift in a bit. Just let me catch my breath first.”

“Sure thing, boss!” Hump called back.

Something chimed from Tommy’s pocket and she reached in to pull a cell phone out, looking at it curiously.

"I thought you were just taking the rent-a-cop out,” Mole asked while Tommy was distracted.

"I was. Except a superhero showed up and decided to go Crusher Hogan on me." Peter complained as he took the reindeer skull mask off and rubbed at the back of his neck.

Mole frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Brute perked up. “Oh, who was it?”

Hump’s voice called out, “Was it that Daredevil guy? He’s cool!”

Peter shook his head. "Nah, she said she was Jewel."

"Oooh. She's cute." Hump’s voice filtered forward.

“How would you even know that?” Peter asked curiously. “I’ve seen her mentioned on the news, but no actual pictures in the newspapers–”

Brute huffed in amusement, then winced. “Cause you’re old, boss. Who even reads newspapers anymore? They got some videos of her up on YouView. White outfit, no sleeves, with a blue sash thing? Purple hair?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, her.”

Brute nodded. “Hump’s right. She’s cute.”

Peter grumbled. "Less cute when she suplexes you."

Hump called back, "But you still got suplexed by a cute girl! You're lucky!"

Peter tried to convey his disbelief through the rear door to where Hump was. Brute and Mole were both laughing.

Suddenly, Tommy gave an incoherent shriek of excitement. “She really did suplex him!”

She turned her phone around and rewound a video on it. “Caliban just sent me this.” Tommy explained. “I’m guessing he was keeping an eye on us and had Bouncer pull Dumas out when he was running from Jewel!”

“Wait, what?” Peter stared. “Caliban was keeping an eye on us?”

“He does that sometimes.” Tommy grinned. “Anyway, he got your entire fight.” 

Peter watched on Tommy’s smartphone a video of Peter’s banter and subsequent fight. The angle looked like it was from just outside the door. The audio was tinny, but clear enough to be audible.

“You were flirting with the superhero.” Tommy sing-songed.

“I was trying to keep her distracted so she didn’t realize I was buying time for you guys to escape.” Peter replied, pouting.

“When’s the wedding?” Mole purred.

“I hate you guys.”

- - -  

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 7:

A classroom. Flash holding court with his cronies. “I don’t mean nothin’ by it, I just think it’s weird having two girls from the same class goin’ into comas one after the other–”

- - -

The street outside his house. The old man, Ezekiel he had called himself, was speaking quickly. Agitated. Desperate. “It won’t ever stop, son. They won’t ever stop coming after you. You want to keep them safe then you need to leave–”

- - -

The body was a dessicated, withered husk. Gold steamed from the body’s every orifice and into Peter’s nose and mouth. Ezekiel stared at him in shock and horror, his gravelly voice cracking as he cried out, “What the hell are you?!”

- - -

Peter’s eyes snapped open. Memories shuffling into his nightmares once more. The nap had been a mistake. Brute, Hump, Mole and Tommy had napped in turns on the subway car on the way back once they’d had their fill of watching the video on Tommy’s phone. Only Peter had stayed awake almost the whole way back and that was mostly since he’d taken over pushing the subway car the rest of the way once he’d gotten his bearings.

It had been simple, mindless work. Walk and push. Push and walk. Peter had kept his mind occupied by noting the offshoot tunnels and working out roughly where they might be under Manhattan by guessing distances and directions. It kept him occupied and kept him from dwelling on what they had done.

A more recovered Brute and a somewhat rested Hump had offered to take the final stretch and Peter had taken them up on it. Lacking anything else to do as he settled in, with Mole and Tommy still sleeping, Peter had opted to nap as well.

He was glad he had avoided waking up screaming.

Brute and Hump had finished shoving the subway car onto a turntable in what looked like another unused maintenance tunnel. Tommy was looking blearily at her phone, checking the time. Peter noted that it was just shy of 4 AM. Mole slept through their stop, snorting and snoring softly as he turned over. 

This maintenance station looked about as messy and neglected as the one they’d departed from, but at least a few of the lights were actually on here. 

There was a small group of Morlocks standing around the area, most prominent among them a grinning Caliban, with his hands jammed into the coat pockets of his ratty, crushed velvet purple suit.

The moment Peter showed himself at the torn open doorway of the subway car, some of the Morlocks began to applaud. Brute and Hump preened as they came around from the back of the car and waved to everyone. 

Tommy looked around at the group and asked. “What’s going on?”

Caliban pulled his hands out of his pockets and gestured broadly. “Caliban showed the video of Dumas clowning the superhero around to the crew that was waiting for you.”

Mole poked his head up from where he’d been napping and looked blearily at the group. “Too loud.” He rumbled.

Caliban nodded in understanding. “Everyone has had a long night,” He said. “Go get some rest. You all deserve it. Good job, everyone.” 

Hump whined, “But I’m fine. I can stay up to help.” 

Peter reached up and patted the larger boy on the shoulder, “Yeah, but Brute got shot. He was pushing with you, but he could probably do with some rest.”

“I feel fine now,” Brute piped up in protest.

Caliban shook his head. “Annalee will have Caliban’s head if you two stay up any later. Go to Healer’s House to get looked at when Healer wakes up. Hump, you go with him and make sure he behaves, okay?”

Hump and Brute both sighed with all the elaborate energy of overtired young teens wanting to stay up well past their bedtime. “Fiiiiiine,” They said in unison.

The two boys made their way past the crowd that was already beginning to organize into a line to tackle unloading the subway car. 

Tommy waved as she left as well. “Okay, you guys got this. I need to go catch up on my beauty sleep.”

Mole didn’t even bother with the door and simply passed through the side of the subway car and half-crawled his way to the tunnel exiting the maintenance station.

“How’d you get here before us?” Peter asked Caliban.

“Same way you caught up to everyone else.” Caliban replied blithely. “Bouncer.”

“But why send me to them instead of just bringing me here?” Peter pressed.

Caliban shrugged. “Wasn’t sure if Brute was going to be up to taking a turn pushing the subway car, so you had to be there to make sure it got here.” 

Peter hummed thoughtfully as the line of burly Morlocks took shape, He watched as they began passing the sacks of rice and boxes from the subway car and onto a large tarp that a pretty blonde girl in red and white striped pajamas was sitting cross legged on. 

Caliban looked over to Peter and said, “You could go get some rest. The room you had last night’s still empty.”

Peter remembered his dreams and shook his head. Not quite willing to risk facing those again. “I don’t need to sleep all that much. I took a nap on the way back. I’m fine for a bit.”

Caliban gave Peter the side eye. There was a faint hint of concern and a twist of suspicion in that look, but in the end Caliban shrugged once more. “As you say.”

“So,” Peter said, keeping his voice as casual as possible. “You were keeping an eye on us.”

As the supplies continued to be unloaded, at the front of the subway car, a grotesquely oversized Morlock covered in a dense matt of green fur, wearing a white-trimmed red fur coat and a too-small for him Santa hat, began attaching heavy chains to it.

Caliban nodded. “Caliban usually keeps an eye on new arrivals. Make sure they’re settling in properly. Dumas just happened to settle in a little harder than usual.” His voice was neutral, but Peter glanced over and noted a definite smirk on the pale man’s features. “But even if that was not the case, Tommy was keeping me updated on how things were going.” 

That made sense, but also made Peter frown slightly. “So we were coordinating this whole thing… including our ability to get extracted by a teleporter in the event things went bad… by using a couple of cheap pre-paid cellphones?”

This earned him another shrug from Caliban. “It is what we have. If we had better we would use it.”

Peter frowned. “How are we even getting signal down in the tunnels, anyway?”

“Some tunnels have signal. Some do not. It just depends on how close we are to the surface or a cell tower.” 

“So, if we’d happened to hit a dead spot, and say Brute had actually been hurt, we would’ve been hosed.” Peter struggled to keep his voice level, but he could feel his stomach churning. 

Caliban looked directly at Peter as though sensing the direction of his thoughts and gave a single, somber nod. “We make do with what we have, Dumas. We do not have a lot.”

Peter bit down on his lower lip to keep from saying something he might not be able to take back, but it was a struggle. He closed his hands into fists, took a deep breath, which he noted caused the Morlocks nearby to tense up as though they were expecting him to start draining them. 

He let the breath out in a slow, controlled release and gave Caliban a level look, before asking the other question that had been bothering him since the fight with Jewel. “Did you know we were robbing a food bank?”

“Where else would food be kept?” Caliban’s reply was blandly neutral and although Peter was sure the man didn’t mean to needle him, it was infuriating. 

“I mean we were stealing food from a place that’s supposed to give it to those in need.” Peter pressed.

“We are in need. From a certain point of view they would have given it to us anyway.”

Peter shot him a look. “You know what I mean.” 

Caliban sighed and held up a hand. “Caliban does not pick where we take from. Some of us already go up to the surface. To soup kitchens and charitable organizations and take their leavings or what they deign to offer, but you have seen our numbers. You have also seen how few of us can pass unremarked upon above ground. They could never beg enough for us all.”

Peter searched Caliban’s face and although his expression and tone had seemed neutral, Peter could tell that there was some deep seated dissatisfaction there. 

“Who chooses?” Peter pressed.

Caliban inclined his head, looking Peter dead in the eyes. “You know who leads the Morlocks.” 

Peter frowned. Callisto. Sunder was originally meant to lead the supply run, but ultimately, Callisto led the Morlocks and called the shots. Including the one to rob a charity.

They stood quietly, side by side for a few more minutes, just watching the process of unloading the subway car complete. The girl sitting on the tarp pressed her hands on it, smoothing it out as she did so and a few of the Morlocks who had been participating in the unloading took hold of ropes tied to the tarp and began dragging it into the tunnels. The tarp seemed to smoothly and easily glide across the concrete. 

At the head of the subway car, the hairy, green Morlock in the Santa hat loudly declared in a voice like a fog horn, “GROONK!”

He’d finished setting the chains and a massive dragon-like lizard creature stumped up on four legs. The chains ended in an improvised metal harness that Peter noted had been crudely bent into shape, probably by someone with superhuman strength. The dragon creature settled the harness around its neck and began to pull the subway car back down the tracks and into the darkness. 

“Was that a mutated gator?” Peter asked, thinking of the feathered, egg-laying rats of the Bowling Green Rat Ranch.

Caliban shook his head. “No, that is Scaleface. I can introduce you to her later. She is nice.” 

Peter nodded absently as the other Morlocks started to walk back into the tunnel, clearly heading back to the alley. 

“Caliban still has more things to get to before breakfast.” He jerked a thumb towards the departing Morlocks, the invite unspoken, but still clear. “We are heading to the storage tunnels. If you come, we can walk back to the Alley together with everyone else and I can introduce you.” 

Peter gave him a small, tight smile. “I think I might want to be by myself for a bit.” He replied, “Still processing. I need a little time by myself to get my thoughts in order.” 

Caliban took another closer look at him and nodded slowly. “If you do want to return to the Alley, take the first left, then the second right. Otherwise the storage tunnels will be straight ahead.” 

“Thanks, Caliban.”

“Of course, Dumas.” Caliban replied, then vanished into the darkness of the tunnels.

- - -  

Peter was lost. 

He’d tried to follow the directions Caliban had given him, but somehow there had been more tunnels than he’d expected and the first left, had been some kind of branching tunnel that had been carved out of the rock rather than an actual brick and concrete walled tunnel. The process of trying to double back had actually made it even worse, because by the time he’d realized that he wasn’t sure where he was and had attempted to trace his steps back, he couldn’t find the original tunnel he’d come in from, nor find his way back to the maintenance station. Or the Alley. 

Or anything.

He wasn’t quite worried. 

Yet. 

He was simply alone. 

In the dark.

Lost somewhere beneath Manhattan. 

No idea how long he had been here.

No idea if he was ever going to be found. 

He swallowed nervously. 

Lacking any other options, he had opted to press on. He hoped that sooner or later he would run into something he would recognize. He had known intellectually that there had been a lot of real estate down here. Callisto hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it was possible to get almost anywhere in the city without ever seeing daylight. He hadn’t expected to get quite so intimately acquainted with the tunnel system quite so soon. 

Worst case, Caliban had said he could detect him. Or possibly there were some other Morlocks who had a way to find him.

He hoped.

If nothing else, at least this did give him a chance to be alone with his thoughts like he’d wanted. This definitely was not what he had in mind. He had only been among the Morlocks less than a day and he was getting attached to them. Perhaps a little too quickly. Perhaps he had also just been underestimating how alone he’d been on his own on the streets. 

He missed his family. He also knew it was safer for him to stay away. 

The Morlocks weren’t family. But would they be in any more danger being around him than they would be already just living as they were? It was different bringing danger home to Aunt May and Uncle Ben… but this was something they were already living with. Peter being with them didn’t make things any worse. 

Maybe he could make things better for them. 

It’s not like they didn’t need the help.

Peter took a few tentative sniffs and realized that as dark as it was, he was starting to smell something somewhat familiar. 

Water. 

The scent was clean. He was probably near the Cistern. He was sure he remembered the way back from the tunnels and through the Pandemonium to get back to the Alley, but that was assuming he was in the same tunnel he had been in when he’d followed Sarah and Mrs. Penn.

He smiled and pressed on into the darkness, hoping to find some recognizable landmark.

The smell of water grew stronger and Peter was sure he was heading the right way. 

He kept a hand on the wall to try and make sure he didn’t miss the bell to warn the Cistern’s occupant– Peter couldn’t remember what Caliban had said her name was– but he saw a light in the near distance and realized it might’ve already been too late. 

Peter called out, “Hello? I’m very lost! Is someone there?”

He could swear he heard… something. Noises of some sort. Perhaps it was a reply. Perhaps it was an echo. Peter couldn’t tell for sure. He sucked in a deep breath, bracing himself just in case he’d made a mistake and walked closer.

Peter stepped into the chamber they called the Cistern. It couldn’t have been anything else. Stepping out of the tunnel mouth, he felt his breath taken away in a literal rush. 

He found himself confronted with an immense underground lake. The water was still and calm. All around the massive chamber were small lamps or candles, whose lights reflected off the water, which in turn sent rippling reflections of the lights up to the curved ceiling, which in turn reflected back into the water, giving the whole place a dreamy otherworldly feel. The entire place was gorgeous and made him feel light headed.

In the distance, high above the surface of the water, was a singular shaft of light coming from an opening in the ceiling of the chamber. It formed a circle of light on the dark waters. 

The well room, Peter guessed. Which would put him fairly close to the Alley from that point.

Almost there, He reassured himself. 

There was just the small matter of getting from where he was standing at the edge of the Morlocks water supply, up to the ceiling.

Sometimes he half wished he’d kept the ability to stick to walls.

He leaned against the wall to try and catch his breath, but he felt odd. Weak-kneed and off-balance.

“Is someone there?” A voice called out. A girl’s voice, a little cracked. A voice that sounded timid and unused to speaking, but gaining force the more she did it. “You need to keep away! It’s not safe here! You’ll die!” 

Peter’s eyes widened as he realized he was within the range of her power. The power he was told, that kept the water clean and would, given enough time, kill him as well. In the near distance, he saw one of the lamps waving frantically.

He dipped into his power, his eyes glowed red as he pulled at the store of life energy he’d drained recently. He could feel himself burning through it faster than normal as those energies fortified him against whatever damage her power was doing to him. 

He would use it up eventually, but he was fine for now. He definitely would have time enough to go back into the tunnel and safety. 

And also being lost.

He watched the frantic waving of the lamp. He could make out the person holding it. His eyes were sharp enough to pick her out against the dark. Skinny, somewhat short. She had long straight hair and he wasn’t sure if her skin had a gray pallor or if it was from the way the shadows were moving across her as she kept moving the lamp. 

“I’m fine! You don’t have to worry!” He yelled back. “I’m going to come a little bit closer, okay?”

The frantic waving of the lamp slowed and she called back. “Are– are you sure? You’re okay?”

“I’m fine for at least a day or so!” He called out. “And I’d rather not have to keep yelling!”

“Uh… if you’re sure!” She held the lamp a bit higher, just enough to give him a better view of where she was and the stone shore surrounding the Cistern. As he got closer, he could see her and her surroundings much more clearly. 

Peter would be very surprised if she was older than fourteen. Her skin was a washed out gray, possibly from being down here so long. Her long hair was dark, blue-black. She had large eyes that were white from edge to edge and reflected the light.

She wore a long, sleeveless white dress that came to her ankles, up close the bright material a stark contrast against the surrounding dark. She had an old-fashioned, blue-gray knitted shawl around her thin shoulders, that she seemed to be fiddling with and adjusting constantly, as though unsure what to do with her hands. Her feet were dainty and bare.

The area she had walked back to was another small island of light in the middle of the vast dark of the Cistern. She had a small cot, a folding table that was piled high with books and various arts and crafts materials. The wall behind her had a large brass bell hanging off the wall with a small hammer on a rope next to it, but surrounding the bell the stone had been painted in a wide profusion of bright colors, showing a wide range of artwork. There were sections that showed landscapes, vivid multi-colored sunsets. People of every color of the rainbow, with a particularly prominent one being a very tall, skinny figure in white.

Nearby, tied to a metal stake embedded into the stone shore, was a large wooden raft and a long wooden pole. 

Peter came within ten feet of her, not feeling any particular change to how quickly he was using up the store of life energies within him, indicating that her power seemed to work at a steady rate up to its effective distance and didn’t get much stronger up close. Which was a bit of a relief. 

“Hi.” Peter said carefully.

“You’re really okay?” Her voice was awed. “I’ve… It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone get this close without passing out.”

“Really?”

She nodded eagerly, her voice initially still a half-yell, but she hurriedly lowered her voice. “Well, I used to be able to be near people, but then they started getting sick and when it really got stronger, I had to come down here so I wouldn’t hurt no one.”

Peter gave her a weak smile. “I’m okay for a little bit… so… your power makes you like this? Can’t stop it?”

She shook her head sadly. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried real hard, but no. It’s always on.” She gestured to the dark water. “At least down here I can still help people, instead of hurtin’ ‘em, you know?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

She took another tentative step closer to him. Seemingly terrified that he might vanish if she moved too quickly. “Are you new? You must be new.”

He continued to smile at her. He was doing his best to be friendly and cheerful, but it was a melancholy expression. “Yeah. I’m Dumas. Caliban was going to bring me by yesterday, but I got called away to do some chores before I could meet you.”

She broke into a delighted grin. “Caliban said he was gonna introduce me to someone! That must’ve been you! I’m happy to make your acquaintance.” 

Then, to his surprise, she tucked one leg behind the other, raised her skirts up and dipped into a courtesy. 

He smiled back and bowed to her, an action that seemed to just enthrall her.

“I’m Nimueh.” She gestured to the darkness of the Cistern. “Caliban says it’s the name of the Lady of the Lake in the King Arthur stories and well, I’ve got my own lake here, I guess. Mostly he’s the only one who calls me that.” She pointed up to the light from the hole in the ceiling. “People using the well, especially the kids just call me Cistern. Cause it’s short for ‘Sister N’, kind of thing. I think. Some of the younger kids can’t pronounce it properly.” She shrugged. “At least when they talk to me. A couple of them call me Sadako, but I don’t know why.”

Peter winced. “It’s a movie thing. A scary movie thing.”

She frowned. “Oh.”

“I’m sure they don’t mean anything by it.” Peter looked at her intently and she seemed to enjoy being able to actually look someone directly in the face. “What do you want me to call you?”

She looked thoughtful at that and smiled. “Caliban’s the one who talks to me the most. He’s my best friend. He calls me Nimueh. I think it’s pretty. You can call me Nimueh. Or Nim.” She paused, then looked searchingly into his face. “If… that is, if you like. If it’s not too much trouble?”

Peter shook his head. “No. No trouble at all.” 

He looked at her, then at the place where she lived. Forced into isolation by her power. Alone even among outcasts. 

She took another tentative step closer. “Are you sure you’re still okay? I’ve… you aren’t even falling over.”

Peter grinned, taking a deliberate step closer to her and now that they were within arm’s reach he could feel a perceptible increase in the rate that her power was burning through his store of energy. “I’m fine. I can feel your power getting stronger though, this close.”

“I can–” She started to take a hurried step back, but Peter held a hand up.

“Um… I’d like to try something? If you’re okay with it?” Peter asked slowly. Carefully. A thought half-formed in his mind slowly pushing its way to the front.

The Morlocks needed help. All of them. Some of them, though… needed a very specific kind of help. Something only he could provide.

“What do you need me to do?” She asked worriedly.

He held his hand out to her. “Take my hand.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded.

She hesitated and looked into his face. “Okay.”

As he closed in, during the brief moment before physical contact, Peter could feel himself burning through more and more of his stored life energies. Her power’s effect got exponentially stronger the closer one got to her. Her power would almost immediately kill anyone she touched. He took a sharp breath at that thought. That she probably hadn’t had any contact with anyone since her powers came in. 

Their fingers brushed against one another and Peter’s power reached out, and latched on to hers. It felt… strong. Pushing outwards. Constantly. A constant, endless sea crashing against the shore. Wearing it down, draining it away. Her power felt a little like the one he’d been using for the last few months. He could draw in a breath and force life out of others… her power constantly sent out an unrelenting wave of something. Perhaps it was just energy of sorts. Perhaps it was simply death. Whatever it was, it was a continuous wearing down of life energy. It would siphon a little bit back to her, but mostly it would just expend and dissipate it.

For the first time in months… he allowed his power to close all around hers and draw it out of her. He claimed it for himself. 

But he did it slowly. Gently. Carefully.

She staggered the moment it passed from her to him. He could feel it sitting within himself, sending itself out, lapping at every faint life within its massive reach.

Nimueh dwindled almost immediately.

He shoved her power down into the depths of his own. Into the dark place where he put away the Predatory power when he wasn’t using it. 

He turned his attention away from himself, and onto her. 

Her eyes widened in shock and Peter wondered whether he actually had a handle on this or not. If he really could take power without hurting or killing. He thought he could. We was sure he’d done so–

Nimueh pressed a hand to her chest and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I… I’m not…”

“Are you okay?”

“What did you do?” She asked, her voice awed. “I feel…”

Peter smiled gently and put a finger to his lips. “My power has a few applications I haven’t mentioned to other people yet.”

She hurriedly slapped her hands over her mouth and mumbled. “I won’t tell anyone. I don’t actually feel it anymore. It’s like… it was loud all the time, but I got used to it being loud but suddenly it’s all gone quiet.”

Her fingers slid into his hand and she gave him a hesitant squeeze. Her fingers felt clammy and damp, but strong. She seemed to be reveling in the sensation of actually just touching his hand. “They tried to make my power stop before. They tried to have Leach visit.”

“That’s the one who negates other people’s powers?” Peter asked, to which Nimueh nodded, still too enraptured with being able to squeeze his hand to the point where she’d taken to individually pulling on his fingers. 

She continued absently. “Yes. Except his range is shorter than mine. So he was hit by my power before I got hit by his. He was sick before he could get close enough to affect me. Nobody could get close enough to do anything.” She said sadly. 

Peter smiled back. “Now you can do things if you like. Maybe walk around New York above, if you feel like it.” 

She was startled at that suggestion and looked directly at him. “Can I?”

“You’re not going to hurt people by being close to them right now. I’m sure it would be fine.” Peter replied, wondering if it actually would be.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, finally letting go of Peter’s hand and tugging her shawl around herself, before she glanced over her shoulder and into the water. “Is my power gone forever?”

Peter watched her carefully. “It could be. If you like.” 

She eyed him. “I can do anything I want?”

Peter nodded once more. “Sure. I’ll be happy to help.”

“Can you turn my powers back on?” She pressed.

“I’m pretty sure I can do that.” Peter admitted with just a hint of doubt. “You don’t have to make any decisions yet. It is kind of a big–”

“I think… I’d like my powers back, please.” She said politely. 

“Are you sure?”

Her smile wavered for a moment, but firmed up quickly. “Like you said, I don’t have to make any permanent decisions yet, right?”

“That’s true,” Peter said, nodding once more.

“Then, I’d like to try having and not having my powers to try out which one I like better.” Nimueh said finally. Then she gave him a thoughtful look. “I mean you can turn them on and off if you need to?”

“That’s true.” Peter allowed.

She smiled tentatively. “You’d have to visit tho, is that okay?”

“I think that’s doable.” 

She dipped her head shyly, but there was a conviction in her tone. “Then for right now, I’d like to have my powers because it is almost time for me to make sure the water is clean.” 

Peter smiled and felt that he understood. “This is your way of being a Morlock.”

She returned his smile. “It’s not much, but it’s my job. And I need my power to do it.”

Her way. Well, this would be his way of being a Morlock. One way, anyway. He was sure he got it. “I’m giving it back, alright?”

She nodded. “I’m ready.” She took a deep breath, then shook her head. “No wait, not yet.”

He stared. “Uh… okay?”

She crossed the distance between them in a single step and hugged him suddenly and fiercely. Rubbing her face into his chest for a moment.

Then she pulled back and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like grease.”

He laughed. “Sorry.”

She giggled. “Okay. I’m ready now. I just haven’t hugged anyone in a long time.” 

He nodded. “I understand. Alright… here you go.” 

He took a step back and lightly tapped her on the nose. He pulled her power back up without allowing it into himself, simply letting it be wrapped within his power and pressed it back into the place metaphysically within Nimueh where it had previously belonged. It took a few seconds before it finally completely settled back and Peter felt himself stagger once more as her power reached out for him again. 

Somehow it wasn’t quite as strong now. As though he’d gotten a feel for it and could in some way weather it better.

She gave a small gasp as he swooned, but he caught himself quickly. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? Did that… does doing that hurt you?” She asked, worriedly.

He shook his head. “No, just a little disorienting. I’m fine.”

She nodded slowly and gestured to her raft. “I have to go around. Did you want to wait here? Or do you need to go–?” She let the question trail off.

“Actually, I was lost. I was trying to get back to the Alley from here.” Peter explained, flushing slightly in embarrassment.

“Oh! Well, you can take the tunnel you came in through back, I think–” She trailed off and Peter realized that she’d probably been down here for a considerable amount of time herself and didn’t know how to get to the Alley either.

“It’s fine. I’m sure I can figure it out–” Peter started to say, but Nimueh hurriedly shook her head. 

“No, no. Someone should be by to drop off my food for the day in a few hours.” She pointed out. “You can follow them, but there’s also the other way out.” She gestured vaguely upwards.

“Other way?” Peter asked, puzzled.

“Good morning, Cistern!” A cheery and young voice called down from above. The words echoed within the chamber making it feel like it was coming from everywhere all at once. From the hole in the ceiling a bucket on the end of a rope slowly descended down to the water.

Nimueh smiled impishly at Peter, then called up, “Good morning, Sarah! I need a little help down here!”

“Oh! Is everything alright?” The voice that Peter now recognized as Sarah called back down.

“Are you dead down there?” Another voice, someone Sarah’s age, but male and with a sort of taciturn sarcasm. 

“Shut up, Leech! You’re being a jerk!” Sarah yelled. That devolved into other noises that Peter recognized as kids bickering. Nimueh smiled wistfully and Peter wondered if she wanted to actually participate in the roughhousing that was likely happening above them.

Eventually the noises died down and Sarah yelled down again. “Sorry about Leech. He’s a jerk. What did you need?”

“I’ve got someone lost down here!” Nimueh called back. “They need help getting back to the Alley.”

“Lost?” Sarah’s voice was puzzled.

“It’s Dumas? If you know who that is?” She gestured vaguely despite knowing Sarah couldn’t see her. “Kind of a big guy?”

“He’s not that big!” Sarah taunted cheerfully. “You’re just short.”

Nimueh made a noise of mock distress and called back, “You’re shorter than I am!”

“I’m still gonna grow!” Sarah responded quickly, “You’re stuck at that height!” There were some laughs from above, but it wasn’t mean spirited.

Nimueh laughed as well. “Anyway, you know who he is?”

“Oh, sure!” Sarah called back cheerfully. “I know him! Hang tight! I’ll ask Mrs. Penn to lead him back! She likes him!”

- - -

Following a cow in a straw hat through the tunnels under New York was no less a surreal experience the second time around.

Mrs. Penn definitely seemed to know her way around and in her own bovine way seemed to be chiding Peter for getting lost. He was still not sure if she actually was some kind of mutant or a bright cow, but at this point, he would accept that, if nothing else, she was a good guide.

By the time Peter had made it back to the Alley, the food tables were being set up. This time there were chafing dishes being brought out with clear covers showing that they were filled with fluffy, if slightly burnt scrambled eggs. He could also see other warming dishes loaded with what looked like a corned beef hash, but it looked like additional unevenly chopped potatoes and other meat had been mixed in to extend what had come from the cans.

Callisto was overseeing the process, only occasionally giving out orders to the ones setting up.

Peter wasn’t happy to see her. He was calmer now that he’d had time to find himself by getting lost. She spotted him and gave him an approving nod. She looked away from the food set up and walked over to him, inclining her head slightly. “Good work.”

“Thank you,” Peter replied gravely, noting that she seemed amused by his response. 

“You know,” She continued conversationally, “I wasn’t expecting much, if anything. But, you managed to score about three times as much food as our usual supply runs and beat up a superhero along the way.” 

Peter snorted. “More like ‘got away from’ rather than ‘beat up’.” 

“Just so.” She eyed him expectantly. “You wanted something?”

“I..” He looked around at the Alley, noting all the other Morlocks moving past, tending to their own errands and waking up to start the day. “I had a few questions.”

“Ask.” She allowed.

“Why were we stealing from a Food Bank?” 

Her eye narrowed and her brows drew down. The tone of her voice was dismissive. “You have some kind of moral objection to that?”

He took a deep breath and strangled the emotional reaction he had to the question. Getting angry would be unproductive. He wanted to help all of them. He couldn’t do that as a rampaging bull. He could do better than that. 

“It’s not a moral objection. It’s a practical one. Stealing donations going to a place that barely has anything…” He stopped and tried to find the right way to phrase it. “Why steal from people who don’t have anything? That stuff was meant to go to people who needed it. Doesn’t it make more sense to take from those who have a lot more and can afford the losses?”

She snorted thunderously, then laughed. “Your group barely got back with what you were able to grab. Now you want more?”

“Because we could grab more. We could have grabbed a lot more. With a couple of people I’d only just met, on an improvised outline, no real planning, no preparation, we managed to bring back more food than your usual supply runs.” Peter met her one-eyed gaze with a level one of his own. “Imagine what we could do with an actual plan. Actual time to get ready. We stole a pallet of rice and a couple boxes of food. Single trip. And that was with an interruption. With planning, I think we can get much more. Enough to keep us supplied for a year or longer.” 

Callisto’s lip curled slightly. “You’re certainly ambitious, kid.” Her tone was faintly impressed, but there was also an air of condescending dismissal to it. “You pull something really big and you could bring a lot of heat down on us. It’s not like you’ve had any actual experience at this kind of thing.”

Peter bit back the sharp retort and forced himself to stay calm. He knew he could easily just tell her how it was going to go and back it up. But she expected anyone doing that to basically kill her. He wanted to help people. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to go that far. Besides, him being in charge of this community wouldn’t help. He had no idea what he would be doing.

Hell, he had no idea if he could even deliver on what he was thinking of. He wasn’t a criminal mastermind and had no idea how to actually plan a real heist, but he was also sure he could do better for everyone involved than a glorified smash and grab. 

“I’m a quick learner,” Peter retorted, his tone still a little too sharp to be the bland acceptance Callisto was expecting. “And there’s a way to make it so that no one actually ties the Morlocks back to what’s going to happen.”

She quirked the eyebrow over her eyepatch covered eye. “Oh, yeah? How do you think you can swing that?”

He pulled the reindeer mask out from where he’d absent-mindedly stashed it by strapping it to his belt. The antlers had long since broken off during his misadventure in escaping Jewel, but it was still distinctive. He held it up. “No one’s going to think of a tunnel dwelling community of mutants if I go out with this on. They’re going to think ‘supervillain’.” 

That made her laugh. “Ambitious. Really ambitious. So you plan to use us to play at being a super-villain?”

Peter shook his head. “Not necessarily. If we do things right, they won’t even notice we were there until long after we’ve left. But if things go south like they did earlier, I can play at being a supervillain long enough that everyone else can get away.”

“And you think that’s enough?”

Peter nodded. “I think so. While everyone’s paying attention to me, Everyone else can steal everything that isn’t nailed down. For anything that is nailed down, this time, we can make sure to bring claw hammers.”

There was a long, tense silence as Callisto stared down at him. Peter couldn’t help but notice that some of the other Morlocks in the near vicinity had been eavesdropping. 

Finally she laughed.

“The balls on you, kid.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Fine. You earned a shot. You have a month til the next supply run.” 

“I might need some other Morlocks–”

She shrugged. “That’s on you to persuade them.”

He nodded. “Fine.”

She smirked, then pinned him with a hard stare. “Go ahead and impress me.”

- - - 

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 8:

Healer was sitting at his desk when Peter had entered. The older man was reading a very battered paperback copy of “Stranger in a Strange Land”. He glanced up at Peter, nodded absently, to which Peter nodded back. 

The Doublemint twins seemed to be fine. Brute and Hump were both completely out, the two of them sprawled across three beds, snoring lustily. 

Healer noted his glance and chuckled. “Those two lumps woke me up when they stumbled in here earlier. They’re fine. Brute’s never taken a bullet before. Just glad his skin’s tough enough to be bulletproof. Some subdermal bruising, so he’s not quite tough enough to take anything more than small caliber weapons.”

Peter winced. “You… uh… you see a lot of Morlocks getting shot?” 

Healer shook his head. “Luckily, not so much. We see a lot more beatings and stabbings and the like.” He added in a mutter, “Usually among our own.”

From one of the nearby beds Sunder rumbled. “That’s how you teach discipline.” 

Healer sniffed, making an elaborate pantomime out of turning his attention to his book as he muttered, “No fighting in my House.” They could hear the word capitalized.

Peter looked warily towards Sunder as the man sat up in his cot. Sunder met his eyes and there was acknowledgement there. As well as a grudging respect. 

“Is fighting likely to happen?” Peter asked Sunder, keeping his voice cool and distant.

Sunder shrugged and it was an expressive shrug. The man had an immense set of shoulders.

“Callisto already told me when I woke up yesterday.” He pointed a blunt finger towards Peter, then back to himself. “You and me? We ain’t got beef. Not unless you start somethin’.”

Peter inclined his head. “I’m fine with that. I won’t start anything if you don’t.”

“Fair.” Sunder rumbled. “I ain’t the one you gotta worry ‘bout.”

“That so?” Peter asked carefully. 

Sunder grunted an affirmative. “Masque’ll nurse a grudge.”

Peter nodded. “Caliban said he might.”

“I know for sure he will,” Sunder rumbled on. “Was already in here after Callisto left asking if I wanted a rematch. That he’d ‘let me take the first crack’ at you.”

Peter quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds like you decided not to take him up on it.”

Sunder shrugged once more, eloquently conveying how little that mattered to him. “I wouldn’t mind a rematch. Nothin’ fancy. No tricks. Be interestin’ to see who comes ahead.” 

“But Masque?” Peter tried to lead him back to that point.

“Don’t expect to see him til he’s ready for you.” Sunder explained, his already low voice positively sepulchral. “He’s squirrely. He’ll keep out of sight and rabbit if you catch wind of him before then.”

“Thanks.” Peter said, keeping his voice neutral, but appreciating the warning. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Anyway, like I said, you and me got no beef, but I’d still like to get a spar in.” He cracked a smile and it wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t unfriendly either. “Don’t usually get into a dust up with someone strong as me.”

Peter chuckled. “I’ll see if we can fit it into my schedule.”

Healer looked up from his book and rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You two had better not come crying to me when you’ve punched each other’s faces in.”

- - - 

A pretty blonde in a red jacket, a beret and pajama bottoms slid to a stop in front of Peter as he was stepping out of his room. The girl had a large box skidding into Peter’s ankles in her wake. He recognized her from the group that had unloaded the supplies from the subway car the day before. The one who’d been sitting on the tarp.

“Whoops, sorry about that!” She exclaimed, bending down to pick up the box.

Peter shook his head. “No, it’s fine. What’s going on?”

“Name’s Skids.” She said cheerfully, passing the box to him. “You asked Caliban about getting some cell phones?”

He blinked in surprise and opened the box, undoing the tape. Inside were at least a dozen flip phones, still in their original packaging. Cheap burner phones. Lots more than he’d originally thought he’d need.

“Where did–?”

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” She grinned. “Lets just say sometimes stuff falls off the back of trucks and sometimes stuff finds its way down here.”

Peter chuckled. “Like Morlocks?”

“Amazing what ends up down here, right?” She laughed.

- - -  

Mole shook Peter’s hand warmly as he ushered the boy into the room he was in. It looked like a brickwork basement that had been walled up and then tunneled into, because that was exactly what it was. There was a pristine ironwork wood stove with piping that led out of the room, a four-poster bed that had out of place flowered curtains around it. An old TV was mounted on one wall, with a bright yellow cable conspicuously leading up into the ceiling. In one corner was a large wooden desk, pushed against a wall that was covered in all sorts of papers.

“Make yourself at home. This is my place.”

Peter smiled. “I thought most of the Morlocks lived in or around the Alley. You’re… where is this? Under Midtown Manhattan?”

“Under 42nd Street, where all the good action is.” He waggled his eyebrows over his dark glasses at Peter.

Peter wasn’t sure what he meant so asked, “Broadway?”

“Uh… sure.” Mole concluded awkwardly. “In any case, I do have a cot in the Alley when I want it,” Mole explained with a shrug. “But I like having my own place. It’s quieter.” 

“I get that.” Peter nodded agreeably. “Thanks for letting me visit.”

Mole waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. My place is your place. We’ve had an adventure together already.”

Peter chuckled. “We’re looking at another one soon. Callisto’s having me plan out the next supply run.”

Mole looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “I’m getting the feeling we’re not hitting the same place this time.”

Peter shook his head. “Caliban told me you had the most extensive maps of the tunnels we have access to as opposed to the ones that people above ground know about.” The phrase ‘above-ground’ was coming to Peter much easier now. The feel of the phrase referring to people outside of the Morlocks becoming familiar with an unexpected ease. 

Mole stroked his chin. “Well, Blowhard’s got more of the maps for the Bronx and Queens, but for Manhattan proper? Yeah, I’ve got those.” He gestured to the wall covered in papers. Some of them were maps. Others looked like blueprints. Layers upon layers of them arranged in a vague sense of order for where branches would line up across the maps that were shown. “Most of these were from the City Planning office. Callisto boosted them years back so they never got digitized.”

“I’ve got a place in mind. It’s on 41st Street. Across from Bryant Park.” Peter explained.

Mole frowned. “That’s practically right on top of the 42nd-Bryant Park Metro station. Busy area. Active subway stations don’t tend to have a lot of unused tunnels too close to them.” 

He walked over to the wall and squinted at the maps, lifting a few up, then letting them back down before finding the map he was looking for. “Ah-hah. There’s an older maintenance tunnel running parallel to the subway line. They shut it down around twenty years ago. It’s no longer on the records, but we know it’s there. Runs almost under the corner you want. Then I’d say we’re looking at at least fifteen, maybe twenty feet of rock to get directly under the foundation there.”

“You think you can manage to fully tunnel through that instead of just passing through it without causing it to collapse?” Peter asked.

“If we scout it out ahead of time? Sure. But you don’t want to just pass through it entirely?” Mole asked.

“You as our only exit strategy is a little worrying. So I want to keep our options open.” Peter replied.

“Fair.” Mole nodded. “I didn’t want all the pressure.”

Peter chuckled. “From that spot, how far would it be then to an unused maintenance station where we can have the subway car?”

Mole winced. “Less good. Around five or six blocks south.”

“Not absolutely awful. It’s going to make the time table a bit tight unless–” Peter trailed off considering just how quickly they could move things around. Especially if he wanted to get a bit greedy.

“Unless?”

Peter nodded absently, more to himself than to Mole. “We might need a second car.”

“Really?” Mole asked, not quite sure what to make of the comment.

Peter grinned. “We’ll need the room.”

- - -  

Nimueh smiled. “This is really a lot more fun to do face to face instead of yelling the moves up the well hole.”

“You could still do that.” Peter pointed out.

“Nuh-uh. This is better. Also, check.”

“Wait. How?!”

“You tend to sacrifice your pawns way too easily. Leaves you vulnerable in the late game.”

“Caliban taught you to play?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ll see if I can get him to play with me sometime. He’s just so busy.”

“Yeah, he is. So are you though.”

“There’s a lot to do.”

- - -

Dreamer’s feet were in Peter’s lap. This was entirely uncharted territory for him and he was simply doing his awkward best to ignore it while she sat back and got her hair shampooed. 

They were in a chamber near the bathrooms, not simply an area delimited by dividers, but much like Healer’s House, an actual area carved into the material of the Alley and the surrounding bedrock, that Peter had been informed was referred to as the Salon. 

Peter was surprised to learn that the bathroom weren’t just toilets, but also included a set of communal showers. The whole area seemed to have been part of the original construction of the Alley in its function as a nuclear bunker, but the area and the plumbing had clearly been modified by the residents to better suit their needs. 

The showers had scheduled time for men’s and women’s use, as well as specific schedules for parents who would need to wash their kids, all with strictly monitored water rationing to ensure no one used up too much water while they got clean. It did explain a few things for Peter, like why it didn’t stink more down here.

The Salon was half-filled with racks of clothes. Mostly leavings from the bargain bins and Goodwill castoffs, but sometimes there were a handful of nicer items. The nicer things were hung up properly on the racks with actual hangers. Other items were sorted into general piles with hand-written cardboard signs taped up on the wall above them, such as “Men’s Shirts”, “Skirts”, “Kids play clothes”, and so forth.

The other half was a haphazard collection of items that seemed to have been taken from a beauty salon. There was a large wood and glass case filled with a wide selection of makeup, hair products, nail polish and other sundry items.

There was an actual barber’s chair and a magazine rack which seemed to be filled with nothing but very old copies of the Daily Bugle. 

The proprietress of the Salon, whom Dreamer had introduced as Jo, was a voluptuous woman with long smooth legs and an hourglass figure. She dressed in a pair of black hotpants with a dark green tanktop and a set of shiny high-heeled boots that came to her knees. Around her throat was a black lace choker. Her hair was a dense mass of ginger curls that added another three inches to her height. There was something subtly off about her features, however. Her chin just seemed too long and her eyes set too low, making it seem like her face had been pinched down into a narrower space on her head. Peter wasn’t sure if it was part of her mutation or if it had been inflicted on her by Masque. 

It seemed rude to ask. The question lingered in his mind a bit, as Dreamer’s insectile eyes had already been reshaped back to their original form. Peter noted that her eyes were an odd pinkish-purple color. She had explained to Peter that Masque had done so with an explanation that, “Perhaps he had been too hasty,” and that Dreamer should, “Explain all of that to the Dumas boy.”

The whole thing rang hollow, of course, since Peter still hadn’t seen any sign of him in the past week that he’d been among the Morlocks. Nevertheless, Dreamer had dragged Peter along for a celebratory shampoo, since she attributed the return of her eyes (circuitous means aside) to him.

This all explained Peter’s position at the foot of the reclined chair that was near the salon-styled sink. In trying to avoid paying too close attention to Dreamer’s feet, he’d had entirely too much time to contemplate Jo who was bending over as she dealt with Dreamer’s hair.

Dreamer cooed teasingly at him, wiggling her toes. “This is not the foot massage I was promised.”

“Pretty sure I did not promise one,” Peter said, chuckling faintly.

“I’m sure it must’ve been implied.” Dreamer drawled. 

Jo snorted. “You are just a disreputable old bag, aren’t you?” Her voice was a breezy alto as she worked her fingers into Dreamer’s hair, working up a lather. 

Dreamer snorted back. “You’re older than I am!” 

Jo stood hipshot and grinned down at the woman who had her head in the sink. “I own it. You’re still pretending to be younger than you are.”

Peter chuckled. 

Dreamer tapped her forehead with a finger and got some of the shampoo suds on it. “Age is in the mind! I’m as old as I feel and right now, I feel twenty-ish.”

That just sent Jo cackling.

Jo leaned over to Peter and told him conspiratorially, “If she ever tries to tell you she’s twenty, just know that she’s lying by about a decade or two.”

Peter gave a sharp nod, shying back. “I’ll… uh… keep that in mind.”

Jo gave Peter a small grin, half-teasing, half-sad. “Is it my face throwing you off?”

Peter shook his head hurriedly and replied. “Uh… no. It’s when you were bending over and the tank top is kind of loose and–” He abruptly blurted out, “I didn’t see anything!”

Jo laughed. “Oh, you’re adorable.”

“I told you!” Dreamer crowed.

Peter covered his face with both hands. “Uh… can we just forget I said that?”

Jo just kept laughing as she worked on Dreamer’s hair.

Dreamer chuckled. “I can’t help there.”

Peter frowned slightly as a few thoughts worked their way to the forefront of his mind. Not for his nightmares… simply part of how to get things done with no one the wiser.

“So you can’t make people forget things?” He asked.

Dreamer started to shake her head, but Jo gave her hair a sharp tug to get her to stop moving before she replied back. “A little? I can kind of paper them over a little. Make you remember something else in place of the original memory. Maybe make something that happened yesterday seem like it happened a year ago, but the original will still be in there.” 

“But it would work on someone sleeping or unconscious?” Peter pressed.

Dreamer hummed agreeably. “Mm-hmm. If I get to them fast enough, I can make someone remember things and have them think they happened before they fell asleep.” 

Peter nodded thoughtfully. “I may need a bit of your help in a few weeks time.” 

Dreamer grinned. “Just say the word.”

“So when you cover over someone’s memory of something… is it like… can you make someone remember things differently rather than remove them entirely?” Peter asked. 

He was asking for the job, he reassured himself. Not for any help with his nightmares. He could handle those just fine.

Really.

“It’s a bit tough to explain. Giving you a memory outright to swap in an existing one is one thing. The original memory sticks around, but a little disconnected? So it might not evoke the same feelings until it’s slotted back into place.” Dreamer explained, gesturing vaguely with her hands. “I could show you–”

“Wait til after you’re done, cause you are not lighting up one of your nasty cigarettes in here,” Jo cut in sharply. “Last thing anyone wants is clothes that stink like cloves.”

“Phooie.” Dreamer sighed.

Jo gestured pointed at Peter, “You keep distracting her, pretty-pretty. I think you need to go check out my rack for a bit.”

“Uh… what?” Peter stared, but made very sure to look her in the eyes.

Jo grinned, then gestured towards the clothes on the walls. “You look like you could do with a new outfit. So you need to check out what I’ve got.”

“Uh–” Peter began. “I guess?”

“But my footrest!” Dreamer whined.

Jo nodded. “Yeah, go have fun. Least I can do. Anyone who gives Masque a bad time’s in my good books and welcome to get into my lacy underthings.”

“Wait. What?”

Jo gestured vaguely. “That pile over there. If that’s what you’re into.”

The pile did, in fact, sport a cardboard sign that said ‘Lacy Underthings’.

- - - 

Annalee pinned Peter in a fierce gaze as he helped her haul the large turkey frier pot from the large communal kitchens carved into the side of the Alley, over to the buffet tables. The air flow was directed through the kitchen specifically to blow the cookfire smoke and any other odd smells away from the Alley proper and directly into the Pandemonium ventilation tunnel. 

Tonight’s dinner was a chili that actually smelled very good. By ‘helped her haul’ he was really doing all the actual carrying while she directed him. 

“So you can read and do maths, yes?” She asked.

“Uh… yeah?” Peter replied carefully.

“Are you free during the mornings?” She pressed, her gaze still intense. He could feel the determination and cheer quite literally radiating off of her.

“I suppose so? I mean… there’s stuff I need to do, but nothing I couldn’t push back to later in the day.”

Her smile was almost painfully bright and Peter wallowed in the sunny happiness she was giving off. “It’s just since I’ve had to take over more of the kitchen work, I haven’t had as much time for the little ones. Do you think you could take a turn during the week helping them with the classes?”

Peter shrugged awkwardly. “Oh. I’ve never had to teach anyone before, but I’m willing to try.”

“You are a good boy,” Annalee declared.

“Happy to help, ma’am.” Peter replied.

- - -  

Piper laughed, leaning against the pillar behind him. He wasn’t dressed in the overalls anymore, but still sported his tuxedo coat with its tails and stiff shirt front with its bow tie. He shakily pointed his pipe towards Peter and told him. “I’ll give you this. You are ambitious.”

“Is that a yes?” Peter was now dressed in a slightly threadbare, but serviceable black suit from Jo’s. With a white turtleneck sweater underneath and a somewhat ragged, but not as ragged as it could have been gray overcoat. Jo had insisted that since he could still pass among the normals in New York above, he had to play it to the hilt. Dreamer had backed her up on that. So in addition to a few more changes of more casual clothes, Peter now had a suit to blend in when he went above.

Like now.

He and Piper were in the Port Authority Subway station at the ground floor level. Piper had his hat at his feet while a handful of distracted commuters passed by. They were between subway stops, so Piper was between sets. Peter had gathered that as much work as the Bowling Green Rat Ranch was for him to run, he spent his weekends busking in various subway stations for loose change. He didn’t want for food or the necessities down in the tunnels due to his position, but he’d admitted to Peter that every once in a while a man just wanted a good falafel and you just couldn’t get that down below. So a couple of bucks in a man’s hat would also mean a good time at Radhu’s Mediterranean Meals around the corner.

“It’s not a ‘no’,” Piper replied, waggling his pipe a bit. “I have to admit I usually don’t come along on these shindigs.” 

“Have you ever tried to see if your control still works from a recording or off of a transmission? Like a radio broadcast or over the phone? Or just gave them commands and left them to it? Cause if any of that works, you wouldn’t even really need to come with.” Peter pointed out.

Piper looked thoughtful at that, tapping his pipe against his bearded chin. “Pretty sure the recording wouldn’t work. I have to be actively directing the little bastards while I’m playing. Leaving them an ongoing command works sometimes, but usually only if it’s something really simple like ‘stay’ or ‘go that way’. They’ll keep following it til I give ‘em some other command, but otherwise, it’ll get finicky if I try to get them to do anything complicated. Never tried to use it over the phone though.” 

“Something to try out, then?” Peter asked, with a grin.

Piper nodded. “I suppose so.” He snorted and reached over to tap Peter’s forehead with his flute. “Ambitious and clever. Lad like that could go far.”

“Ideally, yes.” Peter replied.

They both felt the burst of wind and squealing noise come up from the nearby stairs indicating that the next subway had arrived. Piper leaned down and pulled a twenty dollar bill from his hat and handed it to Peter. 

Piper chuckled. “Fine. You’re helping me out, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to help you out.”

“It’s helping everyone out,” Peter pointed out.

Piper gave a snort as he brought his pipe to his lips. “We’ll see.”

The man began to play Ravel’s Bolero and as little exposure as Peter had to music, he had to admit Piper was good. Very good. Caliban had mentioned in passing that at one point Piper had been a professional concert musician, but something had happened and he’d given it up. 

It was one of the Morlock ways. Don’t ask about anyone’s past. If they offer to tell you, that was something else. But let them bring it up.

Peter shook his head to break free of his woolgathering and focused on watching Piper’s performance. As they’d discussed earlier, he waited until people began to come up the stairs and escalators from the subways. Once there was a large enough crowd in the vicinity of people standing around and watching, Peter stepped forward with a flamboyant flourish.

He held the folded twenty dollar bill between his fingers and made sure the crowd saw him drop it into Piper’s hat, before stepping back into the crowd to continue watching. 

That helped prod a few others to drop a few bills and coins into his hat and Piper gave Peter a wink as he continued to play.

- - - 

Plague walked up to Peter and eyed him. 

“Uh… can I help you?” He asked, straightening up from his task of picking up fallen branches in the Grove. Around him the Morlock kids were helping out in doing so as a general bit of unskilled labor. Wherever else Peter helped out aside, he liked coming by and helping around the Grove. It was nice here. 

And a better way to get some sun than having to brave the winter wind Above.

The work at the Grove tended to require a certain amount of agility or flight for anyone who had to work the mirrors or pick the fruit, but anyone could help with the raking and keeping the branches cleaned up. Mostly the job went to the smaller children. Particularly the ones who were too young to work unsupervised. Whenever he was helping, he’d taken to organizing the kids into specific work gangs to gather the branches for their area, while he would go around collecting them for final delivery to the Tree-man’s sister, Mitya, who was running the carving station.

The old woman with the sour face and shabby clothes tugged her beanie off her head and fiddled with it, clearly uncomfortable. She fidgeted for a long moment before running a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated and said, “You’re the one who got stuff on the last supply run.”

“I was on the team that did the run, yes.” Peter replied carefully. 

“Wanted to thank you.” She coughed weakly into her fist, then continued. “Sunder almost never got enough meds on his runs. First time in years that Healer let me have a whole bottle of ibuprofen to myself.”

Peter smiled. “I’m glad I was able to help.”

“I hear tell you’re going on another run in about a week?” She continued, gesturing vaguely, with her hat still in hand.

“That’s the plan,” Peter said, then adding confidently. “I’ll make sure we get enough medicine this time too.”

She scratched at her head, shuffling her feet. “D’you need any help?”

Peter was slightly taken aback by the question. “I… why do you ask?”

“I ain’t much good in a straight up scrap,” She admitted, running a hand through her unkempt hair once more. “But my power’s to make people sick. It’s why they call me Plague. One touch and I can knock almost anyone out. Even Sunder’s fallen over when I got my hands on him. Passed out from illness, you see? ”

“I do see.” Peter nodded. “How much control do you have over that, though? Can you affect longer distances? Make people fall over after a set amount of time?”

She waggled a hand uncertainly. “Usually they gotta be close up. If I don’t touch ‘em, I can maybe breathe on them and that’ll still work. Never really tried to make people pass out anything other than immediately. Only thing I ever tried before was how hard they get sick. Like if they’ll recover in an hour or a couple of days, like, you get?”

Peter looked thoughtful. “Being able to knock people out quickly might be helpful, but if it’s just one person at a time, I can do the same thing.”

She winced. “That’s what I heard too. Was just figuring a second person to help might make things go smoother.” 

“It might, it might.” Peter allowed, still considering the possibilities. He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but we’ll see if we need the extra help, alright?”

He felt out her power. It was not at all like Nimueh’s or his own. Rather than something directly affecting energies, it shaped things. It adapted. It created something meant to interface with other life. She was literally a walking bio-weapons lab, but one who had never tried for the limits of her power. 

Thank God for that.

He blinked in surprise, keeping the smile on his face even as the sensation of his power touching hers abruptly cut off and he stopped feeling the easy strength that came from his predatory power.

He’d gotten used to that sensation as well. 

He glanced over towards the approaching gaggle of kids who were all carrying armfuls of branches. They were among the ones he usually taught in the mornings. There were some older kids who were being taught by Healer. 

Sarah was taking the lead, a massive set of deformed ribs coming out of her shoulder blades and a set of bone spurs rising from her scalp in a rough approximation of antlers. Behind her were the other kids her age who usually followed her around on their errands. 

Me-Me, a bald, bright orange boy in shorts and an oversized tank top who had a set of rat heads poking out of his shoulders and chest who normally worked at the Rat Ranch. The rat snouts were all carrying branches in addition to the ones in his arms.

Hemingway, a skinny, gray-skinned boy with a skull face and exceedingly prominent spikey spinal bones protruding from his back that made it so the boy couldn’t wear normal shirts. He was using the spikes to help carry the branches by wedging them between various spikes, causing him to walk hunched over. 

Artie who was actually fully dressed, but had a lumpy, over-sized head, massive white-on-white eyes, no ability to speak, and a cheerful demeanor. 

Finally, the actual reason for his powers to have shut off, was Leech, a noseless boy with froggy-reptilian features, eyes that were a solid yellow from edge to edge and sported bright green skin with darker green spots. 

Leech’s power uncontrollably interfered with most active usage of power within a few yards of him. He couldn’t shut it off. Physical mutations weren’t affected, like the ones the other kids sported, nor would it remove any changes that had already been put into effect by powers, such as the rats Me-me had absorbed into his body, Sarah’s bone spurs, changes to people that Masque had done, or even the stockpile of life Peter still had within him. 

Nevertheless, his power put the poor boy in a situation similar to Nimueh in that he was an outcast among outcasts. Their powers were poor enough compensation for what most Morlocks had gone through in New York Above. Most Morlocks weren’t keen on being around someone who could take them away. At least the ones who had a handle on their abilities.

Peter had contemplated offering to take his powers from him, but the problem was that since just being around him shut Peter’s own powers off, he couldn’t actually get close enough to do so. It was on the back burner.

Sarah awkwardly waved at them, trying to balance the branches she was hauling as she did so. “Hey, Plague! Mr. Dumas!”

Plague ducked her head and seemed on the verge of coughing, but then stopped. Healer had said that Plague’s powers also affected her to an extent. He glanced over to Leech who had his chin thrust out defiantly. What he was being defiant against wasn’t clear. Peter smiled as the obvious thought came to mind.

“Hey, kids. Dump the sticks here and I’ll get them over to the carving table. I think we’re done for the day.” Peter greeted them. 

“Are you visiting the Cistern again this afternoon?” Sarah asked cheerfully. 

Peter nodded. “Just for a bit. I’m dropping Nimueh’s dinner off.”

The boys giggled and Hemmingway started singing, “Dumas and Cistern sitting in a tree–”

Sarah smacked Hemmingway on the shoulder and coldly told him, “You know she can’t come to the Tree! She’d kill him!”

“That’s not what the song’s about!” Hemingway whined. “It’s about the kissing!”

Me-me laughed. Artie laughed silently.

Peter just smiled. They were good kids. Little jerks sometimes, but good kids.

He nodded to Plague. “I’ll let you know if we do end up needing your help, but either way, I’ll make sure to pick you up some extra supplies, alright?”

She nodded back. “I’d appreciate it.”

- - - 

Mrs. Penn gave a low, mournful noise and shook her head.

Peter, who had been walking next to her, shot her a look. 

They were walking down the tunnel that Mole was preparing. Mrs. Penn had a sledge tied via a harness to her. The sledge was filled with rocks and dust that were the byproducts of Mole’s tunneling process. 

There was far less in the pile than there should have been given how much tunnel the short man had actually carved out of Manhattan’s bedrock, but it was a large enough amount that if they didn’t clear it out of the tunnel, it would make things harder all around.

“I know it’s only sort of going well, but he is managing. He’s got a couple more days to figure out how to do a bigger opening and if he can’t then we do smaller bits, in sections. It might leave more traces, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Mrs. Penn nodded as though in agreement then moo’d and threw her head up sharply.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You and Sunder both just want to break in like a bull going nuts in a china shop.” 

She snorted and gave him a level stare. 

“No offense.” 

She sniffed and seemed to roll her eyes.

Peter buried his face in his hands and muttered to himself. “The pressure must be getting to me. I’m talking to a cow.” 

Mrs. Penn made an offended noise and bumped into Peter’s back with her nose.

“In my defense you are a really good listener.” He muttered. Even after all the time he’d spent among the Morlocks and the time he’d spent with Mrs. Penn (who seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the tunnels), Peter still was not entirely sure if she actually was a person (albeit one in the shape of a cow), a particularly clever cow, or some other more esoteric arrangement.

Peter had even actually tried to use his power on her and the results had been… ambiguous. He wasn’t sure if that was because that’s how cows were supposed to feel to his powers or if she actually had some kind of ability, but not one he could actually grab hold of. 

Mrs. Penn snorted again.

“Fine, I’ll stop worrying.” He said with a chuckle. “What did you want to talk about then?”

She moo’d and stamped her hoof a few times. 

“Anyway, are you looking forward to movie night later?” He asked.

She nodded her head and made an elaborate show of licking at one nostril.

“I’ve never seen the Thing before. Is it any good, you think?”

The nodding this time was very emphatic.

“So you like it?”

The cow continued to nod very enthusiastically.

- - -  

Tommy slipped out of the manager’s office from the floor, before sliding up a wall and into the quarter inch gap between the tiled wall and the back of the bank of freezers where all the artisanal ice cream was kept.

She slipped out from behind the freezer, sliding across the side of the freezer, then twisting herself back into three-dimensionality in front of the greeting card displays, exactly where she had initially entered through. 

Peter was still there, maintaining the same position and making a show of perusing the greeting cards, specifically to keep the store’s security cameras from seeing her. 

She flashed him a grin, slipping her hand into his long, gray coat and slipping the sheaf of papers she’d been holding into the inside pocket. 

He gave a small squeak when she’d pressed up against him to cover the movement, but otherwise, kept himself stoically still. 

When they’d first met, he’d only been a few inches taller than she was. But just a few weeks later, he was at least a head taller than she was and he’d filled out considerably. Was it odd to consider that someone had managed to thrive in the seedy underbelly of New York?

He glanced down at her with a small grin on his face as he contemplated the artfully applied makeup that covered up the multi-colored rainbow gradient that comprised her normal skin tone. She also had on a brunette wig covering up her multi-colored hair. All an elaborate disguise to blend in among the normal people. The pretty people.

Peter barely needed a disguise. He just put on a clean suit and walked a little straighter and everyone in New York Above acted like he was one of them. He’d barely gotten a second glance from any of the grocery employees, but a few people had given her a closer look. She was worried that she had blown it for them before they’d even started. 

“So you got it?” He asked.

She nodded and grinned back. “Copies of the delivery and stocking schedules. Copies of the crew schedule. I also have the wiring setups for the cameras and the alarms figured out.” 

“Perfect. I just wanted to wait til the last delivery truck for this week,” He tapped at his coat, where the papers were now. “Now we know when that will be.”

He inclined his head and started walking down the stairs, back towards the entrance of the store.

She looked around, then back towards him and followed, linking her arm around his to make them look like a couple. A move that somehow seemed to invite less attention. He stiffened as she did it, but allowed her to take his arm. 

“You really sure about this?” She asked carefully. “It’s got more stuff than the warehouses we usually hit. It’s got better stuff.” She gestured around them. “This is the haves stuff. This is for the people with money. When crimes happen to these kinds of people, the cops actually show up.” 

He snorted and his voice dropped before he replied. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to keep taking from people who don’t have anything. They’re in the same boat we’re in. We should take from those who’ve got things. They can afford to lose it.”

She shrugged. “You got things done the first time around. I’ll follow your lead.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He smiled faintly.

“Did you get the mask fixed tho?”

His expression twisted in distaste. “I should get something that’s less… reindeer skull.”

She snorted. “Uh, no. You’ve got a brand now. A couple hundred thousand views on YouView can’t be wrong–” 

He returned her snort. “Those were because the videos were the first real clear view of Jewel.”

“Yeah, but you’re there too as her nemesis . Dumas is trending.”

“ Was trending. Since I haven’t made any appearances in almost a month, I’m sure the hype will die down soon enough.”

“At least until we do this place.”

He rolled his eyes. “I would really rather not run into Jewel again.” 

She bumped her hip into his. “You miss her.”

“I will leave you for the cops.” Peter threatened, without heat.

She giggled. “Don’t worry about it, tho. We still have a couple days. You leave everything to Tommy. I’ll make sure you’ll look good.”

“Like I didn’t already have enough to stress about.”

She laughed.

- - -  

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 9:

Patrick Mulligan was behind the wheel. The engine was idling. His mind was idling. 

He tugged at the sleeves of his coat, getting them back down over his wrists. As thankful as he was that the NYPD motor pool had the heater working properly on his patrol vehicle, he still felt way too cold. 

It hadn’t been snowing in the last week or so, but it was still too cold to be out at this time of day… or night. He’d been pulling so many night shifts he wasn’t even sure anymore.

His partner, Jeff, opened the passenger side door, letting the brisk, winter air into the patrol car, before settling into his seat and shutting it hurriedly. Officer Jefferson Davis, better known to everyone else as Jeff, was a large, heavily muscled, dark skinned man. His hair was cropped very close to his skull, almost, but not quite shaven. He had a mustache and seemed to be in the process of letting a beard grow in, but it was in an ambivalent sort of mid-point between needing to be shaved off or allowed to grow in. 

Pat figured he was trying to see how far he could get with it before his wife made him shave it off.

Jeff tossed a white paper bag he’d had between his fingers onto the dashboard and placed the drinks he’d been holding into the cup holders.

“Here’s your frou-frou sugar chocolate thing.” Jeff gestured with mock contempt towards Pat’s drink.

Pat scoffed. “It’s a caramel mochacchino with an extra espresso shot, you heathen.”

Jeff scoffed back. “That ain’t no coffee.” He pulled up his own drink. “This is a coffee. No sugar. No cream. No hot chocolate. No caramel. Just perfectly chosen, perfectly roasted beans and water at the right temperature. Exactly like God intended.”

Pat shook his head and took a sip of his drink, the smell as much as the taste of the sweet drink perking him up almost immediately. “If I’d known you were gonna be this much of a coffee snob when they first partnered us up, I would’ve put in for a replacement partner ASAP.”

Jeff barked a laugh. “Oh, please. No one else in the PD would put up with your crap taste in coffee, rookie.” 

“You started barely a year before I did.” Pat pointed out.

“Still a year longer as a cop than you, rookie.” Jeff grinned.

Pat rolled his eyes and pulled away from the curb. 

As much as they ragged on each other, Pat considered Jeff a good friend. The man was dedicated, hard-working, honest and possibly one of the toughest men on the force. As much as Pat had heard some unsavory things around the water cooler about Jeff’s past, there wasn’t any question that the man was a cop all the way through nowadays.

Jeff seemed happy to contemplate his coffee and munch on a plain sugar donut from the paper bag on the dash, as they drove through midtown Manhattan in the early dawn. The sun wasn’t anywhere near coming up but the city was already beginning to stir. With only the streetlights to guide them, a bare handful of pedestrians, bundled up against the weather, were already around and about. 

“Man, I will be glad for this shift to be over.” Jeff mumbled around his donut, pausing to take a sip of his coffee to wash it down. 

“Yeah, I’d love to get to bed.” Pat remarked back, taking a sip of his own drink. 

Jeff hummed happily as he contemplated the end of their shift. “Yeah. Be getting home. Slip into bed with Rio… she’s all glowing and gorgeous.” 

“Now you’re just being a jerk.” Pat rolled his eyes. “No need to rub it in for us single folk who have to go to bed alone, man.” 

Jeff laughed. “I don’t mean anything by it. She’s just so–”

“Gorgeous.” Pat chuckled. “I know. You talk about how huge she is pretty much all the time.”

“Did I show you the ultrasounds yet?” Jeff grinned.

Pat laughed. “Man, you show those around the station house at the start of every shift. I already know what your boy’s gonna look like even before your wife pops him out.”

“He’s–”

“-- got your nose.” Pat finished for him. “I know.” 

Jeff continued to grin. “It’s gonna be great.”

Pat gave him a nudge to the shoulder. “You’re gonna give your poor kid a complex with you playing helicopter dad and he’s not even here yet.”

“You just wait your turn, man. It’s great.” Jeff settled back into his seat and took another bite of his donut.

Pat rolled his eyes. “Not all of us can get our ass shot off and then find love at first sight while doing Physical Therapy.”

Jeff smirked. “I dunno, man. You were giving Jewel a bit of the side eye last night.”

Pat shot Jeff a skeptical look. “She’s pretty and all, but if that girl’s eighteen I will eat your hat.”

“You were still looking.”

“Have you seen her?” Pat shot back. “Only reason you weren’t looking too is cause of how married you are.” 

Jeff raised his coffee and declared grandiosely. “My wife is the only woman for me. All others pale in comparison.”

At that moment the radio crackled to life and their dispatcher’s gravelly voice came over the speaker. “14-Baker-5, 14-Baker-5, verify your location, over?”

Jeff and Pat exchanged glances before Jeff put his coffee down, grabbed the radio’s mic from the dash and tapped it on. “This is 14-Baker-5. We are heading Eastbound on West 38th Street. Just passed 8th Avenue, over.”

“Got a possible 10-10. Ground floor of OsCorp tower on the corner of 42nd Street and 6th Avenue. Security guard for the building says there’s, and I quote, ‘something weird’ happening in the Oz Organics store on the ground floor. Can you guys check it out? Over.” 

“10-4, Dispatch. Uh…” Jeff glanced over at Pat who was already picking up speed. “You got any idea what they mean by ‘weird’, Dispatch? Over.”

“Security guy says he thinks he saw someone in the store. No one’s supposed to be in there for at least another hour. He sent a guy in, but that was almost half an hour ago. None of the alarms tripped, but the other guy hasn’t come back, isn’t responding to his radio and isn’t showing up on any of the security cameras. 911’s still got the guy on the line right now and making sure he stays calm.”

Pat winced and muttered. “Yeah, that’s weird alright.”

“14-Baker-5 on the way, over.” Jeff clicked off and put the mic back on the dash.

“This is gonna end up with some kind of costumed asshole again. I can just tell.” Pat groused.

“You watch too much TV,” Jeff pointed out cheerily. “Our patrols aren’t that exciting.”

Pat snorted. “Did you forget that we had to get our asses hauled out of the line of fire by the flying teenager less than twenty four hours ago?”

“So maybe she saves our asses again tonight, too.” Jeff chuckled. “Bet you’d love that.”

“I just want to get through a shift without costumed shit. Seriously.” Pat continued his grumbling. “Bet it’s some weirdo who wants his Incredi-meat or fancy almond milk substitute and just didn’t want to deal with the crowds.”

Jeff laughed. “You are way too young to be this cynical. Oz Organics isn’t that bad. They’ve got regular grocery store stuff too.”

“With the prices jacked up three times normal.” Pat replied. “One time I was in a hurry, I just wanted some milk for my cereal. Regular milk. Not even the low fat stuff or anything, right? Ran into an Oz place cause it was on my way home instead of having to go to a RoxxCart. Their normal milk cost me so much, if I’d gone to the Roxx I would’ve gotten milk, a carton of eggs and a side of bacon. It’s ridiculously expensive. Oz is the real villain here.”

“Well, I don’t have a choice,” Jeff admitted. “Oz is the only place I can get this tuna stuff for the wife when she’s craving. Tongol or something? Supposed to be safer for the baby.” 

“Alright, we’re here.” Pat declared, pulling their patrol car up to the curb.

OsCorp tower took up roughly a third of the block that was bordered by 41st and 42nd Streets along the southern and northern side, and Broadway and 6th Avenue on the western and eastern side. It was directly across the street on its Eastern side from Bryant Park. 

The area was almost entirely empty of cars and people. It was still early enough and this place being almost exclusively for commercial and business purposes that almost no one would have a reason to be here at five AM. Granted, Pat could see one person jogging around the park, but he could only see the guy because he was wearing a reflectorized vest.

The Oz Organics grocery store took up the south-eastern half of the first two floors of OsCorp tower. Oz Organics was itself some kind of subsidiary owned by OsCorp, which normally dealt in pharmaceuticals and chemical processing. Them deciding to get into organic foods and nutritional supplements to the point that they established their own stores wasn’t that much of a stretch.

The store sported floor-to-ceiling glass windows and glass doors that in theory should have given a clear view all the way into the store’s interior, but all the opaque sun shades were pulled down. A few lights inside the store threw up faint shadows against the thin material, but nothing enough to actually see inside.

Pat and Jeff stepped out of the car. Pat puffed a visible breath into the cold air and blew onto his hands to keep them warm. Jeff already had one hand on his service revolver, looking at the store.

Pat narrowed his eyes. “That looks a little weird, right?”

“Yeah.” Jeff nodded. “South-eastern facing windows. You’d only need the sun shades during the morning, around sun-rise, cause Bryant Park wouldn’t block off the sun. This time of year, they’d probably only need ‘em early. Maybe even before the place opens.”

“The night crew might’ve pulled them down to make things easier for the morning crew,” Pat pointed out, but his own tone was skeptical.

Jeff gave him a look, “I worked retail before I went to the academy. The night shift guys don’t give a damn about the morning shift guys.”

“Good point.” Pat put his hand on his own revolver.

Jeff tapped the button on the shoulder mic for his radio and said, “Dispatch, this is 14-Baker-5, we are at the Oz Organics store location. Don’t see anything concrete yet, but the place does have a weird vibe. You got a number for the security guard who called this in? We can talk to him and see if he saw anything else.”

The speaker on his personal radio crackled and the dispatcher’s voice came through. “14-Baker-5, be advised that the 911 operator was keeping the security guard on the line. He said he was going down to meet with you at the front door of Oscorp tower, then hung up. Any sign of him, over?”

Jeff replied, “Dispatch, that is a negative. No one’s at the front door, over.”

Pat had only been keeping half his attention on the conversation. He saw something shift inside the store. The shadows had definitely moved. He pulled his service revolver out.

Jeff glanced in his direction and Pat simply nodded. 

“Something’s moving in there.” Pat said tersely.

Jeff pointed around the corner from where they were standing. “There’s a loading dock around the back. We can go in through there.” 

Pat nodded, keeping his gun in hand. “Don’t want to go through the front door?”

Jeff shot him an incredulous look. “You wanna try and kick in a glass door, you be my guest. They make you pay for that shit.” 

Pat ducked his head sheepishly. “Right, right.”

As they started to move, something changed. Pat couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but something was about to happen and he didn’t know what it would be just that he felt spooked and jumpy.

Jeff seemed to sense it as well, glancing up and down the street, looking at the windows and the door, before they both realized at the same time what it was that had gotten both their attentions.

The shadows against the sun shade covering the door had coalesced into the outline of a humanoid figure. Someone was standing right in front of them, but the way the shadows were cast made them seem large and imposing. The movement made it quite clear that whatever it was was walking towards the door. 

Towards them.

Jeff had already aimed his service revolver at the shadow. The glass and cloth sun shade wouldn’t stop bullets. Pat raised his own weapon and opened his mouth to say something… he wasn’t even sure. Freeze, probably. We can see you. Something along those lines.

He never got a chance to say anything. 

The glass doors burst open. Whatever locks kept them closed failed spectacularly. The doors slammed open and a flood of rats rushed out onto the street. Pat and Jeff were knocked over by the rush of panicked, angry, squeaking, clawing, and biting bodies, clambering over both of them, spreading out of the doors. 

Pat had lost track of his gun. He must have dropped in the initial crush of rats. The smell was nauseating. Like an abattoir mixed with an open sewer. Like animal musk and blood. So much blood–

The rats were gone as suddenly as they had arrived and Pat found himself sprawled on his back on the sidewalk. Every bit of exposed skin felt scratched up and he could feel little trickles of blood everywhere. His uniform was shredded. Next to him, still holding both hands up to ward off a handful of rats scurrying down from his head, Jeff was on his knees. He’d lost his hat somewhere during that mess. Jeff had managed to keep his gun in hand, but he hadn’t taken any shots. Probably realized it would be useless against the massive tide of vermin that had swarmed them. 

Pat panted, looking around hurriedly trying to see where the rats had gotten to, but they’d somehow disappeared, leaving him and Jeff standing in front of the now open doors of Oz Organics. 

He let his brain work as fast as he could. Details. Every detail was precious. Every bit of information he got now could mean the difference down the line. 

The sun shade for the doors had been attached to the doors themselves, allowing a clear view inside. It was still mostly dark, the bare handful of security lights that had made the shadows were inadequate to light up the place, but between them and the street lights, Pat could see something stalk towards them.

The first and most obvious detail was the gray overcoat that flapped in the wind. Beneath that was a black business suit, accented with a red scarf neatly tied with an overhand knot. It wore black shoes. Penny loafers. Well polished.

From the neck down, Pat would’ve sworn it looked like just any other business man. 

But the face… the face . 

Where its face should have been was a bleached white skull that seemed to glow against the street lights. It wasn’t any animal Pat could recognize. It almost seemed canine, but it had a set of antlers rising up from its brow.

It loomed over them, dire and horrible. Something about it tickled a memory in the back of his mind.

Something recent. 

Something dangerous.

“Gentlemen,” It rumbled in a low, genteel voice. “I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience, but I’m afraid I'm on a very tight schedule.” It raised a hand up, pantomiming looking down at a wrist-watch that it did not have.

Jeff had brought his gun around and aimed it directly at the figure. “Freeze!”

It replied conversationally, “Yes, it is rather cold, but I’m sure we’re not here to discuss the weather.” 

He simply stood, absolutely casual in the face of Jeff’s service revolver. Completely confident and at ease… it made Pat’s breath catch in his throat.

Then his breathing started to come in short gasps as though something were squeezing his chest, keeping him from drawing a full breath. The man’s presence seemed to simply press down upon him with a sort of absolute and unrelenting terror that was making his vision blur. 

Jeff was already swaying unsteadily. His gun wavering as he began to slump down to all fours.

The name came to Pat. He’d seen the video of this guy fighting Jewel. Someone strong enough to go toe-to-toe against a girl who picked up cars one-handed. He tried to swallow but his tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth. His heart beating relentlessly even as he felt himself gasping. 

The name.

He managed to hiss out the name before it all went black. “Dumas–”

He could almost swear that despite the skull face, the figure was smirking at him.

- - -  

Pat’s eyes fluttered open and he felt awful. Like he’d tried running a marathon while hung over. His eyes were refusing to focus, his head was pounding in time with his pulse, He still felt short of breath and his everything ached.

“Wha– happen?” He slurred. His tongue still felt swollen and too thick. His mouth was dry and his throat was sore. His everything was sore. 

“Hey, buddy. Good to have you back.” A face slowly slipped into focus in front of him. A pale, heart-shaped face framed by brown hair. Brown eyes. Pretty, but prettier when she smiled, like she was doing now. 

“Oh,” Pat slurred. “Hi.”

She frowned then, taking the pretty smile away and he noticed that she had a stethoscope on and had a blood pressure cuff on his wrist. He realized he was partially reclined on a gurney. The woman was an EMT. That made more sense.

“Whoa, there. Your heart rate just spiked. Are you feeling okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Never better. Do– don’t worry bout the heart rate. Thass your fault.”

She chuckled, then pulled a penlight from a breast pocket and shined it into his eyes. “Just follow the light, Officer Mulligan. Although if you’re feeling well enough to hit on me, do you think you’re feeling well enough to talk to some people?”

“Think so.” He groaned, following the light as she moved it around, first in one eye, then the other. “Wha happened to Jeff?”

“Officer Davis?” The woman asked. She pointed to her left where Jeff was still asleep on a second gurney. “He woke up earlier. He’s taking a nap now. You’re probably going to want one too really soon. We’re getting you an IV right now. You’re scratched up all to hell, but you’ve got symptoms that match severe malnutrition and dehydration..”

“Wha did–?”

She continued, “Your vitals are mostly stable, but we’re going to take you and your partner to Bellevue for observation. We’ve got no idea yet what you got hit with, but we’re hoping it’s nothing really weird.”

“He up?” A gravelly woman’s voice asked.

The EMT lady glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “For a little bit. He’s still pretty woozy. I really would prefer if you let him get some more rest before you started–”

“Your recommendations are duly noted.” The voice cut her off briskly . “It’s just a few questions, then he can rest once you guys take him to the hospital.” 

“It’s fine.” He mumbled, feeling his control over his mouth growing better. “I can answer a few questions.”

Pat blinked uncertainly, trying to focus his eyes on the blurry figure that approached on his right side. The EMT stayed close by, hovering protectively, but she turned more of her attention towards the unconscious Jeff on the next gurney.

“Officer Mulligan, I’ll try to be brief. My name’s Detective Jean DeWolff.” The voice was coming from a woman with short, curly blonde hair that had been tucked into an old-fashioned beret. She wore a heavy, green overcoat that almost made her look like she was swimming in it. She smelled like cigarette smoke. He noted the discoloration on her fingers from tobacco.

“DeWolfe… uh… Commissioner’s daughter, right?” He asked. “Major Case Squad out of One Police Plaza?”

Her eyes hardened briefly at the mention of her father, but she nodded. “Yes. That DeWolff.”

“Go ahead and ask, Detective. It all happened really fast.” He reached up to scrub a hand down his face, feeling his head growing clearer, if no less painful. 

“Did you get a good look at who did thi–?” DeWolff began to ask, but Pat answered before she finished.

“Dumas.” He croaked out. “It was the skull faced guy who fought Jewel a month ago. Clothes were different. Less casual. Looked like a business suit. But the skull and the antlers were kind of a dead giveaway.” 

“Do you know what he did to you?” DeWolff pressed.

He shook his head. “He… I’m not even sure what he did if anything. There were the rats, then all of a sudden, I felt like I was having a panic attack and then I passed out on the sidewalk.”

She frowned. “Can you walk me through what happened?”

“Sure… uh, Je– Officer Davis didn’t tell you–?”

“He told me what he saw. I’d like your perspective. He didn’t recognize your assailant.” DeWolff explained.

Pat nodded and then regretted it immediately as a wave of pain and nausea swept through his head. “Yeah. Basically we got there, nobody was immediately visible. While we were looking around, we noticed that someone was inside the store and were getting ready to go in, but before we did the doors to the store just open and this huge wave of rats swept out.”

“Rats.” DeWolff repeated the word, as though measuring it.

“He made ‘em attack me and Jeff, then when we were reeling, he steps out, apologizes, then says he’s on a strict schedule. Then I think he said something about the weather and– I don’t even know what happened, cause the next thing I know I’m waking up on this gurney.”

“So would you say you both passed out on the sidewalk?” DeWolff pressed.

“Uh… yeah. I figured what’s where you guys found us?” Pat asked uncertainly.

“Actually, no. You were unconscious in your patrol vehicle when your backup arrived.” DeWolff replied. “We’ll be reviewing the dashcam footage. And the rest of the security footage.”

“Oh, did you guys find the building security guys? Did they turn up?”

DeWolff nodded. “Unconscious in the building lobby. They were laid out on the couches. Pretty similar condition as you and Officer Davis.”

Pat gave a single slow nod, having learned his lesson about jerky head movements. “Uh… I’m guessing Dumas was already gone when they got here?”

DeWolff nodded. “Long gone. Along with everything in the store.”

“So… he was here for the groceries?” Pat asked incredulously.

DeWolff shook her head, her expression almost amused. “No, I mean literally everything in the store. In addition to every scrap of food, he took the shelves, the counters, all the appliances in the deli area, and the refrigeration units. He even ripped out the ATM in the lobby and all the cashier stations. Damndest thing. He even took all the signage and store decorations.”

Pat stared. “Ma’am, when the original video of Dumas came out, in the interviews, Jewel mentioned that he’d been talking to someone before she got on scene. The guard who was there claimed that he’d had a couple of monsters with him. No one gave it a lot of thought at the time cause no one else saw the monsters and there wasn’t any evidence then… but what if he was talking to the rats that time? Like… maybe he’s pulling off robberies using rats? And honestly with the little bastards clambering all over each other, I could believe someone could mistake that for a ‘monster’.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “You remember all that?”

“Back at the academy they said I had an eye for detail.” Pat smiled. 

“It’s a thought. At this point, we’re not even sure how he transported everything offsite.” DeWolff said with a nod. “You didn’t see the rats carrying anything, did you?”

“Uh… we were busy getting swarmed by ‘em, ma’am, but I don’t recall any of the rats carrying anything.” 

DeWolff shrugged. “Alright, I think that’s it for now. We’ll see what else we can turn up. CSU will be here any minute. You try and get some rest. I may have some other questions for you down the line.”

Pat settled back into the gurney, not even realizing that he’d already half-struggled up into a sitting position during the questioning. “Yes, ma’am. If he did use the rats though, that’s some kind of scary coordination.”

“Especially if he timed it so they’d be leaving just as police response got onsite.” Dewolff suggested. “Assuming he did.”

“He was kinda terrifying, ma’am. No offense. I wouldn’t wanna meet the guy again unless I’ve got a SWAT team at my back.”

She chuckled and gently patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll try and make sure you won’t have to.” 

“Still, though,” Pat wondered aloud with a sigh, “You gotta wonder what kind of guy would go this far as to steal everything in a store?”

- - -  

Meanwhile, barely a hundred yards away…

“Sorry, kid,” Sunder declared. “Ain’t no more room for this stuff.”

Peter covered his face in both hands and tried very hard not to scream in frustration. “We can make another trip if we have to. I guess we can leave the non-perishables here until then.” 

He jabbed a finger at the less than neatly arranged pile of shelving and counters. “Like all of that stuff.” 

Tommy held up a hand and asked, “Can we at least take the hay bales?”

“Why did you guys even take the decorative hay bales?!” Peter asked.

“Towards the end there, we were grabbing everything, boss.” Brute pointed out.

“Mrs. Penn would love to have some fresh hay!” Hump pointed out cheerfully.

Peter hefted the hay bale up with one hand, then tossed it up into the air. “This is plastic hay stuck onto a block of styrofoam.”

“What kind of organics store uses a fake hay bale?!” Tommy cried out, gravely offended. 

“That pretty much sums up Oz Organics' entire corporate philosophy.” Peter sighed. This was not how he had expected his night to go.

- - -  

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 10:

“So you’re going tonight?” Nimueh asked, smiling at Peter. She could practically feel her buzzing with excitement on his behalf.

“Yes.” He said indulgently. “And you are going to bed.”

“But I wanted to wait until you got back.” She whined.

“Come on, we won’t be back until at least morning, so you should sleep.”

She pouted, but didn’t argue any further as he pulled the sheet up to her shoulders, tucking her into her little cot. She studied him intently for a long moment. “You’re gonna be careful, okay?”

“I will.” He said. “Are you ready for me to let you have your power back?”

She shook her head. “Just for tonight, leave them off.” 

He frowned down at her. “Are you sure?”

She nodded and shot him a look that she imagined was sly, but was really more cute than anything else. “Yes. And you have to promise to turn them back on in the morning for my paddle around the water.”

He chuckled. “Is this your way of telling me to make sure to be careful?”

She nodded. “Yes. You wouldn’t want to break a promise to me, would you? It might stunt my emotional growth and interfere with my ability to grow close emotional bonds.”

He snorted. “No more self-help books for you.”

“But they’re funny!”

“Good night, Nim.”

“Good night, Dumas.” She fidgeted for a moment, ducking down to burrow a little into her sheet. “I’m a little keyed up though. Can you help me get to sleep?”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please.” 

He nodded and leaned in close, almost as though he were about to kiss her, but well short of contact, he took a breath. A single split-second long breath that sent a brief stream of gold flowing from her mouth and into his. 

She was unconscious almost immediately, her breathing deep and easy. Sleep rather than unconsciousness. His control over this power had grown the more he used it. Putting people to sleep with it for just a night with no consequences was almost trivial now and he’d gotten a lot of practice with it over the last month. 

A lot of Morlocks had trouble sleeping. Mostly for the same reasons he did, but they couldn’t stay up as long as he could. He straightened up, pushing that power deep into his and felt out her power within him. It would behave until he pulled it out. If he pulled it out. He didn’t expect to need it, but it was something that he could draw upon if it became necessary. 

He still hadn’t told anyone of the full extent of his powers. All anyone knew were his strength, speed and toughness, as well as the ability to breathe in life energies from others. That already put him leagues ahead of most of the Morlocks in terms of power, as they tended to have weaker or less versatile gifts. 

He pulled out his burner phone from his coat pocket and checked the time. Ten in the evening. Time to go.

- - -  

The Morlocks were intimately familiar with the New York subway system. They were already within the system, so didn’t need to worry about fares. They also had access to the maintenance tracks that the city had long since abandoned and used those for transporting larger loads.

Peter had seen them use small wheeled carts that ran on the tracks to move things like the harvest from the Grove or the Rat Ranch to the Alley’s adjoining pantry spaces. 

For the really big stuff, they used old abandoned or possibly stolen subway cars. While having stronger Morlocks push the cars worked, the one who normally handled pulling the cars had been the massive dragon-like Scaleface. Pound for pound, she wasn’t as strong as some of the other Morlocks, but in the form of a massive four-legged dragon the size of a buick, she also had a lot of poundage and did not get tired easily, even when pulling a fully loaded subway car for hours on end.

Peter had been appalled to learn that the main reason she hadn’t been involved in the last supply run (or any of the previous ones, for that matter) was that Sunder hadn’t thought to ask her and had been content to push the subway car himself.

He had made a specific point of asking Scaleface to participate. Since the main point of her presence for this job was to pull their getaway vehicle, he’d also made sure she was allowed to get as much rest as possible. So he’d worked with her schedule and had her pull the subway cars they would be using to the maintenance station a few days before the supply run. 

This maintenance station was their main staging area before they would begin to deploy. 

It was in considerably better shape than the last one they’d used for the last supply run. Peter had been cleaning and straightening up on and off for the last month, in between everything else. The worst of the junk and clutter had long since been cleared out and the subway cars and tracks had been inspected and declared ‘good enough’. 

He looked over at the people who were here for this and hoped it worked out like he’d planned.

Scaleface, who was currently in her normal human form of a short, muscular brunette with a pixie bob haircut, was asleep on top of the forward subway car. Peter knew that while she wasn’t as tough in human form as she was when she was a dragon, she was indifferent to temperature extremes in both forms. So despite the cold, she was only dressed in a ragged red tanktop and very loose pair of Daisy Dukes. Since her transformation didn’t affect her clothes, she also tended to have a very casual attitude towards nudity. Peter considered it lucky that she was even wearing anything right now. 

Piper was standing in one corner, fiddling with his pipe nervously. Next to him, a salvaged microphone on a stand that was plugged into what had originally been a cell phone. After the experiments with Piper had borne fruit and found that the range on his animal control could be extended for as long as his controlled animals could continue to hear his music, even over the radio, Peter had taken the extra cell phones he’d had on hand, along with a few scavenged sound systems and rebuilt them into a simple network of wireless speakers. The mic he had on hand would broadcast to a set of speakers strung through the nearby tunnel network and Tommy had a specific device with her that would be plugged into the overhead speakers in the store, so Piper could maintain his control over his rodent minions without leaving the maintenance station. As for the rats themselves– they were packed together, silent and eerie, like an animated carpet across the entire floor.

Peter suppressed a shudder. The rats would be doing the bulk of the lifting. For the heavy lifting, however, he had a few other people.

The Doublemint twins dozed lightly at the tunnel mouth. They’d need Brute and Hump to fully open the way into the store once Mole got things prepared. In theory Peter could have done it himself, but extra hands would make it easier. What he hadn’t expected was the third person waiting with them. 

Peter moved towards them and greeted the man carefully, “Sunder.”

The large man shrugged and answered the unasked question. “I always go on the supply runs.”

Peter nodded slowly. “I see.” 

Sunder chuckled, obviously amused at the expression on Peter’s face and shook his head. “Callisto said you’re in charge here, so you’re in charge. I’ll follow your lead.” 

There was a hint of a challenge there, but Peter inclined his head. “Thank you.” 

Over the last month, he had spent a bit of time with the man and while he tended to be very loyal to Callisto, he wasn’t a slavish follower either. He wasn’t a terribly clever man, but Peter had seen enough to know that Sunder was quite perfectly capable of malicious compliance if he didn’t like the orders he’d been given. 

Brute and Hump both stirred awake, blinking in confusion at Peter. “We ready to go?” Hump asked.

Peter shook his head. “Waiting to get the go-ahead from Tommy. Probably won’t be for a few more minutes. I’m just checking up on everyone to make sure they’re ready.”

Brute nodded sleepily. “Cool. We’re ready.” 

Peter patted both of the larger boys on their shoulders. “I know you are. Just rest up til we’re ready, okay, guys?”

Hump mumbled something unintelligible before he slumped over onto his brother’s shoulder.

Peter straightened up and noted that Sunder was eyeing him critically. “What’s wrong?”

“That what you’re wearing?” Sunder said, gesturing at him.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Peter asked, confused.

Sunder shook his head, now clearly getting upset. “You’re supposed to be in charge. No one’s going to believe you’re in charge if you look that sloppy.” 

Peter was taken aback by this. “What do you–?”

Suddenly the big man loomed over him and reached a massive hand towards Peter’s bright red scarf, which had been indifferently looped around his neck twice.

“This won’t do.” Sunder’s tone did not allow for any defiance.

Peter froze as the big man pulled the scarf entirely off of his neck and began to loop it around more tightly, arranging it into a proper overhand knot. Peter noted that he was tying off the scarf the same way his own neatly tied, bright white scarf had been tied.

“Uh… thank you?”

Sunder nodded approvingly after completing tying it off. “Leader’s gotta look neat for the troops.”

Peter blinked at him. “Callisto just runs around in those ragged t-shirts and her vest.”

“Her vest is clean and neat.” Sunder said slowly, as though explaining to a child. He looked thoughtful then added. “Also, she’d stab me if I tried to tie a scarf on her properly. You don’t have a knife.”

“Fair enough.” Peter agreed helplessly.

Sunder’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, one last thing.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Peter’s feet. 

“What?” 

“Your shoes are a disgrace. When’s the last time you shined those?” Sunder rumbled.

“But I–”

“Get ‘em off.” Sunder growled. “I’ll do ‘em for you now, but only cause we don’t have time for you to learn how to do ‘em properly.” 

Peter helplessly took his shoes off as Sunder produced a brush and shoe polish from one of the pockets on his coat and began to very quickly, very mechanically, and very thoroughly shine them.

Peter had to admit that the process seemed meditative for the big man and seemed to calm him down. 

They were waiting anyway. 

There were worse ways to spend the time. 

After a few minutes, Peter took his eyes away from Sunder’s shoe shining process and glanced down at his phone. 

He tapped a few controls to select the channel and keyed the push to talk button. “Caliban, are you there?”

The phone’s speaker crackled for a moment. “Caliban is here.” Caliban’s voice came through. “Caliban’s ass is freezing, but Caliban and Bouncer are on standby. Bouncer says that if he has to stay up all night for this, you owe him a lot of coffee.”

Peter had to smile. “I’ll make sure to get him the good stuff.”

“That is all we ask.” Caliban chuckled. “Are you nervous?

“Uh… a little,” Peter admitted. Then he added, “Sunder’s shining my shoes.”

Caliban made a wordless noise of approval. “That means he likes you.”

“... I just realized. Is that why your shoes are always shiny and clean?”

Caliban simply laughed. “Good luck to us all, Dumas. Caliban will see you when we are done.”

The radio connection cut off and Peter smiled.

The push to talk on his phone crackled to life and Tommy’s voice came in, “This is Agent Tommy to the Big Bopper, over.”

“What?” Peter responded back.

“Aww. Weren’t we using code names?” She said playfully over the line.

“No one told me,” Peter snarked. “How’s it going?”

“Last of the employees left ten minutes ago. The store’s locked up tight. I’m in the management office right now. Almost done rerouting the alarms and looping the security feeds. Give me maybe… ten more minutes?” 

“Perfect,” Peter replied, “We’re getting into position now.” 

“Over and out, Big Bopper!”

Peter made a sour face as Sunder handed him his now very clean and brightly polished leather shoes. He nodded thanks as he put them on and nudged the Doublemint twins awake. He gave Piper a nod and the other man nodded back, lifting his pipe to his lips.

“Showtime?” Sunder asked.

Peter nodded. “Showtime.”

Peter stepped into the tunnel Mole had prepared, Sunder and the boys following.

All around them Piper’s flute played Mouret’s Rondeau and a few thousand rats trailed in their wake.

- - -  

Mole was already waiting a few blocks away. He’d reached the final few feet of the tunnel beneath their target last week and had spent the intervening time practicing their method for breaching the floor in other buildings and tunnels. 

The stocky little man was waiting when they arrived, impatiently leaning from foot to foot as he grinned at them. 

The rough tunnel walls ended in a set of stairs ascending up to the ceiling. 

“I’m ready when you are.” Mole said, ducking his head down, not quite concealing how eager he was to show off.

Peter smiled. “Just waiting on Tommy–”

The phone crackled once more. “Alarms and cameras are off. The feeds are looping on themselves. Got the doohicky plugged into the PA system. You guys get in here, I’m going to pull the blinds down.”

“Thank you… Agent Tommy.” Peter added the last in a mutter.

“Ten Four, Big Bopper!” She replied cheerily.

The radio cut out, then crackled to life again. This time it was Caliban’s voice. “Looks like Tommy did it. The sun shades are coming down inside the store. No one will be able to see in.”

“Thank you.” Peter grinned, then glanced at Mole. “You’re up.”

Mole nodded eagerly and bound up the stone stairs, pressing his hands to the stone above his head. His entire body shivered with concentration. 

He panted. “I… I think I have the shape right. Move it!”

Brute and Hump took a spot to his left, while Sunder stood to his right and they all pushed up. A massive, rectangular plug of concrete and stone moved. It was nine feet long, six feet wide and two feet thick. The top end was slightly larger than the bottom, making its sides taper sharply, allowing them to basically slot the plug back into place when they were done. 

The trick was that Mole wasn’t affecting the entire stone plug like he normally would. He’d shaped his power to only affect an inch wide segment of material surrounding that part, cutting it free once they pushed it out. When they’d first practiced this, Mole had made the sides straight up and down, causing the resultant stone plug to simply slide down and almost crush him. 

Twice. 

He learned to taper the sides after that.

It was more mentally taxing than simply energizing a large amount of material all at once to make it permeable, but this way, Mole wouldn’t need to keep actively using his powers for the next few hours. 

Mole slumped down, crawling on all fours to scramble out of the way as Hump, Brute and Sunder hauled the stone block up and out, walking the rest of the way up the stairs so they could put the massive concrete chunk down in the store above.

Peter grinned and clapped the smaller man on the shoulder. “Great job.” 

“Thanks,” Mole panted, giving him a thumbs up. “I’m… I’m just gonna lie down.”

Peter nodded. “You’ve earned it. It’s going to be a few hours til we need you again. Go take a nap, alright?”

“Will do, boss.” Mole muttered back, slumping his way off to the maintenance station.

Peter walked up the stairs to find that Sunder was shouldering the entire weight of the slab, rather than distributing the weight between himself and the twins, simply because he was taller than them.

He winced, noticing that the cement under Sunder’s feet was already groaning and the slab being carried almost entirely at one point was causing the ends to dip worryingly. 

“Sunder, please put it down,” Peter called out. 

“It’s not that heavy.” Sunder grunted. “I can keep this up all night.” 

Hump and Brute glanced from Sunder then to Peter who immediately shook his head and told the larger man hurriedly. “We can’t risk damaging it or the floor. I need you to put it down carefully, or your weight is going to crack the spot you’re standing on.” 

Sunder blinked. “Oh.” He shifted the block and began to lower it. Peter rushed over immediately and helped him lower it as softly as possible. 

They’d come out inside the warehouse area towards the back of the store, as planned. The store itself had a tile floor, making it very obvious if the slab wasn’t put back correctly or if they broke anything in here. 

Peter heaved a sigh of relief and watched the rats begin streaming out of the hole in the floor. 

They were in. 

He grinned. 

Tommy pushed open the double doors separating the store from the warehouse and kicked some chocks into place under them to hold them open. “Awesome! You made it!”

“Yep.” Peter glanced around at his fellow criminals for the evening.

His people.

His friends.

He pulled out his phone and noted the time. Tapping the push to talk to loop Mole, Piper and Caliban into the conversation. 

He took a deep breath and began to speak, as much for his benefit as theirs. They already mostly knew the plan– well, Sunder didn’t– 

Fine. He was doing this for Sunder’s benefit. Not his. His nerves were fine.

Just fine.

“We have over six hours til the morning shift shows up. Thanks to Tommy fiddling with the security system, we should be invisible to the security office inside OsCorp Tower proper. According to their schedule, the security guards should do a patrol every two hours, which passes by close to the shutters for the second floor entrance into the building.” 

He frowned as he considered things. Originally they were going to leave most of the second floor work, which had the pharmacy and the nutritional supplements to the rats. Hump and Brute were too big and indelicate to stay on the second floor where the guards might notice them. So it would be best for them to stay on the ground floor. Peter had intended to stay down there with them, but having Sunder here could let him leave the bigger man with the boys to keep an eye on them and keep them on-task. He could tackle the second floor himself and make sure the rats didn’t miss anything. 

He nodded to Tommy. “You’ll keep an eye out for the guards. Caliban’s keeping an eye on us from the outside. The rats will be bringing stuff down to the tunnel and towards the maintenance station as best as they can. Sunder, you and the boys grab stuff that the rats can’t handle. I’ll work on the second floor.”

Hump and Brute high-fived one another. 

“So we’ve got six hours in here?” Hump asked excitedly.

“What do you want us to grab?” Brute piped up.

Peter grinned. “We’re going to take everything.” 

Piper laughed over the phone. He began to play a new tune on his flute and somehow managed to sound like he was playing multiple flutes at once, layering the notes atop one another.

The rats dispersed through the store, forming lines as they began pulling stuff off the nearest shelves and passing items rat-to-rat-to-rat, bringing it down into the tunnels. 

The song sounded vaguely familiar to Peter, but Sunder laughed and snapped his fingers to the tune. 

All the people younger than him turned to stare.

Sunder grinned at them. “It’s the Mission Impossible Theme. Perfect heist music.”

“Oh, before we get to work, you need to put this on.” Tommy grinned at Peter and held up a skull mask. It wasn’t the same as the previous one. It seemed almost dog-like, but the antlers were still distinctive and there was a definite continuity in appearance with his previous mask.

“Where did you even get this?” Peter asked her sourly. 

She giggled and put it on him, adjusting the straps so that it fit properly. “Jo actually had the skull mask handy. Mole’s power is great for sticking things together. But the antlers I actually got from Sarah. ”

“... is that why she was growing those out? For this?”

“Mm-hmm. Well, that and she saw your video with Jewel and wanted to have horns like yours. But they fell off the other day, so she wanted you to have them.” 

“I’ll have to remember to thank her when we get back.” Peter grumbled.

Tommy hummed in agreement.

He sighed and allowed her to finish putting his mask on with ill concealed impatience. “You know, we’re in the middle of a crime.”

Sunder, surprisingly chimed in, nodding approvingly. “Yeah, but you still gotta look neat when you lead. Now you look like a leader.” 

Peter chuckled and shook his head, the antlers this time were much shorter and swept back. Much less likely to get caught in a door. “Fine. Let’s just get to work.” 

So they did.

- - -

The second floor was smaller than the first and had a lot of name brand over the counter medication, but they also had a wide selection of OsCorp’s generic brands as well. The locks for the area behind the pharmacy had the prescription stuff. 

The locks were trivially easy to break into with Peter’s strength, granting him easy access to everything.

Peter’s mouth took on a small sour twist as he considered the already prepared prescriptions. He was half-tempted to leave them, but the more he thought about it, the more it was unlikely that anyone would be allowed into the crime scene after they were done with it. Anyone who was going to pick up their prescriptions wasn’t going to be able to pick them up from here anyway. 

So he might as well take them. 

Along with everything else. 

Peter pulled everything out and arranged them into neat piles for the rats to ferry down to the tunnels. That process took a little bit over two hours, but once he’d gotten everything set up, they were definitely on schedule for pulling all the medicine, over the counter and prescription out of the pharmacy section. 

He was contemplating taking the dietary supplements as well, when Tommy warned him over their phones that the guard was coming for his patrol. Peter stopped moving and kept quiet until he was well past. Peter could hear the guard pass. Sight unseen, Peter could tell he was a big man. His steps were heavy and his tread was wide. 

The rats were mostly functioning fine in passing things down. The Mission Impossible petered out a few minutes after that and Peter’s phone crackled back on.

“Hey, Dumas–” Piper’s breathless voice came over the phone. “I’ve gotta take a break for a bit. I’m not as young as I used to be and my wind isn’t as good.”

“That’s fine.” Peter replied. He looked over to the rats continuing to pass things down and asked him, “Are the tasks the rats are doing now repetitive enough for them to keep going while you take a break?”

Piper wheezed for a moment then replied, “Yes, I think so. I’m gonna need maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, then I can play another set. If they’ve still got stuff to pass to each other until then, they should just keep going.”

“Sounds good,” Peter replied, glancing at the time once more. “Tell you what, I’ll get one of the boys to grab something for you to drink while you take your break.”

“That’d be appreciated.” 

“I wish I’d thought to bring a couple bottled waters in the maintenance area when we were prepping.” Peter’s voice was rueful.

“Well, you know. It’s only your second major felony.” Piper chuckled. “You can’t think of everything.”

“That’s fair.”

Peter walked down the stairs and stared at the situation before him.

They’d left all the lights off. There were some Oz Organics neon advertising signs along the walls that were enough to see by, that painted everything in shades of green. He pushed the mask back over his head to see if perhaps not having it in front of his face would change what he was seeing. 

During the time that he had been upstairs, he had expected the rats to have cleared out the shelves among the more important areas. Dry goods, canned goods, maybe the deli area.

What he hadn’t expected was for entire swathes of the store to simply be empty. Not just the contents of the shelves were cleared out. The shelves themselves were gone. The tiles where the shelves had previously been had slightly darker colors, but otherwise, there was no sign of them ever having been there.

He looked towards the front of the store. The checkout stands and self-service kiosks were entirely removed as well. 

Almost half the store was just… gone.

He’d been upstairs for two hours! Two! How did–

He stopped that line of thought hurriedly and rushed the rest of the way down. He found the Morlocks gathered around the aisle closest to the cleared out area. 

This one held chips, snacks, and crackers. Rather than the rats taking the items off the shelves as he’d been expecting them to do, the rats were clinging to the shelving and the contents of those shelves, instead. Brute and Hump were on either end of the aisle shelving, waiting for something.

Peter heard Mole’s voice tell them, “Okay, it’s free!” At which point Brute and Hump bent down, picked up the entire aisle’s worth of shelves and marched it into the warehouse area where the hole was. The rats hitching a ride on the shelf held everything in place as best as they could, but anything that fell off during the move would be taken by a rat on the ground and dragged away in their wake.

Mole spotted Peter and waved to him. Peter, not knowing what else to do, simply waved back. “Uh… hey.” Peter looked around and noted that Sunder was at the refrigerated section and was in the process of hauling away an entire freezer cabinet filled with fancy seafoods into the back. Rats clung to the freezer cabinet’s door, holding it shut in the wake of his movements. 

“I thought you were resting.” Peter said inanely.

Mole grinned at him, looking much better than he had earlier that evening. “I was. I feel a lot better now, though. I wanted to keep helping!” He held up a pair of large bolts in one clawed and furry hand. “I’m getting the shelves and stuff unbolted so we can grab them.”

Peter stared, trying to parse what he was being told. “But why?”

Sunder came back, dusting his hands and clearly overheard them. “Cause you said to grab everything.” He said, making it clear that he thought it was obvious.

“I meant all the groceries!” Peter blurted out. “I didn’t mean literally everything in the store!”

Sunder traded confused glances with Mole. Mole chewed on his lower lip for a second before admitting. “That kinda makes more sense, I guess?”

Sunder shrugged. “Eh. It was just faster to haul the shelves and stuff down to the tunnels for the rats to clear them out there instead of waiting for them to empty the shelves out up here.”

“I guess.” Peter sighed.

“And the rats couldn’t carry the freezers.” Sunder pointed out, glancing significantly at the handful of freezer units still in the store. Those ones had microwaveable frozen meals. The classy, expensive kind.

“How would we even prep those? We don’t have microwaves in the Alley!” Peter pointed out.

“Oh, yeah.” Sunder replied. His brows drew down as he pondered. “Good point.”

Peter sighed, glad to have gotten through to him. He was about to try and get them back on track, when Brute and Hump came back into the store area shoving one another and laughing faintly. 

Sunder pointed at them. “You two! You can get back to the shelves later. Get into the deli area and grab the microwaves and stoves and stuff in there! We can’t use this stuff if we ain’t got anything to use it with!”

“Will do!” Brute replied.

“Oh, boy. We’re getting Hot Pockets!” Hump said enthusiastically.

The boys cheerfully headed for the deli area, unplugging any appliances that came within arm’s reach, including not just a microwave oven, but also an espresso machine, an electric meat slicer, and an industrial mixer.

Sunder shot Peter a grin and Peter got the impression that the man clearly knew what he was doing and may possibly have just been playing dumb. On the other hand, they did seem to still be on track. He took another look around. 

If anything they were ahead of schedule. Maybe he had been overthinking the whole ‘using the rats’ thing. Something to keep in mind for later, he supposed.

Peter gave a sickly smile back towards Sunder. “Good work.”

Sunder’s grin grew wider.

Peter sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to go grab a drink for Piper so he can keep playing when his break’s done. I guess… carry on?”

“Yes, sir.” Sunder said, straightening up as his hand twitched and for a second Peter realized the man had been about to salute him. 

Mole nodded. “I’ll get the rest of the shelving units unbolted from the floor so the boys can grab them once they’re done with the appliances.”

Sunder jerked a thumb back towards the warehouse area. “We grabbed the fridges that were next to the cash registers first. You can get him a drink from there. Those’re about halfway to the maintenance station.”

Peter chuckled. “Do you guys want anything when I get back?”

“I’m good.” Sunder replied.

“I could do with one of those iced coffee things?” Mole asked.

Peter nodded. “Sure.”

He wondered if other criminal masterminds had to put up with their minions deciding to change plans on them mid-stream? Not that he was a criminal mastermind himself or anything. 

- - - 

By the time he’d gotten back from dropping off drinks for Piper and Mole, Peter had decided that maybe they had a point with the whole ‘steal everything’ plan. 

Since the guard had just finished his last patrol, Peter brought Brute, Hump and Sunder upstairs to give the shelves, counters and everything else on the second floor the same treatment that the first floor got. The smaller floorspace would make it likely they could be done before the guard’s next scheduled patrol. The rats had already gotten the medicine downstairs, but the shelves of various personal care products, first aid, and various nutritional supplements, dietary additives and meal replacement powders were picked up and taken downstairs wholesale by Peter and his super-strong fellow Morlocks. The rats did their part to keep everything more-or-less in place and pick up anything that didn’t make it. 

Mole made short work of anything holding anything else in place and once he’d made sure all the shelves, counters and other sundry furnishings were unbolted and ready to be grabbed, Peter had handed the smaller man a stepladder and set him to pulling all the LCD TV displays from the walls.

They were both ahead of schedule and behind it. The second floor was entirely cleared out in less than an hour. The ground floor was taking much longer, if only because it was a larger area and the stuff down there was more complicated. The massive baking oven had been taken from the back of the deli area, Peter having decided to get Mole to just make some walls selectively out of phase to make getting everything to the tunnels easier. 

The little guy was very enthusiastic about the whole process.

Piper had switched gears as well, now playing the Pink Panther theme on a loop as the rats went about their appointed business of grabbing any loose thing left behind by the extremely enthusiastic group of thieving Morlocks. 

They were getting close to being completely done when Tommy’s voice crackled onto Peter’s phone. “Boss, we got a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, pulling the phone out.

“The guards here. They’re getting a little suspicious. The one who’s been doing the patrolling might be hearing the music. He’s doubling back to the store.”

Peter winced. “Does he have access to this area?”

“Yeah. He’s got the keys to the second floor shutters. If he opens that up and sees that you guys cleaned it out–”

“Got it. What about the second guard?”

“He’s–” Tommy’s voice cut out for a second, then came back on. “I don’t think he cares all that much. You don’t have a lot of time–”  

 “Understood.” Peter snapped his fingers twice, loudly and called the attention of the Morlocks he had with him. “Guys. We might have some company soon.”

Sunder cracked his knuckles. “Need me to deal with it?”

Peter shook his head and pulled the mask down onto his face. “I’ll take care of it. Quietly. You guys… I need you guys to finish up as much as you can. Just grab it all and we can sort it out after we seal the tunnel up behind us. Ideally they’ll never even see us.”

Sunder nodded. “You heard him!” He growled towards Hump, Brute and Mole. “Time for some hustle!”

Peter worked the push to talk on his phone once more, getting Piper on the line. “Hey, we’re going to finish up. Can you have the rats sweep the place clean?”

“You want what?” The older man’s voice sounded confused.

“Have the rats walk all over the floors. Grab up anything we or they might’ve dropped. Hair and forensic traces. Have them try and smudge up any fingerprints or other traces we might’ve left.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense. The rats are on it!” Piper declared and began playing a different song, a lilting bouncy tune. Peter snorted as he finally recognized that it was the “Clean Up” song from that show with the purple dinosaur.

Tommy’s voice crackled on the phone once more. “Mr. Guard’s almost to the shutters. He’s searching through his keys.”

Peter clicked the push to talk button twice to acknowledge he’d received the message and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He got to the top of the stairs just as the roll up shutters were starting to go up. He cursed not actually having any real way to deal with someone at a distance, since practice with his life draining power showed he had to practically be within knife fighting distance.

For a fraction of a moment, the thought of using Nimueh’s gift did occur to Peter, but there was too much chance of accidentally catching everyone else in that power. Especially dangerous since Sunder and the twins were carrying big, heavy items around and Mole was still on top of a ladder the last time Peter had seen him. 

Too risky. 

Instead he rushed forward in a burst of speed, the edges of his coat trailing behind him. 

The guard pushed the shutter up high enough to actually look in and Peter got a good look at him as well. He was a large, middle aged man who was just shy of the twins in terms of size and bulk. He had a full head of curly, neatly cut black hair and heavy, blunt features. His dark blue security guard uniform shirt was probably at least a size too small and highlighted his  immense physique. 

He shone his flashlight into the second floor of the Oz Organics store to find… nothing. 

Every shelf, every bit of decoration. Everything was simply gone.

The big man began to sweep the light across the empty room just as Peter got within reach of him. 

From the guard’s perspective, there had suddenly been a burst of wind and he was staring down into a horned skull. The guard didn’t even get a chance to make more than a single disproportionately deep squeak, before a half-inhaled breath from Peter rendered him unconscious in a flash of gold. 

He caught the guard as the man had toppled forward, sliding the shutters back down in his wake in a single smooth motion.

Tommy’s voice crackled from the phone. “Hey, you got him!”

“Where are you?”

“I’m around the corner, behind him. Not sure if you can see me from where you’re at. If you hadn’t gotten to him, I was gonna bonk him on the head from behind.” Tommy’s voice was mock fierce.

Peter frowned under the mask. “Do you even know how to hit someone from behind to actually knock them out? That’s a good way to give a guy a concussion.”

“No clue. He’s lucky you were able to give him the business.” She giggled. 

Peter sighed. “Keep an eye on the other guard. He’s going to notice his buddy’s missing pretty quickly. We’ve almost got everything cleared out over here. Let me know if he does anything.”

Peter gently laid the guard onto the floor before heading down the stairs once more. The store proper was now completely cleared. Sunder and the boys were manhandling large still sealed boxes in the warehouse that had been delivered the night before into the tunnel. Peter noted that Mole had smoothed out a section of the carved stairs into a ramp and the boxes were being allowed to slide down, then shoved out of the way. 

He started helping them slide more and more of the supplies still in the warehouse to the tunnel below. They’d gotten almost everything in when his phone crackled to life once more. 

Tommy advised Peter, “Big Bopper! Definite problem! The other guard’s on the phone with 911 or something. The cops might be on their way.”

Peter cursed silently and looked around. They had… well, almost everything in the store. But there was just a bit left. If they had just a few more minutes they could make this a clean sweep. 

So… stall? Yes. 

Stall.

Peter tapped the button on the phone, “Caliban! You still up?”

“Caliban is here.” The pale man’s sleepy voice came back. “It is still quiet.” 

“The guard here might have called the cops. I need you to keep an eye out in case they do show up.”

Caliban sounded considerably more awake when he spoke next. “Caliban will keep an eye out.” 

“Thanks.” He switched channels back to Tommy and asked, “Is the guard still on the phone? Do you think we can have him tell them he was imaginin–”

“No go!” Tommy replied back frantically. “The guard’s heading down to the lobby to wait for the cops and let them in!”

Peter groaned. “Fine. Let me figure out what I can do!”

He turned to the Morlocks still in the warehouse. They just needed a few more minutes. He could buy them that, he was sure of it.

“Finish up what you can, guys. If this goes really wrong, I’ll be staying behind to stall to make sure they don’t realize you guys were ever here.”

Sunder grunted. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.” The big man told him.

“No promises!” Peter yelled at them as he ran back into the now completely empty store and up the stairs.

The rats were still running around both store floors, cleaning up after themselves… or at least ensuring that any traces he and the Morlocks left behind were thoroughly contaminated with rat hair as to be completely useless. 

Peter ran across the store’s second floor towards the unconscious guard and as part of a single motion, bent down and slung him over his shoulder. 

He sent the shutter rolling upwards with his free hand, then sprinted, running flat out with the  almost 300 pounds of muscle that was the security guard over one shoulder. He stepped into the darkened mezzanine of OsCorp Tower and paused just long enough to get a good view of the lobby.

Almost directly below him, a much older guard in the same uniform as the man on his shoulder, was tottering towards the building’s front doors. A set of keys already in hand. 

Peter took a moment to pull on his reserves of life energy for a moment, filling his body with golden strength, before he ran down the stairs to one side of the lobby and blurred into view in front of the guard.

The old man had thinning white hair, a pair of thick glasses and a wizened face that had deeply etched smile lines. The man gave a startled squawk, dropping his keys and clutching at his chest. 

Peter leaned in and inhaled, taking even less than usual, given how frail the older man seemed, he didn’t want to risk taking too much. 

The old guard slumped bonelessly to the floor and Peter heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn’t even sure why he took the other guard with him for this. He probably would’ve run faster without him. 

He didn’t know where his head was at, at this moment. 

In his own head he answered his unspoken question.

Panicking. Mostly.

He heaved the big guard onto one of the couches in the lobby and hurriedly did the same for the older guard. He scooped the man’s keys up in his hands and thought about it. He could just exit using the front door of OsCorp Tower, since he was here already.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone crackling to life. Tommy’s voice came through. “Big Bopper! We’ve got the store cleared! Sunder and the boys are ready to lower the cement plug. You need to get back here already.” 

Peter looked down at the keys and tapped the button to reply. “No worries. I’ve got another exit. Go ahead and close it up. I’ll meet you guys–”

Whatever else he was about to say was cut off as he spotted a police car pull up past the door.

Caliban’s voice crackled from his phone. “The cops are here! Time to get out! I can’t get hold of Bouncer. You have no teleport assistance right now. You have to leave!”

Peter’s eyes widened and he cursed. He pocketed the keys and ran back up the way he came, making another mad dash for the second floor door from OsCorp Tower into, tapping the controls on his phone frantically as he tried to get Tommy again. “Wait, don’t seal the hole up! I have to–”

He practically leapt down the stairs, sliding to a halt on the slippery tiled floor, catching sight of the carpet of rats still scurrying all over the floor. 

He whirled around, looking towards the warehouse area, only to find that there was no longer any trace of the hole.

Tommy’s tone was frantic as it was apologetic. “Sorry, boss! We thought you said to close it up!”  

Peter fought down that increasingly strong urge to scream in frustration.

“You didn’t have the rats go down with you guys?” Peter asked. He noticed that the flute music was no longer playing on the overhead speakers.

“We stole the PA system too, boss.” Brute replied first, then Hump piped up. “Piper couldn’t control them anymore after we grabbed that stuff. He said it was okay, tho! They’d make their own way out.”

“Why haven’t they?” Peter wondered.

“Probably cause the place is still locked up tight.” Tommy said speculatively.

Peter took a deep breath to steady himself and walked closer to the front doors of the store, squinting a bit through the gap in the sun shade. He could already feel the sensation of being prey focusing in on him through the glass.

The cops were out there. They were aware of him.

He was stuck like a cornered rat.

He glanced down at the rest of the rats milling around him. 

At least he was in good company. 

He frowned. He could probably get to them fast enough to take them out, but he didn’t want to risk getting shot. He knew, in an academic sense, that he was very tough and healed quickly. On the other hand, he didn’t want to find out if he was bulletproof the hard way.

He did have one other possible way to knock them out. He still had Nimueh’s power inside him. He knew that solid material didn’t deter it. It worked through tons of stone, it would work through a sheet of glass. He’d only need to let it out for a tiny bit. 

Not too long. 

Not too much. 

It would be more than enough to knock the cops out and he could basically stroll out without them ever seeing him.

He put his hand back into his pocket and fished out the key ring the older guard had been about to use. 

Peter knelt down, slipping keys into the lock at the base of the glass door and found one that slipped in easily and unlocked the front door for the store. 

Okay. Door unlocked. Peter could make a break for it now. But it really made more sense to knock them out first. That would be safer.

It struck him as funny that using a power that was like an unrelenting tide of death was the ‘safer’ option.

He prepared to pull the power out of himself, but looked around at the rats still idly carpeting the floor. They were avoiding him a bit, but they were still all just… there.

In the brief amount of time he would need to use Nimueh’s power, that would likely kill all of the rats. They were, in the end, just rats. But they’d done hard work for them tonight… and maybe he was eventually going to end up eating them or their relatives… these particular ones didn’t deserve to get killed just because it was convenient.

He huffed a breath and pulled up Piper’s channel. “Hey, you okay over there?”

“Sure enough, Dumas. What’s going on?”

Peter replied “The rats still in the store. I need them to move as far away from me as possible. I’m about to use a version of my knockout power that’s… um… undirected. I might accidentally kill the rats.”

Piper’s reply was confused. “They’re rats. They die.” 

Peter sighed. “Yeah, but I don’t want to kill them by accident.”

Peter could swear he heard Piper’s eyes rolling in his head. “I’m not on the PA system in the store anymore. They can’t hear me.”

“Can you play through my phone?” Peter asked.

“Uh… I suppose? You just want them to get away from you, right? That’s all?” Piper asked.

“Yes. Just get them to move away from me as far as possible.”

“Okay, let me know when you’re ready.” Piper said. 

Peter tapped the button one more time before leaving the phone on speaker as he slid it into his pocket. “Ready.” 

Piper trilled his way through the Halloween theme. 

Peter muttered under his breath, “I am not sure how you’re managing to sound like you’re playing three flutes at the same time.”

“Breath control,” Piper said smugly, while the music kept playing.

The rats did start moving away. 

Unfortunately, they started moving for the door. 

- - -  

Peter stared at the two unconscious policemen and panted into the cold almost dawn air. 

He couldn’t afford to keep standing here. He needed to leave. He shivered, as much from the adrenaline in his system as much as the cold and he took another look at the unconscious men on the cold concrete.

He muttered angrily to himself even as he glanced around and then opened the door to the back of their patrol car. The engine was still running. The heat was still on in the car. 

He had no idea what the response time for the area was once they realized they had officers down, but this would be fine.

Caliban’s voice came up behind him. “What are you doing?”

Peter gave a startled yelp and spun to face him. “Don’t do that!”

Caliban glanced both ways up and down the street and inclined his head towards the store again. “We need to leave. What are you doing?”

Peter gestured to the police officers as he turned to pick them up and load them in the car. “It’s cold. I don’t want them to get frostbite or something while they wait for their backup to arrive.”

Caliban chuckled and helped Peter manhandle the policemen into the car. “You are indeed a diabolical master criminal, aren’t you?”

“Criminal, yes. Asshole, no.” Peter said cheekily, shutting the door on the cops and leaving them in the back door. He also belatedly noticed that Caliban had relieved the police officers of their car keys, handcuffs and wallets. 

Peter shook his head as Caliban led him back into the store, idly picking up the pistols that had fallen on the ground, making sure to check that the safeties were on. 

“Why are we going back in the store?” Peter asked.

Caliban eyed him. “Did you forget what Mole’s power is mostly used for? Not just tunneling or opening up holes in the floor.”

Peter sighed, unable to massage the bridge of his nose because the mask was in the way. Now that he was no longer as panicked… 

“I could’ve stood in the spot where the hole was and Mole could’ve made it out of phase so I could pass through.”

“Caliban knew you were a smart one!” The pale man said encouragingly.

“Thanks.” Peter grumbled sourly.

“Caliban did get some lovely footage of you while you were confronting the cops though. Spine chilling stuff. Perfect for YouView.”

“Wait. What.”

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 11:

Nimueh carefully stirred the noodles and broth in the pot a few more times, while Peter leaned in and turned the dial for the propane camp stove all the way to the ‘off’ position.

“And that is how you make instant noodles.” Peter said, smiling at her while she lifted the fork up to lift the noodles out of the broth, clearly fascinated with them. 

“It’s still hot.” She murmured, awed.

Peter settled back in his seat and nodded. “Give it a few minutes to cool off, though, before you try to eat them, or you’ll burn your mouth.”

They were in the Cistern, seated at a heavier and more stable wooden table that Peter had brought down a few weeks ago for Nimueh’s living area. On the table was a propane camp stove and a cooking pot with a folding handle that was part of a set that had been among Peter’s acquisitions from the Oz Organics theft that morning. 

Having been the one bringing her food every day, Peter had realized fairly quickly that Nimueh almost never had warm meals, much less a hot one. The distance to travel between the Alley to the main entrance to the Cistern ended up with her food being considerably cooled down by the time it arrived. Since Peter was the only one who could actually spend time directly in her presence (unlike say Sarah and the other kids who spent time with her by yelling down the well, or Caliban who could only talk to her by yelling from the tunnel entrance), no one had actually ever taught Nimueh to cook for herself.

It did not help that she had been living in the Cistern since she was a child. It was a wonder she had any life skills at all. So, since they had gotten an excess of everything during this supply run, Peter had resolved to let her have a hot meal. And possibly a small lesson in how to prepare food.

Hence the impromptu cooking lesson and her first introduction to instant noodles.

Peter chuckled as she took the pot entirely off the camp stove, pulled the noodles up once more and began blowing on them, using a half-remembered method from when she was much smaller. 

“What’s so funny?” She complained, before puffing at the noodles once more.

He smiled. “You’re being cute. Anyway, I’ll probably need to get going soon.”

She finally put some of the noodles in her mouth, bit down to cut them to size and chewed happily. Her eyes were closed and she was making noises of deep satisfaction.

She swallowed, then breathed in the steam and scent of the still hot broth, before looking at Peter directly and giving him a pout. “Do you?”

“Yeah, afraid so. I don’t particularly want to–” He trailed off, sighed, then continued. “Looks like because we got so much, someone had the bright idea to have a party. Some of the food is very perishable, so they figured on eating as much of it as possible now before it can go to waste.”

“Oh.” Peter could see understanding dawn on the younger girl’s face, before it broke into a sad smile. “I guess you’ll be the guest of honor since it was pretty much your plan.”

Peter’s face took on a sour twist. “It kind of went to plan. Towards the end, there was an awful lot of improvising.”

“On the bright side you didn’t have to get into a punching match with a superhero this time!” She grinned impishly for a second and Peter had to laugh.

They settled into what should’ve been a familiar, comfortable silence, but Peter could feel a shift in the atmosphere of their little cocoon of light in the dark, cool damp of the Cistern. Nimueh ate quietly, her expression was nostalgic and melancholy. Peter wondered if she was remembering what it had been like before she’d had to come down here and be on her own. 

Before being around other people was a death sentence for her. He didn’t really consciously acknowledge it most of the time. He did feel a kinship with her in that regard. To be so alone just because of something outside of her control.

Well, it was under control now, wasn’t it? That was him doing it. He had made a difference for her. A small one, but it was still one. 

He could make a bigger one if he wished to try. If she were willing to take a step.

“You’re staring.” She said quietly. “Are you getting ready to go to the party?”

He smiled. “I am, but I had another thought.”

“Oh?” 

“If you aren’t too full yet, I was wondering if you wanted to come with.”

She stared, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Wait. What.”

Huh. She picked that up from him. He grinned.

“If I’m the guest of honor, I don’t think anyone would mind if you came with me.” Peter explained.

“Bu– but I might kill–” 

“No, you won’t.” Peter replied patiently and patted the back of her hand. “Until I let your powers work for you again, you absolutely can not use them.” He spoke slowly and firmly. “We talked about you going where you want to go. This is as good a chance as any. Everyone will be distracted and too busy to notice you. You get a chance to maybe meet some people up close and have some good food.”

Her eyes were shining and the excitement seemed to rise within her. “I… I… but, I have nothing to wear for a party! Everyone knows you’re supposed to wear something nice!”

Peter grinned. “Lucky for you, I have a friend who can help out with that.”

- - -

Peter stepped into the meal area of the Alley with Nimueh on his arm. Outside of the weak light of the Cistern, Nimueh’s gray pallor was closer to a sort of corpse pale that Peter was sure goths would kill for. Her long dark blue-gray hair had been expertly braided by Jo and twisted into an elaborate looking bun that made her look older and more sophisticated. Her simple white dress had been replaced with a worn, but flowing dark blue cotton dress that had white, macrame roses crocheted into the ankle-length hem and all the way up the sleeves and at the high-neck throat. 

The dress reminded him of something his Aunt May might have worn, but Nimueh’s simple delight at being able to wear something pretty was heartening. 

Peter had to admit that Jo certainly knew her stuff. 

He was somewhat less enamored with her choice for his outfit. Peter had intended to dress more casually. He still had a reasonably clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt in his room, but Jo and Nimueh had both insisted that he needed to wear something ‘nice’, so he found himself in a black tux, with a white button up undershirt, complete with bow tie. The inner lining of the coat had a bunch of worrying stains, but Jo assured him that it had been properly cleaned. 

Peter sighed because it was clear almost no one else had gotten a memo about ‘dressing nice’. Everyone else in the area looked like they were dressed the same as normal, although if Peter were pressed, he could say that some of his fellow Morlocks were wearing marginally cleaner or fancier outfits. 

Callisto, for instance, was wearing a T-shirt that actually didn’t have any holes in it for a change. He even spotted Caliban sporting an actual shirt under his purple velvet pimp suit.

Peter noted that Mrs. Penn seemed to be particularly well-dressed for the occasion as she sauntered through the crowd towards him. Her usual straw hat with the flowers having been replaced with a crown of what Peter was fairly certain were Mardi Gras beads with the occasional flower woven in-between.

Mrs. Penn eyed Peter for a moment, beads shining as they caught the light, before raising her head and giving a soft “Moo”.

At least, it would have been soft if she didn’t have a party horn in her mouth. It HONKED loudly enough to overcome the noise coming from the nearby mosh pit. A paper tongue unfurled from the horn and tapped Peter on the chest.

“Nice to see you in the party spirit.” Peter said to her with a nod.

Mrs. Penn gave him a knowing (or merely bovine) gaze.

Peter gestured to Nimueh, “Have you met, Nim?”

Mrs. Penn’s eyes widened and she gave another HONK, to tap Nimueh on the chest with the paper tongue as well.

Nimueh took it in good grace and gave Mrs. Penn a courtesy. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Penn.”

The cow dipped her head low in seeming acknowledgement, before wandering off.

Peter found that Nimueh seemed to be giddy at the strange, albeit brief, interaction. He had to remind himself again that she didn’t have much social experience. Especially not the kind that didn’t involve yelling at someone who was over a hundred yards away.

The food service tables were lined up as before, but this time didn’t have anyone guarding them. Food was plentifully ladened in a buffet style and everyone was being encouraged to take what they wanted. At the end of the dining area closest to the airlock, the tables had been pulled away, leaving a large, open area where a single metal drum was burning merrily. The existing  ventilation pulled at the air, sending the smoke away from the diners and towards the vents at the end of the Alley. 

Closest to the drum fire, a few Morlocks were playing an eclectic range of musical instruments and Callisto was leading them in a spirited rendition of Joan Jett’s “I love Rock and Roll” that was more ambition, energy and enthusiasm than anything else. Any time she actually managed to get the notes right seemed more by accident than by design. Granted, Peter had also never heard a rendition of the song arranged for accordion, flute, guitar, steel drum and bongos. 

Not that it mattered to the Morlocks in the crowd clustered around the open area. The ones who regularly sported the punk aesthetic that Peter had mostly met in passing, were singing along to the chorus, throwing fists up into the air and slam dancing into one another. 

Nimueh clung to him tighter, not sure if she liked the raucous noise, but her eyes were shining with excitement nonetheless. 

Peter glanced down at her and said firmly. “I’m not sure you’re quite ready for a mosh pit yet, young lady.”

She grinned and shook her head. “I was just curious.”

He led her to the line at the buffet table, keeping an eye on the performance which ended to thunderous applause. Callisto tossed the mic to Caliban, who seemed to be playing MC. Peter didn’t really hear what he said, since the mic wasn’t actually hooked up to anything and appeared to just be a prop. The closest members of the crowd were rowdy enough to drown out what he was saying, but they erupted in cheers anyway as another Morlock, this one with an eyepatch and a ridiculous pompadour so high it added an extra foot to his height, carried out an old fashioned Karaoke machine. The machine was placed with great reverence in front of the fire, before a squeal of feedback came from the Karaoke’s speaker and Caliban’s voice came through. “-- like so! Wonderful! A round of applause for Erg, the Keeper of the Karaoke!” 

The crowd enthusiastically began clapping and hooting. Caliban smiled and nodded. “Now we have come to the Open Mic Moment. Who wishes to partake?!”

More cheers and raucous laughter from the mosh pit. 

Peter tuned out that portion of the party to concentrate on the food and making sure that Nimueh was okay. They stepped away from the buffet tables, the now unfamiliar paper plates heavily loaded with every sort of food. 

Peter traded nods and waves with everyone who recognized him. A few came closer, with congratulations and thanks and claps on the shoulder or enthusiastic embraces. Plague in particular gave him a warm thanks, bowing and blessing him over and over so much that Peter began to blush.

Nimueh watched on, amused and also proud, until they extricated themselves from the densest concentrations of people towards the less populated edges of the party where the less social Morlocks relegated themselves. Usually the ones with the more extreme physical deformities, but also there were those with lower status in the Morlocks pecking order. 

Not because they were shunned for being more deformed, Peter had learned that fairly early on. Mutations could inflict some fairly massive deviations from the bog standard human form. Such as Tommy’s rainbow gradient skin and hair, or Mole’s hirsute physique, or Sarah’s debilitating bone spurs. 

The worst deformities among the Morlocks hadn’t always been natural ones. 

Peter’s eyes briefly fell upon a blue-green skinned, emaciated Morlock who sat sullenly against one of the lawn-chair styled seats. Her head came to a swept back point and what hair she did have was a pair of wide, blue fans on either side of her head, but she was bald everywhere else. Her entire lower half, from the hips down, flared out into an immense, slimy grub that matched the rest of her skin. Peter had never spoken with her before, but he’d known of her from other Morlocks.

Her name was Glow Worm and on the day Peter had joined the Morlocks, she’d made a mistake. Before that day, she’d had a pair of perfectly normal, functional legs.

Then she’d had a ‘talk’ with Masque. 

The Morlocks lowest on the totem pole were the ones who’d been on Masque’s shit list. Anyone on that list, ended up changed.

Peter’s lip curled in disgust at the thought of the man, but he’d kept himself scarce since that one encounter a month ago. He’d hear that Masque was still around and still throwing his weight around. ‘Enforcing discipline’, so he had heard. 

But never where Peter could get his hands on him. 

Just as well.

He expected sooner or later he would run into the man and there would be some kind of reckoning one way or another.

He sighed and was startled to find a tater tot shoved directly into his field of view.

“You should eat something.” Nimueh proclaimed gravely. “You’re thinking deep thoughts while we’re at a party. That is probably illegal in some way.”

“I am a criminal, you know.” Peter pointed out with a chuckle, plucking the tater tot from her fingers and popping it into his mouth. It was crisp and salty and delicious.

They looked around for an unoccupied set of tables and chairs, but there weren’t any. Even though the crowd towards the edges of the celebration was thinner, they also had a tendency to stick to one person per table. Eventually, their meanderings led them towards a slightly more crowded area, but one that had people being social enough to share seats. 

More importantly the children had been seated in that area. Mostly grouped together by peer group, which was more a matter of age. Annalee bustled among those several tables, checking in on her charges and making sure that everyone had enough to eat. 

Peter waved to her and she smiled back, waving to him using a wooden spoon that she had been using to spoon more vegetables into a reluctant orange colored, cat-faced pre-teen’s plate at a further table.

He half-stumbled as he felt his easy strength fade away as they came within range of Leech’s power dampening field. Peter caught sight of the green-skinned, noseless boy digging into his meal at a half-filled table, barely paying attention to anyone around him. He had a conical party hat on, on top of his usual beanie.

Hemingway, the gray-skinned and skull-faced seven year old boy, who had been sitting next to Leech, shot to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at Peter.

“Dumas is cheating on Cistern!” He gasped. This drew the attention of all the other kids at that table.

That got Peter an amused smirk from Nimueh. He laughed it off.

Sarah, who was sitting at the same table and starting to grow a fresh set of bone antlers from her brow, leaned over and smacked the side of Hemmingway’s head. Then she gave Nimueh a suspicious look. “Who are you? When did you get down here?”

Nimueh grinned at Sarah and dropped down to one knee so she’d be level with the smaller girl. “You talk to me every morning. I’ve been here longer than you have.” 

Sarah’s eyes got very wide as she recognized Nimueh’s voice, despite the lack of echoes or the yelling. “H-how?!”

Peter winked and grinned. Nimueh just smiled. “Shenanigans, I guess?”

Sarah practically leapt out of her seat to tackle Nimueh into a hug. 

Leech looked up curiously. “Wait. What’s going on?”

Hemingway glanced toward Leech and shrugged. “I’m as confused as you are.”

Peter and Nimueh began to put their plates down in preparation for taking a seat with the kids.

The music and singing coming from the other end actually quieted down in that moment as Caliban waved to everyone, once more assuming his role as MC. “That was a wonderful rendition of Brittany Spear’s Toxic by Bliss! A big hand for her, everyone!” He gestured towards a woman in a pretty pink dress who actually looked like Marilyn Monroe, with blonde curls and lush figure. Or at least she did until she opened her mouth wide… and kept opening and kept opening said mouth even more finally allowing out a smaller head, perhaps three inches wide, to come out of her mouth at the end of an immense two foot-long tongue. The tinier Marilyn Monroe head smiled at everyone and hissed appreciatively.

That earned a lot more applause.

“Now before we continue,” Caliban said, gesturing grandly. “Caliban wishes for everyone to be aware of who we have to thank! The Founder of Our Feast, so to speak.” He pointed above his head, where the sheet that was usually reserved for Movie night unfurled itself, blocking off a portion of the drum fire’s light and a Morlock in a very large hat and a single massively glowing eye, projected an image onto the screen.

It was a street scene with somewhat grainy street cam footage in black and white. Peter felt his face flush as he recognized the front of the Oz Organics store. 

He noted that Piper was playing a slowly building creepy musical trilling noise that just kept building and building. 

A pair of uniformed police officers exited the patrol car that was parked on the street. The music seemed to ratchet up the tension as the pair looked around the area. They moved with an air of wary confidence and competence. Entirely undercut by the slowly rising tension in the eerie trilling of the flute that Piper continued to play.

Then the glass double doors before the police officers for the store slammed open, accompanied by the loud crash of someone slamming a mallet into the steel drum. It was so sudden and shocking that the viewers suddenly cried out in surprise and shock. 

That was even before the living wave of black spilled out of the doors, washing over the two police officers, to the accompaniment of the flutes which now sounded like the squeaking of a dozen rats simultaneously.

Peter squinted and noted that Piper did in fact have a dozen rats around him, standing on their hind paws, forepaws clasped together in front of them, looking like the tiniest and filthiest choir in the world.

Some of the audience gasped. Some screamed. Some laughed, but then a figure stepped out from the doors. A majestic pair of horns rising from the brow of a skull-face, gesturing to the fallen police officers.

The flute slid into a tune reminiscent of the Imperial March.

The crowd was cheering and applauding.

Peter was amazed to see it from the outside. He did look… terrifying. The whole thing seemed like something out of a horror movie. Piper’s musical accompaniment just made it worse. 

Then it showed him casually and easily picking the fallen policemen up and putting them into the police car, while behind him hovered a hooded figure whose entire torso seemed to be lit up.

Caliban in the jogging outfit he’d been wearing. The reflectorized vest actually did a good job in concealing any details about him that the footage might have caught. 

Peter’s own distinctive headgear was more difficult to conceal. 

The footage ended with them both reentering the store and the image on screen faded out even as the Morlocks continued to cheer and catcall.

Peter was even more startled to realize that Sunder was standing next to him, an arm around his shoulders. 

Neither of them had their enhanced strength, with Leech so close by, but Sunder had a good two feet of height on him and over a hundred pounds of actual muscle. Peter realized that he wasn’t going anywhere while the man held onto him. 

Sunder muttered down to him. “You’re gonna want to stay standing for this.”

Nimueh glanced over at him with a hint of worry, but Peter merely shrugged as best as he could with Sunder’s weight pressing against him. He could still feel his stockpile of life energies if he needed them. He didn’t have a sense for whether he was being targeted as with the predatory power, but he liked to think he’d developed a feel for when it was happening. That wasn’t quite the case right now.

He wasn’t sure what was going on.

A Morlock whose features were lost to Peter in the glare of the drum fire held up one of the dish-like mirrors, that were usually used in the Grove and focused the reflected fire light on him, putting him in the spotlight.

“Everyone! I give you, Dumas!” Caliban exclaimed, gesturing in his direction.

The crowd exploded in applause. 

“For what it’s worth,” Sunder continued to mutter down, a grim smile on his face, “This ain’t my idea.”

Peter frowned up at Sunder for a second before someone stepped between him and the light, putting Peter briefly into shadow. 

“I also wanted to offer my… congratulations.” A hooded figure said, his voice a drawn out, angry hiss.

Peter glared, struggling to pull away from Sunder, but having no luck. “Masque.” 

“Dumas.” The man stalked forward, the light at his back leaving him entirely in shadow. All around them the applause choked off and died. The children at the table Peter had been at shied away from him and Annalee looked ready to charge forward already. 

Masque reached out, taking hold of Peter’s jaw in strong, blunt fingers. “Such a change to how we do things. So eager to alter the ways of the Morlocks and bend us to how you want to do things.” 

“What are you even–” Peter began to spit out, but Masque’s fingers tightened into a painful claw grip that stopped him from speaking.

“I have watched you. I have seen how your gift works, boy. You need your mouth and nose to breathe life into yourself. It takes you a second to do that. My own gift doesn’t even take that long. I can take your mouth and nose away faster than you could breathe my life in.” Peter could see the older man’s nasty smile visible from the shadows of his hood.

The celebration all around them was dead silent now.

“The only reason neither of us has made a move right now is because Leech is keeping my gift and yours under wraps.” He glanced down at the green skinned boy who was flinching away from Masque. “Step back, boy. Let me use my gift on Dumas. He will not be as pretty as he was, but he will no longer need the mask. He will be a proper Morlock. I want to make him one of us, in truth!”

Leech sat frozen, unable to move, even as Masque turned his full attention towards the boy, “Did you not hear me?!” 

In his distraction, Masque’s grip on Peter loosened enough that he was able to turn his head to meet Leech’s oversized eyes. “It’ll be fine, kiddo. Step back. It’ll be safer for you that way.” He did his best to keep his tone reassuring. 

Confident. 

Not scared. 

Not Peter Parker. 

Not now. 

At the moment, he was Dumas.

Leech turned and began to run into the crowd.

Masque whirled back towards Peter, rearranged his hand from Peter’s jaw, downwards, his grip almost turning into a choke hold, but not pressing down, to allow Peter to respond to his gloating. 

“Is that simply youthful invincibility? A child unable to conceive that he is vulnerable? I will show you. Oh, there are so many ways that you’re vulnerable that you couldn’t even begin to dream of.” Masque turned to look towards the frozen Nimueh. “Such as what I could do to your lovely companion. How did you even smuggle her down here? Seeking to flout all of our rules, boy?”

Peter’s eyes felt hot as he stared at Masque. “You’re just a bitter old man too wrapped up in surface appearances to realize how far out of your depth you actually are.”

At that moment, Peter felt Leech leave their range. 

He felt Sunder almost immediately release him. 

He felt Masque’s power reaching for him, lightning quick through the point of contact. Unfortunately for Masque, Peter’s power was in contact with his as well. Masque never had a chance to make the changes he intended. A vague sense of an idea of what the older man had been aiming for. To remove his mouth, while giving him the antlered skull… or a face like an overdone potato. 

Either way, it would have been hideous. 

Instead, Masque’s eyes grew wide as nothing happened.

Peter reached out and drew it all into himself, feeling the full impact of a power that could shape bone and flesh and skin and… everything. 

Outrage thundered on Peter’s face, his eyes glowing bright red. “You complete ass.” His voice was a vehement hiss, as he reached up, taking hold of Masque’s wrist and pulling the man’s hand from his throat. 

He looked around at the entire community of Morlocks staring at the two of them. Wondering what was going on. Some terrified. Some approving. Some just enjoying the show.

“I always wondered why you inflicted hideous deformations on people,” Peter said, his voice cold and soft, but carrying through the silent crowd. “I thought it was simply because you couldn’t actually make anything beautiful.”

“Let me go!” Masque pleaded. 

Peter reached out and tugged the hood off the man’s head, easily slapping aside Masque’s hand as he tried to fight him off, revealing the immense tumor that covered the left half of Masque’s face. “The truth was that you kept making things ugly because you couldn’t stand for anything to be beautiful. Because you were so focused on how ugly you were, you just wanted for everyone to be pulled down to your level.” 

Peter snarled and dug his hand into the tumor on Masque’s face, eliciting a pained scream from him. He looked like he was about to say something else, but he looked at those closest to him. Nimueh, who still seemed scared, but her eyes told him that she believed in him. Sarah, with her half-formed antlers and an expression of trust.

Peter took a deep breath and then smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“You have tried to harm me, Masque. I’m not sure I’m willing to just overlook that. So I am going to do unto you, what you were going to do to me. I am going to change you in a fundamental way that I don’t think you’re ever, ever going to recover from.”

Peter felt Masque’s power soften the man’s flesh and bone and shape it according to his will. 

Masque staggered back, out of Peter’s reach screaming as he reached for his face and found it was… normal. Even the tumor was gone. His hair was longer and… he lurched through the crowd reaching for something, anything reflective… finding himself in the spotlight as the disc being used to focus the fire light came entirely into view and showed him his new face. 

His new, handsome face. Even features, strong jaw line, rugged cheekbones, sky-blue eyes and a mane of glorious, golden hair. 

Masque screamed. Then he laughed. Then screamed again and cried, before he ran off past the crowd and into the darkness.

Peter said into the darkness. “I guess he didn’t like his makeover.” 

Sarah and Nimueh giggled at his quip. Even Hemmingway chuckled darkly. 

No one else seemed to find it funny.

Well… if one didn’t count the mournful HONK from Mrs. Penn.

“Everyone’s a critic.” Peter muttered softly.

- - -  

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 12:

The party was back to its previous, mildly riotous, state of affairs. Caliban had gotten everyone’s minds off of Peter’s dramatic confrontation with Masque and back to celebrating by dedicating the song ‘Creep’ to Masque.

Peter did notice, however, that people had given him a wider berth this time around. Less were coming within arm’s reach to greet him, but the general tenor of those in his vicinity still seemed to be cheerful and friendly. Those others he’d worked with more closely, like Mole and Piper hadn’t been shy about showing that they were still willing to come up to him and interact as normal. Granted Peter had noticed that Sunder had made himself scarce and wasn’t anywhere within sight at all.

Leech had come back briefly to awkwardly apologize, but he had retreated from the table as soon as possible, taking the other two boys, Artie and Hemmingway, in tow. That stung a little. The kids were among the ones that Peter spent the most time with, since he taught them basic math during the mornings after their chores.

Sarah at least still sat with him and so did Nimueh.

“I’m going to guess you don’t just turn powers off.”Nimueh asked quietly.

Peter gave a small, wry smile. “No, I don’t.”

Nimueh looked thoughtful, then shrugged. “As long as you keep giving it back to me so I can do my job, I don’t mind.” She smiled impishly. “Especially if I can keep having outings like this.”

“Outings are doable.” Peter said with a nod.

Nimueh studied his face for a long moment before adding. “But maybe less exciting.”

He smiled back. “Are you really sure though? If you don’t get them back, you could go above ground. Live a normal life–”

She shook her head, poking idly at her food with a plastic fork. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like. I’ve always lived here. My parents were Morlocks. I’m a Morlock. I always will be. I’m part of this community even if no one knows who I am, but I am doing my part and I wouldn’t abandon them.”

Peter inclined his head. “Fair enough.”

“Do you still have–” She gestured vaguely towards Peter.

He nodded.

She gave him a small, sly, smile. “Do you think you can maybe make me taller?”

He laughed. “Theoretically, yes. But you’re still growing. I wouldn’t want to mess with your actual normal growth. Maybe when you’re older.”

That earned him a pout.

Sarah wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she sat quietly and curiously, watching them both, taking in the conversation. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but what little she did understand was enough to make her hopeful.

“Mr. Dumas–” Sarah asked, hesitantly.

“Yes, Sarah?”

Her eyes were large and grave. “When we met, you said maybe someday we’d find something that could help me.”

Peter nodded. “That’s right.”

“Is it someday now?”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “I think it very well could be. If I do this, you won’t be growing bones at random anymore. You’ll be, well… normal.”

Sarah eyed him and nodded. “Would I stop hurting?”

Peter gave her a grave look. “I believe so.”

“I don’t have to stop being a Morlock because I’m normal, right?” Sarah asked plaintively.

Nimueh smiled at her and petted her head. “No, you don’t. I’m… I could let Dumas take my gift away and still stay, I think… but it’s not like anyone would try to chase you out.”

Peter’s expression darkened. “I’d like to see them try.”

Sarah nodded. “Then, I would really like to be better.”

He returned her nod and put a hand on her forehead, reaching out gently for her power.

It was a power for growth, much like the Tree Man’s power had been. Eager and bursting to be set free. Peter realized that it caused her pain simply because it wasn’t guided right. It kept trying to cut across nerves and push against flesh it wasn’t meant to.

She could learn to control it given time. He also found that while he could take the power itself, wrapping it within his own, her own healing ability that sealed the wounds up that her bones left behind was something inherent to her body. Even with the uncontrolled bone growth gone, she would still be superhumanly gifted. In the same way that the Twins would stay massive and green furred even if he took the superhuman levels of strength from them. Sarah’s healing factor was part of some sort of physical mutation that was outside the full parameters of what he could take for himself.

He drew her power free of her, feeling it settle vaguely into his own bones for a moment and eagerly attempting to force free new growth, but he clamped down on it, forced the power by will to settle within the existing bones to strengthen rather than grow outward into new uncontrolled directions. He held it in place within him for a long moment, then folded it down deep where he was keeping Nimueh’s power, shutting it down.

He drew up Masque’s power from the depths after leaving Sarah’s within him with Nimueh’s.

He began shaping her. Unnecessary bone spurs melted back into her massively hardened skeletal structure. Extraneous bone fragments trapped awkwardly between bones melded back, giving proper flexibility back to her joints. Lacerations all over her body caused by those eruptions of bones closed over and smoothed away without scars. He let hair on her scalp grow back, soothing away the scars and keloids that had originally prevented them from growing back, letting her have a full head of her original hair color… which Peter noted with some surprise was actually a bright pink.

Finally he let her go and he looked down. The girl was still identifiably Sarah. She was still a bit too skinny, but her scars had vanished. The bone spurs that had been a constant feature across her body were simply gone as well. She had a full head of hair and she was staring at her hands with wonder, repeatedly flexing her fingers. “It doesn’t hurt to move.” She whispered, awed.

Peter smiled. She was probably only the first.

- - -

To limit the questions the poor girl would be subjected to, Nimueh had decided to let Sarah come stay with her in the Cistern for the day. Peter had informed Annalee of this in passing, as she’d generally been the one who kept an eye on the younger children, even if, for the most part they tended to have free run of the Alley and mostly kept an eye on themselves.

While Nimueh had taken Sarah with her, Peter’s offers to help clean up were met with stringent refusals by Annalee. The older woman had taken to brandishing a broom in Peter’s face when he’d made a move to try and assist in putting the few leftovers away.

“You already work too hard!” Annalee had informed him, broom bristles waving at his nose. “You are a good boy, but you can be too much of one. Go relax. Go play. Children who don’t play enough, don’t grow up to be good adults.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nodded with an expression of deep satisfaction as she waved him off. Behind her other Morlocks continued the work of cleaning up from the party. A task that included manhandling a few unconscious Morlocks into a corner where they could sleep off whatever they’d managed to drink, or any concussions they might have sustained. In theory they could’ve been sent to their individual homes, but other Morlocks had declared the drunk pile to be a sufficient penalty for anyone who overindulged, whether it be from drink or the mosh pit.

Healer had already made his rounds among those and declared that no one had anything particularly life threatening.

Waking up as part of the Drunk Pile was a badge of honor for some.

Not having any other excuses to avoid thinking about what had happened and no longer having any reasonable excuses to stall, Peter stepped away from the Alley and made use of the predatory instincts his first stolen power had given him.

He didn’t really use it much, or even think about it most times, but in addition to a sense for when he was predator or prey, an aspect of it also allowed him to track others to a degree. Much like the rest of the instincts that power gave, it was some combination of senses that didn’t seem to directly match up to tracking by scent or other obvious cues alone. He hadn’t really had much call use for it, but he’d realized it had been helping him navigate the confusing Morlock tunnels.

Now he was using it to track someone in particular.

He would have to think about the actual limits and capabilities of this ability when he had more time, but there never was.

Always something more to do. Always someone new in need of help. Or something that had to be handled that for some reason no one had ever considered before.

Peter stepped into an unfamiliar set of tunnels a short distance off from the Alley that led to a small brick chamber that despite being mostly bare, felt quite cozy.

Inside was a cot, with the sheets made to military precision. Next to the cot were multiple sets of very large, very well polished military boots. Also in the room was a wardrobe that had lost its doors. Inside, hanging off of hangers were sets of clothes, all neatly folded and pressed. Peter noted a very old fashioned flat iron in the closet. A massive, heavy thing of solid metal that had no actual heating elements, but would have to be heated by putting it close to a fire or something similar. 

The room also had a brick fireplace built into one wall, where a small, cheery fire flickered. Sunder loomed over the fireplace, poking at it idly with a fireplace poker, before he straightened up, put the poker away properly into the stand next to the fireplace and moved to stand in the center of the room, clearly at attention.

Peter stood at the doorway, eyeing Sunder as the larger man was backlit by the warm light from the fireplace. “I thought we didn’t have any beef, Sunder.”

Sunder nodded in acknowledgement. “We don’t.”

“You want to tell me what that was about earlier, then?” Peter asked, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“You’re the smart one, hoss.” Sunder replied back, cracking a small grin as he did so. “You tell me.”

Peter scoffed. “Masque was always going to try something. But you and I both know he’s too much of a coward to try anything on his own.”

Sunder inclined his head. “You being successful did stick in his craw. Coming to the party in your honor with the pretty little girl on your arm probably didn’t help either.”

“But probably not enough that it’d make him take a shot at me like this, am I right?”

Sunder shrugged.

“And you helping him,  but not helping him all that much.” Peter pinned the larger man with a long, slow stare.

“Wasn’t my idea.” Sunder replied, his tone stubborn.

Peter declared, “No one’s ever questioned your loyalty, Sunder.”

“Damn right.” The larger man replied with pride.

“But is your loyalty to the Morlocks as a whole… or just to Callisto?” Peter pressed.

Sunder shrugged once more. “Same difference. Callisto wants what’s best for the Morlocks.” He rumbled.

“Does she?” Peter’s tone dropped, becoming honeyed and dangerous.

Sunder nodded. “Gotta be. I’m not smart enough. Caliban’s smart, but he’s not strong. Masque is… was an asshole–”

“Masque isn’t dead.” Peter frowned.

Sunder’s smile curled into something dark and nasty. “I’ll bet he’s wishing he was.”

Peter chewed on that statement, but Sunder continued. “Anyway, it’s gotta be Callisto, cause otherwise, no one cares about us and we’re all screwed.”

“How does that even make sense?” Peter stared.

“Don’t gotta make sense,” Sunder rumbled, then shrugged once more. “It just is.”

Peter nodded. “I see. I don’t think I’m going to get much in the way of answers from you. I’m going to have to ask Callisto what she was thinking.”

“Seems like.” Sunder nodded, then met Peter’s eyes. “We gonna have a problem?”

Peter stared back. “That depends entirely on Callisto, doesn’t it?”

Sunder simply gave him an acknowledging nod.

- - -  

By the time Peter got back to the Alley, clean up had been done for a while. The Drunk Pile had actually grown larger as a few others who had hidden themselves under tables or in weirder spots had been rounded up and added to the group. The rest of the Alley itself had mostly bedded down for the night.

If anything it reminded Peter of his first night in the Alley when Caliban had first brought him here. That had been in the wee hours of the morning. Now it was a little bit late, but not so late that New York Above would be anywhere near its bed time.

The silence wasn’t oppressive. It was comforting. Familiar now to Peter in a way he hadn’t ever expected it to be.

He plopped down on one of the lawn chairs in the dining area and reclined himself, steepling his hands over his stomach as he considered his options.

He hadn’t wanted to do this. He hadn’t ever been a big fan of confrontations, but this felt like it had been building up from his first day here. He wondered if it would have made a difference if he’d tackled the problem head on and chased Masque down for a showdown earlier.

Maybe. Maybe not. He knew with certainty that if he’d really wanted to, there wasn’t anything Masque could have done to escape being hunted down. He had no clue if that would have changed the outcome. Or perhaps spared some people more anguish. Or if it would’ve opened entirely new and unexpected worlds of trouble for him and others around him.

It was too late to speculate now. What happened, had happened. Everyone had been given a glimpse of Peter’s capabilities. Not much of one, but enough to make them all more wary. Especially Callisto.

Peter frowned as he realized that Masque was still nearby. In fact, he was near Peter’s destination. He could tell that Callisto was inside her office behind the massive church carved double doors. He could also tell that she was lying in wait for him. An ambush predator waiting for unwary prey.

He felt vaguely amused at how inaccurate that image was.

He really wasn’t sure how this was going to go. He wasn’t sure how anything would go. Callisto bothered him at a fundamental level. He didn’t understand her. Didn’t understand how anyone could think that leaving a psychotic bully like Masque in charge of enforcing discipline using maiming in any way made sense.

He supposed he could ask her.

He sighed and steeled himself.

This is what he was here for, right? To talk. To figure out what Callisto thought she was doing and maybe figure out a way for things to not go horribly bad.

For a moment, Peter wondered if he really did have to do this. He could just leave. The Morlocks were now in a far better spot than they had been before he had arrived. Especially with Masque now literally powerless.

On the other hand, while it had only been a month, the tunnels were his home now. The Morlocks had taken him in. Shown him that it was possible to be in a good place even if you were pretty much close to the bottom.

He would deal with this.

He could deal with this.

He would make everything better.

Peter felt within himself for the powers he had on hand.

The Predatory power was there, keen and hungry. Nimueh’s power still settled deep within him. Folded down small, but pulsing contentedly. Masque’s power wasn’t eager or forceful like the others. It was quiet and patient, waiting to be put to work. Sarah’s bone powers were most eager of all, but looking for direction and whenever he pulled them out of the depths of his own power, they seemed eager to simply begin growing unless a firm hand was kept on them.

He’d never held so much power before. Never held multiple abilities like this. He’d gotten a glimpse at how they interacted within him. The hungry Predatory power and Nimueh’s Endless Tide had somehow worked together the night before, letting him shape how large an area the death aura had encompassed. Given that Sarah’s Bone power wished to endlessly grow bone, while Masque’s Flesh Shaping was uniquely suited to shaping bone–

Peter winced as a long spike of bone pushed its way out of the flesh on his palm. He stared at it for a long moment as the ivory white bone seemed to change color, getting denser and harder. The slender spike reshaped itself, developing an edge along one side, getting wider even as it grew sharper. A hilt grew at the base of the developing blade and the base thickened to form a more comfortable grip.

He plucked the bone knife free of his flesh, a bulbous pommel of bone catching on the edges of the wound, causing a flash of pain. Peter let some of his stored life energy flood around the wound, speeding his healing up.

He stared in wonder at his new bone knife, then laughed.

He’d gotten so used to thinking of his power as something meant to take and harm, that the mere fact that it could be used to create was something entirely unexpected.

His expression took on a sour twist as he realized that his powers could also be used to stall and procrastinate with.

Peter had managed to so thoroughly distract himself with his experimentation that he completely missed one of the carved doors to Callisto’s chamber swing open. He looked up sharply, as the feeling of prey sharpened once more and Callisto popped her head out to stare at Peter.

Her expression was hard and Peter awkwardly got back to his feet, as he pocketed his new bone knife.

Callisto sighed, then tilted her head. “I can practically smell you seething out there. You may as well get in here. You look like you want to talk.”

Peter gave a single, sharp nod. “I suppose I do.”

He followed her into her chamber, letting the door shut behind him.

She walked around the massive desk, pulled a knife from her belt and began idly cleaning her fingernails as she kicked her feet up on top of the desk.

Peter eyed her. Watched the studied nonchalance with which she was treating him and already understood that it was a complete sham. If she really hadn’t cared, she wouldn’t have called him in to speak to her.

His own patience… and ability to avoid a confrontation… had also already hit its limits. So the first question that came to mind rose up and was let loose.

“What was the point of sending Masque after me?”

“Why do you think I sent him after you?” She asked in return.

Peter frowned. “You know and I know that Masque didn’t have the guts to go after me on his own. I like to think I’ve gotten along well with Sunder after our rocky start. He wouldn’t have helped Masque. Not unless someone told him to help Masque.”

“You sure about that?” She needled.

Peter’s expression hardened. “Callisto leads the Morlocks. Sunder’s loyal above everything else. You tell him to do something and he’d do it.”

Callisto nodded. “Yeah, he is at that. He’s a good man. Was a good soldier, once upon a time.”

“But now he’s your attack dog.” Peter accused.

“Yes.” She replied, without shame. “So tell me, Clever boy. Why do you think I would do such a thing?”

“Don’t you even know?!” Peter blurted out in confusion.

She snorted in amusement. “Of course, I know my reasons. I want to know what you think my reasons are.”

Peter threw his hands up in the air helplessly. “I don’t know! Masque’s got a grudge and wants to act on it, but why would you even decide that it was a good idea to let him indulge in it while I’m–” He tilted his head slightly and stared at Callisto. “Unless the entire point was to cut me down while I was having a moment. Was that it? Was all of that an exercise to try and make sure I ‘knew my place’?”

Callisto smirked. “Of a sort. It was also a test.”

“A test.” Peter’s response was flat and dead.

“Of course. Everything is a test.” Callisto stopped cleaning her nails and stabbed her knife into the top of the desk and it stuck. “I want the same thing I’ve always wanted. I want the Morlocks to be strong.”

“How does cutting me down to size or mutilating me make the Morlocks stronger?” Peter asked, confused.

“Because you have wormed your way into the heart of my Morlocks in a few weeks. We get some like you sometimes. Smart. Capable. Born leaders who take responsibility.” Callisto’s smile was a cold and dangerous thing as she flicked the hilt of her stuck knife. “You got into a fist fight with Sunder and came out on top. Masque tried to humiliate you and you turned the tables on him. There’s no doubt that you personally are strong. I needed to be sure that you being strong made the rest of the Morlocks strong.”

Peter glared. “You had Masque attack me to test my commitment to the Morlocks.”

Callisto grinned. “I had to be sure.”

“And what if I hadn’t held Masque off? If I wasn’t ‘strong’?!” Peter’s voice was rising in his frustration.

Callisto gestured dismissively. “Then you weren’t strong enough to be left in a position of responsibility. But you would still have had a place with us.”

“And what if I’d decided you didn’t deserve my help. What if I’d lashed out because of what Masque did?”

“Then we would’ve deserved what we got.” Callisto shrugged carelessly. “If you were strong enough to take what you want and we weren’t strong enough to stop you.”

“That makes no sense.” Peter blurted out. “You’re nuts.”

Callisto rose to her feet, her voice low and passionate. “I never claimed otherwise. The Morlocks need to be strong. We are the ugly and unwanted and rejected, but we will never, ever be under another’s thumb. We will be strong enough to withstand everything that this messed up world puts them through. Strong enough that when push comes to shove, we’ll be ready to shove a knife right back into life’s spleen and take all its stuff. When the time comes and the rest of the world falls apart, the Morlocks will survive and remain. This is what I have given them.”

“You…” Peter flailed for a moment, unable to get the words to line up in his head, before he simply pressed on and just began yelling. “The Morlocks aren’t strong because you’ve got a psychotic bully mutilating them at the smallest excuse! Or because you’ve beaten ‘strength’ into them! They’re strong because they have been helping each other! They’re people who are working together and giving to each other what they have despite not having anything! All of the best things we have down here were achieved by cooperating! Not by stabbing one another, you insane shrew! The Morlocks aren’t strong because of you! They’re strong despite you!”

“Your opinion,” She replied airily, “Is duly noted.”

Peter panted, staring at her, too furious to actually say anything else and actively fighting down the urge to punch her face in for being so… so… insane? Stupid? He wasn’t even sure what the right word was anymore.

She met his eyes and he could see that his righteous fury just seemed to amuse her. “You know what you can do if you don’t like it, Dumas.”

He continued to glare.

“Fight me,” She smiled, spreading her hands in welcome. Her expression was warm and pleasant. As though the idea of getting into a fight put her at ease.

She pulled her knife out from the table and tapped the point against her chest. “One-on-one. No mutant powers. Just strength against strength. Knife against knife. Until one of us is dead. The survivor gets to make the rules.”

“You’re insane.” Peter murmured.

She chuckled. “In any case, if that’s all, it’s getting late. I could do with my beauty rest.”

Peter huffed, continuing to glare at her, but finally shook his head. He needed to think about this. Needed time to get his head together. He turned and made ready to leave, but a faint sense rasped against his nerves and he remembered one last thing that needed to be dealt with.

“What did you do with Masque?” He asked.

She smirked back. “The question is what did you do to him? His powers seem to be gone and you’ve made him look as beautiful as it might be possible for a man to be. You’ve done worse to him than anything I could ever have imagined. He’s practically no longer a Morlock. I’ve kept him here so no one decides to take a pound of flesh back for all the things he’s done over the years.”

Peter frowned. “You’re just keeping him here?”

“Why not? As it is now, he’s pretty enough that I might even consider using him as a bed warmer.” Callisto laughed.

Peter shuddered and left without another word, her laughter trailing behind him.

- - -

Chapter Text

With Great Power One Must Go Further Beyond (Marvel/MHA alt power) 

aka Power Plus Ultra

By Scriviner

PART 13:

Peter did not sleep when he could avoid it. He’d slept two nights ago and was reasonably sure he was still fine for sleep. Not tired at all. 

He’d needed to clear his head. Needed to deal with the fact that the community he’d joined… the one that had taken him in and made him one of their own… was being led by a woman who was clearly insane. 

And no doubt, had been for years. The worst part seemed to be that everyone had simply accepted the fact and then just worked around it. It explained a great deal of why some things simply were the way they were. 

Peter had noticed how resigned Caliban had been whenever Peter had asked questions about why they hadn’t made more changes down here. They’d had someone plan out the tunnel’s ventilation at some point, but never went further in trying to sanitize their water supply, other than by leaving its cleanliness in the hands of one (admittedly very nice and responsible) almost-a-teen-ager.

That major parts of their diet were entirely dependent on one poor mutant’s inability to stay awake and another’s ability to talk rats into committing suicide.

Along with stealing from people who couldn’t afford it just to get by.

They were ‘good enough for now’ solutions that had become institutionalized and didn’t in any way plan ahead. In the month that Peter had been with the Morlocks, there had been a few faces that had vanished, but other new ones had taken their places. Hell, he’d heard of at least two or three births in the last month. Nimueh hadn’t been unique in being a Morlock from birth. 

Their population was growing. Slowly, but unmistakably. What they had in place now wouldn’t keep up with that. He hadn’t run the numbers, but just the Morlock population contrasted against their food production made it likely that it couldn’t work long term. He wasn’t even sure if anyone even had the numbers to run. 

As remarkable as Peter knew their massive theft from Oz Organics had been, bigger robberies to supplement their food supply weren’t a complete solution either.

They needed more. Bigger changes. Sustainable ones. Long term planning. 

He wasn’t really trained in any of that, but clearly no one else wanted to even consider it.

He didn’t even necessarily want to be the one having to think of all of this, but if not him, then who?

But then there was the even more important question. Would Callisto even accept change? Would everything that needed to be done have to conform to her warped values of ‘strength’ or could he actually persuade or work around her enough that it wouldn’t matter?

He’d wanted to discuss some of his ideas with Caliban, but it had been the middle of the night when this had all gone through his head and he wasn’t entirely sure where Calliban’s bedroom was. 

So Peter had spent the night in the emptiness and stillness of the Grove. He’d easily clambered up the branches, coming within a short distance of Gregor the Tree-man himself and had talked aloud. He’d paced between branches, arguing with himself on what the correct course of action should be. 

Explained his lines of thinking to the sleeping Tree-man. If he could explain it to a man asleep, perhaps it would all be straightened out in his head.

In the end, light began to peek across the Grove’s mirrors and Peter realized that actual dawn had begun to break. Peter had decided that he needed to wait and talk to others. Caliban in particular. The pale man had clearly figured out ways of getting around or at least mitigating Callisto’s influence. Being indispensable in helping bring new Morlocks into the fold probably helped. His power to detect others like them at a distance was valuable.

Peter was poised to assume a similar ‘useful’ position of bringing in new resources. Another successful heist or two would solidify such a position for him among the Morlocks and probably give him the leverage he needed to actually get some real changes made.

Until then, he would need to avoid Callisto’s direct attention and find a way to deal with anything she tried to pull that he found unacceptable. Before everything had changed, he’d been bullied mercilessly. He knew all about gritting your teeth, keeping it all in, and continuing on with your work in the face of provocation.

He was stronger now than he’d been then. 

He knew he’d have the final laugh, in time. 

Well, that was the hope, anyway.

Peter chuckled, dropping to his haunches in a squat on a branch. 

“Thanks, Gregor.” He said finally, patting the branch and letting his power briefly brush up against the other man’s. “You’re a good listener. Next time you’re awake, I’ll see if we can get you out of there and let you have a chance to walk around. That sound good?”

Perhaps it was just how the shadows had shifted in that moment, but Peter could’ve sworn he saw the man’s wooden head nod.

Distantly, he noticed that the early morning shift for the mirror polishers and fruit pickers were coming in through the connecting tunnels. He waved to them and they waved back. The fruit pickers didn’t have as much urgency for the time being given how much food they had handy, but they still came out of habit and Tree-man Fruits kept for a decent amount of time. Having them stored away while they used up the perishables was still a good idea. 

Peter smiled and headed to the Alley for breakfast.

- - -  

The buffet tables were set up and ready by the time Peter made it back to the Alley. Last night’s leftovers were reheated and repurposed as ‘breakfast’ by the expedient of mixing them with scrambled eggs. Possibly rat eggs, but more likely normal chicken eggs… but possibly with rat eggs added in to extend them further. 

The line was just starting to extend into the more residential section of the Alley and Peter noted with some amusement that the Drunk Pile was no longer quite as well populated as it had been last night. Several of the now hung-over drunks were staggering or crawling their way awkwardly towards the food line and had to be repeatedly chivvied to go to the end of the line rather than crawl in wherever they had happened to stop.

Unusually, the one supervising breakfast this morning was Sunder, who had his arms crossed over his massive chest and was glowering at everyone. Caliban was standing next to him, and seemed to be affecting his best to look unaffected, but in doing so it called far more attention to the fact that he didn’t want to be there. 

Peter frowned, glancing towards Callisto’s carved double doors, wondering if this was supposed to mean something. Caliban was never part of the group that supervised meals. The ones who stood menacingly behind the tables were there to enforce discipline and ensure that everyone got their fair share of food and that no one tried to take anyone else’s share. He hadn’t seen anyone ever actually try to do that while he’d been here. At worst there was a bit of shoving and roughhousing among the older kids and younger men that ended at the merest hint of Callisto’s glower.

Except now… there did seem to be a vague hint of rambunctiousness in the line, but Peter noticed something else as well. They weren’t glancing towards the back of the table. Peter could feel their eyes turning on him, but not in a sense of being their prey or them being his prey, but something else entirely. Something he hadn’t felt before. 

It felt like they were looking towards him for direction.

To distract himself, he noticed that the pair overseeing the meal weren’t quite as stone-faced and immobile as Callisto liked to pretend to be during these times. Sunder was doing his best to maintain a stoic air, but Caliban, who as tall as he was, was quite puny next to the much larger Sunder, was making small truncated gestures while whispering fiercely. 

An argument, Peter guessed. Not quite sure about what. 

He glanced around once more. 

Perhaps Callisto’s absence?

He wondered about that as well. He couldn’t quite shake the sense now that something was definitely up, even as he came up to the table and got a wooden cup and bowl to load up with the available food. 

Peter had only just started to sit down for his meal when Sarah showed up, Nimueh in tow, waving eagerly at him.

Sarah smiled brightly, “Mr. Dumas! Good morning!”

“Hey, good morning to you too.” He favored her and Nimueh a smile. 

“I wanted to wait til you came by the Cistern so I could do my rounds,” Nimueh explained, smiling in shy embarrassment. “But Sarah insisted I come with her for breakfast.”

“It’s the most important meal of the day!” The smaller girl insisted, one hand on her hip and a finger held up in a lecturing tone. “How are you going to get any good work done if you start out the day hungry? Good boys and girls eat when they can.”

Peter chuckled. “Annalee would be proud.”

Sarah flushed, dropping the pose. 

Nimueh gestured. “You’ve already got food, we can just line up and–”

Peter shook his head. “Here, you guys have this bowl. I’ll line up and get something else. I’m not even really that hungry. Mostly just running on habit.”

Nimueh shook her head, looking about ready to refuse when her stomach rumbled angrily.

Sarah laughed, and playfully poked Nimueh in the stomach. “I think she says yes.”

Peter felt his strength ebb once more and he realized that Leech was nearby. From the crowd, a gray streak bounded out and grabbed Sarah by the shoulders. “What happened?! You’re pretty!” 

That earned the source of those words, her friend, Hemingway, a punch to the midsection, which caused the skull-faced boy to drop to his knees gasping. 

Sarah glowered down at him, even as the other boys in their group came closer in Hemingway’s wake. Leech seemed uncharacteristically at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. Artie made a gasping noise and an image appeared over his head of Sarah, but in a princess gown and wearing a tiara. Peter knew the boy was capable of projecting less abstract images with his telepathic illusions, but he guessed that he was just too startled.

Sarah ducked her head, tucking a lock of hair over one ear as she blushed harder. “It’s rude to stare.”

Leech pointed an accusing finger at Peter. “You have a pretty-making power!”

Peter smiled down at the green-skinned boy. “Not right now, I don’t.”

Leech opened his mouth once more, then huffed in exasperation. “Figures. You can’t make me look, y’know–” He gestured vaguely. “Normal?”

“This is normal for you.” Peter said gently.

“Well, y’know… less…” He gestured at his face. “Green. And maybe a little bit more in the nose department.”

“Your powers shut mine down, sorry.” Peter replied, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. There was the vague tingle of almost, but-not-quite, connection as he felt his power try to reach out for something within the boy, but it didn’t quite get through. “I’m still figuring out what I can do. And you’re still young and can figure your own gift out. Maybe we’ll meet in the middle someday and I might be able to help you too.”

Sarah smiled brightly at Leech. “Yeah. He told me he could help me someday and then he was able to yesterday.”

Leech’s expression brightened at the girl’s encouragement, then he took on a serious expression as he looked at Peter. “Okay. I’m gonna hold you to that.” 

Peter returned the boy’s serious expression with his own grave nod. “You’ve got my word, Leech. Once we figure something out, I’ll help you look any way you like.”

“So I could look like Shaquile O'neal?” The boy asked, in an almost shy whisper.

Peter laughed. “You’re probably going to need a bit more body mass if that’s how you want to look.”

Nimueh giggled and told Leech. “He’s supposed to make me taller when I get older too.”

Leech cheered fist-bumped the older girl. “Yeah. Tall buddies!”

From the ground, Hemingway, who had gotten his breath back, but had only just rolled over onto his back and hadn’t bothered to get up, whined. “I want in on this action. I want to be tall too. And I miss having lips.” 

Peter smiled indulgently. “I want to help everyone I can. We’ll figure the details out as we go along.”

Artie projected an image of a thumbs up to everyone.

Sarah, meanwhile had offered Peter’s bowl of food to a bemused Nimueh and was bullying the boys into their own seats. She’d gotten her composure back enough to poke Peter, “If you’re giving us your food, you should go line up again before they eat all the food.”

He chuckled at that and was startled to find Caliban had put a hand on his shoulder. 

He bit down on a startled yelp and told himself quite sternly that he really needed to improve his situational awareness when his powers weren’t active.

“There is a small situation that needs your assistance,” Caliban explained in an uncharacteristically timid voice.

Peter nodded. “Sure. what’s going on?”

Caliban smiled at the children, but favored Nimueh with a particularly bright smile. “It is good to see you children, but Caliban will need to borrow Dumas for a bit. It is a matter of some small urgency. We can talk some more later.” He addressed the last sentence specifically to Nimueh.

None of the children had any real objections as Caliban led Peter away.

“What did you need me to do?” Peter asked after a second of walking back towards the food tables.

“It is not much, but it will be needed.” Caliban replied, explaining absolutely nothing.

Sunder gave Peter an acknowledging nod as Caliban ushered him over to stand next to the larger man. Caliban smiled then looked at Peter, then to Sunder.

“What does Sunder think?”

Sunder grunted. “Sunder thinks Caliban is an idiot.”

Caliban waved dismissively. “Caliban is aware.”

“Guys, what’s going on?” Peter asked.

Sunder sighed, rolled his eyes and said in a mutter to Peter. “Not much. Just need you to stand next to me, hoss.”

Peter took position next to Sunder, but the larger man frowned. “Straight. Stand up straight. Pull your shoulders back. Slouching makes you look like a mess.”

Peter did his best, even as Caliban grinned, slinking back behind the two of them.

Sunder’s grunt this time was barely approving. “That’s… fine. If you don’t know what to do with your hands you can put ‘em behind you or in your pockets. But pick one position that you can maintain without moving for a while.”

“What are we doing?” Peter asked again, slipping his hands into his pants pockets, while standing up as straight as he could. He startled himself feeling the hilt of the bone knife he’d crafted last night inside the pocket that he’d put it away in and forgotten about. He supposed he was lucky he hadn’t stabbed himself in the thigh with it. 

He felt weirdly exposed and the intensity of the looks that he’d received earlier sharpened. More and more he felt the weight of stares that looked towards him not in fear or with hunger… but with respect.

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Caliban murmured from behind him. “Making sure breakfast goes smoothly.”

“... are you having me stand in for Callisto right now?” Peter muttered towards the other two.

“For Masque.” Caliban murmured back and Peter could almost hear the smirk in his tone.

“Callisto ain’t gonna like it.” Sunder grumbled.

“If Callisto had such an opinion Callisto would have already been here to express it.” Caliban retorted tartly.

“You know what she’s like after a party.” Sunder shot back. 

Caliban nodded. “She’s probably going to be too hung over to be conscious before lunch. In the meantime–”

Peter frowned and cut the other man off. “Callisto wasn’t drunk last night. I talked to her after the party wrapped up.”

In his peripheral vision, Peter caught Sunder and Caliban looking at each other worriedly.

That was the moment that Callisto’s double doors slammed open.

She stepped– no– she strutted out. Callisto came out of her chamber with a wicked smirk on her face and a slinky extra hip sway to her step that no one could’ve possibly missed. She hadn’t even bothered with a t-shirt beneath her vest this time, just wearing what seemed to be a tattered, barely there sports bra. 

As she spotted Peter behind the tables, her smirk turned positively feral and the sense of Prey sharpened once more, since they were far enough from Leech to be outside his range of influence. It didn’t feel quite the same as before. Not prey per se… a challenge. One dominant predator facing another.

Peter reeled internally at the sensations and was visibly stunned as he realized what it was that she had trailing after her.

She had a leash in hand. A leather strap, attached to a thin metal chain. At the other end of the chain, was what was a leather dog collar. One that even had a small bone-shaped metal tag that his vision was sharp enough to pick out the word ‘Spot’ written on it.

The collar was around Masque’s neck. 

He was no longer wearing the robe he’d always worn before. He wasn’t wearing much of anything besides the collar. He only had on a white loin cloth, leaving his now chiseled physique on full display. His body was now covered in bruises and scratches. He moved slowly and gingerly, with frequent tugs on the leash needed to keep him moving. 

His long, now blonde hair, was pulled back into a simple braid. He’d also been made up. Eyeshadow, lip stick, blush. All artfully and skillfully applied to highlight his male beauty. The make up covered some more bruising around his lips and cheeks. 

Masque kept his eyes downcast, his expression was… complex. The only way Peter could think to describe it was broken. 

Sunder gaped. 

Caliban could at best be described as flabbergasted.

Everyone else in the crowd seemed to alternate between shying away and not wanting to look, or gawking openly. 

Callisto strutted towards them, Masque in tow.

She called out aloud, in a voice like the cat that had not only eaten the canary, but had come back for seconds and thirds. “You kept my place warm. Good.” Her tone oozed self-satisfaction. 

“What did you–?” Peter blurted out.

Callisto chuckled, rich and throaty. “Oh, well you are still young, after all. I pretty much told you what I was going to do to him since you’d already made him all pretty and gave him to me.” 

Peter’s face flushed in embarrassment and all around them the watching Morlocks began murmuring and gossiping in earnest.

Masque gave a small wail and tried to cover his face with his hands, but before they could come up all the way, Callisto slapped his hands down, forcing him to leave himself uncovered.

“What is wrong with you?!” Peter growled, now fully enraged.

“You already asked that question. It’s finders keepers, clever boy,” Callisto taunted him. “You let him wander off. I took him for myself.” She reached a hand out and caressed Masque’s cheek, causing the blonde to flinch back. “He’s mine now. To do with as I wish.” Her voice dropped and became hard. “Just like all the Morlocks are mine to do with as I wish.”

Peter glared. 

She tugged hard on the leash, causing Masque to stumble slightly, before she continued, looking around them at the other Morlocks who were now all openly watching the unfolding drama. “Besides, this is barely anything compared to some of what he’s been up to, isn’t that right Masque?” She eyed the blonde who ducked his head.

He mumbled something unintelligible, but she chuckled. “You were right, though, Dumas. I had let him have too free a hand with his ‘punishments’, so that’s going to change now.” She looked around once more, ensuring that she had the Morlocks' full attention. “In fact, because of how much he’s done, I’m thinking I should let everyone get a chance to give as good as they’ve gotten.” She paused and seemed to savor the dead silence in the Alley. “Let everyone have a taste of some payback.” 

She tugged on Masque’s leash once more. “What do you think? Do you feel like being passed around like a party favor?” She held the leash taut. “Not like you have a choice.”

Before he’d even realized what he’d done, Peter reached out and grabbed hold of Callisto’s wrist before she could pull on the leash again. “That’s enough.” 

She glared back at him, but her tone was cool and dismissive. “Is it?”

“Yes, it is.” He said firmly.

She shook her head, pulling herself out of his grip despite his superior strength and laughed. “No, I don’t think so.” She met his eyes. “You know what you have to do if you don’t like how I do things.” 

He stared at her. Not sure if he even understood what she meant. Then kept staring as he realized he knew exactly what she meant.

“Normal people don’t jump immediately to murder as an appropriate way to settle their differences!” Peter thundered at her.

She smirked. “I find that murder settles differences quite definitively.” She tilted her head, her expression, a challenge. “Besides, you’re not exactly normal yourself, are you?”

Peter grit his teeth. “Screw you. Fine. You’ve been begging for this.” 

“Dumas, no.” Caliban groaned from behind him.

“I challenge you for the leadership of the Morlocks.” Peter ground out.

All around, the Morlocks gasped. 

Callisto’s smirk stretched into a painful rictus. “I accept. To the death.” 

Peter growled back. “To the death.”

Callisto told Sunder, “Hold this for me,” as she tossed the leash to him. He caught it, but looked like he had no idea what to do with it. Masque immediately moved closer towards Sunder and cowered behind him, which caused the larger man to sigh.

Callisto smirked and began to stalk towards a more open section of the Alley, the crowd of Morlocks who had been watching, opening the space up around her.

Peter made to follow Callisto, but found Caliban’s hand on his shoulder.

“While Caliban admires your conviction, Caliban laments your decision. You can not beat her in a fight with no powers.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder at Caliban and glowered. “I know that. But she was going to keep prodding until this happened.”

“But to get into this over her treatment of Masque–” Caliban began, but Peter cut him off.

“If not this, it would’ve been something else.” Peter replied. “But her doing this to Masque is a consequence of what I did to him.”

“One would argue that this is merely a consequence of his own actions.” Caliban shot back.

Peter snorted. “Philosophically, maybe. But if someone kept kicking a dog in front of me, I’d still stop it. This isn’t much different. And it’s… it’s practically the entire basis for her style of ‘leadership’. It’s not right. She’s nuts. She needs to be stopped.”

“I did not expect she would push this hard.” Caliban sighed. 

“But you were expecting,” Peter murmured back, “In fact, I’m pretty sure that you’ve been angling for something like this.”

“Not like this.” Caliban’s voice was pathetically small. “Even if you could win– could you kill her?”

Peter shrugged and walked towards the open circle where Callisto stood, waiting patiently.

Callisto grinned. “I knew you were a bleeding heart, but I did not expect you to be this much of one. Are you ready to kill or die?” 

Peter continued to glare at her. “This wouldn’t be the first time. For either.”

“Bold words,” Callisto laughed, absolutely delighted now as the other Morlocks closed in to watch. “One flicker of your golden power, or if my face gets rearranged in a way that isn’t by simple violence and you lose. Cheat and everyone here will tear you apart.” 

Peter looked around at the circle of expectant and serious Morlock faces. “I think you are seriously overestimating just how invested everyone here is in your so-called leadership.” Peter sneered. He met the eyes of the closest Morlocks. He could recognize them all. Put names to faces for at least two-thirds of them. None of them would meet his eyes. 

He was doing this for them. But just as much he was doing this for his own convictions. And what he couldn’t accept. 

“If you’re so worried about me cheating,” Peter continued, getting a better grip on his temper. “We could ask Leech if he’s interested in coming front and center. Let him ensure we both behave. What do you say?”

Callisto smirked. “No. I like how your eyes are all fired up right now. I want to see what you can actually do. I want to see if you can back your words up.” 

She reached under her vest and drew a pair of knives out, holding them between her fingers by the blades. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed them spinning into the air. She grabbed one by the hilt with one hand, then allowed the other to twirl back to her fingers by the blade, before whipping her arm out and hurling the blade straight for Peter.

He pulled his head back at the last moment, reaching a hand up to catch the knife by the hilt. 

Peter winced as he realized that the blade had actually managed to nick him on the cheek, but he was holding a knife now. 

Callisto spread her hands, leaving herself wide open to Peter. “Take your best shot, clever boy.”

Peter shrugged his coat off, awkwardly, since he was unwilling to let go of the knife he had in his hand. He held onto the coat by its collar, letting it dangle loosely to his left side, while keeping the knife in his right.

Peter approached Callisto warily and she seemed amused to allow him to do so. He whipped the coat towards her as a distraction and to interfere with her vision, but at the last moment she side-stepped, moving almost faster than he could follow, the movement flowed into a vicious front thrust kick, catching him right in the solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him. 

Before he even finished processing the kick, her knife had flicked out, drawing a thin, shallow cut along the back of his left hand. He flinched, dropping the coat as she danced out of his reach, laughing.

He kept his eyes on her as he kicked the coat back up to his hand, wincing at the cut. It just got worse for him from that point as she seemed to effortlessly dance in and out of his range, stepping into awkward positions where he couldn’t quite reach her, then easily backing off before he could hit her with either knife or coat. 

Every time she came close, she left small, shallow cuts. He knew that she could easily have left deeper, more serious injuries, but she was playing with him. Then again, the increase in durability that he had inherently from the Predatory power could have prevented her from going far enough on those slices and she was simply trying to bleed him out. 

Whatever her true intentions, she was showing him how badly outmatched he was. His speed and reflexes simply couldn’t match her skill or experience. No matter how fast he thought he was, she was always just as fast, but much better positioned to exploit every single opening he left. 

She continued moving around him, his white undershirt was shredded. Little more than a mess of cuts and blood stains. 

“Come on Dumas,” Her tone was still teasing, but there was a hint of disappointment. “Is this it? Is this all you can show me?”

He’d realized belatedly that he’d gotten sucked into her rhythm. This was her preferred fight. This was how she liked to do things. Peter… wasn’t really a fighter. Not by any stretch. 

But he knew a thing or two about surviving. That’s what he was good at.

So he had to change the fight up. Something that didn’t favor her, but him instead.

He hoped. 

He bull rushed her. No finesse. Just a straight charge. She laughed and started to leap out of his way, but at the last moment, he snapped the coat towards her feet. It wasn’t much. Just an extra split second to avoid it, but it was enough for him to try to stab at her with the knife in his other hand. 

He knew the moment he began the movement that he had hesitated. Again, just the barest fraction of a second, but it was enough that she was able to catch his wrist at the last moment. He was still stronger than her outweighed her by a small margin. He was strong enough that she couldn’t outright stop the blow, but getting her hand in place allowed her to redirect it away from her throat, resulting in a small shallow gash against her collarbone. 

That earned him an appreciative hiss from her, before she dug her thumb into his inner wrist, earning a howl of pain from him. His entire hand spasmed, causing the knife to tumble out of his briefly nerveless fingers leaving him disarmed. 

He tried to stomp on her feet, but she easily moved them out of the way, keeping hold of his wrist and pulling him off balance. She laughed as he scrambled to stay on his feet and let go of his wrist as she brought her other hand up to stab at him.

He knew that she had been expecting him to flinch. To step back and disengage to allow her to keep playing. She wanted to keep him at arm’s length. The distance that favored her. 

He knew he couldn’t allow her to keep control. So he braced himself… and stepped into the blow.

Her eyes opened wide in surprise before she grinned savagely. “I knew you were a bleeding heart.”

The moment of surprise was what he’d hoped for. Adrenaline kept him from feeling the pain of the stab wound for the moment, but he could already feel warm blood seeping out of the wound. Feel the hard, cold metal of her crossguard digging against his gut as the entire length of the razor sharp knife had been slipped into him.

“Ma’am, that’s my stomach.” He blurted out, not sure if he was actually making a quip or just an inane observation given he’d just been stabbed through it.

Before Callisto could recover from her moment of surprise, Peter had already struck. Now they were up close, her hand pressed against his stomach, one of his own hands clamped down hard on her hand around the knife keeping her from pulling away.

He slammed his head hard into her face. He felt her nose crunch loudly against his forehead. His augmented skeleton easily holding up to the strength he had applied, even as the skin split along his brow line from her teeth smashing against it. 

Blood splattered, not just from his scalp wound, but also Callisto’s broken nose. 

She staggered, still trying to pull free, but he didn’t relent as he slammed his head into her face once more, disorienting her and knocking them both entirely off their feet. 

She squirmed both of her hands free and he could now feel the flow of blood around his stomach wound speeding up. The knife she’d put in him was stuck and holding back the worst of the bleeding, but it wouldn’t be enough unless he finished this soon.

He’d lost the knife she had given him. He couldn’t pull the knife he had in him out because that would probably just straight up kill him, but would it kill him fast enough?

He found himself straddling her as she clawed at her face, trying to buck him off and he knew he had only one moment before she turned this around. 

No more hesitation. 

No more thought.

He pressed one hand into his stomach because he could already feel the pain beginning to spike in time with his heartbeat. Feel vital organs shifting against the knife blade. 

He had one more knife.

More by instinct than by design, he pulled the bone knife he had created out of his pants pocket. 

She wouldn’t hesitate. 

He couldn’t afford to either. 

In a single motion that was far more smooth than it had any right being, he drew out the knife and stabbed Callisto straight down into her chest. Through her heart. 

She gasped and made a gurgling noise, followed by a choking, desperate rattle of air.

Her eye met his and he realized that she knew exactly what he had done. 

He could see a fierce pride in her eye as she reached up, summoning the last of her strength to grasp at his collar and pull him down until his face was inches from hers. Filling his field of vision with only her bloodied face. For an insane moment, he thought she was going to kiss her, but that didn’t happen.

Her single eye was bright and mad, but he could feel the strength in her grip weaken as she forced him to watch the light in it dwindle and die.

Forced him to watch her die. Up close and intimate.

Peter wanted, in that moment, to do nothing more than to curl up and quietly bleed. All the little cuts stung. His head hurt from slamming it into her face twice. Breathing hurt in jagged rippling waves spreading out from his wound, but he knew he couldn’t leave it like this. 

He pushed his unfamiliar instincts to the fore and forced himself to rise to his feet. 

The Morlocks around them were silent, but Peter spotted a familiar face in the crowd and he jabbed a bloody hand in the man’s direction. “Healer.” He spoke, his voice hard in the silence. “Call it.” 

Healer had tears coming down his eyes as he half-stumbled, half-ran towards Callisto and checked. Fingers at her wrist, at her throat. Tears flowed down his withered face and got lost in his beard. “She is gone. Callisto is dead. My powers can do nothing for her.” 

Healer then looked at him as he stood. Still bleeding and reached a hand out. “I can–” The older man said weakly, but Peter held his own hand up. “No. Not yet.”

Peter grit his teeth and pulled hard on the remainder of his stockpile of life force, forcing life and healing into his injuries, most especially the wound in his gut. He savagely pulled the knife out, sending a spatter of blood onto the ground, then held a hand there for a second as the skin knit itself closed and the waves of energy washed over the injured area and began their repair. 

Peter straightened up, taking in the crowded Morlocks with his gaze. “Callisto is dead.” He spoke quietly but with strength. “I bested her in single combat. With no powers. By her rules.”

Everyone began to murmur all at once.

Peter knew what he had to say next to finish matters. Knew there were more things to be done. Another death at his hands. A corpse at his feet this time rather than a withered husk that turned to dust and blew away. 

Those were Peter Parker’s moments, though. He realized that what he was hoping to accomplish here couldn’t be done by Peter Parker.

This was a moment for Dumas.

Peter pulled Sarah’s power to the fore. A pair of bone antlers rose from his no longer bleeding brow, a mask of bone pushed its way from the wounds in his face, shaping and hardening into the skull mask that he had shown the world. In his hand was the knife that had been pulled from his flesh. 

He raised it above his head and called out. “Who rules the Morlocks?!” 

A few scattered voices called back at first. “Dumas!” “Dumas!” Voices he recognized. Nimueh and Sarah were close to the front, raising tiny fists into the air as they chanted his name. Even Sunder with a strange dignity yelled his name back. Other voices. All voices her recognized.

The voices of his people.

“Who rules the Morlocks?!” Peter thundered. Demanding a reply.

The voices joined as one. A roar. A scream. Every voice in the Alley, even the sobbing Healer. Even the broken Masque. Everyone cried out. “DUMAS!”

“Then as your leader, my word is law!” Peter roared at them. 

They screamed back a wordless affirmation.